Finding A Place: Asylum Seekers in Australia
By Scott Vignos
The Asylum Seeker Resource Centre (ASRC) resides in an unassuming house set on Dundas Street in Thornbury, a working class neighborhood of urban Melbourne. Each Thursday and Saturday it opens its doors to asylum seekers on temporary visas. Volunteers staff the Centre and provide practical assistance – distributing food boxes, running playgroups for children and teaching English to those who want to improve their language skills – among countless other services. I had heard about this place during our discussion with Gabby several weeks prior. It became the object of my thoughts, brought instantly to mind every time I saw the front page of a Melbourne newspaper commenting on the latest saga in the country’s “asylum seeker crisis.” When it came time to settle on a subject for my final research project, the decision was simple. I wanted to volunteer at the ASRC and write a photo essay to document the lives of asylum seekers and volunteers. Armed with my camera, notebook and an uncanny ability to lift boxes, I embarked upon an experience that expanded my horizons as a student of humanity. My intent in writing about this experience is to inspire awareness by appreciating the volunteers and asylum seekers presented in the following paragraphs; not necessarily to pick up the nearest phone and donate money (although this is fine with me).
Australia’s refugee policy has never been characterized as lenient. Despite being a signatory to the 1951 United Nations Convention on Refugees – a document outlining the necessary responses to aid refugees and asylum seekers – the Australian government has maintained a hard line stance towards those fleeing violence and persecution. Australian courts have repeatedly trumped international law in favor of policy that requires the detention of all asylum seekers in camps located primarily in harsh deserts. Further, after asylum seekers are determined to pose no security threat and released, they are not guaranteed respite. Asylum seekers are granted temporary protection visas while awaiting final ruling on their status in Australia. These visas, otherwise known as TPVs, provide few resources for practical assistance and forbid asylum seekers from finding legal employment. Often, after years of existing in limbo, requests for asylum are denied and families who have spent years in Australia face deportation. Responses to this ‘crisis’ have been mixed. While the government and popular media have portrayed asylum seekers as ‘riff-raff’ and ‘queue-jumpers’’, many grassroots organizations have responded to the situation by providing legal assistance and by lobbying the government to change policies that negatively affect refugees and asylum seekers.
In June 2001, a group of 30 volunteers gathered at the Becharie Lebanese Community Center on Dundas Street in Thornbury to discuss the situation facing asylum seekers and refugees in Melbourne. Many asylum seekers in the community with temporary protection visas were living without basic welfare, medical care, and work rights, making their existence difficult. The extended waiting periods involved with processing visa applications and appeals further exacerbated their situation and it was agreed that action had to be taken to aid those especially at risk.
Gabby Fakhri, a long-time activist for asylum seekers and refugees suggested the establishment of a humanitarian organization aimed specifically at helping asylum seekers and refugees get on their feet. Using an award received for her community service, Gabby sponsored the renovation of the Becharie house and soon the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre was opened to provide services to asylum seekers throughout Melbourne. With a trained corps of volunteers, the ASRC staff coordinates legal and housing assistance, English lessons, homework, children’s playgroups and excursions, all provided free of charge. In June 2004, the ASRC celebrated its third anniversary and assisted approximately 200 families on a weekly basis.
Arriving for my first day of volunteering on a Thursday morning at 9:30 a.m., the ASRC is already bustling with activity. I’m soon standing over a thirty kilogram sack of flour, carefully measuring even amounts into plastic bags. Tying a bag at the top, I hand it to my neighbor who places it in one of the food boxes organized before us. Each box contains essential staples – milk, rice, lentils, flour, sugar, salt, oil, canned vegetables and fruit – enough to last a family a week. The boxes are assembled weekly from donations brought to the house by community members, churches and food shelves. The families that come to collect the boxes are from many ethnic backgrounds, but most have fled from Iran, Iraq and Lebanon. Some of the families have come to the house since it opened, several were recently released from detention camps, and still others have lived in Melbourne for months without knowing about the ASRC.
