I can remember the precise moment when I decided that prejudice against LGBT people was stupid – I must have been about twelve, sexually aware, but not in very sophisticated way, and found out Uncle Alan was attracted to his own sex, and had had his life pretty comprehensively ruined by it. It struck me then, and it strikes me now, that it was a totally illogical reason for any kind or shape of prejudice. Quality is what matters in relationships.
Since that day I have done whatever lay in my power to change things. Not much lay in my power. I was not so much a cog in the machine as a tiny ball bearing – perhaps only a drop of oil. I’m not much of an activist, no sort of a politician. All I have done is to argue, present cases, put forward good theology, provide a shoulder to cry on and support when I had the opportunity. Sure, in the early days there was a bit of flack – but I am acutely aware that the the real pain was born elsewhere, and I could do nothing to stop it.
But yesterday I stood in the Pride march, and I looked – I looked at the Conservative Party – whose journey since the vomit-inducing Clause 28 days must be epic- and the gay police association, and the church groups, and I looked at the cheering crowd, and the cameras capturing the smiling faces, and the best of the drag queens (I do love a good drag queen) and I thought: ‘However tiny my part, it was a part. In a minuscule way I lent my weight to this side.’ Tiny ball bearing or not, I cannot tell you how good that felt. Or how good to see the distance travelled. LG