Michelle Kidd could give judges “a growling” while holding the hands of victims and survivors or the families of criminals.
Known as Whaea Michelle, she would sometimes stand in the dock with an accused, the homeless, alcoholics, the drug-addicted and mentally-ill – who show up daily to Auckland District Court to face charges.
She has a cutting wit, a disarming smile and a firm grounding in tikanga.
She is also known for directly addressing judges, or “gently guiding” them as the Chief District Court Judge Heemi Taumaunu put it at her recent farewell lunch at the Auckland District Court.
“It hasn’t always been the aroha that comes from the soft words… sometimes it comes with the firm,” Judge Taumaunu said. “And I think if you haven’t been the recipient of that, then you’re probably not telling the truth.”
Whaea Michelle responded in her speech.
Abigail Dougherty/Stuff Michelle Kidd of Te Rangimarie Trust. Her title - Te Kaihono ki te Rangimarie - means one who works towards peace.
“I thank you for loving me as I am. I know I can be bad. I know I can be naughty, and I know I can sometimes give you a bit of a growling. But it’s only because you need it.
“Sometimes we need to keep our feet on the ground. Remember who we are here for, we’re not here for ourselves.”
This year, after more than 20 years of service (not even she knows exactly when she started), Whaea Michelle has retired.
At 72 years of age, her dedication to the Family Violence and other specialist courts meant she’s worked every Christmas for over two decades. This year, the mother of eight, grandmother to 17 and great-grandmother to two (so far) spent it with whānau.
Defining her role in the court is not really possible, and her influence was often invisible.
Abigail Dougherty/Stuff The Auckland District where Whaea Michelle has worked for more than 20 years.
A recent example was her work with a 501 deported from Australia for breaking the law. Whaea Michelle doesn’t use a number to refer to people. Instead, she calls them “a returned citizen”.
He appeared in the dock as a “staunch Aussie” and was uncooperative when asked questions by the judge.
Whaea Michelle went into the dock with him, leaned towards him, and quietly spoke the words “welcome back to your whenua”.
“He burst into tears and I had to hold him.”
Her farewell lunch at the Auckland District Court in December was attended by judges, lawyers, probation officers, forensic nurses, registrars and court staff.
Whaea Michelle told them of how one day a homeless man addicted to methylated spirits, turned up at her office with a crucifix from the nearby St Patrick's Cathedral. He asked her to heal Jesus because he was bleeding, referring to the stigmata.
Whaea Michelle reached for the sticky plasters and began tending the wounds. The priests had followed the homeless man.
“Then this stupid lawyer… and three Catholic priests arrive at my door. There was Jesus on the floor and my methylated spirit’s man who was half cut…”
She welcomed the priests into her tiny office, not much bigger than a broom closet, before turning to the lawyer. “You get out of here, girl… Oh, she looked really dandy in her Gucci.”
There was a karakia, Jesus was returned to the church with sticky plasters attached, and the police were not involved.
Abigail Dougherty/Stuff Michelle Kidd in her office at the Auckland District Court with the artwork of those she has supported.
Later, in her office surrounded by photos and artwork of those she has helped, Whaea Michelle spoke of the homeless man’s background.
He had survived countless foster homes as a child. Some of those foster “parents” abused him. She said on one occasion he had a pitchfork put through his foot.
Later he lived on the streets.
“Every time he would come to court, his previous convictions would be printed off… They soon became a stack of 57 pages.
“A failure by the people who run this country.”
She pointed to his artwork on her wall, a fierce demon that came to him as he was detoxing in a prison cell.
He was but part of her motivation to agitate, with lawyer Ron Mansfield, for a Custodial Medical Dual Diagnosis Unit that would treat those arrested for minor crime who had addictions or mental health issues, rather than locking them in a prison cell.
Edward Gay/Stuff Doris Solomon and Michelle Kidd at Kidd's farewell at the Auckland District Court.
Whaea Michelle started out at the Airedale night shelter where volunteers cared for 300 homeless. She soon came into contact with the courts and would make sure the homeless would get clean clothes and a shower before appearing in court.
Her former volunteer colleague, Doris Solomon is now 81 years old and remembers Whaea Michelle hunting around for clean clothes. “She would say: ‘I want them to look their best for the judge’.”
