Wait for the screams from the do gooders and liberals.... http://nominister.blogspot.co.nz/ The recently released report on children under care of Child Youth and Family (CYF) is damning. Put simply, children in care continue to suffer abuse. The stats are sobering. For those children in care who were born in the twelve months to June 1991 and by the time they had reached age 21 almost 90% were on a benefit and over 25% were on a benefit with a child. 60% did not have NZEA Level 2; over 30% had a youth justice referral by age 18 while 20% had a custodial sentence and 40% a community sentence. CYF has been under continual review and has been restructured 14 times since 2000 but nothing changes. Children going into care are likely to emerge as 'damaged goods'. This has to stop. Clearly there is a foster-care industry out there that doesn't work and never has. Of course there will be foster families that do a great job where the kids come first and are better for that but we are putting our heads in the sand when we fail to recognize that some so called 'care-givers' shouldn't be allowed near kids. And how about the canard that Maori and Pacifica kids can only be placed with Maori and Pacifica families? Desirable, perhaps. Essential, no. More importantly, care-givers have to be properly resourced and rigorously monitored. There has to be a paradigm shift in the way children in care are looked after. The Government has signaled its intention to change the system through their Community Investment Strategy based on a preparedness to invest money up front to guard against problems further down the track. It needs to because, as the CYF Report shows, the status quo is not acceptable. One final point and given the fact that six out of ten children in care are Maori, it is time to call out all the crap we hear about 'a loving whanau'. The reality is that for a significant minority of Maori families there is no love, only neglect and violence. In the final analysis Maoridom needs to take ownership of the problem be it Hapu, Iwi or Whanau Ora navigator. Whatever, the simple message must be that booze, baccy, drugs and the pokies must take a distant third place to looking after the kids. And don't hand me any crap like 'colonial oppression' as an excuse. I don't do Hone Harawira. Posted by The Veteran at 2:10 PM Labels: CYF reform, The Veteran Whilst roaring up the West Coast towards Cape Reinga there were a few moments where I reflected on a wide range of topics.
There were my fellow Rusty Nuts, some of whom only dust off their bikes once a year for this special event. We all allocate our time as we see appropriate, some play golf, some have younger families - whilst we few spoilt hard arse Harley guys forsake most other time waste activities in favour of our bikes. There were those who said they'd come then couldn't - their loss, and those who could only come for part of the trip - well done. There was the scenery, and I'm not known as a scenery guy. Normally my attention span is extremely short (think goldfish) but when on my Harley I commit 100% to the bike., never mind the sights! A fleeting glimpse of Alan Gibbs Kaipara amazing sculptures on the Kaipara - a reminder that it is best to be wealthy if you dream on a big scale - money and passion being comfortable bedfellows. The ubiquitous 20 foot shipping container can now be found in the most remote parts of the country, a cheap storage solution for many rural people, sometimes in a back paddock, sometimes on the front lawn, but inevitably quietly rotting away in a damp corner, sometimes replacing what used to be old cars whose mechanical needs had overcome their owners ability to fix them, but typically in addition to rather than instead of... adding to the character that is rural new Zealand. I mentioned in a previous note the many abandoned houses out in the country, some lonely and forlorn in distant paddocks, some adjacent to their newer (but still old) replacement. Each of these places has a story to tell, once the pride of the family who lived there, but almost certainly ending badly or sadly as the house was abandoned many years later, hope and home abandoned together. Something I'd really never noticed before - the turkey population is obviously doing well just about everywhere we went, with families and flocks enjoying pasture shared with cattle - their presence indicating that farmers don't see them as a problem (perhaps they end up in the pot). Other birdlife also seems to be doing well with magnificently feathered pheasants in abundance, and even the odd flock of brightly coloured parakeets as we flashed by. Unlike the burnt brown so familiar in late summer, green was the predominant colour, especially in the low lying farmland between Ruawai and Dargaville. Wherever we went herds of cows were adding to Fonterra's woes. More to follow. Whilst roaring around Northland over the weekend I saw two fat Kereru sitting on a power line (obviously not these two). it would appear that despite the best efforts of some Maori Elders to put them in the pot that their numbers are increasing. One wonders if these protected natives are found in Northland why Sonny Tau was found with several in his luggage when returning from Invercargill Mel is an expert rider, having only recently packed up his Super Bike (well after qualifing for his Gold card). He provided a Master Class on the road back from the Cape - his smooth lines making short work of fast corners, with Butch (also well into Gold Card territory) close behind - those of us keen to learn watching from behind... I was reminded that horsepower and brute strength are not always the answer. Into the bar at the Copthorne, each keen to soak up the $50 food and beverage credit that was part of our package. Anticipating a rowdy meal (despite Mikes C and Moros having headed home early to fufil domestic duties) we'd sought out a table far from other diners, and so it was. Our very efficent waitress (Kelsi) had us sorted in no time and was thrilled to see a stack of $10's and $20's in the centre of the table when we left. Kelsi had arranged a taxi van for those too stupid to forego the chance of an early night, instead heading for the bright lights of Paihia township, a $15 ride away. Relying on local knowledge, our driver took us to a bar that despite AJ's protestations, proved to be just that. After following AJ into a couple of rough or age inappropriate joints, we returned to where we started. AJ took the opportunity to console himself by indulging in a spot of Karaoke, deciding on Sweet Caroline as regongition of our friend from last night. His rendition surprised us all, and had those few patrons as were in the bar participating enthusiastically, dancing and joining in the chorus. Another $15 got us back to the