I use to think we were the good guys...now I'm not so sure

Dear Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott,

 

 

While I grew up, I use to think that we (Australians) were the good guys. That we were the country of a 'fair go', and had the hearts of compassion, good will and kindness to help out a person in need. I use to think that we would do the 'right thing' in any situation, simply because it was the 'right thing to do'. But after yesterday, I am in serious doubt that we hold any sense of fairness, or of what is right. I'm beginning to think that the 'leaders' of our country will do anything for personal gain, and play on the minds of the credulous, fearful and misguided in society by riding on the politics of fear, division and ignorance.

 

Last night I was having a meal with a mate...we talked sport, swapped stories, had a few laughs, spoke of our families, shared our dreams for the future and discussed the age old conundrum - women and relationships. I could have been with any of my mates any where in this country.

 

But for some reason, this mate is different.

 

His name is Ali. One night, 17 years ago, he returned home to find his brother had been killed and his father beaten unconscious by the Taliban. Their crimes? Being Shi'a Hazaras. Knowing they would be back for him later that night, he had no choice, but to grab what little belongings he had and flee immediately across the border to Pakistan. Ali spent the next fourteen years living in a country that didn't recognise his situation. He was unable to work or get basic health services and his children were unable to go to school. They lived in constant fear. Friends would be killed and would disappear. Life was so grim that his wife instructed him that for the sake of theirs and their children's lives he needed to find safety. Terrified, Ali risked his life and made his way to Australia to seek refuge. It took him 3 months to get here, and he would spend 18 months locked up in 'prisons' around the country, shipped around like cattle, treated like a criminal.

 

Earlier this year, Ali got the chance to start living in community awaiting the final outcomes of his visa. He spent everyday for over 4 months volunteering at a Salvation Army family store. He was one of the best workers and when he was granted his protection visa only last month, the staff had no hesitation to put him on as an employee. Ali loves working there. He says it's his chance to say thank you to Australia and to help some of the 'needy' of the Australian community out.  Ali is 'different' because he arrived here by boat, but he is no different to any of my mates.

 

I am in a privileged position where I hear stories like this everyday. Courageous, resilient, passionate and generous people wanting to contribute and to build a hard working, diverse Australia that their families can be proud of.

 

I am proud to call Ali a friend.

 

 

Ali giving back to the community because he wants to 'build a strong Australia'

 

Yesterdays 'solutions' to a global 'problem' were disturbing - turn boats around to Indonesia which has caused hundreds of drowning previously; send people to a country where their human rights aren't recognised; or transform one of the few schools on a tiny Island who needs education into a prison to house people fleeing for their lives.

 

Why is it seen as weak or unpopular to formulate a welcoming and compassionate process for people like Ali to get to Australia? What does it say about our country when we can't put in place basic human rights for the worlds most vulnerable?  Why can't we increase our refugee intake or process asylum seekers before they get here? We've done it before and it's worked! It's cheaper, it's more humane and we give people like Ali the chance to contribute to our amazing and vast country.

 

Multiculturalism isn't a label or tag of this country. It's who we are. Why do we make it something to fear?

 

My Dad's ancestors were boat people, my Mum's parents fled as refugees across Europe to find safety until they finally made it here. How are we so different?

 

As the political furore continues today, please remember what the 'right thing to do' is. Please remember that we can be the good guys. We can take the leadership and responsibility to develop a regional response to continue to develop a country that believes in a 'fair go' and that we can welcome people to Australia.

 

Luke.

Willowra Blues

I've had the privilege of visiting Willowra in the Northern Territory twice this year. It's a beautiful Warlpiri community about 340 km northwest of Alice Springs. I love travelling down the Anningie Station Road, taking in the beautiful surrounds of the Tanami Desert and knowing that when you suddenly stumble across the bizarre sight of donkeys, you know you've hit this little community north of Ti Tree.
With the ancient smiles, cultural wisdom and surreal scenery that exist there, it seems somewhat contradictory to be talking about the feelings of grief I've had in my past two visits. However, sadly, my last two visits to the community have coincided with the tragic deaths of two young people.

With lives that are constantly changing, and little stability, the one thing that seems to linger around communities, is sorry business - the ceremony that takes place after someone has died. If it's not in their own community, it's a neighbouring community, or in town in Alice. The toll this emotional turmoil takes is immense. I still remember the sudden weight that fell on my shoulders as I entered Willowra in February where only a few days earlier a 16 year old girl had unexpectedly died. I was feeling gloom, upset, frustrated...yet I didn't even know the girl! I can't imagine how members of community were feeling. As I walked through sorry camp putting out my hand to members of the community to acknowledge their loss, the pain on their faces was unbearable to witness.

Then, a fortnight ago, I was making my way back to Willowra. The feeling was great. I was enjoying catching up with people I hadn't seen in a while, and starting to feel like I was really developing some strong relationships with the community. Then suddenly on the Wednesday morning as I was gathering up some of the young Mum's for playgroup a maroon car sped past and pulled out the front of one of the houses. What was all the commotion? What was going on? We had to check it out...and as we drove up some Warlpiri was spoken, and it became apparent. There had been a tragic accident just 20 km out from Willowra. A young man had died.

