Ambulances, cliffs

Normally, I try not to bust things out in haste. Haste is a byproduct of anger. For me, at least, if the anger isn’t given it’s due - allowed to run a little of its course - then the quality of the words is less. Tonight, I don’t really give a shit.

You might have missed it: but if you didn’t, it’s about eight minutes into the news on TV1.

The Auckland central gunman and Grace Millane’s killer both attended a men’s anti-violence programme. The programme is run by an organisation called Friendship House.

If you’re not clear what implication to draw, the news item spells it out for you. The Chief Executive of Friendship House is grilled. What’s the efficacy rate of his programme? Footage is shown, not of thoughtful comments the CE no doubt made before or after, but of a snippet of his reply, ‘How do you define efficacy?’. Then the Minister is questioned. She says she wants an overview of anti-violence programmes and recidivism rates. Yes, the item concedes Friendship House’s programme is ‘long running’ and ‘highly regarded’, as well as being inundated by people who need it. But those moments of moderation are hidden in the insinuation, the mischief.

Is it possible that Friendship House is less than effective? Absolutely. Is it possible it even causes harm? Maybe. I’m not going to defend a programme I know literally nothing about. My point is this: it’s way premature - and unjust - to draw those conclusions based on the information presented. This is shit reporting and shit social science. Let’s take a step back. Bear with me.

Problem number one: funding.

• Social programmes are typically funded by the government, mostly - and if they’re fortunate, with top-ups from fundraising or philanthropy. Many are on the bones of their arses in ways you can’t imagine, only able to offer short-term contracts to staff. At the same time, they might be facing rising client need. They’re lucky if they get funding increases equivalent to inflation.
• Often, the government will pay organisations for the costs of delivering programmes themselves, but won’t contribute to overheads. What does that mean? Well, the government might meet the cost of a social worker, but the social worker needs to sit at a desk. With a computer on it. In a building. And without these things, the social worker can’t be fully effective. The real cost of the programme is all of these things, not just the social worker - but the government comes up short.

Problem number two: measuring efficacy. It’s true: we (the public) don’t know the efficacy of a bunch of social programmes funded by the government. And it’s complicated. But let’s dive in.

• For a start, it is difficult to define efficacy: this isn’t the cop out statement the news item implied. We can agree that violence, especially lethal violence, against women or anyone else, is an horrific and unacceptable outcome. But there’s a big gap between a man committing an act so violent he comes to official attention, and a man having healthy, respectful, and positive relationships with women. Where on that spectrum do we draw the line between success and failure?
• Even if we define efficacy - and it’s not straightforward - how can we easily attribute an outcome to a particular programme? If things go well, is it because of the social programme, or the man’s family, marae, pastor, or something else altogether? If things go badly, was it because of the social programme, or peer influence, drugs and alcohol, housing instability, any number of things? We can’t know.
• Only, we could know. Smart people dedicate their careers to coming up with ways to sensitively measure tricky stuff like this. But refer to the points above: government often won’t fund inflation, let alone evaluations, and organisations are too busy just trying to keep the lights on.
• Also: even when it’s measured, we need to be realistic about what success looks like. Social programmes work with people in very challenging circumstances. They’re not the average, and their outcomes can’t fairly be compared to the average. Sometimes things will go bad, because this shit is hard; and it is utterly tragic, but it won’t necessarily be anybody’s fault.
• While I’m at it: you know what has a pretty big influence over recidivism? It’s the justice system, brought to you by the government. Have you checked out the justice system’s efficacy lately? It’s a bit rich to point the finger at little social programmes that exist around the justice system’s edges, in the cracks left by its failures.

Above all, let’s end with problem number three: our society.

• Aotearoa, I love you. But you are an unsafe place for women. You are one of the worst countries in the OECD for domestic violence. You allow women leaders, especially women of colour, to be hated and reviled; sent rape threats and death threats. And there are reasons: colonisation, poverty, inequity that’s come to feel so natural politicians smilingly campaign for more of it. But, like we would say to anyone who’s trying to make a change in their lives, reasons aren’t excuses. And to haul some little organisation over the coals for your failings, for our failings, well - it’s beneath you. It’s beneath us.

To do you your best may not always be good enough, but it’s seldom worse than doing nothing - and it’s usually more courageous. The people who offer anti-violence programmes stare stuff down when the rest of us look away.

If there’s one thing worse than accepting ambulances at the bottom of cliffs, then it’s sneering from the clifftops at those who, up to their knees in misery, clear the wreckage below.

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