When Lee Sarich joined the army in 2002, at the age of 25, it was after what he describes as "a call to serve". He wanted to do something with greater purpose than the odd jobs he'd been working.
He would emerge from army service a changed person.
On his first overseas deployment, to Afghanistan in 2007, Sarich's vehicle exploded after hitting an improvised explosive device (IED). The impact killed his colleague, David "Poppy" Pearce, who was seated in front of him.
Almost immediately, Sarich began reliving the explosion in his mind. When he returned to Australia, he suffered flashbacks and panic attacks so bad he sometimes couldn't speak.
However, he says, the army left him largely alone to deal with his mental health.
"I've had to be my own best advocate and, if I hadn't been, then I think I'd be another statistic," he says.
That statistic is a shocking one.
In more than 20 years of fighting in Afghanistan, 46 Australians died as a result of service.
Over a similar period, between 1997 and 2020, at least 1,600 serving and ex-serving ADF members died by suicide.
There were 79 veteran deaths by suicide in 2020 alone.
Sarich argues the organisations he expected to support veterans are not doing the job sufficiently.
For example, he describes the Australian Defence Force (ADF) as "not good at looking after their people who are not able to contribute to defence anymore".
When he became unwell, he felt the medical treatment offered by the ADF was "army-orientated" rather than being "person-centred".
He says he received lots of support to return to work, but when it later became clear he was probably too unwell to work, the ADF's support became "very piecemeal".
He didn't feel "individually supported", but rather felt that the army's attitude was, "Get this f*cker back to work and, if you can't, get rid of him".
"I can kind of understand that, because that's [the army's] job; they want people who can work and if not, they need other people who can work," Sarich says.
"I can understand it. I don't think that it makes it okay."
He says he received "very much a cursory" mental health screening before leaving Afghanistan in 2007, and when he continued to re-experience the explosion after returning to Australia, he self-referred for the medical care he needed.
"Me, the sick, injured person had to … find the help that I needed, which I think is an unrealistic expectation."
Sarich says neither the army nor Department of Veterans' Affairs (DVA) told him he could access paid mental health care through a Veteran White Card.
"[In the army], I need bullets to do my job, so there's someone [asking], 'Hey, has this guy got bullets?'," he says.
"As an injured veteran, what I need for my job, to be as well as I can be, is mental health treatment. And it's not someone's job to say, 'Hey, has that guy got his White Card, which entitles him to free mental health care?' It doesn't happen.
"I've talked to people [who] did not know. We don't know how many are dead because they did not know and no-one told them before they died, 'Oh actually, f*cking ring this number and you'll have a White Card within an hour and then you can go and get free mental health care'.
"It's just appalling."
A DVA spokesperson said veterans receive information about paid mental health care prior to leaving the military, via seminars and support officers, and through "external communication channels, including social media and the DVA website". The spokesperson said Veteran White Cards are "issued to eligible veterans on transition".
A Defence spokesperson said since 2017, the ADF had "undertaken a program of continual improvement under its ADF Transition Transformation Program". They also pointed to the 2020 establishment of the Joint Transition Authority within Defence, "to better prepare and support ADF personnel and their families as they transition from military to civilian life".
They said the ADF had adopted a "needs-based approach" to transition support.
The spokesperson also said Defence provides support for transitioning members in the areas of employment, study and retirement. They stated: "Defence recognises further work is required to support ADF members and their families through transition."
Fighting a 'faceless bureaucracy'
"Lee [Sarich] represents a whole swath of people who have such difficulty in getting the assistance that we think they would just naturally get," says filmmaker and author Patrick Lindsay, who interviewed scores of veterans for his latest book, The Home Front: The Never-Ending War Within Our Veterans.
Lindsay says many veterans turn to the DVA, but argues it's "like a minefield" when trying to access support.
DVA offers services under multiple Acts, and Lindsay says these can "crisscross over individuals", complicating their claim.
"So at their most vulnerable, where they really need assistance and ... [to be] carefully looked after, some of them find themselves fighting against this sort of faceless bureaucracy."
As of May 31, 2022, DVA had 41,799 back-logged claims for such things as injury compensation. Some veterans have waited more than 300 days to receive a decision.
Lindsay says the impact of that inefficiency can be devastating.
"I've spoken to quite a few [veterans] who have survived that, but got to the stage where they said, 'I'd rather get out of here; I'd rather end it all because this is just a nightmare'."
