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12-15-2025 By Elle Crossley

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'I think we deserve to start telling our own narrative rather than let others do it for us.'

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(Chris Samuels | The Salt Lake Tribune) Diana Wilson is photographed at Salt Lake Community College in Taylorsville, Thursday, Oct. 21, 2021.

When someone transitions to the gender with which they identify, they usually pick a new name. And their birth name becomes their “deadname.” Generally, others should stop using it. For many transgender people, it is associated with deep trauma, though for others it holds less emotional weight.

For Diana Wilson, hearing her deadname wasn’t so bad at first but became more difficult over time.

“When it had lost the simple ‘someone is addressing me’ meaning and picked up the ‘reminder of the time when life was worse than now most of the time’ meaning, I became less comfortable with it,” said Wilson, an adjunct humanities and history professor at Salt Lake Community College. “It is also inherently misgendering, which never feels good but feels more jarring when being misgendered has become rare.”

Kenny Smith has attended SLCC for two years, majoring in video and audio production. Smith changed their name more than 20 years ago and they also have a jarring, emotional response to hearing the name they left behind.

“If someone calls me my deadname, I find it surprising, especially if I didn’t know them before the change,” Smith described. “Some might say my response to this can be feisty because I have yet to respond really well when it happens. I almost want to shrink up and disappear and it can ruin an entire day.”

Psychologist Jean Twenge found a link between disliked first names and psychological dips in a 2006 Journal of Psychology study. Although, she did not discern if the lack of self-confidence stemmed from the undesired first name, or if the first name became associated with a lack of self-confidence and then became disliked.

A Williams Institute survey found that thoughts and attempts of suicide were significantly higher among transgender adults than the general U.S. population. The data also shows a significant drop in attempts and thoughts of suicide from respondents who were not rejected, invalidated, or attacked as often.

For some, their deadname is not weighed down with such negativity. They don’t prefer it, but there’s still some fondness associated with it.

Emma Yates, who lives in Salt Lake City and began transitioning three years ago, said she doesn’t mind her deadname. Her new name, Emma, came from her nickname, which stemmed from her old name.

“I have a unique experience with mine. I don’t mind the name I was given at birth very much because it is somewhat androgynous,” she said. “There are a few people who still call me by my birth name, which sometimes feels right to me. But that’s not the experience most trans-folks have with their names.”

Yates recalled a friend who has a masculine deadname and has seen firsthand the emotional strain it causes when forced to hear and use it regularly.

“There’s a lot of stupid things where you are forced to give your deadname. Like PayPal cash app and anything online, getting things shipped to you properly, this and that,” Yates said. “There are just all these times you have to give that name and I just saw this person’s heart get destroyed a little bit every time.”

Felix Patterson, a senior in high school, started his transition less than a year ago.

“I guess it’s odd that a name can hold so much power that you want said name dead entirely. While I don’t like being referred to by my old name, I still appreciate it and hold it dear in my heart,” Patterson said. “My parents gave me that, and they gave me that name with love and purpose the day I was born.”

Patterson said his deadname isn’t dead. Not to him. “It just really isn’t as accurate as it once was.”

Patterson wishes more people would treat transgender people like people, not an enigma.

“I don’t think people realize that transgender people don’t mind answering questions if people would just ask,” he said. “Some of them may seem uncomfortable and inappropriate, and maybe they are, but you won’t know unless you ask.”

Editor’s note: If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or the UNI CrisisLine at 801-587-3000. LGBTQ-specific support is available through THRIVE.

Leilani Miller wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune. 

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NOTE TO MEDIA PARTNERS PUBLISHING WORKWe also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text:

This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Leilani Miller wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.

SLCC lowrider(Steve Speckman | Salt Lake Community College) Lowrider bikes were part of the "Redefining Chicanidad" event in October 2021 at Salt Lake Community College's West Valley Center — an event aimed at connecting education and Hispanic cultural identity. The school is working toward earning the federal designation of a "Hispanic-serving institution."

Richard Diaz and his family, immigrants from Peru, have made Salt Lake Community College a tradition that crosses generations.

When his parents arrived in Utah, making their first homes in Kearns and West Valley City, they enrolled at SLCC — learning English and completing certificates through the School of Applied Technology. One of Diaz’s older brothers took classes at the college before enlisting in the military, and another brother started studying criminal justice after he finished his military service.

“This institution is written into the story of my family,” Diaz said during SLCC’s annual 360 event in February, “and I believe its impact can also be felt across multiple communities that represent the Latinx diaspora.”

Nearly 20% of SLCC’s student body identify as Hispanic and Latinx, a higher percentage than any other college or university in Utah, as of 2021. Because of that, Utah’s largest two-year college is working to establish itself as a Hispanic-serving institution — an HSI, as designated by the U.S. Department of Education.

