We Found Love in the 80s

We chat to two couples from a new project which celebrates those who found love in the decade of social division, Section 28 and the AIDS/HIV epidemic

The We Found Love In The 80s project, launched to coincide with LGBTQ+ History Month last month and supported by Arts Council England and Future Arts Centres, was created by artist Dawinder Bansal and synth pop musician Martyn Ware (of Human League and Heaven 17 fame). The project is part of the Here and Now celebration of culture, which celebrates couples who met in the era of innovation, social division, Section 28 and the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and explores how they overcame obstacles such as homophobia, racism and class prejudice.

More info: www.wefoundloveinthe80s.com

Ian & Ian

Ian Bodenham and Ian Johns had to grapple self-acceptance in a society rife with homophobia, Section 28, prejudice and misinformation about AIDS. They came out to their families 10 years after starting their relationship. They were married in 2014, and now run a vintage shop in Brick Lane.

How did you meet?

IJ: In late 1983 I spotted a cute young man at The Bell in Kings Cross and tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. A few weeks later I saw him again at The Asylum at Heaven, still no luck. A short while later I got on a train at Tottenham Court Road and he was sitting directly opposite. He still would not look at me. A week or so later at Asylum he was there again – one last try and if it doesn’t work that’s it, I thought. I was in luck! He smiled at me and we finally met. I found out he had seen me too but was just too shy to reciprocate.

My family, especially my sister, was very supportive; I was very lucky, I felt so much more confident and happy living as an openly gay man

What do you remember of the AIDS epidemic?

IJ: The first time I heard about a strange new disease affecting gay men I clearly remember. It was in 1983 and I was talking to friends in Heaven nightclub. Someone was speaking about herpes, saying it never goes away. Another friend said there was a new disease that gay men were catching in America, you got flu and then died. It just got closer and closer until it was a friend of a friend, then a friend and ex-partners. It was terrifying, there was no test and I thought I was going to die. For a while I tried to block it out but that changed a few years later when I felt I had to learn as much as I could. I did a lot of training around HIV/ AIDS and became a volunteer at Switchboard in London.

Tell us your coming out story.

IJ: I was sexually active from a very early age but didn’t come out to family and friends until I was 22. To my astonishment I had no problem with anyone, in fact most people I told said they thought I probably was anyway. My family, especially my sister, was very supportive; I was very lucky, I felt so much more confident and happy living as an openly gay man.

IB: In 1981 I moved into a flatshare in Camberwell with a flamboyant girl called Fiona, to whom it was fairly easy for me to come out, initially as bisexual – not that I was, but back then it was a way of testing the waters, perhaps it still is for some. Through Fiona early in 1982 I met a gay friend of a similar age and he took me to the RVT, then clubs like Bang, Cha Chas and Heaven. Gradually I built up a network of friends with whom I could be myself. I’d dropped out of college and was doing casual

There was a strong political element to life, not confined only to LGBTQ+ issues, but galvanised by the acts of a very right wing Tory government led by Thatcher, who was almost universally despised.

By this time we were beginning to appear in the media, but in the most horrific way – represented as freaks, monsters and pariahs. Some of the coverage was so extreme, some were calling for draconian measures like exile and quarantine. This in turn emboldened an already hostile minority to attack individuals and venues. Public services were also affected by the paranoia – some healthcare workers refused to treat HIV+ people, or even anyone gay, police conducted raids in PPE style protective gear. But this hostility just brought us together even more, lesbians were particularly supportive and tireless in helping their ailing gay brothers.

Helen & Deirdre

Helen Juffs and Deirdre Figueiredo met in Nottingham while neither were ‘out’ nor had had a relationship with a woman before. Through support of gay friends, they established their relationship and gradually confided in friends and family. They married in 2014.

How did you meet?

