Alex Foster

The Protesters 

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The chanting, the great wave of emotion from the protest, was briefly drowned by a Channel 7 helicopter flying overhead. An endless sea of people marched to parliament station from Broke street. Their national flags fluttered in the wind, sometimes majestically brushing against cardboard signs stating ‘No mandates! Sack Dan!’ 

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A police officer line, like a swerving neon yellow snake, guarded the first steps of Parliament House. And behind them, a camera crew recorded the demonstration for every television set in Melbourne.

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Colin knew it was time to leave.

 

‘I’m out. Don’t want mum to see me here’ Colin nudged Graham at the crowd's thick centre. 

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A teenager with a flat mullet swung around to meet Colin’s eyes. Graham was drenched in sweat, but his blue eyes kept a certain youthful wildness only seen at parties or clubs.

‘I don’t think your mum gonna see ya.’ Shouted Graham over the noise ‘There's too many people here for the cameras to pick out a single individual.’  

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‘Nah, if there's cameras I ain’t risking it. Come on, let's get outta here before we get drifted any further up.’ 

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Colin gave a last look at the crowd. Here was an event that would be remembered in history. For an hour, Colin had been howling with the mob, entangled with their strong feelings, and moved by being part of something greater. But the thought of mum's furiousness at home from seeing him on TV, blunted the idea of staying here any longer.

 

Colin led Graham swerving through the thick river of people, and onto a quieter main street. It felt as if they were leaving a great concert. Colin could hear the muffled chants from the now far away protests echoching down the wide city streets around them. Everything felt empty, smaller and more eerily silent. 

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‘We could get drinks, you know.' said Graham, breaking the silence. ‘I know a good bar off Russell street that has pretty decent cocktails.’

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‘Nah, it's too early for drinks. I just want to go home’ Colin felt an urge to escape the city centre. Like the skyscrapers where cameras follow them around and broadcast their every movement to Colin’s parents' television.

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They took the #64 tram which passed Colin and then Graham's house in that order. 

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The tram crawled through the city outskirts and into the suburbia. It let off metallic screeches and moans swerving around corners, and inside that was the only sound you could hear. 

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Graham and Colin sat parallel to each other, both resting one hand against their heads and the other holding their phone. Few people were onboard, only a Chinese lady with earphones at the back and an old man sitting slumped at the front. 

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‘I think you would’ve enjoyed the protests more if ya came earlier.’ Said Graham, glancing up from his phone. 

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‘I think for my first protest it was pretty decent.’

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‘Nah but earlier before you came they had music and people dancing.’ Graham said with an excited tone ‘Some guy was playing f— tha police on his loudspeaker and the cops pulled him over’ 

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Colin gave a thick, chucky laugh and said playfully: ‘The media is probably going to say he attacked the cops or whatever.’

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‘Damn right they will.’ Graham nodded in agreement, smiling. ‘Bloody lying journalists. That commie news crew we saw on the steps are gonna tell the world we were anti-vax protesters or whatever’ 

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‘Hm.’ Grunted Colin ‘ As if being against taking an experimental drug is the same as being anti-vaxxer.’ 

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Colin felt the eyes of the old man glancing at the two in suspension. Their voices had grown louder in excitement, and they forgot about the other passengers on board. The old man was now staring blankly at the window, but Colin could feel his ears were listening in. 

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‘Talking about commies and liars’ Graham leaned in and whispered, alert that others were aware of their conversation. ‘Did you see the lefty counter protesters at the park?’ 

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‘Nah.’ Colin said leaning in ‘But when we were split up I heard you guys booing and screaming at someone around the park’ 

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‘Yea, that was the lefty’s. Some fat SJW chick stood up on a stool and tried to make a speech, but we yelled her down. Someone even threw a sign at her, but the police didn’t intervene.’ Then Graham put in: ‘Wouldn’t blame the cops for not doing anything. I wouldn’t risk my neck for a chick who probably has ACAB on her bio.’

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Colin nodded, and Graham raised an eyebrow as if he remembered something.

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‘Say’ said Graham slightly. ‘Didn’t you tell me that your sister and mum might have gone to a couple of those counter-protests.’ 

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‘Maybe, I don’t know. I was worried my sister might have gone cause she’s into protesting. She and mum are pretty big on Dan Andrew.’ Said Colin quietly. ‘That's why I wanted to leave the second I saw cameras. Didn’t want to risk mum seeing me on the news.’ 

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‘Damn that sucks arse.’ Graham said like he was actually disturbed ‘Both my parents have the same ideas about this so-called Covid situation as I do so we ain’t afraid of no news camera.’ Graham leaned his head against the window, and smiled back at Colin.

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‘Course’ ya dad seems more rational.’ Graham continued. ‘He ain’t like us with protests or whatever, but at least he doesn’t gobble up all the fear-mongering propaganda on TV nowadays like your mum or sister.’ 

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Colin began to feel uncomfortable with Graham talking about his family.

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It’s true that Colin would have bitter, sometimes fist clenching thoughts of disagreement when his mum or sister talked politics. But it felt inappropriate when someone else said what he thought out loud, as if he could only criticise his mother and sister’s ideology.

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‘Maybe you should convince your dad to come with us next time, keep it a guys secret or whatever-’ 

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‘This is my stop.’ Said Colin. 

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‘Huh, don’t you live another stop or two down-’ 

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‘I like to walk’ 

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Colin got up before Graham could say anything and marched down to the tram's exit.

The old man watched Colin as he got off with sad gray eyes, like he felt sorry for the teen.

As if Colin had been carried by a strong political current into the deeper, unreachable parts of the ocean, and all anybody could do was feel sorry for the poor boy as he puttered around there. 

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‘Hey, Colin, come over to mine next Thursday. Sam said he will bring some of the girls over-’ 

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Graham's voice was cut off when the tram doors slid shut just behind Colin. The tram began to slowly drag itself away like some giant mechanical caterpillar, and disappeared into the distance. 

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Colin turned right into a street full of Middle class houses with neat wooden fences and tall palm trees lining the road. He entered one of them, and inside mum was washing the dishes in a sea of soapy bubbles, with big yellow gloves drenched in detergent.

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‘Hi!’ she yelled out in a busy, but greeting tone. ‘How was the shopping centre, did you guys get anything to eat there?’ 

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‘Nah’ Said Colin. ‘Graham wanted to get cocktails, but we didn’t go’

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‘What? Isn’t it a bit early for cocktails?’ 

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‘That's what I told him.’ 

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Mum turned off the taps, put the last dishes into the dryer, and tore off her gloves.

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‘Say, did you see the protests happening around the city today?’ Said mum wiping her hands with a towel. ‘I heard on the news some bloody lunatic there apparently assaulted a girl with a sign.’

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‘Nah’ Colin said, lying through his lips. ‘Didn’t see any of them when we were out.’ 

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‘Well that's good.’ Replied Mum, taking off a white apron and hanging it in a wardrobe. ‘As long as you guys aren’t being hooligans and getting yourself mixed up in all this anti-vax crap, that’s all I need to know.’ 

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Colin smiled wearily, but didn’t say anything. “I told enough lies” thought Colin, and an impending feeling that he was drifting away from his mother washed over him like a great wave. 

 

Alex Foster is an Australian writer of mixed descent currently living in Melbourne. He studies journalism at Deakin University, and has over 19 million views on a Q&A website where he writes about history and Australia (https://www.quora.com/profile/Alex-Foster-137/answers).

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