Chattanooga Pulse

When danger stares you in the face, your stress response, also popularly known as “fight or flight,” kicks in.  Your adrenaline rushes, heartbeat increases, sweat glands are activated, and your synapses fire like crazy as you decide, in a split second, whether to flee the scene or stand your ground.

So if you are faced with defending yourself, or say, a friend, against physical harm, and the assaulter is too drunk to be receptive to common sense and verbal dialogue, you’d figure out what’s the best, most necessary action—either fight or flight, right?  Or, if faced with hearing a loved one’s reputation unfairly being sullied, you’d probably say something to defend their honor, wouldn’t you?  And when your own set of beliefs of what’s right and wrong, your own moral code of ethics, become threatened, you’d likely find a way to defend what you feel is important to you, correct?  Not only is this your right as a person, but is, in a sense, a product of your wiring as a human being.

Let me share a little history with you about this very issue.

On June 22, 1969, Judy Garland died.  A whole lotta folks who followed her remarkable career and turbulent personal life grieved hard.  Many of them were gay men who, as you might imagine, could relate to the struggle to rise above a life of oppressive, destructive forces and challenges—from addictions to rejections and failed relationships—in order to realize their potential and make the world a better place for their contributions.

About a week later, in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969 at the Stonewall Inn in New York’s Greenwich Village, something unremarkable happened—an event which had occurred numerous times before throughout the decades. The police raided a gay bar.

At first, everything unfolded according to a time-honored ritual.  Plain-clothes detectives as well as uniformed officers entered and announced their presence. The bar staff stopped serving the watered-down, overpriced drinks, while their Mafia bosses swiftly removed the cigar boxes that served as tills. The police demanded identification from the customers and escorted them outside, throwing some into a waiting paddy wagon and roughly shoving others off the sidewalk.

But at a certain point, the “usual suspects” departed from the script and decided to fight back. To this day, a debate continues over which specific incident sparked the riot. While many believe that one courageous drag queen defiantly stood in the doorway facing down the officers, others have described that night’s events as an explosion of many incidents happening simultaneously.

As police raided the bar, patrons gathered on the street outside and watched the officers make their arrests.  But the crowd, which eventually grew to an estimated 2,000, was fed up.  Something about that night—the recent death of an icon, the grief and anger of that loss still resonating with those who had looked to her for inspiration and strength?—ignited years of rage at the way police treated gay people.  Chants of “Gay Power!” echoed in the streets.  Soon, beer bottles and trash cans were flying.

Police reinforcements arrived and attempted to beat the crowd away, but the angry protesters fought back.  By 4 a.m., it was over.  But the next night the crowd returned, even larger than the night before.  For hours, protesters rioted in the street outside the Stonewall Inn and the following day they returned to march on Christopher Street.

These protests are frequently cited as the first time in American history when people in the gay and lesbian community fought back against a government-sponsored system that persecuted sexual minorities.  They’ve become the defining event, the defining moment in history, which marked the start of the gay rights movement in the United States and around the world.

Something powerful had begun.

Since then, the word “Stonewall” has entered the vocabulary of lesbian, gay, bi and trans people everywhere as a potent emblem of the gay community making a stand against oppression, and demanding equality in every area of life.

Fast forward to the present.  In a couple of weeks, Chattanoogans will have the opportunity to celebrate with their gay brothers and sisters the hard-won accomplishments of that time back in 1969 with a week-long schedule of “Pride” events, culminating in an afternoon of festivities downtown.  No longer relegated to a wooded closet on the outskirts of town, the gay community will celebrate with relatives, friends, and families, both straight and gay, coming together with music, fun, laughter, and yes, pride.

There will be, as there were 40 years ago, drag queens.  Expect it.  There will be leather.  Expect it.  There will be old people, young people, short, tall, skinny, fat, and people of color.  There will be singles, couples, and gay families with kids.  Expect it.

Expect the entire rainbow, because gay “pride” isn’t about arrogance, or virtuousness, or being perfect, or fitting in.  It’s about recognizing the importance of history, the accomplishments and setbacks alike, and knowing that through it all, a community has survived.  It’s about sharing an ethos of commonality, where if we look hard enough we’ll see that we have more alike than dissimilar, no matter what color boa someone’s wearing, or who constitutes their “family.”  It’s about a celebration of strength and unity, and of knowing that, through it all, we all belong here.  Together.  Proudly.

Until next time:  “Live with intention.  Walk to the edge.  Choose with no regret.  Continue to learn.  Appreciate your friends.  Laugh.  Do what you love.  And live as if this is all there is.” — Mary Anne Radmacher

Dr. Rick Pimental-Habib, Ph.D., is a psychotherapist, minister, and educator, in private practice in Chattanooga, and is the author of “Empowering the Tribe” and “The Power of a Partner.”