“ActUp fight back fight AIDS, ActUp fight back fight AIDS!” rang through the streets as we rallied against the discrimination faced by those living with HIV, challenging government, corporate, and media indifference.

Established in New York City in 1987, ActUp emerged as a direct response to the US government’s failure to act and the rampant discrimination and harassment that those with HIV endured. It quickly transformed into a global movement for activism.

In 1991, I became a member of ActUp London and took part in numerous protests and initiatives. Our approach was rooted in nonviolent direct action and civil disobedience, aiming to capture maximum media attention. Many of our efforts were successful; for example, we protested a clothing brand that exploited a photograph of a dying man to market their products, demonstrating outside their stores. During one such protest, I found myself interviewed by Sky News. Despite our lack of formal media training, effective briefings empowered us to articulate our message, bringing crucial awareness to HIV/AIDS and the discrimination faced by those living with the virus.

In another memorable protest with OutRage! London, around 70 of us were arrested, including notable figures like filmmaker Derek Jarman, pop singer Jimmy Somerville, and human rights campaigner Peter Tatchell. We were protesting a legal technicality that criminalised protests within a mile of the Houses of Parliament, highlighting the implications of the Criminal Justice Act on the right to protest. Many of us laid down in the street a mile from Parliament and were arrested and taken to Bow Street Police Station. I couldn’t resist flirting with my handsome arresting officer. Upon my release, the desk sergeant asked if I had anything to say. I quipped, “I’d like to thank you for allowing me to have the arresting officer of my choice,” to which he replied, “I’d like to thank you, sir, for allowing me to have the prisoner of my choice.” Until that moment, I hadn’t thought of myself as a “prisoner.” How innocent those times were.

When I returned to my hometown of Bristol in the early 90s, I dove into activism. I established a local OutRage! group and synchronised our actions with those taking place in London. I also volunteered for the local gay switchboard, fielding calls that varied greatly—from parents struggling to support their children to married men grappling with their sexuality. Some were simply seeking advice on nightlife, while others were silent callers, for whom we had a designated script. Occasionally, I received inappropriate calls asking about my attire, but we tried to steer those conversations in a different direction. There was a deep sense of angst and desperation among many callers.

As the campaign coordinator for a local gay organisation, I worked tirelessly to advocate for equalising the age of consent, which at the time was set at 21 for gay men—an age I had just surpassed myself. My first relationship was illegal, as I was 19 and he was 24.

The local OutRage! group eventually evolved into an organisation that coordinated pride events in Bristol. Our first winter pride event at the student union in 1992 had modest attendance, but through dedication and hard work, by the summer of 1993, we saw hundreds of people line up for our first large-scale pride march. After a couple of years leading pride, I secured a position at the Aled Richards Trust, a local HIV charity. It was my first career job, and I cherished every moment. I remained with the Trust throughout the 90s, eventually moving on to work on health programs with the Department of Health and later with an NGO in Brussels, focusing on health inequalities working across Europe.

In the mid-2000s, faced with redundancy, I took a bold leap and founded a training and consultancy company, known today as the Diversity Trust. The journey has been far from easy, but when it succeeds, it nourishes my soul.

I liken the evolution from protesting in the streets to being invited into decision-making spaces—a shift from being an outsider to being valued and respected at the table. This journey has been transformative, and I believe activism is an integral part of who I am. In a radio interview many years ago, I affirmed my commitment to activism, citing the interconnectedness of our rights and the ongoing injustices in the world.

The current climate poses significant challenges for LGBTQIA+ individuals both in the UK and globally. Reflecting during this LGBT History Month has been a sobering experience. While progress has been made, rights have also been lost. I’ve always felt that we were moving forward, and even now, we see advancements like Thailand becoming the third East Asian country to legalize same-sex marriage, joining Taiwan and Nepal. Yet, equality extends beyond equal marriage. It encompasses young people feeling safe to be themselves at school, trans individuals accessing safe gender-affirming healthcare, and women being able to walk the streets without fear. It’s about ensuring that gay and bisexual men have access to vital sexual health information and treatment. Ultimately, it’s about fostering a sense of belonging and authenticity in all aspects of our lives—on the streets, in our workplaces, and within our families.

Despite the forces that oppose our communities, our resilience is our greatest strength. We’ve faced centuries of homophobia and transphobia, endured the HIV/AIDS pandemic, and battled hate crimes and discrimination. Contrary to the stereotypes of weakness, queer communities are remarkably strong. Together, we will continue to fight for rights and strive towards a fairer, safer society.

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