Thoughts On Coming Out - The Long and Winding Road (2015)

     In 1835, one-hundred and twenty-six years before my birth, James Pratt and John Smith were hanged for sodomy in front of Newgate Prison, London, before a jeering crowd. They were the last British men executed for this ‘crime’.  In 1861, ninety-six years before my birth, the penalty became imprisonment from 10 years to life.

     In 1957, in the year before my birth, the Wolfenden committee issued a report that recommended that the laws against homosexuality be relaxed. Until that moment gay men were routinely sent to jail from between 7 years - often with hard labour - to a life-sentence. During the 1950s it was very common practice for police to break down men’s doors and arrest them in bed with their male lovers. Neighbours routinely reported men to police if they suspected that they were receiving amorous male visitors to their homes. It was a time of dread. Gay men very often killed themselves, once ‘found-out’, rather than face the rest of their lives living with the shame and the abuse that accompanied it.   

     The Wolfenden report recommended that gay men be permitted to have sex together – but only if it occurred behind a closed door, which could be locked on the inside. Men would still be prosecuted if they showed any signs of affection to each other in public. The report was not written into the law until ten years later, however. I was nine-years old.

     Throughout my childhood, like all gay men of my generation, I received the crystal clear message that homosexuality was a pitiable affliction. Homosexuals were figures of derision. They were not real men. They were rather pointless, sad creatures. My mother and one of her friends were once discussing gay men and the friend said, “You can always tell the queers. It’s something about their eyes.” When I was 14 my aunt told my mother that she should think about putting me in the army in order to make a man out of me. “After all,” she said, “how can you have a soft boy?” 
      In 1973, when I was 15, after a tremendous battle with myself, I came out to my mother. I was unable to tell her face to face, so before I went to bed one night I wrote my thoughts down in a letter and left this where she would find it. ‘Mum,’ I wrote, ‘I’ve been very worried for a few years because I am homosexual. I don’t know what to do about it, but I have always been this way.’ The letter went on to explain my anxiety and the fact that I knew it was wrong, but that I couldn’t help it. The next morning I faced the crushing embarrassment of my mother’s concerned interrogation. “I don’t think you are homosexual,” she said, “many people go through this phase when they are young. You will soon grow out of it. Homosexuals are very sad men who have tragic lives. You don’t want that for yourself. Perhaps you are being influenced by some of the music you are listening to. Let’s not hear any more about this silliness. You are normal and you will have a normal life.” 
      In 1978 I was 20. I was in the first year at art school. It was liberating to find that I suddenly knew other gay men in that rarefied environment. My mother’s admonishments faded somewhat into the background. I had sex with another man for the first time. He was two years older than me. We entered into something of a relationship. He was a talented musician. He was also an alcoholic, who drowned his guilt over being gay in wine and brandy. Several years later he went to live in Amsterdam, where he became one of the first of the horde of gay men to die of AIDS. 
      I am now 58 years old. I am out and I am proud. I thank my lucky stars every single day that I am gay. I believe it is an enormous privilege. It has never been a ‘choice’. It is a birthright. 

     It is undoubtedly a little easier today for many gay kids and young adults to come out and live without fear. But the echoes of the past are still rippling through gay lives. The same prejudices, injustices and hatred still crop up. The same casual homophobia is leveled even if it is sometimes disguised as well-meaning ‘concern’. I am still angered by comments by heterosexual people who say “What does it matter if people are gay or straight?” or “People shouldn’t be viewed by their sexuality” or “You people have it so much easier now.' Such comments are only ever possible from the position of privilege. They reduce and belittle our ongoing, continued struggle and they deny the thousands of brave gay pioneers who have historically stood up against the tyranny imposed by the straight world and its unjust laws. Heterosexual people will never know the huge burden that attends the coming out process for gay people. Every scintilla of society is geared towards the heterosexual experience. It is assumed and fully expected that everyone will grow up straight. When a gay person – now, as in the 1950s – comes out, it is an act of mutiny.

     I now approach my sixtieth year. I have counseled many young men who are on the verge of coming out, or who have just taken that brave step in their lives, as well as those who feel that they cannot possibly do so – that the risks are too great. Yes, it has been a war. Yes, it continues to be so. Should we just be grateful for the few new crumbs begrudgingly thrown our way? Certainly not.