Homophobia exacts a chilling price as hate crimes climb
Hate crime towards gay and transgender people is on the rise across Britain, with thousands of people suffering abuse for their sexuality every year. Crimes against transgender people went up by 14 per cent during 2010 and, in some cities, attacks motivated by sexual prejudice are up by as much as 170 per cent annually.
The rise in homophobic crime in England, Wales and Northern Ireland went from 4,805 offences in 2009 to 4,883 in 2010. Campaigners say the figures are just the “tip of the iceberg” as research suggests three out of four people are still too afraid to report these crimes.
The police now record any crimes they believe are motivated by homophobia – anything from persistent harassment to serious assault and murder. Experts believe the reason for the increase may be in part because more people feel able to be open about their sexuality, making them easier to be picked out by thugs. Vic Codling, national co-ordinator of the Gay Police Association, said: “People have got more confidence in themselves and, when you get people who are openly gay, that provokes homophobes. There is still stigma in Britain and, if you’re open about your sexuality, that encourages people to take up arms and act on homophobia.”
The gay rights group Stonewall says there is anecdotal evidence that unprovoked attacks on lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) people are on the rise. The results can be fatal. The story of 62-year-old Ian Baynham, who was killed by drunken teenagers screaming “Faggot”, while they bludgeoned him to death in London’s Trafalgar Square in September 2009, is one of many. The Independent on Sunday is aware of at least nine people who have been killed by attackers because of their sexuality – or who committed suicide after being bullied – since 2009.
A growth in more extremist religious views has also contributed to the increase in attacks. A homophobic campaign, launched by extremist Muslims in east London earlier this year, featured stickers declaring the area a “gay-free zone” and that Allah would be “severe in punishment”. “A lot of the problems come when people believe their religion encourages them to be homophobic,” said Mr Codling.
The rise in recorded attacks may partly be attributable to an increasing willingness among the LGBT community to go to the police and report crime. Police have also been better trained in recording crimes as homophobic, rather than just robberies or muggings.
The most dramatic increase is in Scotland, where homophobic abuse has risen fivefold in five years, police statistics show. There were 666 crimes against LGBT people recorded in Scotland in 2009/10 – almost double the 365 reported in 2007/08.
In Oxford, homophobic crimes reported to police rose by more than 170 per cent last year; and in London’s West End, still a focal point for the capital’s gay nightlife, crimes motivated by homophobia increased by 20.9 per cent.
Experts say a dramatic growth in the number of transgender people seeking medical sex changes has made those born into a different gender more visible and therefore more vulnerable. In 2010, there were 357 incidents of hate crime against transgender people, up 14 per cent from 2009. The number of people medically changing their sex is growing at a rate of around 15 per cent every year: 1,200 people now undergo gender realignment procedures annually.
Bernard Reed, of the Gender Identity Research and Education Society, said: “The more people who feel the need to reveal their condition, the more people put themselves at risk. Our research shows 90 per cent of transgender people do not report abuse, so this is the tip of a very large iceberg. Society’s acceptance and understanding of trans people is up to 20 years behind LGB; we know people who are spat at every day.”
While numbers of reported incidents rise, police forces nationwide are closing down specialist LGBT liaison officer posts in response to budget cuts.
Sam Dick, of the charity Stonewall, believes the problem starts in school. “I think there’s a misconception that because the laws have changed, social attitudes towards gay people have changed. But it’s clear that people are leaving school feeling that homophobia and violent homophobia is acceptable: 17 per cent of gay students who have experienced homophobic bullying have received death threats. It’s clear this behaviour is going on in schools unchallenged.”
Lynne Featherstone, the Equalities minister, said: “Targeting a person purely because of gender identity or sexual orientation is a shameful act and will not be tolerated. We are working with the police to improve our response to hate crime. For the first time, forces are recording data centrally, which will help target resources more effectively and better protect victims. Everyone should have the freedom to live without fear of hostility or harassment.”
Case studies…
Rachel Maton, 56
Egham, Surrey
Rachel has suffered systematic abuse since she began her sex change in 2007
“I became a target because I’m transgender. Youths would pelt my house with eggs, smash my windows and shout at me. One day, I was hit from behind and the lights went out. Then they set upon me. My nose was smashed flat and I couldn’t breathe. Now I’m careful not to get in a vulnerable position.”
Chas Anderson, 20
East London
Chas, a former model, was assaulted in April outside a gay bar in Clapham
“My partner and I were queuing at a cash point after leaving the bar when a group started making abusive comments. They started saying the shorts I was wearing looked ridiculous, and one of them said that because I was gay, I deserved to be dead. Next thing, a man punched me in the face and I fell to the ground. There was a lot of blood and I had to go to hospital. The police said there had been a spike in similar incidents at the time in Clapham and south London.”
