Sydney Under Siege As It Happened 15 December 2015
←
→
Page content transcription
If your browser does not render page correctly, please read the page content below
Sydney Under Siege
As It Happened
15 December 2015
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 Justin Cahill
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase
it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase
your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Discover other titles by Justin Cahill at Smashwords.com
Please direct all inquiries to Justin Cahill at
PO Box 108, Lindfield, 2070
New South Wales, Australia
or e-mail to jpjc@ozemail.com.au
“Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end.
But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” – Winston Churchill,
speech at the Lord Mayor’s Day luncheon, London, 9 November
1942.
Preface
I work in the building next to the Lindt Café. Shortly after news of the Siege broke, I
found myself locked out. Gradually, I realised my usual day had been pulled out from
under me. For the first time, I had become a witness to history. This is my account of the
day terrorism returned to Sydney. It is based partly on contemporaneous notes I scribbled
on the day.
I thought about writing this as ‘gonzo journalism’, the form pioneered by Hunter S
Thompson where events and thoughts are supposedly written down as they happen with
no revision. But it’s too artificial: there is always revision. Simply typing out my notes
wasn’t enough. They left out a lot, especially what I felt and things I remembered later.
So this is part-recollection and part-reconstruction. I’ve included some afterthoughts in
parentheses, but kept them to a minimum. I’ve also changed the names of those
mentioned.
IWe didn’t sleep well last night. I had bad dreams about missing court. Imaginary
barristers were politely enquiring where I was. But I don’t have court this week: just
office stuff.
The council rubbish trucks rumble up the street, nosily emptying our bins. An
embarrassing number of bottles crash out of the one for glass and plastics. The clock
radio goes off. The new guy on the ABC is crap. Why can’t they get Angela Catterns
back - with Wendy Harmer ? Or Jenney Brockie ? Even Adam Spencer would do,
although he’s profoundly irritating. I dragged myself out of bed and to the bathroom.
Kate got Baby Tim and our toddler Elle up. Elle has daycare today. Things were busy
yesterday, with shopping and decorating the Christmas tree. We forgot to give her a bath
and her hair looks like a birds nest. Kate gave her a quick shower while I read the Herald.
There’s hardly anything in it. I’m thinking of getting The Australian, but Kate wants to
stick with the Herald.
I kiss everyone good bye and walk up to the station. It’s a clear sunny morning and
already getting warm. Got a coffee at the new Italian place on the Highway. It has a sign
up with Marlon Brando’s Godfather saying ‘get me a coffee and no-one gets hurt.’
Sounds fair to me. The bloke makes a great flat white.
At the station, I get back into reading Andrew Marr’s biography of Patrick White. I
found a copy at the Taree markets for $2 a few weeks ago. It’s a brilliant work - one of
the best biographies I’ve ever read. One thing is for sure: I’m very glad I never had to
work Patrick White. Such a curmudgeon - so many geniuses are, I suppose. A shame
Marr didn’t do so well in his biography of Garfield Barwick. It’s a hatchet job. The train
arrives.
II
We’d had Kris Kringle and our Christmas Party last Friday. All the morning’s e-mails
were ‘Dear KK, Thanks for my great present. Someone knows me too well!’ Stuff like
that. There was nothing urgent. I got up for something.
When I got back to my desk, there was an e-mail from Fay. “Apparently there’s a
gunman in the Lindt Café holding people hostage !” I didn’t believe it. Who’d want to
hold up the Lindt Café ? I went down to the foyer to have a look.
[This was at about 10.10am. I now know that my eyes had skipped past a slightly
earlier e-mail headed ‘Security Alert’ sent at 10.05 am that said: “All Staff, Please be
aware that there is a police operation currently effecting Lindt Chocolate and Martin
Place. Please keep clear of the area for your own safety while the operation is underway.
