We can’t pretend we can arrest our way to success
We need to see the same passion for providing rehab, writes Chester Borrows.
After 45 years knocking around the criminal justice scene in New Zealand it is hard not to be shocked at the meteoric rise in methamphetamine use, and the devastating effect that it has had on our population.
I had worked for 24 years in the police up to 1999, in cities and country stations, where meth use is rife now, but had never seen it on the street. Pseudoephedrine was freely available over the counter and Kiwi cooks were quickly onto the opportunity. In Taranaki we heard about ‘‘clan labs’’ and the odd sign of use, but not much at all before the end of the 1990s, when I left the police. But it soon went mad, and we knew there was a tidal wave of trouble coming.
We had many calls for a rapid escalation of enforcement, from social sector to first responders. The courts were dealing with violent offending like they had never seen before, and frequently from people who had never exhibited violent behaviours previously. Drug importations skyrocketed. Organised crime activity heightened, and cannabis started dropping out of the scene as meth had bigger profits and was less detectable in the workplace.
In 2007 I spoke to the deputy chief of police in Calgary, Canada, and he expressed shock at the rapid rise of meth use in New Zealand and wondered how we could counter it. North American’s hard drug problem was largely heroin and cocaine, which were known problems. Calgary is very happy that meth is only about 15 per cent of the serious drug market. Ours at that time was rapidly growing to more than 70 per cent, and it was more difficult to find other drugs we were more knowledgeable about and could respond, let alone get ahead of.
In 2020 we know a lot more about meth, and we have seen the drug become endemic in our society. Many people would know where to obtain it and have a good idea of who in their circle uses, but many would not. There are self-report studies that indicate New Zealand has about 35,000 regular users. While we see evidence through our court system daily, there are many users who control use and do not come to notice. But like alcohol and cannabis the devastation done to the rest is evident, and long lasting. The effect on relationships, and particularly women, children the most graphic.
Members of the New Zealand Parole Board see these effects on every occasion they sit in prisons. Social and community workers see the effect on neighbourhoods and families is patent. Everything is ramped up. Those who offended occasionally and mildly are often now offending radically, violently, and frequently. The landscape has changed and so rapidly we do not have the therapeutic responses to cope adequately. While it is politically attractive to pretend we can arrest our way to success with methamphetamine, we need to see the same passion for providing rehabilitation, understanding, and pre-emptive strategies across society to try and turn the tap off in this burgeoning trade.
Chester Borrows is a former police officer, and served as Courts Minister in the Key government. He currently sits on the Parole Board.
AFTER jetting off across the world for two years, international flight attendant Shayana Ruakere soaked in quality time with her two children by doing art during lockdown.
Now the 28-year-old Taranaki woman is selling commissioned digital illustrations worldwide and doesn’t know whether she’ll return to the skies, even though it had been a childhood dream.
‘‘I was eight years old, and I would always dress myself up as a flight attendant,’’ Ruakere says.
Two years ago the solo mum of eight-year-old twins nailed the dream, becoming a Qantas international flight attendant flying to destinations in Asia, the US and Australia for seven to 10 days, and returning home for three.
But when Covid-19 hit, she knew her days were numbered. ‘‘Towards the end we’d have 14 passengers on a 500-seater, so you knew you weren’t coming back for a while.’’
She was finally told her job was over in September.
‘‘I was just gutted – but I think I’ve found my passion, and I’m happier doing this now, being home and being present.’’
Ruakere always loved art, but never knew what medium to explore.
She discovered digital illustrations using an app on her iPad in May, when she and her daughter were trying to find a hobby as the country moved between alert levels.
Because it was NZ Music Month, she began with pictures of stars such as Stan Walker and Hollie Smith, and uploaded them to her Instagram account, Shay Illustrate. Shares turned into followers, and soon people were reaching out for commissioned pieces.
The art involves either preparing a piece on some paper, or straight sketching on her iPad, and, depending on detail, can take anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours.
She’s already started making financial gain from the business and works out of a spare lounge in her New Plymouth home.
But to Ruakere, whose family hails from Parihaka and Puniho in Taranaki, it’s about more than money. She also wants to empower indigenous women.
‘‘I have always struggled with identity being Ma¯ ori,’’ she says.
Her parents didn’t know how to speak Te Reo, nor did her grandparents. As she grew older, it wasn’t ‘‘cool’’ to know the language, ‘‘Then it got to the point where I was too ashamed to learn.’’
Her artworks are often inspired by female empowerment and knowing who you are. She’s also expanding to have the prints on stationery, tote bags, keychains and enamel pins. ‘‘That’s my vibe, making women feel like it’s OK to be different.’’
Her pieces are being sold online through her social media and website, at Auckland markets, and at New Plymouth store The Collaboration.
And she’s received commissions from as far afield as Hawaii and Washington.
‘‘It’s surreal,’’ she says.
She’s not ruling out heading back to the skies, but says she’s operating with no expectations after last year’s bumpy ride.
‘‘I’m just taking it as it comes.’’
The newly declassified US intelligence report that says Saudi Arabia’s crown prince likely approved the killing of US-based journalist Jamal Khashoggi inside the Saudi consulate in Istanbul has ratcheted up the pressure on the Biden Administration to hold the kingdom accountable for a murder that drew worldwide outrage.
The public rebuke of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman is a touchstone in US-Saudi relations. Americans will forever associate him with the brutal killing of a journalist who promoted democracy and human rights.
Yet even as the Biden Administration released the findings yesterday, it appeared determined to preserve the Saudi relationship by avoiding direct punishment of the prince himself – despite demands from some Democrats in Congress and Khashoggi allies for sanctions.
US Secretary of State Antony Blinken defended the approach.
‘‘What we’ve done by the actions we’ve taken is not to rupture the relationship but to recalibrate it to be more in line with our interests and our values,’’ he said. ‘‘I think that we have to understand as well that this is bigger than any one person.’’
The conclusion that the prince approved an operation to kill or capture Khashoggi was based on his decision-making role inside the kingdom, the involvement of a key adviser and members of his protective detail, and his past support for violently silencing dissidents abroad, according to the report from the Office of the Director of National Intelligence.
Though intelligence officials stopped short of saying the prince ordered the October 2018 murder, the four-page document described him as having ‘‘absolute control’’ over the kingdom’s intelligence organisations, and said it would have been highly unlikely for an
operation like the killing to have been carried out without his approval.
Saudi Arabia’s Foreign Ministry responded by saying the kingdom ‘‘categorically rejects the offensive and incorrect assessment in the report pertaining to the kingdom’s leadership’’.
Shortly after the findings were released, the US State Department announced a new policy, called the ‘‘Khashoggi Ban’’, that will allow the US to deny visas to people who harm, threaten or spy on journalists on behalf of a foreign government.
It also said it would impose visa restrictions on 76 Saudi individuals who have engaged or threatened dissidents overseas. A person familiar with the matter, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said the prince was not targeted.
Rights activists said the lack of any punitive measures would signal impunity for the prince and other autocrats.
Without sanctions, ‘‘it’s a joke’’, said Tawwakol Karman, a Nobel Peace Price winner from neighbouring Yemen and a friend of Khashoggi’s.