In the early hours of Wednesday morning, 21 September 2016, a young asylum seeker was forcibly removed from the Maribyrnong Immigration Detention Centre (MIDC) in Victoria — with little notice, and no opportunity to say goodbye to friends or to let them know what was happening or where he was going.
With barely time to scramble his possessions together, he was taken away, placed on a plane and, along with four others, transferred to the high security detention facility on Christmas Island — one of the island hellholes we Australians use to warehouse our unwelcome refugees and asylum seekers. Why? Because he's done something wrong? Because he's a criminal? No. Just because that's the way we now do things here.
I have met with this remarkable young man on a weekly basis for the last year as a visitor to the Melbourne Immigration Transit Accommodation (MITA) centre in Broadmeadows. I have come to know him well, and I can tell you this: he is solid gold.
He is, to put it quite simply, one of the kindest souls you could hope to encounter. I've had many conversations with him over the past year and, despite his own deep difficulties, they have all invariably circled around his love and care and concern for others: his family, his friends, his country, and ours.
In that pressure-cooker environment of the detention centre, he has kept his calm and helped to instil it in others. His is a peaceful, gentle presence. He is young in years, but has a composure, wisdom and grace about him that makes him seem much older.
He has spent the endless time in detention — time that could understandably be lost and wasted in despair and self-pity — mentoring and supporting those detained with him. A former roommate at MITA has described him to a friend as 'being like a father' to him.
He is also a gifted artist. He participated in a little art exhibition organised early this year for a small group of artists from MITA and he produced some of the most powerful and poignant images of the show.
He was also pivotal in encouraging the others to rise above the deadening apathy and despair detention breeds to produce some wonderfully creative work. He was not granted permission to attend — none of them were — but his spirit permeated the whole exhibition.
"My friend sailed straight into our cruel practice of indefinite detention, in one of the most inhospitable places you can imagine: Manus Island. He hasn't liked to speak much of what happened there. I shudder to think."
And what of our nation's spirit? What spirit permeates our current 'border protection' approach to asylum seeker policy-making? What is it in us, in our shared culture, that has turned us from an attitude of care and compassion for these most vulnerable of people to one of punitive incarceration with little to no hope of release? These are questions that demand answers of us all. We have done a great deal of harm. We have robbed people like my friend of their basic and fundamental human right to seek asylum, to ask for our protection and support.
After a harrowing journey away from danger in his place of origin, my friend sailed straight into our cruel and uncompromising policy and practice of indefinite detention, in one of the most inhospitable places you can imagine: Manus Island. He hasn't liked to speak much of what happened there. I shudder to think. What I do know is that he eventually came to our Australian shores deeply traumatised to receive medical treatment and care. We then compounded his suffering with the cruel and constant threat of being returned to Manus. Well, that threat is now his reality. No, not Manus, this time — another hellhole.
It is hard not to feel despair in the face of brutal policies implemented by what seems an implacable bureaucracy, and a leadership that lauds these policies as something of a gold standard to which the rest of the world should aspire. Hope, when it comes, is inspired by the courage and resilience of these people we treat so shabbily, not least that of my friend. Peace to you, brother.
Rev Lisa Stewart is a Uniting Church minister and regular visitor at MITA.
Main image: One of the paintings from the Over the Fence art exhibition.