Living in an immigration detention centre is a horrifying experience. Ex-detainee Motahar Hussein talks to YASMINE FATHY about his disturbing days in Villawood Immigration Detention Centre.

Human rights groups have hailed the Labor Government’s recent reforms to Australia’s immigration detention system. But this welcome move has come too late for some.

Bangladeshi born Motahar Hussein, 35, had two stints in Villawood Immigration Detention Centre. The first time for two and a half months, and the second time for three years. He was finally released last December, but the effects of the trauma have not yet subsided.

He’s developed insomnia, depression, and is struggling to build a new life for himself and Sara*, his girlfriend whom he met while both were detained.

Hussein’s trauma is quite expected, says Dr Graham Thom, Refugee Campaign Coordinator of Amnesty International Australia.

“Detention can really grind people down to the point where people go as normal ordinary human beings and after a couple of years contemplating hunger strikes,” he explains.  “We’ve seen five, six years ago people sewing their lips together, people jumping off buildings.”

Australia’s detention system has never been free of controversy. In 1992, the Keating government introduced mandatory detention after the arrival of Chinese, Vietnamese and Cambodian “boat people.” In 1994, new legislation was introduced that removed the 273 day limit, and in 2001, the Howard government introduced the Pacific Solution where asylum seekers were transported to island nations in the Pacific Ocean.

However, the new government seems to be making some positive changes. In February 2008, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd scrapped the Pacific Solution. A few months later Senator Chris Evans, Minister for Immigration and Citizenship, announced that detention will only be used as a last resort and for the shortest possible time.

“We are talking about a more humane approach to detention, we are hearing words like dignity being used as part of a vision,” says Dr Thom. “These are really important steps in bringing Australia in line with international obligations.”

The changes are crucial, in the wake of constant reports surfacing about the appalling conditions in the centres and the regular outbreaks and riots.

It was under these conditions that Hussein lived so many horrific days. He pinpoints the period of Phillip Ruddock serving as Minister for Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs, as the time that life in the centres were filled with horror.

He recounts that he was fighting daily for some basic human rights. Access to medical supplies, doctors, and medication was limited. He has documents detailing a complaint to the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission (HREOC) from a fellow detainee about the cancellation of his physiotherapy despite his severe back pain, and of another detainee cutting himself because he was put under observation. In another letter, a detainee who underwent brain surgery protested not being able to access pain killers for his migraines.

“It was extremely bad…we were being treated as prisoners,” remembers Hussein.

The environment inside Villawood is congested with frequent flu breakouts among the detainees, along with prolonged mental abuse.

“They will not hit you, they were not hitting detainees,” he says. “But they are doing every single thing to make someone upset and feel powerless.”

Hussein has indeed felt powerless, since it all started on the first anniversary of September 11. He was studying at Wagga Wagga’s Charles Sturt University, when he received a letter from immigration informing him that his student visa was cancelled.

“I called them, I told them my address and I’m trying to fix it, and I didn’t even know that people can be detained,” explains Hussein. “You only know that detention is related to terrorism.”

The next day immigration officers arrived in his apartment with a search warrant, and he was taken to a police station. Naively, he asked them if they could detain him in a week so he could prepare himself.

“I was asking these silly kind of questions,” he laughs, but attributes it to his shock.

While Hussein was never given a reason why his visa was cancelled, he thinks it’s related to the terrorism hysteria that was taking place after the attacks on the World Trade Centre.

“It might be terrorism,” he ponders.  “And if you are not a terrorist than you are more disturbed because you try to find out, but actually where is the link?”

The link between Islamic terrorism and a self-confessed atheist may be hard to find, he jokes.

On the first night he arrived in the detention centre, it was 12:00 am, and he was handed over to a veteran Bangladeshi detainee to help him settle.

“I was extremely panicky. Like, if you see a ghost,” he recalls.

