Yasmin* “Sometimes, our lack of freedom—the restrictions we have on us—makes it feel like we are living in a jail. Like we don’t have a future.” I was born in Myanmar. I am Rohingya. Because we lived in a big city, I was allowed to go to school until Year 8. After that my mother would have had to pay a lot of money and we couldn’t afford to keep me in school. The fees only applied to Rohingya students. Living in Myanmar was hard. You couldn’t go anywhere, move around. If they catch you, you could be put in jail for many years. When you get out of jail you would have to go back and live in your village—you can’t choose where you want to live. There are restrictions on everything for Rohingya people in Myanmar. On work, study, moving around. Often we didn’t feel safe. You wouldn’t go out after dark; sometimes even in the day. You always make sure you walk around with someone, never alone. When we found out I was pregnant, we knew we had to leave because we didn’t want our child growing up where they weren’t safe. We risked our life to come to Australia, but we had to do it for our daughter. I was eight months pregnant when we came on the boat. I was very tired, I was very scared. There was nowhere on the boat to rest and I felt very unwell. Our boat broke down out at sea and started taking on water. It was nighttime, dark. We had to try remove the water coming onto the boat by hand. I started bleeding. We were picked up by the Australian Navy and taken to Christmas Island where we were put in detention. After a few weeks, our baby was born in Darwin. Then we were sent back to detention on Christmas Island. Having a small baby in detention—our first baby—was hard. I was always crying. When she was a few months old, we got a knock on the door. It was immigration telling us we were being taken to a new detention camp. They didn’t tell us where. They took us to this place behind wire while we waited to be moved. It felt like jail. My daughter was crying, I was crying. My daughter was very unwell at the time and I had an appointment to see somebody in the detention centre, but they wouldn’t let me wait. A lawyer was coming to see me the next day but again, they said I couldn’t wait. We were taken to Nauru. Nauru was like a hell fire. It was a very bad place. It was too hot, my daughter was sick every day. Each night she had a high fever and was vomiting. We had to get permission to go to the doctor which was a 30 minute drive away. We had to take her every couple of days, always at nighttime. The guards would take us. It was very scary. On Nauru we lived in tents. It was extremely hot. There was no safe space for my daughter to sit and learn to crawl, no toys or books for children. Nothing for us to do in the day. About a year later I became pregnant again. The hospital on Nauru wasn’t set up for childbirth so we were sent back to Darwin. They said as soon as I had the baby we would have to go back to Nauru. Detention in Darwin with a young child and a newborn was very hard. But anything was better than Nauru. Nauru is the hellfire. But it still felt like a jail. Our lawyer helped us apply for Australian citizenship for our kids when our son was born. This meant we weren’t sent back to Nauru, but we spent almost another year in detention in Darwin. My daughter’s earliest memories are of this time. Sometimes she will say to me, ‘I grew up in a detention centre.’ Eventually we were put into community detention. We weren’t allowed to work or move around anywhere. To go anywhere we had to ask our case officer for permission. Just like in Burma really. We were in community detention for five years. Not being able to work, to study, to have any freedom really took a toll. The stress made us sick. We couldn’t talk to anyone. Over time we saw other people we were in detention with get visas and begin to build a life. They can work, they can go anywhere, they are free. But not us. Because we were taken to Nauru and they weren’t, we continue to be punished. Even people who arrived on the same boat—they now have a visa. I feel happy for my friends, but sad for us. It’s like a mantle around our necks weighing us down all the time. It makes us sad. Eventually we were given a Bridging visa. My husband is allowed to work. He drives for Uber. He has to drive long hours, seven days a week just to keep us afloat. It means we don’t have time together as a family. But he works hard to provide for our family. Getting more permanent employment is too hard, as his visa expires every six months. Employers don’t want to take him on as there is too much paperwork, and the visa is too short term. My dream is to study. But the visa doesn’t allow me to do this. I’d love to study computer studies. And improve my English. But I’m not allowed to in Australia. Every time our visa expires there is a gap until the next one is issued. Sometimes it is days, sometimes weeks before the next one comes. We don’t have Medicare in this time—which means we simply don’t see a doctor. Every six months it is the same. The visa ends and we reapply. Both our children have citizenship. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me feel. So very happy for the kids and what this means for their future. When I came here we had nothing. We are happy for the kids because their life is here now. They are Australian. Even though our children are Australian citizens, the government won’t let my husband and I apply for a permanent visa and keeps telling us we need to leave—that they can arrange for us to go to America or New Zealand. But how can we do this? My daughter says to me, “I was born here. I grew up here, I like it here. I don’t want to leave. This is a safe country.” Understanding Statelessness in Australia | Peter McMullin Centre on Statelessness 79