To qualify for HSI status, the federal Department of Education requires schools to show at least a quarter of its students identifying as Hispanic. Once the Feds grant an official HSI designation, schools can start applying for and receiving specialized grants.

According to the latest data from the U.S. Census Bureau, nearly 19% of Salt Lake County’s population is Hispanic or Latino. That rate rises to 40% for West Valley City, and 33% for Kearns. Seeking HSI status, school officials said, will help better serve those west-side students.

“As the only higher education institution located on the diverse west side of Salt Lake [County], SLCC is strategically positioned to provide access to higher education to students from these communities,” Diaz said.

Deneece Huftalin, the president of SLCC, echoed that sentiment: “If Salt Lake County is our service area, we need to reflect that service area.”

Diaz and Alonso Reyna Rivarola, another immigrant from Peru, hold directorial staff positions at SLCC, and in December started as co-leads of the school’s Emerging HSI Collaborative Work Team — created to develop and implement a formal plan for SLCC’s effort to earn the federal HSI designation. The work team expects the college to meet the requirements of the designation by 2025.

“To us, at the heart of being an HSI is not just serving Latinx students, but fundamentally re-imagining our practices with [minority] students at the center,” Rivarola said.

The Latinx ‘student experience’

At the February event, SLCC shared data that showed college-age populations in Salt Lake County grew by 53% among Latinx people in 2021, and only 14% among non-Hispanic people.

However, completion rates at SLCC dropped among Latinx students from 2020 to 2021, but rose slightly — despite the pandemic — among other students of color. And the “opportunity gap” — the percentage difference in completion rates between students of color and their white counterparts — widened by 8% among Latinx students over the same period.

That data “speaks again to the idea that student experience isn’t the same across all populations,” said Jeffrey Aird, vice president of institutional effectiveness at SLCC.

The pandemic made worse the existing problems first-generation Latinx students face, said Sendys Estevez, the college’s student success coordinator for Latinx students.

“Just stepping on a college campus and dealing with everything that college is — from college language […] the navigating of two worlds of their life as a Latinx individual, and then being a first-generation Latinx student in a predominantly white institution […] that itself is very overwhelming — can be intimidating,” Estevez said.

For some Latinx students, notably those who are undocumented, Estevez said there’s an added challenge: Not being eligible for federal student aid, so paying tuition is difficult or unfeasible.

Identity and representation

Like Estevez, Diaz works with Latinx students through such programs as Bruin Scholars and Summer Bridge. These programs — which were in place before the HSI team started work — are designed to help incoming high school students from marginalized backgrounds succeed at SLCC by offering peer mentorship, personalized assistance and connection to resources.

“The mere fact that programs like this exist point to larger, systematic issues that many of our [minority] populations face as they transition from high school, or from adult life in [the] workforce, into higher education,” Diaz said.

The age-old problem, Diaz noted, is that colleges rarely have been built with students of color in mind. What most colleges “all have in common is that [they] always, always, always started as predominantly white colleges,” he said.

Diego Pliego Nava, a qualitative researcher who is on the HSI team, presented data that showed roughly 40% of Latinx students reported a lack of belonging at SLCC — and 31% of Latinx students said they could not identify with someone at the college.

“A lot of [Latinx students] felt that [their] status as a non-traditional student impacted the way that they were able to engage socially with others outside just the classroom,” Nava said.

SLCC student Belen Castro Ruiz noted that it’s “important to see role models that look like you.” In three semesters at SLCC, Ruiz said, she had only once seen a Latina professor: Cindy Fierros, an assistant professor of psychology. “She was my role model,” Ruiz said.

School groups at SLCC have put on events aiming to foster representation. For example, in October, the West Valley Center — which holds the college’s Dream Center, an office dedicated to assisting undocumented students – hosted an event, “Redefining Chicanidad,” in celebration of National Hispanic Heritage Month.

The event showcased lowrider cars and bikes built by community members, and people attending were served gorditas, a traditional Mexican dish. The event also featured workshops, presented by Hispanic educators, which broadened the scope of the term “Chicanidad” — a word used to describe people of Mexican heritage born in the United States — and promoted education by engaging Hispanic cultural identity.

What happens next

The 25 SLCC staff and faculty on the HSI work team meet monthly — and one question often asked, Diaz said, is what the initiative means for students who are not Latinx.

“There’s a saying that goes ‘rising tides raise all boats,’” Diaz said. “If we’re serving this group, this community that has been marginalized for years […] and we have a framework in which how we do this, we can use the same framework to serve other students and other communities that have been marginalized just the same or more.”

The goal, Estevez said, is not to focus on any one group of students — because that would replicate an issue the school is working to fix. “We’re not gonna get it right 100% of the time,” Estevez said, but she remains confident that the desire of SLCC’s staff and faculty to better serve students will promote success.

