Sydney Law School

Legal Studies Research Paper

No. 09/25

May 2009

Sexual Tourism and the Excitement of the

Strange: Heterosexuality and the Sydney
Mardi Gras Parade
Gail Mason & Gary Lo

Australian Sexualities

Abstract The Sydney gay and lesbian Mardi Gras parade is one of
the largest public celebrations of queer sexuality in the world
today. This article seeks to understand the attraction of the
Mardi Gras parade for heterosexual spectators who feel
ambivalent or negative towards homosexuality. Drawing upon
the concepts of the stranger and the tourist we suggest that
the parade has several liminoid features that enable these
spectators to momentarily suspend sexual norms that would
otherwise inhibit them from attending. In this way, the parade
provides an almost ideal opportunity for the ambivalent sexual
tourist to experience the pleasure of the strange.
Keywords heterosexuality, performance, qualitative survey, queer,
the stranger

Gail Mason and Gary Lo

University of Sydney, Australia

Sexual Tourism and the Excitement

of the Strange: Heterosexuality and
the Sydney Mardi Gras Parade
Introduction
The Sydney Mardi Gras parade originated as a political protest in 1978.
It has grown to become one of the worlds largest and best-known
celebrations of gay and lesbian culture. At the height of its popularity in
the mid- to late 1990s the parade reportedly attracted an audience of more
than half a million and was broadcast for several years on Australian
television. Although the parade has since been scaled back, following
financial difficulties and consequent poor publicity, estimates suggest
that in 2006 approximately 300,000 people turned out to watch (ABC
News, 2006).
The parade is held annually at sunset in early March. It begins in the
heart of the city and travels several kilometres along Oxford Street,
Sexualities http://sex.sagepub.com Copyright 2009 SAGE Publications
(London, Thousand Oaks, CA, New Delhi, Singapore and Washington DC)
Vol 12(1): 97121 DOI: 10.1177/1363460708099115

Sexualities 12(1)

Sydneys gay precinct, towards the site of its finale, a massive all-night
dance party. The parade is elaborate, visually spectacular and brazenly
hedonistic. It is led by a procession of bare-breasted women on motorbikes, known affectionately as dykes on bikes. Over 100 floats and individual entries follow, featuring lavishly dressed drag queens, synchronized
marching boys wearing nothing but glitter and tiny shorts, bare-bottomed
leather men whipping each other, sequined women kissing, dancing and
gyrating to thumping music, men dressed as nuns and so on (in 2006
there were around 6000 parade participants in total). These outrageous
and satirical performances are interspersed with more sedate entries from
queer community groups and other organizations who wish to show their
support for the gay community, including the police force. Endorsed by
various branches of the Australian government, the parade retains a political edge through sophisticated and witty caricatures and has become
accepted by many as an intrinsic part of the Sydney cultural landscape.
The parade is actually the culmination of the month-long Mardi Gras
Festival, which consists of numerous cultural and social events, including
a public launch, a film festival, live theatre, seminars, public parties, and a
fair day.1 These events are predominantly attended by gay men and
lesbians. The parade is the only event that attracts a predominantly heterosexual audience: a feature that also distinguishes it from many other gay
and lesbian parades around the world. For the queer community, Mardi
Gras consists of the entire festival. For the heterosexual community, the
parade usually constitutes the sum experience of Mardi Gras.
Why do hundreds of thousands of heterosexual men and women turn
up every year to watch a highly public and unabashed performance of
homosexuality?2 An obvious answer to this question is that they come for
the fun of a vibrant, humorous and sexy parade. But Mardi Gras is not
just any parade. It is an in your face performance of homosexuality that
would not be acceptable on any other day of the year, much less deliberately sought out and enthusiastically observed by so many heterosexual
men and women. Homosexuality may no longer be demonized to the
extent that it once was but it is still refused the kind of moral and
social respectability that is taken for granted by most heterosexuals. The
ambiguity of this new-found status is captured, to some extent, by
Zygmunt Baumans (1991) concept of the stranger: the outsider whose
demands for equality have brought him/her increasingly close to the
ostensible inner circle of sexual legitimacy, yet who remains on the
margins by virtue of his/her inevitable difference from the dominant sexuality. How is it, then, that every year this sexual stranger is able to entice
large numbers of heterosexual men and women to witness, and seemingly
enjoy, a public carnival of homoeroticism, the very thing that casts
him/her outside of social norms to begin with?
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In this article we address this question by analysing the findings of a

recent empirical study.3 We begin by considering the marginalized yet
dynamic position of the homosexual in contemporary western societies as
that of the sexual stranger, and the potential for the wider communitys
engagement with this stranger as one of sexual tourism (Bauman, 1991,
1996). We then provide a methodological overview of our study, which
primarily involved a survey of heterosexual spectators at the 2004 and
2005 Mardi Gras parades. The results of this study reveal that attitudes
amongst heterosexual spectators range from those who are gay friendly or
tolerant through to those who express ambivalent or even negative attitudes. Although we draw upon this full spectrum of spectators, we are
particularly interested in those who hold ambivalent or negative attitudes.
How is it that they are able to anticipate pleasure in this spectacle of
homosexual carnality when they are less than accepting of homosexuality
per se? Adapting the work of Bauman we examine the allure that the
parade may hold for heterosexual tourists who seek to immerse themselves in a strange experience but only on the condition that it can be
shaken off whenever they wish (Bauman, 1996: 29). To understand
exactly how this balance between excitement and safety is achieved,
especially for spectators who are ill at ease with homosexuality, we identify
several specific liminoid features (Turner, 1967, 1986) of the parade
namely its spatial and temporal qualities, its sense of play and its demarcation between performer and spectator that enable these sexual
tourists to momentarily suspend norms that might otherwise inhibit
them from attending. Ultimately, our analysis suggests that despite the
presence of a large heterosexual audience, the Mardi Gras parade still faces
difficulties in overcoming the ambivalence of many in its audience.

