Bent Is Not Broken

By M.J. Buckman

To anyone who has ever felt alienated or out of place. To anyone who has felt the need to hide behind a mask. To anyone who has ever felt different, or fragile, or a bit too close to breaking: this book's for you.

 

Through a combination of memoir, interviews, and research, M.J. Buckman explores LGBT+ life through the ages and looks at what it can teach us today about tolerance, inclusivity, and sheer joy.

 

In the 1980s, M.J. thrived in London's gay subculture. Being a fag hag was fun, exciting, and all-consuming. But, amongst all her 'bent' friends trying to find themselves, was she losing herself instead?

 

M.J. believed that everyone was constantly blighted by severe anxiety, and that they were just much better than her at dealing with it. She must be the odd one out because she struggled to cope.

 

Now turning sixty, M.J. looks back on that time and the journey she has taken to have a stronger and healthier relationship with herself. Through interviews with LGBT+ people of all ages, she explores the pain of being on the outside and the wonder of finding your tribe.

 

Blending these personal histories with a deep exploration of how society has represented LGBT+ people throughout history, M.J. creates an uplifting and impassioned book that unveils the importance of accepting ourselves and each other. In today's world, where many LGBT+ people still struggle to be themselves and hate speech is on the rise, the need to stand up and be counted as an ally is as strong as ever.

 

This book is about the human spirit: flawed but able to cope, different from others but accepting ourselves, fearful of adversity, but somehow finding the inner resources to be true to who we are. Bent, but not broken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: UpLit Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223962038

Book preview

Bent Is Not Broken

A fag hag's collection of personal and social histories

M.J. Buckman

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UpLit Press

Copyright © 2023 by M.J. Buckman

Cover image: photography by Cathy, hair and makeup by Peter. 

Cover design: H

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.K. copyright law.

Contents

Preface

1.Finding my tribe

2.Communication

3.The odd one out

4.Religion and philosophy

5.Growing pains

6.Education

7.Mental health

8.Coming out

9.Science

10.London calling: the fag hag years

11.Culture

12.Love hurts

13.Health

14.Adulting

15.Working life

16.Politics and the law

17.Getting on

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About the Author

UpLitPress.co.uk

Appendix I: In their own words

Appendix II: References and further reading

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Preface

On discovering that I am straight, you may justifiably harbour some reservations about whether I have the right to write a book about LGBT+ life. In some definitions of the acronym LGBTQIA+, the A can stand for ally, and I am that A with bells on. I wish to earn your trust and show that it’s possible for a straight woman to write with compassion and insight about a community I observe rather than inhabit, as someone who embraces difference and diversity and wants to be associated with LGBT+ people as an understanding and compassionate friend. I share my commitment to stand up and be counted, and this book is my way of showing my solidarity. In my lifetime, being gay has been demonised, pathologised and criminalised. I’ve witnessed first-hand the difficulties some of my friends have faced, and I am full of awe and respect for people who go through so much just to be able to be themselves. I have my own personal experience of being different, of struggling to accept who I am, which I describe in detail. In some ways, my experiences mirror those of many LGBT+ people.

This is not specifically an LGBT+ book. Yes, the personal stories I share are from twenty-four LGBT+ friends and acquaintances, interviewed specifically for this book, and yes, my explorations are related to LGBT+ culture past and present. But it’s a book intended for everyone, as it explores themes of difference, resilience and accepting who we are, in which I aim to include ideas and thoughts that are relevant and interesting to a wide audience, whatever your sexuality or gender. As with any community, LGBT+ people are not a homogenous group, and individuals may change over time. Also, gender and sexuality do not define us as people; we are so much more than who we are attracted to or our sex. I try to avoid sweeping statements and generalisations, and I wish to write nothing that causes offence, although I do hope to provoke a little discussion. Some of the brutally honest stories I share may be upsetting in places, but their owners wanted them told. To protect people who don’t want their identities known, all names, including my own, have been changed.

