Bats weave across the darkening sky as the Gay Commie Skate Crew (GCSC) arrives at DeSoto Skatepark in Tampa to celebrate Halloween.
Over 20 people from all across Tampa Bay show up to ring in the unholiest of holidays ahead of time. The crew is hell on four wheels, carving back and forth across the concrete, dressed as the stuff of nightmares and dreams. Tank Girl, cupid, a pro-wrestler, vampires and witches glide through the park. A few of them stop skating to twerk to the theme song of the classic horror movie “Halloween,” which is playing out of a portable speaker.
A cool October breeze sweeps through the humid evening, making the trees and gray moss dance while some members of the crew practice skating in a half-pipe. Some are brand new to it, others have skated for their whole lives and a few skate for roller derby. No matter what skill level, they get full support and help from others.
They talk about their favorite aspects of Halloween: decorating, dressing up and being mischievous with friends. A few are particularly excited about “the normalization of being covered in blood.” It’s also the time of year for their favorite horror movies like “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” “Santa Sangre” and “House of 1000 Corpses,” along with childhood classics such as “Hocus Pocus” and “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”
Most of them are wearing traditional, quad, roller skates, which are not usually seen at skateparks, but they’re normalizing it. They’re also normalizing femme and queer skaters doing their thing without worrying about being bullied or harassed. They’ve had a couple of conflicts since their meetups began in June, but nothing they couldn’t take care of together.
“Going skating alone can be really scary if you’ve never done it before,” says a skater named Lisa, who’s dressed as Negan from “The Walking Dead.”
“Especially if you’re femme or gay,” her friend Gabby chimes in.
Other skaters nod their heads in agreement. They talk about the hurtful names they get called: dykes, homos, weirdos. The pain caused by this treatment is present, but they have each other’s shoulders to lean on.
This is the largest turnout they’ve ever had since they started organizing skate meetups, and there’s silliness and laughter throughout the crowd. A childlike joy has filled the air. Everyone feels free to unleash their inner freak.
People pass by and stop to watch the fun unfold. One of them leans on the fence of the skatepark and says, “I’ve never seen anything like this!”
But even during this Halloween celebration, GCSC is politically-minded. One skater named Courtney is not on four wheels today because she hurt her wrist. She still showed up in a “Antifa Soup Can” outfit as a dig at President Trump, who claimed violent anarchists were using soup cans as weapons. And not just cans of soup, but bagged soup as well. Yes, he really said that.
Cynamon and Lisa ask the others to gather around so everyone can introduce themselves, describe their Halloween outfits and talk about why the crew exists.
They explain that most of GCSC are activists and many of them met through protests and demonstrations. Cynamon and fellow skater Alyssa are both Native American, and organize with the group Florida Indigenous Rights and Environmental Equality to fight for Native justice and sovereignty. Other members have been involved in the recent uprising against police brutality after the killing of George Floyd. Many of them want the police to be abolished and an end to capitalism.
“We’re all here to have a good time,” says Cynamon, dressed in her cupid outfit. “But we also want to change the world, so let’s get it!”
The group cheers this sentiment on, and they all start skating again, taking off in different directions of the park.
They chose “gay” and “commie” to describe themselves because they’re both labels they deal with from right wingers for being queer leftists. Their Instagram bio flips the script on the name calling they encounter from conservatives, reading, “Not a Republican snowflake safe space.” They’ve created an environment where they can address serious issues and protect each other, but also let loose and decompress after dealing with all the stress and anxiety that come from fighting for justice.
Some of them are true Halloween fanatics. Zoe is dressed as Rapid 99 from “Jet Set Radio Future” (90s and early 2000s kids will understand). She has seven outfits lined up for the days leading up to Halloween, which she calls “Halloweek.”
Gabby is dressed up as the WWE wrestler “Animal,” who recently passed away, wearing face makeup she did herself. She’s a horror makeup artist so for her, Halloween is all year round.
People from all walks of life are here. Tattoo artist Darian is dressed as Tank Girl, and skates next to an English teacher named Anna Maria, who is dressed as a “minimal effort vampire,” wearing all black with fake blood dripping from the corners of her mouth.
I didn’t get a costume together in time for the event, so Cynamon generously hands me a fancy devil horn headband so I can fit in with the crowd.
As it gets later and the faulty skatepark lights fail to turn on, most people keep skating while others head home. In the dark, voices stand out more than costumes and I can hear many conversations at once, full of encouragement and kind camaraderie.
Then, yellow lights start flashing in the distance. A new type of monster has arrived at the party: authority. The security guard gets out and tells everyone it’s time for the park to close.
The crew solemnly heads towards the black gates to exit the park, but some are already making plans to keep skating nearby. They wander off into the night, laughing with the knowledge that no man can stop them.
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