Resources

It’s common these days, you may have seen, on academic conference name tags or at the bottom of email signatures, to indicate one’s pronouns--not “preferred” pronouns, since this isn’t some kind of preference, but rather just an identity a person holds, like any other. It’s happening in other work spaces too. The public declaration of pronouns emerges out of a concern that we may incorrectly assume and use someone’s pronouns, thereby misgendering them, which can result in feelings of alienation, exclusion, exhaustion, invalidation, marginalization, invisibility, or worse. Articles, posts, and university websites (such as this one) will sometimes suggest that instructors ask students to go around in a circle (a “pronoun round” or a “pronoun go-around”) and indicate their pronouns in front of the whole group early on in the semester. The intentions of pronoun disclosure (like so many on-campus diversity and inclusion efforts) are, of course, good. It is intended as a form of inclusion. It is intended to foster a sense of belonging. It is intended to signal to members of the transgender community that such spaces, in the words of my campus, are a “safe zone” for those whose sex assigned or registered at birth may be different than their identified gender. Since research shows how “trans* students are forced to develop skills and strategies for navigating a collegiate environment that continues to be shaped without them in mind” (Nicolazzo, Trans* in College, 2016), asking about pronouns is thought to be one small practice that eases their way. There are concerns, however, with the exercise of going around the room (actual or virtual) and inviting people to share their pronouns. As one Harvard student wrote, this practice “can actually harm the community it’s intended to support.” For some, pronouns may be a private matter. Some students may be “out” as trans to their friends or family, but not ready to share this information with just anyone else—people like peers and professors they don’t necessarily know or trust. Some students may, of course, not be out to anyone at all! Some students may be in the process of a transition and not sure yet which pronouns they would like others to use. Some students may not actually identify as trans, even though others in the room might make such assumptions (based on limited notions of how different genders are supposed to look or behave). Some students may feel the exercise draws attention to them; they may feel spotlighted or singled out, which can be uncomfortable and stressful. Some students may not feel, despite the exercise being framed as an invitation, that they can really decline (since doing so may invite scrutiny and further assumptions). Whatever answer is given in the go-around may immediately place a person in a box, a box that inevitably fails to capture the full person and their complexity. There may not be a learning environment created yet in which it feels safe to disclose this kind of information. One common justification for the exercise is that “when only trans, non-binary, and gender non-conforming people share pronouns, it makes it easy for them to be targeted and harrassed.” But, of course, if transgender people are going to be targeted and harassed, this could very easily (more easily?) happen once they’ve publicly revealed this information, whether or not others have too. This ritual has been called, by some trans critics, a “performance.” Paradoxically, it may privilege those for whom pronouns are “easy” or “settled”—cis folks whose gender and sex align—and further “other” trans folks. Like many other so-called acts of inclusion, it may simply make those of us in the dominant group feel like we’re being good allies, with the accompanying self-pats on the back, when we are simply not doing much to help at all. Think of the Instagram black squares in purported support of Black Lives Matter, whose “performative allyship” resulted in the “the memeification of social justice activism and no substantial progress toward diversity, equity, and inclusion.” Plenty of pieces, like this one, talk about actual needs (e.g., medical and economic) that the transgender community cares quite a bit about. Yet I still find myself not wanting to misgender my students! It seems like such a low-hanging fruit in terms of basic decency. Though I understand that, for many trans folks, someone accidentally using the wrong pronouns (when the intention is there and good) is not really a “disaster”—and can usually be remedied by a simple apology and changed future action—I still would like to proceed with care and a focus on forming good relationships from the get-go. So, what is there to do? One way I’ve solicited pronouns, while avoiding some of the problems of the circle strategy, is on a “getting to know you” questionnaire that I require students to fill out as their first assignment. They get full credit simply for completing it. The questionnaire asks many questions, mostly about why they chose my class, their prior experience studying religion, how their current position toward religion may help AND hinder their learning, and so on. This is an assignment they turn in to me only (though it seeds in-class activities), so there is no forced public disclosure. However, I do indicate on the form that I plan to use these pronouns to refer to students in class, so the pronouns would become public, if a student decided to disclose. That way, everyone can make the best decision for themselves about whether they want this information out there. This is actually an adjustment I made to the form, after learning that this intention wasn’t clear. Originally, I didn’t state why I wanted to know this information or how it would be used. That’s inclusive teaching for you. Always a learning process! And, even with this information, I have accidentally misgendered students before, so being equipped with the correct information isn’t any guarantee we won’t cause harm. But it does make it just a bit easier. Now, what else can we do, beyond the bare minimum, to ensure our classrooms and other learning environments are as inclusive and welcoming and caring as possible, for trans students and all others?

