Gay Hay

Updated

Jumping off the town's only bridge into the murky waters beneath is a high school rite of passage in Hay.

Liam Davies would know — he grew up here and described taking the terrifying plunge as about "as close to a town initiation as you can get".

"Almost everyone I know has done it and I think half the young people in Hay have done it," he said.

In many ways, the challenge is a reflection of Hay's macho culture.

As one local woman explains, the men here work hard, drink hard and have a "blinkered" view of the world.

In this town, the men are men in every sweaty, sunburnt sense.

As far as country communities go, Hay — population 2,500 — is pretty sleepy.

Eight-hundred kilometres separates the Riverina hamlet from Sydney and Adelaide. Melbourne and Canberra are a little closer.

Cars crawl past shopfronts on the main drag, Lachlan Street.

A piece of paper stuck on one business reads "Gone fishing, back on March 7". It looks like it has been up there for a while.

This place could be called many things — quaint, quiet, conservative.

Right now, complicated is probably the best way to describe it.

A highway sign welcoming people to Hay does not include next weekend's inaugural Mardi Gras on its list of "coming events".

But make no mistake: The festival, which has been planned since September last year, is going ahead.

Kerri Mijok is one of three mums in town who created "Rainbow on the Plains" in a bid to break down their community's white-bread reputation.

Liam, who is gay, and Lyn Hunt, a lesbian who has returned to Hay after decades in the city, are also on the committee.

"A lot of people are worried it's going to be a naked parade down the street," Kerri said.

"I don't think they understand what's happening. It's going to be so much fun for the family. It's a family event."

Whether Hay is ready for its Mardi Gras depends on who you talk to.

A majority of people seem to support the event and say it will be good for business, but not everyone is sold.

The three-day festival begins on Friday and includes a civic reception, parade and recovery picnic to coincide with this year's celebrations in Sydney.

Those against it do not want to be named for fear of being ridiculed.

As one local explains, this is the sort of place where people come out of the pub with "a gut full of grog".

"I just hope the whole thing is incident free, and no-one gets hurt," she said.

'You can't hide anything in Hay'

Kerri has a cheery outlook on country life, although there is one caveat.

"Everybody knows who you are, everybody knows everything about you," she said.

"You can't hide anything in Hay."

Nobody knows the glare of a small town's spotlight better than Kerri, and her 16-year-old transgender son George.

As bullying moves from the playground into cyberspace, social media has much to answer for in 2018.

But for George, Snapchat provided a silver lining.

The selfie-driven smartphone app is the communication channel of choice for teenagers, in part because messages vanish shortly after they have been read.

It was on Snapchat this country boy rode his surging pangs of terror to give his best friends the news.

"I just said that I'm transgender and I explained to them I'd appreciate it if they used male pronouns and called me George and that they could speak to me about it at school if they wanted to," he said.

"I was really relieved. I had an idea in my head that they would just drop me, so it was good to know they were there."

For a teen who had just come to terms with their own gender, the announcement sparked another challenge.

He is embraced by his friends, family and many at school but total acceptance is a long way off.

"Some people just don't know how to come at it," George said.

"They don't really say anything but they do things. They will avoid me or if I sit next to them they will move."

George is about as shy and withdrawn as you might expect for someone whose mere presence prompts peers to change seats.

But to write his experience as a trans boy in the bush off as all bad is untrue.

"I think there have been a lot more positives than negatives, but George may feel differently," said Kerri.

"People stopped me in the streets and told us what a wonderful job we're doing, and how great we are for accepting our own child for the way they are.

"It's nice to hear, but it's also a little bit — bizarre is the wrong word — I can't think of the right word for that actually.

"Like any mother, I just want my child to be happy."

Support has not just come from George's nearest and dearest. Teddy Cook, the regional outreach development manager with sexual health organisation ACON, connected with the Mijok family last year.

Teddy, who is also a trans man, has been able to provide a different perspective.

"People are often incredibly surprised to hear that the lived experience for LGBTQI people in Australia isn't as rosy as perhaps they had imagined," he said.

"I think we get lulled into this idea that because we've got a gay uncle everything is fine now."

Teddy will trade Sydney's Mardi Gras celebrations to march in Hay's parade on Saturday. George is planning to hand out pride flags.

Kerri says she was "roped in" to being on the event's committee. And while she hopes it will make a difference for her son, there is a bigger picture.

"I took it on, not only for George, but because it is such an important word to get out," she said.

"So many people hide their true selves. There is no reason why they should.

"We want to show people that we don't care who you are or what you are, but that you're accepted here and you're welcome."

Parades, parties and protests

George is not the only person finding life in Hay a challenge.

"People don't harass me for being gay, but they don't want to associate with me either," said Lyn.

"I know a lot of people, you know. They'll talk to me. But they won't invite me back to their place for dinner or come out and have a drink with me.

"The last couple of years since I've been back, this time I really haven't had anyone to have a drink with. I just go out by myself."

Lyn joined Rainbow on the Plains' committee after meeting Teddy while visiting Hay last year.

Her main responsibility has been knocking on doors to drum up sponsorship.

"I did have a lot of stares but I just hold my head up high," she said.

"I think this is the best thing that has ever happened in Hay."

While the modern-day parade in Sydney is a glittering celebration of sexual diversity, its history is rooted in protest, not parties.

In that way, Hay's Mardi Gras narrative is a little at odds with its cousin in the big smoke.

"Originally we were just going to get a group of friends, frock up, have a few cocktails, a fundraiser and watch the 40th anniversary Mardi Gras parade on TV," says Krista Schade, who is also on the event's committee.

But things have snowballed. Dozens of people are expected to take part; even some of the town's motels are booked out.

"Whether they are straight, bi, trans, gay, we just want country kids to stop feeling so isolated," Krista said.

"Our town has a pretty horrible history of suicide.

"If we can have one kid feel better about themselves after coming to a party where everyone was just concentrating on having a great time and being happy in their own skin then we've accomplished a huge thing."

The impact a queer exclamation mark like Rainbow on the Plains will have on Hay remains to be seen.

"I don't know if the town will be transformed. We don't need transforming," said Kerri.

"Just to get the word out there is enough.

"Speaking to other members of the LGBTQI community that have grown up here, they are so appreciative. They love that this is happening.

"They had it a lot harder than what George has it perhaps."

George never has jumped off that bridge into the Murrumbidgee River.

Neither has Liam — although he almost gave it a crack one night earlier this month. The fact he backed down bothered him.

"It was annoying. I thought I was ready to overcome this and tick it off my bucket list," he said.

"I was standing on the bridge looking down, but I just couldn't."

Liam came out to his brother when he was 15.

For a closeted teenager in Hay, not even the daunting prospect of marching in a Mardi Gras down your home town's main street trumps a fear of water and heights.

"I guess in a way I'm facing a fear on Saturday, but walking in the Mardi Gras has the potential to inspire people," Liam said.

"Jumping off a bridge is tough, but it doesn't change the world."

Topics: community-and-society, lgbt, family-and-children, sexuality, sexual-health, nsw, hay-2711

First posted