WAYNE FLOWER: I was shot and gassed at Melbourne’s worst riots in living memory – as no-nonsense cops smashed the unruly mob of anarchists who tried to storm weapons expo

Amid billowing clouds of tear gas, burning garbage cans and masked groups of ugly anti-war protesters, I suddenly found myself in no man’s land.

But I never expected to get such a hard blow to my stomach from a police gun.

As a veteran of major protests in Victoria, I know all too well that chances are you won’t walk out the same way you walked in.

But on Wednesday, even I was surprised by the “non-lethal ammunition” shot that hit my stomach. I thank God it wasn’t a lethal bullet.

When I arrived at Clarendon Street, near the Melbourne Convention Centre, where the Land Force arms show was taking place that became the centre of the hate mob, I did my usual rounds.

I found other media and we laughed with nervous bravado as we downplayed the clearly dire situation we all found ourselves in.

We had all been to this place before, but this demonstration seemed just a little more exciting and dangerous.

Before I even arrived, the front line of police were already under fire from the angry crowd, at one point nearly breaking through the fence surrounding the expo.

I had made a preemptive decision to wear my media ID around my neck. During the pandemic protests, I didn’t have one until the show was almost over.

To be honest, it didn’t help then, and it certainly doesn’t help now.

The police fired. The sound was unmistakable. It was strange, disturbing, and unfamiliar.

They appeared to be firing bullets into the crowd, using weapons that looked like rifles, some of which were equipped with brightly colored fluorescent stocks and magazines.

Other examples resembled something more commonly seen in American school massacres: black AR15-style examples (or originals, who knows?).

I couldn’t remember ever seeing this during the massive Covid protests, and of course it made me nervous.

As we walked toward the front line, more bullets rang out.

Before I knew it, I was shot.

At that moment you’re not worried about being shot, you’re worried about where the next shot will hit you.

These kinds of things hurt, but this one hit me right in the stomach, which despite recently swearing off the Carlton Draught, is still well protected.

I don’t know what prompted it, but like I said, it seemed like the shots were fired randomly.

Gas grenades and projectiles were thrown.

People around me thought that the New South Wales police were among the frontline officers in Victoria.

I don’t know, I didn’t see them, but there was worse. The tear gas in the air probably hurt more than the gunshot.

The air was filled with acrid fumes and toxic, burning plastic from the garbage bins and trash that the protesters had set alight.

It was painful to see my dear photographer from a rival news agency hunched over and nearly vomiting after being gassed.

Then a mixture of tear gas and rancid fumes filled my lungs. It was definitely toxic stuff. And we all sucked it in deep.

Victorians, unfortunately, are no strangers to the ugly scenes they woke up to on Wednesdays.

We all hoped we would never see it again. But that was wishful thinking.

I reported on the ugliest protests during the global lockdown in Victoria due to the Covid-19 pandemic.

During one of those sessions, I was doused with human urine along with Paul Dowsley, the legendary Channel Seven crime reporter.

That bottle of shit was thrown by a CFMEU thug pretending to make a difference by attacking members of the ‘depraved’ mainstream press.

At that time, police showed up in armored vehicles and carried gas grenades that looked straight out of a Grand Theft Auto video game.

During one of those ugly confrontations, in which police used pepper spray, gas and fire on demonstrators, they were shot at on the grounds of the sacred war memorial.

I was there, running along the banks of the Botanical Gardens as Stinger Grenades exploded around me and rubber bullets whizzed past my ears.

Many photographers were temporarily blinded and nauseous from the splashes of paprika foam they saw that day.

That’s something no photographer wants and it’s almost a rite of passage if you’re one of the few working photographers who still get to capture major news events.

As I approached the Crowne Plaza on Clarendon Street on Wednesday, there was a strong smell of doom in the air.

I was a bit of a late comer as I had to dodge the traffic chaos when the highway was closed for the protest. The protest had started early and quickly made national headlines.

On arrival all the familiar faces were there: the experienced Chilean photographer who likes to shoot in black and white, the seasoned current affairs reporters, the television crews who were on site and the old warhorse Dowsley, who now has a beard.

Everything that happened on Clarendon Street was filmed by police and countless protesters and media photographers.

An investigation will be conducted.

No one cares whether I or my ‘regular colleagues’ are gassed, abused or murdered at work.

We are not interested in that hatred either.

But the police response on Clarendon Street, in my opinion, was a step beyond the usual police response under high stress.

I suspect every shot fired will be investigated.

The findings are unlikely to provide comfort to those who were there.