It was 2017 and I was standing in the sweltering summer heat on Halsted Street, watching the Chicago Pride Parade. I looked out at the Dykes on Bikes cruising down the parade route in their leather jackets and spiked-up hair.

I was a 13-year-old standing next to a crowd of scantily clothed 20-somethings with my mother and father. I’d never felt so out of place. Rainbow flags and muscled men in crop tops surrounded me — after all, this was a celebration of queer culture — but I wanted to run away from anything that represented my identity.

I didn’t truly begin to feel pride in being a gay man until about a year ago. 

It started after I read the book “The Great Believers” by Rebecca Makkai, a novel about gay men in Chicago during the AIDS epidemic who were dying en masse from the disease. Nothing had ever moved me so deeply. 

I realized that while I grew up without having to directly face the trauma of the AIDS epidemic or the harassment and violence queer activists have repeatedly endured. I had no understanding of how that legacy informed my own life. 

Taking matters into my own hands, I began exploring queer history. 

I read books, watched documentaries and television shows and conducted Google search deep-dives to understand how queer people in the United States existed before me. I became so passionate that I made a collage of printed photos from the Gay Liberation Movement and hung them above my dresser. Finally, I started to understand the significance of being gay.

Don Romesburg, a Women’s and Gender Studies professor at Sonoma State University, said queer history can have a profound impact on students. 

“Campuses become more welcoming and more accepting in a general sense if LGBTQ content is part of their curriculum,” Romesburg said. “Studies have shown that it’s one of the most powerful interventions that can be made to give LGBTQ students a sense of safety, a sense of belonging.”

Romesburg’s upcoming book, “Contested Curriculum: LGBTQ History Goes to School,” explores the history of efforts to incorporate LGBTQ+-inclusive content in K-12 education. He helped bring LGBTQ+ content into K-12 curriculums in California in the 2010s, but most of Generation Z (including myself) did not receive any education relating to their sexuality. 

My middle school U.S. history class covered every civil rights movement except for the Gay Liberation Movement, and my sexual education teachers only included heterosexual representation. 

Romesburg said LGBTQ+ students are unique in that their identities are often not embedded within the context of their home or cultural communities unless they live with queer-identifying parents. This can make it difficult for them to understand what their identity means and where it comes from.

“If this work is not done through public schools, we are denying queer and trans young people a powerful means of intergenerational knowledge that is so essential to our ability to survive and thrive and know our place in the wider world,” Romesburg said.

Gay men today have the luxury of growing up in a time when public opinion about queer people in the U.S. has shifted toward widespread acceptance. Gay marriage was fully legalized in 2015, when I was in fifth grade, and in 2020 the Supreme Court issued protection against workplace discrimination based on sexual orientation.

While our country may be more accepting of gay people than ever before, our community faces ongoing struggles — including at the University of Minnesota.

Mathew Krelitz, a University alum, wrote an honors thesis last year on how gay men find and perceive gay culture when they come to college. He interviewed 17 gay men at the University of Minnesota and other universities in the Twin Cities area. The findings suggested overwhelmingly that gay men view gay culture as negative.

“They really did not want to engage with the community,” Krelitz said. “There’s all these LGBTQ+ groups on campus, and gay guys just don’t go to them. And I think one of the reasons is that they don’t like other gay guys. They’re afraid that people will be mean to them or reject them or gossip about them, which happens all the time.”

Krelitz credits the emphasis on hookups and casual sex over genuine connection for driving this perception of negativity around gay culture.

“Because dating and sex and romance are intertwined with what people perceive the gay culture to be, their perception of the gay culture is negative,” Krelitz said. “And a lot of guys, because of that, will turn to straight women for friends, which is fine, but the participants that did have gay friends spoke of really enjoying their gay friends and trying to learn through the gay community.”

These results are hardly surprising. If we don’t have role models to inspire us and if we aren’t able to analyze and understand how gay men formed communities in the past, how can we expect to feel empowered by our identities and create a positive culture?

With anti-LGBTQ+ harassment and violence on the rise — coupled with the threat of the Trump Administration potentially dismantling protections against discrimination based on sexual orientation — we must take it upon ourselves to learn what the queer community has fought for and why we must protect that legacy.

I’ll never forget coming back to my apartment one day, around the time when I first hung up my queer history collage on my bedroom wall. I looked into the faces of Harvey Milk, Cleve Jones and Marsha P. Johnson — people who were brave enough to stand up and fight for my right to exist in this country. I thought of their stories and the stories of all the queer people who came before me, memorialized now as pictures on the wall. 

They stared right back at me, a college student who was unsteady but determined to keep their legacy alive. 

For the first time in my life, I felt proud.

I trudge down the snow-covered sidewalk on University Avenue, the cold wind cutting like a knife across my face. Icicles are forming on the rims of my glasses. The lenses have fogged up to the point where I can barely see in front of me. My teeth are chattering and my toes have gone almost completely numb.

Despite the objective misery, I can’t help but smile. Winter has come to the Land of 10,000 Lakes and I’ve never felt so alive.

With average temperatures ranging from 15 to 25 degrees from December through February in Minneapolis, winter makes life at the University of Minnesota special. However, many Gophers disdain it. They complain about walking to class in subzero temperatures and bemoan the interminable gray skies. 

Living in the Midwest has its downsides, but it allows us to experience Mother Nature in all of her seasons. We have torrential spring rains, stifling summer heat, crisp autumn days and freezing-cold winters. 

