So far this year I’ve been occupying the role of a cisgender, straight male LGBTQ ally in my classroom. It feels completely bizarre since I don’t think of myself or aim to mark myself as “straight” in my everyday life. But even though being perceived and treated as a heterosexual male is still foreign to me, I’ve been surprised by how comfortable and effective I’ve felt broaching issues of social justice with my students from this subject-position. Having been immersed in particular queer communities that tend to valorize “outness” and equate it – problematically – with radicalism, I’m currently fighting against an ingrained impulse to self-flagellate for being “closeted.”
But what closet am I in, really? “Coming out” as trans is different from, and often does not parallel, queer “coming out” narratives. In terms of gender, my “passing anxiety” has heightened considerably since I began physically transitioning and living as male in my work life. (I imagine this is not an uncommon trans experience.) I’m still dreading the day when I am outed as trans to all of my students. I dread, both at work and in my personal life, having to justify my presentation as though I am somehow “deceiving” people by “masquerading” as a straight man. Self-identifying as queer” seems like it could be a helpful and defensive buffer now, in the sense that it could ease some of that tension in the moment I become out as trans to my students.
But what would it mean for me to come out as a queer man to my students right at this moment in time, when they are not aware that I am trans? Throughout my past I have been sexually and romantically involved with men, but I’m currently in a relationship with a woman and have always been more interested in women. In my social life I am inclined to identify as queer, but even that is complicated at this point – what makes me queer, now? I get uncomfortable when people rely on trans identity to prove or authenticate queerness, because a person’s trans history does not necessarily mean that he or she is queer or queer-identified. Assuming an inherent connection between “trans” and “queer” identities feels like Step One in invalidating many trans people’s genders. The suggestion that my designation as female at birth automatically makes me queer just perpetuates the faulty notion that I am not really a man.
Ultimately, my point is that the “what does it mean to be queer?” question is something I need to grapple with in my personal sphere, not in my professional life or with my students. As “Ms. K” the past two years, I happily and openly identified as “queer” with my students - often in response to the constant questions that arose because of my visible gender non-normativity. I’ve learned first-hand that it can be extremely valuable for students to see queer teachers out and visible in their schools. But there is no need for me to get into the complicated inner workings of my sexuality and desires with my students; and if I were to do open that door it would be coming from a place of self-absorption. It would be more about me than about my students.
I choose to look at it this way: Straight male LGBTQ advocates are often hard to come by, and they – we? – can play an important role in any push for LGBTQ-awareness. So I’m resolved to be happy where I am for the time being.
Showing posts with label transsexual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transsexual. Show all posts
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
Transitioning on the Job: Part Three
Transitioning has shattered my understanding of how people are perceiving me. In my everyday life, I feel less and less certain about what sexual and gender identities other people are mapping onto me. In the past few weeks, I’ve been read as a straight, cisgendered man at gay male bars, and as a gay man by straight women whom I thought were hitting on me. I had my first experience of having to come out as a transsexual to a gay man who asked me out. These are all firsts for me. The cumulative effect of these seemingly minor, quotidian exchanges has felt utterly overwhelming at times.
Shifts in my physical appearance (and therefore in the way other people interact with me) have been disorienting at work, too. While modeling how to draft a personal essay the other day, the fact arose that my two best friends when I was in eighth grade were named Talia and Joanna. The moment I mentioned their names in my draft, a wave of giggles swept through the classroom. I turned around, surprised and unsure of the reason for the amusement. One flabbergasted student blurted out “GIRLS?” and I replied “yes, they were my friends.” In the brief flurry of whispers that ensued, I overheard comments like “he hung out with girls?!” I hadn’t anticipated that reaction. It hadn’t even occurred to me that it would seem strange that I spent time with girls as a kid. Upon reflection, though, I realize that most of my students immerse themselves in same-sex social groups. The impression I got from students’ reactions was that there was something “off” about an eighth grade boy whose best friends were girls. Perhaps, I realized, they’re suspecting that I might be a gay, cissexual man? I can’t tell.
Yesterday, one student came up to me with a book in hand to point out that “almost all of your books say ‘Ms. Krywanczyk’ in them.” She didn’t say it in an accusatory or “what’s going on here?” way. Her tone was earnest, and she clearly figured she’d inform me of something that she assumed I would want to know. My nervousness came through in my response: “Thanks for letting me know, you can change it if you want.” She walked away from my desk seeming a little confused and curious. Moments like this have illuminated my tendency to project my own “passing anxieties” onto my students. I had assumed that the “Ms. Krywanczyk” written in my classroom books would “give away” my trans-ness to students. However, a friend pointed out to me that students very well may see “Ms. Krywanczyk” not as an indicator that I was designated female at birth, but as a hint that I may have a wife. Sure enough, a few students have approached me to ask me if I’m married. (I’ve said a simple “no.”) But I haven’t fielded a single gender-related question, or had to address an inappropriate pronoun.
