Somebody to Love. Matt Richards
and, as the decade progressed, homosexuality was viewed not only as a criminal offence but also classified as a mental illness.
When Freddie Bulsara arrived in the UK in 1964, the general social climate was almost unimaginably homophobic, and wherever he looked he could find no openly gay role models and no gay support groups. However, all around him the children of the 1960s had embraced the so-called Summer of Love and young people in the US, the UK and across Europe took the opportunity to cast off not only their clothes but also the conservative social values imprinted on them from their parents’ post-war social regimen, and to take the opportunity to experiment freely with drugs and sex. The mid- to late-1960s was a time of sexual awakening and experimentation for many, but for most homosexual men this exhibition of sexual freedom didn’t extend to them; they were seen as evidence of moral degradation and, subsequently, many tried to live a ‘normal’ heterosexual life, concealing their homosexuality.
In 1967, however, a bill to partially legalise homosexual acts was passed in the House of Commons. This followed a decade of bitter campaigning after Sir John Wolfenden’s 1957 report had stated homosexuality should not be classified as a crime and that society and law should respect ‘individual freedom of actions in matters of private morality’. It had been a long drawn-out affair to get the Bill to this stage and it had endured countless compromises. Consequently, anyone expecting the legal status of heterosexuals and homosexuals to be equal would be disappointed; the Bill didn’t even come close to achieving that. And anyone hoping that the arrests would also end was similarly let down. Between 1967 and 2003 some 30,000 gay and bisexual men were convicted on grounds of indecent behaviour, which included holding hands in the street or kissing in public. Crucially, the Bill had only decriminalised homosexuality in private (and then only between two men of 21 years or older) and any exhibition of being openly gay in public could still result in a jail sentence. So while indoors gay men could be out and proud, outside in public they were still outlawed, criminalised and generally perceived as being sick. In fact it was, in effect, illegal to be homosexual anywhere else except behind closed doors and with one other man.
For many at this time the shame attached to being homosexual was almost unbearable. Shame, it is a soul-eating emotion. Letting everyone down. Bringing shame on families, and on their faiths. It is perhaps difficult for anyone born after 1980 to comprehend what that meant, although the stigma of being HIV+ and having AIDS would later come close.
Across the Pond, Americans had taken notice of what was happening in England and Wales (Scotland and Northern Ireland would not decriminalise homosexual acts in private until 1980 and 1982 respectively). In 1969 in the US, the Stonewall riots in New York City ignited the modern gay rights movement in the US. A year later, the first Gay Liberation Day March was held in New York City, the first LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual and Transgender) parade, billed as the ‘Gay Power Parade’ was held in Los Angeles and the first ‘gayin’ took place in San Francisco. It was also during this time that the first ever cover story featuring gays and lesbians was published in the US. The 1969 story published in Time magazine stated that, ‘though they seem fairly bizarre to most Americans, homosexuals have never been so visible, vocal or closely scrutinized by research.’ It was a period of remarkable transition for gays and lesbians in the US and one that would continue into the early 1970s with an increased visibility for the gay movement. As Rebecca J. Rosen wrote: ‘The thick bottle that had contained an entire culture was uncorked in 1969; within a few years it would be shattered into a thousand pieces.’1
In England and Wales, the movement struggled to adopt the pace of change seen in America despite the Gay Liberation Front being established at the London School of Economics in 1970. Their slogan was ‘Gay Is Good’, but prejudice did not vanish from the streets of Britain and in 1971, the Nationwide Festival of Light, supported by Cliff Richard, Mary Whitehouse and Malcolm Muggeridge, was held by British Christians who were anxious to display their growing concern about the development of a permissive society in the UK, with the corrupting influence of homosexuality being a particular focus of angst.
For Freddie Bulsara, and the countless other gay men, it seemed that, despite the passing of the Bill, they would never be able to actually come out. For a flamboyant wannabe rock star like Freddie, with a craving for success and a burning ambition to prove himself, this must have been tortuous inside. After all, his very passions were opera, fashion, ballet and art.
It was one of the reasons Freddie rarely commented on his own sexuality directly. He made witty remarks, delivered double entendres, and spoke in coded tongue to any inquisitive journalist, but he knew that, despite the change in the law, social homosexuality remained taboo and it would continue do so for the next two decades. So, like others masking their true self, he hung out with certain crowds in secure environments of ambiguity to avoid detection and discrimination. He found that showbiz as such would shield him from scrutiny, as it had decades earlier for artists such as Noël Coward, Ivor Novello, Dusty Springfield and Timi Yuro. And maybe that is what Freddie did in the 1970s: became a 1950s gay, behaving outrageously behind closed doors, but not upsetting the status quo, the establishment. Even though times were changing, he wasn’t yet confident enough in his own sexuality to make that admission, he couldn’t risk it. That would be a decision for another day, another lifetime.
In 1972 the first British Gay Pride rally was held in London and around 700 participants marched from Trafalgar Square to Hyde Park. As well as curious and bewildered onlookers, the marchers faced intimidation, hostility and an aggressive police presence. Arriving in Hyde Park there was food, booze, dope and music and camped-up versions of party games like spin-the-bottle and drop-the-hanky. There was also mass public same-sex kissing, still potentially (depending on the circumstances) illegal in 1972, but, as gay rights campaigner Peter Tatchell – one of the marchers – recalls, ‘The cowardly Metropolitan Police would have arrested us if we were lone gay couples kissing, but they dared not arrest 700 of us.’2
The year 1972 also saw the launch of Cosmopolitan, a magazine aimed at the new breed of ambitious young professional women. The magazine rebranded men as ‘vulnerable, dependent and emotional human beings’ who were also terrified of being judged solely on their sexual performance. It seemed the gloves were off as challenges to the traditional male role model were becoming apparent. The passing of the Equal Pay Act in 1970, together with the earlier Abortion Act of 1967, helped women become more equal and independent of men, and the whole concept of the male bread-winner and nuclear-family was being questioned, creating an inevitable sense of insecurity and uncertainty among men both in the workplace and in their relationships. The British male’s feelings of insecurity at the time were not helped by the fact that British manufacturing was in decline thereby creating a crisis of masculinity as man’s dominance within society was eroded.
While the younger generations embraced these attitudes, the older pre- and post-war generations struggled to adapt to the new decade of the 1970s. But now things were changing. Prehistoric attitudes that men didn’t wash the dishes or do housework were becoming less acceptable among the newer generation of younger couples, and the first few years of the decade found men from these younger generations spending time with their families and helping out around the house, be it gardening, DIY or going on shopping trips together. This was perfectly illustrated in the various sitcoms of the period such as Man About the House.
At the same time there was a seismic shift in men’s fashion, with butterfly collars, polyesters, bell-bottoms, skin-tight T-shirts and painstakingly curled hairstyles in vogue. Hats were out and facial hair and gold medallions were very much in. Advertising recognised the shifting attitudes and depicted good-looking, muscular young men, confident and proud, in high-waist pants, floral shirts and cable-knit sweaters, while commercials used celebrities to espouse the appeal of pungent aftershaves, from Denim cologne for ‘the man who didn’t have to try too hard’ to ‘splash it all over’ Brut aftershave.
Fortunately for Freddie, as style boundaries were pushed back, it was popular culture and especially the worlds of music, film and theatre that dared to see just how far they could be stretched. And this was Freddie’s world. Salvation came in 1972, in the form of the movie Cabaret (based on Christopher Isherwood’s 1939 short novel, Goodbye to Berlin). Hitting cinema screens across the world, Cabaret would shatter the