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Wake up! Listen to black student protesters

Recent events at Mizzou recall a life-changing 1992 episode at Penn State

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black student, gay news, Washington Blade

University of Missouri (Photo by AdamProcter; courtesy Wikimedia Commons)

The issue of race relations on college campuses reemerged last week following highly publicized incidents at Yale and the University of Missouri that triggered protests at schools across the country. Much of the reaction and commentary included patronizing remarks that minimized and trivialized the plight of African-American and other minority students navigating life on majority-white campuses.

At Missouri, students protested a string of racist incidents that were largely ignored by administrators, leading to the resignation of University of Missouri System President Tim Wolfe and Columbia campus Chancellor R. Bowen Loftin. They stepped down only after the football team threatened a boycott, jeopardizing lucrative sports revenue for the school. The athletes’ brave act of defiance should be a template for students elsewhere looking for creative and effective ways to fight back against apathetic administrators.

Meanwhile, at Yale, a black undergraduate student claimed that she was barred from a fraternity’s “white girls only” party. Sigma Alpha Epsilon denied the report. In another incident, a faculty member was accused of racial insensitivity after defending students’ right to wear potentially offensive Halloween costumes. The seemingly isolated incidents at Yale and Mizzou have proven anything but, with solidarity protests being staged across the country.

Leading Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump predictably sided with the status quo. “I think the two people that resigned are weak, ineffective people,” he told Fox News. Ben Carson assailed the “politically correct police” for the resignations.

Numerous publications and commentators have weighed in, belittling the students and ignoring the larger issues. This isn’t about Halloween costumes or the coddling of spoiled elites who miss their helicopter parents. It’s about the disparate treatment of minority students everywhere who face real obstacles to obtaining their education and degrees that are mostly unknown to their white counterparts.

The recent incidents call to mind my own eye-opening experience with race issues as a student at Penn State University in 1992, where I served as editorial page editor for the Daily Collegian student newspaper.

Back then, Penn State saw protests led by black students decrying low minority enrollment and inadequate efforts by the university to retain minority students. There were sit-ins and street demonstrations. One of my regular columnists, a black student, penned a column titled, “African Americans should not trust devilish white people.” It contained some harsh language and warnings to fellow black students to bear arms to defend themselves. “White people are irredeemable racists, who have never loved or cared about black people,” he wrote.

The column wasn’t the most profound or original take on race, but it certainly reflected the genuine fear and isolation that many black students felt on campus. One black friend told me that when traveling to campus from home, he gassed up his car in New York City and didn’t stop again until he pulled into his dorm four and a half hours later, ever fearful of having to make an unexpected stop in rural Pennsylvania along the way to State College.

The university was overwhelmingly white, with just 3.1 percent black enrollment. Many students were from small towns with zero black population. I had a roommate who had never met a black person before arriving on campus. When he saw a photo of me with my black prom date from high school, he said, “You took a black girl to prom?! What did your parents say?”

Such was the atmosphere for minority students. And so when I edited the column, I knew it would get a lot of attention on campus but I was young and naïve and had no idea the maelstrom that it would trigger. On the day it was published, I received an early morning phone call at my apartment from the newspaper office. “Kevin, you need to get down here. There are protesters picketing the office.”

When I arrived, there were two white students pacing in front of my office carrying signs bearing crosshairs that read, “White Man, Shoot Here.” It was startling but hardly a mass protest. I dismissed it as minor and went about my day. Later, I got a call from an Associated Press reporter in Harrisburg who’d heard about the protest. I explained that it was a brief demonstration by just two people. He wrote a story that moved across the AP state wire that night while I was still in the office. Our news editor flagged it for me. It read that our offices were besieged by a “wave of protests” following publication of the column. I was disappointed by the irresponsible sensationalism of the AP writer but it was only the state wire. Not a huge deal. Later that night, the story moved across the national AP wire and appeared in every major newspaper in the country the next morning. All hell broke loose.

