[Editor’s note: Students interviewed for the article who are under the age of 18 are referenced by their first name only.]

In the past few years, San Diego has been at the center of gay and lesbian rights issues in schools. Poway High, specifically, has seen two lawsuits, both of which came down on the side of GLBT youth. Neither story is unique, though.

And while both of these cases have received significant national attention in the last eight years, at least a dozen cases have been decided in favor of students who suffered harassment and a lack of protection from the system, costing school districts more than $2,000,000 in damages – and the respect of their communities.

Upon hearing these stories, it’s easy to understand why 58 percent of GLBT youth still don’t feel safe at their own schools.

Last year, the courts determined that two former Poway High School students were, in fact, harassed by their classmates because they are homosexual and their school district failed to address the harassment in a timely and meaningful way. While the courts did not specifically address discrimination per se, they did set a standard for what a “safe environment” includes – specifically, protections for individuals based on sexual orientation. And they ordered the district to pay $300,000 in damages to the two plaintiffs.

Earlier this month, the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals denied an appeal for the full court to hear Harper v. Poway Unified School District, a case brought after a student was prohibited from wearing a T-shirt with anti-gay statements on it.

Tyler Chase Harper was asked to remove his T-shirt reading, “Be ashamed, our school has embraced what God has condemned” on the front and “Homosexuality is shameful” on the back. Harper, a sophomore at the time, wore the T-shirt in response to Poway High School’s Gay/Straight Alliance (GSA) club’s “Day of Silence.” Harper, who was not formally suspended, was required to spend the day in the office.

Interestingly, the judges who upheld the April ruling of the lower courts cited the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1969 precedent Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District, which focused on a T-shirt that read, “Hide Your Sisters – The Blacks are Coming.”

“The dissenters still don’t get the message – or Tinker!” the circuit court opinion read. “Advising a young high school or grade school student while he is in class that he and other gays and lesbians are shameful, and that God disapproves of him, is not simply ‘unpleasant and offensive.’ It strikes at the very core of the young student’s dignity and self-worth.”

In Tinker, the 1969 Supreme Court ruled that in order to censor a student publication, administrators must prove that the material would create a “substantial disruption” of normal school activities or would invade the rights of others. Attorneys for Poway High School argued that Harper’s T-shirt would do just that.

Harper’s attorneys argued the First Amendment’s free speech protection.

“Harper’s shirt was undoubtedly unpleasant and offensive to some students, but Tinker does not permit school administrators to ban speech on the basis of ‘a mere desire to avoid the discomfort and unpleasantness that always accompany an unpopular viewpoint,” the dissent read.

Fifty percent of gay and lesbian youth say they are rejected by their families when they disclose their sexual orientation. Twenty-six percent of gay and lesbian youth are forced to leave home because of conflicts with their families about their sexual identities.

[All facts compiled by GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Network of New York and Youth Pride, Inc.).]

Hector, 16, is a high school student here in San Diego.

“Our school has an awesome GSA,” says Hector, who self-identifies as gay. “Teachers are pretty cool about it, and a lot of students belong to the club. And not just gay kids. There’s, like, all kinds of students – gay, straight, bi, gender-different, everyone.”

For Hector, though, the club is more than a social or community group. It was the salvation for his education.

“When I came out, my parents totally freaked,” Hector says. “I couldn’t believe it. I was, like, ‘Wait? Do people really care anymore?’ I had to stay with a friend whose parents were cool about it, but I really didn’t give a shit about school then. But then, when I transferred to my new school in Sweetwater, it was like, dude, is this for real?”

Eighty percent of lesbian, gay and bisexual youth report severe isolation problems. They experience social isolation, emotional isolation and cognitive isolation.

Not everyone has found a safe place in San Diego. For every school that has a GSA there are three that don’t.

For Javier, 17, being shoved around has become a routine that he routinely ignores. Hector self-identifies as gay and says it isn’t easy.

“I’m pretty shy to begin with, so then if you add in that people around me were making these hateful comments and shoulder blocking me out the way, I wouldn’t say it’s the high-school life a guy dreams about,” Javier explains.

The real problem for Javier, though, was the resulting isolation.

“I became the invisible man,” Javier says. “You know that guy in the movie Chicago who sings [‘Mr. Cellophane’]? That’s me, really. And I hate it when we have teachers who give group projects. It’s like elementary school gym class all over again, being the last one picked. What really sucks, though, is they had a good reason to pick me last for kickball. But for a science project, they’re idiots for not wanting me on their lab team.”

In a study of depression and gay youth, researchers found depression strikes homosexual youth four to five times more severely than their non-gay peers.

