The streets were filled with people of all ages, creeds, colours, musical persuasions, and classes. A group of girls no older than ten were holding a banner from a wall, shouting out the call and responses of the day, the passing crowd gleefully engaging them. Teenagers mounted bus stops and climbed trees in blue surgical masks and demanded an end to climate change as elderly couples passed by underneath applauding their enthusiasm. Aside from the bloc of anarchists spouting their usual rhetoric of riots and taking back the streets, the vibe was calm, fun and friendly.
Being someone who has walked out of protest lines the moment the crowd begins baying and taunting the police offers calmly stood by the side, I have a mixed bag of emotions when it comes to mass gatherings. It has been a while since I have been on a protest, but the mass exodus of children from schools demanding action from our governments regarding the mass devastation of climate change, it seems, is drawing everyone in. A unified goal to end the cataclysmic path we seem to be hurtling down at the behest of a small percentage of rich corporations and individuals.
Going to a protest on your own is an interesting experience. Maybe due to my propensity for an anxious awkwardness in many social situations, I struggle to find the unity and warmth of a gathering of the minds. It seems that everyone bar me is in a group, smiling and waving, chanting and chatting. I knew that was not the case, there were plenty of people marching on their own; I wondered how they felt.
Even though my mind tried to get the better of me, there were so many heart warming moments that I could not stifle a smile every now and then. Passing comments from small children, the looks of joy and wonder in the faces of OAP’s as they watched the youth take a stand for their futures, people were energized over a universal cause. Millions marched from Bristol to Brisbane, yet there was a familiar feeling of personal uneasiness throughout the whole thing.
I have over many years, tried to pin point my feelings regarding protest and other mass movements, yet I still cannot find the thoughts or words to truly express my internal monologue of chemical clashes.
My logical brain agrees wholeheartedly with the issues on the table, yet my emotions say something else. I love nothing more than people coming together, standing up for injustice and fighting for what they truly believe in. Why then, when the sound system playing aggressive drum and bass passes do I shudder, or the shouts of “whose streets? Our streets!” make my stomach flip with a light dosing of loathing? Am I projecting my negative thoughts onto those enjoying themselves or am I catching a strong whiff of disingenuousness?
Midway through the march, I bumped into a friend taking photos on the side lines and we stopped to discuss our thoughts on the day’s events. We both shared similar feelings about protests, yet neither of us could fully quantify what made us uncomfortable.
My own feeble attempt is full of pessimism that I’d rather not own, but one cannot deny their feelings, no matter how puerile.
I feel there is a vanity in protest for many; wearing the right clothes, shouting the slogans and taking selfies so everyone knows they were there. Though I imagine this is a small minority, their prevalence contorts what I see through my judgmental lenses and at the age of thirty, I have yet to find the way to move past this emotional baggage of my developing years, I should probably go back to therapy. What I do know is that by focusing on the elements of what others do, only marr’s my own experience. Now if six turned out to be nine, should I really mind?
In the past I have claimed that protests are useless because no one listens and nothing changes. The more I have learned the more I now disagree with that statement. Protests are highly successful, yet they don’t show change in instantaneous tangible ways, they have to be followed and monitored. They are more akin to the flap of the butterfly’s wing than the destruction of Sodom.
And while protests can be marred by violence, the black bloc or other idealistic idiots, the majority of people are there to stand up and peacefully be counted.
I am honored to live in a country where we can stand up against the corruption and tyranny of the hour, it is a privilege we are afforded that many still die for all around the world and I hope as a society we don’t lose that drive to let our voices be known. In the meantime, I’m going to have a long hard look at my internal voices and see who should be ejected from the big brother house.
Goodbye Weirdo 