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From the Voice offices nearby, two writers came down to check things out, and one, Howard Smith, got trapped inside the Stonewall Inn with the cops, while Lucian Truscott
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The rebellion that was under way-signaled by the Stonewall riots in 1969-became an ongoing story in the Voice, beginning with extensive, front-page coverage of that fateful June night when queens at a bar rose up against a routine police raid. In an incantatory 1971 piece, much of which thinks too fast to be burdened with punctuation, she declares: “Until all women are lesbians there will be no true political revolution.” “My heterosexuality was a flash in the man, you might say,” Johnston wrote in 1970. Thrilling to read today, Johnston’s columns are as furious as they are frivolous: Part Dada, part militant feminism, they often ran upwards of 2,500 words. Jill Johnston-the paper’s, and arguably the country’s, first shameless public lesbian-joined the staff in 1959, inventing an astonishing free-form, self-conscious style for her art and dance criticism, which soon expanded into the witty, often outrageous chronicles of her own life-as-art. (When a comparable burst of transgressive lesbian performance occurred in the ’80s, C.Carr was on hand, as other incisive critics-the entire back-of-the-book personnel, in fact-have been for queer upsurges in music, theater, fashion, literature, film, dance, TV, and art.) Enthusiasm rather than priggishness now characterized the coverage of the unabashedly queer performances of Charles Ludlam, Jack Smith, Ron Tavel, Andy Warhol, Jeff Weiss, Lanford Wilson, and other gay men at the Cino, La MaMa, Judson Church, and wherever else they could gather an audience. In that Cino review, critic Seymour Krim shuddered at the clientele: “incense-burning faggots camping.” But by the following year, when the Cino featured a chorus of hustlers in a production of Gide’s Philoctetes, a gay critic, Michael Smith, had been installed at the Voice. But the vitality, diversity, and jouissance of LGBT writing that have coursed through the Voice for five decades have always overwhelmed these blips of hetero panic. The Voice‘s first review of a 1960 production at the Caffe Cino reveals an under-current of homophobia that has frequently burbled within the paper’s liberalism, occasionally erupting onto its pages as anti-lesbian wisecracking, trans sensationalism, cliché-ridden straight-guy reckonings with the erotics of male bonding, casual contempt, or plain old prudishness. Writers were already following the explosion of queer culture that gave rise to Off-Off-Broadway, pop art, and a flamboyant niche of underground film.īut not without anxiety. In the years before the Stonewall Rebellion of 1969 Voice Much of Greenwich Village boho was homo in the Voice‘s early days, so just by virtue of journalistic honesty, the Voice could hardly help steering queer. That only stands to reason: As realms of exuberant self-invention, the New Journalism and gay liberation were a perfect match. It not only covered the movement from its inception, but helped shape-and was shaped by-it.
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But its queerness was certainly overdetermined. Jill Johnston and Arthur Bell in Gay Pride March, JPhotography by Fred W.