The Making of Us

by Debbie McGowan

  “A kind of discrimination, but it works in favour of the people more likely to be discriminated against. Like…the uni admitting students with disabilities even though they don’t have enough UCAS points.”

  “Gotcha. How does it affect Pride?”

  “Erm…” Matty looked around the room, thinking. “Right, yeah. If we offered discounted membership to trans students to encourage more of them to join, because there are actually more than two trans students on campus.”

  “OK. Got it. Would banning allies be illegal?”

  “Yep, but not if we changed Pride’s mission statement to say it’s an organisation for LGBT+ only. We wouldn’t be able to kick out existing ally members, though.”

  I heard Carlos call for the candidates to go up on stage. “I need to get this form filled in.” I automatically looked around for my bag, but I didn’t have it with me. “Anyone got a—” Leigh thrust a pen at me. “Lifesaver,” I said.

  They grinned. “You’re gonna be awesome.”

  I smiled in thanks and got on with the form. It didn’t ask for much information: name, SU membership, assurance I was intending to continue studying at Norwich for twelve months from January—when the new officers took up position—and finally, a brief campaign statement. I scribbled a few bullet points down that didn’t make much sense and passed the form to Leigh. “You need to sign the bottom.”

  Leigh did so and passed the form to Noah so he could do the same.

  “This is it, then.” My hands were sweating and shaking as I took the form from Noah and returned Leigh’s pen. Or tried to, but Leigh hooked their arms around my neck and pulled me down for a kiss.

  “Be amazing.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised.

  Leigh eased off a little, said, “I know you will be,” and released me.

  With a pat on the back from Noah and a weirdly businesslike handshake from Matty, I returned to the front of the hall and handed my form to Carlos, who briefly checked it over and beckoned me to follow him up on stage.

  It was much darker up there than I’d expected, lit only by fluorescent tubes rather than the usual array of dazzling spotlights. I really hoped it stayed that way.

  “There’re two other candidates for inclusion officer,” Carlos said, indicating the only vacant chair—smack-bang in the middle of the back row. “We’ll do the nominations for president, secretary and treasurer, then you three are next.”

  “OK, thanks.” Now to edge between the front row of chairs and the knees of those already sitting on the back row. Actually, that was silly; there was space to walk behind, so I did, and pulled the chair out. “Alright?” I greeted the people on either side who both gave me inquisitive looks. I smiled back at them and shuffled my chair into line.

  “Jesse, isn’t it?” the person on my right said.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” I recognised her from meetings and events. She was a second-year student—I guessed most of the candidates were. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “Krystle.”

  I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She accepted my greeting. “And you. What position are you up for?”

  “Inclusion officer. You?”

  “Social secretary.”

  “Cool. Fingers crossed, eh?”

  “Yeah.” She seemed—I held that thought and asked, “Which pronouns do you use?”

  “Oh! She, her. Thank you for asking. You?”

  “He, him.”

  “OK.”

  I was going to work that into new introductions from now on. It was no different than asking someone’s name. I’d been thinking she seemed even more nervous than I was, but I wasn’t sure it was nerves I was feeling, although the adrenaline was definitely pumping. I glanced down at the Pride members, who were starting to settle and watch us expectantly, but Carlos and Jazz were still fussing with papers. There were quiet conversations going on between some of the other candidates, with that forced politeness of people pitted against each other. We all just needed to get on with it now.

  “I saw you helping Sarah before,” Krystle said.

  “Oh, right.” I didn’t wish to be impolite, but it wasn’t a topic for small talk.

  “And you gave CPR to that girl in the café.”

  I nodded and tried to ignore the rush of heat up my neck.

  “That was really brave, what you did.”

  “Thanks, although I wouldn’t say it was brave. I know first aid, that’s all.”

  “But it takes a special sort of person to help a stranger.”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t agree. Just because I’d done the training didn’t mean I had to use it. There again, how bad would I have felt if I’d stood by without intervening when I knew I could help? That wasn’t an option for me.

  There was definitive movement as Carlos and Jazz took up position behind the table. Carlos cleared his throat and got ready to speak. I felt Jazz’s eyes on me and met her gaze, mouthing ‘OK?’ She gave a slight nod and mouthed back ‘You?’ followed by a head shake and hand shrug then ‘What the fuck?’

  Good question. What was I doing up here in front of three hundred students? It was like screaming ‘look at me, look at me!’ when that was the absolute last thing I wanted, ever! But I was here now, and I was bloody well doing it.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to our annual Pride hustings. Unfortunately, Sarah Willis—our current president—can’t be here, so you’ll have to put up with me and Jazz instead. I’m Carlos Machado, current secretary, and this is Jazz Stephens, current publicity officer. Also around here, somewhere, is Jo McManus…”

  “Hi!” Jo called from the back of the hall.

  “Jo’s the current treasurer. And did I see Phil before?”

  “Here,” Phil said and poked her head out from the side of the stage. “I’m the current social secretary.”

  “Lastly, there’s Andy Reilly, our inclusion officer, who’s been over in America since June, so…not as hard an act to follow as the rest of us.” Carlos flashed a sardonic smile our way. God, I was glad I wouldn’t be sitting on a committee with him. Assuming I’d be sitting on a committee at all.

