Cinema has long been a powerful medium for telling human stories, offering audiences a mirror to society’s struggles, triumphs, and transformations. For queer communities, film has been both a battleground and a stage. It reflects the shifting perceptions of sexuality, gender identity, and the fight for visibility.

The history of queer representation in cinema reveals much about cultural attitudes toward sexuality, the evolution of artistic expression, and the ongoing need for inclusion.

From early silent films to modern blockbusters, queer stories have emerged in varied forms, each adding a layer of meaning to how these narratives are understood. This exploration traces how queer lives have been portrayed, the barriers filmmakers have faced, and how representation has changed over the decades.

Hidden beginnings in early cinema

In the earliest days of film, queer identities were rarely portrayed openly. Silent films occasionally hinted at same-sex attraction through subtle gestures or coded imagery. Filmmakers faced strict social restrictions and censorship laws, which meant queer themes were often veiled. Characters were sometimes presented as eccentric or villainous, reflecting societal prejudices rather than authentic lived experiences.

For instance, early horror and noir genres occasionally used queer-coded villains as a way to signal danger or moral ambiguity. A tactic that reinforced stereotypes rather than genuine representation. These portrayals reveal that queer existence was visible, but only in hidden, distorted forms. These coded narratives laid the groundwork for both creative resistance and the challenges that lay ahead for queer filmmakers.

The rise of queer narratives in mid-20th Century

As cinema moved into the mid-20th century, queer themes began to gain more visibility, though still under heavy constraints. The Motion Picture Production Code in the United States, for example,  enforced strict guidelines that prohibited explicit discussion of homosexuality.

Filmmakers responded with subtext, symbolism, and coded references, allowing queer viewers to find meaning where mainstream audiences might not recognise it.

International cinema, especially in Europe, began to push boundaries earlier. Directors like Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Jean Cocteau explored queer themes more openly, creating a niche for queer cinema that was both daring and poetic. These films challenged the perception that queer stories could not belong to art or mainstream narratives, planting seeds for later cultural shifts.

Read more: The groundbreaking LGBTQ+ icons throughout history…

Breaking barriers: The 1980s and 1990s

The 1980s and 1990s marked a turning point in queer cinema, driven by activism and social change. The HIV/AIDS crisis brought queer issues into urgent public discourse, influencing how queer lives were represented in film. Filmmakers began telling stories that centred queer experiences with greater honesty and urgency.

Independent cinema flourished during this period, offering platforms for authentic queer voices. Films such as Paris Is Burning and My Own Private Idaho explored queer identity with emotional depth and complexity. This era marked a significant expansion of narratives beyond stereotypes, allowing queer cinema to examine themes of love, loss, identity, and resilience with nuance.

Shifting perspectives on LGBTQ+ representation

The discussion of queer representation in film today is more prominent than ever, reflecting both progress and ongoing challenges. Also, LGBTQ+ representation in film is no longer confined to niche art houses; it has expanded into mainstream cinema and television. There is greater visibility of queer characters in diverse roles. This ranges from romantic leads to multifaceted protagonists in genres such as drama, comedy, fantasy, and science fiction. Yet representation still faces obstacles. Issues of tokenism, stereotyping, and underrepresentation remain prevalent.

Authentic representation requires more than the inclusion of queer characters. It demands depth, complexity, and respect for lived experience. The presence of queer filmmakers and storytellers is essential to achieving this, as they bring lived insight that shapes narratives beyond surface-level portrayals.

Contemporary queer storytelling

In the last decade, queer storytelling in film has become increasingly varied and bold. Advances in technology, greater access to filmmaking platforms, and evolving social attitudes have opened new spaces for queer narratives. Streaming services have broadened opportunities for queer filmmakers, allowing stories to reach global audiences without relying solely on traditional distribution channels.

Films such as Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Moonlight, and The Half of It have achieved critical acclaim, not only for their artistry but also for their nuanced portrayals of queer lives. These stories challenge viewers to move beyond assumptions and engage with queer identity as a complex, universal human experience.

Today’s queer cinema is not confined to representation alone; it is actively shaping culture and influencing how society perceives diversity.

Challenges and future directions

While queer stories in film have achieved remarkable progress, there remains significant challenges to overcome. Many queer filmmakers face barriers such as funding shortages, restrictive industry gatekeeping, and cultural censorship in different parts of the world, which can limit the scope and authenticity of storytelling.

Representation still often leans toward certain narratives, frequently prioritising stories that fit mainstream expectations while sidelining more diverse voices. This creates a gap where intersectional experiences, such as those of queer people of colour, trans individuals, disabled queer people, and queer voices from non-Western cultures, may remain underrepresented.

Another challenge lies in avoiding tokenism, where queer characters exist only as symbols rather than fully developed individuals, which risks reducing representation to mere visibility rather than meaningful storytelling. Expanding the scope of queer storytelling means embracing diversity in all its forms, across genres, perspectives, and cultural contexts. This requires both structural change within the industry and deliberate creative risk-taking from filmmakers willing to challenge norms.

Audience support also plays a role…

As demand for inclusive and authentic stories can push studios and producers to take chances on narratives that have historically been ignored. The future of queer cinema depends on building spaces where a wider range of queer voices can be heard and respected, shaping a richer, more inclusive cinematic world where every story has the possibility of being told.

Queer narratives have travelled far from their early coded origins, evolving into a rich and complex realm of storytelling that reflects both progress and the struggles that remain. The history of queer representation in film is a chronicle of resilience, creativity, and the fight for visibility.

As society continues to evolve, queer cinema will remain a vital part of cultural conversation, illuminating identities and experiences that deserve to be seen and understood. The journey of queer stories in film history is ongoing, and every new film adds a chapter to this unfolding narrative of inclusion, resistance, and transformation.

