Ngā pāpātanga ki te hāpori o te tūkinotanga me te whakahapa i ngā pūnaha taurima
Community impacts of abuse and neglect in care

Ngā hāpori Māori
Māori communities

285. The denial of tino rangatiratanga over kāinga (home) has resulted in Māori being unable to intervene and protect their own from entry into care and from suffering abuse and neglect while in care. The Waitangi Tribunal has found that the damage to Māori tribal and kinship structures has been immense.[346]

286. Dr Moana Jackson told the Inquiry:

“Taking away a people’s political and constitutional power to determine their own destiny breaks the fundamental construct that ensures their independence and thus the authority to make the best decisions for themselves. Taking people’s lives and the simple tragedy of loss induces a collective intergenerational grief that compounds the trauma of the other takings. In such circumstances, the possibility of maintaining a nurturing sense of cultural integrity and collective strength is necessarily diminished. Each taking merges historically in colonisation’s ultimate goal, which is to assume power and impose legal and political institutions in places which already have their own. It means subordinating the power of Iwi and Hapū mana and tino rangatiratanga or self-determination and thus limiting the ability to properly protect what are the most important taonga for any people – the land, the culture, and the mokopuna.”[347]

287. Taking tamariki, rangatahi and pakeke Māori into care is a transgression against whakapapa and has longstanding impacts on whānau, hapūand iwi. The large-scale removal of tamariki and rangatahi Māori from whānau has had a devastating impact on the collectivism of Māori relationships and communities. Tens of thousands of tamariki and rangatahi Māori were either admitted to care or adopted into non-kin families between 1950 and 1999. Removal of tamariki and rangatahi Māori from their whānau, hapū and iwi in such numbers created a significant loss of Māori who could maintain and continue cultural skills, such as learning and teaching mātauranga Māori. This process has been described by some as ‘legalised cultural genocide.’[348]

288. The trauma of abuse and neglect that many Māori survivors suffered in care was often transferred to their siblings, tamariki, and mokopuna when they returned to their whānau and communities.[349] The trauma would manifest in complex needs that whānau were not equipped to respond to. As a result, some survivors felt estranged from their whānau because of the abuse they suffered in care.[350]

289. The Inquiry also heard numerous accounts of trauma being passed down through generations. Survivors spoke of their inability to connect with siblings and parents, which impacted relationships with their own children. [351] They expressed feeling like failures as parents because they had not been taught what good parenting was. [352] Some deliberately chose not to have children out of fear that the trauma they carried would be passed on to another generation.[353]

290. Whānau, hapū, iwi and hapori Māori have been overwhelmed by the cumulative impact of this historical, collective and individual trauma. [354]

Ngā purapura ora Turi, whaikaha me ngā purapura ora e rongo ana i te wairangitanga
Deaf and disabled survivors, and survivors experiencing mental distress

291. Society’s values and structures mean that the negative impacts of abuse and neglect in care can contribute to further adverse outcomes for many Deaf survivors, disabled survivors, and survivors experiencing mental distress. Ableist, oralist and audist labour markets, employer rules and structures do not enable everyone to participate in paid work. In addition, Deaf survivors, disabled survivors, and survivors experiencing mental distress are sometimes in more need of long-term income support due to the educational neglect suffered in care. This income support is often inadequate.

292. The issue of inadequate income support levels and the criteria for the full Supported Living Payment can result in survivors living in poverty. Being denied a liveable income impacts where people can live, how they socialise, opportunities for relationships, finding love and a life partner, when to have children and being able to financially support them.

293. Society’s ableist, oralist and audist attitudes and other behaviour towards Deaf and disabled people prevent them from participating fully in society. Disabled people want meaningful employment in communities just like other non-disabled people. In a report for the Inquiry, Tell Me About You, two survivors talked of their experiences of living and working outside of an institution. One survivor talked about how people shouldn’t be in institutions and should be given a chance of a home in the community. Although he works in a sheltered workshop, he is satisfied with his life.[355] The other survivor was not so happy to work at these “blasted [sheltered] workshops!” and currently works in a busy role for an independent employer.[356]

294. Ableist behaviours stop disabled people from having the same opportunities afforded to other people. They are limited in where they can live and often end up in group homes or supported living and never leaving.

