We'll find it, the rainbow connection

South Murdoch and daughter Aqua Spiers (at left) lead a parade of more than 50 people along...
South Murdoch and daughter Aqua Spiers (at left) lead a parade of more than 50 people along George St last night as part of Dunedin Queer Pride Week. People from as far away as Christchurch dressed in flamboyant rainbow colours and took to the street in Mardi Gras style.
A rainbow broke out on George St last night as Dunedin's first Queer Pride Week mardi gras took to the town centre. Tom McKinlay takes a look.

Katy Perry "kissed a girl", and she liked it, or so she sang on her chart-topping single. It worked for her, at least the suggestion did.

Big album sales, a spot on the wall of any number of teenagers' bedrooms - both male and female, no doubt.

But she should probably think twice before trying it in Dunedin.

South Murdoch kissed a girl, and it did not go down so well.

It's hard to imagine someone taking exception to Ms Murdoch, the organiser of yesterday's Queer Pride Week mardi gras-style street parade down George St.

Turned out in typically Dunedin dark conservative tones, the self-described "lipstick lesbian" was all engaging efficiency this week as she ran through the plans for yesterday's event: the masquerade theme, the inclusive philosophy, the music, theatre and dance to accompany the main-street parade.

But the staff at a Dunedin bar saw her through a different lens when she chose to show some affection for her partner.

They didn't like it.

"The hardest thing about it, especially in my circumstance, was that we were sitting right next to a female and male who were kissing.

"We weren't following suit or anything but the time was right, and we were asked to leave because they just did not want that happening in that pub," she recalls.

It was an unusual circumstance for Ms Murdoch, who as a "lipstick lesbian" says she is sometimes spared the sharper edge of discrimination.

That is commonly reserved for "butch" lesbians, she says, while the lipstick variety is dealt with by way of another stereotype.

Perhaps think Katy Perry (though, at the risk of confusing matters, it turns out she is heterosexual).

"For lipstick lesbians it becomes more of the fantasy-type thing that people have been brought up with," she explains.

"It is the same with the boys. If you are a masculine gay boy then you are accepted more readily into the community than if you are a flamboyant gay boy."

So much for prejudice then, in all its glorious subtlety.

Which brings us back to yesterday's parade - an event Ms Murdoch hopes will become an annual fixture.

"It is about being part of the community, and Dunedin being one and accepting people for exactly who they are," she says of the city's first queer main-street parade.

"Some of the thrust is concern for our children and their future, who have this homophobia or lack of understanding or old-fashioned views to contend with," Ms Murdoch says.

"Our kids are being bullied in school."

Children face some of the worst homophobia, she says. It's an issue her own 13-year-old daughter is facing.

"She is suffering from bullying in school from having gay parents."

Ms Murdoch (37) has four children. Her eldest, who is 20, counsels her younger sibling to hang in there until university, when having lesbian parents will become cool.

For those who struggle to hang in there, self-harm looms as a threat, particularly for those negotiating the difficult adolescent years, she says.

So the festive mardi gras, with its trappings of sequins, party-time make-up and masquerade masks, took on some serious issues.

While it followed in the footsteps of grander occasions elsewhere, notably Auckland's Hero Parade, it had been planned to do so in a characteristically conservative southern manner.

The masquerade theme was employed to make those who might otherwise be concerned about being "branded" feel they too could be a part.

"A lot of young people should not be labelled or are still questioning about their own sexuality. And they are young, they should be doing that. We don't want to brand people with `gay', just by taking part in the event," Ms Murdoch explains.

"There are a lot of bigger businessmen and women in this town that are queer and they do not want a lot of people to know in case it brings prejudice."

University of Otago gender studies senior lecturer Dr Chris Brickell said in some ways the parade concept was not so groundbreaking for Dunedin, inasmuch as it appeared to tap into student traditions of dressing up, notably for the Selwyn ballet and orientation events.

"In a way it is tapping into one of the aspects of Dunedin life, dressing up, but using it in a more queer way, in a gay context."

The use of masquerade - a common element in queer parade events - placed the event within the tradition of the carnival, which dated back to medieval times and in which convention was turned on its head, Dr Brickell said.

It would be a positive if the parade raised the profile of the gay and lesbian community, he said.

"We really need to get visibility out there, because Dunedin is a place where there is not always a lot of visibility of the queer community."

Ms Murdoch's hopes for a big turnout at the inaugural mardi gras had not been high.

But that does not mean the message carried down George St should be viewed as a minority issue, she says.

"One of our statements would be `we are not a minority here'.

