Navigating Queerness and Education
by Emileen Flores
Throughout my journey in education studies, I have read about and analyzed the ways
that students of varying ages, socioeconomic backgrounds, ethnicities, genders, and citizenship
statuses navigate their educational spaces. Within and around schools, students are constantly
making sense and meaning of their identities and how they interact with the worlds around them,
including worlds that are constructed, imagined, concealed, and celebrated. These worlds are
manufactured by political and social forces, both of which also have strong influence and
presence in queer studies and its literature. In an effort to intersect queer and education studies, I
wish to explore how “queer” students—those typically defined as lesbian, gay, bisexual,
transgender, questioning or “other” (meant to be encompassed by the term “queer”)—form their
identities in socio-educational spaces. What are their priorities, fears, and dreams? How do
internal and outward negotiations of queer identities take place, and are forms of sacrifice
involved? Most importantly, how is queer joy found and embodied by students in school? To
explore these questions, I will turn to ethnographic studies and recent literature on queer student
life at the middle, high, and graduate school levels. Firstly, the term “queer” will be interrogated
and explored in a way that comprises identities and non-identities outside of the conventional
“LGBTQ+” definition. This exploration will be followed by a discussion of three emergent
themes —conformity, dreaming, and queer joy—followed by an analysis of the methods
employed by researchers during their studies. Finally, findings and queries will be synthesized
around relevant themes.
It is important to first establish what the term “queer” means when applied to and used by
students. The term “queer” has historically been used as a derogatory word for non-straight, non-
cisgender people; though the first use of the word “queer” in reference to a person/identity was in 1894, the word became more common in society as a slur for “those from the outside, not from
within” around 1914 (Clark, 2021). The term “queer” was reclaimed by activists and community
groups in the 1980’s, 1990’s and 2000’s, and is used increasingly to denote non-heteronormative
identities and sexualities in popular culture. The non-restrictive nature of queerness as a
descriptor is becoming more common. However, queerness is frequently positioned as opposite
of normative identities, inadvertently centering non-queerness as the standard or default
condition. The Human Rights Campaign defines queerness as “express[ing] a spectrum of
identities and orientations that are counter to the mainstream” (HRC, 2024). Brockenbrough, in
employing a “queer of color critique” to vulnerability narratives typically used when relaying the
experiences of queer students, defines queer as “denoting same-sex desires and identities, as well as transgender and other gender identities and expressions that are marked in similar fashion as
deviant or nonconforming by heteronormative power structures” (Brockenbrough, 2015). Both
descriptions capture the fluid nature of queerness as an identity and position it as opposite
normativity, but still suggests that queerness, even as it deviates from the mainstream, can be
used as an identity category. However, considering students as having “non-identities”, those
which evade and unmake convention, even the convention of categorizing, may further open the
possibilities of what “queerness” can denote. With appreciation for the nuances of the term,
“queer” will be used in this paper to refer to those who identify and non-identify with what
queerness does and does not offer as an identity category.
Conformity
Across my research, I found that conformity often appeared as a force that queer students
were working towards or against. When working to conform to that which was normative in their
educational spaces, students made attempts to elicit desirable responses from others for the sake
of their safety and situational comfortability. Dr. LJ Slovin, author of Fierce, Fabulous, and
Fluid: How Trans High School Students Work at Gender Nonconformity, identifies three forms
of labor that queer students regularly perform, two of which will be discussed in this section. In
their year-long ethnographic study at a high school in British Columbia, Slovin found that
students regularly performed understanding and forgiveness, and navigated legibility. These
forms of labor are entwined with conformity and what it affords.
When queer students are misidentified by educators or peers by way of deadnaming or
misgendering, they often feel the need to come across as understanding of the mistake (even if it
is a many times repeated mistake) and forgive the person while enacting compassion (Slovin,
2024). Queer students then become responsible for comforting the misidentifier while
simultaneously sitting within their own discomfort. Understanding, compassion, and forgiveness are traits associated with a “good” student who will be respected by adults and peers; to elicit the respect of others, queer students must conform to this fixed idea of “good” to avoid the harmful
labels of “difficult”, “dramatic”, or “entitled” usually thrust upon queer students who confront
and correct misidentification when it occurs.
