President Cyril Ramaphosa meets with President Trump in the Oval Office on May 21. Photo: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
In a shocking moment during President Trump‘s meeting with South African President Cyril Ramaphosa on Wednesday, Trump requested that videos be displayed purporting to show evidence of violence against white people in the country.
The big picture: Trump, who cut all foreign assistance to South Africa, has embraced the false accusations of genocide against white South Africans as justification for granting them refugee status in the U.S.
A South African court in February dismissed claims of a “white genocide” asnot real.
Driving the news: In a stunning scene reminiscent of the Oval Office showdown with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, Trump asked for the lights to be dimmed before playing the videos.
While Trump watched the video, Ramaphosa looked away, appearing uncomfortable.
At one point, speaking over the video, Trump said the screen was displaying “burial sites.” Ramaphosa inquired where the scene was located, adding, “This I’ve never seen.”
Later on, Trump paged through articles from the “last few days” while repeating, “death, death, death.”
Catch up quick: In the question that preceded the video display, a reporter asked Trump what it would take for him to be convinced there was no genocide in South Africa — an inquiry Ramaphosa answered.
“It will take President Trump listening to the voices of South Africans,” Ramaphosa said.
Trump jumped in, saying there were “thousands of stories” and “documentaries.”
“It has to be responded to,” he said before the footage began.
Context: The video played in the Oval Office featured the voice of Julius Malema, a firebrand politician and leader of the Economic Freedom Fighters, who was ejected from Parliament.
Ramaphosa clarified that the utterances in the footage were not “government policy,” saying, “We have a multiparty democracy in South Africa that allows people to express themselves.”
South Africa’s Agriculture Minister John Steenhuisen — who is white — reiterated Ramaphosa’s point, emphasizing that the two people in the video are opposition leaders. He said his party, the Democratic Alliance, chose to join forces with Ramaphosa’s “to keep those people out of power.”
Trump interjected, “You do allow them to take land … and then when they take the land, they kill the white farmer, and when they kill the white farmer, nothing happens to them.”
South Africa recently passed the Expropriation Act, which allows the government to take some land and redistribute it as part of a long-running effort to lessen the racial and economic disparities created by apartheid.
Ramaphosa acknowledged there is “criminality” in the country — but said the majority of people killed have been Black people.
Trump claimed the “farmers are not Black” and said, without evidence, that people were being killed “in large numbers” and were decapitated. He repeatedly lashed out at reporters, saying, “The fake news in this country doesn’t talk about that.”
This is a developing story. Please check back for updates.
Photo: Acting NASA Administrator Janet Petro, who also serves as Kennedy Space Center director, a post she assumed in 2021. Trump elevated Petro to lead NASA after he ousted former Sen. Bill Nelson for believing in climate change.
Newly-released data shows that Oklahoma ranks 46th in per-pupil spending, but Walters, who is eyeing a run for governor, has called for cuts to his state’s “wasteful” education spending, including $250,000 to provide school districts with emergency inhalers.
In his KFOR interview, Walters did boast about getting new teachers a signing bonus, but as was widely reported the time, $290,000 of that money had to be clawed back because it had gone to teachers who did not qualify. Some of those teachers had already spent the money.
New: CBP seized a shipment of t-shirts from @cola.baby featuring a swarm of bees attacking a cop. The company also sells "ELIMINATE ICE" t-shirt and previously was threatened by LAPD for "FUCK THE LAPD" shirts and hats. Shirts to be "destroyed under CBP supervision"www.404media.co/cbp-seizes-s…
Rep. Beth Lear first appeared here in January 2024 when she defended her anti-trans bathroom bill by citing the “millstones” bible verse which calls for drowning anyone who hurts children.
She later blamed “depraved monster” Alfred Kinsey, liberals, and the ACLU for transgender people even existing.
Rep. Josh Williams first appeared here in July 2024 for his bill that would criminalize drag shows in the presence of children. Williams reintroduced his bill last week.
Blanche last appeared here when he sanctioned the American Bar Association because its lawyers have failed to show suitable obedience to Glorious Leader.
I think there’s a blurb about this on Peace History, but I could be misrecalling. Anyway, here is far more of the story. Language alert, from the beginning.
