I was on my way to work when I became a victim of a hate crime

In October 2021 I became one of 25,639 victims of a hate crime based on sexual orientation.

The day had started much like any other: I had driven to a narrow street just on the outskirts of Bath city centre with the intention of parking my car before walking the rest of the way into work.

I’d done this most days for almost three years and never had any problems. But that morning, as I turned onto the street, I met a car facing mine.

What became immediately clear was that the driver was frustrated by my presence – he just sat there staring at me, as though willing me to disappear.

If I could have turned around easily I would have. Maybe then I’d have avoided the whole hateful ordeal. But the street was tight and there was no room to easily reverse or turn away. I literally had nowhere to go. 

Seeing the other driver growing more irate though, I decided to carefully manoeuvre my car, inching it toward the side to create just enough space for him to pass. And it was as his car passed mine that he suddenly unleashed a barrage of verbal abuse.

‘Fat f***ing d**e who can’t drive,’ he shouted, his face twisted with anger and hatred.

Then, as if to punctuate his attack, he spat on my car before driving away.

For a moment, I sat completely frozen.

I was shocked not just by his outburst, but by how he had zeroed in on my identity, using it as the target of his rage. I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t before, as though my very existence as a queer person had been assaulted.

Suddenly, that street, and the whole world around me, felt darker – more dangerous. 

I was still trying to process what had just happened when I arrived at work. I went through the motions – sitting down at my desk, logging on to my laptop, pouring myself a coffee – yet my mind was elsewhere.

I felt unsafe, vulnerable. And I realised, this wasn’t just road rage – it had been a targeted, homophobic attack.

Shaking, I called my wife to explain what had happened. At first, I didn’t want to report it to the police as I didn’t want to make a ‘fuss’.

That’s when I realised I had become the victim of a hate crime.

Typically, there are three main types: physical assault, verbal abuse and incitement to hatred and are almost always based on a person’s race, religion, sexual orientation, disability or whether they are transgender.

I’m not naïve, as a queer non-binary person I have long been aware that the world can be an unwelcoming place for people like me. But for some reason, I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of such abuse.

Now that I had been, the fear of being physically attacked, or verbally abused, for being myself – became amplified.

It also reinforced the reality that, despite progress, there are still so many who harbour hatred for those who don’t conform to their idea of ‘normal’.

For the rest of that day, I wrestled with the question of whether I should report the incident to the police or not. Part of me wanted to just move on, to let it go. But another part knew that this wasn’t something I could brush off.

During my lunch break, after giving myself a chance to digest that this was more than just an isolated outburst, I made the decision to report it. 

A few days after, I went to a social event and had a panic attack.

Despite being surrounded by friends, I felt unsafe.

To this day I have not driven down that street again. The memory is still too vivid. And unfortunately, since then, things have only got worse.

In that same period hate crimes based on sexual orientation have risen by 112%.

But it’s important to remember that these aren’t just numbers – they represent real people, real lives affected by hatred and prejudice.

That’s why I’m sharing my story this Hate Crime Awareness Week, to remind all of us that hate crimes are not isolated incidents – they are part of a much larger pattern of discrimination and violence against marginalised communities.

I may never feel as safe as I did before that day in October, but it has reignited a fire in me and reminded me why visibility, education, and advocacy are so important. 

I started my own company, Questioning Normal, in March 2023 for that exact purpose: to focus on sharing my lived experiences and to help educate others on how to create more inclusive environments.

This journey has become about more than just healing from a traumatic experience – it’s about using that pain to fuel change. Because, ultimately, hatred still exists, and its consequences are real.

It’s easy to think that this kind of thing won’t happen to you, but the truth is, it can happen to any of us. You never know when you might become a target.

But standing up, speaking out – these are the ways we can fight back.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

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