Shoppers stroll through the Botany Town Centre. Photo / Ted Baghurst, File
OPINION
When asked to join the contributors to an anthology that Otago University Press was publishing in 2020, under the title "Ko Aotearoa Tātou | We Are New Zealand", I didn't think twice. The collection aimed at emphasising our diverse identity in the aftermath of the Christchurch terrorist attacks.
I told novelist and co-editor Paula Morris that I'd like to talk about the inner challenges encountered — often silently — by many of us, refugees and immigrants to Aotearoa, and she welcomed the idea.
I wrote about my emotional attachment to my family house in Iraq and the pain when we were arbitrarily separated from it in 2006. "Since then, I've been roaming our garden in my dreams almost every night", to quote my essay "Gardenias". What I didn't say was, I never stopped blaming myself for not fighting hard enough and for failing to protect our home.
"Coward!" a ruthless voice in my head screams.
New Zealand seemed like the perfect place after leaving Iraq; a country that learned valuable lessons from its past, where people, trees, and animals are respected. We arrived in Auckland in 2008, and after years of struggling with an extremely hectic and fluctuating market, we bought a compact, low-maintenance, single-storey house — essential for my 80-year-old mother. It's also right next to Botany Mall, just five minutes' walk from New World, so there's no need to use a car.
It soon became my home away from home, a safe haven to spend the rest of my life in, writing books and telling stories.
Little did I know that AT had other plans for us. Almost two months ago, I found a letter in our mailbox, stating: "We've identified a preferred route that may impact your property," as part of the Airport To Botany Rapid Transit Project. Not sure I understood what was going on, I called the "supporting growth team" the next morning.
They said nothing was certain yet, it's a work in progress. That's good, I told them, because we're not willing to sell, so please take that into account. They said our consent was not a prerequisite to acquiring the land. They can take it away against our will. It's all legal.
Did I hear that right? Can this be happening in a 21st century democracy? Should I call a lawyer, or maybe Botany's MP Christopher Luxon's office? "Don't do anything, we will let you know about it in a month or two, and don't worry, your house will not be demolished, we might need to use parts of your garden or driveway."
On September 5, I received an email, notifying me that the whole property is required. It is confirmed, but the team is available to meet and answer any questions I may have. I had a lot.
The confiscation, I was told, is based on the Public Works Act 1981. All the people I've talked with agree it's "unfair", but AT has no qualms about continuing to use this legislation in 2022, even though it's not reflective of the melting pot of a nation we are today.
It would have been fair — and have made perfect sense — had someone bothered to contact us prior to making a decision and used our input to plan accordingly. That's how growth projects are carried out in countries that care about their citizens.
That's how we Kiwis deserve to be treated.
I'm all for development, I told the lovely ladies at the team meeting. If this were empty land we owned and Auckland Council asked to use it for a public housing plan, a hospital or a school, we wouldn't have hesitated to consent. But it's not empty land, it's our home, part of our existence, and this project is far from being a high priority. It's not even well-researched, as I concluded when my questions and concerns were met with baffled looks.
Every neighbourhood in Auckland has its own characteristics. Botany is no exception.
Has anyone tried to read into its shifting demographics? During my morning and evening walks, I bump into many friendly neighbours of Asian, Indian and Middle Eastern descent.
Do we know how many of them are first- or second-generation migrants, refugees or survivors of wars who might have been forcefully evicted from their houses in their motherlands? Might a second displacement be detrimental to their mental health?
I, for one, haven't been able to sleep or eat normally. I suffer nightmares and panic attacks on a daily basis and can no longer write. It's like being thrown back to square one with my healing path.
When I asked whether social scientists were consulted regarding the possible ramifications of dismantling a vibrant and coherent community, I didn't get an answer. The ladies told me hundreds of letters were sent, assuring impacted property owners that compensation will be provided - although works are not likely to begin for 10-15 years, and the money will only be paid shortly before that.
Meanwhile, Notices of Requirements (aka designations) are going to be lodged before the end of this year. These will appear on our LIM reports, causing the market values of our properties to plummet, making them near unsellable and un-loanable.
This is taking place in a city that's barely recovering from a global pandemic, where households have been hit by all types of hardships: physical, financial, emotional, etc. And now we are being dealt this blow?
I have a Bachelor's degree in architecture, but it doesn't take an architect to tell that this type of urban design is suitable for new cities that are being planned and built from scratch. There is no sense in bulldozing massive roads through longstanding neighbourhoods such as Botany in a densely populated city like Auckland.
And this just to make the bus ride from the airport a few minutes shorter, or put cycle ways on the sides of the road? Cycling is great, it's good for health and the environment, although I prefer to walk. But where in the world do airport rapid routes have cycleways? Who is going to cycle from the airport to Botany?
In an online meeting last week, I suggested other options be considered. There's hardly any problem a creative team of engineers cannot solve nowadays. Instead, I was asked to: "sacrifice for Auckland".
Sacrifice what? Mine and my family's wellbeing?
Auckland, the city we love so dearly, is suddenly an angry, heartless goddess that can be appeased only by shedding fresh blood on her altar?
Of course, I'm no stranger to the rhetoric of sacrifice.
During three decades of my life in Iraq, I was told to sacrifice for "glory" and "victory". To have questioned any of that under Saddam Hussein's brutal tyranny would have cost me and my family our lives.
We were victims then, but we are not anymore. I have a voice now. It's hard-earned and cannot be silenced.
As gently as possible, I broke the news to my elderly mother. "Can't they just let us live in peace? Why do they want to take away our house? Don't they know what we've been through?", her body was shaking.
Trying to calm her, I held her hand and told her they didn't know because we didn't speak up. It was made clear to me that my chances of stopping the designations from being submitted, or revoking them after they are lodged are slim, almost non-existent.
Nevertheless, I will keep trying, very hard.
• Ali Shakir is an Iraqi-born, Auckland-based architect and author of A Muslim on the Bridge, regular contributor to Arcade (Stanford University), and a member of the New Zealand Society of Authors.
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