What Happens to the Rainbow During the Storm? TQ Center(ed) Diversity Workers’ Strategic Navigation and Freedom Dreaming During Sociopolitical Turmoil

Abstract

The intention of trans and queer (TQ) center(ed) diversity work is to address the persistence of heterosexism, trans oppression, and other manifestations of oppression in higher education. Yet, TQ center(ed) diversity work has often been in a precarious position of understaffing and limited resources. In the current moment, the impact of anti-DEI legislation on TQ center(ed) diversity work is evident by the recent shutting down of centers and services across the United States. Yet, how do those in these roles navigate these challenges and still imagine liberatory futures in the face of such legislation? This paper stems from a larger participatory action research project, which explored the narratives of 14 TQ center(ed) diversity workers as they navigated the tumultuous sociopolitical climate that seeks to disrupt and/or defund their work. Our findings underscored how TQ center(ed) diversity workers found ways to subversively navigate their practice in the face of anti-DEI legislation, including empowering students to engage in the action of ‘complaints.’ Additionally, their stories revealed the challenges in being able to think about liberation within an institutionalized role, especially given the spectrum of sociopolitical contexts where they were present.

1. Introduction

At the time of writing this paper, trans and queer (TQ) individuals within the United States—and globally—continue to face a sociopolitical landscape that puts their needs, knowledges, histories, and lives at risk. The new millennium saw paradigmatic shifts socially, culturally, and politically that many heralded as watershed moments of progress for TQ communities, whether it was Time magazine declaring a “transgender tipping point” (Steinmetz, 2014) or the passage of same-sex marriage (Obergefell v. Hodges, 2015). Although these events themselves were the subject of critique of whether they truly represented movement toward liberation, especially for those most minoritized (e.g., Berberick, 2018; Spade, 2015), many members of the general public would contend they viewed the pendulum of justice was shifting positively in the United States. However, recent years have proved otherwise with the rise in anti-TQ and -DEI legislation and/or executive actions happening across federal, state, and local levels (Kline et al., 2022; Trans Legislation Tracker, n.d.). These bills, laws, and executive orders have resulted in tectonic changes within social institutions, including within educational settings (e.g., Goldberg, 2024; Lemerand & Duran, 2024). In conservative states like Florida and Texas, services intended for TQ communities have been eradicated; and yet, it is critical to not fall into the pattern of simply pointing to a few states in which progress has regressed because anti-TQ acts have been passed in a variety of locales (see ACLU, 2025 for an examination of anti-LGBTQ policies in the United States).

Within institutions of higher education (IHEs), there was once a point that TQ center(ed) diversity work received increased attention. Specifically, we use “TQ center(ed) diversity work” to describe higher education professionals whose portfolio mainly focuses on serving LGBTQ+ students; although many associate these kinds of roles with LGBTQ+ centers, we use this phrase to acknowledge that few institutions are privileged to have a standalone center (e.g., perhaps operating out of diversity offices) or that the work may happen across campuses (e.g., in academic programs). As an illustration of how institutional leaders once placed a great deal of emphasis on TQ center(ed) diversity work, LGBTQ+ centers grew to over 300 locations at IHEs across the country with many pointing to this as evidence for how colleges and universities were becoming affirming of TQ communities (Duran et al., 2023). And yet, the past couple of years have resulted in TQ center(ed) diversity work being shuffled around at IHEs at best, and at worst, the elimination of centers/services that emerged with the intent to serve TQ students (Schermele, 2023). The precarious position of this work has also paired with broader legislative and executive attacks on TQ individuals (e.g., targeting pronoun usage, definitions of biological sex, bathrooms, athletics; Jones, 2023). And yet, little is known about how those tasked with serving TQ populations at IHEs are navigating these difficult times.

Prior to the present moment’s onslaught of politically charged arguments against DEI and TQ-centered resources, research had demonstrated how TQ center(ed) diversity workers were already prone to be overworked, under-resourced, and unappreciated within broader institutional climates (e.g., Duran et al., 2023; Oliveira et al., 2023). However, the current sociopolitical moment warrants a revisiting of how individuals are experiencing contentious federal and local climates. Therefore, the purpose of this study stemming from a participatory action research (PAR) design (Chevalier & Buckles, 2019) was to investigate how TQ center(ed) diversity workers described their negotiation of professional responsibilities during sociopolitical turmoil. As a research team, we were interested in how these practitioners were enacting agency. We were inspired by Ahmed’s (2012, 2021) framing of diversity work, as well as concepts of tempered radicalism (Meyerson & Scully, 1995) and freedom dreaming (Kelley, 2022). The research question was as follows: how do TQ center(ed) diversity workers describe their navigation of their roles during an era of local and federal sociopolitical conservativism? The findings from this investigation can inform how TQ center(ed) diversity workers conceptualize their practice and also how IHE leaders approach their support of these individuals.

2. Review of Literature

Informing this study were two main bodies of literature. First, we analyzed the scholarship on TQ center(ed) diversity work, an area of research that first started to emerge in the early 2000s (Sanlo, 2000). Second, we surveyed literature that discusses diversity work at IHEs and what it means to occupy these roles during difficult contexts.

