Abuse in NZ State Care - The Witness Testimony of Ngatokorima Allan Mauauri
"My abuse in care led to me having a long history of PTSD and depression, especially as I started unlocking memories that I have suppressed. I drowned those memories with weed and alcohol, I masked them.
The abuse destroyed my relationships with my family. I came out of care so angry that they put me there, abandoned me, left me and forgot about me. They assumed that after the system did its thing that I would be fixed and that when I came out, I would be right. But every time I went into these places, it made things worse. I came out and I was so angry with my family."
The Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care is currently holding its first ever Pacific Investigation hearing into abuse in care of Pacific people in this country. The enquiry is looking at abuse of Pacific people in both state and faith-based institutions between 1950 and 1999.
The name of this enquiry is Tulou - Our Pacific Voices: Tatala e Pulonga', at the Fale o Samoain Māngere and is open to the public from today through to the 30th July 2021. The scope of the hearing can be read here
Ngatokorima Allan Mauauri shares his witness testimony on Day two of the enquiry.
This statement has been edited and condensed for length.
INTRODUCTION
My birth name is Ngatokorima Allan Mauauri but I am also known as Allan Mana. I was born in 1979 in Auckland. I have been with my partner for 28 years and we have one son together who is twelve years old. I am a child of parents that lived the gang lifestyle. I was born and raised in Mangere, South Auckland.
I have spent periods of time in many State care placements including Whakapakiri, Dingwall Trust, Foster Care and Weymouth Boys' Home. I have experienced physical, sexual and emotional abuse in care. I came to the Royal Commission to be heard and to heal, to acknowledge the past but also to encourage others who have been abused in care and that are afraid, that it's okay to come forward and speak up.
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FAMILY BACKGROUND AND EARLY LIFE
Biological parents
My mother is from the Cook Islands. She gave birth to me when she was only fourteen years old and so her parents took me from her. I was raised by my Cook Islands grandparents in Mangere. My mother fell in love with gangsters when she was around ten years old and that is how she met my biological father.
My mother was an alcoholic during my childhood and later in life I found out that she was using heavy drugs when she was pregnant with me. My mother is a hard lady and has been my whole life. She raised me with a take-no-shit attitude and would often tell me things like, "Son, speak your mind and do not let anybody talk down to you."
Our relationship has gone through many highs and lows. We are okay now, but she is more of a sister figure to me than a mum. She is an awesome grandmother to my son.
My biological father is Maori but I never knew him. To this day, he doesn't want to know me or my son. Even though I didn't know my biological father I was still connected to my paternal whanau during my childhood. My Maori whanau are from Huntly, Waikato. My paternal grandmother, Tiwai Matapuni was a very wise and intelligent woman.
When I was around six or seven years old, my mother met my stepfather. I refer to him as my father because he was the father figure I had growing up. He is a very well-built man and played an 'enforcer' role for a gang. I have many memories from my childhood of my father severely beating up my mother. But I love my father with all my heart. He is still a part of the gang today and he also runs his own construction company.
My Cook Islands grandparents raised me in a loving environment. I was a Nana's boy. They would spoil me and I never had to do anything to get what I wanted from them.
My grandparents' home was a 'party house'. There were all sorts of people coming and going from there all the time. When I was in their care I was sexually abused by a man who had come to the house for one of my grandparents' parties. At the time, I didn't know what was happening to me because I was so young. I have repressed most of my memory of this incident.
Living with my mother and her new partner
For a young boy, I was quite well spoken. I had a fair complexion and hazel eyes and so the members would take me along to distract Pakeha people. They would say things like, "Knock on that door and just talk to that person and ask for this place". What I didn't know was that I was helping them to do burglaries by distracting people or climbing in windows and unlocking houses for them.
I remember having my eighth birthday party at the Gang pad. Eight years of age is memorable to me because this was when I planned and executed my first robbery. This is also the age when I believe the 'happy-go lucky' kid stopped existing in me.
At age 10 I was expelled from Koru Primary School (Koru) for stealing money from a fundraiser at the school. I ended up donating half of the money to a telethon event that was happening, and I gave the rest away to my maternal grandmother and brother.
I hated the Principal there and I hated certain teachers because they were racist. One teacher would refer to me as a monrgel or a mutt. I was proud of my mixed heritage, so they couldn't call me a 'boonga' or a 'hori', so I was called 'mongrel, mutt, fruit salad.' Another would say 'Mana! Come here. Go and fetch the kumara's.' I didn't learn in the same way as other children and I was outspoken, so I was often looked at as an arrogant cheeky little kid.
