The Courage to Speak Up

I didn’t say a word.

I never saw myself as a person to let a homophobic comment slide. Even from another adult. Even from someone with more power than me in the hierarchy of the school structure. But that day, in that conversation, I just let it go.

We were discussing a student who sometimes agitates students and teachers alike. The only white student in the seventh grade, she has embraced the position as an outlier. Audacious and bright, she dyes her hair red, wears a leather jacket and argues loudly—but respectfully—with teachers and peers. At the time of this discussion, however, she was about to be suspended. 

I argued on her behalf, pointing out that her actions (using a curse word in class) had been an honest mistake. She was talking about the use of those words in an academic context, which I thought was acceptable; the dean disagreed. In charge of discipline and the ultimate enforcer of school policy, the dean steadily pushed back that the student was deliberately pushing boundaries and needed to be put out of school for a day, to remind her she is subject to the same rules as everyone else, and also to assure other students that our school is a just one with clear rules and consequences. 

In his litany of examples about how she is always vying for special treatment, he added, “She’s also told some teachers that she’s gay, which, thank God, the kids don’t know about.”

I was shocked. First of all, I thought, what does that have to do with anything? Coming out of the closet is certainly not something people do in order to get attention. It is not like wearing low-cut shirts or calling out in class. It is a courageous expression of identity. And in our culture, where homophobia is a widespread reality, coming out is often met with verbal and physical harassment. Sure, it would be a challenge to mediate the prejudices of other young teens who haven’t been exposed to an LGBT community, but that’s part of our job. 

In my brain, assumptions about my dean’s homophobia were snowballing as he continued to talk generally about curse words in class. Out of my surprise, and a feeling I had to focus on just this issue of to suspend or not to suspend, I let the comment about her supposed sexuality slide. But I felt awful about it later. 

I get so emotional about these issues, I knew I had to focus on just one thing unless I was ready to speak to my supervisor through stutters and tears. But in taking the path of least resistance, I missed an opportunity to make it easier for a student to safely express who she really is. I regret that.

I realize now that I need to call out coworkers, even supervisors, on remarks I feel are prejudiced. Even if they’re the ones in charge of reviewing my lesson plans. It’s uncomfortable, it’s awkward, but I’m much better equipped to handle that than is a 13-year-old girl who already stands out so much from her peers. And it’s my job. It’s my job not only to stand up for kids, but also to stand against discrimination wherever it comes from. 

I hope I can summon this same amount of conviction in the heat of the next difficult moment. 

And that moment will undoubtedly come.

Craven is a middle school English teacher in Louisiana.