(Source: independent.co.uk)
The EastEnders furore shows gay equality is still a long way off
Two weeks ago, in its primetime soap EastEnders, the BBC showed resident gay couple Christian Clarke and Syed Masood in bed. On Thursday it was forced to release a public statement to defend it. This means two things: there are still viewers out there for whom homosexuality is of such concern a nod to its existence warrants complaint, and there were enough of them to require a broadcaster to feel it had to respond. It won’t have helped that one of the characters was a Pakistani-British Muslim.
The people watching aren’t your Last of the Summer Wine demographic either, the soft sort of viewer with mild sensibilities. They’re East “brains splattered out with a Queen Vic bust on Christmas day” Enders fans. There are apparently people who happily park their children in front of fictionalised drug abuse, prostitution and murder without batting an eye, yet regurgitate their own dinner at the sight of two people of the same sex lying on a mattress.
This comes the same week as Points of View discussed viewers’ disappointment that Holby City, so far swerving it deftly, was now “following the trend” of showing a relationship that happened to be between two men. Whether said complainers thought that the onscreen depiction of straight people or indeed the interaction of humans generally was similarly a compliance to fantastical trends remains unseen (maybe next week).
What is obvious is that a country that in law has instilled (near) equality between gay and straight citizens has failed to do the same in its culture. This is not to say vast progress has not been achieved nor to overblow the significance of TV complaints (though isolated they are not). It is, however, to remind ourselves that homophobia does not just come in the extremity of thugs throwing punches in the street but the gentility of a bigot writing an email from their living room. They are very clearly different but share an entrenched ignorance at the heart of the matter.
It’s time this was acknowledged. The “I’m not a homophobe but … ” mantra – a predominant piece of nonsense spouted in response to homosexuality (and funnily enough, the opening line of the chosen POV complaint) – can still seemingly leave the mouth without many blushing or feeling any sensation close to shame. It invariably is followed by a statement that confirms the speaker is very much a homophobe, traditionally by an objection to “explicitness” or a plea for someone to protect the children.
The “explicit” objection is easily solved (even by David Cameron): if it fits within the pre-watershed guidelines, you’re good to go. Yet here’s the rub: the explicitness of a romantic scene is too often dependent on which genders are in it. A man eating a woman’s face will go undetected, but if it happens to be another man, the BBC must brace itself. It’s like maths for homophobes. One heterosexual heavy petting equals one gay peck. Or is it a cuddle? A brisk handshake? The EastEnders characters in question were simply holding each other in bed, but for some an act otherwise seen as harmless, romantic even, was seen as harmful and perverse. It wasn’t, it was said, an appropriate image for children. In contrast to the naturalness of straight relationships, it was something it needed to protect the innocent from.
These are not their children’s thoughts of course but entirely their own. They, who deem noticing the existence of homosexuality as damaging, when it is in averting their child’s gaze that they cause harm. Some of their children will be straight and left (at best) battling the confused ignorance their parent’s special brand of “censorship come outrage” have bestowed them with. Others will be gay and, sunken within the tragedy of an unaccepting home, will be deprived the smallest escape of another world, of seeing a part of themselves on screen and knowing they are OK.
The snob may dismiss mainstream television as drivel but the power of it should not be. What we see on screen has an effect, and the more popular and widespread the programme, the greater this is. The complainers are right. What their children see does matter. This is the very reason the BBC should keep its nerve and refuse to pander to them.
(Source: Guardian)
Conversion therapy: she tried to make me ‘pray away the gay’
They described her as “reckless”, “disrespectful”, “dogmatic” and “unprofessional”. They said she showed “no empathy” towards her client. Why? Psychotherapist Lesley Pilkington had tried to turn a gay person straight.
In a landmark ruling this week, Pilkington, 60, was found guilty of “treating” a patient for his homosexuality. A hearing of the British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy – the largest professional body for therapists – concluded that the treatment she gave constituted “professional malpractice”.
The unanimous verdict came with heavy sanctions. Pilkington’s accreditation to the organisation was suspended. She was ordered to complete extensive training and professional development. If she does not file a report in six to 12 months, satisfying the board that she has complied, she will have her membership fully revoked: she will be struck off.
The report concluded: “Mrs Pilkington had allowed her personal preconceived views about gay lifestyle and sexual orientation to affect her professional relationship in a way that was prejudicial.”
The client Pilkington tried to cure was me. I am an out, happily gay man. I was undercover, investigating therapists who practise this so-called conversion therapy (also known as reparative therapy) – who try to “pray away the gay”. I asked her to make me straight. Her attempts to do so flout the advice of every major mental-health body in Britain.
