ON Sunday night following the Showdown in Adelaide, I finished work and headed to the train station. The platform was packed, the train carriages were filling up fast, and on most there was standing room only.

After lining up for around 10 minutes I managed to squeeze into the last carriage, where I looked for an empty seat as I didn’t plan on standing for the entire trip to the end of the line. All the seats were taken, except one.

Three Aboriginal men were sitting in a four-berth seat by the door, where most people were crowded around. I hesitated for a second, to make sure nobody else was heading for the seat, and then walked through the standing passengers and asked if the seat was being used.

The men, having been sitting quietly, suddenly perked up and the man sitting next to the empty seat smiled and said, “No, you can sit here, please”. So I did.

To begin with, the men were quiet and respectful and didn’t talk or look at me. I could sense some discomfort so I made a comment about how cold it was. This was met with more smiles and nods of agreement.

VIDEO: Vile racist rant on Sydney train

A minute or so later one of the men broke the ice by asking me what the time was, and when I thought the train would be leaving. Soon we were talking about all sorts of things.

We discussed the footy (they were supporting the wrong team), arguing about the cricket (you can’t go for the West Indies having just left Adelaide Oval), and laughing about netball — the oldest man’s wife loves it and we all agreed it is terrible.

We also discovered how many of the same places we had visited. They come from Alice Springs and I have travelled as far north as Pukatja and the surrounding towns. We discussed donkeys and camels and what I had been doing there — in 2005 I had travelled up with a rock band to take live music to the APY communities.

As the men reached their destination, they stood up and called out goodbyes and waved to the other passengers. The oldest man said ‘‘God bless you mob’’ before exiting the carriage. As the doors closed I waved one last time to the last guy saying, ‘‘See ya sis’’, and from behind me I heard the words, ‘‘Thank God”.

I thought for a second, decided to ignore the comment, and started to put in my headphones. Then I was tapped on the shoulder, and a comment was made along the lines of ‘‘Bet you’re relieved — those people really shouldn’t be allowed to drink!’’, followed by nervous giggling.

media_camera Eddie Betts turns to the fans to celebrate his last-quarter goal during Showdown XXXVVII. Picture: Calum Robertson

I turned to see a group of women sitting in the seats behind me, looking concerned and sympathetic. I removed the earphone, took a deep breath, and launched quietly into speech along the following lines:

“Excuse me! Those men were the friendliest, most polite people I have sat with on a train in years. I thoroughly enjoyed sitting with them and it completely sucks that when they got off, I was left sitting on a train amid a bunch of rude women, surrounded by an entire train full of white people who I am sure represent the very destruction of the traditional home of those men.

“Yet if anyone on the train had made the effort to speak to or even look at one of these blokes, they would have been treated with respect and friendliness.

“As for the alcohol you believed you could smell on them, yes, they have been at the football and had a couple of drinks, as did you obviously, but the alcohol you can smell is from me. I served hundreds of people today and am covered in beer and wine.

“Don’t you dare even think about responding to me right now, you disgust me and should be ashamed of yourselves”.

A small section of the carriage near us applauded quietly. One of the women cried, and the majority pretended they weren’t even on the train and had heard nothing. Maybe they didn’t. But they will now.

■ ■ ■ ■

My mother grew up along the South Australian section of The Ghan train line. My family has travelled extensively through the Outback on holidays as children and teenagers, and I was brought up to be aware of, respectful towards, interested in and involved with indigenous Australian culture.

I studied subjects relating to it at university. I understand, as much as I can being of British descent, what happened here and how the effects will be felt forever. But to be confronted with it first-hand in 2014 by people who an hour earlier were screaming together with these men in elation for Eddie Betts was so hypocritical and disappointing.

I posted this story as a Facebook status on Monday afternoon, and not 24 hours later it had received more than 9000 likes — 36 hours later it has more than doubled. The response has been overwhelming, and I have received so many messages of congratulations and thanks, from across the state, country and the world.

I am so glad the message has been received so positively by so many. However I am not looking for congratulations, as one woman has accused me of doing.

I merely did what I was raised to do, and stood up for what was right. I did what everybody should be doing.

I, like so many, hope to one day live in an Australia without division. We act like we have that, but the responses to my status have shown me that this still happens every day, often to the faces of the victims, and their children after them.

The education is there, the pathways are being paved, but so often we find that the minority is much louder. We see these stories of racism, often going unanswered. We hear about how it is ‘‘justified’’. We see responses to stories such as mine talking about how I must have run into the “good ones’’.

I just hope that by standing up and defending my new friends, and then sharing my story with others who may wish they had had the courage to do the same in a similar situation once, I can show people how much good it can do to convince yourself that you’re brave, just for 20 seconds.

This is not an acceptable way to live. Someone wrote to me this week: “Reconciliation is just a word unless we live it’’. And that does go both ways. I am not saying racism is one-sided. But somebody needs to be willing to start trying.

Why not you?

Brooke Skewes works in the hospitality industry and is a regular train commuter.

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