For many the Traffic Light changes nothing: Segregation exists and wealth is creating the biggest divide / A.J. Hendry

I don’t know how to open your eyes to what is happening here in Aotearoa every day. I could tell you of the young person who has lived most of their life without a home, sleeping on the streets at times, at other times staying alone in a small motel room, surrounded by strangers, feeling unsafe, vulnerable and alone. I could tell you about how she barricaded the door to her room every night, and how she feared what might happen to her if she stayed there much longer. I could tell you about the terror she felt every day, of the desire, the hope, the longing for someone to love her, to accept her, to embrace her.

I could tell you her story, and if I did, I’d be telling you the stories of hundreds of others.

Or I could tell you of the young man who fled from his home into an experience of homelessness because his family’s faith had no room for his sexuality. I could tell you of how lost, alone, unloved he felt. I could tell you tell you of the hours, the days, spent pleading with him that he had value, that his life mattered, of moments when a glimmer of realization rose within him, only to be dashed by the oppressive reality of his situation.

I could tell you about a man that I know who has lived on the street for the greater part of his life. Of how he became homeless when he was young, trying to escape the path of drugs, gangs and crime which his feet had been set upon as a child, only to find the only safety net that existed for him was the cold hard reality of the street, and the street whānau who embraced and held him.

I could tell you these stories until the life within your phone ebbed away, until the day turned grey, until you became weary of the horrific reality of what so many people are expierencing every day in Aotearoa.

With the change into the Traffic Light system there was a lot of talk about getting our freedom back, about things changing, and excitement about getting Auckland moving. Of a return – for some – to a sense of normality.

And yet, for those already pushed to the bottom of our societal heap, nothing changed.

The poor remain poor. The homeless are still without homes. The systems that exacerbate these issues, that continue to oppress and dehumanize our people, remain intact. Their wheel’s moving, crushing those they’ve made vulnerable, beneath them.

Segregation has existed in Aotearoa long before the shadow of Covid19 even entered your consciousness. Segregation began in this nation at its conception, when the Crown broke it’s promises to tangata whenua, placing the interests of pākehā above those of the people of this land.

And over the years it has continued, becoming entrenched within the DNA of this nation, as we have built a society where some just have, and others do not. A society where the priorities and values of the rich and the comfortable are elevated over the desperate needs of the poor and those we’ve made vulnerable.

In recent weeks I have met children as young as 14 living on our streets, teen parents with newborn babies sleeping in tiny box motel rooms, whānau living on the cold hard ground of our city streets, beyond hope that anything will change.

I have bumped against system after system that is not designed to care for or acknowledge their needs. A system designed for those who are comfortable, who can make 9-5pm appointments, because they have somewhere to sleep, food to eat, and friends and supportive community around them. A system that works for the middle to upper class but has little consideration or resources for a child that has no home, no stable or safe community, no or little support.

Segregation exists in Aotearoa, and it is not new.

We are divided, rich and poor, middle and upper class, and those we’ve allowed to sit beneath us.

And yet, none of this has to be the way that it is.

We have chosen this for ourselves.

We have created a society where some have, and other’s do not. We have decided to protect the interests of the rich, to create a system where wealth begets wealth, while making the calculated decision not to share the resources within our nation to ensure that all people have at least the basics that they need to thrive.

This week there has been a lot of talk about what success looks like. Chris Luxon was thrust into the limelight as new National Leader, and much has been made of his seven houses, and the wealth that he has accumulated. But though Chris has come under fire for being a Party Leader and politician with excessive wealth, and critical questions have been raised regarding how one with so much, can ever stand in solidarity with the poor, making critical policy and legislative decisions on their behalf, Chris is not an exception.

A large majority of our politicians own multiple homes.

Many belong to the wealthy, land owning class, benefiting from the very system which is exacerbating the housing crisis and causing such suffering within our society.

But, dogging on politicians is easy. What’s harder is looking in the mirror.

Our politicians, our government, is a reflection of us. They are a mirror that reflects back to us our collective values and priorities.

It is telling that many of those who have defended Luxon and his wealth have done so by defining him as successful. Success has been defined as owning multiple homes, having excessive wealth, living so comfortably that you don’t even know how rich you are. With little thought given to the system that has enabled his wealth to grow, protecting and growing the wealth of individuals, while the needs of the poor and the vulnerable are neglected due to “lack of resources”.  

You can look at Luxon and blame him for the problems within our society. Use him as a scape goat for our collective anxiety during this moment we’re in.

But, what about your values? Are you prepared to make the sacrifices needed in order to ensure that our collective resources are shared equitable? Would you fight to change the system that allows such wealth to grow? Would you throw your support behind movements working towards a reality where housing is shifted from being viewed as an individual commodity, to a collective responsibility? Would you vote for politicians and policies that implement transformational taxation policy designed to equitably share our resources, and ensure that all our people had what they need to thrive? Would you be willing to sacrifice a little bit of your personal comfort, in order to protect the lives of our most vulnerable and marginalized?

The inequality in our nation is not an accident.

It is a choice.

A choice you and I have made.

And one that we can change.

Because, when we want to eradicate poverty in Aotearoa we can do it.

But, we may need to reevaluate what we truly value first.

Wealth, and the power it brings, or the lives of our most vulnerable and marginalized whānau.

In the end, it’s up to us.

A.J. Hendry is a Laidlaw College graduate, and now 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.

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