2.1. The Complexities of TQ Center(ed) Diversity Work

When discussing the context of TQ center(ed) diversity work, it is impossible to not recognize the role TQ centers have played at IHEs. Although we employ the language of ‘TQ center(ed) diversity work’ to acknowledge that not all professionals serving TQ students, staff, and faculty operate within standalone centers (Oliveira et al., 2023), the presence of centers radically shifted how educational leaders thought about institutionalizing TQ support services (Marine, 2011). These centers’ emergence came to be through the advocacy of TQ students who were inspired by legacies of Black student activism with the first center staffed by a full-time practitioner being founded at The University of Michigan (n.d.) in 1971. Scholarship on TQ center(ed) diversity work later spoke to the professionalization of TQ center(ed) diversity work, including insights on LGBT center directors (e.g., Sanlo, 2000; Sanlo et al., 2002). What has since followed has attended to topics of the effectiveness of TQ center(ed) diversity work, but also, the challenges that those who occupy these positions face in enacting their responsibilities (Duran et al., 2023).

Having TQ center(ed) diversity student services in the form of centers, for example, is still not prevalent in the United States (Coley et al., 2025)—a reality that is only likely to be exacerbated given the sociopolitical moment. Their potential elimination is problematic given that many TQ students already struggle to find resources and assistance at IHEs (Feldman & BrckaLorenz, 2024), paired with findings from research that showcase positive relationships between presence of said services and TQ student success/thriving (Gilbert et al., 2021; Pitcher et al., 2018). And yet, even when they are present on college campuses, these resources are often not without issues. In fact, literature has demonstrated the experiences of exclusion that various subgroups of TQ populations encounter within TQ center(ed) diversity work spaces—including bisexual (e.g., Tavarez, 2024), transgender (Marine & Nicolazzo, 2014), and students of color (Lange et al., 2022). Yet, structural inequities may be one possible reason for said erasure, as underscored by Duran and Jourian’s (2024) study on TQ center(ed) diversity workers that stressed how institutional resistance is often present for those wanting to enact an anti-racist praxis. It is thus unsurprising that Duran and Jourian’s (2024) research mobilized the framework of racialized organizations (Ray, 2019) to implicate the ways that institutions are built to disenfranchise these professionals.

Put simply, the job of TQ center(ed) diversity workers is not easy. These practitioners are prone to being burnt through, a reworking of the language of burn out that implicates the institution and not the individual (Anderson, 2021)—a pattern applied to these professionals by Oliveira et al. (2023) and D. C. J. Catalano et al. (2025). This issue is exacerbated by organizational dynamics that result in low numbers of staff assigned to TQ center(ed) diversity work (D. C. Catalano & Tillapaugh, 2020; Pryor & Hoffman, 2021) and the lack of support from senior-level administrators (D. C. J. Catalano et al., 2024; Oliveira et al., 2023; Pryor & Hoffman, 2021). These professionals then have the tough charge of frequently being the expert of TQ communities on campus while not being supported and in many cases, being overextended. In addition, those in these roles also report having their own identities surveilled, as evidenced by Mandala and Ortiz’ (2023) exploration of ‘feeling rules’ that dictate the regulation of emotions by white women and professionals of color. These realities thus result in a paradox; although TQ center(ed) diversity work has been a response to oppression targeting TQ communities, they are regularly constrained in their ability to articulate challenges and institute inclusive strategies, resources, programs, and policies. Such challenges are representative of what happens when movements are institutionalized at IHEs, including TQ advocacy (Ferguson, 2012), effectively watering down the very activism that gave rise to the presence of this work. And importantly, these realities are likely heightened in the current sociopolitical moment.

2.2. Navigating the Current Context in IHE Diversity Work

The present moment has resulted in an outright attack on DEI at IHEs, a notable shift from the supposed commitments to racial justice and DEI that many institutions proclaimed after the murder of George Floyd by Derek Chauvin (Landry-Thomas, 2023; McGowan et al., 2025). Misinformation and myths about DEI are rampant, propagated by legislators, news pundits, and more (Harper et al., 2024; Shaw, 2025). Such movements are intentional attempts at immobilizing institutions, keeping in place extant power structures (Conyers & Wright Fields, 2025). These messages around the dangers of DEI have resulted in both enacted legislation, as well as proposed bills that themselves have a deleterious effect on the survival of DEI initiatives at IHEs, even when the bills are not signed into law.

Further exacerbating the negative impact of anti-DEI (or anti-critical race theory) legislation are the simultaneous attacks on minoritized groups in the political and legal realm, including TQ communities (Goldberg, 2024; Lemerand & Duran, 2024). However, what is important to highlight in this context are those who are some of the most affected, which include diversity workers (Abrica & Oliver Andrew, 2024). And as scholars like Dhanani et al. (2024) stressed, diversity workers themselves are more likely to be those who hold minoritized identities, causing a further widening of the minoritization they experience. As an example of this, these individuals are facing unprecedented job insecurity, as reflected by the closure of services specific to minoritized groups—including TQ center(ed) diversity work (Cilburn, 2024).

How these anti-DEI climates are affecting diversity workers vary from having additional strenuous impacts on their health to sparking subversive strategies to navigate these environments. In a recent article, D. C. J. Catalano et al. (2025) shared how TQ center(ed) diversity workers continue to report feelings of being burned through in the current climate, making calls for institutional leaders to not make preemptive changes to their roles for fear of potential legislative changes. And the work still persists. For instance, Lucas et al. (2025) used the theory of tempered radicalism to understand how those working in identity-based centers are enacting forms of resistance in the face of the challenges presented by anti-DEI legislation. Studies such as these exemplified how people are still finding ways to enact their commitments, despite structural barriers in doing so. In fact, Lange and Lee (2024) wrote about the current moment by encouraging those tasked with DEI to enact radical honesty and center the humanity of those most affected. Inspired by this growing body of literature, we set out to make meaning of how TQ center(ed) diversity workers enact their agency in the present moment through the context of this study.

