Searching for Sanctuary HTML label

Searching for

Sanctuary:

A journey

of survival by

Barat Ali Batoor

Through his images, two-time Walkley Award-winning photographer Barat Ali Batoor tells of his exile from Afghanistan.

His was a year-long journey to Australia across three continents, during which he documented Hazara people as they fled persecution, and endured people smuggling and dangerous sea crossings.

This story is not just about Batoor. It reflects the experience of many individuals living in Victoria, in search of safety and sanctuary.

Captions supplied by Barat Ali Batoor. Wall quotes are by Barat Ali Batoor unless otherwise stated. Some surnames were not recorded during Batoor’s journey.

My journey starts here.

My name is Barat Ali Batoor. I’m a Hazara. The homeland of my people is Afghanistan, but I was born in Quetta, in Pakistan. I grew up in exile. Throughout history, the Hazaras have been a persecuted ethnic group, often fleeing to neighbouring countries.

Following the terrorist attack on the United States on 11 September 2001, US forces invaded Afghanistan. I got the opportunity to go there for the first time, as an interpreter with foreign journalists. I was later forced to flee.

My one-year journey as a refugee began on the publication of my photographs in the Washington Post. I then received death threats. This exile from my country took me across five countries. It is the experience of many millions who are forced to flee their homes in desperation.

My life is one of hopefully many touched by the compassion of friends and strangers who believe in bringing hope to a hurting world.

I’m an award-winning documentary photographer and I want to document the untold stories of my people to give voice to the voiceless. To express my feelings, I choose photography as the medium of expression.

All quotes are from Batoor unless otherwise stated.

Quetta, Pakistan

(freestanding images)

Screen

A young Hazara boy hides in a military training field in Quetta Cantt, the vicinity neighbouring Alamdar Road, in Mariabad, where most Hazaras live. Over the years, Quetta has become a cold and unfeeling place, like a prison for the Hazaras; each security checkpoint is like a carefully designed wall to confine people and hold them from the freedom they once enjoyed. Due to security for the community, Hazaras cannot use any public spaces outside their ‘safe zones’. The children, too, are restricted to places like this for their everyday activities.

Hazara boys ride their bikes through the Hazara graveyard on Alamdar Road in Quetta, Pakistan.

Kids play on Alamdar Road. Hazaras cannot use public spaces outside their ‘safe zones’ of only a few square kilometres.

Boys pass through the Hazara graveyard, on Alamdar Road.

A young Hazara girl stands at her doorstep on Alamdar Road.

Women rest after an afternoon walk in a military training field in Quetta Cantt.

Young boys play on a mountain that divides the Hazara area from other parts of Quetta. Mountains surround Alamdar Road, one of the two areas where Hazaras live. They feel it is safer on mountains than in the city below, in case of an attack. The city has no more safe spaces for Hazaras to build, and property prices have gone up, so people are compelled to build houses on the mountains. The Hazara graveyard also has no more room to bury the dead.

Labourers take a break from carrying bricks high up the mountainous area to build a house.

A young boy flies his kite on a mountain that divides the Hazara area from other parts of Quetta.

Young girls laugh on Alamdar Road.

Afghanistan

April 2012

This is Shukur. He was kidnapped from Kabul by a warlord and taken to another province where he was forced to work as a sex slave for the warlord and his friends.

Dancing Boys is a tragic story about an appalling tradition that involves young kids dancing for warlords and powerful men in society.

After I published the exposé on the Dancing Boys in the Washington Post, I started receiving death threats.

Spectators spray foam snow into the air, while Shukur dances at a wedding party in Kabul, Afghanistan.

Afghan police officials are seen in the crowd as Shukur dances.

A man from the crowd joins Shukur on the dance floor.

Shaharyar and Shukur on the dance floor.

Shukur lights a cigarette while waiting for the party to begin.

Shukur smokes hashish in an abandoned tea shop, where he spends time when not performing.

Fridoon walks towards the city centre to beg for alms.

Fridoon, 13 years old and from Logar province, became homeless and addicted to glue-sniffing after his abusive stepmother expelled him from their home. He was then enslaved and forced to dance at private parties. Fridoon escaped but became homeless in Kabul, struggling with a heroin addiction.

