What Gender Reveal Parties Actually Reveal

If the Germans hadn’t invented the term schadenfreude several centuries ago, we would have needed to create it to describe the most 21st century of phenomena: laughing at gender reveal fail videos.

 

These videos are (unintentionally) hilarious not just because when they go wrong, they go very wrong. With people coming up with increasingly intricate and in many cases bizarre scenarios to ‘stand out’, the potential for things to go awry has grown exponentially.

 

They are also deeply funny because the concept of a gender reveal party itself is inherently problematic, which means that laughing at the misfortunate of those involved is usually a guilt-free pleasure.

 

If you’re reading this and still think gender reveal parties are just a bit of harmless fun, perhaps it is useful to consider what exactly it is these parties are revealing – which is far more about the parent(s) than about their child(ren).

 

First, they reveal that some parents don’t seem to understand the difference between sex and gender.

 

Sex is biological (defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as ‘either of the two main categories (male and female) into which humans and many other living things are divided on the basis of their reproductive functions’).

 

On the other hand, gender is identity-based (with the Yogyakarta Principles defining gender identity as ‘each person’s deeply felt internal and individual experience of gender, which may or may not correspond with the sex assigned at birth, including the personal sense of the body (which may involve, if freely chosen, modification of bodily appearance or function by medical, surgical or other means) and other expressions of gender, including dress, speech and mannerisms’).[i]

 

Given it is impossible to know a child’s gender identity before or at birth (and usually for years after that), this means these celebrations should at the very least be renamed ‘sex reveal parties’.

 

Second, they reveal that some parents don’t seem to understand that both sex and gender are much more complicated than just male and female.

 

At its very core, a gender reveal party is an attempt to place an unborn child (or children) into one of two boxes: boy or girl.

 

And yet, in 2019, we know that gender identity is a spectrum, and there is a wide range of other options, including non-binary.

 

We also know that some children will be ‘born with physical sex characteristics that don’t fit medical and social norms for female or male bodies’ (the definition of intersex from Intersex Human Rights Australia).[ii]

 

Gender reveal parties therefore deliberately exclude some of the beautiful diversity of the human experience.[iii]

 

Third, they reveal that some parents are willing participants in a reductivist view of gender.

 

Gender reveal parties simplify the concepts of male and female into blue and pink respectively, as though entire genders can be signified by, even summed up by, a colour. When there is obviously more diversity within genders, and more similarities across people of different genders, than such a basic dichotomy can hope to represent.

 

Somewhat amusingly, these colours are also the exact opposite of those from just a century ago. From US Ladies Home Journal in June 1918:

 

‘The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.’

 

Mush less amusingly, while the colours have changed, some of those gender stereotypes remain and gender reveal parties tend to entrench, rather than question, them.

 

Based on these three factors, gender reveal parties can actually be harmful. By supporting a view that gender will match sex assigned at birth, they can make life much more difficult for trans and gender diverse children.

 

By raising expectations that babies will be born with sex characteristics that are exclusively male or female, they can erase intersex children (and even potentially increase pressure for unnecessary surgeries post-birth to ensure their bodies match these societal ‘norms’).

 

And by entrenching the notion that boys and girls are inherently different, and reinforcing stereotypes about how they will (or should) behave, gender reveal parties place artificial restrictions on all of us, and our behaviours.

 

It may sound like I am unsympathetic to the parents who hold gender reveal parties. I’m not, at least in part because most are simply replicating the actions of those around them (and those they follow on social media), and probably haven’t considered any of the issues described above. They are acting out of ignorance rather than malice.[iv]

 

I’m also sympathetic because, as a society, we seem to be placing an ever-greater emphasis on gender, certainly much more than I can remember as a child growing up in the 1980s. From unnecessarily gendered toys, to unnecessarily gendered toiletries, and even unnecessarily gendered grocery items, heightened expectations of ‘gender conformity’ are all around us – so it is perhaps only natural they will be felt most keenly by expecting parents.

 

The challenge then is what we can do to overcome these norms, especially the emerging norm that parents will hold gender reveal parties in the first place.

 

I have four suggestions to start, from the easiest to the most difficult:

 

  1. Don’t hold a gender reveal party

 

If you are having a child, simply refuse to have one of these ‘celebrations’. Which is easy for someone like me to say (a cis gay man who has decided, with his partner, not to have children, at least in part because of the climate emergency), so let’s move on…

 

  1. Don’t attend gender reveal parties

 

If you are invited to one of these ‘celebrations’, don’t attend. If people all stopped going, parents would stop holding them.

