About Saraband

Portuguese turned Scot. Writer. Painter. Supporter of an Indy Scottish Republic. LGBTQ+. Feminist. Book lover. Gamer. MA in Medieval Islamic History. Owned by two cats. I live in Edinburgh with my handsome fiancé.

My Coming Out Story

gay pride

June is Pride month, and to break from the usual political shenanigans, I thought I’d share the story of when I first came out as a gay man.

The first thing you should realise is that there isn’t a single coming out for queer people. It usually involves first doing so to a sibling or best friend, before expanding that circle: coming out to your family, work colleagues, and every new acquaintance you make throughout your life. Whenever small talk gets rolling, and one is asked about wives/husbands/partners/etc, we usually have to offer a quick clarification. The most seminal moment for most people, however, remains the moment we tell our parents who we really are.

My parents are extremely liberal. We’re an atheistic household, my Mum was born in Angola, my Dad’s father was a political prisoner during the Fascist dictatorship of Salazar in Portugal. I grew up seeing loads of different people as their friends, including gay men (which I had no idea about, by the way). This might make you think that I had the easiest coming out in the world, no?

Well, not entirely. I was very gender-conforming growing up, and whilst I always knew that I liked other boys, I made an effort not to fall into any stereotypes that could give me away. Girl colleagues of mine would hang out during breaks, rehearsing some Britney Spears’s choreography, and although I’d want to be with them, I just went away to do something else with the boys. Not sports, though, I never went that far – I was always severely overweight and vastly uninterested in anything physically demanding.

Mum and Dad had no suspicions (my Mum likes to say that she always knew, but I’m not too sure; she only started saying it after I came out, so we’ll never know). Forward to a few years later, when I finally go to university, and move from the small fishing village of Santa Luzia in the South of Portugal, to Lisbon.  As I became increasingly comfortable with the idea of who I was, during my first year of uni (having loads of gay people as friends helped immensely), not even my friends suspected a thing. I genuinely believe that this was to do with me being so overweight and apparently thoughtless when it came to my image, not conforming to anyone’s prejudices of what a gay guy was. Zero interest in fashion, zero interest in talking about pop music (I listened to it secretly), zero mannerisms that could be perceived as effeminate. I went under everyone’s radar, including my gay friends.

I should also point out that I was living in a fraternity, with about a dozen other guys, and homophobia and misogyny were rampant. Their conversations were disgusting. And I knew that I couldn’t dare to come out there, because I’d face a lot of crap.

I first ended up coming out to one of my gay friends. I’d arranged coffee with him, saying that I needed to tell him something, and only then did it first click in his head. He was brilliant about it, and incredibly excited for me to tell everyone else. I’d also painted my hair blonde, by the way, and I think he was more excited about them seeing it than the fact that I was coming out. Anyway, I did, the following morning, before a uni lecture. Most of them thought it was a prank, and some didn’t believe me until months later, that was how entrenched their prejudices were (none of them were ill-meaning, by the way). Yet, as the months went by, I grew in confidence, even if I never came out in my fraternity.

Before we start the following year of uni, something finally clicked in me and I started addressing my obesity. I lost weight at an incredible rate, as I was inhumanely determined to fix myself, after I’d reached a point of loneliness and unhappiness I couldn’t bear any longer. I was an out gay man, and I wanted to have my first boyfriend, I wanted to dress in the clothes that I liked and not those that fitted me. I wanted to feel attractive.

As my weight almost evaporated, through a discipline and strength of purpose that I haven’t been able to recapture since, I started becoming a little vain for the first time in my life. I stopped hating the person I saw in the mirror, and started seeing the potential of who I could become if I kept at it. And so I did, and I started changing my style, and then I got my ear pierced. And then I got my second one, and this is when my Dad had a strange reaction that forced me to come out.

You see, as liberal as my parents were (and are), my Dad has some weird fixations about the body. He hates any adornments, because he thinks a healthy body doesn’t need anything; tattoos, piercings, even necklaces and bracelets. They’re unnecessary. So when I pierced my left ear, it was kind of alright, but when he saw the first picture of both my ears pierced, as he was having dinner with my Mum and brother, he called me. He wanted to know what the hell I was thinking, and if I was unaware that having both ears pierced could leave people thinking “that I belonged to certain groups”. This was a weirdly judgemental sentence for my Dad, I never heard him saying anything remotely close to that before or since. But that was the prompt I needed.