There’s very worrying and growing evidence that hate speech and hate crime against people who don’t fit the heteronormative stereotype is on the rise. I’ve received hateful slurs myself while I’ve been preparing to launch this book. The need to stand up for people who are different from oneself is as strong as ever as we teeter on the precipice of potential regression, losing some of the rights afforded to people because of who they fancy or how they identify, a status which was so bravely fought for. I don’t claim to have answers to very much, and I pose at least as many questions as I ponder potential solutions. These are things that need to be said, and to be shared widely; this book is my attempt at doing so. Some of the people I interviewed commented afterwards how good it was to talk, to share their lives and experiences; it was self-affirming and liberating for them. If one person picks up this book and learns something, or decides to find out more, or questions their own approach and attitude, or decides to talk to someone about their own story, then, well, wow.

M J Buckman, England, 2023

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1

Finding my tribe

When Peter proposed to me in 1981, it already felt like we had gone through a lifetime of emotions together, although in fact we’d only known each other a couple of years, and I was only seventeen. It would be a long engagement perhaps, but that didn’t matter. I was totally in love with him, and totally committed to a lifetime with him. Marrying one another seemed the perfect answer to all our problems and we were convinced that it would set us both free from our troubled pasts. It wasn’t a conventional proposal, but then, we weren’t a conventional couple.

It had all begun back in 1979, when I was fifteen. My best friend Jane and I became acquainted with a group of friends outside our all-girls' school circle, friends that included a group of boys. But these weren’t like other boys; they were funny, intelligent, and alternative. To the very naïve me, who hadn’t so much as kissed anyone apart from a few pre-pubescent fumbles, they seemed grown up, exotic and mysterious. Also in the group were some cool and trendy girls, around whom Jane and I felt a bit awkward and inferior. For several months, we were on the periphery, nervously chatting with this group and giggling at their jokes. Up until that point, if I had got any attention from the opposite gender, it was by being called butch which my school friends thought was hilarious. I wasn’t exactly butch, but I’d never had an interest in girly things and was quite a tomboy. I hated flowery dresses and skirts, partly because I thought I looked hideous in them, and I preferred to wear trousers and tops. Cheesecloth shirts became a firm favourite, as did my treasured Levi’s grey hoodie and my army surplus hat full of badges I’d collected. It was on New Year’s Eve 1979 that Jane and I attended our first party hosted by this group, and it was the first party I’d been to that wasn’t of the jelly-and-ice-cream, pass-the-parcel variety. The soundtrack to that evening, marking a new phase in our lives, was The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was played then and at every gathering thereafter for years. Oh, how we loved this film and its music. It was decadent and rude and funny and bizarre, and it was ours.

Memory really is a funny old thing. I began obsessively keeping a diary in 1980, and I kept all the diaries that I filled, albeit out of sight and out of mind for decades, only to root them out some forty years later and read them as research for this book. I also found some old letters and cards to and from Peter and his parents. When I compare what I’d stored away in my head with what actually happened, two very different stories are revealed. It’s like I have been able to travel back in time to meet my teenage self again. What a weird and interesting experience. So, here she is, warts and all.

The three young men central to the group were Lee and Douglas, openly gay and just finishing school, and Peter, who had recently split up with his previous girlfriend, and who was working in the trendy Jean Machine store in the newly-opened shopping centre. I had a massive crush on Peter. For the next three months, there was a whirlwind of excitement and activity as the world opened up for Jane and me and we were assimilated into the group, regularly going to pub nights and house parties, and I spent what little money I had on half-pints of lager (thirty pence), cinema trips, and roller-disco evenings.

We started to visit each other’s houses, but soon it was my house where we’d congregate: I had the biggest bedroom and a tolerant mother. We began experimenting with dressing up and alternative make-up, and I’d go out in outfits assembled from charity shops, my mum’s and grandma’s collections of old clothes, and homemade accessories. I simply loved the idea of being able to recreate myself. This signalled the development of my new protective shield, a mask from behind which I could hide my anxiety and lack of confidence, and instead portray to the world a confident, trendy version of myself. And the boys loved it, encouraging me and enjoying my transformation. I thought I was finally letting go of the very awkward teenager and the quite fearful child, that person who lacked any self-confidence and who had no idea about her place in the world.

