ATHENS The Summer I Stayed In
Maggie Malone | Editor-in-Chief backdropmag@gmail.com
Letter from the editor
Hello Reader,
Thank you for picking up this copy of Backdrop. We worked hard all summer to produce this issue, and as Backdrop's Editor-in-Chief for the 2025-2026 academic year, I’m beyond excited to share it with you. What makes Backdrop so special is the team behind it. We deeply care about the people, places and experiences that give this town its character. The spirit of our shared devotion to telling stories that matter here in Athens runs strong throughout this issue. As you flip through these pages, you’ll find articles that capture the feeling of living, learning and creating in our local community.
Photo Director Claira Tokarz’s photo story, featured on the cover, encapsulates the small-town Appalachian air that Athens carries when students leave each summer (pg. 22). Sophomore writer Nora Barnard reports on the loss of Ohio University’s Pride Center and how this loss impacts students on campus (pg. 32). Junior writer and Section Editor Lilia Santeramo highlights Brian Koscho, a local multimedia professional who’s dedicated to broadening the reach of Athens County's history (pg. 11).
Beyond the stories in this issue, what excites me most is the energy of our staff this year. Our meetings are filled with big ideas and the type of collaboration that reminds me how powerful student media is. This issue is built on that enthusiasm, and it’s an honor to bring it to life.
Thank you to Creative Director Ally Parker and Art Director Matthias Agganis, who were tasked with the responsibility of training and supporting a herd of new designers for the production of this issue. Finally, thank you to our readers! Fall Issue 2 is already in the works, so stay tuned.
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an email to backdropmag@gmail.com or to our Marketing Director, Jennavieve Kernc at Jk760621@ohio.edu to get started!
Backdrop magazine is an award-winning, student-run magazine aimed at covering current events and culture with OU and Athens as our "Backdrop." We are currently recruiting more people to join our amazing staff. We have positions available for:
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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MAGGIE MALONE
MANAGING EDITOR MIYA MOORE
COPY CHIEF SUZANNE PIPER
SECTION EDITORS LILIA SANTERAMO, LUKE WERCKMAN
COPY EDITORS CLARA LEDER, CLAIRE MOSSBRUGER, SUZANNE PIPER, OLIVIA TROWBRIDGE
WRITERS NORA BARNARD, MADELEINE COLBERT, PARKER JENDRYSIK, MAGGIE MALONE, SUZANNE PIPER, LILIA SANTERAMO, CLAIRA TOKARZ, DARCIE ZUDELL
MARKETING DIRECTOR JENNAVIEVE KERNC
ASSISTANT MARKETING DIRECTOR DIVY BOSE
CREATIVE DIRECTOR ALLY PARKER
ART DIRECTOR MATTHIAS AGGANIS
DESIGNERS MATTHIAS AGGANIS, SOPHIA CIANCIOLA, BRADLEY CUNNINGHAM, ELIZABETH DICKERSON, ZOE DUNCAN, SONNY JAY, LEE MALLAMACI, ALLY PARKER, ELLIE SABATINO, TOBY SUTHERLAND, CLAIRA TOKARZ
PHOTO DIRECTOR CLAIRA TOKARZ
SOCIAL MEDIA DIRECTOR ELIZABETH DICKERSON
ASSISTANT SOCIAL MEDIA DIRECTOR PARKER JENDRYSIK
DIGITAL DIRECTOR JULIA PARENTE
VIDEO DIRECTOR ZACH BAIC
ASSISTANT VIDEO DIRECTOR TORI KYER
FEATURES
HOPEFUL ROMANTICS
A generation’s commitment, or lack thereof, to romance in the 21st century........14 GOOD MOURNING ATHENS
Inside the local group that openly discusses death and dying.....................18
COMMUNITY
FOUND FAMILY
Local podcast explores what "adoption" truly means ............................ ..........6
ELEVATING THE TRAIL
One student's design, created for a visual communications class, reimagines Baileys Trail signage and mapping with clarity and safety in mind ............. ..........................8
UNCOVERING OHIO
Brian Koscho brings Athens County history to a wider audience ............. ................10
Q&A
DAVE DEIBI DOES IT ALL
You know him or someone you know does.....12
PHOTO ESSAY
THE SUMMER I STAYED IN ATHENS
A visual diary of a small town in its offseason . .. . 22
OPINION
TWISTER!
Is Tornado Alley shifting more towards Ohio and does climate change have something to do with it? ................................. ...... 28
PRESIDENT PUSHOVER
President Dr. Lori Stewart Gonzalez's refusal to speak out against Ohio Senate Bill 1 showcases a broader failure of leadership in higher education .............. ..................... 30
THE DROP
PUTTING PRIDE BACK IN THE CLOSET
Ohio University's Pride Center leaves the scene as students search for new support systems ..32
VOICES
GROWING PAINS
A 20-something's personal essay about change and identity.................................. 34
Found Family
Local podcast explores what "adoption" truly means
BY MADELEINE COLBERT | DESIGN BY SOPHIA CIANCIOLA
We all experience adoption.
While a particular definition of “adoption” may first come to mind upon hearing the word, adoption is present in many different ways in everyone's lives. "The Anna Jinja Show," a podcast currently based in Athens, is tackling this topic headon by exploring what defines adoption and how people define themselves both within it and in relation to it.
"The Anna Jinja Show" released its first episode in May 2023 and has been releasing 20-minute episodes weekly ever since. Anna Jinja Mather is an adoptee from Seoul, South Korea, who grew up in Iowa. She now lives in Athens, where she works as Ohio University's Director of Academic Marketing Strategy. She created "The Anna Jinja Show" to share her own experiences with adoption and those of other adoptees, as well as to talk about adoption of all forms: from familial adoption and foster care, to the adoption of beliefs, ideas and cultures.
“We adopt our communities, we adopt our values and experiences to create who we are, and so the point of the podcast, really, is that sometimes there are things that are different about us, that are unique, and while my experience is through the lens of adoption, we all experience these questions of identity, of belonging,” Mather says.
This idea, or motif, of belonging pervades the entire show and is present both in the episodes and within the staff working on the show itself. For Linnea Hietala, the show's social media
manager, the theme of inclusion is what made her want to be involved in the show in the first place. According to Hietala, the sense of connection fostered by the podcast isn’t limited to its audience; it’s something she experiences firsthand within the team during production.
“I do feel like we have even a little sense of community just in our weekly meetings ... even within the show's behind the scenes, I feel like there is a community and a sense of belonging as well. I feel like a core part of the team,” Hietala says.
Community, also referred to as "chosen family," is another central theme in the podcast and a core part of what it means to belong. The ability to build a supportive network wherever you are is essential to life, and this is explored deeply within the show. This theme is something that appealed to Zoie Lambert, the show’s storytelling consultant and OU graduate.
“I have been all across the country. I went to college three hours from my home. I’ve lived five hours from my original home, and in order to thrive, you need people around you that support you, and sometimes you cannot. You don’t have family in all 50 states, or any country you go to, so you have to form connections that reveal your chosen family,” Lambert says.
Another distinctive aspect of the podcast is that every guest who shares their story is paired with an artist, musician or poet who creates or selects
a piece of art related to the guest's narrative. This approach highlights emerging creatives while also expanding the podcast’s message, offering new ways for audiences to connect with it.
“They may not be an adoptee or in the foster care system, but they hear something about the story that connects to them, that helps with the creative process ... and then they come on the show to talk about, ‘Why did you pick this song for me? What are the things that are connected? What are the things we might not have in common? What are the things we do have in common?’ And that creates this transformative experience of people understanding that we all belong on this Earth,” Mather says.
