‘Excuse me. I've killed my wife': The ongoing menace of forced marriage in Australia
It's hard at first to make sense of the video. Filmed on a phone, it opens on a car clock: 12.56pm. In Arabic, the man filming says this video is evidence, though ultimately he doesn't need evidence because 'it's my life and I have my authority, whatever I do'. By now, he says, his wife should be awake and preparing food. Still filming, he gets out of the car and goes inside his Perth unit. He captures some dirty pots on the stove. 'No food, either,' he complains. Then he films his wife, lying on the bed, asleep.
The man taking this video, on January 17, 2020, is Mohammad Ali Halimi, then 25. Halimi, an Afghani refugee, is working as an Uber driver and Halal-method chicken slaughterer. His sleeping wife is another Afghani refugee, Ruqia Haidari, 21, who had lived for six years in the Victorian regional hub of Shepparton, two hours north of Melbourne. Eight months before this video was taken, Haidari was excited about finishing year 12 and had plans to go to university. She dreamt of being a flight attendant. She told a friend that she didn't want to get married until she was 27 or 28 and only then to someone she 'really loved'. But her mother had other plans.
'Excuse me,' he said, after waiting patiently for the front desk officer. 'I've killed my wife.'
Her mother, Sakina Muhammad Jan, pressured Haidari to marry Halimi against her will. When the couple flew to Perth to begin their married lives on November 20, 2019, Haidari found herself isolated and living with a virtual stranger with whom she did not want to be intimate. Halimi, meanwhile, was devastated that his wife was not behaving as he expected, and so he made the 'evidence' video as a complaint to Haidari's family.
The next day, during a fight, Halimi took a 35-centimetre knife to her throat and sliced it twice, killing her in the kitchen. Her brother, Taqi Haidari, told police that Halimi then called him and said: 'If you are a man, come and get the dead body of your sister.' With blood on his hands and clothes, Halimi then walked into a police station. 'Excuse me,' he said, after waiting patiently for the front desk officer. 'I've killed my wife.' Halimi pleaded guilty to murder and was sentenced in 2021 to life imprisonment with a minimum 19-year parole period.
Ruqia Haidari's tragic death put the Australian Federal Police in an interesting position. In August 2019, AFP officers had met with her in Shepparton after her school had notified them that she did not want to get married. They offered to talk to her mother but she refused, saying it would be unhelpful. But after Haidari's murder, the AFP – which had never had a successful prosecution of a forced-marriage case – raided Muhammad Jan's home in October 2020 and later charged her with causing a person to enter a forced marriage (their investigation also discovered Muhammad Jan had received a $14,000 dowry from Halimi).
In an upcoming episode of the AFP's podcast Crime Interrupted, which was provided to Good Weekend, investigators explain that they thought a conviction against Muhammad Jan would set a precedent and deter others. It was also, says Detective Inspector Trevor Russell, 'an opportunity for Ruqia's voice to be heard'. But for many working on the forced-marriage problem, this was a low point. University of Wollongong criminologist Laura Vidal, who did her PhD on forced marriage, says the criminal justice system scapegoated one person within a complex dynamic. 'Nothing happened to the matchmaker, or the brothers, or the community or the 500 people who attended the wedding,' says Vidal.
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Muhammad Jan was, like her daughter, a forced-marriage victim. At age 12 or 13, she married a fellow Afghani she'd never met. She gave birth to her first child in her early teens. She came to Australia as a refugee with four of her children in 2013 after the Taliban killed her husband. She was uneducated, spoke no English and heavily relied on Shepparton's Hazara community which, says Vidal, would have expected her, as a mother, to uphold her family's reputation and find a match for her unmarried daughter.
Last year, in the Victorian County Court, Muhammad Jan was found guilty of causing a person to enter a forced marriage and sentenced to three years' jail with a one-year minimum. The court had heard how she developed serious depression after her daughter's murder and often dreamt of her calling out for help. At her sentencing, Muhammad Jan cried and told the judge, via an interpreter, that she'd done nothing wrong. Between 15 and 20 members of the Hazara community attended court that day, many also shouting and getting out of their seats. One collapsed and was taken away in an ambulance. 'It was the most dynamic scene I've ever seen in 11 years,' the AFP's detective senior constable Jacob Purcell told the podcast. The AFP had wanted Haidari's voice heard. But we'll never know what she would have said that day, watching her mother go to prison.
