I Am A Proud Gay, Yolngu Man. But That Wasn’t Always The Case.

By Dustin Mangatjay McGregor

My name is Dustin Mangatjay McGregor. I am a proud gay, Yolngu man. This is my story.

I remember that when you are young, they say you can be anything or anybody you want to be. Except when you are Aboriginal. For generations, society has controlled every molecule of our being. You’re not allowed to be anything other than what they expect you to be. Would you like me to tell you what that is? I’ll tell you. Nothing. Coming to terms with my identity and being accepted by others would prove to be the greatest challenge that I ever faced.

Just by being Aboriginal, you start out below baseline.

I remember being eight years old living on Milingimbi, a remote island situated in North East Arnhem Land. I play in the school yard. I’m approached by my teacher’s niece. She’s Caucasian and young, only two grades above me. ‘You’re not even Aboriginal. You have light skin’. What does she mean? I walk away confused and equally hurt, unaware that this was only the beginning.

Just by being Aboriginal, you are condemned to a lifetime of pain.

My name is Dustin Mangatjay McGregor. I am a proud gay, Yolngu man, but that wasn’t always the case.

I remember being 11, now living in Darwin. I hear some kids making fun of Aboriginal people at school. I’m not accustomed to the intolerant nature of society. So many questions. Why? What did we do to them? Do we deserve this? Is what they say true? The list of questions grows. The answers are nowhere to be found. ‘If you’re Aboriginal, why are you pale?’, ‘What percentage Aboriginal are you?’, ‘You’re Aboriginal? You don’t sound it’, ‘Why do Aboriginal people get special treatment and not the rest of us? That’s not fair’. Over the years, my identity is continuously placed on a chopping block under public scrutiny. It’s dissected, then pieced back together over and over. Each time I lose a piece of myself.

Just by being Aboriginal, you have to prove yourself every day.

I remember finally turning 18. I download Grindr onto my phone. Maybe they’ll understand me. Acceptance is only a message away. I’m wrong. I proudly display that I’m an Aboriginal man in my profile. I receive abuse. Some people block me when they find out. People say I was asking for it, that I must have said something to provoke them. I’m fetishised, ‘oh I’ve never been into an Aboriginal guy before’, a commodity to be consumed. They consider me lower on the hierarchy, the lowest of the low. My worth is dictated by those around me. All I feel is empty, I’m not comfortable in my own skin. I begin to question my existence and everything I’ve ever believed in. I reach a point lower than I thought possible.

Just by being Aboriginal, there is no safe space.

I remember feeling it has to be make or break. I’m forced to re-evaluate my entire life. Enough is enough. As a child I was taught to avoid conflict, that it was better to just walk away. Not anymore. It’s 2016. I’m 23, living in Adelaide. I’m midway through my medical degree. A friend interviews me about my experiences with racism in the gay community. She publishes it on the SBS website. Within 48 hours it circulates around the world. My Facebook is flooded with messages of support. It reaches out to people. They tell me their stories. Their pain is my pain, and mine is theirs. They are filled with hope, hope that things will change. At that point I realise ‘This is it. This is who I want to be’. I feel a strange sensation, something unfamiliar.

I feel happy.

To fight what society says to you and conditions you to believe, not just for me, for other Aboriginal people that suffer in this way. Aboriginal people can’t just be somewhat decent, you’ve got try your absolute best and excel. You have to be better than everyone. You have to stand out. You’ve got to. If you don’t stand out, you waste away to nothing. If you stand up for yourself and make something of yourself and you are Aboriginal, you’re seen as fighting against the statistics. To be going somewhere and to be fighting all of this, it’s not just about yourself, it’s not just about me, it’s about all Aboriginal people. We are constantly told negative things about our entire existence and then simultaneously told to ‘get over it’. To fight all of that and work towards something and try to be successful, you’re being political. I don’t want history to repeat itself. I desperately don’t want that to happen. I won’t let it happen.

Just by being Aboriginal, you are making a political statement.

My name is Dustin Mangatjay McGregor. I am a proud gay, Yolngu man and I won’t let this happen again.