His shock wore off after a few days, and he quickly became known among the detention officers as a troublemaker who was constantly arranging hunger strikes and political protests.

Finally, after two months and a half in the detention, Hussein was released. A few months later, his bridging visa was cancelled and he became illegal again. To avoid the authorities, he went into hiding for eight months.

He moved to Sydney because he believed it would be easier to keep a low profile in a big city. He laughs as he remembers the measures he took to escape from immigration. He lived in expensive flashy suburbs where illegal immigrants couldn’t afford to reside, and avoided going to nightclubs or socialising. He worked casual jobs, and helped his friends with assignments in exchange for some cash.

But it didn’t work.

“That time… Muslims were being picked up everywhere, police were basically going on runs… looking for someone looking Pakistani or a little bit Lebanese,” he explains.

So one day while walking on Chalmers Street in Sydney, he was questioned by the police, taken to the station and then back to the detention centre – this time for three years.

In Villawood, once again he continued in his efforts to bring justice to the detainees.

“My policy was to reveal, and their policy was to hide,” explains Hussein.

As far as the 35 year-old Bangladeshi was concerned the conditions and treatment in Villawood were appalling.

Hussein details the conditions where there wasn’t pest control so rats and cockroaches infested the centre despite repeated complaints from the detainees. According to Hussein, the laundry room was left dirty, the grass was not mowed properly, garbage bins were not cleared, and the dust settled on everything. And when the rain came, the centre would be covered in mud.

This is besides the psychological tactics that were used to traumatise the detainees.

“They would put four people in one room, so four different cultures, four different languages,” explains Hussein. “That makes your life hell basically.”

The detention officers would also relocate the detainees from one place to another, and use it as a threat for those they thought were out of line.

The centre comprises of three separate accommodation compounds, stage one, two and three.

While Hussein spent most of his time in stage 2, he was moved to Stage 1, the maximum-security compound of Villawood, after organising protests and hunger strikes.

The Bangladeshi student was shocked that most of the detainees in the centre lacked English, which made it difficult for them to communicate with the officers. There was also no access to the Internet or mobile phones.

“There was a huge lack of documentation of the incidents that were happening,” insists Hussein. “And the outside world, the rest of the Australians did not know.”

The detainees, points Hussein were also not given access to legal information.  Another hunger strike fixed that, with the officers caving in and giving Hussein a copy of the Migration Act.  But they needed more.

“So we smuggled with our visitors, smuggled laws books, judgments,” says Hussein. “We got heaps and heaps of stuff on DVDs and CDs, almost the whole Austlii [the database of the Australian Legal Information Institute].”

Finally, Hussein’s efforts paid off, and he was released and given a permanent visa. But the trauma of detention remains fresh in his mind.

“Once you are in detention you lose everything,” he says.

Nonetheless, normality beckons and he is doing his best to move on, picking up where he left off before what he calls his “kidnapping.” He plans on studying electrical engineering, and is trying to help his girlfriend Sara, who was released in June 2008, to move on.

She is suffering from anxiety and indecisiveness, and cannot bring herself to even go out of their apartment without his company.

“It is very strange…and that is due to long time in detention,” he says.

The Government’s new policy, however, might prevent others from going through Hussein and Sara’s pain.

“Certainly things have improved, now detainees can have mobile phones in the detention centre,” says Dr Thom. “We now have Ombudsman going in regularly, we have HEROC going in, which was almost impossible in the past.”

But Australia still has a long way to go, he says.

“Still we have a situation where people in theory can be held in detention indefinitely,” he explains.  “I think we would really like to see a maximum time limit.”

In one of the hunger strikes, Hussein made the detainees keep a diary of how they are feeling. One wrote, “no strength, no appetite, sleep deeply, bad mood, want to commit suicide. Can not wake up, have got stomach ache, freedom is worthy of death.”

One can only hope the Government’s new measures help save those as desperate for justice and freedom.

Photo courtesy of: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kareneliot/231928568/

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