  “I’m going to hand over to the candidates now. You’ll hear from each in turn, starting with the candidates for the role of president. Briefly, the president is responsible for overseeing all of our activities as a committee and an organisation, providing support and guidance to other committee members…”

  It fully hit me then, what I was doing, and I’d swear my stomach turned itself inside out. My mind drifted, catching only brief snatches of Carlos’s explanation, followed by the short campaign speeches from each of the candidates for the top position. They all sounded enthusiastic and like they knew what they were talking about. I honestly couldn’t say I preferred one over the other, which was different to last year’s hustings, where Sarah was the clear winner from the second she opened her mouth, because she was one of those natural leaders, charismatic and—usually—diplomatic.

  Setting aside our personal differences—I was optimistic we could resolve those, now we’d had a bust-up—she’d been a great president. If I hadn’t been around to help Noah—who was around to help Matty, who had unofficially been doing Andy’s job for the past couple of months—I wouldn’t have known Sarah was so strongly opposed to the inclusion of allies. I really hoped she was all right and wondered who I could ask without adding to her distress.

  “Next, we have the candidates for the position of secretary,” Carlos announced, followed by a very smug, “I hope you know what you’re letting yourselves in for.” Honest to God, he really did need a kick up the arse.

  Carlos’s posturing didn’t put off his wannabe successors. All three of them gave convincing speeches that were certainly impassioned considering they were vying for a very time-consuming admin position. Still, it was kudos, and good for the CV.

  The usual maths g
eeks put their case forward for the job of treasurer. They weren’t so rousing, but again, both sounded well up to the task. Alas, being mathematicians, they were straight to the point, and far sooner than I’d have liked, Carlos uttered, “Next, the candidates for inclusion officer.”

  Well, this was us. Alphabetically, I was last, so I tried to stay calm and listen to the other two candidates.

  “My name is Danny Goodman. I’m reading philosophy, politics and economics. I come from a politically active and highly successful family. My mother has, for the past eight years, been the Member of Parliament for…”

  zzzzzz… And that proved what, exactly? My mum managed a nationwide team of market researchers. It didn’t mean I was blessed with expert questioning skills.

  “…To me, the position of inclusion officer is the most crucial in any organisation. It isn’t enough to make brash statements such as ‘Every Student Matters’. We have to walk the talk, and I am ready for that challenge. I take a zero-tolerance, frontline approach to tackling discrimination. I will put inclusion front and centre of every meeting of every faculty in this university and—”

  “What about our gender-neutral toilets?” someone shouted, thank God. It was like listening to someone read out one of those buzzword memes.

  “Thanks for asking,” Danny said with a smile that fitted his answer-for-everything attitude. “The Vice Chancellor has published an official document, stating that gender-neutral bathrooms are being considered as part of the campus redevelopment.”

  “But that isn’t due to commence for another five years,” the questioner argued.

  “Only ‘being considered’?” someone else accused.

  “Where are we supposed to go now?” That was Leigh.

  Danny raised his hand to silence the questions, a gesture I envisaged would get him lynched on the way out, if he survived that long. “As inclusion officer, I will bring the matter to the Vice Chancellor’s immediate attention, you have my word.”

  If they went for me like this, I’d be screwed.

  “Ally or queer?” someone demanded.

  Danny loaded another smile. I think he was aiming for charming, which, of course, came off as smarmy. “Does it matter?” he asked, which was a bit naïve, and the floor erupted. It was a grossly unfair question, but his rhetorical comeback was never going to win votes. As I’d suspected, this was a huge issue for Pride members. Maybe I’d be OK, so long as I kept my head together and didn’t accidentally say something stupid.

  “Order!” Carlos yelled, and then again, because they ignored him the first time. I glanced over at Leigh; they were talking into Matty’s ear, and he was nodding rapidly. Neither of them noticed I was looking their way, but Noah did and gave me a nod to confirm all was well.

  “Danny, do you have anything further to add?” Carlos asked, though his tone said ‘quit while you’re ahead’.

  “No,” Danny confirmed and shrank back into his seat.

  “OK. Neema?”

  The person on my left, whom I’d basically ignored—entirely by accident—nervously rose to her feet.

  “Hello, I’m Neema Panda. I’m a psychology student, and I’m gay, but my parents don’t know. It’s not really about staying in the closet, or being afraid of how they will react, because I think they’ll be OK when I do tell them. And I will, one day, when I meet someone I want to settle down with and start a family. That’s what matters to them—to see their only daughter married and starting a family of her own. But we don’t speak about sex and sexuality in any form.

  “I’m a British Muslim, and I was born here, but my parents weren’t. They, like half of British Muslims—and that includes a lot of people of my age—believe homosexuality should be illegal. It’s not that we’re culturally backwards, but while white British people have been fighting for gender and sexual equality, we’ve been fighting against racism. It took many years of hard political campaigning for the UK to decriminalise homosexuality, then equalise the age of consent, then introduce civil partnerships and, eventually, legalise gay marriage. So, we have a lot of catching up to do, but I believe we’ll get there.

