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A boy withanti-immigrationviews falls for an Afghani girl who is a refugee in Randa Abdel-FattahsThe Lines We Cross.
Well, two to be precise.
Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images
One was a young Afghan refugee a boat person we see maligned and stigmatized by both sides of politics.
Bright, fierce, courageous, scarred.
She wouldnt budge from my head.
Fairfax Media/Fairfax Media via Getty Images
I called her Mina.
How do you find the courage to question your parents beliefs?
How do you accept responsibility for learning about the world on your own terms?
But its quite simple as far as I can see it.
Western countries are privileged and involved in wars that create refugees.
Some of those refugees risk their lives to escape persecution, violence, and even death.
The ones who venture to reach us for protection we lock up.
We lock them up on islands and countries weve financially cajoled into doing our dirty work.
For me, Minas story is about simplifying the issue to some basic truths.
Who do we count as human?
Whom do we show empathy for and whom do we shun?
What is it about our fears, insecurities, identity that needs an enemy, an other?
I hope my readers are able to confront these questions head-on.
Despite her experiences, Mina still has a great sense of humor.
That is the stuff of human existence.
That there is comedy in tragedy.
That even the darkest moments can be infused with irony and light.
Both Michael and Mina narrate alternating chapters.
On the one hand, the lived experience of a racialized minority.
On the other hand, the point of view of somebody occupying a position of privilege and power.
Mining into both emotional lives was about really trying to understand the intersections between peoples lives.
Obviously the story itself has become very relevant in recent years.
Of course, this story is highly resonant in todays climate.
That only made me feel that it was urgent to tell.
But not everybody is capable or willing to change.
But racism cant be dismantled unless people are confronted and provoked to think.
The Lines We Crosshits bookstores May 9.Pre-order ithere, and read the exclusive excerpt below.
My parents are good people.
And ever since I can remember, theyve been angry about almost everything.
Dad pats me on the back.
His forehead is glistening with sweat.
Really happy you made it.
It could be your big moment.
I dont want to miss it.
Appreciate it, mate.
Geez, its hot under this.
What do you think?
Reckon the media will come?
Its hard to tell.
The numbers on our side of the protest are growing but theyre still small compared to the other mob.
But then Kahn and Andrew arrive, and Dads mood lifts.
If somebody else is willing to wear spandex for the cause, hes not going to say no.
Andrew asks me to take photos so he can tweet them to news outlets.
I havent seen him before.
Hes not so much steroid-pumped nightclub bouncer as ex-commando-who-visits-war-zones-in-his-spare-time kind of guy.
Hey, Alan, he says sternly, nodding at Dad.
Gday, John, Dad says.
Thanks for coming, mate.
Wouldnt miss it, he barks, then snaps a photo of Dad for his Facebook page.
John looks me up and down.
Fucking bleeding-heart terrorist-loving freedom-hating traitors.
Does that come in a bumper sticker?
Dad asks with a laugh.
He discreetly nudges my foot with his shoe and I struggle not to laugh.
Its not a joke, John says gruffly.
You should know that, Alan.
I know, mate, Dad says good-naturedly, patting him on the back.
Im just pulling your leg.
They should shut the hell up and respect the fact they have free speech in this country.
No ones saying they shouldnt protest, Dad says.
Thats the beauty of this great country of ours, John.
That they can be here, same as we can.
The irony is that they dont appreciate that were fighting to double-check this democracy of ours doesnt change.
John flashes a look of contempt at the mob of counterprotesters.
Theyve escalated the shouts of abuse.
I give Dad a look.
He just looks tougher than he is.
Hes Andrews good mate.
Suddenly Dads face breaks out into a grin.
I glance in the direction hes motioning and, noticing a reporter and cameraman, smile.
Your mums press release must have worked.
He runs his fingers through his thinning hair and readjusts the flag.
How do I look?
Like the leader of a new political organization, I say proudly.
Whos sweltering under that thing.
Dont forget its all about the sound bites.Aussie Values aims to represent the silent majorityblah blah.
The kind of thing you and Mum were practicing last night.
We have about fifty members, Dad says with a smile.
In a population of twenty-three million, I wouldnt say that really constitutes a majority.
He leans in close to me and winks conspiratorially.
But nobody needs to know that, hey, mate?
The chants of the other protestors are getting louder.
Rick, from our side, starts up a chant in reply.
The atmosphere is electric, and people are fired up on both sides.
I can see Dad across the crowd, a camera in his face as he talks to a journalist.
He glances at me and I grin.
And then I see her.
Ive never seen eyes like hers before.
What color are they?
Shes wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
Shes the most beautiful girl Ive ever seen and it stupidly, inexplicably, throws me.
She elbows the beauty, prompting her to laugh and raise her sign higher.
On my side I can hear peoples chants rising: Stop the Boats!
No to Queue Jumpers!
But my voice isnt working.
Suddenly Johns beside me.
He nudges me in the side and scoffs, Theyre a disgrace, arent they?
I manage a grunt.
John grimaces and motions to my sign, which Ive inadvertently lowered.
I quickly hold it up, smile meekly at him, and wonder what the girls name is.
So it was a success?
I ask Dad on our way home.
Dad smacks the steering wheel with both hands and lets out a cheer.