Volunteers operate in a variety of capacities at the house. Some strictly work with the administrative aspects, others coordinate playgroups or teach English. There are volunteers who come every Thursday and Saturday and others arrive on a more casual basis. The volunteers at the ASRC also represent diverse backgrounds. While they are primarily retired women, volunteers include students, professionals, farmers, couples and the asylum seekers themselves. During my time as a volunteer, several asylum seekers were the most regular workers. They arrived before the house opened and left only when the front door was locked. The role of the asylum seekers and the volunteers often intermingle.
My role as a volunteer varied. Usually I was one of the only young men at the house so my lifting skills were often employed. Physical labor quickly became my specialty – lifting, cleaning, cooking, packing and gardening. However, as I began to feel more comfortable with the services of the house, my duties expanded to include teaching and practicing conversational English, playing with children in the playgroup and surveying asylum seekers about their use of the Centre. However, flexibility was at a premium – I could be teaching one moment and lifting a drum of cooking oil the next. I took my lead from the other volunteers. I was unique because I was not strictly a volunteer. I came to the house to investigate and record my experience with an academic intent. The greatest challenge in reaching this goal became balancing and integrating my role as a volunteer with that of an investigator. An open-minded approach to these roles was essential to establish the delicate equilibrium between volunteer and student. Needless to say, obstacles arose along the way.
The approach that evolved over the course of this project greatly influenced my behavior as a student. This is reflected in my final project. By gauging daily the tone and atmosphere of the Centre, volunteers and asylum seekers, the approach changed accordingly. While thinking about the important considerations essential in an investigator’s role, I recognized that many considerations applied to volunteering as well. By describing the implications of each of these elements, I began to better understand the confluent nature of volunteering and researching simultaneously. By practicing these considerations, I soon realized why the Centre has thrived for three years as a successful community organization.
Although I had originally planned on interviewing asylum seekers, from the outset it became clear that I did not have the needed rapport with my subjects. My position as an outsider (and an American) was painfully obvious during the first days at the Centre and many of the asylum seekers avoided me when I introduced myself. Women who spoke openly with other volunteers would lower their voiced and take their children by the wrist to lead them away in my presence. I was not welcome and became worried about the success of the project. I needed an ‘in’ and I found it in Gabby. With her assistance, I was finally able to sit down with individuals to talk about their lives in Australia, but the busy atmosphere of the house meant conversations were more often than not interrupted, leaving me with ‘incomplete’ interviews.
I began to realize that although my interviews were helpful, I was gaining more insight from the volunteers and asylum seekers about their lives, stories, opinions and ideas by simply ‘hanging around’. As my trust and rapport with both asylum seekers and volunteers increased, I found myself privy to information that worked its way into informal conversations, stories, or even a joke. My interviews were spontaneous – while packing boxes, in the car, teaching English, making bracelets, reading a book on the solar system, or in any number of situations where I found myself suddenly listening to someone talk about their experiences.
Only later did I understand the host of complexities that accompanied these ‘spontaneous’ interviews. Namely, that trust, an important ingredient in any relationship, is especially key in relations between volunteers and asylum seekers. In the lives of many asylum seekers, trust has been painfully absent. Arriving on rotting boats after paying human smugglers exorbitant sums, spending time in detention centers despite committing no crime, and lacking access to basic human services because of visa restrictions, all contribute to a haunting lack of trust by asylum seekers. The Centre’s principal challenge becomes building trusting relationships with asylum seekers to demonstrate that someone is indeed looking out for their best interest. This is achieved by ensuring that promised services are available and accessible. When a volunteer promises a phone call, it is made. When an extra food box is promised, it is delivered. To lapse on this goal would only further alienate asylum seekers and refugees.
As a student, I established trust with the volunteers and asylum seekers in time. Several asylum seekers who wouldn’t look at me during my first days were greeting me when I arrived and talking about their families by the end of my stay. This wasn’t always the case. Some asylum seekers, knowing I was as student would approach me to talk about their experiences. Similarly, a trusting rapport between other volunteers and me was important. As I began to know volunteers better, they became more interested in the project, or at least I sensed, less ambivalent towards it. Many were even eager to help.
