Of Life – May 2018

Welcome to the Writing Through Fences blog for May.

 

May has been a a very hard time for so many of us at Writing Through Fences. 

However, many have kept creating and there has been some happy news.

 

Congratulations on your marriage Boush

 

 

“Life”

You are so beautiful, amazing
You are the great lover, full of happiness 
People have fallen in love with you.

Do I deserve to fall in love with you?
Do I deserve to get happiness from you?
Do I deserve to feel you?

It’s been ages, I feel like you have abandoned me. 
you have taken my love, happiness and emotions. 
My eyes are full of tears, begging you to come back. 
My broken heart is begging you to come back. 
My scared soul is begging you to come back.

Despite lots of pain, my lips still get a smile when I remind beautiful memories. 
Despite lots of tears, my eyes are still looking at those lovely days. 
Despite lots of suffering, my heart still wants you to come back.

Life is like smoke around me, my dreams are disappeared in smoke. 
I can’t find a way to achieve my dreams. 
Can’t see my destination. 
It’s like I have been thrown in the desert where it is impossible to find water.

Freedom is my water.

How lovely those days and nights were when I was talking to my dreams

I lost that happiness

There isn’t any hope, there isn’t any support 
Don’t know when it will be end 
Going and going forward to chase my dreams 
I am punished.

Life is rude to me, no reason to live. 
A disgusting flood has come into my life
not letting me to chase down my dreams. 
I quietly keep crying and crying during the nights
My pillow is my only support to absorb my tears.

My heart wants to say something:

Give me some Sunshine. 
Give me some rain. 
Give me another chance,
I want to grow up once again.

  • Samad Abdul

 

                    

photos  by Samad Abdul

Turned away

I was surrounded by water, where waves are trained to swallow human beings and fish are trained to feed upon our dead bodies.  I was surrounded by the darkness of night,  where cloud covers the sky and even the gleaming of stars is nothing in the absence of the moon. I was surrounded, in a quiet world where eyes can see nothing and ears can hear nothing, but the smell of dead bodies blows from east to west. I spent the whole night struggling with big mountains of waves one after another, swearing to catch that dream, as many did – the ocean a nation of people. I woke in the morning and found myself still among huge hills of waves.  The biggest wave swallowed that boat nation and the smallest one threatened my path. I screamed out for help and imagined what those border protectors were doing when big waves swallowed those people.  I screamed out and waved up their flag on the sky, but they were still pretending they have no eyes.  I screamed out again and waved the others flag.  They hastily came and turned me away from my destination.

  • Boush 2018

 

Take a look at the work of Elyas Alavi.

http://aceopen.art/exhibitions/daydreamer-wolf/

 

…and don’t forget to order your copy of Mohammad Ali Maleki’s

‘The Strong Sunflower’, a beautiful book of art and poetry.

The Strong Sunflower

Blog 3: Strength of Women

Welcome to our March 2018 blog (yes we have got it up a bit late!).

STRENGTH OF WOMEN

 

mothers cry blood by S. Ghasemi, Nauru

 

Here we are focusing on the work of two women, artist Miream Salameh and poet Hani Abdile.  You will find short videos of Miream and Hani’s work, links to their websites, an interview with accompanying art work by Mieram and a written piece by Hani.

Miream Salameh

The following is taken from Miream Salameh’s website: http://mireamssl.wixsite.com/mireamsalameh

Born in Homs, Syria

Lives in Melbourne, Australia since 2013

She is a Syrian Sculptor and Painter, She bears between the folds of her soul love to a homeland of deep-rooted civilisation ….to a homeland called the country of Jasmine… She was forced to leave it with just the words (I don’t want to leave my mother’s womb… and I don’t want to die in it).

This attitude can be felt through all her artworks, which embodies women’s freedom and the suffering of people being crucified for loving life and liberty.

Clay…wood…stone … and fingers made of music in labor sculpting the mirror of her depth.

 

 ‘It’s illegal to decide someone’s freedom—to put these people there with no charge, no reason, keeping them for years. It’s destroying lives’. 