Christy, 15, is a self-identified lesbian who attends school in La Jolla.

“I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have the teachers’ and other students’ support,” Christy says. “I live too far from Hillcrest to hang out with other people my age and socialize, so our [GSA] club gives me a chance to feel like I belong. I used to sit around and stare at the walls. I never thought about college, about family, about my future. I couldn’t get past all the mean and horrible things around me.”

Christy says participating in her school’s GSA club – and seeing a therapist who specializes in young adults struggling with issues surrounding their sexual orientation – has made her a much happier individual. In fact, her grades are now nearly straight As and Bs, whereas they used to hover, as she says, “in the just-enough-so-they-didn’t-hold-me-back level.”

Twenty-eight percent of gay and lesbian high school students in a national study dropped out of school due to harassment resulting from their sexual orientation.

Victor is 17 and dropped out of school last year after months of being harassed because people found out he had a boyfriend. Victor self-identifies as bisexual.

“It was almost every day that the other kids would push and shove,” Victor recalls. “I was like, screw this. I’ll just get my GED and get out.”

Forty-five percent of gay males and 20 percent of lesbians report having experienced verbal harassment and/or physical violence as a result of their sexual orientation during high school.

Victor was, in fact, an honor student when he left school. Victor has taken his GED and is waiting for his scores.

“I mean, why would someone go to school and deal with all that when you can just take a test and get on with [your] life?” Victor asks. “I just didn’t want them [the students who harassed me] to win. I’m very competitive and I hate losing.”

Of course, says Victor, one thing he lost was his “sure-shot” to get into San Diego State University (SDSU).

“My school had a program where if we had certain grades and we did certain things, we were automatically into State [SDSU],” Victor says. “Now I have to get there on my own.”

When asked if it was worth giving up that automatic entry to SDSU, Victor pauses.

“Well, no decision is ever perfect, especially when you’re coming from a space where you’re hurt. But I just couldn’t imagine getting up every day and going to school for the next year and a half and getting shoved around. Maybe in the long run, it’ll work out.”

Ninety-one percent of students surveyed sometimes or frequently hear anti-gay comments such as “faggot” and “dyke” in school.

“I have a teacher who has this awesome poster that says, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words will really hurt me,’” says Jennie, 16, who self-identifies as a lesbian. “It’s totally true. And it’s not just the way the other kids will say stuff directly to someone. A lot of times it more like, ‘You faggot!’ and they’re talking to one of their friends, but they’re calling him that because he did something stupid. It’s like this acceptable language to describe someone who’s not being cool.”

Ninety-seven percent of students in public high schools report regularly hearing homophobic remarks from their peers.

For Jennie, when it is direct, it goes straight to the heart.

“When I was really little, my mom made me get pierced ears because she thought people would recognize me more as a girl,” says Jennie, who describes a childhood of being mistaken for a boy clear through junior high. “When I was in elementary school, I remember getting sent to the principal’s office by a [substitute teacher] because I was ‘caught in the girl’s bathroom.’ I was like, ‘Hey, I’m a girl!’ But she was so angry she didn’t believe me because I just really looked like a boy. At least my principal stood up for me back then.”

Jennie says she still refuses to wear dresses or makeup, and has long since taken out her earrings.

“I still think teachers get mixed up, except my name helps,” Jennie explains. “But now I’m kind of on my own with standing up for me. I’ve been called ‘dyke’ more times than I can count. Just once I’d like a teacher to stand up and say, ‘That’s not acceptable’ or something.”

Sixty-one percent of all GLBT students report some verbal harassment. Forty-six percent of those who report verbal harassment say it happens on a daily basis.

One point Jennie is clear on is that it really isn’t the words so much as the rest of the language – particularly the tone and body language – of those experiences that matter.

“I actually am a dyke,” Jennie says. “And I totally am OK with that. My friends and I use that term. But what I don’t think is right is some guy sticking his finger in my face, his veins all popping out ’cause he’s pissed I won’t pay attention to him, and using my own label to yell at me in this hateful way.”

Sixty-eight percent of adolescent gay males use alcohol and 44 percent use other drugs; 83 percent of lesbians use alcohol and 56 percent use other drugs.

“I know a lot of my friends who drink to blur and forget,” Christy says. “And I’m not surprised that the numbers are higher for girls than guys.”

Christy recalls a recent party she attended with some friends.

“We went to this party where it was supposed to be just this casual hang-out kind of thing,” Christy says. “There were these two dykes there who were completely drunk, and we’re all, like, 16 and 17. I was like, ‘What is up with them?’ and one of my friends just said, ‘Hey, just because you think you’ve got it all figured out doesn’t mean everyone does.’ I just couldn’t believe that this was an OK way to be until you ‘figure it out.’”