For Vidal, the prosecution was proof that the criminalisation approach to force marriage had failed. 'We've got one prosecution in 12 years that was only possible because the victim died. Are we really happy with that?' She has studied various approaches to forced marriage globally and concluded that the best model is not our model – which she calls 'the victim-perpetrator binary' – it's understanding the cultural drivers and gender power dynamics of forced marriage, and working with families to shift behaviours. Danish experts are now setting up a trial of this approach at Life Without Barriers.
Nesreen Bottriell, chief executive officer of the Australian Muslim Women's Centre for Human Rights, says the Muhammad Jan case has further damaged the relationship between Muslim communities and authorities. 'The community was shocked by this outcome. It's going to deter victim-survivors from seeking support for fear of their mother or family members being prosecuted.' Bottriell, whose organisation is one of the services victim-survivors can now use as an alternative to the AFP, says she feels authorities overly target the Muslim community on this issue and fail to consider other religions and communities. She says forced marriage is not religiously sanctioned by Islam. 'It's about power and control over women's decision-making.'
Ben Moses, the AFP's acting commander for human exploitation, declined to directly respond to Bottriell's criticism. He says the AFP's focus isn't purely on prosecution, but also prevention through community education and giving victims choice. 'As we know, not everyone wants to engage in the criminal justice process and we acknowledge that.'
Constable Taylah Potter, a Melbourne-based forced-marriage investigator, says in the past six months she's noticed a positive attitude shift, with more young people feeling empowered to discuss the issue with figures of authority. When I ask how she feels about her job, she says it's easy to get caught up in statistics and court outcomes, but then she'll help a 16-year-old at risk of forced marriage and 'it just completely changes the path of their life.'
The joy of freedom
Miriam serves me chocolate-covered pretzels, mini samosas and chai. She's wearing black pants, a smart, black short-sleeved top and lipstick. Her neat, one-bedroom rented unit is small, but it's hers. 'I never knew this concept, I don't know how to explain, just having basics, like having utensils, pots. And then when you move to a house, the bin schedule! Oh, my god, I hate that schedule. And cleaning. Proper cleaning, but with love.' Freedom for Miriam and Khadija is about choice. This rug, not that rug. Take this course, not that one. Go outside.
Freedom. That's the upside of escaping forced marriage. The downside? It's that gaping hole left where a family once was. Miriam misses her beloved brother. Stealthily, she tracks him on social media. 'I'm trying to see if he would give any indication he wants me back in his life. If that's the case, I would take him in my arms.'
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For Khadija, it's her sister, still overseas. Khadija is hopeful she'll not join the estimated 22 million people stuck in forced marriages globally. Recently, Khadija's been thinking about a moment before she left. Her father had brought two peaches. 'I think one of his love languages was definitely fruit,' she laughs. Khadija told him the peach was so sweet. The next day he brought a whole tray and said she could have as many as she liked. 'I just can't forget that. I'm like, 'How can you be such a good person and such a shitty person at the same time?' '
Meanwhile, Miriam is studying healthcare. She's got her flat, her licence, a job and a car. One day, she may even marry. 'I thought men were just heartless, cold, like, not giving any rights to women. Now that I'm outside I'm seeing my friends in their relationships, and it's different. It's caring, it's loving.' I ask about her big dreams for the future. She looks momentarily confused. 'This is what I was dreaming about. I'm there, right now.'
