a short story- Saturday 21 August 2021 - WALKING HOUR: DAY 54

I wanted to share this story of one hour in the day of the NSW, Australian delta variant lockdown - Saturday 21 August 2021.

 

‘WALKING HOUR: DAY 54’

 

On this second last Saturday of the month of August, the midmorning sunshine reminds us winter is almost done.

 

As we verture out on our one hour covid-safe five kilometre radius walk heading along Linthrope Street from our home in Newtown. Upon the uneven narrow path next to the cycleway, in single file we parallel the inner west railway, heading north towards our city of Sydney.

 

Wearing our facemasks from this Monday will become mandatory for all outdoor activities. My breathing becomes strained with each walking step, as the straps wrapped around my ears fighten there grip producing a mild throbbing pain. Yet despite this physical annoyance and because of it, there is a glorious joy in this freedom allowed.

 

Such a simple pleasure behind protected covering finds me in a state of kindness. projected, looking onwards as other locals alike enjoy this blissful warm winter sun.

 

Passing interconnected terraces only distinguishable by there families individual small front gardens of vivid colours and perfumed with early Spring Jasime. Do I encounter a fellow traveller. Hidden is her face behind patterned handmade mask.

 

Her silver shinning hair, ocean pool eyes and fluffy puppy dog are just waiting for connection. I smile with my eyes saying ‘Hello may I pat your dog?’ Knowing cautiously to maintain our common rule of one point five distance spacing.

 

This kind lovely local with her COVID-19 rescue dog, gives graciously me and her companion a gift of connection. The happy puppy enjoys my pats, as I enjoy his physical attachment, just now, for a few moments in time.

 

We chat about her new family member, only five Months old, the warming sunshine, while avoiding any chat of delta variant cases. With much appreciation and thankfulness expressed, we depart into each our own adventures again.

 

Now with pace in my steps, swiftly do I catch up with my Julian ahead, as he patiently waits for me.

 

Our road opens at this intersection on this corner. The new cafe busy serving takeaway customers. A family of four cyclists give way as we cross onto the recently reconstructed walkway. Heading now to Eveleigh where the Carriage Works Farmer’s Market is open once again. Producing organic providence and artisan goods, at high cost indeed.

 

Open each Saturday for a few hours, these grounds of what was once a pivital Industrial Railway Workshop. Established between 1880 and 1889. Then by the 1900's thousands of men worked here building and maintaining locomotive engines and carriages, while the ever expanding rail network shaped the development of Sydney for over 100 years.

 

Now though with rusted and preserved treasures of this place transformed into a modern space of creative endeavour. We walk to the entrance of the markets with smart phones ready, scanning, showing our compliance of entry, proving we have registered our presence with the ‘Service NSW COVID’ safe check-in-App.

As Security guards click there number counters with correct ratio of humans, as outdoor rules enforced, within Pandemic -Propper apply.

 

Moving in unison together, walking through well trodden, always interesting side alleyways.

 

With this our counting of time, of only one hour, as our moral compass in good conscience dictates.

 

We see in close horizon stationery men and women in distinctive New South Wales police uniforms.

 

Miradering through Cadigal Green, a beautifully Constructed park on the grounds of the University of Sydney in the suburb of Darlington. For today on this second last Saturday in August is a:

 

“Democratic Freedom Day Protest” rally. In eight locations across six States and one Terterotry for 12 midday, concurrently, collectively.

 

Here in New South Wales, anti-lockdown, anti-vaccination protesters are planning to meet at and march from the grounds of Victoria Park. To then walk along George Street into Sydney - this park is just around the corner, from where we are now.

 

In less than half an hour this protest rally will begin, as New South Wales records the largest number of delta cases Australia wide since the begining of this pandemic, as reported in the 11:00am daily news press conference.

 

Mencing helicopters invading, fading in and out of sound and vision, that were only just before out of mind. Snap into sharp focus this evolving new reality into narrow optic dilation.