Frankly, I’m shocked that this hasn’t come up in my classroom yet. Maybe my sixth graders simply haven’t heard anything about the fact that I used to be Ms. K? That seems highly unlikely, though. Maybe seventh and eighth graders in the school have heard about my transition, and have kept relatively quiet about it? I’m skeptical of that, too. Some seventh and eighth graders who knew me last year have clearly “gotten the memo” about my transition, because they have begun referring to me as Mr. K. (Or perhaps some of them have just put two and two together.) But some of my former students who are currently seventh graders in the school still shout “Hi Ms. K!” when they see me in the hallways. It is possible, then, that my sixth graders have heard about my past as Ms. K – and they simply “get it.”
I would love to wire-tap students to be privy to the ways this kind of information is communicated, discussed, and spread. I’m absolutely dying to know, as very few people – students or adults – are discussing any of this with me. In the past three days, two coworker friends of mine have shared conversations that other teachers at our school have started with them about me and transgender issues. In both cases, other teachers approached coworkers whom they knew were friends of mine to ask extensive questions about my transition. While the thought of having friends put on the spot to speak for me and my identity makes me uncomfortable, I’m relieved that all of the burden of fielding these inquiries isn’t falling on me.
In response to questioning, though, I find myself oscillating between a personal impulse to engage in conversation with adults about my transition and a political obligation to establish that just because someone is transgender doesn’t make it okay to be invasive. I always feel like I should tell curious inquirers that they need to find some trans literature and educate themselves rather than depending on trans people to spoon-feed them information. No individual is obligated to educate the trans-ignorant world at large; and it would certainly be problematic for me to self-authorize to “represent” transgender people. However, at the same time I’m inclined to speak for my own personal experience and transition. And in terms of effective “Trans 101” teaching tools, nothing compares to “real life” interaction with trans people.
In both my professional and non-professional lives, I’ve been struggling to navigate boundaries when adults ask deeply personal questions about my body, my sexuality, my sex life, etc. It’s extremely important that I have cissexual supporters in my school - like these two coworker friends - whom I trust to address questions appropriately, to advocate for me, and to therefore alleviate some of the pressures to “educate” that might otherwise fall completely on me. I dislike the term “ally” for many reasons, but my awesome and trans-aware colleagues are contributing to my hopefulness about teaching this year.
Shifts in my physical appearance (and therefore in the way other people interact with me) have been disorienting at work, too. While modeling how to draft a personal essay the other day, the fact arose that my two best friends when I was in eighth grade were named Talia and Joanna. The moment I mentioned their names in my draft, a wave of giggles swept through the classroom. I turned around, surprised and unsure of the reason for the amusement. One flabbergasted student blurted out “GIRLS?” and I replied “yes, they were my friends.” In the brief flurry of whispers that ensued, I overheard comments like “he hung out with girls?!” I hadn’t anticipated that reaction. It hadn’t even occurred to me that it would seem strange that I spent time with girls as a kid. Upon reflection, though, I realize that most of my students immerse themselves in same-sex social groups. The impression I got from students’ reactions was that there was something “off” about an eighth grade boy whose best friends were girls. Perhaps, I realized, they’re suspecting that I might be a gay, cissexual man? I can’t tell.
Yesterday, one student came up to me with a book in hand to point out that “almost all of your books say ‘Ms. Krywanczyk’ in them.” She didn’t say it in an accusatory or “what’s going on here?” way. Her tone was earnest, and she clearly figured she’d inform me of something that she assumed I would want to know. My nervousness came through in my response: “Thanks for letting me know, you can change it if you want.” She walked away from my desk seeming a little confused and curious. Moments like this have illuminated my tendency to project my own “passing anxieties” onto my students. I had assumed that the “Ms. Krywanczyk” written in my classroom books would “give away” my trans-ness to students. However, a friend pointed out to me that students very well may see “Ms. Krywanczyk” not as an indicator that I was designated female at birth, but as a hint that I may have a wife. Sure enough, a few students have approached me to ask me if I’m married. (I’ve said a simple “no.”) But I haven’t fielded a single gender-related question, or had to address an inappropriate pronoun.
Frankly, I’m shocked that this hasn’t come up in my classroom yet. Maybe my sixth graders simply haven’t heard anything about the fact that I used to be Ms. K? That seems highly unlikely, though. Maybe seventh and eighth graders in the school have heard about my transition, and have kept relatively quiet about it? I’m skeptical of that, too. Some seventh and eighth graders who knew me last year have clearly “gotten the memo” about my transition, because they have begun referring to me as Mr. K. (Or perhaps some of them have just put two and two together.) But some of my former students who are currently seventh graders in the school still shout “Hi Ms. K!” when they see me in the hallways. It is possible, then, that my sixth graders have heard about my past as Ms. K – and they simply “get it.”
I would love to wire-tap students to be privy to the ways this kind of information is communicated, discussed, and spread. I’m absolutely dying to know, as very few people – students or adults – are discussing any of this with me. In the past three days, two coworker friends of mine have shared conversations that other teachers at our school have started with them about me and transgender issues. In both cases, other teachers approached coworkers whom they knew were friends of mine to ask extensive questions about my transition. While the thought of having friends put on the spot to speak for me and my identity makes me uncomfortable, I’m relieved that all of the burden of fielding these inquiries isn’t falling on me.
