I used to be homophobic. In this post I will try to defend my younger self. By extension I hope to defend other homophobes and help to open up a dialogue with them.



The 80s





I was born in a small British town that I have never revisited. My family and I moved around other small towns before settling in a parochial village lost in the Midlands. At this time—the mid-1980s—I never heard adults discuss gay people. Sometimes my mum would say, “he's gay you know”, when Elton John or whoever came on the telly. Very neutral. Certainly they were being discussed somewhere in relation to the AIDS epidemic. But I only heard about gay people from other children.

I'd imagine the first homophobic slur I heard was ‘gaylord’. It’s difficult to feel accepted in a school environment—indeed any environment with a large number of people—and calling children ‘gaylord’ felt like a fun, abstract way to earn passing respect. It seemed to mean that a boy fancied other boys. It made them different and therefore a ripe vessel for abuse. So it was that I assuaged the frustrations of being an emotionally neglected child by bullying fellow pupils.

One day, on the sports field, I locked eyes with the most popular boy in school and ran my tongue along my top row of teeth. I'd seen it on a television commercial. I meant it as a powerplay. The other boys asked if I fancied him. They called me a gaylord. I was not a gaylord!



The 90s

By my teens, although ‘gaylord’ now sounded childish, I had cultivated a disdain for homosexuals through positive reinforcement. Weirdly, I never thought any of my schoolmates were actually gay. The whole concept seemed otherworldly to me. A figment of society's imagination.

Anyone suspected of being gay at school or college was laughed at; looked down upon as a risible curiosity. Goaded. I’m ashamed to say that I was party to that goading.

Curiously or not, most of the boys we identified as gay at school have since come out. And others too. The hell they must have gone through at the hands of we ignorant, angry children...





The 00s

I eventually broke free of schoolyard confusion, but moved in with a handful of peers. While I now felt free, my mind was still trapped in the small town. I worked alone in a shop for three years. I read books and tabloids, and played Pokémon on a Game Boy Color™. I was nowhere near enlightened, although I may have said differently at the time. One day a friend asked me what I thought about gay people. Having no other touchstone I judged the answer using internal scorn, religious doctrine and genital tessellation. I replied that it's immoral and wrong. I had an inkling my logic was twisted, but I dug in my heels.

After an unenlightening nine months in Australia, I was back in the UK. An opportunity soon arose to live in London. I took it.

There are many gay people in London. One day I saw two men holding hands. Back at my flat I exclaimed joyfully to my housemates, “I saw my first gays!”

I was not sure what I meant by that, or why I was so excited. Perhaps I wanted to normalise them in my own head. I knew I must. I had to, given the number of these people I was likely to come across.





I worked in a thankless sales job for people who made me lie for money. The more abusive you were the better you did. One night in the adjoining bar, I absentmindedly stared at the barman's arse. A colleague's jaw dropped as he said confrontationally, “were you looking at his arse???”

Even though a well-respected fellow salesman was openly gay, I felt like I wasn't allowed to be. In any case, while I can appreciate if a man is good-looking, I have no interest in touching his pee-pee, let alone his poo-poo. Why was I being confronted?

“No,” I lied. Years later that barman became minor celebrity Tom Basden.







Beer





Fast forward to me on the last day of work at a very serious barristers' chambers. The clerks took me out. A deeply damaged people, their only goal was to make me as drunk as possible, likely to defer their own pain to me in the most socially acceptable way possible. After my seventh Kronenbourg 1664 I became silent as they tried to make me drink so much that I would surely have been hospitalised. I stared silently across the darkening pub. A man on the opposite wall looked attractive. I wondered if I was gay. The clerks were repeating my name by now. They wanted me to talk. To react in any way. After what seemed like an era, I said the only thing on my mind: “I think I might be bisexual.”

Silence. I had said something so unexpected, so incongruous to the testosterone-drenched throng, that their only response was nothing. I left the bar never to see them again. On my way home I decided that I was not bisexual. But by gum that was a great escape strategy.





My third year in London felt much less homophobic, but gay people were still ‘other’. I was still in my hometown bubble. I had not knowingly had a meaningful conversation with a homosexual. But then I found out a man on my current university course was gay. Maybe I should have known—he had made his yellow overalls look like Kill Bill.

We had spoken in passing. A good man. When I found out he was gay he had already left uni, while I stayed on for a further year of study. I saw him once that second year. I approached and tried to speak...

Instead of saying, “hi, how's it going?” I said, “hi... how... have you... done... it’s going… a good…?”

His head tilted kindly. Why would someone say these words to him? He responded with articulate sentences, piecing together the broken pleasantries I had attempted. I had forgotten how to talk because all I could think of was that he was gay! What the fuck? It was then I realised I was part of the problem.

The 10s

I now live on the outskirts of San Francisco.

Analysis

When we describe homophobes—or any bigots for that matter—as deplorable, we often miss the bigger picture. It is highly likely that they have lived in the echo chamber of a small town for so long that they have heard no positive views of ‘other’ people. Probably no one in their direct circle of influence has taught them to love unconditionally. They are reproducing the hatred they have been taught. Acting out the cycle of abuse and inequality. Unaware.

We can extrapolate this not only to hatred that exists in the general population, but also to people in positions of authority. I have been lucky in a way that my family never took a strong position on homosexuality. This allowed me to eventually see through the societal haze and, twenty years too late, begin to see ‘others’ as myself. To empathise.

I'm sure that the Alabamans who have banned the bestial fairytale, Beauty and the Beast—on the grounds of it having a (spectacular) gay character—have been battered hard with the homophobia stick for their entire lives. Even if they were to speak up they may fear being ostracised.

My point is this: homophobes are just people who have been unlucky enough to been encouraged to taunt gay people from an early age. They have then had that sentiment reinforced. Many of them, as studies suggest, are homosexual themselves. They have been persuaded to hate themselves and feel they have no option but to project that hatred onto others.

Ultimately, the only way we can prevent the prevalence of LGBT youth suicide—the most compelling reason to write this post—is by normalising homosexuality. Not only normalising it, but embracing it. We must teach our children that they can be attracted to anyone they want. We must teach them that love is all you need.

We can achieve this is by disseminating information and speaking up. Surveys show that attitudes are already vastly improving.

One magnificent study showed that when gay people talk to anti-gay marriage supporters for only twenty minutes, those people often change their minds.

Next time you encounter a homophobe—unless you're being physically assaulted—remember that they are ignorant and unloved. Ask them if they want a hug.

Song

I will leave you with the best new song I've heard in the past few years. This was played by three DJs on a morning radio show. One of them said afterwards, “well that was depressing.” It sounded like he disagreed with the message. I stopped listening to that station after the same man later suggested that Ben Folds is not cool.

Personally I think this song is beautiful and inspiring. I was in floods of tears on my way to work. I saw something of my former self in its father character, and I am ashamed.