Peace(bus) in our Times:

a report on the Brisbane March for Peace and Justice
Saturday 6 October 2001

Peacebus was Tail End Charlie for the March for Peace and Justice, which took place in Brisbane Saturday 6 October.

But what a tail end! We were the grace of a lyrebird and the colour of a peacock in full display. The Peacebus contingent personified the very art and confidence of the peace movement that is unfolding like a rose in these warring times.

A host of rainbow flags on 4 metre poles and the rhythms of 20 drummers marked our presence. The two skeleton puppets, one looking distinctly Prime Minister Howardish with glasses, eyebrows and pained expression, the other a ghoulish US General, did a macabre dance of death, chasing each other and frightening small children. Peacebus bore beautiful banners and ferried the hip challenged veterans of many a former peace campaign.

There were about 3,000 people in the March and the Peacebus contingent was a collecting point for about a quarter of them. Upfront and the vanguard were the red flags of the Socialist Alliance chanting in four-four time. Up back was Peacebus, the groove and the smiles, rolling along on a gentler path, making art, making peace.

Sweet was the drumming and dynamic in it was the djembe of Robin Harrison, veteran of the Vietnam War, the first Drug War Freedom Ride (July-Aug 2000) and the s11World Economic Forum blockade in Melbourne. The excellent drummers from Atomic Oz and, then every other drummer who had come to drum up peace and heard the sweetness.

Over and over again during this Brisbane excursion (it felt more like a family picnic, than a protest), I exclaimed to my companions, "How lucky we are! How lucky to be in this place and this time making art and making peace!"

The rally assembled at the Roma Street Forum at 9 am. Peacebus, Atomic Oz and other nomads assembled in Musgrave Park on the Friday evening prior. Some like Benny Zable and Ulric arrived in Brisbane for the Friday march of trade unionists and the big rally for refugees. We gathered our wagons in the park and sat on the ground together, introducing ourselves, sharing drumming together and sharing joints.

The local indigenous people, the Jagera, had approved our occupancy. Forget about asking the Brisbane City Council. They didn’t want to know. This was people power and we both its exponents and its guests.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Peacebus had an early start Saturday, for as part of the process of approving its application for a peaceful assembly permit, it had been invited by Snr Sgt Gary Keillor of the Major Events and Disasters Unit of the Queensland Police Service to Police HQ for a pre-March roadworthiness inspection.

Getting Peacebus roadworthy and registered again had been a major labour for me and it had involved much cost ($2,500) and much frustration. Lance Brown the Mechanic and St John of the Headlights Peninton had laboured upon it for six weeks fitting Peacebus out with a six-cylinder engine and all the ancillaries. I estimate that 80% of the time I put into preparing for the CHOGM protests was shepherding this process, chasing things for it and bleeding money.

On the Wednesday before the Friday departure I took it into Lismore to do the paper chase of form filling, inspections, signatures, and tax paying. On the way to Lismore Peacebus inexplicably overheated, and so I had to limp about the place, word processing in the back seats while I waited for the engine to cool. It was a day of mighty frustration and on the way back to Nimbin in the afternoon, it conked out altogether about 12 km out of Nimbin with some ignition failing.

I made a call for help to the HEMP Embassy and waited for two hours until it was too dark to see anything let alone the Peacebus engine and its wiring. But no one came. I had cause to reflect on this definition of optimism: to be sitting at night alone in the still unregistered though fully officially approved Peacebus, broken down again with its end out over a country road on a double line corner, and me drafting up the media release to go out that night announcing Peacebus departure for Brisbane in another day’s time.

I hitched into Nimbin to find Lance and St John at the Arts Shed angry and sulking; for they had assumed I had cooked their lovely new engine and so were in a punishing mood. The tow cost me $150 and I baled. If this was a test of attachment I determined I was not going to be attached to Peacebus and, mentally, I wrote off there and then the money already spent on the rebuilding.

