Connectivity,Community,and Kinship as Strategies to Foster Queer and Trans College Student Retention

Abstract

Given that multiple forms of oppression are endemic to higher education, strategies intended to retain queer and trans college students should mirror the strategies of survival and thriving found within queer and trans communities. Fostering and bolstering connections, community, and kinship among queer and trans college students through a lens of multiplicities of identities will better support queer and trans students’ retention. For example, some queer and trans students may depart from an institution—whether temporary or long term to support their own well-being and identity development, given the various forms of oppression that higher education institutions instantiate and exacerbate. We call on higher education leaders to take seriously their role in reducing or eliminating the harm caused to queer and trans college students. Queer and trans college students are resilient within hostile environments and have agency about their educational trajectories.

Keywords

queer trans retention kinship

Queer and trans students have always been present and found ways to survive and thrive within higher education organizations, despite evidence that higher education institutions sought to eradicate queer presences on campus both historically (Nash & Silverman, 2015; Wagner, 2019; Wright, 2006) and presently (Associated Press, 2013; Bauer-Wolf, 2018). Although it is certainly the case that private religiously affiliated colleges are more likely to outright expel queer or trans students today (Associated Press, 2013; Bauer-Wolf, 2018), across institutional types, queer and trans students may not be retained by institutions that do not understand nor center their needs.

Given that there are multiple forms of oppression endemic to higher education (e.g., racism and White supremacy, heterosexism, and ableism), we argue that strategies intended to retain queer and trans college students should mirror the strategies of survival and thriving found within queer and trans communities because these students have been successfully employing these strategies to navigate to and through higher education. Strategies such as fostering and bolstering connections, community, and kinship among queer and trans college students through a lens of multiplicities of identities will better support queer and trans students’ retention. In addition, there are other supports and resources that professionals in institutions can provide that may not be accessible to communities such as monetary, space, and other tangible structures (e.g., housing, food, etc.). We also note that for some queer and trans students, a departure from an institution—whether temporary or long term—may have multiple meanings and purposes and challenge traditional notions of retention. More specifically, queer and trans college students may need time away from an institution to support their own well-being and identity development, given the various forms of oppression that higher education institutions instantiate and exacerbate.

We ground our argument in a race-conscious lens because retention studies and theories have always been raced projects. From there, we center the experiences of queer and trans students of color in higher education to understand possibilities and potential barriers to retention. We suggest that not all institutional departures are inherently bad for students, so long as the needs of the students are placed at the center of the conversation; however, institutional systems and structures are often involved in students needing to come to those decisions. While it is true that there is an institutional imperative to retain and graduate students who have been admitted, at times, a temporary or long-term departure from an institution is necessary for supporting the wellness of a student, given what we will describe related to manifestations of systems of oppression.

We suggest a two-fold process for higher education leaders directed at retaining queer and trans students. First, leaders should support the individual and group efforts of queer and trans students who seek to retain themselves and each other. Second, there is a need for institutional efforts where individual faculty, staff, and executive leaders work in concert to create an environment designed for queer and trans thriving which centers the leadership of queer and trans students in how the campus needs to change to support that thriving. Taken together, efforts to retain queer and trans students should move beyond merely 'keeping them here,' and instead focus on supporting queer and trans students’ developmental process of worldmaking (Muñoz, 1999), something that queer and trans people choose and have to do in order to cultivate familial connections and thrive in a world that invisibilizes, discriminates, and disowns them/us. This support of developmental processes and worldmaking (Muñoz, 1999) will in turn support thriving and thus contribute to retention and graduation.

To advance our argument, we ground our analysis in a race-conscious frame and describe the multiple forms of oppression endemic to higher education. We describe institutional-type differences and make important linkages between small, everyday actions and the systems of oppression evident within higher education organizations. From there, we center our discussion on the experiences of queer and trans students of color within different institutional types. We conclude with more specific strategies for higher education leaders that centers queer and trans students building from the two-fold process described earlier.

