The reason I haven’t contributed to Oz Arab Media recently is because I’ve been away, scriptwriting a documentary. I’ve never done this before, but the subject matter aligns closely with what I’ve been trying to explore through my research and reflections on society.

My work focuses on refugees of war—a character piece following individuals from different walks of life. To truly tell the story, you need to understand that this could happen to you, too.

In 2014, Russian-backed forces took control of Luhansk, the epicentre of the war in Donbas. In February 2022, Russia recognised the self-proclaimed “Luhansk People’s Republic,” and by September 2022 it claimed to annex the region—moves rejected by much of the world.

Like most people born and raised in Sydney, I struggle to truly fathom what Ukrainians are enduring. But in many parts of the world, similar turmoil keeps unfolding.

People from all levels of society move from one place to another. Some are searching for a fresh start; others are following the unpredictable paths of destiny—just like the rest of us.

But on Sunday, we hit a new low.

Dozens of mostly white Australians took to the streets of Sydney and Melbourne to protest mass migration—against foreigners arriving in Australia.

With housing costs rising and global pressures rattling trade, some of us have turned to blame. We blame “brown people” for unemployment, for the housing crisis—because it’s easier to attack a minority than confront the real problems.

And not just that—half of Australia seems to be yelling at itself, chanting absurdities I couldn’t repeat unless I had a microphone and a camera.

We are all immigrants.

Not all immigrants are brown. Your mum, loud and slurring her way through a shopping centre, is Australian. And you—at some ancestral level—are probably descended from the British.

There was something anarchic about Sunday—a bizarre performance of what it means to be “Aussie.” It was shouting without thinking. Sometimes it feels like being an orange without the skin—exposed, vulnerable—when we question a part of our own identity.

If I had been at that rally, I imagine I’d catch the gaze of a bald man in leather—tough, anxious, cut-throat. Feeling lost, I’d ask him:

“Is this the party?”

And he’d look at me and say, without hesitation:
“You’re at the wrong party, mate.”

He’d spit in my face and mock me for my background, reducing me to a stereotype—“the Mediterranean Islands”—judging the cover, never opening the book.

And as he walked away, with spit still on my cheek, I would call out:
“You could’ve come to my house. I’m Thai, you see. We let strangers in—and we cook for them.”

Eddie Davis is currently scriptwriting a documentary about the war in Ukraine.