logo
The Pope has died. Here's what happens next

The Pope has died. Here's what happens next

The recent movie Conclave, adapted from the 2016 Robert Harris novel about skulduggery in the Vatican, opens with a particularly dramatic flourish. The pope lies dead in his bed chamber. With visible effort, a red-capped cardinal wrenches an enormous ring from the great man's stubborn finger. Whereupon another cardinal, played by the towering John Lithgow, whacks the ring with a ceremonial hammer, splits it in two and solemnly declares: 'Sede vacante', Latin for 'with the seat being vacant'.
It not only makes for captivating viewing, but the ritual is also actually (mostly) true. The so-called Ring of the Fisherman, a signet ring historically used by the pope to seal letters and documents with wax, is symbolically broken upon his death. Once upon a time, it was to physically prevent forgeries; today, the act signifies the end of his authority. 'I don't think the cardinals quite behave as they're depicted [in Conclave ],' says Miles Pattenden, a historian of the Catholic Church, 'but in terms of how it lays out the process, it's pretty good.'
In real life, the funeral arrangements and subsequent machinations dictating how the next pope is chosen are also cloaked in mystique, following 'a very well-established protocol which goes back, ultimately, into the Middle Ages', says Pattenden, co-author of The Cambridge History of the Papacy. The selection of a new pope – who is regarded in Catholicism to be a successor to St Peter, one of the 12 apostles, the first bishop of Rome – reverberates not only with the 1.4 billion Catholics worldwide but with anyone influenced by his leadership and worldview.
So, what does happen immediately after a pope dies? What is the conclave? And what is the significance of black or white smoke from the roof of the Sistine Chapel?
What happens after a pope dies?
It used to be thought that once a pope had died, those present double-checked by tapping him on the forehead with a silver hammer. Maybe it happened back in the mists of time; more likely, it's a myth – the Vatican denies it, at least. Instead, the official process begins when the head of the Vatican's health department confirms a pope's death, after which the Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church, the senior official who oversees the papal household (currently Irish-born Cardinal Kevin Farrell), assumes the role of the Vatican's de facto administrator.
The pope's body is dressed in a white cassock. In a ceremony, the Camerlengo calls out the pope's name three times and, when he does not reply, formally states he is dead.
The Camerlengo then arranges for the destruction of the Ring of the Fisherman, which traditionally carried an image of St Peter fishing from a boat and was used until the mid-19th century to seal official documents. Exactly how it gets destroyed today is caught up in mythology, but the outcome is it's defaced, so it can't be used.
'It used to be done with a chisel and a hammer. In some movies, they show you, they crack it totally; in others, they just put a line through it,' says Darius von Guttner, a historian at Australian Catholic University. 'The moment it is destroyed and cannot be used again, that means the authority of the pope is finished.'
The Camerlengo then authorises official documents authenticating the pope's death and a statement to the media and seals the pope's residence. The Catholic Church observes nine days of mourning, several days of which have been traditionally set for the pope's embalmed body to lie in state at St Peter's Basilica – the spiritual centre for Roman Catholics – where people flow past to pay respects.
Francis has eschewed more elaborate rituals for his own funeral rites: unlike that of previous popes, his body will not be displayed on a raised pedestal. A pope traditionally had three coffins nested in one another, of cypress, lead and oak, but Francis has chosen to have one simple coffin. The Vatican's master of liturgical ceremonies, Monsignor Diego Ravelli, said in 2024 that the new rites were meant 'to emphasise even more that the Roman pontiff's funeral is that of a shepherd and disciple of Christ and not of a powerful man of this world'.
A funeral must take place four to six days after the pope's death. This funeral will almost certainly take place at St Peter's Square, the huge plaza in front of St Peter's Basilica, which can fit about 300,000 people. Francis will be buried, according to tradition, with coins minted during his papacy and a canister containing a 'rogito' or deed that lists details of his life and papacy and is read aloud before the coffin is closed.
'The fact of this is that it's the most secretive election process on Earth.'
Vatican correspondent Christopher White
Popes are usually buried at the Vatican Grottoes, vaults beneath St Peter's; Francis, however, has chosen to be buried in central Rome at St Mary Major, a major basilica. 'It's a church that's very close to him. He used to go there and pray during his visits to Rome before he became Pope,' says Christopher White, a Vatican correspondent for National Catholic Reporter. 'It's quite fitting, in my estimation, that this man who was elected in 2013 as an outsider has chosen to be buried outside the Vatican. He didn't like to be shackled by the Vatican. He often said when he travelled it was when he was at his freest because he viewed the Vatican as a prison. So it makes all the sense in the world that he wants to go to his eternal rest somewhere outside the Vatican walls.'
What's the conclave?
Upon news of the Pope's death (or his likely imminent demise), cardinals from around the world descend on Rome for the conclave, the meeting that occurs only for the particular purpose of choosing a new pope.
