dialogue

Educator Advocacy for Queer Students in Schools

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 20:09:56 +0000

Educator Advocacy for Queer Students in Schools Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 14:09 Mary Quantz , �鶹��Ƶ; The Editorial Board of The Assembly

PDF

In this Dialogues we are highlighting educators, community members, and researchers whose work focuses on advocacy for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer or questioning (LGBTQ+) students in educational institutions. Despite greater visibility, more legal protections, and seemingly greater support for LGBTQ+ individuals, LGBTQ+ students in K-12 schools still face hostile school environments with little to no representation in school curricula. The Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network’s most recent school climate report found that over half the LGBTQ+, or queer,^{^[1]} students surveyed reported facing regular bullying and harassment. Additionally, trans and gender nonconforming students, and transgender people in the United States at large, face threats to their rights under the Trump presidency.

As we stated in our first issue, our aim is “to create a new journal for two primary reasons: to challenge the idea of what counts as scholarship in education, and to create a structured space that allowed multiple, diverse voices about pressing contemporary issues to be heard” (Mommandi, 2018, p. 45). We are committed to affirming the humanity of all people, and especially people who have been marginalized in our society. There are instances where there are not two legitimate sides to an argument, and the need for safe, accessible, and equitable schools for all students is one of those instances. It is not our goal to convince readers that queer students face difficulties in school and therefore need supportive adults. There is no question this is the case. Our goal is to push beyond that and to engage in a dialogue about how educators and other adults in schools can, through action, advocate for queer youth.

The term ally, common in discussions about queer youth, signals that heterosexual, cisgender people accept and support queer individuals, but does not insist upon action. Advocates can be people of any identity, including queer people, and advocacy means taking action in behalf of queer students whose power is much more limited within schools. bell hooks (1989), speaking of feminism, said advocacy “implies that a choice has been made, that commitment to feminism is an act of will” (p. 31). Educators advocating for queer students in schools are making a choice and a commitment to act in order to ensure equity and justice for queer students.

The majority of the research concerning queer students focuses on the difficulties they face in school due to bullying and harassment (Fields, Mamo, Gilbert, & Lesko, 2014; Payne & Smith, 2012). While homophobic bullying and harassment is a serious issue, this narrow focus on bullying encourages researchers, educators and administrators to believe the issue lies with a few mean kids or isolated incidents, allowing them to ignore the hetero/cisnormative practices and policies present in school rules, curriculum, district policies, and overall school culture (Payne & Smith, 2013). This focus also paints all queer youth as victims, waiting to be rescued, rather than as complex members of the school community who have a voice and who need adults with decision-making power to listen (Brockenbrough, 2015). In instances where schools have LGBTQ+-inclusive policies and supportive clubs like Gay Straight Alliances, white queer students fare better than in schools without those policies (Kull, Greytak, Kosciw, & Villenas, 2016). Queer students of color, however, find that there are few, if any spaces, that are affirming of both their race or ethnicities and their queer identities (Poteat & Scheer, 2016; Venzant Chambers & McCready, 2011; Blackburn & McCready, 2009).

These essays represent a diverse range of perspectives. Sam Long, a high school biology teacher, provides a practical and useful framework for a gender-inclusive and gender-expansive biology curriculum. June Gothberg, LaSonja Roberts, and Mary Ebeger, assistant professors and a faculty specialist from Western Michigan University explore ideas and resources for supporting LGBTQ+ students with disabilities, a group often ignored in LGBTQ+ education research. Amanda Cherry, a middle school language arts teacher, discusses the importance of vulnerability and gives helpful advice for queering teaching practices. Ethan Trinh, a graduate student, explains the importance of uplifting queer voices and bringing marginalized students into supportive classroom circles. Krishna Pattisapu, Director of Diversity Recruitment and Retention at The �鶹��Ƶ, asserts the need for separate spaces for queer youth of color to gather with each other for support and friendship. Finally, Suraj Uttamchandani, Iona Pfingston, Becca Smith, and Barbara Dennis, a doctoral candidate, two community advocates from the Chroma Youth organization, and a professor from Indiana University, describe what they learned as volunteers in an LGBTQ+ youth advocacy organization about the differences between allyship and advocacy.

As you read, we invite you to consider how you can get involved in your community to ensure queer students have strong advocates in their schools. It is not enough to talk or write about the negative experiences of queer youth or to identify ourselves as allies. Educators, community members, and researchers need to move beyond bullying prevention toward proactive advocacy that validates and empowers queer youth. We all need to confront how our own practices and school policies may reinforce hetero/cisgender norms and make schools unsafe. These practices and policies often not only ignore the value of, but the existence of queer students and teachers. We need to become knowledgeable about the many other diverse identities among queer students and address how multiple identities, such as race, gender, and dis/ability, compound the homophobia that queer students experience in schools. We need to learn about and include positive representations of queer people and topics as a regular and embedded part of the curriculum , and engage with community organizations to help inform and support advocacy for queer students in schools. Most of all, the Dialogues presented showcase how moving beyond allyship into advocacy can provide safer and more just educational spaces where queer students can thrive along with their peers.

^{^[1]} We refer to LGBTQ+ students as “queer” throughout this introduction to capture both sexual and gender diversity among K-12 students (Butler, 1990), and to honor the re-appropriation of the word “queer” as an empowering term (Capper, 1989; Pinar, 1998).

References

Blackburn, M. V., & McCready, L. T. (2009). Voices of queer youth in urban schools: Possibilities and limitations. Theory into Practice, 48(3), 222-230.
Brockenbrough, Edward. (2015). Queer of color agency in educational contexts: Analytic frameworks from a queer of color critique. Educational Studies, 51(1), 28–44. https://doi.org/10.1080/00131946.2014.979929.
Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble. New York: Routledge.
Capper, C. A. (1989). (Homo)sexualities, organizations, and administration: Possibilities for in(queer)y. Educational Researcher, 28(5), 4–11.
Collins, C. (2018). TT’s NEW LGBTQ best practices guide. [online] Teaching Tolerance. Available at: https://www.tolerance.org/magazine/fall-2018/tts-new-lgbtq-best-practices-guide.
Fields, J., Mamo, L., Gilbert, J., & Lesko, N. (2014). Beyond bullying. Contexts, 13(4), 80-83.
Gender Spectrum. (2019). gender-expansive. [online] Gender Spectrum. Available at: https://www.genderspectrum.org/glossary/gender-expansive/.
hooks, b. (1989). Feminist theory: a radical agenda. In Talking back: Thinking feminist, thinking black (pp. 35-41). South End Press. Boston, MA.
Kosciw, J., Greytak, E., Zongrone, A., Clark, C. and Truong, N. (2018). GLSEN 2017 National School Climate Survey. [online] GLSEN. Available at: https://www.glsen.org/article/2017-national-school-climate-survey.
Kull, R. M., Greytak, E. A., Kosciw, J. G., & Villenas, C. (2016). Effectiveness of school district antibullying policies in improving LGBT youths’ school climate. Psychology of Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity, 3(4), 407.
Mommandi, W. (2018). Introduction to Dialogues. The Assembly: A Journal for Public Scholarship on Education, [online] (Fall 2018). Available at: /journal/assembly/2018/12/12/introduction-dialogues.
Pinar, W. F. (Ed.). (1998). Queer theory in education. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Poteat, V. P., & Scheer, J. R. (2016). GSA advisors' self-efficacy related to LGBT youth of color and transgender youth. Journal of LGBT Youth, 13(4), 311-325.
Prescott, S. (2019, June 21). What teachers need to know to do right by queer students. [online] Education Week. Available at: https://www.edweek.org/ew/articles/2019/06/24/what-teachers-need-to-know-to-do.html.
The Assembly: A Journal for Public Scholarship on Education. (2019). �鶹��Ƶ the Assembly. [online] Available at: /journal/assembly/about-assembly.
Trans Student Educational Resources. (2019). LGBTQ+ Definitions – Trans Student Educational Resources. [online] Available at: http://www.transstudent.org/definitions/.
Venzant Chambers, T. T., & McCready, L. T. (2011). “Making space” for ourselves: African American student responses to their marginalization. Urban Education, 46(6), 1352-1378.

In this Dialogues we are highlighting educators, community members, and researchers whose work focuses on advocacy for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer or questioning (LGBTQ+) students in educational institutions. Despite greater visibility, more legal protections, and seemingly greater support for LGBTQ+ individuals, LGBTQ+ students in K-12 schools still face hostile school environments with little to no representation in school curricula. The Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network’s most recent school climate report found that over half the LGBTQ+, or queer, students surveyed reported facing regular bullying and harassment. Additionally, trans and gender nonconforming students, and transgender people in the United States at large, face threats to their rights under the Trump presidency. As we stated in our first issue, our aim is “to create a new journal for two primary reasons: to challenge the idea of what counts as scholarship in education, and to create a structured space that allowed multiple, diverse voices about pressing contemporary issues to be heard” (Mommandi, 2018, p. 45). We are committed to affirming the humanity of all people, and especially people who have been marginalized in our society.

Off

Traditional

White

Growing a Gender-Inclusive Biology Curriculum: A Framework and Reflections for Secondary Science Teachers

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 18:01:42 +0000

Growing a Gender-Inclusive Biology Curriculum: A Framework and Reflections for Secondary Science Teachers Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 12:01 Sam Long , High School Biology Teacher

PDF

In October 2018, The New York Times reported that the Trump administration had proposed a new legal definition of sex. “Sex means a person’s status as male or female based on immutable biological traits identifiable by or before birth,” the memo proposed. If adopted, this definition would erase numerous legal protections for the transgender community. Most notably, transgender individuals would be excluded from Title IX, which prohibits exclusion or discrimination on the basis of sex in federally funded education programs.

The Trump administration’s exclusionary appeal to “biology” is all too familiar. On a daily basis, transgender individuals^{^[1]} are told that they do not fit into an overly simplistic, binary definition of a “biological” male or female, and this becomes grounds to exclude them from restrooms, sports facilities, or other public spaces.

As a biology teacher and an out transgender man, I follow these stories closely. I grew up and transitioned in Toronto, Canada, where I was barred from my high school restrooms and overnight trips. For the last four years, I have taught high school in Denver, Colorado. In my classroom, I push students to dig deeper beyond the binary, toward a more complex biology that both affirms and enriches our understanding of gender diversity.

Most science classrooms do not affirm gender diversity. In a 2017 survey, only 2.4% of students saw positive representations of any LGBTQ-related topic in a science class. Teacher messaging has implications for student safety—the survey reported that 55% of LGBTQ students who were harassed or assaulted at school did not feel comfortable reporting the incident to school staff. Teachers need guidance on how to reverse this trend, and biology teachers have a unique opportunity to do so through their curriculum. For these teachers, I offer a framework for creating and adapting gender-inclusive biology curriculum.

A gender-inclusive biology curriculum has five essential elements: authenticity, continuity, affirmation, anti-oppression, and student agency.

Figure 1: Framework for a Gender-Inclusive Biology Curriculum

Framework for a Gender-Inclusive Biology Curriculum
1. Authenticity	Gender-inclusion is embedded in the curriculum Lessons are aligned with the teacher’s beliefs Content is based on empirical research
2. Continuity	Gender-inclusion is a recurring part of the curriculum, not a one-time “very special lesson”, an aside, an extension, or a reaction Gender-related themes are consistent from lesson to lesson
3. Affirmation	Students learn about the naturally-occurring diversity of gender and sexuality in human and nonhuman species Lessons celebrate diversity as a valuable asset in societies and in scientists
4. Anti-oppression	Lessons highlight and challenge oppression in current and historical science practices Students ask about what voices are present and absent in the conversation Teachers are aware of their own identity and privileges
5. Student agency	Students give input and feedback about lessons Teachers ask students what they want to learn more about Students make choices for research projects and case studies

The first two elements of the framework, authenticity and continuity, ensure that inclusion efforts are internalized by students as a full-fledged part of their education. Affirmation and anti-oppression both help students to find empowerment in the study of gender in biology. Student agency allows students to take ownership in what they are learning, and for students with high interest in these topics to explore them even further.

On the first day of classes, I teach a lesson about Diverse Scientists to develop the mindset that anybody can be a scientist. First, I ask students to draw a scientist using a pencil and paper. I show a handful of drawings on the document camera and ask students to notice trends. Most papers show a white man with wild hair and glasses, holding a beaker that is sometimes exploding. Then we do a gallery walk, viewing twelve posters of real scientists including women, scientists of color, and LGBTQ identities. Students look at portraits and read short biographies of astronaut Mae Jemison, computer scientist Alan Turing, neurobiologist Ben Barres^{^[2]}, and others. Then I ask students to reflect on the differences between their drawings and the real scientists. Students notice that the real scientists are far more diverse than the drawings.

