Dead Letters

Seventh letter to the Hazara asylum seeker, Khodayar Amini

Dear Khodayar, before you arrived here they were ready for you with their false and so called humane slogans. They were ready with their distrustful eyes and their cruel and harsh treatments. They were ready to do this to you and to others of your kind – people forced onto the road who had to abandon their burnt out homes. They were determined you would not find any home here. They wanted you to wish you had never come here.

The harsh reefs that you had to pass, that you managed to pass to come here were not as harsh nor as treacherous as what you found here. They tortured you for 37 months and in that time you only just managed to keep your head above the waters. It was on the 18^th of October, 2015 in the morning that the waters closed over you for the final time, and they looked like flames. It seemed like the voices of friends were in your ears at that last moment. You had roved from one end of this country to another seeking refuge and ended up by this creek in Dandenong. Love Stephen

Khodayar's statement after hearing of the death of his friend, Nasim Najafi.

"Apathetic human beings, I am not writing for you to read my writings because I am sure you will never read 

them, 

I am not saying anything because I am sure you never will never understand me, 

I am not looking at you because I am sure you never pay attention to me, 

I am not calling you because I am sure my tears are useless for you, 

therefore I am only laughing……

… no matter what I do for you I am just a Hazara and a refugee….."

Khodayar Amini made this statement after hearing of the death of his close friend Nasim Najafi at Yongah Hill 

prison camp in July 2015.

Tribute from Michelle Bui

Yesterday marked 2 months since Khodayar Amini took his life. 
Today marks the burial of Mohammad Nasim Najafi.

Khodayar was best friends with Nasim. 
Both had come to Australia in search of a safe and peaceful home. 
Both had experienced immeasurable loss in Afghanistan, having seen family and friends slaughtered by the Taliban.
Both survived tumultuous waters; a harsh and cruel journey only taken by those whose only options are possible death at sea or certain death on land.
Both had suffering heaped upon suffering; the pains of violence and war exacerbated by the trauma of indefinite mandatory detention.
Both ultimately became casualties of the policies of the Australian DIBP.

Upon learning of his friend's death, in August, Khodayar wrote these words,

"Apathetic human beings, I am not writing for you to read my writings because I am sure you will never read them, I am not saying anything because I am sure you never will never understand me, I am not looking at you because I am sure you never pay attention to me, I am not calling you because I am sure my tears are useless for you, therefore I am only laughing……… no matter what I do for you I am just a Hazara and a refugee….."

When he sent me this message, I didn't anticipate that two and a half months later he too would be dead.

His thoughts, I'm sure, are shared by many who are, or have been, confined within the walls of Australia's detention centres. To my dear friends who remain in this situation, particularly those in Yongah Hill who knew one or both of these men, please know that your worth is not dictated by your status as a refugee or your identity as a Hazara. Your life has value, you deserve to live, you deserve freedom. We will keep reading your writings, hearing your words and shouting them from the rooftops until the rest of Australia understands your plight. Your tears are not useless and neither are you. You are not forgotten.

I think these words, written by Nasim in the months preceding his death, are apt to reflect upon here. There is no doubt in my mind that racism and xenophobia killed these young men, for these are the very foundations of 'deterrence', of 'stop the boats' and of mandatory detention.

"Today went while I was waiting for some rain (mercy), tomorrow I will wait for the lights of the horizon. People in the detention centre are restless and they are all longing for a day out of the camp, they spent the nights on watching the news…… and days on displaying more resilience and patience, unaware of the fact that their country is burning in the drought of racism. The politicians have forgotten the country. Even the mourning of the hungry kids doesn’t wake them up as if their hearts are made of stone. They drive pass the same desperate people everyday and stare at them through the tinted windows of their limousine; all they think about is their own positions and powers. Shame on their racist hearts. May God eradicate racists and racism from my country."

