July 18, 2020

What if we really are this queer?

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , , , at 3:11 pm by chavisory

A research study on sexual orientation among autistic people, actually published a couple of years ago but recently making the rounds of social media, has found that just under 70% of autistic respondents identified as non-heterosexual, whether they be LGBTQ+, or on the asexual spectrum, or both. While this may sound like an incredibly high number, it roughly accords with both anecdotal accounts from within the autistic community over the years, and my own (very rough) estimates of what might be the case, loosely extrapolated from earlier studies on the rate of transgender identification and gender non-conformity among autistic youth tending to find rates seven to eight times higher than among non-autistic teens.

While the underlying reasons for these results is not yet well-understood, a very common response to them is that rates of non-heterosexuality are probably actually similar in the non-autistic population, but that autistic people are simply more honest, or are less impacted by heteronormative socialization, care less about social disapproval, or do not pick up on social messages of disapproval around gender and sexuality like non-autistic people do.

I both find these explanations unconvincing, and think we should be very cautious of embracing them, for several reasons.

1. There is ample evidence that autistic people are perfectly capable of perceiving negative messaging from our social environments. No, we don’t necessarily do it as well or in the same ways as non-autistic people. But autistic adults have written endlessly about picking up anti-autistic and ableist messaging from our environments and internalizing those attitudes. Even if no one giving us these messages even knew what autism was, we readily picked up on the fact that it wasn’t considered okay to be the way we were. We frequently realized that people didn’t like us or considered us weird even when parents and other adults explicitly denied that was the case. We learned to suppress stimming and how to fake eye contact in many cases without even being explicitly told to.

And compared to anti-autistic messaging, homophobic messaging in our society during the time many of us were growing up was very, very overt. In many places, it still is.

The controversy over Ellen’s coming out (and that it nearly ended her television career), the murder of Matthew Shepherd, the nasty comments made about teachers suspected of being lesbians, the fact that “gay” was one of the more common insults available…these were features of my early teen years.

Believe me, I did not miss the memo that it was considered wrong and looked down upon to be gay or bisexual when I was growing up (there was much less mainstream recognition of asexuality, let alone asexual spectrum orientations like demisexuality). It was not especially subtle. I don’t know how much people realize this who didn’t grow up in proximity to evangelical Christianity (which my family did not follow, but its cultural presence was hard to miss), or in socially conservative parts of the country, or during the culture wars of the 1990’s, but it did not go unspoken. It was not subtle.

Hannah Gadsby said in a recent interview, “If I could’ve been more feminine, I would’ve been. Where I grew up, that would’ve made my life a whole lot easier.” I probably would’ve, too, if I’d known how. I didn’t know how. I couldn’t meet those expectations; I didn’t just not understand they existed.

Which isn’t to say that ableism isn’t often spoken aloud, or that subtle manifestations of homophobia can’t be harmful.

But I think there’s a particular danger of this narrative, too, to autistic youth in parts of the country where homophobic and transphobic messaging is still very overt, that it doesn’t matter as much what they hear because they won’t absorb or be as affected by it.

Because we know that autistic youth absorb and are profoundly affected by ableist and anti-autistic messages even when they are relatively subtle.

Why would queer autistic youth not be by homophobic ones?

2. I don’t think most people are being fundamentally dishonest about their most visceral experiences of attraction and desire, and I do not think making this assumption sets a good precedent.

I’ve written about this before, but I just don’t think that our media environment is pervaded with assumptions about how sexuality works for most people….because they’re actually all lying about it and this relatively small fraction of us (most of whom are not autistic) are the only ones who didn’t get the message that we were supposed to.

I don’t think that generations of queer people have been met with shock, rage, and confusion upon coming out to their families, that a shocking percentage of kids living on the street are queer because they were kicked out of their homes for it, or that the existence of an organization like PFLAG was necessitated to help straight parents come to understand and accept their gay kids, if nearly everyone really was queer and just denying it.

We don’t like being told that we’re not capable of knowing our own minds. We don’t like it for good reasons. We object when people tell autistic trans youth that they’ve just been brainwashed into thinking they’re trans and deny them gender-related healthcare. Or self-identified autistic people that they only think that because they’re quirky or awkward and autism is an internet fad.

“You only think you’re what you say you are because that’s what society told you” is not a rhetorical stance I think we should be adopting.

People have a right to self-identify and by and large I think we should believe them.