But despite the decades of abuse that gay patients have received from therapists and psychiatrists – despite the electro-convulsive therapy used until the 1980s, despite the chemical castrations, the aversion therapy (where pain is inflicted to dissuade same-sex fantasies) and despite the recent rise in fundamentalist talking therapy – no one has ever been held to account.
The details of this case, and another I am pursuing, explain why not only gay clients but mental-health patients in general do not come forward to complain. Psychiatrists and psychotherapists routinely avoid accountability – and the government is helping them do so.
My investigation began in April 2009. I heard that a conference was taking place in London for therapists and psychiatrists who wanted to learn how to convert their patients to heterosexuality. Homosexuality was removed from psychiatry’s glossary of mental illnesses in 1973. How then could anyone treat something healthy? I went along to find out, posing as someone looking to be “cured”. Two people agreed to treat me. The first was a psychiatrist – we’ll come to him later. The second was Lesley Pilkington.
A few weeks later I was in her grand Hertfordshire home with a Dictaphone taped to my stomach. She set about trying to find the childhood “wounds” that she believes led to my homosexuality. But she found none. “There was no sexual abuse?” she pressed.
“No.”
“I think there is something there … you’ve allowed things to be done to you.” She then prayed: “Father, we give you permission to bring to the surface some of the things that have happened over the years.” I asked who could have committed this abuse – a member of my family? “Yes, very likely,” she replied.
Was homosexuality a mental illness, an addiction or an anti-religious phenomenon? “It’s all of that,” said Pilkington. During the sessions, she recited prayers for me to say whenever I thought about a man sexually. She gave me how-to-be-heterosexual tips such as taking up rugby, abstaining from masturbation and distancing myself from gay friends.
When the results of my investigation were published last year in the Independent, it sparked widespread outrage. Not least because Pilkington claimed that she had had referrals to “treat” gay clients from the NHS GP surgery to which she is attached. As a result of the investigation, the British Medical Association passed a motion condemning conversion therapy and calling on the NHS to investigate instances where it may have unwittingly paid for it.
Just before its publication, in January 2010, I made a formal complaint about Pilkington to the BACP. But by last autumn, little had happened. Three dates for a hearing were made and then cancelled. The BACP, which has 32,000 members, explained that they couldn’t find people for the adjudication panel. Why? “The legal advice we’ve been given is that the panel members can’t be very religious but nor can they be overtly pro-gay,” said Fay Reaney from the professional conduct department. So in a complaint about racism would they therefore not allow someone on the panel who is strongly opposed to racism? “This is the advice we’ve been given,” she replied.
A new date – 20 January – was confirmed. Four days before the hearing Pilkington gave an interview to the Sunday Telegraph, contrary to BACP guidelines that neither party speak publicly about the case. I had not named her in my original article. She then went on the radio to talk about it. In response to Pilkington’s disclosures – 48 hours before the hearing was due to take place – the BACP adjourned it and issued us both with confidentiality agreements.
The signed agreements would have prevented either side from ever talking about the case. My barrister, Sarah Bourke, advised me not to sign. But I couldn’t decide. I didn’t want to jeopardise the case but was it worth pursuing if it could never be discussed publicly? The BACP wouldn’t tell me what would happen if I refused to sign.
Meanwhile, Pilkington’s representatives – the Christian Legal Centre – were making intriguing claims. On the day the hearing would have taken place, they stated that it had been postponed because one of the expert witnesses she had cited in her defence had been subject to “menacing phone calls, threats and intimidation”. I was the only person named in her lawyers’ statement. Although she submitted testimony from several witnesses, I never knew their names and the BACP did not call any of them.
But the Daily Mail ran a story regardless: “Trial of therapist who tried to ‘cure’ gay man is halted after 'expert defence witness is intimidated’,” screamed the headline. Countless Christian websites repeated the claims. Hate mail poured in. Pilkington continued to give interviews and gave a talk at another conversion-therapy conference in London. With the agreements unsigned, the BACP decided to go ahead regardless. What was the point of adjourning the case for four months? The BACP would not explain.
Finally, the date was set. During the hearing, Pilkington said she still “feels there’s a need” for my homosexuality to be treated. The panel asked her if it was good practice to say to someone who had stated they had not been sexually abused: “You’ve let things be done to you.” She replied: “It didn’t come across like that.”
Was it, the panel asked, her belief that homosexuality was wrong, sinful or unnatural? “Oh yes,” she replied. “There’s no question about that … but there’s a way out.”
