Arts & Entertainment
Steps to Stonewall
Early ‘60s D.C. protests laid groundwork for riots, activists say
Editor’s note: This story is reprinted from the June 5, 2009 edition of the Blade.
The widely held notion that 1969’s Stonewall riots in New York’s Greenwich Village were the start of the modern gay rights movement is inaccurate local activists say as they were meeting and picketing years before.
“When people say as you so often hear, that the gay movement started with Stonewall, if I have a chance under the circumstances in which it’s said, I invariably correct them very insistently,” says Frank Kameny, 84, a legendary gay activist widely recognized as one of the great leaders of the homophile movement, as it was then known. “And point out that the movement was just sort of 20 years old already and there was a groundwork.”
Kameny and others who were involved in the early years agree, though, that Stonewall’s influence can’t be overstated, through its significance wasn’t immediately apparent.
Kameny, Lilli Vincenz, Paul Kuntzler, the late Barbara Gittings, the late Jack Nichols and others had been involved in East Coast gay activism for years. An April 1965 picket at the White House by the Kameny-and-Nichols-founded Mattachine Society of Washington was the first of its kind, but involved a small group dressed — at Kameny’s insistence — in shirts and ties for the men and dresses or skirts for the women.
“Things culturally were very, very different then,” Kameny says, describing the scene of an early picket at the Civil Service Commission to protect the inability of gays to get security clearances. “In 1965, men’s shirts were white. Period. There were no other kinds. Dress was very conservative. It changed over the next half decade, changed very significantly … but in terms of those days, if we’re gonna picket to be employed, we have to look employable by their standards.”
A handful of gay groups existed on the East Coast and met regularly as the East Coast Homophile Organizations (ECHO). Those involved say it was a different world.
“Most gay people at the time were not interested in any kind of civil rights activity,” Vincenz, 71, says. “So we were seen as kind of Don Quixotes chasing windmills. I felt they could at least give us some money, but they didn’t do that either. They were worried about their careers and they thought it was a lost cause. They couldn’t imagine it. So I was seen as a crusader and so we were a small group.”
Kameny says it soon became obvious from ECHO gatherings that D.C.’s Mattachine Society was a trendsetter taking on the Civil Service Commission, the qualification of homosexuality as an illness by the American Psychiatric Association, security clearances, the military gay ban and more.
“All those things we were doing, nobody else was doing to any meaningful extent anywhere,” Kameny says. “We had ECHO meetings in October of each year in ’63, ’64 and ’65 and monthly meetings here in Washington, Philadelphia and New York over that period and the Washington Mattachine was doing things and reporting to everyone else what we were doing. Philadelphia had two women … the New York Mattachine had monthly meetings but they were just meetings, they weren’t accomplishing anything particularly. The things that were being done were being done by us here.”
Kuntzler met Kameny one night at the Chicken Hut, a gay D.C. bar, in late February of ’62 and found a kindred spirit. He remembers the sign he made to carry in the first White House protest.
“Jack (Nichols) saw my poster and wanted it, so I let him carry it,” Kuntzler, 67, says with a chuckle. “He ended up in the front of a photo carrying my sign.”
“That was the first time we had any visibility,” Vincenz, who’ll be honored as a Pride “superhero” with Kameny at this year’s Capital Pride parade, says. “Confidential magazine picked us up and put our pictures everywhere. … We’d never had any visibility before that actually.”
One of ECHO’s signature yearly events was an Independence Day protest each year at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. The one held in 1969, though, which turned out to be ECHO’s last, was markedly different. Stonewall had happened less than a week before and changed things forever.
None of the Mattachine activists were involved in the Stonewall riots. Because it was a spontaneous event that quickly gathered steam during a then par-for-the-course police raid on the gay bar, the only people involved were those who happened to be at the Stonewall Inn, a seedy, Mafia-owned dive that attracted drag queens and homeless gay youth, that night. But they heard about it almost instantly.
