A Hot Night in August in the West Village to Washington D.C.

by Perry Brass

During my three years in the Gay Liberation Front, I was involved in many “actions.” Actions was our term for any kind of confrontation with the dominant, homophobic, racist and/or sexist power. It could be picketing the Village Voice because the Voice refused to run the word "gay" in a GLF ad; an action against a gay bar that refused to admit trans people; a protest against the Catholic Church or a homophobic college, or a total police confrontation which happened on a hot August night in 1970, in the West Village when after marching in a picket line in Times Square against police harassment of gay men in bars there, GLF men and women were forced to hurry on foot downtown. There on Eighth Street near Bleecker, swarms of cops with nightsticks were "cracking skulls" of several GLF brothers, some of whom were black. Big riot lights were set up; a complete theatre of confrontation happened: several GLF brothers fought back to protect each other—one, Bob Bland, scissors kicked a cop in the head who was grabbing one of us, then Bob disappeared into a moving group of gay men. Our blood was on the street—several of my GLF brothers smeared it on their faces, marching down Christopher Street with it on.

A year later, late April, 1971, I was in Washington DC, for the famous May Day demonstrations: 150,000 demonstrators descended on DC for a weekend to shut down the capital of the U.S., an idea conceived by Rennie Davis and the Viet Nam Moratorium Committee. The Viet Nam War was going full blast, slaughtering thousands of Vietnamese and, hundreds of GIs on a daily basis. A tent city was set up in West Potomac Park, with us divided into Regions from every state, as well as a Feminist Region, a Lesbian Region, and a Gay Region. This was the first complete gathering of the Gay Male Tribe—150 gay men from GLFs all over the country, coordinating ourselves with the Moratorium Committee. Next morning, we were routed out of our tents at 4 AM: the capital cops and National Guard would arrest us; many of us moved three times before the May Day shut down, finding shelter in churches or local homes. It was costing the US Government a million dollars a minute to stay in Viet Nam. If we could shut down Washington for a full day—imagine how much the government would lose, and how many fewer bombs would be dropped on Viet Nam? About a dozen gay men and I were posted at a major commuter bridge, along with hundreds of protesters. We stopped rush hour traffic for about an hour and then the cops stormed in: tear gas, body shields; arrest buses waiting. Queer men were used to resisting cops—we could outrun them, then disappear into the first crowd we found. I did this several times through the day, joining other protesters when I could. The feeling was tense and pessimistic as armies of cops and National Guards men swooped down on us. I heard several times from straight protesters: "That faggot Rennie Davis is gonna get us killed!"—referring to gay rumors about Davis. I decided I could not be arrested: I was dirt-poor, with no money either for a lawyer or a string of court appearance in Washington.

I managed to find my way to the buses chartered back to New York. A couple of other GLF brothers were on the bus. Mostly we slept: we'd been up before dawn, with constant running, evading the cops, and almost nothing to eat. Tom Finley, one of my closest GLF brothers, was arrested: the DC cops made sure an arrest would cost him hundreds of dollars, the equivalent of close to $10,000 now—from fines and numerous court appearances. I got back to New York, happy that GLF had taken part in what became known as Gay May Day, 1971. The Gay Liberation Front was now nationally known—my brothers from all over the country had proven valor against the immense force of the US Government, imposing this war on us. I felt so happy; once again I was part of my own family and tribe.