Name Jesse Kett
Hometown Tauranga
Age when entered care 4 or 5 years old
Year of birth 1989
Time in care 1993–2003
Type of care facility Foster homes; schools – Waimokoia Residential School in Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland; health camps – Princess of Wales Children's Health Camp in Rotorua and Kauaeranga Valley Christian Camp in Waihou Thames; borstal – Waikeria Youth Prison; child mental health inpatient facility.
Ethnicity NZ European
Whānau background Jesse’s mother moved from Australia to Aotearoa New Zealand when she was pregnant with him. He has a younger sister with the same mother, and they were close as children. His sister was only in one foster home with him, in Bethlehem. He did not meet his father in person (they met via video chat) until he was 25 years old and found out he has two half-sisters.
Currently Jesse has a fiancé and a daughter. His daughter was born when he was in his early twenties, and he had custody of her for nine and a half years. Two years ago, when he went to jail, he lost custody of her, but he can see her whenever he wants. Jesse speaks to his father occasionally. His father is in Australia and Jesse can’t leave the country to meet him. Jesse gets along with his mother now, is working, getting married, and is being promoted to second in charge of a dairy farm.

“I was passed around like a parcel”

I have ADHD and oppositional defiant disorder (ODD). I was diagnosed as a young child because my behaviour was difficult for my mum to manage. This was probably due to my ADHD as well as Mum’s lack of routine and structure.

I have a younger sister with the same mother – Mum met my younger sister’s dad when I was 4 or 5 years old, and he was a father figure to me in a way. They were together for 11 years, but I was in and out of State care a lot, so I didn’t see him that often. I didn’t meet my real dad until I was 25 years old.

When I was 4 or 5 years old, Mum couldn’t handle me any longer. I think Nan, my maternal grandmother, wanted me to live with her but she couldn’t handle me either. Mum tried to get help and find out about options for respite care, but the agencies ended up placing me in a foster home.  

It’s difficult to remember, but I think I lived in around 20 foster homes. I lived in so many I lost count – I was passed around like a parcel.  

All the placements were non-whānau. Many were with Christian families, although our family is not religious. I was made to go to church, which I didn’t like. I felt like they were trying to convert me. When I was about 6 years old, I had counselling with someone religious – they told Mum I was the next Charles Manson and performed an exorcism.  

I wasn’t beaten at the foster homes, and they weren’t bad. I got to see my family sometimes. I struggled, though, because most foster homes had lots of rules and routines, and I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t very well behaved either – I’d tell them I hated church, terrorise the other kids, smash windows and run away. I would sleep with a knife under my pillow. I was between 6 and 8 years old. 

When I was about 6 years old, I was sent to a foster home with my little sister. She wet the bed and they beat her. I rang Mum, who came and picked us up. My sister’s dad got custody of her, but I went to another foster home. 

Mum says she battled for years to get us back. But I don’t remember anyone ever explaining what was happening or asking where I thought I should live. I didn’t feel I had much say in what happened to me.  

I wanted to be with Mum, where there were no rules. My friends liked her because you could do anything at her house – she was a ‘cool’ mum. However, I wasn’t properly medicated for years because Mum would take my Ritalin. She got me to save it up and stash it in a hole in a tree. She would then replace it with money.  

I went to Waimokoia Residential School when I was 8 years old. I was there for about two years. It was the worst period of my life – hell on earth. I suffered horrific abuse and I still have physical and mental scars.  

I’ve tried to block out a lot of what happened to me at Waimokoia but there are certain things that stay with me, like being sent to the little shed for discipline. The shed had no natural light, no bed, no blanket, no toilet. You were locked up alone and had to sleep on the hard concrete floor. The smell was overwhelming. This happened to me several times, once for three or four days in a row. I was given food and water, but only things like muesli bars.  

In the little shed I was beaten and raped by staff. Sometimes my abuser would be alone, but sometimes other staff members would watch. I can remember their faces but not their names. It was usually the same two big men involved, and I heard rumours about the same men from other children.  

My main abuser was my woodwork teacher. I vividly remember him raping me in the shed while another male staff member watched. Once, he cut my penis open lengthways with a razor. My penis bled for days, and I never got any medical treatment. I still have a massive scar. I told my mum and stepdad about it, and I showed Mum the injury. My stepdad smacked me around the ear and told me I was lying.  

Most of the teachers were nasty, not just those that raped and beat me. If I played up in class, my English teacher would make me sit under my desk, then spit at me and kick me over and over. In another class, the teacher told a naughty boy to pull his pants down then she staple-gunned his penis to the chair in front of 20 students.  

I can’t remember how much I told Mum about what was happening. I felt broken, ashamed and that I somehow deserved it. I didn’t think anyone would believe me because I was a bad kid and only bad kids went to Waimokoia. Mum did complain to Child, Youth and Family Services, and school management, but nothing was done. I think most of the staff and management were in on the abuse or aware of it because it would have been impossible to ignore the rumours. Mum remembers fighting constantly to get me out of there and back into her care. 

During and after my time at Waimokoia I had bad night terrors and sleepwalked. Afterwards, I would often get angry and forget what I did. For instance, I would throw knives at Mum in rage but not remember doing it. Mum said it was like I was possessed. 

I wasn’t beaten or sexually abused anywhere other than Waimokoia, but I suffered other forms of emotional abuse. When I was 15 or 16 years old, I ran away from a foster home. By this point I had run away a lot and learned to steal to support myself. CYFS seemed to give up on me because I was never placed anywhere else again. I went to live with Mum, and I don’t remember any follow up from social workers.  

I first went to jail when I was 17 years old, for burglary and arson. I was in Waikeria prison for about nine months. To me it was like a holiday compared to Waimokoia. It was also better than most foster homes because everyone was treated and fed the same. I think I’m quite institutionalised because I don’t mind being in jail. 

I didn’t have any alcohol and drug issues when I was young, but I got into P at 23 years old. I found it calmed me down better than Ritalin. I get bad anxiety and depression and I struggle to wind down for sleep without medication. When I was last in prison, my medication was changed so I feel a lot calmer and can sleep better.  

Despite it all, I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. I’ve worked hard and now have formal qualifications in the dairy and farming industries. I think I’ve done really well, all things considered, but I could do even better if I could control my emotions.  

I don’t feel anything most of the time, but then I get very angry, and I lose it. Mum has run me down my whole life to try and make me behave but it’s had the opposite effect – it just makes me feel bad about myself. After a lot of counselling, I started talking, and I’m now starting to open up to Mum as well. I may need counselling for the rest of my life, and I think it should be available if I need it – the State should fund counselling and therapy for people like me.  

I think professionals at Corrections, Ministry of Social Development, Education and other support agencies need better training on mental health and neurodiversity. People in power at schools and social agencies need really good background checks – extra care needs to be taken to ensure they have empathy, morals and compassion.  

Footnotes