 

  1. Let the person know why you’re not attending

 

This is clearly more difficult than simply not turning up, especially because many of us prefer to avoid confrontation. But if we are to do the hard yards of ending this social norm, then we should take the time to explain to the person who has sent the invitation why you won’t be there.

 

  1. Stop asking ‘What are you having?’

 

Obviously, this is another degree of difficulty again, especially because this is something we’ve been conditioned to ask, usually first, when someone says they are pregnant (and something I have been guilty of, on more than one occasion).

 

But what does it actually matter? And aren’t there more interesting and/or important questions to ask, like ‘What are you looking forward to?’ ‘What are you nervous about?’ ‘Are you prepared?’ and ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

 

For those having difficulty making this mental adjustment, consider thinking of it this way. When you are asking ‘What are you having?’ what you’re really asking is ‘What are your child’s sex chromosomes and/or genitalia?’ and ‘What gender do you currently intend to raise your child even though you cannot know now their eventual gender identity?’

 

Rationally, an expecting parent who knows the difference between sex and gender could also respond to the ‘What are you having?’ inquiry by saying that they’ll get back to the questioner in five, ten, 15 or even 20 years, when the child decides for themself.

 

Which brings me to the primary exception to my ‘no gender reveal parties’ stance: where trans and gender diverse people announce their own gender identity. This is truly something to celebrate, especially for those who’ve overcome years or even decades of transphobia from families, schools, and society in general.

 

[I suppose I would also make an exception for parents who hold a gender reveal party and then release a colour like green or brown and tell attendees that they’ll let their child determine their identity for themselves.]

 

Other than that, gender reveal parties are a social phenomenon that has risen to prominence incredibly quickly over the past decade – and hopefully will recede just as quickly in the early 2020s.

 

Indeed, that’s the view of the woman whose 2008 post is widely-credited as popularising ‘gender reveal parties’, Jenna Karvunidis. From NPR in July 2019:[v]

 

‘Plot twist! The baby from the original gender reveal party is a girl who wears suits,’ Karvunidis says. ‘She says ‘she’ and ‘her’ and all that, but you know she really goes outside gender norms’.

 

… Karvunidis says her views on sex and gender have changed, especially when she’s talking to her daughter.

 

‘She’s telling me ‘Mom, there are many genders. Mom, there’s many different sexualities and all different types,’ and I take her lead on that,’ Karvunidis says.

 

She says she does have some regrets and understands these parties aren’t beneficial to everyone.

 

‘I know it’s been harmful to some individuals. It’s 2019, we don’t need to get our joy by giving others pain,’ she says. ‘I think there’s a new way to have these parties.’

 

And that idea is as simple as just eating cake.

 

‘Celebrate the baby,’ she says. ‘There’s no way to have a cake cut into it, to see if they’re going to like chess. Let’s just have a cake.’

 

Which is a great idea. And then to eat any leftovers while watching videos of gender reveal party fails because, let’s face it, some of them are funny as hell.

 

Untitled design (5)

An infamous 2017 gender reveal party fail, which caused a 47,000 acre fire in Arizona.

 

Footnotes:

[i] Yes, I’m aware that both the concepts of sex and gender, and the relationship between them, are far more complex. However, in the context of ‘gender reveal parties’ it’s clear these celebrations are based on biological sex (chromosomes and/or genitalia) rather than identity-based ideas of gender.

[ii] IHRA website, here.

[iii] We should note here that variations in sex characteristics is separate to non-binary gender identities, with many intersex people identifying with the ‘sex’ they were assigned at birth. Again for the Intersex Human Rights Australia website:

‘Some intersex people and some non-intersex (‘endosex’) people use nonbinary terms to describe their identities and sex classifications. Often, however, we encounter assumptions that to be intersex is to be nonbinary, or to be nonbinary is to be intersex. These assumptions are harmful. They fail to recognize the diversity of the intersex population, and in this case even the existence of intersex boys and girls, and intersex women and men.’

[iv] Of course, some parents possibly are deliberately setting expectations that their children will be either male or female, and that they will ‘act accordingly’ (including not identifying as trans or gender diverse), to which I say ‘fuck you’.