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A poster appeared on the back of the toilet door at my local open mic night. White clouds floated in a neon blue-green sky with the words ‘How to Find Oneself in A Queer Cuddle Puddle’ over a sugar pink centre, right in my eyeline. I was intrigued. A cuddle party with strangers?!

Two weeks later, I donate £15 for a ticket, gather a blanket, water bottle and snacks and head into central Brighton to be part of my first adult cuddle puddle. Dressed in leggings and a soft pink jumper, I’m shy but excited.

Cuddling can be good for our health

In Wales, where I’m from, we have a unique word: ‘cwtch’. It’s not just a hug, it’s a warm, safe place, such as a lamb’s manger or the cosiest nook. I long for this sort of holding, but platonic touch is something people don’t discuss often in the UK. We need it – touch, such as cuddling, is known to improve our health – yet embarrassment and social norms get in the way.

…Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me

Chris Jepson is a massage therapist at Hove Hands. “Human touch is healing​ and skin-to-skin contact ​is known to calm the nervous system, ease stress, and foster deep connection,” he says, “in a world that craves warmth; safe, consensual touch is a powerful remedy.”

This Cuddle Puddle is being run by the Devil’s Dyke Network: ‘an inclusive platform for poets, performers and artists dedicated to building community and generating positive cultural and political energies.’

I’m drawn to the event and the fact it’s aimed at queer people. Connecting with other LGBTQ+ people outside of dating is something I’m keen to do. Yes, there will be physical contact, but it’s not sexual. This intrigues me, and I want to find out more.

Models, not from actual event

I’ve tried some weird wellbeing trends: this might be the weirdest yet

I’ll be honest with you, in pursuit of better wellbeing and improved mental health, I’ve tried some unusual methods already. From Shamanic drum journeys to sound baths, trapeze to ecstatic dance, and the – now ubiquitous – wild swimming, this isn’t, as they say, my first rodeo. However, it IS my first cuddle party, or cuddle puddle.

How can this feel even better?

As we enter the dance studio venue in Brighton and take our shoes off, I’m drawn to a neon hand-painted sign that says: ‘How Can This Feel Even Better?’ It’s in green, orange and yellow, surrounded by fairy lights. We’re invited to place our own items next to it if we want to.

There are people with squishy toys; someone’s in pyjamas, others wear onesies and clutch toys. To me this is inner-child work. This is safety. As a queer neurodivergent person, this is an opportunity to unmask and let my guard down – for me and the other attendees.

…it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well

Friends have asked me if I was worried there “might be creeps there”. No, I was not worried about this for a moment. I have encountered creeps (and worse) in business networking events, on buses, and walking home. Entering a conscious, thoughtful space designed to discuss consent and work somatically felt safe for me. Together we’ll create our own safety. There are ground rules, and two experienced facilitators. This is the work they do.

We practice consent

There is a kind, opening circle, and opportunities to talk about how we feel. There are gentle, thoughtful warm-up exercises. Practicing saying ‘no’ and ‘yes’ to an offer of touch, such as holding a hand or linking your finger with someone else’s. There is hand sanitiser, water, discussion. We remember to breathe, we share our pronouns if we want to. I sit back-to-back with a stranger, supporting one another’s weight. It feels good, I find it soothing and calming.

Our yeses are joyful. Our nos are respectful. I listen to my body and my intuition, I don’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to please someone else. The atmosphere is kind, tentative and thoughtful. Nobody is diving in. There is quiet playful laughter. We create a temporary haven from the news cycle and the outside world.

I’m worried about my noisy stomach, worried about not being chosen

Eventually, after many gentle exercises and plenty of discussion and a break, we work together to make a pool of cushions and blankets and mats. And begin to arrange ourselves into a ‘puddle’. I don’t remember if there was music or if it was quiet. I do remember worrying about my noisy stomach. And I worried a bit about the fear of not being picked or chosen. We’ve been practicing our nos, what if everyone says ‘no’ to me? Rejection is a huge worry of mine in life.

A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me

I snuggle down on the pile of beanbags, cushions and blankets, with two other women. A tall, gentle man asks if it’s okay to join us and lies behind me once I agree. He places an arm around my body. It does not feel sexual to me, instead it feels like the world has slowed and I can breathe deeply and well. I feel happy and held and comforted.

I cannot see the faces of the strangers in front and behind me and I close my eyes. Mostly, I find myself most at ease among queer and neurodivergent folks, it’s like coming home. To a home I feel safe in, and where I’m accepted. I’m sad when the time’s up, but a pink-haired stranger stays cuddling me, hands on my hands as we start to debrief. I feel calm and soothed. It was the tonic I needed, and I think I knew that. There is a closing circle and some readings. Several of us ask when we can do this again.

Touch is good for us

Reflecting on my experience, I felt the Cuddle Puddle had a positive effect on my wellbeing and soothed my nervous system. I turned to a therapist to get her expert insights too. Rayner Ward is a counsellor and clinical supervisor and she explained to me why touch is important.

“Recent times have shown us the damage isolation can do and how hard it is to reconnect. Connecting with others is fundamental to wellbeing. Sharing that connection through touch can be one of the simplest ways to share the vulnerability of humankind.

“To simply share the joy of life or the pain of suffering with one hand on another is incredibly valuable. Touch not only warms the heart but reaches us in a way tech will never do.”

Five things I learned in my cuddle puddle:

• It’s about consent and finding what feels right for you. It wasn’t a free-for-all, it was a gentle way for me to reconnect to my own body and boundaries.
• Everything slowed down, and I stopped worrying. I felt very present in the moment the way perhaps others do at yoga or in meditation.
• It wasn’t as embarrassing as I expected. The other cuddlers were kind and thoughtful and the facilitators guided us.
• Cuddling is hungry work! I would bring more snacks for the break if I went again.
• Just because it’s not for everyone doesn’t mean it’s not for me. A lot of friends said this event would be their worst nightmare. But my experience was dreamy.