Each season teaches and shapes us in unique ways, and each deserves respect. Winter is no exception.

Sara Brost, a first-year student at the University, said she hates winter.

“I can never seem to get warm enough when I’m outside,” Brost said. “You have to put on so much stuff just to step outside. And I also hate snow. I don’t like shoveling. I don’t like driving in it. It sucks for me, personally.”

Being in college has changed how I experience winter. 

While I only faced a 10-minute walk to and from my suburban Chicago high school, I now travel to multiple places, often miles apart, every day. Without a car, weathering the cold isn’t a choice, it’s a reality. Why not embrace it?

After a poor night’s sleep, there’s nothing like a -5-degree windchill — in other words, a slap in the face — to wake me up. Fighting through snowstorms and ferocious winds motivates me to do my homework. If I can survive that misery, I can write my Spanish essay.

Sure, there’s nothing quite like those “perfect” days, when the air is finally cool enough to keep my t-shirt free of sweat but warm enough to not need another layer.

“My ideal temp is 70 degrees and sunny,” Brost said.

These rare moments of climatic comfort are only meaningful because of the weather we’ve faced before them. If we lived in a constant state of what we deem the perfect temperature, we’d fail to appreciate the glory of a balmy autumn afternoon.

Winter is about more than just weather. If you’re willing to look past the cloudy skies, it’s a time when our landscape is full of understated beauty.

When the leaves are gone from the trees, sunlight shines in places where the canopy once blocked it. Walking along the sun-drenched trails of East River Flats, I think of winter not as a time of darkness and despair, but as a season of light. While drab, bare trees become architectural wonders, showcasing how a tangled assortment of branches comes together to form a cohesive whole. 

And there’s no forgetting winter’s greatest gift — snow. 

I grew up in Chicago, a place where snowy winters were common, but not guaranteed. The only white Christmas I reliably had was the song by Bing Crosby. Six hours north in Minneapolis, however, snow often persists through March — not including last year’s unusually mild winter. 

Calla Massari, another first-year student, said she enjoys winter sports like sledding, skiing and ice fishing — common Minnesotan activities. 

In my time at the University, I’ve had snowball fights at Northrop Mall, sledded down the hill behind Coffman Union and held on to the window of a moving car while sliding on a snow-covered road alongside it (an unsafe but incredibly fun experience). 

Not only does the snow give us access to unique seasonal sports and activities, it beautifies an otherwise dull landscape. 

“I think it can be really pretty when there’s snow on the bare tree branches, it can be kind of sparkly in the morning,” Massari said.

I remember waking up to the first snow of the semester in my freshman-year dorm and gazing out at the Mississippi River Valley. The tip of every tree branch was coated in powdery snow, sparkling like millions of tiny jewels in the sun. 

Winter builds character, strengthens our culture and is humbling in its beauty. Why complain? 

Climate change may be leading to milder and shorter winters, but that doesn’t mean Minneapolis is turning tropical any time soon. 

Pull up your socks, tie up your boots and zip up your coat. 

It’s Minnesota, after all. Winter is our way of life.

It’s Thanksgiving Day, 2026.

After nearly two years under the rule of Supreme Leader Donald Trump, the United States of America has risen from the ashes of its former self, free from the tyrannical Democrats and their woke mob.

You think about this glorious country as you walk up to your grandmother’s house, dodging the branches of a fallen tree from a recent extreme weather event. Fearsome storms have hit the area recently, but it can’t be from climate change since that was a hoax the liberals created when they stole the 2020 election.

The landscaping company that normally deals with your grandmother’s lawn hasn’t been in operation since Trump sent the town’s undocumented Venezuelan migrants to one of his new detention camps — all built on tribal land, of course. Turns out nearly one in five landscaping workers in the U.S. were undocumented. Whoops!

You know this means more opportunities for hardworking American citizens, but for some reason, no one will take up a $3-an-hour job with a 70-hour work week. So, your grandmother’s lawn remains in disarray.

When you walk through the front door, the sound of your grandmother’s radio assails you. It’s a Kid Rock song, screaming into the candlelit dining room. 

It’s not like anyone has much of a choice. Congress passed a new law allowing only the sounds of Trump loyalists on American radio airwaves. Former pop stars who are enemies of the American people (namely Taylor Swift) are spending this holiday season in federal prison with the likes of Sleepy Joe Biden and Comrade Kamala Harris. 

You look over to the corner, where your cousin Jimmy sits against the wall, rocking back and forth and violently scratching his right arm. The federal government put Project 2025 into action and instated a federal ban on pornography. He hasn’t been the same. 

As you reach the kitchen, your nose fills with the familiar smells of your grandmother’s home cooking. But now that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is the Trump-appointed Health and Human Services secretary, there have been some changes to the traditional Thanksgiving meal.

Giving Kennedy the power to oversee the Food and Drug Administration, Trump said the politician-turned-conspiracy-theorist would “go wild” on health, and oh boy, he certainly has. 

Not only has he fulfilled his promise of expanding access to raw milk, but he’s extended that freedom to raw meat products as well. Instead of spending hours brining, basting and roasting a turkey, your grandmother bought it fresh from the slaughter and dumped it on a silver platter — the true, American way of preparing it.

