Standing quietly on the deck of the ‘Kelud’ recently, one hundred kilometres off the coast of Java, Indonesia, my thoughts drifted… I tried to imagine those desperate last hours and inevitable death by drowning experienced by many illegal immigrants who transit this region of the world in search of a better life in Australia. Most of them political-economic refugees, a raggedy band of individuals frequently maligned in our national debate, emotively described in the tabloid press as ‘queue jumpers’, like some undisciplined pack of feral animals.
But there I was, travelling at sea by choice in a first class air-conditioned cabin, three meals on white linen service, hot shower, TV and eight square metres of lock-up space, all to myself. Outside the cabin, I glanced along the freshly painted steel railing of this robust, ocean going ferry and noticed about sixteen beautifully constructed life rafts. Each one of them was equipped with first aid kits, rations, blankets and capable, I guess, of supporting forty or more passengers for days in the event of an emergency.
At a distance of about ten kilometres, I could just see several small, probably uninhabited islands. Now I am reasonably fit, a fair swimmer, but I would not have been able to reach dry land in the unlikely event that this particular boat sank. It was just physically, too far. So peering down into the cold grey ocean with these morbid thoughts in mind, not a ship in sight in any direction, I felt fragile. I felt very small. I know I would almost certainly have perished, without someone coming to my aid.
And regardless of my life circumstances, I was not sneaking off Java’s south coast in the middle of the night, feeling compelled to board a rotting, aged, timber fishing boat, one long past its use by date. I was not crammed into its stinking hull, packed in around one another like No Frills sardines, trying to ensure my ten-year-old son was safe, that he had some dry space to lay his head, to sleep. I was on paid holidays, fate had provided me with an education, full-time employment and an association with stable government. I was not fleeing the recent memory of a war-torn past and/or persecution, sailing on hope into unpredictable waters and an uncertain future.
I imagine as the water starts to lap around each and every ‘queue jumper’s’ feet, there is no orderly transfer of passengers into waiting life rafts, on their tub. There would be no Hollywood inspired, spontaneous chorus of Auld Lang Syne ringing out, calming the nerves. There would be just cold fear. Fear, anxiety and the sudden memory of loved ones’ faces, those you are about to leave behind. Close family members you will never see again. And I imagine also at that precise moment the water reaches your waist, there is just panic and the immediate realisation that you are very, very alone, that you and your boy may well soon die.
How would we, you and I manage… at this point? I have a feeling that, in spite of the great mare’s proven and potential ability, there would be little interest in Black Caviar’s latest run, at this time? No whinging about the rugby league points table or preoccupation with the competition favourites, at this moment? ‘D.r.o.w.n.i.n.g’ I imagine, tends to focus your thoughts away from the trivial.
As a developed nation, living within the social-political parameters of the modern world, we as Australians are mostly effective, responsible international citizens. We attempt to comply with our international obligations. But in my opinion, we need to further consider what motivates individual Iranian, Iraqi, Sri Lankan and Afghan nationals etc to take these perilous journeys, halfway around the world. We need to consider the consequences and fully accept the responsibilities of an ongoing, deepening, US alliance. For the most part we remain one of the most privileged societies on the planet. Let us reflect that elevated position in our human relationships and try to refrain from the xenophobia, the often uninformed pub rhetoric of ‘poor bugger me’.
Brendon Perrin
Armidale