“We want to serve anyone that walks through our doors the best way that we can, given who they are, what it is that they want to accomplish, and what their vision is for that,” she said.

Cristian Martinez wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.

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NOTE TO MEDIA PARTNERS PUBLISHING WORK

We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text :This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Cristian Martinez wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.

 

(The Globe, SLCC) George Ellington, a teacher of English as a Second Language at Salt Lake Community College, said online learning has given teachers more flexibility.

 

When the COVID-19 pandemic began in spring 2020, it disrupted learning at Salt Lake Community College and forced educators to adapt to online learning and asynchronous courses.

George Ellington was ahead of the curve.

Ellington, who teaches English as a Second Language at SLCC, had already begun development of online courses. Now, SLCC offers six levels of ESL instruction at its Taylorsville Redwood, South City and West Valley campuses.

Ellington said he recalled a meeting with other SLCC departments, where one director said that many people “would be surprised how many courses are being offered” online. Ellington has taught at SLCC for 28 years, and spoke in positive terms about this growth in online learning, because it gives more flexibility to teachers.

The age range in ESL classes, Ellington said, is “between 17 and 71,” though the average age is between 20 and 30. Those in their 30s or older, he said, have less technological experience, and several students between 34 and 52 admitted to struggling with adapting to new technology.

It’s “not their fault they don’t know” everything about new technology, Ellington said.

Huda Alsakhi, a student from Iraq who identified herself as “older,” said she is “doing OK” with the classroom technology, though she acknowledged she is more comfortable “using older items” — such as planners and assignments on paper.

Elenora Bowen, one of Ellington’s students from Ukraine, said she felt comfortable in the class because “all the students are similar to me. We need to learn English. It is OK if I share with the group because all students are learning.”

At Salt Lake City’s Horizonte Instruction and Training Center, where ESL classes also are taught, Speartha Nyirazireze, a student from Rwanda, said her learning curve was steep.

“When I [first] came, for sure I did not even know how to turn [the] computer on,” she said. But, thanks to her teachers and classmates, she said, she learned how to navigate unfamiliar technologies.

Does technology help?

A 2021 study by Dr. Nehaya Ahlamed at the University of North Florida found that “the integration of information technology … has no effect in many cases, and in some instances its application can even have a negative effect.”

Ahlamed wrote that her study found “increased multimedia technology distracts students from the studied material. A student does not gain enough practice in the form of dialogic communication and the formulation of ideas.”

Furthermore, she wrote, “learners cannot be 100% sure that the offered material will help them in learning the language.” This is particularly true with translating devices, as Alhamed noted: “With translation apps such as Google Translate, one can translate any word to English, but, in most instances, where one needs to translate a whole paragraph, the translation is never 100% correct.”

Ryan Lavine, who teaches technology classes to ESL students at Horizonte, said “tech comes as second nature to me, but not for everyone.” Often, the difference comes from their upbringing and cultural environment, he said.

Lavine’s older ESL students, he said, often forgot their passwords — sometimes more than once in one class session.

Horizonte has started offering ESL classes at more times, Lavine said — because many students need the flexibility to fit classes into their work schedule.

Ellington said many of his older ESL students have children or grandchildren who help them navigate English and online courses. He advises those students, he said, to enroll in SLCC’s basic computer classes.

One program, in particular, is the SLCC Summer Bridge program, designed for those who are undocumented, disabled, minority, low-income or first-generation students. The 12-session course teaches about tools students can use, including new technology. Depending on need, the process could lead to the student getting their own laptop, Ellington said.

Ellington said SLCC’s international department could go further in helping students settle into college. Students, he said, would be encouraged by meeting people who have experienced the same challenges they are facing.

Passing wisdom along

Luz Gammara, academic advisor at SLCC, founded an ESL mentorship program called Amigos Mentores — where students who have gone through the ESL program and other courses can mentor newer students. The program’s principle is “learn, grow and share,” Gammara said, and the goal is to gain wisdom from others and pass it on to the next group of students.

Gammara started the program because of her own experience. Gammara, once a prosecutor in Peru, moved to the United States to find medical care for her young daughter.

Gammara didn’t know English, and a friend recommended she attend ESL classes at SLCC. Gammara learned her law degree didn’t transfer to the United States. She said she remembers someone telling her that “obtaining higher education was expensive and reserved for white people.”

Her academic adviser at SLCC told her to apply to a university anyway, using her old transcripts to earn credit. Eventually, she graduated with a master’s degree in social work — a field she chose because of the difficulties she experienced coming to a new country and learning a new language, she said.

This idea of passing lessons to the next group of students is common throughout the ESL program, Gammara said, adding that it’s how many students get help with both the language and technology barrier. Many of the younger students, Gammara said, help the older ones understand software like Canvas and other technical challenges, especially in the Amigos Mentores program.

