It was a miserable Saturday morning that I dragged myself out of my house to attend and photograph the annual May Day rally. I chose a long raincoat, hoodie and a pitiful convenience store umbrella as my armour, not only for me but for my cameras and the awkward tangle of straps I ended up in. As I made my way to the train station, the designated starting place, I could feel the dull ache in my left knee after it buckled the day before but I dismissed my quiet concerns of not being gentle or cautious enough with myself from my head.

I arrived early and stopped by a nearby cafe, where I was able to procure a half toasted sandwich which passed for breakfast, sans dexies or the poor substitute of coffee and then accompanied by Johnny Cash in an earbud I set about my search for photos as the crowd gathered. Most of the younger faces in the crowd were kids brought by their parents and the ones around my age I mostly recognised from the local rallies for Palestine I had made a habit of photographing. It was a pleasant surprise just how many people showed up, especially given the variable but ever present rain. It was as if it was needed to underpin the dedication and resilience surely possessed by all in attendance.

Union banners were prominent as expected, accompanied by a sea of umbrellas and signs opposed to the proposals for a nuclear sub base at Port Kembla. I’ve been reliably informed these subs are in fact nescessary for us to deter our largest trade partner from buying our iron ore. However, I freely admit my ignorance on China and am open to being educated about how scared I should be of the evil commies, or to begin waiting for them to liberate us from the wholly unique oppresion of our democratic governments and capitalist economies.

Once the march started, we had fire trucks bringing up the rear and the chants of “The people! United! Will never be! Defeated!” and “Free Free Palestine!” in one ear duelled with “There Ain’t No Good Chain Gang” in the other, and I couldn’t keep a small silly smile off my face or help enjoy being in the rain. When we arrived at the Crown St mall stage, we heard calls for solidarity with Palestine, the end of domestic violence against women, and the firm declaration that these issues are union business, with cheers and calls of “shame!” from the crowd filling the pauses as appropriate.

After failing to take any more photos as the crowd dispersed to escape the deary weather, I made my way to Lower East, one of my favourite cafes, where I enjoyed a decaf cappuchino and an early lunch that probably could’ve waited, and remembered that the weekend I was enjoying was won by workers for workers and thought about what could still be won.