After this comparison, I tell students explicitly that we are all scientists, even if we have not felt like it in the past. Throughout the year, we study diverse scientists and their often uncredited contributions. These repeated exposures exemplify the continuity and anti-oppression elements of the framework. Although diverse scientists make up a very small portion of instructional time in my class, the representation helps my LGBTQ students to develop a sense of belonging in science. This is needed because LGBTQ scientists are currently underrepresented and often closeted in STEM majors and careers.

My genetics unit is an opportunity to develop understanding about diversity in gender and in families. By the unit’s end, students will be able to explain how DNA provides instructions for making essential proteins, and how parental alleles can be used to predict the traits of the offspring. But before we begin, my students must understand the complexities of the language of genetics. On the board, I write the statement, "We get half our DNA from our mom and half from our dad." On the surface, this may sound like a truth pulled straight from a biology textbook. I ask students to consider whether the statement is inclusive—does it apply to every person?

Students are able to express who is not included in this statement, namely children who are adopted, same-sex parents, single parents, and children conceived with a sperm donor. Not every child has exactly two people called ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ who share DNA with the child. I explain to the class that although every human is conceived from an egg and a sperm, families are diverse—all families are valid.

Similarly, we consider the statement, "Men produce sperm cells and women produce egg cells.” Students know that this is sometimes not true for people who are older, infertile, or transgender. (I add that individuals with intersex traits also may not produce egg or sperm cells). I ask, “Do transgender men count as men? Do infertile women count as women?” and students agree that they count. I highlight the difference between gender identity, which is self-determined, and various measures of physical sex. To conclude, our class agrees on a certain term, usually “biological parent”, to refer to someone who passes on their DNA to the child via an egg or sperm cell.

Teaching students this language is important for the authenticity element of the framework. After this discussion, students and teachers are able to approach every genetics lesson with language that is precise and inclusive. Students develop an awareness that the patterns connecting gender, chromosomes, and egg and sperm are just that—generalized patterns, not absolute rules. Students with more curiosity about gender diversity may choose to research intersex traits for the research project within this unit.

My evolution unit is flush with opportunity to address the third element of the framework, affirmation. After learning the basics of natural selection, we explore theories of how homosexual behavior and sex-changing can contribute to the reproductive success of certain animal species. We also learn about diverse reproductive strategies beyond the typical pattern of “males compete, females choose.” In this unit, students learn that diversity is not to be merely tolerated, but celebrated as an essential and beautiful part of life.

These gender-inclusive lessons elicit some of the highest engagement that I have seen from my students. Discussions are lively and students’ questions are sometimes endless. Eyes widen and hands go up from the quiet students who don’t normally shine in science class. LGBTQ students lean into the lesson, smile, nod, and sigh with relief when they hear my framing of a topic that is normally taught in a cis heteronormative^{^[3]} way. Each year, more LGBTQ students come out to me, with the trust that their identities will be recognized and celebrated in my biology classroom. Teachers, our students are always listening. Gender-inclusive biology teaching is a high-leverage way to help all students feel safe, included, and celebrated in school.

^{^[1]} Barres, a transgender man, shared his pre- and post-transition experiences of discrimination in an autobiography (Barres, 2017).

^{^[2]} Cis heteronormative refers to a worldview that promotes heterosexual and cisgender (non-transgender) identities as normal or preferred.

^{^[3]} Transgender refers to people whose gender identity does not fully align with their sex assigned at birth.

References

Barres, B., & Hopkins, N. (2018). The autobiography of a transgender scientist. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.
Green, Erica L., et al. (2018, October 21). 'Transgender' Could Be Defined Out of Existence Under Trump Administration.” The New York Times. Retrieved from www.nytimes.com/2018/10/21/us/politics/transgender-trump-administration-sex-definition.html
Hughes, B. E. (2018). Coming out in STEM: Factors affecting retention of sexual minority STEM students. Science Advances, 4(3), eaao6373.
Kosciw, J. G., et al. (2018). The 2017 National School Climate Survey: The experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer youth in our nation’s schools. New York: GLSEN.

�鶹��Ƶ the Author

Sam Long (he/him/his) is a transgender man and a high school biology teacher in Denver, CO

creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

Sam Long, a high school biology teacher, writes about the exclusion of transgender topics and students in biology classrooms. He provides a framework for a gender-inclusive biology curriculum and how that curriculum can positively affect gender-diverse students. // Sam Long, un profesor de preparatoria de biología, escribe acerca de la exclusión de temas transgénero y estudiantes en salones de biología. El provee un marco curricular de biología inclusiva en base a los géneros y explica cómo ese currículo puede tener un efecto positivo en estudiantes con diversas identidades de género.

Off

Traditional

White

LGBTQ+ Youth Expertise on Allyship and Advocacy for Educators

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 17:55:36 +0000

LGBTQ+ Youth Expertise on Allyship and Advocacy for Educators Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 11:55 Suraj Uttamchandani , Indiana University; Iona Pfingston , Chroma Youth Leader; Becca Smith , Chroma Youth Leader; Barbara Dennis , Indiana University

PDF

Bricksburg is sometimes framed as a progressive stronghold in the conservative Midwest United States. However, its schools and youth programming are not exempt from dire national trends depicting LGBTQ+ youth’s experiences in educational settings (see, for example, the most recent GLSEN School Climate Survey).^{^[1]} In a survey our organization administered to 56 local LGBTQIA+ youth, 40 respondents reported that when verbal or physical harassment regarding gender identity or sexual orientation took place, the teachers and staff at their school did not intervene appropriately. It was in this climate in 2014 that Bricksburg’s Chroma Youth Community was founded to provide a space for LGBTQ+ youth to socialize. Around the same time, some local students attempted to create a “straight pride” club in a local school. That effort brought into harsh focus the local school context facing LGBTQ+ youth. Chroma quickly shifted to a youth leadership model as youth began wanting to take action against such injustices. In an effort to address what they saw as insufficient educator advocacy for LGBTQ+ youth, Chroma quickly formed a youth-led Teaching Committee (TC), which created and began offering cultural competency training to youth-serving professionals locally and throughout the state.

These trainings were comprised of PowerPoint presentations offering insights on creating LGBTQ+ friendly spaces, followed by a Q&A panel where audience members could ask more specific questions. Most significantly, the trainings were developed by youth, grounded in their own experiences, and delivered by them directly to teachers in their home districts. While this was sometimes a risky thing for youth to do, they felt strongly that intervention was necessary to improve the climate for themselves, their peers, and future LGBTQ+ students in the district. Since 2014, the TC has presented training on best practices for working with LGBTQ+ youth to over 1,500 people at the local, state, and national level.

Although audience members almost unanimously report positive learning and professional development outcomes, before attending training, Chroma youth often suggested that their teachers were not even aware that there were things they didn’t know about fostering LGBTQ+ inclusive environments. From the youth’s perspective, educators ranged from unaware of the issues at hand to cautiously supportive to outright hostile. Educators, however, seemed relatively unaware that they were causing damage, and although many seemed to not know what exactly they could do to provide support, few actively sought or advocated cultural competency training. We report in detail on the various opportunities and challenges associated with this youth-led training effort in a recent paper (Dennis, Uttamchandani, Biery, & Blauvelt, 2019). In the present article, our goal is to join a dialogue with other youth, researchers, community stakeholders, and teachers so as to understand how our views and experiences resonate, challenge, or are challenged by the efforts of others with similar goals.

Chroma youth (and others) make a distinction between allies and advocates. It is important to be a visible ally by, for example, knowing and using LGBTQ+-relevant terms correctly or displaying LGBTQ+ symbols on one’s desk or door. More important, however, is to be an advocate for LGBTQ+ youth, which to us means working alongside youth to actively promote change, since LGBTQ+ youth are not always allowed to or able to advocate for themselves. When advocacy is directly informed by the experiences and voices of the LGBTQ+ youth one is advocating for, advocacy can have enormous ramifications for the well-being of these youth in a school. An ally might sympathize with a trans youth’s request for a gender-neutral bathroom, listen kindly, and legitimate their needs. But an advocate will first ask the youth what they need to feel and be supported and then work with the youth to bring their perspective to the administration and make change. Ultimately, allyship is important as it provides critical emotional support to individuals. Advocacy extends that support to promote tangible change in cultures and conditions. In the remainder of this article, we (two current TC members and two Indiana University-based researchers and adult volunteers) share a list of things Chroma youth wish their teachers knew. For each item, we use the ally/advocate distinction to illustrate the ideal ways we see teachers committing to LGBTQ+ youth.

Take youth seriously. When youth claim that they might not identify as either straight or cisgender, never diminish their identities by claiming that they are “too young” to know. This is doubly painful as it uses the youth’s emergent LGBTQ+ identity alongside their status as youth as grounds to doubt their own feelings and experiences. Similarly, when youth claim that a peer, teacher, or administrator has acted in a way harmful to them, believe them. For an ally, this might mean actively listening to youth, believing them, and offering emotional support. But for an advocate, it means honoring the insights youth bring to the table and acting on them to support cultural shifts in schools—when possible and desired—by actively bringing the youth themselves into the conversation. This necessarily means unlearning the adult/youth binary that is often used to organize our classrooms.
Understand LGBTQ+ youth as multidimensional. The LGBTQ+ youth community is large and diverse. Some youth have different needs than others. For example, issues of racism—which sometimes are amplified when combined with anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination—affect LGBTQ+ youth of color more than their white counterparts. Issues of gender-neutral bathrooms are more consequential for trans and nonbinary youth than cisgender LGB+ youth. LGBTQ+ youth are not the same as one another and LGBTQ+ individuals contain multitudes. Not all of their issues are interchangeable and not all of their issues are because of their LGBTQ+ identity. For an ally, it is important to not tokenize these youth and to be conversant with the many terms and definitions deployed by the LGBTQ+ community at large. For an advocate, this means committing to educational equity broadly through understanding racism, ableism, intersecting oppressions, and other forms of systemic discrimination. It also means talking to youth explicitly about what they need to have a more generative experience in school—and acting on those suggestions.
Learn from many places. It is important for adults to draw their understanding of LGBTQ+ youth advocacy from multiple sources. If in a given discussion no youth perspectives are represented, then an important voice is being ignored and useful insights are being overlooked. On the other hand, LGBTQ+ youth are not walking encyclopedias; they should not be assumed to know everything about the LGBTQ+ community, should not be asked to speak on behalf of the whole community, and should not be asked to provide free labor and education in environments where they are supposed to be receiving services (e.g., counseling, school). Therefore, it is important for allies to learn from multiple sources, and we hope this Dialogues section becomes one such source. For advocates, this also means arranging opportunities for others to learn with you by supporting panels, professional development sessions, and community partnerships around LGBTQ+ issues. Ideally, advocates can strike a balance between creating a platform for youth to share their experiences and not relying solely on youth to provide professional development around educational issues.
Do not “play the hero”; instead, be the advocate. While allyship can and should be personally gratifying, there are times when youth needs require advocates to feel uncomfortable or put aside that personal gratification to foreground youth’s perspectives. Advocates do the right thing for youth even if it may be seen as controversial. For example, if a teacher is trying to make it easier for students to change their names on attendance rosters, they may experience pushback from administrators or staff. Similarly, sometimes parents will pressure teachers to use a student’s birth name even when the student has explicitly asked for a different name to be used when discussing them. In these situations, teachers must prioritize students’ needs.
Prioritize everyone’s safety over one individual’s comfort. Safety includes protection from mental, emotional, and physical harm. Discomfort is a feeling of unease but does not put someone at risk for harm. A youth’s personal safety should always be top priority so everyone should be safe before everyone is comfortable. For example, if a youth starts using a different set of pronouns than what they previously used, it can be uncomfortable or difficult for other students and teachers to adjust. However, it is an issue of personal safety for the youth to be correctly gendered. Allies and advocates alike understand that working towards equity may involve discomfort for some in the interest of safety for all.

