"Access Denied"
by Dave McKay
"Unfortunately, further visits will not be approved. The decision
has been made in the interests of the security and good order of the
[Woomera Detention] Centre."
So reads the letter handed to Ross Parry and myself today by Mike
Hughes, the current Operations Manager (and Centre Manager Designate)
at the Woomera Detention Centre.
For ten days Ross and I phoned, faxed, and visited the centre, and
finally we were being allowed to walk in and visit two detainees. We
had camped in our mini-bus at the Pimba Roadhouse on the outskirts of
Woomera for all that time.
Yesterday morning, in a rare face to face interview with Mike
himself, we explained our aims, which were to visit on a regular
basis and to help co-ordinate visits from other Australians who are
concerned about the emotional support that these refugees need so
badly. No one wants to make a 1,000 mile trip only to be turned back
at the door.
"I think that can be arranged," said Mike with a smile. And with a
flick of the wrist he had the doors open for us to make our first
visit.
It was with Hooman and Hamid, both from Iran. Hooman did most of the
talking, as he had the better English. He told about guards beating
up male prisoners after the Good Friday breakout, and women and
children (some as young as 19 months) being sprayed in the face at
close range with capsicum spray, simply because they had locked arms
and formed a ring around the men, to stop further beatings.
I had earlier asked Mike Hughes about the use of violence at the
centre. "Do you use tear gas on the prisoners," I asked.
"Well that's common knowledge, isn't it" he responded. "But we only
use it when there is a life-threatening risk to one of the guards."
Considering the tight security, with guards spending most of the time
safely on the opposite side of the locked compound gates, it is hard
to imagine a life and death situation for them,and certainly not one
caused by women and children.
They call it detention. The picture is one of normal housing and
living conditions, with only movements outside of the quarantined
area being restricted. But the men employed to look after the safety
of the refugees while their papers are being processed call
themselves "correctional" officers. Everything about the operation
of the facility is that of a penal institution. Punishment is the
name of the game.
I spoke with Ray Hartigan, manager and co-ordinator of the Woomera
Legal Outpost, a group of 65 mostly Catholic lawyers who all work for
free to assist the refugees.
"We get it too," he said. "We get turned away, left standing at the
gate, sent to a room to wait for a refugee who never turns up. We've
had to take legal action against employees out there just to get them
to let us in."
Ray was on his way to visit a teenager at the hospital who had just
failed in an attempt to hang himself. The local doctor says that he
dishes out a lot of medication for depression at the centre, which
now houses 250 detainees, 80 of whom are expected to be deported.
The other 170 will presumably be Australians one day... if they live
that long.
The day before I had been interviewed by the ABC in Darwin, along
with a Northern Territory Senator (Nigel Scullion) who claimed that
the facilities at Woomera were like a "two-star hotel". I had taken
strong exception to the image that he was trying to portray.
If people are not being punished, why are they not allowed to have
mobile phones? Why is their mail censored? And why the complex
series of excuses for blocking visits? Someone has a lot to hide at
Woomera.
My interview with the ABC had been broadcast just minutes before the
meeting with Mike Hughes. Apparently he had not heard it at the time
that he approved our visit. It looked like our long wait had finally
been rewarded.
The ABC had promised to call me back after the visit, and I felt a
bit silly, having complained about how hard it was to visit the
centre, and then suddenly being given carte blanche to visit as many
prisoners as I liked.
Ah, but then that was when it all changed. By the time Hooman and
Mahid were taken back to their compound, the visit planned for the
following day had been called off. "You'll have to ring Mike in the
morning," the guard on the gate told me. "He's gone home for the
day."
The next day Ross phoned Mike. "Access to the facility has been
denied," Mike began. "A decision to deny access can either be made
internally or externally," he said, hinting that the decision had
come from outside the facility. "You 're welcome to come to my
office to pick up the letter," he concluded, raising our hopes that
we could find out more about the reasoning behind the reversal by
doing so.
