The ATO’s Quiet War on Small Business

Robodebt showed us what happens when the system fails the people. It’s happening again — this time to small business.

Scroll through any small business forum right now and you’ll see it, heartbreaking posts from tradies and sole traders on the edge. People are talking openly about shutting their doors, losing everything, and in some cases, not wanting to go on at all. We’re not talking about frustration with red tape or the usual gripes about tax season. We’re talking about suicide attempts. We’re talking about emotional collapse. We’re talking about people who’ve given everything to build something from nothing, only to be hunted down like criminals by their own government.

This isn’t mismanagement. It appears to be something far more sinister.

It’s no longer just a discussion about how small business owners are sick of being taxed for breathing or overwhelmed by the tsunami of legislative change. It’s about a very deliberate pattern of pressure from the federal government, and specifically, the ATO, that’s causing irreversible harm. And the construction sector, the lifeblood of trades and apprenticeships, is being hit hardest.

Construction, a sector dominated by hardworking tradies and sole traders, is being picked apart. These people take the risk, employ apprentices, and keep local economies afloat. And they’re being told: pay now, or pack it in. Some are spending hours on the phone with the ATO, not to negotiate, but to plead for time, for understanding, for the kind of breathing space the big guys can buy with a team of accountants and legal advisors.

Let’s not kid ourselves, a small business owner doesn’t have time to sit on hold for 3 hours. They don’t have the cash flow to absorb backdated bills or hire the “right” people to navigate a broken system. They wear every hat. And increasingly, the pressure is too much.

The reality? People are breaking. Mentally. Financially. Fatally. We are now in a territory where government policy isn’t just economically reckless, it’s morally bankrupt. The mental health toll is real. There are tragic consequences to this squeeze, and still, nothing changes.

And the damage doesn't stop at the business owner. When a small trade business shuts down, it takes more than just a livelihood with it, it takes jobs, skills, and futures. Apprenticeships are often the first to go. Young people eager to learn a trade and earn an income are left in limbo, without a mentor, without a workplace, without a pathway. The ripple effect is devastating.

We're now raising a generation of workers being told, not by words but by policy, that their only option is to sign on with a major corporation. That’s not opportunity, that’s economic captivity. No competition. No independence. Just consolidation.

Because when the little guys go, so does choice. So does flexibility. So does the spirit of enterprise.

What kind of government puts small businesses through this, while turning a blind eye to the tax strategies of billion-dollar foreign corporations? Why is it always the local builder, café owner, or tradie who gets the full force of the ATO, while the corporate giants with union connections and legal buffers walk untouched?

And just when you think it couldn’t get worse, up go the forced superannuation contributions, and down goes the asset write-off threshold to a paltry $1,000. It’s not policy reform, it’s sabotage.

What kind of country have we become where saving your business, your livelihood, your legacy, your dream, feels like a battle against your own government? Where every phone call from the ATO sends a shiver down your spine, not because you've done anything wrong, but because you're being punished for daring to have a go?

This isn’t just a broken system, it’s an orchestrated abandonment. A country once proud to stand behind its battlers now smothers them in bureaucracy, hounds them with debt recovery, and offers nothing but silence from those meant to defend them.

It’s time to wake up. Because what’s happening isn’t just poor governance or misguided economics. It’s a betrayal. And if we don’t stop it now, if we don’t call it out for what it is, this will go down as one of the darkest, most deliberate failures in how we treat working Australians. Not the first time. But if we don’t act, it won’t be the last either.

This is another Robodebt in the making, a cold, systemic dismantling of dignity under the guise of accountability. But this time, it’s small business owners, tradies, apprentices, the economic engine of this country, who are being driven to the brink.

And when the dust settles, we won’t just be asking where the money went. We’ll be asking where everyone was while lives were unravelling, and why no one stood up when it mattered most.