<!–A shouted slur came ringing down from a fraternity house porch on State St. as Jim Toy walked past. Toy stopped for a second and made some quick mental calculations. He was in his 50s and outnumbered—definitely at a disadvantage if things turned physical. But it was a busy street, a sunny summer day, with lots of people walking by.He turned and strode up the sidewalk to the porch."Any of you guys want to talk?" he asked.Silence."Have a nice day," Toy said, as he turned and went on his way.That was 20 years ago, but it could have been yesterday, or maybe tomorrow.Many in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer community on the University of Michigan campus feel that has come incrementally and with the swiftness of a glacial retreat. It is better, by far, than it was the day Toy walked up to that porch, but for people whose sexual orientation doesn't fit the traditional mold, life is still sometimes an exercise in courage and restraint. "We're human beings and we all struggle to feel secure," said Toy, who's been working for gay rights in Michigan for more than 40 years. "Many of us turn to possessions, or to putting down people who are unlike ourselves to enhance that feeling of security."The university, in these 40 years, has come a long way. We have a long way to go. We just keep on moving; we keep on fighting. There cannot be an end to the path, human nature being what it is."

Changing the rules

When the University of Michigan opened its Human Sexuality Office (now known as the Spectrum Center) in 1971 the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual still listed homosexuality as a mental illness, and every state in the nation had a sodomy statute. Needless to say, no one was making laws protecting gays and lesbians from discrimination based on their sexual orientation.

Given the social atmosphere, establishing an office to address the needs of gay and lesbian students was groundbreaking and risky. No other university in the country had anything like it. Yet it would be six years before the office’s co-directors were promoted from quarter-time employees to half-time. In 1972 Toy and co-director Cynthia Gair started working to have sexual orientation added to the university’s nondiscrimination policy, a change the Board of Regents approved—21 years later. Ten years after that, the policy was expanded again to include gender expression and gender identity.Time and persistence have chipped away at the general public’s tolerance for intolerance, but discrimination doesn’t go away just because there’s a rule against it. “I think the effort around appreciation and inclusion of LGBT people still has a lot of work to do,” said Jackie Simpson, director of the Spectrum Center, which celebrates its 40th anniversary this year. “I think people feel to some extent that it’s still OK to be publicly homophobic.”

Just ask Chris Armstrong

Armstrong, who graduated in April, served as president of the Michigan Student Assembly his senior year—the first openly gay MSA president in school history. During his term, Armstrong worked to advance several issues, including a gender-neutral housing policy that would allow students to opt into living with someone of the opposite gender. For students who identify as transgender or are questioning their gender identity, gender-neutral housing would be a step toward the same kind of residence hall experience as other students, without the isolation or added expense of rooming alone.Armstrong came under attack by Michigan alum Andrew Shirvell, then a Michigan Assistant Attorney General, for what Shirvell called a “radical homosexual agenda.” Over the course of several months, Shirvell directed unfounded accusations and hateful language at Armstrong, both at public events and in his blog, until Armstrong finally sought a personal protection order. The campus community rallied behind Armstrong. The “We support Chris Armstrong” Facebook community grew more than 18,000 strong. The Board of Regents banned Shirvell from campus and issued a statement that “When one member of our community is targeted because of his or her identity, we are all attacked.” Local, state and national news outlets took notice.”Part of the Chris Armstrong situation was it also attracted national news,” said Simpson. “You can go back 15 years and see some news stories that were pretty homophobic and felt OK about being that way.””I think [U-M], particularly under President Coleman’s leadership, has decided they do have values and a sense of what it means to work and be at Michigan. There’s a certain amount of respect and valuing difference and not bullying or personally attacking someone who’s different than you.”

A changing culture

No one would argue that the culture on campus hasn’t evolved since 1970, even in longstanding pockets of resistance like the Greek system and athletics, where ideals of manliness and femininity seem to cling tightest. The Lambda Alliance, created in 2007 as a bridge between the Greek and LGBT communities, works to train allies in the Greek system. Entire fraternity and sorority council executive boards have sought out training in the past few years, says Spectrum Center senior assistant director Gabe Javier.And a handful of U-M athletes—starting with gymnast Jamie Thompson in 2005—have been openly gay during their college careers. Thompson told his team he was gay before he told his parents.”I told them all one at a time, and everyone’s response was, ‘OK, whatever.’ I think they already knew,” he said.Neither his coaches nor the athletes he hung out with from other sports ever made it an issue, he says. Homophobic reactions were much more the exception than the rule.That’s consistent with Spectrum Center surveys of the Greek system and athletics, which showed that about 80 percent of students were fine with having a gay teammate or fraternity brother or teammate.But when asked if the system is friendly to LGBTQ people as a group, 80 percent said no. And because people are reluctant to stand up to this culture, many LGBTQ people don’t feel safe enough to come out.”The culture isn’t changing, or it’s changing much more slowly,” Simpson said.Tim Martin was a walk-on baseball player at Michigan in 1982 and later a student radio announcer for Michigan baseball and hockey. Martin didn’t tell anyone he was gay while he was still a student, partly because he was still figuring it out himself. Even when he knew, there was no way he would have let on to the athletes or coaches he covered.”No way in hell,” he said. “It was taboo. Even today it’s kind of regressive, although there are a lot of gay athletes out now.”Martin is one of them, now living in south Florida where the gay community is more active and vibrant than anything he could have imagined when he was in college. He plays in a competitive gay softball league, and bowls five nights a week on a gay bowling league. “I think [community is] tremendously important. At this point I would call it vital,” he said. “You have to have that group of people you feel safe around all the time. There are certain pockets of intolerance where you have to watch your back and be careful, but it’s a lot better than it was 20 years ago, and it’s going to be even better 20 years from now.”

Building Community

Brian Hull came to U-M in 2001, an openly gay former high school football captain. Hull would eventually become treasurer of the Michigan Student Assembly and a member of the Order of Angell, a self-selecting senior honor society that includes student government officers, team captains, academic and Greek leaders. He’s proud of the gay legacy he helped build in those organizations, and the place it makes for those who’ll come after him.”The reason why I got involved in the first place [came from] thinking about the 16-year-old kids out there, not knowing what to do, not knowing that there’s anyone else out there, not knowing that there’s a community out there for you,” he said. Today the university offers a minor and a graduate certificate in Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer Studies. The hospital provides transgender medical services, gender-neutral housing. But with more than 20 organizations and offices for LGBTQ people and their allies, the greatest advance of the last 40 years may be the community that has grown at Michigan.”I think we’re naturally community-building people,” Javier said. “We crave that. And when we’re talking about the LGBTQ community getting together we’re talking about a common struggle—sometimes a shared pain—but it’s also about building community around being an empowered group and a very resilient group of people, which is just as—if not more—important.”–>