Before I start, I realised I need to make the biggest thank you of my life to this organisation, the Australian Defence Force. I thank you from the being of my being for not listening to me, to not respecting my posting choices, for pushing me into early discharge. I thank you, if you had of listened to me I would not have got to spend the last year of Mum’s life with her, I have no greater debt I owe to this world. This is me repaying the debt, standing up for every soldier who has ever been, I’l; show you guys how to really fight, I already have, here is my proof and my witnesses.
I thank you also, for the greatest of all debts, for being a place I could take my confusion and have time to understand it and be comfortable with it, a safe space to do it. You gave me this, you continue to give all lost boys and girls, men and women this. Again, my fight, my example, not my I will fight, my actual fight is in honor of my gratitude to you.
The Ausrtralian Armed Services, how we glorify this thing, make it into something special, make killing into something special.
There is a big difference between American and Australian soldiers, the biggest difference has nothing to do with the soldier themself, it is the purpose of the soldier, the integrity in which this is put on show by their government. If you have met American forces, been part of their operations you understand that these guys are literally bodies for bullets, regardless their trade, their purpose is to absorb bullets. This is what they are employed for, however the government hiring them does not hide the fact.
Aussies do, they hide the fact, not the fact that we are also bodies for bullets, which we are. The hide the fact that we mean absolutely nothing to our government, our countries, absolutely nothing. That is, of course, until a purpose becomes available which has the potential to bring attention to the political powers that be. A journalist being kidnapped is a good one but the very best thing a soldier can do in Australia for it’s government is to die, this is the preferred outcome for all soldiers sent on deployment.
Something terrible happens to an Australian soldier and it can be glorified, primarily glorified for political gain.
If I was ever to have a right to be angry about something this is the number one of all. I reckon you might agree.
Australian’s we glorify war like nothing else, it is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting that we glorify, honor and encourage something so awful. People die in the most horrendous of ways in this thing, innocent people, people adrift from the political power circle and war mongering scabs. Add to the disgusting no war, with the exception of the genocide within these borders, has ever been Australia’s war, we have just got ourselves involved in others. Of course we have to glorify it, it is the only way we can even start to cover our own sins, our conrinued sins.
War is not about glory, not for those that it impacts the most. I saw two men commit suicide, it was obvious beyond doubt this is what they were doing, death and freedom from the awful was their goal.
War stinks, it literally smells, the stress is the foundation of this smell, it goes nowhere ever. The streets stink like shit, there are noises continuously that one can only imagine in over-dramatised movies, explosion and booms and bangs. Sirens, people screaming, emergency situations happen continuously. Most people affected do not point a weapon at anybody, they do not hold one in defence.
Two men committed suicide, I was barely 200 metres away in the air above them, I could almost see their expressions. Heartbreaking is not the word when you watch something like this, there are no words for how much it breaks open everything you ever thought about your species.
The two men were running over the bridge completely unprotected, they were holding up weapons and firing towards the walls of the Green Zone. It wasn’t dumb, they weren’t trying to be heroes, they were killing themselves.
There were two burnt out bombed cars on the bridge, one 250 metres from the walls and the other about 225 metres. The men got to the first vehicle, possibly reloaded and kept pushing forward. There was not a sound or a movement from the sentries on the Green Zone walls but everybody knew they were there, we all knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable.
Then it happened, the men reached the closer of the two cars and an almight sound rang out from the walls, it could be heard above the noise of the chopper, it was not just the one maching gun, or even two. The two men were lifted in the air by the impact, by the time the firing finished they were well behind the furthest of the two cars. Both men were thrown over 25 metres by machine gun fire, it was fucking horrendous.
I cannot unsee this, no matter how much I want to and how much healing work I do I cannot unsee this, it is not possible. I do not want to unsee it, this is the capacity of my species, we are all capable of this hatred and desperation. But how I would love to be able to unsee it at the same time.
Suicide was undoubted, I doubt they were even aiming at anyone when they were firing. If these men wanted to have a chance of doing some damage, of killing anybody, they would have pointed their weapons at the chopper I and 10 or so other soldiers were in. We were closer than the wall, we were significantly less protected, these men did not want to kill anybody but themselves.
I do not know how this does not destroy your very being like it does mine, I do not understand.