Queer History 111: Before the Stonewall Riots, There Was Compton’s Cafeteria by Wendy🏳️⚧️🏳️🌈🌈 Read on Substack
You’ve heard about Stonewall—everyone has. It’s become the sanitized, rainbow-washed origin story of the LGBTQ+ rights movement that gets trotted out every Pride month by corporations selling overpriced merchandise. But three years before Stonewall rocked New York City, a group of fierce-as-fuck transgender women and drag queens in San Francisco’s gritty Tenderloin district had already thrown the first punch in the fight for queer liberation. The Compton’s Cafeteria Riot of 1966 wasn’t just a footnote in history—it was a goddamn declaration of war against police brutality and societal oppression that’s been deliberately erased from our collective memory.
Let me tell you something straight up: these women weren’t politely asking for their rights with carefully worded petitions. They were fighting for their very existence in a society that treated them like garbage. And when pushed to their absolute limit one hot August night, they didn’t just push back—they burned the whole system down. Literally throwing coffee in cops’ faces, smashing windows, and lighting a police car on fire. This wasn’t a “disturbance” or an “incident”—it was a motherfucking riot, and it’s time we remember it for what it was.
The Tenderloin: Where Society Dumped Its “Undesirables”
San Francisco’s Tenderloin district in the 1960s wasn’t the gentrified hipster paradise it’s becoming today. It was a last-resort neighborhood—the only place that would accept the people society had discarded. Transgender women, particularly trans women of color, found themselves with precious few options for survival. Denied employment, housing, and basic human dignity, many turned to sex work simply to eat and keep a roof over their heads.
“We couldn’t get jobs, couldn’t get housing, couldn’t even walk down the street without being arrested,” recalled Amanda St. Jaymes, a trans woman who lived in the Tenderloin during this era. “The cops would book us as ‘female impersonators’ and throw us in the men’s jail. Do you have any fucking idea what happened to us in there?”
The brutal reality was that transgender women faced constant police harassment under California’s “masquerade laws,” which made it illegal to dress in clothing of the “opposite sex.” Cops could and did arrest trans women for the crime of simply existing in public. These weren’t occasional incidents—this was systematic persecution backed by the full force of the law.
Gene Compton’s Cafeteria, a 24-hour diner at the corner of Taylor and Turk, was one of the few places trans women could gather safely—or so they thought. Open all night, it became an unofficial community center for transgender women, drag queens, gay hustlers, and other marginalized folks who had nowhere else to go. But the management often called the police when too many “queens” gathered, leading to regular harassment and arrests.
“The Night I Got Tired of Being Bullied”
On a hot night in August 1966 (the exact date has been lost to history), the simmering tension finally boiled over. When police attempted to arrest a transgender woman at Compton’s for the “crime” of being there, she threw her coffee in the officer’s face. What followed was an explosion of rage that had been building for decades.
“It wasn’t planned,” said Felicia Elizondo, a transgender activist who frequented Compton’s. “It was just the night I got tired of being bullied. We all got tired at the same fucking moment.”
The cafeteria erupted. Cups, saucers, and trays became projectiles. The plate glass windows of the restaurant were smashed. A newsstand was set on fire. The women fought back with everything they had—high heels, heavy purses, and righteous fury. When a police car pulled up outside, it was immediately surrounded, its windows broken and, according to some accounts, set ablaze.
“Those queens fought like hell,” remembered one witness. “You’d think a bunch of ‘girls’ couldn’t do much damage, but honey, when you’ve been beaten and raped by cops, when you’ve been refused medical care, when your own family has thrown you out like trash—you fight like someone with nothing left to lose.”
The riot spilled into the streets and continued through the night. Unlike at Stonewall, there were no photographers present, no reporters to document what happened. The next day, more transgender women and supporters returned to picket the cafeteria, which had banned transgender customers in response to the riot. This marked one of the first known instances of organized transgender direct action in U.S. history.
The Cover-Up and Erasure
Here’s where the story gets even more fucked up: this watershed moment was almost completely erased from history. No major newspapers covered it. Police records of the incident mysteriously disappeared. For decades, Compton’s Cafeteria Riot existed only in the memories of those who were there, many of whom didn’t survive the AIDS crisis of the 1980s and ’90s.
“They didn’t want people to know we fought back,” explained historian Susan Stryker, whose groundbreaking documentary “Screaming Queens” finally brought the riot to public attention in 2005. “Transgender resistance didn’t fit the narrative they wanted to tell about passive victims who needed saving.”
