Patrick Carlyon: Reclaim Princes Park another vigil that ought never have needed to be staged
LAST night was a monument to the power of shared loss as Melbourne grieved and celebrated a life lost in one of the most powerful ways of all — the unity of silence, writes Patrick Carlyon.
Patrick Carlyon
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ON SOCCER pitch two at Princes Park, 10,000 gathered in grief.
People streamed across the soggy grass towards the floodlights, a hushed throng from 5.30pm.
There were children and pets, prams and businessmen, all mounting a solemn vigil where a young woman was found in the early hours last Wednesday morning.
Her former schoolfriends were there, easy to spot in their school jumpers.
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The crowds extended almost back to Royal Pde in Carlton North.
They braced against the cold, hushed of voice and motion, shoulders hunched and faces drawn.
The masses of flowers grew as darkness deepened, smoke rising from a ring of candles.
When the floodlights were switched off, those present imagined the unthinkable, the events here five nights earlier, soon after a young woman had sent a cheery text message.
She was alone in the pitch blackness, further from the lit path where Monday night’s vigil took place.
She was boisterous after a comedy show. She hoped to go to Britain and pursue her comedy, even if she wasn’t certain that it could be a career.
She was brave enough, but she knew that comedy was filled with dysfunction and depressives.
She had a new romance and childcare studies.
She was 22 and getting on after growing up without her mother.
She had so much to look forward to.
Then, for reasons we cannot understand, it was all taken away from Eurydice Dixon.
Those who came to Monday night’s vigil in her honour felt the unfairness of her loss.
Yet they knew they would hear no speeches.
Organisers had spoken of “reclaiming” the park, but they emphasised that the event was not the “time for political demands”.
No one pondered the man charged with her murder, or argued that this or that action must be taken.
Instead, the candles, under a crescent moon, would help “light the way”.
The floodlights were turned off at 6.02pm.
A choir broke the reverie with Hallelujah at 6.20pm.
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah. RIP Eurydice Dixon @theheraldsun pic.twitter.com/rh8fnFSVKB
— Genevieve Alison (@GenevieveAlison) June 18, 2018
When a circle of people then surrounded the memorial, the hush was maintained.
Those who needed to speak dared only whisper.
Only afterwards did the bark of dogs or the cry of babies become apparent.
The comparisons with Jill Meagher’s death are plain. About 30,000 marched in “solidarity” through the streets in 2012.
Meagher also made people laugh; her funeral featured a succession of anecdotes, delivered in Irish lilts, that had observers momentarily forgetting their grief and rolling in mirth.
She, too, was taken at a time of life that is steeped in beginnings.
Her death tore at notions of who we are and what we value.
It reiterated the demand that women ought to be safe, and prompted political promises aimed at perceptions of safety.
As has, inevitably, the wretched wrongness of Dixon’s death in a dark park.
Dixon, like Meagher, should have got home safely.
“I feel like there is a black cloud hanging over our city …” a local councillor said after Meagher’s death. “Everyone is here for this message and to show solidarity. Everyone’s here because they feel the same way.”
For Dixon, like Meagher, ought to still be with us.
It suggests that something is wrong — with our city and our community — that they are not. The world should be richer for Dixon’s brave and original comedy riffs.
For Meagher’s love of literature and her hilarious run-ins with her mobile phone.
What was said in 2012 will be said again in 2018. Monday night, however, was a time for reflection.
Debates and demands that such tragedies require from a just society are under way.
But Monday night was a monument to the power of shared loss. A lament for an unfortunate reality that bonds everyone.
Premier Dan Andrews and wife Catherine were there Monday night. She wiped her face as she laid flowers — “visibly moved”, a TV reporter called it.
Mr Andrews said the vigil was a “source of great pride” from him and wife Cath.
“This is a desperately sad case, a terrible waste, an act of evil but it was so reassuring, so comforting,” he said.
“It was a great tribute to Eurydice Dixon and all the people who loved her and were close to her but (it was) also a tribute to the spirit of Melburnians, Victorians.
“We won’t be defined by this, we won’t be beaten by this.”
She was not alone. An official walked around with a box of tissues, and was in demand.
The Andrews’ did as everyone else did.
They stared into candle light, grieved and celebrated a life lost in one of the most powerful ways of all — the unity of silence.
For Melbourne, sadly, has just united for another vigil that ought never have needed to be staged.
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