After a 2021 Pride event, Sushobhan, then an undergraduate student, reached out to their professor, Bhawana, anonymously about their struggles with their identity. What followed was a lengthy exchange of questions, reflections and attempts to make sense of queer identity, language and belonging.
In one of the exchanges, Bhawana, who lacked lived experience of queerness, demonstrated care and curiosity by sharing a scanned copy of a book by a queer Nepali writer. That gesture stayed with Sushobhan. It showed that allyship does not require all the answers; sometimes, it begins with shared resources, peer learning and a safe space.
That space gradually revealed questions: how many other students, like Sushobhan, were quietly exploring their identities without the confidence to speak up, and what might it look like to build something for them together? These led us to co-create a queer-straight alliance at our university. We did not realise that this process would reshape how we understood allyship. Here, we reflect on why safety must come before visibility, why student-led spaces matter, and how small, consistent actions can grow into something far more sustaining.
Safety before visibility
During one of the first meetings, a student joined under a different name with their camera off. That signalled caution rather than disengagement. So we adapted. We allowed participation through personal emails, informal chats and other “quiet” entry points. Even selecting the alliance’s name was a careful conversation rather than a branding exercise.
What this taught us was simple but fundamental: don’t rush visibility. Begin by protecting the members. If you’re building something similar, start by asking, “What would make someone feel safe enough to join, even silently?”
Build with students, not for them
Allyship is not about designing for others, it is about remaining in conversation with those you wish to support. Allowing students to shape the direction of a project that affects them can transform its potential, even if the process takes longer. When planning early activities, instead of finalising a structure among staff, we asked students: “What would you want this to look like?” The answers were different from what we had imagined.
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Small spaces create big shifts
Our early “meetings” were not always formal. Sometimes a small group would exchange thoughts over email or sit together after class. But those spaces fostered honesty. One student once shared that it was the first time they had spoken openly about their queerness in a space where they did not feel judged or pressured to explain themselves. That moment stayed with us.
If you’re starting an alliance, don’t rush to scale it. Start small, show up consistently and let trust build over time.
The importance of institutional support
Practical allyship does not come about through the will of passionate individuals within an institution alone. It often requires others to remove barriers around physical spaces, advocate for relevant initiatives, provide links to other departments and establish policies and processes to protect students from discrimination.
While we had plenty of enthusiasm, we initially lacked the resources to sustain momentum. We needed meeting spaces, support to reach students, guidance on handling sensitive issues and a way to ensure the alliance would not fizzle out when members graduated. In this instance, partnership with a centre dedicated to creating safe learning spaces within our institution proved vital.
The centre did not take over the initiative or dictate its direction. Instead, it created the conditions for it to flourish. Its involvement lent the scheme institutional authority. Staff working at the centre connected us to resources and supported with events, creating further opportunities for conversations around gender, sexuality and well-being. Having an institutional home also meant the work was less dependent on individual goodwill and had potential to impact students and staff beyond a single cohort.
Build beyond your campus
Once the scheme is established and important conversations are happening, keep things fresh by connecting with other queer groups beyond your institution. For us, bringing people from outside brought new stories, new language and new possibilities. Reach out, collaborate and learn from others. It makes the work feel less isolating.
Make inclusion a ritual, not an event
If an institution’s inclusion work is only apparent once a year, its commitment can feel temporary. When it becomes routine, it becomes part of the culture.
The first event we organised felt tentative. The second felt familiar. By the third, new students joined without hesitation. That shift didn’t come from scaling the scheme but from being consistent.
Allyship as an ongoing practice
What started as an email exchange prompted listening, responding and support. We’ve learned that allyship is not about getting it right once. It’s about staying open, staying present and being willing to keep learning even when the context changes.
Bhawana Shrestha is research fellow at the Learning Institute for Future Excellence in Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University’s Academy of Future Education. Sushobhan Chimoriya is an educator and activist. They work at the intersection of digital rights, queer rights, gender justice and disability rights.
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