Roots of our Rebellion

These are frightening times to be a gender variant individual.  Every day, we read a story in the news telling us of another trans person killed or injured in a hate crime, of yet another right we've fought for being threatened to be taken away from us by those currently in power. It's enough to want to crawl into a hole with our sisters and brothers and kindred, and not come out until the whole thing is over.  Thing is, we're the ones who make the change necessary to bring about a culture where trans women are accepted as the women they are, trans men are accepted as the men they are, and nonbinary folks are accepted in the many varied expressions of gender (or none) that we are.  I was poignantly reminded of this as last month, I took a pilgrimage back to the roots of our rebellion.

I kicked off my summer in New York City this year, and went with my wife and beloved DSRT member Baba Jaina Bee to the Stonewall Inn, ground zero of our people's liberation. We had a couple drinks, soaked up the vibe gleaned from decades of queer history, pulled some oblique strategy cards, and honored the leaders and rebels who had sat at that same bar. I even commandeered the men's room and used a urinal for the second time in my life.

Afterward, we went to the parklet across the street from the Stonewall and blessed it with every rainbow song we could think of:  Daily Practices from this year and yesteryear, the Rainbow Home song, and every song to every mxgender deity we could remember.  At that point, we got an idea.

We immediately absconded to a local florist in the West Village and grabbed several large, lush bouquets, and walked them down to the end of the Christopher Street Pier, just as Marsha P. Johnson used to do.  We liberated the flowers from their wrappings, and, mindful of the fishermen on the end of the pier, and in full view of the Statue of Liberty, we tossed the flowers off the pier and sang a brand new song to Marsha:

Nutty as a fruitcake

Sane as can be

We offer you flowers

So all can be free

Mesmerized, we kept singing that song and watched the flowers in their beautiful and garish array as they floated down the Hudson.  We walked back along the pier back into the city, noticing the beautiful diversity of people of all shapes, sizes, and genders of people sunning themselves.  We enjoyed a wonderful meal at a gluten free Mediterranean restaurant on Hudson Street, and then parted company to take that energy into the evening.

When I most feel like hiding away and giving up, I call to my mind the memory I just shared with you, and I ask myself, what if Marsha didn't fight? Where would we be?  That pilgrimage to the roots of our rebellion gave me the strength I needed to jump back into the fray.