It’s hard to be compassionate I was listening to the early news in bed when Kevin Rudd announced that all asylum seekers arriving in Australia by boat would be taken to PNG, processed and resettled there. My immediate reaction was that it would not be a bad idea. Mention was made of an expansion of Manus Island processing centre, of housing, infrastructure and increased police presence to provide a secure environment for them. Most importantly, they would never be able to settle in Australia, so that becomes the deterrent for them not to use people smugglers. I thought that it would send a powerful message for the boats to stop; no more customers. Bob Carr had, some days previously, made what I now regard as a rash and damaging statement that “too many asylum seekers, especially those from Iran are economic migrants rather than genuine refugees”, and by doing so immediately touched a nerve in the Australian public. The mention of Iran evokes images of Muslim extremism and grass roots terrorism whether that is currently true or not, and people here perceive that country as an evil one. Then to be told that the people coming from there are not actually being persecuted but are coming to our borders just to seek more wealth really gets the Aussies riled. Bob Carr had primed us nicely for Kevin Rudd’s announcement. I did have reservations about the declaration that boats arriving on the day of announcement would also be subject to the new policy. Surely there needs to be a period of time for the news to reach asylum seekers ready to embark on a boat? I can understand the need to prevent a last minute rush of boats so the time of warning could not be very long, but at least some of the refugees could change their minds. A little later in the day, I began to imagine myself in the place of an asylum seeker stuck in a decrepid camp or ghetto in Indonesia and desperately looking for a way out for their families. Their goal is to live a peaceful, happy and prosperous life and Australia is obviously regarded as the best place to go. They are in limbo, in conditions that are a good deal worse than those they were living in at home. As I was listening to songs from the sixties and wandering about the kitchen making myself a sumptuous breakfast of cereals, fruit and yogurt, the music stirred memories and warm feelings of nostalgia and gratitude for my loving, nurturing family. How lucky I was for being brought up in a free, sheltered society, where I could run around with short trousers, innocence and very little knowledge of violence, poverty and persecution. Suddenly I was a 12 year old boy in the humid hovels of Indonesia, looking for scraps of food, being bullied by local kids, begging for coins, queuing for hours at the only water tap. I could not remember another life and did not expect another; my mother spoke of a heavenly place before we came to this muddy alley, called “Home”, where we owned a house in a village, some fields and a flock of goats to tend. She also said there was a country called Australia where we would be taken care of and once again live in a house, a neighbourhood, a community with friends. We could find a job and buy a car and television, and go to college to become an engineer. When we were sick we would be able to get medicines and treatment from clever doctors. She painted a picture of paradise on Earth, where life was a lot of fun. I thought my mother was a dreamer, we would never get there. She had spoken to the UN people so many times and had been waiting for years and years without an answer that I had given up hope. I’m more realistic; since my father went away to find work, there is food to be found, water to fetch, some carrying to be done for the local shopkeeper; perhaps this evening there might be a chance to kick a football around in the street with my brother and friends from the refugee camp. I imagined the hasty, secret journey to the coast where my father had secured a place on a leaky old fishing boat, no longer seaworthy enough for fishing and ready to be abandoned near Christmas Island. My father and mother suffered with seasickness and fear, never having spent days and nights on the ocean before. The wooden boat was groaning and creaking with the burden of more than a hundred people and had to be pumped out constantly. But as we approached Australia there was a quickening of the heart and anticipation hung in the air. My parents’ faces often turned to the southern horizon with the intensity of hope in their eyes. We sat huddled together on deck and held on to one another. Kevin Rudd’s plan will probably reduce the number of boats, although there will still be a trickle of them for desperate refugees willing to take the chance to reach Australia or ignorant of the consequences [the smugglers are going to tell them lies]. Some peoples’ lives will be saved in the process and there can be no price put on that. But what do these people live for? What are they willing to risk their lives for? They live for the hope of a better one, which is hardly going to be the one offered to them in PNG. Perhaps their immediate circumstances will be improved; they will, after an unspecified but long period of waiting in what amounts to a prison camp to be assessed, get to live in a house and maybe eventually even own a car. But they will be exiled in a volatile and violent society quite different from their own; where religions other than Christianity are not welcome and where there is little opportunity for work or prosperity. Part of the deterrent, no doubt, but it is not addressing the plight of desperate people willing to risk their lives in order to find a good future. My guess is they will continue to try and reach Australia from PNG. Kevin Rudd is taking away the hope of thousands of 12 year old boys and their families; hope which drives them to risk their own lives. The dream has been taken away. They must languish forever in their mouldy refugee camps. Put yourself in their place. You would fight for your family; you would pay someone to take you to a better life; you would risk your life if there was a chance of a good future for your family. Perhaps you or your ancestors already have. So even though on that morning it was easy for me to say that Kevin Rudd’s policy will work; it will stop the boats, save some lives and possibly provide some asylum seekers with more comfortable lives, it is not right. It is a quick, political move to win votes and swipe the opposition off their soapbox. I only hope that decent Australians will not be taken in by its instant appeal. The compassionate answer is much, much harder.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Jul 2013 12:11:31 +0000
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