As I settled into work a couple of weeks ago, brushes and paints at hand, pencil shavings and eraser rubbings scattering my table next to a new painting I'd drawn up the day before, I felt a mix of excitement, calm and deep contentment. I felt aching gratitude for the richness of my life and for the peace that comes from knowing I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing.
In the background the news was playing and with mounting horror and sadness I heard of the death of a young refugee, Omid Masoumali, who in an attempt to gain attention from UN inspectors on Nauru, had set himself alight, sustaining traumatic third degree burns to most of his body. I reflected on the utter desperation that he must have felt to make such a devastating choice and wondered whether he had lost all hope, despairing of ever having a better life, or whether his resolve to suffer and die was really a tragic expression of hope.
As an immigrant I know the heartache of leaving my home for foreign shores. It is not something anyone does lightly. Grief and disorientation, cultural isolation, and financial loss are just some of the consequences. I cannot imagine the agony of seeking asylum from persecution to find I am not wanted anywhere, to have my veracity doubted at every point of my struggle and to be imprisoned indefinitely without proper representation.
It seems that refugees just don't matter. Neither do their wives, their fathers, their children - they are expendable - collateral damage in a war on people smugglers and the necessity to maintain a ‘lucky country’ standard of living.
As these thoughts brewed I felt intense and familiar shame burn in me. Like in South Africa, I am again one of the privileged whose antipathy and apathy leads to the suffering of others. I wondered what I should do, what can be done… It's not enough for me only to feel compassion, anger and the desire for change. Truth is in actions.
Omid Masoumali acted. He gave up his own life, pinning his hopes for a better future for his wife and fellow refugees on his own death.
The first thing I need to do is speak up. After that, what will I do with my privilege and my wealth? Will I give others ‘a fair go’ even if it costs me financially, uses up some of my leisure time and takes effort? Do I have the resolve needed to make some sacrifices for the benefit of others?
The peace that I had felt only moments before as I sat in my studio preparing to work was disturbed, yet I knew I needed more than ever to resume painting. For it is just such tragic events that necessitate art. For it is when we apprehend beauty and hope in art that we can express our highest aspirations and affirm the resilience and transcendence of our spirits. Art enables you and me to know and cherish our shared humanity.
I would love to hear what you are thinking and feeling. Perhaps you would like to join me in speaking up and somehow taking action?
'What the West Wind Saw' (after Debussy), Oil on Board, 60 x 60cm