You help bring in the food from the kitchen, the uncooked turkey with mashed potatoes (made with unpasteurized milk, of course) on the side. The water your aunt pours into the crystal glasses doesn’t have even a trace of fluoride, the mineral Kennedy has proclaimed an “industrial waste” and linked to IQ loss.

You hear the hacking sounds of little Annie upstairs, who’s sick with a sinister cough. She’s got measles, which has made a recent comeback!

Everyone else is recovering from a nasty bout of COVID; Kennedy banned those vaccines since it meant getting a foreign-manufactured microchip in your arm. 

Speaking of putting a stop to foreign interference, Trump has instituted bold new tariffs that inadvertently quadrupled the costs of Thanksgiving groceries.

In an interview with Bloomberg News on Oct. 15, 2024, Trump said, “To me, tariff is a very beautiful word. It’s a word that’s going to make our country rich again. Without tariffs, we have a busted country.”

His proposed 500% tax on foreign imports has led to other countries halting the shipments of all manufactured products and foodstuffs to the U.S. Because there’s no existing infrastructure to make up for that loss, the U.S. is facing a national food shortage. 

Since Trump knows best, the only rational explanation is to blame the liberals for the economy’s rapid decline.

As you sit down to feast, noses running and stomachs churning with multiplying colonies of E. coli, you hold hands and recite the New Pledge of Allegiance, which has become a mealtime tradition across the country.

“…One nation, under Trump, divisible into liberty for Christians and justice served for the woke media.”

You breathe in the smell of decaying turkey flesh, gazing out the smog-stained window. The new secretary of energy, oil-industry CEO Chris Wright has reopened the old coal mines, fulfilling Trump’s promise from his 2018 State of the Union address to end the “war on beautiful, clean coal.”

America is now the biggest polluter in the world and squarely in last place for air quality ratings. But those gas prices sure are cheap. Three cheers for domestic energy!

You look around the table at your family — your pregnant teenage cousins (condoms are now illegal), Jimmy (still staring listlessly at the wall) and your grandmother, who proudly wears a crucifix necklace (covered by a charm with “Trump” in bedazzled letters).

“I’m so glad we’re able to be here together, with the love of Donald Trump on our side,” you toast.

Everyone smiles, wincing in pain from their fluoride-deficient teeth.

America is great again. You’ve never felt so thankful.

From sidewalks to highways to entire buildings, concrete covers our city. It’s cold, uncomfortable to sit on and dull in color.

Still, concrete is beautiful.

My love for this cementitious building material centers around brutalist architecture, a type of building style that emerged in 1950s post-war Britain. Brutalist buildings are characterized by their use of raw materials — usually concrete — that adorn the facade. The design is often blocky and angular, giving structures an imposing presence. 

Socialist nations in the 1960s and 1970s quickly jumped on the brutalism trend, using the unpretentious aesthetic of concrete to symbolize equality and a rejection of the bourgeois. Drawing on these socialist ideals, affordable housing projects in the U.S., like Riverside Plaza in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood of Minneapolis, frequently used brutalist designs. 

Kent Loiseaux-Purcell, a fourth-year architecture student and vice president of the American Institute of Architecture Students at the University of Minnesota, said brutalism has an important place in the history of architecture.

“I think it’s a really important movement that I feel like a lot of people don’t take the time to appreciate,” Loiseaux-Purcell said. “There’s just a lot of interesting buildings that were built in that movement, like the Barbican in London.”

Today, brutalism is out of style. Many buildings face condemnation or have deteriorated as a result of our country’s failure to properly upkeep them. 

They’re scorned as ugly, soulless and oppressive. At the University, I often hear people describe concrete icons like Moos Tower, Rarig Center and Williamson Hall with utter contempt.

“It’s a very authoritative, powerful way of expressing architecture,” Loiseaux-Purcell said.

What if the harshness of brutalism was what gave it value?

Nick Moore, a third-year civil engineering student, appreciates brutalist architecture for the way it contrasts with other architectural styles on campus.“Having something that’s so starkly different from a lot of other different building types drives a lot of interest for me,” Moore said.

Considering the neoclassical Folwell Hall, the deconstructionist Weisman Art Museum and the art deco leanings of Comstock Hall, our university is like a botanical garden of architecture. The wide variety of building styles makes our campus memorable. 

Brutalism is a specimen worth preserving for upholding that uniqueness. 

Sure, Moos Tower may not take first prize in the beauty pageant, but looking up at seventeen stories of solid concrete is striking. The building looks like a giant fortress for a supervillain, but also sort of like teeth — it houses the School of Dentistry, after all. 

There’s no forgetting Williamson Hall unless you happen to walk right over it. This subterranean building located in front of Folwell Hall houses the admissions office and some of the most unique architectural features on campus due to its submerged, angular windows that fill the underground space with sunlight. Like Moos Tower, it’s not necessarily inviting, but it is eye-catching, engaging and thought-provoking.

“Once these concrete buildings are here, that concrete will last centuries,” Moore said. “With just a little bit of upkeep, it’s going to last a really long time.”

Concrete is the most carbon-intensive construction material on the market today, but its ability to be easily formed and shaped has led to its prevalence in urban environments despite the environmental cost. 

While I’m not advocating for a new wave of brutalist architecture, I think existing structures deserve respect.

What’s better? Apartment complexes that look like flimsy shipping containers? 

Instead of putting profit over quality, brutalism puts functionality over aesthetics — a far better compromise than the jarring colors and corrugated metal that adorn more recent construction around campus. 

