We Were Here, We Fought, We Changed History

This Week in LGBTQ+ History: October 4–11

An I AM ME Inc. LGBTQ+ History Feature

October is LGBTQ+ History Month, and at I AM ME Inc., we believe knowing our history is just as important as celebrating our Pride. Our history isn't simply a collection of rainbow flags, parades and famous names. It is the story of people who made courageous decisions during times when being openly LGBTQ+ could cost you your family, career, home, safety and sometimes your life. It is the story of people who created organizations when established institutions rejected them, built churches when they were told God couldn't possibly love them, walked onto television screens when America barely allowed LGBTQ+ people to tell their own stories, and marched through the nation's capital when government leaders could no longer be allowed to ignore us.

The week of October 4 through October 11 holds several important moments within that larger story. It takes us from the life of pioneering physician Dr. Alan L. Hart to the creation of Metropolitan Community Churches, early lesbian organizing, LGBTQ+ visibility on national television, the AIDS Memorial Quilt and the massive 1987 March on Washington. It also brings us to National Coming Out Day. When we put these moments together, one thing becomes clear: LGBTQ+ visibility didn't just happen. Somebody had to be courageous enough to become visible first.

On October 4, 1890, Alan L. Hart was born in Kansas. Hart would become a physician, radiologist, researcher and writer and is recognized as one of the earliest transgender men in the United States to undergo gender-affirming surgery and live his life as a man. His legacy reaches far beyond LGBTQ+ history. Hart became an important medical professional whose work helped advance the use of X-rays in detecting tuberculosis. His life reminds us that transgender history did not suddenly begin with today's political debates, social media conversations or terminology. Transgender and gender-diverse people have been doctors, researchers, writers, artists, professionals, neighbors and members of our families for generations.

Hart's story is particularly important in today's climate because history has a way of correcting narratives. When people speak about transgender identity as though it is something new, LGBTQ+ history tells a different story. The language people used to describe themselves may have changed, and society's understanding of gender has certainly evolved, but transgender people were already here. Their lives existed before today's headlines, and their contributions deserve to be remembered alongside everyone else who helped shape this country.

Just two days later, another important chapter of LGBTQ+ history was beginning. On October 6, 1968, Rev. Troy Perry gathered 12 people inside his home in Huntington Park, California, for the first worship service of what would eventually become the Metropolitan Community Churches, commonly known as MCC. This happened before the Stonewall uprising and during a period when many gay and lesbian people were being taught that their sexuality automatically separated them from Christianity.

That first gathering represented something bigger than a church service. It was LGBTQ+ people deciding that rejection didn't have to be the final word. If traditional religious institutions refused to make room for them, they could create spiritual spaces of their own. That spirit would become familiar throughout LGBTQ+ history. When institutions excluded us, we created organizations. When bars and public spaces weren't safe, we created our own gathering places. When mainstream media ignored our stories, we created our own publications. When communities refused to support us, LGBTQ+ people learned how to build community with one another.

The history of lesbian visibility also became increasingly important during this period. On October 8, 1970, police interrupted a private business meeting of the New York chapter of the Daughters of Bilitis, one of the country's earliest lesbian rights organizations. The incident became another reminder that even gathering privately did not necessarily protect LGBTQ+ people from scrutiny or harassment. For lesbian women, this fight was especially layered because they were navigating both homophobia and sexism while challenging expectations about sexuality, womanhood, independence and who had the right to publicly define their own lives.

By October 9, 1970, LGBTQ+ organizing was also becoming increasingly regional. Activists connected with FREE, a gay liberation organization in Minnesota, opened a regional gay convention in Minneapolis. Moments like this matter because LGBTQ+ history is sometimes told as though everything happened in New York, San Francisco or Los Angeles. Those cities played undeniable roles in our movement, but queer people were organizing throughout America. They were in Minnesota, Philadelphia, Washington, the South, small towns, Black neighborhoods, churches and college campuses. LGBTQ+ people weren't confined to a handful of famous cities. We were everywhere because we have always been everywhere.

Then came television.

On October 10, 1971, seven lesbian women appeared on The David Susskind Show for a nationally televised discussion about lesbianism. Among the women participating were Barbara Gittings, Lilli Vincenz, Barbara Love, Anna Salvato, Rachael Parker, Lyn Kupferman and Magora Kennedy, a Black lesbian activist. At a time when homosexuality remained deeply stigmatized and was still classified as a mental disorder by the American Psychiatric Association, these women sat before a national audience and spoke about their lives for themselves.

That distinction matters. LGBTQ+ people had often been discussed by doctors, politicians, religious leaders and commentators as though we weren't capable of explaining our own experiences. These women disrupted that narrative simply by occupying those seats. They showed America that lesbians were real women with families, careers, relationships, opinions and voices of their own. The presence of Magora Kennedy also reminds us that Black LGBTQ+ people were not standing on the sidelines waiting to be invited into queer history. We were already participating in it.

