This is my first arrest. The jail is gritty and grimy, but it’s filled with incredible Queer spirit. It’s Oct. 13, 1987, and I’m in Washington D.C. for the second National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights with more than 700,000 fellow Queers and allies. I’m taken into custody on the steps of the U.S. Supreme Court on the charge of civil disobedience. I’ve made my way inside the jail and am standing in line to await fingerprinting. A baby dyke in line lets out a joyous squeal: “Hi, Mom!” Her mom and her gay brother are there, too—all ACT UP members. Family values, indeed. I’ve gotten separated from my group, The Shameless Hussies, but I declare my own name proudly. Then the question comes: “Do you want to go to trial?” “I don’t know. How long will it take?” “You’ll stay overni

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