The homosexual as stranger

Sedgwick has referred to the privacy of the closet as the defining structure for lesbian and gay subjugation in the 20th century (1990: 712).
Yet, thanks to the efforts of gay and lesbian activists over the last 30 years
or so, the capacity of the closet to dictate the terms of gay and lesbian
subjectivity has been gradually diminishing in English speaking countries
of the west. During this time we have witnessed tremendous, albeit
uneven, improvements in the social and legal status of homosexuality.
Although it is difficult to generalize across countries, empirical research
supports this trend. Since the 1970s, opinion polls in both Australia and
the USA have shown a significant decline in the proportion of adults who
believe that homosexuality is always wrong or immoral (American
Enterprise Institute, 2004; Flood and Hamilton, 2005; Kelley, 2001;
Lewis and Rogers, 1999). Yet there are limits to the advances that have
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been made. For example, in a recent Australian survey 35 per cent of

respondents stated that they still believed that homosexuality is immoral:
43 per cent of men and 27 per cent of women expressed this view (Flood
and Hamilton, 2005). Whilst modest, assimilationist and unassuming
expressions of homosexuality are progressively tolerated, expressions that
confront heterosexualitys claim to natural and moral superiority remain
deeply problematic for many heterosexuals. Thus Australian and US
research shows that gay men and lesbians who present themselves in an
overt or stereotypical manner are more likely to receive a negative
response than those who are inconspicuous or look ordinary (Attorney
Generals Department of NSW, 2003; Golebiowska, 2000; Laner and
Laner, 1979, 1980; Lord et al., 1984). Hence, the popularity of the
refrain: I dont have a problem with gays as long as they dont flaunt it
(Mason, 2002).
As homosexuality has become increasingly visible, we have simultaneously come to understand sexual identity as the constitutive product
of an interaction between desire, corporeality (literally what bodies do
with other bodies) and the normative discourses of sexuality and gender
through which these sensations are refracted (Butler, 1990; Fuss, 1991;
Grosz, 1994; Jagose, 1996). It is within the processes of iterability the
regularized and constrained repetition of norms (Butler, 1993: 95) that
are necessary to maintain sexual identity that a space opens up for
ambiguous sexual experience. In other words, the contingent nature of
sexual identity contains within it an opportunity for individuals to imagine
or experience other sexual encounters. This fluidity exposes the absence
of both a fixed demarcation between heterosexuality/homosexuality
(inside/outside, superior/inferior, self/other) and an essential or a priori
reference point for what it means to think of oneself as either. Systems of
sexual classification are a means of minimizing the sense of discomfort and
threat of disruption engendered by this ambiguity.
Zygmunt Bauman (1991) offers us a helpful, if imperfect, means of
representing this sense of ambiguity: an ambiguity that increasingly
characterizes homosexualitys new-found status in a shifting, yet still hierarchical, sexual order. He argues that outsiders (in this instance, gay men
and lesbians) who enter the physical or symbolic space of groups who claim
insider status (in this instance, heterosexuals) threaten the established
order between these groups. Outsiders in their rightful (read distant)
place are rarely a problem (thus homosexualitys history of exclusion). It is
only when outsiders seek to enter the mainstream by claiming the right to
be treated with the same moral responsibility as insiders that they become
upsetting to the sexual taxonomy (Bauman, 1991: 589). Their status as
other precludes them from ever being accepted as true insiders yet
neither are they at a sufficiently safe distance to maintain the fiction of a
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coherent separation between the inside and the outside: they have brought
into the inner circle of proximity the kind of difference and otherness that
was once anticipated and tolerated only at a distance (Bauman, 1991: 60).
Bauman refers to the insider who ventures inside in this way as the
stranger, a third figure that conflates opposites and disrupts this stable
and comfortable state of affairs (Moran and Skeggs, 2004: 141). The
strangers position is inevitably one of ambiguity. As neither insider nor
outsider, and possibly both, the stranger is physically or symbolically close
yet, ultimately, unknowable to those who claim insider status. As Moran
and Skeggs put it, the figure of the stranger thus embodies and personifies a troubling and persistent ambivalence, representing the world as an
unreadable place, a place of doubt and uncertainty (2004: 142). This
ambivalence is apparent in a body of US research which reveals that
although many heterosexual people are increasingly prepared to support
the rights of gay men and lesbians to enjoy basic civil liberties they
simultaneously believe that homosexuality is immoral (Bernstein and
Kostelac, 2002; Klamen et al., 1999; Loftus, 2001; Smith, 1992; Yang,
1997). One may speculate that the heterosexual communitys preparedness to embrace specific expressions of homosexuality is inversely related
to, amongst other things, the magnitude of the threat to social norms
embodied by such expressions.
Thus Phelan (2001), in the context of citizenship in the USA, has
described gay men and lesbians as sexual strangers. Drawing upon both
Bauman and Kristeva, she argues that the sense of abjection that lies at
the heart of this strangeness can be attributed to the ambiguity and inbetweeness that comes with being neither completely acceptable nor
completely removable (Phelan, 2001: 31). Demands to be treated as the
moral, social and legal equals of heterosexuals have brought gay men and
lesbians into the life world of the heterosexual community (Bauman,
1991: 60) in ways that could barely have been imagined in the past. Yet
their sexual preference continues to prevent them from being treated with
the respect and sense of responsibility that is accorded to heterosexual
insiders (a manufactured status which is, of course dependent upon
homosexualitys continued subjugation). In effect, gay men and lesbians
are strangers because they are increasingly close to, yet still rejected by,
the dominant sexual order: they both are and are not us (Phelan,
2001: 29). This position as sexual stranger is a threatening one. As
Dollimore puts it, the adjacent becomes threatening in a way that the
excluded never quite does (Dollimore, 1991: 52). Every time homosexuality comes a little closer to constructing itself as a visible and
legitimate sexual preference, heterosexualitys monopoly on insiderness
is increasingly exposed as a normative fiction.

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The attraction of the strange