In February, the ABC reported how veteran Shaun Spain, who had taken his own life a month earlier, left a note singling out the DVA.
"I have taken my own life for many reasons, and DVA are mostly to blame … DVA continue to make life difficult for many soldiers and to get any entitlements approved can take from one month to three months," he wrote.
The interim report from the Royal Commission into Defence and Veteran Suicide has noted the backlog of veteran claims "should not be allowed to continue".
No 'proper structure' for transition
In 2010, after two medical evacuations due to escalating post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms, Sarich knew his military career was over. He felt like a failure.
"It was devastating," he says.
During the next 12 to 18 months, his mental health declined further. He was drinking too much, he lost his job, his relationship broke down and he became homeless.
Eventually, a "plethora of things" helped Sarich, now 46, get back on his feet, including support from friends, social re-engagement and interacting with other veterans through activities like golf, surfing and the Invictus Games.
The DVA's pension and funded mental health care have helped, too.
But he'd have liked to see more investment and a "proactive approach" from the DVA in his transition back into civilian life.
Lindsay argues that no "proper structure" exists for that transition.
"We train our soldiers really well. They're world-regarded as warriors and that, in many cases, is their whole reason for being. They know exactly what their purpose in life is.
"And if something happens, like a [mental or physical] injury … and you can no longer perform at the highest level, well, then, you're out. It's a massive shock to their system. They don't have a sense of purpose.
"That's where all these problems start to come crashing in."
A DVA spokesperson said transition support "has changed in recent years". This includes the introduction of Veteran Support Officers' personalised advice "to all ADF members, including those in transition" and "personalised case management support" for those "with complex or vulnerable presentations".
But Lindsay argues that "traditional caring structures like DVA [and] the RSL" are failing to give veterans the transition support they need.
Lucas Moon, former president and now secretary of the 100-year-old Hawthorn RSL, in Melbourne's inner-east, agrees.
Moon was in the army from 1996 to 2010, serving in Timor and Bougainville, and joined his local RSL when he returned home. But he found it wasn't delivering what he wanted: a place to be with other veterans.
The experience prompted him to work with friends to rejuvenate their RSL and make it a "safe place" for any veteran who walks through the door.
He says members come seeking the support they aren't finding elsewhere, namely to network with other veterans, get help to find work and, importantly, talk about the challenges of transitioning to civilian life with someone who's been through it.
He contrasts that with other RSLs, in New South Wales and Victoria in particular, which he argues have become "commercialised" clubs for the public.
Indeed, Victorian RSLs made more than $163m from gambling in the 2021-2022 financial year.
However, Moon says, "We don't want the public. We want our own place."
Membership numbers at his RSL appear to back that up.
"Hawthorn is now the biggest RSL in Victoria of post-Vietnam veterans," he says.
"We have a leaking roof, but we have more veterans … because we only care about veterans. It's not about the alcohol or the pokies."
A spokesperson told the ABC that RSL offers engagement for veterans through RSL Active programs, including various organised sport activities, and "remains actively involved in assisting veterans [in transition from service to civilian life] but acknowledges that the needs of veterans are complex and that there is still work to be done".
Holding leadership to account
Since 2000, Australian governments have received hundreds of recommendations about suicide among service and ex-service people.
Commissioners have noted their "dismay" about the "limited" response.
Lindsay argues a high leadership turnover has meant "no one takes real responsibility".
He points out that in the period of the war in Afghanistan, there were seven prime ministers, 11 defence ministers, 11 ministers for veterans' affairs, six chiefs of the Defence Force, six heads of the army and eight commanders of our Special Forces.
"They're there for X number of years, and then they move on … The responsibility is just watered down," Lindsay says.
"It's a big failure."
While he believes the Royal Commission, submissions for which close in October this year, could be "a game changer", his optimism is tempered by history.
"It's then going to be up to the community, and the veterans community in particular, to make sure that this is not shelved, and that these recommendations are ticked off one by one and implemented."
Sarich hopes for change too, but is looking forward to life outside the army. He's changed careers into acting, a move that has him excited about the future.
"I'll always have a limp [and] it's not often that I'm not reminded in some way of the limitations that I've got, and probably always [will] have, as a result of the IED incident and others," he says.
"But I get better and better at finding what my limits are and being there as close as I can to what they are, rather than somewhere far away from that.
"That's the aim for me — it sounds kind of trite — but just being as good as I can be."
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