Last Friday, over 50 students gathered outside of Debartolo Hall to protest Governor DeSantis' welcome by the University. We represented a coalition of students committed to justice and democracy: Solidarity ND, SCIA, SVP and the College Democrats.
Together, we stood not just to oppose a politician, but to resist the dangerous currents that his brand of politics represents. Our protest wasn’t simply against DeSantis — it was a rejection of the University's decision to host him and everything that choice symbolized. In a world where erasure has become a successful political strategy, our presence on the quad was a responding “no, it’s not.”
One of the many lives shattered by DeSantis was Maryann’s, who was just 17. She had dreams of becoming an OB/GYN, bringing life into the world, but those dreams were cut short. Days after Florida passed one of the most ruthless bans on transgender identities, Maryann took her own life.
The Governor's actions weren’t just about denying gender affirming care — they were an attack on her very existence. By banning books, erasing trans stories in the classroom and silencing their voices in public life, his policies aren’t just “don't say gay” — it's a declaration that in his America, you cannot be gay, you cannot be trans.
By inviting Governor DeSantis, the University echoed that same message.
Maryann stood before a world that not only sought to silence her, but to deny her right to exist. Faced with DeSantis’ crushing hostility, she saw no future, no American Dream, where she could live unburdened by shame. Her death is a tragic reminder of the harm that DeSantis' policies cause. But our response to her death must be more than grief — it must be outrage.
DeSantis' attacks on the LGBTQ+ community are rooted in fear. The patriarchy, feeling its grip on power slipping, lashes out with laws designed to enforce antiquated gender constructs. DeSantis represents a dying worldview, one that cannot tolerate the freedom we embody.
Charlotte Clymer, an activist who fought before we were ready, reminds us, “we should hope that one day, they get as comfortable in their skin as queer people are in theirs.” Because only when they find peace within themselves will they be free from the lie that tells them our existence threatens theirs.
Governor DeSantis has also launched an assault on Black America, a cruelty unseen since Jim Crow. By manufacturing the “threat” of Critical Race Theory and DEI programs, he has turned Black progress into his political enemy. His efforts to erase Black voices and rewrite Black history follow a familiar pattern — this is how white supremacy has always operated: by excluding Black Americans from the story of America itself.
In Florida, you cannot say Black Lives Matter because DeSantis has made his message clear: to him, Black Lives Don’t Matter. By giving him a platform, the University has endorsed that message.
DeSantis’ visit to campus was evidence that white supremacy is being resurrected – but it is not a revival, it's the same ideology that has stained the country since its founding — simply rebranded for modern politics.
After Tuesday, I realized that we are entering into one of the darkest moments in American history. The next four years will be defined by an onslaught of attacks on marginalized communities, inspired by DeSantis. But, in this dark moment, we cannot afford to retreat into passivity. I understood that DeSantis’ speech, right after the election, was a chance to prove that people concerned about dignity are still here.
I wasn’t just protesting for people’s right to exist – I was protesting for everyone's right to thrive, to live freely without fear. That is why we must continue to step out of the classroom, out of the closet and onto the quad.
Some argue that Governor DeSantis deserved to speak at the University because we need dialogue. They say that universities are spaces for open debate. I agree — dialogue and free speech should be paramount values on this campus (see: Occupation Free ND getting arrested). But dialogue requires a mutual recognition of humanity. Governor DeSantis' policies don’t represent a difference of opinion; they represent a denial of identities. As James Baldwin once observed, dialogue is impossible when “disagreement is rooted in the denial of my humanity.”
To illustrate, imagine if the University invited an anti-Catholic radical who claimed that Catholics, by existing, were a danger to children, just as DeSantis claims about queer people. Imagine this person labeling all Catholics as “criminals,” like DeSantis has done with immigrants. Would we entertain a dialogue with someone whose core argument denies our right to exist? Would we let the University normalize this ideology? Of course not. Engaging in such a conversation would only embolden anti-Catholic hate, creating an echo-chamber where Catholic students are continuously threatened.
Yet, even in the face of such hostility, our response must be rooted in compassion, not malice. Many of the same forces that elected Trump are present here, on our own campus (hi rover!). Some of the people we pass in class every day helped put him in the White House.
It’s our responsibility to teach them — because they fear the loss of a world that has privileged them. So, we must help them see, by our protest, that our liberation is their liberation too.
I was proud to stand together, in resistance, to say Gay — I heard DeSantis doesn’t like it when you say that – but, most importantly, to say that no more people will be erased. As we enter into what is sure to be one of the darkest moments in American history, we fight even harder for a new country — a country where all of us, from the banks of the Rio Grande to the streets of Cleveland, every single one of us, is free.
Thank you to everyone who came to the protest; stay tuned for more.
Connor Marrott is a senior from Cleveland, Ohio His writing has appeared in the Cleveland Plain Dealer and the Cincinnati Enquirer. He serves on the board of SoildarityND and is always eager to discuss any and all ideas. You can contact Connor at cmarrott@nd.edu.
