By Amara Ego

It’s human to fight for what you want.

It was the summer of '69, Greenwich Village. The highest temperature in NYC that year had been 97°, and the city’s weather climate had almost been as erratic as its political climate.

The air was thick with the humidity pushed from the Hudson, but also with defiance and liberation.

It was the perfect brewing pot for a heady cocktail of rebellion.

NEW YORK, New York

Within Greenwich Village lies The Stonewall Inn, standing tall at 53 Christopher Street, between 7th Avenue South and Waverly Place.

It was an ordinary building from the outside, hardly noticeable amidst the hustle and bustle of the city streets. Yet, within its walls, history was being forged. The Stonewall Inn wasn't just any bar; it was a sanctuary, a haven for those who didn't fit neatly into society's prescribed boxes. Queerness flourished, identities blossomed, and love, in all its beautiful complexity, was celebrated unapologetically.

Inside these walls, individuals were able to be true to themselves, without fear of judgment or discrimination.  Drag queens with hearts as big as their feather boas, the butches and femmes whose energy and grace defied traditional gender roles, the transgender individuals daring to live authentically in a world that sought to erase their existence.

They were the catalysts, the vanguards of change, the champions of equality—ordinary yet extraordinary, whose actions would reverberate through history, forever altering the course of queer liberation.

For those who dared to challenge the constraints of conformity, the Stonewall Inn was a nondescript haven. It was in this dimly lit refuge that the echoes of change reverberated, where the first brick was hurled, not just at the establishment, but at the shackles that bound the collective soul.


While the origins of the first brick remain unclear, one undeniable truth remains: something significant was shattered that night. It wasn't just the physical breaking of glass; rather, it was the sound of liberation echoing through the air, the fierce roar of defiance reverberating against the walls of oppression, heralding a new era where courage trumped conformity. The marginalized found their voices and refused to be silenced, a legacy that would echo through the annals of history for generations to come

United in purpose, these queer individuals demonstrated their refusal to be relegated to the sidelines, throwing a brick of rebellious defiance. This act of resistance at The Stonewall Inn ignited a flame that refused to be extinguished, with its sparks spreading to furthest corners of the nation.

Far enough to reach the Lone Star State.

AUSTIN, Texas

It was the summer of '70, Austin. The highest temperature in Austin that year had been 102°. In the sweltering heat of this Texan summer, a quiet revolution stirred in the heart of Austin.

In Austin, the news of Stonewall spread like wildfire.

While the streets of Greenwich Village were ablaze with the riots at Stonewall Inn, a scrappy queer community in the Lone Star State felt the aftershocks of resistance, even if they were hundreds of miles away from the epicenter.

From the pages of underground newspapers to the hushed conversations in dimly lit bars, their call for acceptance echoed through the streets. It was a time of courage and uncertainty, and a small but determined group of queer individuals dared to dream of a different future.

Born from the embers of Stonewall's defiance, the Gay Liberation Front embodied a spirit of radical activism and unwavering solidarity.


Gaining official recognition as a student organization on the University of Texas campus on December 6th, 1970, they were the first queer organization to be established on-campus. A monumental move for queer visibility, their presence promised a new era of acceptance and advocacy. However, their celebrations were cut short.

University President Bryce Jordan swiftly revoked their organization status just three days later.

Despite this setback, the Gay Liberation Front persevered, their resilience fueled by a determination to challenge injustice and pave the way for a more inclusive future. It too was time for them to throw their first brick, and they too didn't just protest; they orchestrated moments of rebellion, turning the city into their stage of resistance.

Whether it was staging zap actions—rapid, daring interventions designed to shake heteronormative spaces—or hosting guerrilla theater performances that provocatively challenged societal norms, the Gay Liberation Front showcased a steadfast dedication to their pursuit of liberation.

With their bold actions and unwavering solidarity, the Gay Liberation Front didn't just demand change; they embodied it, igniting sparks of hope in the hearts of all who dared to dream of a world where love knew no bounds.

But the road to liberation was fraught with challenges.

Campus leaders, still wary of the Gay Liberation Front, pushed back against their demands for recognition. It was a battle fought in the halls of academia, a struggle for legitimacy in a world that often sought to silence their voices. Like Stonewall, where resistance sparked a movement, the Gay Liberation Front persisted in their advocacy efforts.

In the spring of 1974, their perseverance paid off, and they were officially recognized as a sanctioned student organization on campus.


When we throw our first bricks, we are not just hurling objects; we are asserting our inherent right to be seen, heard, and accepted for who we truly are. There’s no more room for change; only acceptance.

Fighting back against these demands, we're not just challenging the status quo; we're reclaiming our right to exist fully and authentically in a world that often seeks to diminish our voices. It's in these moments of resistance that we tap into a reservoir of courage, drawing strength from the countless trailblazers who came before us, whose footsteps echo through the annals of history.

To be human, and our authentic selves.

Unapologetically. ■