CW: homophobia, violence
Following a spate of recent violent attacks in Liverpool fuelled by homophobia, the gay community organised a peaceful protest on June 22nd 2021.
As a white, cisgender, queer - but mostly straight 'passing' - woman, I am aware that I am less of a target for homophobic abuse than others. However, advice for this protest was not to arrive or leave alone. Although I am building a social network in Liverpool, I decided I would attend alone - and take my camera. From past experiences of protests, I've found it can be hard to both photograph and participate in such gatherings. Aware that I would be alone, and with a fair amount of camera gear with me, I did actually feel anxious about attending. As soon as I arrived, I was welcomed with rainbows and smiles, but I was all too aware of the signs my community were holding - "we will not live in fear", "homophobia does not belong in my city", "the streets should be safe for everyone". Each person at the protest took a risk in attending, but each one felt that the act of coming together was more important than our individual safety - with one sign reading "an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us".
I wasn't openly queer until I was 31. Growing up under Thatcher's Section 28, where it was illegal to "promote" homosexuality in schools, basically meant that homosexuality was not discussed at all - teachers fearing that any words spoken may be construed at promotion rather than simply education. Boys in my class were called 'gay' if they didn't anything the other boys didn't like. I didn't meet any gay people until I was 16. The only gay people I'd seen on tv or in films were white, gay men. I didn't see anyone who represented me, and so I thought what I was feeling was wrong. Once I came to understand that it was perfectly OK to be attracted to women, I then had to understand the complexities of my bisexuality. With bisexual people being told we are greedy, confused, haven't made our minds up, and not entirely belonging in either straight or gay spaces, it's no wonder bisexual women endure worse mental health than any other LGB group (https://www.stonewall.org.uk/system/files/lgbt_in_britain_health.pdf).
I am envious of the younger generation who seem so much more able to understand their identities and be able to openly express themselves at such a young age. I am aware that the generations before me had it worse than I did, and that it's an evolving journey. There appears to be the illusion of safety now, a false sense of security - evident in these recent attacks. It's Pride month, and we see multi-nationals change their brands to include the rainbow flag, showing how inclusive they are - but what are they really doing to help us? National Home Office statistics show that homophobic attacks in Merseyside alone have increased 900% between 2015 and 2020. If you think we have already achieved equality, you're wrong.
Earlier this year, a straight friend and I got into a conversation about queer spaces. He told me that exclusively queer spaces shouldn't exist, that straight people should be able to access queer spaces, claiming it would be the only way for straight people to learn. I explained that many queer spaces are already open to all, but where a boundary is stated, that should be respected, because these spaces exist, not to educate, but to support. Without some of these spaces (in my experience, predominantly online), I do not know where I would be on my journey. This friend also said that "some people like to be different - they sit in their tower and don't want to let others in". His comments broke my heart. As someone who claimed to be ally, he was getting so much so wrong. I was strong enough to tell him that his words were hurtful. That his approach of believing what he wanted to believe, rather than taking on board the lived experiences of an actual queer person, was wrong. I lost that friendship, but I gained confidence in the validity of my sexuality and a fire in my belly I don't want to extinguish.
When speaking to a straight friend a couple of days after the protest, she told me she had never been to one, and wanted to know if it was emotional. I've cried at every one I've been to, I said. There is something very special about being physically surrounded by people living the same life as you, fighting for the same cause. There is a hope that united we can make things better, but also an exhaustion at having to continuously fight for our right to exist safely.
There is an unjustified notion that with gay marriage and more visibility in mainstream media, that surely we must now have equality. These attacks show that there is clearly still work to do. One protest will not fix everything, but what I hope it does it raise more awareness of the prejudices we still face daily, and encourage allies to be more active in supporting us. Listen, learn, act. There is a wealth of information online and there have never been more openly LGBTQ+ role models in our society. Follow them on social media and read their books. I also highly recommend watching Disclosure on Netflix if you haven't already. Turn up to marches, donate to charities working towards equality, and reach out to the queer people in your life. We can't do this alone.
More information around LGBTQ+ hate crime can be found at https://www.stonewall.org.uk/lgbt-britain-hate-crime-and-discrimination.
Love and solidarity,
Mhairi x
Images above © Mhairi Bell-Moodie
Images below © Josh Ormrod, Curtis Stewart, Tyler Jones
These images contain scenes some may find upsetting.