Stonewall at 40

Back in the wee hours of June 28, 1969 I was 11 years old and living in Northern BC, so the Stonewall Riots never registered on my radar at the time, I don't even think it was on the news. Back then my own sexuality was only starting to establish itself in any fashion and I wasn't thinking in terms of gay or straight. Gay people, whom I hardly had any awareness of, were strange, apparently immoral, almost mythological beings that may or may not have occupied a hitherto unknown periphery of existence, I figured I couldn't possibly be one of those, so I didn't give it much thought.

Of course I also remember watching Jim Morrison on TV and thinking he was one of the hottest men that ever lived, a view I still hold to this day. But because I didn't see myself as one of those mythological beings, I wasn't gay.



I also remember all the guys in the small town I lived in wearing their jeans and workboots and being just as butch as any man could hope to be and that worked pretty good too. Yes, Brucie goes for the blue-collar types, I like my men a little scruffy (so much for marrying for money). But because I didn't see myself as one of those mythological beings, I wasn't gay.

Eventually, from such uninformed confusion came the inevitable bullying in early high school, no doubt I spent way too much time checking out all the hot boys. I didn't know any more about homosexuality than anyone else there but a lot of people seemed to think it was a really bad thing that was worthy of the most extreme hate. But because I didn't see myself as one of those mythological beings, I wasn't gay.

I've often been more thankful for what my parents didn't teach me than for what they did. They didn't teach me religion, I ended up doing that on my own, and they certainly didn't teach me to hate. They had to deal with their own demons of hate after living through WWII. For instance, I never went to Kindergarten because it was a relatively new concept with a 'German' name, and Mom was always home anyway. In spite of that, they knew the power of hate and what it could drive people to do and they didn't want any part of it.

Stonewall for me was meaningless in my early years, after all I didn't see myself as one of those mythological beings, so I wasn't gay. I stayed that way until I was 28, in spite of all the people around me coming out. I was supposed to be whatever passes for normal, wear my boots, get a nice girl, have kiddies, a mortgage, a barbeque and all that shit. I never even indulged in my sexual desires and cheated, except for a hell of a lot of jacking off to visions of men, because I was sure I was straight. I also never achieved that suburban ideal I just talked about; apparently something was holding me back, but I still have the boots and the barbeque.

The big thing the Stonewall Riots did was start to bring all those strange, almost mythological beings out of the periphery of existence (which turned out to be the bars), and bring them into the harsh light of the larger society, it's the official day the meek little faggots stopped being meek.

I remember the first time I saw the Stonewall, the building. I was walking down Christopher Street, which isn't exactly lined with architectural marvels, and recognized it from photographs. I looked at it and thought: oh, there it is. There is absolutely nothing impressive or inspirational about it, especially in New York, but it looks very much the same as it did in 1969, minus the Stonewall sign. I dare anyone to find anything that looks less like a shrine than the Stonewall. That's when you see that it isn't the place, but the people who had enough of oppression and stepped outside of it and demanded their rights. From one of the most mundane environments came the opportunity for some of the most gifted, creative and caring people, who dared to see themselves as people, fight to give others the freedom to flourish in the face of oppression.



I walked across the street and looked at it again; trying to imagine a news event I don't even remember and only heard about later in life. There will always be a kind of disconnect with what they did then, but not with what happened since. As I stood there, I started to cry a little and worried a bit about being over emotional (on Christopher Street of all places) in New York (of all places), because I knew the event that took place there took that boy of 11 in northern BC with visions of strange mythological beings to the Proud Gay, very non-mythological man in Toronto he is today.

If only the people who live in the country where this all began could enjoy the same rights and freedoms that I do in Canada now. Mr. Obama, you promised hope and a lot of people took it to heart and their hearts are being broken right now. It may look difficult, but at this point in history, legal recognition of the last group who face open hostility and discrimination on a daily, even constitutional basis will put you down as one of the greatest Presidents in history. It's time. It's our time, and it's your time too.