I identify as pansexual (and also in certain contexts as bisexual or queer), and I work in LGBTQ education and awareness, so I am going to try and [...]]]> This week, my intern SexualErudite (their screename) is sharing a bit about their identity as being pansexual, and some of the reasoning and history surrounding this identity.

I identify as pansexual (and also in certain contexts as bisexual or queer), and I work in LGBTQ education and awareness, so I am going to try and explain why I refer to myself as a pansexual more than anything else. Most of you will probably assume this is pretentious anyway, but I’ll give it the old college try.

I am going to use cisgender and cissexual within this context because it is the most inclusive way to do so. While it seems like many people are content to lump people into “trans folks and normals” and “trans folks and people who feel okay with their bodies” and “men, women and trans folk” I am not comfortable with this, as it places trans folk into some weird other category that I feel is pretty offensive. Cisgender/sexual exist as a way of subcategorizing larger categories, such as “women.” Within “women” exist two sub categories: cis women and trans women. The same exists for sex, so within “female” there exists cis females and trans females.

There are more than two genders. Rather, there exists men (both cis and trans), women (both cis and trans) and those who fall outside the gender binary. There are many different categorizations of this non-binary gender, one of the most common is genderqueer, although it is far from being the only one. Some people who fall within this “outside the binary” gender consider themselves trans, others do not.

There are more than two sexes. We have male (cis and trans), female (cis and trans) and intersexed. Hermaphrodite is not used within a medical construct, but rather, pseudohermaphrodite is, because humans are not capable of being “true” hermaphrodites, as while they may have a mixture of sexual characteristics, they do not possess both full sets of fully functioning reproductive organs. In any case, the intersex community prefers intersex, and we should honor their right to define what terms they prefer.

Whatever social scientists may have decided, in terms of identifying bisexuals as people who engage in homosexual and hetereosexual sex, most people interpret this as having to do with genitalia, regardless of whatever the scientists were really thinking, and I cannot speak to that.

Identifying it based on behaviors based on that becomes tricky – what if I, a cissexual female, engage in sex with a pre-op trans man? Is it heterosexual because I identify as a woman and he identifies as a man? Is it homosexual because we both have boobs and vaginas? I would say the former, but if we are defining it based on sexual acts, to most people we are defining it based on genitalia.

When we discuss “gay, straight, bi” we’re not just talking about what genitalia we are attracted to – we’re talking about how they present themselves, and how they identify themselves as well. Many straight men would balk at the idea of having sex with a trans man, even though he may have a vagina, meaning cock/vaginasexual would be problematic as a term describing many people. So when we talk about our sexual orientations, we’re really discussing what genders we are attracted to.

So, if we have more than two genders, bisexual can be problematic in terms of not being specific enough. Most people assume that bisexual people are referring to being attracted to men and women, and that’s it, and generally, that’s a problem on the listener’s behalf, not the bisexual person themselves. But, because bi is a prefix meaning two, it can mean that someone is attracted to men and women, men and people outside the binary or women and people outside the binary.

As someone who is attracted to men, women and people outside the gender binary, I find that pansexual is more apt, because pan is a prefix meaning all. It doesn’t mean that bisexuals are prejudicial individuals that just need to open their hearts – people are attracted to who they are attracted to. I’m not going to rail against a gay man because he fails to find women the object of his sexual desires. It’d be ludicrous.

Yes, there are pretentious pansexual people out there who sneer about being attracted to “people,” or not seeing gender, but there are a ton of pretentious people in any other gender or sexuality category, so it seems really ridiculous that we’ve decided it’s totally fine to complain about it like it’s a new and speshul thing only inherent in people who use words that fall outside straight, gay, bi and trans*. I’m sure there were plenty of homosexual men who sneered at people who preferred the word “gay” back in the day.

Everyone deserves to have a space to occupy, and having a word that accurately describes you to a point that you feel comfortable with it is part of having that space. It doesn’t mean you should automatically assume everyone should know what obscure sexualities are (which is why I have made it part of my life to educate others), but it doesn’t mean that we should immediately stomp on anything new. Just because you are fine with common words to describe your sexuality does not mean everyone is. Demanding that I justify my right to a name that fits makes you no different than any other common bigot.

This post, Pansexuality and Lables, originally appeared on Shanna Katz M.Ed, ACS -- Board Certified Sexologist and Sexuality Educator on August 29, 2011.

“Today we’re learning about sexually transmitted infections!” No matter how enthusiastic my delivery is, that short sentence rarely inspires excitement and curiosity in my students. In fact, [...]]]> This week’s blog post from intern Katie talks about STIs (sexually transmitted infections) and how our society stigmatizes them, which makes it even more difficult to teach about.

