Ali spent six days in Indonesia, where eventually he was taken by boat to an island covered in graves along with many other people who, like Ali, were escaping. All Ali knew about the area was that it was away from Afghanistan and the Taliban. A week later, the Australian navy rescued him.
I sat back and stared at this person I had so recently believed to be an average student at school. There was nothing normal about the story Ali told me. As he spoke, he didn’t use excessive emotion. He didn’t cry when he told me about leaving his family. He said it was ‘just sad, like I’m escaping for my safety … for my own safety … and leave my family like I don’t care about their own safety, because they were in danger as well.’ The entire time I spoke to Ali he was the figure of calmness, eyes that had seen what no sixteen-year-old should ever see and a face that had been twisted in fear while hiding in the boot of a car, being smuggled away from the only home he had ever known. It was a face of acceptance. What was done was done.
Hearing of what this boy had lived through was enough to change my entire beliefs about the refugee situation in Australia. Until meeting Ali, my views on the refugee crisis were greatly influenced by those people I thought wise and informed on the matter. It shames me to admit that I once thought that these people seeking refuge should be sent right back where they came from. Ali’s story gave me a wider awareness and prevented me from these cold-hearted views. Ali has been given a chance to be Australia, though he is still struggling to hold on to that hope. Ali was told he was to stay in the detention centre in Curtin, WA for forty-five days, at which time he would receive a permanent visa.
‘After all that time, the forty-five days, they said the law has been changed and now they get a visa that is called a temporary protection visa, which is for three years. People stayed longer in detention without knowing what is happening to their cases. Are they being processed or are they just on the shelves? So I had to stay there about five months and a half.’
Two years since arriving in Australia, Ali lives alone on allowances from the government. He was given a six-month course in English, and has learnt to balance a life of study with a life of paying for electricity, phone, water bills and rent—all things that someone his age rarely has to deal with. Looking at Ali I see a man, now twenty years of age, who had been living in Australia for the past two years and at heart is an Australian. I find it ironic that those in our community with the most extraordinary stories and the most to teach us about our ignorance in matters of concern in the world are the ones who struggle to find acceptance here. This aside, Ali is extremely grateful for the chances Australia has given him, and in turn I am extremely grateful for Ali and the way he has opened my eyes.
Blackbirding: The Loss of an Idyllic Lifestyle
by Tshala Jenkins, aged 12
Blackbirding is what my great grandparents, Corowa and Iahipe, went through. Corowa and Iahipe were their last names but in Australia they were given another name, like Jacob Iahipe and John Corowa. And sometime later Iahipe was changed to Ivey. They were given these names because they were easier to say than their islander names.
Corowa and Iahipe were made slaves in Australia but before this they were happily living in Tanna, an island in the Melanesian group of islands. They were native tribal men with their own lores and customs (this is the way to spell laws in Vanuatu). They were looking forward to becoming elders in their own village and island.
Around the 1860s or 1900s Corowa and Iahipe were tricked and bribed about working in Australia on the cane fields in Brisbane with a three year contract. The way they were tricked was this: because they couldn’t speak English they used hand signals. When the Europeans arrived to pick up the slaves they held up three fingers. My great grandparents and other men took it as meaning three months. The Europeans knew they meant three years and they purposely tricked them.
They didn’t know they were being tricked and bribed. They were lured onto the ‘slave train’, a huge sailing boat that went from island to island picking up slaves when they were young men.
When they arrived in Australia life was very harsh, as they had to work for their own food. Some didn’t even get food at all because of the white Australia policy.
They lived like natives but they were slowly losing their customs because of the Europeans who had claimed the land from the original natives; and the Europeans imposed their own laws.
They then rode south by horseback to the Tweed Heads/Brunswick Heads area because the farmers there offered better conditions than those they experienced on the cane fields in Queensland.
Because they were there for three years, they had settled down and made a family. Jacob Iahipe married a woman from the Bundjalung people of the Tweed Byron area and John Corowa married an Aboriginal woman from the same region.
As the Europeans spread they cleared cedar from the mountains and they wiped out the rainforests. They had nothing left, so the natives went to missions.
So, thanks to European colonisation, we now have supermarkets and no more bush tucker.
From a Small Detention Centre, I am Now in a Bigger Detention Centre: The Story of an Afghan Refugee
by Zac Darab, aged 14
What is a refugee? The abstract nature of their representation through the Australian media denies the essential individuality of these people. Refugees are repeatedly presented as a category of undesirable people. They are portrayed in such a way as to incite moral panic in the community—often for political purposes. For instance, frequently it is implied that they are terrorists, smugglers of weapons, drugs or carriers of disease. Perhaps the defining example of this was the Tampa incident, and associated events during which it was alleged that refugees were throwing their children overboard.