After the funeral, the cardinals attend meetings called general congregations where they discuss the state of the Catholic Church and what kind of leader it might need at this point in history, including on issues such as climate change, migration and same-sex marriage. 'There will be those looking for a candidate of continuity, someone that will continue the reforms of Pope Francis, making the Catholic Church more welcoming, less hierarchical, less clericalist, a priority for those on the margins,' White says. 'And then there will be those that want perhaps a candidate who reverts back to some of the priorities of Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI. That camp would see some of the reforms of the Francis papacy as going too far.'
The forging of alliances can be tricky for journalists to report on. 'The fact of this is that it's the most secretive election process on Earth,' says White. 'You know, these meetings take place behind closed doors. So, of course, we rely on leaks and sort of talking to cardinals willing to paint a portrait of the conversations that are taking place, and then when they enter the conclave, really, no one has any clue what happens until a new pope emerges.'
After these initial meetings comes the formal conclave, now of movie fame. Church rules state the conclave must begin between 15 and 20 days after the death of the pope. This is when the cardinals assemble in the Sistine Chapel, under Michelangelo's famous fresco, behind locked doors (conclave comes from the Latin for 'room that can be locked up') to contemplate, discuss and then vote for the next pope. All 252 members of the College of Cardinals can attend, but only those aged under 80 on the day that it commences are allowed to vote: today, it's some 138 electors. (In 1975, St Paul VI ruled that there should not be more than 120 cardinal electors at any one time, but John Paul II and Pope Benedict both exceeded this limit, which is now seen as an 'arbitrary ceiling', says White.)
Once in the chapel, the cardinal electors don't interact with anybody beyond its doors. The chapel is barred from electronic communication and has even, in the past, been swept for bugs. 'The secrecy is there to protect cardinal electors from the outside world,' says Darius von Guttner. 'When they actually sit down in those chairs in the Sistine Chapel, they're supposed to vote in accordance with what they feel, what they think, and what divine inspiration gives them.' Pattenden elaborates: 'The theology of it is that the Holy Spirit descends on the cardinals, he enters into them, and he inspires their choice. So the man is picked by God and therefore can claim to be God's representative.'
'It's not just the conniving backstabbing that some popular culture makes it out to be. There's often a lot of serious talks and theological issues and debates.'
Theologian Joel Hodge
Nevertheless, Conclave author Robert Harris told Publishers Weekly in 2016, 'It is between the ballots, in the lunch breaks and in the evenings that the politics happens. The cardinals gather in one another's rooms, in the corridors and in the dining rooms. There are factions. They switch their votes, trying to rally the maximum support behind the candidate who best represents their view. It's nothing new. This has been going on for seven centuries.'
Says White: 'I think the film is completely implausible. It's the stuff of fiction, and so viewers shouldn't be expecting any sort of imitation of that. At the same time, I think the film is a love letter to the Vatican's pomp and circumstance ... and so there will be many, many similarities on that.' Joel Hodge, a theologian at the Australian Catholic University, agrees: 'It's not just the conniving backstabbing that some popular culture makes it out to be. There's often a lot of serious talks and theological issues and debates.'
Historically, the cardinals used to be physically barred from leaving the chapel until a decision was made; these days, under rules laid out by Saint John Paul II in 1996, the Universi Dominici Gregis, they are allowed to retire to their rooms in the Casa Santa Marta guesthouse, but are still strictly forbidden from revealing what goes on, under pain of excommunication.
How does voting work (and what does the smoke mean)?
Technically, the Cardinal College can elect to the papacy any baptised, unmarried Catholic man. In practice, a requirement that the pope be at least a bishop (cardinals are leaders often selected from the roughly 5000 bishops around the world) rules out most dreamers. It's extremely likely that the successful candidate will come from within the cardinals in the conclave itself: the last non-cardinal to be elected pope was the Archbishop of Bari, Urban VI, way back in 1378.
A chemical brew is added to a little furnace to change the colour of the resulting smoke.
There is actually no list of candidates (although some cardinals might make it known they are not interested in the role to excuse themselves from the vote). Electors simply write a name on a piece of paper on which is printed the words 'Eligo in Summum Pontificem', Latin for 'I elect as supreme pontiff', according to Gerard O'Connell in his 2019 book The Election of Pope Francis: An Inside Account of the Conclave That Changed History. The cardinals then deposit the slip into an urn, saying loudly: 'I call as my witness Christ the Lord, who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who, before God, I think should be elected.' The victor requires a two-thirds majority – arrived at after multiple rounds of voting.
