Debbie Hayton

When Boris Johnson talked about trusting teachers, I suspected that the government must be desperate. Trust is not a word I have head much in my 25-year teaching career. I am no longer trusted to go into a GCSE exam hall to look at the paper that my class is sitting in case I somehow manage to undermine the integrity of the exam. But that was 2019. This morning Gavin Williamson confirmed that this year, it will come down to me and my colleagues in school. There will be no exam papers, no external markers, and certainly no algorithms. Before the pandemic we weren’t even trusted to mark coursework for fear that we gave too much help, now we have been left in charge of the whole process.

Five years ago, in June 2016, Norway allowed anyone to change their legal gender. Legislative Decree 71 was everything that the gender identity brigade would like to introduce in the UK: no diagnosis, no medical reports, pure self-identification. The age limit was set at six years old, providing the child has at least one parent's consent. This matters to the UK. Self-identification may be off the table at Westminster but it remains a live issue at Holyrood where Nicola Sturgeon’s government seems determined to force it through.

Did you know that February is LGBT+ history month? If you have a 'progressive' employer you probably do. Banks, universities, local councils, NHS services and train operators are all getting on board. Rainbow flags are flying high above buildings across Britain. But do lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans people really need their own month to reflect on the past? Or is this more an occasion to virtue signal in the present? To be fair to the Bank of England, when it raised the rainbow flag on Threadneedle Street on 1 February, it was also commemorating Alan Turing. A war hero, who was gay, it is believed Turing took his own life after undergoing chemical castration following his 1952 conviction for 'gross indecency'.

The trans debate can be a nasty one. And when women (and it usually is women) have the courage to speak out, they face being shamed and silenced. Their crime apparently is 'transphobia'. But all too often, this word no longer means the hatred or fear of trans people like me. Instead, it refers to the simple act of disagreeing with an ideology that insists men and women are defined, not by their biology, but by feelings. Dame Jenni Murray, Professor Kathleen Stock, Joanna Cherry MP, Julie Bindel, and many other women have been hauled before a kangaroo court and been found guilty. But behind these high-profile cases, ordinary women face the same treatment. An army of (often anonymous) accounts police social media for wrong think.

Schools in January are usually full of life, but not this year. At the start of my day, I walk alone down silent corridors to an empty classroom. There are no children lined up outside; the bustle of school life is gone and the only voice I hear is my own. Welcome to lock down learning where my pupils are miles away at the far end of fibre optic cables. Teachers like me are doing our best to make it work but, although we are not teaching blind, our vision is so restricted that we might as well be looking at our classes down long cardboard tubes. We never did have eyes in the back of our head, but we had peripheral vision and we are missing it. It was from the corners of our eyes that we noticed the children who were confused or unmotivated or upset.

We might be welcoming in a new year, but it is likely to be another in which we need to defend our right to express legitimate political opinions. From today Ofcom, the broadcasting regulator, has expanded its definition of hate speech to include: ‘All forms of expression which spread, incite, promote or justify hatred based on intolerance on the grounds of disability, ethnicity, social origin, gender, sex, gender reassignment, nationality, race, religion or belief, sexual orientation, colour, genetic features, language, political or any other opinion, membership of a national minority, property, birth or age.’ That is quite a list and provides potentially rich pickings for those who weaponise the taking of offence as a political tool.

2020 will, of course, be remembered as the year in which Covid-19 was unleashed on the world. But it is one in which another menace – gender identity ideology – was put firmly in its place, in the UK at least.  Perhaps the tipping point was the deranged response to JK Rowling’s essay on sex and gender, which she published back in June. For taking issue with 'language that calls female people ‘menstruators’ and ‘people with vulvas’,' Rowling suffered widespread and predictable condemnation.

The Keira Bell judgment, which said that children are unlikely to be able to give informed consent for taking puberty-blocking drugs, 'puts trans people everywhere' at risk. That's the verdict of Grace Lavery, a professor of English, critical theory, and women’s studies at the University of California, Berkeley. From the other side of the Atlantic, Lavery described the case in an article for Foreign Policy as 'an unprecedented juridical attack on the LGBT community in the U.K.' It is, of course, nothing of the sort.  The High Court determined that children as young as 12 were highly unlikely to be competent to understand and weigh the long-term risks of receiving such radical treatment.

As we reflect on the Keira Bell case last week, spare a thought for another young person who is challenging an authority that has been bewitched by gender identity ideology.  A 14-year-old schoolgirl, known only as Miss B, believes sex is distinct from gender identity. Many others agree with her. But unlike those who have been silenced or learned to self-censor in what is so often a malicious and nasty debate, this teenager is not prepared to stay quiet.

Keira Bell has won her case against the Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust. As a transgender person, I am delighted for her but I am also relieved for the thousands of children who are chasing the impossible dream that it is possible to change sex. Bell's victory is an important one for teenagers and pre-pubescent children who are not old enough to make decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives. The High Court judgement made it clear that it is 'highly unlikely' that children aged 13 or under would be competent enough to give consent to the administration of puberty blockers. The judges went further and expressed doubt that children aged 14 and 15 could understand and weigh the long-term risks and consequences.

England might be coming out of lockdown – some of it at least – but there is little cheer for students. This week’s government mandated 'student travel window' will extinguish any vestiges of face-to-face teaching to allow students to Zoom out the term from parental homes. My son Barney is among the class of 2020, the group of students forking out high fees to be cooped up in their overpriced university accommodation, seeing few people apart from the flat mates they have been billeted with. November's lockdown has hit these students hard. Clubs and societies have been curtailed; Facebook groups and mailing lists have taken their place. Barney was not alone in deciding to head home before the end of term.

Today marks Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR). Every year on 20 November, clusters of people gather to remember the hundreds of transgender people whose lives were cut short by violence in the preceding year. In 2020, like everything else, the candles, the readings and the list of names will be Zoomed across the aether. But who are these people? It's true that they were trans but overwhelmingly they were disadvantaged and living on the edge – often in prostitution – and mainly in the global south. It's a far cry from the experiences of many trans people living in the relative safety of Britain. Of the 350 people who died in the year to 30 September 2020, 82 per cent were from Latin America, including 152 from Brazil and 57 from Mexico.