Reading my blog and other online presence, it’s pretty difficult to miss that I’m bisexual. It’s there on my Facebook profile (and no, not just because I enjoy those lesbian cruises ads so much), it’s in my Twitter profile, and it’s something I refer to in my blog posts fairly regularly. I spend some of my time in my day job championing LGBT causes in the workplace, and I am a trustee of Broken Rainbow, the UK national LGBT domestic violence charity. I have also been in a committed monogamous relationship with a man for the last ten years. This seems to confuse people.
Every so often someone asks The Question. The Question comes in many guises – “Why do you flaunt your sexuality?”, “Why put that on your Twitter profile – is it really such a defining characteristic?”, “But you’re with Paul, so how does it matter?” Ultimately, though, it’s the same question: “Why don’t you just shut up and conform?” So here are some thoughts on bisexuality that may go some way towards answering The Question.
Bisexual invisibility
“Why are you involved in the company LGBT network?”, a straight colleague asks me. “You’re not lesbian, gay or…” The penny drops.
“Why are you involved in the company LGBT network?”, a gay colleague asks me. “You’re not lesbian, gay or…” The penny drops.
To both straight and gay people, I don’t fit, I am invisible. There are common stereotypes about bisexuality. It’s just an experimental phase and you’ll settle down and be “normal” again eventually. This one’s popular with straight people. Alternatively, you’re just saying that until you’re ready to admit that you’re gay really. Unsurprisingly, this one’s a favourite of the gay community. Such stereotypes make it easy to dismiss bisexuality, and sometimes bisexual people may find it easier not to correct assumptions of hetero- or homosexuality (depending on the relationship they’re currently in). It certainly cuts down on the awkward questions from people who would never presume to ask of a straight friend or colleague that kind of intimate detail. (“Oh, so you’ve had sex with girls?”) It cuts down on the accusations from the gay community that you’re just making yourself socially acceptable, more like a straight person.
Finding visible bisexual role models is hard. Portrayal of LGB people in media is not great but improving (with portrayal of trans people being a whole different kettle of fish), though arguably the portrayal of bisexual characters in particular is lagging behind. It is often characterised by stereotypes like the character who’s really gay but finds it more socially acceptable to identify as bi, or the “fashionably bi” young woman who’s only doing it to get male attention. While we may see bisexual behaviour, few characters openly identify as bisexual, and this in turn fuels the stereotype that bisexuality is what you do rather than who you are.
So one part of my answer to The Question is that if I’m openly and visibly bisexual, I’ll get the awkward questions, and I’ve more or less worked out how to deal with them. Maybe this will save someone else from having to deal with them further down the line. Maybe it will help other people who struggle with the invisibility of their identity.
“Assumed heterosexual” privilege
“My son saw me in a pink shirt this morning,” my team leader says at the team meeting, “and said I looked like a right poof.” Everyone laughs.
A side effect of bi-invisibility for those of us in “straight” relationships is “assumed heterosexual” privilege. On cursory inspection, we look like a duck and we quack like a duck so we’re assumed to be ducks. An interesting consequence of this is that people will not self-censor their homophobia when speaking to us. When I was less visible about my sexual orientation, comments like the one above used to be a frequent occurrence in my environment. They were never directed at me, and that was almost worse. I can deal with being the direct target of discrimination and harassment; but being there in the room as those things were said made me feel complicit. So I started challenging them and started being a lot more visible as a bisexual and member of the LGBT community.
There are other “perks” of assumed heterosexual privilege. While they’re not as extensive as the full heterosexual privilege list, they’re still significant. I could, theoretically, be engaged and active on LGBT issues while “passing” as a straight ally. In some ways, it would lend me more credibility (see items 31 and 33 on the list). It would also make me feel fraudulent and dishonest. Pretty much all of the causes I’m engaged in, and all my writing, are personal to me in some way. To deny – or omit – my sexual orientation would be to deny part of who I am.
It’s easy to forget, ignore and exclude bisexual people – deliberately or accidentally. I remember an instance where even Ben Summerskill, chief exec of Stonewall UK, got told off at a conference for consistently only referring to “lesbian and gay people”. Those of us who are out and visible as bisexuals can help remind people that we are all still here, and that we need inclusion too!

