Arms Race by Nic Low Read Free Book Online Page B

confuse the hell out the bosses.
    I’m serious, you little cunt, Archie says. This is a commercial mining operation.
You can’t co-opt this. Piss off.
    The man’s face darkens. We took a vote, he says. The rank and file unanimously voted
t’ support your action. Why’d you turn that down?
    Sorry, mate, Toff says. Us bosses got a press conference to do.
    The news crews have been allowed inside the cordon. A big PA has been set up so the
crowd can hear. Toff gives Archie the thumbs up.
    Go for it, Uncle, he says. Stick to the script, don’t lose your cool, eh?
    Archie nods. All right, you bastards, he mutters. Let’s do this.
    After years of speaking to polite but indifferent crowds at other people’s rallies,
the old man’s restless, wary features take on a cast of authority. He seats himself
before the bank of cameras, takes out his notes and pulls the microphone close. Over
the gunfire rattle of jackhammers, his voice echoes across the Domain.
    Afternoon. I’m Archie Ryan. I’m a Wurundjeri man, and CEO of the Aboriginal Land
Council—of Minerals. Today is the first day of work at the Kings Domain mine. We
have every confidence this mine will yield significant quantities of gold.
    There are cries of Shame! Signs reading HANDS OFF HALLOWED GROUND bob above the crowd.
The tall elderly veteran has made it past the police line, claiming he is feeling
faint. He sits against Toff’s ute as if resting, then reaches a bony arm under the
chassis and handcuffs himself to the vehicle. There are angry shouts and he is swarmed
by police.
    It is clear, Archie continues, that local people will support this mine, because
it brings jobs and money to the local economy. Stand back a minute, would you.
    The work crew has chipped out the base of the cenotaph with a jackhammer, as if
notching a tree for felling. There is a cry of Timberrr! and the mighty stone spear
tips slowly forward, then thunders to the ground. The now-huge crowd shrinks back
in fright. You’re dead! You’re fucking dead , screams a voice from in the crush.
    Now, Archie says, we understand that there are concerns from old soldiers. We have
consulted and listened to their concerns. Watching TV and visiting RSLs has taught
me the fundamental value of respect for veterans. Listen.
    A pre-recorded clip of an RSL consultation meeting booms across the Domain. Over
the insane chirping of pokies comes a scrum of angry voices, the thump and squeal
of feedback as someone tries to grab the mic. There is shouting, and the terrible
splintering sound of dentures crushed underfoot.
    I deeply respect old soldiers, Archie continues. There is no ripping-off here. The
more time I spend with them, the more I consider myself their true friend. We recognise
they have a long history and a rich culture.
    The police line tightens as the crowd surges forward in anger. The superintendent
watches the mob’s every move, his radio at the ready. Archie pushes on. He’s enjoying
himself now.
    We recognise veterans have a long history, but the sad reality is that this memorial
was built to commemorate soldiers who are all dead. None of them actually use the
shrine. It is a dying culture, and this mine will help to preserve it. Once we have
dynamited the structure, we will donate fragments of rock to the museum. We will
plant two large trees to commemorate the diggers’ sacrifice, at our own expense.
Most important of all, we will offer work in the mine to any able-bodied veteran.
As we have learned, it is better to work for, rather than against, the mining industry.
    The crowd roars its disapproval over the grunt and wheeze of the excavator. Archie’s
crew works on in the background. From time to time one of them rises from the fast-expanding
mineshaft, nervously scans the crowd, then bobs back out of sight.
    Archie’s nasal voice booms out over the PA. We also offer compensation to veterans.
We offer point-zero-six per cent of