New York was the first city in the nation to propose a gay rights bill, in 1971, but the 51st to pass one, in 1986. What took so long?
The new online exhibit “The Battle for Intro. 2: The New York City Gay Rights Bill, 1971 – 1986,” launched by LaGuardia and Wagner Archives at LaGuardia Community College, aims to provide answers. Consisting of more than 100 video excerpts from 25 oral history interviews as well as archival records from the New York City Council Collection at the Archives, the exhibit explores a topic surprisingly neglected by historians and unknown to most New Yorkers. As curator of “Battle for Intro. 2,” I conceived the project and worked for two years with LaGuardia students, faculty, and staff to compile and arrange content.
Initially sponsored by City Councilmembers Eldon Clingan, Carter Burden, Ted Weiss, and Leonard Scholnick, the gay rights bill was meant to prohibit discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in housing, employment, and public accommodations. After 15 years of grassroots activism and strident opposition, it finally passed by a vote of 21 to 14. Even then, the victory was incomplete. The City Council shortly thereafter passed an amendment to weaken the bill to exempt four-family housing units from the legislation. Following an intense grassroots campaign, which included an appeal by civil rights activist Bayard Rustin, Mayor Ed Koch vetoed the measure.
In 2002, the City Council passed the Transgender Rights Bill, adding gender expression and identity to the New York City Human Rights Law. That same year New York State passed SONDA (Sexual Orientation Non-Discrimination Act) and in 2019 GENDA (Gender Expression Non-Discrimination Act). LGBTQ progress was never straightforward in the city or the state.
Explaining the struggle to pass the gay rights bill, exhibit participants cited the opposition of the Catholic Church, the police department, and the fire department — all powerful institutions in New York politics. Former City Councilmembers Sal Albanese of Brooklyn and Fernando Ferrer of the Bronx both reflected on their decision to vote for the bill in 1986, despite the overwhelming opposition of their predominantly Catholic constituencies. By contrast, former Manhattan Councilmember Ruth Messinger, a longtime advocate of gay and lesbian rights, faced little, if any, political repercussion in her liberal bastion on the Upper West Side. But she provided critical leadership in the Council as the manager of the legislation.
The oral histories challenge conventional wisdom that New York was a gay-friendly city in the aftermath of Stonewall, despite visibly queer areas in Greenwich Village, Brooklyn Heights, and Jackson Heights and popular cruising sites on the West Side piers in Manhattan. For instance, former City Councilmember and State Senator Tom Duane remembered anti-gay violence at the Fulton Houses in Chelsea in 1980, and activist Lidell Jackson from the interracial gay group Men of All Colors Together recalled being subjected to homophobic slurs by Riverside Park. When asked if the city was a welcoming place to gay and lesbian individuals, John LoCicero, special advisor to Mayor Koch from 1975 to 1989, bluntly replied, “Bullshit!”
And yet, activist organizations forged communal spaces in New York. The Gay Activists Alliance, based in the early 1970s in the Firehouse on 99 Wooster Street in SoHo, led the charge for gay rights. The exhibit features the recollections of GAA members Allen Roskoff, Richard Wandel, Ethan Geto, and Steve Ashkinazy. Roskoff, chief lobbyist for the legislation, viewed the gay and lesbian movement not only as a quest for civil rights and sexual liberation but also as a social revolution in human relationships. Councilmember Clingan described the bill as a “focal point for agitation.” Geto, already a seasoned veteran in municipal affairs in his early 20s as senior advisor to Bronx Borough President Robert Abrams, helped the GAA develop strategies in public relations, lobbying, and advocacy. Of course, the GAA was best known not for politicking but for “zaps,” highly visible protests that drew attention to homophobia. Both Wandel and Roskoff recounted in vivid detail a zap against Mayor John Lindsay at Radio City Music Hall in 1972.
Sometimes we forget that activist organizations also labor tediously behind the scenes to raise money and promote the cause. At length, Ashkinazy spoke about his unglamorous duties at GAA selling t-shirts and Lambda pins as chair of the Goods and Services Committee and printing out fliers and posters on a mimeograph machine as chair of the Leaflets and Graphics Committee. This type of logistical work helped make Saturday Night Dances at the Firehouse a success. On average, 1,000 people attended the events, socializing and dancing as disco music blared from the speakers. Both Daniel Dromm and Joyce Hunter talked about finding community at the Firehouse and gaining a sense of purpose.
The powerful City Council Majority Leader Tom Cuite looms large in the exhibit. Based in Brooklyn, the anti-gay Cuite had close ties to the Catholic Church hierarchy and kept the bill bottled up in the General Welfare Committee in the council to prevent it from getting a full floor vote. As Majority Leader from 1969 to 1985, Cuite compromised with Mayors Lindsay, Beame, and Koch on many issues but didn’t budge on gay rights, as Andy Humm, Spokesperson for the Coalition for Lesbian and Gay Rights (CLGR), pointed out. Cuite’s retirement in 1985 and the elevation of Peter Vallone to Speaker of the City Council in 1986 facilitated the passage of the bill, as Ethan Geto discussed. In a deal to get the Speaker post, Vallone permitted the bill to get out of the General Welfare Committee and receive a full floor vote. He encouraged members to vote their conscience. A devout Catholic, Vallone himself voted against the bill.
The closeted Ed Koch is the most contested figure in the exhibit. He has defenders, like John LoCicero and Chris Lynn, who was the legal counsel for the CLGR, and critics, like Roskoff and Humm. Koch’s record on gay rights was in fact stronger when he was a Manhattan Congressman from 1969 to 1977 than when he was mayor from 1978 to 1989 and decided to appeal to culturally conservative white ethnics in the outer boroughs. Recall that this was the Archie Bunker era in Queens. Activists like Humm and Roskoff contend that the mayor was too deferential to councilmembers opposed to gay rights for religious reasons. Former Catholic Priest and gay activist Bernárd Lynch underscored Koch’s close relationship with the staunchly conservative Cardinal John O’Connor.
Far from providing the final answers on the gay rights movement, the exhibit raises questions about the shortcomings of liberalism in New York City in the 1970s and 1980s, the role of grassroots activism and coalition building in affecting change, and the power of religion in politics. Oral history, of course, is subjective. Memory is selective, flawed, and biased. But oral history also enhances our understanding of the past. These particular interviews not only supplement the City Council archival records in this exhibit but also convey the passion, commitment, and frustration of gay and lesbian activists who came of age during a tumultuous period of New York City history. The “Battle for Intro. 2″ visitor will have a lot to grapple with.
Stephen Petrus, Director of Public History Programs at LaGuardia and Wagner Archives, curated the exhibit The Battle for Intro. 2: The New York City Gay Rights Bill, 1971 – 1986.