“We were all in contact through ECHO, so we heard immediately of what had happened,” Vincenz says. “This was a big event that somebody had, so many people fought back against the police.”
Kameny doesn’t remember exactly whom he heard the news from first but says he was “elated.”
In Philadelphia just days later at the ECHO protest, it was clear the formal Mattachine members had some new allies.
“It looked very different,” Vincenz says. “People didn’t care about any dress rules. The Stonewall crowd came over and there we had, we weren’t supposed to have beards and sandals but now we had beards and sandals. I remember two women, black, white, holding a baby and holding hands. It was just new. And there was some of kind of disgruntlement by some of the old guard. This was a new influx of grassroots activists.”
While the Independence Day picket seemed slightly different, it became apparent that things were much different on June 28, 1970 for the first Christopher Street Gay Liberation Day March, a one-year commemoration of Stonewall that morphed into the annual Pride parades.
Kameny, who attended, was dumbfounded by the turnout.
“I remember … seeing this vast horde of people and I was absolutely speechless,” he says. “Flowing in like a river into the Sheep Meadow in Central Park. If nothing else, there it was in front of one’s eyes. It would have been impossible in terms of anything movement-wise prior to that. We had clearly overstepped a line. We had transitioned.”
Cliff Witt, a longtime local D.C. gay activist, accompanied Vincenz to the parade as a camera assistant for the film she made called “Gay and Proud.”
“I had heard of Stonewall before, but I don’t remember how I first heard,” he says. “I had many trepidations. You could not be gay in those days. Lilli was out through her Mattachine work. I agreed that I would be like the press, running along side, but not part of it.”
Back home in Washington, huge changes were underway. The Mattachine Society was winding down, eclipsed somewhat by the newly formed Gay Activist Alliance (GAA, which became the Gay & Lesbian Activist Alliance in the ‘80s), a spin-off of a similar New York group.
Stonewall’s significance is almost universally recognized but it’s not the whole story players active then say.
Kuntzler says Stonewall-type events were also brewing in Washington around that time. He recalls a May 1969 night at D.C.’s Plus One, a gay bar on 8th Street, S.E. It didn’t turn violent and wasn’t as dramatic as Stonewall, but the long line of gay men waiting to get in that Thursday night didn’t turn and run when a mammoth flock of police cars arrived.
“They hardly paid any attention (to the cops),” Kuntzler says. “It just didn’t work, so the cops went away. This was a liberation in a way, too. It was indicative of a profound psychological shift that had started.”
“It was like Stonewall started the mainstream gays,” Witt says. “It sort of started the organization of the gay liberation movement as we came to know it. … It became more militant and demanding and in your face. We weren’t polite any longer.”
Kameny puts it succinctly: “I feel we created a mindset without which Stonewall would not have occurred at all.”
Movies
‘It’s Dorothy’ traces lasting influence of a cultural icon
Thoughtful and scholarly with a celebratory tribute to the character
There was a time, according to queer lore, when gay men referred to themselves as a “Friend of Dorothy” as a coded way of communicating their sexual orientation to each other without fear of “the straights” catching on. The reference, of course, is a winking nod to the love and affinity felt by the community toward the main character of L. Frank Baum’s 1900 novel “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” – especially as personified by Judy Garland in the classic 1939 big screen musical version from MGM.
It may be that the origins of this phrase have been mythologized, exaggerated and/or retro-fitted to convey the underground nature of the queer community – as, indeed, is suggested in “It’s Dorothy!” (the new documentary from filmmaker Jeffrey McHale, now streaming on Peacock), which concerns itself with the enduring cultural legacy of this quintessentially American fictional heroine. But regardless of whether it truly served as a sort of “secret password,” it has come to be embraced as a part of the LGBTQ lexicon. As “campy” as the reference may be, being a “Friend of Dorothy” is now a proudly held communal watchword not just for gay men, but for an entire rainbow community – and McHale’s fizzy-yet-reverential exploration taps into all the reasons how and why this fictional Kansas farm girl has come to be a touchstone for so many by tracking her journey across popular culture over the 125 years since she first sprung to life in the pages of Baum’s timeless literary fantasy.
