During their conversation with Phil Borell, Matt reads from a letter which is included in the book She Is Not Your Rehab.
It sets out the kaupapa for his work with men whose troubled behaviour reflects their troubled upbringing.
Matt Brown:
A letter to my brother.
When you told me that you wished you could tell me everything, but you couldn’t possibly because it would test even the limits of my love, my heart was still, my brother. So still, so quiet.
You said bro if I told you you’d walk like everyone else.
But if only you knew that when I think of why I even barber at all I think of men like you. If only you knew that it’s the shame you push down that whispers in your ear telling you I’d leave if I knew. Because if the truth whispered, it would tell you nothing you could ever tell me would change my mind about you, because I see you. And when I see you, I don’t see the gangster, I see a little boy sleeping on the bed springs because your father deemed you unworthy to sleep on a mattress. I’ve always seen him.
So, when I cut your hair, I’m cutting that little boy's hair and with every snip I’m telling him he’s worthy.
You are worthy little one. Snip snip
You are worthy of healing. Snip snip
You are worthy of belonging. Snip snip.
You are worthy to be known. Snip snip.
You are worthy to exist. Snip snip.
You are worthy to be loved.
You epitomise the reason I do this at all when you come into the barber shop and sit in my chair, I feel you exhale. I exhale too, and suddenly you aren’t in my chair in the barber shop, you are lying on those bed springs in a dark room and I’m sitting on the end of your bed with you. I see your tears, but I don’t hear them.
You weren’t allowed to cry back then my brother. But you can cry with me now, little one. I’m honoured to hear your tears sometimes they just need a witness. So, I’ll sit there in the dark with you as long as it takes until you have the courage to push them out.
I can smell the urine; I know it was just your way of protecting yourself, little one. I’m sorry you had to stay like that all night. I’m here now and we’ll clean it up together I promise. I’ll sit up here with you all night, just so you know I’m not going anywhere.
It’ll always be because of men like you, with little boys inside of you longing to be seen that I consider this sacred work to be the honour of my life. To cut your hair and see you beyond what the world sees well it’s a perspective that Atua must surely have of each of us.
So, I’ll continue to be my father's barber.
I thank you humbly for this gift. I thank you for letting me see you. I thank you for trusting me with your pain. I thank you for allowing me to sit with you in all of it.
It’s been a journey. But I know you sit above and rise above the pain, a place where you see all things, a place where your soul is finally free.
I promise you I’ll tell your story and in time I will but until then rest in power...
So, I wrote that letter to a man whom society would label the worst. A man that a lot of our whanau would often say destroyed our communities. But when you understand inter-generational trauma and pain, the question is never why the addiction but why the pain?.
And so this is a question that I have asked many times to the men that sit in my barber chair who often visit our local barber shop here in Christchurch in Riccarton Rd. And for this gentleman who is no longer with us who lost his battle to cancer a few months ago, it’s been an honour of my life to sit with him over the last decade cutting his hair and hearing his story.
A boy who was raised in the system, a boy whose mum left this world due to an overdose, a boy whose father left him at a boys’ home because he deemed him unworthy, found him too hard to look after. And so the system raised him and he was moved from foster home to foster home to foster home and in each home he was abused. And so, the streets raise him, and society would label him a gangster, but I was honoured to see the little boy.
About the speakers
Matt and Sarah Brown
Mataio (Matt) Faafetai Malietoa Brown is an internationally acclaimed barber and hair artist. With his wife Sarah Brown (Ngāpuhi/Te Rarawa) he founded My Fathers Barbers, the barbershop where men go to heal, and the global anti-violence movement She Is Not Your Rehab. which grew out of it.
Twitter: @sheisnotyour
Instagram: sheisnotyourrehab
This session was recorded in partnership with WORD Christchurch.