The Cuddle Puddle was held in Brighton by Devil’s Dyke Network

Helen Jane Campbell

Helen, 47, is a coach for creative people. Originally from Wales, she co-founded the first ever Hay Pride and currently lives on the Sussex coast.

Helen’s the author of Founders, Freelancers & Rebels: How to Thrive as an Independent Creative. She also writes fiction and poetry.

The post The cuddle party: a new wellbeing trend and I’m in! appeared first on Silver Magazine.

To celebrate the month of June, we’re brushing up on our LGBTQ+ history with seven of the most influential icons of the community. We’ve got a long old history of hard-fought fights and iconic individuals, so why not show some, er, pride?! But who are the most influential and famous LGBTQ+ icons through history? 

We’ve tracked some extraordinary people doing extraordinary things, from the 1700s to the present day.  In no particular order…

Marsha P Johnson

Marsha P Johnson (1945-1992)

As one of the most well-known names on this list, Marsha P Johnson was a self-identified drag queen and rights activist. She was a proud advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, and vital to the Stonewall riots of 1969. 

The Stonewall riots began what we know as Pride today, a protest and celebration of the LGBTQ+ community. Johnson was essential in the formation of Pride – some even say she threw the first brick. 

The ‘first brick’ story has since been debunked, but that doesn’t make Johnson’s involvement and continued activism any less amazing. 

Beyond Stonewall, Johnson was a vocal activist, forming multiple organisations to support fellow members of the LGBTQ community. She protested for the rights of gay and transgender people, as well as supporting those affected by the AIDS crisis.  

Whether she threw the first brick or not, Marsha P Johnson will always remain one of the most influential icons of LGBTQ+ history. 

Alan Turing

Alan Turing (1912-1954) at Princeton University, 1936

Alan Turing is among the most well-known LGBTQ+ figures, and for good reason. As a World War Two computer scientist, Turing cracked the German cipher in an essential breakthrough for the war effort. He was also the source behind many other scientific breakthroughs, such as the Turing machine, which solves abstract mathematical conundrums. 

Sadly, despite Turing’s crucial work, he was still prosecuted in 1952 for his homosexuality, undergoing outdated medical treatment to both ‘cure’ and punish him. He died just two years later. Whether this was by suicide or whethr he was poisoning remains a mystery. 

Turning’s death is truly a tragedy, but his legacy lives on in countless memorials, from buildings, to awards, to computer programs and more. As a truly influential figure of LGBTQ+ history, Turing is also memorialised in the 2013 Alan Turing law. This law pardoned him and many of their crime of homosexuality. Homosexuality is no longer a crime in the UK today, and Turing is one of many to thank for that. 

Anne Lister

Anne Lister (1791-1840)

Anne Lister was born in Yorkshire in 1791, and grew up to be a landowner, a lesbian, and an all-round awesome icon in our history. 

Lister was a hot topic of conversation back in day for her masculine gender presentation, and her ‘masculine’ position as a landowner. Both were very uncommon for women at the time, making her stand out against the status quo. 

She is best known today from Gentleman Jack, a TV show based on her diary entries and letters to partner Ann Walker. Same-sex marriage was illegal at the time, but that didn’t stop the pair from deciding they were married anyway. That’s an incredible level of confidence you just have to respect. 

Clearly Lister was no sheep, no matter the stares or insults she faced. Gentleman Jack even names itself after a common insult for Lister, a modern day slap in the face to those who mocked her. Needless to say, she’s an absolute icon of LGBTQ+ history.

Harvey Milk

Harvey Milk (1930-1978) at Gay Pride, San Jose 1978

Harvey Milk, born in 1930, was the first openly gay US official. He was elected to public office in California following a proud history of gay rights activism. 

Milk was an outstanding figure of protest, with intense and brilliant quotes such as, “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.” He was tragically killed in this exact way. Just a year after entering office, he was assassinated by a fellow American politician. 

His short time in office didn’t stop Milk from fighting for essential changes to US laws. He strived for the protection of LGBTQ+ Americans, sponsoring a bill which banned sexuality-based discrimination in housing and employment. This bill passed, marking an incredible milestone for LGBTQ+ rights in America. 

He’s celebrated today with the 2008 film Milk, based on his incredible life as an activist, politician, and influential LGBTQ+ icon. Though his political career was cut short, his contributions to LGBTQ+ history were essential in the fight for change. 

Another article you may like: What your transgender child wishes they could tell you 

April Ashley

April Ashley (1935-2021)

Born in 1935, April Ashley was one of the first people to undergo gender-affirming surgery in the UK. As a transgender rights activist, Ashley was prominent in the fight for equality. Even her own divorce case was used for positive legal change to benefit the transgender community. 

In the 1960s, her husband requested an annulment on the grounds that Ashley was not legally a woman. This atrocious reasoning was then approved, with their annulment being granted in 1970. All because Ashley’s legal gender was stuck as male with no way to change it. 

Even though Ashley lost the case, her story was still used in 2004 to help pass the Gender Recognition Act. Through this, she was finally allowed to change to her legal gender to female after over 60 years. 

As a vocal transgender activist, and key figure in the fight for gender-affirming laws, April Ashley continues to be remembered as an incredibly influential figure in LGBTQ+ history. 

Radclyffe Hall

Radclyffe Hall (1880-1943)

Marguerite Antonia Radclyffe Hall (known by her penname John) was an English poet and author born in the late 19th Century. She is best known for her 1928 novel The Well of Loneliness, a novel that truly cements her legacy as an icon of LGBTQ+ history. 

