Displaced Palestinians are seeking ways to continue their education. These aspirations need to be part of the screening process, which has become too focussed on risk.
Australia’s conversation about Gaza – and indeed immigration – has become increasingly framed through the language of risk. The debate we actually need is one that both airs legitimate concerns about security, migration or social cohesion, while refusing to allow those concerns to become the sole lens through which human beings are viewed and processed.
For many Australians, Palestine is now understood almost exclusively through the imagery of war. Pictures of destruction are so pervasive that they risk reducing an entire people to victims, refugees, statistics or security concerns. Lost in this story is another reality – a society that has long placed extraordinary value on education, scholarship and intellectual achievement.
Over recent months, through my own interactions with young Palestinians whose educational journeys have been interrupted by war, I have been struck by something that rarely features in public discourse: their conversations haven’t centred on politics; they have spoken of degrees left unfinished, scholarships still being pursued, research projects abandoned, examinations that could not be sat and futures they’re reluctant to surrender. They speak of things familiar to most students everywhere – academic aspirations, professional ambitions and a determination to continue their education, despite circumstances that would overwhelm many of us.
What inspired me wasn’t a search for sympathy, but an insistence on continuity. These young people weren’t asking how to become refugees but how to remain students. That distinction is important.
The prevailing image of Palestinians within much Western discussion often obscures their educational culture. Before the current catastrophe, literacy rates among Palestinians were amongst the highest in the Middle East, at 97 per cent. Education has long been regarded not as a pathway to employment, but as a source of dignity, resilience, contribution and advancement.
Palestinian families have invested in education at enormous personal sacrifice. In many households it’s not unusual to find several, if not all, siblings with university degrees, postgraduate qualifications or professional careers. Parents who have experienced occupation, displacement and economic uncertainty have frequently viewed education as the one inheritance that can’t be confiscated and the one asset that can travel across borders.
Across Palestine, aspirations towards medicine, engineering, teaching, law, research, journalism, information technology and academia per se, have been deeply woven into family and community life. Educational achievement has represented both personal accomplishment and a contribution to the wider community.
This reality receives remarkably little attention in Australia or the media. When politicians discuss Gaza, the focus is understandably on conflict, humanitarian assistance and security, but amongst the thousands of people whose lives have been disrupted are students who can no longer attend university, researchers whose work has been interrupted, academics who can no longer teach and young graduates whose professional futures have been suspended indefinitely.
The destruction of educational infrastructure represents more than the loss of buildings, it represents the interruption of human potential on an enormous scale.
Universities can be rebuilt again.
Laboratories can be reconstructed and libraries can be restocked.
Educational years though are much harder to recover.
Every student unable to complete a degree, every researcher prevented from pursuing their work and every young person denied an opportunity to continue their studies represents a loss not only to Palestinians, but to the broader international community.
Australia is a democratic and strong multicultural society that has long understood the value of investing in human potential. Our universities are diverse and actively seek talented students from around the world. We celebrate educational achievement and routinely speak of the importance of knowledge, innovation and skills in building our future prosperity. However, there appears to be a disconnect when discussing people emerging from ‘conflict’ regions. Too often the conversation begins and ends with the question of risk, or numbers.
Security screening is essential and no responsible person would suggest otherwise. However, security assessment and humanitarian opportunity aren’t mutually exclusive, and a mature nation should be capable of conducting rigorous screening, while simultaneously recognising educational promise, professional capability and human potential. The purpose of security processes is to identify genuine risks, not to blur the humanity of those who present none.
Australia’s history offers many examples of people who arrived following conflict and upheaval and who subsequently enriched our universities, hospitals, businesses, professions and cultural life. Their contribution wasn’t diminished by the adversity they had experienced. In many cases it was strengthened by it.
The question before Australia is therefore not simply how many people can be admitted under particular visa categories, nor is it whether security matters. The deeper reflection, I think, is whether we’re capable of seeing people in their entirety.
When an application arrives on a desk, it may be easy to see a nationality, a conflict or a problem. It’s harder, but more important, to see the individual behind the paperwork – the aspiring doctor whose medical studies were interrupted, the engineer whose university no longer functions, the researcher whose work has been abandoned, the teacher hoping to complete postgraduate study, the young writer seeking an opportunity to continue learning. Behind every application is a story of effort, aspiration and perseverance.
Many of these people, these students, aren’t seeking dependency, they’re seeking continuity. They want to study, contribute, work and participate and they want the opportunity to continue lives that have been disrupted or destroyed by circumstances beyond their control.
If we’re serious about education, scholarship and opportunity, we have to ask a different question that’s not simply who we are admitting BUT who we may be failing to see.
Meg Schwarz
Meg Schwarz holds a Postgraduate Diploma in Counselling and Psychotherapy and brings over 35 years of experience championing social justice, advocacy and consumer engagement. Based in South Australia, Meg has dedicated her career to working alongside diverse communities, including refugees, people with disabilities and individuals with complex trauma backgrounds.With a strong passion for equality and human rights, Meg specialises in fostering meaningful communication, empowering voices through advocacy and creating inclusive spaces for dialogue. Her skills in stakeholder engagement, strategic communication and community development have earned her recognition as a trusted and compassionate leader in her field.