Deborah Coddington: There's a bigger lesson in Pania theft

Growing up in Waipukurau with two sets of grandparents in Napier meant frequent trips to "the big smoke".

Christmas visits were especially exciting; the grandmas would hand us our Christmas cards and we'd always feign surprise when we opened the envelope and discovered a £1 note (from maternal grandma) and 10 shillings (from Dad's parents).

Later, as a break from the stuffiness of formal afternoon tea (of which we farm kids were not allowed to partake lest we break the Royal Doulton) an older cousin would take us down to Marine Parade. Let us out for a run, get some air in our fur.

So I know that place well - the old aquarium with its magical seahorses, the floral clock, the soundshell with self-conscious teenage beauty contestants who, to this feral tomboy, looked so damned sophisticated in their white ankle socks and patent-leather shoes, pointy bras, tight skirts and back-combed hair. Even then, they all wanted to travel the world and work with handicapped children.

And, of course, there was everyone's favourite - Pania of the Reef. She was - is - just lovely, and until she was removed from her rock on October 27, quietly relegated to the back of New Zealand's collective consciousness.

So as an ex-Bay person I understand the shock and outrage felt by the people of that province when they woke to find their postcard pin-up gone. The police spoke for mostly everyone when they described the crime as a "calamity" and that Napier people were "gutted".

The publicity got me thinking about the last time I'd seen Pania. It was 1999. I was down in the Bay for a few days, out of Auckland, doing a story on the death of James Whakaruru, killed by his mother's boyfriend, Benny Haerewa, who'd already been jailed for attacking the child.

For this there was no public outrage. There were no flowers and notes laid at the green wooden house where 4-year-old James was removed from life over an Easter weekend. Later, toys were placed on his grave above Bridge Pa, but by the time my photographer got there, most of those had been pinched.

I make no excuses for sounding like a cracked record and rubbing noses in the grotesque squalor of violence against children. My former caucus colleagues, bless them, found it too hard to listen, and Stephen Franks in particular couldn't hold back tears when I banged on about this country's record for child abuse.

In 2003, Unicef published a report on maltreatment mortality in 27 OECD countries for children aged under 15. New Zealand had the third-highest child homicide rate - sixth highest when differences in reporting are taken into account.

New Zealand parents killed 91 children, by abuse or neglect, in the nine years from 1991 to 2000. Some died quickly in a fit of rage, others were tortured to death over weeks, even months. Only around one-fifth of them were known to Child Youth and Family; the plights of the others were ignored by their families, neighbours and society.

Wairarapa police are still waiting for someone to tell them who sexually abused Carterton toddler Hinewaoriki Karaitiana Matiaha (Lillybing) in the weeks before she was killed.

James Whakaruru's extended family knew he was being beaten, but only one grandmother went to the family court to try to save him.

This week, outside another court in the same city, the mother of one of those arrested for Pania's theft said her son was "dumb" and she felt "ashamed" that he was accused of stealing the bronze statue. Good on her for bravely speaking out on national television.

Shame on those who, when a real child is stolen, block their ears and turn away.