The 11th of December

The church is saying no to same-sex marriage (S)

On the 11th December 2012 I made a paper chain and drank tea. The tea was soothing and intended to cheer me up, and the paper chain was to keep my hands busy so I didn’t do anything regrettable like punch a wall, because I was angry. Angry and upset.

Anyone who is familiar with UK politics and QUILTBAG issues may recognise December 11th as the day that the government revealed its new proposals for gay marriage, ie. it is to be legalised, a cause for celebration in anyone’s book, especially that of a young, liberal bisexual. So then why was I angry and miserable? Because that was also the day the government announced that same sex marriage would be illegal within the Church of England.

The morning before, I had been to visit a school with members of my university’s LGBT committee. We visited a class of 14 and 15 year olds who asked us questions ranging from how we came out to our parents, all the way up to whether we would want to get married someday.

‘I would love to get married,’ I answered. I remember I was smiling at the idea of it. ‘I want to get married in a church. Maybe. Hopefully. Someday.’

I grew up in the Church of England as the child of a priest. The first LGBT people I can remember meeting were the vicar and his partner at a church where my mum went to work. As an 11 year old I accepted them whole-heartedly, it never crossed my mind to do anything else, because despite having come from a religious background I spent time around predominantly accepting and forward looking people. It wasn’t until years later that I realised the sort of discrimination that people from our community face, and it wasn’t until the afternoon of the 11th December 2012 that I really felt any of it levelled at me.

There were a lot of us sitting in the LGBT lounge that afternoon and I don’t really remember how we heard the news but I know I checked BBC News (as a journalism student it’s a reflex) and there was the headline: ‘Gay marriage to be illegal in Church of England.’

Illegal. It’s such a strong word. It’s still the word that hurts most of all when I read the article now. There’s a sense of finality to it. A barrier. It’s quite something to be told that one of your dreams is illegal.

I’ve seen a lot of people wondering why gay marriage is even an issue the government is trying to deal with. Surely there are bigger issues like the economy, or healthcare. When same-sex marriage only applies to such a small part of the population it can easily be ignored in favour of things which affect everyone.

But what I realised on 11th December is exactly how much we rely on politicians and the government to take care of each and every one of us, to defend our rights and allow us to fulfil our hopes and dreams, right down to the smallest of minority groups fighting for equality, because even a small part of the population is important, after all. It is when they fail to do this for us that it can feel like a betrayal.

As I walked back to my room that night I felt betrayed, not just by the government but also by the church. They were the two institutions that had the biggest influence on my life. I had trusted them and they let me down. All I could see in my head as I walked were images of the churches that I had been to over the years. They had always felt like sanctuaries to me. They were places where I could be safe (if a little cold at times, especially in the winter), welcome and, most importantly, myself. They were places that I dreamed about clearly more often than I realised, because when I thought about them that night I could see it all slipping away; the chance of expressing my love for a future someone in a place and manner that is not just important but essential to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I know how important a step this legislation is for my country, and indeed any country where it’s introduced, but it is difficult feeling just a little less equal than everyone else simply because you’re both religious and LGBT.

Now, more than a month later, I’m finding it easier to realise that this is a temporary setback of perhaps fifteen years, maybe twenty. The church is slowly moving forward, most recently allowing gay men to be ordained as bishops, and somewhere down the line same-sex marriage might be legalised. Hopefully, maybe, someday I’ll be able to have the church wedding that would mean so much to me, and on that day the paper chain and tea, anger and sadness, of 11th December 2012 will finally be forgotten.