Journal articles on the topic 'Transitional justice – Uganda'

The article looks at the way Acholi in northern Uganda address war-related matters of “peace” and “justice” beyond the mainstream human rights discourse reflecting some of the basic concepts that are decisive for the way people deal with transitional and local justice. The relationality and the segmentary structure of Acholi society play major roles in categorising “peace” and “war” while being at odds with the globalised standards of human rights that have been brought into play by international agencies, civil society and church organisations as well as the Ugandan state. A major argument is that a one-dimensional understanding of the cosmological underpinnings of rituals as a locally embedded tool of transitional justice (TJ) has an impact on the failure of TJ in northern Uganda. Thus the article highlights the specific cultural dilemmas in which the process of peace currently appears to be stuck.

AbstractThe conflict in northern Uganda presents a unique study in comparing international, domestic and traditional responses to justice and stability amid prolonged conflict. This article explains the colonial and political background of the country and the emergence of the parties to the fighting, and describes the violations of international humanitarian and human rights law committed by all armed groups. It examines the various responses to these violations, focusing on Uganda's Amnesty Act, International Criminal Court indictments, the Juba peace talks, and traditional conflict resolution and reconciliation ceremonies, and explores how these mechanisms for negotiating peace and instilling justice are facilitating or interfering with each other. Overall, it attempts to discover how this interplay between international idealism, regional and national politics, cultural influences and logistical feasibility not only presents important lessons concerning the conflict in Uganda, but also reflects and informs false dichotomies in international criminal law and transitional justice.

Transitional justice developed as a pragmatic concept prescribing a set of mechanisms to be used by societies or countries experiencing systematic periods of armed conflicts or emerging from authoritarian regimes characterised by egregious violations of human rights or humanitarian law. While relative success stories of its utilisation have been recorded, questions have been raised regarding the recent tendency to prescribe transitional justice for societies which have not or are yet to undergo any transition. Through its lack of success in Nigeria and debatable effectiveness in Uganda, the article shows that transitional justice mechanisms are not a cure-all. While it does not contend that there is a perfect notion of transitional justice, the article proposes that transitional justice mechanisms must be designed from the ground up, with the victims at the centre of the process. While transitional justice is a global project, this article argues that its success can be achieved when its applicability and administration take into account the contextual and indigenous focus with a move towards localising its mechanisms.

Abstract∞ Within the ever-growing field of transitional justice, it is striking that little attention has been given to bodies, except in the sense of what has been done to them. Seeking to address this gap by focusing on what bodies can do, this interdisciplinary article argues that bodies represent important sites of connectivity that can bring together communities fractured by war and armed conflict. In developing this thesis, it emphasizes how the leakiness of bodies – which has traditionally been viewed in negative terms – can help to foster a positive awareness of corporeal connectivity. Distinguishing between what it terms grounded and meta-functional connectivity, it calls for embodied ways of doing transitional justice that operationalize both types of connectivity. While the article is primarily a theoretical and conceptual piece, its empirical threads draw from the author’s recent fieldwork with victims–survivors of conflict-related sexual violence in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Colombia and Uganda.

Uganda witnessed one of its worst conflicts between 1986 and 2007. The conflict in northern Uganda was between the government troops and the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). Serious crimes were committed against the civilian population. Women and girls were abducted by the rebels to serve as sex slaves and children were born as a result. After the conflict, these children’s integration has not been well received by their communities. It has not been properly addressed by the state operatives either. The children are dismissed as perpetrators of the conflict. Their return has been marred with stigmatisation and ostracism, forcing them to live on the margins of society. After the conflict, a National Transitional Justice Policy was passed. The overarching framework aims at addressing justice and reconciliation through inter alia social reintegration. However, it leaves an accountability gap. The framework largely departs from the needs of this particular community: acknowledging their existence and integration. The purpose of this article is to identify transitional justice opportunities and how these accommodate and advance accountability, integration and reconciliation in addressing victimisation concerns of the war children. Ultimately, it argues that addressing the abuses of the affected communities will ease social [re]integration.

