"At the Sydney vigil for Cassius Turvey, the emotion was palpable. So was the hurt."

Going to Cassius Turvey's vigil in Sydney, I expected to be moved. And with more than 2,000 people in attendance, the emotion was palpable. So was the hurt. 

It was a vigil filled with stories, candles, tears and powerful words. All to mark the life and death of Cassius Turvey. For myself, a non-Indigenous Australian, it was a space to listen. To acknowledge. And also to learn. 

It began with a Welcome to Country and a smoking ceremony. Photos and posters could be seen throughout the crowd, images of Cassius front and centre. His smile on display for everyone to see. 

As Lizzie Jarrett, the MC of the vigil, said to the crowd: "That boy represented our hopes, our dreams, our future. He represents every single son, every brother, right across this vast continent. And we won't ever forget it."

Another speaker was Nessa Turnbull Roberts. 

"All that Cassius' mum is asking for is love. All she's asking for is for us to acknowledge that children matter. All she's asking is that a child got to come home safe. These stories are not new. This pain is not new. Enough is enough."

Nessa's words filled Town Hall as she stood at the top of the steps. On the steps around her sat dozens and dozens of Indigenous children – some wearing t-shirts with the Aboriginal flag emblazoned on the front, others wearing their school uniforms. All held candles in their hands listening intently to what was being said.

"There are lots of Black mothers here today. Black mothers put this event together. Black mothers bring people together. Black mothers have the same fear for these children that are sitting in front of me right now," Nessa said, who is a Bundjalung Widubul-Wiabul woman.

"What does life mean for them when they get older? And that's why we're here. Because their lives should matter. Listen and amplify First Nations people. Listen to our stories. Listen to our pain and action something from what we are telling you. Because we need our voices heard."

For actor, television presenter and advocate Ernie Dingo, he shared stories about who Cassius was as a person.

Because so often when news stories like these emerge, we forget about the individual behind it all. The fact this boy was only 15.

"For those who have heard little about Cassius, he was not scared of s**t. He was cheeky. He was a mentor to a whole bunch of kids younger than him. He was also a mentor to kids older than him. He would play basketball, they'd have a crack at footy, and he loved everything," Ernie, a Yamatji man, told the crowd.

"His mum was blessed to have this little fella. He had good grounding. He had good family around him."

In his address, Ernie looked around the crowd and paused. You would have been able to hear a pin drop. Then he spoke a truth only First Nations people know all too well. A truth that is based in fear of discrimination. 

"Every Black person will know when I say should danger pull up right next to you and someone said run, you would hit the dirt running. That fear straight way would happen. If cops were to come around that corner right now, Blackfellas would be running the other way to get out of here. It's an automatic reaction. They haven't done anything wrong. We have lost lots of young boys before through hate. We can't lose anymore."

Among the crowd were people you would recognise. Some who are regularly on TV or radio. There were many with their little ones, lots of whom were in their school uniform. It immediately made you think of young Cassius – because he too was wearing his school uniform on that fateful afternoon when he was attacked. 

There were also people from all walks of life – all ages, all genders and all backgrounds. Each there to pay respect to a 15-year-old whose life was terribly cut short. And to also be an ally for First Nations communities. 

What stuck with me was the fact there were very few people on their phones taking videos, like you would often see at other vigils or rallies. Instead, it felt like everyone in that crowd was drawn into the moment – taking in word for word what each speaker said, soaking it all up.

The next speaker was Narelda Jacobs – a proud Whadjuk Noongar woman. 

Earlier this week, Narelda had shared on Studio 10 that Cassius was family to her. Someone she loved, and someone who meant a lot to her and her loved ones. 

"I disclosed publicly that Cassius is my cousin. Messages came flooding in from people, many fairly high-profile Australians as well to say 'I didn't realise he was your cousin, I'm so sorry. Please accept my condolences'. And while that's very lovely, my first thought was that it shouldn't take for Cassius to be related to someone you know to feel grief," Narelda said, as the crowd clapped in avid agreement.

"You should be feeling the grief and the want to change the country that we live in because of our collective humanity. Where is our humanity?"

Gripping an Aboriginal flag in hand, Narelda spoke passionately.

She spoke about her frustration.

But she also spoke about her hope. 

"The Australia that we live in is the Australians we see before us," she said. "We are all here because we are connected by our collective grief and our humanity. And it is Cassius Turvey that has brought us here together. We are an example of the change and the future that we want."

As smoke from the centre rose above the crowd, and Narelda's words sunk in, one thing was clear.

Australians – both Indigenous and non-Indigenous – will not be silent anymore. We are the change. And it's up to us as a collective to make a difference. 

Feature Image: Image: @sarah_hansonyoung Instagram, @narelda_jacobs Instagram, Supplied.