Shaharyar applies make-up before joining the crowd to dance.

Fridoon begs for alms on the streets of Kabul.

Shukur examines his reflection in a small hand mirror at an abandoned tea shop in Kabul.

A young boy calls out to attract asylum seekers for local transport.

Fridoon smokes heroin in the restroom of an abandoned tea shop.H2

Shaharyar and Shukur dance at a Kabul wedding.

Quetta, Pakistan

3 months

It is not safe at all in Quetta. Hazaras are identified and killed. Terrorists go to markets and schools in the area of the Hazara and blow themselves up.

Many Hazaras flee Quetta through smugglers who provide passports and visas for a fee. The fee is held in trust by a third party. When the asylum seeker arrives at his destination, the third party releases the money to the smuggler.

This man visits the cemetery every day to recite prayers for his son.

Later we were informed that our father was amongst the dead. They only kill Hazaras.

Fatima

I realised that I had to leave Quetta and Australia was the only viable option.

A sign shows that the street was named after a young Hazara police cadet who was killed in one of the first terrorist attacks on the Hazara community, in 2003. When the attacks began, a street in the area would be named after the victim. Unfortunately, the number of attacks have become so high that there are no streets left to be named after people.

Mohammad Rahim, 53 years old, was killed in a suicide attack on Eid day near Eid Gah, Alamdar Road, Quetta, on 31 August 2011. In this incident, 13 people were killed and more than 50 were injured.

Shaheed Mohammad Zia, 24 years old, was killed while travelling to Iran on 20 September 2011. The bus was stopped in Mastung, Pakistan, the passengers were brought out and lined up; the heavily armed terrorists opened fire on them for several minutes.

Hazara labourers look down from the mountain at Mariabad, a Hazara enclave, after carrying bricks up to build a house.

A young Hazara man accompanied by his father warms his hands next to his mother’s grave. He has travelled all the way from Afghanistan to visit his mother. They migrated from Pakistan five years earlier, following the attacks on the Hazara community. Since 1999, around 1600 Hazaras have been brutally killed and many injured, almost all resulting in permanent loss of mobility and/or sight. The community lives under constant siege; it is marginalised economically and academically and is ghettoised within the small city. Many businesses have had to close, as they aren’t safe in the markets. This has had a dramatic impact on the community’s economy. People must rely on other communities to bring goods, but for very high prices.

There are hundreds of Hazara children, like Mohammad Zaman’s, who will never play on their fathers’ shoulders or run for a hug on their return from work. These children have had the breadwinner – the strength of the family and their hero – taken away mercilessly. Zaman was a taxi driver who was killed by a banned militant group while taking passengers between the two Hazara areas of Quetta. His children probably do not understand why their father doesn’t return home. They just wait.

Shaheed Nematullah, 22 years old, was killed when travelling to Iran. His bus was stopped in Mastung, Pakistan, by heavily armed terrorists on 20 September 2011. The passengers were brought out and lined up; the terrorists opened fire on them for several minutes.

Shaheed Mohammad Hakim, 48 years old, was killed when travelling to Iran on 20 September 2011. His bus was stopped by terrorists in Mastung, Pakistan, who lined up passengers and opened fire on them.

Haji Ali Juma was a pick-up truck driver killed when taking fruit and vegetable merchants to the market on 18 May 2011. Terrorists opened fire on his vehicle in the Hazar Ganji area of Quetta. Lashkar-e-Jhangvi claimed responsibility for the attack. Juma has left behind a widow, five daughters and two sons.

Hussain Dad, 27 years old, was injured when terrorists attacked the Ashura procession on 3 March 2004.

Eid Mohammad was injured on 4 October 2011 when attackers in a pick-up, intercepted a bus carrying mostly Hazara commuters travelling to a market. The gunmen forced non-Hazara passengers off the bus and then opened fire on the Hazara passengers inside. At least 13 people were killed and seven were wounded. Eid Mohammad was wounded, with two bullets in his shoulder.