295. Changing community attitudes towards people with mental distress has been an ongoing campaign in Aotearoa New Zealand since 1997. ‘Like Minds, Like Mine’ is a public awareness programme to increase social inclusion and end discrimination towards people who experience mental ‘illness’ or distress. Those most discriminated against are people with severe mental distress, Māori, Pacific Peoples and people under the age of 25.

296. Deaf survivors have explained how being taught to communicate orally and being punished for using Sign Language has had negative individual and community impacts. In their collective statement from Ōtautahi Tāngata Turi Māori (a collective of Māori Deaf survivors from Ōtautahi Christchurch) said:

“Many of Tāngata Turi community today seem to only focus on the negative aspects of life, and part of the reason for this is how much blame the teachers put on us for getting things wrong. The teachers were just constantly negative. We have then passed on these negative experiences down through the generations.”[357]

297. Deaf survivors have told the Inquiry about contemporary experiences and challenges which reflect their time in Deaf institutions. This is evident in the ongoing battles they face in trying to communicate. Within institutions, Deaf survivors were surrounded by hearing staff, were prevented from signing and struggled to communicate both inside and outside institutions.[358] Today, Deaf survivors continue to be disempowered by communication barriers. Inaccessible information and lack of resources and interpreters, especially te reo Māori sign interpreters, and Deaf staff pervades interactions with a number of organisations, including police, the Courts, education services, health and disability support services.[359]

298. Ōtautahi Tāngata Turi Māori shared with the Inquiry that their attempts to support tamariki Turi Māori (Deaf children) are usually ignored. They are told their ways “are not the right way,” or they do not have the qualifications to support tamariki in deaf schools.[360] This means tamariki Turi Māori do not benefit from the lived experience and knowledge tāngata Turi Māori offer.

299. Tāmaki Makaurau Whānau Turi (a collective of Māori Deaf survivors from Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland) also noted the layers of discrimination they face having both Māori and Deaf identities.[361] They describe how in Deaf spaces, tāngata Turi Māori have not been able to engage with their Māori identity and in Māori spaces they also face barriers to connection, such as communication.[362] For example, the limited availability of trilingual interpreters impedes their access to Māori culture, learning te reo and tikanga Māori.[363]

Ngā whakaritenga tūāpapa-whakapono
Faith settings

300. Abuse in faith settings led to the breakdown of many families, where the allegations or experiences survivors had were not believed. In some instances, families chose their faith and church over their family members. Survivors were ostracised, and close friendships and lifelong relationships were destroyed by the abuse that occurred.

301. Some survivors said their devout parents did not believe people in religious ministry could perpetrate abuse. Their parents’ disbelief or other negative reactions led to alienation between family members, in some cases for a lifetime. Other survivors said their parents’ response focused on the potential harm to the church if allegations were made public.[364]

302. The emotional impacts of losing family and friends are long-lasting. Attitudes towards the Takatāpui, Rainbow and MVPFAFF+ community vary at community and societal levels. This acceptance of cultural norms can also be seen in many Pacific communities towards takatāpui. In a talanoa, the Inquiry heard:

“Oh, it's all right if you’re fa’afafine, but it’s not alright if you’re gay.”

“But we both have a male partner.”

“Oh yeah, no, but you’re different.”[365]

Ngā hāpori Pasifika
Pacific communities

303. As expert Folasāitu Dr Apaula Julia Ioane noted, because “[t]he identity of a Pasifika person belongs within their family and community” and “[t]he Pasifika worldview is essentially a collective worldview”,[366] impacts of abuse and neglect must consider the groups that Pacific survivors belong to and were separated from, such as members of families, churches, and ethnic and cultural groups and communities. Not only in respect of the individual survivor but reflecting on the past, present, and future generations. These impacts have flow-on effects for the wider community, demonstrated by what the Inquiry have heard from survivors in relation to various anti-social behaviours, care to custody, financial dependence on the State and stunting the growth and maintenance of Pacific languages, cultural values and practices.

