JUNE
I grew up in England but never really felt like I belonged. I used to look at aeroplanes and their contrails and think ‘I’m going to be on one of those – on a one way trip’. I immigrated to Australia when I was 18, thinking ‘How far away can I get?’ I lived in Melbourne for a few years and then began travelling, both alone and with my then-partner, later the father of my children. Coming back to Australia, we had twins in Sydney, then travelled again as a family for another year.
After years on the road, I wanted to put my roots down and feel like I was contributing. We settled in Busselton and had another child. We separated after a few years, and I was single-parenting three kids under four, while being quite socially ‘different’ in a country town. People in Busselton had very different life experiences to mine, and I needed to connect with people who were more kindred spirits. I found a home in social activism, starting with the anti-nuclear movement, which morphed into peace, environment and social justice work. That networking and campaigning defined my life.
In 1989 an election was approaching and we decided to set up the Greens in the South West. My role was to use my networks to find a candidate. The last person on the phone link-up was Giz from Albany. I had known Giz on the phone for years as she was part of the Albany Peace Group but we hadn’t actually met. She agreed to be the candidate, so we finally met on the campaign trail.
After the election we were organising a South West get-together to celebrate. In the process, Giz mentioned she was moving to Perth and I said I was too. I felt pretty bold and said ‘How would you feel about sharing a place?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘By the way, I’ve got three children.’ A moment’s pause: ‘OK!’ And that was it. So we moved to Perth and while we were looking for a place we started our relationship. That was almost 30 years ago.
There was a certain audaciousness in me propositioning Giz. I was in my 30s and had identified as heterosexual previously. That didn’t seem to matter. We were house-sitting together for a weekend while we looked for rentals. Giz was – and still is – oblivious to flirtation. Basically I needed to crawl into bed with her, and even then her initial thought was ‘She must be a bit cold’. I remember before approaching her thinking ‘This should be a big deal, but it’s not’. It was just another step, like putting one foot in front of another.
It’s weird, your relationship is invisible if you are not heterosexual. If a woman goes for a walk with a male people assume they’re a couple. But I noticed immediately when I was with Giz that our relationship wasn’t visible to anyone else. Other people didn’t - and don’t - see it unless we say something explicitly. The assumption is that you’re not a couple. So the question is, do you say something explicitly? And the answer to that is generally ‘No’, because you can’t trust the response you’ll get. What we need is for ‘normal’ to expand and include everyone.
I was ambivalent about gay marriage. I would prefer ‘Let’s have no marriage for everybody!’ The Marriage Equality Act says ‘Join our group, on our terms’. This invitation extends to the cohort living most similarly to a hetero norm, but it still marginalises so many other types of relationships and identities. Also we need to be aware of premature complacency. Nearly 40% of the population said ‘No’ to marriage equality. There is still so much work to be done for gender and sexually diverse people to be understood and celebrated.
It is a real shame that the marriage equality debacle was handled the way it was. I thought that the outcome was not going to affect me that much, emotionally. Then the morning of the announcement came. I was going to get up early to be at the event in Northbridge. But I woke up feeling absolutely petrified. Supposing there’s a ‘No’ vote. What would that do? The damage done was already profound. I was completely terrified. I had a doona day, which I’ve never done before. I was shocked at my response. It was a shame, because I missed all the euphoria!
I joined the choir when I hadn’t been in Perth that long, perhaps in 1993. GALSWA was very small and we used to practice in a back room at the Northbridge Hotel. At one stage I was the only woman. One of the guys sang soprano with me. It was one of the first LGBTI groups I was in and I was still new to the culture. The rehearsals were lovely. They’re the bones of it, its essence.
A highlight for me was that we sang in an Eisteddfod in Kalamunda and a guy said to me, ‘This is the first time that I’m out as a gay man in public’ and that really gave me a sense of what the choir meant for people. Other than that, a highlight was going to Sydney for the Mardi Gras in 1996. The performance involved gay choirs from all over the country singing together in the Sydney Town Hall. The choir leader was an absolute classic; I remember him saying when we were practicing ‘That’s fantastic! There won’t be a dry seat in the house!’ Each choir also had the opportunity to sing our own pieces. And there were just six or eight of us from WA. It was quite an experience.
