A Man and His Pride

It was the most random group of people I’d ever encountered. Mostly same-sex couples, by the looks of it, and such a diverse range of ages that, were it not for the large pride flag hanging on the far wall, it would have been tricky for a stranger to pinpoint the reason they had decided to gather.

It was Wednesday night, and we were in a brightly lit conference room, part of a union office located in upper Roma Street. There were about thirty of us, all seated around a large, polished timber table. In front of each person was a notepad, pen and a one-page script. The script was straightforward enough, but had done little to calm my nerves.

Opposite me were two elderly lesbians who sat holding hands and looked eager to start. One of them kept smiling at me, waiting for me to meet her gaze. William was on my left, and on his left were Kyle, Ryan and Liam, the three of them chatting among themselves.

Ryan and Liam had greeted me with a friendly hug, sincerely pleased (albeit surprised) to see me at such an event. Tonight, Liam’s long, bushy hair was down and he was in a voluminous white linen shirt, so loose it looked like a dress chopped off below the waist. Ryan wore a shirt with hideous yellow and black stripes, which made me think of a large bumblebee.

Kyle, however, had greeted me with a gaze so cold it rivalled some of the filthiest looks Mum had given me over the years.

‘Welcome, everybody! And thank you all for coming!’

The person at the head of the table with the sing-song voice was a tall woman with rosy cheeks, pigtails, and a collection of rusty bangles that extended halfway up one arm. Her T-shirt was white with a rainbow-coloured picture of Australia and the words yes equality across it.

‘For those who haven’t met me before, my name’s Tina. And every one of you should be so proud of yourselves for being here tonight. It may not feel like it yet, but together we’re making history!’

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. We were making phone calls, for crying out loud. Not charging down armed cops in the street.

‘Remember, everyone,’ Tina continued, ‘these aren’t persuasive calls. There are only two nights left for people to get their votes in the mail. These calls are about convincing people to vote, period. And before we start, please remember we’re all here to support each other. If you happen to call someone who’s abusive or threatening, hang up. Don’t waste your time with them, and feel free to come talk to myself or one of the beautiful people in this room if you need a debrief.’

It was a sombre point to close what was otherwise a rallying speech. A debrief ?

What on Earth was she expecting us to hear?

The first few calls were pretty bland, even borderline boring.

‘Hi there, my name’s Sean, I’m calling from the Marriage Equality Yes campaign. How are you tonight?’ I leaned over the script and this time really did roll my eyes. Bloody William, guilting me into doing this.

‘Oh. Fine thanks,’ came the curt reply. An elderly female voice.

‘That’s great. I’m ringing to ask whether you were intending to vote in the same-sex marriage plebiscite, and if so, whether you’ve submitted your ballot yet?’

The irony wasn’t lost on me: I hadn’t even returned my own ballot, which was still stuck to Jake’s fridge (assuming he hadn’t tossed it out).

‘Yes, yes, I voted last week. Can you remove my number from your list, please?’

‘Um, yes, no worries. Thanks so much for your support.’

Feeling slightly stupid, I hung up. Then a pre-recorded voice guided me through the options for recording the call result. I pressed ‘1’ to indicate the person had returned their ballot.

It was a similar story for the next few callers, who greeted my introduction with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

‘Yes, of course I’ve voted. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love.’

‘Oh shit, I’ve been meaning to do that. I’ll see if I’ve got time tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, I voted. The wife voted no, so thought I’d better do the same. Sorry, mate.’

And on it went. It seemed pretty much everyone had voted one way or another (or were at least intending to). Which made the whole night seem an even bigger waste of time.

But then after half an hour, a young boy answered. His voice broke when he said hello.

‘Hi there, my name’s Sean, I’m calling from the Marriage Equality Yes campaign. How are you tonight?’

‘Um – good?’

‘I’m just ringing to ask whether you were intending to vote in the same-sex marriage plebiscite, and if so, whether you’ve submitted your ballot?’

There was a nervous pause. ‘Um . . . I’m not old enough to vote.’

Idiot, Sean. ‘But I’ll put my mum on.’

There was a long pause, then, ‘Hello? Who’s this?’ I repeated my opening line, which was met with silence. For some reason I found myself holding my breath.

‘Er . . . hello?’

‘Sorry, love, I just get emotional thinking about it.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s awful what this country’s doing, what we’re putting some people through.’

‘Oh . . . um – that’s okay. I really just wanted to know—’

‘And I worry about how much my boy takes in, you know? All this fighting over people’s rights, all the hate out there. You can’t control what your kids hear at school, can you? And he’s such a sensitive boy.’

My eyes flew up and down the script, seeking an appropriate response that wasn’t there.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘No, no, love, you’re fine. It’s amazing what you’re doing. Very brave. You must get a lot of dickheads on the line. This country’s full of them. And you know the worst thing? They all get their say in this bloody vote. Every fucking one of them. ’Scuse the language, love.’

William nudged me and gave me a questioning look. I waved him off.

‘Um, so should I tick you off as having posted your ballot?’ I was keen to wrap this up.

‘Oh, honey. Back in the day I worked on Oxford Street. You know what my job was?’

‘Er—’

‘Doing makeup for drag queens. Yep, that’s right! Feels like yonks ago now, and the standards are a lot higher these days.’ She chuckled. ‘But you people are like family to me.’

She still hadn’t answered my question, but it was good enough. And yet, weirdly, I felt uneasy and couldn’t figure out why.

‘Well, thanks for your time tonight,’ I said with as much finality

as possible.

