Stonewall

Stonewall Plot Summary

Introduction

In the early hours of June 28, 1969, a routine police raid on a dingy gay bar in Greenwich Village ignited an unexpected rebellion that would transform American society. When patrons of the Stonewall Inn fought back against police harassment that night, they shattered decades of silence and submission, launching a movement that would fundamentally challenge how society viewed sexuality, gender, and human rights. The uprising marked a decisive turning point - the moment when a marginalized community stopped asking for tolerance and began demanding liberation. The story of Stonewall and the gay liberation movement that followed reveals profound truths about social change in America. It demonstrates how the most oppressed members of society can become powerful agents of transformation when they reject shame and embrace collective action. It illuminates the complex relationships between different liberation struggles of the 1960s and 1970s, showing how movements for racial justice, women's rights, and sexual freedom both inspired and challenged each other. For anyone seeking to understand how marginalized groups can achieve social recognition and political power, this historical moment offers essential insights into the dynamics of resistance, community building, and cultural transformation.

Chapter 1: Shadows of Oppression: Gay Life Before Stonewall (1950s-1960s)

The America of the 1950s and early 1960s was a deeply hostile environment for gay men and lesbians. During this period of Cold War conformity, homosexuality was classified as a mental illness by the American Psychiatric Association, criminalized by laws in every state, and condemned by religious authorities. The federal government, under Executive Order 10450 signed by President Eisenhower in 1953, explicitly banned homosexuals from government employment as "security risks." Police regularly raided gay bars, publishing the names of those arrested in local newspapers - a practice that destroyed careers, families, and lives. Against this backdrop of institutional oppression, gay Americans developed sophisticated survival strategies. Urban centers like New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles saw the emergence of underground gay communities centered around bars, bathhouses, and private networks. These spaces, though often run by organized crime and subject to police harassment, provided crucial gathering places where people could find others like themselves. Elaborate codes of dress and behavior developed that allowed gay people to recognize one another while remaining invisible to the hostile straight world. As one gay man from the period recalled, "We learned to live double lives - one face for work and family, another for those precious few hours when we could be ourselves." The earliest organized resistance came from small "homophile" organizations like the Mattachine Society, founded in Los Angeles in 1950, and the Daughters of Bilitis, established in San Francisco in 1955. These groups initially adopted cautious approaches, focusing on education and research rather than confrontation. Their publications - ONE Magazine, The Ladder, and Mattachine Review - provided rare lifelines to isolated gay people across the country. The leaders of these organizations, including Harry Hay, Del Martin, Phyllis Lyon, and Frank Kameny, developed the first sustained critique of anti-gay discrimination, challenging the medical establishment's pathologization of homosexuality and advocating for civil rights protections. By the mid-1960s, influenced by the civil rights movement and growing countercultural challenges to authority, the homophile movement began adopting more assertive tactics. In April 1965, Frank Kameny organized the first gay picket line in front of the White House, protesting discrimination in federal employment. Similar demonstrations followed at the Pentagon, State Department, and Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Though small in scale, with participants numbering only in the dozens, these actions represented a crucial shift from private advocacy to public visibility. The demonstrators, dressed conservatively in suits and dresses to counter stereotypes, carried signs reading "Homosexuals Ask for Equal Rights" and "Homosexual Citizens Want to Serve Their Country." Despite these early organizing efforts, the vast majority of gay Americans remained isolated and closeted on the eve of Stonewall. Most lived in fear of exposure, believing that their sexuality was a shameful secret that must be hidden at all costs. The psychological toll of this enforced invisibility was immense, contributing to high rates of alcoholism, depression, and suicide. Yet the seeds of resistance had been planted - in the courage of early activists, in the community spaces carved out against tremendous odds, and in the growing awareness that dignity required challenging rather than accommodating oppression. When the patrons of the Stonewall Inn finally fought back against police harassment in June 1969, they built upon these foundations while dramatically accelerating the pace and expanding the scope of gay liberation.

