At the Cleanup & Cocktails event on Aug. 3, 82 people gathered to pick up trash in Hillcrest. (Photo courtesy Benny Cartwright)
By Edgard Portela
I write today with some bittersweet news — I’ve got a story to tell you that’ll break your heart, fill it with rage, and then stitch it back together with the threads of community, resilience, and pure queer magic.
On Friday morning, Aug. 2, while most of us were asleep, some pendejos decided to play nazi graffiti artist in our beloved Hillcrest.
Swastikas, slurs, the whole nine yards of hate plastered across our walls, our murals, our trash cans. A big “f*** you” to our community, courtesy of three hooded cowards in a busted-up Buick.
Now, I don’t know about you, but when I hear about things like this, my first instinct is to curl up in a ball and cry. But you know what? That’s exactly what these people want. They want us scared, silenced, pushed back into the closet.
When I look at the statistics for hate crimes in 2023, it’s really scary. Hillcrest, our gayborhood, has had 25 reports of hate crimes since 2016, according to SDPD. And imagine, these statistics do not show you the ones that go unreported nor do all of them actually get referred to be prosecuted. I wonder who is out there cowering in fear and in silence, a victim, another casualty to inhumanity and insensate cruelty. It’s our job to step up for them and for us.
We have fought too hard and come too far to let a few spray cans and some slurs and swastikas send us running. Hate will not make us cower in fear anymore.
So, fast forward 24 hours. It’s Saturday morning, I’m out on the streets of Hillcrest with a bunch of beautiful humans for the Cleanup & Cocktails event organized by Kiwanis Club of Hillcrest All-Inclusive and @hillcrestsandiego.
There I am, paired up with my squad: Tonja Alvis, Andrew Ferbert, and other fierce friends. We’re digging through alleys, gutters, bushes, parks — anywhere trash might be hiding. And let me tell you, it felt good. We talked about how much we love the neighborhood, about how much we care for the people and the businesses and the spaces we have.
But the real moment of truth? That came when we stumbled upon some leftover graffiti in mural alley towards the end of our clean-up.
“F*** f*gs,” it screamed at us, a last gasp of hate trying to mar our beautiful queer spaces.
Did we run? Did we call for backup? No, we got to work.
Armed with water and determination, we scrubbed away at that hateful message. It wasn’t waterproof, and bit by bit, our mural emerged unscathed.
In that moment, wiping away those words, I felt the full weight of our community’s strength.
This, mi gente, is what resilience looks like. This is what community means. It’s not just rainbow flags and Pride parades (though those are fabulous). It’s showing up, getting your hands dirty, and saying “not in our house” to hate.
I wish for the day, however, that we won’t have to be resilient. I wish for the day in which we don’t have to be strong in the face of hate. We should just get to exist, to love, to live our fabulous lives without fear and with liberty.
As we gear up for CityFest on Aug. 11, let’s carry this spirit of community with us. Let’s celebrate our resilience, our creativity, our sheer fabulousness. But let’s also stay vigilant. Let’s watch out for each other. Let’s show those haters that love always wins.
Mi gente, we’ve faced worse than a few bigots with spray cans. We’ve survived raids and riots, discrimination and disease. We will survive this too. but more than that, we will thrive.
So let’s get to work. Let’s clean up our streets, protect our community, and show the world what Hillcrest is made of. Because honey, we’re not just gay — we’re fabulous, we’re fierce, and we’re not going anywhere.
This essay was originally published on eddypolz.com and was edited for length and AP Style guidelines with permission from the author. For ideas of how to get involved in protecting Hillcrest and building community, visit Edgard’s blog at eddypolz.com.
Edgard Portela (they/he) is a writer, musician, and community activist calling University Heights and Hillcrest home. Catch their regular musings on Hillcrest and queer life at eddypolz.com.
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