Magnus Hirschfeld by Luke Smith
Illustration by Jon McCormack
Luke Smith is a freelance writer and editor in London who focuses on LGBTQ+ culture and social politics. He has had words featured on Dazed, i-D and Gucci's Chime for Change and is currently the Features Editor at BRICKS magazine.
Being born into a Pentecostal Christian family as queer was hard, I was taught that identifying outside of the heteronormative binary of their religious beliefs was my one-way ticket to hell. So when I came across the story of Magnus Hirschfeld, a gay man born into a conservative Jewish family, I instantly connected. Born in May 1868, despite the conservative views his family and his country held dear at the time, he always had a curiosity about sex, viewing sexual diversity as a natural part of human life. It was his strong views on sexuality that led him to become a sexologist and socialist, seeking to normalise the experiences of gay and trans people in pre-Nazi Germany through scientific research.
In 1897, Magnus founded the 'Scientific Humanitarian Committee', which researched the science behind the LGBTQ+ experience in a fight for tolerance. The committee released an annual publication titled 'Yearbook for Intermediate Sexual Types', which featured articles on the science and politics behind sexual and gender minorities. If this wasn't enough, in 1919, Magnus opened 'The Institute of Sexual Research' a non-profit sexology department in Berlin which was a research library with a vast archive. The institute was also a place for marriage and relationship counselling, treating sexually-transmitted diseases, gay law reform and sex reassignment surgeries, seeing over 20,000 visitors a year. Magnus would often throw 'gay parties' as a prescription for his patients who were uncomfortable with their sexuality.
One of Magnus' aims was to abolish Paragraph 175, which made gay activity punishable by up to six months in prison. His activism eventually paid off. In 1898 the German parliament debated the repeal of the act. Although it was defeated, Magnus’ activism brought homosexuality to the attention of the German government. Most in his situation would have walked away. Magnus, however, visited the police commissioner and took him on a gay tour of Berlin, showing him the lived experiences of many LGBTQ+ people at the time in a bid to stop them enforcing anti-gay laws.
Magnus' activism came at a price. In 1920 he was attacked and seriously injured, and with the rise of the Nazi’s, he was assaulted more frequently. After an international speaking tour in 1932, Magnus was advised not to come back to Germany. The Nazi's had branded him one of Germany's biggest Jewish criminals. Then just one year later on May 6th 1933, Magnus' archives were burned and destroyed in a public square by the Nazis, who described Magnus' work as "perverse."
While reading his story, I couldn't help but relate because, at its core, Magnus' story is one of resilience. I had spent many of my younger years believing that the religious teachings of my family were fact, to the point where I had resigned myself to this reality. From school to my own home, I was subjected to homophobia from all angles; the negative opinions of the people around me morphed into one voice, my voice. It wasn't until I moved to London four years ago that things changed- seeing the struggles of other queer people not only validated my own experience but fuelled a fire for me to be vocal on their behalf.
I started to accept myself and fight for those who couldn't. Going against the beliefs my family held dear was hard, but it didn’t stop me then and it doesn’t stop me now. I still find myself having heated discussions with them about my identity, but now these conversations make me feel stronger, not weaker. It’s this internal resilience that makes me feel connected to Magnus. When Magnus’ family told him to study cholera instead of homosexuality, he replied "What are you saying: that cholera brings you more joy than sexuality?" Though comical, the sentiment behind this quote took me back to conversations I had with my family, telling me how to live my life based on their conservative beliefs.
Magnus' story is not just one I relate to, but queer people as a whole. Although we have come a long way since his time in fighting for queer rights, there’s still a way to go. In the news, we hear about trans people (especially trans women of colour) being murdered, the anti-gay purges in Chechnya, or Poland’s anti-LGBT zone. Although often as queer people we don't want to have to be brave, we have learned we must be if we are going to make real change, just as Magnus was.
Someone once told Magnus that he was the "Einstein of sex". Magnus jokingly replied that he’d prefer people referred to Einstein as the "Hirschfeld of physics.” Magnus always remained joyful in the face of adversity, never succumbing to the naysayers. I often find myself thinking 'what would Magnus do'. He never gave in. He persevered. Now when I have conversations with my family about my identity, I’m no longer deflated at the thought of losing an uphill battle. Instead, I feel proud, not only of myself, but of the people who have paved the way for me to be able to have these conversations openly.
It saddens me to think his story was almost forgotten from LGBTQ+ history. Although the Nazi’s burned the majority of his research, the tireless effort of many has kept his memory alive, being documented in the biography, Magnus Hirschfeld (Charlotte Wolff, 1986), and in the film The Einstein of Sex (Rosa von Praunheim, 1999). His legacy must live on in order to inspire many other queer people like myself to be courageous. Although his story may sometimes be forgotten, his tenacious spirit still lives on in us. So thank you, Magnus, for your bravery that has allowed both myself and many others to be brave too.
Jon McCormack is an Irish illustrator and storyboard artist based in Barcelona, Spain. His work focuses on surreal imagery, queer identity and absurd humour.