To be clear, we value allyship and think it is important. Advocacy, then, is a way to further allyship into systemic change that will persist as students, teachers, staff, and administrators change. This list is developed based on our own experiences, so it is hyperlocal to our context. While we hope what we have offered is broadly applicable, taking cues from youth in one’s local context can ensure that allyship and advocacy is locally meaningful and productive. Fundamentally, we believe that LGBTQ+ advocacy in education requires taking youth seriously in every context. Youth are real people with knowledge, experience, and creativity even if we are young. The most important forms of allyship/advocacy can emerge from any local context. Rather than simply mapping what we have learned onto your context, consider organizing and listening to the youth in your community. Working with youth who are directly leading the efforts is the best way to ensure that allyship and advocacy are well-placed.

^{^[1]} Pseudonyms are used for the name of the town and organization.

References

Clemens, C. (2017). Ally or accomplice? The language of activism. Retrieved from https://www.tolerance.org/magazine/ally-or-accomplice-the-language-of -activism
Dennis, B., Uttamchandani, S., Biery, S., & Blauvelt, A. (in press). LGBTQIA+ youth as multicultural educators. Ethnography and Education. Advance online publication: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/17457823.2019.1578983
Kosciw, J. G., Greytak, E. A., Zongrone, A. D., Clark, C. M., & Truong, N. L. (2018). The 2017 National School Climate Survey: The experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer youth in our nation’s schools. New York: GLSEN.�鶹��Ƶ the Authors

�鶹��Ƶ the Authors

Suraj Uttamchandani is a doctoral candidate in the learning sciences at Indiana University (USA). He has been an adult participant in Chroma and Chroma’s TC since January 2016. His research centers on political forms of learning, participatory forms of research, and discourse analytic methodologies. He teaches undergraduate courses on learning theory for pre-service teachers as well as for non-education majors.

Iona Pfingston first joined Chroma in summer 2016 as a junior in high school and has been a part of the Teaching Committee since learning about it later that same year. They have been involved in the TC since this time working to educate youth-serving professionals of all kinds in LGBTQ+ cultural competency. They are attending Indiana University and pursuing degrees in both Spanish linguistics and mathematics.

Becca Smith has been involved with Chroma since the 8th grade and throughout high school, and served on the Teaching Committee ever since its creation. She works to design, facilitate, and evaluate cultural competency trainings for youth-serving professionals working with LGBTQ+ youth. She is attending Smith College and plans to pursue a degree in sociology.

Barbara Dennis is a Professor of Inquiry Methodology at Indiana University. She combines activism, feminist engagements and methodological innovations to engage with people toward what matters for them. She has been involved with Chroma since its beginning.

creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0

Suraj Uttamchandani and colleagues describe the difference between allyship and advocacy for LGBTQ+ youth by focusing on the expertise of LGBTQ+ youth. They provide five important and practical ways educators can improve school climate for LGBTQ+ youth. // Suraj Uttamchandani y sus colegas describen la diferencia entre ser un aliado y abogar por los jóvenes LGBTQ+ al enfocarse en los conocimientos de los jóvenes LGBTQ+. Ellos proveen cinco maneras prácticas e importantes que los educadores pueden utilizar para mejorar el ambiente escolar para los jóvenes LGBTQ+.

Off

Traditional

White

Advocating for LGBTQ+ Students with Disabilities

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 17:50:40 +0000

Advocating for LGBTQ+ Students with Disabilities Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 11:50 June Gothberg , Western Michigan University; LaSonja Roberts , Western Michigan University; Mary Ebejer , Western Michigan University

PDF

Adolescents typically face challenges when it comes to puberty, social identity, and planning for adulthood. Youth with disabilities (YWD), however, are more likely to struggle than their peers without disabilities (Ferri & Connor, 2010), as these relatively routine developmental challenges may become major obstacles that can lead to low self-esteem, low self-definition, and a limited vision of their future (Ferri & Connor, 2010; Kortering, Braziel, & McClannon, 2010). Their confusion is confounded by a society that promotes stereotypes of heterosexual or asexual identities, leaving YWD sexuality largely unaddressed (Burr, 2015; das Nair & Butler, 2012; East & Orchard, 2014) and difficult to understand as they transition into adulthood (Sinclair, Unruh, Lindstrom, & Scanlon, 2015).

The confusion that YWD face is further confounded for those who also identify as LGBTQ+. While positive school experiences have grown for LGBTQ+ youth through initiatives (e.g., Gay Straight Alliance, It Gets Better Project, and The Trevor Project), students with the dual identity of LGBTQ+ YWD struggle to feel accepted and comfortable among their LGBTQ+ or any other peers (Morgan, Mancl, Kaffar, & Ferreira, 2011). So, while LGBTQ+ YWD may have similar academic needs as their YWD peers (Dykes & Thomas, 2015), they have unique unmet social-emotional needs that can leave them feeling socially isolated (Arrieta & Palladino, 2014). These unmet needs are why educators and families must advocate for LGBTQ+ YWD—honoring their stated needs without judgment—so they can lead full and inclusive lives in safe and just environments.

Given the complexity of living and learning with intersectional identities, we have found in our work that for true improvement to happen, capacity must be built at the federal, state, school, and classroom levels, as well as in the home, and must begin with asking students what they need to feel safe, honored, and included. We offer the following guidance to improve educational settings for LGBTQ+ YWD from over 20 years of work as a technical assistance provider, teacher, principal, and parent of an LGBTQ+ child with a disability.

State and Local Policies and Planning

Policy change and action planning are core aspects of advocacy and can significantly increase outcomes for all YWD (Kohler, Gothberg, Fowler, & Coyle, 2016; Test, 2016; Test et al., 2009). Examples of supportive policies at the state and local levels are: (a) anti-bullying policies, (b) age-appropriate, comprehensive, anti-oppressive curriculum that includes sexuality education, and (c) anti-discriminatory recruitment and hiring practices that prioritize hiring diverse staff, including LGBTQ+ and persons with disabilities. Anti-bullying and harassment policies are especially critical for ensuring safe school environments. The National School Climate Survey found that nearly 60% of LGBTQ+ students, a disproportionate number, felt unsafe at school, with almost 100% hearing anti-LGBTQ+ remarks at school (Kosciw, Greytak, Zongrone, Clark, & Truong, 2018). Inclusive policies are necessary to help combat these realities.

Sex education policies differ from state to state (see National Conference of State Legislatures’s State Policies on Sex Education in Schools). Two states, however, have taken a stand for LGBTQ+ and disability inclusive education. California adopted Seth’s Law in response to a 13-year-old student taking his life. Each district is now required to adopt a policy that prohibits discrimination, harassment, intimidation, and bullying with the law mandating intervention (CA Education Code Section 234.1(b)(1)). Additionally, California curriculum honors the contributions of LGBTQ+ people in all areas of study (see California Safe Schools). New Jersey mandates that all school districts include instruction and curriculum materials that teach students about the political, economic, and social contributions of LGBTQ+ people and individuals with disabilities (Scragg, 2019). These state-level policies are important because access to inclusive curriculum correlates with higher engagement rates and lower dropout rates for both students who identify as LGBTQ+ and YWD (see The School Completion Toolkit).

Oftentimes, even education leaders with the best intentions don’t know how to design, plan, and implement strategies to address the needs of LGBTQ+ YWD (Kohler & Coyle, 2012; Kohler & Gothberg, 2016). Breitrose (2018) offers The Community Toolbox to assist planning for advocacy efforts. Practices to implement can be found in the Taxonomy for Transition Programming 2.0 (Kohler et al., 2016), Sexuality in Transition Planning (Stevenson, 2015), and Evidence-Based Practices across the Lifespan (Gothberg, Stegenga, & Cate, 2016).

Figure 1. An overview of The Taxonomy for Transition Programming 2.0.

Figure 2. School climate practices as seen in The Taxonomy for Transition Programming 2.0.

Welcoming and Inclusive Schools

At the school level, we can help build a welcoming and inclusive climate for all students by including books and resources highlighting LGBTQ+ people with disabilities. This curriculum should focus on experiences and accomplishments throughout the school curriculum, so their portrayals aren’t limited to their sexual identity or disability. This helps students feel a sense of membership and belonging in their school and community (Burke, Johnston, & Ward, 2017). Inclusive curriculum also promotes social justice, and validates and promotes acceptance of their experiences when they see themselves reflected in texts they read (Dodge & Crutcher, 2015).

While resources are available for elementary school (e.g., FlynntheCat1, 2012; Ryan & Hermann-Wilmarth, 2018; Welcoming Schools, 2019), middle school (e.g., Stepaniuk, 2017), high school (e.g., Razi, 2017) and postsecondary (e.g., Cat & Cress, 2012; Schur & French, n.d.) students, more are needed. With resources in hand, educators must consider the best way to provide sex education curriculum to LGBTQ+ YWD, given that sex education often excludes disabilities. Several resources can assist with embedding sex education holistically, specifically, and authentically (e.g., AMAZE, 2019; GenderSpectrum, 2019; Stangle, 2019).

The strongest predictor for positive outcomes for LGBTQ+ YWD is having supportive educators in their lives (Richmond, 2012). Modeling inclusive language and addressing LGBTQ+ YWD students by their chosen pronouns is one way to show respect for their identity. In addition, a report by the U.S. Department of Education (2016) found that policies that encourage safe, inclusive, and authentic learning from adults who reflect the diversity of students are more likely to influence environments where all students thrive. Unfortunately, discrimination and fear still exist, as seen in the harassment and eventual firing of Brett Bigham, the 2104 Oregon Teacher of the Year, after he came out at a public event (Maxwell, 2016). So bear in mind, the recruitment, hiring, and respectful inclusion of a diverse staff are an explicit display of a school’s values, one that speaks volumes to students who are struggling with their own sexual identity.

Principal and Teacher Preparation

Educators tell us they feel underprepared to support either LGBTQ+ students or YWD, and that preparation programs may inadvertently perpetuate discrimination and homophobia by ignoring LGBTQ+ topics and concerns (Gorsky, Davis, & Reiter, 2011). There is also a lack of training in principal preparation programs related to LGBTQ+ advocacy, including social justice programs (O’Malley & Capper, 2015). So, while teachers and principals are in a unique position to dampen the effects of negative school environments, they are rarely provided the support and strategies needed to do so (Gorsky et al., 2011). Therefore, professional development is needed that specifically addresses LGBTQ+ YWD, especially in the general education setting. This could provide educators with (a) knowledge of self, beliefs, and bias, with an awareness of how they shape their students’ experiences and (b) knowledge about the LGBTQ+ YWD community. Professional development should start with understanding the preferred language used to identify the group, and extend to how to creating a safe and inclusive culture.

The Anti-Defamation League (ADL) offers free anti-bias teaching resources, such as A Classroom of Difference, which focuses on inclusion and school climate by addressing issues of bias and bullying at the student, family, and educator levels. Key lesson plans include Caitlyn Jenner and The Power of Coming Out (ADL, 2015) and The Sound of Silence in Football: Derrick Coleman (ADL, 2014). The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) also provides free resources for activism, including the Transgender Youth Know Your Rights card that addresses respect, pronouns, restrooms, and more (ACLU, 2014). Lee Airton also offers resources including (a) They Is My Pronoun (2016) and (b) Gender: Your Guide (2018).

Empowering Students at School

Self-determination/self-advocacy is one of the 14 evidence-based predictors of post-school success (Gothberg, Stegenga, & Cate, 2017; Test et al., 2009) and factors into students’ postsecondary success (Field & Parker, 2017). Empowering LGBTQ+ YWD with the skills needed to navigate in and outside of school successfully will help create a pathway to success throughout their lives. The school’s approach to inclusive policies, culture, curriculum, and language will influence their success. Just as policies are implemented to support gender neutral bathrooms and GSAs, policies are needed to ensure the privacy and confidentiality of all students regarding their sexual orientation or gender. It is also important that there are safeguards for this information so that it is not shared without the student’s permission. One example is Michigan’s State Board of Education Statement and Guidance on Safe and Supportive Learning Environments for LGBTQ+ Students, which addresses the behaviors of teachers, counselors, nurses, and all others with access to student records.

Empowering Families at Home

Families are often the best advocates for their children (Trusty & Brown, 2005), so family acceptance is critical for all youth, and LGBTQ+ youth, in particular. Family acceptance is also one of the strongest predictors of their mental and physical well-being outcomes (McCormick & Baldridge, 2019). So, families need to know where their child is developmentally and provide the necessary resources at the appropriate time (Wilke & Wilke, 2010). They need to gain an understanding of state laws and school policies that affect their LGBTQ+ and/or YWD (National Conference of State Legislatures, 2019) and advocate for them when necessary. When families fail to accept or advocate for their child, the confidence and support of an advocate at school becomes critically important.

