Whakapapa Tamaki by Te Rakau at the Aotea Centre

By LINDA HERRICK

Whakapapa Tamaki is unlike anything else you'll see in Auckland theatre this year, and in some ways, you should be thankful. These are a group of young people who, under the care and directorship of Jim Moriarty, express through spoken word, waiata and dance the damage done to them by their whanau and the wrecking consequences as they have grown older.

It is a terrible performance to watch, although performance is too weak a word for what is often a throat-choking experience.

Through the Theatre Marae-Theatre of Change process which Moriarty and his strong team of facilitators have evolved, prison inmates and young people in trouble have been able to do exactly that: change, or start the process of doing so.

The performers in this group - aged 10 to 18 - have come straight to Auckland after a lengthy workshop process at a Porirua marae, and Monday's debut was fraught with emotion and nerves. After a lunchtime school show, four kids pulled out before the evening's public round, unable to carry on.

Ushered in by a karakia, the audience can sit on seats or the floor in the small theatre, decorated with a huge poster illustrating the will of the project.

What follows then is a series of music and action pieces which broach the subject of how easy it is to conceive a child, yet how hard it is to take responsibility for their upbringing, a task many so-called adults turn their backs on.

Too often, the child is a burden to shirk - or to beat. The "First Hurts", as one of the items explores, are the name-callings, the smacks, the witnessing of mum getting the bash, and then the fists turning on the kids themselves.

The "play section" is gruelling: no playtime this, but individual kids standing up to briefly name what was done to them - a rolling inter-generational cycle of abandonment, sexual abuse, violence. It's shocking because it's real, and absolutely brave.

The programme concludes positively with a celebratory series of song rejecting violence, drugs and alcohol, and powerful regional dedications and haka. The calibre of singing and movement by these young people is high, and at the same time the combination of pain and pride in their faces and eyes is devastatingly affecting.

These kids have been through hell, and stand up strong to tell their story. You will think, what can I do to help? Attending a performance by Te Rakau - who are touring after the Aotea Centre season ends on Thursday night - will most definitely help anyone, maybe even the bashers and abusers, to understand why kids deserve to get what they want: to be loved.