Calling on the commentary of cultural figures – writers, performers, and other artists whose paths have been, by fate or by personal design, have become associated with Dorothy’s legacy across pop culture, as well as the observations of scholars and historians that provide insight on the appeal that has made her into a sort of avatar for anyone who feels marginalized in a wild and self-contradictory world – and enriched by a plentiful trove of clips from the myriad incarnations through which she has become embedded into the American pop culture imagination, it’s a documentary that leans heavily into the notion that Baum’s timeless heroine remains relevant through her relatability. Given a minimum of descriptors by the author who created her and portrayed in the public imagination through a widely divergent array of social viewpoints, she represents a kind of “blank page” on which we can imprint ourselves; but at the same time, there is something about her – her nebulous status as presumed orphan, raised by an aunt and uncle who don’t quite understand her and thrust without warning into a world of contradictory rules and unfair expectations – that speaks directly to those who feel like outsiders, or who dream of freedom, acceptance, and personal agency beyond the proverbial rainbow.
Naturally, McHale imprints on Dorothy’s most iconic incarnation off the pages of Baum’s books; the cultural legacy of Dorothy cannot be separated from that of her most iconic representative – Garland, of course – and his documentary easily makes the case that, through her association with the character, this beloved actress who was constantly judged and frequently stigmatized throughout a career that took her through the heights of public success to the depths of personal heartbreak, all while living under the constant scrutiny of Hollywood’s publicity-and-propaganda machine. As a result, she somehow merged identities with her most famous role: Judy was Dorothy, but Dorothy was Judy, too. “It’s Dorothy” takes advantage of this almost mystical transfiguration to reflect on the qualities that make this pairing of actress and character so deeply complementary, while also using it to illuminate why the empathy which binds her with the queer community is so tightly connected to the qualities she shared with the non-descript but unforgettable character that would make her into an undisputed icon.
As famous as Garland’s Dorothy is, however, it’s not the end-and-be-all of Baum’s beloved heroine, and much of McHale’s movie turns its attention to the numerous other performers who have taken on the role throughout the decades, in various incarnations of the “Wizard of Oz” mythos – particularly through “The Wiz,” the 1974 Broadway musical that reframes and remolds the story (and Dorothy) through the lens of Black culture and experience, and other iterations that have emerged throughout pop culture as a testament to her enduring appeal. Indeed, the movie brings illumination to the way that Dorothy – and the “Oz” mythos in general – has become a touchstone within Black community culture as well, and how artists (like musician Rufus Wainwright, gay counterculture icon John Waters, comedian/actor Margaret Cho, comedian/writer/director Lena Waithe, and “Wicked” author Gregory Maguire, all of whom participate in the film’s conversation) have found inspiration in the character and her story, which has helped to shape their own creative lives.
Thoughtful and scholarly while also delivering a celebratory tribute to the character (and the outsider qualities which make her beloved by so many who can relate to her sense of longing and the call she feels to journey “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”), “It’s Dorothy” provides a respectful yet candid examination of the lasting impact of Baum’s iconic character and the world he created around her in our popular imagination, not just as queer people but as a larger American community. It’s an entertaining journey into cultural history, which connects the dots to give us insight on why Dorothy and her adventures continue to speak to us with such profound resonance. It’s also entertaining in a way that feels like a “guilty pleasure” but is validated by the reverence it exudes for its subject, and loaded with memorably evocative clips from movies, shows, and performances from across the decades; and while it may begin to feel a bit repetitive, at points, as it examines the various actresses who have played Dorothy over the years (and the meaning they have found in her that connects her to their own lives), it nevertheless maintains a sincerity of feeling that keeps us invested.
