5 Impact of College – The Campus Experience for LGBTQ+ Students

Kimberly Meints

School of Educational Foundations, Leadership and Aviation, Oklahoma State University

HESA 6583: Impact of College

Dr. Lisa Will

April 5, 2021

Literature Review: The Campus Experience for LGBTQ+ Students

When Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning and other sexual minority (LGBTQ+) students arrive on campus, they experience excitement to find community and explore their identity in a new environment (Alessi et al., 2017; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). However, in addition to navigating the process of identity development, LGBTQ+ students are anxious to see if they will be rejected by others, which can be expressed through prejudice or harassment (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020). These external forces contribute to negative outcomes for LGBTQ+ students, such as lower self-esteem, lower GPAs, isolation, physical assault, and suicidal ideation (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020; Coulter & Rankin, 2020; Mathies et al., 2019; Peter & Taylor, 2014; Seabrook et al., 2018). Yet, these students display resilience in their transition to higher education by utilizing a variety of strategies to overcome adverse situations (Alessi et al., 2017; Mathies et al., 2019).

Throughout this paper, the acronym LGBTQ+ will be used to refer to students who identify with one or more sexual minority identities. It is meant to be a generally inclusive term; when more specific populations are referenced, they are directly identified. This paper will examine the first-year experience of LGBTQ+ students, the campus climate and institutional response to incidents of harassment and discrimination, and recommendations for higher education professionals to improve the college environment for LGBTQ+ students.

First-Year Experience

Many LGBTQ+ students leave high school feeling marginalized; only some are out to friends and family, and so their opportunities to fully participate in the usual high school activities such as dating are reduced (Alessi et al., 2017). While many students have close family ties, they also fear the reactions of their parents should they choose to disclose their sexual minority status, as it may violate cultural or religious family norms (Alessi et al., 2017). Some students who had come out to their parents found support and acceptance, other parents displayed avoidance or emotional distress (Alessi et al., 2017). Students from these households may have internalized negative attitudes about themselves, making it difficult to analyze their own internal struggle (Mathies et al., 2019). In addition, students may anticipate the withdrawal of financial and emotional support should they tell their families, even after they begin college (Alessi et al., 2017). Complicating the situation further, while they are excited for the new opportunities that college brings, students often leave behind their existing support networks, including family and friends (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). However, students do find community on college campuses in their own time; this belonging is found on three different levels: campus and/or community, group, and friendships (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017).

During the recruitment process, prospective LGBTQ+ students look for indications that they will have a place on campus; when they see signage, symbols, or overt expressions of support by the university, including affinity groups and resource centers, they believe that the university supports them (Allen et al., 2020; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). The first stage of belonging, campus and community, is less personal but still important, that the university welcomes people “like me” (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017, p. 146).

Not every student in college, including during their first year, is in the same stage of identity development at the same time (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Some LGBTQ+ students have come out publicly in high school, while other students have only begun the process of questioning who they are (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). However, new LGBTQ+ college students fear hostile reactions from peers, especially roommates, and even students who are out may choose how and when to disclose their identity to new acquaintances (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020). First friends are often made out of convenience, such as residence hall neighbors or clubs, aside from their sexuality (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). These relationships do not always endure as students begin to know themselves better and friendships are tested, often at the point of disclosure (Alessi et al., 2017). LGBTQ+ students may participate in heterosexual spaces such as fraternity parties and experience conflicting emotions, including enjoyment at time spent with friends, stress as they hide their identity, and frustration at the lack of available sexual partners (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Other groups, such as LGBTQ+ affinity clubs can provide students with role models and positive spaces where they can behave in ways that make them feel comfortable (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Students must navigate these group dynamics as they seek out spaces where they can be themselves and develop authentic friendships.

