Marsha P. Johnson's Story Still Has So Much to Teach Young People

Time​ Magazine

2 days ago

Marsha P. Johnson has been in the news lately because of the Trump administration's ahistorical and failing attempts to erase her role in American history.
For those who don't know Johnson, she is perhaps most famous for her role in the Stonewall Uprising of 1969, when LGBTQIA+ people stood up against ritualized police violence and fought for the right to gather, dance, and celebrate. Johnson was among the leaders of this historic moment, which has lifted her legacy into the collective conscience despite this administration's attempts to rewrite our shared history.
Having written about Johnson for 20 years, it is clear to me that her legacy is far bigger than a single moment. Hers is a story of radical imagination—of faith in the unseen and bold joy in the face of the harshest conditions. Her legacy is carried forward, effortlessly and tenderly, by the same bold joy and fierce imagination of young people across the country. For no matter how hard those in power tried to erase Johnson during her life—and despite the current administration's attacks on our communities today—Johnson and her incredible story continue to offer us a powerful vision of how to transform the world and ourselves in the process.
Johnson was described by her dear friend Sylvia Rivera as 'liv[ing] in her own realm…. she saw things through different eyes.' Those eyes were a gift—a necessary lens to perceive not only the brutal conditions she and her friends endured but also to see through those conditions to what could and ought to exist.
In 1963, Johnson moved from Elizabeth, N.J. to bustling 42nd Street to follow her dreams of being a Broadway star and to learn more about New York City's gay community. It was on 42nd Street that she met Rivera, who was 13 years old at the time. Rivera was there because she wasn't accepted at home: her mother had tried to kill both Rivera and herself with rat poison. Rivera's mother died and although Rivera survived, she was sent to live with her grandmother, who didn't accept Rivera's deviation from rigid sexual and gender norms. Many others were in similar circumstances—young people who made lives for themselves in Sheridan Square, on Christopher Street, in the hotels and shadows of a city that refused to love them out loud. They lived there because of family misunderstanding—because of exile.
Johnson acted as an adopted mother for these young people, providing advice and offering love generously. She felt a deep sense of care and responsibility for her beloved street community, and they would gather in hourly hotels, the only places they could afford. They called them 'Hot Springs' because the radiators blasted so hard that no matter the season, you sweated. And yet, inside those overheated rooms, they dreamed. They imagined a world where they weren't exiled; weren't harassed by police, where they could walk outside in daylight without fear, where they were safe, seen, and loved.
It would be difficult to overstate the harshness of the conditions that Johnson was facing in that era. But by working, loving, and building within her community, she achieved staggering accomplishments: co-creating the Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries collective that provided affordable housing to trans people in need; going on international tours as a performance artist and singer; and serving as inspiration for artists like Andy Warhol.
What could have fueled such remarkable achievements in the face of such profound violence, oppression, and erasure? Johnson believed in the power of joy to fuel dreams and imagination, drawing on resources, community, and power as they grow. These are freedom dreams—the kind that American historian Robin D.G. Kelley writes about. The kind that blossom not in moments of comfort, but when the world feels impossible.
In 2025, we collectively face our own harsh circumstances, too numerous to count. Fear, dread, uncertainty and violence are easy to see and feel all around. Yet Johnson's legacy asks us not to succumb to current circumstances, but to look 'through' them into the world that is already being created by our children. They are the ones building their own legacies through freedom dreams.
Children have a remarkable capacity for joy—just ask anyone who has spent a day watching the world through a child's eyes. They see the world as it could be, and as it will be, rather than as it is—just like Johnson. Stewarding the innate joy, imagination, and total authenticity of children is one of our greatest responsibilities as parents, caregivers, and loving adults. And it is also a way of stewarding Johnson's legacy.
When we teach our children about abundance, love, and connection, we fuel their greatest human gifts: imagination, joy, and authenticity. Johnson loved herself exactly as she was; she knew that she was a promise and not a problem. How can we look to our children—and protect our children—so that they can prolong that knowledge within themselves, and carry it forward as fuel to build the world they deserve?
It's also transformed me personally. Studying Johnson has taught me that dreaming is a discipline. We are living in a time when books with trans stories are being banned, when the very idea of trans joy is under attack. But I've learned from Johnson that when the world is hostile to your light, that's the moment to shine even brighter. That laughing, caring, performing, and giving are political acts.
That the world we want—where every child feels safe, held, and celebrated—starts in our imagination. And imagination is powerful.