by Sweta Patel

You might guess that this conversation played itself out over and over again throughout my school-age years. You’d be right. But the twist is that this particular conversation happened just yesterday between my tennis coach and myself.
 
I’d like to take you back to 1990 for a moment, when I entered second grade. I was seven years old, eager to fit in. And I was still “Svet-ta.” But that year, my teacher and classmates butchered my name enough times that I resolved to just change it to make it easier for them to pronounce. I was embarrassed each time anyone called me “Sweat-a” or strangely enough, “Sweat-er.” I started telling everyone (well, non-Indians) to call me “Sweet-a.”
 
The name that my seven-year-old self-deemed as more culturally appropriate has continued to follow me into my 30s in all aspects of my life, from my workplace to the tennis courts… and most likely, will continue to stick for life.
 
My own experience with my name has made it a priority for me to get my students’ names right. With each new class, I wonder how many share a similar journey. But most of all, I emphasize that if I ever mispronounce their name, I want them to correct me rather than silently go along with it. I never want to be part of the reason why a student chooses some other name because they feel it's easier for their teacher.

As I write this article, I’m forced to think deeply about why that moment in second grade hits such a nerve. Names are tightly connected to one’s identity. In creating a new name, I feel I cemented an identity split between my Indian and Americanized self. Yes, people often choose to change their pronunciation of certain words in an effort to be understood. (I know this all too well after receiving some funny looks when I asked a teacher for a “bowel” to eat my snack in. It’s how I always heard my parents say it!). But in the case of adopting a new name because others couldn’t pronounce it easily, I feel it was a forced change… that my choice had been taken from me.
 
In the years that followed, I struggled with the yo-yoing back and forth between my two identities. I still remember an open house night during seventh grade. My mom was sitting next to me, listening to my choir teacher talk about the class and expectations. The teacher must have asked me a question, and I answered back with a soft voice. My mom turned to me afterwards and said, “What was that? Where’d your voice go? I’ve never heard you speak so quietly before.” You see, “Sweet-a” was soft-spoken, unsure of her voice and opinions. “Svet-ta” was confident. She spoke and laughed loudly.
 
A more telling moment happened in eighth grade when I passed a bathroom mirror at school. I remember a surreal moment where I was taken aback by the brown skin reflected back at me. I had come to feel very white in those school halls.
 
And now, years later, to my Indian friends, I’m still Svet-ta” - a popular Indian name that signifies “purity.” I cringe every time I have to introduce myself to a non-Indian in front of other Indians as “Sweet-a.” I feel overly American in those moments. I’ve tried to teach these same non-Indians the correct pronunciation, and they do try… but the continued butchering makes me cringe even more. So, the two names have stuck.
 
I don’t know how much of these dual identity experiences and feelings are connected to the moment I adopted a more easily pronounced name. But I do wonder that had I been able to remain “Svet-ta” in school and at home, whether I would have felt more comfortable bringing my Indian self into the classroom. When we’re young, we’re eager to fit in and are quick to reject anything that gets in the way as ‘uncool.’ We try to scrap parts of us that others don’t accept as easily. As an adult, we know that one culture isn’t necessarily better than the other. “Sweet-a” is a nagging reminder of how I shoved my Indian heritage down and hid it away. I regret the feelings of shame that contributed towards the divide.
 
With a new school year almost upon us, I hope that all staff are mindful of working hard to get student names right, the way the student is requesting that it’s pronounced. After one or two failed attempts, students generally just silently accept it. Instead, staff can double check with: “It’s really important to me to get your name right. Please tell me if I’m still missing it.” That statement can go a long way in preventing mispronounced names from sticking not just for that one class and for that one school year, but for the rest of their life.
 
So many in my extended family have similar stories: “Chirag” is “Shiraq.” “Hemant” is “Harry.” “Suresh” is “Sam.” “Roshan” is “Ro-shawn.” And on and on the newly created names go, in an effort to provide “easier” names. My cousin often tells the story of always running to class whenever she’d find out there would be a substitute teacher that day. She didn’t want the class to laugh when the sub would predictably mispronounce her name. So she’d walk up and quietly give her adopted name before her classmates arrived.
 
One idea that districts might adopt is having a place within their student management system (SMS) to include the phonetic pronunciation of students’ names. Imagine if each parent/guardian who registers their new Kindergarten student had a chance to write in how their student’s name is pronounced. This information could then be integrated into their student profile page.
 