Outside of the more figurative or metaphorical definitions of adoption, the show focuses on the challenges adoptees face in their lives and how adoption is often misunderstood. Many of these stories, often featured in mainstream media, focus on adopted kids finding their birth parents, or the story is told entirely from the adoptive parents’ point of view. This trend can harm adoptees and how comfortable they feel sharing their own experiences around adoption, as many times, it doesn’t center on the feelings of the adoptees themselves.
“There are some guests that have been on this show that have been afraid to talk about their feelings with their adoptive parents about still feeling grief or sorrow ... because there is this belief
that adoptees should feel grateful ... and I would like to dispel the notion that, just because somebody is in a better place because of their adoption, that they can't feel grief and sadness about what is lost as an adoptee,” Mather says.
Through shaping the show’s online presence, Hietala became deeply familiar with how limiting the language around adoption can be. Everyone has different experiences and stories that define their emotions surrounding adoption, and these feelings can be difficult to express without accidentally hurting someone along the way. This complexity became something Hietala witnesses firsthand as she manages the podcast’s social media.
“The complications of adoption and
the adoption community, at one point, were something that I tiptoed around. I was a little more fearful just because I never wanted to offend anyone or hurt anyone's feelings ... but then through hearing more stories about adoption in the broader sense, in the sense the show talks about, as everyone experiencing it, I think that has opened my mind to the idea of how stories of adoption can be reframed as healing,” Hietala says.
Healing is another thread that weaves throughout the entire show. Adoption experts frequently come on and help facilitate weighted conversations. They give advice to both guests and listeners alike. Mather also tries to foster a safe environment for healing where people
are free to discuss experiences without fear of rejection. The show aims to build healing between people and communities — and share that message with as many people as they can.
“It seems everyone is becoming more and more divided, and finding ways to be able to connect and be able to have compassion, sympathy and empathy is important ... With this podcast, people feel their hearts soften. And when you think about people making the choice to adopt another human being into their family, and to be able to love without any barriers and to be able to help people reach their full potential through loving them is a very powerful message,” Mather says. b
“I started by thinking through what mountain bikers really need to stay safe and have a good time — stuff like trail length, terrain, elevation changes, difficulty and where to find water. Once I had those key layers figured out, it gave me a solid structure to work with. From there, I focused on making it look like it belonged in a national park — that rustic, vintage vibe with a handcrafted feel. The goal was to make something that not only works well but also feels right for both the brand and the people using it.”
BRADLEY CUNNINGHAM
MA CANDIDATE, INFOGRAPHICS & PUBLICATION DESIGN
'STARIN’ HERON'
1.8 MILES | DIFFICULT LEVEL | STEEP HILL TERRAIN
Starin’ Heron is the longest downhill flow trail in the Big Bailey Ridge Area, bringing you from the heights of Nebo Spirit down to the Big Bailey Run wetland. Keep an eye out for the Great Blue Heron as you catch a glimpse of the water below. Starin’ Heron features expert-level B-lines with very large drops; remember to keep an eye out for warning signage. Check out Tanager Twist to climb back up for when you inevitably want a second loop of this one.
ELEVATING THE TRAIL
One student’s design, created for a visual communications class, reimagines Baileys Trail signage and mapping with clarity and safety in mind.
WRITING & DESIGN BY BRADLEY CUNNINGHAM
Brian Koscho brings Athens County history to a wider audience
BY LILIA SANTERAMO | DESIGN BY LEE MALLAMACI
Brian Koscho spent his years as an undergrad in Athens falling in love with the various communities and rich history of the city. Shortly after graduating from Ohio University with a degree in integrated social studies education, Koscho got a summer job at the West State Street Cemetery doing maintenance work.
“I was 23 and trying to figure out what to do with my life, and spending eight hours a day by myself at this very, very old cemetery,” Koscho says.
The cemetery became a point of fascination for Koscho, who noticed it contained a vast history, from Revolutionary War veterans to Black Civil War soldiers to people whose names are echoed on Athens buildings and street signs. Many tombstones have short narratives inscribed on them telling the life stories of the people buried there, which planted the seeds of Koscho’s interest in history, taught not just in books, but in physical spaces.
“I became very interested in the idea of, like, you could walk around in there and not know anything, and then learn these things,” Koscho says. “It was very public history.”
Years later, Koscho returned to OU and pursued a Master of Fine Arts in communication media arts, where he acquired multimedia skills that allowed him to bring his project, Invisible Ground, to life.
Invisible Ground tells local history through a podcast, augmented reality, an app and markers and QR codes located at important historic sites in Athens County. The project has covered the West State Street Cemetery, Mount Zion Baptist Church, The Berry Hotel, The Athens Insane Asylum and other places outside the city of Athens, like Baileys Coal Mine
in Chauncey and Stuart’s Opera House in Nelsonville.
While Koscho was developing the project, it was important to him that people were able to connect with the power of being in the physical space where something happened, especially in cases when those spaces were no longer the way they once were. But it was also important that the project was accessible and gave people multiple avenues through which they could engage with the history of the space they were in.
“It was the idea of trying to play with different ways to showcase the same information and engage people,” Koscho says. “I come from being an educator and an artist. Those worlds of trying to think about how people take in information and what makes people interested, and how do you reach as many people as possible?”
Koscho chooses what topics he covers by thinking about a place’s connection to big ideas and national history, as well as by finding gaps in people’s knowledge and speaking with people who can tell the story of a place with an underrepresented history. The project also serves to challenge people’s assumptions.
“You’ll often hear Appalachia referred to as a monolith. It gets viewed as one thing,” Koscho says. “Growing up in the Rust Belt, growing up in Lorraine and then coming here, there's a lot of overlap in seeing communities that have been forgotten about.”
Koscho says that there is a strong history of non-white people in Athens and Appalachia, dating back to Indigenous peoples, but white narratives are often centered. He notes, though, that if one stops to notice the difference in the size of homes in the East and West Sides of Athens, the physical
“The minute you know the story of a place, the minute you know how it's connected to things, it's not just a building anymore.”
BRIAN KOSCHO
INVISIBLE GROUND FOUNDER
spaces still make their history known, as there was once a large Black neighborhood on the West side of town, where the homes are smaller.
“Your space, your history, can tell you a lot about how things develop and change,” Koscho says.
Notably, Booker T. Washington was married in the front yard of a home that still stands on the West Side of Athens. Right on Court Street, the first Black lawyer practiced in the municipal courthouse in the 1870s and the Black-owned Berry Hotel stood until 1974.
“The minute you know the story of a place, the minute you know how it's connected to things, it's not just a building anymore,” Koscho says.
Invisible Ground receives assistance in funding from the Southeast Ohio History Center, also known as SEOHC, that changed its name from The Athens County Historical Society in 2016 as a move to expand its reach beyond Athens. SEOHC functions as an archive and museum, but it also works to connect historians and communities with resources to preserve the history of the Southeast Ohio region.
Logan Lambert, SEOHC’s operations and membership manager, says SEOHC helps keep the history of Southeast Ohio alive by having a regional instead of statewide focus. Lambert notes that this is particularly important for Southeast Ohio because it’s more difficult to find funding to preserve history in this area than it is in other parts of the state.
“By having a home that celebrates and helps this region, it allows the entire region to flourish and to showcase their history," Lambert says.
SEOHC achieves this by working to connect the community of local historians.
