As the commencement of a fresh academic year graces the halls of Florida’s educational institutions, parents find themselves immersed in a whirlwind of novel paperwork. Amid this administrative flurry, names are changed or embraced with gusto, library permissions granted, and health service choices made, ranging from counseling provisions to temperature checks, a dab of calamine lotion, or the soothing comfort of an ice pack.
These bureaucratic maneuvers stem from Governor Ron DeSantis’s resolute drive to bolster “parental rights” in the realm of education. A series of newly enacted laws and regulations constitute the edifice of this pursuit, casting a sweeping net that curtails classroom discourse on matters of gender and sexuality, even extending its reach into high school precincts. Underpinning this ethos is a steadfast determination to uphold the principle that transgender students and faculty should not avail themselves of group bathrooms in accordance with their gender identity.
A further dimension of these reformations encompasses the restraint of educators from soliciting students’ preferred pronouns, a breach that could culminate in the revocation of their professional certification. The venerated echelons of literary classics, like “Romeo and Juliet,” aren’t immune to scrutiny either, with course rosters and classroom libraries undergoing meticulous inspection to extricate any material that brushes against the themes of gender and sexuality.
Witness how the various Florida school districts interpret these new paradigms.
They Have a Form for That
The recent regulatory changes have cast a complex web of bureaucracy, entangling several counties in a quagmire of forms that parents must navigate if they intend to designate an alternative name for their child other than the one legally bestowed. In the enclave of Orange County, enveloping the vibrant city of Orlando, parents are informed that even if a young lad named “Robert” opts for the more colloquial “Rob” or a transgender child assumes the identity of “Roberta,” the requisite form must be dutifully completed.
However, a curious stipulation surfaces: school staff members retain the prerogative to abstain from using the she/her pronouns when addressing the transformation of Roberta. This directive is rooted in the legal matrix of House Bill 1069, a legislative edict endorsed by Governor DeSantis in May. This statute offers a definition of “sex” tethered to the “external genitalia present at birth” and casts a broad net that limits instruction on matters of gender and sexuality.
John C. Palmerini, the district’s legal representative, acknowledged the prevailing ambiguity in a memorandum to district staff. He confessed that the State Board of Education remained reticent on the precise issue of using a transgender student’s preferred pronouns following a parental request. In light of this uncertainty, he advocated cautious measures, proposing the use of last names by teachers concerned about potential liabilities.
Carlos Guillermo Smith, a luminary in Equality Florida, an organization dedicated to L.G.B.T.Q. rights, expressed concern over the predicament school districts find themselves in. He decried the far-reaching restrictions, deeming them the inescapable outcome of legislation steeped in vagueness and bigotry.
In Palm Beach County, Michael Woods, a devoted special-education teacher, recounts his recent experience during a faculty training session. He was advised to replace gender-specific honorifics such as Mr. or Ms. with the neutral “teacher” when referring to transgender colleagues whose chosen honorifics misalign with their birth-assigned sex. Additionally, he was apprised that the invocation of transgender students’ preferred names should only occur with certainty that a parental consent form had been received. Woods underscores the stifling effect of the new law, lamenting its detrimental impact on fostering genuine relationships with the youth under his care.
As inquiries were made for a statement from Palm Beach County schools, an immediate response was not forthcoming.
New Bathroom Rules
The latest edicts imposed by the state pertaining to restroom usage within educational institutions carry an air of lucidity. The diktat mandates that students, faculty, and visitors must adhere to a binary choice: utilize the restroom aligning with the gender assigned at birth or resort to the solace of a solitary single-stall facility. Notably, districts transgressing this legislation could be subjected to punitive fines of up to $10,000.
Michael Woods, a prominent voice within this discourse, underscores a potential consequence of this decree. He avers that the regulation possesses the capacity to inadvertently expose transgender students and staff members to public scrutiny, contrary to their volition. The utilization of a single-stall restroom or even queries regarding its location could unwittingly disclose their identity, thus compelling them into an unwelcome spotlight.
