Proclamation Board to the Tasmanian Aborigines
‘A Short Trip with Shorty O’Neill’
It wasn’t long before we got down to tactics for the protest, and the first thing we agree to is to burn the Australian flag on Parliament steps.
‘We gotta get a Aussie flag,’ someone says.
‘I saw one outside that flash motel place,’ someone else offers.
‘Yeah!’ says Henry, ‘fucken flags from all over the world there, let’s help ourselves.’
That night a few of the lads went on the flag hunt, and sometime in the evening they returned to camp with a flag.
‘There she is you fulla’s,’ said Henry.
Henry held the flag up for all to see.
Shorty starts laughin’, and says, ‘How come it’s only got five stars?’
The flag hunters all looked at each other with dismay.
‘That’s a fuckin’ New Zealand flag yuh fools,’ someone laughs.
‘Oh no!’ comes Henry and the mob.
‘Well we can’t fucken burn that bastard at Parliament, we look real fucken stupid,’ goes Shorty.
‘Have ta go back and get the right fucken flag now,’ says Henry, meekly.
And off they went.
Later that night the lads come back with the right flag, laughin’ and skitin’ about how brave they were to go back to the same place to get it.
Next morning there was some fear that the gunji’s would come and search the camp for the flag. The next thing we see is the New Zealand flag burning on the breakfast fire. The Women Elders who were cooking had a good laugh at that.
Anyway, it was Tuesday, Protest Day.
We line the convoy up on the access road at Boomanulla, all eight vehicles. Off we go like a caterpilla, up to Parliament. I’m in the lead car with four others.
‘Ey! Which way we go?’ someone says.
‘Fucked if I know!’
‘Me either.’
‘Pull up and get Shorty to take the lead.’
We pull up and I run back to Shorty’s car.
‘Shorty, we don’t know the way, you’ll have ta lead.’
‘Don’t fucken ask me ta lead, I gets all lost,’ he says. ‘Ask some of the others, they should know.’
‘Okay.’
I ask in five vehicles before someone says they know the way. Off we go again. We got the guide in front with us now.
‘Turn left ’ere,’ he yells as we get close to Parliament.
And we turn into a dead-end, do a u-turn and fuck the traffic up behind us. Finally, we get there, park the vehicles and unload.
It was a real hot day, fucken hot. We go sit on the grass and start talkin’ to people on the megaphone. Wayne gets the megaphone and starts a rave about what’s goin’ down. He was soundin’ real good for a while, when all a sudden he starts ta stir the shit out’ve the Black public servants. Big problem, specially seein’ as half the protesters were the public servant Blacks.
Shorty hadta speak with old mate before we all alone.
The sun was comin’ in at full blast. We set up a shaded area, specially for the older people. It was just a tarp on some poles but it done the job.
Shorty did a few press conferences during the day, a few of us did some media stuff when we got asked.
A group of Aboriginal women did a dance on the grass down the slope from us, the media was there in strength for that. It was a ceremonial dance about our land, but I could tell by the way a lot of the gubs were lookin’ that they had no respect for it. I don’t reckon we should even let the bastards see our dances.
The protest group start to work out some kinda strategy: we decide to make a deadline for Bob Hawke to come out and talk to us.
We send the message in, ‘Come out by 3 p.m.; if he don’t we’ll hold a ceremony of finality (whatever that be) and leave to organise the National Aboriginal Government’ (we really frightened him).
A few independent politicians come out and talked to us, but they all shonky anyway, even that fucken Democrat. Heaps of tourists started arrivin’ through the day. Shorty loves tourists. Shorty had the megaphone and welcomed the sightseers.
‘Ey! Pay the rent over ’ere, we give yah a receipt, that’s more’n you mob give us; don’t ’ang yer ’ead pay the rent over ’ere and yuh can ’old yer ’ead up.’
‘Ey you! That photo gunna cost yuh $50; ………now it cost yuh $100 for not payin’ first!’
Our mob would laugh out real loud like, and it helped to make the day go fast. 3 p.m. comes.
We widen the deadline to 4 p.m.; we not unreasonable blackfellas.
Anyway, we know that the pollies ’re in question time, while we’re at it we invite John Howard to come out too.
Hawke ’n’ Howard are brave men, they don’t come out at 4 p.m.
What now? Burn the flag!
Some debate over burning the flag, the Australian flag. The local Blacks have reservations about it; we talk; finally it’s agreed.
Burn the bastard!
Henry gets the flag ready, soaked in metho. I think, lucky we had any left with Henry in charge of it. The coppers are there, waitin’ as usual with their normal racist smirks on their faces.
The mob groups for marchin’ and away we go, up the steps to see Bobby fuck-im-up.
Around the fountain we walk and on up to the big glass doors at the front of Parliament. There’s cops and security all around us now, one cop with heaps of gold braid yells at us. ‘You are not allowed to demonstrate on the reception area, please leave this area at once.’
‘GET FUCKED!’ is all he gets back.
We mill around, Henry holds the flag, Desi Walsh with him looks like a Libyan with a scarf over his lower face (the Canberra cops are after Des).
Desi lights a match and sets the flag a burnin’.
Burn yuh bastard!
Wayne, Desi, Bourkie and Meeka set distress flares off; what a sight, coloured smoke billows. It was beautiful, the Aussie flag burnin’ and coloured smoke blowin’ straight into the open front doors of Parliament.
The scene was sort’ve eerie; through the smoke yuh could see cops and security standin’ like ghosts, not movin’ and probably not knowin’ what to do.
I’m on the megaphone, ‘Burnin’ the Australian flag is our message to the world, we reject the notion that we’re Australians.’
‘We’re Aborigines! Always was, always will be!’
The flares are a signal to the United Nations that we’re comin’ for their support of recognition of our Sovereignty as a Nation under international law.
I continue the rave. (A bit like Foley I was that day, all rhetoric.)
‘We want to take the Australian Government to the International Court of Justice on the charge of illegal occupation of our land!’
‘No more Australia!’
Everyone seems to be happy that we’ve let off steam and start headin’ back down the hill. The gear’s packed and we walk to our cars and vans, load up and head back to Boomanulla Oval. I get in with Shorty and the lads for the return trip. Shorty is in the passenger seat with the megaphone.
We do a lap of the Parliament while Shorty talks real nice to the white fulla’s.
‘Who’s land is this?’
‘Our land!’ the mob yells in the car.
‘Who stole it?’
‘They did!’ from the mob.
As we pass a big group of whities and cops Shorty yells, ‘Pay the rent you fulla’s, be able to ’old yer ’ead up then, we give y’all a pardon so you can go ’ome to yuh Queen Elizabeth. We ’elp yuh build the second fleet to take yuh all back!’ Shorty keeps it up all the way back to Boomanulla, givin’ it to pedestrians and car drivers as we go.
