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THE UNPALATABLE TRUTH
When some are more equal than others, we still need Mardi Gras, writes Phil Scott.
Every year at this time, opinions about Mardi Gras burst into bloom like seasonal cacti. How often do we hear the following? Mardi Gras is out of date. G&L people have moved on. There is no need for Mardi Gras. Times and attitudes have changed since 1978. Young people don’t define themselves by their sexuality; it’s only one aspect of who they are.
I remember an SX reader asking last year: “Because I fuck men, why should I prance down the street telling the world? Why is that something to be proud of? I’m not ashamed but I’m not proud either. It’s no great achievement, it’s just what I do.” I guess he was saying: who cares?
I get accused of living in a ghetto. (I suppose I do – but it’s a showbiz ghetto, not a gay one. Well, not entirely.) But I reckon people who hold the above opinions are living in a fool’s paradise.
Times have changed since ’78, but for the worse. The ’70s was an era of questioning traditional assumptions, rediscovering self-esteem and establishing an alternative lifestyle. It was a time of political activism, in contrast to today’s smug apathy.
If you think the Australian population has now accepted the gay/lesbian alternative, think again. Did friends flock to your gay wedding at St James’ Cathedral? Did your late partner’s family happily accept his last will and testament? We are treated as second-class, and it’s not by accident: it’s because most people still think we deserve to be.
Last month, a friend of mine outed himself to his parents. Their gut reaction was revealing, to say the least. Mum told him she’d rather have a dead son than a gay one. (She grieved as though he had died.) Dad demanded DNA tests, because “I don’t believe you could be my son.” These are extreme versions of a common reaction. Parents’ first thoughts seem to be not “Will he be happy?” but “How does this reflect on me?” Would they worry about what the neighbours think, if times had changed?
A M/F transsexual was bashed and heaved over a balcony by her boyfriend, after the police had taunted him, saying “You’re rooting a bloke”. The boy didn’t know his partner had once undergone sex-change surgery, and she never mentioned it. (Wonder why?) That thug was 26 years old, and I venture to suggest that he defines himself by his sexuality.
If this is the hostile world we continue to live in, I guess there’s a reason for parading along Oxford Street on Mardi Gras night. It’s our way of saying, “I might be queer but I’m just as good as anybody else.” You can totally believe that when you’re with a fabulous group of your peers, all looking their best and having a ball, and you should believe it. It’s true, even if archbishops and politicians and your hysterical parents find it an unpalatable truth.
Ram it down their throats till they like it. You know the drill.
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