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“Everything Failed Her”: A Whistleblower Speaks On Chanté’s Death And Why #ChantesLaw Matters

A whistleblower opens up about what they witnessed

David Gray-Hammond

Feb 3

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This is not a comfortable read. It isn’t meant to be.

It is the testimony of someone who worked inside the system that was supposed to keep Chanté Lloyd-Buckingham alive, and didn’t.

What follows is an interview with an anonymous whistleblower who worked for Venture People Ltd, the private supported-living company responsible for the site where Chanté died by suicide. Their words matter because they expose something far bigger than one tragedy. They reveal how neglect becomes normalised when care is turned into a business model; and why Chanté’s Law is not just justified, but urgent.

“Destitute” Attitudes In A Place Meant For Care

When asked about the general attitude of staff and management toward residents, the whistleblower doesn’t hesitate.

The culture, they say, was “destitute”.

Yes, there were individual workers who cared deeply; people who tried to go above and beyond. But they were outnumbered and unsupported. The dominant culture was one of contempt; eye-rolling, snide remarks, and outright cruelty directed at people who were already vulnerable.

“Staff would complain about the people they would be supporting constantly. Eye rolling and snide and sometimes outright nasty comments made by staff about the clients filled the office most days.“

Management at ground level often did care. But they were fighting uphill against senior decision-makers who were far removed from daily life on the site; people who didn’t understand residents’ needs and didn’t listen when staff pleaded for more support.

The result was predictable and devastating:

Unmet needs
worsening mental health
A system that quietly trained everyone involved to tolerate the intolerable.

Chanté Was Not Alone In Struggling

One of the most dangerous myths in supported living is that distress must look dramatic to be real.

The whistleblower is clear; Chanté was not the only resident struggling. Needs varied widely, and distress showed up differently for different people. But many staff lacked even a basic understanding of this.

They describe hearing colleagues say things like:

“They don’t need to be here.”

“They just want attention.”

“I can’t be bothered with this today.”

Residents learned quickly who was safe. Some asked for specific staff members because, as one resident put it, “you don’t make me feel like I’m bothering you.”

“A lot of clients in the end would request certain staff because “you don’t make me feel like I’m bothering you” and that is just soul destroying to have heard. I think this played a part in a lot of clients asking who was taking their support session and declining it – which a lot of the time was celebrated in the office by staff.”

That sentence should stop us cold.

When residents declined support sessions, often because they felt unwelcome, this was sometimes celebrated in the office. Less work. Less inconvenience. Less humanity.

When Someone Was In Crisis, Help Was Optional

Responses to distress were inconsistent and often negligent.

Some staff would immediately go to a resident’s home and offer help. Others had no idea what to do—or no interest in doing anything at all.

The office phone, often the only way residents could reach staff without physically crossing the site, was sometimes put on silent. Calls were ignored. Distress was treated as an interruption rather than an emergency.

“Some staff were great they were straight to their home and helping with whatever was needed. Others however had either no idea how to handle a situation or had little to no interest in dealing with certain clients. On times even putting the office phone on silent or just ignoring it which was the only way of contact that these clients had to staff without walking across the whole site.”

This wasn’t a rare failure. It was part of the everyday rhythm of the place.

“They’ve Had Their Time, That’s All We’re Paid For”

Outside scheduled support hours, residents were rarely checked on.

Many staff refused outright, saying residents had already had “their time”. As if mental health operates on a rota. As if suicidal thoughts check the staffing levels before arriving.

The whistleblower puts it plainly:

“If it was outside of their support time most staff refused as “they’ve had their time that’s all we’re paid for” Which I just think is ludicrous, mental health doesn’t care for schedules or shift patterns or staff availability. Mental Health doesn’t make note of the fact that there are 7 less staff overnight. It can take over at any point for any reason…”

Without regular check-ins, especially at night, people were left alone at their most vulnerable.

Medication: Chaos Disguised As Policy

Asked about medication management, the whistleblower almost laughs, not because it’s funny, but because it’s grotesque.

They were told:

Residents manage their own medication.
No, actually, staff must watch and record it being taken.
Actually, medication counts are required.
But also, staff are not allowed to touch medication.
It depends on the care package. Sometimes.

There was no consistency. No clarity. No shared understanding of responsibility. This confusion, they believe, directly contributed to medication-related incidents.

“The lack of consistent information around a lot of the procedures are I’m sure massively contributing to medication related incidences.”

In a setting housing people who self-harm and experience suicidal crises, this level of procedural chaos is not just negligent; it’s dangerous.

“What Created The Opportunity Gor Chanté To Take Her Life?”

The answer is devastating in its simplicity.

Everything.

Under-trained staff. Chronic understaffing. Workers sent into residents’ homes without even being introduced first. A failure to recognise that this was mental health support, not babysitting.

No regular night-time checks. No meaningful escalation when people were struggling. No trust that concerns raised by residents, or staff, would ever be acted upon by those with real power.

Over time, residents stopped reaching out. Trust eroded. Silence filled the gaps where care should have been.

“The lack of trained or experienced staff, how short staffed they are impacts massively our training and a lot of the times we didn’t even get introduced to some clients before having to do full sessions with them. Just imagine how unsettling it is to have a stranger come into your home?!
The lack of understanding or consideration that we weren’t babysitters we were mental health support and that could happen at any time. Regular check ins should be mandatory – especially at night. Not everyone sleeps all night and checks were not conducted.
They were not respected or being listened to further up the chain (the management that could actually implement big changes). This led to a breakdown in trust and a lack of reaching out when in need.”

That silence is lethal.

When “Person-Centred Care” Forbids Compassion

The whistleblower’s final comments cut to the bone.

They question how mental health support became a profit-driven business rather than a humane service designed to help people regulate, heal, and build lives that work for them.

Chanté, they say, often asked for one simple thing when distressed; a hug. Human contact. Grounding. Connection.

The response? A strict no-touch policy.

To the whistleblower, this felt inhumane. You cannot claim to offer person-centred care while forbidding what that person actually needs to survive.

They remember Chanté not as a “service user”, but as a person; intelligent, quick-witted, deeply empathetic. A contagious laugh. Endless stories about her family. A fierce love for her mum, and a shared mission to find the perfect dragonfly gift, because her mum loved dragonflies.

She was selfless. She was loved. She should never have had to beg for the basics.

Why Regulation Matters; And Why Chanté’s Law Must Pass

Supported living is often described as “unregulated” because it supposedly doesn’t provide personal care.

The whistleblower rejects that outright.

“When they say that supported living doesn’t need to be regulated if it doesn’t provide certain care… I am sorry but no.
We provide them with in my opinion the most personal care they could ever need. We are in their homes and seeing them at their most vulnerable times and when you are dealing with clients who are suicidal and self-harming absolutely that should be regulated.”

The final Message Is For Chanté’s Parents:

You were heard. Even when the system refused to listen.

This testimony is offered in solidarity, in grief, and in hope that others will come forward. Chanté’s Law is about ensuring this never happens again; not through platitudes, but through structural change.

Care without accountability is not care.

And silence, in systems like this, kills.

#ChantesLaw

“I know I cannot reach out to you personally, Emma, Karl I just want you to know what an absolutely fantastic job you did raising such an awesome woman. She was absolutely a credit to you both. She adored her family and had so much love for all of you and she expressed this frequently. You never gave up, you were fighting for your daughter to be heard, for you to be heard. Just know we heard you both, but we were so restricted as we were not being heard ourselves. I am hoping that this one statement will encourage others to come forward and stand with you also. You are not alone. And I for one and waiting for the day you come out on top of this.”

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