(Miream Salameh in https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/a3w5m8/people-are-dying-every-single-day-the-refugee-painting-syrias-pain)

Hani Abdile

Hani Abdile is a writer, spoken word poet and budding photographer from Somalia. She made her way to Australia by boat and was detained on Christmas Island. While detained, Hani found healing in writing poetry. She is an honorary member of PEN, co-facilitator of Writing Through Fences. Hani has received numerous awards for her community work and writing. Her first book ‘I Will Rise’ was published by Writing Through Fences in 2016 to critical acclaim.  You can purchase it from our shop on this website.

Visit Hani’s website here :  https://abdilehani.wordpress.com/

Brush off the dust

Do we often forget to love ourselves and care for ourselves? Or is it that we get dispirited when other people say we can’t do something?

For the past few years I have become a poetry addict and I have realized that I find love and joy within myself.  Even though most of the time I wrote to give a voice to people that struggle on a daily basis, I also wrote for my soul because my soul seeks unity and an acceptance of love within my body.

As a young woman, I had my own challenges; I know your story might have the same start but definitely a different ending. There were times I thought my new home, a home that is safe, would never come. On this journey I often try to understand why women, despite what part of the world we are born, find putting ourselves first hard to do and we bear the demeaning responsibilities. My eyes have seen so many abuses swept under the rug. This mixture of feelings results in a culture of threat, as these feelings get stronger they turn into anxiety, and we see ourselves as worthless because the past is haunting us.

But whenever that happens, you have to take a second and say: ‘My past is a page of my history. The present is what I need to deal with and the future is yet to come’.  As Maya Angelou said, “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”. We all have that untold story that we conceal, we all have that untold story that takes us onto a dusty road, we all have that untold story that blurs our vision, and we all have that untold story with wounds that are yet to heal. But at the end of the day we just have to wake up and brush off the dust.

Personally, life has been bitter sweet for me. When these days of dizziness and confusion arrive I try to step out of it, be myself and keep writing because the more I write poetry and tell my story and the story of my sisters, I feel relief.  Take note and just tell yourself you are the foundation of power and only the sky is the limit.

As females in general, we sometimes forget to love ourselves, to cherish ourselves, to empower each other and say to ourselves “If Ellen DeGeneres can rise up from all the bullying then we can do it, If Oprah Winfrey didn’t listen to her haters and doubters then we also can do it, if Maya Angelou didn’t stop shooting out her words, we can too”.

I often feel I find a voice and love for myself within poetry. Other powerful female poets around me might agree. I am not saying it’s only poetry that brings love and happiness but anything you do, for work or a hobby, can bring that little sparkle of love towards you.

This is a poem that I thought would inspire the young women of the next generation:

Dear Self,
I know sometimes life sucks
It makes you down
But remember it’s a test of your patience
You must know life is a session of lessons,
Which must be lived in to be understood.

Dear self
Please, please, please
Don’t forget your inner quality
You’re kind and hilarious
You are beautiful and unique
You are the best creation of God
You’re worthy and made of self-motivation
You’re the beginning of love and affection
You’re precious and a diamond of two parents.

Dear self
You’re an example of many amazing people
You have been a positive soul that gives hope to others
And when you feel pain you’re allowed to cry loud
You can’t be the person of the light all the time
Even though I know you’re soft and smooth like the clouds
I want to take you out in the rain
So you can wash out all your failures
Because every success comes after you fail and pain.

Dear self
Think of it this way,
You now have a chance to be better everyday
You now have a chance to understand more about you
About people around you and the whole world
So be wise and highlight your mistakes
And those who pretty much take themselves too high.
Reject them and be true to yourself.

Dear self
I want be by your side through the excitement and desperation of life
I want to offer you a love as a fundamental act of self compassion
I want to offer you a lamp that will Light up your future.

Dear self
You’re not that bad at all.
You’re actually really good.
And I’m sorry if I ever made you look bad and weak.

Dear self
Look at your reflection in the mirror
Notice all the mistakes,
Smile and say,
This too shall pass.
After all you will remember you’re my only darling self
And I will be always here for you.

  • Hani Abdile March 2018

Blog 2: Remembering Reza Barati 2018


(Free Poetry at CASPA Castlemaine)

In this our second blog post for 2018 we remember Reza Barati’s life.  And we remember his murder 4 years ago in the Manus Prison.