At least the conventional ugliness of brutalism is intentional. New buildings like Identity Dinkytown and The Standard at Dinkytown have no excuse for disgracing the campus area.

Brutalist architecture does more than just defy architectural norms. Its design has genuine aesthetic value.

Consider the Rarig Center, a West Bank building that holds classrooms for the performing arts.  

I remember looking up at Rarig on many walks back to my room during my first year at the University, thinking it looked sort of like a spaceship. Compared to my dorm — the boring and awkwardly designed Middlebrook Hall — it was memorable to live next to a building that felt uniquely tied to a cultural movement. 

Brutalism questions what architecture can and should be. To dismiss it as ugly is naive. Not all art is pretty, nor should it be.

So criticize all you want, but that won’t stop me from looking up at the concrete facade of Moos Tower against a blue sky, drenched in golden sunlight and feeling inspired.

I’ve just gotten back from class and the world is weighing heavy on my shoulders. Thoughts of classes, my dating life and the state of our nation following the presidential election are swirling in dark clouds around my head.

I’m also parched, so I throw open the refrigerator door and grab a bottle.

I put it to my lips and drink. I feel an explosion of effervescence fill my mouth, which gives way to sweet notes of blood orange, kiwi and cardamom. Today was exhausting, but I feel a sudden rush of vitality and do a full body shake in my kitchen. 

It’s joy, it’s flavor, it’s good health. It’s kombucha.

Thought to have originated in China along the Silk Road, kombucha is a fermented drink made of green or black tea that’s become popular among health nuts and hippies alike. It contains strains of bacteria and yeast, providing a variety of nutritional benefits, as well as live cultures that can support the gut microbiome.

Beverage giants like Coca-Cola and Pepsi load their drinks with added sugars and artificial sweeteners, making it difficult to find alternatives to plain-old H2O that are both tasty and healthy. Unlike a can of Coca-Cola Zero or a Monster energy drink, kombucha is a beverage that satisfies your sweet tooth, boosts your energy and respects your body.

Jewels Jorgensen, a first-year graduate student at the University of Minnesota, said she feels healthier when she drinks kombucha.

“I feel like it’s very rare to find a drink in a store that doesn’t make you feel kind of gross,” Jorgensen said.

I’ve suffered from IBS for the past four years, so I know a thing or two about drinking the wrong type of beverage. Some sneaky kombucha brands load sugar into their drinks, but generally speaking, the yeast and bacteria consume most of the sugar during fermentation. Considering added sugar can cause fatigue, anxiety and digestive issues, it pays to lower your intake.

“It doesn’t give me a crash like a lot of caffeinated drinks give me,” Jorgensen said.

At first, I was skeptical of kombucha. The intense carbonation and unfamiliar-sounding bacteria on the nutrition label unnerved me. With prices sometimes running at more than $5, I couldn’t justify the investment.

But after just a few bottles, I was hooked on the gutsy flavors of my now-favorite fermented beverage. 

Its flaws became its virtues: the punchy effervescence forced me to slow down and savor every drop of what the Synergy kombucha brand has dubbed “liquid life.” Considering the prices of lattes at Starbucks and Caribou, dropping $5 on a bottle of kombucha — or $3.49 if you shop smart and go to Trader Joe’s — felt more than reasonable.

Most importantly, I found something delicious to drink that didn’t make me bloated or put me in so much pain that I could barely walk. 

Even if you don’t have tummy troubles, kombucha can have positive effects on your gut health. 

Bryan Deane Bertsch, owner of local Deane’s Kombucha, said through studying Daoist practice he has learned how fermented beverages can help leverage the gut-brain connection.

“The gut is one of the major energy centers,” Bertsch said. “All the organs connect into the gut. Part of your soul lives in the gut.” 

According to Bertsch, when we feed the gut with healthy bacteria, we can better regulate our emotions and quell feelings of anxiety and physical discomfort brought on by processed foods and drinks. 

Given the current state of our world, it’s more valuable than ever to take care of ourselves. It may be tempting to gorge on Chili-Cheese Fritos or down Dr. Pepper like there’s no tomorrow, but the last thing we need is to let our physical health go by the wayside. 

“When I was working a day job I would hit a lull at two in the afternoon but still have three hours to go,” Bertsch said. “I found that if I have a bottle of kombucha, not only does it give me a spring in my step, but I’m not hungry anymore.”

While I don’t use kombucha as a replacement for food, I do feel more awake after drinking it. When the day drags on and I’m in need of a pick-me-up, treating myself to a bottle of Blood Orange Solstice never fails to lift my spirits.

So next time you’re craving something sweet, I urge you to peruse the kombucha selection when you go shopping. Most conventional grocery stores (and seemingly every non-conventional grocery store) offer at least a few varieties. 

Kombucha won’t solve all of our problems, but it can make these dark times feel a little brighter.

Bottoms up to that.

With the semester in full swing and the elections just around the corner, we’ve got a lot to stress about right now.

But the scores on our midterms and the fate of our nation in the 2024 presidential race are not the only things resting heavily on the minds of University of Minnesota students. Something far more daunting is on the horizon.

No Nut November.

Originating on the internet in 2011, No Nut November is a month-long challenge in which participants (mostly men) attempt to abstain from masturbation for the entire month of November. While satirical in concept, this ultimate test of willpower has become a nationwide phenomenon for content creators and horny teenagers alike.