Positioning the Authors

Before moving any further into our exploration of queer and trans retention, we believe it is important to situate ourselves within the topic. In her book Decolonizing Educational Research, Patel (2015) posed three questions for scholars to ask: why this? why now? and why you? The first question, why this? Because queer and trans students are inconsistently supported and validated on college campuses, which is contributing to outcomes ranging from affirming experiences that lead to academic achievement and graduation to discrimination and bias that contribute to oppressive experiences and differences in retention and graduation. Why now? Because queer and trans students have been marginally included in the retention literature which is why this topic warrants a special issue, and it is beyond time to not only understand their/our experiences but also identify strategies of success. Finally, why us? Both authors identify as queer and trans scholars, and our experiences within higher education have contributed to a desire to continue writing and researching queer and trans into the literature. In addition, the second author, S. L. Simmons, is a Black, first-generation, low-income educator and I have spent my career supporting and affirming minoritized and marginalized students and professionals, through scholarship and practice. From my position as an educator, I want to demonstrate the power in my communities. As an undergraduate, I attended a predominantly White institution (PWI) and historically Black university and observed the strengths and shortcomings of both types for supporting and retaining queer and trans students. At the PWI, I worked as a student assistant in the Trans, Gay, Bisexual, and Lesbian (TGBL) center and learned some queer history along with exploring my own sexuality (bisexual/lesbian at the time). Feeling a bit isolated as a member of the 3% Black student body at the PWI, I decided to participate in an exchange program that allowed me to attend a historically Black college and university (HBCU). While at the HBCU, I connected with many Black students and developed community as well as Black queer students who showed me some of the Black, queer nightlife in the neighboring cities. My experiences as an undergrad were pivotal in my sexuality, gender, and racial identity development. I found community, mentorship, and my own sense of self. Through my experiences and observations, I have continued cultivating strategies and frameworks for my various roles on campuses to retain queer and trans students.

The first author, Erich N. Pitcher, is a White, first-generation, mixed class educator (grew up working class, presently middle class). Through various roles within and beyond higher education, my success is indebted to the queer and trans mentors who encouraged and supported me along the way. As an undergraduate at a historically White liberal arts institution, I had my first queer mentor who helped me to understand my history (at the time, lesbian/dyke history) and supported my envisioning a path forward wherein I could engage in community building within the academy. Alongside these experiences, I remained connected to community-based lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) groups who built power to change social policy and popular understandings of queer lives. Our individual and partially shared experiences influenced how we framed and situated this article.

Queer and Trans Retention in a Race-Conscious Frame

Any understanding of queer and trans students’ retention within higher education environments necessitates reckoning with the ongoing struggle for justice for racially minoritized students (e.g., Cammarota, 2007; Rojas & Liou, 2017). More specifically, despite ongoing institutional initiatives directed at improving retention outcomes for students of color, justice for racially minoritized students remains elusive (Garcia & Okhidoi, 2015; Museus, 2011; Shultz, Colton, & Colton, 2001; Turner, 1994). Given the largely unaddressed project of racial justice within higher education as related to retention, among other important outcomes (though we note American College Personell Association's (ACPA) Strategic Imperative for Decolonization and Racial Justice which was implemented in November 2016 to “direct resources, energy, and time toward addressing racial justice in student affairs and higher education around the world” [http://www.myacpa.org/sirjd] as an important step), any understanding of student retention and success for queer and trans students must also be rooted in the literature that addresses the experiences of racially minoritized students.

The need for racial analysis is especially the case because many retention models and student success efforts were initially directed at understanding and increasing the outcomes of students of color and first-generation college students (e.g., Padilla, 1999; Seidman, 2012) of which there are overlapping considerations for queer and trans students (e.g., historical exclusion and marginalization). As Berger, Blanco Ramírez, and Lyons (2012) noted, the historical enrollment of a mostly racially homogenous, White, group of students meant a uniform approach to retention was employed by institutional leaders yet increased racial diversity in enrollment led to the need to diversify retention efforts for the increasingly diverse student population attending higher education institutions.

As such, in this section, we argue that retention has always been a raced project and thus our discussion of retaining queer and trans students necessitates understanding the historical roots of higher education retention efforts as a raced project. In addition, because racism and other forms of oppression are mutually constitutive of one another (Crenshaw, 1989; Leonardo & Broderick, 2011; Rodriguez & Freeman, 2016), rooting an analysis of queer and trans retention within an understanding that “the establishment of U.S. higher education is deeply rooted in racism/White supremacy . . . ” is vital to our theorizing (L. D. Patton, 2015, p. 3).

