Name: Mr LF
Hometown: Te Kūiti / Ōtautahi Christchurch
Age when entered care: 13 years old
Year of birth: 1970
Time in care: 1983–1987 (Kelston School for the Deaf); 1992–2003 (Sunnyside Hospital)
Type of care facility: School for the Deaf – Kelston School for the Deaf in Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland; psychiatric hospital – Sunnyside Hospital in Ōtautahi Christchurch.
Ethnicity: Māori (Ngāti Maniapoto)
Currently: Mr LF’s mother has been a critical support for him emotionally in his life and she continues to advocate for him.

“Kelston did nothing to stop the abuse” 

I am the only Deaf member of my immediate family and I suffer from Asperger’s Syndrome. I went to Kelston as a boarder in the 1980s, between 1983 and 1987. My siblings lost their brother and my parents lost a son. It fractured our family.

At Kelson, there was a particular teacher there who all the children and young people were afraid of. I was repeatedly physically and emotionally abused at Kelston by this teacher, to the point where there are too many instances to remember. I was smacked around the head and pushed hard in the chest in the classroom. I was punched in the stomach at a swimming pool and hit on the head with a wooden duster, which he also threw at me many times. I was often hit on my hands with a ruler or other objects. I saw him push my friend into the swimming pool.

We were intimidated and discouraged not to use Sign Language – this teacher would hit me when I used it to communicate with other children and young people. I also witnessed him hitting other children and young people who used Sign Language on several occasions, and I saw him break the arm of one of my friends. This really upset and distressed me.

I told my mum about the abuse. She told the Kelston staff about it and spoke to either the deputy headmaster or the headmaster. But nothing was investigated or done to stop the teacher’s behaviour, so it continued. On one occasion, the boarding matron called my mother and voiced concern about the treatment I was receiving at Kelston. I believe that at least some of the staff were aware of the abuse and did nothing to stop it from happening.

I felt powerless and it was difficult to communicate what was happening because I was so afraid. My mother tried to get answers but was always pushed aside. I didn’t know who I could turn to.

Trying to get redress has been a lengthy, drawn-out process over many years, which has caused unbearable stress to me, my mother and my whānau. There was no government department or central person to support me, or families like mine, who wanted to bring claims. We knew nothing about how claims were being assessed and by whom, or what sort of compensation was available. There have been so many delays and no clarity around timeframes. The process was very unclear and uncertain.

I did not know that it would be many years, and a long struggle, to get any kind of recognition. It has only been because of the determination and advocacy of my mother that I got through the process at all. It has been retraumatising, not only because I have to relive my experiences of abuse, but also because of the uncertainty. It was never clear who I could or should speak to, or if people would listen to me or take me seriously, which made my feelings of anxiety and disillusionment even worse.

There was a lack of proper record keeping and that has been one of the most difficult parts of this process – it undermines a system of redress if no accurate records are kept, and it makes the whole process stressful. It also made it difficult to provide the evidence the Ministry of Education required to take my claim seriously. Neither the ministry nor Kelston were able to give me a copy of any relevant records about my time at Kelston. They could not even work out among themselves who held my original personal files. This made the redress process frustrating as I could not be precise about when things happened.

The ministry undertook its own investigation of my claims of my experience at Kelston. We received a letter from Crown Law that stated it found there was no documentary evidence of the teacher hitting children and young people before 1990. It said the complaints were dealt with at the time. We were told that the teacher was disciplined, and investigated by NZ Police, but no prosecution was made because there was no evidence.

The Crown’s letter accepted that I was smacked by the teacher but it also said that there was no evidence of the other allegations I made. There apparently was no evidence of my mother’s previous complaint to the school, nor any evidence that the school did not follow appropriate process. The constant reliance on a ‘lack of evidence’ has been frustrating, to say the least. Relying on a poor system of record keeping and processes to deny the seriousness of my claims makes this whole thing more traumatic.

The process of investigation needs to be independent and not carried out by a ministry that is interested in protecting its conduct and reputation, and those of the teachers. The focus of the redress process should be on the survivors. It should be made as easy to engage with as possible, given it is already dealing with vulnerable, traumatised people. It takes a lot of courage to challenge the system and speak up about what happened.

Allegations about abuse are not made lightly because they come at such a huge personal cost.

This has never been about the money for us. Money doesn’t even come into it. This is about getting recognition and being believed. To me, the whole process was defeating and demoralising.

What happened at Kelston meant I always felt powerless and unable to do anything. I was so traumatised by the teacher that I couldn’t talk about the abuse for long periods of time or in extended interviews, and this made the process more difficult. I still push clothes against my door at night to stop the teacher from coming into my room and abusing me.[126] 

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