John Voirol | St. Louis REALTOR® John Voirol | St. Louis REALTOR®

We will not be erased

Let me start with something that happened in a bar on Christopher Street in New York City in the summer of 1969.

It was June 28th. The police came — as they always came — to raid the Stonewall Inn, a Greenwich Village tavern where gay people had the audacity to simply be themselves. But that night, something shifted. The community fought back. It spilled into the streets. It roared. It became a movement. It became us.

The Stonewall Inn didn't just survive that night. It became sacred ground — the birthplace of the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement. In 2016, it was designated America's first national monument dedicated to LGBTQ+ history. A Pride flag flew there for years, visible and proud, waving at everyone who made the pilgrimage to Christopher Park to feel a little less alone in this world.

Then, on February 9th of this year, the Pride flag was quietly removed by the National Park Service, following new federal guidance restricting which flags could fly at national park sites.

Quietly. At Stonewall. Of all the places. Of all the flags.

They keep trying. We keep showing up.

Let me start with something that happened in a bar on Christopher Street in New York City in the summer of 1969.

It was June 28th. The police came — as they always came — to raid the Stonewall Inn, a Greenwich Village tavern where gay people had the audacity to simply be themselves. But that night, something shifted. The community fought back. It spilled into the streets. It roared. It became a movement. It became us.

The Stonewall Inn didn't just survive that night. It became sacred ground — the birthplace of the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement. In 2016, it was designated America's first national monument dedicated to LGBTQ+ history. A Pride flag flew there for years, visible and proud, waving at everyone who made the pilgrimage to Christopher Park to feel a little less alone in this world.

Then, on February 9th of this year, the Pride flag was quietly removed by the National Park Service, following new federal guidance restricting which flags could fly at national park sites.

Quietly. At Stonewall. Of all the places. Of all the flags.

Stacy Lentz, co-owner of the Stonewall Inn, said the moment felt deeply unsettling. "The flag is not just an abstract symbol," she said. "It tells LGBTQ people, especially younger ones, that their history will not be sidelined again."

But here's the thing about our community. Here's the thing they keep forgetting every single time they try something like this.

We will show up to fight for our community. And we will not go quietly.

Three days later, on February 12th, advocates re-raised the Pride flag at the monument — without the White House's approval. Politicians, activists, and ordinary people who just love each other showed up in Christopher Park and put that flag back where it belongs. "This is sacred ground, this is our park," said activist Michael Hisey, who has been fighting for the community for over 40 years. "Everybody from around the world comes here as a tourist, to see this park, to see the Pride flag, to see the statues, and just be at Stonewall where everything happened for us."

Cathy Renna of the National LGBTQ Task Force said it plainly: "They can take down a flag, but they can't take down our history."

Say it louder for the people in the back.


And Then a Courtroom Went Viral for All the Right Reasons.

And speaking of people who needed it said louder — let's talk about what happened in a televised courtroom that the internet absolutely could not stop talking about this week.

A Memphis-area father named Gregory brought his own son, Michael, to court. Gregory had caught Michael kissing another boy when Michael was 17. He threatened to kick his minor child out if he didn't stop being gay.

The "compromise"? Conversion therapy. A three-month program. Michael, terrified of losing his home and his father, agreed to go.

The conversion therapy was, by Michael's account, a nightmare — a place where he was told he was cursed, called a monster, and told he was going to hell. Instinct Magazine

He left after a month. And his father's response was to sue him for the $6,000 he'd spent trying to "fix" what was never broken.

Enter Judge Eboni K. Williams, who apparently did not get the memo that she was supposed to stay calm about this.

The judge stepped down from the bench, held Michael's hands, and looked him in the eyes: "Young man, you are not cursed. You are as loved and as worthy, Michael, as your father, your mother, and everyone else who gets the privilege to reside on this earth, young man." The Advocate

She wasn't done.

"I don't care what your daddy says. I don't care what some stupid conversion therapy says, which is nothing but a bunch of hoopla and a scam and a money grab for young, vulnerable men like yourself. I see you. You are valuable, and Michael, you are perfect. You are perfect in the eyes of God." The Advocate

She dismissed Gregory's lawsuit, and told him he had no right to call himself a father until he could love his son unconditionally. The Advocate

The clip has millions of views. And I want every single LGBTQ+ kid who has ever been told they are broken, wrong, or cursed to watch it on repeat until it sinks all the way in. You are not cursed. You are perfect.


