We Asked Drunk Aussie Teens About The Sydney Lockout

Photos by Daniel Bolt

We’re barely out of the train station and have already spotted a goon bag, a curbside drug bust, and a bright orange pile of spew. Everybody (except for the occasional cop) looks about 20-years-old and is either wearing studded stilettos or shovelling a kebab down their throat. House music is still in fashion. It’s Saturday night in Kings Cross and I am feeling very, very sober.

It’s not like my surroundings are surprising. Sydney’s Kings Cross has a skeezy reputation that’s older than most of its punters. It’s been synonymous with booze, strippers, thugs and drugs for decades, and was especially dodgy around the early 90s. Now, following a series of very unfortunate teenage deaths since 2012, a lot of people have finally had enough of the Golden Mile, as well as other party districts in Sydney’s CBD.

The first person that I meet could have easily been Daniel Christie or Thomas Kelly. Jack is 18-years-old: the same age as these two teenagers when they were fatally king hit by random people in Kings Cross. Jack is also, by his own admission, a little on the weedy side. “I would never punch anybody in my whole life. I’m too skinny to start a fight,” he says. His drunk sincerity is endearing, and I laugh at his succinct description of dudes that start fights: “They’re dickheads and they’re drunk”.

Jack’s beige collared shirt is a bit too classy for Kings Cross. It turns out that’s he’s travelled all the way from Newcastle, because his coastal hometown in northern NSW is “dead” on a Saturday night. Jack blames this downer on the strict regulation introduced there in 2008 after intense community pressure. Today, Newcastle boasts a 1am lockout and reduced trading hours for 14 pubs and clubs, as well as a bunch of drink restrictions (no wet pussy shots).

Jack says he hates Newcastle’s PG version of nightlife. Yet there is some evidence that its policies are useful: night time assaults dropped by 29 per cent in the coastal city after its legislation was introduced. This is a very powerful statistic that has been widely promoted by Sydney’s major newspapers in the last six months. It was also a major policy justification for the NSW Parliament’s controversial "Sydney lockout" laws, which come into effect from February 24.

I eventually leave Jack on the curb outside a kebab shop and head over the road to Trademark Hotel: a notoriously violent spot with a bunch of smokers mingling around its entrance. Everybody tells me to speak to Koray; a 25-year-old house DJ with tattoos, a backwards cap, and an entourage of bulky mates. Koray seems like an intelligent guy. He is also pissed off about the new laws, especially because they’ll ban alcohol sales after 3am in specific zones around Sydney.

“Being a DJ is my income. These laws are unfair for people like me and bartenders who just do an honest job,” says Koray. He says Trademark isn’t a charity, and will have no reason to stay open late for dawn-loving patrons if it can’t sell them alcohol. NSW Premier (and undeniable dag) Barry O’Farrell doesn’t exactly agree with Koray. “People will still be able to dance the night away but they’ll be drinking water and soft drinks,” said O’Farrell last month.

My next Kings Cross punter is sitting on the pavement outside Trademark. Cassie is surprisingly articulate for somebody with a pink “21st Birthday Girl” sash, a white Hummer for a taxi, and a mouthful of cheese pizza. She thinks the new Sydney lockout laws will just force everybody to go home at once. “Putting a bunch of intoxicated people out on the streets at the same time is just asking for trouble. There’s no security on the streets. It’s all on the doors,” she says.

Cassie’s next comment is a bit more contentious. She says alcohol-fuelled violence is over-reported and that “people insinuate there’s more (of a problem) than there is”. This argument has only been raised by a few journalists, such as Crikey’s Bernard Keane. Keane says the issue is a “phoney booze debate” concocted by dying media outlets to sell newspapers. He also disagrees with worried parents and the NSW government that “violence is getting worse in Sydney and that alcohol is to blame”.

Keane’s evidence is pretty compelling: rates of assault on licensed Sydney premises have declined since 2007, as have general rates of alcohol-related assaults across the city. But this doesn’t mean that drunken machismo has been entirely wiped from the Cross. I’m reminded of this when I’m approached by a wide-shouldered dude on Bayswater Rd. He is obviously pretty wasted and has a slightly weird look in his eyes.

“You see scuffles in the Cross everywhere. Pushes and shoves. Little wrestles,” he says. The dude gives me a smug look when I ask if that means he feels threatened in Kings Cross. “Nah, not at all. If you can look after yourself, then you can go anywhere,” he says. So, what about the people that can’t look after themselves? Or the ones that don’t see the punches coming? I carefully exit this conversation after he responds. His answer isn’t worth repeating.

The next group of people that I meet have a nicer view of humanity. This is possibly because they’re all high. “Kings Cross is like my home. I don’t feel unsafe here,” says Elise, a 20-year-old that travels from a leafy semi-rural suburb to party at Candy's Apartment every weekend. It’s after 2am, and Elise is now having a quick break between electro sets on Bayswater Rd. She won’t be able to do this under the Sydney lockout: it will ban people from entering venues after 1.30am.

Sitting with Elise and her mates (lead image) on the concrete outside Candy's feels pretty normal (even despite the dude that’s quietly chucking up on himself in the corner). “Everybody thinks our generation is all grogs. But we’re not. We’re all just hanging out with our friends,” says Elise. The cops that are observing the 30-odd concrete stragglers obviously don’t share this sentiment. Elise’s friend Brodie says the whole thing is “bullshit”.

Brodie is wearing a dirty Santa Cruz singlet and reminds me of an ex-boyfriend. He says Sydney’s teenagers are just having fun, and that banning booze past 3am will only lead to more drug use. “Nobody deserves to be king hit. Nobody deserves to die. But I never feel threatened when I come here,” he adds. He ends this nice comment by showing me his favourite tree in Kings Cross.

It’s now 2.30am. There’s a huge crowd outside World Bar, as well as a bunch of security guards in black uniforms. They say they’re banned from speaking to mediabut they admit to being worried about crowd control under the Sydney lockout. Their main concern is that 3am last drinks will coincide with the city’s taxi changeover. This will mean only a few cabs for all the drunk kids leaving their club. This problem is compounded by the lack of trains past 1.30am. (Premier O’Farrell is now promising free buses between Kings Cross and the CBD.)

My last Kings Cross clubbers are also worried about the lack of transport. Zoe and Jade have brightly coloured hair and are wearing crop tops, high-waisted jeans, and loads of awesome crochet. They’re good looking girls and would probably get hassled by enough gross dudes when they go out. Jade says she’s worried about more creeps under the Sydney lockout. “Walking home at 3am or 4am, we’ll be scared because the guys will be all fucked and agro over no more alcohol,” she says.

Zoe has an interesting perspective on the Sydney lockout. Her mum owns a bar, so she sympathises with the hospitality industry. Yet she also has a mate that was randomly stabbed by some drunk dudes in Sydney’s George St last year. “A group of lads just started a fight [and] then next thing a knife was pulled.” I ask her if she’s hopeful for Sydney’s streets. “People are going to be cunts regardless of alcohol or not,” she says.

Follow Emilia on Twitter: @EmiliaKate