![CFMEA member Tim Gooden and refugee advocate Aran Mylvaganam from a refugee advocacy group helped Leo Seemanpillai's parents access death benefits.](/web/20151004203001im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/j/y/q/h/o/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gjy84d.png/1443680875296.jpg)
CFMEA member Tim Gooden and refugee advocate Aran Mylvaganam from a refugee advocacy group helped Leo Seemanpillai's parents access death benefits. Photo: Simon O'Dwyer
Do you remember the story of Leo Seemanpillai, or have you forgotten?
Let me remind you. More than a year ago, the 29-year-old Tamil asylum seeker rode his bicycle to a service station and filled an empty plastic bottle with 1.58 litres of unleaded petrol. Then he set himself alight.
He was in despair over the daily threat that the immigration department might send him home to persecution in Sri Lanka. The next day he died with full-thickness burns to 90 per cent of his body.
![Mr Seemanpillai's Lt to rt: leo's brother Alexander, mother Elizabeth anbd father Ezekiel in India](/web/20151004203001im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/j/y/q/e/o/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gjy84d.png/1443680875296.jpg)
Mr Seemanpillai's Lt to rt: leo's brother Alexander, mother Elizabeth anbd father Ezekiel in India Photo: Supplied
But the indignities did not stop there. His mother Elizabeth and father Ezekiel were prevented by the Australian Immigration Department from coming to his funeral. His three little brothers were unable to say goodbye. None was granted a visa because, apparently, the risk was too great that they would want to stay illegally.
A year after Leo Seemanpillai's death and burial by friends in a cemetery outside Geelong, a minor miracle has occurred, thanks to the kind of first-world conditions that Leo was seeking when he came to Australia. Mr Seemanpillai's superannuation fund has paid out a lump sum of $380,000 to his bereaved family.
Now his parents are the equivalent of millionaires in India. If they manage their money carefully, they can have what they want most – to pay respects at Mr Seemanpillai's lonely grave to acknowledge his bitter-sweet gift to them.
![Tim Gooden and Aran Mylvaganam at the grave of Leo Seemanpillai.](/web/20151004203001im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/j/y/q/k/0/image.related.articleLeadNarrow.300x0.gjy84d.png/1443680875296.jpg)
Tim Gooden and Aran Mylvaganam at the grave of Leo Seemanpillai. Photo: Simon O'Dwyer
But in death, as in life, the Immigration Department is standing in the way. Their request for a visa has been denied.
Shortly after his death, the government fear that the family might not return made some grudging sense – they might well have been a flight risk. But it makes precious little sense now. Not after the surprising events of the past year.
From the horror of this death, Mr Seemanpillai unwitting left his family a lifeline. Mr Seemanpillai was a refugee but had working rights in Australia. And although he was employed only briefly and part-time – for a local asphalt company and a community services provider – he was covered under an EBA and entitled to death benefit payments from industry super funds CBUS and Hesta.
![Leo Seemanpillai: a young man who had hoped to have a future in Australia.](/web/20151004203001im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/j/y/q/s/e/image.related.articleLeadNarrow.300x0.gjy84d.png/1443680875296.jpg)
Leo Seemanpillai: a young man who had hoped to have a future in Australia. Photo: sup[plied
The funds were payable to his parents, a pair of poverty-stricken refugees and long-time residents of a camp in Tamil Nadu, India. And yet this money could not have reached them if not for the sustained efforts of a Victorian odd couple: the trade unionist and the refugee advocate.
Tim Gooden, secretary of Geelong Trades Hall, and Aran Mylvaganam, spokesman for the Tamil Refugee Council, both knew Mr Seemanpillai well. Mr Gooden had spoken to Mr Seemanpillai the day before he died, and Mr Mylvaganam was at his bedside when his burns took his life. They have both been working quietly on behalf of his family ever since.
Their mission started 33 days after Mr Seemanpillai was buried, when they met at a traditional Tamil ceremony, a curry lunch to remember the departed. Mr Gooden was chatting to one of Mr Seemanpillai's employers about the trail of paperwork that needed to be completed, and the topic of superannuation arose.
He made calls, pulled records and organised meetings with claims managers and lawyers. Over many months he gathered the required evidence in the form of statutory declarations and intercontinental discussions through certified translators.
"It was difficult, but you can't hand out the money to someone in the community and just hope they do the right thing and pass it on," Mr Gooden said. "It became clear that the only way this would work is if we went there, to see his family in Tamil Nadu."
The local CFMEU branch sponsored a trip to India, in which Mr Gooden and Mr Malvaganam would act as emissaries. They visited Indian banks, the law courts in Chennai; they obtained SWIFT codes and BSBs; and they answered the questions of intrigued Indian intelligence agencies.
They talked to the largely uneducated family about their plans for the money, how to protect it, how to avoid being swindled or robbed, and how to make it last through financial advisers.
"I didn't believe this was possible, but I am just so thrilled for them," Mr Mylvaganam said. " If they can invest and make the money work for them – it is enough for the rest of their lives."
Mr Gooden, who became obsessed with providing financial security for the family, didn't break down when the money was transferred six months ago.
"I stayed in control, until I had to hand over his belongings to the family," he said. "Then I had a collapse and a big cry. I didn't realise I'd built up so much emotion."
Mr Mylvaganam remembers the way Mr Seemanpillai's parents sobbed while clutching their son's clothing, and is filled with disappointment that they are still being denied a visa or two-way travel document to visit their son.
"I would understand if there would be no incentive to go back," he said, "but they have a lot of money now, which is a silver lining in a terrible situation and also something tying them directly to India. They are not a flight risk."
Mr Seemanpillai's father Ezekiel, speaking from the refugee camp, said the money had already allowed his wife and son to receive treatment for health problems, and afforded them a better standard of living inside the camp.
"My wife is unwell, partly because she is always thinking about our son. We want to be able to visit him – our mind will only rest when we see our son, when we can say goodbye to him."
This week a spokesperson for the Department of Immigration and Border Protection extended their "deepest sympathy" to the family, while offering no information on the reason their requests for special consideration had been rejected.
Last month the Coroners Court of Victoria handed down their findings, which emphasised Mr Seemanpillai's despair at the prospect of being sent back to Sri Lanka as a significant factor in his death.
Mr Gooden is far from diplomatic in his response to this, recalling the hard worker and gentle soul he knew. He points out that five Australians benefited from the gift of Mr Seemanpillai's organs after his death.
"His family just wants to visit the grave site – it's the natural response," he said. "To have that taken away from you, because of some bureaucratic wanker in the government, that's really unfair. It's really sad."
As for Mr Seemanpillai's family, life is still a struggle. They are hopeful of gaining Indian citizenship, but also fearful of deportation to Sri Lanka. They are on their guard against con-men and thieves, ready to protect the bitter-sweet legacy of their boy.
"Things are very uncertain," said his father. "We are still grieving the loss of our son, but he has given a life for us even in his death. We are in pain, but he has given us comfort."