An inability to continue education was observed to be very socially isolating for stateless young people in Australia. “I was allowed to go to school, but I can’t go to University or do any further study….My final year of school was really hard because all of my friends were looking forward to going to university and choosing courses and stuff. But I couldn’t do any of that, so I felt really left out. It was confusing—how come they could do that but I couldn’t? Now I’ve finished school I find it hard to fill my days. I feel like I have too much time. It’s not normal for somebody my age to have so much time. I try to keep myself busy with painting. I like reading. But sometimes there’s just nothing to do and I sit at home.” — Nur* Support for stateless young people applying for higher education in Australia, even in instances where scholarships are available, was shown to be unavailable or inadequate, in part because of a lack of understanding of the issue and the unique barriers that stateless people face. “There are so many things I was worrying about in high school that my friends didn’t really have to worry about. They weren’t taking care of their siblings and helping their parents with interviews and filling out documents, managing their emails and cleaning up the house while also studying and worrying about the applications to university with scholarships and getting rejected. I missed a whole year of education after the HSC because although I got offers to study bachelor’s degrees, I didn’t have the money part sorted. I was getting half scholarships, which was not enough. It wouldn’t cover one semester. I emailed so many universities. I called so many people and no one could help me. My high school career advisor was completely useless. They’re the first person you go to for guidance, but every time I told them my problems they weren’t invested. They didn’t understand—they refused to understand my situation. They treated me the same as they did the normal students who are born here, who are Australian citizens, permanent residents. They were treating me like them, but I wasn’t them. I was on a temporary visa. I’m stateless. I have no birth certificate.” — Asma Financial barriers on accessing higher education were observed to be complicated by the caring responsibilities shouldered by young people in stateless families, who often have more advanced English than their parents. “All the young kids in my community are going to school now and can speak English much better than our parents. They can communicate much better when it comes to going to the doctors or speaking with immigration or calling Centrelink. For me, I had to start translating for my parents when I was 10 years old; legal documents, communication with the government. I barely knew 56 Peter McMullin Centre on Statelessness | Understanding Statelessness in Australia English myself. I was still learning. I didn’t have any education until the last semester of year five. I lost a lot of critical years of education. But I’m still expected to help my parents because if I don’t do it, who will? … That is a big load to carry as a kid. It’s like having the responsibilities of an adult.” — Asma The barriers regarding access to higher education in Australia were described by a policy expert we interviewed as a ‘policy that’s deliberately separating families’ in some instances. “We’ve had horrible situations where young women— the mother is married here, so doesn’t want to leave her husband…But the adult girls have applied to go to New Zealand, because it’s the only way that they can get to university. So it’s a policy that’s deliberately separating families. The mother’s saying, ‘Well, am I ever going to see my daughters again?’ We hope that once the girls become…. permanent residents of New Zealand, or even citizens, they’ll be able to travel back to Australia, but in the meantime, the mother’s trapped. Because if she wants to stay with her husband, she has to be in this limbo state forever.” — Refugee Policy Advisor, Community Sector Stateless adults also reported experiencing barriers in accessing education. “When I got my scholarship, I was still on a temporary protection visa and wanted to pursue my studies. I applied to Deakin College as an international student because that was the only way I was allowed to apply. I didn’t know what was going to happen; I didn’t realise how expensive it would be. I couldn’t afford to pay the fees. I went to the University, met with the school manager, and said, “You know I don’t have money.” And they said, “Why are you here?” I said, “I love education. I come as someone, as a human who is passionate about education and learning.” Luckily I was able to secure a scholarship.” — Amir Stateless people interviewed expressed sadness at being prohibited from seeking study as adults in Australia, in an attempt to make up for lost time and opportunities they were excluded from as young people in their country of origin. “I was allowed to go to school until Year 8. After that my mother would have had to pay a lot of money and we couldn’t afford to keep me in school. The fees only applied to Rohingya students… There are restrictions on everything for Rohingya people in Myanmar. On work, study, moving around. Often we didn’t feel safe… My dream is to study. But the visa doesn’t allow me to do this. I’d love to study computer studies. And improve my English. But I’m not allowed to in Australia.” — Yasmin*