When I think back to my middle school years, I remember Wednesday chapel services, singing Christmas songs at the local homeless shelter, and going to Bible camps to bond with my classmates. I also think back to the moment I had the terrifying, confusing, and unequivocally true realization that I liked a girl in my math class. While attending a largely conservative Christian school, I stayed in the closet and silently cringed when the boys in my homeroom actively used homophobic slurs or when the girls on the field hockey team said lesbians were going to hell.
This October, when I heard there was a purple-out for anti-LGBTQ+ bullying awareness, I proudly donned a purple dress with a rainbow ribbon. The whole time, I was bothered by the nagging thought that this performative activism wasn’t going to help people who have been bullied for their sexuality, wondering what my purple dress was actually doing. I went to a Scroll writers’ meeting, worked out my pitch, and prepared to write a sharp Op-Ed repeating the paper’s tagline of “Deerfield, do better.” But, after talking to the students who organized the event, I realized that there is a significant argument in favor of performative activism.
During my year and a quarter at Deerfield, I have seen many events and calls to action to help different causes on and off campus. Last year, the Gender and Sexuality Alliance rallied to raise awareness about anti-trans legislation, students in the Class of 2023 group chat organized a red-out for Roe vs. Wade, and co-curriculars donned “Move For Love” t-shirts to stand against abusive relationships. Initially, I viewed these movements as ineffective. How does wearing red directly affect or change the ruling of Supreme Court Justices? How does going for a jog directly help a domestic abuse victim? It doesn’t. However, I had been asking the wrong questions. What I should have asked is: “How do these events affect the environment on campus?”
I asked Koai Solano Ortiz ’23, a GSA leader, if xe thought that wearing a color for a cause was an effective way to create change on campus. “[The purple-out] could be good, especially for people who are just questioning their identity and need that push of ‘oh my God, there are people on this campus who will support me,’” xe said. This really resonated with me. I thought back to seeing my math teacher in a purple shirt and tie on the day of purple-out and realizing that he wouldn’t judge me if he knew about my sexuality. What if, say, 60% of the people at my old school had worn purple as a statement against LGBTQ+ bullying? Would I have felt comfortable enough to ask my crush to cotillion?
Sophia Sotirhos ’25, the leader of DA Cancer Connections, hosted a pink-out recently to raise breast cancer awareness, which I had originally scoffed at for the same anti-performance activism reasoning. However, Sotirhos said, “It’s easy to sort of look at people [dressed] in pink and say that it’s not really doing anything, but … it affected me, seeing how many people really cared.”
Although wearing a certain colored sweater may not be the most effective way to create direct and lasting change, I keep on thinking back to what would’ve happened if kids in my middle school wore purple in support of people like me. I might not have had the years-long struggle of changing my religion and rethinking my sexuality countless times before coming to terms with the fact that not all my fellow Christians hate me, that my Christianity and bisexuality can happily coexist.
As teenagers, our job isn’t to cure cancer or write legislation, but to constantly strive to change the issues that bother us in our own respective ways. We are high school students – attending a citizenship-focused and affluent school, yes – but we are not leaders of the free world. Our realm of influence is limited, so it is the willingness to participate in these campaigns rather than the scale of their impact that really matters.
Personally, I know how hard it is to create change in the world. I never came out in middle school, and I barely had to the courage to reprimand my classmates when they were blatantly homophobic. Now, I try my luck at writing Op-Eds for the few that are willing to read them. My writing, like a purple out, will never have the impact of a congressional bill, but I’m not a senator. I’m content knowing that my article will reach the minds of a few, even if it doesn’t occupy the attention of a nation. Keep wearing your pins and having conversations about climate change, pronouns, health care, or any other issues you are passionate about. Keep trying to make change, Deerfield; however small it is, you are making a difference.