ABSTRACTThe trial of Thomas Kwoyelo – the first war crimes prosecution of a former Lord's Resistance Army fighter, and the only domestic war crimes prosecution in Uganda at the time of writing – has been packed with drama, intrigue and politics. The article considers what Kwoyelo's trial means for those most affected by the crimes he allegedly committed, and, more broadly, what it means for the ‘transitional justice’ project in Uganda. The article is concerned primarily with how the trial has been interpreted ‘on the ground’ in Acholiland: by local leadership; by those with a personal relationship to Kwoyelo; by direct victims of his alleged crimes; and by those who were not. Responses to the trial have been shaped by people's specific wartime experiences and if or how his prosecution relates to their current circumstances – as well as by the profound value of social harmony and distrust of higher authorities to dispense justice. We conclude with a discussion of the relevance of our findings for the practice of ‘transitional justice’ across the African continent.

This research examines the use of information and communication technologies (ICTs; social media) as a tool that fosters community building and reconciliation in post-conflict regions, in particular Northern Uganda. Using Twitter data collected over 27 months (12 June 2016–9 September 2018), we found that information technology (IT) increased social actors’ (Justice and Reconciliation Project [JRP]-Uganda) advocacy for transitional justice in post-conflict communities. Interview findings evidenced the effectiveness of using social media (SM) to connect post-conflict communities to share and discuss reconciliatory ideas. This study connotes that well-thought-out SM use by social actors to share information used in resolving conflict results in socio-political stability and harmonious coexistence.

In the aftermath of war, survivors’ definitions of justice are often in tension with those of governments and international actors. While post-war northern Uganda has been the site of high-profile prosecutions of Lord’s Resistance Army rebels, our research in rural Acholiland highlights how survivors define justice largely in terms of material compensation for both the living and the dead. These priorities are linked to the omnipresence of improperly buried human remains as evidence of physical and structural violence. Mass graves, burials in former displacement camps, and unidentified remains become focal points around which survivors articulate ongoing socioeconomic suffering and demands for redress. A ‘thanatological approach’ that centres the role of the dead and critically explores the possibilities presented by forensic science in a transitional justice context reveals survivors’ prioritisation of reparative and restorative justice despite the international and national focus on retributive justice through institutions like the icc.

Abstract∞ This article explores a key challenge in contemporary international efforts to promote transitional justice (TJ) in nontransitioning, conflict-affected states: the ‘implementation gap,’ in which policies are designed and funded but neither enacted nor implemented. Findings based on long-term qualitative fieldwork in Uganda indicate the implementation gap is co-constituted by technocratic donor approaches and domestic elite political maneuvering in a semi-authoritarian regime. The interaction between the two produces two forms of political artifice: ‘isomorphic mimicry’ and ‘calculated stasis,’ which stall the emergence of substantive TJ reform. Findings are relevant to the wide range of nontransitioning contexts where TJ is promoted by international donors and have important implications for its claimed potential to catalyze or restore civic trust in political systems in the aftermath of massive human rights violations.

Masculinity and femininity debates of armed conflict in Africa have always regarded men as fighters and women as passive victims of war. The exclusion of women from the armed forces in most traditional societies originated from the assumption that women are a weaker sex and therefore cannot manage military life. Nevertheless, women in Uganda have voluntarily joined the armed forces, while some of them have been abducted and forcefully recruited into the rebel forces. Notwithstanding the central role women have played in the armed conflict in Northern Uganda, they have been side-lined in the processes of peace negotiation and post conflict reconstruction ofthe region. This paper looks at how masculinity is manipulated in conflict and the role women have played in the conflict, peace process and post conflict reconstruction in Northern Uganda.Keywords · Gender · Post-conflict reconstruction · Transitional justice

