Indonesian people smugglers or fishermen trying to feed their families?

Facing diminishing catches, fishers sometimes used explosives. A man blinded and missing most of his fingers after a fertiliser bomb exploded in his hands said his wife had left him to work as a domestic on the mainland. He depended on the local fishermen’s association for support.

When a boat was holed and sank, the fishers would be forced to pay a calo (middle man) who rent boats on behalf of richer town dwellers. These were often bigger than they were used to, and required additional crew. Sometimes the skipper would demand they help to smuggle in exchange for the right to fish.

The men complained that climate change made the weather kacau (in disorder). “I can’t read the clouds and winds any more,’ one said. ‘I can only guess. I can only afford to take one tank of fuel. If I am blown off course, I cannot get back and I have to go far to get fish.”

Few artisanal fishers owned a compass, much less a GPS. In deference to their poverty and practicality, we recycled cooking oil bottles for flotation devices, used old CD’s to signal passing boats or planes. In an age of hi tech communication these men were using garbage to stay alive.

Bapak Mus, village head of a tiny island eight hours by boat south of Sulawesi told me of refugees landing starving and sick on his island. “Many died.” he told me. “Many children. Their parents wanted them to be educated. They had heard that Australia had good education. They were afraid that the girls would face a life of ignorance. I would have done the same,” he told me. “Australia has so much. Why do they send them away?” Good question.

A Bajau man jailed in Darwin for fishing in Australian waters was still confused.  I needed an interpreter to understand his local language. “They said I was illegally fishing but my ancestors have always fished there. Its our adat” (customary law). Indeed the historical interchange of Indonesian and Aboriginal culture has been well documented. While in jail his wife and children died of neglect. The village could not support them.

His boat, owned by a wealthy trader, was burned. The debt was not forgiven. Later I heard that the fisher killed himself in hopelessness, drinking the cyanide his neighbor used to stun fish for the aquarium industry.

When I heard of the men’s jailings all I could think of was the women waiting for their husbands or sons to come home. What do they know of illegality and Australian provenance? All they know is uncertainty and the very real risk of hunger.