I am currently absolutely obsessed with Dragon Age. At this rate, I’m going to have to ask people to pry me off the PS3. The reason this is remarkable is that I am Not A Gamer. I am Not A Gamer to the extent that when I played Devil May Cry, I got two levels in and the game offered me the “You seem to suck at this, here’s the extra special easy version for you” option. With an extremely small number of notable exceptions, I never really got past Tetris. So how did I get to the point where you have to pry the PS3 controller from my cold dead hands?
The story starts with No More Lost, an LGBT rights blog I occasionally read. Some time last year, they covered a story about a role-playing game which – *gasp* – allowed same-sex relationships within the game setting. Not only that, but when challenged over this by a self-identified “Straight Male Gamer”, BioWare, the company behind the game, took an extremely principled stand in favour of equality, even in gaming. That was the first time I ever heard of Dragon Age. That was all the marketing I ever needed for it. I wanted to give BioWare my money. After checking with Paul that he was interested in playing it (I believe the words were something like “You’ll do the fighting and I’ll do the gay”), I bought both Dragon Age and Dragon Age 2 for Christmas.
What we’ve found since then is that Dragon Age is that once-in-a-decade game that actually really appeals to me. There is a strong overarching plot, characters you can truly care about, a combat system I can cope with, as well as some truly unique features like the player’s choices making a significant difference to the overall plot. Yet, had BioWare not shown that great principled stand on equality issues, I would probably never have found out about their game and certainly never bought it. I am willing to bet that this is the case for a significant number LGB gamers and allies out there. Market research shows that the LGB community is considerably more loyal to brands and companies who take the time to acknowledge we exist than your average consumer. And why not? All things being equal, if I have a choice between two otherwise superb products, of course I’m going to go with the one made by people who care about me.
There is, however, a fine line between engaging with a community and showing them you care and, frankly, taking the piss. Case in point, yet another Facebook privacy controversy. In this particular one, Privacy International alleged that Facebook’s targeted advertising had “destroyed” a young man’s life. Despite not openly revealing his sexual orientation on the social network, “David” started seeing a lot of adverts targeted at gay men until one day his parents spotted these and kicked him out of the house. Facebook in their eternal wisdom call this a case of “appalling discrimination and unauthorized access to a person’s account, not advertising”.
Yet here is why this is very much an issue of advertising, and an issue of how Facebook treats its users. (Remember, for Facebook we are not customers – we are the product. Nevertheless some minimum amount of decency and dignity should be expected even in this business model.) There was a time after I told Facebook I was bisexual and before I discovered the wonders of Adblock Plus when I used to see adverts on the site. Pretty much the only thing Facebook ever advertised to me were “lesbian cruises”. Which makes me wonder – if Facebook’s algorithms can figure out my sexual orientation even without me disclosing it, why can’t they figure out that there is more to me as a human being than just my sexual orientation? Why am I reduced to that one characteristic and then mercilessly targeted for it regardless of any other aspect of my life?
Here’s what BioWare did right: They created an awesome product and in the process thoughtfully included some options targeted at the LGB community. It’s important that Dragon Age isn’t about gay characters. It’s about characters who have adventures, who just happen to to be gay if the player so chooses. To top it all off, BioWare then stood by that product in the face of criticism, showing they had backbone to go with their amazing creativity. What Facebook does repeatedly wrong, on the other hand, is reducing us to a single characteristic they think they can turn into money and then disavowing responsibility the minute something goes wrong.
Thus ends today’s “Marketing to the LGB community” lesson.

Lee Hall, the writer behind Billy Elliot, has written a moving piece for the Guardian today as his most recent project looks to be on the brink of collapse due to what is – frankly and simply – homophobia. The community opera “Beached” is developed and set in Bridlington, on the beach, and has a cast of nearly 400, 300 of whom are primary school children. It is, in Hall’s own words, “a comedy about tolerance and inclusiveness” and was backed by Opera North as part of the their wider Sing Up! Bridlington initiative.
Yet with two weeks to go until the premiere, the project has reached an impasse, with the primary school involved demanding that references to the main character’s sexuality (“I’m queer” and “I prefer a lad to a lass”) are removed from the libretto. Having accommodated several other change requests, Lee Hall is making a stand on this one. He has proposed a number of options to move forward, including asking Opera North to help him engage directly with parents and the school and paying for Stonewall’s education team run workshops with children and parents. Neither of these options were deemed acceptable and it is now looking like the project will be canceled.