Pilkington revealed that she was trying to convert another gay client to heterosexuality. But that now she’s “clearer” about it – she uses a contract adapted from a US-based conversion-therapy organisation. Equally startling, however, was what the panel asked me: on what basis did I assert that the BACP was publicly opposed to conversion therapy? I read aloud the letter the BACP had written to the Guardian in 2009 describing such therapy as “absurd” and stating that it “makes people with gay thoughts suffer extra pain”. The panel was unaware of the letter and the BACP’s position on the subject. After lunch the chair announced that they would disregard the statement as they “don’t know who authorised it”.
As the hearing progressed, I discovered the strain all complainants go through. I was cross-examined at length by Pilkington’s barrister and by the panel. How would someone with mental-health problems cope with that? And it isn’t just the emotional challenges that could deter a complainant. Without being well educated and having free legal help to interpret the BACP’s jargon-dense literature and legal letters, I would have found the process incomprehensible and intimidating.
The BACP’s ruling in the Pilkington case will, however, help to reassure the victims of conversion therapy. Since my first article was published dozens of people have contacted me describing their experiences. Young people whose parents had forced them into residential gay “cure” centres in the US deep south. Middle-aged men and women who wasted decades trying to be straight. Several people who had attempted suicide. One young man showed me the self-harm scars on his arms. I thought about him every day.
But although this case will serve as a precedent, it does not solve the wider problem. Even if Pilkington had been struck off completely she would still be able to carry on practising. Anyone can claim to be a therapist in Britain because there is no state regulation of the profession. “Psychotherapist” and “counsellor” are not protected titles. The BACP is a self-regulating, independent body. No one has to be a member. Thus you can’t stop a bad therapist seeing clients any more than you can a fortune-teller.
The previous government had planned to regulate counsellors and psychotherapists by bringing them under the Health Professions Council, in line with other health workers, such as chiropodists, hearing aid dispensers and art therapists. This would have provided a central body offering standardised codes of conduct. But, contrary to the advice of mental-health charities such as Mind, the coalition has decided not to do this. Instead, the HPC will introduce a voluntary register for therapists.
But there is another unsettling thread to this story: that of the psychiatrist. His name is Dr Paul Miller. After meeting him at the London conference, he agreed to “treat” me for my homosexuality via Skype – as he lives in Belfast. He claims to have “resolved” his own conflicted sexuality and is now married with children.
Miller told me that homosexuality “represents a pathology”. He added: “The men you were having sex with or falling in love with are just as wounded as you.” He concluded that because my father is a physicist, and I was always more creative, that prevented a “gender-affirming process” which in turn led to my sexualising men.
His advice was for me to have massages with male masseurs and to stand in front of the mirror naked, touching myself, thus somehow affirming my masculinity/heterosexuality. He told me to visualise a red light when aroused: “I want you to move that red from your genitals up into your chest,” he said.
I complained to the General Medical Council (the Royal College of Psychiatrists has no remit for disciplinary procedures). The RCPsych has stated: “There is no sound scientific evidence that sexual orientation can be changed.” Yet the GMC let Miller off without even a warning – in fact, without even a hearing.
After receiving my complaint they appointed a consultant psychiatrist – whose identity was redacted – to write a report about the taped evidence I submitted. The crux of the report was that conventional therapeutic practices used by many psychotherapists have “as much or little scientific evidence” as conversion/reparative therapy. And yet reparative therapy is based on the work of self-proclaimed psychologist Elizabeth Moberly, who is not trained – her degree was in theology – and whose theories were not based on clinical research. The professional guideline document Good Psychiatric Practice, to which all psychiatrists are bound, states: “A psychiatrist must provide care that does not discriminate and is sensitive to issues of sexual orientation.” The GMC report relating to my experience concludes: “I do not consider that Dr Miller’s actions were inconsistent with Good Psychiatric Practice.” I will appeal.
Reaction to the report has been unrestrained. The psychiatrist and author Dr Max Pemberton told me: “The GMC’s decision is scandalous. Conversion therapy has been shown consistently to be dangerous and damaging. It is a disgrace that a qualified doctor is engaging in such practice, and an even greater disgrace that the GMC do not appear to feel that this warrants their attention.”
A 2002 study by US clinical psychologists Ariel Shidlo and Michael Shroeder found that 55% of patients experienced psychological harm from conversion therapy, the results of which included depression and suicide attempts.
Furthermore, as Michael King, professor of psychiatry at UCL, points out: “There is an error in the GMC’s logic: homosexuality is not a diagnosis. To therefore offer any kind of treatment can be damaging.” He added: “Self-regulation is a problem. Professions are inward looking. People don’t like to criticise each other.”
But until the government steps in, self-regulation will continue to protect psychiatrists and therapists. Dissatisfied patients, meanwhile, will be deterred from complaining.
Dr Miller is still practising in his clinic in Belfast. Lesley Pilkington can carry on charging patients and praying for God to “bring to the surface” their non-existent traumas. No one can stop them.