The novel depicts a lesbian relationship – still very much taboo for the time – and ends with the extraordinary line, “Give us also the right to our existence.”  

Unsurprisingly, such an iconic work was banned for its “scandalous” content, but that didn’t stop Radclyffe Hall’s influence from spreading far and wide. Especially among those who needed it most. 

Radclyffe Hall’s work became symbolic of those stuck in the closet (to use a more modern term). It represented LGBTQ+ people unable to represent themselves in a world where self-expression remained a crime. Having offered a voice for those who needed it most, Radclyffe Hall deserves to be celebrated as a brilliantly influential LGBTQ+ icon. 

Chevalier d’Eon

The Chevalier D’Eon (1728 -1810) from the London Magazine 1777, British Cartoon Prints Collection

Born in 1728, Chevalier d’Eon was one of the first transgender and gender non-conforming people in modern European history. They were a French diplomat, soldier and spy as part of a secret organisation under King Louie XV. An incredibly cool figure for our queer history tour. 

They presented as both masculine and feminine in their lifetime until 1777. That year, the king officially recognised d’Eon as a woman, so long as they presented as feminine for the rest of their life. A pretty bizarre deal for gender recognition by today’s standards. But it did come with a free wardrobe courtesy of the king himself. And d’Eon got to keep their incredible undercover life.  

D’Eon is known by many for their fencing prowess. Including defeating a French soldier in one particularly influential duel while presenting as a woman. Their legacy has been celebrated by many well-known figures such as Mary Wollstonecraft, for their incomparable contributions to both women’s rights and transgender rights. 

As a remarkable soldier, spy, and one of the first to legally transition, d’Eon is definitely an LGBTQ+ icon to be proud of.

Lady Phyll

Phyll Opoku Gyimah (1974 – )

Phyllis Akua Opoku-Gyimah, also known as Lady Phyll, is a political activist, campaigning for both LGBTQ+ rights and anti-racism. For anyone noticing the use of present tense there, you read right. Lady Phyll remains an influential rights activist to this day, still going strong in her co-founded charity and event UK Black Pride. 

UK Black Pride was formed in the hopes of uniting and celebrating LGBTQ+ people of colour, promoting unity and advocating for anti-racism within and towards the community. Self-described as both a party and a protest, its contribution to LGBTQ+ history is essential, fighting for a more inclusive LGBTQ+ community. 

Lady Phyll will undeniably go down in history as an influential icon of the LGBTQ+ community. And she continues to be politically active today, acting as Chief Executive of her own charity. Her influential story is far from over, and so is the fight for change. 

The future of Pride 

We can learn a lot from the influential LGBTQ+ icons of the past. What unites us all is not our struggles, but instead the strength of our community. It is our united fight for a better future that makes Pride what it is today.  

And it’s not over yet. We still have a long way to go in our fight for equality. 

To get involved, consider checking out the official Stonewall website for more information on events, charities and protests.  

Aiden Winn

Aiden is an editorial and production staffer at Title Media. He’s constantly looking for opportunities to have fun and get creative, whether it be art, baking, storytelling… you name it!

The post Pride. The kickass famous LGBTQ+ icons through history appeared first on Silver Magazine.

The Scala started life on London’s Tottenham Road as a cinema club in 1978. Before later moving on to grander premises in Kings Cross in 1981 under the management of Stephen Woolley. In an era when multiplexes were starting to expand and ultimately snuff out many smaller cinemas, the Scala was a weird and wonderful anomaly. Until the wild ride came to an end in 1993.

Those who were part of the Scala during its heyday, complete with terrifying toilets, resident cats, sex scenes on and off screen and the occasional death, will no doubt enjoy Scala!!!

By operating as a members-only club, the Scala was able to get away with screening an astounding range of films that you probably weren’t going to experience at the local Odeon. Debuting (and closing) with the original 1933 King Kong, from 1978 until 1993, the Scala was a hard-seated, graffitied, tube train-rattled haven for the likes of Salo: The Last Days of Sodom, anything made by John Waters, (sometimes literally) eye-popping horror and films you probably wouldn’t watch with anyone of a nervous or prudish disposition.

Directed by Jane Giles and Ali Catterall, Scala!!! chronicles 15 years of a cinema that was as much about the “weirdos and misfits” who frequented it and the challengingly magnificent building as it was about the films.

Known for all-night screenings of back-to-back movies, it was not just a place for film fans to indulge themselves. It was a safe space for the LGBTQ+ community in an era of oppression thanks to Section 28 and the stigma of the AIDS tragedy.

A place of warmth on cold, brutal nights in pre-gentrified Kings Cross. And an alternative to expensive London hotel rooms for bands from out of town, such as The Jesus and Mary Chain.

Those who were part of the Scala during its heyday, complete with terrifying toilets, resident cats, sex scenes on and off screen and the occasional death, will no doubt enjoy Scala!!! for the genuinely heartwarming, riotous romp down memory lane that it is. For those who were not part of that scene, usually for reasons of age or distance, there is still so much to love about this film.

The Scala’s politics and activism is an important part of the documentary

For me, the last days of the Scala coincided with my early 20s, which were spent in Sydney. So I’ll never know if I would have hallucinated my way through an all-nighter or thrilled to the spectacle of Divine eating dog poo in Pink Flamingos. But as someone who spent a lot of time in the UK as a child and, with a history teacher father in a house where the news always seemed to be on, I was acutely aware of Thatcherism and have fond childhood memories of catching the tube with punks in the ‘80s, which made Scala!!! resonate with me as a catalyst for my own memories.

