Baxter: The Brick In My Belly

It's just a few days until we will pack into a minibus and zoom off towards the South Australian desert. The visit to Baxter is looming, and I am experiencing a little gnawing feeling of unease at the prospect of returning to that place.

I am looking forward to seeing the people I know, but I can't believe it's been a whole year since I first met them there. I think about how much has happened in my life in that time, and feel ill at the thought that for them, every single one of the last 365 days have been identical, except for those punctuated with visa rejections, suicide attempts and visits to psychiatric hospitals.

I fear the depth of their sorrow, and I fear my powerlessness to penetrate it.

I dread arriving, I dread being there, and I dread leaving.

I wonder at my capacity to help navigate the turbulent journeys of the 9 other people who are visiting with me.

I question whether 4 years' experience will be a benefit or a hindrance. Will I have become accustomed to it, or will I be nearing saturation point?

I recall something I wrote a while ago:

"As with so many things in life, the experience of visiting people in immigration detention centres can be expressed on the parallel planes of the mundane and the profound.

On one level, it’s taking a few hours out of a Sunday morning to spend what can be a slightly awkward visit session sitting in a plastic chair, passive smoking and crumpling up a used plastic cup, before leaving again, slightly relieved that another visit is over. On another level, that same exercise is a foray into the human face of injustice. The awkward silence is actually a massive void. It is steeped in unspeakable apology for the gulf between my life, and yours. The powerlessness of knowing that there are only so many times I can shake my head in dismay and regret for what is happening to you. The strange reality that outside of the context of detention, we probably would never have been friends. The knowledge that hearing the explanation once again of why and how you came to be in detention in Australia won’t suddenly make everything clear to me".

I know I will be flying only by the seat of my pants and by the grace of God, and I just hope I'm up for the challenge. Yikes.