Six Months Later
The sleek, white BMW 7 Series glided through the streets of Canberra, carrying the weight of a nation within its tinted windows. Inside, Australian Prime Minister Stephen Archer sat in contemplative silence, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the leather-clad armrest. The city passed by in a blur, its streets echoing with the pulse of political tension that permeated the air. As the car approached Parliament House, the looming structure stood as a testament to Australia’s political gravity. Stephen’s gaze lingered on the imposing building, a symbol of power and governance.
His decision to push for a republic had set the country ablaze with fervent discussions, dividing the nation into staunch supporters and vehement opponents. The car glided to a halt at the main entrance, and the door swung open. The world outside rushed in, and with it, the orchestrated chaos of protesters. A sea of dissenters surged forward, their voices blending into an indistinct roar, even with the use of a megaphone. Banners waved vigorously, bearing slogans against the republic, the monarch loyalists making their voices heard. Stephen’s security detail, a formidable wall of suits and earpieces, moved with practiced precision.
They enveloped him, shielding the Prime Minister from the wave of discontent. The crowds’ chants and jeers seemed distant as he was ushered into the parliamentary stronghold. Inside, Alyssa Crawford, the PM’s chief-of-staff, awaited him with a composed expression that betrayed none of the external chaos. ‘Afternoon, Prime Minister. The press conference is ready for you,’ said Alyssa, her tone steady despite the tumult outside. Stephen nodded, his jaw clenched with determination.
‘What’s the mood like?’ he asked, checking the time on his watch.
‘Nervous,’ she said. The two continued on. A few moments later, the Prime Minister approached the courtyard doors. The doors were open even before the PM had arrived. The moment he stepped out into the courtyard, a large group of reporters had gathered in front of the podium. Cameras flashed as the PM took up his position. He adjusted the microphones and steadied his hands before commencing his speech.
‘Afternoon, everybody. I am joined by James Andrews, the Minister for Indigenous Affairs, as well as Phillip Rogers, the Head of the Australian Republican Committee,’ he said. The PM paused for a moment, allowing the cameras to snap some shots of him. ‘I’d like to begin by informing you all that a short time ago, I contacted His Majesty King Charles, our current Head of State, and informed him that we will be going forward with a Republican Referendum. He graciously accepted the move and wished us all the best and success.’ The Prime Minister’s voice, steady and resonant. His words hung in the air, carrying a sense of gravitas that demanded attention. ‘Moving on…as we stand on the threshold of change, contemplating the shift from a constitutional monarch to a republic, it is only natural that questions arise. Transparency is the cornerstone of any democratic process, and I hear your call for more openness. Rest assured, we are committed to providing the public with all the information they need to make an informed decision. But I stand before you today not as the Prime Minister, but as a believer in the transformative power of a republic. This is not merely a change in governance, it is a vision of a united Australia, a nation that stands as one, bound by shared values and aspirations.’ Stephen’s eyes scanned the faces of the reporters, reading their expressions as he spoke. He knew the weight of his words, and he was determined to make them count. ‘Australia has a unique history, a tapestry woven with threads of Indigenous culture and European settlement. For too long, the Indigenous community has been marginalised, their voices silenced. But today, I propose a new beginning…I believe that for this republic to succeed, an Indigenous Australian must be appointed as its first President.’ A hushed murmur swept through the chamber, like a whisper of intrigue and uncertainty. ‘A President who represents the Indigenous heritage of this land will not only be a symbol of unity but also a bridge between our past and our future. It is time to acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land in the highest office of the land, a step toward reconciliation and healing…as we move forward on this historic journey towards a republic, let us remember that our strength lies in our diversity, our unity in our shared dreams. Let us honour the voices that have long been silenced, and together we will build a stronger, fairer, and more inclusive Australia, thank you…’ the Prime Minister concluded his speech, and the reporters chased him with questions as he retreated indoors.
Referendum Night
Saturday, 16 November
Sydney’s evening sky, a painter’s delight of smoky violets and dusky oranges, lay forgotten behind the heavy drapes of the hotel room. Instead, the flickering glow of the television painted the room with its surreal light, outlining the anxious creases on John Bradley’s weathered face. His fingers intertwined with Merindah’s, his solid grip both a comfort and an anchor in the sea of uncertainty. Merin’s dark hair framed her face, and her eyes, filled with a quiet determination, scanned the TV.
The room was suffused with a sense of calm, a stark contrast to the bustling events of the day. They had spent hours traversing the city, attending public gatherings, and addressing the media. As the TV flickered with images from polling places across the country, Merin sipped a cool beverage, her thoughts a whirlwind of the day’s events. The news reports depicted scenes of Australians exercising their democratic right, queuing patiently to cast their votes. The referendum had ignited conversations in every corner of the nation, and Merin took pride in being a part of this historic moment, a moment that could reshape the destiny of Australia. The TV presented a montage of images: polling booths, citizens discussing the referendum, and the ballot boxes being sealed. Voting had officially closed, and the meticulous process of counting had begun.
Merin watched with a sense of anticipation, a mix of excitement and trepidation. The fate of the republic rested in the hands of the people, and she felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. As the camera panned across the country, showing the diverse landscapes and faces of Australia, Merin’s attention was drawn to the numbers flashing on the screen. A digital map of Australia was displayed with a percentage of votes cast from each state and territory. Merin’s home state of the Northern Territory came in at a whopping eighty-nine percent for the yes vote. She noticed that Western Australia, who had not yet concluded its voting, was swaying at fifty-fifty.
Joe Pittman entered the room. His presence brought a spark of familiarity and comfort to the space. ‘Evening, sis,’ Joe greeted, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Merin turned toward him, a warm smile breaking across her face. ‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, as he grabbed a seat next to his sister.
