Savings scheme gives Lifeline $72k
Fund chief stunned at calls missed by helpline has urged others to donate too, writes Isaac Davison From a frighteningly dark hole to a ‘fabulous’ life
The head of a KiwiSaver provider has made a large donation to Lifeline after being “shocked” by how many calls the cash-strapped suicide prevention line was missing.
Sam Stubbs, the managing director of low-fees KiwiSaver fund Simplicity, said he would donate $72,000 through the company’s charitable trust.
He contacted Lifeline after a trustee alerted him to a Herald article on Monday, which reported that the 50-year-old helpline was missing one in four calls from people in distress because of a funding shortage.
“This isn’t good enough,” he said in an open letter, which also urges other New Zealand businesses to donate.
Stubbs, who has previously worked at Tower Investments, Hanover Group and Goldman Sachs, said it was an appropriate cause for his company to support.
“Financial products are basically fences at the top of the cliff to make sure disasters don’t happen,” he said.
“And in this case, with Lifeline, it’s the ultimate fence at the top of the cliff.
“We’d rather spend money shoring up that fence than having to deal with all the crisis and tragedy at the bottom.”
Stubbs said he knew of many people who had called the helpline at a time of distress.
“People should not underestimate how much courage it takes for the ordinary New Zealander to ask for help from a complete stranger,” he said.
The trust initially offered Lifeline $50,000 but was persuaded to give $72,000 to match the theme of Lifeline’s fundraising campaign, The 72 Club.
It is a play on the “27 Club” of famous artists who died at age 27, and encourages people to download a cover of Janis Joplin’s Piece of My Heart. The 72 Club raises money for Lifeline by re-recording their songs with singers who have lived to be old.
In a full-page advertisement in the Herald today, Stubbs urged other companies, especially in the financial Mary Haddock-Staniland first called Lifeline in her early 20s.
A few days before, her GP had confirmed what she suspected — that she was dealing with depression and anxiety.
It stemmed from a difficult childhood and a struggle with her identity and sexuality.
“I went through some bad times, not really knowing, not really having an idea of who or what I was,” she said.
The PR director, MC, and transgender personality grew up in Matamata, where “if you didn’t own a racehorse or a farm you were screwed”.
Her family, with five kids, was not
services, to join him in donating.
“The financial industry in New Zealand is very, very good at making money for itself,” he said.
“It is going to make $5 billion in profit this year. It is not quite so good on corporate philanthropy, so we would like to set the example.”
Lifeline, which unsuccessfully tendered for Government funding in well-off — “I didn’t start buying Trelise Cooper ’til my late 20s, put it that way” — and she had an abusive father. There were run-ins with the law, too, though she does not want to go into details.
Haddock-Staniland said she was a determined individual and was not interested in wallowing. Once her doctor confirmed her diagnosis, she immediately set about getting informed and getting better.
“I wanted to get out of the black hole. I wanted to find light at the end of the tunnel. Because no one likes
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2015, says the number of at-risk people calling the helpline has doubled in the last three years.
Executive director Glenda Schnell would not say how much the organisation needed to ensure all critical calls were answered. But she said it cost $25 per call to offer the helpline service and $750 to train a volunteer. The organisation takes 120,000 calls feeling like shit. I talked to [Lifeline] about four or five weeks, regularly. Some weeks more than once. They were able to give me some really clear guidelines, how to cope. It was anonymous and it was on the phone.
“I didn’t need to leave the four walls of where I was because I wasn’t confident enough to do that.”
The other factor in her recovery was a supportive group of friends and family. “Knowing you have got the people who won’t shut the door in your face or reject you — because
a year and trains 100 volunteers a year — a total cost of around $3.1m.
The helpline hit a low point in 2016, when just 43 per cent of calls were answered. An increase to staffing brought the rate up to 75 per cent, but Schnell said further support was needed to make sure all critical calls were answered.
It was one of four main helplines there’s so much embarrassment, so much shame,” she said.
She is now backing Lifeline’s attempts to raise enough to money to be sustainable.
“I would go as far as to say that without them, it could have been a different outcome.”
Her advice for those in a dark place is not to suffer in silence.
“I know that’s easier for me to say because I’ve been there and come out the other side.
“But life now is fabulous. I wouldn’t say follow in my footsteps, because they’re a bit dodgy, but seek help and don’t be afraid to get out there — there’s always a solution.” in New Zealand which are dedicated to mental health and suicide prevention. One of those, Need to Talk, is fully funded by the Government.
Lifeline has a commercial contract to promote The 72 Club campaign with the Herald’s parent company NZME.