TRANSITIONAL HOME
In 1990, I can't remember the exact date, I was at my maternal grandparents' house while my mother was at a party. I went to that party, and I saw someone beating my mother up. I stabbed that person. I wanted to protect my mother. Police arrived and a social worker came too. I was taken to Mangere Police station and from there to a transition home at Te Atatu. I can't remember what it was called.
Transition home: Te Atatu
The house had about four or five rooms in it. There were other kids there as well. The home was run by a Pakeha couple and their son who was a little older than us. I was at the transition home for about three weeks. The staff would say things to us like, "You have to be educated, you don't want to be like those other dumb Maori's that are on the dole".
They staff would hit me with a wooden spoon for eating my food with my hands. I didn't know how to use a knife and fork to eat certain foods. When I would pray in my Cook Island or Maori language I was told that I wasn't allowed to pray in my languages.
There was also a male that worked there as a caretaker. He was showing the boys sexualised magazines and would try to invite boys into his room. He stayed in a caravan on site. I could feel that he was trying to give me lollies because he wanted something sexual out of me.
I remember one boy who was at the house that came in from Point Chev. One day he was really upset and was lying on the ground in the foetal position, saying, "I need to run away, I need to get out of here". I got the feeling that he was being abused in some way and decided to make a plan for everyone to run away from the home.
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TE KURA 0 WAIPUNA (TE WAIPUNA)
When I returned home, I was sent to an activity centre in Otahuhu - Te Kura o Waipuna (Te Waipuna). It was an alternative education type of school. I met a lot of like-minded people at Te Waipuna; fatherless, lost identities and lost causes is what we were being called there. Te Waipuna is where I changed and became hateful and resentful. The other children there were going through similar feelings and so we fed off each other. There were only four of us that had orders to reside there whereas the other children would get to go home.
I didn't like it there as it was run in a military style. We were ordered to do things and threatened with having our meals taken away if we disobeyed the staff. While I was there, I got the feeling that the staff wanted to have power over children that no one could handle, and they thought that the way to do this was to threaten us with violence.
At my next Youth Court hearing in Otahuhu the Youth Court Judge ordered that I go to Dingwall Trust in Papatoetoe and from there, I was put in a placement with a Pakeha couple in Hunua.
FOSTER FAMILY: HUNUA
The couple lived on a farm in Hunua. While I was there, they tried to 're-program' me. They were a very Christian family and tried to teach me about Jesus Christ and farm life. We often held hands together and prayed so it felt like I was being brainwashed. They were nice and polite people, but they wanted me to let go of my identity and adopt theirs. I remember wanting to hang up my pareu (lavalava) in my room because it had an image of my Island in the Cook Islands on it, and they wouldn't let me. I only stayed here for a few days until someone from Dingwall Trust came and picked me up.
DINGWALL TRUST
I went into the Dingwall Trust in around 1990. The Dingwall trust residences were in Papatoetoe just down the road from Te Waipuna. The family who ran the trust might have been Dutch/kiwi or something else European. We had to refer to everyone as 'brother' or 'uncle', but that was foreign to me because I could not associate strangers with using those family terms. The husband and the leading farmhand, I think he was a family member, they did things like tying me to a tractor in the shed. There were other times when my hands were tied with a rope that was attached to the back of a four-wheel drive and I would be made to walk behind it as they drove through the paddocks on the property. I was being made an example of and the husband said to me, `That's what happens when you are a smartass.' I spent a total of about four months living at the Dingwall Trust property.
WEYMOUTH BOYS HOME
I can't remember how long I spent there. My charges involved the use of a firearm and the staff at Weymouth saw and treated me like I was the worst of the worst. It was like they were punishing me because they thought I believed I was a 'tough guy'. I was the last to be served meals, sometimes I didn't get a full meal. I would be the last to get a shower and sometimes my clothes wouldn't be washed. I was treated like Cinderella, like a slave. The word that I was called by staff and that always comes to mind now was that I was treated like a 'peasant.'While I was at Weymouth I was sexually abused by one of the staff members. I do not want to go into this in any detail. I can't remember his name. I do remember that he was sexually abusing other boys there as well. One of the cleaners at Weymouth also gave us `homebrew' alcohol. I couldn't remember what happened that night, but I woke up the next morning with blood in my mouth.
