The year in review. Maxine Beneba Clarke

From the trauma of a burning nation, to the desperation of Covid-19, to the united voices of the Black Lives Matter protests, this year called for resilience like few before it.

i south of the equator

the summer that set the year on fire

was combustible:

the cotton sweat-slick of shirt-to-back

air so humid, the world turned in slow motion

far-flung ash, settling to dust on grimy city window sills

the sour smell of singed flesh drifting, on the wind

as wild things, whimpering padded scorched and tender feet towards outstretched bottles

of volunteer mount franklin

the summer that lit the year that was

flew magpies, so traumatised in their mimicry they wailed like sirens:

indistinguishable from death’s call

january was dark smoke, spreading in the distance

all kinds of folk glanced up as they boarded the tram to work, got the lawnmower out, hung the washing, took a break from their word doc, or bunged the team coffee pot on saying jesus, mate, look at that sky you just know it can’t be good

february was small-town apple-eyed folk: faces tear-tracked, and racked with hiccup-sobs on the early evening news

as they stared down the barrel of abc rural

smouldering, amongst the embers of all they thought they knew

by march, catastrophe had leapt the break

collecting up sticks, seed pods, dry grass and brittle undergrowth

anything was tinder: whatever would take ii

news out of china was street spray-downs and hazmat suits

there were clips circulating of officials brute-handling those who broke

the isolation rules

we heard tell of mask mandates and the harsh seal of infected citizens into their own rooms

watching, from below the equator it seemed strange-apocalyptic,

what was happening in wuhan

at first, we thought the virus was unknown

quantity then they said they had named it: Covid-19

in march, it ravaged italy and we saw, my god just what this virus meant to do:

saw morgues too full to take the bodies on trolleys, lining the walls of hospital hallways, rasping beneath thin standard-issue sheets, and the doctors and nurses

well, they were dying too

looking back, italy was the moment we all knew

that something wicked this way wandered

fire burns faster, when travelling uphill

the virus slipped in on unwashed airport hands at melbourne international, the virus hitched a ride in the eager lungs of working cruise-ship youngsters, the virus nonchalantly dropped anchor

in the new south wales ports

to some, it was nothing compared to what arrived

two hundred and fifty years before

we knew the fever, the shadow-on-lung; the way it broke the body down

but what we never really thought about was how we’d watch our loved ones

die alone

how bone-tired nurses would hold ipads to their faces; and do their fearful best to show despite the empty room, the face shields, the absence of any human touch for days

they were thought about and they were loved, and there were people who prayed some lauded that the virus could hunt you down no matter who you were, no matter where you lived, no matter what you earned

but that was back before factory workers were put off, before one hundred days of lockdown, before well-to-do folk bought the supermarkets out of toilet paper, canned goods, hand sanitiser and

meat, before chemists had no emergency flixotide left

and none available to order for your asthmatic kid

and chain hardware stores sold out of veggie seeds, and white goods places had a run on deep freezers

before they sealed the public housing towers up and we saw the brown

– and rightly angry faces staring down at us from hundred-fold windows

as they trucked in one cop to every five residents

and in reality: nobody quite knew, or cared, what the real infection numbers were out of india, or brazil

while some of us queued for food, and housing celebrities broadcast themselves singing

imagine all the people

arty news crews shot footage of cherubic choir boys singing in the centres of empty cities; took poignant stills of playgrounds closed off with cautionary tape, newspapers ran pics of small children pressing heartbroken hands against grandma’s window-peeking face

on the first day of online learning my hopeful daughter wore her uniform

to the kitchen table iii

may arrived, and on a daylight street in minneapolis minnesota

a swagger-cocky white cop knelt on the neck of an unarmed black man

for almost nine minutes

until he ceased to breathe

in may, george floyd was asphyxiated

by callous knee of an officer, by cruel might of state, and under crushing weight of colony

george floyd was run down by the slave hounds that never stopped lifting wet noses; sniffing the air to smell our blood;

never stopped snarling at black folk’s heels

when george floyd cried mama, mama when george floyd said i can’t breathe

every black child-bearer

and every black child heard their own child cry for mercy

saw through centuries; felt the lick of overseer’s whip, splitting proud black skin felt the sharp, and weeping smart of plum-red flesh, the desperation

