In a case that could reshape the boundaries of sex-based rights and transgender protections in Australia, a small Victorian group calling itself the Lesbian Action Group (LAG) has taken the Australian Human Rights Commission to the Federal Court after being refused permission to hold “lesbians born female only” public events. The legal appeal, now before the Federal Court in Melbourne, tests the limits of the Sex Discrimination Act, the meaning of gender identity under federal law, and whether cisgender lesbians can lawfully exclude trans women from publicly advertised gatherings. As the court weighs arguments about dignity, discrimination, and sex-based rights, the dispute has become a flashpoint in Australia’s increasingly heated culture war over transgender inclusion.
The LAG, a Melbourne-based collective of self-described “gender-critical” feminists, applied for a five-year exemption from the Sex Discrimination Act (SDA) that would allow it to host public events restricted to people it defines as “biologically female lesbians.” Under the SDA, discrimination on the basis of gender identity is unlawful. To run events excluding trans women without breaching the law, LAG needed a temporary exemption from the Australian Human Rights Commission (AHRC). In 2023, the Commission refused. The group appealed to the Administrative Review Tribunal and lost again. Now, in 2026, the matter sits before the Federal Court.
The dispute is often framed through the loaded acronym “TERF,” which stands for Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist — a term used to describe feminists who argue that biological sex is immutable and that trans women should not be recognised as women in certain contexts, especially women-only spaces. The label is widely used by critics and strongly rejected by many of those it targets, who prefer “gender-critical feminist.” The word itself has become part of the conflict, symbolising the deep ideological divide within contemporary feminism over sex-based rights and gender identity.
In court filings and public statements, LAG argues that lesbians have the right to assemble on the basis of biological sex and that their freedom of association is being curtailed by the Commission’s refusal. They contend that female-only lesbian spaces are necessary for advocacy and community-building and that the law should recognise what they describe as sex-based rights. Supporters frame the case as a defence of women’s spaces, echoing rhetoric seen in parts of the United Kingdom and the United States.
The AHRC, for its part, has argued that granting such an exemption would undermine the purpose of the Sex Discrimination Act and effectively sanction discrimination against a protected group. In submissions to the court, lawyers for the Commission have reportedly warned that allowing the exclusion of trans women from lesbian events would erode the dignity and equality protections that federal law is designed to guarantee. They argue that trans women, including trans lesbians, are women under Australian law and are entitled to equal participation in public life.
The legal backdrop to the dispute includes the 2024 Federal Court decision in Tickle v Giggle, which found that a women-only social networking app unlawfully discriminated against a transgender woman when it excluded her on the basis of sex assigned at birth. That ruling reinforced the principle that gender identity is protected under the Sex Discrimination Act. Many legal observers see the current LAG case as testing how far that protection extends when it comes to group-based gatherings and ideological disagreement.
While the courtroom battle plays out, the broader cultural context is unmistakable. Australia has long prided itself on its egalitarian ethos — the “fair go” — but it is hardly immune to global culture wars. Debates over transgender participation in sport, access to single-sex spaces, and freedom of speech have become regular features of talkback radio, opinion pages, and social media. The language of “woke” versus “women’s rights” has seeped into mainstream political discourse. Although Australia’s gender-critical movement is smaller and less institutionalised than in the UK, it has gained visibility through social media networks and alliances with international activists.
At the same time, Australia has enacted some of the region’s more progressive gender identity protections. Federal law prohibits discrimination on the basis of gender identity, and several states allow individuals to amend legal gender markers without surgical requirements. Public support for LGBTQ rights remains relatively strong, particularly in urban centres like Melbourne and Sydney. Yet tensions remain, especially where rights claims appear to collide.
For many in the lesbian community, the case is deeply uncomfortable. Some worry that the dispute reinforces stereotypes of division within LGBTQ circles at a time when broader solidarity is seen as crucial. Others argue that lesbians have historically struggled to carve out spaces of their own and that dismissing sex-based concerns too readily risks marginalising same-sex attracted women. Meanwhile, trans advocates fear that any legal carve-out could embolden further attempts to restrict participation in women’s spaces more broadly.