Fatima holds a framed photo of her father, Ali Baba, who sustained multiple injuries in a targeted attack on vegetable sellers on 4 October 2011. Terrorists stopped the bus, identified the Hazaras and then opened fire on them. Ali survived by hiding under dead bodies. But he was killed in a second attack on 1 September 2012; terrorists opened fire on him and seven other Hazaras at Hazar Ganji vegetable market. Nearly nine months after her father’s death, Fatima and her brother Hayatullah became victims of a bomb blast targetting the Hazara community and sustained serious injuries. Under constant risk of being killed, Hayatullah has no option but to run his father’s business to feed his family. He travels to the same market to buy vegetables to sell to the community.

A woman reads the Qur’an at the grave of a relative. In Islamic rituals, Friday is considered a holy day and Hazaras usually visit their loved ones’ graves on this day.

People visit the graves of loved ones killed in terrorist attacks in Quetta. The Hazara graveyard has no more room to bury the dead.

Nadir Ali, 31 years old, was injured when unknown gunmen opened fire on the Suzuki van he was travelling in on 30 July 2011, in the outskirts of Quetta.

Nasrullah, 20 years old, was wounded when a suicide bomber attacked a religious procession on Mezan Chowk on 3 September 2010. Seventy-three people were killed and several others wounded. Nasrullah’s spinal cord was damaged and he can no longer move or walk without help.

Thailand, 2 weeks

Malaysia, 3 nights, Indonesia

Nobody wants to leave his or her country as an asylum seeker, leaving behind family, friends, business, career and everything behind.

You’re walking into an unknown situation where anything can happen to you, including your own death.

Before we left everyone gathered up to pray.

We travelled for another 21 hours nonstop. It was very cramped, it was just terrible.

One of the smugglers collected $1,000 from each of us 16 people so he had $16,000 American.

You can see that people smuggling is a very big business. It is really stressful and terrifying.

An asylum seeker plays with his phone at the hotel in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Arif, an unaccompanied minor from Pakistan, looks out from a hotel window in Sungai Kolok, Thailand, at the start of his perilous journey to Christmas Island, Australia.

The Thai smuggler and Arif ride a motorbike towards the Thailand–Malaysia border.

The Thai smuggler (centre) sets up Thai mobile SIM cards in the phones of newly arrived asylum seekers Saadat and Qaisar in Sungai Kolok.

A Thai smuggler communicates across the river with Malaysian smugglers, to bring four asylum seekers into Malaysia.

Arif, an unaccompanied minor from Pakistan, looks out from a hotel window in Sungai Kolok, at the start of his perilous journey.

The smuggler ferries asylum seekers across the river to Malaysian smugglers, who wait to take them to Kuala Lumpur.

7−9

Asylum seekers rest in the jungle; their smugglers use drugs nearby.

A speedboat arrives to transport asylum seekers across the river from Thailand to Malaysia.

After being smuggled into Malaysia, Saadat and Qaisar are on their way to Kuala Lumpur.

On reaching Kuala Lumpur, the group was handed over to another smuggler and taken to a safe house where more Hazara asylum seekers waited.

A charity box in the safe house in Kuala Lumpur.

14–16

On reaching Kuala Lumpur, the group was handed over to another smuggler and taken to a safe house where more Hazara asylum seekers waited.

Everyone grows tired after hours of waiting for their journey to Indonesia to begin.18

The Kuala Lumpur safe house acts as a waypoint for asylum seekers, who leave behind personal messages in notebooks.

Asylum seekers listen to a smuggler’s instructions before departing for Indonesia.

Asylum seekers gather to pray for safety during their upcoming road and boat trip to Indonesia.

After a seven-hour road and boat journey from Kuala Lumpur to Sumatra, Indonesia, Arif rests in a wooden house. Meanwhile, the smuggler collects US$1000 from each of the 16 asylum seekers, for the next leg of their journey to Jakarta.

After a seven-hour road and boat journey from Kuala Lumpur to Sumatra, the asylum seekers rest in a wooden house. Each pays the next smuggler US$1000 for their journey to Jakarta.

An exhausted asylum seeker is fast asleep during a 21-hour non-stop road journey to an airport in Sumatra, to fly to Jakarta.

Exhausted asylum seekers fall asleep immediately after their long road journey. They are smuggled through security without checking onto the plane.

After an exhausting non-stop road trip, the asylum seekers board a flight bound for Jakarta.26

Arif pays the taxi driver in Jakarta for driving him from the airport to the hotel where the smuggler in Malaysia advised him to stay.