The Scala’s politics and activism is an important part of the documentary and a timely reminder of how awful things were for the LGBTQ+ community then – and how, despite changes such as marriage equality, discrimination has not been eliminated. The recollections of Vic Roberts, a proudly queer usher at the Scala, and Jim MacSweeney, manager of Gay’s The Word bookshop, are profoundly moving.

When Roberts talks about how the Scala allowed everyone to be whoever they are and MacSweeney recalls the cinema holding a benefit for his bookshop after a ridiculous police raid threatened its future, the documentary instantly becomes part of the wider narrative of London’s LGBTQ+ history.

Watching Scala!!! made me wish I had moved permanently to London a bit sooner than 2011. But equally it was a joy and an honour to hear the stories of the people who made the cinema the unique place it so clearly was.

Paul Burston, author and participant in the documentary, told me the Scala was “many things – a cinema, a party venue, a community hub and what we’d now call a safe space.” Recalling his experiences as a young, gay man, he says the 1980s were “a hostile time for minority groups and the Scala provided refuge.”

He says the cinema’s lasting legacy was the strong sense of community it created. “All sorts of outsiders felt equally at home there – it was intersectional before it became fashionable.”

Directors Jane Giles and Ali Caterall at the screening

The Scala cinema club closed its doors amid financial pressures exacerbated by a court case involving the screening of Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. It was a heartbreaking time for the community it created in a part of London that was seedy and often dangerous… but not without its dark charms.

For anyone who wants to try and experience a taste of what it was like to be a Scala cinema club member, Burston recommends a small cinema in Hastings called The Electric Palace where “the programming is eclectic and the seats are uncomfortable.”

“I attended a friend’s 50th birthday party there with a screening of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Several guests said it felt like being back at the Scala, albeit on a smaller scale,” says Burston.

In the meantime, check out Scala!!! for yourself. It is being released at cinemas across the country. And, on 22 January, it will be released on Blu-Ray and available on the BFI Player.

Georgia Lewis

In a career that has spanned Australia, the Middle East and the UK, Georgia has written about all sorts of things, including sex, cars, food, oil and gas, insurance, fashion, travel, workplace safety, health, religious affairs, glass and glazing… When she’s not writing words for fun and profit, she can usually be found with a glass of something French and red in her hand.

The post Scala!!! A nostalgia trip, even if you weren’t there appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Ideally, parents want to love and support their kids more than anything. When your child comes out as transgender, it can be hard to know how best to do this.

As someone who is transgender, and also has parents, there are a million things I wish I could tell them. But it can often be hard to bridge the gap and start these conversations. The same is true for parents – it’s hard to know how to talk to your child about their transition, or how best to help. But without these conversations, you may lose that sense of closeness and understanding that makes all this stuff ok.

Whether you don’t know where to start, or think you understand their transition completely… here’s a few things your transgender child may want you to know.

You’re not losing your child

Finding out your child is transgender can come as a complete shock to some. One minute you were picking up your little girl from school, and now they aren’t a girl at all. Maybe you didn’t see any signs, maybe you had built an image of their future in your head. Maybe you aren’t ready for all the changes that could follow that initial coming out.

But you aren’t losing that child you knew.

They may not be the gender you once knew them as, but that’s all there is to it. They still love all the same things, have the same laugh, and the same silly habits you know and love. None of the important stuff has changed, they’re just growing into who they always were.

The medical side isn’t everything

One of the big things that infuriated me when I came out was immediately being asked about the medical stuff. Did I want to take testosterone? Did I want top surgery? Bottom surgery? Puberty blockers? To use the men’s toilets?? (OK – that last one wasn’t medical, but still annoying!)

My personal answer to all of those questions is, “Who cares?” If your child wants to take hormones, they’ll tell you. If they want bottom surgery, they’ll say, “I want to have bottom surgery.” But especially in the initial coming out, suddenly getting bombarded with these kinds of questions can feel invasive.

And none of that is the first step. You’ve taken the cart a mile away and left the horse in the stables. Maybe all those things are what your child wants eventually, but usually things like new clothes or, you know, how to refer to them come first. It’s great to be open to discussing the medical side – just be careful that you don’t skip the first conversation for one that may be months or even years down the line.

Stop with all the warnings!

We all have to live with the unfortunate truth that transgender people are going to experience some kind of bigotry in their life. But trust me when I say that we, as the people actually transitioning, are very aware of this already.

You don’t need to remind your trans kid of horrific hate crimes seen on the news, or suicide rates, or generally shitty stigmas. We know. We aren’t thrilled about it either.

But transitioning is a necessity. It’s something we need to do, to truly know and love the person we are. To feel comfortable in the world and in our own skin. We don’t need warnings. We don’t need to be reminded of the dangers. We need your support, especially if any of these awful things do come to pass.

Listen to us

A lot of what we want to tell our parents boils down to just listening. When your child tells you they’re transgender, listen to what they want from you. Don’t bombard them with medical questions, or the dangers they may face, or your own fears of losing your child…

Just listen.

Find out what they’d like you to do. Ask what they want their first steps to be and how you can help, and figure out where to go from there together. Your child needs to be the leader on this one, but you can be by their side to support them.

And remember, everyone’s transition looks different. You may have experience with a transgender friend, for example, but your child is not that friend. As with anything, different people have different wants and needs. Go into your child’s transition without assumptions or preconceived ideas of what being transgender means, and let them decide how their life will look.

Being transgender is a wonderful thing

For a lot of trans people, transitioning is amazing. We can finally look like ourselves, sound like ourselves, feel like ourselves… it’s liberating. It’s a time of blossoming into a happier, more confident self.

And as our parents, all we ask if that you’re by our side through it. You don’t need to understand everything at once, just stick by us and listen. Lending an ear and keeping an open mind is really the best thing you can do.

