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Daily Mirror
3 days ago
- Daily Mirror
Astonishing act of bravery that sparked a revolution for gay people
Homosexuality was once considered to be both a crime and a mental illness, and gays and lesbians were vilified, attacked and pitied - but then something groundbreaking happened It's the kind of article which, if it were printed in a newspaper today, would raise eyebrows precisely because there is nothing the slightest bit shocking about it. A group of four gay men, sitting in a room, talking about their lives - especially as June is when we now celebrate Pride month. But the story that appeared in the Sunday Pictorial - the paper that would become the Sunday Mirror - 65 years ago this month, was both brave and revolutionary. And it would help change the course of history. Back then, homosexuality was considered to be both a crime and a mental illness, and gays and lesbians were vilified, attacked and pitied. The only time they were even mentioned in the media was in reports of 'gross indecency' trials - sometimes for just holding a man's hand in public. It was unthinkable, then, that a national newspaper might allow a group of homosexuals any column inches to defend themselves or talk openly about their lives, loves and feelings. But when readers opened their Sunday Pictorial on June 26, 1960, that's exactly what they saw. Presenting them as 'The Men In The Wolfenden Report' - a government-commissioned report published in 1957, which recommended the decriminalisation of homosexual acts - the newspaper said it had brought together 'four self-confessed homosexuals' in a Harley Street consulting room. 'One man in every 25 in Britain today is a homosexual. A shocking figure?', the story began. 'These men live in towns and villages all over the country. The problem of homosexuality is not confined to the big cities.' It went on: 'What are homosexuals like? Can they be cured? Would a change in the law free them to increase in number? Are they a basic danger to society?' The newspaper chose not to use the men's real names or show their faces, even though three of them had already taken the brave step of coming out publicly, by writing a signed letter to several newspapers two weeks earlier. Instead, in a sign the newspaper didn't think the British public were ready for full disclosure, they were assigned different names, ages and professions. One was estate agent Roger Butler, a forgotten pioneer of the gay rights movement, who is believed to be the first man to come out voluntarily to the entire British public. In what reporter John Knight described as 'a meeting of brutal frankness, often charged with bitter emotion', the men talked calmly about their lives, offering succinct and compelling defences to questions such as whether their 'disease' could be cured and if there was a link between homosexuality and paedophilia. ''The normal homosexual is revolted by men who run after little boys, just as a normal man, presumably, is revolted by men who chase little girls,' explained Roger, named in the story as Steven G, 27, 'a technical clerk and homosexual'. He added: 'Usually, homosexuals are attracted to men of their own age, although an older man may be in love with a younger man. 'Offences against young boys, however, are in a completely different category. The offenders should be sternly punished. They don't represent homosexuals. They are a sick minority.' When another of the men, described as an eminent surgeon, was asked if he wanted to be 'cured' he replied: 'This is an illogical question to people like myself. How can you want to be cured of something you know is incurable?' Another, called Leslie S, added: 'I don't want to be cured now. I tried desperately for years to become normal. I was married for five years, but it was unfair to my wife because I had no normal desires.' And when the question 'How can you tell if a man is homosexual?' was put to them, the surgeon pointed out just how many people in Britain were gay but unable to live freely. 'If all homosexuals were recognisable, then the streets would be crowded with mincing queers,' he said. 