‘Safety net’ cuts pushing asylum seekers into homelessness

In January this year, Arjun* presented to Villawood Immigration Detention Centre in Western Sydney. He pleaded to be locked up. He said he was homeless. That there was no resolution to his immigration status. He said if they refused to lock him up, he would kill himself. Arjun’s blood pressure was so high he collapsed and was taken to hospital.

Following serious threats of persecution, Arjun had fled his country of origin more than 20 years earlier to seek a new life, and safety, in Australia. He was taken in by a man who claimed he could sponsor him. The man took Arjun’s money, forced him to work and provided him a tin shed in which to live. Using violence, he made Arjun sign papers claiming refugee status. The man hid Arjun’s mail, so that when a letter arrived from the Department of Home Affairs, Arjun was not informed. The exploitation continued, until Arjun left and contacted the department, and was told to “go home”.

From then on, Arjun worked in Australia on bridging visas. His health deteriorated. His finger was broken. He suffered from a hernia, diabetes, fungal issues to his fingers, legs and feet, and eventually, serious mental health disorders. He could not pay his rent. He became homeless. He went hungry for days, lining up for free food near Central Station. By the time he arrived at the gates of Villawood, Arjun had lived in Australia for more than two decades with no resolution to his immigration status. He had lived with no basic services, no access to Medicare, and no access to the federal government’s Status Resolution Support Services payment.

The SRSS provides a basic temporary payment to non-citizens who cannot support themselves while waiting for a resolution to their immigration claim. Designed as a “safety net” and first implemented in 1992 as the Asylum Seeker Assistance Scheme, the payments were essential for people whose visas forbade them to work, or who were sick or parenting young children. Since the safety net was established, a number of policy changes have been made. Successive governments have cut funding by 93 per cent.

Rebecca Eckard of the Refugee Council of Australia (RCA) tells The Saturday Paper that in the 2015/16 financial year the estimated cost of the service was $300 million. Last financial year the figure was about $20 million.

“The eligibility criteria for the SRSS have tightened significantly. It is lacking transparency. It’s a really intensive application process. Most people don’t know how to navigate it,” Eckard says. “The understanding among communities is that the SRSS is nearly impossible to get, so what’s the point?”

About 29,000 people received SRSS payments in 2015/16, according to the Refugee Council of Australia. As of June 30 this year, just over 1900 people were receiving the payments, which are capped at 89 per cent of the JobSeeker or Youth Allowance rate.

“I can’t sleep because I’m so scared of being homeless and not being able to feed my kids. I feel like a failure and a bad example for them … I feel like a beggar asking for food and money all the time. I feel ashamed, but I don’t have any other choice.”

People should not be prohibited from accessing services due to the type of visa they hold, says Elijah Buol, chief executive of the Asylum Seekers Centre (ASC) in Sydney. With successive governments stripping funding from the SRSS, the responsibility to care for people has shifted from governments to charities.

“When the system punishes people, it puts even more stress on charities that are supporting those people, and not only the charities but more pressure on society,” Buol tells The Saturday Paper. “The impact of the cuts is pushing more people to poverty, to the suffering corner. People think: When will this end?”

One in five people sleeping rough in the inner city has uncertain visa status, according to data from the City of Sydney. The ASC now estimates every second person seeking help from its centre is either homeless or at serious risk of homelessness. On a daily basis, staff are seeing people who are homeless with no access to work, Medicare or basic services. People arrive at the centre after having slept in the CBD, Parramatta, in parks or streets. Staff attend to mothers with children arriving at the centre after having spent the night at a train station.

Felicia Paul, a long-term caseworker at the ASC, tells the story of Yasmin, a mother of three, who is waiting for a decision on her application for a protection visa.

Yasmin’s husband died recently. She is the sole carer of her children, has serious health issues and no income, as she cannot work. The ASC covers her rent. Her power bill is overdue.

“There is often not enough money left for food, so some days her children miss school because there is nothing to pack for lunch. It is a domino effect,” Paul says.

She says the level of documentation required to obtain SRSS support is more than any other government benefit: “People are put through the hoops”.

“It is a lengthy, very difficult, dehumanising process. There is medical evidence required, evidence of cancer, evidence of end of life. There is a cost attached – how can people pay for a psychiatrist report? It is impossible at times to meet the eligibility criteria. People are in need and yet they cannot get support from the government, even though they are engaged in the determination process. They are penalised for doing the right thing.

“Some people wait 10 years or more. That is a long time to wait for the outcome for your application for protection, and during that time you have no access to mainstream services and no access to SRSS. The eligibility criteria are so strict. It took one client five attempts to apply for work rights before they were granted and, in the meantime, he couldn’t access SRSS. It fell on the community to support him.”

Paul continues: “We are seeing a deterioration in people’s mental health. Children in families, young people who are becoming adults … they are grasping the trauma of the waiting game. It destroys them. I’ve seen minds broken, families broken, relationships broken, souls destroyed.”

Surviving with assistance from the ASC is Savana*, a single mother of three young children. An apprehended violence order is currently in place to protect Savana from her ex-partner. He is now in prison. Despite applying for a change of condition to be able to work and support her family, Savana holds only a bridging visa with no work rights or Medicare access. She does not receive SRSS. She cannot pay rent, buy food or cover daily expenses for her children.

Recently, her baby suffered a seizure and was hospitalised for two nights. Savana received a $5000 hospital bill she cannot pay. The doctor said her baby may continue to have seizures until the age of six. Savana fears her child will get sick again and, without money or Medicare, she won’t be able to take her to hospital.

“I can’t sleep because I’m so scared of being homeless and not being able to feed my kids. I feel like a failure and a bad example for them,” she says. “I’ve thought about giving my children to foster care because I can’t take care of them anymore, but I can’t do it – they’re my kids, and they’re all I have. I feel like a beggar asking for food and money all the time. I feel ashamed, but I don’t have any other choice.”

Savana says, “When my baby was in hospital I was crying every day. I didn’t know how I would pay the bill. The doctor said it can happen again, and I’m scared because I can’t take her back to hospital. Last week, she was sick again, and I couldn’t pay $360 for pathology. I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel tired, and I just want to run away, but I can’t leave my kids. They think I don’t love them.”

Buol, who lived alone as a child in a refugee camp in Uganda, says he sees the similarity between his experience and how people seeking asylum are living without basic supports in Australia.

“They feel like I used to feel. They feel unsafe. They feel their dignity is no longer there. What I am seeing is what I saw in a refugee camp. This system is forcing people into crisis. We need to invest in people who are vulnerable in our community. The current government talked about compassion. There has been no movement on compassion. It is time to put words into practice.”

In April, four months after he pleaded to be locked up inside Villawood Immigration Detention Centre, Arjun was granted SRSS funding. Receiving the payment, he says, has changed his life. He has new hope. He can pay his rent. He can buy food. Arjun is still without access to Medicare. Now aged 70, he waits for ministerial intervention to resolve his immigration status. 

* Names have been changed.

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on
October 11, 2025 as “‘It destroys them’”.

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