In response to questioning, though, I find myself oscillating between a personal impulse to engage in conversation with adults about my transition and a political obligation to establish that just because someone is transgender doesn’t make it okay to be invasive. I always feel like I should tell curious inquirers that they need to find some trans literature and educate themselves rather than depending on trans people to spoon-feed them information. No individual is obligated to educate the trans-ignorant world at large; and it would certainly be problematic for me to self-authorize to “represent” transgender people. However, at the same time I’m inclined to speak for my own personal experience and transition. And in terms of effective “Trans 101” teaching tools, nothing compares to “real life” interaction with trans people.
In both my professional and non-professional lives, I’ve been struggling to navigate boundaries when adults ask deeply personal questions about my body, my sexuality, my sex life, etc. It’s extremely important that I have cissexual supporters in my school - like these two coworker friends - whom I trust to address questions appropriately, to advocate for me, and to therefore alleviate some of the pressures to “educate” that might otherwise fall completely on me. I dislike the term “ally” for many reasons, but my awesome and trans-aware colleagues are contributing to my hopefulness about teaching this year.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Transitioning on the Job: Part Two
A month ago, when a friend forwarded me a New York Times article about how transgender people are now experiencing “smoother transitions” in the workplace, I scoffed. After all, the idea that trans people “have it easy” in any way is pretty ridiculous. At that point, I was also anxiously anticipating my first day back at my school and coming out to my colleagues as a transsexual and as “Mr. Krywanczyk.”
As our first staff and faculty in-service day on August 28th neared, I felt incredibly nervous and sick to my stomach. My transition itself had been feeling very good to me. I felt more comfortable in my own skin and knew that I was on the right track for me. But the thought of coming out in an auditorium full of my colleagues and administrators intimidated me. The past two years I mostly avoided social events - such as after-school happy hours - with fellow teachers. My discomfort derived from the sense that I stood out not necessarily for my queerness or gender non-normativity, but for my progressive and radical political stances. Some of my interactions with fellow teachers, including being chastised for wanting to incorporate conversations about genocide and imperialism into our schoolwide celebration of Thanksgiving, left me feeling lonely and alienated. My impulse to protect myself, in addition to the fact that I felt fundamentally uncomfortable with myself, sparked a criticality of many others in my school. I was expecting the worst in coming out as trans.
However, my “coming out day” at my school went surprisingly well. At our first faculty assembly of the year, the speaker I brought in from the NYCLU did a superb job of presenting the basics of “how to respect trans people” without focusing exclusively on my personal transition. He spent a great deal of time connecting trans and gender issues to the students in our school, and explaining from a legal standpoint why it is educators’ responsibility to intervene whenever anybody – child or adult – is being harassed because of their gender expression or identity. His presentation, and my colleagues’ response to it, renewed my faith in and appreciation of third party advocates who know what they are doing. It can be so effective for people who are not familiar with a particular issue to hear about it from a seemingly unrelated person or organization. The NYCLU really came through for me and for other trans people in our school.
After the NYCLU representative spoke, I stood up and announced that I had started transitioning, and that I would be going by male pronouns and by “Mr. Krywanczyk” from that point on. I knew that the NYCLU speaker had discouraged direct harassment or invasive questions, but I was mostly concerned that colleagues would ignore me out of awkwardness or discomfort. But my coworkers, even those whom I have perceived as politcally conservative or “frat” types, pleasantly surprised me. Instead of avoiding me, a large number of them proactively approached me after the speaker that day to congratulate me, assure me that I would be fine, and to tell me that they had my back. Frankly, I had underestimated many of them. Ultimately, I know there’s something valuable in taking a defensive stance and being proven wrong about it – but I felt like a little bit of a jerk for having expected the worst.
Though I was less worried about students’ reactions to my transition than I was about the responses of adults in my building, the teaching aspect of this year has gone smoothly, as well. I have had no issues with my colleagues, and I have been recognizing a great deal of growth I’ve made as an educator – which is undoubtedly connected to, though not equatable with, my personal growth. Already this year, I’ve felt more excited about my job than I ever imagined I could be. My markedly increased comfort in the role of “teacher” and my newfound passion for teaching are the results of several coinciding factors: Everything I’ve learned over the past two years that has helped me be more organized and prepared with lessons and my classroom than I have been before; my decision to dive into “dressing up for work” and wearing ties every day, which make me feel like a responsible adult and are also useful gender markers for colleagues and students; and a new classroom that is spacious and well-equipped for English classes, as opposed to my previous year’s room.
Presenting as male has also caused some palpable and very noticeable changes in the way students respond to me. According to my observation, my status as "Mr. Krywanczyk" has remained unquestioned among my sixth graders this year. As a male teacher, it is clear that I command more respect than in previous years when I identified as female and presented as a butch lesbian. One “teacher stare” goes a lot farther now that I am “Mr. Krywanczyk” than it ever used to, and I haven’t once felt tempted to shout or talk over any students in my classroom. I can’t be sure how much of that stems from my increased organization and ability to do my job, but my perceived gender undeniably helps. Feeling that kind of male privilege with regards to my students has been illuminating already.
