Book review - Amnesty by Aravind Adiga
There are currently more than 7,000
men, women and children held in immigrant detention centres across Australia.
Human rights groups regularly condemn the country for its indefinite
incarceration of asylum seekers, who can be held in limbo for years. Villawood,
located in Sydney and operated by outsourcer Serco, is a particularly notorious
detention facility. There have been reports of prison-like conditions and it is
beset by protests, alleged violence and attempted suicides — in early 2019
there were two deaths just six weeks apart.
Australia’s
inhumane treatment of asylum seekers is a theme taken up by Booker Prize winner
Aravind Adiga (The White Tiger) in his searing new novel about a young Sri
Lankan Tamil denied asylum, trying to get by as an “illegal” in Sydney. Like
George Orwell’s Room 101, the threat of imprisonment in Villawood haunts Danny,
real name Dhananjaya Rajaratnam, throughout his four years working as a
housecleaner. Amnesty gives us one day in Danny’s life, but this is no ordinary
day. He discovers that a former client has been murdered and thinks he knows
who is responsible. Adiga deftly builds tension with a central conflict. By
reporting his suspicions, Danny risks being deported: “If I tell the Law what I
know . . . I tell the Law what I know about myself.”
Danny
inhabits a deeply hierarchal world. He divides the city into two distinct
suburbs: “thick bum, where the working classes lived, ate badly and cleaned for
themselves; and thin bum, where the fit and young people ate salads and jogged
a lot but almost never cleaned their own homes.”
Adiga
suggests another level of indignity endured by the undocumented migrants who,
like Danny, are forced to exist on the margins. Danny lives in a storeroom
above a grocery shop. He is exploited by his Greek landlord, who takes a cut of
everything he earns as a cleaner and odd-job man. In a particularly poignant
passage, Danny describes having to chop up and dispose of giant cactuses — his
hands become a bloody pulp.
In
an attempt to blend in with the Australia-born “Icebox Indians” who “always
wore black glasses and never seemed to sweat”, Danny has golden highlights in
his hair. As he observes, “Easiest thing in the world, becoming invisible to
white people, who don’t see you anyway; but the hardest thing is becoming
invisible to brown people, who will see you no matter what.”
We
follow Danny on his journey through Sydney as he meditates on his life, the
reasons he had to leave Sri Lanka and how he ended up an “illegal”. Danny’s
story is a familiar one. After returning from a year’s work in Dubai he is
interrogated and tortured by the Sri Lankan state police and spuriously accused
of being a member of the LTTE (The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, or Tamil
Tigers). When his interrogator stubs out a cigarette on his arm, Danny realises
he has to get out. He discusses options with Cousin Kannan, who decides to risk
the danger of a smuggler’s boat to Canada.
Danny
opts for the college route, and his father helps him with the cost of a year’s
tuition fees and overseas student health cover. Danny’s mistake, it transpires,
is to fly into Sydney on a legitimate student visa. When he drops out of
college and tries to claim asylum, he is immediately refused with the words:
“If you were a victim of torture, it was more logical that you should have
caught the boat, as quite a few of your fellow countrymen have done.”
By
reporting his suspicions, Danny risks deportation: ‘If I tell the Law what I
know …I tell the Law what I know about myself ’
While
Adiga assiduously gives us Danny’s back-story, his plot hinges on the murder of
Radha Thomas, an Indian woman who lives in the apartment Danny refers to as
House Number Five. She is married to Mark, an Australian, but Danny knows that
she is having an affair with the intimidating Dr Prakash (former miner, former
soldier) and that they are both avid gamblers. Prakash’s “clinic” is their
local gambling den. They take Danny under their wing, but it is a pitifully
unequal relationship from the start. They never call him by his name, referring
to him as Legendary Cleaner, Gandhi or Nelson (as in Mandela). They invite
Danny on several trips and he witnesses their abusive, volatile relationship at
first hand.
Amnesty
takes place over the course of a few hours, from 8:46 in the morning through to
the evening, but Adiga’s structured timing does not always work — for instance,
it’s hard to believe that in 20 minutes Danny cleans an entire flat (earning
A$60) and discovers a murder has been committed.
However,
it is a tremendously humane read. Adiga underlines that it is the legitimate
fear of being detained for an extended length of time that forces migrants
underground. Despite Danny’s impoverished circumstances, he is safe, has
managed to build a life and found love with Sonja, his vegan Vietnamese
girlfriend, although he is too ashamed to tell her he is undocumented.
Adiga
is unwavering in the spotlight he trains on Australia’s hypocrisy — a country
that promises a “fair go” for all but treats its asylum seekers with hostility
and contempt.