Lessons from a 100-day refugee protest encampment
From 14 July last year, refugees ran a continuous protest encampment for 100 days outside the Home Affairs Department in Melbourne, demanding permanent visas. They braved icy rain, attempts by council workers and police to move them on, and being marched on by neo-Nazis. Red Flag spoke to Aran Mylvaganam, one of the key organisers of the camp, about how it all went.
Give us some background: what is the situation of the refugees who protested?
The refugees who initiated the encampment are part of the cohort of nearly 10,000 individuals denied permanent visas, leaving them on bridging visas or with no visa at all. Some have appealed to the minister, who can grant visas, while others have taken appeals from the Immigration Assessment Authority to the courts. It is important to note that they are not appealing the decisions themselves but challenging the government on grounds of unfair treatment and failure to follow due process. In the meantime, many are denied the right to work, access to Medicare, higher education and, most critically, the ability to reunite with their loved ones or leave the country.
These refugees arrived in Australia between 2009 and 2013, seeking safety and security. Many had already been here for a year when the Labor government lost power in 2013. However, the Gillard and Rudd ALP governments had delayed processing protection claims, leaving the refugees in limbo. When the Coalition government took over, it waited two more years before introducing the “fast-track” process and issuing temporary protection visas. This fast-track process was meant to address the backlog of protection claims, but it created a host of new injustices.
Under the process, applications were unfairly assessed, often dividing families and granting one person protection while denying another with nearly identical circumstances. The process relied on questionable country reports—such as the flawed report used to assess Tamil asylum seekers, which was later discredited by a UK court. Labor itself acknowledged the unfairness of fast track while in opposition, and once in power, they abolished it. Yet the 9,500 refugees who went through the fast-track process remain in limbo.
Labor has now been in power for over two years, fully aware that these refugees are victims of an unjust system. Yet they have taken no meaningful action to resolve their status, and we are now approaching another election. If Labor loses, as they might, the unresolved situation for these refugees could effectively be a death sentence. With this level of urgency, these refugees felt they had no choice but to protest. The encampment became a platform to make their voices heard, demanding justice and the fulfilment of promises made by a government that holds their futures in its hands.
How was the encampment organised?
The encampment started out as a spontaneous action organised by refugees. Tamil refugees joined an Iranian-led, 24/7 demonstration outside then Home Affairs Minister Claire O'Neill’s office in Oakleigh, and pretty soon, we all decided to make it an indefinite encampment. After visiting the RMIT Students for Palestine encampment, we got some inspiration and quickly adapted their set-up to work for us.
The big challenge was that we had no support for basics like water, electricity or shelter. We were camping right on the street, with everyone stepping up to organise the essentials on the go. A food team came together by the third day and grew to over 60 volunteers, making sure everyone was fed from morning until night. All meals were cooked by refugees on bridging visas. Even though there is a large number of Tamil-speaking Australians who have citizenship, they didn’t really pay any attention to our camp. But we kept going, organising our own rotation system, with shift coordinators covering morning, afternoon, evening and overnight shifts to keep everything running.
We held daily coordinators’ meetings to go over what was working, what wasn’t and ways to keep improving. Fridays were a big deal, with rally nights that helped us build momentum for the week ahead. Coordinators also used these times to get more people involved and to clear up any misinformation going around in the refugee community. These Friday gatherings were a way to bring everyone together and make sure we stayed united.
Keeping the camp clean was another priority. We had volunteers washing dishes, tidying up and making sure everything looked respectful and organised. We were really aware of how the public saw us and didn’t want to give anyone a reason to view us negatively. We also worked hard to make the space safe and family friendly, with no alcohol and no smoking in the area, so even children could participate. There was a library for reading and learning about politics, and if any issues came up, we had people ready to handle concerns quickly.
Over time, the encampment became more than just a protest—it turned into a community hub. People would bring ginger tea, snacks, and we’d play games like cards and chess. It was a meaningful, supportive space where people came together, despite the tough circumstances they faced. In the end, it became a strong, well-organised encampment, fully run by refugees on bridging visas. It showed the resilience and determination of refugees in their fight for permanent visas.
Did the encampment change the people involved? How?
Living in limbo for over twelve years had left many refugees feeling hopeless. But when they came together at the encampment, there was a powerful shift. At first, many believed they could achieve quick results with enough determination. But as the weeks went on, they came to realise that victory isn’t guaranteed. They saw that all they could control was their own commitment to the fight—and that to have any chance of winning, they needed to keep going.
This experience also broadened their perspectives, helping them see how their own struggle is part of a larger global fight for justice, one shared by Indigenous Australians, Palestinians, workers and other marginalised communities. Their solidarity with groups like the Palestine movement and the union movement underscored the interconnectedness of their cause with others facing oppression.
