As a child, Vitale Lafaele survived the dawn raids of the 1970s and other challenges experienced by Pasifika immigrants of the time. Later, he spent seven years in the SAS and, after joining the police, had distinguished spells in the armed offenders squad and special tactics group (formerly the anti-terrorist squad), among other demanding roles. In his time, he successfully oversaw the rescue of three people who had been taken hostage by a gunman.
By 2014, he was on track to becoming the country’s first Pasifika district commander.But a piece of paper handed to him across a desk later that year brought a stunning career and personal trajectory to a sudden and shattering halt.
Lafaele’s family moved from Samoa to the Auckland suburb of Grey Lynn when he was 2. Now, the upmarket enclave of renovated villas is home to media, political and business luminaries. Back then, it was a working-class community with factories and workshops providing employment for the Lafaeles and other migrants. They have long since been replaced by bars and cafes as far as the eye can see.
It was the typical migrant experience, a journey into the unknown. “They didn’t have Google, they couldn’t speak the language, and they went on this voyage,” says Lafaele of his parents, Souoapuava and Kalolo. They might have thought twice about coming if they had known what they would face. They didn’t know many people here but knew what they had to do to make the best life for their family.
“Everybody worked hard,” the now 63-year-old writes in his inspirational new memoir, A Canoe Before the Wind: An Immigrant Son’s Story of Family, Adversity and Courage. “It was hard times. There was a lot of labour required. People just worked.” In his family’s case, that meant long hours and multiple jobs, not just for Souoapuava and Kalolo but for their five children as well. They strove and struggled to get ahead and any spare minutes were given to family, church and community.
Lafaele knows from his current work with the Ministry of Social Development that those conditions still exist – they have just been moved to another part of town.
His parents may not have cut their eldest son much slack, but he has only praise for what they taught him. “I always pay homage to my parents. They didn’t want their eldest son to be a factory worker, but back then there wasn’t anything to look forward to. There were no dinner parties or concerts. And their toil was so they would see their children grow and prosper.”
His book is dedicated to them. “It was about honouring them, and the challenges they had coming here.”
Their example overcame the negative messages society sent the young Vitale. Racism was standard at school: “I used to get teased: ‘Where’s your passport?’” And even though he was a child at the time, the dawn raids on so-called overstayers are still a powerful and dark memory.
“I got to know what was going on. And I was scared, really frightened. My parents, my uncle – we could all go back. Or I could lose my mum and dad. Imagine that as a 15-year-old? The feeling was that this life could change in an instant.”
He has an intense and deeply felt, albeit occasionally ambivalent, relationship with his Samoan heritage. He is of the generation that was raised in New Zealand. His parents’ Samoan upbringing had obviously been very different.
“I have always been connected to my culture,” he says. “When you live in a land that is not where you’re from, you can be disassociated. I never lost sight of my parents’ beliefs. They formed who I am, and they propel me now. How do those worlds come together? It is a hell of a challenge. When am I a Samoan, and when am I a Pālagi? When is my culture an enabler, and when is it an inhibitor?”
There is clearly a creative tension between the two sides, and equally clearly, Lafaele has made it work for him. He became fluent in Samoan during his time with the police and writes in his book about how, “In 2002, I went back to Samoa and had the chiefly Soifua title bestowed on me by my mum’s village, Falealupo. Soifua is a tulafale, or orator, title.”
You don’t have to listen to him talking for very long to realise how appropriate the orator title is. He makes a point of speaking Samoan to his grandchildren.
Toiling times
The drive to get ahead and make the most of the opportunities New Zealand represented was a prime motivator for his parents and for Lafaele in his turn. “I grew up in a hurry, because I had to. We all did manual labour, milk rounds, delivering the morning and afternoon newspapers, stocking shelves at the local corner store. Toiling. There was no fun. There was no, ‘Oh, you’re cold,’ or ‘You’re wet.’ You just had to get on with it. It was hard.”
With so much time spent doing things for his family, it’s no wonder he failed to thrive at school. His mother insisted he go back and sit School Certificate (the equivalent of NCEA Level 1) twice before throwing in the towel. “I’m not really that bright,” he says, despite plenty of subsequent evidence to the contrary. But he did believe in hard work, which made up for the lack of any paper qualifications. He also showed early signs of a talent for leadership while still at school. He was shoulder-tapped for sports coaching and was made a prefect.
After school, he found work as a fork hoist driver and storeman with the Ministry of Works and tried to get into the police, which had long been his dream. He failed to be selected four times. So as a fall-back, he applied for the SAS. “They had civilian intakes because of attrition through the Vietnam War. And that was in 1983 and took 16 months. And they only took four out of 300 who applied.”
