LGBT Message in the Classroom, or Lack Thereof

    I did a bit of reflecting on my own experiences as I read through Vaccaro, August, and Kennedy and the GLSEN website. Throughout the Safe Spaces text, I paused several times at the “Reflection Points,” and asked myself the questions like “What messages did you receive about the LGBT community when you were in school?” (89) I did not like where this question took me: back to the early-2000s at an all-male Catholic high school. As an all-boys Catholic school, homosexuality was at or near the top of the list for taboos. At the time, expressions like “that’s gay” were common parlance and homophobic slurs were typical insults. Homosexuality was openly frowned upon, both in the religious and social spheres of the school, and several students were ostracized for even the slightest intimation that they were gay.

 

    Homosexuality was an issue that was joked about, and many of my peers still seem to approach it with homophobia veiled in humor and the “whatever they do in their homes isn’t my business” line. Other than being exposed to changing representations of the LGBT community in the media, many members of my age group seem to have gained little insight into LGBT issues. The effects of curricula with little or no LGBT inclusion are evidenced in the continued pervasiveness of open and veiled homophobia.

 

    Safe Spaces gives insight into how to address these issues in our classrooms with several dos and don’ts.

DO:    use teachable moments to integrate or interpret the LGBT community

    incorporate LGBT-inclusive texts

    use inclusive language like “parents” instead of “mom and dad”

DON’T:    conduct activities that can unintentionally erase the identities and realities of

            marginalized students

        remain silent in the presence of anti-LGBT statements

        approach these issues without first informing yourself, and covering your bases

    Reflecting on my experiences with LGBT marginalization as a high school student was troubling, but so was reflecting on my experiences thus far as a high school teacher. In my current position, I am limited in what I can reasonably do as an employee that needs a regular paycheck. The program explicitly prohibits relationships between residents, for mostly justifiable reasons, and discussion of LGBT issues is typically discouraged. Residents receive no instruction or insight into these issues through the program. My classroom library has been heavily censored by administrators, though I occasionally can work in a few LGBT-inclusive texts.

Power, Privilege, and Technology: Teaching Digital Literacy in Light of Digital “Haves and Have Nots”

            Throughout the readings for this week, I noticed the relationships between power, media, digital literacy, privilege, and schooling. It was interesting and important to revisit the concept of digital natives—a term I’m intimately familiar with. Having been born after 1982, I consider myself (and am considered by the broad definition) a digital native. Reading through Boyd, I did a lot of reflecting on my privileged experiences with technology, and how many students who are labeled as “digital natives” by the de facto criteria of birth year have vastly different experiences with technology based on their lack of that privilege.

           

            Growing up in a middle-class, suburban, S.C.W.A.A.M.P. household, I had access to technology at a pivotal time. It was the early 1990s, and my family had just purchased a brand-spankin’-new IBM computer, complete with a massive 50MB hard drive. I learned first how to launch my favorite computer games: “Prince of Persia” and, when I could sneak it in, the staunchly-prohibited “Doom II.” I then learned how to work the MS-DOS software by typing and executing commands, such as “c:\>_runwin” to launch Windows 95. We eventually upgraded to a bigger, better machine, complete with America On-Line and dial-up internet. The privileged youth of the new millennium have similar experiences of navigating burgeoning technologies, albeit with cloud storage instead of 3 ½ floppies and iPads instead of GameBoys. Digital literacy often comes back to privilege and power.

            The white middle class student who grew up with the family’s IBM or Macintosh at his or her disposal has the privilege. I look at my students, very few of whom even have access to cell phones, and their inability to navigate technology is telling of their lack of privilege and power. With privilege (i.e. the family where all three children have a phone, tablet, and computer access) comes the power of being “native.” This power opens many of the doors of “high-status opportunity,” such as careers in technology, that remain closed to those without power (Boyd 198).

Even those with the power, privilege, and iPads can be at a disadvantage when assumptions are made about their digital competencies. Boyd makes an interesting case using Wikipedia and Google to illustrate how off the mark youths (and adults) can be when trying to think critically about information technologies. Despite being more democratic and organic, Wikipedia continues to suffer from the paranoid assumptions that much of its material is falsified or unverifiable. Having edit history and discussion boards open to the public make Wikipedia much more transparent than Google, with their corporate-influenced algorithms. There are opportunities missed when the concepts behind Wikipedia are not taught. Wikipedia is the best contemporary example of “how people produce knowledge” by coming together and engaging in public debate (191). This transparent, non-corporate, open, and collaborative practice is not found at Google (what are they REALLY doing with our search history and GPS locations??), and is absolutely not found in Texas textbook publishers. 