Possibly the strangest aspect of this school year so far is the conspicuous absence of any sexuality- or gender-related questions and conversations among my students. I’m not sure how my students read me sexuality-wise, but after the past two years - when my appearance in combination with “Ms. K” prompted immediate and incessant inquiry - it seems bizarre to me that LGBT matters have not yet arisen in my classroom. Passing unquestioned as male with my students, and therefore mostly likely as a straight man by default, helps me better understand the experiences of friends of mine who have struggled to navigate “coming out” in their classrooms. It was never an option for me, before this year, to not be “out” as queer.
The current silence around LGBT issues probably won’t last very long, however. Considering the fact that my students from last year are still in the school, and they often shout “Hi Ms. K!” at me down hallways and across the streets outside our school, it seems inevitable that eventually my students will find out that I was “Ms. K” last year. I’m beginning to feel scared that my overwhelmingly positive transition experience will come crashing down at any minute.
I recently remembered, much to my horror, that over half of the books in my classroom library say “Ms. Krywanczyk” on them in permanent marker. Last year, two very well-meaning students had taken Sharpies to my library in an attempt to ensure that I didn’t lose any books.
Yesterday, one of my current students noticed such a “Ms. Krywanczyk” on the inside of his book, and I saw him look at it, look at me, look back at it, hold it up above his head, and gesture wildly at it to a friend of his across the room until I asked him to put the book down and begin reading. That moment gave me chills, and deflated me a bit – which took me by surprise. I’m realizing that for the first time in my life I’m understanding how right it feels fo rme to be male without necessarily being marked as “trans,” and I’m starting to feel reluctant to let go of that feeling, even though I want to be “out and proud.” I have to wait and see what happens in terms of “disclosure” and “coming out,” and I’m sure it will be a constant navigation.
Ultimately, though, I have received a mind-blowingly supportive and respectful reception in my school, and I am trying to appreciate and enjoy that in the moment. In hindsight, I realize what the New York Times article was getting at, even if it fails to represent more than a sliver of trans experiences. For the small subset of trans people like myself - who have a tremendous amount of resources, support, educational and socioeconomic advantages – maybe transitioning on the job isn’t necessarily a horrible and traumatizing experience. But if there is one thing the beginning of this year has illuminated, it’s how incredibly lucky and privileged I am.
As our first staff and faculty in-service day on August 28th neared, I felt incredibly nervous and sick to my stomach. My transition itself had been feeling very good to me. I felt more comfortable in my own skin and knew that I was on the right track for me. But the thought of coming out in an auditorium full of my colleagues and administrators intimidated me. The past two years I mostly avoided social events - such as after-school happy hours - with fellow teachers. My discomfort derived from the sense that I stood out not necessarily for my queerness or gender non-normativity, but for my progressive and radical political stances. Some of my interactions with fellow teachers, including being chastised for wanting to incorporate conversations about genocide and imperialism into our schoolwide celebration of Thanksgiving, left me feeling lonely and alienated. My impulse to protect myself, in addition to the fact that I felt fundamentally uncomfortable with myself, sparked a criticality of many others in my school. I was expecting the worst in coming out as trans.
However, my “coming out day” at my school went surprisingly well. At our first faculty assembly of the year, the speaker I brought in from the NYCLU did a superb job of presenting the basics of “how to respect trans people” without focusing exclusively on my personal transition. He spent a great deal of time connecting trans and gender issues to the students in our school, and explaining from a legal standpoint why it is educators’ responsibility to intervene whenever anybody – child or adult – is being harassed because of their gender expression or identity. His presentation, and my colleagues’ response to it, renewed my faith in and appreciation of third party advocates who know what they are doing. It can be so effective for people who are not familiar with a particular issue to hear about it from a seemingly unrelated person or organization. The NYCLU really came through for me and for other trans people in our school.
After the NYCLU representative spoke, I stood up and announced that I had started transitioning, and that I would be going by male pronouns and by “Mr. Krywanczyk” from that point on. I knew that the NYCLU speaker had discouraged direct harassment or invasive questions, but I was mostly concerned that colleagues would ignore me out of awkwardness or discomfort. But my coworkers, even those whom I have perceived as politcally conservative or “frat” types, pleasantly surprised me. Instead of avoiding me, a large number of them proactively approached me after the speaker that day to congratulate me, assure me that I would be fine, and to tell me that they had my back. Frankly, I had underestimated many of them. Ultimately, I know there’s something valuable in taking a defensive stance and being proven wrong about it – but I felt like a little bit of a jerk for having expected the worst.
Though I was less worried about students’ reactions to my transition than I was about the responses of adults in my building, the teaching aspect of this year has gone smoothly, as well. I have had no issues with my colleagues, and I have been recognizing a great deal of growth I’ve made as an educator – which is undoubtedly connected to, though not equatable with, my personal growth. Already this year, I’ve felt more excited about my job than I ever imagined I could be. My markedly increased comfort in the role of “teacher” and my newfound passion for teaching are the results of several coinciding factors: Everything I’ve learned over the past two years that has helped me be more organized and prepared with lessons and my classroom than I have been before; my decision to dive into “dressing up for work” and wearing ties every day, which make me feel like a responsible adult and are also useful gender markers for colleagues and students; and a new classroom that is spacious and well-equipped for English classes, as opposed to my previous year’s room.
