From the PITT Substack:
Parents re-entering the Public Schools Post-Pandemic, long after the students were welcomed back, should prepare to be bombarded with a heavy dose of “Trans” Propaganda.
After a two-year Covid hiatus from scarcely stepping foot inside our local high school I, along with many other small-town Canadian parents, was recently readmitted for parent-teacher interviews.
Greeting students and visitors alike was a “safe space” sign decorated with the “progress flag” on a door just beside the front entrance, a virtuous signal begging for the entry of any student who has taken their place under the “trans umbrella”. Within its periphery were at least three other signs and flags all bellowing the same message of inclusivity, one that couldn’t be missed by any set of open eyes.
As my daughter who claims to be my son, my actual son, and I zigzagged from one teacher to the next, the number of “trans” representative flags, banners and signs on doors and walls, windows and whiteboards, slid into the category of complete overkill. What I didn’t see, however, was one prominent piece of paper or plastic that silently bolstered the embrace of any other categorizable group of individuals. The visual environment in which my kids, and some of yours, are regularly sequestered to receive their government-directed education had been filled floor to ceiling with “trans” propaganda.
The brick-and-mortar of the high school was not the only aspect in which not-so-subtle progressive change had occurred since my last visit. Well aware that staff members had been participating in a campaign, willingly or not, to preserve or propel my daughter’s “social transition” to a pseudo-male student, seemingly without my knowledge and definitely without my permission, I had come prepared for potentially awkward exchanges. My exasperating expectation was not left unmet.
I spoke with a grade eleven English teacher, who had crafted a space for incoming parents to sit directly across from a very large “trans” flag, which also served as her outspoken allied backdrop. Though the discussion was meant to revolve around my son’s progress in her class, she spent an unwarranted amount of her time side-eying my indoctrinated daughter and gravitating toward topics like “inclusivity in the classroom”. She seemed to have a very clear message that she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to candidly convey. A spontaneous chant of “trans rights are human rights” or “trans women are women” would have only slightly intensified the point she seemed so adamant to make.
In a much less gauche meet-and-greet, the first of my daughter’s teachers on our roster used no name and no pronouns while referring to her throughout our entire exchange. The friendly visual arts teacher managed to stay on task and talk about assignments, lesson plans and my captured kid’s level of participation in both. He artfully praised her talent and skill without a “he” or a “she” reference and I wondered if he did so out of a commitment to reality or to “protecting the trans child” from a potentially bigoted parent. Since I can’t recall a slathering of propagandized art projects or conspicuous sloganeering within his classroom I’m going to allow my optimism to prevail.
At another stop on our woke walkabout, a grade 10 math teacher, who actually gave the impression of truly trying to be kind and inclusive, fumbled around with my daughter’s “new name” but again, at no time referred to her as “he” or “him”. She is an example of a well-meaning but misguided adult, guilty of helping to solidify my child’s adopted “gender identity” on a daily basis. In this particular parlay, however, she just appeared foolish, probably even to my kids, through her floundering display of obliged “affirmation”. I’ve told my daughter many times that just because the adults around her are using her made-up name and calling her a boy, it doesn’t mean they actually believe that she is one. Knowing my highly intelligent and incredibly perceptive teenager, coupled with the telling look we shared upon reentering the TQ+-laced hallway at the end of the interview, I don’t believe that any of this was lost on her.
Promisingly, the awkwardness that sat like a stone between another of my daughter’s teachers and myself seemed to be sprinkled with subtle codes of common sense camaraderie. In the presence of my two teens, this teacher seemed to be cautiously skirting around the woke witchcraft that had cast an unwanted spell on his entire vocation. I wondered where our conversation might have gone had Big Brother not been watching.
This seemingly uncaptured and covertly concerned teacher laid heavy emphasis on his plans to instill a sense of discernment in his students while they sift through the world wide web for entrepreneurial materials in an upcoming portion of his course. He emphasized the once-valued adage that you can’t believe everything you read on the internet, to which I emphasized my concurrence. Whether or not wishful thinking played a part in my interpretation of our conversation, I found a now rare sense of relief with this particular professor of grade ten business.
It’s incredible how much can be said with just a few real words and phrases that happen to naturally counter the nonsensical narratives that have candy coated much of the language our children are exposed to each day. And it’s frightening that, in small-town Canada, a mother of an obviously troubled teenager and her conceivably concerned teacher are being strong-armed by a government-backed ideology into conversing as if sitting in front of a Telescreen.
I completed the teacher tour with my two teens, the undeniable overload of “trans” propaganda peppering the hallways and classrooms, the guidance office and cafeteria, knowing that not all of these professionals have bought into this salacious social sickness. I wondered if my kids, both of whom are receiving an ongoing education in critical thinking and common sense at home, were able to pick up on the little hints of anti-wokeness with the business teacher or on the hesitancy for any of my daughter’s teachers to actually call her a boy.
My country has solidified its allyship with the “transgender agenda” and it has turned our public schools into its living advertisements. I couldn’t have been the only parent present who picked up on the TQ+ littered lobby to library landscape that seemed to pop up out of nowhere post-Pandemic.
Those of us who haven’t pledged our allegiance to the “progress” flag have been deterred from entering our kids’ increasingly private public schools—but I encourage those still standing on the other side of the suggested blockade to go in and see the splatter of TRA sign-blasting for themselves.
When we left the youth indoctrination center that evening I had note-to-self to find an excuse to contact the business teacher and assess the possibility of deeper dialogue tucked in my back pocket, and a pit in my stomach over the zealous onslaught of “trans” propaganda within its walls.
