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.”
‘A Wrinkle in Time’
Through July 20
Arena Stage
1101 Sixth St., S.W.
Tickets range from $59-$209
Arenastage.org
Currently at Arena Stage, talented out actor and singer Taylor Iman Jones is rekindling an old friendship with an adored character of fiction.
Broadway vet Jones is starring as 13-year-old Meg Murry in “A Wrinkle in Time,” the world-premiere musical adaptation of Madeleine L’Engle’s same-titled book.
For many readers, especially women, the classic 1962 young adult novel, was their first foray into sci-fi, particularly one with a female protagonist.
The story centers on Meg, an awkward schoolgirl whose physicist father has mysteriously disappeared. Now, Meg, her popular friend Calvin, and smart younger brother Charles Wallace are tasked with moving through time and space to find him. Along the way they encounter adventure and evil.
For Jones, 33, playing 13-year-old Meg feels freeing in ways. She says, “As you get older, you’re told to grow up, so I like letting go of some of that. To feel feelings in their rawest form and to tap back into that is fun. I like the spontaneity. There are highs and lows to revisit.”
Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, Jones began piano lessons at just six and soon added band and plays to their pursuits. Following high school, she made a deep dive into California theater for seven years before making the big move to New York in 2017 where after just two months she was singing on Broadway.
The determined and appealing Jones, who lives in New York with their partner, boasts an impressive bio. She has appeared on Broadway as Catherine Parr, Henry VIII’s sixth and final wife in Six, and in the original casts of “Head Over Heels” and “Groundhog Day.” She’s been seen in national tours of “Hamilton” and “American Idiot.”
WASHINGTON BLADE: It seems “A Wrinkle in Time” and Meg mean a lot to a lot of people.
TAYLOR IMAN JONES: The book tells the story of a girl with so much undiscovered power who’s accomplishing things she never imagined that she could.
BLADE: Can you relate?
JONES: Meg wears her emotions on her sleeve. I can certainly relate to that. I’m a Pisces. Sometimes being hyperemotional and very empathetic can feel like a burden, but as I’ve matured, I have realized that it’s not a bad quality. And it’s something I’ve learned to harness and to enjoy. I love that I can play a role like Meg in front of thousands of people.
BLADE: Was “Wrinkle in Time” a book you knew well?
JONES: Oh yeah, it’s a favorite book that lives in my heart and my mind. It’s one of the first books that taught me about the adventure of reading.
BLADE: And playing a favorite character must be a kick.
JONES: It really is.
BLADE: Meg is a big part in a big show.
JONES: This musical is huge. They’re traveling through space and meeting people on different planets. 20-person cast. 30 songs in the show. Quite the undertaking and I’m proud of us. I’m on stage for the entire musical and I sing four or five numbers.
As a mezzo soprano I guess you’d say I have the luxury of being able to do a lot of musicals that span a lot of different genres: rock musical, pop musical, and standards. “A Wrinkle in Time” is contemporary musical theater.
For me, singing is probably the least difficult part of the show. What’s harder for me is the way Meg experiences trauma; I need to be careful when I’m screaming and yelling.
BLADE: It seems mostly women have been involved in making this production happen (book by Lauren Yee; music and lyrics by Heather Christian; directed by Lee Sunday Evans; and choreography by Ani Taj.)
JONES: It’s true, the director, writer, etc., and most of our producers are all women. This doesn’t happen most of the time. For me it means new ideas and fresh energy, and pushing the limits of musical theater.
It’s also created a wonderful space in which to work. It can be more generous, and understanding. And centering the story on a young girl is something we can all relate to.
BLADE: Will “A Wrinkle in Time” resonate with queer theatergoers and their families?
JONES: I think so, especially on the heels of pride month. It’s truly a show for all ages about finding your inner strength and fighting for the things that you love; not letting evil win over the power of good, and not just for yourself but for those around you too.
Movies
Two new documentaries highlight trans history
‘I’m Your Venus’ on Netflix, ‘Enigma’ on HBO/Max
One of the most telling things about queer history is that so much of it has to be gleaned by reading between the lines.
There are the obvious tentpoles: the activism, the politics, the names and accomplishments of key cultural heroes. Without the stories of lived experience behind them, however, these things are mere information; to connect with these facts on a personal level requires relatable everyday detail — and for most of our past, such things could only be discussed in secret.
In recent decades, thanks to increased societal acceptance, there’s been a new sense of academic “legitimacy” bestowed upon the scholarship of queer history, and much has been illuminated that was once kept in the dark. The once-repressed expressions of our queer ancestors now allow us to see our reflections staring back at us through the centuries, and connect us to them in a way that feels personal.