I also don’t think we should present identifying one way or another as more honest or virtuous, or imply that someone who says they’re straight is categorically more likely to be lying.

Someone’s professed orientation should not be a moral issue and we should not make it one.

3. Differential interpretation of available data is not necessarily dishonesty.

Both the beauty and the horror of the human mind, I was saying to a friend recently, is that it’s capable of assembling data into narrative in a basically infinite number of ways. We often like to believe that if other people had the same information we do, they would draw the same conclusions or the same logical consistencies from it, but that is often not true at all.

Many people, for instance, believe that if only I knew what they knew about how some people are affected by autism—that some autistic people are intellectually disabled, or can’t speak, or self-injure, or need intensive help with activities of daily living—that I would be in favor of curing or preventing autism, at least in some cases. But I do know those things, and I still don’t agree. The fact that we have access to the same information but draw different conclusions from it doesn’t mean any of us is being dishonest or disingenuous or only saying what we’re saying out of fear of disapproval, rather than that we see that information differently, interpret it differently, and genuinely disagree about the best possible course of action based on that information.

Likewise, among the populations peripheral to the autistic community–the people we refer to as autistic cousins, as belonging to the Broad Autism Phenotype, or simply as neurodivergent but without being able to categorize someone exactly and definitively as belonging to a specific diagnostic category, there probably are people who could in all honestly identify as autistic, but who don’t, for a variety of reasons. Some may really just be in denial. Some may not be ready in their own minds to identify as autistic yet, but will eventually. Some never will because they don’t feel the weight of their experience justifies it. They may be right or they may be wrong but the rest of us generally take them at their word as far as their own experiences.

Conversely, within the LGBTQ+ community, we recognize that though in many cases, the terms “bisexual” and “pansexual,” among others, may be being used by different people to describe extremely similar patterns of attraction, there are subtle distinctions between them which are meaningful to some people but not others. (I somewhat suspect that the same may be true for the categories of “demisexual” and “gray-ace.”)

mr buress with a psa
[Image is a meme of comedian Hannibal Buress, a black man in glasses, depicted with four multicolored emblems representing the pride flags of bisexuality, omnisexuality, pansexuality, and polysexuality. It is captioned to read “These broadly overlap but the distinction matters to some people and that’s okay.”]

One thing we do know is that autistic people prioritize information differently than non-autistic people, that we tend to show a bias for specific, localized information over broad, generalized information.

And so one thing I think may be happening, not even just between autistic and non-autistic people, is that some fraction of people may experience incidental same-sex or same-gender attractions, but not as significant enough in the grand scheme of things, in their overall pattern of attraction, to identify as queer or bisexual rather than straight. While another person, for a hundred different possible reasons, including but not limited to an information-processing style that prioritizes specific over generalized information, may experience or interpret those attractions as meaningful enough to identify as bisexual or queer.

Neither of these people is necessarily being dishonest or hiding the truth from themselves, rather than assembling information in a way that feels most meaningful to them.

I think that’s something we should actually honor, rather than suggesting that they’re either brainwashed or too fearful to be true to themselves.

It probably is the case that more people are queer than currently self-identify as such, because internalized homophobia does exist, and because we live in a society that in so many ways can make it hard to find good, non-judgmental information about the real variety of experiences and identities that exist in the world, much as it is the case that autism is likely still under-diagnosed, because of a whole range of prejudices and lack of accurate information made available to families, and yet it is not the case that “Everyone’s really on the spectrum somewhere!”

And like the “Everyone’s a little autistic!” line, which we rightly hear as a dismissal, it hamstrings the ability of queer people to talk about actually being different from the majority in important ways.

Just like I don’t believe that so many autistic youth go through our childhoods feeling lonely and alienated to the point of deciding that we’re not really human at all because we really are just like everyone else, I do not believe that so many queer youth go through our early lives feeling alone and ashamed because a stunning majority of our peers really are just like us, but that we alone (including non-autistic queer people) just didn’t get the memo that we’re not supposed to be that way.

4. If we really are more queer on average than the non-autistic population, why would that be wrong?

Why would that be undesirable?

Why do we even feel the need to reach immediately for this explanation that “Oh no, we’re not really more likely be queer, we’re just more honest about it?”

So what if we were?