I will forward more information when it becomes available.” Now I wonder what
someone’s got to do to get my attention.]The foyer opens out to Elizabeth Street on one side and Phillip Street on the other. There’s a popular café there. It was business as usual. People were sitting around having late breakfasts or morning tea. The staff was busy serving food and drinks. I crossed to the Phillip Street door and looked left down the street. There were two plain clothes police with their guns out. One had his back up against the building and was pointing his gun towards the Lindt Cafe. The other was standing on the road with his gun pointing the same way. There were several police trucks. The area was being cordoned off. “Okay, it’s for real” I thought. One of the law clerks was hovering over my shoulder, taking photos of the scene with his i-phone. A plainclothes police officer with a walkie- talkie came up to me. “Mate, you can’t go out there for your own safety.” I walked back to the lifts to go back upstairs and tell everyone. By this time, people in the foyer were giving each other nervous looks. The lift arrived - people spilled out. I heard snatches of news. “The building’s being cleared … There’s a man with a gun… there’s a bomb scare.” Something was happening at the GPO too. I walked over to Justice Square, near St James Church. Elise from the office was standing there. She looked shocked – her eyes staring blankly. “I just got kicked out. There’s some guy with a gun. They think he has a bomb.” Elise nodded. We weren’t sure where to go - our usual evacuation area was cordoned off. Elise watched the traffic. The Police seemed to be diverting traffic from Martin Place, only to be letting it in from King Street. “Why are they doing that ? I don’t want to be here”. She left to find her mother. There was no direction. The public address system was silent. ‘Why do they kept testing it if they’re not going to use it now’ I thought. Things were calm. The sky was still clear with a strong breeze. I walked up Elizabeth Street, past people filed out of buildings in dribs and drabs. Some tourists asked me the way to King Street. I pointed back down the street. “It’s that way, but you won’t get there today. There’s a terrorist attack going on.” They looked confused. I left them to work it out. My mind flashed back to reports I’d read on the Omagh bombing. We should avoid the obvious places people congregate: that’s where they really wanted us - so they could have another go. I found myself subconsciously walking close to walls in case I had to duck out of the line of fire. I wanted my umbrella. Ever since the alerts about terrorists hoping to behead people in Martin Place, I’ve carried it around. If Jihad Joe and his little towel- headed mates want to have a go, I’m taking a few of them out with me. I only had the clothes I’d left in and my wallet with me. No i-phone, no internet access, no watch and no news.
I wanted to ring Kate, but I had only a $5 note. I walked down to Hyde Park café. Life was going on there as usual. I joined some public servant types in the queue to get some change. They were looking at their i-phones. The news was breaking in detail by now. It sounded like terrorists. One of them had a gun … they had about 20 people hostage lined up against the front window … they had a black and white flag… it was ISIS … the trains were locked down. I asked one of them, a tall, lanky guy, about the GPO. He checked his i-phone. There was nothing. They saw one of their friends. “Hey, there’s Jeff” said one. “Is he tweeting ?” asked the other. “Yeah, what else ?” she replied. “I suppose the Muslim community is in for a rocky time” I said, to no-one in particular. “But if it’s just a hold-up…” the lady replied. “You don’t bring flags to a hold-up” I answered. “No, probably not” the man added. Someone poked me in the back. It was the lady from the café in our building. “Hey - so this is where you go !” she laughed. The guy behind the counter was struggling with back orders, laboriously making one coffee at a time. I got tired of waiting and crossed the road to go up Bathurst Street. I saw some people from my office, including Brian. Brian looked shocked: he always looks shocked. “It could have been any of us getting a coffee” he gushed “that’s what’s so awful about it.” I asked what’d happened at the office. “We were in lock down, then they told us to leave. I’m going home. I just want to get away from this.” “Hey, can I borrow your phone ?” I asked. He handed it to me and I called Kate. She’d just come out of Tim’s music class and had heard nothing. I told her there was a gunman in the Lindt Café, that we’d been kicked out, that the Opera House was in lock down and that I was okay. It was a bad line. “A gum man?’ I thought she asked. “No – a GUN man. A terrorist.” I replied. I said I’d be home later and kept walking. What now ? I had some things I wanted to do today and all my stuff was back there. Maybe it’ll be over soon and I can go back to the office ? I walked down Bathurst Street, past Pure Platinum. ‘If the shit hits the fan, I guess I can always hide in there,’ I thought to myself. How many terrorists would think to look in a strip club ? What now ? Christmas shopping ? I turned into George Street and went into Dymocks. People were milling around as usual. Some were looking at their i-phones. There were signs of worry: it was business as usual.