Parents/Guardians of current elementary or middle school students might get a pop-up message when they access the SMS system to enter the phonetic pronunciation. Current high school students could enter the information on their own.
 
This change would allow staff a better chance of getting student names right on the first try. It would also help to lessen student anxiety and embarrassment around butchered names. And not to mention, graduation ceremonies would be a lot less painful for students and their families. I can still clearly recall last year’s ceremony: A student walked up to accept her certificate and told the staff member, “How did you get my name wrong? I’ve been here for four years. Really?”

To help our students know that we see them and that we hear them and that we value who they are as they stand before us, we can start with their name and take care to do our best to get it right. ​

Ideas from Lazerbeak & Ilan Blanck, compiled by Nick Truxal

We recently had the great pleasure of speaking with Lazerbeak and Ilan Blanck on our podcast, where we discuss mental health, creativity, curiosity, and a growth mindset.  One thread that, authentically or through sheer force of will, pulled these pieces together was the ability to create and foster a thriving community—a talent Lazerbeak and Ilan have proven to be particularly adept at over their many years in the music industry. 
 
The piece that most intrigues me is that students thirst for community and belonging, yet when educators spend time on building a culture and community, it’s often we tend to build it for our students.  Occasionally, we build it with our students.  In terms of clubs and organizations, we sometimes build it through our students.  However, I have yet to see an educator help students learn how to build a community in which they can belong.
 
In trying to break down the component parts that we may use to help students with community building, we journeyed through several layers of an umbrella process.  Ilan represents these umbrella parts by recommending that we: 

1. Be organized. “Remember people... remember names… remember dates.  Remember who hasn’t [been] seen in awhile… and promises made to get together.”
2. Follow up on those things
3. Be fun to be around and be very charming.  Just be a lovely, good person.

Organization
Of course, we can teach structure and organization.  Through the conversation, Lazerbeak and Ilan elucidated that the organization of a community requires building an organized system that others can easily join.  This also requires having a structure to reach out to those we admire or value—a clear system through which we can reach out to others.  Structured discussions are wonderful in class, but we need to have the skills to engage in face to face or digital environments—to make calls, send emails, begin conversations, or “send out feelers.”

Follow Ups
Following up can include strategies of organization (one strategy they shared outside of this podcast is to keep a list of names and conversations as they take place).  We can, of course, also lean on calendar reminders, clock apps, and other technologies to be notified to follow up.

Being Fun
The piece that may be the hardest to teach—essentially having a tone of approachability—they luckily also had specific ideas for. 

• Showing appreciation whenever possible: things such as handwritten notes, sincere verbal thank yous, or just returning the favor. 
• Showing a sincere curiosity for the work and thoughts of others, both through that initial reach out and in an ongoing fashion.  Such as, how is their dog doing, and what happened with that great song draft they’d created? 
• Taking care of ourselves so we can perform at our best.  They recommended gratitude journals and mindfulness in order to stay at “peak us.”  

So!  I am sincerely curious as to who is out there.  This is my attempt to reach out and see if we can interact a little more often.  I’d like to belong to a community of people who want to grow.  I want to be a part of a community that wants to grow together and that wants to help others to grow.  What say you?  And even if you aren’t interested—thank you for being engaged enough to read this far.

A speech by Ryan Anderson (transcribed by our writing team)

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share with you today.  I want to start with a question.  How many of you actually know something about Social Emotional Learning within the classroom? 
 
I was wondering what that was before I took a class this fall.  If I could put it into one sentence or two, maybe a question, I would have to start with: “How does it feel to be in the classroom?  How does it feel to learn?  Are we recognizing the feelings of each other?”  If I had to put that into why social emotional learning is important, it would be because it is the magic that gets us to the next level. And, recognizing people as individuals in unique circumstances--we aren’t all going to the same place, but us recognizing that we all have potential, understanding how our students feel in the classroom, is equally important as them passing a quiz or test.  Right now, if we think about how we feel… Well, it has been such a crazy year. 
 
