Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera were both friends and some of the first American trans activists.  Both were deeply involved in the Gay Liberation Movement (and beyond, Johnson was active in ACT UP and more), and although Rivera wasn’t personally at Stonewall during the famous uprising, Marsha P. Johnson was rumored to be the person who “through the shot glass heard around the world” breaking the mirror at the Stonewall Inn bar, one of the catalysts for the riots.  In 1973 Rivera gave her infamous “Gay Power” speech at the Gay Liberation Day rally in NYC, shaming the queer contingent for not respecting trans folk (and drag queens!).  Together they formed STAR—Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries, fighting for the rights (and providing housing) for homeless trans youth, and for fought for the Sexual Orientation Non-Discrimination Act (SONDA).  Although both came to tragic ends (Johnson was murdered, perhaps in retaliation to her activism, Rivera from liver cancer), both were celebrated as heroes in their lifetimes, and were pioneers for the modern transgender movement that thrives and still has great impact today (I met Marsha P. Johnson in my early NYC years, albeit briefly).

For this drawing, I listened to Martin Duberman’s celebrated book Stonewall while rendering, an excellent history of the movement, that focuses on a few central characters to give full breadth of the culture before and after the riots by personal account, one of the people he writes about is Sylvia Rivera, and in her association, Marsha P. Johnson. Although there were other significant events before and after Stonewall, of course this was a huge turning point for the movement, and both Marsha P. and Sylvia were celebrated actors from this time, who took pride in Pride Marches and in public actions throughout their lives (which were also bittersweet to be sure, as they also had to survive as sex workers and were at times homeless and lead hard lives despite their optimism and outlook, and personal and public campaigns for revolution).  Times before Stonewall were truly oppressive, and despite bohemian refuge in artistic circles where queer folks could be accepted and open, in general society in America and the world life for LGBTQ+ folks was harsh and legally prosecutable. Public dismay against homosexual and trans people reflect the worst of the conservative views currently today in the American South and other places—but werer ubiquitous throughout culture all over the United States and the world.  Pioneers such as Rivera and Johnson are so inspiring, as they not only worked their whole lives for justice for the trans community, but also had to battle amongst the ranks of their own queer communities.  The video of Rivera at Washington Square Park in her famous “Y’all Better Quiet Down” speech at the 1973 Gay Pride Rally is both rousing and heartbreaking, as she castigates both stunned and applauding onlookers for the active exclusion of trans folk from their parade, rallies, and community.  She ultimately left being an active leader in the movement until late in her life, where she was embraced by the younger trans and queer community, that helped her to get off the street and become a once again embraced hero for trans and queer folk the world over.  

The moving documentary The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson that I also watched while rendering this drawing tells the story of Johnson’s life, but also of her hypothetical murder by the mob, whom at the time ran the Castro Fair for the Gay Pride events that were begat by the Stonewall movement and riots.  A beloved but eccentric personality, Marsha P. was a delightful being who had a truly sincere and positive outlook and inner beauty she brought to others, and a way of being that was, although unusual (perhaps she was on the spectrum?) she was smart and strong and actively lead the community by her ubiquitous presence in the Christopher Street neighborhood and actions and participation in protests and leading the Pride parades.  Her friend who took care of her and helped to give her a home also revolted against the mob, who previously had owned Stonewall and the other gay bars, and still had a hold on the business side of LGBTQ2+ events such as the Pride Parade Street fair.  In the film, trans activist Victoria Cruz investigates her death—she was found floating in the Hudson River in 1992—and while at first the police ruled it was a suicide despite evidence otherwise, Cruz discovers much to prove the mob theory.  The oppressive climate still prevails, and during the filming, more trans murders happen and protests light sentencing for their assailants, which also reflect the current hate movements by conservatives in the lead up to the next presidential election.

Rendering from this photo, presumably taken during a Pride March, was rousing.  Although listening to the tales of folk including Johnson and Rivera pre-Stonewall was at times depressing, the also simultaneous jubilance of their and others life, the pushback against subjugation (and the music of Motown and early house disco from their times!) was enlightening and inspiring. It’s heartening that they are now both globally recognized and celebrated figures—from Warhol’s image of Marsha P. Johnson that was created when she was a cult character to this moment, where both she and Sylvia are icons of the Trans and LGBTQ+ movements.  Like hopefully how the two stand out in front of the background of the greyness of Midtown Manhattan, both Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson are standout worthy and fantastic pioneers beloved by the world.