As silly as it may seem, No Nut November is more than an innocent joke. It’s a manifestation of our social taboos around masturbation, showcasing the misinformation and shame that persists around one of our most fundamental and regulatory biological impulses.

In a survey of 5,000 people around the world, 86% of people ages 18-54 have masturbated at least once, according to the Tenga Global Self Pleasure Report.

Despite its ubiquity, masturbation seldom makes its way into casual conversation.

Izzy Shleifman, a third-year student at the University, said she and her friends have never talked openly about masturbation. Shleifman explained how female self-pleasure is often overlooked, making it difficult for women to have frank conversations about the subject.

“When you hear ‘masturbation,’ you don’t really think about women that much,” Shleifman said. “Some people don’t even think that women masturbate.”

The media and the scientific community have long ignored female masturbation, which has made it difficult for women to know how to achieve sexual satisfaction and the seemingly elusive “female orgasm.”

“My parents lived in South Minneapolis, and there was a sign on somebody’s fence that said, ‘If women had to orgasm to make babies, we would be screwed,’” Shleifman said.

It’s a gross injustice that women often don’t have the resources or confidence to talk about masturbation, but it’s hard to believe trends like No Nut November foster constructive dialogue for anyone.

Growing up, masturbation was the butt of jokes in the locker room, not the subject of conversations about how to better understand our changing bodies. Sometimes I would hear people talk about how not masturbating increased their testosterone levels and improved their mental focus, both of which are common myths.

Ryan Rahm-Knigge, assistant professor and coordinator of the Compulsive Sexual Behavior Program at the University, said he has never recommended a patient abstain from masturbation. He believes masturbation is critical to facilitating self-exploration and improving sexual experiences.

“The more you know your body and how it functions and what feels good, then the more you can share that information with partners,” Rahm-Knigge said. “It can be helpful for addressing concerns around sexual functioning and pain.”

Masturbation has allowed me to gain more autonomy over my body. After years of experimentation, I better understand how and what I need to feel good, which has led to more confidence and satisfaction during sexual encounters.

When we only have to please ourselves, we can create a space of non-judgment where self-exploration is paramount to the opinions of other people.

Rahm-Knigge said masturbation is an equally important part of sexual experiences as sex itself.

“I think because of how it facilitates the exploration of pleasure and it can foster communication, it can enhance relationship functioning and sexual satisfaction,” Rahm-Knigge said. “And so rather than thinking about it as, ‘I just have to get it over with,’ celebrating it as a really important part of sexuality.”

Many of us have been there — you get home from class after a stressful day, and you have a mountain of homework towering above you. But suddenly it seems if you don’t masturbate right away, you might drop dead on the floor. So you clench your fists in annoyance and do the deed as quickly as you can, just so you can finish your work without thinking about Bryce Hall in his underwear — well, maybe that last part is just me.

But what if masturbation was more than a chore? What if it was an opportunity to connect with and show love to your body? I think that’s far more valuable than claiming to have made it past the second week of No Nut November.

So pull down your pants, get up in your junk and show yourself a little love — in a private place, of course. If you feel too afraid or unsure where to begin, websites like Planned Parenthood and Scarleteen provide fact-based information about masturbation, among a wide array of sexual education topics.

In my experience, the best way to feel more comfortable with your body is to talk to your friends or people you trust. You’d be surprised how many of us experience the same struggles, fears and confusion around our sexualities.

With everything we’re dealing with right now, feeling guilty or ashamed of self-pleasure shouldn’t be on your mind.

Life is too short. You know what I’ll be doing on Nov. 1.

It was Oct. 11, 2023. My body wanted to curl up into a tight ball, but I forced myself out of my seat and walked down the steps of the lecture hall. 

My professor introduced me and handed over a small microphone clip that fit awkwardly in my hand. I was startled by how my voice boomed in the cavernous space but pulled myself together and shook off the nerves. 

“I want to acknowledge that today is National Coming Out Day,” I told the class. 

More than 200 faces stared back at me.

“We as queer people have more freedom than any generation before us in the United States — which is amazing — but our lives are still not easy,” I said. “It’s still so important we make ourselves heard. So I guess this is a long way of saying there’s at least one queer person in this room, and it’s me.” 

I saw some faces light up in the audience and received a round of applause. 

I had come a long way to reach that moment last fall.

National Coming Out Day commemorates the first anniversary of the Second March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, which drew a crowd of around 750,000 people on Oct. 11, 1987, in Washington, D.C. It’s a day to reflect on the bravery of queer people and a reminder of why we still must make our voices heard. 

Like many queer people, I struggled for years to be open about my sexuality. In seventh grade, I came out to my parents using the notes app on my phone because I couldn’t will myself to say “I’m gay” out loud. 

I’m lucky enough to have parents who have loved and accepted me at all stages of my life, but coming out is a privilege many queer people do not have. 

Mycall Riley, director of the Gender and Sexuality Center (GSC) at the University of Minnesota, said it’s important to feel safe and cared for before deciding to come out. 

“I think visibility and coming out without community, without affirmation and without a celebration of identity is somewhat null and void,” Riley said. 

Still, telling my parents didn’t make it much easier when I heard gay slurs tossed around the high school locker room. For years, I hid my sexuality from friends, coworkers and my extended family. I went to the Chicago Pride parade in high school and felt no sense of belonging with my queer identity or the queer community.