On a different occasion, Nasim shared this poem:
"There is not enough time, it might be too late when one realizes.... But we still don’t believe the reality…. It might be too late when you come to see me… You will not have any other option but to cry at my grave and by saying that this was the destiny…… (Please pray for me dears)"

I don't know about you, but I'm sick of crying at the graves of young, innocent men.....

‪#‎nomoredyingforfreedom‬ ‪#‎endmandatorydetention‬ ‪#‎justiceforNasim‬‪#‎justiceforKhodayar‬ ‪#‎azadi‬

This was written by Michelle Bui on 19.12.15

Statement from Khodayar's dead friend, Nasim Najafi

“You may not believe when someone says that they have left their country because of death, torture, loneliness…It is as if the entire world becomes against refugees. Yes! That is true. For refugee every situation is associated with pain and suffering… I only ask you to look at my eyes and see what I have gone through…”

Mohammad Nasim Najafi

Nasim was a friend of Khodayar's and he died at Yongah Hill prison camp on 31.7.15.

Refugees imprisoned at the camp say he committed suicide.

Sixth letter for you, Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, I remember a dream that I had several years ago. In the dream I was making a journey somewhere in central Asia. I saw a vast plain and both in front of me and behind me there were moutain ranges rising up. The scenery was improbable, the plain too flat and the mountains very abrupt. I was travelling to a kingdom inside the mountains before me. I boarded a bus and a local man helped me with the ticket. It was day time in the dream. I can’t remember having any luggage or travel documents with me. I guess that I was travelling light – I was passing through that tiny rent in history that we call the present. I was the outsider amongst a crowd of locals. I was the odd one out in the smooth progress of time. I was the dischord in all the surounding harmony. Love Stephen

Fifth letter

Dear Khodayar, the first time I heard about what happened to you was on the Monday. Someone said another refugee had burnt themself, this time in Dandenong. I wanted to find out more but there was a giant silence for the next few days. Like the ocean swallowing a person. Who was it? Are they all right?

Then I learnt your name and I saw your face and I found out that you aren’t all right. That in the deepest pit of misery that we heaped on you, you decided to cut your life. And you did cut it. That camp by the creek was the last home that you knew. The protection of the leaves and the earth was not enough to keep you safe from the men who were looking for you. Khodayar I had to visit your camp to get closer to you, to offer comfort to you. Khodayar, your words are very powerful; the stories of your life and your journeys are heroic. I think of you in the night, crossing from one side to the other. Love Stephen

The Death of a Beautiful Prince in a far away land

Before he died his beauty was taken away from him. The troubles he saw dimmed his eyes and took the brightness from his face, veiled him in a pain that hid him. His homeland was also taken from him. The roar of explosions spoke destruction in the land where he was born. Flames on flesh were an abomination that lit his departure on a long and cruel journey.

He went through the night and over the oceans, away from all he knew. He and so many others were escaping violence and death.
Lastly his life was taken from him. It was taken from him by degrees, with the slowness of cotton. On Sunday the 18^th of October, 2015 his life was erased from the Earth. His name, Khodayar Amini, is all that is left behind. Bitter ash in the mouth of Spring.

"I am extremely scared."

“I am scared they plan to kill me with any wrong accusation. 

I feel that the police come to my house at night and have a plan to kill me. I can’t sleep at night because I fear the police would kill me. 

I am extremely scared. I feel every moment they would kill me. What in 2013, they hit me so hard that still feel the pain from that time.”

From Khodayar Amini shortly before his death

More flowers for Khodayar

Fourth letter to Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, when I write to you that must not and does not mean that I have forgotten your friends; those who have also been killed with slogans of humanity. Many others have been killed and had their lives ruined by Immigration. I know that it is not just you who has been sentenced to death. A whole island full of people abandonded to extinction – a ticket back to Da’esh or the Taliban their only consolation in the hell they suffer in. A hellish option offered to those cast into hell. By so called human beings, who deny the human rights of those forced to flee.

