Elizabeth Baltusnik

From Gay Liberation to Guerilla Art: LGBTQ Monumentalization in New York City

Elizabeth Baltusnik

The Gay Rights Movement has undeniably come a long way since the first brick was thrown at the Stonewall Inn in the West Village of New York City in 1969. In the decades since, social attitudes and acceptance have shifted both locally and globally, and New York has continued to be at the forefront of advancing the rights of the LGBTQ community. However, given how few memorials and monuments have been erected in a city that prides itself on its queer history, it is unclear if social attitudes towards publicly acknowledging the community and its struggles have evolved as rapidly. While both artists and the government now seek to commemorate the Gay Rights Movement through acurate and representatitve memorials and monuments, many city works fall short of these ideals. Though it should not be revolutionary to respectfully and compellingly memorialize the actual leaders of an important movement, a consistent failure to act in this way can make it seem that these goals are unattainable. In analyzing what has been a shift from covert to overt memorialization, we see that the “Gay Village” and its nowrecognized queer spaces are at the center of a discussion about who and how we memorialize. Though labeling the pride-flag-lined streets of the Village as liberating queer spaces celebrates the LGBTQ community, it may also be causing commodification and touristification which displace members of that same community. As the government builds monuments and encourages tourists to visit these sites, what limitations does that place on individuals who have called these spaces home for decades? From Gay Liberation to guerilla-art statues of Marsha P. Johnson, there has been an apparent intentional shift in attitudes and methods of monumentalization, but by whom and for whom? George Segal’s Gay Liberation (Figure 1), the world’s first work of public art to commemorate the LGBTQ struggle for equality, introduces the idea of memorializing the movement and continues to inform LGBTQ art. Now situated in Christopher Park outside of the Stonewall Inn, the memorial was not well received when it was proposed in 1979. The sculpture is a life-like, life-size bronze statue group, painted white, which depicts a standing male couple and a seated female couple. One of the men gently holds the shoulder of his partner, while one of the women delicately touches her partner’s thigh, emphasizing the physical intimacy of relationships through non-dramatic poses. According to critic

Claude Summers, this quiet depiction “makes the delicate point that gay people are as feeling as anyone else,” contributing to Segal’s goal of normalizing and domesticizing LGBTQ relationships, in contrast to the sensationalized and over-sexualized representations in the media.1 Without the title or site-specific context of the work, viewers might have difficulty recognizing that the figures were, in fact, couples. As passive and unassuming as Gay Liberation might seem, the work has been at the center of controversy since its inception, facing criticism from both the LGBTQ community and its opponents. It is difficult to find a group that Gay Liberation actually satisfied. While the LGBTQ community complained that the depiction was not explicit enough, opponents argued that merely representing LGBTQ couples was too explicit. Some critics took issue with the fact that the figures look too sad with too much emphasis placed on the interior lives of the couples. Others protested that the sculpture only featured privileged and committed relationships between middle class white couples, ignoring other elements of LGBTQ life. Many local residents opposed the sculpture, objecting to the subject matter much as they objected to the gay men and lesbians who were moving into the Village. Possibly attempting to hide their prejudice, some residents claimed to oppose the work on artistic grounds, saying that the sculpture was out of context with the neighborhood’s architecture and that it was too large for the park.2 The criticism of Segal’s work illustrates the difficulties some people have in accepting something as simple as the existence of gay people, as well as “the impossibility of completely satisfying the needs of a diverse and sometimes divided community.”3 Another area for criticism was George Segal’s identity as a heterosexual man. Segal, however, was not bothered by the criticism. He had at first been hesitant to accept the commission on the grounds that he was not a gay artist, but he eventually accepted, stating that he was “extremely sympathetic to the problems gay people have” and “couldn’t refuse to do it.”4 Important for the context of Segal’s selection is that all the gay and lesbian artists of comparable fame who had been approached for the commisision first, had turned it down. These artists rejected it for a multitude of reasons, but especially for the fact that most of them were “deeply closeted.”5 Ultimately, although Gay Liberation is a thoughtfully executed monument to the community and there is contextual justification for Segal’s selection, it is hard to argue that community consultation or LGBTQ artist involvement would not have improved the reception of the work.

1 Claude J. Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” GLBTQ Arts, (January, 2015): 1. 2 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 4. 3 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 2. 4 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 4. 5 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 4.