I'm still confounded by the emotions I experienced at being present at a moment, when people found out about the death of a loved one. Having experienced deaths of loved ones in my immediate family in my own life, I empathised with their feelings. But their grief is often and regular. Within the space of less than six months, they lost another family member. I am really challenged as to how these people can move on. Yet, time and time again they do. Every time they get knocked down, they get up again.
Sorry Business is such a large part of their lives, and I understand why. It is an outpouring and sometimes very public display of their grief and sadness that is felt after losing someone. By acknowledging this grief and mourning their loss, I suppose it's the only way they can try and move on. That's not to say that all their pain will go away or becomes bearable, but at least it will keep them going until it inevitably occurs again.

I'm back in the comfort of Sydney now, but still very much have the people of Willowra and indeed all Indigenous communities in my thoughts. It's easy to be reflective when your thousands of kilometres away from what's occurring and don't have to experience the harsh realities of what's going on. Just like it's easy for beaurocrats, who at the same distance away can make decisions impacting on peoples' lives without really understanding what's going on. All I know is that these events are happening right now in our backyard, and we need real politicians with vision to stand up for what is right by our Indigenous brothers and sisters.


I'd like to leave you with a few shots from my visit earlier this year in February, fresh after some rain, with the grass green, and the creek flowing. Despite all the gloom and doom I've expressed, I'd love for it to give you a sense of the hope and resilience that Indigenous Australians have, in the stunning surrounds that encapsulate this community.

Dreaming of Ethiopia

As a child in the 1980s, I saw children starving in Ethiopia on TV, and I imagined myself as a missionary in deepest, darkest Africa…

I sleep in a different bed in a different village most weeks, but I am fortunate to have a bed. I travel hours by car, or sometimes plane, each week to get to work, but it's a beautiful country that most people never see – not even in photos. Summer days are very hot, winter nights are very cold; it's a country of extremes.

I work in health so I spend a lot of time with women and children and I hear many stories. In one village of 300 people, one that has never been at war or experienced a natural disaster, I meet three children in the one day under ten years of age whose mothers have died. On average, these people attend at least 40 funerals in their lifetimes.

I sit with a woman whose child isn't growing well and I am concerned for his health. I ask her where she is living. Her husband is in jail, and she lives with his family in her mother-in-law's home. There are 14 people in one three-bedroom house, with one fridge (that doesn't work) and one toilet (that also doesn't work).

Similar stories are repeated throughout the places I visit. The tales of despair, hopelessness and lack of control over their own lives can become overwhelming. Why do people even get up in the morning?

The sad part is this is not "imaginary". It's reality – and not in Ethiopia but in remote Aboriginal communities here in Australia. I am working in parts of my own country I didn't know existed when I dreamed of Africa as a child.

When the Prime Minister apologised earlier this year, I sat eating my breakfast with a tear in my eye. As I walked to work, I wondered how the people around me felt. I talked to the women in the clinic. Some had watched it, others had heard there was a party in Tennant Creek. I mentioned I'd seen people I knew from other communities on TV. This sparked much conversation in Indigenous Language and then one older lady spoke up: "Someone from here should have gone there, or those people should have come here and said it."

To a group of young mums, the confusion was around who the Prime Minister was: somehow news of the election and change of Government had missed this part of Australia. For these women, more important was what would happen next in their community. Would the community phone be fixed, so I could call to let them know the next time I was coming to the outstation where they lived?

I am learning so much. What would it be like to speak two or three languages, plus English, yet not be able to read and write? How would I get my voice heard? Would I have a voice?

I've never been to Africa, and I no longer dream about it. Trying to work out what it means to be white in this part of Australia is challenging enough.

Dreaming of Ethiopia: Elise Rolfs; 2008



I know when I set out for Central Australia; I set out in the hope of answers. Answers to questions like ‘why are Indigenous Australians 12 times more likely to develop diabetes compared to Non-Indigenous Australians?’; ‘why are Indigenous Australians 40% more likely to commit suicide compared to Non-Indigenous Australians?’ and ‘why on average will Indigenous Australians die 17 years earlier than Non-Indigenous Australians?’

However the reality is, the more I see, the less I seem to know.

There is only one thing that I know is for certain - the resilience, determination and wisdom that exists with the first Australians; and the only way that we're going to find answers to 'Indigenous problems', is by listening to 'Indigenous solutions'.

While my time here is slowly coming to an end, I hope I can share some of my thoughts on what it's been like to live in the red centre and try to make sense of the bureaucratic nonsense that takes place here.

As one of the traditional owners from New Haven said to me when he held my arm next to his 'our colours on the outside might be different, but on the inside all humans bleed the same colour; we're one blood'.

I hope I can enlighten some of these statistics to human faces and what it's been like to witness the oldest living culture in the world.

While I do still dream of Africa...for the moment trying to work out what it means to be white in this part of Australia is challenging enough.