Over time, people found their own confidence and became leaders. They learned to stand up to government and state representatives who tried to shut down the encampment, and they organised everything themselves. People who had never imagined leading protests were now setting agendas, organising supplies and mobilising supporters. Their transformation was inspiring. For example, my friend Rathi, who once hesitated to attend a Palestine rally, recently told me she went on her own accord. She said, “A year ago, you had to drag me there, but now I feel like I need to be there”. The encampment awakened in people a sense of responsibility, a belief that they can’t just sit on the sidelines when injustice persists.
Various pro-refugee NGOs and charities tend to stick to a model of providing refugees with legal aid, food and other services, while lobbying the Labor Party for policy change. Why do you think that protest action and civil disobedience are important?
While pro-refugee NGOs and charities do crucial work, these efforts often fall short when it comes to achieving lasting change. Many of these organisations rely on government funding and work within a model that depends on lobbying and service provision, which is vital for meeting immediate needs but often hinges on the good will and timing of politicians. Too often, this leads to delays or evasions on decisions that directly impact refugees.
The reality is that, despite the presence of hundreds of advocacy groups spending millions to support refugees, thousands of people are still waiting—often over a decade—for permanent visas or even basic security. Politicians repeatedly break promises, like abolishing temporary protection visas, and when they do, many advocacy groups stay silent or only voice mild objections. Labor politicians, for instance, have made countless empty promises to create a pathway to permanency for the 9,500 refugees affected by the fast-track process. But even after two years in power, there has been no meaningful action. This shows clearly that polite meetings and petitions don’t create urgency for those in power—public pressure is necessary to hold them accountable.
This is why protest and civil disobedience are so important. When we protest, we’re showing that refugees and their supporters won’t sit quietly through broken promises and delays. Direct action brings these injustices into the open, forcing politicians and the public to confront the reality: people’s lives are indefinitely on hold because of political inaction or indifference. In fact, over the past two years, many of our actions have been intentionally kept out of the public eye. But with larger demonstrations, the message breaks through, reaching more people.
Direct action disrupts the status quo, challenging both politicians and the public to recognise how many people suffer due to policies rooted in racism. Civil disobedience builds solidarity, bringing together a broad community that also has grievances with the government. This form of protest empowers the refugee community, showing that they are not just passive recipients of charity—they are active agents fighting for their rights.
Protests bring this message to the forefront and remind the Australian public that refugee mistreatment is not an isolated issue; it’s part of a broader system of exploitation. The racism in these policies doesn’t just stem from Australia’s colonial past—it’s a tool the state uses to divide the working class, maintaining inequality and preventing unity. Racism toward refugees is a by-product of this system, which affects everyone.
Supporting refugee rights is, therefore, in the best interest of all working people, not just refugees. Direct action brings this truth to light, aiming to unite everyone who should be fighting against policies that exploit and divide us.
During the encampment, a neo-Nazi group twice tried to march on and disrupt protests by the refugees. Melbourne City Council made various attempts to shut down the camp using police. What was it like to stand up to all of this?
The two incidents involving the Nazis were deeply concerning. For many refugees, their presence triggered painful memories of the oppression and violence they had fled in their home countries. While some were understandably frightened, the majority were determined to stand their ground and send a clear message: they would not be intimidated by a group spreading hate. In fact, many saw the presence of neo-Nazis as an opportunity to highlight how the Labor government's policies were appeasing groups like them, rather than addressing the needs of ordinary people.
The encampment faced constant challenges from the council and Victoria Police. The council frequently cited by-laws to remove furniture, signs and megaphones, working with the police to disrupt and shut down the protest. Security guards from the Department of Home Affairs also added to the hostility. Meanwhile, some ethnic community leaders, aligned with organisations known for their strong connections to the Labor Party, worked to undermine the movement. They sought to divide the refugees, discourage their participation and create confusion through meetings designed to derail the protests.
Despite these obstacles, the encampment became a powerful space of solidarity and resistance. Refugees and their supporters stood together, transforming the camp into a platform for raising awareness and demanding justice. Every challenge—whether from neo-Nazis, the council, the police or community leaders providing cover for Labor—was turned into an opportunity to organise and mobilise even more people. These efforts only strengthened the campaign and demonstrated the refugees’ resilience and determination to fight for their rights.
What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time to the start of the encampment?
Looking back, there are a few things I’d have done differently, even though the encampment evolved organically and wasn’t planned from the start. If I could give myself any advice, I’d suggest studying the successes and challenges of other encampments to get a sense of what to expect. But ultimately, our circumstances were unique, and it’s difficult to prepare for all the twists and turns we faced.
If I could start over, I’d focus on establishing clear structures and roles earlier, forming teams for logistics, communications and security right from the beginning. Setting up political teach-ins and creating regular opportunities for people to reflect would have helped deepen everyone’s understanding of the broader movement, keeping us all motivated and focused. Finally, having daily debriefs could have allowed us to address issues as they arose and adjust more effectively.
In the end, though, the encampment grew into something powerful because it was shaped by everyone involved. It was a collective effort that revealed our strength and resilience. And no amount of preparation could have anticipated the incredible spirit of unity and determination that came from everyone who participated.