The first day of the conclave has just one voting round; there are up to four rounds on each subsequent day. Votes are overseen by three scrutineers – cardinals ineligible to vote – who call out the name of each person who receives a vote as the tally is counted, record the results and then burn the ballots. A chemical brew is added to a little furnace to change the colour of the resulting smoke: black means a decision has not been made and white means that a new pope will soon be announced.
As votes are tallied, frontrunners come into focus. After the first round, electors might end up ditching their initial choice to back one of several new frontrunners. 'That spiritual nature of it also should not be discounted – that, you know, they really search their feelings as to who is the best among them to do it,' says von Guttner.
There is no limit on how long the process takes: the longest conclave in history, starting in 1268, lasted 34 months. The 1740 election of Benedict XIV lasted 181 days, during which four electors died. Pope Francis was elected in about 24 hours after five ballots.
Once the victor is declared, the new pope-elect is asked whether they accept the role. 'You are the pope from the moment you say, 'Yes, I accept,'' says von Guttner. The pope can take a new name. Francis, born Jorge Mario Bergoglio, took his name from the 13th-century saint Francis of Assisi, known for challenging church norms and serving the poor.
The new pope then heads to a room to one side of the chapel known as the Sala de Lacrima, or Room of Tears (where Pope Leo XIII is said to have cried upon his election in 1878). There, he changes out of his red cardinal robes into the white papal vestments, three sizes of which are laid out ready to be tailored to fit. Meanwhile, the public waits for the identity of the new pope to be revealed when he is presented on the central balcony at St Peter's Basilica.
What factors can sway the vote?
In 2013, after the surprise resignation of Benedict XVI, the conclave was clearly of a mind to shake things up a little. While the Italian cardinal Angelo Scola initially emerged as a frontrunner, so did the lesser-known Archbishop of Buenos Aires, Jorge Bergoglio. 'Three factors leaned heavily in Bergoglio's favour,' writes Gerard O'Connell. 'First, the great majority of Latin American cardinals were supporting him, with not one of them speaking badly about him; second, he had revealed his ability to communicate and inspire … and third, he had support from Asians and Africans as well as Europeans.'
Once elected, Bergoglio, as Pope Francis, signalled he would live a more spartan life than his predecessors, declining to move into the opulent Vatican Palace and instead taking an apartment at the more modest Casa Santa Marta guesthouse. 'He is experimenting with this type of living arrangement, which is simple,' a Vatican spokesperson said at the time.
'No pope has ever really been able to control the election of his successor, partly because once he dies, their obligations to him are over.'
Historian Miles Pattenden
Pope Francis was prepared to speak out on issues such as immigration and climate change and was viewed by some as sympathetic to groups the church had traditionally excluded, including same-sex couples and divorcees.
Whether the next pope will follow a similar path may be influenced by the kind of cardinals that Francis himself installed during his tenure: he selected around 80 per cent of the cardinals eligible to vote. Instead of favouring Vatican insiders, he cast a wide net, empowering leaders from some 70 nations worldwide. Also in the mix was the Australian Bishop Mykola Bychok of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, who became the youngest member of the College of Cardinals in December, at age 44.
'Francis has made some very idiosyncratic choices,' says Pattenden, who notes, however, 'No pope has ever really been able to control the election of his successor, partly because once he dies, their obligations to him are over.'
So, who might be in the picture?
'For many centuries,' says Pattenden, who is affiliated with Oxford and Deakin universities, 'there was a preference to choose Italians. Now, there may be a preference to choose someone from the Global South because that's the image that the cardinals want to present to the church.' (The Global South is a term sometimes used to broadly group developing nations.) An African pope is a possibility, he says, suggesting Cardinal Robert Sarah from Guinea in West Africa, whom Francis appointed to a senior position in the Vatican in 2014 (he's now 79). The (much younger, at 67) Archbishop of Manila, Luis Tagle, is also a contender, says Pattenden.
Loading
Others to watch include Pietro Parolin, the 70-year-old cardinal secretary of state. 'He'll be a significant candidate, I would think, in the next election, says Pattenden. 'Presumably, every cardinal will have different sets of criteria, certain qualities they're looking for,' he says. 'Which ones they think are more or less important will vary from person to person. But they've had 12 years to identify the faults and flaws in Pope Francis, so they'll look for someone who remedies those.' Says Joel Hodge: 'One of the criticisms of Pope Francis has been that he hasn't been doctrinally clear and rigorous enough. He's given some very interesting teachings, like around the environment, but sometimes he's been a little bit unclear.'
Vatican correspondent Christopher White expects to see a conservative bloc supporting a figure such as Cardinal Peter Erdo of Hungary and a progressive group aligning behind Luis Antonio Tagle of the Philippines or a moderate such as Parolin. Then there is always the X factor, says White. 'There are all sorts of unknown figures who can and almost certainly will emerge during a conclave process.'