Abstract∞ This article examines the social dynamics among survivors and amnestied Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) ex-combatants living together in Acholiland, asking how and if Acholi survivors have forgiven Acholi LRA returnees, forgotten past violence and moved on, as stated in northern Uganda’s amnesty framework. The amnestied LRA ex-combatants interviewed stated that they wanted and needed to reintegrate among Acholi survivors. Yet, after two decades of amnesty, the magnitude of the brutality of the war remains etched in survivors’ minds. My ethnographic findings suggest feigned compliance as well as resistance to amnesty by-laws. Many practise what I call survivors’ acts of resistance, which includes name calling, attributing misfortune to the presence of ex-combatants, stigmatization and stealing. In short, survivors make returnees’ lives unbearable. My analysis is framed in reference to and critique of conventional transitional justice mechanisms and I underscore the importance of memory in the cessation of war violence and the restoration of peace.

<em>The objective of this paper is to explore the initiatives and practices of different countries in truth seeking. Many countries during the post-conflict, colonial, slavery, anarchical and cultural genocide periods establish the Truth Commissions to respond to the past human wrongdoings: crimes and crimes against humanity. Enforced Disappearances (ED), killings, rapes and inhumane tortures are wrongdoings. Truth Commission applies the method of recovering silences from the victims for structured testimonies. The paper is prepared based on the victim-centric approach. The purpose reveals the piecemeal fact-findings to heal the past, reconcile the present and protect the future. The study covers more than 50 Commissions in a chronological order: beginning from Uganda in 1974 and concluding to Nepal in February 2015. Two Commissions in Uruguay were formed to find-out enforced disappearances. Colombian and Rwandan Commissions have established permanent bodies. The Liberian TRC threatened the government to submit its findings to the ICC if the government failed to establish an international tribunal. The Commissions of Bolivia, Ecuador, Haiti, former Yugoslavia and Zimbabwe were disbanded, and consequently, their reports could not be produced. No public hearings were conducted in Argentina and former Yugoslavia. It is noted that only 8 public hearings in Ghana, 8 national hearings in East-Timor and 15 in Brazil were conducted. Moroccan Commission held public hearings after signing the bond paper for not to disclose the names of the perpetrators whereas Guatemala did not include the perpetrators’ names in the report. The Shining Path’s activists are serving sentences based on civil-anti-terrorist court, but Alberto Fujimori is convicted for 25 years. Chadian Commission worked even against illicit narcotics trafficking. The UN established its Commissions in Sierra Leon, El Salvador and East-Timor, but failed to restore normalcy in Kosovo. Haiti prosecuted 50 perpetrators whereas Guatemala prosecuted its former military dictator. The Philippines’ Commission had limited investigation jurisdiction over army, but treated the insurgents differently. In El Salvador, the State security forces were responsible for 85 percent and the non-state actors for 15 percent similar to CIEDP, Nepal. The TRCs of Argentina, East-Timor, Guatemala, Morocco, Peru and South Africa partially succeeded. Large numbers of victims have failed to register the complaints fearing of possible actions. All perpetrators were controversially granted amnesty despite the TRC recommendation in South Africa. The victims and people still blamed Mandela that he sold out black people’s struggle. Ironically, the perpetrators have received justice, but the victims are further victimized. As perpetrator-centric Government prioritizes cronyism, most of the Commissioners defend their respective institution and individuals. Besides, perpetrators influence Governments on the formation of Truth Commission for ‘forgetting the victims to forgive the perpetrators’. A commission is a Court-liked judicial and non-judicial processes body, but without binding authority except Sierra Leone. Transitional Justice body exists with a five-pillar policy: truth, justice, healing, prosecution and reparation. It has a long neglected history owing to anarchical roles of the perpetrators and weak-poor nature of the victims. Almost all TRCs worked in low budget, lack of officials, inadequate laws and regulations, insufficient infrastructures and constraints of moral supports including Liberia, Paraguay, Philippines, South Africa, Uganda and Nepal. The perpetrators controlled Governments ordered to destroy documents, evidences and testimonies in their chain of command that could have proven guilty to them.</em>

