*sigh*
So, I sing in a church choir. If I got a choice of where to hear a weekly lecture on an abstract topic, this particular church would certainly not be it. However, the music is awesome, and the people are lovely, so I deal with the preaching.
Today's sermon started off promisingly. The minister talked about how the UN estimates there are 65 million refugees in the world. He asked how desperate these people must be to leave their homes in, say, Sudan, and take refuge in camps in poverty-stricken neighbouring countries. Gosh, I thought, he's going to talk about how we can and should help these people.
Nope. The whole refugee introduction was merely a metaphor for how Christians are refugees from heaven in a culture that they don't agree with. Yes, in all seriousness, the minister invited privileged middle-class first-world people to think that they have it as bad as ethnically persecuted people who have fled their homes and must live in shanty towns in one of the poorest countries in the world.
My mind is still boggled.
So I came home and donated to the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre here in Melbourne. They do all sorts of good things to help refugees in Australia, who even once they've made it here face difficulties adjusting to their new homes (especially those on Temporary Protection Visas who aren't allowed to work, or receive access to Medicare, English lessons or other services which would help them become productive members of society). Specific to Sudan is the Darfur Australia Network, which aims to raise awareness of the ongoing tragedy there. The government recently expelled 16 major aid agencies, which will have terrible effects for the people relying on those agencies for food, water and medical care. DAN also helps Sudanese refugees in Australia; the Melbourne branch is currently accepting computer equipment for students, if you have any old stuff you need to get rid of.
If you're Christian and think it's about loving thy neighbour, or if you're not and get annoyed at Christian ministers' persecution complex, or if you just like thinking of yourself as a decent person, I urge you to check out those sites and do something for people who are a lot worse off than you.
The numbers prove Turnbull wrong, by Lucy Fiske.
The federal opposition is calling for the re-introduction of Temporary
Protection Visas (TPVs) to deter people from risking the dangerous journey
to Australia in unseaworthy vessels in the hope of seeking asylum. The
protection of life is a worthy aim indeed. But Mr Turnbull has got it
wrong.
The Howard government introduced TPVs in October 1999 following a sharp
spike in boat arrivals. The visa aimed to make Australia a less attractive
destination for asylum seekers and to deter others from coming in the
future. The visa failed in its objective. In 1999 boat arrivals were 3,740
people. A further 2,961 came in 2000 and 3,694 in the first 9 months of
2001. Only 200 came in 1998 when refugees arriving by boat received
permanent visas (340 in 1997 and 661 in 1996).
What changed after the introduction of TPVs was that more women and
children risked their lives trying to reach Australia. And so when SIEV X
sank in October 2001 killing 353 people, 142 women and 146 children died.
A TPV allowed a refugee to live in Australia, but it prohibited family
reunion. Before TPVs most asylum seekers coming by boat were young men.
Families, unable to pay and unwilling to risk the dangerous journey, chose
the person most able to survive to make the trip. With no family reunion
more women and children had to make the journey if they were to rejoin
their husbands, fathers and sons.
So why don’t they wait their turn in the queue? Why do they take such
risks? Getting a refugee visa is more like a lottery than a queue. With
around 20 million refugees and around 100,000 refugee places offered
internationally each year, there’s a 0.005% chance of getting
resettlement. Added to this is the fact that refugee camps and border
towns are not nice places. Refugee camps are often lawless places subject
to cross-border raids, poor water supply, little or no education or health
services, inadequate food and no opportunity for paid work. Facing these
odds and the prospect of years in a camp, it is little wonder people try
to find their own way out.
These numbers are important. They show that TPVs not only fail to deter
people, but actually increase the risk as women and children get on the
boats. But numbers don’t tell the whole story.
A friend of mine, let’s call him Ali, arrived in 1999. He made the
crossing to Australia on his third attempt - the first boat sank and the
second turned back when its engine failed. His refugee claim was
recognised and he was granted a TPV. He had left his wife and three young
children in the care of his brothers until he could sponsor them to
safety. Ali is from the Hazaragat - a mountainous region of central
Afghanistan, home to the Hazara people. The Hazaras are physically
distinct from other ethnic groups in Afghanistan. They are also Shia
Muslims. The Taliban did not recognise Shias as humans and considered them
‘kaffirs’; heathens who should be killed.