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Italian teenager set to become the first millennial saint
Italian teenager set to become the first millennial saint

Perth Now

time4 hours ago

  • Perth Now

Italian teenager set to become the first millennial saint

The canonisation of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial saint, will take place on September 7, Pope Leo XIV has announced. Acutis, an Italian teenager who died from leukaemia in 2006, will be declared a saint by Leo at a ceremony in St Peter's Square expected to be attended by thousands of young people. Acutis was just 15 when he died, but during his short life he used his computing skills to spread awareness of the Catholic faith by setting up a website that documented reports of miracles. The Vatican said on Friday that following a meeting with cardinals, Pope Leo will canonise Acutis in September, along with another youthful saint, Pier Giorgio Frassatti, who died in 1925 at age 24. Acutis' canonisation had been scheduled for April 27 but was postponed after the death of Pope Francis. The September 7 ceremony will be the first canonisation presided over by Pope Leo, the first American pontiff. Acutis, nicknamed God's influencer, has developed a strong following among young Catholics and beyond. The British-born Italian teenager, who loved video-gaming, is often depicted wearing jeans and trainers, making him a relatable figure to a new generation of Catholics. His canonisation also comes as recent surveys in the United Kingdom and United States show a rise in interest in Catholicism among Generation Z. The church's sainthood process normally requires that candidates have two miracles attributed to them, with each reported supernatural occurrence requiring in-depth examination. In May, a second miracle attributed to Acutis was recognised by Pope Francis, a decision that paved the way for the teen to be declared a saint. Acutis was beatified (declared 'blessed') in 2020 after his first miracle, when he reportedly healed a Brazilian boy with a birth defect that left him unable to eat normally. The boy was reportedly healed after his mother said she prayed to Acutis to intercede and help heal her son. The second miracle attributed to Acutis relates to the reported healing of a girl from Costa Rica who had suffered a head trauma after falling from her bicycle in Florence, Italy, where she was studying. Her mother said she prayed for her daughter's recovery at the tomb of Acutis in Assisi. Acutis' mother, Antonia Salzano, previously said that her son spent time helping the homeless in Milan and giving his pocket money to those sleeping on the street.

Italian teenager Carlo Acutis set to become the first millennial saint
Italian teenager Carlo Acutis set to become the first millennial saint