Fifty-three percent of students report hearing homophobic comments made by school staff.

One of the main reasons Victor left school, he says, is because it wasn’t just the students who were homophobic.

“I remember sitting in a class and we were reading some book and the teacher suddenly read some passage in a really effeminate way,” Victor recalls. “And the character wasn’t gay, but he was making some very sensitive comment. All the kids laughed, and the guy says, ‘Oh, sorry, did I sound too gay?’ as if it was a joke. I was just sitting there looking at the guy. I thought, ‘Well, no wonder the rest of these assholes are like this!’”

Gay and lesbian youth are two to three times more likely to attempt suicide than heterosexual youth. Thirty percent of youth suicides are committed by lesbian and gay youth annually, and suicide is their leading cause of death.

Christy doesn’t necessarily like to talk about it, but it remains a fact that haunts her: Last year, Christy tried to commit suicide.

“It was just another day when I woke up and said, ‘When I go to sleep tonight, will anything good have happened to me?’” Christy recalls. “That’s what I used to do every morning. I would say, ‘When I go to sleep tonight, will anything good have happened to me?’ You can only wake up so many mornings and feel the answer is no before it’s too much.”

Rightly enough, Christy isn’t comfortable sharing the details of that day. “… it’s the most vivid and horrible memory I have,” she says.

With the help of her therapist, Christy is finding the strength to be able to answer her daily question in the affirmative. And, Christy says, there are a lot of mornings now when she wakes up and says, “Yes.”

“Our [GSA] club has done a lot of great projects this year, like helping clean up a park, making banners and all sorts of stuff,” Christy explains. “Oh, and my grades rock!”

Approximately 20 percent of all persons with AIDS are 20 to 29 years old; given the long latency period between infection and the onset of the disease, many were probably infected as teenagers.

Andres is 17 and self-identifies as bisexual. Andres is HIV positive. Andres has been having consensual sex with both male and female partners for several years now.

“You know, what is probably ironic about getting HIV is that I don’t think I got it from a guy,” Andres explains. “I’ve always been really careful with guys because of HIV, but with girls, it was like, ‘Hey, that’s their problem if they get pregnant,’ and HIV was never really a thought.”

Andres is a peer counselor now at his school for kids who are at risk for dropping out or for depression.

“You know, you used to see these programs on TV where the teacher would take the class to some prison and some big tough guy would tell them the hell they were living in and that they shouldn’t do this or that,” Andres says. “Well, I guess the teachers don’t have to take the students to a prison, and I guess I’m the tough guy who tells them the hell I was living in.”

Andres is known on campus as the guy who always smiles and has a “joke and a smile.” (“Get it?” Andres asks. “Like that old ad, a Coke and a smile? Only, now they don’t let us have soda on campus, so we have a ‘joke and a smile.’”).

It’s not easy, Andres says, but it’s very necessary.

“There are a lot of the other students who don’t think much about condoms and safe sex,” Andres says. “And when I say in a freshmen group discussion, ‘One in 300 people have HIV,’ they’re all looking around nervously. Then I say, ‘I’m the one.’ And it’s like a collective sigh of relief. And then I say, ‘And there are 2,000 students at this school.’ People get it.”

Struggling with identity in high school isn’t unique to sexual orientation. And that, say leaders in the field, is exactly why sexual orientation should be just another part of the discussion.

And it isn’t just a feeling of belonging, says Stacy Spector, a former principal in San Diego and now a principal at the Academy of Citizenship and Empowerment (ACE) in SeaTac, Wash.

Students at Spector’s school work very hard to create a space that empowers all students, regardless of their identity, gender, sex, race, ethnicity, ability and sexual orientation.

“Students have been habitualized within their own culture,” Spector says. “We need to have explicit conversations to start changing the greater culture in the greater community. That starts at school. We ask ourselves, ‘What is our current reality?’ and then move to ‘What does the perfect world look like?’ What we work on is the space in between.”

Spector understands the students’ dilemmas. Take Hector, for example, who had to leave his home after he disclosed his orientation to his family.

“It’s hard when someone is raised in a family that doesn’t accept, let alone celebrate, someone’s sexual orientation,” Spector says. “The challenge is reconciling that intolerance with the fact that it is not acceptable at our school. We would never want to say that your family is wrong. That’s not right, either. But we have to reconcile those two opposing levels of tolerance.”