304. Pacific survivors’ disconnection from culture, identity, church, faith and spirituality was not only experienced on an individual but on a collective and intergenerational level. To disconnect a Pacific person from their kainga and community is to disconnect them from a sense of kaitasi, or the ability to belong to a collective that shares responsibility for one another. Many Pacific survivors’ accounts reveal on the collective level, that trauma can be seen in the damaging of the vā between people, particularly with kainga and with communities. Medical practitioner, Anthea Krieg, quotes collective trauma is “a blow to the tissues of social life that damages the bonds linking people together”.[367] Although speaking about Aboriginal communities in Australia, her words are applicable to Pacific contexts that are centred on relationships.

305. Survivor Carla Mann talked about how she didn’t know how to be a mother because she did not have a mother who knew how to be one. “All of my kids are angry from their time in care, so they have become angry adults. The intergenerational impact on my daughters is huge. It has to stop.”[368]

306. The misrecording and misidentification of Pacific Peoples in care impact Pacific communities and have flow-on impacts for society. One of the larger community and societal impacts is that due to inaccurate ethnicity recording, the number of Pacific Peoples in care during the period under investigation may never be known, which was conceded by the Crown at the Inquiry’s State Institutional Response Hearing.[369]

307. Dr Seini Taufa reflected on the invisibility of Pacific Peoples in data and records.[370] This invisibility means that there is less information to use for holding State and faith-based agencies to account for potentially high and disproportionate rates of Pacific Peoples going into care and being abused and neglected in care.

308. Given the role that ethnicity data now has for informing policy and funding related to specific population demographics, inadequate, incomplete or poorly reported ethnicity data has major impacts on the adequacy of policy and resourcing for Pacific communities and services. Dr Taufa discussed how using prioritised counting (where individuals are classified into one ethnic group in an order of priority) specifically leads to the under-resourcing of ethnic-specific services, especially for communities such as Pacific Peoples who have an elevated need for resourcing but also a strong overlap with Māori. Dr Taufa said:

“I had touched on prioritisation in this country, and I had mentioned the fact that it has funding implications. But I think if we use the OT [Oranga Tamariki] data that I had … it impacts Pacific people because it impacts the amount of support that we receive. For example, if the Government is still using prioritisation as a means to determine how they allocate funds, this means that based on prioritisation, 10 percent of the funds would come to Pacific as opposed to 16 percent. So it has implications when you think of it from a dollar value, from the perspective of dollar values … Ministry of Health, Ministry of Education, they have ethnic specific services that are funded to meet the needs of their communities. But often they need evidence to suggest that there is a need in the first place, and that's where ethnicity data comes in.”[371]

309. The transfer of violence and anti-social behaviours from experience in care to survivors and then to communities and society was inevitable because the extreme trauma experienced by many survivors taught them that violence was normal. This negatively impacted their families, relationships, communities and society. Samoan survivor Fa’afete Taito said:

“My mother loved me, but I lost the protective power of that love when I was removed and made a State ward. I had become conditioned to believe that interactions with others should be aggressive, antagonistic, violent, and focused on trying to get one over the other person. As I was developing, having lost the ability to love, I began to create my own versions of love. I grew to love violence. It was something I became accustomed to and was normalised.”[372]

Ngā hāpori ā-kura
School communities

310. School communities have also been impacted by abuse and neglect in care. Where there has been abuse by peers or staff, not only does the abuse affect the student and their family,[373] but there is also a ripple effect impacting other students, their parents and families, other staff members and the wider school community, including previous students and alumni. The impact can manifest in different ways, including causing students to feel unsafe[374] and division between those who believe the student and those who do not.[375] In schools that are faith-based, it can cause distrust in the faith institution. Additionally, it could initiate debate and change policies for the relevant school[376] and / or the whole education industry.