When the mundane becomes formidable, it signals lack of access.[1] For a trans person, it is precisely the perfunctory mechanics of the classroom that frustrate teaching and learning. This begins with introductions. The trans professor and student immediately must negotiate whether to share their name in class. Is it safe to share that information at the outset, or do we need time to build trust? Are intake forms and classroom norms enough of a safeguard? Toilets pose another pragmatic concern. Trans teachers and students might feel pressure to map out gender-neutral or single-stall restrooms prior to class to avoid quizzical glances or worse. Depending upon the campus, these facilities might be few and far between, meaning a menstruating trans man might have to leave class for an extended period of time in order to refresh his sanitary products. Instructors and students might be caught off guard by blatant transphobia. It arises in verbal comments, required readings, and even student papers. Syllabus policies for the prevention of misgendering classroom participants and authors of required readings is a good starting place, but it is clear that much more is needed. What trans-informed changes to institutional email addresses, for example, prevent the use of deadnames? [2] All of these examples are especially charged when linked to religion. The landscape is brutal: “2023 marks the fourth consecutive record-breaking year for total number of anti-trans bills considered in the U.S.”[3] Student-athletes face discrimination inside and beyond locker rooms while faculty seek equal access to restrooms and parental leave. Educators are wondering how to respond ethically. But beware. The instrumentalization of trans embodiment as a wedge issue within political discourse, especially as linked to religion, further disenfranchises trans persons. We learned this lesson in the 1970’s when abortion was similarly leveraged as a smokescreen for racially segregating schools, subsequently polarizing American politics.[4] Anti-trans bills likewise pit one person against another, supposedly in the name of God. To focus on the bills is to walk into a carefully set trap, allowing embodiment to be confused with essentializing materiality and reduced to identity politics. We need to reorient the representation of trans persons beyond trans issues, in part by using resources such as the Trans Journalistic Association style guide.[5] Whatever the subject of the course, contemplating trans perspectives and reading trans scholarship is valuable. Be it ecology, the prison industrial complex, or housing access, trans persons have insightful contributions—to the study and practice of religion as much as medicine and economics. Importantly, the onus cannot fall squarely on the instructor, especially when the instructor is trans. Many of the obstacles we face are due to the built environment, which is beyond our control. I would like to invite readers to consider what collective action might entail. Here I propose personal and political ethical action that neither falls prey to strategic discourses of entrapment nor neglects the practicality of embodied teaching. My shorthand for this recommendation is compassionate curiosity. In place of hypothetical scenarios, like the trolley problem or lifeboat scenario that frequent ethical inquiry, compassionate curiosity bonds classroom communities through deep soul work intended for societal transformation.[6] Compassionate curiosity solicits us to communicate with one another and discern what is most pressing within the particularities of our contexts. There is no individual or action that can bear the weight of transphobia. We need one another. With students and colleagues, practice compassionate curiosity by considering: Are there trans leaders on campus and in course material? What policy changes on and off campus would be worth prioritizing? How can we establish trans mentoring networks in religious education? Let’s ask students what changes they would like to see on campus and how they might initiate those. Explore what is important to each particular classroom of students and also share the needs of instructors. If the challenges that we face are systemic, our responsibility is not for individuals to hustle harder. Improving the classroom environment requires collaboration. Practicing compassionate curiosity in community equips us for personal and political ethical action. From compassionate curiosity we learn to recognize that when the mundane becomes formidable, we are not alone; there are choruses of folks suffering particular inequity, and together we all benefit from advocating for institutional change.   [1] Access and inclusion are initial concerns, but equity is what many of us seek. [2] Hopefully these examples also resonate with people who lactate and require places to pump, fat folks in search of adequate classroom seating, BIPOC facing microaggressions in addition to overt racism, unaccommodated disabled persons, and many more. [3] https://translegislation.com/learn [4] Dorothy Roberts, Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty, (New York: Vintage Books, 1997); Radical Reproductive Justice: Foundation, Theory, Practice, Critique, eds. Loretta Ross, Lynn Roberts, et. al, (New York: The Feminist Press at CUNY, 2017); Mihee Kim-Kort, “Racialization Meets Purity Culture: Abortion and the Criminalization Cases Confirm That it’s About Controlling Women’s Bodies and the ‘Ideal’ American Family,” Religion Dispatches, June 29, 2022; Sue Halpern, “How Republicans Became Anti-Choice,” The New York Review, November 8, 2018; Randall Balmer, “The Real Origins of the Religious Right,” Politico Magazine, May 27, 2014. [5] https://transjournalists.org/style-guide/ [6] For more on ethical curiosity see Perry Zurn’s Curiosity and Power: The Politics of Inquiry, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2021). Concerning terms of engagement, see Marshall B. Rosenberg’s Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life, (Encinitas: PuddleDancer Press, 2015).