I tried not to think of past pain – but LGBTQ+ history shouldn’t be ignored
I spend a lot of time focusing on the negatives of being a gay man, especially when talking to my husband and other LGBTQ+ people.
It’s easy to dwell on the bad hand that we are dealt.
There’s nowhere in the world where all of the community are treated the same as cis-straight people and often, just trying to live as our authentic selves is met with violence and death.
Of course, some parts of the world are worse than others – 70 countries still criminalise same-sex relationships, and many trans people continue to be denied the right to legally change their name and gender from what they were assigned at birth.
Even in 2023, in the UK, we’re still treated as ‘other’. I still have to deal with occasional homophobic abuse when I walk down the street. I see cis-straight people’s eyes glaze over if I recommend an LGBTQ+ film because it’s ‘not for them’.
And in my personal life, I face significant hurdles to become a parent. For my husband and I, who are looking to use a surrogate, it can cost upwards of £50,000. That’s pretty much impossible for us.
Yet I know I also need to be more aware of my privilege, especially as a white cis-gay man, when the trans community, and LGBTQ+ people of colour, deal with more momentous struggles.
All that’s to say, it’s easy to focus on what we don’t have. This month, however, I’m trying to celebrate all we do and the people who made that possible.
February is LGBTQ+ History Month in the UK.
It’s a time to realise that we should appreciate what we’ve gained – even if the battle for true equality is far from over – and for those of us in the community who aren’t particularly knowledgeable about our history, to get our bums into gear and become more familiar with it.
We should be learning about people like Roberta Cowell, a former World War II Spitfire pilot, who in 1951 became the first transgender woman to undergo vaginoplasty surgery in the UK.
Or The Gay Liberation Front, founded in 1970, which urged us to first question the mainstream institutions that led to our oppression and launched the first Pride march in 1972.
And this year marks 10 years since the introduction of the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act, allowing same-sex couples to be able to marry in England and Wales, something I did myself two years ago.
I can’t imagine not wearing the two rings that almost feel like they’re tattooed on my left hand – it’d feel like part of me is missing.
We need to be aware of our history, and appreciate how much work went into securing the rights we enjoy now.
It’s easy to be complacent – I’m guilty of it.
Significant progress has been made but still it feels slow. By now, there should be equal rights for everyone, not just those who were born cis-straight.
I used to ask myself why I should dwell on the past. If a film focused on the tragic death of one of us – usually murdered or from AIDS, I actively avoided it. ‘Life is already hard enough’, I would think.
But if we ignore our history, then we forget those that helped make our present and futures possible. What about their legacies?
The world I experience would have seemed utopian even 40 years ago.
In the past, people like my husband and I wouldn’t have been able to be open about our relationship for fear of being arrested.
I can presume people know my sexuality and that if they do, there generally won’t be an issue. If there is, it’s a rarity. I owe that to those that came before me.
I’m working harder than ever not only to honour the past but to keep it from dying through working as the manager of my local library.
I started last February and was immediately struck by the complete lack of anything to celebrate LGBTQ+ History Month. It lit a fire in my belly to do something. If I didn’t, who would?
Straight away, I put together a display of books in not only my library but the city’s main one and over the last year, I’ve been ordering as many books about our community as possible.
In the kid’s area, I am once again putting together a display all about prominent LGBTQ+ people and their legacies – figures like Alan Turing, the mathematician who founded modern computing but who was convicted of gross indecency after having an affair with a man and was chemically castrated, and Marsha P. Johnson, a transwoman prominent in the gay rights movement of the 1960s and 1970s in New York City.
It’s crucial that the younger generation are made aware of our history and by keeping their memory alive in such a public place, we show that LBGTQ+ people are not ashamed.
It’s scary that if we don’t do things like this, not just every February but at every opportunity, our history could be forgotten completely.
My parents, though not LGBTQ+, can still remember a time when things were very different to how they are now.
They saw friends die of AIDS and lived through Thatcher’s reign of terror, and these are stories I can then pass onto younger members of our community.
I feel like my library work is the least I can do. I’ve created an LGBTQ+ book club, which is proving popular and has a vast range of different identities and ages. Reading both contemporary and classic literature and conversing over them is really helpful.
Reflecting on the past doesn’t mean we can ignore the fight we still have on our hands – just look at how awfully and inconsistently trans people are still being treated in the UK.
Being aware of our history also ensures we’re fired up enough to fight for those all over the world who still need it.
Researching the people that I want to promote in the library has been really informative.
I’m ashamed to admit that the only historical knowledge I had was majorly centred on white cis-gay men, so learning about figures like Marsha P. Johnson has been eye-opening.
I need to spend more time on my history, becoming more respectful of the work that has gone into securing the rights I have now, and appreciating how far there is still to go.
I’m trying my hardest to keep the memory of those who came before us alive – this month, and all through the year.
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