Red tape’s strangling volunteering – creating more casualties than you’d think

This story is part of the September 7 edition of Good Weekend.See all 12 stories.

One morning about five years ago, I had the CEO of an inner-city council as a ­passenger in my car. This gave me a chance to tell him that his council had sacked me. I had worked as one of many volunteer drivers, taking ­seniors to and from medical appointments. The long-running program had been successful, popular with both clients and drivers. Then it was shut down.

Some of us transferred to the council’s delivered-meals service. It was in this capacity that I had the CEO riding shotgun: in the council’s annual hands-on day, managers were encouraged to get personal experience of community programs. The CEO, an amiable bloke, seemed to be enjoying some time out of his office. He chatted with clients, placed packaged meals in their fridges, helped me set the right time on old Harvey’s microwave. We were heading back to base when I mentioned the defunct transport service. He grimaced.

The council had been offered new funding from a federal department, he explained, but one of many strings attached was that programs had to be more “professional”. Part-time volunteers wouldn’t cut it. Letting us go was a shame, but councils can’t say no to money. I resisted the temptation to contact the CEO a bit later when I got sacked again: the meals service had been put out to tender; the new supplier did its own deliveries.

Perhaps “sacked” is the wrong word. Can you be sacked if you’re unpaid? Discuss. In some ways, it’s worse, as it’s not about cost-savings. Those of us made redundant from these programs were left with a hole in our lives: the work had felt worthwhile. Now, without much warning, it had ended. Every so often, I drive past a place where I used to pick up Betty for her physio sessions or leave meals for Bert (a sucker for desserts) and wonder how they’re going. Or if they’ve gone.

We scattered. I later recognised a fellow driver on a tennis court: we were assisting at a program for intellectually disabled people, bunting balls back and forth. It was fun on both sides of the net. That program was suspended during the dark days of COVID and never returned. Around the same time, I got involved with a community visitors’ scheme but found it impossible to establish rapport with strangers behind a mask.

Now, post-pandemic, things just seem harder. Over the past 21 years I’ve also volunteered at a children’s farm, a penguin reserve, a street-soccer program and a telephone crisis service, among other things. Sign-on requirements are getting more onerous. Once, a get-to-know-you coffee and some form-filling was all that was necessary before a smile and a “When can you start?” sealed the deal. Today, depending on the role, a ­nationally coordinated criminal history check and/or a state working-with-children clearance may be required, plus references and the completion of online training ­modules. Some qualifications must be ­renewed annually. If the NDIS is involved (as it was with another transport service I auditioned for late last year), you can expect a process as torturous as applying for a new passport – which, incidentally, you’ll probably need to produce as one form of ID.

Volunteering is a powerful force that ­enhances the wellbeing of volunteers and the people they assist. But now volunteering itself is in trouble.

Volunteering has big-name advocates. Barack Obama cited his work as a community organiser early in his 20s as something that gave him direction in life. In 2009, as president, he said: “Serving our country is not just something that we should expect members of our armed forces to do. That’s something we should expect all of us as citizens to do.” This reframed John F. Kennedy’s famous line from his 1961 inauguration ­address: “Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.”

Closer to home, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese regularly spends Christmas mornings at a church in his Sydney electorate helping others serve meals to the disadvantaged. Last April, in south-east Melbourne, he donned a turban to laud the work of Sikhs who had provided meals during the pandemic and were active in relief efforts after floods and fires. “Wherever there are issues confronting Australians, we see the best of the Australian character,” the PM said, “and there’s no community organisation that has done more than Sikh Volunteers Australia.”

You didn’t have to agree with the policies of one of Albo’s predecessors, Tony Abbott, to admire his efforts as a volunteer. Unlike ScoMo, he did hold a hose; he also spent time on beaches (in those infamous budgies) as a lifesaver. Volunteering is a powerful force that ­enhances the wellbeing of volunteers and the people they assist. But now volunteering itself is in trouble. Volunteer numbers are down when there has never been a ­greater need in communities for their help. The ­situation is so serious that the peak body describes a “sustainability crisis facing volunteering in Australia”.

Volunteering Australia says its mission is “to lead, strengthen and celebrate volunteering in Australia”. But its own national figures show a steady decline in the rate of volunteering: numbers have dropped from 36.2 per cent of the population aged 18 and over in 2010 to 24.8 per cent aged 15 and over in 2020. And then came COVID. But VA head Mark Pearce, who swaps a suit for SES ­overalls when disasters hit and is also ­involved in ­animal welfare, says, “COVID didn’t create problems or trends, it highlighted them.”

“If you go back to, say, 2010-11, around 36 per cent of Australians volunteered their time,” Pearce says. “During COVID, that fell precipitously and understandably. It happened in all parts of community life, paid or unpaid; participation in general. Numbers have recovered, but not to those pre-pandemic levels. It needs to be clarified: that wasn’t nirvana. It needed to be higher than it was pre-pandemic.” And even higher now.