The second form of labor, legibility, happens when queer students feel the need to
conform to gender stereotypes even within their queer identities. Slovin provides an example: a
transmasculine student may feel the need to “look like a boy” in order to be read and therefore
treated as one. This student’s legibility is dependent solely on physical expressions and aspects,
such as their hairstyle, clothing choice, and mannerisms. A transmasculine student who prefers to
dress in more “feminine” clothing may not be referred to with their preferred pronouns or name.
Conformity within queer identities tends to still rely on binary limitations, in schools where
students are rendered highly visible by the lens of social scrutiny. A transmasculine student may
conform by dressing “masculine”, a transfeminine student “feminine”, and a non-binary student
“androgynous”. Conforming this way inadvertently reinforces the idea that there are only three
gender categories: male that exists opposite of female, and non-binary, necessarily a 50/50 split
of each. Despite the spectrum of gender identities and expressions that exist, Slovin found queer
students to have the most “success” by making themselves legible by standards that conform to
existing gender norms. When success is defined as avoiding subtle penalty, there is little room
for the success of unimpeded expression.
While Slovin identifies ways that students conform to make school life more navigable,
this conformity does not come without sacrifice. To make one aspect of their life easier, they
must silence significant and precious pieces of themselves. However, in “Jotería Identity and
Consciousness: Pláticas of Co-Creation with Undergraduate Queer Latinx Students”, Sergio
Gonzalez explores the ways that queer students converge their identities that are otherwise
silenced to create a sense of belonging between themselves. Gonzalez investigates the influence
of PWI’s (Predominately White Institutions) on the sense of belonging that queer Latinx students
feel, and how this impacts the development of their jotería identities and consciousness. This
sense of belonging emerged in the pláticas Gonzalez had with his co-creators through
microaffirmations, a term defined by Solorzano, Perez Huber and Huber-Verjan as “the everyday
forms of affirmation and validation People of Color engage with each other in a variety of public
and private settings — those nods, smiles, embraces, use of language, etc. — that express
acknowledgment and affirm self-worth” (2019). Through microaffirmations, Gonzalez and his
queer Latinx co-creators were able to celebrate the ways they mutually refused conformity to the
white, cisheteronormative environment in which they were learning. Through their differing
studies, Slovin and Gonzalez demonstrate the labors of conformity and subtle modes of
transgressing normativity in educational spaces.
Dreaming
A second theme that emerged from my research was dreaming. I found that dreaming
was discussed in various forms: as a way to imagine ideal futures for queer students, as a
mechanism for enduring restricting realities, and to critique abstract utopias. Lindsay Cavanaugh,
a Ph.D. student and teacher discusses “dream-mapping” in her article, “Embracing Queer,
Fem(me)inine & Crip Failure: Arriving at Dream-Mapping as a Speculative Tool for Queer &
Trans Educational Research”. Dream-mapping is an arts-based participatory research process
wherein “co-dreamers” (youth, educators, or both) imagine what k-12 schooling could look like
if “their structures were animated by anti-oppressive logics” (Cavanaugh, 2023). Co-dreamers
use artistic processes to map imagined futures individually over a 5–8-month period, then come
together to share and analyze their makings. Dream-mapping is offered by Cavanaugh as a tool
for imagining alternatives to “unhappy queer endings” in research; in practice, dream-mapping is
meant to help educators and queer and marginalized youth envision productive ways to create
futures that are conducive to their wants, needs, and aspirations.
With a similar goal of evoking greater and comprehendible futures, LJ Slovin discusses
the work queer students did in schools to construct dream worlds where desirable futures were
realistic and attainable. Relaying the story of the tech booth in the high school theater
department, Slovin describes how queer nonconforming students claimed the booth as a safe
space to devote time and attention to dreaming of queer futures for themselves. These futures
included living in trans communities, opportunities to care for and be understood by other queer
people, and the chance to “live more aligned with their desires” (Slovin, 2024). This dreaming is
comparable to Cavanaugh's dreaming; both inspire visions of possibility and imagine paths to a
euphoric alignment of internal (non)identity and external response. Both dreamings bring value
to envisioning the ideal.
Contrastingly, Dr. Donald Taylor cautions against dreaming that is “too” abstract and
potentially unrealistic. In his paper “Teaching out loud: Queer futurity within high school
settings”, Taylor quotes Levitas’ critique on abstract utopias: “In the daydream, it often involves
not so much a transformed future, but a future where the world remains as it is, except for the
dreamer’s changed place in it. . .” (Levitas, 1990, p. 15). In this article, Taylor studied the
relationships between openly gay male music teachers and queer futurities; to see how the
teachers transcended ideas of a future in which only their place in it was changed, he researched
their enactment of a future that was “anticipatory rather than compensatory” (Taylor, 2022).