Chapter 2: Early Resistance: The Homophile Movement's Cautious Steps

Between 1950 and 1969, the homophile movement emerged as the first sustained organizational effort to improve the status of gay Americans. Founded in an era of McCarthyism and intense conformity, early homophile groups adopted cautious strategies focused on education, research, and private advocacy rather than public protest. The Mattachine Society, established in Los Angeles in 1950 by Harry Hay and other gay men, initially drew inspiration from Marxist analysis but quickly moved toward a more moderate approach after leadership changes in 1953. The Daughters of Bilitis (DOB), founded in 1955 by Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon as a social alternative to lesbian bars, similarly emphasized respectability and education. These pioneering organizations faced enormous challenges. Membership remained small, with most meetings attracting only a few dozen participants. Fear of exposure prevented many gay people from joining, while internal disagreements about goals and tactics created frequent splits. The organizations also struggled with limited resources - their newsletters were typically produced on mimeograph machines in members' homes, and leaders volunteered their time while maintaining regular jobs. Despite these obstacles, they created the first infrastructure for gay organizing, establishing chapters in major cities and developing communication networks that connected isolated individuals across the country. By the early 1960s, a new generation of activists began pushing the homophile movement toward more assertive approaches. Frank Kameny, fired from his position as an astronomer with the Army Map Service in 1957 for being gay, brought scientific precision and legal acumen to challenging government discrimination. After losing his court case against the Civil Service Commission, Kameny concluded that "we must become our own advocates" rather than relying on heterosexual experts or legal systems. He rejected the prevailing medical view of homosexuality as illness, declaring instead that "homosexuality is neither a sickness nor a disturbance of any kind, but merely a preference, an orientation, a propensity." This fundamental reframing - from pathology to natural variation - represented a crucial conceptual breakthrough. The influence of the Black civil rights movement became increasingly apparent in homophile tactics. In April 1965, inspired by civil rights demonstrations, Kameny organized the first gay picket line in front of the White House. Similar protests followed at the Pentagon, State Department, and United Nations. In Philadelphia, activists established the "Annual Reminder" - a demonstration held each July 4th at Independence Hall from 1965 to 1969. Though these protests were small and carefully controlled, with participants adhering to strict dress codes (suits and ties for men, dresses for women) to counter stereotypes, they represented a significant departure from previous strategies of private persuasion. On the West Coast, homophile activism took different forms. In San Francisco, the Society for Individual Rights (SIR), founded in 1964, combined political advocacy with community building, establishing a community center and organizing dances, bowling leagues, and other social events. This approach proved successful in building a larger membership base than previous organizations had achieved. Meanwhile, the Council on Religion and the Homosexual, formed in 1964, created unprecedented alliances between gay activists and progressive clergy. When police raided a fundraising ball for the Council on New Year's Eve 1964, the resulting publicity and support from religious leaders represented an important shift in public perception. By 1969, the homophile movement had achieved modest gains in visibility and legal protection, but remained far from its goal of full equality. Most Americans still viewed homosexuality as immoral or pathological, and discrimination remained pervasive. Yet the groundwork had been laid for a more radical phase of activism. As Frank Kameny later reflected, "We were building something that would eventually transform not just laws, but consciousness itself." That transformation would soon accelerate in ways few could have anticipated when patrons of a small Greenwich Village bar decided they would no longer submit to police harassment.

