I was in a same-sex relationship before I started my training contract 16 years ago, and I have been completely out for my entire career. On applications, I deliberately included details of my time helping to run the student LGBT society, despite friends’ advice. My thinking was simple: If a firm doesn’t want the real me, then why would I want them? Plus, I was proud of what I’d done as a student, although my ‘activism’ was mainly limited to one incident.
Back in the late 90s, before contactless cards, dating apps or Graham Norton, I was the secretary of my student LGBT society. We were promoting a joint event with another LGBT group. I had an email from one of the officials at my alma mater, challenging whether we had complied with the various rules governing events of that size, and implicitly questioning the value of the event.
Admittedly, I’d taken what, in my current job as a regulatory lawyer, I would call a robustly pragmatic interpretation of the requirements, but other affinity groups – let alone the sports teams and drinking societies (you’re narrowing it down) – flagrantly disregarded all of the rules all of the time. Why were we different? I pushed back firmly (and legalistically – law student alert!) and he backed down. I’m glad to say that social media shows me today that the institution is fantastically inclusive of LGBT+ people at all levels; a real beacon.
That was my first and last negative experience related to my sexuality. I have worked at three law firms, a huge bank, as sole counsel in a fintech, and at the regulator, so I’ve seen from many angles how people react to others’ innate characteristics. I’ve never played the pronoun game, always talked openly about my life outside work (“Yeah, Brighton Pride! Wild. Can I run a thorny section 18 question past you?”), and always joined (or co-launched if need be) the LGBT+ network.
Throughout, I can say with certainty that the fact that I’m 5’5 and appear young for my age was a far bigger obstacle than being gay. I have spent much of my career seeing people (usually men, not always) consigning me to a particular box in their minds. They tend to straighten up (pardon the phrase) and take me seriously as soon as I open my mouth. I was 38 the last time a new stakeholder asked my age on being introduced, and just before my 40th I had a counterparty lawyer ask whether that was an in-joke, as “you’re obviously not about to be 40” (there are upsides to having good genes). Oddly these things never happened if I communicated by email or phone.
This isn’t to bemoan people getting comfort from seeing grey hair on their lawyers’ heads, or that we still associate height with authority – it’s that being gay has never prompted anything equivalent.
Coming out is an intensely personal experience (more accurately, a continual process), and I’d never presume to tell anyone what to do. My default, though, has always been complete authenticity. It helps that I am relentlessly upbeat and assume that all people are basically good (although I am capable of the lacerating cynicism we sometimes need in this job). It hasn’t let me down yet.
Reflecting on my experience, I’m sure my relationship helped me in terms of my self-confidence, but it’s undoubtedly facile to tell people worried about their careers that “get dating!” is the answer. That said, I am convinced that one legal reform made being openly gay in professional life a bit easier – marriage equality. We mustn’t be too heteronormative about it, still less disrespectful of the vast tapestry of peoples’ lives, but when talking to a new or prospective client, coming out (even when it sits comfortably in context) can translate to the listener as “This guy has same-sex sex!”. That’s usually a difference and can raise walls. LGBT+ people referencing their husband or wife achieves the same outcome but is more likely to land as “She’s sharing her life with someone, just like me.” That’s potentially commonality and builds bridges.
And building bridges is critical because we want allies to march across them, willingly and publicly. People who took a different approach to mine have told me many times that allies are just as important as role models. Perhaps more so – telling a trainee that a firm is fine because of a handful of openly gay partners is far less powerful than proving a visible and vocal culture of safety and support for LGBT+ people. As secure in my own skin as I was, I genuinely didn’t imagine how quickly this world would arrive. Rainbow lanyards! D&I sections on pitches! Pride-accented logos as far as I can scroll down LinkedIn!
But we can’t lapse into cosmetic pinkwashing, which is why there’s absolutely still a need for Pride, still a need for LGBT+ networks, and still an imperative for us to recruit allies to the cause.
I do my best to be an ally myself. I’m passionate about the fair treatment of women in the workplace, both because rigid, gendered expectations about professional behaviours harm everyone (including LGBT+ people), and because excluding (over) half the talent pool is plain stupid. Likewise, I actually can’t express how strongly I feel about the importance of diversity of social background. The thought that – let’s call it what it is – snobbery is harming people’s opportunities (and therefore all of society) appals me. I do have to be self-aware about this though. I went to a private school and the kind of university that had drinking societies, so I have to listen respectfully, accept that I might be part of the problem, and offer support, not assume I’ve got the solution.
Allyship, to coin a phrase, begins at home, and I’ve learned that I must channel my sense of security and pride to build a society where everyone’s that fortunate. This is all before we even consider the issues that confront LGBT+ people globally – even some EU countries seem poised to take LGBT+ rights backwards, and there are people all over the world who risk their lives every day by being open about themselves.
Coming back to the boyfriend who supported me while I was a trainee, I’m proud of what he’s achieved as a self-employed barrister, a very different setting from a commercial law firm. Proud also that – to quote Jane Eyre – Reader, I married him.
The more people are true to themselves, the better the world will be. It’s called Pride for a reason.
James Turner is an associate director at Osborne Clarke