Spector’s school may well serve as a model of social justice of all kinds, including sexual orientation. As part of a campus that serves three separate schools, the academy is a relatively small community. And that, Spector says, is one factor in helping students achieve a level of community responsibility and accountability. The smaller the student body, the more chance that everyone is valued.

“My experience in San Diego was that GLBT students were hidden, ostracized or marginalized,” Spector explains. “There was so much going on in terms of exploring identity, but that stopped at the issue of sexual orientation. As an educator, as a woman, I think it was my greatest failure that I didn’t know how to change the culture. We would discuss identity and culture as they related to race, gangs, ethnicity. But it didn’t extend to our GLBT students. Here at ACE, we’re a small community, which makes each person responsible to the next. It allows for greater connection.”

Part of that, Spector says, is that she was heading up a school of 2,200 students with 120 or so staff members. The academy, on the other hand, is much smaller, both in terms of students and staff.

“We’re able to say explicitly, ‘Here’s why a particular comment or action is not appropriate’ because we are able to say, and understand, ‘Here’s how it touches me,’” Spector explains. “We are able to personalize each issue because the students – and staff, really – have more intimate relationships, and each action has a more profound impact and immediacy. We know every student personally. And we have all agreed upon a set of norms. For someone to violate that agreement on a small campus has a significantly more visible, immediate impact than on a large campus.”

Another significant factor for Spector is that the ACE community is a proactive community.

“In my experience, so much of what we did in San Diego was reactive,” Spector explains. “But here we have the support of the community to be proactive. The school itself is about social justice, both individual and collective roles within that model. I don’t hear words being thrown about like ‘fag’ or ‘dyke’ in a negative context because when they are, teachers and students alike will stop that individual and say, ‘Let me educate you why we don’t use that term.’”

With respect to sexual orientation and identity, Spector explains that at her school, they have a try- and why-curious approach.

“The idea here is that we are try-curious, that we are trying to understand different perspectives,” Spector says, “while we are at the same time why-curious, by asking what about sexual identity [is] an identity along with ethnicity, race, culture, gender and finding an understanding of why sexual identity is a part of who we are as a community. We talk about hate language and what it does to tear someone down.”

Much of ACE’s success, Spector says, is because it is a student-driven community.

“When students are part of leading any effort, you are going to experience a far greater success and impact,” Spector says. “For example, we have a GLBT Lunch Box, where we have teachers who are openly gay and lesbian who are modeling positive experiences and how to address negative experiences. It is about bringing the students both resources and celebration for their identity.”

For Spector, the GSA club is just that: another club on a campus that provides a broad range of social and community-based programs.

Tollil Purvis is a former high school teacher at Poway High School and a staff member who helped found the Gay/Straight Alliance club there. For her, it was a different story.

Purvis points to two other critical factors that may serve as obstacles in creating safe campuses for GLBT youth: administration and parents.

“I think the main obstacles to getting a GSA club going on campus, or even dialogue about sexual orientation and identity, would be the fact that the administration is often cautious,” Purvis says. “And for good reason. If it involves kids, one should be cautious.”

But being open-minded and cautious are not mutually exclusive, Purvis says.

“I think administrators and teachers can actually be more protective of kids when they recognize the value in clubs like GSA,” avers Purvis. “Creating environments for kids to feel safe is cautious; that is, taking caution.”

Parents are another factor in starting programs or clubs like a Gay/Straight Alliance club.

“If the parents are coming from conservative Christian or other religious backgrounds, you’re going to find some resistance,” Purvis says. “On top of that, you’re also more likely to find more prejudicial kids.”

The final component is the teachers. Thirty-eight percent of GLBT youth do not feel comfortable going to someone on their school’s staff to discuss their problems.

“I think teachers are untrained, and it is an uncomfortable topic for them,” Purvis says. “I really believe that if we had more training on this issue as educators, we would see a greater range of programs for kids. At Poway, kids saw that there were teachers that were willing to help and be there, and the kids could go to those teachers and feel safe. The more teachers we got into the [GSA] program, the better. And the students certainly paid attention to who was part of that supportive network.”

And students do look to the adults in their lives – parents, family, teachers, administrators – for role models. But both Purvis and Spector will be the first to say that while the students may be looking for role models, even more than that they are looking to become role models.

Complete the following sentence: “When I grow up, I want to be…”

Hector: “…a helicopter rescue pilot.”

Javier: “…a scientist who discovers how to make a cure for HIV available to everyone.”

Jennie: “…a firefighter to protect our national parks.”

Christy: “…a fashion designer.”

Victor: “…a professional baseball player; being a lawyer is my back-up plan.”

Andres: “…the first HIV-positive winner of ‘Survivor.’”