'There are 1,000,000 of us, remember.' The groundbreaking article - and the role of the paper that became The Sunday Mirror in changing Britain's gay rights laws - was unearthed by authors Christopher Stephens and Louise Radnosfsky as they researched their new book The Light of Day, a biography about Roger Butler. Christopher says the newspaper's stance was way ahead of its time. He says: 'Up until then the 'homosexual problem' was talked about as a 'social infection.' The whole of the debate around gay rights was couched in this idea of a disease which was undermining the social fabric of Britain, and infecting our institutions. 'Even those people who were fighting for reforms to the law didn't like homosexuals very much. They pitied them more than anything and saw them as a pathetic group who were never going to live a normal life, so let's just leave them alone because they're not doing that much harm.' Louise adds: 'It really was revolutionary for the Pictorial, at that time, to give four gay men a chance to speak for themselves, and to speak honestly. 'It was surprising, even shocking to me, a newspaper giving this opportunity to gay men. I'm not sure I would have believed it could have until I landed on it. 'And it was risky for the men too. There was no certainty about how the men would be presented, and it could easily have been a set up, especially given how newspapers normally covered the topic. It turned out to be the first time gay men were allowed a voice in a national newspaper.' The Pictorial was one of Britain's biggest newspapers selling over a million copies a week and the story changed the way the public saw gay men and propelled the gay rights movement forward. Just three days later, the British parliament voted on the recommendations of the Wolfenden report, that homosexuality for people over 21 should be decriminalised. It didn't pass, with 99 Ayes to 213 Noes, but among those in favour were some MPs no-one had expected, including Enoch Powell and a certain Margaret Thatcher. Louise says: 'It was defeated in the Commons, even though the government's own committee had recommended the changes, because there was still no political appetite to change the law. People just weren't brave enough. 'The Home Secretary at the time, Rab Butler, was known to be sympathetic, but even he didn't want to put his face to the campaign, because he was worried about how it might look politically, and whether people would vote for him if he did. 'Again it shows the climate against homosexuality at the time, and bravery of a publication like this one to allow gay men to speak up.' It took seven more years before, in 1976, the 1967 Sexual Offences Act finally decriminalised homosexual acts between consenting adults. The Act, which passed after a lengthy debate, received Royal Assent on July 21, 1967, marking a significant step in the history of LGBT+ rights. Christopher, who knew Roger Butler before his death in 2011, says the bravery of the gay rights pioneer - should never be forgotten. He says: 'He was a very humble man, a quiet, shy revolutionary who didn't like taking much credit, and whose contribution to gay rights has now largely been forgotten. 'He was the ever Brit to come out in public - and even while homosexuality was still a crime. And because of that Pictorial article, was in 1960 one of the four most famous homosexuals in the country. 'He established coming out as a political act, and we saw that become a fundamentally important part of gay rights campaigning in the 1970s. 'But he started to lose his sight in 1960 and had lost it completely by 1966, so by the time the law had actually changed he had had to withdraw from that world, learning to instead live as a blind man in 1960s Britain. 'But he was such an important part of the gay law reform movement and left a massive legacy which should be remembered and celebrated today.' The Light of Day: The first man to come out at the dawn of gay liberation, by Christopher Stephens and Louise Radnofsky, Headline Press
Daily Mail
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
The blind man I nursed kept his bombshell past secret. It was only when he made me promise to tell his story after death that I understood the act of bravery that could have seen him locked up for life: CHRISTOPHER STEVENS
With movie stars including Raquel Welch and Robert Mitchum among his clientele, Roger Butler had no shortage of glamour in his work at a high-end property lettings agency. But for the shy 22-year-old who had grown up in the sleepy Oxfordshire countryside, the real excitement of living in the London of the 1950s was the chance to explore his homosexuality with encounters that were sometimes as unlikely as they were exciting.