Over 90% of Uganda's power is generated from renewable sources. Standardised Implementation Agreements and Power Purchase Agreements create a long-term relationship between Generating Companies and the state-owned off-taker guaranteed by Government. The COVID-19 pandemic and measures to curb the spread of the virus have triggered the scrutiny and application of force majeure (FM) clauses in these agreements. This article reviews the FM clauses and considers their relevance. The authors submit that FM clauses are a useful commercial tool for achieving energy justice by ensuring the continuity of the project, despite the dire effects of the pandemic. Proposals are made for practical considerations for a post-COVID-19 future which provides the continued pursuit of policy goals of promoting renewable energy sources and increasing access to clean energy, thus accelerating just energy transitions.

Abstract. Fossil pollen records provide key insight into the sensitivity of terrestrial ecosystems to climate change. However, tracing vegetation response to relatively modest historical climate fluctuations is often complicated by the overriding signature of anthropogenic landscape disturbance. Here we use high-resolution pollen data from a ~200-year lake-sediment record in open wooded savannah of Queen Elizabeth National Park (southwestern Uganda) to assess the sensitivity of the tropical lowland grassland–forest transition to historical, decade-scale moisture-balance fluctuations. Specifically we trace vegetation response to three episodes of higher average rainfall dated to the 1820s–1830s, ca. 1865–1890 and from 1962 to around 2000. Our pollen data indeed reveal a sequence of three wet periods, separated by two drier periods. During the inferred wetter episodes we find increases in the percent pollen abundance of trees and shrubs from moist semi-deciduous forest (Allophylus, Macaranga, Alchornea, Celtis), riparian forest (Phoenix reclinata) and wooded savannah (Acalypha, Rhus-type vulgaris, Combretaceae/Melastomataceae) as well as taxa common in the local rift-valley grasslands (Acacia, Ficus), together creating strong temporary reductions in Poaceae pollen (to 45–55% of the terrestrial pollen sum). During intervening dry periods, Poaceae pollen attained values of 65–75%, and dryland herbs such as Commelina, Justicia-type odora and Chenopodiaceae expanded at the expense of Asteraceae, Solanum-type, Swertia usambarensis-type, and (modestly so) Urticaceae. Noting that the overall richness of arboreal taxa remained high but their combined abundance low, we conclude that the landscape surrounding Lake Chibwera has been an open wooded savannah throughout the past 200 years, with historical moisture-balance variation exerting modest effects on local tree cover (mostly the abundance of Acacia and Ficus) and the occurrence of damp soil areas promoting Phoenix reclinata. The strong apparent expansion of true forest trees during wet episodes can be explained partly by enhanced pollen input via a temporarily activated upland stream. Pollen from exotic trees and cultural indicators appears from the 1970s onwards, but their combined influence fails to mask the signature of natural vegetation dynamics in the pollen record.

This article is about the relationship between vulnerability and space. It examines how vulnerability moves and shifts in relation to space – and more specifically particular types of spaces – and how space both generates vulnerability and affects the experiential ‘living’ of vulnerability. With a specific focus on conflict-related sexual violence, and drawing on empirical data from Bosnia-Herzegovina, Colombia and Uganda, the article situates and discusses the relationship between vulnerability and space within a broader transitional justice framework. Underlining the need for transitional justice processes to give more attention to spaces of vulnerability, it foregrounds the notion of ‘spatial resilience’ as providing a conceptual frame for an ecological remodelling of transitional justice.

Memories are a crucial part of transitional justice work. However, consistent with the fact that the field has significantly neglected bodies (except in the sense of what has been done to them), complex body memories that both reside in and spill over from individual bodies have received little attention. This interdisciplinary article aims to address this gap and thus to foreground the fact that bodies tell their own stories. What enhances their storytelling potential in this regard is their relationships and interactions with their wider social ecologies. Fundamentally, body memories have important social dimensions that make them highly relevant to transitional justice. Drawing on qualitative interviews with victims-/survivors of conflict-related sexual violence in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Colombia and Uganda, the article’s core argument is that transitional justice processes should give more attention to body memories and to the potential they offer for developing the field in new embodied directions.

