Digital Program
Playwright's Note
According to our federal government, trans people don’t exist. They’re attempting to strip us of our health care, identity documents and, if they can, the ability to live as ourselves. As this march goes forward day after day, I ask myself, “Is anyone going to stop them, or is just us fighting?”
Researching this play was like a trip through the looking glass. Life was much worse for the trans women in the Tenderloin in 1966, but things were moving forward then as fast as they’re deteriorating today. Socialism, rather than fascism, was at work, and people’s lives improved as a result. Any trans woman who moved to Turk St. at that time was brave beyond
comprehension. The taboo against trans femininity was nearly absolute, and police harassment and abuse were a given. They’d all said goodbye to the lives they’d previously known and risked life and limb, because the alternative wasn’t an option. In doing so, the ones present at the time of the riot helped launch a revolution that would ignite more
prominently three years later at Stonewall.
Visiting the plaque where Compton’s Cafeteria once stood felt oddly spiritual on the trip that inspired me to write Riot Queens, as though the waves of pride and defiance present that night were still rippling out to those in need of them. No one should have to fight for acceptance and equality. For those of us who do, though, may the echoes of the past be our fuel.
Mikki Gillette – February 2026
Director's Note
Change can be scary. And struggle is hard. Pushing against tides that threaten to crush us in a moment is the reality we wake up to every day. Jobs. Relationships. Physical Health. Mental Health. Family Drama. Climate Chrises. Universal themes that bind us to this human condition. As trans people, we receive an extra dose of anxiety in the shape of hatred delivered directly to our pockets through news, social media, and the constant barrage from Red States that cannot abide the thought that we even exist. As trans artists in this time of assault, we rise and join our voices to make it known that we are here, have always been here, have overcome so much to be standing where we are, and know that our community will endure. None of that is easy. But it is what breathes life and truth into the story you will see tonight.
So often when we think about 1965, there is almost a gloss of progress. The Beatles and Beach Boys were changing music. The Summer of Love was on the horizon. Martin Luther King had just showed people the power of a Dream. And there were places that gay and trans folk could go and be themselves. Openly, though not without danger. Christopher St in New York was one such place. San Francisco’s Tenderloin was another. Small enclaves where locals accepted that different didn’t equate to
despicable, allowing queer folk the liberty to breathe. But that breath of air held a stench of fear, barely masking the tang of threat, paired with the sharpness of iron from being beaten bloody. It was a life, it was a living, but it wasn’t equality, in name or practice. I stand today on the shoulders of the queers who came before; we all do. The Queens of Compton’s Cafeteria had a haven, but they wanted more. Not more than their neighbor. The same as their neighbor. Even today, I sometimes have a conversation with a family member, or a work associate, and they may make some comment about ‘special treatment’ for trans folk. It raises my hackles, and I have to say, with delicacy and intention, that until all people, regardless of sex, gender, sexual orientation, religion, national or ancestral heritage, or skin color, have the same rights and privileges as below-average cis-white men, then all other ‘treatment’ is discriminatory. That normally ends the conversation. I always hope, however, that it’s the beginning of thought and consideration.
The fight for equality is ongoing. The Queens’ fight achieved much: healthcare, jobs, status, the ability to rent an apartment. We take many of things for granted. When marriage equality became the law of the land, we wept and it felt like all things were falling into place. And then 2016 happened. And Florida happened. And Indiana happened. And JK TERFstick stole Harry Potter from us. And Kansas happened just last week. And it has felt for a while that the hits keep coming, and there’s no winning for losing. It’s at those times that I remind myself to keep breathing. I am grateful for the life I have, and the privileges that I enjoy, but the fight isn’t over. The struggle continues.
The Queens of the Tenderloin had nothing. In the face of hatred and opposition, they shouted with full voice that crumbs weren’t enough. We join our voices in harmony with theirs. Until we are all free, we are none of us free.
Enjoy Riot Queens!
Harper York
Cast & Crew
Designers Sophina Flores, Harper York, Ezra Goetzen, and Daye Thomas
