Trans History: Marsha P. Johnson, The Woman Who Refused to Be Erased

“No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.” These words capture the fiery heart and fearless spirit of Marsha P. Johnson, a Black transgender woman whose life and activism reshaped the LGBTQ+ movement forever.

Long before terms like “transgender rights” became part of mainstream discourse, Marsha was on the frontlines, fighting for the dignity, visibility, and survival of the most marginalised in the queer community.

She was a trailblazer, a mother figure, a street activist, and a symbol of unapologetic joy and resistance.

In a world that sought to erase her — through violence, poverty, and silence — Marsha turned her existence into a revolution. Her legacy is not just one of protest, but of radical love and collective care.

This is the story of a woman who demanded to be seen, who taught others to “pay it no mind,” and whose death, like her life, forced a society to confront its own failings — and begin to change.

Becoming Marsha

Marsha P. Johnson was born Malcolm Michaels Jr. on August 24, 1945, in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She was assigned male at birth and raised in a working-class African American Christian household.

From a young age, she showed signs of gender nonconformity, reportedly wearing dresses at just five years old — something that drew ridicule and violence from those around her. After a traumatic sexual assault in her youth, she withdrew, suppressing her femininity for years.

But after graduating high school, she left for New York City with a bag of clothes and $15 in her pocket. There, in the chaotic and creative world of Greenwich Village, she found freedom — and became Marsha.

The “P” in her name, she often said, stood for “Pay it no mind,” a phrase she used to dismiss those who questioned her gender. It became her trademark — a mantra of defiance, wit, and grace in the face of constant judgment.

A Life on the Margins

Marsha lived much of her life in poverty, often homeless, and survived through sex work and the generosity of her chosen family. She was arrested more than a hundred times — often for “cross-dressing” or for simply existing as a trans woman in public spaces.

Yet, despite personal hardship, she was known for her infectious warmth, theatrical style, and boundless generosity. Locals in the Village called her the “Saint of Christopher Street” for her habit of giving away what little she had — money, clothes, food — to those who needed it more.

She was, in many ways, a living contradiction: joyful but constantly grieving, iconic yet ignored, celebrated in the community but shunned by the media and larger society. And yet, she remained unshakeable in her commitment to others. As she once put it, “How many years has it taken people to realise that we are all brothers and sisters and human beings in the human race?”

The Stonewall Uprising

On the night of June 28, 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn — a gay bar in Manhattan’s West Village. Raids like these were common, brutal, and humiliating, particularly for gender-nonconforming people. But this time, the community fought back.

While there’s debate about who threw the first punch or bottle, Marsha was undeniably present and active during the multi-night rebellion that followed. Many eyewitnesses recall her on the front lines, shouting, resisting, and rallying others.

The Stonewall Uprising is widely considered the spark of the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement — and Marsha was one of its most visible figures.

Building a Home for the Forgotten

In the early 1970s, together with her close friend and fellow trans activist Sylvia Rivera, Marsha co-founded STAR — Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries. It was a groundbreaking initiative aimed at providing housing, food, and support for homeless queer and trans youth, especially those cast out by their families or society.

They rented a dilapidated apartment in the East Village and turned it into STAR House, using money earned through sex work to keep it running. They were not just activists — they were caretakers, mothers, and protectors for a generation of forgotten youth.

Marsha’s activism wasn’t about slogans — it was about survival. “You never completely have your rights, one person, until you all have your rights,” she said. Her politics were personal, born from lived experience and sustained by an unwavering belief in collective liberation.

Marginalised Even in Activism

Despite her central role in early LGBTQ+ resistance, Marsha was often sidelined — even within the gay rights movement. White, cisgender gay men often pushed trans women, drag queens, and people of colour to the margins of Pride events and organising efforts.

When she and Rivera stormed the stage at the 1973 Christopher Street Liberation Day rally to demand space for trans voices, they were booed by many in the crowd. Still, they refused to be silenced.

This internal exclusion underscored what Marsha already knew: that the fight for queer liberation could not succeed if it left the most vulnerable behind.

AIDS, Activism, and the Final Years

In the final years of her life, Marsha remained active in both LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS advocacy. After being diagnosed with HIV in 1990, she joined ACT UP, a direct-action group demanding government action and accountability during the AIDS crisis.

Even as she struggled with mental health issues, stigma, and worsening health, she continued to march, speak, and support others. Her resilience never waned.

But in July 1992, Marsha’s body was found floating in the Hudson River. Police ruled her death a suicide — despite visible signs of trauma and witness accounts of her being harassed shortly before her death. Her friends and fellow activists demanded justice, insisting she had been murdered.

It wasn’t until 2012 that authorities agreed to reopen the case, following years of advocacy. To this day, her death remains officially unsolved, a haunting reminder of how disposable Black trans lives remain in the eyes of society.

A Legacy That Refuses to Die

Marsha P. Johnson may have been erased from headlines in her lifetime, but today her legacy is impossible to ignore. She has been immortalised in documentaries, honored in murals and street art, and celebrated in queer spaces across the world.

In 2020, New York City announced plans to erect a statue of Marsha and Sylvia Rivera — the first public monument in the city honouring trans women. And in 2021, the Biden administration named a federal LGBTQ+ rights office after her.

Her words continue to echo in protests, classrooms, and conversations around the world: “No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.”

A Call to Remember

Marsha P. Johnson lived at the intersection of Blackness, queerness, poverty, and gender nonconformity — identities that made her a target, but also a radical visionary.

She showed us that activism isn’t always polished or institutional; sometimes, it looks like sharing a meal, opening your door, or standing your ground in a world that says you shouldn’t exist.

She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t always welcomed. But she was necessary.

And as we continue to fight for LGBTQ+ rights — especially for trans people of colour still facing violence and discrimination — we do so walking in her footsteps.

Because Pride was never just a party. It was, and still is, a protest.