Terrified and scared of being caught by Indonesian police, the asylum seekers arrive at the hotel at which the Malaysian smuggler advised them to book accommodation, without providing ID.

Bogor, Indonesia

1 month

Everyone is waiting. Waiting for a boat, waiting for a phone call from a smuggler, waiting for their papers to be processed, waiting for their resettlement, waiting for their visas. It is just endless waiting.

There were young boys who were in a swimming pool, practising holding their breath underwater, trying on life jackets.

Our desperation and lack of options made us easy victims for the smugglers.

If you go back to your country, you will probably die. If you take a boat, you will probably die.

Should I go or stay? I’m going crazy.

Kamran

An asylum seeker tries on his newly purchased life jacket, which cost US$120 in Bogor, Indonesia. There are often no life jackets on the boats.

Cisarua district, in Bogor.

A shelter for unaccompanied minors run by the Jesuit Refugee Service.

While waiting for the smuggler to organise a boat to Australia, Majid spends his time learning to swim and practising holding his breath in preparation for the perilous sea journey.

Shabbir relaxes by the swimming pool of the villa where he shared a room with seven others. He embarked on a boat journey a few days later. The boat sank, claiming the lives of 90, including that of Shabbir.

Hadi (centre) at his temporary accommodation in Bogor just a few days before he embarked on a boat trip that ended in disaster. Tragically, the boat carrying 150 people sank, resulting in the loss of 90 lives, including that of Hadi.

Hazara asylum seekers swim in a public pool.

The Church World Service shelter for unaccompanied minors.

Majid offers prayers in the corridor of his temporary accommodation in Bogor.

Nawroz waterproofs his money and hides it while Shabbir looks on. Their boat, carrying 150 asylum seekers, sank and 90 people were drowned; Nawroz and Shabbir are both missing.

10 & 11

The Church World Service shelter for unaccompanied minors.

My roommates play a card game.

13 & 14

The Church World Service shelter for unaccompanied minors.

Shabbir listens to music at his temporary accommodation in Bogor a few days before his deadly boat journey to Australia. Shabbir and his roommate Nawroz were among the 90 missing people following the boat disaster.

Hazara asylum seekers play badminton at accommodation provided by the International Organization for Migration in Bogor.

Hazara men in search of safety at their temporary accommodation in Bogor, while waiting for a smuggler to organise a boat trip to Australia.

Shabbir sits on the doorstep of his temporary accommodation in Bogor, a few days before his boat left with the aim of reaching Australia.

A local grocery store hangs a list of available items in Persian script to attract the many Persian speakers who use Bogor as a transit point to Australia when seeking asylum.

Unaccompanied minors who live at the Church World Service shelter spend their day at a nearby picnic spot.

The entrance to a villa in Bogor used by the International Organization for Migration as shelter for asylum seekers. Bogor is a destination for Saudi tourists. Many villas are rented out to them and are often advertised with pictures of Saudi men and Saudi Arabia.

Asylum seekers at their accommodation in Cisarua.

Majid walks through a local market in Cisarua to buy vegetables.

After receiving a call from the smuggler, Majid heads for Jakarta on public transport to begin his sea journey to Australia.

Indian Ocean

2 nights and 1 day

It was September 2012. There were 93 of us asylum seekers on board. The journey seemed OK on the first day but on the second night the weather turned.

There are no words to describe it really. But whenever I think of that journey I start shaking inside.

Majid

The captain told us, ‘I can take you further if you want but everybody will die’.

During the night we were turning our torches on and off, attempting to signal to any passing boats for help. The people were waving their life jackets and whistling, but it didn’t work. Nobody turned.

Everyone was feeling really scared. They were crying, praying and calling their loved ones and bailing water. Some of them were unconscious because of seasickness.

I was thinking that I’m going to die and I was documenting my death. And you can see, or you can feel the fear in my photos, that’s how afraid I was.

All 93 of us survived, landing on Ujung Kulon Island off the coast of Java in Indonesia.

After a terrifying night in a sinking boat, the asylum seekers watch the sunrise and brace for the worst: being left alone to perish in the ocean.