Our educational system and our nation are best served by being representative of the vast diversity of the American people (American Federation of Teachers, 2013), so all youth feel safe and welcome. Yet, many LGBTQ+ staff and students still experience the negative impacts associated with homophobia, discrimination, and perceived or actual threats to their physical safety (American Federation of Teachers, 2013). If the lives of our LGBTQ+ YWD are to improve, policy makers, educators and families need to work together as partners in this fight for equity—and the conversation should include the voices of these uniquely vulnerable students—because, in America, every young person regardless of race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or ability should have an opportunity to a free appropriate public education and to prepare for a future of their choosing.

References

Airton, L. (2016). They Is My Pronoun. Retrieved from https://theyismypronoun.wordpress.com/author/leeairton.
Airton, L. (2018). Gender: Your Guide. Avon, MA: Simon and Schuster.
AMAZE (2019). Disability and sexuality [video]. Retrieved from https://amaze.org/video/puberty-disability-sexuality/#.
American Civil Liberties Union (2014). Transgender Youth Know Your Rights card. Retrieved from https://www.aclusocal.org/sites/default/files/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/transgender-youth-KYR-card-Aug-2014-WEB.pdf.
American Federation of Teachers (2013). Creating a positive work environment for LGBT faculty: What higher education unions can do. Washington D.C. Retrieved from https://www.aft.org/sites/default/files/wysiwyg/genderdiversity_lgbt0413.pdf.
Anti-Defamation League (2014). The sound of silence in football: Derrick Coleman. Retrieved from https://www.adl.org/education/educator-resources/lesson-plans/the-sound-of-silence-in-football-derrick-coleman.
Anti-Defamation League (2015). Caitlyn Jenner and the power of coming out. Retrieved from https://www.adl.org/education/educator-resources/lesson-plans/caitlyn-jenner-and-the-power-of-coming-out.
Arrieta, S. A., & Palladino, J. M. (2014). Special education teachers' perceptions of students with emotional impairments and their same sex behaviors: A multiple case study. Ypsilanti, MI: Eastern Michigan University Center for the Study of Equality and Human Rights.
Breitrose, P. (2018). Getting an advocacy campaign off the group. The Community Toolbox. Lawrence, K: University of Kansas.
Burke, A., Johnston, I., & Ward, A. (2017). Challenging Stories: Literature for Social Justice in the Classroom. Toronto, Canada: Canadian Scholars’ Press.
Burr, V. (2015). Social constructionism (3^rd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315715421
Cat & Cress (2012). Books about lesbians with physical disabilities. Good Lesbian Books. Retrieved from http://www.goodlesbianbooks.com/2012/07/books-about-lesbians-with-physical.html.
das Nair, R., & Butler, C. (Eds.). (2012). Intersectionality, sexuality and psychological therapies: Working with lesbian, gay and bisexual diversity. West Sussex, U.K.: John Wiley & Sons. https://doi.org/10.1002/9781119967613
Dodge, A. M. & Crutcher, P. A. (2015). Inclusive classrooms for LGBTQ+ students. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 59(1), 95-105. https://doi.org/10.1002/jaal.433
Dykes, F., & Thomas, S. (2015). Meeting the needs of the hidden minority: Transition planning tips for LGBTQ+ youth. Preventing School Failure, 59(3), 179-185. https://doi.org/10.1080/1045988X.2014.903462
East, L. J., & Orchard, T. R. (2014). Somebody else’s job: Experiences of sex education among health professionals, parents and adolescents with physical disabilities in southwestern Ontario. Sexuality and Disability, 32, 335-350. https://doi:10.1007/s11195-013-9289-5
Ferri, B. A., & Connor, D. J. (2010). “I was the special ed. girl”: Urban working-class young women of color. Gender and Education, 22(1), 105–121. https://doi.org/10.1080/09540250802612688
Field, S., & Parker, D. (2017). Becoming self-determined: Creating thoughtful learners in a standards-driven, admissions-frenzied culture. Huntersville, NC: AHEAD.
FlynntheCat1 (2012). Picture books about gay and lesbian families [blog]. Retrieved from https://hubpages.com/literature/gay-picture-books.
GenderSpectrum (2019). Principles of gender-inclusive puberty and health education. Retrieved from https://www.genderspectrum.org/staging/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/GenderSpectrum_2019_report_WEB_final.pdf.
Gorsky, P. C., Davis, S. N., & Reiter, A. (2011). Heterosexism, homophobia, and other LGBTQ+ concerns in U.S. multicultural teacher education coursework. Journal of LGBT Youth, 10, 224-248. https://doi.org/10.1080/19361653.2013.798986
Gothberg, J., Stegenga, S., & Cate, D. (2016). Evidence-based Practices Across the Lifespan. Kalamazoo, MI: Western Michigan University.
Gothberg, J., Stegenga, S., & Cate, D. (2017). Rethinking the Paradigm. In A. L. Ellis (Ed.), Transitioning Children with Disabilities (pp. 129-144). Rotterdam, NY: Sense Publishers. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-6351-134-6_9
Kohler, P. & Coyle, J. (2012). NSTTAC Transition Institute Toolkit. Kalamazoo, MI: Western Michigan University.
Kohler, P. & Gothberg, J. (2016). NTACT Evaluation Toolkit. Kalamazoo, MI: Western Michigan University.
Kohler, P. & Gothberg, J., Fowler, C., & Coyle, J. (2016). Taxonomy for Transition Planning 2.0. Kalamazoo, MI: Western Michigan University.
Kortering, L. J., Braziel, P. M., & McClannon, T. W. (2010). Career ambitions: A comparison of youth with and without SLD. Remedial and Special Education, 31(4), 230-240. https://doi.org/ 10.1177/0741932508324404
Kosciw, J. G., Greytak, E. A., Zongrone, A. D., Clark, C. M., & Truong, N. L. (2018). The 2017 National School Climate Survey: The Experiences of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer Youth in Our Nation's Schools. Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN). New York, NY 10001.
McCormick A., & Baldridge, S. (2019). Family acceptance and faith: Understanding the acceptance processes of parents of LGBTQ youth. Social Work & Christianity, 46, 32-40.
Maxwell, C. (2016, July 5). Award-winning teacher talks settlement: White House visit. Windy City Times. Retrieved from http://www.windycitymediagroup.com/lgbt/Award-winning-teacher-talks-settlement-White-House-visit/55762.html.
Morgan, J. J., Mancl, D. B., Kaffar, B. J., & Ferreira, D. (2011). Creating sage environments for YWD who identify as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, or Transgender. Intervention School and Clinic, 47, 3-13. https://doi.org/10.1177/1053451211406546
National Conference of State Legislatures (2019). State Policies on Sex Education in Schools. Retrieved from http://www.ncsl.org/research/health/state-policies-on-sex-education-in-schools.aspx.
O’Malley, M. P., & Capper, C. A. (2015). A measure of the quality of educational leadership programs for social justice: Integrating LGBTIQ identities into principal preparation. Educational Administration Quarterly, 51(2), 290-330. https://doi.org/10.1177/0013161X14532468
Razi, A. (2017). Recommended books with disabled main characters. Queer Books for Teens. Retrieved from http://queerbooksforteens.com/best-of-lists/books-with-disabled-main-characters.
Richmond, P. (2012). Almost Invisible: Representation of LGBT Students in Special Education Settings (Doctoral dissertation, University of Washington).
Ryan, C. L., & Hermann-Wilmarth, J. M. (2018). Reading the rainbow: LGBTQ+-inclusive literacy instruction in the elementary classroom. New York: Teachers College Press.
Schur, D. & French, R. (n.d.). Disability and GLBT resources. San Francisco, CA: Benchmark Institute. Retrieved from http://www.benchmarkinstitute.org/glbt/disability-and-glbt-resources.htm.
Scragg, S. (2019, Feb. 4). New Jersey governor signs bill approving LGBT-inclusive school curriculum. TAPintoNewark. Retrieved from https://www.tapinto.net/towns/newark/articles/new-jersey-governor-signs-bill-approving-lgbt-inclusive-school-curriculum-19.
Sinclair, J., Unruh, D., Lindstrom, L., & Scanlon, D. (2015). Barriers to sexuality for individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities: A literature review. Education and Training in Autism and Developmental Disabilities, 50, 3-16. Retrieved from http://daddcec.org/Portals/0/CEC/Autism_Disabilities/Research/Publications/Education_Training_Development_Disabilities/Full_Journals/ETADD_50(1)_3-16.pdf
Stepaniuk, C. (2017, May 5). 14 more LGBTQ+ middle grade books. BookRiot. Retrieved from https://bookriot.com/2017/05/05/14-more-LGBTQ+-middle-grade-books. https://doi.org/10.5860/cal.14n1.14
Stevenson, B. (2015). Sexuality in transition planning: Annotated bibliography. Charlotte, NC: National Technical Assistance Center on Transition.
Stangle, J. (2019). Family life and sexual health (FLASH) lesson plans for special education. Seattle, WA: Seattle School District No. 1 and The County of King. Retrieved from https://www.kingcounty.gov/depts/health/locations/family-planning/education/FLASH/special-education.aspx.
Test, D. (2016). Evidence-based practices and predictors in secondary transition: What we know and what we still need to know. Charlotte, NC: National Technical Assistance Center on Transition.
Test, D. W., Fowler, C. H., Richter, S. M., White, J., Mazzotti, V., Walker, A. R., Kohler, P., & Kortering, L. (2009). Evidence-based practices in secondary transition. Career Development for Exceptional Individuals, 32(2), 115-128. https://doi.org/10.1177/0885728809336859
Trusty, J., & Brown, D. (2005). Advocacy competencies for professional school counselors. Professional School Counseling, 8, 259-265.
U.S. Department of Education (2016). The State of Racial Diversity in the Educator Workforce. Washington D.C. Retrieved from https://www2.ed.gov/rschstat/eval/highered/racial-diversity/state-racial-diversity-workforce.pdf.
Welcoming Schools (2019). Great diverse children’s books with transgender, non-binary, and gender expansive children. Retrieved from https://assets2.hrc.org/welcoming-schools/documents/WS_Diverse_Picture_Books_Transgender_Non-Binary.pdf
Wilke, N., & Wilke, D. (2010) Identity, disability, and sexuality: Reflections from a son and his father. Impact, 23(2), 1, 34-35.

�鶹��Ƶ the authors

June Gothberg is an Assistant Professor at Western Michigan University. Her research-to-practice work focuses on supporting young people with unique abilities and life experiences. When June is not teaching graduate level research methods, she is federally-funded to support state and local education, rehabilitation, and correctional agencies to improve outcomes for children with disabilities, court-involved youth, and others at-risk.

LaSonja Roberts is an Assistant Professor at Western Michigan University in the Educational Leadership Research and Technology Department. Her research agenda focuses on leader preparation and retention, specifically a leader’s ability to create environments that foster the learning and well-being of educators and students. LaSonja has had the privilege to teach and lead in California, Mississippi, and Florida.

Mary Ebejer is a Faculty Specialist at Western Michigan University. As the graduate writing coach for the College of Education and Human Development, her work focuses on providing much-needed writing and self-efficacy support to students from all backgrounds, but particularly non-traditional students, international students, and those from other marginalized communities, as they pursue their masters and doctoral degrees.

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/

June Gothberg and colleagues point out that research often focuses on school-related issues for LGBTQ students or students with disabilities, but rarely focuses on LGBTQ students with disabilities. They discuss how evidence-based promising practices (EBPPs) can help these students. // June Gothberg y sus colegas señalan que las investigaciones de estudiantes LGBTQ o estudiantes con discapacidades frecuentemente se enfocan en cuestiones relacionadas con la escuela, pero rara vez se enfocan en estudiantes LGBTQ con discapacidades. Ellos mencionan cómo “evidence-based promising practices” (EBPPs) pueden ayudar a estos estudiantes.

Off

Traditional

White

Choosing to Do the Work: Thoughts on Creating an LGBTQ-Inclusive Classroom

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 17:46:24 +0000

Choosing to Do the Work: Thoughts on Creating an LGBTQ-Inclusive Classroom Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 11:46 Amanda Cherry , Boulder Valley School District

PDF

We’ve all been through it: the three-hour-long professional development that culminates in a half-hearted attempt at a unit you’ll never use. Similarly, we’ve all slogged our way through the district-mandated teacher resource book which includes extensive suggestions that would be oh-so-easy to implement—if you had classes of 14 high-performers, an endless flow of free resources, and three planning periods. Almost 10 years ago, as a brand new middle school language arts teacher, I found these time-sucking activities challenging to endure, but tolerable.