Boush writes of his five years in Indonesia, Kazem sends a poem of love and loss from Manus, longing for home is powerfully written by Maria in ‘A message from sweet home (Somalia) to a sweet girl’, Samad’s latest publication in the AIMN speaks from the final days in the Lombrum prison and Ali Ataei writes a farewell tribute to others on Nauru.

And we are pleased to support the new blog by writers in Indonesia https://refugeenewsindonesia.com/  Please follow this and share.

 

REMEMBERING REZA BARATI

Your Songs

You just leave, you are gone
When the dark day will finish
When the sun’s rising again
When the mouths open to breath
We will sings your songs
You just leave, you are gone.

– Nazeer.

 

 

Our Mothers, a poem for Reza

My mother, Reza’s mother and Fazel’s mother are crying together
I heard the Seymareh river crying with them.
Beneath Fazel’s village is Sirwan, one of the most ancient and significant cities int he world.
The city of Sirwan.
Mothers cry upon the oldest city, cry for Reza and Fazel.
I heard all the beautiful mountains in Kurdistan are crying. All of Sirwan is crying. Mountain, rivers, wild flowers … all crying.
All of Sirwan is crying, all separated from their mothers.
I hear the most ancient of chants, I hear the mothers chanting in the city of Ilam, in the city of Sirwan, all throughout Kurdistan.
I hear their cries from inside Manus prison. hear the most ancient of songs, chanted by mothers. This form of chant is called Mour.
Mour is the oldest of songs, a song the Kurdish mothers chant for their boys and warriors who lose their lives fighting against enemies that attack the land of Kurdistan. It is a song for brave sons.

Fazel and Reza were brave sons. They fought for their lives.
When I was in Kurdistan, I climbed up the highest mountain on many occasions. The oldest chestnut oak trees reside up there. I hear the chestnut oaks crying too. My heart is extremely heavy, as I heard the deepest and most sorrowful Mour chanted by my mother today.
I have never heard a Mour like this, a choir of Mours, Reza’s, Fazel’s and my mother chanting.
This is Kurdish culture. We are born by song, live by song, fight by song, and die by song.
I feel the deepest sorrow because of Fazel’s death, because of and Reza’s death.
He deserves the deepest Mour to be sung for him.
My heart is heavy because I am crying and listening to a Mour sung for my best friend, sung in a prison on the remotest island in the world.
I never thought I would hear Mour sung for the bravest of Kurdish sons out on a remote island, out in the middle of a massive, silent ocean.
I always think about the Mour my mother will chant for me when I die.
I thought that song would be sung for me in beautiful Kurdistan.
I am sure Reza and Fazel had this thought just like me, but their lives were taken in a remote place, not in Kurdistan.
They lost their lives because of injustice.
They lost their lives in a foreign land.
Who was there when their lives were taken?
My mother, Reza’s mother, and Fazel’s mother,
all together, all mourning, all chanting, the deepest Mour.

  • Behrouz Boochani, published in the Guardian https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/feb/17/four-years-after-reza-baratis-death-we-still-have-no-justice

Five Years of My Life

Five years of my life, trying to get my hands free of chains.

Everyday wake in the morning willing this day has come with action,

but no reaction.

Five years wake up in the morning, the news fabricated and lies.

Receiving yesterday’s news today.

Five years of my life in detention means fifty years for my mother.

Thinking: if your mother has the same heart as mine does..?

(Have you ever realised how your mother felt when she could not see you for five days?)

Stop the secret killing!

You already killed me and killed thousands with me.

You have broken my mother’s heart with thousands of mother’s hearts.

If tears can be a water, our mothers’ tears could make oceans.

And if hatred can do something, I have too much from seeing your uniform in front of my cell everyday.

I came with a great big hill of hope but today my ambition is just to breathe free as you do. 

I’m not fearing death but let me see that smile on my mother. 

And let your mother get that smile too.

  • Boush, Surabaya, Indonesia, 19.02.2018

 

(panoramio.com)

A message from sweet home (Somalia) to an unknown sweet girl.

Hello child.

I am just wondering where you live now?

