by Han Nguyen
On the 21st of December, I had
the honour and privilege of being invited to distribute Christmas hampers
across the northern suburbs of Melbourne with Friends of Refugees Melbourne
(FORM). I honestly didn’t know what to expect but
couldn’t resist the opportunity to engage directly with refugees in Melbourne.
Nathan had worked alongside FORM on several occasions moving furniture for Man
with a Van and had visited detention centres on other occasions. Having heard
so much about this group and having been so kindly invited by Nicole to join
them was all that I needed to rid of any initial apprehension.
So holding onto my six Christmas bears I
had collected over the years, I got off the train at Southern Cross Station and
walked into the chaotic office of FORM where organisation, excitement,
commitment were mixed amongst the friendly people, all of whom introduced
themselves to me, an obvious new face to a cohesive yet welcoming cohort.
Instead feeling out of place, I tried my hardest to remember all the names that
were thrown at me, attempting to place invisible nametags on everyone’s shirts.
I eased into my new role as a newbie by asking if I could be of any assistance.
Nicole suggested that I talk to another organiser, Andrea, about my bears so
that they could be included in the wrapped up Christmas presents for children.
Amongst all the enthusiasm and last minute organisation,
I was unable to get hold of Andrea. I set down my bears in a corner near the
food hampers, Christmas stockings and wrapped up boxes and toys. Groups composed
of a leader, a driver and fellow volunteers were encouraged to get together and
collect the appropriate items for their visits. Before we were to disperse,
Jack kindly gathered the volunteers for a prayer; primarily to wish the
families we were visiting a safe and joyous time during this festive season.
Despite my limited religious beliefs, it felt like an appropriate way to begin
our journey to spread as much love as humanly possible; after all, isn’t any
kind of well-wishes and hope a variation of a prayer? Regardless of who we
believe will listen to our hopes or grant our wishes, the sincerity of these
sentiments is the underlying message.
Nicole the leader, Vincent the driver and I
ventured towards the outer-Northern suburbs; our first visit was to a young
Iranian man who lived with his extended family. He cradled his 9-month-old
niece lovingly and told us about his wishes to find a special someone to start
his own family with. It is such a universal feeling to want to love and be
loved in return – a sentiment that is undeniably inherent and pronounced during
the holiday season. As we listened to him talk about his life and aspirations
for the future, I couldn’t help but detect faint melancholy in his voice and
the way in which he looked at us. Maybe it was just me – it’s really hard to
tell sometimes. Even so, it was such a privilege to listen to this man talk
about his experiences and for him to open up to strangers. We took a photo with
him, his beautiful nieces and mother before heading off to the next family.
Nearby, another Iranian family welcomed us
to their home. A young mother and her 7-month-old baby (as of the 21st
of December, 7 months and 29 days old) sat at home as her husband and two
children went shopping. Her English was very limited but we were able to talk
about her children. I saw on the mantel a school photo of her eldest daughter
in a school in the western-suburbs of Melbourne and asked her whether she had
previously lived in Sunshine. She said they lived there around 7 months ago – I
curiously asked if the baby was born at Sunshine Hospital. I felt a ridiculous
and tenuous connection with the child after finding out we were born in the
same hospital, 22 years apart. But then again, where is the tenuous connection
between both having immigrant parents (in this case, refugee) who spoke little
English and living in a country that both celebrated and opposed multi-culturalism?
Where is the tenuous connection of growing up with a dual identity and being
forced to choose sides during times of social and political tension? I
sympathised with these children because I foresaw future experiences that they
would inevitable go through; confusion, indignation, anger, frustration, hurt,
betrayal – all waiting for them to deal with as children of refugees and as first
generation Australians.
The young mother called her husband on the
phone to tell him that we had come to visit. He promptly returned with his
precocious seven year old daughter and shy yet cheeky five year old son. The
children tore into the Christmas stocking with renewed enthusiasm and thanked
us; their typical childish antics pushed back my worries and allowed me to see
that although they will experience certain hardship as a result of their
circumstance, they will also go through everything every other child in
Australian will go through. And that a commonality between everyone – something
that is universal and pure and undeniably human – can be a comforting thing. As
we said goodbye yet again, the father said to us in a low voice, “I will never
forget your help”. Nicole was visibly moved. After we drove away from our
waving hosts, Nicole reiterated what the father had said and breathlessly
squeezed out a single ‘wow’. We were left to think about that as we journeyed
onto our last home.
We were expected at a house that Nicole had
visited before. The family greeted her warmly as Vincent and I were introduced
and welcomed into their home. Nathan had also helped out during a moving day
some time ago as well and as I sat on the couch (did he move that couch?) watching
the children joyfully hug my bear and open the gifts, I couldn’t help but smile
at the thought that both he and I had somehow contributed to this family, in
our own small way. It astounds me how readily the children accepted us
momentarily into our lives to forge hopefully special memories; it astounds me
that I was given the opportunity to do this for free. It really is unbelievably
inconceivable sometimes the situations you find yourself in during parts of
your life.
I mulled over this lingering thought on the
way back to the church early in the evening. As we respectively internalised
the events of the day, Nicole asked me what my stance was on refugees in
Australia. Not often am I asked this directly, most times this conversation is
elicited through discussions on current affairs or university classrooms. Our
experiences are our best arguments and those in a privileged position sometimes
take on the role of representing those without a voice. I told Nicole that my
parents went through a refugee experience during a time where anti-immigration
sentiments were rampant with notions of a White Australia policy frighteningly
at the forefront of political discussions. Therefore, I grew up with a
defensive sense of activism for migrants who chose Australia – for whatever
reason – to be their new home. However, regardless of one’s background, the foundation
of humanity is the ability to empathise with others, especially during times of
hardship and struggle. Do we need to repeatedly remind people this? How can
such an integral part of our humanity be so disregarded?
This is why I felt like it was such a
privilege to be a part of these home visits. My home visits may have ended, but many
people’s struggles continue to be a frighteningly constant battle. We must
remind ourselves that although at times Australia champions itself as a land of
opportunity, mateship, camaraderie and multiculturalism, none of these are
exclusive to our country but are representative of humankind; that as a country
that holds hope for those in need of help, we must to be aware of our
responsibility and act accordingly.
No comments:
Post a Comment