Then, four years ago, everything changed. Working with A Queer Endeavor at the University of Colorado, I found my voice as an advocate for LGBTQ-inclusive schools and curricula. I found my path and calling as an activist educator. And I found wasted time and resources substantially harder to bear. Now, I want to spend my professional development time doing the important work of becoming an activist educator. And I feel that others might desire the same. To this end, I’m offering the following ideas for teachers hoping to begin or continue the work of creating LGBTQ-inclusive classrooms and schools. These aren’t step-by-step instructions. Rather they function as touchstones, places to check in, signposts. Hopefully, these suggestions honor the challenge of the work while also recognizing that we need to do something now.

Choose to Be Vulnerable

My first few years of teaching (and sometimes still when I’m feeling a little too stressed, a little too tired, a little too incompetent), I did everything I could to avoid making a mistake. Or perhaps I should say, I did everything I could to avoid someone else knowing I’d made a mistake.

This reality made doing the work of creating an LGBTQ-inclusive classroom nearly impossible. I just knew if I even said the word “gay” or “trans” in class, my face would get bright red, my mouth would fill with saliva, I would spit all over the front row, and I would leave kids with the message that it was somehow completely humiliating to talk about sexuality and gender in school. This, I believed, would result in a situation even worse than if I hadn’t said anything. So, to avoid saying the “wrong thing,” I said nothing.

In remaining silent, however, I knew in my heart I was failing my students and, ultimately, betraying myself. Every time I let a moment to affirm a student’s identity pass by, I was reminded of myself at their age. I was teased pretty ruthlessly in elementary school for being overweight, and then in middle school and high school for being perceived gay. I didn’t find many adults willing to stand up for me. Their suggestions were to “fit in better,” laugh it off, or ignore it.

As painful as those moments were, they motivated my initial decision to teach. And yet I was following the same path my teachers walked. So when A Queer Endeavor Institute was advertised as a professional development opportunity, I knew it was something I wanted to be a part of.

Gaining not only permission but also encouragement to affirm students’ gender and sexual diversity, and the tools to do so, was invaluable. I started small, calling attention to my awkwardness by saying something like, “When I talk about gender and sexuality, sometimes it feels weird for me. I feel embarrassed. My face gets hot.”

Somehow, simply naming my discomfort eased the tension. It made more space for vulnerability in the classroom. The more I admitted my struggles, not just concerning LGBTQ topics, but around everything from comma rules to handling my four-year-old child’s tantrums, the more we were able to dig into the work.

Then, my teaching began to open up in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I felt comfortable bringing up issues of gender and sexual diversity in class and among my colleagues. I invited discussions about equity in the classroom with prompts such as, “Do racism, sexism, and homophobia exist in Boulder today?” I even had students come out in class. I was overwhelmed by their bravery, and, because other students clapped and supported their peers, I was moved by how much the educational environment had changed since I went to school. That particular moment illuminated my true path as a teacher—this was why I became an educator, this was my calling.

Choose to Change Your Instruction (A Little and A Lot)

The more work I’ve done with A Queer Endeavor to create an LGBTQ-inclusive classroom, the more I realize how the work is both dramatic and subtle; it’s both large curriculum shifts and in-the-moment conversations. The work, in some ways, begins the first day, and, in other ways, doesn’t really start until halfway through the year. I believe everyone has to travel their own path when it comes to this work, but I also think sometimes, as teachers, we just want to know, “So, how do you do it?” Here’s a brief rundown of how I do it.

The First Week

The first day, I share my pronouns, and I ask students to share theirs, if they are comfortable. The first year that I asked kids their pronouns, I didn’t frontload the idea enough, and lots of kids responded with, “I don’t really care what pronouns you use with me.” Now I share this story and directly teach pronouns, and kids understand the idea much better. I also pave the way for this work by stating that creating an LGBTQ-inclusive space is important to me. I tell kids and families (at Back to School night) that we will be talking about social justice throughout the year, and that these topics are dear to my teaching and my heart.

The First Semester

I spend a lot of time during the first few months of school sharing about myself and giving kids opportunities to share about themselves. If we don’t know each other, we can’t really dig into deep conversations about gender and sexuality. I share a narrative I wrote about my grandmother having a heart attack, and I invite students to share their own courage narratives. I share a “Hero’s Journey” website I made about my mom, and I ask students to craft their own websites.

I also begin to intermix conversations about gender and sexuality into the space in small ways. For instance, a few days a week I start with a sentence starter to highlight a grammar rule. In the sentence, I might refer to a person using a non-binary pronoun, or I might reference a same-sex couple. As another example, I teach a unit early on about literary elements, and as part of this unit kids read a picture book. As one of the choices, I include And Tango Makes Three, a book about two male penguins who raise a baby.

These small moves allow students to become familiar with LGBTQ-terminology. They also demystify gender and sexuality a bit, showing kids over and over that these topics are part of what we do in this class. Additionally, although I don’t always push for longer conversations at this point, if students want to engage in a deeper discussion, I always make space for it.

Finally, I start to encourage critical thinking around the topics of power, privilege, and assumptions. One way I do this is through the novel Endangered by Eliot Schrefer. This novel is about civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo. So I ask students questions like, “Why is this war the most deadly war since World War II, and, yet, we don’t know anything about it?” and, “Given that this war was somewhat about the minerals used in cell phones, who is at fault?” These questions encourage the critical thinking and self-reflection necessary to learn and apply queer theory, which we tackle second semester.

The Second Semester

After winter break, I introduce a unit about identity. I teach students six different critical lenses, including queer theory. To teach each lens, I simplify the academic definition and provide students with guiding questions to apply the lens. I then show a few clips from movies or commercials, and we practice applying the lens together.

Then, students work in small groups to read a novel, choose and apply a lens, and craft a presentation where they apply their lens to their book. I allow students to choose their books, but I suggest and provide copies of novels where gender, sexuality, race, class, or ability might come into play. To support students in their projects, I also read aloud the novel George by Alex Gino, which is about a transgender girl. As I read, we apply queer theory to the novel as a class.

Following the identity unit, conversations about gender and sexuality specifically and justice and equity in general grow and intensify. I continue to intermix LGBTQ authors and topics into our work, but students also now take up the charge, applying what they’ve learned to whatever we are reading and writing.

Choose the Work as Your Path

As I believe many teachers do, when I first started teaching, I tried to integrate every idea, lesson, and suggestion into my work. I felt overwhelmed, scattered, and, ultimately, rather voiceless. When I decided to become an activist educator specifically focused on LGBTQ topics, I found my path in teaching. Rather than trying to integrate every new idea, I now have a litmus test. Is this lesson, unit, technique, etc. working toward the goal of creating a classroom focused on justice and equity? If not, I let it go.

This also means that, if students are sharing personal stories or thinking critically about equity, I drop my plans for the day. And, it means bringing the work to my administrators over and over. It means sharing my pronouns at school events even when few or no other teachers do. It means shaking off nerves when a colleague passes my room and raises an eyebrow at a video I’m showing or a discussion we’re having.

Ultimately, it means coming back to what my heart knows is true again and again, despite pressure from district personnel, administration, colleagues, or families. For me, this deep personal knowledge has been the greatest and most unexpected reward.

�鶹��Ƶ the Author

Amanda Cherry lives in Boulder with her partner and five-year-old. She is a 6th-grade language arts and reading teacher at Southern Hills Middle School. She’s also a performance poet, activist, runner, and yogi. Her best days include coffee, connection, sunshine, and wine.

creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0

Amanda Cherry, a middle school language arts teacher, writes about her goals and strategies for creating an LGBTQ-inclusive classroom. Her experiences and suggestions provide educators with a clear vision for supporting LGBTQ students. // Amanda Cherry, una profesora de secundaria de artes de lenguaje, escribe acerca de sus metas y estrategias con el fin de crear un salón inclusivo de LGBTQ. Sus experiencias y sugerencias les provee a los educadores una visión clara para apoyar a estudiantes LGBTQ.

Off

Traditional

White

Breaking Down the “Coatlicue State” to See a Self: Queer Voices Within a Circle

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 17:34:01 +0000

Breaking Down the “Coatlicue State” to See a Self: Queer Voices Within a Circle Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 11:34 Ethan Trinh , Georgia State University

PDF

“Shame is a wound felt from the inside, dividing us both from ourselves and from one another.”

-Gershen Kaufman-

We are sitting in a circle for a closing activity. This will be another boring activity. Anyway, it does not matter anymore because I already told Ms. Nelson and Mr. Gucci that I will quit the program next week. This is just another aburrido, boring after-school program. Who thinks girls can learn coding with all computational thinking skills? ¡Qué broma! What a joke!

“Why don’t we start drawing a picture of you when you were a child?” Mr. Gucci asked. “Ms. Nelson and I will draw ours, too. You have 5 minutes and then we share in class.”

Mr. Gucci is awesome and funny. We have loved him since last summer when he worked with us. He always wears a brown leather Gucci belt, which we think is fake, but he insisted it was a real one. No me importa. I do not care much about him, but I love Ms. Nelson. She is a wonderful teacher. I usually tell her everything, like everything about my life, todo sobre mi vida. I trust her. That is why I told her about my secret yesterday. Not really a big secret but it is kind of a big deal. I told her that boys in my class talked something behind my back. They were spreading the rumor that I have a girlfriend. I don’t, but yeah I do, but maybe not. But is that important? Does that matter to them if I am different? Am I different? Okay, I think I am different. But why is it a big deal if I am different. Nobody cares. Wait a second, focus, what should I draw? I don’t know what I should draw in this activity. Why is this drawing relevant to a computational thinking class that we have? It is definitely irrelevant.

“Time’s up. Who wants to share your picture?” Mr. Gucci suddenly cut my line of thinking. I did not even start drawing anything. Okay, boys will continue to share their pictures. I get it. I am curious what Mr. Gucci and Ms. Nelson are going to share. Ms. Nelson shared with a group that she has grown up as a Black girl and how she has taken pride in herself for who she is, even though she has been being misrepresented and stereotyped due to her skin color. I feel you, Ms. Nelson. I have been there. I am a Mexican girl, but I was raised in America. I am brown outside, but I have American and Mexican thoughts at the same time. I speak two languages, like all of the students in this class. We are all Mexican-Americans. You call us Latinx, sometimes. No me importa. Mr. Gucci is about to share his. I can’t wait!!!

Mr. Gucci shows a picture of a girl character, the class is excited now, we are curious and laughing. “No way, Mr. Gucci! It is not you, right?” “No, it is me.” He replied without any seconds of hesitation. “You would see I was wearing a skirt, and my hair was curly, right? It was me when I was a kid. I was wearing a skirt to school, and my friends could not recognize if I was a boy or a girl. My mom always wanted me to be a girl.” He paused for a second, then continued, “But that wasn’t the worst part. I was being bullied because of my appearance. You know, in Vietnam, you have to show your masculinity, your manhood, and if you were different, you would be alienated, isolated and people would start questioning you, and it would be a sin if you were someone different. I was that different. But my mom loved me for who I was, and I love me for who I was and for who I am.”

Wow, Mr. Gucci. It is A-MAZE-INGGG! I cannot believe you have such history. I am like you. I am curious, questioning and doubting, too. It has been happening to me, Mr. Gucci. I try to skim my eyes around the circle. Well, boys, why do you keep silent? Did you hear Mr. Gucci? Are you in shame now? No worries, I feel ashamed all the time. It is not the first time. I feel connected with you, Mr. Gucci. Wait, oh now I get it, I get why we have this activity today. I told Ms. Nelson about my issue yesterday before we left the class. I told her about my bullying issue. Is it because of me that we have this activity today? No, maybe not, maybe there’s another friend of mine who has the same situation. I am not the only one person who feels different. But, what’s wrong with being different?

Break a circle

You know where I am going with this. I was in Luna’s train of thought to tell a story on her behalf. It is not unique, but it does not mean it is not important to listen to. Thank you for sitting in a circle with us to listen to both of our stories. My imagination about her thoughts may not hold true, but her situation was real. She was in my class two years ago in an afterschool program for middle schoolers. She intended to quit the program after she had been bullied by her friends due to her gender identity. There are a lot of “Lunas” out there who share similar experiences. They are struggling, feeling anxious and isolated with their gender identities due to the power of heterosexism and heteronormativity. In this small space, I thus hope to accomplish one simple thing: break down different layers of shame to ask for your understanding and empathy. I write this piece to embrace both of us—queer marginalized voices—in schools and in academia.