Prior literature suggests that there are important linkages between experiences with various forms of oppression and outcomes (e.g., racism and motivation). For example, Reynolds, Sneva, and Beehler (2010) found that racism-related stress influenced students’ motivation. More specifically, institutional racism was negatively correlated with extrinsic motivation (Reynolds et al., 2010). Given the positive relationship between motivation and student retention (Morrow & Ackermann, 2012), understanding how systems of oppression, in this case racism, ultimately influence retention via motivation and other factors is of critical importance to understanding how minoritized individuals experience higher education institutions.

In the development and application of most mainstream retention models, how systems of oppression are accounted for is weak at best, at worst, and completely nonexistent. For example, Tinto’s (1993) model of student departure ultimately suggests that if students of color do not integrate socially or academically that it is likely they will depart. What Tinto failed to account for was an ethno-centric curriculum (Sue, 2004), especially within historically White institutions and a social scene shaped by White norms (Gusa, 2010). Both the curriculum and social scene are inherently exclusionary and thus assimilation is seemingly the only viable option for students of color within Tinto’s work. While Braxton’s (2000) edited volume addresses racism as a part of campus climate within the context of student retention, that work does not go far enough in describing how to account for systems of oppression when considering student retention. Of note is Rendon’s (1994) validation theory, which moved toward a greater accountability to the student communities purported to be the focus of retention efforts. Yet, too few institutions engage validation theory (Rendon, 1994). In short, there is a lack of accounting for systems of oppression within student retention theories.

Moving from theory to practice, programs like TRiO (e.g., Student Support Services, McNair, Upward Bound) center culturally relevant practices, activities, and engagement with their students and contribute meaningfully to academic outcomes for first-generation, low-income, students of color. Although TRiO programs serve large numbers of Black, Latinx, Indigenous, Asian American, and multiracial students, they often have different outcomes by racial groupings (U.S. Department of Education, 2010) which highlights the need for local and varied programmatic interventions. It is certainly the case that TRiO programs were designed to redress structural oppression and are conscious of social inequalities, given the program’s eligibility criteria being tied to low-income, first-generation status, or having a disability. These criteria allow for a targeted approach to supporting students who have been historically underrepresented and marginalized within higher education.

As a former administrator of a TRiO program, the second author of this article observed firsthand how the strategies within the program accounted for how systems of oppression would ultimately influence program participants. The required services (e.g., providing tutoring, mentoring, and engagement with research) apply a systemic oppression lens by recognizing the historical and cumulative impacts of oppression for the communities served and put structures in place to support students’ progress in the educational pipeline. For example, because of the intersections of racism and classism, students who qualify for TRiO programs may not have access to social capital such as mentors to support their academic success or research opportunities to prepare them for graduate studies. With these issues in mind, TRiO programs connect students to mentors and support them in cultivating the relationships through targeted programming such as tips on communication and opportunities for mentees and mentors to spend time together over meals. In addition, because of the importance of research to graduate studies, when the second author worked with the McNair Program, they not only paired students with faculty in their fields, but they also worked with students around feelings of imposter syndrome and ways to understand and address their feelings. It is understood that when systemic oppression is unacknowledged the status quo will be maintained (Sensoy & DiAngelo, 2012), but when it is addressed it can have a significant impact on students’ academic, emotional, and mental well-being which influences the educational pipeline and can lead to structural changes.

Up to this point, we have discussed the role of systems of oppression with a singular focus on race to ground our work in the experiences of students of color. However, students have multiple identities and those identities correspond to various systems of power (Sensoy & DiAngelo, 2012). As such, it follows that if there are multiple forms of oppression within higher education institutions, undoubtedly responding to and coping with these forms of oppression makes the journey through higher education more difficult for multiple minoritized individuals. We will now turn our focus to the multiple forms of oppression present within higher education.

Multiple Forms of Oppression Endemic to Higher Education Institutions

Higher education institutions instantiate and amplify multiple forms of oppression, including sexism, racism, ableism, heterosexism, and genderism (Ashlee, Zamora, & Karikari, 2017; Burn, 2000; Calafell, 2012; Dolmage, 2017; Edwards, 2017; Nicolazzo, 2016b; T. O. Patton, 2004, 2015). To provide context to how we are framing systems of oppression, we offer definitions for our key terms. Within this article, we understand racism as an enduring pattern within U.S. higher education institutions, which unfairly elevates and advances White people over all other socially constructed racial groups (L. D. Patton, 2015; Tatum, 2018). A similar definition could be used for sexism, ableism, heterosexism, and genderism in that each are systems that advantage and elevate a particular group over all others on the basis of socially constructed group differences. In the case of heterosexism, heterosexuals, and in many cases, gender conforming people are elevated and advantaged over lesbian, gay, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, and queer people.

