The Drum
16 January 2013
We’re all subject to the swings of fortune. We shouldn’t have to debate whether we extend a hand of compassion or punish one another for bad luck, writes Eliza Cussen.
I was on Newstart Allowance for six months between finishing uni – Bachelor of Media (Honours), thanks for asking – and landing my first job in 2010. I had been living in relative poverty throughout my student years, and this final stretch was the toughest.
After paying rent and bills, I had $100 a week to live on. I don’t actually remember how I did it. I think it’s safe to say that, actually, it can’t be done. I nearly gave myself hypoglycaemia from only being able to afford carbohydrates.
I became socially withdrawn. I was in my early 20s and couldn’t afford a beer. Concerts were out of the question and backpacking remained a pipedream. My friend Chloe once shouted me a coffee because I had nothing to my name but 20 cents and a $2,000 credit card debt. My dad gave me money to buy socks.
But at the same time, I was busy. I was doing internships at a non-profit I loved and a PR firm that bought me lunch. I was getting the experience that even the most entry-level job demanded. When I got home from work, I’d start the daily job hunt. I looked for anything that would suit someone with my degree and then some.
According to the law, I had to apply for 10 jobs a fortnight. Of that 10, two would be relevant, five would be irrelevant and three would be subsidiaries of Vandelay Industries based in my uncle’s shed.
After a few months I got called in for a case review with a Mission Australia case worker. I explained that I was building up my experience so that I would be qualified for paid work in my field. These days, a degree alone doesn’t count for much. She looked at my internships and said, “Well, those look exciting! How do you get into something like that?”
When you’re giving career advice to your Newstart case worker, you know there’s something wrong.
If it had been approved when I needed it, the $50 a week increase to Newstart being called for by the Greens and welfare and business groups would have upped my disposable income by 50 per cent. It would have meant that I could add a little protein to my diet, pay my bills without bartering with my housemates, meet my friend for a drink, or catch the bus all the way to the beach and back. It would have meant that, maybe, I could get through a job interview without my voice cracking with desperation.
Despite Jenny Macklin’s assurances, keeping me in desperate poverty did not make me more keen to find a job. I was keen already. All it did was make me miserable. As the months wore on I was more withdrawn, less healthy. My performance at my internships started to falter because I had so much else on my mind. My nerves were shot from the constant rise and fall of hope and disappointment.
Had the government treated my recently graduated self with a little more compassion, I might have been more confident, less grubby and more able to remember whether I was meant to be talking up my waitressing or HTML skills.
After four and a half years of penny counting, in May 2010 I was in my pyjamas watching The Circle. My phone had no credit but I was desperately hoping it would ring. It did. I’d got the job. It didn’t matter which one. What mattered was that within a month I’d be at the supermarket, safe in the knowledge that I could fill my basket for the very first time.
If I lost my job tomorrow, Newstart would only just cover my rent. Before you use the term “dole bludger” ever again, do a few quick sums. What could you do with $245 a week? How long would it be before you couldn’t pay the rent or the mortgage? How long before you’re sleeping in your car?
Every Australian is a vulnerable Australian. We’re all subject to the swings of fortune and we all could fall on hard times. Whether we extend a hand of compassion to one another or punish each other for bad luck is not a debate we should ever have had to have. And, in 2013, it’s one Jenny Macklin needs to resolve quickly.