“Today we’re learning about sexually transmitted infections!” No matter how enthusiastic my delivery is, that short sentence rarely inspires excitement and curiosity in my students. In fact, the usual response I receive involves a symphony of groans and eye rolls. And really, I can’t blame them: internally, I’m groaning too.

I’m sure there are some superstar sex educators out there who have mastered teaching about STIs, but I’m not one of them. Sure, it can be challenging making transmission statistics and bacterial/viral categorizations “fun” (STI jeopardy only seems to maintain student interest for so long) but the problem is more ingrained than that. For me, the biggest obstacle is tone: how do I convey the necessary information–– about infection types, about barrier methods, about testing availability–– in a way that inspires prudence but not fear? I want to reinforce the reality of STIs and the importance of practicing safer sex behaviors, but I want to do so without (1) scaring them away from sex forever and (2) further stigmatizing STIs and people who have them.

I try to be particularly sensitive to the stigmatizing messages my students receive in and out of the classroom, but these messages aren’t always easy to address in a consistent, coherent manner. If I mention herpes sores and a student loudly gasps “Ewwww,” I have to think carefully about how I proceed. If I respond by insisting, “No, sores are no big deal,” then I run the risk of diminishing the difficulties (social and medical) that people with herpes experience. I would also feel somewhat dishonest: herpes isn’t a big deal in the sense that plenty of people lead happy, healthy lives with herpes, but outbreaks aren’t a walk in the park either. But if I say nothing and let the student feign disgust, I could be sending an even more dangerous message to the other students in the class–– some of whom may have tested positive for STIs or who may have friends, family, or partners who have tested positive–– that people with STIs are worthy of fear or disrespect.

STIs are unpleasant: therefore, people with STIs are unpleasant. It’s a huge logical misstep that society encourages us to make, and that we as educators must vigilantly avoid. And the stakes are high: even if a student does not have any STIs when the lesson takes place, if the takeaway message of the lesson is that STIs are cause for shame, then ze/she/he might be less likely to tell get tested regularly or tell future partners hir/her/his status. My response to the above hypothetical question would then be carefully worded. I might say something along the lines of: “Herpes is like a lot of other chronic medical conditions. Plenty of people live happy lives with herpes, but it’s still an uncomfortable complication that most people would rather avoid. Here’s how you can protect yourself against herpes…”

Again, I still have quite a lot to learn about teaching STI awareness and prevention. Nevertheless, I’ve collected below a few of the important “dos” and “don’ts” I’ve gleaned from my own experience and from the wisdom of other educators. If you have any additional suggestions or comments, I’d love to hear them!

Avoid using the term “clean.” It can be tempting to use popular jargon when teaching a class, but referring to people without STIs as “clean” is highly offensive to folks with STIs. It also sets up a false relationship between STI status and hygiene, wherein students with good daily hygiene are more likely to think of themselves impervious to disease/infection. If students in your class use “clean” in this way, gently but firmly correct them. Someone who gets an ear infection isn’t unclean. Neither is someone with a sexually transmitted infection.

Share the statistics that apply to them. I don’t think fear-mongering is ever a good idea, but it doesn’t hurt to let students in on the information being collected about their demographic. What STIs are most common? How are they being transmitted? If presented without scare tactics, this kind of info can make students feel empowered and less alone.

If possible, act in conjunction with school health services. Obviously, not everyone who works as a sex educator does so via institutions with their own health centers. However, if you are teaching at the high school or college level, try to find out how involved the health center is in student sexual health. If nothing else, it can be incredibly valuable for students to be able to point them towards a known ally in the school.

Make it easy for students to receive testing information. In the past, I’ve written the names, phone numbers, and addresses of clinics that offer STI testing up on the board and asked students to copy them down. In my experience, they’ve become self-conscious, not wanting to look like this is information they need or want, and they’ve refused to write anything down. I’ve started instead to hand each student a printed sheet with test center information; I tell them that they can’t throw the sheets in the trash outside if they absolutely have to, but everyone needs to leave the classroom with that slip of paper.

Acknowledge stigmas. We live in a society that still strongly stigmatizes people with STIs. Don’t be surprised if this message has rubbed off on your students. Listen to their thoughts and concerns, and be patient in letting your perspective sink in.

This post, STIgma, originally appeared on Shanna Katz M.Ed, ACS -- Board Certified Sexologist and Sexuality Educator on August 25, 2011.

This study is new, but the concept is not. Most other countries offer birth [...]]]> If you haven’t heard about the latest study suggesting that health care should offer birth control, contraception, sterilization (voluntary) and preventative exams at NO cost to the recipient, it’s possible you haven’t been on the internet in the last few days.

