Repeat After Me

Chapter 40

Asten and I had been trying to practice our own form of social distancing. We sent each other the occasional text message, a photograph of an artwork we'd come across on a city street, a youtube link of a new favourite song, a TikTok vid of something that made us laugh. We were keeping in touch, without touching. However, the subtext was always there; I care, I want you to see this picture to feel in awe, I want you to hear this song to warm your heart, I want you to watch this vid to make you happy.

Then I got this message: 'Remember those cops in the laneway? George Floyd's fatal arrest is an assault on us all. Come to the protest with me.' How could I say no to Asten? I'd witnessed his humiliation in the laneway. This issue was global. Black Lives Matter protests were happening all around the world. One could feel the rumbles of the earth with this movement.

I said: 'Of course, I'll come with you. This matters to all of us.'

The night before, I told my parents over dinner that I was planning on going to the protest with a friend.

'What friend?' mum asked.

'My Taiwanese friend who was told off by the policemen.'

'Ivy, stop being ridiculous,' dad said. 'This has nothing to do with you. You're all so bloody woke, it's disgusting. We're in the middle of a global pandemic, for goodness sake. And you want to protest about black rights? We are all under attack. Black, white, yellow, it doesn't matter. It will spread to all of you. And if you have a mass gathering, just you wait, it will spread. Those stupid protestors are compromising everything we have gained from the lockdown. The government should be shutting this down. It's against public health orders.'

'It's a human right to protest,' mum said. 'It's censorship if they shut it down.'

'I agree that people can protest whatever the hell they like,' dad said. 'Let them protest about the price of tomatoes. I don't care. They just shouldn't have a mass gathering in a global pandemic.'

'But the football should start up again?' I asked. 'There should be a crowd at the football?'

'Ivy, shut up,' Josh said under his breath. I put my fork down. Dad was looking tired, the bags under his eyes had ballooned. He was usually meticulous about his appearance, but these days he mostly walked around the house in his Adidas pants and an old tshirt with a hole near the t-shirt. He was in a mood, and there was no point in arguing. I decided I was going. It was a human right to go.

On the Saturday morning, I was in the kitchen filling up a bottle with water to pack in my backpack for the protest. Dad came into the kitchen and sat at the kitchen bench.

'You still going?' he asked.

'Yes,' I replied. Mum walked in, as if she suspected something was up.

'I want you to know I'm dead against this,' dad said. 'We've all stayed home for three months. The economy is screwed. And 10,000 of you misinformed idiots want to get together and protest about something that happened in America? That redneck white policeman has done more than kill some black fella, now he's going to kill all of us who are safe here in Melbourne. You don't know anything Ivy. Don't get on the bandwagon with this just because it's trending.'

'I feel passionate about this, dad. You used to care about things like this too. Before COVID.'

'Don't be ridiculous Ivy.'

'Let her go,' mum said. 'Wear a face mask and keep your distance from the other protestors. Be sensible and don't get in the thick of it. If it makes you feel better, go.'

'Gillian ...' my father warned.

Mum turned to me and nodded and I understood what her face meant: it meant go now or never. I grabbed my backpack and left quickly before dad could say another word.