I am an Australian citizen. I pay taxes. I vote. I have a passport. I volunteer my time and voice and donate money to charities or causes I believe in. I have a  degree from a pretty good school. For most of the time since I was fifteen I have worked, often 40 – 70 hours a week. I am in a committed relationship. I try to call my mother a few times a week. I hold the door open for anyone in front of or behind me. I’m generally the last one out of the elevator. I’ve contacted my local government when I believed something needed improvement. I have good, long-term friendships. I’ve given money to friends who needed help. I’ve lent countless items to friends, assuming they will not be returned. I’ve worked to help people I know who were in crisis get through the next day. I’ve sat on the phone for hours with people who were depressed. I have a dog,  I’ve rescued from a shelter. I feed and walk him, a lot. I pick up after him, every time. I am called upon to help or give an opinion several times a week. I am financially self-sufficient. I have homeowners’ insurance. When I needed a car for work I got one, kept it in good shape, kept it insured. I take vitamins. I try to eat well and take care of myself physically and mentally. I have a GP. I always bring a gift to a host or hostess when I am invited into their home. I say “please”, “thank you”, and, too often I’m told, “I’m sorry.” I sometimes send out Christmas cards. I rarely say “no”. I rarely say “no” when asked to do anything for someone. I always leave a tip. I don’t yell at waiters or waitresses, though I have yelled at drivers who run red lights. I keep my TV and music at a reasonable level, especially late at night so I don’t disturb my neighbours. I turn off my appliances at the wall in my home to conserve electricity. I almost always pay my bills on time. I backup my computer. I buy extended warranties on expensive electronics. I try to share information as often as I can. I generally pay more than my share when going out to dinner with friends. I generally return calls within twenty-four hours. I keep my home reasonably clean. I keep abreast of current events. I receive my news from a wide variety of sources. When disagreeing with someone, I try to remain civil and respectful. I take my dog to the dog park occasionally. I know he would like to go more often. I compliment strangers sometimes. I call restaurants to cancel if I can’t keep my reservation. I try to validate my friend’s feelings and listen to their thoughts openly. I rarely boast or brag. I try to patronise local businesses. I buy Australian owned and made. Although it’s hard for me to say this, I’m pretty certain I will have left somewhat of a positive impact on the world by the time I’m gone. I want to get married. I can’t, because I’m gay.

I grew up feeling sad and different and sometimes ashamed.

I no longer am sad, I’m glad I’m different, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be ashamed of who I am or what I believe. Because what I believe is that we are all the same. We are all equal. We all deserve to love and have our love recognised.

I think I’m a pretty good person. I know I’m as good as anyone else. I have done little enough wrong to deserve your forgiveness. I’ve done nothing that deserves your pity. And I know that I am good enough to not deserve your tolerance.

Tolerance is for someone who doesn’t know better, like my dog who likes to jump on people. Tolerance is for someone whose views negatively impact your life, like people who want to stop me from loving the man I love, with all my heart. I do not want your tolerance. I do not deserve your tolerance. I will not accept your tolerance any longer. What I will do is my best to ensure that we are all given equality and the legal right to love and marry the person who loves us back. From now on I will tolerate nothing less.

Edited from the original by David Badash

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• Are you having trouble determining whether or not you want to fuck a guy you’ve met online? Ask the technical support people what they think! It’s considered good form to involve them in the decision process!
• Unless you clearly state on your profile that a sense of humor is important, nobody would ever guess that it mattered to you. You’ll wind up getting hits exclusively from morose leather daddies and twinks who like Nietzsche.
• Guys online like to know that you appreciate them as individuals. And nothing shows them that more than when you send them a picture of your cock.
• Are you a grizzled 65-year-old chicken hawk? And have you entered yourself and your picture into Gaydar Sex Factor as a participant in the “Young Guys (18 – 21)” or “Muscle (18 – 30)” categories? Then you’ve TOTALLY understood the concept and need no further instructions on anything! And you should wind up with a “Top 10” award any time now.
• You know those people who put pictures of totally hot guys in their profiles and then add the line “Not me, but what I like”? Other people LOVE that sort of thing.
• When meeting an online contact in person for the first time, arrange to meet him in a public place. That way you can check him out in person and just walk away when you get cold feet or decide he’s not quite what you had in mind as a felching partner.
• Are you having trouble finding a commitment-minded, sexually agile, drop-dead-gorgeous guy through online dating? Well boo-fucking-hoo, you big baby. Grow a pair!
• Your profile might not be the best place to let guys know exactly why your parole officer thinks that there’s no hope for you “on the outside”.
• Online dating provides guys with a great way to meet cool, career-minded, and totally HOT men from all over the world. Too bad that last guy you hooked up with ran off with your laptop while you were in the bathroom!
• If for any reason you need to cancel your date with someone you’ve met online, just go ahead and do it. He’ll figure it out eventually that you’re not coming.

