My high school is known as the “gay school.”
Of all the inaccurate or offensive nicknames we could have received, this is probably one of the kinder variations, particularly because there is a level of truth to it. Longleaf has a large population of students who are openly LGBT+, and a very small population of cisgender, hetero kids like myself. So in a way, they’re right.
We are the “gay school.”
But what does that mean for students like me who don’t identify as LGBT?
Speaking from experience, it means many things. Going to a school that is as LGBT-positive as mine is has changed how I interact with opposing viewpoints and nuanced identities. But recently I’ve realized that it also fundamentally changed my definition of a diverse community, and not necessarily for the better.
There is a very specific type of student at my school. LGBT is only one of the possible traits, and within that broad identity, there actually is a great amount of variance and uniqueness. Most students, though, are unique in very similar ways. As students of an arts school, we are all creative, inventive, passionate, inquisitive. But we aren’t just artistic; we are students that are generally liberal-minded, generally fairly feminist, generally female.
Even though I am not LGBT+, I still fit into the cookie cutter shape of my school’s average population.
And I’m surrounded by many other students that are similar to me.
A faculty member once told me that quite a few students have withdrawn specifically because they didn’t feel like they fit into the very specific community that we have here.
They felt isolated, even unwelcome.
When I heard this, I was stunned and irritated. Boohoo, I thought. Maybe not every community needs to conform to your expectations, punk. But maybe those students are more deserving of my empathy.
My school is basically full of people who think like me, are interested in roughly the same things as me, and are of similar political alignment to myself. I feel comfortable being who I am because who I am isn’t disruptive to the status quo. I don’t deviate too strongly from our social expectations. For the most part, I don’t stand out at all.
The only difference between the stereotypical student at my school and myself is the LGBT identity many of my peers have. And while for someone else that difference might have felt uncomfortable or unwelcoming, I treat that difference as an opportunity for growth and acceptance.
When I entered high school, I was an ally in spirit but not in mind.
I knew virtually nothing about the LGBT community except that I wanted to be supportive in some way. But when I was suddenly surrounded by students who were openly gay or bi or trans, I found myself in awe. There was an entire, beautiful, diverse community in my school that I had never seen before. I felt humbled by the experience. I still do.
As an ally, I consider it my job to learn about LGBT issues and be informed, even when it doesn’t directly affect me. But since ninth grade, the most important thing I’ve learned has been how to listen.
How to listen to LGBT advocates when they speak, and how to elevate the voices of people who know more than I do. I feel honored when people tell me what pronouns they prefer, or what name they prefer, or what their sexuality is. I know they aren’t required to tell me any of that, and I am not entitled enough to ask.
But every time someone mentions something I haven’t heard of before, I try to do some research. I try to stay updated as much as I can. I try to consistently, constantly be learning more so I can be the best advocate I can be.
And this isn’t the kind of ally I have always been; this is the kind of ally my school has taught me to be.
So when I think about these students who withdrew because they didn’t feel like they fit in, I try to refrain from judgment. I know my community is very small, very distinct in its own way. But the diversity within this community is all-encompassing and so expansive.
Yes, not everyone will fit in here. But those who do will find themselves accepted and loved.
I am certain that going to a school where people are similar to myself in many ways will impact how I view the world as I proceed into college, but this is an extremely nuanced issue, and I think it needs to be treated as such.
My school hasn’t taught me to conform or suppress who I am. My school has taught me that differences are important to growth, and that all identities are deserving of my respect. I do not feel that my school has only taught me how to interact with people that are exactly like me.
God knows there are many students at my school that are into obscure anime that I don’t watch, or that watch vintage movies that I’m not into, or have different clothing styles or gender identities. I feel that my school has enriched my understanding of the communities that I’m not a part of more than it has reinforced the communities I share with my classmates.
And I cannot thank my school enough for that.