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The Age
4 hours ago
- The Age
‘Got to stand your ground': Ex-bikie blasts former CFMEU bosses
When feared ex-bikie enforcer Jonny 'Two Guns' Walker discovered himself suddenly persona non grata among the union bosses he once called 'brother', one word sprang to mind. Betrayal. The way the convicted criminal and champion boxer saw it, CFMEU chiefs previously eager to bestow the union's industrial might on hard gangland types like him were now sacrificing them to save their own skins. Adding insult to injury was the posturing of outgoing union bosses like John Setka, who posted photos getting a bikie-style tattoo around his neck after abandoning his post as Victorian secretary. Setka quit on the eve of the Building Bad investigation breaking – which exposed underworld infiltration of the union – hoping his departure would suppress the scandal. 'I would say he's try-hard,' Walker says of Setka. 'The tattoo's probably a bit much, isn't it? When you're stepping away? It's like leaving a biker club and getting a tattoo on the next day. Doesn't make much sense.' If Setka hoped to rule from afar while working on as industry consultant, he failed miserably. His acolytes in the CFMEU's executive ranks were sacked around the country and the union plunged into administration. Walker's beef is with the way these now ex-union bosses turned on men like him. Having placed Walker, alongside other former and serving bikie bosses, in positions of union power and influence on the biggest commercial construction and Allan government projects in Victoria, he says they were owed a measure of support. 'Obviously, the pressure got too much,' says Walker. 'End of the day, we shouldn't be pushed over because the government thinks I shouldn't be on a Big Build job. It was just a witch hunt … to break down a powerful union.' Walker, who was jailed for manslaughter over a fatal bashing in a bikie clubhouse, derides these now ex-union bosses as plastic gangsters. 'Do they think they're gangsters? Maybe at home after they've watched The Godfather or something a couple of times,' he says. Where Walker and some of the exiled union bosses may agree is the insistence that men of his ilk can rightly work as CFMEU health and safety representatives or organisers. Walker insists that after serving his eight years' jail — for his role in a bashing that began over a dispute over a dog called 'Trouble' — and severing ties with the Bandidos, for whom he served as club enforcer or sergeant-at-arms, his background as a tradesman and passion for unionism and upholding building industry safety made him an ideal CFMEU workplace health delegate. 'I understand people can raise eyebrows, but my knowledge of the construction site was much more than just bashing someone to death in the clubhouse,' he says. Loading 'I was never hired because I was an ex-Bandido. I was never hired because I was an ex-boxer. I was hired off a resume as a fitter and turner by trade. 'I'd worked since I was 14 to 30 years old, ended up in trouble, ended up in jail. But the truth is, I'd done all my courses, OH&S courses.' It's true Walker can be charming when he tries. He stresses he's now a family man who cares for his teenage son and the two young children of his new partner, Jess. Workers and bosses on the Big Build Hurstbridge Rail Upgrade project where Walker worked as a union delegate also say he never threatened them with violence or asked for a bribe. And yet if Walker is anything, it's scary. It's not just his past or unflinching disposition. He oozes menace. His Two Guns nickname comes from his boxing career where he has fought more than 100 rounds. Before his exclusive interview with this masthead and 60 Minutes, Walker had repeatedly taken to social media to call this reporter a 'dog'. When Walker was identified on national television as one of a host of ex and serving bikies, including Bandidos, Rebels, Mongols, and Hells Angels, who had been parachuted by the CFMEU into powerful well-paid delegate roles, he posted an Instagram threat of violence directed towards me. In the interview, Walker insisted this was justified because the public scrutiny was unjust – especially claims by the CFMEU administration's chief investigator, Geoffrey Watson, SC, that Walker, and other ex and serving bikies, were recruited by union bosses as muscle and as tools for warring CFMEU factions. 'You got on national TV with Geoffrey Watson, ran my name into the mud,' he said. 