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Secrets and fears behind the Manus Island veil
Sydney Morning Herald - March 29, 2014
The first two blows to the head, with a piece of wood made more dangerous because nails protruded at the point of impact, bloodied and felled him. Then, according to accounts pieced together from interviews and written statements over the past three weeks, others joined in, kicking him as he lay on the ground at the top of a staircase.
Then came the most callous act of all, the one that killed him. A sole assailant, described by one witness as a man with "one eye", brought a rock down on Barati's head with such force that there was no hope. This much was clear when there was no response from Barati's lifeless body to a final, gratuitous kick to a leg.
The man accused by asylum seekers of delivering the first two blows is well known to them and many of the security guards because he was employed at the centre.
So well known that his face appeared on a poster, indicating he was not to be allowed into the camp or at the floating hotel called the bibby that accommodates the small army of security guards, caterers, medics and other staff who work at the detention centre.
The Age this week visited his home inside the Lombrum naval base, which serves as a kind of outer fortress to what has become one of the world's most notorious and expensive immigration detention centres, a complex that houses 1300 asylum seekers and is manned by 1200 staff, half of them expats.
The house nestles behind a big bougainvillea covered in a forest of bright purple flowers, and an even bigger guava tree. He was nowhere to be found. I tracked down his brother who insisted the 23-year-old, who began working at the centre when it reopened in November 2012, was committed to helping the asylum seekers and played no part in the violence.
He volunteered that he accompanied his brother to the police station to complain about the poster and make a statement about what he saw that night, then terminated our discussion and demanded I delete my recording of it on his computer. An invitation for his brother to tell his side of the story was politely, predictably, declined the next day.
It was predictable because finding those willing to be identified and talk on the record about the events that unfolded on the night of March 17 is a task akin to catching a giant red emperor in the surrounding tranquil waters on a handline without bait.
Employees say they are bound by the confidentiality clauses in their contracts, clauses that extend well after they change jobs. Locals insist they have been told that life will be more difficult if they speak out. The local police commander politely refers any questions to the chief commissioner in Port Moresby. Those manning the camp entrance deflect any queries to the office of the Australian Immigration Minister, Scott Morrison.
The Australian and PNG politicians say the investigation will take its course, but there are worrying signs that it has been stymied, not by a lack of will on the part of the PNG investigators, but by a lack of access to the Australian-run centre, an endemic lack of transparency and an inability to assure witnesses that they will be safe.
As a result, key witnesses to the attack on Barati and several others, including the man who is said to have been beaten, shot in the buttocks when he fled, and beaten again, have not been formally interviewed by investigators. Nor has the man who, witnesses say, had his arms pinned by two attackers while a third slashed at his throat.
Their paranoia is summed up in a letter from one of the witnesses, who says he is not sure who to trust. "Before they sent me back to Manus they brought a form to me which said Australia and PNG governments are responsible for your safety on the island, but unfortunately they are the one who caused all this and after this letter is published I fear I might not be alive for long."
Secrecy is no stranger to this part of Manus, an island of extraordinary beauty that is some 100 kilometres long and never more than 30 kilometres wide, with a peaceful population of around 43,000 who live on what they grow and catch, speak almost 100 languages and pride themselves on their education.
More than 60 years ago, preparations for Japanese war crime trials on the island were said to be enveloped in the kind of secrecy that preceded D-Day.
Nor is Australian control over what happens here unusual. In the lead-up to the war crimes trials, an Age correspondent described the naval base on Manus as "the most remote place of any size controlled by Canberra, but it is very much under control". The same could be said now for the detention centre and camp that holds families on Nauru.
Nor is the secrecy confined to the investigation. A German backpacker who strolled into the base out of curiosity and observed the asylum seekers through the wire fences, where pictures of Barati are easily seen, was quickly and bluntly told to depart. "I have never been in a prison, but I imagine it's like that," she said. Those who attempt to photograph the facility, run the risk of arrest, imprisonment and removal.
The veil of secrecy was pulled back, fleetingly, last week when PNG judge David Cannings took evidence from detainees and allowed the media to tour the facility as part of an investigation into human rights instituted at the judge's initiative after Barati died and more than 60 others were injured on February 17.