(Source: Guardian)
‘Why was I born gay in Africa?’
Elizabeth Day, 27th March 2011
As a child in Uganda, John Bosco remembers hearing an old wives’ tale that if a man fell asleep in the sun and it crossed over him, he would wake up as a woman. “I used to try that as a kid,” says John now, some 30 years later. He sits at a table in a busy cafe across the road from the railway station in Southampton, his fingers playing with the handle of a glass of hot chocolate. “I’d spend all day lying under the sun. From childhood, I wanted to be a girl. I wanted dolls. At school, I played netball. I wanted to dress up like a girl … I rubbed herbs into my chest that were meant to make your breasts grow. I tried everything but it didn’t work.”
He tells me that there was not one single moment when he realised he was gay; that the knowledge of it had always been there, unexpressed until he found the right words. As he grew older, John started being attracted to men. On the radio, he heard stories of gay couples being beaten and killed by police. He says that if he could have changed himself, he would because he so desperately wanted to be considered “normal”, to fit in, to make his family proud.
When he went to university to study for a business administration degree, his relatives and neighbours in Kampala would ask why he never had a girlfriend. “I used lots of excuses – I’m not yet ready, or I have a girlfriend who doesn’t live in the same area,” he says. “It was difficult because you cannot be open [about your sexuality]. You can’t socialise like any other person. A lot of the time, you have to keep your distance. You feel you’re not yourself. It makes things really hard.”
This is the reality of being gay in modern Uganda, a place where homosexuality is criminalised under the penal code, punishable by life imprisonment. According to human rights organisations, about 500,000 homosexuals live in the country, unable to admit their sexuality for fear of violent retribution either from the police or their own communities. Anti-gay legislation is a relic of British colonialism, designed to punish what the imperial authorities thought of as “unnatural sex” – thinking that was subsequently reinforced by wave upon wave of Catholic missionaries.
Although much of that legacy has been dismantled as Uganda modernises, homophobia is as entrenched as ever. An anti-homosexuality bill, due to be discussed by parliament before June, advocates the death penalty for “aggravated homosexuality” –ie for gay people with HIV practising sex, or gay people who have sex with someone under 18. Known colloquially as the “kill the gays” bill, it would also make it a crime not to report someone you know to be a practising homosexual, thereby putting parents, siblings and friends at risk.
“One of the things the Ugandans say is that being gay is European culture, that it is un-African,” explains John, 31. “There is this idea that Europeans and Americans are recruiting people to be gay, giving them money to do it.”
Last October, the now defunct anti-gay Ugandan tabloid Rolling Stonepublished a list of the country’s “top 100” homosexuals under the headline “Hang Them”. In January, the prominent gay-rights activist David Kato was murdered – beaten to death in his home by a hammer-wielding thug. Gays, lesbians and transgendered people in Uganda face harassment, extortion, vandalism, death threats and violence on a daily basis. They can be sacked from employment if they are outed, forced to enter into heterosexual marriage and detained by the authorities without charge or access to legal defence. In some of the worst cases, they can be subjected to so-called “correctional rape”.
It is not only Uganda – for years, the developed world has turned a blind eye to the state-sanctioned persecution of homosexuals that exists in 38 out of 53 African nations, according to Human Rights Watch. Now, a new feature-length documentary film seeks to redress the balance. Getting Out, directed by film-maker Alexandra Chapman in conjunction with Christian Aid, tells the story of the gay refugees who are forced to flee discrimination in their own countries.
“It is very important for people in the west to understand that legalised and state-sanctioned homophobia is a reality in many parts of Africa,” says Dr Chris Dolan, director of the Refugee Law Project at Makerere University in Kampala, who was instrumental in the making of the film. Dolan, who campaigns extensively to protect the rights of beleaguered minorities in this corner of Africa, says that the political climate in Uganda “enables a wide range of abuses and violations that seriously diminish the quality of life of all lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex persons, most of whom seek to stay under the public radar. It also places many such persons in serious and extreme danger.”
For John, the danger soon became too great to ignore. At his university freshers’ ball, he met and fell in love with a man called Aziz. The two of them were discreet, taking care not to be seen acting too intimately in public. In this way – never quite being honest, living in the half-shadows, always looking over their shoulders – their relationship continued after graduation when John took a well-paid job in a bank. When John first took Aziz home to visit his family, he was introduced as “my best friend. He became like another son to my mum. That was the way it was until 2001.”
Then everything changed. A group of John’s gay friends were arrested in a police crackdown. They were beaten and forced to give the names of other gay people they knew. John realised he had to get out. “I had to disappear,” he says. “I had some money saved up so I paid a private agency to get me a visa, a passport … I didn’t tell anybody I was leaving, not even my family. At first, I didn’t know where I was going. But then, luckily, the guy gave me a visa to the UK.”