I don’t think I really belong as Teacher of the Year, when you consider how everyone else has been able to do such amazing things.  I want to recognize a couple people that could never get educator of the year.  I want to start with Carrie Frank.  Carrie Frank is our Food & Nutrition Director.  I’ve been absolutely amazed at what she has been able to do this year.  If somehow she was asked to feed our entire school district, she would gather as many spoons and pots as needed and get her staff together, and they’d find the resources and make it happen.  She put together an absolutely unbelievable Christmas Dinner.  Because Carrie cares about how people feel and you can’t learn when you’re hungry.  It just doesn’t work as well. And, she cares about all of our students.  She had this gigantic Christmas ham, which I still have some leftovers in our freezer.  I swear to God it was at least 24 pounds.  And it was really good.  Really good.  And she had potatoes, she had string beans, she had rolls, she had dessert...she had everything. ​

I asked her, “Carrie, what do you need help with?”  You know what she said? 
 
“Sign up and take some food.” 
 
That’s all she asked.  Just take.  She is saying, You’re important.  Our students are important.  We need to eat.  It’s all going to be okay.  And she was a superhero.  It would have been so much easier if we had put on a Covidproof, bulletproof vest and taken all the shots to our emotions and peeled it off and thrown it away when we were done, but that’s not the case, because we are human.  Carrie is superhuman.

I’ll tell you who else I really think deserves some recognition because he is superhuman.  It is Steve Herrick: Steve, the custodian.  Steve is also the most popular person in the whole dang school district.  When Steve comes by lunch, the sixth graders chant and pound the tables, “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve;” because, Steve already gets Social Emotional lLearning.  Because he asks kids their name, and then he purposely forgets it and gives them a nickname.  My kids have the nicknames “Larry Bird” and “Harvard” because my son is tall and blonde and my daughter wears a Harvard sweatshirt. Because they already had this rapport.  He remembers them.  He jokes with them.  He shares that it’s “Smiling Wednesday.”  Steve matters.  Steve’s important.  Everyone is important.  Look around the room: we’re all important.

I want to tell you a story.  In fall of 2019, my friend Dan asked me to go skydiving, and skydiving is the type of thing where I’ve always wanted to say I did it, but didn’t really get that excited about falling out of an airplane because that’s pretty scary to me.  I’m not afraid of heights, I like roller coasters, I love a good thrill like that, but jumping out of a plane is pretty scary.
 
But Dan called, so I said, “Let me check the calendar.”
 
Nothing was on the calendar at home, so I checked with my wife, and she said, “Do it.” 
 
I thought to myself, You know, okay.  I guess so.  
 
In the meantime, before I called Dan back, I get a call from Lane Powell, who runs TriState Marching Band Association: it’s all marching band judges that go all over the country.  He said, “Ryan, how would you like to judge the Iowa State Marching Band Competitions?”
 
I said, “Oh, that’d be awesome.  What’s the gig pay?”
 
And he said, “$350.”
 
Dan had just gotten off the phone with me and said the cost [to skydive] was $350. 
 
So now I had absolutely zero excuse.  The calendar is open.  I’m going to have the cash in hand.  We’re going to go skydiving.
 
So, we put this on the calendar, a Sunday morning at 10:00.  I’m nervous as all heck.  Anyway, Skydive Place calls Dan up on Saturday and says, “Hey, we’re overbooked, we’re wondering if we can bump you to another weekend.”
 
Dan calls me, and I said, “If they can’t get us in, I’m not coming man.  I’ve committed, I’ve already lost two nights of sleep, we’re doing this thing.”
 
So, Dan calls them back and says, “We’ve gotta take this if we’re going to do this.”
 
They say, “Fine, we’ll get you in.”

Ideas by Ian Levy (transcribed by our writing team)

Third Eye Education recently had the pleasure of speaking with Ian Levy, both for this podcast episode as well as for this interview where we discuss his new book Hip Hop and Spoken Word Therapy in School Counseling: Developing Culturally Responsive Approaches.  What we found most enjoyable was how applicable the book is to all areas of education.  For the podcast, we focused on ways hip hop can be leveraged as a tool in the classroom and in the counselor’s office.  

For this article—a transcribed interview and the first of a two-part series—Levy and our team focus on the empowerment of students through the creation of space.  

We’d like to focus on chapter four and chapter six, if that's okay?
​
Yeah, absolutely. The office creation and then the cypher chapter. Yeah totally. Those would be great.

Perfect.  A question from Jean Prokott, our poet in residence: Could creating space translate to classrooms and to broader educational use in some way?  What obstacles prevent that from happening?

When I think about creating space, I think about the ambiguous, hard to find emotional space, and then the physical space.  I think about both spaces.  The physical space is more the focus of chapter four, in particular.  It boils down to: Why do we create spaces based on an assumption of what feels comfortable for youth rather than saying, “Hey, what kind of space do you want to come into every day?” 