Chapter 3: The Uprising: Stonewall's Six Days of Rebellion (1969)

In the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar located at 53 Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. Such raids were routine occurrences in gay establishments of the era, typically resulting in arrests, public humiliation, and newspaper exposure for those caught in the dragnet. The Stonewall Inn itself was an unlikely setting for revolution - a dilapidated, Mafia-run establishment with watered-down drinks, no running water behind the bar, and minimal sanitation. Yet it offered something precious: a place where gay people could dance together, a rare commodity in 1969 New York. Its clientele was diverse - a mix of middle-class white gay men, street youth, drag queens, and a small number of lesbians. What made this particular raid different was the unexpected resistance it encountered. As police began arresting employees and patrons, a crowd gathered outside the bar. The standard procedure was for those released to disperse quickly, but this time they stayed, joined by passersby and people from neighboring bars. When a lesbian being escorted to a patrol car fought back against rough handling by officers, the tension escalated. Someone threw a coin at the police, then bottles and stones. The officers, outnumbered and surprised by the ferocity of the response, retreated inside the bar and called for reinforcements from the Tactical Patrol Force. The crowd's reaction reflected years of accumulated rage against police harassment. As one participant later recalled, "It was like all the anger we'd bottled up for years suddenly exploded." Sylvia Rivera, a young Puerto Rican street queen who became a key figure in the gay liberation movement, described her feelings that night: "I'm not missing a minute of this - it's the revolution!" The protesters used parking meters as battering rams, set trash cans on fire, and formed chorus lines to mock the police, chanting "We are the Stonewall girls!" This combination of anger and irreverent humor characterized the uprising, transforming a moment of oppression into an assertion of collective power. The riots continued sporadically for nearly a week, with the largest confrontations occurring on the first and second nights. News spread rapidly through Greenwich Village and beyond, drawing larger crowds each evening. All three major New York newspapers covered the uprising, bringing unprecedented visibility to gay resistance. The coverage, though often sensationalistic, marked a significant departure from the usual media silence about gay issues. Within days, graffiti appeared on the boarded-up windows of Stonewall with slogans like "THEY INVADED OUR RIGHTS" and "SUPPORT GAY POWER." These messages reflected a new political consciousness emerging from the spontaneous rebellion. What transformed Stonewall from a riot into a movement was the immediate organizational response. Within days, activists began distributing leaflets calling for gay people to "Get the Mafia out of the bars" and "Establish places for us to meet openly." On July 4, 1969, Craig Rodwell, owner of the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop, distributed flyers announcing a meeting to discuss establishing a "homosexual liberation front." Days later, the first meeting of the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) took place at Washington Square Methodist Church, marking the beginning of a new, more radical phase of gay activism. The Stonewall uprising did not emerge from a vacuum. It occurred against the backdrop of broader social upheaval - the civil rights movement, anti-war protests, feminist activism, and the counterculture's challenge to traditional values. Many younger gay people had participated in these other movements, absorbing their tactics and revolutionary rhetoric. What made Stonewall revolutionary was not just the fact of resistance - there had been earlier instances of gay people fighting back against police harassment - but its timing and aftermath. The uprising occurred at a moment when many gay people were primed to reject accommodation and demand fundamental change, and it catalyzed an organizational response that would transform gay politics in America and eventually worldwide.

