I like to say that I became a lesbian by marriage.

For most of my life, I identified as a straight, heteronormative woman. But after my 15-year marriage ended, something unexpected and beautiful happened: I realized that one of my best friends—and hockey teammates—was also the love of my life. She just happened to be a woman.

When we got married, she joked that I had officially earned my “queer card” and was now a proud member of what she lovingly calls “the community.” I’d always considered myself open-minded and accepting but being with her changed how I see the world. Seeing life through her eyes—and through the broader LGBTQIA+ lens—not only transformed my personal identity, it deepened my commitment to diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging (DEIB) in every aspect of my life.

It’s also why the systematic dismantling of DEI and LGBTQIA+ protections in higher education are nothing short of sickening.

Across the U.S., LGBTQIA+ scholars and students are being silenced or sidelined—even at Harvard, one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the country. And it’s not just happening at Ivy League schools. The American Bar Association is poised to suspend its requirement that law schools promote DEI—an accreditation standard now under intense political scrutiny. Several universities have shut down residential communities that served LGBTQIA+ and racially marginalized students. These once-safe spaces are now gone.

And let’s not forget about the policing of what students and educators can say, read, and teach—aggressively targeting LGBTQIA+ youth and their allies, pushing them even further to the margins.

This isn’t abstract for me. These policies affect real people—not just me, my wife, and our friends—but also you. The LGBTQIA+ students you mentor. The colleagues whose work brings visibility to queer and trans lives. The staff members trying to make campuses more inclusive and welcoming for all. It’s you who might be experiencing harassment or threats. Your relationships might be suffering. Your physical and mental health might be suffering. You might feel like your career—and your sanity—is hanging in the balance.

And yet—you keep going.

You keep teaching, researching, organizing, showing up, and speaking out. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s terrifying. Even when it would be so much easier to walk away.

You are why I refuse to stay silent. Not when there’s so much at stake. We need more than allyship. We need to support each other loudly, visibly, and unapologetically.

Hearing you and seeing you keep fighting—this is what keeps me going. Your determination, perseverance and courage are a constant reminder that our identities are not up for debate, and our presence in academia is not a privilege. It’s a right.

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