Finn Leary for Amnesty Menton
October
Australia is a nation predicated on a fair go for all; a country that prides itself on its multiculturalism. Yet, these mythologies fail to stack up when applied to the First Nations People, who are victims of discrimination and marginalization. The same can be said when one looks at Australia’s vilification and demonization of refugees and asylum seekers.
Australia’s carceral and immigration systems—systems designed to uphold and perpetuate a white, Anglo-centric Australia—continue to violate human rights, especially those of children.
Indigenous youth are disproportionately affected by hyper-incarceration, facing imprisonment rates that far exceed those of non-Indigenous youth and global averages for youth incarceration. Although only about 5.7% of people aged 10–17 in Australia are First Nations, 63% of the children in detention on an average day in 2023 were First Nations. This means they are 29 times as likely as a non-Indigenous child to be in detention. For children aged 10-13, this figure rises to 46 times. The incarceration and brutal treatment of Indigenous youth in detention is a direct extension of the colonial logic that saw children removed, excluded and missionized in the 19th and 20th centuries. It is the Stolen Generations all over again—a period where Aboriginal children were forcibly taken from their families—simply in a new form. It seems inevitable that, like Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's 2008 apology, there will be many apologies to come for these concurrent violations of humanity.
Despite a promise to eliminate the detention of all children by the end of 2019, asylum-seeking children remain in detention and alternative arrangements. The treatment of these children has been described as highly damaging, cruel, degrading and unlawful.
Australia's treatment of children, particularly Indigenous and asylum-seeking children, violates global human rights standards and raises several critical questions: Why are these vulnerable children subjected to such mistreatment, and why does Australia continue to incarcerate and detain them unlawfully? What purpose are these punitive measures serving for Australia as an ongoing colonial project, and why are Australian people allowing such blatant violations of both national and global human rights to be carried out in their name? These questions demand serious reflection on Australia's commitment to justice, equality and human rights, especially as a nation predicated on a “fair go.” The answers shed light on the lasting impacts of colonialism and the twisted ways in which the colonial project continues to be upheld.
The following stories are those of children who have been victims of Australia’s disgraceful carceral system and immigration system. These stories should unsettle, disturb and enrage.
In February this year, the Queensland government released a report on the deaths of two boys who had spent extensive time in solitary confinement while in youth detention. Both were First Nations children with disabilities. Despite this, they were kept in solitary confinement for prolonged periods, a practice that the United Nations Expert on Torture has consistently urged to be abolished. The first spent 128 nights in detention, with 78% of that time isolated in his cell; the second spent 55 days locked in his cell alone for over 22 hours each day. Both had been repeatedly detained from the ages of 11 and 13. Both boys committed suicide following incarceration.
This report arrived at the same time as the Queensland and Northern Territory governments are pushing to reduce the age of criminal responsibility back to 10 years. Queensland has had to suspend its Human Rights Act to rush through legislation to make this possible. The newly elected Northern Territory government is set to pass similar legislation in its first parliamentary session.
These practices—of locking up young and vulnerable Indigenous youth—are fundamental to the youth carceral system in Australia. Incarcerating Indigenous youth sustains the prison-industrial complex, notably in remote and rural areas, by employing law enforcement, corrections officers, social workers, legal professionals and support staff. It costs approximately $1.03 million per annum to lock up one child, money that could be diverted into consistent and long-term community care and support services.
Incarceration is the bedrock of coloniality in the modern era. It is the tool with which Indigenous sovereignty is denied. It is a continuation of the exclusions, interventions and social controls faced by Indigenous children over the past two centuries, cloaked in the legitimacy of pursuing ‘community safety’.
As Matthews & Holden assert, “Whether on a mission or in a cell, Aboriginal movement is contained to prevent the transfer of language, knowledge, ceremony and culture to their descendants.” Asylum-seeking children continue to face a similar fate in Australia, driven by the same underlying logic of exclusion, control and dehumanization.