3. Participatory Action Research Design and Team

This study stemmed from a larger PAR project (Chevalier & Buckles, 2019) intended to support TQ center(ed) diversity workers at IHEs. As a research tradition, PAR encourages a symbiotic relationship between researchers and community members to address problems faced by the latter. Within the context of this paper, in 2019/2020, four individuals who were at that time all faculty in higher education programs were interested in collaborating with TQ center(ed) diversity workers to identify ways to better serve those in these roles. In fall 2021, this collective grew to nine individuals with five full-time TQ center(ed) diversity workers joining. The group was varied regarding their professional levels/backgrounds, as well as geographic and social identity diversity. Over the years, members have shifted in their roles (e.g., promotions, divestments from institutional roles, pursuing and graduating from terminal degree programs). Our work has also evolved. When first formed, we conducted a collaborative autoethnography to take a self-reflective approach to our journeys in higher education (see Oliveira et al., 2023). Yet, we had always intended to do research in the broader field, which came to fruition in this present study that we formally started in 2024.

The PAR group has presented at conferences, engaged with professional associations, and designed studies. However, it has also changed in size. At the time of writing this manuscript, the group has six members with three having to step back due to other commitments/professional goals. Given PAR’s focus on attending to contemporary problems, in 2024, the conversation amongst the group turned to the increasing sociopolitical turmoil targeting DEI and LGBTQ+ services in specific states and federally, especially with the presidential election. The result was the study featured in this paper and further explored below.

3.1. Approach to Designing the Study and Recruiting Participants

In creating this project, we wanted a design that both gave us insight into their current experiences, but also one that gave back to the individuals who elected to participate. We settled on a general qualitative tradition within the context of this PAR project as authors like C. Catalano and Perez (2023) have argued for this as a rigorous methodology in its own right that encourages boundary pushing and can be a useful practice to ‘queer’ research. Doing so allowed us to think expansively about what forms of data collection and engagement with participants we would adopt.

To select individuals for the study, we disseminated recruitment materials through social media platforms (e.g., Twitter, Instagram), as well as through professional associations beginning in January 2024. These flyers and accompanying language asked for TQ center(ed) diversity workers who felt comfortable speaking to how the socio-political and -cultural environment has affected their responsibilities. The recruitment material also mentioned that involvement would require 2 interviews with the research team, as well as participation in a planned workshop. Those who expressed interest were then directed to a demographic form that asked them about their social identities, as well as their professional journeys (e.g., current and past roles). We used this information to enact maximum variation principles of sampling (Patton, 2015) intended to diversify a participant pool in accordance with set criteria (in this case, identities, geographic region, and professional experiences). In total, 28 professionals completed the form. From here, we selected 14 people who we thought represented a diversity of perspectives. To provide an additional level of safety for these individuals, we do not offer a participant table but do mention relevant details in the findings where appropriate. For instance, 5 worked at private institutions; 5 were in the U.S. western region, 6 in the Midwest, and 3 in the east; 9 identified as trans/nonbinary, 8 identified as white, and none identified as heterosexual.

3.2. Data Collection and Participant Workshop

After we identified our participant pool, we began our first round of data collection—taking place in Spring 2024—that involved 60 to 90 min Zoom interviews with a member of the research team. This first interview focused on getting to know the participant, but also had questions such as:

• How has your current state and local context affected your TQ center(ed) diversity work?
• Where did you learn the skills to navigate political and other dynamics that influence your work?
• How do you work with students who want to respond to state and national trans and queer politics?

After the first round of interviews were completed in Spring, all participants were invited to a 2 h virtual workshop led by an outside facilitator—a previous TQ center(ed) diversity worker who had transitioned into consulting work—who was briefed on the topics we had hoped to cover (e.g., what it means to be in community during these times, strategies to think about addressing one’s own needs and those of students). The workshop took place during Summer 2024. Informed by PAR’s focus on relationality and co-construction, the research team shared with the selected facilitator what we had seen emerge in the first round of interviews and what direction may be best to take in the workshop. The intention behind the workshop was to be able to provide participants with tangible connections and a professional development opportunity for those who so often are positioned as the facilitators of learning. The workshop was recorded for those who were not able to attend (though not utilized as data for this paper) and the team held a ‘watch party,’ which looked like the participants coming together and watching the workshop while also completing its accompanying activities.

Occurring in early fall 2024, the second round of interviews intended to build upon the knowledge gained during the workshop. We asked them to reflect on the experience of participating in the workshop, along with asking them to share changes that occurred in their work since the first interview. Additional questions included:

• What do you think those who supervise TQ center(ed) workers need to know about your experiences?
• What educational opportunities (formal or informal) do you think should be available to help TQ center(ed) workers navigate these political dynamics?
• What do you think the role of liberation is in your work?

Of note, attrition did occur between the first and second interview. A total of 8 (of 14) participants completed both the workshop and second interview.

4. Data Analysis and Theoretical Influences

In this project, we sought to think with theory (Jackson & Mazzei, 2023), resisting systematic and reductive processes typically found in qualitative research. Namely, Jackson and Mazzei (2023) argued against rigid applications of theory and associating data with singular meanings that regularly look like applying deductive codes. Instead, they introduced notions of ‘plugging in,’ encouraging researchers to open up the possibilities for interpretation and meaning making that happen when people approach transcripts from various philosophical positions. Rather than breaking down data into simplistic renderings, plugging in requires individuals to put participants’ broader stories into conversation with theoretical influences. What would this story look like from the perspective of this theory/theorist, a researcher asks?