AbstractThere is an ongoing debate in anthropology on the kinds of subject positions activists ascribe to the marginalized actors they encounter and the political consequences this brings about. Drawing from ethnographic research on refugee activism in Germany and transitional justice activism in Uganda, we revisit the respective debates on humanitarian activism, human rights activism, and political activism and argue to reframe the analysis. Instead of looking for the “right” subject position activists should ascribe to the people they engage with, the anthropology of activism should embrace a research approach that looks at the material conditions, in which activists and their subjects find themselves in and the kind of agency they are able to develop within these conditions.

Abstract The concept of resilience is often discussed in relation to “bouncing,” whether bouncing back or bouncing forward. This interdisciplinary article looks beyond “bouncing” in either direction. In so doing, it offers a novel conceptualization of resilience as a dialectical process of expansion and contraction across multiple domains and levels. Drawing on fieldwork with victims-/survivors of conflict-related sexual violence in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Colombia, and Uganda, it uses the qualitative data both to empirically critique the notions of “bouncing back” and “bouncing forward” and to explore what expansion and contraction look like in practice. It situates the arguments within a broader holonic perspective, in order to accentuate the systemic dimensions of resilience, and ultimately it discusses what they mean for the field of transitional justice.

“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them [...] life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” (Garcia Marquez 165) Introduction The refugee experience is, at heart, one of rebirth. Just as becoming a new, distinctive being—biological birth—necessarily involves the physical separation of mother and infant, so becoming a refugee entails separation from a "mother country." This mother country may or may not be a recognised nation state; the point is that the refugee transitions from physical connectedness to separation, from insider to outsider, from endemic to alien. Like babies, refugees may have little control over the timing and conditions of their expulsion. Successful resettlement requires not one rebirth but multiple rebirths—resettlement is a lifelong process (Layton)—which in turn require hope, imagination, and energy. In rebirthing themselves over and over again, people who have fled or been forced from their homelands become both mother and child. They do not go through this rebirthing alone. A range of agencies and individuals may be there to assist, including immigration officials, settlement services, schools and teachers, employment agencies and employers, English as a Second Language (ESL) resources and instructors, health-care providers, counsellors, diasporic networks, neighbours, church groups, and other community organisations. The nature, intensity, and duration of these “midwives’” interventions—and when they occur and in what combinations—vary hugely from place to place and from person to person, but there is clear evidence that post-migration experiences have a significant impact on settlement outcomes (Fozdar and Hartley). This paper draws on qualitative research I did in 2012 in a regional town in New South Wales to illuminate some of the ways in which settlement aides ease, or impede, refugees’ rebirth as fully recognised and participating Australians. I begin by considering what it means to be resilient before tracing some of the dimensions of the resettlement process. In doing so, I draw on data from interviews and focus groups with former refugees, service providers, and other residents of the town I shall call Easthaven. First, though, a word about Easthaven. As is the case in many rural and regional parts of Australia, Easthaven’s population is strongly dominated by Anglo Celtic and Saxon ancestries: 2011 Census data show that more than 80 per cent of residents were born in Australia (compared with a national figure of 69.8 per cent) and about 90 per cent speak only English at home (76.8 per cent). Almost twice as many people identify as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander as the national figure of 2.5 per cent (Australian Bureau of Statistics). For several years Easthaven has been an official “Refugee Welcome Zone”, welcoming hundreds of refugees from diverse countries in Africa and the Middle East as well as from Myanmar. This reflects the Department of Immigration and Citizenship’s drive to settle a fifth of Australia’s 13,750 humanitarian entrants a year directly in regional areas. In Easthaven’s schools—which is where I focused my research—almost all of the ESL students are from refugee backgrounds. Defining Resilience Much of the research on human resilience is grounded in psychology, with a