Earlier this week, we published a piece on the Watertown School Board’s upcoming decision about whether or not to remove “A Mother of a Revolution!” from the high school Wind Symphony’s upcoming concert program. The piece by composer Omar Thomas honors transgender activist Marsha P. Johnson and references the Stonewall uprising, a pivotal moment in LGBTQ+ civil rights history.

But what began as a dispute over a single instrumental composition has now evolved into something much larger: a public argument over who gets to be visible in Wisconsin schools, whose histories are allowed to be acknowledged, and whether simply referencing LGBTQ+ existence is now considered inherently political.

On May 12, the town’s School Board voted 7-1 to remove “A Mother of a Revolution!” from the upcoming concert, arguing the piece violated district policies governing controversial political topics.

It should be noted that the composition “A Mother of a Revolution!” contains no lyrics. Students were not reportedly taught lessons on LGBTQ+ activism alongside the music, and the district’s band director had, per the district’s policies, informed parents months earlier that the piece would be performed, offering students the ability to opt out if desired. Only one did.

During public discussion, some characterized the music as “radical” or accused the district of ideological indoctrination. Others framed the decision as a matter of neutrality and fairness and claimed they were trying to prevent schools from endorsing any political viewpoints of any kind, as if exclusion isn’t also a stance of its own.

The framing has become increasingly common in school board battles across Wisconsin and nationally. Restrictions on LGBTQ+ books, Pride symbols, transgender student policies, and classroom discussion are often presented not as acts of exclusion, but as attempts to preserve institutional neutrality. Supporters frequently insist they are not targeting LGBTQ+ people specifically, but politics in general.

But really, when the mere acknowledgment of LGBTQ+ history is treated as political while other historical narratives remain unchallenged, neutrality begins to resemble selective erasure.

In a statement by the school’s band director, Reid LaDew, he says, “The purpose behind studying “Mother of a Revolution!” is not to provoke controversy, but to deepen students’ understanding of how music reflects the diverse experiences of humanity. Engaging with this piece helps foster empathy, cultural awareness, and respect for the stories and struggles that shape our shared history.”

Our Lives previously reported, many students, parents, and community members questioned why references to civil rights struggles connected to LGBTQ+ people were considered uniquely inappropriate for educational spaces.

“If parents had issues with the piece, they had plenty of time to take it to the board rather than waiting until a couple of weeks before the concert,” said Watertown parent Jim Mitchell.

Representation as Necessity

Representation in schools is not merely symbolic. Research consistently shows that visibility and inclusion affect student mental health, belonging, and academic outcomes. When LGBTQ+ identities are framed primarily through controversy, censorship, or conflict, students absorb those messages regardless of whether adults intend them to. Inclusion signals value, and silence communicates lack thereof.

And in Watertown, students appear acutely aware of that reality.

Watertown High School junior Rosalie Draeger reported that the board’s decision was “upsetting.”

“Personally for me, I have various friends who are in the LGBTQ community and I am one of them as well,” Draeger said. “There’s been discrimination for years, there’s been violence against gay people, there’s plenty of people who have died just because they were trans or if they were interested in the same sex and that’s not okay.”

History Always Leaves Traces

Situated roughly halfway between Madison and Milwaukee, Watertown has long occupied a unique place in Wisconsin’s political geography. Jefferson County has become one of the state’s more reliably conservative regions in recent years, and Watertown in particular has developed a reputation as a flashpoint for culture war politics surrounding schools, LGBTQ+ rights and public institutions.

Over the past several years, the city has repeatedly drawn statewide attention over battles involving transgender student policies, library materials and curriculum oversight. Conservative activist groups have maintained a visible presence at school board meetings, and local political rhetoric has increasingly mirrored national right-wing narratives about “parental rights,” “indoctrination” and the alleged politicization of public education.

In fact, in July of 2025, the Watertown Unified School Board meeting was packed and met with protests as divided community members met and fought to hear candidates hoping to fill vacant seats after several board members had recently resigned.

Charity Chandler, one of the members who had resigned, reported that she, “Chose to step down because it felt like it was an environment where we had school board members that weren’t being heard.”

And when the new board members were elected, it was clear what direction things were moving.

“They don’t seem to be listening to other people. They’ve decided that they have one particular, fairly conservative path that they want to go down,” Barb Weiss, a retired employee of the school district said.

Watertown’s connection to reactionary politics stretches back much further than the current moment. In July 2023, a group of Neo-Nazis carrying rifles and swastika flags, along with other anti-LGBTQ+ groups, came to protest a community Pride event and drag show in Watertown. The groups screamed hateful and violent threats, and chanted, “There will be blood, blood, blood,” repeatedly throughout the event.

While many people today associate the white supremacist groups primarily with the American South, Wisconsin is just as deeply affected by this history as anyone else. That history matters not because contemporary Watertown residents should be simplistically defined by the actions of earlier generations, but because cultural histories leave traces.

Communities inherit narratives about belonging, normalcy and who is perceived as an outsider. The language may change over time, but the underlying anxieties about social change often remain remarkably familiar.

Today, LGBTQ+ people, and particularly transgender people, have increasingly become the focal point of similar fears about cultural transformation and moral decline as Black people were (and still are) throughout American history.

The rhetoric deployed in this week’s school board conflict echoes older patterns of moral panic. The framing remains recognizable: vulnerable groups are portrayed as threats to children. Visibility is recast as aggression. Inclusion is somehow equated with indoctrination.

The Reaction

On May 13, students organized a walkout in protest of the board’s decision, leaving classrooms during fourth hour and gathering outside in support of the Wind Symphony and LGBTQ+ inclusion. For many participants, the protest was not solely about a musical composition. It was about the message sent by its removal.

“I don’t know why just because it is an LGBTQ history, we can’t allow kids to talk about it or play pieces related to it,” senior Garett Harris told reporters.

Watertown is hardly alone in this struggle. Across Wisconsin, local school boards have become ground zero for national ideological battles over gender, sexuality, and public education. But what makes this moment particularly striking is how clearly it illustrates the evolving nature of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric.

The language is often softer now than it once was. What used to be explicit hostility is now more often something that looks like procedural language about neutrality, appropriateness, or community standards. In other words, visibility itself is the controversy.

And yet, the student response in Watertown suggests another reality unfolding alongside the backlash: younger generations are recognizing these debates for what they are. For many students, LGBTQ+ inclusion is neither radical nor abstract. It is ordinary life. It’s their friends, family, teachers, and often themselves.

Which may explain why attempts to suppress representation now so often produce even larger conversations that include protest, but may even stretch beyond their communities, into the local media, and onto the biggest discussion platform of all: social media.

What was supposed to disappear quietly from a concert stage has instead become one of Wisconsin’s most visible recent debates over censorship, education and LGBTQ+ belonging.

And for many watching, the question lingering after the vote is no longer whether the song will be performed. It is why its existence frightened people in the first place.