Climate Policy From The Frontlines
Working in a call centre for the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) was probably the most interesting job I’ve done in my life so far. Not everyone needs to call Centrelink, the Department of Veterans Affairs, or the NDIS, but at some point their life, everyone has to call the ATO. This means you get a have conversations with just about every kind of person. I spoke to CEOs, artists, small business-owners, and pensioners. I spoke to people on the brink of financial collapse, and people just getting back on their feet. But none of my conversations impacted me more than the ones I had with survivors of the 2019 Black Summer Bushfires.
The fires destroyed approximately 24.3 million hectares, over 3,000 buildings (including 2779 homes), and tragically, at least 34 people lost their lives. For months, the east coast sky was thick and red with smoke like a sore that choked our lungs and left us scared for our homes. However, for those of us who lived in Sydney, most were spared the worst of it. Before long, the media cycle moved on to the next scandal and the next culture war. For me, this was only the beginning.
Those statistics I mentioned signify a huge loss. A loss of life, of livelihood, of habitat, of land. But what’s missed in that is the aftermath, the cleanup, the rebuild. The ATO was a big part of the support that was provided by the federal government. We were given special authority to deliver debt relief to those who were affected, a measure that provided a critical lifeline, not only to the caller, but for me as well.
Although the relief was a fairly simple process to deliver, calls would sometimes go for hours as people didn’t just want someone who could press a button to solve their problems. Most often what they needed was someone to listen, to understand, and to empathise. My role had quickly turned from being a problem-solver, to a shoulder to cry on.
Engaging with politics and climate action can be emotionally exhausting. Often, we’re exposed to harsh truths leaving deep wounds that may scab over, but without action, never fully heal.
What the debt relief gave me was exactly this action. After listening to someone describe in great detail the most traumatic experience of their life, I didn’t have to leave them with that emptiness. Although it didn’t solve all of their problems, and the effects of the fires didn’t end when the relief ran dry, having something, after all the talking, that I could actually do to make a material difference in a person’s life was a crucial reprieve. Many of my colleagues struggled to deal with the weight of these conversations and quit to take care of their mental health. If it weren’t for the debt relief, I might have too.
Ray at the inaugural YCPC event