Sad Joke in Clinical Psychology

Dear 'Clinical Psychology'

The title of this piece (and a number of other pieces I will publish/ podcast on here in the next few weeks) was inspired by Apirana Taylor’s poem, ‘Sad Joke on a Marae.’  

Sad Joke in Clinical Psychology

Dear Clinical Psychology

I feel as if this may be a Dear John letter. I have been wondering for some time now if my time with you is done. I feel just by saying that, I am betraying you as well, because you have provided for me well. We first met in 1988 when I began studying Māori and Psychology at Massey University. Then we got engaged in 1991 with my Masters and Diploma in Clinical Psychology and in 1994 – we were officially ‘married’ and I became a fully fledged clinical psychologist. My purpose right from the beginning was to work with Māori. The places we have been too - the prisons, Kaupapa Māori mental health services, Universities, Oncology Wards, Youth Justice residences, mental health wards and in the community. I have also had the absolute privilege of being a part of many other people’s stories for moments in time.

Through our union, you have enabled me to provide for me and my two sons. You have also allowed me the privilege of being able to work part time and in doing so I have had the gift of being able to put my energy into my other passion. Writing. Telling stories. And for this I am forever grateful.

Fast forward 28 years. The other month, I was asked to go and speak to a group of Māori high school tauira about my journey to be a clinical psychologist. I ended up reading my poem about ‘Who am I to wear a moko kauae?’ In that poem was my journey of learning to speak Māori at high school, of studying both Māori and Psychology at University and becoming, at the time, one of the few Māori clinical psychologists in Aotearoa.  I loved the fact that after I spoke about my clinical psychology journey, all of the questions from the kohine were about my moko kauae. He tohu tera. I told them all, ‘we all need to go to a Moko Papa.’ Ta moko te ao!

Last month, I finished my job as a clinical psychologist in a mainstream service. I started at Te Kurahuna where Mahi a Atua is actualised at all levels – systemically, professionally and personally.  I had the absolute privilege of beginning this journey as a tauira and attending the 5 day Rangi Parauri Wananga at Herekino in the far north. I was anxious. I cried. I laughed. I connected. I got hoha. I got my first mirimiri. I ate. I drank. I stood in a puna and listened to karakia and taonga puoro. I sang with a real band (and ok so did 30 other tauira) but singing ‘Nga Iwi E’ on Day 1 with a band gave me goosebumps (ae, ka puta mai a Uepoto – but excited goosebumps not scared ones). I wrote. I drew. I talked. I participated. I acted. I felt.

Next week, I think could possibly be my last act as a clinical psychologist. For the last 25 years I have written reports about Māori rangatahi within the Youth Court system. As the years went on, I stopped using diagnosis. I began adding a Māori formulation to the 4 P’s (Problem areas, Predisposing factors, Perpetuating factors, Protective factors) and included pūmanawa (strengths) and kia āta titiro (areas of attention). Eventually I dropped the 4 P’s and wrote a formulation from a te ao Māori lens using Te Whare Tapa Whā. I am the only Māori clinical psychologist writing Youth Court Reports doing this. Even 28 years later, of advocating for Māori voices and Māori processes in Clinical Psychology, it appears that little has changed.  I stayed in the mahi because I knew there needed to be ‘someone’ telling the stories of these Māori rangatahi with a Māori lens. I felt there needed to be ‘someone’ who could meaningfully engage with them, their whanau and re-tell their story to the Court and make recommendations that included and normalised a te ao Māori way of working and thinking.

It is ironic then, that I have one last ‘act’ to conduct. It is also my worst nightmare. I have been directed to appear before Court as an expert witness to talk to a report I wrote for a Māori rangatahi about fitness to plead and fitness to stand trial. Both, relatively new mainstream concepts for me, despite all these years of working in the Youth Justice system. If I were not to attend, I would be in contempt of court. I could end up in jail if I didn’t show up.

At the centre of this is a young Māori rangatahi charged with a crime. There is a whanau who want this rangatahi to stay out of jail. And there is a whanau somewhere who will want some form of justice.

Aue, as an expert witness I can’t talk about my anxiety and how I’m considering taking clonazepam before the hearing because I am scared my head will burst and my heart will jump out of  my chest and that all this pressure will be released through bursting into tears. But I am also scared if I take a pill, then my head won’t be clear either. What expert turns up to a hearing and just wants to cry? I want to talk about how scared I am of falling apart in front of ‘very important people.’ A judge and lawyers.  As an expert witness, I want to get REAL and say, if this is how I am feeling, how might this young person be feeling in this strange white system and ways of speaking and doing things?

As an expert witness, I’d like to QUESTION the fitness of the court system to hold space for this rangatahi, for this whanau and the victim’s whanau for any real and meaningful healing. Is this white court system fit enough to hold this young person and the impacted whanau? Is this white court system fit to stand trial?

I want to talk about how fucked off that potentially my last act as a Māori clinical psychologist is to stand in a white court system and be asked to answer to white concepts.  I want to talk about the  millions of recommendations I made about these Māori rangatahi and whanau and that how the majority of them were not enacted and that there was NEVER any accountability about this. Just more reports ordered the next time the young person appeared in Court. Again and again and again.  I want to talk about how fucken angry this makes me. I want to talk about this young person’s whanau who sought help for their whanau many many times before and were indoctrinated into western classification systems and white ways of working.

And at the same time, I want to talk about how this young person is Māori. How I am Māori. And that I feel a sense of kaitiakitanga for this rangatahi. Regardless of fitness to plead and fitness to stand trial. We are Māori.

And then I want to talk about Mahi a Atua. About Mataora. Agents of change.

Imagine if – instead of a court hearing we had a Mahi a Atua wananga? Where we held space for this young rangatahi, the young person’s whanau and the victim and the victim’s whanau and we were all tauira for a moment in time? Where we also held space for the ‘professionals’ as well and that we were all Mataora? What if we were all agents of change, activating our voice and speaking up to address racisim? What if we reflected how we too have played a part in the problem? The judge. The lawyers. The psychologist. The psychiatrist.

What if we used Mahi a Atua principles and tikanga to hold this space. Where we could all sit in te po and through wananga and pūrākau move into te ao – Tenei te po, nau mai i te ao. What if we could use all of our mediums and rituals - our karakia, waiata, haka, taonga puoro in this space? Where we were ALL both tauira and ariki. Ka mā te ariki, ka mā te tauira. That we were all ‘very important people’ and that it would be ok to break down and cry and that this was in fact Te Ihorangi and te tai ao in action.  What if we were all to give feedback and create a culture of change where we were all accountable, not just this young rangatahi who has done ‘the crime?’ Hongihongi te wheiwheia.

That is not your job to discuss alternative ways of being. Your job is to be an ‘expert witness’ and to answer the questions from the lawyers about white legal concepts and ideologies. Stay in your lane. Your individual lane as a clinical psychologist. A Māori clinical psychologist. I will stand alone because that is how it is done in the white legal system.

Is the joke on me?

Or you?

Or both of us?

Aue, taukiri e.

Na Lisa