Still not okay

Makyi’s funeral was today, and …

Nah, I can’t. Tomorrow, maybe, or maybe not at all.

Go hug somebody, y’all. I don’t even care who.

On HB 1608, Indiana’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill, and being a teacher

Because the place I live is terrible, the state legislature has passed, and our governor has signed, a “Don’t Say Gay” bill inspired by the recent bullshit in Florida. I’ve been thinking hard about how I want to deal with this bill as an educator and I think my thoughts are formed enough that I can write about it.

First and foremost: I refuse to out any student to their parents under any circumstances, my teaching license be damned. I simply won’t do it. Any parents who needs their kids’ teachers to let them know that their kid is trans does not need to be notified that their kids are trans. If you could be trusted with that information, you’d already have it.

That said, there’s noncompliance and then there’s noncompliance, and this bill is so sloppily written that one wonders why they even bothered.

(That’s not true. They bothered because they wanted to make it clear to a vulnerable minority that they hate them and think they should be dead. That’s the reason this bill passed. It’s the only reason.)

Anyway, here’s the text of the law:

Chapter 7.5. Parental Notification Regarding Identification

Sec. 1. As used in this chapter, “school” has the meaning set forth in IC 20-30-17-1.
Sec. 2. (a) A school shall notify in writing at least one (1) parent of a student, if the student is an unemancipated minor, of a request made by the student to change the student’s:
(1) name; or
(2) pronoun, title, or word to identify the student.
(b) Not later than five (5) business days after the date on which a school receives a request described in subsection (a), the school shall provide notification to a parent as required by subsection (a).

I can think of two ways to deal with this law. The first relies on a close reading of the text itself. Note the usage of the words “request” and “change” in the first line of Sec. 2, and the repetition of “a school receives a request” in subsection b.

This does not describe a situation that ever happens.

First of all, I, a teacher, am not a school as defined by the law, and the word “teacher” does not appear in the law. There is not a form that a kid fills out when they decide that they want to be Ryan and not Sophia, nor is there anywhere at all where someone can file to have their pronouns changed. I find out that a kid wants to use different pronouns or a different name when they tell me, generally right after they’ve met. It strains credulity to call that a “request” to “change” anything. It’s them telling me what they want to be called, and it’s not a “request.” I have gone by my middle name for my entire life and have had to tell every teacher I have ever had to call me something other than what was written on the attendance form in front of them. By this law, even a diminutive or a nickname– going by “Andy” instead of “Andrew” or “DJ” instead of “Denise Jane”– requires notification.

There are, plain and simple, no “requests” being made here as the law seems to envision, and even if they are, they are being made to teachers, not to a school, and the law does not state who needs to make said requests and makes no requirement that I, for example, pass on said request to an administrator.

So that’s the first possibility; simply ignore the law, because as written it genuinely doesn’t appear to me to require me to do anything and does not bother to make itself clear enough to make it possible to figure out how to comply. It doesn’t even define “provide notification” in any coherent form other than saying that it should be by writing.

The second option is some form of malicious compliance. Again, the law does not specifically mention trans students, and as such it seems to apply to all of them. Which means that every “Andrew” who wants to be “Andy” or “Emmanuel” who wants to be “Manny” triggers the law, and if Bill wanting to be Bella gets a notification, that means that Robert wanting to be Bob gets one too. The law makes no distinction. It also– and this is potentially important– makes no requirement that the actual new name or pronouns be identified.

So I can either:

  1. literally send a letter to every single parent I have at the beginning of the year stating that I will call every student I have by the names and pronouns they prefer; or
  2. put said policy into something distributed to every parent (or at least accessible to them) at the beginning of the year, such as a syllabus or parent letter or my class website.

When you consider that the law also says that notification is required for any “word” used to identify the students? Shit. Granted, no kid is making a “request” to be called “you in the green hoodie” by anyone, but again, I don’t think “call me Evan” is a request either by the normal definition of the term. So am I notifying every single parent in the building? Because it is entirely within the realm of possibility that I might be using a “word” to refer to literally every kid in the building on any given day that school is in session, and given that I don’t know most of them those references will almost certainly not be using their names as spelled out on their birth certificates or school registrations.

And can I find a way to get every teacher in the building to notify every parent in the building, thus leading to an utter flood of mail and a nice little bit of civil malicious compliance designed to demonstrate how fucking stupid this law is?

Maybe.

This has never happened before

We are two weeks, more or less, into Summer Break, and …

I miss my students.

God help me.

On hope, ctd.

You may– I suspect it’s unlikely, but you may– recall this August 2021 post about Makyi Toliver, a former student of mine and one I was quite fond of, who had been sentenced to 45 years in prison for felony murder. I don’t know if you know what felony murder is, but it’s a wildly unjust fucking crime. Makyi and a sixteen-year-old friend attempted to steal a gun from a third person, a bungled theft that led to the gun’s owner killing his friend and shooting Makyi at least eight times. This, somehow, led to Makyi being convicted of murder. 45 years. At 20.

I’ve corresponded with Makyi a couple of times– not enough, to tell the truth– since he’s been locked up. Yesterday morning I checked my messages and noticed that his account was marked as inactive. I didn’t initially think much of it; maybe he’d been transferred or the prison was changing providers or something.

At 8:00 yesterday evening I got a text message from another teacher who had also had him in her classes. Makyi was dead. As far as we know right now, he died from suicide. Why “as far as we know”? The jail and the coroner are refusing to give his mother any information, which means we’re relying on– wait for it– rumors and secondhand information from other former students at Parchman.

