A groundbreaking campaign is exploding the silence around LGBTIQ family violence

Sage Akouri was attending an all-girls school in Melbourne when, at age 14, they first came out as gay to their « strict » Lebanese parents — not that they wanted to. 

At the time, Sage was in the early stages of privately exploring their sexuality with a close friend when their father installed a recording device on the home phone, so he could listen back to Sage’s calls.

« He heard a conversation that revealed what was going on between her and I, and that’s how I was forced to come out to my family, » said Sage, 29, who now identifies as trans non-binary, meaning they don’t identify with the sex they were assigned at birth, and feel neither male or female.

« In my culture those things weren’t really accepted, » Sage said. « I’d see the way my parents would speak about gay people in particular, and I knew it wasn’t something they’d be accepting of in me. » In their family’s Maronite Christian faith, Sage said, homosexuality was considered a « sin », and their Lebanese community was focused on protecting family honour. 

But that initial painful confrontation was just the start of years of family violence from which Sage says they’re still recovering. Though they’ve since rebuilt a strong bond with their mother, who has unexpectedly become one of their greatest allies, Sage’s relationship with their father never recovered.

« My dad was already very controlling and physically and verbally abusive, » they said. « But the second he found out about my sexuality he treated me very differently — it was almost fuel for his abuse. » 

If they spoke to their father, Sage said, « it was only because of the violence » or to defend their sexuality, their identity: « He wanted to get rid of it, deny it, squash it, I guess, and he tried to talk me out of it. »

Shattering the silence

Violence has long been a problem in LGBTIQ+ communities, with studies suggesting people in same-sex relationships experience domestic abuse at similar if not higher rates as heterosexual couples.

A survey published by La Trobe University last year alarmingly found six in 10 participants reported they had been abused by an intimate partner, while more than six in 10 reported they had been abused by a family member — most commonly a parent.

But until recently LGBTIQ+ victims of family violence in particular have suffered in secret because of a misconception that they’re « immune », or that abuse is just something to endure as part of the coming out process — the « cost of being queer ».

Some advocates say the community has also been reluctant to talk publicly about violence because of a fear it will expose them to further discrimination and vitriol, like that seen during the national postal survey on marriage equality in 2017. 

« I think there is a reticence within our community to have the conversation because we’re worried it will be weaponised against us, » said Joe Ball, chief executive of LGBTIQ+ support service Switchboard Victoria. « It can be very hard to acknowledge that we have family violence in our relationships — the fear is that it will be turned on us to erode our rights, and that those issues are somehow associated with our gender and sexuality, which they’re not. » 

Now, a groundbreaking campaign is aiming to shatter the silence by raising awareness of the kinds of family violence LGBTIQ+ people can experience — how coming out can be a trigger for abuse, for example — and highlight the crucial role families can play in protecting queer communities from the too-often deadly consequences of homophobia, transphobia and rejection. 

The campaign, by Respect Victoria, tells the stories of families who have grappled with sometimes confusing and challenging issues around sexuality or gender identity, yet worked through them together, with love.

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In one short film being rolled out on social media, a father talks about how at first he didn’t understand his child’s gender fluidity but that their coming out had been a « relief » and an opportunity for them to reconnect. In another, a transgender woman in her 60s shares how important her sister’s support had been as she was coming to terms with her identity at a time when trans rights were barely discussed.

« We all deserve to be safe, respected and supported, and there should no longer be a place for outdated stereotypes or discrimination against LGBTIQ+ people, » said Ro Allen, Victorian Commissioner for LGBTIQ+ Communities. « Pride, Respect, Equality » — the name of the new campaign — « invites parents, siblings and other family members to listen to, learn from and stand alongside the LGBTIQ+ people in their lives with pride. »

Homophobia, transphobia, power, control

Of course, they don’t always. There’s a lack of data on the nature and prevalence of family violence experienced by LGBTIQ+ people and, as a federal parliamentary inquiry into family, domestic and sexual violence noted in its final report tabled this month, a « paucity » of specialist support services.

The complexity of violence and abuse in LGBTIQ+ communities — and the fact queer people can be abused by people outside their community, including their own family members — is not fully accounted for in existing research, the inquiry heard. This can also create silence around the violence and deter victims from getting help.

But experts say family violence can be difficult to recognise even for LGBTIQ+ people themselves, including because, until now, they haven’t been depicted in mainstream campaigns. « Our community’s literacy of violence and abuse in relationships is quite low because for so long we’ve been saying that family violence is ‘men’s violence against women’, » said Ball, whose organisation runs a LGBTIQ+ helpline called Rainbow Door. 

And while family violence against LGBTIQ+ people is driven by some of the same factors underpinning violence against women, including gender inequality, the types of violence and tactics of abuse can be specific to victims’ gender identity or sexuality.

« It’s a whole raft of behaviours that can include not affirming someone’s gender or sexuality, isolating them from family or friends, forcibly cutting someone’s hair or destroying their clothes, to physical abuse and throwing them out of home, » said Karen Field, the chief executive of Drummond Street Services. 