I was starting to become good friends with Lee, Douglas and Peter. At Lee’s request, I began purchasing girlie clothing and accessories for him, so that he could dress up as a woman in the privacy and secrecy of my bedroom, which he found very exciting, and we had much fun with my little second-hand camera taking cheeky shots of him posing provocatively, then sending off the film and waiting with bated breath for about a fortnight for it to be developed and the photos returned by post. We practised increasingly outrageous looks and it felt liberating, fun and naughty to be different. One night at the end of January, I went to a party in a black Lurex dress with a slit up to the thigh. Six months before, I’d worn jeans and shirts and virtually no make-up. My father, whom I’d idolised as a child, started calling me bloody annoying and I liked it – I was rebelling!

Being noticed by boys I basically worshipped was beyond exciting, as I’d never been of interest to boys. I’d do anything to fit in, so I started smoking and drinking to be like them, practising those early cough-inducing draws on cigarettes at the bottom of the garden behind the yew tree, so that the first time I lit up in public I wouldn’t be laughed at. By the end of January, Peter and I were becoming a close pair within the group and although we never went out alone, a bond was forming. He began to talk to me in a more intimate way, and I loved to be with him; he was paying me attention, he was handsome and huge fun to be with, and he was best friends with two openly gay young men, a quality I much admired.

I was falling for Peter, who’d already had several girlfriends, so I anxiously turned to my mum for advice and reassurance. I bared my soul, telling her all about my desire for him and about what an unattractive, inferior, inexperienced blob I felt. Hoping for some kind words, what I got instead was, Don’t be so stupid. She was very blunt with me, but she was always honest; she didn’t know any other way. Looking back, I think she meant that I shouldn’t feel inferior, that I had much to offer, but those were not the words that came out. After that, my mum, dad and brother all started teasing me, and I became a laughing stock because of my changing appearance and because I was falling for Peter. I cried a lot in my bedroom about how much they all humiliated me. I’d forgotten all about that until I re-read my diaries.

However, Lee and Douglas were independently starting to tell me that Peter liked me, and I set about trying to prove myself worthy of his affections and forget about how my family were behaving. It was in March 1980 that our new group of friends pooled what little money we had to hire a village hall and host our first community party. This was a big deal. Lee and Douglas both had vast record collections and were DJs for the night, and we all dressed up. We all drank a bit and laughed a lot, dancing and showing off. Peter and I mucked about dancing to all the electronic and disco sounds that Lee and Douglas selected, and I was already having the best time of my life. The hall was packed with party-goers from all over town, and everyone was getting to know us as the trendy crowd. Then a slow dance came on. I’d never done a slow dance. Peter took me in his arms and held me close as we moved. I felt awkward but beyond excited. Then he kissed me, full on, eyes closed, tongues exploring, and my world changed in a moment.

After that amazing evening, Peter continued to kiss me regularly at parties and in the coffee shop, and I felt sublime, all my troubles at home simply melting away. We started to confide in each other, and he began to help me get ready before we went out. I was so touched that this lovely young man was taking such an interest in me, helping me choose my outfits and apply my make-up. My father commented disapprovingly that Lee and Douglas were effeminate, and I was in two minds about revealing to him that they were bent. He was critical of me having boys in my bedroom, so this might have allayed his concerns. But that wasn’t the reason I wanted to tell him. I wanted to shock him. I always used the word bent to describe my gay male friends, as that was the word they used. I’d forgotten that too. We were reclaiming a slur, like people have done more recently with the word queer. I was falling in love with this new life and revelling in my first proper dalliance with a straight male I fancied, and who incredibly seemed to fancy me back. Jane, however, began to worry that she was going to be left out.

For many of the twenty-four LGBT+ people I interviewed for this book, finding their tribe in their teenage years was not easy. And for a few, it was downright impossible, which resulted in unhappiness and remaining closeted. Only two were lucky enough to meet people with whom they could identify, and with whom they could come out, whilst still at school. One was my friend Douglas, who went to school with Lee. Lee latched onto me. We’d had a conversation, with him telling me he was gay, and I just laughed. It was only afterwards that I thought that I must be too. He had guessed I might be – I was always a bit camp. I’d started doing things about it already – when I was thirteen or fourteen, there was a boy up the road – but there was no love, it was purely playing around with each other and blow jobs and things like that. It still didn’t strike me then as being gay.