You disappeared without saying goodbye.

You used to tell me I was the only place you had on the earth.

Where is that patriotic, brave girl who used to say:

‘I will protect my homeland from anything bad”?

What has happened to her?

Where did she go?

OH SWEET GIRL

You were born inside of me.

Why did you leave me like this?

Have you forgotten my warm nights and bright breezy days?

Have you forgotten lying on my sand with a big beautiful smile on your face

Oh my dear… unforgettable moments!

You were fearless, a strong and beautiful child

playing around with self confidence.

Sweet girl we call to you.

Home is the only place you will be loved and respected.

COME HOME GIRL,

COME HOME,

COME HOME,

COME HOME!

  • Maria 2015

 

(image pixabay.com)

 

Unreal Sin

Cold feeling of unreal sin

Is suffering me. I cannot talk

‘Cause this’ not a logical world

You have given me an unreal sin.

 

You set me on the fire of your anger-

It’s probably better that its fallen apart.

I want to talk although the love’s gone

I want to talk despite the ruin done.

 

The twilight space between us

Is giving me a stifling feeling

My pulse is getting weak, you know?

You judged me ’cause of no sin.

 

I don’t deserve to bear the pain

No darling, no, not accused of betrayal

I don’t deserve to bear the pain

The moment’s gone ’cause of you.

 

I know the love is beyond help

Darling?  Your verdict is irresistible.

I want to talk although the love’s gone

I want to talk despite the ruin done.

 

  • Kazem February 2018

 

(image by Boush)

 

My Best Friend

That’s such a moment of blessing when you are with your best friend but that’s such a horrible moment when friends get separated forever.

Being detained without any guilt in Manus prison camp where each day is equal to a month, every month is equal to a year and each year is equal to a century but we are still trying to get our rights and justice.

I was brought here by force. At that time I needed some one to talk with, to share my pain, to laugh, but it was impossible to find a friend in a place where everything is against the system, where everything is against the law, where giving torture and stress to us was the job of those who conceived this prison and work here.

The beginning of detention will remain one of the toughest and most painful times forever and I’ll not be able to forget such cruelty.

I was expecting such a great humanity and kindness in all white people as I was inspired from white people by the media. But not all white people are kind, some are worst.

When I stepped in to Christmas Island I was so happy and I was looking at the sky and telling myself, I’m a free person now and I will find my happiness in this land and no one will stop me from fulfilling my dreams.

I was thrown in a hole, my dreams were taken. I was abused, disrespected and tortured but according to the system they were doing a great job.

In that tough situation where I was separated from my happiness and my dreams finally I found a best friend in my diary. My diary was my only friend with who I could share my pain.

I was always writing my pain, suffering and struggle and it gave to me some lovely time as I kept myself busy in a place where there wasn’t any activity to do.

After dinner, coming to my bed and writing about my feelings and pain, my good experiences and bad experiences was one of the greatest times and it always made me so positive, motivated me. I dreamed I would read my diary every night once I had succeeded in my dreams but this too, another dream, was destroyed.

The day when we were attacked and removed by force to another prison camp, they entered my room and abused me both physically and verbally and destroyed my everything.

My diary, my books, my clothes have been destroyed. I couldn’t protect my diary.

The moment is such a painful moment. It is the worst moment when everything is going wrong but you are not able protect or fight back for your rights.

I cried and begged them please not to destroy my diary but their only response was to abuse us as they were trained by the people who are having fun in Australian parliament house and are very happy to torture innocent lives.

https://theaimn.com/?s=samad+abdul+

To all my dear friends in Nauru ❤

I would like to thank each and everyone I know or met in Nauru, for letting me in their life and made me a part of it. There is no word to describe how beautiful, amazing, astonishing, marvellous and strong people you are and how lucky I am to know you all.

Regardless of what was going on in that period of time, I was always surrounded with your love and support. Undoubtedly, I couldn’t make it through, if I didn’t have you guys on my side and your beautiful souls to inspire me everyday.

You guys taught me resilience, courage and endeavour, which I would be grateful for the rest of my life.

We have made countless unforgettable memories in this island which make us to feel much closer than ever.

I am very blessed and proud that I have met you all and I can’t wait to see you all in USA.