I walked over to a big display of Penguin Books. The sales assistant had the internet on.
I watched it with her for further news. The first reports had been posted at 9:45am. The
Opera House was in lock down.
I went upstairs and looked through the History section. There was a pseudo-classic
about Ancient Roman slavery by someone keen to distance himself from Cato the Elder,
who used his slaves like disposable nappies.
I found part 3 of Thomas Keneally’s new history of Australia. I flicked though it,
wondering if it made my planned history of Australia redundant. Have decided it doesn’t.
It’s just narrative. There’s hardly any critical analysis. And the endnotes show he hasn’t
been anywhere near an archive. But someone did take a lot of trouble to find him
previously unpublished illustrations, so that’s something.
III
By about 11am, I was getting hungry. My hay fever started playing up and my nose
began to run. I went to Coles to get a sandwich and some tissues.
I walked back up King Street to the GPO. There were people sitting outside having an
early lunch. The Lindt Café still cordoned off. I asked a security guard at the GPO Hotel
if there was any more news, but nothing new.
I looked for somewhere to sit in the shade and went into the Glasshouse and up to level
2 to the Tea Centre. I sat outside any munched on my sandwich. Still wondering what to
do. There was no panic, no sense of urgency. I felt detached, displaced - cut off from
events others were following on-line. Should I wait around or go home ?
Time was standing still – real life had been suspended. Will it be business as usual
tomorrow ? Or ever ? My day had changed, without notice. History may be being made.
I was a historian before I was a solicitor. I’d followed the 9/11 attack on-line that day
and London bombings on TV the night they’d happened. How many 9/11 documentaries
had I watched ? How often had I wondered what I would have done that day.
It seemed to be our turn. Something like this had been on the cards for years. I decided
to stay and see what happened.
There was a newsagent behind me. I got a pad and pencil and started jotting down what
I’d seen and heard so far.
I left the Glasshouse via Westfields. A girl ran past me into the Versace shop and
closed the door. People were lounging on the plush seats in the foyer. They were really
lounging - spread out like cats on a hot day.I went up Pitt Street and around to Castlereagh Street. Our block was still cordoned off.
I walked back to the Tea Centre. By now, shops were started to close. I asked a lady at
the Tea Centre if she’d been told to close. “Yeah - but we can do take-aways” she offered
apologetically. “We’ve been told to close up. There’re getting everyone out gradually.”
A lady, from the florist I think, came over to a friend working at the café next to the
Tea Centre. “They’re saying a package had been found at a Sydney hospital – what’s
going on in this city ?” [I heard nothing more about this].
I walked back down Pitt Street to Martin Place. The public address system in a building
I walked past advised it was “…in shut down.” Police rescue trucks were driving around.
I walked back up Martin Place to Castlereagh Street.
The police tape stretched across the Street. TV anchors, lights and cameras lined up at
the top of the steps that lead down to Martin Place station.
A crowd had gathered, maybe about 50 people. Everyone was looking towards the
Chambers Hotel. SWAT guys were posted outside the door to the Hotel – a couple went
by carrying long machine guns or rifles. Some people were trying getting as close as
possible, craning their necks to hold up i-phones and i-pads and take photos of the scene.
Martin Place Station had been shut down. People were passing by towards Wynyard. I
wondered if everyone got out of Frederick Jordan Chambers.
I stood outside Challis House, up against the red granite entry. A middle-aged hippie
type with long hair, bald top, t-shirt, shorts and thongs, was offering his mite of wisdom.
“The Koran says kill the whole world until the whole world’s Muslim like 30 times over !
Maybe Australians will start to realise that. It’s pure evil.”
The GPO bell rang 12:30pm. More SWAT guys with machine guns went up to the
Hotel door.
A black guy walked up towards the cordon, pointed to the Hotel and yelled “My people
are in there doing it now !” An Aussie guy in an orange safety vest, already agitated and
swearing, started yelling at him. The black guy went to talk to the hippie. The orange-vest
guy kept looking back at the black man. “Get the cops on him !” he yelled. Nothing
happened.
