The following article aired on NITV - The Point and tells the story of Matt Syron both during his career in Afghanistan, and the struggles after he discharged.

SBS/NITV-The Point Article

From soldier to struggling civilian: Stories like Matt Syron's must be heard

The Biripi-Worimi and Darkinjung former solider has struggled with mental health issues since he left the service and is critical of the support processes within the Department of Veterans Affairs.

Before dawn, Matt Syron pulls on a black jacket adorned with four medals.

They honour his years of service to his country, which included more than nine months on the frontlines of the War in Afghanistan a decade ago. He’s heading to an ANZAC Day Service on the New South Wales Central Coast, accompanied by some of his fellow ex-servicemen and friends.

It’s a bittersweet day. For the Biripi, Worimi and Darkinjung man, it stirs up memories of mateship and pride at what he accomplished in the service, and it gives a chance to rekindle the sense of camaraderie he formed with other diggers across the country. But there’s another side to that coin. The day is also a reminder of what he, and many other former soldiers, have had to deal with post-service. “I've been through things that nobody else can understand,” he told The Point.

“We were told to forget about what we've been through and that was a bit of a shock to the system to be honest, because I thought they had our back.”

Matt stands proudly throughout the service with the sounds of The Last Post filling the air. There is a reflective look on his face, and a number of thoughts running through his head.

He’s remembering those who never came home, and the journeys of other Black Diggers past and present, who had to face monumental challenges both during and post service.

He also reflects on some of his comrades, who have been lost after returning home.

“A lot of friends of mine have gone the wrong way, and some of them aren’t here with us anymore.” he said.

In the wake of an announcement that there will be a Royal Commission into veteran suicides, Matt is sharing his story now in the hope it will help others to speak up and seek levels of support he, and other soldiers, have not yet received. There's been more veterans lost to suicide than those who died on duty since Australian Defence Force personnel were first deployed to Afghanistan two decades ago.

“There's too much of a stigma, the fact that people have to keep it to themselves and be the strong upholding soldier that is unwavering and can't be hurt … that's not true,” he said.

“We need to talk. We just need to talk.”

With all guns blazing

Matt has been out of the service for five years now. He has a family that includes four young boys who love his medals and listening to his stories, and it was his own family’s ties with the army that originally inspired him to join in the first place.

“A long time ago my pop showed me a photo of his dad, Daniel Syron. He was in the Light Horse in World War One and ever since then … it's been something inside of me that just always wanted to join the army and the older I got, the more I sort of, I couldn't get away from it,” he said.

“A cousin of mine - He's looked into our family history with our service and we've got like a 40 plus and still counting serving members from the Boer War to now, and that's a sense of pride for me like I get shivers up my spine and goosebumps every time I think about it.”

His two eldest boys, Chase and Vallen, were just toddlers when Matt joined the fight in 2009. At that time the younger man had a very different outlook on things ahead of his deployment to Afghanistan.

He tells of tears flowing when saying goodbye to the family, then excitement as he got on the plane with his comrades. But once they landed, the reality of the situation soon hit.

“It felt like a dream to be honest with you … it become very real, an eye-opening experience, nothing can prepare you,” he said. “You can train as much as you want but once you hit the ground over there that's when it starts to really sink in.”

Matt served in Uruzgan province as part of Mentoring Task Force Two in 2010 and 2011 training the Afghan National Army. His role included protecting and assisting when trouble came, which he said happened regularly. “We weren't really expecting so much, so much time in the fight … that's basically what happened pretty much once we got there for quite a while,” he said. “You cannot prepare for it.”

Going to war was an extremely confronting experience for Matt but returning home would prove just as challenging.

From Soldier to Civilian

He said a couple hundred discharge papers were handed in from his battalion alone and there was a “heartbreaking” mass exodus at one time. “I was just at a bit of a loss to be honest with you, I didn't want to go back to my old life,” he said.

“It was just heartbreaking for me because I planned on staying in for the rest of my life .. I loved my job as I just lost the passion.”

Despite losing that passion, he found the immediate transition from soldier to civilian particularly tough. He turned to alcohol and drugs as a way of dealing with how he felt.

“I couldn't control my temper and I drunk myself into a stupor and slept for days and it didn't affect my work, but it affected my friendships and it affected my relationships,” he said. “I subsequently got divorced from it and I can’t apologise to my family enough for how I used to be. It wasn't me, it’s still a bit shameful for me to be honest with you. “I wasn't a physical person I was more of a yelling and screaming and drinking, but it was just not what my boys should have seen as a father figure.”

'Just a number'

Alongside his personal issues, Matt says things weren’t made any easier by the attitudes within the bureaucracy when he reached out for support.

In fact, he says the Department of Veterans Affairs made him feel worse.

“They at first told me that they didn't have any service record of me. So that was another heartbreaking experience,” he said.