One of the most effective formats for building that connection, naturally enough, is documentary filmmaking — an assertion illustrated by two new docs, each focused on figures whose lives are intertwined with the evolution of modern trans culture.
“I’m Your Venus,” now streaming on Netfllix, bookends an iconic documentary from the past: “Paris is Burning (1990), Jennie Livingston’s seminal portrait of New York City’s ballroom scene of the ‘80s, In that film, a young trans woman named Venus Xtravaganz delivered first-person confessionals for the camera that instantly won the hearts of audiences — only for them to break with the shattering revelation that she had been murdered before the film’s completion.
That 1988 murder was never solved, but Venus — whose surname was Pellagatti before she joined the House of Xtravaganza – was never forgotten; four decades later, her family (or rather, families) want some answers, and filmmaker Kimberly Reed follows her biological siblings — Joe, Louie, and John, Jr. — as they connect with her ballroom clan in an effort to bring closure to her loss; with the help of trans advocates, they succeed in getting her murder case re-opened, and work to achieve a posthumous legal name change to honor her memory and solidify her legacy.
It’s a remarkably kind and unapologetically sentimental chronicle of events, especially considering the brutal circumstances of Venus’ killing — a brutal death by strangling, almost certainly perpetrated by a transphobic “john” who left her body hidden under a mattress in a seedy hotel — and her decision to leave her birth family for a chosen one. As to the latter, there are no hard feelings among her blood relatives, who assert — mostly convincingly — that they always accepted her for who she was; one senses that a lot of inner growth has contributed to the Pallagatti clan’s mission, which admittedly sometimes resembles an attempt at making amends. For the murder itself, it’s best to leave that part of the story unspoiled — though it’s fair to say that any answers which may or may not have been found are overshadowed by the spirit of love, dignity, and determination that underscore the search for them, however performative some of it might occasionally feel. Ultimately, Venus is still the star of the show, her authentic and unvarnished truth remaining eloquent despite the passage of more than 40 years.
Perhaps more layered and certainly more provocative, documentarian Zackary Drucker’s “Enigma” (now streaming on HBO/Max) delves further back into trans history, tracing the parallel lives of two women — trans pioneer and activist April Ashley and self-styled European “disco queen” Amanda Lear — whose paths to fame both began in Paris of the 1950s, where they were friends and performers together at Le Carrousel, a notorious-and-popular drag cabaret that attracted the glitterati of Europe.
Ashley — who died at 86 in 2021 — was a former merchant seaman from Liverpool whose “underground” success as a drag performer funded a successful gender reassignment surgery and led to a career as a fashion model, as well as her elevation-by-wedding into British high society — though the marriage was annulled after she was publicly outed by a friend, despite her husband’s awareness of her trans identity at the time of their marriage. She went on to become a formidable advocate for trans equality — and for environmental organizations like Greenpeace — who would earn an MBE for her efforts, and wrote an autobiography in which she shared candid stories about her experiences and relationships as part of the “exotic” Parisian scene from which she launched her later life.
The other figure profiled by “Enigma” — and possibly the one to which its title most directly refers — is Amanda Lear, who also (“allegedly”) started her rise to fame at Le Carrousel before embarking on a later career that would include fashion modeling, pop stardom, and a long-term friendship with surrealist painter Salvador Dalí. A self-proclaimed “disco queen” whose success in Europe never quite spread to American culture, despite highly public relationships and collaborations with musical icons like David Bowie and Roxy Music, Lear’s trajectory has taken her in a different direction than Ashley’s. In the film’s extensive live interview segments, she repeatedly denies and discredits suggestions of her trans identity, sticking to a long-maintained script in which any and all details of her origins are obscured and denied as a matter of course.
At times, it’s almost amusing to observe her performative (there’s that word again) denials, which occasionally approach a kind of deliberate “camp” absurdity in their adamance, but there’s also a kind of grudging respect that’s inspired by the sheer doggedness with which she insists on controlling the narrative — however misguided it may seem to those of us on the outside. Debate about her gender-at-birth has continued for decades, even predating Ashley’s book, so the movie’s “revelations” are hardly new, nor even particularly controversial — but her insistence on discrediting them provides sharp contrast with the casual candor of Ashley’s elegantly confident persona, underscoring the different responses to transphobia that would direct the separate lives of both these former (alleged) friends.
For what it’s worth, Lear sent an email to the Washington Post, calling the movie “a pathetic piece of trash” and denying not just her trans identity but any friendship or association with Ashley, despite ample photographic and anecdotal evidence to the contrary — and while it might come across as callous or desperate for her to maintain the presumed façade, it’s a powerful testament to the power of cultural bullying to suppress the truth of queer existence; the contrast between the life each of these women chose to live speaks volumes, and makes “Enigma” into one of the most interesting — and truthful — trans documentaries to emerge thus far.
