SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2017 GQ.COM.AU 231AL MUDERIS STEPS FROM THE PLANE; SNAPSHOTS OF HIS TIME ON THE GROUND, WORKING WITH WOUNDED IRAQI SOLDIERS.The ship’s captain had deserted them, only a few hours into the
journey – and it was a marvel they didn’t meet the same mortal fate
that so many refugee-filled boats bound for Australia would.
Eventually docking on Christmas Island, Al Muderis was vacuumed
into Australia’s refugee system. Curtin Detention Centre, in Western
Australia’s remote, arid Kimberley region, would be his home for the
indefinite future. There, his name was replaced by a number – 982.
It would be nearly a year until he was again humanised.
Al Muderis recalls a visit from a supposedly high-ranking official
of Australia’s Department of Immigration that occurred shortly after
his arrival at Curtin.
“You are not welcome here. The Australian people do not want
you here. You will be detained here indefinitely,” barked the woman.
“However, if you choose to go back to your homeland, we can help
facilitate your return.”
He tells stories of squalid conditions, emotional and racial abuse,
and unspeakable cruelty towards children. At one point, collaborating
with an intrepid male nurse, Al Muderis used a disposable camera to
snap the horrid reality of the detention centre. The nurse mailed the
photos to all major Australian newspapers, magazines and television
stations. No one ran the story.
At one point during detention, Al Muderis came face-to-face with
Australia’s then-Immigration Minister, Philip Ruddock – a man he’s
labelled “as cold as an Antarctic winter”. On raising the issue of child
abuse, asking why the centre’s children couldn’t be released into the
community to foster families, he recalls Ruddock’s response: “You
broke the law to come here. If we release the children, it’ll be
rewarding them for breaking the law.”
(Years later, Ruddock would describe the Curtin Detention Centre
as Australia’s “most primitive”.)
Al Muderis’ 10 months in Curtin was punctuated by nights in
solitary confinement and a short stint in the maximum security
section of Broome Jail for the supposed incitement of unrest within
the Centre. Tellingly, Al Muderis found the latter a welcome respite
from Curtin – for one, he was referred to by name.
“I’ll tell you what, the prison system in Australia is brilliant,”
he says. “I strongly recommend that.”
He was eventually cleared of all charges.
In August of 2000, with the Sydney Olympics less than a month
away, Al Muderis was dumped, unceremoniously, at a dusty bus stop
near Curtin. His asylum had been granted – he was free. With little
over three grand left over from his mother’s parting gift, he could
suddenly go wherever he wanted. Yet he didn’t go terribly far, hopping
on a bus to Broome and then meandering along WA’s mesmerising,
coral-dotted northern coastline. He thought it was beautiful.The first time GQ met Al Muderis, he was stealing the show at
a private event in Melbourne. To be clear – Australians fawn over
athletes more than any other country. Yet, on a panel comprised of
world champion surfer Mick Fanning and beloved Melbourne Victory
soccer captain Carl Valeri, it was Al Muderis who won the room’s
hearts. The crowd lurched from amusement (on learning of his daily
two-litre Coke habit) to solemnity (on recounting his journey to
Australia) to admiration (on outlining the costs of his ambitious
career). His humble, self-effacing persona feels tailor-made for
Australia – a country whose intolerance of ego is legendary.
On arrival today in Baghdad, Al Muderis’ silver tongue has deserted
him. Not trusting his Arabic, he leans back on English.
“I was working with the Poms...” he says jokingly to a room full of
hospital administrators.