We cannot invisibly solve homelessness: an open letter
We address this letter to all New Zealanders – especially those in the Taranaki area – who are concerned about increasing rates and visibility of homelessness.
There is some consolation in the fact that the crises raging in Palestine, the US, and the Ukraine are so far away – we do not have to be directly confronted with them. We can carefully store these horrors at the backs of our minds and focus instead on our day-to-day lives.
The same cannot be said for the plight of those who are homeless within our own communities. They cannot be neatly tucked away from view. They are out on the street, exposed, a startling and jarring interruption to our comfort.
Our organisation, Waimanako, sits right in the heart of New Plymouth CBD. A former mall, our rooms wedged inconspicuously between other buildings, we have a cheery flag out the front which denotes our presence. Our hallways are filled with bright greetings, reminders of our House Rules, and a selection of screens which advertise details for our myriad free workshops. Our vocation is to provide preventative, peer-led wellbeing support in our community: that is, we are here for anyone who needs to talk, or simply just a space to ‘be’.
As a key part of this, we run a pay-what-you-feel cafe, where you can enjoy a filling kai for a koha. We know how important a full stomach is to mental wellbeing – a kai and a hot drink are masterful at de-escalating heightened situations.
As a community-led organisation, we are cautious about pathologising distress. Often distress comes from life circumstances just as much as it comes from mental health conditions. The term ‘Shit Life Syndrome’ (which some physicians genuinely utilise) encompasses this, recognising the range of problems that can arise from circumstances such as poverty and abuse. Even people free from these factors still face struggles, and we cannot emphasise enough that we are here for every single one of them: there are no criteria for our support. Indeed, our vision is for our Koha Cafe to be a space free from stratification, where those who live on the streets can enjoy a kai alongside those in business attire popping in for their lunch break; there is no specific status associated with our services.
Naturally, the reality is a little more complicated. The nature of our work means that we see, in real time, the impacts of societal and governmental shifts upon our community; and for the moment, that has resulted in an increase in homelessness, alongside a surge in support requests. Tino pai; that’s what we’re here for.
Indeed, having been aware of this trend for some time – noting, for instance, the increased presence of our homeless whānau on the streets, and seeing them cycled in and out of the Police system when incidents unfold – we elected to do something about it. Reviewing the literature on effective homelessness intervention made one thing clear: the best solution is to house those on the street.
Tragically, that solution is far beyond our scope, so we instead researched successful support initiatives operating both in Aotearoa New Zealand and abroad. We came to understand that building trusting relationships with street whānau – coming to know their needs and what brought them to their current situation with the aim of supporting them to access shelter in collaboration with many other services and agencies – still is very valuable. It is not an ideal solution, but it is the best we can offer at present.
The provision of this support through a programme titled Ngāmotu Street Initiative (NSI) – supported by local philanthropic funding, and our local District Council – has had remarkable success. Amongst our street whānau, outcomes have been notable, with our case workers working cross-agency to support multiple people into housing and connecting up with services throughout the region in an effort to develop a longer-term solution (‘The Homelessness Action Plan’).
At the same time, however, our pivot towards providing enhanced support to our street whānau has sadly placed stress on other relationships and our overall reputation, not least because a neighbouring shop front became vacant a number of months ago, providing a prime spot for a small number of our street whānau to camp out.
This encampment has distressed local businesses and townspeople alike; some are concerned that our provision of support is its cause. When interviewed by the local press, the street whānau actually explained that they are there because the overhang present in their choice of location helps to keep them dry. We accept the concern at the presence of support services in our communities and cities, however.
Our proximity to this controversy, we believe, provides a fantastic opportunity to discuss this, and some of the other complex feelings regarding the presence of our street whānau.
Below we address some of the complex dynamics and misconceptions about Waimanako, Ngāmotu Street Initiative, and our street whānau, as well as suggest a solution that may serve the needs of businesses and street whānau alike.
Othering
Fear, negative experience and, sometimes, a tendency to distance ourselves from those who sleep rough all promote the myth that those on the streets live a life apart from our own, one we could never come close to approaching.