‘You take care of yourself, love.’

I looked around the table. Everyone was deep in conversation, including William. No one noticed me put the phone on the table and place my hands in my lap. I needed a moment, a few seconds to breathe.

She’d been so nice. So caring. And concerned for her son. I’d never even thought about it like that before . . . that there might be children out there listening.

Listening and absorbing.

Tina called down the table, ‘Everyone, there’s time for a few more calls, then we’ll finish up for the night.’

Thank God for that.

I dialled another number and there was a click as it connected. An elderly man’s voice said, ‘Yes, hello?’

By this stage, the opening line rolled off the tongue.

‘Can I just say, it is so wrong what you are doing.’ The man was softly spoken. He sounded calm and educated. Which somehow gave his words even more of a bite.

‘Er . . . sorry?’

‘You shouldn’t be calling people and bothering them with this nonsense,’ he said. I pictured a grandfatherly figure in a leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, perhaps holding a brandy. ‘People are perfectly capable of making up their own minds. And the way you people carry on is appalling. Prancing around in women’s clothes, carrying on like what you do with each other is everybody’s business. And now you’re insisting on getting the whole country involved, wasting our time with this silly vote.’

Beside me, William had picked up that something was wrong. He mouthed at me, ‘Hang up.’

‘Er . . . right. Well, thanks for your time, anyway.’

I ended the call.

William asked if I was okay, and I gave a dismissive shrug.

But I wasn’t okay. I was utterly shocked. Not so much by what the man had said, but the way he’d said it. Such matter-of-factness, a level of entitlement I’d never witnessed firsthand before. I felt like a naughty schoolboy who’d just been shamed by the principal.

I shook my head, as though trying to reset something in my brain. It was one person, for God’s sake. One prick who had a carrot lodged up his arse . . . or at the very least could benefit from doing just that in the near future.

‘Another two minutes, everyone!’ Tina sang happily.

I took a deep breath and dialled the last number, thinking about the large glass of wine I’d soon be drinking.

‘Yep?’ It was a brash male voice, almost a bark.

‘Hi there, my name’s Sean, I’m calling from the Marriage Equality Yes campaign. How are you tonight?’ There was a lengthy pause. I began to wonder if the line had gone dead. ‘Are you there?’

‘You gotta be kidding me. You’re bothering me with this crap?’

I thought about hanging up, but something in me resisted. Every nerve in my body was alert this time, ready for whatever was thrown at me.

‘Sorry, sir, I don’t mean to bother you,’ I said, keeping my voice even and focusing on the words in front of me. ‘I’m just ringing to check whether you were intending to vote in the same-sex marriage plebiscite, and if so, whether you’ve submitted your ballot?’

The man’s cursing was faint and muffled, as though he’d moved the phone away from his mouth.

‘Hello?’

‘Yeah, I heard you. I voted no, all right? So there’s no point trying to change my mind. I ain’t interested in living in a country where fags can get married and kiss in the streets. That’s not the kind of world God created for us.’

My heart was hammering now. I hadn’t expected the religious treatment. This was a first.

‘I think you’ll find we already can.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Kiss in the streets.’

‘Well, it’s disgusting,’ he spat. ‘An’ it don’t make me a bad person for saying so, either. I’m allowed to want my kids to grow up in a world where we don’t tolerate paedophiles and sodomites. And you know what? God’ll be the judge of you, no matter what happens with this bloody vote. You fags are all going to Hell.’

‘You know what, sir?’ I snarled into the phone. ‘God can suck my dick. That’s if he’s got the balls to do it.’

There was a stunned silence as I pressed the red call button with a shaking finger. I couldn’t look at anyone around the table, but I could feel every gaze on me.

Then, without warning, there was a smattering of applause and cheering. I looked up and saw the elderly lesbian couple laughing. ‘Good on ya, son!’ beamed one. Tina was shuffling her papers and trying to keep a straight face.

‘You okay?’ William asked, looking shell-shocked.

‘Yeah . . . sorry. Just some dickhead calling us fags, saying we’re all going to Hell.’ I could feel my face burning; the last thing I’d wanted to do tonight was draw attention to myself.

Tina got to her feet. ‘As much as this campaign does not condone that sort of response . . . it is nice to hear it all the same.’

And with that, we were all dismissed and the night came to an abrupt end. Outside on the building’s front steps, William, Liam and Ryan wanted a detailed account of what the man had said. They all found it incredibly funny; Liam was wiping the tears from his eyes while Ryan slapped me on the back, saying he wished he’d recorded it. Kyle, on the other hand, kept his distance. He stood with his arms crossed and looked disgruntled.

‘See, this is why we need to win this thing,’ he said sternly. ‘There are still people like that out there. And they think their views are acceptable.’

‘Oh, for once in your life, Kyle, just chill the fuck out,’ Liam sighed. ‘Life doesn’t always have to be so serious.’

‘Shall we get a drink?’ Ryan suggested.

‘Good idea. There’s a bar around the corner.’ William turned to me. ‘You in, Sean?’

I was no longer in the mood for drinking, especially with these guys. All I wanted was to isolate myself in my apartment and have zero contact with anyone.

It had been a long time since someone had called me a fag. I didn’t even think people used that word any more, at least not as a means to hurt someone.

Something was seriously wrong. I felt strange, my mind foggy. Something in my brain was slowly shifting, a rusty cog turning painfully into place.

While trying to process my thoughts on the drive home, it occurred to me that as much as I couldn’t stand Kyle and his pompous superiority, I agreed with what he’d said.