Jason Okundaye Is Revolutionising Black British Queer History

PHOTOGRAPHY Mariana Dos Santos Pires
STYLING Yasmin Williams
GROOMING Rion Blake
PRODUCTION Madeline Reid
PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTANT Emily Almodovar

Unfortunately for us Black folks who reside in the UK, British history rarely reflects our contributions. Despite this, the influence of our existence cannot be denied. Beyond the more anecdotal examples – like that white person you know who says ‘rah’ too much – you can look to the popularity of Notting Hill Carnival in London, a Caribbean festival born in 1965 that now draws in over a million attendees from across the world, according to the Greater London Authority in 2022. 

In lieu of an extensive recorded history of our community, we often retrace our steps through oral accounts, or the hidden archives of knowledge that lay wedged in boxes or tucked away within the crevices of our parents, aunts and uncles’ homes. This is something author and journalist Jason Okundaye discusses in his debut book Revolutionary Acts: Love & Brotherhood in Black Gay Britain, stating that “much Black British history is unknowingly contained within people’s most private spheres: photo albums, VHS tapes, seemingly mundane pamphlets gathering dust in an elder person’s attic.”

Revolutionary Acts is a pioneering retelling of Black British history through the accounts of six Black, gay men. Jason takes us on a journey through the lives of Marc Thompson, Ted Brown, Dirg Aaab-Richards, Alex Owolade, Calvin “Biggy” Dawkins, Dennis Carney and Ajamu X. Illustrated by the backdrop of Brixton, South London, we come to understand each of these men’s personal struggles with marginalisation, loss and living through the AIDS epidemic, as well as their many joys, fights, nights out and sexual escapades.   

Broken into two parts – ‘Veteran Brixton Activists’ and the delightfully titled ‘Brixton Whores’ – Revolutionary Acts relays the stories and memories of these six men through the 70s, 80s and 90s. The stories of Marc, Ted, Dirg, Alex, Calvin, Dennis and Amaju come together to present a complex and exciting peek into Black British queer history, particularly as it pertains to South London. Brixton is not shy of resistance and radical spirit, as exemplified most famously by the Brixton Riots in 1981, or by Railton Road once housing a community of activists and writers like CLR James. 

Through careful research and compassionate conversation, Jason offers an even richer reflection of Brixton’s history by adding the largely missing but ever-present perspective of Black, gay men who lived full and exciting lives within the Lambeth borough and beyond.

Having already established himself as a writer, publishing work in The Guardian, the London Review of Books, British Vogue, GQ, Vice and more, Revolutionary Acts features as the first book in Jason’s impressive repertoire. When we met at Faber Publishing’s head office, Jason shared in detail about the process of writing a social history book, his bounty of literary inspirations and how his perspectives have changed since ‘finishing’ the book. I loosely mention the word finish as, “writing the book doesn’t really have a clear beginning, and I don’t think that will ever have an end,” Jason expresses early on in our conversation. 

“When I first really encountered this idea of a Black, gay British history, I was a university student and I was studying sociology,” he says. During his time at the University of Cambridge, while looking at the rates of HIV amongst Black men in Britain, Jason came across Marc Thompson – an HIV positive and openly gay Black man still working in the HIV sector to this day. “I met him, we chatted about my dissertation and he really informed my research, but then we built a friendship with each other. I was really fascinated by the stories he would tell me about clubbing and his youth, about the building of Black, gay institutions in this country – some of which don’t even exist anymore.”

From this blossoming friendship with Marc, and the many conversations they shared, Jason began to envision the basis of Revolutionary Acts. It’s through Marc that Jason was able to meet a wider community of queer, Black elders in Brixton, including the likes of Ted, Dirg, Alex, Biggy, Dennis and Amaju – “men that I have come to love so much,” he writes in the book’s prologue. 

Building a personal relationship with the interviewees is something that Jason highlights as central to writing the book. Approaching these men to share their intimate stories of “organising rooms, protests, tears, eulogies and kinky sex,” as outlined in the prologue, while navigating very real relationships with them – some even implied as sexual –  was no easy task. “I was very concerned with the ethics of writing this book and making sure that I actually developed a genuine relationship and friendship with all of these men. This is something they had limited control over, you say what you say and I’ll write of that what I write, and I might interpret things in a different way. That requires a lot of trust.”

Trust is the best foundation for any relationship and it wasn’t something that came overnight in this instance. For some of these men, even feeling encouraged to tell their story in the first place was half of the battle. “I found that when approaching them there was a difference in response,” Jason explains. “There were some guys like Marc and Dennis who were absolutely enthusiastic, but also, they’ve appeared in documentaries, they’ve spoken to the press before, so they were very forthcoming. Then you had someone like Dirg Aaab-Richards, who was less keen to talk, not because of any shame or sense of inferiority about his sexuality, but the kind of sense of, why are you interested in my life? What’s so important about what I’ve done?” 