While neither film presents a comprehensive or definitive view of trans experience (is such a thing even possible, really?), both offer a perspective on the past which both honors the truth of queer existence and illustrates the ways in which the stigma imposed by mainstream prejudice can shape our responses to the identity through which the public perceives us.
That makes them both worth your attention, especially when our queer history — and the acknowledgement of trans existence itself — is at risk or being rolled right back up into the closet.
Sports
Trans cyclist’s victory sparks outrage in conservative media
Katheryn Phillips is originally from DC
On the heels of UPenn erasing the record of the first openly transgender NCAA Division I All-American swimmer and the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision to tackle bans on trans student-athletes, right wing media is now all hot and bothered about the latest trans woman who won a cycling championship — even though she competed according to the rules.
On Tuesday, 58-year-old Katheryn Phillips finished first in USA Cycling’s Lyons Masters National Championship race for women aged 55-59, with a time of 1:42:10, according to the official results posted by the organization. The record shows her gender as “F” for female.
One second behind Phillips was Julie Peterson, with a time of 1:42:11 — as were three other cyclists: Mary Beth Grier, Andrea Cherniak-Tyson, and Carolyn Maddox.
Peterson, 57, was so outraged, she told Fox News she refused to stand on the podium in second place next to Phillips. Her story was swiftly shared by the New York Post (also owned by Fox’s parent company News Corp.), the Daily Mail, Breitbart, and other conservative media.
Both Peterson and another competitor are accusing USA Cycling of “hiding” that a transgender woman had registered to race.
“It was hidden from us. Katheryn Phillips, KJ’s name, was not on that list. And I checked it up all the way to the point of closure when we couldn’t register online anymore,” Debbie Milne told Fox.
“If I had known, I wouldn’t have spent thousands of dollars in travel and time off work to come and do a race,” Peterson said. Fox welcomed Milne, 56, who finished seventh on Tuesday, to Fox & Friends Thursday morning.
(Video courtesy of Fox News)
Peterson told Fox she did complain to USA Cycling officials prior to the race. Both Milne and Peterson referred to Phillips as a male, and with “he/him” pronouns.
“To be fair to all humans, if we want to say ‘him’ or ‘her,’ he was born a biological male, that is a fact,” Milne said. “And that is the thing that makes it an unfair advantage. Whatever has happened after that is a whole different topic.”
“I said, ‘I don’t want to race against a man,’ and they quickly scolded me and said ‘Oh, you can’t call him a man,’ and I’m like ‘Well, he is a man,’ so I was quickly scolded and corrected that it is a woman and I don’t even know what to say.”
USA Cycling did not respond to the Washington Blade’s emails requesting comment.
Phillips, who goes by Kate and by “KJ,” is a former rugby player with the D.C. Furies, who stated in the comments of a 2024 article published by Zwift Insider that she was the first out trans athlete in the U.S. to compete under the 2004 International Olympic Committee’s guidelines on trans participation.
“When USA Rugby told me about the IOC decision in 2004, I raised my hand to be included. I experience nothing but joy when I play, ride, and race,” Phillips said.
As the Blade has reported, the International Olympic Committee drastically revised those rules in 2021, and in March, Republican lawmakers in D.C. demanded the IOC ban trans female athletes from women’s sporting events altogether.
The Blade also reached out to Phillips for comment but as of press time we have not received a response. She told Zwift Insider in March 2024 she does not let those who disapprove or spread hate impact her performance or her attitude.
“I am unaffected by dissent. I love, I share joy, I am me, and I have been my authentic self for decades,” she said. It’s been reported Phillips came out in 1999, and told Zwift Insider she considers herself a lifelong cyclist.
“I’ve been on a bike for as long as I can remember,” said Phillips. “As kids, my friends and I rode all over town, we were feral kids; no cell phones, no trackers … we just roamed, and nobody got in trouble or hurt bad enough not to ride home … Scrapes/bruises/cuts were not an issue for us. In my teens, I worked for myself as a court/legal messenger, doing all of the work via my bike until I got a car. Raced BMX as a kiddo (when I mowed lawns to cover the race entry fees), I did MTB stuff (non-racing) and Sprint/Olympic Triathlons in my 30’s, and now I’m racing on Zwift, Road/Gravel, and CX in my 50s.”
In the comments section, Phillips made clear she’s not competing to win.
“I don’t do sports for victory, I do it because like many other women, I am an athlete to my core,” she said. “Unlike some, I am not there to WIN, I am there to do my best with the competitors and teammates I have around me trying to do the same…we are in it for the experience. I rejoice in their wins, and a lot of joy is reflected back to me when I have a good day.”
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