Today marks the beginning of LGBT+ History Month, and it’s the first day of the Brexit transition phase. Identities flow, connect, and move like a rollercoaster, and my heart is torn in so many ways.
I had just turned 17 when I moved to the UK. I was fascinated and excited by the prospect, the idea of building a life and a home in a country I always admired and longed for. I was eager to live and thrive and grow somewhere I felt I’d be accepted, seen, and recognised. My journey in the UK has given me the strength to grow into the person that I am today and the courage to fully embody the person I knew I was and did not want to hide anymore.
The UK began to be a place where I felt comfortable enough to publicly identify myself as LGBT+. Such a basic truth, a recognition of another facet of your identity, something that should be an unalienable right. Yet, whenever I look back at it, my heart breaks as I realise that the liberty to ‘come out’ is deeply rooted in my privilege. The privilege of living in, broadly, a socially liberal country. The privilege of living in a community populated with young people who are more ‘accepting’ than older generations. The privilege, ultimately, of being a white, cisgender man.
Sadly, the LGBT+ movement has been overwhelmingly focussed on the most privileged and hegemonic part of our community, and too often we have declared victory as soon as formal rights such marriage were recognised. We have (in)voluntarily silenced the ever-present struggles of those who are most marginalised among us: Transgender people, queer PoC, queer people from working class backgrounds and queer people from places where homosexuality is not only considered sinful, but is a crime before the law.
LGBT+ History Month, of course, gives us the opportunity to celebrate how far we have come since this movement started, but most importantly, I hope this time gives us the momentum to reflect on our history as a community. Let’s think about who lived and died for us to have something to celebrate about today. Let’s be outraged at the fact that trans women of colour, those who were at the firing line at Stonewall, are those whose rights today are not recognised and are those who still get murdered at the highest rates among us. Let’s think about queer folks who live in places that have been declared ‘gay free’: those who are sworn to protect them are too often the perpetrators of homophobic and transphobic crimes. Let’s think that some of those who are supposed to represent us still preach dangerous doctrines that put our very existence into question. Let’s think that, despite all of the positive change, homophobic and transphobic crimes have soared in the UK within the past five years. Let’s not forget how our identity as queer people is deeply intersectional with class, religion, and, especially with Brexit underway, ethnicity and nationality. Let’s remember that the leader of this country called people like me ‘tank-topped bum boys’ and said that if gay people are allowed to marry, we should also grant the same right to animals. The fact that lots people think this is innocent banter shows just how long the road is ahead of us.
Our celebration is hollow if we forget the giants whose shoulders we’re standing on, and if we forget that we can and must use our voice to allow future generations to enjoy the rights we are still fighting to fully access.
For decades, governments and law enforcement bodies harassed, intimidated, silenced, killed queer people. This still happens as we speak, and celebrating without having this in mind is a huge disservice to those who need a voice and a platform the most.
So let’s celebrate, remember, learn, and continue to build.
Happy LGBT+ History Month.
Franci, your Activities Officer