After years on the road, I wanted to put my roots down and feel like I was contributing. We settled in Busselton and had another child. We separated after a few years, and I was single-parenting three kids under four, while being quite socially ‘different’ in a country town. People in Busselton had very different life experiences to mine, and I needed to connect with people who were more kindred spirits. I found a home in social activism, starting with the anti-nuclear movement, which morphed into peace, environment and social justice work. That networking and campaigning defined my life.
In 1989 an election was approaching and we decided to set up the Greens in the South West. My role was to use my networks to find a candidate. The last person on the phone link-up was Giz from Albany. I had known Giz on the phone for years as she was part of the Albany Peace Group but we hadn’t actually met. She agreed to be the candidate, so we finally met on the campaign trail.
After the election we were organising a South West get-together to celebrate. In the process, Giz mentioned she was moving to Perth and I said I was too. I felt pretty bold and said ‘How would you feel about sharing a place?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘By the way, I’ve got three children.’ A moment’s pause: ‘OK!’ And that was it. So we moved to Perth and while we were looking for a place we started our relationship. That was almost 30 years ago.
There was a certain audaciousness in me propositioning Giz. I was in my 30s and had identified as heterosexual previously. That didn’t seem to matter. We were house-sitting together for a weekend while we looked for rentals. Giz was – and still is – oblivious to flirtation. Basically I needed to crawl into bed with her, and even then her initial thought was ‘She must be a bit cold’. I remember before approaching her thinking ‘This should be a big deal, but it’s not’. It was just another step, like putting one foot in front of another.
It’s weird, your relationship is invisible if you are not heterosexual. If a woman goes for a walk with a male people assume they’re a couple. But I noticed immediately when I was with Giz that our relationship wasn’t visible to anyone else. Other people didn’t - and don’t - see it unless we say something explicitly. The assumption is that you’re not a couple. So the question is, do you say something explicitly? And the answer to that is generally ‘No’, because you can’t trust the response you’ll get. What we need is for ‘normal’ to expand and include everyone.
I was ambivalent about gay marriage. I would prefer ‘Let’s have no marriage for everybody!’ The Marriage Equality Act says ‘Join our group, on our terms’. This invitation extends to the cohort living most similarly to a hetero norm, but it still marginalises so many other types of relationships and identities. Also we need to be aware of premature complacency. Nearly 40% of the population said ‘No’ to marriage equality. There is still so much work to be done for gender and sexually diverse people to be understood and celebrated.
It is a real shame that the marriage equality debacle was handled the way it was. I thought that the outcome was not going to affect me that much, emotionally. Then the morning of the announcement came. I was going to get up early to be at the event in Northbridge. But I woke up feeling absolutely petrified. Supposing there’s a ‘No’ vote. What would that do? The damage done was already profound. I was completely terrified. I had a doona day, which I’ve never done before. I was shocked at my response. It was a shame, because I missed all the euphoria!
I joined the choir when I hadn’t been in Perth that long, perhaps in 1993. GALSWA was very small and we used to practice in a back room at the Northbridge Hotel. At one stage I was the only woman. One of the guys sang soprano with me. It was one of the first LGBTI groups I was in and I was still new to the culture. The rehearsals were lovely. They’re the bones of it, its essence.
A highlight for me was that we sang in an Eisteddfod in Kalamunda and a guy said to me, ‘This is the first time that I’m out as a gay man in public’ and that really gave me a sense of what the choir meant for people. Other than that, a highlight was going to Sydney for the Mardi Gras in 1996. The performance involved gay choirs from all over the country singing together in the Sydney Town Hall. The choir leader was an absolute classic; I remember him saying when we were practicing ‘That’s fantastic! There won’t be a dry seat in the house!’ Each choir also had the opportunity to sing our own pieces. And there were just six or eight of us from WA. It was quite an experience.