Given our particular focus on queer and trans collegians, we are especially concerned with the intersections of multiple systems of oppression with heterosexism and genderism. For our purposes, we define genderism as a “system of beliefs that reinforces a negative evaluation based on gender nonconformity” (Hill, 2003, p. 119). This phenomenon is also known as cisgenderism (Lennon & Mistler, 2014) and trans* (use of asterisk in original article) oppression (Catalano, Blumenfeld, & Hackman, 2018). We define heterosexism as “an ideological system that casts homosexuality as inferior to heterosexuality” (Herek, 2003, p. 158). We would augment Herek’s definition to include any nonheterosexual sexual identity. Relatedly, compulsory sexuality—or the demand that all individuals are defined by their pattern of sexual attraction—has particularly negative effects on asexual students, who are also considered an important part of queer communities on college campuses (Emens, 2014).

We ground our thinking about queer and trans student retention within the already raced project of college student retention. As such, we are concerned with the ways in which racism also gives shape to heterosexism and cisgenderism. Following from the Combahee River Collective’s (1979) Statement, we take an integrated approach to understanding systems of oppression. In other words, we focus on how “one’s place in the world, which focuses on the intersections of systems of oppression, is informed by a consciousness that undoubtedly grows from the lived experiences of existing within and resisting multiple and connected practices of domination and normalization” (Cohen, 1997, p. 441). For example, the press of normalizing forces creates a context wherein multiply minoritized individuals, in this case Black nonbinary trans college students, must contend with issues of feelings of being enough within any community they participate (e.g., being trans enough, feminine enough) as well as negotiating “passing and realness as normalizing concepts themselves, particularly in relation to other identities they hold” (Nicolazzo, 2016a, p. 11). Within trans communities, to pass means to be read by others as the gender with which you identify (Enke, 2012). Given the politics of how trans identities are understood as playing make believe or being fakers, trans individuals may internalize these messages and in turn call into question one’s own sense of realness within a given gender category (Bettcher, 2007) and ultimately a sense of self. In addition, the politics of who is a “real” man, woman, or even nonbinary person is called into question by normative expectations of embodiment (i.e., genital or chromosomal configurations and gender expressions).

By taking an integrated or intersectional approach to understanding queer and trans college student retention, we avoid flattening queer and trans students’ experiences as being only about gender or sexuality. Thus, our approach is to define queer and trans student retention as a problem of oppressive institutional structures, rather than simply a mix of inputs, outputs, and the environment (Astin, 1991). Furthermore, we seek to move the conversation about retaining queer and trans students beyond the traditional ways that student retention is considered. As we described earlier, our argument is that the various forms of oppression present in the lives of queer and trans collegians serve as constant disruptions to connection, community, and kinship and that institutions perpetuate systems of oppression and efforts to retain queer and trans students’ need to address this reality. Furthermore, institutional leaders may direct attention toward bolstering the existing survival and thriving strategies of queer and trans collegians, especially because queer and trans students are resilient “individuals capable of creating supportive communities and developing strategies to promote their own success” (Nicolazzo, 2016a, p. 539).

Connection, Community, and Kinship to Survive and Thrive in Oppressive Institutions

We contend that queer and trans people have survived and thrived because of their efforts to create connection, community, and kinship networks. Within this article, we make a slight distinction between connection, community, and kinship. Rather than suggesting that there are hierarchical relationships between these concepts, we suggest that a mixture of connections are required for queer and trans college students to ease the journey through higher education institutions. We think of connections as thinner or looser relationships among one’s network, this could include friends, colearners, faculty, and staff where some basic academic and social needs can be met. Community refers to thicker or tighter connections, this is who one chooses to deepen and cultivate relationships with and from whom one can receive additional affirmation and support. Kinship, particularly within the context of queer and trans communities, are the familial or 'thicker than water' relations we forge with members of our communities (Weston, 1997) and others with whom we feel a deep connection and relations. These connections are named kinship because of the depth and the ways in which queer and trans people name them (e.g., mother/father, play brother, sister).

