A Lesson in Displacement at the Bureau of Worldly Advice
Refugees are people. Let’s treat them as such. Loz Lawrey
shares a recent experience with some refugees and despairs at the
treatment this country affords them, while all these people are trying
to do is give something to this country.
My sister-in-law Dagmara knows about displacement. As a little girl
she left Poland with her mother in the 1980′s, a time when hundreds of
thousands of Poles emigrated looking for jobs and a better life abroad.
She feels empathy for people who find themselves forced to travel
halfway around the world to escape war, social dysfunction or simply to
seek a better life.
Dagmara is an artist and often uses installations and viewer
participation in her work. Her latest creation is “The Bureau of Worldly
Advice” at the Melbourne Town Hall. Held over a week, this event has
attracted great interest and participation and has been, for some, a
life-changing experience.
From the Swanston St pavement I see an office window with
official-looking signage which declares it to be the Bureau of Worldly
Advice. The front doors are open. This bureau looks just as one would
expect an office in the Melbourne Town Hall to look: sober and clerical.
But there’s a twist. A young woman in a suit, dancing on the spot,
spruiks a bold and brassy invitation to passers-by to come in for some
“worldly advice”. Her antics attract curious smiles. Now and then, the
invitation is accepted.
Those who enter find themselves in a spacious office containing
several large desks, at which consultants from around the globe dispense
“advice” to those who seek it. Stories are told, experiences shared and
questions answered. There is effervescent laughter and the occasional
tear.
These “consultants” are asylum seekers living in the limbo of
Australia’s assessment process, their status as residents undetermined,
their ability to move forward with their lives on hold. Yet they are
here today in a spirit of affirmation, determined to focus on the
positive aspects of finding themselves in this strange country at the
mercy of an indifferent bureaucracy.
I sit down with Basir and Afifah (names changed), a couple in their
early forties who have escaped the conflict and humanitarian disaster in
Syria. They have so much to tell me that I struggle to take it all in.
Each statement provokes several questions I haven’t time to ask. I am
stunned at the lengths to which this couple go to preserve their sanity
in an insane situation.
Since their visa status prevents them from working and earning, they
spend their days as volunteers, giving their time and energy to our
society which (for now) keeps them at arm’s length.
Basir and Afifah have been meeting and talking with new people all
week. I am stunned by their openness, yet can sense how close to the
surface are their most raw emotions. I realise that being here talking
to me is part of their survival strategy, something they’re doing to
stay grounded and in the moment.
Half an hour flies by and my consultation is over. I feel strangely
emotional. I found myself apologising to Basir and Afifah for the
treatment they continue to receive from my country’s government. They
would not hear of it, determined as they are not to wallow in
self-despair. They have seen what despair can do, so they tread the fine
line that feeds the soul and avoids the repetitive mantras of
hopelessness. By giving, they receive.
I am confronted, intrigued and ashamed. I scribble in the comments
book before leaving. I feel like a spoilt, complacent child who has
everything yet appreciates nothing. The simple bringing together of
people from diverse backgrounds in one room has proved to be a powerful
artistic statement.
The beholder becomes a participant. A conversation is begun, then
ended all too soon. I am reminded of my own travels, of experiences and
encounters in far-off lands, of the learning and understanding that
flows from opening up to others.
Conversations like these break down barriers and lift us above our differences, reminding us that we are one humanity.
Perhaps all that we need in this world are more conversations like these.
No comments:
Post a Comment