Queer History 107: The Daughters of Bilitis

From secret social club to revolutionary force – the women who changed queer history forever

In a world where being yourself could get you arrested, institutionalized, or worse, eight women decided to host a goddamn picnic. That picnic club – the Daughters of Bilitis (DOB) – became the first recognized lesbian civil rights organization in the United States and sparked a revolution that would change queer history forever. This isn't just another boring historical footnote; it's the story of women who risked everything to carve out space for themselves when no one else would.

Let's be real – what started as a way for "Sapphics to dance and talk together" (the most lesbian thing I've ever heard) evolved into the first nationally published lesbian magazine in America and eventually led to the first gay wedding in California. These women weren't just creating community; they were planting the seeds of a movement while the rest of society was trying to pretend they didn't exist.

The Birth of a Revolution

The DOB was officially founded in 1955 in San Francisco by Filipina working-class woman Rose Bamberger, her partner Rosemary Sliepen, and three other lesbian couples. They created it as a social networking club for lesbians who needed somewhere safer to hang out than gay bars, which were constantly targeted by brutal police raids.

The name itself shows just how fucking literary these lesbians were – they named themselves after a poetry collection called "Songs of Bilitis," featuring a fictional lesbian poet named Bilitis who supposedly lived at the same time as Sappho. The fact that these poems were actually written by a man but were "pretty good lesbian poetry" anyway is both hilarious and a perfect encapsulation of how starved queer women were for any representation.

Class and Race Tensions From Day One

Right from the beginning, tensions emerged that would define the struggle of queer organizing for decades. Rose and Rosemary wanted to keep the organization secret to protect members' identities. This wasn't paranoia – it was a matter of survival, especially for working-class women and women of color who had more to lose than their wealthy white counterparts.

When you're already disadvantaged by racism and financial uncertainty, being outed as a lesbian could mean losing not just your job, but your entire safety net. Meanwhile, more privileged members pushed for visibility and political action. This tension between protection and progress has defined queer politics ever since.

Within six months, Rose and Rosemary left the organization. Journalists Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon stepped into leadership roles with an explicitly political goal: improving lesbians' lives in a movement that had largely focused on cisgender white men. They wanted to combat the misogyny and erasure they experienced within their own community with a female-focused, racially integrated approach.

Creating a Lifeline: The Ladder

What's more lesbian than starting a newsletter? The DOB immediately created one to increase membership, which evolved into their magazine, "The Ladder," first published in 1956. The imagery from this pioneering publication has been referenced countless times in pop culture since.

Issues of The Ladder contained advice columns for lesbians who felt alone in the world, lesbian literature, and groundbreaking essays from doctors who argued that homosexuality was not a sickness but a natural variation of human sexuality. They published articles advocating that same-sex attraction should be legalized instead of "fixed."

And in true lesbian fashion, The Ladder also included a calendar of get-together events: bowling, brunches, horseback riding, beach parties, and holiday events. These weren't just social gatherings – they were revolutionary acts of community building in a time when merely congregating as lesbians could get you arrested.

Under Government Surveillance

By the late 1950s, DOB chapters had formed across the nation – and the government took notice. Members were subjected to surveillance by police, the CIA, and the FBI. Think about that shit for a minute. These women were meeting up to go bowling and discuss poetry, and the full force of the American security apparatus was watching them like they were dangerous criminals.

Despite this intimidation, the DOB held the first national lesbian convention in San Francisco in 1960. They weren't just hiding anymore; they were organizing.

Changing Laws and Minds

In 1962, Del and Phyllis met with California lawmakers, asking for the decriminalization of homosexuality. When told they would only change the legal codes if religious leaders supported the movement, these women didn't give up – they found another path forward.

In 1970, Martin began a three-year process with the American Psychiatric Association to remove homosexuality from the list of psychiatric disorders. She was successful. Let that sink in – a lesbian activist successfully convinced the medical establishment to stop classifying her identity as a mental illness. This single achievement has saved countless lives from destructive "treatments" and societal rejection.

Legacy of Love

The DOB closed their national headquarters that same year, as LGBTQ+ organizations had proliferated across the nation, but some state chapters continued operating until the 1990s. Rose and Rosemary, the original founders who left over political differences, stayed on the DOB's mailing list for the entire publication of The Ladder. They lived together until 1990, when Rose passed away.

Del and Phyllis continued their political struggle for the rest of their lives, and in 2004 became the first same-sex couple to get married in the state of California. Their wedding was the culmination of decades of work that began with those secret meetings in 1955.

Practical Tools for Community Building

• Create welcoming spaces outside of bars and nightlife for LGBTQ+ people to connect

• Document our stories through publications, oral histories, and archives

• Balance visibility with safety for the most vulnerable members of the community

• Challenge discrimination within LGBTQ+ spaces around race, class, and gender

• Utilize diverse tactics from social events to legal challenges to advance rights

Community Connection

The Daughters of Bilitis shows us that community building isn't just about political activism – it's about creating spaces where people can be themselves. Today's LGBTQ+ community centers, publications, and gatherings all build on the foundation laid by the DOB.

Organizations like the Lesbian Herstory Archives preserve the legacy of groups like the DOB, ensuring that future generations know they're part of a long history of resistance and joy. The DOB's approach to integrating social connection with political action remains a powerful model for today's movements.

Conclusion

"This organization was formed as a place for lesbians to belong in a world that didn't care about us." That simple statement captures everything that made the Daughters of Bilitis revolutionary. In creating space for themselves, they ended up changing the world for all of us.

From bowling leagues to Supreme Court victories, the path to LGBTQ+ rights has never been straight (pun absolutely intended). It's been built by people who dared to imagine a better world while creating joy and community in this one. The DOB reminds us that sometimes the most radical act is simply coming together, sharing stories, and refusing to disappear.

Their legacy lives on every time queer women gather, organize, and build community. And yes, probably still over brunch.

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References:

1. Gallo, M. 2007 “Different Daughters: A History of the Daughters of Bilitis and the Rise of the Lesbian Rights Movement”

2. Stryker, S. 2017 “Transgender History, second edition: The Roots of Today's Revolution”