巨變中的書寫
巨變中的書寫

駐墨爾本的自由運動觀察人.

圍攻英雄紀念館

在八月的抗爭運動


第一部分

在封鎖期間,達米安從來不是一個 "基本需求 "工人,現在也不是一個 "被授權 "工人。

相反,他是一個父親,一個演員,現在又是一個活動家,不是因為選擇,而是因為他認為是道德上的需要。

他目前是 "被封鎖在外的咖啡館 "的聯合主持人。

一個通過拒絕沈默來捍衛言論自由的流媒體節目。

這個節目現在有數百萬人觀看。


圍攻英雄紀念館

他一邊說,一邊用他的塑料盾牌把我的頭打到地上,別再讓我這麽做了。不要再讓我這樣做了。

我沒有逼你,我說,盡管我不知道他是否在所有的叫喊和尖叫聲中聽到了我的話。

在我旁邊,朱塞佩-格拉索(Giuseppe Grasso)是個意大利人,身材矮小,也在被毆打。在聖殿的台階上,當穿著像沖鋒隊一樣的警察終於進來時,我們的手臂緊緊相扣。但朱塞佩很堅強,他拒絕放開我的手臂,迫使警察把我們分開。

最後,我們的聯系中斷了,我被扔到了地上,被戴上了手銬,這種感覺就像我一直認為的那樣。在他們這樣做的時候,我的膝蓋被壓在我的上背部,使我很難呼吸,讓我短暫地體驗到喬治-弗洛伊德的感受。我實際上想知道我是否會在這里死去,因為當我聽到他們問:"你現在高興嗎?是的,你高興嗎?"

最後,我被拖了起來,並被帶到一個草地上,他們讓我坐在地上,記錄我的詳細資料,最後將我釋放,並警告說如果我再來,我將被關進監獄。

這不是針對個人的,一位警官一直告訴我。 這不是針對個人的。

我告訴他,盡管我知道我不應該說話,但這感覺是針對我的。

是啊,想想你的孩子吧,他說。想想你的孩子。

我是,這就是我在這里的原因。這也是為什麽我們都在這里。 即使是我們這些太年輕沒有孩子的人也一直在說,如果我們現在不努力打敗這種暴政,將來我們的孩子生活在這種暴政之下,我們怎麽能擡起頭來。

在那之後,這位警官冷靜下來問我是做什麽的,好像他真的很感興趣。當他發現我是個劇作家時,他顯得很震驚。當他問我是否寫過什麽他可能知道的東西時,我告訴他《被放逐》;這是一部預防自殺的戲劇,軍隊曾經在軍營中巡演,因為他們相信它有能力阻止男人自殺。像你這樣的人,我說。

這是他問我的最後一件事。之後,他解開了我的手銬,把我交給其他軍官照顧。而且有很多人可以選擇。 

這聽起來可能很戲劇化,甚至是劇本,但這都是事實。

第二部分

但對我來說,拯救警察靈魂的時刻是在我們離開時。我現在和另一個人在一起,喬爾是一個年輕的、身材健壯的父親,在掙紮中,他的臉上挨了一拳。喬爾想問我們是否可以等待他的兄弟。在我們等待的過程中,我問這位也是父親的警官,為什麽警察要這麽暴力?

他聲稱,這不是他的問題。他沒有去過那里。他一直在這里,守著這個路障。然後他放下面罩,說,他說這句話時顯然很害怕,說實話,夥計們,我很佩服你們所做的事情。我是站在你們這邊的。

但我們為什麽要去英雄紀念館?

