Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people should be aware that this report contains images and names of deceased persons.
Act One: Canberra, 14 July 1972, from Garema Place to the Aboriginal Tent Embassy
Friday night shopping in Canberra’s Civic Centre, icy winds off the Brindabellas, more than the usual number of dusty station-wagons around town. It is National Aborigines’ Day, a precursor to NAIDOC week. The McMahon government has refused to acknowledge or consider Aboriginal title to land in Australia. The Aboriginal Tent Embassy has been established on the lawns in front of Parliament House (the ‘old’ Parliament House). A march for Aboriginal Land Rights has been arranged. You can join the march by buying a candle in a plastic cup. People gather. An Easter vigil of sorts. Pat Eatock and Ambrose Golden Brown, from the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, huddle against the wind. They read out statistics on the death rate of Aboriginal children.
The ‘Land Rights Now’ banner is hoisted against the wind, and the marchers set off for the Embassy. A young Aboriginal woman walks ahead of the banner. She has dyed her hair red. She turns and leans into the wind to face the marchers, holding a megaphone to her mouth. ‘What do we want?’ she shouts, ‘When do we want it?’ And she keeps going, exhorting the marchers. We reply ‘Land Rights … Now!’ The crowd tires before she does. Her voice becomes hoarse. She will not stop. And then she falters, almost going limp, and a young man gently supports her and eases the burden of the megaphone from her shoulders.
This is visceral. This is passion.
We have an escort. We are to stay in the left of the three lanes on Commonwealth Avenue as we head across the bridge over Lake Burley Griffin. Police motorbikes are idling along in the middle lane, parallel to the marchers. I find myself on the right-hand side of the march, not far behind the banner. Mischief sometimes gets the better of me. I veer a little to my right, towards the white traffic lines separating the lanes. The policeman alongside me steers a little to his left. My steps are now touching the line. The bike moves close beside me. I look at the driver, he looks at me. We understand the deal. Two weeks later the game would change.
'The protesters are met by an equal number of police and, as Michael