Articles in Angoon
A Lesbian in the Bush: Tales of LGBT Life in a Native Village
by Angela Minor
Please welcome a new contributor, Angela Minor, with a new series on her experiences as an openly LGBT teacher in the Southeast Alaska village of Angoon. First of a multipart series.
Angela Minor is a professional freelance writer. She specializes in destination pieces, personality profiles, and civil rights commentary. Her work is published locally, regionally, nationally and internationally. Sample portfolios can be seen at iFreelance, Yahoo Contributor Network, and 10ThousandCouples. Follow her on Twitter @Angela_Minor.
Moving to a new location and starting a new job both rank at the top of the greatest-stressors-in-life list. I feel sure the data for these studies did not include relocating to a Native Tlingit subsistence village in the bush of Alaska. Nor did they incorporate information from LGBT individuals. Therefore, the stress-findings on this list paled in comparison to the “nerves” I experienced as Mal inched her way into the deep port at Angoon.
With two dogs, a bird, and a U-Haul trailer in tow, I exited the ferry M/V Malaspina (Mal) into the pouring rain and darkness. The school system had offered me a teaching job several months earlier, and this was the moment for which I had planned. Two teachers met me at the dock and guided me to the system-housing apartment. They pointed to the building and quickly departed, leaving behind admonitions to watch for bears. I knew that Admiralty Island had three bears to every person, but I didn’t think that meant in the town! After all, the island was almost a million square acres? I added this to the stress list for the night.
After sitting anxiously on the floor of the empty apartment waiting for daylight, the first visitor arrived at my door. The neighbor, a fellow teacher, came knocking with greetings and advice. “The native people will want to know why you came with a female companion,” he stated. My partner at the time was with me, so there was, in my mind, no confusion as to my demographic – female, white, lesbian. He “assured” me that in a village the size of Angoon (pop. 600) everyone would know by lunchtime. I had plainly told the hiring committee months ago, and had lived openly for many years. I did not see a problem. Honestly, the bears made me more nervous that the neighbor’s predictions.
The first day of school arrived and my little leaky pre-fab classroom was overflowing with fifth and sixth grade students. This was the day to test the new teacher, which is the rule in every school. One student in particular, let’s call him Johnny, led the charge to determine who was the leader. He danced around, shouted, told jokes, left the room, and rolled around on the floor. So I sat on the floor with him, calmly explaining that he could participate in his own education or go see the principal. He chose the principal. All was calm, until the next morning.
Before the school day began, I was summoned to the principal’s office to meet with Johnny’s grandfather. Walking up the hill to the main building, the neighbor’s predictions rushed unexpectedly into my mind. This meeting was not going to be about teaching, the classroom, or Johnny – it was going to be about me personally. As my blood pressure rose, I reviewed all the responses that every LGBT person keeps in their mind for just such an occasion.
I entered the office and could cut the tension with a knife. The grandfather’s body language was hostile and Johnny wore a look of smug victory. Clearly the meeting had begun without me. Without the niceties of introduction, the grandfather spouted out, “Why are you picking on Johnny?” Before I could inhale for a reply, he responded to his own question. “You white people always treat us like this…” My brain froze. This was not about LGBT bigotry; it was about racial bigotry. As we continued through the meeting in search of common ground for Johnny’s education, I listened carefully for any indication whatsoever of anti-gay sentiment. There was none. I could not, however, take comfort in this since the room was filled with the grandfather’s racially laden accusations and ignorance. Clearly I would have an even steeper hill to climb in Angoon.
To be continued.