The office phones rang incessantly. Penn State administrators denounced us in the media as a “hate publication.” Student organizations yanked their advertising. Oprah, Donahue, Sally Jesse and Geraldo called seeking interviews with the author and me. The story was covered by the New York Times, Washington Post, CNN and every media critic and major news outlet. Death threats began arriving to our offices. The author’s life was threatened in a flier distributed across campus with a rifle’s crosshairs superimposed across his photo. I received a death threat at my apartment from the Ku Klux Klan, which operated in a nearby town. The police visited my office offering protection. Alumni canceled donations to the university and administrators searched for ways to retaliate against the newspaper, which is an independent corporation unaffiliated with Penn State. Professors denounced our actions openly in classes. Collegian staffers were harassed on the streets.

Despite all the fear mongering in the media about us instigating a “race war at Penn State,” the only violence we saw came in the form of death threats against newspaper staff. It’s surreal to turn on the radio or TV and hear your name being trashed by commentators. I was labeled a “drug addict,” “racist,” “crazy” and worse. I lost a job offer because of the uproar.

All this because I’d defended a black staff member who’d written a column from a place of fear and isolation. Yes, he wrote some inflammatory things. But on a college campus, students deserve a wide berth when exploring complicated and emotional issues for the first time on their own. As former Yale University President Benno Schmidt once said, “A university ought to be the last place where people are inhibited by fear of punishment from expressing ignorance or even hate, so long as others are left free to answer.”

It was a life-changing experience and I wish every practicing journalist could walk for a day in the shoes of someone being castigated by the national media. It taught me the importance of fairness. Words matter and they can hurt when applied recklessly.

Fast-forward nearly a quarter century, and to my dismay students are still grappling with the same issues of racism and low minority enrollment and retention. Indeed, the list of grievances from University of Missouri students is strikingly similar to a list compiled by students in the 1960s. As the Huffington Post reported last week, “The 1969 list expressed concern about the ‘nonchalant attitude on the part of the university,’ saying it made it ‘a haven for comprehensive institutionalized racist and political repression.’ Those feelings were echoed by many protesters this week.”

Instead of dismissing these students’ concerns, we should listen and help. The condescending response from Trump, the Wall Street Journal editorial board and others ignores the genuine fears of students who face threats of violence and racist epithets — one of which was scrawled in human excrement at Missouri.

Often it’s the covert manifestations of racism that sting most, like the indifferent response of administrators and media critics. Or the persistent problems with retaining minority students and faculty at major universities that are instead focused on building multi-billion dollar endowments while neglecting needs of current students.

There are no easy solutions to these entrenched problems, but we’ve seen the result of propagating the status quo, from Ferguson to Baltimore and beyond. At the very least, we can listen to these students respectfully and engage with them. Football players don’t boycott games and students don’t initiate hunger strikes for kicks or attention. The problems are real. As Spike Lee implored us in his 1988 film “School Daze,” “Wake up!”

 

Kevin Naff is editor of the Washington Blade. Reach him at [email protected].

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The true cost of cutting DEI

A threat to business, innovation, and disability economic power

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(Image by anirav/Bigstock)

The Trump administration’s push to dismantle Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives isn’t just bad policy—it’s bad for business. 

For decades, DEI programs have helped break down barriers, making workplaces more accessible and opening doors for disabled talent. Rolling them back isn’t just an attack on equity; it’s a blow to our economy, limiting innovation and shutting out a massive, untapped workforce.

When companies invest in inclusion, they don’t just do the right thing—they see real financial returns. A landmark Accenture study found that businesses prioritizing disability inclusion outperformed their competitors, saw “1.6 times more revenue, 2.6 times more net income and 2 times more economic profit than other companies.”     

Disability inclusion isn’t charity—it’s a competitive advantage. Gutting DEI won’t just hurt disabled professionals; it will cost businesses billions in lost talent, innovation, and market potential.

In the United States, 25% of the population has a disability. Yet, disabled individuals remain the most underemployed segment of the workforce. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (2023):

  • Only 22.5% of people with disabilities were employed, compared to 65.8% of non-disabled individuals.
  • The unemployment rate for disabled workers (7.2%) is more than double that of non-disabled workers (3.5%).

Before DEI became a corporate and policy priority, disabled individuals were often excluded from hiring pipelines due to misconceptions about our capabilities. Through targeted recruitment, universal design policies, and disability awareness training, DEI programs have helped break these barriers down. Rolling back these initiatives will make it even harder for disabled job seekers to compete on an already uneven playing field.