I often wondered if there was an option for asylum seekers regarding their trust in the ASRC and its volunteers. If the ASRC is the only place to receive aid, by default they must trust it. This trust is significant since volunteers look after children, distribute food and instruct asylum seekers in English— all sensitive tasks. I believe time is important in this equation. Volunteers work hard to gain the trust of asylum seekers through their actions. The fact that both groups come back week after week to not only provide and receive assistance, but also for socialization and community points to the existence of trust at the Centre.
An awareness of ethics was also present at the house and I tried to approach my project with the same ethical considerations as the volunteers. The boundaries of what is ethical are undefined and volunteers often have to think critically about how far they can go to help. For example, though some volunteers may decide to house asylum seekers in emergency situations until other housing is found, how do they decide when a stay is too long? While working at the Centre I tried to observe specific boundaries delineating what was okay and what was not. One of the volunteers, Jo Kinnane, summarized the dilemma best, commenting, “We want to offer help for everything, but we can’t always do what we want.” Ethical volunteering includes recognizing the limits of aiding someone, or doing them harm by overstepping boundaries.
Another surprising ethical concern involved the existence of ‘bad’ asylum seekers. There are those asylum seekers who come to the house and take more than their fair share. The volunteers call them ‘sharks’. I couldn’t imagine anything like a bad asylum seeker until I helped a woman out to her car with double the food the Centre usually gives to families only to find the front seat filled with aid bags from other organizations. I didn’t think anything of it until I came back inside and two kitchen volunteers commented on her reputation as a ‘shark’.
The environment of the house was another important factor in my investigation. The house in general has a very positive atmosphere – people laughing, joking and smiling almost constantly. If volunteers and asylum seekers spent their time at the Centre consistently frustrated about the realities of their situations, it would be a very glum place. Humor therefore becomes an important tool. One Thursday I was speaking with asylum seeker about her life in Kosovo while we packed food boxes. Initially, she adopted a frank tone, speaking emotionally about the likelihood of her appeal being rejected, but as other asylum seekers came in to collect their boxes, her tone changed. Even though she was referring to significant hardship, she tried to remain positive, laughing while she talked about her latest appearance before an immigration judge. At first I was confused until I grasped that her use of humor was in consideration of the other asylum seekers – she didn’t want to sound as though she were complaining.
I began to pay closer attention to how the environment in house was created. I came to believe that asylum seekers are actually responsible for the positive attitude that permeates the Centre. Most are happy to have a welcoming community available and it is visible in children waiting for their playmates, quickly rushing out the door to start a game in the yard while their parents look for old friends. This positive environment inspires the volunteers. I have no doubt that the volunteers would more frequently complain about the government’s policies if it wasn’t for the asylum seekers’ positive and patient attitudes. However, when especially bad news arrives, like word of a family member’s death or a rejection of an appeal, the pain of everyone in the house is conspicuous as reality sets in. While closely related to ethical concerns, the importance of cultural sensitivity is essential to volunteers and researchers alike. Asylum seekers at the house come from a variety of backgrounds, but most are Muslim. Many women at the house wear hijab (a traditional head covering) and on several instances, as most of the volunteers are women, they uncover. However, they re-covered whenever I walked into the room. At first, I was confused and a bit frustrated that they couldn’t ‘open up’ to me. I recognized soon thereafter that the hijab was one of many cultural differences that were important to respect. Accordingly, I developed an appreciation for the women’s openness towards me in conversations after several volunteers told me that they tend on most occasions to be discrete with men.
The importance of cultural sensitivity also influenced my interactions with the children of asylum seekers. I observed that some of the children misbehaved regularly and ‘playing nice’ was a challenge. Trying not generalize too broadly, I discovered that many of the children and their parents had spent significant time in detention camps. As a result, the kids spent much of childhood in frightening situations without other playmates helping to clarify their behavior. In truth, the children at the Centre are resilient beyond compare. Many translate for their parents or watch younger siblings while parents sit in lessons or chat with other asylum seekers.
