In Christian theology, Limbo is the afterlife condition of those who die in original sin without being assigned to the Hell of the Damned.
In our region that’s how many are describing the last 12 months of interactions with the NRRC and insurance companies in their attempts to find not the ‘afterlife’ per se, but life after the flood.
A year ago the water came. It was so fast that authorities were caught off-guard, neighbours had to rescue neighbours, strangers saved strangers. It was a courageous and extraordinary moment when we saw the best of who we are; when we stood with compassion and solidarity in the detritus of another person’s life, in an attempt to help them find restitution in the midst of extraordinary loss.
The devastation was more than visible; we could smell it. We were consumed by this wave of grief and deep knowledge that for all of us everything had changed. For some, more than others.
I wasn’t flood-affected directly. In fact, while thousands were, thousands also weren’t. For some, life has gone on pretty much as normal. We’ve lived a parallel life to the many who were flood-affected.
But the people we thought we’d saved are still drowning; they’re up to their necks in bureaucracy and despair and it’s not on the news. A chopper can’t record airborne vision of the Virgin Mary drowning in phone calls, misinformation, insurance company paperwork, assessments and conflicting scopes of works. There are no dramatic pictures of the misery of not being able to plan, of not knowing how to move forward, of not knowing how to survive the day.
Up to 75 per cent of people who live through natural disaster can experience PTSD.
This aftershock cannot be captured with a camera but it’s a real story. It is many many stories. It is the post-flood bureaucratic zombie apocalypse where survivors compete for limited resources with no sense of who is in line, if they are in the wrong line, or if in fact there is any line at all. They do however get told to ‘please hold the line’ – a lot.
One year on they are very very tired of holding the line.
Over the last few weeks I have spent about eight hours sitting with flood survivors from Lismore and Mullumbimby. It’s clear they are distressed. They talk of the days they’ve spent, every week, on the phone to insurance companies, builders and government departments trying to establish a way forward. They tell me how what they clarify one week gets contradicted or revoked the next. It’s so confusing.
Personal stories are muddied with detail about someone else, with government requirements, with past experiences, with frustration. It’s what happens when people are in mental distress. I ask if they need mental health support. But they are clear, ‘No more social workers. We want real help.’ You see, it’s builders, and money they need most, because the underlying cause of their distress is being left abandoned and feeling hopeless. They need reason to hope.
Rumours and misinformation abound. In Lismore one group had ‘heard’ that someone in the Byron Shire had been given a buyback. That’s not true. A group in Mullumbimby believed nothing would happen until Lismore and the most heavily affected had received buybacks, but the people I spoke to in South Lismore had not been offered buybacks. They’re all waiting too, wondering where their need has been triaged in relation to everyone elses’. Flood survivors everywhere are worried that $800 million is not enough to go around.
Meantime elderly people who once rented or owned are now couch-surfing. Children are still traumatised by the sound of rain. In south Lismore uninsured homeowners, and those who took payouts, who’ve since rebuilt their homes are hearing rumours their area is scheduled for ‘retreat’ – where will that leave them? Some sold at a ridiculously low price so they could pay out part of their mortgage. Most are still paying for a house they can’t live in. A woman in her 70s tells me ‘I am project managing the rebuild of my home. Could your mother do this?’ No, I don’t think she could. Every day for people whose homes were flooded is hard. They are struggling to find money to retrofit or raise their home, knowing they don’t have capacity to repay an extension on their mortgage. The cost of repairs means they will have to sell. They have no guarantee that they will be reimbursed by the NRRC, nor do they have a timeframe – for anything.
The people I have spoken to have all been told NRRC caseworkers are coming to help them action their cases. Caseworkers were promised on the ground by November, then by December… now it’s February. No one I spoke to had seen one. I don’t know if it’s incompetence or willful misconduct, all I know is the landscape of retrofitting, rebuilding, house-raising and building within resilient housing frameworks, alongside promises of ‘support’ not yet seen, and ‘pathways to recovery’ not yet even identified, is completely exhausting people.
One man tells me ‘The promises of the NRRC gave me hope, but now that hope has turned to despair.’ The NRRC needs to pull their finger out. This is taking too long.
We the community must stand together once again. Where there is a strong grassroots community there is hope. And guess what, an election is coming. The NSW Coalition government has fucked this up. This time we don’t need boats to save people. We need votes.
Flood-affected people could do with advocacy and support right now. Are you a retired builder or town planner? Are you an experienced home renovator? Contact Mullumbimby Recovery Service.
On 28 Feb, the Neighborhood centre is co-hosting a Reflections Day barbeque, 10am–2pm, with Red Cross and Byron Shire Council. [email protected].
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