IV
I heard Wynyard Station still open and left Martin Place about 12:40pm. I went down
Pitt Street, crossed at the Hunter Connection and went up to the Asian food court. Life
was going on as normal - with just fewer people. Got some Vietnamese rolls and noticed
several empty seats at the sushi train.Left through George Street, then went down Hunter Street. Virtually no traffic. An eerie calm. People were still at the cafes, such as Blue Stone. The barber on the corner was still cutting some guy’s hair. Police tape ran across Elizabeth Street. A small crowd had gathered at Bar Bellino, a café. An anchor and camera crew from Channel 7 was there. Fire and rescue trucks were parked on the street - one of them decked out with green, gold and blue tinsel. People were taking photos of the Chambers Hotel. The Channel 7 anchor did a live to camera. “Is it a dangerous situation ?” she was asked. “Yes” she replied “a very dangerous situation.” Police moved the cordon further down Elizabeth Street - back just far enough to leave the journalists lounging around outside Bar Bellino inside the exclusion zone. The journos looked a bit put out. Someone quickly adjusted the tape to form a sort of dog leg, returning the media people to safety. A Sky News anchor put on her makeup and lip gloss. Another Channel 7 anchor got ready, then went live to camera. He described a “…chase to the northern suburbs … only terminated when police put the Spit Bridge up … police officer shot at point blank range … miraculously the bullet had lodged in his eye cavity…police responded by shooting the offender dead…perhaps understandable in the heightened circumstances…a terrorist attack, city in grip of fear, in lockdown…Sydney no stranger to terrorist attacks, with the 1978 Hilton bombing ….escalation of terror level …if they wanted to make the headlines they did…”. That was the first I’d heard of the shooting. His description of the vibe was a complete beat-up. There was no panic. Gradually, all the anchors and media types sat down at the café and mooched around looking at their i-phones and making calls. That bloke with the red headscarf who writes for the Herald and pumps out histories of Eureka, Ned Kelly and Gallipoli turned up (he’s quite tall). “Is this as close as you can get ?” he asked. He joined the other media types for a while, then disappeared. A journalist phoned in an update. “We don’t know how many are in there … one armed ... it’s an armed siege … in its fourth hour … people are being gradually let out of buildings and let out of the lockdown area .. it’s a popular lunch area … the staff … mood in the city is somber …looked at faces of people pressed up against the windows – they were terrified … people in buildings in the exclusion zone are being evacuated and told to go home…” A rumour went around that Ray Hadley, the radio shock jock, had spoken to someone inside the café. A guy in the crowd said the terrorists had lined the hostages up against the windows to use them as human shields. I went inside to get a coffee. There was a digital TV there. I asked the lady behind the counter if it was connected. “No. But all the action’s outside. Ask Channel 7. They don’t
know what’s going on. It’s a Mexican standoff. They’ve locked down the American
Embassy.”
Awful coffee. Read the Herald again. Went back outside. Nothing much happening.
Some nutter walked across Elizabeth Street yelling “ISIS is a product of the CIA and
Mossad!”
The Channel 7 lady went live to air again – “we’re waiting to see how the next stage
develops…”
V
I went up to the corner of Hunter and Phillip Streets. You can see straight down to
Martin Place from there. There was a line of anchors, cameras and lights. Some people
were hanging around Mecca Cafe outside the new 8 Chifley building. A Channel 10
anchor, a tall blonde lady in aqua dress, was in the midst of a live to camera.
I walked up to Macquarie Street. It was taped off from here. People were drifting down
Macquarie Street out of the exclusion zone – they’d been in shut down since it happened.
Some were being let back in so they could get to their cars.
The State Library closed. I walked over to the Domain. There was a warm, fig-scented
breeze. Maybe 20 people were sitting or lying on the grass.
I went back to Macquarie Street. The Deutsche Bank Plaza was virtually deserted. I
returned to the corner of Phillip and Hunter Streets. An ABC anchor was doing a live to
air “…the police are firmly securing the exclusion zone … I saw a man with earplugs –
he was oblivious to the cordon … when he crossed it, the police took him back… Police
are conscious people are tweeting and using social media – they don’t want to alert
those inside the Café to what tactics they might use – they’re not giving us much
information, but they’re keeping us updated as best they can..”
