To be quite blunt, there is only one chapter out of 24 in the text that I use in my intro to journalism course that deals with discrimination.
All groups are folded into it, with little distinction made of the cultural differences that exist in each part of the country, the varying ethnic make up or religious and racial composition, or even the gender differences. The topic of LGBT discrimination is not even in the discussion unless I remember to bring it up or if one of my students happens to. The entire chapter is covered in less than two 75-minute classes, and is roughly broken up into two parts: Political correctness when reporting and writing news stories and feature pieces, and secondly, issues of sexual harassment and discrimination in the actual newsroom, a place once the sacred bastion of straight, white, older males.
Is this enough? Hardly. Especially in a time when we as a society are struggling to sensitize ourselves to the language and the attitudes surrounding the LGBT population — a population that I think remains largely disenfranchised, misunderstood and even mocked. I have come to this conclusion based on my own recent experience as the student-run newspaper’s faculty advisor.
Every April Fools’ Day, the newspaper’s editors put together a spoof issue, which like most parody issues on college campuses, finds every organization and every student and faculty member fair game for clearly labeled satire. When the term “lezzie” appeared as the first name of a pseudonym of one of the editors, it did not even register with me that this was an epithet. And I am the one doing the teaching.
While the poor choice of the pseudonym had an innocent beginning — it was based on an inside joke amongst the editors and not directed at anyone on campus — the result has been what we term a “teachable moment.”
Allegheny
College
, a small liberal arts institution tucked away in rural
Pennsylvania
, is not conservative in its collective mind-set or its faculty leanings. This open, cerebral environment often allows for much debate and discussion over topics that would be considered taboo on more restrictive campuses.
It is in this spirit that I believe the Committee on Discriminatory and Sexual Harassment (C-DSH) was developed by the college. It is comprised of faculty, students, staff and administrators. In the wake of the publication of the joke issue, one group on campus felt targeted and went to C-DSH to complain. While the group’s issues are multifold and not really the topic of this column, the use of the demeaning slang was called into question. A campuswide statement was issued by C-DSH, in part, calling out the editors for the use of “derogatory language.”
I should have known better. The image I had of myself — as principled, sensitive, and someone fully equipped with an internal sensor that would instantly go off when even a hint of discrimination or archaic thinking was detected — was wrenched loose because I did not know better. And as a teacher, a writer and a human being, that truly bothers me.
The classroom is the best place to launch this type of discussion. Obviously, I need more than two 75-minute periods to do that.
