Understanding transgender issues for queerer education

Like most moral panics, the trans panic in 2025 represents an irrational fear born of stigma and prejudice rather than a solution crafted to solve an actual problem.

I’m absolutely sure you know that for the 16th consecutive year, Brazil has topped the global ranking for trans murders. Or that the average life expectancy of trans women in Brazil is 35. Or that 145 trans people were murdered in Brazil in 2023 (122 in 2024). I have no doubt whatsoever that you are fully aware that in 2024 there were 342 anti-LGBTQIAPN+ legislative proposals put forward in Brazil and 77 active municipal laws explicitly anti-trans. Without a shadow of a doubt, you are fully aware that 41% of the trans population has attempted suicide, compared to a global average of just 1.6%, according to the National Transgender Discrimination Survey. I have every reason to believe you are fighting against the fact that only 0.1% of trans students make it to federal universities while 90% are forced into prostitution. Right?

Because surely, no educator would look at these numbers and do nothing. Isn’t that so?
I mean, that must be why cisgender allies are so conveniently silent about the mistreatment of trans people in 2025: you already know all of this. And you’re pushing against it in classes: raising students’ awareness of transphobia and teaching them how to critically analyse language and discourse that perpetuate transphobia. Even simpler than that (I know we all have to pay the bills and sometimes need to tread lightly and carefully with the topic), I know you’re thinking up ways to help yourselves and other teachers bypass the system by discussing equity, diversity and inclusion of trans people in events and conferences.

After all, teaching English isn’t just about grammar and vocabulary-it’s about communication, culture, and the power structures embedded within language. Educators have the responsibility to foster critical thinking, to help students recognize how trans identities are erased, pathologized, and demonised in media, politics, and daily interactions. Silence in the classroom is complicity, and complicity is what allows these statistics to persist year after year.

It’s bleakly ironic to me that I see all these powered tools designed to help educators plan amazing classes using authentic content, real news and current affairs. Yet, I never see lessons on the attack on trans identities that’s happening in the USA. Not a single lesson on language use, genre analysis of Twitter as a fake news machine, or a C1-C2 level breakdown of the transphobic remarks hurled at a cis woman during the whole Imane Khelif fiasco. Funny how educators claim to teach ‘real-world’ language yet transphobic narratives and tropes are ignored everywhere.

What’s more, these slurs are eerily similar to historical rhetoric against gay and lesbian people during the AIDS crisis and before. “The homosexual cult demands tolerance but do not return the same,” “they are harming children,” “the brainwashing of children,” “activists’ propaganda,” “homosexual activists manipulating confused students,” are statements from 30-60 years ago during the Lavender Scare. At that time, LGBT people were labelled “moral weaklings,” “sexual misfits,” “moral risks,” “undesirables.” We were seen as a security risk. One of my favourite tropes from that era is the claim that “homosexual activists are scheming to gain a legal foothold in our schools by trying to change state education.” It’s as if I’m seeing a historical film unfold right in front of my eyes… except this adaptation targets trans individuals.

And if you’ve somehow managed to ignore the reality of transness in Brazil, let me tell you: we’ve been drowning in a surge of anti-trans rhetoric – all of it fueled by political conservatism, misinformation and imaginary problems imported straight from white supremacist groups.

Right-wing politicians have proposed laws restricting discussions of gender identity in schools, claiming such topics are “indoctrination.”

When teachers comply and avoid discussions of trans rights (or even trans existence), when they refuse to challenge anti-LGBTQIAPN+ rhetoric, they send a clear message: that trans lives are disposable, that the violence and exclusion trans people face are not urgent enough to disrupt a lesson plan. As an English teacher, I hold a unique position—I can teach students how to deconstruct harmful narratives, analyse the rhetoric used in anti-trans policies, and articulate resistance through informed argumentation: I am a travesti myself, so maybe I have some privilege in understanding my own existence and how to go about it in my classes. Even so, I truly believe that all of you, my cisgender counterparts, should do everything in your power to understand how you can do the same in yours.

One great example of how easy it is: @teachervicro’s videos on Instagram, teaching young learners the present simple by using structures like “I always slay,” “we hardly ever flop,” or having them react to what he says with “diva,” “slay queen.” Whether you like his approaches to teaching or not, it normalises the language used by queer people and consequently affirms the existence of such a group in the world.

Or take something that happened in a Business English group I teach: at the end of every class, I ask them, “What are you taking away from today’s lesson?” One student told me that what stuck with her the most wasn’t just the language we covered—it was the fact that, no matter what project or task we were focusing on, I always managed to consider diverse perspectives. It challenged her to think about better solutions to more complex problems. And to her, it never felt forced. It was natural. It was easy.

There are more difficult tasks, of course. We should actively push against the complete absence of trans individuals in curricula and the lack of preparedness among staff (all of it, mind you). Teachers should recognise and actively use the name of trans individuals inside and outside of the classroom – including in the teacher’s lounge, talking about the student among peers, respecting their pronouns. Whenever it is safe to do so, the use of a student’s deadname should be discouraged and frowned upon by as many people as possible. Parents should be educated on these topics. Coordinators need to ensure access to and safety in restrooms according to students’ identity. School events and policies should acknowledge and embrace trans and travesti cultural expression (their language, dress codes, references, and contexts). It takes effort to accomplish all that.

An English lesson must do more than just improve fluency; it should empower students to challenge the discriminatory laws, biased media coverage, and everyday bigotry that shape public perception.

Writing classes should not just be about the format of essays alone; we should strive to equip students with the skills to advocate for human rights – like when they find it relevant to learn about speaking eloquently to discuss EDI in business environments. Teaching reading comprehension isn’t just about decoding texts; it’s about recognizing misinformation and transphobic dog whistles. Teaching speaking isn’t just about structuring arguments; it’s about teaching students how to rip apart the pseudo-logic of trans-exclusionary feminism and transphobia.

So reflect with me—what exactly is stopping you from integrating these realities into your teaching? Because in a country where merely existing as travesti is an act of defiance, English teachers have a choice: uphold the status quo or use classrooms, conferences, and events as spaces of resistance. The question isn’t how to include trans voices—it’s whether you’re even trying to know where we are.