A nonbinary transgender artist has joined a nationwide creative resistance movement called Fall of Freedom after the National Park Service quietly removed references to transgender and queer people from the Stonewall National Monument's official description. The artist, Kris Grey, responded by creating a six-foot-tall sculpture from salvaged materials taken from the original Stonewall Inn, turning the act of bureaucratic erasure into a powerful statement of resistance.
In February, Grey discovered that the National Park Service had removed the letters "T" and "Q" from LGBTQ in descriptions of the Stonewall National Monument's significance by Valentine's Day. Designated in 2016, Stonewall stands as the first United States landmark dedicated to LGBTQ rights and history. This targeted act of bureaucratic editing represented an attempt to alter the historical narrative of the site's importance to the queer community.
Grey, who has spent more than two decades creating artwork about power systems related to sex and gender, viewed this erasure as a direct threat. The artist responded by constructing a sculpture titled "Capital T" using salvaged wooden joists from the renovation of the new Stonewall National Monument Visitor Center. Built from materials that once formed a queer dance floor at the original Stonewall Inn, the sculpture serves as a literal restoration of what the federal government attempted to disappear.
Motivated by this experience, Grey joined Fall of Freedom as an artist initiator in August. Fall of Freedom represents an urgent call to the arts community to unite in defiance of authoritarian forces sweeping the nation. The movement has grown from a conversation among a handful of artists into a decentralized creative action spanning more than 600 events across the country on November 21 and 22.
The nationwide wave of creative resistance includes the opening of "An Incomplete Haunting" at 601Artspace in New York City, where Grey's "Capital T" sculpture will make its public debut. The scale of participation demonstrates that this moment demands collective response rather than individualism, according to organizers and participating artists.
Grey notes that like many transgender people, their personal and professional life have been subject to heightened scrutiny this year. As an artist, educator, and consultant in the philanthropic space, Grey has watched students, family, and clients navigate intensifying surveillance and urgency. Institutions that once championed risk-taking have retreated, funding has been threatened, exhibitions have been canceled, and students have been arrested for peacefully protesting the genocide in Palestine.
The current political climate has infected every space Grey inhabits, transforming places that once served as sanctuaries for practicing freedom into extensions of state-sanctioned violence. This references bell hooks' concept from "Teaching to Transgress" (1994) about spaces for practicing freedom becoming compromised.
These censorship tactics are not new in American history. Artists have long been targeted when governments drift toward authoritarianism. In the early 1990s, the NEA Four - Karen Finley, Holly Hughes, Tim Miller, and John Fleck - became symbols of the government's willingness to punish queer expression under the guise of decency. Exhibitions were defunded or canceled, and individual federal funding for artists effectively ended.
A timeline compiled by the National Coalition Against Censorship traces a lineage of punitive backlash that runs directly into the present moment. In 2015, Grey worked at Manhattan's Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art, where they presented "IRREVERENT: A Celebration of Censorship," curated by Jennifer Tyburczy. Through this research, Grey gained deeper insight into how artists across decades have met suppression with innovation, defiance, and humor.
Grey argues that censorship doesn't diminish creative expression but forces it to evolve. The current danger feels both familiar and sharpened, reminiscent of historical attacks on knowledge and expression. The artist points to the destruction of Magnus Hirschfeld's Institute for Sexual Science in Berlin in 1933 as a cautionary example.
In one of the earliest Nazi attacks on knowledge, the world's largest archive of LGBTQ research was destroyed, housing decades of scientific work, case studies, and community networks that were reduced to ash. This loss created a generational gap in transgender healthcare and scholarship that persists today. Grey hears echoes of that destruction as US legislators attempt to ban access to gender-affirming care, escalate surveillance of clinicians, and criminalize educational materials.
Participating in Fall of Freedom represents one way Grey has chosen to respond to current threats. A core principle of the project is the belief that creativity, in and of itself, constitutes a practice of resistance. Conversations within the movement emphasize both taking a stand against censorship and exerting creative labor in solidarity with those being targeted, silenced, and disappeared.
Grey describes the experience within Fall of Freedom as not only a call to action but also an invitation into connection and repair. Across regions and disciplines, participants are weaving a fabric of care, imagination, and joyful defiance. The upcoming activations include installations, performances, workshops, exhibitions, film screenings, public actions, banned-book readings, virtual engagements, dance performances, concerts, and many other creative gatherings.
The artist emphasizes that art is not a luxury in moments like this but rather a survival strategy. As the November 21-22 events approach, Grey hopes the public understands this moment not only as a crisis but as an invitation to participate. The movement cannot fight fascism with quiet compliance but can confront it with coordinated participation.
Grey encourages people to explore the interactive map to find events near them, show up for local artists and cultural workers in their region, and join creative communities building coalitions across geography and identity. The artist notes that people don't need to make six-foot-tall sculptures to resist, as artists are creating work for the viewing public and need community support.
When the government attempted to erase transgender contributions to American history, Grey's impulse was to rebuild that presence from discarded materials. Under current duress, while it remains difficult to stay hopeful, the artist sees enormous opportunity in building new futures together. This represents the work ahead: taking what exists and constructing something stronger, clearer, and more insistent, because art matters and courage is contagious.