Literature Under Scrutiny
In the heart of Lee County, situated along the Gulf Coast, a novel protocol is set to be unveiled for parental consideration: the “media access form.” This instrument will extend parents the privilege of choosing from three options: unfettered access to library books, a comprehensive embargo on access, or permission with the caveat that certain books are excluded based on prior challenges and scrutinized for any deemed objectionable content—even if the subsequent review determined their lack of objectionability.
Operating under the aegis of Florida law, any member of the public retains the right to challenge school library books—an avenue that has often been employed to contest literature centered around the L.G.B.T.Q. milieu or addressing themes like structural racism.
While the Lee County school district chose not to offer commentary, Christy DeVigili from the Florida Citizens Alliance, a conservative advocacy group championing the new educational regulations, expressed her approval of the new permission forms. She acknowledged that, despite her endorsement, progressive activists could employ the same mechanism to challenge books she might endorse.
She eloquently stated, “That is the beauty of democracy. There is nothing stopping any parent from any side of the ideological spectrum from challenging any book in any library.” Her assertion resonated with a broader objective: to grant parents “the ultimate decision-making authority, which is really what the law is designed for.”
Furthermore, a distinct decree now mandates that a media specialist certified by the state undertakes the task of meticulously reviewing individual classroom libraries. This scrutiny is designed to ensure that none of the books contain proscribed material, particularly depictions of what is classified as “sexual conduct.”
Predictably, this has introduced an element of bewilderment. In Hillsborough County, nestled in Tampa, educators initially interpreted this to imply that they could assign excerpts from the iconic “Romeo and Juliet,” but the full play was deemed off-limits, presumably due to the portrayal of the adolescent protagonists consummating their ardor.
However, this interpretation, though conceivably in concordance with the statute, appeared to diverge from the original intent of state policymakers. In an intriguing twist, the State Education Commissioner, Manny Diaz, Jr., designated “Romeo and Juliet” as the “book of the month” for August, alongside the seminal work “Up From Slavery” authored by Booker T. Washington.
In a bid to clarify the situation, Hillsborough’s interim superintendent, Van Ayres, penned a letter addressed to the community. The letter acknowledged the perplexity that the Shakespeare guidance had inadvertently generated, while also reassuring the public that the teaching of Shakespearean literature would continue in various formats across high schools, encompassing everything from succinct excerpts to comprehensive readings of the full novel.
Courses Under Fire
The sweeping constraints on teaching matters related to gender and sexuality have cast a pall over a range of academic offerings, including the Advanced Placement (A.P.) Psychology course. Orchestrated by the venerable College Board, the steward of the A.P. program, a categorical counsel was dispatched to Florida districts, advising against offering the class. The College Board’s rationale pivoted on the assertion that the proscribed content was intrinsic to the discipline itself, thereby jeopardizing the chances of Florida students receiving college credit for completing the course.
However, the tide of events shifted on August 4th, when Mr. Diaz, the State Education Commissioner, communicated to superintendents that he believed the A.P. Psychology course could indeed be delivered “in its entirety.” Subsequently, the College Board reversed its previous stance.
This oscillation of guidance has precipitated a quandary for districts, propelling them into a scramble to ascertain whether adhering to the popular course is tenable or if they should explore alternative avenues.
In the realm of sexual education, a domain that was previously marked by localized discretion in instructional approach, a transformation has transpired. Once characterized by a modicum of district-level autonomy embellished with a state-mandated emphasis on abstinence, the landscape has undergone a seismic shift. The state has now positioned itself as the arbiter of all curriculum materials, and has stipulated that students must be educated in the belief that the reproductive roles of males and females are unequivocally “binary, stable and unchangeable.”
As the multifaceted ramifications of these novel regulations unfurl, the Florida Department of Education, sought for comment, remained notably silent on the matter.
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