Lafaele was one of the four, getting in on his first attempt. This pattern runs counter to almost all known experience. The SAS has an eye-wateringly tough selection process and is notoriously difficult to get into. At least one man who went on to lead the unit failed selection on his first try. But Lafaele didn’t know any of this, he says, so it didn’t occur to him to fail.
“I wasn’t thinking about joining the army. If I had, I would have probably gone into the general army, but this advert [for the SAS] appeared in front of me and I thought, ‘That’s interesting.’ I didn’t even know what SAS [Special Air Service] stood for. If I knew, I probably wouldn’t have gone for it.”
These were the lean non-deployment years for the SAS; there was to be no opportunity for Willie Apiata-style heroism in Lafaele’s time.
But his heart was still set on the police force, and he kept applying. Determined as he was, his difficulties with exams evaporated – thanks to a lot of hard work. “That was something I really, really wanted and I’d study till 4 in the morning if I had to, because I believed hard work would get me there.” And he did get there after his time with the SAS, and to the astonishment of his commanding officer, who told him he was welcome to come back to the unit any time.
There’s more to showing potential as a cop than being able to swot, and it appears this was recognised in Lafaele’s case. His talents weren’t necessarily the kind that could be identified in an exam. “I worked hard, and studied really hard and had 100% focus. Out of 22 people, I came 22nd. I was told, ‘Look, your marks weren’t quite there. But we want you.’”
Timing, too, was on his side – his successful application to the police was in 1985. Which was probably just as well, “or else I would have ended up in Afghanistan with the SAS. And my life would have been completely different.”
Surplus to requirements
His career with the police could best be described as steadily spectacular. By the time he finished with them, he had commanded the armed offenders squad, the special tactics group and dignitary VIP protection squad. He served as Counties Manukau area commander.
And then he was let go. In January 2014, Lafaele had a stroke that left him legally blind. Treatment revealed he also had a then-inoperable hole in his heart that required him to go on medication before he would be able to have surgery. Much therapy and rehab followed, but nothing could be done about his sight.
Later that year, a police HR manager handed him a piece of paper. Written on it were the words “Compulsory Medical Retirement”. After 30 years, he was out of the force because he no longer met the requirements for a serving officer. No discussion, no apologies. Little recognition of his extraordinary service. And no attempt to find him an alternative role.
“We still had children living at home with us doing university studies. I had a large mortgage and a couple of debts to repay.” It was beyond devastating. But, although it was the end of his career, it was not the end of his story.
How did he handle such an emotional and professional blow? “By showing discipline, and never losing control. And when I left, I left with dignity. There was no fanfare or anything like that. But that’s okay.”
If learning how to make his way here as a Samoan-New Zealander was the upbeat first act of his life, and achievements in uniform formed the dramatic second act, he is now enjoying a triumphant third act in which he has turned his setbacks to his advantage.
First came a readjustment of his priorities. “I just had to reset and realign myself. Before, it was about getting a job and making my parents proud. Clearly, work and personal ambition were no longer so important.
“When I had my stroke, it just flipped things on their head. I needed to spend time with my family and support them in terms of what their dreams were. That was my purpose.” His adult children include a doctor, a lawyer and a public servant.
Leadership courses
As to any lingering regrets around the circumstances of his departure from the police: “Did anyone die?” His core values came into play. “Be calm, stay disciplined, keep composed, no matter what. Don’t worry. I grieved, but I was focused on what I wanted.”
He took on service roles, working with community organisations and the likes of the Stroke Foundation. One thing led to many others. In 2016, he contacted the Speakers New Zealand agency. “I’ve been doing keynote speeches ever since. I talk a lot about motivation, leadership, mindset and resilience.” His message has found a ready audience.
Things took a new and even better turn in 2021, when he was invited to do a TEDx talk. His theme was “The Invisible Leader”. This led to the work he still does, running leadership courses for Ministry of Social Development teams.
Among those who heard his TEDx talk was publisher Alex Hedley, who wondered if Lafaele’s story had the makings of a book. Actually, he already had the makings of a book at home.
“I had started writing because I was going to go to sleep and die [when I finally had my heart surgery]. When I was at home waiting, it kept me going.
“I lived to write my memoirs and it was healing for me because I started to really deeply think about things. I wanted to write something so my children and grandchildren would know who I was. And I already had 10,000 words.” Those words form the core of his memoir.
A Canoe Before the Wind: An Immigrant Son’s Story of Family, Adversity and Courage by Vitale Lafaele, HarperCollins $39.99, is available now.
