Why you might want to, and what’s involved Jonathan Mosen

An eight-year-old boy wakes up shaking. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to articulate what is happening to him, but he’s hyperventilating and having a panic attack, triggered by the possibility of the teacher who physically abused him in the swimming pool last week doing it again.

Seeing his distress, the boy’s mother finally gets all the facts out of him. She’s not one for challenging authority, but the maternal instinct to protect her boy is what dominates and she marches to the Deputy Principal’s office demanding answers.

The system protects the powerful people in this story. They deny the abuse. It’s a child’s word against the words of several authority figures. The boy is sent off to a child psychologist so they can find out why he is making up stories. Emboldened, the teacher embarks on a pattern of psychological abuse and humiliation that in many ways does more long-term damage than the physical abuse.

That boy was me, and last year, I met in a private session with the Royal Commission on Abuse in Care to record my experiences.

Although I had heard about the Commission’s work via the media, until last year I was unaware that Homai College, the school for the blind I attended from 1974 to 1980, came under the Commission’s jurisdiction.

I was reluctant to give evidence at first. While what I went through was profoundly distressing, some of the evidence already made public by the Commission caused me to think that there were people who had a far worse time than I did, and that my abuse didn’t reach a high enough threshold. I have upsetting memories of being Chair of

the RNZFB Board, raising at Board level the need for the organisation to acknowledge past failings and apologise for them. At the time, there was a view expressed that it wasn’t fair to judge yesterday’s practices by today’s standards. I came out of those discussions feeling deeply hurt, and that there was something wrong with me for feeling the way I did about what happened to me. Worst of all, I felt an enormous sense of guilt that I couldn’t persuade the Board of the time to tackle this issue and say sorry. I have carried that guilt as the biggest personal failing in my professional life ever since.

Giving evidence about my experience has helped me come to terms with the fact that even when you chair a Board, you are still only one member of it. The RNZFB will not be able to avoid making an apology for much longer, I feel sure of it. There is an argument that it isn’t necessary for today’s leaders to apologise for yesterday’s abuse and neglect. I disagree. Today’s individual Board members are not responsible personally, although they may choose to express personal regret. However, collectively, the Board must in my view apologise as the current custodians of the organisation’s legacy. It is a legacy they have inherited, and a legacy that must be acknowledged and atoned for.

Giving my evidence in private in November last year wasn’t easy, but as has been the case with all my interactions with the Commission, I was well-supported and treated with consideration, kindness and compassion.

Those of you who know me even a little will know that I don’t mind speaking in front of a group. In fact, I am one of those odd people who enjoys it.

But giving public evidence at the Commission’s hearing in July was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I nearly pulled out several times, but I hung in there because I knew that if someone with my experience was finding it difficult, other survivors might find it even more difficult.

Only you can decide if approaching the Commission is right for you, but I hope the following points will help you to make an informed decision.

First, abuse comes in many forms, and neglect is a form of abuse. If, for example, your life trajectory was altered because you weren’t given Braille instruction as a child despite a clear prognosis that your vision would deteriorate, the Commission is interested in hearing about that kind of neglect. Knowledge of such decisions, which often stem from a desire to ration scarce resources, could influence the Commission’s recommendations around creating a less disabling society in future. Please don’t think the issues you experienced are too trivial. That is not a response you will get from the Commission. The issues are real, they are a source of regret, pain or anger. They matter.

Second, your evidence is treated with absolute confidentiality, and the Commission will explain how they safeguard it. You can testify in a range of settings. I was most comfortable testifying via Zoom. You can have people supporting you if you wish. My wife was on the Zoom call supporting me. While a few people give evidence at public hearings, there is no pressure to do so and this is the exception, not the norm.

Third, it’s not too late. If you want to tell the Commission about what you experienced, either as a healing process for yourself and/or because you want to do something to help build a better future, you can visit the Commission’s website, https://AbuseInCare.org.nz or phone them on 0800-222-727.

Redress as a result of this process will be critical. If redress is inadequate, survivors will feel betrayed. Yet for me, the process has already been helpful in ways I didn’t expect. After giving public evidence, I felt so much lighter somehow, like a weight I have carried much of my life has been lifted from me. I wondered if the feeling would pass over time. It has not. I still had an unmet need to be heard and acknowledged, and after the system branded me as a fantasist as a child, I realise I still desperately needed to be believed.

I have been open about my journey with the Commission on my podcast, Mosen at Large. Several survivors have written to thank me, saying that it has encouraged them to approach the Commission. That is why I am writing this article. Even if it starts a process that provides some healing to one more person, it will have been worthwhile.

I thank the Commission for their vital work and the careful way in which they are completing it. If you approach them, I wish you healing and peace. The long-overdue opportunity finally exists for you to speak your truth.