Michael, it wasbrilliant!
It would help your organization out if it runs.
Did you tell Mum?
She texted though.They having fun?Dad chuckles.
Theyve sent about fifty photos already.
He turns to face me as we stop at a traffic light.
Joes shop at the Village closes tomorrow.
You up for
some fish and chips?
He changes lanes, makes the yellow light, and turns left.
Could be the last chiko roll this area ever sees, Michael.
That was kind of meme-worthy.
Your mum and I were over at Joes the other night.
Twenty years hes been there, Michael.
Poor guys taking it badly.
Wheres he going to go?
Go?Thats it, Michael.
He has to retire now.
People like Joe dont start over.
Hes priced out of the area now.
We turn into the parking lot behind the local shops and Dad parks the car.
He turns off the ignition, faces me, and looks me in the eye.
Thats why were fighting, Michael.
For people like Joe.
Lets go get our last chiko roll then.
For Joe, Dad says.
Mina
This will be the last time I wake up here.
The pungent scent of fish wafting out of the fish shop at the entrance to the mall.
The group of Sudanese men sitting at the corner coffee shop, smoking, sipping coffee, and talking.
My mum knocks on my door.
Come on, Mina!
she says, her voice strained.
She opens the door and sticks her head in.
We fall into a rhythm.
By the time were done, Im exhausted.
I collapse onto a chair.
Wasnt Baba due with the van half an hour ago?
Mum carefully ties her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck.
I told him to book that local company but you know him.
He likes to do things himself.
Unplug the earphones, Mina.
Ive told you a million times.
Youll be deaf before you turn twenty listening to that rubbish.
My mum hates my taste in music.
Baba better not scratch my chair.
check that he doesnt, Mum.
My stepfather likes to think of himself as a jack-of-all-trades.
Hes a chef, and moving furniture is not his strong point.
My mum fixes her eyes on me.
Youre still insisting on taking that old thing with you?
I give her a defiant look.
Im not backing down.
She looks like she has a whole lot more to say but then a slight smile ruffles her composure.
I smile, probably smugly.Fine, she says.Mum had me when she was very young.
Shes thirty-three
now and our battles can sometimes feel like sibling rivalry.
Shes not a yeller, never has been.
It reminded me of the chair in my fathers study in our house in Afghanistan.
Quilt padded, floral greens and mauves, a high curved back.
I have nothing left of my life in Afghanistan except faded memories.
The Taliban destroyed most of my life.
What wasnt destroyed, we left behind, including my father in his grave.
I continue working but Im hungry now.
I can feel my stomach muscles tighten.
Her face lights up.
That would be nice actually.
In some areas, the more expensive, the more exotic.
We sit on the tiles and use a suitcase as a table.
Mum eats slowly, calmly.
Im scarfing my food down, but its more than hunger.
Eating this food here, now, in our empty duplex, a surge of emotion charges through me.
Tell me again, I say, how big is the apartment were moving to?
Mum looks at me, chewing her bread slowly.
Finally, she replies, It would probably fit into the downstairs space here.
I cant see why we have to move.
I could just catch public transport to Victoria College.
you oughta be focused on your studies.
Getting a scholarship is one thing.
Keeping it is another.
A scholarship for eleventh grade at one of the top schools?
You know Im proud of you, Mina.
Anyway, you wont be the only one under pressure.
Were opening the new restaurant there too.
Its a big change for us all.
Double the rent for the restaurant over there though.
The supplies will cost a lot too.
It used to be a fish and chip shop.
So youve got a lot of work ahead of you, hey?
Thats for Baba and Irfan to deal with.
Ive got other plans.
Surprised, I quiz her.
But she just shrugs again and moves the food around on her plate.
The scholarship had been the idea of my teachers at Auburn Grove Girls High.
But they had big dreams for me.
They wanted me to have the best education and the best future.
Moving out of Western Sydney hadnt been part of the plan though.
Baba had a successful restaurant here.
Auburn has been home ever since Mum and I were released from Villawood detention center, ten years ago.
But then I passed the scholarship exam.
And we discovered the transport situation would be two hours minimum on either side of the school day.
Then my parents heard that the Lane Cove shops could do with some exotic food.
One thing led to another, and now here we are sitting among boxes about to relocate.
I feel like border control will demand to see our visas when the moving van ventures beyond Parramatta Road.
A silence settles between us as we finish our meal.
I reassure her that I had Babas permission and just went along with Maha because Aysha bailed on her.
She doesnt need to know I was curious too.
She doesnt want me getting involved in political stuff.
Not with my scholarship.
Youve got enough to worry about without going to protest marches.
She stops and, with a sigh, corrects herself.
Wevegot enough to worry about, Mina.
Weve made a new life for ourselves here.
Lets be grateful for that rather than drawing attention to ourselves.
All I want is for you to get the best grades possible.
Be a doctor or a lawyer.
And to do that you need tofocus.
You know, that kind of pressure doesnt help, Mum.
Im about to start a terrifying chapter in my life .
I stand in front of her, swigging down the last of my drink.
You do realize that, dont you?
Of course I do.
By all means be scared.
Shes actually pulled outthatcard.
Ive got nothing to trump that.
