MONEY FOR AIDS / CLOSE DELANEY HALL

Thursday, June 25th 2026 - just after 5PM. 

I shuffle out of the gallery with granola bars, bananas,

my newly polished Frye cowboy-Chelsea boots in a tote bag

piled atop the Action Meeting snacks.

In my other am, I am clinging to a garbage bag stuffed with surplus cardboard scraps for the protest signage art build,

that I am encouraging to ensue. 

What’s all that? 

The gallery assistant inspects as I hobble toward the glass doors on the second floor of the Fuller Building—

Just rubbish. Garbage. My life. 

The Action Chat has been rampant for the last twelves hours. 

It’s a collective energy. But I am learning quick—

If you are rallying a call- Calling a rally 

to occur in the middle of 42nd Street at 8:30AM on a Friday.

You need to have answers. 

Find an answer. Provide an answer. 

Arrive at an answer together.

I’ll stay in this mindset for the next 36 hours. 

The garbage bag full of surplus cardboard begins to tear. Almost- just almost tumbles down an MTA escalator in Billionares Row. I miss the West 4th St subway stop— because I am looking into my iPhone.

Tip tapping tip tapping my fingers into my screen— my fingers with the answers. 

I catch a bus, go two stops back uptown. 

My sweat begins to sweat as my biceps throb. 

A comrade is waiting at the door of the church for our meeting. 

Our non-mandatory meeting

the night before

we take 42nd St at Grand Central.

He wants to discuss the Supreme Court. Immigration. Delaney Hall. And I want to be present.

Trying to stay present. 

Trying to make sure my brain is ready to scavenge for answers. 

Answers out of my lungs, on my breath, onto my lips, and into a room full of people looking to trust me.

A few folks come. A few more folks come.

Not enough. Not enough to hold 42nd St.

The doubts begin to grow in the air.

As the number of people who will show up tomorrow—

is an answer not in my lungs, nor on my lips.

10 People have confirmed they are going to get arrested— Going Red— 

The determined baby boy with a gentle fight tosses into the air full of doubts.

From his lips, from his fingertips.

The doubts lessen, but still linger…

And I can’t be the one to address it. 

My comrade who was the first to arrive suggests we save the energy this group has conjured for a bigger action in July. 

Tomorrow we are planning to recreate an ACT UP Action from January 1991. 

The Day of Desperation. 

MONEY FOR AIDS NOT FOR WAR

June 2026. Pride was Protest. A Riot. A Rebellion.

MONEY FOR AIDS AND HEALTHCARE

NOT FOR ICE AND WARFARE

Another comrade enters. 

Steps into this cauldron with doubts now at the surface…

This comrade was there—

was there in January of 1991. 42nd St. Inside Grand Central.

MONEY FOR AIDS NOT FOR WAR

They speak of this action. Their experience. It’s success. What could’ve gone better.

Hope is always a kind of warmth, a lit match, the smallest fire. 

The determined baby boy with the gentle fight asks me—

Why do you want to do this action?

I make my impassioned argument. My voice sounds confident. Fully supported by my breath. Fills the church basement.

I pause, my lungs look to my heart—

Because of Stonewall. Because of Pride.

My Trans Sister states with certainty.

She grabs ahold of the doubts.

Addresses the determination that brought many of us into this room tonight. 

Because of Pride, I concur. 

And we all seem to rally. Folks finding the answers in their hearts.

We find our answers within one another.

We find our answers within one another.

I don’t know exactly how we got here…

My beloved chosen family member texts me later that evening— 

It was great to see you lead. 

I don’t know exactly how we got here…

A little leadership. My comrades commend me.

A collective of voices echoing through the doubts—

We have to do this.

The Banner Drop

The Banner Drop

The Banner Drop

The Banners are drudged from a Storage Unit in the West Village, to Sunnyside Queens, to East 41st. 

8AM. We begin to gather.

I’ve never seen you looked so overwhelmed.

My Arrest Buddy tells me after the action.

My assertive drag got lost somewhere on my iPhone screen. 

My assertive drag is stuck on my fingertips. 

We can just go for bagels. He jokes.

That is an option. I reply, the answer getting stuck somewhere on a laugh in my esophagus.

Our drumming comrades give us a beat to propel us toward… our answers.

We’ve been here 25 minutes now. Most of us have arrived. 

Do we have enough? Do we have enough to hold 42nd St at Grand Central?

I call for all the Reds. 10 of us. 12 of us. 14 of us.

We need 5 folks for the Banner Drop

Our comrade.

Our comrade who did this dance in 1991 with a few hundred more folks, states:

I’ll go. We only need 4. 

My Arrest Buddy with the bagel joke goes— I’ll go!

Yeah? I say. He goes, OH YEAH!

Our 1990s ACT UP Vets throw these solid answers into the air.

Two younger queer comrades volunteer.

It’s settled. It’s done. In Seconds.

I’ve been pitching this Banner Drop for the last 8 months… 

Delaney Hall has brought forth the most recent urgency.

The Call. The Need for this Action. Here. Now.  

We have our Banner Drop Affinity Group. 

And They Look So Beautiful When We Get To The Crosswalk.

The Banner Drop crowd peels off.

The tenacity— the fire consumes the doubt. 

I begin to rally the others. 

Affinity groups 2, 3, 4— we need you in the crosswalk.

What signs do you want? What flags do you want? What affinity group am I in?

My frazzled face tossing around answers—

They’re going! They already left! We have to go!

Our comrade calls from down the block. 

My fingertips frantic on my iPhone screen, pressing Send! Send! Send the Email to the Press—

ACT UP ACTION HAPPENING NOW! 

Check my Sent Messages. Send it again Send it again Send my phone into the air, in the direction of our loyal Jail Support comrades. 

We hustle down, a progressive trickle through Pershing Square. 

Pass the Bloomberg NYPD Rent-A-Cop my comrade had warned us about upon her arrival. 

He watches all of us pass with our slow, but steady urgency.

His belt looks tight, the way it chokes his shirt into his pants, trapped, suffocated—

That’s not my job, his demeanor is giving. 

I hustle towards the crosswalk. I see our Banner Drop Comrades about to toss our signage over the side of the Park Ave overpass. 

I pull my clip out of my hair.

I trot. Flip these locks. 

9 Seconds left on the crosswalk’s dull orange light—

Several comrades hustle in-front of me. 

Most of our group hustles behind me. 

They’re doing it. They did it.

They have draped the banner over the Red, White, and Blue Fourth of July Decoupaging Ribbons on the Park Ave Overpass at Pershing Square. 

I turn on the bull horn as I glide into the crosswalk—

And I Holler The Words—

The words my ACT UP comrades and I painted on this fifteen foot canvas three months ago—

This piece of canvas draped over Pershing Square at Grand Central - 42nd St—

MONEY FOR AIDS AND HEALTHCARE !!!

Our comrades with the second banner take the crosswalk.

I Finish Our Demand— Continue The Holler—

NOT FOR ICE AND WARFARE !!!