by Alison Mau
‘It was granted to me and I thought that this was the answer to all the pain that went on in my life, and that life would be much easier. It hasn’t been really. It has not been easy at all.’
The Holmes team set up a recording device on the phone and had me make a call to the Deputy Registrar, John Rowland, asking why the Justice Department did not believe I was legally female.
‘We claim you are not, and you claim you are,’ he says on the tape.
‘So the original certificate was given to you in error, and our legal advice is that what has happened to you is wrong and must be corrected, and that’s the situation we’re in now.’
The story jumps to an interview with my barrister, Mike Bungay QC: ‘I find it odd,’ he says, ‘that a government department can suddenly say to someone we are changing your sex without your consent. And that’s what it’s all about; can a government department suddenly turn around and say we’ve made a mistake, we’re going to declare you the opposite sex to which we’ve already agreed you are, without your consent?’
The picture switches back to me: ‘The day they’re kind enough to say I can keep my status we’ll remarry. We will marry.’
When I look back at the story I see a bewildered bride at a loss to explain why the government seemed intent on ruining her wedding, her identity, her life. I see fear and confusion, but also determination. I’m quite proud of that.
The finished story created quite a stir, and not just among the viewing public; although many of them did rally to my cause. The programme producers forwarded letters and cards stuffed with cash, all from strangers keen to help with legal fees. Over the coming weeks I sent all the money back, with a handwritten thank you card, to each of those kind people.
There was one individual who was not so taken with my plight, however. John Rowland called the day after the show aired, fizzing with anger.
‘How dare you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘The television story. I didn’t think you’d look like that, or I mightn’t have sent the letter.’
‘Why would what I look like matter?’
He backtracked a bit, but said he hadn’t known he was being recorded that day. I remember him saying, ‘You should never have been allowed to live this long,’ although that comment didn’t make it into the final cut of the story. I told him how good that’d sound in court, and he boasted it would never get that far.
The Christchurch party went off without a hitch, apart from Craig forgetting his bow tie and having to race home for it at the last minute, and it was a lovely, elegant day. Without telling anyone apart from my sister Faye and her husband David, we flew to Melbourne to get married a week later. Just a handful of people and a celebrant at Faye and David’s house this time, a very low-key affair followed by a buffet lunch at a posh hotel. I wore a simple brown suit with shoes dyed to match, no hat, no frills at all.
After a week’s holiday we returned to Christchurch to a flurry of lawyers’ meetings. No one wanted to take the case. I showed our Australian marriage certificate to the first one and he said, ‘Well, that’s your business, isn’t it?’ Several others after that had the same attitude. No, they’d say, don’t pick a fight with the Registrar-General. Don’t make a fuss, it’ll all go away if you leave it alone.
Eventually a solicitor’s letter was sent, and the phone calls and letters between the two parties flew for the best part of the following year. The document below explains the situation nicely if a bit stuffily, being in legal-speak.
Excerpt from the draft Statement of Claim between Elizabeth Anne Roberts (plaintiff) and The Attorney-General sued for and behalf of The Registrar of Births and Death, 1991 (otherwise undated)
IN THE HIGH COURT OF NEW ZEALAND
CHRISTCHURCH REGISTRY
The plaintiff on behalf of her solicitor LMR says:
THAT she is and was at all material time a New Zealand Citizen and a dressmaker.
THE Defendant is the Attorney-General for New Zealand who is the person named by the Crown Proceedings Act 1950 as the person to be sued on behalf of the Registrar-General who is the person charged with the general administration of the Births and Deaths Registration Act 1951.
THAT the Plaintiff was born in Christchurch on the 31st of August 1943 and for the purposes of the Births and Deaths Registration Act 1924 the Plaintiff was registered as a male with the name of Garry Alexander Roberts.
THAT in or about the month of July 1969 the Plaintiff underwent surgery in Christchurch to change her sex from male to female.
THE Plaintiff made application to the Registrar-General for amendment to the Plaintiff’s birth registration from male to female in or about the month of September 1969. The amendment was duly made and recorded by the then Registrar of Births and Deaths.
SUBSEQUENTLY the Plaintiff altered her Christian names to Elizabeth Anne by deed poll and this amendment was likewise duly made and recorded by the then Registrar-General.
THE Plaintiff married Timothy John Trask at Sydney on the 8th of November 1969. The marriage was dissolved by decree of the Family Court of Australia in Sydney on the 25th day of September 1987.
THE Plaintiff wished to remarry a male.
THAT on or about 28th September 1990 the Registrar-General notified the Plaintiff that the aforesaid alteration of the Birth Certificate from male to female was ultra vires, null and void and of no legal effect. The Registrar-General has intimated he will apply section 37 of the Births and Deaths Registration Act 1951 and correct the error.
THE Plaintiff is and has been seriously disadvantaged and has not been given the opportunity of being heard.
THE Plaintiff had a legitimate expectation that her female designation would remain permanently, and has suffered and will suffer great personal distress and anxiety.
