‘It’s really hard to be a profiled Indigenous person speaking truths where you don’t have the space for nuance’ … Steph Tisdell. Photograph: Blake Sharp-Wiggins/The Guardian
“I’ve seen dolphins here, whales here – it has this really beautiful energy to it,” she says. “I could sit in the car park, in my car, overlooking Malabar beach and watching the water, and absolutely nobody could bother me.” Tisdell was, from the get-go, unusual among comedians in that she had an explicit mission: “To make a difference for my people.” Having studied law and journalism, she initially dreamed of a career in policy-writing, human rights law or as a foreign correspondent. Her segue to standup was accidental, spurred by a dare; while competing in Melbourne international comedy festival’s 2014 Deadly Funny competition for emerging Indigenous comics, she caught the bug .
Perhaps hardest of all was copping flak from other Aboriginal people. In 2020, a clip from her comedy special Identity Steft, in which she used a racial slur to make an anti-racist point, was edited to remove the context of the joke, and circulated on social media – provoking a backlash.“It’s really hard to be a profiled Indigenous person speaking truths where you don’t have the space for nuance,” she reflects.
“My parents were very successful with their work and business, and you know, there’s a sad thing that happens, if you’re privileged to have money and opportunities – it’s like you’ve revoked your blackness somewhere. Which isn’t true, but that’s what happens when people are so stereotyped.” In acting, she found “safety, and so much community”. She’s also relished the chance to make a difference behind the scenes, in writers’ rooms and boardrooms. “You can make massive change that nobody ever knows about, that changes the industry, by having conversations.”