Mount Gambier's queer art trail celebrates regional creators during Pride Month

Amid violent clashes with police over ICE raids, one community is flocking to LA

SBS Australia

2 days ago

SBS Australia

Amid violent clashes with police over ICE raids, one community is flocking to LA

In downtown LA during the ICE raid protests, drag queen Lil Miss Hot Mess stands defiantly in sequins and feathers, a striking contrast to the celebration and sanctuary found in West Hollywood during Pride month. Source: Supplied / Lil Miss Hot Mess Los Angeles is a sprawling city that has long attracted artists, migrants, activists, and queer folk, searching for a sense of safety and freedom. West Hollywood in the city's north-west, in particular, has stood apart as a cultural and political sanctuary for LGBTIQ+ people for decades. Today, that legacy feels both vital and increasingly complex. Protests erupted earlier this month in response to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids targeting undocumented immigrants in LA's Downtown and Latino neighbourhoods, such as Paramount. In the weeks since, clashes with police, the unprecedented deployment of the national guard and growing fear among immigrant communities have created an atmosphere of unrest and uncertainty. But West Hollywood feels worlds apart. While only a few kilometres away from neighbourhoods targeted by ICE, culturally and politically, West Hollywood, or WeHo, functions like its own city. It's a place with rainbow-painted crosswalks and a long-standing commitment to queer liberation. At a time of mounting social discord in the United States, and in the middle of International Pride Month, West Hollywood continues to draw queer and trans people from across the country, particularly those fleeing conservative states where LGBTIQ+ rights are under attack. For many, this small pocket of LA still offers a sense of safety, joy and belonging. On a warm evening in mid-May, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills WeHo's One Gallery. It's the anticipated calm before the glitter storm as patrons eagerly await their hosts' grand entrance: The crowd is an eclectic mix of activists, members of the drag community and local politicians, including West Hollywood mayor Chelsea Lee Byers. Mounted on the wall above them are archival photos of drag legends, including a very young RuPaul, Charles Pierce and Jackie Beat. It's the opening reception for It's Where I Belong: 40 Years (and More) of Drag in West Hollywood, a new exhibition hosted by the One Institute, celebrating four decades of drag culture in the city. The exhibition's curator is drag performer, children's book author, and university professor Lil Miss Hot Mess, who just a few weeks before was publicly labelled a "monster" and a "child predator" by controversial Republican congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene . The remarks came during a hearing in which Greene pushed to defund public broadcasters PBS and NPR, accusing the outlets of acting as "radical left-wing echo chambers" and of "grooming and sexualising children". Lil Miss Hot Mess tells SBS News she isn't surprised by the remarks. "The unfortunate irony of Greene's political bullying is that while she claims to promote liberty, in reality, she just wants to tell us all what to think and do. That's not freedom, that's fascism," she says. When people say we don't want to have drag, guess what they're gonna get? More drag. The exhibition offers a vivid reminder that West Hollywood has long served as both a creative epicentre and a sanctuary for queer communities. Yet, for many who now call WeHo home, that sense of refuge extends beyond art and performance. Increasingly, queer and trans folks are fleeing red states (Republican stronghold states), such as Arkansas and Alabama, where anti-LGBTIQ+ legislation has taken centre stage and finding solace among the rainbow flags lining Santa Monica Boulevard. For some, that journey means uprooting entire lives and families; for others, it's a gradual migration or simply an annual visit during Pride, in search of acceptance, safety and a community that feels like home. "West Hollywood has long been a safe destination for queer people, who were a central constituency in the city-within-a-city's founding forty years ago," Lil Miss Hot Mess says. "Over the past four decades, drag has really flourished as an art form in WeHo, from iconic nightclubs … to community activism and fundraising." Tony Valenzuela, executive director of One Institute, is a leading activist and thought leader in the HIV/AIDS and LGBTIQ+ communities. He is also openly vocal about his HIV positive status, after receiving his diagnosis in 1995. "I was constantly around mostly gay men who were dying," Valenzuela says. "I saw it as a death sentence for myself." But far from it. Valenzuela's activism following his diagnosis has earned him two listings in the OUT100 list, representing the country's most