[v] Woman who popularized gender reveal parties says her views on gender have changed.

Stonewall 50: Bouquets & Bricks

Today marks 50 years since the Stonewall Riots, a key moment in the history of LGBTI rights activism, both in the United States and around the world.

 

In a different world I had hoped to be in New York, attending the World Pride celebrations marking this significant anniversary – although unfortunately sometimes the more mundane parts of life, like mortgage payments, have other plans.

 

I wanted to be there to pay my respects to the activists who have come before us, and on whose shoulders we stand, who have paved the way towards the improved rights and increased acceptance many of us enjoy today.

 

Even though I may not be there in person I can still honour their achievements in my own small way, on this somewhat niche LGBTI rights blog, on the other side of the globe.

 

Thank you to the brave people at the Stonewall Inn who, in the early hours of June 28 1969, fought back against police oppression, and fought to end the injustice that was ubiquitous in the lives of queer people at that time.

 

Thank you to the trans and gender diverse people, the drag queens and the people of colour who have been at the forefront of this battle from the very beginning.

 

Of course, the Stonewall Riots was not the first instance of LGBTI people fighting back against abuse and mistreatment. Thank you too to the people at Compton’s Cafeteria, and Cooper Do-nuts, and likely other instances of queer rebellion that have been lost to history, because we were not the ones who were writing it.

 

Nor was Stonewall the starting point for LGBTI rights within the United States, with groups like the Mattachine Society and Daughters of Bilitis undertaking the comparatively-boring legal reform work – but who, in doing so, took far greater risks than we could possibly appreciate today.

 

Obviously, the story of LGBTI activism did not begin and does not end with the US either (a mistake we make all-too-often, especially on anniversaries like this).

 

Thank you as well to the countless campaigners for our rights around the world, from the advocates for homosexual recognition in Germany in the second half of the 19th century, to the courageous people fighting for decriminalisation in the 69 countries where homosexuality remains illegal today (hopefully 68 later this year, if Bhutan’s upper house passes the Bill before it).

 

Looking closer to home, Australia’s most-famous instance of queer people celebrating amidst the spectre of police brutality had its own 40th anniversary just last year. Thank you to the 78ers, whose courage at that first Sydney Gay Mardi Gras helped inspire the generations here that followed.

 

Just as in the US, however, Mardi Gras was not the starting point for LGBTI rights in Australia.

 

Thank you to the people who stood up in the preceding decade, from the formation of the Homosexual Law Reform Society of the ACT in July 1969 (just one month after Stonewall, and who will celebrate their own 50th anniversary in four weeks’ time), through the early 70s activism of groups like Campaign Against Moral Persecution (CAMP for short), to the decriminalisation advocates in South Australia and elsewhere.

 

Thank you to the people who responded to the HIV/AIDS crisis in the 1980s, which decimated our community when it had only just begun to emerge from the darkness. You fought for your lives – and for all of us – and in doing so you kept the (candle)light alive.

 

Thank you to the HIV activists today, who understand that this struggle is not over.

 

Thank you to the law reformers, who over decades have secured the building blocks of legal equality, from anti-discrimination protections, to relationship recognition and most recently the right to marry the person we love.

 

Thank you to the trans and gender diverse activists, who have been fighting – against even greater resistance – for the right to live the lives you were always meant to. The battles for access to birth certificates and identity documentation, and health care, are not over.

 

Thank you to the intersex activists whose struggles seem bigger still. Many of whom are survivors of gross violations of the human right to bodily autonomy, but who speak out to stop those same coercive surgeries and treatments from being inflicted on others. And who must fight against the indifference of politicians, the arrogance of medical professionals and too-often the ignorance of other members of the LGBTI community.

 

Thank you to the queer people of colour, and especially to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander LGBTI people, who fight not just against homophobia, biphobia, transphobia and intersexphobia, but also against the racism that lies at the heart of our country (and, sadly, within our own community too).

 

As can be seen from the above, the incredible progress made so far on LGBTI rights has been achieved because of the work of more than any one particular individual or organisation. We have all played a role.

 

From the brave people who threw the first bricks at Stonewall. To others who have thrown bricks through the legal, social and cultural discrimination which LGBTI people all-too-commonly faced. And everyone who has thrown their own bricks through the closet of invisibility and shame that too many people have endured.

