The young teacher stood in front of the entire school, one hand in the pocket of her khakis, a microphone in the other. She shook her short blond hair from her eyes and took a deep breath, as the whole room was quiet. “Coming out is something you don’t just do once, you have to do it over and over again,” she stated somberly. Then she smiled, “… unless you happen to come out to all 350 of your colleagues and students at once!”
The room erupted in laughter, breaking the tension. The entire high school was gathered for “Shema Koleinu” or “Hear Our Voices,” an annual event at Gann Academy in Waltham, Massachusetts. Devoted to increasing understanding of people who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, or questioning (LGBTQ,) the format includes speakers, some of whom are members of the school community. They share anecdotes from their personal experiences and receive appreciations from listeners using a structured response technique. Small groups of students and staff debrief after the program in facilitated sessions.
When I first met with members of the Gann Academy staff in 2013, they had a dilemma.
Marc Baker, the Head of School, said: “We strive to make our school a welcoming and safe place for everyone, including LGBTQ faculty, parents, and students. Also, as a pluralistic Jewish school, we embrace people across a spectrum of religious observance, from secular to Orthodox. So we come up against the tension between being affirming of LGBTQ experience while also respecting everyone’s religious perspectives.”
I thought about how they might structure an event that would be safe, respectful and not polarizing. I suggested, “What if individuals who identify as LGBTQ tell their stories? Rather than framed as a dialogue, it’s a chance to learn about people’s personal experiences. You can’t debate that. You ask the listeners to respond by saying how they can resonate, in some way, with the speaker’s experience.”
They were intrigued with my idea and hired me to consult with them to prepare and plan an event. I had never before facilitated this kind of process with a group of 350 people, but because I had such strong faith in the power of story to build bridges across differences, I was undaunted.
Hearing personal stories, particularly those of people who have been silenced, marginalized, or targeted, has the potential to open the hearts of the listeners and create change—change in attitudes, policy and social change.
At the same time, being empowered to present one’s own reality and being heard can be transformative for the tellers. Structured appreciations are powerful too—because the teller can hear directly what touched or enlightened their listeners.
Two weeks before the event, I met with the faculty to prepare them to facilitate the break-out debrief groups. We discussed how to talk about LGBTQ topics with students, how to respond if they hear homophobic remarks, and how to support LBGTQ students. I spoke about how various forms of exclusion are interrelated and hurt everyone.
I set clear guidelines for respect, confidentiality, and the use of “I” statements (speak for yourself.) “If we ask listeners to look for points of connection, it steers them away from viewing the speaker as other, as stranger, as different,” I explained. In order to model the process, I told them a personal story of my own, about coming out to my grandmother. After, I gave the faculty some prompts: “Did you resonate with my story in any way? Describe an experience or memory that it made you think of.”
Also prior to the event, I worked with each of the speakers and coached them to zero in on specific, vivid moments rather than giving a chronology. Avi, now a confident young professional, returned to his former high school to tell this story: “The summer after junior year, I was part of a volunteer trail-building crew in the White Mountains,” he said. “One evening, this guy, Josh, said he couldn’t imagine being friends with gay people, since they’re all so feminine and flamboyant, and he jokingly started talking with a lisp and dangling his hand. I remember thinking, You should say something. If ever there was a good situation to prove him wrong, it’s now. I remember my heart pumping quickly, because I actually was considering coming out to the group. But in the end, I got too scared and didn’t.”
Throughout the hour of stories, we paused for the listeners to offer appreciations to the presenters. One student stood and said, “I resonated with Avi’s story about how it feels when some part of you is invisible to others. My dad has a disability, but I don’t usually talk about it.” Another teen stated, “Avi’s story made me realize I shouldn’t assume anything about the people around me. I’m going to stop making gay jokes.” Many students nodded in agreement.
At the conclusion, Rabbi Marc Baker, the Head of School said, “You’ve given us a new modality. It helps us to shift out of the rebuttal and debate mode into empathic listening. It encourages us to listen from the heart rather than just the head.”
Sue Johnson, a faculty member and advisor to the Gay Straight Alliance, thanked the speakers: “I know from my own experience that sharing these moments of our lives in such a public forum is challenging on many levels. Please know that in so doing, we have moved an entire community. It is likely we have deeply supported any closeted or questioning students who may have been listening that day. This, in my mind, was our most important gift.”
Note: Names are used with permission. I drew upon anecdotes from the past few years for this article.
copyright 2016 Cindy Marshall
Cindy Rivka Marshall tells stories and facilitates others in the sharing of stories, with the goal of enhancing learning experiences and building community. She is a multicultural and Jewish storyteller, story coach, workshop facilitator, professional development trainer, and education and story consultant based in Boston.