A building that changes lives

HomeGround on Hobson St, central Auckland. Photo / Mark Smith

HomeGround, the new home of Te Tāpui Atawhai, the Auckland City Mission, opened on Hobson St earlier this year. It’s the first building in the world to offer homeless people somewhere to live with full wraparound health and social services available on site.

It’s also the tallest wooden building in the country and will generate 80 per cent fewer carbon emissions over its life than a conventional tower block. It was made possible with a remarkable fundraising campaign and bipartisan support from political parties for the “Housing First” philosophy that inspired it. And it has already begun winning awards, including two this month for Stevens Lawson Architects.

A new book, Homeground: The story of a building that changes lives, by Herald journalist (and regular Canvas contributor) Simon Wilson, weaves all these threads together. In this edited extract, Mission staff talk about the approach to healing that sits at the heart of their work.

What’s the first sign of a civilisation? The anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked that question, and Celia Caughey, former City Mission board member, is fond of her answer. “People were expecting her to say a tool or something, but she said, ‘A healed femur.’ It means a culture where you might break your leg but you would not be left to die. You were brought in and looked after. That was the wairua.”

“The first thing at the Mission,” says Chris Farrelly, “and this is really important, the first thing is that you must know everybody’s name. And call them by their name.” Farrelly was the City Missioner who kickstarted the HomeGround project in 2015. ‘That takes a lot of work and it opens up a relationship because it recognises the mana of the other person.’”

Regular HomeGround visitor Cookie, at the piano in the Haeata dining room. Photo / Mark Smith

It wasn’t always like that. Jacqui Dillon, general manager of health and social services, says that in the old days, “People would come in, they would have to write their name beside a number. When it was mealtime we would reheat the donated food and call out the number. And people would line up. If you’ve had a history of being incarcerated, what is that going to be like for you?”

She says you can think of the difference at HomeGround like this: “‘If you want six sugars you give yourself six sugars,’ where before it would be, ‘No, you can only have one sugar and I need to make the tea for you because it’s hot water.’

“We set it up to say, ‘This is your space and we take care of it together.’ And that translates into, ‘Welcome home, this is your space, you take care of your space, and when we need to, we take care of you.’”

Joanne Reidy, manutea (general manager) of Māori services. Photo / Mark Smith

There are 80 apartments in this building. Housing First means you give people a home and that becomes the foundation for helping them with their other needs. There’s also a large vegetable garden on the roof, a medical centre, two secure floors for detox, a pharmacy, public meeting rooms, a chapel-like sanctuary, shops and a laneway running through the building to connect everything. Posters in the laneway advertise art classes, pottery, a drama club, a quiz contest on Thursday afternoons.

“That’s a good one,” says Wilf Holt, team leader for Haeata, HomeGround’s community dining room and activities centre. “You’ll have people you’d think wouldn’t have a clue, but they know things. And I can point you to the ones you do not debate the Old Testament with, because they can probably recite the whole thing.”

Almost everybody who comes to the Mission is dealing with trauma. Joanne Reidy, the manutea or general manager of Māori services, is a psychotherapist who used to work at Kohuora Auckland South Corrections Facility and in residential AOD (alcohol and other drug services). “Coming here, I was shocked by the level of vulnerability. Their mental health needs are often really high. I don’t think you could go anywhere else and see the same evidence of what society has created.”

It makes a difference to everything. As Farrelly’s successor Helen Robinson says, when you go to the doctor you have a 15-minute appointment and you know you can’t be late. “A normal doctor’s visit here takes 30 or 40 minutes, if they turn up at all. And if they turn up late, we can’t tell them to go away and make a new appointment because that’s denying them access to the healthcare they need.

Residents tend to the vegetable garden on the roof at HomeGround. Photo / Mark Smith

“I’m always checking myself. We say the Mission is full of hope and that has to be true — but is it true?”

About half the people the Mission works with are Māori and many are women. “People see rough sleepers who are mostly men’” says Robinson, “and we think that’s the issue. But homelessness is different for women, and on the street their needs are different.”

Dillon puts it bluntly: “There’s no safe place for women living on the street.”

She also says we forget that poverty is not just financial. “It’s a poverty of relationships and connection and hope and education. The hustling on Queen St isn’t always about the money, sometimes it’s about being noticed: ‘I want to be seen, I want to be heard, and you didn’t notice me when I asked so here I am again.’”

People die earlier when they live on the street. “We used to say it was 20 years earlier,” says Holt, who has been with the Mission for decades and is also an ordained minister.

Residents Ivan Tepu (Ngāti Rereahu) and Lisa-Marie Peerdemen (Ngāpuhi) with the book's author, Simon Wilson. Photo / Mark Smith

“Now the research says it’s up to 40 years. I’ve done funerals for guys who died in their 40s, but you don’t die of homelessness. It’s not a disease. You die of the drugs, the drink, all the stuff it brings. This place provides support and safety, which is emotional and physical.”

Dillon sees homelessness as a moment in time, not an identity. “They might be a talented painter, or a grieving mother who’s lost access to her children. Our superpower is to reignite their connection with those other parts, because out of that comes hope.

“If you’ve got a trauma history, maybe you’ve had no safe places in your life, this building should be a safe space for you. We’re not just food parcels and sneakers and accommodation; we’re here to help people change their lives.”

With a remarkable building to help them do it.

Homed, by Simon Wilson

Homeground: The story of a building that changes lives, by Simon Wilson (MUP, $65).