The erasure was so complete that even many LGBTQ+ historians were unaware of the riot until nearly 40 years after it occurred. When Stryker discovered a brief reference to the “uprising of drag queens” in the archives of gay liberation periodicals, she had to piece together what happened through painstaking interviews with survivors and witnesses.
Why was this history buried? Simple: it centered transgender women—particularly trans women of color—as the vanguard of the LGBTQ+ liberation movement. It challenged the comfortable narrative that the movement began with Stonewall and was led primarily by white gay men. The Compton’s story was inconvenient for those who wanted to sanitize queer history for mainstream consumption.
The Aftermath: Real Fucking Change
What makes the Compton’s Cafeteria Riot even more remarkable is that it actually led to concrete changes in San Francisco. In the aftermath, a network of transgender support services emerged. The city established the Tenderloin Health Clinic, which provided hormones and healthcare to transgender people—the first of its kind in the nation. The police department even initiated the first-ever training on interacting with transgender people.
Sergeant Elliott Blackstone, the SFPD’s first liaison to the “homophile community,” became an unlikely ally. After the riot, he worked with transgender activists to stop police harassment and helped establish programs to support transgender residents. “I just treated them like human beings,” Blackstone later said, “which nobody else was doing.”
The riot also galvanized the formation of organizations like Vanguard, one of the first gay youth organizations in the U.S., and the National Transsexual Counseling Unit, the first peer-run support organization for transgender people. These laid the groundwork for the transgender rights movement that continues today.
“We built something from nothing,” said Tamara Ching, a Tenderloin activist who lived through this era. “We created community when the whole damn world wanted us dead or invisible.”
The Women Who Led the Charge
The heroes of Compton’s didn’t get streets named after them or Hollywood biopics made about their lives. Many died in obscurity, their contributions uncelebrated. Women like Alexis Miranda, who later became an influential transgender activist; Tamara Ching, who fought for the rights of transgender sex workers; and Amanda St. Jaymes, who established support services for transgender women in the Tenderloin.
“Some of the fiercest women I ever knew didn’t live to see their impact,” recalls Felicia Elizondo, one of the few surviving veterans of the Tenderloin scene. “They died from violence, from AIDS, from the sheer exhaustion of fighting every day just to exist.”
Unlike Stonewall, where key figures like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera eventually received some recognition (though still not enough), many of the women who fought at Compton’s remain nameless in historical records. Their revolutionary act was nearly lost to history, remembered only by those who were there.
The anonymity of many Compton’s participants speaks to the precarious nature of transgender life in the 1960s—and still today. Many lived under assumed names, without identification documents, invisible to official records. They existed in the margins, which made their uprising all the more remarkable and all the more easily erased.
Why This Matters Now More Than Ever
If you think this is just ancient history, wake the fuck up. In 2023, we’re seeing the most aggressive legislative assault on transgender rights in modern history. Over 500 anti-trans bills have been introduced in state legislatures in recent years. Access to healthcare is being restricted. Transgender people are being banned from public spaces. Sound familiar?
“It’s the same playbook,” says Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, a transgender elder who has been fighting for rights since the 1960s. “Criminalize our existence, push us out of public spaces, make it impossible to live authentically. They’ve just dressed it up in fancier language.”
The courage of the women at Compton’s Cafeteria provides a powerful template for resistance in the face of overwhelming oppression. They didn’t wait for permission to fight back. They didn’t seek respectability. They recognized that when a system is designed to destroy you, sometimes you have to break the whole damn thing and start over.
“We’ve been here before,” warns historian Jules Gill-Peterson. “And the lesson from Compton’s isn’t to write polite letters to politicians. It’s that direct action gets the goods. It’s that sometimes you have to throw the first punch—or the first coffee cup.”
The Legacy: From Shadows to Celebration
Today, the corner of Taylor and Turk in the Tenderloin bears a plaque commemorating the riot. In 2017, the city of San Francisco renamed a section of Turk Street as “Compton’s Transgender Cultural District”—the first legally recognized transgender district in the world. It’s a belated recognition of the community that has called this area home for over half a century and the uprising that marked its coming of age.
But the real legacy of Compton’s isn’t in plaques or street names—it’s in the radical tradition of transgender resistance it established. From Compton’s to Stonewall to the modern movements against police brutality, the thread of transgender leadership in liberation struggles remains unbroken, even when unacknowledged.
