How to Bring An End to the War Over Sex Ed

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In 1988, South Carolina passed the Comprehensive Health Education Act, which requires sexuality education from elementary school through high school, including at least 12.5 hours of "reproductive health and pregnancy prevention education" at some point during a student's high school years. It doesn't limit teachers to abstinence-only lessons; rather, it allows each school district to make its own decisions about what sex education should involve. But with federal funding limited to abstinence-only programs, local districts have a powerful incentive to restrict their sex-education curriculum.

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Even so--and despite the fact that the women in Burdette's group include both Republicans and Democrats--Burdette says "there was never a question" that they would back a comprehensive sex program in the public schools. She pitched the idea to each of the county's five school districts. Burdette purposely stayed away from moral arguments and instead emphasized the social and economic costs of teen pregnancy. Researchers working with the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy have calculated that in 2004 alone, teen pregnancies cost U.S. taxpayers more than $9 billion in health care, foster care, public assistance and lost tax revenue. The cost for South Carolina taxpayers that year came to $156 million.

Burdette's arguments swayed school officials in Anderson District 3. With the help of friends, she raised $40,000 to hire a recent Clemson University graduate to be the district's dedicated sex-education teacher.

The Safe Zone
In most middle and high schools around the country, sex education is handled by an athletic coach doubling as a health teacher or by a science instructor who drew the short straw. Kristen Jordan is not one of those teachers. Walk past her classroom on the first day of sixth grade and you'll hear her leading the students in an enthusiastic chorus of "Penis! Penis! Penis! Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!" "Until they can use the real names for their body parts without giggling," she explains, "you can't talk to them about anything serious." The attractive 27-year-old with straight blond hair is one of those rare souls who not only tolerate middle schoolers but also enjoy them in all their overcaffeinated, hormone-addled, hyperkinetic glory.

Jordan has become a constant presence in the lives of her young charges. At Starr-Iva Middle School, she teaches two courses--one focused on basic sexuality, the other on decision-making skills--to each class in the sixth, seventh and eighth grades. The program gives students escalating levels of information about STIs, pregnancy and contraception. But it also encourages them to delay sexual activity, works on building self-esteem and uses role-playing to teach them how to resist pressure from peers and partners.

By the time kids like Jewels arrive at Crescent High School, they see Jordan as a counselor they can turn to with questions and in crises. (The fact that she's not an official school employee helps inspire that trust and also means she can help students schedule medical appointments.) Her classroom is a safe zone for the kinds of questions that pinball inside the heads of teenagers--and that gives her a chance to air out some popular rumors. (Question: Does drinking Mountain Dew lower sperm count? Answer: No.)

No one quite knew how this highly religious community would react to the Impact program. But it has encountered virtually no opposition. While parents can opt to have their children skip Jordan's classes, not many do (fewer than a dozen out of a student body of 600). They can also look through her course materials and sit in on her classes. If a dad walked into one of her after-school programs for at-risk kids--usually students whose parents or siblings were teen parents--he might blush at the candid talk about sex and relationships. But he'd also notice posters covering the room's walls with slogans like NOT ME, NOT NOW and SELF-RESPECT: THE ULTIMATE CONTRACEPTIVE.

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