From mounted police massacring Aboriginal land defenders to prison guards torturing striking convicts, the suppression of protest and collective dissent has been a core function of Australian governments since the beginning of the colonial invasion.
In some eras, such as Queensland’s Bjelke-Petersen government, politicians and police commissioners were open and unapologetic about cracking down on public assemblies and street marches.
Today though, our various government jurisdictions are more subtle and sophisticated about controlling us while maintaining a shallow pretence of tolerating peaceful assembly.
If you fill out enough forms, the state grudgingly permits you to protest at times and locations where relatively few people will notice you, and where journalists are less likely to cover your cause. But more effective forms of dissent are discouraged or even violently suppressed.
In this climate, local government entities like the Brisbane city council (BCC) – currently controlled by the Liberal National party – are increasingly playing a stronger, direct role in neutralising peaceful protest. But their actions often fly under the radar, receiving disturbingly little scrutiny.
Recently, the council tried to fine me thousands of dollars because I organised a non-disruptive 15-minute lunchtime protest in the Queen Street Mall with just four participants holding signs describing concerns about the cashless welfare debit card.
Fortunately, the court ruled that our protest placards did not fit the definition of “advertising signage”, but I was still found guilty of “holding an ‘unauthorised’ assembly”.
What’s the definition of an assembly? Technically, it’s any gathering of people, regardless of whether they’re shouting about catastrophic global warming, or chatting about tomorrow’s weather.
Queensland’s Peaceful Assembly Act 1992 provides some (limited) protection for the right to protest (reinforced by the Human Rights Act 2019’s more general provisions). If you lodge a notice of intention to march down a road or gather in a square at least five business days in advance, the protest is automatically deemed “authorised” unless the local council or the Queensland police successfully apply to a magistrate to prevent the assembly. An “authorised” assembly is allowed to block roads and driveways. An “unauthorised” assembly is still lawful, but if it occupies a roadway, police can choose to prosecute participants for traffic offences.
However, the BCC takes a narrower, stricter approach, prohibiting all assemblies in designated malls that aren’t authorised via the Peaceful Assembly Act’s framework. This means that when it comes to public malls, council inspectors have even broader powers to suppress protests than the Queensland government gives to police.
While some of the BCC’s attempts to stop protests via the courts have backfired embarrassingly, I’ve also heard from numerous organisers who’ve felt pressured into accepting onerous conditions or unsuitable assembly locations under threat of fines or being dragged through time-consuming court processes.
Bizarrely, it’s becoming routine for the BCC to ask organisers to hold public liability insurance, and even provide photos of the placards that will be displayed at a rally. In some cases, where the council can’t stop a protest altogether, officers invoke various local laws to prevent organisers utilising folding tables and shade gazebos, or distributing food.
Increasing commercialisation of public spaces is also crowding out community uses. The BCC leases major civic spaces like King George Square to profit-driven event companies, then objects to proposed protests on the basis that the event company has already hired out the square to another business. The number of public spaces subject to tighter “mall” regulations has also increased significantly over time.
Because there’s so little national discourse about council control of public spaces, it’s hard to say with confidence whether these patterns of suppressing public protest are stronger in Brisbane due to the LNP’s dominance, or exemplify wider trends.
But we do know that local government control over public spaces most heavily affects the most marginalised members of our society. If you’re worried about activists being moved on from squares and malls, spare a thought for the rough sleepers who don’t have anywhere else to go.
Contrary to popular perceptions, the powers and responsibilities of local governments were never restricted to “roads, rates and rubbish”. They’ve always played broader, important roles in shaping cultural norms and “managing” public spaces.
The amount of power mayors and city councillors ultimately wield is far out of proportion to the comparatively meagre coverage given to council elections and policy debates.
So as new surveillance technologies expand the reach of city councils, we need to pay more attention to their role in suppressing peaceful protest and criminalising already-marginalised people.
Because without most of us even noticing, the friendly local councillor who cuts ribbons at playground openings and hands out awards at school assemblies might be emerging as one of Australia’s most effective agents of authoritarianism.
Jonathan Sriranganathan has represented the Gabba ward of the Brisbane city council since 2016, and is Queensland’s only Greens city councillor