The Guardian
14-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
A moment that changed me: I went to read to a blind man - and discovered his hidden gay heroism
In 2003, I was at a dinner of 'the like-minded' (Oxford University code for gay) when an academic leaving for a sabbatical in New York asked a favour: would I take over his slot as a volunteer reader for a gay blind man living alone in east Oxford? I agreed, and so one evening in October I found myself cycling out of Christ Church to my first appointment. I rounded the turning to Roger Butler's home and rang the doorbell twice, as instructed, to indicate that I was his expected visitor. The red-brick Victorian house suddenly illuminated, the door was unchained, and I was standing in front of a slim, dark-haired man, aged somewhere north of 60. His clouded, still eyes were framed by an inexpressive but gentle face. I was invited into the drawing room, which Roger had styled with the help of an aristocratic friend. It was filled with antiques, ornately framed pictures and chinoiserie lamps and had heavy curtains – a world apart from the rather run-down street outside. We started that evening – as we did for several more Tuesdays – looking through a recent issue of the London Review of Books, so Roger could consider items he would like to read another time. The material was intentionally unremarkable: Roger was treading water until he could work out what was of mutual interest. We were both shy, avoiding topics of conversation that might seem too personal – including anything touching on sexuality. Roger, I later learned, called to ask the academic who had introduced us whether I was absolutely, definitely 'one of us'. With that established, we slowly began to work our way through a few Alan Hollinghurst novels, an enormous biography of Christopher Isherwood, and Edmund White's memoirs. This was an education for me in learning to read collaboratively: progress is slow when you say the words aloud, skimming isn't an option, skipping ahead takes negotiation and, if the reader doesn't pronounce a word correctly, or sounds uncertain about its meaning, it usually prompts a conversation. As months turned into years, we started reading Roger's own, painstakingly created writing: memoirs and essays that he had sketched out in braille, then typed for a trusted reader to record on to cassette tapes so he could play them back and make edits. We read his postal correspondences – some, decades old. It was one of the most intimate experiences I have shared with another person. During this process, I learned about the London gay underground Roger had inhabited in his 20s, while homosexuality was still a crime, and how he had become blind in his mid-30s after a succession of failed surgeries to manage his glaucoma. I learned how he had rebuilt his life and discovered 'not only that a great many more things were still possible than I might have supposed, but also that they still mattered'. It became far more than Tuesday evenings. I would come over to do odd jobs around the house, which turned into picnics in his garden, then trips into town and to local villages for country walks and leisurely pub lunches. My education continued, not just because Roger encouraged me to think about politics and history, but because he also taught me how he, as a blind person, negotiated the minefields of cobbled streets, ancient, uneven steps, low doorframes and fast-moving pedestrians. My glimpses into the world Roger inhabited showed me the bravery it took to live well in it. He scoffed at the idea that blindness had sharpened his other senses, but it was evident that he had been forced to find mental tools to better remember things, people and facts, and innovative ways to run his household. I listened, and I learned his habits of keeping an orderly home, never letting anything be out of place, so he could move freely there and find what he needed. My perception of what mattered also began to shift. I came to judge restaurants on their noise levels and the quality of their menu over trendy decor and the arrangement of food on a plate. When we started taking trips to country houses, Roger showed me all the ways he perceived beauty in a place: the creaking of medieval floorboards or the softness of thick carpets underfoot; the smell of fireplaces used for centuries; the sound of voices hushed by low ceilings, or swelled in high-vaulted stone hallways. At a hastily arranged lunch in 2007, Roger told me he was dying. 'Stick with me, love,' he asked. For the next three years, I did my best. I was at his bedside in the hospice when he drew his last breath. Roger's death was an ending and a beginning. I inherited a lifetime of his writings – essays, letters, diaries – and learned from them that, in 1960, seven years before the law in the UK changed to permit sex between men, he had written to the national press declaring himself to be gay. Roger believed that the only way to change public opinion about homosexuals was for them to take control of the gay rights movement – and this required them to unashamedly identify themselves on the national stage. But nobody else had been willing to do it. I had always been led to believe that the pre-legalisation years were dominated by secrecy and shame, that gay men hid in the shadows, and that this concept of coming out – and gay pride – was an invention of the 70s. Roger's papers upended all that. I wish I had known this while Roger was alive, and better understood his role in making it possible for me, decades later, to live openly. But I am grateful that I know now and, in the years since, it has often led me to wonder how many other quiet revolutionaries live among us, ready to share their stories, if only we knock on their doors. The Light of Day: the first man to come out at the dawn of gay liberation by Christopher Stephens and Louise Radnofsky is published on 22 May (Headline Press; £20)