Much love and respect

‘’The darkest hour is just before the dawn. ‘’ Thomas Fuller

Ali Ataei

+++

Refugee Radio at 3CR features the work of people who have been forced to flee their homelands.

http://www.3cr.org.au/refugeeradioshow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome

WELCOME TO THE FIRST BLOG FOR 2018 – FEBRUARY

We are committed to keeping this blog active throughout 2018 with writing, art, music, interviews, news reports, poetry and updates of what our members are doing throughout the year.

I am a writer and musician. I’ve been looking for freedom since I knew myself.  Thunder (Manus) Free Poetry, Castlemaine

Introducing our new WEBSITE ADMINISTRATOR – SAMAD:

Samad has joined Writing Through Fences as our website administrator to work alongside Gary.  He will be working from PNG where he has been detained indefinitely for more than 4 years.  His job will include updating our website and keeping the blog active with writings, reports, poetry, music, art and other happenings from people who are affected by Australia’s immigration policies.

– Janet

About me: 

My name is Samad and I’m from Pakistan. I have been detained illegally for years in a place where it’s so easy for hope and dreams to be demolished. I wasn’t a writer but this place made me a writer. My pain made me a writer.  Although I can’t take my dreams from the people who destroyed them I will use my words as a weapon and will not allow them to destroy more dreams.

I completed high school and then went on to do 2 more years of general studies in the Faculty of Science.  I also studied some  Basic Engineering and attended English classes before I was forced to flee my homeland.

I became interested in writing when I came here to PNG.   When there isn’t anyone with me I always write.

My strength is in my hope of building a great image of a great future in my thoughts.  I want to study Human Rights and be a social worker / advocate for women and girls rights in my country.  My culture denies them their rights. 

I have written a short piece about my passion for the rights of women and girls in his country.  It is included in this first blog of 2018 and titled: My Dream.

You can also see an article I wrote from Manus published by the Australian Independent Media Network in 2017 here https://theaimn.com/?s=Samad+Abdul+

My dream : writing by Samad Abdul

It might be so normal for lots of people who see a bird to be captured by some one but the way the innocent bird is crying, do we feel the pain?

The society where I lived,  has plenty of innocent birds and those beautiful birds are girls, who want support, motivation, positivity, freedom and education but we have failed to give them their fundamental rights.

It’s just normal for the majority of people and unfortunately they are proud of themselves for not allowing girls to have their fundamental rights.

There are still lots of people who believe giving birth to a baby girl is a big shame. How can a girl survive in a society where a boy is allowed to do what ever he wants  but a girl is strictly denied?

Since childhood, girls have been told,  ‘why would you want to study when you will end up with marriage life when you turn 16 and you will look after the kids for the rest of your life?’  That is the big excuse made by a culture centuries ago and the majority are happy with that.

Her life decision is under her parents or elder brothers control until she gets married.  After marriage she will be expected to do what her husband tells her to do.

She can’t go alone anywhere, she can’t make life decisions,  she is not allowed to work, she’s always expected to accept the unacceptable.  That’s how the girls are surviving in my society.

I want the girls in my society to be proud, to be motivated, to be supported,  to be educated and my biggest dream is to sacrifice my life for them and fight against that part of my society, and for girl’s and women’s freedom.

  • Samad Abdul . 31 January 2018

Blog Archive

POETRY

Hani Abdile is a writer and spoken word poet who fled the civil war in Somalia. She made her way to Australia and was detained on Christmas Island. Hani is an honorary member of PEN, and a lead writer for  Writing Through Fences.  Hani has received numerous awards for her community work and other achievements since being released from immigration detention. Her first book I Will Rise was published in 2016 to much acclaim and is available through the Writing Through Fences website shop. 

 

(photo by Rodney Decker)

Oooh old friends

My beloved friend

Many days

We laughed

We chased each other

We tickled

 

But that wasn’t my favourite

 

We rolled in the mud

So thick, double to our skin

Danced in the rain

As we thought we could bless the land.

 

We re-owned our lost childhood

Your smiles fully healed my wounds

So shiny and sharp.

 

I was addicted to your company

I felt disgrace to leave you behind

But my friend you have chosen the traditional way.