John Bosco did not know it then, but his problems were only just beginning.
Florence Kizza smiles a lot. She has a sharp, pretty face with slanted eyes and straight, white teeth. When she talks, she does so in an even, clear voice, her faint Ugandan accent lending the words an irregular rhythm. We meet in a cafe in Richmond, Surrey, near to where she works as a bank clerk. Although the story she tells me is a horrific one, Florence does not show emotion as she recounts it, beyond a slight narrowing of the eyes, a glance to one side, a short pause in her narrative. She explains that to break down and cry would be to give into something she needs to resist. Because Florence is a woman who defines herself by her survival.
Florence is 32, Ugandan and a lesbian. She grew up in Najjanankumbi, on the southern edge of Kampala, the daughter of a prosperous businessman who sent Florence and her sister to a prestigious girls’ boarding school.
“I kind of knew [about my sexuality] at school, but those things you don’t talk about,” she says. “It’s something you never breathe out loud. I was brought up a Catholic. Every day, these pastors are preaching that a gay person should be stoned to death, that they should die. If you heard that, would you be open?”
When Florence was 16, both of her parents died of Aids within a year of each other. Florence was taken out of school and raised by relatives. The older she got, the more certain she became that she was gay. Lonely and increasingly isolated, she craved companionship. And then, buying food at the market one day, she met a woman called Susan, from the west of the country. “She spoke a different language,” says Florence, “but we just connected. We went for coffee, we talked and then we met up five more times.” Gradually, the two of them became closer but, like John Bosco, they were careful about how they acted together in public. Florence continued to live alone. Still, the fact that she was a woman of marriageable age without a husband aroused the suspicion of the local community.
In December 2000, neighbours broke into her house and found her in bed with Susan. The villagers stripped the two women naked, paraded them through the streets and then beat them in front of a baying crowd. “To say it was painful is an understatement,” says Florence now. “You can take being hit but being humiliated around God knows how many people – you lose your dignity. I felt, I wish I could die now.”
Banished from her village, Florence was forced to find somewhere else to stay. She spent the nights at Susan’s home, waking up early each morning to sneak out under cover of darkness. But however cautious she tried to be, it was never enough. In March 2001, Florence was arrested and, over a three-day period, was beaten and raped by three policemen at gunpoint. The assault was so ferocious that, 10 years on, Florence still bears the scars. It is cold when we meet and Florence is wearing a long-sleeved zip-up sweatshirt but, even in the milder weather, she does not like to show the twisted ridges of skin that snake all the way up her arms.
“Looking back, I think the police officers found me very challenging,” Florence says, and she half-closes her eyelids, as though squinting to make out a murky, distant shape. “There was a time when one of them hit me on the second day and I looked at him and I didn’t cry. I looked very, very calm. I told him: ‘Have you finished? It doesn’t hurt,’ and I laughed.” She looks up, meeting my gaze. “And he stopped.”
On the third day, Florence escaped when one of the policemen fell into a drunken stupor and she was able to steal the keys to her cell. She ran out into the streets and got a taxi to a friend’s house. She knew she had to get out of the country before the police tracked her down. She and Susan fled across the border to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. There, they paid a human trafficker to take them to the UK. “He said, OK, you have to pay a very big price. He asked for £20,000. I had to give up one of my dad’s plots of land as security.”
At the last minute, the trafficker said it was too dangerous for both Florence and Susan to travel at the same time. “He said, it’s one person, you choose. I said Susan should go because I was feeling ill, I didn’t have the energy. But they said I should go because my health was bad and I was the worst off.”
In September 2001, Florence flew to the UK and was taken by the trafficker to a B&B in Wembley, north London. He gave her a £50 note and left her there. At the age of 22, Florence was on her own in a sprawling foreign city with little money and no prospects. For days, she walked the streets, unsure of what to do or who to turn to. After her experiences in Uganda, she looked at everyone with mistrust and suspicion. She had to beg for money for food.
A man from a local church group eventually took her to the Home Office to seek refugee status but Florence was deeply intimidated by the interview process. “Basically, I didn’t trust authorities because of the bad experiences I had with them in Uganda,” says Florence. “The interviews were degrading. They would ask me to talk about my personal life, to explain how I had sex. The way they looked at me, I just thought, Jesus Christ, am I this disgusting? Honestly, I was so angry. They just had no idea.”
Already suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and depression, Florence’s symptoms got worse the further she travelled through the UK appeals system. Her initial application to stay was refused, on the grounds that she would be safe if she returned to Uganda, relocated to a different area of the country and acted “discreetly”.
