Reflection on Channel 4's Tip Toe: We Won the Right to Be Ordinary. Then Everything Changed.
I finished
#TipToe last night and sat in silence for a while afterwards.
Not because it was shocking or controversial, but because it revived a ghost I thought we had successfully buried years ago.
Fear.
Not the spectacular, cinematic fear that dominates headlines, but the quieter, more insidious variety.
The kind that comes from being a young gay man walking down the street and calculating whether the group of lads ahead of you will pass by or pivot.
The kind that teaches you to scan a room before your foot even crosses the threshold.
For years, I believed those days were behind us.
Most of my generation did.
We fought, argued and campaigned our way towards something remarkable. By the late 2000s, Britain had largely reached a civilised consensus.
Most people simply did not care if you were gay.
That indifference was not a defeat. It was the ultimate victory.
The greatest achievement of the gay rights movement was not making us special, but making us ordinary.
We won the right to be boring.
To have mortgages, arguments, relationships and ordinary lives without our private existence serving as fodder for public debate.
We stopped being an issue and finally became people.
Which is precisely why Tip Toe lands like a physical blow.
Beneath the drama sits a question that many gay men and lesbians have quietly asked themselves over the last decade:
What happened?
What happened to the confidence we thought we had earned?
Why does the public square feel more hostile, more tribal and more deeply suspicious than it did fifteen years ago?
I do not pretend to have all the answers.
But I do have observations.
One of them is that the movement which successfully secured gay equality is not the same extreme and aggressive movement that occupies the capitalised "LGBT" stage today.
Our campaign that won over millions of people was remarkably simple:
Leave people alone.
Treat them fairly.
Judge them on their character rather than who they love.
It appealed to common humanity. It persuaded. It built bridges.
Then something changed.
A new wave of activism attached itself to the banner.
The focus shifted away from sexual orientation and towards identity, language, self-identification, demand to access private spaces and competing rights claims.
Suddenly, the public was bombarded with arguments about words they were expected to use, institutional policies they did not understand, and ideological concepts they had never previously encountered.
Because these debates appeared beneath the same rainbow branding, many people made little distinction between gay rights and broader identity politics.
Why would they?
They saw the same organisations, the same campaigns, the same corporate sponsorship and the same spokespeople.
Rightly or wrongly, many concluded it was all part of the same movement.
Many gay men and lesbians I know feel disconnected from this.
We did not ask for language to be constantly reinvented.
We did not ask for every workplace and school to become an ideological battleground.
We did not ask for disagreement to be treated as hostility.
Yet because everything became bundled together, criticism of one aspect inevitably spilled over onto everything else.
That concerns me.
Not because I oppose equality.
Quite the opposite.
It concerns me because I remember how difficult it was to build the public goodwill that existed fifteen years ago.
And goodwill is fragile.
What Tip Toe captures so effectively is the consequence of a society losing trust in itself.
The drama is not really about sexuality.
It is about what happens when people stop listening.
It is about misinformation.
It is about resentment.
It is about online echo chambers convincing ordinary people that their neighbours are enemies.
David Morrissey's performance as Clive is deeply unsettling because we have all met people like him.
People who feel ignored.
People who feel left behind.
People who spend too much time online.
People searching for explanations.
What Tip Toe understands better than many political commentators is that hatred rarely appears in a vacuum.
It grows where trust collapses.
It feeds on grievance.
It flourishes in isolation.
The internet has become extraordinarily good at convincing people that their frustrations are somebody else's fault.
Once that process begins, facts become optional and neighbours become enemies.
Against this backdrop, Tip Toe feels less like entertainment and more like a warning.
Not a warning about gay people.
Not a warning about straight people.
A warning about what happens when societies lose the ability to tolerate disagreement.
The line that stayed with me most was Leo admitting that he used to walk into a room with a confident "ta-da".
Now he tiptoes.
Just in case.
For those of us who remember what life was like before acceptance became mainstream, that line carries a question that hangs over the entire series.
What happened to the peace we thought we had secured?
Maybe I am wrong.
Maybe this is simply the nostalgia of someone getting older.
But I do not think so.
I think something has changed.
I think many people can feel it.
And I think Tip Toe succeeds because it dares to ask a question that few people seem willing to ask publicly:
How did a society that appeared to be moving towards genuine tolerance become so obsessed with division?
We won the freedom to simply get on with our lives.
My fear is that too many institutional activists have forgotten why that mattered.
And history has a habit of punishing societies that take hard-won progress for granted.