This study is new, but the concept is not. Most other countries offer birth control and contraception free to all of their citizens. Why?

*Lower rates of teen pregnancy

*Lower rates of unwanted pregnancy (which means less abortions and less adoptions/kids put in the foster care system)

*Higher rates of healthy births (having too many pregnancies close to each other can cause more issues with live births)

*Healthier, happier citizens

*Lower rates of DV triggered by unwanted pregnancies/children that couples cannot afford

Basically, it’s just silly that we don’t already offer this. For those of you not on birth control or contraception, you may not realize how quickly the costs can add up. I am “lucky” enough to have insurance, yet my Nuva Ring costs $35 per month. That is over $400 a year. This is a big investment for me — I cannot imagine having to put $400 towards birth control if I was working a minimum wage job…and if you are no insured, it can cost over $100 A MONTH for certain types of birth control. For folks who don’t have much disposable income, birth control and contraception isn’t at the top of their lists; usually food, rent, and utilities top off their lists.

By providing completely covered birth control, contraception and equally important preventative exams, we can significantly cut down on unwanted pregnancies, increase healthy live birth rates, and discover cancers and STIs waaaaay earlier. The fact that we don’t already do this seems ludicrous to me. Even if this isn’t something that would directly affect you personally, or even anyone in your group of friends and family, this is something that will be a positive impact on literally MILLIONS of people. Please, take a moment to sign this petition towards making this a reality.

Click here to sign the no co-pay petition!

Thanks,

Shanna

This post, Thoughts on No Co-Pays for Birth Control, originally appeared on Shanna Katz M.Ed, ACS -- Board Certified Sexologist and Sexuality Educator on July 20, 2011.

The oft-repeated mantra amongst sex educators is that sexuality is a spectrum. People can identify as gay, [...]]]> This week, my fabulous intern Katie Davis talks about the identity of asexuality, which is often left out of conversations regarding sexuality. She brings up some great points, as well as resources for those interested in learning more!

The oft-repeated mantra amongst sex educators is that sexuality is a spectrum.
People can identify as gay, straight, and everything in between, including bisexual, queer,
and questioning.” In the classes I’ve taught, this has been my mantra, my way of
explaining the rich diversity of human experience.

But recently, after stumbling across Asexuality.org, the homepage of the Asexual
Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), I came to realize that this framework is not
nearly as inclusive as it needs to be. AVEN, which was founded in 2001, focuses on
fostering a sense of community amongst asexual people and creating acceptance and
discussion of asexuality in the public sphere. In addition to acting as the central hub for
asexuality-related research, news coverage, and personal accounts, AVEN also offers
discussion forums, a newsletter, and an online store stocked with t-shirts
reading “Asexy” and “Asexuality: It’s not just for amoebas anymore!”

Although, as with anything else, AVEN members possess a variety of different
opinions and experiences, the feeling of being socially silenced appears to be widely
shared across the asexual community. The site’s FAQ section, for example, addresses
some of the difficulties of “living in a society where everyone is assumed to be sexual
and where the media, especially soaps and advertising, portray everyone as sexual and
constantly tempted by sex.” In his personal blog, Love From the Asexual Underground,
AVEN founder David Jay writes eloquently about the daily challenges of translating
sexual language into something true to his identity and experiences. For Jay and other
asexual-identified people, my sexuality spectrum is hardly a liberating identificatory
framework, as it leaves off an entire negative region.

It’s an important criticism, one that’s forced me to radically reconsider how I
should understand and teach sexuality. For sex educators/activists who are forced to
confront the myriad ways in which sexuality is stifled and policed, it may be tempting
to portray things like desire, attraction, and libido as universal experiences. In a country
that still frequently treats sex education as a non-necessity, many of us find ourselves
almost shouting about the importance of sexuality in all aspects of society. I certainly
know that in my own teaching efforts, I’ve attempted to combat societal shaming by
characterizing sexuality as a normal, even key component of the human condition. And,
of course, for many people it is. However, as long as there are people who identify
as asexual–– and, according to AVEN, the numbers of people taking on said title are
steadily growing–– we have to be vigilante about assuming sexuality in our students.

How can we teach about sexuality in a way that is also inclusive of asexuality?
How can we better educate ourselves about asexuality and the diversity of asexual
experiences? And how can we assist the asexual community in its continued struggle for
visibility and acceptance? These are not easy questions, but they’re absolutely topics that
sex educators and all other folks dedicated to sexual (or asexual, for that matter) equality
need to begin to address.

For more information about asexuality, go to AVEN’s website or check out David
Jay’s Love From the Asexual Underground.