Hiring is just one part of the equation. Retention and advancement matter just as much.

Workplaces that prioritize inclusion are more likely to invest in accessible infrastructure, flexible work arrangements, and Employee Resource Groups (ERGs) that empower disabled workers to thrive. Without this support, many of us are left struggling in environments that were never designed with our needs in mind—leading to higher turnover rates and fewer leadership opportunities.

Furthermore, DEI initiatives have played a critical role in shifting corporate attitudes toward disability. They have challenged long-standing stigmas and fostered a culture where disabled individuals are seen not as liabilities but as assets—with unique perspectives, relentless problem-solving skills, and the entrepreneurial mindset that comes from navigating obstacles daily. These attributes aren’t just beneficial—they are business advantages.

Let’s talk about merit. Some claim that DEI undermines meritocracy. But here’s the reality: Disabled professionals are some of the most resourceful, innovative, and resilient entrepreneurs out there—because we’ve had to be.

At 2Gether-International (2GI), a D.C.-based impact accelerator that supports entrepreneurs with disabilities, we support hundreds of disabled entrepreneurs who are building companies, creating jobs, and driving economic growth. Yet, these same founders struggle to access capital due to outdated policies and systemic bias. Instead of cutting DEI, we should be doubling down on investments in disabled entrepreneurship—because when we succeed, the entire economy benefits.

Our success is proof of the power of corporate DEI efforts. Thanks to these initiatives, 2GI has supported more than 700 startups, helping them secure more than $70 million in funding  from investment, revenue and acquisitions from outside investors.

Take, for example, Erica Cole, founder of No Limbits, a company that creates adaptive clothing for amputees. Following her participating in 2Gether-International’s accelerator program for start-up founders with disabilities, Erica has been able to scale her business including by acquiring the adaptive apparel company Buck & Buck and complete a $3 million series A funding round, proving that disability-led businesses can thrive when given the right resources.

Another success story is Ruby Taylor, founder of Financial Joy School, who has leveraged DEI-backed funding and mentorship to empower disabled individuals and communities of color in financial literacy. 

These are just two examples of how DEI isn’t about handouts—it’s about breaking down barriers so that talent, innovation, and hard work can thrive.

Critics argue that DEI programs create an uneven playing field. The reality? Inclusive workplaces are more innovative, adaptable, and profitable.

A diverse workforce that includes disabled individuals fosters creativity, problem-solving, and resilience. Companies that prioritize disability inclusion outperform their competitors because they reflect a broader customer base and attract top talent. Without DEI, businesses risk losing these advantages, regressing into outdated hiring practices, and reinforcing workplace discrimination.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion aren’t just “nice to have” policies—they are essential to a thriving, innovative, and competitive economy. Cutting DEI won’t just set back disabled workers; it will hurt businesses, limit economic growth, and stall progress.

So here’s the challenge:

  • Business leaders: Step up. Prioritize inclusion—not because it’s politically correct, but because it’s profitable.
  • Policymakers: Recognize that DEI is an economic issue, not just a social one. Gutting these programs will cost jobs, innovation, and economic growth.
  • Investors: Back disabled entrepreneurs. The next wave of business leaders will come from the disability community—if we give them the resources to succeed.

It’s time to stop seeing disability as a deficit and start seeing it for what it is: an asset to our economy, our businesses, and our future.


Diego Mariscal is founder and CEO of 2Gether-International and a member of the U.S. Securities & Exchange Commission’s Small Business Capital Formation Advisory Committee.

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New doc chronicles gay hero’s journey from rape to forgiveness

‘I Am’ embraces message of acceptance, love, compassion

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A scene from 'I Am.' (Screen capture via Sinconis Studios/YouTube)

Two award-winning filmmakers produced the documentary film “I Am.” It’s about my Hero’s Journey to overcome a trauma involving anti-LGBT bias. It also features the significant role that the popular comedian Stephen Colbert is playing in this 92,000-mile ongoing mission. A powerfully crafted and impactful film released just in time to celebrate Pride month.