By this account of sexual politics, the Mardi Gras parade has many features
that might render it a rather threatening event with little appeal for the
heterosexual community. It is queer visibility on a grand scale: an explicit
and sometimes shocking performance of homosexuality that flaunts stereotypes of the promiscuous, decadent and sex-obsessed queer. During the
parade homosexuality is, in Baumans terms, at its most strange and, thus,
its least palatable. Nevertheless, each year the parade attracts hundreds of
thousands of heterosexual spectators with few reported incidents of serious
violence or harassment (Sydney Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project,
2005). This is a significant shift from the early days of the parade, over 25
years ago, when conflict with police and bystanders was the norm. To begin
to understand this phenomenon we need to consider the complexity of
how so-called sexual insiders might respond to this strange performance.
In his later work on identity, Bauman (1996) proposes that modernitys
obsession with separation and classification has left us with a the sense of
belonging and certainty that, paradoxically, means we no longer need to
discover, invent, construct, assemble (even buy) an identity (Bauman,
1996: 24); quite simply, this is because we already feel that we have an
identity (or several). Our life strategies are thus no longer directed towards
purposeful identity building but, rather, towards the avoidance of
fixation that comes with [w]ell constructed and durable identity
(Bauman, 1996: 24). In effect, identity has been transformed from an asset
into a liability (1996: 24). To better understand how we respond to this
new found horror of being bound and fixed (1996: 27) Bauman argues
that we need to move away from metaphors, such as that of the pilgrim,
that seek to represent contemporary life strategies as a case of seeking to
construct identity. He proposes instead that our experiences of the postmodern world are more effectively captured by a series of interacting
metaphors: the stroller, the vagabond, the player and the tourist.
In anthropological terms, modern pilgrimage has been understood as a
ritual yet voluntary secular journey, often found in leisure domains, during
which participants are temporarily freed from the social constraints of
everyday status, roles and expectations (Porter, 1999). For Turner, these
secular journeys involve escape from the everyday commitments of established social structures, facilitating greater equality between people of
different status: a community or even communion of equal individuals
(Turner, 1974: 49). Through the creation of a special kind of social bond
with other pilgrims (communitas), pilgrimage opens up an opportunity
to transcend social boundaries (Slavin, 2003: 2). In so doing it enables
the production of liminal identities amongst those who participate in it
(Slavin, 2003: 1).
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In one sense, the fervour with which heterosexual men and women
flock to the Mardi Gras parade could be understood as a contemporary
form of pilgrimage where members of the audience experience equality
and comradeship between themselves and the parade participants as
norms (Turner, 1974: 233). This common ground would have the
effect of diminishing differences [of] status or class between the two
groups (Slavin, 2003: 12). However, as Eade and Sallnow (1991) have
pointed out in relation to the notion of modern day pilgrimage in general,
this would be an overly idealistic characterization of the parade. As we will
demonstrate, not all heterosexual members of the audience are interested
in bonding with the queer community and, indeed, even if they were, the
mingling between participants and audience that is essential for a sense of
communitas to emerge is largely absent in the structured nature of the
parade (discussed further later). More fundamentally, pilgrimage tends to
be geared towards identity construction rather deconstruction.4 Even if
we accept that Bauman overstates the extent to which cohesive identity
categories have become a liability (which surely he does), he nevertheless
has a point when it comes to the recent mood of sexual experimentation
and subversion that has been so dramatically exposed by queer theory. In
terms of the four life strategies that Bauman proposes (the stroller, the
vagabond, the player and the tourist) it is the metaphor of the the tourist
that we are most interested in here as it resonates strongly with that which
is strange.
Whilst we tend to think of the tourist as someone who travels to
unfamiliar or foreign places, it is the mood, rather than the location, of
the experience that constitutes tourism in this context. Tourists seek
different or novel experiences irrespective of whether they travel next door
or around the world. Not unlike the pilgrim, they desire contrast and
escape, however they choose their experiences according to how strange
they are: tourists want to immerse themselves in a strange and bizarre
element (a pleasant feeling, a tickling and rejuvenating feeling, like letting
oneself be buffeted by sea waves) (Bauman, 1996: 29). In the context of
sexual culture, heterosexuals may thus seek encounters with sexual
strangers for the excitement that comes with being buffeted by that
which is unknown and out of the ordinary (this is not to suggest that
strangers do not desire their own experience of sexual tourism but, merely,
that heterosexual men and women can turn to the homosexual stranger
to satisfy their desire for an encounter with the bizarre). In Phelans
terms, we can understand this as a dynamic of attraction and repulsion
(2001: 31) that characterizes heterosexualitys response to homosexuality.
Crucially, however, tourists are only attracted to strange experiences that
also offer a profusion of safety cushions and well marked escape routes
(Bauman, 1996: 29). In the tourists ideal world, shocks come in a
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package deal with safety; they do not stick to the skin and thus can be
shaken off whenever they wish (1996: 2930). Thus sexual tourism, like
all tourism, involves a fine balance between satisfying the desire for an
encounter with that which is novel and shocking yet not too threatening.
In the remainder of this article we deploy the metaphor of sexual
tourism to frame our exploration of the phenomenon of the heterosexual
spectator at the Mardi Gras parade, particularly the spectator whose
attitude towards homosexuality is less than enthusiastic. However, as will
become apparent, this metaphor can take us only so far in understanding
the features of the parade that enable it to offer a safe yet strange experience for this group of spectators. To further this analysis we will later turn
to a concept that we have already touched on: liminality. First, however,
we must describe the empirical study that grounds this analysis.

The Mardi Gras Survey

Our study of the Sydney Mardi Gras parade was conducted over a period
of three years in 2003, 2004 and 2005. In 2003, we undertook participant observation at the parade, including the pre- and post-parade
periods. The focus of this stage of the research was twofold: to acquaint
ourselves with the make-up and behaviour of the audience; and to identify
suitable locations and times in which to undertake the survey in subsequent years. In 2004 and 2005 we conducted audience face-to-face
surveys at the parade. The decision to conduct the survey at the parade
itself was based on the accessibility of the sample and the immediacy of
the parade as a prompt for focusing the attention of respondents. This
method of distribution did raise logistical issues. Due to noise levels
during the parade, the surveys had to be largely completed in the period
just prior to the commencement of the parade (in order to get a good
view, the audience gathers early at the Mardi Gras parade and the two
or so hours prior to the parade are very lively and exciting with an air
of anticipation).
The general aim of the face-to-face survey was to elicit information on
why heterosexual men and women chose to watch the parade. The carnivalesque atmosphere at the parade suggested that a semi-formal method
of distribution would be most appropriate (what might be characterized
as an extended vox populi mode). Interviewers worked in pairs, carrying
identification, microphone, tape-recorder and interview schedule. We
sought to maximize participation by approaching potential respondents in
a professional yet relaxed manner appropriate to the party atmosphere.
Very few of those approached refused to participate. Once agreement was
obtained, semi-structured interviews were conducted (the volatile field
nature of the research meant that long in-depth interviews were not viable).
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Accessing a heterosexual sample had the potential to be a major

