Publishing those images was disgraceful. These people have no names, they are just called names. And we are, by our silence, accepting this behaviour by those who govern us and those who enact their policies.

My parents were refugees who had to face a selection process. They were both ill and they brought a sick child with them, but Australia took them in when no one else would. Britain was not taking in too many Jews before the war, a time when it might have saved my family.

I have one photograph of my mother's parents and it sits on a shelf in my home, along with the other family portraits. I do not know what my father's parents look like. All four of my grandparents died in concentration camps.

My parents met in a refugee camp in Austria. They never described it to me that way, never. It was a "displaced persons' camp". Displaced persons' camps in Europe after World War II were disused buildings: old military barracks, hostels, summer camps for children - any place that could squeeze in a few hundred thousand lost souls who had lost their homes.

For some reason, my mother and father were attracted to each other. Dad was apparently flirtatious; mum was intense. He was a furrier's son, but I have no idea what my mother's parents did. Their first child, a girl, was born prematurely in that camp.

This is what it means to be the child of Holocaust survivors: my grandparents are dead; my parents are now dead; my sister is dead. In many respects, the religion and culture that brought me to Australia, the European Jewish culture, is dead too.

I married out. For those of you who do not know this expression, it means marrying someone who is not of your own religion. It used to be used to demean the choices of someone who chose not to marry someone of his or her own faith - that is, if you were Jewish. When was the last time you heard of an Anglican marrying out?

My brother married out, too. My sister married a Jewish man but they did not have children.

I am sharing my family history because the same story is happening to refugees worldwide.

Governments close their borders and refugees die. Governments turn back boats and refugees die. Governments process visa applications, and decide that one or two refugees are not authentic. They return home and die. Perhaps I understand why Prime Minister Kevin Rudd wants to send any boat-arriving refugee without a visa to camps in Papua New Guinea. He thinks his toughness will appeal to voters.

Some friends say PNG will offer opportunities. Young families can settle and plan their futures, and then apply to come to Australia. Maybe the PNG solution is a way of fending off what will happen when Syria, Iran, Egypt go into total meltdown. Maybe I can think the best of our politicians and imagine this is a way of imposing order.

Another friend says it is not about the thousands arriving now; it is about the hundreds of thousands to come. It is also a way of sorting people, in the same way my parents faced a selection process. Then it was not very rigorous (they were old and sick but willing to work), but it was a process.

What we have today is just chaos; no process, no order - plus politicians who play to racist elements in society.

Racism is not a reason to turn away refugees. It may be hard for us to embrace women wearing veils and a religion that wants to say prayers five times a day. My religion is pretty invisible, yet Australians did not like it much either. My synagogue was once firebombed and graffitied. People got over it, and I rarely experience anti-Semitism any more.

What we need is order from the chaos and I do not know how this can happen. What I do know is that we need to put pressure on the government to make the process humane and orderly.

University of Technology, Sydney sociology professor Andrew Jakubowicz has an interest in immigration. He has two suggestions. One, permits to apply for asylum could be issued with conditions attached; two, Australia could operate boats between Jakarta and Perth. If a person failed the selection process along the way, they would be sent back to where they came from. Genuine refugees would have work permits, be members of society and get to know how it works. They would get used to us and vice versa.

This is what my parents did, including the furrier's son who began working at Port Kembla.

And that is the thing: after 50 years, I am as Australian as the next person. I just tan more easily.

Twitter @jennaprice or email jenna_p@bigpond.net.au