Aaron Smale, who has been reporting on state abuse of children for nearly a decade, has produced a documentary, The Stolen Children of Aotearoa. Here, the Listener columnist reflects on making the programme.
I read something somewhere that to tell a story is to put your hand into a silo of grain and pull out a handful.
For the best part of the past decade, I have been repeatedly grabbing handfuls of the endless stories of the abuse of children in the custody of the state. Not only the abuse, but the state’s deliberate and ongoing actions to cover up its role and responsibility.
The silos are still inexhaustible and probably always will be. There are hundreds of thousands of stories and I’ve managed to tell a handful.
Eight years ago, I made a commitment to follow the story of the state’s abuse of children until there was some kind of change. That commitment, equal parts naivety and bloody-mindedness, took longer than I thought and I’m still not sure the change I had hoped for has arrived.
At the very least, I can say that the issue and the victims now have a visibility that they didn’t have 10 years ago. Most of the coverage I’ve done has been in print, with a digression into a podcast series on Lake Alice Hospital.
That greater public visibility will culminate in a documentary I have worked on with Awa Films.
As hard as I’ve worked to convey in words the magnitude of the abuse and damage to thousands of individuals when they were children, this documentary gives the survivors the chance to be heard and seen directly.
Words are powerful, but there’s nothing so powerful as seeing the faces of those speaking them. Some of the most powerful moments are the silences, as survivors dwell on their memories.
That visibility was only possible because victims made the decision to talk to me and, in doing so, talk to the public. I will always be grateful for that bravery and trust. They have not only told their own stories but they have represented thousands of other survivors. They have also opened up space for other survivors to speak. For some, that means speaking to their own loved ones for the first time.
The documentary includes the voices of more than 20 survivors. We could easily have swapped out those 20 multiple times and there would still be no shortage. But it isn’t just a narrative of trauma.
We also include voices from people who have had involvement in some shape or form and give the stories of abuse a historical context. Lawyer Sonja Cooper is one. Criminologist Elizabeth Stanley is another. Ex-cop and criminal justice reformer Kim Workman is another. The racial justice campaigner Oliver Sutherland, one of my heroes, is part of it. But possibly the most poignant voice among these advocates is that of the late Moana Jackson.
A Royal Commission of Inquiry has been and gone since I started and the commission’s report landed last year. An official apology was made, but the impacts of the trauma continue.
It’s hard to look at something you’re so close to and judge it with any kind of impartiality. I’ll see the gaps and things we could or should have done. I’ll see what was left in the silo. But as a historical record, the documentary will, I think, give an audience a small but important grasp of what happened.
And hopefully it will give survivors the dignity of being seen and heard.
The Stolen Children of Aotearoa, Whakaata Māori, 8.30pm, and streaming on Māori+. Also screening Māoriland Film Festival, Ōtaki, March 28. An RNZ podcast will follow.
