Teachers certainly appreciate the importance of an inviting classroom environment. The money spent on posters, the greeting at the classroom door, and the time invested in learning students’ names all help to create a sense of community, and students who feel they belong are more likely to do their best work. No teacher would ever deliberately exclude an individual from the classroom community. Classrooms, however, like the culture at large, often inadvertently marginalize or exclude a sizable, and frequently invisible, minority.
Earlier this year when I asked my eleventh graders to write a personal narrative about a significant event in their lives, Dominick handed in a paper about the time this summer when he told his parents that he is gay. Appended to the paper was a handwritten note. “Thanks,” he had written. “This is the only class that I could ever have written this paper in.”
I’d like to believe that Dom’s observation is not true. Yes, I am the only openly gay member of the faculty, and I have been faculty advisor to the school’s Gay Straight Alliance (GSA) for the last 10 years. But surely there are teachers who would have been equally accepting of Dom’s personal revelations. It occurred to me, though, that the question of whether such teachers exist is irrelevant. The import thing is not the reality, but rather Dom’s perceptions. For some reason, Dom believed that his personal revelation would be safe only with me.
The increasing number of GSA’s, same-sex prom dates, and parent conferences with same-sex co-parents all suggest the growing visibility and acceptance of gays and lesbians in society. Yet lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) adolescents continue to feel marginalized in their schools. The Gay Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN) conducts a National School Climate Survey every two years. The latest survey, published in 2005, shows that 89% of LGBT students reported hearing anti-gay remarks frequently or often in their schools, and 18% report having heard such remarks from teachers and other school staff. Of the students surveyed, 37% report having been physically harassed because of their real or perceived sexual orientation, and 17% report having been assaulted. Fully 64% reported feeling unsafe in their own schools because of their sexual orientation. Clearly, there is a long way to go.
It has been over thirty years since the Women in Literature and Life Assembly (WILLA) of NCTE released its guidelines on gender-fair language. Today, that paper’s contention that “language plays a central role in the way human beings behave and think” is nearly universally accepted. Some careful thought about how we use language can not only help promote self-acceptance in LGBT students; it can also model respect and fairness in others. It is, after all, the responsibility of educators to prepare students to become parts of the global community.
Each year, the GSA for which I serve as faculty advisor offers “Safe Zone” stickers to teachers who wish to publicize the fact that they will not tolerate bigotry in their classrooms. We provide these allies with a list of linguistic and behavioral guidelines to help them demonstrate their acceptance.
No teacher needs to be reminded that adolescents are extremely sensitive to issues of acceptance and belonging. This is especially true of young people who are grappling with issues related to their own sexuality and identity. Students perceive teachers’ attitudes through our language and behavior. By simply paying more attention to our words and actions, we can help create an atmosphere of inclusion and acceptance that will let our students know that our classrooms are places where everyone can express themselves honestly and openly.