105. Survivors were impacted psychologically, emotionally and physically by the violence and abuse they experienced and saw at Hokio Beach School (Hokio School) and Kohitere Boys’ Training Centre (Kohitere Centre).

106. For some survivors, their time in care changed them completely and set them on a negative path. NZ European Mr A told the Inquiry:

“I was sent to these places to get better, and as a result I came out worse. Violence was normalised and that was a model to me, for it to be OK and acceptable to behave in a violent way. That has led to all sorts of problems in my life.”[274]

107. Māori survivor Mr BE (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Hine, Ngāti Rangi, Ngāti Tūwhareto) told the Inquiry that he felt like he has been ‘marked’ by his time at Hokio School and this had led to an additional layer of stigma within the justice system.[275] Another survivor told the Inquiry: “There’ve been neglect from all these systems. I feel like because I was made a ward of the State that I’ve got no rights as a human being.”[276]

108. This chapter describes the impacts of abuse and neglect that survivors of Hokio School and the Kohitere Centre reported to the Inquiry.

Many survivors were imprisoned after Hokio School and Kohitere Centre

109. More than half the survivors (57 percent) who have registered with the Inquiry and were at Hokio School and / or Kohitere Centre disclosed that they have been incarcerated. Survivors told the Inquiry they became institutionalised from their time in Hokio School and Kohitere Centre,[277] which led to incarceration. Often, after leaving the institutions, they were sentenced to borstal or corrective training[278] before moving on to prison. Many survivors told the Inquiry being in the homes taught them how to be criminals and that staff did little to prevent this.[279] Survivors’ employment opportunities have been limited because of their criminal record.[280]

110. Professor Elizabeth Stanley described how interactions with the justice system can arise from abuse, multiple care placements, the destructive culture of the institutions, social disadvantage, and differential treatment in the justice system. Professor Stanley said: "Children in State care are far more likely to progress into custody as a result of maltreatment, multiple care placements, damaging institutional cultures, social disadvantages and psychological harms, as well as differential treatment in the criminal justice system. This New Zealand research also shows how two interconnected and sustaining processes – of victimisation and criminalisation increase the likelihood of a child transitioning from care to custody.”[281] Samoan survivor Mr CE said: “Going to prison after being in care was a natural next step for me. To me, that was normal given the environments I was in.”[282]

111. Some survivors have spent their adult life going in and out of prison.[283] As Māori survivor Mr SK (Ngāti Porou) told the Inquiry:

“Hokio and Kohitere created gashes. When I left Kohitere, I came to prison, and I have essentially been here ever since. As a result, the Hokio and Kohitere wounds are still open.”[284]

Pathways into gangs were established

112. Almost a quarter of registered survivors who were at Hokio School and / or Kohitere Centre identified as being, or having been, in a gang or as gang whānau. Professor Stanley has shown how children’s homes, particularly in the 1970s and 1980s, were places where gangs emerged. Some children and young people came from families with gang connections and would recruit other children and young people once in care.[285] NZ European survivor Desmond Hurring said that gangs and patches were growing in his time at Kohitere Centre in the late 1970s and that it was a “production line”.[286] Māori survivor Paora (Paul) Sweeney (Ngāti Porou, Ngāti Hako) told the Inquiry:

“Kohitere was the start of it all, the gang problem in the country today comes from there. A lot of the boys from Kohitere were in the gangs with me later on. They were mostly Māori … It's called ‘Kohitere Boys’ Training Centre’, but I don’t know what they were training us to do. Be gang members?” [287]

113. Survivors told the Inquiry gangs gave them a sense of belonging with people who had gone through a similar experience of abuse in State and faith-based institutional care.[288] Māori survivor Daniel Rei (Ngāti Toa Rangatira) told the Inquiry:

“I joined the Black Power in 1990 when I was 16–17 and quickly became an active member … A number of them I had met in the boys’ homes or borstals. They were the only people I felt comfortable with because they had been through the same as I had.”[289]

114. The way the State treated many survivors made them feel like outcasts and encouraged gang formation.[290] As Māori survivor Mr JI (Ngāti Rangi, Ngāti Raukawa) told the Inquiry:

“I am sure I would not have become a gang member, with all the downstream implications of this, if I had not had these experiences … I joined the gang because it reflected my own values – anti-Police, anti-authority and anti-agency.”[291]

115. As another survivor described it:

“Those places destroyed our fuckin’ heads, man. [So we said] ‘fuck the system’. If that is the way they are going to treat us, then we will treat them the same way.[292]”

116. The Inquiry engaged with gang whānau, including members of Mongrel Mob, Black Power, Head Hunters, and King Cobras. Their collective submission to the Inquiry highlighted the significant role the State played in gang formation and the ‘pipeline’ from State care to gangs. The submission described the drivers of the pipeline as the “denial of identity, the role of institutional violence in reproducing personal violence, and the role of the State in discrimination against Māori, Pacific and working class people across the education, welfare and justice systems”.[293]

Relationships with family and whānau, children and intimate partners were impacted

117. Survivors told the Inquiry their relationships with their family and whānau, including their children and intimate partners, were affected. The time they spent in care created distance between them and their whānau and they felt disconnected from their family.[294] Some survivors have struggled to form relationships and have continuing feelings of isolation.[295] Others find it hard to trust people.[296]

118. Māori survivor Mr RY (Ngāti Maniapoto) told the Inquiry:

“I had always struggled to be vulnerable. Being in the boys’ homes I had to harden up. Everything I went through enhanced the mistrust I felt towards people and authority.”[297]

119. Many survivors told the Inquiry they have struggled with fatherhood and maintaining relationships with their children due to family violence, anger, or incarceration.[298] Others told the Inquiry they were overly strict or taught their children to fight back as they didn’t want them to also end up in care.[299] However, some survivors told the Inquiry that they had good relationships with their children and were proud of the fact their children had never been in care.