311. An example of how the wider school community can be impacted is demonstrated by the negative response that survivor William Wilson received for sharing his experience about the abuse he suffered from peers at Wesley College in Pukekohe. After William spoke the Inquiry’s Tulou – Our Pacific Voices: Tatala e Pulonga (Pacific Peoples’ Experiences) Hearing, he received a public apology from the school principal and Board of Trustees.  Although there was support for him, there was also a lot of backlash on social media. In response to a Facebook post about the hearing, ex-students expressed how such bullying and violence was tradition[377] with one person commenting, “Someone go give this c**t a cover the face (laughing emoji x3).”[378] An Inquiry witness shared that ‘covered’ referred to the covering of someone’s face while senior students beat them up.[379]

312. Some people were concerned with the reputation of the school,[380] with one stating, “Pffft outta here if your [sic] supporting this guy … it’s a struggle but it was a beautiful struggle don’t speak or throw dirt on Wesley if you didn’t attend lol #hardknocksonly (flag emoji)”[381] and another stating “Wesley’s not for the weak hearted (laughing emoji)”.[382]

313. The response demonstrates how such violence was normalised within the school. After William Wilson’s evidence at the Inquiry’s Tulou – Our Pacific Voices: Tatala e Pulonga (Pacific Peoples’ Experiences) Hearing in July 2021, a letter was sent by Principal Dr Brian Evans to the school community stating:

“Anyone who thinks a tradition that some call ‘the Wesley Way’ of handing out punishment, bullying, or harassing fellow students should have a place in our school, are wrong. It has no place at Wesley College and is not a tradition to be proud of. Everyone in our school community should focus on making sure every student feels safe.”[383]

314. The community of Dilworth School and its old boys have also been impacted by the widespread abuse that took place there. Survivor Jeffrey Butler described how other Dilworth old boys had contacted him about abuse over Facebook, and how there was a noticeable absence of boys from his group at a centenary reunion he attended.[384] On 10 September 2019, a letter was sent by Dilworth to all of its communities, including Dilworth Old Boys. In the letter, Dilworth acknowledged the historical abuse that had occurred at Dilworth School and apologised for the abuse. The letter was followed by a special meeting of Old Boys in September 2019 at which both the current principal and the chairman of the Dilworth Trust Board acknowledged the historical abuse and apologised to survivors of abuse.[385]

315. A year later, on 14 September 2020, the NZ Police publicly announced their investigation into complaints of historical abuse at Dilworth School, known as Operation Beverley. This then contributed to the establishment of the Dilworth Independent Inquiry in July 2022.

Ngā pāpātanga ki te pāpori o te tūkinotanga me te whakahapa i ngā pūnaha taurima
Societal impacts of abuse and neglect in care

316. The impacts of abuse in care flow into wider society in numerous ways and have an economic impact on Aotearoa New Zealand. The cost to the economy is discussed at the end of this section and includes the necessary and increased uptake and usage of public services by survivors, such as healthcare, education, the justice system and other social support services.

He ara ki te whare herehere
A pathway to prison

317.The ‘care to custody pipeline’ describes a life pathway the Inquiry saw all too many times. Children and young people who experienced abuse in care moved from social welfare residential care into the youth justice system, then to adult prison. All too often, the next generation born into this environment started the cycle over again. This pipeline was not inevitable – many survivors managed to break the cycle. But for some survivors, the metaphor of a pipeline captures the way in which they felt swept almost inexorably along a pathway to prison.