methodological difficulty. However, the research teams local knowledge
and the 2003 observations told us that the parade route is marked by some
fairly distinct demographic variations in the crowd. Gay and lesbian
members of the audience tend to congregate around Taylor Square and in
the paid seating section, while the beginning of the route is largely a
heterosexual crowd. Interviewers thus confined themselves to the first part
of the route, using a negative identification system to select potential
participants. That is, they approached adult members of the crowd who
did nothing to indicate that they were not heterosexual (for example, two
men holding hands would not be approached). Despite the potentially
unreliable nature of this method of identifying sexuality, it turned out that
only a very small number of those approached were not heterosexual (they
have been excluded from the results). A purposive sampling technique was
adopted in order to gather a cross-section of respondents in relation to age,
gender and ethnicity (we also sought representation from different socioeconomic classes but this is much harder to assess in this kind of fieldwork).
Three sets of questions were asked. The first gathered the basic demographics of the participant. The second set was designed to elicit a selfdescription from the participant of why he/she had decided to come to
the parade, such as What do you expect to see tonight? and, very directly,
Why have you come to the parade tonight? This set of questions also
sought to obtain the participants views on the gay and lesbian dimension
of the parade, such as Would you come if this was not a gay or lesbian
parade? The third set of questions focused on the participants personal
views on homosexuality and included questions on how the participant
would feel if he/she saw same-sex affection on the street in everyday life
or whether he/she thought it was appropriate to bring children to the
parade. Interviews were analysed using several primary categories, including attitude toward homosexuality, reasons for attendance and frequency
of attendance at this or other gay events (these are discussed in more
detail later).
A total of 103 participants were surveyed across the two years (each
participant was allocated a number for identification purposes and these
appear throughout this article in brackets following interview extracts).
Of the participants, 57 per cent were female and 43 per cent were male.
Approximately half were in their 20s and about one-fifth were in their 30s.
Apart from several participants in their teens, the remainder were in their
40s, 50s and 60s. The overwhelming majority of respondents were of
Anglo-Celtic appearance (around 80 %), with the remainder being made
up of Asian, Pacific Islander, Aboriginal, Indian, Mediterranean and
Southern European appearance. Almost 60 per cent of participants were
from overseas and were in Australia either as students or holidaymakers.
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Finally, 75 per cent said they had never attended Mardi Gras previously
nor watched it on television.
We examine these interviews through a relatively straightforward form
of discourse analysis. This involves identifying the linguistic repertoires
that participants use to talk about both the parade and wider issues of sexuality. Linguistic, or interpretive, repertoires denote a limited range of terms
used in particular stylistic and grammatical constructions . . . [often] organized around specific metaphors and figures of speech (tropes) (Potter and
Wetherell, 1987: 149). Identification of these repertoires is not about
finding a deeper or truer meaning to participants words but, rather,
involves a consideration of how these words connect or contrast with other
words and ideas expressed by participants (Rose, 1996). For example, we
unpack and interpret the language that respondents used (or did not use)
to explain why they came to the parade (such as just to see or for something different) by identifying other clusters and regularities of language
that participants use to talk about the parade and homosexuality (such as
everyone goes). None of these statements are more fundamental than
others but when read together they point to a dynamic and interactive
network of discourses at play (Foucault, 1972: 99). Ultimately, these
explanatory frameworks allow us to unearth and problematize those
features of the parade that make this public performance of homosexuality
appealing to an audience who may be less than embracing of gay and
lesbian lifestyles in other contexts.
There are, of course, limits to a survey of this kind. Although interviewers attempted to ensure a representative sample, there are clear biases
amongst the participants (especially in terms of ethnicity and, to a lesser
degree, age). The small number of participants in some categories makes
it difficult to determine how participant attitudes are refracted through
aspects of their identity apart from sexuality, such as age, gender, race or
class. As the interviews were conducted on site they tended to be relatively
short, restricting the amount of time available to probe for more in-depth
responses. These responses are mediated by the ability of participants to
identify their own perceptions as well as their preparedness to speak openly
in an interview. Hence, we recognize that research such as this cannot tap
into experience per se but only into a highly filtered representation of that
experience (Mason, 2002).

Attitudes toward homosexuality: The ambivalent

spectator
In order to consider the features of the Mardi Gras parade that make it
attractive to a heterosexual audience it is first necessary to have a picture
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of this audience. Our observations of the audience in 2003 suggested that

responses to the floats and to individual parade participants differed
greatly. Some spectators were jubilant and wildly enthusiastic, others were
more reserved or questioning, while others still made mocking comments
or crude gestures. This diversity was borne out in our survey results.
Responses to questions on attitudes towards homosexuality ranged across
what we initially called gay friendly, gay tolerant, gay ambivalent and
gay negative. However, it soon became apparent that it was going to be
very difficult to neatly classify individual respondents into one category
alone. Many interviewees expressed a mixture of opinions about homosexuality, including positive, negative and uncertain attitudes. For
example, one respondent said that she was against the gay and lesbian
nature of the parade but went on to state that she would like to visit a gay
and lesbian club, just for [sic] enjoy (49). Another expressed enthusiasm
for parade participants expressing themselves, but then said he was afraid
that they would try to kiss him, in which case they could be in trouble
(62). In the face of this ambiguity, we decided to group the respondents
according to one clear variable, namely, whether they said or did anything
during the course of their interview that indicated intolerance. This
yielded two broad spectrums of response: first, the gay friendly-tolerant
group and second, the gay ambivalent-negative group.
Overall, 75 participants (73 %) were included in the first spectrum (the
gay friendly-tolerant group). These participants displayed varying levels of
enthusiasm ranging from passionate support of homosexuality to mere,
but unqualified, acceptance of gay and lesbian rights Its okay, no
problem. No fighting, this [sic] people like each other, no problem (32).
As a result, this category includes many participants who may well have
held ambivalent or intolerant attitudes but, in the absence of any explicit
expression of such, it was not valid to categorize them in this way. In
contrast, we can say with certainty that the 28 participants (27 %) in the
gay ambivalent-negative spectrum expressed some kind of intolerant or
negative attitude towards homosexuality. As only four respondents gave
completely negative responses for example: We were hoping to see some
gay bashings (45) most of the participants in this spectrum expressed
some support for gay and lesbian rights but, at the same time, some opposition to public displays of affection between same-sex couples or homosexuality per se (thus, our deployment of the concept of ambivalence): I
think its fine, but I wouldnt want my kids to see it (75); I think it
should be, you know, left at home, but, you know, if they love each other,
why not (81); I dont see why they have to celebrate their gayness. We
dont have a parade to celebrate our straightness (13). Indeed, the ambivalence of these respondents echoes the trend, identified earlier, that many
heterosexual people are increasingly prepared to support the rights of gay
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men and lesbians to enjoy basic civil liberties but, at the same time, still
believe that homosexuality is wrong or immoral. The spectacle of homosexuality is simultaneously attractive yet repulsive: a sign of the abjection
that permeates it.