It wasn’t until I started independently reading books and watching documentaries about queer history that I began to feel more comfortable and connected to my sexuality. Learning about the people who fought and died for the rights I have today has given me a strong sense of pride, inspiring my impromptu speech last October. 

Rick Hoops, program coordinator and admin specialist at the GSC, said their organization is hosting an event in collaboration with the Jean-Nickolaus Tretter collection, a repository of queer and trans archival material at the University, to spread awareness about queer history and National Coming Out Day.

“I really encourage queer folks in their teens, 20s and 30s, even, to keep exploring and learning about queer history,” Hoops said. “Especially engaging with the stories of queer elders in the community, because they fought a lot of battles for us that we now get to reap the benefits of.” 

In middle school, my public-school-issued U.S. history textbook included every movement of the Civil Rights Era except for the gay liberation movement. I remember searching for “homosexual,” “gay” and “lesbian” in the index — any notion that queer people existed before me. There was nothing. 

“The HIV and AIDS epidemic was pretty recent in history,” Hoops said. “I still feel like a lot of younger queer folks just don’t get the education.”

So many of us grow up without role models who reflect our queer identities, which is why it’s important to empower ourselves with moments like National Coming Out Day.

Alexis Pereira, a volunteer at Quatrefoil Library, a non-profit library and community center for the Twin Cities queer community, said National Coming Out Day is an opportunity to recognize a community of people who want to support and accept you on an international scale.

“I think it’s a day about recognizing that you deserve to exist in the world,” Pereira said. “As long as you’re not hurting anybody yourself, you’re allowed to be proud of yourself and your identity, whatever that may be.”

According to an annual report from the FBI, attacks based on gender identity are up 16% and those based on sexual orientation are up 23% from 2022 to 2023. Coupled with the threat of Republican-led anti-LGBTQ+ policies, it’s more important than ever to make ourselves visible.

I try to be the gay man I wish I’d known when I felt isolated and afraid.

For me, being visibly gay rarely means shouting “I’M QUEER!” from the rooftops. It’s as simple as keeping my arm around a boyfriend after a passerby gives me a dirty look or politely correcting someone for assuming a friend sitting next to me is my girlfriend.

This National Coming Out Day, remember that bravery comes in all forms. 

And if you feel ready, I encourage you not to just tiptoe out of the closet. Gather your courage, take out a hammer and break down the door.

Do you want to live in a building next fall that doesn’t respect you? Look no further than The Standard at Dinkytown, our University of Minnesota’s newest apartment complex designed for student housing.

Towering 17 stories above Dinkytown in an awkward conglomeration of rectangles, the under-construction highrise looks more like the product of a Minecraft server than of a commercial construction company. Clad in uninspiring shades of brown, The Standard is yet another eyesore among Dinkytown’s “luxury” apartments.

The building boasts a variety of amenities, like a clubhouse, gym and even an outdoor pool. You may question the utility of a rooftop pool in a place as cold and windy as Minnesota, but The Standard website assures their building will allow future residents to live their college lives to the fullest.

The Standard can pamper students with boxes of Insomnia Cookies in their newly opened leasing office and tout the promise of “beautiful resort-style amenities” all they want, but their marketing campaign is a pathetic distraction from the fact that the rise of luxury housing in Dinkytown has had detrimental effects on our iconic campus neighborhood.

Before the 2010s, most of Dinkytown housing was clapboard houses and small low-rise apartment buildings. As the University population increased and demand for housing closer to campus skyrocketed, the area experienced a boom in real estate development. First came Sydney Hall followed in quick succession by The Marshall, Venue at Dinkytown and Fieldhouse Dinkytown, to name a few.

Students living closer to campus add vibrancy to our University community, but there’s a right and a wrong way to expand student housing options. Unfortunately, most of Dinkytown has moved in the wrong direction. 

Myron Orfield, director of the Institute on Metropolitan Opportunity, said the area around our University has become highly desirable due to its proximity to Minneapolis and St. Paul as well as its various public transit options, which have contributed to the spike in rent prices.

“They could, through zoning, be using density bonuses and set-asides to make sure units are affordable,” Orfield said, “But the city hasn’t been willing to do that.” 

Neither have the owners of the buildings themselves.

With prices for a single bedroom in a two-person unit at The Marshall approaching $1,200, and nearly $1,700 for a one-bedroom unit at The Standard, most students in Dinkytown pay a pretty penny if they want to have a room to themselves near campus. As a result, doubling up with roommates is often inevitable, meaning only students who can manage such exorbitant rent are able to live both comfortably and close to campus.

Ash Albera, a second-year student at the University, said when looking for an apartment he mainly prioritizes a building that’s well-maintained, cheap and has unique character.

“I would like to be able to have different options than just a white square,” Albera said.

Crown molding and original millwork may be too much to ask for as a college student, but the new style of apartment complexes in Dinkytown disparages the neighborhood’s architectural history.

“I feel like a lot of it has that gentrified, modern style,” Albera said. “It looks nice on the outside, but when you go inside it’s kind of crappy.”

One of the most iconic parts of Dinkytown is its old buildings, like the old site of Gray’s Campus Drug, the Varsity Theater and Al’s Breakfast, which give our campus neighborhood unique charm. 

The new apartment buildings completely ignore that history, covering the streetscape with strangely colored architectural monstrosities designed to cram as many students as possible into shoebox-sized bedrooms.

