The March for Australia

A Rally Hijacked by Headlines, Not Nazis

By Alan MacGregor, Washroom Studio / Radio Washroom / Perth Proclaimer

Prelude of Fire: The Rally That Shook Perth

On August 31, Perth witnessed something that doesn’t happen every day: Australians from every walk of life stepping into the streets, shoulder to shoulder, to say enough. The “March for Australia” wasn’t about left, right, green, blue, or whatever shade of lunacy the political colour wheel has invented this week. It was about ordinary Aussies, fed up with government overreach, economic chaos, homelessness, and the never-ending erosion of basic freedoms.

We worked our arses off to get there. Three weeks of unpaid, sleepless slog. No fat cheques, no ego strokes, no “selfie with the Premier” photo-ops. Just sacrifice. Flyers printed. Emails sent. Calls made. Permits sorted. Thousands mobilised.

It was a roaring success. Families. Veterans. Workers. Pensioners. Young people with fire in their eyes. All marching, chanting, singing. Perth hadn’t seen a people-powered push like that in years.

And then… twelve blokes in black T-shirts showed up.

Twelve. Count them. A dirty dozen of wannabe stormtroopers from the Nationalist Socialist Network — the “Neo-Nazi” contingent, or as history will remember them, “the most over-photographed irrelevancies in Western Australian political theatre.”

Twelve garden-variety gits somehow hijacked the narrative of a rally that involved thousands. Twelve men who should have been treated like streakers at the cricket — ignored until security drags them out — instead became the entire media focus. If twelve gnomes escaped from a Bunnings display, they’d have gotten less airtime.

Washroom Studio’s Stance: No Room for Nazis

Let’s make it clear in words so simple that even the dimmest “citizen journalist” can understand: we do not tolerate Nazis, we do not endorse Nazis, and we sure as hell do not organise rallies for Nazis.

My family fought Nazis. We buried our dead because of Nazis. We know first-hand what fascism costs. And now I’m being accused of being one? That’s not journalism. That’s Olympic-level stupidity.

Washroom Studio, Radio Washroom, and The Perth Proclaimer have stood from day one against authoritarianism, against bullying, and against parasites who use freedom movements as their personal soapbox. Nazis are parasites. Authoritarians are parasites. And so are the self-anointed “fact-checkers” who spend more time inventing enemies than confronting real ones.

When asked about groups like “Courage is the Cure,” I’ll say it again for the cheap seats: they are a group of useless cnts.*

Enter Robyn: The Keyboard Joan of Arc

Ah, Robyn. Perth’s answer to a question nobody asked. Self-proclaimed journalist. Founder of “Courage is the Cure.” A woman armed with no qualifications, no indemnity, no training, no professionalism, and a moral compass that spins like a Woolies trolley with a busted wheel.

Let’s take her “outfit.” “Courage is the Cure.” Sounds noble, right? In reality, it’s a damp Facebook page, run from what I imagine is a cluttered lounge room stacked with empty Red Bull cans and screenshots from Twitter. Their logo? Probably whipped up in Canva between angry posts about climate change.

Robyn struts online like Joan of Arc with a keyboard. Except instead of hearing divine voices, she hears the echo chamber of her own Facebook comments section. Instead of burning at the stake, she burns credibility faster than a dodgy WiFi router.

Her accusations about the March for Australia weren’t grounded in evidence, fact, or even logic. They were pure smear, served piping hot and shared around the activist circuit like stale fairy bread. According to her, the appearance of twelve nobodies at the rally means the entire organising team — me included — are secretly pushing Nazi ideals.

That’s right. Ignore the thousands of diverse Aussies. Ignore the veterans who bled for this country. Ignore the organisers who broke their backs for weeks. Just point the finger and scream, “Nazi!” because twelve clowns showed up uninvited.

If Robyn had been alive in 1944, she’d probably have accused Churchill of running the Luftwaffe because a German plane flew overhead.

The Hypocrisy Circus: Media Gone Wild

Of course, Robyn wasn’t alone. The mainstream media swooped in like seagulls at Scarborough Beach the second they smelled a hot chip. Twelve lads in black shirts? Perfect clickbait. Suddenly, every news report forgot the thousands of peaceful marchers, the families, the speeches, the banners, the purpose.

Front page: Nazis.
TV grab: Nazis.
Headline: “Neo-Nazis Hijack Rally.”

Twelve men out of thousands. That’s not a hijack. That’s a sideshow. But the vultures circled, and the public got fed the usual fast-food narrative: “Far-right extremists rally in Perth.”

It’s not just lazy. It’s dishonest. And it spits in the face of the unpaid volunteers who built that rally brick by brick.

The Real Organisers: Blood, Sweat & No Pay

While Courage-less Robyn was tapping away on her cracked iPhone about “exposing Nazis,” our organisers were running on caffeine, zero sleep, and sheer willpower.

No cheques. No pat on the back. No personal gain. Just grit. Three weeks of phone calls, venue wrangling, police negotiations, and herding the unruliest mob of all: Aussies. We did it for the people of this country, not for clout.

We gave up comfort so Australians could stand together. Robyn gave up nothing but bandwidth to tear us down.

History Lesson: What Nazis Really Mean

Here’s where it cuts deep. My family fought Nazis. Fought them in blood, steel, and fire. We saw firsthand the human cost of that twisted ideology. To suggest, even for a second, that I — or anyone on our team — would align with such filth is not just false. It’s obscene.

It’s like calling a firefighter an arsonist because he owns a lighter. It’s like accusing the RSPCA of running a dogfighting ring because they happen to see a pit bull. It’s insane.

But that’s the level of “journalism” we’re dealing with from Robyn and her cult of Courage.

The Freedom Movement Parasites

Here’s the truth nobody likes to admit: our biggest threats aren’t just from government overreach or authoritarian lunatics. They’re from inside the so-called “freedom movement” itself.

For every hundred hardworking Aussies who show up, there’s always a handful of parasites — people who don’t build, don’t organise, don’t sacrifice. They just criticise, divide, and smear. They’re the termites in the frame, chewing quietly until something collapses.

Robyn and “Courage is the Cure” are termites. They contribute nothing. They gatekeep outrage, demand attention, and tear down anyone actually making a difference. They’re the kid at the party who brings nothing but still complains about the playlist.

Satirical Blowtorch: Biblical Scale Roast

If Robyn and her Courage crew were in the Bible, they’d be the Pharisees of Clickbait — loud, self-righteous, and utterly useless. Pontius Keyboard, crucifying organisers with tweets instead of nails. Herod of Hashtags, chasing influence instead of justice.

Imagine Moses leading his people out of Egypt, only for Robyn to pop up: “Oi, Moses, are you sure you’re not secretly with Pharaoh? I saw twelve Egyptians at the back of the crowd!”

That’s the level of idiocy we’re dealing with.

Closing Barrage: Reclaiming the Narrative

The March for Australia was a triumph. It brought people together. It reminded the powerful that Australians aren’t asleep. It rattled cages.

Robyn and her second-rate Facebook fiefdom will fade. They always do. The parasites who tear others down eventually eat themselves. But the organisers, the marchers, the people of this country — we’ll keep going.

We’ll keep building. We’ll keep fighting. We’ll keep marching.

So here’s the final word:

Robyn, “Courage is the Cure,” and every other smear-merchant who tried to hijack this rally — you failed. You’ll keep typing. We’ll keep acting. And history won’t remember your Facebook rants. It will remember the people who stood tall on August 31.

Because I can.