18-20 April 2003
Easter convergence at Baxter Immigration Detention Centre

RAC Media release issued prior to event

some news leading up to this event

"Shame, Australia, Shame" by Jane Keogh

From local poet Allan Nield

a few individual experiences

what the papers had to say during and after the weekend

from Port Augusta's Salvation Army captain

from Sylvie Leber of RAC

Sara Saint-Saens from Mullumbimby (far north NSW) described very eloquently what made thousands of us give up our Easter holidays and drive for at least 24 hours to shame this government into ending this abominable policy of locking up traumatised human beings in concentration camps and using them for political gain. She wrote an account of her observations while visiting her friends in Baxter, and her responses. Sara's experiences were not unique. Read Sara's account.

This day was a serious battle to get a camping ground. It was the most excruciating, confusing and tiring event some of us had ever been involved in. It was absolute bedlam, and it was all caused by the cops and their sheer bloody-mindedness.

First they said we could camp in a certain place, which we found suitable, but when we started to pitch our tents they used their horses to start trampling on them.

Steve's tent was ripped to shreds and was now useless.

Some of us had so much gear, to carry it all by hand meant we had to make two trips, meaning 12 kilometres in total, on foot, at high speed, with the brown desert dust flying everywhere. We had left the first lot of our gear beside or under that pipe, out of the sun.

On the way back the second time, I met a fellow protestor running in the opposite direction, yelling, "The cops are trashing our tents." I could not believe my ears. I thought he had gone mad, so I ignored him. But sure enough, when I got back to the proposed camping ground for the second time, all I could see was adrenaline-pumped goons trashing the place, and startled fellow protestors picking up their gear and running for their lives, their eyes wide with fright.

I now had two lots of gear to relocate back to the first road block, I had drunk all my water and quite a bit of somebody else's, and my tongue was swollen with thirst.

I put my second load down and went in search of the first load that I had already shifted, and could not find it. Then I came back to where I had left the second lot, and, in the blink of an eye, that had disappeared, too.

Distressed to hell, I went running up and down the pipe, thinking I must have forgotten where I actually left the first lot. I was almost in tears. Someone noticed my distress and asked what was wrong. I told him I had lost my entire lot of gear, and he said he had, too. Everybody had, and we didn't know where it had gone. He persuaded me to go back to where we were first confronted by the cops, and we would find out later where the gear was. I walked back with him at a much slower speed, thoroughly trashed, but enormously relieved of his company along the way because he was very calm; sad but calm.

When we got back to the first road block, it was almost dark. Someone said the cops had all our gear, but no-one knew what they were going to do with it. Burn it? Take it to the op shop? Who knows?

Finally, a great big van came, and our stuff started flying out of it and landing on the ground, like it was a load of shit. When they spotted their stuff, people ran towards the van, but I couldn't see mine at all and the van was now empty. People had grabbed their stuff, anxious to pitch their tents before it was completely dark.

About half an hour later a police horse float came with more stuff, and some of mine was in it. I picked it up and started looking for a place to pitch my tent, then noticed the poles were gone. It was almost completely dark now, and it took another 30 minutes after that to find the poles. I had a torch with me, but it was in a bag that I couldn't find. There now wasn't anywhere big enough in the middle of the camp to pitch my tent, where I would feel safe, and not a chink of daylight left to do it in anyway.

I sat down in the dirt and seriously contemplated bawling my eyes out - and spending the night under the stars.

Jerome saw me and asked if I needed help. I said I couldn't pitch me tent on me own, and was too tired even to do it at all, so he volunteered two Socialist Alternative people to help me. One of them was Allyson, who hadn't brought a tent. Some help to pitch my tent was a good swap for a night's cover.

I was very grateful for Allyson's company in my tent that night, otherwise I might have cried myself to sleep.

Grace

A large empty
water bottle made
a great drum
for co-ordinating
the chant.

The cops chose their horses deliberately because they were completely identical and impossible for us to differentiate.

So far so good.

A lovely, quiet, sunny Sunday morning.

Greens Spokesperson for Refugees, Pamela Curr (back left) rounds up Greens members for a photo opportunity.

Enter, stage right: Star Force

Everything has to be taken in the context of all activists suffering extreme sleep deprivation.

The majority of us had travelled overnight sitting up in a bus to get to this location. The Perth mob had spent almost two whole days on a bus, sitting up.