The original commission called for two castings of Gay Liberation, one for installation in Christopher Park and one destined for Los Angeles. However, in 1980, Greenwich Village was not socially ready for Gay Liberation, no matter how often it was referred to as “the Gay Village.” The sculpture was supposed to be a gift to the city, but, although most Village political leaders supported the project, City Hall received threats to blow up the statue and failed to provide the necessary funding to install the work. The Los Angeles cast faced a similar rejection when the local government refused to accept the work. Eventually, the Los Angeles-bound cast was installed at Stanford University, where it was repeatedly defaced, consequently moved to storage, and then defaced again once it was reinstalled.6 The New York sculpture ended up in Madison, Wisconsin, where it was defaced but also embraced by the local community who enjoyed dressing up the sculptures with hats and scarves.7 The New York cast was finally moved to the original proposed location of Christopher Park during the 1992 Pride celebrations. At the dedication ceremony, Segal noted that there were no longer any religious protestors, and, after speaking with locals, he learned it was because they had all died.8 Today, the sculpture continues to face criticism over its literal “white-washing” of the Gay Rights Movement, but controversy has mostly died down. Gay Liberation might not be a very “loud” monument, but its managing to upset both sides of the LGBTQ Movement is emblematic of the difficulties encountered in monumentalizing such a diverse and embattled community, and its status as the first work of public art to commemorate the LGBTQ community places it in a central role in the history of queer public art. As the AIDS crisis grew in severity during the 1980s, communities turned towards memorials as a way to commemorate and honor those lost to the disease. The large gay male population of the Village meant that the neighborhood was disproportionately affected by the epidemic, though small memorials began to appear elsewhere in Manhattan. The majority of these memorials were private rather than public, and those that were public typically did not articulate the reason for the memorial. For example, the first recorded AIDS memorial in New York City is the 1985 National AIDS Memorial at the Episcopal Cathedral of St. John the Divine, consisting of a book of names enclosed in glass and stored in the medical nave of the church.9 Although the acknowledgment of the LGBTQ community and of the AIDS crisis by the church is a significant step in and of itself, the inaccessibility and lack of outright

6 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 3. 7 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 3. 8 Summers, “George Segal’s Gay Liberation,” 4. 9 “National AIDS Memorial at Cathedral of St. John the Divine,” AIDSmemorial.info, NAMES Project Netherlands Foundation, 31 Oct. 2020, https://www.aidsmemorial.info/contribution/id=801/mid=0/national_aids_ memorial_at_cathedral_of_st_john_the_devine.html.

representation of the victims demonstrates a hesitancy to fully memorialize the crisis and the community. Created six years after this first memorial, the AIDS Memorial at the Church of St. Veronica continues the idea of interior memorialization. The church was the site of one of the city’s earliest AIDS hospice centers, making it a fitting location for a memorial. In this case, plaques with names of certain victims were mounted in the choir loft– not easily seen, yet a more expressive location.10

In 1992, an AIDS memorial finally appeared outdoors: the Hope Garden at Battery Park. This simple rose garden, devoid of names or faces, is labeled with a Parks and Recreation sign reading “Hope Garden.” Below this title, on a much smaller plaque, three lines of text filling the same height as the “H” in “Hope” explain that the garden is “dedicated to those living with HIV and AIDS, and to the memory of those who have died.”11 Almost two decades later in 2008, another unassuming exterior memorial was unveiled at Hudson River Park (Figure 3). On the 20th anniversary of World AIDS Day, the 42-foot long curved stone bench was formally dedicated to “those who died from AIDS, those who live with HIV, those who have cared for people with HIV/AIDS, and the educators and researchers who will one day eradicate HIV/AIDS.”12 The bench, situated in the Village section of Hudson River Park, is engraved with a quote reading, “I can sail without wind, I can row without oars, but I cannot part from my friend without tears.” With this touching sentiment, the bench provides an opportune location for people to reflect, mourn, or celebrate the memories of those who died from AIDS. Aside from the intentions and memories of those who visit the site, nothing at the memorial makes a direct mention of AIDS. Even as recently as 2008, just three years before New York State would legalize gay marriage, there was still a reluctance to acknowledge publicly the LGBTQ community or the AIDS epidemic. In December of 2016, the city finally received an AIDS memorial that unambiguously represents the epidemic. After forty years of the fight against AIDS, there was still no highly visible public memorial to honor those who were lost or the caregivers and activists whose work helped to alter the trajectory of the epidemic. This absence was the reason that community activists first proposed the New York City AIDS Memorial at St. Vincent’s Triangle. Starting as a grassroots advocacy effort in early 2011, the New York City AIDS Memorial committee developed into a 501(c)(3) nonprofit with a robust board of directors. The memorial sits on a triangular site that was once part of the St. Vincent’s Hospital campus,