To do so, we had numerous conversations as a team about our theoretical influences, which we came to before, during, and after conducting interviews. Namely, we were heavily shaped by the ideas of Ahmed (2012, 2021) who has interrogated the performativity that accompanies DEI work within social institutions and IHEs specifically. Her theorizing around complaints allowed us to reveal both the challenges TQ center(ed) workers have along with how they perceive responses from institutional leadership (potentially dismissive dynamic) to naming injustice (Ahmed, 2021). Her conceptualization of “complaints”—those that explicitly interrogate institutional politics—was useful for our work because she argued that by talking to those who push against the system, individuals “learn so much about institutions and about power” (Ahmed, 2021, p. 7). In this way, complaints reveal both the challenges TQ center(ed) workers have along with how they perceive responses from institutional leadership (potentially dismissive dynamic) to naming injustice (Ahmed, 2021).

While collecting data, we had questions about how individuals were navigating their institutions and whether or not they were able to imagine futures where their work was valued and could be enacted in liberatory ways. We then turned to literature on tempered radicalism (Meyerson & Scully, 1995), which describes the ways that people within organizations engage in subversive tactics to shift culture while not attempting to upend the system altogether. Different from overt acts of resistance, tempered radicals believe that institutions are best affected while being perceived to be acting within the confines of an organization. In doing so, tempered radicals argue that the act of shifting the minds of the majority is easier to do than trying to upend dominant norms explicitly. To capture our thinking around liberation, we also read about the concept of freedom dreaming (Kelley, 2022). Freedom dreaming is a phrase “used to describe the power of imagination as a tool for individual and collective liberation” (Johnson, 2023, para. 4). Rooted in Black studies traditions, freedom dreaming emerged out of a desire to conceptualize worlds that did not globally perpetuate systems of anti-Blackness. Such an approach would thus frame how people conceived of liberation, rather than simply viewing the present structures of inequity as endemic.

As a group, we journaled about the potential of applying tempered radicalism and freedom dreaming to the data after its collection, reflecting on its utility despite not having been framed with it originally. From there, the first author took these memos and applied the research team’s thoughts via the process of plugging in these theoretical concepts. He read the transcripts with the team’s journals in mind, annotating the data with what these concepts would mean for the interpretation of participants’ stories. We recognize the limitations of not having designed the data collection explicitly with tempered radicalism and freedom dreaming in mind, but also saw the usefulness given our interests. After having drafted his ideas of themes, he brought them back to the research team to acquire their feedback and ensure he adequately captured their interpretations, resulting in the findings below.

5. Findings

The TQ center(ed) diversity workers in this study shared several insights concerning their ability to navigate the present sociopolitical moment, together with how they conceptualized the future of their work. Regarding the former, findings revealed how these practitioners recognized the limits that they faced given the nature of their institutionalized work and how they saw themselves subversively persisting in their actions (e.g., changing language, creating collaborations), engaging in forms of tempered radicalism (Meyerson & Scully, 1995). Related, these TQ center(ed) diversity workers spoke about how they empowered students to see the value of ‘complaints’ (Ahmed, 2021) while struggling with placing labor back onto these individuals. Lastly, participants’ stories revealed how they struggled with the idea of freedom dreaming (Kelley, 2022) in the present sociopolitical moment given the ongoing presence of systemic inequities. In speaking to these findings, we highlight stories of particular participants in the study, while recognizing the insights we included were consistent with the broader sample.

5.1. Recognizing Limits and Subversively Persisting with Actions

Over the course of their participation in the study, the TQ center(ed) diversity workers experienced several changes in the confines of their roles ranging from having their events discontinued to having their positions be restructured/renamed. Said shifts dramatically affected their ability to do the work these educators were hired to do. And yet, they stayed in their roles because they still saw the chance to positively impact students, especially in the current moment. In doing so, they developed covert and subversive strategies to effect change, including altering language while keeping true to content and developing/navigating collaborations that advanced coalitions of resistance.

The recognition of the limits that one was operating within was a challenge that all participants experienced in some form, which then served as a catalyst to move forward with more tempered methods of radicalism. J.D. (they/she), a self-described ‘big ole geek and activist,’ captured this dilemma when reflecting on the current moment:

“But I found that as I navigate, I’m being forced to contain myself. I can’t be as radical because instead of fighting the systems of oppression, I’m now becoming complicit in the system of oppression, which really puts me in an uncomfortable spot because I want to be able to engage my students to teach them how to safely protest, how to prepare themselves for marches. But I can’t because then I’m seen as a liability to the university that if students get hurt or injured, it would be on me.”

J.D. was an individual who had a long career working in TQ advocacy both in student affairs and outside of it. Although they recognized their current institution was better suited for advocacy because there was more discussion among professionals (“So we’re currently able to keep administration accountable because they are getting addressed by multiple fronts.”), the challenge of doing the work was heightened by the legislative context of their conservative-leaning state.

They felt more constrained than ever because of the sociopolitical attention on their IHE, especially in having to center whiteness—which was difficult as a professional of color herself. As J.D. stated, “We have to think, ‘What about the white students? What about our cis het students?’ And to not put those students that are underserved or marginalized, not to center them, …we have to center these other identities instead.” In response, she turned to more covert strategies to honor her activist inclinations:

“So a lot of the stuff that I used to do earlier, I have to do off the record or disguise it, which, again, puts me in a really strange spot between my passion as an activist, but also understanding that I am part of the institution. Yeah, so it feels icky. It sucks.”

