What began as a dispute over a single piece of instrumental music in Watertown has rapidly transformed into one of Wisconsin’s most visible recent debates about censorship, LGBTQ+ visibility, education, and the increasingly fragile boundary between “neutrality” and exclusion.

At the center of the controversy is “A Mother of a Revolution!,” a 2019 composition by composer and University of Texas-Austin professor Omar Thomas. The piece honors transgender activist Marsha P. Johnson and references the Stonewall uprising, one of the foundational moments in modern LGBTQ+ civil rights history.

The composition was originally scheduled to be performed by the Watertown High School Wind Symphony during its spring concert. But on May 12, after mounting pressure and public debate, the Watertown Unified School Board voted 7–1 to remove the piece from the program, arguing that its subject matter violated district policies concerning controversial political topics.

Censorship Sparks Backlash, Walkouts

The decision immediately ignited widespread public backlash online locally, statewide, and even nationally, and Watertown students organized walkouts during school sessions. Parents and community members accused the board of censorship, a fact that is especially poignant considering the fact that the composition doesn’t even contain any lyrics or political speech, and there was no classroom activism attached to it.

The district’s band director, Reid LaDew, had informed parents months in advance that the piece would be performed. Parents were required to sign permission slips to allow their kids to learn the song, and students were offered the opportunity to opt out if desired. Only one student reportedly did.

But when the spring concert was only days away, the debate had already become larger than the music itself.

The Contradiction of “Neutrality”

For supporters of the board’s decision, the issue was framed as one of neutrality. Some argued that schools should avoid works tied to political or social movements altogether. Others described the piece as ideological or inappropriate for a public school setting.

Yet critics quickly pointed out the contradiction embedded in that argument: When LGBTQ+ history is uniquely categorized as political while other historical narratives are treated as culturally neutral, “neutrality” begins to function less as fairness and more as selective erasure.

That tension has become increasingly common in school board battles across Wisconsin and nationally. Restrictions involving LGBTQ+ books, Pride symbols, transgender student policies, and classroom discussion are frequently framed not as exclusionary acts, but as efforts to preserve institutional objectivity. The language is often procedural rather than openly hostile. Visibility itself becomes the controversy.

Many Watertown students appeared deeply aware of that reality. Some described the board’s decision not simply as a disagreement over a musical composition, but as a message about whose stories are considered acceptable in public life.

Board Decision’s Impact on Students

Junior Rosalie Draeger, who identified herself as part of the LGBTQ+ community, described the decision as painful and frustrating. Other students questioned why references to civil rights struggles involving LGBTQ+ people were being treated as uniquely inappropriate for educational spaces.

Their frustration reflects a broader truth supported by years of research: Representation in schools is not merely symbolic. Visibility impacts belonging, mental health, and student safety. When LGBTQ+ people appear only in contexts of controversy, censorship, or moral panic, students absorb those messages regardless of intent.

Located between Madison and Milwaukee, Watertown has increasingly become a flashpoint for Wisconsin’s ongoing culture war conflicts surrounding schools, public institutions, and LGBTQ+ rights. In recent years, the community has repeatedly drawn statewide attention over disputes involving transgender student policies, library materials, and curriculum oversight.

The rhetoric surrounding this latest controversy echoes older patterns deeply embedded in American history. Vulnerable groups become framed as threats to children. Inclusion becomes recast as indoctrination. Visibility itself is interpreted as aggression.

Watertown’s Other Anti-LGBTQ+ Actions

That historical continuity becomes difficult to ignore when considering Watertown’s more recent past. In 2023, Neo-Nazi demonstrators carrying rifles and swastika flags appeared at a local Pride event and drag show, shouting threats and anti-LGBTQ+ slogans. While contemporary Watertown residents should not be simplistically defined by the actions of extremists, communities nevertheless inherit cultural narratives about belonging, normalcy, and who is perceived as an outsider.

However, despite the school board’s intention to quietly end the conversation by removing “A Mother of a Revolution!,” they inadvertently created a much larger and more visible conversation on the national stage.

On May 13, students organized a walkout in protest of the decision. National media began covering the story. Social media amplified it further. What might once have remained a small local controversy instead became a statewide—and eventually national—discussion about censorship, art, and LGBTQ+ inclusion in public education.

Composer Conducts Independent, Public Watertown Performance

After the board barred the piece from the concert, composer Omar Thomas agreed to travel from Texas to Watertown to conduct an independent public performance at Immanuel Evangelical Lutheran Church. The event quickly transformed into something far larger than a substitute concert.

Hundreds packed into the church sanctuary. Audience members spilled into hallways and outside entrances. The performance was livestreamed to viewers across Wisconsin and beyond.

Rather than carrying the atmosphere of a political rally, the evening felt more like a communal affirmation—a collective refusal to allow fear-driven politics to dictate what students and artists are permitted to engage with.

Before conducting the piece, Thomas explained why he chose to center the composition on Marsha P. Johnson rather than commonly referenced figures in LGBTQ+ history. He described wanting young LGBTQ+ people, especially trans youth, to hear music that framed them not through tragedy or victimhood, but through strength, heroism, and joy.

Thomas described the composition as a superhero origin story. And the music reflects that vision. It moves through tension and danger before erupting into triumphant brass fanfares, surging percussion, and soaring melodies. Thomas explained that the piece intentionally incorporates disco influences to honor queer nightlife, survival, and celebration.

By the concert’s conclusion, the audience rose into a standing ovation. Many openly wept. Others embraced. What began as an act of suppression had instead produced one of the most emotionally resonant public arts events Watertown has seen in years, maybe ever.

Throughout the evening, speakers repeatedly emphasized that the gathering was not fundamentally about politics, but about dignity, belonging, and artistic freedom.

Still, the controversy surrounding the piece continued expanding beyond Watertown itself.

Minocqua Brewing Company’s Attempt to Capitalize on the Moment

Among the more contentious developments was the involvement of Minocqua Brewing Company owner Kirk Bangstad, who publicly announced plans to host a separate performance of the banned composition at his Madison taproom and began selling tickets for the event.

However, confusion and criticism quickly emerged surrounding the proposal. Bangstad later clarified that the event would not officially involve the Watertown High School Wind Symphony itself, but that members of the ensemble were invited to play along with volunteer community members and any other interested musicians, and reports indicated it remained unclear whether actual Watertown students would participate at all.

Some parents reportedly objected to the way the performance was initially advertised, which was marketed as the Watertown High School Wind Symphony. But online discussions raised concerns that the situation was becoming entangled with Bangstad’s increasingly visible gubernatorial ambitions.

Bangstad, a polarizing figure in Wisconsin politics known for blending progressive activism with aggressive political branding, officially announced his run for governor earlier this year. He has also faced repeated legal and public controversies in recent years involving defamation lawsuits, harassment allegations, and questions surrounding political fundraising tied to his business and affiliated PAC activity.

The Larger Context

For many observers, the episode surrounding “A Mother of a Revolution!” ultimately revealed something larger than a disagreement over a concert program.

It exposed the increasingly unstable line between public education and ideological conflict. It demonstrated how quickly LGBTQ+ visibility itself can become framed as controversial. And perhaps most importantly, it showed that younger generations increasingly recognize these debates for what they are.

For many students, LGBTQ+ inclusion is not abstract politics. It is ordinary life: their classmates, teachers, families, and often themselves. Which may explain why attempts to suppress representation now so often produce the opposite effect: larger conversations, louder protests, and broader visibility than what existed before.

In the end, the question lingering after Watertown’s controversy is no longer whether the music will be heard. It already has been.

The more revealing question is why so many people were frightened by it in the first place.