10 “AIDS Memorial at Church of St. Veronica,” AIDSmemorial.info, NAMES Project Netherlands Foundation, 31 Oct. 2020, https://www.aidsmemorial.info/memorial/id=238/aids_memorial_at_church_of_st_veronica.html. 11 “Hope Garden at Battery Park,” AIDSmemorial.info, NAMES Project Netherlands Foundation, 31 Oct. 2020, https://www.aidsmemorial.info/memorial/id=183/hope_garden_at_battery_park.html. 12 “AIDS Memorial,” Hudson River Park, Hudson River Park Friends & Hudson River Park Trust, https://hudsonriverpark.org/activities/aids-memorial.

a “unique crossroads of early AIDS history in New York City.”13 The hospital’s position between Chelsea and Greenwich Village meant that it was surrounded by a community deeply affected by AIDS, and it became the location for the first AIDS ward in the city. The site is also less than a block from the LGBT Community Center on 13th street, where many AIDS advocacy groups got their start, as well as within blocks of the former Gay Men’s Health Crisis headquarters and the office of Dr. Joseph Sonnabend, a leader who pioneered community-based research trials for AIDS drugs. The proximity of numerous influential sites has led many to consider St. Vincent’s triangle as the “symbolic epicenter of the AIDS epidemic,” as well as the fight against it.14

The design of the memorial offers ample space for contemplation and reflection on the epidemic. The most visible element, the 18-foot tall white triangular steel canopy, provides shelter while still allowing sunlight to illuminate the space below. In fact, a plethora of triangles compose the memorial, from the triangular supports that rise from the ground to the geometric grid that fills the canopy. These triangles recall a traumatic experience from queer history, as in Nazi concentration camps, gay prisoners were forced to wear a pink triangle on their chests. Yet in the famous “Silence = Death” poster of the 1980s, which challenged society to acknowledge and take action against the AIDS epidemic, this same pink triangle is seen again, inverted, this time as a symbol of pride and defiance.15 The soaring triangular nature of the memorial seems to draw on a more hopeful tone– the community has survived the epidemic, overcoming and rising above the struggles of the 1980s. Beneath the canopy, passages from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” are engraved into the granite pavement. The poem is often referred to as a “transcendent celebration of hope, unity, and human dignity,”16 emphasizing the idea of a strengthened community while still providing space for remembrance of the men, women, and children lost to AIDS. Following the AIDS memorial, the 2016 establishment by executive order of the LGBT Memorial Commission seems to mark a shift in the form and quality of monuments for the LGBTQ community in New York City.17 The commission was intended to provide recommendations for the creation of a new monument to honor the victims of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando, as well as the LGBTQ community in general and all victims of hate, intolerance, and violence. Composed of ten members appointed by the governor, the commission included activists who fought AIDS, worked for marriage

13 “About the New York City AIDS Memorial.” 14 “About the New York City AIDS Memorial.” 15 Alexandra Scwartz,. “New York’s Necessary New AIDS Memorial,” The New Yorker, Condé Nast, December 8th, 2016, https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/new-yorks-necessary-new-aids-memorial. 16 “About the New York City AIDS Memorial.” 17 In June 2016, New York Governor Andrew Cuomo signed Executive Order No. 158, launching the new commission.