 

Unmarked police cars patrolling the streets around us, as stationary vehicles of flashing blue and red highlight them; guarding invisible boundaries of entrance’s into the enchanted district of old Sydney town.

 

These sweeping powers from Parlement House, only 24 hours before, enacted now. We witness this power of pandemic laws fortified with: Stop and Question; Search and detain; Of on the spot monetry fines, to lawfully enforce citizens return back to there local government ‘Area of Concern’. Upon which 14 days self-emposed quarantine within there dwelling they must abide.

 

Because of this act of Parliament here now before us, we decide our best course of direction. Turning back along Maze Crescent, still on the grounds of Sydney University with convict Sydney sandstone heritage lecture halls, international modern architectural tall accomitations 'ghosted’ of international students.

 

Counting the assemblies of uniformed officers. Seven there blocking that side street access. Four over here chatting, laughing. Now another six blocking pedestrians, cyclists, cars from entry via this short cut through Redfern into Sydney.

 

With 1,500 general duty officers, the riot squad, highway patrol officers stopping all vehicles to question drivers and passengers intent.

A proabition on share cars and taxis, until 5pm at the conclusion of the citywide police operation. Halting so many livelihoods in the process.

 

This invisible ring of ‘razor-wire-fence’ keeping some citizens in and others out. Reminds me now, of the days when I worked in my profession as a Chef on contract at John Moroney Correctional Centre.

Each shift I’d collect the imates waiting behind actual ‘razor-wire-fence’. The ones I knew, with this, their privilege in minimum security correctional centre.

Of a payment per hour of $1.50, who would effectively, efficiently work in our production kitchen cooking and portioning meals.

My job of supervising them, as they portioned the meals into individual trays, blast-chilled ready for delivery into seven New South Wales jails, supplying 30,000 meals a week.

 

I see in my minds eye these roads and side streets as small winding creeks, brooks and rivers rushing in tidel flow - protesters towards a billabong swamp.

 

For prior to European settlement of 1788, the Gadigal Clans of the Eroa Nation lived along Blackwattle creek, in campsites located on the original banks of this tidal water course as a source of fresh water and a place for fishing.

 

This creek flowed from swampy lands in a valley thick with wattle trees, that are now within the grounds of the University of Sydney, into and through a pond, that today is know as Victory Park in the suburb of Broadway.

 

As the deadline to midday quickens, we walk back behind the United States Studies Centre. Here we gleam a twenty something young woman.

 

Her back against this convict Sandstone wall of embedded wrought iron fence that’s holding together an entwined ancient living fig tree, as its branches so strong, stretch out to shade her now.

 

For seven male police officers and three female police officers in physically distanced semi-circle, hovering, have her pinned with their discretionary powers displayed.

 

Closer now bearing witness we navigate the footpath weaving through this semi-circle of red and blue power.

 

Listening to her quivering voice explaining while showing her identification as proof of residency in local five kilometre approved one hour walk.

 

In this moment with actual and perceived force of law. I feel a strange confusion, racing, bubbling through my blood, as it manifests into a bright red flush of rage and anger upon my face.

 

We did not render assistance, nor did we wait, observe or know what happened.

 

For self preservation pushed us forward as we also had become a target of an unmarked police car with four offices in plain clothes, starring us down, as they kept pace with our deliberate slothful steps.

 

And so I remember this intimidating fearful moment of sweeping powers exhibited in delta variant national democratic freedom day protest.

As it fizzled into nothingness.

 

We walked back via King Street, Newtown safe to our home. With my fingers holding onto memory so sharp. I write this story of this, our lived experience on this ‘WALKING HOUR: DAY 54’ of 107 days of delta variant lockdown in August of 2021.

 

As this city crumbles under the weight of unresolved history, reminding us three things:

 

1. Powerful people controlling our lives;

2. There will be more variants of concern to come;

3. Legacies of homogenous liberal democracies are in decline.

Done