'So I run my life a little bit like a union. I stand up for what's right, so anyone gets on TV and you know, puts me down. You know what I mean? That's, at the time, that's how I felt.' Pushed about whether his criminal record of extreme violence should have ruled him out as a union health and safety representative on a government project, Walker responds: 'Well, if you were a boss, would you do things unsafe if I come told you not to?' Loading Asked about whether it was appropriate for a violent and erratic criminal linked to the Rebels to be given a job on the Big Build (this particular bikie figure got his job because his uncle held a senior union position), Walker says: 'Well, that bloke there worked alongside me and he was damn good. He's done his job to exactly how he had to do it.' Walker was, by all accounts (this masthead spoke to eight Hurstbridge project workers about Walker on the condition of anonymity) the nicest of a three-man roving CFMEU delegate team on the project. If Walker is reformed, his other two health and safety representatives are not. Before they, too, were sacked, one was juggling his union duties with his role as a bikie-gang affiliated standover man accused of threatening subcontractors and others with violence. The third CFMEU delegate on the Hurstbridge Line Project was pushed out of the union for allegedly bashing a fellow union delegate with a metal pipe. Walker will not say an ill word about these two former comrades. Asked about the alleged bashing, Walker points out it did not happen on a work site, before querying whether it happened at all (the assault is allegedly caught on CCTV). Pressed about whether violence should be condemned wherever it occurs, Walker offers this: 'Well, if someone breaks into my house, they're gonna get, they're gonna get a rude awakening, aren't they?' Loading In contrast with Watson, Walker sees no pattern in the influx of bikie gang-linked figures into the union. Instead, he sees hard men with an ability to hold unreasonable bosses to account and protect workers. 'You don't need an ex-biker or an ex-boxer there. You need a man that's gonna stand on his own two feet and know right from wrong,' he says. Walker stands largely alone in his defence of ex-gangland figures being appointed as union delegates. Even his strongest supporters in the union privately say that while Walker may well be genuinely committed to reform, and also made strides in promoting a program for young offenders on the Big Build, the union ultimately set him up to fail by giving him a job as a health and safety delegate. 'They should have put him on the tools for a few years. Maybe then you look at a delegate's role,' says one experienced union insider. 'But the [now sacked union] bosses didn't want Walker and the other boys [ex-bikies] as genuine delegates. They wanted to build crews of tough guys for their own powerbases and no one thought about what would happen if anyone started asking questions.' What happened next is now part of Australian industrial and political history, albeit one that is still being written. Walker was not only forced off the Big Build but then from a non-union role secured for him by the Australian Workers Union on a major wind farm project. The construction industry is undergoing once-in-a-generation reform. The state government last year introduced laws it said would prevent bikies from working on its sites. Federal and state police are investigating organised crime links to the CFMEU and wider building sector, but it's unclear if authorities have the capacity to confront the problems, as highlighted by a spate of recent unsolved firebombings. The union's administrator, Mark Irving, is attempting to rebuild a new corruption-free industrial force, but it's slow work that is being constantly undermined by forces inside and out of the CFMEU. While Setka and his senior union cronies are gone from their jobs, they are still wielding influence from the sidelines. This masthead and 60 Minutes has confirmed that several influential union organisers who played a role in recruiting bikies still work for Irving. They include Paul Tzimas, a previous promoter of certain Mongols bikie heavies. Tzimas didn't comment when contacted and it's unclear if he was merely following orders from others when he pushed bikie gang-linked figures onto companies. If Walker remains a lone public voice defending the appointment of men like him to union delegate roles, he is one of many, from the premier down, now denouncing the conduct of the ex-union chiefs who put them there in the first place. These critics may not agree on much, save for the view that whatever political and factional machinations were at play, it was the self-interest and ego of ex-CFMEU leaders that poisoned a once proud and powerful union. 'I think they betrayed themself,' Walker says. 'They were definitely more worried about themselves than us.'
