When I stepped into the executive director role at Stonewall Columbus in 2020, I knew the path would be layered—with history, with expectations, with complexity, with hope. What I couldn’t fully predict was how deeply the role would intertwine with every facet of who I am: Black, queer, immigrant, Jewish, married, parent, community-rooted, and justice-driven—to name a few. In this work, every intersection has had a place. Every part of me has mattered.
My time at Stonewall has not singularly been about managing an organization—it has been about mending a relationship between institution and communities. In the wake of protests, reckonings, and long-standing frustrations, I took the helm not as a savior, but as a steward—a guide. I stepped into a space where healing was required, where listening had to come before leading, where rebuilding trust meant, and means, confronting hard truths.
Over these years, we’ve done more than restore—we’ve reimagined. We’ve reshaped Pride with an aim to be more inclusive, more expansive, more community-focused. We’ve increased access to direct services, amplified voices too often sidelined, launched new programming that centers wellness, economic empowerment, family-building, and identity enrichment. We’ve made our physical space more accessible, our funding more transparent, and our mission more unapologetically intersectional.
We’ve hosted gatherings that created brave space and hard conversations. We’ve celebrated trans joy and Black queer brilliance. We’ve stood with partners in protest and in planning. We’ve had to say “no” to partnerships that didn’t align with our values and “yes” to opportunities that stretched us beyond our comfort zone. We’ve honored the elders and built with the next generation.
It hasn’t been perfect. The work of inclusion, justice, and progress rarely is. But it’s been rooted in intention of care, in clarity, and in community. I’ve witnessed our staff grow into leaders, our board into more intentional stewards, and our programming into a true reflection of the vibrant, resilient people we aim to serve.
Some moments have been deeply public—on the main stage at Pride, before city council, welcoming community into the Center. Others have been quiet and powerful—consoling a parent, writing a grant late at night, listening intently to a volunteer who felt unseen.
And I’ve been changed by all of it.
Leadership in a space like Stonewall is not just professional—it’s personal. It requires a willingness to be vulnerable, to be challenged, and to constantly reimagine what liberation, for all, looks like. It requires showing up when it’s hard, and choosing community when it would be easier to disengage. It asks us to not only move forward—but to bring others with us.
As I step into year six in this role, I remain grateful—for the trust, the challenges, the triumphs, and the truths. This chapter is still being written, but its foundation is firm. The future of Stonewall is one of transformation—not simply surviving systems but supporting and creating new ones in community.
To everyone who’s been part of this journey: thank you. To those who have yet to take the next step, for whatever reason, I invite you in…to take up space in community with a variety of others.
In pride, in community, in purpose,
Densil
