spinofflive
Take2 graduate Siosaia Maka in the Rush office in Auckland (Photo: Supplied)
Take2 graduate Siosaia Maka in the Rush office in Auckland (Photo: Supplied)

BusinessOctober 18, 2022

Prisoners to programmers: How Take2’s graduates are faring in the tech sector

Take2 graduate Siosaia Maka in the Rush office in Auckland (Photo: Supplied)
Take2 graduate Siosaia Maka in the Rush office in Auckland (Photo: Supplied)

They went to prison as criminals and came out as skilled web developers. So how has society been treating them since their release? Michael Andrew talks to graduates from Aotearoa’s first prison coding programme.

Siosaia Maka sat at the 2022 Hi-Tech awards not quite believing where he was. Six months earlier, the father of seven had been serving a three-year and nine-month sentence at the Auckland South Corrections Facility. Now he was sitting in the same room as prime minister Jacinda Ardern, the minister for the digital economy David Clark, and a glittering company of New Zealand tech sector heavyweights and rising stars.

Looking at these people celebrating the country’s most exciting digital innovations and successes, Maka couldn’t help but reflect on the journey that had brought him here. In the six months since his release, the 26-year-old had enrolled in the web development training school, Dev Academy Aotearoa, and graduated as its top student. He’d then been taken on as a paid intern with Rush – the tech studio that built the Covid-19 Tracer App – and been invited to Wellington to attend the Hi-Tech Awards as a company representative along with former CEO Pavan Vyas. There he stayed in a hotel and wore a suit for the first time in his life. 

Seldom does someone leave prison and excel so emphatically and swiftly in normal society. But unlike so many others, Maka is not held back by his time in prison. In fact, it was in prison where his remarkable transformation began.

Siosaia Maka and entrepreneur David Downs at the 2022 Hi-Tech Awards (Photo: Supplied)

The prison classroom

Just over a year ago, I wrote about a handful of incarcerated men who were involved with Take2, a New Zealand startup that aims to help those going through the prison system create better lives by teaching them valuable web development and life skills. I went to Auckland South Corrections Facility and sat in on a class, where the students enthusiastically demonstrated their coding abilities and their newfound sense of self worth that Take2 had helped foster. Mostly Māori and Pasifika, they were earnest and confident young men, optimistic about their prospects to lead good, prosperous lives once they returned to society with their new skills.

It was one of the most inspiring things I have ever written about, and the programme, at least as far these men’s self-esteem was concerned, appeared to be making a difference. But lingering above it all was one question: how would it actually play out once they were released from prison, into a stigmatic society with a 58% recidivism rate?

Some of these men are now out of prison and at different stages of their reintegration journey. Two, including Siosaia Maka, have already secured well-paying tech positions. I met them at an Auckland cafe with Take2 founder Cameron Smith to hear about their new lives. While the other man in paid employment, who I’m calling David, didn’t want me using his real name, he was happy to share his story.

Inside the Take2 classroom at Auckland South Corrections Facility (Photo: Supplied)

First hurdles

David was released from prison in the lockdown of September 2021 after nine years and six months inside. He had the equivalent web development skills of a professional one year out of university, yet he’d been away so long he didn’t know how to use a smartphone. When his daughter picked him up and drove him to their home in Hamilton, he was quickly overwhelmed by the intensity and speed of the world around him. “She was only doing 60kph on the motorway but I had to tell her to slow down,” he says.

David now works for Datacom, New Zealand’s largest tech company and one of Take2’s key supporters, earning well above the median New Zealand salary. He works in a team of eight and specialises in backend databases. “Nobody wants to do that work,” he says. “It’s boring, everyone wants to do the front end. But I want to stay put and get really good at this before trying other things. I want to be the man at one thing first, then I’ll move and be the man at everything else.”

Naturally charismatic and funny, he speaks from a place of pride, clearly enraptured with his place in life and the backing of Take2 and Datacom. And yet, despite the support network around him, there have been some major hurdles for him to overcome since his release. In order to be considered for early parole, David submitted a detailed action plan to his parole officers, committing to certain criteria such as enrolling in Dev Academy Aotearoa, keeping to a curfew, wearing an electronic bracelet, and avoiding contact with certain individuals. By the time he completed the 15-week Dev Academy course, his restrictions were lifted because of his good behaviour, and he had multiple companies vying for his skills.