Registering Peacebus had proven super human and me mere mortal. And it was not just mechanical difficulties either. Lots of Nimbin folk had been rendered fearful from watching the US war TV propaganda, cynical about Peacebus and weary of the drain its maintenance costs had become to the local community. So even though I was doing the paying to get Peacebus rolling again for Brisbane I had to bear a veritable Greek chorus of non-stop, background bad mouthing and negativity about me, Peacebus and its Brisbane mission.

So I switched my mind into planning the Brisbane action without Peacebus and loaded up Molly and Jennifer, fled the Arts Sheds to take refuge with the frogs and night sounds at Sphinx Rock community, home of my absent friend Michael Balderstone.

Before dawn I arose and purified myself of Peacebus attachments by chanting my Buddhist mantras and then lighting a fire under the old cast iron bath and bathing, first in the hot tub, then in the cold water of the dam beside. And after reading some Persian mystical poetry and taking in the pure bliss of the new day, I noticed Peacebus in the garden all rainbows and smiling at me through fonds in the morning light.

At first I thought it had been brought to Sphinx, to be dumped and maybe serve as a immobile home. Then I realised that Lance was wandering about sleepless waiting for me to appear. He had worked on Peacebus till late, identified the problems as minor (Bars Leak clogging the radiator and a loose screw in the distributor), fixed them, loaded his partner, baby and bedding into Peacebus and come to give me the good news.

On Friday morning at 9 am I finally got the papers right and the taxes paid and held in my hand the certificate of registration. Lance and St John had been heroic in their efforts and celebrated the sticking on of the rego sticker with a bong in the bus. Elders from the Nimbin Women’s Forum blessed Peacebus and its Brisbane mission at 11 am and we left town at noon.

So when Snr Sgt Keillor told me by phone that he too wanted to inspect Peacebus before he would grant us a peaceful assembly permit, I groaned and fell about wailing at the frustrations of manifesting or moving anything in the material plane. But amused too at the divine comedy ever unfolding. Not every day that Peacebus gets invited to police HQ, I reflected.

We rolled up at 8 am. The Peacebus crew comprised St John the Individual who is neither D1 (Peacebus Driver 1 was an Aston campaign crew joke) nor D2, my dear friend Cath Greenwood, a one time, long time Brissie girl and Leftie activist, her 13 year old shopping addicted daughter, Sera, Chantelle the naturally enchanting 13 year old daughter of our mutual friends, Robin Harrison, the laughing drummer bane of Byron police sniffer dogs, "Happy days" Ulric, Chairman of the Southern Cross University Students’ Representative Council and two Catherines, one the SRC Environment Officer, the other Fat Cat, wearing a bright green cloth frog hat and a big brown kangaroo tail behind.

While we waited for the cops to appear, Robin played with the resonances that the high rise canyons gave his djembe rhythms and Chantelle, already looking like a stunning young Blondie with studded leather collar and belt, worked some more on her parade costume, using a felt tipped pen to modify the text on a plastic toy police riot helmet.

Gary Keillor (6 ft 4 inches) was beaming goodwill like a lighthouse when he appeared and he introduced us to three other officers including the stern faced Sgt Christopher Stream who was to do the mechanical inspection. "I have gotta cover myself", Gary explained. "You will be going down a steep hill..."

While St John introduced Sgt Chris Stream to the mechanical wonders of Peacebus, the rest of us entertained the other officers, showing them the wonderful bus side murals, posing for photos and philosophising about peace. Here was peace in action. The fears of CHOGM protest violence in which Gary and I began our dialogue were now another country and far away.

Chantelle and Fat Cat in particular enchanted the now avuncular Gary with their curiosity. "Why do we need police?" asked Chantelle, as her Texta pen was about to obliterate the word "Police" from the riot helmet. "To protect the weak", answered Gary. I agreed but commented that what we needed was not more policemen but more peace men. Chantelle adjusted the helmet to read "Police Peace".