早上,我們被告知見面的地方被警察包圍了,而且沒有看到其他的抗議者,看起來這將是一個逐漸破滅的失敗。所以,我們很失望,準備回家。但後來我們遇到了幾個建築工人,並和他們一起尋找更大的團體。

就在我們穿過一個公園的時候,一輛黑色的裝甲車,也就是所謂的熊貓,突然停了下來,穿著像掃蕩隊一樣的警員從車邊跳下來,開始發射橡皮子彈和其他東西,我不確定它們是什麽。

我們嚇壞了,趕緊跑。

清楚之後,我們仍然感到驚訝,但我們沒有回家,而是決定返回城市尋找主要群體,我們這支劍拔弩張的隊伍由三位年輕女性領導,她們決心要讓別人聽到。我不確定我們為什麽要跟著去,因為很明顯我們沒有什麽機會,但那時在家里等著我們的都是服從。  

過了不久,在一條城市街道上,帶著一個稍大的團體,熊貓又回來了,再次開始胡亂射擊。我的手被打中了,我想是跳彈,但很疼,現在仍然很疼,我的現場直播抓住了這個畫面。靠近的人跳到了我旁邊的人的背上,於是我走了過去,等待著同樣的事情發生在我身上,但是沒有。


於是我們又一次跑開了,但這次我們分散的隊伍遇到了其他幾個人,然後這些人越來越多,直到我們到達弗林德斯街,在那里我們發現了一個主要群體。

就這樣,因為我們到達市中心的人數如此之多,我不確定有多少人,他們停止了射擊。 相反,他們封鎖了所有的小街,因為我們像前一天一樣,開始在城市里走來走去,邊走邊撿號碼。我們邊走邊向對方展示我們的傷勢,很多人都有傷。一個年輕人的後腦勺在流血。

最後,盡管它在城市的另一邊,但有人用大喇叭建議我們去英雄紀念館。

當他們說這句話時,我覺得這是一個完美的主意。

值得注意的是,我們到達時沒有發生進一步的事件。我本來以為警察會阻止我們,因為他們有人數、武器和那輛裝甲車。但他們沒有。

他們希望我們去那里嗎?建議去那里的人是為警察工作的嗎?


第三部

無論情況如何,當我們坐在紀念館的台階上時,我們知道,作為無權無勢的人,我們終於有了一點權力。因為當警察包圍我們的時候,雙方都很清楚,盡管他們有所有的武器和盔甲,但他們有一個問題,就是他們的靈魂。

盡管所有的大眾媒體都站在他們這一邊,毫不費力地把我們描繪成壞人、暴亂者,但我們知道他們不可能找到辦法在這里射殺我們,就像他們整個上午在城市街道上射殺我們一樣,而且這樣做的時候,媒體能形容他們仍然是穿著缺乏突擊隊制服的好人。

因此,盡管我們人數眾多,但對峙還是開始了,我們唯一的保護就是他們試圖以一種可以向世界推銷的方式來安排將要發生的事情。

那是一個我們都沒有預料到的時刻,我們看起來就像一群在板球場上的澳大利亞人,高聲呼喊著自由的口號,然後以暫時獲得自由的囚犯的姿態唱起了國歌。而他們則在思考該怎麼做。

每隔一段時間,警察隊伍就會走近幾步。在他們所有的黑色衣服和所有的盾牌和黑色面罩後面,很難記住他們是澳大利亞人,而不是一支入侵部隊。但這種恐嚇策略並不奏效,因為我們已經在街上受到了攻擊和恐嚇,我們沒有回家,而是不斷地重新集結,直到剩下的人都到了這里。

我們來到這里並不是因為我們認為自己是澳紐軍團的人。我們在這里是因為這個地方是明確無誤的好地方。一個自由的象征,我們希望我們國家的祖先的鬼魂,也就是這個聖地所紀念的那些人,那些在其他土地上與暴政鬥爭而犧牲的人,會保護我們。

隨著時間的推移,警察派來了便衣警察,假裝成抗議者,他們和我們坐在一起,建議說,看,我們已經表達了我們的觀點,讓我們回家,明天再來。

然後,他們讓其他一些我們在街頭戰鬥中不認識的人,用擴音器和我們交談,他們向我們提出了這樣的條件,顯然他們已經和警方協商好了。如果我們通過聖基爾達路離開,我們就可以自由地離開。但是天空新聞已經在報道那些離開的人被逮捕,甚至被那些奇怪的武器射殺的事實。所以我們喊出了 "堅持立場 "的口號。