 

Seeing your photos my perfect friend —

Life always takes unexpected turns

You dive into abuse and rise like a sun

Blessed to be a mother of two

My ship has sailed on unknown shores

While yours still floats on the garden of your birth.

Hani Abdile 2018

 

Boush Idris Mohammed

Boush is a writer from the the Zaghawa tribe in the Darfur region of Sudan from where he was forced to flee.  He is one of the most consistent members of Writing Through Fences, working actively within the group since 2013.  His love of story and writing has him hoping to become a teacher.  After years of being detained in Indonesia he was  granted Refugee Status by the UN but remains in limbo in Indonesia.  Boush is an avid reader and is learning guitar.  His work appears in the chapbook Our Beautiful Voices published by Writing Through Fences, on the Writing Through Fences website, was played on Refugee Radio 3CR and his piece ‘Mama Africa’ was part of the Through The Moon performance at the Queensland Poetry Festival 2017.

 

 

So many nights

Many nights I had with many fake dreams,

but still it’s the new beginning;

Many schools we have with limited qualifications, 

but still the hardest is the school of life.

From the beginning I felt the test of my destiny

and from suffering I learned – 

discovering confidence and determination 

are always my clear destination.

– Boush 2018

 

Screaming

Screaming at my beloved country.

Screaming at the land where leaders are giving attention to their pockets rather than caring.

Screaming at the land where human tragedy is alive. 

Screaming at the land where governors love corruption rather than love their people.

Screaming at the land of broken tribes, of houses destroyed and economic collapse, where people are depressed and angry, where we pass each other with no greeting and if we do speak its just robotic communication. 

Screaming because we don’t care who we are and we don’t care where we are 

while we have all grown up from the same land, 

fed like twins from the same mother.

– Boush 2018

 

NEWS REPORT – INDONESIA

“Late report but necessary to read once”

It was 3am on the 1st of February 2018. As I wrote this report the sound of the cries from my cellmates rang in my ears.

The rain poured down and washed away my pain, the tears dropped from my eyes dripped onto my mobile keypad.

It has been fifteen consecutive days of protest in Balikpapan Prison camp, East Kalimantan, Indonesia now, we have been demanding freedom from incarceration and a safe and secure life. Now the refugees have decided to initiate their night-time protest.

The chronic pain of exile. Incarcerated for a period of four years. No real hope for ever achieving a peaceful life, no real hope in ever achieving a life without oppression; the refugees embarked on this journey purely because of their inner strength and stamina.

Minutes after they began their protest, after sounding their cries for freedom and their pleas for help, the head warden of the prison arrived together with a group of local police officers.

At this point everyone was calm and they raised their hands up in a show of submission. For some time the head warden of the prison camp hurled as much abuse and insults as he could muster up; he also threatened to press criminal charges and imprison the refugees in the local jails. This is what he told the refugees.

A few were so unbearably tired and felt so totally hopeless. They were completely shocked, their hearts had faltered and they felt they would never be free from this prison… they lost all control of themselves.

Two individuals collapsed for the first time ever and began to tremble. The refugees, who had no medical or first aid skills whatsoever, rushed over to keep the two of them stable lest they hurt themselves or anyone else.

The security guards watching the whole situation unfold not only did not help, they called the local police over and then closed the door and left the scene.

The situation continued like this for a period of time until more individuals began to suffer from heart pain and fainted from the shock. The whole thing was totally out of control. Everyone was screaming, and some were helping the fallen. Nineteen individuals in total had lost all hope and entered a state of shock. Among all this a small youth of fourteen years old also lost control, causing his older brother to enter a state of shock and panic for a short time. Actually, until a few months ago most of the people here were underage and had entered manhood while incarcerated.

The situation is now back under control. No one has any medical training, and there is no one else here to assist us. The immigration officers and IOM have left and gone to sleep in their comfortable beds. Total silence everywhere. Every now and then one of the people who collapsed would let out a yell and then weep. However, they have friends beside them to look after them; they hold down their arms and legs firmly so they do not hurt themselves or others.

