Extract from The Guardian
A lack of financial capacity seals your fate as a welfare recipient – the killer of choices, the taker-away of options
Name: David Samuel*
Age: 54
Lives: Launceston, Tasmania
Turning point: 2008 global financial crisis, when my job went offshore
After housing costs has to live on: $170 a week
Having real choice is not the same as having to make “alternative decisions”. Some decisions are made for you – there is no choice, there are no alternatives. Often, you are just a bystander, bearing witness to outside forces shaping your life. The default outcome may not take your individual circumstances or needs into account. You’re reduced to an observer, unable to exercise control, you watch it simply happen to you.
I doubt that many people choose to be on Newstart. You land in that hole when you have no choice – when decisions are made about your life by previous employers or trade deals, and your job is offshored to India. Perhaps a health condition beyond your control has diverted you from your preferred life. There are people on Newstart who should be on a disability payment, but that is not an option for them, based on the strict criteria enforced by the government. They have no choice, they have no option.
Ultimately, the lack of financial capacity is the biggest problem that seals your fate as a welfare recipient – the killer of choices, the taker-away of options. It all adds up to a further sense of powerlessness.
Being reliant on Newstart, your life becomes a set of rules to be obeyed, not a series of choices to be exercised. Having the money to make healthy choices such as good nutrition or mould-free accommodation is do-able most days for many Australians, but a big decision to those in poverty – at least not without something else essential being sacrificed.
You can choose to walk to the shops or cycle to work as a healthy lifestyle option, but when those are your only viable choices, transport becomes a bigger issue in other decisions. When you are living below the breadline, choosing to have a car, choosing to have it insured and totally roadworthy, or choosing to put more than $10-at-a-time of fuel in it are big decisions - not just minor incursions into your savings. Making “alternative decisions” – a euphemism for accepting your limited choices – is the only way of balancing the fortnightly budget. Flipping a coin does not work – the coin does not know if you are cold or hungry.
When it comes down to food over transport, the illusion of choice – even in a western democracy – is simply that when you live in poverty, an illusion. Heating takes priority over new shoes – these are simply either/or decisions. Black and white. Frustrating, with long-term implications for the individual and society.
I have a lot more choices in potential work in places that are not Launceston. However, I do not have the option to just simply go off and get a job in a different state. That is not a choice I can make easily. Can I choose to move to a place where there are more prospects of employment? Not unless I fund it myself. Choosing where to live is limited by the availability of housing at an affordable price. Market forces, agents and landlords have the final say in my life. I cannot simply buy my way out of this cul-de-sac of life.
The consequences are that my options are reduced, any power over the situation beyond just “walking away” is lost. I have to own a sometimes stark reality, and I have to find my survival instinct. Sadly, some don’t, and succumb to the hopelessness.
Having choices brings control, and a degree of self-determination over your situation and destiny. Being able to choose where you live and who you live with are fundamental to reducing a highly stressful situation. Knowing your accommodation is secure and affordable gets you anchored onto Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and on your way to the higher levels of life, life beyond just basic needs.
There is no real choice, also, among job service providers – they are all the same, and clearly the money on offer from the government is the incentive for these organisations. The actual provision of an effective service seems secondary. In regional areas, the employers get the choices – and they choose whether to even acknowledge your application, let alone cherry picking factors such as age, race or gender.
For example, I reckon I’m fit enough but simply too old to join the defence forces and build a career as a trainer or counsellor, with eventual retirement 15 year hence – I’d be happy to be a productive member of society. Not an option. “Rules,” the recruiter says.
I know my experience in the building industry would make me a valuable employee for a role in a big box hardware store. No chance to highlight my case to the company website. Their email in reply begins: “Thank you for your recent application. Unfortunately...” No control, no choice, no option ... hope fades. Still, I had a go.
When you get sick, or have responsibility for a pet, some choices soon disappear. When I could not afford to board my cat for a month while I went away to look for work, there was only one inevitable decision – re-home my companion. I took some consolation from finding a nice family to take him, rather than committing him to an uncertain future in some cat incarceration centre, but that decision was out of my hands. Mentally, to deal with the loss, I convinced myself it was not about the money, but his well-being.
