WHAT MATTERS

THE LOCKDOWN MONOLOGUES

WHAT MATTERS

BY / JANE HARRISON

A First Nations MOTHER, around 40 years of age, very matter of fact and not sentimental, speaks to the camera.

Well, us mob are more susceptible – of course we are. Plus there was the thought of spending three months locked inside. In suburbia. Fighting over screen time with my son. Staying in the city felt all wrong.

I know how to get shit together quickly. So I raced around – there’s that camping shop down the road. I got this really solid canvas tent. They use them for ‘glamping’ now days. I got a camping stove, axe, buckets, rope. I’m thinking: Holy shit. I’m losing all my employment and I’m maxing out the credit card buying all this stuff.

I throw a futon in the back of the station wagon, doonas. Me and Yarrum, he’s just turned ten. Heading to Country. Not my country, but at least my Gunditjimara friend’s. Bush block with a shed. And a teepee.

I grew up in tents, sheds, makeshift camps. The block’s snuggled into the base of a mountain. Really, really beautiful country. Pristine. Tall timbers, a creek. Steep. Solar and dam water. The lot. And big enough for our little clan group – fourteen of us – not to get under each other’s feet and to have different conversations every day.

The others live there full time. They’re engineers, tradies. People with skills. Yarrum hangs with the eighteen year old, collecting wood, chopping and stacking it. The axe I bought him is just the right size and weight.

Best of all, there’s a Border Collie bitch that dropped a litter the week before… Five of them. Yarram goes spacka. They’re funny; they fall over their own paws. He’s keen on the black one. Calls it Phantom. I’m like: a freaking American cartoon? But for once I shut up. He’s happy.

There’s been all these comets and solar flares lately. I read that the earth’s magnetic poles are shifting. Yarning with the others, we all feel there’s… like, something stirring, changing. Maybe nature fighting back. But there’s still mining and fracking going on. Blowing up sacred sites. Violence.

But, in that beautiful place, we were inoculated from all of that.

Then… it’s time to come back. I need to earn a living. Yarrum begs to take Phantom. But I’m a tough mother.

‘Who’ll be responsible for it?’ ‘I will. I promise.’ ‘Yeah, for a week.’

The car’s packed. We’ve said our goodbyes. Yarrum’s almost crying, giving a last hug to Phantom. ‘Oi!’ I yell at him. ‘Don’t leave the mutt behind…’ He grabs the puppy, almost squeezing it to death, huge grin. Some tough mother.

Halfway home, my phone blows up. I pull over, worried. Who’s sick? Who’s in trouble? Who’s George Floyd?

Back in suburbia and Yarram wants to take the pup over to Luke’s. ‘Nuh. He needs his last needle. And there’s a pandemic, remember?’ ‘It’s not fair.’ I hadn’t missed hearing that, the past three months. ‘You said you’d be responsible’.

That night I’m scrolling through all the messages and feeds. There’s gonna be a rally in town. Heaps of mob are going. We’ve spent three months in quarantine so I can live with myself for not going this time.

But I toss and turn all night. By morning I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.

Yarrum yells at me. ‘You’re a hypocrite!’ How do you explain systemic racism to a ten year old? Or cognitive dissonance?

But then he says, ‘Is it because of what happened to Aunty Vanessa?’ Yes. And Tanya. And Mark. ‘You said it was dangerous...’ And that made me think real hard. Would I lay down my life for this?’

I’m going because I don’t want what’s happened to them to happen to you.’

Beat.

‘Then I’m going too,’ he says. ‘Because I don’t want it to happen to you or anyone I love.’

So we go. Me and my precious son. We wear masks. We’re careful. It’s calm. Respectful… and beautiful. Thousands of us coming together to stand up for human life. And I feel hope. This is the world I want. For all of us. This is what matters.