A few days later, on the Sunday after the great march, a major radio station in Canberra was asking the locals to dob in any vehicle or person displaying our flag, to the police, so that they could come and move them on or arrest them. It was on this day, in our nation’s capitol, that our national flag became the yellow star.
There were a few arrests, a few cars confiscated and one poor woman was shoved to the ground by an officer, who had his actions and his badge number recorded by numerous phones. He would have been going viral even before his shift ended for his act was the act of a coward.And all this was, once again, an attempt to use excessive force to quell those who refuse to comply. And once again, we didn’t. For instead of going home, we went on a tourist cruise of Canberra in a long convoy, full of vehicles with the word freedom written all over our windows, and flags flying from wherever people could rise themThen we stopped on Anzac drive to grab a photo opportunity of ourselves standing before the statues of the Anzacs. One side of the long drive was the War Museum, on the other Parliament house with that metal flagpole, the one that looks like a giant syringe.
Whenever I’m at a campfire, at night, I’m always intrigued by why the moths fly into the flames. All of this darkness to live in, to hide in, and yet here they are, trying to reach a light that eventually, or inevitably singes their wings until, unable fly they are forever lost in the ash.~Michael Gray Griffith