Mandatory offshore detention has deeply damaged many lives over the past two decades, compounding the adversity, trauma and loss of family that many asylum seekers have experienced.
Children forced to flee, often unaccompanied, from war, persecution, violence, sexual abuse and forced recruitment have found themselves detained, imprisoned, and isolated in Australian territory rather than receiving the protection and care they desperately needed.
The National Inquiry into Children in Immigration Detention found that some children had spent over five years in detention before their applications were processed—for no reason other than to serve as examples of Australia’s ‘firm stance’ on ‘illegal’ immigration.
The impact on the mental and physical health of these children has been severe, with over half of those detained experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder, self-harming behaviors and heightened anxiety or depression.
A young child on Nauru, the site of one of the offshore detention centers, when asked about her experiences, said, “Of all the bad things that have already happened now, I feel I wish I died at sea instead of dying slowly here.”
Another unaccompanied child said, “I don’t care about a visa anymore. I want to finish everything. My life is very difficult. I don’t understand why I am here. I am beginning to feel crazy; my situation is very bad and getting worse. I am alone, no family, nobody here. I’ve been here 15 months; I need to do something.”
While no Australian government has officially abandoned mandatory indefinite detention, its application is in significant decline. However, this decline has led to a greater reliance on other punitive measures, such as the Temporary Bridging Visa Scheme.
The story of Mano Yogalingam speaks to the failings of this scheme, particularly for asylum-seeking children. On Wednesday, the 28th of August, Tamil asylum seeker Mano Yogalingam self-immolated, setting himself on fire in an eastern suburb of Melbourne. He was a key organizer of protests calling for an end to the temporary visa scheme. Mano had arrived in Australia as a 12-year-old fleeing persecution in Sri Lanka. After spending over a year in detention, Mano was placed on a bridging visa. Ten years later, he remained on that bridging visa—his imprisonment had simply taken on a new form.
This temporary bridging visa scheme has been designed to make asylum seekers deportable or re-detainable. By keeping people on this visa indefinitely it destabilizes and undermines their place in the Australian community. Many on the visa scheme are denied education, healthcare, and the right to work—leaving them trapped in poverty and positions of social exclusion, unable to access basic services or opportunities for self-sufficiency. This scheme—underpinned by a harsh regime of surveillance, control, and punishment—lies at the heart of the government's relentless strategy to punish and deter asylum seekers.
So, where does the real connection lie between these two issues?
Both Indigenous youth and children seeking asylum in Australia have been “othered” to serve as scapegoats, “othered” through being framed discursively as threats to security and community safety.
Australia’s systems are rooted in settler-colonial norms and values upheld by racist institutions and political ideology. These systems are inherently designed to prioritize certain groups and "standards" over others while excluding those deemed incompatible with settler-societies norms.
In Orientalism (1995), Edward Said asserted that modern colonialism relies entirely on having a knowledge system that separates the colonizer from the colonized. Said infers that those blatant forms of colonial violence—genocide, enslavement and segregation—have gradually been replaced by less visible expressions of coloniality, such as immigration laws, sterilization practices, child welfare apprehensions and an over-reliance on carceral systems.
Institutionalized settler colonial norms and ideologies of whiteness have become so normalized that these racial hierarchies are rendered invisible. Australia as a country has been founded upon dangerous myths—myths that today express themselves in the eradication and silencing of certain minorities.
These issues will not change without a strong commitment to meaningful truth-telling processes at both the community and national level. The more that history reveals its truths, contradicting the accepted “facts,” the more cracks appear in mythologised colonial narratives. This is the idea Naomi Klein describes in Doppelganger, referencing the discovered mass graves of First Nations children at Canadian missionary schools.
In an age of resurging ultra-nationalism and far-right authoritarian governments, it seems these issues will continue to be complex battlegrounds. Given the widespread collapse of the rules-based international order and the erosion of international humanitarian and human rights laws, it is more important than ever that pressure is placed on our governments domestically to uphold commitments to human rights.
This must begin with stronger commitments to our children, particularly the most vulnerable among them.