I’d fractured 12 vertebrae and my skull. Then I was accused of ‘schoolgirl tactics’

Melbourne Cup Day 2015 was true mayhem. The most prestigious horse race in Australia had never been won by a female jockey until then. It was a crazy moment in history – a whirlwind. But what resonated for so many people wasn’t what I did, but what I said afterwards. When I called horse racing a “chauvinistic sport”. When I told anyone who thought women weren’t strong enough to be jockeys to “get stuffed”.

When I gave that interview to Channel 7 in the Flemington mounting yard, I really didn’t know what was coming out of my mouth. It was off the cuff. But the words themselves came from deep within. I’ve always been an open person who speaks from the heart. That speech was the voice of my struggle, and the struggle of all women to be recognised in our sport.

Michelle Payne: “I’ve always been an open person who speaks from the heart.”Credit: Josh Robenstone

I was only the fourth woman to ride in Australia’s greatest horse race. After winning it, I had a platform. Why wouldn’t I want to stand up and say something? It felt like the right time.

For so many years, women had been doubted when deciding who would ride the best horses in the biggest races. All that negativity, criticism and sexism – I tried not to let it get to me. But, of course, it did. Even if it only depressed me for half a second, that was too much.

So that speech was directed not just at racing-industry people but all the haters, the people who put you down when you’re doing your best in a tough world. When I’d started out as a jockey, the ingrained chauvinism of racing was something I tried to brush off. But the old-school belief that women were inferior to men as riders was in your face straight away.

There were exceptions. Neville Wilson was Australia’s oldest jockey when he officially retired in 2012, aged 65, after a career spanning more than 20,000 rides around the country. But unlike other old men of the track, Neville was kind and pleasant, always nurturing and paternal but respectful of me, too.

When that rage bubbled up, I’d ask myself: Will they listen to and understand my viewpoint, or are they listening to me only to react?

In his quiet way, with a gentle word of encouragement here and there, Neville let me know that he admired my skills and acknowledged my right to be out there riding against the men. But he was fair, too, and would tell me if I was in the wrong. All I wanted was a fair go and he gave it. But mostly the general attitude of the male jockeys was: “Have a look at this sheila. She thinks she can match it with us men.” I could hear the mockery in their voices.

When that rage bubbled up, I’d ask myself: Is this person mature enough to argue with? Can they take on a different perspective or see beyond their own beliefs? Will they listen to and understand my viewpoint, or are they listening to me only to react? If the first answer was yes, I’d argue the point. But mostly the answer was no. In that case, I’d walk away, refusing to be drained by people so unwilling to listen.

My sisters had been through it all before and had prepared me for the prejudice. And I was walking in the footsteps of pioneers like Bev Buckingham, Clare Lindop and Maree Lyndon, women with a voice who had proven over and again that we could ride on the big stages just as well as men. So I tried not to let it affect me. I had a dream and I wouldn’t be deterred.

But for a young woman trying to make her way, it was tough. I tried to shut out all those negative voices demeaning me and what I was trying to achieve, and diminishing what I was capable of. And I did my best to hold my tongue whenever a horse I’d educated and conditioned in trackwork was handed to a male jockey for its big race.

“Women just don’t have the strength to hold a racehorse when it really wants to go,” some men would tell me.

“When it comes to using the whip at the end of the race, girls are reluctant,” others said.

“In a hard game like racing, that soft heart is what costs women,” went the cliché.

Once, a male trainer criticised a protest I’d put through as “schoolgirl tactics”. The fact my horse had nearly been put through the running rail at the 1800-metre mark didn’t matter to him. That one made me so wild.

By that stage of my career, I’d fractured 12 vertebrae and my skull. Yet I’d come back from all that, the hardest of times, and then I had this guy accusing me of “schoolgirl tactics”? It was so disappointing and embarrassing, and it still grinds my gears years later. It was another form of intimidation, which women jockeys so often had to endure.

But it didn’t make me sad. I was beyond that. It made me angry. How dare he? How dare he deny me the right to speak my truth? How dare he ridicule my right to call out illegal riding when I saw it? Was I just supposed to cop it sweet?

Angry as I was at the time, I didn’t let it affect me in the long term. I’d been in the game a while by then and vowed to myself that nothing they said or did to me would alter my personality. But the older I got, the more I thought about younger women coming through, female apprentices who were less secure in themselves and more vulnerable to spite.

Like I once had, those young women would tell themselves: “That’s just how it is.” Yeah, I’d be thinking, older and wiser, but that isn’t how it has to be.

Rather than let those feelings get to me, I vowed I wouldn’t be bullied on or off the racetrack and that I would concentrate on what I believe, not what others say. I have made perseverance and patience, not power, my trademark. There’s no point arguing with ignorant people, because usually you won’t win. The old guard have made their minds up about what they believe and how they want to treat you.

I knew that the best way to beat the haters was on the track.

Edited extract from Ride On (Allen & Unwin) by Michelle Payne with Angus Fontaine, out now.

Styling by Alicia Marshall; Hair & make-up by Elisa Clark. Michelle Payne wears dress by Simone Rocha and Midas boots.

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