Global LGBTQI+ Human Rights Program at Harvard

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/04/28

Diego Garcia Blum and Dr. Timothy Patrick McCarthy are leaders of the Global LGBTQI+ Human Rights Program at Harvard Kennedy School’s Carr Center. The program trains activists worldwide, promotes movement-building, and integrates LGBTQI+ issues into global policy. Garcia Blum, a former nuclear engineer, and McCarthy, a longtime scholar-activist, emphasize the importance of community, education, and institutional support in advancing LGBTQI+ rights. They highlight ongoing legal, cultural, and political challenges—including violent global backlash—but remain hopeful through their collaborative, activist-centered model. The program draws strength from grassroots connections, academic knowledge, and the transformative power of shared learning and solidarity.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are joined by Diego Garcia Blum, the Program Director for the Global LGBTQI+ Human Rights Program at the Carr Center for Human Rights Policy at Harvard Kennedy School.

A former nuclear engineer, Diego transitioned into human rights advocacy, focusing on the safety and dignity of LGBTQI+ communities worldwide. He has served as a Social Change Fellow at the Center for Public Leadership under Governor Deval Patrick and co-teaches the course “Queer Nation: LGBTQ Protest, Politics, and Policy in the United States” alongside Dr. Timothy Patrick McCarthy at Harvard. Garcia Blum holds a Master’s in Public Policy from Harvard Kennedy School, where he served as Student Body President and dual bachelor’s degrees in nuclear engineering and political science from the University of Florida. His work combines policy, education, and activism to drive meaningful change in human rights globally.

To start, please define the mission of the Global LGBTQI+ Human Rights Program and discuss the challenges you face and the opportunities you offer.

Diego Garcia Blum: At Harvard Kennedy School, we recognize the immense value in leveraging the resources that the university has developed over the past three decades. These resources focus on organizing, movement building, narrative change, communication, and nonviolent resistance. We aim to make these tools accessible to activists worldwide who have tirelessly advocated for LGBTQI+ rights in their respective countries.

We aim to create a community where these brave individuals feel connected to a global movement. They engage in our online webinars and intensive workshops hosted on platforms like Canvas.

Beyond connecting activists, we strive to collaborate with academics and practitioners to enhance coordination on major issues facing LGBTQI+ individuals. Additionally, we work to integrate LGBTQI+ concerns into broader disciplines, such as foreign policy and national security, where these issues are often overlooked. For instance, understanding how LGBTQI+ politics are manipulated to destabilize regions or how LGBTQI+ populations are disproportionately affected by climate change is crucial.

Our approach is multifaceted: connecting people, providing global training, and mainstreaming LGBTQI+ issues across various domains.

Jacobsen: We are also honoured to have Dr. Timothy Patrick McCarthy with us today. Dr. McCarthy is an award-winning scholar, educator, and human rights activist with joint faculty appointments at Harvard Kennedy School and the Harvard Graduate School of Education. He serves as Faculty Chair of the Global LGBTQI+ Human Rights Program at the Carr Center and is a core faculty member in Harvard’s Equity and Opportunity Foundations curriculum. A historian of social movements and politics, Dr. McCarthy has authored and edited several acclaimed books. He was a founding member of Barack Obama’s National LGBT Leadership Council and currently chairs the board of Free the Slaves. He holds a Ph.D. from Columbia University.

So, when looking at programs like this from a historical and social lens, what stands out about it? And for historical context, how does this differ from trying to found such a program, say, thirty, fifty, or even sixty years ago?

Dr. Timothy Patrick McCarthy: Let me take the last part of the question first, and then I’ll return to the first part.

Why now, as opposed to fifty years ago—what would have been different in founding a program like this?

This program would have been unfathomable fifty years ago. Even though there were, certainly in the United States and other parts of the world, expressions of LGBTQ movement work—what we then called gay and lesbian liberation—taking place globally, an institution like Harvard or higher education in general, which is not a radical space by any stretch of the imagination, would not have been hospitable even to the study of LGBTQ history. This is a relatively recent and modern development at Harvard and many other universities.

The timing of this program now has to do with the fact that we had to build it within the university setting. That required context, support, resources, and a coalition of people willing to greenlight, support, and sustain it—which is the work we’re doing now.

At this moment, universities must bridge theory and practice, connecting research with organizing. Universities are uniquely positioned to convene people—diverse people across disciplines, perspectives, and knowledge bases—to come together for conversations, debates, discussions, and shared learning that can lead to meaningful collaboration and collective action.

That’s what we’re trying to do: claim that universities have a role—a lane—in the broader movement ecosystem. And more than just the capacity to contribute, we believe universities are now responsible for doing so.

That’s the energy that animates our program.

