Silenced

The following post is an excerpt from a paper I had to write for grad. school.

On the National Day of Silence—a day on which hundreds of thousands of students nationwide take a vow of silence to raise awareness of the anti-GLBT bullying and harassment in schools—my students silenced me, their gay teacher.

I’ve been both haunted and humbled by my students’ responses to homosexuality. Some students believe gay people are sinners and therefore are going to hell. Some students believe gay people are disgusting and repulsive. Some students believe gay people are, well, just normal people. Some students believe gay people are wonderful and beautiful individuals who should be embraced and cherished by society. My students’ responses to homosexuality—or any sexual orientation that strays from heterosexuality—fall on a wide spectrum ranging from complete acceptance to tolerance to intolerance to virulent hate. During the last year and a half, I’ve come out to two students—Chris and Eliana. Both students are gay. Both students struggled with their sexuality. Both have inspired me.

E

E was in my sophomore ELA class last year. She was bright, inquisitive, talented. During the fall she was an obnoxious student—always talking, laughing inappropriately in class, disruptive at times. So, we butted heads. On a mid-April morning around 7:55 a.m. while frantically preparing for second period, I noticed E walk into the Main Office, her parents not far behind her. They stopped to talk in the hall, and I proceeded after E, concerned.

“E, what’s up?”

“Oh nothing Ms. Brady,” she replied, her eyes transfixed on the floor’s discolored linoleum tiles.

“You sure?”

“Uhh. My parents found out I’m gay. Again.”

“Again?”

“Yea, they found out last year and grounded me for the entire summer.”

“Oh, no, I am sorry,” I replied, not really knowing what to say next.

“It’s OK Miss.”

“So they found out you’re gay. But why are they here?”

“They want my girlfriend suspended,” she said.

“Suspended? What? Why?”

“Because they said she turned me gay.”

I realized if I hid my sexuality from her I could inadvertently cause her to lose more hope and crawl deeper and deeper into a closet she so unwillingly constructed.

“E, I’m proud of you. You’re courageous. I was nowhere near as brave as you were when I was in high school. I hid until college. I was too afraid of coming out--my family, my friends. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you Miss, that means so much.” We had never understood each other more completely.

Before we could conclude our conversation, her parents walked into the office. I introduced myself, albeit reluctantly. I wanted to yell at them and tell them they were destroying their daughter, pushing her away, forcing her to isolate herself from them and the rest of society. I wanted to tell them they were permanently scarring her. Instead, I walked away.

Later, E told me that her parents dropped her off at school, picked her up immediately every day. They forbid her to take part in extracurricular activities, cheerleading, or hang out with friends. At home, she retreated to her room, never leaving because when she did they harassed her. She stopped eating and lost weight. She fell victim to her parents’ homophobia and complete misunderstanding of her. In June she told me her parents were forcing her to transfer because the school “was too gay.” The last time I saw her she was walking down the street away from the school after taking her last Regents exam.

“Please email me if you ever need to talk,” I said as we stopped on the corner.

“I will, Miss.” She walked down the Grand Concourse and out of my life.

(In October, E’s girlfriend flagged me down in the hall. She said E wanted to relay a message to me: “Thank you, Ms. Brady, for your support and everything you did for me last year. I'll email soon.” A few simple words. But they meant so much to me.)

C

I first met C in my freshman Writing Seminar last fall. He was slightly overweight, proud of his Puerto Rican heritage, self conscious, insecure, a “ladies’ man.” I sensed early on in the year that Chris was grappling with his sexuality. He seemed out of place among his friends who were all girls. As the year progressed, I noticed that he was changing. He began losing weight, his group of friends changed, he became more sure of himself in class. I wanted to reach out to him, but at the same time I did not want to offend or hurt him in my attempt to offer an ear.

On the National Day of Silence last April I asked the students who participated to reflect on why they took a vow of silence. In his reflection, C came out to me. In May, my students wrote I-search papers on a hero who had inspired them. C chose to write about Harvey Milk. Over the next month, I saw him grow significantly as a student and individual. He took ownership of his education, became proactive. He came out to his group of friends who now seemed to love him more than they ever did before. They admired his courage, his strength, his convictions about his identity.

Fast-forward four months to September. C sported a purple mohawk, wore faded skinny jeans, got his lip pierced, pinned a rainbow flag next to his Puerto Rican one on his backpack. He was out, and proud to be out, but depressed at the same time. His parents struggled to accept his new “lifestyle.” He struggled with their inability to support and understand him. But he was confident and had found a great group of friends who accepted him for who he was. A few times, I slipped a post-it note to him during class--“Hey C. I can see you’re upset by something, and that worries me. If you need to talk, I’m here.” He’d nod, his eyes averted mine, returning to complete his work mechanically. I worried about him.