One might think of these various relationship formations as concentric circles, where movement between the layers might occur as circumstances allow and require. Mirroring what happens within queer and trans communities outside of higher education, queer and trans people seek connections with “our people,” people who we see as like us and people who affirm us, even if they are not members of queer and trans communities, often people of color, people with disabilities, and other minoritized communities. In other words, queer and trans people build community in tight knit ways that are integral to our survival and thriving (Blockett, 2017; Miller, 2017; Nicolazzo, 2016b).

Given the depth of theorizing related to queer kinship within queer studies, we further define this concept within the context of queer communities. The normative kinship model is rooted in whiteness, straightness, and cisness (Eng, 2010; Rifkin, 2010). As Weston (1997) noted, “queer kinship is not simply a substitute for blood relatives, it is as blood relatives, deeply and profoundly felt as ‘real’ family” (p. 117). Butler (2000) reminds us that kinship is performative, it is created through the repetition of small acts (e.g., acts typically attended to by blood relatives). It is through these small acts that kinship bonds are formed and cultivated.

Kinship is also linked to the state in particular ways, in the sense that certain relationship formations are deemed valid and recognized by the state (White, cis, and hetero; Eng, 2010; Rifkin, 2010). Queer and trans kinship operate alongside the logics of state recognition, sometimes in ways that align with homonational (Puar, 2007) or queer liberal tendencies (Eng, 2010). In other words, narrow forms of relationships (two cis gay men, two cis lesbians) can become recognized by the state. However, this recognition in turn marginalizes large swaths of queer and trans communities. By this we mean, that the social divisions already present within society are often replicated within queer and trans kinship networks. For example, as was noted in Weston’s (1997) study, participants’ kinships typically reflect the race, class, gender, and age of the interview participants. Yet, queer and trans people have always survived using these strategies, imperfect as they may be. Having described the kinds of relations queer and trans students form, we turn to how these relations may unfold differently and be disrupted differently within particular institutional differences.

Institutional Differences

Institutions can be spaces of both fostering and disrupting connection, community, and kinship. Institutional-type differences, including community colleges, regional comprehensive, liberal arts, research universities, and predominantly White and minority serving institutions (which cut across all of these), each have distinct missions and purposes that ultimately influence their student populations. While the current literature is beginning to specify these differences, there is a need for additional work in understanding retention for queer and trans students across institutional types. The next sections will focus on three specific types of institutions, HBCUs, community colleges, and predominantly White universities to identify strengths and limitations of supporting queer and trans retention across different institutional types.

Historically Black Colleges and Universities

Within the context of HBCUs, L. D. Patton (2011) found that while Black gay male participants found the campus environment to be supportive, public sexual identity disclosure was complex within the institutional context. This disclosure complexity may not only serve as a disruption to community and kinship for students but also facilitate connections as a way to cope with any adversity faced. Adding nuance to L. D. Patton’s (2011) findings, Means and Jaeger (2013) suggest that Black gay male participants were able to successfully navigate the HBCU context and were able to develop a “consciousness or space where they would be able to embrace their quareness not only at their institution but also in society” (p. 56). Here, quare or quareness is a way of denoting and acknowledging the unique positions of Bisexual, Gay, and Lesbian (BGL) people of color (Johnson, 2001). In addition, Means and Jaeger (2013) noted the significance that connecting with friends, staff, and faculty was in supporting their participants.

In considering college choice for Black gay men, Squire and Mobley (2015) found that identity salience seemed to influence college choice processes for Black gay men. More specifically, participants whose race was salient tended to choose HBCUs and those whose queer identity was more salient tended to choose PWIs (Squire & Mobley, 2015). Taken together, each of these studies suggests that HBCUs and the experiences of Black gay HBCU students can be positive and do allow for the creation for kinship networks. Despite the much-needed focus on Black gay men’s experiences in HBCU contexts, much less is understood about Black lesbian and queer women’s lives within HBCUs, with L. D. Patton and Simmons (2008) being a noteworthy exception.

