Making the "necessary trouble" on campus

In May 1961 a young man came to Washington, D.C., for the first time to embark on the Freedom Rides, a tour through the South that challenged the unjust laws of segregation and changed the conscience of the United States. Now a congressman from Atlanta, John Lewis traveled with other visionaries through Anniston and Birmingham, Ala., with a goal of reaching New Orleans on the anniversary of the Brown v. The Board of Education Supreme Court decision on May 17.

The Freedom Rides sought to test enforcement of the Supreme Court’s ruling in the 1946 Irene Moore case, declaring that the segregation of interstate travelers was unconstitutional. Along the way John Lewis and the other Freedom Riders met with horrible violence and were eventually arrested in Jackson, Miss., where they were sent to prison for 60 days.

When I first learned about the actions of congressman Lewis as a high school student, I was inspired. I was awed by the courage of his convictions and the determination of his spirit to bring an end to the suffering caused by racism in the United States.

After I came out as gay in my junior year of high school, I dreamed of one day participating in a similar journey for justice.

During my college years at Northwestern University, I was frustrated by the lack of opportunities for young adults to pursue justice for gay and lesbian people. The GLBT rights movement does a terrific job of lobbying Congress, organizing the electorate around pertinent voter initiatives, and engaging in important and meaningful judicial advocacy. But what is lacking in the movement for GLBT justice is the rudimentary aspect of activism that should be the cornerstone of every major justice movement as it was during the struggle for civil rights.

At Northwestern University I continually asked myself, Where are our sit-ins? Where are our Freedom Rides? Why aren’t today’s young adults pouring out into the streets and demanding equality through their words, and indeed their very presence? My frustration fostered in me a resolve to do something. Rather than just thinking about and dreaming about a sustained movement of young adults fighting for GLBT justice, I would create the opportunity I sought for others and myself. But I wasn’t sure what that would be.

I asked myself, What does a sit-in for gay and lesbian rights look like? What does a Freedom Ride for gay and lesbian equality entail? Unlike the struggle for African-American equality, there are no lunch counters where we are refused service. There aren’t bus stations where we can’t sit with our friends. There aren’t drinking fountains for straights and drinking fountains for gays. This is surely the source of the comfort we feel living with GLBT discrimination.

Ultimately, it wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that my idea for a youth-driven stand for GLBT justice took form. The concept came to me in the most unlikely of places. I was in a bar in Boystown, the gay neighborhood of Chicago, and approached an attractive young man whom I discovered was a Wheaton College student. Wheaton is a conservative Christian college just west of Chicago. So I asked, “What is it like to be gay and a student at Wheaton?”