Before he was a professor, a United Nations delegate, or the Executive Director of Canada’s largest 2SLGBTQI+ network, Tyler Boyce was a Black queer boy watching the world get built without him. The policies didn’t name him. The data didn’t see him. The systems didn’t protect him. And yet—somehow—Tyler saw us. All of us. And he chose to build anyway.
In a country where Black queer brilliance is too often framed as an exception—or extinguished as a threat—Tyler Boyce walks into rooms with a quiet conviction that rearranges the air. His leadership isn’t ornamental. It is architectural. From the courtroom to the classroom, from Pride stages to policy tables, he has spent nearly 15 years reimagining what it means to hold power without surrendering your people in the process.
"I lead from the margins not because it’s trendy—but because it’s where the truth lives," he says.
As Executive Director of The Enchanté Network, Tyler is doing more than scaling programs—he is reshaping the blueprint for queer infrastructure in Canada. Under his guidance, the organization has evolved from coalition to conduit: amplifying 2SLGBTQI+ organizations, redistributing resources, and intervening where policy falls short. In 2024, as anti-trans rhetoric surged across the country, he made a choice few leaders dared to make—reallocating over half a million dollars directly to trans-led groups. No press tour. No fanfare. Just justice moving at the speed of need.
Tyler’s story surpasses representation; it's a study in strategy, stewardship, and soul. A trained legal thinker and relentless policy advocate, he insists that data is only as liberatory as the hands that hold it. "Data should guide our work—but not if we’re collecting it with colonial tools," he says. His next move may be his boldest yet: the 2026 launch of Canada’s first national Black 2SLGBTQI+ organization. A body born from erasure. A refusal to stay disappeared.
But Tyler is not just building institutions. He is cultivating futures. Through his consulting firm, Nonprofit Exponential, and his teaching at the University of Ottawa, he’s mentoring the next wave of leaders—those unafraid to wield softness as strength. He reminds us that courage doesn’t always arrive by shouting. That joy is a metric. That legacy is a muscle you build daily, not a title you’re handed.
When asked what legacy means to him, he cites a quote: “Make sure that when you walk into an institution as a Black queer person, it’s never the same after you leave.” For Tyler, this is not a metaphor. But rather it’s methodology.
He’s not asking to be included in broken systems. He is constructing systems that never forget who they’re meant to hold.
This Pride, Beyond Data lifts up Tyler Boyce not for his role but for the quiet revolutions he leads—each decision, each reallocation, each refusal to leave anyone behind. He embodies a kind of leadership that doesn’t wait for permission, one that tends to the community not as charity, but as an obligation of love.
Because the future doesn’t fall from the sky. It is scraped together in the margins, held in calloused hands, whispered through doorways never meant for us. It is stitched into policy memos and late-night strategy calls. It is built—not with permission, but with memory, grief, rage, and love. Tyler Boyce is one of its architects. And he is not done yet.
