By Shai Hipperson
Every ANZAC Day, Australians come together to honour the courage, sacrifice and service of our veterans.
We attend dawn services. We march. We pause, and we reflect.
But for many veterans, this day isn’t just about remembrance. It can also be a time when trauma resurfaces, when the past feels close again, and the systems designed to support them are tested.
As a clinical psychologist working in trauma, I see firsthand the complexity of what veterans carry long after their service ends. PTSD is common with this cohort, with an estimated 17.7 percent of ex-serving members living with the condition.
What is less understood is that the challenge is not only the trauma itself, but also the system delivering the care.
In recent years, we have seen promising developments in new treatment pathways, particularly for individuals experiencing treatment-resistant PTSD. The clinical frameworks are rigorous, highly regulated, and built with patient safety at their core.
But the administrative structure that surrounds these treatments is not keeping pace.
Veterans seeking help often encounter processes that are complex, inconsistent and at times, actively discouraging. I have worked with veterans who are required to repeatedly recount their trauma, not in a therapeutic setting, but in administrative contexts, to satisfy exhausting documentation requirements.
For individuals already managing significant psychological distress, this is not a neutral process. It can often be harmful and overwhelming.
We know from the Royal Commission into Defence and Veteran Suicide that administrative systems play a critical role in either supporting or undermining recovery. When these systems are difficult to navigate, unclear, or constantly changing, they do more than frustrate – they can contribute to disengagement from care altogether.
And when someone disengages from care, the consequences are not administrative. They are clinical.
What we are seeing in practice is that accessing care can require navigating fragmented information, unclear eligibility criteria, and multiple layers of coordination, often with no single point of contact and no clear timeline.
Clinics themselves are absorbing a significant unpaid administrative burden simply to help veterans move through these processes.
This is not about removing clinical rigour or oversight; it is about recognising that the design of systems matters.
A trauma-informed method does not ask people to repeatedly prove their suffering. It does not place the burden of navigation on individuals at their most vulnerable. And it does not create additional barriers at the very moment someone is seeking help.
The reforms required are not radical – they are practical, and overdue.
We need to simplify documentation, provide clear and consistent guidance, establish dedicated points of contact and ensure continuity and transparency.
These are achievable changes that align directly with the recommendations already set out by the Royal Commission.
ANZAC Day asks us to remember, but remembrance alone is not enough.
If we are serious about honouring our veterans, we must ensure the systems designed to support them are as strong, responsive and compassionate as the people they are built for.
Because the true measure of respect is not just how we remember service, but how we support those who have served.
Shai Hipperson is a clinical psychologist at the Conscious Mind Centre