It was in secondary school that Nick accepted to himself that he was gay, having had thoughts about boys for as long as he could remember. I met Nick through friends at college when we were teenagers, and he chose to write his story for me. Nick found himself drifting away from his best friend towards two boys he felt were more like-minded souls, pretty sure that they were also gay. Nick went to Simon’s house after school one afternoon, and during the course of that evening, they came out to each other. There was nothing sexual in it, but now that they had found each other they couldn’t wait until the next day when they told their other friend, Timothy. From that moment, the three boys were inseparable, distracted from their studies by the gender-bending world of music, fashion and theatre that was emerging in the late 1970s and early 80s. What a difference it makes if you can find your tribe, be accepted, and accept yourself in the process.

Others found a different solution: they were helped by someone older who took them under their wing. I interviewed Barry in his flat. He was initially a little nervous to talk about himself, but when he got going, he had some great stories. Barry was introduced into the gay scene in London by his (closeted) boss in the 1960s. Harold took him to the William IV pub and the Black Cap, and for Barry, who grew up in the Welsh valleys, it was a wonderful eye-opener. He started meeting people in the Black Cap back room for a rumble in the jungle, before going back to his digs with his unsuspecting aunty in Wembley. Harold stayed in Barry’s life until he died, and Barry said that he couldn’t have wished for a better way to be shown around the gay scene, and that they were lovely times.

Barry’s partner Tony also met a much older man when he was a youngster. Cigi took Tony home one day, and they lived together for the next twenty-five years. When Cigi was an old man, Barry and Tony looked after him together, caring for him in their home. What a compassionate, kind way to live. John was also supported by an older man, who liked to have him on his arm, although it wasn’t sexual. He asked John to move in with him and showed him a good time. They had a very show-biz life for a while, and John met lots of different people, including a man who liked to be whipped by army boys; it opened John’s eyes to a whole new world. John is now passing on his experience as an older man to his younger partner Simon, whom he met through friends in 2014 on holiday in Ghana. What started as a holiday romance turned into love, and John began to travel to Ghana to visit Simon regularly, making sure to be discreet, as the country is largely anti-gay. People are regularly beaten up and murdered, and there’s potential imprisonment for anyone caught. John resolved to help Simon leave, and when we had his interview in his home, he was in the process of doing all the paperwork for this to happen.

When I met Alec in a café, he told me about meeting the love of his life by pure chance. He was cycling by a lake and stopped for a rest. An older man sat down beside him, and they got chatting. They went for a meal and the older man asked him to move in with him. It was a great twelve years, says Alec, as he was shown a life he’d never known before. This love of Alec’s life was older than Alec’s parents, which he didn’t know until he died, and which didn’t matter in the slightest.

Having spent most of my early years as a terrified outsider, suddenly, as a sixteen-year-old, I had found my tribe, and I had the opportunity to shake off that frightened little girl. I had found a new way to communicate to the world about who I was.

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2

Communication

I think it’s all gone mad, and I don’t want to know about it, said Tony. I can’t keep up with it, added John. Nick said, It’s divisive and not inclusive, while Mary felt, It’s complex, confusing and alienating. These were just some of the impassioned responses I received when I asked LGBT+ people what they thought of the acronym LGBTQIA+. A term designed to be inclusive and positive, it’s actually viewed as exactly the opposite by many of the very people it’s supposed to represent. Communication is a complex beast indeed, and it’s a subject that has always fascinated me.

The evolution of humans into a species that can communicate with each other took thousands of years, resulting in an ability which is, we think, unique. During our early childhood, we learn the incredibly complex skill of how to process messages sent by others, and respond with our own self-generated ones. Most of us do this naturally and with little effort, so that by the time we get to school, we can communicate effectively with those around us. Our communication tools are language (the words or signs we use), speech (the way we sound), and non-verbal communication (our body language, gestures, and facial expressions). How and what we communicate speaks volumes about us – where we are from, what we know, what we like and don’t like, and what tribe we belong to. Words change over time as attitudes and beliefs change, and even within one society, the same words will be used in different ways. As I’ll do throughout the book, I’m going to focus on some specific examples to illustrate the themes and messages I’m trying to get across.