We need parents who are willing to listen, and learn. Parents who will stand by us. Parents who love us no matter what.

Aiden Winn

Aiden is an editorial and production staffer at Title Media. He’s constantly looking for opportunities to have fun and get creative, whether it be art, baking, storytelling… you name it!

The post What your transgender child wishes they could tell you appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Chapter 13: We Can Be Heroes

December 1, 1989. World AIDS Day. An unmarked white van is slowly snaking its way through Parliament Square towards Westminster Bridge. The driver is an ex-military man named Alan. Packed in the back are a dozen men and women, none of us from a military background, all of us personally embattled in one way or another.

…we padlock the chain to either side of the bridge, before handcuffing ourselves to it and tossing the keys into the Thames

Halfway across the bridge, the van suddenly stops. The rear doors fly open and we jump out, carrying a thick iron chain. Dodging the traffic, we padlock the chain to either side of the bridge, before handcuffing ourselves to it and tossing the keys into the Thames below. Some of us are holding bunches of flowers, the kind you might place on a loved one’s grave. We link arms as a show of solidarity and begin our protest. ‘Act up! Fight back! Fight AIDS!’

I joined ACT UP shortly after my friend Vaughan told me he was HIV+. By the time I was chaining myself to Westminster Bridge some ten months later, it had completely taken over my life. ACT UP stood for AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power. There was no formal structure or hierarchy, but rather a variety of subgroups dedicated to direct action, fundraising, media liaison, outreach and so on.

I volunteered to be part of the action group. Not everyone could afford to get arrested. Some had family to think about or jobs to protect. But everyone was equally welcome. Archive photographs from the time tend to show angry gay men in black leather biker jackets. There were certainly a fair few of those, myself included. But there were also a lot of women involved in ACT UP London – Stacy Baker, Ché Feenie, Emma Hindley, Jo Mackie and Maureen Oliver, to name just a few.

At that very first meeting I met a beautiful young biker boy called Spud Jones, who quickly became one of my closest friends. As I soon discovered, activism can be a powerful bonding agent. Spud was the singer in a band called Tongue Man, who released punky, noisy, unapologetically gay records with titles like Joys Of A Meatmaster. He was never destined to appear on Top Of The Pops.

But another member of ACT UP often did. Jimmy Somerville had been part of the soundtrack to my life from Smalltown Boy through to his recent hit, Don’t Leave Me This Way, the Communards’ cover of a disco classic, interpreted by many as a tribute to those recently lost to AIDS. His new solo single Read My Lips (Enough Is Enough) was a protest song calling for increased funding to tackle the pandemic.

The aim wasn’t simply to vent our anger but to raise awareness of the issues affecting people living with HIV and AIDS

ACT UP was committed to ‘non-violent direct action’, sometimes referred to as ‘civil disobedience’ – otherwise known as breaking the law. The aim wasn’t simply to vent our anger but to raise awareness of the issues affecting people living with HIV and AIDS, be they welfare cuts, discrimination in the workplace, homophobic reporting in the press, or the failure of prisons and other services to provide free condoms and needle exchanges to help stop the spread of the virus.

Demonstrations were referred to as ‘zaps’ and tended to be rather theatrical in nature. For example, ACT UP New York famously staged an enormous ‘die-in’ at St Patrick’s Cathedral and stormed the offices of politicians and drug companies, covering desks and computers with fake blood. ACT UP Paris lowered a giant pink condom over the Egyptian obelisk in the city centre.

ACT UP London. Photo: Gordon Rainsford

It’s fair to say that ACT UP London never reached such dizzy heights. Our first zap involved catapulting condoms over the walls of Pentonville Prison. When it became clear that rubbers wrapped in foil didn’t have the density required to scale prison walls, we inflated the condoms and tried to float them over instead. We also chained ourselves to the gates of Downing Street on the day the Chancellor of the Exchequer, John Major, was due to deliver the budget. As his car approached, a group of us leaped out and handcuffed ourselves to the gates, blocking his path. My photo appeared in one of the gay free sheets under the headline ‘Not budging on budget day’. Five people were arrested and referred to as ‘the ACT UP five’.

Another time, we invaded the offices of the Daily Mail, cunningly disguised as motorcycle couriers. The target of our protest was columnist George Gale, who peddled the kind of victim-blaming AIDS commentary typical of the period. I was sporting rather a luxurious quiff at the time and questioned whether a motorcycle helmet was really necessary as it might flatten my hair. My friend Emma rolled her eyes and reminded me that this was no time for vanity. Photographs taken inside the Daily Mail offices show Emma, Jimmy, me and others handcuffed to some railings while a security guard looks on perplexed. My hair looks suitably disarrayed but disappointingly lacking in volume.

But mainly we blocked traffic. As my fellow activist and soon-to-be boyfriend William often said, our battle cry could have been ‘ACT UP London, lie down!’ Joking aside, this was one way to guarantee media coverage. If all else failed, at least we’d make the traffic news.

So when the government announced benefit cuts to people living with HIV, AIDS and other life-threatening illnesses and chronic conditions, we staged a die-in next to the Cenotaph on Whitehall. A dozen of us lay across the road, clinging on to a large banner and chanting, ‘Living with AIDS, dying for money!’ I was one of the first to be dragged away by the police, who didn’t arrest me but simply dumped me on the pavement. I picked myself up and tried to re-join the protest, only people were packed so tightly together there was no room for me to squeeze in. I had to outrun the police and approach the demo from a different angle, lying back down in the road but facing the opposite way to everyone else.

The moment was captured by photographer Gordon Rainsford and remains one of my favourite ACT UP photos. I might look a right poser, but it’s a pose with purpose. My ‘Action = Life’ T-shirt is clearly visible. The look on my face is one of grim determination.

