queer history

The Ariston Bathhouse Raid: Unpacking a century-long legacy of anti-LGBTQ+ policing in America

It’s easy to get bogged down by all the anti-LGBTQ+ headlines as of late–from drag bans to rolling back protections for trans people. But these are not new. The United States has a long and enduring legacy of anti-queer policing, even in states now safe(r) havens for gay people.

For instance, the first violent policing of gay spaces happened in 1903 at the Ariston bathhouse in New York City. It set the stage for Stonewall and other anti-gay incidents in America, but is an often-forgotten moment in queer history. 

It was raining in New York City on February 21, 1903, so going to the Ariston bathhouse, a haven discreetly nestled on the bustling cross-street of Broadway and 55th, was a great indoor activity. Unbeknownst to its patrons, however, it would also be a night that bore witness to an unprecedented incursion on queer life that set a dreadful precedent for decades to come. 

That evening two police agents covertly entered the Ariston bathhouse to set the stage for the first documented anti-gay police raid on an American establishment. Within hours, a police battalion swept in, sequestering all 78 men in the space, arresting 34 men, and charging 16 with sodomy, and leaving the remaining patrons with warnings.

These bathhouses, humming with whispered secrets in their steam-filled sanctuaries, served as solace for queer men away from the judgment of society’s prying eyes. However, their seemingly safe confines were not entirely immune to the long arm of the law.

The trials that followed the Ariston raid revealed an intriguing dichotomy. 12 of the 16 men went to trial, and the transcripts portray a vivid portrait of homophobia, but also reveal the comical absurdity of a society so deeply uncomfortable with homosexuality yet wanting such exact, specific details of what occurred.

Here’s a small snippet of one of the trial transcripts. The five surviving Ariston Bathhouse Raid trial transcripts were digitized in 2017 by the library of the City University of New York alongside the other:

Lawyer: Now, did you notice the state of the defendant’s genital organ or penis, at the time that, as you say, he placed it in the anus of the man Walter Bennet

Witness: Yes, sir.

Lawyer: In what state was it?

Witness: It was in a state of erection.

Lawyer: And what, if anything, did he do to Bennett other than that act?

Witness: Oh, he laid down, after he withdrew his penis from –

Lawyer: Well, after he withdrew his penis, did you notice the penis of the defendant?

Witness: Yes, sir.

Lawyer: And in what condition was the penis of the defendant, after he had withdrawn it from the anus of Bennett?

Witness: In a state of collapse.

The grim aftermath saw seven of the twelve men on trial sentenced to multiple years in prison. There were no protests, no rallies, no public outcry of support. The men were carted off to serve their sentences, disappearing into the annals of an early America fraught with homophobia.

While some served their full sentences, not all of the men stayed behind bars. As is the case today, privilege could get you far in 1903. 

One of the convicted, George Galbert, a.k.a. George Alfred Caldwell, was part of a rich and well-connected family and he worked for famed architect John Carrere. Influential figures, including President Theodore Roosevelt, his daughter Alice, New York Governor Benjamin Odell Jr., and railroad tycoon Edward Merriman, intervened on his behalf according to news reports. 

The incident’s lasting impact was profound, extending far beyond the lives of those directly involved. Gay bathhouses and similar spaces, like the YMCA, remained essential social and sexual spaces for the queer community. The practice of raiding these establishments continued.

More than a decade later, in 1916, another raid on the all-male Lafayette Baths marked yet another chapter of brutality against the LGBTQ+ community, another precursor to the Stonewall Riots of 1969.

The Ariston Bathhouse Raid is a critical fragment of queer history, a grim reminder of a past filled with widespread prejudice. As we grapple with a present mired in the rollback of protections for queer people, the Ariston Bathhouse Raid underscores the need for our collective resistance against the erasure of hard-won freedoms.

It’s been 120 years since that fateful night in 1903; it’s high time we stop repeating the same sordid history.

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