They used to gather on the steps of the church during the intervals. Tempest tossed youngsters yearning to breathe free cautiously approached this place in search of sanctuary. They were welcomed by the older boys who offered them a sense of belonging. Others who were confused about themselves often joined strengthening the camaraderie. Differences were respected especially by those who joined them even if they did not have similar leanings. Soon they became one big family who met to discuss ideas, trends, fashion, music and most importantly -their sexuality. Being the object of ridicule at school helped most of them to develop a steely resilience.

Derogatory remarks made by friends and relatives about their mannerisms, made all of them feel that this ‘pride’ was where they belonged. They dared to speak of their desires and were bold enough to give it a name. Confidence boosted by their increasing corral turned some limp wrists into claws. Always perfectly turned out, they used their barbed wit to face down the insults constantly hurled at them by those who identified themselves as ‘normal!’

Over time, they became rather raucous and only a few dared to associate with them. The wolf whistles that used to follow them became theirs to throw back when a desirable individual passed by. Some found them intimidating, mostly due to their unpredictability and outlandish behaviour.  The constant banter, the spontaneous bursting into song, the trading of winks and insults soaked in sexual innuendo became part and parcel of the atmosphere that was created by this loud and outrageous bunch. This resulted in those hallowed steps to be referred to as ‘the church market!’

They possessed a varied array of talents that were not the boring and mundane stuff of being rugger players or cricketers. Excellent at debating they could rebuff without effort. Using one-liners as a put-down became a practised speciality. It was obvious that they would become prominent in any career they chose. As artistic pursuits were at the heart of their interests, becoming actors, dancers, writers, designers, poets, painters, jewellers, sculptors or chefs was a forgone conclusion. They were quirky, clever and very creative. They loved dressing up and performing. Some revelled in giving political speeches whilst pretending to be world leaders. This practice gave them a sense of authority that some of them carried with them all throughout their lives. Then there were those who wore shoes and dresses that belonged to their mothers or sisters without even thinking of it as a taboo because it felt normal. This sense of “not giving a damn” transported them towards their goals and beyond. Some of them were non-binary even before the term was invented.

Laughter was a shield that covered their insecurities. They found strength in numbers. Moving around in packs gave them confidence. These packs bordered on being slightly menacing, not in a way that they’d pull out a knife and stab someone to death but in a way that very definitely said, “if you mess with me, I’ll wash your dirty linen in public!”

Educating this set of uniquely gifted students and never preventing them from being who they really wanted to be, were a highly sensitive group of teachers who knew everything about the difficulties they had to face, on a daily basis. The acceptance and understanding exhibited by these tutors gave them a sense of what an ideal world would be. These teachers must be recognised for providing some of the most progressive education given to students in the 70’s. 

From the steps of the church this entire group moved to what became the inner sanctum of their community; the Lionel Wendt Art Centre Club. This venue gave them the recognition and acceptance they rightly deserved. This crucial transition took place after most of them participated in a ground-breaking theatrical production which caused them to be embraced by almost everyone in Sri Lanka’s artistic community. This marked the point of no return. They burnt the bridges to their past and embraced who they really were.  

Welcoming them and accepting them was a pioneer who had been through all the trials and tribulations that they were experiencing afresh. Keerthi Sri Karunaratne was one of Sri Lanka’s most iconic fashion designers. He was openly and unapologetically homosexual.  A man of deep kindness and compassion Keerthi was maligned by many. He offered refuge to many gay men, battered women and those who had nowhere else to go simply because of they were not accepted by their parents, partners or society in general. This man who could have been incredibly wealthy ended his days living in a hovel, penniless. The kindness of strangers and a few concerned relatives kept him afloat in his last days. All his life’s earning had gone to feed, clothe, and accommodate those who were disowned by society mostly because of their sexuality. He died content. 

Among the others who found freedom within this commune was Nedra Vittachi.  She too was not willing to cow down to the norms dictated by our non-progressive society. She was the antithesis of fashion. Often bra-less and clad only in a t-shirt and shorts she was very much a part of this crowd. Compassionate, creative, fearless and kind beyond measure, Nedra was yet another gay icon of our treasured past. She reputedly dated some of the most beautiful women in Sri Lanka. Sadly, Nedra’s end was not a happy one as the dictates of society trapped her into submission. I feel the pain of her lovers who are compelled to live their lives presenting a façade of being happy wives and mothers. Such is the power of a society that is backword intolerant and still quite false.

Mangala Samaraweera burst into this circle soon after his return from the UK where he had completed his studies at the London School of Fashion. I don’t think I need to enlarge on this as he was completely unafraid of his sexuality even throughout his political career. Had he lived, our country would have been a much better place than it is now, and he may even have been the first (admittedly) gay PM we could have had.  

Richard de Zoysa was one of them that walked up those steps that led to the church of his alma mater. His amazing life, short as it may have been, was a quagmire of sex and drama. One never knew if he was Arthur today or Martha tomorrow. That said he too did not see any reason to apologise for being who he wanted to be. Soon after his heinous murder by the Premadasa regime, the officials who were intent on covering up the governments guilt tried their best to prove that he was a homosexual by searching for photographic evidence. This resulted in some of the most wonderful images of these great guys during their days at school (sitting on those famous steps, frolicking innocently on the beach, in costume for various plays) being destroyed with intent. Historic images erased for eternity by the folly of a government! What a politically motivated murder had to do with a man’s sexuality baffles me to this day. Is it a way of saying that gay people do not deserve to live? DEFINITELY! Anything is possible in that backwater we call our homeland. This reminds me of what that progressive Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau said as far back in 1967 when he decriminalised homosexual acts by stating, “the state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation.”

I know that most of you will agree that this should be taken a step further by adding that no religion has a right to intervene in anyone’s sexual preference either. Thankfully, the Anglican church in most parts of the western world has seen the error of its ways and welcomed the union of gay couples. The gay community in the third world will have to wait another 50 years or more before they have this privilege offered to them. Mindsets take more than a few generations to change. In the meantime, there are those Bible bashing evangelists, the Koran thumping bigots and dim-witted idiots led by those in saffron robes, ably supported by the uneducated, the primitive and the frightened who are so blinkered that they ruin the lives of their children even today.

Above all, these boys had some strong mothers who stood silently supporting them through the highs and lows of their lives. One mother was questioned about her son’s sexuality even when that son was lying murdered in front of her. Another mother had to hold the hand of her son and tell him that she loved him when he was dying of AIDS. Yet another, encouraged her son to go through the difficult decisions of making a male to female transition so that he may live a life that suits him. These mothers who rose above the roar of discrimination put the lives and hopes of their children first. They were the same mothers who had to face insults from their own families because they supported their own children. 

It was with great trepidation that I plucked up the courage to walk up those steps and join this madding crowd when I was at school. I am forever grateful that they accepted me into their fold so that I may fly along with them. 

Thankfully, I had a mother who was my rock. A mother who did not raise any objections when I wanted to follow a career in ballet. Suicides by a close family friend and an acquaintance both of whom were forced to live lives of lies, compelled my mother to stand her ground and face off vile comments about my way of being. “You are my son,” she said to me with conviction, and no further explanation was required in my defence.

Long before the onset of gay pride marches and organised gay rights movements that pretend to defend our rights, we had the privilege of being protected, defended and accompanied on our difficult journey by those I have mentioned above. They had no hesitation in recognising the colour we bring to a world that would be otherwise be just black, white and dark. We bow to them in gratitude as they were truly the breeze that stirred the rainbow that we are today.