Butterflies, Balaclavas & Being Human

This afternoon, as the late summer sun blazed down, I dragged out the lawn mower. The long hot and dry summer we have had in the UK has meant that there have been few lawn cuts this year – but recent downpours have forced Mother Nature into action and our garden now resembled a wild meadow. I hadn’t been looking forward to this bit of necessary work because both my lovely wife, Patricia, and I have been struggling of late; Patricia recovering well from surgery and me having had a recurrence of my sciatica which means a very painful few weeks of staggering from one chair or settee to another to gain some respite from the debilitating pain. In short, we two “old codgers” have been both metaphorically and literally clinging on to each other! 

But as the lawn mower leapt into action I suddenly stopped, having almost “run over” two little white butterflies who were resting together on the lawn in front of me. As I looked down on them they suddenly took flight and fluttered, this way and that in perfect unison, around me and about me; whether this was some mating ritual or just the exuberant joy of life in the late summer sun I know not but whatever it was an absolute joy to stand and watch them – momentarily my sciatica  forgotten. I stood for several seconds watching them flit this way and that about me, until at last they disappeared together, still in joyous unison, over my neighbour’s hedge.

It lifted my spirits and as I pressed the start button on the mower brought to mind a few things that seemed to be important about life and about the world. Those two butterflies, their exuberant flight, their joy (presumably) in being together, their wonderful symmetrical flight paths seemed to me, in my low mood, to represent everything good - and perhaps a lesson for mankind in these testing times.

In a world where the most powerful man in the world brings shame upon himself and upon the American people by his actions, words and policies and in a world where so many seem angry and filled with hate for their fellow man and woman maybe we need to be like those butterflies and fly together in joyous unison. In the UK today we have seen hundreds of balaclava wearing men all dressed in black blocking one of England’s main ports, Dover, in protest against the arrival in the UK of small boats bearing refugees and asylum seekers. In the last week we have seen one of England’s major urban areas, Middlesbrough, ripped apart with unrest following the deaths of five young men travelling the wrong way down a road and crashing head on with a police car, killing both officers – again, hatred and law breaking at the root of the event. Like many other countries politics has become more and more divisive and extreme; in the UK (as in other western democracies) right wing political parties promise to curtail many of our laws about equality, race or gender – and millions, in our race to the bottom world, shout “bring it on”. This is the dark and cruel underbelly of 21st century England. Our world, in my view, is in a worrying, no terrifying, place and I worry for my grandchildren - how can they sort this mess? What has gone wrong with human kind?

Hatred and violence are not new. But mankind slowly evolved laws and beliefs that most people subscribed to and which kept things in some kind of check – maybe it was a belief in the common good. But as I look around me now in my 81^st year I am uncertain if many would subscribe to that notion – or be prepared to do whatever is necessary to make it a reality; we have become a selfish, me, me, me society where flying together in exuberant unison like the butterflies has been replaced with individual selfish "I want" lifestyle choices and "beggar my neighbour politics". Few, in 2026 UK would, I believe, readily subscribe the notion of neighbour as described in Jesus’ “Parable of the Good Samaritan” – certainly not those in their black balaclavas at Dover today or in the right wing political parties of England or the followers of misogynistic and homophobic “influencers” like Andrew Tate, or on the streets and urban wastelands of Middlesbrough and other urban areas of the nation.

And as I pushed my lawn mower I thought back to hot June day almost 30 years ago. Pat and I were in New York and our visit happened to coincide with the annual New York Gay Pride Parade. This was new to us; unknown. So we joined the crowds that Sunday lunchtime on Seventh Avenue and watched, mouths agape, mesmerised, confused, amazed – and loved every minute of the brilliant, bizarre, exuberant spectacle that unfolded before us. It was lovely; outrageous, naughty, fun, and above all full of love. We cheered and we cheered. We watched amazed and in awe at how the NYPD skillfully and quietly “managed” the spectacle as it passed before us; we wouldn’t have missed it for the world and then (as still today) felt the better, more human, for being there, part of something so joyous and bigger than us; two lonely Brits in the turmoil that is New York we felt welcome and at home; two middle aged school teachers amongst this pageant of colour, innuendo, brash eroticism and above all friendship and love. 

But I remembered, too, a darker side to that wonderful occasion. As we stood cheering and laughing a middle aged lady standing beside us turned and in a southern drawl asked if we were from England – she had obviously heard us speaking. We said that we were and she then asked “Do you have this sort of thing in England”. We said yes, but we had never seen a parade like this before to which she sternly replied “It wouldn’t happen in my home in Texas and not on the Lord’s Day. The sheriff and his marshals would use their shot guns on the lot of them”. We didn’t know what to say. We edged away; It seemed then, but even more so now as I look at the world, that her hate is an easy path to follow when “difference” is involved. I get it that this lady found the notion of a gay pride parade alien to her – it was so for us – but how easily this turned to hate and ideas of shotguns worried me. And, further, it worried me that this lady felt she had “Christian values”, she talked of “the Lord’s day” – Mmmm! I wonder what happens when her Christian values collide with the Parable of the Good Samaritan and the shotguns of the Texas sheriff and his marshals? Presumably in this lady’s world had the traveller set upon by bandits and left for dead been gay then the Texan “Good Samaritan” would have had no truck with him and would have “passed by” on the road leaving the injured man to die.

It’s a worrying nonsense and a terrifying future to think about; I’ll stick with the butterflies  and their joyous flight together not the divisive hatred of black suited men wearing hoodies and balaclavas in Dover or Middlesbrough and I’ll say “Not in my name” to Andrew Tate or the Restore Party – or anyone else who comes knocking at my door. That’s not because I’m “brave” or think I’m right but because the path of division and hate that they are offering is, I know, with certainty the path the humankind’s destruction – and not what I want for my grandchildren.