“Maybe I do belong to certain groups,” I replied. “In fact, I’m gay.” Slight pause. “You’re what?” he asks. “I’m a homosexual. Now pass the phone to Mum.” He hesitated slightly, and then I heard him tell her “Zézinha, it’s better that you’re sitting down for this.” My Mum picked up the phone, slightly anxious by the introduction that my Dad gave her, and I told her: “I’m gay.” She paused for a bit. “You’re what? What does that mean?” This was so weird, because of course my Mum knew what gay meant, but I guess it was her brain telling her that maybe she misheard something. “I’m a homosexual,” clarified, knowing how unambiguous that word was.

To be honest, I don’t remember exactly how that phone call ended. I had left the fraternity by that time, and was renting an apartment with three other friends, and they were all next to me then. I knew I was shaking, I could feel my face burning, and then we just celebrated as I felt a huge wave of relief.

My Dad called me the next day, and we didn’t talk about what had happened last night at all. It was all normal. It took me a couple of weeks to visit them, as I went back to the Algarve one weekend every two months or so. I went to have dinner with my Mum on the night I arrived, at the shopping centre of the nearby town, and she talked to me about HIV, how I should just make sure that I was safe, and then we weirdly talked about how she had cried so much when Freddie Mercury died. She also told me that she’d always known, but had waited for me to tell her. I’m sure that’s partly true.

Everything was normal. My Mum told my Granny and the rest of the family (it’s a small family), no one made a fuss whatsoever. Nothing changed between me and my parents, at least not negatively – if anything it just allowed me own my breath with confidence, when I was next to them. I was no longer playing any character.

I continued on my journey to lose weight, and it would actually take me a few more months before I even started looking for someone to date. It was okay, I took as long as I needed to feel comfortable enough so that I was ready to share it with someone else. I was 21 years old when this finally happened. My first sexual encounter turned out, unfortunately, to be one where I participated without consent, although that didn’t scar me at all, I was simply freaked out and ran out of his flat as quickly as I could. Took me a couple more months to find another man that I felt like I could date, and it turned out to be the love of my life, the man I’m still with, since the 20th of May, 2012.

As I said in the beginning, you spend your life coming out, if you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community. It’s okay, we get used and better at it. And each coming out is very different. Overall, my experience was nothing but an immensely positive one. My partner, on the other hand, is still almost entirely estranged from his family since coming out. But that’s his story to tell.

Love your kids for who they are. Sometimes, they don’t grow up according to your expectations. It’s not their fault, they never asked for those expectations. The only thing you should expect is that they live a long, healthy and happy life, and that you do everything in your capacity to guarantee that you’re a positive part of it all.

And if you’re reading this because you don’t know how to come out, because you’re afraid of being thrown out of your house or being beaten: I will not lie, and tell you that everything will be alright. Maybe it won’t. Maybe your parents have been drinking from a poisoned cup for years and years, and they will react badly. But they can also surprise you. Never be too certain. The most important thing is that you are honest with yourself, and that you have someone who you can count on, come what may. If the storm gets rough, you’ll need help navigating it. But you’ll survive, and as you lighten your burden, you’ll become stronger than you’ve ever known. And you’ll never be alone – the LGBTQ+ community is a family, and we’ve all been there. We will always understand you.

The world can be a very dark place. I still experience homophobia on a more regular basis than it should be accepted. But how we react to that darkness is by making sure that we shine brightly. There’s no power like owning your body and who you are.

Love is love. Happy Pride month.

Boris, or Brexit Anthropomorphised

Boris Johnson

Boris Johnson is the coward’s coward, a man currently leading the contest for leader of the Conservative Party – and, therefore, Prime Minister of the UK – but extracting himself from any media coverage, presumably under strict instructions from his handlers, who know full well that this contest is his to lose.

But despite BoJo’s notable absence from our newspapers and TV screens, the UK’s journalistic apparatus could still be running extensive pieces and reports on the many controversies, past and not so past, that have always tinged this clown’s career. And yet, as if struck by a collective bout of amnesia, British journalism seems to have set aside its duty to properly scrutinise potential Prime Ministers, barely delving into the fetid cesspool that is Bojo’s career.

Now, are we getting the media we deserve, or is this simply Britain on a its downward slide into a dystopian reality, and the media is just as much of a victim as we all are? My opinion is that media outlets like the BBC may not be the sperm donors behind our current predicaments, but they certainly are happy to serve as handmaids to the deliverance of newspeak and PR-managed fascists ramming their twisted world views down our throats.

I don’t think Boris is a fascist. That would demand that he at least had some principles, even if the entirely wrong ones, but no. Boris is a self-serving sponge of incompetence, scraping away at the edges of decency for the sake of his own ascension. He is the man that will sell fire to pyromaniacs and water to firefighters, all in the same day, while his wranglers extract from him what they require, like tax cuts for the better off in society.

Boris is Brexit anthropomorphised, an impossible and contradictory creature that wants to be all the things at the same time, but is constantly smashing its face against the brick wall of common decency. And now, a man who looks like he couldn’t prepare a microwaved mac n’ cheese, is about to crawl under the radar of democratic scrutiny and get seated at the top job of the UK, inflicting whatever cruelties are necessary for his own gain. And, worst of all, many people in England will be cheering through all of it.

I wouldn’t let Boris arrange the funeral of my worst enemy. Even though my heart craves for Scottish independence, and I hope that we will grasp it sooner rather than later, it pains me to think that our friends in England would be stuck with someone like BoJo, because he was never truly burnt by the fires he himself set. I hope my Sassenach friends down south come to their senses, and if the ultra-minority of the Tory membership chooses this man as their champion, I hope the reasonable people of England do whatever is needed to see him out of No 10 as soon as possible.

Ciao, Theresa

Theresa May

Theresa May resigns (photo credit: PA)

Theresa May’s resignation has been a very difficult labour to go through, but the baby has finally arrived. It is only poetic that her political death was celebrated on the altar of the European Parliamentary elections, less than 24 hours after we started listening to the thousands of EU Citizens in the UK seeing their right to vote denied.

I am well aware that the real storm lies ahead of us, and it’s very likely that it will be a Boris tornado coming our way. But this is my central concern: however much we go to the polls, Scotland has for decades rejected the Tories, whilst England has embraced them more often than not. As a consequence, and because this is not a Union of equals by any reasonable measure, Scotland gets shafted with Tory governments against our will.

For how long will I, and every other Scot, have to live under the shadow cast by the choices of England’s electorate? If England continuously votes for the Tories, it would be outrageous for me to interfere with that, as a Scot. And if that Tory party deems people like Theresa May and Boris Johnson the best to serve as Prime Minister, that is their rightful choice. But Scotland need not suffer it.

David Cameron did not reflect Scotland’s interests. Theresa May doesn’t reflect Scotland’s interests. Boris Johnson will not reflect Scotland’s interests.

Rather than telling the English electorate that they are wrong, and continue inhabiting the same house, building up the grudges, it’s best that Scotland goes for the door and says goodbye. England has chosen a path, but there are others. We need not follow them, much less so in chains. We can carve a better path, one that reflects the Scotland we want to build.

I can draw so many parallels between Scotland/England and my parents when they were married. Nothing worked, because there was too much history between them. So when they finally separated and created some healthy space between them, they became friends, and their relationship has remained at its best since then. Both England and Scotland will thrive out of Scottish independence.

Theresa May’s premiership has been a symptom of the ongoing problems. So will be any of her successors. Remember, we can follow a different path.

My Journey To Yes

The title of the video above is quite self-explanatory. My “Journey To Yes” is part of a series of videos by the brilliantly talented Phantom Power, detailing the various paths taken by different people to support Scottish independence. I was honoured to be invited to collaborate on one of these videos, and share with you a bit more of how I ended up as a passionate believer in Scotland.

This is part of a personally gratifying week, as I also had the pleasure of being invited to attend an SNP event in Leith, focusing on EU Scots living in Scotland in the context of tomorrow’s European Parliamentary elections. It was an opportunity to meet a few others EU Scots, get to know our MEP hopeful (and super charming and warm) Christian Allard a wee bit more, and also meet Alyn Smith. There was also a certain someone there.