One of the handful of journalists who went in was Liam Fox, who had been the ABC's correspondent in PNG for five years. "I've seen many shocking things as a journalist," he tweeted. "Manus detention centre is among the most confronting."
Justice Cannings, 57, is a judge who takes his independence seriously. Born in Lismore, he came to PNG as a legal officer in the Tax Office in 1984 and stayed. He was appointed a judge in 2004 and was appointed to serve his fourth three-year term last year.
When the PNG government, whose participation in the inquiry is funded by the Australian taxpayer, challenged his impartiality, and then secured a stay on the inquiry, he instituted a second probe and gave pro bono Sydney barrister Jay Williams access to the centre and more than 70 asylum seekers who had enlisted his help on Facebook.
One of the concerns of the PNG government is that Cannings engaged an outsider to look at conditions in the centre. It might have been surprised that the outsider, Dr Paul Crouch-Chivers, a British-trained doctor who is based in Cairns but has worked extensively in PNG, gave a much more positive assessment than the two outside agencies that have had access in the past, the UNHCR and Amnesty International. Crouch-Chivers concluded that the quality of curative health care appeared "excellent", but stressed that this was the result of a brief assessment and urged that a more comprehensive review be undertaken as a priority "given the situation of the residents of the centre".
When Fairfax Media revealed this week that the PNG government was planning to shut the second probe down as well after consulting Morrison, Williams launched a third proceedings on behalf of the asylum seekers, challenging, among other things, their forced removal from Australia, the conditions in the centre and their indefinite detention.
Now, the PNG government's determination to shut down the second inquiry without securing a court order has precipitated a dramatic twist in the investigation. On Thursday, Williams was told the detention centre had received orders for him to be removed, even though he had approval from Justice Cannings to visit the centre until Friday, ahead of the first sitting on the second inquiry in Port Moresby on Monday.
He asked that camp officials produce the court order, and reluctantly left when they failed to do so, insisting it had been communicated by phone. It later emerged that there was no court order and that the instruction had come from a government official, potentially in contempt of court.
This led Williams to seek advice from the court on how to serve the writ for the action on behalf of the detainees, prompting a meeting with the police who are investigating last month's violence. They not only returned to the centre with Williams and served the writ on the Australian co-ordinator of the centre, but discussed the state of the investigation and the prospect of placing witnesses in protective custody in exchange for their testimony.
A meeting was scheduled for Friday morning between the witnesses, Williams and the police investigators. It might have been the first significant breakthrough in the case. It wasn't.
Very late on Thursday, PNG's immigration co-ordinator arrived at Williams' hotel and told him he was banned from the centre and would be deported on Friday. Before he left, Williams gave the investigators statements from key witnesses and a letter to pass on to the detainees, assuring them that they can trust those in possession of their statements.
The episode underscores some of the flaws of the arrangement between the two governments to detain those seeking to come to Australia by boat on Manus as part of the strategy to deter others from coming.
Immigration Minister Rimbink Pato describes the arrangement as a partnership in every sense, and so far it has allowed each side to deflect questions and responsibility for the centre and the wider questions it raises.
When, for instance, I asked Prime Minister Abbott how long those who are offered permanent resettlement in PNG will have to wait for citizenship and family reunion rights, he replied: "That's really a matter for the PNG government."
When I asked Pato about what Abbott has predicted will be the swift repatriation of those not recognised as refugees, he said this is a matter for Australia.
The asylum seekers' claims for refugee status have not been assessed, but have been pre-empted by the country's Prime Minister, whose insistence that the vast majority do not have valid claims and should go home has been given credibility by Tony Abbott. This, says the United Nations refugee agency, is not best practice.
As UNHCR spokeswoman Ellen Hansen, puts it: "Where the decision-making authority expresses a view about claims in advance... this is likely to lead to real or perceived bias on the part of that authority and raises questions about the integrity of the process."
The biggest danger is that the lack of transparency, the absence of clarity about who is making the decisions, and the determination to avoid scrutiny is hampering the investigation into what did occur on March 17, even if this is not the intention of either government.
As the wait for arrests goes on, the tension continues at the centre, with several asylum seekers saying they fear another attack. At least one is haunted by the words of one of his attackers: "Go back to your country. We won!"
Source: http://www.smh.com.au/world/secrets-and-fears-behind-the-manus-island-veil-20140328-35oi4.html.
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