the lgbti elders’ dance club creates a safe space
for older queer folk to meet, talk and cut a rug.
we headed along to their end-of-year bash.
WORDS RACHEL POWER PHOTOGRAPHS MIA MALA MCDONALDthat
old-time boogie
Once a month on a Sunday afternoon, John travels by train from
country Warragul to attend a seniors’ dance club at the Fitzroy Town
Hall. “I’ve been dancing since I was 10 and I turn 68 tomorrow,”
he says proudly. But it’s no ordinary event that has him regularly
making the 100-kilometre journey into Melbourne. This is a daylight
disco with a difference, specifically designed to celebrate and
support older lesbian, gay, bi, trans and intersex people by providing
a safe space where they, and their allies, can make new connections
and rediscover the joy of dance. “It’s about getting people together
and breaking down barriers,” John says.
The LGBTI Elders’ Dance Club is one of a number of events hosted
by All The Queens Men – an arts company led by Bec Reid and
Tristan Meecham, offering creative opportunities for marginalised
and vulnerable communities. While there’s increasing awareness
of the elevated mental health risks for LGBTI youth, the experiences
of queer elders are often ignored. A 2014 report highlighting the
devastating impact of homophobia on the lives of older gay and
lesbian Australians – particularly the risks they face in aged care
- was a light bulb moment for Tristan, who realised, “Older LGBTI
people are dying because they’re lonely.”
“This is a generation of people who have been rejected by their
families, imprisoned, hospitalised. Social isolation is at the forefront
of their experiences,” Tristan says. “We realised we needed to provide
more intergenerational connections. Family in a much more rainbow
sense – what you make it, rather than what you’re born into.”
Tristan and Bec have gone out of their way to make the free monthly
dance club a joyous, welcoming and comfortable experience for
its participants – including a spread of biscuits, snacks and drinks
to scoff between turns on the dancefloor. “It’s really important for
people to walk through those doors and feel they can be completely
themselves,” Bec says. “Genuine love and inclusivity. We keep
the doors wide open for that extra bit of visibility, and everyone is
welcome.” Participants range from competitive ballroom dancers
who want to practise their foxtrot, to folks in their 80s with two left
feet, she says. “Then there’s a wonderful creature, Laurie – she
comes into the space and freestyle interpretive dances. It’s glorious!”
Many of the dance club regulars also attended the inaugural
Coming Back Out Ball, an evening of drag, opera and cabaret hosted
by All The Queens Men last year at the Melbourne Town Hall. The
event honoured the LGBTI elders who, as Tristan puts it, “have led
the way; shaped our community; fought for my right to wear these
six-inch heels and gold nail polish”. The ball was a triumph, both
as “a completely wonderful, over-the-top extravaganza”, and in
gaining widespread focus on the prevalence of LGBTI people feeling
pressured to hide their sexual identities once in nursing homes
or residential care, for fear of being discriminated against by the
service provider or other residents. (An especially distressing
experience for those who have only recently come out later in life.)
Andy Westle, a dance club volunteer, describes the events as
a “creative intervention” into the problem of social isolation.
“I’ve spoken to people who haven’t been out of their house for two
months. Many have never been to a gay event. It’s a generational
thing of giving back to our elders. I’m going to be an old fag one
day!” Bec, meanwhile, sees dancing as a silly, joyful way to escape
the anxieties of the outside world – an activity that results in smiles
plastered firmly across gently lined faces. “It was very timely
through the whole marriage vote process; like a place of respite
from the trauma that was so communally felt. You could come
to dance club and just be loved, exactly the way you are.”real life