Nicola and I

First Minister Nicola Sturgeon next to a wee silly bampot with too many opinions

Not going to lie, meeting Nicola Sturgeon was quite a moment. The complete madness of it all was compounded by the fact that, when I introduced myself to her, she immediately reciprocated with a “Oh, hi – it’s always a bit strange to meet someone you only follow on Twitter.” Yes, I obviously screamed inside – a silly Portuguese-born guy on Twitter, pretty much spouting nonsense on a regular basis, made enough of a blip for the First Minister to notice, so I’ll dine on that one for a bit. She’s followed me for a while, but I didn’t know *she followed me* like she meant to, I always thought it had been a misclick or something. Apparently not.

Had a chance to exchange a few words with Nicola, including about Portugal, and take that endearing photo which left my parents in happy tears, as they saw how happy I was.

I also changed my SNP branch this week and hope to attend my new branch’s meeting next month, in order to get more involved at local level. It’s been a challenge tackling my anxiety, but the rewards have meant that I have accrued some incredible experiences under my belt. May many more be forthcoming.

So, I’m happy. Life is good, my partner and I are healthy and as in love as ever, and things are going well at a manageable rhythm. I’m also grateful – don’t know exactly to whom, as an atheist – and appreciate these things with measured optimism.

By the way, don’t forget to vote tomorrow. Don’t ever take your right to vote for granted. Your vote *always* matters.

SNP Spring Conference 2019

 

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I first joined the Scottish National Party back in early 2016 (as the Brexit rhetoric was ramping up towards the referendum, and it became increasingly clear that the SNP was one of the few parties ready to reject the scapegoating of immigration for the damages of Tory austerity). However, I’ve never been a party-politically engaged member. No branch meetings or anything of that sort – I’ve always been a lone-wolf, sometimes to my detriment, often against my best instincts of wanting to do more. Unfortunately, it’s a case of allowing stupid social anxiety to get in the way of the stuff I want to do, although I’m working on that.

However, with this year’s Spring Conference taking place in my home turf of Edinburgh, and my political engagement at its most energetic, it proved itself to be a great opportunity to take a step outside my comfort zone and see for myself how these things work. And so I did.

The highlights

Now, I don’t want to bore with you all the details, so I’ll try to be succinct.

The greatest pleasure of it all was meeting so many familiar names that I only knew from social media. And boy, did I realise the power of this medium – I was so overwhelmed with people popping up wanting to say hi, full of complimentary words about my social media antics or my blog. Some people brought up my first ever article for this blog, my love letter to Scotland, or even some of my non-political ramblings that resonated with them. Seriously, it was just lovely to be stopped every once in a while by someone starting a phrase with “Mr. Saraband, I just want to say hi…” (still feeling very pretentious about being addressed by a pseudonym, but hey).

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Me (left), my fiancé Roger (centre), and Steven Campell (right) – also, that’s Ian Blackford behind us

A big shout out to the lovely Steven Campell, recently elected Vice-Convener of YSI Lothian, who was an absolute star during the karaoke party on Saturday night (excellently hosted by the MP Hannah Bardell) and made sure I met loads of the people involved. On top of it all, I had one of our front-bench MSPs actually tapping me on my shoulder because he wanted to say he loved my tweets (I screamed inside, whilst trying to remain very cool), and had the honour of witnessing a rendition of “Sunshine on Leith” by the one and only, Mr. Ian Blackford MP.

Witnessing the motions being put before Conference was also an obvious highlight, particularly the discussion around the Growth Commission. Even with fundamental disagreements between some of the participants, it was delightful to see debate conducted with mutual respect (notable exception for the guy who threw a tantrum on the second day, because he was the only person in the room against a Citizens’ Assembly, misreading the atmosphere to such a degree that he thought it wise to denigrate Joanna Cherry, who had minutes before rightfully received a standing ovation. It was a pleasure to boo him).

Needless to say, though, that Nicola Sturgeon’s speech was the perfect finale. Some stuff in there that I wasn’t expecting, like further help with a deposit for first-time buyers, which is much welcome. The reiteration that every Scot, new and old, should know that Scotland is our home and that we don’t need to leave, ever. The declaration of state of ecological emergency was interesting, but I’m curious to see how that’s followed up with some practical action before I say much more about it. And it was, of course, a joyful political punching session for both Tories and Labour, with Nicola delivering some much needed uppercuts to the empty rhetoric of the two biggest parties at Westminster.