“One thing we do is we have this group called the Southeast Ohio History Coalition, and it's made up of over 100 historical societies, heritage centers and other small museums across the 22 counties here in Southeast Ohio, all coming together to get a conversation started, because a lot of the centers here are volunteer-ran, and so it's a lot of people putting in their
own effort, their own time. And sometimes what they need is funds,” Lambert says.
“[There are] many different funding sources out there,” Lambert continues. “It's just a lot of these volunteer brand organizations don't know where to look. One thing that we want to do here, and we have done with the coalition, is to shed light on those things, because we've made it pretty good on trying to find grants, but someone else might just be starting out.”
Connecting community members with grants and other funding opportunities is how SEOHC helped Invisible Ground become a reality. Recently, however, the National Endowment for the Humanities, also known as NEH, reported in a press release that it will cancel federal grants and awards.
According to the press release, “In collaboration with the Administration, NEH has cancelled awards that are at variance with agency priorities, including but not limited to those on diversity, equity and inclusion (or DEI) and environmental justice, as well as awards that may not inspire public confidence in the use of taxpayer funds.”
The cancellation of federal grants has made SEOHC’s mission to connect local historical societies with funding more difficult, and Lambert says they have been directing people to state and local grants. It’s possible that, in the future, states could follow the example set by NEH, that would endanger the work being done by local historians.
Koscho says last year he received a small grant from NEH, and it was a milestone that gave a certain legitimacy to Invisible Ground. Now that NEH has changed its priorities, Koscho says it will be interesting to try to navigate the work he’s doing, but he plans to continue regardless of changes.
“To continue to be someone that's there with those folks trying to also do the same work feels more important now than it did,” says Koscho.
Though the funding from up top looks different, locals are still interested in Invisible Ground, and Koscho says it continues to add to the historical narrative of the community. b
Dave Deibi Does It All
You know him or someone you know does
BY MAGGIE MALONE | PHOTO BY NATHAN BIELSKI | DESIGN BY SONNY JAY
Dave Deibi is deeply involved in and around Athens, from facilitating creative events at Donkey Coffee and Espresso and Passion Works Studio to fronting his own band and wearing multiple hats at Ohio University. Deibi is known in the community for the many roles he plays, but who is the person behind these projects? Backdropper Maggie Malone sits down with Deibi to find out.
How did you end up in Athens in the first place?
I arrived here as an undergraduate student, and then I did a master's degree. And then I left, and then I came back again to do more school … What I found is that the Athens community is so supportive and empathetic and kind. This place disproportionately has the demographic of relaxed, fun and kind people that seems higher than the average nationally. That's why I came back.
What did you study in school?
I studied a lot of random things. I did undergrad in Spanish education. I did creative writing and literature as well. Then I did a master's in international affairs, anthropology, history of Latin America, specifically literature as well. That was the first stint in Athens. When I came back, I became a nondegree seeking student in geology, and I did the paleontology graduate certificate, which was awesome, because I love dinosaurs. Most recently, I just finished another master's in experiential ed, outdoor rec, that sort of stuff.
Can you identify all the roles you fill at Ohio University?
Foundationally, I am an instructor in University College where, I teach first-year students in the 1900, 1100 and 1500 curricula. When I say “teach,” that's in quotes, because it's very student-led. We have certain things that we want to cover, but we also make it pretty organic in my courses. In addition, I'm what's called a “faculty in residence” in Res Life. I'm not an RD, I'm not an RA, but I operate within that department as a resource for continued programming and outreach to students. So that's kind of the “day job” thing, but I wear so many hats, and really, what I found is every single position that I hold doesn't feel like work. Everything I do, I feel very fulfilled doing it.
I’ve heard about an ultimate frisbee situation that you’re a part of. Can you tell me about it?
We affectionately call it Penultimate Frisbert, which is not ultimate frisbee, because that's intense. I like to say that it's collaborative, not competitive. It doesn't mean you don't try, but it means that you are rooting for the other team's success as much as your own. We don't keep score. People play barefoot. People do cartwheels — or just walk around and talk. We divide up the teams in such a way that you have matching energies. That's through Res Life.
Dave Deibi ziplines with Ohio University Outdoor Pursuits.
What are other spaces in Athens you’re involved with outside of the university?
Chris and Angie Pyle, who are the owners of Donkey Coffee, approached me because they had known me from the community, and asked if I wanted to do the art directing and facilitate the events and activities there ... I'm in charge of the art installations, I oversee designated space, which is the poetry night, as well as the open stage and also do the booking for the Friday and Saturday shows.
I’m also a project coordinator for Passion Works Studio, which is really fun. Honey For The Heart, the big Halloween parade, was put under my leadership last year for the first time. But I've always been a very invested participant. In addition to that, I host their art night with Eben Tobar every Wednesday night. Outdoor Pursuits is looking to increase [its] programming on campus, and there's an amazing new high ropes course and zipline. They asked if, every Tuesday for the first six weeks of the semester, I can facilitate getting a ton of people through the zipline. Outdoor experiences and adventures like that are so wonderful, because you never know what kind of empowerment crossing the risk threshold gives to a person later. When we're thinking about getting 80 students every Tuesday night, it's really fun to think about what kind of ripple effects that might have in their lives.
And another thing that I do is with this accomplished, wildly talented filmmaker in Athens named Nathan Bielski. He has been very kind and gracious enough to let me jump onto films that he's working on. He works with Twenty One Pilots out of Columbus, and working on music videos with Nathan and them has been amazing. We just got done with a Fisher-Price commercial. This is just another beautiful thing that's really busy and random and weird, but I just usually say yes to everything.
Can you tell me about your band Ready, Aim, Flowers?
Ready, Aim, Flowers is a project that's had so many iterations because the lineup is always changing. The one constant is that I'm always there. And the idea is to create music, art and [an] experience that embodies the same energy of all the activities I do, where it's positive because it's used for advocacy through entertainment.
Is there a hobby or interest that people might not know you have?
I mentioned earlier that I really love dinosaur paleontology. That's something I haven't done that much of lately, just because I've gotten invested in so much. I used to work with the Denver Museum of Nature and Science and the Utah Museum of Natural History, and even the Raleigh Museum of Natural History, and the Bureau of Land Management as well in Utah and Montana and Colorado. I used to do that during the summers for the longest time.
I also used to be a professor of Spanish here. I love modern languages. It’s interesting because, when I speak Spanish, when I am in an environment in which that is my primary means of communication, I am a different person. Not vastly different, but my personality shifts. I learned how to speak Spanish from living in the Dominican Republic for a year and working at a clinic as a medical interpreter. So there's a Caribbean swagger that comes out a little bit when I speak Spanish.
Do you feel like you tap into different versions of yourself within your different circles here in Athens?
I just know so many people [who] have to mask all the time: the business mentality, the formality, the posturing. I’ve somehow lucked out in that I get to be the same person every day. But whatever I'm doing, I match energy. So when I'm working at Passion Works with the core artists, that's a little bit more gentle and affectionate. When I'm hosting open stage, I'll do a couple of songs, and then I transition into host mode, whereas if you come see Ready, Aim, Flowers perform, I try to command the stage, and I let my bigger self come out and conduct and perform.
Are there any underrated organizations that you want to give a shoutout to?
There are something like 600 student organizations on campus. Nobody has an excuse, because there is something for everybody. What I would recommend is not to close yourself away. It is so easy to doomscroll yourself to oblivion, especially when you are transitioning away from what’s familiar … But knowing your local and your proximate environment is so important. There's a place where every single person can belong in this town. If you can learn how to invest in your environment, in your community now, it’ll ripple astronomically throughout the rest of your life. b
This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.
