First Contact

1 4 1,000,000 (Suicide Blonde Edit)

IN ASHLEY LEWIS'S BACKSTORY, MAY 23 1995 WAS MORE THAN JUST A TURNING POINT, IT WAS A PERSONAL REVOLUTION, THE BEGINNING OF A SECOND LIFE THAT WAS VERY DIFFERENT TO THE FIRST. You might compare it to a tribal initiation. His metamorphosis, occurring in his freshman year at Sydney University, corresponded with a broader transformation sweeping the world, the Chloro environmental movement; on that particular day he had skipped lectures to listen to a speech by one of its gurus, Yalmundi, on the need for student militancy. Although Yalmundi was obviously an Aboriginal name, it was not clear whether he was indeed Aboriginal. He was a thin and rather intense man in his 30s, dressed in torn jeans and a vibrant poncho. In the cramped chatty aftermath of the talk, Ashley was pushed by the mob into the vicinity of a tall woman whose hair was incredibly white, somewhere beyond platinum blonde, with dazzling green eyes. Her nametag introduced her as Fern. He was immediately captivated. <<Wow, heavy>> he murmured, more as an aside to himself that anything else.

<<That's an understatement>> she replied, misinterpreting his lust as an earnest political aspiration. <<The situation is dire, indeed. What are you going to do about it?>>

<<Well, I already signed up to five different environmental groups>> he boasted. <<That includes Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, and the World Wildlife Fund.>>

<<Revolutions are not won by signing petitions, nor by making tax-deductible donations, and certainly not by watching David Attenborough documentaries>> she chided him. <<We're well past the stage of advocacy here. There is only one place where real change happens, and that is on the streets.>>

Suddenly Yalmundi himself emerged out of the crowd, and slipped his arm around Fern's waist. Ashley was at first disappointed, but then chuffed that the star of the show was in his midst.

Yalmundi delivered Ashley a somewhat condescending look, and asked Fern <<Do you want to bail?>>

<<Yeah, sure.>> Then, becoming aware of Ashley's despondent appearance, she added wryly <<This guy could do with a lift, though.>>

Yalmundi winked at her surreptitiously and said: <<Bunyarra!>>

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SOME TIME LATER Ashley was sitting in the back of Yal and Fern's vintage blue jeep, which was plastered in stickers celebrating noble causes dating all the way back to the Summer of Love, enjoying the ecstatic Goan trance blaring through the tinny soundsystem. Curiously, they had made no effort to ask him his address, and he was in no hurry to tell them. They were rolling through the streets of Darlington, lined with genteel terrace houses. As they entered Redfern, the aspect became rougher and more indigenous, and Yalmundi was happy to point out some of the historic attractions of the suburb, such as the infamous Block and the iconic "40,000 Years is a Long Time" mural opposite the rail station. The skyline of the city came into view, rising dramatically from a (post)industrial wasteland. Several blocks later they stopped outside a nondescript warehouse, its brick walls covered in graffiti and flyers advertising incoming rave parties.

<<You obviously needed a lift>> Yalmundi said, parking the jeep outside the warehouse. <<Here it is.>>

The "Posse", as the collective called themselves, all lived together on an upper floor of the building. Their "Space" was heavy with a mélange of scents and spices including body odor, stale cigarettes, incense, and what smelt like bush buds being blazed somewhere inside the colony. As Ashley gained admission, he could see that it was hive of activity, with an apparent cadre of hardcore tree-sitters and protestors, dreadlocked and unkempt, aided and abetted by an impressionable array of aspiring anarchists, graffiti artists, and student activists. Among them was Matt, a more conventional guy who claimed to be studying chemical engineering. He had set up some kind of apparatus in a corner of the loft, but Fern steered Ash away from him, towards what seemed to the central alcove. There a photosynthetic girl with a shaved head and matching Minor Threat T-shirt was screenprinting on a solid wooden desk, producing dozens of psychedelic posters all bearing the slogan: "One for a Million".