Presenting as male has also caused some palpable and very noticeable changes in the way students respond to me. According to my observation, my status as "Mr. Krywanczyk" has remained unquestioned among my sixth graders this year. As a male teacher, it is clear that I command more respect than in previous years when I identified as female and presented as a butch lesbian. One “teacher stare” goes a lot farther now that I am “Mr. Krywanczyk” than it ever used to, and I haven’t once felt tempted to shout or talk over any students in my classroom. I can’t be sure how much of that stems from my increased organization and ability to do my job, but my perceived gender undeniably helps. Feeling that kind of male privilege with regards to my students has been illuminating already.
Possibly the strangest aspect of this school year so far is the conspicuous absence of any sexuality- or gender-related questions and conversations among my students. I’m not sure how my students read me sexuality-wise, but after the past two years - when my appearance in combination with “Ms. K” prompted immediate and incessant inquiry - it seems bizarre to me that LGBT matters have not yet arisen in my classroom. Passing unquestioned as male with my students, and therefore mostly likely as a straight man by default, helps me better understand the experiences of friends of mine who have struggled to navigate “coming out” in their classrooms. It was never an option for me, before this year, to not be “out” as queer.
The current silence around LGBT issues probably won’t last very long, however. Considering the fact that my students from last year are still in the school, and they often shout “Hi Ms. K!” at me down hallways and across the streets outside our school, it seems inevitable that eventually my students will find out that I was “Ms. K” last year. I’m beginning to feel scared that my overwhelmingly positive transition experience will come crashing down at any minute.
I recently remembered, much to my horror, that over half of the books in my classroom library say “Ms. Krywanczyk” on them in permanent marker. Last year, two very well-meaning students had taken Sharpies to my library in an attempt to ensure that I didn’t lose any books.
Yesterday, one of my current students noticed such a “Ms. Krywanczyk” on the inside of his book, and I saw him look at it, look at me, look back at it, hold it up above his head, and gesture wildly at it to a friend of his across the room until I asked him to put the book down and begin reading. That moment gave me chills, and deflated me a bit – which took me by surprise. I’m realizing that for the first time in my life I’m understanding how right it feels fo rme to be male without necessarily being marked as “trans,” and I’m starting to feel reluctant to let go of that feeling, even though I want to be “out and proud.” I have to wait and see what happens in terms of “disclosure” and “coming out,” and I’m sure it will be a constant navigation.
Ultimately, though, I have received a mind-blowingly supportive and respectful reception in my school, and I am trying to appreciate and enjoy that in the moment. In hindsight, I realize what the New York Times article was getting at, even if it fails to represent more than a sliver of trans experiences. For the small subset of trans people like myself - who have a tremendous amount of resources, support, educational and socioeconomic advantages – maybe transitioning on the job isn’t necessarily a horrible and traumatizing experience. But if there is one thing the beginning of this year has illuminated, it’s how incredibly lucky and privileged I am.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Seeing Our Students
I recently heard that the family of Lawrence King has filed personal injury claims against the Oxnard, California school district and county. Unfortunately, however, King's family has decided to blame the school for "allowing" King to behave and act flamboyantly and to wear clothes that were out of the school's gendered dress code. While I understand and sympathize with the family's grief and eagerness to hold the school accountable in some way, this particular lawsuit seems to be another frustrating gesture blaming King's gender expression for his/her own death when in fact King should have been protected no matter what.
I believe it is important to hold schools accountable for failing to foster an atmosphere and environment of safety for trans and queer youth. Administrators and teachers need to start understanding that it is impossible to protect students who are invisible to us. We cannot “protect” students whose identities and realities we refuse to see and respect.
The atmosphere of repression around sexuality and gender expression in public schools is astounding. Every day I get an influx of email news updates about another public school that has denied its students a Gay-Straight Alliance, or another instance of students being bullied, or another administrator who lectured a queer or trans student about how wrong homosexuality is. Most public schools seem dead-set on invisibilizing, weeding out, or ignoring LGBTQ students and LGBTQ issues that directly affect students.
Even in the context of my school, where teachers generally have a remarkable amount of freedom to determine our own curricula, I could not share news articles about King’s death with my students without admonishment and warning from numerous colleagues. My administrators have also expressed a strong desire to keep my transition as quiet as possible. I was recently informed that my principal has been advised by the New York Department of Education to avoid talking to students about my transition, and I learned that I am being moved to a different floor in my school. However, even if nobody raises questions or concerns about my transition, trying to sweep it under the rug is a band-aid solution that implies that my administration believes me to be an exception, a special case, and the only transgender person with trans-related needs in our school.