 

With those bricks we have built ourselves a community, and a home, where more people than at any point in history can feel accepted for who they are, no matter their sexual orientation, gender identity or sex characteristics.

 

But, as we all know, the house of LGBTI rights remains incomplete – there is still much unfinished business, in Australia, the United States and around the world, before all lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex people can finally be considered ‘free & equal’.

 

Which means we need more (metaphorical) brick-throwers, to smash down the walls of homophobia, biphobia, transphobia and intersexphobia that keep many LGBTI community members imprisoned.

 

So today, as we celebrate Stonewall 50, and give thanks to the LGBTI activists who have made our world a better place, we should take a moment to reflect on what each of us can do, what we should do, and what we must do, to carry on their work.

 

If you have enjoyed reading this article, please consider subscribing to receive future posts, via the right-hand scroll bar on the desktop version of this blog or near the bottom of the page on mobile. You can also follow me on twitter @alawriedejesus

 

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Twenty years

 

Like most people, different people would describe me in different ways. Earnest. Passionate. Opinionated. I’m sure some there’d be some less flattering terms too. One adjective that I don’t think would be used very often is melodramatic. Yet that is exactly the right word to describe my coming out experience.

 

Twenty years ago tonight I told my parents I was gay. The anniversary of that personally momentous occasion (as well as another upcoming ‘round number’, my 40th birthday) has prompted me to reflect both on what happened then, and how much has changed since. So here is my somewhat over-the-top, but very true, coming out story…

 

**********

 

Fenner_Hall_North_Tower

 

In 1998, I was a second year student at the Australian National University in Canberra. I lived in one of the larger student residences (Fenner Hall), and was a bit of a ‘joiner’ – signing up to countless clubs and societies, and participating in various sporting and cultural activities.

 

One such endeavour was the annual college theatre production. That year it was a not-especially memorable play called ‘The Prodigal Son’, about the return of a gay man to his estranged family following the death of his father.

 

I was cast as the prodigal son’s boyfriend (a role made slightly more complicated by the fact one of the first men I had ever slept with played the title character, although he is now one of my best friends).

 

As the ‘outsider’ in the play, my character’s main function was to observe the family’s interactions and offer insights like ‘Why can’t parents accept their children for who they are?’ and ‘Despite their differences I know they actually love each other.’

 

My personal response to this situation was to decide that this was the perfect opportunity to come out to my parents. So I convinced them to come down to see me perform, without explaining why.

 

**********

 

Now, that sounds like a terrible decision. Probably because, well, it was. But, while the thought processes involved only ever really made sense in the conflicted mind of a closeted 19 year old, I do recall at least some of the reasons why.

 

First, it gave me the firm push I required. I had actually tried to tell my parents the summer beforehand, but always found an excuse to back out. The play served as a necessary self-imposed deadline – it’s hard to completely avoid the topic of sexuality after you’re parents have already seen you as a gay man (even if it was only on stage).

 

Second, it was on my ‘home turf’. The play was an excuse to get my parents to Canberra, which was important because, if they disowned me, I would still have accommodation, and money (I was fortunate enough to be on a scholarship), in place. In short, I wouldn’t be homeless.

 

Again, that might seem a bit melodramatic to some readers, especially in this post-same sex marriage haze. I can assure you it was a legitimate fear, not just because of the time period (this was early John Howard-era Australia after all) but especially because of my family background.

 

I grew up on a cattle property outside Blackwater, a small town about two hours west of Rockhampton in Central Queensland. As well as being a farmer, my dad was heavily involved in agri-politics, and had stood for pre-selection for the National Party in the federal electorate of Maranoa (he would later be an unsuccessful candidate in the state seat of Fitzroy, parts of which are now included in Mirani, the only Queensland seat currently held by One Nation).

 

My mum, a nurse at one of the local coal mines, was also very conservative. In fact, my entire extended family were right-wing; my sister was the next most progressive after me, and that was because she voted Liberal!

 

Oh, and given where we lived, my parents had sent all three children to a Lutheran boarding school in Brisbane for five years, where we were indoctrinated with German efficiency (although the full horrors of my time there are for another post, at another time).

 

Based on this up-bringing, the idea that my parents would react badly to their son’s homosexuality was definitely not implausible.

 

The third reason why I chose to tell them in this way was because it meant I had a support system in place. I had only come out to a few close friends late in the previous year. Through the play I found another close-knit group of accepting people. Together they gave me the confidence, and courage, to finally follow through.

