(Title stolen from Maggie Estep)
It began in the wee small hours, of the dog days of summer. In the city that never sleeps, almost 50 years ago. The tension was palpable, but not just in places like Manhattan, it was everywhere. It was the late 1960s and counter-cultures were sprouting up everywhere quicker than the frustrated powers-that-be could uproot them. Surrounded by protests against our war in Vietnam, demonstrations for civil rights, and hippies on drugs preaching free-love and anti-capitalism, the angry and scared older generation desperately tried to keep their tight grip on the status-quo, even if they had to choke the life out if it. Some had had enough and other could never have enough. No, it wasn’t just in places like Manhattan, but it was especially in places like Manhattan. And particularly in areas like Greenwich Village.
Depending on the type of person you are, it was either late in the night of Friday June 27th, or early in the morning of Saturday the 28th of 1969 when the establishment finally had control ripped from its sweaty grip, and never fully regained it. Shit got broke – lit on fire. Anarchy spilled out into the streets. People got hurt. And fuck, I wish I coulda been there to see the uprising at the Stonewall Inn.
If you’ve know nothing of the “Stonewall Riots” you’ve been missing out. And if you know the story well, I’m sure won’t mind hearing
tell it again.
The pressure that exploded that night at StoneWall was two decades building. Believe it or not, the homophobia that was all the rage back when I was growing up, didn’t really come into vogue until the end of the 1940s. And if you had to take a wild guess at who we might be able to blame it on: who could engineer a red, white, and blue moral-panic to whip the villagers into a torch and pitchfork frenzy, who might’ve been the grand-inquisitor of a mid-20th-century all-American which-hint, I bet you might be able to guess right.
If you guessed Senator Joseph McCarthy (and his little pet hobgoblin Roy Cohn for the extra point) that’s correct! Yes, McCarthyism is directly responsible for much of the homophobia we know and love today. Simply put, McCarthy said that homosexuals were a security risk and couldn’t be trusted because they were vulnerable to blackmail by commies. So in 1953 Eisenhower signed Executive Order 10450 banning LGBTQ from ever working for the federal government. And with that, thousands of people were discharged from the military. Thousands more were fired from government jobs, and thousands more of federal job applications were denied, all because of who they might be attracted to.
Isn’t it strange to think that just 50 years ago someone could be fired just for being suspected of being gay… Oh wait, that can still happen because we still don’t have federal protections against it. Though Executive Order 10450 only stayed on the books until 1995.
Much like the (Second) Red Scare once the “Lavender Scare” got started it only picked up steam. Soon the firings spread into non-governmental walks of life; In 1952 The American Psychiatric Association declared homosexuality a mental illness. It was made illegal to dress as anything other than your birth gender. The Federal Bureau of Investigation started keeping lists of queers, their friends, and hangouts. It became illegal to be gay. Laws were passed, you could be fired and perhaps never work again, harassed and assaulted by the police, arrested and publicized in the newspapers, and institutionalized, all for who they wanted to go belly to belly with.
By 1969, 20 years after it all started, a whole generation of people had been born into, and came of age in, this bleak time of oppression, driven underground with only the hopes of finding someplace they could be themselves, and accepted. A place like 53 Christopher Street, Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York, New York, US of A, Earth.
Because any bar that served gay people ran the risk of being shut down it was only the seediest places that allowed them in. Places that knew how to work around, or pay off, the cops – Mafia run places like the Stonewall Inn. Now before you start thinking “Oh that nice of those gangsters to give the disenfranchised a place to congregate” you should know that they just saw an untapped market to exploit. A place they didn’t have to keep clean, or even up to code. Where they could sell their stolen or substandard liquor, run drugs and prostitution. What were they going to do, call the cops?
To be honest, all those there at the time said the place was such a dive it became a haunt for the most outcast: Drag-queens, flamers, butch dykes, male-prostitutes, trans people, homeless kids, and junkies. It was a home for folks who were unwelcome at, or couldn’t afford any other places. It might’ve been a shit-hole, but at least inside those walls they didn’t have to pretend, and could meet others also given the chance to just be themselves.