Language

We don’t know exactly how or when human language evolved. As we became upright and our brains got bigger, we developed our unique voice box (larynx) and mouth structure. It’s thought that we developed a proto-language, passing key verbal messages as we settled into small communities. Each community formed a unit and with it a language. We evolved many ways to indicate which community we belonged to, from the words we spoke to the clothes we wore; this enabled others in our tribe to recognise us and warned those outside our tribe to be wary of us.

We are born with a capacity to develop language, and with a brain that makes millions of new connections as we learn. Our ability for language is remarkable; we can express our feelings, our wants and needs, our experience and our learning. We can even talk about the past and the future, and a myriad of other things we cannot see. Our words convey crucial messages about our attitudes and beliefs. We can use words for the advancement of scientific understanding and for the propagation of fake news, to promote peace and to inject fear and loathing. The terminology we find acceptable or not acceptable gives others a huge amount of information about us, and they will form opinions accordingly. Language is not static; each generation will be taught the current version of their language and its associated rules, and new words, new rules and new pronunciations will continuously appear as different styles of communication go in and out of fashion. In short, language is a very powerful tool. I’m going to focus on just a few examples of language about and within the LGBT+ community, to demonstrate some of the features of this amazing ability we have, and also to highlight some of its limitations.

Acronyms

We are having a bit of a love affair with the acronym in the current phase of human language evolution. In the worlds of science, academia, law, and in everyday use, acronyms are everywhere. Sometimes, they are pronounced as if they are a word in themselves, e.g. NASA, and sometimes, the letters are individually spoken, usually if the letters in the acronym don’t sound like a word, and/or if the words are long and complicated to remember, such as DNA.

The acronym LGBTQIA+ aims to be inclusive, representing all people who are not straight and cis-gender. It’s increasingly used by organisations and by some in the media.

Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer Intersex Asexual +

Lesbian – a woman who is sexually/romantically attracted to other women. The word lesbian can also be a verb: She has lesbian feelings. It was first used in the late sixteenth century, referring to someone who was from the Greek island of Lesbos, and evolved into its current meaning a few centuries later, when the word became associated with Sappho, an Ancient Greek poet from Lesbos.

Gay - a man who’s sexually/romantically attracted to other men. It’s also sometimes used as a blanket term for any person who is attracted to someone of the same gender. This differs from the word lesbian, which only applies to women or non-men. Many older men use this word, although it has become a slur amongst some young people.

Bisexual - someone attracted to men and women. In recent years, bisexual has also been used to describe a person attracted to their own gender and others, e.g. men, women, and people who identify as non-binary.

Transgender – someone whose experienced gender is different from the one they were assigned at birth. Traditionally it refers to someone who has undergone surgery and hormone treatment to change gender. However, the term now includes people who display traits of the other gender, or who identify as the other gender.

Queer - a word that’s been around for hundreds of years, and used in my lifetime as a slur against gay men in particular. It’s now been reclaimed by some as an umbrella term for anyone who isn’t heterosexual or cisgender (birth gender matches gender identity), and who wants to reject specific labels of romantic orientation, sexual orientation and/or gender identity.

Intersex – someone whose sexual organs don’t fall within the sexual binary of male or female. While most people are born as male or female, a minority are born with some characteristics of the opposite sex, e.g. someone with female genitalia and internal testicles which produce testosterone.

Asexual - someone who doesn’t experience sexual attraction. Some people use the term asexual spectrum, or ace. The definition can be broadened to include different ways in which people experience less sexual attraction than others. A few definitions also include ally, a person who is an ally to those who aren’t straight or cisgender.

+ (Plus/more) – a term to describe sexuality or gender identity terms not specified by the acronym letters. These include pansexual, non-binary (also NB, nb, enby), questioning, gender-fluid, gender non-conforming, genderqueer, agender, two-spirit, gender expansive, demi, grey and ally.

