Educators must be more than allies Kelly D. Holstine
I was a tomboy as a kid–
which I know is shocking to everyone in
this audience–
what that meant to me was that I didn’t
want to look girly.
But parts of my personality were feminine
and I was OK with that.
This REALLY confused people–
and it still does.
I wanted to dress like a boy and play
with adventure people and trucks.
But I also wanted to talk about my
feelings
and know what everyone around me
was thinking and feeling, too. I still do.
I walked up the stairs of Bus #3
with giddy hope.
I was excited to meet my new kindergarten
classmates,
get to know my new teacher, and learn all
the stuff my older brother already knew.
But as I earnestly looked into
the crowd of kids,
my eyes were not met with kindness and
smiles
but with a lot of confusion
and some glares.
And even though my mom tried to hide my
boyishness
by attempting to make me look
more feminine,
the kids somehow knew that I was
“different” and that I didn’t belong.
I am not exactly sure how they knew
what I had not yet fully discovered,
but kids seem to have a sixth sense
about these types of things.
And I didn’t understand: I got along with
all my preschool friends.
Why was this any different?
Why weren’t the other kids as excited
to see me as I was to see them?
I quickly sat down by myself
in the front seat.
Within seconds, a girl got up from her
seat at the back of the bus
and walked past all of the rest of the
kids to sit down right next to me.
Alysia was also starting kindergarten–
but she grew up in the country,
so she had automatically earned the
respect of the kids.
Her choice to come to the front and sit
by me
immediately shifted the entire
energy of the bus.
I continued to be safe for the next 10
years whenever she was around.
But when she wasn’t, I got hit, kicked,
spit on, harassed,
and called names all throughout my
elementary and middle school years.
As a highly sensitive tomboy with low
self-esteem, I was easy prey.
And even though I have learned
that bullies are often the ones with
unresolved trauma,
it still feels awful to be
treated like crap.
I learned that most people are afraid of
what they don’t understand.
And that this fear is often revealed
through both words and actions.
I was not allowed to be a tomboy
anymore
once I entered 9th grade.
I had to wear feminine clothes and
makeup; paint my nails;
have long blonde, curly hair; and not
leave the house without lipstick on.
I felt like I was in feminine drag.
The positive side effect of my new look
was that I didn’t get bullied anymore.
The negative side effect was that
pretending to be someone I wasn’t
caused me such deep depression that I
made a plan to take my own life.
Fortunately, I had some friends and
supportive adults
who helped me survive.
Alysia died several years ago of cancer.
I told her the bus story a few months
before she died,
but she had completely forgotten about it.
To her, it was just the right thing to do.
But to me: it was everything.
Alysia taught me the impactful difference
between being an ally
and being an advocate.
I wish this type of harassment was only a
thing of the past,
but I have witnessed my black, indigenous,
and students of color
be seriously harmed by racism.
My LGBTQ+ students are verbally
and physically assaulted.
My non-Christian students are harassed
and isolated.
And my students with disabilities or
mental illnesses
are often called names and are
consistently underestimated.
“Ally” comes from the Latin
word “to bind to.”
Allies are supportive and they
are on your side.
They help you to not feel alone and they
tend to be curious, open, and kind.
They make people feel seen and respected.
Allies are wonderful and we need them.
But it is not enough for educators to
just be allies;
we need them to become advocates, too.
“Advocate” comes from the Latin word
“add a voice.”
These are the folks who are fighting for
people’s rights and taking action.
The ones who are speaking up in public
spaces in support of causes and equity.
The people who are challenging xenophobia
in school policies and in staff meetings.
The educators who are writing articles
and emails,
creating support groups, and working
alongside our unions.
Support is not enough.
We also need to be willing to leave our
comfort zones
and stand up for all of the human beings
who are being marginalized and oppressed.
I want to acknowledge that there might be
some allies in the audience right now
who are feeling a little uncomfortable.
I see you and I honor your feelings.
I know it can be terrifying to put
yourself out there
and that you probably didn’t sign up for
this when you got your teaching license.
But I am asking you to do it anyway.
Minnesota’s Commissioner of Education,
Mary Cathryn Ricker,
recently reminded me that we can’t expect
students to conform to our comfort.
Many of our students are scared
and in pain.
And since they don’t have the same fully
developed brains, resources,
or support systems that we have,
then it is up to us to step into our own
discomfort so that we can help them.
Most educators learn pretty quickly
that you can follow Bloom’s Taxonomy of
Learning
and create all of the dynamic lessons
in the world,
but they will never truly work
unless we first respect Maslow’s
Hierarchy of Needs.
Many of us have already heard that if we
don’t “Maslow before we Bloom”
and create environments where students
feel safe,
then there is zero hope of guiding kids
into their learning brains.
And then we are all stuck.
When I helped design and open Tokata
Learning Center,
an alternative high school in Shakopee,
MN, from the ground up, I quickly learned
what the students who had experienced
educational and personal trauma
needed to thrive.
They desired inclusive spaces with soft
lighting, seating options, snacks,
basic school supplies, and artwork that
represented a variety of cultures.
They wanted to see themselves in what they
were learning.
They benefited from personalized,
self-paced, voice and choice curriculum.
And their engagement increased
significantly
when they could select texts that
piqued their interest.
All humans deserve to be called by their
chosen pronouns and names.