And, as I cleaned my lawn mower and collected the grass cuttings I thought back to another event of the past few days – my mind following its usual tortuous and madcap wanderings from that long gone day at the New York Gay Pride Parade. A couple of nights ago Pat and I watched an exquisite TV programme - one of a series – where the great English classical actress Dame Judi Dench has “afternoon tea” with another great actor or actress. This episode saw the wonderful Judi Dench reminiscing and swapping anecdotes with the equally wonderful Sir Ian McKellen. In the programme Sir Ian talked a little of his life as a gay man and perhaps as a gay (my word) “icon” and campaigner. His is the sort of voice that one can listen to all day and as he spoke his warmth, love, passion and sincerity shone through -a far cry I thought from the abusive, wilfully ignorant and often expletive filled rants that we hear so much of today – on the streets of our cities and even from the mouth of the President of the United States of America.

And Sir Ian read an extract from a book that he treasured; it clearly spoke to him and as I listened it spoke to me. Obviously moved as he read, he had to stop to gather his thoughts, overcome I think by the words and what underpinned them; it was personal to him as a gay man and even to me, a “straight”, grey haired, ex-teacher, and fully paid up member of the “grumpy old mens’ society” its message seemed both right and timeless; it was about our very humanity. The extract  was from a book called “More Tales of the City” by American author Armistead Maupin and is a letter written by “Michael” to his mother telling her that he is gay; its words say all there is to say:

Dear Mama,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. Every time I try to write to you and Papa I realize I'm not saying the things that are in my heart. That would be O.K., if I loved you any less than I do, but you are still my parents and I am still your child. I have friends who think I'm foolish to write this letter. I hope they're wrong. I hope their doubts are based on parents who loved and trusted them less than mine do. I hope especially that you'll see this as an act of love on my part, a sign of my continuing need to share my life with you.

 I wouldn't have written, I guess, if you hadn't told me about your involvement in the Save Our Children campaign. That, more than anything, made it clear that my responsibility was to tell you the truth, that your own child is homosexual, and that I never needed saving from anything except the cruel and ignorant piety of people like Anita Bryant.

I'm sorry, Mama. Not for what I am, but for how you must feel at this moment. I know what that feeling is, for I felt it for most of my life. Revulsion, shame, disbelief - rejection through fear of something I knew, even as a child, was as basic to my nature as the colour of my eyes. No, Mama, I wasn't "recruited." No seasoned homosexual ever served as my mentor. But you know what? I wish someone had. I wish someone older than me and wiser than the people in Orlando had taken me aside and said, "You're all right, kid. You can grow up to be a doctor or a teacher just like anyone else. You're not crazy or sick or evil. You can succeed and be happy and find peace with friends - all kinds of friends - who don't give a damn who you go to bed with. Most of all, though, you can love and be loved, without hating yourself for it." But no one ever said that to me, Mama. I had to find it out on my own, with the help of the city that has become my home.

I know this may be hard for you to believe, but San Francisco is full of men and women, both straight and gay, who don't consider sexuality in measuring the worth of another human being. These aren't radicals or weirdos, Mama. They are shop clerks and bankers and little old ladies and people who nod and smile to you when you meet them on the bus. Their attitude is neither patronizing nor pitying. And their message is so simple: Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it's all right for you to like me, too. 

I know what you must be thinking now. You're asking yourself: What did we do wrong? How did we let this happen? Which one of us made him that way? I can't answer that, Mama. In the long run, I guess I really don't care. All I know is this: If you and Papa are responsible for the way I am, then I thank you with all my heart, for it's the light and the joy of my life. I know I can't tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not. It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity. It's not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It's not judging your neighbour, except when he's crass or unkind. Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength. It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it. 

There's not much else I can say, except that I'm the same Michael you've always known. You just know me better now. I have never consciously done anything to hurt you. I never will. Please don't feel you have to answer this right away. It's enough for me to know that I no longer have to lie to the people who taught me to value the truth.

Mary Ann sends her love. Everything is fine at 28 Barbary Lane.

Your loving son, Michael

Oh, that the black suited balaclava wearing “patriots” on England’s streets or the racist, misogynistic and homophobic influencers of the manosphere or the right wing media or the hateful trolls on social media could use or understand these words and what they convey. Those two little butterflies in their joyous union knew, I’m sure, about being together; they would have understood Michael when he wrote “Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it's all right for you to like me, too.” – it’s called “being human”. It’s the same humanity that has been important to Pat and me in the last few weeks as we have clung to each other for mutual support and I cannot for the life of me understand  why so many in today’s world wish to abandon this basic human characteristic in favour of division and hate.

The late Archbishop Desmond Tutu knew a thing or two about division and hate having spent his life living and working in South Africa at the time of apartheid and he was clear about what it is to be human: "No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his beliefs or his religion” he said. "Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies." He went on "A person is a person through other persons,  my humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together." Amen to that; but I do still wonder what has gone so profoundly wrong with modern man that so many prefer hate over love. For me, as my lovely wife and I of 57 years cling together in love and mutual support I’ll stick with the joyous unison of the butterflies, the exuberance and love of the Gay Pride Parade and the wisdom and sincerity of Sir Ian McKellen; it seems a better option for humankind than black masked hateful “patriots” blocking our ports, the wilfully ignorant sneeringly cruel thugs bringing violence and  death to our cities' streets, or the Texas sheriffs with their shotguns bringing their message of hate to the world and justifying their actions by reciting “Christian values”. No, I will quietly think of the mighty words of poet John Donne speaking across the centuries from his Meditation XVII written in 1624 reminding us that as humans we are all part of the same body: 

"No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee."