On an ordinary wintry night in June, the Canberra suburb of Kingston is usually quiet, save for some Commonwealth cars, a handful of pub-goers and shivering locals. However, the night of June 26 was anything but ordinary.

In the shadows of Manuka Oval, within the foyer of an upmarket hotel, history was happening. Crowds had flocked, streets were lined with cars and news media from all corners of the globe were excitedly gathered. 

All were there for one reason — the chance to catch a glimpse of one man, Julian Assange. The only thing is: he was nowhere to be found.

The guessing game of ‘Where is Assange? And will he speak at all?’ was the most played of the evening.  Speculations swirled about covert meetings with the Prime Minister, Australian Defence Force personnel at Assange’s private property, and doubts over whether he was even still in Canberra at all. One person’s guess was as good as the next. 

Outside, where reporters set up to broadcast the finale of one of the most public and protracted legal battles in the 21^st century, the icy stillness of the night was occasionally pierced by the cheers from within the infamous Kingston Hotel across the road. 

"The Kingo", as it is endearingly known by frequenters of the establishment, was playing host to many invested rugby fans, who while enthralled by the State of Origin showdown, were oblivious to the pandemonium unfolding just across the road.

There, inside the East Hotel, the anticipation was palpable. With every door that opened, a swarm eagerly arose with camera flashes and microphones at the ready, surging towards the door, only to be disappointed at the sight of hotel workers going about their nightly duties. 

Such antics continued until just after 9:15pm, when the door opened yet again, but this time to reveal what everyone had been waiting for. 

Through the door emerged Assange's spokespeople: Australian human rights lawyer Jennifer Robinson, American defence lawyer Barry Pollack and Assange’s wife and human rights lawyer Stella Assange.  

Steely in their demeanour, they pushed their way through the masses, like soldiers entering the fray. Akin to the Taylor Swift concert-goers earlier this year, vying for a chance to get close to their hero, hundreds of supporters pushed and shoved for a sight of Assange’s team. 

Many jostled to try to enter the press room and security were forced to tackle supporters and some members of the press out of the way. Even when the doors were locked, their determination to witness a slice of history remained unwavering. 

The journey for this contingent of lawyers had begun early Wednesday morning in London, with stops in Bangkok and Saipan before an eventual arrival in Canberra by the early evening. After a physically and emotionally taxing 24 hours, the three looked exhausted. 

Among those gathered were political figures, with more than 15 MPs in attendance, including Labor MP and co-chair of the Bring Julian Assange Home Parliamentary Group Josh Burns, Greens MP Max Chandler-Mather, Senators Jordon Steele-John, and Peter Whish-Wilson and Independent Teal MP Helen Haines.

President of the Australia Palestine Advocacy Network, Nasser Mashini, was also there showing support, along with a group of pro-Palestinian protestors, who sang a chorus of chants at various times throughout the evening.

As the press conference began and the temperature in the shoebox press room soared, Robinson was clear from the outset that while victory was won for Assange, this did not equate to triumph for freedom of the press.

"This is journalism, this is the criminalisation of journalism. It is important that Australian journalists know what precedent this now sets," she said. 

Robinson thanked Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and shared that Assange had told the PM in an earlier phone call that he had "saved his life". 

"It was the global movement to protect free speech that was founded around Julian, and it is that movement that has led to his release today,” she said.

The injustice in the Assange case was further emphasised by Pollack, who was critical of the US Department of Justice's prosecution of Assange, and the basis on which their case was built upon.

"It is unprecedented in the United States to use the Espionage Act to criminally prosecute a journalist or publisher,” he said.

“In more than a hundred years of this law, it has never been used in this fashion.”

But ultimately, Stella Assange’s words carried the greatest impact that night. She appeared shaky but assured in her speech, regularly turning to Robinson for reassurance before answering. Despite this hesitancy, when she spoke it resonated with power. 

Assange shared her tremendous gratitude towards both major political parties but particularly the Prime Minister. She also expressed her appreciation for the Australian people who, she said, created the political landscape for such an outcome to be possible.

Assange also implored the community to remain patient with her husband and family, and to allow them time as Julian re-settles into life in Australia.

"I ask you please to give us space, give us privacy, to find our place and so that our family can be a family, so that he can speak again at a time of his choosing," she said.

When asked about the possibility of a pardon for her husband, she was certain that that should occur, when the right time came. 

Assange concluded her speech with a potent caution on the precarious future of journalism.

"Freedom of the press is in a very dangerous place. The dropping of all charges against Julian would have been the only good outcome for the press," she said.

"The press are now in a position as vulnerable as Julian has been."

The three then departed into the sea of supporters. 

But in the aftermath, as the crowd was dispersing, there remained the figure of a hunched over, bearded man with his right arm in a tight sling. It was John Shipton, the father of Julian Assange. 

Shipton moved throughout the foyer casually, greeting fans with a laid-back demeanour. He received gifts from admirers and even posed for a group chant with pro-Palestinian protestors. 

In one of the few interviews Shipton agreed to that evening, he shared his concerns about the American justice system and the treatment his son had received. 

"We were concerned Julian may not get the protection of the constitution, and therefore be exposed. The judges asked for sureties and those weren't given," Shipton said.

"This indicates that the courts conformed to state interests when the matter is bigger than states." 

As the crowd subsided and supporters disappeared into the cold Canberra night, the game of where Assange was continued, but the feeling in the air was that what had been witnessed was monumental — a moment in history to be looked back on for years to come.