The Taliban came to Ali’s home one night. They brutalised his wife, beat
him and took him to a makeshift jail and tortured him for several weeks
before dumping his near lifeless body. He was found and nursed back to
health by his extended family. His brothers decided it was too dangerous
for him and they promised to protect his family and organised his escape.
Several months later Ali arrived in Australia.
One day, he received the worst phone call of his life. He lifted the
receiver to hear his young son’s voice “Daddy please come and get us, Mum
is dead.” To this day Ali doesn’t know how his wife died. He knows only
that the Taliban returned and his brothers were powerless to protect her.
His children walked for over a month to escape Afghanistan. They lived
just across the border without lawful status or the protection of an
adult. They were vulnerable to attack from the criminals who thrive in
border towns, at risk of forcible return by local police, grieving for
their mother, traumatised by their witnessing of her death and unable to
understand why their dad couldn’t come and get them.
Ali was on a TPV. He couldn’t sponsor them to join him and the Minister
declined to exercise his power to enable Ali to sponsor them. If Ali left
Australia, he would be unable to return, and he had no visa to enter the
country his children were in. He was powerless to help. Instead, he lived
frugally, paid another family to look after his children and waited for
his chance to apply for permanent residency, enduring regular phone calls
with his children in which they pleaded with him to save them. I wrote
futile letters, made phone calls and helplessly watched this man’s demise.
Ali is now an Australian citizen and his children are, mercifully, with
their dad. They were separated for 5 years. I’m not sure if Ali will ever
recover from his torment or if his children will ever understand why it
took their dad so long to rescue them.
The real tragedy though, is that Ali’s story is not unique. His story is
so typical of ‘boatpeople’ that the reason the Minister refused his
request for help is that there were several thousand people facing much
the same situation. To help one would be unfair. To help all would
undermine the TPV regime.
Is this really what you want Mr Turnbull?
____________________________
Lucy Fiske is a lecturer at the Centre for Human Rights Education at
Curtin University. She is also doing a PhD looking at refugee protest
against immigration detention in Australia. She is also in the board of
CARAD, a local community group helping refugees and asylum seekers.
Today's sermon started off promisingly. The minister talked about how the UN estimates there are 65 million refugees in the world. He asked how desperate these people must be to leave their homes in, say, Sudan, and take refuge in camps in poverty-stricken neighbouring countries. Gosh, I thought, he's going to talk about how we can and should help these people.
Nope. The whole refugee introduction was merely a metaphor for how Christians are refugees from heaven in a culture that they don't agree with. Yes, in all seriousness, the minister invited privileged middle-class first-world people to think that they have it as bad as ethnically persecuted people who have fled their homes and must live in shanty towns in one of the poorest countries in the world.
My mind is still boggled.
So I came home and donated to the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre here in Melbourne. They do all sorts of good things to help refugees in Australia, who even once they've made it here face difficulties adjusting to their new homes (especially those on Temporary Protection Visas who aren't allowed to work, or receive access to Medicare, English lessons or other services which would help them become productive members of society). Specific to Sudan is the Darfur Australia Network, which aims to raise awareness of the ongoing tragedy there. The government recently expelled 16 major aid agencies, which will have terrible effects for the people relying on those agencies for food, water and medical care. DAN also helps Sudanese refugees in Australia; the Melbourne branch is currently accepting computer equipment for students, if you have any old stuff you need to get rid of.
If you're Christian and think it's about loving thy neighbour, or if you're not and get annoyed at Christian ministers' persecution complex, or if you just like thinking of yourself as a decent person, I urge you to check out those sites and do something for people who are a lot worse off than you.
The numbers prove Turnbull wrong, by Lucy Fiske.
The federal opposition is calling for the re-introduction of Temporary
Protection Visas (TPVs) to deter people from risking the dangerous journey
to Australia in unseaworthy vessels in the hope of seeking asylum. The
protection of life is a worthy aim indeed. But Mr Turnbull has got it
wrong.