The Army let me and seven SAS soldiers down, they let us down in the most terrible way in the most terrible circumstance.
I was assigned to an SAS team sent to Iraq to recover a kidnapped journalist. This man chose to go to a war zone for personal gain and got himself kidnapped. The Australian Government then sacrificied seven men and put another man’s life in additional danger than what it already was.
Next, they made sure they amplified that danger without the slightest care in the world.
I had 30 minutes to be ready to move with the team when the word to move forward with the operation was confirmed, this was my first knowledge of it. Others of course knew well before me but I wasn’t of need to know until I was needed.
P.S. This is the toppest of top secret stuff that I am supposed to never ever say a word about. But, I figure, since the Australian Government projects no integrity in anything it does I cannot possibly be expected to maintain its secrets, this is hypocrisy, hypocrisy is violence and I do not participate in violence.
Just before moving with the convoy I was thrown a LOBS, Liasion Officer’s Briefcase System, it’s a simple device used to maintain primarily data communications, email, between where we are and the base. We also have a satellite phone but this thing is designed to work everywhere, it is our safety blanket.
Apparently the machine has been in country for a while but nobody said anything about it. There is so much time on deployment that soldier’s look to fill, somnething like testing this machine and playing around with would have been great. As it happened however the first time I was made aware of it was walking from the Aussie HQ to the vehicle that was waiting outside.
An additional note, I was posted to the IRR, Incident Response Regiment, our very role was mobile and short-notice support for activities all over the world. We worked light-weight and were very good at what we did, one of the systems that we practiced ad nauseam was the LOBS. In our detachment vehicles we would get somewhere, set up the LOBS, confirm communications back to HQ and then proceed to the more advanced systems that took longer. Ultimately however, no matter where we went, we had communications up and running in moments, not even minutes.
Firstly as luck would have it we did not find ourselves in some shithole bunker, most of the initial operation started in the heart of Baghdad so our first stop was the Green Zone and there was no need for the LOBS just yet. We were there for three days and I tested the crap out of this thing, nothing at all worked. Within three hours I knew this machine was completely kaput, we knew without it the only communications we had was a satellite phone, this was not ideal.
I asked Australian HQ for another, they responded that there was not another one in Iraq and we would have to make do. The response, the have to make do, was very confusing to me and I am sure, the other guys too. We all accepted it but I am sure they were thinking what I was, make do? In Iraq? A war zone? Without reliable communications? Possibly in some shithole bunker in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?
Hmmm, you’re the boss.
The SAS, I am sure it was on their own accord, flew in a specialist from their support unit, 152 Signals Squadron. He bought his own machine that worked, we were ready to go and just in time, we left maybe 12 hours after he arrived in country.
Him and I tested the one I was given again, he gave me looks at the start like maybe I didn’t know what I was doing. I was a shit soldier in regards to my trade, the army sending me to a warzone was an abhorration, me letting myself go was a greater one. I was the biggest mistake in this decision.
At the end of the testing he knew that I definitely knew what I was doing, fortunately this was the one part of my job I was an absolute jet at, well this and all the physical stuff. The SAS kept me with them for the duration of the operation, I was an acceptable backup and I fit in with them to a degree, simply through being quiet and listening.
It was great to watch these guys work, I didn’t get to see them out and about but what they did with their preparation, recovery, discussions was up there with the pinnacle of professionalism. I learnt a lot from these guys that I have implemented into my healing spaces.
The mission was a success in the end, a beautiful success from Australia’s perspective. The SAS took many people in for questioning, got every piece of information they needed to find their man, from what I hear some of the information they recovered also played an important role in finding Saddam.
The beautiful success comes down to these men however, these men who have had a really tough time in the media and for good reason but they are amazing, this team was amazing. They did all this, we were on mission for five or six weeks, multiple times per week they went into unkown territory, each time they came back with people who had questions to answer, they did not fire a single bullet.
Let me repeat this, this team who spent five or more weeks in a war zone, going in and out of the most vulnerable situations known to man, did their job of recovering a kidnapped journalist without firing a single bullet, without killing another human being.
They did all this and their government, their army was willing to let them go without the security of being able to communicate with those that matter should we have found ourselves in a shit storm.
Yes, I have the right to be angry, as do the seven other men with me, extend this to ever service person that has ever represented this country in every way. The Australian Army and Government failed us all.
