Name Poi McIntyre
Age when entered care 4 years old
Year of birth 1969
Hometown Timaru
Type of care facility Family homes – Presbyterian Children’s Home, Buchanan Street Family Home, Oamaru Family Home, Woodland’s Family Home; boys’ homes – Dunedin Boys’ Home (Lookout Point Boys’ Home) in Ōtepoti Dunedin, Kohitere Boys’ Training Centre in Taitoko Levin; borstal – Invercargill Borstal in Waihopai Invercargill.
Ethnicity Māori (Ngāi Tahu)
Whānau background Poi is the youngest of six siblings – he has two brothers and three sisters. Although the family had frequent interactions with the State, he was the only child to go through the ‘system’.
Current Poi has two adult tamariki but does not have a meaningful relationship with either of them. He is in a committed relationship with his partner Vicki, whom he describes as his ‘rock’. 

“It was bad to be brown”

I was 4 years old when I was put in a car with my siblings and cousins and told we were “going for a ride”. Reading my file, Social Welfare appears to have viewed my parents as abusive and neglectful, unable to meet our basic needs.

However, my memories of my home life are wildly different. My file refers to me being left unsupervised, but there were always older siblings, cousins or whānau around. We looked out for each other. While my father used physical punishment as a form of discipline, it was never over the top. We were only ever punished for making mistakes – you knew exactly what you did wrong and why you were getting a smack. At the time, it was common parenting practice, not abuse. My file also references my parents’ alcohol use, but while I do recall my parents drinking, I don’t recall them drinking to excess or more than other children’s parents. 

My memories are of aroha, safety and abundance. My parents had a good relationship. I had a meaningful connection with Māoritanga and was part of a large and connected whānau. Although my dad was at sea a lot, my aunty and cousins lived close by, and we shared meals and resources and were always together.

Only a handful of Māori families lived in Timaru in the 1970s. Looking back, it felt like we were always trying to squash the fact we were Māori and tried to appear as white as possible to anyone outside our whānau. It was bad to be brown.

The people making decisions were Pākehā and they viewed our home life through a Pākehā lens. It was a time when Māori culture was squashed by society and practices such as tangi were not understood by Social Welfare. My whānau was judged based on this lack of understanding.

We were well-known to and targeted by government agencies in the area. We were perfect scapegoats for social ills, and easy targets. I was often targeted by police and regularly took the rap for offending that I didn’t do. I believe I was accused of stealing and physically punished, often because of the colour of my skin, and when I or my whānau complained, no one listened.

The car ride I took at 4 years old marked the start of a horrific journey through the State care system that ended in men’s prison, where I arrived broken and completely soulless. I don’t remember being placed anywhere that acknowledged the fact I was Māori in a positive way. I was force-fed Pākehā ways of living, Pākehā values and Pākehā beliefs. 

That first placement with my siblings and cousins was in the Presbyterian Children’s Home in Timaru. I remember the caregiver. She was mean and hit me with a belt, I think for wetting my bed. I felt lost and scared.

When I was 12 years old, Social Welfare placed me in a family home in Timaru. This time, my siblings and cousins were left in the care of my parents. I understand it was because I stole a bicycle and Social Welfare was granted guardianship of me.

I believe that I had other placements between the Children’s Home and this placement when I was 12, however there are no records about me for some years. It appears that some of my file has been lost.

While I was in this family home the caregiver accused me of stealing her wallet. My file states I admitted to this, but I know I didn’t take the wallet and I didn’t admit to doing it, either. I think I got the blame because I was the only Māori child in the family home. I ran away numerous times. I ran away because I hated it there and wanted to be back with my whānau. 

I ran away a lot. 

I believe I was placed in the Oamaru Family Home when I was 12 years old because I kept running away from the one in Timaru. The father in Oamaru was physically abusive. When I was allowed to spend holidays with my whānau, I tried to tell them and other adults how bad the home was – there is a note in my file that I reported “bad experiences at Oamaru family home”. I understand my parents also laid a complaint about how I was treated. There are no further records of this, or any evidence Social Welfare bothered to look into it.

While I was in family homes I missed birthdays, tangi and other celebrations. I also missed the limited opportunities to spend time with my dad when he was home from sea. Once, when I was 13 years old, I ran away just to see Dad before he left for sea again. 

In between placements in family homes, I was sent to Lookout Point Boys’ Home in Dunedin. The first time I was about 12 years old. Despite my age, I was mixed in with the older boys and often beaten up. The male staff were bullies and liked to dominate – some verbally abused me almost daily. Some staff kicked or pushed me for no reason. I was propositioned for sex by an older boy. He went on to be admitted to Lake Alice and charged with sexual offending against children. I didn’t tell anyone about this incident.

While I was there a staff member decided to get the tattoos on my arm and hand removed. I was taken to the onsite medical room and they were cut out by someone with a scalpel. I assumed this person was a doctor, but I am not sure. It hurt, and I was in pain after this. I remember getting a small numbing injection but not any follow up medical treatment or pain relief after. My records say that I had 27 stitches.

I don’t know why I was taken to Lookout Point or why I was kept there so long. My file states the principal thought there was no reason to keep me there. Despite this, I continued to spend time at Lookout Point until I was placed in Kohitere in Levin at age 14 years old. 

The eight months at Kohitere changed me in the worst way and negatively affected the rest of my life. Kohitere smelt, looked and felt terrifying. The violence between the boys was extreme, happened almost daily and was worse than any I saw later at youth or men’s prison. We were constantly on edge. To survive I had to become a bully and use violence against others. This changed me. I lost empathy and became numb to witnessing and engaging in physical violence. To me, Kohitere was a training ground for jail.

The reports on my file from my time at Kohitere state I was coping well and using my time constructively. This is not my recollection. I left with a fierce hatred for the world and the system, and no empathy or self-worth. Kohitere stole my mana. 

After Kohitere, my offending went through the roof. At 15 years old, I was sentenced to youth prison in Invercargill. While serving my sentence, I experienced violence, I used violence. I also experienced physical abuse from staff. Fighting was so common and normal, and I didn’t know any different.

All up, I spent about 23 years in custody. Except for when we were all young, I was the only child out of my siblings to go through the ‘system’. I was also the only sibling to end up in prison and in a gang.

I regularly wonder if things would have turned out differently if Social Welfare had stayed out of my life. 

I have never understood why I was taken from my whānau and have felt anger about this for as long as I can remember. It has only been as an older adult and after I exited the system that I regained my mana after decades of having this figuratively and literally beaten out of me.

I was motivated to make my experience known as I don’t want other tamariki to have the same experience I did. The physical and emotional abuse I experienced while under the care of the State has negatively affected every aspect of my life as an adult, and the time I spent in prison has also affected my relationship with my tamariki. 

Staff members working in child protection need to have a cultural understanding of all cultures. I strongly believe I was removed from my parents’ care, not because they were bad parents, but because they were Māori. 

There needs to be watchers on the watchers – no one is overseeing the decisions made by agencies tasked to keep children safe. There needs to be an independent body holding them to account when they get it wrong.[19]