Copthorne, and the bar being closed (phew) it was off to bed, a night shortened by the arrival of daylight saving and for some of our South African mates, watching SA beat Samoa (again, phew). Having established that Harleys and beach riding are not made for each other (Mike Jenkins on his lovely BMW GS1200 would have been in his element, but he'd have been on his own), we headed Kaitaia for breakfast - but not before a handful of nurafen and a litre of water had been called into service. Kaitaia really is a town that shows few signs of prosperity or hope, with the locals that we saw seemingly accepting of their lot, and getting on with what little they have. Our breakfast stop was run by a Thai family, cheap, efficient and clean, grease and calories being what is in demand, and being supplied in abundence. Just what was needed. The run to the Cape was magnificent, the roads in great shape, fast and motorcycle friendly, with the prospect of local cops dissipating the closer to the Cape we got - and get here fast we did, revelling in the ride, flashing past the ever present abandoned farm houses, windows and doors empty like missing teeth, but resisting the elements none the less. After regrouping in the carpark, we wandered to the light house, a reasonable walk (downhill there so a climb to look forward to on return). Despite Mike J leaving keys in the ignition, helmet and gear on the bike, it was still there an hour later - if it had been one of the Harleys.... Without the distraction of our machines, we marvelled in the scenery, many frequent world travellers never having visited this iconic spot before. We tough bikers huddled in the shelter of the lighthouse as squall blew through before deciding to relinquish our spots to women and children .. only after so discussion though. We headed for lunch on the waterfront at Mangonui, Garth arriving as we were leaving after a frantic dash back to Ahipara to collect his forgotten rain gear. Destination for the night, the tired but accomodating Copthorne Waitangi. Greg Frittelli celebrates his birthday each year with a bunch of fellow motorcycle enthusiasts (tired old bikers), usually somewhere obscure, with the mix of too much alcohol, bad food and outrageous lies to mark the occasion. This years trip around Northland was to be no different, 12 old souls, 1 BMW, 1Victory, 1 manificent new Moto Guzzi, 2 Kawasakis and 7 Harleys. The anticipation started to build months ago as Greg sent out prized invitations (and it is by invitation only), calling for ideas, and as the days counted down. Coffee at Mike C's, made by ever patient and long suffering Jacquie while admiring Mad Mikes magnificent Aston Martin, resplendent in carpeted garage, being foresaken and left behind in favour of his Harley. The team assembled and off we went, ready to fang it, old boys blowing out the cobwebs. Anton and his Moto Guzzi drew the attention of a mufti cop and was very pleased to only be booked for 124kms... The group arrived at our first coffee stop in dribs and drabs, mainly because they'd stopped to pick up the pieces of Mike C's phone.... Dargaville for gas and to struggle into wet weather gear - ominious black rain clouds threatening, but as usual, the effort of putting gear on usually rendered it useful for only a short time, but enough to ensure the road through the Kauri forest was wet and greasy. A late lunch of fish and chips at Opononi, then on to the ferry at Rawene for the final blast to Ahipara at the foot of 90 Mile Beach, and our stop for the night. It had been a full on day, good mates back on the road and riding hard and fast, now ready to celebrate Gregs birthday and our safe arrival in the big and rustic common room of the Ahipara Motor Camp There was a menu for the local takeaway on the noticeboard - all good, now to find a way to get it delivered. No problem, Canadian vet and backpacker Caroline was pressed in to service - if we bought her dinner, she'd go. It was just as well as the heavens had opened and we were far too many vodka's into enjoying ourselves to be riding bikes again. Caroline was good to her word, there and back in her Jucy rental Suzuki Swift, before joining us for dinner and too many drinks. She was traveling around for a few days before starting a job as a Bovine vet in Geraldine. One by one our numbers thinned out, (noteably Mike C, normally hard core and die hard party boy gone by 9), occasionaly being boosted by other campers wanting to join in. One, an obnoxious and bolshie cyclist was unpleasant but soon got the message, with our regular hard core remaining in conversation with the young owner of the camp until way too late... The morning arrived too soon, with Mike bashing on the door to our cabin, fat too early. What on earth are the Government doing - firstly John Key foists an incredible expensive "Flag Change" proposal upon the country that no one other then he seemed to want, then he (the Govt) changes the rules to include the new "Red Peak" - the darling of the Green Party.
Surely someone as astute as John Key must know that this folly is burning votes VW have got themselves into a pickle - not a little "oops" that can be squared away either, but a long term and deliberate deception that crossed many layers of management.
By using software to fudge Emissions data on diesel engines so as to meet environment levels, VW gained an edge on what can be seen as the "pious" end of the market. The damage to the brand has been immediate with the share price dropping dramatically, and heads certain to roll very shortly. Already many owners of VW's are claiming to be embarrassed by association, a dilemma that will inevitable affect new car sales in the moths to come. A embarrassing faux pas that will cost this aggressive brand dearly - and not only in potentially many billons of dollars in fines. As a kid growing up in Mangere, a once rural farming community rapidly being subdivided to provide low cost homes for newly weds and new arrivals, It never occurred to me that the multi cultural environment in which I lived was considered by some to be unusual in what was largely a mono cultural society.
I grew up playing rugby with kids from the neighbourhood who were "white" like me, most born at St Mary's Maternity Hospital in Otahuhu or National Women's in Greenlane. light brown Maori boys and darker Islanders. Our parents tended to be young and industrious, and many spoke with the strong accent of recent arrivals, most Poms or Dutchies, and we all got along - at least for the most part. There were also Maori and Island kids, solid and strong, early developers and great footie players, and Chinese from the market gardens still on the fringes of the sub |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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