The participants who reported they had been abused by a family member in La Trobe’s Private Lives survey said they had experienced verbal abuse (41.5 per cent), LGBTIQ-related abuse (40.8 per cent), emotional abuse (39.3 per cent), physical violence (24.2 per cent) and sexual assault (9.7 per cent). Almost three-quarters of respondents said their perpetrator had been a parent, while a third said they’d been abused by a sibling.

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In Field’s experience, family violence is « very often » fuelled by homophobia or transphobia, which is sometimes shaped by cultural or religious beliefs, and trans and gender diverse people, those with disabilities, and people of colour are at « much higher » risk. And coming out is often a trigger.

« It’s probably the most vulnerable time for the onset of family violence and abuse within families of origin, » Field said. « For some families, having to understand and accept a young person’s sexuality and gender … is a bridge too far, and if you’re a parent you have a capacity to enact power and control over your child and sometimes abuse. So it’s a really critical time. » 

The cost of being queer during COVID

For many young queer people, the pandemic has been another trigger for family violence, with a report in December revealing LGBTIQ+ people under 25 were 4.5 times more likely to be at risk of domestic and family violence than their older peers. Both Ball and Field said many had been forced to move back in with parents or families of origin after losing jobs in the past 12 months.

« We heard stories of young people who had to return home … having to meet conditions like not being able to see their same-sex partner, not being allowed to dress in the clothes of their affirmed gender, » Ball said. « The consequences of being in an environment like that — the emotional abuse, the control, of not being able to be who you are as a person — it’s actually very damaging. »

Some also lost crucial support networks. « By having to move home … lots of young people felt like they had to go back into the closet, in a way, in order to be safe — as well as losing their social supports, » Field said. « So what we saw was not only a trebling of family violence, but also a trebling of acute mental health crises and in some cases suicidality. » 

Yet most don’t report violence and abuse: almost three-quarters of participants in La Trobe’s health and wellbeing survey last year said they didn’t report their most recent experience of intimate partner or family violence to police, domestic violence services or doctors. For some victims, Field said, police aren’t considered « safe », while for others, disclosing violence means coming out, which can be risky in itself. 

Still, Ball is hopeful there’s a cultural shift underway, that more people particularly in younger generations will be able to start identifying and seeking help for violence at home.

« I think these behaviours have always been there but we’re only now starting to name them as family violence, » Ball said. « When someone in my generation came out, for example, their parents might have kicked them out of home — we used to see that as just part of the coming out story, it was the cost of being queer. But now we recognise that as abuse. »

‘We almost took Sage’s future away’

Some parents, of course, don’t understand how important supporting their LGBTIQ+ children is until serious harm has been done.

By the time Sage’s mother Leila Chayeb realised how much Sage was struggling with their parents’ rejection, Sage was severely depressed and self-harming. When Sage was 15, Leila had forced them to visit a conversion « practitioner », thinking they might be able to talk Sage out of their sexuality, which Leila felt brought shame on their family.

« I thought it might be a phase they were going through or something that was influenced or put on them by a friend, » Leila said. « I hoped [the doctor] would speak to Sage and help them see that homosexuality is a sin, and that it’s something they can choose to go against. But of course this did not work and I realised a little too late just how much trauma this caused Sage. »

It wasn’t until Sage was much older, after their parents had separated, that Leila took steps to repair their relationship. She began researching gender identity and sexuality, she said, and seeing a psychologist. « Sage attempted suicide for the first time in their early 20s and this was a big wake-up call for me and the whole family, » she said.

« Denying Sage’s sexuality and gender identity didn’t change Sage or make them become who I wanted them to be, it only caused them pain and trauma that they’ll carry with them forever. We as parents have the power to influence our children’s futures and we almost took Sage’s future away from them. »

These efforts, it turned out, helped Sage feel comfortable enough to come out as trans to Leila three years ago. « At the start she had a lot of questions, she couldn’t understand what it all meant, » Sage said of their mother. « But we talked about it, and I said, ‘Look, I don’t really understand it either, but I just need your support and respect and if we have that, we’ll be able to work through it all together’. » 

And they did: Leila was at Sage’s hospital bedside when they had « top surgery » to remove breast tissue and began taking hormones in 2018. She also spoke to other family members about the changes Sage was undergoing.

« It definitely had a big impact, » Sage said. « When I was younger, I just wanted to be seen by my family, to be recognised and acknowledged as one of them, as part of the family. Back then, I never even imagined making it to 25, so I think if I’d had that support earlier on, I’d have been able to picture my life, my goals and ambitions. »

It’s why Sage is now throwing their support behind the Respect Victoria campaign — to « be visible » to other young LGBTIQ+ people who might be struggling with their identity, and speak out about family violence and abuse. « I hope families and particularly parents will watch these videos and see how big a difference their support can make to their child or the person they’re caring for, » Sage said.

« And I hope in my and my mum’s story people who may be estranged from their family can see there’s hope things can change. »

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