Two or three weeks later I submitted my discharge papers, maybe the above had a part to play but it was not the motivation. I was bullied after this, the last month of my deployment I was treated like shit. People, one Warrant Officer in particular, just assumed my money run was done and now I am done. Were these people to ask me my reason I would have told them, it was a pretty simple explanation.
I loved the army, adored it, was a shit soldier from a regimental perspective but from a physical and accepting of the challenge perspective there has been little better. I loved the hard work and screaming and shouting, it wasn’t scary like my Dad, it was like Sesame Street where it becomes fun in the end, you realise it is a stupid game. A fun stupid game though made by people who have no aptitude for creativity or leadership.
I wanted to stay but I really struggled in Sydney where I had been for three years, it was time to move on. My posting preferences I put wherever, my preferences of places I did not want to go I put all Sydney, I needed to leave.
When I got back from the operation with the SAS it was only maybe two weeks before my new posting letter arrived. I opened the letter, put in my discharge and did not give it a second thought. Then, without a word, without any discussion the bullying occured. I had every right to discharge, Sydney was destroying my soul, I had come from a town of 150 people to the biggest in the country. It was hard, I made it clear I did not want to be there, the Army posted me back there anyway.
I had every right to put in my discharge papers, I had no right to be bullied in the way that I was.
Two decades later I find myself homeless and desperate. I am sleeping in the Tasmanian bush in a hammock freezing. I have no food options at all with the exception of weetbix, what I can forage and if I really needed to I could have collected road kill.
12 months earlier I tried to access some of my near $250k in superannuation through hardship payments so that I did not have to reach this point, so that I could continue to try and adapt my thing to make it work. This money would have ensured making my way to the nearest cliff and removing the intense struggle from my existence was not a process of thought, this was not fun.
I was told I cannot because I do not meet the criteria? The criteria I questioned, I am running out of money, I am almost flat broke, feeding myself is going to become very difficult, my bank account shows this beyond doubt, what do you mean I do not meet the criteria? You do not meet the criteria because you have not been on government payments for a continuous 26-week period. ‘So, you are saying to me that my government needs to make sure it has it’s foot on my throat, that it controls me, that I am completely dependant on it before I can bring the basic safety necessities to my life when I have the money sitting there that can do it?’
Well, Fred, Superannuation and 65 and retirement and blah blah etcetera. ‘What good is my money being there when I am 65 when I am dead at 41? A high chance for people in situations as desperate as mine.’ It’s the law, it’s the way it is.
It’s the law, it’s the way it is. This is literally the comment everybody I talk to gets to and is unwilling to help or do anything beyond it regardless of it undoubtedly being the right thing. Everyone does nothing, absolutely nothing, they all do the wrong thing. This is ridiculous, a man can go to war, be put in extra unnecessary danger through faulty equipment, the government will make continuous ad hoc changes for a privileged man kidnapped at war but will not let one of the men responsible for recovering him access his own money to stay alive.
Not only that, this government will happily watch as the same man sits on their steps and starves to death in front of their faces. All the while walking past saying, tough story, somebody should do something but, oh well, it’s the law, too hard. I’d actually have to do something for once rather than just pretend to.
I tried to get on Centrelink, they would not let me, not unless I was willing to abuse employees. Only could I go on this thing if I was going to lie and pretend I was interested in taking jobs, simply applying for jobs to put money in my pocket, wasting other people’s already time poor lives, abusing them for my own selfishness. Nope, I would not do this, therefore I could also not even think about my Super.
Fortunately, I was able to access some under compasionate grounds, I got my teeth fixed. I got every single thing that was wrong with my teeth fixed, with the exception of them not being straight but that is what it is. All my teeth, bar my wisdoms, are still in my mouth and they will be for years to come. I will not be in jeopardy of having to see another dentist anytime soon.
Finally in October last year I was able to get on it, I was literally walking to the highest cliffs in Australia when I decided to give it one more go. The bloke listened to me, heard my story, heard me say over and over and over again that I will not accept this money if I have to abuse people, I will not.
The Centrelink guy got me on without me having to lie or abuse people, he represented me, well so I thought. Three months later it was clear iot was all rubbish, my payments were cut off and I looked at what he wrote to bring this money to my life, it was bullshit, I would not lie to save my life but he did, what bullshit.
