Your Custom Text Here
“I suffer as much as anyone does from ISIS because my family live in Iraq. They absolutely hate ISIS because they’ve made our lives a living hell.”
Hela hears her parents crying on the phone talking to relatives overseas, but she feels people don’t see Muslims as victims.
“Sometimes it feels like we’re Muslim before we’re human. We’re Muslim before we’re anything else.”
Read MoreSophie keeps her condition a secret because to other people she appears “normal” and the stigma, despite years of campaigns urging New Zealanders to be more open-minded, is too strong.
“People like me who have long-term mental health concerns don’t want to be a drain on society. I have a great job, good relationships, and am generally doing well — but I know how precarious my situation is. I’m one brain chemical misfire from losing everything I’ve worked for.
“We get shunted aside because we can’t be trotted out as problems that are easily fixed.”
At 6.57pm, Vyrvova spoke to David for the last time. He was crying and laughing. He told her he had gone to church to confess his sins. He told her not to worry about him, that he would go to heaven.
Read MoreMelissa understands why few do what she did. “You need that reference to get into your next property. It doesn’t matter how badly things have gone and what the landlord’s done and whether it was legal or not - you do need that reference. It’s terrifying because landlords and letting agents, they’re the ones that hold the power - they’re the ones that decide if you’ve got a roof over your head.”
Read MoreWhen Mum decided that the thing she wanted above all else was quiche, it was my job to make it for her. That it was Easter Sunday, and that all the shops were closed, didn’t strike her as particularly important.
So I made pastry from scratch. I baked it blind. I fried bacon, beat eggs and, sweating from the fluster of creating something appetising, I presented the quiche to my mum with pride.
She took a bite and immediately vomited.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing the plate away.
Read MoreEugene knows this path well - when he left state care, it wasn't long before he ended up in prison, where he remained for four years.
However, his father's death was a catalyst for change.
"Dad died in a cell at Paremoremo Prison. I was in Mount Crawford, my brother was in Mount Eden, one sister was in Arohata, another one was at Paparua.
"We'd been a family of inter-generational institutionalisation. I thought 'this is dumb, it needs to change'. I got my ta moko, and vowed it would end there."
Inside an antique wooden cabinet in the lounge of Jackie’s new Manurewa home, a beautiful collection of New Zealand ceramics is on display. On the wall above it is an enormous portrait of her father, Crown Lynn founder Sir Tom Clark, to whom the collection belonged. He looms, with his white hair and sharp grey suit and tie. He’s leaning forward, staring down the lens of the camera, with his elbow resting on his bent knee. Three picture frames sit on top of the cabinet - a watercolour portrait of Jackie that was painted by a friend, a certificate of appreciation from the Albert Eden local board and a motivational quote: “Here’s to strong women. May we know them, may we be them, may we raise them.”
Read MoreIs she on synthetics?” I ask the man. He nods.
After a minute her eyes open, and she focuses on my face. She says she thinks I’m beautiful. Her teeth are covered in lipstick, she’s young - early 20s. I try to get out from under her, but my movement frightens her. She passes out, and I wriggle into a squat. Queen St is busy, but no one is helping us.
Some time passes and she opens her eyes. The man asks if she can get up, she takes his hand and stumbles onto her knees. She grabs for her bag, and turns her head to look at me.
“You’re a crazy fucking bitch,” she mumbles, as she swings it into my face.
It was a pretty road that wound downhill from their home, through farmland and bush and scrub, to State Highway 1. But people often parked up there to wash down McDonald’s burgers with pre-mixed bourbon and cola, before ditching their cardboard and cans in piles on the roadside and skidding off, back to the main road. These people’s litter made Kathleen cross, and that morning, through mist and drizzle and windscreen wipers, she was furious to see a particularly large pile, dimly illuminated in the car headlights. She flicked them to high beam. Something moved. A leg.
Read More“So we went roaring up that hill over there,” he gestures at the bank. They went on foot, climbing over the slips, kids falling over the cracks opened up in the earth.
“We were just running, running upwards, and then a big slip went through. We could hear this big slip, and then a big gust of wind came past for a minute, from the slip. All the trees waving. It was crazy, crazy times.”
Read MoreI winced at the thought of Mum seeing him, thinking she would be rescued – only to find that he had to leave, and she would be staying another night in what no doubt felt like a terrifying place to be. Though the line was cutting in and out, I could hear – in snatches – Dad describing what he’d seen. All he could say about seeing Mum was that “everything she loves is broken”.
He also told me that our bridge over the river - the most solid and steadfast thing I can imagine - was completely gone. I asked if he meant cracked, perhaps? Unable to be driven over?
“No”, he said. “Gone.”
Read MoreStatistically, Lionel Ford’s chances of staying out of jail are about as miserable as they come. He’s male, a Pacific Islander, under 30, and a gang affiliate with multiple burglary charges. This last prison lag was his third.
He has five kids, a partner in jail, and no real plan about how he’s going to get it together. To us, he says, it may seem easy, staying out of jail.
Read More