But the problem with these buildings is more than aesthetic.

Reagan Frystak, who lives in the recently constructed Fieldhouse, said she feels like her building is already trashed after just two years of student use.

“Our microwave just broke this morning,” Frystak said. “We’re paying so much to be there, it should be lasting a lot longer than it actually is.”

Frystak said the building’s smelly hallways, urine stains on the carpet from neighbors’ pets and peeling paint on the walls have affected her quality of life in the building.

“I would definitely say the space you’re getting for the price you’re paying is not worth it,” Frystak said. 

The condition of Fieldhouse is not representative of all Dinkytown’s housing stock, but other new apartment buildings have given rise to similarly frustrating problems. Take Identity, for example, which failed to finish construction on time last fall and left hundreds of students without an apartment for the first few weeks of the semester. 

All of the drama these buildings have caused the campus community begs the question of why college students need upscale living in the first place. Luxury is what I’ll enjoy if I land a six-figure job, not when I’m already paying thousands of dollars a year for tuition and have no reliable source of income. 

As we go through our time at the University, what we truly need are places to live that are affordable, structurally sound and respect our rights as tenants — not saunas, sprawling fitness centers and tanning beds. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with expanding housing options for students. In fact, I’d argue it’s necessary to support our growing student body. 

But come on, Dinkytown, Let’s cut the fluff.

Here’s a pop quiz: which presidential candidate carries a Communist Party credential?

If you’ve paid attention to Donald Trump lately, you know the answer is Kamala Harris. 

Trump said during a recent Wisconsin rally that Harris “is in fact a Marxist communist.” 

Looking to attack her campaign after she became the Democratic presidential candidate in August, Trump nicknamed Harris “Comrade Kamala” and posted an AI-generated image of her speaking in front of the communist flag. 

In a recent fundraising pitch from his campaign, Trump wrote, “Comrade Kamala and Dangerously Liberal Tim Walz will burn this country to the ground!” 

If we’re being honest, Trump has yet to provide any evidence these claims are true. Harris has led the stock market to an all-time high, with plans in her new administration to give tax cuts to the middle class and expand economic resources for small businesses in her new administration.

But like any good American citizen, I’m not one to question the powers of authority. If Trump is claiming Harris is a communist dictator who plans to rule our country with her woke mob, I believe him. 

In fact, since fact-checked evidence is out of fashion with Trump and his supporters, I can finally confirm my suspicion that someone just as sinister as Harris has been lurking in the University of Minnesota’s shadow, hiding right under our noses. 

His name is Goldy Gopher. 

Goldy may play the loveable school mascot, but beneath that buck-toothed smile is a tyrannical communist. 

According to Britannica, “Communism is a political and economic system that seeks to create a classless society in which the major means of production, such as mines and factories, are owned and controlled by the public.”

There may not be any mines or factories on our campus, but it’s become clear Goldy seeks to control the University’s major means of production — the student body.

If you don’t believe me, you clearly weren’t at Goldy’s communist rally this past weekend, which he disguised as the University of Iowa vs. University of Minnesota football game. 

Standing in my spot in the student section of Huntington Bank Stadium, I trembled as I looked at the fans around me, clad in maroon and gold, which is just a few shades off from the red and yellow of the communist flag. Everyone was holding a rally towel decorated with a graphic of a pig and the words “Steal the Bacon” above it. Goldy must have forgotten to add “…from the hands of the free market.” 

No one seemed alarmed. After all, these were Goldy’s most devoted followers. But I struggled to imagine how anyone could attend such an event and still call themselves an American.

Things only got worse in the minutes leading up to kickoff. The crowd began to “Row the Boat” as the Gopher football team ran onto the field. 

A chill ran down my spine as we linked arms and swayed side-to-side, chanting “Row, row, row!” Where was this proverbial boat headed? Away from the shimmering sea of capitalism and into the murky depths of a communist regime? 

When Goldy walked onto the field, the crowd erupted in applause. With his maroon-and-gold cape billowing in the wind, he pranced around the stadium and pumped his fist in the air, leading the crowd in the Minnesota Rouser. 

“Rah for the U of M!” my fellow students yelled, bleating like sheep as Goldy assumed his place on a podium and cast his gaze over the field. 

A large flag with our school chant, “Ski-U-Mah!” was draped over the student section. Thoroughly wasted and dripping sweat in the afternoon sun, my peers had no time to consider the phrase’s deeply anti-American implications. 

You see, if you take out the “m” and the “a” from “Ski-U-Mah,” rearrange the remaining letters, then add a few more letters, you get Karl Marx’s famous communist rallying cry of “Workers of the world, unite!” 

Coincidence? Goldy can’t fool me.

Just like how Trump has repeatedly said crime in America is “up and through the roof,” I’ve watched our University fall apart in the past few years. You can’t even cross the street in Dinkytown without getting immediately mugged or murdered. I may not have the data to support this, but neither does Trump, so it’s safe to say Goldy’s communist agenda will only bring more chaos to our University lives.

Some may question Goldy’s true motives in the same way the media has scrutinized Trump’s fact-free labeling of Harris as a communist, but I don’t care about them. They’re probably communists themselves.

I know what will happen to our University if Goldy builds his woke leftist regime. Principles of Marxism will be the only liberal education requirement and a clone of Soviet Union leader Joseph Stalin will replace Rebecca Cunningham as University president, banning the word “freedom” from all textbooks.

