Hidden histories of queer war veterans
During the wars, gay men experienced egregious homophobia, prejudice and discrimination. But they also found ways to manoeuvre, writes Andre Chumko.
Over the years, veterans have widely shared stories of homophobia, sexual assault and discrimination within the armed forces.
Pervasive culture issues involving prejudice against the rainbow community remain today: the don’t ask, don’t tell policy, transgender people being banned from serving altogether, controversy over rainbow flags being flown at local RSAs.
All of that paints a picture of a place that’s dark and grim for queer people. But as author and historian Brent Coutts has found, for Aotearoa’s queer veterans military service also provided a safety net for some men to explore their sexualities.
‘‘The intense intimacy led to profound friendships, even among straight men,’’ Coutts says. ‘‘There were mate-ship bonds between men on an interpersonal and platonic level, but those bonds could provide cover for sexual intimacy.’’
Coutts has attempted to illustrate, for the first time, the lives of some of New Zealand’s gay veterans in his historical novel Crossing The Lines: The Story Of Three Homosexual New Zealand Soldiers In World War II.
It follows the lives of Harold Robinson, Ralph Dyer and Douglas Morison through World War II, and is the culmination of almost 11 years of research, interviews and writing by Coutts. Back in the 1990s, the historian undertook interviews with several veterans for separate research projects. But it wasn’t until he went back to Robinson – who during the war was a female impersonator – that Coutts unearthed the idea for the book. ‘‘Suddenly it all opened up. Out came photos, ephemera, things he’d kept,’’ he says.
After being awarded a Royal Society Te Apa¯rangi Fellowship to research soldiers’ experience during the war, Coutts got stuck in even further. ‘‘I wanted to write a book that I wanted to read,’’ he said, adding that after coming across Allan Be´rube´’s Coming Out Under Fire, and finding other versions of international queer histories published, he realised nobody had done the same for New Zealand’s gay veterans.
‘‘I was setting out to honour these men. It’s their hidden histories.’’
Robinson, Dyer and Morison were a female impersonating trio part of the Kiwi Concert Party, which served an important role entertaining the Allied troops in the Middle East, Italy, and the Pacific during WWII, as well as boosting patriotism among the civilian population. The book delves into the men’s pre-war lives, their war years and post-war experiences. As well as a story about friendship, belonging and shared identities as queer performers, the book explores queerness within the military through the trio’s romantic and sexual experiences.
While Dyer died before Coutts was able to speak to him, the author was able to interview Morison in London. Morison, who has since died, never returned to live in New Zealand postwar. He told Coutts that was partly because it was too difficult to live in Aotearoa as a gay man.
Coutts says people often say there is ‘‘no gay ephemera’’ left over from the period. But Morison’s aunts donated hundreds of letters, and a diary he wrote during the war, to the Waiouru Museum. And Coutts also obtained photos, letters, performance/ skit scripts and poetry belonging to Morison from the period. He described it as like ‘‘striking gold’’.
As well as Morison and Robinson’s memorabilia, Coutts discovered a large album of photographs of Dyer’s, which is now at the Alexander Turnbull Library, which helped shape the book. The documents together provided unprecedented insight into the trio’s lives.
‘‘They played into roles . . . In amongst the battalion you have academics, plumbers, builders, straight people, gay people. You all have to get along. Often we don’t mix today as they would have during that brief period,’’ Coutts says.
The novel also incorporates stories of other gay Kiwi soldiers – more than 50 are featured. Ten whose experiences Coutts detailed are anonymous having pieced together their stories through court martial records, which are at Archives New Zealand’s Wellington headquarters.
While the records are embargoed to the public, Coutts managed to access some documents from the Judge Advocate General of the Armed Forces for writing his book. He found 14 charges detailed against 10 men for non-consensual homosexual acts.
They outline cases where someone has laid a complaint. While the records don’t reflect the amount of queer sexual activity within the war, they do help paint a broader picture. Coutts says he expected more prosecutions.
Researching those charged men, Coutts found discrepancies: for example, some men had a court martial recording/listing against their name for homosexual activity on other personnel files, but there was no existing equivalent record held at Archives. Coutts says this suggests some court martial papers never returned to Aotearoa.
Gay sex acts were also likely to have been dealt with informally, via summary punishment. Many of the charges involve a pair caught by a third party. This spelled trouble, as even if an act was consensual, homosexual activity was illegal then.
Coutts says this is why, until now, there hasn’t been a wealth of knowledge about queer veterans’ histories: people didn’t tend to write things down, because someone could have been arrested or jailed. Many letters and diaries from lovers would have been burnt or destroyed.
‘‘There are a lot of stories there that are untold.’’ He hopes the book goes some way to close this gap, but it’s not an exhaustive history.
As well as persecution for gay sex acts, through his research, Coutts stumbled upon stories of men falling madly in love with one another, and queer men protecting and supporting their own community from the often hostile and dangerous environment they were living and operating inside.
Despite many men keeping their sexuality quiet, queer people also found allies and there was a great deal of ‘‘levelling’’ happening. For example, Coutts says he found instances of men receiving transfers to avoid being separated from their partners. There appeared to be a general tolerance of some degree of queer activity, which possibly shows recognition by military personnel of the need for a mate in such traumatic times.
‘‘You need someone you can 100 per cent trust. People were very close to their mates, more so than they ever were in civilian life, more so than we are today with our friends. For some men, the homosocial environment would have led to a sexual experience.
‘‘Some men after they came back may have never had any other sexual relationship with a man. For others, it confirmed the nature of their sexual desire and was a turning point in their lives. What you and I would consider an unsympathetic environment, I’d challenge that. [Queer people had] very clear ways of manoeuvring,’’ Coutts says. ‘‘I hope I’ve honoured these men . . . Their lives were complex, but they found ways to make the best of the situation.’’
Coutts will talk at the Alexander Turnbull Library tomorrow (free, RSVP by emailing turnbullfriends@gmail. com), and Auckland Writers’ Festival on May 16. Crossing The Lines (Otago University Press) retails for $49.95.