It’s a scary time to hold a temporary visa. We need answers too.
In today’s post, Abigail Lewis @AbigailLLew flags unanswered questions about Australia’s temporary visa system in the current health crisis, the essential work being done by temporary visa holders in response to COVID-19, and the need for policy flexibility and care for people in limbo during a pandemic that crosses borders. Abigail is a Research Associate and Communications Manager at public policy think tank Per Capita.
“A travel ban will be placed on all non-residents,” the Prime Minister announces. In an interview, he tells us that “the most important thing” is “the health of all Australians”. His Treasurer announces a “package of new measures to keep Australians in jobs”. Social security payments are doubled for “newly unemployed Australians”.
I’ll tell you what. It’s a pretty scary time not to be Australian. “Health checks at the border,” scream the tweets, and those are the ones by progressives. More than half of Australia’s COVID-19 cases are “imported”, says the Department of Health. Why oh why, everyone seems to be asking, why did we let them in?
By them, of course, they mean us. Those of us who are not residents here in Australia, despite residing here. Working here, building community here. Laughing and loving alongside you, but not quite, never quite one of you, and now, you fear, infecting you. Like you, we get sick and need healthcare; like you, we are at risk of losing our jobs. But unlike you, our residence in Australia does not confer rights in times of crisis. With the routes to permanent residency closing one by one under Coalition rule, all of our documents have an expiry date.
It didn’t used to be this way. Many of us came here on the promise that it wouldn’t be. When the Australian government was advertising itself as a destination for graduates of my university, with its garish but tempting stall at the careers fair, the chatty representative who sold me on a dream of high wages and clear skies told me I’d be eligible for permanent residency in four years.
But four years in, with 457 visas abolished and the Skilled Occupations List shorter than it’s ever been, I’m no longer eligible for full residency. I’m not even eligible for full Medicare. I’m not eligible for a mental health plan from my GP. I’m not eligible for the Jobseeker Payment. And, as the spread of COVID-19 shuts down borders, as I realise I can no longer get to my family and they cannot get to me, and as the days until my visa expires continue to tick along, I am starting to wonder what else I might become ineligible for.
Although the border closure arguably affects us most, people on temporary visas have had very little information from the government about how the current crisis affects our status. We know the travel ban is in place for six months at least, which takes many of us past our expiry dates. Will the government be enforcing visa expiries? Will we all be put on bridging visas? How will they deport us if the border is closed? Should we be applying for new visas sooner, in anticipation of backlog, or later, when the panic has died down? How long before they say there are to be no new visa applications at all? How long before they say there aren’t enough hospital beds for us and we’re no longer eligible for emergency care? These are the questions that run through our anxious minds every day, in addition to all the other stressors that we share with you in these fraught and uncertain times.
This pandemic should be casting a glaring light on the fundamental insecurity and unsustainability of our temporary visa system. This is not a special interest issue. There are 1.9 million of us on temporary visas, with 1.4 million of us holding working rights. 1.1 million of us are not New Zealanders and are therefore not covered by the latest round of wage subsidies. Many of us have jobs that are essential to the COVID-19 response: care workers, health workers, farm workers, delivery drivers. Some of us are happy to leave when our date arrives, and some of us would love to stay. But all of us deserve to be spoken to, accounted for, and looked after by our government during a health crisis that knows no borders.
In New Zealand, Jacinda Ardern’s Labour government has issued an amnesty on visa expiries, extending all temporary visas until September. While this may be too much to hope for from Peter Dutton’s Department of Home Affairs, the government should at the very least issue clear advice and guidance to all temporary visa holders, explaining what steps to take if our visa expires in the next six months and guaranteeing that new visa applications will not be frozen.
For the duration of the crisis, temporary visa holders, including refugees and people seeking asylum, should be guaranteed access to health and social services. As it stands, many of us with health insurance are finding that our policies don’t cover COVID-19, while those of us with reciprocal Medicare cards are never certain what level of healthcare we qualify for. Temporary visa holders whose income has been slashed by the collapse of the casualised economy should be eligible for financial support, including the JobSeeker payment, the new JobKeeper wage subsidy, the $550 per fortnight COVID-19 stimulus payment, and the $750 lump sum payments.
And finally, the progressive voices in Australia’s civil society space should be wary of advocating any kind of tighter control or stricter enforcement at the border. Introducing mandatory health care checks at the border, for example, opens the door to a more discriminatory regime in the future where people with disabilities or pre-existing health conditions could find it harder to enter Australia. New restrictions introduced under emergency powers may prove difficult to wind back.
Content moderator: Sue Olney