That was bad enough, but, after that horrible first day trying to set up camp, we were then to suffer even more sleep deprivation imposed upon us by the Government Soldiers, buzzing us in their chopper from midnight to dawn on the first night, and on the second night running a generator all night powering up a million watt torch beaming into our camp.

After another night like that, while the tough and persistent of the People's Soldiers were making one last 6K round trek to the detention centre, early on Sunday morning I and a few other extremely tired souls stayed behind to clean up; tipping the remains of last night's stew into the pit dunny, and other similar acts of "civil disobedience."

At about 6 or 7am on the Sunday the Government Soldiers were still going round, and round, and round our camp in their effing chopper, rattling my teeth.

Returning from the dunny, to wash the now empty stew pot, my weary gaze fell upon what I immediately assessed as an interesting piece of street theatre.

There in the middle of a large piece of bare ground, on top of a small hill, and surrounded by nothing which could conceal him, was Soldier BX 03. He had clearly chosen the spot because it was a good stage. He was visible from just about everywhere.

BX 03 was holding a camera tripod with one leg extended, with the bulky end to his shoulder, and the extended leg trained on the Government chopper.

I should have taken a picture, but I was very, very tired, and all I could manage was the thought, "Hmm, there'll be some interesting consequences later on," while continuing with the washing up.

Four hours later, at about 10 or 11am, suddenly a big, shiny, black four wheel drive barged into the camp, full inside, and adorned on the outside with at least a dozen Government Soldiers in full anti-terrorist riot gear, with automatic machine guns and God knows what else. Standing on the bumper bar and kick board, they were ready to leap off and - what? - dive into the undergrowth?

Remember bugger all round here grows bigger than about 8 inches.

To be angry or frightened takes a lot of energy, of which I didn't have an ounce. If they wanted to kill me, I would have gone down without a single cry. I looked at these heavily armed Government Soldiers and thought, "Holy Shit! What kind of street theatre is this?"

I should have taken a picture, but I was very, very tired.

When they pulled up in the middle of BX 03's now empty stage, I realised they had come for him, four hours later! 03 by this time of course had either fallen asleep at last, or was sitting quietly in his tent, sipping herbal tea.

There were enough young idealists present in camp to challenge the Government on this occasion, and about 50 rushed up, yelling, "Terrorists out of the camp! Terrorists out of the camp."

In order to diffuse what might have become a very ugly incident, within 2 or 3 minutes several decided to disabuse these terrified Government Soldiers, and tell them that what they had seen pointed at their chopper was in fact a camera tripod.

Are you still with me? Do you think I'm making this up? Ha! I've got about a thousand witnesses. Read on:

Someone had video'd 03's performance, so when Lead Government Soldier was shown the video he radio'd to his fellow twits that it was a false alarm and they should leave the camp. Mysteriously, however, they did not go. Lead Government Soldier called to them again, "OK guys, let's go," but still they didn't go. I really enjoyed the next bit.

While the government twits, several with automatic machine guns, stood in a pathetic "Keep away from me" gesture, using only index fingers, 50 unarmed People's Soldiers moved bravely towards them, pointing into the rear distance and shouting, "Move! Move! Move!"

Still wearing my pinny, I flicked my teatowel at them, like my mother used to do. "Get out of here. Go and play outside."

Did this arise out of the insanity that comes from having had no sleep for nearly four days? We were totally unarmed. In our camp we had nothing more dangerous than a couple of kitchen knives, and we had sent these over-trained, over-armed, under-managed, un-intelligent twerps away by shouting at them!

Or was there a bigger influence at work here? You tell me.

Finally, they moved, having sadly missed what should have been a good opportunity to play with their big guns and do loud bang-bangs.

And I was left with two unanswered questions:

1) If the Government Soldiers really really thought BX 03 was a nasty terrorist, with a high powered rifle that could bring that chopper down with a single shot, how come it took them four hours to come and remove him?

2) What dinkum sniper, with a high powered rifle, ever did his sniping on a highly visible stage, for all the world to see? Not even the Government twits are that stupid.

The People's Soldiers, however, to a person, have the reasoned passion of the morally empowered, while yet retaining enough humility to see what idiots human beings become when they become puppets of the oppressive state which Australia has become under the revolting John Winston Howard(26.7.1939 - ).

Grace Gorman
Baxter 2003