15 years after Tyler Clementi’s death, vulnerable youth must still be protected

Fifteen years ago, my son Tyler was an 18-year-old freshman and a gifted violinist who deserved the same dignity and privacy as any other student. Instead, he was targeted, humiliated and shamed online. In that desperate and lonely moment Tyler made a permanent decision to a temporary situation. On September 22, 2010, Tyler died by suicide.

Out of our grief, we started the Tyler Clementi Foundation to end online and offline bullying in schools, workplaces, and faith communities. We wanted to honor Tyler’s life by protecting young people who deserve safety, dignity, and joy. Bullying is not just a playground problem. It can be larger than just two youth interacting on the playground, or even people in the cyber world, it can also be systemic; embedded in policies, norms, within institutions that license cruelty, excuse harassment, or treat LGBTQ+ young people, like Tyler, as less worthy of protection. When institutions look the other way, bullying multiplies.

People ask what has changed since Tyler died. The answer is complicated. Since Tyler’s passing, there has been real progress. Many schools now have stronger anti-bullying policies. More parents tell their children what I wish every child could hear: you are perfectly made, and you are loved exactly as you are. In workplaces, more leaders understand that dignity is a standard, not a favor. In some faith communities, courageous clergy are preaching, what I believe to my core, that you can be a person of faith and affirm LGBTQ+ people. Those changes have saved lives.

And yet, I am more worried than I have been in years. The climate is turning harsher again. Bullying is on the rise, and the progress we’ve hoped for is being reversed. Too many students still avoid school because they feel unsafe. Online cruelty travels faster and hits harder. Policy debates have grown more punitive, particularly toward transgender youth. Book bans, bathroom bans, restrictions on sports participation, and efforts to police identity all send a message heard loudest by kids: you don’t belong. Even the lifelines we count on, like the 988 Option 3 Suicide Crisis Line for LGBTQ+ people, have faced confusion and cutbacks, narrowing access to specialized support just when vulnerable youth need it most. Recent data shows LGBTQ+ youth continue to be bullied and cyberbullied at higher rates than their peers. They report more persistent sadness and are more likely to seriously consider suicide. Behind those statistics are real families navigating school meetings, late-night crisis calls, and faith messages that can either sustain or shatter a vulnerable youth.

At Tyler’s foundation, we invest in what works because hope must be paired with practice. Our Upstander Pledge gives people the skills for intervening safely by interrupting, informing, and interacting. Our goal is to turn passive bystanders into active Upstanders, and to help institutions move from statements to standards that are taught, practiced, and enforced.

What does that look like? It looks like a principal who enforces a clear anti-bullying policy every time, not just when headlines demand it. It looks like a youth minister who shares at Sunday school and Youth Group that everyone is perfectly created in God’s image, plainly and clearly, and then backs it up with inclusive programming. It looks like an HR manager who trains supervisors to interrupt harassment, not “let it work itself out.” And it looks like every one of us choosing the harder, kinder action in the moment: pulling a child aside to check on them, documenting what happened, reporting it, and following up until it stops. That is what it means to be an Upstander.

Bullying does not win when communities join together and choose to act. I have seen school districts turn around climates with consistent, compassionate leadership. I have watched parents become the safe harbor their kids needed. Through our programs, like the Upstander Pledge, which has reached over a million people; our school and workplace trainings through Day 1; and partnerships with faith leaders, we’ve helped thousands learn the simple, repeatable steps that make dignity a daily habit.
This is how culture changes. Not with one grand gesture, but with many brave, ordinary choices repeated day after day by people who refuse to be bystanders. It can feel exhausting and tiring (especially in these troubled times), but it is necessary and can save lives.

If you are a young person who is being bullied, hear me: you are not alone. Please reach out. There are adults who will stand with you, and there are peers who will too. If you are a parent, caregiver, teacher, coach, or clergy member, you are exactly who a child is hoping will notice and intervene with kindness and inclusivity. If you lead an institution, your policies and your example can either entrench harm or open doors to safety.

Here is what I’m asking this Anti-Bullying Month: Keep your voices loud. Become an Upstander: take our pledge at www.Tylerclementi.org. Share it with your school, workplace, or faith community. Be an Upstander where you have influence, with a friend, co-worker, or neighbor. In Tyler’s memory and for every young person searching for a place to belong, let’s protect the most vulnerable together. Their lives may depend on it.

The 11th Annual Upstander Legacy Celebration, the largest fundraiser of the year for the Tyler Clementi Foundation, will be on October 23rd at the Manhattan Penthouse. We will be honoring Wilson Cruz and Marti Cummings, Upstanders who continually work to make the world more inclusive, kind and respectful. For more information https://tylerclementi.org/ulc2025/.