No Opting Out: Why Parents Should Not Opt Their Children Out of Sex-Ed

Ramya Chunduri

TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT

As an On-Scene Advocate at a domestic violence shelter, I saw firsthand the effects of missing sexual education. Jessica walked into the hospital with bruises in all the places I once did. Her black eye, lacerations on her face, and arms, and wrist constraint marks gave me flashbacks of what I buried. She believed what was told to her—her rape didn’t count because she was drunk. She shouldn’t wear short skirts. This is what a comprehensive sexual education could have prevented. There should be no grappling with the truth for survivors. No parent should go through the pain when they realize their attempt to protect their child has failed. The sooner we realize that sexual education plays a key role in preventing sexual assault and intimate partner violence, the sooner we can re-evaluate opt-out policies.

The “Me Too” phrase coined in 2006, but popularized in 2017 necessitated conversations at public schools around the country about how consent is addressed. Even now, it inspires me to speak openly about my own experience. I was sexually harassed and assaulted, and I did not have any sex education until the 11th grade. Opt-out policies continue to prevent comprehensive sexual education for all students. As of 2020, 35 states and the District of Columbia allow parents to opt-out on the basis of providing parental autonomy. However, as of August 2020, only 29 states and D.C. have required that sex education is taught in any capacity at all.

While comprehensive and repetitive sex education is a proven form of violence prevention and harm reduction, Massachusetts schools do not mandate that sex education be medically accurate, nor does it mandate curriculum on HIV/STIs, abstinence as an option, information on consent and healthy relationships, or abortion. Given that the COVID-19 pandemic has already complicated the sexual, social, and mental health of adolescents (by increasing online intimacy, sexting, sexual firsts), sexual health information must be properly shared and taught by professionals to better navigate this growing virtual sexual landscape. 1 in 3 women and 1 in 5 men in Massachusetts note being raped, and/or a victim of interpersonal violence. 50% of women and 25% of men in the state report experiencing a form of sexual violence that isn’t rape. But there is no requirement that sex education teachers need to undergo specific training or coursework before teaching students in Massachusetts. Parental notice is also explicitly necessary while parental consent is not. Upon notification of sexual education, parents may opt out on behalf of their children.

If schools are the only site for formal sexual education, then opt-out and opt-in policies will only lead to adolescents seeking information out elsewhere; the pandemic is enough evidence of students doing so. Is it safer to receive primary and introductory sexual education in a formal setting or with friends the same age, pornography, or google? Are they comparable? Research shows that having sexual education in formal settings like school before the age of 18 is a major protective factor to avoid sexual assault during college. Hence, parents being able to opt out of school sex-ed when offered could be more detrimental for the future of our youth.

But if sex education is crucial to the sexual health and well-being of children, and a majority of parents believe that it should be taught in schools rather than by themselves, then why is sexual education not prioritized? Unlike Massachusetts, New Jersey, which has had the lowest rate of rape for more than a decade, has laws that require students to learn about consent and through a sexual assault prevention program, about intimate partner violence. It is the state with the most robust sexual education curriculum in the U.S. and this reflects how low its rates of sexual violence are compared to the rest of the country.

New Jersey achieved this by implementing significant policy changes to sexual education in June 2020. These changes ensured that sex education curricula would incorporate conversations around gender identity and abortion. According to Patricia Teffenhart, the Executive Director of the New Jersey Coalition Against Sexual Assault (NJCASA), the reason behind these changes is because sex education is proven to be a resiliency factor for sexual violence and therefore contributes to the overall well-being of adolescents.

Sexual violence occurs at alarming rates for teenagers and college students, most of which could be preventable if schools focus on educating children of all ages about boundaries, respecting them, and creating a culture of care versus carelessness. It’s not about eradicating all opt-out options immediately, but rather learning more about why opt-out policies do more harm than good for the youth of America and how we change this.

While thinking about sexual education, I thought about my first. The first time I learned about reproductive organs was in biology class. Then, it was in health class – in the tenth grade. The first time I saw these organs in a non-sexual way was as a senior patient care technician when inserting catheters. What the overly academic introduction to reproductive organs provided me with was a dearth of information for when the time actually was to come. In fact, it scared me off from truly understanding. It didn’t protect me, but rather made me vulnerable to sexual violence.

So, here’s a first for us all to consider -- destigmatize, destigmatize, destigmatize. Talk about it, because talking about it in a safe environment doesn’t cause sexual behavior. It educates and reduces the risk of finding out through experimentation with the wrong people at the wrong time, and/or after violence. When I was younger, maybe we talked around it at home, or with friends discreetly through innuendos that I didn’t understand, but it wasn’t explicit, and it wasn’t enough. Repetition is required. While it might be uncomfortable, do it anyway before it’s too late. Ask questions, talk, learn, and listen.

Ramya Chunduri is an amateur animator and illustrator who engages in artistic storytelling and advocacy for health problems such as domestic violence within the South Asian community. She is also a non-profit entrepreneur, psychotherapist, and clinical social worker.