A safe space: How figure skating became a comfort zone for the LGBTQ+ community amid perilous times

The moment Amber Glenn stepped onto the ice at figure skating's world championships, fans began to wave American flags, from the lowest rows inside TD Garden to the highest rafters, where the jerseys of Boston's sporting greats hang in honor.

It seemed a fitting backdrop to her program: Glenn is the three-time reigning U.S. champion, one of the current faces of figure skating, and as the daughter of a police officer and a proud native Texan, patriotism flows through her as thick as oil.

Yet the stars-and-stripes weren't the only flags flying high that night.

Scattered throughout the sellout crowd at the last worlds before the Milan Cortina Olympics were the equally conspicuous rainbow flags that for nearly 50 years have signified pride within the LGBTQ+ community. They started popping up at Glenn's competitions a year earlier, when she carried one across her shoulders in celebration of her national championship.

''I saw them," Glenn acknowledged later, long after her performance, ''and I was proud to see both of those flags flying.''

Glenn, who identifies as pansexual, never sought to be an icon within the queer community.

In fact, she didn't come to grips with her own sexuality until she had been through the wringer, including a stint in a mental health facility spent working through depression, anxiety and an eating disorder. Glenn didn't come out publicly until letting it slip during an interview a half-dozen years ago, and then thought with horror, ''I haven't even told my Catholic grandma yet!''

''I'm so, so grateful that I grew up in skating, because I grew up in Texas, and luckily it was Dallas, which was still a bit more forward,'' Glenn said. "Plus, I was homeschooled. So I had to figure out a lot of things on my own, coming from that background.

''But as I ventured out to competitions, you know, outside of Texas," Glenn continued, "I ended up seeing this community and these people around me, and they were some of the top coaches and really good skaters. I was like, ‘Oh, OK. This is OK.' It made me realize, 'OK, there are people who are fans of me that would probably feel even more connected if they saw someone like them.'''

The long and winding road

It hasn't always been that way in figure skating, a sport where success and failure is quite literally a judgment call, and looks, attitude and mannerisms all matter in the scores. Throughout the 1900s, and even into the ‘80s and '90s, women often were encouraged to be more effeminate, and male counterparts were told to embrace their masculinity.

It wasn't until Rudy Galindo came out in a book released shortly before he was crowned U.S. champion in 1996 that walls began to crumble. Three-time U.S. champion Johnny Weir, now a lead analyst for NBC's coverage of the Olympics, said later that Galindo gave him the confidence to come out in 2011, and ultimately embrace who he was both on the ice and off.

As the U.S. team was preparing for the 2014 Winter Games in Sochi, former Olympic champion Brian Boitano was picked to be a part of the delegation. At the time, the Russian government was under fire for an anti-gay ''propaganda'' law passed in June 2013, and Boitano told the AP that he never considered coming out until he was chosen to represent his country again.

''They know how private a person I am,'' Boitano said, "and that this was a big move for me.''

Success on big stages

While LGBTQ+ athletes compete in just about every sport, what might set figure skating apart — at least, presently — has been their success on the biggest stages, whether they be international competitions, the world championships or even the Olympics.

In 2018, former U.S. champion Adam Rippon not only became the first openly gay man to make the Olympic team but the first to capture a medal at the Winter Games, earning bronze as part of the team event. Four years later, Timothy LeDuc became the first non-binary Olympic athlete by teaming with Ashley Cain-Gribble in the pairs event at the Beijing Games.

''Even in high school, there was one or two queer people,'' LeDuc said, "but it was always figure skating where I found my community.''

Where things stand

Glenn had just won her first elite-level Grand Prix event in Angers, France, in November 2024, when Donald Trump won the presidential election in the U.S. She remembers watching the results scroll across the TV screen.

Glenn's heart sank, thinking about what it would mean for the LGBTQ+ community.

Two months later Trump signed an executive order defining ''sex'' in federal policy as a binary, biological concept unchangeable from birth. It was the first move made by an administration that has been accused of targeting the rights and recognition of the LGBTQ+ community, such as rolling back protections in education, healthcare and housing. The administration pitched the changes as a way to protect women from ''gender extremism.''

Those feelings continue among many in the LGBTQ+ community.

One of the reasons that fan-favorite Jason Brown, a two-time Olympian, came out in an Instagram post five years ago was to provide support to those who may feel uncomfortable — skaters, of course, but also coaches, choreographers and even fans.

''I hope I can leave the sport a little better for the next athlete, or make someone more comfortable to step up and be who they are,'' Brown said. "There are so many people out there that love and support that community, and they want them to feel safe and seen and accepted. I think that my biggest message is, ‘Know how supported you are.'''

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