‘I’m hanging in there, brother,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘How’s it looking?’ Joe took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation.
‘More than sixty-eight percent of the votes have been counted. It’s going to be a while before we get the final result, though.’
‘What are the numbers like?’ Joe hesitated for a moment, studying the expressions in the room.
‘The yes votes are leading, but the no side is gaining some ground.’ Merin’s smile faltered slightly, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. She had poured her heart into advocating for the republic, believing in a future where Australia stood as an independent nation. The realisation that not everyone shared her vision weighed on her, but she respected the diversity of opinions that shaped a democracy. John placed a reassuring hand on Merin’s shoulder. ‘It’s not over yet. We still have a lot of votes to count.’
‘You’re right, Johno. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. People have their reasons, and we have to respect that.’ Joe, sensing the need for a moment of levity, grinned. ‘Besides, the night is still young, and Australia loves its suspense. We’ll know soon enough.’ The trio settled into a thoughtful silence, the hum of the city outside providing a backdrop to their contemplation. The room seemed to hold its breath as the fate of the republic hung in the balance. The TV continued to display scenes of democratic participation, capturing the essence of a nation engaged in a crucial decision. Joe broke the silence as his mobile beeped.
‘Oh, by the way. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’ He stood and went to the door.
‘That sounds ominous,’ said Merin. The door opened and a man stepped in. Donned in a crisp, black suit, he nodded at Joe.
‘I’d like you to meet Mick Ross. He’s with the AFP’s Close-Personal Protection team,’ he said. Mick stepped forward and shook hands with both Merin and John.
‘Is that really necessary, brother?’
‘You’ve been getting a lot of threats lately. The AFP has been adamant about increasing your protection.’
‘I think Joe’s right, Merin. You have been getting a lot of death threats.’
‘I know that, and we knew that would be a risk. But I think having a bodyguard is a bit much, don’t you think?’ said Merin. Mick stepped forward.
‘Mrs. Bradley, I realise this is an irregular situation. But I’m trained for this kind of thing. I will do my best to remain invisible,’ said Mick. Of course, Merin remained unconvinced. He then proceeded to hand her a small device, the size of a coin with a button on it.
‘What’s this?’ asked Merin, with confusion on her face.
‘Ma’am, this is a panic button. It’s important to keep this on your person at all times.’
‘Oh, well that’s just ridiculous…a bodyguard I get, but a panic button?’
‘We have to take this seriously. If something were to happen to you, Mick will be there to protect you.’
‘I understand that, brother, but it’s not like I’m the president of the United States…’
‘No, but you’re soon to be the most important person in this country…’ Merin had no words. She glanced at John, waiting for him to back her up.
‘Fine. I’ll take it, but only in protest,’ she said. Joe chuckled. He turned to speak with Mick, then he stepped out of the room to stand guard. Merin however, slumped into the couch. She detested the idea of having a bodyguard, considering the fact that she wasn’t even President yet. As the minutes stretched into hours, Merin found solace in the quiet camaraderie of her husband and brother. Their unwavering support grounded her, a reminder that the journey they embarked upon was not just hers alone. The Australian people, with their diverse opinions and hopes, were shaping the destiny of their nation.
The slow pace of the night allowed for introspection, a moment to reflect on the significance of the referendum. The scenes on the television screen reflected the collective will of a nation, a tapestry woven from the threads of individual choices. Merin’s mind drifted to the diverse landscapes of Australia, from the red deserts to the lush rainforests, symbolising the varied perspectives that coexisted within the vastness of the continent. As the day went on, Joe received updates on the ongoing count. The room, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, became a sanctuary where the trio navigated the ebb and flow of emotions. Merin, a beacon of resilience, kept her focus on the greater goal, recognising that the referendum was not just about her, but about the future of Australia.
The TV now displayed live shots from major cities, capturing the reactions of people awaiting the results. In living rooms, pubs, and community halls, Australians gathered with bated breath, their eyes glued to screens that held the key to their nation’s future. The collective heartbeat of a nation echoed through the air. Finally, Joe looked up from his phone, breaking the contemplative silence. ‘I’ve just had a message from the AEC. The counting is almost complete.’ Merin’s heart raced as they turned their attention back to the television. The numbers flashed on the screen, a digital representation of the hopes and aspirations of a nation.
The room seemed to shrink, the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. ‘The yes votes have a lead, but it’s close,’ Joe reported, his voice steady despite the tension. John squeezed Merin’s hand, offering silent support. The room fell into a hushed expectancy as the final moments of the count played out on the screen. The fate of the republic rested on the culmination of countless individual decisions. The news anchor, with a tone of gravitas, announced. ‘…and there you have it, Australia. After hours of counting, the results are in…’ The room held its breath as the screen displayed the final percentages. Merin’s eyes fixed on the numbers, a mixture of anxiety and hope etched on her face. ‘The yes votes have prevailed,’ the anchor declared, the words resonating through the room. A collective sigh of relief filled the air as Merin’s face broke into a radiant smile. ‘The Australian people have decided…Australia is now a republic…’ The weight that had settled on her shoulders lifted, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and gratitude. John pulled her into a tight embrace, sharing in the joy of the moment. Joe grinned, a mixture of exhaustion and elation evident in his expression.
‘We did it, Merin. Australia did it.’ Merin nodded, her eyes shining with pride. She glanced back at the news report, as the news travelled across the entire country.
‘…for the first time since the 1999 Republican Referendum,’ said the reporter. ‘…it’s a victory for every Australian who believed in a future where we stand united, independent, and strong…’ The room, once filled with tension, now echoed with laughter and celebration. The trio, bound by blood and shared purpose, revelled in the historic moment. As the news continued to unfold on the TV, showcasing the jubilation across the country, Merin reflected on the journey that brought them to this point.
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