“Everything’s just so long-winded like, you've got to get the paperwork, obviously it has to be done but the amount that they drop on you and some of it's just confusing if you don't work things properly, you know, they can misconstrue things and they really make it daunting.”

Speaking to The Point, The Minister for Veterans Affairs Darren Chester stressed that there’s almost twelve billion dollars per year provided by the Department to help our veterans, which includes 230 million for mental health support. But he conceded they could do better with their processes. “There’s also no question that there are some issues and some ways to improve it and some problems with the system that has been identified as being too complex.” Minister Chester said.

Minister Chester's description aligns with Matt's experience when seeking support. Despite the Royal Commission announcement, Matt is sceptical of what it will achieve. When he first approached the Department for help in 2013, Matt says he could only access six dollars a fortnight under the Military Rehabilitation and Compensation Act. He chose to dive straight back in to work instead.

From that point, the physical and mental toll led him to again reach out in the hope he could get some assistance with physiotherapy on his back and neck. He says it was a painstaking process involving loads of paperwork, red tape and being "passed around" to other people.

Then last year, Matt says that he was offered approximately three-hundred dollars a fortnight, a figure he says was tested against the income of his partner. “It just shouldn't be so bloody hard like they know what we've done, they know what we've been through … it's like an insurance company really, that's my opinion of it,” he said.

“We’re just a number to them.”

Keeping it together, just

Matt is currently flying across the country to work on the Coronavirus vaccine rollout in the state. On this day he has just flown into Newcastle from Central Queensland and will be heading home to the Central Coast.

He says he is taking on any work he can get in order to get by and is hopeful that by speaking up, he can connect with others and instigate some change. He wants to break the stigma of the super-solider who won’t admit to any weakness or chink in the armour. He wants others to talk to each other. “There’s guys out there that are legitimately in a lot of trouble and half the time they’re the ones that won’t say anything.” he said.

Matt’s now on the verge of 40, and he admits he is still not in a good headspace. He says the way he feels now is the worst since he’s returned from service. “I’m at the end of my tether but I am keeping it together because I have kids.” he said.

The four boys waiting for him at home and his wife are his primary focus. He is grateful for the love and support that others in his situation may not have. He sees a psychologist regularly and puts effort into doing the things he loves, like surfing. At Newcastle airport, he looks across the room and sees a bunch of young men in Army uniform, looking jovial as they prepare to travel to whatever training or assignment awaits them.

“I remember when I was that proud,” he said. “I hope you come out of it alright boys, because my mates and I didn’t.”

 - The Point airs every Tuesday, 7.30pm on NITV

This article was published by the NSW War Memorials Register. I have also found many article in regional newspapers and on the Defence site which will be posted separately.

7th Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment,
Order of Australia Medal (OAM)
Australian Active Service Medal 1945-75 with clasp Vietnam
Vietnam Medal
Australian Defence Medal
Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal
Infantry Combat Badge
Returned from Active Service Badge Infantry Front Line Service Medal
Royal Australian Regiment Badge

"In ’66, I was 19, and I got my national service papers, and they asked me, 'Are you of Aboriginal/Torres Strait Islander descent?' I ticked the box 'Aboriginal' and six, seven weeks later, I got a letter back from the Department of the Army exempting me from being conscripted. In ’67, the referendum happened, and I got to be a citizen in my own country.

Three of me mates got called up, two blackfellas and a whitefella. And I thought, they’re not going without me. Because they were conscripts, they did two years, but that smooth recruiter, he signed me up for six years."

Victor Bartley was born in Quilpie, Queensland. Victor’s father was an Aboriginal from around Wiradjuri, Dubbo area, and his mother was third-generation Scottish, but born in Cunnamulla in Queensland.

Victor said, “In 1966, when I was 19, I got my National Service papers served on me. They had a question: ‘Are you of Aboriginal descent?’ and I ticked the box, ‘Aboriginal’. About six weeks later, I got a letter back, stating something like, ‘Dear Sir, I hereby notify you that you are exempt from National Service, blah, blah, blah.’ At that time Australia was starting to get involved in the Vietnam War and I was thinking, I don’t want to be going and playing cowboys and Indians with these blokes.”

“In 1968, three blokes that I went to school with, who were a bit younger than me, got their National Service papers. Two were Aboriginal, but they didn't tick the box, so they automatically got called up. So anyhow I said, if these two black fellas and the white fella are gonna go to Vietnam and more than likely get killed, I might as well go to.”

“So, I got on the train all the way to Sydney, and I went to the recruiting office near York Street. The bloke there said, ‘G’day, where do you gonna go, Air Force, Navy or Army?’ And I said, ‘Army’. I thought I’d do three years, but the smooth-talking recruiting officer signed me up for six.”

“Now those six years were the best part of my life because those six years, plus the service in Vietnam, made me what I am today. The discipline, the mateship, the friendship, the comradeship … learning how to be a person and learning how to take orders and do what you're supposed to do when you're supposed to do it.”

