From the age of five Keenan Smith knew they felt different, lacking the sense of ease other children in country Australia took for granted and bristling at being pushed towards rough and tumble sports and toy trucks and guns.
“I didn’t like the same things that boys would use in that age group, things like sports and those traditionally gendered things,” the Wirangu, Mirning and Kokatha person says.
Smith grew up on South Australia’s far west coast, between mining town Ceduna and Port Lincoln. They grew up feeling “different”, experiencing multiple prejudices as a First Nations gay and non-binary person.
“Going to school in [Port] Lincoln I was often the only Aboriginal kid in my class.
“In Ceduna I was surrounded by family and there was a big Aboriginal community there so I didn’t know I was different in that sense, but for me gender and identity was something I always knew.
“I always hated being called a man or a guy. I never identified with that, even as a kid.”
Smith says after moving to the city for university they began to explore their identity and sexuality. In 2020 as the country grappled with isolation brought on by the pandemic, they felt safe enough to “come out”.
It’s that hard-won safety Smith feels is now at risk, as Australians prepare to vote on an Indigenous voice to parliament. Already divisions within the parliament are showing and there are growing concerns the referendum could stir up racist vitriol, triggering trauma for vulnerable Indigenous people, similar to the homophobic ugliness during the same sex marriage plebiscite.
“I think for Aboriginal people it is going to be 10 times worse, just given the history of colonisation or continual colonisation in this country,” Smith says.
“We should be getting ahead of this and starting now by identifying the risks associated with the campaign coming up for our mental health and wellbeing.”
Professor of Indigenous Studies at Macquarie University, Sandy O’Sullivan, says the 2017 marriage equality plebiscite offers some ugly lessons for the nation’s future referendum.
“It split up families, it affected people in their workplaces. There was this absolutely toxic, nasty rhetoric that we could easily see happen in exactly the same way,” the Wiradjuri person says.
They say for queer First Nations people, who have already been part of a national debate with painful homophobic and hate speech, disagreements and harmful comments take a big toll.
O’Sullivan, who has a strong online presence, was overwhelmed by the vitriol directed towards them for their stance during the same-sex marriage plebiscite.
“We were facing a whole lot of negative misinformation. All this misinformation from mostly non-Indigenous people and all this negative criticism. It was absolutely toxic. It was incessant, and it was pushing the no vote,” they say.
“Anyone who’s already gone through that will be re-traumatised, but I think for all mob it’s going to be traumatising. We know that there’ll be dissent because we’re seeing it even before we know what the question is.”
It’s something the minister for Indigenous Australians, Linda Burney, acknowledged this week at the launch of Yarn13, a hotline providing culturally appropriate mental health support for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people.
“In the lead-up to the referendum, we will probably have to listen to some pretty horrible things about our mob – from people who are threatened or opposed to change, or maybe just plain racist,” Burney said.
Aboriginal psychologist Dr Tracy Westerman says racism, trauma and negative portrayals already affect Indigenous people’s daily lives and when issues such as the need for a voice become public, they “create a perfect storm for fear and hate”.
“Racism manifests in the same way, as trauma,” the Nyamal woman says.
“As a comparative, we know for example that homophobia was at its peak during the gay marriage debate and we also know that this significantly impacted on the mental health of the gay community,” Westerman says.
Supporting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is vital, and communities will need to rely on each other as the campaign begins, Westerman says.
Sometimes “tuning out the noise” is a form of self-care, she says.
“The simple answer is to not engage with every racist on social media and turn to your personal supports.
“Often you simply need to disengage as self-protection and to model this to kids. Pick your battles and teach your children to do the same.”
Westerman says being aware about how psychological distress shows up in the body is also important.
“Racism as trauma means that there will be a sense of body stress, anxiety and this can be felt not only by yourself but it also impacts on those around you.”
Black Rainbow’s founder, Dameyon Bonson, an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander man, says the three months leading up to the vote on marriage equality were a “living hell” but he fears racism and ugly commentary could be worse this time around, especially for First Nations children.
“The racism is just going to get worse and if the marriage equality vote was anything to go by, it will. Those actual three months during the live plebiscite was absolute hell right to the very end,” he said.
Support needs to be in place by next year, particularly for children and young people who will be dealing with some of these issues for the first time, Bonson says.
“So I think that it’s going to be about educating schools and having protective strategies in place.”
But he believes the voice will succeed.
“I think that a large portion of Australians already know, they want this.”
• In Australia, support is available at Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, Lifeline on 13 11 14, and at MensLine on 1300 789 978. In the UK, the charity Mind is available on 0300 123 3393 and Childline on 0800 1111. In the US, Mental Health America is available on 800-273-8255
