What Australia Has Lost

I began reading Anh Do’s The Happiest Refugee yesterday. Anh and his family came here as boat people from Vietnam in 1980. It wasn’t long before the tears came. Not just because of the intensely emotional circumstances surrounding their gruelling boat journey away from Vietnam, but because of what Australia has lost as a nation.

Found in the South China Sea, Anh’s family were ferried to Malaysia and after time in a refugee camp they were resettled in Australia. Anh writes that for some years his family used to thank Bob Hawke in their nightly prayers for letting them come and live in his country! In fact, the number of times Anh recounts outpourings of gratitude from his family towards Australia is disarming. I cried because I felt enormous pride that we were once a nation that took in refugees and gave them shelter. I was proud to be part of that Australia. I cried too because our more recent policy towards refugees sees them languishing in a stateless limbo for years. I cried because I’m embarrassed that we have become so mean-spirited to those in dire need.

Anh Do’s story is full of references to decent human behaviour from average Australians helping newcomers adjust to life here. On the personal level, when you do someone a good deed it generally makes you feel good. And when you receive sincere gratitude in return you feel even better. Imagine all the cases in those times when Australians helped out newly arrived migrants and were bestowed with kindness and gratitude in return. What an enormous well of karma and wellbeing must have been built up from all of this selfless giving. On the collective level we can think of it as a vast store of social capital: it made the country feel good about itself. Societies with deep reserves of social capital exhibit effective functioning of social groups through interpersonal relationships, and a shared sense of identity. And not only did this result in a large number of people feeling good about themselves and the society they belonged to, but we also benefited from having wonderful people like Anh Do becoming part of our culture.

In contrast, what we have now is a policy that turns refugees away or keeps them locked up in off-shore detention indefinitely. There is no opportunity for Australians to demonstrate their generosity to newcomers; no opportunity to feel good about helping others who come from far away; no opportunity to gain invaluable social capital and feelings of wellbeing on an individual or collective level. Instead, we have become a nation that turns its back on those who ask for our help. How many Anh Dos have we turned away or confined to offshore detention? We will never know. Instead, we are left with the self-satisfaction that we have denied access to those in need; a strange and empty feeling that we have somehow protected and preserved our way of life. All I feel are awkward feelings of guilt and sadness – sadness that we have squandered a golden opportunity to simultaneously help others, nurture a national identity that is proud of its willingness and ability to welcome those in need, and improve the diversity and richness of our communities.

What a sad and shallow nation we’ve become. I’m glad that we did at least once upon a time accept the likes of Anh Do and his family into our lives.