Though the article focused on queer educators, the lesson is transferable to students. Dreaming of a utopia is positive and meaningful, even more so when there are concrete steps queer students
can take to get closer to those futures. In school, this could take the form of learning about queer
historical figures, participating in community activism, celebrations to honor and learn about
queer lives and legacies, etc. Combined with Slovin and Cavanaugh’s dreamings, Taylor
provides concrete offerings to make possible the future queer students need.
Queer Joy
The third and final theme, queer joy, is one that appeared across the readings, even when
not explicitly named. Queer joy, as defined by Dana Kaplan, Executive Director of Outright
Vermont, is “a defiant celebration against ever limiting social norms and ongoing oppression”
(Kaplan, 2024). Though the emphasis of the readings above were mostly centered around how
queer students and educators navigate barriers and difficulties that relate to their queer identities,
there was always a mention of how they were creating moments of joy, safety, and affirmation
for themselves. These moments can be personal and internal, outward and expressive, and even
communal. However they appear, moments of queer joy are vital for queer students to live safe
and fulfilling lives.
Though it is possible for queer students to create their own moments of queer joy, as
evidenced by their historic resiliency, there are many ways for schools to facilitate, support, and
amplify these moments through practical implementations. In his lecture at the University of
Pennsylvania entitled “(The Poetics of) Trans Pedagogy”, Dr. Perry Zurn presents on
mainstreamed and sidelined trans-inclusive school policies, arguing that the goal of many
institutions, if they are making an effort to be inclusive of queer students and faculty, is to
engage with mainstream notions of inclusivity, after which they can consider the “job to be
done”. However, Zurn advocates for a more comprehensive approach to inclusion and provides
several “sidelined” trans-inclusive policies that are often overlooked. Zurn, a Visiting Associate
Professor of Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Cornell University, offers practical,
realistic ways for schools and universities to provide support beyond the minimum. The table
below showcases Zurn’s mainstreamed vs sidelined policies:
Perry Zurn’s Trans-Inclusive Policies:
Mainstreamed Trans-Inclusive Policies Sidelined Trans-Inclusive Policies
Law: Non-discrimination clause Curriculum: Trans scholarship, methods, and
pedagogy
Language: Pronouns and name changes Collections: Trans library holdings and
archives
Facilities: Inclusive housing, bathrooms, etc. Personnel: Recruiting trans students, faculty,
and staff
Health: Trans healthcare coverage Research: Supporting trans-led research
Awareness: Trans programming Community: Engaging local trans community
members
While it is important and necessary for schools to engage with the mainstream column, a
leap to the sidelined column exemplifies a concrete future for queer students to see realized. The
implementations in the sidelined column align well with Taylor’s suggestions for attainable
futures, while the mainstreamed column aligns with the topics of Slovin’s study. Both columns
build upon one another to provide a harmonious experience for queer students in schools where
queer joy is lived instead of only imagined.
Turning to the methods of the authors discussed, there were various tactics employed to
study the experiences of queer students in schools. A strength of LJ Slovin’s year-long
ethnography was that they spent many hours day-to-day with their students. By moving through
different classrooms, observing before and after school activities, and sitting in on school board
meetings, Slovin gained detailed knowledge of student routines and what was most relevant to
them in each moment they spent together. The queer students also had the benefit of seeing an
openly queer, gender-nonconforming researcher thrive and succeed in an educational space.
Sergio Gonzalez’s methodology of engaging in pláticas was a strong approach, as it was a
cultural-responsive way to co-create knowledge with the queer Latinx students of color
participating in Gonzalez’s study. Cavanaugh took a different approach of allowing participants,
(students, educators, and both) to dream-map alone over a 5–8-month period before coming
together to share and analyze their visions. I would have been interested to see the impact of
having two group sharing sessions – one in the middle of the 8 months and one at the end. The
middle session may have allowed participants to share their creations with one another and take
inspiration from the dream futures of others. The three researchers employed diverse research
methods, but all were done via one-on-one or group conversations. Dr. Jon Wargo provides a
different perspective in his article, “‘Every selfie tells a story …’: LGBTQ youth lifestreams and
new media narratives as Connective Identity Texts”.
