'I didn't know the word lesbian': How LGBTIQA+ lives have changed across decades
When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past.
Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves.
"They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said.
"It's just a sign of the times."
ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+.
Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC.
"I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said.
"I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight."
Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s.
"I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said.
But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known.
"The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said.
The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to.
"It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said.
Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school.
"I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said.
"Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years.
"I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was."
Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old.
"My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said.
Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old.
"For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said.
"I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone.
"It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be."
Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family.
"[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said.
Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17.
It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990.
Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better.
"Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said.
"As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."
When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past.
Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves.
"They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said.
"It's just a sign of the times."
ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+.
Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC.
"I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said.
"I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight."
Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s.
"I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said.
But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known.
"The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said.
The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to.
"It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said.
Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school.
"I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said.
"Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years.
"I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was."
Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old.
"My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said.
Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old.
"For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said.
"I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone.
"It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be."
Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family.
"[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said.
Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17.
It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990.
Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better.
"Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said.
"As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."
When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past.
Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves.
"They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said.
"It's just a sign of the times."
ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+.
Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC.
"I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said.
"I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight."
Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s.
"I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said.
But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known.
"The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said.
The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to.
"It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said.
Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school.
"I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said.
"Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years.
"I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was."
Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old.
"My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said.
Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old.
"For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said.
"I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone.
"It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be."
Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family.
"[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said.
Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17.
It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990.
Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better.
"Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said.
"As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."
When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past.
Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves.
"They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said.
"It's just a sign of the times."
ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+.
Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC.
"I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said.
"I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight."
Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s.
"I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said.
But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known.
"The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said.
The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to.
"It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said.
Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school.
"I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said.
"Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years.
"I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was."
Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old.
"My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said.
Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old.
"For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said.
"I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone.
"It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be."
Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family.
"[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said.
Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17.
It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990.
Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better.
"Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said.
"As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Advertiser
16-05-2025
- The Advertiser
'I didn't know the word lesbian': How LGBTIQA+ lives have changed across decades
When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."
SBS Australia
25-04-2025
- SBS Australia
Thousands of Australians mark Anzac Day at dawn services across the country
Stories of sacrifice and messages of unity were heard at Anzac Day dawn services across Australia. Source: AAP / Diego Fedele Content warning: This article references suicide Australians across the country gathered in the pre-dawn light to mark Anzac Day, honouring generations of servicemen and women in solemn ceremonies. Despite bouts of rain in some cities, large crowds turned out for traditional dawn services, wreath layings and parades. At the Cenotaph in Martin Place in Sydney, hundreds stood in the rain to pay their respects, surrounding the memorial's solemn message: "To our glorious dead." Major General Matt Burr delivered a powerful commemoration address, encouraging new Australians and first-time dawn service attendees to seek out veterans and share in their stories. "Our women and men in uniform are just like you in many ways; from all backgrounds, from all across our communities," Burr said. "All Australians own and are part of the same legacy ... the legacy of the first ANZACS who answered that call of duty, leaving behind the comforts of home and the warmth of loved ones to serve Australia." Continuing tradition, NSW Premier Chris Minns recited Australian writer and World War One veteran Sydney Elliott Napier's poem Salute. Among the crowd was Gwen Cherne and her children Emily and Lachlan, who know first-hand what those who have fought for the nation have sacrificed. Cherne lost her husband, Peter, to suicide in 2017 after a distinguished, nearly 20-year stint in the military. Now serving as Veteran Family Advocate Commissioner, she focuses on supporting the loved ones of those who have served. "I know the sacrifice and how much (Anzac Day) means, not only