influential LGBTIQ+ leaders. Speaking on the recent funding cuts impacting queer communities and renewed political assaults on LGBTIQ+ rights across the country under President Donald Trump, Valenzuela says the sentiment among the queer community is familiar. "This feels like the 90s all over again," he says, referencing the alienating impact the HIV/AIDS epidemic had on the community. The latest US federal budget proposal slashes funding for LGBTIQ+ initiatives, including diversity, equity and inclusion programs, transgender healthcare access and HIV/AIDS services, amounting to roughly US$2.67 billion ($4.11 billion) in cuts. When Rory Hayes thinks of Chicago, where they came out as lesbian at age 10 — several years before they realised they were trans non-binary — they are flooded with bittersweet memories. "Chicago today is very queer-friendly, but when I was a kid, I faced hostile conversations from a mum who thought public school was making me 'think these ideas'," Hayes says. "At 12, I was sent to conversion therapy disguised as a weight-loss camp. "It taught me that wanting to be myself was wrong. So when that same city saw a violent attack on lesbians near Wrigleyville, even if it was isolated, it felt like a sign that I didn't truly belong." When Hayes later decided to move to LA at 17, they never looked back. I felt a hundred per cent more like myself. I wasn't around anything that reminded me of those places where I felt unsafe. "West Hollywood felt very queer, objectively safe. Now, with anti-trans bills cropping up nationwide, I'm encouraging more folks to spend their time here or even move," they said. One of the most urgent reasons queer trans people are relocating to West Hollywood is to access to gender-affirming care . California's laws are overtly supportive of it, while other states — notably those with a Republican majority — are increasingly restricting access. To date, 27 states in the US have passed laws banning gender-affirming care. Medicaid, a joint federal and state program that provides subsidised healthcare to some people with limited income and resources, covers hormone replacement therapy (HRT) for trans youth and adults, and California has explicit protections for providers. Whereas states like Texas have passed bills criminalising doctors prescribing HRT to minors, and Florida's 'Parents' Bill of Rights' has led to hospitals being investigated for treating trans youth. "Even if they [trans people] come for the medical access, like Medicaid coverage for HRT, they often stay [in WeHo] for the community," Hayes says. They add that, for many, a single prescription or hormone injection can become the first step towards rebuilding their lives, and WeHo offers both the care they need and an unbroken network of support. "I still miss my hometown, but I needed to be in a place that actively lifts queer stories. West Hollywood lets me be seen," Hayes says. Just a few blocks away from One Gallery, Fangirl Café pulses with a different kind of energy. Since opening in November 2023, the married queer couple, Cynthia and Betsy, has built the little coffee shop into a haven for women, queer, and non-binary music fans tired of bar culture. The pair requested that SBS News withhold their surnames for safety reasons. "During COVID, Betsy was bartending at music venues, and I was working from home," Cynthia says. "We kept meeting in random coffee shops, looking for a space to connect, especially for queer women. But WeHo, for all its queerness, lacked a spot like this." Inside the café on a quiet weekday, vinyl spins in the corner, and a small stage stands ready for acoustic sets, drag karaoke, and album listening parties. "We wanted to centre music and 90s nostalgia, uplift queer and non-binary artists, photographers, videographers," Cynthia says. "Our approach was simple: be honest about what we can provide, and the right crowd will find us. Since launch, people have come for coffee and stayed for community." Seeing trans friends hug and cry on our couches, telling us 'thank you for this space' makes every late night worth it. But running a small business in WeHo isn't without its struggles. "There's so much political anxiety. Trans identities are literally being erased, and the current climate means that people are more comfortable being outwardly and unwarrantedly hateful," Betsy says. "And sometimes there's anxiety: will queer funding dry up? If someone can't afford coffee, can they still find support here?" Despite lingering concerns about further cuts to LGBTIQ+ focused initiatives, the community in WeHo has rallied. Betsy says it's a testament to their resilience that "queer spaces can flourish even under pressure". "One regular posted online asking how they can help keep our space running when things get tough financially. Another trans guest set up a letter-writing event here when politics got heavy. "It's proof, for us, this isn't just a business, it's a safe space people rely on."

