491.    Te taha whānau in Whare Tapa Whā and the foundation of the Fonofale both represent whānau and aiga, or family, and wellbeing.   We discuss these models in He Purapura Ora, he Māra Tipu.  In this section, we also look at how tūkino affects survivors’ social and cultural wellbeing. And we examine how the impact of abuse is felt beyond individual survivors. The people closest to survivors – parents, children, grandchildren, partners, friends, whānau, hapū, iwi, hapori and aiga – also suffer.

Ngā pānga ki ngā hononga o ngā purapura ora - Effects on survivors’ relationships

492.    Tūkino has eroded many survivors’ ability to trust people around them, and unable to build healthy, long-term relationships with partners, friends and family members. Many survivors said they withdrew from others and preferred to be alone. They also felt like an outsider in social settings and were unable to open up to others. Others felt a deep distrust of other people, particularly those in authority. Some said they had struggled to adjust to life after their time in care. Mr Jane said he had been unable to maintain relationships because he simply didn’t trust anyone. “I have problems with my emotions and opening up to people. I don’t want to be hurt or hurt others because of how messed up I am. I’m not married. If I was balanced enough, I think I would have been in a long-term relationship.”^[1094] Another said, “I don’t know what it is to be loved, because I don’t let anybody close”.^[1095]

493.    Going into Lake Alice weakened some individuals’ bonds with parents and siblings. Some saw their admission to Lake Alice as a principal cause of estrangement from their families. One survivor said his admission caused the breakdown of his relationship with his family.

“I think my sister got admitted to the girls’ unit there as well, but I don’t know. When I got admitted to Lake Alice, it was the last time I saw her. I have spoken on the telephone with her, but that’s it. Although I cannot hold Lake Alice solely responsible, our confinement there definitely contributed to the breakdown of our family life.”^[1096]

494.    Some survivors did not learn until later that family members had tried to visit them. Staff turned them away saying their child was not well enough for a visit. Sometimes patients were heavily medicated during family visits and did not really know their family were there.

495.    One survivor said the electric shocks erased many childhood memories which, in turn, affected her relationships with her parents and family. She said the shocks left her feeling like a stranger around her own family.

“I only had one or two real memories. I had to fill in the gaps. That’s quite a hard thing because it took years to build a relationship back up … I felt like a stranger with my mum. My mum and dad, they’d say, ‘Do you remember when…’ and I’d go, ‘Yes’ but I didn’t. I just didn’t know how to say, I can’t remember.”^[1097]

496.    Survivors also struggled with the fact their family members had sent them to Lake Alice and allowed them to remain there. Some had not spoken to their families for decades.

497.    Some joined gangs while in other State care residences or after leaving care. Gang membership provided a sense of belonging and support. The Waitangi Tribunal estimated that between 80 percent and 90 percent of Mongrel Mob and Black Power gang members had been State wards and that 80 percent of prisoners had spent time in State care.^[1098]

498.    Many survivors described difficulties with intimate relationships. Several felt that meeting their partner represented a significant turning point in their lives, giving them strength and support to carry on, but many described how such relationships had gone wrong, turned violent and ended in breakdown and divorce. A few female survivors said their experiences in Lake Alice had influenced who they gravitated towards in relationships. Ms Collis said, “I was controlled in Lake Alice and I think I sought that out in my relationships with men. My partners I had were all abusive, physically and psychologically”.^[1099]

499.    One survivor described how he found it hard to be compassionate.^[1100] Others described how they felt they ultimately ran out of emotions and feelings. Yet others said they pushed aside feelings, preferring to bottle them up and not show them as they don’t want to be hurt or hurt others as a result.^[1101]

500.    Survivors often described struggling with physical intimacy with a long-term partner because of the physical and sexual abuse they suffered. Some never even talked about their time at Lake Alice with their long-term partner, preferring to keep their experiences and emotions hidden.^[1102] Difficulties in trusting others were at the core of some survivors’ struggle to be vulnerable and open with another person.

501.    In their report, Ngā Wairiki and Ngāti Apa found that most whānau spoke about being disconnected from their loved ones when they were sent to Lake Alice.^[1103] Whānau members noted that they could not visit tamariki and rangatahi they were related to at the unit, and often did not understand what was happening to them.^[1104] Many whānau members fought hard to protect their loved ones.^[1105] Other whānau, including siblings and cousins of survivors, reported repeated attempts to gain information from Lake Alice while their whānau members were residents, but being turned away.^[1106] This left them feeling frustrated, helpless and upset.