"People don't think about how many gay families and people there are here.

"But there are quite a few and when you add people who are supportive of the community it turns out to be quite a few people."

Prejudice remained a concern, particularly in the south of the country, she said, despite the fact the Homosexual Law Reform Act and protections in the Bill of Rights were now long established in New Zealand.

The mardi gras was not Ms Murdoch's first attempt to meet this prejudice head-on.

The practised event organiser had been involved in previous Queer Pride Weeks.

She also puts together "gender bender" parties where gay, lesbian and "straight but not narrow" people can meet.

"I hold a lot of gay events in Dunedin. That's always been my big agenda, to get rid of a lot of this homophobia.

"I have held queer-friendly events, where you can be quite comfortable if you are straight, or as we say, `straight but not narrow'.

"It is an opportunity to come along and mix and meet and ask questions if they want to. Through that we have helped fight a lot of homophobia," she says.

"We find a lot of boys come back and say, wow, they are really nice people. The boys dress well. They haven't been in a situation where they could discover that. It is all about bringing it to the front."

There are other glimmers of hope that the grip of old prejudices is weakening, among them the popularity television weatherman Tamati Coffey maintained despite coming out and supporting the charity Rainbow Youth during the Dancing With The Stars show.

Another is the work of PFLAG (Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays), which is "helping parents come to terms with who their children are and being proud of them anyway", Ms Murdoch says.

But there is work to be done in Dunedin.

Gay bashings happen "all the time", she says.

"The other part of it is abuses that the normal community do not even look at."

Domestic violence and sexual assaults within the gay and lesbian communities go unaddressed because those involved feel excluded from normal recourse to the justice system, she says.

Unlike the endless recounting of male-assaults-female stories in the court news, incidences of violence in same-sex relationships go largely unreported.

"To get rid of this violence we have to open it up. A gay boy needs to be able to go along to the police and not face prejudice, so people understand him and support him exactly as they would with a male or a female [in a straight relationship] who has been abused," she says.

"There are some lesbian predators out there but how many times do we see rape cases in the courts about a female raping a female? They are not seen.

"Because it is not in your face all the time, it is shoved under the carpet. But at the same time, people suffer."

It is a message the police have heard and acted on, according to Dunedin police community relations co-ordinator Sergeant Matt Scoles, who says they have worked hard in the past five years to provide more effective training for staff so there is a greater understanding among officers who are likely to deal with incidents or crimes involving gay and lesbian members of the community.

There are diversity liaison officers in all police districts, which he says is a significant step towards reducing barriers.

"Police aim to treat everybody who reports a crime of any nature with consistency, respect and empathy," he says.

If circumstances make it difficult for a victim in a same-sex relationship to report domestic violence, diversity liaison officers can be contacted in confidence, Sgt Scoles says.

One of the main organisers of Auckland's Hero Parade, Bruce Kilmister, says the event there made a significant contribution to changing attitudes in the city, following as it did close on the heels of the Homosexual Law Reform Act of 1986.

"My personal philosophy was once we had achieved law reform we needed to set about social reform.

"The best way to achieve social reform was a celebration where people could have some fun and come together," Mr Kilmister, who was chairman of the Hero Charitable Trust through the 1990s, says.

The object was to show the human side of the gay and lesbian community, to explode a few stereotypes and unpick a few of the ugly prejudices of New Zealand's post-war past.

During the 1990s, changing attitudes were tracked by means of polling.

"We turned that around in terms of people feeling that people had the right to do what they wanted to in the privacy of their bedrooms," Mr Kilmister says.

But the polling showed changes in attitudes went deeper still, with people becoming more relaxed about questions such as "would you be concerned if your son was gay", he says.

"It was effective because people saw it as a celebration and an experience and an entertainment. It was totally embraced."

Such changed attitudes have percolated down through much of New Zealand, Mr Kilmister says, with perhaps the exception of "heartland" rural areas.

"That is not because there's a conscious hatred. There is a conscious ignorance.

"I say that in the kindest way because people have had little exposure or have had little confrontation with those issues in their community, so in the first instance they don't know how to relax or relate."

The Hero Parade has not run since 2001, after it ran into financial difficulty.

Mr Kilmister had stepped down as chairman by that stage.

Dr Brickell remembers the effect the parade had on him as a young man in Auckland.

"As a spectator there was something quite affirming and exciting about your community out there in the main street of the city, having some queer space for a while that is quite a public space. That visibility can be valuable and affirming."

Rainbow Day is on in the Octagon today, noon to 2pm.

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