May 01, 2026 | Michail Takach

Israel Ramon: refusing to settle for silence

After a lifetime of achieving hard-won historic firsts, his proudest victory was embracing his true self.

Israel Ramon

“Once a person accepts the unchangeable truth of who they are, empowerment follows."

For Israel Ramon, being thrust into the spotlight is a slightly uncomfortable, honor.

He is not – and has never been -- someone who seeks out applause or leads with his lifetime achievements. His story is a masterclass in self-acceptance. By breaking barriers, navigating cultural intersections, and accomplishing meaningful "firsts,” Israel has demonstrated that anything is possible if you believe in yourself.

Long before he was a civic influencer, Israel Ramon was a young boy trying to figure out where he fit in a society that wasn't quite ready for him.

Born in northern Mexico, he came to the United States as an eight-month-old infant. His family settled in Illinois, where Spanish was the absolute law of the household. When Ramon entered a public kindergarten class, he did not know a single word of English. At the time, public schools lacked any form of bilingual education.

"I didn't know how I did it," Ramon recalls, reflecting on his early childhood. "But, you know, kids are remarkably adaptable to their environments, especially when everything is brand new.”

Learning the language was just the first of many adjustments. Growing up in the 1960s, Ramon lived in a predominantly white environment with almost no other Hispanic families in sight.

This cultural isolation was especially visible at the school lunch table. His mother, an exceptionally frugal woman, refused to purchase hot school lunches and instead packed traditional Mexican meals like tacos and burritos. He became the subject of endless ridicule for eating food that “wasn’t American.”

“My classmates had never seen tortillas before,” he said. “They had no understanding of Mexican food at all. I was different, and no matter how much I tried to fit in, they never let me forget that I was not like them.”

The experience was haunting. To escape the ridicule, he began skipping lunch entirely, sneaking outside to eat his meals in a quiet space. He felt like he would forever be on the outside looking in.

Throughout middle school and high school, Israel realized he was more different than his classmates even knew. He was developing strong feelings for other boys, with no safe way to ever acknowledge or express them. Growing up in a deeply conservative, traditional, Catholic Mexican family, homosexuality was an absolute taboo. There were no role models, mentors, or guides. There was no talking about it with anyone. And there would be no family acceptance, either.

“One of my uncles was gay, but he was somewhat exiled from the family,” said Israel. “My mother did not approve of him at all. She used horrible, cruel words to describe him.”

Hearing these outspoken opinions sent a clear, chilling message: Israel could never come out to his family. He would need to keep that part of his soul under lock and key.

Ambition accelerated

Israel knew that if he was ever outed to his family or his community, he could instantly face housing and financial ruin. He lived with constant anxiety about his future. But the closet didn’t crush his hopes.

Instead, it served as high-octane fuel for his academic ambitions. He channeled his fear of family rejection into unyielding self-sufficiency. His parents did not fully understand his intense educational hunger: what was he trying to prove?

“I graduated from a respiratory therapy program and secured a stable, high-paying job at a local hospital,” said Israel. “When I chose to continue my education, my family questioned why. They felt I was being too aspirational for my own good. I saw it differently. I was just refusing to settle.”

Israel completed an associate degree in applied science, followed by a bachelor’s degree in management and business at a private liberal arts college in Northern Illinois. He was officially the first person in his entire family to go to college.

His trailblazing path lit a fire beneath his siblings. His older brother earned an MBA, his sister earned a nursing degree and ultimately a PhD, and his younger brother earned a degree in laboratory technology.

One of his classmates, noting his academic talent, urged him to take the LSAT.

“I had no real desire to practice law,” said Israel. “But I took the leap, passed the test, and was accepted into Marquette Law School in 1991.”

Attending law school in Milwaukee in 1991 was another lesson is isolation. The Marquette campus experience was very different back then, as the university was still surrounded by a transitional neighborhood. Ramon lived in a rundown studio apartment near 17th and Wells Street. He isolated himself from social activities to focus entirely on his studies.

But he was also isolated in terms of demographic representation. In his class of roughly 180 students, Ramon was one of only two Hispanic students. When the other Hispanic student relocated to Texas, he became the sole Mexican American representation in his entire class, alongside just two African American students and one Native American student.

“We were living in the middle of a big, urban city, and all we saw on campus were white people,” Israel said. “I never would have expected that.”

To make matters more challenging, Ramon financed his entire legal education on his own without a single penny in student loans. Every single weekend, he would pack a suitcase, drive all the way back home to Illinois, and work extended shifts as a respiratory therapist to pay his expenses.

“I wasn’t sleeping much,” he laughed.

Fall 1991 was a challenging time for another, more harrowing reason: the Jeffrey Dahmer case was unfolding in the local media, with gruesome, horrifying revelations announced almost every day. Israel was living only blocks away from Dahmer’s infamous apartment building. The fact that Dahmer preyed on gay men, but especially Black and brown men, only increased his anxieties about his sexual identity.

Simply put, it felt more dangerous than ever to come out. He started to doubt he ever would.

