They came in the chill of winter to hear their speaker, a man known to most only as a name.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d Mohammad Ibrahim told the people of Apollo Bay. \u201cToday I am proud to call Australia my home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mohammad Ibrahim thanks Apollo Bay from the stage in the town\u2019s Mechanics Hall. Photograph: Douglas Gimesy\/The Guardian<\/p>\n
Here, assembled before him in the Mechanics Hall, was the town that made that happen. A town that raised money so he could eat and his children could be clothed, raised hell with members of parliament, ministers, bureaucrats, journalists \u2013 anyone who would listen, and many who wouldn\u2019t \u2013 to see that Australia upheld its obligation to him.<\/p>\n
Four years on behalf of a family they\u2019d never met.<\/p>\n
\u201cNever underestimate the power of kindness,\u201d he said. \u201cBecause what may seem like a small action to you can become the difference between hope and despair for someone else.\u201d<\/p>\n
Branded an \u2018infidel\u2019<\/p>\n
During this country\u2019s longest war in Afghanistan, Mohammad Ibrahim worked on Australia\u2019s behalf<\/a>, as an interpreter for a government-sponsored aid project in Uruzgan province.<\/p>\n The program built and ran schools for children in one of Afghanistan\u2019s poorest provinces, it taught girls to read in places where few ever set foot in a classroom.<\/p>\n It vaccinated children who\u2019d never visited a hospital, and trained midwives and doctors in a country with one of the highest infant mortality rates in the world.<\/p>\n Ibrahim was proud of the difference his work was making: \u201cWorking on those projects was an honour for me to serve my country and also help the Australian government.\u201d<\/p>\n But when Afghanistan fell with terrifying swiftness<\/a> to the Taliban in August 2021, Ibrahim was abandoned.<\/p>\n Ibrahim and his family spent four years in hiding from the Taliban. Photograph: Douglas Gimesy\/The Guardian<\/p>\n Like thousands who had believed in the mission of Republican Afghanistan, who\u2019d trusted the promises of peace and prosperity, who\u2019d been repeatedly assured by the countries they served they would be protected in the event of calamity, he and his family were forsaken.<\/p>\n International hopes for a reformed Taliban, that their desire for international legitimacy would restrain their most grotesque excesses \u2013 their brutality towards women, their violent persecution of minorities \u2013 were short-lived. The Taliban were unreformed.<\/p>\n In their eyes, Ibrahim was an \u201cinfidel\u201d \u2013 a member of the Hazara ethnic and religious minority, and one who\u2019d served the western invaders. With his young family, he was forced to flee into the mountains.<\/p>\n Over four long years in hiding<\/a>, the family lived in caves in the highlands of Bamyan, walked over precipitous mountains to remote villages where the Taliban\u2019s reach was limited. They also rented tiny rooms in Kabul, too afraid to go out, even to buy food, uncertain that the anonymity of the capital would be any protection.<\/p>\n Guardian Australia senior reporter Ben Doherty speaks at the \u2018Ben and Ibrahim in conversation\u2019 event. Photograph: Douglas Gimesy\/The Guardian<\/p>\n Sometimes they had a few weeks in the same place, once a couple of months. Some days they were forced to move more than once in a single day, as Taliban sweeps drew closer. There were no schools for the children, no hospitals when they got sick.<\/p>\n The family then fled over the border into Pakistan, spending three freezing nights standing before the gates, hoping they could get across.<\/p>\n They had one stroke of fortune. Having appealed to contacts online for assistance, Ibrahim was put in touch with the Apollo Bay Rural Australians for Refugees<\/a> group in south-western Victoria.<\/p>\n On behalf of a family they\u2019d never met, this small band of Australians wrote countless letters to politicians and repeatedly called ministers\u2019 offices. They emailed department officials relentlessly, seeking updates on Ibrahim\u2019s application for a humanitarian visa.<\/p>\n They raised money to send to him so he could buy food and clothes for his children, and rent small rooms for his family to hide in.<\/p>\n They put him in contact with reporters \u2013 including this one who was invited to the event \u2013 who wrote articles<\/a> trying to bring the issue of those abandoned to public and political attention.<\/p>\n And they managed to have Ibrahim recognised under Australia\u2019s locally engaged employee program, a formal recognition for those who worked with and for Australia in Afghanistan \u201cand are at risk of harm as a result of their work\u201d<\/a>. His case would be prioritised. Later, a welcome, high-level government intervention made sure it would be so.<\/p>\n Slowly but inexorably, the people of Apollo Bay willed Ibrahim\u2019s freedom into existence.<\/p>\n Two and a half hours to spare<\/p>\n Hiding over the border in Pakistan, Ibrahim \u2013 with his wife, Amina, their son, Daniel, and toddler, Helen \u2013 had been told his cards were marked. Police knew where they lived. With 36 hours to go before their visas expired, they were preparing to be marched back into the hands of the Taliban.<\/p>\n Then, in the middle of the night, an email arrived bearing four Australian humanitarian visas.<\/p>\n The family have built a new life in Australia. Photograph: Douglas Gimesy\/The Guardian<\/p>\n Flights were rapidly booked. The meagre possessions the family had carried between dozens of hiding places were packed.<\/p>\n Their flight out took off at 9.30am on a Thursday: the family\u2019s visas to stay in Pakistan expired at midday. Two and a half hours to spare.<\/p>\n \u2018Kindness changed everything\u2019<\/p>\n In the months since their arrival, Ibrahim and his family have quietly built a life in Australia.<\/p>\n Schools \u2013 for the first time \u2013 for their children, English lessons for Ibrahim and Amina. They have met and made friends, and found a community.<\/p>\n In Apollo Bay this week, Ibrahim had a speech prepared:<\/p>\n double quotation markMany times we lost hope. Many times we thought nobody cared. Many times we wondered if our story would simply disappear among thousands of other stories.<\/p>\n But then something extraordinary happened. People we had never met decided that our lives mattered. People here in Apollo Bay wrote letters, made phone calls, spoke to politicians, contacted journalists, shared our story, and refused to give up.<\/p>\n They did not help us because they knew us. They helped us because they believed that every human life has value. That kindness changed everything.<\/p>\n Today, my children can go to school safely. They can dream about their future. They can sleep without fear.<\/p>\n Quieter Australians, gently changing the worldFounder of Apollo Bay Rural Australians for Refugees Ali Corke holds Helen on stage. Photograph: Douglas Gimesy\/The Guardian<\/p>\n A few hours before Ibrahim spoke, Pauline Hanson took the stage at the National Press Club, demanding that Australia return to some mythical past, a fictional golden age of narrow imagination. She pined for a nation of \u201cmonoculturalism\u201d<\/a>, a uniformity of ill-defined \u201cAustralian values\u201d.<\/p>\n \u201cWe cannot be a multicultural society,\u201d she said. \u201cWe are a multiracial society, but we must be monocultural. Australians must live under the one cultural umbrella.\u201d<\/p>\n Hanson is fond of insisting she speaks for real Australians.<\/p>\n