And we’re at a moment, as Diego mentioned, where the Kennedy School and the Carr Center at Harvard now have a critical mass of scholars and practitioners doing this kind of work—all of the things Diego noted. Entire fields of knowledge have been developed that help us understand how social movements work and how organizing is practiced. So we’re at a point where we finally have enough information, resources, knowledge, people, and institutional support to be able to launch something like this—and to do it responsibly and effectively.

So that’s the “why now.” It took a while to get here, but we’re here now—and it’s wonderful.

To the first part of your question—how does a historical, movement-based perspective help us understand what’s going on globally?

I began by studying social movements within the context of the United States, which remains my primary area of expertise. However, I’ve become increasingly interested in comparative social movements, radicalism, and related global frameworks over time.

One thing we understand about social movements is that they almost always start locally. They are typically centred in specific places with local people and rooted in local struggles. And that’s important to keep in mind because it may sound counterintuitive when we speak about a global movement. After all, our program has “global” in its name. It is lofty, expansive, and inclusive in vision.

But what we see, particularly through our work with activists on the ground, is exactly what Diego said: many work alone or in small groups. They may exist in relatively safer contexts, but they’re often engaged in precarious, under-resourced, or even underground efforts, especially in countries where LGBTQI+ is criminalized or violently repressed.

Depending on each country’s legal, cultural, and political conditions, there is an incredibly wide range of lived experiences. Doing this work—no matter the context—is always hard, but it is also isolating in many cases.

One of the great advantages of a university’s convening power is that we can bring people together—physically, in person, and increasingly, virtually. We can connect individuals who might never otherwise meet—people who may live in adjacent countries but have never interacted, even while doing remarkably similar kinds of work.

We are working to create a space that allows these local actors to connect across cultural, national, and contextual boundaries. The idea is to strengthen their local work by helping build relationships, coalitions, and solidarity across regions—so that what might begin as scattered local efforts can form the foundation of an emerging global movement.

But creating and sustaining a global movement is no small task. You need strong relationships, trust, coalition-building, resources, and organizational infrastructure at the grassroots level. That’s what we’re trying to support—and it’s working quite well so far because people are eager to come together.

And I’ll end with this: social movements are always context-specific. There’s no one-size-fits-all model, and no single framework works everywhere. That’s something we have to remember, especially when doing this work at a global scale. We know that. And that’s exactly why I study history—comparative movement history—because there are so many examples, case studies, and models of how to do this work.

Even within a single movement, there’s tremendous diversity in tactics, strategies, aspirations, and leadership. Take the Black Civil Rights Movement in the United States, for example. Right? Many different things were happening within that movement, in many different places, with many different people and goals.

What happened during the Freedom Rides differed from Freedom Summer in Mississippi. That, in turn, was different from the Greensboro sit-ins, which were different from the Montgomery Bus Boycott. These were all distinct expressions of the larger movement—rooted in local context, local work, and local leadership.

We have a rich archive of movement-building knowledge to study, learn, and adapt to current needs. And that’s exactlywhat we’re doing in this program.

We’re spending much time discussing theories of change. We’re talking about mapping communities and understanding the ecosystem within which people work: who the allies are, the adversaries or opposition are, and who can be persuaded or mobilized.

We also spend significant time on culture change and the power of storytelling—how narrative is a form of organizing and power-building. We look at tactics and strategies: what works, what does not, and more importantly, what works in one context versus another.

We’re also deeply interested in translating imagination into action—how to take movement ideas and aspirations and turn them into practical political practice. That might mean litigation or legal strategies in some countries. In others, it might mean direct political advocacy—lobbying elected officials or mobilizing public pressure. In others, it could mean launching a social media campaign or door-to-door grassroots organizing—meeting people where they are.

We’re talking about all of that, but we also recognize that every participant in our programmes comes from a unique context. So, a big part of our work is adapting strategies to their specific environments.

Right now—and Diego could give you the exact figures—we’re working with thousands of activists in over 100 countries worldwide. We’re supporting work in nearly every region of the globe, creating spaces for people to connect, share, and build together.

Crucially, much of the direction of this program comes from the participants themselves—from what they bring to the table and what they want to gain from it. This is not just a course designed at Harvard imposed on people. We’ve done our due diligence, but our teaching and movement-building model is fundamentally reciprocal. It is grounded in co-creation, mutual learning, and shared purpose.

Jacobsen: What are the challenges people face? How do they overcome those challenges?

McCarthy: Well, I’ll start briefly. The biggest challenge, undeniably, is the fierce and violent global backlash against LGBTQI+ people.

