I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by out and proud friends.

They speak little of the regular discrimination they face and the fears that still exist; for them it’s just part of life. Having lived through the Aids crisis, institutional homophobia and cultural ridicule as the norm, these salad days in which their sexual or gender identities have graduated from being tolerated (how kind) to accepted - even as far as marriage - seem like better times.

Just a casual chat with pals about holiday destinations serves as a reminder that there’s a long way to go. A quick squint at the map that the UK government website points to in its advice for LGBT tourists travelling abroad is informative.

Have a look. Only about a third of the world seems to be in “recognition”. Huge areas still opt for “criminalisation”. Shocking, isn’t it?

‘It’s easy to assume all is equal. It isn’t’

My 40- and 50-something-year-old mates came of age benefiting from freedoms that equal rights pioneers gained for the LGBT community in the 60s and 70s.

In the years since, and because of the brilliant work of organisations such as Stonewall who campaign, research and work relentlessly to tackle homophobic bullying, it has been easy - especially from a perspective of straight privilege - to assume that all is equal. It isn’t.

While having a bit of a tidy round on my last morning of summer holiday, with the Victoria Derbyshire programme on the telly in the background, a segment stopped me in my tracks. Raw, unimaginable grief is rare to witness and deeply affecting.

Jamel Myles, a nine-year-old from Denver, Colorado, went back to school last Monday, having told his mum over the summer holidays that “he was proud of who he was and didn’t mind telling people”.

By Friday he was dead, having taken his own life.

‘Kids at school were bullying him’

On the programme, Jamel’s mum, Leia Rochelle Pierce, spoke with heartbreaking clarity about her son’s life, and his death, via video link from her Denver home.

Speaking in an exhausted drawl, tightly clutching a squashy toy bee that her boy had loved, she was resigned to her pain, her eyes flickering with animation when describing her son: “He was magic. This little boy could walk into any room and make any person feel so loved and so special.”

Leia Rochelle Pierce feels responsible for his death because, as she said: “I didn’t see the pain in my baby’s eyes.” She didn’t know that he had told his older sister that kids at school were bullying him and telling him he should kill himself.

Her articulate description of what is no doubt the worst time of her life was devastating. She could brim with hatred for this cruel world that forced her baby to believe that death was the only answer. She doesn’t.

‘Teach your kids love’

To gay children and teenagers, she said this: “We’re all different. And it’s our differences that make us equal because it’s the one thing we all have in common.”

To parents, she said this: “Teach your kids love. Teach your kids more compassion. Teach them more respect. Teach them to be more accepting of each other.”

On the day before her little boy’s funeral, she said that she never wanted a child to feel alone or a parent to feel broken. “My son said he wanted to make a change in this world,” she said, adding: “He wanted to show people love. He can’t speak right now but I can speak for him.”

Leia Rochelle Pierce is not the only mother whose baby has been forced to believe that death is the only answer.

Research by Stonewall in 2017 found that almost a quarter of lesbian, gay and bi young people had tried to take their own life at some point. And more than one in five LGBT FE college students experienced homophobic, biphobic or transphobic bullying in the past year.

‘We don’t pick up the slightest clue’

We have work to do.

A victim of homophobic bullying might work hard to internalise their suffering and brush it off. They might have become such experts at being “fine, thank you” that we don’t pick up the slightest clue that something is badly wrong, that they are not coping.

How on earth can we help if we don’t know there’s a problem?

By putting time, resource and, most importantly, effort into making college a conspicuously welcoming place for LGBT students and staff.

Some colleges are leading the way

The culture of the organisation should not just accept LGBT people but actively, loudly, relentlessly celebrate difference. So much so that homophobic bullying would seem as conceptually ridiculous as someone being persecuted for having green eyes.

Many colleges are already working hard towards this goal. Newham College is regularly cited as a leader in championing the LGBT community and The Manchester College even had a staff and student float in this year’s Pride parade.

But in this world where a loving relationship between two consenting adults can still, in 2018, result in life imprisonment or execution; in this world where a little boy can start the school year feeling proud of who he is and four days later believe that his only option is suicide; in this world, we all have work to do.

Sarah Simons works in colleges and adult community education in the East Midlands, and is the director of UKFEchat. She tweets @MrsSarahSimons