Some thirty-eight years ago, three years
before I was born, a terrible injustice befell a group of people whose only
crime was to throw off the shackles of modern society, to deny the subjugation
of the status quo in peaceful
solitude… and maybe puff on a joint here and there.
Relying only on their ingenuity, hard
work, and the cooperation of community members, these people, happily claiming
the title of Hippie, created a veritable utopia in the rainforest, by the beach
of Cedar Bay.
They grew their own food, built modest
dwellings, and lived in harmony with their environment and their fellow man –we
should all be so lucky.
I was raised by a mother who also claimed the title Hippie. She taught me about the healing powers of plants before it became a fashion statement of the wealthy; she taught me the importance of caring for the world around us, the world that sustains us; and she taught me to accept others no matter their background, beliefs, or colour. I was fortunate to be raised by someone who was willing to indulge my dreams and encourage me to follow them.
Their happy paradise came to a terrifying end when
the government sent a swarm of police and Navy to remove them from the bush and
destroy their homes –a swarm, to remove a few peaceful Hippies. But it didn’t stop there –what ensued that day is an affront
to human rights and dignity, and a clear message that we are not free.
I was raised by a mother who also claimed the title Hippie. She taught me about the healing powers of plants before it became a fashion statement of the wealthy; she taught me the importance of caring for the world around us, the world that sustains us; and she taught me to accept others no matter their background, beliefs, or colour. I was fortunate to be raised by someone who was willing to indulge my dreams and encourage me to follow them.
My dream was always to be a writer. A
great author who writes great stories, stories that impact how others see the
world. And when I learned, only two years ago, of the atrocities inflicted upon
a group of peaceful Hippies, I immediately felt a connection to their story.
This was a story worth telling, and worth hearing. And with a little luck, and
some long hours on my part, it might just be the kind of story that makes
people think.
So I began to research, reading every
article and snippet I could find on the 1976 raid at Cedar Bay. I even came
across a university paper, and a recording of a radio interview with two of the
victims. But, alas, every lead eventually came to a dead-end.
I tell you this with the express intent of
reaching some long silent members of the Cedar Bay community, and imploring
them to come to me with their story.
Your story will be told with dignity,
exemplifying the truth of what you were subjected to as you tell it. I have no
impulsion to exploit the victims, and will change the names of anyone from whom
I am unable to gain consent, to avoid misrepresenting them.
If you were there, or know someone who
was, please contact me. Comment here or find me on G+, Twitter, or Facebook. Search Alana Harbison and send me a private message. Thank you.
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