Black lesbian women in one study described the importance of a 'coming in' process of addressing internal comfort and understanding of their lesbian identity (L. D. Patton & Simmons, 2008). In addition, the role of triple consciousness shaped the experiences of Black, lesbian women who survive and thrive within three overlapping systems of oppression: anti-Black racism, heterosexism, and sexism/misogyny. Finally, Black lesbian women within an HBCU context may experience a form of outsider status (L. D. Patton & Simmons, 2008). As argued elsewhere, “. . . [LGBT] students [at HBCUs] are being forced to develop their own means of support . . . The development and sustainment of an affirming and safe space for LGBT students is an institution’s responsibility” (Pritchard, 2007, n.p.). While Pritchard was writing more than a decade ago, HBCUs have not been resourced in a way and unwilling to allocate resources in ways that allows the development of LGBT support services (Larimer, 2018; Williams, 2018)

There is an added challenge for Black trans collegians within single-sex HBCU contexts. For example, Morehouse College’s former appropriate attire policy reinforced particular notions of acceptable masculinity, which may have harmed transfeminine Black students who wished to attend the institution (L. D. Patton, 2014). Although the altered policy does not directly target transfeminine students, the unwritten norms may still have an impact. Similarly, Spelman College’s (2017) White Dress tradition, now called the White Attire Tradition, could have lingering chilling effects for masculine presenting students. Although the tradition was amended to be more inclusive, the remnants may still serve as a disruption to the educational journey of transmasculine students.

Predominantly White Universities

Black queer men seeking community at PWIs identified how their experiences were impacted by White supremacy and heteronormativity (Blockett, 2017). The students described feelings of isolation and lack of affirmation of identities as Black, gay men which contributed to students’ need to find ways to navigate the campus space on their own and finding certain spaces, like a peer support group, to feel safe. They experienced a difference between a larger gay community and specific Black gay community and experience with navigating queer of color spaces, but that feeling different and alienating from “mainstream” spaces. Particularly within Blockett’s (2017) study institutions espoused being LGBT friendly, but questions remain about who they were thinking and talking about? In most cases, it is often not queer and trans students of color who also have a disability and live below the poverty line that were in the minds of institutional leaders. Making a distinction between institution’s messaging of “it’s ok that you are here” and “we want you here and will do what we need to support you” is vital. The latter indicates a more intentional process that includes policy, practice, and community considerations. The Black, gay men in the study used a peer support group not only to discuss navigating White supremacist and heteronormative spaces but also to engage about unique experiences navigating life, relationships, and academics as a Black Queer Men (BQM). Building and forging community were described as a burden and “something placed on” queer and trans students (Blockett, 2017). In other words, despite institutional messaging of being LGBT friendly, Black gay men in this study had to form their own community without much institutional support. Within this burden, there is also an opportunity for queer and trans students to form their own communities and to do so on their own terms. However, there is a lack of spaces for folks to come together as Queer and Trans People of Color (QTPOC). Peer support groups play an integral role in BQM experiences as spaces to interrogate White supremacy and heteronormativity and engage in identity development.

Community Colleges

We now shift to think about how community colleges may differently shape the experiences of queer and trans collegians and their experiences with connection, community, and kinship. Given the commuter nature of community colleges, it is unsurprising that classroom climate strongly influences queer and trans students’ perceptions of campus climate (Garvey, Taylor, & Rankin, 2015). Given that most community college students also live within their home communities, it is also possible that existing connections within the larger community can sustain queer and trans students.

Prior research suggests that trans community college students are subjected to various forms of discrimination and harassment (Beemyn, 2012). Despite the persistence of discriminatory environments for trans community college students, few have trans-inclusive nondiscrimination policies and most campuses lack LGBTQ+ support services (Beemyn, 2012). While there are some noteworthy exceptions (e.g., Portland Community Colleges, Salt Lake Community College) and slow progress since Beemyn’s (2012) policy review, few community colleges have funded LGBTQ+ support services. While community colleges will invariably need to meet the needs of their students differently than 4-year institutions, Zamani-Gallaher and Choudhuri (2011) suggested that providing welcoming and affirming materials online, enhancing bias incident reporting, and supporting queer and trans student leadership are important steps for community colleges. Having described the institutional differences that are addressed within the literature, we now turn to considerations for higher education leaders.