He eventually picked Datacom, electing to work in the Hamilton office to be close to his four children, who still don’t believe him when he says he works in one of the city’s tallest buildings. Not long after starting, however, he encountered his biggest obstacle: finding accommodation.

“It’s very hard to find a house,” he says. “Every place I applied, as soon as I ticked the criminal history box on the application form, that was it.” Despite having a portfolio of stellar references from Datacom, his parole manager, and Cameron Smith of Take2, David’s record immediately disqualified him from renting a place of his own. “It was hard, man. I was probably earning more than those property managers, and they still wouldn’t take me. I had to get other people to apply for me to get a place.”

Normal people

Confronting such stigma, David was understandably worried about what would happen when he revealed his history to his colleagues. He was under no pressure from Datacom, and deliberately waited several months to tell his story in order to establish relationships with his team and show them who he really was. But because his record prevented him from getting security clearances to work on certain projects, it was only a matter of time before people would start asking questions.

“I had a lot of anxiety leading up to it [telling my colleagues],” he says. “I just thought they would judge me and that it would change our relationships.” But when he finally shared his story he was met with nothing but understanding, respect and kindness. “It brought us closer together,” he says. “Some of them even said the only difference between us was they’d made mistakes in the past but hadn’t gotten caught! They’re all just normal people like me.”

While David was starting at Datacom, Siosaia Maka was still at Dev Academy, where he too was fretting about revealing his history to his fellow students. On the first day of the course, he and his peers were involved in an orientation exercise in which they shared “who they were”. Not wanting to prolong the anxiety, Maka told them straight up about his time in prison, his involvement in Take2 and his desire to use his skills for something good. “I feared the judgement,” he says. “I thought my heart was going to fall out. But I just put it out there on day one.” Initially unsure of the reception, Maka soon had his peers approaching him in private, commending him for his courage. 

Arriving at Dev Academy with comparatively advanced skills, he stood head and shoulders above his university-educated peers. Some weeks, he would finish five days worth of work in two, and spend the rest of the time mentoring the other students and helping them finish their work. But it wasn’t just his technical skills that were making him stand out. After class one day, some of the other students were asking each other about their “plan Bs” if a career in web development didn’t materialise. When it came to Maka, he expressed puzzlement at the question. In his mind, entertaining a plan B amounted to entertaining failure – an impossible proposition. “There is no plan B,” he replied. “I’m going to be a developer. That’s the only plan.”

Mindset

That both Maka and David possess such mastery over their abilities and ambitions is no accident. It’s a deliberate product of Take2’s curriculum and the self-help literature it prescribes as required reading. While in prison, the students read Mindset by Carol Dweck and How to Escape from Prison by Paul Wood – himself a reformed criminal once convicted of murder – and learned ways to eliminate doubt and disbelief from their thought patterns. These techniques were critical to withstand the pessimism within the prison system, and the belief held by many prisoners that all rehabilitation programmes are doomed to fail as soon as the support ends and the participants are sent back to “the jungle” – the brutal outside world where old behaviours are allowed to flourish.

“There’s lots of doubt in prison,” says David. “There’s no hope. The other guys would tell me ‘as soon as you finish [Take2], they’ll forget about you and send you back to the jungle’.”

However, bolstered by the authenticity of Take2, and the constant presence and investment from Cameron Smith and members of the tech industry, the students were able to commit to the work and embrace the belief that they were good men with valuable skills to create better lives for themselves and their families. “I had an end goal,” says David. “And I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way.”

‘Hutt Valley, Kāpiti, down to the south coast. Our Wellington coverage is powered by members.’
Joel MacManus
— Wellington editor

Now firmly ensconced in working life, both men have continued to build their reputations and list of achievements. Based at Rush’s office in Parnell, Maka has been paired with the company’s top front-end developer to develop his craft. Not long after the Hi-Tech awards, he and another Take 2 graduate competed in Datacom’s annual hackathon against 300 people across Australia and New Zealand. They created a prototype for a social enterprise called Ngā Mihi, a secure marketplace that would circumnavigate the bureaucracy of the prison system and allow people to send essential items such as socks and underwear to incarcerated family members. The team was awarded the top prize and peoples’ choice award for the solution, and The Warehouse has confirmed it will be partnering with the project to bring it to life.

