Growing up gay in one of the most conservative states in America was often difficult, but neither conservative nor liberal narratives would fully capture my lived experience. Upon learning I’m gay, my friend from rural Oklahoma told me not to hug him for fear of “falling into sin.” Sharing this exchange would likely evoke outrage from the left, an outpouring of sympathy over my supposed suffering under entrenched systems of homophobia. Inversely, simply speaking about my sexuality causes discomfort on the right, mentors worrying I’ll stray from moral traditionalism or lead others to do so.
What both approaches share is love. Liberal and conservative members of my community genuinely care, believing they’re speaking critical truths to me that I have not yet considered. I am not angry or hurt, just exhausted. What’s often missing is my voice.
Our world is changing fast. My generation is emblematic of this shift. We are impatient for social progress and eager to claim a seat at the table, yet it seems like adults are too busy arguing to notice. During high school, I watched as classrooms were dragged into political fights over what books students could read, how history could be taught to us, or what messages my teachers could display on their walls. The kids are tired of the classroom culture wars. Both liberals and conservatives need to change their rhetoric and their perspective.
One of the most discouraging aspects of today’s discourse is how so many are unwilling to genuinely listen to those across the aisle. Leaders on both sides paint their opponents as enemies. Take Oklahoma’s top education official, Superintendent Ryan Walters. He’s called my teachers’ union a “terrorist organization” and claims he’s fighting “a war for the souls of our kids.” Such rhetoric not only demonizes teachers but turns public education into a battlefield, creating hostility toward mentors who ought to be viewed as trusted partners in students’ growth.
I’ve seen the effects of such actions in my own state, when some teachers chose to refrain from teaching about historical racism for fear of losing their licenses over violating Oklahoma’s critical race theory ban (which prohibits lessons that could make students feel “discomfort, guilt, anguish or any other form of psychological distress”).
On the other end of the values spectrum, progressive rhetoric quickly crosses the line from advocating inclusion to vilifying religion. LGBTQ+ community activist Dan Savage espouses that “we can learn to ignore the bulls — in the Bible” and accuses conservatives of “religious idiocy.” These kinds of statements don’t create safety, they create division. We can, and must, fight for dignity and inclusion without demonizing people of faith.
Let’s stop fighting over students’ heads and start building spaces where we’re taught to think bravely, speak honestly, and listen deeply.
Both sides want their politics to shape how youth are taught to view the world. This polarization leaves students like me caught in the middle. Hear it from someone who just graduated from high school: We’re tired of the fighting. We want less virtue-signaling and more virtue, leaders who embody humility and a genuine desire to hear all perspectives.
So many leaders have forgotten that the goal of education is to teach us how to think, not what to think. That includes how schools approach identity. As a gay student, I don’t need pride flags in classrooms or repeated affirmations that my sexuality is worthy of special celebration. Such gestures, however well-meaning, often feel shallow and performative. I am so much more than my sexuality. Overemphasizing any label or identity unintentionally reduces me to a single, surface-level part of who I am.
While I recognize that visible support can certainly help students feel safe discussing difficult personal circumstances with teachers, I question whether such displays may also have unintended effects on classroom dialogue. Prominently presenting emblems of modern liberalism such as pride flags can inadvertently alienate students, like my Roman Catholic friends, by signaling that their beliefs are outdated or unwelcome. My critical thinking has been most sharpened through dialogue with those who see the world differently from me. It is imperative that we offer a seat at the table to all.
At the same time, I’ve been deeply wounded by conservative rhetoric that implies I needed to be “fixed.” Growing up gay in the Bible Belt, I internalized the lie that if I just prayed hard enough, God would make me straight. When that didn’t happen, I felt broken, ashamed of a part of myself I couldn’t change. Finding a book on LGBTQ+ history in my school library was cathartic. Reading about gay-rights activist Harvey Milk showed me I wasn’t alone, that my life didn’t have to be defined by shame. It allowed me to see I could use my story to advocate change, especially in a place like Oklahoma where the Trevor Project reports that each year nearly half of LGBTQ+ youth seriously consider suicide. It breaks my heart that queer youth continue to feel ostracized in the Bible Belt—where so many claim to follow a gospel of radical love, yet we continually fail to show this love to those who may need it most.
Here’s what I want educators and policymakers to understand: Kids are tired of your culture wars in our classrooms.
Why must we put pride flags in classrooms, when doing so alienates students from religious traditions rooted in centuries of beauty and belief? Why must we ban books on LGBTQ+ history, when their presence could be lifesaving for students who feel alone, ashamed, or afraid? Don’t decide which narratives I’m allowed to access. Give me the tools to think critically and let me decide for myself.
My dear U.S. history teacher taught me that Thomas Jefferson believed “every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle.” If we want classrooms where every student can thrive, both liberals and conservatives must work to fully embody Jefferson’s belief. Our ideologies may differ, but most of us ultimately want the same thing: human flourishing. The real disagreement lies in how we get there. I believe that our disagreements matter far less than our shared desire to improve student outcomes as a whole. Let’s stop fighting over students’ heads and start building spaces where we’re taught to think bravely, speak honestly, and listen deeply.
We—the kids—are ready. Are you?
