The two Sydney funerals for the asylum seekers who died trying to reach Christmas Island was heartrending. That some of their relatives were able to gather to mourn them was some small consolation for them. From ancient times to today so many other asylum seekers have died and have lain unburied.
Ordinarily the best response to such grief would be one of silent compassion. But even in death asylum seekers open a faultline in Australian culture and society. Scott Morrison and Tony Abbott wondered aloud at the expense of bringing people from Christmas Island to an Australian funeral. They later backed down on the timing – but not the substance – of their comments.
Psychologists who work closely with asylum seekers were appalled that bereaved children should be returned to Christmas Island. They again emphasised the harm done by detention.
It would be indecent in a time of grief to speculate about what individual politicians might have meant by what they said. But the larger considerations that affect asylum seekers' lives deserve comment. Three points stand out.
First, despite all the evidence of how destructive life in detention is for children, and despite the decision of the Howard Government not to detain children, large numbers of children remain incarcerated. That is shameful. No Australian should be able to contemplate with equanimity the conscription of children, the enslavement of children, the detaining of children and other forms of child abuse.
Second, it is evident that the system of mandatory detention for adults as well as for children is unreasonable. Professor Pat McGorry's famous description of detention centres as factories for manufacturing mental illness was modest and exact.
Yet detention centres, particularly those set in remote parts of Australia with a harsh climate which are known to be most destructive, have multiplied. They come at a huge cost. Detention is a swelling economic folly. If money is an issue, it would be far more rational economically, as well as more humane, to allow asylum seekers to live in the community while their cases are being processed.
Third, the fact that arrangements involving such barbarity and such economic nonsense continue without public outcry suggests that there is strong political opposition to change. That politicians cannot agree on better arrangements suggests that the resistance to change is located deeply in Australian society.
A recent conversation with a woman whose work had taken her to Christmas Island confirmed thse impressions. She struck me as a decent person. On Christmas Island she had warmed to many of the asylum seekers whom she met. But she returned from the island even more convinced that they should not be admitted into Australia.
Her arguments were that Australia already had too many people, that asylum seekers would overrun the nation, that Australia was broke and could not afford to support them, and that, once admitted, even asylum seekers found not to be refugees would never leave.
She half-apologised for her views, perhaps recognising that they stood in some tension with her habitual generosity of spirit. But she continued to argue firmly against making any concessions to children or to adults.
The most thought-provoking aspect of this conversation was to recognise that even personal contact with asylum seekers and with incarcerated children does not necessarily soften people's views. Even seeing the faces of distressed people and hearing their stories could not shake the power over the imagination exerted by the vision of a threatened, overpopulated and bankrupt nation.
It is easy to see why politicians who wish to move to a more rational and humane policy should find it so difficult, and why those who wish to further mire the murky waters should find encouragement.
If we are concerned at the way Australia treats asylum seekers, this conversation suggests that we must focus on what matters. The funerals of the asylum seekers should be the starting place, and the faces and stories of those who died and who grieve. Their humanity is salient to us.
It is also important to keep meeting arguments such as those proposed by the woman against treating asylum seekers humanely. They may be weak arguments, but they continue to attract adherents.
But the central challenge is to change the way Australians imagine asylum seekers as an obstacle to our comfort and to our wellbeing. As long as our imagination remains untouched, there will be little outrage at the suffering of children or adults. People will avert their eyes, wishing all this was not necessary, but prepared to allow others to pay the price for our comfort.
To change the public imagination is a long task, but it begins by personal conversion. There is no better place to begin than in contemplation of lonely funerals far from home.
Andrew Hamilton is the consulting editor of Eureka Street.