IN JUNE 2017, I co-organized an oral history fieldwork trip to document the Equality March for Unity and Pride (EMUP) in Washington, D.C. It was one of many mass demonstrations taking place that year following the inauguration of Donald Trump. EMUP was organized to coincide with D.C.’s Capital Pride, but the two remained distinct events. In finalizing the schedule of events our group would attend over that weekend, I came across No Justice No Pride (NJNP). This grassroots trans- and queer-led organization was hosting a “QT Night of Healing and Resistance” with the Trans Women of Color Collective, another grassroots organization within the District. We met dozens of black trans women and learned about their experiences and used oral history methods to record their stories, which are now archived at the University of Florida.
This was one of the first times I so clearly identified the gaps within our communities and the lgbtq+ movement more generally. Black trans women face intersecting systems of oppression within a structure of white supremacist capitalist hetero-patriarchy. They are routinely marginalized, and so they turn to one another to find and build community.
At the same time, just a few blocks away from this event, thousands of people were celebrating at the annual Capital Pride Parade. People lined the streets to watch the decked-out corporate floats pass by, dancing and singing along to the songs that were blaring from speakers. Later that weekend Capital Pride was also hosting a star-studded concert and festival. This contrast is worthy of note: in one space a grassroots contingent, organized for and by trans women of color to provide room for healing and resistance within the context of the growing number of black trans women being murdered for simply existing; in the other space, thousands of lgbtq+-identifying people and allies celebrating “gay pride.” What does this disconnect between the two groups represent within our community? What is there to celebrate when members of our community continue to face structural oppression? How do we begin to transform the ways in which we build solidarities across difference to reach for liberation?
For the past few years I have conducted participant observations and interviews with trans/queer activist organizations in cities around the country to better understand how they interpret the answers to these questions and participate in building a trans/queer intersectional movement. By tracing the history of pride marches—how they have changed over the years and the work that activists in various cities have done to transform them—it is possible to imagine what an intersectional march would look like.
From Political March to Neoliberal Parade
On June 28, 1969, the Stonewall Inn was raided by police, which resulted in several nights of street violence and militant resistance. Activists and community members used this momentum to collectively organize actions through a series of meetings and ultimately founded the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) on July 31, 1969. Numerous members of the GLF participated in adjacent social movements like the antiwar movement and the Black Power movement. Others, however, viewed this varied set of commitments as a distraction from the central GLF mission of sexual liberation. This difference in ideology produced a division within the GLF. Those who chose a single-issue approach to their activism broke off and formed the Gay Activist Alliance in December 1969. These tensions are similar to those existing within lgbtq+ organizing today, as infighting over the importance of marriage equality and the inclusion of our community in the U.S. military, to name but two contentious issues, illustrate the different ways in which people imagine lgbtq+ politics, whether through a homo-normative, queer, or other lens.
Many mark the Stonewall rebellion as what “sparked” the modern gay rights movement, but it is vital not to erase those people and moments that created a pathway for Stonewall to be remembered as it is. For example, the East Coast Homophile Organization (ECHO) had been holding an annual march each Fourth of July in Philadelphia beginning in 1963. ECHO decided in 1970 to transfer this annual march to New York City, joining New York organizers in a march that was named Christopher Street Liberation Day. While it was held a year after the Stonewall Riots, the name was supposed to re-center the struggle for gay and lesbian liberation while moving away from the mafia-controlled Stonewall Inn.
Other sites of resistance that predated Stonewall, both in 1966, included the “Sip In” at Julius’ Bar in New York to protest the state Liquor Authority’s ban on serving “homosexuals” and the Compton Cafeteria Riots in San Francisco, which erupted after police harassed a trans woman and she resisted arrest by throwing coffee in an officer’s face. It is within this framework that activists of the ’60s and ’70s organized political marches to claim public space for sexual and gender nonconforming peoples and to insert their politics into the public sphere.
Over the years, however, these once politically charged marches have been transformed to accommodate the mainstream masses. Corporate sponsorships have had a commercializing effect, turning marches into parades. The radical political critiques associated with organized trans/queer marches are rendered invisible through an æsthetic of celebration. “Pinkwashing,” as defined by Sarah Schulman, describes the process by which marketing and political strategies aim to promote products or countries by appearing “gay-friendly” and progressive. This helps explain why banks try to get parade-goers to open new checking accounts at these events, why McDonald’s employees will toss you a rainbow handkerchief with an enlarged logo on it, and why Lockheed Martin—a top U.S. military contractor—has a military plane-themed float in the parade. These are not public displays that aid in the collective liberation of marginal people, but instead drape the imperial capitalist forces of the U.S. in literal rainbows.
Lgbtq+-identifying people in the U.S. and around the world are continually marginalized despite several “progress” narratives. By drawing attention to oppressive policing practices and the commodification of our communities, some organizations are trying to reorient the movement through the symbolic vehicle of “Pride.”