According to Erin Power, the group manager of the UK Lesbian and Gay Immigration Group, a large part of the problem for gay Ugandan refugees is an unwillingness to talk openly about a sexual identity that they have had to keep secret all their lives, often even from themselves. “If they do what they’re supposed to do and approach the Home Office as soon as they land in the UK, you’re asking them to go up to a figure of authority in a uniform and tell them they’re gay,” says Power. “But that is the person who, in their country, will persecute them for speaking openly.
"We have clients who have never said they’re gay before. The idea that they can identify themselves is problematic because often they have kept it secret all their lives … Some clients have never had sex, but we argue that being LGBT is not about who you have sex with, it’s about who you are and what your identity is. We’ve struggled to get the Home Office not to focus on sex. Up till now you’ve had to prove two things: one, that you’re gay or lesbian and two, that your country’s dangerous.”
How do you prove you’re gay? Power laughs. “Everyone always asks that.”
John Bosco was facing similar problems in a different part of town. Having arrived in London with £600, John found a room to rent in Manor Park, north London. “I thought, if I can get to an English-speaking country, I’ll be OK. As soon as I get there, I can get a job because I have qualifications. I didn’t know the asylum system at all.”
When he tried to apply for jobs, he was told he needed a national insurance number. “I didn’t know what it was,” says John. Eventually, a group of Jamaicans he met on the street directed him to the UK Border Agency offices in Croydon. But instead of what he thought would be a straightforward interview, John says he was stripped naked, asked for his fingerprints, bundled into a van and taken to the Oakington immigration detention centre in Cambridgeshire.
Here, he spoke to the authorities through a translator, but the interpreter was from a different part of Uganda and did not speak the same tribal language so John’s statement was littered with inconsistencies. John, terrified as to how the UK authorities might react, did not tell them that he was gay and that this was the real reason he had fled Uganda. “They asked me if I wanted a solicitor,” he says now, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what this word meant.”
Failing to make himself understood or to provide a consistent story to explain his refugee status ended up costing John dearly. From Oakington, he was taken to Haslar, an immigration removal centre run by the prison service in Portsmouth. For the first few weeks, he had no change of clothes and had to wash his single pair of underpants every day. When a local volunteer visited him to ask if he needed any help, John finally confessed everything.
“When she asked me, 'Why did you leave?’ I said because of my sexuality. She said: 'That’s OK, that’s not a problem.’ I had to sit back like this.” He leans back in his cafe chair, crossing his arms over his chest with an expression of shock in his eyes. “I was shivering. I’d never had anyone talk to me like that. She was the first person I’d ever told about my sexuality and she was nice to me.” He breaks off, bows his head and rapidly wipes his eyes.
After four months in Haslar, John was given leave to stay in the UK but the Home Office appealed against the decision. For the next six years, from 2002 to 2008, John’s life became an exhausting cycle of legal battles. He got a job working at a mental health charity in Southampton and poured £21,000 of his own money into solicitors’ fees. In 2008, during a routine visit to the police station (the terms of his leave to remain in the country required that he report to the police once a month), he was manhandled into a van, taken to the airport and put on a flight back to Uganda.
“I was thinking, just kill me. I have no friends, no relatives, nothing. How long is this going to go on? I’m not going to change myself to be accepted.”
As with Florence Kizza, the judge in charge of his case had decided that John would face no immediate danger if he returned to Uganda, changed his behaviour and moved to a different part of the country to live “discreetly”. This was in spite of the fact that John’s photograph had been printed on the front page of a national newspaper in Uganda only a few weeks before he was deported. Living discreetly was just about the last thing he could do.
Within days of touching down in Kampala, John was arrested. The police threw him into a cell with several other inmates and subjected him to regular beatings. “The beatings are not something you can say you get used to,” he says now. “It’s something you expect.”
He bribed the police to release him with the little money he had left and went into hiding for six months. In the end, his solicitors won him refugee status for five years and he was flown back to the UK. But the leave expires in 2014 and John still lives in a state of anxious uncertainty, isolated from his family, friends and his former boyfriend Aziz, all of whom he has found it impossible to trace.
“I have bad dreams still: people chasing me, being beaten up,” he says. “Sometimes I sleep and then I think, what will happen after 2014? All I want is freedom, where I can be who I am.”
Florence was granted permanent refugee status last year. Since leaving Uganda, she has completed a degree in business management at Kingston University. For a while she worked for a supermarket; now she has a job in the offices of a high-street bank in Twickenham, London. She never heard from her girlfriend Susan again. “We tried really hard to locate her,” she says, her voice drained of emotion. “I think I’m getting used to it.”