WHEREFORE THE PLAINTIFF CLAIMS:
An order declaring the birth details presently recorded in the Plaintiff’s name to be valid.
An order prohibiting the Registrar-General from amending the Register without the consent of the Plaintiff.
An order prohibiting the Registrar-General from amending the sexual designation from female to male.
The costs of and incidental to this proceeding.
After months of correspondence the Crown Law Office got involved, sending me a letter that said, as long as you don’t get married, we’ll take no action. We wrote back and said, but we are married.
The Crown Law office’s letter made it clear that they were waiting for the outcome of another case (an appeal of Judge Aubin’s May 1991 ruling on the validity of the marriage of M v M) but also argued several of the points made in my affidavit.
They invited us to fly to Wellington to discuss it. I begged the solicitor to come with me; I couldn’t risk going alone, I was terrified they’d throw me into prison. And so we went to Wellington to meet in chambers at the High Court. I don’t think anyone knew what would happen — we were diving into the unknown.
It was a round table conference in chambers, the judge in his wig and gown, John Rowland, and staff from the Crown Law office. I had dressed carefully for the occasion in a black Chanel style suit and lots of pearls, very ladylike. The room was hushed when I was ushered in, and I heard one of them whisper, ‘Gee, I didn’t think she’d look like that.’ They saw me as a curiosity, a bit of a freak I guess, but I was accustomed to that after all those years.
They told me they wanted to hear my side of the story, to which I said, ‘How long have you got?’ That broke the ice and the atmosphere lightened a little. Rowland spent the meeting saying that my situation, my official change of gender, should never have happened, and had to be fixed.
Judge: ‘How long ago did this happen?’
Rowland: ‘1969.’
Judge: ‘What? Do you mean she’s lived half her life as she is now, and you want
to take that away from her?’
Rowland: ‘But it’s not normal!’
I can still see everyone shaking their heads at him. It must have been terrible for him; this was his instigation, and his world view — that was his reasoning. I remember he said there will never be same sex marriages, they can’t be legal because this kind of thing is not normal.
Back and forward, back and forward it went. Eventually the judge turned to me:
‘This is crazy. Ms Roberts, what do you want us to do about it?’
‘Just give me back my penis and we’ll call it quits.’
‘Case dismissed.’
A copy of my birth certificate, showing me as female.
21
A MEDICATED LIFE
In the medical world, there’s a state of being nicknamed ‘Fibro Fog’, a symptom of the chronic pain disease fibromyalgia. The nickname exists because one of the rather long list of symptoms — sleeplessness, stiffness, headaches, body pain, tingling hands and feet, and more — can cause the patient to have trouble with thought processes and memory.
My condition was first diagnosed in 2003, while I was living in Melbourne. I had for a while been troubled by pain over most of my body (fibromyalgia often shows up as ‘tender’ points which hurt when any pressure is placed on them) and had consulted a GP, who placed me on medication and referred me to a specialist. The GP’s prescription helped a great deal with the pain, but the specialist saw fit to double the dose. I was completely pain free, but started to lose the plot in an alarming and dangerous way. I am by nature a cautious person, but some mornings I would wake up and find the cooker and the oven roaring away on High, and the front door wide open. I would sway along the street to get my groceries, and I’m sure my neighbours assumed I was drunk and probably stoned as well.
After almost a decade of living in the ‘fog’, I finally approached my Auckland GP, asking to come off the medication altogether.
‘If you try to stop that cold, Liz, you’ll go mad,’ he told me.
‘Most people claim I’m crazy anyhow,’ I assured him. ‘Let’s just do it.’
Steadily, over the course of thirteen months, my doses were scaled back, and I was pain free, with my memory restored. I’m left with the feeling that I was misdiagnosed in the first place — perhaps fibromyalgia was never on my life’s menu — but I’m grateful nevertheless that the pain has gone. The absence of prescription drugs is a joy I’ve discovered a little too late!
During the surgical debacle of decades ago, I was given a shoebox full of medications by the hospital pharmacy every fortnight. Analgesics, sleeping pills, complex instructions to use this for two days, then that for two days; my mother would commonly find me out cold in the hallway of their house when I was staying with them after a surgery. Much of the time I was bedridden, unable to stand with pain from the lower half of my body.
During those years many transgender people would tell me how lucky I was, that I’d had these operations and changed my life. Luck had nothing at all to do with my life at that time, unless it was bad luck. The work is not guaranteed. You wouldn’t be aware of the downsides of sex-change surgery, until you’d gone through it yourself.
Much has changed, of course, and these days many transgender women are happy enough with breast enlargement surgery — a much simpler deal — and leaving everything as it otherwise was. In clothing they look just as they claim — like a woman — and when the clothes come off, they’ll find many men don’t care, or indeed feel it’s the best of both worlds.
22
FRIENDS, I’VE HAD A FEW
Many people, when asked who their true lifelong friends have been, say, ‘Oh, I could count them on the fingers of one hand!’ And I’ve silently thought, well, aren’t you lucky? Over the years so many people have coloured my life, but the task of naming the loyal and true has left me really having to dig deep.