equality, and other LGBTQ issues. In the same Executive Order, governor Andrew Cuomo designated the Stonewall Inn as a New York State Historic Site. Referring to Stonewall as “the birthplace of the modern LGBT rights movement,” Cuomo acknowledged the “decades of city-sanctioned bigotry and oppression” that plagued the neighborhood prior to the Stonewall riots.18 While Cuomo recognized the role the New York government played in inciting the Stonewall riots, he also seemed to imply that the days of NYPD surveillance were over. Instead of making systematic changes that could eradicate the “city-sanctioned bigotry and oppression,” the governor’s actions seemed to favor a mere image of acceptance over enacting concrete change. At least the clear acknowledgment by the government of the community in general, as well as the desire to build a thoughtful memorial with community input, seemingly marks a shift away from the attitudes, practices and mistakes surrounding George Segal’s Gay Liberation. However, the government’s new position could only be evaluated by the messages and effects of the completed monument. Two years later, the city received the Memorial Commission work (Figure 5). Designed by Anthony Goicolea, the LGBT Monument at Hudson River Park was unveiled during 2018 Pride to a crowd including Governor Andrew Cuomo, Lieutenant Governor Kathy Hochul, State Senator Brad Hoylman, and, of course, the members of the LGBT Memorial Commission. The monument features nine modified “boulders” made of bronze. Some are bisected with clear laminated glass that acts as a prism to cast rainbows on the surrounding landscape, although shade from the surrounding trees makes this a rare occurrence. Other boulders are split, their interiors engraved with quotes such as “without community there is no liberation… but community must not mean a shedding of our differences” and “difference is that raw and powerful connection from which our personal power is forged.” The monument’s sitespecific design is intended to promote thought and reflection while providing space for people to unite in the “communal environment” of Hudson River Park. The proportion and circular arrangement of the rocks is designed to create “a safe harbor that beckons visitors to rest upon them, acting as a unifier to communities of different people who will come to sit, visit, commune, mourn, love, and remember.”19 At the unveiling, Governor Cuomo highlighted the continued increase of social acceptance by the government and attempts at reconciliation with the LGBTQ community. After acknowledging that

18 Andrew Cuomo, “Press Release: Governor Cuomo Signs Executive Order to Establish LGBT Memorial Commission for Monument Honoring Fight for Equal Rights and All Victims of Hate, Intolerance, and Violence.” Just Facts, Vote Smart, June 26th, 2016. https://justfacts.votesmart.org/public-statement/1107118/governor-cuomo-signs-executiveorder-to-establish-lgbt-memorial-commission-for-monument-honoring-fight-for-equal-rights-and-all-victims-of-hate-intoleranceand-violence. 19 “LGBT Monument Debuts in Greenwich Village,” Hudson River Park, Hudson River Park Friends & Hudson River Park Trust, 18 July 2018, https://hudsonriverpark.org/lgbt-monument-debuts/.

the monument seeks to honor the victims of the Pulse Nightclub shooting, he stated that “as we recognize the sacrifice this community has had to endure throughout the course of history, we are reminded of our commitment to protecting and advancing the rights of the LGBT community until we live in a world free from hate, once and for all.”20 His attempts to create a thoughtful memorial and his speech demonstrating his acceptance of the community certainly marked a change from the government’s attitude in the early days of the Gay Rights Movement, but this carefully-designed monument is still only covertly dedicated to the LGBTQ community. The work fosters general hope and unity, but there is no plaque labeling the site as the “LGBT Monument.” There are no signs at the site mentioning the Pulse Nightclub shooting or the LGBTQ community and no clear dedication to the groups or individuals it seeks to honor. Even the name, the LGBT Monument, is vague and nondescript. Monument for what, exactly? By condensing all the people and all the struggles into one nonspecific title and site, the monument becomes even further removed from the victims it is supposed to honor. As at the Hope Garden, the AIDS Memorial Bench, or even Gay Liberation, the lack of association between the monuments and their honorees generalizes the community and prevents the monuments from generating their full emotional impact. The creation of a commission filled with LGBT leaders and activists is certainly an admirable development, especially in contrast to the commission of Gay Liberation, but the execution of the goals of the executive order created a monument as generalizing and inarticulate as those before it. Located in the Greenwich Village section of the park, the LGBT Monument seeks to continue the legacy of “the Gay Village.” At the unveiling, the artist, Anthony Goicolea, spoke of his personal experience with the location, recounting a memory of running along the piers by the Hudson River when he first moved to New York City in the 1990s, saying that he “had never seen LGBTQ life celebrated so openly, so the waterfront became a place of comfort and identity to [him].”21 In fact, the piers, specifically Pier 45, were places of comfort for many LGBTQ individuals before their redevelopment into Hudson River Park. Prior to the gentrification which turned the improvised and adapted queer public space into a regulated and planned park, the pier was said to “[flame] with the passion of people who don’t feel free to be themselves in their neighborhoods and who see this hallowed stretch of pavement as a place where they can represent.”22 Journalist Richard Goldstein described the variety of individuals who found a home at the pier, highlighting their “banjee-boy realness” and “post-butch dykeness.”23 In a time when so many

