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
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