Sydney Morning Herald
4 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘Got to stand your ground': Ex-bikie blasts former CFMEU bosses
When feared ex-bikie enforcer Jonny 'Two Guns' Walker discovered himself suddenly persona non grata among the union bosses he once called 'brother', one word sprang to mind. Betrayal. The way the convicted criminal and champion boxer saw it, CFMEU chiefs previously eager to bestow the union's industrial might on hard gangland types like him were now sacrificing them to save their own skins. Adding insult to injury was the posturing of outgoing union bosses like John Setka, who posted photos getting a bikie-style tattoo around his neck after abandoning his post as Victorian secretary. Setka quit on the eve of the Building Bad investigation breaking – which exposed underworld infiltration of the union – hoping his departure would suppress the scandal. 'I would say he's try-hard,' Walker says of Setka. 'The tattoo's probably a bit much, isn't it? When you're stepping away? It's like leaving a biker club and getting a tattoo on the next day. Doesn't make much sense.' If Setka hoped to rule from afar while working on as industry consultant, he failed miserably. His acolytes in the CFMEU's executive ranks were sacked around the country and the union plunged into administration. Walker's beef is with the way these now ex-union bosses turned on men like him. Having placed Walker, alongside other former and serving bikie bosses, in positions of union power and influence on the biggest commercial construction and Allan government projects in Victoria, he says they were owed a measure of support. 'Obviously, the pressure got too much,' says Walker. 'End of the day, we shouldn't be pushed over because the government thinks I shouldn't be on a Big Build job. It was just a witch hunt … to break down a powerful union.' Walker, who was jailed for manslaughter over a fatal bashing in a bikie clubhouse, derides these now ex-union bosses as plastic gangsters. 'Do they think they're gangsters? Maybe at home after they've watched The Godfather or something a couple of times,' he says. Where Walker and some of the exiled union bosses may agree is the insistence that men of his ilk can rightly work as CFMEU health and safety representatives or organisers. Walker insists that after serving his eight years' jail — for his role in a bashing that began over a dispute over a dog called 'Trouble' — and severing ties with the Bandidos, for whom he served as club enforcer or sergeant-at-arms, his background as a tradesman and passion for unionism and upholding building industry safety made him an ideal CFMEU workplace health delegate. 'I understand people can raise eyebrows, but my knowledge of the construction site was much more than just bashing someone to death in the clubhouse,' he says. Loading 'I was never hired because I was an ex-Bandido. I was never hired because I was an ex-boxer. I was hired off a resume as a fitter and turner by trade. 'I'd worked since I was 14 to 30 years old, ended up in trouble, ended up in jail. But the truth is, I'd done all my courses, OH&S courses.' It's true Walker can be charming when he tries. He stresses he's now a family man who cares for his teenage son and the two young children of his new partner, Jess. Workers and bosses on the Big Build Hurstbridge Rail Upgrade project where Walker worked as a union delegate also say he never threatened them with violence or asked for a bribe. And yet if Walker is anything, it's scary. It's not just his past or unflinching disposition. He oozes menace. His Two Guns nickname comes from his boxing career where he has fought more than 100 rounds. Before his exclusive interview with this masthead and 60 Minutes, Walker had repeatedly taken to social media to call this reporter a 'dog'. When Walker was identified on national television as one of a host of ex and serving bikies, including Bandidos, Rebels, Mongols, and Hells Angels, who had been parachuted by the CFMEU into powerful well-paid delegate roles, he posted an Instagram threat of violence directed towards me. In the interview, Walker insisted this was justified because the public scrutiny was unjust – especially claims by the CFMEU administration's chief investigator, Geoffrey Watson, SC, that Walker, and other ex and serving bikies, were recruited by union bosses as muscle and as tools for warring CFMEU factions. 'You got on national TV with Geoffrey Watson, ran my name into the mud,' he said. 