ACT UP die-in, London. Photo: Gordon Rainsford

Interview: Paul Burston

Author Paul Burston. Photo: Krystyna FitzGerald-Morris

Paul Burston wasn’t always the iconic voice of LGBTQ+ London that he is today. He grew up in a working-class community in a small town in South Wales – the product of an unhappy marriage and a broken home, a queer kid who was bullied from an early age, and a survivor of childhood abuse.

At 19, he moved to London and came out, hoping for a happier life, only to watch in horror as his new-found community was decimated by AIDS, fearing that he might be next. He survived.

Driven by grief and a powerful sense of survivor’s guilt, Paul joined ACT UP and became an AIDS activist. He was arrested, prosecuted, and developed coping strategies that would only increase his suffering and fuel his euphoria.

Read more: Polari, Britain’s secret gay language and its influence today

Having been born well after the AIDS pandemic and not having a great deal of knowledge about the times, we asked our youngest team members here, Ellie Mongey and Beth Pratt, to read up on this, put their heads together, and craft some questions for Paul…

Q: How did you feel when you were prosecuted and arrested for standing up for something you felt so passionately about? 

P: “This was when I was charged following a protest with ACT UP. I was often arrested on demos, but this was the one time I was prosecuted, and the case went to court. I won’t pretend I wasn’t scared. But I also knew that I was right to protest against such bigotry and injustice, and I had the support of those closest to me – my fellow activists, including my cousin and flatmate Elaine.

“I also knew that I hadn’t actually broken the law on this occasion, certainly not at the time of my arrest. I was standing on the pavement, being interviewed by a reporter from the BBC! So I went into the courtroom putting on a brave face and hoping for the best. When I was found not guilty, it felt like a huge triumph. I left court feeling like a hero.”

Q: At what point in your life have you felt most liberated?

P: “I’ve felt liberated in different ways at different times. Coming out for the first time was hugely liberating. Joining ACT UP and finding an outlet for my grief and fears about AIDS was liberating. Recovering from drug and alcohol abuse was liberating. For me, liberation is all about being true to yourself. I’ve been true to myself in different ways at different times. But I think I’m the most authentic version of myself right now.”

Q: Looking back at your life so far, what has been your biggest achievement?

P: “Refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. I’ve always been very driven and bloody minded when I felt it necessary. So whether it was demonstrating as an AIDS activist, writing magazine columns, newspaper articles and novels featuring gay characters, or creating a literary salon and book prize for other LGBTQ+ writers, it all feels like part of the same thing. It’s all about trying to make the world a better, more diverse and inclusive place.”

Q: Was it difficult to be so vulnerable and honest with your readers? Did that make the writing process tricky at all?

P: “Not really. I’ve always been very open, certainly since I came out when I was 19. As the years have gone by I’ve become more comfortable in my own skin, so deciding to write a memoir wasn’t that daunting. And there wouldn’t have been any point in writing it if I wasn’t completely honest. They say that honesty sets you free. Writing the book was certainly freeing, even when I was writing about mistakes I’ve made and moments I’m not proud of. There are many things I wish I’d done differently. I certainly have regrets. But they all led me to where I am now, so I try not to dwell on them too much.”

Q: Your work and life are so intertwined your work is your life, and your life is in your work. How do you rest, heal, and take a break from it all?

P: “With great difficulty! Ha ha! I live in my head a lot, so physical exercise helps. I enjoy working out, walking, swimming, and getting lost in a good book. Reading has always been a great source of escapism and sustenance for me. Books have saved me on so many occasions. I’m thankful that my mother always encouraged me to read. It’s been one of the greatest pleasures of my life.”

Q: Do you think more people should be sober?

P: “I think it depends on the person. I know lots of people who enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or can drink socially without it ever becoming a problem. Sadly I’m not one of those people. I can’t drink responsibly. I would drink to excess. So for me personally, sobriety makes more sense. But I wouldn’t judge anyone for drinking. It’s only if the drink becomes a problem that they might want to step back and think about it.”

Q: Do you agree that the best years of your life come later in life?

P: “I agree with what David Bowie said about ageing – it’s the process by which you become the person you were always meant to be. That’s assuming you have the luxury of ageing. So many people I knew didn’t have that luxury. So I’m very grateful that I do.”

ACT UP members in Australia. Photo: Gordon Rainsford

Q: Would you say that it is the resilience of community that gives you hope and inspiration during dark times?

P: “Absolutely. I’ve always taken inspiration from those around me, whether it’s people I’ve known personally, like Derek Jarman, or those I’ve only read about or seen from a distance. Community is hugely important to me. It’s what the author Armistead Maupin calls ‘logical family’ – which can include those you’re related to and those you’ve chosen. I can relate to that. My logical family means the world to me.”

We Can Be Heroes is available from Queer Lit for £8.29

Beth Pratt

Beth is one of Silver’s interns. She loves reading and studying literature. Entering her final year of university, Beth still finds time to dance, swim, and have a pint with friends. Her favourite hobby is going to coffee shops, if you can call it a hobby!

The post We Can Be Heroes: excerpt and interview with author, Paul Burston appeared first on Silver Magazine.

What is Polari? Sometimes spelled ‘palare’ from the Italian ‘to talk’, it’s a form of slang most commonly associated with gay men, used more widely during the days when male homosexuality was against the law.

The language itself has diverse origins – a combination of Italian and Romantic roots, Romany, backslang (saying things backwards), Yiddish, Cockney, and other street and sailor slang, mostly from London.

The point of Polari was, largely, to avoid the law knowing what the hell you were talking about

The point of Polari was, largely, to avoid the law knowing what the hell you were talking about or getting up to. And so to keep ahead of intelligence, the language was a constantly evolving thing, staying one step ahead. Many of the words have made their way into common parlance.

