Something that shadowed my entire childhood was the AIDS and HIV epidemic in the early eighties and how this was portrayed. It was seen as the ‘Gay Plague’, and used to such wicked effect against gay people: ‘Look what they have brought amongst themselves. This is what happens when men sleep with men. Look what they have released on the world; an illness that could threaten humanity.’

The treatment and medical care for gay people with AIDS was sparse, hard to find and largely promoted by LGBT groups, charities and celebrity advocates for gay rights. Indeed, the building that now houses a well-known dance studio in Fulham was desired by Elizabeth Taylor to be used as an AIDS hospital in the 1980s. She was one of the earliest famous voices who stood up for the gay community and the illness that was ravaging them.

The combination of a world-famous pop star, Freddie Mercury, and this disease, was the perfect ammunition to highlight the miserable demise that awaited any gay man. The narrative was that gay men were salacious and sexually depraved, and this behaviour led to them catching this evil, almost biblical disease.

Interestingly enough, I always thought I would die of AIDS. My belief that I was evil had already been set in motion by Religious Studies. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah was the most damning of accounts in the Bible. It was a city that was rife with men having sex with other men. The story is used as a metaphor for the punishment against homosexuality. Indeed, the words sodomite and sodomise were picked up and used as pejorative terms against gay men, and inscribed into law, being used to describe sexual ‘crimes against nature’, specifically oral and anal sex amongst men – and bestiality! Yes, within the law, gay sex was put on the same level as bestiality.

The surrounding narrative was along the lines of, ‘You’re so evil that your type was killed by God in a blazing fire.’ The rhetoric and descriptions that were used to describe gay men were not just descriptive terms, but pejorative ones that had their origins in something repulsive, cast off and depraved.

I remember watching, when I was eight years old, the television information films that were supposed to inform the public about the dangers of AIDS. These TV adverts were dark, involving approaching icebergs and volcanoes. The overriding concept was one of hopeless destinies towards an unstoppable natural disaster. The crashing and sinking after running into an iceberg, or burning alive due to a volcanic eruption. Each advert ended in the chiselling of AIDS onto a granite tombstone. The mood was anything other than light or hopeful. Instead, there was an atmosphere of doom and apocalyptic terror, and the overriding emotion that I came away with, after watching these adverts, was one of horror and fear. Of something that was ‘other’; almost like an impending attack by alien beings.

The other thing I knew about AIDS was that it was created, caused and spread by gay people. It was an illness that gay men had, and it was their fault that the disease existed. I wasn’t aware of anal sex at that stage, but as far as I knew, men could get it through kissing or getting naked with other men. If you were gay you had AIDS and if you had AIDS you could not be around other people. The illness was highly contagious and therefore you had to stay as far away as possible from people who had it. It reminded me of lepers, and from what I knew from the Bible, lepers had to stay in their own colonies. Their skin would fall off, they would ooze blood and pus, and you could catch leprosy by just being around them. Now, gay men were the lepers who had brought this terrible disease into the world.

Suddenly being gay – which I already knew was wrong and evil and made me a social leper – was laced with the risk of catching an incurable, catchable illness. Gay people were not just depraved and wrong; they now could kill you simply by being in your presence. AIDS bolstered the discrimination against the gay community and made it acceptable. It allowed people to shine a bright light on gay men’s perverse actions and sexual deviance by showing a supposed direct correlation between their sexual acts and resulting demise. It was because of gay people that this disease existed and that it had been released into the wider community, and they were dying because of their choice to live their lives in such a hedonistic and repellent manner. Gay people released their ‘Gay Plague’ into the world, and the headlines blazed throughout the eighties: ‘MY DOOMED SON’S GAY PLAGUE AGONY’; ‘BRITAIN THREATENED BY GAY VIRUS PLAGUE’; ‘I’D SHOOT MY SON IF HE HAD AIDS, SAYS VICAR’.

This narrative led to the even further segregation and disempowerment of gay people, bolstering and enhancing prejudice towards gay men across all avenues of society.

People who contracted HIV and AIDS were seen as victims; helpless and doomed. They were all made out to be lost causes, suffering intolerable pain and misery and despair. And because the majority of people who were most likely to catch the illness were gay men, drug users, or women in the sex profession, the notion was that it was their own fault in the first place for being depraved. They were not worth allocating funds to, and the world was a better place without them.

Healthcare in the US and then UK was slow to help anyone with the illness, and governments were unwilling and resisted spending money on finding a cure because the social group who contracted it were generally seen as morally bankrupt. In fact, for a while in the early eighties, HIV and AIDS was mislabelled as the ‘Gay Related Immune Deficiency’ disease. The stories of how people were treated during that period are too many to count.

Speaking in the Independent in January 2017, Michael Penn from the Terrence Higgins Trust remembered how after his partner died, he went to his local pub, and the barman, knowing his boyfriend had died of AIDS, ordered that no one else should touch the glass that Michael was drinking out of. This kind of misinformation allowed people to look even more suspiciously on gay men. The lack of information and education led to a rise in fear of gay men, and fear always leads to prejudice if unchecked.