A generation's commitment, or lack thereof, to romance in the 21st century
August 19, 2025
BY SUZANNE PIPER
PHOTOS BY CLAIRA TOKARZ DESIGN BY ALLY PARKER
Model left: Rory Rothgerber
Model right: Mallory Lough
Romance: the section of Barnes & Noble where readers search for their next escape; the Netflix category practically sponsored by a 90s Meg Ryan or Hugh Grant. For many, romance is only a dream preserved in pink book jackets and VHS-colored lighting. But to Azlyn LaFollette, a 22-year-old Ohio University graduate, romance isn’t just fiction, it’s a fading ideal she’s fighting to revive.
LaFollette, a former English literature and culture student at OU, displayed remarkable courage when she decided to challenge the prevailing norms of modern romance. It was during a literary editing course that she conceived luvsick! — a student-run magazine designed for people like her: hopeless romantics navigating a world that doesn’t seem to value unrushed love anymore.
luvsick! features poems and articles on topics such as love, heartbreak and romance, covering nearly everything relatable in the realm of relationships. Its content resonates with readers’ experiences and emotions, fostering a sense of understanding and resonance that is crucial in the frequently confusing world of modern romance.
LaFollette herself almost looks like she belongs in a romantic comedy. She wears layered gold jewelry, has a smile on her face even on bad days and always has an outfit that looks like it was designed on Pinterest. Her brown hair, streaked with honey highlights, frames the kind of soft expression that belongs in a bookshop meet-cute.
From an early age, LaFollette has had a passion for romantic comedies. Films like 13 Going on 30 , How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and When Harry Met Sally have always captured her imagination.
“Nobody in my family’s like this,” she says. “Even being in elementary school, I remember writing little love stories, and my mom was like, ‘What are you doing?’”
As a longtime hopeless romantic, LaFollette feels that modern dating has evolved into something far removed from the stories that shaped her. Swiping through Tinder or Hinge often feels more like shopping on Amazon than searching for a real connection. She says that the emphasis on casual dating and hookup culture makes it harder to be vulnerable, or even optimistic.
Despite the seeming disparity between LaFollette's vision of slow, meaningful romance and today's fast-paced dating culture, real-life stories from the OU community affirm that such connections are still possible.
Chuck Borghese, for example, met his wife, Susan Borghese, when he transferred to OU as an undergraduate in 1979. He was studying journalism news and information, and had to fulfill an anthropology requirement that initially felt unnecessary — until the class changed his life.
“I decided to take the intro to anthropology class, and I learned later that I didn't have to, but thank God I took it,” Chuck says. “My wife was in the class.”
Noticing Susan in the same class, Chuck sought opportunities to introduce himself. An upcoming ethnology project provided the perfect excuse.
“We were in Morton Hall, in class, and we were leaving, coming up the hill at the same time. And I said, ‘Boy, I can't
wait to do this ethnography project.’ She says, ‘Oh, really? Why?’ I said, ‘Oh, I'm from New York.’ And I tried to play it like I was cool,” Chuck says, chuckling as he recalled the moment he met his wife.
That casual exchange marked the beginning of their connection, sparked by a class he hadn't even planned to take. Today, students are often plugged into headphones and checking notifications before they even leave the classroom, making chance encounters like Chuck's increasingly rare.
“I was also taking a photography class, and I had to do an assignment where I was using shadows,” Chuck says. “I said, ‘I've got this photography class, and you're so great looking,’ I said, ‘I'd love to take your picture, and she was like, ‘Oh, OK.’”
It’s a stark contrast to the days when a simple conversation could blossom into a lifelong relationship, highlighting just how much technology has changed dating norms.
“We got home from a date, and I was dropping her off, and we decided to sit in the hallway because her roommate was asleep,” Chuck says, remembering 1979. “We talked about life, and we talked about what we were looking for out of life, and we were 19 years old, but we both will tell you that we fell in love then right there.”
The story of how Chuck and Susan met is precisely the kind of love story people like LaFollette hope to experience. The genuine connection between Chuck and Susan offers a sense of possibility that such relationships are still possible.
“It just seemed so much more honest back in the day,” Chuck says. “When you got to see somebody, you got to look them in the eye, you got to see how they responded to things, you got to see their body language. You get a real measure of a person.”
This blend of nostalgia and authenticity underscores Chuck's enduring commitment to genuine human connection — a principle he still lives by.
“I am as concerned that I make her as proud today as I did when I first met her,” Chuck says.
Their narrative exemplifies the enduring, old-fashioned love that romance genres aim to portray. However, even with this desire for genuine connection, contemporary romance has introduced new terminology that characterizes everything except love.
“There’s this popularization of accepting situationships,” LaFollette says. “To some extent, I get it, because some people don’t want to commit. But now it’s like ... you’re dating, but you’re not.”
A "situationship" refers to a romantic or sexual relationship that lacks clear labels or commitment, existing in a gray area between friendship and partnership. The term, which gained significant attention recently and became a finalist for Oxford's 2023 Word of the Year, highlights its growing relevance.
The rise of situationships reflects a broader Gen Z trend: navigating dating with a mix of openness and ambiguity. This dynamic often leads to confusion and emotional uncertainty, as individuals engage intimately without clear expectations or commitments.
This pressure to maintain a casual, nonchalant attitude
“We talked about life, and what we were looking for out of life, and we were 19 years old, but we both will tell you that we fell in love then right there.”
CHUCK BORGHESE
OHIO UNIVERSITY ALUM
around intimacy makes it even more challenging to form a genuine connection. As LaFollette points out, many young women, especially, feel an unspoken obligation to escalate physical intimacy after casual encounters, turning dating into a transaction rather than an authentic experience. This environment blurs boundaries and discourages those seeking meaningful relationships from participating at all.
LaFollette explains that on college campuses, there is a widespread expectation that physical intimacy will naturally follow any date or late-night meetup. That pressure, she says, turns dating into a form of performance where many stop putting themselves out there altogether, fearing they won’t be respected for wanting something real.
This experience isn’t just anecdotal. A 2020 study published in Sexuality & Culture found that 72% of college students reported engaging in a hookup by their senior year. The research identified five distinct classes of hookup motivations, including those driven by sexual pleasure, relationship formation and the desire to experience the “college script,” a social expectation that college is a time for sexual experimentation.
The study highlights the widespread nature of these pressures, suggesting that what LaFollette describes is part of a larger pattern: many young people feel trapped between wanting authentic relationships and fearing judgment for showing vulnerability.
“Everything is a lot more digital,” LaFollette says. “There’s not really very much organic meeting anymore. It’s led to everyone feeling like they have to use dating apps, and that leads to settling — not having your big love story.”
A 2020 Pew Research Center study supports LaFollette’s view. It found that nearly half of U.S. adults believe dating has become harder over the past decade, with women especially likely to report increased difficulties. Rising expectations, shifting social norms and the growing influence of technology have all contributed to a sense of disillusionment.
Compounding this issue is the influence of social media platforms, particularly Snapchat. The app’s disappearing messages and emphasis on quick communication create
an environment where intimacy often feels transactional rather than meaningful.
Among teens and young adults, Snapchat has become a standard tool for exchanging explicit content, often without the emotional conversations or trust-building necessary for genuine relationships. Over time, this emphasis on immediacy can shift how young people approach intimacy more broadly, making it harder for them to develop the vulnerability and communication skills that genuine emotional closeness demands.
