Homelessness in Northland is often hidden, such as this makeshift shelter under a bridge in Whangārei. Photo / Michael Cunningham
Homelessness in Northland is often hidden, such as this makeshift shelter under a bridge in Whangārei. Photo / Michael Cunningham
The most “no frills” thing we can do right now is ensure everyone has a place to live and enough food to eat.
You wouldn’t think this is a controversial take, in fact you’d think it would be a given.
And yet it’s not.
The reality is, here in Aotearoa over 41,000 people are experiencing homelessness and about 50 per cent of those people are young people.
New research provided by the latest Growing Up in New Zealand report, Now We Are 12, digs deeper. The report outlines the shocking reality that 1 in 14 young people surveyed had experienced homelessness at least once between the ages of 8-12. The same report highlighted that 1 in 5 children had experienced material hardship within their household during their childhood. Which essentially means that they and their whānau lacked the basics, such as suitable clothing, adequate heating, enough kai.
As I sit with the reality of this, what it means in the lives of the people these numbers represent, the physical and psychological toll poverty takes on a child’s development and the wellbeing of whānau as a whole, I can’t help but ask…
Are we okay with this?
And if not, then what are we going to do about it?
Being election year, it’s easy to get lost in the game of politics, the fun and thrill of debate, that feeling of excitement when “your side” gets a zinger in the debating chamber, the titillating thrill when another political scandal bursts onto the scene. It can feel like a game, I mean at times even the way it’s covered, with commentators critiquing strategy, evaluating performance, commenting on delivery, you’d be forgiven for thinking we were talking about some big sporting event.
But it’s not a game. It’s real.
AJ Hendry is the curator and creator of When Lambs Are Silent. Photo / Supplied
Politics governs our lives, the debate playing out in front of us – on our TV screens, on our radios, in the paper - will have a real material impact on the future of our most structurally marginalised whānau.
Prior to the release of Budget 2023, the horrific tragedy at Loafers Lodge raised horror and outrage at the conditions whānau in the lodge were living in. Concerns that were elevated when it was revealed that the building had in fact passed its building warrant of fitness. Political leaders were for a brief and unusual moment, unified in their expressions of grief and concern for the whānau who had been impacted by the fires.
And yet, the reality remains, these deaths didn’t need to happen.
They happened because we have different expectations on what constitutes appropriate living conditions for a “poor person”, than for the rest of us.
You see, the event at Loafers Lodge is merely a consequence of the total disregard we as a nation have shown for our most vulnerable people. Most of us would never dream of staying overnight (let alone live) in many of the lodges, hostels and motels around the country which are now utilised to house some of our poorest and most vulnerable whānau. And yet, we have allowed it to become acceptable for some to suffer, to scrape by, to have barely enough, while others live in luxury. It has become normal, here in New Zealand, for babies to be born into overcrowded motels, and teenagers to grow up alone and in emergency accommodation.
This is no game. This is our lives. This is the lives of our children. This is the lives of our people.
Poverty, homelessness, these things exist because of political choices we continue to make.
We were told we needed a “no frills” budget, because things are tight, because Covid, because rain, because storms, because the sky keeps falling in. And I’m all for that. Let’s chuck out the flashy, exorbitant projects, let’s tighten our belts, let’s focus on the basics.
What is more basic than food on the table, and a roof over your head?
I recently spoke to a young man who shared with me – as if it was the most normal thing in the world – that he didn’t have anywhere to sleep that night. He was only 16. He’d been staying in emergency accommodation for months now, and the hotel had kicked him out. I expressed my concern for him. No teenager should be dealing with that. It’s rough. He shrugged, tired but determined not to be defeated by worry, “it’s just the way it is.”
It’s just the way it is. But only because we allow it to be.
We have enough resources in Aotearoa for all of us to thrive. We can end poverty, we can put food on the table for all our kids, make certain there’s a decent and safe home for all our whānau, but we have to decide where our true value lies.
Do we value the lives of those who suffer due to poverty and homelessness, those sleeping on our streets, those struggling to make ends meet?
Or is our value tied up in the status quo? Are we more concerned about rocking the boat, or protecting the rich, than the suffering of our children?
Because, the reality is, we could end poverty. We just have to decide that we care enough to do so.
Right now just over 300 of the wealthiest New Zealanders pay on average about 9 per cent tax. That’s far less than the average New Zealander who pays about 20 per cnet on average. Taxing wealth and capital and raising taxes for the wealthiest among us, won’t materially harm the lives of the wealthy, but it could mean a world of difference for those struggling the most right now.
The decision to stick with the status quo and not adjust the tax system, is a political decision that ensures that poverty will continue to endure.
And the reality is it won’t change until we care enough to change it. We get to decide how we want things to work in this country.
We get to decide who we value and what sort of society we want to build.
We can choose to tax wealth, reduce inequality, ensure children have good food, whānau have healthy homes, and teenagers don’t have to live in hotels or on our streets.
Or we can stick with the status quo.
Poverty and inequality are sustained by political choices.
It’s time we made different ones.
A.J. Hendry is a Laidlaw College graduate, and a youth development worker and housing advocate, working in the youth housing and homelessness space. He leads a service supporting rangatahi experiencing homelessness and is also an advocate working collectively to end youth homelessness in Aotearoa. He is also the curator and creator of When Lambs Are Silent.
