I take the tram into the city for a rally in the cold. the crowd gathers on the steps of parliament against a line of officers who drew the shorter straws. it's dinnertime and we're just as unhappy to see them. at least they have our taxes for their overtime. last week a couple of cops killed a man in the confectionary aisle of a supermarket. eyewitnesses claim he cried for his mother. the pigs scamper off scot-free because of the colour of his skin. the lady at the microphone tells us that not a single cop has been tried against the law for the six hundred Aboriginal deaths in custody since the royal commission. the irony is tangible: the enforcers are above the laws they write to hold control. an elder demands an external investigation and the immediate arrest of the two cops responsible. behind the line of signs I notice one officer chant along to cries for justice. I wonder how he feels about his job.
we pour down through the boulevard into the rain: enough of us to stop the trams, enough noise to open windows. the crowd pools around the police station to ask some questions. armed neon vests guard the doorstep. our shouting is dangerous and they are threatened by the writing on the wall. down the line a flag stops an intersection in the heart of the city. a couple of pigs lean against their car, not quite knowing what to do. the flag waves and shouts at silent streams of absent passersby. goosebumps for a moment. I take a photo with my phone.
No comments:
Post a Comment