On this day in queerstory: Gays Against Guns opposes violence

January 3 is not a headline date. It doesn’t carry the symbolism of a new year or the emotional weight of an anniversary. But in queer history, January 3 has often been the day when resistance stopped reacting and started organising. A day for strategy, structure, and the unglamorous decisions that make movements last.

One telling example comes from January 3, 1975, when Gays Against Guns (GAG)—one of several radical queer coalitions responding to rising violence—formally regrouped in New York following a spate of anti-gay attacks at the end of 1974. While not remembered as a singular “founding” moment, January 3 marked the first coordinated planning meeting of the new year, setting tactics that would ripple through queer activism in the mid-1970s.

The timing mattered. The early 1970s had been charged with post-Stonewall energy, but also backlash. Police harassment had not vanished. Violence remained routine. By January 3, the emotional noise of the holidays had faded, leaving space for hard questions: What actually keeps us safe? What kind of visibility helps—and what kind gets people hurt?

That January 3 meeting reflected a broader queer pattern. Across decades and continents, early January has been when LGBTQ+ groups assessed risk and recalibrated. Not in front of cameras, but in borrowed rooms, union halls, and private apartments. Strategy replaced slogans. Sustainability became the priority.

Globally, January 3 has often been the first real working day of the year—and queer communities used it. In the 1980s, AIDS organisations in cities like London, Amsterdam, and Sydney held early-January planning sessions to coordinate care and protest in the face of government neglect. Funding cycles restarted. Volunteer rosters were rebuilt. The work resumed immediately, because lives depended on it.

In authoritarian contexts, January 3 carried even greater weight. Activists knew that visibility around New Year could provoke renewed surveillance. So January 3 became a day for caution: deciding which actions to pause, which to escalate, and which to move underground. Queer resistance has always understood timing as a survival skill.

This date also highlights the global shift from spontaneous rebellion to organised movements. Stonewall had proven that rage could erupt. January 3 moments proved that rage needed structure. Mailing lists. Legal funds. Media strategies. Care teams. The kind of infrastructure that doesn’t look heroic but keeps people alive.

January 3 also mattered culturally. Queer bars, theatres, and publications often reopened after the holidays with deliberate intent. Editorial calendars were set. Themes chosen. Risks assessed. What could be said this year? What couldn’t? In countries with censorship laws, the first publication after New Year’s was often a test balloon—how far could queer voices go before being shut down?

Importantly, January 3 has been a day of recalibration after loss. In years marked by violence, epidemic, or political defeat, queer communities entered early January carrying grief. January 3 offered a space to transform that grief into planning rather than paralysis. To keep going without pretending nothing hurt.

Globally, this pattern repeats. From grassroots collectives in Latin America to underground networks in Eastern Europe and Asia, January 3 has functioned as a hinge: the moment when survival turns into intention.

On this day in queer history, January 3 reminds us that movements aren’t sustained by moments of rupture alone. They’re sustained by meetings that happen after the adrenaline fades. By people showing up again, quietly, with notebooks and hard conversations.