As a queer Puerto Rican, I spent this June traversing the city, Pride-hopping from Humboldt Park (Puerto Rican Pride) to Boystown (Gay Pride). I looked forward to days of yelling with excited strangers, flirting with cuties, and dancing in the streets. Most of all, I eagerly awaited the weekend when my neighborhood, one that has long endured a reputation for gang violence and machismo, becomes a beacon for queer and trans people of color from miles around.
Gay boys argue openly about "that bitch from last season" of RuPaul's Drag Race. Studs show off their neck tattoos, and femmes of all genders sashay the paved paths with rainbow flags peeking out from their tight pants. My heart felt on the verge of exploding with pride because I was surrounded by generations of my people, but my gut twisted into a knot because I was also surrounded by the Chicago Police.
Puerto Rican People's Parade and Gay Pride share more than you might think. Just as the Gay Pride parade commemorates the 1969 Stonewall Riots in Greenwich Village when queens fought back against police harassment and abuse of LGBTs, the Puerto Rican People's Parade honors the 1966 Division Street Riots which erupted in Humboldt Park in response to police shooting a young Puerto Rican. Both celebrations started as resistance to brutality inflicted by police and have grown into full-blown parties since then. Boystown and Humboldt Park are iconic communities that represent urban meccas, drawing thousands who hope to find safety and belonging. These neighborhoods are two of the most heavily policed and surveilled neighborhoods on the North Side. Puerto Ricans that control Humboldt Park and gays that control Boystown have opposing but complementary relationships to the police.
In Humboldt Park, business owners and residents align with youth in opposition to police, maintaining that criminalization of youth in the neighborhood is unjust and destructive to the community's future. In Boystown, business owners and residents align with police against youth of color who travel from around the city to find shelter in the rainbow-lined streets. During the Pride parade, police lackadaisically manned intersections, waving at corporate-funded participants. Immediately after the parade ended, police cars disbursed crowds. Public space was like metered parking and our time was up. Of course, droves arrived later that evening to party and have a good time. At 11:30 p.m., police came back on the scene to harass people, yelling at them to go South or West. Pride was a day like any other, in which the CPD would sanitize the streets, making them more amenable to people who spend money and the bar owners who profit off them.
Police in Humboldt Park and in other poor communities of color patrol to keep people in, selectively enforcing curfew, and encouraging violence by increasing population density. The Puerto Rican Festival became yet another venue for containment with cop cars parked on every major street surrounding the park. Six officers stood guard at the part of a six-foot wire fence, which created the only entrance and exit to the festival. Police profiled attendees and conducted targeted searches (seemingly never on white people). Inside the festival, packs of four officers were stationed every 20 feet. The beating of overhead helicopters echoed, and drug unit dogs lined the exit.
The overwhelming police presence kept me on alert. My white upbringing taught me to see police as a signal that I was somewhere dangerous, where police intervention might rescue me. My Puerto Rican consciousness taught me to see police as a threat, an overwhelming force that had pinned us into a confined area where they could do what they wanted without repercussion. The LGBT community is pulled apart because the more privileged among us is unable to see that the "need" for police arises out of our fear of one another. Even in this moment where we so desperately want to connect, we turn to men in uniforms keep us safe. I don't see anything to be proud of in that.
André is the founder of the Trans Oral History Project, co-founder of Project Fierce Chicago, and a working board member of Orgullo en Accion. When André is not rabble-rousing, educating, or building community, you can hire him to photograph events and portraits by contacting him at andrealanperez@gmail.com .
