The Post

Nowhere else to go

Saron Bekele was 17 when she ‘‘aged out’’ of state care after being in the custody of Oranga Tamariki for 10 years. She now advocates for the interests of tamariki and rangatahi in state care – and for those leaving it.

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An intellectu­ally disabled teenager was kept in prison because he had nowhere else to go. The young man’s plight was revealed in a groundbrea­king report, obtained under the Official Informatio­n Act, about the experience­s of rangatahi (young people) leaving state care and the youth justice system.

Before the launch of Oranga Tamariki’s $153.7 million transition support service (TSS) in July 2019, government agencies collected little informatio­n about how those who had been in care as children fared as young adults.

While the establishm­ent of the transition service has helped shed some light on the challenges they face, some data that could provide a clearer picture, such as the proportion of rangatahi who were in care who go on to tertiary education or how many end up in prison, is stillmissi­ng.

The aim of the service is to support youth who have been in care to smoothly transition into adulthood by providing them with mentoring and advice from specially-trained support workers, budgeting support and financial grants.

In May 2020, Oranga Tamariki identified 1031 16- to 17-year-olds and 2218 18- to 21-year-olds who were eligible for the transition service.

It was expected to help 3000 people aged under 25 over four years.

The service also provided 63 ‘‘supported accommodat­ion’’ placements for youth who weren’t yet ready to live completely on their own, but did not want to or were unable to stay with their families or caregivers, costing a total of $2,686,554.42 in the 15 months to September 30, 2020.

An independen­t review, by researcher­s Malatest Internatio­nal, found accommodat­ion providers had varying levels of success.

While some clients were flourishin­g, authoritie­s were failing many young people with intellectu­al disabiliti­es and mental health challenges, the report said.

It described how a teenager with an intellectu­al disability and high and complex mental health needs had been staying in shared accommodat­ion on a farmwith 24-hour supervisio­n after being released from jail, but was later banned from the home for using a lighter.

By February 2020, he was back in custody, in isolation, because his support workers had been unable to find him anywhere to live.

More than six months after the report was published it was not known whether the teenager remains in prison. The young man was not named in the report.

Oranga Tamariki said it could not comment on individual cases.

Otago University associate professor of social work Nicola Atwool said one of the most pressing problems facing state care leavers is a lack of accommodat­ion.

Youth, particular­ly those with disabiliti­es, can be vulnerable to exploitati­on in places such as boarding houses, she said.

Many rangatahi who’ve been in care have lost touch with their biological families and, therefore, lack the social support system most other people their age have.

Some also suffered further abuse in care or had several caregivers.

New Zealand had introduced a transition service about 20 years later than other countries, such as the UK, which meant ‘‘we have such a huge amount of room to catch up’’, Atwool said.

‘‘It’s almost like our history of not looking after these people has created this huge gap. We’ve taken a very important step forward in recognisin­g their needs and making legal provisions and some financial provisions, but we haven’t adequately addressedw­hat was missing for so long.’’

When Tupua Urlich left state care, after more than a decade in the system, he was just 17. Before a law change came into effect in April 2017, thatwas the age at which support from Child, Youth and Family (the Government agency responsibl­e for the welfare of children before the establishm­ent of Oranga Tamariki) stopped.

‘‘I hadn’t really establishe­d myself a place to fit in, living alone, just no real guidance at such a crucial time,’’ Urlich, who lives in Auckland, said.

He started abusing alcohol and drugs to dull the pain, then had runins with the law.

‘‘The truth is, that growing up in state care, all of our lives these decisions are made for us and then all of a sudden we’re left to go it alone, we’ve got no experience of decisionma­king. We’re supposed to be wellequipp­ed and ready to go and that’s sadly not the reality,’’ he said.

Urlich was signed up to a programme called ‘‘reducing youth offending’’. That was his turning point.

Now 25 and a father himself, Urlich has spent several years advocating for youth in care. He was at the forefront of the push for a transition service.

‘‘It’s definitely been a long time coming but New Zealand can no longer raise children in a system and isolate them from the decision-making and when they become of age say ‘alright you’re an adult now, you’re ready to go’.

‘‘If you’re going to intervene in a young person’s life and remove them from their families, you sure as hell better give them better than what they would have without you stepping in. I think that’s going to be crucial in terms of moving forward,’’ he said.

Saron Bekele’s story echoes Urlich’s experience. She too was 17 when she ‘‘aged out’’ of state care, after being in the custody of OT for 10 years. At the time, Bekele was living with her boyfriend and his family.

Her boyfriend’s mother ended up becoming her de facto caregiver.

But after Bekele’s relationsh­ip with her partner broke down, and without anywhere else to go, she found herself couch-surfing.

When the TSS launched, Bekele sought advice on how to get secure accommodat­ion, but said she was given conflictin­g informatio­n about what support she was entitled to.

‘‘I just wish that they lived a day in our shoes, and they could see how degrading it is to leave a service or an organisati­on and then come back and ask for help. It’s kind of like when a dog’s got his tail between his legs, that’s kind of how it feels,’’ she said.

Eventually, the TSS helped Bekele with a bond payment for a rental property.

She now rents a studio unit in Porirua, and works as a consultant for Voyce Whakarongo Mai – an independen­t advocacy organisati­on for young peoplewho’ve been in care.

‘‘It’s kind of like when a dog’s got his tail between his legs, that’s kind of howit feels.’’

Saron Bekele

Looking back, the 22-year-old described her transition out of care as painful and confusing. In her experience, the TSS worked well for youth who had stable long-term foster placements, but failed to cater for the needs of those who didn’t.

‘‘It’s just kind of like [they] never teach us to be independen­t. Iwish I’d learnt how to cook and how to iron and how to fill out a form. Iwish that I didn’t have to go and get my licence on my own.

‘‘I wish that I did that while Iwas still in care so that I had someone to tell me that they were proud of me,’’ Bekele said.

Oranga Tamariki’s general manager of Transition­al Support Services, Duncan Boennic, said it plans to increase the number of transition workers from 95 full time staff to 175 by June 2023.

The capacity of supported accommodat­ion placements­would also be tripled, from 67 to 228.

Boennic said regional disability advisors work with socialwork­ers to ensure needs are met.

Oranga Tamariki is investigat­ing how to better support disabled youth.

A longitudin­al qualitativ­e study, with a kaupapaMa¯ori methodolog­y, will track the progress of a small group of young people transition­ing out of care.

 ?? KEVIN STENT/STUFF ??
KEVIN STENT/STUFF
 ?? CHRIS HARROWELL/ STUFF ?? Former foster child Tupua Urlich had little support when he left care. He has been advocating for changes so other young people have better experience­s.
CHRIS HARROWELL/ STUFF Former foster child Tupua Urlich had little support when he left care. He has been advocating for changes so other young people have better experience­s.
 ?? KEVIN STENT/STUFF ?? Saron Bekele was 17 when she ‘‘aged out’’ of state care, and she eventually found herself couchsurfi­ng.
KEVIN STENT/STUFF Saron Bekele was 17 when she ‘‘aged out’’ of state care, and she eventually found herself couchsurfi­ng.

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