And just in case you might feel like the times are too somber for a nostalgic stroll down the “yellow brick road” of cultural memories, be aware that McHale also explores the ominous presence of the Wizard himself in these tales, a phony who pretends at power while hiding behind a benevolent mask to maintain it.
As if the “Wicked” movies didn’t make the point clearly enough, we’re in a world that’s a lot more Oz-like than we would like to imagine, and it’s hard not to wish we had the ability to go “home” simply by tapping our heels together in fabulous footwear. “It’s Dorothy!” conveys that longing in a way that feels light-hearted and joyful, and reminds us why being a “friend of Dorothy” has been and continues to be a resonant way of identifying ourselves in a world full of wizards, witches, and “twisters” that can carry us far away from home.
And if you want to follow it up with an impromptu rewatch of the 1939 classic, we wouldn’t blame you. It’s a movie that feels, to so many of us, like home – and there’s no place like it.
Arts & Entertainment
The very few queer highlights of the Oscars
Streisand’s live performance, a shocking tie, and more
LOS ANGELES — While Sunday’s Academy Awards saw the expected winners “One Battle After Another” and “Sinners” nab a collective 10 Oscars throughout the evening, dominating most of the major categories, there were a few moments for queer film fans to celebrate.
During the ceremony’s prolonged and emotional In Memoriam segment, which paid tribute to Robert Redford, Rob Reiner, and Catherine O’Hara, queer icon Barbra Streisand went on stage and gave a rare live performance of “The Way We Were” as a tribute to Redford, who died last September at the age of 83. Before singing, Streisand said, “Now, Bob had real backbone on and off the screen. He spoke up to defend freedom of the press, protect the environment, and encouraged new voices at his Sundance Institute — some of whom are up for Oscars tonight, which is so great. He was thoughtful and bold.”
Both “I Lied to You” from “Sinners” and “Golden” from “KPop Demon Hunters” were performed live; Alabama Shakes front woman Brittany Howard performed during the evening’s powerful rendition of “Sinners’” “pierce the veil” scene. “Golden” ended up winning the Best Original Song award.
One of the most shocking moments of the night arrived early on when Kumail Nanjiani presented the Best Live Action short category, which was a tie between “The Singers” and “Two People Exchanging Saliva” — only the seventh tie in Oscars history (one of which involved Streisand’s 1969 win for “Funny Girl”). The latter short, which is currently streaming on The New Yorker, is described as “a dystopian version of Paris where kissing is forbidden and purchases are made through small acts of violence” and follows the unexpected connection between two women.
When accepting the award, “Two People Exchanging Saliva” director and producer Natalie Musteata said: “Thank you to the Academy for supporting a film that is weird, and that is queer, and that is made by a majority of women!”
“One Battle After Another’s” editor, Andy Jurgensen (who collaborated with Paul Thomas Anderson on “Licorice Pizza” and “Phantom Thread”), kissed his husband before going on stage to accept his award for film editing. He said, “To my partner, Bill, who brings so much joy to my life every day.”
Overall, the 2026 award season did not feature many queer films or actors in the lineup, and that was reflected in both the Oscar nominees and eventual winners. Smaller award shows like the Gotham Awards and the Film Independent Spirit Awards provided opportunities for indies like “Sorry, Baby,” “Twinless,” and “Lurker” to get proper recognition. “One Battle After Another” won Best Picture and Best Director for Paul Thomas Anderson; “Sinners” star Michael B. Jordan won Best Actor; and “Hamnet’s” Jessie Buckley won Best Actress.
The annual fantasy, comics and science fiction convention Awesome Con was held at the Walter E. Washington Convention Center on March 13-15. Featured guests included openly gay actor, author and activist, George Takei. The convention included LGBTQ panels and a “Pride Alley” with LGBTQ-specific booths in the exhibit hall.
(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)
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