Editor’s Note. September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month in the United States. In today’s post, Teodoro (Teo) Pulvirenti and Marianne Calilhanna join Randy Townsend to unpack the disturbing topic of suicide among the LGBTQ+ community. Teo Pulvirenti is the Vice President, Global Editorial Strategy in the Publications Division of the American Chemical Society (ACS). Marianne Calilhanna is the Vice President of Marketing at Data Conversion Laboratory (DCL).

We are truly grateful for their unselfish contributions and for bravely speaking up at a time when their voices are needed to shatter the silence. If you or someone you know is contemplating self-harm, we strongly encourage you to seek professional help. 

The opinions expressed are those of the authors and not representative of their employers or affiliations.

Buried beneath a distracting barrage of executive orders, tariff wars, and celebrity scandals, you’ll find actions the Trump administration has taken to threaten the LGBTQ+ community. In April, the White House weaponized the National Institutes of Health (NIH), directing the agency to explore a correlation to the term “regret” after a person transitions to align their body with their gender identity. As disturbing as this was, that threat was escalated in July when they made the decision to eliminate the LGBTQ+ Suicide Prevention Line.

I immediately thought about my friends and colleagues, family and future, and the impact this decision could have on our publishing industry. The Workplace Equity Survey reported nearly a quarter of respondents (22%) identify as LGBTQ+. At a time where silence is acceptance, I felt compelled to speak out against the normalization of actions that undermine, devalue, and ignore our humanness. These actions are not normal, and this is not ok.

In gathering my thoughts, a complaint I’ve heard since I elevated mental health conversations whispered in the back of my mind: What does this have to do with publishing? It’s not innovation. It’s not (totally) research integrity. It’s not workflow solutions, paper mills, peer review or data manipulation.

It is, however, about community, a core value of the Society of Scholarly Publishing (SSP). It is about bringing diverse stakeholders together to harness their collective knowledge and unique perspectives; creating connections that result in authentic relationships. It is also about inclusivity, another SSP core value. It is about providing equitable opportunities for individuals from diverse backgrounds to feel welcome to contribute their thoughts and ideas to the scholarly publishing community. Like SSP President Rebecca McLeod wrote in her President’s Letter,

“We are committed to supporting our members, staying true to our values of community, inclusivity, adaptability, and integrity, and remaining steadfast in our commitment to DEIA. While it may sound like a cliché, I firmly believe that SSP serves as a beacon, helping us weather these turbulent times—together.”

There is something dark and chilling about suicide. Completed suicide cannot be corrected or retracted, and that finality compounds the tragedy when it occurs. Hindsight often reveals a series of signals, potential cries for help, that preceded the action, signals that may have prevented it from occurring if only there was a compassionate voice, an empathetic community, or even a gentle reminder that they are not alone and someone, anyone, understands. The decision to eliminate the hotline is an attempt to silence those compassionate, understanding voices that for years have de-escalated distress and served as a beacon of hope for so many in the LGBTQ+ community.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI),

1. The LGBTQ+ population is at a higher risk than the heterosexual, cisgender population for suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts.
2. High school students who identify as lesbian, gay or bisexual are more than four times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to their heterosexual peers.
3. 40% of transgender adults have attempted suicide in their lifetime, compared to less than 5% of the general U.S. population.

These figures highlight the potential consequences of dismantling the hotline. Table 1 provides a closer look at the data, but the true impact becomes clearer when the numbers are connected to lived experiences. Below, Teodoro Pulvirente and Marianne Calilhanna help us understand what these numbers mean on a human level, and the dangerous impact that removing the hotline can have.

Table 1: Extracted from Rates of considered and attempted suicide among LGBTQ+ young people, The Trevor Project.

We All Deserve the Right Help

Teo Pulvirenti: (Note: The opinions expressed here are my own and not representative of my employer)

I debated whether I should contribute to this piece, as sometimes being too close to the subject might influence our interpretation of facts and events and bias our opinion. But reflecting further, at the risk of being biased, I have decided to share my thoughts and experience on this topic for the benefit of the LGBTQ+ community.

Growing up in a body that does not align with one’s sexual preference or in an environment where it’s hard to find a sense of belonging makes the already difficult life of a teenager even harder. The recent news about the termination of the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline’s LGBTQ+ Youth Specialized Service felt like a brick on my stomach. What felt even more painful was the assumption that a non-specialized (non-LGBTQ+) service would still be able to support the young people in our community.

