A 'trans'gression confession

Beleaguered Victorian Liberal leader John Pesutto might have survived a potential leadership spill this week over his mishandling of the Moira Deeming expulsion controversy, but that's obviously not the end of the story.

The fact he was unchallenged says more for the lack of a suitable replacement than it does for his own leadership qualities, which have led him to the current drawn-out Deeming defamation case.

Lawyers who have been airing the dirty linen in public will be making their closing submissions in coming weeks, but it seems all that could have been avoided if Pesutto had simply apologised for the statements Ms Deeming deemed offensive. Or he could have listened to the terse advice from Liberal leader Peter Dutton to close the matter down quickly. No, he had to make some more media statements (before it erupted like a hot summer bushfire).

Pesutto's move to expel her from the parliamentary party has backfired spectacularly. She had dared to speak at a Let Women Speak rally in Melbourne which was gatecrashed by a group of masked Neo-Nazis who gave the Nazi salute on the steps of Parliament House after apparently being allowed entry by police.

Fair-minded commentators have pointed out she was not protesting against "trans women" but upholding the right of biological women to face fair competition in sports and to feel safe in change rooms and toilets.

Well, regardless of the defamation outcome, I have my own TIC confession and apology to Ms Deeming or any other woman who believes the fairer sex have a right to their own private places:

Moira, I crossed the line. You might not like what I did, but I didn't know what I did when I did it. Honestly. Let me explain.

I'm a male in every sense of the word, my pronouns would unquestionably be He/Him/His, but twice in my life I've unwittingly invaded female public toilets - one of which could possibly rank as among the busiest in the Southern Hemisphere. You've probably been there too.

Maybe I'm just not good at directions or maybe I take them too literally. When I was spending a few months in Melbourne as a teenager from country Queensland, I attempted to catch a train at Flinders Street Station during the evening rush hour.

Unaccustomed to large bustling crowds, I was relieved to see a sign ahead and an arrow pointing to the underground platform where I could catch the train home to where I was staying, so I turned down into a long, tiled passageway.