And when a more well-off, closeted, person showed up, the mob of course welcomed them too, with opened hands, and greedy pockets. It’s said that the owners of the StoneWall made more from extortion and hush-money than they did selling booze and smokes. So I guess McCarthy was right about “homosexuals” being more susceptible to blackmail. That ol’ self-fulling prophet. But all that was about to change – in a big way – when a handful of officials from the Department of Public Morals (yes, that really was a thing. Yes, I’m glad it’s not now) tried to raid the Stonewall with more than two-hundred patrons inside.
Depending how you slice it, it was either late Friday or early Saturday, the busiest time for a bar, when inside the smoky club; the music cut off, the lights came on, and the place was suddenly filled with confusion and panic. Thanks to the place’s connections raids usually happened on off-hours, and with a warning! And things just got more out-of-the-ordinary from there.
Usually the cops made everyone show their IDs, separated those dressed as women and had female officers check for “extra parts.” Some would be arrested, others would be cut loose, and a handful might get roughed up. Tonight though, they had had enough. Tonight people began refusing. And instead of running along home, those who were allowed to leave congregated outside. And as nothing draws a crowd like a crowd, the group outside drew an audience. So, naturally, some of the more ostentatious started posing and preforming for the masses, making fun of the police; marching and saluting flamboyantly. The laughter and cheers drew still more people, and the throng grew to 10 times the number that was actually arrested.
The hoard cheered as members of the mafia were put into the back of the parole cars. Still half-joking some started shouting “Gay power” and singing “We shall overcome.” But when the cops started getting rough with some of the StoneWall’s regulars things got tense. That summer in particular had been a difficult one for the LGBTQ community. Gay-bar after gay-bar had been shut down, and they were loosing what little they had, and nothing is more dangerous that folks with nothing left to loose. As shitty a home the it was, the StoneWall was still a home for those rejects, and so they fought for it.
As the officers struggled to get the rowdy people into their cruisers someone shouted that the raid was payback because the Mafia wouldn’t cut them into their blackmail money. So people started throwing pennies and coins at them. But people only have so many of those so they moved on to hurling beer cans – and bottles.
Of course the police tried taking out the main rabble-rousers by force, but that did not have the desired effect on the rest of the rabble. As soon as those already handcuffed and in the backs of the wagons made their break for it, and disappeared into the multitudes, the crowd surged, slashed tires, and tried to overturn the vehicles.
The Public Moral Police found themselves stuck between the folks they were trying to arrest in the StoneWall, and the wild gathering that continued to grow around them. As the scene began to take a turn some of the police ran away, while others strangely enough, some might even say ironically, were forced to take refuge in the StoneWall Inn – and barricaded themselves inside.
As projectiles continued to rain, the protesters ran out of trash, so they threw trash-cans, and they ran out of street-rocks so they found a nearby construction site that wasn’t using it’s bricks at the moment, so… that’s when shit got real. The windows of the StoneWall were shattered, a parking meeter was uprooted and used as a battering-ram to split the doors. Garbage was lit on fire and thrown through the new openings. Until finally the make-shift barricades collapsed. The officers drew their guns… And in danced a chorus-line of can-can kicking queers and queens, dressed to the nines, for a Friday night on the town. (No that is not a flowery description, the “rioters” literally advanced on the police, by kick-line.) Flabbergasted, the cops had no idea how to deal with something like this, but fortunately for them, it wasn’t long after that, that their back-up finally showed.
The crowd of demonstrators outside the Stonewall because may of them had been calling friends and inviting them to the “party.” So you may wonder why the Moral Police didn’t try that sooner. Well, they had been trying to call the nearest precinct for back-up, but coincidently enough, the local boys, who didn’t appreciate the outsiders coming in and fucking up their kickback deal with the Mafia, where having problems with their radio that night. Just that night – and with them.
Eventually though they must’ve received enough random calls about a disturbance in the West Village they thought they should check it out. But by the time they got there the collection of mis-fits out front of the StoneWall in had grown to estimates somewhere between 600 to 1000. The Calvary that was there to save the day, then also had to call for reinforcements. The Tactical Patrol Force – New York’s proto-SWAT team. And they weren’t there to fuck around. But fuckery happened nonetheless. As they tried to clear the streets the protesters just mocked and laughed at them, and cheered as new, bigger, chorus-lines formed and sang silly songs.
