Tag Archives: Michael Burge

Homophobia for the holidays

Spending time with family over Christmas and New Year can be a challenge for anyone, but journalist and author Michael Burge explains how his first collection of short stories grew in the fertile ground of familial homophobia.

WHEN I began writing fiction, I didn’t understand at first that the theme I was really exploring was homophobia.

“I hope I have captured the blatancy of homophobia, but also its subtlety.”

After years of churning out scripts in the corporate world, which was not sustaining me in any kind of career, I decided to turn my hand to short stories. Over the course of about ten weeks in late 2009, I started writing fiction like a demon, and the stories took shape with a range of LGBTI (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex) protagonists, the likes of which I never imagined I could create.

As a reader, I had rarely encountered gay characters. I wanted to read a lot more of them, but part of me realised they weren’t really to be found widely in mainstream literature. I needed to create them myself.

About halfway through writing the cycle of stories I recently published as Closet His, Closet Hers I took a step back from the writing process to analyse the world of my characters. What startled me was seeing the range of Australian families I had created, and the LGBTI who inhabited them.

The title story is an account of a deeply-closeted gay man who marries a woman he went to school with, told from his perspective and from hers. To make that story credible, I needed to create two families with a past firmly rooted in the Australian suburbs, into which the main character’s homosexuality arrives out of nowhere.

While there’s not much overt homophobia in this story, the potential for it hangs on every plot point. It creates a pathway for the young man, who first realises his homosexuality at school Bible camp; but it also carves out the future of the young woman he marries, whose sexual world is no less restricted than his.

I’ve had my homophobia ‘radar’ set on high ever since I was almost completely disenfranchised after my partner died, and I believe it would surprise most people to see what a strong thread of prejudice runs through families, creating expectations for LGBTI and disappointments for their loved ones, who have not traditionally been prepared for homosexuality in their ranks.

But times are changing. In the 1990s, the media picked up on the ‘gay gene’ theory which was debunked by many as scientific fantasy and championed by others as proof that sexual orientation is not a choice. More than twenty years on, I have been part of many family discussions, particularly when multiple generations are gathered for Christmas, about how prevalent homosexuality is within the same family trees. Although the very idea of a gay gene offends people on both sides of the debate, these talks go a long way towards easing the feeling many parents have about what they fear was ‘bad parenting’ resulting in them ‘turning’ their children gay.

We’ve also seen great change in the Australian community, to the point that polling reveals a massive majority for marriage equality in this country.

I’d like to believe this means there is less homophobia within families, but I am not so sure. Homophobia takes many forms, not just overt violence against LGBTI. Much of it can remain hidden, taking the form of ridicule and exclusion. At its worst, ‘invisible’ homophobia leaves LGBTI out of processes that are routinely granted to our straight siblings and cousins.

I have a friend who recently came out to her family. She’s in a loving, committed relationship, but her partner is not welcome at the family Christmas event because her parents have a problem with her sexuality. LGBTI in this position are forced to choose between loved ones, meaning someone is always going to lose in the end. It’s this sense of isolation I have worked to express in Closet His, Closet Hers.

Many parents don’t really have a problem with their kids being LGBTI as such, but their homophobia appears when their sons and daughters manifest relationships.

9780645270525The stories in Closet His, Closet Hers illustrate this kind of prejudice. All the Worst Jobs is the story of a lesbian care worker, Jessie, who is outed by the older woman she showers every morning. The risk for Jessie immediately increases at this point, since she relies on the income yet walks the knife edge with her client, who seems to hold all the cards.

Multi-generational relationships are portrayed in They’re Curing All Sorts of Things Now, in which a grandmother’s advancing dementia is played out over the occasion her grandson comes out to her.

One of the most poignant stories, for me, is Dirty Nurse. Many years ago, I was told about an act of great heroism shown to the LGBTI community during the unfolding HIV-AIDS crisis in the 1980s, and I was keen to write about it, but I wanted to add to the tension by imagining how things would play out if this career nurse was gay herself.

Most of the stories in Closet His, Closet Hers are set slightly in the past, and while I acknowledge that things are very different for many LGBTI growing up now, I think it’s relevant to look back and record the emotional journeys taken by my generation.

Ours was the era during which homosexuality was decriminalised, and when HIV-AIDS ripped a hole through our communities and families. They were profoundly frightening times for young LGBTI and led to many of us, myself included, coming out rather late compared to young people today.

I hope readers can take a level of comfort from my stories, in knowing that times have changed, and that the work inspires them to make different choices when it comes to the LGBTI in their midst.

I don’t imagine many gay family members want special treatment at family gatherings such as Christmas lunch, but nor would we want to be made to feel somehow different, which occurs in a couple of the scenes I portray in Closet His, Closet Hers.

I hope I have captured the blatancy of homophobia, but also its subtlety. It can be a very discreet phenomenon.

Michael’s debut memoir ‘Questionable Deeds: Making a stand for equal love’ became an Amazon bestseller. 

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.

On the same page about marriage equality

26785881IN every writer’s life there comes a time when a piece written by someone else renders our own contribution unnecessary. After exploring the issue of marriage equality in my country for more than a decade, Rodney Croome’s new book has finally done this for me.

From This Day Forward: Marriage Equality in Australia is an aggregation of Croome’s major writing on the marriage equality debate to date, including updates on his 2010 contribution to Why Vs. Why: Bill Muehlenberg and Rodney Croome debate Gay Marriage (Pantera Press).

But Croome’s collection is much more that; it’s the best document Australia has to move the debate – finally – into legislation.

The only possible rebuttal to From This Day Forward is religious ranting or political belligerence, because, as Croome puts it: “The critics of marriage equality are trapped in an intellectual cul-de-sac.”