Khodayar, I am also writing to the others, to Nasim Najafi, to Reza Rezayee, to Ahmed Ali Jaffari and to all the refugees, dead and alive who suffer through the cruelty inflicted on them by people who are more fortunate. By people who should know better. So I will remember and bear witness to your dignity and to your suffering. Love Stephen

“I write this statement with my blood for those who call themselves human beings"

“I, Khodayar Amini, write the following few sentences with my blood for those apathetic so called human beings. Yes they did this to me, with slogans of humanity, sentenced me to death. My crime was that I was a refugee. They tortured me for 37 months and during all these times they treated me in the most cruel and inhumane way. They violated my basic human right and took away my human dignity with their false and so called humane slogans. They killed me as well as many of my friends such as: Nasim Najafi, Reza Rezayee and Ahmad Ali Jaffari. They were my friends and their crime was that they had sought asylum in Australia.

“I write this statement with my blood for those who call themselves human beings, I ask you to stand up for the rights of refugees and stop people being killed just because they have become refugees. Humanity is not a slogan; every human being has the right to live. Living shouldn’t be a crime anymore. Red Cross, Immigration and the Police killed me with their slogans of humanity and cruel treatments.”

This statement was sent by Khodayar to Michelle Bui the night before he self immolated. It was translated into English by a member of the Hazara community in Perth.

Third letter to Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, food that is stored too long loses its taste and becomes unappealing. You were stored on a shelf, like a dead thing for many long, weary days. You felt your eyesight slowly dim like a plant kept out of the sunlight. You were kept away from the people and the places that you love. You had to leave Afghanistan. Your family were killed by the Taliban. Heroes would try to help you and villians would tyranise you. And you were the biggest hero of all. You were the traveller, the survivor. You crossed the ocean to find independence, for the sake of freedom and life. You learnt new languages and saw new countries through your nomad eyes. You made a camp were you lived your last days. You were not caught alive. You made the final choice to cut your life, that fatal decision. You had been sentenced to death as an Hazara refugee but you wouldn’t let them kill you. You denied them that and you died free. The flames an angry breath of pain.

Love Stephen Clendinnen

Second letter to Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, I heard the rain and the thunder in the night and thought of you in your camp by the creek. I am not sure if you can stay dry or not. I am sorry that you have been violated in your most basic humanity. You no longer can walk down streets free, by the sides of your friends. You are forced to hide away between the trees and bushes beside the creek.

“They kill us with cotton.” I can’t believe that they did this to you with their false and so called humane slogans. I can’t believe that we sentenced you to death for being a refugee. I can’t believe that your friends are dead – killed with cotton. Living shouldn’t be a crime anymore. We should make safety for all of us.

Love Stephen Clendinnen

A flower laid for Khodayar

Citizen Journalist: Stephen Clendinnen

The final camp of Khodayar Amini.

By Stephen Clendinnen

On Thursday I went to the place in Dandenong where Khodayar Amini killed himself 13 days ago. He was an Hazara refugee who was on what is called a bridging visa when he died. This means that you are not inside one of the prison camps but that you are still detained - you have no permanent visa and you have no freedom.

He was living in New South Wales a few weeks ago but one night he got a telephone call that greatly troubled him. A house where he had used to live was raided by 6 men from the government. They were asking where Khodayar was and they were aggressive. One of the people from the house called Khodayar and told him about it.

Khodayar was terrified. He had spent a lot of time in different prison camps and didn't want to go back. He spent time in Yongah Hill camp in Western Australia for instance. He was also very frightened of being deported back to Afganistan. So he left the food that he had been cooking, jumped in his car and fled to get away from the government agents looking for him.

He ended up in Dandenong camped near the creek. No one knows for sure why he went there. Lots of Hazara do live in Dandenong but he didn't have many contacts living there. In fact many of his friends are dead. Refugees like Nasim Najafi, Reza Rezayee and Ahmad Ali Jaffari were all refugees he had known who died in unknown circumstances inside the camps.

Khodayar was very scared and sure that he would be caught soon. Unfortunately he decided to kill himself and told some refugee advocates whom he knew of his intention. They contacted him by video link and pleaded with him not to do it.