You can guess how that went down; a wall of men in tactical gear with shields and clubs – facing off against kick-lines spoofing their machismo. You can guess, but you’d only be partially right. But in addition to the occasional blunt-force-drama, the Tactical Police would divide the mass and chase them down the crooked streets of the Village, only to have the protesters come back around from a side-street, and wind up behind their pursuers – chasing them! (The physics of this will only sound nonsensical to those who’ve never been lost that far below UpTown’s grid of streets)
Shenanigans and chicanery persisted like this until the sky started to get blue, at which point the streets were cleared – though many still congregated on stoops, and roofs, and in the park, still to excited to be exhausted. And that was just the first night.
Naturally the police were mortified. They’d never been chased off before. Especially not the Tactical Police Force. And especially especially not by a bunch of homos bearing their nails, hitting them with purses, and slapping them with limp wrists! (And again, I’m not making that up.) Oh the shame! So, as you can imagine, they were determined not to let that happen again. The next night they sent out more than 100 men to nip any possible disturbances in the bud.
What they hadn’t counted on however, was that due to all the media coverage the rebellion got, the next evening the Village was flooded with newcomers. They all wanted to see gutters shimmering full of; rhinestones, sequins, boa feathers, costume jewelry, and blood. And when they got to the shell of the Stonewall Inn they were greeted with a new plywood window covered in graffiti. “Support Gay Power,” “They invaded our rights,” “Legalize Gay Bars, ” “Drag Power,” and the strangest of all, “We are open.” And sure enough, it really was opened for business – busted window, charred bar, smashed jukebox, looted cigarette machine, “confiscated” liquor and all.
Many of the same rejects from the night before were there again too, but now they were joined by; hippies, not-so-innocent bystanders, black panthers, tourists, and anyone else who wanted to support gay rights, or counterculture – or had a bone to pick with the authorities. There were thousands of them. And again Christopher Street became the nucleus of chaotic-energy and exuberant-confusion. Cop cruisers were smashed. Fires were lit in garbage cans, chorus-lines went up against storm-troopers. Police-chases ebbed and flowed throughout the night, and whenever cops caught someone, the swarm surged and reclaimed them. It was de-ja-vous all over again. By the third night though, the police began to outnumber the protesters, but still, the next few nights were echos of the first, growing a little softer each night, but still heard, until after Wednesday, 6 days later when the excitement just kinda dies out. Sort of.
The StoneWall Riots awoke something in the LGBTQ community. Many demonstrators reported feeling, for the first time, like they weren’t alone, and actually part of a community. A big part of the protests were just people committing homosexual public displays of affection. Something unfathomable just days before when they were forced to hide in the backs of dark speakeasies. As far as many of them knew, this was the first time homosexuals had stood up for themselves en mass. (Compton’s Cafeteria Riot never made the news) It was empowerment like too many had never known, and they didn’t want to let that feeling go. Almost immediately, inspiring flyers and pamphlets telling of the rebellion began being churned out with titles like “Hair-pin drop heard round the world” and “Do you think homosexuals are revolting, You bet your sweet ass we are.”
StoneWall was the end of June 1969, by July 4th people were bussing to picket Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Within 6 months activist groups started printing their own newspapers. Places around the city started hosting same-sex dances. Then, exactly one year later, on June 28 1970, starting on Christopher Street and going to the heart of uptown, was the first Pride March. That day there were also marches in L.A. and Chicago. The year after that there were also marches also in; Boston, Dallas, Milwaukee, London, Paris, West Berlin, and Stockholm. The year after that, in 1972; Atlanta, Buffalo, Detroit, DC, Miami, Minneapolis, San Francisco, and Philly were added.
It’s said that before StoneWall there were about 50 or 60 gay rights organizations in the country, but a year later there were at least 1,500. And two years later almost twice as many, in every major city in the US, Canada, and Australia, and Western Europe. By 1973 Homosexuality was no longer considered a mental illness by the APA. And now, because of those 6 nights 50 years ago, the StoneWall Inn is and official national landmark.