Chris Dennis was sixteen when he eagerly joined the Royal Air Force in 1961, a bright-eyed radar technician ready to serve. He embraced the camaraderie and the challenge, finding a sense of purpose within the ranks.
Five years later, that world shattered. Chris was arrested, interrogated, and ultimately dishonorably discharged – his crime, simply being gay. The label “gross indecency” followed him, a mark of shame in a time when his very nature was criminalized.
A recent £75 million reparations scheme offered a measure of redress to those similarly wronged, providing £50,000 to veterans discharged for their sexuality between 1967 and 2000. But Chris missed the cutoff by mere months, a bureaucratic detail that reopened old wounds.
The injustice extends beyond the financial loss. Chris feels barred from fully participating in Remembrance Day parades, a painful exclusion that echoes the initial rejection he faced decades ago. It’s a constant reminder that he doesn’t quite belong.
He recalls the chilling interrogation by the Special Investigations Branch, the pressure to betray others like himself. They hinted at a lesser discharge if he’d reveal the names of fellow gay servicemen, a request he resolutely refused. Protecting his community meant sacrificing his career.
The repercussions followed him into civilian life. A promising engineering job was lost when security clearance was denied, his past casting a long shadow over his future prospects. The stigma attached to his discharge followed him relentlessly.
While the scheme offered non-financial reparations – a rainbow pin, berets, and the restoration of medals – these were also denied to Chris due to the arbitrary date restriction. The symbolic gestures of acceptance felt cruelly out of reach.
“I missed out by a matter of months,” he says, the disappointment still palpable. “You see the military people wearing their berets and medals, but I am not allowed to do that.” It’s a denial of recognition, a continued silencing of his service.
Chris acknowledges the progress made for other LGBTQ+ veterans, but the feeling of being an outcast persists. He isn’t consumed by anger, but by a quiet disappointment that this injustice continues to linger.
Despite everything, he maintains a fondness for his time in the RAF. “It was a brilliant life,” he reflects. “If I could wind the clock back, knowing what I know now, I would still join up.” The allure of service, the sense of belonging, remains strong.
More than the money, Chris yearns for the emotional validation of being fully accepted. The ability to wear a beret, to display his medals, would signify a long-overdue acknowledgment of his service and sacrifice.
He found love and built a life with his partner of over thirty years, celebrating their civil partnership in Vietnam in 2012. Yet, the shadow of his past continues to affect him.
LGBTQ+ veteran charity Fighting With Pride has condemned the decision, calling it “grossly unfair” and “mean and unkind.” The denial of even symbolic reparations feels like a profound lack of justice.
The Ministry of Defence maintains it does not comment on individual cases, but asserts that LGBTQ+ veterans have the right to wear their medals and berets. For Chris, however, that right remains unfulfilled, a painful reminder of a past he can’t escape.
