CHASI has a far broader purview as one of UFV’s research centres. As the name implies, it exists to improve health in the Fraser Valley community and beyond. But it does so with a wide view of what health means: it encompasses physical, social, mental, emotional, and economic health, and the many ways in which they all intersect.
Since its launch in April of 2020, supporting the queer community has emerged as a key tenet of CHASI’s work. Driven by needs in the community and the experiences of their multidisciplinary team, CHASI has co-organized UFV’s annual Tea Dance for three years in a row; they have prompted artists to create work inspired by a UFV Theatre production of The Laramie Project, and they have maintained a display of Pride flags on campus in the face of repeated vandalism and theft.
CHASI’s Director, Dr. Martha Dow, reflects on this engagement with LGBTQ+ individuals and issues:
Our commitment to provide a space for queer students to feel safe and seen is unwavering and unfortunately necessary in the absence of a dedicated Pride space on campus. I recognize that I move in this world with tremendous privilege and yet, as a lesbian who grew up in the ‘70s and ‘80s, I am heartbroken that we are in a time that feels far too familiar. A time where people feel permission to demand that our lives be erased from public spaces, that religious freedom is asserted as a defence for homophobia, and that hate crimes against our community are growing at an astounding rate across Canada. CHASI understands that social justice is not born out of neutrality and that to be silent is to be complicit.
When my co-parent and I decided to have children, I spent a lot of time speaking to university classes, parent groups, administrators, and teachers answering questions and being vulnerable in an effort to make this world a gentler place. Gentler for our children who have been agents of social change since the day we decided to have them. Gentler for young LGBTQ+ individuals that I hoped would not experience the loneliness and fear that I experienced as a teenager in the 1970s and as I came out to my family, AIDS ravaged the gay community. The predatory narrative propelled by the hateful and ignorant “hands off our children” movement is the same disgusting strategy used by Anita Bryant and her supporters because it worked then and as we look to our southern neighbours it is working again.
I am angry. But more importantly, I am inspired. Inspired by the brave, creative, and compassionate queer individuals and allies that I work and advocate alongside every day.
The Cascade asked CHASI’s team to share their reflections on what queerness and working in an advocacy-forward space has meant for them, and what messages they want to share with their community.
Chloe Raible:
My earliest memories of queerness were shaped by my family’s worldview, which can be boiled down to two words: conservative and religious. I remember my grandma making comments like, “being gay is a sin” and later, when I began university some family friends dismissed the institution as “too woke.” These comments weren’t isolated — they were echoes of a broader reality: I grew up in a region deeply influenced by conservative values, where queer identities were often invisible or pushed to the margins. As such, my identity as a bisexual woman has been something I have done my best to remain hidden from family, friends, and coworkers.
That slowly started to shift when I started working at the Community Health and Social Innovation (CHASI) Hub. I found myself surrounded by people who lived openly and unapologetically. Watching my coworkers speak so confidently about aspects of their identities made it harder and harder for me to justify hiding mine. It started to feel disingenuous to be silent when the people around me were so courageously true to themselves.
CHASI has been more than just a workplace for me. CHASI is a space led by and filled with individuals who are so confident in their identities and their beliefs that it attracts others who are committed to doing the same and inspires others who aren’t there yet to continue taking steps to do so. In the past year alone, I have made huge strides in living more authentically, in living a life that isn’t restrained by the fear of judgement.
To my future self: I hope my parents have read this article.
Jeff Mijo-Burch:
I wasn’t originally going to contribute to this feature. Through my work at CHASI, I prefer to have a role behind the scenes in activism and try to act as an ally to the queer community, but don’t typically consider myself a part of it. As I read some of the other pieces you see on these pages, though, I was struck by the pride I felt for my friends and colleagues sharing their authentic selves, and what that might mean for readers seeing themselves reflected in these stories.
And that snapped my mind back to the first time I saw my identity reflected.
It wasn’t anything big and flashy, or a huge dramatic moment. I’d done lots of reflecting on myself, and already felt pretty comfortable that I really did align with the image society had of me: a straight, cisgender man. But one day I was online and stumbled across a comic about a character discovering that they were demisexual — in essence, that they didn’t experience crushes and attraction the way that others might, requiring emotional bonds to be formed first.