Who could forget the Australian government suggesting that these people were somehow lesser human beings than those we would welcome in Australia? Although the allegations were eventually revealed as a political stunt, the impoverished view of refugees was not corrected. In light of this, I saw it as being very important to put a human face to at least one of these displaced people and have him inform others of his story and experiences about being a refugee.
After hearing Riz Wakil speak at a public meeting on Australian refugee policy, I was so moved that I wanted other Australians to hear what it means to be a refugee in Australia in 2002. Riz is a refugee who comes from the province of Hazara in central Afghanistan. He currently resides in Sydney. When I contacted Riz about interviewing him, he was delighted to be chosen and have the opportunity to explain his situation.
I feel humbled and honoured to have met Riz Wakil. At only twenty-two years of age, he had endured such incredible hardship and, at the time of the interview, he continued to be under pressure from the Immigration department. Despite his personal turmoil, he welcomed me into his home and treated me to his hospitality.
Riz’s story of becoming an asylum seeker began when he was eighteen years of age. He said: ‘Unfortunately in Afghanistan we are born in a war-torn country. We had no opportunity to go to school and get even basic education. It was an official sentence from the authorities in Afghanistan that Hazara people are not allowed to study.’
Riz went on to explain that the Hazara people had been oppressed long before the Taliban took control. ‘We, the Hazara, are the third minority group and we have been badly treated for centuries.’ His community was excluded from the social goods like education and access to medical resources, Riz said, because they were not of the highest socio-economic status, and they were seen as inferior to the ruling party, the Pashtu.
Riz was forced to leave his country and his family to try and find a better quality of life elsewhere. His journey, however, was not easy. ‘We didn’t have any proper documentation because the country was destroyed and there was no one to supply us with proper documentation, so it was illegal to leave Afghanistan. When we left Afghanistan, I spent a few weeks in Pakistan just to get the proper travel document and after that I came to Indones
ia. Everything was arranged and after that I spent about six weeks in Indonesia before catching the boat.’
He did not have the luxury of coming to Australia by plane, instead he came by a ‘leaky boat’. ‘There was seventy-three people on that tiny little fishing boat, sixty Afghans and thirteen Iraqi refugees including two kids and one family.’ Shoulder-to-shoulder, no facilities, no room to stretch or to lie down, no privacy for personal ablutions and the constant fear of being swamped in the rising swell. Nor did the fear subside when they reached Australian waters. ‘They didn’t allow us to land on Ashmore Reef Island. They kept us on the boat. After two days navy officials came out. We said, “We are sick and we are having medical problems, you should help us.” The only answer we get from the officer, he said, “Next time try to catch a plane. Don’t come by boat.” He didn’t have any sympathy for the people. It took them another two days to bring us from Ashmore Reef Island to Broome.’
This is the greeting that Riz received when he arrived in Australia. Coming from a land-locked country, it was only recently that Riz and most of the passengers had actually seen the ocean, let alone sailed across it in a tiny vessel. They were traumatised from their journey. For all the refugees who had fled their countries because they were so poorly treated, it must not have felt so different when they arrived in Australia. In Broome, Riz was told that his application would be processed within forty-five days. He was then escorted to Curtin Detention Centre where he received a basic health check and was searched to ensure that he was not bringing anything illegal into the country. Riz was then taken into detention where he remained for nine months.
Curtin Detention Centre used to be an airforce base but has since been converted into a detention centre. After his extended period of incarceration, Riz was ecstatic to hear that he was allowed into the community. He was issued with a temporary visa, which is valid for thirty-six months. The sense of freedom he experienced when learning of his release faded somewhat when Riz learned what a temporary visa meant for him.
‘I found out that from a small detention centre, I am now in bigger detention centre. I cannot meet one of my family members. I cannot go out of Australia if I ever want to re-enter. It doesn’t matter if anything happens to your family back there, I cannot go and visit. For me this is an imprisonment as well.’
On a temporary visa, Riz cannot move forward, nor can he go back. He cannot return to Afghanistan because his life was so poor over there and the country is now at war. Nor can he move forward and establish his life in Australia because with a temporary status, his future is very hazy. Also he feels incredibly sad about the hardship his family is experiencing. Riz said, ‘My family members are desperate to get out of Afghanistan but I am not allowed to sponsor them and I am not allowed to bring them here.’ On a brighter note, however, Riz is allowed to work, and he says that ‘definitely, the majority of refugees on protection visas, they are working’.
Another major concern for Riz was that he could not study in Australia. Under the conditions of a temporary visa, in order to study he would have to pay international student fees. ‘One of my friends, he is paying I think $18,000 per annum for a basic computer course and now because his visa is going to expire, he cannot concentrate on his study.’ For Riz this is a no win situation. He is excluded from the benefits that Australians take for granted. Riz explains that he can understand why he did not get an education in Afghanistan, but now in Australia because of the government policy concerning temporary protection visas, once again he is not allowed to study.
