Only a block away from the restless traffic of Nassau Street, a small colonial-era house sits tucked between trees. Its unassuming nature does not stand out on Stockton Street or catch the attention of most students who pass by during their walks off campus. But behind its red door is a library of over a thousand queer and marginalized voices.
The Bayard Rustin Center for Social Justice (BRCSJ) has been quietly building an alternative vision of community since it opened its doors. The Center’s work draws visitors from across New Jersey and beyond — offering free mental health support, queer-affirming education, a banned books club, and the only no-cost Pride event in the state.
As the U.S. political landscape places focus on LGBTQ+ topics, including trans athletes, banned books, and civil rights of LGBTQ+ couples, the BRCSJ’s staff and volunteers are asking themselves not just how to survive, but how to sustain what they call “queer joy” — and what it means to hold space when that space itself feels politically precarious.
Bayard Rustin, the namesake of the Center and a key strategist behind the 1963 March on Washington, was often pushed to the margins of mainstream history due to his open queerness. That erasure is part of what drives the Center’s mission today. When Walter Naegle, Rustin’s partner, gave his blessing for the Center to use Rustin’s name, he did so with a challenge: “Prove that you are worth this name.”
Robt Martin Seda-Schreiber, who founded BRCSJ eight years ago after a 25-year career as a middle school teacher, took that charge seriously. He has witnessed firsthand as an educator what it means for marginalized young people to feel unseen.
“The folks left behind — that’s who we are here for,” he said. Today, he balances local programming with national advocacy, traveling to Washington roughly every six weeks to meet with government officials like Rep. Bonnie Watson Coleman (D-N.J.) and Sen. Andy Kim (D-N.J.). “We can’t discern national from local,” Seda-Schreiber explained. “The struggles are different, but they are parallel. We can hold hands along the way.”
Dr. Sara Wasserman, the BRCSJ’s Queer Educator and Local Community Organizer, first came to the Center as a volunteer while pursuing her doctorate. She stayed because she felt she had found something that was missing in academia: a direct impact on people. With degrees in psychology, special education, and teacher development, she brought a structured understanding of learning to a space that resists rigid structures. The intersectionality of the Center was what attracted her the most.
“Services [at the BRCSJ] are much more holistic, suited to community members,” she explained. According to Dr. Sara — as people call her at the BRCSJ — the most recurrent and complex intersection the Center tackles on a daily basis is the one of neurodiversity and queerness.
“People are disabled by society,” she said, “not by their conditions.”
To the Center’s safe space hosts — volunteers whose role is to be present during open hours and to offer informal guidance, helping visitors in navigating resources — presence is a form of protest. Samuel Chawla-Rios, 31, moved to New Jersey after leaving a career in chemical engineering. But promotions and paychecks started to feel hollow. “The … system was exhausting and soul sucking,” he said. What he sought was community. At BRCSJ, he found it.
After attending an art activism night in February, he began volunteering regularly. “What it means to live a non-violent lifestyle is to live a life of active love,” he says. He helps plan events and serves as “pride lieutenant,“ part of the core team in charge of organizing the Princeton parade in June.
Terry McMillian, 40, first visited the Center while staying at a nearby hotel after escaping a domestic violence situation. He and his mother attended a drag show, and he immediately felt at home in the Center. As a Black gay man, McMillan wanted to become someone that others could relate to.
“Sometimes you have to be the change you wanna see,” he often says, referencing the famous Mahatma Gandhi quote. “We cannot allow fear to change us.”
In his experience, among the Center visitors, trans people are those who struggle the most. He believes they often face the most acute forms of isolation and fear, and the Center can help them with navigating resources, or providing them with a space to express complex emotions.
Mack Harsell, BRCSJ’s youngest intern at age 19, arrived at the Center after high school, seeking an opportunity. “Other places wouldn’t take someone without a degree,” they explained. “[But] BRCSJ did.” Since starting in August 2024, Harsell has become integral to youth programming. They co-organize the Queer Youth Brigade and manage a growing database of local LGBTQ+ resources. “Robert and Sara have been some of the most encouraging people I’ve ever met,” Harsell said. “They let me propose ideas and then supported me in carrying them out.”
Friday breakfasts are among Harsell’s favorite moments. Held monthly, they draw a number of people to share coffee and conversation. Harsell, who describes themself as introverted, said the event has changed them. “I’ve spoken to so many people and done things that would have terrified me before.”