Mike has only been in his present position for as long as we have
been trying to get in. He is still finding his way around. He
seemed genuinely sympathetic to our concern. After all, even the
worst criminals in the world are allowed visitors.
Yet when we had first explained to one of his lackeys that we
actually wanted to assist the Centre in positive, constructive ways,
like teaching English or teaching music, we were told abruptly, "We
don't need your help. We provide them with everything they need."
A local clergyman had told us that the two biggest reasons for
denying access to the centre are if you criticise it in any way, or
if you speak to the media. I had done both in my interview for the
ABC, and now we were paying the penalty.
"Is the decision irreversible?" Ross asked, when he picked up the
letter saying that we were persona non grata at the Detention Centre.
"Yes, it is," Mike replied. And then he added, "at the moment."
Such is the ACM style. Everything is definitely maybe. Imagine
living with that kind of contradiction 24/7, like the detainees do.
Every guard imagines himself to be a little god, giving orders that
may contradict what other guards have said, or even contradicting the
management, just for the pleasure of watching people jump. And when
those orders come with threats of tear gas or capsicum spray if they
are not obeyed, they have a way of making almost anyone a bit jumpy.
"What about others? Can our friends in Melbourne and Newcastle still
visit?" Ross asked.
"They can if they give the impression that they are not with you and
that they were not one of the protesters," he replied.
It sounds like he genuinely wants to let visitors in, but he's going
to have to pretend he knows nothing about their affiliation with us,
in our little "Refugee Embassy" bus out on the highway.
So if you want to visit the refugees, it is best to wear a badge
saying, "Refugees, go home." For the supposed security of the
refugees, you will probably get in. But don't do or say anything to
suggest that you support them, lest for the security of someone
higher up, you may be denied access.
Dave McKay and Ross Parry have set up a "Refugee Embassy" at the
Pimba Roadhouse, outside of Woomera. They are Quakers from the HOPE
group based in Newcastle.
Phone number: 0407-238805
Postal address: Post Restante, Woomera 5720
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<div>"Access Denied"</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>by Dave McKay</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"Unfortunately, further visits will not be approved.
The decision has been made in the interests of the security and good
order of the [Woomera Detention] Centre."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>So reads the letter handed to Ross Parry and myself today by
Mike Hughes, the current Operations Manager (and Centre Manager
Designate) at the Woomera Detention Centre.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>For ten days Ross and I phoned, faxed, and visited the centre,
and finally we were being allowed to walk in and visit two
detainees. We had camped in our mini-bus at the Pimba Roadhouse
on the outskirts of Woomera for all that time. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Yesterday morning, in a rare face to face interview with Mike
himself, we explained our aims, which were to visit on a regular
basis and to help co-ordinate visits from other Australians who are
concerned about the emotional support that these refugees need so
badly. No one wants to make a 1,000 mile trip only to be turned
back at the door.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"I think that can be arranged," said Mike with a
smile. And with a flick of the wrist he had the doors open for
us to make our first visit.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>It was with Hooman and Hamid, both from Iran. Hooman did
most of the talking, as he had the better English. He told
about guards beating up male prisoners after the Good Friday
breakout, and women and children (some as young as 19 months) being
sprayed in the face at close range with capsicum spray, simply
because they had locked arms and formed a ring around the men, to
stop further beatings. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>I had earlier asked Mike Hughes about the use of violence at the
centre. "Do you use tear gas on the prisoners," I
asked.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"Well that's common knowledge, isn't it" he
responded. "But we only use it when there is a
life-threatening risk to one of the guards."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Considering the tight security, with guards spending most of the
time safely on the opposite side of the locked compound gates, it is
hard to imagine a life and death situation for them,and certainly not
one caused by women and children. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>They call it detention. The picture is one of normal
housing and living conditions, with only movements outside of the
quarantined area being restricted. But the men employed to look
after the safety of the refugees while their papers are being
processed call themselves "correctional"
officers. Everything about the operation of the facility
is that of a penal institution. Punishment is the name of the
game.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>I spoke with Ray Hartigan, manager and co-ordinator of the
Woomera Legal Outpost, a group of 65 mostly Catholic lawyers who all