Chapter 4: From Riot to Revolution: Birth of the Gay Liberation Front

In the weeks following the Stonewall uprising, a new kind of gay politics emerged that sharply distinguished itself from the cautious approach of the homophile movement. The Gay Liberation Front (GLF), formed in July 1969, took its name from the National Liberation Front of Vietnam and other revolutionary movements, signaling its identification with global struggles against oppression. Unlike the homophile organizations with their formal structures and focus on civil rights, GLF embraced a revolutionary analysis that linked gay oppression to broader systems of capitalism, racism, and imperialism. GLF meetings, initially held at the Alternate University in Greenwich Village, operated on principles of participatory democracy, with no formal leadership and decisions made by consensus. This structure reflected the influence of New Left organizing but often resulted in chaotic, lengthy discussions. Jim Fouratt, a veteran of antiwar activism who became a key GLF organizer, described the atmosphere: "We were creating something entirely new - not just an organization but a community and a vision of liberation that went beyond civil rights to challenge the very foundations of gender and sexuality." The politics of GLF were explicitly radical. Its founding statement declared: "We are a revolutionary group of men and women formed with the realization that complete sexual liberation for all people cannot come about unless existing social institutions are abolished." This comprehensive critique distinguished GLF from single-issue approaches. GLF members participated in antiwar demonstrations, supported the Black Panthers, and aligned themselves with women's liberation. This multi-issue politics reflected their understanding that, as one slogan put it, "No one is free until everyone is free." Consciousness-raising became a central practice within GLF, borrowed from the women's movement. In small groups, members shared personal experiences of oppression and internalized shame, transforming private pain into political understanding. These sessions helped participants recognize that their problems stemmed not from individual pathology but from systemic discrimination. As Karla Jay, a lesbian feminist active in GLF, explained: "We were unlearning self-hatred and discovering that the personal truly is political." GLF created alternative institutions to serve community needs. They established a newspaper called Come Out!, organized dances that provided safe social spaces, and formed communes where members could live collectively. In New York, the GLF "Aquarius Cell" organized weekly dances at Alternate University that became important fundraisers and community-building events. These initiatives reflected GLF's commitment to creating a gay counterculture rather than simply seeking integration into mainstream society. By early 1970, GLF chapters had formed in cities across the United States and internationally. The rapid spread of gay liberation groups demonstrated the widespread resonance of this new approach. However, tensions within GLF were already becoming apparent. Some members, particularly gay men, grew frustrated with what they saw as excessive focus on non-gay issues. Others, especially lesbians, criticized persistent sexism within the group. These conflicts would soon lead to new organizations that would reshape the movement's trajectory while building on GLF's revolutionary energy.

Chapter 5: Diverging Paths: Radical Liberation vs. Civil Rights Approaches

By late 1969, significant fractures had emerged within the gay liberation movement, reflecting different priorities and political perspectives. In December 1969, a group of GLF members in New York broke away to form the Gay Activists Alliance (GAA), focusing exclusively on gay rights rather than broader revolutionary politics. Arthur Bell, one of GAA's founders, explained their rationale: "We need an organization that deals specifically with gay oppression. We can be allies with other movements without losing our focus." GAA adopted a more structured approach than GLF, with formal leadership positions and parliamentary procedures. They pioneered confrontational but non-violent tactics called "zaps" - targeted political actions designed to gain media attention and pressure public officials. When Mayor John Lindsay refused to meet with gay representatives, GAA members disrupted his appearances and infiltrated his events until he was forced to acknowledge their demands. This strategic militancy proved effective in gaining concessions from political leaders while maintaining a clear focus on gay civil rights. Meanwhile, lesbian feminists increasingly found themselves caught between sexism in gay male spaces and homophobia in women's liberation groups. In May 1970, the "Lavender Menace" action at the Second Congress to Unite Women brought lesbian issues forcefully into feminist consciousness. Wearing "Lavender Menace" T-shirts, lesbian activists took over the stage and spoke about their experiences of exclusion from the women's movement. This intervention led to greater recognition of lesbian concerns within feminism, though tensions persisted. Many lesbian feminists ultimately formed separate organizations like Radicalesbians, developing a distinct politics that addressed the intersection of sexism and homophobia. People of color within the movement faced additional challenges. Many Black and Latino gay activists felt marginalized in predominantly white gay organizations while also confronting homophobia in racial justice movements. Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, both veterans of Stonewall, formed Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR) to address the specific needs of homeless transgender youth. STAR House provided shelter and support for young people rejected by their families and often excluded from other gay organizations. These initiatives highlighted the diversity of needs within the LGBTQ community and the limitations of approaches that did not address intersecting oppressions. The older homophile organizations struggled to adapt to this new landscape. Some, like the Mattachine Society chapters in New York and Washington D.C., attempted to incorporate elements of liberation politics while maintaining their focus on legal reform and education. Others, unable to compete with the energy and appeal of the new organizations, gradually disbanded. Foster Gunnison Jr., who had been a mainstay of the North American Conference of Homophile Organizations, lamented what he saw as the "disorder" and "alien issues" embraced by GLF. Yet even Gunnison recognized that the movement needed "radical-militant tactics" to achieve progress. These divergent approaches reflected fundamental questions about the movement's goals and strategies. Was the aim assimilation into existing social structures or their radical transformation? Should gay activism focus narrowly on sexual orientation or address multiple forms of oppression? Could a movement encompass the needs of middle-class professionals, street youth, drag queens, and lesbian feminists? There were no easy answers, but the creative tension between different approaches ultimately strengthened the movement by expanding its reach and deepening its analysis of oppression and liberation. As the movement prepared for its first anniversary commemoration of Stonewall, these competing visions would shape how gay liberation presented itself to the broader public.

