The Day one Musician Untied us all

On picnic blankets, we had been sitting on the sidewalk in the Fitzroy Street Mall, sharing food, drinks, laughter, and concern, for on all sides, we were surrounded by masked police. The same police who had shot at us at the shrine, and, under the excuse of doing their jobs, had brutalized the public to such a degree that when they now drive around with the windows of their patrol cars covered in messages of help, better pay, and better conditions, most of the public don’t care.We still remember how, during an afternoon shift, they switched from being our protectors to our oppressors. A private army for Dan Andrews, without which none of what happened would have been possible.But on this day, we had finally been given the right to protest, and we were here, having a picnic. Behind the lines of officers, the vaccinated were sitting at the café tables, condescendingly looking over as they sipped on their lattes that they’d rolled up their sleeves to drink.On the walk back to the city, I started chatting with a young man, Markeyan. He joined the protest to do something because he detested what was happening. He told me he wanted to do more, but what?I asked him what he did, and he told me he was just a violin player.So I asked if he could do a version of the National Anthem that sounded like it was being played in a concentration camp—a version that would sound like it had a broken heart.I never expected to hear back, but within a few hours, he texted me a version and said, “It works.”When I heard it, I teared up, and I knew what to do. I was a speaker at the next rally, and after my speech, I would ask the crowd to stay silent while Markeyan played. The protest would be our silence. While the anthem was still a lie, we would refuse to sing the words.What I didn’t know was that we were creating a moment in history, where one man with a violin would connect so many in a moment of grief.As he played, I watched the crowd. One moment they were rowdy; the next, they were silent, and tears flowed. I hoped—it was my hope—that it would change things.It was shared like crazy, and then our tumultuous times consumed it.I repost now to save it from being memory-holed.The protest was against Dan Andrews’ Pandemic Bill. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cafelockeddown.substack.com/subscribe