It’s simple, folks — if we stop Goldy, we save our University. We can’t let facts get in our way.

Walked around East Bank lately? You’ve likely had the misfortune of laying eyes upon Coffman Union. Surrounded by concrete and covered with scaffolding, the building sticks out like a sore thumb across the shade-dappled lawns of Northrop Mall.

It only gets worse as you walk inside. The glass doors of the main entrance lead to a central room framed by pillars in a jarring shade of yellow with chrome detailing. The floor is divided into sections of dark gray carpet and sleek black tile, with the glare of fluorescent lights and the glow of chic wall sconces overhead. It is Art Deco meets outdated office building — a concept best left for the wastepaper basket.

The free-to-use baby grand piano tucked into the corner fills the space with the pleasant noise of impromptu pianists, but it hardly makes up for the lack of grandeur.

Constructed in 1940 as “a center for social life,” Coffman Union holds the sprawling University Bookstore, a food court, a movie theater, a post office, event spaces, a bowling alley and more. 

While it provides essential student resources, it’s due for a major upgrade.

Besides its displeasing aesthetic, Coffman Union suffers another affliction — too many students. The class of 2028 has 7,300 freshmen, the most in University of Minnesota history, which has contributed to the crowding of study spaces, buses and food lines across campus this semester.

Wincy Perez, a third-year student, said he dislikes how busy the food court gets around lunchtime. At midday, the sight of the Coffman Union food court is pandemonium. Employees yell out order numbers and students pack in like sardines between the King’s Hawaiian Grill and Panda Express. It’s not a pleasant place to spend time between classes.

But if there’s one rule at Coffman Union, it’s the lower you go, the worse it gets. 

Below the hectic food court is the basement floor. While home to Goldy’s Gameroom and the lively Whole Music Club, it feels more like a bunker than a place to socialize on a Friday night. The ceilings are low enough for any tall person to touch, and the only seating is next to the escalators in a windowless hallway. Nonetheless, the space was teeming with students typing furiously at their laptops, looking stressed and uncomfortable in the sterile atmosphere. 

Philip Buabeng, a third-year student, said when he needs to study, he finds the spaces at Coffman Union inadequate. Walter Library is often full, so it can be difficult to find a reliable place to work on East Bank, Buabeng said. 

“There’s no dedicated study space,” Baubeng said. “Just spaces where you can just sit.” 

I’ll admit Coffman Union is not bad in its entirety. There’s always something fun going on, from concerts at the Whole Music Club to the immensely popular bingo night on Wednesdays. According to Student Unions and Activities (SUA), the Campfire Kickoff event at the start of this semester drew a crowd of more than 700 students, highlighting their work in engaging the student body.

There’s also the newly renovated second floor — walk up three flights of stairs from the dreadful basement and you feel as though you’re in a different building. The space offers stylish study spots (which are often fully occupied) and places for student groups ranging from the Queer Student Cultural Center to the Asian American Student Union.

Ayden Davis-Barth, a University engagement chair for the Black Student Union (BSU), said while the Coffman Union could use a little more love, he appreciates having a dedicated place for students in BSU to relax, study and socialize on campus.

“Given the current state of BSU, it’s more than enough space,” Davis-Barth said. 

He also expressed gratitude for his relationship with Mi Gente, the Latino student group next door, which fits the building’s intention of fostering unity. Perhaps Floor Two could serve as a blueprint for the lower floors of the Union, which are years past the point of needing a renovation.

The nicest part of the Union, the Campus Club, is mostly inaccessible to students. The full-service restaurant and bar sits atop the building’s crown and provides sweeping views of the Minneapolis skyline and Mississippi River but at a price. A membership costs students $50 per year, allowing unlimited entry into the restaurant. The cherry on top? You still have to pay for the food, which is expensive in its own right. 

For a building designed to unite the student body, dedicating the swankiest floor for serving overpriced lunches and hosting private events is a middle finger four stories above us cash-strapped students. 

Coffman Union is supposed to be the heart of campus, but the University has let much of it go to waste. It’s not a place where I feel inspired or excited to be a Gopher. To me, it’s just a dingy building where I go to mail a package or pick up a textbook from the bookstore.

Jason Hancock, director of SUA, said while the University is considering renovations and updates to Coffman Union, they’re focusing on the planned reconstruction of the St. Paul Student Center. 

“We continue to hear, not just us at SUA but through Student Affairs and our other units, how neglected the St. Paul campus feels,” Hancock said. “As we’re trying to serve all students, that’s really where our energy has gone.”

As someone who takes classes on the St. Paul campus five days a week, I couldn’t agree more. But the University needs to prioritize more than just one important building at a time, especially those in such need of repair.

There’s also the elephant in the room — Lotus Delta Coffman, for whom the building takes its name. 

Coffman served as the fifth president of the University from 1920-1938 and was notoriously racist and anti-semitic, closely monitoring Jewish student admissions and outspokenly barring African-American students from living in dormitories. 

In 2018, the Minnesota Student Association passed a resolution to rename Coffman Memorial Union, but the Board of Regents struck down the proposal in a 10-1 vote. I can’t imagine why just “Memorial Union” would be such a terrible name, but it’s a shame a building meant to serve every student at the University still bears the legacy of its bigoted namesake.

Our University is changing, Coffman. It’s time to catch up.