By Lauren Ironmonger
What’s it like to grow up queer in Australia today? Well, for one thing, you’d be part of a growing cohort of peers openly identifying as queer.
Between 2020 and 2022, the number of Gen Z Australians who identify as LGBTQ increased from 16 to 29 per cent, says YouthSense, which describes itself as “a free insights community … dedicated to youth engagement”.
Enfys (left) and Jemma, are part of Minus 18’s youth leadership program.Credit: Penny Stephens
You’d also be more likely to see yourself reflected in popular culture. Representation in the media – across TV, film and music – is growing, while events such as Pride Month and Mardi Gras become increasingly mainstream.
On the other hand, you’d be more likely to see yourself reflected in the headlines, as debates around the rights of those in the community grow increasingly polarised and hostile. Rates of poor mental health among LGBTQ Australians – no doubt fuelled by vitriolic debate – also remain high compared to the general population.
Micah Scott, chief executive of Minus 18, an Australian charity that supports members of the LGBTQ community, says the youth of today are more confident advocating for themselves. “There’s an expectation for the rest of the world to keep up and to understand and include them, which is incredible to see,” he says.
In part, Scott says, this comes from growing disillusionment with a society that wasn’t built for them to succeed. “Younger generations are opting out, refusing to make themselves fit and choosing to advocate for themselves.
“Of course, that then comes with barriers and challenges when those expectations aren’t met. Particularly, sometimes, older generations aren’t keeping up or aren’t familiar with how to best support them.”
He believes what the young people of today need most for acceptance is support. “The No.1 solution is for young people to be understood on a deep, interpersonal level.”
So, is it easier to be queer today? It’s an impossible question to answer, and one that would require flattening the rich and varied lived experiences of an entire generation into a singular yes or no.
To catch a glimpse of what it’s like to be Gen Z and queer today, we spoke to three young Australians – all mentors in Minus 18’s young leaders program– about growing up, identity and what life is like.
‘I stopped going to school’
Kira grew up playing sports, but says things became more complicated once they started to explore their queer identity.
For Kira*, a 21-year-old student living in Melbourne, the choice to “come out” was stolen from them in year 9.
“I knew that I was queer when I was quite young,” they explain, “[but] the coming out process was a bit complicated for me because I was outed by the girl I had a crush on. It caused an influx of bullying by my peers. Even my close friends at the time would feel uncomfortable walking close to me during school because they wouldn’t want anyone to think they were gay too.”
The bullying led Kira to stop attending school for six months before moving to a new one, where they say bullying still occurred but was less intense. Getting involved with programs for LGBTQ youth provided a reprieve from what was happening at school.
Kira grew up playing sport but, as they began to question their identity in their early teens, things started to become a little more complicated.
“My first club didn’t really support me and I felt like I had to take on the role of more than a footy player – of an educator,” Kira says.
They say things such as pronouns and “the experiences of non-binary people in quite a gendered space” were particular blind spots for the club. And elements of team sport that some might take for granted – such as uniforms and change rooms – could be tricky to navigate.
A second generation Australian – their mother is Maori and Tongan and their father Filipino – Kira was born in Melbourne but spent a lot of their childhood moving around. While they agree that representation for the LGBTQ community is improving, they say it remains narrow.
“Growing up, my greatest exposure to queer identities was through couples and individuals on YouTube, who were primarily white. Because of this, I felt pressure to assimilate into colonial and Western ways of being queer and trans.
“The public aren’t really exposed to intersectional experiences of queer and trans people of colour, which I feel is an important story to tell as well.”
Kira recently completed a double degree in gender and criminal studies, and has since been working across various volunteer roles, including as a mentor in Minus 18’s queer leadership program.
Their biggest piece of advice for young queer people today is “to be proactive in seeking out those spaces and also creating those safe spaces yourself”.
‘It was constantly in the back of my mind that my school didn’t care about me’
Enfys says coming out in 2017 during the marriage equality debate was tough.Credit: Penny Stephens
Enfys*, an aspiring gender studies researcher, grew up on the Gold Coast, Queensland, a place they say isn’t known for being the most welcoming to LGBTQ people.
Now 22, Enfys came out in 2017, amid raging debate over the marriage equality plebiscite. “It was not a fun time to be learning about myself because it was everywhere, and it was debated in school and my school actually refused to allow the year 12 graduates of that year to mention it in their yearbook quotes,” they say.
“It was just incredibly lonely.”
In year 12, Enfys was a school leader, and tried to start a gender and sexuality group. While they had a supportive teacher help them push to have the group approved, they received a firm no from the school. During this time, they also pushed for the acknowledgment of queer couples during Valentine’s Day events, and were again refused.
“That was a much worse than just feeling isolated because it was the school actively telling me, ‘No, there’s no space for you here.’ ”
All this affected their ability to concentrate in class, at a time when they should have been focusing on their final school exams. “It was constantly in the back of my mind that my school didn’t care about me essentially.”
Enfys now lives in Melbourne in a house with other queer people.
“It’s nice to be able to exist in a space that you call home and be able to be entirely yourself and not worry about whether or not someone’s going to question you. It can be hard growing up in that space where you’re having to explain yourself before you’ve even discovered yourself.”
Mentoring younger members of the community as part of Minus 18’s leadership program has been a rewarding project, says Enfys, who sees a lot of themselves reflected in their mentees. “I want to be the kind of person helping the child version of me that couldn’t find anything.”
For Enfys, it’s the little things that go a long way when it comes to creating more inclusive spaces for members of the LGBTQ community.
“People get afraid that they can’t do anything, but the tiniest action can have a big impact when done by so many people,” they say.
“Even something like adding pronouns at the end of an email or discussing with family or friends laws that need to be reformed or need to be pushed back against.”
‘I did feel a bit like an outsider, I was always on show’
Jemma came out in year 8, an experience she says felt “terrifying” at the time.Credit: Penny Stephens
Jemma* was one of the only openly queer students at her high school, having come out to her peers in year 8, a decision she says was not easy.
“It was terrifying, to be completely honest. It was not a great time. I was really, really self-conscious about it because it was just not something that was openly super accepted yet, like marriage equality wasn’t even legalised yet.”
Like Kira, Jemma says intolerance also came from her peers. “They often treated me like a science experiment, or, it sounds a bit dramatic but like an animal in a zoo. They’d ask me really personal questions they wouldn’t ask anyone else,” says the 22-year-old criminology and psychology student.
Despite being proud about her sexual identity, she says she did “feel a bit like an outsider, I was always on show”.
And while she says many teachers were incredibly supportive, some who she turned to for help perpetuated harmful stereotypes about sexuality. A student counsellor suggested that her bisexuality was merely a phase.
Does she think it’s easier to be queer today? It’s a complicated question to answer, she says, but stresses that many of the strides made for equality have only been recent.
“I know that society feels like it’s made lots of progress in terms of accepting the queer community,” she says.
“But it’s really important to note that most of these changes were only made in very recent history. Marriage equality was only legalised in 2017 …
“It’s so important that we look back and acknowledge how recent that is and the people who fought for change.”
Jemma, who attended Minus 18 events throughout her teenage years, says joining its leadership program was a way to give back. Being neurodivergent, she says the program has been rewarding in more ways than one. “It’s been really affirming for me, being around so many like-minded people who are very open to unmasking and embracing neurodiversity in ways that I haven’t even explored before.
“So that’s been really beautiful and a really great experience on top of everything else.”
Surnames have been withheld for privacy reasons.
QLife provides anonymous and free peer support and referral in Australia for anyone wanting to talk about sexuality, gender, bodies, feelings or relationships. Call 1800 184 527.
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