Persona Non Grata:Twelve minutes about Sugihara and me.

May 1 2016 Bondi, NSW   JIFF: talk to the Jewish International Film Festival audience for Courage to Care

I first wrote something about Sugihara when I was 9, in a primary school essay. I cannot remember when I didn’t know about my parents’ escape from Lodz in the first week of the Nazi invasion, and later the tragic fate of my father’s parents, murdered in the Lodz ghetto and at Chelmno, and the marvellous survival of my aunt and cousins protected in a forest sanctuary by Poles, and others hidden by nuns. They were stories told to a child, full of serendipity, of choices made, of hunches played, of disasters just avoided, or those horrendously experienced. Many of these will be revealed in detail in the autobiography of my uncle Marcel Weyland, a Sugihara survivor, which I am honoured to launch at the Polish consulate on May 12.

Passport of Josef Kamieniecki, with Sugihara permit (bottom left), Zwartendijk “visa” top left, entry notes to Japan committing him to moving on (bottom right) and entry to Manchukuo (top right).

My father had told me about standing in a long line of anxious Polish Jews outside the Japanese consulate in Kaunas in the hot sun in August 1940. He and Michal Weyland my mother’s stepfather, had left the rest of the family in Vilnius and travelled the few hundred kilometres to the then capital of Lithuania. Sugihara had started issuing the permits soon after the Soviets had presented Lithuania with an ultimatum in June to accept their sovereignty. For my father it was one day before the final Soviet annexation of Lithuania.

The men wanted the Japanese permits about which they had heard, that would let their families transit Japan for somewhere else. Already when they arrived the Japanese consul Chiune Sugihara had issued over 800 permits. During the next week that number would grow by many hundreds more until the list that records these names stopped in late August at over 2100.

My parents were on the run from the Nazi occupation of Lodz in what had been Poland. By the time they left Lithuania in February 1941 under the intensifying threat of having to take Soviet citizenship, they had secured the second crucial piece of their puzzle. While they’d never met, Jan Zwartendijk and Sugihara worked in tandem.

Passover, 1940, Vilnius: Halina and Maria in the centre.


Zwartendijk, a Dutch businessman, had taken on the role of consul for the Netherlands, a country already invaded by the Nazis in May: he wouldn’t be consul very long and he destroyed all the relevant documents before returning to Holland at the time Sugihara was expelled from the Lithuanian SSR. Zwartendijk devised a ruse, stating that no visa was required for entry to the Dutch colonies in the West Indies. One of the refugees who was Dutch had approached him for help: the news of his help for her and her immediate family spread rapidly.

Zwartendijk also knew that entry to Curacao was at the discretion of the Governor, and he rarely if ever gave permission. Even so this is what Sugihara needed to be able to legitimately issue the transit passes, a place to which the visa holders could transit. With this fictitious end point he could meet Tokyo’s insistence that the transit pass holders had somewhere to go, that they wouldn’t stay in Japan, and would pay for themselves. In Kobe the local Jewish community started producing guarantees of support for the refugees from Lithuania who soon would be arriving.

Sugihara was a magician. He was also a Japanese intelligence officer, running a string of Polish agents in occupied Poland, helping Polish officers and their families escape, and reporting on the Nazis preparations for the invasion of the USSR: once that happened Japan could move south.

There are many stories about how he pulled the rabbit out of the hat for the refugees, not all Poles, not all Jews, and at whose insistence. When I met his eldest son Hiroki in Los Angeles in 2000 (he died of cancer the following year) he recalled as he had for many interviewers, that he had played in the garden while watching that long line of Jews and how he had asked his father to please save them. On the wall of the consulate today, which is now the Kaunas Sugihara museum, there is a photograph of my mother, elegantly attired arm in arm with two friends, walking up the broad main street of Vilna in what must have been the summer of 1940. It would have been about the time Sugihara started issuing his permits, and the same time the Australian government was instructing its High Commission in London not to give transit permits to Polish Jews heading for Shanghai – they were “undesirable types”.

