Me aro koe ki te ha o Hine-ahu-one. Ko Mihingarangi tenei, e mihi atu nei, nau mai, tahuti mai ki Te Hui. Welcome to The Hui, Maori current affairs for all New Zealanders. Earlier this year, we brought you the stories of Nga Morehu, survivors of state care who were calling for an independent inquiry into the abuse they suffered while wards of the state. Around 100,000 New Zealand children were removed from their families between the 1950s and 1980s. Many were mentally, physically and sexually abused while in state care. But their calls for justice have fallen upon deaf ears. The government has refused to implement an inquiry. Last week, the UN's Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination recommended an independent investigation. Today, in a special episode of The Hui, we bring you the stories of four women, who share their experiences of surviving state care. We call them Nga Wahine Morehu. (SOMBRE MUSIC) Four little girls removed from their families, placed into the care of strangers. Did you know you were Maori and Chinese? No. No. I knew what I was being told. What was that? 'An effin' black bitch.' And I just got beat until I pissed myself. You can't really point own which is the worst beating you got, cos they're pretty much all pretty raw. Four survivors speak out about the abuse they suffered while wards of the state. The foster father used to masturbate in front of me and touch my little boobies at the time. I've been hit over the head with the blunt edge of a spade, the blunt edge of an axe. CRIES: I've been locked up in dark cupboards, and I'm still scared of the dark. She physically let herself get raped, thinking she was saving us. Was there anyone that ever tried to help? No. No. They talk about their quest for justice, the call for an inquiry and making sure it never happens again. I think the government needs to get more involved. These are their kids. This is the country's kids. What would an inquiry mean for you? It would mean that we are all heard. Nga Wahine Morehu: E kore ano. Well, tena koutou, oku tuakana, to tatou whaea. Was it a big decision to come today? It's enormous for me to be here today. On the outside I might look very calm, but on the inside, there's just so much overwhelming me. It takes me right back to all the trauma. What about you two sisters? Definitely. A lot of whakama. A lot of anger. Yeah, pretty much. Do your kids know the full extent of what you've been through? No. Not all of it, no. My oldest daughter, who's here today, she's (VOICE BREAKS) probably the one that knows the most. Not in depth, though. What's it like, Whaea Pamela, having met the other women here today? I think they all have the same hurt that I feel. That anger, which I've suppressed for so many years. I think now it's maybe time to reveal what happened. (SOMBRE MUSIC) I had a very happy upbringing. We had a homestead in Eltham. A farmlet. It was very happy. I went to school at Eltham Primary. I can remember only happiness until I was removed from school and then my life was oblivious, really. I went into state care as a young baby. To be exact, 2 years and 5 days old. And that was in 1967. My mum and dad were working in the market gardens. I was the seventh child. There's no birthday parties or kids stuff. Do you remember what it was like before you were taken into state care? I don't actually remember, no. No, we were too young. What age were you? 2. 3. So, the two of you went together? The three of us. Yup. The three of us. Me, Tanya and Alva were brought up in foster home. We were pretty much there for their income, the housework. Tell me about your foster parents. Were they Maori? No, they were immigrants. No. Was there any family bond at all from them? Did you receive any love? No. Do you remember why? No. There's documentation in our files saying to why the abuse in the home with our natural birthmother, to what of it is true, we don't know. So the allegation was that she was abusive towards you all? Neglectful. Neglectful. Neglectful. Yup. To my knowledge, what we were told was that she was a drug addict. I didn't know why I was taken. It was myself and my young brother. No one ever explained anything about why were gone, why we were separated from our parents. I knew my mum and dad had split up, but, I mean, we were at home with Dad, and I was still going to school with my young brother. But looking back now, it looks as though that wasn't good enough. That's when the Department of Social Welfare came and took us. How old were you? I think I must've been about 8 or 8�. I went into a family home in New Plymouth. I thought we were OK there, my young brother and I. It was only when they split us up that, you know, I felt resentment in what had happened, 'Why is all this happening?' And I just went from family home to family home to family home. Different school here. In the end, I just gave up. You just went with whatever they said. My voice wasn't heard. Recently, I received my social welfare file. And the reason was that someone made a complaint against my parents. And the word is call 'indigents'. And that means 'a messy house.' Your mum is Chinese and your dad is a Putaranui, he's Maori. Were your caregivers of the same culture? I was raised with a female Caucasian widower. Did you know you were Maori and Chinese? No. No. Not` No. What did you think you were? I knew what I was being told. What was that? 'An effin'... 