Note: This article is an online supplement to Volume 9, Number 3 (Winter 2000) of Bright Ideas.

Lenore
A few years ago I offered to substitute teach an ESOL class for my colleague, Deborah Schwartz, so she could observe another teacher in her program. I chose a lesson I had previously used successfully as a substitute. I asked students to break into pairs and to generate a list of questions (focusing on -Wh questions) that they would like to ask me as a visitor. As a class activity, we first took the newsprint pages with their questions, hung them up, and corrected grammar and structure. Then, I answered their questions and we engaged in informal discussion. Because I have lived and taught in China, it was enjoyable to do this lesson in the class of Chinese speakers. But this time something was bugging me-in the back of my mind I was starting to realize how this seemingly innocuous lesson would be experienced much differently for Deborah, a lesbian, than for me, a straight woman. After the class Deborah and I had a chance to debrief about how class and to reflect more on these differences.

Deborah
From the pages of heavily marked newsprint and from the look of excitement on Lenore's face, I knew that she had enjoyed herself with my students and that the students had felt comfortable opening up to her. When she shared her lessons with me that day, I was initially awed at how such a simple approach to learning -- asking students to form questions that she could answer about her own life -- would generate such solid, whole-language learning.

Why hadn't I ever done something so risky and yet simple-field questions about about my own life as a point of departure for language learning? I suddenly knew the answer, manifested in the feeling at the pit of my stomach, a feeling I had felt so many times in the decade I had spent in the field of Adult Basic Education. A decade of hearing other educators tell stories about a growing intimacy they felt with students when they shared life stories, stories that included announcements of showers or weddings, in-class assignments that revealed teachers' and students' heterosexual family relationships, photo go-rounds of husbands, wives, children. Once again I was confronted with the reality of how this one colleague of mine took for granted her position as a straight, married person in a homophobic field and in a heterosexist workplace: the adult education classroom.

Lenore had created more intimacy with my students in that one hour of time than I would be able to do. Of equal importance, the lesson itself, like the millions of ESOL family-content based lessons we use in our classrooms, excluded gay, lesbian, and bisexual family experiences, and in doing so propagated the illusion that all of our students themselves are heterosexual. What about the one or two students who themselves were not as straight as this guest teacher seemed to be?

Straight Privilege
Why and how did I raise the issue of straight privilege with Lenore? What really motivated me to take the risk, as a lesbian educator, of voicing my discomfort with the lesson was that I wanted to be honest, authentic; I wanted to build a truthful professional relationship with this colleague, even if I could not yet do so with my students.

At first I thought:"Why bother? You will lose her as a colleague. And who the hell do you think you are? Do you think you are special somehow that your feelings could matter as much, maybe even more than your students and this well-meaning educator?"

I think what I said was something without blame, something more filled with sadness about how different our experiences as educators were in the classroom when we did not work in gay-safe environments for ourselves or our students. Lenore was listening thoughtfully to my comments, so I felt I could continue with honesty.

"Do you know that I could never, ever do that lesson with them? I could never, ever talk openly about my life with my students."

And Lenore got it, without defensiveness or feeling shamed. As a result of our conversation, she was changed and so was I. And now, after taking the risk of making classrooms safer for my gay, lesbian, bi-sexual students -- sometimes coming out to them, sometimes not, depending on how gay-safe a given program is -- my students, too, have changed.

Lenore
During previous classes with this activity, it hadn't occurred to me how blithely I could invite the students to ask me questions about my life and how easily it was for me to answer. There have never been questions I have found too uncomfortable, or too risky, to answer. After the conversation with Deborah, my insights became crystallized; this straightforward exercise, -Wh questions, became a lens through which I could view my privilege as a straight teacher. As Deborah and I talked, I realized more fully that by entering into the "club" -- discussion of husbands and kids, for example -- I might be excluding gay and lesbian students in the class, or I might be suggesting, contrary to what I believe, that this was the only "normal" structure for families or relationships. I thanked Deborah for her willingness to talk the lesson through with me, and she thanked me for listening and considering her point of view.

We talked without blame or defensiveness, as Deborah suggested. After all, we have the same goal for ABE classes and programs: including and validating all of our students and colleagues. What better way than by listening to each other.

Deborah
This discussion about heterosexism provided an opportunity for us both to reflect on and develop curriculum that approaches the issues of families in different, exciting, and more inclusive ways. Now, when we bring material into the classroom that addresses the topic of family and community, we're able to offer a diversity of family models where more students can see themselves reflected. For more information about how to approach these issues in the classroom, see the resource section in this issue of Bright Ideas.

Lenore Balliro is the Editor of Bright Ideas. She can be reached at 617-482-9485 or by e-mail at: lballiro@worlded.org. Deborah Schwartz teaches at the Boston Secure Treatment Unit of the Judge Connolly Baker Youth Center in Roslindale, MA. She can be reached at 617-288-9100, x219.