These Filmmakers Are Making Sure Marsha P. Johnson’s Legacy Lives On Forever

Thanks to a number of activists, advocates, and artists dedicated to keeping their memories and work alive, today, Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera's legacies resound louder than ever before. Best known for their leadership in the early LGBTQ+ rights movement, including the 1969 Stonewall Riots, Johnson and Rivera founded Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR) in 1970, a gay, gender-nonconforming, and trans street activist collective. Members of the group were primarily transfeminine people of color, sex workers, and immigrants. Their work with STAR and beyond created a lineage of radical advocacy and activism that lives on through queer and trans activists fighting for equality today; from the Marsha P. Johnson Institute to the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, these two names will live on forever.

Two of the artists we are indebted to for making sure Johnson and Rivera’s stories are heard are Tourmaline (f.k.a. Reina Gossett) and Sasha Wortzel, whose short film Happy Birthday, Marsha! has been screening at film festivals nationwide throughout the year. Through extensive research and interviews with those who knew Johnson and Rivera, the duo created a fictional film depicting the lives of the two many call “the mothers of the movement” for LGBTQ+ rights.

Tourmaline and Wortzel’s journey to make Happy Birthday, Marsha! made headlines last year as director David France allegedly used Tourmaline’s archival research and ideas for his own Netflix documentary, The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson. But the filmmakers, along with their crew and community, continued to make a beautiful piece of art that will leave a mark on the hearts of LGBTQ+ people forever. We spoke with Wortzel and Tourmaline about making the film, the importance of community building, and the power of art and self-care.

What was the initial intent behind the making of this film?

Sasha Wortzel: The film really grew out of a lot of foundational work that Tourmaline did in researching and archiving the lives, legacies, and work of Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson. When we met over 10 years ago, we were both talking a lot about the ways in which queer and trans people don't always have a connection to our history, because our histories aren't recorded, archived, and documented. A lot of the things we know are passed down through communities or talking to one another.

Tourmaline: At the time when I first started feeling through the legacies of Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, I was a community organizer here in New York City working on issues of access to welfare for trans and gender-nonconforming people. Often when trans people go to the welfare office, the person working would say, "No, come back when you look like a man," or "No, come back when you look like a woman." If you don't have access to benefits, you can't survive in New York City. With the criminalization of different kinds of work happening or being barred from work and job discrimination, welfare is such a big issue. I really tried to feel through a legacy of people who came before me because I was feeling really isolated.

A lot of my friends talk about how isolation is one of the biggest issues that we face as a trans women of color, trans people of color, or queer and trans people. People felt they couldn’t leave their homeless shelter because they would get clocked and harassed. People felt like it was hard to go out of their SRO or their apartment or wherever they're staying because of how scary the reality of transphobia is intertwined with anti-Black racism, classism, ableism, and all of those other 'isms' that we work around. So, it's really taking those struggles and wanting to connect with the past.

So I started to listening to the stories and was struck by how Marsha P. Johnson had this really large legacy of fighting back at Stonewall and also being an HIV/AIDS activist in the early '90s. It also struck me how her legacy as a Black trans woman and just a Black trans person overall faced a particular kind of anti-Black historical erasure. That erasure felt so important for me and people in our community to name as a force that was going on. The more I learned, the closer I felt to the life work of Marsha, and the more powerful I felt. In a lot of ways, it's kind of like ancestor worship.

What do you hope trans youth gain from watching this film?

Tourmaline: The things that other people deem not of consequence or not mattering actually really matter a lot, right? What we're doing in our life matters so much. The things that are small acts of fighting back, of resisting the status quo, and being unruly have huge impacts. Impacts that we could've never even imagined. Asking care-based questions like “Hey, I see you struggling right now. What do you need?" are important because Marsha was a person who offered a tremendous amount of care for the world. She was an organizer for AIDS vigils, an organizer around Pride and connected Pride to incarceration — the very first Pride happened at the Women's House of Detention. All those things are really life-changing.

Wortzel: Offer the importance of feeling connected to a lineage, connected to ancestors, being part of a larger story knowing that we've always been out here. We've always been powerful in making community and place and changing the world through large and small acts. And to be able to connect that history, because I think in order for us to think about what we want in the present moment and how we want our futures to look, we need to understand where we've come from and our legacy of our activism. So that's all about dreaming. In order to dream, we need to also dream backwards, too.

