On May 5, I spoke by phone with Wilfred Labiosa, executive director of Waves Ahead, a Puerto Rico-based LGBTQ community organization that for years has provided mental health services, support programs, and safe spaces for vulnerable communities across the island. During our conversation, Labiosa confirmed every concern described in the organization’s public statement announcing the cancellation of “Live Your Pride,” an event scheduled for Sunday in the northwestern municipality of Isabela. But beyond the financial struggles and organizational challenges, what stayed with me most was the emotional weight behind his words. There was pain in his voice while describing what it means to watch spaces like these slowly disappear.

This was not simply the cancellation of a community event.

“Live Your Pride” had been envisioned as a celebration and affirming gathering for LGBTQ older adults and their allies in Puerto Rico. In a society where many LGBTQ elders spent decades hiding parts of themselves in order to survive, spaces like this carry enormous emotional and social significance. They become places where people can finally exist openly, without fear, apology, or shame.

That is why this cancellation matters far beyond Isabela.

What is happening in Puerto Rico cannot be separated from the broader political climate unfolding across the U.S. and its territories, where programs connected to diversity, inclusion, education, mental health, and LGBTQ visibility increasingly find themselves under political attack. These changes do not always arrive through dramatic announcements. More often, they happen quietly. Funding disappears. Community organizations weaken. Safe spaces become harder to sustain. Eventually, the absence itself begins to feel normal.

That normalization is dangerous.

For years, organizations like Waves Ahead have stepped into gaps left behind by institutions and governments, particularly in communities where LGBTQ people continue facing discrimination, social isolation, economic instability, and mental health struggles. Their work has never been limited to organizing events. It has involved accompanying people through loneliness, trauma, rejection, depression, aging, and survival itself.

“Live Your Pride” represented much more than entertainment. It represented visibility for LGBTQ older adults, many of whom survived decades of family rejection, religious exclusion, workplace discrimination, violence, and silence. These are individuals who came of age during years when living openly could cost someone employment, housing, relationships, or personal safety. Many learned to survive by making themselves invisible.

When spaces like this disappear, something deeply human is lost.

A gathering is canceled, yes, but so is an opportunity for healing, connection, recognition, and dignity. For many LGBTQ older adults, especially in smaller municipalities across Puerto Rico, these events are not secondary luxuries. They are reminders that their lives still matter in a society that too often treats aging and queer existence as disposable.

There are still political and religious sectors that portray the rainbow as some kind of ideological threat. But the rainbow does not erase anyone. It illuminates people and stories that society has often tried to ignore. It reflects the lives of young people forced out of their homes, transgender individuals targeted by violence, older adults aging in silence, and families that spent years defending their right to exist openly.

Perhaps that is precisely why the rainbow unsettles some people so deeply.

Its colors expose abandonment, hypocrisy, inequality, and fear. They force societies to confront realities that are easier to ignore than to address honestly. They reveal how fragile human dignity becomes when political agendas decide that certain communities are no longer worthy of protection, funding, or visibility.

The greatest concern here is not solely the cancellation of one event in one Puerto Rican town. The deeper concern is the message quietly taking shape behind decisions like these — the idea that some communities can wait, that some lives deserve fewer resources, and that safe spaces for vulnerable people are expendable during moments of political tension.

History has shown repeatedly how social regression begins. Rarely with one dramatic act. More often through exhaustion, silence, budget cuts, and the slow dismantling of organizations doing essential community work.

Even so, Waves Ahead made one thing clear in its statement. Although “Live Your Pride” has been canceled, the organization will continue providing mental health and community support services through its centers across Puerto Rico. That commitment matters because people do not survive on slogans alone. They survive because somewhere there are still open doors, trained professionals, supportive communities, and people willing to remain present when the world becomes colder and more hostile.

Puerto Rico should pay close attention to what this moment represents. No healthy society is built by weakening the organizations that care for vulnerable people. No government should feel comfortable watching community groups struggle to survive while attempting to provide services and compassion that public institutions themselves often fail to offer.

The rainbow has never been the problem.

The real problem is the discomfort created when its colors force society to confront the wounds, inequalities, and human realities that too many people would rather keep hidden.

Over the past days, I have been walking with a question that refuses to leave me. Not the kind of question you answer from a desk or from a distance, but one that grows out of what you witness in real time, at the gates, in the faces of those who remain there without knowing how any of this will end. What is truly happening inside the University of Puerto Rico, and why have so many students decided to risk everything at a moment when they can least afford to lose anything.

I write as someone who lives just steps away from the Río Piedras campus. These days, the silence has replaced the constant movement that once defined this space. The absence is felt in every corner where students used to pass at all hours. Since arriving in Puerto Rico three years ago, I have come to know firsthand stories that rarely make it into reports or official statements. One of the reasons I chose to stay was precisely this, to serve the university community, to help create a space where students could find something as basic as a safe meal at night and, in some way, ease burdens that are often carried in silence.

I have listened, asked questions, and tried to understand without imposing answers. What I have found is not a collective outburst or a generational whim. What exists is a fracture, a deep break between those making decisions and those living with their consequences every single day.

