A Typical Refugee (v.v.good in-depth detail re detainees in Oz refugee prisons)

["Andy Gianniotis" <hiandy@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

A Typical Refugee

[Talk given at Bellingen Markets (NSW) on Saturday 19th October, 2002 by
Cherry McKay, co-author of "The Worst of Woomera".]

One of the aims of the Refugee Embassy was to let the Australian public look
into the eyes and hearts of people who had been caged and out of sight at
remote Woomera - to give a voice to them so their stories could be heard. If
Australians could not visit Woomera, we wanted to take the refugees to
them - via the media, through the use of phones, by establishing mail
contact. My role was to visit detainees and document their stories to be
told to the Australian public. The Worst of Woomera is the result of that.

I found detainees were given food, water and a roof over their heads.
Nothing luxurious, mind you, but the essentials were there, suitable for a
grown man, if he wasn't fussy and didn't have special needs. However,
Woomera was not designed for the needs of babies, children, women or the
elderly. In their cases, even the most basic essentials fall short.

There were some reports of brutality from guards, but none of those were
during the time of my visits. Although I witnessed hostility from one guard
and a general lack of understanding and compassion, I did not witness any
physical mistreatment myself.

However, the needs of detainees that were not being met, were of a social
and psychological nature. Depression, for example, was endemic. Men, women,
children ... all were affected.

Many of you would have heard of the widespread use of antidepressants and
sleeping tablets. There were instances of children having nightmares after
witnessing suicide attempts of loved ones. There was also bed-wetting,
teen-age incontinence, stuttering. But worst of all, children were
attempting suicide themselves and I was told that it was an almost daily
occurrence.

The government is taking a hard stand on asylum seekers in an attempt to
deter other 'illegals' as they are wont to be called. Well, it's working ...
but at a huge cost in human suffering and at huge cost to Australian
integrity.

We tend to fear people who come from another culture, who dress differently,
speak another language and have a different religion to our own. So it is
especially difficult for us to relate to, or feel the pain of detainees who
have all of those differences PLUS having suffered so much before they got
to our shores. They are shunted out of sight and out of mind.

I would like you to use your imagination now if you will, and to picture
yourself as a refugee and place your family into the contest of the refugee
experience that I am about to relate to you.

You have just recently arrived in Australia on an overcrowded leaky boat.
You sold everything you owned to make this journey with your husband and
children. You took food and water for a 2 to 3 day journey, which for some
reason took 8 days. You feared many times during the perilous journey for
your own life and for those of your family. Weak and dehydrated, you were
not prepared for the reception of suspicion and hostility that you received
upon arrival.

You are included in the 60% of the human cargo on board who were victims of
torture or severe trauma in your war-torn homeland. You are also grieving
for a brother taken by war, and for your mother who sacrificed her home to
assist your passage to a free country. After eventually being processed by
people who don't speak your language, you and your family are put on a bus
to be taken to a refugee centre where you hope to be able to rebuild your
lives in an atmosphere of peace. Unknown to you, you are being sent to
Woomera.

The most obvious characteristic of the Woomera detention centre is the
hostility of the environment. The landscape itself is inhospitable, with
extremes of weather ... unbearably hot in summer, bitterly cold in the
winter, destitute of water, almost destitute of vegetation, and a persistent
howling wind. Add to that, row after row of fencing with razor wire to
ensure the 'integrity' of its boundaries, and ad hoc housing that looks like
a cross between a shipping container and a demountable schoolroom.

At Woomera, you are systematically stripped of any dignity you still
possessed after your harrowing journey. You are issued a number, by which
you are referred to exclusively until the UN visit after Easter, 2002. Even
other detainees know you by your number rather than your name.

Your family is not supplied with a lounge room for normal family gatherings
and communication, Common rooms serve that purpose, but they are shared by
many others as well. That puts a strain on family cohesiveness. Lighting and
air conditioning are controlled by a single switch for the common room and a
cluster of bedrooms. If one person wants the light on, everyone has the
light on. And since there are very few guards on duty during the night, you
soon learn the sense of staying awake at night when you are less observed.
Sleep usually comes at dawn ... a few hours here and there. The day guards
all think you are lazy. They don't understand. Even if others were to be
quiet at night, because you worry constantly about your future, sleep would
be difficult.

