Global Awards News

LONDON: Despite a plethora of new builds over the past five years, researches claim LGBTQIA choices for seniors are still very limited.

In 2017, when I was at an LGBTQIA+ ageing conference, I learned that as many elder queer people go into retirement homes, particularly those run by faith groups, some feel as if they have to go back into the closet. That they can’t be their authentic selves.

That seemed so sad.

Then I thought: “That could be me in a few years.”

I’m in my 70s. So, while I’m still youngish, I need to work out what aged care options are out there for LGBTQIA+ seniors, and whether I’ll be able to take my whole self to one when I reach that stage.

As a trans woman, my authentic life didn’t really start until I’d affirmed my gender. I didn’t get to be Julie full time until I was in my late 30s. So, I was never myself as a teen or in my 20s.

And while I’ve always looked after myself, I can see I look older every year. Yet, because of my energy, joy for life and fashion, most people think I’m behaving more like a much-delayed 20- to 40-year-old.

However, I’m definitely slowing down. My father didn’t get to my age and my mother moved into residential care when she was just a few years older than I am now.

So while I hope I’ll be able to stay at home, maybe with help, for decades to come, a fall or catching something nasty could mean I need to go into care at short notice.

It’s got me thinking — I’d really like any place I moved into to be welcoming.

Over the years, I’ve found a broad range of people can feel very uncomfortable around me. For example, some straight men who find me attractive feel they’ve be tricked into being gay; some lesbian women feel I’ve tricked them into being straight. Many of these people wouldn’t want to share a home with me. So how would this play out if I was in aged care?

Recently a queer choir friend of mine, Ivan Davis, seems to have landed on his feet. He’s been out for decades, and he’s moved into supported accommodation where he can still be his true self.

I need to find out what my options are.

Australia was the first country to have a National LGBTI Ageing and Aged Care Strategy.

Released in December 2012, it was meant to encourage equitable access to aged care and to inform the way the federal government supports the aged care sector to deliver sensitive and inclusive care.

The policy papers noted that older LGBTI people have experienced widespread historical discrimination, and distrust of social services has meant some have never felt safe disclosing their sexual orientation or gender identity. So, accessing aged care services can present issues for this diverse community.

Catherine Barrett, the director and founder of Celebrate Ageing, a charity aimed at combating ageism, can see the problem.

“For older, straight and cisgendered people, you can basically pick a retirement village anywhere you like, but it’s not the same for older queer people. They may be sharing a room or a wing or a space with a person who grew up believing that being queer was immoral and they may never have met a queer person,” she said.

Dr Barrett says faith-based aged care facilities can seem particularly daunting.

“I think what happens for a lot of older queer folk is when they hear about a faith-based service, they become really quite concerned because there has been a track record of discrimination from the church,” she says.

So, while there is some support, including via the Silver Rainbow project, there is more work to be done in Australia.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sweden is way ahead when it comes to providing supported living for LGBTQIA+ seniors. After all, it’s one of the more progressive countries when it comes to LGBTQIA+ rights.

One residential project that stands out is Stockholm’s Regnbågen (Rainbow). This cooperative housing rental association was founded in 2009, after a small group of people lobbied to create viable and secure housing for LGBTQIA+ seniors.

The facility was opened in 2012 and it contains 28 one- and two-bedroom apartments over three levels.

The whole place is impressive.

It contains a GP clinic, cafe, library, hairdresser, podiatrist, gymnasium and restaurant, and an auditorium — everything anyone could need under one roof.

“Living at Rainbow is a mixed crowd, both male and female, people who have been married before and have children and grandchildren [or] those who have just lived as homosexuals all their lives like myself,” explains Stuart Ward, one of the residents, who lives there with his partner.

Regnbågen has almost 300 members, some of whom are tenants and some who are waiting to get an apartment, and others who want to support the project and lobby for other similar projects.

In Australia, the aged care facility Hepburn House, just north of Daylesford, is very LGBTQIA+ friendly. It’s accredited as a Rainbow Tick organisation; that accreditation is “designed to build lasting LGBTIQ inclusion”, according to Rainbow Health Australia, who administer the tick and its quality framework.

Octogenarian resident Angela is not part of the LGBTQIA+ community, but she’s very positive about inclusion, particularly as her son is transgender.

“That was okay because in my heart I love my child … One day he will probably have to go into aged care. I want somewhere that they would accept him [with] no discrimination,” she says.

Talking to her made me think about how important it is for LGBTQIA+ people to live in mainstream accommodation, but in a way that they feel safe about being able to bring their fabulous true selves to the home and feel welcomed.

However, this very much depends on the individual, as many older LGBTQIA+ people only truly feel safe with people like themselves.

This is often because of the homophobia or transphobia they grew up with. But there are others who love to mix in mainstream society.

My friend Ivan Davis recently moved into his new inner-north Melbourne apartment. He was already living on a very low income, and dealing with a number of health problems, when he lost his long-term life partner.

A community health service and a housing organisation worked together to find him a compact one-bedroom apartment with a small balcony and views of the distant hills.

Sixty per cent of the surrounding apartments are allocated for LGBTQI+ community members, while the other 40 per cent are for allies.

The facility was inspired by Stockholm’s Regnbågen.

Ivan’s happiness is apparent. “Being in this environment, it gives you the freedom to express yourself and be yourself,” he says.

“I feel that I personally can be who I want to be, wear what I want to wear.”

I found three very different models for how LGBTQIA+ individuals could live fabulously into their old age, and I’m sure there are more.

There are advantages and disadvantages for each model.

If you’re in an exclusively gay venue, you can’t have straight friends and family live in-house. Some LGBTQIA+ people, who are only out with their closest friends, wouldn’t want to be in an exclusive venue because it outs them. But others love the mixed company. I’ve even met people who love to be different — the only gay in the village.

For me, I know I could easily fit in at all three places. I know I could be myself and be an equal in the social world, gay and straight. Fortunately, I still have a few years to work it out.

My trans story has changed dramatically over the decades of my life, both because I’ve changed and society has changed. Now that I’m in my 70s, I’ve had to add people’s perception of ageing to my story. So, I wrote a cabaret called Mutton is the New Lamb. And even though the title suggests it’s a story about stereotypes of ageing, the subtitle is just as important: It’s “a trans and gender demythology”.

Most of my friends thought it was an odd thing to do at my age. I mean, who starts a cabaret career at 72? I saw it differently; as just another way of being an activist. Part of me just doesn’t get why people are so stressed about trans people. I’ve found over the years that most people haven’t ever chatted to a trans person.

But I’ve discovered I can de-stress most people through storytelling with a light touch. I’ve been telling my stories for decades — to friends, family, health workers, police, teachers, uni students, while I was running for parliament, in academia and with government agencies. This is me testing the content to see what people find interesting, educational or funny. Let’s face it, if gender is funny, then transgender must be hilarious.

And while few people will read my academic discourse on being trans, they will likely enjoy a funny, 50-minute show with a strong emotional arc — and get a strong sense of my more serious discussion.

So, I was invited to perform it at Regnbågen, although I called it 72 is the New 40. After a pair of fabulous drag queens put on their ABBA show, I took to the stage. Afterwards, so many people came up to me. One trans woman said I had told her story. Others said I explained trans to them. I might have had to change the language a little, removing idiom and local knowledge, but my story is universal.

And in the end, while the titles are just jokes, they make the point that none of us should be socially nor psychologically limited by age.