It is a very simple idea, but a powerful one.  This came from years of experiences being in schools—we come in those few weeks before school starts and we get our room set up and we plan really hard.  That is really wonderful and we get a lot of great work done in that time.  But I don’t think it always involves youth voices.  It is based on our assumptions, but not that next step of, “Hey, what do you want to do?  How do you want to design that space?”

When I looked at the literature, there wasn’t a lot on that.  When you look at differences culturally--What does it mean to create a space that is inclusive and intersectional?—that didn’t really exist at all.  I found a multicultural checklist that was like: put some posters on the wall of different cultures. That was as close as it came, which was so far off the mark.  So, there was this pivot to say, “Hey, I’m just going to go into school and work with the youth to define what it is that a space needs to look and feel like for them to want to talk about their emotions within that space.”  

When I started thinking about where that happens in hip hop—the studio has always been that.  Rappers explain studios as spaces for personal transformation: as comfortable environments where they can engage in this emotional labor.  Those spaces are usually—dim lighting, comfortable seating, being able to sit with other people and process things out loud: very lounge-like.  It is interesting because the little bit of literature about asking youth, even after the fact, those things came up: dim lighting, couch—all the things the studio has already been doing.  There’s evidence that those are helpful, but no one has connected those things and said, “Let me take some young people and say, ‘Why don’t you help me create a space?’”  

The other reason is more dialogical.  What skills do educators have or lack that allow or don’t allow emotions to come to surface?  If a space is a safe space, a lot of the time we conflate a space where there is no tension to be what we need.  A space where we ignore the difficult stuff isn’t the answer.  A radically uncomfortable space isn’t the answer, either.  But I know from group processes that this storming phase of group work—that groups have to be in—this place of discomfort is needed to get to a place of cohesion. We need to be able to facilitate dialogues in a space that youth have decided is the space for them to feel comfortable.  Then, conversations need to occur in that space: emotions can come up, difficult conversations can occur. Get us to a place of cohesion.

What is so impressive about chapter four in particular, but the book in general, is that any doubts you have--for example, “I could give students the voice and the opportunity to shape the room, but that’s going to take time, and that’s time that I could be spending instructing.  I could be helping with skills around my content...”--you’ve gone on to show that: student voice is the skill.  Their participation is helping grow their skills faster and be more productive.  

What skills stood out to you in terms of the things students developed as they went through this process with you?

There are skills that students developed and skills that students had.  I learned a lot about the skills that students had that I might not have seen before.  

Students were putting the microphone in a specific place so that there would be some ability to have privacy. If I put the mic in a specific way, one where I am facing all the other students, then all eyes are on me while I’m sharing. But, if I’m facing this corner wall nook, I’m away from everything else.  So students knew how to create a pocket of security within a room.  ​

But also, this act of sharing and being heard within the studio, students valued it on a personal level, but then they started to think about this ability to showcase empathy and wanting to uplift others; which is something hip hop says, “each one teach one.”  Youth saying, “Hey, this space is really great for us.  We could use this space for freshmen when they come next year.”  Youth were starting to think about how the studio itself was not just a space for them to process or work through whatever they needed to, but then [how it] could become this large component of school culture and could shift policy and practices within the school to make it more safe and inclusive for all students that come into the school building.  ​

There was self-advocacy, the ability for youth to look out for each other—to showcase empathy and compassion for their peers, and to show they have this knowledge already.  

I’ve had schools that have tried so hard to create a nice transition program for youth that are coming into the school building.  While students working inside the studio figured out a more appropriate and valuable process within a couple weeks.  When we relinquish power, everything happens, because youth already have a lot of the skills that we think they need to develop.  Maybe they can be refined, and built upon, and explored in new ways, but the core of those behaviors exist within youth already, and that is very humanistic. We just need to create the conditions for those to then shine and be cultivated further.  

You spoke about collaboration.  Another question from our poet in residence, Jean: Have you noticed that creating space at school translates to creating space in the wider community?  How can students owning their space exist outside of the school building?

I think that this kind of a space invites parts of youth that historically have been relegated to only exist outside of the building to come into the building.  I might love hip hop, and love the cypher, but I’ve got to go do that somewhere else.  Maybe I even cut school to go to a cypher or go hang out with my friends and rap.  Because those forms of who I am are not welcomed in that school.  So now we say—you can enter this space; which not only upholds part of who youth are outside of school, but it also naturally creates bridges to foster connections.  

