COMMENT
The government recently announced its plan to – some $3.9 billion of them – from the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) to help farmers who have been affected by the drought. The NDIS, which came into effect July 2016, is, in bald terms, a pool of funds allocated to people with disabilities to help them live. If that sounds dramatic, it’s because it is.
The government has claimed that, although they are taking from NDIS pool now, they are confident that they’ll be able to further down the track. This is just a proposal for vulnerable farmers.
But I’m scared. I’m terrified, actually. My son is five and he’s autistic. For the first three years of his life, he couldn’t really speak or properly interact with anyone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t play. At three, I took him to a speech therapist, who referred me to a psychologist, who, over the course of four hours, lead my son through a series of tests he could not pass. I cried for weeks, but at least, I told myself, he would have access to therapy.
The government has let me know how it treats the marginalised in Australia, and I’m terrified of what that means for my son’s future and for the thousands of recipients of NDIS.
But I know we’re one of the lucky ones. My son can now speak in short sentences. He can understand simple directions. He can hold a pen. Each of these milestones felt like a small miracle, and none of them would have been possible without speech therapy once a week, and occupational therapy once a week, as well. They cost around $350 total. The NDIS was rolled out in July 2016, but it took so long to be properly implemented that for six months, we had no safety net.
When the NDIS finally reached us, after months of negotiations with providers, and a full evaluation of my son, we were given $15,000 over a 12-month period. It seems like a lot, until you consider that $350 over 52 weeks means we won’t make it. And this is not including the medication we give him so he can sleep – around $60 a week - or the extra doctor’s appointments, and check-ins with paediatricians. We will cover it because we have to.
My son is a very charming, considerate, friendly little person. He also is not in a wheelchair, he’s not on a ventilator; he doesn’t require 24-hour assistance. But it’s precisely the fact that he doesn’t present as obviously disabled that has me terrified.
While some are calling the redirection of funds an election carrot for farmers, Physical Disability Council of NSW chief executive Serena Ovens has expressed worry over the idea, telling it should not be done "at the cost of an equally important scheme for some very vulnerable people".
Two years after therapy my son can now function in the world. My worry is that this conservative government, like so many well-meaning but conservative relatives of mine, will see autism like a gluten intolerance – a hipster disease made up by precious parents and be the first cut from the scheme should the NDIS pool never be repaid.
Of course, I’ll find a way to pay. It will hurt us financially if it comes to that, but we will manage. But many families, and people with disabilities won’t be able to. What happens to them? We have a government that has and a. The government has let me know how it treats the marginalised in Australia, and I’m terrified of what that means for my son’s future and for the thousands of recipients of NDIS.