When the election results arrived last fall, the first place they wanted to go was the Center. “We shared communal grief,” they said, adding, “I’m allowed to have feelings, but the work doesn’t stop.”
Next year, Harsell will begin a degree in Women’s Gender & Sexuality Studies at The College of New Jersey, but they plan on continuing their partnership with the Center. “This is what my life is supposed to be about,” Harsell said. “If I can help even just one person, I have succeeded.”
The main gathering space at the BRCSJ doubles as a library, with shelves of books by LGBTQ+ authors and writers from other marginalized communities. Events range from ceramics nights to roundtables with the New Jersey attorney general. There is also a mental health support group open to anyone over 14, with no registration required.
Still, many in the Princeton community have yet to cross the threshold. Though the Center has worked with students through programs like ProCES, RISE, and the Pace Center, foot traffic remains light. Dr. Sara suggests it’s a matter of geography — most students simply don’t leave campus. But it might also be about language: Institutional resources can offer support, but they rarely offer belonging. “We aim to be a third place,” she said.
Connection at the BRCSJ takes time. The Center’s model isn’t one of scale, but of depth. Volunteers know the regulars by name. People return not because they are told to, but because they are welcomed when they do. Frank Mahood, 85, was one of the original members of the Gay Alliance of Princeton when he was working at the University. In this role, he represented the Princeton staff at the First International Gay Rights Conference in Edinburgh in 1974. To this day, after decades of activism, he still comes in every week as a safe space host and to help the Center as a graphic designer.
The Center’s adaptability is built into its ethos. Its programming shifts in response to the moment — from legislative updates to art nights. Dr. Sara explained, “We evolve to meet the needs of the community.”
This responsiveness has helped the Center build trust, but it also makes it harder to secure grants. The very intersectionality that shapes the Center’s work — blending advocacy, education, community building, and wellness — often puts it outside the boxes grantmakers prefer.
All services at BRCSJ are free, and its staff members are determined to keep it that way. The Center relies primarily on donations and volunteer labor. It has received a federal grant through the New Jersey Council for the Humanities (NJCH), though that funding was frozen at one point due to broader cuts affecting the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH).
These funds have been disbursed as previous to the administrative cuts, but prospects of future grants are becoming increasingly uncertain. The NEH is currently being gutted, with the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) rescinding grants that fund state councils across the country. As a result, NJCH has warned that it will be forced to significantly scale back or cut grants, programs, and operations unless alternative funding sources are secured.
One of the Center’s most visible and ambitious programs is Princeton Pride. Jo Kerollis, 60, leads the parade efforts. A retired governance and strategy specialist from Johnson & Johnson, she has been involved with the Center since 2019, and has recently been hired part time to organize everything related to the parade. The first edition in 2019 was pulled together in just five weeks. Last year, Dr. Sara said it drew over 6,000 attendees. Though organizing Pride is a highlight of Kerollis’ role, it has grown more difficult. According to her, about $25,000 in sponsorship has been lost as companies pulled back from DEI initiatives.
Policy fights have only intensified. In New Jersey, Policy 5756 could force schools to notify parents if students identify as transgender — a requirement critics say threatens student safety. Nationally, federal bills like H.R. 9495 have raised alarms about the ability to target nonprofits by revoking their tax-exempt status.
“Many organizations are removing words from their statements to avoid retaliation,” Dr. Sara noted. “[But] we are not changing our language. This is when we become louder.”
Despite the risks, BRCSJ continues to speak plainly, both locally and nationally. Staff regularly attend board of education meetings, advocate for inclusive curricula, and host programs supporting educators navigating politically charged classrooms. They also maintain partnerships beyond New Jersey, from HIV/AIDS education work with the Akron AIDS Collaborative in Ohio to a musical tribute to Bayard Rustin co-produced with Bandstand Presents at Jazz at Lincoln Center in New York City, featuring Grammy and Tony Award-winning artist Bryan Carter, among others.
In the months ahead, BRCSJ expects to continue its programs and events while addressing funding gaps and responding to policy changes affecting LGBTQ+ communities. Staff and volunteers plan to maintain regular activities and add new ones.
For now, the house on Stockton Street stays open, its front door propped for whoever arrives.
Valentina Moreno is an associate Features editor for the ‘Prince.’
Please send corrections to corrections[at]dailyprincetonian.com.
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