In July 2010, the UK’s Supreme Court categorically denounced the “discretion reasoning” that had been central to the rejection of both Florence’s and John’s refugee claims, ruling that the decision failed to recognise the human rights of homosexuals and breached the UN refugee convention. The Home Office has since produced a set of guidelines, in consultation with asylum groups, on how to assess the validity of such claims, and all senior case-workers have been put through a one-day training session on the connected issues. “That process finished at the end of February,” says Erin Power, “so we don’t know what the outcome will be. Obviously we hope there will be some improvement because some of the interviewing was horrific, quite honestly.”
Back in the cafe in Southampton, John’s hot chocolate has gone cold. He says he misses his family “all the time” and does not have much of a social life, feeling too black to be fully welcomed by the predominantly white gay community in this part of the world, and too gay to be fully accepted by the straight people he meets. He spends most of his evenings and weekends in a rented room watching TV soaps. “Calling the memories back stresses me out,” he says, at the end of our conversation. “But the reason I do it is because if I don’t, people won’t understand what is happening, especially the people in Uganda who do not have a voice. The only way they will understand is for me to tell you about it.”
As he pushes his chair neatly under the table, he says that he is plagued by two questions. “I ask myself all the time, why was I born gay? And if I was born gay, why was I born in Africa?”
He leaves, letting the cafe door slide silently shut behind him, turning back to give me a wave and a smile through the window as he goes. Perhaps there will never be an answer. But for now, at least, John Bosco is free to pose the questions out loud.
(Source: Guardian)
Lessons on gay history cut homophobic bullying in north London school
From yesterday’s Guardian newspaper:
A north London school which has developed lessons on gay historical figures who suffered persecution claims to have succeeded in “more or less eliminating homophobic bullying” in its classrooms and playgrounds over the last five years.
The life story of the wartime code-breaker Alan Turing is among those being used to tackle homophobia. Authors Oscar Wilde and James Baldwin and artist Andy Warhol also feature.
Now Stoke Newington secondary plans to share the lessons with hundreds of primary and secondary school teachers. By the summer, it will have trained more than a hundred teachers in how to “educate and celebrate” being gay.
Turing, a mathematician who cracked German codes in the second world war, was prosecuted in 1952 for his homosexuality, which was then a crime. He was forced to decide between prison and taking female hormones to reduce his libido, and chose the latter. An inquest into his death – two years after his prosecution – returned a verdict of suicide.
Last year, Gordon Brown offered a posthumous government apology for the way Turing had been treated for being gay.
Elly Barnes, a music teacher, devised the lesson plans and training course with the help of colleagues. Her concern began when she heard a pupil say their “pen was so gay” when it snapped in two. Barnes’s aim is to “eradicate homophobia from all schools” by giving staff the confidence and resources required to tackle the prejudice.
Earlier this month, the Equalities and Human Rights Commission published a report, How Fair is Britain?, which found two-thirds of lesbian, gay and transgender students had suffered homophobic bullying, and 17% had received death threats.
Nearly half of secondary school teachers in England believe homophobic bullying is common. Only one in six believes their school is active in promoting the rights of gay pupils, the commission found.
“Many schools haven’t even begun to deal with homophobia,” Barnes said. “Some still think being gay is illegal in parts of the country.”
She believes one problem is that teachers dread taking lessons on homosexuality. “Many are scared of celebrating LGBT [lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender] as they are worried pupils will judge them and will assume they are gay. In fact, to them, we are just a blob giving them information. Over the five years, I’ve only had three pupils ask whether I am gay.”
A week ago, a group of 10 and 11 year olds trooped into Barnes’s classroom and she played them a clip from the film The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, which is about three drag queens travelling across the Australian outback. The pupils appeared happy to discuss transvestites and transsexuals.
“There is a man at my auntie’s work who wears a skirt and has really hairy legs,” said one. “Criss-cross is where you like both men and women,” offered another.
Florence, aged 12, told the class about the first wedding she went to. “It was a gay wedding and they were called Andrew and Eric, and I wanted to be a bridesmaid, but I had only known them for two years.”
Josiah, aged 11, said: “The pope opposes homosexuality, but I don’t know why, as I think everyone should have free will.”
Occasionally, the lessons do not go to plan. One of Barnes’s colleagues, Anna Gluckstein, was teaching about Turing when a boy at the back of the class got up and chanted “batty man, batty man” – a Jamaican term for a gay man.
A poll of 1,145 pupils in 2007 by the charity Stonewall found 65% of lesbian, gay and bisexual students had experienced homophobic bullying. Some 98% said the word “gay” was used as a synonym for “rubbish”.
“By looking at famous LGBT people in history, we’ve changed opinions and we have had a number of pupils come out,” Barnes said. “We have also changed the language used in the school. I used to hear the word gay used all the time as a derogatory term. Now we hardly hear it.”
(Source: Guardian)