You might think “Homophobia in English education system” isn’t exactly a news story, and you would be right. We are still feeling the aftermath of Section 28. What is particularly disappointing in this case, though, is Opera North’s acceptance of the school’s prejudice and refusal to engage further on the subject. Their response shows a stunning level of bigotry.
Firstly, it tries to dismiss the significance of the issue:

It is a huge disappointment that the wider vision of the Bridlington project is currently being overshadowed. Opera North has been leading a community funded community engagement programme for the last two years, which has successfully established seven different choral groups, reaching in excess of 1,500 people in the local area from 0-82.

It even tells us that the only money that might be lost by the project not going ahead would be the commission fee for Beached, a mere £15,000. The time and effort of the hundreds of volunteers and members of the community who have been involved with Beached is clearly not sufficiently valuable to consider here.
Opera North then proceed to tell us that they

appreciate the viewpoint of the school about when they make the decision to teach PSHE to their pupils. This project is part of their formal learning and pupils from the age of 4 are performing, watching and taking part in the entire piece. PSHE begins from year 5, ages around 9.

And aye, there’s the rub. The prejudice and bigotry implicit in this comment, both on the part of Opera North and the school, are shocking. Apparently it is partly “down to the architecture of a performance space which has no on or off stage, meaning all performers are involved at all times”.
The unspoken assumption here is that children must be shielded from gay people. If there is a chance that they might overhear the lines spoken on stage between adult characters referring simply to the fact that a man has relationships with men rather than women, then that needs to be prevented, and if it means scrapping the entire production then so be it.
Gay people, in this world view, are not so much people but some sort of exhibit, a part of the national curriculum, something you teach, not human beings like you and me with feelings and lives and agency of their own. This characterisation of gay people as “Other” is damaging – both for those of us who are lesbian, gay or bisexual, but also for the children growing up in such a society.
How, I wonder, is the school planning to explain to those 300 kids why all of a sudden they can’t take part in the performance they’ve been looking forward to for the last six months? What excuses are going to be offered to those children? What message will the 30 or so of those children who will grow up to like and love and have relationships with people of their own sex take away from this? Would the school take the same stance if the relationships referred to were, say, between people of different skin colour?
Here’s another question: How many of those 300 kids have ever used “That’s so gay” as a way to alienate, insult and humiliate their class mates in the play ground? What does the school, so worried about teaching anything related to PSHE (Personal, Social and Health Education) before Year 5, do with those kids who say “That’s so gay” before the ripe old age of 9? The only action consistent with their approach to Lee Hall’s opera would be to expel those children, lest they pollute their class mates’ minds with concepts that couldn’t possibly be contemplated before Year 5! Somehow I doubt very much that is the stance the school takes – for if it was, they’d have no pupils.
We are not other, not alien. We are not a museum exhibit, a topic in the national curriculum. We are people. We are all around you: your friends, and colleagues, and family members. We fall in love, we have relationships, sometimes we end those relationships – just like you. Stop treating us, dear Opera North, like we are something else than human beings!

It may be the largest LGB rights charity in the UK (and, apparently, in Europe), but Stonewall is hardly immune to controversy. In fact, for LGBT activists, it’s a little bit like Marmite. As a member of the LGBT network at my workplace, I am involved with Stonewall’s Diversity Champions programme, and that gets me the occasional sneer from other activists outside of work. When I mentioned on Twitter that I was attending last Friday’s annual Stonewall Workplace Conference, I got a link to this call to protest Theresa May’s appearance as a keynote speaker at the event. (I must admit I myself found Theresa May an… interesting choice of guest speaker, and wanting to hear what she had to say on the subject of LGB rights was a major factor in my decision to attend the event.)
The controversies that surround Stonewall range from their on-again, off-again relationship with the trans community (Stonewall Scotland include trans rights in their remit, Stonewall GB don’t; they came under fire for nominating Julie Bindel, who is known for transphobic comments, for a journalist of the year award) to them being rather late to the party when it comes to campaigning for full marriage equality. Chief Executive Ben Summerskill himself openly admits that Stonewall is not a democratic organisation and does not speak for all lesbian, gay and bisexual people. Frankly, given the diversity inherent in the LGB community, I’d be much more worried if he claimed otherwise.
