As my school-board colleagues were sending me "happy summer" texts this past week, I got thinking back to my first few years of teaching, and the sincere but often misguided efforts I made to promote equity in my classroom...
From my naive attempts to integrate the medicine wheel and "First Nations Fables" into my Visual Art, Language and Drama lessons (I was oblivious, at that time, of the concept of cultural appropriation, and had little if any equipment in the way of authentic knowledge about how to effectively indigenize the curriculum) to the gender binary with which I addressed my students (and indeed, made them line up at times in order to engage in "good" classroom management!!!), I was a classic case of clueless uttering, "look at all the great things I am doing in my teaching practice!"
Well-Meaning but Misinformed
I was always aware of a need to build a safe, inclusive and inviting learning climate, open to a wide range of cultural and other identities.
What I was not aware of back then was what some of those identities were, or how my own assumptions about them could jeopardize my naive endeavours to envelop them into the fold of my heartfelt but less-than-ideally inclusive classroom and give them an authentic voice with which to speak and explore their own truths.
Who am I?
A poignant time of year has just passed; Toronto's week-long jazz festival, Pride weekend, and end of year for most teachers here in Ontario.
For me, all three of these events are significant: I've either attended or volunteered at the Jazz festival almost every year, I've been going to the dyke march and/or volunteering at the CAP booth annually since I came out, and until this summer, I was either packing up my classroom or tidying my desk at a board office somewhere at the end of each June for the past 19 years.
Well-Meaning but Misinformed
I was always aware of a need to build a safe, inclusive and inviting learning climate, open to a wide range of cultural and other identities.
What I was not aware of back then was what some of those identities were, or how my own assumptions about them could jeopardize my naive endeavours to envelop them into the fold of my heartfelt but less-than-ideally inclusive classroom and give them an authentic voice with which to speak and explore their own truths.
Who am I?
A poignant time of year has just passed; Toronto's week-long jazz festival, Pride weekend, and end of year for most teachers here in Ontario.
For me, all three of these events are significant: I've either attended or volunteered at the Jazz festival almost every year, I've been going to the dyke march and/or volunteering at the CAP booth annually since I came out, and until this summer, I was either packing up my classroom or tidying my desk at a board office somewhere at the end of each June for the past 19 years.
Alexis Baro, a Cuban trumpet player, and Pueblo Neuvo, at TD Downtown Jazz, June 2017
The convergence of these three events (and the extra time afforded by the subsequent long weekend) gave me pause to reflect on the notion of intersectionality, and the idea that who we are is infinitely connected with, well, who we are.
Sneakers in PEI Interconnections
It's true, I'm a white, queer, able-bodied, Canadian woman.
But I'm also a teacher, a pilot, a mother, a drummer, a rescue dog owner, a gardener, an orphan, a writer, and a lover of PEI, Canada.
And each of these things I am, is invariably influenced in some way by another. My early anxiety about playing drums, for example, is inextricably linked to the fact that I am female and was raised by a strict, single, European mother. (Ironically, my general confidence as a woman is also linked to that latter fact!)
In some instances, the existence of one aspect of my identity is a direct result of the existence of another. In other cases, how I live the experience of being a teacher, an urban gardener, or a mother is coloured by my LGBTQ status, my gender, or the fact that I became a full orphan at 21.
It's true, I'm a white, queer, able-bodied, Canadian woman.
But I'm also a teacher, a pilot, a mother, a drummer, a rescue dog owner, a gardener, an orphan, a writer, and a lover of PEI, Canada.
And each of these things I am, is invariably influenced in some way by another. My early anxiety about playing drums, for example, is inextricably linked to the fact that I am female and was raised by a strict, single, European mother. (Ironically, my general confidence as a woman is also linked to that latter fact!)
In some instances, the existence of one aspect of my identity is a direct result of the existence of another. In other cases, how I live the experience of being a teacher, an urban gardener, or a mother is coloured by my LGBTQ status, my gender, or the fact that I became a full orphan at 21.
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Indeed, I might never have even had the courage or gumption to come out at 38, had I not been a white, able-bodied, university-educated, full-time employed person living in Canada with no living biological family other than my own offspring. With the possible arguable exception of the full-time employment, I neither chose nor earned any of these descriptors. They are happenstance. "Luck" largely of birth circumstance.
And yet they shaped who I was as a child, who I became as an adult, and how I navigate my way into mid-life.
And yet they shaped who I was as a child, who I became as an adult, and how I navigate my way into mid-life.
My balcony vegetable garden, summer 2017
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because intersectionality is a big buzz word both professionally, in my work, and personally, in my interest in and passion for feminism and social justice. Nowhere have intersections -- and my own inherent biases -- been more apparent for me than at a "Positive Space Symposium" I attended recently at work.
The organizers of this professional learning opportunity took great care to select a wide variety of speakers who all connected to the LGBTQ+ spectrum in some way, but for whom their sexual and/or gender identity was almost a secondary (if nevertheless related) aspect of their identity: A wheelchair-wielding woman talked to us about living with a disability, a young, black, trans dancer spoke with us about their slow but inevitable conversion to the Black Lives Matter movement, and a teenage musician regaled us with self-written songs and stories about the journey through orphan-hood in a greater Toronto area suburb.
