When Protest Crosses the Line
When Protest Crosses the Line
Last Saturday evening on Spring Street, outside Victoria’s Parliament House, a small group of demonstrators took a can of accelerant to the Australian flag. They lit it like trash in the gutter. The flames curled upward—defiant, almost theatrical—as the red, white and blue hissed and vanished into smoke.
I wasn’t born when my grandfather went to war. But I’ve lived inside the stories—the ones passed over kitchen tables, beneath faded family photographs and dust-covered medals. He marched under that same blue ensign, a kid barely out of school, tasked with defending something he believed meant more than himself. My cousins carried that flag through desert winds decades later—not to stoke nationalism, but to honour duty.
When I watched that video clip from Spring Street, something twisted in me. Not anger in the abstract. Heartbreak. That banner isn’t just fabric—it’s memory. It’s the silhouette of my grandfather waving goodbye from the docks. It’s the laugh of my cousin cracking jokes under a scorching sun just to stay sane. It’s every story told to remind us that sacrifice once had a shape.
We defend the right to protest in this country. I’ve spent years calling for reform, accountability, and a stronger democracy. But some acts cross the moral line. Burning our nation’s flag isn’t protest—it’s performance art with a blowtorch. It doesn’t elevate the cause; it suffocates it under smoke and insult.
If you disagree with what the flag represents, speak. Argue. March. Create art, write manifestos, host forums. But when you set it ablaze, you’re not just challenging the state—you’re mocking generations who laid down their lives without the luxury of spectacle.
We need courage to protest with dignity. Strength to dissent without destruction. And moral clarity to remember that symbols don’t belong to politicians alone—they belong to the people, and the stories we carry.
So when I saw that flag burn in the heart of Melbourne, I didn’t just see flames. I saw stories burning. I saw memory scorned. And I saw the urgent need to find better ways to be heard—ways that light up our future, not burn down our past.
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This piece was co-authored using Microsoft Copilot to assist with tone refinement, structural clarity, and evidence synthesis. The moral argument and strategic framing reflect my personal experience as a father, construction manager, and advocate for systemic reform.