In 2021, Polari lives on as the inspiration for literary events and awards where the focus is very much on inclusivity. Polari is still relevant and part of our history. Although gay rights have come far in the UK, there is still a way to go.

The origins of Polari

The origins are complex. At various times, circus folk, sailors, Romany gypsies and other social outsiders spoke Polari, but it’s most commonly associated with gay men. In the 1960s, it was popularised by Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick as camp comedy couple Julian and Sandy on the BBC radio show Round the Horne. Their conversation was laced with sexual innuendo and made regular use of Polari.

They used slang like ‘bona lallies’, which means ‘nice legs’, and ‘dolly eke’, which means ‘handsome face’, in a knowing way that many gay listeners of the time would have recognised.

Other cultural icons using Polari

When David Bowie launched his Ziggy Stardust character and album in 1972, he gave a famous interview to Melody Maker. He camped it up outrageously, claimed he was gay and spoke in Polari to prove his queer credentials; despite being married with a child. His final album Blackstar also contains elements of Polari on the track Girl Loves Me.

Polari was vital to the gay community until very recently

Polari is sometimes referred to as ‘the lost language of gay men’. It was most popular after WWII and before the 1967 Sexual Offences Act, when male homosexuality was against the law.

You could be fired from your job or refused accommodation simply for being gay.

Thousands of gay and bisexual men were imprisoned for consensual sex acts. Men used Polari as a coded way of communicating with each other at a time when being openly homosexual carried the risk of arrest.

There are words that have made it into common parlance, used to this day. Like ‘naff’, which originally meant ‘straight’ or ‘Not Available For Fucking’.

The 1967 Sexual Offences Act was a watershed moment, but…

Contrary to popular belief, the act didn’t actually make gay sex legal. It only decriminalised it under certain circumstances. The age of consent for gay men was set at 21, compared to 16 for heterosexuals. Homosexual acts were tolerated, providing they took place in private and no more than two people were present.

The freedom that straight people take for granted weren’t afforded to us. If a nosy neighbour spotted two men kissing – inside their own home – and reported them to the police, they could be charged with a public disorder offence. You could be fired from your job or refused accommodation simply for being gay.

It’s worth remembering that this remained the case until a mere 20 years ago. Public displays of affection could, and often did, still lead to arrest.

Astonishingly, the specifically gay crime of ‘gross indecency’, for which Oscar Wilde was imprisoned more than a century ago, remained in law until as recently as 2003. These days we have an equal age of consent, partnership rights and employment rights. All of these things were unthinkable back in 1967.

It is easier to be a gay man in the UK today, but again…

A lot might have changed since 1967, but homophobia hasn’t gone away. It still isn’t safe to walk the streets holding your partner’s hand, or look a certain way. There’s always an element of risk involved.

In the last year there’ve been violent homophobic attacks on gay men in Birmingham, Edinburgh, Manchester, Liverpool, and London. A friend of mine was attacked in Brighton. I’ve been assaulted many times in London. It’s easier now than it used to be but it’s still far from ideal.

It’s always been harder for lesbians

They weren’t criminalised the way gay men were, but they did face persecution and were often invisible in a way gay men weren’t. And the notorious Section 28 affected lesbians just as much as gay men, by describing relationships as ‘pretended family relationships’ and making any discussion of our lives during sex education lessons unlawful.

…it’s important for gay men to support our lesbian sisters, just as they supported us during the AIDS crisis

Many young people who grew up lesbian or gay were taught that it was shameful.

Lesbians were at the forefront of the fight against Section 28 and heavily involved in AIDS activism – a fact often glossed over or forgotten. As women, lesbians are doubly oppressed as they also don’t enjoy male privilege. And misogyny and sexism aren’t the exclusive preserve of straight men; some gay men can be just as bad.

These days, there are very few lesbian-only social spaces left. And sadly disputes between some sections of the lesbian community and some trans activists have led to a lot of animosity and division.

I fully support trans rights. And I also think it’s important for gay men to support our lesbian sisters, just as they supported us during the AIDS crisis. In fact, I consider it my moral duty.

I celebrate Polari to keep history alive

I created a live event, a literary salon, to help celebrate and explore the language. Polari is a live showcase for LGBTQ literary talent. It started in 2007 in Soho, London, and grew quickly. We’re currently based at the Southbank Centre, and tour regularly, thanks to Arts Council funding.

I think of it as a cabaret or variety show in which all the acts are writers of one kind or another – authors, poets, spoken word performers. It’s very diverse and very inclusive. Everyone is welcome, regardless of gender or sexuality. And we run two book prizes, for debut and established LGBTQ writers; it’s the only such prize in the UK. And we’ve been touring the UK, as we have every year since 2014.

For more information about Polari events: www.polarisalon.com

 @paulburston

Polari words still in common parlance…

Bevvy: drink
Bijou: small
Butch: masculine; masculine lesbian
Camp: effeminate (origin: kamp = known as male prostitute)
Carsey: toilet, also spelt khazi
Crimper: hairdresser
Dish: an attractive male; buttocks
Dizzy: scatterbrained
Drag: clothes, especially women’s clothes
Fruit: queen
Mince: walk (affectedly)
Naff: bad, drab
Scarper: to run off
Scotch: leg (scotch peg)
Slap: makeup
Trade: sex
Troll: to walk about (especially looking for trade)

Paul Burston

Author of six novels including The Closer I Get. Memoir We Can Be Heroes published June 2023. Founder of Polari literary salon and the Polari Book Prize for LGBTQ+ writing. Born in York, raised in Wales, now based in London and Hastings.

The post Polari, Britain’s secret gay language and its influence today appeared first on Silver Magazine.