capacity to “bounce back” from adverse experiences cited in many definitions of resilience (e.g. American Psychological Association). Bouncing back implies a relatively quick process, and a return to a state or form similar to that which existed before the encounter with adversity. Yet resilience often requires sustained effort and significant changes in identity. As Jerome Rugaruza, a former UNHCR refugee, says of his journey from the Democratic Republic of Congo to Australia: All the steps begin in the burning village: you run with nothing to eat, no clothes. You just go. Then you get to the refugee camp […] You have a little bread and you thank god you are safe. Then after a few years in the camp, you think about a future for your children. You arrive in Australia and then you learn a new language, you learn to drive. There are so many steps and not everyone can do it. (Milsom) Not everyone can do it, but a large majority do. Research by Graeme Hugo, for example, shows that although humanitarian settlers in Australia face substantial barriers to employment and initially have much higher unemployment rates than other immigrants, for most nationality groups this difference has disappeared by the second generation: “This is consistent with the sacrifice (or investment) of the first generation and the efforts extended to attain higher levels of education and English proficiency, thereby reducing the barriers over time.” (Hugo 35). Ingrid Poulson writes that “resilience is not just about bouncing. Bouncing […] is only a reaction. Resilience is about rising—you rise above it, you rise to the occasion, you rise to the challenge. Rising is an active choice” (47; my emphasis) I see resilience as involving mental and physical grit, coupled with creativity, aspiration and, crucially, agency. Dimensions of Resettlement To return to the story of 41-year-old Jerome Rugaruza, as related in a recent newspaper article: He [Mr Rugaruza] describes the experience of being a newly arrived refugee as being like that of a newborn baby. “You need special care; you have to learn to speak [English], eat the different food, create relationships, connections”. (Milsom) This is a key dimension of resettlement: the adult becomes like an infant again, shifting from someone who knows how things work and how to get by to someone who is likely to be, for a while, dependent on others for even the most basic things—communication, food, shelter, clothing, and social contact. The “special care” that most refugee arrivals need initially (and sometimes for a long time) often results in their being seen as deficient—in knowledge, skills, dispositions, and capacities as well as material goods (Keddie; Uptin, Wright and Harwood). As Fozdar and Hartley note: “The tendency to use a deficit model in refugee resettlement devalues people and reinforces the view of the mainstream population that refugees are a liability” (27). Yet unlike newborns, humanitarian settlers come to their new countries with rich social networks and extensive histories of experience and learning—resources that are in fact vital to their rebirth. Sisay (all names are pseudonyms), a year 11 student of Ethiopian heritage who was born in Kenya, told me with feeling: I had a life back in Africa [her emphasis]. It was good. Well, I would go back there if there’s no problems, which—is a fact. And I came here for a better life—yeah, I have a better life, there’s good health care, free school, and good environment and all that. But what’s that without friends? A fellow student, Celine, who came to Australia five years ago from Burundi via Uganda, told me in a focus group: Some teachers are really good but I think some other teachers could be a little bit more encouraging and understanding of what we’ve gone through, because [they] just look at you like “You’re year 11 now, you should know this” […] It’s really discouraging when [the teachers say] in front of the class, “Oh, you shouldn’t do this subject because you haven’t done this this this this” […] It’s like they’re on purpose to tell you “you don’t have what it takes; just give up and do something else.” As Uptin, Wright and Harwood note, “schools not only have the power to position who is included in schooling (in culture and pedagogy) but also have the power to determine whether there is room and appreciation for diversity” (126). Both Sisay and Celine were disheartened by the fact they felt some of their teachers, and many of their peers, had little interest in or understanding of their lives before they came to Australia. The teachers’ low expectations of refugee-background students (Keddie, Uptin, Wright and Harwood) contrasted with the students’ and their families’ high expectations of themselves (Brown, Miller and Mitchell; Harris and Marlowe). When I asked Sisay about her post-school ambitions, she said: “I have a good idea of my future […] write a documentary. And I’m working on it.” Celine’s response was: “I know I’m gonna do medicine, be a doctor.” A