At any moment in Lithuania the NKVD might intervene or Moscow’s policy might change, especially once the family had the papers, and the Soviets were fully in charge. My father was an accountant in Poland and in Vilnius he was recruited by the Soviet occupation forces as part of the Sovietisation of private property program. I have always imagined it a cruel and bitter winter, a chiaroscuro water colour of light ebbing into darkness. My father was attached to a bakery under the impossible new economy of Stalinist state directives with production targets but no raw materials: it was dominated by central planning, subverted by the local Lithuanian baker and his family whose family livelihood had been stolen, who hated the Soviets as both Russians and communists, the Jews for being their agents (my father as a Pole and a Jew pressed two buttons, but he was outshone by the project Commissar who was Russian, Jewish, and Yiddish speaking and a communist), and reduced to chaos by the failure of the economy.

Prior to departure, when the refugees had their tickets to Moscow and Vladivostok, and their identity papers issued by the British consulate, they were called in the dead of night for the dreaded NKVD interview. On the outcome of this would hang their lives. The NKVD officer was also Jewish; while he insisted on only speaking and hearing Russian, he could overhear anyone speaking Yiddish. They shuffled up the stairs slowly edging towards their destiny. When he got there my father was offered, as had been the others, the opportunity for Soviet citizenship. Nervously he declined, perhaps making a slightly more courageous offering than he needed: “I cannot accept your invitation comrade, he said in fluent Russian, as I can have no future in the USSR. Why, asked the commissar, might that be as you have been working for the Sovietisation of private property? Well, my father said, I am not skilled in what you need, for in my past life I was a debt collector.” He was waved on, and so in the midst of a freezing February 1941 they were among the last of the Polish Jews to manage the escape. By March the Soviets closed the door, and despite pleas thousands more, some with visas, were trapped behind. In four months the Soviets would be gone, the Nazis in their place, and the majority of the 10,000 Polish Jews who had escaped to Vilna in 1939 had perished.

Not everyone who got them trusted Sugihara’s visas. Some managed to go elsewhere, often to Palestine via the USSR and Turkey. Others went back to find their families in Poland, and perished. But many took the risk, including the Mir Yeshiva, my parents and my mother’s immediate family, and a journalist Josef Kamieniecki who would later marry my aunt in Australia. The family path was through Moscow across the USSR to Vladivostok, then by boat to Tsuruga and on to Kobe. In Kobe they received support from JewCom, the American Jewish Joint Distribution committee, and the Polish government in exile through its Ambassador Tadeusz Romer, who later was expelled to Shanghai where he continued his support work. I discovered only a few weeks ago that Romer’s welfare fixer was Richard Krygier, who managed to get from Kobe to Australia before Pearl Harbour. His son Martin has become a distinguished professor of law.

How many people did Sugihara save directly – it’s a guess? He issued more than 2000 permits, but not all are recorded. Many covered whole families (some rabbinical students travelled six to a permit as a “family”) in our case two permits covered six people. Most of the holders were single men. According to JewCom in Kobe, 4600 people passed through Japan from July 1940 to November 1941. About half were German Jews, mostly not Sugihara holders; about half (2063) were Polish Jews, almost all of who were Sugihara holders. Of the Poles 500 went to the US, 190 to Canada, 250 to Palestine, 80 to Australia and 30 to New Zealand. About 110 got to South America, none to Curacao. Fifteen headed for northern China, one of who was my uncle Josef. 860 were in Shanghai as of November – together with 200 Germans from Kobe (there were 18,000 other Germans already there).

While the family hoped to keep going to somewhere else, they had Canada in mind, in September 1941 they were hustled by the Japanese onto the last ship from Kobe to Shanghai. Once there my aunt managed to get the last berth on a Dutch ship to Australia.  The rest of the family stayed in Shanghai until 1946. Michal died of cancer in 1942. The remaining four survived, along with the man who would be my godfather Aleksander Fajgenbaum, a hero of the anti-Soviet war of 1921 and the battle of Warsaw, a leader of the community and a bridge between Jewish and Christian Poles in Shanghai.

In Shanghai five of the Sugihara survivors gave their lives defending their right to be Polish citizens, rather than the stateless persons the Japanese had decided they were. Sugihara, a great friend of the Poles, would have been saddened by their tragic end, as he was for all his life an opponent of Japanese militarism.

In 1946 Maria and her then husband Gerhard Friedlander sponsored the four remaining family members from Shanghai, and they entered Australia through a brief window that the government opened; soon it would be closed in another round of Australian post-war anti-Semitism. Josef arrived in January 1947.

And the rest is history.

Or not quite: the magicians – Sugihara, Zwartendijk, and Romer – between them saved many thousands of people who have created many thousands more. In my mob the second generation comprised nine cousins; in the third generation there are twenty six cousins; and the fourtth generation is already sprouting, with a few outliers in the fifth. There has to be sixty or so of us if not more. A healthy mix we are of cultures, religions, and races.