There has been an effort to reduce this strike to an issue of order, scheduling, or academic disruption. Conversations revolve around missed classes, delayed semesters, and students supposedly unaware of the consequences of their actions. What is rarely addressed are the conditions that lead an entire student body to pause its own future to sustain a protest that offers no guarantees.

Because that is the reality. These are students who fully understand what they are risking, and yet they remain. When someone reaches that point, the least they deserve is not judgment, but to be heard.

From the outside, there have also been attempts to discredit what is happening. Familiar narratives are repeated, legitimacy is questioned, and doubt is cast over intentions. It is easier to do that than to acknowledge that this did not begin at the gates, but long before, in decisions made without building trust.

And something must be said clearly. This is not limited to the gates of Río Piedras. What we are witnessing extends across every unit of the University of Puerto Rico system. Mayagüez, Ponce, Arecibo, Bayamón, Cayey, Humacao, Carolina, Aguadilla, Utuado, and the Medical Sciences Campus. This is not an isolated reaction. It is a movement that runs through the entire institution. Río Piedras may be more visible, but it is not alone. What is happening there reflects a broader unrest felt across the system.

Within that context, one demand has grown increasingly present, the call for the resignation of University of Puerto Rico President Zayira Jordán Conde. This is not the voice of a small group. It reflects a deeper level of mistrust that has spread across multiple campuses.

The Puerto Rican Association of University Professors has also made it clear that this is not solely a student issue. There is real concern among faculty, and a shared recognition of the conditions currently shaping the university. When students and professors arrive at the same conclusion, the problem can no longer be minimized.

Meanwhile, the administration continues to speak in the language of dialogue. But dialogue is not a word, it is a practice. And when trust has been broken, it cannot be restored through statements alone, but through decisions that prove a willingness to truly listen.

In the midst of all of this, there are voices that cannot be ignored. Voices grounded not in theory, but in lived experience. One of them is Joanna Cifredo, a student at the Mayagüez campus, a young Puerto Rican trans woman, and someone widely recognized for her advocacy.

I spoke with her in recent days. What follows is her voice, exactly as it is.

How would you describe what is happening inside the University of Puerto Rico right now, beyond what people see from the outside?

Estamos viviendo momentos muy difíciles, en el sentido de que hay mucha incertidumbre y una presión constante por parte de la administración para reabrir el recinto, pero, entre todo el caos e inestabilidad provocado por las decisiones de esta administración, también hemos vivido momentos muy poderosos. Esta lucha ha sacado lo mejor de nuestra comunidad.

Lo vimos en las asambleas y plenos, donde 1,500, 1,700, hasta 1,800 estudiantes llegaron —bajo lluvia, bajo advertencias de inundaciones— y aun así se quedaron, participaron y votaron a favor de una manifestación indefinida hasta que se atiendan nuestros reclamos.

He conocido a tantas personas en los diferentes portones, estudiantes graduados, aletas, estudiantes de intercambio, estudiantes de todo tipo de concentraciones y se unieron para apoyar el movimiento estudiantil. Estudiantes que vienen a los portones después del trabajo o antes de trabajar. Estudiantes que vienen a dejar agua y suministros entre turnos de trabajo. Viejitos que vienen a los portones con desayuno, almuerzo o cena.

Más allá de lo que se ve desde afuera, lo que estamos viviendo es una mezcla de tensión y resistencia, pero también de comunidad, solidaridad y compromiso colectivo.

Much of what is discussed remains at the level of headlines or social media. From your direct experience, what specific decisions or actions from the administration have led to this level of mobilization?

Desde el inicio, la designación de la Dra. Zayira Jordán Conde careció de respaldo dentro de la comunidad universitaria. No contaba con experiencia administrativa en la UPR ni con un conocimiento básico de nuestros procesos, cultura y reglamentos. Por eso, en asamblea, el estudiantado votó para solicitarle a la Junta de Gobierno que no considerara su candidatura, y múltiples organizaciones docentes hicieron lo mismo. Existía un consenso amplio de que no tenía la experiencia necesaria para liderar una institución como la nuestra.

A pesar de ese rechazo claro, la Junta de Gobierno decidió ignorar los reclamos de la comunidad universitaria e imponer su nombramiento.

Una vez en el cargo, su estilo de gobernanza ha sido poco transparente y poco colaborativo. Sin embargo, el detonante principal de la movilización en el Recinto Universitario de Mayagüez fue su decisión de destituir, de manera unilateral y en medio del semestre, a cinco rectores, incluyendo al nuestro, el Dr. Agustín Rullán Toro, para reemplazarlo por un rector interino, el Dr. Miguel Muñoz Muñoz.

Esta acción, tomada de forma abrupta, provocó de inmediato un clima de caos e inestabilidad dentro de la institución. Y deja una pregunta inevitable: ¿no anticipó el impacto de esa decisión, lo que evidenciaría una falta de experiencia? ¿O lo anticipó y aun así decidió proceder? No está claro cuál de las dos es más preocupante.