Asylum seekers board small boats that ferry them to a larger vessel anchored offshore. Hopefully, it will take them to Christmas Island.

2–7

On the first day at sea, asylum seekers are kept below deck to avoid detection by water police patrolling for people smugglers.

Hidden below deck, asylum seekers take turns to come up for fresh air during their first day at sea.

This image won ‘Photo of the Year’ in the 2013 Nikon-Walkley Awards for Excellence in Photojournalism.

On the first day at sea, asylum seekers are kept below deck to avoid detection by water police patrolling for people smugglers.

11−13

After a terrifying night at sea in a sinking boat, the asylum seekers watch the sunrise and brace for the worst: being left alone to perish in the ocean.

A passenger appears weary on the boatjourney.

The boat encounters trouble, taking on water. The asylum seekers frantically wave their life jackets, hoping to attract the attention of what they believe might be a boat in the distance.

As the boat takes on water, the asylum seekers bail it out with pots and buckets.

Asylum seekers use pots and buckets to bail out the water.

One of the motor pumps stopped working. A crew member tries to fix it.

19 & 20

After struggling for seven to eight hours and travelling back towards Java, the asylum seekers are relieved and overjoyed to spot an island.

The next morning, the asylum seekers scramble off the boat onto submerged rocks and into the dense forest of Ujung Kulon, a remote peninsula at Java’s westernmost edge. Discarding their life jackets on the beach, they split into groups and argue over the next steps. After two days without food or water, they are arrested by the water police and taken to an immigration detention centre in Serang, Indonesia.

Serang, Indonesia

1 day and night

We were taken to a detention centre in Serang. The officers strip-searched us and checked our bags for valuables. For some miraculous reason they missed my bag where my cameras were kept. The cameras were safe.

We tried to look for a way to escape. There was an alleyway outside of our window with trees beside a very tall wall with shards of glass on top. We woke up at about 3am. We put a pillow on the shards of glass and wrapped our forearms with the bedsheet and jumped onto the other side with bare feet and no money. We got a taxi and travelled to Jakarta.

Being detained in Malaysia or Indonesia was equally terrifying and painful as drowning in the sea; therefore, being detained was not an option for me. I was ready to do anything to be free, and that is what I did.

My camera stopped working after falling into the sea, I couldn’t document this part of my journey.

Bogor, Indonesia

8 months

It’s 3 years, 3 months, 22 days. I’m counting every day and still I’m not interviewed by a single embassy.

Kamran

After surviving the ordeal at sea everyone had mixed feelings about what to do next. The future looked bleak as every option was fraught with danger.

In these many years, what am I doing here?

Where am I eating from?

What will happen to my family?

And today I regretted why I didn’t jump on that boat.

Kamran

Majid would organise football games to help keep everyone’s spirits up.

I decided to place my faith in UNHCR. I registered as an asylum seeker and waited for my case to be processed.

An Indonesian immigration official reviews the documents of refugees provided by the UNHCR in Bogor.

Abdullah checks the sunburn on his face. He is one of 14 survivors from a boat carrying 72 people, which sank en route to Christmas Island from Indonesia in April 2013. They were rescued by Indonesian fishermen.

An asylum seeker shows his foot, which was injured after he escaped from Indonesian immigration authorities while attempting to board a boat.

Mustafa stands at the entrance of his temporary accommodation, two days after surviving the boat tragedy. Like Abdullah, he is one of the 14 survivors from the boat that sank en route to Christmas Island in April 2013.

A physically disabled Iraqi man is at an International Organization for Migration compound in Bogor. For him and his elderly mother, getting on a boat is not an option. They wait for their resettlement claims to be processed through UNHCR.

Refugees gather outside the International Organization for Migration suboffice in Bogor.

After the failed boat trip during which he nearly drowned, Majid stayed in Bogor to find another smuggler. He spent his time going to the gym and playing futsal.

With no work rights and enough financial support from their families, asylum seekers spend their days sleeping; they literally start their activities after dark. They wait in limbo for phone calls from UNHCR regarding their resettlement progress or from people smugglers about the next leg of their perilous journey. Some asylum seekers keep their minds occupied in the gym or by playing soccer.

After receiving a call from the smuggler, Majid heads for Jakarta on public transport to begin his sea journey to Australia.

