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Last night the goddesses and gods of gender and sexual orientation liberation gathered for the funeral of Sylvia Rivera, both to eulogize her and to pass on the torch of her revolutionary struggle for transgender rights to the next generations.  The humble second floor hall at Metropolitan Community Church on W. 36th St. in Manhattan was packed to overflowing down the stairs and out into the street with the mothers and fathers of modern queer history.  Under the harsh glare of TV news camera lights, belatedly covering the decades old battle for rights, even the author of the book that canonized Saint Sylvia (Martin Duberman, who wrote Stonewall) spoke of his memories of meetings with her.

Speaker after speaker eloquently memorialized both the sacred and profane elements of Sylvia's existence.  With militant political rhetoric, humor, and pathos they shared the influence which Sylvia had on their lives. Bob Kohler began the eulogies by recounting in hysterical detail his years of friendship and adventures with Sylvia.  Her will to speak up no matter how intense the danger poignantly bespoke her courage.  At one point she and Bob Kohler were surrounded by police pointing weapons at them and ordering them to leave New York University's Weinstein Hall which they had occupied to protest the cancellation of gay dances.  In the silence of the tense standoff, Sylvia began the chant, "Give me a G....." (Gay Power).  Mr. Kohler told us that Sylvia had specifically asked him to tell this story, at her funeral, about the time she almost got him killed (for further details of this story, see note 94 on pages 314-15, Stonewall, by Martin Duberman).  One of the most moving speakers was Leslie Feinberg, who evoked memories of the heroic early civil rights marches and coined the slogan, "From Selma To Stonewall," to put the entire battle for rights into an all inclusive perspective.

During the proceedings, the TV news cameras spent as much time panning the congregated tableaus of past and present celebrities of the cause as they did the dais; Andy Humm, Ann Northrop, Matt Foreman, Randy Wicker, and so many more whose presence together gave one a palpable sense of living history.  To say that this was no ordinary funeral would be somewhat of a major understatement.   Transgender attire was so predominate that those males in suits stood out oddly.  Cameras flashed incessantly and the gathered throng of mourners enthusiastically applauded the hot gospel music and singing as well as the deeply earnest and somewhat strident diatribes of the speakers.  I brought a young man in his mid twenties with me so that he might experience a moment amidst those who had created his freedom and carry that memory forward with him.  One after another I pointed out the people written about in the book Stonewall, which I had given him to read.  He remained quietly incredulous until I pointed out Martin Duberman who had chronicled the history; "And there's the fellow who wrote the book;" and then I saw in his eyes the glimmerings of awe at the entire experience.  On the Friday preceding the funeral, I had attended the wake and viewing.  It too was attended by so many whose lives had been touched by Sylvia Rivera from street urchins to politicians and early activists including Jim Fouratt among the many others mentioned above.  At the wake, Sylvia lay in drag in a open coffin with a rainbow feather fan and beads, surrounded by heaps and heaps of flowers. Somber but alternate clothing predominated with much spiked hair, piercings, and quite a lot of gray hair.  Particularly striking in elegance was a young black in an exquisite hooded black gown.  When I told a Southern friend about this he told me, "Oh honey, black drag queens KNOW how to funeralize!"  Throughout the wake proceedings I had introduced myself as ' Ruby Lips' and no one so much as cracked a derisive smile.  This was despite the fact that I am a 55 year old man, with a moustache and normal parted haircut, who looks very much like the retired veteran military man that I am. Here, amidst the penultimate of the politically correct, the counterintuitive image with which I chose to present myself was greeted with the gravest respect.  This was a gathering of many people who's attitude was, "do you KNOW who I am!!?"  Aside from the nationally famous names in gay history who were present, there were many others who had devoted many tireless decades of their lives to the cause and are well known to the cognoscenti but less so to the general gay public.  And that lack of recognition is the cause of much attitude due to the lack of much deserved gratitude for their lifelong efforts.

It is extremely important to remember that many of  those gathered to remember Sylvia were the people who made gay freedom possible.  The focus of their ongoing rage is that once the gay movement gained momentum, transgender rights were pushed aside as being too embarrassing and as not being a part of the mainstream image of the gay movement.  In essence it was a repeat of the historic divisions about image that began in the movement at its inception in the early sixties.  Back then, conservative elements, within Matachine and regional and national gay rights organizations, felt that the only way to gain respect was to project a mainstream image; by marching quietly in suits and ties for men and proper dress attire for women.  There was, of course, a certain proper logic to this approach.  But, others felt that this was 'not who we are' and that more radical in-your-face demonstrations to demand rights would be more effective and quicker to gain results. I am admittedly simplifying matters upon which a great deal has been written at length.  Fast forward to the present: we now have Gay Community Centers and legal protection  in many major cities; gay elected officials are not uncommon, we have and have had openly gay senators and members of congress in both major political parties.  All of this was absolutely unthinkable back in the 1950's and 60's before the courageous acts taken by our early gay rights activists. What most people do not realize, including most gay people, is that these same activists did and continue to do much more than shout in the streets for the TV cameras.  They have spent their entire lives, over the past 40 years, working out and negotiating the excruciatingly legalistic details of the rights we now enjoy.  The labored behind typewriters and in dreary meetings for decades in the face of constant defeat and rejection until  slowly little by little rights were grudgingly granted.  It was noted by several speakers that Sylvia Rivera was actively engaged in this work nearly until her dying breath, lying in her hospital bed advising associates in detail on how to continue the political agenda of including transgender rights in upcoming New York State sexual orientation non discrimination act  legislation.

Following the funeral there was a Procession from the Stonewall Inn down Christopher Street to the Village piers along the Hudson River where Sylvia had lived at times and where she had cared for homeless transgender youths.  To the sound of soulful jazz gospel music and song, the urn with her ashes was carried in a horse drawn carriage, bearing Sylvia one last time, down the streets where LGBT liberation history began.