Many of these early friendships are not authentic, because they have been formed through convenience and not understanding. Alessi et al. (2017) notes that when the LGBTQ+ students in their survey did choose to disclose their identities, they felt isolated if their heterosexual friends were not supportive after they came out. Some students felt shame about their status when they were excluded or belittled by heterosexual students or when they modified their behaviors to make others feel more comfortable (Alessi et al., 2017). However, students exhibited resilience by managing their identities and decisions of when and how to disclose their LGBTQ+ status (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020). Unfortunately, this additional emotional, and sometimes physical, labor provoked anxiety and limited the time they could spend adjusting to college life and developing academic skills (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020). Nonetheless, students were able to make authentic, supportive relationships after they had better clarified their own identities to themselves (Alessi et al., 2017). Letting go of casual, convenient friendships and embracing authentic friendships also encouraged a greater sense of group and friendship belonging in LGBTQ+ students (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017).

Peter and Taylor (2014) noted that LGBTQ+ students may experience “minority stress,” or a cumulative stress that results from structural processes such as heterosexism in social environments (p. 129). Some students managed minority stress by controlling their physical presentation, building relationships with supportive faculty and staff, and making connections with other LGBTQ+ students through affinity groups and friendships (Alessi et al., 2017). However, others practiced self-exclusion as a protective measure (Allen et al., 2020; Mathies et al., 2019). Withdrawing from others reflects a lack of belonging, and Peter and Taylor (2014) identify depression as a risk factor for suicide, which can be linked to isolation. To manage their competing feelings, students employ resilience strategies, although not all support positive academic outcomes.

The Campus Climate and Institutional Response

Campuses can be described as unwelcoming if they foster or allow a hostile environment (Alessi et al., 2017; Dessel et al., 2017). Sexual minority students can have concurrent, mixed, and contradictory feelings about the campus climate (Allen et al., 2020). It is not surprising that students can feel safe and unsafe on campus at the same time because these feelings are dependent on their situation and surroundings, which can change rapidly (Allen et al., 2020; Mathies et al., 2019). One study by Woodford et al. (2012) at a large university found heterosexual student attitudes were somewhat affirming of LGBTQ+ people. However, 14% of respondents were not affirming, a percentage high enough to influence the overall campus climate (Woodford et al., 2012, p. 309). Additionally, students who do not hold strong antigay views may still employ microaggressions that affect LGBTQ+ students (Woodford et al., 2012). Ignoring the effects of microaggressions “will only perpetuate a cycle of academic struggle and a system set up to fail marginalized populations that are in need of specific supports” (Mathies et al., 2019, p. 270).

Ripley et al. (2011) found that many first-time students of all backgrounds arrive on campus with limited exposure to LGBTQ+ content during their pre-college experiences. This can cause them to be hyper-aware of LGBTQ+ interactions and overestimate the number of occurrences in the classroom (Ripley et al., 2011). In the British study on a supportive campus, students were corrected in their overestimation but misinterpreted the identification of heteronormativity as being accused of homophobia (Ripley et al., 2011). Rather than taking the opportunity in a private space to analyze their own bias, the heterosexual students instead displayed protective reactions to the assumed threat of having their allyship questioned. This lack of practice in considering other viewpoints can mean that students are insensitive to the hurtful meanings of off-hand comments and slang (Alessi et al., 2017; Mathies et al., 2019). This contributes to a less welcoming campus climate. One weakness of the Ripley et al. (2011) study is its age, as it is now nearly a decade old and significant changes to our understanding of allyship and homophobia has occurred since the study was conducted.

Heterosexual, cisgender students may also harbor unconscious bias that attributes motivations to others such as having an agenda or being blinded by obsession whenever LGBTQ+ concerns or issues are broached (Ripley et al., 2011). This can lead to confrontations in the classroom, but faculty and LGBTQ+ students do not always have the same expectations for how faculty can best support LGBTQ+ students during these awkward or heated moments (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016). Frankly, faculty and staff can harass students or otherwise make college an unwelcoming place as well (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016; Weber et al., 2018). However, when faculty properly support students, they can mitigate some of the effects of harassment (Alessi et al., 2017; Mathies et al., 2019).