to the serving men and women, but also to the families who pick up pieces, who bear the burdens, who hold the home front and make sure our society doesn't crack." Cherne said she found the large crowd in the Sydney city centre inspiring. "I say this to families all the time, just bring your crying babies, bring your kids in pyjamas because veterans and families just want to know that you see them, that you support them," she said. Former Air Force warrant officer and Aboriginal Elder Harry Allie welcomed attendees to Gadigal country and touched on the history of Indigenous Australians within the defence force. "As Indigenous Australians were not of European descent, they were exempt from military service during the time of World War One," Allie said. "[But] it has been estimated that up to 1,000, perhaps more, Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people came forward to enlist ... it is not known what motivated Indigenous Australians to enlist but loyalty and patriotism without doubt played a part," Allie said. In Canberra, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese paused campaigning to attend the dawn service at the Australian War Memorial. The prime minister read a dedication at the Canberra service, saying the 25,000 who gathered before dawn ought to think of those who went to battle but did not come home. "As we gather around cenotaphs or watch the parades, we reflect on all who have served in our name and all who serve now," Albanese said. "Anzac Day asks us to stand against the erosion of time." The service was briefly interrupted by an attendee who yelled "free Palestine" before the national anthem was played, with one heckler telling the protester to "kick a landmine". For most of the service, it was only the sounds of bird calls emanating around the memorial that could be heard among the bugle calls and bagpipe laments. Opposition leader Peter Dutton marked the day in his Queensland electorate of Dickson, attending a dawn service at the Pine Rivers RSL in the city's north. He laid a wreath and paid tribute to the one million Australians who have served. Dutton later attended a second service at Samford, also in his electorate. Tens of thousands of Victorians attended the Shrine of Remembrance for one message: Lest we forget. With the crescent moon still hanging overhead and the forecourt of the war memorial illuminated only by the deep red glow, attendees stood shoulder to shoulder in the chilly morning to mark Anzac Day. The interruption was soon drowned out by louder applause from the crowd. The incident was quickly condemned by RSL Victoria, which said the heckling was completely out of keeping with the intention of the solemn event. Albanese said there was "no place in Australia" for what had occurred. "A neo-Nazi disrupting Anzac Day is abhorrent, un-Australian, and disgraceful. The people responsible must face the full force of the law." Dutton also condemned those behind the disruption and said seeing instances of neo-Nazism in Australia was a "disgrace". "They have no place at all and they're a stain on our national fabric, and they are not part of the Australian culture and nothing should overshadow what it is to be here to commemorate and to celebrate the contribution over successive generations of those that have served in uniform. "Our greatest Australians are the Anzacs and I absolutely condemn any action from neo-Nazis or those people who would seek to disrupt Anzac Day services." Veterans' Affairs Minister Matt Keogh described the booing as "concerning" and urged attendees to uphold the spirit of respectful commemoration. "These are days of commemoration, they're days of peaceful respect," he told Sky News. "It's expected that people who do attend Anzac Day ceremonies do so respectfully, and it's concerning that some people didn't show due respect to that service." Victorian Premier Jacinta Allan "strongly condemned" the "hateful" incident. "A neo-Nazi disrupting this day is appalling — it has no place here," Allan said in a statement. "To pierce the sombre silence of the dawn service is more than disrespect — it dishonours all who have served, fought and fallen." Victoria Police said they were aware of a "small group of people" who had disrupted the service. It said police had interviewed a 26-year-old man for offensive behaviour and would proceed with a summons. The ashes of veterans who've recently died were given a ceremonial burial at sea during one of Australia's most poignant Anzac Day dawn services. Illuminated in poppy red and with flags at half mast, Elephant Rock on Queensland's Gold Coast was the location for a solemn acknowledgement of the men and women who have served, and continue to serve, in conflict. Several thousand people attended the service near the NSW border. Inflatable rescue boats were on hand during the burial at sea, a tribute during which the ashes of recently passed service men and women are laid to rest. A roll call of veterans who have died echoed around the beach as the boats moved into strong waves off the shore. Oars were raised as one into the air to pay respects to the fallen. Children from the local surf lifesaving club stood with a choir as the Australian and New Zealand national anthems culminated the service. This year marks the 110th anniversary of Australian and New Zealand soldiers landing before dawn on Turkish shores on 25 April 1915, alongside British, French and Indian troops. More than 8,000 Australian soldiers died during the unsuccessful campaign to control the Dardanelles Strait. Greg Melick, national president of RSL Australia, said: "The Gallipoli campaign was the first major military action involving Australian and New Zealand forces." "They held their ground against almost impossible odds for eight months in the ravines and gullies of that rugged battleground, suffering terrible casualties. "They fought with endurance, courage, ingenuity, good humour, and mateship." Readers seeking support can call Lifeline crisis support on 13 11 14 or text 0477 13 11 14 and Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467. ADF members and their families can call the Defence all-hours Support Line, a confidential telephone and online service, on 1800 628 036. Open Arms provides 24-hour free and confidential counselling and support for current and former ADF members and their families on 1800 011 046. Defence personnel, contemporary veterans, and their families can also contact national support services provider Soldier On during office hours 1300 620 380.
West Australian
24-04-2025
- West Australian
Anzac Day 2025: Rain no deterrent for crowd during solemn dawn service at The Cenotaph in Sydney
Hundreds have braced the rain and lined city streets to pay respect for Australia's fallen soldiers at a pre-dawn service. Marking the 110th anniversary of the landing at Gallipoli during World War I, the inclement weather in Sydney did not prevent a large crowd from gathering at The Cenotaph in Martin Place to honour those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Members of the public gathered around the memorial and its striking message - 'to our glorious dead' - while dignitaries and other representatives laid traditional wreaths. Major General Matt Burr delivered a powerful commemoration address, encouraging new Australians and first-time dawn service attendees to seek out veterans and share in their stories. 'Our women and men in uniform are just like you in many ways; from all backgrounds, from all across our communities,' he said. 'All Australians own and are part of the same legacy ... the legacy of the first Anzacs who answered that call of duty, leaving behind the comforts of home and the warmth of loved ones to serve Australia.' Continuing tradition, NSW Premier Chris Minns recited Australian writer and World War I veteran Sydney Elliott Napier's poem Salute. 'You who have loved will remember the glow of their glad young years, as you stand to-day to salute them in silence, with pride and with tears,' he read. Former Air Force warrant officer and Aboriginal elder Harry Allie welcomed attendees to Gadigal country and touched on Indigenous Australians' history within the defence force. 'As Indigenous Australians were not of European descent, they were exempt from military service during the time of World War I,' he said. '(But) it has been estimated that up to 1000, perhaps more, Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people came forward to enlist ... it is not known what motivated Indigenous Australians to enlist but loyalty and patriotism without doubt played a part.' Mr Minns, Lieutenant-Governor Andrew Bell and Police Commissioner Karen Webb were among those in attendance. New Zealand's contributions to the fighting forces were also marked, including through a performance of the traditional Maori hymn Song of Sorrow. Later on Friday, more than 8000 serving Australian Defence Force members and veterans, including some who fought in World War II, will march from Martin Place to the Anzac Memorial in Hyde Park. Tens of thousands of people are expected to line the route to honour those marching. The marchers will include veterans who saw service in World War II, Korea, Malaya, Borneo, Vietnam, The Gulf War, East Timor and other UN peacekeeping missions. Veterans will return to the cenotaph for a sunset service to close the official commemorations.