Women seeking asylum wait outside the International Organization for Migration suboffice in Bogor.

Asylum seekers walk back to their accommodation after a futsal game in Cisarua, Bogor.

Young asylum seekers attend a school run by the International Organization for Migration in Bogor.

This group returned to their temporary accommodation after escaping Indonesian authorities while attempting to board a boat bound for Australia.

Asylum seekers wait outside the International Organization for Migration suboffice in Bogor.

14 & 15

A family portrait of the Jaffary family in Bogor.

The Jaffary sons on their first day at an International Organization for Migration school.

Bogor, 2013.

Hazara and Iranian young asylum seekers play with their bunnies at the accommodation provided by the International Organization for Migration in Bogor.

Zakariya, who has been caught multiple times, waits in Cisarua before attempting another boat journey to Australia.

An Iranian family at their accommodation, provided by the International Organization for Migration in Bogor.

An Iraqi woman lights a candle at her accommodation.

Bogor, 2013.

An Iranian family at their accommodation.

International Organization for Migration shelter for asylum seekers in Bogor.

Australia

16 May 2013

The day when I was granted refugee status was really one of the happiest days of my life. Through the help of compassionate individuals and organisations working to support journalists, I was able to live a new life in Australia.

The refugee policy in Australia has been a policy that’s been focused on deterrence. I’m sure most refugees and asylum seekers want to come through lawful and safer means.

Mary Anne Kenny

War has changed so much that 97% of casualties are civilians. Your place of worship is not safe, your school is not safe, your home is not safe, your street is not safe.

Marianne Harris

Majid has been deported back to Afghanistan, after both of his asylum applications were rejected by UNHCR. He has escaped again from Afghanistan and is now living illegally in Pakistan. After waiting and living in limbo for seven years, Kamran was finally resettled in Canada in late 2018.

Haider and Aziz were on the same boat as me, which failed. After several attempts, they made it to Australia. They spent time in detention before being released into the community on bridging visas, with no work rights. After 12 years in Australia, they are still separated from their families.

Khadim waits at Bali airport before boarding a flight to Darwin, to live permanently in Australia. His asylum claim was processed through UNHCR and he is being resettled in Australia.

Khadim, Shah Chaman and Din Muhamad listen to an induction from their settlement-organisation case manager upon their arrival in Darwin.

After seven attempts, Haider finally made it to Australia. He spent time in immigration detention before being released into the community on a bridging visa, with no work rights.

Abdul Ghani, the first Hazara vendor at the Dandenong Market in south-east Melbourne, is a significant presence. At least 40 per cent of the vegetable stalls are now owned by Hazara entrepreneurs.

The Hazara diaspora in Melbourne holds a candlelight vigil after a suicide bomber killed at least 28 people and injured dozens more in the south-west Pakistani city of Quetta on 1 July 2013. Among the dead were nine women, a girl and a 14-year-old boy. That year was one of the deadliest for the small Hazara community in Quetta. At the beginning of 2013, suicide bombers carried out two separate attacks at a snooker club and a vegetable market, each resulting in more than 200 deaths and hundreds more wounded.

A member of the Hazara community in Melbourne holds a placard during a candlelight vigil at the Federation Square for victims of the 21 January 2013 suicide attack in Mastung, Pakistan. At least 26 people were killed on the Hazara pilgrim bus.

Abdul Ahmed arrived in Australia as a refugee in the late 1990s, with no knowledge of English. Today, he runs multiple businesses and provides employment to several people.

A young Hazara boy at Hemmings Park, Dandenong.

Mohammad Reza arrived in Australia as a refugee, with no English, in the late 1990s. He now owns two supermarkets in Dandenong, which provide employment to dozens of other people.

A young Hazara boy holds a candle at a vigil at Federation Square for the Hazara victims of the Mastung suicide attack in January 2013.

Hazara men dance during Melbourne Food & Wine Festival at Dandenong Market.

Sikandar, a former Hazara refugee, with his son at their home in Dandenong.

Shabnam Safa, a 19-year-old Melburnian, made Australia home in 2009 after migrating as a refugee. Shabnam is a Black Belt martial artist and holds multiple national and state titles.