'black bitch.' So much so that I'd have a bath, (VOICE BREAKS) and I would get the pumice, and I would scrub my skin until it bled, to get the black out. She was very racist. Very very racist person. Like, I've lost my culture. I've lost my name. Did she change your name? The story I was told was that I was left on the doorstep in a shitty nappy without a name, so she decided to call me Suzie after the movie 'Suzie Wong'. I think there's documentations from CYFS workers in our files saying about matty hair and... Clothes. Clothes, raggedy clothes and dirty smelling. How did she treat you? Slaves. My memories of being a child is just crying, being told not to cry. Just being very alone, not knowing who the hell I am. We never went anywhere. We didn't do anything that was fun. I think those are the memories I have. It's just a very numbing feeling. Did you have any education? Very little. I never went to high school. I did maybe two months, three months at intermediate. That's it. Everything else (SNIFFLES) I've learned by myself. Kei tua o nga whakatairanga, ka whakina e nga wahine morehu nga tukinotanga i utaina ki runga i a ratou. After the break, Nga Wahine Morehu reveal the abuse they suffered. Kei te matakitaki koutou i a Te Hui. In this next part, Nga Wahine Morehu open up about the abuse they experienced while wards of the state. Sisters Tanya and Gina discuss the sexual abuse they suffered, along with their older sister Alva. We want to point out that the perpetrator was not their foster father. Physical abuse was beatings. Black and blue, I remember getting through across the dining room table, thrown into a walk-in pantry, landing on top of the shelves. Pretty brutal. If social welfare came, there was always an appointment made. We knew when they were coming, so we were told to clean up the house because it was a mess. So we'd run round and tidy up the house, clean everything up, be getting a hiding at the same time and told to shut up. We had to present ourselves, and if we didn't say the right things, we knew we would get a hiding afterwards, There was psychological abuse, verbal abuse, and I witnessed sexual abuse. I was in a family home on a farm, and I used to have to hose down the cow shed, and after doing that, I'd come back in and the foster father used to masturbate in front of me and touch my little boobies at the time. And that was one of the worst experiences that I can remember. How old were you? I was probably 11. Must've been terrifying. It was. At first, I thought, 'What's going on here?' You know. But you figure it out after a while what's happening. I remember when the sexual abuse started, I sat there and told one of my older brothers about it, (SNIFFLES) cos I was so young and didn't think it was right. He went back and reported it to his mother. And then I got beaten. Quite severe. (SNIFFLES) I didn't go to school for three days, two days to three days. Pretty much told if I ever brought it up again, I would be ripped from my sisters. And at that stage, they're all you had. yup. Tell me about Faram House. I spent about six months up in the lock-up after running away. Describe the lock-up for us. It was just a very small room with a bed, and that was it. What do you remember about the Porirua House? It was the mental institution, was it called? Yes. It was so hard. We went from one locked room into another locked room. Can you tell us about what happened in there? Um,... I had shock treatment. (SNIFFLES) I was heavily drugged. We were just zombies. If you didn't (SNIFFLES) pull the line, they'd just strip ya down and bang and injection into ya. Throw ya in a room, locked, with just a stitched blanket. Strip you down, no clothes. And you've got men doing this to you. I'd been raped in there. (SNIFFLES) There was a lot of` Like, I tried to attempt suicide many times. When they give you shock treatment, you didn't know your name for a couple of days. You didn't even know who you were. Now, what child at 12 or 13, by this time, deserved to go through that? One memory I have, I'm about 10, at the speedway, and my foster mother, she pulled a fist and smashed me straight in my face, and I could hear my teeth crack, and blood was running down on to my top, down on to my shoes, and then she dragged me over to a police officer and she said, 'You're going to go to jail, like your parents.' I was only about 5 or 6. I was made to give him blow jobs. And did you tell anyone? Yup. And what happened? Nothing. I had epilepsy as a child, and when I went to my stepmother and told her what was happening, he said that I was having an epileptic fit and that he was just pulling my pants pack up. So nothing happened. And then you didn't tell again? Nah. Not until three years later. I ran away from home. I lived on the streets. Was it safer on the streets? Shit yeah! And Alva was in boarding schools? Alva was in and out of boarding schools, running away from boarding schools. She would turn up now and then. We didn't know where she was. Do you think she was abused too? Yup. Yeah, she was. Did she know about yours? She thought she was protecting us. Taking for you? Taking it off. Yeah. Where's Alva now? She's now passed away. Couldn't deal with life. She physically let herself get raped, thinking she was saving us. When she found out that she wasn't, that it was still happening to us, she couldn't handle it. It broke her. Completely broke her. She turned to drugs, alcohol, gangs, heroin. You name it, she was on it. She was mentally unstable because of everything. She was victim, and the victims carried on to her kids. And now her grandchild, who's not going to know her grandmother. Do you remember social workers coming to see you during those periods? Yup. I remember them coming. I remember having to hide under a bed to pretend that I wasn't there, because I was beaten black and blue, and yet, if they were to see that, all they threatened us with was that we would be split apart, we'd be taken away from each other. Did you ever try tell anyone? Yeah, I did. I tried to tell teachers. I told friends. What happened? People didn't know what to do. They'd think I must've done something bad. When I told