Queer Liberation March

 Queer Liberation March

 

Pride Sunday was awash in blazing sun and Union Square and the surrounding streets were full of queer people just out enjoying the day.  I was pulling on my neon green marshal vest as I headed across the park, and people started asking me questions about the Pride parade and the day’s events.  I kept directing them toward the Queer Liberation March, which many had not heard of but were excited about.  

 

When I got to the west side of the park, at first all I could see were vendors tables’ but then I saw a flash of neon and found Matthew and the other marshals assembling.  “Can you take the front?” asked Matthew.  “Jamie wants to take a break and be in the back.”  It had been so long since I was a front marshal that I couldn’t remember doing it,  and the dogged patience required to herd people into the march at the back, cajole them into keeping up, and hold back the rear line of cops suits me better than the more assertive energy needed to get people behind the front banner and wrangle with aggressive photographers blocking the march, but it didn’t seem right to refuse.  Jamie has been at the front of every march, large and small, as reliable as the tide so it was only fair for them to get a break.

 

Rise and Resist people who had marched as Human Beings with Gays Against Guns at the front of the Parade started trickling in, still in their white outfits (minus the veils), ready for a second round.

 

The police are used to the QLM after all these years, so we were able to guide the front banner into the street without any trouble and then the marchers behind it.  Once the wall of photographers scrambling to get their shots eased up, we started moving very slowly.  As Jay and a young woman got the crowd going with energetic chants, they naturally kept speeding up.   Then we’d start getting signal messages about gaps forming as people toward the back fell behind, and have to hold the whole march to give them time to catch up.  Then we’d start out very slowly again.

 

As we did this block after block, the effort of walking at such an artificial pace started making my legs increasingly painful.  By the time we got to Soho, I was wondering if I was going to be able to get to Foley Square but I forced the troublesome legs to keep going until the front of the march hit Foley Square and devolved into an amorphous crowd.  There was no plan for a rally at the end but various people started giving speeches.

 

 I knew marshals were needed to help disburse the crowd, but I spotted Steve Q sitting at the northern edge of the park and went to join him.  “Did you march all that way?” he asked, taking in my flushed face and limp.  “I took the train.”  It made sense that he hadn’t done the 2.3 miles on his bad knee, but it’s not an option when you are marshaling.

 

Marchers had stopped arriving at the park, but we could see something going on up the hill on Broadway.  “It looks like there’s more  march stopped on Broadway,” said Steve and it dawned on me that we hadn’t seen the back marshals arrive.  We were trying to figure that out when there was a screech and a crash just north of us, and two people hopped out of their cars yelling at each other.  The police, who had been daydreaming or chatting as the march went by them, were surprised to find themselves having to actually do something, and they were not too successful at getting the infuriated drivers to settle down.  Finally they resorted to using their car PA system to order both of them to get back in their cars.  As the car that had been hit drove past us, Steve and I could see the dent.

 

The  rest of the march was still stopped up on Broadway, and Karen R, who had been bike marshaling, came by.  “Qween Jean decided to give a speech,” she said, referring to a trans leader.   “In the middle of the march?” Steve and I were puzzled. She could have easily given a speech in Foley Square.  “Matthew was telling the marshals to tell her to get moving,” Karen said, “but nobody was going to do that.”  I could see why.  Qween Jean is a strong, loud personality and she just won a Tony for costume design for the Jellicle Ball.  You might as well ask a slab of granite to move.

 

Eventually, she finished and the rest of the march made it into the park.  Karen and Steve headed off for gin and tonics and I painfully made my way to the R and fell sound asleep, which is the advantage of living at the last stop.  I stumbled the couple of blocks home, paused to gather some willpower at the bottom of the terrace steps, and then scrambled up them muttering “ouch, ouch.” My neighbors have seen this before, so they were not too worried and kept on watering their pointless lawns and gossiping.

 

I opened the front door and was immediately led to the empty food dish, so I poured the chow, had a couple glasses of water, and then fell asleep without even bothering to plug in my dead phone.