Using a unique methodology, Wargo analyzes the social media posts of queer youth and
how selfies serve as “sedimentary identity texts” (Wargo, 2015). Through both conversations
with the students and his own analysis of their posts, Wargo observed what the posts expressed
and did not express, how the messages of their posts aligned or clashed with their in-person
expressions and values, and how they responded to the perceptions of others. By adding the
context provided by students, Wargo provides insight on the choices that queer students make
with rapidly developing technology and how they reconcile their identities in two realities. This
methodology adds to the repertoire of effective research methods to be used with queer youth.
To conclude, the issues addressed by the researchers and the synthesis of their findings
respond to the theme of exploring how education links to questions of human rights and justice.
By researching alongside students of various ages, gender and sexual (non)identities, over
different periods of time, and in both personal and online spaces, the authors continually engaged in conversations of queer rights and queer justice. Justice on a larger institutional scale was given
as much consideration as justice in the everyday mundane moments of moving through school.
Access to queer rights and representation were highlighted as necessary for the survival and joy
of queer youth, and dreaming was discussed as essential to the process of creating euphoric,
imaginative, but not impossible futures. Overall, the conversation of queer-specific experiences
in schools has been initiated in research delicately and with much passion. There is much more
work to be done, but I am hopeful for what queer researchers and ethnographers are committed
to finding.
References
Brockenbrough, E. (2015). Queer of Color Agency in Educational Contexts: Analytic
Frameworks From a Queer of Color Critique. Educational Studies, 51(1), 28–44.
https://doi.org/10.1080/00131946.2014.979929
Cavanaugh, L. (2023). Embracing Queer, Fem(me)inine & Crip Failure: Arriving at Dream-
Mapping as a Speculative Tool for Queer & Trans Educational Research. Theory,
Research, and Action in Urban Education, 8(1).
Clark, M. (2021, February 9). “Queer History”: A history of Queer. The National Archives.
December 15, 2024, https://blog.nationalarchives.gov.uk/queer-history-a-history-of-queer/
Glossary of Terms. HRC. (n.d.). https://www.hrc.org/resources/glossary-of-
terms?utm_source=ads_ms_HRC_20240306-HRC-AW-GS-Natl-
GlossaryRP_GlossaryKeywords_a002-dynamic-
rst_b%3Aqueer&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiAx9q6BhCDARIsACwUxu7ESgZ6AF
msE4sQwKnJWLjA2tcdgTv7twxWXqahoMGT_i6HN7rPdDAaAqznEALw_wcB
Gonzalez, S. (2023). A Jotería identity and belonging: Pláticas of co-creation with Queer Latinx
graduate students in Higher Education. Proceedings of the 2023 AERA Annual Meeting.
https://doi.org/10.3102/2014718
Kaplan, D. (2024, March 20). Queer joy as empowerment. Outright Vermont.
https://outrightvt.org/blog/embracing-queer-joy-as-a-form-of-
empowerment#:~:text=Queer%20joy%20stands%20as%20a,and%20lift%20each%20oth
er%20up.
Miller, R.A. (2017). "My Voice Is Definitely Strongest in Online Communities": Students Using
Social Media for Queer and Disability Identity-Making. Journal of College Student
Development 58(4), 509-525. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/csd.2017.0040.
Slovin, L. (2024). Fierce, fabulous, and fluid: How trans high school students work at gender
nonconformity. New York University Press
Solórzano, Daniel; Pérez Huber, Lindsay; and Huber-Verjan, Layla (2020) "Theorizing Racial
Microaffirmations as a Response to Racial Microaggressions: Counterstories Across
Three Generations of Critical Race Scholars," Seattle Journal for Social Justice: Vol. 18 :
Iss. 2 , Article 10
Taylor, D. M. (2022). Teaching out loud: Queer futurity within high school settings. Research
Studies in Music Education, 44(2), 432-445.
https://doi.org/10.1177/1321103X211051180
Wargo, J. M. (2015). “Every selfie tells a story …”: LGBTQ youth lifestreams and new media
narratives as Connective Identity Texts. New Media & Society, 19(4), 560–578.
https://doi.org/10.1177/1461444815612447
Zurn, P. (2023, March). (The Poetics of) Trans Pedagogy. Trans Affirming Pedagogies
Symposium Presented by the Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies Program and the
Center for Research in Feminist, Queer, and Transgender Studies at the University of
Pennsylvania. Philadelphia.