Riz recounted that before September 11, 2001, it was possible to apply for a permanent residence in Australia. However, after this date the laws regarding visas changed. His visa is now forever temporary and he cannot apply for permanent protection. Riz said, ‘The Immigration department says very, very clear in that letter that we have to come and convince Immigration department because Immigration thinks that in Afghanistan everything is all right. It is all right for refugees to go even though it’s not safe for Australian tourists to go.’
Is Riz’s life less valuable than the life of an Australian citizen? Riz is a productive member of the Australian community. He is currently working in a printing company. He is paying taxes, paying rent, consuming goods and services, and generally contributing to the Australian economy. ‘In free time, I am working with the refugee organisations to do something for the people inside detention centres, and to help people who are desperate to go to another country; and for those already in the community on a temporary visa.’ Even under threat of deportation, Riz is generous in giving his time to help others. He is industrious, law-abiding and community-minded, as well as being keen to learn and to acquire new skills.
If Riz is forced to return to Afghanistan, he will face persecution. He stated,
‘When we were there our struggle was not only to get rid of Taliban, our struggle was for a secular society which gives all the minorities, the religious minorities, the ethnic minorities, the proper representation and proper rights in Afghanistan. And this is a threat for the Islamic fundamentalist government. So that’s why I think for us even they have not destroyed Taliban yet. I don’t believe they have destroyed Taliban. They are underground and they are working. As we see in the news that there are attacks even on the President. There are attacks on the US forces, on the civilian properties and civilian people.’
If Riz stays in Australia it is quite likely that he will also face racist attitudes here. He believes that people have nothing personal against him but the government has put out so much propaganda against refugees. He believes that the government’s current policies are racist and extremely detrimental to him and people in similar positions.
‘And now I think while I am in Australia, I didn’t achieve anything. I had fear for my life in Afghanistan and I have fear for my life in Australia as well. I don’t know what will happen after thirty months. So I cannot do anything. Still I am afraid what will happen. The other thing, we have been targeted by the ethnic majorities and we have been targeted by racism here. When we go outside and introduce ourselves as Afghans, all the people here, because of the propaganda, they think all the people from the Middle East, they are terrorists and they are harmful for the society.’
You now know Riz Wakil’s story. At the age of twenty-two, he has experienced intense disadvantage, which is unimaginable to me and to most Australians. He has been persecuted, faced heavy seas in a tiny fishing boat, been incarcerated and conferred a temporary status in a country renowned for giving people a ‘fair go’. Despite all this, Riz continues to strive for freedom but his visa is now limited to four months. He has proved himself to be hard working in improving his job skills, perfecting his English and spending his time helping other refugees. Riz would be an asset to our country. I would appeal to the Australian people to lobby for Riz and other refugees who have fled war-torn countries. In the war against terrorism, Riz is a victim and he needs our support.
AND A TEAR MIGHT COME TO MY EYE
‘My friend and I collected her favourite flower and placed it where she lay asleep before the bomb.’
Untitled
by Nooria Wazefadost, aged 15
Since I opened my eyes into this world I heard the sound of rockets, missiles and all kinds of artillery firing around my house. Thousands of other Afghan infants and children were mourning all around my country. All mothers were screaming and shouting next to the dead bodies of children. All of my mind is filled with fearful sounds of weapons and portraits of barbarous people’s faces and visions of acts and cruelty in front of my eyes.
I don’t have any good memory of my childhood. One of my memories is that of losing my playmates. One day my friend named Maryam was sleeping next to her mother, and was suddenly blown in the air by an explosion from a Soviet Union bomb. Her body was never found. My friend Fatimeh and I collected her favourite flower and placed it where she lay asleep before the bomb.
One of my heart-rending memories is
about my friend Zahra. After several months when I was about eleven and a half years old, I heard that Zahra died in Pakistan and her story, as I know it, began five years ago like this …
I didn’t know her very well, she was in our school, but in different classes because she was four years older than me. I could easily understand and feel, from her situation and the way she was clothed, that their family was poor. I could understand from her beautiful and lovely smile that she was soft-natured, kind and delicate.
One year passed and our friendship developed. I was interested in her special behaviour and ability.
One day the land of Bamian, where I was living, suddenly changed. The selfish, disobedient and above itself Taliban arrived near the gates of the compact and crowded city. The people of the city were scared and they were praying that they might get out of the city but that didn’t happen. The once gay and bustling streets of the city became quiet and boring.
On a summer morning I woke up, I felt awful and I didn’t know what was happening, I told my mum that I didn’t feel like going to school. She didn’t respond to me for a long time. But I think she tried desperately to hide her agitation but her tears couldn’t stop. Then she told me, ‘no one is going to school today.’ I didn’t ask her for any explanation because I understood that the groups of Taliban had come to the city. The schools, like other places in Bamian, were ruined and destroyed. But I hadn’t any news from Zahra and other friends. The time was passing slowly, I was sad and miserable. I missed my school, teachers and friends.
Dark Dreams Page 6