If you’ve spent any time on the internet during June, you’ve seen the graphics. Usually, it's a neon-soaked illustration of two women—Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson—with a caption about how they "started the Stonewall Riots" by throwing the first brick.
It makes for a great Instagram slide. It’s also mostly fiction.
History is a messy, unpolished thing. It’s rarely as clean as a social media infographic. When we talk about Sylvia and Marsha, we often flatten them into "saints" of the movement, but the reality is way more interesting—and way more heartbreaking. They weren't just two people who got lucky at a riot; they were radical revolutionaries who the mainstream gay movement tried to erase for decades. Honestly, if you want to understand why Pride exists, you have to look past the "first brick" myth and look at what they actually did when the cameras weren't rolling.
The Stonewall Myth vs. The Truth
Let's clear the air.
Did Marsha P. Johnson throw the first brick at Stonewall? No. She didn't even get to the bar until the riot was already in full swing. Marsha herself said in a 1987 interview with historian Eric Marcus that she didn't arrive downtown until 2:00 a.m., and by then, the "place was already on fire."
And Sylvia Rivera? Historians are still debating if she was even there on the first night. While she claimed for years that she was in the thick of it, some of her closest friends and other Stonewall veterans have questioned that account.
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Does that matter? Not really.
The obsession with who threw the "first" anything misses the point. The real story isn't about one specific brick. It’s about the fact that these two women were already living a revolution every single day just by existing. They were homeless. They were sex workers. They were being harassed by the NYPD on a Tuesday just for wearing makeup. By the time Stonewall happened, they didn't need a single night to spark their anger—they had been burning for years.
STAR: The Revolution Nobody Talks About
While the mainstream movement was busy trying to look "respectable" to get laws passed, Sylvia and Marsha were doing the gritty work. In 1970, they founded Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR).
Think about that. This was 1970.
They weren't just a political group; they were a survival network. They started the STAR House in a drafty, dilapidated building in the East Village. They paid the rent by "hustling" (sex work) so that the "street kids"—younger trans and queer youth who had been kicked out of their homes—didn't have to.
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It was a primitive version of what we now call mutual aid.
They provided:
- A roof over heads that would otherwise be on the pavement.
- Food for people the government wouldn't help.
- Protection from a world that viewed them as "deviants."
But the movement didn't love them back. In 1973, at the Christopher Street Liberation Day Rally (what we now call the Pride Parade), Sylvia Rivera had to literally fight her way onto the stage. She was booed. By her own community.
"Y'all better quiet down!" she screamed into the mic. It’s one of the most famous speeches in queer history, but at the time, it was a moment of pure, raw isolation. She castigated the crowd for ignoring their "brothers and sisters" in jail and on the streets. She reminded them that while they were enjoying a parade, her people were still being beaten.
The Tragedy of "Pay It No Mind"
Marsha P. Johnson’s middle initial stood for "Pay It No Mind." It was her response to anyone who questioned her gender or her life. She was known as the "Saint of Christopher Street," often seen wearing flower crowns she made from scraps or clothes she'd found.
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But sainthood is a heavy burden.
In 1992, Marsha’s body was found in the Hudson River. The police quickly ruled it a suicide, despite her friends insisting she wasn't suicidal and had been harassed by "thugs" shortly before. It took decades of tireless campaigning by activists like Victoria Cruz to get the case reopened.
Sylvia’s end was also a battle. She spent years living in a "homeless city" on the piers after the movement she helped build turned its back on her. She eventually returned to activism in the late 90s, but she died of liver cancer in 2002, still fighting for a Transgender Rights Bill that would actually include the people at the bottom of the ladder.
Why They Still Matter in 2026
We shouldn't just remember them because they’re "icons." We should remember them because the problems they fought are still here.
Trans youth homelessness is still a crisis.
The "respectability politics" that tried to silence Sylvia in 1973 still exists in corporate Pride today.
Violence against Black trans women is still an epidemic.
If you want to honor the legacy of Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, don't just post a photo. Look at the "street kids" in your own city. Look at the people who don't fit into the "neat and tidy" version of progress.
How to Take Real Action
- Support Local Mutual Aid: Find groups in your area that provide direct housing and food support to trans youth. Organizations like the Sylvia Rivera Law Project or the Marsha P. Johnson Institute carry on this specific work.
- Study the Uncomfortable History: Read Stonewall by Martin Duberman or watch the documentary The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson. Get comfortable with the fact that the people who started this movement were often the ones the movement liked the least.
- Vocalize Inclusion: When you're in spaces where queer rights are discussed, ask: "Who are we leaving behind?" Is the focus only on marriage and military service, or are we talking about healthcare, housing, and prison reform?
The revolution isn't a single night in 1969. It's a choice to keep showing up for the people who are still being booed off the stage.