"If we all speak, they cannot deny what is happening to us": the power imbalance in mutual obligation for young jobseekers

This week's posts are being sourced and moderated by the Antipoverty Centre (@antipovertycent) to spark thinking and discussion about welfare conditionality ahead of the federal election. In today’s article, a young person describes the cruel bureaucracy people on JobSeeker and some other Centrelink payments must navigate under the regime of compulsory activities called “mutual” obligations. This byzantine compliance system is delivered by privatised job agencies at a cost of $4 billion per year and was recently revealed to be operating unlawfully. The author has asked to remain anonymous.

My experience with JobSeeker, job agencies, and the workforce hasn’t been a pleasant one.

Having to rely on a callous system to get and maintain full-time work isn’t rewarding, especially when you’re working with something so flawed like “mutual” obligations. I’ve had a lot of jobs. A few of them were through job agencies or even work for the dole. Looking back… I get quite upset when I remember how much I didn’t know, I was so sweetly enthusiastic, motivated and trusting, which now I have to actively strive to not devalue or resent. Because being like that shouldn’t justify getting manipulated or taken advantage of.

I was studying Year 11 VCAL [1] at a school that was designed and intended to help struggling youth to finish school. I had dropped out of mainstream school after burnout and a suicide attempt. At home, mum was a huge support for me, but she had physical and mental issues that prevented her from working, and she was emotionally dependent on me.

I remember being employed by a restaurant (heavily encouraged by my job agency at the time) because it had a government-funded program. Basically the place of business gets paid for employing people on JobSeeker and “upskilling them” and the job agencies get money for getting someone employed.

I went in for an interview, nothing much was said, someone who organised it from the job agency was late and didn’t introduce herself to me. Before I knew it I was ushered behind the salad bar in my interview clothes and worked for the rest of the day. I was given an apron, showed around and left to just absorb everything.

I didn’t protest, or say anything. I just did it. Because I didn’t know I could fight this, demand bare minimum. I didn’t expect anything better.

The program was set 25 hours a week, but there was a lot of pressure and bullying to work more. I ended up working 60–70 hours (I was still studying at school 3 days a week too). I didn’t get paid hourly, because it was government-funded, it just added $200 to my Centrelink fortnightly payment.

I was shown basic things, no upskilling. I was taught how their business operated, no transferable skills. I remember one of my last weeks – there wasn’t a lot of work, but to have me on the clock meant they got paid by the government, so I was given cleaning products to scrub the bathroom. All of it. The walls, floors, toilet, sink, all of it. I wasn’t provided PPE. I can still remember the heat that day, sweating so much, being on my hands and knees, scrubbing the tile floor, no gloves because my coworker said “those are just for food.” No masks because “Why would you need one?” and I was forbidden to use earphones.

So that’s how I spent my shift working at one of my first jobs, a job that was provided and recommended by a job agency who told me I needed to work this job, and that nothing about my circumstance was substantial enough to not work that specific job, despite my many, many complaints. The only reason I wouldn’t leave that day was because I kept thinking. “If I leave, they’ll stop my payments, and I won’t be able to help Mum with rent.”

I know I’m not alone. I remember feeling confident and reassured at one point because this was a government program and place of employment. I thought there had to be some integrity to it, something that makes it worth it.

I think about job agencies and the workforce, and think, where’s the integrity? It just doesn’t exist. If there’s that rare moment where it works out, it’s usually thanks to a caseworker who is part of the massive staff turnover.

I’ve worked since then, including in another job agency supplied job. I’ve tried. Despite all the bullshit, I still try. I can’t change myself to fit the standard anymore. I can’t be emotionally exhausted, stressed, a carcass of myself just to work and make barely enough money to survive.

Part of me avoids thinking about all of this as a coping mechanism. Unless my payments get mucked up, I just put my head down and survive. I didn’t have the words or fight in me to advocate for myself.

I’ve recently warmed to the idea of advocacy and sharing my experiences.

The absolute cruelty people have to endure because the government needs some type of sacrifice from you so they feel justified sending money that you need to pay rent shouldn’t be happening.

I know there are people out there dealing with this and they don’t know it’s wrong, or that they don’t have to put up with it. It’s not “normal” and we’re not crazy for feeling a certain way about it. We’re sensitive people and workers aren’t trained, and aren’t emotionally or empathically equipped to handle any of this. A lot of them treat this job as a gateway to the vulnerable, to exploit them or use it to exercise an ego trip and power.

If you’re going through this, just know you can be heard. If we all speak, they cannot deny what is happening to us.

[1] The Victorian Certificate of Applied Learning is a vocational program for senior high school students.

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Note: The Antipoverty Centre raises funds independently to pay people on low incomes who write about their experiences in recognition of their expertise. Support this work by donating to the Centre’s dedicated Writers’ Fund is here. 100% of funds raised are used for this purpose. Past articles commissioned by the Antipoverty Centre