OPINION – Banning Conversion Therapy is a Human Right but it's up for Debate Again
Bethany Moore
On Tuesday, Stormont debated a ban on conversion therapy. But to reflect on this ‘debate’ and what it means for LGBTQ+ people like me, we have to go back a little further.
I first remember developing an interest in women at eight. As a child, I was drawn to female-fronted shows. I loved the strength of their characters and how the stories showed women as heroes in their own right. I also admired their beauty in a way that I didn’t yet recognise and in a way that my peers didn’t quite relate to. I first remember feeling ‘different’ at ten. Talk of who fancies who and first kisses in the playground petrified me, as I just wasn’t interested in boys.
“Please don’t figure out that I’m different,” I thought.
When I got to secondary school, I made friends with people that weren’t afraid to be a little different. Depending on the setting, I spent the entirety of first year carrying a secret. I liked girls.
My friends knew (some of them did too), practically the whole of my school year group knew (or at least it felt like they did) but my family didn’t.
“What will happen when you find out I’m different?” I thought.
I had my first kiss, with a girl, at 12, while tucked away in a hidden street corner. Still someone saw us.
“What are you girls at? Cut that nonsense out for christ’s sake.”
We laughed it off and ran away, but moments like this became reoccurring. Over the years I’ve had many hands dropped away from mine at the sight of someone appearing. I’ve been introduced to many as “my friend Bethany.” To some, I wasn’t introduced at all. That same year, I came out to my parents in a cinema in Belfast. It was quite simple really. We were going to see Transformers and they joked if I was interested in the main male character. “Actually, I prefer Megan Fox.” I received a hug and a smile as we walked into the screening. Afterwards, my mum asked if I had a girlfriend.
“You know I’m different – and it’s okay!”, I thought with a sigh of relief.
Throughout my years at school, our catholic teachings weighed me down. During GSCE and A-level, my right to marriage and a family was picked apart on a regular basis. Before I left school, my teacher asked the class if things would ever change in the North. Silence. Defiantly, I said that they would. My teacher said I seemed quite sure that things would improve. I had to be.
In the midst of all that, my identity changed again. I met my current partner at 16 and realised I was bisexual. Alongside many friends who were also coming out, we supported and uplifted each other’s identities. Not everyone did though.
Some ex-friends said that I was confused or curious, and that I should just stick to women. That was my first experience of biphobia within the LGBTQ+ community.
For more than ten years, I have debated my existence, defended my right to happiness and demanded that I be treated equally. I have been asked how my boyfriend “really feels about me being bi”, have been harassed on the street, overtly-sexualised, and ignored by members of my own community.
In 2015, I asked those in the South to give people like me the chance to marry. In 2019, I embraced my friends as we (supposedly) became equal in the North. Now, in 2021, I am in this position again.
On Monday, I took to the Ban Conversion Therapy NI site to contact my representatives. I am just a constituent, standing in front of my MLA, asking once more to be treated with basic human decency.
I tried to avoid mentions of the debate with a heavy chest. Stupidly, on Tuesday, I joined in to watch it. Even those in support of the motion to ban conversion therapy quoted horrid rhetoric from the DUP. It was inescapable. My heart broke for Andrew Muir, a LGBTQ+ MLA caught in the middle of it all. It also broke for all the LGBTQ+ people who had heard similar bigotry before.
Human rights are not up for debate. Torture is not up for debate or amending. Year upon year, queer people are subjected to debates about their humanity. Our rights are treated as a bargaining chip. When you debate our right to safety, when you platform bigots for the sake of “balance,” when you continue to put us in this position, you unearth our trauma. You bring up decades of hurt. You damage the next generation. You make the North unsafe for us. You push us to leave.
If you’re reading this and you’re not a LGBTQ+ person, I want you to reflect. How am I an ally? Because we are queer every day. We need not only your awareness, but your action. We need your support even when we’re not in the room.
If you’re reading this and you’re LGBTQ+ (or think you might be) you are loved. Your identity is valid. There is a community of people waiting with open arms, ready to uplift you. We’re here for you and things will get better. Even if some in Stormont don’t think so.
Bethany Moore is the QUBSU Welfare Officer-elect.