Microaggressions, such as derogatory slurs, slights, or insults, cause stress for LGBTQ+ students (Mathies et al., 2019; Weber et al., 2018). Some common examples of microaggressions toward LGBTQ+ individuals include pressuring a person to act or dress in a way that makes the (heteronormative) viewer more comfortable; making comments and asking questions of a personal nature with the assumption that the inquisitor has a right to the information; and expressing discomfort with or disapproval of the LGBTQ+ individual (Weber et al., 2018). Microaggressions may appear innocuous or complimentary to the offender, and may even be unintentional, but they reflect bias and prejudice when examined (Mathies et al., 2019; Weber et al., 2018). Not only are microaggressions hurtful in the short- and long-term, but they signal to the targeted student that the situation may become dangerous, prompting students to closely monitor the interaction and often leading to feelings of anxiety and depression (Mathies et al., 2019; Weber et al., 2018). Sexual minority students and faculty also experience reductivist attitudes from heterosexual students, where they were only seen as “gay” and not as multifaceted individuals (Alessi et al., 2017; Ripley et al., 2011). The feelings of unsafety and of essentialism reduce the students’ sense of belonging on campus, which can also lead them to disengage from academic pursuits resulting in lower GPAs (Mathies et al., 2019). Mathies et al. (2019) emphasize how microaggressions can impact students intersectionally as well: “{Minority stress] theory also relates to our results indicating that LGBQ+ students who identified as a person of color had significantly poorer academic outcomes” (the study did not include transgender participants, p. 268).

A study by Weber et al. (2018) identified a small but complex population that provided an opportunity to understand microaggressions from a different lens, with the benefit of retrospection: a) women and people of color, b) who were also sexual minorities, and c) had at least a master’s degree. The study participants identified a number of feelings in response to microaggressions that were directed at more than one of their identities, “such as anger, sadness, fatigue, withdrawal, and concerns for safety that may have a cumulative impact on physical and psychological health” (Weber et al., 2018, p. 554). While we think of the college campus as an inclusive, progressive space, the participants in Weber et al.’s study experienced inequitable treatment within higher education itself, even after they had joined its ranks.

Campus members may also harbor conscious biases. A study by Worthen (2014) of male and female athletes and Greek organization members identified a variety of perspectives on LGBTQ+ identities. These perspectives differed based on the gender of the person, the group they belonged to, and the specific sexual minority group within the LGBTQ+ community. In particular, Worthen found that male athletes and fraternity members may feel social pressure to fulfill a particular type of masculine gender role and may possess a fear that association with homoerotic behaviors (such as group showers) may lessen their status as members of the privileged majority. This may lead them to prove their heteronormativity through destructive behavior including homophobic, biphobic, and transphobic harassment and abuse (Worthen, 2014). These student groups often have a strong presence on campus and their collective actions can affect the campus climate. However, these groups are also highly visible and a captive audience when it comes to policy enforcement (should it be enforced). Not all offenders belong to public organizations that can be held accountable as a group and police their own members.

Sexual assault is common on college campuses, with up to 1 in 4 women reporting some type of encounter during their college career, and bisexual and lesbian women indicating a much higher rate than heterosexual women (30.4% and 24.6% vs 16.8%, respectively) (Seabrook et al., 2018, p. 434). Lesbian and bisexual women also reported a lower perception of the responsiveness of the university and other students to their assaults, which materially affects their sense of belonging on campus (Seabrook et al., 2018). Seabrook et al. asserted that students may thus be less likely to report assaults and receive help if they believe the university will not follow through on the report. Sexual minority women may also be afraid of reporting assailants who are part of the LGBTQ+ community and face the backlash of betraying the larger group (Seabrook et al., 2018).

A Canadian study of first-year students found that lesbian, gay, and bisexual (LGB) students reported significantly higher rates for suicide attempts than heterosexual students (Peter & Taylor, 2014). For LGB students, a higher socio-economic status and an experience of bullying also correlated with a stronger predictor of suicidality (Peter & Taylor, 2014). There were mixed findings between other studies and Peter and Taylor’s on the influence of sex on suicidality, but this study found an increased likelihood for older, female students to attempt suicide. These findings may not align with higher education practitioners’ usual assumptions, so we should be aware of our own biases of which students are most at risk and be vigilant to reach out to students who are struggling.