What Stonewall does do very successfully is present the “respectable” face of LGB activism. It’s a bit like putting on a tie makes you trustworthy enough to give financial advice: wearing a suit, getting banks to host your champagne receptions and schmoozing with politicians suddenly makes you look like you’re part of the mainstream. And once you look like you’re part of the mainstream, people are a lot more willing to engage with you. It is not a reflection on Stonewall but on the way our society values conformity.
And so on the train back from the Workplace Conference I reflected on Stonewall’s modus operandi and their achievements. This was after all the day I had heard Theresa May – a woman with an absolutely appalling voting record on LGB rights – declare that the government she was part of was considering introducing full marriage equality for same-sex couples. She sounded a little bit like someone was holding a gun to her head, but let’s face it – this government is talking the talk, and we’re beginning to see evidence of walking the walk. Ms. May had to leave the event before the Q&A session to be in the House of Commons for the Prime Minister’s statement on Libya, so I never got to ask her what made her change her mind. With hindsight, I am glad I didn’t get the opportunity, as I was not in the right frame of mind.
See, the conclusion I have reached since is that if someone like Theresa May is both saying the right words and backing them up with the right actions, even if they’re screaming on the inside, I should perhaps not challenge them. I would still like to know what made Ms. May change her mind – not in order to be contrary but because I would like to learn from this success how to persuade others with a similar history of opinion to hers.
I do believe Stonewall’s work in reaching out to political and business leaders, making the business case for equality with employers, and making LGB activism appear cozy and safe has a lot to do with some of the conversions we have seen. Combined with being prepared to challenge discrimination in the courts, for instance on LGB people serving in the armed forces, this carrot and stick approach has allowed us to make massive progress in the area of LGB rights over the last ten or so years.
Did you know that until eight years ago, teachers could not talk about homosexuality in schools – and most of them took that to mean they could not intervene in homophobic bullying cases? Only eight years ago you could be sacked from a job just for being lesbian, gay or bisexual. Until seven years ago there was no legal recognition for same-sex couples. And four years ago it was still legal to deny someone the provision of a good or service (even when they were paying you!), again, just because of who they were. These are not things which Stonewall has achieved single-handedly – but their contribution towards the rapid change in the legal situation of LGB people in the UK is highly significant.
Do I want Stonewall to embrace trans rights across the UK? To be honest, I’d like Stonewall to listen to trans people and do whatever is right for them, whether that is backing out of the space entirely or embracing it in a way that is truly constructive. Do I think they get every single thing right in their campaigns? No, but what organisation ever does? Do I believe they should have a more collaborative approach to other LGB charities in the UK? Oh yes. But do I also believe that Stonewall does extremely valuable work on behalf of lesbian, gay and bisexual people across the UK? Unequivocally, YES.

A couple of weeks ago this piece of propaganda hit my desk. It’s a flyer from Covington, Northern Kentucky, aimed against the first ever Northern Kentucky Gay Pride which is scheduled to take place next month. The writing style – if you can call it that – is ranting and raving, close to unreadable; but the flyer does somehow get its point across: gay men will seduce your young sons and turn them gay; they are dangerous paedophiles, they are not normal human beings, and they do not deserve basic human rights such as the freedom of association. “Sure”, it says, “assault is illegal, but it is safe to say that most normal people are happy to see that some among us will put these social rejects in their place when there [sic] excesses become to [sic] much to tolerate.”
I must admit that, quite naively, I had believed this line of argument against homosexuality to have safely died out back in the 1950s and 1960s, and encountering it roaming freely in the wild in the 21st century made me feel physically sick. But I decided to write it off as yet another scary but far-away expression of the US culture wars, not something I needed to be immediately concerned about. The US culture wars, however, have a way of spilling over the Atlantic, sooner or later.
And so this particular piece of the culture wars came back to haunt me today, in the form of Michael Burleigh’s piece on the Pope’s visit in today’s Telegraph. The whole article is full of unpleasantly hateful language and poorly-thought-out attacks on secularists and liberals, but what struck me was this: “Because child abuse is involved, rather than the more widespread phenomenon of homosexual predation on young men, these manifestations will receive much media attention”. Not only has the moral and logical fallacy of homosexuality = paedophilia not died a death in the middle of last century – no, it appears to be alive and kicking today even in Britain!
