There is horror in the Nauru files and then there is banality: countless records documenting squabbles between children, lost possessions, late buses and toilet blocks running out of soap. In the engineered society of an offshore immigration detention centre, there is drama, tedium and the unrelenting surveillance of Big Brother or The Truman Show – but without the cameras rolling.

The Nauru files catalogue an inordinate amount of suffering, abuse and anguish among the detained asylum seekers, but these are not the only stories. Because of the requirement that staff file reports on every classifiable incident, the thousands of entries document what everyday life is like in the dystopian world created by the Australian-backed companies running the camp.

Nauru files show Wilson Security staff regularly downgraded reports of abuse Read more

How notable incidents were defined and graded was vague and changed over time. Strict reporting timeframes meant a worker sometimes had to choose between responding to a major incident and rushing to file a report within 30 minutes, to avoid a financial penalty to their organisation. As a result many incident reports designated “minor” make for horrifying reading.

The files are littered with reports about children – in particular a core group of troubled kids under the age of 10 – fighting, throwing rocks and acting dangerously by leaning out of bus windows and running across the road. Much of it is mundane.

[REDACTED] was playing soccer and twisted his ankle … [REDACTED] was taken to IHMS.

[REDACTED] was throwing drinking water at other students around the school. All students were asked to cease throwing water. [REDACTED] continued at which point I specifically asked him to stop. [The student responded by giving his boat number.] ‘What are you going to do, write up a report? You can fuck off.’

A birthday cake … had been ordered previously via the Transfield Request from, however on the day (8/11) I was advised this had not been received at the Mess at RPC3. Understandably the mother and child were very upset.

A society of sorts

Under the reworked Pacific solution, the Australian government sent thousands of people to live in offshore camps on Papua New Guinea’s Manus Island and in the tiny country of Nauru. Families were sent to the latter and so a society of sorts was formed.

The bare bones of a community were there: individuals, families and couples of all ages; accommodation; food; a school; a hospital; security; and an overarching authority to keep order.

Families and couples lived in RPC3, single men in RPC2. Unaccompanied minors lived in a separate area in RPC3, which no one else was allowed to enter. Security would escort the minors – noted as UAMs in official jargon – if they ever went out.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Meals of varying quality and subject to frequent complaints were provided at designated times in a designated area’

But, as the documents show, the accommodation of bunks in often mouldy tents was cramped, unhygienic and lacked both privacy and safety. The only area with air conditioning housed babies.

Meals of varying quality and subject to frequent complaints were provided at designated times in a designated area.

The school, for asylum seekers aged five to 18, was for the most part a welcome escape for the children. Each school morning they would board a bus with Save the Children workers and Wilson Security guards. But then the school was shut down, sparking threats by children.

“[REDACTED] then stated that when they were at the school, he and the other boys wrote a request to immigration and “if we don’t get a response from them… we will go back to the school and jump off the roof”.

Nauru guard hit five-year-old girl ‘so hard it lifted her off her feet’ Read more

The hospital – although newly updated – was worse than basic, and there have been a number of cases where healthcare fell far short of acceptable standards.

Security and authority in the facility could be unreasonable, punitive, inadequate and abusive. There were frequent reports of guards – both Nauruans and expats – allegedly being rude, abusive or threatening. Others describe apparent incompetence, failure to show up for work and suspicions that staff were drunk.

For several months staff complained about the buses that took people around the island. There were reports of dangerous driving, of a driver allegedly inappropriately touching an employee, and many reports of school buses going awol, forcing kids to miss class. A driver who allegedly refused to stop at one section of the camp and would favour passengers of a particular nationality was threatened with a knife.

By 1000 this morning, only two buses had arrived at the school. The third bus was over half an hour late. I phoned the number for the bus coordination to enquire how many buses were in operation. He confirmed there were 3. When I told him only 2 had arrived, I also asked if there may have been a reason for the delay. He said it would be because we (SCA) take too long to get the students on the buses and sometimes they were sitting waiting for us for half an hour.

[A late bus] resulted in the senior class missing their first lesson of the day and pervading sense of frustration amongst the students that hindered the rest of the day’s teaching.

No fewer than 24 incident reports on 27 June 2016 alerted higher-ups to the blocked toilets, filthy floors and lack of soap in the men’s and women’s staff toilets. The sheer number of reports, telegraphing communal outrage, suggests a campaign.



The documents also indicate that staff may have become desensitised to the trauma they witnessed. What they classified as “minor” is often shocking. Dozens of threatened and actual acts of harm and self-harm are given the lowest-level grading.

In one October 2014 report designated a minor incident, the caseworker wrote: “During the course of the conversation [REDACTED] requested CM to speak to an IHMS doctor and request that they inject her with something so that she can die.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Shortly after the date the Nauru files end, the facility became an ‘open centre’

That same month a child showed a teacher a deep scratch on his arm made with a stray piece of metal from the fencing.

In August a family reported feeling unsafe after a Nauruan guard allegedly knocked on their door while drunk in the early hours of the morning, yelling for the children to come out and talk to him.

In another report, a detainee said: “If one person goes to Cambodia, I will kill myself. Every will kill themselves.”

In yet another “minor” incident in January 2015, two asylum seekers reported that another detainee had threatened to slit their throats and they didn’t feel safe living in the same tent as him.

Shortly after the date the Nauru files end, the facility became an “open centre” (the move came three days before a high court challenge to offshore detention). In the leadup to this happening, detainees were gradually given increasing freedoms. Refugees began to settle in residences outside the facility.

How Guardian Australia broke the Nauru files story – Behind the Lines podcast Read more

Today, almost a year later, those who were free to leave speak of poor transport and the seemingly unfair enforcement of rules. Detainees have little if any money and the walk into town is long and hot – yet they are permitted to take just one small bottle of water from the kitchen. Those who live outside the camp and those who find employment have reported experiencing violence and bigotry. Petty disputes escalate and children are sometimes preyed on but there is no confidence in the assistance of police.

Those in the refugee residences report fearing for their safety, saying they are subject to frequent attacks by Nauruans and by other refugees. What life they can build is for five years and then they will have to go elsewhere, because Nauru says they can stay no longer. They go to work, they walk. Their children attend local schools where they claim they are bullied.

The constant monitoring is no more but dreary predictability – and fear – remain.