'That's not freedom, that's fascism': Why queer Americans are fleeing red states for LA

SBS Australia

2 days ago

SBS Australia

'That's not freedom, that's fascism': Why queer Americans are fleeing red states for LA

In downtown LA during the ICE raid protests, drag queen Lil Miss Hot Mess stands defiantly in sequins and feathers, a striking contrast to the celebration and sanctuary found in West Hollywood during Pride month. Source: Supplied / Lil Miss Hot Mess Los Angeles is a sprawling city that has long attracted artists, migrants, activists, and queer folk, searching for a sense of safety and freedom. West Hollywood in the city's north-west, in particular, has stood apart as a cultural and political sanctuary for LGBTIQ+ people for decades. Today, that legacy feels both vital and increasingly complex. Protests erupted earlier this month in response to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids targeting undocumented immigrants in LA's Downtown and Latino neighbourhoods, such as Paramount. In the weeks since, clashes with police, the unprecedented deployment of the national guard and growing fear among immigrant communities have created an atmosphere of unrest and uncertainty. But West Hollywood feels worlds apart. While only a few kilometres away from neighbourhoods targeted by ICE, culturally and politically, West Hollywood, or WeHo, functions like its own city. It's a place with rainbow-painted crosswalks and a long-standing commitment to queer liberation. At a time of mounting social discord in the United States, and in the middle of International Pride Month, West Hollywood continues to draw queer and trans people from across the country, particularly those fleeing conservative states where LGBTIQ+ rights are under attack. For many, this small pocket of LA still offers a sense of safety, joy and belonging. On a warm evening in mid-May, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills WeHo's One Gallery. It's the anticipated calm before the glitter storm as patrons eagerly await their hosts' grand entrance: The crowd is an eclectic mix of activists, members of the drag community and local politicians, including West Hollywood mayor Chelsea Lee Byers. Mounted on the wall above them are archival photos of drag legends, including a very young RuPaul, Charles Pierce and Jackie Beat. It's the opening reception for It's Where I Belong: 40 Years (and More) of Drag in West Hollywood, a new exhibition hosted by the One Institute, celebrating four decades of drag culture in the city. The exhibition's curator is drag performer, children's book author, and university professor Lil Miss Hot Mess, who just a few weeks before was publicly labelled a "monster" and a "child predator" by controversial Republican congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene . The remarks came during a hearing in which Greene pushed to defund public broadcasters PBS and NPR, accusing the outlets of acting as "radical left-wing echo chambers" and of "grooming and sexualising children". Lil Miss Hot Mess tells SBS News she isn't surprised by the remarks. "The unfortunate irony of Greene's political bullying is that while she claims to promote liberty, in reality, she just wants to tell us all what to think and do. That's not freedom, that's fascism," she says. When people say we don't want to have drag, guess what they're gonna get? More drag. The exhibition offers a vivid reminder that West Hollywood has long served as both a creative epicentre and a sanctuary for queer communities. Yet, for many who now call WeHo home, that sense of refuge extends beyond art and performance. Increasingly, queer and trans folks are fleeing red states (Republican stronghold states), such as Arkansas and Alabama, where anti-LGBTIQ+ legislation has taken centre stage and finding solace among the rainbow flags lining Santa Monica Boulevard. For some, that journey means uprooting entire lives and families; for others, it's a gradual migration or simply an annual visit during Pride, in search of acceptance, safety and a community that feels like home. "West Hollywood has long been a safe destination for queer people, who were a central constituency in the city-within-a-city's founding forty years ago," Lil Miss Hot Mess says. "Over the past four decades, drag has really flourished as an art form in WeHo, from iconic nightclubs … to community activism and fundraising." Tony Valenzuela, executive director of One Institute, is a leading activist and thought leader in the HIV/AIDS and LGBTIQ+ communities. He is also openly vocal about his HIV positive status, after receiving his diagnosis in 1995. "I was constantly around mostly gay men who were dying," Valenzuela says. "I saw it as a death sentence for myself." But far from it. Valenzuela's activism following his diagnosis has earned him two listings in the OUT100 list, representing the country's most influential LGBTIQ+ leaders. Speaking