318. Research has borne out survivors’ descriptions of the care to custody pipeline. In 2018, Sir Peter Gluckman noted that young people who had been in out-of-home care were more likely to be chronic and persistent offenders into adulthood.[386] A report for the Inquiry found that as many as one in three people placed in residential social welfare settings between 1950 and 1999 went on to serve time in prison.[387] People in social welfare settings were at least five times more likely to go on to serve a prison sentence than those who had not been in social welfare settings.[388] The research shows Māori children and young people were even more likely to end up in prison, with 42 percent serving a custodial sentence as an adult.[389] This research does not in itself establish causation, but the Inquiry is in no doubt that one of the impacts of abuse in care was to set those abused and neglected on a pathway towards prison.

319. The care to custody pipeline directly harmed survivors, their whānau and support networks. They bore the brunt of the cost. Society also paid a price, including the direct costs of imprisonment and the costs of victimisation, as well as the loss of generations of adults who might otherwise have contributed to their families, communities and society.

Te ara ki te uru kēnge
A pathway to gang membership

320. There are multiple inter-related factors that have contributed to the formation of gangs in Aotearoa New Zealand. This includes Aotearoa New Zealand’s colonial history,[390] socioeconomic factors such as poverty,[391] increased levels of unemployment,[392] State policies, including social welfare policies and attitudes that were based on racist assumptions, such as the assumption of a male (and Pākehā) breadwinner, [393] and societal attitudes[394] that increased inequality and that discriminated against marginalised communities, in particular, Māori.[395]

321. A recent 2023 report said about Aotearoa New Zealand’s gang population:

“…a significant portion of our gang population are a cohort with complex histories of intergenerational family violence, trauma, poverty, and neglect. These gang communities are described by some researchers as inhabiting the margins of society and have historically formed in resistance to the society that has rejected them. In this sense, gangs have a function, providing a sense of whānau and community for those who may have been rejected from other environments. In some cases, the relationship is one of actual whānau with whakapapa links.” [396]

322. The placement of tamariki and rangatahi Māori into State care is deeply connected to the formation and proliferation of gangs.[397] Likewise, abuse and neglect in State and faith-based care directly contributed to the establishment and entrenchment of gangs. Both survivors and experts have told the Inquiry about this link.[398]

323. Expert witness, Professor Tracey McIntosh, explained how marginalisation and being placed into State care creates conditions, in which “alternative forms of collectivity and identity can emerge”.[399]

324. The formation of gangs has been attributed to the cruel treatment young boys received in social welfare institutions, as well as borstals in the 1960s.[400] The attraction to gang membership lies in the assurance of protection or power in fearful settings, and a possible source of income and support that is not often available for survivors who have had interruptions to their physical, psychological and educational development.[401] Although the pathway to gangs was particularly prevalent for survivors of abuse and neglect in social welfare settings – where violent kingpin systems and entrenched hierarchies were a part of everyday life – we have heard how survivors from every type of care setting found a sense of belonging and attachment within gangs.

Te matea tautini ki te hauora
The long-term need for healthcare

325. Many survivors of abuse have suffered physical injuries from abuse in care, as well as having ongoing and long-term health needs, which include both mental distress and physical illnesses. Māori and Pākehā survivor Gloria White talked about the ongoing assistance she receives for her persistent mental distress:

“I have been getting intensive counselling and community assistance for years now. I’m on daily medication which is delivered to my home each morning and night. I have counselling therapy as well as respite care to keep me well. I’ve been hospitalised in the past with depression and still suffer from it. I have needed more assistance the older I get because I struggle with my mental health, self-worth, anxiety, depression, complex PTSD and chronic dysthymic disorder due to my childhood abuse.”[402]

Te iti o ngā kaiārahi whaikaha me ngā kiriwhakatauira
A lack of disabled leaders and role models

326. Societal attitudes of ableism and disablism led to the institutionalisation of disabled people. This institutionalisation and abuse in care has resulted in a lack of disabled leaders and visible role models in the disability community to lead change, reflect and lead a diverse society. It has also meant a lack of disabled leaders for young people to look up to.

327. Families and individuals have been less exposed to, and therefore less prepared for the presence of disabled people in their local schools, communities and workplaces, and less prepared for acquiring disability (including mental distress) themselves.

