I was born and raised in New York City as a white middle-class person. I went to decent public schools that tried their best to keep me safe. I was never taught about transness, and my knowledge about sexuality was strictly internet-based. This made coming out to myself, my friends, and my family challenging. When I came out as transgender, I didn’t know about the “T” in LGBTQ+. I might have seen stereotypes and fetishized examples of transgender folks from the media, but that was not enough for me to truly understand my community. If anything, only being given stereotypes about transgender people made me more concerned about fitting into those exact stereotypes to belong, when in actuality I wish I had focused more on being my authentic self. I never received any specific LGBTQ+ safety education or boundary-setting skills. Not having this information or skills added to my vulnerability and led to my experiencing different types of trauma at a young age. When I came out as transgender at 18, I had to balance being safe in my body, my mental health, and safety in public. I had to ask myself if it was worth feeling gender dysphoria if it meant feeling safe(r).
Now I work in private schools where my students that are in the LGBTQ+ community have more resources and support. Regardless, I find that growing up LGBTQ+ in New York City still comes with challenges, no matter the types of resources the students have at school. Even in well-meaning and well-resourced private schools, LGBTQ+ students experience different levels of aggression from peers, friends, and romantic partners all because of their identity. LGBTQ+ teens still justifiably fear experiencing identity-based discrimination from strangers, due to our cultural climate towards LGBTQ+ children and teens. Growing up LGBTQ+ in New York City is still dangerous and complicated.
As a young person, no one ever sat me down and told me that bystanders could be biased against me for presenting as queer. When I experienced my first homophobic/transphobic experience with a stranger, I was shocked that the closest bystander, who was standing next to the aggressive person, did nothing. Connecting with other trans adults helped me understand that I was not alone in this experience.
When we teach violence prevention and resistance skills in groups that are all genders and sexualities, we acknowledge that activating a bystander might not always work, but it can still break the privacy the aggressor thinks they have. For LGBTQ+ students, there needs to be an acknowledgment that if the aggression is anti-LGBTQ+, bystanders may do nothing if they hold the same bias or even may choose to take part in the harassment. In other words, the standard advice doesn’t necessarily apply equally to all my students. At what age do we introduce the possibility that bystanders aren’t always good samaritans? Because it can work, I still want students to hold this as a possible strategy but it comes with a caveat.
While I was in school, I never knew if my teachers were going to be passive bystanders or active allies. In my experience, none ever made an effort to protect LGBTQ+ students from being harassed or bullied. Most of the time it felt like they would see or hear something and then turn the other way. I wonder while working in private schools that have the funding and resources to have GSAs or Pride groups if the students I work with still face that problem. In a survey, when asked if they wanted a class for just LGBTQ+ students, one student replied that they didn’t think it was necessary to have a different or specific curriculum as long as the cisgender and heterosexual students learn to be allies.
I now wonder as a teacher and leader in the room, what can I do to make sure that my students feel that they can trust me to be their ally. It’s not enough to be queer-identifying, I still need to actively create a safe space for my students. I often try to do this by talking about my own experiences and storytelling. I find that the students appreciate honesty and appropriately sharing with my students is a protective factor.
My research on LGBTQ+ teen safety shows a clear need for more work to protect this community. One study found that having GSA or Pride groups in schools is a protective factor due to the group creating a safe space for the students to be themselves and to have safe conversations. Affinity groups are linked to overall safer school climates. Yet, it is equally acknowledged that more work needs to be done in creating allyship between students in all schools.
Moving forward with the creation of a new LGBTQ+-specific teen class plan, I want to highlight allyship in both discussions and practice. It’s not enough to give LGBTQ+ students the tools to protect themselves, they need to know they can count on folks outside their identity to be a part of creating safer communities. While it can be empowering and healing to be taught how to defend oneself, it doesn’t stop aggressors from targeting our students. We need to work to change the culture that they live in to be more understanding and inclusive of their needs. This change starts with working with their school communities. This includes their classmates, teachers, school administrators, and parents. By educating entire school communities, our LGBTQ+ students may experience a safer environment in at least one place in their lives.
Rayne Zand Halstuch