This has always been an uphill battle. Queer people have never had it easy. To my mind, there’s never been a society completely free of prejudice toward LGBTQI+ individuals. In every country, in every culture, there are deep-rooted histories of homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, and more—prejudices that people in our community must face every day to live, work, and exist.

That’s the longstanding challenge.

But we’re seeing now—especially in recent decades—that alongside this adversity, there have also been important, even transformative, wins in many parts of the world. Over the last twenty years, we’ve seen real progress in human rights for LGBTQI+ people: legal reforms, social recognition, expanded freedoms, and global visibility. It’s a contested story but also hopeful—marked by victories, greater equality, and hard-won rights.

However, that progress has triggered a powerful backlash.

We’re now facing a well-funded, coordinated international effort to roll back those gains. This backlash is not only targeting LGBTQI+ people themselves—it is also going after allies, coalition partners, educators, and even individuals who merely speak publicly about LGBTQI+ rights.

In some places, we see more draconian laws than before, and no progress has been made. These new laws criminalize not just LGBTQI+ identities and relationships but also advocacy, discussion, and support. So, the challenge has expanded beyond our immediate community to everyone connected to the movement for equality.

That’s the central issue: the backlash to progress. It’s broad, aggressive, and growing. And we need to stay laser-focused on how to respond to it—strategically, collaboratively, and urgently.

Blum: Yes, maybe, to bring it back to basics—The most immediate challenge is legal. LGBTQI+ people are criminalized in approximately 64 countries around the world. In these places, it is illegal to engage in same-sex relationships—something that, for heterosexual people, is a basic, taken-for-granted aspect of teenage or adult life. In some of those countries, these laws carry the death penalty.

Even in countries where same-sex relationships are not criminalized, LGBTQI+ individuals often face complete legal invisibility. There is no recognition of partnerships or marriage, no acknowledgment of diverse gender identities, and no protections against discrimination. The legal system, in effect, pretends LGBTQI+ people do not exist.

This lack of legal recognition and protection extends to health care, education, employment, housing—every aspect of life.

So, when discussing how people overcome these challenges, we have to start from this incredibly precarious baseline. People are doing this work in places where it is not just difficult—it’s dangerous. And yet, they continue. They organize. They build. They imagine better futures and often do so with incredible courage in the face of tremendous risk.

Jacobsen: So, these are all legal challenges that people face—and want to change. They are incredibly difficult to change, but for so many LGBTQI+ individuals around the world, this is the entry point. Legal recognition and protection are often the first steps toward broader equality.

And that brings us to the next piece: how do you change this reality?

You’re doing this work in countries where there are deeply entrenched religious and socio-cultural beliefs that have, for centuries, treated being LGBTQI+ as a personal failing—something to be fixed or cured—instead of understanding it as part of natural human diversity.

McCarthy: It’s like this: there are tall and short people. People with different hair colours and different eye colours. And there are people with diverse gender identities, sexual orientations, and biological sex characteristics—including intersex people.

But instead of embracing that diversity, these identities have been framed for thousands of years as problems—seen as sinful, unnatural, or pathological. That stigma—cultural, religious, political—has done enormous psychological damage, especially to young people.

I can speak from personal experience. I grew up closeted, deeply depressed, and trying to “fix” myself. And I was in the United States. Now imagine a young LGBTQI+ person growing up in a place where not only do they internalize that shame, but where their identity could lead to imprisonment—or even the death penalty.

Simply trying to live with yourself becomes an overwhelming challenge.

That is the lived reality for millions. We are trying to remind people—especially young people—that they are not alone. That there are millions of others around the world silently enduring the same fear, shame, and isolation. That silence is a crisis—and it’s a crisis that is too often forgotten.

And to make matters worse, that crisis is being exploited. These ancient stigmas get activated—weaponized—by dictators and populists who want to rally political support, often aligning with conservative religious factions to marginalize LGBTQI+ communities further.

It becomes a political tool to scapegoat, divide, and consolidate power.

That brings up even more challenges—healthcare challenges and economic challenges. Many LGBTQI+ people, especially trans individuals, struggle to find employment if they’re living authentically. They face discrimination in hiring, in schools, and housing.

Bullying in schools is pervasive. Many can’t get a proper education. And even when people find the strength to come out, they might face homelessness—kicked out of their homes and cut off from family support. Yes, the challenges are profound. Because this has been the status quo in many places, we often forget how vast, complex, and urgent the struggle is.

Jacobsen: So, aside from the challenges you may or may not have faced in your own lives, you’ve been communicating with many people—through correspondence and in person. That ongoing engagement can have a transference effect, as we all know—unless someone is completely socially detached. So, what gives you hope and keeps you going for both of you?

McCarthy: I’d say there are two things—one institutional, the other personal, and maybe a little pedagogical. On the institutional side, I’ve been teaching at Harvard for 25 years, and this is my 30th year teaching overall.

