LGBT+ hate crimes are on the rise in this country while homophobic laws have been introduced in others, and increasing criticism of gender non-conformity has made anyone who doesn’t quite fit in with traditional gender norms a potential target. While you may be able to switch on the telly and see two men dancing together in the Strictly final, or drag queens advertising us everything from broadband to quarter pounders, it’s still not safe to be visibly gay. And at the moment I feel more scared than in the mood for celebrating.Īs much as I don’t want to let those men and people like them “win”, I probably will think twice before I get another train home late at night, or before I next hold my wife’s hand in public. It’s still undeniable that being visibly a lesbian can put me in danger. And I can’t help thinking that even if CCTV can identify the men who did this to us, there will probably be other incidents like this in my life, and I will probably feel just as helpless. When things escalated and they started throwing things at us, I went and told on them to the train manager like a pathetic schoolchild, rather than standing up for myself as I felt I should have been able to as a fully grown adult. Rather than turning around and shouting back, I instead avoided eye contact and stayed silent, knowing that we were outnumbered and unable to defend ourselves if they decided to physically attack us. Men on the train were hurling abuse at us, and I didn’t feel as if there was much I could do about it. And the next email in my inbox was from the British Transport Police, asking me to digitally sign the statement I provided after my wife and I were victims of a homophobic hate crime on a recent train journey. I hadn’t even realised it was this week, until I was informed via an email from Stonewall.
But this time around I’ve found it trickier to stomach.
I’ve always viewed it as a positive thing: an opportunity to be proud of who we are and how far we’ve come, and to keep fighting to be seen equally. Lesbian Visibility Day, or week, as it’s now become, has been around since 2008, the entirety of my life as an out lesbian.
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