Translator: Ellen Maloney Reviewer: Heavenly Zheng
Kids in care are labeled and they're judged.
I know this because I've seen it, I lived it.
I saw it last year when I was in a church hall, surrounded by 300 people,
protesting the build of a children's home.
This is what those people had to say:
[How safe are we?]
This meeting took me right back to how I felt when I was in care;
I felt judged, and I felt really scared.
But I had to speak out, because this was about much more
than just a building in a community;
this was about five children,
who, through no fault of their own, couldn't live with their families.
So I bravely spoke out -
my voice was shaking with nerves, it was horrible -
but I had to own a part of my identity that I've never owned for a long time,
that I, too, had been in care.
But those people didn't want to listen.
Those are the people that continue to judge us, and want us to be silenced.
That's why it's so important that I tell you today
some amazing stories about care-experienced people,
because these people are magic, and I'm going to show you how.
The first photograph is of Ashley Cameron;
she's a campaigner that helped change the law in Scotland.
She was in care.
The next one is of Fatima Whitbread;
a former Olympian, former world champion javelin thrower.
She was in care too.
The last one is of Harry O'Neill,
who just graduated in nursing from university.
He was in care too.
But we are the lucky ones.
In fact, we are more likely to go to prison than university.
50% of us leave with a mental health issue,
and we're 20 times more likely to die by the time we get to 25.
Can you imagine if that was your child?
Here's a radical thought:
these are your children, and they're crying out for your help.
I went into care because my mum couldn't cope
after my abusive step-dad left.
It wasn't my fault.
90% of us go into care because of abuse or neglect.
It wasn't our fault.
But the care system made me feel like it was my fault because everything I did
was written down and analysed;
even my friends had to be police checked.
So I rebelled at every opportunity.
I even ran away to London twice.
And I remember when I was on a train down to London, my friend David said,
"Laura, you've been in a bad mood all holiday!"
I said, "David, we're not on holiday! We've run away!"
(Laughter)
But David was right; I was miserable.
I desperately missed my family, especially my brother and sister.
So much so, that I remember when I had a visit with my little sister,
we decided to handcuff each other together.
We had to get taken down to the fire station and get sawn apart.
We got in a lot of trouble for that one.
But I missed her that much.
I remember at 14, living in a children's home,
having frequent visits back and forth to my mum.
After each and every visit, I felt rejected because my mum couldn't cope.
I remember after one visit, I went back to the children's home I was in,
and I was met by a wonderful woman called Wendy.
Wendy sat me down and she said,
"Laura, it's not your fault that your mum can't cope."
But I didn't believe her.
I took myself up to my bedroom and got the sharpest thing I could find,
and I cut into my arms.
It was the only way that I knew how to cope.
A while later, Wendy came upstairs to my bedroom; she sat down beside me, and said,
"Laura, why did you do that?"
But I couldn't speak.
Wendy held my hand and she said,
"Laura, I know; all you want is to be loved."
And I fell apart in that woman's arms,
and she cuddled me in like I was her own child.
I kept looking up at her, because she had this struggle in her eyes
and I didn't know what that was at the time.
But I know now; Wendy was an employee, she was a worker.
She wasn't allowed to tell me that she loved me.
So not long after that, my behaviour got worse and worse.
So much so that I didn't want to be here anymore.
So I took a serious attempt on my life,
and that landed me locked up in a secure unit for my own safety.
Because nobody could see the wee girl underneath, the big ball of rage.
All they could see was labels; mental, damaged.
They couldn't see me;
I just needed love.
I left the care system with this;
this is not a memory box full of photographs,
certificates, fluffy teddy bears.
No.
This is box of case files, opinions, and notes.
And it talks about ten houses that looked after me.
Ten families that kicked me out.
Ten isn't even a big number.
I know some kids that have had 50 homes.
And the result of leaving care with just a box of files is this;
at 18 years old, I was living in a flat on my own,
using sleeping pills just to sleep my life away.
But I'll never forget the neighbour that used to come and check on me.
And the neighbour that got me help when I needed it.
So I bet you're wondering, how did these people make it out alive and well,
if that's what they leave care with?
I'll tell you.
It's people like Mary, in the first photograph, with Ashley.
Mary was a professional, an advocate,
but their relationship was allowed to develop and grow.
Ashley now calls Mary "mum."
The second one is me and my husband, who sat me down one day and said,
"Laura, I promise I will never leave you, and I'll always love you."
The third photograph is of Fatima and her mum, Margaret,
who came into her life as a sports coach,
who believed in her and gave her hope.
At 14 years old, Fatima had finally found her way home
because she was adopted by that family.
The care system is supposed to provide a substitute for family life,
but love is not part of the deal.
Can you imagine living in a system?
Children's homes look more like institutions,
and foster carers don't need to love the children they care for.
Imagine living in a world where you don't call your parent "mum" or "dad";
you call them "staff".
Can you imagine having to sign your pocket money out in a formal form,
or going to the beach, but you're not allowed to go in the water
because there's not a first aider on duty?
How would that make you feel?
I can tell you how it made me feel:
I felt isolated and alone, and in a system that controlled more than it cared.
And I was angry.
So angry, that I had to go back into that care system as a worker.
But the minute I stepped into that system as a worker,
I'm told to never share that I too had been in care.
I did what I was told because I was scared, and I let fear win.
But let me ask you:
Do you think the suffragettes let fear win
when they were campaigning for the woman's right to vote?
Or do you think Rosa Parks, when she campaigned for civil rights,
let fear win?
Or do you think the people in the LGBT movement let fear win?
Fear doesn't have to win.
These are people that stood their ground because they believed in equality.
That's all we want; an equal chance at life.
The care system is costing us billions.
For what? For that?
That is why we need this revolution;
we need to own our identity and stop apologising for who we are.
We need to innovate, take a risk, because you might just save a life.
We need communities to own us and not judge us anymore.
And we need people like Wendy to love people like me.
I want you to be part of this revolution, so go out there and do something,
and make care incredible for every young person out there,
every child because they need love.
Thank you.
(Applause) (Cheers)
(Off-screen) Presenter: Laura, Laura!
Presenter: Laura, come here, come here.
Standing ovation.
(Applause) (Cheers)
Presenter: Milk it!
Laura: Thank you!
Presenter: Well done.
Laura: Thank you.
(Applause) (Cheers)
Presenter: That was lovely stuff, really touching.
Thank you for sharing that, Laura, really really just great.