‘Black trans power’: Inside 2020’s revolutionary Stonewall Protests

Back in May 2020, a Black trans woman named Nina Pop was killed in Missouri. Weeks later, in Florida, a Black trans man named Tony McDade was also killed.

The following month, activists Qween Jean and Joela Rivera embarked on a journey to the Stonewall Inn – the site of the historic 1969 riots that catalysed the modern gay rights movement. At Stonewall, Jean and Rivera initiated weekly actions, where hundreds of people met every Thursday to march for Black queer and trans lives. The marches became known as the Stonewall Protests, and lasted for more than a year.

The result was a vibrant and radical community that cared deeply about trans freedom. Now, a new book captures this powerful group in action: Revolution Is Love: A Year of Black Trans Liberation celebrates the euphoria, struggle and community of the Stonewall Protests through photos, essays, and interviews. Above all, it’s about the power of love in trans liberation.

Below is an excerpt from Revolution Is Love, written by Qween Jean.

Iyanna Dior was 20 years old when she was attacked and beaten up by a community of people in Minnesota. She ran to a bodega for help. The owners declined to help and pushed her out. She recalled, “If I’m going to die, I’m going to die on camera… I wanted people to actually know what happened.” These traumatic stories and videos are all too common for Black trans women. Dior’s attack took place on June 1, 2020: the beginning of Pride Month and first rally I attended at the Stonewall Inn. 

At our first march two weeks later, on June 18, 2020, I returned to the steps near the Stonewall Inn with a message that was fighting to escape my body. It was necessary to acknowledge Black queer trans folks during the Black Lives Matter revolution. Past movements had ignored the contributions of our TGNC ancestors: Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. This connection was undeniable and felt utterly divine. The Stonewall Protests was born, and Black Trans Liberation was the mission. 

Our purpose became clearer every week as more people came out and the collective grew. There were a few resilient bikers the first time who took up space on the West Side Highway. We continued to march with a ferocious fervour of passion and rage, an army of lovers ready for change and a new day. We had the right to assemble, and the right to fight for our freedom. Marginalised folks don’t need to prove they deserve respect; we demand it! We were not alone, and for the first time, it felt real. 

I would start each rally with activist Raquel Willis’s mantra: 

I believe in my power 

I believe in your power 

I believe in our power 

I believe in Black queer power 

I believe in Black trans power

Her words became a testimony that electrified the crowd. That power would lead us into jubilation.

When I think about our Stonewall community, I think of family. Despite pain, trauma, or abuse, the community was there to nourish, heal, and make you feel whole. Black queer and trans folks were supported and embraced as we are, in our vibrant fullness. Our chosen family held space for the possibility of transformation. Someone could evolve over time and grow more comfortable expressing their true selves. Our cis-het community members also learned language and ways to better support us. To understand that trans women are in fact women and Black trans people deserve the utmost respect and protection. Our diversity was instrumental in growth and understanding intersectional liberation.

Our history is rooted in violence; our ancestors were raided and looted. Yet they persevered and radically dreamed of freedom. We stand tall on the shoulders of sex workers, drag queens, healers, queer writers, storytellers, community leaders, abolitionists, and courageous Black women, who had to fight injustice and prove that they belonged. So we, too, continue to fight, knowing that we had power all along. The power of our beauty, joy, and vision for Black Trans Liberation! 

The rallies consisted of teachings, brave offerings, stories of our history, and powerful vigils for the siblings we’d lost to racism and transphobic violence. There were core themes, subjects, and dates that dictated the tone for each action, including Black Angels Ball, Homegoing Services, Trans Day of Visibility, Sex Workers’ March, African Diasporic History, World AIDS Day, and In Solidarity with ICE Detainees. Audre Lorde says that “without community, there is no liberation.” And I feel that without service, there is no community. The actions were rooted in community building, mutual aid, and advocacy for trans wellness and vitality. We consistently met up with other organisations throughout the week to support other actions involving women’s health, LGBTQ refugees and asylum seekers, housing discrimination, AAPI hate, Free Palestine, sex workers’ rights, and many more. Clothing drives during the winter, self-defence training sessions, food drives, and meal distributions were essential to the mission. Holiday celebrations like Transgiving, Transmas, and toy drives created space dedicated to chosen family and fellowship. The community modelled that change doesn’t have to take a lifetime. We have the ability and capacity to generate a sustainable future, and trans women have been providing for their communities all this time. 

I realised we needed a way to release. Instinctively I called for us to “open it up,” and the percussion beats guided us into a circle. Inspired by our ancestors, one could enter the circle and relinquish the burdens they may have been carrying as a way to heal. An ecstatic roar of love from the crowd would erupt as the individual danced, vogued, or strutted with no fear. Artists can use their gifts to heal and reclaim their power and ultimately change this world. Who could deny the power of Black joy as resistance?

Malcolm X reminds us that “the press is so powerful in its image-making role, it can make the criminal look like he’s the victim and make the victim look like he’s the criminal.” We would hold space while navigating transphobia and unprecedented violence from the police. Physical assaults, including punching, hair-pulling, choking, holding us in headlocks, pulling out their guns, unlawful arrests, misgendering, bullying, and abductions of our comrades. This level of abuse and mistreatment was sadly condoned by our public officials, including former Mayor Bill DeBlasio. No one should be treated with this egregious behaviour while simply trying to fight for their freedom. I can only imagine how our ancestors felt when they were hosed, bitten by dogs, and beaten with batons in past movements.

Revolution is often depicted as a pastoral memory or event from the past, seen in paintings, folktales, novels, or even films. The reality is that real revolution exists when real people come together and demand change. We revolt against the systems that attempt to suppress and silence us. This revolution is dedicated to uprooting white supremacy and dismantling its relatives: racism, homophobia, transphobia, and misogyny. The work will prevail. They can’t stop the revolution. And I’m not tired yet.

Revolution Is Love: A Year of Black Trans Liberation is published by Aperture and available to buy from October 23.