Nasir* “My hope is to one day live together with my family and to have a good life with my children. I have a dream to see my children get an education.” I was born in Myanmar. Yet they don’t accept me as a citizen because my family and I are Rohingya. They say, “you don’t belong here.” But we do. We have lived there for generations. My parents. My parents’ parents. Their parents. allowed to work on this visa which was hard. But I stayed focused and as soon as I was allowed to, I registered for a Tax File Number and got to work. Initially I worked as a labourer; I did scaffolding work. I spent some time working in a warehouse. I now work in a factory. It was hard growing up in Myanmar. I remember my parents taking me to the local school to try and enrol me. They were asked so many questions and eventually, they had to pay a bribe. It wasn’t like this for the other children. Only the Rohingya. So many questions. So many difficulties. I couldn’t go to high school. This wasn’t permitted for the Rohingya children in my village. Eventually I was able to apply for a three year Temporary Protection Visa, and shortly after that, a five year SHEV. A condition of the SHEV was that I had to live in a regional area so I relocated again. The government of Myanmar says we don’t belong. They make it very hard to go anywhere. As a child and young person I had restrictions on my movement. We had to get this special form to go anywhere. And even then, the authorities would check this form, then check it again. Everywhere we go, they want to see it. I would have to seek permission in advance of going to the next valley for a short visit. When I arrived, the first thing I would have to do is report to the local authority to let them know I was there and how long I was staying. It’s not like this for everyone – just the Rohingya people. My SHEV expired in early 2021. Since then, I have been waiting, waiting, waiting. I have not had my visa renewed. They told me it is because, with the new government, I will now be automatically considered for a permanent visa, a RoS. But I’ve heard nothing from the government and still I wait. No information passes to me. I have nothing; no knowledge. It makes me very anxious. For years I’ve been waiting and applying to stay, waiting and applying. I hear of others in my situation who now have the permanent visa – why not me? Have I done something wrong? Do they need more information? If there is something they need I can tell them! But I am told nothing. So still I wait. Even when my wife and I got married they made it difficult. To obtain our marriage certificate we had to pay a bribe to the local authority. When this document was later checked they told us we had been sold a fake. Waiting for so long makes me feel very upset. All I can think about is my visa. But they give me nothing. To live life as a Rohingya in Myanmar – this is very challenging. My family and I always had a very poor life due to discrimination – we were not accepted as belonging. We didn’t have full rights. Coming to Australia, I was struck by the equal rights citizens here enjoy compared to the situation in Myanmar – it doesn’t matter what religion or ethnicity you are. There is a respect given to people in Australia by virtue of their common humanity. But in my country I am not equal. I don’t have any rights. When I left them, they were living in our village in Myanmar. After the violence broke out they fled to Bangladesh with my brother and his family. My wife was worried to leave Myanmar as she feared I wouldn’t know where she had gone or how to contact her. They have been living in a refugee camp since 2017. After a long life of discrimination in Myanmar I couldn’t take it anymore. When I became a father, I knew my children deserved a better life. I didn’t want them to experience the hardship I had suffered all of my life. So I said farewell to my wife and young children in search of better life for us all – for our children. I thought, perhaps at most, we might be apart for a few years – no more than five - while I got myself settled and sent for them. I was wrong. When I arrived in Australia I spent a few weeks in detention on Christmas Island, then time in detention in Darwin. I was then sent to Sydney where I spent time in detention in a hotel. When I was finally free to live in the community I was put on a Bridging visa. I wasn’t It has been more than ten years since I was with my family. I can’t bear to think about it. It is too painful to talk about. Recently, I was granted special permission to travel briefly to Bangladesh to see my family. I delayed going initially because I worried I might be punished – that it may delay the granting of my permanent visa in Australia. But after nearly ten years of not seeing them, I couldn’t wait any longer. When I saw my family, I was so happy. My youngest child was a few months old when I first left to come to Australia. Now she is almost 11. My son is a teenager. I have missed their childhood waiting on a better life for us all in Australia. I was worried, when I saw them, “will they even know me?” My son said he recognised me from photos. It was so good to be together. But now I am back. Without them. Waiting. I worry for my family in the refugee camp. It is not safe there. There is violence. This is very hard because I am here. I can’t protect them. Understanding Statelessness in Australia | Peter McMullin Centre on Statelessness 83