Why would it even be implausible? We don’t know that much about how exactly sexual orientation originates to begin with, but like autism (in most cases), it doesn’t seem to be the result of one “gay gene” or “straight gene,” but rather a complex interplay of many factors, both genetic and environmental. The affirmative declaration of the gay community for years and years was “Born this way,” and while there’s been some backlash to that in recent years—that it shouldn’t matter whether people are born queer or choose to be, our mistreatment on that basis is still wrong—progressive society now tends to accept sexuality as innate enough so as to make it not just wrong, and harmful, but probably useless, to try to change or cure it.

The same is (slowly) coming to be considered true of autism. That yes, while it poses certain challenges and often requires particular supports, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it.

We also know that autism is highly correlated with other complex conditions, for reasons we don’t totally understand, that are definitely physiological and not a matter of personal interpretation of experiences, like Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and epilepsy. There’s also a whole raft of more nebulous conditions like alexithymia and prosopagnosia whose precise relationship to autism (whether they’re “genetic stowaways,” or result from the inherent neurological differences that comprise autism, or are downstream consequences of those processing differences) is still unclear.

When discussing those conditions, we don’t tend to say “But probably they occur in non-autistic people at similar rates. We’re just more honest about it because we’re not affected by social pressures the same way.” At least not that I have ever heard.

Why when it comes to gender variance or sexuality do we reflexively feel the need to attribute some higher virtue to our identification, or emphasize that it’s not really that more of us are? When we don’t do that with regard to other aspects of identity or disposition whose relationships to autism we don’t really understand yet?

Why could it not be the case that some aspect of autistic neurology or development gives rise to a higher rate of non-heterosexuality than more typical neurology or development does?

What would be wrong with that if it did?

December 15, 2014

Self-knowledge and invisible identities

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , , , , at 5:10 pm by chavisory

This post actually started on Tumblr in a discussion of The Hunger Games and the various interpretations and identities that people project onto Katniss, and carried over into a question of how people of the demisexual/gray-ace spectrum can accurately perceive other people’s levels of sexual attraction and where they as individuals fall on that scale, which I wanted to expand on a little bit.

Obviously, we can’t ever know fully and objectively what is in another person’s head or internal experiences. So how can demi or gray-ace people know that we’re different, and that we aren’t just arbitrarily deciding that we’re different?

Conveniently, there is already a whole body of writing and experience from another population of people who have had the experience of knowing that they were different somehow, in frequently invisible, subjective ways, often in the complete absence of having been explicitly told so or possessing any language to describe how or why—indeed, often even in the face of other people relentlessly insisting on the contrary—and turning out to be right–

Most autistic people who were diagnosed later…say, after age 18…talk about having always or almost always known that they were different, whether or not they could effectively describe how they were different or how they knew.

A while back now on Tumblr, a parent who was considering the best way and time to talk to her kid about his diagnosis, asked the autism tag approximately when people knew somehow that we were different from our peers.  Not necessarily when we knew our diagnosis, but when we felt or knew we were different. Self-reports ranged from ages 3-10.

This is actually one of the earliest realizations about myself in relation to people around me of which I even have explicit memory (I was about 3).

But how can we really know that other people don’t (for the most part) share our sensory reactions, our cognitive differences, our difficulty with speech and language?

Well, we have pattern recognition. Most people don’t walk around acting or speaking as if they share those experiences on a pretty consistent, everyday basis.  Our reactions make sense to our experience of the world. Other people punish and shame and decide horrible and untrue things about us on the basis of those reactions. Disabled and neurodivergent advocates have amassed decades’ worth of writing, media, and activism at this point in an attempt to convince parents and professionals that we aren’t just broken, we’re operating in a hostile environment, and most of them still don’t believe us.

There is a burden of evidence, at some point, that becomes overwhelming, that other people are not experiencing the world like you do. Other people aren’t just hostile to the way we react to the world, they’re often baffled.

Unless I’m supposed to believe that the non-autistic 98% of the population has just happened to build a culture, educational system, and set of social and employment expectations that is just as torturous and awkward for them, but they’re all just pretending that it’s more or less tolerable and manageable?  And they overwhelmingly do this without ever being instructed to?  Or that somewhere between 1-2% of us simply missed out on this instruction?  And that most other people really do have the same level of difficulty and discomfort, but we’re the only ones not pretending otherwise, at devastating cost to ourselves?

(And yes, there are people who do go a very long time pretending that things aren’t that difficult for them.  The stress of which causes midlife burnouts.  If not young adult burnouts.  Which again, we don’t see masses of non-autistic people having.)