Legal experts note that exemptions under anti-discrimination law are not unheard of. Religious organisations, for instance, can receive limited exemptions in certain contexts. However, exemptions are generally granted where they are considered reasonable, proportionate, and consistent with the objectives of the legislation. The Federal Court will need to determine whether the Commission acted lawfully in refusing LAG’s application and whether the balance between competing rights has been properly struck.
Outside the courtroom, reactions have been predictably polarised. Some commentators describe the case as a necessary test of free association in a liberal democracy. Others see it as a thinly veiled attempt to roll back hard-won protections for transgender Australians. The language used in public debate — “born female only,” “sex-based rights,” “gender ideology” — underscores how deeply the issue cuts across identity, law, and lived experience.
The Federal Court’s eventual ruling, expected later this year, could set an important precedent. A decision in favour of the Lesbian Action Group might open the door to further applications for sex-based exemptions. A decision upholding the Commission’s refusal would reaffirm the primacy of gender identity protections under federal law. Either way, the case highlights the complex challenge of reconciling equality rights in a pluralistic society.
In Australia’s often blunt vernacular, this is more than a blue between activists; it is a test case about who counts, who belongs, and how the law navigates competing claims to recognition. As the judge deliberates, the outcome will resonate far beyond one small organisation in Melbourne. It will speak to the evolving meaning of sex, gender, and community in a country still negotiating what a truly inclusive “fair go” looks like.
Ah, sisters. We have this extraordinary, almost Olympic-level ability to divide ourselves and fight the wrong battles while the house is literally on fire.
Look around the world. Women’s bodily autonomy is being rolled back. LGBTQ people are criminalised from Kampala to Kuala Lumpur. Authoritarian governments are policing classrooms, bedrooms, and wombs. Economic inequality is widening. Domestic violence shelters are underfunded. Online misogyny is algorithmically turbocharged. And yet here we are — sharpening our claws for each other.
I’m not saying these questions about sex, gender, identity, and lesbian space are trivial. They’re not. They cut to the core of how we define ourselves. For many lesbians, hard-won spaces feel sacred. For trans women, recognition and belonging are matters of survival, not semantics. Pain is real on all sides.
But sisters, context matters.
When patriarchy attacks, it does not pause to check your chromosomes or your gender marker. It does not distinguish between cis and trans before cutting funding, restricting rights, or stoking moral panic. It simply enjoys the spectacle of women — broadly defined — tearing each other apart while the real architects of inequality sit comfortably in parliament, boardrooms, and pulpits.
We have been here before. Divide and conquer is the oldest trick in the book. Set women against each other. Pit “real” against “not real.” Frame solidarity as betrayal. Turn nuanced debate into tabloid theatre. Meanwhile, childcare remains unaffordable, wage gaps persist, queer youth face bullying, and reproductive rights hang by a thread in many corners of the globe.
And yes, I hear the argument: “But what about our boundaries?” Boundaries are healthy. Debate is healthy. Feminism has always been messy, argumentative, gloriously loud. We are not a monolith and never should be. But when our disagreements become existential warfare, when courtrooms replace conversations, when rhetoric turns dehumanising, something precious is lost.
Solidarity does not mean uniformity. It means strategic intelligence.
It means asking: who benefits from this fracture? Who cheers when feminist movements splinter? Who quietly celebrates when LGBTQ coalitions implode?
Spoiler alert: it’s not the women at the margins. It’s not the queer teenager in a rural town. It’s not the single mum juggling two jobs.
Sisters, we can debate law. We can argue philosophy. We can refine language. But we cannot afford to forget the bigger battlefield. Patriarchy is organised. Reactionary politics are organised. Anti-rights movements are organised.
Perhaps it’s time we remember that our greatest power has never been purity. It has always been collective force.