Growing up, HIV and AIDS made me think I was destined to die young from an incurable disease, and it would be my own fault. I imagined I would automatically catch it from sleeping with another man. The lack of education in schools focusing on STDs and prevention of AIDS and HIV meant that I bought into the story I was force-fed in the eighties and even the early nineties. I felt filthy, but also trapped. Subconsciously, I was condemning myself to die by fancying and loving people of the same sex. I was performing the ultimate treason; turning against life by choosing to love men. Not only was I evil and destined to go to hell, but I was also going to deliberately end my life due to my choice, desires and faulty genetic make-up. AIDS and HIV brought up a whole other level of conscious and subconscious beliefs in me. It was yet more evidence that who I was in my essence was wrong and it reinforced my belief that I was damned in this world and the next. In fact, the sense of hopelessness and helplessness is not just indicative of the shame I felt, but is also the very definition of trauma. Trauma is to feel oneself in a situation that is entirely hopeless and one is powerless to do anything about it, and as far as I was concerned, I was on a crash course towards utter rack and ruin. The worst thing was, I couldn’t do anything to stop it because it was me. I was the problem. I would die alone, with no children, cast out by my family and friends and society, and I had no one to blame but myself.

Recently, I invited Peter Tatchell for tea to discuss all this. Peter lived through the AIDS epidemic, and knew the narrative first-hand, and how gay men were treated, which was dictated by a heteronormative and bigoted government.

‘To begin with, there was little to no information,’ Peter told me. ‘When gay men were dying, the mainstream media weren’t interested. It was thought HIV was possibly caused by poppers. It only hit the big time in mainstream press when the first heterosexual person died of HIV. The dialogue that was then created by the media was that it was a gay plague that threatened us all.’

Peter went on to talk about what it was like to live through this.

‘Imagine living through it – our lives are worthless; they are going to let us die, was what we thought. They wanted us dead. Some people had the view that the disease was deliberately allowed to flourish to kill us off. The government at the time under Thatcher was homophobic – “the family values” and “Victorian values” campaign, with the directive by Thatcher that we had to return to traditional family morality and life, and sexual freedom was wrong and had to stop. One Conservative councillor said that to stop AIDS all gay people had to be rounded up and gassed. Two friends of mine were regulars to a local pub and the landlord said from now on you have to bring your own glasses and cutlery.

‘There was a famous case of a gay guy, who’d been taken to court for some reason, and the judge ordered for him to be dressed head to toe in a boiler suit and mask and everything burned at the highest possible temperature afterwards.’

Peter’s book, AIDS: A Guide to Survival, is a fascinating and imperative look at what went on during this time. He investigated so many events and policies percolating beneath the surface of national-and local-level governance.

‘The chief constable of Manchester said that “gay men were swirling round in a cesspit of their own making.” The practice of the police raiding gay bars with rubber gloves arresting people for gay sex was possibly a consequence of this writing and thinking.

Rising homophobia supported by a Conservative government, followed by the introduction of Section 28, which prohibited local authorities and schools from ‘promoting’ homosexuality, saw a huge spike in gay attacks and murders.

In his book AIDS: Don’t Die of Prejudice, Norman Fowler, the then government health minister, concedes the government response was late and it was seen as a moral issue not a health issue. Indeed, it’s astonishing to hear Peter talk about how openly attacking and prejudiced the eighties and nineties were under the Thatcher government. There was little to no help or pastoral guidance during the AIDS crisis, and this undoubtedly led to a bolstering of homophobic beliefs, which were rolled out onto young gay boys like myself. The rhetoric and dogma were that it was debased, wrong and even caused deadly disgusting illnesses. Speaking to Peter allowed me to see how cast out and alone the gay community was back then, yet at the same time, the community came together to help themselves. It is through this kind of connection and loving support that we can work through our gay shame and thrive, rather than simply survive.

There was also a severe lack of gay role models during the eighties and nineties, which is why I believe that the visibility of people who represent us is of vital importance. When the film 2020 BAFTAS were announced, the head of BAFTA was gracious in her acknowledgement that the list of nominees wasn’t as diverse or representative as it could be and had been in the previous couple of years. It is perhaps also interesting to point out that in the category for best actor, the person playing Elton John in the biopic Rocket Man was straight and later went on to win a Golden Globe for Best Actor in this role. Last year, the actor playing Freddie Mercury in the biopic Bohemian Rhapsody was also straight and won the Oscar for best actor.

