On Being Alone and Unsafe in Crowded Places

This article by Neil Turton-Lane, was originally published in Parity Magazine Vol 37, Issue 2 (March 2024) and has been republished with the permission of Parity Magazine and the author. Neil is a lived experience advocate.

I am writing this piece for Parity about the several thousand Victorians residing in transinstitutional care‑type settings within Supported Residential Services (SRS). Such services provide accommodation, meals and rudimentary cleaning and laundry services to residents at a significant cost, with residents at most pension level SRS paying anywhere between 85% and 95 per cent of their Centrelink payments.

As a person who struggled with homelessness, hospitalisations, mental health, ill health, and substance abuse earlier in my life, I spent a lot of time living in rooming houses, couch surfing, sleeping rough, living in caravan parks, you name it. I also spent a year of my life living in an institution, and much of this is still etched in my mind.

Fast-forward 30 years after a complete life 360, and I have started visiting SRS as part of my role as a National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) Advocate. Much of what I see and hear when visiting an SRS seems very familiar. The noise, the people, the bustle of staff, the ever-present threats, and feelings of being the smallest cog in the biggest wheel — life in an institution is only something you know once you find yourself there.

SRS exist because they fill a need and fulfil a social purpose for privatised group housing for a cohort of vulnerable people without the support or structures to live more independently — most of whom experience mental illness. Collectively, SRS residents are a group of people with low visibility; their day‑to-day lives and the facilities they live in are a parallel world and existence hidden from the public gaze.

Out of Sight and Out of Mind — SRS are Dangerous Places

Whilst working as an Advocate with residents living in SRS between 2018 and 2022, and through my ongoing involvement as co-founder of the Private Congregate Care Alliance,1 I have become very aware of the poor treatment and targeted exploitation experienced daily by SRS residents. Put simply, from a human rights perspective, it feels unacceptable to continue to house people with disabilities this way.

While working as an advocate, I heard many distressing stories. The following are a few that illustrate some of the challenges faced by people living in SRS.2

‘They got to me sign something. I don’t know what it was’

I heard stories from SRS residents about the pressure SRS providers apply to sign service agreements and  engage in NDIS services provided by the SRS that they know nothing about, with little or no prior discussion. Due to SRS’s ‘closed’ and private nature, there is no one to turn to, and often few opportunities for participants to receive independent support.

‘I got sent here straight from the hospital. I didn’t know I was being placed in a drug den.’

SRSs range in size, small, medium, and large scale. They can house anywhere from 30 to 80 residents at a time. Alcohol and substance use are common among residents, which is not a safe environment for people battling addiction. Tragically, sometimes, patients who end up in mental health wards due to substance use may find themselves discharged to an SRS, as hospitals are not supposed to discharge a person without a home.

‘I am terrified living here. I get approached for cigarettes and money all the time.’

Residents of SRS, due to the high fee cost, often have little or no disposable income. Residents are frequently pressured to part with cigarettes and money through intimidation and the stand-over tactics of co‑residents. People may be pressured multiple times in a single day. Female residents are particularly at risk of sexual assault and gendered violence. The less power you have, the more likely this will happen to you.

‘I am feeling totally lost; I don’t know how I will ever get out of here. Is this the end of the road?’

Unless you have family, friends, or an existing support structure before entering an SRS, it can be very difficult to gather the resources and help find alternative housing. Once they enter an SRS, many people stay stuck within this system for years as there is no imperative or financial benefit for SRS facilities to move them. Increasingly, due to the endemic housing crisis, there is nowhere to go.

Waking up alone in a crowded place, a place you never want to be and not knowing how you will ever get out is one of the worst experiences life can offer. It is not something I would ever want a loved one to have to go through. Unfortunately, it’s the reality for far too many people housed unsafely in SRS properties across Victoria.

It’s worth asking what a difference it might make if peer workers — people with a lived experience of mental ill health and recovery — were employed to work with and support SRS residents. Their role would not be to try and fix problems that have been a lifetime coming but rather provide an opportunity for residents to feel heard, understood, and capable of finding their own solutions. It’s no magic bullet, but so much more than the help that is currently on offer.

It is time that our State Government and the NDIS committed to finding a better housing solution for people with psychosocial disability and ended the segregation for people currently languishing in SRS.

Endnotes

1. The Private Congregate Care alliance (PCC) was established by a group of service providers, researchers and advocates in 2018 to undertake systemic advocacy for people living in SRS and like facilities in other states.

2. All names and identifying information has been changed to protect the anonymity of people.

 Moderator: Dr Elroy Dearn, Research Fellow, RMIT University