Dear CMU community, I have resigned my faculty position at Colorado Mesa University. My resignation comes after eight years as an adjunct, during which I taught LGBT Studies and psychology with honesty, rigor, and a deep commitment to my students. I am not leaving because of them. I am leaving because President John Marshall chose to escalate a single, decontextualized student complaint rather than seek understanding, truth, or a basic conversation. His handling of the situation made it unmistakably clear that the intellectual and human work I do in the classroom is no longer protected by the institution I served.

I was recently told by Academic Affairs to be “neutral”—to mute my voice—because of two sentences from my first-day lecture, that were taken out of context. In one, I welcomed all students and acknowledged that some local churches are queer allies while others require critical interrogation, informed by students’ experiences of religious trauma. In the other, I noted it was “likely that one of you voted for Trump,” immediately followed by affirming that you have the right to be here and that this classroom is a safe space in which to engage with difficult issues.

My LGBT Studies class emphasized queer-centered voices while including differing perspectives, but that nuance was ignored, and my voice was silenced. Students deserve classrooms where they can think critically, discuss openly, and feel safe—without fear of being muted for the sake of institutional “neutrality.”

I have been queer long enough to see the pattern clearly: anxious institutions cloak silencing in the language of neutrality. For eight years, my students trusted me to create a classroom where real learning could happen—where they could wrestle with difficult ideas, speak honestly, take intellectual risks, and grow. Taking LGBT Studies in western Colorado is not for the faint of heart. It requires clarity, resilience, and moral courage. My students consistently demonstrated those qualities. I wish I could say the same for the university’s top leadership.

James Baldwin wrote in A Talk to Teachers that “the whole process of education occurs within a social framework and is designed to perpetuate the aims of society.” Education is never neutral it challenges, provokes, and destabilizes. A university that cannot tolerate critical pedagogy is not committed to learning; it is committed to self-preservation. When institutions feel threatened, they call for caution or moderation; in reality, these are tools used to protect power.

Rather than seeking context, President Marshall forwarded the complaint to the Assistant Vice President of Academic Affairs, bypassing my department entirely. My department did not request a meeting; they were instructed to hold one. During that meeting, I was told by AA to “be more equitable,” to “not let students know my positions,” and to “teach them to think rather than what to think.” These were not pedagogical suggestions—they were directives to flatten my teaching, censor intellectual clarity, and manage perceived discomfort rather than defend academic freedom. Context—the very thing that matters in education—was removed entirely.

This response contrasts sharply with how queer students’ concerns have been handled. Multiple students independently told me that when they reported prejudice or hostility to Marshall directly, they were instructed to not be “fragile” and simply endure it. Yet one decontextualized report about my teaching triggered action at the highest level. The message to faculty is chilling: challenge harmful ideas, and you may be told to be quiet. The message to students is equally troubling: experience bias, and you may be dismissed. That double standard undermines the integrity of education itself.

I leave CMU with pride in my work, gratitude for my department, and profound respect for my students. I did nothing wrong. I taught with integrity, courage, and care. What I will not do is sanitize my teaching to appease administrative fragility or political anxiety.

To my students: You were the reason I stayed. Watching you engage new material with curiosity, connect it thoughtfully to your own lives, and reflect deeply was profoundly meaningful. I hope you leave these classrooms more confident in your ability to think critically, listen generously, and question the systems you move through. Learning does not end at the edge of campus, and no institution owns your capacity to think.

To my queer students: You were never too much, and you were never fragile. Your presence, questions, stories, and insistence on being fully seen mattered. You deserve safety, dignity, and joy not as rewards, but as rights. There will be moments when care is enough, and moments when courage is required. Learn to recognize the difference. When harm happens quietly, politely, or under the language of “neutrality,” your clarity is not a threat—it is a responsibility. Take up space when it matters. Support one another. Speak when silence would cost too much. Activism does not always look like protest. Sometimes it looks like refusal, persistence, or telling the truth anyway. You are not alone. You never were. And you are far more prepared
than you have been led to believe.

Sincerely,
Professor Miller
Independent educator and advocate for queer-inclusive pedagogy

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