Blog
William Howell-Harte
Head of PSHE, Alleyn's School
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June 2001 was my first encounter with Basil Deardon’s film, Victim (1961), the story of barrister Melville Farr (Dirk Bogarde) who risks ruin to crusade against blackmailers targeting gay men.
Sat in the back of Mr. Lord’s English class, I felt the intrigue and mystery of this noir thriller: conspiratorial characters in dingy pubs, Dirk Bogarde’s arched eyebrows, fear and jeopardy captured memorably on black and white film stock.
What I didn’t understand was what it was all about or how significant it was, a film credited with shifting public opinion about homosexuality prior to its partial decriminalisation in 1967. Why so much intrigue? Why the drama over a photo of one man crying in another man’s car? How could being blackmailed over something like that drive this twisting plot? Homosexuality is only implicit till the very end of the film, relying on audience awareness of mid-century media’s moral panic over LGBTQ+ people to signal the ‘illicit’ content of the film.
For what must have been the first LGBTQ+ movie the class had encountered, there wasn’t much unpacking of the film to make up for the double-layered censorship at work in that classroom: when Victim was released with an ‘X’ rating, the BBFC still regarded homosexuality as being, ‘outside [an audience’s] direct experience … something [too] shocking and distasteful’ to be seen by anyone younger than 18 and homosexuality is kept as a vague backdrop to the film as a result; in 2001, the embargo imposed by Section 28 was still in effect, forbidding the promotion of the ‘acceptability of homosexuality’ leaving at least one school boy even more confused about that week’s chosen film.
Thankfully, these days representation of LGBTQ+ people has come a long way: we now have the opportunity to commemorate landmark legislative changes, celebrate a more open culture and acknowledge the contributions of inspirational queer people.
As a gay man, this has been incredibly heartening to witness. Queer people and stories are far more visible and receive more validation than ever before. The runaway success of the likes of Alice Osman’s Hearstopper series has been incredibly inspiring, exemplifying a societal shift. Thanks to her graphic novels, Osman is currently the number one author at our school with the highest numbers of loans by a single author in recent years by a significant margin; Charlie and Nick’s coming-of-age journey feels like a deeply influential story for our students, frequently cited as a model of healthy relationships in PSHE surveys. Perception of their queerness as secondary to their relationship is a sign of the healthy approach we have to LGBTQ+ representation developed across the 21st century.
In that light, the ‘dead lesbian’ or ‘bury your gays’ trope of earlier LGBTQ+ media and literature (evident in Deardon’s film) feels like a stark contrast. Contemporary LGBTQ+ narratives by comparison are healing, ones of acceptance, tolerance and self-confidence vital for audiences of all ages. Sadly, for too many their production and consumption may be an act of wish fulfilment, rather than inspired by lived experience: to this day, LGBTQ+ youth frequently report a lower sense of wellbeing and are more likely to be diagnosed with a mental health condition.
In my work as a curriculum co-ordinator, I have been acutely aware of the need to balance what we deliver on the ups and downs of LGBTQ+ lives. It’s difficult when tragic narratives get more curricula time because they are perceived as having firmer grounding in history or greater canonical credentials. Focus on legislative proscriptions is valid but doesn’t do much to facilitate the flourishing of students and build a sense of pride in themselves.
In 2001, LEA regulations wouldn’t have allowed for that; Mr. Lord was already being pretty bold showing us Victim and I’m very grateful he took the risk. As a teacher now, I do think about how differently I would have handled the lesson working in our current context, how we can use film, literature, history, geography and so on to discuss the need for inclusivity as a vital part of creating a learning environment (and society) in which we can all be ourselves and attempt to make one small moment in their week where we lift up students who otherwise feel marginalised and isolated.
This requires a strategic approach and is not something that can be achieved alone. Helpful representation of LGBTQ+ people (or any group for that matter) requires allyship, time, commitment and a bit of courage on the part of teaching staff regardless of their sexuality or gender identity. The main strategic steps I would suggest are:
Schools need positive representation of queer lives to be immediate and evident to inspire and support our young people’s wellbeing and self-development. This a mission which requires continuous effort, review and acceptance that we must always reflect and strive to do better for future generations. Individually, these are small moments but combine to something far greater than the sum of its parts. It could be a small thing, that inexplicably sticks in your memory, the likes of which students encounter without knowing it but echoes for years afterwards and makes all the difference.