I was recently invited to participate in a class at the
University of Arizona College of Law. In the class, students would be learning
to apply empathic listening to help them design systems solutions to difficult
situations. The class was given a specific scenario to frame the exercise. The
scenario involved the Campus Republicans and a campus Christian group inviting
Mike Pence to deliver a keynote speech on the university campus. The campus
LGBTQ community was not happy with this invitation and wanted the university to
block the speech, promising protests if it was allowed. The campus climate was
particularly tense in the scenario due to the recent murder of two transgender
students. With this scenario in mind, the students were to divide into two
groups and ask questions of an informant from one of the two communities in
order to understand how they felt about the proposed speech and, more
importantly, why. This involved trying to understand underlying and background
values and concerns that shaped each informant’s perspective. Based on what
they learned from that process, they were to brainstorm systemic solutions that
could change the impending conflict into a more productive outcome. For the
class activity, I would naturally be the informant concerning the LGBTQ
community. The head of the College Republicans would be the informant concerning
the other side of the issue.
I accepted the invitation freely and voluntarily, knowing
the proposed scenario. When I learned who the other informant would be, I felt
more anxious, because I pictured in my mind an image of a certain type of
Republican, the type who would be a loudmouthed Trump supporter, probably a
frat boy, white, aggressive, belligerent. I wasn’t eager to deal with that type
of individual, even though the class structure wouldn’t require us to verbally
interact. As the class drew near, I became increasingly anxious, recognizing
that this class could prove to be quite triggering, and that at the very least it
would require me to practice vulnerability and to perform emotional labor as I
educated a group of law students on life as a transgender woman. I have done
this type of work before, and I choose to do so willingly, because I see great
value in educating and informing others. But I’m understanding better each time
the emotional impact this has on me, and the need to take measures to care for
myself before, during, and after the interaction.
On the evening of the class, I checked in with a couple
friends before driving to campus. I arrived a few minutes early, mostly so I
could find the classroom and to allow myself to be in the space for a few
minutes before things got started. When I entered the room Matt, the head of
the College Republicans, and the lead professor were already there. We chatted
briefly and in the process I mentioned that I was no longer teaching German and
Russian because my school had not found me to be an acceptable teacher after I
came out. Matt responded in a way that clearly indicated that he found that to
be wrong, and that he accepted me for who I am, as I am. That helped significantly
lower my internal anxiety concerning the evening ahead. Matt did not fit my
stereotype of a College Republican in most aspects. He was white and, as far as
I am aware, cisgender and heterosexual, but he was thoughtful, open-minded, and
willing to engage in respectful dialog. He was young, and perhaps offers hope
for what the future of that party might be like. I could see myself sitting
down to coffee with him to discuss issues, even knowing that we might disagree
strongly on key issues.
The class turned out to be quite small, just 8 students and
one community member, because apparently the class is open to the community as
well. The 4 students who worked with me turned out to be very thoughtful, sensitive,
and if any of them held any objections to who I am, they refrained from allowing
that to come out in any way. We ended up having a very open, candid
conversation and they gained some understanding and perspective on why, in this
specific scenario, a transgender woman like myself would not welcome a speech
by Mike Pence. At the end of class, as both sides reviewed and discussed their
ideas and suggestions, Matt and I were invited to share our feelings concerning
the proposals, now that we had heard and seen what the “other side” had
identified. We were pleased to find that we had some similar thoughts and
ideas, and there was a willingness on the side of the conservative community as
embodied in Matt to engage proactively and constructively with the LGBTQ
community, even to the point of considering a different speaker. That surprised
me.
The class ended up being a much more positive experience
than I had anticipated. I appreciated the two professors who led the class that
night: Mary and Stacy. They cultivated an environment of open, healthy,
engaged, and respectful conversation. I did not feel in anyway demeaned,
dismissed, or tokenized. Nonetheless, it was still an act of emotional
labor and I left feeling drained. Thankfully I was able to talk with a couple
of friends after returning home and process the experience with them. I am grateful
for the several friends who offered their time when I shared with them that I
would be participating in this experience. They are my family, the ones I know
have my back when I need support.
The only aspect of the evening that felt uncomfortable in
the end was the presence of the community member. He hovered on the edge of my
group part of the evening and his mannerisms and general aura left me feeling uneasy.
It wasn’t a concern that he would cause me direct physical harm. It was more a
sense that he was looking for material to use against me and my community. He
bore a namebadge identifying him as being with a group called Liberty Watch.
Later I looked them up online and found a pretty wacky conservative/libertarian
group. I’d like to say harmless, but I’m not at all convinced of that. In
interacting with another professor afterwards I heard that this individual was
actually pretty unlikely to hold my identity against me, that his issues were
with other things. Still, his presence did impinge on my feeling of emotional safety
in the classroom. He only really spoke one time, at the very end of the class,
to make a ridiculous statement about the best solution to the issue being to
have Mike Pence and a member of the trans community resolve the conflict in the
boxing ring, thereby allowing free market forces and the natural inclination
toward conflict to come into play. He and I would have some deep philosophical differences
in that regard.
I believe strongly in the value of situations like this
classroom experience. I believe in creating dialog and forming relationships as
the best way to reduce the barriers that separate and divide us. But I
recognize that this is inherently risky, vulnerable, and laborious for those of
us in minority communities. I don’t demand or expect that every minority person
engage in this type of work. I choose to do so myself because I feel like I can
do it. It does drain me, but I won’t let that stop me. I am learning how to
better care for myself around these types of engagements. I am also affirming
to myself that I don’t have to accept every opportunity like this. It is not my
duty or responsibility to inform and educate. When I am willing and able
though, it is a tremendous chance to change the narrative of our society in
regards specifically to the transgender community, as well as in larger ways. This is a key part of my chosen work and an important way in which I use my voice.
