A March in Melbourne

For weeks, the kiosks and street poles around the CBD were plastered with posters.
Thousands of posters, every one of them professionally printed, well-designed and attractively coloured, announcing a March for Female Solidarity.

The day of the march, some 20,000 or more people, men and women, marched a wide square through the city. Some carried printed placards announcing that Women opposed this, or hated that.
The placards were like the posters: professionally designed and printed, all at government expense from one budget or another.

On the steps of Parliament, a woman rose to stand between tall speakers and began her rousing speeech.
Just as it ended, a man stepped up beneath a collonade, set down his boombox and said, "Do you believe that your husbands, sons, lovers, and parents are pedophiles?" The words echoed from the buildings across the street, and the organizers hurriedly reset their podium.
"That's what these people believe! They think that 8 out of 9 of your husbands, lovers, and sons are pedophiles!"
Quickly, a woman shouted angrily into the microphone, "Well of course they are! That's why we're here!"
The man just stood, looking up at the rage-filled face of the woman on the podium as her people reconnected the huge speakers. Then the man's eyes roamed through the crowd, meeting every pair of eyes in turn.

Slowly, a few crossed away from the crowd. Then more, looking up to the podium in disgust.
Finally, more than three quarters of the crowd had crossed.
From that day forward, Australians in Melbourne would not listen to the hate- and fear-mongering of radical feminists. In a serendipitous moment, the clouds opened and a bright sun brightened the steps of Parliament.