First Assembly

July 1, 2020. The next day. Plaza Bolívar

With less than a week’s notice, Scarlet and her team has whipped up a crowd of thousands, fresh-faced students toting backpacks locked arm in arm with disaffected workers, forming a massive human sea. Together, we march down the streets of Bogotá with our flags of yellow, blue, and red, chanting the dozens of slogans that everyone seems to know by heart.

We are here for different reasons. Some are tired of the endless corruption, others, the inaction on FARC. But most are gathered here because of the noise that Scarlet has been making. In a week’s time, their Congress votes on a bill that would nearly double the amount of petroleum produced by the nation, and we are going to do all that we can to stop it.

“Don’t you just love the energy here,” Salome says as she waves her flag high in the air, on the frontlines of the crowd.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say, feeling a strange thrill as I march beside her, feeling the throng of the thousands behind me pushing me forwards.

I’ve never been the bleeding-heart type to join these kinds of events before. The closest thing that I’ve attended was back in New York, when I was making contact with Scarlet for the first time. It’s funny to think how far I’ve come in that time. I’m not exactly an almost-homeless, useless drunkard anymore.

Two long rows of policemen in riot gear hold strong in front of the National Capitol. They stand with their tall shields at the ready, batons and guns looming menacingly in their holsters. We’ve only just reached the northern end of the plaza, but if we keep marching forwards, it will only be a matter of minutes before we come face to face with the police. And they’re not going to let us just march into the building where all the Congressmen sit.

“Save the planet!” we yell at them, “Let us through!”

Predictably, they do not respond to us.

We wave our signs and draw to a halt a few feet in front of the police lines. The press has set up camp by the western end of the plaza, small crews with big cameras broadcasting everything that’s happening live.

“Now comes the long wait,” Scarlet announces over her megaphone, swinging around to face us. She’s dressed in the white power suit that she always dons for events like these, standing proud at the head of her people. “We’re exercising our God given right to peacefully assemble. We’re protesting against the evil laws that our Congress wants passed right now. We’re going to make noise and make it impossible for those lawmakers to do their job until they recognise our demands.

“We have two simple demands. First, that Congress withdraw the oil extraction bill from consideration. Second, that Congress pass a new bill that would give an equivalent amount of funding for clean energy. That is all that we request, and that is all it will take for our satisfaction. The future of our country, the future of our planet, is in your hands, you Congressmen. Now, listen to your people!”

“Listen to your people!” the crowd yells back, their collective voice a massive roar that must penetrates the marble walls of the Capitolio Nacional.

The cameras have been rolling this entire time, capturing Scarlet’s brief speech. She explained her strategy over a hot cup of coffee this morning, when she finally came back home to deliver Salome her speech script: make two demands when you really only need the first, and you’re that much likelier to get what you want. And if they happen to meet the second one too? All the better.

I can feel the crowd pushing up against me, jostling, wanting to break forwards and break free. Already, they are so anxious to rush the police.

“Pigs,” a woman behind me spits.

“Pigs,” comes the cry that echoes around her.

They are impatient, restless on their feet. They want to do something. Standing here doesn’t accomplish anything. But the people heading the march, the trained organizers and demonstrators spread through the crowd, they’re doing their best to temper expectations. This is only day one out of a fight that could take a week.

The goal for today is just to get the cameras rolling and warm, to let the politicians know that we’re serious. If we crack under pressure now, we’ll be seen as the enemy. No, much better for the police to crack and launch the blow, should it come to that.

By the eastern end of the plaza, there’s another small crowd gathered. They’re mostly young men with slicked back hair. They carry signs that say “Give Up, Tree-huggers”, “Coal and Petroleum Drive the Economy” and “Go Home, White Bitch”

That last sign is one directed straight at Scarlet. She’s viewed as white here, of course, and it doesn’t help that she wears white. They seem to take personal offence towards her. The counter-protestors have shown up ready on day one too.

From somewhere in the crowd, someone begins to sing the national anthem. It’s soon picked up by more people, until soon we’re all belting out the song. I see that Miguel has crossed over to the area where the media has sequestered themselves, and he talks to them, pointing to Scarlet and Salome.

“You ready for this?” I ask Salome, giving her a nudge towards the cameras.

She scrolls through the text of her speech on her phone one last time, and then nods.

“It’s memorised,” she says.

“Good luck,” I say, as soon as the confirmation text from Miguel comes through.

I follow behind Salome as she walks across the gap between the protestors and the police. There are hoots and hollers as she’s instantly recognised, and I see some of the police nudging their compatriot’s shoulders, all of them noticing their beloved supermodel out here on the streets. Salome smiles and waves to both sides, but reserves her blown kisses for the protestors.

Soon enough, we come to a stop before the media teams.

“Salome, always lovely to see you. Your daughter, Scarlet, is known around the world for her advocacy work, but you have never made a public appearance at one of her demonstrations before. What’s changed, such that you’ve come out today?” one of the reporters asks, shoving a mic in her face.

“I love Scarlet, and I love the work that she’s done, but up until now, the fight for the climate hasn’t been personal,” Salome begins, taking it in stride when half a dozen other microphones are pushed in front of her a second later. “But now the fight for the climate has come home. I am a Colombian, just like you, and this planet, this country of ours, it belongs to us! So if you’re sitting at home, worried about the future world your children will grow up in, come out, come march with us, come protest! We will stand strong today and we will stand strong tomorrow. Come out, good people, wherever you are, stand arm in arm with your brothers and sisters…”