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FM Nicola Sturgeon’s closing speech

On top of it all, I heard an overwhelming amount of inclusive speeches, the contribution to Scottish society by European citizens like myself was regularly celebrated, and almost everyone seemed to be absolutely buzzing at the prospect of our second, and finally successful, Indyref. The two fringe events I attended – one on EU Citizens’ rights, where I intervened at the Q&A, and another on Euthanasia – compounded the experience of a phenomenal event. There was also none of the gender debate hysteria that seems to engulf social media – everyone I spoke to about this, including women with perfectly valid questions, was perfectly reasonable and humane when talking about Trans issues. I’m so glad that extremism around this question is much less prevalent in real people, rather than the often two-dimensional characters of social media that peddle profoundly ignorant rhetoric against one group or another.

The lows – what lows?

The coffee was terrible. Seriously, that’s my biggest complaint about the whole event. I even mentioned it to one of the lovely venue workers’ on the second day, who nodded to me apologetically and simply whispered “We know.”

Of course, I was also really excited to put in a card on the motion for a Citizens’ Assembly, as I wanted to speak for it whilst making a passionate case that it should represent all sections of Scottish society, including immigrants. Alas, it’s always frustrating to not have a chance to say something you think it’s important, but others ended up conveying similar sentiments and I will look forward to other opportunities to make that case. Nonetheless, a big thank you goes out to the SNP European Parliamentary candidate, Christian Allard, who was the one who came up to me on the first day and convinced me that I should put in a speaking card, going through the trouble of explaining how it was done to a complete newbie like myself. A charming gentleman who will represent Scotland, and its values of openness and European solidarity, with utmost excellence, when he gets elected next month.

Finally, after getting a reply from Nicola Sturgeon on Friday, that resulted in my most popular tweet ever, I’m sad to say that I wasn’t able to get a picture with her. My mother would certainly have appreciated it – but we will have to wait for another opportunity.

I have a lot more I could say. For a political junkie like myself, a passionate believer in Scottish independence and in building a fairer society that is big enough for everyone, I was the happiest fish in the sea. I’m filled with hope and optimism, and, above all, a desperate desire to grab my coat and start doing the work on the ground needed to get a Yes result as big as we can. I will also be looking at participating in my local SNP & YES groups due to the encouragement of some of the folks at Conference.

And, Aberdeen, get ready – because I don’t think I can miss the October Conference now.

The first step towards IndyRef2

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Since the morning of the Brexit result, I’ve been feart of two things above all others: to imagine my life in a post-Brexit United Kingdom, as an immigrant, and to conceive of the idea that Scotland would never see itself unfettered from the asphyxiating grip of this Union. Since June 2016, I’ve had very few uplifting moments that did anything to assuage these two overwhelming fears.

Today, however, was the day that changed.

Building Independence, one block at a time

Brexit has brought a lot of flamboyance to these islands’ politics. It has ushered in an era of cheap rhetoric, malignant scapegoating of minorities, and the worst cutthroat politics imaginable, perhaps second only to something seen on Game of Thrones.

Nicola Sturgeon’s statement to the Scottish Parliament, today, was entirely different. In a calm, measured, and well-reasoned way, the First Minister and leader of the SNP presented a series of successive steps that will be taken in order to set the ground for a new referendum on Scottish independence. She outlined the sovereignty of the Scottish people, and emphasised their right to choose a better future than what the current status quo is delivering.

The first meaty announcement was that of setting up a Citizens’ Assembly, a body that can help reach consensus across society on dividing issues. The second, was the announcement that primary legislation will now be moving forward to ensure a second independence referendum, to take place between now and 2021, so that such legislation is in place by the time the Scottish Government negotiates a Section 30 order with the UK Government.

A lot of people in the Indy movement are taking issue with the latter part, rightly pointing out that sovereignty on this issue already lies with the Scottish people, and therefore our Holyrood Parliament, thus excluding any need “to ask permission” for IndyRef2.

In many regards, I would agree with the sentiment of this. But I think the SNP’s leadership is going for a politically astute plan that plays well in the eyes of the international community. We certainly don’t want things to reach a point like Catalonia, where local and central governments are severely at odds, and peaceful democrats are facing imprisonment. By acting in this way, Nicola Sturgeon is also showing the Scottish electorate that she is trying to reach a consensus on every step of the way, so no one can’t say she hasn’t tried.