When I was a child, my father did not like other children to be included in what was already becoming a fraught situation at home. He would always find something he didn’t like about my little mates, or he would keep them away from the house claiming he didn’t want the mess children make.
There was one boy in our neighbourhood I could call my pal. My father discouraged the friendship, saying he thought the boy’s parents were odd; so when we sought each other’s company it was always done in secret. We would often meet on the corner and take a bus into town, and on one memorable occasion decided to visit the radio station 3YA. Hanging around the front door we were spotted by the producer of radio plays, and asked if we would like to audition for a children’s play. We were thrilled and auditioned with great gusto, then went on home without a word of it to our parents. Several weeks later, a letter arrived from 3YA telling me I had a part in a new play to be recorded. The fee was to be seven guineas. I took the letter straight to Mum, who read it without a word and handed it back saying, ‘You’d better show your father.’ Dad was out in the garden and scanned the letter briefly, misreading the offer and angrily claiming he was not going to pay seven guineas for me to muck around in a radio studio! The letter was destroyed, I was grounded for several weeks and banned from going anywhere near 3YA ever again. A simple phone call to the station would have cleared up the misunderstanding. As it was my little friend got a part and continued to appear in radio plays for some years afterwards.
There was Tony, the boy who’d come with me to Woolworths and McKenzie’s to collect the damaged costume jewellery for me to put back together. We sold some for pocket money until Tony’s brother, a police officer, told my father we’d been thieving the bits. No one bothered to check our story with the stores concerned. Years later I discovered that Dad had been an apprentice jeweller before the war and had been forced to give it up. I’ve always wondered whether that might have had something to do with the beating I got on that occasion.
Books and puppets became my friends (those that I managed to slip past my father) and once out of Welfare care and moving in adult circles I made many acquaintances, most of whom appreciated my skills, but I kept myself away from any true connections, cloaking my past and my hopes for a completely different future from anyone who might judge me harshly.
In my late teens, a client introduced me to the clothing designer Carl Carrington — real name Du Ferras Carrington. Ferras was a huge help to me as I developed my dressmaking skills, and later would team up with me in Australia as my theatre costuming business blossomed. We worked happily alongside each other for many years, with never a cross word. Ferras and I remained close and by the time he passed away, we had been friends for fifty years.
Through Ferras I met the wonderful milliner Noel Hookam, who was generous with advice and guidance, and taught me hatmaking skills that would be of enormous use much later in my theatre costuming career. A huge personality, Noel did a wonderful impersonation of Marlene Dietrich in an all-male revue at the Savage Club when I met him, an act I would reprise years later in my Les Girls revue in Melbourne. Like many of my close friends, this dear soul has also sadly passed away.
My earlier work as a hairdresser also delivered some wonderful characters, and dear friends, into my life. Many of the clients I met doing their weekly wash and set remain close; Ngarae Tissman was a client at my salon in Lyttelton and reappeared years later at the Court Theatre, rekindling a family friendship that has lasted since I was nineteen.
I met Phillip Ellis in rather unusual circumstances when I was hairdressing at the Cilla K salon in Dunedin. Phillip was a travelling salesman for salon products and arrived one morning asking for Lois, the business’s owner. Lois was away on holiday, so Phillip found me, in the bath and with my hair in rollers; not perhaps the best way to meet a travelling rep, but we became lifelong friends and shared much laughter and sadness over the years. Phillip introduced me to Peg Pickworth, then managing the restaurants at the Park Royal Hotel in Christchu
rch. A true lady, not much older than me but always elegant, wise and a lot of fun. Peg, Phillip and I shared many experiences in Christchurch and looked out for each other always.
There was Joyce Jacobs, the woman who taught me everything she knew about hairdressing. A great influence in my life, she was herself a fabulous talent and a rare wit, who encouraged me to make the most of my talents not just in hairdressing, but in dressmaking as well.
Later, it was the theatre that brought me the kindest and the best, such as Robert Gilbert who gave me work when I needed it at his Polynesian Performing Arts Trust. Through Robert I tutored students from the street and some from prison, who taught me a lot about life I didn’t already know. As Robert moved up in the theatre world he kept me working with him, for Excalibur’s theatre restaurant and for many of the stage productions at the colleges where he headed the drama departments. He’s a wonderful man with a lovely family which has stayed strong despite the loss of their son in the Christchurch earthquakes — I’m proud to call Robert my friend.
When I came home from years in Australia and was making costumes for a theatre production of Privates on Parade, I met a very special lady. Marjory Pope was a tiny bundle of poshness from Zimbabwe, with an enormous energy and heart that many half her age would envy. Despite being in her late eighties, Marjory was a tireless worker for charity; she’d spend Thursday night serving hot food to the prostitutes and homeless of Christchurch’s city streets, and Fridays at Christchurch Hospital working for St John Ambulance. A person with endless concern and love for people like me, too.
I know very well how lucky I’ve been to have these people as friends, all of them steady, loyal and not one bit perturbed by my past or by what others might think of our friendships.