third girl, Lily, who came to Australia from Myanmar three years ago, told me she wanted to be an accountant and had studied accounting at the local TAFE last year. Joseph, a father of three who resettled from South Sudan seven years ago, stressed how important getting a job was to successful settlement: [But] you have to get a certificate first to get a job. Even the job of cleaning—when I came here I was told that somebody has to go to have training in cleaning, to use the different chemicals to clean the ground and all that. But that is just sweeping and cleaning with water—you don’t need the [higher-level] skills. Simple jobs like this, we are not able to get them. In regional Australia, employment opportunities tend to be limited (Fozdar and Hartley); the unemployment rate in Easthaven is twice the national average. Opportunities to study are also more limited than in urban centres, and would-be students are not always eligible for financial assistance to gain or upgrade qualifications. Even when people do have appropriate qualifications, work experience, and language proficiency, the colour of their skin may still mean they miss out on a job. Tilbury and Colic-Peisker have documented the various ways in which employers deflect responsibility for racial discrimination, including the “common” strategy (658) of arguing that while the employer or organisation is not prejudiced, they have to discriminate because of their clients’ needs or expectations. I heard this strategy deployed in an interview with a local businesswoman, Catriona: We were advertising for a new technician. And one of the African refugees came to us and he’d had a lot of IT experience. And this is awful, but we felt we couldn't give him the job, because we send our technicians into people's houses, and we knew that if a black African guy rocked up at someone’s house to try and fix their computer, they would not always be welcomed in all—look, it would not be something that [Easthaven] was ready for yet. Colic-Peisker and Tilbury (Refugees and Employment) note that while Australia has strict anti-discrimination legislation, this legislation may be of little use to the people who, because of the way they look and sound (skin colour, dress, accent), are most likely to face prejudice and discrimination. The researchers found that perceived discrimination in the labour market affected humanitarian settlers’ sense of satisfaction with their new lives far more than, for example, racist remarks, which were generally shrugged off; the students I interviewed spoke of racism as “expected,” but “quite rare.” Most of the people Colic-Peisker and Tilbury surveyed reported finding Australians “friendly and accepting” (33). Even if there is no active discrimination on the basis of skin colour in employment, education, or housing, or overt racism in social situations, visible difference can still affect a person’s sense of belonging, as Joseph recounts: I think of myself as Australian, but my colour doesn’t [laughs] […] Unfortunately many, many Australians are expecting that Australia is a country of Europeans … There is no need for somebody to ask “Where do you come from?” and “Do you find Australia here safe?” and “Do you enjoy it?” Those kind of questions doesn’t encourage that we are together. This highlights another dimension of resettlement: the journey from feeling “at home” to feeling “foreign” to, eventually, feeling at home again in the host country (Colic-Peisker and Tilbury, Refugees and Employment). In the case of visibly different settlers, however, this last stage may never be completed. Whether the questions asked of Joseph are well intentioned or not, their effect may be the same: they position him as a “forever foreigner” (Park). A further dimension of resettlement—one already touched on—is the degree to which humanitarian settlers actively manage their “rebirth,” and are allowed and encouraged to do so. A key factor will be their mastery of English, and Easthaven’s ESL teachers are thus pivotal in the resettlement process. There is little doubt that many of these teachers have gone to great lengths to help this cohort of students, not only in terms of language acquisition but also social inclusion. However, in some cases what is initially supportive can, with time, begin to undermine refugees’ maturity into independent citizens. Sharon, an ESL teacher at one of the schools, told me how she and her colleagues would give their refugee-background students lifts to social events: But then maybe three years down the track they have a car and their dad can drive, but they still won’t take them […] We arrive to pick them up and they’re not ready, or there’s five fantastic cars in the driveway, and you pick up the student and they say “My dad’s car’s much bigger and better than yours” [laughs]. So there’s an expectation that we’ll do stuff for them, but we’ve created that [my emphasis]. Other support services may have more complex interests in keeping refugee settlers