At Waimanako, we see that this is not remotely the case, as in this experience from our Pou Tiaki, Jamie:
‘One evening, quite early on in establishing our Koha Cafe in Taranaki, there was a disturbance in the street. I went to investigate. I discovered a man, not known to me, who was wandering up and down the area outside the cafe, shouting loudly. I approached him and we had some conversation. He was very troubled and had been drinking. I could see that other members of the public were disturbed by what was happening, and, with the benefit of the training and experience that I’ve had, I invited him to join me in a space where we could talk.
We sat together on the floor in the corridor that leads to the cafe, and I waited for over an hour, occasionally acknowledging his outbursts, until he had de-escalated. We brought him a feed and some coffee, which he dove into with gusto. It was the first time that he’d eaten in three days. I asked if he would share with me a little of his story.
He had recently arrived in Taranaki on a quest to reconnect with his estranged daughter and his grandchildren. The encounter had played out badly. We talked about parenthood, and he was vocal on his regret and remorse for circumstances which had played out over the years, and the mess that he felt he had made of everything. He shared some of his own formative years as a child, and he reflected on some parallels. He cried, and I comforted him.
We then began to sketch out some solutions and some resources that we might connect him into.
Nearly three years later, we bump into each other from time to time. He always relates that that conversation led to a reset moment. Throughout his life, he had felt that he was the only one who had made such mistakes. When I acknowledged my own shortcomings, and that, genuinely, we were not so different, a dam of shame was released and there were shared tears. This all triggered a wrap-around of support services in the community.
He is now in stable employment, lives in a private rental, and regularly sees his daughter and grandchildren. He has been consistently sober for two and a half years.’
The outcomes of ‘othering’ or labelling individuals (‘those people’, ‘people like that’, ‘the homeless’) can be the reinforcement of social stratification, fear of judgement, toxic shame, and the risk of forming an opinion of multiple individuals based on hearsay, fragments, or broader misconceptions.
It treats those it targets as monolithic, which is never a fair conception of any population.
Within our local street whānau population, there are those:
- who (unbeknownst to most) regularly donate a chunk of their benefit towards our mahi, covering the kai we have given them and more besides;
- who are fiercely protective of our organisation and will, for example, work to curtail vandalism of our space;
- briefly out of housing and those who have been on the streets for years;
- embarrassed by the distressed conduct of a handful of their contemporaries and enter our spaces abashed and apologetic;
- who greet our staff with hugs and wide smiles, declarative of the light their support provides to their life.
Ultimately, they are people, and although circumstance has led them to band together, they are just as diverse as any other group.
A Chosen Lifestyle
A common viewpoint is that homelessness is a matter of choice – direct or otherwise. If those on the street simply worked harder, stopped drinking or using drugs, or otherwise improved themselves, they would not be in their current position. Like most things in life, the reality is far more complicated.
Sleeping on the street is a terrifying prospect: viewing this outcome as a personal (and therefore controllable) choice not only fits neatly the meritocratic values of Western society; it also protects us from any anxieties that such hardship could befall us.
Our NSI workers are dedicated towards countering this perception; and a key tool they use is the concept of the ‘domino effect’, highlighting the cluster of factors which can lead to homelessness:
Imagine your life is like a carefully arranged line of dominoes. Each domino represents a critical aspect of your life: your job, home, health, family, and social network. As long as all the dominoes are standing, your life is in balance and secure. However, if one domino falls, it can set off a chain reaction.
1. Job: Your job is often the first domino in the line. If you lose your job, the loss of income can make it impossible to pay for housing, healthcare, and daily necessities.
2. Home: Without a steady income, the next domino to fall might be your home. Eviction or foreclosure can follow quickly when rent or mortgage payments are missed. Without a stable place to live, securing a job and managing your health becomes even harder.
3. Health: Losing your home can lead to a decline in physical and mental health. Falling seriously ill or sustaining an injury can also become majorly destabilising. The stress of homelessness can exacerbate existing health conditions and create new ones.