While I appreciate the fact the lifeline remains open to a wide audience, I strongly believe that people who did not face the challenges of a young LGBTQ+ person or have not experienced the deep sense of despair, anxiety, and depression that often characterizes the life of young LGBTQ+ people, will not understand what it means to grow up with a heavy truth hidden inside you. Cis-heterosexual people don’t need to come out, they have no idea of what it means to find the courage and share with others that you don’t conform to what many people believe to be “the norm”; that you are something “different” and are still figuring out who you are. Straight people don’t know what it means to be rejected by your family because of your nature, they don’t know what it means to be sent to a conversion camp because everyone believes that being gay means that something is radically wrong with you or that a strange spirit possesses your body. They are not thrown out in the street and exiled from their families or bullied by their schoolmates because their attitude is too flamboyant or not “straight” enough. When people reach a dead end and are led to believe that they themselves are the problem, they come to believe that removing the problem is the sole solution left. In a moment of desperation, a friendly voice who understands our story, what we went through, the heavy brick of guilt and the pain we walk with as teenagers can make a huge difference.

But when people need help, especially young people, not everyone walks away. Some decide to actually strengthen their efforts and respond to menaces with more love. This was the case for The Trevor Project when the news first came out that the current administration decided to shut down the LGBTQ+ youth suicide hotline back in June – this program had provided life-saving services to more than 1.3 million LGBTQ+ young people. The Trevor Project, the leading suicide prevention and crisis intervention organization for LGBTQ+ young people, has bravely continued to provide support to LGBTQ+ young people 24/7, despite the challenges and lack of financial support from the government. While recently browsing their website, I stumbled on the 2024 U.S. National Survey on the Mental Health of LGBTQ+ Young People, which allows us to filter data by state. Since 2019, The Trevor Project has published the results of some of the largest surveys of LGBTQ+ young people in the U. S., thus providing a clear picture of the public health crisis of suicide among LGBTQ+ youth. An overall look at the report shows that between 30-40% of LGBTQ+ young people in the U.S. seriously considered suicide in the past year and 10-15% actually attempted suicide. This remains true also for states like California or New York, known to be more liberal compared to a state like Texas or Mississippi – the numbers don’t really change much regardless of the state, or whether it leans conservative or liberal. This speaks for a general symptom: LGBTQ+ young people suffer anxiety and depression across the U.S., and despite this prevalence, only approximately half of them are able to access the mental health care they desire. Deep in my heart I wonder what happens to the other half? How many of those young members of the community who desperately needed mental health but were not able to receive it contributed to the 10-15% of youth who decided to terminate their lives? Tears come down my face while I think that a young, bright, beautiful person decides to take their life because no one is there to help them or offer understanding and empathy.

When I was in college, a friend of mine decided to take their life and end the continued mockery and feelings of shame. Over the years, I reflected many times on what I could have done differently to help them. I wish I could have been on that sidewalk to grab them in a warm hug and save them from the impact. If we don’t rely on friends in a moment of desperation, where can we find the support we need? This is the relevance of a dedicated LGBTQ+ suicide hotline, of that friendly voice helping you understand that your life is more important than what those around us think or how they make us feel. I have been lucky in my life as my family has never stopped loving me and supporting me even when I came out to them. But what happens to those who are not supported by their loved ones? I experienced that with my friends, as some of them stopped talking to me or acknowledging my presence in a room. Growing up as LGBTQ+ member in a country where many people turn to religion for direction on what is ethical and what is not, I did not feel safe with my feelings and my sexual orientation. I can relate to that sense of anxiety and depression, especially when family and friends can oftentimes be the first people who betray you or try to change who you are, the way you are. I was afraid of being marginalized, rejected, unwanted, mocked, pushed aside. I wish I could help and protect those young people who feel this way, and tell them that although they are struggling now, they will find their path forward; that rejection and mockery will make them stronger and able to survive a society that is not always welcoming and accepting. This is why it’s important to have a suicide line dedicated to LGBTQ+ young people. Because unless you live firsthand through some of these challenges, unless you feel that sense of discomfort and despair, you won’t be able to understand what these young people go through and need.

Don’t we all deserve help? The right help? Do we really believe that a general suicide hotline will be of assistance to those who have been told by similar cis-heterosexual people that their life is not worth it? Those who speak from lived experience are better positioned to understand the pain and despair LGBTQ+ people go through and provide the help and comfort they need.

What do we make of the attempt of the current administration to eliminate the letter T from LGBTQ+? I will let my friend Marianne comment further on this. As the CEO of The Trevor Project said in his response to the termination of the LGBTQ+ youth suicide lifeline, “Transgender people can never, and will never, be erased”.

Ending the Federal LGBTQ+ Suicide Prevention: A Parent’s Perspective

Marianne Calilhanna: (opinions are my own and do not represent the position of the organization I work for)

First Principles: A Parent’s Core Truth

“First principles” thinking is a common problem-solving approach in which one breaks something down to its most basic truths. This approach is foundational to scholarly research and publishing. 

My journey and evolution and education to support my son stems from the foundational truth that I will do everything in my power to love and support my child. I subscribe to the belief that all parents want what is best for everyone’s children.