“Those girls didn’t have Twitter or TikTok or any way to document what they did,” reflects contemporary transgender activist Raquel Willis. “But they changed the world anyway. Imagine what we can do now with all the tools and visibility we have.”
The next time you celebrate Pride, remember that it wasn’t born from corporate sponsorships and rainbow capitalism. It was born from a coffee cup thrown in a cop’s face by a transgender woman who had decided she wasn’t going to take any more shit. It was born from the broken windows of a cafeteria in the Tenderloin and the fiery determination of women who fought back when the world told them they shouldn’t even exist.
That’s the legacy of Compton’s Cafeteria Riot—not just a historical footnote, but a battle cry that still echoes today: We have always been here. We have always fought back. And we’re not going anywhere.
References
Stryker, S. (2008). Transgender History: The Roots of Today’s Revolution.
Stryker, S., & Silverman, V. (Directors). (2005). Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton’s Cafeteria [Documentary].
Transgender Law Center. (2017). Compton’s Transgender Cultural District Report.
Dzodan, F. (2021). Before Stonewall: The Trans Women Who Sparked a Revolution.
Armstrong, E. A., & Crage, S. M. (2006). Movements and Memory: The Making of the Stonewall Myth.
Williams, C. (2014). Transgender History in the United States: A Special Unabridged Version of a Book Chapter.
Elizondo, F. (2015, August 26). Personal interview by Nicole Pasulka for Vice: “Ladies in the Streets: Before Stonewall, Transgender Uprising Changed Lives.”
I can not understand the kind of hate or anger at different groups to want to cost yourself hundreds of dollars and possible jail time. To damage the books doesn’t erase the people they were written about and it doesn’t change history. It only hurts the library and the community which pays for the library. Hugs
Man accused of checking out books on Jewish, Black, LGBTQ history from Cuyahoga County Public Library and burning them on extremist website
A man checked out 100 books on topics including Jewish history, African American history and LGBTQ education before allegedly burning them in a social media video.
Credit: City of Beachwood, Ohio/Facebook
CLEVELAND — Cuyahoga CountyPublic Library officials, in a police report obtained by 3News, accused a man of checking out 100 books on Jewish history, Black history and LGBTQ education last month before filming a book burning and posting the video on a social media site described by advocates as a hub for white supremacist, neo-Nazi and extremist content.
According to an investigative report filed last week by the Beachwood Police Department, the man went into the Beachwood library branch on Shaker Boulevard and applied for a library card on April 2. He was approved for the card and checked out 50 books by the library’s proper procedure.
A library official told police that the Princeton University Bridging Divides Initiative, a non-partisan research effort that tracks political violence in the United States and monitors suspected hate crimes on social media, notified the library that the man posted a photo to Gab.com of a car trunk full of books. The post came with a caption that referenced “cleansing” the libraries, the official told police. The books in the photo “appeared to match the topics” of the books the man had checked out and also had Cuyahoga County Public Library stickers on them, the police report states.
According to the Anti-Defamation League‘s Center on Extremism, Gab is a platform known for lax content moderation policies that is widely used by “conspiracy theorists, white nationalists, neo-Nazis, members of militias and influential figures among the alt right.”
On April 10, the man returned to the Beachwood branch and borrowed another 50 books relating to similar topics. The man told a librarian that his son was a member of the LGBTQ community and he was trying to learn more about it. According to the police report, the librarian found the man’s behavior to be “very odd and concerning,” but the man did not make any threats during the encounter.
The Princeton researchers later reached out to the library again, this time saying that the man posted a video they believed depicted him burning all 100 books. The police report again states that the books in the video, a copy of which was obtained by police, “appeared to match the theme and titles” of the books that were checked out from the library. One of the books shown in the video had a CCPL sticker and was an exact match of one of the books the man withdrew, police said.
At the time the police report was filed on May 2, the man was not facing any charges in connection with the allegations. Police said the library staff were calling only to “document the incident,” and that the borrowed books were not yet overdue. The library told police that the man would be sent a bill once the books became overdue, and that the bill would be sent to collections if it was not paid.
The books had a combined total value of $1,700, the report stated.
Police told the library staff that “since a contract was entered and payment would eventually be billed,” the incident was likely a civil matter. The investigative report states the Beachwood city prosecutor would be consulted to determine whether criminal charges are warranted.
The library plans to ban the man from its property in the future. Police told the library staff to contact them for help issuing a trespass warning if the man returned.
Scottie's Playtime 