20 Cuomo, “Press Release.” 21 “LGBT Monument Debuts in Greenwich Village.” 22 Rachel Lowen Walker, “Toward a FIERCE Nomadology: Contesting Queer Geographies on the Christopher Street Pier.” PhaenEx: Journal of Existential and Phenomenological Theory and Culture 6 no. 1, 94. 23 Lowen Walker, “Toward a FIERCE Nomadology,” 94.

spaces sought to exclude marginalized people, these communities came together to form a space where everyone could feel included. Even the gay bars that proliferated in the Village came with restrictions, since people under twenty-one could not legally enter. As a result, queer youth specifically used the pier as a venue for socializing, parties, Balls, and as a living space for homeless LGBTQ individuals.24

The influential 1990 documentary Paris is Burning includes many scenes from the Christopher Street Pier, demonstrating the freedom of expression that came with occupying the space. In the film, the protagonists mention the “supportive environment” of the pier and surrounding Village and the fact that their lives in “the real world” were not the same as the ones they lived in these spaces. In a time when queer people had to monitor the ways they talked, looked, and acted, the protagonists of Paris is Burning felt free to dress as they please as they vogue through the Village.25 From Christopher Park to the Christopher Street Pier, queer individuals of color felt liberated, free from the societal restrictions to which they were often subjected. Visitors who are aware of the waterfront’s history are able to appreciate the location of the LGBT Monument, but there is a potential for education that could have been achieved through signs similar to those that inform about other topics along the river. If you’d like to learn about varieties of fish or Lululemon fitness classes, the Hudson River Park conservancy is prepared, but there is no mention of the cultural history of the Village and the LGBTQ community, aside from the Pride flags that line the lampposts of Pier 45. The LGBT Monument, then, like many of the LGBT monuments before it, fails to adequately honor the history and individuals who created the vibrant community it is supposed to honor. Moreover, it can be perceived as participating in the sanitizing and erasure of LGBTQ spaces which the development of Hudson River Park spearheaded. Once a site where impoverished and ostracized LGBTQ youth found community and a space for expression, the park–and its generalizing monument–is now a space where tourists and residents of the highly gentrified neighborhood promenade. In an attempt to finally represent the marginalized queer individuals of color whose space was taken over by Hudson River Park and whose history was left by the wayside by earlier monuments, aswell as to address a gender gap in public art, She Built NYC proposed a monument for Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera in 2019. Chirlane McCray, head of She Built NYC, said that it was important for an LGBT monument like this to have “a name and a face” and include stories of activists like Johnson, a black transgender woman, and Rivera, a Latina transgender woman.26 The monument would be one of the

24 Lowen Walker, “Toward a FIERCE Nomadology,” 94. 25 Jennie Livingston, director, Paris is Burning, directed by Jennie Livingston (1990; Toronto: Off-White Productions).

26 Julia Jacobs, “Two Transgender Activists Are Getting a Monument in New York,” The New York Times, May 29th, 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/29/arts/transgender-monument-stonewall.html.

first in the world dedicated to transgender people, and the proposed location at Ruth Wittenberg Triangle would perpetuate Christopher Street as the location for first monuments of queer people. In contrast to the nameless, identity-less sculptures of Gay Liberation, this monument would seek to counter the illusion that the Gay Rights Movement was solely a white, privileged movement. Marsha P. Johnson’s nephew, Al Michaels, offered commentary on the proposal, saying that he “thought his aunt might scoff at the idea of a statue of herself” but “would be ecstatic that New York had reached a point at which it would build a monument to a transgender woman” and “proud that the city was ‘leading the world into the future.’”27 In fact, although the two women are often recognized today for their contributions to the Gay Rights Movement, Johnson and Rivera were often sidelined from discussions since many leaders did not want to include transgender rights in their priorities. After decades of erasure, it seemed as though the She Built NYC proposal would finally give the two women the representation they deserved, but the monument was canceled after years of delays and the uncertainty of the Covid pandemic. In response to this lack of follow through, a group of queer artists banded together to create their own memorial for Marsha P. Johnson in August of 2021 (Figure 6). Led by Jesse Pallotta, a self-described “queer sex worker,” the group erected this tribute as a kind of “guerilla memorial” without a permit, in Christopher Park. Pallotta chose to develop the project because of his love of sculpture, but also because of his connection to the subject matter and Johnson’s influence. The sculpture itself is a bronze-painted plaster bust with a waterproof lacquer that harkens back to more traditional forms of monumentalization in a style commonly seen depicting the white male leaders of centuries ago. Pallotta put copious amounts of time and consideration into his representation of Johnson, describing how he printed out as many photos of Johnson as he could in order to document Johnson’s gender expression and emotions across time. On “[spending] that much time memorizing someone’s body,” the artist says it was “kinda similar to falling in love.” When it came to installing the work, the team arrived at Christopher Park right when it opened, built the wooden pedestal, filled the base with 150 pounds of concrete, and the campaign was finished.28