Jacobsen: Congratulations.

McCarthy: Thank you. And I was the first openly gay and queer faculty member at the Harvard Kennedy School. I was also, for a while, the only one. And that experience was quite lonely. I encountered my share of prejudice and resistance in that context. It wasn’t easy.

But I had my student, and that relationship has always been a source of purpose and strength for me. In fact, Diego was one of my students. Now, we’re colleagues co-directing this program.

The relationships I’ve built with students over the years—many of whom have gone on to lead change in the world and help institutionalize our work—are one of the reasons this program exists today. The program is Diego’s brainchild, but we have been trying to lay the groundwork for something like this for many years. And it was hard.

Now, things are different. There are multiple queer faculty members—many of whom are working on social movements, leadership, and change. We have a Carr Center that has always supported this kind of work. I’ve been affiliated with the Carr Center for my entire career at the Kennedy School, and it has consistently been a home for scholars committed to human rights and justice.

But now there’s a more robust network. We’ve built something. We took an organizing approach. Our alums and funders are stepping up to support and mobilize resources. We have faculty in conversation and collaboration with each other. We have a large, growing number of students—not just from the Kennedy School but across the entire university—engaging with us and caring about this work.

For the first time, the Kennedy School administration genuinely supports this mission and shows serious institutional commitment to LGBTQI+ rights and programming.

This convergence of forces—the people, the institutional will, the funding, the scholarship, the energy—gives me tremendous hope.

Because I’ll be honest: this program wouldn’t have happened 50 years ago and probably wouldn’t have happened even 10 years ago. But today, we’re seeing something different.

There is now an LGBTQ Law Clinic at Harvard Law School and a Center of Excellence on LGBTQ Public Health at the School of Public Health. Multiple emerging efforts across Harvard are focused on LGBTQI+ research, advocacy, and education.

And that gives me hope—not just because we’ve built something but also because we’re now in a position to sustain it.

And then, of course, the hope comes from working with the activists.

I’ve spent most of my career in the academy—Harvard has been my base. But to be in a community with activists who are doing this work on the ground, often at great personal risk, and to support and learn from them has been one of the greatest honours of my life. Their courage, imagination, and persistence are what keep me going.

But I’m also a movement person. I’m a community organizer. I’ve done a lot of movement work and organizing in my life. So, I’ve always worn the activist-scholar-teacher hats and do my best to juggle them meaningfully and integrated.

It feels good to be in this context. I teach, and I care deeply about teaching. I love learning as part of that process. One of the things that’s been amazing about working with these activists is witnessing the moments of hope that emerge in our conversations—those moments of revelation where someone learns something new or gains language for something they’ve always known but never had words for.

That kind of connection—the dot-connecting—not just with ideas, frameworks, or theories but also with practices, strategies, and each other, is incredibly powerful.

There was a recent moment in one of the sessions of our online curriculum—our Foundations Curriculum—when someone said, “This work can be so lonely. It feels so good to be in a space where other people are experiencing the same things. They have the same dreams. They face the same struggles. But it feels better knowing we’re together.”

I responded by saying that social movements are political and moral work formations. They connect individuals—our isolated “I’s” and “I’s”—and transform them into bigger, collective “we are.” We’re trying to hold and create space in this program to arrive at that larger “we.”

Because many of us—myself included—have felt isolated or lonely in this work. And I don’t think anyone in our program has experienced that in some form. But in these collective spaces—whether in academia, a church basement, a community center, a drag show, or a club—wherever the “we” exists, hope lives for me.

I’m always searching for those places and trying to figure out how I can help create and sustain them.

Blum: I’ll add quickly that it’s a hard time. The backlash is real and global, and it’s easy to think things are not going well. But it’s the opposite.

When legislators and leaders push forward wave after wave of anti-LGBTQ bills, what they’re doing is acknowledging that something fundamental has shifted. That’s what we’ve been doing, and it’s working. And they’re scared—scared of this liberation, scared of the equality and visibility that LGBTQI+ people have been claiming and experiencing.

So, for me, that backlash is both hope and fuel. It’s evidence that we’ve made meaningful progress. And if we can meet that backlash with equal tenacity and courage, we’ll push through and reach the next level—where we win rights and secure and protect them for the long run, just as so many other social movements have.

I see the backlash as a testament—a sign that we’re on the right path. We just have to endure the hard parts of change, which always include resistance.

Jacobsen: Diego and Timothy, thank you both for your time today. 

McCarthy: Awesome. Thank you for your time today. I appreciate it.

Jacobsen: I appreciate it, too. Take care.

Blum: Bye.

McCarthy: Bye.

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