This concept of ‘doing work off the record’ or ‘disguising it’ is emblematic of philosophies of tempered radicalism. To do so, they acquiesced to requests to change language, for example, to make spaces seem open for all students—despite still delivering the same content: “We’re being told not to say power and privilege. So, I did malicious compliance, and they said, ‘Fine. Systemic advantages and disadvantages.’ I’m not saying power and privilege, but I’m still saying the exact same thing.” Although they continued working within the system and the requests made of them, J.D. still attended to their own dedication to marginalized communities. They considered ‘dropping’ language they were not supposed to use and replacing it with institutionally sanctioned terminology, which they viewed as “a tiny subversive way [to take] … victories wherever I can.”

Another way that tempered radicalism showed up for participants was through connecting with like-minded others and translating knowledge in forms that can be easily understood. To this point, Gray (zi/zir or they/them) was one individual in this project who was doing TQ center(ed) diversity work at a religiously affiliated institution, which presented its own set of unique challenges: “We have had anti-trans legislation specific come up on campus this year, be it through protesters or through other local businesses or even church groups, in our case.” The idiosyncrasies that result from dealing with faith traditions in the present sociopolitical moment led Gray and others at IHEs, who were part of the same denomination, to develop a network of support.

Yet, Gray spoke about how this work needed to be done in a discrete manner: “We can’t officially say that we do this because the [religious leaders] and others would be like, ‘No, we don’t do that.’” In response, this network went undercover: “But we are going to start meeting informally, which feels like grassroots under the cover of darkness, which I have some qualms about, but at the same time, if we don’t do that, it won’t happen.” Using the language of ‘under the cover of darkness’ underscores the realities that TQ center(ed) diversity workers face in actualizing spaces of resistance that are not allowed to be outrightly visible. Gray also highlighted how zirs practice required them to be a language broker for other actors, which itself was a subversive strategy:

“How do we use language that’s accessible for leaders across multiple modalities and dynamics that does help us make progress? Even if it’s just one small step forward in change or an understanding or even just giving us greater access to care, honestly, so that people can really see what the state of this work is and the state of this group within this field specifically. And I think with the political nature also that we’re experiencing as a nation right now with the upcoming general election and everything else that’s going on, that feels heightened.”

Convincing other educators about the value of TQ center(ed) diversity work required Gray and other participants to think creatively about how to bring people into their realm of understanding.

Of note, participants also noted that having the opportunity to interact with other practitioners (by participating in and/or viewing the workshop as a part of the study itself) helped them consider the potential that tempered radicalism had for their role—including negotiating relationships in a politically beneficial fashion. For example, George (they/them) was one individual who shared that their experiences as a Black person taught them to always have to navigate systems that were not created for them: “Helping people understand was always a thing I had to do. I grew up Black in a lot of white contexts, and so that bridge-building, code switching has always kind of been a part of me.” Yet, it was engaging in the study workshop that served as a necessary reminder “that [they] are all learning and [they] are all navigating things that we haven’t navigated before.” By talking with others in the research, George learned new approaches to doing the work back on their own campus, as captured in the following quote:

“The thing that I learned is I was in a breakout group that talked about, broadly, engagement, campus culture, campus politics, that kind of thing. And we talked about the role of the student newspaper and … how do we work with the student newspaper in a way that is politically aware and strategic. And I think that was not something I had thought about before that was really helpful for me.”

Importantly, George acknowledged that this type of knowledge was not gained through graduate preparation programs: “I’m uncertain that grad programs are, in any way, preparing anyone for that.” Additionally, what this excerpt showcases is that even relationships developed through the present study represented opportunities to learn how to enact supportive actions in a contentious environment, leveraging student resources to do so—an insight carried into the next finding.

5.2. Empowering Students to Complain While Recognizing the Labor Involved in Doing So

In addition to finding ways to subversively position one’s self in contrast to anti-DEI legislation, TQ center(ed) diversity workers regularly spoke about empowering students to continue to resist its effects, seeing them as more able to push against institutional politics. In doing so, they effectively were teaching students the power of the ‘complaint’ (Ahmed, 2021). In fact, Emily (they/she) was one participant who unprompted even shared how she was guided by Ahmed’s scholarship: “I also am guided a lot by Sara Ahmed and her most recent work on complaint. I keep that and being the killjoy, I keep both of those pieces near and dear to me at all times.” However, in helping students adopt similar philosophies, these TQ center(ed) diversity workers simultaneously recognized the labor they were putting back onto students in a time when they were already in a precarious state.

Part of this work involved educating students on how they could approach organizing and the value in doing so, including individuals within and beyond their institutions. One example of a person who was supporting students both in and out of their IHE was Hanna (she/her). Her institutional context was one that “[has] fewer restrictions than the offices of the other [public universities] do.” And yet, they still encountered limitations on the work they were able to do, like hosting politically informed programming. In response, Hanna made it a point to help students who had this interest:

“Students have asked me, and I’m always very clear that, like I can’t host a politically oriented program. However, if a student group were to want to have a space to have a talk back about something, they could reserve my space, and I could be there to moderate it.”

Assisting students in recognizing their own agency was consistent for Hanna and the broader participant pool in this study. In the process of doing so, Hanna taught students the value of their advocacy, as captured in the following statement: “So I try and toss it back to them and remind them that these spaces don’t exist because faculty and staff decided it was a good idea. They exist because it’s 40 years of student protest.” Invoking the legacies of student protests, Hanna hoped to communicate the vitality of being complainers within oppressive contexts. Nevertheless, such connections to students even extended beyond their immediate institution. To illustrate this point, Hanna shared an instance in which she was assisting students at a public institution in their state after they were experiencing the removal of resources for TQ communities in their webspaces:

“Yeah, we talked to those students, and I was like, ‘All right. I need you to-- I need you to get on now and start putting shit in Google Drive.’ They’re a Google Drive campus. It’s easy. ‘Just put it in your drive.’ And I was like, ‘Give me and [another administrator] access to it.’ It’s this weird underground thing.”