She has also forced the Unionist parties to come up with better alternatives to independence, or to defend the current Brexit status quo, both of them nearly impossible tasks. At best, they will come up with b-rate plans that fail to deliver the full benefits of independence – at worst, they will fall on their own federalist/status quo swords. I can only imagine the myriad of ways in which Tories, Labour and Lib Dems will leave me absolutely scunnered by their arguments, but then again, I’ve come to expect very little else from them since I first moved to Scotland.

Independence isn’t guaranteed – there’s much work to do

Although Brexit Britain looks like a nightmarish scenario to most reasonable people, the facts remain that no significant shift has yet happened towards Scottish independence. There’s much work to be done on the ground, and rather than a firing gun, today’s announcement feels like a nod from the SNP to the grassroots movement, a way of saying “get ready folks – start planning”.

As I said at the beginning, today has been the first time I’ve felt truly hopeful about Scotland’s future since the 2016 Brexit result. It is a small, fleeting light, but at least I can see something now, something I can look forward to. That has been enough to ignite my energy and ensure that I will do everything I can to help Nicola Sturgeon succeed, to see that Scotland normalises its status as an independent nation, as it was for most of her history.

The future has been politically bleak, but I’m an optimist, and I can finally see something that looks braw.

We can’t let division win

Al-Hubb, 23x31cm

Painting with the Arabic word for love, “Al-Hubb”, written in calligraphy. 23x31cm, oil on canvas. ©Saraband

Twitter can be mental. I love it. I guess most of you who use it also share this love/hate relationship with it, because we all know we’ve made some wonderful connections, but also seen a lot of crap. I guess that social media has all the problems of our modern society but they become amplified with the added layer of echo chambers, and the inability to provide some much needed nuance around complicated issues, a difficult thing to do with a 280-character limit (can’t believe we survived the 140-character era).

Today, in one of Twitter’s typical abilities to catch us unaware, a bitter little straight man popped up on my timeline, taking issue with the fact that I describe myself as a feminist on my Twitter bio (and, indeed, in life), and also support the Trans community as part of the LGBTQ+ family. The man assumed I was some radical activist wanting to erode women’s rights, which I’m not, and I absolutely don’t want to. So a discussion ensued, he ended up admitting that he had jumped in too quickly (although offering a backhanded apology, so fuck him), but I was left shaking because the whole thing caught me by surprise. Admittedly, I deal very badly with people making false assumptions about me, I have to work on that.

Whilst still reeling from that exchange (I took screenshots of it all before blocking him, by the way), I decided to do a wee spontaneous vlog on Twitter about my views on the subjects of male feminism, self-id laws, and the need for compassion in a debate that is becoming a mud-flinging mess on all sides. You can watch it here:

Keep in mind that it is a two-minutes long, unscripted video, so of course there’s a lot more to be said. It does not offer solutions to the questions around self-ID and women’s rights: to be frank, as a gay man perfectly at home in the body I was born with, it’s not my place to offer those solutions. I should listen to what women have to say, and how we can protect the Trans community without infringing on anyone else’s rights.

I will always stand by my sisters fighting for the right to be protected from male violence, and I will always fight for the right of my Trans friends to live dignified lives. These two things shouldn’t be mutually exclusive. Don’t let the patriarchy divide & conquer us, when we should be fighting it together.

Diversity is not about saying that we’re all the same. We aren’t. Trans people are unique, as are women, gay men, straight men, etc., and there’s uniqueness within every single one of those groups as well. Diversity is about acknowledging that those differences exist, but respect them, and ensure that we are all able to live dignified lives. I know I owe the rights I enjoy today, as a gay man, to both the Trans community that has always fought for me, but also to my Lesbian and Straight sisters, who fought for the LGBTQ+ community at large. Let’s bring that compassion back, and keep the slurs and the dogmas out of the debate, for everyone’s sake.

Oh, and cheerio to anyone saying I’m not, or can’t be a feminist. I can feel the heel of the patriarchy on my neck, every day of my life as a gay man. I know the challenges I face are different from those of my sisters, and I know I still benefit from white male privilege every day of my life. But we are in this together, in a movement with women at the front.

I’ll not let any straight man dictate if I’m a feminist or not. The approval I need has been given to me in the knowing look of my female friends, and they will let me know when I step on the wrong foot, as we all occasionally do, because we’re all human – that’s the point.