At her farewell function, Whaea Michelle spoke about those early days.
“I would say: ‘Your Honour… There is no point fining these people.’ So I would hop in the dock with them... The methylated spirits drinkers, there were glue sniffers in those days, and I would hop in the dock. We would bring a waiata out of the court, instead of a fine.”
She was a driving force behind the establishment of Te Kooti o Timatanga Hou (The New Beginnings Court) which brings government agencies together, including health services and housing, to work with the homeless, with the aim of stopping, repeat minor offending.
A similar approach was brought to the therapeutic Family Violence Court with wrap around services for the victims and defendants with the aim of preventing further offending.
“They are there to face the music in public, and we put our love around them,” she then turned to the judges and senior ministry staff and told them bluntly that the court must remain open when she is gone.
Chris Skelton/Stuff Chief District Court Judge Heemi Taumaunu. (File photo)
Judge Taumaunu spoke of Whaea Michelle’s “intimate connection” with the court. He said her absence created a sense of uncertainty.
“When someone is such an important part of the court, what are we going to do when that person is not going to be with us any more and who is going to be able to fill the hole that Whaea Michelle is going to leave.”
He said that presented a wero (challenge) to everyone at the court to fill that hole.
But Whaea Michelle said there was no hole to fill.
“You don’t need to fill a hole, my wairua (spirit) will still be here. You can’t get rid of that.” Turning to Judge Taumaunu she quietly said: “You wait for my tangi.”
She then turned back to her audience.
“You judges who have stood by me, I know I have growled you… I haven’t really meant to growl. It’s just like directing traffic,” she said as she turned her hand up and down, left and right. “There’s always another gentle way.”
She expressed her love for the court security team who had worked throughout the Covid-19 lockdown to keep the courts open and safe. She also thanked them for their haka.
“Because you did it twice, this building shook. The wairua of those who passed during that time was with us. I acknowledge all of the ones that we lost during that time when there was only us to grieve.”
Whaea Michelle’s office at court was crammed with artwork and photos of some of the people she has helped over the years.
Judge Nicola Mathers said she had only recently visited Whaea Michelle’s office.
“I had goose bumps on my arm and when I think about that room, it still gives me goosebumps.
“That reflects the life of so many people who you have known, so many people who walk with us, many of those who do not walk with us.”
Jenni Smith, a former trustee, a friend, and now associate Coroner, said there aren’t words to describe Whaea Michelle’s unique position in the court.
“You are irreplaceable. Having said that, you deserve your retirement and spend time with your whānau.”
Annah Pickering from the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective thanked her for being an activist.
“You’ve always been gangster about the truth for the street whānau, many who can’t be in these spaces. I know there’s so many people who you have defended.”
Abigail Dougherty/Stuff Michelle Kidd's office at the Auckland District Court
Speaking to Stuff, Whaea Michelle said much of the court’s business stems from poverty. “When poverty comes through the door, love goes out the window.”
“When you dispossess people of their land, there is an intergenerational trauma that should not be denied.”
She spoke of an example where a judge declined bail for a Māori man because he didn’t have a suitable address.
In a calm voice, the man managed to respond: “You took our f...... land, and now I’m going to prison because I don’t have any.”
She will miss her work at the court, particularly the Family Violence Court.
“I will pray for the Family Violence Therapeutic Court every day. If we can teach families how to love … you’ve got to understand where these people have come from. They’ve come from families where hitting your wife, your children and getting drunk is the norm.
“If we can show people how to love again, the children will learn how to love – not how to hit your wife.”
Her wish is that her small office will be used by forensic nurses to interview defendants was granted by court management.
Supplied A homeless man takes shelter outside the Auckland District Court on Albert St.
As this story was being written, another homeless person died on the streets. The death affected Michelle.
There are still few night shelter options in the city, an issue that gnaws at Whaea Michelle.
But what she will never and can never know is all of those whose pain and suffering, and possibly even death, her work has prevented.
For the deeply religious whaea, no one but her Atua knows.
Whaea Michelle is moving back to Arapuni in the Waikato where she has built a house. A Givealittle page has been set up for her retirement.