I really don’t think that speaking out against this kind of thinking is even remotely likely to reach those who hold these opinions – and yet I still feel strangely compelled to comment. Call it feeding the trolls.
As a bisexual woman and a survivor of child abuse (perpetrated by a straight man), let me at least skim the surface of the many things which are wrong with equating (male) homosexuality with paedophilia.
Firstly – and I can’t believe this actually needs saying – homosexuality is not the same a paedophilia. The vast majority of gay people are sexually attracted to adults – admittedly of our own sex, but adults nonetheless. Conversely, paedophiles aren’t all male, and don’t all just molest “young male children” (Covington flyer). I know, it might be a challenge to keep track of so many complex distinctions, but unfortunately the world is rarely black and white.
Here, though, is the thing that really bothers me: The “protect our young male children from these perverts” lobby shows a shocking disregard for young female children. There is an implicit value statement here which says boys are worth protecting, girls can just be left to the paedophiles. That’s the part of it that makes me feel physically sick. It begs the question, how many of these people’s daughters suffer horrific abuse in silence while their fathers are out there putting “perverts” and “social rejects in their place” to protect their sons?
Food for thought?

I’ve been offline for about twenty hours and have just come back to the news of David Laws’ resignation. I am incredibly sad. Here’s why.
***
Imagine you have to live two lives. Imagine you wake up in the morning next to your partner, you get up, have shower, have breakfast, kiss your partner goodbye, and then go and live your other life. In your other life, your partner doesn’t exist. You have colleagues. You see them every day. You work with them, socialise with them. You go for lunch, or for drinks after work. They tell stories of what they did with their family at the weekend, show you pictures of their kids. You nod and smile. You stay silent. Perhaps you make something up about what you did at the weekend by yourself or with friends. You get well-meaning questions and suggestions about finding a partner. You nod and smile. You stay silent. You go out to the annual company do and everyone is there with their partner. You are alone. You nod and smile. You stay silent.
In your other life, you have friends too. You meet up with them for dinner, you get invited to parties, you maybe even go on holiday with them. They start settling down with partners. They offer to set you up with a date. You nod and smile. You stay silent. Your friends start having kids. You watch them growing up. Your friends are still inviting you to parties, still taking you on holidays with them, and sometimes they ask whether you’ll be bringing someone with you. You nod and smile. You stay silent.
In your other life, you have a family as well. Parents, bothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, nieces and nephews. You get together once or twice a year – Christmas, maybe a bank holiday weekend. Your siblings and cousins start bringing partners to these family gatherings. People ask, how come you haven’t met anyone yet? You nod and smile. You stay silent. Those partners start becoming husbands and wives. You get invited to weddings, which you attend alone. Not met anyone yet, ask the family again. You nod and smile. You stay silent. You start getting invited to christenings. And your parents start dropping hints – they would like to be grandparents too. You nod and smile. You stay silent.
And at the end of your day, after work, and drinks with colleagues, and dinner with friends; after perhaps a weekend seeing your family; you go back to your partner – to your first life. You kiss them as you enter the house. You share drinks over late night television, or they cook you a meal. You tell them you love them as you fall asleep in their arms. But your partner isn’t happy. They want to meet your friends, be introduced to your family. You keep going off to family weddings, or dinner parties with friends while your partner is left behind. Unacknowledged. A secret. Someone you’re ashamed of. You look at them with sadness. And you stay silent.
Imagine you are living these two lives for years, decades. Imagine you live in constant dread that one day, your two lives will intersect. A friend will meet a colleague or a family member, will figure out that you weren’t where you said you were at the weekend. Or perhaps one day your partner will realise that they can’t make the compromise anymore – that they deserve better than being your dark guilty secret for the rest of their life.
***
Surely, you ask, no one has to live a double-life anymore. Surely we are a tolerant enough society by now that people should just be able to be themselves. It’s not a big deal, right?
And yet, that’s not true. Kids leaving school even today will have spent some of their school lives in an education system dominated by Section 28 of the Local Government Act, which stopped teachers from even being able to intervene when they saw homophobic bullying in schools. It was only in 2003 that Section 28 was repealed, and not nearly enough work has been done since then to address the issue of homophobic bullying which has become endemic in the British education system. It was also only in 2003 that it became illegal to sack people for being gay. Think about it – that was only 7 years ago. Before that people could be and were sacked simply for who they were. If your whole life’s experience tells you that it’s not safe for you to be open about who you are – that you may get attacked verbally and physically, that people in positions of authority will not step forward to help you, that you may even lose your job – would you choose to be open about your sexuality? Or would you try to find a way – any way – of hiding it?