According to Anzaldúa (2012), both of us have experienced the “Coatlicue State”, a contradictory process. Anzaldúa excruciatingly describes the process to help us expand our understanding of shamefulness, opposition and duality as dealing with identity and differences:

I don’t want to know, I don’t want to be seen. My resistance, my refusal to know some truth about myself brings on that paralysis, depression – brings on the Coatlicue state. At first I feel exposed and opened to the depth of my dissatisfaction. Then I feel myself closing, hiding, holding myself together rather than allowing myself to fall apart (p. 70).

Seeing and being seen in front of the public are painful to us, metaphorically and literally. We do not belong to a society constructed by the hierarchical, patriarchal, heteronormative system. We are outsiders. As outsiders, we do not belong to a circle of “normality”. The normality is paralyzing our moves, our bodies, our lines of thoughts. Gradually, our emotions are becoming numb, frozen and dead. The regime, wherein the ignorance of a self, the unacceptance of others, the heterosexism hold utmost power, is distancing us instead of allowing us to come closer to your circle; we are unable to sit down and share our thoughts with others. We are alone here.

Do you mind sparing your time, coming closer and listening to our stories—the old-motif story that you may already know, but it was such a process for us to come out of the closet, to be joyful in the light, to be out in the public, to overcome the Coatlicue state? This state is an open door but needs a key of empathy and understanding to unlock it.

Our tongues are cut, frozen and replaced to fit in the crowd. We are sweating; we are doubting; we are afraid of judging eyes; we are hating ourselves; we are hating others for hating us; we are rolling back to our regime; we are continuing to hide; we are seizing ourselves in a closet again. We are handcuffing the whole body—to harm ourselves, to cut ourselves, to disappear. Because we are ashamed.

Are you still listening to us? Are you still there in your own circle?

Circling back

I am sorry that I do not offer a better solution to advocate for people like us. But I am glad you are going this far to listen to our stories. Can I ask you a favor instead? We would like you not to be a stranger, a heartless passer-by. If you ever see us, could you please give us a moment to talk, to share, to laugh with us, or at least to give us a hug? You will see how powerful a hug can be. Hugging is an act of loving, of endurance, of resistance, of forgiveness, of (re)humanization and of being (Trinh, 2018). Through the act of hugging, I told a story of how a Vietnamese son learns how to heal himself and his mom from the wounds of domestic family abuse and how he is awakened to forgive his dad for what he has done to the family. By giving a hug to others, especially to those who lived a life of marginality, you will be able to see a deeper layer of a person’s life and teach you how to share empathy with people around you. The hug is the key that I talked about—the key to unlock the regime where you could see all of us, me, “Luna” and you, in there.

References

Anzaldúa, G. (2012). Borderlands/La frontera: The new mestiza (4^th ed.). San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books.
Kaufman, G. (1989). The psychology of shame : theory and treatment of shame-based syndromes. Springer Pub. Co. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=ip,shib&db=cat06552a&AN=gsu.996611353402952&site=eds-live&scope=site
Heterosexism. (n.d.). Retrieved from https://edge.psu.edu/workshops/mc/isms/page_10.shtml
Kilroy-Ewbank, L. (n.d.). Coatlicue. Retrieved from https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/art-americas/early-cultures/aztec-mexica/a/coatlicue
Trinh, E. (2018). How hugging my mom teaches me the meaning of love and perhaps beyond. The Journal of Faith, Education, and Community 2(1), pp. 1-14. Retrieved from https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/jfec/vol2/iss1/2/

�鶹��Ƶ the author

Ethan Trinh is a doctoral student at the Middle and Secondary Education at Georgia State University, USA. He is inspired to do research about queer transnationals, ESL/ESOL, Vietnamese Studies, and Meditation through the lens of Chicana Feminism. Ethan is a co-editor of the Social Responsibility Interest Section (SRIS) Newsletter at TESOL International Association.

creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/

Through narrative and imagery, Ethan Trinh describes how uplifting marginalized queer voices can have a positive impact on queer students. Trinh encourages readers to embrace queer students of color to support and affirm them in school and academia. // Por medio de la narración y las imágenes, Ethan Trinh describe cómo exaltando las voces queer marginadas puede tener un impacto positivo en los estudiantes queer. Trinh anima a los lectores a acoger estudiantes queer de color para apoyarlos y reafirmarlos en la escuela y la academia.

Off

Traditional

White

The Necessity of Intentionally Closed Spaces for LGBTQ Youth of Color

Anonymous — Sun, 30 Jun 2019 17:27:49 +0000

The Necessity of Intentionally Closed Spaces for LGBTQ Youth of Color Anonymous (not verified) Sun, 06/30/2019 - 11:27 Krishna Pattisapu , Ph.D. , �鶹��Ƶ

PDF

The first time I encountered a protected space for LGBTQ people of color, I was an undergraduate student attending a conference for LGBTQ college students, higher education professionals, and community activists in the U.S. Midwest. That year, the student organizers of the conference announced that an entire series of workshops would be open only to conference-goers who identify as LGBTQ people of color. This “QTPOC” (queer and trans people of color) workshop series followed the precedent set in the previous year, when organizers developed a track of workshops that were open only to transgender people. The organizers based their decisions to establish these series on the lack of available spaces where transgender people could talk about their experiences navigating transphobia and cis privilege, and where queer and transgender people of color could unpack the weight of racism and whiteness, free from the voyeuristic and scrutinizing gazes of cisgender and white folks.

The organizers’ decision to create these restricted tracks sparked nothing short of controversy and outrage from white LGBTQ attendees, as well as from some attendees of color. Those who opposed the idea hurled accusations that it bred a climate of segregation and intolerance that fragmented the conference community. I, too, felt skeptical of the idea at first—

until I attended my first QTPOC workshop. Never before had I experienced the feeling of being seen and respected on the basis of all of my identities, no longer forced to choose between spaces that nurtured my queer identity or my brown identity. In that space, I had the opportunity to learn alongside other LGBTQ people of color without the need to engage in the emotional labor of educating white people in the room about our experiences (or worse yet, of needing to provide enough supporting evidence for white people to believe us when we discussed our experiences navigating racism and whiteness in queer spaces). It was the first time I felt collectively seen and held in my queer brown body.

Since that experience, I have believed in the importance of establishing and nurturing what I refer to as intentionally closed spaces. I have fought hard for these spaces to exist, often at the expense of being labeled as a divisive segregationist who threatens collaborations and alliances. Intentionally closed spaces and those who support them are often criticized as standing in direct opposition to efforts for diversity and inclusivity. It is, in fact because of the failures of mainstream spaces to be authentically diverse and inclusive that intentionally closed spaces are necessary. For example, because mainstream spaces have so often failed to fully and meaningfully include LGBTQ people, intentionally closed spaces for LGBTQ people have emerged to recognize, celebrate, and support LGBTQ people. Similarly, because LGBTQ spaces frequently fail to challenge racism and denounce transphobia, closed spaces for LGBTQ people of color and transgender people must exist. By cultivating spaces of our own, we can resist replicating the racist, transphobic, and homophobic foundations that underpin so many existing spaces.

For three years I volunteered with Wellspring, a recently-shuttered LGBTQ youth group in the community where I live. This intentionally closed group made rare exceptions, allowing only the most devoted straight and cisgender allies to attend. Each week, a group of nearly twenty middle school and high school students who identify across spectrums as lesbian, gay, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, nonbinary, queer, and questioning showed up to build community, learn buried LGBTQ histories, consume LGBTQ media, and rally for social change in their schools, families, and places of worship. Far more often the victims of bullying than their straight and cisgender peers, these young people came together each week for the opportunity to share, process, and heal from the violence, trauma, and exclusion they face daily. There, they felt no pressure to argue the legitimacy of their gender identities or sexual orientations. Adult volunteers—all of whom also identify as LGBTQ—were there to support them. It was, as its name suggested, an oasis, a safer space away from the norm.

Even for supporters, intentionally closed spaces can present considerable challenges, particularly for individuals who experience marginalization on the basis of more than one of their social identities. Of the group of twenty youth that gathered weekly at Wellspring, only a few identify as people of color. Although the leaders and volunteers of Wellspring made efforts to engage youth in conversations about race and racism, the space maintained and reiterated whiteness. Youth of color who came to the space reported feeling misunderstood, judged, and invisible. Wellspring welcomed them on the basis of gender and sexuality, but more often than not failed to account for their identities as queer youth of color. Unless intentionally closed LGBTQ spaces are deliberately anti-racist, they risk reproducing the same racism present in culture at large. Furthermore, a critical understanding of the cultural underrepresentation and oppression of LGBTQ people does not automatically facilitate racial awareness and accountability to be actively anti-racist. These are values and skills that must be constantly practiced, critically examined, and improved.

As Wellspring’s tenure in our community drew to a close, LGBTQ leaders advocated for the creation of another intentionally closed space for LGBTQ youth, as well as for the creation of a space for LGBTQ youth of color only. With this announcement, I witnessed reactions similar to those I heard at the conference I attended as an undergraduate student. Leaders were accused of fragmenting the youth population, of creating unnecessary divisions, and preventing collaboration. Supporters like me argued that intentionally closed spaces for LGBTQ people of color are overwhelmingly necessary in a community where over 84% of residents are white. A dedicated space where LGBTQ youth of color, who experience an onslaught of microaggressions every day, can connect with one another beyond the far-reaching grasps of homophobia, transphobia, and racism can be healing and transformative. This is not to say that spaces for LGBTQ people of color are immune to reproducing discrimination. Unexamined privileges and biases around ableism, transphobia, Islamophobia, anti-blackness, and distrust of white-passing people of color (just to name a few) can and do affect these spaces. What I know is this: while intentionally closed spaces for LGBTQ people of color are not perfect, they are necessary.

Most importantly, intentionally closed spaces do not exist in opposition to alliances across identities. In fact, it is the establishment and nurturing of intentionally closed spaces that make meaningful alliances possible. When people of color, LGBTQ people, people with disabilities, and people who face age discrimination are able to access spaces where they can heal one another without the fear of judgement or additional discrimination, we can emerge feeling energized, resilient, self-aware, and ready to move toward collective liberation. Intentionally closed spaces are not ideologically separate from collaboration; they are an important part of the process of building intersectional alliances. Protecting intentionally closed spaces for LGBTQ youth of color is an important move toward rectifying legacies of racism in the LGBTQ community, and toward supporting LGBTQ young people on the basis of all of their identities.

Author Note

Krishna Pattisapu, Ph.D., is Director of Diversity Recruitment and Retention for the School of Education at the �鶹��Ƶ. Krishna currently serves as Vice President for the Board of Directors at Out Boulder County, an LGBTQ advocacy organization in Boulder, Colorado. Correspondence regarding this article should be sent to Krishna.Pattisapu@Colorado.edu

References

Balsam, K.F., Molina, Y., Beadnell, B., Simoni, J., & Walters, K. (2017). Measuring multiple minority stress: the LGBT people of color microaggressions scale. Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology, 17, 163-174. https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2011-10497-005
Blackwell, K. (2018). Why people of color need spaces without white people. Arrow Journal Online: https://arrow-journal.org/why-people-of-color-need-spaces-without-white-people/
Cochran, G. (2018). “The Problem with Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity.” Scholarly Kitchen. 22 June 2018. https://scholarlykitchen.sspnet.org/2018/06/22/problem-diversity-inclusion-equity/
Mayo, C. (2014). LGBTQ youth and education: Policies and practices. J.A. Banks (Ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press.
Flores, A.R. (2017). Yes, there’s racism in the LGBT community. But there’s more outside of it. The Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2017/07/07/yes-there-is-racism-in-the-lgbtq-community-but-not-as-much-as-outside-it/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.61086ef493bb
Fox, C.O., & Ore, T.E.. (2010). Uncovering normalized gender and race subjectivities in LGBT “safe spaces.” Feminist Studies, 36, 629-649.
GLSEN LGBTQ student statistics: https://www.glsen.org/learn/research/national
McKenzie, M. & Balasubramanian, J. (2013). QTPOC Chat 4: Racism within QTPOC community. Black Girl Dangerous: https://www.bgdblog.org/2013/07/2013724qtpoc-chat-4-racism-within-qtpoc-community/
Ramsawakh, M. (2017). Why LGBT spaces can be uncomfortable for queer people of colour. The body is not an apology: Radical self-love for everybody and every body. https://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/why-lgbt-spaces-can-be-uncomfortable-for-queer-people-of-colour/
Serano, Julia. (2018). Julia’s trans, gender, sexuality, and activism glossary. http://www.juliaserano.com/terminology.html
YW Boston Blog (2017). What is intersectionality, and what does it have to do with me? https://www.ywboston.org/2017/03/what-is-intersectionality-and-what-does-it-have-to-do-with-me/

�鶹��Ƶ the Author

Krishna is a queer brown cisgender woman and critical educator who works as Director of Diversity Recruitment and Retention for the School of Education at the �鶹��Ƶ. She supports first-generation students, students of color, and LGBTQ students. Originally from the rural Midwest, Krishna is a leader in local LGBTQ organizing and intersectional social justice efforts.

creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0

Krishna Pattisapu affirms the need for intentionally closed spaces for LGBTQ youth of color to be able to process shared experiences with racism so that they can enter intersectional alliances feeling healed and more energized.// Krishna Pattisapu afirma la necesidad de intencionalmente proveer espacios cerrados para los jóvenes LGBTQ de color para que puedan procesar sus vivencias compartidas con el racismo y así poder entrar en alianzas intersectoriales sintiéndose sanados y con más energía.

