STONEWALL VETERAN
On June 28, 1969, the police raided the Stonewall Inn in New York City, targeting its LGBTQ+ patrons. Unlike previous crackdowns, this time the community fought back. The Stonewall Riots erupted, igniting a movement that reshaped LGBTQ+ activism. Before the Stonewall Riots, LGBTQ+ rights were advanced by homophile groups who seemingly preferred a supplicant role rather than reveling in each other's individuality. The homophile groups were quietly brave, but the Stonewall Riots charged LGBTQ+ people with the energy to fight back—blood, marches, and billy clubs.
Martin Boyce was just 21 when he took part in the Stonewall Riots. Decades later, he remains an outspoken activist, sharing his story and advocating for LGBTQ+ rights.
— August Berandicou, Executive Director of The LGBTQ History Project
“I always knew I was gay, so I had to start looking outside of myself. It was a defense mechanism—I was raised on the streets of New York. My eyes were very open very early, just taking in a lot of things, because I thought of all the things people had. They were never supposed to find out about me. The more I knew about them, the less they could find out about me.
I was living in a very anti gay world when I was a young, gay child. The best thing I thought I could do was study the people oppressing me. For example, when you hold a tea cup, don’t lift your pinky finger because everyone is raising us to be straight, so you have to learn how to act in a society that’s being oppressive. When you have no defenses because you are too young, you have to be conditioned. A murderer lived in my neighborhood. It was a brutal, brutal, aggressive murder. The murderer was forgiven, but our gay neighbor had to move.
My father was a cab driver and a very interesting guy. He was very liberal and street wise. He would knock on my door at midnight when I was 10 years old and say, we are going to see the faggots and prostitutes, so get in the car. He would take me to the spots where the faggots were. My father thought it was a good idea because he was worldly. For the first time I saw black women with red and gold hair and gay people who would talk to each other and call each other Mary.
When I was a teenager, I started hanging out on the street. The people were highly developed in many ways. Gay people had developed a resistance as strong as the French Resistance in World War II because you had to live under this umbrella. You heard the word ‘faggot’ like 50 times a day. It was just so negative. The resistance was fascinating—cultural resistance.
Turf was very important. It proved we had something. Outside of our turf, when two gay people would walk, one would talk and one would watch. You never could be too sure when you turned the corner. Then, of course, Christopher Street became our street. The Stonewall Inn is located on Christopher Street. It was dreadful during the day, but at night it was magic. There was such diversity. It was like Noah’s Ark. There were two of every type of gay person.
On June 28, 1969, I was on Christopher Street on my way to Stonewall. People started clapping for the drag queens. I went through a narrow passage between a car and the paddy wagon and got out. There was an open amphitheater-like space, a sort of semicircle in front of Stonewall, with everyone watching. The queens were coming out, and the police were surrounding them.
I was there, and then all of a sudden, out in the open where everyone could see it—a cop was dragging this Latin queen. She was fighting him so hard I couldn’t make out what she looked like. She was so angular, like a crazy mother. And he got her—this horrible cop. He threw her into the back of the paddy wagon. He was on the upper step and looked toward us because we were watching. I know how they do it, just to engage. And then she kicked—her heel shot out and hit him on the shoulder. He went flying, skidded. We laughed, but our laughter was her doing, because he got up, brushed himself off, and went to the back of that truck.
Then you heard it—bone against metal, flesh against metal, that terrible dull thudding. He came out and slammed the doors shut. We were stunned, trying to make sense of it. I looked at my friend Bernie, and Bernie said, ‘She fought back.’ There was no answer. The cop turned to us, raised his baton, and threatened, ‘All right, you faggots…’
Just like every other time, we started to break up. But then something happened—everybody started walking toward him. He had turned his back to us, and I’ll never forget seeing the hairs on his neck, these red hairs, stand up. He could feel something. He turned around to say it again but didn’t get the chance. His face changed—he gulped. He ran toward Stonewall and locked himself inside.
That was the spark. But it wasn’t just that moment—things like this were happening all along the line, everywhere. The police were pushing, provoking. That was it. The riot happened immediately.
Something shifted when he blinked, when he ran, when they ran. Everybody together went crazy, and suddenly, we had the upper hand. There they were—the Gestapo.
There was our enemy, laughing at us. You could see them laughing. Because to them, we were just faggots. But this was an abnormal situation—because they had to run away from us, and here we were, in control of the streets. For that moment, we were liberated.”
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