In queer circles, youll likely get read for not knowing important moments in LGBT history, such as the origins and key players of Pride (*read, in this context, meaning thoroughly but gently, publicly shamed). It makes sense. How can we relish the acceptance current generations of queers enjoy without honoring the people who fought every kind of oppression to give it to us?

Ive felt the sting of embarrassment, during my trans adolescence, for not knowing the stories of Marsha P. Johnson, who panhandled on the corner of Bleeker and Christopher, only to give the money away to her trans siblings. At the time, I, like many of my peers, could only list actors and transgender influencers not the behind-the-scenes activists who helped make my existence possible.

Surrounding Christopher Park in the West Village, just across the street from the Stonewall Inn bar, are black and white photos of historical moments in LGBT history hanging on the fences. Only a few of the thousands of people who walk by those photos have some idea of the significance of their placement. Albert Herring, a 74-year-old man, is featured in one of these photos with the same youthful expression he wears today. Nearly everyday, he sits on a bench facing Stonewall Inn, reliving the memories of his youth.

People travel from all over the world to take photos in front of Stonewall Inn, without any idea that a veteran of the riot is sitting right across the street. People keep asking, who threw the first brick? It doesnt matter who threw the first brick, he says, They came with a death wagon. They were ready with billy clubs in their hands. They wanted to kill us and throw us in the back of the wagon. That wasnt a riot. We were fighting for our lives.