Joyous junkyard beauties: how Leilah Babirye fled death to create towering works of togetherness

The Guardian

25-04-2025

In 2022, two wooden sculptures stood on the riverbanks of Brooklyn. Configured as bodies with multiple heads, the monumental works – part of a larger group titled Agali Awamu, which translates as 'Togetherness' – towered over those who interacted with them. They appeared as an antidote to the silver, white or green reflective buildings that stood behind them: hand-carved and human-like, with mouths that appeared to be singing or whistling, and eyes barely open, perhaps to signify a joyous introspection. While one was made up of two bodies conjoined at the hip, the other had billowing hair and carried faces on its back and belly, which seemed to be singing in harmony. The sculptures looked peaceful, and protective of each other and of those who walked past them.
From far away these figures, created by the Ugandan-born, New York-based artist Leilah Babirye, looked regal. They stood tall, adorned with glistening belts and jewellery. But up close, you noticed that their ornaments were made up of rusty chains, old wire, used bolts and bicycle parts – objects once discarded, deemed as meaningless, but whose beauty had been noticed by the artist. She reused them for a celebratory monument of power and protection.
Babirye is known for recycling discarded items for her sculptures. Consider it a metaphor for how she and her LGBTQ+ community have been treated in her native Uganda, where being queer is still punishable by death. After the country's anti-homosexuality bill was passed in 2013, and the artist was publicly outed in the homophobic Ugandan press, Babirye fled to the US to seek asylum, having initially been awarded a residency on Fire Island, New York.
Using art to upend negative stereotypes and challenge dismissive remarks, Babirye's huge sculptures stand up to the silencing of her communities, transforming rubbish into a site of possibility: recycling pens and bottle-caps to make a crown; evoking long hair with an old bike chain.
'When you look at trash, it's something that everybody throws out,' she told me. 'It's something that doesn't hold any value any more to a person who considers it trash at that particular time […] So the only way to bring the value of us – the 'trash' – is by showing how important we are, how vocal we can be, how professional we can be, and how talented we are.'
I thought of Babirye's sculptures – that can range from single heads and talismans to giant ceramic clan-like communities – in the wake of the UK supreme court's ruling that trans women are not recognised as women, nor trans men as men, under the 2010 Equality Act. The judgment has not only caused distraction from other urgent court rulings and news, but will inflate culture wars and boost violence towards an already extremely vulnerable group who make up less than 1% of the population.
The ruling will surely have a detrimental health and emotional impact on trans and non-binary people, and could force public organisations to change their policies on inclusion and single-sex spaces in ways that puts trans people at risk. But, as the artist Victoria Cantons reminds me, the decision is also 'a gateway for more control on women' and will 'push women's and men's roles into more binary structures, which will be detrimental for women's rights in general'. She also pointed out that not a single trans group was even heard on the panel before the decision was made.
While our prime minister and government have become increasingly hostile to trans rights since being elected, the fact is that trans communities have existed, and always will. It's more important than ever to champion, promote and celebrate them – echoing the spirit of last weekend's protests, which were peaceful and full of love.
Art can be a powerful way to promote the voices of those who aren't being heard in society, but also as a tool for helping us see the beauty, possibility and basic humanity in each other.
I am reminded of something that the artist Martha Rosler – who, like Babirye, works in collage, assembling images and objects that create new possibilities – once told me: 'This habit of division, of breaking things apart, holds us back from being whole people, and from building a whole society. On this spinning blue marble we all share, there is no 'here' or 'there'. As a species, our destinies are increasingly intertwined: we are one. Cooperation isn't just wise; it's essential. And recognising that isn't just important; it's crucial.'How can anyone look at Babirye's Togetherness and not want unity rather than division?