At the beginning of Pride Month, I find myself thinking about how much has changed in my lifetime, and how much still depends on the quiet courage of ordinary people.
When I was a young Scout, the United Kingdom was a very different place for LGBTQI+ people. Male homosexuality had only been partially decriminalised in England and Wales in 1967. The language used in public life was often cruel. The assumptions made in families, schools, churches, youth organisations and workplaces were overwhelmingly heterosexual. For many of us, the safest course was not to lie exactly, but to edit ourselves. To leave things unsaid. To become expert in changing the subject.
Then came the long shadow of Section 28, introduced in 1988, which prevented local authorities from “promoting” homosexuality and helped create a culture of fear and silence in schools and youth settings. It was repealed in Scotland in 2000 and in England and Wales in 2003, but its legacy lasted far longer than the legislation itself. Stonewall was founded in direct response to Section 28, and describes it as legislation that prevented young people learning about homosexuality in schools.
I know something of that from the inside.
I was a gay teacher during the Section 28 era. That meant living with a constant calculation about what could be said, what might be misunderstood, and what risks might follow from simply being honest. It meant knowing that a careless word from someone else could become a professional vulnerability for you. It meant understanding that, in a school, silence was not neutral. Silence taught lessons too.
It taught some young people that people like them were unspeakable.
It taught some teachers that honesty was dangerous.
And it taught many of us to be cautious in ways that are difficult now fully to explain.
That is why Pride matters.
For some, Pride is colourful, joyful and celebratory. And so it should be. But it is also more than that. It is a signal to those who may still be wondering whether there is room for them. It says: you are not an exception to our values. You are part of them.
Scouting has been one of the great constants in my life. I began my Scouting journey in Gloucestershire. I found friendship, adventure, service, responsibility and international understanding. Scouting helped make me who I am. It stretched my horizons long before I had the confidence fully to understand myself.
But I also know what it is to love a movement and still wonder whether all of you is welcome within it.
As a young person, I do not think I was looking for anyone to make a great fuss. I was not looking for special treatment. I was looking for a signal. Some quiet reassurance that being gay would not put me outside the circle. That I could still belong. That I could still serve. That I could still be trusted, valued and seen.
In my own Scouting life, I have found myself both shaped by that change and, in a small way, part of helping to make it.
I was one of the authors of The Scout Association’s first equal opportunities policy. I remain proud that it specifically named our commitment to welcoming and supporting young people and adult leaders who were lesbian, gay or bisexual, although we did not then use the language of LGBTQI+ in the way we would now. At the time, that mattered. It was not just a line in a policy. It was a statement that Scouting’s values of welcome, respect and service applied to us too.
In time, I became the UK’s International Commissioner, a senior national appointment with trustee status. That made me the first openly gay person to serve at that level in UK Scouting. Later, I became the first openly gay member of the World Scout Committee.
There is a responsibility that comes with being visible. It is not always comfortable. There are moments when one would much rather be judged only by the work, the competence, the service and the contribution. But when you know that others are watching to see whether there is a place for them, visibility becomes part of the work.
For me, activism has rarely been about shouting from the sidelines. It has more often been about being in the room, doing the work, making the case, holding the line, and helping institutions become more generous, more honest and more faithful to their own values. Sometimes that has meant speaking publicly. Sometimes it has meant quiet conversations with people who were unsure, anxious or resistant. Sometimes it has meant simply being present and refusing to disappear.
Today, UK Scouting is much clearer in its welcome. Scouts says that it welcomes everyone, including those who are part of LGBTQ+ communities, and aims to create spaces where volunteers and young people can thrive and be themselves with pride. Its guidance also says that a volunteer’s sexual orientation has no bearing on their suitability to fulfil a voluntary role in Scouts.
That is not Scouting becoming fashionable. It is Scouting becoming more faithful to itself.
The values of Scouting have always asked us to show integrity, respect, care, belief and co-operation. They ask us to help other people. They ask us to build bridges across difference. They ask us to leave the world a little better than we found it. LGBTQI+ inclusion is not a departure from those values. It is one expression of them.
