The lion’s share of criticism, according to Koskovich, came from the “existing gay establishment” in San Francisco at the time. Would butch lesbians and drag queens be allowed to march? Is nudity permitted in the parade? Should gay bars be allowed to participate? The events were the subject of heavy debate over who and what the LGBTQ community should include and celebrate in its events. While combing through thousands of photographs to put together the exhibition, Koskovich said he found the look of the early Prides “so charming and welcoming,” exuding an atmosphere in which “anybody” can participate as long as they had “ingenuity and the nerve.” But not everyone saw the parades that way. Floats were put together with cardboard boxes and crepe paper.” “They were cobbled together out of whatever means people had with very little money,” he said.
Koskovich said most of those cars and floats had a “do-it-yourself” look to them. The 1972 Pride was the first that might be described as a parade, with marchers joined by automobiles cruising the streets as onlookers watched from the sidewalks. Pride wasn’t ever referred to as such until 1995-25 years into the event’s history. It held that title all the way until 1981, when it was renamed the International Lesbian and Gay Freedom Day Parade. The event underwent a name change yet again the following year, to Gay Freedom Day. The festivities went on hiatus in 1971, but by 1972, the gathering was formally known as Christopher Street West.
One indication that, in the early years of San Francisco Pride, the mission was still under contention was that the name itself changed frequently. “For us to all imagine that we are collectively part of the same community and to stand in solidarity with one another requires that we all have a place that we have to gather and be together. “There's nothing inherent that ties together gay men, lesbians, bisexual people, trans people, drag queens, leather daddies, bears, queer people of color, and queer people with disabilities,” said Romesburg, a professor in women’s and gender studies at Sonoma State University. By 1980, what was once a relatively informal march had become a 250,000-person disco cavalcade down the streets of San Francisco.ĭon Romesburg, one of the two other curators of the exhibition, said that even from the beginning, there were debates about what a gathering that brought together such a wide spectrum of identities should look like. The show is set to premiere online June 15 and features photographs, posters, flyers, film, and recorded sound depicting 1970s Pride marches as a space of possibility it portrays the LGBTQ community as engaged in passionate debate over what an all-encompassing event representing the movement should be, as Pride grew exponentially in both size and spectacle. These early days of San Francisco Pride are soon to be the subject of Labor of Love, a virtual exhibit that Koskovich co-curated for the GLBT Historical Society. It’s been a balancing act, and sometimes a battle between political struggle and celebration.” “It’s important to remember that Pride started as a combination of militancy against extreme oppression and a celebration of desire, love, and pleasure. “How many people think of armed revolution when they think of a Pride parade?” Koskovich asked with a laugh. The frequent police raids at bars like the Black Cat Tavern in Los Angeles in July 1967, in which undercover officers began beating and handcuffing patrons who were kissing to celebrate New Year, were a reminder that the very fact of being gay was treated as a criminal act. This “gay in” was five years before California repealed its anti-gay sodomy laws, and homosexuality was still illegal in the vast majority of U.S. Beyond aesthetics, though, one of the starkest differences between early Pride parades and actions and the ones we have now is the relationship to law enforcement: Today, Pride parades have a heavy police presence, whereas the San Francisco gay-in ended with cops rounding up attendees.
It more closely resembled a large family picnic than the modern equivalent of Pride, a corporate-funded saturnalia featuring mid-level executives dancing on Wells Fargo floats to Lady Gaga. A “gay-in” held at Golden Gate Park the next day was similarly low-key, drawing about 200 people.