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This photograph depicts a Pride flag displayed on a student\u2019s desk alongside a flower. Together, these objects symbolize visibility, growth, and resilience. Participants described Pride symbols as more than decorations; they were affirmations of identity, community, and the right to exist openly as queer people. Many reflected on the significance of seeing a rainbow flag for the first time in their hometown or attending a Pride event, experiences that helped them feel recognized, connected, and less alone. The flower adds another layer of meaning, representing personal growth through adversity. Participants spoke about how navigating the challenges of being queer, including exclusion, misunderstanding, and discrimination, had fostered resilience, self-awareness, strength and activism. The image captures the idea that queer identity is both a source of pride and a journey of continual growth. Like a flower that blooms despite difficult conditions, queer people continue to flourish, drawing strength from their experiences, their communities, and their commitment to living authentically. For many participants, displaying a Pride flag remains a meaningful act of visibility, celebration, and resistance.<\/p>\n
“I grew up in a very small Roman Catholic town, there was not ever a pride flag anywhere, ever, my entire life growing up. So the first time that I got one, […] I felt very connected to it, because it was like\u2026. You can not look in my eyes, and you cannot look at me but this flag is so bright, like, you have to acknowledge it, even if not verbally, I can see you looking at it.”<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n “Plants are very resilient despite lot and lot of adversity that plants in the environment faces, and I just think, that’s\u2026 for me, my experience being queer and, like, in the social work space, in small towns and cities, and, like, in a lot of different areas, it’s just\u2026 there’s a lot that tries to smush you, and, like, to keep with, like the metaphor, smush you and, like, stomp on you, and pick your pedals off, but, you know, you just\u2026. You keep growing, because, like, what else is there to do but keep growing?”<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n These two photographs depicts a social work lanyard and water bottles decorated with pins and stickers representing pronouns, trans rights, Indigenous justice, black lives matter, gender-affirming healthcare, and solidarity with Palestine. Together, these symbols reflect how participants understood queerness as deeply connected to broader struggles for social justice. Rather than separating issues of identity from political and collective concerns, participants described carrying their commitments into classrooms, practicum placements, and professional spaces through visible acts of solidarity. For some, these symbols were a way to signal their values, connect with others, and make queerness visible when they were not always recognized as queer. At the same time, the image highlights the tension between personal expressions of solidarity and institutional environments where conversations about contemporary injustices can feel limited or discouraged. These objects become both a declaration of identity and a reminder that social justice is often carried by individuals, even when institutions remain cautious or silent.<\/p>\n \u201cI like to wear these kinds of flags to the community just to show that, first of all, sometimes that I am queer because I’m not often read as queer.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cQueerness being political and wanting other communities that I’m not a part of to know that I stand in solidarity with them as a queer person.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t always feel comfortable to speak up\u2026 and I found this to feel like a little piece of kind of social justice that I could carry around even when I wasn’t speaking out about things always. But then, yeah, just feeling conflicted about that sometimes too.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n \u201cMy queerness doesn\u2019t exist without everything else\u2014race, culture, politics\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n This photograph captures the exterior of a corner store, where a variety of business signs are displayed alongside queer rainbow imagery and a Palestinian flag. It\u00a0explores the intersection of queer identity, political commitments, and solidarity across different struggles for justice. The rainbow crosswalk signals queer visibility, while the Palestinian flag introduces another dimension of identity and resistance, reflecting participants\u2019 experiences of navigating multiple, interconnected realities. Participants emphasized that their queerness could not be separated from their race, culture, disability, politics, or broader social concerns. Many expressed a desire for queer spaces that move beyond symbolic inclusion and engage meaningfully with contemporary issues and struggles. The image highlights both the possibilities and limitations of public displays of inclusion, inviting reflection on whether visible symbols of Pride are accompanied by deeper commitments to justice, dialogue, and solidarity. Ultimately, it reflects participants\u2019 hopes for queer spaces that acknowledge the complexity of lived experience and embrace the interconnected nature of liberation movements.<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes I have to decide which part of me takes precedence\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMy queerness doesn\u2019t exist without everything else\u2014race, culture, politics\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cPride spaces can feel symbolic, but not always connected to real struggles\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n This photograph shows a stack of books, including Towards a Gay Communism<\/em>, Making Love With the Land<\/em>, Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice<\/em>, and Abolish Social Work (As We Know It)<\/em>, displayed beside vibrant artwork. The image reflects participants\u2019 commitment to self-directed learning when they felt the formal social work curriculum did not adequately engage queer, trans, Indigenous, abolitionist, disability justice, or anti-oppressive perspectives. Several participants described classroom discussions as remaining at an introductory level, often focusing on basic concepts of oppression rather than exploring the complexities of lived experience and social transformation. In response, they sought out alternative sources of knowledge that felt more meaningful, rigorous, and connected to their values. The photograph represents both intellectual curiosity and resistance, highlighting how students create their own pathways to learning through books, art, community, and lived experience. It also points to a desire for social work education that more fully embraces diverse ways of knowing and the rich bodies of scholarship emerging from marginalized communities.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is everything I read this year instead of doing the course readings.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt is a lot of self-directed learning, because I don’t feel I’m getting a diverse perspective in class.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSocial work education is often assuming that the student can’t relate or doesn’t have lived experience as an oppressed person\u2026 it doesn\u2019t celebrate the lived experience of the students.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\nCarrying Solidarity as a Social Worker<\/strong><\/h2>\n
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<\/p>\nPride and Intersectionality <\/span><\/b><\/h2>\n
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<\/p>\nThe Alternative Curriculum<\/strong><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
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