Leading to Retain Queer and Trans Students

At the outset of this article, we stated a two-fold process would better serve the goals of retaining queer and trans students. First, leaders should support the individual and group efforts of queer and trans students who seek to retain themselves and each other. Second, there is a need for institutional efforts where individual faculty, staff, and leaders of all levels, including executive (e.g., provost, Vice President for Student Affairs) work in concert to create an environment designed for queer and trans thriving which centers the leadership of queer and trans students in how the campus needs to change to support that thriving. Taken together, efforts to retain queer and trans students should move beyond merely “keeping them here,” but instead focus on supporting queer and trans students’ worldmaking (Muñoz, 1999), which will in turn support thriving and thus retention and graduation. To provide more details to the proposed process, we offer three broad categories of retention strategies: reframing queer and trans collegians, robust data collection and analysis, and creating contexts for connectivity. Each of these efforts should build on the ongoing work in support of queer and trans student already occurring on their campus.

Queer and trans employees (broadly including faculty, staff, and administrators) already perform often invisible labor that ensures the retention of queer and trans students. Before initiating any of the suggested strategies outlined later, documenting, recognizing, and bolstering the ongoing efforts of queer and trans employees are vital to future of additional efforts. Queer and trans employees have supported queer and trans students both historically and today by seeing students in offices, advocating for change, and providing referrals, when needed.

While it is the responsibility of all college and university employees to support queer and trans students, there is peril in assuming everyone is creating environments conducive to queer and trans thriving. Namely, when it is everyone’s responsibility to support queer and trans students, this can sometimes mean that it is ends up being no one’s job. While the work of supporting queer and trans collegians typically falls to diversity workers, more commitment and action is needed to ensure queer and trans thriving.

Reframing Queer and Trans Collegians

Throughout this article, we have framed queer and trans collegians as capable of not only merely surviving but also thriving within higher education. Despite historic and contemporary enactments of oppression, queer and trans collegians have persisted to graduation. It is our steadfast belief that queer and trans college students are resilient within a hostile environment. Furthermore, queer and trans college students have agency about their educational trajectories. While this resilience is laudable, queer and trans college students should not have to bear the brunt of navigating these oppressive institutions. College is hard enough without having to overcome institutional oppression. Cornerstones of any change effort in support of queer and trans students must frame these students as having agency and resilience. For example, when cultivating individual and community practices with queer and trans students, the focus should not only be on oppressive experiences but also uplift the ways in which queer and trans people have built organizations to support each other (e.g., Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries or STAR, Black Trans Gender NonConforming Collective or BTGNC). Building on these examples and affirming queer and trans students’ capacities provides counternarratives to what their experiences “should” be as queer and trans people.

Robust Data Collection and Analysis Focused on Basic Needs

When considering institutional initiatives to increase retention among queer and trans students, institutions need to begin with robust data collection. At present, it is difficult to obtain a full and accurate picture of queer and trans student retention because institutional records do not collect or reflect queer and trans identities. Data systems must be sensitive and responsive to the ways that students identify. Research and leaders within divisions of student affairs, at the college and department level, as well as in institutional research offices need to meaningfully account for a range of sexual orientations/identities and genders. Offering several categories and continually assessing and reassessing the sufficiency of those options is also needed. The demographic questions should be paired with campus climate, basic needs, and other variables that are likely to influence retention that may be specific to the campus. Even without new formal data, institutional leaders can use a variety of forms of knowledges, information points, and data (qualitative/quantitative) that may already exist that could be leveraged to advocate for change. This approach keeps leaders on the hook for being responsible for implementing change, while formal data collections are planned and implemented.

Some of the already known things that people and institutions can do are become more knowledgeable about available and needed supports of transgender students; develop support groups and other programming focused on queer and trans; cultivate and connect queer and trans mentors (physical and virtual); focus on increased awareness and education across campus with specific actions/consequences and impact; address campus facilities and built environments; and devote resources and support—attending to “lower” level basic needs (e.g., food, shelter, safety) to allow students to focus on higher order needs which not only includes academic achievement and persistence but may also include hormones/surgeries and other things related to transition (Goodrich, 2012).

Once a body of data is collected, leaders, in collaboration with queer and trans students who are paid for their labor, should begin to analyze the data in ways to identify specific institutional barriers and strategize intentional, infrastructural, and climate changes. It is often the case that institutional research officers take a single unit of analysis (e.g., gender or race) approach to analyzing data and given what we discussed earlier about the multiplicity of identities, it is important to ensure that analysts use race, gender, and sexuality (among other identities/statuses) to understand the particular barriers that multiply minoritized students may face. Once a body of evidence is developed leaders and students can begin to develop interventions to address the core issues. Our suggestion is that leaders begin by understanding the extent to which basic needs of students are met (e.g., food, housing, health care) before moving on to higher order needs. These data can also be used by executive level leaders to determine what aspects of the campus environment need to change and prioritize policy, practice, and physical changes.