and indignity

fire travels faster when burning uphill

but june came the strength of proud black people june, came the fervour

of our righteous rage

in bristol, protesters sunk a cast of edward colston in the harbour

in washington, they almost tore andrew jackson down

in ghent, king leopold II was doused in paint the crimson colour

of congo artery

oh, the streets were awash with black and yellow june was a march of red

and green

black lives matter black lives matter

in australia, the press gave more space to deaths in custody

for just a moment you could taste a dream

later, in october as the melbourne lockdown

lifted

they would quietly fell a djab wurrung tree

iv

in victoria, during the first wave, it kind of became ritual:

the premier, standing before the press, and the people, crowded around their home tv sets,

jostling to hear

when you think about it deeply, it kind of sung of war

on saturdays and sundays, the premier wore north face

and on weekdays, a signature dark suit

the chief health officer, brett, soon garnered a cult following

the pin-ups of 2020 could rock a statistic

some looked hot in both heels and health policy could pull off that lab coat scientist-chic

you couldn’t meet for tinder dates, but all the swipe-rights designed contact-tracing systems

in their sleep

get yourself a bae who can hook up a ventilator, but will wash up their coffee cup too

lanky teens stacking supermarket aisles

on thursday nights had more certain employment than the dentists did

in some ways the new status quo was delightfully. fucking. weird.

the world was a trash fire but it was all avoidable:

your kid’s playdate after school with that child you think is a terrible influence;

book club with jenny, who insists on chewing jatz with her mouth

wide open

that pap smear you got a reminder for two months ago i mean, it’s selflessness really: can’t go now, wouldn’t want to clog up the medical system

the courage to quit that job that’s been giving you stress-eczema for going on a year

you could pocket jobkeeper: netflix and uber eats while you wait and who even knows,

maybe there’ll be redundancy pay

introducing your new partner to your dad and mum

yeah, nah, sorry, we’re all in lockdown i mean, i *wish* we could come routine was tuning in between 10am and 1

to check out what was happening

with the curve

pollies and journos spun their usual crap:

that tim smith, down state, who can never shut up

at the best of times was always mouthing off about daniel andrews this and daniel andrews that

and rachel baxendale from the murdoch press tied up

every covid conference with tedious i-got-you’s

berejiklian got involved with some real shady-arse bloke

it was like: sister, just…nope

and scott morrison fucked up trade deals, left and right: souring diplomatic ties like a small, stubborn child

spent the rest of his time out cavorting

with hillsong

no matter what happens, politics rolls on v

planes were grounded, motorcars slept street-side, birds repopulated silent cities

some said the upside was they had never breathed air so clean but trauma does not reverse so easily

a tornado ripped through sumatra island the taal erupted in the philippines; bush-burn raged, through colorado and california

through faulconbridge and northmead

the atlantic ran out of the english alphabet

when christening hurricanes this season

fire travelled faster, when roaring uphill vi by november,

washington was a sea of white flags

each solemn-planted for one of the dead

when election rolled round the early voters queued the block

the exit polls showed it was largely black women

and native american voters

who stood up, and shouted out and in united numbers

got the job done

president trump tried every avenue to beat them back, but the roads were all painted with black lives matter

the victory, well, it wasn’t much but it was also just enough

fire travels faster, when climbing up

for a moment, we forgot the pandemic and the floods, and the shootings and the blasts, forgot to wonder where next month’s rent would be coming from

and the whole world stood and watched, in awe

as decent americans packed city street-sides, singing mariah carey from subwoofed rides, as they formed philadelphian street parades, as chicago fireworks shone

and flash mobs were made, as harlem hodge-podged marching bands,

and new york crowds made cool jazz hands

the whole world stood and watched, in awe

and the united states of america

partied its way to a brand new dawn vii sometimes,

you don’t wanna think too much about the year that was,

you know

the 1.6 million empty places at the kwanzaa, the hanukkah and the christmas table

the elders you’ll skype, cause you still can’t see

the lockdown-weight so many still carry

all the small, and poignant, ways we couldn’t help but have to change how you scrub your hands

a little too hard these days, at the bathroom sink

how,

most nights, despite going to bed early, you still don’t get much sleep

the handful of emergency cans you now insist on keeping

and the flinch, when some stranger brushes by,

or other the distance between us, and how readily you cry there is hope, in little things

watching the zucchini plants flower, sharing a meal with friends

loud children, playing tag in the park again

realising you know your neighbour’s name

how a mass of screaming bodies on global city streets can harness the voice

of an entire people what a city can overcome

what ordinary people will muster to give

how fire moves faster, when travelling uphill

and how fiercely we realised how fiercely we realised

we all will fight, to live •