It is unclear what will transpire tomorrow. I do not know the consequences of writing this report, I do not know if I will still be alive or not for exposing this. I do not know if I will be cuffed and taken to one of the local prisons, or if I will just remain here and continue to be a voice for the refugees and cry for help.

In any case, I have written this report for people to read and realise that we are still alive – do not let us be buried alive.

For more than a century we have been buried alive everyday and massacred. Tell me, is this civilisation and modernity, is this what you call support for human rights and the oppressed.

Just know that this situation is no different to the terrorist groups who make our lives a living hell and massacre us with bullets and blades.

When they kill us it happens once and our bodies are put to rest, but in here our very souls are dying everyday.

– Erfan Dana in Indonesia

Translated by Omid Tofighian, American University in Cairo/University of Sydney

FROM RISE
www.riserefugee.org

RISE Press Release Re-Invasion day aka “Australia Day” in 2018

We Refugees, Ex-detainees and Asylum seekers from RISE condemn any group or individual who claims to be pro-refugee but celebrates Invasion Day aka “Australia Day” on the 26th of January.

“We believe the systemic abuse of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is a result of over 200 years of discrimination as part of the white colonial genocide strategy that continues to this day and this template is now being used against our own refugee communities. How can we dismantle the white Australian government’s refugee torture camps built within and outside its colonial borders without addressing the root cause of this criminal abuse?”

RISE founder and eX-detainee, Ramesh Fernandez “As survivors of occupation, rape, torture and oppression we should not undermine the struggle for survival that other oppressed community groups face. We should respect Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and their sovereignty. It is not a day to poster yourself on a billboard, dance, sing or wrap a flag around yourself that represents occupation, colonisation and genocide of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in Australia”.

As Refugees seeking protection and freedom on this land we acknowledge that we live in occupied territories where Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are the traditional owners and where sovereignty has never been ceded. ‘Always was, always will be Aboriginal land’.

Full Press Release here : http://riserefugee.org/rise-press-release-re-invasion-day-…/

#sanctionautralia

REFUGEE RADIO

Listen to the latest show here:

http://www.3cr.org.au/refugeeradioshow

A message from Jenell Quinsee:

Melbourne has a small community radio station and they have a show every Sunday at 10am called Refugee Radio.

We are able to play recordings of your poetry, music, stories, and anything you want! This is an exciting opportunity for people to hear your work if you would like this.

We already have some recordings of your work and can start playing them. You can also make new recordings and send them to me if you would like them played on radio. It does not have to be in English. If you wish to record in your own language please do!

If you cannot send me audio files we can read your poetry on the radio show instead.

I will contact some of you by message to get your consent to play your poetry and music. You do not have to use your name if you don’t want to.

Also…if there is anyone who lives in the Melbourne community you are invited to produce the show and make it yours. You will receive full training about how to be a radio presenter. Wow wow wow!!!

You can contact Jenell on facebook or through the Writing Through Fences contact page or through our facebook page https://www.facebook.com/groups/135276877042748/

AND FINALLY SOME ART & AN INVITATION FOR YOU TO BE INVOLVED

We will add to our blog every week and upload a newsletter each month letting you know what we have been up to.

If you are writing, making art or music and are someone who has been forced to flee your homeland you can join us at Writing Through Fences, share your work and take part in projects.

If you are interested in helping us to continue our work please think about donating to one of our projects.  Go to the projects menu and you will see what it is we are up to.

This is a recent art work by J.Luan – Dancing Brush titled ‘Waiting Door’.

You can find more of his work and buy his work at https://www.jluanart.com/about

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moz

Moz is a musician who plays guitar, sings and raps. He is from Kurdistan and is currently incarcerated in Australia’s Immigration Prison on Manus Island.

Hello everyone.

It’s Moz from Manus Island detention center.

The reason that I’ve created this song is to bring attention to our plight. We have been left in a political limbo for four years now. The conditions are hellish and how they treat us is deplorable. I hope that people who are listening to my song will understand our desperation, frustration, and fear.

Here is the song

Here you can read more and download the song ‘Our Humanity’, video footage was shot by Farhad Bandesh.

 

‘Our Humanity’ was shown at Queensland Poetry Festival 2017 as part of the Writing Through Fences collaboration.