“She was in agony going to visit him and of course he didn’t want to be in there. She could see the trauma and the change and just everything about his demeanour. She felt helpless, she was saying to me, “I just felt so helpless, I couldn’t get him out. I tried”.^[1107]

Te pānga ā-reanga ki ngā whānau o ngā purapura ora - Intergenerational impact on survivors’ whānau

502.    Survivors and their whānau members told us about the intergenerational impact the abuse at Lake Alice had. Ms Leoni McInroe said she had a constant fear that she was mentally ill after having been at Lake Alice, and her children had been forced to live around a mother who felt that way about herself. She feared she was not capable of succeeding in any career or higher education and was capable of only menial employment. “I am upset, more than anything, that they had to endure this. I am angry at what this trauma has stolen from my life and therefore theirs.”^[1108] Mr Nicol said he couldn’t cope with his children’s needs or his own because he was trying to cope with the trauma of his abuse at Lake Alice.

“Because I was taught that telling the truth was wrong and I was punished with ECT for it, I have gone through life lying to those I love. Because [the government] taught me to lie, I have unknowingly taught my children to lie and they have done the same to their children.”^[1109]

503.    Many survivors had told their children about their abuse, but others had not. One survivor said, “They just think I’m a mean, grumpy old man. I am.”^[1110] Mr George Siebelink, a child of a survivor, told us he and his siblings had had a traumatic upbringing because of his mother’s abuse. “I blamed Mum a lot for my own childhood, but now that I am older, I believe Mum had such a traumatic childhood herself that she wasn’t able to do any better as a parent.”^[1111]

504.    Some survivors’ children were taken into State care themselves. Mr Donald Ku said his child “ended up being in 33 different social worker homes while he was young”. He said he had suffered in many ways as a result of being at Lake Alice, but the greatest of these – and the one that hurt him every day – was having had his tamariki taken away from him.^[1112] He also lamented the fact the State, in removing them from his care, denied them the opportunity to know their Māori culture.^[1113]

505.    We also heard from survivors who said their partners and families had been part of their healing process. Ms Dickson said she promised herself she would “make the choice to change and break the cycle of the environment I was exposed to as a young child”.^[1114] Mr Hendricks said he made a commitment when his son was born that he would love him and treat him like a father should. “[N]ot like the way my father treated me. The cycle needed to be broken, and I’m happy to say that we have a loving relationship.”^[1115]

506.    Ms Weterman said her mother “always said she wanted to give us the life she had never had. We were raised knowing we were loved and cared for”.^[1116] Mr Sieblink whose mother was in the unit told us, “I’m proud that none of my children have been wards of the State and that I have stopped the cycle.”^[1117]

507.    In their report, Ngā Wairiki and Ngāti Apa discussed the impact whānau member’s tamariki being at Lake Alice had on their mental health.

“…it had left us traumatised in a way. When the second time happened in Lake Alice I can remember going to a counsellor fella about myself and about my daughter. I said, “Please could you help me to help my daughter. I don’t know what to do.” He listened to me and he said, “That’s her journey. What do you want for yourself?” I didn’t hear him, because I’m focussing on my daughter. He must have just listened and said, “What do you want for yourself?” It clicked. It’s like the dripping tap and broken record thing. I heard it and I burst into tears. I said, “I don’t know what I want for myself.” He said, “You’ve got lots of time. You think about it because you need to decide what you’re going to do for yourself. You can’t do anything for your girl. You’ve done everything you can. It’s her journey.”

Ngā pānga ki te ahurea o te purapura ora - Impacts on survivors’ culture

508.    As we explained in He Purapura Ora, he Māra Tipu, State care in Aotearoa New Zealand must be discussed in the wider colonial context.^[1118] The impacts of Lake Alice are part of a long history of intentional cultural disruption by State institutions. Secure cultural identity is crucial for health and wellbeing. For Māori, the oranga of wairua, hinengaro and tinana are intrinsically tied to the oranga of whānau and land. To be disconnected from culture, whānau and land affects all other aspects of wellbeing.