Your children go to school for two to three hours a day - that is until they
turn 13. Then they are supposed to be adults. Do Australian children finish
school at 13 you wonder? It's such a vulnerable age. And your children
aren't allowed to mix with Australian children - they are considered a
security risk. Do they really think that your children are terrorists? But
the children, too, are not able to sleep at night and their concentration is
not what it used to be. They do pick up a little English, though, which is
passed on to you.

Your husband has grown distant. You love each other, but you both find it
difficult to talk anymore, and there is no privacy for anything intimate,
with guards barging into the room every two hours to do head counts. He
feels guilty for bringing you here, and powerless to do anything to help. He
is angry. Angry with the guards who keep you caged, angry with the
government for telling lies about you, and angry with circumstances. Your
husband is a peaceful man, but he cannot contain such anger, and so he
lashes out ... not at others, but at himself. He has scars on both arms
where he has cut his arteries. The guards say be just wants attention, but
you know. And you know that if you have to stay there another 2 years, he
will not survive.

Your husband was an engineer in your home country. He had a fine home and
respect in the community. There is none of that here. He says he's been
treated like he is sub-human for so long that he is beginning to wonder if
it is true. Perhaps he is being punished for something. He no longer walks
tall and straight. And he has gone so grey. After being stripped of
everything he possessed, you fear he will also lose his mind.

Now even children harm themselves. They have lost hope. You must be very
diligent that nothing is available ... no scissors for cutting themselves,
no belts or long scarves for hanging, nor shampoo for poison. When you
sleep, you must get up several times to see if your children are still
breathing. You don't sleep much, because checking on your children is all
you can do to help your family. You cannot cook, or do the things mothers
would normally do. At least your children are not diabetic. It's bad for
those who are. Their mums are not able to control their children's diet,
check their glucose levels or administer insulin, so they are continually
going to hospital.

Toilets and showers are a bit of a problem. They are such a long way away -
especially in the winter and after dark. You use a rubbish bin as a potty
for your youngest one.

You are all on anti-depressants. It's hard to keep a positive outlook when
you never know from one minute to the next what your future will be. If you
go home, you will be killed. The government says it is safe for you to
return, but it is not. They want it to be safe because it will solve the
problem of what to do with you. You are a problem. They say you should be
grateful for all the food and housing you are getting. You're costing the
taxpayers big time. And you are grateful. You are not asking for better
conditions. You just want freedom! Freedom to walk the street and greet your
neighbours - to sleep safely in your beds at night and the opportunity to
earn a living; to learn what it is to be Australian and to give something
back to the community.

You worry about your children not being properly educated. What will they be
able to do when you get out ... it you get out?

Why does it take the government so long to process your applications? They
can check your police records. You are not criminals. You've committed no
crime. If you were, your fate would be better than it is now. Then you could
at least count the days, weeks, months and years. You could plan for when
you would get out. But here you have no such hope. You don't know how long
you will be in detention, if you will be allowed to stay in Australia or if
you will be sent home. If you will live or die. It is all hopelessness.

And now you have lost all contact with your family in your home country. The
Red Cross is checking, checking, but they have no news. You cry when you
think of them. There is nothing you can do, but cry.

* * *

So how did you fare? How would your family have coped under such
circumstances?

The scenario you have just heard could have come from any number of refugees
that I visited. So many endured the same sets of problems and psychological
trauma. And sadly, some of them occurred in Australia.

Phillip Ruddock says detention is not meant to be punitive. It is. He says
it is meant to be humane. It is not.

Our harsh treatment challenges our own humanity. In years to come,
Australians will be ashamed of this generation that has inflicted so much
suffering on so many traumatised people who came to our shores for
protection.

We cannot afford to sit back and allow this to happen unchallenged. For our
own peace of mind and our own integrity, we will need to let our voices be
heard. One person can make a difference, and that difference can be
multiplied if we will band together with others of like mind, who are
determined to make a change. A positive fate for these people very much
depends upon a grass roots change which only you and I can bring about.
Please continue to care and to show mercy.


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