Threats and abuse come with job of social worker

By CATHERINE MASTERS

When young Otago cancer sufferer Liam Williams-Holloway hit the headlines early last year, the repercussions for an Auckland social worker were swift -even though he had never met Liam and was not remotely connected to the case.

Child, Youth and Family Service social workers had been set the task of removing Liam from his parents, who were refusing to let him undergo chemotherapy. In some people's eyes, that made all social workers the bad guys.

A campaign of hate was waged against the veteran CYFS worker who talked to the Herald. His name has been withheld because he fears further recognition.

"My own private car and a Child, Youth and Family car, spray-painted with 'child abuser,' and other stuff.

"I had tyres punctured, radiators spiked, windows scratched, all that sort of stuff. Obviously somebody was aware that I was a social worker with CYFS.

"I had no relationship with the case whatsoever ... I was a target just because I was a social worker."

He suspects that the perpetrator was a former client, but cannot prove it.

Either way, the incident highlights the stigma attached to social work. State social workers, whose task it is to go into homes and remove children for their own safety, are particular targets.

It is a job that incurs the wrath of a public which often prefers to turn a blind eye to what goes on in the neighbour's house and not "interfere" - even when the kid next door is being battered and yelled at until he or she is dead or a physical and emotional shell.

The list of victims - James Whakaruru for one - is growing alarmingly.

The job of social worker is a deadly serious one, and families that are dangerous to children can be dangerous to social workers.

"It has an impact on your own kids and your own family life," says the Auckland social worker.

"It's difficult to be anonymous. You can get followed home from work. Sometimes you're working with difficult and disturbed people, you're making hard calls about the safety of children and there's always the potential to upset people.

"It's like a police job, really," he says, but without the same powers. "And you don't have the same protections either."

This social worker was involved in a case a couple of years ago where a child was battered to death, and his own role was investigated.

That death was the only one in 15 years on the job, and he says it was a series of circumstances that ended in tragedy.

It is a "long story" he prefers not to talk about. Occasional tragedy is part of the job and must be coped with.

"Things don't always go right, and despite the best intentions we don't always get it right. The focus is often on that, rather than the good things we do."

Most of the public who are so quick to condemn, work in jobs which do not involve decisions that could - in hindsight - have contributed to a chain of events which failed to prevent a child's death.

"You need to be able to recharge your batteries and live to fight another day," he says. "If you go home and fret about it, you'll burn yourself out in no time."

Social workers going into homes do not expect to make friends, and they expect to be lied to "systematically."

"You carry the historic baggage of being the welfare, the organisation that is perceived as taking children off families and putting them in terrible foster homes for ever and a day.

"And the other perception, of course, - the James Whakaruru stuff - is that we're hugely incompetent and superficial and place kids with nasty, abusing families without any real regard for their welfare.

"Neither of those things is true, of course, but you're forever battling perceptions and I guess that's where some reasonably positive stuff in the media would be useful.

"The reality is you're trying to walk a middle path between those extremes, and the kids are your focus. But the decisions you make are often pressured decisions in a reasonably short time frame and you are only as good as the information that you've got, that you are provided with and that you can get access to.

"You'll get it right most of the time, but occasionally you won't."

Frontline burnout has not caused the social worker to quit because the rewards of improving a child's life are great, even if good-news stories seldom make it to print.

But burnout has caused an exodus from the service, particularly among newly qualified social workers.

A Government report this month said that three CYFS social workers were quitting every week, raising fears that the department may not be able to do its job properly.

John Hoult is the area manager of CYFS, Auckland north. He says the exodus of staff in his patch is a continual worry.

At any one time there are 12 to and 15 vacancies among his 120-plus social workers.

For the whole Auckland region, three to four children are reported to the service each day as abused in some way. Of the notifications, 60 per cent check out.

Each year, 550 new patients end up in the Starship children's hospital abuse unit - some return up to five times - and Auckland Healthcare sees around 120 new cases of teenagers who have been abused.

And every week, at least one staff member in Mr Hoult's area is threatened or intimidated by clients.

Sometimes it is rude, obnoxious messages left on the phone. Sometimes staff are assaulted, or followed home. Occasionally threats are made against their own children.

Auckland social workers and professionals from other departments expect to be able to do better for abused children with the creation of the country's first multi-agency "Cares" - Child and Adolescent Recovery, Empowerment and Safety - centre near the Starship early next year.

The Starship Foundation, supported by Sky City casino, is running a public appeal to raise money for the centre, which will house staff from the police, CYFS, the Starship and a counsellor.

In the present work conditions, many social workers refuse to list their telephone numbers and some refuse to go on the electoral roll.

Threats have increased over the past five to 10 years, and social workers often look over their shoulders.

Two women from an Auckland CYFS office - who also do not want their names published - say that with four and six years' experience respectively they are oldtimers with the service.

"We're entering the Jurassic Age," joked one.

Most young staff members last just two years, they say.

Heavy caseloads - and a pay scale that begins at $30,000 and ends at $43,000 for a basic-grade social worker - are part of the reason.

They both have around 20 cases on their books, but because of their experience the cases are among the most complex.

One staff member in the office has 56 cases to shuffle, but most social workers average between 30 and 40 at any one time, the women say.

And because their office has five vacancies, the rest of the staff must share up to 200 extra cases.

One of the women has had her life threatened more than once by clients.

It is scary, she says, but the rewards outweigh the negatives of the job.

"Positive outcomes are things that you see. Children who are now clean, tidy and talkative - they are smiling as opposed to five weeks ago when they were withdrawn, dirty and wetting ... They are standing tall."

The two women say the public must stop ignoring abuse in their own neighbourhoods, which they do partly because of a culture which stops them from "dobbing" each other in.

Even if a family in the street has just one shouting match, report it, they say.

The social worker will not visit to tell the family off, but to educate about family violence - and to make sure the children are safe.

Taking children away is a last resort, something these two women have been forced to do only a handful of times.