Makyi was a good kid. He was a good kid and he had an immense amount of potential and he didn’t fucking deserve any of this.

I hate it here, and I’m not okay.

Some recent developments

I listened to Down With the Sickness and Fuck Dying on the way home from work two different days this week.

We have recently discovered that not only is Fatima deaf, or at least very close to it (at least one ear appears to be completely bollixed, which I’m pretty sure is the medical term) but she may have been so for her entire life. How no one appears to have noticed this until now is left as an exercise for the viewer. How this will affect her ability to learn English, however, remains my problem for at least eight more days. I would love to say that I’ve been able to help these kids adapt to living in America, but … not so much, I think. If I stay in education, I do plan to spend some time this summer learning at least a little bit of Pashto, because I don’t think these families are going to stop coming anytime soon.

In other news, I covered for one of the 7th grade teachers yesterday afternoon, and without realizing I was doing it, I did myself a big favor. One of the problems with working in a school where you don’t know all of the kids (and I don’t know any of the kids below 8th grade, nor do I know all of the 8th graders, although I’d bet I’m at 90% or so) is that the only kids who are visible to you are the shitheads. I’m pretty sure I can identify at least half of the 7th grade shitheads at least by their faces, although I don’t know a lot of names. The good kids? They’re invisible, because they don’t fuck up in the hallways (they’re mostly not in the hallways in the first place) and so you never notice them. It was the same thing as when I worked at the grant coordinator at the school before I quit– I was working in the office. Who gets sent to the office? Shitheads! Whose names do you know? Shitheads! So it’s easy to assume they’re all like that.

Well, one way or another, I got lucky and landed on what turned out to be this particular teacher’s favorite class. And they were fun! It’s not like we did a lot of academic stuff or anything like that but I sat and chatted with several of them for a while and just in general interacting with all of them was pleasant. There’s always a lot of trepidation in covering kids you don’t know in a class you don’t know, because who the hell knows what kind of shit you could be getting yourself into, so this was helpful. At least I know a few who might actually be nice to have in class next year.

If, y’know, I lose my mind and come back again.

In which I don’t have it tonight

This thing with Makyi is still weighing heavily on my head and my heart, to the point where I’m starting to wonder what the best route to getting the felony murder statute overturned in Indiana would be. I have enough mental energy to fuck around with video games on Youtube but not enough to blog coherently. So I’m taking the night off, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

On hope

The “South Bend man” referred to in this headline is a former student. He was a bright, inquisitive, funny and honest student when I had him in 6th and again in 7th grade; his older brother was one of my DC kids and was a member of my single favorite class of students I’ve ever had. There are still pictures of both of them on my phone.

He was just sentenced to 45 years in jail because he and a high school student planned to steal another man’s gun and then beat him up. The “plan”– and I strongly suspect I do not have anything even close to the full story– went badly sideways for them, and the man killed the high school student and shot Makyi “at least” eight times. Somehow, another person’s decision to kill a child and attempt to kill a second person rather than be robbed of a gun has led to the person who was shot being convicted of murder and sentenced to jail for 45 years, more than twice as long as he has been alive.

I am not interested in you attempting to justify the existence of “felony murder” charges, and I can guarantee you that attempting to do so will be the last thing you ever say around here. I don’t care if you think this is okay or justified. You can keep that shit to yourself. I loved this kid. He was smart. He had a chance. He should be in fucking college right now. And instead he’s 20 years old and somehow has been convicted of a murder that everyone involved in his sentencing knows that he absolutely did not commit in an incident that led to he, himself, being shot eight + times, and will be in jail until he’s 65.

I hate it here.

Well, great, nice to see you too

I brought my dad Arby’s for lunch today, and while I was in the drive-thru the kid at the window checked my debit card and then announced that I had been her math teacher. I didn’t recognize her, both because it had legitimately been years since I’d seen her and, well, the mask— but she threw me for a loop with what she said next.

“Yeah, you hated me.”

She’d told me her name already, but I hadn’t been able to properly process it, and frankly in the moment I didn’t remember a damn thing about her– which actually means that there’s no chance that I actually did hate her, as I assure you I have forgotten none of those kids, and in fact they haunt my dreams still. And, honestly, it really bothers me that that was the first thing she thought to say to me– because regardless of whether I did hate her or not, her perception that I did is more than bad enough.

It’s several hours later now, and I’ve managed to put together who she is. And I didn’t hate her, but I suppose I can understand why she thought I did in the moment. She is, in fact, the cousin of one of the perhaps three students who I might use the word “hate” to describe my feelings about. And I don’t remember her being a big problem on her own, but her cousin (the “I got a baby by his brother” girl in this post, in fact) was an utter Goddamned nightmare and the cousin dragged this girl into her shit a lot. So she was around a fair amount for Angry Me, particularly since the two of them sat together on the bus a lot and the bus driver actually did hate both of them, to the degree where she put it in a referral once.

(These kids will never know how much time and energy I spent defending the two of them against this bus driver, by the way, at one point going over the driver’s head to central office about the way she treated them, but that’s a whole other story that I’m not telling right now.)

Anyway. I’m more or less over it by now, since I’ve managed to put together who she was, but the whole conversation had me fucked up all afternoon.

Just curious: how many of you had a teacher who you thought hated you at the time? Any that you thought hated you when you were in class with them but don’t think that any longer?