Tweed Citizen of the Year

Joan Henderson on refugees

TEN YEARS ago, just like so many people, I knew nothing about refugees.

As a social worker with years of experience, I am ashamed to say that my knowledge was negligible.

Then I was invited to go inside a detention centre to visit a family who had experienced great trauma, and this experience proved to be life changing.

It is confronting to enter into this heavily fortified environment, where you must first hand over all of your possessions, which are locked away.

You are then tagged with an identification wrist band.

You must sign in before going into a further locked environment where you are under the constant surveillance of guards.

It was within this setting that I was introduced to a very young, slightly built and fragile looking couple.

The young mother cradled a tiny one-weekold baby girl wrapped in a light blanket. She clasped her baby extra tightly because she was the most precious of gifts.

Their first-born child had tragically died in their arms just months before on their horrific journey. The enormity of their grief was palpable.

I had a few simple gifts for their baby, and we sat together for a long time. Adding to their sadness, the couple was not even able to send photos of their newborn back to their families, as phones and cameras were forbidden.

Their baby spent the first eight months of her life in a confined space in a detention centre.

This visit sparked so many questions. Why were we imprisoning and punishing this young couple who had already suffered such immense loss and had committed no crime?

This was not an Australia that I recognised.

Celebration of summer

Our family began sending items to detention centres in Australia and on the distant islands of Manus and Nauru, thinking that this was one way we could try to help.

We started with magazines and craft supplies, trying to give people something to do during the endless days that often became years. We sent baby clothes and supplies for young mothers giving birth.

One of the most poignant experiences was being asked to send little mosquito net covered bassinets to Nauru, as families were distraught about how severely their babies were being bitten.

We often received messages saying, “Thank you, We can manage now, but please can you help our friends who have nothing?”

Over the past ten years, I have learned that these are not people to be feared, as they have been so falsely portrayed, but people from whom we can actually learn so much about kindness and compassion.

They truly demonstrate such grace in the face of our current cruel policies. It is time for us all to learn what has been happening in our name, and for us to demand change.

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Artist Andia Cally is fascinated by water. 'Undulating' is mixed media on a wood panel