In this way, digital culture not only reflects but also reinforces the struggles many face when trying to find genuine connection in a fast-paced, superficial dating world. Now, genuine romance built on patience, vulnerability and emotional connection risks being forgotten.
With social media promoting instant gratification and dating apps turning love into a scrollable feed, it’s no surprise that some Gen Zers are pushing back against this trend.
LaFollette’s magazine, luvsick!, is one way of reclaiming space for that kind of love. Its pages are filled with dreamy short stories, soft poetry and illustrations. It's not just nostalgic, it's intentional. The magazine’s contributors and readers are people who still believe in romance as something real and worth waiting for.
That desire is more common than people realize. Young people are finding new ways to express old feelings; they’re forming book clubs around the classics, writing poems about yearning and daydreaming about meet-cutes in record stores and cafés.
It’s not that Gen Z doesn’t want love; they don't want something curated through filters or manufactured by an algorithm, they want something real. People like LaFollette
are leading a quiet rebellion against a culture that prizes efficiency over emotion.
Yet, many people have found love and healthy relationships through dating apps, despite their reputation on college campuses.
One such story belongs to Daphne Graeter, a student studying journalism at OU. Her experience with love is a refreshing reminder that genuine connections can still happen, even in the digital age, sometimes in the most unexpected places.
“It was this time last year when I was on Tinder, and he was as well,” Graeter says, smiling at the memory.
After a casual swipe led to a match, Graeter and her nowboyfriend, Troy, started talking. His funny bio caught her attention, and their initial connection quickly moved from Tinder to Snapchat. For months, they messaged back and forth casually until one night in November 2024, when Graeter decided to take a chance.
"I kind of made the first move, being like, 'Hey, what are you doing tonight?'" she says.
They agreed to meet at The Pigskin Bar and Grille, and what followed surprised both of them: instant, undeniable chemistry.
"I wasn’t looking for a relationship at all," Graeter says. "Absolutely not. I thought it would be a one-time thing."
Her previous experiences with dating apps were typical: frequent downloading, deleting and redownloading out of boredom or curiosity and a lingering unease about being recognized in a small college town.
When asked whether finding love through a dating app proves that love is inevitable, Graeter believes that the chances may sound slim, but are bigger since you're meeting more people.
Despite some negative stereotypes around dating apps, Graeter’s story shows that genuine connections can, and do, happen online. She smiled brightly when asked if she considered her experience a success.
"I’m very happy I met Troy," she says. "I couldn’t have planned it better."
Azlyn LaFollette, Daphne Graeter and Chuck Borghese demonstrate that romance isn’t a relic of the past; it's a value that remains very much alive, even if it looks a little different today. Whether it’s through handwritten poetry in the pages of luvsick!, a casual conversation in a college hallway, or a spontaneous Tinder match that turns into something tangible, the essence of romance — vulnerability, connection and hope — persists.
Gen Z is proving that even in a world of fast swipes and fleeting attention, there’s still room for slow, lasting love. Romance may be evolving, but it isn't disappearing. It’s simply waiting, in bookstores, bars, college classrooms and dating apps, for those brave enough to believe in it. b
BY MAGGIE MALONE | PHOTOS BY CLAIRA TOKARZ | DESIGN BY
MATTHIAS AGGANIS
Library chairs circle a formation of folding tables. Someone sets down a home-baked cake. People sit, catch up with one another and laugh. From the outside looking in, it could be a book club or a casual get-together between friends. But the topic of conversation here is mortality.
The Athens Death Cafe is one of hundreds of informal gatherings around the world where people meet to talk openly about death, dying and grief.
Started in 2011 by British web developer Jon Underwood, the Death Cafe movement has now spread to over 90 countries. The organization brings open-minded people together to talk about death in a relaxed, stigma-free environment.
Athens’ chapter was co-founded by Nancy Baur, who began facilitating the monthly gatherings in May 2025. Baur studied special education at Ohio University and went on to have an extensive career in teaching, clinical mental health and youth crisis counseling.
Now, as a licensed counselor and end-of-life doula, Baur’s career is woven with the common thread of helping others manage grief. In 2023, however, loss hit home for Baur in rapid succession. She lost her father, her aunt and her dog all within three months of each other. In the aftermath, she leaned further into end-of-life care.
“That put me in a situation I had never really been in before: to figure out how to help myself and how to help others,” Baur says.
It was at a conference that she first heard of the Death Cafe movement.
“I thought, ‘That just sounds like an Athens thing. Why don’t we have one?’” Baur says.
With support from fellow counselor Bethany Fulton and co-founder Debra Spangler, she launched the chapter’s first organized meeting in May at the Plains Public Library.
“We weren’t sure if anyone would show up,” Baur says. “But people did, and then they came back. That’s when we realized, ‘OK, we’ve tapped into something.’”
One of those people was Kathy Tokarz, an Athens resident who first heard about the group on Facebook.
“I'm just very interested in death,” Tokarz says. “I like to wander through cemeteries and look at all the names and read them aloud. Some of them are so old, hundreds of years old, and those people were real people. They have not had their names spoken aloud for a long time, so I always speak their name aloud when I walk past.”
Despite the sometimes solemn subject matter, Death Cafe meetings are intentionally casual. The structure is flexible, allowing the cafe’s attendees to have just as much stake in the meetings as the organizers.
Many members bring their own questions to discuss and baked goods to eat. For Tokarz, the promise of cake was part of the charm.
“I loved the idea that there is always cake,” Tokarz says. “That was just something they’ve always done, and they always do.”
Each month’s gathering has a loosely planned theme, but conversation often wanders.
“Anything is up for grabs,” Baur says. “When people bring things to talk about, we’re ready to do it.”
During one gathering over the summer, the group explored the connection between art and death. Someone mentioned tombstone carvings, which led Baur down an internet rabbit hole where she discovered an artist who uses Silly Putty to press impressions of gravestones and turn them into prints. At a following meeting, Baur made small Silly Putty kits so members could try it themselves.
Another month, the group met at Donkey Coffee and Espresso, then walked down to listen to a concert on College Green. At other sessions, they’ve swapped book recommendations, dissected television shows like Dying for Sex or Take Me Out Feet First and shared personal experiences with funerals.
Tokarz, who is 74, says conversations like these at the cafe have made her think more deliberately about her own future.
“I figure maybe I have 10 years left, 10 or 15,” Tokarz says. “I wonder if I should just go off and do whatever I want to do. Or do I stay close to my family and spend all my time with my family? Or maybe both?”
Future subjects Baur hopes to examine include schools and death, the science of cemeteries, organ donation, workplace grief and death tourism. A local funeral director has even offered to give the group a behind-the-scenes tour of their facilities.
According to Baur, the topic of green burial is one of
the most regularly occurring areas of interest.
“Green burial is something we probably talk about every single time,” Baur says. “A lot of people didn’t know about it.”
Across the world, Death Cafes aim to combat this lack of education about end-of-life options through open dialogue and experiential learning opportunities.
Dr. Amy E. White, a philosophy professor at OU, brings the mission of educating others about death to an academic level.
After unexpectedly finding her mother deceased, White began merging her study of biomedical ethics with the philosophy of death and dying, a subject she’s taught at OU for the past four years.
“My research focuses heavily on autonomy in deciding questions about death,” White says. “Death and dying being, in many ways, an important part of life.”
