Last Friday afternoon, Mr T and I arranged to meet under the mushroom (the Commercial Travellers Club) in Martin Place. Unbeknownst to me, this was when the Spartacists, an obscure marxist group, had their stall up in Martin Place; about 15 people milled around the stall holding up posters/selling their paper/giving a speech on a megaphone while three security guards from the MLC centre looked on.
I had heard of the Spartacists, but hadn’t seen much evidence of their existence apart from a few posters on streetlight poles around Sydney Uni when I started studying there in Easter 2000.
Unfortunately for them, their message about the liberation of the working class seemed to of no interest to the (suited) members of the working class walking around and through their stall and going off to enjoy the very material delights of a Friday after-work drink.
Maybe these workers were imbued with false consciousness.