7NEWS

time4 hours ago

  • 7NEWS

Italian teenager Carlo Acutis set to become the first millennial saint

The canonisation of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial saint, will take place on September 7, Pope Leo XIV has announced. Acutis, an Italian teenager who died from leukaemia in 2006, will be declared a saint by Leo at a ceremony in St Peter's Square expected to be attended by thousands of young people. Acutis was just 15 when he died, but during his short life he used his computing skills to spread awareness of the Catholic faith by setting up a website that documented reports of miracles. The Vatican said on Friday that following a meeting with cardinals, Pope Leo will canonise Acutis in September, along with another youthful saint, Pier Giorgio Frassatti, who died in 1925 at age 24. Acutis' canonisation had been scheduled for April 27 but was postponed after the death of Pope Francis. The September 7 ceremony will be the first canonisation presided over by Pope Leo, the first American pontiff. Acutis, nicknamed God's influencer, has developed a strong following among young Catholics and beyond. The British-born Italian teenager, who loved video-gaming, is often depicted wearing jeans and trainers, making him a relatable figure to a new generation of Catholics. His canonisation also comes as recent surveys in the United Kingdom and United States show a rise in interest in Catholicism among Generation Z. The church's sainthood process normally requires that candidates have two miracles attributed to them, with each reported supernatural occurrence requiring in-depth examination. In May, a second miracle attributed to Acutis was recognised by Pope Francis, a decision that paved the way for the teen to be declared a saint. Acutis was beatified (declared 'blessed') in 2020 after his first miracle, when he reportedly healed a Brazilian boy with a birth defect that left him unable to eat normally. The boy was reportedly healed after his mother said she prayed to Acutis to intercede and help heal her son. The second miracle attributed to Acutis relates to the reported healing of a girl from Costa Rica who had suffered a head trauma after falling from her bicycle in Florence, Italy, where she was studying. Her mother said she prayed for her daughter's recovery at the tomb of Acutis in Assisi. Acutis' mother, Antonia Salzano, previously said that her son spent time helping the homeless in Milan and giving his pocket money to those sleeping on the street.

‘A living hell': X-Men star on growing up gay in Opus Dei
‘A living hell': X-Men star on growing up gay in Opus Dei

