I watch the news and keep up with social media to a point. I know that there are people out there who won’t accept that all people should have equal rights. But coming face to face (or face to police line to face) with people who have anger and intolerance in place of compassion and a desire for peace, that’s different.
It started on Friday night. I attended the Voice of Reason discussion on redefining the marriage act. It was the second that I had attended, so I knew what to expect. My daughter and a couple of friends attended with me, so I didn’t feel as alone as last time. Back then, my hand was the only one raised when the convener asked who supported marriage equality. So now there were maybe five supporters in a room of perhaps thirty people. Two of whom were strangers to me. Better odds than last time.
By the end of the meeting though I was feeling worn down. The conversation started, as it did last month, with a basic consensus that no one should be treated as a second class citizen because of their eye colour, lifestyle, choices, because they are different from us. Again reasons for redefining the marriage act were stated ; equality first and foremost, good mental health, reduction of social stigma, the right of any couple to legitimise their relationship by marrying, regardless of their sexual orientation.
Pretty simple right? So why was the conversation monopolised by talk of polygamy and incest? The rights of people to drive at 200km per hour in unsafe vehicles without a licence? Allowing the rich to evade tax? (because that never happens!) Why are we placing the onus on gay people to be responsible for any right that anyone happens to want? Isn’t there a difference between law and civil rights? Aren’t laws in place to protect our civil rights? You may want to drive at 200km down my residential street but I really want the right not to be run down, the right to feel safe. So why would we equate this with legalising same sex marriage?
I like to think that I respect other people, all other people (even though it can be difficult at times). My 87 year old neighbour doesn’t believe that people are born gay, and she knows how I feel about that. We agree to disagree. We respect each other’s experiences and opinions, we have discussions. I don’t try to convince her she’s wrong, she pays me the same courtesy. But for the love of little puppies look at me when I’m trying to understand your point. Acknowledge that I exist, piercings, tattoos and all!
So that was Friday. Lots of discussion, lots of argument from lots of people. Feeling a little battered but ok.
Saturday dawned. I felt exhausted and overslept; luckily for me the rally I wanted to support started later than I thought. Well, it was actually a counter-rally. For over 12 months now an anti-Islamic group has been fighting the proposed building of Bendigo’s first mosque. It was approved by the town’s council in mid-2014, and the decision was recently upheld by VCAT. So finally the mosque has the go-ahead, and worshippers can spread out from the tiny room at Latrobe University that they currently use. Australia promises freedom of religion doesn’t it? There are an enormous number of churches already in Bendigo, and the Great Stupa is well on the way to being completed, unimpeded. A mosque is different though apparently. According to some, a hotbed of plots to kill and maim, to take over, to plan acts of terror. Of course there are extremists. As there are of any culture or religion. Does Christianity have a bloodless history?
So a rally was planned by anti-Islamic groups, and protesters converged on Bendigo to create as much havoc as possible. In response, a counter rally was planned, and it was this that I went to support. I walked the streets of Bendigo with the crowd, a little bewildered if I’m honest. Lots of chanting, a few charismatic leaders to encourage us, but I never lost sight of why I was there. If I don’t stand up for what I believe in, what I’m passionate about, how can I expect others to? It’s easy to stay in my comfy lounge getting all indignant about injustice; when the opportunity is on our doorstep to take a stand, excuses are not ok.
So I didn’t look forward to it. I didn’t ask others to accompany me. I didn’t even let my concerned friends drop me off (although I did get them to pick me up far from the event). But I had to do it. ‘For my journalism course’, I explained. ‘I’ll stay on the sidelines, I won’t get involved.’ I was almost honest. I did get involved. I marched. I held my head high and met the gaze of onlookers. I took photos and videos. I talked to people. And I will keep on doing it.
So my weekend was tiring. I felt emotionally wrung out. Seeing hatred, reading about it, affects you. But I’m far luckier than many. I’m not gay so I haven’t been persecuted for that. I’m not Muslim so I haven’t been targeted by people with angry faces telling me to ‘go home’. So I’ll do what I can to fight for people’s rights. All people.