As a student, I was turned away from blood donation for being gay. Today I have reservations about the law change

I remember the first and only time I tried to give blood: it was my first year living in London and my friends and I had just seen a particularly inspiring presentation all about how important it was to donate if you were able to. A suitably spry twentysomething, keen to make a difference, I felt that this simple thing was surely my duty, and so, together with my group of similarly galvanised friends, I went to the little blood donation portacabin that had been set up in a square to find out more.

It was there, in that rickety and soulless box of a building, that I discovered that gay and bisexual men (or to be specific, men who have had sex with another man within the past year) are not allowed to donate blood in the UK.

Looking back, the worst thing about the whole impersonal and sterile experience was that when the attendant decided to tell me that this was because there was a “higher risk of my blood having been contaminated by HIV”, I just nodded along understandingly. Of course, I mused glumly. It made sense. I was gay, so would probably get HIV at some point.

My education around HIV until then had been so appalling that I didn’t even question the notion. My friends, to their credit, were outraged on my behalf – much more so than I was. None of them had realised that it was a policy either.

As I have got older and learnt more about the history of the 12-month policy, I have become a lot more indignant about the ban. Every time “Give Blood NHS” run their Missing Type campaign, or every time someone stops me in the street to ask whether I’ve considered donating blood, I feel like shouting “I can’t! I’m gay!”

I will sometimes mention it, although if I do it is inevitably wrapped in a ludicrous apology (”Sorry, I would love to but I’m afraid I’m gay”). More often than not, however, I will just ignore them completely and pretend I haven’t heard.

Blood donation is something that affects everyone. You will remember the Orlando shootings in America, where a similar ban is in place from the US Food and Drug Administration. Following the attack, hospitals were suffering from profound blood shortages as a result of the sudden influx of patients, but were not able to accept blood from the hundreds of volunteers – many of them friends and family of the victims.

I’m sure a lot of us have family who have benefited from blood donations – maybe even we have ourselves. It feels paralysing not to be able to put anything back into that system, to support people in the way that they’ve been able to support you.

When I have talked to gay or bisexual men about this in the past, some have suggested that I simply lie about my sexual activity on the form in order to donate blood – but I personally wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that, and I don’t think I should have to.

The change that comes today is an exciting one, announced back in July but only officially becoming policy this morning. The 12-month deferral period is being reduced to three months. That means that a gay man can give blood three months after his last sexual contact with another man, rather than a year afterwards.

This didn’t happen by accident; rather it is the result of the tireless efforts of a group of campaigners over several years now, spearheaded by the Freedom To Donate campaign, and a review into blood donation criteria that was announced back in 2015.

Some campaigners have been quick to point out that a blanket ban at three months still constitutes discrimination, and I don’t disagree. I think the long-term goal has to be for true individual risk-based assessment of potential blood donors, rather than these clumsy and stigmatising categories. However, the reduction to three months should be heralded for what it is: a victorious leap in the right direction.

The 12-month ban perpetuated stereotypes around gay and bisexual men and misunderstandings about HIV which do untold damage – and not only to gay and bisexual men. People of any gender and any sexuality are just as much at risk of HIV if they are exposed to it. The work of tireless and inspiring campaigners like Juno Roche in this area reminds us how this over-focus on gay and bisexual men too often comes at the cost of other groups who are also at risk.

In an age where anti-science is more prevalent than ever, and experts are often drowned out by rhetoric and decried as charlatans, the way in which the Government has in this case engaged with scientists and experts in the field is refreshing and welcome. It marks the beginning of what I’m sure will be an ongoing discussion on the longer road towards true equality and an individual risk-based policy.

Ultimately, three months will still exclude a vast swathe of low-risk men from donating blood, and that is why it is important to remind ourselves that this is not the end, it is just one step – but it is, undeniably, an important one.