'So I run my life a little bit like a union. I stand up for what's right, so anyone gets on TV and you know, puts me down. You know what I mean? That's, at the time, that's how I felt.' Pushed about whether his criminal record of extreme violence should have ruled him out as a union health and safety representative on a government project, Walker responds: 'Well, if you were a boss, would you do things unsafe if I come told you not to?' Loading Asked about whether it was appropriate for a violent and erratic criminal linked to the Rebels to be given a job on the Big Build (this particular bikie figure got his job because his uncle held a senior union position), Walker says: 'Well, that bloke there worked alongside me and he was damn good. He's done his job to exactly how he had to do it.' Walker was, by all accounts (this masthead spoke to eight Hurstbridge project workers about Walker on the condition of anonymity) the nicest of a three-man roving CFMEU delegate team on the project. If Walker is reformed, his other two health and safety representatives are not. Before they, too, were sacked, one was juggling his union duties with his role as a bikie-gang affiliated standover man accused of threatening subcontractors and others with violence. The third CFMEU delegate on the Hurstbridge Line Project was pushed out of the union for allegedly bashing a fellow union delegate with a metal pipe. Walker will not say an ill word about these two former comrades. Asked about the alleged bashing, Walker points out it did not happen on a work site, before querying whether it happened at all (the assault is allegedly caught on CCTV). Pressed about whether violence should be condemned wherever it occurs, Walker offers this: 'Well, if someone breaks into my house, they're gonna get, they're gonna get a rude awakening, aren't they?' Loading In contrast with Watson, Walker sees no pattern in the influx of bikie gang-linked figures into the union. Instead, he sees hard men with an ability to hold unreasonable bosses to account and protect workers. 'You don't need an ex-biker or an ex-boxer there. You need a man that's gonna stand on his own two feet and know right from wrong,' he says. Walker stands largely alone in his defence of ex-gangland figures being appointed as union delegates. Even his strongest supporters in the union privately say that while Walker may well be genuinely committed to reform, and also made strides in promoting a program for young offenders on the Big Build, the union ultimately set him up to fail by giving him a job as a health and safety delegate. 'They should have put him on the tools for a few years. Maybe then you look at a delegate's role,' says one experienced union insider. 'But the [now sacked union] bosses didn't want Walker and the other boys [ex-bikies] as genuine delegates. They wanted to build crews of tough guys for their own powerbases and no one thought about what would happen if anyone started asking questions.' What happened next is now part of Australian industrial and political history, albeit one that is still being written. Walker was not only forced off the Big Build but then from a non-union role secured for him by the Australian Workers Union on a major wind farm project. The construction industry is undergoing once-in-a-generation reform. The state government last year introduced laws it said would prevent bikies from working on its sites. Federal and state police are investigating organised crime links to the CFMEU and wider building sector, but it's unclear if authorities have the capacity to confront the problems, as highlighted by a spate of recent unsolved firebombings. The union's administrator, Mark Irving, is attempting to rebuild a new corruption-free industrial force, but it's slow work that is being constantly undermined by forces inside and out of the CFMEU. While Setka and his senior union cronies are gone from their jobs, they are still wielding influence from the sidelines. This masthead and 60 Minutes has confirmed that several influential union organisers who played a role in recruiting bikies still work for Irving. They include Paul Tzimas, a previous promoter of certain Mongols bikie heavies. Tzimas didn't comment when contacted and it's unclear if he was merely following orders from others when he pushed bikie gang-linked figures onto companies. If Walker remains a lone public voice defending the appointment of men like him to union delegate roles, he is one of many, from the premier down, now denouncing the conduct of the ex-union chiefs who put them there in the first place. These critics may not agree on much, save for the view that whatever political and factional machinations were at play, it was the self-interest and ego of ex-CFMEU leaders that poisoned a once proud and powerful union. 'I think they betrayed themself,' Walker says. 'They were definitely more worried about themselves than us.'