VA believes an ageing population, cost-of-living pressures, the housing crisis and mental health issues are all factors in a decline in volunteer numbers. It cites “challenges people face in their broader lives … People who work longer hours are less likely to volunteer.” Other factors include work and family commitments, lack of interest, health issues and financial strain. Intriguingly, its own strategy document, released last year, says: “Other changes in the volunteering landscape, such as an increase in administrative requirements … do not emerge as major contributors to this trend in the data.”

Really? Pearce is familiar with the hurdles I’ve hit, things like increased paperwork or changes in ­structure. They can be filed under “B” for “barriers to participating in volunteering”. Risk management and insurance requirements explain some of it but, Pearce says, “if the administrative burden is such that it’s ­reducing the volunteering experience or dissuading people, then that’s problematic.”

And it’s a problem on both sides of the desk – for managers as well as volunteers. I know a woman with extensive experience of running community programs and recruiting participants. She grew weary of ­increased requirements (a form sets out 11 standards with which organisations must comply if a project ­involves young people) and the demands on locals wanting to help. She also found it distressing when programs were wound up. She’s a people person, but often found herself mired in management flow-charts or funding issues.

Talking to her, I was reminded of the time my family spent in the US in the mid-1990s. Our two older ­children were at the local elementary school, where teachers and kids were welcoming and friendly. But something was missing. On pick-up duty one afternoon, I mentioned to another parent that our equivalent school in Melbourne often had weekend working bees: you’d do a couple of hours painting or weeding and then gather for a sausage sizzle. Jobs got done and friendships were formed while the kids ran around.

Volunteering Australia’s Mark Pearce calls volunteering “a way to combat a sense of powerlessness about how things are going”.Credit: Getty Images

There was nothing like that there, the American said. Why? Insurance and legal issues: what if I sued the school if I fell off a ladder? I wondered aloud if I might sign a form promising not to ring lawyers if I hurt myself on school grounds. Apparently not. I left thinking that this New York school community was missing out on something valuable.

Mark Pearce describes “tension between volunteers’ intention and organisational need, especially from a risk perspective – so, yes, ­insurance has something to do with that”. Another issue, he suggests, is that volunteers are often lumped in with paid employees in terms of requirements. This reflects ­inadequate understanding of the different roles of volunteers within an organisation and the community.

“We are trying to get conditions right for volunteering to survive and thrive in the ­future,” Pearce says. “We need community safety, we need safety for volunteers, we need appropriate regulations which provide that framework, but we also need to have that ­built-in context of the nuance between volunteering and paid work.”

Risk management is one factor. Another is when a local group must adhere to the edicts of a state association. This made things more complicated for a volunteer, let’s call her Annie, who has assisted over several summers at a lifesaving club offering supervised time in the water for special-needs young ­people. The ­program has been run, successfully, by one of those selfless, remarkable women who make things happen and get others involved.

Last summer, the state lifesaving body declared that everyone helping out in the water should have the appropriate lifesaving qualifications. This would require form-­filling, e-learnings and assessment sessions on the sand. Annie, who has done voluntary work with ­refugees as well as beach shifts as a lifesaver, took ­several deep breaths and (literally) dived in.

‘The best thing about volunteering is the contact with other like-minded people … The worst thing is the bureaucracy.’

Annie, a volunteer

“I volunteer to support causes I believe in,” she says. “It is a practical way of helping under-resourced ­organisations and people. More is required each year. Online learning, police and working-with-children checks take more time and effort. You used to be able to express an interest in something and then rock up and start. Now there will be forms, courses and many more requirements. And you must do the same ones each year.

“Sometimes it feels too hard. We are all time-poor, with limited resources. I’m sure it’s a deterrent to volunteering. The requirements are usually online and impersonal. But what most people like about volunteering is the personal contact. That can be lost in box-ticking. Every organisation uses a different platform to educate and inform. Many of them are not volunteer-friendly and can deter you from participating.

“The best thing about volunteering is the contact with other like-minded people and feeling that you can make a difference. The worst thing is the bureaucracy. I have been known to give up when I can’t access some resource due to an inability to log in or access yet more materials that are supposed to help me!” (Meanwhile, the first point in Volunteering Australia’s strategy document is: “A good volunteer experience is paramount to achieving individual and collective goals.”)

All the requirements help to explain the rise in what is termed “informal volunteering”, which can mean minding children or pets. VA research from 2020 found that the most common types of informal volunteering were providing emotional support (53.8 per cent), providing transport and running errands (38.2 per cent), and domestic work, home maintenance or gardening (37.2 per cent). In 2022, just over 46 per cent of people had ­volunteered informally in the four weeks leading up to April 2022. That’s a much higher figure than the ­proportion in formal volunteer roles (nearly 27 per cent).