The Howard government introduced TPVs in October 1999 following a sharp
spike in boat arrivals. The visa aimed to make Australia a less attractive
destination for asylum seekers and to deter others from coming in the
future. The visa failed in its objective. In 1999 boat arrivals were 3,740
people. A further 2,961 came in 2000 and 3,694 in the first 9 months of
2001. Only 200 came in 1998 when refugees arriving by boat received
permanent visas (340 in 1997 and 661 in 1996).
What changed after the introduction of TPVs was that more women and
children risked their lives trying to reach Australia. And so when SIEV X
sank in October 2001 killing 353 people, 142 women and 146 children died.
A TPV allowed a refugee to live in Australia, but it prohibited family
reunion. Before TPVs most asylum seekers coming by boat were young men.
Families, unable to pay and unwilling to risk the dangerous journey, chose
the person most able to survive to make the trip. With no family reunion
more women and children had to make the journey if they were to rejoin
their husbands, fathers and sons.
So why don’t they wait their turn in the queue? Why do they take such
risks? Getting a refugee visa is more like a lottery than a queue. With
around 20 million refugees and around 100,000 refugee places offered
internationally each year, there’s a 0.005% chance of getting
resettlement. Added to this is the fact that refugee camps and border
towns are not nice places. Refugee camps are often lawless places subject
to cross-border raids, poor water supply, little or no education or health
services, inadequate food and no opportunity for paid work. Facing these
odds and the prospect of years in a camp, it is little wonder people try
to find their own way out.
These numbers are important. They show that TPVs not only fail to deter
people, but actually increase the risk as women and children get on the
boats. But numbers don’t tell the whole story.
A friend of mine, let’s call him Ali, arrived in 1999. He made the
crossing to Australia on his third attempt - the first boat sank and the
second turned back when its engine failed. His refugee claim was
recognised and he was granted a TPV. He had left his wife and three young
children in the care of his brothers until he could sponsor them to
safety. Ali is from the Hazaragat - a mountainous region of central
Afghanistan, home to the Hazara people. The Hazaras are physically
distinct from other ethnic groups in Afghanistan. They are also Shia
Muslims. The Taliban did not recognise Shias as humans and considered them
‘kaffirs’; heathens who should be killed.
The Taliban came to Ali’s home one night. They brutalised his wife, beat
him and took him to a makeshift jail and tortured him for several weeks
before dumping his near lifeless body. He was found and nursed back to
health by his extended family. His brothers decided it was too dangerous
for him and they promised to protect his family and organised his escape.
Several months later Ali arrived in Australia.
One day, he received the worst phone call of his life. He lifted the
receiver to hear his young son’s voice “Daddy please come and get us, Mum
is dead.” To this day Ali doesn’t know how his wife died. He knows only
that the Taliban returned and his brothers were powerless to protect her.
His children walked for over a month to escape Afghanistan. They lived
just across the border without lawful status or the protection of an
adult. They were vulnerable to attack from the criminals who thrive in
border towns, at risk of forcible return by local police, grieving for
their mother, traumatised by their witnessing of her death and unable to
understand why their dad couldn’t come and get them.
Ali was on a TPV. He couldn’t sponsor them to join him and the Minister
declined to exercise his power to enable Ali to sponsor them. If Ali left
Australia, he would be unable to return, and he had no visa to enter the
country his children were in. He was powerless to help. Instead, he lived
frugally, paid another family to look after his children and waited for
his chance to apply for permanent residency, enduring regular phone calls
with his children in which they pleaded with him to save them. I wrote
futile letters, made phone calls and helplessly watched this man’s demise.
Ali is now an Australian citizen and his children are, mercifully, with
their dad. They were separated for 5 years. I’m not sure if Ali will ever
recover from his torment or if his children will ever understand why it
took their dad so long to rescue them.
The real tragedy though, is that Ali’s story is not unique. His story is
so typical of ‘boatpeople’ that the reason the Minister refused his
request for help is that there were several thousand people facing much
the same situation. To help one would be unfair. To help all would
undermine the TPV regime.
Is this really what you want Mr Turnbull?
____________________________
Lucy Fiske is a lecturer at the Centre for Human Rights Education at
Curtin University. She is also doing a PhD looking at refugee protest
against immigration detention in Australia. She is also in the board of
CARAD, a local community group helping refugees and asylum seekers.