The Perils of Dressing Like a Lawyer

Yesterday I made an interesting 'mistake'. I had a meeting early in the morning, spent some time with a couple of friends and then we all popped off to the newly renovated and oh-so-shiny Maribyrnong Detention Centre for a bit of a fun visit. For the meeting, I was wearing what was basically a suit. Skirt, jacket, and heels. I looked all official and lawyery, as I do from time to time. I spent the couple of hours we were at the detention centre answering questions about people's cases and the patterns in the law and prospects for appeal and all sorts of things. There were two other visitors there who just sort of... ASSUMED i was a lawyer by virtue of the fact that I knew a bit of stuff, and I was dressed like that. Because of this, they simply deferred to what I said, even AFTER I told them I am not a lawyer! Really, it was very strange.

The upshot of it was that I was able to come in handy. Obviously I didn't pretend to be a something I'm not, but i was able to offer some help and advice and give people phone numbers and ideas for who to contact and what to do. I was also privy to one man's case which really, really broke my heart. His story includes the rape and beating of his wife and child, and other details that I will not go into because they are too awful to recount.

Needless to say, the privilege of sitting beside someone pouring their heart out like that is something quite extraordinary. We had just met, and in his desperation he just grabbed on to me and took hold of my outward appearance of professionalism, my familiarity with the system, the simple fact that I was sitting next to him in the visits area of Maribyrnong. He saw all of these things as a good enough reason to trust me, and to place his faith in me.

He handed me his record of decision from the RRT (he's been refused...), and as I was flicking through it I realised that he has only a few days left before his time to appeal lapses. I saw that he was running seriously out of options, so made a snap decision to take his case and find him a good lawyer, right now. Keep in mind that it was 3.30pm on the Thursday before the Easter Weekend, so there remained approximately an hour and a half to get him into the system. So I politely excused myself, we said goodbye to the other guys we were visiting, and high-tailed it outta there. I made a beeline for the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre and within 45 minutes an experienced refugee lawyer had taken on his case. I am now confident that he is in the best hands possible, given his circumstances.

All of this got me thinking. Not only was it a sobering reminder of the responsibility of my chosen profession (it's full on have someone meet you, and then almost immediately entrust you with their life...), but it also convinced me (if I still need convincing...!) of the importance of "being there". There are few phrases more cliched than that, but in the context of immigration detention I think it is especially important. When you're in a country that's not your own, alone, terrified, and at the mercy of an incredibly hostile system, the sight of a person who is there for no reason other than to hear what you have to say must be a relief.

It makes me rue each and every one of the visits that I *haven't* made - whether I've been too busy or too tired or the timing has just been that little bit 'inconvenient'.

It also makes me so incredibly thankful for the resources I have been given - my education, skills, opportunities, my God-given heart, even my CAR, and the freedom to use those things in a way that is so very meaningful to me. I literally thank God for choosing to use me for this stuff. I find it an honour far beyond words.

I was talking to my friend Kim today about the whole ridiculous West Papua debacle, and he actually made a comment which I found very poignant. He said that through their treatment of asylum seekers (particularly the new suggestions to send EVERY boat arrival into offshore detention...oh my goodness..), the Government is *depriving* Australians of the *opportunity* to welcome refugees. He said with real conviction that he really WANTS to be able to welcome newly arrived refugees into his home, give them a cup of tea, sit down and talk to them, to learn from their experiences, and do whatever he can to help them settle in. I loved what he said because it was a recognition of the concept of the 'privilege' and honour of being used to welcome people who have suffered so much. It was an acknowledgement that the loss of compassion in our society is the loss of a truly beautiful thing, and without it we are ALL the poorer.