In Japan Sugihara’s home-town of Yaotsu is applying for UNESCO world heritage status for copies of the Sugihara visas it has collected and for what they represent. One of their prize items belongs to Josef Kamieniecki, father of Prof Michael Kamm and Robert Kamm, and grandfather of Thomas and Rebecca, whose widow is Marylka Kamm nee Weyland, mother of Michael, Robert and Susan, sister of Marcel and grandmother as well of Antony, Jeremy and Elise. Josef was one of fourteen who went to Harbin from Kobe, and then south in 1942 to Shanghai.

Page from ship’s passenger manifest, SS Yochow, arriving in Sydney 1 September 1946. Most 2nd class passengers are German or Austrian Jews – there are 8 Polish Jews on this page.

Marcel fathered five children with Phillipa – Marcus, Antonia, Michaela, Julia and Lucian.

Susan is currently in Berlin, tracking down what happened to Gerhard’s family, Berliners who were seized by the Nazis, sent to Latvia, and murdered there.

They all live in our memory. Long life. L’Chaim. Arigato Sugihara-san.


Ethnic Press in Australia

ethnic press With over one in five Australians born outside the country, and two in five

having an overseas-born parent, links to the wider world are integral to the national

landscape. With over 150 national-origin and 200 language groups, Australia has a very

complex language, information and communication pattern, and our ethnic or diasporic press

plays a crucial role in the survival and maintenance of multicultural social relations.

The ethnic press performs a number of overlapping roles, ranging from providing

information in the heritage language on settlement and adaptation to Australia, to sustaining

contact with countries or languages of origin, and building or rebuilding community. If we

think of nations as ‘imaginary communities’, then the press sustains the imagination and

refreshes the sense of identity and association among its readers.

Studies of the ethnic press going back over half a century have documented the nature

of the interface formed between settlers, the dynamics of their countries of origin and the

wider society. During periods of conflict, some papers have been closed down or come under

security censorship – such as the German press (the oldest, Die Deutsche Post, est. 1848)

during World War I, and the German and Italian press during World War II. As the digital

media have flourished and the makeup of immigrant communities has changed, the ethnic

print media have had to reposition themselves in acknowledgement of the technical

transformation and the new capacities of online media, and the changing needs of


In an analysis of the ethnic press by Ata and Ryan in the late 1980s, 16 language

groups were examined. Four broad functions, drawing on a study by Gilson and Zubrzycki

some 20 years earlier, were proposed: the maintenance of cultural identity, communication of

Australian news, orientation to Australia and acting as a brake on assimilation. The tension

between opening Australia to immigrants and protecting them from Australia showed in the

emphasis on nostalgia for older communities, on the focus in some communities on struggles

in the homeland and on building an ethno-Australian identity based on commitment to the

new land. In the 1980s, the Arabic and Vietnamese papers were deeply involved in homeland

politics, while the Polish sustained a dogged anti-communism. The Jewish press was not so

much ethnic as politico-religious, with a focus on support for Israel.

The first Italian papers were developed for émigré political activists at the turn of the

20th century. While they did not last long, as more Italians arrived new outlets were

established – though they were hampered by the rural dispersal and low literacy of Italian

workers, most of whom spoke dialect. By the 1920s, the Italian language press had expanded,

supported by the new Fascist government. Anti-fascist papers were more popular in the

remote mining camps and canefields. Sydney’s weekly La Fiamma (1947– ) grew by the

1960s to a circulation of 44,000. Melbourne’s Il Globo (1959– ) began as a weekly, then went

daily in 1978. It bought out La Fiamma in 1985 as Melbourne became the bigger of the two

Italian communities. Both papers focused on sustaining community and advertising the

passing of former migrants.

Long-time Il Globo editor Nino Randazzo was also a political activist, elected in

2006 as Senator from Africa, Australia and Asia to the Italian Parliament. Randazzo had been

a strong advocate of defending the reputation of Italo-Australians (against the common Mafia

stereotypes) and promoting a wider multiculturalism. With the advent of digital access, the

papers retained their hard-copy circulation, with Il Globo selling 30,000 copies, while it also

offered an online service, including an English-language magazine designed to appeal to the

second and third generations.