  “I believe this because of groups like Pride. Each one of us here tonight is a stronger person for our allegiance and for the support we provide each other. Before I came to Norwich to study, I’d decided I would never tell my parents. I was going to marry the guy I’ve been friends with since we were eight years old. He’s a great guy, and I love him—as a friend.

  “Then I discovered I wasn’t alone. A couple of classmates talked me into coming along to last year’s Pride Freshers’ social, and it was the best night of my life, because for the first time, I could be myself. It was amazing, truly amazing. I was made to feel welcome—as a lesbian, as a woman, as a Muslim. For the first time, I felt…included.

  “That’s fundamental to the role of the inclusion officer—to ensure every single person in this university, LGBT+ and anyone who fights in our corner, regardless of ethnicity, religion or ability, feels included and safe. It empowers us to move forward, to find our allies in the outside world and continue making progress towards equality of all people. If I am elected, I promise to do exactly that. Thank you for listening.”

  As Neema returned to her seat, the noise was tremendous, like the crowd at a concert screaming for an encore.

  Wow. Well, I knew who my vote was with. How the hell was I going to follow that?

  “Thank you, Neema,” Carlos said with a smile that gave away he felt much as I did. “Your third and final candidate for inclusion officer is Jesse.”

  Was there any point? I seriously doubted it, but I had nothing to lose, and whoever got the position, I was going to ask to meet up and give them my ideas. It wouldn’t guarantee they’d do anything with them, of course.

  “You were brilliant,” I whispered to Neema as I got to my feet, trying to ignore the all too familiar sense of being disproportionately huge—too tall, too wide, just this big blob of an idiot who didn’t belong. However, I’d put myself in this situation and I refused to have a meltdown in front of all these people.

  “Go, Jesse!” Krystle encouraged behind me, and in my head I heard again what she’d said about me being brave. This was about the bravest thing I’d ever done, but maybe she was right. I just needed to get into the zone, find the calm, level-headed Jesse who Leigh talked about, and whom I knew I could be when needed.

  The hall was filled with the quiet static of anticipation, like that moment before the storm when the trees fell still. All I had to do was start talking and hopefully, the chatterbox me would step in and take over.

  Start talking…that’s all. Come on, Jess…

  “Hey, everyone. I’m Jesse Thomas, third-year English lit. student. Two years ago, I joined Pride as an ally. My best mate’s boyfriend joined and dragged us along. I was reluctant, I’ll admit. I’m pretty shy as it goes, and this, now…” I laughed and confessed, “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s a bit daunting, to be honest.

  “So, yeah. I joined as an ally, but then, a few months back, I met the most beautiful person, and the way I felt about them…it made me question an assumption I’d made about myself way back when I was knee-high to the Jolly Green Giant.”

  That got a few laughs, which felt good, although I was caught between the auto-talking I’d done in our presentation and actually feeling OK about this. What Neema had said was exactly it. Even as an ally, I’d always felt included when I was with my Pride buddies.

  “So…it turns out I’m bi, which is cool, because I’m going out with that beautiful person and I couldn’t have done that if I was straight.”

  Someone whistled; I suspected it was Matty, and it made me smile. Blush, too, of course. I could win medals in the blushing championships if those were a real thing.

  “Having kind of been both ally and LGBT+, it’s made me see things a bit differently.

  “Earlier today, I overheard a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear. It was insulting
and hurtful, and it shouldn’t have been happening. Not here—not anywhere. But it does. Being bigger than your average bear, I’ve heard a lot I wish I hadn’t. Like a lot of you here, I’m guessing, I’ve been bullied, but until tonight, it hadn’t happened here.

  “And it made me realise something about Pride—this incredible community we’ve created that tries to be open and welcoming. Mostly, we get it right. It’s important we remember that.

  “Think about what we achieve. We’re here tonight as a united group, yet there are people in this hall who have nothing in common. The challenge Pride has to constantly meet is ensuring we represent and support all lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, intersex, asexual and questioning students, and that’s a hugely diverse bunch.

  “The conversation I overheard earlier was, fundamentally, about whether allies should be allowed to join Pride, and it got me thinking about what it means to be an ally. And I came up with a couple of things. Number one: allies have a choice. Now, I know some of you would say you don’t have a choice, but you do. If being an ally meant losing your friends, family, job…you could stop, walk away.

  “I’m not demonising allies here. Far from it. Because if we want Pride to be truly inclusive, we all must become allies. Our gay members can’t understand how it feels to be lesbian, nor can our cisgender members appreciate what it’s like to be trans or non-binary. Our female members still fight patriarchal privilege, and the male members amongst us will never have to deal with that.

  “Thanks for bearing with me so far. I know this has been a bit of a rambling old speech. It was only tonight I decided to come up here and do this, so I don’t have a polished manifesto or anything like that. I’m pretty organised with academic stuff, but it’s more important to act when it’s needed.

  “Like, for instance, I noticed some of our documents exclude non-binary students, so that’s one of the first things I’m going to address whether you elect me or not. I also think we need a vote on whether we want to be open to our straight cisgender allies, or if we should look to creating a separate but affiliated society. Apart from that, we’re a democratic organisation, right?”