I’ve had parents come for parent meetings and see a studio in the corner of the office and be like, “Hey, you know I make beats,” and then offer to do workshops outside of school.  I’ve had DJs reach out who are in the local community that heard student’s songs on Soundcloud somehow, and say, “Hey, I was a student in the Bronx, too.  I wish we had this when I was in school.  Let me come and do some work with your students.”  The community will come.  “If you build it they will come” [Field of Dreams].

If you create the confines for this to occur. If you validate and appreciate the skills—that youth and community, youth and families have, the assets they have—and you allow them to exist within the school, then all of the ones that exist around it—the ancillary partners, collaborators, stakeholders—they’ll come.  They will flock towards the school.  I’ve heard time and again from parents and others that came into the school, “I wish we had this when I was in school.”  

This is again in the Bronx, where a lot of my research is done.  Parents that were saying that were the same age as the students I work with in the 70s and 80s.  They resonated with the culture in a huge way and loved seeing it in the school.  The community was ready for it.  We just weren’t ready for it.  The school, the education system weren’t ready for it.  So once you open that door, it’s all going to come in as long as you’re authentically engaging in it. How do you do this from an authentic place? I think those connections form and youth are upheld and their communities are upheld when you invite hip hop to exist within the school.
​

The book is really good at talking about realness and authenticity--and helping the reader to understand what that means.  

Part of what you are talking about also connects to something coming up.  We will be having a discussion with Lazerbeak & Ilan Blanck on the podcast: they are teaching us how to build community.  In having those conversations, we realized we don’t teach our students how to build the community they are desperate for.  At every age level, they want to know how to belong to one, and we don’t teach them how to create one.  

The work you did empowering students--showing them how to collaborate--you were teaching them how to create a community.  Was that intentional?  A happy byproduct?  Would you have any advice to help other schools in being more purposeful in teaching young people to create communities?

Again, I would return to something I was saying before, which is that the hip hop community understands in a very deep and personal way how to create community.  I don’t think it is teaching youth to create community as it's calling on the power and potential of hip hop to foster community.   

When the Bronx was literally burning and falling apart, rival gang leaders said, “We’re not going to do this any more.  Let’s form communities.”  They came together in the midst of the chaos that surrounded it to chart a path forward and process.  That is the origin of hip hop. 

I like to think sometimes of the studio work as a microcosm of that much larger process.  School isn’t an inviting place: it's kind of all falling apart.  I’ve worked with a lot of young people who were traditionally struggling, or at risk, or however the school wanted to frame them (even though that’s a deficit way of framing our youth); then the youth came together to create community—to make sense of all of the chaos that is surrounding them.  It wasn’t super intentional to form community.  The intention was: let’s make a mixtape—let’s make a studio.  Through doing something that was inherently connected to hip hop, through creating some physical product connected to hip culture, that community formed.  

Facilitating as a group counselor, [I] naturally processed things and worked through tensions to build cohesion. I operated with a group counseling mindset, which naturally is about fostering community.  

Again, I cannot understate that youth are hungry for connection: they’re hungry for community building. Yet, there are never—or seldom—authentic ways for community to be fostered.  We’re asking youth to build community inside a sterile classroom where they’ve never learned real things about each other and they don’t know their teacher very well.  That kind of environment doesn’t pull on the innate community building skills and tactics that youth have been given as a result of identifying with hip hop.  When you allow hip hop to come in, a community is built.  It is overly simplistic, but it is inherent, so it will happen whether or not intentional about it.  It’s a cool thing.

Next week, you can look forward to part two of our interview with Ian Levy.

A taste of what to expect: it opens with the statement, "One of the nice things about talking to you is that you make my mind jump to places that I wasn’t anticipating." 

Excited? We are...​

A Hip Hop Education
​with Ian Levy | 5.25.21
Ian Levy discusses authentic empowerment of students through hip hop—​a truly fantastic conversation. ​

by Heather M. F. Lyke

 -- first published in June 2018 ​by RPS Secondary Curriculum & Instruction   |  edited May 2021 — 

It’s almost June: a month full of farmers’ markets, graduation parties, and fairs. (If we're lucky, this summer we will have all of that again.) June is also the month of Pride (read about the origin of Pride and other such details here in this CNN article).
 