The Greek-language press has been more controversial. In the 75 years to 1989, some

24 Greek-language papers were launched in Australia, beginning with Australis (est. 1913 ) add bracket

and still available as Vima Tis Ekklisias.

By the 1980s, the spread of papers reflected a range of allegiances. Many of the

papers had first appeared when the Australian government released restrictions on publication

in ‘foreign languages’ in 1956; by 1989, three publishers controlled most of the outlets. The

Media Press group, run by Theo Skalkos since the early 1960s, grew to some prominence in

the 1970s as the printer of Rupert Murdoch’s newspapers, especially the Australian. By the

1990s, Skalkos had spread out into more than 80 magazines and papers in 40 ethnic

languages, and began Greek radio and television programs. Media Press was placed in

receivership in 2003, leading to the closure of his Greek Herald and Al-Barak (Arabic)

mastheads. Skalkos was declared bankrupt in 2005, after huge defamation payouts were won

by the Greek Archbishop and many prominent Greek identities; he was taken to the Fair

Work Commission in 2012 where he was found to have underpaid a journalist on his Serbian

masthead Novosti (1963– ) for 10 years.

The primary focus of the Greek press has been the maintenance of Greek language

and culture, and the sponsoring of philo-hellenic activities and discussions. The left of centre

Neos Kosmos (1957– ) now focuses its activities through the online edition, gearing itself

towards later-generation young Greek-Australian readers. Government advertising of

services for older Australians provides a significant part of the income supporting some of

these outlets.

The ethnic press have undergone some profound transformations, partly because the

earlier communities have aged. In 2013, the NSW Community Relations Commission listed

over 140 different daily, weekly and monthly newspapers in over 40 languages across

Australia. Its own service provides daily summaries to clients in 11 languages. There are 22

Indian papers, 13 Chinese, 10 Arabic and Korean, nine Turkish, eight Vietnamese and seven

Greek outlets, with languages ranging from Armenian to Urdu. Such diversity reveals quite a

complex pattern between and within language groups.

Two contemporary examples, the Arabic and the Chinese press, represent important

but very different challenges to the press in Australia. The Arabs are drawn from a

multinational background, with religious differences, and a diversity of countries, regimes

and political struggles. By 2012, the Arab spring of the previous year had torn apart the takenfor-

granted crescent of conservative dictatorships, and opened up a future of deep uncertainty

with many Australian reverberations.

The study from 1986 selected three Lebanese Arabic papers – El Telegraph (1970– )

(then 10,000–15,000 circulation with a total Lebanese population of 56,000) and two weeklies

of the left and Christian right. With the outbreak of the civil war in 1975, the papers moved

from local communal news and information to a much more active engagement with the

homeland and partisan identification. El Telegraph tended to report stories on both Muslims

and Christians – by the mid-1980s, the left was strongly supporting the Palestinian cause

against Israel, while the Maronite supported the Israelis and the South Lebanon Christian

army. However, El Telegraph advised its communal writers not to submit copy that might

stimulate sectarian unrest and hostility.

A generation later, the largest-selling Arabic language newspaper was still the

Bankstown-based El Telegraph, founded by controversial Australian Labor Party politician

‘Eddie’ Obeid. Obeid came to Australia at the age of six, left school early and moved through

a number of businesses before the newspaper found its platform. The growth of El Telegraph

paralleled the rapid rise in the population, first of Lebanese Arabic speakers (whose numbers

rose rapidly after the civil war in the mid-1970s), then later of Iraqis (mainly asylum seekers

and refugees, both Christians and Muslims). While Obeid comes from the majority Christian

Maronite community, the paper, under editor Tony Kazzi, serves both Christian and Muslim

congregations. The editorial line focuses is that readers are now part of Australian society and

need to adapt and integrate.

El Telegraph sold some 35,000 copies three times a week, increasing to five days a

week in 2012. The paper reached around 25 per cent of the Arabic-reading population, about

half of whom are Muslim and 20 per cent Iraqi. In 2010, Obeid sold El Telegraph to the

Australian Middle East Media (AMEM) group, which ran the bilingual weeklies Al Anwar

(launched in 2006 as a news magazine) and An-Noujoum (1998– ).