I had a particular interest in reading this book: I was keen to fact-check my own publication Questionable Deeds: Making a stand for equal love against a more comprehensive document covering the story of Australia’s legislative failure, but I was unaware of Croome’s book until it was launched in Brisbane last week.

“A well-articulated exploration of the total lack of arguments left for opposing marriage equality. It stands like a boundary, behind which the debate will retreat no longer.”

It’s a great year for books by same-sex attracted writers. With Magda Szubanski’s memoir Reckoning, and the rerelease of Timothy Conigrave’s Holding the Man off the back of the movie release, gay and lesbian writing is getting a great run.

Although like my title, From This Day Forward does not have a huge marketing machine behind it. This makes for a hard sell at a time when readers and audiences are at marriage equality saturation point, there’s an overbearing unwillingness to just get it done, and the mainstream media seems incapable of selling a story of what it sees as a dead horse, slaughtered by both sides of parliament.

Croome’s book is a well-articulated exploration of the total lack of arguments left for opposing marriage equality. It stands like a boundary, behind which the debate will retreat no longer. For someone who has heard and endured all the classic approaches (he was confronted by one at his launch – the old ‘why call it marriage?’ chestnut), in person and in his book, Croome – the national convenor of Australian Marriage Equality – maintains the neutrality of an activist prepared to go on calmly answering loaded questions forever.

Rodney_Croome
EQUALITY CAMPAIGNER Rodney Croome.

I admire such public strength. My own book reveals my inability to be as dispassionate. Driven by grief, fear and pain, I wrote the awful truth about the depth of my disenfranchisement in Questionable Deeds, revealing how prejudice and lax laws robbed me of self determination as a surviving spouse.

Although I was relieved my research stood up without the benefit of reading Croome’s book, what encouraged me more was his call to action from the LGBTI community to share our experiences.

“Whatever lies behind the power of personal stories, they are immensely effective in showing how marriage inequality affects ordinary people day-to-day. They tap into our desire to understand the ideas and feeling of others,” Croome writes.

Our stories are most effective for the cause when we manage to bend the ear of our federal MPs, Croome writes. Mine is Andrew Laming, federal member for the Queensland electorate of Bowman, a regular flip-flopper on marriage equality.

At his launch, Croome paid tribute to Queensland’s major contribution to the legislative push. It’s here that Warren Entsch (Liberal federal member for Leichhardt), and Teresa Gambaro (Liberal federal member for Brisbane, who launched Croome’s book last week), joined forces with Terri Butler (Labor federal member for Griffith) to co-sponsor a cross-party bill on marriage equality.

Since the entire house of representatives owned the bill, this was a unique moment in the journey, and a shining example of politicians getting their heads around the positive impact of equality on the mental health and wellbeing of their constituents. Andrew Laming would do well to watch and learn, and he could start by buying Croome’s book, and mine. He was invited to my book launch, but did not respond.

Croome also gets to the heart of the current plan for a marriage equality referendum or plebiscite.

“Human rights defenders are rightly concerned about putting inalienable rights to equality and personal autonomy to a show of hands,” he writes, underlining how there’s no constitutional requirement to ask the people on marriage when it was parliament that autonomously altered its definition in the first place.

I support Croome’s view that a national vote on marriage equality would pass the law. Even if the regular polls are significantly wrong, the majority of Australians would say yes.

“My concern is with the process, not the outcome,” Croome writes, referring to the high price that would be paid by the LGBTI community in terms of our mental health.

It’s in this zone that Croome’s book and mine intersect. Croome quotes statistics gathered in the wake of the banning of marriage equality in 2004 – the year my partner died – which showed a sudden increase in mental health challenges for LGBTI.

Of the 2004 ban, I wrote: “It would have passed through my consciousness in my deepest grief and registered only as another reason to feel dreadfully unsafe about being same-sex attracted in my own country.”

I recall the sadness that went into writing that sentence, and nearly deleting it from subsequent drafts because I’d kept such deep-seated emotions in check while remembering the daily struggle of grief and depression in that terrible year. Croome’s book has finally put my struggle to process my disenfranchisement in context.

A major new element of From This Day Forward is an essay ‘Flight from the gilded cage: addressing criticism of marriage equality from the left’.

It’s an area of great interest, not just for those of us who are shocked at how the marginalised seek to marginalise others, but also for anyone wanting to advance their knowledge on the last bastions of objection.

9780645270532
BUY NOW

At my own book launch, in conversation with No Fibs’ editor Margo Kingston, she expressed a wish that I’d written more on marriage equality opposition that didn’t stem from homophobia.

I touched on it in my afterword, but Croome’s essay is the most comprehensive and timely argument taken up to several high-profile commentators who have provided great fodder for the religious right over the years.

Croome confronts them all – from former Prime Minister Julia Gillard and her feminist arguments, to author Robert Dessaix and historian Dennis Altman, who have long argued that same-sex attracted people should not need such a heteronormative institution as marriage (although Altman began shifting his stance this year).

This essay validated all the times I’d thrown stuff at the television seeing these commentators failing the entire LGBTI community with their frivolous, often under-researched naysaying.

creating-waves-cover
BUY NOW

If you’ve endured the years of debate, From This Day Forward is worth reading for this boost alone.

From This Day Forward: Marriage Equality in Australia (Walleah Press) and Questionable Deeds: Making stand for equal love are out now.

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.

This article appears in Michael’s eBook Creating Waves: Critical takes on culture and politics.

Speaking of equality

I RECENTLY published my non-fiction debut, a biting memoir about the ‘David and Goliath’ battle I fought to have my relationship recognised after the death of my partner, Jono. Get the flavour of the book from this abridged audio version of Questionable Deeds, read by me. To buy the book, go to my online bookshop.