Statement in Response to the Erasure of Transgender and Queer People from the Stonewall Uprising National Monument Website

Now, at Stonewall we are watching our own undoing.

At our monument, a hollow has been carved into history—a deliberate emptiness where our stories used to live. Where Marsha’s name once stood proud, teaching generations that we have always existed, that we have always fought, that we have always loved and been loved. Now there is only silence.

They think we don’t notice when they chip away at our memories, stone by stone. That we won’t feel the weight of each erasure, each redaction, each carelessly crafted omission. But we feel every cut. We see our elders’ names fade like ghosts from the walls they built with their own hands. We watch as they try to orphan us from our own history.

Every time they try to erase us, we write ourselves back into existence—in permanent ink, in unshakeable community, in unwavering solidarity.

But they have forgotten something crucial: We are still here. We are still telling our stories. In basements and bookstores, in community centers and living rooms, in whispered conversations and shouted protests. Every time they try to erase us, we write ourselves back into existence—in permanent ink, in unshakeable community, in unwavering solidarity.

There is a bitter irony in attempting to sanitize a monument that exists precisely because people refused to accept such violent marginalization. Stonewall stands as testament to the power of collective rage, to a moment when the marginalized said “enough” and transformed their pain into action, to a moment that showed their oppressors they knew how weak the chains really were. It commemorates not polite requests for dignity, but the throwing of bricks, the breaking of barriers, the raw and necessary fury of people who had been pushed too far. Those who now seek to edit this history, to remove some of its participants from the record, seem to miss the fundamental lesson of what they’re trying to erase: that oppressed people will not quietly accept their own erasure, that solidarity is stronger than state power, and that the very actions they’re commemorating prove the futility of their sanitization effort. They seek to remove transgender people from the story of a riot that began, in part, because society tried to deny transgender people’s right to exist—a historical echo that would be laughable if it weren’t so dangerous.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

This is why we must act now, together. Not just transgender people, but all who understand that when they come for one community’s history, they pave the way to erase others. Every activist, every ally, every person who believes in truth and dignity must stand together.

What can we do? We document. We archive. We create underground histories and public demonstrations. We build networks of resistance that transcend individual identity. We teach our children not just about Stonewall, but about every attempt at oppression and how we fought back. We turn their acts of erasure into fuel for our collective memory and action.

Most importantly, we recognize that this is not just about preserving history—it’s about protecting our future. When they try to erase transgender people from Stonewall, they are trying to erase the possibility of transgender youth seeing themselves in history, of understanding their place in a long line of resistance and triumph.

Let this attempt at erasure be the spark that ignites our collective resistance. Let every blank space they create become a canvas for our truth.

Let this attempt at erasure be the spark that ignites our collective resistance. Let every blank space they create become a canvas for our truth. Let every silence they impose become a chorus of our voices. Together, we will not just preserve our history—we will make it impossible to erase.

The time for passive observation is over. We must act with the urgency of people watching their own existence being questioned, with the determination of communities who refuse to be written out of history, and with the solidarity of those who understand that an injury to one is an injury to all.

Who will join us in ensuring that our stories survive? Who will stand with us in turning this moment of erasure into an era of unprecedented visibility and power? Our history is not just words on a monument—it lives in our actions, in our unity, and in our unwavering commitment to truth and justice.

The future is watching. What will we show them?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​