In December, he wrote his “coming of age” narrative essay about his experience coming out and how it has empowered him and given him strength to confront any problem. I saw so much of myself in his words. After tearing his essay apart and providing constructive feedback on the writing process, I wrote him a note.

C,

I am both moved and inspired by your story. You’ve written the coming out essay I never wrote. I am proud of your courage. You say that coming out has been both liberating and painful. You’re exactly right. I didn’t have the strength to accept my sexuality until my junior year of college, and it was exactly as you put it--liberating and painful. I felt sure of myself, comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life. I no longer felt like an outcast who hid from the rest of the world. But, after the first time I said the words, “I am gay,” I felt anxious and fearful of how others would perceive me. Like you, I worried about my parents and friends’ reactions. Your story has inspired me. I am very proud of you.

We’ve never talked about being gay. We’ve respected each other’s privacy. We’ve established an unspoken bond and understanding of each other. And he knows I am his ally.

I have been deeply humbled and moved by E’s and C’s courage to come out in an environment that ultimately does not accept gay people. They’ve blazed their own pathways to discover their inextricable identities and true happiness. They’ve given me a renewed courage to take pride in who I am. And they are, in many ways, my heroes.

The Day of Silence, April 16, 2010

I woke up the morning of Friday, April 16 with butterflies in my stomach. It was the Day of Silence. I was excited to see how many students would participate and take a vow of silence to support their GLBT classmates and take a stand against the blatant and subtle homophobia in schools. I was nervous about hearing anti-gay slurs or witnessing harassment. Before second period, I pinned a “National Day of Silence” pin to my button-down and slipped on a red bracelet that read, “What will you do to end the silence?” over my wrist. I made my alliance to the GLBT community visible for the second time in two years.

The day was running smoothly until eighth and ninth period. During eighth period, a student shouted out.

“Miss. Why you wearin’ that pin?”

“Because I support the Day of Silence.”

“For gay people? And why aren’t you silent?”

“It’s for anyone who rejects the homophobia gay and lesbian kids face. And I am taking a stand to support tolerance.”

“Oh. Well, you gay?”

“Sessay, I’m not discussing my private life here. I’m saying I’m supporting the students who have been silenced by their homophobic peers.”

“Oh. Can I have your bracelet then? I support the Day of Silence.”

“Sure,” I said, masking my incredulity.

(The very next day Sessay asked if gay people could get married in New York. When I said they couldn’t, she replied, “Good. Gay people are nasty.”)

In 9th period, the students were completing an Anticipation Guide to prepare them to read Othello. One of the statements was, “Jealous boyfriends are good because they protect their girlfriends.”

“Well, Miss, what if I don’t have a boyfriend? What if I have a girlfriend?” Andrea said.

“Andrea, sure, you could change it to girlfriend or significant other. The reason I used ‘boyfriend’ is because in Othello Desdemona’s husband is jealous.”

“Oh, OK.”

Sasha, overhearing this conversation screamed, “You nasty. Girlfriend? What are you gay?”

“No!”

“Good. Gay people disgust me.”

Half the class silently perked their heads up to see what I’d say. The other half laughed and encouraged her. I asked Sasha to walk outside with me so we could talk, otherwise she would have made a scene. I asked her if she knew why I wanted to talk to her.

“Because I said that shit about gay people.”

“And do you understand why that is hurtful or offensive?”

“Miss. No one in the room is gay. I know that.”

“Sasha, whether there are gay people in the room or not, your words are inappropriate.”

“Oh, OK. You’re right.”

We returned to the room, and students started sharing their responses. Although I can’t remember how it came up, another student shouted out, “that’s so gay.”

“Guys, can we not use ‘gay’ as a synonym for ‘stupid’? It’s offensive,” I replied calmly but irritation and disgust ate at my stomach. Seriously, when is the bell going to ring?

“Miss, why you offended by that? You goin’ to make us think you gay or somethin’,” Itati yelled, laughing, from the back of the room.

“I’m just supporting tolerance.”

After some sneers and chuckles, I quickly moved on. At that moment, I was deeply hurt and enraged. Am I really the only teacher who ever confronts homophobic comments in the classroom? Do all other teachers enable the comments and let them slide? How could that be possible?

I left school feeling defeated. When I walked to the subway tears slid down my cheeks. My students had done exactly what I was standing up against. They silenced me.