people about all the abuse, all the bullying, all the physical abuse, they look at me and they don't understand. Did you try and report it? Yes, but you just got hit in the face. You just were` It was black-doored, you know? It's all another lie. No one ever went back and investigated or tried anything to see if anything was really wrong there. It didn't happen. I went to the police. I reported the abuse when I was 15. There were two witnesses at two of the times that I was abused, sexually abused. Neither of the witnesses were questioned. And in a statement, he put that he loathed to investigate child-child sexual offending, when adult-child sexual offending was more important. Was there anyone that ever tried to help? No. No. And the people I did reach out to didn't believe me anyway. Again, we want to mention that Tanya and Gina's stepfather was not responsible for their sexual abuse. Kia mau tonu mai ra e te iwi. After the break, Nga Wahine Morehu talk about motherhood, an inquiry and their ongoing quest for justice. Hoki mai ano. After suffering years of physical, mental and sexual abuse, Nga Wahine Morehu open up about becoming mothers, the call for an inquiry and holding those who failed them to account. I was pregnant while I lived on the streets. I was pregnant with my first child. Were you excited? (INHALES) Scared. I just thought, 'What the hell have I got myself in for?' How old were you when you were`? I was 17. I had here when I was (SNIFFLES) just turned 18, I think I was. I adopted her out. Why'd you do that? Because I didn't feel I was capable of being a mother. Mm. And I thought if I adopted her out, at least I'll give her a good life. And because she was a baby, she'd be in the one home. What do you want your children to know about you? I guess it's understanding. (VOICE QUIVERS) Understanding why I'm so hard. How bout you, Tanya? What do you want your kids to know about you? That I've done my best. Yeah, that they basically understand why I've been so protective. My kids are my world. Well, I have two children. Most happiest time of my life. Really beautiful time. Tell me about your first child. Yeah, gorgeous girl. Can't understand what I've gone through. So in some way, we have a tumultuous relationship. And I hope, at some stage, she will understand. My daughter and I, the one I adopted, she found me. She's beautiful. She's a beautiful daughter. And I have two beautiful grandchildren there. What do you want to say to them? I love them. And I hope I was a good parent for them. And I hope I'm a good grandmother for my grandchildren. And I'll always be there for them. SOBS: And let anyone try and do what they did to me... Let them try. I'm hoping that the government do wake up and give every child a government New Zealand apology. You owe them that much. What would you like to change? The system's still failing. It's still not looking at these children and what their needs are, what they want. They never listen to the cries of the children. CYFS certainly ain't ` or whatever their bloody name is now. They go on about changing their name, but the thing that they lack in is the wairua in them. Changing their name doesn't change their system. When a child says to you, even if it's the smallest little wee comment, I' don't like it here,' believe them. It's so important. If there was ever a justice that you could imagine, what would it be? That the perpetrators would be punished, that there would be some justice. We had so many social workers who had concerns, so I'd like them to be accountable for what they've done, their part. If we don't (SOBS) look after our children today, we're not going to have much of a future. What does justice look like for you? Justice is that, an independent inquiry because right now, it's all done in house, with Ministry of Social Development. They're all making up the rules. No one's got a choice. We're just still being told to sit down and take it and shut up. Justice hasn't been done. What would an inquiry mean for you? It would mean that we are all heard. All of us are heard. Because you cannot tell me all of us are telling lies. Well, we've come to the end. For anyone who has possibly been in the situation and hasn't got the courage to speak up, or anyone's who's suffering abuse at the moment, what's your message for them? Don't be afraid. Get someone to walk alongside you, and do it together, as a team. Don't be like me. Don't be afraid. Pearl? My message would be to seek help, definitely. Sometimes that help is hard to find. You can through different counsellors. They might not be the right counsellor. Find another one. But do definitely come forward. Don't hold it inside. Use your voice. Everybody would have a close friend to confide in. A teacher. As long as you've got somebody there to support you to pursue it further, makes things a lot easier. Gina? Ring me. (ALL LAUGH) I'll ... them up for you. (ALL LAUGH) Can we edit that? (LAUGHS) No! Tell the world. Tell the world. Don't be quiet. Don't shut up for no one. (SOMBRE MUSIC) Kia kaha ra Nga Wahine Morehu. Some of the women featured in this episode have received compensation for the abuse they suffered, but their cry is for a wider inquiry so that another generation of tamariki don't suffer the way they did, and for other voices to also be heard. If you are a former ward of the state who suffered abuse, you can find information and support at the Human Rights Commission's website, neveragain.co.nz We'll post a link on our Facebook page. You'll also find a link to today's programme there, or you can visit our page on the Newshub website. Kua hikina Te Hui mo tenei ra. The Nation's next. Pai marire ki a taatou katoa. Captions by Tom Pedlar. www.able.co.nz Captions were made with the support of NZ On Air. Copyright Able 2017