On This Second Last Saturday In August. Walking Hour: Day 54 -New South Wales Delta-Variant Lockdown Australia 2021

On this second last day in the month of August, the midmorning sunshine reminds us Winter is almost done. As we venture out on our One-Hour Covid-safe five-kilometer radius walk, heading along Linthrope Street from our home in Newtown, upon the uneven narrow path following the cycleway in single file, we parallel the inner-west railway heading north towards our city of Sydney.

Wearing facemasks now, from this Monday, will become mandatory for all outdoor activities. My breathing becomes strained with each walking step as the straps wrapped around my ears tighten their grip, producing a mild throbbing pain. Yet despite this physical annoyance and because of it, there is a glorious joy in this freedom allowed.

Such a simple pleasure behind protected coverings finds me in a state of kindness, projected looking onwards as other locals enjoy this blissful warm Winter sunshine. Passing interconnected terraces only distinguishable by their family’s small front gardens of vivid colors and perfumed with early Spring jasmine. Do I encounter a fellow traveler. Her face is hidden behind a patterned handmade mask.

Her silver shimmering hair, ocean blue eyes, and fluffy puppy dog await a connection. I smile with my eyes and ask, ‘Hello, may I pat your dog?’ knowing, cautiously to maintain our common rule of one point-five distance spacing. This kind lovely local with her COVID-19 rescue dog gives graciously me and her companion a gift of connection, just now, for a few moments in time. We chat about her new family member only five months old, and the warming sunshine, while avoiding any chat of the delta variant. With much appreciation and thankfulness expressed, we depart into each our adventures again.

Now with pace in my steps swiftly, I catch up with my Julian ahead, as he patiently waits for me. Our road opens at this intersection this corner. The new cafe is busy serving takeaway customers. A family of four cyclists gives way as we cross onto the recently reconstructed walkway. We are heading now to Eveleigh Street where the Carriage Works Farmers Market is open once again — producing organic providence and artisan goods at high cost indeed.

Open each Saturday for a few hours, that was once a pivotal Industrial Railway Workshop, established between 1880 and 1889. Then, by 1900 thousands of men worked here building and maintaining locomotive engines and carriages. At the same time, the ever-expanding rail network shaped the development of Sydney for over 100 years. Now transformed with its rusted and preserved treasures, reimagined into a modern space for creative endeavors.

We walk to the entrance of the market phones ready, scanning, showing our compliance of entry, proving we registered our presence with the ‘Service NSW COVID Safe heck-in-app’. As security guards click their number counters for the correct ratio of humans, as outdoor rules enforced within pandemic proper apply.

We move in unison, walking through well-trodden, always intriguing side alleyways. Counting time as our moral compass dictates, in our one-hour outdoor adventure, we see across a close horizon stationary men and women in distinctive New South Wales (NSW) police uniforms. We are mirandaing through Gadigal Green. A beautifully constructed park on the grounds of the University Of Sydney (USYD) in the suburb of Darlington.

For today on this second last Saturday in August is a- ‘Democratic Freedom Day Protest’ rally. In eight locations across six states and one territory for twelve midday, concurrently, collectively. Here in Sydney, anti-lockdown, anti-vaccination protesters are planning to meet and march from the grounds of Victoria Park, moving along George Street into Sydney proper. The park is around the corner from where we are now.

In less than half an hour this protest rally will begin. We record the most significant number of delta cases today since the beginning of the pandemic. Menacing helicopters invading, fading in and out of sound, snap into sharp focus this evolving new reality of my narrow optic dilatation. Unmarked police cars patrolling the streets around us, with stationary vehicles of flashing blue and red highlight the commitment of and control measures unfolding before us; Guarding invisible boundaries of entrances into the enchanted district of Old Sydney Town.

These sweeping powers of Parliament House, only 24 hours before, are enacted now. We witness in action these laws fortified to:

· Stop and question

· Search and detain

· On-the-spot monetary fines

· Control and movement enforced with fines

· 14 days of self-imposed quarantine enforcement

· Return orders — ‘Areas of concern’ with fines

Because of this act before us on the grounds of USYD, with convict-sandstone heritage lecture halls, modern accommodations ‘ghosted’ by international students. We decide our best course of direction.

Turning back along Maze Crescent, I’m fascinated and horrified at the same time, counting the assemblies of uniformed offers. Seven over there blocking a side street access. Four over here chatting and laughing. Now another six blocking pedestrians, cyclists, and cars entry via this short-cut through Redfern into Sydney.

With 1,500 general duty offers, the riot squad, highway patrol stopping all vehicles to question drivers and passengers’ intent; A probation on share-cars, taxis, private buses, buses entering Sydney until 5:00 pm light-rail and trains stopping a few stations before Sydney, until the conclusion of this city-wide police operation, halting so many livelihoods in the process.

This invisible ring of ‘razor-wire-fence’ keeps some citizens in and others out. It reminds me now of the time I worked in my profession as a Chef on contract at the John Moroney Correctional Centre. Each shift I’d collect willing inmates waiting behind the razor wire fence. The ones I knew, with this privilege (a payment of $1:50 per hour) in minimum security opportunity, would effectively and efficiently work in our production kitchen cooking and portioning meals.

My job of supervising them as they portioned the cooked ingredients into individual trays, (the ones I remember being served on domestic flights — heatproof disposable trays with a foil top… revealing my age now!) blast-chilled ready for delivery into seven NSW jails, supplying 30,000 meals per week, was a challenge indeed.

We keep moving on, in my mind’s eye I see these roads, and side streets as if they are small winding creeks, brooks, and rivers rushing in tidal flow - protesters into the billabong swamp back in time before the beginnings of Sydney.

Before the European settlement of 1788, the Gadigal Clans of the Eroa Nation lived along Blackwattle Creek in campsites on the original banks of this tidal water course as a source of fresh water and a place for fishing. This creek flowed from swampy lands in a valley thick with wattle trees, starting within the grounds of USYD, through a pond, into an estuary. That pond is now known as Victory Park in the suburb of Broadway.

As the deadline to midday quickens, we walk back behind The United States Studies Centre. Here I glean a young woman. Her back against the convict sandstone wall of embedded wrought iron fence holding together an entwined ancient living fig tree, as its branches so strong stretch out to shade her now. Seven male and three female uniformed police officers in a physically distanced semi-circle, hovering have her pinned, with their discretionary power displayed.

Closer now bearing witness we navigate the footpath through them. I’m listening to her quivering voice explaining while showing her identification as proof of residency in local five-kilometer approved walking rules.

“In this moment with actual and perceived fortified law. Something is happening inside my body. A strange confusion then bubbles through my blood, as it manifests into a bright red flush of rage upon my face.”

We did not render assistance, nor did we wait and see what happened. Self-preservation pushed us forward as we also had become a target of an unmarked police car. Four officers in plain clothes stared us down as they kept pace with our deliberate, slothful steps. And so, I remember this intimidating fearful moment of sweeping power exhibited in the Delta-Variant democratic Freedom Day protest as it fizzled into nothingness. Walking along King Street, safe in our home with my fingers holding onto memory so strong. I write this story of our lived experience on this day 54 of 107 days in lockdown.

As this city crumbles under the weight of unresolved history, it reminds me of three things:

1. Powerful people controlling our lives

2. There will be more variants of concern yet to develop

3. Legacies of homogenous liberal democracies are in decline