Coulter and Rankin (2020) found that inclusive campuses may have lower assault rates for three reasons: a) perpetrators are less likely to target the LGBTQ+ population, b) other community members may be more likely to intervene, and c) LGBTQ+ students may engage in more self-protective behaviors, such as harm-reduction strategies (Coulter & Rankin, 2020). Bystander intervention is more likely when the bystander is friends with an LGBTQ+ person, but other factors influence intervention, too, such as gender, race, education level, religious tradition, and participation in a diversity course (Dessel et al., 2017). Historically Black Colleges & Universities (HBCUs) may experience additional barriers to inclusion, such as African American cultural taboos against LGBTQ+ identities (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016). However, these schools can also take advantage of their historically strong nurturing environments to reach out to and support LGBTQ+ students (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016). Other types of institutions may need to identity their own barriers and strengths in order to improve their environments. Campus climate is not unmalleable, and higher education practitioners can use our expertise to positively influence it.

Recommendations for Higher Education Practitioners

To start, LGBTQ+ students are looking for authenticity, and they will reject actions that appear to be hypocritical (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020; Seabrook et al., 2018; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Not every LGBTQ+ student will have the same experience or the same needs (Weber et al., 2018). Practitioners should be careful not to treat this group as a monolithic population; we must explicitly acknowledge subgroups (i.e., not just gay men and trans women, but bisexual women and nonbinary students, too) and provide for their diverse needs (Budge et al., 2020). Not every student will be in the same stage of identity development at the same time, so they may be limited in which resources they acknowledge or use if it is only available to students who are out publicly (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017).

Campus leadership at all levels can set expectations for positive social norms by modeling this behavior. For example, they can intentionally acknowledge student groups and their place on campus, pushing back against the process of “othering,” where members of a privileged group enforce their own norms by excluding or belittling non-compliant individuals. Making LGBTQ+ common on campus will help reduce the stigmatization of these students, and possibly attract less attention over time (Allen et al., 2020). Some opportunities for incorporating LGBTQ+ content into existing spaces include freshman orientation programs and first year seminars (Woodford et al., 2012). These conversations should continue throughout the year, not just in August, and not just with freshmen (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017).

To better understand the experiences of the LGBTQ+ population on individual campuses, climate surveys distributed by higher education practitioners should include demographic questions that include LGBTQ+ identities (Coulter & Rankin, 2020). This can help campus leaders identify areas that need improvement. New norms can be reinforced with training programs and social justice course content alongside facilitated conversations (Dessel et al., 2017). Faculty also need training in how best to support LGBTQ+ students (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016; Mathies et al., 2019). This can likely be extended to staff as well; students feel safe and welcome on campus when they feel supported by staff (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020). Both groups look to campus leadership to establish policy to guide their actions (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016), and some existing policies may need to be updated (Mathies et al., 2019). For example, policies should not rely solely on the victim’s reporting in order to be enforced; doing so reduces climate improvement to reacting to individual instances and places additional burdens on the victim (Allen et al., 2020). Training and policies need to acknowledge the intersectionality of oppression, harassment, and targeting, and actively seek to center the voices that have been traditionally silenced (McMahon et al., 2020). These should be inclusive of other sources of harassment such as sexism, racism, and ableism (Allen et al., 2020). Students who are interested should also be recruited to help inform training and policies as they can contribute meaningful insights based on their lived experiences (McMahon et al., 2020).

A robust and well-supported LGBTQ+ resource center not only signals to prospective and current students that the campus welcomes diverse students (Tillapaugh & Catalano, 2019), but it can also foster belongingness and act as a central gathering location for the community and allies (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Alessi et al. (2017) lists many additional ways that institutions can support LGBTQ+ students including specific orientation programs that present information on what to expect during their first year and the impact of intersectional factors. Some LGBTQ+ students are more comfortable acknowledging their status than others, and this difference means that some will benefit from different types of programming. In addition to political activists and ally organizations, practitioners should try to promote more casual interactions, such as study, gaming, and discussion groups, where students have the opportunity to make friends and identify role models (Alessi et al., 2017; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). These opportunities can help encourage a sense of belongingness in students, which Budge et al. (2020) found can reduce the effects of minority stress for nonbinary students. Practitioners with responsibility over the LGBTQ+ resource center or a related area should evaluate the current staffing and supervision to ensure that this high-contact, and often high-stress, office does not lose efficacy due to burn-out of staff (Tillapaugh & Catalano, 2019).