The Age

time3 days ago

  • The Age

‘A living hell': X-Men star on growing up gay in Opus Dei

Hundreds of photographers and entertainment news reporters lined the red carpet stretching out before me. Thousands of fans filled the streets, screaming out for a glimpse of their favourite movie stars. I was blinded by the flashing lights and deafened by the screaming crowd. It was April 28, 2009 and I was 23 years old. Just a few days earlier, I had clocked out of my last ever shift selling movie tickets at a cinema multiplex in Sydney, packed my bags and headed to Hollywood to see myself on the big screen for the very first time. It was the premiere of X-Men Origins: Wolverine, a film in which I played a popular superhero called Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops. Yes, the guy who shoots laser beams out of his eyes. C'est moi. However, my feeling of accomplishment that night was overshadowed by a crippling self-doubt. I look back at the photos and cringe-inducing interviews from the red carpet, and all I see is a lost little deer in the headlights. I was a fish out of water and, despite trying to fake it till I made it, I was an impostor. The truth was that, behind the scenes, the Tim Pocock who attended that glitzy event was consumed by a deep self-loathing that had persisted for more than a decade. I had a dark, soul-crushing secret that consumed my every thought and filled me with such profound shame that I hid my true self from literally everyone. I carried the guilt of someone who had committed a heinous crime, like murder, and lived under the constant torment of what my deserved punishment would be. Yet I was no murderer. What I was, in fact, was gay. Internalised homophobia is a very real and dangerous thing. The kid who attended that premiere – and went on to star in the series Dance Academy – was haunted by the reality of who he was, and the success of that moment wasn't enough to overcome the decades of conditioning and programming that had robbed him of the self-confidence he deserved. The claustrophobic pressures of my religious family, and the constant monitoring and manipulation I faced during my education at the hands of Opus Dei, had left me completely unprepared for the real world, unable to be myself and, most importantly, ashamed of who I was. God's work Our unscheduled return to Australia from Ireland when I was seven was the start of the bad times. My family had moved there when I was four, and staying there may not have afforded me the same opportunities that took me to the career I feel so much fulfilment from. But one thing I know for sure is that this decision would lead to me being enrolled in a school in Sydney called Redfield College and introduced me to the world of a secretive sect within the Catholic Church called Opus Dei. I would spend the next 10 years there as a pupil in what can only be described as complete misery. Mum secured a teaching job in Sydney at the same school my sister had started attending: Tangara School for Girls. Tangara and its brother school, Redfield College, were relatively new institutions that had been set up in the late 1980s by an organisation called Pared, a term that stands for 'Parents for Education'. The founding families were people my parents had grown up and gone to school with. They rejected the modernisation of the Catholic school system and wanted to have more control over the curriculum being taught to their kids. These schools were based on the principles of Opus Dei and followed the directives of its founder, Spanish priest Josemaría Escrivá. Known for its secrecy, Opus Dei is considered even by most practising Catholics as extremely conservative in its ideals and teachings. Though Mum was not a member of Opus Dei, the values it represented were exactly in line with what she wanted for us as kids. She had been reluctant to send me to the Catholic school I was attending. She didn't like that it was co-educational because she believed that boys and girls were far too distracting for each other and should be separated, and she viewed the school itself as being too 'trendy' (modern) in its teachings. Mum pulled some strings with Pared and managed to get me placed in Redfield College midway through second grade. It was another upheaval, another loss of new friendships, and I felt constantly buffeted around like a human pinball. We soon moved to our own place in north-west Sydney's Hills District to be closer to the schools she approved of, but at least some sense of normality was finally restored. However, as I would find out, Redfield College would end up being the worst change of them all. The Redfield College website does mention that the inspiration behind the school is Opus Dei and its founder, Josemaría Escrivá – though it takes some digging. It states that the school chaplains are Opus Dei, but that 'in all other aspects, the schools are the responsibilities of the Board of Pared or their own administrations'. As a student there from age seven to 18, I can tell you categorically that Opus Dei's influence was all-encompassing. Opus Dei translates from the Latin to 'Work of God' and is referred to by its members as 'The Work'. Members of Opus Dei mostly fit into one of two categories: numeraries and supernumeraries. Numeraries are men and women who take a vow of celibacy and devote much of their lives to the organisation, although they are neither priests nor nuns. They sometimes adopt methods of religious corporal punishment, like sleeping on wooden boards and wearing barbed metal thigh belts, called cilices, to cause irritation – all discomforts that they offer up in sacrifice to God. Confession was part of our religion periods, with each child being sent off one by one to make their reconciliation. Supernumeraries are members of Opus Dei who still dedicate their lives to the directives of Escrivá but do so as non-celibate members. Their vocation is to be parents, and to bring into this world more children who uphold the values and teachings of Opus Dei. The rest are known as cooperative members, meaning that they aren't members of Opus Dei but still subscribe to their ideals and methodologies and, as such, attend spiritual formation sessions known as 'circles'. My parents would often attend these circles. The religious education was constant, from the start of the school day till its end. We would begin each school day by lining up on the basketball court in military formation in our class grades. A teacher on a megaphone would shout out militaristic instructions: 'Attention!' 