Of course, this is not only a British story.
One of the gifts of international Scouting is that it teaches us humility. We learn that Scouting is lived differently in different cultures. World Scouting describes itself as an inclusive movement, welcoming young people and adult volunteers from many backgrounds, beliefs, ethnicities, genders and abilities. It also recognises that National Scout Organizations operate in very different social contexts.
In some countries, attitudes are ahead of where Britain once was. In parts of Europe, LGBTQI+ inclusion in Scouting has long been treated with practical confidence rather than anxiety. Rainbow spaces, inclusive training and open participation in Pride are not seen as a threat to Scouting, but as part of helping young people and adults belong.
In other countries, progress has been slower, contested or uneven. The United States is a particularly striking example. Scouting America has made real progress over the last decade, including ending its ban on gay young people in 2013, ending its blanket ban on gay adult leaders in 2015, welcoming transgender young people from 2017, and rebranding from the Boy Scouts of America to Scouting America in 2025. But in 2026, the organisation came under political pressure from the US administration. Pete Hegseth linked continued military support to the removal of DEI initiatives and changes around gender policy. Scouting America’s leadership has said that its agreement with the Pentagon does not change existing policies regarding transgender young people, with President and CEO Roger Krone quoted as saying that transgender people remain in the programme and will continue to do so. At the same time, the organisation agreed to remove DEI structures and the Citizenship in Society merit badge. That makes it a contested and worrying moment, and a reminder that progress is not always secure.
And in some countries, the situation remains much more difficult still. LGBTQI+ people may face social hostility, exclusion from family or community life, or even legal danger. In such contexts, Scouting leaders who want to create a place of welcome may have to do so with great care. That should make those of us in the UK thoughtful, not complacent.
It also reminds us that visibility in UK Scouting is not simply a domestic gesture. When a Scout group attends Pride in uniform, when a rainbow necker is worn with quiet confidence, as my husband Mark wears his, or when a leader speaks calmly and kindly about LGBTQI+ inclusion, that may be noticed far beyond the immediate moment. It may encourage someone here. It may reassure someone elsewhere. It may remind a young person, or an adult volunteer, that the movement they love does not require them to hide.
At the same time, we should avoid easy self-congratulation. The UK has changed profoundly, but not perfectly. There are still young people who hear homophobic, biphobic and transphobic language in playgrounds, online and sometimes in the places where they should feel safest. There are still adults who hesitate before mentioning their husband, wife or partner. There are still families who worry how they will be received. There are still people who think inclusion is somehow a political act rather than a human one.
For me, this remains very personal.
I know what it is to be formed by Scouting. I know what it is to be grateful for the movement while also wishing it had been easier to see people like me within it. I know what it is to serve internationally and to recognise that the freedoms I now enjoy are not freedoms shared by everyone. And I know that belonging is not created by policy alone. It is created in the ordinary habits of a movement.
It is created by the welcome at the door.
It is created by the assumptions we do not make.
It is created by the jokes we challenge.
It is created by recognising different families without embarrassment.
It is created by giving young people the language of kindness before they learn the language of prejudice.
It is created when adult volunteers can bring their whole selves to Scouting, not because their sexuality or identity defines them, but because hiding is exhausting and unnecessary.
Pride Month gives us a moment to celebrate how far we have come. But the real test is not whether we can say the right thing in June. It is whether a young person who is questioning who they are feels safe in September, November and February. It is whether an adult volunteer knows that their suitability to serve is measured by their character, competence and commitment, not by who they love.
That is the heart of it.
Scouting gave me adventure, service, friendship and purpose. It helped me look outwards. It helped me believe that young people can build a better world when adults give them trust, support and opportunity.
My hope, at the beginning of this Pride Month, is that every young person in Scouting today can receive those same gifts without feeling they must hide part of themselves in order to belong.
Because Scouting is at its best when it widens the circle.
And Pride, in the end, is one way of saying exactly that: there is a place here for you.
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