 

**********

 

Before we get to the ‘big night’ itself, there’s one other consequential choice I made: to disclose my sexuality to my sister beforehand. By that stage, she was in her 7th year of university. I figured that, if anyone in my family was ever going to be okay with me being gay, it was her.

 

And she was. Within 15 minutes of me telling her over the phone, she was joking around (in a light-hearted manner), putting me at ease.

 

What I didn’t learn until afterwards though, was that she then decided to let my parents know before they headed down to Canberra, including telling my mum as she recovered in hospital from elective surgery.

 

**********

 

Like most life-changing events, I don’t actually remember much detail about what happened the night of the play (the final performance of its short and, as far as I’m aware, only run), just certain moments and particular emotions.

 

The adrenaline kicking in back-stage. The words of encouragement from my cast-mates before the curtains went up. The odd mixture of sheer terror and profound relief as I looked out under the lights and saw that my parents were indeed in the audience. The surreal-ness of my character asking parents to accept their children no matter who they are – as I did exactly that.

 

Afterwards, I took them out for a predictably awkward dinner, and we had ‘the chat’. Again, most of what followed was a blur, although they made sure to let me know that they loved me – even if they did so in their own reserved, country kind of way.

 

By the time I re-joined the rest of the cast for the after-party, [cliché alert] it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders, and I could exhale – properly – for the first time in a long time, maybe ever.

 

**********

 

As other members of our community know all too well, ‘coming out’ is never a one-off event, but a life-long process, especially as you continually meet new people, or enter novel situations.

 

Even with people to whom you have already disclosed, there are degrees of being out, and a spectrum of acceptance. So it was with my parents.

 

They had said ‘all the rights things’ that frosty May night in Canberra because they had been forewarned by my sister. But that wasn’t necessarily a true reflection of how they really felt – as I discovered during the June/July holidays when I headed back to the farm.

 

The reception there was much, much colder, including from my brother who was then working on the farm (although he is much more accepting now, primarily thanks to the influence of a good woman).

 

Things deteriorated rapidly, and to such an extent that one day, in the car with my mum driving home from town, she said something especially egregious – which I won’t repeat here – and I had to tearfully, but forcefully, threaten to turn the car around and head all the way back to uni (two full days’ drive away) if she didn’t want me, all of me, in her life anymore.

 

It was the emotional confrontation that hadn’t happened the night of the play, but that was essential for things to improve. She backed down, and our relationship slowly but surely improved over the years that followed, a process that was greatly accelerated by the arrival of my fiancé Steve on the scene, ten years later.

 

**********

 

Now, two decades on, and my mum and dad are proud, yes-voting folks, very much looking forward to attending Steve and my wedding (I think they are especially pleased at the idea of him being their son-in-law – but then, who wouldn’t be?)

 

Indeed, so much has changed in those twenty years that even writing this post has been challenging. Because it’s difficult to remember a time when, far from being comfortable in my skin, I buried myself in so many layers just to make sure nobody could see who I really was.

 

Twenty years ago the idea that I would meet someone to share my life with, all of my life, and that he would be accepted as an integral part of my family, and me in his, seemed preposterous. Today it is as normal, as fundamental, as breathing.

 

Twenty years ago I could not conceive of a time, a place, any context, in which I would be so happy. That life could be, would be, so beautiful. I wish he could have known that back then…

 

**********

 

As a long-term activist and advocate on behalf of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, gay and transgender (LGBTI) community, I am not nearly naïve enough to underestimate the challenges that are still faced by many young people today.

 

Some parents do still disown their children. Or send them to gay or trans conversion (so-called) therapy. Some young people, especially those who are trans and gender diverse, from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds, Indigenous, or live in rural and regional Australia, can and do still face significant barriers just to become who they are. Too many tragically never make it.

 

So, I cannot say that #itgetsbetter for everyone. But I can speak from my own experience: it got better for me. Much, much better. Although, perhaps a little disappointingly, much less melodramatic too.

Lyle Who?

With the postal survey complete, and LGBTI marriage passed by Commonwealth Parliament, it’s time for us to ignore Lyle Shelton.

 

Managing Director of the Australian Christian Lobby (ACL) since May 2013, and their Chief of Staff for six years prior to that, the events of the past few months have – thankfully – seen him suffer defeat after defeat.