A phalanx of photographers had lined up across Macquarie St. They had huge zoom
lenses. Most of them smoking. Trays of sandwiches and bottles of water had been put out
for them. I went back to listen to the ABC anchor “… we have no idea what’s going on
…”
Suddenly, I realized you can see the front door of the Lindt Café from here. God, I’m
blind sometimes. We were too far away to see anything. But I could see some of what
was going on by watching the photographers with telephoto lenses checking out their
photos.
I went over to the Channel 7 news van. It had monitor inside showing live coverage of
‘the Sydney Café Siege’. Several of us craned our necks to look at the tiny screen. One of
the journos in the van rolled her eyes: “You mean the Sydney City Siege” she corrected.The ABC anchor back on air - “…we don’t know how many people are inside … friends and relatives of theirs are coming up to the cordon and being taken by police to another location…”. The personal dimension of this all starting to sink in. I watched a guy taping the ABC anchor as she did her live to camera. Why would you do that ? He got really close. She didn’t bat an eye - must be used to it. One other guy was taking photos of the scene. A woman came up to him “Why do you need to take photos of that for ?” He ignored her and left. Just before 3 pm, I was standing at the Channel 7 van watching the monitor. A man was being interviewed. He’d been in the Lindt Café that morning for a business meeting “It could have been me…people were just going about their normal business… this is not the thing that happens here.” I stayed for the 3 pm news broadcast. Thousands of people were still trapped in office buildings. An argument erupted between a woman and a young guy in a chequered shirt. The guy reminded me of those sociopaths I used to see at Law School occasionally – the ones with no sense of perspective. You can’t reason with them - they’re always right. Their eyes are just that little bit too close together. “If they’re doing is an act of terror, they’re terrorists !” she declared. “No” the guy dripped back. “There’s a difference between being a terrorist and an act of terrorism. You just don’t get it.” “You can shove all your politically correct stuff. What they’re doing makes them terrorists !” she retorted. “No, just you’re being stupid” he replied. She wasn’t giving up. “If they don’t call this terrorism, what the fuck do they call it ? You probably vote for the Greens !” “I vote Liberal actually” he replied. “Why don’t you go into the café and see whether they’re terrorist or not !” she yelled at him. He turned his back on her and she left. “There, I really told her off,” he said to no-one in particular. The arrogance was sickening. I went back to the photographers and watched them take more close-ups of the police officers. Not sure why: they didn’t show anything. A bloke in a suit I’d seen around came up to me. “Are you going to do something with all those notes you’re taking ?” “I think so” I answered. “Before I was a solicitor, I was a historian. I thought I’d stay and watch history being made for once.” “That’s an interesting perspective.” he observed.
I hadn’t really spoken to anyone so far. I got a bit reflective. “I feel oddly detached –
even though it’s all happening right in front of me. It’s eerie. On one corner, it’s life as
usual. Across the street, people are filing out of buildings. We’re supposed to be
objective – but it feels weird.”
“Are you interested in any particular period ?” he asked.
“No, all of it – from the Big Bang. I’ve started a little history of the universe for my
little daughter.”
“How far have you gotten ?”
“To the Bronze Age.”
“There’s a lot to go.”
“No” I thought for a while “not really. Is there any news ?”
“Lindt says 30 people were inside, including ten staff. So about 40 people. They’re not
sure if there’s more than one guy or only one guy with a gun. When do you think it will
end ?”
“Not anytime soon” I replied.
“Yeah, that’s what I think. Well, nice chatting to you.” He walked off.
VI
After taking to the bloke in the suit I started feeling weary. It looked like things
wouldn’t end anytime soon. Strangely, I also started feeling like a voyeur. It felt like it
was time to go and leave things to the police. It was time to get home and help Kate with
the kids.
I left for Wynyard at about 3:20pm and passed about ten SWAT guys while crossing
George Street. There was another group of police officers in the station.
There were no problems getting home. I flicked through my notebook on the train and
sketched out an opening sentence. “I’d just gotten back to my desk when I saw the e-
mail”. It sounded crap - I couldn’t quite get it right. It all started with something banal.
Shouldn’t I just say it ? “I was checking e-mail after having a slash.”