This is where my school, though well-intentioned and relatively supportive, seems to be making the same mistake that so many other public schools make. My transition is not the singular reason my colleagues and administrators need to learn to respect and support transgender people. In fact, my feelings are probably the least important aspect of all of this. After all, I am an adult, and it will not be the end of my world if someone refers to me as “she”. However, what message would it send to students about respecting gender identities if my colleagues use inappropriate pronouns or disrespect my identity in front of students? What impact could that have on a gender variant or queer middle school student? LGBTQ issues are students’ lives, identities, families, friends, neighbors, and teachers. They are immediate, real, and non-negotiable – and it is inevitable that some of the students of the 1,000 in my school are trans or gender variant.
And we can’t protect students whose realities and identities we refuse to see.
It is also inevitable that most of the school this year will know I am a transsexual. For administrators to maintain a willful ignorance about the controversy, emotion, and curiosity that will undoubtedly arise at some points as a result of my transition would shift onto me, individually, all responsibility to “educate” others about trans matters – and I find that unacceptable. I can’t speak for all trans people, and I should not be obligated to spend my energies versing my colleagues in Trans 101 or to spend my professional time doing transgender “damage control.” I am happy to engage in conversation and answer (some) questions on my own time, and only when I have the emotional energy.
Luckily, my principal has given me permission to find a third party to come and speak for fifteen minutes during one of our in-service days next week. I’ve contacted a lawyer from the NYCLU who has committed to talking with my colleagues and administrators on August 28th about transgender rights in New York City and about how to respect transgender people (both adults and children). He and I have collaborated to plan the presentation, and he has experience engaging with administrators and public schools, so I hope this will be a significant step towards establishing a common transgender and queer vocabulary at my school. I also hope that this speaker will help teachers and administrators realize that opening, rather than avoiding, dialogue is crucial to recognizing identities and experiences.
This approach applies to individual classrooms, as well. Instead of censoring what students “can” or cannot say in a top-down fashion, I prefer to encourage an expansion of students’ knowledge and understanding about the history and power of language. This past year I spent one day reading a GLSEN text on the etymology of the word “faggot” with students and engaging in class conversation about the violence of the word, and about why some people choose to describe and identify themselves as “faggots.” Declaring any particular word “off-limits” both entices students to use it when they are out of earshot and denies the experience of students who may identify with the word or what it symbolizes to them.
I believe it is possible to establish a safe environment without restricting students’ free speech, but it requires the classic teaching method of showing – not telling – students that words can have serious implications. This means that teachers and administrators must begin opening conversations in our schools that are difficult, painful, and often cause a great deal of anxiety.
But look at it this way: How will students ever understand the word “faggot,” and why they shouldn’t use it in a derogatory way, if we cannot talk about it or use the word itself? How can we truly see our students, let alone protect them, if we are scared to engage with the language used to defile and tear them down?
We can’t.
Likewise, we can't protect students if we don't acknowledge their gender expressions as valid and legitimate. Though I have the utmost sympathy for Lawrence King's family, the lawsuit they have filed fails to hold King's school truly accountable for its failures.
I believe it is important to hold schools accountable for failing to foster an atmosphere and environment of safety for trans and queer youth. Administrators and teachers need to start understanding that it is impossible to protect students who are invisible to us. We cannot “protect” students whose identities and realities we refuse to see and respect.
The atmosphere of repression around sexuality and gender expression in public schools is astounding. Every day I get an influx of email news updates about another public school that has denied its students a Gay-Straight Alliance, or another instance of students being bullied, or another administrator who lectured a queer or trans student about how wrong homosexuality is. Most public schools seem dead-set on invisibilizing, weeding out, or ignoring LGBTQ students and LGBTQ issues that directly affect students.
Even in the context of my school, where teachers generally have a remarkable amount of freedom to determine our own curricula, I could not share news articles about King’s death with my students without admonishment and warning from numerous colleagues. My administrators have also expressed a strong desire to keep my transition as quiet as possible. I was recently informed that my principal has been advised by the New York Department of Education to avoid talking to students about my transition, and I learned that I am being moved to a different floor in my school. However, even if nobody raises questions or concerns about my transition, trying to sweep it under the rug is a band-aid solution that implies that my administration believes me to be an exception, a special case, and the only transgender person with trans-related needs in our school.
This is where my school, though well-intentioned and relatively supportive, seems to be making the same mistake that so many other public schools make. My transition is not the singular reason my colleagues and administrators need to learn to respect and support transgender people. In fact, my feelings are probably the least important aspect of all of this. After all, I am an adult, and it will not be the end of my world if someone refers to me as “she”. However, what message would it send to students about respecting gender identities if my colleagues use inappropriate pronouns or disrespect my identity in front of students? What impact could that have on a gender variant or queer middle school student? LGBTQ issues are students’ lives, identities, families, friends, neighbors, and teachers. They are immediate, real, and non-negotiable – and it is inevitable that some of the students of the 1,000 in my school are trans or gender variant.
And we can’t protect students whose realities and identities we refuse to see.
