The new school year brings mixed emotions. Excitement, trepidation and a mad rush to get all the necessary gear: backpack, shoes, uniforms, lunch boxes, drink bottles, stationary, textbooks, electronic devices, and whatever the status symbol is of the time. Don't even get me started on the haircuts ... and looming expenses of camps and excursions.
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Media will flood the political lull with stories of school blah with number blah of twins starting kindergarten or entering year 12. Outlets will compete for the most identical kindy twins posing in oversized uniforms, with the biggest backpack to small-human ratio. Stories will ooze of smiling faces and shiny new things. Feel-good news stories.
Rarely do we see stories of those doing it tough. Not because the stories don't exist in Australia, but because the reality of some young people's lives is unpalatable.
School wasn't a good time for me. Trauma associated with abuse meant I finished year 7 and simply couldn't get back into mainstream education.
As a young person, I spent time in out-of-home and institutional care. I tried keeping jobs, but without transport or the means to wash my clothes - or myself - work was impossible. At 16, I was homeless and pregnant with my first child.
Things look very different for me today. I have a PhD from one of the best universities in the country. All while being a mum of seven, high school dropout, TAFE alum, and neurodivergent human that has managed to use their sense of wonder as a source of strength and power.
As a young person I struggled with understanding how others had so much, while the people I knew and loved had so little.
As a demographer, I learned that my circumstances weren't my fault, that society effectively worked against people like me.
For so long I carried the shame of not having enough, for having lost the lottery of life.
What changed my trajectory wasn't a policy or well-designed system. It was serendipitous moments of luck - people who saw something in me and gave me a chance.
The teacher at TAFE, where I enrolled to finish high school, who said, "We're applying for a university degree together, get the form out". A lecturer at university who told me I could do education and who treated me like a human being. It was another educator who asked me, "Have you ever thought of a PhD?" I laughed. Do they not know who I am? Where I come from? People from where I come from aren't doctors.
Without those opportunities, my life would have taken a different course. But this is not how a just society should work. Survival and opportunity shouldn't be left to luck. We have the evidence and the means to do better.
If we think about school, it's not just having teachers and others who are supportive, but deliberate mechanisms of support to help people. Providing food and travel support. Having the ability to arrange a pair of shoes for someone if that's the reason they're not coming to school, or the right school uniform; the basics.
We cannot overlook the importance of the safety net of welfare. For many young people doing it tough, their family income is social security, and over time welfare has been eroded. We're now at the point where poverty is built into policy - that's got to change. We must see the increase of social security payments for families, and especially for children, to enable an opportunity to not just survive, but to thrive.
Success among the nation's children is a win for us all.
Without intervention, the difference between the "haves" and the "have nots" increases. If you start at a lower base, the gap between you and someone with resources gets bigger over the life course: from school to post-school education and into employment. All of these things are determined by the socioeconomic circumstances of your upbringing.
Australia isn't the land of the fair go; it's a lie hurting those not getting a go.
As someone who has broken the cycle of poverty, I carry a great responsibility to pay it forward and ensure that people are granted the opportunity to thrive, no matter who they are, no matter the circumstances of their life.
Poverty isn't the fault of an individual. Poverty is a social problem that we all share responsibility in tackling.
For many young people without financial or other resources, they're running to stand still. They are exhausted every moment of the day. It takes so much just to survive. That's got to change. We must, as a community, provide the vital support that ensures people are able, with help, to move through the tough times.
That poverty still exists in 2026 should make us all furious - furious enough to do something and fix a flawed system. That starts by listening to the people who know poverty firsthand. As we head into another school year, I urge our leaders and the broader community to listen, take action and start now.
- Dr Liz Allen is a demographer and senior lecturer at ANU Centre for Social Policy Research and is among the Australians sharing her story of rising from tough beginnings in The Smith Family's new podcast All I Can Be.
