Let me begin with congratulations on a social marketing campaign that will totally get people talking and thinking all over the country. GLSEN, the Ad Council and ArnoldNYC should be entirely proud of that. And their teachers' guide, downloadable free from http://thinkb4youspeak.com/, is awesome.
That said, I hope that teacher trainers all over the country will ask teachers NOT to take the ads literally and NOT to try their strategy at home ... insulting young people to get them to stop insulting others. It's like hitting kids to get them to stop hitting. While it may be funny in the context of an ad and when you aren't the youth in question, it's neither effective nor ethical in the real world. The ads are meant to get people talking, NOT to model good ways to intervene when people say, "That's so gay!" to mean something is stupid or boring.
I use a strategy a teacher once taught me. I use my own name, Beth, as an analogy and ask the offender how they think I would feel if I heard people call disgusting things "so Beth" 99 times a day. Using my name or my own identity is way preferable to using that of the student. Attacking a student, even in a sarcastic way, only reinforces the idea that meanness is funny. It doesn't build empathy.
Another strategy is so simple that my niece used it successfully when she was about 9 years old to shut down a harassing situation. Two girls were surveying their class on the playgound about which of two classmates they liked better. Sarah said, "That's so mean!" One of the offenders tried to blame the other and Sarah just repeated, "I don't care; it's still so mean." After about the 3rd time she called their survey mean, they gave it up altogether.
Anyway, I hope teachers -- and students for that matter -- will find some alternative to the "That's so Emma and Julia" of the ads. Maybe it sounds saccharine, but life is too short to run around hurting one another, especially in the name of prejudice reduction.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Say What? The "Think Before You Speak" Campaign
Think Before You Speak
This multimedia public service advertising campaign - which includes the videos above and below - and several others - is designed to address the use of anti-LGBT language among teens. The campaign aims to raise awareness among straight teens about the prevalence and consequences of anti-LGBT bias and behavior in America’s schools.
Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) teens experience homophobic remarks and harassment throughout the school day, creating an atmosphere where they feel disrespected, unwanted and unsafe. Homophobic remarks such as “that’s so gay” are the most commonly heard; these slurs are often unintentional and a common part of teens’ vernacular. Most do not recognize the consequences, but the casual use of this language often carries over into more overt harassment."SAY WHAT?" on the website is where you can click on a floating word to see what it actually means, or actually doesn't mean. (See the left column on the website.)
This campaign aims to raise awareness about the prevalence and consequences of anti-LGBT bias and behavior in America’s schools. Ultimately, the goal is to reduce and prevent the use of homophobic language in an effort to create a more positive environment for LGBT teens. The campaign also aims to reach adults, including school personnel and parents; their support of this message is crucial to the success of efforts to change behavior.
Think Before You Speak - Cashier
GLSEN has also created an Educator's Guide to assist middle and high school educators in presenting the various components of this campaign to students, framing and discussing the ads in class, and extending student learning about the negative consequences of homophobic language and anti-LGBT bias.
Parents are also encouraged to Say Something Original and pledge to support safe schools efforts, and speak to your children’s teachers about using the Educator's Guide to the Campaign.
In an October 7, 2008 article in The New York Times, author Stewart Elliott wrote:
FOR the first time since the Advertising Council was founded in 1942, the organization — which directs and coordinates public service campaigns on behalf of Madison Avenue and the media industry — is introducing ads meant to tackle a social issue of concern to gays and lesbians.Read the article: Advertising: A Push to Curb the Casual Use of Ugly Phrases
The campaign, which is scheduled to be announced by the council in Washington on Wednesday, will seek to discourage bullying and harassment of teenagers who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender.
Find out more about this campaign: thinkb4youspeak.com
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.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Making Sense of the Senseless - and What Can Educators Do? with SSC's Beth Reis
This article by our co-chair, Beth Reis, was just published in Teaching Tolerance Magazine, a project of Southern Poverty Law Center.
Making Sense of the Senseless: The Murder of Lawrence King
by Beth Reis, Safe Schools Coalition Co-Chair
Published in Teaching Tolerance Magazine, Number 34, Fall 2008
Web Exclusive! What Can Educators Do?
Teaching Tolerance sat down with Beth Reis and Helen Stillman of the Safe Schools Coalition, which shares the latest research, programs and ideas about preventing and responding to anti-gay harassment in schools to zero in on ways teachers can curb anti-gay bullying.
And: RECOMMENDED RESOURCES
Read all of:Certainly there are potential costs for a gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender student's honesty … discrimination by teachers, rejection by "friends" and, yes, even assault, rape, or murder. Are these experiences universal consequences of coming out? No. Do they happen? Yes.
But there's a flawed prevailing assumption: that being out necessarily increases a child's risk over some sort of bully-free baseline. Gay and, especially, gender variant children are often harassed long before consciously deciding whether to be out. It starts in primary grades. Gender variant little kids don't "choose" to be defiant about the larger culture's gender straight-jackets; it's how they're born. They may become more overt about it as they become more aware, at puberty, of its meaning and of their rights, but the harassment is hardly something they bring on themselves. In fact, whether you're gender variant or gay/lesbian/bi or both, coming out sometimes reduces the harassment you experience. It's not so much fun to hurl the vicious, "What are you ... gay or something?!" at a person whose response is a simple, non-defensive "yes."
The secrecy of the closet isn't without its own costs. These can include academic decline if you can't pay attention in class for worrying when a word or a gesture might lead to your life's unraveling. The costs can include profound loneliness. You can never be sure if those who love you are loving the mask or the person. You may deny yourself a supportive peer group because even accessing the gay-straight alliance may feel dangerous. You may deny yourself conversations with caring adults, unsure if you'll lose their esteem. You may forgo the typical adolescent social venues and, instead, find yourself in riskier adult environments. The closet can lead to depression and self-harm.
Making Sense of the Senseless: The Murder of Lawrence King
by Beth Reis, Safe Schools Coalition Co-Chair
Published in Teaching Tolerance Magazine, Number 34, Fall 2008
Web Exclusive! What Can Educators Do?
Teaching Tolerance sat down with Beth Reis and Helen Stillman of the Safe Schools Coalition, which shares the latest research, programs and ideas about preventing and responding to anti-gay harassment in schools to zero in on ways teachers can curb anti-gay bullying.
And: RECOMMENDED RESOURCES
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.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Wow! Jay Smooth: How To Tell People They Sound Racist
Please watch How To Tell People They Sound Racist - a brilliant July 21, 2008 podcast by Jay Smooth, host of WBAI's The Underground Railroad in New York City. He is a blogger at hiphopmusic.com and the creator of the video podcast ill Doctrine.
Thanks to Bil Browning at The Bilerico Project for posting it there. I totally agree with what he wrote:
This has to be one of the smartest videos I've seen on YouTube. Not only does he give good, practical advice, but it's entertaining too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