Dirg’s initial apprehension towards being interviewed speaks back to the issue of Black history often being left off record and lost with those who experienced it first-hand. Through systemic devaluation of Black voices and perspectives, many significant pieces of history are gone without a trace. But, beyond this – and perhaps more aligned to Dirg’s position – many Black elders have incredible stories to tell with no one to hear them, simply because no one has asked. Jason tells me, “For some of these men, it was the first time someone is telling them ‘Your life is very fascinating to me’.” 

A component integral to Jason’s desire for a relationship with these men, which in turn inspired the book, was the passing of his father in 2016. “It’s a big regret that I can’t sit down and really give a definitive or long detailed history of my dad’s life. I don’t know what he might have witnessed or what he might have done. He might have had a very run-of-the-mill pedestrian life, but that still would have been valuable for me to know. For me, these older Black gay men are like my fathers and uncles, and being able to write their stories down is pleasurable in and of itself.” 

Intergenerational dialogue and community are crucial to the creation of a balanced and diverse perspective, not just in the specific context of Revolutionary Acts, but also in our personal lives as marginalised people. The lessons we learn from our elders’ experiences and the privilege we come to understand in witnessing someone grow old, made more profound when thinking of loved ones passed, are constitutive to the never-ending process of discovering joy and peace in this often horrible and hostile world. 

Throughout Revolutionary Acts, Jason’s deep care and affection for these men shines through,  making the stories of HIV diagnosis and heartbreak all the more palpable and moving. The warm familiarity with which he describes these men, their smiles and tears, their eclectic homes and differing styles, speaks to the many years Jason has spent in communion with them before and after the writing of this book. “The book itself is almost secondary to the relationships. It’s something that we’ve done together, but it’s not the full picture of my relationship with any of these men.” 

As all writers will understand, the action of constructing a clear story from start to finish requires discernment. “Writing is ultimately a confining, curated process,” Jason states. “Even with a nonfiction book, when you have all of these grand and big ideas in your head, trying to distil it into something which is accessible and comprehensible, but also entertaining as well, can be a difficult thing.” 

Throughout Revolutionary Acts, Jason masterfully weaves together the stories of his subjects with endless clarity and charisma. Not only does he face the battle against word count limitations and publishing constraints, there’s also the trouble of reconciling disagreeing oral accounts. Many of these men have worked together in professional and casual settings, are friends and have even fallen out. 

Because of this, and the natural erosion of memories over time, painting an accurate portrait of historical events can prove challenging. Revolutionary Acts, although historical in nature, does not claim authoritative accuracy. What Jason does is provide space for inaccuracies and personal perspectives to be considered valid accounts when retelling a history. “With that kind of elision between fact and memory, for me what was important was interpretation. Sometimes in the book, you get a telling of events from two different sides because there isn’t one singular truth.” 

Part of me, at first, kind of felt an anxiety in even calling this a history book… and then I thought, well, it can be history, because everything is interpretive. How many times do we ‘know’ something is historical fact and then it gets debunked?” he explains. “For that reason, I think that a history of people, or social history, always has to be interactive, because anything that’s been written or said in the book can be challenged.”

One of the reasons Jason is able to bring together different stories to create a complex but clear picture of the past is through the intentionality in casting. Inspired by the limited cast in Sam Selvon’s novel The Lonely Londoners, Jason took the approach of interviewing a small, closely-knit group that could provide thoroughly qualitative material. “When I first conceptualised this book, I imagined talking to like 50 people, and I would get a big sweeping survey. And then I read that book, and I was like, actually, there is so much value in getting a few people who know each other, who are linked, who have different things to say and have different angles, who can tell us so much.”

The influence and impact of literature in Revolutionary Acts is clear and present throughout. The work of poet Essex Hemphill is referenced many times, particularly in the second half of the book as we’re introduced to Dennis Carney. Having been in a romantic relationship with the artist before he died of AIDS-related complications in 1995, “a piece of Essex’s history lived in Dennis,” Jason writes in the book. Revolutionary Acts as a recount of history gives us the opportunity to understand the work of poets like Hemphill’s in a totally new and brilliant light. 

In addition to Hemphill, Joseph Beam’s 1986 text In the Life: A Black Gay Anthology is referenced by many of the men in Revolutionary Acts as being essential reading for them in coming to understand their identity. Literature, whether fiction or nonfiction, serves as a form of connection. Through literature, one can communicate ideas, feelings and experiences perhaps too painful to say out loud, or – as is the case for many queer people  – far too dangerous. By sharing it with others, you invite people to feel seen and to experience kinship unbeholden to physical limitations. As James Baldwin so famously states in his 1963 essay The Doom and Glory of Knowing Who You Are, “you think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.” 