Our Family’s Journey

When my son found the right time and terms to explain to me and my husband that he is transgender, my first thoughts were, “How do I ensure the love, respect, and understanding he was provided in his short girlhood continue as he transitions into manhood?”

As I shared his journey with family and friends, a common response I heard was, “I’m so glad he has you two for parents.”

Educating myself on the healthcare needs of my son, I recognize the value that comes from our social support networks. The nationally recognized medical facility we use is a foundational resource that provides my family with care for both mental and physical health. As much as I’d like to provide everything my son needs for a healthy life, I understand there are some things I can’t offer.

I see first-hand how with even the best support systems in place, and with the positive pride that comes from self-love, transitioning is no easy feat. Even with access to excellent care, I know there are moments when my son may need help that I cannot provide: a late-night crisis, a moment of despair, or a need to simply talk to someone outside his familial circle.

Crisis resources matter. They fill gaps that no parent, family member, friend, or medical system can cover completely on their own.

And even with these combined supports, I see first-hand how difficult transitioning can be. It takes years and many transformations.

The Universal Fear All Parents Share

In our efforts to support our son, I’ve come to understand no parent can do this alone. The safety of children is not just a private concern but also a public health responsibility. Without support, depression or other external factors might lead to a catastrophic incident. Is it not every parent’s core fear to lose a child? We don’t even have a word in English to describe this kind of loss; yet we do have words like “orphan,” “widow,” “widower.” To contemplate losing a child to something for which there is prevention is simply unimaginable. And yet, here we are in 2025 with government mandates and a cultural war brewing against our transgender community. Everyone in the transgender community is someone’s child.

The Data Speaks: Risk and Reality

This fear is not hypothetical.

A 2017 article in the journal Violence and Gender states that transgender individuals are at increased risk for suicide relative to cisgender people and that this is a problem in critical need of empirical and theoretical research.

In 2024, a study by The Trevor Project documented that states that passed anti-transgender laws aimed at minors saw suicide attempts by trans and gender-nonconforming teens increased by a staggering 72%.

So what then for the kid, the teen, the young adult who has no family or social support? Where do they turn?

Ending the Hotline is a Public Health Failure

The loss of the LGBTQ+ Suicide Prevention Line is a public health failure.

For an at-risk population, this hotline was a rare, specialized resource. Generic hotlines lack the training or lived experience to address LGBTQ+ issues like family rejection, bullying, or identity-based trauma. Removing this lifeline strips specialized care from a community that is, statistically speaking, already at risk.

The Ripple Effect on Families and Communities

When federal resources disappear, families like mine are left with fewer safety nets to guide our children and provide help.

Schools, local organizations, and other specialized communities will strain to find resources without federal-level infrastructure. Suicide is already one of the leading causes of death among young people; reducing specialized intervention lines will lead to traumatic outcomes.

The equity gap widens as LGBTQ+ youth already face disproportionate health disparities. Removing the federal hotline signals that federal systems are deprioritizing equity in mental health and sends a dangerous message that LGBTQ+ lives are less valued, undermining public health messaging around inclusivity and belonging. Not to mention putting young lives at further risk.

A Parent’s Call to Action

Every parent deserves the peace of mind that comes from knowing resources exist when their child is in crisis.

It is a moral failure to end this hotline. Restoring and even expanding LGBTQ+ crisis support should not be optional. It is a life-saving measure, a commitment to equity, and a demonstration that every child, regardless of identity, deserves to grow up loved, respected, and heard.

On September 17, 2025, U.S. Senators Tammy Baldwin (D-WI) and Lisa Murkowski (R-AK) introduced bipartisan legislation to re-establish national emergency suicide prevention services for LGBTQ+ youth. The legislation is supported by the Trevor Project, American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, the National Alliance for Mental Illness, GLSEN, and the Human Rights Campaign.

“First principles” thinking asks us to strip away everything until only the core truth remains. At the core of this issue is not politics, not bureaucracy, not opinion, but the most basic principle there is: society’s obligation to keep its children safe. This shared truth must guide our public health decisions and put systems in place that prevent predictable tragedies.

Final Thoughts

While we face the difficult reality that this hotline has been targeted and dismantled, we can take comfort in the truth that our community is filled with compassionate, supportive and empathetic professionals. In the absence of a formalized, federal support system, there are alternatives where anyone in distress, whether ourselves or our loved ones, can turn to for support. In 2023, the American Psychological Association reviewed three mobile apps that have been designed to help patients who are experiencing suicidal ideation: Virtual Hope Box, Suicide Safe, and Suicide Safety Plan. A study published in PLOS Medicine reported preliminary evidence that digital interventions that included online animated psychoeducational videos, online facilitator-led group discussions; and electronic help-seeking brochures can improve help-seeking for LGBTQ+ young adults with mental health difficulties. When all else fails, I encourage you to phone a friend. There are many in our community who would prefer to offer our ears than extend our condolences.