Although those who use the term do so with the intention of being inclusive, LGBTQIA+ is not without its issues, as we touched on earlier. Many people who are supposedly represented by the acronym don’t like it. Also, it doesn’t sound like a word when spoken, and it’s not an easy sequence of letters to remember, so it risks dismissal as a result of its complexity. There are inconsistencies about what the letters actually stand for. Some definitions have the Q standing for either questioning or queer. These two words mean very different things, so should the acronym have two Qs? The same argument could be used for the letter A, which can represent asexual or ally. If I were to include all these words, I’d end up with LGBTQQIAA+. And many identities are lumped together under that plus sign, including some in quite common use that may be considered as missing from the main acronym. There is no P for pansexual and no N for non-binary, for example, both terms we hear frequently. Finally, the gender-assignation word intersex is included, which makes it different from the other letters in the acronym which all stand for ways in which people identify.

I asked everyone I interviewed what they thought about the acronym LGBTQIA+ because I thought I was going to be using it throughout this book, and wanted to see if people liked it. This question evoked some very strong feelings and responses as we have already seen. Most people really disliked it, or didn’t understand it, or couldn’t identify with it. They said that it’s too long and cumbersome, hard to understand and too far removed from the original shorter versions such as LGB and LGBT. Greg, at sixty-nine years old, said that he got conflicted when LGB got extended as this had been about sexual orientation, referring to whether you fancied men, women or both. When it began to include different aspects of sexuality and gender, it changed its purpose. On reflection, Greg feels happier with it now as it aims to be inclusive, but he didn’t know what all the current letters stand for, and couldn’t remember the full acronym to say it out loud, and said that it’s of little use to him. Nick went on early Pride marches and demonstrations to fight for equality, and has a particular issue with the inclusion of the A for Asexual, saying that Gay Pride used to be about the fight for the right to have sex legally. You never had to fight for the right to be asexual – you just had to stay at home!

Only two people I interviewed use the full acronym LGBTQIA+, and that’s May and Rob. May, at twenty-three, is the youngest person in the group. May’s interpretation is that anyone marginalised belongs there, one thousand per cent. She has obviously put a lot of thought into this and articulated that for her, the acronym represents a community who all support and love each other. Rob is in his fifties, and also likes it very much, saying that it’s wonderful as it demonstrates how the gay community has opened up and welcomed everybody in.

After spending a few hours doing a search of similar acronyms online, I found nineteen different words being used by various organisations within their chosen acronym. The longest was LGBTQQIP2SA, used by an American university, standing for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Intersex, Pansexual, Two-Spirited, and Asexual, where 2S means two-spirited, an Indigenous phrase which refers to someone who identifies as having both a masculine and a feminine spirit. Other organisations deliberately choose a much shorter acronym as it matches their message: LGB is used by the UK-based LGB Alliance, who describe their vision as Lesbians, gay men and bisexuals living free from discrimination or disadvantage based on their sexual orientation.

No doubt, each organisation puts a lot of thought into choosing the acronym and words to best define their mission, but with so many words, and so many variations, it’s little wonder that there’s a lack of consistency in attempts to neatly define those who aren’t straight and cisgender. This links to the fact that the LGBT+ community is not a homogenous group, and it’s extremely difficult to develop an easy acronym that represents such diversity.

Altogether, I counted over fifty words online that are currently used to describe gender identity and sexuality, indicating that there’s a huge variation in how people want to describe themselves. I’m concerned that the continued use and expansion of this acronym might attract unwanted attention from hostile corners, keen to accuse it as woke and its users as snowflakes. Having said that, snowflakes (the kind we find in nature), are pure and beautiful and unique, and woke is derived from an African-American term which describes people who are alert to discrimination, and I really object to its appropriation as an insult. So, I’m ok with being a woke snowflake. But I’m not sure most people who aren’t straight and cisgender are ok with being called LGBTQIA+. Maybe an inclusive acronym which serves everyone just isn’t possible, or even desirable, and we should stop trying to achieve it. I don’t know the answer, but it does seem as if we have gone down a linguistic cul-de-sac with this particular acronym.

The obvious alternative to using an acronym is to use an umbrella term that’s widely accepted. A community reclaiming an old insult is nothing new, as we’ve seen with the word queer. It’s certainly easy to say and remember. However, its acceptance is far from universal, especially amongst older gay men. The people I interviewed were very divided. Some felt uncomfortable about it, remarking that if you’ve been in the closet for a significant proportion of your life and have heard the word queer used as a slur, it’s bound to affect you in a