The liaison reminded me of Annie Lennox. She was dressed in a black suit and tie, and she had an orange buzzcut with geek glasses. She was very professional. She took down notes, asking questions as I relayed my experience to her. She wanted to know if I was hurt and if I wanted to press charges. I wasn't really hurt just shaken, but if there was even a small chance I could have him sent to jail, I wanted to take it. When the police came, they didn't seem overtly homophobic. They were middle-aged men, skinny, and just as businesslike as the liaison. One had a mole above his lip, covered in hair. They said there was nothing they could do, even though the incident was caught on camera. It sucked, but everyone involved said that I probably wouldn't see the man again. I didn't feel discriminated against. I still don't believe that I was. They just didn't have a way to identify my attacker, not by name at least. When we were finished, I thanked everyone and left, feeling somewhat reassured.
Sometime later, I'm not sure how long, I saw the officer with the mole harassing a gay couple that kissed at the downtown station. When I intervened, he threatened to take me in for disorderly conduct, adding in a slur for good measure. He might not have been able to help me with my problem whether he wanted to or not, but the public did need to find ways to protect themselves from him. What I didn't realize was that there was a pervasive culture of discrimination in the department, accompanied by a healthy dose of corruption, complacency, aggression, and general laziness. It's come up time and time again over the years. Whenever someone I knew--or I myself--had to dial that magic number, they proved themselves to be a destructive force. It didn't show any signs of getting better until we instituted body cams and started prosecuting them for misconduct. Everyone, even people outside the community, could've benefited from a liaison. I had no idea how lucky we were to have them.
I later learned that there were centers like Wingspan all across the United States--one in Salt Lake, another in Boise, Portland, Oregon, Sacramento, San Francisco, San Diego, L.A., and of course New York--and those were just the ones I could name. They were part of a larger political issue that was being researched and documented by members of our rights movement. The police didn't listen. They didn't care. They ignored us, and they ignored a lot of other people too. They were able to get away with it--just like all of the other atrocities they got away with--because nobody held them accountable. If they decided someone was going to jail, they went, and the courts favored their testimony. If they decided that someone deserved a beatdown, they got one. If they decided not to enforce the law, nothing could stop them, and there would be no evidence to the contrary. I've seen many of these things--including beatings, intentional false arrests, and a refusal to enforce the law--myself over the years, and that's just from living a normal, law-abiding life. Everyone was subjected to their special brand of corruption, but members of the LGBTQ+ community and other minorities were especially vulnerable. Wingspan came armed with a mountain of research to back that up. That's how they were able to garnish funding. But nobody really needed proof of misconduct or prejudice--not unless they were sheltered or biased. It was common sense. That's why their message worked so well, and it's how they were able to build such an extensive network of liaisons and drop-in centers.