I just remember being overwhelmingly struck by one thought: “there’s a word for this?”
After some research I felt comfortable claiming that label as well, and it gave me an understanding of why I never had an answer when someone asked for my celebrity crush. But it’s also an identity I’m pretty private about: it’s obviously a very personal part of how I’m wired, but beyond that, it’s invisible and not super consequential in my day-to-day life.
It would feel appropriative to centre myself in Queer spaces when I’ve never faced any sort of discrimination or hardship because of my identity. The flip side of that invisibility, though, is that I’m not creating opportunities for others to have the same “aha” moment I had when I read that comic.
So as I’ve worked to support Queer events, research, initiatives, and people at CHASI, I have tried to mention it now and then — when it feels right, when it’s not taking space, and when it’s additive to the conversation. Collaborating to support others is affirming in a way that little other work is, and the bonds and trust it builds has allowed me to be a bit more open. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve shared this piece of my identity with more people at CHASI than I have in the rest of the world.
Chelsea Klassen:
It’s very hard for me generally to imagine my life without CHASI, but even more specifically hard for me to imagine my journey as an ally without CHASI. First of all, CHASI is a co-created space, and because of the nature of a collaborative place, I have had the privilege of learning and working alongside so many diverse people, including those from the queer community. I will be forever grateful for the vulnerability, energy, time, and patience that my colleagues have given me as I learned more about the history of LGBTQ+ rights and the importance of allyship.
I have witnessed my queer colleagues live in a world that is heteronormative and I understand that there are many assumptions and privileges that I take for granted. By observing and listening to the experiences of my queer friends and co-workers, I started on the journey to better understand some of the challenges that they experience every day, and learn how I might be a better ally. CHASI has also taught me the importance of allyship for the future of fighting for human rights and equitable treatment for all.
I grew up immersed in conservative environments that left little room for exploration, curiosity, and compassion for anything that didn’t align with rules. If anyone deviated from the paths we were supposed to follow, this presented a threat to the prevailing order. Given my immersion in these environments, I didn’t really have to question many of the assumptions I was living in my day-to-day life.
Coming to UFV showed me that people had other lived experiences, and that there were other ways to live and experience the world than how I had. It taught me to be curious and question the assumptions I had, and that grace, kindness, and compassion is something every person deserves. CHASI has created this environment which has allowed for students and staff to express themselves, connect on issues, and advocate. We are lucky to have a space on campus where we can do all these things.
My experiences in CHASI specifically have reinforced that equity is a constant fight, and that all of us must work together, and that we must be active and vigilant to ensure that human rights are protected. CHASI has played a very important role in my allyship journey, and that is due to the collaborative space and the willingness for members of the queer community to welcome allies in.
Sharon Strauss:
For the longest time, I only knew what I was not. Not straight. Not neurotypical. Not normal. So, what was I then? Maybe nothing, I thought, just an asynchronous shadow along the walls.
There was no eureka moment. No metaphorical lightbulb. Rather, my self-discovery was a painting in abstract, coming together in clumsy, gradual brushstrokes. I entered a sort of osmosis at CHASI, finding in my team the colours and the words I hadn’t yet given name to. They guided me, uplifted me. And somewhere along the way my identity began to materialize. I found myself looking in the mirror and seeing myself completely: not what I was not, but who I am.
The journey isn’t an easy one, much less in a world so given to backsliding and hostility. Every sphere in my life is filled with people striving to love and survive as they are. Nonbinary, gay, trans, and so many more. I worry for them, for myself, for all the people marching the streets. I mourn the ones we’ve lost, the ones we’re losing. The hate I see, the degree to which it’s expressed, it just feels unnatural. I wonder, will it always be like this? The push and pull, the deterioration of progress?
No. I believe in a world where love prevails. I’ve seen the strength, the fortitude, of my friends, my peers, my mentors. I know the tragedy and tenacity that marks queer history; the weight we carry into the future. Because we belong here: then, now, always. The person I am now exists because of that indomitable will to love. I owe it to them, to myself, to fight. For a world where we can live freely and love openly. For a world where we don’t have to be resilient. A world where we can just be.