Chapter 6: Creating Visibility: The First Pride Marches (1970)

In the spring of 1970, Craig Rodwell proposed a bold idea: a march to commemorate the first anniversary of the Stonewall uprising. Working with a small committee that included Foster Gunnison Jr. from the homophile movement and representatives from various gay liberation organizations, Rodwell planned what was then called "Christopher Street Liberation Day." Unlike the Annual Reminder pickets with their dress codes and orderly demeanor, this would be a celebration of gay pride and visibility, with participants encouraged to be themselves rather than conform to mainstream standards. On June 28, 1970, several thousand people gathered in Greenwich Village for the first Pride march. The crowd was diverse - men and women, young and old, in business attire and flamboyant drag. Marchers carried signs declaring "Gay Power" and "Better Blatant Than Latent." As they made their way up Sixth Avenue to Central Park, their numbers grew as onlookers joined the procession. Sylvia Rivera, leading chants at the front of the march, recalled: "I never felt so free, so powerful. For once, we weren't hiding or apologizing." Simultaneously, similar marches took place in Los Angeles, Chicago, and San Francisco, establishing what would become an annual tradition in cities worldwide. The Los Angeles march faced particular challenges when Police Chief Ed Davis refused to grant a permit, comparing it to "a parade of thieves and burglars." Organizers sued and won the right to march just hours before the event was scheduled to begin. These coordinated actions demonstrated the movement's growing national reach and organizational capacity. The marches generated unprecedented media coverage, much of it surprisingly neutral or positive. The New York Times reported on the event with a straightforward account that noted the festive atmosphere and diverse participation. This marked a significant shift from the pathologizing coverage that had characterized earlier reporting on homosexuality. The visibility achieved through the march helped normalize gay identity for many Americans who had never knowingly encountered openly gay people. For participants, the experience was transformative. Marching openly through city streets, many felt a profound sense of liberation and community. Yvonne Flowers, a Black lesbian who joined the New York march, later described it as a turning point: "It was clear to me from then on that it could no longer be just about partying. I had to save and protect myself by committing to my own liberation." Countless others had similar epiphanies, realizing they were part of a movement larger than themselves. The success of the first Pride marches demonstrated the effectiveness of the new liberation approach. By emphasizing pride rather than pleas for tolerance, by celebrating difference rather than downplaying it, the movement tapped into a powerful current of self-affirmation. As Jim Fouratt observed while watching the marchers stream into Central Park: "I saw what we had done. It was remarkable. There we were in all of our diversity." That diversity - of tactics, identities, and visions - would prove to be the movement's greatest strength as it continued to evolve in the years ahead.

