Almost fifty years ago, on a hot summer night in June 1969, the patrons of a mafia-run bar in NYC’s Greenwich Village found themselves subject to yet another police raid and the humiliating rough treatment that came along with it.
However, on this night the patrons fought back. The combatants lived in the margin of the margins: queens, dykes, fags, trans, hustlers, homeless youth, many were people of color. The neighborhood of Greenwich Village turned out into the streets to join the melee. The riots lasted three days before temperatures cooled.
Two undercover policewomen and two undercover policemen had entered the bar earlier that evening to gather visual evidence, as the Public Morals Squad waited outside for the signal. Once inside, they called for backup from the Sixth Precinct using the bar’s pay telephone. The music was turned off and the main lights were turned on. Approximately 205 people were in the bar that night. Patrons who had never experienced a police raid were confused. A few who realized what was happening began to run for doors and windows in the bathrooms, but police barred the doors.
Wikipedia
The Stonewall Riots added a lavender color to the counter-culture rebellions of the late 60s and inspired a feeling of liberation for LGBTQ+ people.
Within a year, gay groups organized across the country and the world. The first gay liberation march in NYC commemorated the 1-year anniversary of the rebellion that launched a movement. A movement that would change the world.
Twenty-five years ago, in 1994, I visited New York for a pilgrimage to the Stonewall Inn during the 25th anniversary commemoration of the riots. The celebration also coincided with Gay Games IV held in NYC.
I was 26. And I had a camera.
The Stonewall 25 anniversary pride march included a parade of nations to honor the Gay Games IV participants. About 15,000 people participated in either the sporting competitions (Greg Louganis was one of the competitors) or the cultural events.
The Gay Games incorporates similar rituals and symbols used in the modern Olympics (e.g., opening/closing ceremonies). But anyone can compete – there are no minimum qualifications or restrictions. Many of the sporting events are internationally recognized so new world records get recognized in the books.
The core principles of the Games are Participation, Inclusion, and Personal Best.
In 1994, fifteen states regulated sexual contact between consenting adults (Sodomy Laws). It wasn’t until 2003 that the Supreme Court, in Lawrence vs TX, tossed out all these laws (police in Houston had busted into the wrong apartment and arrested a gay couple they found in the midst of love-making).
In 1994, Bill Clinton had been elected the year before and failed to keep his promise to lift the ban on military service based on sexual orientation – he caved under the opposition and implemented “don’t ask, don’t tell” instead.
In 1994, it wasn’t uncommon to hear Christian extremists singing the praises of the AIDS epidemic claiming so many gay lives, calling it “God’s punishment”.
Will & Grace, which brought gay characters into America’s living rooms, wouldn’t start airing until 1998.
Yet, there was hope. Fire. Tenacity. Heart. Nobody was going back into the closet. And we weren’t going to just die and go away. Like the Stonewall combatants, it wasn’t about begging and pleading – it was a demand. And for me, simply being visible was an act of civil disobedience.
If we were wrong, then the entire basis for the founding of the USA was wrong.
After the march, our group headed to Central Park for a bit. Then rode down to the West Village (we were staying close by, in Chelsea). In order to complete our pilgrimage to have a cocktail inside the Stonewall Inn, we pushed and squeezed through a festive crowd. For about 30 minutes.
Central Park
Central Park
Central Park
Central Park
Actor Sir Ian McKellen gave the closing address of the Gay Games at Yankee Stadium on June 25, 1994.
When I got home to Tallahassee, I came out at work. This meant I was on the front lines in every area of my life – being a stand for my right to exist.
I didn’t feel capable of influencing a hostile government as an individual. But I could influence the one-on-one interactions of my daily life. Everyone who knew me could say they knew at least one gay person.
This was a lesson from the social upheavals of the 1960s: the personal is political.