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