Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are warned that the following contains images and mentions of deceased persons.
It’s always the kids that get you at events like this. Tottering little children, squalling or laughing in the silence. Blissfully unaware of, and thus defying, the horror of what we are gathered to commemorate. There are a scattering of these kids at the Thornbury vigil for the alleged murder of 15-year-old Noongar Yamatji boy Cassius Turvey in the huge crowd spilling back past the street junction of Clapham and Watt, backing away from the Aboriginal Advancement League building into suburbia.
The crowd is so big, and pushed back so far from the speakers, that to hear, attendees must play the live stream on their phones. The varying levels of delay create an eerie sensory echo, as the words of unbearable hurt and unbelievable strength — from members of Turvey’s family, community leaders and local men Cassius’ age, delivered through halting speeches and haunted songs — ricochet around the head, the word “child” landing like a bomb each time. There are similar vigils for Turvey all over Australia and beyond.
The horror of what is alleged to have happened to Turvey may end up being a turning point. It has elicited two things that no similar death — say, the death of Elijah Doughty — previously has; it got a major newspaper to unequivocally call it what it was: “there are those who seek to dismiss Cassius’ killing as just another tragic act of violence. It is not. That there was a racial element to this attack is clear. To minimise that just allows racism to root deeper into our society. We must name it to face it.” Even more significantly, the prime minister did the same.
So maybe this will lead to some kind of true reckoning. Maybe the alleged murder of an Indigenous child as he was walking home from school in Perth’s outer suburbs will give us some exigent knowledge of who we actually are, of what a settler-colonial society is capable of, and why. Maybe this greater clarity from media and politicians will bring about some kind of change.
All I could think about was that kid. Somewhere between one and two years old, his jumper a knot of white and green and gold pearls. He never stopped. That teetering gait, bouncing through the crowds, followed an apologetic but quietly amused woman. He talked and squealed throughout, pawing at invisible playmates and toys in the air, his eyes lively and restless as candle flames, a small shock of concentrated life. The man lifting him to his shoulders kept silent himself, his smile was subdued, but never once told the kid to be quiet.
Correction: This article originally referred to the vigil being in Northcote, but was corrected to Thornbury.