Meanwhile, alongside his position at Datacom, David has become an unofficial ambassador of Take2. He’s presented his experience of the programme to the commissioner and other senior leaders of New South Wales Corrective Services – which has confirmed it will be commencing a pilot of the Take2 Programme in 2023 – and has been mentoring the next cohort of Take2 students. Travelling up to Auckland, he assesses their commitment to bettering themselves and tries to nurture within them the same sense of self-worth that Cameron Smith instilled in him. “I learnt I was in control of my own mind. But it was all Cam that helped me do it,” he says. “He’s the most consistent person I’ve ever met. Other people just say things and don’t follow through. But Cam did. He exposed us to a lot of people in the tech industry that I’m still in contact with today.”

Siosaia Maka and his team won the Datacom hackathon. (Photo: Supplied)

Scaling the programme

Smith is humble about his contribution to Take2. Despite having created the company, he keeps the focus on the contributions of the industry partners and the drive of the participants. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t proud of what he’s started. “It’s hard to find the words. Proud just doesn’t do it justice,” he says. “I didn’t quite anticipate how close the bonds would be between me and the guys. I have strong friendships with them; we have a mutual respect for each other and our different journeys. Seeing them succeed like this is pretty damn cool. I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life.”

While Smith considers the programme to be a success, albeit on a deliberately small scale, the journey has not been without considerable challenges. Because of quarantine issues surrounding Covid-19, Auckland South Corrections Facility put the programme on hold in August 2021 and has not yet restarted it. When this happened, the Take2 participants were suddenly disconnected from their classes and an important source of inspiration in their lives. “When Covid hit, they had nothing. They were just twiddling their thumbs in prison and I think that was really hard for them. But they’ve grown so much from that; they actually navigated that setback really well.”

While Smith hopes the prison programme can resume eventually, Dev Academy has provided a stopgap by taking on students once they’re paroled to complete their training and bring them to industry standard. There are currently two other Take2 graduates completing the course. “We owe a lot to Dev Academy,” Cam says. “It really helped us out with a solution for these men, effectively refreshing their skills after being idle in the prison for so long. It does such an amazing job as well.”

Maka with his daughter. (Photo: Supplied)

Because Dev Academy can only take on one or two students at a time, the next step is Take2’s Community Training Hub – an offsite version of the Take2 classroom which will allow the students to receive the entirety of their training outside of prison, preparing them for industry employment. 

With David and Maka providing clear evidence of Take2’s viability, the aim will now be to scale the programme and help as many people as possible once they leave the prison system and return to the community. While Smith is aware he won’t be able to provide the same one-on-one impact as Take2 grows, he’s leaving it to David and Maka to impart their wisdom and knowledge to the next cohort of students.

“David and the others want to take on that role with the next generation coming through. That’s really heartening and gives me confidence to know that the lessons and mentoring will continue to be passed on to the new students. 

“And it’ll be better than my mentoring. They’ve actually lived the journey.”

Keep going!
metalbird
Phil Walters is the founder of Metalbird, a company that has been ‘life changing’. (Photo: Supplied / Treatment: Tina Tiller)

BusinessOctober 18, 2022

The bird-brained company flying sky high

metalbird
Phil Walters is the founder of Metalbird, a company that has been ‘life changing’. (Photo: Supplied / Treatment: Tina Tiller)

Behind the scenes of Metalbird, the award-winning garden ornament company that just made its millionth sale. 

It started in a shed, an idea born out of boredom. In 2009, Phil Walters spent his days fitting out retail stores for phone companies. “I was like, ‘What the fuck am I doing?’” he says. He needed something that scratched a creative itch. In his Auckland backyard, he cut an steel stencil of a huia reading emails on a cellphone. It had a sharp spike on one end. “I started whacking them into lamp posts,” he says. “It was a bit of fun and whimsy.”

Soon, Walters’ hobby became a side hustle. He made dozens of them, upping his orders with a Penrose laser cutter then ambushing his Westmere neighbourhood with 20 birds at a time. He banged them into branches, tree trunks and fences, anywhere his birds could find the light and become eye-catching silhouettes. Soon, word caught on. Family, friends and neighbours discovered Walters was behind the guerrilla street art project and began requesting their own static garden ornaments. 

