Maybe I Will See You in Paradise

[This is the full text of an article submitted to the Age for publication and which appeared in the Saturday Extra section (p.5) on 19 October 2002 in a shortened form.]

On October 19, 2001, a woman gave birth on a sinking boat en route from Indonesia to Christmas Island. She was one of more than 400 people, including 146 children, and 142 women, who had boarded the boat the previous day, in the Sumatran port of Lampung, with dreams of being reunited with loved ones who had preceded them, and of starting a new life in Australia. She was last seen attached to her baby by the umbilical cord, by survivors drifting past.

Amal Hassan Basry, a survivor of the tragedy, who now lives in Melbourne, says that at least three women gave birth as the boat sank. One of the mothers was just six months pregnant. The tragedy induced the births prematurely. Amal recalls the events of that day with great clarity. She knows the exact moment the boat capsized, ten past three in the afternoon. Many watches stopped at that time.

'Because I was waiting for my death, I saw everything. I was like a camera,' she tells me. 'I can still hear the shouting, the screaming. I see the people going under, my son swimming towards me. Everything.'

One year later, the memory of the tragedy remains a raw wound. But before she recounts the full story of the sinking, Amal insists on telling me why she was so desperate to make the journey. 'I want people to know why I stayed on the boat even when I saw it was very dangerous', she says. 'I want people to know who I am. Why I escaped from Iraq. Why I risked my life. Why I wanted to come to Australia. Maybe then they will understand.'

We are sitting in the living room of the Thornbury Asylum Seeker Resource Centre. It is a house of welcome, a place where we can talk in peace. I see the strain on Amal's face, the lingering pain in her eyes, but also, her determination to tell the tale. As if sensing my thoughts, Amal says, 'I'm a strong woman. Believe me.'

Amal's troubles began in 1980, when her husband, an engineer, was conscripted to fight in Saddam Hussein's war against Iran. She left her job in the Bank of Iraq, in Baghdad, to look after their three young children in his absence. The eight-year war claimed an estimated one million lives.

In 1990, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, and in 1991, at the height of the Gulf War, Amal's twenty-year-old brother, a worker, was killed by an American bomb in the southern city of Basra. 'Collateral damage', is the term US officials use to describe such 'incidents'. Months later, in the wake of Iraq's defeat, a second brother, twenty-nine-years old, was executed because he had refused to take part in the fighting. 'He said he did not want to kill people, that Kuwaitis are my brothers and sisters', says Amal. 'So he got six bullets in his chest.'

In the same year, one of Amal's brothers-in-law lost his life in Southern Iraq, for taking part in a Shi'a revolt against Saddam's regime. Amal's entire family was now under surveillance. Her husband, and two of his brothers, were jailed and tortured in 1995. In 1997, the police came for them again. The family was threatened and harassed.

A brother-in-law was arrested and has not been heard of since. It was time to escape. Amal and her family found sanctuary in northern Iraq, in the Kurdish zone, with Iraqi Kurds who had been persecuted by Saddam Hussein. They lived there for eighteen months, in an area that was constantly under threat of attack. In 1999, with the help of the Kurds, the family fled to Iran.

At this time, word had it that Australia was a potential haven. They would be welcomed, Amal's family was told. Her husband flew to Malaysia. He arrived by boat on Australia's north-west coast in January 2000. After 8 months in Woomera Detention Centre, he was granted a temporary protection visa, and settled in Melbourne. Amal was determined to join her husband as soon as possible. He phoned her in Iran and warned her the journey was too dangerous. But Amal could not wait. Under conditions of his temporary protection visa, her husband could not leave Australia to visit her. The family faced years of separation. Life in Iran, where refugees numbered in the hundreds of thousands, had become very difficult. Deportation was a constant threat.

In July, 2001, Amal left her nineteen-year-old son in Iran, and together with her younger son, then aged seventeen, she flew to Malaysia. At each stage of the journey there were moments of great danger, and payments to be made to people smugglers whose promises often turned out to be lies or half truths. From Malaysia, Amal journeyed by boat to Sumatra. She finally arrived in Jakarta, where she met people smuggler Abu Quassay. ' He told us that he had a boat that would take us to Australia. He said it was a big boat, with a lot of space, radar, satellite, plenty of food, toilets. We had to pay 500 dollars American. We went by ferry back to Sumatra and by bus to the port in the middle of the night.'

The women and children were the first to be taken to the boat in the pre-dawn darkness, on October 18. When they stepped aboard, Amal and her companions realised that the smugglers had lied. The boat was just nineteen metres long, and four metres wide. It had room for perhaps 100 people, not the 400 plus asylum seekers who were ferried from the beach to the ill-equipped vessel. 'We couldn't believe it', says Amal. 'We were crowded together. It was raining. There was little food. We were fed only bread and water. The sea was angry. We quickly became sick.' Amal's teenage son sat on the roof of the cabin, while she remained on the deck. Others crammed into the hold. Those on board came from Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and a range of Middle Eastern countries. Later that morning, the boat sheltered in the lee of an island in rough weather, and about 24 people are believed to have disembarked.

At dawn on October 19, one of the Indonesian crew informed the passengers they had moved into international waters. They were well on the way to Christmas Island. A group of children saw dolphins swimming by. For a while the refugees' spirits lifted, and their fantasies were revived. 'What do you think Australia looks like?' the children asked. 'Like paradise', was a common answer. 'Everyone had their special dream about Australia,' says Amal.