Maria Ammar, associate dean of SLCC’s ESL program, said these legacy ESL mentors “know what students have gone through and give them guidance. Our students are a community [and] in the classroom our students are really willing to help each other.”

ESL scholarships are available, which should reduce the stress these students face. Gammara said SLCC could do more to promote the scholarships. She also said the ESL department should work more closely with the school’s advising department.

There is, Gammara said, “no excuse to not be successful in this country.”

Claudia Jahen wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.

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NOTE TO MEDIA PARTNERS PUBLISHING WORK

We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text :This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Claudia Jahen wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.

 

An improv group preparing for a show at The Beehive in early December. (Photo Courtesy of Leo LeBohec)

The Beehive, a garage-like venue and dimly lit vegan bistro decorated with punk art, is fostering a sense of community among young people looking for live music in downtown Salt Lake. Known for attracting alternative bands, new musicians and young adults to the stage, the venue offers a welcoming stage for those seeking connection 

“Young adults feel like they don’t have a place to be and for lots of them, that place can be concerts,” said Andrew Earley, owner of The Beehive, formerly The Deluxe on State Street. 

Since Kilby Court, one of Salt Lake’s earliest and still-running alternative music venues, opened in 1999, several others have begun to follow in the years since, including The Beehive, The Underground, Tiny Porch concerts in the 9th & 9th neighborhood and Fountain Records. Often, these venues, geared to those under the age of 21, are constructed out of repurposed spare spaces and stocked with second-hand audio equipment and furniture. 

Opening a space for young adults who aren’t of legal drinking age has been a motivation for several of these alternative venue owners, including Adam Michael Terry, who opened the Fountain Record music collective and store in November 2023.

Creating a space for the under-21 demographic, Terry said, was one of his main goals for the weekly live jazz nights in the store’s basement. Salt Lake City lacked the jazz scene, he said, especially for those who couldn’t go to bars, and he wanted to create an affordable and accessible scene for young adults. 

“Music scenes often rely on venues,” Terry said. 

Earley, who is also executive director of the nonprofit Alternative Arts and Music Program Utah, said he had a similar vision for The Beehive when it opened in 2016. The venue and non-profit organization also work together to provide an affordable and accessible platform for artists, according to its website. 

Audience Connection

The size of DIY venues, often accommodating an audience of anywhere from 50 to 100, offers intimacy between the artists and the audience. More traditional venues, like the Delta Center, have around 20,000 seats, according to its website. Earley said he wants this intimacy to pull young adults together and inspire them to start playing music or to join a band. 

He said he hopes “[the audience] can be empowered instead of awed.”

Earley said he also wants to move away from how traditional venues separate the musicians and the audience, with a large seating arrangement and a tall stage. Attendees can feel disconnected from the artists and artists can have a hard time interacting with the audience, he said. The environment of small DIY venues creates a better experience for both the artists and the audience, he added.

Young adults find a lot of value in the community surrounding local alternative music, said Aidan Hatch, who attended one of Fountain Records’ jazz nights for the first time in November. Knowing that the scene supports local business and creates a community space brings locals together, said Hatch.

“It’s very important because it’s a way to share experiences and because it’s unique,” he said.

Beckham White, a young concertgoer, said smaller venues that cater to younger audiences also foster an emotional connection to music and the artists.

“There’s always a want for places like this,” he said during a Nov. 7 jazz night at the store.

'New Endeavors'

Earley added that non-profit and DIY venues are also much more accessible to young and new musicians because they charge fewer fees and are more likely to host unknown artists. This gives bands opportunities to grow and experience a different level of live performance.

He said giving young musicians their first professional gig is valuable because it creates energy and community among newer artists, both individually and as a group. 

“Our ability to give that opportunity to new bands in a healthy scene is the biggest contribution The Beehive has had to Salt Lake City’s music scene,” said Earley.

Terry said he also enjoys mentoring young musicians who volunteer at the jazz nights, helping them hone their improvisational skills and learn to share the musical space. 

“The evolution [of the scene] is for the musicians, who are still developing,” said Terry. “It introduces you to like-minded people and hopefully new endeavors.”

Sebastian De La Cruz, a bassist who’s been playing at Fountain Records for a few months, said the opportunity to regularly play live with other artists is important for new musicians. He said he’s learned more not just about music but also about himself as an artist.

“Playing live with other musicians is the best practice you can get and a great way to get [to] know music through the people you meet,” he said.

For some, the alternative live music scene is also a place to foster counterculture and to advocate for what they believe in, Earley said. The goal for some venue owners is for that space to be healthy and safe while still impactful, he added.

“Everywhere you have a dominant culture, there’s a significant pushback. People don’t have a place, and alternative music can resonate with these people,” said Earley. “It’s healthy counterculture.”

This article was published from the University of Utah’s COMM 1610 class. 

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