She spent time working in a processing facility for asylum seekers in Nauru and is forbidden from speaking about her experiences by the Border Force Act, which makes it a criminal offence for those who have worked in a detention centre to talk to the media about anything that happens during the course of their work.

But she wants to speak out – she wants people to understand what it is like in these facilities, what the people are like, and what they are going through. 

★★★★★

“I actually starkly remember some of the thoughts that ran through my mind on the first day as I was driving down the unsealed road approaching the white peaks of the tents (in the detention centre). Initially I thought, ‘this reminds me of rural (Africa)’. Upon first seeing the guards in khaki green uniforms, the fences and security protocols, I honestly thought, ‘this feels like a prison, not a processing centre’.

“It reminded me of displacement camps I had seen set up temporarily by the UNHCR in (Asia) after a typhoon. To me, it looked like it should have been temporary accommodation for the men, women, children and minors. Unfortunately, it was anything but temporary. It is hard to explain in words ... because really it’s a combination of things – it’s the overwhelming heat, the isolated position of the centre, the various smells, the sounds, and the general feel of being locked in behind big gates and fences that all marry together to make up the entire experience.

“Jobs I had included working with families and children in the camp, as well as unaccompanied minors – 29 males from various countries, namely Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, Sri Lanka and Myanmar. The circumstances under which people are being detained there are not only complex, therefore making them difficult to explain, but they are extremely sad and impacting in a way I didn’t expect and in a way I have never before experienced, even during my time working in child protection, youth homelessness or in my time (working in Asia and Africa). In hindsight, I believe it was because we were witnessing the institutionalised and deliberately silenced abuse of children under Australian law that made it so impacting, as it was our something orchestrated by our government, not the governments or warlords of a far off land.

“Basically we were there in an attempt to protect the children in the camps, so we would intervene when parents were struggling, report cases of alleged abuse, whether that be at the hands of other asylum seekers or other stakeholders. We would monitor the mental health of everyone in the camp in conjunction with the health services on island and write reports and assessments of children and families overall wellbeing. We would often assist people in accessing the complaints process, generally about chronic medical issues or the living conditions; inadequate shelter, not being able to access food outside of the standard mess hall times, the rats in their rooms, impact of the heat and other elements of the indefinite nature of detention and how it was impacting on their ability to function on a physical, psychological, emotional, and cultural level.

“We would work alongside our very talented co-workers in the schools or providing recreation activities to the children in an attempt to minimise harm and give them a chance at experiencing some sort of normalcy by providing opportunities for them to just ‘be kids’. We responded to self-harm actions or suicidal ideation and attempts of not only adults but children regularly. We wrote request after request for simple things like a piece of wood to paint into a blackboard so the Tamil children could practice maths in their tents (which was denied), or knitting needles for the women so they could have something to do to pass the mundane torturously long days (which was also denied). We soon learned that we had to bring our own resources for the children, coloring books, pencils, sporting equipment, wool etc. Our bags on return flights were often filled with resources.

“I tried to spend time interacting with parents and children. Our ability to change or impact the system was so limited all we could do was … sit with them in their suffering, bearing witness to it all. I would play with the children, talk to them about their experiences, attempt to answer impossible questions from children as young as seven years old, like ‘Why am I in prison? What have I done wrong? Why am I here? Am I bad?’. Explaining to them that this was not a prison was impossible as everywhere they looked there were security guards and big, high, permanent fencing. 

“As clichéd as this is, they are some of the most inspiring, beautiful humans I have ever (met). The kids are survivors and their humour made every day more bearable for everyone. I used to ... wonder how I would react in this situation – would I be as brave and as contained as they are most of the time?. No one can know how they would react in the same situation, but I think a lot of the asylum seekers coped so much better than I would have.

“All the children were traumatised on some level, not only from the experiences pre-Nauru. Being detained indefinitely had and continues to have adverse impacts on their development, psychological well-being and overall health. They reach breaking point and that’s when we witness the suicidal ideation or attempts, acts of self-harm and overall emotional breakdown. I witnessed some of the strongest people I have ever known – survivors of the Taliban, of mass rape, of oppression and torture in their countries of origin – reach breaking point under Australia’s offshore detention policy. (These acts) of self-harm or attempted (or actual) suicide are not a means of swaying political opinion – they are desperate acts of people who are in extreme pain and reached a level of mental exhaustion. Any one of us, if put under the same pressure, left in a constant state of unknowing, with limited opportunity to help yourself or your children, separated from our loved ones, experiencing ongoing acts of violence and inadequate living conditions, would experience similar mental health outcomes.

“Seeing children’s behavior and mental health deteriorate and become increasingly worse due to the impacts of the detention environment was difficult to witness and frustrating as it was hard to mitigate while they were still being detained and being exposed to inappropriate living conditions every day. Another thing that was hard was seeing parents becoming institutionalised and incredibly disempowered, blaming themselves for ‘bringing my children here’, although they had no other alternative. They never imagined it would ‘be this bad’.

“The multiple self-harms and suicide attempts of adults and minors alongside the alleged abuse, including sexual abuse and assault inside the camps by the security personnel, are examples of some of the worst things these people experience, but that’s only scratching the surface. The lack of adequate structures in response to these allegations was also extremely difficult to work (with). It was like banging your head against a wall on a daily basis when attempting to raise these issues (with the Department of Immigration and Border Protection) and get a timely response around suggested interventions or actions.

“There were many good things I took away from Nauru, namely the connections I made with people there, including the asylum seekers and refugees, the local Nauruans and my wonderful and extremely hard-working colleagues. I have so many good moments that I often reflect on, but one that stands out is when teachers and recreation staff organised an end-of-year performance that the students undertook in front of parents and staff in the camp. Among the daily sadness and frustrations, this night was a chance for the children to be children and the parents to be parents. The kids dressed up, danced, sang and ... for a few hours the heaviness that hung over the camp daily lifted and we all laughed and forgot the daily struggles.

“I feel so privileged to have met and worked with the asylum seekers being detained in Nauru – they are incredible humans. I hated leaving; I carried and still carry a level of guilt. Leaving people I cared about immensely to go back to my family, my friends, and my safe and secure life while they had no choice but to stay in their uncertainty and suffering, was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

“There was a lot of fear instilled in us about remaining quiet ... (which) calls into question why such a huge effort has been made to keep it all so secret. It has been difficult for us to speak about what we witnessed as according to the Border Force Act we can be imprisoned for up to two years. 

“I think (our government’s policy of mandatory detention for refugees) is completely inhumane and a breach of our international responsibility under the UN convention of the refugee. There are so many better ways to do this that are more cost effective and that don’t involve perpetrating harm against innocent men, women and children. 

“I honestly believe this is a chapter in our history we will look back on in shame, just like the White Australia policy and our treatment of Indigenous people. The people being detained on Nauru are mostly intelligent, resourceful and compassionate people and we, as a country would be incredibly lucky to have them. It amazes me that in the asylum seeker/refugee debate in Australia, people seem to conveniently forget we arrived here by boat and we are all immigrants to this land apart from the Aboriginal people. Multiculturalism is what makes Australia great, and hopefully our national anthem still reflects in a sense who we are, with ‘boundless plains to share’.”