Social change doesn’t happen overnight. We have the legal framework, and in some parts of society we even have the cultural framework. But the situation is still patchy, and there are still far too many pockets of overt and hidden homophobia out there. Saying that it’s all fine now is not enough. We have to take an active step forward to support lesbian, gay and bisexual people – to make them feel safe, supported and included in our society, so that they too can live happy and fulfilling lives and simply be themselves.
David Laws is not the first victim of this, not even the first high-profile victim. I fear he will not be the last. I may disagree with him on policy. I may even think that the way he handled his expenses was not right. None of this stops me, however, from being incredibly sad for him as a person. The one thing I can hope for is that we all learn something from this so that we can stop ruining lives, relationships and careers. After all, one in ten of us is lesbian, gay or bisexual. That’s a lot of lives to ruin.

So, a small part of my job involves looking after LGB diversity and currently I’m writing a training for people mangers. I was going through some of the case studies with my straight co-trainer this morning and she asked some interesting questions. The case study we were looking at was a legal one, around the legal precedent which essentially outlaws the use of homophobic language in the workplace. “What is homophobic language?” asked my colleague. And she has a point. What is acceptable to one gay person may not be acceptable to another. While some people are perfectly happy to disassociate the use of “That’s so gay” from their identity, others find it offensive. (For those interested, the answer to that is really two-fold: One – ask the person in question. The only way you’ll understand how someone wants to be treated is to ask them. Two – if in doubt think: If there was someone gay in my team and they weren’t out, would my using this kind of language, or permitting the use of this kind of language, send the signal that we are an inclusive and supportive team where people can be themselves or not?)
But that’s not actually what I want to talk about. Instead, consider this: Someone made a remark this afternoon which really triggered me, and made me realise that I find words like “fag” or “dyke” or “That’s so gay” a hell of a lot less offensive than two other words which are often used in discussing sexual orientation: “lifestyle” and “preference”. And the reason why I find those words to be particular triggers is that they change the basis of the debate – subtly, deeply, and insidiously. They frame the debate on LGB issues and rights as an individual choice rather than as an issue of identity, of being, and of inalienable human civil rights.
“Lifestyle” is big in the States. “The homosexual lifestyle” is this grand concept that the right have come up with to imply that… well, when you get down to the bottom of it, to imply that really, if we only tried hard enough, we could be straight; that at some point in our lives we sat down and chose to be “this way”; and that because it’s a personal lifestyle choice we do not deserve the same rights as straight people.
Here’s a few things to consider about this, dear straight person. Firstly, when, exactly, did you sit down and have a long hard think and decided – yes, consciously chose and decided – to be attracted to people of the opposite sex? I’d be interested to hear any and all such experiences and revelations. Secondly, if it really was a choice, do you think anyone would actively choose to be part of an oppressed minority? (Is my use of the word “oppressed” exaggerated? Until 2003 – that’s only 7 years ago, well into the current Labour government – it was for all intents and purposes illegal for a teacher to intervene to stop homophobic bullying in school. This has made homophobic bullying endemic in the British education system to this day, and still very little is being done to address it. Also until 2003, it was perfectly legal for an employer to fire an employee simply for being gay. And until 2007 – that’s three years ago – it was perfectly legal for a business to refuse to provide goods or services to people because they were gay. If it was up to the Conservatives it would still be legal to do that. [Possibly best Google search of the night: “Conservatives gay bed and breakfast”] I’ll stick with “oppressed”.) Would you choose to live a life that exposed you to all that?
Being gay is not a lifestyle choice. It’s not like choosing to live in the city or the countryside, to wear Prada or Gucci, to have 6 kids or none. Being gay is a part of a person’s being, part of their identity, and not something they can change about themselves. How would you feel, dear straight person, if I said to you that I’m sure if you just tried hard enough you could be gay too?
