LGBTQ+ Advocate John Corvino Faces a Rare Disease That’s Taking His Voice — But Not His Message

After 25 years of speaking on 250-plus campuses, the Wayne State philosophy professor is learning to advocate in new ways

Corvino1 — John Corvino. Photo: Andrew Potter

Published: October 7, 2025 | Last Updated: October 28, 2025

John Corvino has always known how to use his words.

For 25 years, the Wayne State University philosophy professor traveled to more than 250 college campuses, transforming complex ethical arguments about LGBTQ+ rights into conversations that changed minds. His lectures and debates — bringing philosophical arguments to questions of sexuality and LGBTQ+ ethics — have reached more than 3.8 million views on YouTube. Students who heard him speak decades ago still email to thank him.

"Speaking was always my 'superpower,'" Corvino tells Pride Source. "I honed the skill until it became relatively effortless."

Corvino opted to conduct our interview by email, as speaking for long stretches has become a signficant challenge. His choice to describe his speaking skills in the past tense is telling.

In January, Corvino, now 56, was diagnosed with primary progressive apraxia of speech (PPAOS), a rare neurodegenerative disorder that attacks the brain's ability to coordinate the muscles needed for speaking. His mind remains sharp — he can still read, write and think with the precision that made him one of philosophy's most influential public voices. But the signals between his brain and mouth have begun to fail.

"Even when I speak relatively normally, which I often can for short conversations, the level of concentration it takes to produce smooth speech makes it feel like I'm saying tongue twisters," he explains. "It's as if a one-step process — speaking — has now become a three-step process: choose the words I want to say, figure out how I'm going to say the words, say the words. And that's exhausting."

The condition affects fewer than 4 in 100,000 people, according to the National Institutes of Health, and is frequently misdiagnosed. According to Dr. Joseph Duffy, a speech-language pathologist at Mayo Clinic who specializes in motor speech disorders, "It's not uncommon for it to be misdiagnosed as due to a psychological disturbance" when symptoms are very mild. "Accurate diagnosis is often not made until two or three years after symptom onset."

For Corvino, the signs started subtly in August 2023, during his annual physical. His doctor suggested his stuttering might be stress — after all, Corvino and his husband Mark had just packed up their Detroit home of 21 years and moved. An MRI and EEG came back normal. "So I assumed it was all in my head and that I was experiencing a late midlife crisis," Corvino recalls.

When he returned from sabbatical in fall 2024 as dean of the Irvin D. Reid Honors College, the problems were interfering with his work. Friends at Wayne State encouraged him to push for more tests. A PET scan revealed the truth: frontotemporal degeneration, with PPAOS as the primary symptom.

The condition is often confused with aphasia — a language disorder affecting word retrieval and comprehension. But Corvino's problem isn't with language. He knows exactly what he wants to say.

"My original neurologist kept referring to what I had as 'aphasia' — which didn't fit, because I don't have any problems with word recall or comprehension," Corvino says. "When I thought I had aphasia, I was terrified that I would lose my capacity for language, and eventually slip into dementia."

PPAOS offered a clearer diagnosis, but little comfort. The diagnosis feels particularly cruel for someone whose professional identity was so intertwined with oral communication. In the early 2000s, he wrote columns for Pride Source and Between The Lines, including pieces like "That's Professor Faggot to You" and "The Gay Moralist" — taking on difficult topics with the same directness he brought to campus debates.

"Effective speaking was a core part of my identity for so long," he says. "But the worst part of my condition is not the way it limits me professionally. The worst part is personal: I used my voice to connect to people. I was known as a warm and gregarious person, both at work and in my social life. Now, because of my speech difficulties, I worry that I come across as distant, awkward and stiff."

Friends initially thought he was angry with them when he grew unusually quiet. The diagnosis helped explain the change — and prompted Corvino to go public with his condition.

"I suppose it feels like another 'coming out' process," he says about going public with his condition. "I'm public about my diagnosis for some of the same reasons I was so open about being gay and some unique reasons. The unique reason is mainly that I'm often awkward in conversation, and I want people to know that the problem isn't them."

Finding strength in partnership

John Corvino and husband Mark Lock, from the 2016 Between The Lines "Home" issue. Photo: Andrew Potter

The word "progressive" in primary progressive apraxia of speech means the condition will worsen. Corvino is part of a PPAOS virtual support group where he sees what's likely coming: members with more advanced apraxia who can no longer speak at all, who type words into devices that "speak" for them.

