Young people deserve an education that equips them to critically analyze competing narratives, challenge misinformation and champion their own sexual health rights.
The Vatican issued a statement month calling gender transition and fluidity a threat to human dignity—which was not on my 2024 Bingo card. But it should have been. From the repeal of abortion rights across the United States to the criminalization of homosexuality in Uganda, it’s clear that sexual health rights are under siege globally. Yet, the fiercest battlefront is in classrooms where sex education unfolds.
In particular, “comprehensive sex education” has become a lightning rod for controversy, igniting moral panic around young people learning about gender theory, sexuality, safe sex, abortion care and more. But my experience designing sex education programs has taught me that “comprehensive” sex education isn’t comprehensive enough. What’s missing is a critical approach to sexual education that examines the political, cultural and economic factors shaping sexual decisions and health.
Many young people feel that sex education is ‘not for us’ because the curriculum doesn’t reflect their real challenges and personal understanding of sexuality.
The concept of “critical sex education” was proposed by York University professor Laina Bay-Cheng as an alternative pedagogical model. Unlike current sex education curricula that are depoliticized and focused on promoting safe choices, a critical approach acknowledges that sexual choices are shaped by social conditions and engages young people to advocate for their sexual rights.
The debates around sex education feature a diverse cast of characters—parents, educators, sexual health professionals—all eager to dictate the norms of sexual health. But the most important voices, those of young people, are often missing.
The lack of diverse youth perspectives in sex education has consequences. Many young people feel that sex education is “not for us” because the curriculum doesn’t reflect their real challenges and personal understanding of sexuality.
Sex education that brings a one-sided perspective also risks marginalizing the experiences of minority groups. This was the case in Canada, where a sex education program was recently critiqued for framing “traditional” minority culture values as regressive barriers to sexual health in contrast with “modern” majority views. A critical curriculum allows us to flip this script, creating spaces for open dialogues where young people can construct a more full understanding of sexuality and health.
Traditional sex education typically emphasizes the importance of young people making the “right choices,” with empowering slogans like, “My Future, My Choice.” Even non-abstinence education focusses largely on sexual risks to promote responsible contraception use.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for encouraging young people’s sexual agency and safe sex practices. However, we have to remain mindful that focusing solely on individual behaviors bears the danger of over-simplifying risk and sidestepping the more complex social and political contexts shaping risk.
In the United States, the data is stark for minority groups. Black adolescent girls are approximately eight times more likely to contract sexually transmitted diseases, and have an abortion rate that is three times higher than their white peers. Adolescents with physically disabilities face double the risk of sexual assault compared to abled teens.
These horrifying statistics aren’t just personal choices gone awry; they paint a picture of systemic disadvantages which can’t be overcome through “right choices” alone. For young people facing economic insecurity and oppression, the concept of “choice” in risk-taking is heavily skewed. Sex education that pushes the mantra of “just say no” to unwanted encounters, fails to consider that power dynamics of age, socioeconomic status, and racial inequalities make such advice less practical, if not outright infeasible. It’s crucial that we introduce a critical approach to sex education to teach young people the broader context and dynamics influencing risk and choice in sexual health.
While comprehensive sex education provides the basics about sexual health care, it often misses a critical piece of the puzzle: the structural challenges and power dynamics that obstruct access to care. Countries worldwide are tightening laws on abortion and gender-affirming care, leaving many without crucial services. Even within countries, there is a wide disparity in access to care. People living in low-income neighborhoods face barriers to good quality healthcare based on availability of public transportation, employment policies and other structural features. Additionally, entrenched social norms, such as gender biases in healthcare, can silence women’s voices, particularly affecting women of color who are disproportionately impacted by inadequate care.
Sex education that pushes the mantra of ‘just say no’ to unwanted encounters, fails to consider that power dynamics of age, socioeconomic status, and racial inequalities make such advice less practical, if not outright infeasible.
To navigate this landscape, young people need more than basic information on accessing healthcare—they need a comprehensive and critical understanding of their sexual rights and the tools to advocate for themselves. Sex education must evolve to tackle these issues, empowering the next generation to not only seek care but also to challenge and change the systems that govern access to it.
We stand at a pivotal moment in history, with the rise in misinformation acknowledged as a pressing global risk, giving rise to an “infodemic” in public health. This is accompanied by unprecedented politicization of public health, especially concerning sexual health rights.
In this climate our youth need more than lessons in sexual health management, they deserve an education that equips them to critically analyze competing narratives, challenge misinformation and champion their own sexual health rights.
Ms. Classroom wants to hear from educators and students being impacted by legislation attacking public education, higher education, gender, race and sexuality studies, activism and social justice in education, and diversity, equity and inclusion programs for our series, ‘Banned! Voices from the Classroom.’ Submit pitches and/or op-eds and reflections (between 500-800 words) to Ms. contributing editor Aviva Dove-Viebahn at adove-viebahn@msmagazine.com. Posts will be accepted on a rolling basis.
Up next:
U.S. democracy is at a dangerous inflection point—from the demise of abortion rights, to a lack of pay equity and parental leave, to skyrocketing maternal mortality, and attacks on trans health. Left unchecked, these crises will lead to wider gaps in political participation and representation. For 50 years, Ms. has been forging feminist journalism—reporting, rebelling and truth-telling from the front-lines, championing the Equal Rights Amendment, and centering the stories of those most impacted. With all that’s at stake for equality, we are redoubling our commitment for the next 50 years. In turn, we need your help, Support Ms. today with a donation—any amount that is meaningful to you. For as little as $5 each month, you’ll receive the print magazine along with our e-newsletters, action alerts, and invitations to Ms. Studios events and podcasts. We are grateful for your loyalty and ferocity.