509.    We heard from Māori and Pacific survivors about the cultural and spiritual effects of abuse at Lake Alice, in particular about loss of connection to cultural practices, language, community, family histories, genealogies and sense of belonging. Māori survivors’ cultural beliefs and values were “disregarded” and this contributed to a feeling of not belonging anywhere. In addition, some abuses experienced at Lake Alice, such as receiving electric shocks to the head, may have had a particular cultural significance for Māori given that in Te Ao Māori he tapu te upoko, the head is sacred.^[1119] One survivor explained how Lake Alice disregarded his Māori culture.

“I did not have access to any Māori cultural learning as a patient there. Cultural values and beliefs are very important to me and having none of that when I was growing up had a detrimental effect on my wellbeing. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere … The longer I stayed in Lake Alice and in the Social Welfare system, the more disconnected I became from my Māori culture and more disconnected from my identity. I had a feeling that I didn’t belong anywhere. Where I really belonged was with my mum and dad – with my whānau. When I was removed from that environment, they took me away from my Māori culture. I wish they had given me to my grandmother. I think my life would have been very different if they had.”^[1120]

510.    Another survivor described how he missed out on a connection to whānau and iwi after he was adopted and put in various institutions, including Lake Alice. He said his life would look very different today if he had stayed with his whānau.

“Absolutely. My whole life … if I was with my original birth mother, there’s no way I would have ended up in an institution because Māori, the particular Māori family that I’ve got are very close. And I’ve spoken to my Uncle [GRO-B], who is my birth mother’s brother, and he’s just so nice and so lovely. And just the way that he spoke about the area that they’re in and different responsibilities that they’ve got and how they look after their whānau, is totally different than the way that I was brought up. There’s no way I would have been institutionalised if I had stayed with my original birth mother and family. And I’d be in a better place now too probably.”^[1121]

511.    Māori survivors also described their continuing difficulties in trying to reconnect to their culture and whānau. One said he didn’t even want to mention Lake Alice or what happened to him. “I want to go back and be welcomed back into my whānau as a normal person.”^[1122] Mr Mathieson-Ngatai said he was trying to reconnect with his whānau and learn te reo Māori, but his time in Lake Alice continued to affect those relationships and his ability to learn. “I do not like to talk about it with them or have them bring it up.”^[1123]

512.    Pacific survivors’ cultural needs were also disregarded at Lake Alice, and this affected their connection to aiga, language, personal and cultural identity, and sense of belonging. For Pacific peoples, mental, physical and spiritual wellbeing are intrinsically tied to the wellbeing of the family. Psychiatrist, Leota Dr Lisi Kalisi Petaia, told us, “the foundation of the fale … is the family. It represents the foundation of life for Pacific people”.^[1124]

513.    Pacific survivor Mr Scanlon said his aunt would have taken him out of Lake Alice if she had known what was going on. He might then have got a decent education, which was denied to him at the unit.^[1125]

514.    Cultural misunderstanding and unconscious bias have contributed to Pacific health disparities.^[1126] Leota Dr Petaia told us culture is “fundamental to the causes, course and care of individuals with mental illness” and a skilled workforce competent in both cultural and clinical aspects is vital.^[1127] She said minimal emphasis on cultural training, resulted in poor interaction with patients and their families and poor health outcomes for patients.^[1128]

515.    We heard from Mr Scanlon about the positive impact of having an understanding staff member who organised kapa haka and waiata lessons at the unit.

“I remember one nurse at Lake Alice who was really comforting. She ran Kapa Haka classes and waiata lessons at the school, which I enjoyed. These lessons were run in one of the classrooms at the school during the weekend. It reminded me of home. I always dreaded going back to the dormitory afterwards because of the punishments.”^[1129]

516.    Healing from a Pacific peoples’ perspective requires restoration of the balance between all domains of mental wellbeing – mental health, physical health, spiritual, social and family relationships – said Leota Dr Petaia. Families usually wanted to be involved in decision making and care plans. Using Pacific models of care and engagement of patients and families in a Pacific way, for example, through use of the patient’s native language and acknowledging the spiritual dimension by saying prayers, was crucial.^[1130] Pacific people expect mental health services to be culturally safe by way of acknowledging their belief systems and reflecting a holistic approach to wellness.^[1131] This did not occur at the Lake Alice unit.

517.    Niuean survivor Mr Hake Halo, on the other hand, personified the benefits of individuals staying connected to their culture. He told us his Niuean culture had enabled him to alert his family to the abuse in his own language, without the knowledge of the authorities. His faith also remained intact, despite his experiences, and this also helped him to move on from what had happened.^[1132]

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