Reasons for attendance: Sexual tourism and the

excitement of the strange
Survey respondents tended to use analogous language to describe their
presence at the parade. This made it possible, for example, to use a
concept such as fun to group together those who said they came for a
good time, for fun or because they love it. If respondents gave more
than one reason for their attendance, each of these was recorded (respondents tended to give only one or two major reasons). We calculated
percentages in each category in relation to the number of respondents
rather than the number of reasons, thereby enabling us to make statements such as 52 per cent of respondents reported fun as the reason
for attendance.
Indeed, the overwhelming reason given for attendance by spectators in
the gay friendly-tolerant group was that they had come for fun (52 %):
Were just hoping for a fun time (5); Fun (16); Just to see the entertainment and have a good time (18); Oh, a lot of good time [sic] (65);
I just love the atmosphere, the costumes, the people. Its fun (55). In
contrast, the most popular reasons given by the gay ambivalent-negative
group for their attendance was for a different or new experience (28.6
per cent), just to see it (28.6 %) and for the colour (21.4 %): Because
its unusual for me: just to see what happened here (49). Its unique.
Different (56). Oh, its just an eye-opener. Something different (62).
[J]ust for something different for a change, you know. And its nice to
see a bit of extra things happening around the place instead of just the
same boring thing all the time (13). Just lots of colour (62). Theyre
giving it a go to make it a colourful event for bystanders (56).
Not only were difference and the simple experience of seeing
much more important (57.2 % in total) than fun (17.9 %) for the gay
ambivalent-negative spectators, there was also a greater sense of ambivalence in their responses. In addition to the 17.9 per cent of respondents
in this group who didnt know why they were there, the language they
used to describe their expectations was often thickly peppered with signs
of uncertainty and prevarication. For example, they tended to use a lot of
ums and dont knows: Dont know. I suppose a lot of, um, people
having a good time (2). I dont know. Some people with no clothes on.
Half of them (laughing) (3). Um, Ive heard about it for many years and
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Ive never seen it before so I took a chance to come and watch it (10).
Whereas respondents in the gay friendlytolerant group tended to be clear
that the event would deliver pleasurable or gratifying outcomes, the gay
ambivalent-negative group were less confident about what the night
would bring. Thus the upbeat feelings of delight, cheerfulness and glee
that characterize the gay friendlytolerant interviews are more difficult to
detect in the gay ambivalentnegative responses.
Unlike their gay friendlytolerant counterparts, who were much more
likely to say that they came to the parade simply for the fun of it, it is
the voyeuristic and novel features of the parade that appear to be at the
forefront of the minds of the ambivalentnegative spectators. This signals
an important tension in the presence of this group of spectators at the
parade. On the one hand, they have all expressed a degree of intolerance
towards homosexuality. Yet, on the other hand, they have come to look
at displays of homosexuality that they would most likely condemn if they
were exposed to them on their local street or on any other day of the year.
Conceptualizing this group of spectators through the metaphor of the
tourist assists us to decipher, if not resolve, this tension. Whilst all heterosexual spectators at the parade are sexual tourists in one form or another,
it is the gay ambivalent-negative spectators who appear to be particularly
drawn to the allure of the strange (the first component of Baumans
notion of tourism).5 For them, the parade is new and different and
colourful because it transgresses sexual norms. They are tickled, as
Bauman would put it, by the strange and bizarre performance of sexuality on offer: [S]ome of them are a shock but some of them is [sic] okay
(2); Oh, you know, theres some strange people who look strange to me
(62). This proximity to the sexual stranger is a source of curiosity and
excitement: Im excited to look (30); I want to see [sic] just one time
in my life (42); Yeah, well here we are waiting to see it and now were
very curious about it (96). The strange spectacle of sexual transgression
is the core attraction of the parade for these respondents rather than, say,
the opportunity to support gay rights or to look at tits and arse irrespective of whether they are queer tits and arse (although 18 % of respondents did give responses that suggested that one of their reasons for
attendance was to perve, the vast majority of these also stated that they
would not bother to attend the parade if it was not a queer event). This
is well exemplified in one ambivalent spectators response to a question
about whether he was likely to be disturbed if he saw two parade participants kissing. He replied: No, no. I am here to see them (49). In short,
it is because of homosexuality that these spectators come, not despite it.
They are actively seeking the excitement of a flirtation and confrontation
with sexual strangeness.

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The Mardi Gras parade has the distinction of being overwhelmingly

chosen by this group of spectators as the appropriate location at which to
experience this particular kind of excitement. Our survey revealed that only
18 per cent of gay ambivalent-negative respondents stated that they had
ever been to another gay event (in comparison, 41 % of the gay
friendlytolerant respondents stated that they had been to other queer
events).6 The explanation for this disparity, we suggest, lies in the unique
opportunity the parade provides for ambivalentnegative spectators to
indulge their sense of curiosity about homosexuality but, significantly, to
do this in an environment where they feel safe. In other words, the parades
appeal for this group of spectators is found in its capacity to satisfy the
second requirement of sexual tourism: the presence of a profusion of safety
cushions and well marked escape routes (Bauman, 1996: 29). But how
exactly does the parade do this? How does it facilitate a process whereby
these spectators are able to sufficiently suspend their everyday norms
norms which usually prompt them to feel concerned or threatened by the
proximity of so many sexual strangers to the extent that a taboo sexual
practice is momentarily transformed into a source of excitement and entertainment? The notion of the tourist offers us a way of understanding what
it is these spectators are seeking but it does not tell us how this balance
between shock and safety is actually achieved in the context of a particular
leisure event, in this instance, a large public performance of sexuality. In
the following section we seek to highlight the specific characteristics of the
parade that make it simultaneously exciting and comforting. To illuminate
this analysis we will pick up on the concept of liminality, raised earlier in
the article, which has proven fruitful in understanding the relation between
performance and the suspension of norms.