In 2022, before the official chapter was established, White helped organize Athens’ first Death Cafe in collaboration with the Natural Burial Working Group and the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. She recalled a turnout of mostly older attendees.
“Strangely enough, I was probably the secondyoungest one there,” White says. “So a lot of them had practical questions, like, ‘How do I go about telling people I want a natural burial?’ ‘How do I get a natural burial?’ ‘Is it possible in the state of Ohio for my loved ones to keep me at home for a bit?’”
Athens Death Cafe meeting in Glouster, Ohio. August 21, 2025.
Kathy Tokarz at an Athens Death Cafe meeting in Glouster, Ohio. August 21, 2025.
Comparatively, the students in White’s Philosophy of Death and Dying class typically approach conversations about mortality with different curiosities.
“For my students, they appreciate more of these questions of ‘What happens when I die?’ ‘What is death?’ More than an older population who's looking at it in the face as something that's coming soon, and they have to figure out the practicalities,” White says.
White’s class investigates their questions about mortality by studying Greek philosophers like Epicurus, who suggests that death is not an experience, but rather the cessation of consciousness and sensation.
Through class discussions, White sees a contrast in how generations respond to the subject matter.
“You would think, with all this death positivity, that the younger generation would be more willing to talk about it,” White says, referencing Caitlin Doughty’s popular “Ask a Mortician” series on YouTube. “But they're not, because, not always, but in general, they’ve had less experience with it. The older generation has had experiences like this. They've usually lost someone really close or they have experiences to talk about, and they seem slightly more comfortable.”
Baur has noticed the generational gap, too. The current Athens Death Cafe attendees are in their 30s and older, Baur says, but they welcome younger voices.
“I’m hoping that we can spread onto campus and get the word out that people can come,” Baur says. “That would be amazing if we could have some other perspectives.”
Despite this divide, White’s Philosophy of Death and Dying class fills up every semester, often with a waitlist.
“I've had some young students take Philosophy of Death and Dying because they're scared to death of death,” White says. “But when you have what you perceive to be a bit of a distance, it's easier to think about it theoretically, I think.”
For White, these open conversations, even if they can’t alter
philosophy, still serve a purpose. “If [Death Cafes] can remove some stigma, I’m all for that,” White says. “We need to move these things out of the realm of ‘morbid’ and into a normal part of human existence.”
White’s Victorian home still has its two original parlors. These rooms were commonly used in 19th century Western culture as areas for wakes and memorial gatherings.
“But then the formal funeral profession started, and we changed them to living rooms, because it's a space for the living, not the dead,” White says. That change, according to White, symbolizes the broader cultural discomfort with death. “We keep our dead at bay. And I think Epicurus was right: the more we face death, the less mysterious it becomes.”
Religion was the foundation of unease when it came to thinking about death for Tokarz. Raised in a deeply Christian household, a fear of the afterlife was instilled in her from a young age.
“I spent a lot of years being really scared and worried about everybody,” Tokarz says. As she grew older, her relationship with faith shifted. “Now I just don’t believe that there is a God who you’re supposed to love and [who is also] so horrible.”
While Tokarz’s story reflects a shift away from religious fear and toward death positivity on an individual level, Baur points to a larger cultural turning point that began due to the disruption caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.
“There was such a loss of control during COVID for the whole entire world, and people couldn’t do what they normally did,” Baur says.
For some, regaining authority during the pandemic meant embracing sustainable green burials or home funerals. For others, it meant documenting their end-of-life wishes more clearly. Baur connects it to other “back-to-basics” movements, like gardening and homesteading.
“I think [now] people are ready to take some more control over the end of their lives,” Baur says.
That sense of agency, Baur says, underlines the mission of the Athens Death Cafe. The group’s value lies in three main pillars, according to Baur: education, support and stigma reduction.
“We talk a lot about death positivity,” Baur says. “We talk a lot about trying to get back to where people feel like they have ownership over their own death.”
The group is careful to emphasize that it isn't therapy or counseling. At its best, the cafe offers relief from isolation.
“If you’re at a party and start talking about ‘I watched this documentary about death,’ everybody walks away from you,” Baur says. “[The Death Cafe] is a really great opportunity for like-minded people to get together and find comfort.”
For those who gather each month, no one is scorned or belittled for being “morbid.” Instead, solace is the goal, and community is a given. b
Debra Spangler holding a poem at an Athens Death Cafe meeting in Glouster, Ohio. August 21, 2025.
The summer I stayed in Athens
A visual diary of a small town in its offseason
PHOTOS AND DESIGN BY CLAIRA TOKARZ
Model left: Kalli Kostival | Model right: Rialto Peregrine | August 21, 2025
A group of girls at Dow Lake on August 20, 2025.
Model left: Kamryn Flowers | Model right: Rory Rothgerber | August 21, 2025
Model left: Rialto Peregrine
Model right: Kalli Kostival August 21, 2025
HIs Tornado Alley shifting more towards Ohio and does climate change have something to
BY PARKER JENDRYSIK DESIGN BY ELIZABETH DICKERSON
aving a personal hyperfixation on tornadoes (and Glen Powell), I have done my weather research so you don’t have to. Let’s get into it.
Weather: it’s all around us, and there’s no avoiding it. It changes as unpredictably as your mood when deciding what to wear on a random Wednesday night. But unlike us, the weather doesn’t act on impulse; it’s shaped by the choices we make every day. And in return, those choices impact us and our environment in ways we’re only beginning to grasp. Among the most complex and destructive weather events affecting scattered states across America is the tornado. So what sparks these violent storms, and where are they heading next?
The United States averages the most tornadoes per year out of any other country on Earth, with more than 1,200 tornadoes per year on average, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Ohio has experienced an influx of weather diversity this past decade, resulting in 74 tornadoes in 2024, breaking the 1992 record of 62.
So far in 2025, 28 tornadoes in Ohio have been recorded, with both 2024 and 2025 tornadoes having caused nearly $26 million in property damage, according to Ohio tornado data collected from the National Weather Service. In fact, according to a new study from The American Meteorological
Society, the Tornado Alley pattern has shifted east, putting Midwest and Southwest states in its sights.
The key question is whether Tornado Alley is now impacting Ohio residents more than it has in the past. Let's examine the evidence.
The term “Tornado Alley” was first coined in 1952 to describe the stretch of land across the Central U.S. that experiences high numbers of strong tornadoes. This traditional zone includes Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, and parts of Nebraska, Iowa, Louisiana and eastern Colorado.
But recent data shows the pattern is evolving. Tornado frequency is now rising in states like Alabama, Mississippi, Kentucky — and yes, Ohio. The Weather Channel and other meteorological outlets have highlighted this eastward shift, which puts new populations in the crosshairs of extreme weather. Spring and early summer are breeding grounds for high-risk rainstorms and tornadoes, and Southeast Ohio is no exception. So far in 2025, Southeast Ohio has had almost 80 warnings. In fact, in Athens, residents were jolted awake by a 3 a.m. tornado alert in April; a rare but telling sign of the intensifying threat. These aren’t isolated incidents. They represent a growing weather pattern targeting regions not historically known for high rates of tornado activity.
