As we celebrate and wave at the cavalcade on Oxford/Flinders this weekend, I believe most of us will have a moment where we think of the people 40 years ago who started the movement for social acceptance.
Last week I saw the play The Temperamentals and it was an eye-opener for the fact that nearly 10 years before the Stonewall riots in New York City, there was a group of unknown men, fighting same-sex inequality.
At the same time, a gay newsletter called One Inc, not dissimilar to the one you’re reading now, was fighting the US Postal Service to have its material sent through the federal post. We can pick up the Star Observer at our local café or pub and read it freely online — such luxury in comparison. Kudos to both papers for providing a voice.
Back 1000 years or so and it was socially acceptable, in a quite a few cultures, stretching from ancient Greece to not too long ago Melanesia, to have a male lover. Even if they proclaimed that it was for population control … ahem.
So the freedom in attending a happy festival is a joy and nowadays a right instead of a privilege. I doubt Cleopatra celebrated her nation’s gayness by jumping on a barge to float down the Nile with her oiled men, and I question Florentine courts filled with robed heaving men having an art after-party. Or do I?
Anyway, I’ve got my best mate George and his boyfriend Kevin coming up for Mardi Gras. It’s George’s first festival and given Madam Minogue is rolling into town, I’m already imagining the questions.
“What do we wear?” “Glitter.”
“What will we drink?” “Glitter’
“Where will we stand?” “On a mound of glitter.”
‘What will we see?” “Glitter.” And so on.
I’m sure Sydney can be seen from space on Saturday night. The spectacle, the sequins and the skin. What has always been on show in someone’s heart since antiquity now is on show for the world to see.
I wish you all a very happy Mardi Gras.