328. The impact of disability settings away from mainstream society has been a lack of appetite for change, such as the ongoing existence of segregated schools. As a result, current and future generations of disabled adults are not contributing to society to their economic or social potential, which comes at a cost to everyone.

Te matea ki ngā ratonga pāpori taurima
The need for social support services

329. Other social support services used by survivors and their whānau include child protection, special educational provision and support, the welfare benefit system and housing. Many survivors have had difficulty gaining employment and are in financial hardship. As a result, some survivors have had to rely on receiving a benefit and often, their additional needs are not met. They also face prejudice in welfare and housing settings that further perpetuate harm.

Te utu ki te ōhanga
The cost to the economy

330. In addition to the human tragedy, the economic cost to society of abuse and neglect in care is enormous.

331. In 2019, the average lifetime cost for an individual abused in care was estimated to be approximately $857,000. About $184,000 is the financial cost to the economy from increased spending on healthcare, State costs responding to negative outcomes from abused children, deadweight losses from collecting taxes to fund State services, and productivity losses.[403] The remaining $673,000 is a non-financial cost reflecting pain, suffering and premature death of the survivor abuse and the impacts on reduced quality of life.[404]

332. In 2019, it was estimated that between 1,339 and 2,932 people may have been abused in care. Over their lifetimes, the impacts of abuse are expected to cost the survivors and society between $1.15 billion and $2.51 billion.[405] Between $247 million and $541 million are financial costs to the Aotearoa New Zealand economy, with the remainder being non-financial costs borne by the survivors of abuse in care. The cost of abuse in care is significant.

333. In 2019, the total estimated cost of abuse in care was somewhere between 0.4% and 0.8% of New Zealand GDP. From 1950 to 2019, it is estimated that between 114,000 and 256,000 people may have been abused while in State and faith-based care. Applying the same average lifetime cost per survivor suggests total costs between 1950 and 2019 of between $97.5 billion and $219 billion. Financial costs to the Aotearoa New Zealand economy make up between $21 billion and $47.1 billion. Non-financial costs make up between $77 billion and $172 billion.[406]

Ngā whakatau mō ngā pāpātanga o te tūkinotanga me te whakahapatanga ki ngā hāpori me te pāpori
Conclusions on impacts of abuse and neglect on communities and society

334. The impacts of abuse and neglect in care to many communities in Aotearoa New Zealand have been substantial and harmed many generations. That harm continues today.

335. The abuse and its impacts changed the course of so many lives of survivors, their children and grandchildren, whānau, and their communities, and this, in turn, has had significant flow-on effects for society.

336. The ramifications of these significant effects are intergenerational and continue to this day. The impacts on survivors of abuse have included harm to their health and wellbeing and their opportunities in life. They have led to poorer health outcomes, an increased likelihood of incarceration, a distrust of State and faith organisations for many and separation from wider society.

337. For Aotearoa New Zealand, the social impacts of abuse have been wide-ranging. Abuse and neglect in care has:

a. Contributed to, and in many ways created, the ‘care to custody’ pipeline and gangs. As a result, society has lost generations of adults, parents, leaders, workers, and familial and community cohesion to prisons and entrenched gangs.
b. Placed more pressure on healthcare in Aotearoa New Zealand, with many survivors suffering from long-term health conditions.
c. Made invisible and limited disabled leaders and role models within the disability community, and limited the ability of disabled people to contribute to society economically and socially – impacting everyone.
d. Placed more pressure on social support services. As survivors and their whānau have been limited in opportunities due to abuse and neglect and its impacts, many have sought financial support.
e. In addition to the visceral impacts on survivors and their communities, had an enormous economic impact on Aotearoa New Zealand society.

338. The economic costs have and will continue to be substantial, but the true cost of these impacts on the social fabric of Aotearoa New Zealand, its institutions, organisations and communities is greater, and it may never be truly quantified.

Footnotes