OSU Alum, Benjamin Lewis, known by the drag persona “Blonde Vanity,” performs at the Inaugural 2024 USG Queer Excellence Night. Courtesy of Chay Robert Rossing
Chay Robert Rossing is an incoming graduate student in Bioethics.
This Pride Month began with our university’s unpublishing of a website that had served as a lifeline for queer students for years. Succumbing to state and federal pressures, this decision felt like more than just a ‘sunsetting’ of a resource; but was a stark reminder that many queer students now navigate an unstable landscape, increasingly finding that our only remaining support structures are within our connections to one another.
For me, this Pride Month has brought both highs and profound sorrows. I have felt deeply alone. Friends have graduated, community leaders have moved on and many have been scared back into their closets or silenced. It feels as if our community’s voices have diminished at the very moment when institutions, corporate sponsors and government have deemed us no longer worth celebrating. The result is clear: many of us feel isolated.
How radical it feels, then, to love another in a world that demands we justify our existence. We are constantly fatigued by the notion that our joy and solidarity are threats to be dismantled, that we must fight for our very breath and the hearts we hold dear. It is exhausting to constantly be the queer kids. I am tired. My community is tired.
And yet, in the celebrations of Pride, I found a revitalizing sense of our enduring privilege. We stand on the shoulders of giants, continuing the legacy of those who lived authentically when it was unimaginable. What an honor to know predecessors like those who defied Anita Bryant or the televangelists, who found hope to keep fighting. What honor to follow the renewers and fighters of Stonewall, or those who battled the AIDS crisis. We celebrate in the wake of the campiness of the ballroom era, the flamboyance of drag queens, in the energy of house music. We are privileged to recall the forgotten friends and untold stories, and to carry the obligation of those martyred for being themselves. We follow in the steps of Harvey Milk, Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, Bayard Rustin, James Baldwin. We are two decades removed from “Brokeback Mountain” or one decade from the establishment of marriage equality. In this connecting with those who came before, my community gives me hope – the same hope Harvey Milk implored us to give: “That you, and you and you, you’ve got to give them hope. I know you can’t live on hope alone. But without hope, life is not worth living. So you, and you and you: You got to give them hope. You got to give them hope!”
This Pride Month has taught us not to let hope die. As the world tries to dim our light, our community must burn brighter, relying on one another. We’ve learned that true community isn’t granted by institutions or validated by corporate sponsors; it’s built and fiercely protected among ourselves. Our legacy isn’t corporate logos or merchandise, but in quiet conversations, shared meals, knowing glances and unwavering presences. Despite its challenges, Pride has underscored our deep strength in community, reminding us of the radical power in loving and uplifting one another when the world resists. We are here for each other, and that makes all the difference. We can no longer wait for permission or endorsement. We must build our own safe harbors, brick by brick, with our own websites and resources. The fight for our right to exist, love and belong is far from over. Our power lies not in what is given, but in the unbreakable web we weave and fiercely defend together.
Friends, the time is now, and the duty is ours. Embracing who we truly are—the wild, beautiful mess of our experiences—will carve a permanent space for our dignity in the wider world—where every small kindness, bold flash of joy, hand held in solidarity and shared laughter in defiance is a testament to how profoundly we matter. Let us keep building, loving, shining and hoping. Together, our community is an unstoppable force, but only if we fight to maintain it. We stand on the shoulders of giants. Now is the time to make them proud.
“History isn’t something you look back at and say it was inevitable. It happens because people make decisions that are sometimes very impulsive and of the moment, but those moments are cumulative realities.”
Marsha P. Johnson
This article was edited on July 4 at 8:31 a.m. to correct a spelling error in the caption and update Chay Robert Rossing’s introduction.
