Bigotry is Ugly

 I am the daughter of migrants.

My parents migrated from Poland to Australia in the 80’s during a big movement of Europeans migrating to Australia.

They arrived in Melbourne, after claiming asylum in Austria under social and economic distress. Their story, which I only heard in full a few years ago, still blows my mind away.

My parents left Poland during a time where there was much unrest in their country. Communist rule governed the nation. There were national curfews in place, food and housing restriction and control. You could get stopped on the street at any time by the police and they could arrest you and didn't need to let your family know where you were. If you were out in public after 10pm, you had better had a good reason; otherwise there was the possibility of being arrested and detained. Waiting in line for food for hours upon hours was the norm. Not being allowed to own a business for longer than 7 years and then handing back your livelihood to the government was standard. Housing waiting lists for a small studio apartment was up to 15 years. Civil liberties were basically zero. Personal phone lines were either restricted or tapped by the government. They saw very little opportunity for themselves and their future children there. They felt desperate.

My parents were recent newly weds, when they moved into my grandmothers home. In Europe, it’s not uncommon for there to be multi-generational living. Mum and Dad, had a small room, the size of a biggish laundry that you would find here in Australia. That was their home. I remember it being so tiny when I visited my Grandmothers house as a child. A bed, a small TV {I think they had one - which if they did was basically null and void as the government censored so much of what was broadcasted on television}, you could hardly swing a cat in the room.

During to the communist reign, passports (if you were lucky enough to have one) were held at the local police station. You had to get permission to get your passport back and have a really, really good reason for leaving the country. At the time when Marshall Law was in Poland, border control and the ability to leave the country was highly controlled and monitored. One day, Mum – after spending hours in line for food – I think she went for butter and came back with something completely different as they had run out- had enough. They had heard of people they had known that had moved over to Canada.

Have you heard of Martial Law?

There had to be a better life than this.

So, after obtaining their passports from the police station stating that they were going to be travelling to Rome to visit the Pope (the majority of Polish people are Catholics), they left, in the middle of the night on a train and crossed the border into Austria. I remember my Dad telling me that they only had enough money for 3 days in Vienna and if nothing transpired – they were fucked.

They found a cheap hostel to stay. My Mum and Dad then made the looooonnnggg walk (everyday, for the next three days) from one side of Vienna to the other to the Australian Embassy to enquire about seeking refugee status.

I can’t tell you how long the walk was, I don’t remember those details – but what struck me the most, was when Mum explained to me that while they were walking through Vienna, they walked through the street markets and stalls. She had never seen anything like it. Row upon row, of fresh food and produce. Right there, that you could buy. Streets lined with Deli shops with sausages hanging in the window fronts. She was in absolute awe that her country, just next door, had nothing and here in Vienna, there was abundance.

In her family home – at Christmas time, there was usually no money for presents. But every year – she got an Orange. One Orange. To peel the skin off, and devour the delightful fruit. It was for special occasions.

 

That day, walking through Vienna, Mum and Dad saw a stall that had a table full of Oranges. Can you imagine their faces! Heading back to their hostel after walking all the way to the Embassy ,  they walked back through that market and bought a bag full of Oranges.

Got to their room at the hostel – and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening eating. Every. Single. Orange.

They were both 25 years old.

Austria accepted their status and request for asylum. They spent months in a holding camp where they were questioned, medically checked over and tested, interrogated separately to ensure that they weren’t spies etc.

And then, one day they were advised that they had been approved and were to be put on a plane headed to Melbourne, Australia.

They didn’t know a soul here. They didn’t know English. They had approx $200 US dollars on them. They arrived with a suitcase of the wrong season clothes. They landed in the airport and was put on a bus headed towards a Hostel where they were to stay for the first couple of months.

Both my parents were educated with degrees from University back in Poland. My Dad, an Electrical Engineer; my Mum a Drafts Person. Both their qualifications were not recognised here in Australia.

They got jobs in factories. My Dad, working in Woolworths stacking shelves by night while going to school during the day, and learning English. My Mum, worked shift work in a Tyre factory.

They worked their arses off.

Got re-qualified. Paid taxes. Bought a house in the Eastern Suburbs of Melbourne and had my sister and I.

I never really gave it much thought about how my parents came to be here in Australia. My naivety just assumed they jumped on a plane and started their life here.

I am in awe of their bravery. For their courage to try and find a better way for their lives and for my sister and I.

I’m not sure I could do it. .

Bigotry disgusts me. Bigotry is ugly. I have no time for it.

 

 

I am so grateful, that my parents did what they did. I wouldn’t have been born in this amazing country that has provided such great opportunity and an amazing life for my children and myself.

And, it’s not like humans can move to another planet. There is only one world.

I am Australian and Polish. I am proud to be both. I am proud of both my cultural backgrounds and traditions.

We’re all people. Humans.

 

Let’s remember that.

 

 

{note: Changes may be made to this post if details need to be updated}