Additionally, for all students, it may help them to understand that it is okay for friendships of convenience to be let go as new, deeper friendships are formed over time. Many programs on campus are focused on the first six weeks of school, but higher education practitioners should promote student development and friendship programs between LGBTQ+ and non-LGBTQ+ students throughout the year (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Many studies indicated the benefits of knowing LGBTQ+ people as a trait associated with lower instances of homophobia and higher intentions to intervene to stop bullying (Coulter & Rankin, 2020; Dessel et al., 2017; Worthen, 2014). Some heteronormative groups on campus may respond more favorably to training crafted especially for them (Woodford et al., 2012; Worthen, 2014). Men, politically conservative students, fraternity members, and male athletes may all respond better in these specially designed groups, particularly if they are led by someone they trust (Dessel et al., 2017; Woodford et al., 2012; Worthen, 2014).

Crucially, practitioners should be aware of the signs of suicidal ideation and intervention strategies. The students most at risk for suicide may not fit common assumptions (Peter & Taylor, 2014). We must follow through on what we say (Allen et al., 2020) and strive to be safe and trustworthy supporters of students, so that they feel comfortable reporting their experiences to us (Seabrook et al., 2018). Incorporating methods to improve self-esteem may also benefit students, as higher self-esteem was identified as a protective factor against suicide for all students (Peter & Taylor, 2014).

During the recruitment of new students, many universities claim to be inclusive and welcoming spaces for all students, including LGBTQ+ (Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). However, the evidence of students not trusting the university to help them after an assault (Coulter & Rankin, 2020; Seabrook et al., 2018), students not feeling supported by faculty (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016), and veteran campus members continuing to experience microaggressions (Weber et al., 2018) indicate that there is still much to be done to follow through on the promises that higher education professionals are making to our prospective and current students. Each day is a new opportunity to prove ourselves trustworthy and safe.

Conclusion

Many of these studies were based on small sample sizes (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016; Peter & Taylor, 2014; Seabrook et al., 2018; Tillapaugh & Catalano, 2019; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017) or narrow population types (Alessi et al., 2017; Coulter & Rankin, 2020; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). Authors were limited in their recruiting due to the sensitive nature of asking students to disclose their minority status. Other studies reflect the situation at campuses outside of the United States (Allen et al., 2020; Peter & Taylor, 2014; Ripley et al., 2011). A starting place for collecting more robust data would be for U.S. colleges and universities to add demographic questions that are specific to the LGBTQ+ population to campus climate surveys. That would help higher education professionals better identify areas that are lacking on campus for this student group and inform future research. Many of these studies also looked at the difficulties experienced by LGBTQ+ students, but only a few have begun to identify their strengths. This is another area that could be explored in future research.

However, the existing research does support the fact that LGBTQ+ students arrive on campus in a variety of states of identity development and possess strengths that can be encouraged by faculty and staff (Alessi et al., 2017; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017). They are also vulnerable to external pressures including microaggressions, rejection, harassment, and abuse (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020; Budge et al., 2020; Coulter & Rankin, 2020; Dessel et al., 2017; Mathies et al., 2019; Peter & Taylor, 2014; Seabrook et al., 2018; Vaccaro & Newman, 2017; Weber et al., 2018; Woodford et al., 2012; Worthen, 2014). Higher education practitioners should support LGBTQ+ students in multiple ways. First, by proactively leading campus conversations to create a more welcoming environment for all students, including LGBTQ+ and other minority students. We must take an intersectional view of campus climate and identify the ways that heteronormativity in conjunction with other prejudiced viewpoints can create a hostile environment for students (Lewis & Ericksen, 2016; Mathies et al., 2019; Worthen, 2014). Next, we must review, improve, and expand policies and training for faculty, staff, and students (Alessi et al., 2017; Allen et al., 2020; Dessel et al., 2017; Mathies et al., 2019; McMahon et al., 2020; Peter & Taylor, 2014; Ripley et al., 2011; Woodford et al., 2012; Worthen, 2014). Finally, we must ensure that resources are in place to support these efforts (Allen et al., 2020; Tillapaugh & Catalano, 2019).

References

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