One of my earliest and most meaningful discoveries at Purdue University Fort Wayne was the Q Center—a space I proudly called home by the end of my junior year. The Q Center supported LGBTQIA2S+ students, especially students of color navigating multiple identities. It was alive with energy, welcoming faces, and resources that truly mattered to students like me.
Then came the layoffs. An email from the Chancellor announced the elimination of 45 positions. I rushed to the Q Center to say a final goodbye to a friend, mentor, and safe place to vent—only to find his desk empty and the door left open. Library staff were packing away the remaining books from four dusty shelves—almost poetic in their symbolism, each representing one of four vital offices: the Q Center, the Multicultural Center, the Women’s Center, and TRIO Upward Bound. Once vibrant hubs of student support, they now stand as hollow shells.
With their closure, students lost more than safe spaces—they lost jobs. Many of these centers employed student workers, providing not only income but mentorship, leadership experience, and a sense of belonging. Their elimination is yet another way these cuts have directly harmed the very students the university claims to serve.
Each center fulfilled a vital role:
-- The Multicultural Center was a home for Black, Brown, and international students, celebrating cultural identity and inclusion.
-- The Women’s Center supported parenting students and survivors of domestic violence.
-- TRIO Upward Bound offered critical guidance to high school students as they transitioned into first generation college students, who comprise over 50% of our student body.
The Chancellor’s office cites budget cuts and insists the university remains committed to student success. But how can that be true?
How can it be true when a student was publicly singled out by the Chancellor for asking about diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) during the 2025 Top 50 Award Ceremony?
How can it be true when some administrators dismissed DEI as “not necessary” months before these cuts?
How can it be true when a student organization was told to raise a million dollars to support refugee students, with no institutional backing?
How can it be true when a group offering to install a free emergency contraception machine has received no response for over a year, despite IU Bloomington and Purdue West Lafayette already providing similar resources?
Emergency contraception, once accessible through two campus offices, is now out of reach. This loss disproportionately affects the 55% of our student body who are women—many balancing school and parenting.
Programs like Adopt-A-Don, which provided warm coats to students and their children each holiday season, have vanished. Student groups running baby drives and support circles for student mothers no longer have the critical infrastructure once provided by the Women’s Center. Alternative budgets were proposed—and ignored.
Even basic health and survival needs have been neglected. The PFW Medical Center never accepted Medicaid, and now, due to federal rollbacks, many students have lost Medicaid coverage altogether. SNAP benefits have also been slashed. Students are left to starve. Left to get sick. Left to suffer in silence. We’re not just losing services—we’re losing the right to exist safely and with dignity on our own campus.
These are not isolated incidents. They form a pattern—one that raises serious questions about priorities, transparency, and whose interests this university truly serves.
Even my degree has not escaped political interference: what was once a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science has been reclassified as a generic Bachelor of Arts in Social Sciences—stripped of the specificity and intention I chose. This comes as the state forces schools to merge, close, or scale back programs with fewer than fifteen graduates. Master’s programs have closed. PhD programs have closed. Political science and humanities degrees have been forever altered.
I can’t help but wonder: do they want us quiet? Are our educations being robbed, weakened? These aren’t decisions we take lightly—they’re responses to an environment growing increasingly hostile or indifferent to who we are and what we value.
It’s time for the Mastodon community—and all students—to demand transparency and genuine support for those historically marginalized. We must hold leadership accountable for decisions that silence vital programs and ignore real student needs.
Reach out to university administrators. Attend campus meetings. Support student organizations fighting for equity and inclusion. Most importantly, raise your voice.
Because the future of Purdue Fort Wayne—and of this country—depends on students standing together to reclaim the values we once proudly stood for.
Those in power, on campus and beyond, claim to care about students. But our lived reality tells a different story: our services have been slashed, grants decreased in value, and even our degrees redefined without consent.
What exactly is left for students to trust?