As an actor myself, I find myself falling into an internal conflict over this. What I find interesting is that often, when a straight male actor plays a gay role, they receive such plaudits, praise and often awards. It is seen by the heteronormative world as such a remarkable transformation and such a ‘brave’ thing to do – to be sexual with another man – as if they should otherwise find it repulsive and shocking. Incidentally, I had to kiss a woman in a TV series I was in. It wasn’t hard, it wasn’t terrifying and I enjoyed it; it was bloody funny. No one asked me about what it was like to be so brave and challenged by kissing someone of the opposite sex. Now I am not Hollywood-level; however, so often we see heterosexual men being bowed down to for stepping into the role of playing a gay man. Brokeback Mountain had two straight men playing the roles of cowboy lovers, and both were nominated for Oscars. I am not chastising the actors, but consider the lack of gay actors who are cast into straight roles, and then oddly not cast in gay roles either. Do people think that gay actors aren’t acting if they play gay? That they are simply being themselves?

On a day off recently, I was sitting in a hotel, visiting my friend, Mark. The hotel was comfortable and decorated well. Around the bar on the walls was a painted mural of a party scene: sort of cocktail-evening-inspired; with a 1940s feel. What I really noticed is that there were no black people in the scene at all. I guess I was thinking of Afro-Caribbean people specifically because two members of my band are of that ethnicity, and there was also a mixed-race couple near me at the hotel at the time: the woman was white and the man was black.

As I sat there, I wondered what it must be like for a black person, walking into this hotel and seeing no representation of themselves on the walls. What feelings would arise? A sense of not feeling welcome, I imagine. The idea that this place isn’t for you. Feeling like an intruder into a life or environment that is inhospitable. Feeling like an outsider. There is no sense of comfort or safety. I feel different and an oddity. Looking at the walls from this perspective allowed me to access this feeling and relate it to being gay.

Of course, the history of abuse and disempowerment and illegitimacy of being black throughout the world is entirely different to being gay, and I would not for a second propose that it is the same because it would completely negate any feelings of what it is to be black. One of the primary differentiations in day-to-day life is that one cannot hide the colour of one’s skin, whereas, as a gay man, one can live in the shadows and live a lie behind a mask. What I accessed is that feeling of being an oddity as a gay man. By not seeing any representation or visibility even in such a simple example as a mural on a wall, I feel ‘not the norm’. The norm of having fun, drinking and socialising within this space does not include the likes of me. This hotel is not for me and my gay friends to partake in, or if we are to visit and have fun, we must hide who we are. It is effectively not a safe space.

If I translate the example of my hotel to the wider world, it is no different. Where did I see gay people when growing up? Where were gay storylines in films? Where were the gay posters and actors? Where were gay people in my social circles when growing up? What was the narrative and discourse about gay people and their lives? There was next to nothing.

It is essential that we see who we are represented in all areas of life. Be it female directors, black actors, or more diverse and inclusive stories. This is how we all learn, and can be inspired. We see that we can be more than the stereotypes thrust on us by a patriarchal society that seeks to limit and control. Growing up, I lacked these stories. Gay men either died of AIDS, like Freddie Mercury, or were portrayed as sordid and lewd, ‘discovered’ in public toilets, like George Michael.

There was another type of gay man on TV when I was young, who I like to call the clowns. Often, they were gay men who were allowed to appear on TV to camp it up, but restricted to playing the formulated ‘Carry On’ role: Larry Grayson, Frankie Howerd, Kenneth Williams. These men were there for the puns and double entendres. A sparkly jacket would suffice, and oddly, they became sexually neutralised.

Gay men in the 1940s were allowed sanctuary in the theatrical world. It was seen as one of the safe spaces as long as it was never openly addressed. In television and light entertainment, gay men were safe as long as they were playing the jester; entertaining us yet never challenging us. The role models for me growing up, therefore, were basically repressed gay men who danced to the tune of the heteronormative bureaucracy for the entertainment of the audience at home. That wasn’t a life I wanted.

These days, TV regulars like Graham Norton occupy a fantastic position, seen as being funny as well as intelligent and authoritative. However, there are still many light entertainment shows that portray homosexuality as something a bit risqué. Something that perhaps warrants a little laugh, but is kept firmly in its place.

Aside from light entertainment, people who supported gay causes and appeared on more serious programmes, discussing social topics, were often ridiculed. Peter Tatchell, who is an activist for human rights across the board, and who has fought for gay rights for over 50 years now, was absolutely vilified. The narrative I got when he was on television was that he was an irritant; someone who banged on about insignificant topics such as gay rights. At the time, I felt internal disgust and couldn’t identify with him. Peter didn’t live in the protective bubble of pop music, where one could accrue a mobile and supportive fan base who would give you credit. He had none of that. He existed on the front line, which is why I now look back on what he did with huge admiration and wonder. He publicly spoke out on platforms, sharing TV shows with people who would quite openly call gay men ‘poofters’, ‘faggots’ or ‘queers’. I salute him!

In terms of role models, I firmly believe that had there been people such as Olly Alexander, the frontman of the band Years & Years, or an artist like Christine and the Queens – both embracing and living authentically in their true selves – I would have shed some of my shame. I’d have seen that there were people out there who were not just freaks and there to be sneered at, but were successful and proud. Their light would have shone out to me, and perhaps inflated my own self-belief and confidence in being alive and existing in the world.