‘A defiant kind of love.’ Community rallies after UK canceled graduation ceremonies | Opinion
When I stood onstage at Community Commencement 2025 on the evening of May 2, I did not stand alone. University of Kentucky students, staff, faculty, alumni, local leaders, faith communities, and small business owners stood with me, hand-in-hand, as people who know the difference between law and justice.
We cheered for ourselves and the many who labored quietly behind the scenes: for Reverend Matt Falco who opened the Maxwell Street Presbyterian Church doors without hesitation, for the volunteers and donors who fed us, and for everyone who showed up on a stormy day to bring sunshine into the sanctuary.
We made sure to clap especially loudly for the many UK employees who said they were concerned about being outed as an organizer.
Together, we built our own table, and then we feasted.
Community Commencement was a gift for all 25 graduates whose special celebrations were canceled in secret at the last minute by the UK administration. I was among them, having learned Lavender Graduation would be canceled in a tearful staff meeting with my directors at the Office of LGBTQ* Resources, where I have worked for the last year and a half.
Lavender Graduation was to be a special event for me as a less crowded ceremony was the only way my mother—who has battled multiple sclerosis for over two decades—would feel better maneuvering a space where she could see me walk across a stage.
Because of those who helped me create Lexington’s first Community Commencement, she was there.
Still, despite the joy that this moment brought me and everyone at the event, this moment should not have had to happen. The gap the university left in celebrating its paying students leaves more questions I am scared to know the answer to: how can students thrive in disciplines under threat? Who will fight for us when it’s not en vogue to be associated with us? When the structures meant to support us falter, what do we build in their place?
I don’t have every answer. But after seeing how the Lexington community worked together so quickly and efficiently to put on an event for our students, raising almost three thousand dollars in the process, I do know that we have each other. And that means something, at least.
The defiant kind of love I witnessed on that stage reminded me of something I read from the brilliant mind of bell hooks. bell was one of my friends and mentors at Berea College, whose words I keep with me close to my heart at all times, especially now.
In “All About Love,” a book that my husband and I used as one of the sacred texts in our wedding ceremony, she writes, “The light of love is always in us, no matter how cold the flame. It is always present, waiting for the spark to ignite, waiting for the heart to awaken.”
When I was a child raised in an independent-fundamentalist church, I was warned of a time when the love of many would wax cold. For the last 100 days, as I have read the news and seen how it is becoming increasingly popular to hate each other, I started to believe this prophecy might be coming true.
But in the pulpit of Maxwell Street Presbyterian Church, when I saw every row of pews filled with participants of Community Commencement, I saw a room full of candles in the dark refusing to go out.
I was reminded of bell’s words on how light is our legacy, how love is our protest. I do not know what the future holds, but I do know we will not be extinguished.
Jay Stringer-Vaught is a graduating MLS student at UK. They founded the Lesch Lending Library, a statewide LGBTQ* and identity-centric library, at the Office of LGBTQ* Resources.
This story was originally published May 5, 2025 at 9:24 AM.