The Arizona filmmakers Ethan and Aidan Sinconis are high school twin brothers. These strong LGBT allies were awarded the best student film in the U.S. in 2024, beating out more than 2,000 entries. The guys then followed up that major accomplishment by using their artistic talent to take on this bold, new film project telling my story to the world.

I shared my adventure with Blade readers back in late 2023 after I experienced a brutal rape and beating at the hands of three men who entered my Phoenix home. I sustained significant injuries.

It was determined that anti-LGBT bias was involved in the police response. I made a chilling 911 call for help. The dispatcher listened helplessly as I was being attacked during that phone call. The three men were surrounding me in the bloody crime scene when the four officers arrived. Three smoking guns. No arrests were made.

History has shown that LGBT folks can’t always rely on the criminal justice system to be there for us. But we can still find peace, happiness, love, and success. The film addresses how I’ve been doing that by continuing on this exhilarating and riveting journey that’s now taken me across the U.S. and Mexico in pursuit of my goal for 3,473 consecutive days and counting.

The film explains the connection to “The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.” A fortuitous moment of laughter from that TV comedy show stopped me from dying by suicide at 10:44 p.m. on Nov. 2, 2015. That was the call to action I answered.

That spark sent me heading out on an adventure. To learn how to re-engage and trust people again after badly isolating. To learn how to process the anti-LGBT bias and trauma, and to get written support from total strangers in my dedicated mission to become a guest on “The Late Show” at 53rd and Broadway in NYC. 

But this documentary is far more than a story about me and my efforts to escape the abyss, despair, and depression that had cloaked me in darkness for so long. This is also a story of 34,291 complete strangers from all walks of life coming together one at a time to help a guy in trouble.

The documentary has elements of the classic movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” in it. Especially the memorable part where Uncle Billy tells George Bailey, “Mary did it, George. Mary did it. She told a few people you were in trouble, and they scattered all over town collecting money. They didn’t ask any questions. Just said if George is in trouble. Count on me.”

That’s what these 34,291 Good Samaritans did for me as I scattered all over the country meeting them. They didn’t ask any questions. They heard I was in trouble and trying to recover from the trauma and get to a goal. They each let me know through their kindness, hugs, and written words that I could count on them.

Perhaps what I like the most about the film is how Ethan and Aidan laid the foundation for who “I Am.” They show that I Am a brother, colleague, son, spouse, survivor, nephew, neighbor, grandson, uncle, friend, and cousin. I Am plenty more than just a gay man. I Am Blake.

Back in the summer of 2020, Pope Francis mailed a personal letter to me and expressed his gratitude for sharing my story with him. Gosh how I wish he was alive to see this completed film. It would have made his heart full. He was all about what this documentary represents. It’s not about revenge, anger, hatred, or sadness. It’s about acceptance, unity, love, empathy, compassion, and forgiveness.

It’s understandable for us in the LGBT community to want to respond with anger in situations like this. Our community has been through centuries of harassment, bullying, discrimination, and bias. But I’ve realized it’s more productive and healing to move past the anger. To use our energy to inform, entertain, and inspire individuals.

That’s what this documentary is about. A beautiful message of hope, support, and optimism for Pride month and beyond. A stand up and cheer film proudly coming out of our resilient community. Fingers crossed for an Academy Award nomination for “I Am.” Much deserved for a film very well done by Ethan and Aidan.

The documentary “I Am” can be found at SinconisStudios.com or on YouTube.


Ron Blake lives in Phoenix and can be reached at [email protected] or @BlakeLateShow on Instagram.

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US hate groups fuel anti-LGBTQ rights movement in Africa

Anti-LGBTQ conference took place this month in Nairobi

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A Nairobi hotel the Kenya Red Cross owns hosted an anti-LGBTQ conference earlier this month.

“Protecting and Promoting Family Values in Challenging Times.” This was the theme of the 2nd annual Pan-African Conference on Family Values that concluded last week in Nairobi, Kenya. 

For months, organizers have been inundating local media with advertisements, promising to equip participants with tools to “safeguard our values.” One highly circulated poster even boasts U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio as a special invited guest (though he did not attend.) And each mention sent chills down our spines. 

