Outstanding Presidents

The writer is a current president

Growing up gay I was physically and psychologically abused, and therefore missed routine developmental experiences. This resulted in a heightened sensitivity and an incessant scanning of the environment—prescience both to avoid bullying and to find other queer people and camouflaged markers of queer culture. This became a foundation for my creativity as a leader.

As I continue to learn from my prior self—that gay boy—my queer leadership has become an intuitive and automatic reaching to find the outlier idea or voice, the hidden resource, the untried solution, the fabulous.

Through the 1980s and 1990s, I heard every day that I would die because I deserved to die, so much so that I thought that dying from AIDS was simply part of being gay until I found dancing and activism to build community. So ultimately from living with HIV, I learned how to fight for my life—not only surviving, but thriving because of these experiences.

At the time, I did not believe these experiences would be assets. But now I know they are my credentials to work and to lead.

The writer is a current president

My first presidency was at a rural liberal arts college in a conservative part of the country. The search process was confidential, so the public announcement of my appointment was hyped as a big reveal. 

My partner and I were shepherded to the event by a member of the senior leadership team. We'd been warned that, while they had publicized the event widely, they couldn't be sure how many people would actually show up. 

We walked into an auditorium packed to standing room only and were guided through the crowd to the front of the space where we were greeted warmly by the chair of the Board of Trustees, one of the search committee co-chairs and the current president. 

I thought the assembled crowd might have figured out that one of the two female strangers being welcomed into the space was going to be their next president. When the moment finally came where the board chair announced my name, there was a loud gasp from the crowd, followed by thunderous applause. 

Then, when he introduced my partner, another gasp. More applause. 

When we arrived on campus, we received a warm welcome from students who identified as LGBTQ+ and who spoke about how important it was for them to see themselves in a person in a leadership role. 

I was open about my sexual orientation, describing myself as gay or lesbian, but they wanted to know why I never identified myself as "queer." At some point during nearly every year of my presidency, I explained to new groups of students that while I understood they had taken on that word to be respectful and inclusive of people with different sexualities and genders, for me it was the most derisive and offensive word someone could use against me. I reminded them that I'm old (which they knew!) and that, as a young person, that word was used only to be hurtful. 

I respected that the word gave them power and control over their identities, but hoped they would give me the grace to understand that it could never do that for me.

The writer is a current president

Early in my career a student told me he had known he was gay for years, but felt he couldn’t be because he had thought gay people were always failures. 

Then he met me and thought if I was successful he could be, too. A recent graduate shared a similar sentiment. She saw me and my husband as examples of successful queer adults, something she’d never envisioned before. I believed that by now students would have no difficulty envisioning queer adults. But they still do. 

It’s great to have many visible queer celebrities, but celebrities do not necessarily make for viable role models for our college students. They need to see success that also feels attainable. So for queer college leaders out there, here’s the chance to be a local rock star—with even more influence. 

My leadership is shown through diverse examples such as events, a podcast, drag story hours for young children and the development of a new leadership program for LGBTQIA+ identifying students and allies. Seeking out leadership examples and having students at the center of figuring out what resonates with them is the way forward.

The writer is a former president

I always thought I was a bad lesbian. I didn’t gravitate to bars or parades, and early in my career I was firmly, cluelessly in the closet. Then I took a position at an institution where my sexual identity was not considered remarkable.

Things went splendidly until I started applying for  presidencies. I was a finalist in one of my first presidential searches, until I told them about my partner. Suddenly I was “no longer a serious candidate” and was asked to withdraw. I did. 

By the time I became a president the world had shifted in all the good ways. The college I led was in a progressive community; the closet was far behind me; I was married rather than “partnered”; and people loved my spouse (everyone loves her). While I was available to students who wanted to talk about their journey, I felt a bit ill-equipped to do so.

I was far from the only openly gay or lesbian president in the country, and it seemed like our job was—well, to do the job. As we know, that work is all-consuming. While I nurtured our personal life, I did not think as much about being a lesbian and its accompanying symbolism and risks as much as I did about the budget. And climate change. And the curriculum. And Covid. And the board. And, and, and.

When I announced I was completing my tenure I realized the symbolism—and the risk—had never gone away. Suddenly I got tearful thank yous from recent and not-so-recent alums, not for my accomplishments but just for being openly gay in the presidency. 

And I heard from the students. Oh, the students. One told me when she was feeling frightened or isolated, she would walk by our house just to remind herself this was a safe campus. Another said he could never have imagined a place where the president was so “casually gay.” 

I was reminded that the issue had never gone away, not for me and not for the next generation. Even though I thought they were freer, safer and more sure than my generation had been. And now I wonder if being a bad lesbian president was really enough.