Finally he is having his day in court. After 13 months languishing in limbo in immigration detention, he has been given the opportunity to be heard. Hopefully, it won't be long now before his case is determined and his torment resolved.
Or so I originally thought. But in today's Australia, asylum seekers are not treated the same way as you or me. Not only must they not commit a criminal offence, but 'all adult illegal maritime arrivals' have to sign a strict code of behaviour, which describes the high standards they are expected to maintain at all times.
It expressly stipulates, for example, that they not 'engage in any anti-social or disruptive activities that are inconsiderate, disrespectful or threaten the peaceful enjoyment of other members of the community'. An ostensible breach, no matter how minor, can lead to the cancellation of their bridging visa and indefinite detention.
His trial date was set long ago. For months he has been agonising over its possible outcome. At the same time, he knows he is one of the lucky ones. Having 'arrived illegally by boat' in late 2012, at least his protection visa application is well under way — unlike later arrivals who have no chance of receiving such an invitation at all.
Moreover, assessed as 'exceptionally vulnerable', he has been fortunate enough to qualify for legal funding. His supporters — friends he made while living in the community or those, like me, who visit him regularly in detention — have cobbled together a suit, shirt and tie, belt and shoes, for his court appearance, replacing his detention centre standard-issue attire of tracksuit or t-shirt and shorts.
He scrubs up well, I think, when I see him for the first time — not as originally planned in the courtroom itself, but in the bowels of the building where, handcuffed and accompanied by two immigration detention centre guards, he has been confined for the second day in a row to a tiny cold cell behind glass.
I stand cramped with another supporter in the doorway, as his solicitor attempts to comfort him, assuring him that permission has been sought from the judge to allow him to come upstairs. After all, he is technically out on bail.
At least he is now in the courthouse. That morning as I rushed to meet him at the appointed time, he had called me from the detention centre. Apparently, the Department of Immigration and Border