Birthright works its magic

Eva Bradley
From the outside looking in, Helen is a typical working mother making her way in the world.
After locking the doors each night on her new Napier business, she returns home to enjoy some down-time with her children.
It is a stunningly ordinary life, but only those that know her well can appreciate just how rare and special such a hum-drum existence is for Helen, and how hard she has fought to get it.
After an illness left her baby son James (not his real name) with a severe behavioural problem 15 years ago, her life has been a living hell. An official diagnosis of Attention Deficit Disorder and Conduct Disorder did nothing to change the fact that James was out of control in the worst possible way.
If he wasn't trying to stab his two siblings, he was pushing his mother down stairs or violently abusing people he knew.
Years of treatment and custodial care from a collection of social service agencies did nothing to improve the situation, until Helen and her family shifted to Napier and discovered Birthright Hawke's Bay.
"They have literally saved my son and our family. I would count them as friends. They are simply a part of the family."
These are not words you expect to hear from a mother whose son is in the custody of social services. More often there are cries of systemic failure, problems ignored and young lives that have slipped between the cracks and been lost as a result of government underfunding. Not in this case.
Helen can't speak highly enough of the organisation that has helped her family, nor of Child, Youth and Family (CYF), who have backed them up.
Originally established as a voluntary organisation by Hastings lawyer Peter Gifford 50 years ago to support widowed mothers whose husbands had not returned from the war, Birthright has spread nationwide with 18 centres and in Hawke's Bay has stretched its responsibilities far further than the original aim.
For Helen, they stepped in and took over care of her unmanageable son, placing him in Birthright's "Magic House" in Napier, where six or seven troubled male youths aged between 12 and 17 are given one last shot at getting life back on the rails.
"If there's ever a time for them to make a change in their lives it's with us," explains Birthright Hawke's Bay manager director, Jane Wilson.
"It's their last chance and if they can't turn their lives around they'll usually go into a custodial care situation."
That or prison - these boys are often violent and always deeply troubled. They are the kids that other agencies have given up on, and Birthright social worker Leanne Franklin says that instead of being put off by that, being the Last Stop Saloon is uplifting.
"We're the ones that work with the hopeless cases and we give them hope. Without that, what do they have?"
Helen can answer that frankly: Without Birthright either she would be dead or her son would be.
"We were a family in crisis."
It's stories like these that make Jane Wilson turn up for work each morning. A self-confessed "survivor" of Social Welfare, she spent 22 years inside "the system", 12 of those as a social worker in Hastings and Napier.
"I loved working there, but for me it was time to take my skills into the community."
When she arrived at Birthright there were three social workers running the show hand-to-mouth. Two years later the organisation employs 20 staff, eight of them qualified social workers who work alongside 10 volunteer foster-home caregivers.
For troubled families, the organisation is a one-stop-shop, giving counselling, parenting workshops, budgeting advice and school education programmes all for free.
Funded variously through local grants from groups like the Eastern and Central Community Trust and the Lotteries Commission, plus Government bodies including the Ministry of Education and CYF, the local group is slowly standing on firmer ground.
"We've always had times when we've been down to the last dollar but we're getting better at that," explains finance manager Malcolm Ellis.
A former bank manager, becoming bean counter for a community social service group was never on Malcolm's to-do list.
"It wasn't my first choice of job but now that I'm in it, I love it and it helps to know that we're making a difference."
As he talks he is wiping the dirt off a pair of faded jeans. The entire team are planting Christmas lilies in a bid to raise money for the organisation and affiliate themselves with the lily in the way the Cancer Foundation has with the daffodil.
Spirits are high and the team trade friendly insults over a cup of tea and three hefty cakes. Volunteer Vicki Friar has been up since dawn baking them and is baffled when asked why she would give up her free time to help.
"I just believe in the work they do," she says simply.
Raising grandchildren, she has first-hand experience of dealing with social agencies.
"It's really nice to know there's support out there that isn't tied to the statutory environment."
That environment, chiefly CYF, also acknowledges the advantages of having a group that isn't seen to be wielding the might of the state.
"There's no doubt there are people that would rather work with a community organisation rather than departmental staff," says Trevor Opie, acting site manager for CYF in Hastings.
He sees Birthright as a complimentary service (they manage a CYF house for instance), and believes they have identified where the gaps are in existing structures and filled them.
"They're an organisation that has a can-do attitude and that's one of the most important things because in some respects the situations that cause us the headaches are the ones where there are children and young persons with complex problems and severe behavioural issues and Birthright says 'yes, we'll take that on'."
A case in point is 15-year-old Hone (not his real name).
Coming from a violent home and in turn becoming violent himself, the young Napier man had already started dabbling in drugs and gangs. For him, it was likely to be Magic House or the inside of a prison cell.
"He started off resistant but we were consistently there for him and we didn't give up," Jane says.
Where other organisations had given him a few weeks before giving up, Birthright took him in for 18 months - starting with a troubled teen and turning out a young man with a future and a job.
"He came in with grey skin, his head down, bad language, overweight. But then everything changed, his head lifted, he lost weight. It's been three years but he still drops in for the odd visit."
While no one is pointing the finger in a bid to explain just why these troubled teens turn out the way they do, the Birthright team cite increasing financial pressures on parents and the collapse of family support structures.
"It takes a community to raise a child," believes one caregiver.
The creeping influence of drugs and alcohol also plays a part, says another, as are the medical terms often used to explain away bad behaviour.
"It's easy to label a kid and give them a pill, but it's also important to sometimes leave labels at the door and just call a kid a kid and treat them like one."
It's a philosophy that seems to be working, but Birthright are not the sort to rest on their laurels. As the group looks to the future the one certainty is that troubled families are not going to disappear any time soon.
Another Magic House, closer relationships with schools and drug-free education services are just some of the things on a wish-list that is as long as the list of families crying out for help.