“Can I have one?” they’d ask him. “Yeah, OK,” he’d reply.

Metalbird
Phil Walters at work in his Metalbird workshop. (Photo: Supplied)

By 2012, Walters had launched a website offering his weathering steel birds for $70 each. It was slow at first, but they took flight. Walters extended his range to include tūī, kererū, ruru. They took off too. By 2016, Walters had turned several rooms of his home into a packing facility. His kids would slide birds into cardboard boxes after school and on weekends. He expanded to Australia, offering kookaburras and cockatoos. Walters was still working full-time, often staying up till midnight dealing with orders for his “small family business”.

He couldn’t keep up with demand. Now that he’s gone full time, he still can’t. 

Metalbird, an Aotearoa company that operates a global enterprise out of a small Grey Lynn hub, is flying higher than anyone ever thought possible. It has factories in 10 countries, a call centre in the Phillipines, has nearly 500 people working on the project, and, around peak gift-giving times like Mother’s and Father’s Day and Christmas, turns over hundreds of thousands of dollars a day. If Walters turned on notifications, his phone would ping relentlessly with Shopify orders from around the world.

Metalbird wins business awards for its designs and is celebrated for its growth. It is now so big, it has brand protection and a full-time legal team tasked with taking down copycats and imposters. He’s just celebrated his millionth bird sale. Yet, Walters says this is just the beginning, a “beta test” for what lies ahead. He has expansion plans with ambitions to launch more products, and support local businesses, using Metalbird’s global pipeline.

In the past three years, at a time when many businesses have struggled with Covid issues, supply chain problems, closed borders and staff shortages, Walters’ bird-brained side hustle has grown to extreme, almost ridiculous levels. Even he struggles to articulate just how massive Metalbird has become. “It’s really crass, just vulgar,” he says as we sit down with coffee outside his Grey Lynn birds nest. “This has become a really big business. You would have no idea.”

To paraphrase his own words, how the fuck did that happen?



To find Metalbird’s head office, you’ll need to plug a specific Auckland address into Google Maps, head down a bland no exit street in Grey Lynn where a rubbish truck blocks street parking, then search for a small office nestled between a drapery company and an auto electrician. There, where the hum of a nearby motorway drowns out any sign of bird life, you’ll need to navigate past an edible garden and outdoor seating to knock on a wooden door that has definitely seen better days.

Behind it lies a business that only seems to know good times. Nearly a dozen full-time Metalbird staff sit in cubicles, relax on couches with laptops on their knees or gather around a communal table. Lo-fi trip-hop plays quietly on a nearby stereo. Coffee is brewing in a built-in kitchen. Few signs are visible about what they’re up to back here. Then Walters approaches and reaches out his hand. His black T-shirt finally gives the game away. It reads: “Talk birdy to me.” 

Metalbird
Metalbird stencils are designed to be hammered into trees and last for years. (Photo: Supplied)

Walters quickly pulls his latest award from the shelf. Metalbird recently won a design trophy at the Best Awards, where the judges said, “This is a cool little company”. They didn’t seem to realise just how big Metalbird has become. No one does. I didn’t either. I’d arrived expecting to discuss a local business doing good things in the giftware industry thanks to their native bird designs. My only prior knowledge was that my wife once bought one for her dad’s birthday, and that David Farrier didn’t like them. 

It quickly becomes apparent there’s nothing “little” about Metalbird. Wary of being seen of boasting about their success, Walters asks that I don’t share their exact sales figures. “What good would that do?” he asks. But I’m soon presented with sheets of A3 paper full of graphs and charts that show phenomenal, extreme, head-spinning growth over the past three years. Walters’ eyes glint when I ask him how much money he’s made. “Fucking life-changing,” he replies.

How this happened could be seen as a case of the right product, at the right time. Metalbird products look great, are easy to install and offer an easy, affordable solution for anyone in need of a quick gift. Walters says it also offers recipients a creative outlet. “People get given one, the wife says to the husband, ‘Go down there to the tree and hammer it in’,” he says. “The husband does it, suddenly he feels great, he’s gone back to being an artist, he’s empowered.”