Is climate change to blame for these more frequent alerts? The answer is yes. After witnessing such strong weather patterns and doing my own research, it is hard to turn heads by the facts that lie in plain sight. Tornado Alley is a strong, dangerous and ever-changing path that is both peculiar and life-threatening. With records always evolving and updating, the shift in weather patterns is still under review as to whether they are permanent. Climate change will continue to affect our planet and will no doubt continue to shift Tornado Alley, but we are not powerless. There are ways to be kind to our planet that can help us take steps towards healing the very world we call home. So, what can we do? Even the smallest choices we make each day add up, guiding us toward the future we want to build. Simple actions like turning off lights, unplugging electronics and taking shorter showers help conserve energy and water. The well-known phrase “reduce, reuse, recycle” is more than just words; it’s a habit we should commit to daily. Just as important, we can spread awareness. Climate change shows itself in many ways, including the shifting patterns of Tornado Alley. Talk about it. Share it with your friends and family. Every little step brings us closer to meaningful change. It is important to be aware of local weather alerts in the area, as well as listen to the most recent news from meteorologists. Be on the lookout as tornado season comes around in the spring. If you hear sirens or are under a tornado warning, immediately go to a safe space, seek shelter or follow emergency protocols nearby. Tornado and weather safety precautions are very important in order to reduce the risk of harm. For more information on weather updates in Ohio regarding tornado patterns and data, visit the National Weather Service and your local weather emergency agency. b
PRESIDENT Pushover
President Dr. Lori Stewart Gonzalez’s refusal to speak out against Ohio Senate Bill 1 showcases a broader failure of leadership in higher education
BY DARCIE ZUDELL
DESIGN BY ELLIE SABATINO
During finals week last semester, I was scrambling to finish a paper when an email titled “A Message from Your President” pulled me out of my focus. In it, President Dr. Lori Stewart Gonzalez confirmed what many students had feared but hoped wouldn’t come to pass; Ohio University would be “sunsetting” its Division of Diversity and Inclusion, effectively shutting down the Multicultural, Pride and Women’s Centers. In one vague announcement, we found out decades-old resources would be erased.
Almost immediately, the university began putting up new signs, rebranding those spaces as generic student lounges with names that vaguely gestured toward inclusion. For example, the “Visibile Student Lounge” will be the new name for The Multicultural Center.
These changes ultimately happened because Governor Mike DeWine signed Senate Bill 1, or SB1, into law on March 28. Named the “Advance Ohio Higher Education Act,” SB1 not only bans diversity, equity and inclusion offices, programs and training at public universities, but also restricts faculty’s right to strike, requires a civics course focused on American history and free-market capitalism and mandates “intellectual diversity.”
I don’t think Gonzalez personally supports SB1, and I know this legislation was incredibly complicated to navigate for all university leaders in Ohio. Anger over this bill should be primarily directed at Governor DeWine, the Ohio GOP and the conservative politicians who believe they have the right to meddle in higher education, because, truly, these university leaders had nothing to do with the writing or passing of this bill.
This sweeping authoritarian overhaul by the state government is not actually an attempt to prevent students from becoming more “woke;” it is an effort to keep us uneducated and unaware of what our leaders are doing. And it has a far greater chance of succeeding if our university leaders choose to remain silent.
recognizing UAOU as a collective bargaining unit. Instead of respecting the results and moving forward, the administration has objected based on technicalities that have been ruled as unsubstantial by Ohio’s State Employment Relations Board. University leaders cited issues like ballot delivery and process fairness for the sole purpose of slowing down or undermining the unionization effort.
As Dr. Eddith Dashiell, former director of the OU Scripps School of Journalism, pointed out in an interview with PBS NewsHour, not a single university leader in Ohio has spoken out against SB1. In Gonzalez’s email from April 29, she feigned support for preserving the “legacy” of these diversity centers, but failed to express any outrage that nearly 21 faculty members lost their positions, according to OU’s Senior Director of Communications Dan Pittman. Nor did she acknowledge the true weight of what it means to lose these vital resources.
To be clear, SB1 does not prohibit university leaders from speaking out against the bill — though universities are likely scared because of the perceived threat — but sometimes the risk factor is worth it. At OU in particular, a university that has consistently used diversity and safe spaces as marketing tools to attract new students, and under the leadership of our first female president, it is especially important to speak up.
This isn’t the first time Gonzalez has failed to truly “meet the moment that delivers results for students,” as she once wrote in an email. The university has taken public stances before, such as its support of the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 under the leadership of Dr. M. Duane Nellis. But instead of following in her predecessor’s footsteps, Gonzalez approved Policy 31.001 in 2024, barring the university from making statements on matters of “social or political interest.”
That action was likely driven by the rise of student-led protests demanding that OU divest from Israel. Now, when students and organizations like the Athens Justice Coalition reach out to her, she points to that very policy as the reason she cannot publicly comment on the morality of the genocide in Gaza.
Gonzalez has further reflected her disinterest in going against the grain for the benefit of OU’s students and faculty in her dealings with the United Academics of Ohio University, also known as UAOU. Despite a supermajority of faculty supporting unionization and a clear vote in favor (453 to 189), OU, under her leadership, has repeatedly delayed
Gonzalez may not have written SB1, but she now plays a role in its enforcement by choosing PR optics over advocacy. This is further present in the fact that, though in an email she said faculty affected by SB1 would be moved to work in other areas of the university, the majority of them were not able to continue at OU, according to a review by the Athens County Independent, published on August 21.
It’s clear that Gonzalez refuses to take a political stance in defense of the students and faculty she promised to serve. But no matter how complicit she chooses to be moving forward, there will always be students, faculty and alumni who are willing to show courage because they genuinely care about this university. When the 2025 Black Alumni Reunion was canceled as a university-sanctioned event, it still drew a strong turnout thanks to community organizing. And while Gonzalez remains silent, many faculty members have not. Some signed public statements denouncing SB1 and affirming the importance of diversity, while others wrote open letters to OU’s leadership, voicing their concerns.
My point is: we must continue to fight. By refusing to accept silence as an answer, we are actually preserving the legacies of Micah McCarey at the Pride Center, Dr. Chris Fowler at the Women’s Center and Lisa Flowers-Clements at the Multicultural Center. These directors were strong advocates for students, and yet, Gonzalez failed to name even one of them in any of her lengthy emails. But by speaking out, we ensure that their work and care for students do not disappear quietly. b
Putting Pride BACK in the Closet
Ohio University’s Pride Center leaves the scene as students search for new support systems
BY NORA BARNARD | DESIGN BY TOBY SUTHERLAND
The Advance Ohio Higher Education Act, also known as Senate Bill 1 or SB1, is a law impacting the operation of Ohio’s public colleges and universities. The bill, which was signed into law in March, took effect on June 27.
Among other provisions, the law restricts diversity, equity and inclusion programs, funding and more. Section 3345.0217 of the act prohibits, “Any orientation or training course regarding diversity, equity, and inclusion, unless the institution submits a written request for an exception to the chancellor of higher education”, “The continuation of existing diversity, equity, and inclusion offices or departments”, “Establishing new diversity, equity, and inclusion offices or departments”, “Using diversity, equity, and inclusion in job descriptions”, “Contracting with consultants or third-parties whose role is or would be to promote admissions, hiring, or promotion based on race, ethnicity, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, or gender expression”, “The establishment of any new institutional scholarships that use diversity, equity, and inclusion in any manner.” The entirety of SB1 can be read on the Ohio Legislature's website.
In compliance with the law, Ohio University’s Division of Diversity and Inclusion, including the Women's Center, Multicultural Center and Pride Center, was phased out. On June 23, OU President Lori Stewart Gonzalez released her response to how the university is addressing SB1.
