They Fought So We Could Dance: The Living Legacy of Sydney Mardi Gras

Gay Christmas, otherwise known as the Mardi Gras season, is well and truly underway here in Sydney, Australia. Essentially, the entire month of February is wall-to-wall queer events. You can’t walk down a street in Sydney’s Central Business District without seeing a big, beautiful pride flag. 

On top of all the incredible events that happen annually, like the Mardi Gras parade, Fair Day and the Sissy Ball, for the first time ever, Mighty Hoopla is coming down under. If that wasn’t enough, we’re getting to see Kesha, Countess Luann, Becky Hill, Rose Gray, Jess Mauboy and Delta Goodrem perform live, to name a few. 

But internationally, it seems little is known about what Mardi Gras is actually all about. So let’s have a dig into it, shall we? 

The History of Sydney Mardi Gras 

In 1978, San Francisco group, Gay Freedom Day Committee, asked Australian activists to create solidarity events in commemoration of the Stonewall riots, but also against the Briggs Initiative, which would’ve allowed Californian public schools to legally fire gay and lesbian teachers. The Gay Solidarity Group in Sydney held a march on the morning of June 24, 1978. It's estimated that around 500 people participated. Which, in those days, was a lot of people.

Because it was illegal to be homosexual in most states and territories in Australia (South Australia was the first state to decriminalise male homosexuality in 1975, followed by the Australian Capital Territory in 1976; New South Wales wouldn’t decriminalise until 1984), many preferred a nighttime celebration. 

And so, on the night of June 24, 1978, the first Mardi Gras was born. 

At 10pm, people assembled at Taylor Square with a flat-bed truck equipped with a sound system playing ‘Ode to a Gym Teacher’ by Meg Christian and ‘Glad to be Gay’ by Tom Robinson, obviously. They moved down Oxford Street, Sydney’s queer strip, towards Hyde Park, dancing and singing, chanting to those in bars, ‘out of the bars and into the streets’.

Police wanted the truck to speed up to prevent a street party from breaking out. At the end of Oxford Street, hundreds had gathered. The police confiscated the truck, resulting in calls to run to Kings Cross, chanting “Stop police attacks on gays, women and blacks!” 

Before they could disperse, police, who’d cornered off both ends of the road, arrested those in attendance and violently threw them into their vehicles. People were punched, kicked, pushed to the ground and dragged. The group fought back and tried to pull people out of the cars.

That night, 53 were arrested. There were further bashings by police in the cells at Darlinghurst Police Station. What started as a commemoration of the Stonewall riots became its own version. Survivors' stories are harrowing, but I recommend you listen. 

A year later, around 3,000 people marched with no arrests. Since then, the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras has been held every year. Eventually shifting to the end of summer in 1981 because the queers love a summer party. 

We now refer to these trailblazers as ‘78’ers’ and they open the Mardi Gras parade along with the First Nations LGBTQIA+SB float and the iconic ‘Dykes on Bikes’. 

The Power of Your First Mardi Gras

Nowadays, Mardi Gras tests our stamina. There are never-ending parties where you crawl from an overnight event to a morning ‘recovery’. Or all of those late-night hookups, which we know increase during Mardi Gras. 

In fact, across 2024-2025, Sydney’s daily active users on Grindr are 6-7% higher during Mardi Gras compared to baseline. Not to mention that during Mardi Gras 2025, there was a 7.4% increase in location sharing, a 5.3% increase in profile views and taps. So we know just how much more you’re putting yourself out there. So to speak. 

But because of all the fun, it’s easy to forget how Mardi Gras can feel like a lifeline for newly out, questioning, exploring or those still waiting to be open. It provides a safe and loving space for people to find themselves. 

For Vybe, Sydney’s premiere drag queen and runner-up on Drag Race: Down Under, her first Mardi Gras was “way” back when she was seventeen. “I went into the city with a group of girlfriends, and we floated from Hyde Park to a spot on Oxford Street. Standing on milk crates, I watched thousands of proud, beautiful people being celebrated.” 

“Looking back, it was a pivotal moment,” Vybe says. “Feeling the genuine love from people who came to stand with the LGBTQIA+ community helped me take those first few steps as an adult into an unashamed queer identity. Little did I know years later I’d call that same street home, entertaining and wanting to give back to the community the love I felt that first Mardi Gras.” 

Writer Mark Mariano’s first Mardi Gras was as a float marcher in 2019. “I was 24, and had wanted to attend earlier, but the glitter and glam always felt eons away from my cramped Filipino home in the city’s outer west. The second my gay coworkers and I crossed the start line, I was bombarded with applause, cheers, a ringing Rihanna tune and poppers — no, not that kind. The love and support from the crowd was like no other.”

Lasting Impact

Every year, Mardi Gras feels more and more important. Especially when our LGBTQIA+ community is increasingly under threat, both globally and locally in Australia. 

When the AIDS epidemic spread to Australia, there were calls for the 1985 Mardi Gras to be cancelled. However, the devastation of losing friends, loved ones, and partners brought a different meaning to Mardi Gras. It became once again about community. About resilience in the face of adversity. Bill Whittaker, AIDS activist, said, “many of us… know people who just wanted to live until one more Mardi Gras, it was so important in their lives. And they did, and still do.” 

As Vybe says, “Just a quick look at the state of the world tells you why we need Mardi Gras. We need to show the next generation of girls, gays, theys, dolls and divas that there is a space they can call home where the doors are always open, no matter who you are.” 

“This time is to pay respects to our First Nations community, our trans siblings and the queers who all loved, walked and fought before me,” Writer Sandy McIntyre says. 

We wouldn’t have Mardi Gras if it weren’t for those who fought so hard, at a high price, for us to march down Oxford Street. We certainly wouldn’t if it weren’t for the trans women of colour at Stonewall in 1969. We wouldn’t be able to dance and have fun at queer music festivals like Mighty Hoopla without the queer and trans warriors who, like us, just wanted to dance in their own spaces with their community.