Fortunately, this was maybe a week after I hit my hand with the chainsaw, I could not work medically and was given an exemption which carries me to the point which I need to get to for my money, the security moving forward. Being military this is my one benefit here, I get to double up.
My flights out are booked, looking into accommodation now, the first few months away are close to paid for. The super and any extra money I have is what I have if the RSL doesn’t get onto this pension stuff. I’ll have enough for 18 months without healing payments for the work I will continue to do, that’s all I need and if I have to I’ll come back and repeat this current process.
It won’t be a repeat though, I have many places to come back to now if I need to leave Australia, not having security is behind me. There will be no desperation if I need to return.
The Returned and Services League of Australia – The RSL
Holding a few headings, the above is being nice to the Australian Defence Force, now I start to talk about the support organisations branched off from these things. It’s the thing I really give a shit about, the shit that is supposed to give a shit.
David and the Hobart RSL let us have a really good conversation. For anyone reading, everything I say above and from here is accurate, word to word more or less. When you pay attention to your world you do not forget shit.
The site has some updates remaining post reset, five to six weeks left in Australia and a big enough cache of drugs to get the entire armed services bent for the next 10 years, it could be fun! Good drugs too, not this meth shit. LSD, DMT and cannabis currently. Mushrooms about to start popping up soon, enough for the whole country, get eating buddies!
We’ll talk about this too. It will take lot of drugs to get the armed services to the point I want them at, they have a high tolerance. Recreational drug abuse and the army are like jam and peanut butter to one another. Integrity and the Armed Services, more like vegemite and jam, it’s fucking disgusting, but it is some people’s taste, like Scotty my beautiful beautiful cannabis brother, literally jam and vegemite sandwiches, loves them.
What a mess
We are going to talk about a messy life more in Reading Your Guidebook, but we are going to talk about a mess still.
When David from the Hobart RSL walked into the Hobart City Mission I could have guaranteed you that nothing would get done from this point on. Regardless of what I see I give you every chance to prove it wrong, you never ever do. David certainly did not.
Five months of opportunities, maybe four I gave him.
At the start I didn’t want to pursue a pension, the only way I could have got it was through a mental health diagnosis, I would have to lie to seek this. Then, I started to really reflect on many things, some of the stuff above, my time in the army, the terrible organisation this is and I decided, no, actually, these opathetic cunts can pay me to do drugs for the rest of my life, perfect!
Justified because they pretty much pay 57 thousand plus people to go out and get bent four days a week anyway. Why not make it seven days for some I figured, they didn’t even need to pay me as much as all the other druggies. Clearly 57 thousand is an exaggeration, my circles however, at least 70% of us were doing recreational drugs, believe it or not I wasn’t one of them, the only one in my circle that never touched anything but alcohol. Not even cannabis.
I’ve pulled out, last week only, sent a message to a new advocate/representative, this time from Legacy, ‘Gary, I am not going to pursure the pension further. I do not consent to further contact.’ It contained more words but that was the message. Nothing to do with Gary, I’m just done.
January I wasn’t, when I decided that I would apply for the pension, had enough examples by now to know there were other avenues in which I could approach the conversation with a psychologist rather than just the diagnosius. It was going to be quite an easy conversation. I’ve talked about it a little here!
All I had to do, all I had to do since January, is get a referral from a doctor to the pension referral people and from there I get told which psychologist to see, one that knows the process. One more appointment and that wouold have been my part done, all I need to do still, still plenty of time before I leave.
I’m not going to. I’m leaving Australia without the ongoing security that would have been afforded me through this process.
This money, which David knew, every single person I talked to about knew. Is so much more for me than what it is in Australia. The pension, more than Centrelink, but stilklk, without hardship payments there is absolutely no way this money would get me off the street with the exception of commission/crisis housing.
Commission/crisis housing where there is a 95-week wait for. Effectively, even with this money I would need to continue my transient lifestyle for almost two-years before I could afford my own place, a commission place. Not possible for me to afford anything else, especially not on a small property a little drive from town, rent and fuel take a huge portion up.
The cost of living in Australia, what ridiculus shit!
This money, this pension, which all David had to do was what he said, nothing more, I didn’t get it, so be it, whatever. All David had to do was put me on to an advocate, make sure they call me, David himself call me when he says he will, do what he says he is going to do, simple. Repeated over and over and over.
