The big day had arrived. It was stinkingly hot. The mercury had brushed 40c earlier in the day in Sydney’s West. RBB (Red and Black Bloc) stalwart, Rob, hopped out of his car. He found himself in unfamiliar territory. He checked with his phone to make sure he was near the right place. The starting point of the RBB’s march to Garbage Disposal Stadium, home of the Cronulla-based South Coast Crew – the third A-League franchise to enter the Sydney market.
Rivulets of sweat started trickling down the back of Rob’s no-neck neck. He was built like a rugby league prop, but football was his passion and the Western Sydney Wanderers his one true love. His old WSW jersey stuck to his sweat-soaked skin like cling wrap. As he was walking, he felt a hint of Pacific Ocean breeze, nature’s very own air-conditioner. The lucky “Shire” bastards, he thought to himself, we don’t have such luxuries out west.
He arrived at the staging point for the march and unfurled his very own banner.
THE POLICE ARE NOT OUR MASTERS.
THEY ARE OUR SERVANTS.
The famous words of RBB patron saint, David Leyonhjelm.
Australia was a different place compared to 2015 when Senator Leyonhjelm uttered those words after a stoush with the NSW Police at the Nanny State enquiry. His common sense policies had finally been embraced by the political mainstream.
The new sedition laws now included provisions to charge climate change activists, a $50,000 pay as you enter asylum seeker policy had been introduced, income taxes slashed, the welfare state drastically reduced and gun laws relaxed.
As the Hot Chocolate song said on the latest government advertisement,
Everyone’s a winner, baby, that’s the truth (yes, the truth)
Rob felt like a winner as he carried the banner in the march to Garbage Disposal Stadium. He was hot, he was bothered, but he was a winner.
What Martin Luther King was to African Americans, David Leyonhjelm was to the RBB. They will never forget the day when he uttered,
“There is a saying amongst them that all cops are bastards. The cops have earned that label, they have to un-earn it.”
One of those cops patrolling the march was Constable Cleary. Of all the crap jobs in the world, he thought to himself. The Senior Sergeant had earlier drummed it into him that the RBB’s march to the stadium could attract troublemakers with their own non-football agendas and that the police are there to protect everyone, even the RBB “grubs”.
Constable Cleary didn’t really care for football, he couldn’t understand what the fuss was about, or why a bunch of people, chanting and yelling at the top of their lungs, would want to march on a hot day to a stadium to watch a stupid football game, when they could just take a small detour and take a running jump into the cooling sea.
The cooling sea, cute girls in bikinis, a cold beer in his hand…he felt a warm glow pass across his face.
Flares!
Constable Cleary snapped at out his reverie.
The RBB was being engulfed in plumes of orange smoke. As the visibility kept decreasing, the volume level from the RBB kept increasing. In the middle of it all was Rob, belting out “RBB! Ole! Ole! Ole!” like there was no tomorrow.
Cleary had a feeling that if anything serious was going to happen, it would happen now. He switched his newly commissioned, revenue earning, LED protective shield from advertising to jet black riot mode. A few minutes earlier it had been promoting Foxtel’s new 24-hour Jerry Hall lifestyle channel and the thrills and spills of their new exclusive sporting acquisition, the Latvian football league.
Bang! Bang!…Bang! Bang! Bang!
Screams filled the acrid air.
What was going on? Were they gun shots? Or were they firecrackers thrown into the crowd by troublemakers?
It was impossible to see what was happening.
The new gun laws had put the police on edge. Cleary and his fellow officers now found themselves on the precipice.
In the chaos and confusion a voice yelled out.
“Someone’s got a gun!!”
Then another Bang! went off.
Cleary, like many of the police officers around him, pulled out his gun, ready to fire.
More Bangs! followed by more screaming. It was bedlam. People ran in all directions to get out of the smoke and into the safety of the evening sunlight.
The smoke cleared and visibility returned. A piece of bitumen, only minutes earlier filled with a heaving mass of people, now lay empty with the detritus of panic, strewn with banners, pieces of clothing and six bodies.
Constable Cleary ran up to one of the bodies. It was Rob. Draped on his body was a banner.
THE POLICE ARE NOT OUR MASTERS.
THEY ARE OUR SERVANTS.
Cleary pulled the banner off him. Rob was alive but in serious need of urgent medical attention. His mangled body was trampled in the stampede.
“You’ll be OK, mate,” he reassured semi-conscious Rob. He kept his spirits up until the ambulance arrived and made a promise to visit him as soon as he got the chance.
The following day, Constable Cleary visited Rob in the hospital. He was going to make it. But the news was bittersweet. Rob had a problem.
“You see, Constable Cleary. You know how Medicare has been abolished. Well, I don’t have medical insurance. The hospital wants to charge me 100 grand. I don’t know how I am going to pay for it. I don’t want to make my parents sell their house. It would break their hearts. Can you do anything to help me? Can you think of anything?”
Constable Cleary called for the nurse.
“Nurse, what’s the best price I can get for one of my kidneys?”
“Give me a moment. I will check the latest prices on the Chinese and Russian organ exchange.”
Everyone’s a winner, baby, that’s the truth (yes, the truth)
* The art for this piece is a segment from Massacre in Korea by Pablo Picasso (1951).