Likewise, there is a point at which the overwhelming amount of information available to me about how most people interact and live their lives, does not suggest that demisexual or ace spectrum people aren’t really having experiences fairly different from other people’s.

The alternative explanation I’m left with is that both autistic people, and demisexual/gray-ace people, are just the only ones being honest about our experiences, and everyone else is lying all the time, in such a way as to make the world really painful and difficult for themselves, and everyone knows that that’s true except us.

Which still would not explain the downright confusion and bafflement that I’ve gotten, not just in relationships but in health and sex-ed classes, from teachers, when the whole set of expectations from other people regarding sexual relationships does not match up to mine, in a “looking in a mirror and seeing nothing” kind of way.  I could imagine an entire set of societal and relationship expectations being built on a lie, and authority figures or romantic partners expressing displeasure when I defy expectations to uphold the lie, but not just confusion.

Are the vast majority of people just pretending to be deeply confused about how the interplay of emotion, physical comfort, and sexual attraction works for them?

Or when people go “Ha ha, you’re not different, you’re just like everyone else.  Everyone feels like [total distortion of what I even just described].”

You know how obnoxious it is when non-autistic parents go “We’re all a little autistic!  Everyone is on the spectrum!” Because no, they’re not.  I did not grow up feeling inhuman because 98% of the population is really just like me.

Likewise, I have a hard time buying that 98% or more of the human population is really just like me with regards to comfort and emotional needs in relation to sexuality, but are pretending not to be to the extent that I can’t even take part because it just doesn’t even make sense to my most basic physical experience.  And that really I’ve spent this long feeling this incompletely human and left out and lonely because I just didn’t realize that everyone else is lying really, really well about their most basic experiences of physicality and attraction?

You see how that strains credibility?

(I don’t actually think that’s true; I don’t think that badly of either non-autistic or non-demisexual people.)

Would you tell a gay person “No, you’re not really different, that’s really how everyone is.  How do you know that it isn’t?”

Demisexuality is a difference not necessarily in who you’re attracted to along the gender spectrum, but in how attraction works. In some way, shape or form, either a strong emotional bond has to precede sexual attraction, or emotional attraction is prerequisite to sexual attraction.

We walk around every single day of our lives, for decades on end, seeing and hearing messages that attraction works, or at least is supposed to, in a way that it actually doesn’t work for us.  You notice after a while.  You notice that you don’t feel and react in the ways that other people act like you’re supposed to.

Or, if everybody else is really lying in countless, tiny, casual, everyday ways about what attraction is like for them, and not only lying, but living out their lives as if something that isn’t true, is true…to the detriment of their own happiness, comfort, and quality of relationships, and that’s the only reason why people like me think we’re different….maybe they should stop.

Or else stop telling me that I can’t accurate perceive that what I’m experiencing is qualitatively different from what I’m being pretty consistently told that other people do.

Maybe then we’d also have an honest, accurate view of the true scope of human sexual and emotional diversity and no one would have to feel inhuman or alone or wind up thinking that they’re just not capable of having relationships.  But then what do I know?

February 11, 2014

I have really complicated feelings about exhortations to tell girls they’re smart instead of beautiful, and also why I’m not a Ravenclaw

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , , at 4:16 pm by chavisory

complimentmybrain

{Moving image depicts Dr. Christina Yang from the show Grey’s Anatomy, gesturing dramatically and proclaiming “Oh, screw beautiful, I’m brilliant!  You wanna appease me, compliment my brain!”}

The title of this might be me at my most inarticulate, but I’ve got some complex emotional history here.

I’ve see this screencap from Grey’s Anatomy flying around Tumblr a lot lately, with kind of conflicted feelings.

And I want to cheer for it.  I want to agree with Christina in this scene.  I want to clap.  I do.  I can’t.  My heart sinks a little instead.

When I was growing up, I was over-appreciated for my brain—or what people wanted out of it—and not much else.

And I get why, for a lot of women, so much importance has been placed on physical beauty and a very narrow definition of sexual desirability by culture and media that to be told you’re beautiful can be diminishing, or a denial of any other aspect of personhood as vital or valuable in a woman.

But another kind of woman got written off early and entirely in the department of physical desirability, and got told intensely and persistently that our intellect was the only valuable thing about us.

And that can be just as objectifying as the inverse.  To be treated as if your body, your sexuality, is a mistake, is off limits from being considered an asset or a real and true aspect of our personhood or something we should even like about ourselves.

