Another young man originally lived in Yugoslavia. He and his family left a year ago. In Yugoslavia, he explained, although the war is over, the United Nations still maintains control and his parents made the ‘choice’ to leave. Despite surviving the danger and uncertainty of this civil conflict, they could no longer see a future for themselves in Yugoslavia, as the country’s newfound state of ‘peace’ brought new problems of unemployment and few opportunities. The war itself was ‘terrible’. After the conflict began, his family was continually moving, forced from place to place after each was bombarded and left in ruins. The exact date he began his nomadic existence is permanently etched in his mind. ‘The first of May, 1991,’ he recalls. He was only six years old. At seventeen he tells me of the pictures he sees in his head, of destroyed houses and dead bodies waiting to be identified. ‘We were always in black,’ he says and explains that the constant state of mourning was due to the deaths of countless neighbours, friends and relatives. He explains their attempts to forge a life amidst the destruction of their country, yet it is obvious their efforts were lost in a sea of violence, hatred and warfare. He tells of a house they lived in, ‘the house was pretty … destroyed. My mother and my father, we tried to fix it up …’ I ask myself: What would it be like to view such violence and destruction everyday? To have your mind filled with such images? It occurred to me that the influence of such atrocities as he had repeatedly experienced would cut so much deeper than I could possibly comprehend. It made me feel inadequate and horribly naive.
Despite the state Yugoslavia was in, it was still difficult for him to leave—to leave behind family and friends. ‘They were always there … they were with me all the time …’ Most remained in the country, but others also left, mainly settling in America or other parts of Australia. What strikes me as amazing is, despite all these experiences, or perhaps because of them, his manner is easygoing and his smile wide and friendly. His one wish is ‘to make everyone happy!’ When questioned about the possibility of peace in Yugoslavia, ‘maybe, maybe,’ came the unconvinced, yet optimistic, reply. As for his own future: he dreams of playing soccer like Beckham and finishing school. And, finally, to the world—‘Stop it. Stop fighting.’
My eyes now rest on a seventeen-year-old from Afghanistan. He sits quietly, anxiously waiting for me to begin my questions. After a few moments I realise that this boy is exactly what I, and the rest of Australia, have been reading about in the newspapers every day for over a year. He is an ‘illegal’ immigrant, seeking asylum in Australia. An image of this boy having to sit in front of customs officials flicks through my mind, and I suddenly do not want to ask him similar, intrusive questions about his life and his journey to Australia. He quickly tells me of his life in Afghanistan, after the Taliban took control. No one was allowed to practice their own religion or voice their own beliefs. The rules of the governing party were constantly changing and consequently people were forced to live in a state of uncertainty and fear of unjust persecution. When I asked whether he thought Afghanistan could ever exist in a state of peace, he shook his head. He did not even consider it a possibility.
One year ago, this boy’s family spent most of their money paying for a passage to Australia, seeking a new life of opportunity and freedom. I am in awe of, and shocked by, the enormity of this sacrifice. These feelings are juxtaposed by the horrible irony of ‘our’ (the majority of Australians and the developed world) attitude towards life. We seem to take everything for granted yet others, such as this boy and his family, will give up everything to have a life that resembles ours. He travelled by boat from Pakistan to Australia, consequently ending up in Port Hedland detention centre in Western Australia for three months. His overriding impression of detention is its immense boredom, and I wonder why the Government does not provide education or work for these people; something constructive to occupy the long hours, days and months spent in detention. I ask if he is conscious of what Australians think of him, and he hangs his head in shame. He looks at the table and will not lift his eyes to mine again. He promises to work hard and obey the law—and I am struck with an overwhelming sense of sympathy for him and the cruel irony of his situation—no one I know would have such ideals, such intentions and such noble ambitions. I also feel guilty—it is the Australian population, of which I am a part, who make him feel like this. Who are we to do so?
Although my aim for this interview was to learn about refugees, what I realised within the first few minutes did not directly concern them, but myself. I came to understand how severely tainted my own perspective of refugees was—despite never having known or met a refugee before. The influence of the media, however much one attempts to remain objective, is immense. It seeps into our subconscious, altering our views, creating prejudices and fear. The revelation of the ‘normality’ of these boys has come to prove this to me. Thus, although, these boys view Australia as a kind of ‘Utopia’, the attitudes of many Australians flaw this ideal. Australians must come to realise that our population—the very multicultural society on which Australians pride themselves—is mostly the result of a couple of hundred years of migration, people who bring with them parts of their own cultures, ideals and beliefs.
My overall impression of the boys was their dedication to achieve a better life. Their goals seem simple—to leave their current school and attend a mainstream high school, followed by university to study a range of fields: medicine, engineering and computer science. They each have so much to contribute to Australian society.