Off

Traditional

White

Introduction to Dialogues

Anonymous — Thu, 13 Dec 2018 03:24:10 +0000

Introduction to Dialogues Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 12/12/2018 - 20:24

Wagma Mommandi

PDF

�鶹��Ƶ a year ago, during early brainstorming sessions, the founding members of the editorial board agreed that our aim was to create a new journal for two primary reasons: to challenge the idea of what counts as scholarship in education, and to create a structured space that allowed multiple, diverse voices about pressing contemporary issues to be heard. Dialogues was born out of this latter objective.

Dialogues is a collection of critical, reflective essays on a single theme from individuals with different expertise and experiences. We were deliberate in choosing the word dialogue to name what we are doing. A dialogue is exploratory and allows participants to examine the complexity of an issue in a deeper, more subtle way. Importantly, a dialogue is not an excuse to give space to illegitimate perspectives that dehumanize; rather, a dialogue is a space to put multiple voices rooted in justice on equal footing.

Dialogues authors make their voices clear to the reader. They consider the topic in relation to themselves, and they write about why issues are important from their perspectives. These perspectives might stem from professional expertise or from lived experiences; often they will stem from both. Although each piece can stand on its own, it functions best as part of a whole. We intend for these essays to be read together so that you finish with a more nuanced and fuller picture. In other words, we hope you experience a dialogue.

As you read this collection of essays you will notice the authors write in a broadly accessible and distinctly personal way. This is, in part, due to our specific request that authors write from their experiences, define specialized terms, limit the use of academic citations, minimize references behind a paywall, and hyperlink references to help contextualize issues for readers. We came to these decisions by discussing who our favorite public intellectuals were, those people who we learn the most from, and who we feel are present in their words.

Citizenship and Migration

For the inaugural Dialogues section, we invited authors to share their experiences and knowledges about issues of citizenship and migration as related to schools and schooling in the United States. While issues of citizenship and migration have always been relevant topics in United States schools, the racist, anti-immigrant rhetoric and actions of late have increased danger, fear, and insecurity for many people and their families.

This first collection of critical essays brings together the voices of academics, graduate students and teachers. Here we present three critical essays written by professors, graduate students and a teacher who all work closely with youth in schools. Referencing Mohsin Hamid’s Exit West, in EXIT East. The fight against US anti-Muslim racism, Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher and Thea Abu El-Haj share how the stories of Muslim youth and their sense of citizenship and belonging are entangled with United States imperialism. Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher and Thea Abu El-Haj explore issues of citizenship particularly as it relates to Muslims in the United States and they offer examples of how educators and activists are responding to Islamophobia. In Mi Todo Para Los Estudiantes Inmigrantes, Alethea Maldonado, a third-year teacher who teaches English as a Second Language (ESL) at the high school level, writes about her students, their experiences coming to and in the United States, and their impacts on her as an early career teacher. Alethea shares her own immigrant history and her journey as a teacher of immigrant children. Finally, in Climate Change, Unnatural Disasters, and the Second-Class Citizen, Astrid N. Sambolín Morales and Molly Hamm-Rodríguez discuss their work with children and youth from Puerto Rico who have enrolled in United States schools in Central Florida in the wake of Hurricane Maria. They argue formal citizenship does not lead to rights nor a sense of belonging for Puerto Ricans who moved to the mainland as a cause of the hurricane.

For our Spring collection of Dialogues, we are accepting submissions on two topics: Educator Advocacy for Queer Students and Being Bilingual in Colorado Schools. We encourage submissions from students, teachers, community activists, and other members of the public whose voices are underrepresented in educational research.

Off

Traditional

White

EXIT EAST? The fight against US anti-Muslim racism

Anonymous — Wed, 12 Dec 2018 20:50:09 +0000

EXIT EAST? The fight against US anti-Muslim racism Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 12/12/2018 - 13:50

Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher , Thea Renda Abu El-Haj

PDF

Within the current anti-migrant milieu, the issue of migration from Muslim majority countries has become a flashpoint in sociopolitical arenas worldwide. Consequently, there are renewed questions regarding citizenship for Muslims communities living in the “West”. We understand citizenship to be the enacted everyday practices through which people forge a sense of belonging and engage as public actors in civic and political life within and also across borders, regardless of their juridical status. In the United States, conversations regarding citizenship are couched in language about borders, security, illegality, and terrorism along with the usual discourses around race, class, religion, and what it means to be an “American”. It is worth repeating that these are not new conversations; what is new is how these issues are being played out in an increasingly hostile environment for migrants across the world—particularly migrants from Muslim majority countries. Can these Muslims “assimilate”? Can they be “American”? Are they worthy of refuge?

“Plus que ça change”: The more things change, the more they stay the same

These questions and conversations about citizenship - particularly as they relate to Muslims - presume that Muslims are a newer population in the US and increasingly “a problem”. What is perhaps not acknowledged is that the Muslim presence in the Americas predates the US itself.^{^[1]} Moreover, in the post-Cold War era, the US flipped from supporting the Mujahideen against the Soviets in Afghanistan, to positioning political Islam as the new enemy of democracy. Thus, while anti-Muslim sentiment—what is commonly known as Islamophobia—seems to be a recent phenomenon, in fact, Muslims have been discriminated against throughout the history of the US and prior, albeit in varying degrees (Mamdani, 2004). However, without a doubt, 9/11 was a watershed moment for Muslims in the US bringing them into the public eye in a way that was unprecedented, reinvigorating a narrative about Muslims and Islam as incompatible with US values and hence citizenship (Abu El-Haj, 2007, 2010, 2015; Ghaffar-Kucher, 2012, 2015; Maira, 2009).

Whereas following 9/11, the US had two presidents who gave lip service to the idea that, “We are not at war with Islam” (Bush) or that, “The terrorists do not speak for over a billion Muslims who reject their hateful ideology” (Obama); today, the surge in Islamophobia is fueled by the tweets and taunts of another president, who has clearly decided that we are at war with Islam since, “Islam hates us,” and that all Muslims are the same (and are therefore all potential terrorists). However, despite this shift in rhetoric, the policies under all three presidents have been more similar than many would like to admit. US military invasions into Afghanistan and Iraq; Bush’s Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001 (better known as the USA PATRIOT Act); Obama’s covert drone wars against “terrorists” (where any military-aged male in a strike zone is considered a combatant) in Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia; and of course, the recent executive order, titled, Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the US, otherwise known as “the Muslim ban” have effectively fueled the public imaginary about Muslims, and about Islam in the US and elsewhere. All three presidents have used national security and the threat of “Islamic terrorism” as impetus and justification for their actions. These acts of government are a stark reminder that what we are witnessing today is not a radical break from the past: Muslim communities (as well as many other immigrant communities) have long been targeted by policies that threaten their access to basic civil, political, and human rights.^{^[2]}

During the post-9/11 period, hate crimes and acts of discrimination against Muslims have undoubtedly increased dramatically. The advent of social media during this period intensified narratives around the incommensurability of Islam with the US way of life and the trope of the Muslim terrorist. However, according to Pew Research (2017), hate crimes (including assaults, intimidation, vandalism) against Muslims have now surpassed 2001 levels. This more recent surge in discrimination and hate crimes against a large cross-section of the US populace is noteworthy for three reasons: 1) it impacts all communities of color, as well as non-Christian religious groups and LGBTQ people, not just Muslims; 2) hate crimes and micro-aggressions have increased in frequency and severity, especially for Muslims; 3) the increase can be largely attributed to the words and actions of the 45th US president, who announced his candidacy along with public disdain for Islam in June 2015, and has continued his tirade again Muslims and Islam since then. This surge in anti-Muslim sentiment, rhetoric, and actions are mirrored by the rise of the alt-right in Europe. These acts of discrimination, bias, and hate occur both within and outside of educational settings (see Bajaj, Ghaffar-Kucher, Desai, 2015).

Beyond anti-Islamophobia: Developing anti-racist, anti-imperialist education

Educators and activists have been responding to this increase in Islamophobia through educational interventions, such as workshops about Islam to highlight the religion's virtues, or encouraging individuals to “make a Muslim friend”, or displaying posters with women wearing US flags as hijabs. Unfortunately, these interventions do not tackle the issues of racism and imperialism that actually undergird Islamophobia. Rather—while perhaps well-intentioned—these approaches are founded on a thin understanding that the root of Islamophobia is simply misinformation about “true Islam.” More perniciously, these efforts reinforce the idea that there are “good Muslims” (who are just like the rest of “us”) and “bad Muslims.” This suggests that if we can recognize the distinction, we might include the former, and exclude the latter, from our society.

In a broader political context that demonizes Muslims as some kind of alien humans who are violent, oppressive, and more, banal multiculturalism (the sharing and celebrating cultural diversity) can feel like an important corrective (Abu El-Haj, 2002). In fact, Muslim groups are at the forefront of these interventions. The problems with the banal multicultural approach are numerous: It foregrounds an ethic of “tolerance” for diversity and pluralism, which on the surface seems a positive virtue, but in actuality is an inadequate response to structural racism. Moreover, in stressing the idea that “good Muslims” are just like the rest of “us”, who may practice their religion differently, but who do not question the basic goodness and virtue of the US, this approach leaves no room for productive conflict and dissent. Banal multiculturalism requires Muslims (or any minoritized group) to conform; further, it encourages characterizations of any political critique of the “Western world” as disloyal and potentially dangerous. Finally, too often, education about “true Islam” glosses over the vast diversity of Muslim communities, both within the US and across the world. Obscuring this diversity feeds a clash of civilizations discourse that there is a fundamental fight between the “West” and the “Muslim world.”

What is needed is a shift from educating about Islam to critical engagement with systemic racism embedded in US national and international policies. These relations at home and abroad need to be made visible and understood. Social Studies is a clear venue for such an endeavor but currently, it teaches a white-washed perversion of U.S. and world histories, leaving little room for engagement with the limits of American exceptionalism. Seventeen years into the most recent US military invasions and interventions in numerous Muslim majority countries, a generation of students remain ignorant to the devastating effects of these ongoing wars on children and families in too many places. Rather than more workshops about what Muslims really believe, children and adults in the US need systemic and serious education about the racism Muslims face within the “West”^{^[3]}, and the effects of imperial policies on lives across many Muslim countries.

Hope is in the new solidarity

The silver lining to this otherwise dismal picture is that, as we are witnessing an attack on civil liberties and human rights, we are also seeing a concurrent growth in activism and solidarity across groups. For example, there were no notable demonstrations following the passage of the USA PATRIOT Act; contrast that with the scores of demonstrations following each of the iterations of the Muslim ban. Thus, in parallel to the increased animosity towards Muslims, there is also growth in support for Muslims the likes of which have not been seen before. This can be partially attributed to the collective disdain for the current president by White liberals and their awakening to Islamophobia. Furthermore, there is a clear generational shift among young people who recognize that there is no hierarchy in oppression, and that solidarity is the best way forward.