Justice Has a Sweet Tooth.

Meanwhile, in Minneapolis, justice showed up in a very different courtroom — a federal one.

A federal jury deliberated for barely two hours before finding Firomsa Ahmed Umar guilty of arson for throwing two Molotov cocktails at Fletcher's Ice Cream and Cafe — a gay-owned business — last October. It's believed he targeted the shop because of the Progress Pride flag displayed above its entrance.

The jury's verdict sends a strong message: bias-driven violence against LGBTQ+-owned businesses will not be tolerated. Fletcher's is still there. Still scooping ice cream. Still flying the flag. The person who tried to burn it down is in federal custody.

That's the story. Full stop.

You Can Ban the Flag, but Not the Poles

Now let's talk about some people who looked at the word banned and responded with the word creativity.

In Idaho, after years of legislative efforts, state Republicans finally succeeded in barring Pride flags from government-owned properties, which eventually compelled Boise Mayor Lauren McLean to remove City Hall's Pride flag — on Trans Day of Visibility, no less.

The flag had flown above that building as a symbol of welcome for over a decade.

But Boise? Boise had a plan.

If the city couldn't fly the flag, they'd do the next best thing. Now, gay and trans flag stripes are permanently wrapped around the metal flagpoles outside Boise City Hall, and behind them, a new banner draped from the windows reads: "City of Boise — Creating a city for everyone."

You can ban a flag. You cannot ban color. You cannot ban art. You cannot ban the poles.

One Idahoan who stopped to admire the new display told local news: "I feel loved. I feel accepted by the people that matter. I feel hope."

I read that and I felt something too.


They Took the Bricks. Miami Beach Took Them Back.

And then there's Miami Beach, which handled their situation with the kind of petty, gorgeous, theatrical defiance that honestly deserves a standing ovation.

The original rainbow crosswalk at 12th Street and Ocean Drive was ordered removed by Governor Ron DeSantis, who directed communities to eliminate decorative roadway markings or risk losing state transportation funding.

The city appealed and lost. State transportation crews used heavy machinery to tear the crosswalk apart.

And then Miami Beach did something extraordinary.

They reassembled more than 3,000 colorful pavers — the exact same ones that were ripped from the street — on city property, just steps from Lummus Park. It's accompanied by a commemorative plaque and a new rainbow bench. It was unveiled on April 10, 2026. WLRN

Not in the road. On city land. Where the state can't touch it.

Commissioner Alex Fernandez, the only openly gay member of the Miami Beach City Commission, credited his straight colleagues: "When the State forcibly removed this crosswalk, it was our straight allies on the Miami Beach City Commission who ensured our gay community would not be pushed into the shadows." CBS News

A resident named Gabriel Baez, watching the rededication, said it perfectly: "As a resident, it means the rebirth of our symbols and our rights — and our determination never to be erased." CBS News

Our determination never to be erased.

From the streets of Greenwich Village to the flagpoles of Boise to a courtroom that went viral to a rainbow mosaic in a Miami park — this week told one story, over and over, in different voices, in different cities, in different forms.

You can remove a flag. You can bulldoze a crosswalk. You can drag a teenage boy into a program designed to make him feel like a monster. You can try, and try, and try.

But we will wrap the poles. We will relay the bricks. We will show up in Christopher Park at dusk and raise it again. And a judge will step down from her bench and hold a young man's hands and tell him that he is perfect.

This community has survived so much. We have danced in the rubble. We have made art out of loss. We have loved each other loudly in rooms where we were told to be quiet.

We were not erased in 1969. We are not erased now.








If this week's stories hit home — if you know someone who needs to hear that they are not cursed, not broken, and not alone — share this post. And if you want a little burst of joy and resilience delivered to your inbox every week, subscribe to the newsletter. In a news cycle that can feel relentless, we could all use one corner of the internet that's just... ours.

— John Voirol, your Good News Judy

P.S. — Whether you're relocating to Miami Beach, Boise, New York, or anywhere in between, I can help connect you with a knowledgeable, welcoming real estate agent who gets it. Wherever home is for you, it should feel safe and celebrated. Reach out anytime.



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