Creating Contexts for Connectivity

Flowing from the data collection and ensuring that basic needs are met, institutional leaders including student affairs, instructional faculty, and staff should partner with and uplift the leadership of queer and trans students on the campus. In recognizing that queer and trans students often retain themselves and each other, documenting, uplifting, and financially supporting these efforts are needed. For example, working with the university archives to document queer and trans student groups and curating displays and exhibits that historicize and recognize the critical role queer and trans students have played on campus would facilitate the kinds of connections and community to which we referred earlier. Another potential pathway to recognize the contributions of queer and trans students is to create spaces appropriate to the scale of the campus to support queer and trans thriving. A fully staffed and funded Bisexual, Gay, Lesbian, Transgender, and Queer (BGLTQ+) center and services on every college campus would improve retention. While a dedicated space is needed, that space must not be solely responsible for the work of facilitating queer and trans worldmaking (Muñoz, 1999). It must become a priority for faculty to develop courses that extensively and exclusively focus on BGLTQ+ lives, regardless of discipline. In addition, student affairs professionals must lead from a perspective that is intersectional and ensures that the most marginalized among the student population are centered in the design and delivery of all student programs.

Examples In-Practice

To the ends of supporting queer and trans leadership through reframing queer and trans collegians, data collection, and creating contexts for connectivity, it is often the case that queer and trans students are leading the way for administrators to provide much-needed support. For example, while the second author was working in an Asexual, Bisexual, Gay, Lesbian, Queer, and Transgender (ABGLQT+) center at a large urban institution in the Midwest, queer and trans students would often spend time in the community lounge talking about issues they were encountering, such as courses where they felt invisible because of the lack of queer and trans perspectives. Students also discussed their needs for support and guidance on their educational journeys. When educators listen to queer and trans students about their experience, it then becomes possible to suggest meetings with faculty about classroom issues, or Center staff supporting individuals, and providing additional resources/referrals.

Some of the issues from working in the Center related to students’ confusion with some of the terms used for gender and sexuality and how they applied to themselves as well as the implications of being in community with others. These conversations provided excellent opportunities to discuss development theories to both normalize their experiences and provide some language to talk about it. We also responded with monthly programs that focused on various identities within the ABGLTQ+ communities (e.g., dinner dialogues around Asexual and Bisexual identities and experiences, film screenings of masculine of center people of color) so that students could meet other similarly identified students and talk about their own experiences with particular identities.

By being responsive and proactive to students’ needs, spaces specifically for QTPOC students were created on campus along with outreaching to other institutions’ QTPOC organizations for cross-institutional community. In addition to listening to the students and responding to their needs, the Center conducted more formal assessments and evaluations to understand their experiences more broadly and for them to share their needs more explicitly. However, there was no need to wait for formal data collective efforts before cultivating programming and spaces to support queer and trans students. The thinking was, if something did not work, we could always try something else.

In addition, the QTLGBIA+ center was one of a number of cultural centers on this campus that routinely collaborated to support the needs of minoritized students. In working together, the message to students was that they could be their full selves in the spaces, and they did not have to choose their gender or sexuality or race or disability. Although the model was not perfect, and we often received feedback on ways to improve, the goals were always to support the thriving of the students.

Conclusions/Moving Forward

The title of this article is Connectivity, Community, and Kinship as Strategies to Foster Queer and Trans College Student Retention and as we have outlined institutions have a long history of marginalizing queer and trans students. However, queer and trans students also have a long history of surviving and thriving in these same institutions. The onus is on higher education professionals and administrators to step up their game and collaborate with queer and trans students, faculty, and staff to continue cultivating inclusive and equitable institutions. It is not just up to queer and trans people, nor just on institutional leadership, we all have a role to play in queer and trans retention.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Erich N. Pitcher

Author Biographies

Erich N. Pitcher serves as an instructor for Adult and Higher Education at Oregon State University.

S. L. Simmons is an assistant instructional professor in Social Sciences Administration at University of Chicago.

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