To repurpose the diversity and inclusion spaces, the Multicultural Center is now the Visible Student Lounge, an area for students to gather and express their unique identities and perspectives. The Women's Center on the fourth floor of Baker University Center is now Baker Landing, an informal gathering place for students. Finally, the Pride Center is now a reservable meeting space for student organizations. Gonzalez stated that these plans are a temporary response to the immediate needs of the 2025-2026 academic year.
The Pride Center has been recognized as a safe space at OU for members of the LGBTQ+ community and their allies to
connect for decades. In addition, the Pride Center offered numerous tangible resources to students, including a free clothing closet and a library with books that explore all aspects of queer identity and history.
Audrey Ansel, a former student staff member and current OU student, described the center as pivotal to her higher education experience.
“A huge part of my college decision revolved around the fact that OU had a Pride Center,” Ansel says. “I'm from North Carolina and couldn't find a lot of schools with a Pride Center. That was a huge motivator for me when I made my college decision, knowing I was going to a campus that didn't just say they supported their students, but was putting action behind those words.”
Established in 1998 as the LGBT Center, the Pride Center has decades of rich queer history at OU. Ansel says this longevity added to the significance of her work at the center.
“I was always very proud to tell people that I worked there, and I'm still proud to tell people that I worked there. Really, the Pride Center has meant the world to me,” Ansel says.
The center drew students from all over the country due to its visible efforts to make all students feel welcome. Ansel noted that the most utilized space was the drop-in area, where students could connect with others who shared similar identities and experiences. What students may miss most, she says, was not the programming or the resources, but the physical location where they could talk openly, ask questions and feel safe.
Mia Walsh, a former student staff member and 2025 OU graduate, expressed similar sentiments.
“I have many memories of upperclassmen organically interacting with underclassmen and being like, ‘These are my pronouns, what are yours?’ and just creating welcoming spaces and building community,” Walsh says. “That was always really, really nice to see.”
The university’s new Visible Student Lounge aims to provide a similar safe space for all students. Outside the Visible Student
Lounge, the signage reads, “Be Seen. Be Heard. Be Visible. This space is reserved for any and all students to gather, to express their unique identities and perspectives, to connect across differences, to practice dialogue and to learn from each other. Here, we always Make Respect Visible.” But will this new area carry the same emotional support and sense of belonging that the former diversity and inclusion centers did?
When faced with this question, Ansel expressed skepticism.
“I think that a lot of people feel really betrayed and kind of disillusioned with everything,” Ansel says. “Do I want [the Visible Student Lounge] to be a space where students can be safe and can be themselves? Absolutely, 100%. But I think that relationship is damaged,” she says.
Even if the Visible Student Lounge succeeds as a safe place for self-expression, Ansel says it won’t be easy to move past what’s been lost.
“I don't know that students will use it that way. If they do, that's awesome, but I know personally, I would just feel kind of weird about it, knowing that it used to be this thing that meant so much to people, and now it's having to change,” she says. “I hope that students can find a way to use that space that makes them feel safe and comfortable, but I will be interested to see how that space is actually received when everyone returns to campus.”
Walsh also voiced concerns over students' abilities to access resources in the future. They say, “My heart sinks for all of the students who won't be able to flourish in the ways they once were able to because now the possibility of these resources in these spaces is gone. There are new resources and new ways to be connected, but it is not centralized anymore, and it will be much more difficult for students, especially the ones who are struggling.” Nevertheless, Walsh says they remain confident in one conviction: “Athens is still a sanctuary city for trans people, and there sure as hell aren’t any fewer gay people.”
Although the Pride Center has closed, there are still resources available to LGBTQ+ students on campus. The library, featuring books on queer identity, formerly located within the Pride Center, is now situated at the United Campus Ministry on College Street. Additionally, the queer social organization Spectrum+ is being brought back to OU this fall. Information about meetings and events will be posted on its Instagram: @ouspectrumplus.
On a county-wide level, the Athens County Pride Fund was launched by the Athens County Foundation in April. This fund will provide resources to nearby nonprofits and organizations dedicated to supporting Athens’ LGBTQ+ community.
With the combined efforts, Ansel emphasized that the LGBTQ+ community will remain active in Athens. She says, “[The university] can physically get rid of the Pride Center, but that does not mean the student population stops being queer all of a sudden, or stops needing these things all of a sudden. We're still here. We're still ourselves, and so we will find other ways to exist and do so with joy and passion, even if it cannot be housed directly within the university." b
BY
CLAIRA TOKARZ | DESIGN BY ZOE DUNCAN
This is an ode to my early 20s, a documentation of what it feels like to live alone and get older. I am 22 now, sitting on the porch of my second college apartment. Greenery wraps and tangles around the branches of trees that nestle the railing while light seeps through the leaves thick and slow, like honey. I moved in two weeks ago, leaving my first apartment of two years behind. The moment was bittersweet and heavy with melancholy.
When I moved into that first apartment, I was freshly 20 and heading into my sophomore year of college. In my teenage years, I had ached for my own space, somewhere sacredly mine. I remember staying up late into the night, unable to rest because my mind was so busy with the romance of a new space. My first apartment felt like a prayer, a manifestation I had willed into existence. I tend to be really good at hoping, maybe to my own fault, often to my own fault.
I didn’t grow up religious; my mother didn’t raise me like that. Instead, she raised me under my own imagination, where whatever I could think up could be possible. I never could bring myself to believe in one almighty God, but this space was a hope that had been stored away in my youth, suddenly palpable, as if some higher power had heard my wish, and my hope became tangible and sweet.
My first apartment gave me room to explore my identity without bounds. During my first month there, I exclusively listened to Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” album because I wanted to associate the sound with that time. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I stand by it. Now, it has become a tradition every time I move.
The last few nights at the old apartment were spent lying on my roof overlooking the cemetery and the tree that blossomed green every June. My thoughts were consumed by the many different versions of myself that had made a home within those walls. I struggle with the idea that those selves are now
lost to time. I wish I could pluck out pieces of them and carry them somewhere close, but only mine. My heart aches often for my younger self. I will always be grateful to her for creating the life I live now, because it was not without struggle. Her dedication to herself is what brought me here.
I had fallen in love in that first apartment and had my heart broken countless times. I made mountains of mistakes — the kind I now wish I could go back and shake myself at the thought of them. I was messy and selfish and irresponsible and becoming so deeply myself I couldn’t bear it. I was starting to understand who I was at a level I hadn’t yet been able to grasp.
I’ve only recently started to learn that being 20 and 21 and 22 and all the ages that come before and after that revolves around constantly learning how to live — how to be passionate and create community around me, how to exist in connections and meaningful relationships. Slowly, I am learning more about who I am and what it means to take on my own identity without performance.
Performance in identity is something I have a complicated relationship with. In my youth, I had based a lot of my worth on how people viewed me, especially in romantic scenarios. This showed up in how I presented myself to the world and even within some of my interests, which I am not proud to admit. I’ve since strayed from those theatrics.
Performance will always be part of identity; it's, in some ways, the baseline of what an identity is. But when the baseline is raised too high, identity feels false and hollow. If identity is entirely performative, there can be no raw connection with others. The most human thing that can occur is wiped away and replaced by the need to be liked, loved and wanted. Without connection, basic emotional needs cannot be met. Connection is at the heart of every sense, every emotion. Human connection is what drives people to live and love.
I understand my identity more now than ever. Maybe it’s because I’m 22. Maybe it's because I am making a new home for myself in a space that is unfamiliar and not yet mine. Maybe I am simply growing into who I am meant to be. I can now recognize the parts of myself that tend to lean vain and performative, and I use hope to soften them as I become undeniably myself. b