“Preference” is another trigger word for me, for very similar reasons. What “preference” implies to a gay person is that they may prefer to have a partner/sleep/share their life with someone of the same sex as them, but really, in a pinch someone of the opposite sex will do just fine. Let’s turn this around. Dear straight person, I know you prefer to have a partner/sleep/share your life with someone of the opposite sex, but really, in a pinch, someone of the same sex will do just fine, right? Right?
So next time you talk about LGB issues, please, please think about the words you’re using! Do you really want to imply that there’s a choice? In that case go ahead and keep using “lifestyle” and “preference”, but don’t be surprised if you get a lecture from me. If, instead, you want to respect people’s identity and accept them for who they are, please use “sexual orientation” instead.
And here’s another diversity trigger for me: Every time we talk about diversity in the workplace (not just where I work, I occasionally attend industry conferences and it’s the same across the board), this question invariably comes up, and it invariably comes up from a straight, white, middle-class man: “But surely $disadvantaged_group just don’t like working in $our_industry. Why are we trying to make our workforce representative if those kinds of people just don’t want to work here?” You can insert you own industry and disadvantaged group here. The two recent examples I’ve had are “women in IT” and “gay people anywhere outside the arts and airlines”.
This is where this morning’s Thought for the Day comes in. (Some of you may know I’m not a fan of Thought for the Day, but this one was good.) Rabbi Lionel Blue was talking about his experience of being gay in a country/society where for a substantial part of his life it was illegal to be gay, and then again for a long time it was semi-legal but not socially acceptable. The thing that struck me – and not for the first time in a testimonial from someone who’s lived a significant part of their adult life pre-2003 – was the strain that kind of social attitude puts on your personal relationships. When being gay means you can be put in jail, or lose your job, you’re faced with some pretty stark choices. Your employer’s just asked you to move to Birmingham? You can’t tell them about your partner who works in London. Which will it be? Your career or your relationship? You’ve been invited to a work do where partners are welcome and where you’ll get plenty of opportunity to network with senior management. Your partner is fed up with having to stay behind, to be kept a secret. That kind of thing break up relationships too, you know? And then we get the stereotype that gay people can’t settle down and be in a stable relationship, that they’re promiscuous, that they just won’t fit in! Well apart from what’s wrong with someone not fitting in with your ideal chosen lifestyle, can you spot what else is wrong with this picture? That’s right. If all the social and political structures around you are designed to keep you from settling down in a stable relationship, then maybe, just maybe you could be forgiven for succumbing to that pressure.
And here’s how this ties into women in IT, and gay people outside the arts. So, I’m a young, intelligent woman, fresh out of school, trying to decide what to do with my life. All my life I have seen women role models in the caring professions (nursing, teaching, etc.) – women choose to work there, it must be a good place to work if you’re a woman. Women even get into leadership positions in that kind of industry – maybe there’s a way for me to make a career in that industry too! I look at engineering or IT and suddenly in a company of 100 engineers, the only women are the secretaries. The signal that sends to me is “there is no place for you here, my child”. I can’t even see an entry point into the profession, let alone a long-term career. The fundamental structures around me are set up to steering me in one direction and not the other – it has nothing to do with my talent or ambition.
Repeat after me: women do not naturally prefer pink and want to become nurses; gay people do not naturally prefer the arts or being a flight attendant to all other occupations. But those are the areas they have been able to carve out a niche for themselves that accepts them and allows them to have a career without having to push water up hill every hour of every day of their working lives. I have a lot of respect for pioneers of any kind of disadvantaged group in any profession. But we can’t all be expected to be pioneers.
The message employers should take out is this: Top talent comes in all colours, genders, sexual orientations, religions, ages and levels of ability. People from all of these background can, want to, and will contribute to your business, if you only give them the opportunity. Show them you value them. Show them that, if they’re the first woman engineer in your company, they will be looked after, their input will be valued, they will be encouraged, there will be a career for them, and their individual needs will be considered. Give them mentors and coaches and role models. Actively go out and target them when you’re recruiting. That girl leaving school and wondering what to do with her life might be your next CIO, and might kick the arses of all the straight, white, middle-class boys in her class. But she needs to see you make an effort to welcome her. That gay boy might just discover a new chemical that will change the game in your business for the next 20 years. If you assume he just wants to go to art school, and your competitors make an effort to recruit him, guess what – you’re screwed.
This came out way longer than I thought it would, and now I’m going to bed.