Read the remarkable story of how a young family from Sri Lanka found a new home in Canberra and a new way to connect to the community through the Canberra Raiders, a connection that now spans 40 years.
By Raiders Member AJ
In 1985, our family arrived in Canberra from Sri Lanka, fleeing a civil war that had ripped our homeland apart. I was three years old when we stepped off that plane, a child too young to understand the weight of our journey. My brother hadn’t even been born yet. Our parents carried the weight for us — the trauma of leaving everything behind, and the hope that this strange new country could one day become home.
Australia in the mid-1980s wasn’t an easy place for a family of colour. Though the White Australia Policy had been abolished, its residue lingered in attitudes and systems. Canberra, while calm and orderly, felt cold in more ways than one. Our skin made us stand out. Our food, our language, our clothes — everything marked us as different. Yet despite the struggle, my parents never wavered. They knew this was the right decision, especially for us.
Bob Hawke was Prime Minister then — a man of uncommon empathy. His migration policies allowed Tamil families like ours to settle here. We were grateful. More than grateful. His compassion set the stage for our new life in a country that had space to offer, if not always the welcome we hoped for.
The early years were hard. Mum missed her family deeply. There were tears many nights. My father, determined to provide, took on whatever work he could find. There were no familiar spices on supermarket shelves, and no one knew what Tamil meant. But there were also moments of unexpected kindness.
When we moved into our first home in Torrens, we met Daryl and Pat — our neighbours, and soon enough, our Australian family. They helped unhitch the trailer on move-in day and made sure we were never alone. They included us in barbecues, lent tools, and checked in just to say hello. They showed us that community existed here, too.
And then came Rugby League — not introduced to us by neighbours, but stumbled upon thanks to the rising glory of the Canberra Raiders in the late '80s. Everyone in Canberra was talking about them. The Green Machine was becoming a phenomenon, and in the middle of all that buzz, we got curious. One weekend, Dad turned on the radio. We didn’t know the rules, but it didn’t matter. There was a rhythm to the game, a heartbeat that matched our own. We were hooked.
We couldn’t afford tickets to every match — in fact, we could only go to one game a year. But each of those games was a treasured event, something we saved up for. Most weeks, we tuned in to the radio, huddled close to listen to the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the tackle. On rare occasions when ABC aired the Saturday 3pm game, we’d gather in front of the TV like it was a family ceremony.
Then came 1989.
The Raiders had made it to the Grand Final against the Balmain Tigers. We weren’t in Sydney, but we didn’t feel far away. That night, after the impossible happened — the Raiders won — Dad loaded us into our 1973 Toyota Corolla, quite a rare and special vehicle these days….not back then…I remember feeling slightly embarrassed as we made noise and celebrated, wondering what people would think of us, as drawing attention to yourself was never something I have found comfortable, nevertheless, that night was not about celebrating quietly! We had green, yellow, blue and white Raiders ribbons tied to the aerial, flapping in the wind as we drove through the streets of Woden, honking and cheering along with the city, before arriving at the Raiders Club in Mawson.
It was close to midnight by the time we arrived, and there they were — the players, the champions, with the trophy in hand. It was the first time a team from outside New South Wales had won the Grand Final. That night, we weren't immigrants or outsiders. We were part of something bigger. We belonged.
As time passed, we all grew, and both my brother and I found our paths. I became an architect, shaping spaces that reflect belonging and identity. He rose to the upper ranks of the public service, contributing to the nation that gave us safety.
Through every chapter, the Raiders stayed with us, our anchor.
Mum was such a devoted fan. She never missed a game, even as her memory started to fade. She knew every player, every score. But she never made it to a live match — not until 2019.
That year, the Raiders were in the Preliminary Final against South Sydney. We got tickets, made it a family event. We bundled Mum in her green scarf, her eyes wide with excitement. That night at GIO Stadium, surrounded by 25,000 roaring fans, we watched as Josh Papali'i smashed through the line to score the winning try. The crowd erupted. So did we.
Mum & dad wept. So did we.
It wasn’t just a win. It was the story of us — our journey, our sacrifices, our victories. It was everything Australia had become for us. Community. Belonging. Family.
Mum’s health has declined since then. She doesn’t remember much these days. But we do. We remember the tears she cried when she first left home, and the tears of joy she shed at that game. We remember the 73’ Corolla, the radio static, the ribbons on the aerial. We remember the Green Machine and how they brought us into the heart of Australia.
Sport might seem simple to some. But for us, the Raiders were never just about the scoreboard. They were our bridge to this land, a living thread that tied us to a place we now call home.
And in every try, every cheer, every lime green jersey and now every Viking clap, we found a little more of ourselves.
