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My story
The story behind my work
How losing Naz changed my life, and why I now use storytelling to help others feel less alone.
“As a young boy I dreamt of changing the world, but I was made to believe it was impossible. After losing my soulmate, the love of my life, I have no option but to change it.”
Matt Mahmood-Ogston
Growing up
I grew up in a deeply homophobic part of South Birmingham. After school I studied photography and filmmaking, but for years I struggled to accept who I was.
At 23, I finally came out to myself. I felt strong enough to step away from the prejudice I had grown up around, and to start becoming the person I was born to be.
Meeting Naz
Soon after, I met Naz in a nightclub in Birmingham. He was 21. We fell deeply in love, very quickly.
But we lived in fear. Naz’s parents were deeply religious, and neither of us was out to our families. In the end we moved to London so we could simply be ourselves, tired of keeping our relationship a secret and afraid of what would happen if we were found out.
A few months after we met, we ran away to Gretna Green, naively hoping we could marry across the Scottish border. Ten years after the night we met, I got down on one knee and asked Naz to marry me. He said yes.
Naz became a GP, much loved by his patients and colleagues.
Losing Naz
In 2014, after 13 years together and engaged to be married, Naz died by suicide. It was two days after his family confronted him about his sexuality.
It was the first time they had faced the truth: their son was gay, in a long-term relationship with another man, and planning to marry him. One of their responses was to tell him he needed to be “cured”, to avoid bringing “shame” on the family.
In the hours after Naz died, I was told that he had been living in “sin”, and that I was too. I was asked not to tell anyone that Naz “liked men”. I was given the wrong time for his burial, so I was not there. I never got to say goodbye to the man I loved.
For a while, out of misguided respect, I did what I was asked. Then I reached a point where I could not stay silent and let this happen to anyone else.
The first time I shared our story in public, it was live on Sky News at breakfast. Then on BBC News, and in The Guardian.
“Dear Matt, give the world love and positivity and it will come back to you 100 times over. Luv Naz x”
Dr Nazim Mahmood
A legacy built on love
In Naz’s memory, I founded the Naz and Matt Foundation. It is now an award-winning charity with one simple, long-term mission:
“Never let religion, any religion or culture, come in the way of the unconditional love between parents and their LGBTQI+ children.”
The Foundation supports LGBTQI+ people, and their parents, from religious and culturally conservative backgrounds. It offers free, trauma-informed one-to-one and group support, and books, films and learning materials that help parents understand and accept their children. It also works in schools, colleges, universities and communities to challenge religious and cultural homophobia.
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Where our story has travelled
Sharing our story everywhere I could, from national news to town halls, showed me what a story told well can do. People wrote to say they no longer felt alone.
Be the Man
In 2017 our story became “Be the Man”, a song written by Sean Cooney and performed by The Young’uns. It tells the story of the night I met Naz, falling in love, and what happened thirteen years later. It was nominated for Best Original Track at the 2018 BBC Folk Awards, has been performed at Glastonbury, and is now sung by choirs in the UK and around the world.
My God, I’m Queer
Our story was featured in several documentaries, including my own film for Channel 4, My God, I’m Queer, which won Best TV Programme at the 2021 Asian Media Awards.
Coronation Street
What happened to Naz became the inspiration for a major Coronation Street storyline.
The Real Cost of Homophobia
In one of the most open, soul-searching interviews I have given, I talked to the F*ck It Moments podcast about love, heartbreak, and how each of us has a journey to travel to understand who we really are.
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What it taught me
Losing Naz taught me that silence protects nobody. A story, told with care and with consent, can change what people believe, and what they do next.
That is the heart of my work today. I help charities, funders, and CSR and social impact teams tell real people’s stories with dignity, so others can see the change they make and act on it.