That point deserves emphasis. Too often, LGBTQ+ history gets reduced to the same collection of predominantly white names while Black queer people become a footnote. Black gay men organized. Black lesbians challenged racism and homophobia. Black transgender people created community. Black LGBTQ+ people marched, cared for people during the AIDS crisis, created art, built organizations and fought for recognition within predominantly white LGBTQ+ spaces while simultaneously confronting homophobia and transphobia within Black communities. Black LGBTQ+ history isn't separate from LGBTQ+ history. It is LGBTQ+ history.

The week reaches one of its most significant moments on October 11, 1987, when hundreds of thousands of LGBTQ+ people and allies descended on Washington, D.C., for the Second National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. America was in the middle of the devastating AIDS epidemic, and LGBTQ+ communities were watching friends, partners, relatives and chosen family members become sick and die while government action remained painfully inadequate. The march demanded civil rights protections and a stronger national response to AIDS.

There is something powerful about imagining those streets filled with LGBTQ+ people in 1987. Many came from communities where they couldn't safely be open about who they were. Some were living with AIDS. Others were caring for people who were sick. Many were grieving people they had already buried. Yet they traveled to Washington anyway and made themselves impossible to ignore.

That is one of the recurring themes throughout LGBTQ+ history: we came anyway. When government ignored us, we came anyway. When families rejected us, we found family and came anyway. When politicians debated whether our lives deserved protection, we came anyway. When America preferred not to look directly at the human devastation of AIDS, LGBTQ+ people brought their grief directly to the nation's capital.

That same weekend, the AIDS Memorial Quilt was displayed on the National Mall for the first time. The Quilt contained 1,920 panels memorializing people who had died from AIDS. What might have otherwise been discussed as statistics suddenly had names, personalities, families and stories attached to it. Every panel represented somebody who had lived, somebody who had been loved and somebody whose absence was being felt.

The Quilt transformed mourning into activism. At a time when people with AIDS were frequently stigmatized and many families were unwilling to publicly acknowledge that their relatives had died from the disease, these panels declared that their lives would not disappear quietly. The message was simple but powerful: This person existed. This person was loved. This person mattered.

October 11 would gain another layer of LGBTQ+ significance the following year. In 1988, the first National Coming Out Day was observed, intentionally connected to the anniversary of the 1987 March on Washington. The idea behind the observance was that visibility could challenge prejudice. When people realized that LGBTQ+ individuals were already their relatives, coworkers, neighbors, friends and community members, stereotypes became harder to maintain.

National Coming Out Day remains meaningful, but at I AM ME Inc., we also believe the conversation deserves maturity. Coming out can be freeing and empowering, but nobody owes the world their coming-out story. For some people, being open about their sexuality or gender identity brings liberation. For others, disclosure can threaten housing, employment, financial stability, family relationships or physical safety. Our message should never be that someone must come out simply because other people have. Our message is that every LGBTQ+ person deserves the opportunity to live authentically when, where and how it is safe for them to do so. Your identity remains valid whether you've told the entire world, five trusted people or nobody at all.

When we look at October 4 through October 11 as one continuous story, the connections become impossible to miss. A transgender physician insisted on living as himself. A gay minister opened his living room and created a church. Lesbian women refused to allow harassment and stereotypes to define them. LGBTQ+ activists expanded organizing beyond the country's most famous queer cities. Seven lesbians walked onto national television and spoke for themselves. Hundreds of thousands of people marched through Washington demanding recognition and action. Families and friends unfolded pieces of fabric carrying the names of people AIDS had taken from them. And from that movement toward visibility came National Coming Out Day.

Different generations. Different identities. Different battles. But the message running through all of it remains the same: We were here.

We were here before Pride became a corporate marketing season. We were here before rainbow logos and social media campaigns. We were here before marriage equality. We were here before many of today's LGBTQ+ organizations existed. And long before society became comfortable celebrating certain pieces of queer culture, LGBTQ+ people were already building communities, challenging institutions, caring for one another and demanding the freedom to exist.

That is why LGBTQ+ History Month matters. History reminds us that the progress we enjoy today wasn't inevitable. Somebody organized for it. Somebody marched for it. Somebody risked a career for it. Somebody challenged a church, television network, doctor, police department, politician or government for it. And in many cases, somebody lived their truth during a time when doing so required extraordinary courage.

At I AM ME Inc., remembering LGBTQ+ history isn't about remaining stuck in the past. It is about understanding what previous generations built so that we recognize what our generation is responsible for protecting and building next. We honor those who came before us by learning their names, telling their stories, protecting the progress they fought for and continuing to create space for the generations coming behind us.

Know the history. Honor the people. Protect the progress. Keep building.

I AM ME Inc.

LGBTQ+ & Allies

I AM ME. YOU ARE YOU. WE ARE US.