In November 2011, the AMEM group also opened a partnership with the Lebanese

government National News Agency, while building its online presence. El Telegraph also

offers an online presence, but only in relation to Australian news, most of which is translated

directly from agencies or the mainstream Australian press. Thus the digest function (covering

at least 10 Arabic papers each day) can only be accessed through the print version. El

Telegraph has also sought to build its Iraqi following, in part by drawing on unofficial

stringers incarcerated in immigration detention centres around the country. It has thus been

able to report on activities and issues inside the centres, often providing information for

families and the wider community not available in the mainstream media.

The Arabic press is thus pan-ethnic and language based, facing strong competition

from the online media, and cable and satellite television such as the Qatar-based Al Jazeera

and the Saudi-based Al Arabiya. However, unlike many English-language papers, El

Telegraph has increased its circulation and coverage in the print version.

The Chinese-language press reflects another pan-national audience with far longer

ties to Australia. The first Chinese-language newspaper, the English and Chinese Advertiser,

appeared on the Victorian goldfields in about 1856. By Federation there were major Chinese

newspapers in Melbourne and Sydney, with the first Chinese-backed paper being the Chinese

Australian Herald (1894–1923). These served a threefold purpose – to provide information

and rally engagement with political issues in Australia, especially Federation; to provide

homeland information; and to rally political support for various parties in China. As the

Nationalist revolution developed in 1911, a significant number of papers were set up.

However, as the White Australia policy cut deeply into the numbers of Chinese readers, the

newspapers declined. It was not until after the settlement in Australia of significant numbers

of mainland Chinese after the Tiananmen events of 1989 that there occurred a resurgence in

Chinese-language press. The first outlets primarily served the Hong Kong and Taiwanese

communities, using traditional vertical print and elaborate characters; later publications

served People’s Republic of China (PRC) immigrants, set horizontally in simplified


A critical change has resulted from the PRC government policy of supporting those

outlets that reflect its viewpoint. While the papers (especially the Hong Kong-based Sing Tao,

est. 1977) have their own publishing strategies, PRC pressure and influence have been

significant. As the Chinese relationship with Australia is complex on many levels, the

Chinese press walks through these issues with great delicacy, apart from the Falung Gong

paper Epoch Times (2001– ). The range and impact of the Chinese press is difficult to gauge,

because few have their circulation audited, and many readers access them online. The

Australian Chinese Daily (1987– ), started by Hong Kong immigrants, shifted from Chinese

vertical style to Western horizontal format in 1990, commencing colour printing in 1997 in

time for the Hong Kong handover to the PRC. It publishes 20,000 copies daily, but its

website, providing access to news specifically relating to Hong Kong, Taiwan and China, as

well as Australia, receives many more hits.

The Australian New Express Daily (ANED, 2004– ) has particular links to both

Australian and Chinese political life; it parallels the Guangzhou paper New Express Daily.

Launched by millionaire publisher Dr Chau Chak Wing, ANED is closely linked to (but

separate from) the Chinese government and does not carry any content critical of the Chinese

government. The paper employs English-language editorial consultants to improve

journalistic standards. Although it is not audited in Australia, ANED is generally regarded as

the third largest Australian-Chinese paper after Sing Tao and the Chinese Herald, though

circulation becomes a less meaningful criterion of impact with web-based delivery. The paper

has little independent local coverage, taking its content from the mainstream press, wireservice

feeds and media releases. However it does provide a ‘getting to understand Australia’


The expansion of globalisation has significantly transformed the form and

consumption patters of the ethnic press, as well as the patterns of mobility and inter-country

movement for readers. The broad functions identified in the 1960s and explored further in the

1980s remain a crucial part of the contemporary dynamic. However, whereas ethnic media

once provided an almost sole portal into events in the countries of origin, the current media

environment has become more pluralistic. In such a competitive context, the ethnic press has

had to find new modes of attracting and retaining audiences, to provide value for advertisers.

Some may have other sources of funds.

El Telegraph is a long-established paper that is adapting to the times and optimising

its advantages. Its editorial focus remains the process of its readers’ integration into Australia.

ANED reflects a much more recent emergence, with less attachment to the integration

process, and more acceptance of the constant global mobility occurring in the Chinese–

reading population. Both have woven their hard-copy editions into the continuous 24/7 world

of internet media; both have struck a relationship with their heritage national government

news service as a key source of home country news. While both are clearly commercial

exercises, the commerce and ideology have become inseparable.

REFs: A. Ata & C. Ryan (eds), The Ethnic Press in Australia (1989); G. Gilson &

J. Zubrzycki, Foreign Press in Australia (1966).


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