The inspection and the test drive done, Sgt Stream reported that not only was Peacebus roadworthy, but extra safe because the extra low ratios that had come with the mismatch between the old differential and the new gearbox would hold it on any hill. He complimented the mechanic on a job well done. All praise to Lance the Mechanic!

Gary and I signed the permit there and then on the sidewalk. He was happy and I was happy and it was a great start to a happy Peace parade.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The parade was supposed to depart at 10 am after a few speakers. But the vibe was so strong and the speeches so good, that the march had to wait. The big-hearted Karen Fletcher, mover behind the CHOGM Action Network, was the MC on a stage in a landscaped amphitheatre.

Lots of banners and signs were on display. The ones I liked best were five together reading: ‘Bin Laden: Terrorist’, ‘Bush: Terrorist’, ‘Mugabwe Terrorist’ ‘Blair: Terrorist’, and ‘Howard Terrorist’.

When the speeches began I was still working with the help at hand to rig the banners and the backpack puppets. Fat Cat and her friend Rohan, donned them and tried out the new backpack and harnessing I had built on the evening before departure, sawing, drilling and screwing in the small hours.

I didn’t get to see or hear all the speeches but from the periphery I could sense the goodwill and solidarity of the crowd.

There were many fine speeches, and in particular the Islamic speakers and those resisting PM Howard’s meanness and deceits in regard to the Tampa Afghan refugees had warm support. But the spirit soaring moment for many others and me was when an indigenous woman said; "You are all boat people to us and we say let these poor people be welcome in this land too."

The route of the parade (a "March" it was not) took us through the CBD and past an armed services recruiting centre. It had been negotiated that we would pause there for more speeches.

Peacebus was supposed to provide the PA for this and the police had kindly installed barricades along the road so that Peacebus could move from the back of the crowd to a position opposite the recruiting centre without endangering the other marchers. But come the time I was distracted dancing the puppets and St John, in the drivers seat, was getting confused signals from the police. He decided the passage too narrow and propped at the top of the hill. By the time I got Peacebus in position the parade was moving off again. So much for the big moment negotiated for Peacebus.

The best part of the parade for our contingent was passing under the railway overpass adjacent to the entrance to the Brisbane Conference Centre, the venue where CHOGM was to have taken place. The concrete surrounds intensified the drumming and the drummers, paraders and puppets went off.

As a mischievous climax to my frustrations, twenty metres from the entrance to Musgrave Park, Peacebus broke down. I groaned, St John shrugged, Gary Keillor grinned and the officers about him chortled. At Gary’s prompting, twenty peace paraders were marshalled and the three tonnes of Peacebus entered Musgrave Park in a triumph of people power.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The parade, its preparations and the puppeteering along the route, had left so physically exhausted that I could not get it together to erect the banners and flags of Peacebus about the stage of the rally. In stupefied fatigue I sat in the shade of a fig tree and watched the rally from across the other side of the park.

I cannot report that was said or done there but my heart was full of admiration for Benny Zable who had got his flags out and stood in the sun for over two hours on his stack of toxic waste drums, in his gas mask and black costume.

Speaker after speaker with the odd singer in between until the crowd wilted and dispersed. In the evening the stage was taken over for a doof and another doof machine started up near by as well. The Timbarra Chai tent offered chai and it was dancing in the dark and very tribal. And very familiar and very family: Nimbin transplanted to Musgrave Park for an evening, not a cop to be seen, and no one complaining.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

In the Courier Mail, Brisbane’s only Sunday newspaper, the Peace March after pages and pages of US war propaganda got a small page 15 photo with a misleading caption. Such is the Murdoch media interest in peace.

More shocking was the media black out on the Falan Gung action. One thousand of them had marched 1000 km from Sydney to be at the opening of CHOGM to bear witness to the oppression and torture that their adherents are suffering in China.

Snr Sgt Gary Keillor had mentioned them to me and I had come across them and he while walking back to collect my van after the Peace March. Gary introduced me to their leader. She was a frail Chinese woman of about 70 years with arresting eyes. I felt myself in the presence of gentle Bodhisattva, pure lightness of being, and she casting about for witness.