These students highlight issues facing so many people around the world. All had stories to tell, or to reluctantly allude to; they were chosen randomly and all their fellow students would have had similar, yet unique, experiences—war, struggle, aggression—a sad picture of our world. It left me wondering: what does this say for people all around the world? If these students are the lucky ones, as they consider themselves to be by living in Australia, how many people are in worse situations? How many people suffer daily without us knowing? And how many more people will have to suffer before we begin to care, our opinions ceasing to be cloaked by prejudice and fear? When will Australians see refugees not as ‘queue jumpers’ or ‘illegals’, or people who threaten their livelihoods merely by their presence in our country, but as people who deserve the choice about what religion they practice, who deserve the right to walk down the street without fear of being shot, and the ability to say that freedom is their reality.
On one point at least, there is no discrepancy. Some issues are universal—transcending race, nationality and geography. Their vote is unanimous—Brazil will win the World Cup.
These boys all seek peace, have the desire to learn and the willingness to work. What more could Australia ask of its youth?
Experience as Refugee
by Mohammad Riyadh Ali, aged 20
A dark dream left a mark in my heart, mind and soul.
It was lunchtime and our family gathered for lunch. We were not expecting anyone so when we heard the doorbell ring in a strange way, it instantly caught our attention. When my grandfather opened the door it was a shock. We could not believe it.
Some soldiers pushed their way into the house to arrest us for no reason. None of us could talk because we were still in shock. They immediately threw us out of the house and took everything of any value. We watched as this went on but could not do anything. They destroyed all our furniture and other belongings but still we didn’t react. They took away my five uncles and grandfather. Only the children and the women were left behind and we were all on the street, homeless.
That day I looked left and right for the person to wipe away my tears and solve my problem. But my dad, who was the problem solver, was away. We went to my uncle’s wife’s house. For eight months we were running here and there, searching for my uncle, but there was no hope left.
After eight months passed they told my grandmother to come and collect their dead bodies.
After three years my dad came home. I saw the li
ght in his eyes, which gave me new hope to live. It was here that our journey to freedom began.
Our refugee journey took us to the cold weather, and the snow on the mountains which was three feet deep. I was with a strange man, who was carrying me on his shoulders at the front, and my parents and siblings were behind me riding mules. The mule that my mother and sister were riding nearly threw them from the mountains, but my mother risked her life to save my sister. Every step we took gave us either life or death.
The war was above our heads and you could see easily the booms and rackets in front and behind. We were very frightened, and separated by some distance, but we could see each other clearly. Because of the war we forgot how hungry, and how cold the weather was. We didn’t have any money, food; and our clothes were too wet from the snow.
We finally reached a border and got a little help. People gave us some food and blankets. The next morning they sent us to another border with a person who could get us through easily by his help. We passed through seven borders. Travelling from one place to another place took us one week on the mountains but at last we reached Iran’s border. When we reached Iran the soldiers took us to the Red Cross. Then they took us to the refugees’ camp after we finished with the Red Cross.
We stayed there for a long time. My troubles began there. I began to see things that happened to us and started having dark dreams. I screamed, fought, ran like a wild person, afraid of everybody, even my parents. I couldn’t sleep at night or day. My parents took me to different doctors but there was no hope for me.
My parents did some hard labour and were paid a little money. The money was only enough to take us to Pakistan. On the way to Pakistan we were frightened by the street gangs but it was our only hope and we reached the borders safely and entered Pakistan.
The next morning we went to the UN. We applied for help and they accepted us, and gave us a green card which allowed us to stay as long as it took them to find a country which would accept us as citizens.
The problem of my health was worse. I began to walk in my sleep and fight with everyone in my family. Then one night in my sleep a holy person came into my dream and told me that I would receive help as long as I could give twenty-six Arabic characters. When I began to read them, the holy person began to scream from the pain, because he took half of my sickness and there it stopped. There was only silence for a few days of my life. Then the dreams stopped.
Ten years in Pakistan the UN made us stay, which was the hardest thing ever. We weren’t allowed to go out with friends, or out of the school due to the violence all around. Even young boys carried knives or guns. So it wasn’t safe for us to live in Pakistan. During our eleventh year in Pakistan we were told that the Australian government had offered us citizenship. Then when we left Pakistan we couldn’t believe our eyes and our luck. Now we have started a new life and now have new hope.
Lucie’s Story: Love and Danger
by Gabriel M Courtney, aged 11
I think if your life’s in danger, and especially if you really love in such a courageous way, as Jan did love me, then it sort of gives you strength to do the almost impossible. Lucie Pollack-Langford
Lucie Pollack-Langford, the lady I interviewed, was a refugee not once, but twice in her long and fascinating life. Not only that, the first time, after experiencing terrible dangers, Lucie became a refugee in disguise in the very country that was persecuting her own people, because this was the only way she could save her own life. While Lucie told me her story, it seemed to take hold of me. It was like I was her and these things were happening to me. Altogether, I found that Lucie is an amazing person, and I feel extremely lucky to have met someone like her.
Lucie Pollack-Langford is Jewish. She was born before the Second World War in the city of Prague, in former Czechoslovakia, which is now the Czech Republic. Lucie told me that there is a saying in Prague, that every baby born there is born with a violin in their cradle. Jokingly, she said that she was born with a gramophone record in hers. She remembers that when she was just a little girl, she had a small gramophone which she used to wind up and dance to the music for hours and hours. Lucie’s life in Australia has always been involved with music, which she said might be because of the ‘gramophone record in her cradle’.
