'He pretty much told me to fuck off'

Last Sunday two activists from Families for Palestine sat down outside Anthony Albanese’s office on Marrickville Road. A round-the-clock vigil has been there ever since.

“We went to the rally [in the CBD] on Sunday and we came back here. Zuzia told me her plans to stay here indefinitely,” says Sarah, a Palestinian activist who runs a cafe in the inner west. “We started brainstorming ideas, contacted all the people we knew who might be able to come down. We had about nine people by 11 o’clock that night. Zuzia did the first 24 hours. And then suddenly we had 60 people.”

“We didn’t plan anything, really. There were no logistics or organisation behind this. It was an act of desperation in desperate times,” says Zuzia. “The news of what happened to Hind and how she died, and that Rafah was going to be attacked, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I didn’t know how to function with the grief anymore.”

The numbers of attendees at Little Palestine at Albo’s go up and down depending on the weather, the time of day and people’s commitments, but there is never no one there.

Like anything else, the longer a protest runs the more logistically difficult it becomes to maintain. Since it began there have been heatwaves and days of torrential rain. As it became more popular questions of food, water, bathrooms, laundry, seating, weatherproofing and rubbish collection became pressing.

Each problem so far has been solved with the help of the overwhelming support the vigil has received from the community, both in Marrickville and across Sydney. The protest has brought people out in a way even Sarah and Zuzia didn’t expect.

“We’re seeing up to 200 people a day,” Sarah says. “A woman who just moved into the neighbourhood and is still living out of boxes has offered to cook us meals. People have opened up the bathrooms in their houses so people can have showers. It’s really comforting to feel that level of support.”

The vigil doesn’t feel like many other protests. Signs and flags for other groups and movements are not allowed, to keep the message clear. Kids are running around everywhere, and the organisers are encouraging an atmosphere that’s friendly for families and children. There’s a street library and rosters for attendees to do shifts, provide food and do laundry. There have been film screenings and open mic nights. This Friday it’s hosting a Shabbat dinner.

“I think everyone just needed a place where they could be a bit more vulnerable, a bit less feisty, and find solace in the fact that we all are experiencing the same grief ,” Zuzia says. “I can't speak for the Palestinian community, but there are a lot of people who are not Palestinian for whom it's been very hard to try to reconcile their daily everyday work with what’s happening and feeling like they're going mad.”

The vigil’s demands are that the government call for an immediate and permanent ceasefire in Gaza, cut all ties with the Israeli state, and call for an end to Israel’s occupation of Palestine. While Albanese has said nothing about the protest in public, he is certainly aware of it.

“I encountered him on the street,” Sarah says. “And I was distraught — I get voice notes from my family in Gaza about their situation, so I was telling him what they’ve been relaying to me. He pretty much told me to fuck off, and shooed me away.”

Since then, he hasn’t made many appearances.

“We made sure he didn’t have a comfortable time,” Sarah says. “He had to get snuck out [of his office] — not through the front door, not through the back door. He must have been able to get out a window, because we were at all the doors.”

Albanese’s staffers have clocked the protest too. An AFP officer told organisers many of Albanese’s staff were working from home because the protest made them feel “unsafe”.

Despite the apparent newsworthiness of a rolling week-long protest outside the prime minister’s office, the vigil has gotten almost no attention from media outlets. Reporters from student newspapers and community radio have shown up, and SBS published a story on Monday, but every other outlet has stayed away.

“We’ve sent press releases to about 180 people,” Sarah says. “I’ve been messaging journalists directly on social media — nothing. I know I have no following, but I’m surprised that even a lot of journalists who’ve been saying the right things publicly haven’t come down in a private capacity to express solidarity.”

Without support from traditional media, the vigil is making its own publicity. The Little Palestine at Albo’s Instagram account is broadcasting messages from activists and supporters, including Greens Senators Mehreen Faruqi and David Shoebridge.

Word of the vigil is getting out, but there’s a downside. Local police and the AFP are monitoring the protest constantly, and Zionists have been coming by trying to provoke confrontations that would give police an excuse to intervene. It’s another thing to deal with, alongside the heat, the cold, the rain and the growing piles of laundry.

Regardless, the protest is going nowhere.

“We don't want to be here,” Zuzia says. “We have families. We've got our lives to get to. But until [Albanese] decides to take direct action and not just fluffy words, then we're going to stay here. And we're committed to that for as long as it’s gonna have to take.”

To volunteer for a shift at the vigil, or for more information, DM @familiesforpalestine.

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