Two hundred of her crew were lined up in the street along side the Convention Centre and not only were there no heads of government, there were no pedestrians either. Except for themselves and the odd passing car, the street in which they had arranged to bear witness was a dead empty, concrete canyon.

Their request to enter South Bank entertainment area had been rejected and Gary was arranging for them to move to King George Square, Brisbane’s central plaza. I suggested they move to Musgrave Park and join our peace protest but the die had already been cast.

So I gave them my best wishes and continued on my way along the line of yellow T-shirts. All Chinese they were standing shoulder to shoulder, each bearing a beautifully framed photo.

Some of the photos were of Falan Gung gatherings from around the world with beautiful flags and orderly rows of people in grand conference buildings, vast stadiums or in parks deliberating or meditating on their three principles; truthfulness, compassion and forbearance.

Interspersed were other photos were of Chinese police brutalising Falun Gung practitioners in public place, and medical photos of torture victims. They claim that the Chinese government has arrested 50,000 Falan Gung practitioners, sentenced 180 to prison, 10,000 to labour camps, 600 to mental hospitals and 275 had been tortured to death.

As I walked their eyes were upon me, imploring my witness, imploring my compassion. I wept.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Now is the time for the peacemakers.

We are in the midst of a war propaganda campaign of monstrous proportions. Millions of people are hooked into the media thrall now. But there are many more who are cynical of TV and the US propaganda machine.

I know for certain that it is only a matter of time before illusions shaky building will fall down just like the NY World Trade Centre towers.

For all its fire power and for all its powers manufacturing media illusions and consensus, the war on poor Afghanistan and the dissenting Islamic in world general, has put the US on a road without joy.

The war on terrorism is a war of indefinite enemies and indefinite objectives. No win is possible. Just more death and more lies.

All about me I see people caught up in the illusions and propaganda lies coming out of their TV sets and immobilised with fear. For them it is a time of drought for effective social action. But I am seeing a sea wilderness of young ears greener than leeks. The Brisbane March for Peace and Justice was an exhibition garden in full bloom.

Doubt not that the peace movement is alive and well and growing.

Since Peacebus returned to Nimbin it has been called out four times to join our friends and Musgrave Park companions of the Lismore based Global Justice Alliance to peace protest actions in Lismore and Mullumbimby. On Monday evening 8 October 100 of us gathered outside Noah's Arc Bookshop Lismore at 6 hours notice to protest the start of the bombing.

On Wednesday 10 October we were outside the local federal parliamentary member’s new office in Lismore to ambush his election campaign opening. Our discontent with national party politics and the war got front page in the local daily newspaper and national media because our action was taken as evidence of many protests to come in the federal election in which both the major parties have endorsed the war and vie with each other in the meanness of their attitudes towards refugees especially if they come from Afghanistan.

Friday 12 October Peacebus joined a candle lit circle of 60 people sitting in Heritage Park, Mullumbimby and organised by local young people. We shared from our hearts our desire for peace and our fears and stood holding hands and om-ing. So sweet. I was swept away with memories of the forest defence camp at Terania Creek in 79. And now a new generation. What a blessing.

On Saturday 13 October about 60 of us peaceniks assembled in Lismore again for peace and paraded around the block rolling Benny Zables barrels and bearing rainbow flags, the police relaxed, the shoppers smiling and the drivers of passing cars honking for peace in responce to the sign on back of Peacebus. Such confidence.

Now is the time to be turning away from TV land. Now is the time to be talking to friends and neighbours. Now is the time to be seeking the Friend who will stand beside you and speak out for peace. Now is the time for courage. Now is the time for action.

Don’t get angry at the deceit, the delusion and the meanness of John Howard.

Organise and bring down the Howard government and any other government that commits Australia to engagement in US foreign wars.

Graeme Dunstan
Peacebus.com

15  October 2001