This conference, one of several planned across Africa, was sponsored by U.S.-based anti-rights groups including the Family Research Council, the Political Network for Values and the Center for Family and Human Rights, each known for targeting LGBTQI+ and reproductive rights worldwide. To those of us in the LGBTQI+ community who’ve been fighting rising homophobia, this conference was more than a convening. A gauntlet is being thrown down, one that will fuel the momentum of anti-rights efforts in Kenya, one that threatens all of Africa.

To be sure, this burden is not ours alone to bear. The actors pushing their bigoted agenda in Kenya and beyond are the same ones driving policies that block abortion access, whip up anti-immigration sentiments and spread transphobia in the U.S. and beyond. It is imperative that all communities (local and international) jealously guard against such maneuvering. These hatemongers are taking aim at our sovereignty and social constructs. They seek to woo with the proverbial beads and cloth, while simultaneously annexing that which we hold dear. This is not just an LGBTQI+ issue. This is about our inherent human rights and dignity. We need to hold the line.

In Kenya, we knew our hard-won gains for the LGBTQI+ community were in jeopardy when President William Ruto came into office in 2022. He has since been very vocal about his conservative views, perhaps reluctant to alienate himself from his predominantly Christian religious leader sycophants. Nevertheless, we’ve won significant legal battles in recent years, including in 2023 when the Kenyan Supreme Court ruled that LGBT organizations can legally register with words like “gay” and “lesbian” in their names.

Over the years, however, the anti-rights movement has been cultivating allies across Africa to further their agenda. Organizations like Family Watch International, Center for Family and Human Rights and the World Congress of Families (all deemed hate groups by the Southern Poverty Law Center) have made inroads with influential political leaders with talk of the “natural family,” a narrative that espouses the Western ideal of a nuclear family. In reality, these views run counter to traditional African communal views on family. It is ironic, therefore, that anti-rights actors accuse the gay rights movement of importing Western ideas even as they are readily adopting Western cultural norms. 

Our political leaders are being indoctrinated into a culture of hate and division. And global convenings, like the Pan-African Conference on Family Values, are chief among their propaganda tools. In fact, it was after attending one such gathering, the “V Transatlantic Summit” in New York in 2023, that Kenyan MP Peter Kaluma proposed the Family Protection Bill which seeks to ban same-sex relationships and curtail sexual and reproductive health rights, among other measures.

In the past, we could count on the U.S. to keep our political leaders in check. Not anymore. President Trump’s attacks on the queer community in the U.S. have only emboldened the anti-queer movement in Kenya. Anti-rights groups are coming back with renewed vigor to amend our constitution and dismantle all human rights protections. They are already instigating violence and stirring anti-gay sentiment, particularly on social media. Kenyans are losing their jobs or being overly scrutinized at work. An ever-increasing number of LGBTQ+ community members access our online mental health services in deep distress and anxiety about the future. 

We will not back down, however. Ahead of the conference, we delivered a petition signed  by more than two dozen human rights activists and groups lambasting Kenya Red Cross for allowing the Pan-African Conference on Family Values to be held at its property, the Boma Hotel. How can an organization dedicated to the health and wellbeing of marginalized groups be complicit in an event that stigmatizes and incites harm against the very same people? We’ve also been organizing and strategizing with our allies around community safety, legal rights, hate crime monitoring, and resource mobilization.

Make no mistake, this hate will not stop with Kenya. This conference was part of a larger playbook, and any victories here will propel the anti-right’s cruel campaign throughout Africa. We only need to look to our neighbor Uganda and their Anti-Homosexuality Act as proof. It is widely known that Family Watch International influenced the drafting of this law. The same language that criminalizes homosexuality and imposes the death penalty in certain cases was copied and pasted into Kenya’s proposed Family Protection Bill.

Life and liberty as we all know it is very much in jeopardy. Some may be living too much in survival mode to see it. But without a doubt, we are all on a rollercoaster ride to a place where no one is safe. 

Lorna Dias is the outgoing executive coordinator of galck+, a coalition of 18 LGBTQ+ organizations defending human rights and fighting for equality and justice for all in Kenya. Melody Njuki is a communications officer at Initiative for Equality and Non-Discrimination (INEND).

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