Spring and summer are a great time to reflect on our educational practices. Combine that with Pride Month in June, and it’s only fitting to reflect on how our practices specifically impact our LGBTQ+ students, staff, and families.  How can we as educators work toward a space where all—including our LGBTQ+ students, staff, and families—feel safe and welcome in our classrooms and schools?
 
To compile a list of ideas on this topic, I anonymously surveyed three dozen LGBTQ+ individuals and their allies, many of whom are current or former students of schools in Southeast Minnesota (SEMN) and some of whom currently work in SEMN schools. I looked for what themes arose from their feedback, and resoundingly these were the four key takeaways:

A first step in understanding and supporting LGBTQ+ students, staff, and families is to take a look at your current understanding. I’m reminded of a poster I commonly see in classrooms nowadays that reads, “It’s okay not to know, but it’s not okay not to try.” The same sentiment seems hold true here. If you don’t currently have a full understanding of the LGBTQ+ community, that’s okay; however, showing the community that you are trying to build your understanding goes a long way.
 
A few places to start:
 
Know the statistics.

• 5.6% of American adults publically identify as LGBTQ+ (with younger generations of Americans, specifically those born between 1980 and 1999, that percentage is almost double at 8.1%), according to this 2020 Gallup poll
• 6.4% of American women identify as LGBTQ+, compared to 4.9% of American men, according to this 2020 Gallup poll
• 8-18% of 9-11th graders in Minnesota identify as LGBTQ+, according to a comprehensive survey of Minnesota high school students shared in this 2017 Minnesota State Health assessment (see page 14)

As an educator, this data tells me:

• If I see 150 students in a day, anywhere from 7 to 27 of them likely identify as LGBTQ+
• If each of my 150 students were from two parent/guardian households, roughly 15 to 55 of the parents/guardians I work with in a year likely identify as LGBTQ+
• If I work in a district with 100 staff, approximately 5 of them likely identify as LGBTQ+

 
Know the terminology.
If unsure of what the letters in ‘LGBTQ+’ stand for (or in ‘LGBTQQIAAP2S’ for that matter), take a few minutes and look into this. Consider starting by watching this short video:

Remember that everyone is unique.
Each individual’s ‘gender identity’, ‘gender expression’, ‘sexual attraction’, and ‘emotional attraction’ is very unique, as shown the graphic below:

​Keeping this in mind, be careful not to pigeonhole individuals based on past experience or understanding. It is easy to let LGBTQ+ celebrities, stereotypes, and/or personal acquaintances drive one’s perceptions of what an LGBTQ+ person should look or act like, but in reality there is as much variation in what LGBTQ+ persons will present as and act like, as there are with cisgender heterosexuals.  
 
Listen.
This word came up over and over again in the survey responses. In order to truly understand LGBTQ+ students, staff, and families, one has to listen to what they have to say. When an LGBTQ+ individual shares an experience or a concern, this is an opportunity to broaden one’s understanding of those in the LGBTQ+ community. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that being heard often feels a lot like being respected, valued, and loved.

This might seem like a simple and easy thing to do, but the reality is that LGBTQ+ individuals don’t always feel safe and supported in schools. There are a few simple things that we educators can do to send the message to LGBTQ+ students, staff, and families that supportive and safe spaces exist in our building:
 
Post signs.
If you teach in a classroom or council out of an office that is safe place where LGBTQ+ individuals will be respected and heard, then post a sign that sends that message. This can been seen in this collage of pictures taken in Dover-Eyota's secondary building where many teachers and counselors send a clear message of support and inclusion in this simple way.

If you would like to print off your own such sign, below are some commonly used ones to choose from (just click the image and then send it to your printer). 

Shut down bullying.
A few years ago, the Minnesota Department Education shared that according to the 2016 Minnesota State Student Survey LGBTQ+ individuals are less likely to feel safe in school, more likely to be bullied, and in turn more likely to attempt suicide. ​

With data like this, it’s hard to deny the importance of shutting down bullying, specifically the bullying of LGBTQ+ individuals, in our schools.
 
If you’re looking for resources to help you address LGBTQ+ bullying in your classroom/school, consider trying the website Learning for Justice, specifically this webpage which focuses on LGBTQ+ bullying and bias.
 
Use the correct pronoun.
Many teachers have students complete a survey or fill out an informational notecard at the start of the year; if you do this, consider adding to it the question, “What pronouns do you use?” This opens the door for students questioning their genders to safely request the pronoun with which they each identify. It’s important to know that when an LGBTQ+ individual requests one pronoun but then a different one is used instead, it can be very hurtful: a sign of unacceptance or a lack of willingness to understand.
 
