Next month, on 22 November, it will be two years since Aspley State High School student Tyrone Unsworth took his own life. He was 13.
We lose more than 2800 Australians to suicide every year, with 65,000 Australians attempting suicide annually; the number of people impacted by those attempts is exponential. What makes the loss of Tyrone stand out is that his suicide followed years of homophobic bullying, and occurred in the midst of conservative attacks on the Safe Schools program, and a divisive postal plebiscite as to whether non-heterosexual people deserved the right to marry.
Tyrone was different. In high school, that made him fair game for abuse. In the wake of his death, Tyrone's mother told News Corp that her son 'was a really feminine male, he loved fashion, he loved make-up and the boys always picked on him, calling him gay-boy, faggot, fairy; it was a constant thing from year five.'
Suicide does not occur in a vacuum. In Tyrone's case, the events of 27 October 2016 prefigured his suicide. Tyrone's aunt stated that, on that day, the boy chose to defend a young girl who'd been spat on outside the Zillmere Police Citizens Youth Club. In retaliation, Tyrone was struck from behind by a fellow student brandishing a fence paling, which broke his jaw. Surgery followed. The lad never returned to school.
The ABC's 7.30 program interviewed a friend who recalled that, the day before his suicide, Tyrone 'was an absolute mess, crying his eyes out and telling me everyone wants him dead and I said, "Tyrone, what do you mean everyone wants you dead?" He said, "The kids at school keep telling me to go kill myself", and I was obviously gobsmacked.' The other students 'did call him nasty names, like faggot and fairy. He loved girly things, he's chosen dresses for me and his mum to wear, he's asked to use makeup. Kids obviously thought because he's like that he could be a target for their bullying.'
For some people of faith — truly, for many people of faith — deviation from an expected norm of sexual orientation and expression is anathema. Encouragingly, 74 per cent of participants in a Fairfax-Ipsos poll oppose discrimination against gay students and teachers in our school system.
That still leaves 21 per cent of participants who believed religious schools should have the right to discriminate against gay teachers and students. (The percentage wishing to discriminate against gays was as high as 45 per cent of One Nation supporters polled.)
"Everyone should be able to make their own choices in life. But that is a shallow sentiment in a country where kids like Tyrone Unsworth are bashed for who they are, and don't live long enough to make those choices."
That prejudice flies in the face of contrastingly inclusive views expressed by other spiritual leaders, such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who famously compared homophobia with apartheid: 'black people were being blamed and made to suffer for something we could do nothing about — our very skin,' he reflected. 'It is the same with sexual orientation. It is a given. I could not have fought against the discrimination of apartheid and not also fight against the discrimination that homosexuals endure, even in our churches and faith groups.
'Opposing apartheid was a matter of justice. Opposing discrimination against women is a matter of justice. Opposing discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation is a matter of justice.'
As to how to break down that prejudice, bestselling US Christian writer Philip Yancey, a moderate, believes religious people will only begin to show grace towards people of different sexual orientation when they have 'personal exposure' to LGBTIQ people.
'It's amazing how feelings change when suddenly it's your daughter or your brother who comes out of the closet,' he wrote. 'In my case, it was my friend Mel. The issues I had read about suddenly had a face, a person with a story. When that happened, everything changed. That's one reason why I think it's sad that the churches have so little contact. I have attended gay and lesbian churches whose fervency and commitment would put most evangelical churches to shame. Disapproving conservatives should have contact with those people, and vice versa.'
When unchallenged, unexamined religious beliefs are allowed to impact others' lives, religion is at its most toxic, serving to reinforce homophobic bullying and prejudice in society at large. The report 'Preventing harm, promoting justice: Responding to LGBT conversion therapy in Australia', released on 15 October, reveals that not only is 'praying away the gay' a furphy, it is accompanied by abusive practices such as attaching electrodes to people's genitals.
Those who survived 'various conversion therapy practices between 1986 and 2016 as part of their struggle to reconcile their sexuality or transgender identity with the beliefs and practices of their religious communities [have] ultimately been forced to choose between one part of themselves at the expense of another,' reveals the report.
'Those who have sacrificed their religious beliefs to be true to their sexuality or gender diverse identity have had to deal with the deep grief that comes with a loss of faith and being separated from their faith-based community, family and friends. Those who have remained faithful to the beliefs of their religious communities have often done so by denying their sexual feelings or gender diverse identity in order to pass as heterosexual and cisgender. Some live in a constant struggle to maintain their diverse gender, sexual identity and faith in the face of varying degrees of rejection from both LGBT and religious communities.'
Reparative therapy's emotional, physical and spiritual abuse is still legal. Our federal leaders evade the issue of gay conversion therapy, with the PM saying that people should 'make their own choices about their own lives'.
Yes. Everyone should be able to make their own choices in life. But that is a shallow sentiment in a country where kids like Tyrone Unsworth are bashed for who they are, and don't live long enough to make those choices.
If you are troubled and want to talk to someone, you can call Lifeline, on 13 11 14.
Barry Gittins is a Melbourne writer.