Again, actions such as these are framed by participants as ‘underground,’ which was a necessary approach given the sociopolitically turbulent times.

Hollis (they/them) was another individual who spoke about how they worked with undergraduate students, inspired by the teachings they gained from undergraduate mentors:

“So I take the page out of my undergrad advisor’s book, which I really appreciate him so much … sometimes he would do this thing where he’s like, ‘Okay. We’re going to have a conversation and I’m going to say some things and I have to close the door. Is that okay? Because we’re about to have a conversation that can’t leave this room and that we didn’t have, right?’”

In closing the door, Hollis’ advisor created a space of solidarity and safety to hear a perspective that “if pressed, he would deny.” Namely, their conversations would revolve around questions such as: “What is the strategic way to advocate? What power did I have as an undergraduate student?” Inspired by such an approach, Hollis did the same with their own students, describing: “So I definitely take this page out of his book. I am like, ‘We’re having a conversation with either a physical door close or a psychological bubble encapsulating us.’ That is strategically and politically significant.” It is important to note that Hollis recognized the privilege they had at their institution, but still felt the need to be strategic:

“And so, I think the amount of shift that’s happened with our new president, is a cis straight, white man, but at the very least is open to DEI being an important part of the campus community and culture and has very seriously taken the recommendations to integrate it at the university level as a part of our mission and our vision.”

The discursive rhetoric that Hollis employed—this idea of ‘strategically and politically significant’—stressed the intention with which TQ center(ed) diversity workers saw the work needed to move through the sociopolitical contexts they faced.

Nevertheless, although every participant alluded to turning to students and activating their ‘complaints’ as a way to enact their commitments in the present moment, they also wrestled with what this meant for the students themselves. Speaking to this reality, Jeremy (he/him) described how he found himself having to shift his activism and advocacy onto students, given the state context where they were working:

“And so moving labor onto student groups, because they have more freedom to maneuver on campus through the [U.S. state] laws, I think that has been the largest shift for me, has been moving from a space where I could engage more in activism type of work into a space where this is nowhere near that level of engagement or never knew that level of … belief that we can do things and do good for our community.”

Although he reported limitations on their practice, Jeremy’s belief was that students had more freedom to continue on their legacies of activism. And yet, this did not sit well with Jeremy and others in the study, because of the fact that it “unfairly puts labor on students, for example.” To bring this point to life, Jeremy discussed how students at his IHE were fond of events that involved drag, which meant that they “were reasonably upset when I was basically told we couldn’t host those through our office anymore that we were able to.” Nonetheless, Jeremy recognized that “as advisor to several student orgs, I can help them through the process of getting performers on stage or getting contacts and getting things going.” Although a viable solution given the precarity of hosting drag performances when they are being legislated by states, Jeremy named that he did not feel good by putting “unfair distribution of labor back on the students to do the things that help take care of them and help affirm them to say, ‘no, it’s your job to do that again.’” Thus, though it was a strategy that TQ center(ed) diversity workers turned to, it presented ethical dilemmas regarding the pressure put on TQ students.

5.3. Continuum of Systemic Inequities Negatively Affecting Freedom Dreaming

Throughout the study, the research team and workshop facilitator asked participants to think about the role that liberation played in their TQ center(ed) diversity work practice. In conversations with these professionals, we encouraged them to reflect on how they defined liberation and saw themselves moving toward it. As a result, we thought ‘freedom dreaming’ may be an appropriate theoretical concept to frame their visions, and yet, we collectively encountered a sense of disappointment when we realized that many struggled with the act of engaging in freedom dreaming on a structural level (i.e., envisioning spaces without oppression). To be clear, the disappointment was not associated with the individuals’ inabilities to view worlds without oppression, but rather, that their contexts had negatively affected their capacity to do so—as we share below. These excerpts also reflect practitioners’ awareness of the many hurdles, barriers, and red tape that exist that limit the possibilities of enacting these dreams. To illustrate this point, it is important to acknowledge that although participants did view progress throughout their careers, the challenges that they encountered were longstanding, not tied to a specific sociopolitical moment. Emily shared:

“As someone who has been in the realm for a decade now…it’s a very unique perspective of the LGBTQ+ experience in this country. And unfortunately, the more things change, the more they stay the same. And so, yeah, it was a lot of familiar sort of quandaries and issues, for lack of a better word, that we’re trying to navigate and we’re trying to overcome. And yeah, it was a lot of the same questions that you hear if you’ve been in this work or been in these spaces for a while.”

The awareness of those limitations in context shaped TQ center(ed) diversity workers’ capacity.

Across the board, participants articulated how liberation felt impossible at IHEs, given their oppressive histories. Quinn (they/them) shared their hesitation to think about liberation within IHEs when they discussed the following:

“I question the liberatoryness [sic] at times because I think some of the things I mentioned, too, where I’m like, ‘How much more powerful could our movements be if we could be more in solidarity with other groups on campus? How much more powerful could it be if I had the same reality as an employee on my campus when I feel like if I’m not a government employee, I have this and that, and I don’t have the same things?’”

