A few weekends ago, I caught the train into Melbourne’s CBD. As it rolled into Flinders Street, a group of about five readied themselves to board. There had been a March for Australia in the city that day, and this group must have been there. Draped in Australian flags, smelling of alcohol, and shouting as they entered, they shifted the whole mood in the carriage.

Immediately, my mind recalled the original anti-immigration marches across Australia, about a fortnight earlier, where one man told of being assaulted by a protester for wearing a Brazilian soccer shirt. I then remembered it’s common for me to be recognised in public, and in my experience, that can go one of two ways: it can exempt me from people’s prejudice because I’m familiar, or it can heighten it because I symbolise the enemy and become a prime target. I quickly moved to another seat, with my back to the group, hoping not to be recognised. What I felt in that moment is properly described as fear. When they got off not long after, I felt relief.

Illustration by Simon Letch

Was my fear justified? Honestly, who knows? Stories of assault in these protests are the rarest of exceptions, even at this febrile moment, so odds are nothing will have happened. But that didn’t make it feel less precarious at the time. I recount this story, not to seek any sympathy, but to make it clear that when people talk of feeling fear as a result of continued protest activity in our cities, I understand and sympathise. I’ve........

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