 

First, he, the ACL and the wider ‘Coalition for Marriage’ (aka the No campaign) comprehensively lost the postal survey:

 

By 2,943,260 votes (or more than the entire population of Western Australia and the Northern Territory, combined),

 

In every state and territory, and

 

In an overwhelming 133 out of 150 electorates across the country.

 

We should remember that this was the process they asked for, one that completely stacked the decks in their favour.

 

An optional vote, with older Australians, who are more likely to oppose marriage equality, also more likely to participate.

 

A postal ballot, with many younger Australians, who are more likely to support marriage equality, also less familiar with ‘physical’ mail.

 

A simple Yes/No question, with the long history of failed referenda in Australia demonstrating it is much easier to run a scare campaign, and sow seeds of doubt, than to convince people to vote for positive change.

 

Rules requiring equal media coverage of the Yes and No cases, even when the No campaign had nothing to say relating to the question of same-sex marriage itself, only misinformation and manipulation about trans and gender diverse kids, and Safe Schools.

 

Even with all of these advantages, the No campaign experienced what can only be described as a drubbing: 61.6% to 38.4%.

 

To add insult to (their) injury, they then lost again in the Parliament, where they sought numerous additional special rights to discriminate against LGBTI couples – and were denied.

 

Despite having a conservative Government, including a Liberal and National majority in the House of Representatives.

 

Despite intense lobbying to provide civil celebrants, and wedding-related businesses, and religious schools, and parents, and charities, with new legal authority to treat same-sex marriages as second-class.

 

Despite having Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull support at least some of these special religious privileges.

 

All of these amendments were voted down in the Senate. And then again in the House of Representatives for good measure.

 

Shelton, the ACL and the Coalition for Marriage comprehensively failed in their mission to ‘defend traditional marriage’.

 

However, as enjoyable as it was to write the above – and the temptation toward schadenfreude is admittedly strong right now – that is not actually the reason we should ignore him.

 

After all, there is nothing wrong with losing in a democracy. As an LGBTI advocate, and a ‘progressive’ more broadly, my own history of involvement in Australian politics is littered with many more defeats than victories. And I’m sure there will be plenty more of the former in coming years too.

 

On the other hand, there is plenty of justification for ignoring him on the basis of how he went about the campaign itself, and the Australian Christian Lobby’s offensive conduct for many years beforehand.

 

Because of his (infamous) oft-repeated comments that rainbow families having children was creating a new Stolen Generation.

 

Because of his rhetorical link between marriage equality and Nazi Germany (“Changing the definition of marriage to entrench motherless and fatherlessness in public policy and teaching our kids their gender is fluid should be opposed. The cowardice and weakness of Australia’s ‘gatekeepers’ is causing unthinkable things to happen, just as unthinkable things happened in Germany in the 1930s”).

 

Because of his incitement of ‘bathroom panic’ against trans women (“Why should a man identifying as a woman be allowed into a woman’s gym or a domestic violence shelter? Why should biological males identifying as women be allowed into women’s public toilets and shower facilities?”).

 

Especially because of their ongoing attacks on trans and gender diverse young people. In the words of Georgie Stone:

 

“Although there is so much we have achieved there is still this social stigma in Australia against trans kids. That needs to change, especially in the light of the same-sex marriage debate. The No campaign used trans kids as cannon fodder” [emphasis added].

 

But, with the postal survey now over, and with all couples now permitted to marry, irrespective of their sexual orientation, gender identity or sex characteristics, there is no compelling reason to continue to pay attention to the likes of Lyle Shelton.

 

It’s time we allowed his discriminatory viewpoint to recede to the fringes of society, where it rightfully belongs.

 

For my part, that means ignoring his attention-seeking public commentary. And not sharing articles, posts or tweets in which he and the ACL simply perpetuate homophobia, biphobia and transphobia.

 

Which means that, from today, Lyle Shelton will join an ‘exclusive’ group of people who I vow to never amplify via social media.

 

Alongside a certain former leader of the Australian Labor Party, turned media ‘outsider’.

 

And a notorious internet troll, who was recently in the country and who shares a name with a breakfast beverage.

 

After exerting disproportionate influence on public policy over the past decade, I think we should collectively say ‘Bye Fe-Lyle-cia’. Or should that be ‘Bye Feli-Shelton’? Either way, Lyle, it’s time for you to sashay away.

 

Lyle Shelton