At 1pm that day, the engine broke down. 'We were very afraid. We were crying. The children were crying. We prayed to God. Everybody was praying.' At two o'clock, the boat began taking water. An hour later it capsized. Amal cannot swim. She closed her eyes, lost consciousness, and came to underwater. Somehow she managed to propel herself to the surface.

When she opened her eyes, the boat had resurfaced and was beginning to break up. Amal saw 'people drinking water. Shouting. Drowning. The doors to hell opened to us. One man was screaming, all my family are gone. My wife die. My daughter die. Then I thought about my two sons, my husband, my daughter and her children in Jordan. I had to live for them. I had to find a way.'

Amal speaks with a sense of urgency, as if driven by a need to record each detail, as if by telling her story quickly she will be able to bear it. 'I saw a dead woman in a life jacket, floating', Amal continues. 'I held onto her. I remembered that when I was a child I read a story about a body that could float. That memory saved me. Then I saw my son. He was holding onto a piece of wood. He said, mother I want to give you one last kiss. He took the life jacket off the dead woman and helped me put it on. Then he said goodbye mother. Maybe I will see you in Paradise.'

Amal clung to the woman's body. As night fell she was floating alone. She disappeared into the dark. It was cold, and still raining. Says Amal: ' I spoke to the dead woman. I said, forgive me, but you save me. I was drinking in water. I was waiting for the time of my death.' Amal saw a shark circling. She believes that because her clothes were saturated with fuel, it did not attack her. She saw a whale spouting water. Late at night she saw lights. She could hear others survivors calling for help. She came upon friends clinging to planks of wood. They moved together towards the lights. For two hours they fought the waves as they tried to reach the mystery boats. 'When we came closer, I saw three boats, two bigger and one smaller boat. I heard their horns. We cried for help, but they did not save us.'

At dawn Amal saw no one as she drifted on. Later that morning, she saw an Indonesian fishing boat. A crew member jumped in to take her on board. Only when he touched her did Amal finally let go of the woman's body. She had clung to the corpse for over 21 hours.

On the boat there were about 40 asylum seekers the fishermen had rescued. Amal was frantic in her concern for her missing boy: 'I cried: My son! My son! Some people told me they saw him half an hour ago. I wanted to jump in, to go after him. I asked the captain, please turn back, and he did it. One hour later we found him. He was holding onto a piece of wood. He kissed me. He held onto me. He was sitting next to me like a baby.'

One of the rescued was a twelve-year-old girl, Zeinab, who had lost her entire family, her mother, father, two brothers and two sisters. Says Amal: 'She was crying. She was saying, I'm all alone now. I told her I will take you. You can be my daughter. We were in the fishing boat for three nights.

I dreamed of sharks. I woke up and saw it was not a shark, but my son.' After an agonising seven and half month wait in Jakarta, Amal was granted a 5 year temporary protection visa, and reunited, on June 7, with her husband in Melbourne. But after all she had endured, her future remained uncertain. She envied those survivors who had been taken in by Scandinavian countries, where, Amal claims, they have been treated far more sympathetically, and given permanent residency. At one point, in Jakarta, she had implored UN officials to allow her to go to Norway. She felt it was better to bring her husband over there. Australia had become the most feared destination for survivors. 'We thought Australians do not like us.'

Amal credits the softening of her pain to 'some good people.' She speaks glowingly of the volunteers who work at the Thornbury Asylum Seeker Resource Centre, and of her teachers at Broadmeadows TAFE. 'They are beautiful. They give me new hope. I know good Australian people who stand by me, and help me. I want to learn computer. I want to work. I want to help my son who is in Iran. He is still in danger.'

The memory of the tragedy pursues her. On the 19th day of every month, Amal relives the sinking. Every day she glances at her watch, at about 3.10, and is seized by the memory of the boat capsizing.

The watch was a farewell present from Zeinab, her 'adopted' daughter, who was reunited with relatives in Sydney. 'Think of me when you look at the watch', she had asked Amal, before they parted in Jakarta.

Almost every night Amal dreams: 'I am sleeping on the ocean. I can't breathe. I am alone. Then I see people who are shouting: Turn back! Turn back! You're going to drown. I put out my hand to stop, and I wake up with my hand still held out. My husband hears me call out and he turns on the light.'

There are many questions being asked about the sinking of the boat now known as SIEV X. Who manned the mystery boats that apparently did not respond to the pleas of survivors? It is now established that SIEV X went down in International waters, 60 nautical miles south of Java, within Australia's air surveillance zone, and not in Indonesian waters as the Howard government steadfastly maintained in the days following the sinking. Those who have come to know the seven survivors who live in Australia, and who have seen their continued distress, want to know why they have not received permanent residency.

They ask why they continue to live in limbo, caught between a terrifying past and uncertain future. The tragedy warrants a full judicial enquiry.

Amal has another recurring dream. She is walking. It is dark. She sees a door. She opens it and can see paradise. Inside, she sees all those who had perished in the disaster. 'In the dream they are happy', she says. 'But I do not want to go in. I close the door, and return to life. My true dream is to live with my family, in peace.'

Apart from Amal, all other names of family members have been withheld on request. This afternoon, at 1.30, a memorial service for those who drowned will be held at Edwardes Lake Park, Reservoir, to coincide with the exact time of the sinking one year ago