Former All Black Campbell Johnstone speaking to TVNZ's Seven Sharp. Photo / TVNZ
Former All Black Campbell Johnstone speaking to TVNZ's Seven Sharp. Photo / TVNZ
OPINION:
Campbell Johnstone’s coming out message continues to reverberate. For good reason, too. Its importance is critical — in fact, it can perhaps only truly be understood by those who grapple through similar trying existences.
Since revealing he is the first openly gay All Black on Monday night,Johnstone has been inundated with a common, uplifting theme. He’s been called an inspiration, widely lauded for his courage to go public. Some thanked him for saving lives. Some wished they had more role models of his ilk before now. Others merely applauded the simplicity of saying “it’s okay” and that “everything will be fine”.
Whether it’s the Black Ferns winning a home World Cup at Eden Park or the national sevens teams no longer hosting a home tournament, visibility matters. That Johnstone waited 18 years since his last test for the All Blacks to reveal his true self publicly reflects the glacial pace of change and the burden the LGBT community often carries.
Those who brush off or attempt to downplay the significance of Johnstone’s message disregard the prevailing macho context of male rugby — one that leaves some too scared to get involved and others feeling helplessly isolated.
Rugby, in my 30-odd year amateur playing experience, seeks to be inclusive, to break down stereotypes through the common cause of camaraderie.
I’ve always felt professions or perceived status are left well beyond the training and playing fields. Money, culture, upbringing, beliefs, politics — it all matters not when you’re throwing a ball around on a sodden midweek winter’s night.
Getting unceremoniously knocked on your butt will humble anyone. This remains one of rugby’s intrinsic brutal beauties.
Yet as a heterosexual, white male, I fully recognise my privilege. Even in the modern world, if you can’t acknowledge that truth you’re living above the clouds. Compared with others, I’ve had it easy. As have many who fit society’s long-embedded norms, those who have not had to endure sexism, racism or snide, derogatory remarks.
New Zealand likes to think of itself as highly progressive. In some instances and industries, that’s true. In many others, though, this country is steeped in conservativism.
Rugby, as our national sport, reflects those historical shackles.
Former All Black Campbell Johnstone speaking to TVNZ's Seven Sharp. Photo / TVNZ
Johnstone, in his interview with Seven Sharp’s Hilary Barry, alluded to those shackles when talking about sharing his story with the Crusaders.
“People in Canterbury can relax, it’s not going to be in their face about sexuality and all that,” Johnstone said. “It’s more along the lines of just caring and understanding your friends.”
This is why Johnstone’s story carries such weight. Five years ago, he wasn’t ready to tell his tale. Many within the rugby community knew but it requires a major leap of faith — and a level of bravery — to go public and welcome the global attention that brings.
In doing so, Johnstone spoke for the vulnerable, for those who feel the need to compartmentalise and live a lie in certain settings.
Unless you have walked in those shoes it’s impossible to grasp the daily anxiety and stress attached to such a crippling inner fear.
In a New Zealand sporting context, Johnstone is not alone.
Last year, former flamboyant Wellington fast bowler Heath Davis, in a superb series with the Spinoff, shared the lonely reality of being the first openly gay Black Cap three decades after his playing career.
Heath Davis played five tests for New Zealand between 1994 and 1997. Photo / Getty
Former rugby referee turned Tasman chief executive Lyndon Bray spoke publicly about his sexuality last year, too.
Their rarity is revealing.
In Johnstone’s case, he has thrust rugby’s most recognisable brand through a glass ceiling. The hope now is he paves the way for current players to be more comfortable with their sexuality.
Two years ago I spoke to All Blacks and Chiefs halfback Brad Weber following the fallout from Israel Folau’s homophobic comments. He talked about watching his cousin battle with coming out — how hard it was for her to tell everyone she was gay, and how she inspired him.
Weber mentioned his aunty, who was married to a man after emerging through a Catholic family, before she came to grips with her true self and settled with a female partner for more than 25 years.
“We’ve still got a long way to go with acceptance,” Weber said. “Having pride month is really cool — it’s great to see everyone express themselves but it goes deeper than that, there needs to be a change in our language. Particularly when I was growing up, gay derogatory terms were so common and I was just as bad.
“It’s hard to get change but if you start with the language then stuff starts becoming a bit more accepted. If you’re using those terms so broadly and easily it’s the people that are struggling with their sexuality that it pushes further and further down rather than making them feel welcome to come out, especially in elite sport. I’d love for people to feel comfortable enough to be themselves in elite sport.
“I can only imagine how scary coming out would be. If you make those people feel like it’s no dramas that’s the end goal, but it starts at school. Kids need to realise that this sort of language isn’t the way anymore.”
To those who say Johnstone’s story doesn’t matter, perhaps consider the less privileged position, the strain and suffering others experience before eventually summoning the courage to break through and find acceptance and comfort.
And then consider those who never reach that place of peace.
One day a gay All Black or Black Cap might not be so significant. But we’re not there yet.
If Johnstone’s story helps one person lead an authentic life or feel safe in all fields, it should be lauded for years to come.