on the recent funding cuts impacting queer communities and renewed political assaults on LGBTIQ+ rights across the country under President Donald Trump, Valenzuela says the sentiment among the queer community is familiar. "This feels like the 90s all over again," he says, referencing the alienating impact the HIV/AIDS epidemic had on the community. The latest US federal budget proposal slashes funding for LGBTIQ+ initiatives, including diversity, equity and inclusion programs, transgender healthcare access and HIV/AIDS services, amounting to roughly US$2.67 billion ($4.11 billion) in cuts. When Rory Hayes thinks of Chicago, where they came out as lesbian at age 10 — several years before they realised they were trans non-binary — they are flooded with bittersweet memories. "Chicago today is very queer-friendly, but when I was a kid, I faced hostile conversations from a mum who thought public school was making me 'think these ideas'," Hayes says. "At 12, I was sent to conversion therapy disguised as a weight-loss camp. "It taught me that wanting to be myself was wrong. So when that same city saw a violent attack on lesbians near Wrigleyville, even if it was isolated, it felt like a sign that I didn't truly belong." When Hayes later decided to move to LA at 17, they never looked back. I felt a hundred per cent more like myself. I wasn't around anything that reminded me of those places where I felt unsafe. "West Hollywood felt very queer, objectively safe. Now, with anti-trans bills cropping up nationwide, I'm encouraging more folks to spend their time here or even move," they said. One of the most urgent reasons queer trans people are relocating to West Hollywood is to access to gender-affirming care . California's laws are overtly supportive of it, while other states — notably those with a Republican majority — are increasingly restricting access. To date, 27 states in the US have passed laws banning gender-affirming care. Medicaid, a joint federal and state program that provides subsidised healthcare to some people with limited income and resources, covers hormone replacement therapy (HRT) for trans youth and adults, and California has explicit protections for providers. Whereas states like Texas have passed bills criminalising doctors prescribing HRT to minors, and Florida's 'Parents' Bill of Rights' has led to hospitals being investigated for treating trans youth. "Even if they [trans people] come for the medical access, like Medicaid coverage for HRT, they often stay [in WeHo] for the community," Hayes says. They add that, for many, a single prescription or hormone injection can become the first step towards rebuilding their lives, and WeHo offers both the care they need and an unbroken network of support. "I still miss my hometown, but I needed to be in a place that actively lifts queer stories. West Hollywood lets me be seen," Hayes says. Just a few blocks away from One Gallery, Fangirl Café pulses with a different kind of energy. Since opening in November 2023, the married queer couple, Cynthia and Betsy, has built the little coffee shop into a haven for women, queer, and non-binary music fans tired of bar culture. The pair requested that SBS News withhold their surnames for safety reasons. "During COVID, Betsy was bartending at music venues, and I was working from home," Cynthia says. "We kept meeting in random coffee shops, looking for a space to connect, especially for queer women. But WeHo, for all its queerness, lacked a spot like this." Inside the café on a quiet weekday, vinyl spins in the corner, and a small stage stands ready for acoustic sets, drag karaoke, and album listening parties. "We wanted to centre music and 90s nostalgia, uplift queer and non-binary artists, photographers, videographers," Cynthia says. "Our approach was simple: be honest about what we can provide, and the right crowd will find us. Since launch, people have come for coffee and stayed for community." Seeing trans friends hug and cry on our couches, telling us 'thank you for this space' makes every late night worth it. But running a small business in WeHo isn't without its struggles. "There's so much political anxiety. Trans identities are literally being erased, and the current climate means that people are more comfortable being outwardly and unwarrantedly hateful," Betsy says. "And sometimes there's anxiety: will queer funding dry up? If someone can't afford coffee, can they still find support here?" Despite lingering concerns about further cuts to LGBTIQ+ focused initiatives, the community in WeHo has rallied. Betsy says it's a testament to their resilience that "queer spaces can flourish even under pressure". "One regular posted online asking how they can help keep our space running when things get tough financially. Another trans guest set up a letter-writing event here when politics got heavy. "It's proof, for us, this isn't just a business, it's a safe space people rely on."