I ran away because of the sexual abuse and because I had heard the stories about Weymouth from other children before I went there. Back then it was easier to escape, there was no barbed wire on the fences, only big steel bars and the doors weren't locked. When I got out of Weymouth, I went on a destructive path of committing crime.
When I got out of Weymouth, I went on a destructive path of committing crime.
I can't remember how long I was living on the streets. I got arrested and charged with offences such as theft and escaping custody. I was also put in a few family homes but by this point I had already switched off and would just run away. I didn't care about life anymore and had nothing but hate for my family for wanting and allowing me to be sent to these places.
It wasn't long before I ended up before the Youth Court. They sent me to Great Barrier Island to a residential wilderness programme, Whakapakiri, run by John De Silva. I was 11 years old.
WHAKAPAKIRI
Whakapakiri was run like a military boot camp. We had to wake up at 4am and were verbally abused from the moment we got up until the moment we went to sleep. This was where I got a taste of what slave labour felt like. We were constantly beaten up by the staff at Whakapakiri. I couldn't escape because I was on an Island. I stayed at Whakapakiri for six months until I escaped with my cousin. He and I were working on the boats, so I would take note of who was on the boats and at what time. We hid in one of the boats and then when it was clear we set out for Auckland City, but when we arrived at the wharf the police were waiting for us and we were both arrested.
I told the police that we were being abused at Whakapakiri but they didn't believe me and told me that that was something I needed to tell my social worker. I told a social worker about the abuse, but I could tell that they didn't care or believe me, so I didn't take things any further. You know, I later realised when I got a bit older and wiser that nobody wants to deal with a kid. They want the quiet ones. Social workers just wanted to give us our paperwork, clock in, clock out. It was that type of mentality. It was just a job for them.
I was then sent to Mokoia Island.
MOKOIA ISLAND
The Youth Court decided to send me to a Maori based programme on Mokoia Island, Rotorua. As my Maori whanau are Waikato-Tainui and those who ran the programme were not, I felt their disapproval of me as soon as I did my pepeha. The programme was run 'old school' style and we were regularly abused. No nonsense, no mucking around or you would get it. For example, the rakau where you learn taiaha, it was very strict, if you looked or stepped in the wrong way you would get a reprimand or a dong. But I didn't understand their ways, I only knew the Tainui way of performing rakau. They told me that my way was wrong and their way was right and that I had to learn it their way. I hadn't been exposed to these sorts of conflicts between Maori before. My experiences of Te Ao Maori had only been of good things with my paternal grandfather like going to pokai and things like that.
All my times in care, I took both my cultures equally. I valued them both. When they put me in a place that was Maori based, I couldn't stand it. The Cook Island in me came out. I was raised by my Nana where the kaupapa and the tikanga to the Maori was of love and respect. When I was put at that school, it was like I was in the Maori Wars.
You were ordered to do things. They would say, `No lunch for you'. I would say or think ''Oh well, I'll starve then. I'm not eating that meal if you're going to take it away and use it against me". That's where the rebellion gene came out in me and I realised that this is just too tribal. Tribal beef is the best way to describe it.
Running away
After some time, I escaped from the Island by stealing a kayak and sneaking onto a cattle truck. I got off the truck at around 3am in the morning in a town that I didn't know. The police found me shortly after this and I was taken back to Auckland.
BACK IN WEYMOUTH
I was then sent back to Weymouth. It was different because things weren't as open as last time, and we were often locked up. I remember playing a lot of sports there like basketball and rugby league.
I didn't experience much abuse this time. I would ask staff for their names and would note down times and dates if an incident happened. The staff would constantly threaten us with violence. I was there for a while, can't remember for how long.
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At 15 years old, I was charged with possession of a handgun, which has stopped me from travelling overseas. At this time in my life, I was trying to make a name for myself through violence, in the same way that my father had done.
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LATER IN LIFE
In 1996 I got my first job working for the Manukau District Health Board helping young people to quit smoking. It felt good to do something that was helping the community rather than doing things that were harmful. I didn't smoke cigarettes and I didn't do any weed or smoke any drugs. There's even an article of me in the Manukau Courier dated Tuesday 10 December 1996 on page three. The title of the article is, "Smoke-free. Three Help Students Kick the Habit".
When I got this job, I knew that the things I was doing before in the community were negative. It felt good that I could do something positive. But I was stuck in this cycle. I still remained bad at school and I became worse and worse.
At age 18, I went to prison for the first time in Mt Eden and I was in and out of prison until 2007. I don't regret any of it because when you share these sorts of stories with some of these new young ones, they actually listen because I don't talk at them. I don't preach it.