Other mediums of art have also heavily influenced the construction of Revolutionary Acts. “One of the reference points for the images on the cover was the paintings of Lynette Yiadom-Boaky”, Jason says as we discuss the book’s cover. “I like the tactile nature of them and the movement, and the fact that they showed Black people lounging, being on top of each other or just standing. I liked that dynamism and how alive that is.” 

The front and back cover feature illustrations of Black men, one lounging and talking on the phone while just beside him, two sets of legs adorned in short-shorts and slacks intertwine in a dancing fashion. On the back cover, one reads and rests his head on another’s lap as he affectionately strokes his hair. Certain elements situate the book within the 70s-90s; one of the men rocks a chevron moustache and soul patch, another a high-top haircut, and of course the pair of bright, green short-shorts. 

What feels most complimentary to the book’s thematic threads is the presence of the red, rotary phone on the front cover, an intentional choice for Jason. “I wanted that red telephone to be a symbol of the oral history of this book, and what really drives it is the chatting and conversing. I wanted to signal that this history was going to be very interactive, very alive, very gisty and present. Something which is being actively created, not just something which is just being extracted.” 

The physical act of reading shown on the back cover continues to ground us in the idea of literature being a tool, key to our personal and social journeys towards liberation. “I was quite keen on having one of the men on the back reading a book, because it shows how a lot of literature was informing these men’s ideas. That’s meant to be quite a cyclical theme; they were reading those books, and hopefully, younger Black gay men will read this book, and that will be their kind of awakening.”

His own impact on a younger generation of Black, gay men is something Jason began seriously considering during the writing of Revolutionary Acts. “The openness that [the interviewees] have had with me, and their willingness to build a relationship, makes me think that I need to also be doing that with younger Black gay people who might reach out to me.” 

The intimacy shared between Jason and the men he’s interviewed, and how this has changed his view on life, brings us back to the importance of intergenerational relationships. Through vulnerable conversations about life and love, spurred on by trust and a mutual respect, these older men imparted a wisdom on Jason that has shifted sensibilities within him. Now, those that succeed Jason will reap the benefits of that initial dialogue and the cycle of care continues. “Is there someone who, in 20 years time, is going to be extremely important to me, who right now is in, like, primary school?” he jokes.

Jason’s past romantic encounters now also carry a different weight thanks to the transparency of the men in Revolutionary Acts. “I used to be a person who, if I had a relationship with someone in the past, I would really try to erase that person from my memory,” Jason admits. “But all of these men spoke about past lovers, and these weren’t necessarily all positive relationships, but they recognise that this person was still a part of their history. I thought that was quite beautiful as it showed that, even if you try to scrape a person from your memory, they will always be imprinted on you, and you need to embrace how they’ve shaped and changed you as a person.”

As a young, Black reader, the emotional impact of the book cannot be overstated. Having lived in South London, many of the places mentioned in Revolutionary Acts are familiar to me. Within the book, Jason references Capital Gay, a weekly newspaper for LGBTQ folks, that reported on a media boycott recalled by Ted and Dirg in the 90s. Incidentally, the home of Capital Gay was 49 Effra Road, Brixton – the same block of offices that BRICKS operates from today. This kind of revelation brought the stories in the book to life in an even more powerful way. I now hold the understanding that, as a queer-led team, even the smallest of the work we do within the confines of our studio is important to a larger queer history rooted in Brixton.  

“There were times that I found writing emotionally difficult,” Jason reveals. Being so close to the nucleus of the book, as a Black, gay, South Londoner, it’s no wonder that he found some parts of the process to be emotionally taxing. “Marc’s story was one example for me. Before I really sat down with Marc to talk, I’d known him as this strong, sassy person; this incredible man who I really looked up to. Being able to witness him become vulnerable and talk about the difficulties he’s faced throughout his life was incredibly humbling, and I don’t mean that in a patronising way, but I really respect anyone who is able to go over some of their most difficult memories, and to retell them with such clarity and agency.”

His earnest investment in telling these men’s stories with intelligence, wit and compassion is so beautifully evident throughout Revolutionary Acts. Being made aware of the lives and legacies of Ted, Dirg, Alex, Calvin, Dennis, Ajamu and Marc drives home the poignance in giving our elders their flowers while they’re alive to appreciate them. So much of Black, British culture is shaped by our queer siblings who so often have their accomplishments overlooked, or have their stories characterised by tragedy. Revolutionary Acts is a dynamic and crucial narration of queer history that makes space for both joy and hardship, where playful and salacious stories exist complimentary to the ones heavy with loss and sorrow. 

As Jason so aptly summarises within his first chapter, Revolutionary Acts “serves as a reminder that some of the best historians of our time aren’t necessarily found in universities or the footnotes of academic texts, but are regular people who can tell us about life as it was with authenticity and without pretension.”

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