4. Family: Homelessness and poor health can strain family relationships. You might lose the support of loved ones who can no longer help.
5. Social Network: With your job, home, health, and family all impacted, your social network might be the final domino to fall. Without a support network, finding new job opportunities or temporary shelter becomes more difficult. Isolation and the loss of community support can make it even harder to recover and regain stability.
As each domino falls, stability is further compromised. Once the chain reaction starts, it can be challenging to stop. Setting the dominoes up also takes time, patience, and resources – all things that are compromised along the way.
With more privilege and more capital – social or financial – there’s more in reserve to set back up the dominoes, so for those who have this privilege and capital, they might not experience homelessness when challenging times arrive. This, however, isn’t the case for everyone. We often hear advice given to our homeless whānau that often starts out with: ‘Why don’t you just….’ This line of questioning is ignorant to the weight of all the dominoes that may be on top of them.
Two examples that might help to illustrate what this can be like:
John’s story
John had a stable job working as a machinist for over a decade. When the factory he worked for shut down unexpectedly, John found himself unemployed. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t find another job in his field. His savings quickly dwindled, and without a family support system to fall back on, John couldn’t keep up with his rent. He was evicted from his apartment and ended up living in his car.
Aroha’s story
Aroha grew up in an unstable home and began using drugs as a teenager to escape her reality. By her early twenties, she was diagnosed with both schizophrenia and substance use disorder. The combination of her mental illness and addiction made it nearly impossible for her to find and keep a job or housing.
'You are encouraging antisocial behaviour'
Waimanako operates with some simple House Rules. It is a sober socialising space, with zero tolerance for drugs and alcohol use.
Over the course of any week, many individuals in need of support enter our space. Abusive language, discrimination, drunkenness and intimidating behaviour all violate our ground rules. Those living with anxiety making an initial tentative step over the threshold can be alienated and frightened by someone else behaving out of line.
Our team at Waimanako – many of whom have vulnerabilities of their own – are also, at times, subjected to unacceptable behaviour. One example of this from Jamie is as follows:
‘I was serving in the cafe when someone entered and happened to choose me, as someone in uniform. He was very heightened, and started shouting at me.
I attempted to help him de-escalate, and, after a little while, I asked him to leave – mindful of the others in the space, including a number of young children.
I suggested we move to a less public space. This he refused, and strode out of the premises, next shouting at several people in the street who happened to be around (“What are you looking at?” “Mind your own f-ing business”).
Shortly afterwards he disappeared out of sight; I followed him at a discreet distance. He sat down on a bench and put his head in his hands. After a few minutes, I approached him and asked if I could sit with him.
After some time, he began to share his situation, which included being stood down from work that day. He apologised for his behaviour and explained that he had just lost the plot and it had all come out.’
Angry outbursts are often expressions of the pain that we are feeling – unfortunately, even the best of us sometimes let these out at the wrong place, wrong time, and in the wrong way.
Drunken behaviour and vandalism in a city centre is not exclusive to any specific cohort. We’ve experienced just the same from teenagers and people with steady jobs. We all have ugly moments; the difference is that those of us privileged enough to have a home generally have the ability to keep these private. Moreover, those on the street generally live in survival mode – which, as humans, shuts off our ability to reason and rationalise, instead triggering a fight, flight, or freeze response. When we have greater comforts, our needs may be met sufficiently to respond calmly instead.
‘They are here because you are feeding them’
Most weeks, we hear: ‘Those people are there because you are feeding them.’ We do not see the evidential basis for that assertion. Rough sleepers in the CBD were present prior to Waimanako’s existence, and, since its establishment, people have congregated in multiple locations – commonly the library.
We wonder whether librarians are frequently asked, ‘You realise those people are here because you provide free access to books? Which is fine, and important – I just feel you should be doing it somewhere else, because it’s attracting these kinds of people.’
The library shares the same situation that Waimanako does: it opens its doors and its provision to the whole community on a no-cost basis. Its staff regularly tackle the same kind of challenges and distress we do. We mihi to them.