Being in prison, especially closer to 2007, helped me to connect with my musical talent. While I was in Waikeria prison I wrote a poem called 'Sweet Dreams' which is about methamphetamine. I never used meth, only weed and alcohol. On my first day out of prison I turned it into a song and recorded it. I did this because I felt guilty because I saw what meth did and I was remorseful and regretful seeing my family become addicted and the impact of that. The poem is quite well known throughout the prison system in New Zealand. I won an award for it. I have since gone on to mix and record seven albums of music, these albums have all my stories and life experiences on them.
Music has been something that has allowed me to show love for my hood and to give something positive back to my people. My group of my friends started a rap group called 'Recommended Dosage'. We started a record label called 'One Mic Records.' We were all the sons of gangsters from different gangs but we all grew up together. We would throw open parties and events for people around Auckland, through a musical platform that we called The Eclipse.
In 2009 my partner and I had our son. He changed me and gave me a new purpose in life. I wanted to do something good. It started with being a court advocate for my niece's case in 2009. I arranged for her to get into rehab, and I helped her show the judge that she was keen to change. My niece has kids and also a job now. She turned her life around.
Other people heard about what I did for my niece and I had people asking me to do the same for them. I have worked with churches and community groups to help people in the justice system.
I have started writing a book about my life and my experiences. I live in a digital era, so I've got a whole file of videos. I will wait until my son is a little older and understands, before I show him. One thing I don't want to do is allow my son to take away the negatives from my life and for him to try to be like I was. I tell him that if he makes negative choices, maybe he won't be able to travel, maybe he will never get his dream job. I tell him to be kind, be good. I tell him don't hate the police, they're just doing their jobs. I use my negatives as teaching tools. I'm his hero.
IMPACTS OF ABUSE
My abuse in care led to me having a long history of PTSD and depression, especially as I started unlocking memories that I have suppressed. I drowned those memories with weed and alcohol, I masked them. That was the only way I could get through it. I also suffered insomnia and I can't be around authority figures.
The drugs and the thug life was the beginning of the end for me, I lost my childhood, the innocence of it, but I never lost the child in me. That's why kids like to be with me these days. I am the one that schools praise as a parent helper. I always support my son's schooling. It saddens me that I had to lose my childhood. I am only learning now as I raise my son what it's like to be a child. I sit and play with the kids and try and understand them.
The abuse destroyed my relationships with my family. I came out of care so angry that they put me there, abandoned me, left me and forgot about me. They assumed that after the system did its thing that I would be fixed and that when I came out, I would be right. But every time I went into these places, it made things worse. I came out and I was so angry with my family. I have now lost people who I love who no longer speak to me because they think the anger was due to drugs, but it was not. It was due to the feeling of abandonment and what happened to me in care.
I had to grow up so fast, I saw things people should never see. I'm not proud of it but it made me the humble person I am. I've seen ugly, I've been ugly myself, I've seen the impact. I feel remorseful for hurting anybody in the process of me navigating my life, and now I want to help others and that's what I've always done. My home in Papatoetoe is 'the marae', I have opened it to others who need help, as a place they can call home.
IDEAS FOR TRANSFORMATIVE CHANGE
When I was 'getting into trouble' as a child and young person counsellors, social workers, teachers and the police, would say things to me like, "You keep doing this, Allan, you're going to go to jail".
For someone from my background that was the one thing you don't tell people like me. Because my father had been in prison for a long time and it was normal as a child to hear my uncles or family members saying, "We're going to the prison, you want to come for a ride?". So, to me jail was a fun thing, we were going out, we got to go for a long ride, have ice cream on the way and see dad. If we couldn't become sports stars or All Blacks most of us were destined for jail. That was the mindset.
While I was in Weymouth, I remember connecting with one of the mentors that came in. I connected with him because he shared some of his life experiences about how he came to work with children and from these I believed that he was `real' and genuine person. We also connected because he was of mixed ethnicity, he was half Pakeha and half African. It didn't matter that much that we didn't understand each other's cultures, I let him in because he knew what it's like to be between two cultures for your whole life.
If you're in a job where you are dealing with bad kids', you need to be relatable, not just qualified. That's the key. I've gone and talked to church groups, I've gone and sat with of the worst thugs that are out these days, and I've sat down and gone, "Takes one to know one". It takes one to know one.
* Cover photo of Ngatokorima Allan Mauari in a 2018 interview with the NZ Herald.