Age: 54
Lives: Launceston, Tasmania
Turning point: 2008 global financial crisis, when my job went offshore
After housing costs has to live on: $170 a week
Having real choice is not the same as having to make “alternative decisions”. Some decisions are made for you – there is no choice, there are no alternatives. Often, you are just a bystander, bearing witness to outside forces shaping your life. The default outcome may not take your individual circumstances or needs into account. You’re reduced to an observer, unable to exercise control, you watch it simply happen to you.
I doubt that many people choose to be on Newstart. You land in that hole when you have no choice – when decisions are made about your life by previous employers or trade deals, and your job is offshored to India. Perhaps a health condition beyond your control has diverted you from your preferred life. There are people on Newstart who should be on a disability payment, but that is not an option for them, based on the strict criteria enforced by the government. They have no choice, they have no option.
Ultimately, the lack of financial capacity is the biggest problem that seals your fate as a welfare recipient – the killer of choices, the taker-away of options. It all adds up to a further sense of powerlessness.
Being reliant on Newstart, your life becomes a set of rules to be obeyed, not a series of choices to be exercised. Having the money to make healthy choices such as good nutrition or mould-free accommodation is do-able most days for many Australians, but a big decision to those in poverty – at least not without something else essential being sacrificed.
You can choose to walk to the shops or cycle to work as a healthy lifestyle option, but when those are your only viable choices, transport becomes a bigger issue in other decisions. When you are living below the breadline, choosing to have a car, choosing to have it insured and totally roadworthy, or choosing to put more than $10-at-a-time of fuel in it are big decisions - not just minor incursions into your savings. Making “alternative decisions” – a euphemism for accepting your limited choices – is the only way of balancing the fortnightly budget. Flipping a coin does not work – the coin does not know if you are cold or hungry.
When it comes down to food over transport, the illusion of choice – even in a western democracy – is simply that when you live in poverty, an illusion. Heating takes priority over new shoes – these are simply either/or decisions. Black and white. Frustrating, with long-term implications for the individual and society.
I have a lot more choices in potential work in places that are not Launceston. However, I do not have the option to just simply go off and get a job in a different state. That is not a choice I can make easily. Can I choose to move to a place where there are more prospects of employment? Not unless I fund it myself. Choosing where to live is limited by the availability of housing at an affordable price. Market forces, agents and landlords have the final say in my life. I cannot simply buy my way out of this cul-de-sac of life.
The consequences are that my options are reduced, any power over the situation beyond just “walking away” is lost. I have to own a sometimes stark reality, and I have to find my survival instinct. Sadly, some don’t, and succumb to the hopelessness.
Having choices brings control, and a degree of self-determination over your situation and destiny. Being able to choose where you live and who you live with are fundamental to reducing a highly stressful situation. Knowing your accommodation is secure and affordable gets you anchored onto Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and on your way to the higher levels of life, life beyond just basic needs.
There is no real choice, also, among job service providers – they are all the same, and clearly the money on offer from the government is the incentive for these organisations. The actual provision of an effective service seems secondary. In regional areas, the employers get the choices – and they choose whether to even acknowledge your application, let alone cherry picking factors such as age, race or gender.
For example, I reckon I’m fit enough but simply too old to join the defence forces and build a career as a trainer or counsellor, with eventual retirement 15 year hence – I’d be happy to be a productive member of society. Not an option. “Rules,” the recruiter says.
I know my experience in the building industry would make me a valuable employee for a role in a big box hardware store. No chance to highlight my case to the company website. Their email in reply begins: “Thank you for your recent application. Unfortunately...” No control, no choice, no option ... hope fades. Still, I had a go.
When you get sick, or have responsibility for a pet, some choices soon disappear. When I could not afford to board my cat for a month while I went away to look for work, there was only one inevitable decision – re-home my companion. I took some consolation from finding a nice family to take him, rather than committing him to an uncertain future in some cat incarceration centre, but that decision was out of my hands. Mentally, to deal with the loss, I convinced myself it was not about the money, but his well-being.
I still look for him at the door, or in his sunny spot in the garden. I hear the scratching noises at the door … it is not him. His little face does not appear around the corner to greet me as I arrive home. I try to tell myself that he’s in a happier place with children to play with, but I miss him. He has been a lovely companion for the past few years – comfort during my dark hours, a routine for me to follow.
Being needed is important. Having a purpose is important. Pets are important. He will forget me in time. I hope he forgives me.
*name has been changed
You can read David’s first instalment for Life on the breadline here
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