An Ode to Marsha P. Johnson

As I’m sure you can understand, middle school was a rough time. In my particularly small school, there was no escaping the group of kids I’d been in class with for the previous six years—no fresh start, no room to “reinvent.” I spent so many hours trying to figure out how I was supposed to look, what I was supposed to like, who I was supposed to like. When, in March of 2020, the cluttered chaos of my thirteen-year-old mind was sentenced to a year and a half at home, my head became an echo chamber of questions. 

I didn’t always know I was queer. Though, looking back, maybe I should have. I have always loved the feminine—from my pink childhood bedroom to the delicate fold of petals on a flower. It just fits that I am the way I am. So, after months of crisis, doubt, and a plethora of tears, I began to look for people to look up to. Surely, I couldn’t be the only one struggling to call themselves different. Surely, there are people to be different alongside me.  

This search for a role model prompted weekly research projects. Being the nerdy, high achiever that I am, I would create infographics on Canva to post to my personal Instagram account. I read all about the first pride flag, Harvey Milk, historic protests, and more, neatly fitting each story onto a small graphic. On one week in particular, I decided to ask my equally nerdy friends if they had any suggestions for me, and that’s how I stumbled onto the story of the 1969 Stonewall Riots. 

New York was a hot spot for queer culture in the 1960s. Despite the growing presence of a vibrant and open LGBTQ+ community, the state of New York still persecuted and punished their activities. Immediately after her graduation from Thomas A. Edison High School in Elizabeth, New Jersey, Marsha Johnson moved to New York alone. With very few personal belongings, Marsha lived on the sidelines, 17-years-old and homeless. Due to the criminalization of queer people at the time, she found employment difficult to find and turned to sex work. Dressing in women’s clothing, using she/her pronouns, and being vocal about her identity as a gay person and “transvestite,” Marsha was often arrested by the police.  

Nevertheless, she kept her head high. She made friends, found a community, and wore who she was proudly on her sleeve. Soon, she met Sylvia Rivera, a like-minded young trans woman. Together, they learned to love their identities and helped others to overcome their shame. What struck me about her story was that despite being abused and frequently marginalized, Marsha was strong as ever. She was powerful and she knew it. From the sparkling spotlight of the drag shows she performed in, to the delicate crown of flowers she often wore, I admired her for everything she stood for.  

Her involvement in the Stonewall Riots secured her as a true idol of my younger self. The Stonewall Inn, a popular New York gay bar, experienced frequent police raids and brutality. On June 28th, 1969, yet another police raid began. While Marsha did not arrive at the inn until the early morning hours, it is undebated that she was on the front lines of the fight. As the raid turned into a riot, a flicker of hope united the queer community to stand up for their futures. In a series of protests in the following days, Marsha and Sylvia birthed what would evolve into what we now call pride. As trans women of color, the two felt they had very little to lose, and used their frustration to fuel a movement that didn’t die with them. 

The Stonewall Riots were a spark that started a fiery movement for gay rights in the 1970s. As various queer liberation groups joined the movement, Marsha and Sylvia started their own organization: Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR). Together, they worked to house transgender youths who were not welcome in their own homes and families. Their experience with homelessness inspired them to provide the support that they never received. In the following years, Marsha became a very prominent figure in the gay liberation movement, voicing her opinions on discrimination, bias, and even her own HIV diagnosis. 

"Pay it no mind"

Marsha Johnson adopted the “P” in her name as a reminder of her motto: “Pay it no mind.” If she were alive today, I would ask her what that motto meant to her. I would ask what inspired her to keep it close to her heart. I would tell her that learning to love who I am and who I am destined to love was a lesson she helped me to learn. To me, paying all the hatred in the world “no mind” is to recognize who you are and to choose to be proud anyway. I think about that all the time. 

Today, we all enjoy the fruits of her labor. The progress made in the US as a result of the Stonewall Riots rippled across the country, and we have the many queer, trans, people of color who bravely fought to thank for it. I remember attending my first local pride parade when I was 15. I brought my mom and two closest friends and reveled in the freedom of paying it no mind.  

In an ode to Marsha P. Johnson, my long-time idol, I name this journal after her. While the essays may vary in topic, emotion, and purpose, one truth will remain: Without her life and legacy, nothing would be the same.  

Thank you, Marsha, for changing my life. 

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Works Cited

Marsha P. Johnson. (n.d.). National Women’s History Museum. https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/marsha-p-johnson 

Marsha P. Johnson image retrieved from:

"File:Marsha P. Johnson 1970s (cropped).jpg." Wikimedia Commons. 10 Jan 2024, 21:15 UTC. 13 Nov 2024, 05:16 <https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Marsha_P._Johnson_1970s_(cropped).jpg&oldid=840342703>.