Betwixt and between: The liminoid features of

the parade
Phelan argues that the repellent/irresistible dynamic that characterizes
the strangeness of homosexuality bestows it with a liminal status in
contemporary western culture (2001: 31). Liminality is, of course, a
concept most closely associated with the work of anthropologist Victor
Turner. The term itself comes from the Latin limen, meaning threshold,
and was first used by van Gennep (1960) in his study of rites of passage
amongst early agrarian societies to describe the in between state in which
initiands would find themselves in the midst of the ritual. Turner (1967)
adapted this idea in his examination of pre-industrial African societies
where participation in ritual was obligatory for the entire tribe and was
crucial to community integration. During these rituals participants found
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themselves betwixt and between their usual social roles (Turner, 1986:
41). He described this liminal phase as a realm of pure possibility
(Turner, 1967: 97). In a large-scale, complex post-industrial society such
as ours, more flexible phases of liminality exist, which Turner called
liminoid. Unlike the liminal domains of tribal cultures, liminoid
phenomena are largely a voluntary and playful genre of leisure activity:
One works at the liminal, one plays with the liminoid (Turner, 1982: 55).
The kind of performance activities where a liminoid space might open up
include carnival, festival, sport events, theatre, ballet, film and literature
(1982: 545; 1985: 1656). Turner believed that there is a period of
limbo in these events that has the potential to shift the participant from
one social position to another. Whereas in ordinary life we expect the
invariant operation of commonsense, liminality is a fructile chaos, a
storehouse of possibilities, the mood of maybe, might be, as if, hypothesis, fantasy, conjecture, desire (Turner, 1986: 42). In this way, the sphere
or domain of liminality thus enables escape from or abandonment of
structural commitments (Turner, 1974: 260). Whilst Turners work on
liminality has been criticized for its commitment to a foundational and
overly rigid account of social structure (Eade and Coleman, 2004; Eade
and Sallnow, 1991) where liminality is an interstructural situation or a
transition between states (Turner, 1967: 93) Slavin makes the point
that liminality is still one of the most nuanced and useful concepts
available to social scientists for thinking about the many forms of alterity
and marginality (2003: 17).
While there are a handful of large-scale public celebrations on the
Australian festive calendar, such as the New Years Eve fireworks, the
Mardi Gras parade is unique in that debauchery and normative transgression are principal aims of the event, rather than unwanted effects. The
notion that social norms, including sexual norms, can be suspended within
leisure events is a particular feature of the concept of liminality (Turner,
1974).7 The manner in which liminality has been taken up in studies of
performance renders it particularly helpful in thinking about audience
responses to the spectacle of sexual alterity embodied in the Mardi Gras
parade. As the domain of the interesting (Turner, 1986: 41) and a
condition outside of or on the peripheries of everyday life (Turner, 1974:
47), the notion of liminality assists us to unpack how the parade achieves
a balance between shock and safety, between that which is repellent yet
irresistible. Hence, the characterization of the Mardi Gras parade as a
liminal or neo-liminal event is not new (Booton, 2005; Michaels, 1988).
In the following analysis we seek to unpack this description by highlighting several modified liminoid features which render the parade an attractive experience of sexual tourism for its heterosexual audience. We
consider these through the elements of space, play and spectatorship.
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Its like today they have a licence: The space of the parade
A key feature of a liminoid event is the ephemeral nature of the enterprise.
According to Turner (1982), the participant undergoes separation from
normal life, both in terms of space and time. In liminality we move from
the more fixed, rational and commonsense state of ordinary life (the
indicative mood) to a contingent phase of possibility and hypothesis,
which Turner refers to as a subjunctive mood of culture (Turner, 1986:
42). After a period of transition, however, we are returned and incorporated back into the established regimes of everyday life. In liminal phases
this return to the indicative mood involved a more tempered version of
the norms of everyday life (Turner, 1982: 823). The extent to which the
liminoid phases of contemporary leisure events, such as the Mardi Gras
parade, are capable of enacting transformations in everyday life is, as we
will suggest later, less certain and, to some extent, dependent upon the
nature of the event and the mood of the spectator. Nonetheless, it is not
difficult to identify the ways in which the Mardi Gras parade is delineated
from the normative social order (within which visible and outrageous
displays of homosexuality are unacceptable) in both a spatial and
temporal sense.
In terms of space, the sexual tourist must physically enter the gay
ghetto of Oxford Street and its environs in order to watch the parade.
The understanding that this is their space was apparent in a number of
the interviews: I mean, this is their area, this is where they all come to
live you know? Youre coming into their territory (62). I think [public
displays of same-sex affection are] expected at a place like this. As were
walking down, you know, Oxford Street, any other day I would be
surprised to see a man in a thong, but on a day like today, um, you
wouldnt bring your young children here without expecting to see that.
So I think its more accepted (73). Its like today they have a licence,
they can do anything they want (96). These respondents are ambivalent
about the parades performances of homoeroticism but are prepared to
accept that the queer community has a licence to act in this way because
it is their territory. In addition, these respondents imply that the temporary nature of the parade enables them to momentarily suspend normative
expectations that would compel them to condemn such sights in any other
context. Thus another respondent suggests that the disruptive potential
of Mardi Gras is mitigated through the fact it only occurs once a year: I
suppose its appropriate down here today but yeah, its not my cup of tea,
but, yeah . . .. Not ordinarily, no, but yeah, its probably appropriate,
more appropriate today than any other day of the year, yeah (82). Overall,
the centrality of the parades temporal and spatial characteristics to its
popularity is apparent in the fact that only six of the 28 gay ambivalentnegative respondents were prepared to state that public displays of
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same-sex affection (such as mere kissing) would be tolerable in everyday

life. Mardi Gras is different because spectators know that very shortly
everything will return to normal.
The playfulness of the parade
Another fundamental feature of a liminoid event that facilitates the
suspension of social norms is its playful nature, which Turner calls
ludism. In the novel and weird space of liminality, people play with
the elements of the familiar and defamiliarize them (Turner, 1982: 27).
Drawing upon Turner, performance theorist Kershaw thus writes that the
commodified, non-committal and non-serious nature of ludism
. . . allows performance to play with the audiences fundamental beliefs, and
to provoke a potential crisis in those beliefs, without producing immediate
rejection. For it is the ludic nature of the audiences role that allows it to engage
with ideological difference . . . (and) permits the participants to treat the
performance as of no consequence to her or his life: its only a fiction, only a
possible world, with no bearing on the real one. (Kershaw, 1992: 289)

This atmosphere of playfulness is not fundamentally a question of fun.

More broadly, it refers to performances where the images or messages need
not be taken seriously by the audience because they are presented as
imaginary or fictional. It is the sense of gathering for a performance that
enables the spectator to participate in playing around with norms,
customs, regulations, laws which govern her life in society (Kershaw, 1992:
24). Humour and satire are important means (albeit not the only means)
through which this sense of play emerges. As Presdee puts it, the
unacceptable can be made palatable through joyful humour (2000: 44).
A large number of Mardi Gras floats contain serious ideological
messages that challenge established sexual mores and would most likely
be rejected by ambivalent-negative spectators in ordinary life (e.g.
demands for the right to marriage or acceptance of gay men and lesbians
as parents). However, the burlesque, humorous and extreme manner in
which many of these messages are delivered makes it easy for sexual
tourists to treat them as having little on-going or real consequence for
their ordinary life.8 Thus, only three gay ambivalent-negative respondents
stated that they had come to support gay and lesbian rights or for political reasons. One respondent expressed surprise at the suggestion that
Mardi Gras could be political Nothing with politics (laughs) (32). In
Kershaws terms, some of the messages and images in the parade may
generate a momentary crisis for heterosexuals with ambivalent or negative
attitudes but they do not feel compelled to completely reject the scenes
they are witnessing, for example, by walking away, because they know
that this is just a fictional and temporary inversion of sexual norms that,
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ultimately, has no impact on their everyday life. Unlike the liminal phases
engendered by the rituals of traditional societies, audience members at the
parade always have a choice as to whether or not the performance may
be efficacious for them (Kershaw, 1992: 28). There may be little sense in
which immersion in the event itself tempers or transforms the everyday so
as to absorb new norms.