警察遇到的麻煩是,我們沒有領導。我們只是一群在暴政面前表態的人,一群被自由之火吸引的人。

這就是我們留下來的原因。我們知道我們在某些時候會被逮捕。 我們知道我們已經完蛋了。但是,如果我們在街上被單獨逮捕,或者後來在家里被逮捕,世界媒體不會聽到,也不會關心,但如果他們不得不在這里逮捕我們,當我們坐在一起,在為慶祝自由而建的紀念碑上和平地要求自由時,那麼也許,只是也許,鏡頭可能會越過所有這些黑色的沖鋒衣制服,像一束明亮的真理之光一樣泄露出去。

不要再逼我了,警官咆哮著,他和其他人反覆用盾牌敲打我的頭。

我沒有強迫你這麼做,我回答說,我知道我們所能希望的是有人聽到。  

劇作家

邁克爾-格雷-格里菲斯



Damien was never an "essential" worker during the lockdowns nor is he an "authorized" one now. 

Instead he is a father, an actor and now and activist not through choice but through what he sees as a moral necessity. 

He is currently the co-host of Café Locked Out 

A streaming show that defends free speech by refusing to be silent. 

A show now reaching millions of people.


The Siege of The Shrine

Stop making me do this, he said as he pounded my head into the ground with his plastic shield. Stop making me do this.

I’m not making you do it, I said, though I don’t know if he heard me above all the yelling and screaming. 

Next to me, Giuseppe Grasso an Italian man, short and stocky was being pounded too. On the steps of the shrine we had interlinked arms as the police, dressed like storm troopers, finally came in. But Giuseppe was strong, and he refused to let my arm go, forcing the officers to wrench us apart. 

Finally, our link broken, I was thrown to the ground and cuffed, which felt like I’d always thought it would feel. Briefly, as they did this, I had a knee pinned against my upper back, making it very difficult to breath and allowing me to briefly experience what George Floyd must have felt. I actually wondered if this was where I would die, for there was nothing I could do as I heard them ask, “Are you happy now? Aye, are you happy?” 

Finally I was dragged up and led to a grassy area where they sat me on the ground and took my details before finally setting me free, with the warning that if I came back I would be jailed. 

This isn’t personal, one officer kept telling me.  This isn’t personal. 

Well it feels personal, I told him, despite knowing I was not meant to speak.

Yeah, well think about your kids huh, he said. Think about your kids.

I am, that’s why I’m here. That’s why we are all here.  Even those of us too young to have children had been saying all day, that if we don’t try to beat this tyranny now how will we hold our heads up in the future when our children are living under it. 

After that the officer chilled out and asked me what I did, like he was actually interested. When he found out I was a playwright, he looked shocked. When he asked if I’d written anything he might know, I told him about Marooned; a suicide prevention play that the army had once toured to its barracks for they believed it had the ability to stop men killing themselves. Men like you, I said.

That was the last thing he asked me. After that he uncuffed me and left me in the care of other officers. And there were lots to choose from.  

This may sound dramatic and even scripted but it’s all true. 

But the moment that saved the soul of the police for me was as we were walking away. I was now with another man, Joel a young well-built father who in the struggle, had taken a punch to the face. Joel wanted to ask if it was ok to wait for his brother. As we waited I asked the officer, also a father, why the police had to be so violent? 

He claimed that it wasn’t him. He hadn’t been there. He had been here, guarding this road block. Then he lowered his mask and said, and was clearly frightened as he said it, To be honest guys, I admire what you’re doing. I’m on your side.

But why did we head to the Shrine? 

In the morning the place we’d been told to meet was surrounded by police and with no other protestors to be seen it looked like it was going to be a fizzler. So, despondent, we prepared to go home. But then we came across a few construction workers and joined them in a search for the larger group. 

It was now as we crossed a park that a black armoured vehicle, known as a bear cat, stopped suddenly and officers dressed like a swat team leapt off its side and started firing rubber bullets and these other things, I’m not sure what they are. 