People born overseas in a non-English speaking country were more likely to have undertaken informal volunteering than those born in Australia. This is significant, as those from a non-English speaking ­country, men, and those experiencing financial ­difficulties are among the main groups not to return to volunteering post-pandemic. Women and older Australians are more likely to be informal volunteers: a VA survey found that just over half of women had undertaken some tasks in the previous four weeks ­compared to just over 41 per cent of men.

Another warning sign: formal volunteering among young people decreased significantly between 2016 and 2021. Over the next year, people aged 18 to 24 were the only age group for which the rate of formal volunteering did not increase.

“Informal volunteering”, for which no police checks or ID will be needed, may also be a fancy term for what generations have simply regarded as helping others – especially within families. It’s a problem, however, if it’s another reason for people to move on from formal volunteering roles.

The demand is still there: VA believes 11 per cent of organisations in areas as diverse as sport, aged care and animal welfare could benefit from volunteers. But its own research found a “significant mismatch between the volunteering opportunities being offered and the opportunities that non-volunteers are interested in”. Those most likely to volunteer? Women. People aged 55 and older. Those with higher levels of education. Living outside a capital city. Already in paid employment. The most common areas for volunteers? Sport and recreation (25 per cent); community services, welfare and homelessness (22.2 per cent).

Younger people (aged between 18 and 35) and people living in capital cities are more likely to report financial stress as a reason for not volunteering. But the most common reason (41 per cent) for not volunteering is existing work and/or family commitments. Just under 14 per cent of non-volunteers suggested “nobody asked” – VA actually sees this as encouraging: it ­suggests an untapped pool of potential volunteers.

Pearce argues that if volunteering is going to survive, the focus should be on the volunteer experience. Research by VA and the Australian National University found that the mental health of people who continued volunteering during the pandemic was better than those who had to stop. I can vouch for that. I’d leave the phone crisis service after midnight and drive home through deserted streets, glad to have escaped from lockdown and feeling I’d done something useful.

“We can talk all we want about the altruistic nature of volunteering and, yes, it’s an expression of aspiration. But it benefits both the ­community and the individual,” says Pearce. “It’s a way to combat a sense of powerlessness about how things are going. Doing a little bit. You can take the power back by putting up your hand, getting engaged and being part of the solution. That’s volunteering.”

I sometimes suggested to ­callers who were stuck and isolated that they should consider volunteering. This usually surprised them.

He’s right. I decided long ago it was satisfying spending time with people who, essentially, wanted to be there. It wasn’t about making money. It gets back to choice, as well as affinity with a cause – whatever that may be. Anyone who has ever volunteered – anything from ­fundraising to assisting with junior sport – knows the experience is usually positive.

Not surprisingly, VA reports that “there is a strong connection between volunteering and wellbeing, with those who volunteer ­reporting greater life satisfaction than those who do not.” It believes volunteers are more likely to be involved in other aspects of ­community life than non-volunteers. More satisfied with their lives, too, and more likely to help someone outside their own family circle.

At the crisis service, I sometimes suggested to ­callers who were stuck and isolated that they should consider volunteering. This usually surprised them. Me? I’m having trouble holding myself together. How could I help others? I’d explain it could give them a sense of purpose. Also some perspective. Turns out that this is what Pearce calls “social prescribing” – connecting ­people with non-clinical services in the community.

With all those positive aspects to volunteering, it’s a shame that risk management, insurance considerations, one-size-fits-all online courses and edicts from state or federal peak organisations often conspire to make the experience less rewarding or no longer ­viable. You can be left feeling like you were good enough to help last year, but perhaps not now.

My most recent transport-service experience didn’t end well. I did the required training. Completed modules. Submitted checks and names of referees. Leaned on appropriately qualified people to certify documents. Even (finally) satisfied the NDIS gatekeepers. I earned several handsome certificates verifying I had completed the “Induction for Volunteer Drivers” and a unit called “Quality, Safety and You”.

I had one hurdle left to clear: a practical test proving I could drive their vehicle. Then I got a call from an embarrassed volunteer coordinator saying they had a new CEO who was making cuts and rationalising ­services. Long story short: no more volunteer drivers were being taken on. Ah, well … stuff ­happens. Although one fewer driver could mean a distressed old person left stranded somewhere or unable to get to an appointment.

I persevere. There’s still the Blood Bank – from which I was barred for a while, then allowed back in after the ­relaxation of rules about possible exposure to “mad cow disease” in the UK in the 1980s. Also, that summer water program for special-needs young people, although it seems I’m now an ­unqualified “emergency” option. Other things may come up.

There’s always the informal option. Simple, life-­affirming things. Minding grandkids. Smiling at ­people when walking the dog. Chatting to local seniors. Just quietly, too, if any of them ever need a lift, I have an empty space in the car where the council CEO once sat.

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