I was very specific with David, he wasn’t the only one in the room. I cannot remember the ladies name, an intern (is that the word) at Mission, older middle age, not old, beautiful woman, she asked me if she could sit in the conversation, I of course said yes. How many times did I repeat this line, do what you say and we’ll be okay? 15?
David is a mess, it is the reason I repeated the line. Obesity, overweightness are not the only signs, David is both, but it is the overall mess he is.
His words, his presentation, the bullshit that he does to his face to try and make you think that he cares.
I thank you for your service Fred, I really do. ‘What rubbish, if your thank you is thank you, the only thing that matters to me is that you do what you say. Prove your thank you is a thank you.’ Two more times do what you say is repeated.
This pension as David knew, would allow me to live like a king where I am going, forever! King, Fred’s version of King. A small one room shack, with a seperate bathroom and toilet and a place to sit outside and watch the world, a tiny bit of land (maybe two acres), overlooking the water. Security uin food and water, being able to choose between smoking and quitting smoking, rather than the choice just being dominated by quiting due to financial reasons.
That’s it, that is Fred’s kingdom. This money would have allowed all this with spare change. A simple life, a life a veteran, a homeless veteran has worked his arse off for, given up his whole world for. Surely, David, you’ll do what you say to help me achieve this?
‘Of course Fred, leave it to me, I’ll get an advocate to call you at the end of January.’ Didn’t happen.
My Centrelink payments get cut off, but first before I knew that, the day before I sent David a message folloowing up on the advocate. We are in February now. No response to the advocate but David got straight onto the Centrelink stuff, no hesitation. ‘All done Fred, I’ll call you Thursday.’ Okay, David.
No call, two months later I fire David, in my email tell him all about his lack of integrity, the mess his life is.
David is a people pleaser, flaps his mouth non-stop, I will do, I’ll do, I will do, I’ll do, I will do, I’ll do. Over and over and over, never writing down a thing. I smile, I know where this is going, I have enough experience for mouth yappers like you David.
That is all David does, yaps like a dog hoping everyone will like him and never see the bullshit underneath.
David will do something to get attention, Centerlink for example, the stuff he can go away and people will pat him on the back, suck his cock and tell him what a great thing he is. He only does the shit that is for show.
He is fat, the really really unhealthy fat where flab is just hanging in all the most unhealthy places, for men this is your waist. You collect fat here and you are moving towards the unhealthiest of the population. Men should not have fat midriffs.
His face, every time he said I will his eyes turned away from mine, his being wasn’t able to stop his ego lying even when it knew that I knew what was happening. His being knew that this man in front of him wasn’t going to allow this rubbish, in fact it was a bit worried that David might be found out publicly. That he would be very embarrassed.
His being, the thing at his core, knew he would be embarrassed too, it’s okay with it, it is what he needs. People from his circles have the link to this write-up.
Effectively David you are the difference between a war veteran having security and not, being forever homeless or forever put himself in a secure home. This was your responsibility, all you had to do was make sure an advocate called that same veteran, like you said you would? That’s it. Maybe a couple of the follow up calls you said you would make too but I can forget them but you shouldn’t, not yet, and you’re organisation definitely should not forget about this.
Maybe some retraining is in order.
David is a pig, fucking pig, lazy fucking pig. It’s the only motivation to not be motivated to do anything except for attention. His weight shows this, where he holds, hisa face shows it in every word, he is a father, a role model.
David, as I said mate, we are only just getting started.
I’m going to continue with David but I’m setting the tone. It is not just the individual level that this organisation has some questions to answer. It is the collective level too. How they decided, collectively, the RSL, in groups, that my case, a homeless veteran with 250K super that he is unable to touch to save his life, was not a part of their scope, duty of care, modus operandi is confusing to me.
This is where we go from here. I’m going to continue talking about David non-stop. Point out the role model he currently is to his children, the value he adds to the organisation he works for.
I don’t want him fired, I want him educated and retrained, retrained starting with reading every single word I write about this weak, fat, integrity lacking, lazy, dead beat fucking Dad. I want him to read the whole page, from the very very top to the very bottom whenever I get there, out loud in front of his entire team at the Hobart RSL, every word.