We're in this increased moment of visibility. We are hoping that, through the film, we can show examples of people who don't necessarily fit into those respectability politics.

What is your advice for queer and trans people who are trying to figure out their place in the world while doing community work and practicing self-care?

Tourmaline: It's okay to move up and move back. When I was an organizer, that was one of the group agreements we had. Move up and be visible when you want, but it's also okay to say, “Actually, now is not the time. Now is the time for me to do things that are more quiet; that are not for the public at large, but are for a handful of my friends.” Maybe now's the time to try to be like "Hey boo, what do you need? Can we make a meal together? I just got a job — can I Venmo you? Can I cash app you?" That kind of sharing.

There are a lot of community funds popping up that are really powerful. Third Wave Fund has a sex worker community-based fund. I think now — at this moment of increased criminalization and repression — those kinds of collective care models are really powerful and very much aligned with the legacy of Marsha P. Johnson.

Wortzel: I think just movement building and visibility in the world can look so many different ways. Oftentimes the ways we increase visibility and do movements is not always accessible to everyone. So it's important to just think about the multitude of ways that we can be engaging with the world and taking care of one another. And that our participation is going to look different whether that's organizing a fundraiser, donating to one of those community funds, showing up to a march, or just cooking a meal for someone. All of those things are really meaningful and they have tremendous impact and can be transformative.

Both of you have done extensive work in the world of art, film, and activism. Can you talk about what the process of making this film was like and how you two came together?

Wortzel: The process was kind of amazing in that we were so lucky in that we were so held and supported by our communities. This was a real community effort. We worked with people we we've met through art and activist communities. We cast folks who were actually at the riots or knew Marsha, like Jay Toole and Jimmy Camicia, alongside folks like Mya Taylor and Eve Lindley who are kind of living the legacies of Marsha and Sylvia and S.T.A.R. It was really beautiful to be able to shoot on New York City streets. These are the same streets that these folks walked, and where these stories took place.

We had some challenges and setbacks in terms of trying to seek out doing a documentary. I'm sure you're familiar with what went down with David France. So a series of things just led us to make the choice to let go of doing a documentary feature and instead pursue a narrative short. A short film felt more accessible and easier for us to make. The idea of really reimagining this moment, taking all this archival research and all these interviews to dream up a story of what could've been taking place for Marsha in the hours leading up to the Stonewall Riots. Rather than trying to recreate exactly what might have happened or what that moment looked like, we gave ourselves the freedom to imagine another 1969. And then we wove in gifted archival footage of Marsha in 1991, a year before she passed away.

We were able to kind of bring the documentary and narrative stuff together to create this sort of hybrid that has these two Marshas in two different time periods. So much of what we're thinking about is reaching into the past to comment on the present. It was really cool for us to time travel between 1991 and 1969 in our film. Now that's on the big screen in 2018.

As people working in the arts, what do you think is good practice in terms of trying to illustrate trans lives?

Tourmaline: Whether you're telling your own story, a story of your ancestors, a story of people who came before you, or are supporting your friends to tell their own stories, it’s helpful for me to get quiet with myself and try to figure out what my intention is behind the work. I had the intention being in service of our community, and being represented in our beauty, our messiness, our power, and our glamour.

The film industry and Hollywood is inextricably linked to the KKK with The Birth of a Nation, and we've seen what can happen when film and representation is used in service of white supremacy. The Birth of a Nation was screened at the White House when it first came out. We know that these tools are powerful, and we know that the effects can continue to haunt and linger. When we're trying to heal a wound or support the healing of others and be in service of our community, we must get clear about the kind of power that we're working with. Even though we might not have millions of dollars, what we're doing is going be projected largely into the world.

Wortzel: I'm deeply invested in the powerful role that art has to play in transforming the world and challenging systems of power big and small — every day and larger than life. It's so important that this goes back to intention: Make what you wanna make. Envision the story that you want to see, no matter how weird or strange, and then it will find a place. Imagine the audience that you want for your work and you'll find that audience.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Get the best of what's queer. Sign up for our weekly newsletter here.