It dawned on me how -- despite my tremendous research and attention to diversity, equity and inclusion -- the first things I still see in a person are so very often the most superficial. How frustrating!
The organizers of this professional learning opportunity took great care to select a wide variety of speakers who all connected to the LGBTQ+ spectrum in some way, but for whom their sexual and/or gender identity was almost a secondary (if nevertheless related) aspect of their identity: A wheelchair-wielding woman talked to us about living with a disability, a young, black, trans dancer spoke with us about their slow but inevitable conversion to the Black Lives Matter movement, and a teenage musician regaled us with self-written songs and stories about the journey through orphan-hood in a greater Toronto area suburb.
It dawned on me how -- despite my tremendous research and attention to diversity, equity and inclusion -- the first things I still see in a person are so very often the most superficial. How frustrating!
Beyond the lighthouse, the dunes... and behind that, a magnificent ocean (not visible in photo)
I myself am aware of differently I am treated when I wear a shirt and tie, rather than more feminine clothing in which I could "pass".
I sense new people's assumptions about who I am when they see my rainbow hair (an indulgence of mine for Pride weekend, which lasts 3-6 months and slowly fades out), and their relative comfort with my apparent "normalcy" when they encounter me with my kids and our dog versus just with my (female) partner.
And if I tell them my address first (a run-down, older apartment in the city's west end), they are surprised to later learn that I am a certified teacher, a licensed pilot and the co-owner of a house on the east coast!
I sense new people's assumptions about who I am when they see my rainbow hair (an indulgence of mine for Pride weekend, which lasts 3-6 months and slowly fades out), and their relative comfort with my apparent "normalcy" when they encounter me with my kids and our dog versus just with my (female) partner.
And if I tell them my address first (a run-down, older apartment in the city's west end), they are surprised to later learn that I am a certified teacher, a licensed pilot and the co-owner of a house on the east coast!
The million dollar view of the city (somewhat obscured on this day) from my run-down apt
Interestingly, my orphanhood is less impressive to folks now that I am well into my forties... and the vegetable gardening is also not a surprising hobby to many, considering my age.
The drums still get a raised eyebrow, however. (I am, after all, a girl, and women aren't supposed to be drummers, in case you didn't know!)
The drums still get a raised eyebrow, however. (I am, after all, a girl, and women aren't supposed to be drummers, in case you didn't know!)
Kit in my Music Cabin on PEI (and my old license plate, too!)
Keeping an Open Mind
Recently, I was invited to participate on a planning committee at a community organization I have been involved with off and on over the years.
At our first meeting, we were tasked with beginning to think about both a speaker for the event we are organizing, and a topic focus. It had already been decided that the speaker would be black, and -- cognizant of my tendency to take over the conversation at the best of times -- I tried to be especially conscious of my airtime given this particular context, and did my best to make sure that those of us at the table who were white did not speak more than those of colour (side confession, I failed; no surprise there.)
Recently, I was invited to participate on a planning committee at a community organization I have been involved with off and on over the years.
At our first meeting, we were tasked with beginning to think about both a speaker for the event we are organizing, and a topic focus. It had already been decided that the speaker would be black, and -- cognizant of my tendency to take over the conversation at the best of times -- I tried to be especially conscious of my airtime given this particular context, and did my best to make sure that those of us at the table who were white did not speak more than those of colour (side confession, I failed; no surprise there.)
I was intrigued to hear people's response when I raised the question of whether intersectionality might be a topic we could invite our speaker to consider. All four women of colour at the table politely but firmly told me that the black story is too often "watered down" by other side-topics, and that they were sure that the other aspects of one's identity were important, they wanted this year's speaker to focus on blackness in an of itself.
I was intrigued for two reasons.
First, I was reminded by how very assumptive I am (my interest in equity, and the fact that my main childhood friend was black does not make me an expert on the African diaspora and the lived experience of black oppression in Canada!)
But secondly, I wondered how one could possibly address the issue of blackness without attention to or at least an awareness of the intersecting parts of one's being. (Again, my assumption that this is important.)
As a comparatively bright, relatively privileged only child, I am well aware that a big part of who I am is a know-it-all. I shall therefore do my best to keep my white-splaining to myself at subsequent meetings, and stay open-minded to the fact that there might be a more intentional slice of intersectionality that is pulled decisively into focus for certain purposes.
I was intrigued for two reasons.
First, I was reminded by how very assumptive I am (my interest in equity, and the fact that my main childhood friend was black does not make me an expert on the African diaspora and the lived experience of black oppression in Canada!)
But secondly, I wondered how one could possibly address the issue of blackness without attention to or at least an awareness of the intersecting parts of one's being. (Again, my assumption that this is important.)
As a comparatively bright, relatively privileged only child, I am well aware that a big part of who I am is a know-it-all. I shall therefore do my best to keep my white-splaining to myself at subsequent meetings, and stay open-minded to the fact that there might be a more intentional slice of intersectionality that is pulled decisively into focus for certain purposes.
Learning to fly makes my perspective on approach to PEI extra exciting!
If there is one thing that has become painfully apparent to me as I have reflected on equity, diversity and inclusion over the last few weeks and months, it's that I've got a lot to learn yet!
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