Breaking civic barriers

Upon graduating from Marquette Law School debt-free in 1994, Ramon took his relentless work ethic into the professional workforce. He joined a white, Jewish-owned mid-sized law firm of 20 to 30 attorneys. Demonstrating an exceptional legal mind and sharp instincts as a litigator, he shattered corporate timelines by becoming one of the youngest partners in the firm’s history after just four years of practice.

Though he was completely bilingual, Ramon initially didn’t have many Hispanic clients. However, the market responded to him quickly. Word quickly spread across the Milwaukee Metro area: "You speak Spanish, talk to Israel, he'll be able to help you.” Within two years, his client roster was overflowing with Spanish-speaking individuals. By earning this trust, he became one of the very first Latino attorneys in Wisconsin to specialize in workers' compensation and disability law.

His legal brilliance caught the attention of his peers on a statewide level. Ramon was eventually invited to become a Fellow of the Wisconsin Law Foundation—a prestigious honor reserved for a mere 2% to 4% of all practicing lawyers in the state, recognizing elite legal skills and service excellence.

The truth will set you free

Even while his professional life was soaring, Ramon’s personal life was still suffering.

Under the weight of family, social and cultural expectations, he chose to deny his sexual identity for decades. He married a woman and tried to live the life his parents wanted for him. Eventually, the pressure to live honestly became undeniable.

He realized he needed to be honest with himself and his wife. In a deeply difficult moment, he came out to her with full transparency.

“Although our marriage was over, we remained very committed to each other emotionally,” said Israel. The couple continued to be present in each other’s lives until she passed away years later.

“Living a closeted life is like living in a dark cage,” said Israel. “You invest so much energy in keeping your secrets that you don’t have energy to do anything else. In the end, the joke is on you: you’re doing more harm than good to yourself and your surrounding loved ones.”

His family was not so accepting. By now, Israel realized he didn’t need their acceptance or their approval anymore. He knew that he was making the right decision for himself, and that he would find people who would celebrate his choice. Over time, he had less contact with his family, especially after his mother informed him that he was excluded from his parents’ will.

“She made it clear to me that I would not be named as a beneficiary,” he said. “This conversation was so unnecessary. I never expected to benefit from their estate, nor did I need their financial support. It felt like she was disowning me in the most passive-aggressive way possible.”

That moment was another reminder to Israel that he’d spent far too much time seeking permission to be himself.

“My biggest regret in life is that it took me so long to come out of the closet. I wasted so much time, effort, love, and energy worrying about the consequences. If I hadn’t worried so much about what other people thought, I could have lived a much more colorful life.”

Coming out came with tremendous rewards. After proudly outing himself, that persistent, exhausting fear of being outed evaporated completely – replaced by a deep sense of contentment, peace, and authenticity. He felt an overwhelming sense of calm and relief.

“Once a person accepts the unchangeable truth of who they are, empowerment follows,” said Israel. “And all of that psychological stress and distress just melt away.”

After 25 highly successful years as a dedicated, courtroom-tested litigator, Ramon's career underwent a sudden, historic shift. The grueling litigation lifestyle -- working six and sometimes seven days a week -- was starting to severely damage his health and personal life. When a county supervisor and the Milwaukee County Executive, Chris Abele, reached out to inform him of a vacancy in the Register of Deeds office, Ramon decided to throw his hat into the ring.

In 2019, Governor Tony Evers officially appointed Israel Ramon as the Register of Deeds for Milwaukee County.

With the stroke of a pen, Ramon secured a permanent place in the history books. He became not only the first Latino constitutional officer in Wisconsin history, but the first Latino and openly gay man to serve as a constitutional officer in Milwaukee County.

Despite making history, Israel remains a most humble elected official. As an elected official, he never opens a public speech by listing his historical milestones as a gay man. To Ramon, being gay is simply a natural part of his fabric. He strives simply to be remembered as a decent, hardworking, and trustworthy human being.

“If anyone can learn a lesson from my life, it’s that being ‘different’ doesn’t have to hold you back from anything you want to do in the world,” said Israel.

A legacy of giving back

Today, Israel uses his platform, his resources, and his leadership to ensure the next generation doesn't have to suffer the same crippling anxieties. He and his partner David are major contributors to Courage, a non-profit cause dedicated to protecting vulnerable, unhoused, and at-risk queer youth.

“I will never forget the intense housing and financial insecurities I lived through,” said Israel. “Coming out carries unique, highly complex obstacles for all young people, but sometimes more so for Black and brown kids growing up in religious or conservative homes. I want to help build the safety net for them.”

Israel and David have strategically structured their long-term finances to leave a legacy for tomorrow. Upon their passing, their estate will provide a generous gift to Courage for youth housing initiatives.

The couple is also invested in the Puerto Vallarta LGBT center, which provides low-cost HIV testing, STD screenings, and access to life-saving PrEP medication.

Despite rising political intolerance against transgender youth, marriage equality, and the overall LGBTQ community, Ramon remains deeply aspirational. He believes that tough times are a call to action.

"Challenge yourself to multiply the good works of those who came before you,” he said. “We can never stop believing in a better future.”