Because my physical experience of the world is as totally intrinsic to the kind of person I’ve become as my intelligence is.

There’s not really any aspect or component of a person of which it’s alright to say, “You may be valued for this alone.  This is all of you that matters.”

So yeah, I can understand the frustration of other women at being called beautiful as the highest possible compliment, when though that may be what society values, it’s superficial to what they see as their true selves.

That’s exactly how I feel about being called “smart.”  It’s the only way I was ever allowed to be valuable or worthwhile, but it’s almost completely superficial to what I actually value most about myself.

When I was growing up, it was my intelligence that was made a commodity to other people.  And that was all of me that mattered.

For a long time, I was resentful that intellect and insight were not valued or celebrated anywhere near as much as superficial beauty or things like athletic talent—by society, by the media, by the school system—because it was all I had going for me.

And then a time came when I was so, so sick of hearing how smart I was.

In retrospect, a lot of my academic accomplishments feel like stupid human tricks, compared to the qualities that I’m really proud of nurturing. And yes, I was actually proud of them, too, and wanted recognition for them.  But on some level even at the time, I knew that they were just the game I could play.  They were the game I could win, the hoops I could jump through.

In an end-of-the-year Thespian troupe party my senior year of high school, we had a ritual where the whole troupe sat in a circle, and we were supposed to go around one by one, and use one word to describe each one of our classmates.

I forbade anyone to say I was smart.  I frakking knew that already, and getting told what you already knew wasn’t the point of the exercise.  I knew that ad nauseum.  Tell me anything else.  Prove you know me better than that.  Tell me that something about me matters to you.

People said it anyway.

(Our teacher, blessedly, did not.)

There’s also this thing that happens where, once someone has gotten the impression that I’m so intelligent, expects me to not have a soul, a conscience, a sense of fairness, or a heart, and winds up really confused and disappointed when I do.

Other people’s perception of my intelligence has been over-leveraged as a survival tactic and bargaining chip for autonomy and personhood, for me to really be able to treasure it much for myself anymore.

***

I value my physical beauty now, idiosyncratic though it may be.  I love finally feeling at home in my body and the way it moves.  That’s a wondrous thing to me.  I love being made to feel beautiful by someone who really means it about the way that I really am.

I like looking in the mirror and liking what I see.

And I won’t feel that it’s some kind of a betrayal of womanhood to actually value that about myself.  After so many years of having that ability discouraged and confounded in so many ways, I get to have that.

***

Just as valuation of a particular standard of beauty above all other female attributes both devalues girls who can’t meet that standard, and devalues everything else about girls who do…how is valuation of intelligence above any other personal attribute not likely to devalue girls who don’t meet some conventional, one-dimensional standard of that?

I wish we could just stop hacking people up into pieces that are valuable and not valuable, acceptable and not acceptable.

I fear that this trading valuation of physical beauty for intelligence, really just winds up telling some girls “You do not count in this way.  Your physical experience of the world and your sexuality aren’t really things that deserve to be taken into account, because you’re a brain, and that’s what matters about you.”

September 9, 2012

Let’s talk about sex (education)

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , , , , at 1:21 am by chavisory

So apparently school started again this past week, and (in)appropriately, I ran across this article on Salon.com (Americans Want Sex Ed), summarizing a report from the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy.  The report presents the seemingly paradoxical findings that while a solid majority of both adults and teens in the United States believe that teenagers should be taught about birth control, and also that anti-abortion leaders should support the availability of birth control, and also that they (teens) themselves have the information they need to avoid unplanned pregnancy…a somewhat scarily large percentage of teens then go on to report knowing little to nothing of contraception methods.

But I suspect that the discrepancy obscures, at least in part, a disconnect between the fairly binary way in which we conceive of what “sex education” can and should be–either abstinence only or abstinence plus safety and contraception–and the nuances of students’ real lives, or how well what students are taught about contraception does or doesn’t match up with how they really need or want to be educated about sexual relationships.

If, for instance, you’re a 15-year-old lesbian, it may be true that you know what you need to about contraception at the moment even if that isn’t very much.  Or if you’ve genuinely decided to wait for sex–till marriage or just till you’re older–you might not be wrong that you don’t need to know everything about possible contraception methods right this minute.  Or if you’re on the asexuality spectrum and not seeking a sexual relationship…this information might not be taking up space on your hard drive, but you know where to find it if or when you want it…or if, like some students taking this survey, you’re 12 years old.

