First Nations families grieving the loss of loved ones have accused a federally funded Indigenous suicide and trauma support service of failing to turn up to appointments, not responding to phone calls and not replying to financial support requests.
Guardian Australia has spoken to four First Nations families who have raised concerns about the service provided by the not-for-profit Thirrili, which provides financial, social and emotional support to Indigenous families affected by suicide and trauma.
One former staff member of the organisation said referrals she has since made to the service were frequently not followed up and likened it to a “grave injustice”.
In a statement, Thirrili said distressed calls should be referred to a coordinator or the chief executive, and encouraged families to speak to the service if they did not feel the support was adequate.
Aunty Donna Nelson – the mother of Veronica Nelson, whose death in custody was the subject of damning coronial findings and calls to overhaul Victorian bail laws – said she was disappointed with the service.
She told Guardian Australia two Thirrili employees did not turn up to appointments they verbally arranged with her – including one just days before the coroner’s findings into her daughters death were due to be handed down.
Nelson said she waited at home all day for a visit that never happened.
“Why would you tell someone you’re coming to see them and not turn up? That’s wrong. That’s no respect for your elders,” she said.
Nelson also received a $250 voucher for groceries and a $100 fuel voucher from Thirrili in January, and was told there was about $1,100 left in her account with the service. But when she requested funding to buy medication for her ill dog via email she did not hear back.
“I was shattered – I was so worried about my dogs. They sleep with me and they’re like my children,” she said.
After Guardian Australia contacted Thirrili about concerns raised by First Nations families, it paid Nelson $500. But other families feel like their requests for financial support in times of crisis have fallen on deaf ears.
While the total amount available to each family is not publicly available and Thirrili would not confirm the figure, two former employees confirmed up to $1,500 is offered to those engaged by the service, which can be used for a wide range of things such as car registration, groceries and funeral costs.
Palawa woman Tara Chatters, who lost her 28-year-old daughter Ashleigh to suicide in February 2022, requested funding for her son who was struggling to afford groceries in the months after his sister’s death. The service transferred $200 and said more funding would be provided in the new year. The Chatters are yet to receive this.
“I didn’t know what else to do to help people because I didn’t have any money myself,” Chatters said.
“That’s the last we heard from them.”
Chatters said she “gave up” on Thirrili after contact with her support worker dropped off after a few months, despite being told they would be in contact for more than two years.
Earlier this year Chatters said she became suicidal and was admitted to hospital after struggling with her mental health as she grieved the death of Ashleigh.
In response to questions from Guardian Australia, Thirrili’s chief executive, Annette Vickery, said the service encouraged families to speak to them if they were not receiving the required support or had additional needs.
“Understanding the richness and diversity of the communities in which we work is incredibly important. Every family is different and we value each and every interaction,” she said in a statement.
“We are here to listen, learn and continuously improve in order to provide the best possible care to families impacted by loss due to suicide or other fatal traumatic events.”
In 2021 the not-for-profit received federal funding of $15m over three years to continue providing practical and social support to First Nations people affected by suicide and other fatal traumas.
The suicide rate among First Nations peoples is more than double compared to non-Indigenous Australians and the number of Indigenous deaths in custody continues to rise.
Thirrili website advises callers to its 24-hour helpline to leave their name and contact details if the phone line is unanswered.
But Guardian Australia spoke to two families who never received a call back from the service.
Noongar woman Simone Loo called the helpline last February in the days after her sister, Odessa, lost her partner, Kingsley Garlett, to suicide in prison. A staff member took down her sister’s details and said an advocate would contact her. Odessa said she waited, but the call never came.
Loo remembers the days after Garlett’s death as a haze of numbness and says she was desperate to connect her sister to help.
“We were in complete shock. Those were the first waves of grief coming over us. She needed someone to just sit with her or just listen to her talk on the phone,” she said.
“You ring up thinking someone will call you, listen to you and help. It just makes you feel worse,” she said.
Jamima Pickett lost her son Hayden Patten, 23, to suicide in January 2022.
Pickett, who lives in regional Western Australia, said she called Thirrili three times the following month but never received a call back.
“It felt horrible. I was trying to get my children help too,” she said.
Vickery said the service’s call takers should escalate distressed clients to a coordinator or herself as chief executive.
“Our service is holistic and wrap around with main contact numbers always staffed by Aboriginal people and closely monitored, as is our model of care, which has a number of checks and balances to ensure the needs of the community are being met,” she said.
Megan Krakouer, a Mineng Noongar woman and Western Australia-based suicide prevention advocate, worked for Thirrili between 2017 and 2019. But over the past 18 months, she said on several occasions referrals were not followed up or families were provided with minimal psychological and social support.
“Not responding to some of the families, two months down the track, four months down the track, a year down the track, is a grave injustice,” she said.
In one case she called the 24-hour helpline seven times before contacting a former employee to help connect a grieving family to Thirrili.
“We’re dealing with some of the most marginalised and vulnerable people, and they should be getting the service that they deserve,” she said.
She said lower literacy levels and challenges accessing technology in remote areas were some of the barriers clients faced.
Krakouer is adamant the service should fill an unmet gap and says Indigenous-run services are key to providing appropriate responses that builds trust with First Nations families.
Although Thirrili has a complaints process – allowing grievances to be made via telephone or an online form – none of the families who spoke to Guardian Australia made a complaint.
The families say they were either unaware of the complaints process or hadn’t made a complaint as they already given up on the service.