Además, esta decisión tuvo consecuencias concretas para el estudiantado, incluyendo el retiro de becas educativas para nuevos integrantes del RUM por parte de la Fundación Ceiba, que calificó la movida como “sorprendente” y “preocupante”. Decisiones impulsivas como la que tomó la presidenta ponen en peligro la estabilidad de nuestra institución y la acreditación de la universidad.

As a trans woman within this movement, how does your identity intersect with what is happening, and why does this also shape the future of people like you?

Soy una de varias chicas trans que formamos parte activa de este movimiento estudiantil.

For those outside the UPR who believe this does not affect them, what are the real consequences of this crisis?

La Universidad de Puerto Rico se fundó para servir al pueblo.

It is impossible to overstate the role the University of Puerto Rico and its students have played in shaping the social, cultural, and economic life of this country. Its impact extends into science, medicine, and every profession that has sustained Puerto Rico over time. No other educational institution has contributed more.

After listening to her, one thing becomes undeniable. This is not just another protest, but a generation refusing to let go of what little remains within its reach. And when a generation reaches that point, the issue is no longer the strike, the issue becomes the country itself.

Hace ocho meses escribí sobre este tema cuando todavía no había llegado al nivel judicial en el que se encuentra hoy. En ese momento, la discusión se movía entre decisiones administrativas, debates públicos y resistencias políticas. No era un asunto cerrado, pero tampoco había alcanzado el punto actual.

Hoy el escenario es distinto.

La organización Lambda Legal compareció ante el Tribunal de Apelaciones del Primer Circuito en Boston para solicitar que se confirme una decisión que obliga al gobierno de Puerto Rico a emitir certificados de nacimiento que reflejen la identidad de las personas no binarias. La apelación se produce luego de que un tribunal de distrito concluyera que negar esa posibilidad constituye una violación a la Constitución de Estados Unidos.

Este elemento marca la diferencia. Ya no se trata de una discusión conceptual. Existe una determinación judicial que identificó un trato desigual.

El planteamiento de la parte demandante se sostiene en el propio marco legal vigente en Puerto Rico. Los certificados de nacimiento de identidad no son registros históricos inmutables. Son documentos utilizados para fines actuales y esenciales. Permiten acceder a empleo, educación y servicios, y son requeridos en múltiples gestiones ante el Estado. Su función es operativa.

En ese contexto, la exclusión de las personas no binarias no responde a una limitación jurídica. Puerto Rico permite la corrección de marcadores de género en certificados de nacimiento para personas trans binarias desde el caso Arroyo González v. Rosselló Nevares. Además, el Código Civil reconoce la existencia de certificados que reflejan la identidad de la persona más allá del registro original.

La diferencia radica en la aplicación.

El reconocimiento se concede dentro de categorías específicas, mientras que se excluye a quienes no se identifican dentro de ese esquema. Esa exclusión es el eje de la controversia actual.

El argumento presentado por Lambda Legal es preciso. Obligar a una persona a utilizar documentos que no reflejan su identidad implica someterla a una representación incorrecta en procesos fundamentales de la vida cotidiana. Esto puede generar dificultades prácticas, exposición innecesaria y situaciones de vulnerabilidad.

Las personas demandantes, nacidas en Puerto Rico, han planteado que el acceso a documentos precisos no es una cuestión simbólica, sino una necesidad básica para poder desenvolverse sin contradicciones impuestas por el propio Estado.

El hecho de que este caso se encuentre en el sistema federal introduce una dimensión adicional. No se trata de un proyecto legislativo ni de una política pública en discusión. Es una controversia constitucional. El análisis gira en torno a derechos y a la aplicación equitativa de las leyes.

Este proceso tampoco ocurre en aislamiento.

Se desarrolla en un contexto donde los debates sobre identidad y derechos han estado marcados por una mayor presencia de posturas conservadoras en la esfera pública, tanto en Estados Unidos como en Puerto Rico. En el ámbito local, esa influencia ha sido visible en discusiones legislativas recientes, donde argumentos de carácter religioso han comenzado a formar parte del debate sobre política pública. Esa intersección introduce tensiones en torno a la separación entre iglesia y Estado y tiene efectos concretos en el acceso a derechos.

Señalar este contexto no implica cuestionar la fe ni la práctica religiosa. Implica reconocer que, cuando determinados argumentos se trasladan al ejercicio del poder público, pueden incidir en decisiones que afectan a sectores específicos de la población.

Desde Puerto Rico, esta situación no se observa a distancia. Se experimenta en la práctica diaria. En la necesidad de presentar documentos que no corresponden con la identidad de quien los porta. En las implicaciones que esto tiene en espacios laborales, educativos y administrativos.

El avance de este caso abre una posibilidad de cambio en el marco legal aplicable. No porque resuelva de inmediato todas las tensiones en torno al tema, sino porque establece un punto de análisis jurídico sobre una práctica que hasta ahora ha operado bajo criterios restrictivos.

A diferencia de hace ocho meses, el escenario actual incluye una determinación judicial que ya identificó una violación de derechos. Lo que corresponde ahora es evaluar si esa determinación se sostiene en una instancia superior.

Ese proceso no define un resultado inmediato, pero sí establece un nuevo punto de referencia.

El debate ya no es teórico.

Ahora es judicial.