Nearly every aspect of this memorial was carefully considered, down to the placement of the statue within the park. Christopher Park’s proximity to the Stonewall Inn makes it a logical location for an activist who essentially led the Stonewall Riots, but Pallotta also intended the Marsha P. Johnson statue to contrast with Gay Liberation and the statue of General Sheridan which also stand in the park. By placing

27 Jacobs, “Two Transgender Activists Are Getting a Monument in New York.” 28 Hard Crackers Editor, “‘We Did Not Get Permission’: A Discussion With Jesse Pallotta,” Hard Crackers, September 26th, 2021, https://hardcrackers.com/we-did-not-get-permission-a-discussion-with-jesse-pallotta/.

Johnson in the center of the park, the artist lets her she stand symbolically as a central figure of the modern Gay Rights Movement. The site’s status as a Federal monument created complexity when journalists did not know which branch of government to ask for comment on the technically illegal installation. However, the work was positively received, and the attention brought by the need for commentary did not result in criticism towards the artists but instead towards the government.29 The monument’s dedication to a single LGBTQ individual, a clear departure from earlier monuments, led many to compare it to the government monuments and question why there are so few dedicated to LGBTQ individuals in a city that has been home to a plethora of history-making queer people. This reception of the work marks an important shift in the discussions surrounding public LGBTQ monuments in New York CIty. Over 40 years ago, many in the Greenwich Village community opposed a work as passive as Gay Liberation, and the local government refused to accept the statue. Today, community allies accept a powerful bust of a black trans woman with open arms, questioning why the government had not done something sooner. In his discussion of the Marsha P. Johnson statue, Jesse Pallotta highlights the risks accompanying this sort of social acceptance: the isolation of queer individuals from “their” spaces. Referencing the General Sheridan statue’s position within Stonewall National Monument, Pallotta says that “the park’s aesthetics are rooted in colonialism, and the State’s attempt to recognize the LGBTQ+ movement in this public space has further isolated the local community from its historical landmark.”30 Erecting monuments and statues in traditionally queer spaces has the power to amplify the feelings of acceptance and belonging within these spaces by challenging heteronormative standards and providing a liberated zone for individuals to honor their identities. More often than not, and especially in the case of the Village, recognizing these locations as “queer spaces” also invites outsiders such as tourists to enjoy the space. Unfortunately, the celebration of the movement often coincides with the removal of long-time, frequently unhoused occupants of the Park in the name of making the outsiders feel more comfortable. As Deidre Conlon highlights, even the bars and storefronts around Stonewall confirm its status as a social and consumer space that “reflects the economic strength of a certain [stratum] of the gay male community.” Christopher Park and the surrounding streets have become a space for “commodification, consumption, and the middle class reign.”31 Just as the residents of the Village in the 1980s advocated for the removal

29 Hard Crackers Editor, “‘We Did Not Get Permission’: A Discussion With Jesse Pallotta.” 30 Hard Crackers Editor, “‘We Did Not Get Permission’: A Discussion With Jesse Pallotta.”

31 Deirdre Conlon, “Productive Bodies, Performative Spaces: Everyday Life in Christopher Park,” SEXUALITIES -LONDON-, no. 4: 473.