dependent. The more clients an agency has, the more services it provides, and the longer clients stay on its books, the more lucrative the contract for the agency. Thus financial and employment imperatives promote competition rather than collaboration between service providers (Fozdar and Hartley; Sidhu and Taylor) and may encourage assumptions about what sorts of services different individuals and groups want and need. Colic-Peisker and Tilbury (“‘Active’ and ‘Passive’ Resettlement”) have developed a typology of resettlement styles—“achievers,” “consumers,” “endurers,” and “victims”—but stress that a person’s style, while influenced by personality and pre-migration factors, is also shaped by the institutions and individuals they come into contact with: “The structure of settlement and welfare services may produce a victim mentality, leaving members of refugee communities inert and unable to see themselves as agents of change” (76). The prevailing narrative of “the traumatised refugee” is a key aspect of this dynamic (Colic-Peisker and Tilbury, “‘Active’ and ‘Passive’ Resettlement”; Fozdar and Hartley; Keddie). Service providers may make assumptions about what humanitarian settlers have gone through before arriving in Australia, how they have been affected by their experiences, and what must be done to “fix” them. Norah, a long-time caseworker, told me: I think you get some [providers] who go, “How could you have gone through something like that and not suffered? There must be—you must have to talk about this stuff” […] Where some [refugees] just come with the [attitude] “We’re all born into a situation; that was my situation, but I’m here now and now my focus is this.” She cited failure to consider cultural sensitivities around mental illness and to recognise that stress and anxiety during early resettlement are normal (Tilbury) as other problems in the sector: [Newly arrived refugees] go through the “happy to be here” [phase] and now “hang on, I’ve thumped to the bottom and I’m missing my own foods and smells and cultures and experiences”. I think sometimes we’re just too quick to try and slot people into a box. One factor that appears to be vital in fostering and sustaining resilience is social connection. Norah said her clients were “very good on the mobile phone” and had links “everywhere,” including to family and friends in their countries of birth, transition countries, and other parts of Australia. A 2011 report for DIAC, Settlement Outcomes of New Arrivals, found that humanitarian entrants to Australia were significantly more likely to be members of cultural and/or religious groups than other categories of immigrants (Australian Survey Research). I found many examples of efforts to build both bonding and bridging capital (Putnam) in Easthaven, and I offer two examples below. Several people told me about a dinner-dance that had been held a few weeks before one of my visits. The event was organised by an African women’s group, which had been formed—with funding assistance—several years before. The dinner-dance was advertised in the local newspaper and attracted strong interest from a broad cross-section of Easthaveners. To Debbie, a counsellor, the response signified a “real turnaround” in community relations and was a big boon to the women’s sense of belonging. Erica, a teacher, told me about a cultural exchange day she had organised between her bush school—where almost all of the children are Anglo Australian—and ESL students from one of the town schools: At the start of the day, my kids were looking at [the refugee-background students] and they were scared, they were saying to me, "I feel scared." And we shoved them all into this tiny little room […] and they had no choice but to sit practically on top of each other. And by the end of the day, they were hugging each other and braiding their hair and jumping and playing together. Like Uptin, Wright and Harwood, I found that the refugee-background students placed great importance on the social aspects of school. Sisay, the girl I introduced earlier in this paper, said: “It’s just all about friendship and someone to be there for you […] We try to be friends with them [the non-refugee students] sometimes but sometimes it just seems they don’t want it.” Conclusion A 2012 report on refugee settlement services in NSW concludes that the state “is not meeting its responsibility to humanitarian entrants as well as it could” (Audit Office of New South Wales 2); moreover, humanitarian settlers in NSW are doing less well on indicators such as housing and health than humanitarian settlers in other states (3). Evaluating the effectiveness of formal refugee-centred programs was not part of my research and is beyond the scope of this paper. Rather, I have sought to reveal some of the ways in which the attitudes, assumptions, and everyday practices of service providers and members of the broader community impact on refugees' settlement experience. 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