Embedded in their thoughts was the skepticism of liberation being possible within organizations like IHEs when too often, they operate in silos but also when people within them are beholden to specific requests and constraints. Although such institutions are not built for liberation, the start to freedom dreaming was there as TQ center(ed) diversity workers hoped to help others engage in the act of dreaming. Hanna, for instance, stated:

“These institutions can never be liberatory, but what we can do is make our corners of them so radically liberatory that our students know what that tastes like and that they can then try to duplicate it. And so I think that’s part of it, is I want the space that I create and my staff creates to be a place where people can be unapologetically authentic, can experiment with identity, can access resources to remove barriers. And if they can do it here, then maybe that’s the only place they ever have that, but they know what that feels like.”

Getting others to consider what liberation could look like was hence the first step that practitioners saw themselves as being able to exert influence over in their roles.

Importantly, these oppressive environments were consistent across regions, though we recognized the unique difficulties that come with existing in ‘conservative’ and ‘progressive’ state locales—hence why we named this finding as interrogating ‘continuums of systemic inequities.’ Jacob (he/him), for instance, noted how “different regions are handling some things,” leading to people “in [a different] mindset if they are in a more progressive space, or they attend a more progressive university.” Additionally, Micah (they/she) recognized that preparing students for their futures after graduation meant that she had to teach them about what it meant to exist in spaces that were not as progressive as their present locations. They began by acknowledging the progressive nature of the state they worked in, while saying that this comment came with a grain of salt:

“Because I specifically do live in [progressive state], I think this idea that any place feels a safe space for queer people or for LGBTQ+ student life, that doesn’t exist, because every person that we serve as a student, in particular, is in the context of the country that we live in.”

Such a statement was only amplified by the fact that Micah identified as a queer person of color who shared, “I’m not seeing queer women of color. I’m not seeing trans people of color in any leadership positions.” Micah then went on to state how the broader U.S. sociopolitical context still negatively affected their work:

“But for a lot of our students, particularly as they just start watching the news regularly, they start becoming much more conscious of, ‘Oh, where can I work after graduation? Am I going to have to stay here? Do I want to have these [choices?]?’ There are a lot of fears and anxieties that are actually really coming up for a lot of our students.”

Because of this, Micah said that she felt like liberation “feels maybe less possible” though their goal is that “every person [they work with] to be able to be liberated and to experience liberation.”

The idea of helping students move toward individual liberation in the place of more structural forms was consistent across participants, including Toni (she/any) and Robyn (she/her). Namely, Toni framed liberation as potentially existing on multiple levels: “But it’s at different levels, you know: individual, group, institutional.” She believed that the place she could have the most positive impact was on a personal basis, stating, “I think on one level where we have the most impact is on an individual level. And so, if we can help people recognize that they have the ability to make choices that are more freeing for them.” Robyn had a similar attitude when describing what she viewed as liberation:

“I think it is mainly having students feel their authentic self and being able to say-- and having them know their resources and things like that. As there’s restrictions on faculty and staff, what I’m allowed to say, where I can say it, and what spaces, like today, I’m speaking to you as student-to-student. I am not in my official capacity, and that’s the only way I’m allowed to talk to you right now. But some of the other things, I think, with our students is making sure they still know that they are empowered.”

And yet, where this work becomes more difficult is when one moves past the individual domain to those that are more group-oriented in nature. Toni described this by saying, “So everybody deserves to be free. Yeah, we just don’t know how to make it happen. Or we, even if we know, it’s not easy to implement it.” This idea of not knowing how to make it happen perfectly captured participants’ ability to freedom dream in this sociopolitical reality.

Although they believed they were changing people’s conceptualizations of liberation, they felt more constrained in their ability to understand what liberation would look like within an organization/space like higher education. Because we had participants define liberation for themselves, as opposed to giving a set definition, we had a variety of responses shared. Where they coalesced was the impossibility of achieving liberation within an institution that actively disenfranchised TQ voices, but the potential of helping individuals view liberation differently—a notable contribution to the literature.

6. Discussion

The TQ center(ed) diversity workers who participated in this study shed light on how practitioners who find themselves in the position to advance equity while being simultaneously restricted in their ability to do so persisted in their roles. In a time when institutional leaders have explicitly moved away from their previously declared commitments to racial justice and DEI initiatives (Landry-Thomas, 2023; McGowan et al., 2025), it is ever more vital that individuals’ resistance strategies are documented and replicated. Such approaches may not always be outright or visible, but they represent forms of radicalism that can survive in a climate of surveillance and regulation. Below, we speak to how our findings affirm and extend the existing literature featuring TQ center(ed) diversity workers and DEI practitioners, integrating our theoretical sensitivities (i.e., tempered radicalism, the concept of ‘complaints,’ and freedom dreaming) throughout.

To begin, our first finding spoke to how TQ center(ed) diversity workers reported limitations on their practices in the present sociopolitical moment, together with how they saw themselves subversively navigating these contexts—informed by their differential race, gender, and sexual positioning. The concept of tempered radicalism, as developed by Meyerson and Scully (1995), thus felt appropriate in describing their actions. Although TQ center(ed) diversity work itself emerged from legacies of activism (Marine, 2011), scholars have documented the risk that comes with institutionalizing these histories of advocacy (Ferguson, 2012). In this instance, our findings demonstrate how being institutionalized means being beholden to institutional politics and guidance, as highlighted by J.D.’s stories of coming from being an activist to having to covertly hide their work as a TQ center(ed) diversity worker. And yet, the strategies of these participants must not be understated, including the shifting of language and the creation of communities in the face of oppressive experiences. Whether it was in the form of connecting with similar institutional types (as discussed by Gray) or building relationships in the present study (shared by George), developing underground networks seemed imperative for surviving these contentious realities. These networks are vital, especially given the fact that many TQ center(ed) diversity workers are not organizationally supported in terms of supervision and in staffing (D. C. Catalano & Tillapaugh, 2020; Pryor & Hoffman, 2021).