If you would like to learn more about the importance of pronouns, consider reading this GLSEN’s educator resource page on the topic (GLSEN stands for ‘Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network’). ​

There is the old adage that one can’t just talk the talk, but must also walk the walk. That also proves true here. Posting signs, shutting down bullying, and using the correct pronouns are great first steps—but these steps lose their power without follow-through.  
 
Some simple ways to demonstrate LGBTQ+ inclusivity are:
 
Use non-binary language and examples.
In the survey, many SEMN students pointed out that it seemed to them the only time LGBTQ+ examples were provided were in FACS and Health classes, and even then it occurred rarely. I know this is something I personally was guilty of in the classroom. As an English teacher, when crafting a sentence that students were to then edit, I could easily have referred to a family with two mothers rather than one with a mother and a father… Likewise, when using Clip Art in a PowerPoint presentation, I could have easily used a picture showing two boys talking by their lockers, rather than a boy paired with a girl…
 
Perhaps verbal shifts would be the easiest to make in the classroom. When talking about prom, asking “Have you bought tickets for your dates yet?” sends a much more inclusive message than, “Boys, have you bought tickets for your girlfriends yet?” When talking to a married female parent, guardian, or coworker, asking about her “spouse” sends a much more inclusive message than asking about her “husband.” (For more examples of why subtle language choices matter, read Digging into Diction.)
 
Include LGBTQ+ references in your class.
Not shying away from LGBTQ+ aspects of your content is another way to send a message of support to LGBTQ+ individuals.
 
I’ll use another English example, seeing as that is my background. If I am teaching American Literature and we are reading The Crucible, I likely will share with my students facts about Arthur Miller’s love life, most famously his relationship with Marilyn Monroe who seemingly served as his muse for some of his works. However, if in my next unit I teach Walt Whitman and gloss over his relationship Harry Stafford, who was both his lover and his muse, just as Monroe was for Miller, I send the message that  heteronormativity is preferred my classroom—even if the signs hung at the front of my classroom say something different.  Additionally, as an English teacher, I could easily have books with LGBTQ+ themes and characters on my shelves interspersed with all my other books that students can check out and take home to read.
 
If you don’t know where to begin in this area, here are some possible resources for you:

• CCRLT’s Responsive Reads website, specifically:
  • These fiction books focusing on lesbian, gay and bisexual inclusivity
  • This nonfiction article focusing on being a queer Muslim
  • These fiction books focusing on gender identity struggles
• The website We Need Diverse Books

Remember that it takes a village to make others feel safe and included: you can’t go it alone. Tap into others to help you meet students’ needs. That, and help others understand the need to work toward a space where all feel safe and welcome in our classrooms and schools, including our LGBTQ+ students, families, and colleagues.

Perhaps the biggest takeaway from the three dozen LGBTQ+ individuals and their allies whom I surveyed back in 2018 can be summed up in one short sentence--a sentence shared by a current SEMN student: “Show love towards all of your students.” Maybe it is just that simple.
 
Happy Pride ❤.

by Third Eye Education, consolidated by Heather M. F. Lyke

I am addicted to podcasts. There is something about cramming learning into my commute, pairing it with laundry, and adding it as a workout buddy that fits my hectic lifestyle. Even when life slows down, I enjoy learning while listening in the bathtub, while swinging in my hammock, or while taking a scenic drive.
 
It is because of my podcast addiction that I recently learned a few new strategies for balancing voices, and in-turn minimizing cultural-biases, when collaborating with colleagues or facilitating student discussions.

Catching up on old episodes of Unlocking Us, I listened to Brené Brown’s talk with Dax Sheppard and Tim Ferriss. This is the part of the conversation that perked my ears:

“People’s expectations and understanding of things are so different:” now, isn’t that pure truth. Yet, in leadership roles and as classroom instructors it’s often easy to inadvertently allow halos to form and for bandwagons to take over. Not only does this enhance only certain voices, but it also can minimize the variety of perspectives that are brought to the table.
 