Terrified, we ran. 

Once clear, and still astonished, instead of heading home we decided to head back to the city in search of the main group, our rattled party led by three young women who were determined to be heard. I’m not sure why we followed, for it was clear we didn’t stand much of a chance, but then all that was waiting at home was compliance.   

A short time later, on a city street, with a slightly bigger group, the bear cat returned and again started firing, indiscriminately. I was shot in the hand, a ricochet I think, but it hurt and still does, and my live feed grabbed this image. The man closing in leapt onto the back of the man next to me, and so I walked, waiting for the same thing to happen to me, but it didn’t. 


And so once again we ran off but this time our dispersed group met a few others and then these numbers grew until we reached Flinders Street where we found a major group.

And that was it, because we’d reached the centre of the city in numbers this big, and I’m not sure how many there were, they stopped firing.  Instead, they blocked all the side streets as we, like the day before, began walking around the city picking up numbers as we went. Displaying, as we walked, our injuries to each other, and many people had them. One young man was bleeding from the back of his head.  

Finally, even though it was on the other side of the city to where we were, someone who had a loud speaker suggested the Shrine.

As they said this it felt like a perfect idea. 

Remarkably, we reached it without further incident. I was expecting the police, who had the numbers and the weapons and that armoured car, to block us. But they didn’t. 

Did they want us to go there? Was the person who suggested it working for the police?

Whatever the case was, we knew, as we sat on the hallowed steps of the shrine that we finally had, as powerless people, a little bit of power. For as the police encircled us it was clear to both sides that despite all their weapons and armour they had a problem, their souls.

Despite all the mass media on their side, who effortlessly were portraying us as the bad guys, rioters, we knew they couldn’t find a way to shoot us here, like they’d been shooting us in the city streets all morning and do so, while remaining the good guys in the lack storm trooper uniforms.

So, despite us being heavily outnumbered the standoff began, our only protection their attempts to orchestrate what would happen in a way that they could sell it to the world. 

It was a moment none of us saw coming, where we, looking like a group of Aussies at the cricket, belted out our chants for freedom, and then sung the national anthem with the gusto of prisoners who were momentarily free. And them pondering what to do.

Every now and again the line of police came a few steps closer. In all their black and behind all their shields and black face masks, it was difficult to remember that they were Australian and not an invading force. But this intimidating tactic didn’t work for we’d already been assaulted and terrorised in the streets, and instead of going home, we’d constantly regrouped until what was left had made it here. 

And we weren’t here because we thought we were Anzacs. We were here because this place was unmistakably good. A symbol of freedom, where we hoped that the ghosts of our country’s ancestors, the ones this shrine was dedicated to, the ones who sacrificed their lives fighting tyranny in other lands, would protect us.

As time passed, the police sent in undercover cops, pretending to be protestors, who sat with us and suggested things like, look, we’ve made our point, let’s go home and come back tomorrow. 

Then they had other people, who we didn’t know from the battle in the streets, talking to us on loudspeakers, They offered us this deal that they had apparently negotiated with the police. IF we left via St Kilda Road, we would be free to go. But Sky news was already posting the fact that those that were leaving were being arrested and even shot at with those strange weapons. So we replied with the chant, Stand our Ground.

The trouble the police had was that we had no leader. We were just a group of people who were making a stand before tyranny, a group of people attracted to the one flame, the flame of freedom. 

This was why we stayed. We knew we would get arrested at some point.  We knew we were finished. But if we got arrested alone on the streets, or later at home, the world’s media wouldn’t hear about it or care, but if they had to arrest us here, as we sat together, peacefully demanding freedom on a monument built to celebrate freedom, then maybe, just maybe the footage might leak  out past all these black storm topper uniforms, like a bright ray of truth.

Stop making me do this, the officer growled as he and others repeatedly banged the shield against my head. 

I’m not making you do it, I replied, knowing all we could hope for, is that someone would hear.   

Michael Gray Griffith 






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