New Zealand is a great place to uplift children

Friday, 14 June 2019

Oranga Tamariki Minister Tracey Martin says Māori can start to have a greater level of 'hope' that her agency is changing. This despite the number of Māori children being removed from families and into state care. (First published June 2019)

OPINION: New Zealand: a great place to uplift children.

Oranga Tamariki has previously called itself CYF, and CYPS, and 'Ministry for Vulnerable Children'. This week, thanks to the efforts of whanau with cellphones and a determined journalist we got to see just what 'vulnerable' can mean when that ministry makes up its mind about you.

It is 45 minutes of video. It's not the kind where a soldier in helmet and goggles rips a screaming toddler from the arms of the parents, but it's still dreadful. Ordinary people in ordinary clothes in a Hawkes Bay hospital talk in ordinary voices about doing something appalling.

Imagine you're a teenager whose first child has already been taken away by the State. You have a second one on the way you desperately want to keep. With the help of whanau and professionals you make preparations to ensure your baby will be safe with you in a home for young Māori mothers.

A documentary by the Newsroom website showed a disturbing case of a baby being uplifted by Oranga Tamariki.

* New Zealand's own 'stolen generation'

* Oranga Tamariki is doing more harm than good**

Next, you're in hospital with your baby, surrounded by whanau. People from Oranga Tamariki arrive. Their demeanour says they're here to listen and help. The car seat they're carrying says they've already decided.

Oranga Tamariki chief executive Grainne Moss said that 98.5 percent of Māori children 'never, ever come into our care.'

Turns out they've made an ex parte application to take the baby, that is to say, a court hearing with no opportunity given to you to put your side, on the basis that time is of the essence.

What has been presented to the court, in your absence, is information compiled by a case worker who hasn't met you but has spoken to your caseworker and seen their notes.

There's no chance for you to respond and clarify; to say for example that lack of a car and ID impeded a young father from presenting himself for a meth test he was more than willing to take, which sounds rather different to: 'the father did not take a methamphetamine test.'

The order is granted. Given time is of the essence, do they then rush to the hospital to uplift baby? No. Four days pass before they come. Has the court been misled?

As they come and go from the hospital bedside, exchanges between lawyers ensue and misunderstandings abound. 'Now that you have been given notice, I would strongly urge you to get legal advice on what you're doing,' says the mother's lawyer on speaker phone. 'We can only follow our process' they reply.

They're told about an approved care plan. 'We didn't know about the plan' they say, 'we are going to take baby with us and he will be placed with another caregiver.' More exchanges and meetings ensue.

The greatest outrage comes the following day after darkness falls and the mother is alone with her baby. The swipe card for her midwife - her support person - is disabled, and Oranga Tamariki and police descend on the hospital, and they press the exhausted mother to surrender her baby.

A standoff ensues until about 2am when an agreement is reached to desist until daytime, and who can imagine for a moment things would have turned out this way without media attention?

For now, mother and baby remain together pending further meetings. Meanwhile the chief executive of Oranga Tamariki has decried 'significant misrepresentation' in the story and, incredibly, borrowing from the language of marketers understating the fat content of their yoghurt, declared that 98.5 percent of Māori children 'never, ever come into our care.'

'Misrepresentation'? The extensive footage makes it abundantly clear what's going on. We see people exerting the power of the state with undue certitude. What might be happening to the other 1.5 per cent?

And what else might we learn if government agencies weren't so ready to deny access to media and insist on 'following protocol' as you see them doing in this footage?

All you are actually saying when you invoke 'protocol' like this is: 'we have made a unilateral decision that suits us because it impedes your access.' If you believe our media should be able to report effectively on the actions of the state then you might question this pervasive practice.

Too many government agencies seem to believe that a combination of bland affirmations of good intent and a reluctance to answer specific questions is acceptable.

We could do with less of that and more of the dogged media investigation we've seen this week. And we could be hearing rather more from the Prime Minister about it.