He whero, he whero, he whero

Matariki is one of my favourite times of the year - in theory, at least. In practice, I dislike getting up when it is still dark and cannot wait for the solstice to pass so I can get some sunlight.

Last year, we planted flax at the school. Sadly, we haven't done any planting this year, but we will be more organised next year. Instead, I have been finding out all sorts of intriguing scientific astronomical things.

I enjoyed this post on sciblogs about the stars that make up the Pleiades. One of the things I like about this post is that the author recognises that mythology is important, and, get this, that retelling myths is not a defeat for scientific fact. It is possible for myths and science to coexist. How revolutionary.

Anyway, I do enjoy the night sky in winter. I love looking up and seeing the Milky Way, though I am terrible at spotting stars in particular. I never have been very good at it, and my general dislike of being cold has always impeded any desire to learn more.

Aside from the sky, I have also been excited by the haka competition at school. I love this competition, and worked really hard on it. The students rocked on the day, especially since we wrote the introduction ourselves and it was a bit nervewracking to perform. The video below shows my house, Inverness. I think the students did a brilliant job:



And, immodestly, something I am particularly proud of were the korowai that the two leaders wore:

We already have a bunch of things that we're going to work on for next year, but, for the moment, I am happy with two korowai, seven sisters, and cold mornings. Happy Matariki, everyone.

It gets different

Here's the thing, I've never been bullied for being queer. I've been bullied for other things, but not for that. Oh, and there was the time someone wrote "Mrs Cooper is a dyke" in pencil on my classroom door (ridiculous, since all the students know I'm not married), but as a kid? Nope. I guess there were enough other things about which to bully and ridicule me without having to guess about that.

But I recognise that queerness is an important facet of bullying and victimisation in schools in Aotearoa New Zealand. Hearing 'gay' and 'fag' used as put-downs, the subtle heterosexism that prevails in books and classrooms, it all can add up to making queer - gay, lesbian, bisexual, transsexual, genderqueer, asexual, questioning and so on - young people feel invisible. Feel worthless and marginalised. Feel unsafe.

The It Gets Better project is designed to combat this with the thought that things change. You grow up, other people grow up, and you can change your life. Which is great, and I am certainly a different, more confident person now.

I was reading Karen Healey's livejournal post on the matter this morning, and so much of what she said resonated with me.

Every day, I worry that a student in my classes or at my school is being bullied or victimised and I am not seeing it or doing anything about it. I'm missing the signs, or the student is too scared to tell anyone, or, worse, I am seeing it and not realising how serious it is. Every day, I worry that I won't be able to do something positive for a student who is being bullied. I worry that I am not enough of a positive role model, that being out and living my life is not enough. I worry that the systems I work in will fail students, and that will feel like I have failed them. I worry that I'm not hard enough on students who are casually homophobic, cruel or abusive. I worry, I worry, I worry.

So, I do some small things. I am out, to start with. I am openly bisexual. I have zero tolerance to 'gay', 'homo' and other homophobic language. I use examples with queer people in them - it's hard, given that I teach science, but not impossible. I try. I try to get the Guidance Counsellor to get me posters that highlight sexuality acceptance, and I put them up with my Quit Smoking posters. If I know there are students who are having a hard time, or who are high risk, I put more effort into having a positive and encouraging relationship with them. Sometimes, these students come to talk to me about whatever is worrying them, and I take the time to listen.

But I still worry.

Does it get better?

Well, yeah. For me, it did. For my students, I hope it will get better too.