'At ease!' We would then recite a morning prayer. This would often be in Spanish, as Spain was the birthplace of Opus Dei. Mass was offered daily and each grade would attend once a week, with students free to be present more often if they wished. Confession was part of our religion periods, with each child being sent off one by one to make their reconciliation. The Opus Dei chaplain would know which class group was coming for confession and, even though we'd be sitting behind the privacy screen, he would spend the time trying to glean information so that he could identify us. With the illusion of anonymity shattered, the priest would then be able to refer to our past conversations and confessions and provide me with spiritual direction that was bespoke to my own journey. As a younger child, I found it embarrassing enough when my gravest sin was a typical sibling fight, but as I grew older and the sinfulness of masturbation was being drummed into me constantly, you can imagine how awkward it was. On a number of occasions, certain parts of the textbooks had been removed or blacked out. Most subjects were taught through the lens of Catholicism. For example, when the history curriculum topic was King Henry VIII, we focused on Saint Thomas More, the Catholic adviser to King Henry who opposed his divorce and was made a martyr due to the courage of his convictions. Much like the Opus Dei numerary teachers who would wear the cilice, he was famous for wearing a hairshirt that irritated the skin as a form of corporal punishment. When it came to other subjects, we were often simply not taught certain things. On a number of occasions, certain parts of the textbooks had been removed or blacked out. The school would not only refuse to teach the content, but also didn't want us to be reading it in our free time; subject matter like evolution and reproduction, for example. The school leaders, as well as my family and anyone I knew, believed in intelligent design and, therefore, it would be a waste of time to fill our heads with the nonsense of evolution. God created us exactly as we are, and so the notion of evolution was preposterous and degrading to humanity. And when it came to reproduction, sex education was simply never taught. Sex was seen as the ultimate temptation for a person and was to be avoided at all costs. Its purpose was solely to create a deeper union between the couple through sanctified Catholic marriage and to conceive more children of God. The less us kids knew about it, the better. The bullying begins People like me are evidence that this one-size-fits-all approach to our education and growth as young men did not actually work. As I was a 'different' kid, their attempts to mould me in their image only felt like manipulation. And, as a 'different' kid who had also started to notice other boys at school in the same way, I finally started to understand the ramifications of my innocent attractions. I liked boys the way I was meant to like girls. Others started to notice it, too, and it was obvious that the world I was living in would never accept that. Redfield's school motto was Veritas Liberabit Vos: The truth will set you free. As the years went on, this motto rang more and more false to me. Not just because of the secrecy behind the tactics used to manipulate the students, but because it became ironically clear that there was no freedom in my truth – only condemnation. With no escape from the unwavering opinions and vested interests of everyone who had control over my life, my developing and unchangeable homosexuality made my time in their virtuous Catholic world a living hell. The homophobic bullying that I experienced at Redfield College started when I was nine years old. This wasn't due to any homosexual act that I had committed, but was derived solely from the heteronormative definitions of 'male' and 'female' that this schooling community held dear. Certain interests and behaviours identified a masculine man, and I didn't live up to them. A couple of years into my time at the school, my musical abilities somewhat accidentally led to a career as a musical theatre and opera performer. And while these activities made me feel alive and free and fulfilled, they immediately made me a target in that world, as these weren't 'masculine' behaviours. So this passion and talent of mine started to make my life a whole lot worse. I was in the third grade at school when a chance opportunity led me to join the Australian Youth Choir. After some months of singing with them, performing at big venues and even recording an album with Australian music veteran Darryl Cotton, I was encouraged by the choir director to audition for a local production of The Sound of Music – a film I was deeply familiar with. At only nine, I had never considered the idea of being a performer or actor. And yet, after a few years of turbulent change, something about this opportunity spoke to me. It just felt right. I came alive on stage. The shy kid who never felt like he fit in suddenly felt at home, and my confidence grew with each performance. Then, one evening, as I was exiting the stage door after a show, I was approached by an audience member who, to my amazement, was affiliated with the Australian Opera Company. They expressed interest in me auditioning for the upcoming opera season at the Sydney Opera House. I was 10 when, only a few months later, I first set foot on the Sydney Opera House stage. The suggestion by the Opera scout had led to me being cast in a lead role in Opera Australia's 1996 season of Mozart's The Magic Flute. To the kids at school, being an opera singer was 'gay'. Singing, full stop, was not a masculine activity. To take it on professionally was the extreme. And so the bullying began. By day, I was being constantly harassed and abused. I was called 'faggot', 'poofter', 'homo', 'gaylord', 'butt pirate', 'procock', 'poofcock' and any other derivative you can think of. The name-calling soon transitioned into physical abuse. But by night, I was receiving standing ovations from thousands of strangers. I could no longer hide from myself that the way I was supposed to feel about women was how I felt about men. However, within my family, my school and my parish church, the only messaging about homosexuality was that it was a mortal sin. An abomination. Something that was diametrically opposed to God's will and could only result in eternity spent in hell along with serial killers, rapists and Hitler. Whenever gay rights were brought up in the political world, our family would pray that the so-called 'gay agenda' wouldn't succeed. The gay rights movement was seen as the devil's work, corrupting the purity of God's creation. We sometimes spent the night of the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras at our local Catholic parish for an all-night vigil to pray for the sinful souls taking part. Whenever pop culture promoted gay characters through music, film and