Trans/Queer Activist Organizations
Before discussing the current situation in New York City and the need for an alternative Pride event, let me introduce two critical incidents that occurred in other American cities—Columbus, Ohio, and Washington, D.C.—and their aftermath.
According to their website, the Black Queer & Intersectional Collective (BQIC) “is a grassroots community organization in Central Ohio that works towards the liberation of black queer, trans, and intersex people from all walks of life through direct action, community organizing, and education on our issues, and creating spaces to uplift our voices.” Based in Columbus, the collective grew from mobilization efforts to free the “Black Pride Four” or “#BlackPride4.” During the Stonewall Columbus Pride parade in 2017, a group of black trans and queer protestors and their allies blocked the parade to demand seven minutes of silence in protest of the acquittal of the police officer charged with killing Philando Castile. Shortly after stepping out into the street, protesters were shoved with bikes, maced, and pushed to the ground. Although the group included both black and non-black people, only black people were arrested, namely Ashley Braxton, Wriply Bennet, Kendall Denton, and Deandre Miles. Video of the scene shows white onlookers encouraging the police to take action against the protesters. The #BlackPride4 faced several charges, and the chair of Stonewall Columbus testified against the activists. Following the arrests, BQIC called for a boycott of Stonewall Columbus Pride and have now chosen to organize their own Pride event, Columbus Community Pride (CCP), which centers black and brown communities as a way to bring Pride “back to our roots.” BQIC rejects corporate sponsorships and police presence at CCP. At their inaugural event in June 2018, Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, Stonewall rebellion veteran and trans activist, was the keynote speaker.
As mentioned above, a second organization that took action during the 2017 Pride season is NJNP, based in Washington, D.C. According to their mission statement, “We exist to end the LGBT movement’s complicity with systems of oppression that further marginalize queer and trans individuals. Our members are Black, Brown, queer, trans, gender nonconforming, bisexual, indigenous, two-spirit, formerly incarcerated, disabled, white allies and together we recognize that there can be no pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.” NJNP got noticed when they targeted floats by Wells Fargo, police, and military contractors with direct action during the 2017 Capital Pride parade. But their efforts do not end with challenging the mainstream Pride parade in their city. In keeping with their intersectional politics, they work to support the multiply marginalized in their community. By creating what they call the NJNP Collective, they work to provide D.C.’s trans and activist community with safe housing. NJNP continues to push for the removal of police and corporate sponsors from the Capital Pride parade, while also training a new generation of grassroots trans organizers through their Trans Justice program.
Coming to New York: A Pride Alternative
The Reclaim Pride Coalition (RPC) began organizing in early 2018 as a contingent of the gigantic mainstream parade, Heritage of Pride (HOP). After making several ongoing demands to HOP that were never met, the coalition has since decided to break off and organize its own march. Some of these demands included restoring the historic march route, dropping wristband requirements to participate in the march, and receiving an apology from the New York Police Department for its raid of the Stonewall Inn. Also demanded was an acknowledgement of ongoing oppressive tactics against marginalized communities and the need for systemic change. However, RPC received little to no feedback from HOP organizers.
The Queer Liberation March and Rally, which is to take place on Sunday, June 30th, pledges to be an “activist march, free of corporations, politicians, and police presence” to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Stonewall rebellion. States its website: “The Queer Liberation March is a people’s political march—no corporate floats, and no police in our march. Our 2019 march is a truly grassroots action that will mobilize the community to address the many social and political battles that continue to be fought locally, nationally, and globally.” RPC is made up of over eighty organizations and has received support from activists—like Masha Gessen, Jennicet Gutiérrez, Larry Kramer, and Chelsea Manning—and organizations from around the world.
The collectives in Ohio, D.C., and New York are doing similar grassroots work within their communities to challenge what has become the Pride Establishment. This activism is developing a social movement to “reclaim pride” by going back to our roots in recognizing that the struggle for liberation is far from over. Just as trans activist Sylvia Rivera led an alternative march in New York during “Stonewall 25” in 1994 to protest the exclusion of transgender people from the events, so too are these organizations pushing back against exclusionary practices within the activist community and commodification of the larger community as a marketing opportunity under capitalism.
The Queer Liberation March points to the future possibilities of trans/queer organizing by grounding its intersectional movement in radical traditions, most notably recognizing that identity categories are attached to specific life chances that need to be transformed through the power of community. With World Pride being organized by Heritage of Pride and taking place in NYC to celebrate “the beginning of the modern Gay Rights Movement,” it is more important than ever not to let our histories be reduced to a singular narrative, but instead to read them as a complex and continuous struggle for liberation.
The question is, will BQIC, NJNP, and RPC inspire the Pride Establishment around the country and around the world to focus more clearly on a collective liberation instead of choosing to celebrate the privileged gains enjoyed by only part of the community?
Robert Baez is a doctoral candidate in sociology at the Univ. of Florida, where he researches sexualities and social movements.
