LGBTQ+ History Month: Reflections of Queerness - from an inspirational writer to public tributes

Continuing our celebration of LGBTQ+ History Month this article delves into the impact of literature, art, and public memorials on one individual's journey of self-discovery and resilience within the LGBTQ+ community, focusing on the legacy of figures like Oscar Wilde and the struggles for acceptance and visibility. From facing covert queer narratives in literature to encounters with historical markers in South and Central London, Jake, Communications Assistant at CLCH navigates his personal fears and history, finding solace and inspiration around societal challenges.

When I was younger and still exploring my identity, I sought out and read books that covertly contained queer storylines, such as Maurice, Fun Home and The Picture of Dorian Gray. The latter, whilst a rather pretentious read for a 13-year-old, ended up bringing me great joy and comfort. Oscar Wilde’s only novel taught me about art, beauty and morality while capturing a tender and dangerous love between men.

As an adult, I learned more about Wilde beyond the novel. I learned of his flamboyance and defiance of what was considered ‘proper’, and how he inspired generations of queer people who followed, despite never openly acknowledging his sexuality.

Oscar Wilde was a complicated man, and although he was brave, he was also audacious. He ended up in prison for ‘gross indecency’ after a torrid relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas had led him to confront Douglas’s father, the Marquess of Queensberry, in an ill-advised libel lawsuit after he called Wilde homophobic slurs in public. Wilde lost and was sentenced to two years hard labour at Reading jail.

I live in South London, where I frequently travel through Clapham Junction. There, a blue plaque can be found, which reads ‘Celebrated playwright and poet, was the victim of homophobic abuse at this station whilst being transferred from Wandsworth Prison to Reading Gaol.’

From 2.00pm to 2.30pm on 20 November 1895, Wilde was forced to stand, handcuffed and in convict dress, on the 'centre platform' whilst being transported to Reading Gaol. He was soon recognised and became the object of jeering, spitting and abuse as a crowd gathered around him. Whenever I see this plaque, I think about how I’m still scared that something like this will happen to me while I’m in public. It’s been 129 years since that day.

Any time I wish to visit central London, I travel via Charing Cross station. Here you can find a sculpture of Wilde with the inscription: "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars”.

The inscription is also referenced in MIKA’s song ‘Good Guys’ which is a commentary on the loss of a large part of the queer community - the ‘good guys’ - to the AIDs epidemic of the 80’s.

MIKA was a musician I felt particularly drawn to when I was younger, before he had spoken publicly about his sexuality. Every time I walk past this sculpture, I think of that song, our history, our losses, our bravery, and everyone who dared to love and be themselves in a world that was not ready to understand them.

To my knowledge, it is a common queer experience to gravitate, unconsciously or intentionally, towards media and people who share in queerness. Many times, I’ve looked back at my childhood with a renewed understanding of my interests. I loved the BBC show ‘Merlin’, and later discovered a whole community of people who felt deeply passionate about the emerging homoerotic undertones of the main characters. I loved MIKA and Oscar Wilde and Doctor Who before my own queerness had been fully realised – and indeed, at times, theirs as well.

All these touchpoints have become so meaningful to me, providing moments of comfort and reflection. None of these would be possible without the tireless campaigning of those who came before me. For the plaque and the statue to even exist, many LGBTQ+ people and allies had to fight to show their importance, and I hope my story only reaffirms how vital that work is. To be able to exist in this city and find moments of human connection in inanimate objects, despite the fear I sometimes feel, is nothing short of magical.

Jake Edwards