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A few things I’d like to do with you:

Hide your car keys; Read the paper over your shoulder; Wash your socks; Make you wash my socks; Enjoy the silence; Get deep down dirty; Buy crap with your loose change; Slap your arse in public; Cut your hair, badly; Laugh until it hurts; Borrow your clothes and look better in them than you do; Smile just thinking about you; Have a food fight; Pitch a tent on a beach; Say “I told you so”; Surprise you; Do nothing; Break the law (well sort of); Whip your arse at something you’re good at; Make your day; Watch the night sky; Burn your dinner; Grow veggies; Curse you under my breath (w*nker); Grab your Calvin’s and give you a wedgie; Drink a little; Drink a lot; Fall in *cough* love with you; Be happy (mostly).

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All I can say is woof!

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From today’s Sydney Morning Herald.

The F-bomb was dropped on me only once. I was at a bus shelter with my then boyfriend when we heard the “call of the wild”: “Go back to Mardi Gras you f—ing faggots!”. I responded as calmly as I could: “I may be a faggot, sir, but you are a fool. My people get parades, what do your people get?”

The gay teenager is a modern invention. No longer must we wait for the liberal oasis of university to express our sexuality identity. After several years enduring those polite euphemisms of “flamboyance” and “sensitivity” I tiptoed out of the closet. Fifteen, out and proud.

My story is not unique. For the more liberal members of our generation the closet has become an antique.

The internet has become an important resource for the fledgling homosexual. A boy a few years below me at school came out by editing his MySpace profile. The advent of cybersexuality has allowed gay teenagers to communicate, connect and flirt without fear of persecution. Feel lonely? Log in, chat. Where once a teenage lesbian would have felt confused or alienated, she can now google stories just like her own. The internet first introduced me to the history, the politics, the rituals of being gay. My sex education was exclusively heterosexual, and I didn’t want to risk borrowing that book from the library.

Television has also made a difference. Programs such as Will and Grace have popularised the image of the fag hag and her effete companion. The result: I have been accessorised by teenage girls who want you to be “their” gay best friend. Having gay friends makes them feel like one of those metropolitan goddesses from Sex and the City. We’ll merrily trot from one boutique to the next picking dresses or boyfriends. I try to explain that I know nothing about fashion or men but they simply won’t listen. (I do try to be more like the well-trained, urbane, television homosexuals. I really do.)

Thankfully, my own high school is, largely, the tolerant, accepting society in microcosm. It is Wollongong’s only academically selective school which means that the student body is intelligent enough to know that sex only matters when you’re involved. To the Sydney readers, I hope that shatters some of your stereotypes of Wollongong: we aren’t all steel-brained Neanderthals.

But other students are not so lucky. According to a LaTrobe University study into the lives of same-sex-attracted youth, 44 per cent experience verbal abuse, while 16 per cent suffer physical abuse. Gay teens can end up homeless, depressed and suicidal. The average high-school corridors are known for their inimicality. Friends of mine have to rush from class to class through hidden paths to avoid the obligatory shout of “faggot”.

This intolerance makes it obvious how the modern gay rights movement has failed gay kids. It is a political movement driven by the concerns of wealthy, white, middle-aged, metropolitan men. Marriage, apparently, is the gay equality issue of our time; the right to give your relationship governmental oversight. It is a noble project but when you compare it to real queer issues of our time it appears a waste of focus, time and resources.

HIV infection rates are on the rise in gay communities, as is the use of crystal meth. The afflictions that school students face remain unaddressed. Internationally our identity is criminalised: there are still nations around the world that enforce the death penalty for being gay. In Russia and Poland, reactionary parties have tried to remove the civil liberties of gay protesters. These groups face the problems that our community dealt with decades ago. I thought history bred compassion.

Growing up gay involves moving slowly forward in the traffic jam of progress. You savour each small advance but you can only see your destination in the distance. Sometimes bigotry, hatred and cruelty bring your journey to a standstill.

Daniel Swain is a year 11 student at Smith’s Hill High School in Wollongong.

I went to an all boys Catholic High School. It was not pretty! Even some of the teachers were bad. Then I moved on to a state co-ed school. Almost as bad, but not quite.

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