As educators trying to navigate power, privilege, and technology, it is up to us to enable our students to reap the benefits of widespread access to technology. The access alone is not enough, and requires extensive instruction and support. Our students being born into this world doesn’t automatically enable them to navigate it or critically contribute to it (177). Marshall and Sensom reference a very useful analogy of comparing our students to fish. As educators, we live in the same fish tank as our students. As such, we must get them thinking about the water.

Challenging the Status Quo

Reading through Finn, I found myself nodding along in agreement with much of what was said, but did not find anything groundbreaking compared to what we have already read. “Teaching is a political act” is a quote I first came across somewhere in my undergrad work, and I felt this piece really embodied that idea to the fullest. What struck me most is how there are everyday things that teachers do that are not viewed as controversial or seen as “political” because they maintain the status quo. This made me reflective of the times when I subconsciously maintain the status quo, especially when I fall back on letting the text “teach” (I cringe to think about some of my World History lessons last year), and the times when my colleagues and I break away from the status quo and try something new, different, and progressive. 

Breaking away from the status quo in my position (and in many positions in teaching environments different from mine) is always a risky venture, given my population and the school environment. We do it anyways, taking calculated risks in an effort to do something real. The quote that stood out to me the most, the one that I shared with a colleague this evening, is “’I’d get into trouble’ is not an ethical reason why a professional does not make a professional decision” (181). Still, I always need to be mindful of my population (and my paycheck), especially when I get FIRED UP on social justice, and pump the breaks a little bit. I don’t think Finn is advocating for blowing the roof off the institution, but we do need to maintain that “attitude.” 

In maintaining that attitude, we also need to be reflective of the consequences of our political acts within the classroom, especially when considering unintended outcomes. When Bigelow and Christensen reflected on outcomes of sharing with their students that “there is a differential schooling in America such that poor children are prepared to become poor adults and rich children are prepared to become rich adults,” I thought, “That about sums it up. Why not share that with my kids?” (182). Then I considered the unintended outcome that they marked as their failure—that pressing such issues can encourage students to see themselves as victims and present the obstacles as hopeless. Our challenge is to present these issues in a way that advocates for students to empower themselves to elevate their positions. We need to find that balance of a classroom where “students have the maximum power that is legally permitted and that they can socially handle” (175). For me, that balance may lie on the more restrictive side than for other teachers, but I will still try to open dialogue and possibilities for my students.

Teaching Bias in the Age of Charlottesville

                Like Oredola, Armstrong, and Wildman, the readings for this week were particularly beneficial in addressing how we, as educators, can enact change within our own classrooms, and how to do it responsibly. Many of the Dos and Don’ts and other guidelines seemed a bit like just common sense, but they were nevertheless useful. In the age of Charlottesville and Vegas, one can never take a bit of common sense for granted, especially when it comes to teaching these issues through the lenses of our biases. 

                One of the things I have been spending more time explicitly teaching is the idea of bias. I’ve worked on teaching students about all that goes into developing our individual biases and what makes us implicitly biased. I’ve reflected more this semester on how bias is unavoidable and closely connected to our culture, family, peers, education, and our powers & privileges (or lack thereof). I’ve met with greater success thus far in the classroom by working with bias early in the year to set the stage for meaningful discussion. Students have responded well, especially when examining the bias of others before being critical of their own (I use myself as the example first, modeling how to check your own bias without beating yourself up over it). Students have been working towards greater objectivity, trying to separate themselves from there bias, but I still want them to delve deeper. 

                What is more important than separating bias, at least in my opinion is merely recognizing it in ourselves and in others. As I teach, I remind my students to watch out for my bias. Even though I strive to be objective, I can’t help but allow some of my bias to seep into my instruction. I use myself as the example to help students practice the skill of recognizing bias. They are then encouraged to use that skill to check for bias when analyzing articles, non-fiction sources, our textbooks, and current events like Charlottesville and Vegas. We all need to separate ourselves from our biases when they lead us astray or when objectivity is necessary. Still, is it even possible (or necessary) to completely remove subjectivity from our real-world interactions? 

                I first found Barrett’s and Beard’s articles handy for creating checklists of dos and don’ts for addressing incendiary issues in class, but then began to realize that most good teachers in the 21^st century already do these things. Or do they? Based on the interactions I’ve had with colleagues and peers (and based on my own bias), it seems teachers already take the steps and precautions Barrett and Beard recommend. Don’t all teachers work to create safe spaces to promote meaningful discussion to help students work through controversial issues with the end goal of producing equity-minded critical thinkers?