TV, words like 'disgusting', 'vile' and 'blasphemous' were used to describe them. And when the judgmental bubble that I lived in gossiped about a child within our community who had 'turned out gay', questions about their upbringing were raised, along with negative opinions about where their parents had failed them. I started to beg my parents to let me leave Redfield. Surely, my years as a professional performer, along with the dozens of awards I had won over the years in eisteddfods for my piano and singing, would qualify me for some of the performing arts schools in Sydney. Redfield's music offering was minimal at best, they didn't offer drama as a subject and had years' worth of history representing nothing more than misery for me. I ended up successfully applying for the Sydney Conservatorium of Music High School and another performing arts school, receiving an offer for a partial scholarship at both. However, after many lengthy conversations and consultations with my teachers at Redfield, Mum told me, 'The most important thing is your religious education.' And with that, my parents withdrew my applications to those schools. I was to remain at Redfield. I had no say in the matter. My complaints, my ability, my achievements meant nothing. The most striking thing about my time at Redfield was how hypocritical that world was. While declaring itself to be a shining example of devout Catholicism, the school I witnessed and experienced was at odds with this. One of the main mantras recited over and over again by our priests, teachers and parents was that 'God is love', and it was our duty as Catholics to try to be as godlike as possible. To me, that meant showing love to everyone we encountered, and in everything we did. Yet the verbal and physical abuse I went through, the archaic, judgmental beliefs and manipulation by the secretive organisation I was surrounded by, didn't feel like love at all. Rather, they felt like targeted coercion, based on judgment, designed to hold me back from being myself, and from discovering the real world outside their organisation – which, by extension, prevented me from ever being honest and authentic about my true self. I think the school's inaction in response to what was happening to me under their watch was due to their beliefs being inherently homophobic. And because they did think I was gay, the blame of it all lay with me. So it wasn't wrong for the other kids to point out this flaw in who I was. And if the school was to make an example of the bullies, it would feel like they were somehow justifying my perceived abhorrent nature. That's definitely what I took on board at the time. I graduated from Redfield College in 2003. Despite the ordeal, I ended up doing pretty well in my Higher School Certificate. I had the best sleep of my life on my last day of school. I was finally free of the place and was excited to go after what I wanted. I had really missed the opera over the years. I missed performing and acting. I had big dreams and high hopes, but I knew no one in my family took me seriously. I had known what I wanted for a long time now. I had no contacts, and no clue about how I would make it happen, but I was determined to prove myself. I wanted to be a movie star. Only 10 years earlier, I had been living in such fear of myself that I couldn't even say the words 'I'm gay' while coming out – yet now I was on national television sharing my biggest secret. Speaking out The ABC Four Corners episode, Purity: An Education in Opus Dei, aired on January 30, 2023. It detailed the Pared schools' intricate ties with the secretive Opus Dei sect and how the archaic views of the organisation shaped the education being provided. Not only did the episode showcase some of the damaging, ignorant and irresponsible ideals being spread among the students in their care, but it also delved into the structure of the Opus Dei organisation and how the schools were being used to mould kids to their own small-world views while withholding the real world around them. In the program, I spoke of the homophobia within the Opus Dei/Pared community, and of the claustrophobic world created by their constant monitoring. I talked about the isolation felt by the queer students there, and how damaging and long-term the effects are of the bullying received from fellow students, which the schools turn a blind eye to. Only 10 years earlier, I had been living in such fear of myself that I couldn't even say the words 'I'm gay' while coming out – yet now I was on national television sharing my biggest secret and calling for an end to bigoted homophobia. It was even more surreal to think of the guy I had been years before then, when I would sit in church for 20 minutes past the end of mass, praying for God to take the gay away. Within minutes of the program finishing, I was inundated by messages. While it was incredibly affirming to have so many people reach out with nice things to say, what really touched me to my core were the people from all across the world, strangers who I had never met, sending me their own similar stories and thanking me for speaking on their behalf. Stuck in their own cages, they hadn't realised that they were not alone and that they needed their voices to be heard. Over the next few months, I was contacted by various journalists who wanted me to share more of my stories and experiences, especially my exposure to conversion therapy practices. A new bill was being introduced before the NSW Parliament that would once and for all make conversion therapy illegal. In late 2023, Equality Australia, a non-profit organisation that champions the rights of the LGBTQI+ community, asked me to publicly share my experiences with the psychologist who tried to hypnotise the gay out of me when I was in my 20s, and I continued to work with Equality Australia as the bill got closer to being introduced to parliament. In early 2024, the new Equality Bill passed, and conversion therapy practices were finally banned in NSW. The teenage version of me, who wished with all his might that he would wake up as a different person and no longer have to suffer the burden of being himself, never would have imagined that one day he'd be a public advocate for LGBTQI+ equality. Yet here I am. The main lesson I have learnt from life is, ironically, that the truth does indeed set you free. Though Veritas Liberabit Vos is Redfield's school motto, the way I was raised within their Opus Dei community turned my truth into a cage. It took years of setbacks, tears, suicidal moments and learning lessons in some of the hardest ways possible to get to where I am today. But I am proud to say that this is my truth, and I am finally free.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store