by Vera Loy
Refugee
Author’s Note. This story was written about an issue which is close to my heart and very topical in Australia at present.
“What sort of woman would put her child on a dirty boat and risk their life to get to Australia? That’s certainly not my definition of a good mother!” The large white woman with a double chin and small eyes smiled virtuously at the camera.
A middle-aged white man wearing a dark suit with a blue silk tie, and a receding hairline, chimed in earnestly. “What I want to know is, why don’t they wait their turn, like everybody else instead of jumping the queue?”
The third person on the panel, another white man in a suit and an angry face, nodded in agreement. “And at least half of them‒maybe more‒aren’t real refugees in any case. More like illegal economic migrants!” he asserted.
“Uh, it’s not actually illegal to come to Australia and seek asylum,” offered the moderator tentatively, with little effect. The man with the blue tie flashed him an impatient look but the other two ignored him completely, settling in for a good discussion. Although ‘discussion’ was hardly the right word as they all seemed to agree with each other, the only points of difference were in their suggestions of how to tackle the ‘problem’.
Joseph sat forward on his couch, his face tight with disbelief. How could these people say those things?
Queue? What queue? He felt confused. He knew that queuing was important to Australians, he had learnt that very early on after his arrival. They queued in shops and lined up neatly at bus stops and waited their turn to board. But he had seen no queue in Jaya, his country’s capital. There wasn’t even an Australian consulate there, so how could there be a queue?
And that woman, who had talked so disparagingly about other women. What did she know about it? He felt an angry knot grow, hard and painful in his stomach. His thoughts flew to little Nonti, safe and happy now with a family from the local church which supported them.
He remembered the agony on his sister’s face as she had thrust Nonti into his arms, hoping, praying she was doing the right thing. Lanisha had kept a brave face for her child’s sake, but he knew she would have sobbed her heart out after they left.
His thoughts returned again to the day that had changed their lives forever.
He had crept into the small hut, in the dark, panting from the effort he had made to run all the way. His sister was waiting with wide eyes, her hands clasped together, waiting and dreading the news he was bringing.
“Lani? Fifteen years! Harry got fifteen years!” He still hadn’t quite believed it. “Just for waving the flag at a demonstration!”
“You’re lying!” she had protested, although she knew he wasn’t.
He shook his head.
“I have to see him!” she said, desperation in her voice. “I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll take Nonti, they’ll have to let us see him!”
He didn’t think they would, but she wouldn’t listen. He went on.
“They’re after me, too. They’ve got my photo, from the demonstration.” He knew the fear showed in his voice but he couldn’t help it. Fifteen years! He was only eighteen, his whole life supposedly ahead of him, his dreams of becoming a teacher wiped away in a few minutes.
Lanisha could only stare at him as her whole world fell apart. Her husband was in jail, she couldn’t bear it if her brother was imprisoned too. She hadn’t even begun to think how she and Nonti would survive without Harry and Joseph there to catch fish and help with the vegetable plot.
“There’s a boat,” said Joseph, sounding excited for the first time. “A group of guys have been getting a boat together to go to Australia, to seek political asylum. I was speaking to one of them earlier.” He paused and held her gaze. “I’m going with them, Lani. There’s room for you and Nonti if you want to come.”
“What boat?” Lani had struggled to understand, still reeling from the shock of the news that her husband wasn’t coming home, not for fifteen years.
“It’s a canoe, a big canoe. It’s not far to Australia, there’s room for about thirty people. I’ve got a spot and there’s room for you and Nonti. Come with me! We’ll be safe in Australia.”
“Australia?” It sounded so far away to someone who had only ventured a few kilometres away from home in her entire life. “I can’t leave Harry,” she protested. “He needs me.”
“Harry’s in jail!” Joseph had stated with brutal honesty. “They probably won’t even let you visit him, unless you have money to pay for it.”
But he wasn’t surprised when Lanisha set off at dawn for Jaya, Nonti tucked safely in a sling on her back.
Hastily, he packed the few small items he wanted, then hid in the jungle. He didn’t want to be in the village if the soldiers came looking.
He had returned to the village almost at the same time as a weary and dispirited Lani. Both of them stared in dismay at the ruins of the village they had left intact only hours before. Soldiers had taken what they could use and destroyed the rest. Two men had been killed defending their homes and the rest of the villagers had fled into the jungle.
Beyond tears, Lani turned to him and gave him the sling carrying Nonti, “Here, Joseph! Take her with you! I have to stay here with Harry, but take the baby with you.”
Joseph wiped his eyes at the memory. He glared at the people on the screen. Why were they saying those terrible things? Those lies? Didn’t they have any compassion? Any humanity?
No, they didn’t. The answer was as simple as that. In their eyes, he and Nonti‒even Lanisha grieving far away in another country‒weren’t people. They were problems or statistics, plastic figures without faces or feelings.
Joseph made a promise to himself then and there. He wasn’t going to sit silent any longer, keeping his head down and concentrating on his studies. He was going to tell his story. Tell his story loudly to the world. To everyone who would listen.