But he did.

He burnt himself. When the police found him burnt in his camp he was already dead. He was 30 years old.

I know from the newspaper reports that Khodayar's camp is in the bushland along Dandenong Creek off Clow Street, so I start from there. I park my car in Clow Street and think about whether I should go upstream or downstream. ? I look in both directions and try to decide which way a frightened person like Khodayar would go.

Upstream. He would have gone upstream, there is more cover here. He could park his car here by the sports field where it would be inconspicuous. 

I walk closer to the creek and turn upstream. There is a sealed walking track here and I start along that. Khodayar would not want to be too close to this path, so after a while I turn off the path, walk down a bank between some bushes and go closer to the creek. There are white corellas everywhere. They screech as I approach, take flight for a short distance and alight in trees further up the creek. The creek swings away from the path here making a flattish patch of bushland. 

I keep walking upstream. 

Ahead of me is a chair near some bushes. Beyond that I see something on the ground. I strain my eyes. As I get closer I see that it is a piece of plastic next to some burnt ground - plastic that is wrapped around a bunch of flowers. There are many bouquets carefully laid on the ground around the edge of a burnt area. The flowers all pointing in. This is obviously the place. I stop walking.

Leaning against a tree nearby is his photo - I recognise Khodayar's face from the news reports with his distinctive Hazara features. A few cards have been left. This is the place where he lived for a few short days and then this is the place where he died. I have a piece of paper with Khodayar's last statement written out on it in my neatest hand writing. Khodayar's desperate, powerful and accusing last statement to the people of Australia. I pin the piece of paper to the trunk of the tree above his photo. I collect some flowers from the bush and place them carefully. I cry. I collect all the rubbish I can find from nearby. The corellas continue to scream at me as I move around the camp. I take a last look over the camp - the large patch of burnt ground ringed by flowers, with the tree with its offerings and photo behind.

I turn and walk away carrying the rubbish back to the car. In my pocket I have a driver's licence. My papers are all in order. There will be no knocks on my door at night. There will be no need for me to run in terror from the men from the government.

Khodayar had to run, and he didn't make it. He never found anywhere safe, only suffering and violence and danger. And I am very sorry about that.

Stephen Clendinnen

First letter to Khodayar

First letter                                                                                                  

                                                                                                Khodayar Amini

                                                                                                Final Camp

                                                                                                Robert Reserve

                                                                                                Dandenong   3175

Dear Khodayar, I call myself a human being and I will stand up for the rights of refugees. You suffered cruel treatments hidden behind slogans of humanity. You were tortured and were sentenced to death in a a most cruel and inhumane way. Your life was not a crime and yet you and your friends were killed for being refugees. You have a right to live, your friends have a right to live. You have the right to be treated kindly and humanely – to be treated like a human being.

Humanity is a beautiful and dignified thing. This was taken from me; you were cheated of what is yours. I wish you could have stayed in your camp by the creek in safety. I wish you could have a house and a job. I wish that you could have a life and a family, after your long journeys from danger. You earnt a chance on the water – in the many hardships that you endured.

Love Stephen Clendinnen

"Yes they did this to me, with slogans of humanity, sentenced me to death."

The Final Camp of Khodayar Amini – an art project by Stephen Clendinnen reusing materials from Khodayar Amini. October 2015 ongoing

Khodayar’s final statement – “I, Khodayar Amini, write the following…”

His statement written out 49 times and posted around Melbourne, photographed and published on Twitter and elsewhere

#KhodayarAmini     @GargamelClen

Dead letters –   Letters posted to Khodayar at his final camp in Dandenong from around the world

Flowers laid around a burnt patch of grass –

                  Tributes to the life and death of Khodayar in words, leaves and flowers

                   Published on Twitter and elsewhere

For more information about Khodayar read Abdul Karim Hekmat's excellent article in the Saturday Paper.

https://www.thesaturdaypaper.com.au/news/immigration/2015/10/24/the-death-khodayar-amini/14456052002536