A Lavender Letter

To close out Pride Month… 

An Open Letter to 2SLGBTQIA+ Graduating Students

How many of you know who Judy Garland is?

If you're not familiar, she was a legendary actress and singer, best known for playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and for her unforgettable rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Beyond her fame, Garland became a symbol of resilience, especially to queer and trans communities, during the 1950s and ’60s. Her life was marked by incredible talent, yes, but also by public struggle, personal vulnerability, and the quiet strength of someone who endured.

That strength resonated with many who also lived on the margins, especially queer folks who, in a time of criminalization and silence, were searching for hope, kinship, or even just a flicker of light in the dark. Asking someone if they were “a friend of Dorothy” became a subtle but radical act: a way to find each other in a world that told us to stay hidden. It was coded language that created queer community before we had the freedom, or the safety, to speak plainly.

Now, quick quiz: when did the Stonewall Uprising begin?

That’s right, the early hours of June 28, 1969. But here’s something you might not know: Judy Garland’s funeral took place in New York City the day before, on June 27th.

Was it coincidence that tensions boiled over that night? Maybe. But when people are grieving, not just the loss of a beloved queer icon, but the ongoing trauma of erasure, violence, and systemic injustice, eventually something breaks open.

Historians may debate the connection, but here’s what we know: grief is a portal. It can bring long-buried emotions to the surface. And when people feel like they’ve lost the last person who understood them, it can become the catalyst for transformation.

Sylvia Rivera, a trans Latina activist who was there at Stonewall, reportedly said, “It’s the end of an era. No one left to look up to.”

Let’s fast-forward.

To say that 2025 has been difficult would be an understatement. In recent months, I’ve heard 2SLGBTQIA+ students describe feeling invisible, afraid, powerless. Anti-trans legislation, book bans, attacks on drag culture, and rising queerphobia have cast a long shadow across this year. Even in the midst of graduating, a moment that should be all celebration, many of you are carrying a quiet heaviness.

You’re standing on the edge of something new, and it’s completely normal to feel unsure, even anxious, about what comes next. Especially when the world still too often tells you that there’s no place for people like us.

But let me remind you: this feeling is part of the queer journey. Think back, long before January, when you faced something you thought you couldn’t get through. Maybe it was the ache of being misgendered. Maybe it was your first day navigating campus housing while advocating for your identity. Maybe it was coming out, or staying in, and the thousand silent negotiations that decision required.

And yet…

Here you are.

You are here. In all your brilliance, defiance, tenderness, and truth.

What I want you to remember is this: doubt is temporary. Fear is natural. And every barrier? It was built to be broken.

You are more powerful than you realize. 

More resilient than you ever imagined you'd need to be. 

And every challenge you’ve faced, every time you’ve had to code-switch, advocate, educate, or simply survive, has prepared you for the world ahead.

So even if it feels like the end of an era, know that it’s also the beginning of something new.

When Sylvia Rivera said, “It’s the end of an era. No one left to look up to,” she was speaking from a place of deep exhaustion. But what she couldn’t have known in that moment is that she herself would become a beacon for generations of queer and trans people to come. What began that night, what felt like breaking, was actually a breakthrough.

The Stonewall Uprising didn’t just mark the end of something. It sparked the beginning of queer liberation as we know it. A new era of resistance, of pride, of visibility, and of unapologetic queer joy.

And just like that, you too have the power to turn moments of uncertainty into transformation. To be someone others will look up to. To build something future generations will inherit. To keep queering what was never built for us, and to reimagine what could be.

You’ve already done it, just by being you, by being here.And that is truly worth celebrating.

In love and solidarity,

Fenix (they/she)