Muslim youth are no exception to the current wave of activism and solidarity. In the midst of a study we are leading in collaboration with Arshad Ali, Michelle Fine, and Roozbeh Shirazi, we are seeing echoes of these broader shifts in terms of young Muslims’ self-perceptions and attitudes toward their rights, citizenship, and feelings of belonging. Often taunted and told to “go back to your country”, these youth—the children of immigrants and US citizens—are willing to speak up more than previous generations of Muslim immigrants. They have come to recognize themselves as people of color and hence are showing more solidarity with various marginalized and minoritized groups (POC, LGBTQ, etc.). They are also more cognizant of Whiteness, and of issues of colonialism and imperialism worldwide.

Many youth today recognize the limits of the Islamophobia framework and how it impacts their own sense of citizenship and belonging. Instead they see the ways in which their stories are entangled with the legacy of, and struggle against, US imperialism^{^[4]}. As such, we are witnessing a proliferation of anti-racist and anti-imperialist movements led by youth from Muslims communities who are demanding recognition as full citizens and fighting for justice within and across affinity groups and national borders. Exit east? No, the Muslims are here to stay.

References

Abu El-Haj, T. R. (2002). Contesting the politics of culture, rewriting the boundaries of inclusion: Working for social justice with Muslim and Arab communities. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 33(3), 308-316.
Abu El-Haj, T.R. (2007). ‘‘I was born here, but my home, it’s not here’’: Educating for democratic citizenship in an era of transnational migration and global conflict. Harvard Educational Review, 77(3), 285–316.
Abu El-Haj, T.R. (2010). The beauty of America. Nationalism, Education, and the War on Terror. Harvard Educational Review, 80(2), 244-274.
Abu El-Haj, T. R. (2015). Unsettled Belonging: Educating Palestinian American youth after 9/11. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Bajaj, M., Ghaffar-Kucher, A., & Desai, K. (2016). Brown Bodies and Xenophobic Bullying in U.S. Schools: Critical Analysis and Strategies for Action. Harvard Educational Review, 86(4), 481-505.
Boggs, C. (2003). Introduction: Empire and globalization. In C. Boggs (Ed.), Masters of war: Militarism and blowback in the era of American empire, pp. 1-16. New York: Routledge.
Ghaffar-Kucher, A. (2012). The religification of Pakistani-American Youth. American Educational Research Journal. 49(1), 30-52.
Ghaffar-Kucher, A. (2015). “Narrow-minded and oppressive" or a “superior culture”? Implications of Divergent Representations of Islam for Pakistani-American Youth. Race Ethnicity and Education, 18(2), 202-224.
Gregory, D. (2004). The colonial present. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing.
Khalidi, R. (2004). Resurrecting empire: Western footprints and America’s perilous path in the Middle East. Boston: Beacon Press.
Maira, S. (2009). Missing: Youth, citizenship, and empire after 9/11. Durham: Duke University Press.
Mamdani, M. (2004). Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror. New York: Random House.

^{^[1]} Estimates suggest that between 15-30% of enslaved people brought to the Americas were Muslim.

^{^[2]} Even prior to 9/11, both the Reagan and Carter administrations had their own “Muslim boogeymen” whom they used to galvanize public fear to support their policies against Muslim countries and communities. Carter’s ban on granting Iranian visas was different from the current Muslim Ban; however, Regan’s failed proposal for Muslim internment was quite similar to the Muslim ban and in fact more extreme.

^{^[3]} We acknowledge that racism against Muslims does not only occur in the West but also many other countries in the world, for example, China.

^{^[4]} By U.S. imperialism we mean the range of strategies of global dominance this country leverages that are characterized by explicit and more invisible forms of power exercised through economic, military, cultural, and politics means (Boggs, 2003; Gregory, 2004; Khalidi, 2004; Maira, 2009)

�鶹��Ƶ the Authors

Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher, EdD (@ameenaGK) is a senior lecturer at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education. Her work examines themes of migration, citizenship, belonging, with a special focus on South Asian and Muslim immigrant communities in the US. She is on the advisory board of MTV’s anti-bias “Look Different” public awareness campaign. Follow her on twitter: @AmeenaGK

Thea Renda Abu El-Haj, PhD, is an associate professor at Barnard College, Columbia University. Her second book, Unsettled Belonging: Educating Palestinian American youth after 9/11 (2015, University of Chicago Press) offers an ethnographic account of young Palestinian Americans grappling with questions of belonging and citizenship in the wake of September 11, 2001.

Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher and Thea Abu El-Haj explore issues of citizenship particularly as it relates to Muslims in the United States. They explain how hate crimes and discrimination on Muslims have developed and offer examples of how educators and activists are responding to Islamophobia.
// Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher y Thea Abu El-Haj exploran asuntos acerca de la ciudadanía, especialmente aquellos relacionados a los musulmanes en Estados Unidos. Ellas explican como se han desarrollado crímenes de odio y discriminación en contra de los musulmanes y ofrecen ejemplos de cómo educadores/as y activistas están respondiendo a la islamophobia.

Off

Traditional

White

Unnatural Disasters, Displacement, and the Second-Class Citizen

Anonymous — Wed, 12 Dec 2018 18:41:17 +0000

Unnatural Disasters, Displacement, and the Second-Class Citizen Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 12/12/2018 - 11:41

Astrid Sambolín Morales , Molly Hamm-Rodríguez

PDF

Student artwork celebrating the Puerto Rican community at a student-led holiday event in a Tampa, Florida high school. Los Boricuas somos el adobo que Dios ha rociado por el mundo para darle sabor a esta tierra (We Boricuas are the seasoning that God has sprinkled throughout the world to give flavor to this land).

What happens when students are forced to leave home unexpectedly due to disaster? Do schools serve as spaces of refuge, or do they inadvertently deepen trauma? Our education system can no longer afford to ignore these questions. Natural disasters that were once perceived as isolated incidents are growing in frequency and expected to intensify. As a result, more communities will receive populations displaced by disasters, ultimately revealing pre-existing social inequalities and exposing human-created causes and effects. Last year, Hurricane María wreaked havoc on Puerto Rico, a U.S. colony already suffering from high unemployment and poverty rates. Some scholars, including ourselves, argue that the aftermath of Hurricane María is best described as an unnatural disaster whose effects were compounded by colonialism and its relationship to the island’s natural resources and citizenry. Even though Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens, the arrival of nearly 160,000 Puerto Ricans to the mainland U.S. since Hurricane Maria (including thousands of K-12 students) has revealed the limits of citizenship for racialized subjects in the wake of disaster.

As children and youth from Puerto Rico began enrolling in U.S. schools to avoid long-term disruptions to their education, we carried out a study to examine the effects of displacement on students arriving to Central Florida. While programs and policies were put in place to assist students and families with the transition, participants repeatedly shared how they were met with unfulfilled promises when “welcomed” by the government. For example, families who arrived on humanitarian flights and were given FEMA hotel vouchers endured significant duress as the government regularly threatened to terminate the program with as little as one month’s notice. Teachers shared that many students “came with the hurricane effect”: they were “traumatized”, “didn’t want to be here”, and “their heart [was in] going back to Puerto Rico”. Not only was the abrupt disruption to their lives painful, but the inequitable recovery process on the island and the lack of supports available in receiving communities made the choice of staying or returning complicated. Although many would highlight U.S. citizenship as an advantage that has enabled Puerto Ricans to move back and forth seeking better conditions after the disaster, less attention has been paid to the second-class nature and limitations of that citizenship.

The U.S. government has repeatedly demonstrated reluctance to confer the full benefits of citizenship to Puerto Ricans given the island’s status as a U.S. colony. Hurricane María laid bare this reality. For example, Puerto Rican residents received less aid from FEMA than states recently affected by hurricanes, and more than half of FEMA applications for assistance made by Puerto Ricans were rejected. Scholars in the field of disaster studies often note that disasters do not create inequity but simply reaffirm and deepen structural problems that already existed. Systemic inequities contribute to families with fewer resources being more likely to live in areas that are most vulnerable to the effects of disaster, while also being less likely to receive assistance. The inability (and indifference) of the U.S. government to sufficiently respond to the needs of Puerto Ricans—both those who stayed on the island and those who arrived to the mainland U.S.—reinforces this fact. In fact, throughout the past year, Puerto Ricans in Florida have continually been framed by politicians, media, and the public as foreigners undeserving of short and long-term recovery benefits. What are newly arrived students to make of this sentiment? The message is clear: Citizenship on paper does not automatically confer rights nor a sense of belonging.

What did this second-class citizenship mean for the educational experiences of Puerto Rican students displaced by the hurricane? Although most of the students arriving to Florida were primarily Spanish speaking, they found themselves in a new school system that denies full access to learning in their home language. While individual schools provided language support to newly arrived students, the pressure of taking standardized tests in English was particularly difficult for both teachers and students alike. One teacher, referring to her students, said, “sometimes they’ll think ‘what is wrong with her? Why doesn’t she understand?’ And it’s not what’s wrong, I have to move you forward, and I know you can do it...but it’s as stressful for them as it is for us because we have these standards and accountabilities and all this stuff sitting in the back of our heads”. Even the practice tests leading up to the high-stakes exams presented major challenges. As another teacher shared, “the test does not count for them, per se, but the stress counts for them...and that lives inside of them”. Acknowledging these challenges, the district advocated to the Florida Department of Education to request that students be allowed to take the tests in their home language. Although this option is available and encouraged by the federal Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), the district’s efforts were unsuccessful. In fact, Florida was the last state to receive approval of their plan under ESSA, and the plan does not provide the option to test in languages other than English. For those who chose to pursue a Florida high school diploma, the required standardized tests ultimately assessed not only their content knowledge but their English language proficiency as well. Thus, hundreds of Puerto Rican high school students who arrived at an English-dominant system in their junior and senior years—some only temporarily—could not fully demonstrate their knowledge on these exams.” In some instances, students doubted their ability to pass the exam and chose to receive a Puerto Rico diploma, foregoing access to in-state college tuition opportunities as a result.

The educational effects of Hurricane María are not limited to students in the mainland U.S. More than 200 schools on the island have been closed, and teachers in Florida are expecting what they deemed “another tidal wave of students from Puerto Rico”. Continuing to invoke hurricane imagery, these teachers guessed that their district--home to a pre-established Puerto Rican community--would be “the first spot that’s going to be hit”. There are, of course, striking parallels to what happened to schools in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. An influx of white-led organizations as well as white volunteers and aspiring reformers exploited the disaster for profit, not only displacing residents of color in affected communities but taking over local institutions and privatizing the school system through charter schools. As author Naomi Klein argues, disaster capitalism often takes advantage of “public disorientation” and shock after crises to move corporate initiatives forward. Puerto Rico has been no exception. Beyond the economic crisis that has burdened the island and caused significant out-migration long before the hurricane, the disaster has opened space for investors to buy up land, private companies to profit from recovery efforts, and charter schools to be introduced into the public education system. Disaster-induced migration is far from over.

These examples demonstrate that there are indeed limits to citizenship and full inclusion in society for racialized, colonial subjects. These limits have affected the demands that Puerto Ricans have been able to make on the government to assist with recovery efforts, to provide for families that are displaced, and to support the needs of culturally and linguistically diverse students. Formal citizenship, in other words, has never been enough. We must resist imagining citizenship as a legal document that automatically confers rights to individuals and instead question the ways in which some are systematically excluded from accessing those rights regardless of documentation status.

�鶹��Ƶ the authors

Astrid N. Sambolín Morales is a PhD candidate in the Educational Equity and Cultural Diversity program at the �鶹��Ƶ. Her research interests include translanguaging, bilingual education, critical theories of race, and culturally sustaining/responsive pedagogies.

Molly Hamm-Rodríguez is a PhD student in the Educational Equity and Cultural Diversity program at the �鶹��Ƶ. She is interested in community-based research with youth and families focused on histories and experiences of migration, place, language, and social identity.

Astrid Sambolín Morales and Molly Hamm-Rodríguez write about the effects of Hurricane María on Puerto Rican students in Florida. Their research shows that formal citizenship does not lead to rights nor a sense of belonging for Puerto Ricans who moved to the mainland as a cause of the hurricane.
//
Astrid Sambolín Morales y Molly Hamm-Rodríguez escriben sobre los efectos del huracán María para los estudiantes puertorriqueños en la Florida. Su investigación muestra que una ciudadanía formal no otorga derechos ni resulta en un sentido de pertenencia para los puertorriqueños que se han mudado a los Estados Unidos tras el paso del huracán.

Off

Traditional

White