"I don't want to sugarcoat it. It's been painful," he says. "I'm still adjusting to it; it's been less than a year since my diagnosis."

The diagnosis forced difficult decisions. Corvino loved his role as dean of the Irvin D. Reid Honors College — a position that required him to be the public face and voice of the college. But his speech difficulties made that increasingly impossible. After one final meeting with his assistant and the associate dean, where he discussed his resignation, he broke down in tears and told Mark, "I wasn't finished yet."

“That was one of the most heartbreaking moments since the diagnosis,” Mark says. The man who had spent decades speaking for LGBTQ+ rights, who had built a career on clear, persuasive communication, was being forced to step away from leadership at 55 — not because his mind had failed, but because his voice had.

Yet through the loss, Corvino's relationship with Mark has deepened.

"I've always considered myself immensely lucky to have Mark as my husband, but it's made me even more grateful for him," Corvino says. "We're trying — and sometimes succeeding — to focus on gratitude for what we have rather than sadness for what we've lost."

Recently, the couple traveled through Sicily with Corvino's sister and brother-in-law, visiting their maternal grandparents' hometown of Licodia Eubea. The trip was both celebration and acknowledgment — frontotemporal degeneration will likely shorten Corvino's life, but they're cherishing the moments they have.

"I spend my time toggling between gratitude for what I have — and anger and sadness about what I've lost," he admits.

Together, they're finding ways forward.

On the one hand, I feel I've contributed a lot professionally, and I have no regrets about how I've spent my career. I take considerable comfort in the fact that while I had the capacity for smooth speech, I used that to full advantage. On the other hand, I mourn the loss of skills I've developed and I feel as if my career has been cut short.
— John Corvino

Corvino is finishing his latest book, "The Other Side: How, When and Why to Engage with Culture-War Adversaries." He'll return to teaching in January, leading asynchronous online courses that don't require live speaking. He's working with a computer science student at Wayne State to develop voice-cloning software so he can type out lecture modules and have them read in "his" voice.

And he's started writing a memoir. "I never thought my life was interesting enough for a memoir, but for someone who once had a thriving public speaking career to develop a neurodegenerative disorder that targets speech — well, let's just say that I've found my 'hook.'"

His work on free speech, civility and the ethics of public discourse has taken on new dimensions. "My experience with speech difficulties has deepened my appreciation for that fact: how we say the words can be as important in audience uptake as what we say," he explains.

A voice that still resonates

Corvino carries a card from Mayo Clinic in his wallet explaining PPAOS. A speech-language pathologist gave it to him to use if he's ever pulled over by police — his halting speech could be mistaken for drunkenness or nervousness.

"I sometimes talk slow; I don't think slow," Corvino says. "I often worry that people will think that my struggle with words reflects a struggle with thinking."

But his work as an educator and advocate continues, just in different forms. He's teaching the LGBTQ+ community — and the broader public — about a condition few understand. He's demonstrating the same resilience that characterized his decades of LGBTQ+ advocacy.

Looking back at his early work for Pride Source and Between The Lines, Corvino is grateful for what he accomplished when speech came easily. "I'm glad that while I had the capacity for smooth speech, I used it fully," he says. "And I've left a legacy on YouTube: I still get emails thanking me for videos I posted there over a decade ago."

That legacy continues to evolve. In 2017, he won the Affirmations Community Hero Award, and the philosophy blog Daily Nous recently published a tribute discussing his career as "one of philosophy's most influential public voices."

"On the one hand, I feel I've contributed a lot professionally, and I have no regrets about how I've spent my career," he reflects. "Again, I take considerable comfort in the fact that while I had the capacity for smooth speech, I used that to full advantage. On the other hand, I mourn the loss of skills I've developed and I feel as if my career has been cut short."

The tension between gratitude and grief defines his current experience. But even as his voice falters, John Corvino continues to communicate what matters most: how to live with dignity, how to adapt to loss and how to keep contributing even when the tools you've relied on begin to fail.

His words — typed now more than spoken — still have power. They still persuade. They still teach.

With Mark by his side, Corvino faces an uncertain future with the same courage and authenticity he brought to his decades of LGBTQ+ advocacy. His voice may be changing, but his message remains clear.

For more information about frontotemporal degeneration, visit theAFTD.org; the site doesn't mention PPAOS — a fact that Corvino is working to change.