Last night, I went to a panel discussion at Adelaide Uni called “How Should the West Respond to the Taliban?” The event was co-hosted by the University of Adelaide Politics and International Relations Association (PIRA) and the Support Association for the Women of Afghanistan (SA) (SAWA).
The panel was moderated by Claire O’Connor SC, and the speakers were Associate Professor Tim Legrand, Efran Abidi, and Zainab Kazemi. Associate Professor Legrand is an Associate Professor of International Security within the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Adelaide, while Efran and Zainab are both Afghan nationals who migrated to Australia. They offered powerful lived-experience perspectives, and I found them both incredibly engaging.
Efran is a passionate advocate for women’s rights—especially education—and Zainab is a multicultural advocate and volunteer who came to Australia with her family when she was 13. She’s currently studying teaching. I actually just googled her, and it turns out she has taken part in two youth parliaments. From listening to her speak, I think she would make a great politician, but I can think of a million other ways she could use her voice.
But as I was sitting there listening to the speakers talk about the Taliban, and as Efran and Zainab showed their photos, I couldn’t help feeling like an absolute fake and phoney. Because in reality, I felt like I had no right to be there—I recently validated and recognised the Taliban myself.
I did this when I wrote letters to the heads of government and Chief Justices in every country. The heads of government were fine, because I simply asked for a copy of their oath of office. I closed the letter with the following:
"Thank you very much for considering my request. I look forward to your response and appreciate your contribution to this worldwide collection of oaths of office."
But the letter I wrote to the Chief Justice is a little more friendly. I closed it off like this:
"Thank you very much for considering my request. I send you my best wishes and goodwill from Australia."
It was a mail-merged letter, so it’s not like I singled them out. I wrote to everyone, including countries like Afghanistan and Russia, because I wanted to get as many responses as possible. To get a balanced cross-section of oaths, I had to ask everyone. So I still stand by the artistic integrity of what I was trying to achieve.
But rereading what I sent to every country, I do feel a bit ridiculous for sending my best wishes and goodwill to the Taliban. And on a serious note, in some ways it is offensive. Actually, in many ways it is offensive. I think the Taliban and Hamas—and regimes like that—are terrorist organisations that strip their citizens of basic human rights, dignity, and the humanity we all deserve.
But when I wrote to them, yes, I addressed the head of the government, but only because he considers himself the head of a government. And in that space he occupies, did he take some sort of oath? Religious or otherwise? If they have any kind of court system, did the head of that system take an oath? And if so, I wanted a copy. I wasn’t cheering them on; I was simply closing the letter by saying I wasn’t writing to judge—only to collect oaths.
I’m 99% sure those letters went straight into the bin, but I did wrestle with this demon a little bit.
At this panel discussion, I learned a lot about the Taliban, but I also had a profound experience. I had heard of Claire O’Connor, but I didn’t know a thing about her. I liked her instantly when she gave an Acknowledgment of Country and then added that the land was stolen and there has been no reparation. She moderated the panel with such wisdom and clarity, guiding the conversation with real insight.
But something she said—though on an unrelated topic—has now changed the course of my life.
When the audience was invited to ask questions, the discussion shifted to refugees and asylum seekers. A woman asked about seeking asylum in Australia, and Claire responded with complete command of the law. I can’t remember her exact words, but she explained that it is not illegal to seek asylum, and that Australia operates contrary to international law in how we treat asylum seekers.
I already knew that, but the way she said it—with such authority, precision, and moral conviction—struck me. Whether she’s speaking to a room of forty or a crowd of thousands, she could deliver that truth the same way. And listening to her made me realise that I want to highlight truths like that too.
I don’t want to be an activist, but I’ve been involved with a refugee organisation before—first about fifteen years ago, and now again since 2022. My role has been to visit newly arrived refugees in their homes, offering friendship, help navigating Australian systems, and English-language support. I’ve taken a short break from visiting the woman I’ve been helping, but I start seeing her again in just over a week.
I have a basic understanding of the journey from refugee camps to Australian settlement and the challenges that come with that. But I have no real understanding of what it means to be an asylum seeker—to risk everything, come here seeking protection, and be sent back to the very country you’re fleeing.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights is non-binding, and I honestly wish it was binding. Almost every article reflects the responsibilities we should uphold, especially Article 14, Section 1:
“Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy asylum from persecution in other countries.”
It’s that simple.
And I think we are monsters for abandoning international law the way we have—and for doing so for such a long time.
Hearing Claire talk about all of this made me realise, first of all, that she is living her vocation. But secondly, it made me acknowledge something I’ve always known about myself. My job—what I want my career to be—is writing novels. But my vocation is to create artwork. And to do that properly, I have to go back to art school.
I need art school because they teach ways of thinking that resonate with me, and because I want to learn the practical skills to create the kinds of artworks I imagine. I want to express myself through letters, mosaics, origami, sculpture, gold leaf—anything and everything. I know my ideas are ambitious, but I need to be in the right environment to bring them to life.
So I’m going back to art school next year. Thank you, Claire O’Connor SC, for inspiring me.
I’m so glad I went to this panel discussion. It made me realise that the Taliban are not tolerable villains—they are an evil, terrorist, totalitarian regime. And from now on, I’m going to watch with a keen interest, hoping that somehow, someday, something can be done to remove them from power.
