![]() ![]() ![]() All that Section 28 robbed from me was possibilities. Enough to make the kids who thought/wondered if/feared they might be attracted to anyone of the same gender believe that they were completely alone. Enough to silence teachers who might have been supportive. The threat was enough to produce a climate of fear. No local authority was ever prosecuted under Section 28. At least, not in any way that would be helpful to any pupil who might ever consider anything else. School could not mention, whether it be via biology or citizenship or literature, the possibility of any relationship other than that between a man and a woman. ![]() Section 28 stated that a local authority “shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality” or “promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship”. My whole school career was conducted under the shadow of the most notorious anti-LGB legislation of late twentieth century Britain. And it remained in force until 2003, the year I went to university. Section 28 was in force before I so much as learned to read and write. Last month marked thirty years since Section 28 of the 1988 Local Government Act came into force. I found Lady Chatterley’s Lover very boring, but I know the feeling. Sexual intercourse began/ in nineteen sixty-three/(Which was rather late for me), Philip Larkin memorably wrote, Between the end of the Chatterley ban/And the Beatles’ first LP. ![]()
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