During World War II, the German Nazi Party took away the property, jobs, and eventually the lives of over six million Jewish people. They kept records of every Jewish person, who could be identified by the yellow star they were forced to wear. So when the time came to take Lucie’s family from their home, it was easy to organise them to go to a local ‘exit point’ as they called it, which was a school in a place called Terezin. At that time, Lucie was only fifteen years old. She and her family were taken to Poland to a concentration camp called Sovivor, upon which everyone was separated into those who could work and those who could not. Those who could not work were shot shortly after. Luckily, Lucie was able to work. She was taken to a place called Sawin, which was one of many small labour camps. The work was digging irrigation canals which was extremely hard labour, from which many people got sick and were sent to death camps for ‘orderly disposal.’ By this time Lucie was sixteen and loved dancing. The prisoners were allowed to have a concert, at which Lucie met a Polish Christian engineer named Jan Hensel, who, though not a prisoner himself, was forced by the Germans to work at the camp. They fell in love. Lucie and Jan spent a year in a very dangerous situation, because if they had been found out, they would have doubtlessly both been shot. They realised the only way to keep Lucie alive was to help her escape. During that year, Jan taught Lucie Polish, he fed her, and after sneaking her out of the camp, hid her in his family’s home until she could escape from Poland. His family got her false documents, which said that she was a Polish Christian girl. I was happy when Lucie said she had escaped from the camp, but I was sad when she said she never saw Jan again.
Lucie went to Lublin, a city in Poland. She departed from there with a group of Christian girls on Polish transport to—of all places—Germany, where she ended up working with nuns in a Catholic hospital in the city of Soest for two years. During that time, Lucie said she had to be incredibly careful. That is how she survived for two years, until American forces came and liberated Europe. Immediately after liberation, Lucie had to stay in Germany for a little while—for a couple of years. There she worked in the High Court as an interpreter for the Control Commission of Germany as she speaks several languages—French, German, English, Polish and some Russian. Then Lucie returned to the Czech Republic, but in 1948, the Communists came to power there, and this political system threatened her freedom as an individual. So, after some time and difficulty, she managed to get out and went to England. There Lucie worked as a nurse for a year, after which, in 1950, she came to Australia.
Here in Australia, Lucie said she made the rounds of many businesses, but her skill in languages did not seem to be as sought after in this country. One day, she went into a music store named Palings. The people there said that they did not really need an interpreter or receptionist, but asked if she would like to work in their classical music department. Lucie answered, ‘Ooh yes! I’d love that!’ Around that time, she also did find work as an interpreter, because there were many migrants arriving in Australia. They were very eager to listen to music from their homelands, so Lucie became involved in buying foreign music recordings to supply their needs. Since then, Lucie worked for Rosestreet Records and has also managed the music lounge of Angus and Robertson bookstore. Most of Lucie’s working life has been involved with music and records, just as her life began in Prague! She said: ‘I hope that in some way I contributed towards the cultural life of Australia.’ Lucie now also gives lectures at universities about her experiences during the war.
Lucie’s mother and step-father died during the war, but she did find two of her cousins, Martin and Veran and their parents, who are still alive now. They also had a very interesting escape, which involved the Nazis ‘bartering’ to be paid for r
eleasing the European relatives of rich American Jews. However, usually by the time that such deals were made, the relatives were already dead. Luckily, Lucie’s relatives were sent to Switzerland, and their lives were saved.
Lucie works presently as a guide at the Sydney Jewish Museum. One day, a Polish Jewish woman came to visit the museum as she had some task to do for SBS Broadcasting. She and Lucie began a conversation, and it turned out that she was soon to visit Poland. They became friends, and later the lady rang Lucie from Poland with exciting news. Lucie had given Jan’s name and details to her friend, and she had found his family. Unfortunately Jan had died in 1994, when Lucie herself had been visiting Prague in only 1993! Lucie began to correspond with Jan’s family. Then, her husband Peter, who is Dutch, reminded her about ‘Righteous Among the Nations.’ Righteous Among the Nations is a special department of the Israeli government in Jerusalem, which considers the cases of efforts made by non-Jewish persons—Gentiles—who helped Jews during the war. This department declared Jan and his sister Danuta to be ‘Righteous Gentiles Among the Nations’.. There is an important ceremony for this declaration, so in 1999 Lucie travelled to Poland, where she met with Jan’s family. She became close friends ‘like sisters’ with his widow, and stayed in her home, where Jan had lived for forty years! His family took her all around Poland, as well as back to the camp where they had been together. Lucie said it was a surreal situation, but an absolutely amazing experience.
When I asked her, Lucie said that she loves living in Australia, and she likes to go overseas on holidays to visit relatives. But, she added, Australia is now home! At the beginning I said Lucie is an amazing person, just like her story. Now she is writing a book about her life, which she hopes will be made into a movie. Then everyone will be lucky, like me, to hear her story too.
Dark Dreams Page 2