The Advertiser
9 hours ago
- The Advertiser
Police stand firm on show of force at soccer final
Police are making no apologies for a heavy handed approach around the A-League grand final, after one officer was hospitalised and flares were thrown at the crowd. Heavily armed officers, riot police and the mounted branch were part of a visible show of force from Victoria Police for the match between Melbourne City and Melbourne Victory at AAMI Park on Saturday night. Police reported a generally positive atmosphere at the match with 11 evictions, four penalty notices and one arrest for an alleged assault on a security guard. Despite good behaviour inside AAMI Park, CBD Acting Commander Zorka Dunstan said incidents before the match in nearby Swan Street involved supporters throwing flares at police, and into the crowd, as they marched to the venue. Over 20 flares were set off before the match, and six within AAMI Park. One police officer was taken to hospital after he was kicked by an unknown offender in Swan Street, requiring his jaw to be glued back together. That matter is still being investigated. Commander Dunstan said police efforts were bolstered ahead of the match because of past experience and other intelligence. "We were expecting concerning behaviours, and we were pleased to see that the vast majority of people were acting fantastically," the senior officer told reporters on Sunday. "Only a couple of months so we had an affray between these active supporter groups - that's concerning for us, and we have an obligation to respond." Victorian police minister Anthony Carbines said A-League Grand Finals sometimes had a history of being "troubled". "I make no apologies for having a very strong police presence," Mr Carbines said on Sunday. "Past behaviour is often an indicator of future behaviour, and while the main behaviour was good, there will always be incidents." Melbourne City beat Melbourne Victory 1-0 in a scrappy win in the first ever Melbourne derby grand final. The crowd of 29,902 was a sporting record crowd at the venue. The league and both clubs have been contacted for comment. Police are making no apologies for a heavy handed approach around the A-League grand final, after one officer was hospitalised and flares were thrown at the crowd. Heavily armed officers, riot police and the mounted branch were part of a visible show of force from Victoria Police for the match between Melbourne City and Melbourne Victory at AAMI Park on Saturday night. Police reported a generally positive atmosphere at the match with 11 evictions, four penalty notices and one arrest for an alleged assault on a security guard. Despite good behaviour inside AAMI Park, CBD Acting Commander Zorka Dunstan said incidents before the match in nearby Swan Street involved supporters throwing flares at police, and into the crowd, as they marched to the venue. Over 20 flares were set off before the match, and six within AAMI Park. One police officer was taken to hospital after he was kicked by an unknown offender in Swan Street, requiring his jaw to be glued back together. That matter is still being investigated. Commander Dunstan said police efforts were bolstered ahead of the match because of past experience and other intelligence. "We were expecting concerning behaviours, and we were pleased to see that the vast majority of people were acting fantastically," the senior officer told reporters on Sunday. "Only a couple of months so we had an affray between these active supporter groups - that's concerning for us, and we have an obligation to respond." Victorian police minister Anthony Carbines said A-League Grand Finals sometimes had a history of being "troubled". "I make no apologies for having a very strong police presence," Mr Carbines said on Sunday. "Past behaviour is often an indicator of future behaviour, and while the main behaviour was good, there will always be incidents." Melbourne City beat Melbourne Victory 1-0 in a scrappy win in the first ever Melbourne derby grand final. The crowd of 29,902 was a sporting record crowd at the venue. The league and both clubs have been contacted for comment. Police are making no apologies for a heavy handed approach around the A-League grand final, after one officer was hospitalised and flares were thrown at the crowd. Heavily armed officers, riot police and the mounted branch were part of a visible show of force from Victoria Police for the match between Melbourne City and Melbourne Victory at AAMI Park on Saturday night. Police reported a generally positive atmosphere at the match with 11 evictions, four penalty notices and one arrest for an alleged assault on a security guard. Despite good behaviour inside AAMI Park, CBD Acting Commander Zorka Dunstan said incidents before the match in nearby Swan Street involved supporters throwing flares at police, and into the crowd, as they marched to the venue. Over 20 flares were set off before the match, and six within AAMI Park. One police officer was taken to hospital after he was kicked by an unknown offender in Swan Street, requiring his jaw to be glued back together. That matter is still being investigated. Commander Dunstan said police efforts were bolstered ahead of the match because of past experience and other intelligence. "We were expecting concerning behaviours, and we were pleased to see that the vast majority of people were acting fantastically," the senior officer told reporters on Sunday. "Only a couple of months so we had an affray between these active supporter groups - that's concerning for us, and we have an obligation to respond." Victorian police minister Anthony Carbines said A-League Grand Finals sometimes had a history of being "troubled". "I make no apologies for having a very strong police presence," Mr Carbines said on Sunday. "Past behaviour is often an indicator of future behaviour, and while the main behaviour was good, there will always be incidents." Melbourne City beat Melbourne Victory 1-0 in a scrappy win in the first ever Melbourne derby grand final. The crowd of 29,902 was a sporting record crowd at the venue. The league and both clubs have been contacted for comment.