From the outset I knew the use of a camera would also be a delicate issue. Many of the asylum seekers face an uncertain future in Australia wherein the government is critical of their movement and activities – a camera was an adversarial symbol. Both asylum seekers and volunteers would regard any outsider who arrived with one in hand suspiciously. After consulting with Gabby, I decided against bringing my camera to the Centre for the first few weeks so that I could become a recognizable face. When I produced the camera for the first time, the asylum seekers weren’t necessarily ready for it.
Even though I had volunteered at the Centre for several weeks, as soon as I hung the camera around my neck, attitudes towards me changed. On a Thursday, I planned on taking photographs of food boxes being distributed. During box distribution people almost universally declined my requests to take photos and kept an eye on me while I stood in the kitchen. Sensing that I was straining the process, I took off the camera and the atmosphere returned to normal. I had made several mistakes. First, in trying to grab the best images, I hadn’t thought about the fact that many asylum seekers are not only adverse to being photographed, but are also ashamed of receiving charity. Many of the asylum seekers had economically stable lives before fleeing and the necessity to take charity was a source of shame. Similarly, when I went out to the playgroup and tried to take photos while standing around the table, I received anxious responses from volunteers and the children alike. It was obvious that the photographic considerations I was accustomed to practicing at home needed some adjustment.
I tried a new approach to foster trust with the asylum seekers. In the mornings at the Centre I chatted with people to gain their trust and reserved picture taking for the afternoon. I didn’t wear the camera when asking if I could take pictures, and if a situation required my being ready to quickly take a photo, the camera lay on my back until the last possible moment. I also tried to be more sensitive to the atmosphere when taking pictures. For example, after two women found out they had received their permanent protection visas, they were excited to be photographed when previously they requested that I not do so. I had been taking photos of their celebration in the kitchen for half an hour when an asylum seeker arrived crying because her last visa appeal had been rejected. I put the camera away in respect for her circumstance, knowing that the tone of the house had changed drastically.
To photograph children, I realized that instead of standing, I should sit down and involve myself with their activities. This made them much more likely to let me take a picture. It’s no coincidence that my best photos of the children were taken from a foot off the ground as I huddled in a tiny plastic chair smeared with clay. One of my final changes involved recognizing that if the presence of the camera unsettled some asylum seekers, by extension it troubled the volunteers who have grown to understand and empathize with their friends at the Centre. In response, I addressed my requests for consent to all of the volunteers as well.
By describing the underlying elements governing the house, it’s clear why the ASRC is so important to asylum seekers and volunteers alike. It is a community of support that harbors values of trust, ethics, and cultural sensitivity while maintaining a positive environment on levels I doubt its residents recognize.
If I were to classify an overarching theme describing my time at the ASRC, it would undoubtedly be the importance of flexibility. The Centre is a place that embraces this philosophy. On many occasions, when an especially pernicious obstacle presented itself, the first response was always, “We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” This included emergency fundraising for a specific family, the scheduling of short notice appointments, or gestures as simple as a ride from home. It is the popularly cited Australian principle of a ‘fair go’ in action. This philosophy diffused readily into my research and my approach to volunteering and research.
My time at the ASRC constituted a learning experience on a magnitude I could never have predicted. Operating in a environment in which I was wholly untested, I was forced to quickly evolve in order to fulfill my roles as a researcher and a volunteer. Most importantly, the ASRC introduced me to an Australian issue of which I am now passionately aware. Learning about asylum seekers in classes and lectures does little justice to witnessing the human face of the situation. At the Centre I was surprised daily at how, for lack of a better word, despicable the Australian government’s treatment of asylum seekers is. I would often think to myself, “If John Howard (Australia’s prime minister) came to volunteer here for a day, every asylum seeker in Australia would have permanent residency tomorrow.
”The reality is obviously not so simple. Instead, a troubling situation brings asylum seekers and volunteers back to the house week after week. I attempted to distill this awareness into my photo essay of the individuals at the ASRC. I believe with awareness comes responsibility – a responsibility to human dignity and justice that extends beyond national borders, especially when there is much to change at home. If my time at the Thornbury Asylum Seeker Resource Centre taught me anything, it was to never be satisfied and never be silent about the way things are.
Scott Vignos is a senior sociology and anthropolgy major from Anchorage, Alaska.