Beyond connecting with other professionals, our findings revealed that TQ center(ed) diversity workers found value in empowering students to be the ones to lodge ‘complaints’ (Ahmed, 2021) within IHEs. In the process of working with students, these practitioners frequently engaged in the practice of radical honesty, a necessary practice in navigating sociopolitically contentious times as shared by Lange and Lee (2024). Rather than try to shield students from the harsh realities of being a TQ center(ed) diversity worker during a time of anti-TQ sentiment, these practitioners instead sought to center a radical form of truth, letting them into the structural forms of oppression they may not otherwise recognize. The idea of having ‘closed doors’ conversations, as articulated by Hollis, became a strategy that TQ center(ed) diversity workers leveraged to emphasize to students their agency within IHEs. And on the same token, these professionals struggled with what it meant to shift labor back onto students. This insight led us as a research team to wonder how the phenomenon of being ‘burnt through’ (Anderson, 2021), which has previously been applied to practitioners who are negatively affected by systemic inequities at the institutional level, is instead being transferred to students. This finding represents a notable intervention into the existing scholarship as it showcases how ‘burn through’ cannot only explain what happens to TQ center(ed) diversity workers but also those who they serve.

Lastly, participants’ experiences additionally underscored what it meant to ‘freedom dream’ (Kelley, 2022) or not, given the sociopolitical strife they reported. Although geographic region certainly affected how immobilized institutions were (Conyers & Wright Fields, 2025), individuals spoke to the feeling that they could not imagine organizations or groups without oppression. Such a finding was emphasized by their presence within institutions that did not seem to actively embrace TQ inclusion, showcasing the ways that organizations make freedom dreaming (im)possible for those who represent them as agents. What they could conceive of was helping individuals imagine possibilities of empowerment, a pattern showcased by Toni and Robyn’s quotations. This encouragement of other people’s freedom dreaming is perhaps how TQ center(ed) diversity workers continue to practice their commitments in times of anti-DEI legislation, much like what scholars such as Lucas et al. (2025) have described as rhythms of resistance.

7. Possibilities of Future Research and Practice

The question of what TQ center(ed) diversity workers—and those who do diversity work more broadly—can do in the face of this time of oppressive legislation is one that is on many people’s minds. As a form of honesty, we found it important to share that we, as a research team, struggled in the writing of an ‘implications’ section given the ever-changing landscape of U.S. higher education at the time of composing this paper. As a result, we chose to emphasize that we are not offering any solutions for readers, because they may be impossible to provide in this type of scholarly writing. Instead, we have generated what we consider ‘thoughts’ or ‘ruminations’ for future research and practice for this journal’s readership.

To begin, we acknowledge that the stories that we have included in this manuscript were presented in the aggregate, attempting to see patterns across TQ center(ed) diversity workers. However, as authors like Dhanani et al. (2024) have described, people in these roles are more likely to hold minoritized identities themselves. Consequently, we encourage future scholars to investigate how diversity workers with minoritized identities are navigating the present sociopolitical context given the amplified marginalization they may experience—including those who identify as part of the TQPOC community. This paper also starts the conversation about how institutional types (e.g., public v. private, religiously affiliated) may affect how TQ center(ed) diversity workers navigate their practice, but specific examinations of these contexts may be helpful in comprehending resistance strategies. In doing so, we recommend that researchers see the value of employing organizational frameworks (e.g., inhabited institutions (Hallett & Ventresca, 2006)) to show how the constraints that institutions face are then imposed upon these practitioners.

As we turn to practice, we see that it is crucial to return to the insights provided by participants themselves. For example, many of them commented on how the workshop included in this study was valuable because it showed them that they were not alone. Community is going to be one of the ways that people move forward—whether in the form of a research study or through the types of collectives that Gray referenced. If practitioners feel isolated in navigating the present moment, we would like to be as bold as to encourage them to contact us as authors—a practice that is not frequently undertaken in academic writing, but that we think is crucial when so many other supports are being threatened. In relation, we acknowledge that many are having to make concessions on their practice and are potentially shifting labor to students. We argue that such decisions must still be made with intention and reflection, especially given the increased targeting of student activists in the United States.

In the workshop that participants engaged in as a part of the study, people received exposure to how white supremacy shows up—especially in connection to expectations of productivity. For this reason, we encourage practitioners to pause as much as they can. Resist the urge to make immediate decisions and instead take a calculated look at your political landscape to address what a way forward can look like. And lastly, we find that it is pertinent to share that TQ center(ed) diversity workers should not stop dreaming of a better world. Part of freedom dreaming (Kelley, 2022) involves recognizing the beauty of one’s own communities and what a future could look like when these groups are centered.

8. Conclusions

The future of TQ communities in the United States within and beyond IHEs is a precarious one. Although progress was once demonstrated through the passage of same-sex marriage (Obergefell v. Hodges, 2015) or the declaration of a “transgender tipping point” (Steinmetz, 2014), the current sociopolitical moment has revealed that TQ communities are still targets of oppressive movements. Nevertheless, those who are tasked with supporting TQ individuals on college campuses have continued their work even in the face of closures and restructurings (Schermele, 2023). Even if taken undercover, these professionals remain committed to serving TQ communities, a lesson that educators can learn from. And yet, it is impossible to not look at these narratives and notice how social institutions themselves constrain people’s ability to dream about more equitable worlds and to imagine what true liberation can look like. Therefore, we encourage all readers to consider how they enable or constrain said visions, especially during times of precarity for TQ people.