I knew it was the right thing to do.
There had been an injustice committed and now was the time to protest.
I was one of thousands who turned up and that number alone suggested our cause was worthwhile and necessary.
Around me men and women carried placards, most with crudely written words all expressing outrage over what had happened.
I had decided to make a stand. Support for a cause was a valid reason for being here and around me I could sense the energy of the crowd growing by the second.
Already chants were going up, placards were being waved and within seconds I felt the mass of people began to move like some giant organic beast.
We made our way through the city streets, along the way police lined the route ready to deal with any lawlessness.
We gathered ultimately in the city square and by the time I arrived the speeches had begun.
There were calls for justice, and change.
The speakers were greeted with howls of support and I felt myself being pushed forward as though a huge human wave had come from behind and I had no other recourse than to go with the surge of mankind.
By days end I was exhausted. Some around me displayed an endless enthusiasm starting up songs and one group burned an effigy of the Prime Minister much to the delight of those nearby.
I eventually made my way out of the throng, and headed for the train station. Around me among my fellow protestors was an air of satisfaction as the protest had gone off peacefully and we had made our point.
It was later I learned that some radicals had engaged the police in physical confrontations, which led to arrests and some protestors and police being injured. Those actions ruined the day for me, as that was all you heard about the next day.
I knew from my experience that today was not my last day of protest.