St. Helens RSL
I don’t have just the one example of nufferism inside the RSL, my second experience fits the mould too.
Mark, this tool, at the St Helens RSL. I wasn’t going to write about him but he keeps popping up. Actually popping up, saw him yesterday when I was driving home and Mark was crossing the street.
Beaumaris was my first house sitting, it opened all the other doors, really beautiful. I have a few people to thank, Lorraine, William and Lorraine’s original housesitter.
The original housesitter had to cancel at the last moment. Lorraine needed someone at short notice to look after the place and her very old and fragile dog, Elvie Mae. She has since passed away. Lorraine knew I was here through William, got in contact and the rest is history, my Tasmania time became phenomenally beautiful. I continue to come back to Lorraine’s, in fact I am writing this in her kitchen.
I visited the RSL on my first visit, figured it may be easier to continue the conversations here in person than over the phone should any of my requests progress. Mainly the do something that does something for every soldier request.
I met Mark, thank you for your service Fred, I really want to make sure you know I mean this, my eyes rolled, not sure if he saw. The first visit, a brief introduction and Mark was going to organise a support pack to help me out a little, financially things were very difficult, feeding myself was not assured.
He did what he said, came around with the pack and had a chat.
During the chat we mainly talked about isolation, breaking my isolation being the most important thing for me. The being able to live side of living was coming together, help is great there but the isolation is the key factor I needed and still need to break. Isolation is extremely difficult, isolation is the primary driving factor behind suicide.
It was during this conversation that I wanted nothing more to do with Mark. I didn’t kick him out or get upset at him, I had no energy for it, was absolutely exhausted after the previous few months fighting to stay alive and living in the shelter. I finally had some peace and quiet, security, space to myself.
My body simply gave in for a little while, made sure I just planted and barely moved. The Beaumaris space could not have come at a better time.
Only four or five days before this opportunity came up I learnt some of the effects of homelessness that I previously did not understand. One day I need to cry, cry properly, let it out, scream into my pillow if needed. There was nowhere to do this. I couldn’t speak to ask for help at the Mission, tears were behind every word. I wrote a note and gave it to a beautiful man named Craig. Craig read the note and motioned for me to follow him, set me up in the most private space he could find and allowed me to do my thing. 20 minutes later I was okay, but having to ask for privacy is not ideal, not for anybody.
This post, throughout, we address homelessness from my personal experience. I have less than a year experience, nothing compared to others and my situation now is very healthy, I do not know homelessness like others do.
Mark, he simply does not know how to listen. I am talking about isolation, ISOLATION, not aloneness, being alone or lonely. Isolation means that there was nowhere at all I could turn to for help. I could not even pick up the phone and have a conversation with family or friends. I had none of that, no home, no car, no money, no future, no friends, no family, no security in any way. Nothing. Nothing but isolation.
Mark tried to empathise with me, tries to attempt to tell me he understands because at one time he wanted to be alone so got himself a job driving big vehicles/tractors in the farming industry. He had to spend whole days by himself so he knows what I am talking about.
As mentioned already, I was without any energy, I just wanted him to leave but didn’t want to deal with any type of conflicty at the moment. Eventually he left, telling me just before to drop by the RSL at any time for a chat. I didn’t even say no in my head, the no to continuing conversing with this ignorant man came well before.
The only request I made of him since then was asking if he knew someone who had a bike to lend out, push bike. Mark replied straight away saying he would look into it, never heard from him again.
For Mark though he has some great traits, he does what he says. He didn’t follow up on the bike request but I’m not too fussed, grateful to be honest as I didn’t want to have a relationship with this bloke.
We had a chat the first time we met in the RSL about the services available in the area. This is what I do, always have, make myself aware of all these things so that I can effectively refer people as required, in this case the only difference being that I was referring myself. Mark was unaware of some of the stuff, one being a weekly lunch held by the Anglican Church for the whole community but the main patronage is the lower socioeconomic and homeless community. Mark mentioned he should visit these things, it would be great to have an understanding of what is available. I agreed with him, two weeks later he was at the lunch.
Perfect example of the little things to help you to understand the work you do, attend the stuff that matters, particularly if you refer others to it. By attending, like Mark did, you know the space and whether or not it will benefit your clients/customers/guests/you one day.