Chapter 7: Legacy: How Stonewall Transformed American Society

The gay liberation movement that emerged from Stonewall fundamentally transformed American society, though in ways that were neither simple nor complete. By the mid-1970s, the most radical phase of the movement had given way to a more pragmatic focus on civil rights and cultural visibility. Organizations like the National Gay Task Force (founded in 1973) and Lambda Legal Defense Fund developed sophisticated strategies for legal and political change, while an expanding network of community centers, businesses, and publications created infrastructure for gay life outside the closet. These efforts yielded significant victories. By 1975, civil service bans on gay employment had been overturned, sodomy laws had been repealed in several states, and dozens of cities had passed gay rights ordinances. The American Psychiatric Association's 1973 decision to remove homosexuality from its list of mental disorders eliminated a major justification for discrimination. Gay characters began appearing in films and television shows, albeit often in stereotypical roles. These changes made it possible for increasing numbers of gay people to live openly, particularly in urban centers with substantial gay communities. However, these advances triggered a powerful backlash. In 1977, Anita Bryant's "Save Our Children" campaign successfully repealed a gay rights ordinance in Dade County, Florida, launching a wave of similar repeals across the country. Conservative religious organizations mobilized against "gay rights," framing homosexuality as a threat to family values and children's safety. This opposition revealed the limits of the movement's progress and highlighted continuing challenges in changing deeply held cultural attitudes about sexuality and gender. The AIDS crisis that emerged in the early 1980s would dramatically transform the movement once again. The epidemic devastated gay male communities, wiping out a generation of leaders and activists. Government indifference to the suffering of gay men revealed the limits of the progress that had been made. Yet the crisis also catalyzed new forms of activism, exemplified by organizations like ACT UP that combined the confrontational tactics of gay liberation with sophisticated media strategies and scientific literacy. The AIDS crisis forced a renewed focus on healthcare, challenging the movement to address issues of life and death rather than just civil rights. By the 1990s and 2000s, the movement had developed multiple, sometimes competing strands. Queer Nation embraced confrontational tactics and reclaimed the term "queer" as a deliberately provocative identity. The Human Rights Campaign pursued legislative change through conventional political channels. Meanwhile, the push for same-sex marriage - initially controversial even within the LGBTQ community - gained momentum, culminating in the Supreme Court's Obergefell decision in 2015, which legalized same-sex marriage nationwide. Perhaps the most enduring legacy of Stonewall and the gay liberation movement is the transformation of consciousness it initiated - both for LGBTQ people themselves and for American society more broadly. The insistence on visibility and voice - the refusal to remain silent or hidden - fundamentally challenged the social contract that had required gay people to remain invisible as the price of tolerance. By breaking that contract, the movement opened possibilities not just for legal equality but for genuine social transformation. As one veteran of Stonewall reflected fifty years later: "We didn't just want a place at the table. We wanted to build a new table altogether."

Summary

The Stonewall uprising and the gay liberation movement it catalyzed represent one of the most remarkable transformations in American social history. In just a few short years, a community that had been forced to live in shadows and shame emerged into the public sphere with unprecedented visibility and political power. This transformation was not merely tactical but philosophical, shifting from a plea for tolerance based on the premise that "we are just like you except for what we do in bed" to an assertion of gay pride that celebrated difference and demanded the freedom to live authentically. The movement challenged not just specific laws and policies but the entire system of gender and sexual norms that had marginalized LGBTQ people. The legacy of this pivotal moment continues to shape contemporary politics and culture. The tension between assimilationist and liberationist approaches remains evident in debates about marriage equality, transgender rights, and intersectional activism. The movement's history offers crucial lessons about social change: that progress comes through both inside advocacy and outside pressure; that the most marginalized members of a community often lead its most transformative moments; and that genuine liberation requires addressing interconnected systems of oppression rather than single issues in isolation. As new generations confront ongoing challenges to LGBTQ equality, they draw inspiration and strategic wisdom from those who first dared to proclaim, in the streets of Greenwich Village and beyond, that gay is good, that silence equals death, and that another world is possible.

About Author

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Martin Duberman

Martin Bauml Duberman is a scholar and playwright. He graduated from Yale in 1952 and earned a Ph.D. in American history from Harvard in 1957. Duberman left his tenured position at Princeton University in 1971 to become Distinguished Professor of History at Lehman College in New York City.

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