Just to look at it: Safe spectatorship

At the Mardi Gras parade the separation between spectator and parade
participant is largely inviolable. In contrast to many other gay and lesbian
parades around the world or to the carnivals of New Orleans and Rio, the
Sydney Mardi Gras parade is a very tightly controlled event.9 Chest-high
metal barricades separate the crowd from the parade, and under no
circumstances are they to be breached (anyone who tries to cross the
barricades is quickly turned back). Mounted police patrol the event, in
addition to field marshals stationed throughout the parade route. The
marchers themselves are subjected to heavy restrictions. For example, the
Parade Entry Kit mandates the speed and direction of all routines and adds
Keep moving forward. Minimize sideways movement. NEVER move
backwards! (Booton, 2005: 4). Apart from the ubiquitous groups of
young drunken men who largely make their presence felt when the parade
is over, there is little overt disorder amongst parade spectators during the
parade. Members of the crowd engage with parade participants by singing,
clapping, dancing and calling out (Booton, 2005) but there is very little
cross-over between the role of spectator and the role of participant. As
Tomsen and Mason (2004) have argued, the parade may be a site of
social disorder where queers flaunt their sexuality in front of a largely
heterosexual audience but this disorder is primarily confined to
parade participants.
This demarcation between participants and audience mitigates against
the emergence of egalitarianism or comradeship that is necessary for the
development of a sense of communitas between the queer participants and
their straight audience (which is not to say that communitas does not
flourish amongst parade participants). Whilst the sameness of communitas calls into question the whole normative order (Turner, 1974:
268), there are forms of contemporary leisure that simply invert that order
without subverting it (which Turner (1982) actually refers to as psuedo
or post liminal rather than liminoid). This is especially apparent in leisure
events where there is no obligation of the part of spectators to actively
participate in the event. Drawing a distinction between festivals and spectacle, MacAloon argues that the former demands engaged participation,
leaving little room for dispassionate behaviour. Spectacle, on the other
hand, licenses such behaviour in the mode of distanced observation
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Mason & Lo Sexual Tourism and the Excitement of the Strange

spectatorship (MacAloon, 1984: 26970). In other words, spectacle

requires only that you watch. Although spectators may find themselves
caught up in the content of the event they may still choose how involved
they become with the sights.
As we have mentioned, in conjunction with the attraction of a different and new experience, just to see it was the most popular reason for
attendance given by the gay-ambivalent respondents: Its my first time so
I thought Id come along and see it (2); Weve come here for the first
time and to see whats happening (3). This is just because Im in Sydney,
just because Im in Sydney. Were travelling and thought it would be a
good thing to see (7). Um, Ive heard about it for many years and Ive
never seen it before so I took a chance to come and watch it (10). Um,
to see the people, and the girls, to see people, whatever (13). We dont
have something similar in the Czech republic so we just want to see whats
going on (29). Oh, just to see it. Yeah (45). A spectacle, unlike any
that weve seen (95).
Moran and Skeggs refer to this visual interest in the sexual stranger as
the straight cosmopolitan pleasures of looking (2004: 168). As their
research on queer space in the UK demonstrates, gay-friendly heterosexuals are increasingly prepared to seek this kind of pleasure in gay nightclubs and the like. Our research suggests that there is also pleasure to be
found in unusual sexual displays for heterosexuals who hold ambivalent
or even negative attitudes towards homosexuality. Whilst the mingling and
blending intrinsic to nightclubs is likely to make this latter group feel too
uncomfortable or vulnerable, the physically open space that is available to
the Mardi Gras audience, coupled with the very circumscribed nature of
the parade itself, makes it a more comfortable space within which to
explore the potency of excitement that is to be found in that which is
normally prohibited (Presdee, 2000: 44). This is summed up in the
following comment from one respondent: I want to see it . . . See, I dont
want to go to gay club cause little bit . . . How can I say that . . . Its
difficult to get in, I think. A little bit scary (42).
Spectatorship (as opposed to participation) allows the sexual tourist to
momentarily immerse him/herself in this strange sexual culture but to do
so from a dispassionate distance that demands neither commitment nor
support (a fact that is brought into sharp relief when we remember that
the parade was televised across the nation for a few years in the late 1990s).
Importantly, the desire of the sexual tourist to merely watch, without
being required to take these displays on board, is facilitated by the
bifurcated structure of the parade. This separation physically and
symbolically maintained by the metal barricades that line the route has
dual implications. There is very little chance that heterosexual spectators
will be mistaken for being gay or lesbian and very little chance that they
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will feel outnumbered by homosexuals in the audience. This is borne out

by one of our survey questions that asked respondents: Who do you think
mainly comes to watch the parade? Every respondent who was asked this
question replied that the parade attracted all sorts or everybody:
Straight people, heterosexuals, a lot of people . . . this is for everybody
(17); Oh, everyone. Everyone, from all walks of life, you know. I know
of country guys who come in especially for it. Just to have a look (62).
Irrespective of whether these respondents might be using everybody as
a euphemism for heterosexual, their responses suggest that they are aware
that the audience is not dominated by gay men and lesbians. Initially, they
may feel slightly out of place when they enter this gay precinct but, ultimately, they feel comfortable because there are many people in the
audience just like them.
In combination, these features of the parade its confinement in time
and space, its sense of play and its firm demarcation between spectator and
performer produce a sense of being betwixt and between social roles
that softens norms that might otherwise discourage the sexual tourist
from seeking an experience where stereotypes of homosexuality are
flaunted and celebrated. From behind the anonymous security of the
barricades, heterosexuals who hold ambivalent-negative attitudes towards
homosexuality may indulge in a visual storehouse of possibilities . . .
fantasy, conjecture, desire (Turner, 1986: 42), safe in the knowledge that
they are surrounded by friends. This is the excitement of sexual tourism.
Tickled, rather than threatened, by their proximity to the strange and
the bizarre, these spectators are able to treat the homoerotic content of
the parade as a matter of mere taste or aesthetic evaluation with no
strings attached and little serious consequences for their real life
(Bauman, 1996: 33). They can do this because the temporary, playful and
delimited qualities of the parade mitigate against the construction of
lasting networks of mutual duties and obligations (Bauman, 1996: 33).
In the long term, spectators need not reciprocate the offer of friendship
held out by the homosexual community during the parade. They may
simply retreat to treating gay men and lesbians with the same degree of
wavering responsibility that they did before they attended the parade
(Bauman, 1996: 33). Quite simply, during the parade a display of sexual
disorder that would normally be unpalatable becomes a viable source of
pleasure because, to borrow from Bauman, it does not stick to the skin.