This post, Including Asexuality, originally appeared on Shanna Katz M.Ed, ACS -- Board Certified Sexologist and Sexuality Educator on July 15, 2011.

One of the major maxims repeated to me over the course of my trainings [...]]]> This is another piece written by Intern Katie Davis about some of the lessons she has learned in her experience of becoming a sex educator. It follows along with Lessons Learned from A Sex Educator: Part 1, as published last week.

One of the major maxims repeated to me over the course of my trainings to
become a sex educator went something along the lines of “Expect that your students will
have a diversity of opinions on sensitive topics. Be sure not to alienate any of them.”
Now, that’s pretty sound advice: as I’ve already mentioned in my previous post, one
surefire way of alienating students is to ignore the variety of ways in which their thoughts
and experiences differ from one’s own. If I went into a classroom with the expectation
that students shared my perspective of the world, I’d be doing considerable damage to the
safety of the space and to my class’s potential for learning.

But there are times when showing sensitivity to a diversity of opinions isn’t
easy, when the line between mindfulness and moral relativism isn’t clearly drawn.
The sex education courses I teach cover (though not nearly comprehensively enough)
LGBTQ issues/identities. When we reach this segment of the curriculum, invariably
at least one of the students balks. Common negative responses to our LGBTQI unit
(which emphasizes anti-bullying as well as differences between gender identity, sex, and
sexuality) include:

“That’s nasty!”
“I go to church, and my church says that gay people are just plain wrong.”
“I don’t care if someone’s gay, just don’t go around flaunting it.”
“I’d never say something bad to a gay guy if he was just doing his own thing,
but if he comes up and tries to talk to me or something, I’m going to punch him.
Because he probably wanted to hit on me.”

These are moments when I’m forced to pause and consider how to answer
in a way that doesn’t shut down the conversation but also doesn’t give a free pass to
prejudice. The right of LGBTQI folks (myself included!) to live happy, complete,
governmentally-recognized lives free of harassment, fear, and discrimination is not up for
debate in my mind. Yet, it seems that if I ever want to make progress with students who
know only homophobia, I must patiently engage in that debate. This brings me to lesson

#3.  There is such a thing as productive discomfort.

I’ve met some educators who believe that, on supposed “matters of opinion,”
it’s wrong to question one’s students. I’m not of that mind. I think that, as a teacher/
facilitator/mentor, my job is to challenge my students to understand the origins of their
opinions and to constantly re-examine their belief systems through the lens of new
information and experiences. I tend to answer homophobic remarks, for example, with
more questions:

“Why is this kind of sexual activity nasty to you? Do you think the fact that you
find something nasty means that other people shouldn’t be able to enjoy it if they want to?”
“Different religions have all kinds of different opinions on homosexuality,
bisexuality, etc. There are some churches that claim that homosexuality is
wrong, while there are others that have gay and lesbian leaders. If someone who
identified as a member of the LGBTQI community attended your church, how do
you think they would feel? Do you think they’d be welcomed in?”
“What does it mean to flaunt one’s sexuality? Like going to prom with one’s
partner of choice? Like dancing at that prom? Would you say that heterosexual
people flaunt their sexuality? What’s the difference between ‘flaunting’
and ‘expressing’?”
“Do you think that every gay man who talks to other men is actually trying to
make a move? Are you trying to make a move on every girl you speak to?”

I don’t know that any of these answers are the right ones, but they’ve at least
allowed the conversation to continue. But encouraging students to think critically should
never mean silencing them. If I get the feeling that my student isn’t responding well to
my questions, I need to back off and move on to something new. Because:

3. Sometimes making progress means making concessions.

I never want a student to feel attacked, either by myself or by others. I’ve had
male students vocally oppose abortion, only to be swiftly and angrily silenced by their
female peers. In those moments, it is my job to step in, to validate my student’s right to
an opinion. “You’re not alone in feeling that way. In fact, the media tends to send us
tons of messages that support what you were just saying. Why do you think some of your
classmates might disagree with you?”

It’s a difficult and often deeply frustrating process, remaining true to one’s values
while leaving room in the classroom for the expression of others. But, at the end of
the day, when I doubt myself and feel as though nothing I said was effective, I have to
remember that my goal is not to win a debate. In fact, winning the debate, when it means
compromising the safety of the space, isn’t a win at all. Rather:

4. My goal is just to plant the seed of an idea.

And nothing, ideas included, grows without time, nourishment, and an open
environment.

This post, Lessons Learned from A Sex Educator: Part 2, originally appeared on Shanna Katz M.Ed, ACS -- Board Certified Sexologist and Sexuality Educator on July 8, 2011.