And they should be able to use whatever
bathroom makes them feel safe.
Too many of our transgender, non-binary,
and gender nonconforming students
are not eating or drinking during the day,
so they don’t have to use the bathroom
at school.
Not only does this cause horrible
medical issues,
but it also causes emotional pain.
A 2018 national survey by the Human
Rights Campaign
revealed that 73% of LGBTQ youth have
experienced verbal threats
because of their actual or perceived
LGBTQ identity.
It’s not enough to tell kids that,
“It gets better.”
We need to show them that we are making
it better now.
As educators, we MUST protect them in
our classrooms and in our schools.
After I learned how to create
an inclusive space,
the next step was to speak out
and stand up.
I needed to learn how to challenge my own
biases
and make sure that my thoughts and
behaviors were in sync.
I had to increase my understanding of
all the ways I showed up with privilege
and how that impacted the people
around me.
I replaced my defensiveness, perspective
gaps, and judgment with curiosity.
I learned how to understand the difference
between intention and impact.
I let go of needing to always
be the expert.
I celebrated vulnerability.
And I encouraged authenticity in myself
and in those around me.
I surround myself with people
who are willing to courageously hold
up a mirror for me,
so that I can more easily see my mistakes.
When the staff of Tokata Learning Center
pointed out to me
that I had more intense escalations in my
classroom
than anywhere else in the building,
I initially felt defensive but then I
realized: they were right.
I made it my growth goal and learned
how to maintain a coaching strategy
when things got chaotic instead
of switching to an authoritative role
that caused students to not recognize
me anymore.
We learned together how to give our
lizard brains time to cool off,
so that we could have meaningful
and connecting conversations.
As a result, we improved our emotional
regulation and distress tolerance,
retained more dignity,
used conflict as an opportunity to get to
know each other better,
and became a whole lot more productive.
My friend, Alysia, taught me how to have
the courage to stand up for people
who are being mistreated.
I have leveled up since then
and learned how to immediately address
language and actions
that are discriminatory toward students
and educators,
how to start support groups for students,
and how to advocate for equity
by publicly supporting inclusive
policies and laws.
This is not easy. Believe me.
The roadblocks I have faced as an
educational advocate
have been daunting and draining.
Those who benefit from systems of
oppression
will try and stop you from dismantling
the structures that give them power.
They are furious when we advocate for the
very people
that they need to stay oppressed.
And we can become targets of that anger.
Which means there might be some times
in your life
when you don’t have the emotional
strength to be an advocate.
It is OK to take mental health breaks
from this work.
As long as you do whatever self-care you
need to do in order to come back.
Because discrimination does not appear
to be stopping any time soon
and we need you.
As an advocate, you have to be prepared to
make mistakes. A lot of mistakes.
I still regret all of the times I did not
stand up for others
in the ways I should have.
This is why it is essential to create a
safe and supportive team,
so you can check-in and be checked
when you have some learning to do.
I can say with 100% certainty that the
positive effects are worth it.
Our kids are watching us.
If we stand up for ourselves and for
others
then we can all feel like we matter.
And I want everyone to
experience that feeling.
My journey as a gender nonconforming
lesbian has had some twists and turns.
I have been harmed as both a kid
and as an adult.
My wife and I were spit on in
a Target parking lot;
I have been assaulted by strangers,
family members, and intimate partners;
and hit hard enough in the head–
by a group of students who were led
by the school’s homophobic Dean–
to receive a traumatic brain injury
(which is why I am unable to memorize
this talk and I have to read this script).
But my experiences have also helped
me to support, understand,
and advocate for students and staff
members who do not feel accepted,
valued, or seen.
I know what it feels like to have someone
who is supposed to care about you
cause you harm.
Research and experience teaches us that
kids who have been victims of trauma
will build resiliency ONLY when they
are believed and supported by an adult.
I can tell you firsthand that trauma
sensitive environments
make learning much easier for everyone.
And the ONLY way to build these
environments is through active advocacy.
Every single day.
And for every single heart.
I started my life as a victim,
grew into an ally,
transformed into an advocate,
and am now an activist alongside the
incredible staff of OutFront Minnesota.
We are one of the largest LGBTQ State
Equity groups in the country.
As the Director of Educational Equity,
my program is working to decrease inequity
and increase LGBTQ+ inclusivity in
classrooms, schools, districts,
and youth organizations.
We take an intersectional approach and
believe that the skills you build
to employ equitable strategies will
help every student thrive.
I wish I could go back and tell my
five-year-old self
that she will not only learn and grow
from her experiences,
but that she will also be given countless
opportunities
to help other people to feel
safe and seen, too.
That she will become a social worker
for at-risk kids;
that she will design and open a school
for students
who feel like they don’t belong
in other spaces;
that she will become the first out LGBTQ
Minnesota State Teacher of the Year;
that she and the 2019 Kentucky Teacher
of the Year, Jessica Dueñas,
will stand up against discriminatory
policies and actions
by being the first teachers to ever
boycott
a visit with the President
of the United States;
that she will be given the opportunity
to make schools safer for every kid,
and that she will get to stand up on this
very TED Talk stage in New York City
and share her story.
Oh, and that she will never have
to wear dresses,
put on lipstick, or have long,
blonde, curly hair ever, ever again.
Thank you.