VIIThe magnitude of it all only began to soak in as I was walking home: the planning, the use of human shields, Canada had been hit and now it was out turn, has Abbot (whose nose-dived in the polls) been saved – it’s like Menzies when the Petrovs defected. I got home about 4:15pm. Kate opened the door - she looked shaken. She’d been watching the live coverage on ABC 24. Three hostages had escaped or been released. The footage of them running to safety was replayed over and over. The anchor said the City was calm, no sense of hysteria – which was true. The Premier spoke “…we are being tested …” and asked that we continue with normal life. Kate had called Mum and Dad and sent a text to my brother to let them know I was alright. They’d been worried. I watched the coverage: police want to keep the situation calm … they are not releasing any information about how many hostages, details of the communications with them, the terrorist is known to Police, but no further details being released …the number of hostages and terrorists unknown. I called Dad and my brother. He agrees the local Muslims are in for a rocky ride. “It’s the last thing we needed.” At about 5pm, two more hostages escaped or were released. Sometimes they pixilated their faces. Not sure why, as they reply it several times unpixilated. The commentary trailed on. Why did he choose the Lindt Café ? It’s in the CBD … busy this time of year … people buying gifts … it’s just across from Channel 7 studio … near the Reserve Bank, Parliament House and the State Library … the National Security Committee of Cabinet meeting again. Not sure what that will achieve. Abbot spoke, but couldn’t add much. It all shows how little you need to do to get an international audience. The main concern is it was a lone nutter who’s just using Islamic extremism to air his cause. The Siege is already being seen through the prism of 9/11, the bombings in London, Madrid, Bali and shooting in Canada. Obama briefed in the middle of the night, US time. The Canadian prime minister has tweeted his support. There’s an interview with a lady who was supposed to start work there at 11am. Then footage of hostages pressed up against the windows, with some holding the ISIS flag. At 5:20pm, the police issued a media release. A peaceful resolution was expected. They’re worried about social media inflaming the situation – the idea behind the exclusion zone is to create an area of calm to help negotiations Kate got Tim up. He was a bit sleepy, but looked up with his large blue eyes, smiled and called out ‘dadadada’ as he bum-shuffled over to his toys.
Kate left to pick up Elle from day care. I was too pre-occupied listening to Deputy
Commissioner Burns being interviewed to notice Tim was giving off an awful smell. I
quickly changed his nappy.
5.25pm. Muslim commentators were stumbling awkwardly to distance Islam from the
attack. They argued that just because he put up a flag doesn’t mean he’s a Muslim
extremist. It could be a ‘lone wolf’. Given the circumstances, the naïve political
correctness struck a false note. Others seem to agree, noting the flag was used in the
context of a terrorist act – he sent a deliberate message. How do you explain that away ?
The leading Twitter feed is “I’ll ride with you”. It was started by someone who offered
to ride on public transport with a Muslim so they won’t feel isolated. And that is
precisely what it’s going to take: individual acts of faith to keep our community together.
Elle runs in from the car. She’s made an angel for the Christmas tree. It’s beautiful -
made of paper marbled with pink, orange and yellow and translucent paper wings. Elle
drew her face, with the long hair standing up straight like a primitive totem figure.
She’s also made a collage of Rudolph the red-nosed Reindeer. We’re lucky to all be
safe at home - many others tonight are not so fortunate.
We had dinner and got the kids to bed. I went to the gym. Like the Premier said, life as
normal.
It’s a clear night as I walk home. Orion looms, upside down, over the horizon. Kate said
the Premier had been on the TV again and said not to come to work if you work in the
exclusion zone.
I sat up typing this until about 12:30am with ABC 24 on in the background. It’s
breaking news overseas. I had the international coverage on in the background, but
wasn’t really listening to it.
I thought about sitting up and posting this right now. But I want to get everything into
perspective and get Kate to read it first. And I want to see how it ends. If it all resolves
peacefully, I don’t think I’ll post it.
VIII
We woke about 6:30 Tuesday morning to the news: three dead – two of the hostages
and the terrorist. On the news that night are reports that the Taliban shot about 140
defenseless school children in Pakistan. I wonder what the chequered shirt guy would
say. Were they terrorists ? Was that an act of terror ?
We came back to work on Wednesday morning. The flags on the Harbour Bridge are at
half-mast. And Martin Place is a sea of flowers.oOo
You can also read