work for free to assist the refugees. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"We get it too," he said. "We get turned
away, left standing at the gate, sent to a room to wait for a refugee
who never turns up. We've had to take legal action against
employees out there just to get them to let us in."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Ray was on his way to visit a teenager at the hospital who had
just failed in an attempt to hang himself. The local doctor
says that he dishes out a lot of medication for depression at the
centre, which now houses 250 detainees, 80 of whom are expected to be
deported. The other 170 will presumably be Australians one
day... if they live that long.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>The day before I had been interviewed by the ABC in Darwin,
along with a Northern Territory Senator (Nigel Scullion) who claimed
that the facilities at Woomera were like a "two-star
hotel". I had taken strong exception to the image
that he was trying to portray.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>If people are not being punished, why are they not allowed to
have mobile phones? Why is their mail censored? And why
the complex series of excuses for blocking visits? Someone has
a lot to hide at Woomera.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>My interview with the ABC had been broadcast just minutes before
the meeting with Mike Hughes. Apparently he had not heard it at
the time that he approved our visit. It looked like our long
wait had finally been rewarded. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>The ABC had promised to call me back after the visit, and I felt
a bit silly, having complained about how hard it was to visit the
centre, and then suddenly being given carte blanche to visit as many
prisoners as I liked.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Ah, but then that was when it all changed. By the time
Hooman and Mahid were taken back to their compound, the visit planned
for the following day had been called off. "You'll have to
ring Mike in the morning," the guard on the gate told me.
"He's gone home for the day."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>The next day Ross phoned Mike. "Access to the
facility has been denied," Mike began. "A decision to
deny access can either be made internally or externally," he
said, hinting that the decision had come from outside the
facility. "You 're welcome to come to my office to pick up
the letter," he concluded, raising our hopes that we could find
out more about the reasoning behind the reversal by doing so.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Mike has only been in his present position for as long as we
have been trying to get in. He is still finding his way
around. He seemed genuinely sympathetic to our concern.
After all, even the worst criminals in the world are allowed
visitors. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Yet when we had first explained to one of his lackeys that we
actually wanted to assist the Centre in positive, constructive ways,
like teaching English or teaching music, we were told abruptly,
"We don't need your help. We provide them with everything
they need."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>A local clergyman had told us that the two biggest reasons for
denying access to the centre are if you criticise it in any way, or
if you speak to the media. I had done both in my interview for
the ABC, and now we were paying the penalty.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"Is the decision irreversible?" Ross asked, when he
picked up the letter saying that we were persona non grata at the
Detention Centre. </div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"Yes, it is," Mike replied. And then he added,
"at the moment."</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>Such is the ACM style. Everything is definitely
maybe. Imagine living with that kind of contradiction 24/7,
like the detainees do. Every guard imagines himself to be a
little god, giving orders that may contradict what other guards have
said, or even contradicting the management, just for the pleasure of
watching people jump. And when those orders come with threats
of tear gas or capsicum spray if they are not obeyed, they have a way
of making almost anyone a bit jumpy.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"What about others? Can our friends in Melbourne and
Newcastle still visit?" Ross asked.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>"They can if they give the impression that they are not
with you and that they were not one of the protesters," he
replied.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>It sounds like he genuinely wants to let visitors in, but he's
going to have to pretend he knows nothing about their affiliation
with us, in our little "Refugee Embassy" bus out on the
highway.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div>So if you want to visit the refugees, it is best to wear a badge
saying, "Refugees, go home." For the supposed
security of the refugees, you will probably get in. But don't
do or say anything to suggest that you support them, lest for the
security of someone higher up, you may be denied access.</div>
<div><br></div>
<div><i>Dave McKay and Ross Parry have set up a "Refugee
Embassy" at the Pimba Roadhouse, outside of Woomera. They
are Quakers from the HOPE group based in Newcastle.</i></div>
<div><i><br></i></div>
<div>Phone number: 0407-238805</div>
<div>Postal address: Post Restante, Woomera 5720</div>
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