Only the most privileged us could see those risking their lives to reach Australia’s shores as a threat. The term “privilege” here is not just about economic standing; it is about the privilege of security, the privilege of not fearing for one’s life or the lives of one’s children. It’s the privilege of never having to make the agonising decision to leave everything familiar behind.
For those of us who grew up with the stories of parents and grandparents who made sacrifices so that their descendants could live better lives, we understand the bravery involved. Empathy should come naturally, not only because we know this journey, but because we understand the values these people represent: determination, resilience, and the sheer will to survive and protect loved ones.
When I see images of “boat people,” I don’t see a faceless mass, or a problem to be contained, I see human beings, desperate and courageous, driven by forces so powerful that they have left everything behind. As the offspring of economic and political migrants, I understand the depths of desperation and hope that drive people to leave their birthplace, their community, and often their families, for a chance at safety, dignity, and opportunity.
For generations, Australia has been a land shaped by migration. My own story, like that of countless Australians, has its roots in families who sought refuge from economic hardships or political persecution. The journey of migration, whether through choice or necessity, is one woven with dreams and sacrifices. Yet the tone of our public discourse around asylum seekers, particularly those arriving by boat, increasingly strips these people of their humanity and dignity. They are painted as numbers, threats, even “illegals,” rather than as mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters who share the same universal desire: to live in peace and build a future.
Consider what it must take to leave one’s homeland with nothing but the essentials, to cross treacherous waters on a fragile vessel in hopes that somewhere, on an unknown shore, there is safety. Imagine the level of despair, resilience, and hope required to endure such a journey. Many of us will never know such desperation, and it is precisely this gap in understanding that allows fearmongers to paint asylum seekers as “invaders” rather than survivors of extreme hardship.
Consider what it must take to leave one’s homeland with nothing but the essentials, to cross treacherous waters on a fragile vessel in hopes that somewhere, on an unknown shore, there is safety.
Australia has a proud history of embracing migrants, and refugees, over the 30 years, the rhetoric surrounding asylum seekers increasingly conflicts with our values of fairness and decency. Our focus should be on the humanity and strength of character displayed by these individuals, rather than falling for unfounded fears stoked by some who will never understand the gravity of this choice.
What would Australia be if we allowed this empathy to guide our policies? We would likely be a society that remembers our own roots, that values bravery and persistence, and that treats all human beings with dignity. Recognising the humanity in others, especially those in crisis, isn’t just about compassion; it’s about reflecting on who we want to be as a nation.
These “boat people” are not a threat; they are reminders of the resilience that has built and sustained this country for generations. Let us not be a society so secure in our privilege that we cannot see the humanity in those who yearn for the very freedoms we so readily take for granted.
Kosmos Samaras is an Australian lobbyist, pollster, and former Victorian Labor strategist. He helped run Labor’s state election campaigns for 14 years before departing in 2019 to found RedBridge, a political consultancy firm, which has become influential in Victorian politics