Defence Veterans Association (DVA)
Open Arms
I’ll do some backwards working, write this entry and return to the other two, my biggest gripe is with the RSL, smallest is with Open Arms, in between is DVA.
When I say biggest and smallest here it just means it took the organisation less time to prove they are worthless, I have only small interactions to write about. Open Arms one phone call is all I needed, write-up does not need to be more.
I have engaged with Open Arms twice previous to this, by engage I found myself the mental health support and counselling required, filled in paperwork, sent it to Open Arms and they paid for the treatment.
I’m not sure I have written this, well I know I have but I may have deleted it, I’ll do it again.
Open Arms are a support organisation specifically there to assist ex-soldiers, veterans, with the difficulties that can come with moving out of the system and into real life. The comment itself has much more to it, the best way to explain at this point is the Defence Force is the same as a prison in terms of the attachment and institutionalisation. Lifers, the same as prison, can really struggle to integrate back into the normal world. It makes sense if you have been in the army, they attempt to strip everything from your personality that contains any type of thinking. When lifers leave the army they generally leave it without the ability to think or do anything for themselves and they really struggle, this is the army way.
Ex-soldiers are seven or so times more likely to commit suicide than the general population, this is already on top of the seven times more likely a man will take his life compared to a woman. The suicide statistics for the ex-serving is the same for both men and women, women catch up to men in the space. It does not make a difference to the statistics if a member has been to active service.
The statistics do not lie, the suicide and poor life outcomes for ex-soldiers is a result of the system in which they are engaged. Clearly, there needs to be a significant review on the defence force’s approach to training, to start with. For people to go into an organisation with pride in their belly and leave it with a suicide-sized hole in the heart really isn’t good enough, is it?
This is where Open Arms are supposed to come in, supporting ex-military in need, particularly in a crisis. They are there to ensure a homeless veteran has a bed to sleep in a crisis and does not have to lay his head next to a creek, in Hobart, in the cold. He shouldn’t have to, not this bloke who served his country at war, should he?
One night in the homeless shelter, terrible, alcohol the culprit. The tension was ridiculous, something was going to happen, it was not safe for anybody, I wasn’t staying.
I left and called Open Arms (OA), the RSL had told me if I need crisis accommodation to call them, the RSL would match the 3-nights of crisis support that OA offer. This night, I needed it, the safety but just some peace and quiet by myself, I wanted a good nights sleep.
I called OA and they said no. Actually, first they told me everything, it is easy to access, we can do this and that and all the rest. Then they said, ‘now you just have to agree to future casework with us and the accommodation is good to go.’ I said no. I said ‘I will not let you hold me to ransom, treat me like a little child who promises to come back and be your friend if I do shit for you when I need help now.’
‘I am in crisis accommodation which tonight is extremely unsafe, I am already receiving casework. I do not agree and I need the bed.’
No, we cannot give it to you.
‘You are telling me, that because I will not promise to engage with you in the future, literally promise like morons ask other morons to do, that you will not put a roof over my head? Over the head of an ex-soldier, an ex-soldier who served at war, the ex-soldier you are supposed to assist?’
It’s policy Fred, it is what it is. No shit, this is what they said to me and repeated and repeated, not even legislation, just company policy. The reason they would not even try to continue on with the conversation, put a roof over my head, it just repeated at this. To say I was starting to get confused is an understatement.
Fred casework is required because people living on the street are sick.
‘So, let me get this straight, I am a veteran, I am living on the street and now I am sick and yet you still will not help me because I will not make a fucking pathetic promise to you? This is your organisation buddy, I really don’t need to say another word.’
I was already receiving casework and all, I was in a homeless shelter for fuck sake, I was receiving face to face real casework and support not some shit over the phone to tick boxes for a terrible organisation just so it can continue to receive its funding.
Which is the only purpose of Open Arms, to put money in people’s pockets, the OA executive pockets.
Every soldier know this before you engage with Open Arms. Your life is less important to this organisation, this organisation specifically designed to support you in your life, stand side by side with veterans. That life, that service, the breath that keeps you going is significantly less important to Open Arms than ticking a box.
They literally, literally, made sure I was as vulnerable to death as humanly possible in Western society, LITERALLY ticking a box is more important than my life, your life, every ex-soldiers life. It cannot be argued, the evidence and witnesses are all there, both are Open Arms itself.