When We Rise: My Life in the Movement by Cleve Jones; Hachette, $27
Cleve Jones is a San Francisco star, an activist and grass roots organizer for 40 years who could only have been produced in this city. His new memoir When We Rise: My Life in the Movement is a love song to San Francisco, but a city vastly different from the one where Jones arrived in 1974. There is an implicit critique that the magic welcoming spell that SF cast on earlier gay refugees has lost some of its sparkle and allure, but the city's central role in the LGBT movement is indisputable. One could say the same about Jones. Underlying this book is the realization that LGBT people changed the world, and it is not hyperbole that Jones had a significant role in this transformation. His memoir traces his development as an activist and gay consciousness-raiser, but also as critic-at-large.
Escaping his family in Scottsdale, AZ, after contemplating suicide thinking he was the only gay man, born again after reading a Life magazine article about gay protesters in SF, he found a home here, as well as sexual liberation, helping to make the Castro a sanctuary for gay �migr�s despite no degree, training, or apparent skills. In explicit detail Jones etches out the partying, dancing, drugs, and uninhibited sexual freedom characteristic of the early 1970s, but also the instant camaraderie of finding a new friend on every street corner. Drag queens in the neighborhood called him Betty Blender. Jones describes first meeting disco singer Sylvester at 3 a.m. in the Haven restaurant: "Don't be scared child, I don't bite, unless you want me to." Regular trips to the bathhouses bolstered his self-esteem and sense of his own attractiveness. He became a part-time hustler to help make ends meet. He met Harvey Milk in the Castro, and Jones found his mentor in life and politics. The chapters featuring Milk are the best in the book.
When Milk was elected supervisor in 1977, Jones worked as a student intern in his office and began studying political science at SF State University. With the assassination of Milk on Nov. 27, 1978, Jones was converted into an activist, helping to organize the silent candlelight march from the Castro to City Hall to mourn his death. The White Night Riot protesting the light sentence given to Milk's killer became a benchmark event for Jones as he used his anger to advance the goals of the movement. In his speech that night in Civic Center, he outlined the agenda for the rest of his life: "That is why we will not rest until Harvey's dream is fulfilled: when lesbians and gay men of every age, race and background come out to join in the struggle with all of us who seek lives of freedom, dignity, and joy. We are deadly serious, we grow daily in power, and we will not be stopped." Soon after, he worked in State Assemblyman Art Agnos' (later Mayor of SF) office.
His on-the-job training as an activist came in handy as the AIDS crisis descended on the city. In 1983, Jones co-founded the SF AIDS Foundation, commenting that activists cried every day for 10 years. HIV-infected himself, wondering how long he had to live, it didn't stop him from continuing his social justice work. In preparing for the 1985 Candlelight March in honor of Harvey, he birthed the idea of the AIDS Memorial Quilt, the largest community art project in history, to commemorate the thousands who had died of the disease. The first panel was for Jones' best friend, Marvin Feldman. There are only a few chapters devoted to the Quilt, since he wrote a book on the Names Project in 2000, Stitching a Revolution. Continuing his work as a labor activist on behalf of hotel workers with UNITE!, Jones participated in the early stages of overturning California's Proposition 8 and legalizing same-sex marriage.
For those wanting to know what it was like to live in gay SF during the carefree 1970s, Jones gives you a ringside seat. He provides current events for each year to give context to simultaneous gay milestones. Jones seems particularly concerned with reaching younger generations who are not into history, reminding them of the bravery, fortitude, and persistence of those who preceded them. Throughout the book are transcripts of speeches Jones gave through the years. Though disheartened at times, he remains a reluctant idealist, wondering if our society is too polarized to pursue the just society envisioned by the countercultural 60s. This unvarnished, painful, uplifting, and at-times outrageous memoir is a testament to endurance under pressure, both Jones' and the movement.
Jones states emphatically that the movement saved his life and gave him purpose, as well as connecting him to the community he came to love. Jones' journey mirrors that of the movement itself, wounded but still vital. He writes, "The movement gave me hope and it is that hope which sustains me, hope for justice and equality, hope for the children that will follow us; hope that someday soon, we may rise." Jones' extraordinary courage never allows the obstacles he faced to overwhelm or dissuade him. We May Rise illustrates how far we have come as a people, but it's not shy in pointing out how far we still have to go. Jone is always opinionated in castigating other gay players and strategies. His genius is that he wasn't content to observe historical events, but hell-bent on ushering them in. We're all beneficiaries of his passionate, dedicated activism.