We are a community in mourning. In the coming days, 13-year-old Tyrone Unsworth will be buried. We are told after years of relentless homophobic bullying that Tyrone Unsworth killed himself. By all accounts, Tyrone was gay. He was also Indigenous. To some, his Indigenous identity is of no consequence. But put way more eloquently than I ever could, a person on Twitter had this to say: “It shaped the way he saw the world, the opportunities afforded him, and sadly the limit of his capacity to bear any more cruelty.”

Sadly, Australia is a country where children like Tyrone are killing themselves to escape from being bullied for being gay while its adults are fighting for the right to offend, insult, humiliate or intimidate people based on their race or ethnicity.

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The intersection of this bigoted mess is where the real-world implications have devastating effect. That was Tyrone’s world.

It is naive to think that the anti-marriage equality discourse did not play a hand here. Kids pick up on these things. Bill Leak’s attacks on Indigenous fathers, and their boys, would no doubt contribute to the day-to-day experiences of Tyrone.

I am Indigenous. I am gay.

It was in the early to mid-80s when I started crushing on other boys the way the world told me I should be crushing on girls. I swooned over Han Solo and envied Princess Leia throughout the original Star Wars trilogy.

During this time, the land rights movement was in full swing. I did not understand the significance of the marches my father was participating in until later in life. Looking back, I did not understand the life experience of father during the years before I was born. Not as I do now. My father, like many others, lived the first few years of his life not recognised as an Australian citizen. He carried an Exemption Certificate, often referred to as “dog tags” or “dog licences”. The 1967 referendum brought citizenship but the racism never stopped. Faint but distinct memories of “abo”, “bong”, “coon” being hurled from cars or at the footy during the early 80s infiltrate my childhood memories.

In 1983, the “plague” of Aids was beamed into our lounge rooms. Outside of the lounge room, in the chatter of adults, “cat”, “poofter”, “fucking homo”, “die Aids fucker” echoed all around me. Silently, I cowered. I was nine.

Fast forward to 2016 and the language may have changed but racism and homophobia still exists.

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Adults are no longer shouting racial epithets from cars. This time around, politicians and social commentators are in a free-for-all wanting the right to offend, insult, humiliate or intimidate others based on their race or ethnicity.

Same-sex marriage is still unlawful and in Queensland, the home state of Tyrone Unsworth, the “gay panic defence” is yet to be repealed. Murder charges brought against anyone who kills a gay person can be downgraded to manslaughter by claiming an unwanted homosexual advance triggered the attack. This is a thing in Queensland.

There is a distinct link between how society behaves and how Indigenous gay teens in 21st century Australia live their lives. We are told Tyrone took his own life because of homophobic bullying. But we need to also look at his life through his experience as an Indigenous gay teen in Australia. One that is open to mockery. Two of Tyrone’s communities have been used as target practice by Bill Leak: the Indigenous and gay community. Yet if we are to listen Leak and his supporters, he is the victim of free speech. No, kids like Tyrone are the victims.

Less than two weeks ago, Peter Greste wrote in the Australian:

Anybody who survived primary school must have grown up enough to be able to shrug off an “offensive” cartoon for what it is …

Tyrone Unsworth survived primary school but not his first year of high school. He couldn’t shrug off the homophobic bullying, or grow up enough to shrug off offense.

I too have been Tyrone. It was 1986, I was in year 8 at Nightcliff High School in Darwin. Two boys bullied me relentlessly. They did so until I could escape to boarding school in term two. If that had not happened, I don’t know if I would be here today. I remember fighting the will to kill myself. Crying. Sobbing in my room, rocking back and forth, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.” Through the snot and tears, “Why do they hate me, why do they hate me?”

They say that mothers know if their child is gay. I don’t know if my mother ever did. All I knew at the time was that she loved me and it would devastate her if I was to be dead. That kept me alive.

There has been compassionate discussion from the gay community in the wake of Tyrone’s death. However, his Indigenous identity has been largely absent from the discussion. I share their pain but I am cautious to join the charge for the Safe Schools program in this instance. I believe a program like Safe Schools is essential. But I am not too sure if in its current form, Safe Schools caters to the intersecting lives of Indigenous rainbow youth.

The funding for the Safe Schools programs is now limited. But, if there is to be a new iteration, I do hope the developers seek out informed Indigenous LGBTQI people to strengthen the program. To date I understand the Indigenous LGBTQI inclusion to be minimal, except for help with the glossary.

That being said, Indigenous LGBTQI people have historically been excluded from the “decision-making or treatment process” when it comes to solutions for our lives, thus resulting “in a in a lack of understanding and of safe spaces, and greater discrimination”. This is across all spaces and sectors – Indigenous, mainstream and LGBTQI.

The glorious announcement of the Pride Centre in Victoria is bittersweet. There are no Indigenous board members. But also for Indigenous LGBTQI people, no data exists on suicide and without this data, policies of protection, intervention and prevention cannot be designed, developed and implemented effectively.

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But there is hope.

Several weeks ago, the federally funded Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Suicide Prevention Evaluation Project (ATSISPEP) report, for which I was a national adviser, was launched. Recommendation seven of the report states:

Indigenous people identifying as LGBTQI should be represented on all Australian Government and other Indigenous mental health and suicide prevention advisory forum.

In the wake of Tyrone’s death, I hope that both the Indigenous and mainstream health sectors take this recommendation seriously. That they realise the urgency to address this unmet need faced by the Indigenous LGBTQI community, and that our inclusion is essential to its success.

But this is only a step in a much bigger cause of action.

The strengthening of services, schools, the better equipping of families and communities is not enough. We must continue to stand up to the bullies and bigots who hide behind free speech.

Tyrone Unsworth is a casualty of a country in which rich and influential people are fighting for the right to be bullies. We need to stop them from winning it. We need to fight back.