Punishing the poor.

Queer (In)Justice: The Criminalization of LGBT People in the United States

technological planning (263). Chapters begin with clear introductions and the conclusions/summaries are highly instructive; readers are invited to make connections between Martin’s proposals and the broader social, economic and political context of mid-twentieth century Britain. The authors also go to some lengths to argue that this text should not be interpreted as being a ‘local history’ and that the book should allow readers to consider the ‘wider cultural values’ and significance of the Whitehall plans (64). There is the obvious danger, given the level of detail afforded to the assiduously assembled archival material in Chapters 3–5, that this text might fall, somewhat inevitably perhaps, into a parochial trap. This particular reader would argue that this book manages, for the most part at least, to strike the balance extremely well. It makes a very useful wider contribution to several disciplines: certainly it should prove highly relevant to those working in the discipline of post-war planning and architecture, but it also helps to develop our broader understanding of modern culture in mid-twentieth century Britain. Finally, it sheds new light on a major example of the many ‘unbuilt’ or ‘unseen’ plans for post-war reconstruction, and the way in which architectural ideas were conceived and altered by a whole range of socio-economic and political forces. Working through these issues offers fertile ground for researchers interested in understanding the relationship between the process and product of planning.

Purging the poorest: public housing and the design politics of twice-cleared communities

Chicago’s gay village of Boystown has long been linked with whiteness, and in the past decade, tensions have flared between neighborhood residents and queer and transgender (trans) youth of color, often homeless, who come to Boystown for the many services provided by its lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) nonprofit organizations, or queer spaces of care. While scholars have attended to community policing in Boystown through the Take Back Boystown movement, the role of LGBTQ nonprofits has yet to be examined in their role of criminalizing queer and trans youth of color in the neighborhood. Through an autoethnographic approach, this paper explores how several nonprofit organizations in Boystown have adopted policing strategies toward the queer and trans youth of color they serve. I argue that community policing has infiltrated these organizations to further defend and maintain an exclusive gay urban space informed by whiteness, which marks and regulates young, Black masculinities...

The whiteness of gay urban belonging: criminalizing LGBTQ youth of color in queer spaces of care

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Family, Housing, and the Political Geography of Gay Liberation in Los Angeles County, 1960-1986

Queer Clout: Chicago and the Rise of Gay Politics

The 300 people that gathered in Newark, New Jersey, on a fall day in 2011 were not the typical academic crowd. That day, LGBTQ activists and high school students, street workers and church leaders, politicians and university students, professors, administrators and university staff sat rapt, watching rare and stunning images of “New Millennium Butches,” resplendent in tailored suits of black, pink or purple, flashing before them on a thirty-foot screen. The images were curated by Peggie Miller, a Newark activist and businessperson who has been organizing New Millennium Butch fashion shows in Newark since 2000. The crowd also viewed a series of photographs of Newark’s LGBTQ leaders, produced for this event by Newark black lesbian photographer Tamara Fleming. Each photograph was accompanied by an epigraph describing her subject’s vision of social change. “Mentorship is the key to our longevity as a community,” read the epigram by Sauce Leon, LGBTIQ commissioner of the City of Newark. “I want to see a community where we are all free and safe enough to unleash our unlimited potential,” urged Janyce L. Jackson, Pastor of Liberation in Truth Unity Fellowship Church. “We must individually and collectively create, organize and establish viable institutions that speak truth and realness to our lives,” Newark activist

https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.14321/qed.1.2.0001

A Community's Response to the Problem of Invisibility: The Queer Newark Oral History Project

This essay argues that the 1940 Selective Service Act introduced new tensions between pacifism and male citizenship in the United States. Even as the draft required tens of millions of American men to answer Uncle Sam's call and promoted a new norm of male military obligation, it also specified the acceptable grounds for conscientious objection and created bureaucratic mechanisms for distinguishing between sincere objectors and ‘slackers’. Using Selective Service and organisational records, letters, diaries, interviews and the media, I suggest that male citizenship has been defined not only by idealised and gendered duties, but also by the difficulties and exceptions involved in their practical realisation.

Not a Soldier, Not a Slacker: Conscientious Objectors and Male Citizenship in the United States during the Second World War

In November 1970, after a lengthy foot chase, two Chicago police officers apprehended James Clay Jr., a twenty-four-year-old African American man, and fired eight shots into his back, killing him. Clay, who was wearing women’s clothing when police encountered him, had a long arrest record that included charges for impersonating the opposite sex and solicitation to commit prostitution. The killing was covered by the local Chicago newspapers, including the Sun-Times, the countercultural biweekly Seed, and on the front page of the black-owned Defender. The Chicago Gay Alliance, founded a few months earlier, demanded that the Federal Bureau of Investigation look into whether Clay’s rights had been violated. The officers have never been brought to trial. At the time of Clay’s shooting, Chicagoans had been mobilizing for nearly a year, since the police killing of the Illinois Black Panther party leaders Fred Hampton and Mark Clark, to protest surveillance and infiltration of the black power movement. On the first anniversary of Clay’s death, Ortez Alderson, a twenty-year-old black man raised on the city’s South Side and the co-founder of the Black Caucus of Chicago Gay Liberation, organized a memorial march on the city’s Eighteenth District police station in his memory. Clay’s death led to the formation in 1971 of the Transvestites Legal Committee, Chicago’s first transgender political organization.1 The protests against Clay’s death offer a window onto the neglected intersection of the histories of sexuality and the carceral state by highlighting a missing link in the trajectory of gay politics: black-gay coalitions against police harassment. The rise of the gay rights movement and the emergence of the carceral state coexist uneasily in the historiography of the late twentieth-century United States. In the 1970s, as the nation embarked upon its unprecedented experiment in tightened drug enforcement and racialized mass incarceration, half the states repealed their sodomy laws, yet historians have only just begun to

Queer Law and Order: Sex, Criminality, and Policing in the Late Twentieth-Century United States

It was in big-city municipal government that American gays and lesbians first won political power. This article reinterprets the rise of urban gay politics, emphasizing the complex and changing rel...

Timothy Stewart-Winter

Papers

Queer Clout: Chicago and the Rise of Gay Politics

A Community's Response to the Problem of Invisibility: The Queer Newark Oral History Project

Not a Soldier, Not a Slacker: Conscientious Objectors and Male Citizenship in the United States during the Second World War

Queer Law and Order: Sex, Criminality, and Policing in the Late Twentieth-Century United States

The Law and Order Origins of Urban Gay Politics