On Sept. 17, LGBTQ+ students across campus woke up to see homophobic graffiti on Korb Hall.

In an email to students, Chris Jenkins, interim director of public safety and chief of Kent State University Police, repeatedly stressed the graffiti damaged university property.

He said nothing of the students the graffiti targeted.

“Criminal damaging and the people who carry it out have no place in our Kent State community,” Jenkins said.

And while he’s right that vandalism is wrong, Jenkins failed to understand the damage to Korb was of more than monetary value.

Three years ago as an incoming freshman, I looked up at Korb from my mom’s SUV anxiously.

Home to Kent State’s LGBTQ+ Learning-Living Community, the building felt equally daunting and exciting to an 18-year-old from Pennsylvania. I had worked feverishly in the weeks leading up to school to ensure I had a room in the hall.

Like countless other LGBTQ+ individuals, I painfully hid my sexuality, even from my closest friends and family, for years. I made a plan after graduating high school that college would be the end of that.

So, when I found out my original housing assignment placed me with a roommate counter to that plan, I made calls to staff who decided my best option would be to make a last-minute room change to Korb. There I could be myself without fear of discrimination.

But as my mom pulled into the building’s parking lot, I began to wonder if I had made a big mistake. Having not come out to my mom yet, the Pride flags draped in the windows of Korb only served to remind me of how much further I had to go before I could accept myself.

Luckily, Korb provided fertile soil to do that.

It was in Korb where I navigated difficult conversations with my roommate on identity and masculinity, and the pain it can cause gay and bisexual men. It was in Korb where I threw up in a trashcan from nervousness before my first date with a guy. It was in Korb where I experienced my first heartbreak.

And it was in Korb where I sent a coming out text to my mom, and then another one to my dad.

Every memory I have of Korb is a beautiful, special moment of awkward adolescence. They are moments every Kent State student should have on this campus regardless of their sexuality.

So when I think of the freshmen in Korb who awoke to a homophobic slur — a threat — painted on their building, I can’t help but break down.

I have to ask myself why the students in Korb aren’t entitled to the same experiences of college life as other students. I also have to ask myself why LGBTQ+ students aren’t afforded the same fierce defense from the university as other minority groups.

In 2020, a racist message painted on the KSU Rock shook the campus community, particularly Black students.

On the day the message was discovered, the university sent a statement of support for students and an unequivocal condemnation of the message.

“Today, we became aware of a message painted on the KSU Rock that was offensive and insulting to many, specifically to members of our Black community. Messages that are intended to be upsetting and hurtful are unconstructive and do not reflect our core values as a university.”

President Todd Diacon and KSU police marched with students to the Rock. During the protest, Diacon said he felt despair at the words and affirmed his support for Black students. He also announced the formation of an anti-racism task force to study the challenges and barriers that students face on campus, particularly how anti-Black racism has impeded the success of Black students.

While many students initially criticized the university for its response, it was ultimately a masterclass in how to respond to attacks on marginalized groups.

When the anti-racism task force released its findings – which included more than 100 recommendations to the university — Lamar Hylton, co-chair of the task force and then senior vice president of student affairs, said the university was committed to examining other populations on campus.

But after numerous attacks on the LGBTQ+ community during my time on campus, the university’s response has always been silence.

In October 2022, a vandal slashed Pride flag banners hanging on the Main Street bridge after others were stolen days earlier.

Months later, students reported several instances of homophobic graffiti on campus.

At the time, fellow journalists urged me to stay quiet on the issue. Some even told me I had to choose between my identity as a gay man and my credibility as a journalist.

I contemplated writing this piece because I take my role as news director seriously. I understand the objectivity expected from journalists, and I am especially aware of that expectation as I start my job search in just a few months.

But the work of journalists is to make the public aware and simultaneously hold it accountable, and our own institutions are not an exception. I also realize that if there are issues I do not think this university can remain objective on, I cannot pretend to hold an objective stance myself.

To Jenkins’ credit, he affirmed in his statement the university’s commitment to a community of kindness and respect. But such a community cannot exist if the administration refuses to defend its LGBTQ+ students just as it would other marginalized groups.

Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man elected to public office in California, famously said, “All young people, regardless of sexual orientation or identity, deserve a safe and supportive environment in which to achieve their full potential.”

For Jenkins, I offer up another quote from Milk: “I personally will never forget that people are more important than buildings.”

Alton Northup is news director. Contact him at [email protected].