It is also inevitable that most of the school this year will know I am a transsexual. For administrators to maintain a willful ignorance about the controversy, emotion, and curiosity that will undoubtedly arise at some points as a result of my transition would shift onto me, individually, all responsibility to “educate” others about trans matters – and I find that unacceptable. I can’t speak for all trans people, and I should not be obligated to spend my energies versing my colleagues in Trans 101 or to spend my professional time doing transgender “damage control.” I am happy to engage in conversation and answer (some) questions on my own time, and only when I have the emotional energy.
Luckily, my principal has given me permission to find a third party to come and speak for fifteen minutes during one of our in-service days next week. I’ve contacted a lawyer from the NYCLU who has committed to talking with my colleagues and administrators on August 28th about transgender rights in New York City and about how to respect transgender people (both adults and children). He and I have collaborated to plan the presentation, and he has experience engaging with administrators and public schools, so I hope this will be a significant step towards establishing a common transgender and queer vocabulary at my school. I also hope that this speaker will help teachers and administrators realize that opening, rather than avoiding, dialogue is crucial to recognizing identities and experiences.
This approach applies to individual classrooms, as well. Instead of censoring what students “can” or cannot say in a top-down fashion, I prefer to encourage an expansion of students’ knowledge and understanding about the history and power of language. This past year I spent one day reading a GLSEN text on the etymology of the word “faggot” with students and engaging in class conversation about the violence of the word, and about why some people choose to describe and identify themselves as “faggots.” Declaring any particular word “off-limits” both entices students to use it when they are out of earshot and denies the experience of students who may identify with the word or what it symbolizes to them.
I believe it is possible to establish a safe environment without restricting students’ free speech, but it requires the classic teaching method of showing – not telling – students that words can have serious implications. This means that teachers and administrators must begin opening conversations in our schools that are difficult, painful, and often cause a great deal of anxiety.
But look at it this way: How will students ever understand the word “faggot,” and why they shouldn’t use it in a derogatory way, if we cannot talk about it or use the word itself? How can we truly see our students, let alone protect them, if we are scared to engage with the language used to defile and tear them down?
We can’t.
Likewise, we can't protect students if we don't acknowledge their gender expressions as valid and legitimate. Though I have the utmost sympathy for Lawrence King's family, the lawsuit they have filed fails to hold King's school truly accountable for its failures.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Transitioning on the Job: Part One
This past week, I made the decision to begin identifying as male. The decision to be male-identified and start hormone therapy hasn’t been a sudden one for me, but it’s been building for the past several years. Anyone who has known me over the past few years is probably not particularly surprised. I’m harboring relatively few serious concerns about this transition, mostly out of awareness that I have an incredibly trans-aware and trans-identified group of friends and that my girlfriend is the most supportive person in the world. Opening this door makes me feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my chest, and I’m very excited to be undertaking this process.
This past week, however, I began to worry about returning to my school in the fall as “Mr. K” and going by male pronouns. Ultimately, my school is not a bad place to be a transsexual, especially relative to many public schools I’ve heard about. “Gender identity and expression” are protected in the employment non-discrimination laws of New York City. I have a vocal and strong support base among my colleagues, several of whom are queer-identified. I’ve begun conversations about how best to handle my transition with a few colleagues for whom I have tremendous respect as educators and as individuals. Two colleagues have offered to accompany me in my “I’m becoming a man” meeting with my principal. After communication has been established with administrators, we’re hoping that Respect for All can eventually direct conversation towards the general school climate with respect to LGBT awareness. My transition is simply one of several examples illustrating the need for education and dialogue around LGBT issues in our school.
Though these factors clearly fuel a great deal of optimism and hopefulness, I’m beginning to feel the onset of a few anxieties that are, perhaps, inevitable in this situation. These anxieties have to do with the increased scrutiny and potential threats to my job security brought on by such an unavoidably public and visible transition (two thirds of the school next year will have known me as “Ms. K”). I’m not particularly concerned about what the many members of what I call the “frat boys club” and the “old boys club” at my school personally think and feel about trans issues. It seems like a given that some of my colleagues will believe that they have never met a transsexual before, and that I might be a story they tell their buddies at happy hour. Their potential to incite suspicion about me and my teaching as a result of my identity seems like a more pressing matter – and in my mind, it has everything to do with the obligation of teachers to demonstrate basic respect for others’ identities on a daily basis.
Education and professional development around trans identities and the rights of trans people are crucial in ensuring the respect and safety of students and employees in our school. The nervous and pessimistic part of me worries that my school will fail to encourage thoughtful conversation about and inquiry into LGBT issues, and will instead pretend that they do not have a tremendous affect on the daily lives of many of our students, faculty, and staff. Students in our school are coming out or on the verge of coming out as LGBT, teachers and staff in the school are LGBT identified, and many people in the building have family members, friends, and neighbors who are queer or trans. The encouragement of respectful, thoughtful conversation about LGBT issues must become inextricably linked to professionalism for teachers in our school – and I’m worried that a core group of my colleagues will attempt to prevent this from happening.