For instance, sticking with the element of time noted above. My husband has a degree in American Indian Studies from the University of Minnesota. He has shared stories about his sophomore year Ojibwe Language class—during which he was often the first student in the room. For my husband, a cis-gendered white male from a middle class family with European heritage who was raised by parents who often noted “if you’re not early, you’re late,” being on time was par for the course. Had you asked the sophomore version of him what was going on, he’d have likely said, “everyone else is late,” “they’re not respecting the professor,” or “I thought that if you’re not early you’re late.” ​

That said, had you asked is fellow classmates—most of whom were idigenous—to write down on a sticky note about the importance of being “on time,” you’d have seen a wide swath of answers:

•  A disrupter of authentic conversations
•  A regimentation brought in by European colonization
•  An approximate time for gathering
•  A way to show respect to the facilitator (that would've been my husband’s sticky note)

 
Now, if the professor flips his sticky note first, people may wish they’d changed their response (bandwagon). If there is a classmate that many respect who flips first, others may wish they’d shared a similar response (halo). However, by flipping all sticky notes at the same time all voices get put on the table and, as in this instance, different cultural beliefs come to light. 

The thing about listening to podcasts is that it’s passive. I hit play and I take in new learning. Sure, I have autonomy over what podcast I listen to, which episodes I download, and what I may opt to fast-forward past—but it’s still passive. If we’re not careful, meetings and classroom instruction can become passive, too.

Last week, our Third Eye Education collective came together for our April session. During our time together, John Alberts of Austin Public Schools shared a new-to-him strategy that he had learned from the IDEAL Center: we all tried it. Like Brené Brown’s Turn and Learn, this approach balances voices in a way that helps disrupt some dominant cultural norms.
 
Here is the process Alberts took us through:

1. We each identified a small object that could be held in our hand—this was the virtual world’s version of a talking stick. (Had we been together in the same space, we would have all shared the same item—one talking stick for the full group.)
2. The facilitator (in this case, Alberts) shared a set of questions to work through on our own: gave us time to jot down our own thoughts.
3. The facilitator randomized participants names: this became our speaking order.
4. The first speaker (the first name listed) held up their talking stick and shared one answer from their list of reflections—there was a choice here in what they shared, and had the option to pass if uncomfortable. When done, the talking stick was ‘passed’ to the next speaker (second name listed). This process continued until all had shared.
5. For the second round—the second topic discussed—the person who started the rotation (noted in #4 above) was not the first randomized name listed, but rather the second. In other words, with each round, who begins the sharing circle shifts to a different group member, a different voice.

 
There is some magic in what may seem like a simple rotation of ideas and share alouds: each woven in intentionally by the IDEAL center in the way it was shared with Alberts and his team:

• There is an opportunity to think first (jot down ideas) and then speak, which helps offset the verbal process which tends to naturally take over conversations.
• It disrupts the pivoting back to a lead facilitator—rather, by knowing who speaks when the talking stick is passed from participant to participant, creating an equally distributed level of leadership and inclusion.
• There is an intentionality with everyone having an opportunity to speak—everyone has a voice. There is an added intentionality with knowing the order of who will speak when while also having it selected randomly—knowing when you will speak reduces anxiety, while the random distribution of who speaks when can disrupt any typical pecking order that otherwise might emerge.

 
Additionally, to assist in the above process and purpose, the IDEAL Center has at its foundation these shared norms (which are always evolving, according to a recent communications with their team):​

Of course, depending on where you are in your journey with racism, cultural understanding, and appropriation, understanding why structures such as the Turn and Learn and Sharing Circles help (especially if the intentionality of these strategies are rooted in awareness) break down the dominant white-culture norms that tend to permeate many organizations across our nation.

​To increase one’s awareness of how white supremacy exists in our communities and organizations, often without individuals even knowing it, is broken down in Tema Okun’s “White Supremacy Culture” article from Dismantling Racism, which was shared by Shavana Talbert, the Statewide Culturally Responsive Practices Technical Assistance Coordinator for the Wisconsin RtI Center. Understanding the imbalance is one of the first steps to creating balance. How might these characteristics show up within you? Your organization?

When it comes to those norms from the IDEAL Center, my personal favorite is the second half of the last one: “what’s learned here leaves here.” Perhaps that’s why I love podcasts so much: there is power in sharing one’s learning and at its root, that’s what podcasting does. Podcasters share their knowledge, while in turn their listeners can share new learning with others. Unlike podcasting, however, Turn and Learn and Sharing Circles are less passive and less presumptive: they create a place for active engagement that leaves room for authentic individuality. (Maybe this is why we at Third Eye are so anxious to try out Clubhouse some day, as it’s a refined version of podcasting: it removes the passivity and presumptiveness. Anyone want to toss us an invite? Let us learn from you!)