Conclusion
On the surface, the question of why heterosexual men and women choose
to attend the Mardi Gras parade may seem obvious. It is a night of
frivolity, glamour and wit. Yet, many heterosexual men and women are
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not completely comfortable with such visible and outrageous displays of

homosexuality en masse. Our survey reveals that there is a large variation
in attitudes among parade spectators. Some celebrate and embrace gay
and lesbian sexuality or, at a minimum, express acceptance of it. Others
are more ambivalent, appearing to vacillate between tolerance and
intolerance. A few spectators are downright hostile. The thing that they
all have in common, however, is their desire to travel dangerously for a
while. Attracted to the possibilities that the Mardi Gras spectacle offers
for engaging with strangeness, these sexual tourists indulge their curiosity
and experience the excitement of being immersed in sexual transgression
for a night.
Yet the popularity of the parade cannot be fully explained by the thrill
of colour and glitz. For those heterosexuals who are less than enthusiastic
about homosexuality, the parade is only capable of providing an acceptable
source of excitement because it takes place within a confined space,
happens merely once a year, guarantees a clear demarcation between
performer and spectator and has ludic qualities that mitigate against it
being taken too seriously. The parade is shocking but it is transitory. It is
bizarre but it is cushioned. It is strange but it is safe. It is a space of liminality but it does not produce a sense of communitas between participant
and spectator. This package deal embodies the ideal sexual tourism experience: an encounter with the homosexual stranger in an environment that
is secure because it requires little immediate comradeship, reciprocity or
future obligation.
Although Mardi Gras parade is accused of being out of touch with its
true political origins, at the end of the day it is generally assumed to be
subversive. The results of our study suggest otherwise. The space of the
parade may enact a momentary inversion of the established sexual order
but this does not mean that it destabilizes that order. Just as a mirror
inverts but also reflects an object (Turner, 1982: 40), the parade fleetingly turns established sexual mores on their heads yet ultimately justifies
and buttresses these same mores. In so doing, it may inevitably function
to reinforce a normative, albeit increasingly adventurous, sense of heterosexual identity amongst many in the crowd. Hence, we should not assume
that the capacity of the parade to make a difference is as large as the size
of its heterosexual audience might suggest.

Notes
1. Following the financial collapse of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras in
2002 a new organization known as New Mardi Gras was formed. New Mardi
Gras curtailed the festival. For example, the launch is no longer held on the
steps of the Sydney Opera House. For several years the parades were also
smaller and less spectacular. However, it appears that the popularity and size
of the parade is again on the rise.

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2. In this article we focus on the parade as a gay and lesbian event. This
includes the many drag performers who give the parade much of its flavour.
Although transgendered and bisexual people are also intrinsic to the parade,
our data do not allow us to explicitly address heterosexual responses to these
expressions of gender and sexuality.
3. This study is a part of a larger project, funded by the Australian Research
Council, on the fluid nature of homophobia, led by Stephen Tomsen, Gail
Mason and Kevin Markwell.
4. Whilst motivations for modern pilgrimage may also be ambivalent, appealing
to a desire for the escapism of tourism (Slavin, 2003), this does not mean the
reverse: tourism does not necessarily evoke pilgrimage.
5. The point being made here is not that a significant proportion of parade
spectators are geographical tourists to the city of Sydney but, rather, that all
heterosexual spectators at the parade are sexual tourists in a metaphorical
sense. The high number of geographical tourists amongst the audience does,
however, suggest that as a popular event on the tourist agenda the parade
holds out the promise of an out-of-the-ordinary experience in general.
6. One obvious explanation for why these spectators might go to the parade but
not to other gay events is that it is free, in contrast to many gay clubs or to
the Mardi Gras dance party. But there are numerous other Mardi Gras events
that are also free. For example, Fair Day is an open-air festival with musical
acts, stalls, drag performances and a dance tent. It is a hugely popular and
fun day for the 60,000 largely queer crowd who attend. Cost alone cannot
explain these spectators choice of event.
7. Another obvious body of theoretical work to draw upon here would be
Mikhail Bakhtins (1965) notion of carnival. Bakhtin has chronicled the
important role that carnival traditionally played in maintaining social order.
Carnival was a calendrical event in which the people would take to the streets
and for a few days the normal rules of civil society would be upended and
replaced by the rules of excess and pleasure. The established order was
ridiculed and grotesque carnal humour triumphed over the manners and
etiquette that prevailed in normal life. Disruptive, chaotic, yet joyful, the
carnival allowed the people to take control, but only momentarily. Certainly,
Mardi Gras devotion to playing out taboos suggest that it has some of the
characteristics of a contemporary incarnation of the Dionysian carnival.
Bakhtins notion of carnival, however, is founded upon a dialectic between
the people and the state. The norms that are upended are unequivocally
resented by the carnival participants and, as there is no line between carnival
participant and carnival spectator, the concerns of the carnival are
synonymous with those of both participant and spectator. While it may be
true to say that the norms challenged by the Mardi Gras parade are resented
by its participants (i.e. marchers) the same cannot be said for its heterosexual
spectators. Nor can it be said that the concerns of the parade are the
concerns of these spectators. Thus carnival theory may help us to understand
the attraction of the parade for its gay and lesbian participants but it can only
provide a partial explanation for the interplay between the parade and its
heterosexual audience.

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8. Although some individual floats and entries do deliver their message in a

serious manner (and, with the exception of the NSW Police Service, tend to
attract less applause because of this), the overall atmosphere of the parade is
one of fantasy and unreality.
9. The Rio Carnival has roving bloco bands that meander through the city
streets willy-nilly. Similarly, the most popular events in the New Orleans
Mardi Gras tend to be the debaucherous activities on Bourbon Street and the
French Quarter rather than the big parades in the Uptown and Mid-city
districts.

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Biographical Note
Gail Mason is Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law, University of Sydney.
She is the author of The Spectacle of Violence: Homophobia, Gender and
Knowledge (Routledge 2002). Address: Faculty of Law, The University of Sydney,
1735 Phillip St, Sydney NSW 2000 Australia. [email: g.mason@usyd.edu.au]
Gary Lo was a member of the Mardi Gras research team and has degrees in
performance studies and law from the University of Sydney.

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