Or imagine how profoundly unhelpful a group role-playing game full of scare tactics about the dangers of promiscuity is to someone desperately trying to figure out how to have one good, safe, physical relationship.

It’s also easy to mistakenly think you know everything it’s possible to know, when what you don’t know is what you aren’t being taught.

I was, probably unsurprisingly, one of the kids who thought that I knew what I needed to know.  I’d been through fairly decent classes on what to expect from puberty.  I’d been given information on available contraception.  (In a totally brilliant move on my mother’s part, one day she had picked me up Seventeen magazine’s Environment Special Issue, which she said she thought I’d enjoy, environmental activism being my primary obsession at the time.  It also had Your Complete Guide to Contraception in the back of the issue.  It was years before I realized that handing that over had probably been deliberate and not an oversight on her part.)  I was a biology wonk and already knew more about disease transmission and risk than what was in the health class videos and graphic slide shows.

And, for reasons that turned out to be a good deal more complicated than I even thought they were at the time, I’d taken a stance that I was delaying sex…pretty much indefinitely.

In this state of affairs, I wound up, despite my protestations that the requirement was insulting, in my school’s “Health and Family Wellness” class.  In which I somehow managed to be continuously stigmatized for the very choices that the class purported to be encouraging, because the ways in which I’d made them did not comport with the core presumptions of What Teenagers Are Like or How Dating Works.  At the same time that I did indeed think I knew what I needed to, as far as what I saw available, I felt this gaping absence of anyone anywhere accurately describing how I actually experienced myself or my desires, and how to build a life or be safe and respected in those things.

Now I look back and know that I cannot have been the only one experiencing this, because people who were not represented as having sexual or romantic relationships worth talking about included gay people, queer people, trans people, disabled people…so also disabled queer people…any kind of gender fluid or gender variant people, people on the asexuality spectrum, or now that I try to think of it, very many people of color or of cultures other than Normal American Teenager.  Let alone any of those people having relationships with each other.

What worked for other people was clearly not going to work out for me, but there were no examples of what would.  Or of how to talk about what was true for you, if that wasn’t what was presumed to be the default.

There’s a quote from Adrienne Rich that I think of more and more often:  “When someone with the authority of a teacher, say, describes the world and you are not in it, there is a moment of psychic disequilibrium, as if you looked into a mirror and saw nothing.”

So…not getting pregnant was actually not my biggest problem.  The ways in which our school’s sex ed didn’t have much to offer me went way deeper than “I already know all about contraception, this is a waste of my time, and I’d rather be taking art.”  But that was all I was able to express—in no small part because of the poverty of education or language available about relationships, sex, and gender that went beyond the very superficial.  And so I sat in class day after day, feeling more and more alienated from my peers and from how adults presumed I should be treated based on the fact that I was 15 and not much else, being told by unqualified teachers “I’m sorry you think you’re too good to be here,” rolling my eyes at badly produced educational videos, and learning most of what I really knew about love and respect from Mulder and Scully at home alone on Friday nights.  (And I’m not the only person I know who says that I learned what love was supposed to be from those characters.)

How would I have answered a survey question “Do you feel that you have all the information you need to prevent an unplanned pregnancy at this time?”  Yes.  But it would’ve been a stand-in answer for the fact that the question didn’t address anything real in my life.

I can well imagine that if you go to a school in which the name of your sexual identity is literally a bad word (“Don’t say gay” bills have been introduced in both Missouri and Tennessee), or a subject that faculty feel forbidden to address, up to and including when you’re being violently victimized for it, that you might reasonably feel that your ability to name risks and benefits of five different kinds of contraception is a little bit beside the point.

It isn’t that we shouldn’t teach comprehensive information about birth control, obviously, or work to ascertain whether kids feel they have the information they need about it, but I think in the common conception of what sex education is, this is widely thought of as the ultimate question: whether to teach abstinence only, or whether to teach risk management methods.  But even the seemingly right answer to that question is misleading and even counterproductive when contraception as risk management is taught without a bedrock of positive and healthy attitudes about sex, real-life examples of all types of healthy sexual and romantic relationships, a vocabulary to describe what’s true and desirable for yourself individually, and knowledge and respect for your own sexual identity and those different from you.

Without that kind of knowledge, which should be basic and not controversial, I suspect it may be hard for students to draw easy conclusions about whether the health information they have matches up to the realities of their lives.