Jaws 50 years on, the Australian filmmakers involved in the movie reflect on its legacy

ABC News

4 days ago

ABC News

Jaws 50 years on, the Australian filmmakers involved in the movie reflect on its legacy

If the biggest shock of Rodney Fox's life was nearly being killed by a shark off the coast of Adelaide, the next biggest might have been the lasting, lifelong impact of helping Steven Spielberg make a film about a killer great white. Now in his 80s, Mr Fox's lifetime of aiding great white shark research as a pioneering underwater filmmaker could be seen as being at odds with the legacy of Jaws. The Port Lincoln filmmaker was responsible for shooting the underwater sequences for the 1975 movie, which, according to many critics, demonised sharks and stoked fears around the world of swimming in the ocean. "They didn't know what they were getting involved in or about the rest of the script until after the movie was finished, and John Williams' music was applied," Mr Fox's son Andrew Fox said. "They knew it was a high budget film … different to a documentary. But they didn't realise how fictitious and horror-evoking it would all be." Along with Mr Fox, fellow underwater film pioneers Ron and Valerie Taylor were recruited by Spielberg to shoot scenes showing real sharks at Danger Reefs, off the coast of South Australia's Eyre Peninsula. The movie would not only change attitudes towards sharks, but shape Port Lincoln, turning a fishing town into a global tourism destination for divers and thrillseekers after Mr Fox capitalised on global interest and began running shark cage tours the year after. Swimming teacher Cherie Duncan still remembers the fear that coursed through the Eyre Peninsula community after the film's release. "I had so many children who were reluctant to go into the water after seeing or hearing about the movie, and their parents were similar," she said. "It continued to create fear for many years." The film's extraordinarily unrealistic portrayal of great whites did untold damage when it came to shark management in Australia and around the world, according to social scientist Christopher Pepin-Neff. So much so, it prompted the University of Sydney associate professor to coin the term, "The Jaws Effect". "The Jaws Effect is when you use a reference from a movie to explain a real-life event," Dr Pepin-Neff said. "It looks at the role of Jaws in creating an idea that this is shark behaviour, so this is how you need to deal with it … sharks are out to get us, and the only response is to kill the shark. "After the movie came out … sharks were all lumped together — not 500 different species but one dangerous thing. It meant policies were changed in fisheries that essentially made sharks a 'waste fish'. "The price of shark jaws went way up … there were hunting derbies. Andrew Fox believes the movie may have inadvertently helped the cause of great whites in the long run by changing "the way we think about sharks for the better". "There was an incredible amount of interest generated in sharks worldwide that inspired a whole generation of marine biologists and conservationists to appreciate great whites, in particular, and that attention flowed to other shark species," he said. In 1999, the federal government declared the great white vulnerable to extinction, which led to their protection in Australian waters. In more recent years, Italian shark researcher Alessandro De Maddalena believes the internet and social media play a role in public misperceptions about shark numbers and attacks. "Now we have people posting photos and videos … about sharks and shark attacks all the time," he said. "From this, people get the impression there are more. "But we have seen less and less great whites over the years since 2014 when I started to visit the Eyre Peninsula. "The average and maximum size we observed has decreased, which is typically something that you can observe when the population of a species decreases." According to a Flinders University study from October 2024, genomic research estimated Australia's great white population could be as low as 250. Calypso Star Charters is one of only two shark cage dive companies in Australia, and has been recording shark numbers on their tours at the Neptune Islands, near Port Lincoln, since 2011. From 2011 to 2014 — the first four years the company recorded statistics — there were more than 1,100 sightings per year, at an average of 105 per month. Last year, the company recorded just 222 sharks for the entire year. It has been a much better start to 2025, with 169 so far this year. Andrew Wright, who is the co-owner of Calypso Star Charters, is not concerned about the overall population and points toward a wide number of factors that could potentially be influencing shark behaviour. "I don't think there is a link between our numbers and the overall population," he said. "It could be a current that's running differently, it might be the burgeoning snapper population in the gulf, it might be related to tuna, it could be the major marine upwelling that's happened. "It's like, 'Why hasn't it rained the past 12 months?' There are a lot of things we just don't know." Like Port Lincoln's Rodney Fox, fellow underwater filmmakers Ron and Valerie Taylor had come to Spielberg's attention following their own work on other high-budget shark films. "We worked on a lot of films, but I never dreamt, neither did Ron, that it would be such a success," Ms Taylor said. Ms Taylor has spent a lifetime dedicated to marine conservation and, 50 years on from Jaws, is still buoyed by the positive impact the film had on many aspiring shark and ocean lovers. "It's much better than it used to be. It's amazing how interested young people, teenagers, are in the conservation of the ocean. Whereas in my day, all anyone wanted to do was kill," she said. "The ocean is the mother of all life on Earth. If it dies, we die. Simple."

Mount Gambier's queer art trail celebrates regional creators during Pride Month

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Amid violent clashes with police over ICE raids, one community is flocking to LA

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Mount Gambier's queer art trail celebrates regional creators during Pride Month

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Amid violent clashes with police over ICE raids, one community is flocking to LA

'That's not freedom, that's fascism': Why queer Americans are fleeing red states for LA

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