I think about what I was doing seven years ago, and all I have been engaged in since then. Initiatives and developments in accordance with plans made, not extraordinary but significant nonetheless. But for hundreds of people who sought safety in Australia at a time of policy change, being stuck in a bizarre, liminal space for the past seven years has been the only possibility.
Another blow
The closure of international borders to halt the spread of COVID-19 has dealt another blow to this vulnerable group of people, as limited resettlement options have slowed. One young man currently being held in Port Moresby described the impact of coronavirus for him:
"Since I left my country, the number of obstacles I have had to face have been many. I have had such bad luck. I came to Australia to seek help. First the change in policy that sent me to Manus Island. I could not have known about this ahead of time. Being treated like a criminal, locked in a prison without having committed any crime. And now coronavirus… flights have been cancelled just when it’s my turn to hear about the possibility to settle in the USA. Being in lockdown now reminds me of the years I was confined to a small room on Manus Island. All I have to look at are the white walls of my room… again. The colour white is traumatising for me now. And I’m scared of getting sick here. I have seen death in these hospitals. My brain can’t take it anymore. How can I keep going?”
Like this young man, many of the people I spoke to in offshore detention in Port Moresby were scared about getting sick because they were already managing chronic health conditions and felt they didn’t have access to quality healthcare. With COVID-19 spreading, the Australian Government has a responsibility to transfer those held in offshore detention to safety and facilitate access medical care as needed.
No end in sight
In providing psychological support to people held in offshore detention on both Nauru and Papua New Guinea, I have witnessed the erosion of resilience unlike I have seen elsewhere.
This is despite almost 30 years as a practising mental health clinician in various contexts including war, natural disaster, large refugee camps and even an Ebola epidemic.
In the context of offshore detention, when it appeared that the hopelessness and helplessness consuming people could not become any worse, many reached an entirely deeper level of despair.
In other places I have worked, there remained a hope that the catastrophe would one day come to an end.
In offshore detention, for hundreds of people who were only seeking a peaceful life, a life free of persecution, there is no end. I witnessed people become immobilised by depression and helplessness.
In a context where people have had all agency removed – where others control even the smallest daily decisions – a sense of humiliation is inevitably felt. When a person is treated in punitive ways, despite having done nothing illegal or unethical, a conclusion of worthlessness is inevitably made.
