Stonewalled in. Gscene magazine. August 2015

I knew I had to make it to New York, not just for the Pride parade but for the historic ruling on gay marriage that happened in the same week. Again it was a tiny margin within the Supreme Court that forced the change. Even smaller than the one that broke the back of Proposition 8, the clause that prohibited Gay marriage in California.

We also knew the ruling was significant and could only have been achieved under the term of office of a Black president (A Queer president is some way off yet and will require an even craftier hand with the religious right). This legislation will take years to destroy and since, unlike the UK where a tory can slip a white paper under a disaster or act of terrorism, in the US everyone is in on the debate. You may have heard of it. It used to be called democracy.

So, on the day of the Supreme Court ruling I made my way down to the Stonewall Inn. There would be celebrations around the country but the centre of any Gay struggle has to be this tiny bar in a side street of Greenwich village. The sleazy cavern that was given official Landmark Status the same month – a protection that prevented it being demolished for more badly needed, multi-million dollar homes.

Being at Stonewall was significant. Thank god that the interior is also being preserved. Nothing special inside except that it doesn’t represent the gay bars that we know today. No glitz or glitter just what looks like the seedy, old school pick up joint so many of us came of age with. Which, of course, are a huge part of our culture and should be preserved. Stonewall has stonewalled every opposition before and after the riots that spread from its loins and into queer consciousness. It’s name has countered every seed of religious bigotry, act of congress and bag of human waste posted through its virtual letterbox. It surroundings became the waiting room for the nearby Saint Vincent’s Hospital, the vanguard of the east coast Gay cancer epidemic and later the centre of the surge of something called AIDS. (Saint Vincent’s having recently lost its own cancerous battle with the land developers).

‘Stonewall’ was a safe place where everyone inside could truly understand what the Queer condition was before the outbreak of AIDS and so dealt with it accordingly through the verbatim stories that preceded the mass contraction of the virus.

And it was a place to house the twice marginalized - the Black, Latino and Trans communities - before there was even an acronym.

A bar where a New York police officer would collect protection money for The Mob each week and the very same squad would raid every month on behalf of The Law. Stashes of booze were hidden locally so that Larry Boxx, the manager, could reopen within an hour of a raid that everyone knew was coming. And these raids just became a way of life. Until one night something snapped.

As always it was the lowest of the low on Police Inspector Donut’s crib sheet that caused the commotion - the Dykes and the Drag Queens.

A Drag Queen's photo ID never resembled the dreamy vision lined up before the cops. And women had to have 3 pieces of ‘feminine clothing’ so as not to be arrested. Both parties failed admirably, so these were the ones thrown into the back of the Mariah.  
Ooooooh - bad move, officer Krupke.

A Lesbian who was too tightly cuffed was lead by the hair to the van where a crowd had gathered. She screamed out to a Drag Queen, asking if they were going to do anything about it or just stand there. And here-in lies point of fissure. When one solitary Drag Queen threw that first size 13 high heel at an arresting officer. Around 600 Queers from every surrounding club and bar then chased the police around the block and back into the Stonewall, where they barricaded themselves in. Like all major disasters in downtown New York every available police officer was drafted in until the Queers were dispersed. But by then a different bar had been set.

The following night Queers from every borough came to The Stonewall and refused to move. Many not even knowing why they were there, other than they had to now stand up and be counted. Again, the same explosion resulted and the police were outnumbered all over again. And this is the day that became ‘Gay Pride’.  The day we commemorate a size 13 woman’s shoe thrown in the face of authority. A single article of clothing that represents, in some way, everyone inside and across the globe when it comes to this struggle. And then through time to something called LGBT or whatever it is -  the acronym that carries no Q because whatever the legislation in our names and for our cause, it will always be ‘Queer’. Just as we are always ‘Stonewall’ - a place where everyone is outside, always ready to charge.

And so, whether the ‘Stonewall’ tag becomes professional global agencies - Queer community support mechanisms like housing associations or advocacy centers around the world - it retains its once and always Queer origin. It represents only one movement. Just a call to action from a single Dyke to a Drag queen. And a protective response that forced every Queer out of the closet and onto every street - a response that would eventually be repaid from within a later plague. 
Carrying us onwards to every place where we now stand.

So, happy Stonewall everybody. Happy Pride.