Over the past 12 months, we’ve seen setbacks and restrictions worldwide, and for those in Melbourne, we are no strangers to rigorous lockdowns and the challenges they entail. Having endured five major lockdowns, many individuals and businesses have had to think creatively to survive these strict, yet necessary, measures.
One area often overlooked during such times is advocacy and protest. While digital platforms offer one avenue, some issues—particularly those involving urgent human rights abuses—require more traditional, visible forms of advocacy to gain the necessary traction. Physical protests, which attract public attention quickly, remain a vital tool.
One issue demanding such attention is the ongoing Medevac refugee crisis. For over two years, innocent men have been imprisoned in hotel rooms with no solution in sight. More broadly, the human rights abuses faced by asylum seekers in Australia have persisted for nearly eight years. Daily protests outside these Melbourne hotels have brought these abuses to light—human rights violations that had been meticulously hidden.
During the lockdown, many advocacy organisations came together to find ways to maintain public awareness. One creative solution was to place advocacy messages on cars, turning vehicles into mobile billboards. When driving, these messages could capture the attention of fellow road users, creating awareness in a time when physical protests were limited.
Inspired by this approach, I decided to add my own messages to my car. "Free the refugees" was written in bold blue letters on my rear window, along with a collection of bumper stickers carrying similar messages. This small act of advocacy led to an interesting experiment—observing the reactions of others on the road.
To my surprise, several drivers gave supportive thumbs-ups, but there were also disapproving looks and head shakes. Though I felt vulnerable, I realised that this discomfort was nothing compared to what the men trapped in these prison-like hotels must endure daily when advocating for their basic human rights. Despite the discomfort, I was free; they were not.
One encounter, in particular, left a lasting impression on me. It happened at a set of traffic lights in January 2021.
A middle-aged man pulled up next to me, visibly trying to get my attention. Initially, I hesitated to engage, but his persistence wore me down. He asked, "Why should we free the refugees? Why are you advocating for them?".
Predicting where this was headed, I calmly replied, "They are human beings, just like you and me. They have inherent human rights."
He countered with a common, antagonistic line: "Don’t you know they’re all illegal?"
At that moment, I knew my response could shape the entire interaction. I could have reacted with frustration, dismissing him for his ignorance, but instead, I chose calmness and respect. I asked if he was well-versed in the refugee rights issue, hoping to open a broader conversation. He confidently replied, "Yes, and they’re all illegal."
I maintained my composure and explained that my studies and understanding of international law, as well as Australian legal frameworks, pointed to the fact that seeking asylum is legal—it’s a basic human right. I asked him to share the facts that led him to believe otherwise.
He had no response.
In typical fashion, when faced with facts they cannot counter, people often pivot to personal attacks. He learned from our conversation that I was a university student studying human rights and immediately labeled me a "radical lefty." While I do hold left-leaning values, I chose not to engage with his stereotype. Admitting to it would likely end the conversation, and my chance to change his mind. Instead, I simply replied that I didn’t see myself as a radical leftist, steering the conversation back to the issue at hand.
The light turned green, and I thought the conversation had ended. But at the next set of red lights, he gestured to continue. His demeanor had softened. He asked if I had traveled, perhaps trying to gauge my life experience. I answered honestly, acknowledging my privilege in being able to travel and emphasizing the importance of educating myself about the world and human rights issues like the refugee crisis.
Again, he couldn’t find fault with my response.
He then attempted another stereotype, asking if I was employed, implying that activism is a pastime for the unemployed. Once again, I answered truthfully, shattering another of his assumptions.
What struck me most about this encounter was how he entered the conversation with aggression and certainty in his views, but as I calmly refuted his points, he had nowhere to go. By the end, he admitted he respected my opinions and thanked me for sharing my perspective. I, too, thanked him for engaging in the conversation.
While I doubt this brief encounter dramatically changed his views, I hope it planted a seed. Perhaps the next time he discusses refugee rights, he’ll approach the topic with more thoughtfulness and less aggression. Even a small shift in attitude can create ripples of change.
This experience reinforced a key lesson for me: advocacy is not just about loudly voicing your opinion but also about engaging with those who oppose you in a way that encourages reflection and dialogue. Our government and media have fostered deep divisions and misconceptions, particularly on sensitive issues like refugee rights. Aggression can often reinforce those divisions. While some advocacy efforts do require disruption and confrontation, many interactions—like mine with this man—benefit from calm, respectful engagement.
In moments like these, we have a responsibility to educate others, not through hostility, but through kindness and facts. By doing so, we invite people to reflect critically on their own assumptions.
The fight for refugee rights in Australia has spanned for well over a a decade, and the struggle is far from over. But with compassion, persistence, and thoughtful advocacy, we can help shift public opinion—and with it, the political landscape.
It’s time for freedom, for compassion, and for an end to the suffering of innocent people who have endured so much for far too long.
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