120. Some survivors spoke of abusing their partners, with at least 20 survivors discussing domestic violence. Some said this was due to anger over what happened to them in care.[300]

Survivors experienced psychological impacts

121. Survivors’ time in care had a profound psychological impact. Some survivors have trouble sleeping[301] or have been diagnosed with depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.[302] Others described self-harming, suicidal ideation or suicide attempts.[303] Māori survivor Poihipi McIntyre (Ngāi Tahu) told the Inquiry:

“I left Kohitere with no empathy or self-worth. I gained excellent fighting skills and a fierce hatred for the world and the system. My time in Kohitere was the only time in my life that I have felt suicidal. Kohitere stole my mana.”[304]

122. Many survivors have battled alcohol and drug abuse [305] and struggled to control their anger.[306] NZ European survivor Darren Knox told the Inquiry:

“I have that much violence inside of me, and that much rage, and that much resentment because of how I was treated at Kohitere.”[307]

Survivors experienced physical impacts

123. Survivors experienced physical impacts from the abuse, such as bruises, cuts, or broken bones. They have also suffered enduring physical injuries or health impacts. NZ European survivor Robert Zane Thomson told the Inquiry he remembers little of Kohitere Centre and believes it stems from constantly being choked unconscious while there.[308] Two survivors told the Inquiry about the ongoing physical issues they have suffered due to being raped as children.[309]

124. Tattooing was a common practice at Hokio School and Kohitere Centre[310], and some boys were given tattoos as a ‘badge of honour’ when joining a gang.[311] NZ European / Māori survivor Peter Brooker (Waitaha) told the Inquiry:

“All the tattoos you can see are from Kohitere. They can't be lasered off because they were made with nugget and boot polish and our own urine.”[312]

125. Smoking was also commonplace[313] and cigarettes were sometimes given to survivors by staff members.[314] For some survivors this has led to a lifetime of smoking and associated health impacts.[315]

Survivors experienced loss of opportunity due to lack of education

126. Survivors told the Inquiry they lost opportunities because of the lack of education while in care. Some have struggled to find employment or financial security.[316] NZ European survivor Lindsay Eddy told the Inquiry: “I feel like I didn't get that chance in life. I put it down to the homes. Everything was stolen from you there and you can't get that back.”[317]

127. NZ European survivor Tony Lewis said:

“I haven't had enough schooling and have always felt like a dunce. If I'd had a better education I could have been a completely different person. I had my right to an education taken away from me.”[318]

Survivors experienced loss of culture and language

128. Māori survivors told the Inquiry they experienced disconnection from their culture and their whakapapa.[319] Some survivors went into care able to speak te reo Māori but had lost the ability by the time they left.[320] Māori survivor Hohepa Taiaroa (Ngāti Apa, Ngāti Kahungunu) said:

“I can still understand te reo Māori but I can’t speak it. I've always wanted to speak on the paepae but I can't because I can’t speak Māori. I'm trying to learn, but it’s a real struggle for me to pick it up now. The impact from this assimilation, and loss of language and culture, has followed me all through my life … I was never allowed to just be Māori.”[321]

129. Two Samoan survivors also told the Inquiry they had no access to their Samoan culture in care and they lost their language because of it. Survivor Mr CE said: “After being in care, I couldn't speak the language and I had forgotten a lot of the fa'asamoa and how to do things the Samoan way.”[322]

130. For Samoan survivor David Williams (aka John Williams) this meant he struggled with his Samoan identity:

“When you go into a home, you lose your culture and you lose your identity. You don't think of yourself as an Islander or a Māori, because you start to believe what they are saying about you. I recall that staff told me that I should go and kill myself because no-one wanted me.”[323]

The collective impact of abuse and neglect

131. It is not only individual survivors who are impacted by being in care: there are impacts to whānau, communities and society. The Inquiry’s interim report showed the results of a study estimating the economic cost to Aotearoa New Zealand of abuse in care since 1950. The estimated cost ranges from $96 to $217 billion.[324] But the cost is more than financial. Going into care can severely affect family relationships and cause intergenerational harm from ongoing trauma, violence, familial disconnection, and through survivors having their own children taken into care.

132. The ‘care to custody’ pipeline not only impacts communities, but wider society, through losing generations of adults, parents, workers, and potential leaders. Former government statistician Len Cooke highlights that 70 percent of incarcerated men are fathers; the cost of such incarceration is borne by the men’s families, yet “the impacts on children and partners remain invisible”.[325]

133. Māori men continue to be over-represented in the prison population, particularly the remand prison population.[326] This is a collective loss for Māori. Some Māori survivors have lost their connection to whakapapa, tikanga Māori and te reo Māori and generations of Māori men have been lost from the pae.