Circle Of Light

I pass the row of parked police cars and turn the corner, not expecting what I am about to see. Although the protest was only announced to begin in an hour’s time, there are already hundreds of people flocking before the Parliament, standing in groups on the sunny sidewalk, perched on the steps by the fountain, or huddled around the tall white pillars that buttress the Greek-style roof of the building. They are literally of all shapes and sizes, colors and demographic backgrounds, encompassing babies and pensioners, hippies with beer cans, students with backpacks and sophisticated young couples in linen pants and button-down shirts alike.

There is a small red truck to one side of the square, accommodating a stage that is furnished with microphone stands and clusters of unidentified electrical equipment against the backdrop of a plain white bed-sheet reading “Lichterkette,” wobbly black streaks of spray paint.

The truck is blasting music to the crowd of spectators who are chatting away in front of it, while the trams passing by on the Ring chime their bells in warning as the masses herd on the edge of their tracks. The atmosphere is amicable and vibrant, and surely the summery temperatures and untarnished sunshine are doing their part.

A high-pitched squeak of acoustic feedback suddenly demands attention, as the lingering masses turn their gaze towards the stage. A short-legged woman in a cap and cargo shorts, whom I later identify as the Austrian actress Eva Dite, gives a few words of welcome.

“We are speechless at the number of people that have come together here today,” says a petite girl with a quivering, shy voice and a ponytail. This was Maria Sofaly, one of the two students who had organized the protest.

“When we first posted this event on facebook, we did not envision it to take on such dimensions! We are impressed and inspired, seeing that apparently far more people share our worldview than we expected.” Says the second girl, Romy Grasgruber, running her fingers through her dark blonde curls to hide the tears in her eyes.

Lichterkette, German for “chain” or “ring of light” is a peaceful protest for more tolerance and civil courage, against racism, xenophobia and hateful political campaigning. The initiative was triggered by the two girls’ aggravation in light of the outrageous campaign posters, specked with overtly racist slogans, of Austria’s right-wing party leader Heinz Christian Strache at the recent EU elections.

A number of bands are lined up to play in the two final hours before dusk, along with a range of speakers and comedians. Balkan beats and Turkish tunes mix with the personal accounts of second-generation Muslims and Viennese Cabaret comedians, like Werner Brix who holds only a certain finger of his “Christian hand” to Strache, while the growing crowd cheers and the angle of the sun shrinks.

Soon the available space cannot contain the masses, traffic has to be redirected, trams are stalled. It is an impressive sight; nearly 4,000 people, drawn together by a collective emotion, a shared conviction, and a desire to speak out against the fear-mongering of the political leaders of the far right, who seem to have avoided learning from the past.

Yet even the FPÖ’s unreserved hate-speech often falls on fertile ground, recent election results showed that only a mere 13 percent actually support them, as opposed to 30 percent projected by the party .

As yellows turn to blues, and the light of day begins to fade, 500 torches are passed out among the protesters. One by one they illume, casting an orange glow on the countless faces, and looming shadows on the pavement. As the last rays of the setting sun disappear behind the imposing buildings that line Vienna’s imperial Ringstrasse, the torches set into motion in an endless procession around the parliament to the rhythmic beat of a dozen drums, shining a light against racism and discrimination, in the truest sense of the word.

As we are all saturated with powerful visual and acoustic impressions, with emotions of unity and compassion, and the joy of discovering we are not alone after all, in hoping that Austria is not just a place of prejudice, but also of mutual respect and solidarity.