H: Deirdre was working in the Exhibitions Team at Nottingham Castle Museum (her first job), and I volunteered to gain experience just after I had left university. The first time I saw Deirdre she was jetting off to Germany to courier a painting and she was wearing gold shoes. Gradually we became friends and found we shared interests. It was very much an analogue world so we left each other handwritten notes and small gifts. Eventually Deirdre summoned up the courage to move things along. When I leant in to kiss her on the check when I was dropping her off at home she moved her head and kissed me on the lips. I reciprocated – a first with a woman for both of us. My head blew off and her heart melted – and the rest is history.

For those who weren’t there, what was it like living as LGBTQ+ in the 1980s?

H: I came of age in the mid-80s – turning 16 in 1983. Male homosexuality had only been decriminalised since 1967 and the age of consent was 21.

I experienced strong feelings for men and women but lacked the vocabulary and information to know what this meant. Growing up during the AIDS epidemic and introduction of Section 28 set an underlying feeling of fear and shame which was difficult to overcome.

The acceptance of the acronym LGBTQI+ and particularly the reclaiming of the word queer has been liberating and would have made life in the 80s easier

D: I had no relatable role models and there were no positive ones in the mainstream media. I felt different and was attracted to different people not linked to a particular sex. Information was hard to come by. I didn’t feel I could be open with my immediate family or with friends or colleagues so I kept my feelings hidden. If we couldn’t be ourselves with our blood family we had to create new forms of family among an alternative community – what Thatcher’s Section 28 legislation described as ‘pretend families’.

What do you remember of the AIDS epidemic?

H: It wasn’t until 1992 that one of our close friends was diagnosed with AIDS. Even though by then a lot more was known about the disease and how it was passed on, our friend was reluctant to share his diagnosis with even the closest of friends. We went to visit him in hospital, and he was desperate for some sign of normalcy – asking Deirdre to kiss him on the lips, their usual greeting, rather than the hug she tentatively offered, not knowing what was safe.

D: In the early to mid-80s I remember a fear and stigma with terrifying and marginalising adverts on national TV.

What would you say if you could speak or offer advice to your 1980s self?

H: Be confident to follow your instinct and intuition – don’t put other people’s feelings above your own. Don’t try to protect people from the truth. Appreciate what you have – youth, vigour, good health – have more fun and be more outrageous!

Growing up during the AIDS epidemic and introduction of Section 28 set an underlying feeling of fear and shame which was difficult to overcome

D: Talk to someone.

Tell us your coming out story.

H: Given the fear caused by AIDS and Section 28, and the generally homophobic society, I was reluctant to come out until I was sure what I was ‘coming out’ as. The first people I came out to were Deirdre’s gay friends, and then some close work colleagues. This just happened naturally – though I did have to take one colleague to the pub and spell it out! I wanted to come out to my immediate family as soon as I felt secure in my relationship with Deirdre – because I didn’t like being dishonest about events. However, my dad was diagnosed with cancer and I just didn’t want to add to the family trauma. After my dad had died I came out to my mum by showing her a copy of a book called Women and Bisexuality – she had a meltdown and didn’t speak to me for some weeks. Eventually she picked up the phone and has been incredibly supportive ever since.

D: It has been a cautious and piecemeal process across life, friendship and work. I have always assessed a situation before deciding whether to come out or not. It’s only now in my 50s that I feel l can always be open, but for most of my life this hasn’t been the case.

LGBTQ+ communities have made progress, but do we have further to go?

H: Yes definitely – there is still a legacy of fear, mistrust and unexpressed grief from people who identify as LGBTQ+ from the 1980s, and before. While millennials are experiencing a renaissance in acceptance of fluid sexuality and gender which hasn’t been seen globally for many years (Ancient Greece, trans people in India, etc), the elders of our community are still reeling from their experiences.

As we age people generally turn to authorities and institutions to provide extra assistance but for older LGBTQ+ this means either coming out again and again, or having to hide again. In cases where people have dementia this is particularly confusing. Statistics show that LGBTQ+ communities are just not accessing help when they need it.

D: The acceptance of the acronym LGBTQI+ and particularly the reclaiming of the word queer has been liberating and would have made life in the 80s easier. I feel like I’m going through a renaissance of discovery and new possibilities for identity and belonging.