of the LGBTQ community from their neighborhood, policing continues the forced removal of primarily queer people of color from these spaces at the request of wealthy, typically-white Village-goers.32 Labeling sites like Christopher Park and Christopher Street Pier as queer spaces often ignores the societal issues that still affect the space. The commodification of queer spaces for the purpose of consumerism and the manufacturing of tourist experiences leads to visitors entering the spaces, viewing the art, taking pictures, and leaving, embracing the sites as pieces of LGBTQ history and ignoring their complicated present.33 What about the people who do not have the opportunity to leave? What about individuals like Sylvia Rivera who once had to live on the benches by the pier and the park? The government’s attempts to recognize these sites as the queer spaces they are has in turn heightened the issues of gentrification, social class, and race that continue to proliferate in these areas.34 In her analysis of Christopher Park, Conlon observed the same group of five to six men, ranging in age from their early 20s to late 50s, who would constantly occupy the park; at least one member of the group seemed always to be present, as if the “space was the established and constantly monitored territory of this group of users.”35 She quoted a middle-aged white man as saying that the group was “noisy, disruptive, always creating hassle, and takes space from other people.” Another white man pointed to the group of “hustlers” and said that the men “[knew] nothing about welfare or community.”36 It was as if the group was protecting the site, but a large portion of the community would rather have them removed as a way of making the park more palatable. Policing of the Village continues, as the gates of Christopher Park are locked, the unhoused individuals are forcibly removed by park rangers, and as queer youth of color are subjected to a curfew at the pier. At a time when so many people, Village residents included, love to tout their acceptance of the LGBTQ community and honor trans women of color like Marsha P. Johnson, it is clear that social attitudes have not evolved as far as some might like to pretend. If we look solely at the tiny triangle of Christopher Park, it is evident that attitudes towards the LGBTQ community have evolved toward acceptance and inclusion. Standing feet apart are two monuments that both represent LGBTQ people, but they have vastly different histories and representations. While Gay Liberation’s installation was stopped by the local government, the Federal government allowed the Marsha P. Johnson guerilla-statue to stay illegally. The passive, quiet representation of white people in Gay Liberation received bomb threats,

32 Lowen Walker, “Toward a FIERCE Nomadology,” 96-98. 33 Conlon, “Productive Bodies, Performative Spaces,” 473-474. 34 Lowen Walker, “Toward a FIERCE Nomadology,” 91-93. 35 Conlon, “Productive Bodies, Performative Spaces,” 474. 36 Conlon, “Productive Bodies, Performative Spaces,”475.

while the stoic, traditional representation of a transgender woman of color who was not even accepted by the Gay Rights Movement in her time is now embraced by the community who once knew her. Even the fact that Marsha P. Johnson was a real person marks a shift from the nameless, identity-less figures of Gay Liberation, as well as from the involvement of queer artists in recent anonymizing or collective monuments. Similar sentiments can be seen through the city’s AIDS memorials, as the nameless, interior memorials have slowly made their way outside, becoming less ambiguous in what they seek to represent. The acceptance of the LGBTQ community can be clearly seen through the fact that people can and do now commemorate the community in appropriate ways. As monuments become more explicit, it is essential to consider what societal factors might be implicit in the spaces that surround them. While government acceptance seems to be present, there’s still a general lack of actually supporting the community. Governor Cuomo’s LGBT Memorial Commission produced an essentially vague, nondescript Pulse Nightclub memorial, and She Built NYC never continued with promises of a Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera monument. The labeling of spaces like Christopher Park and Christopher Street Pier as “queer spaces” has the danger of commodifying the queer experience by inviting outsiders in for a visit and isolating the actual members of the local community. The surveillance of the Stonewall era cannot be forgotten; the piers and parks are still heavily policed so the wealthier Village-residents and tourists can feel safer, but little is done to make sure the community feels safe and supported. As social acceptance of the LGBTQ community grows, it’s necessary to ensure that we actively and accurately support the community we seek to reflect through our monuments and memorials.

Figures 1.1 and 1.2: George Segal’s Gay Liberation. Baltusnik, Elizabeth. “Gay Liberation.” Photograph. n.p, 23 March 2022. Author’s collection. Digital. Baltusnik, Elizabeth. “Gay Liberation.” Photograph. n.p, 4 February 2021. Author’s collection. Film.

Figure 2: AIDS Memorial at Hudson River Park. Baltusnik, Elizabeth. “AIDS Memorial at Hudson River Park.” Photograph. n.p, 23 March 2022. Author’s collection. Digital.

Figure 3: AIDS Memorial at St. Vincent’s Triangle Baltusnik, Elizabeth. “AIDS Memorial at St. Vincent’s Triangle.” Photograph. n.p, 23 March 2022. Author’s collection. Digital.

Figure 4: LGBT Memorial at Hudson River Park Baltusnik, Elizabeth. “LGBT Memorial at Hudson River Park.” Photograph. n.p, 23 March 2022. Author’s collection. Digital.