“I went into 7th Battalion in September 1968. The battalion came back from Vietnam in 1967 and all the Nashos had got out, so the battalion had to be built up again. We had 16 months’ training before we left to go to Vietnam in January 1970. And in my opinion, we were one of the best trained units to go to Vietnam.”

“We were training in Townsville in the middle of summer getting ready to go to the tropics. It was so bad; we were getting dehydrated and falling like flies. The helicopters would come and pick us up and take us back to Shoalwater Bay where they had these big rubber pools full of ice and water, and hover and drop us into the ice.” “Then to make things worse they sent us to a place in the mountains to train in the middle of winter. Every night we went somewhere, and you were supposed to dig a little foxhole to get in, but you couldn’t dig in because the ground was frozen.”

The battalion arrived in Vietnam in February 1970. Victor said, “When we got off HMAS Sydney at Vung Tau, we were put on landing barges and then taken on trucks up to Nui Dat where we were stationed. In Vung Tau there were bars on the side of the road and all these good-looking sorts going, ‘Uc Dai Loi number one (Australians good!).’ I thought, hang on is there a war going on here? But we knew there was something going on because of the military presence, the helicopters going over, and the aeroplanes and things. But I think for the first couple of days, it just stuck in my mind, what a lovely place.”

“I think we had around four or five blokes, corporals, in the battalion who were on their second tour to Vietnam. And they were an invaluable source, telling us what we did and didn’t need to do. And what I had to look for as forward scout.” “On the first operation, we were out for six weeks in an area where the VC were known to be. We didn’t cover a big area. You’d go here, do an ambush, stay there for a day, go to another place, and do the same thing. We never had a shower or anything, but you couldn't smell anything because we all smelt the same.”

“They dropped us in on helicopters on the rice paddies. The helicopters would hover not land, and I was the bloke who had to get out first. I thought I’m not going to get out here, but the gunner said, ‘Out!’ and he kicked me out. And I’ve got this bloody big pack on me, and an Armalite, and the extra M-60 rounds, and I landed facedown, and I couldn't get up. So, the section corporal came behind and grabbed me. I got up, mud all over me. You know, that was a funny thing.”

“Each company had an area of responsibility. Delta Company covered an area near Fire Support Base Isa near the Long Hai mountains. We stayed there and we went out on ambush patrols in the surrounding rice paddies or down on the beach or up around the little valley-type of thing where there were known VC trails.”

“Sometimes if you had to hurry from point A to point B, say maybe ten kilometres, they'd send the armoured personnel carriers (APCs) to come pick us up and take us straight there. And the Viet Cong wouldn't be able to follow us by walking.” “I was a forward scout, so I looked where we went, and the second scout covered my back. Then you’d have the section corporal, who was the bloke with the compass talking to the second scout. In the jungle you can’t see, especially in the bamboo jungles. It’s only when you get out in the rice paddies that you could see, or in the place we called the Long Green which was sort of a semi-open area with just all small low stuff.”

“My end of day was being able to sit back, put the feet up, and lay down the head on the M-60 machine gun, if you were on machine gun duty, and then talk bullshit to your mate . We’d talk crap, but we’d have fun doing that.”

 “We had this old Scottish sergeant on his second tour, and one of his things was to make sure his soldiers had their haircut. It didn’t matter where they were. If you were out in the bush and the helicopter came in, he’d say, ‘Bring a barber in and cut these long-haired louts’ hair. I wanna see the bone lad.’ In other words, he wanted it cut really short.”

“There was one barbershop in Vung Tau where a lot of the Uc Dai Loi, the Australian soldiers, would go. And I was in Vung Tau with a mate of mine, and he wanted to go to a bar, and I wanted to go to the barber first. So we go down to the barbershop, and there are two big barber’s chairs, a big mirror, all the paraphernalia.

Anyway, I jump in the barber’s chair and I’m waiting, and then I hear laughing and then some sheilas come out looking at me and laughing and pointing. I thought, what’s going on here? My mate said, ‘It’s not a barbershop until four o’clock, it’s a brothel-shop now. That’s one of my most vivid memories of my little sojourn in South Vietnam.”

“When I was going to school, we were never taught anything about Australia's involvement in any of the wars, not the Boer War, First World War, Second World War or Korea. I learned all about the Magna Carta, about King Henry, and about Queen Elizabeth being in the Land Army in England. Now what I try to do is, I go to primary schools and high schools and tell them about my experiences. I ask them to come down to the cenotaph in the park, and I show them the names of some of their forefathers and tell them what they did. And I tell them what it was like for me to not be an Australian citizen in my own country until I was 20, and I tell them a bit about Aboriginal history from my side of things. If it's not taught in the schools, it's gonna be lost.”

“I think if anyone wants to come to Australia , they have to accept our way of life, our values, and appreciate that they’re coming from another country, be it war-torn, and know that Australia’s got more to offer for them and for their future generations.”