I hate to border on paranoid, but my teaching career began with an unpleasantly transphobic experience with the Department of Education that has left a lasting impression. I was slated to begin my first year of teaching at a middle school in Brooklyn in the fall of 2006, and the day before I was to report I received a phone call informing me that a) I had been “excessed” and therefore had to start the search for a new job and b) there was a rumor circulating around the district of my original school that I was going to have a “sex change operation.” I knew that it was no coincidence that I heard about these two facts in the same conversation, and I set out to get to the root of my being excessed. When I approached the principal of my original school, he offered me a position teaching science in a clear attempt to cover his ass. Needless to say, instead of expressing gratefulness about the scraps he tossed me, I decided to take my chances in the job search. In what I still consider to be a stroke of luck, I landed at my current school.
This first experience with the Department of Education and trans issues makes me a bit hesitant to trust that my administration will not seek to find ways either to excess me or to dismiss this transition in a way that allows my colleagues – and as a result, my students – to disrespect my identity and the identities of any gender variant people in the school. All it takes is one teacher, or one parent of one student, to spark controversy and confrontation. I incorporate many radical and queer pedagogical methods into my classroom, and I believe in opening discourse to push students intellectually instead of closing it down. In the back of my mind, I fear that the aspects of my teaching that have led me to invite students to learn about and discuss the deaths of Lawrence King and Sean Bell, for examples, might quickly become suspicious in an atmopshere of heightened scrutiny.
I know several trans teachers, but right now I’m searching for educators who have had a similar experience of transitioning while at their schools - if you know of anyone, kindly send them my way.
This past week, however, I began to worry about returning to my school in the fall as “Mr. K” and going by male pronouns. Ultimately, my school is not a bad place to be a transsexual, especially relative to many public schools I’ve heard about. “Gender identity and expression” are protected in the employment non-discrimination laws of New York City. I have a vocal and strong support base among my colleagues, several of whom are queer-identified. I’ve begun conversations about how best to handle my transition with a few colleagues for whom I have tremendous respect as educators and as individuals. Two colleagues have offered to accompany me in my “I’m becoming a man” meeting with my principal. After communication has been established with administrators, we’re hoping that Respect for All can eventually direct conversation towards the general school climate with respect to LGBT awareness. My transition is simply one of several examples illustrating the need for education and dialogue around LGBT issues in our school.
Though these factors clearly fuel a great deal of optimism and hopefulness, I’m beginning to feel the onset of a few anxieties that are, perhaps, inevitable in this situation. These anxieties have to do with the increased scrutiny and potential threats to my job security brought on by such an unavoidably public and visible transition (two thirds of the school next year will have known me as “Ms. K”). I’m not particularly concerned about what the many members of what I call the “frat boys club” and the “old boys club” at my school personally think and feel about trans issues. It seems like a given that some of my colleagues will believe that they have never met a transsexual before, and that I might be a story they tell their buddies at happy hour. Their potential to incite suspicion about me and my teaching as a result of my identity seems like a more pressing matter – and in my mind, it has everything to do with the obligation of teachers to demonstrate basic respect for others’ identities on a daily basis.
Education and professional development around trans identities and the rights of trans people are crucial in ensuring the respect and safety of students and employees in our school. The nervous and pessimistic part of me worries that my school will fail to encourage thoughtful conversation about and inquiry into LGBT issues, and will instead pretend that they do not have a tremendous affect on the daily lives of many of our students, faculty, and staff. Students in our school are coming out or on the verge of coming out as LGBT, teachers and staff in the school are LGBT identified, and many people in the building have family members, friends, and neighbors who are queer or trans. The encouragement of respectful, thoughtful conversation about LGBT issues must become inextricably linked to professionalism for teachers in our school – and I’m worried that a core group of my colleagues will attempt to prevent this from happening.
I hate to border on paranoid, but my teaching career began with an unpleasantly transphobic experience with the Department of Education that has left a lasting impression. I was slated to begin my first year of teaching at a middle school in Brooklyn in the fall of 2006, and the day before I was to report I received a phone call informing me that a) I had been “excessed” and therefore had to start the search for a new job and b) there was a rumor circulating around the district of my original school that I was going to have a “sex change operation.” I knew that it was no coincidence that I heard about these two facts in the same conversation, and I set out to get to the root of my being excessed. When I approached the principal of my original school, he offered me a position teaching science in a clear attempt to cover his ass. Needless to say, instead of expressing gratefulness about the scraps he tossed me, I decided to take my chances in the job search. In what I still consider to be a stroke of luck, I landed at my current school.
This first experience with the Department of Education and trans issues makes me a bit hesitant to trust that my administration will not seek to find ways either to excess me or to dismiss this transition in a way that allows my colleagues – and as a result, my students – to disrespect my identity and the identities of any gender variant people in the school. All it takes is one teacher, or one parent of one student, to spark controversy and confrontation. I incorporate many radical and queer pedagogical methods into my classroom, and I believe in opening discourse to push students intellectually instead of closing it down. In the back of my mind, I fear that the aspects of my teaching that have led me to invite students to learn about and discuss the deaths of Lawrence King and Sean Bell, for examples, might quickly become suspicious in an atmopshere of heightened scrutiny.
I know several trans teachers, but right now I’m searching for educators who have had a similar experience of transitioning while at their schools - if you know of anyone, kindly send them my way.
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