Talking about Homophobia

"Talking about this stuff can indoctrinate people to be Gay".

Yes, someone actually said that to me.

It happened during one of the most challenging schools I've ever worked with. It was part of an Ambassador Programme designed to equip a small group of students with the tools to challenge homophobia, biphobia, and transphobia in their school. We were working with a cohort who had just seen our production of BOY, a show that opens up difficult but necessary conversations around identity, masculinity, and sexuality.

This school had serious issues with homophobia, which was very deep, loud, and embedded.

And this group?

They were tough.

Not in a cheeky, boundary-testing kind of way, but in an angry, shut-down, "you're not welcome here" kind of way.

By the end of Day One, the atmosphere was heavy with conflict.

It was extremely tense and confrontational. One of the students stood up, with a voice sharp and defiant, and told me what the Bible says, reciting what the facts are about gay people. They were quoting scripture at me , like a weapon. Others joined in. There was shouting and pointing. The energy in the room was hostile and charged.

So, I began to carefully unpick their arguments. I asked questions, offered space for reflection, and gently held up the mirror, but they hit back harder.

"You're trying to indoctrinate us," one boy spat. "You're trying to make us gay."

That moment will stay with me forever. It would have been easy to walk straight out of the door and away from the hostility. But I knew that if I did that, I would be writing off this group of young people who I knew really needed my help, so I decided to persevere. I was not going to write off the group and assume they weren't ready for the discussion.

Tuesday morning arrived. I wondered how many of them would come back. To my surprise, all returned but one.

Instead of jumping straight back into identity, we approached it from another angle, through the lens of prejudice itself. We explored what it means to be 'othered,' to be the target of assumptions, to feel boxed in. And something shifted. Slowly, hesitantly, they started to engage, not just performatively but curiously.

By Wednesday afternoon, they were talking, and I mean really talking. They were debating, challenging one another, and still disagreeing, but doing so in a way that included listening. There was actual respect in the room.

And then one of them, who had been particularly vocal on Day One, said something I'll never forget.

"Sarah," he said, "I might agree now have thought about it and listened to you that it's wrong to be horrible to someone just because they're gay. But when I go home, my dad tells me I'm wrong. So, what's the point?"

There it was. The tension between learning and loyalty. Between what they were starting to feel and what they had been taught to believe.

We discussed how young people often grow up knowing things their parents don't and how progress can be generational. I gave him an example he could relate to: how my child can do things with an iPhone that confuse and baffle me. We all laughed about this, as many agreed this was their experience with their parents.

Then, we talked seriously about their power to challenge prejudice when they see it, especially from the people closest to them.

That's what our work does. We don't indoctrinate; we liberate.

We don't turn anyone into anything they're not. We help young people understand who they already are and how to navigate a world that doesn't always make that easy.

These students left the room transformed: with a newfound awareness, confidence, and a glimmer of hope. They understood their power. In a world where many young people are bombarded by toxic messages, this is a victory, something we are proud to play a part in.

Despite the challenges, I am continually inspired by their emotional intelligence, the kind that many of us were never encouraged to develop. They are braver, brighter, and more capable than they realise.

They just need a space to show it.