CMRC

When does a House become a Home?

 PRISCELLA MABOR

DURING the recent long weekend, I had organized a film shoot in Western Sydney. Luckily this was pre-COVID health restrictions.

My cameraman Giovanni deviated out to Mascot in the morning for some last-minute sound gear. The clock was ticking as this was a public holiday. I wanted to be sure Giovanni didn’t deviate too far, as he was not familiar with the small suburb where we were headed next – Yennora.

Giovanni grew up in Western Sydney closer to Parramatta but not everyone knows the sleepy hollow of Yennora (this Aboriginal word means to walk or stroll).

Nestled between Guildford and Fairfi eld, Yennora is the defi nition of multiculturalism. It doesn’t sit near major shopping hubs, it hasn’t been redeveloped into high rise apartments; instead it is a soup mix of migrant families, corner stores, soccer fi elds, parks and industrial streets where burnt out cars and petrol tankers crisscross dead end streets. Real estate prices have stayed low, and landlords are usually living next door to their tenants.

Fourteen years ago, Eh Say and his family arrived from Myanmar. Eh Say is a member of the Karen community from Myanmar, who arrived here from Mae La camp on the Thai-Burma border.

The Community Migrant Resource Centre received funding from Canberra in 2007, to support newly arrived Karen families. Our dedicated worker Victor Saw, who once worked as a UNESCO trainer, supported many of his own community to resettle in Western Sydney.

It was Victor who helped source two subjects I wanted to interview for a short fi lm. The brief was relatively clear: two people from diff erent generations, who could provide a diff erent lens on the refugee journey and counter the argument that the refugee continuum has a start and end date, eg fi ve years.

He selected Peter Htoo, who was aged more in his 30s: completed his Masters in Music and later moved into a teaching role at Chester Hill High School. Peter was now a father, with a young daughter itching to get to the zoo after our fi lming. The second subject was Eh Say’s daughter, Amethyst, who was in her early 20s.

The house I found myself in that day at Yennora is the same house, that Eh Say and his family settled in upon arrival back in 2007.

At fi rst, I was struck dumb by this passing note. Then it washed over in my waves as the day unfolded, and the house told many many stories that would never be captured in a 6-minute short fi lm.

A Buff alo Horn etched with nine beams of light from the sun, hung on a wall. A faded newspaper article showing their Citizenship Ceremony hung on the opposing wall. A marigold garland, crowning a photo of their paternal grandfather in military uniform. Rows of slippers on front and back stoops, to respect the inside.

Itching to drill down

Many stories were told that afternoon. I sat there and absorbed the emotional barometer of the room–hearing of people mobilized, traumatized yet ignited by news from their homeland, particularly in the wake of the military coup on February 1 this year.

I was itching to drill down into the tunics, knowing how vitally important they were to the Karen people. A Tunic spoke volumes–an identity / a history / a voice–sewn into the threads of a simple garment.

Peter had arrived at the house with his tunic on. He explained why he was wearing it, over his shirt.

“We are the voice, for the voiceless. Every time I can slip on my tunic, it is to represent my community. That I am not just an Asian face in the crowd. It starts a conversation, so that people can say, I didn’t know about the Karen. Can I learn more?,” he said

For the fi lm, I asked him to take his tunic off , so we could underscore the ceremonial grandeur of placing the tunic on.

I had noticed the granny fl at just inches from the backdoor. The garden out the back was mostly hidden. When I asked to shoot in the garden, it turned out to be quite sizeable with huge guava trees growing.

Peter explained why many plants were still lying in their pots: “Eeveryone in our community doesn’t want to plant into the soil, until they can buy their own home. “

As I walked away that day, I couldn’t stop thinking of Eh Say and his rental house of 14 years. He shared this house with his wife and three children.

Two of his sons have been born in Australia and speak perfect English. One is now a mechanic. The front lawn is full of lawn mowers, from the family business.

After our fi lming, there were Myanmar fundraising meetings to attend to in Guildford and Doonside. Amethyst had changed from her tunic to her tracksuit and joggers and zoomed off down the road in her Holden.

All these years later, Eh Say and Victor are still connected. They are still connected forever to their families and loved ones overseas. So maybe this rental fi bro house tucked away in the back streets of Yennora, is actually a home after all.

Please stay tuned for the release of My Buff alo Horn on the Wall.

We are the voice, for the voiceless. Every time I can slip on my tunic, it is to represent my community. That I am not just an Asian face in the crowd. It starts a conversation, so that people can say, I didn’t know about the Karen. Can I learn more?”

– Peter Htoo.

Priscella Mabor is Inclusion Strategy & Innovations Manager Community Migrant Resource Centre. Visit: www.cmrc.com.au

Community Migrant Resource Centre (CMRC)

is a not-for-profi t, charitable organisation established in 1996. CMRC is a leader in the provision of specialised support services to newly arrived migrants, refugees and humanitarian entrants. CMRC works within a community capacity building framework to encourage individuals and multicultural communities to identify and address their own issues. It works in collaborative partnerships with a great number of agencies to provide services which have both an immediate and long term benefi t for the community. CMRC employs over 60 full time, part-time and casual multi-lingual staff .