But there’s more to it than that. In 2016, Walters was forced to quit his day job because Metalbird was taking too much time and earning too much money. By 2019, he’d expanded into the UK and Europe, using local bird designs and connecting with local packaging companies and manufacturers to make and ship his products. Next, he had his eyes on America.  

That’s when he asked Jason Neely, an old childhood friend, for help. “He helped me do a life plan for myself and my business,” says Walters. Neely, who has joined us outside, nods his head. “We agreed, let’s take on the world.” To do that, they turned to social media. Metalbird began using Facebook’s specific ad targeting tools to reach audiences. “The internet came of age,” says Walters, “and we became good marketers”.

Metalbird
Man with a bird van, Phil Walters. Photo: Supplied

Their method, Neely says, is to target specific groups of people with Metalbird advertising. “We think women in Idaho who like cats and gardening are a really good market,” he says. They’d spend a small amount of money on targeting ads at that group, and if it resulted in a sales bump, they’d pump up their spending. At one point, they were doing this so much that “we were New Zealand’s largest advertiser, according to Facebook,” says Walters. “There were days we’d spend a quarter of a million bucks on Facebook,” admits Neely.

As we talk, his phone dings. “That was Andrea from Liberty Hill, Texas,” he says, scanning through his recent Shopify notifications. “She bought the hummingbird honeys and chickadees.” It’s an order for two Metalbird products, one of many that arrives in the hour I spend with Metalbird. It cost the buyer US$140, or about $NZ250, excluding shipping.

Apple has since scaled back Facebook’s ability to track customers’ habits, making targeted ads a tougher sell, but back in 2019, companies like Metalbird learned exactly how to find their customers through social media. By Christmas that year, they’d gotten incredibly good at marketing like this, so good, their system overloaded, meaning many customers missed out on getting their gifts that year. “Seventeen thousand orders didn’t go out,” winces Neely.

Then, says Walters, “it got bigger”.

‘Become a member and help us keep local, independent journalism thriving.’
Alice Neville
— Deputy editor

All this success comes with some cost. A tweet from media personality David Farrier sparked backlash in 2020 over the amount of targeted advertising Metalbird was using, and also questioned whether sticking spikes into trees is safe (Metalbird insists its products will not cause any long-term damage). “We have good real birds that are alive,” Farrier said. “I hate that I am aware that this exists,” said one of the 392 people who liked his post.

Of more concern to the company are the constant copycats. Walters believes he invented a category now worth “hundreds of millions of dollars globally”, and many keep trying to claim a piece of his pie. “It’s annoying when people are ripping us off directly and we’re having to spend a whole lot of energy in that negative space of trying to defend our IP,” he says. “People will directly copy us. People scan our designs then sell the electronic files globally. We’ve got lawyers, people doing full-time takedowns on Amazon, Etsy, Alibaba.”

Metalbirds
The Metalbird team on a tree-planting exercise. (Photo: Supplied)

Despite scaling back a little during Covid, Metalbird remains huge. They say they survived Covid, and Apple’s cookiepocalypse, by being streamlined and optimised. “Our whole system was five years ahead of the market,” says Neely. As we talk, he slowly pieces together a new product, one yet to launch, the first to deviate from the core product. “You’re the first person, ever, to see it,” he says. He asks me not to reveal details, but it’s an obvious extension of their core product. 

It’s not the only one. The pair have plans to join forces with more artistic local businesses in the gift retail market and give them access to their global pipeline. That includes the call centre in the Phillipines, the lawyers keeping copycats at bay, the factories pumping out products, the marketing expertise. It is a world that Metalbird built. “We’ll have brand two, brand three, brand four, brand five,” says Walters. “Off we go.”

Yes, despite being bigger than anyone ever thought possible, they believe it can get even bigger still. Walters already sees Metalbird products all around Aotearoa and overseas when he goes on one of his frequent world trips. He just got back from London, Paris and Amsterdam, and he sees metal birds hammered into gardens, stuck in tree trunks and hanging off balconies.

Sometimes, he’ll be invited to someone’s house for a barbecue and there they are, his birds that went from a side hustle in his shed, to a main hustle, to world domination. “There it is in the garden,” says Walters. “I wonder, ‘Do I tell them?'”

Metalbird has 12 full-time staff and at one point had nearly 500 more working on the project in third party warehouses and factories, as well as accountants and other agencies. This story has been edited to clarify this fact.