Recall the ‘survival mode’ mentioned above. Hunger especially exacerbates distress, which can lead to negative behaviours. By providing access to kai, Waimanako and other similar providers serve an essential need in very challenging times, and contribute to a more stable community environment. We have probably all experienced that low blood sugar can have a negative impact on mood and cognitive function. If you’ve not eaten for three days, the next meal can feel like a matter of survival – no matter what. Food aid and welfare programmes can help reduce crime by addressing immediate needs.
So says Jamie:
‘Inevitably, the first thing I do when meeting with any person experiencing distress – someone just like you and me – Is to offer a soothing hot drink and some comforting food.
Our adrenal glands are responsible for producing hormones tied to the fight-or-flight response. When we sit and eat, our cortisol levels moderate. In turn, there follows a decrease in adrenal activity.
Eating activates our parasympathetic nervous system, aka the “rest-and-digest” system. This part of the nervous system promotes relaxation and counteracts fight-or-flight.
Still more intuitively, provision of kai helps us to feel cared for and supported. A community setting such as Waimanako also provides human acceptance. This helps to de-escalate anxiety, in exchange for feelings of safety and warmth. Tucking into communal eating has social and psychological benefits that can also reduce stress and improve mood.’
Take all those things away (‘You’re feeding those people’) and we wonder what any possible positive outcomes would be.
There is a perception that our support somehow ‘encourages’ homelessness. Think, for a moment, about how you would feel about giving up your home (and, with it, the majority of your possessions) and your job. Imagine living on the street; imagine the stigma and safety concerns you would face.
Does the promise of free hot meals make this lifestyle appealing? (Remember that you can receive these from Waimanako regardless of your living situation). Would you enjoy relying upon charities and kindness for your basic needs?
Treating our street whānau humanely – as people, who deserve basic care – does not by any means encourage homelessness. It merely makes living on the street a little more bearable, which can hopefully create the capacity for better circumstances – the latter is markedly difficult if you’re constantly in survival mode.
Shifting the problem
Again, from Jamie:
‘In my entire life, I’ve slept on the streets a total of five times; three times with the benefit of a sleeping bag. It was anything other than restful. Apart from the biting cold and the wet, I was terrified that someone was going to steal my stuff or attack me while I slept.
It is easy for me to forget simple gratitude for the privilege of a home, a family, a pantry and a front door, employment, and all the blessings that flow from these.
When there is a critical shortage of affordable housing and available jobs, it is unfortunate when we are tempted to disparage or judge those who have neither. I don’t think anyone denies that there is heightened demand both for any available accommodation and jobs.
It’s not hard to imagine who is last in line for these two key essentials – those for whom we might pass an opinion that, “most of them don’t want a place to live”, or – “they should try getting a job”.
Without solutions, the best that anyone can achieve is attempting to relocate people from one location to another. Does an ideal location exist in our neighbourhood? Not yet.
Make it impossible or unworkable for people to congregate in one place, the only possible outcome is to congregate in another. Some years ago, when my angry, loud and abusive neighbour finally moved away, I have to admit to being thankful. The elderly lady next to whom he moved by no fault of her own inherited this situation instead. She was ultimately far more impacted than I had been. Still – he was no longer in my regular line of sight. Problem solved.’
It is common knowledge that the cost of living has escalated, we are facing a housing crisis, and that unemployment is on the rise throughout the nation – and, to an extent, in most of the Western world. This is not an isolated problem, and it would exist with or without our services.
It has not been uncommon for policy responses to homelessness throughout the West to focus on ‘hiding’ the problem: making street drinking illegal, implementing antisocial behaviour charges, and possessing the power to evict people from public spaces. What do we think happens to people if they have nowhere to go, but aren’t allowed to access the minimal comforts of a city centre (such as public toilets and sheltered areas)? They still have to exist somewhere. Is this a realistic solution to homelessness?
We cannot support our street whānau invisibly. Above, we discussed policies which try to move people from public sight – in most cases, these simply shift the homeless population out into the suburbs, leading to complaints and distress from those who live nearby. No matter our location, the presence of stigmatised people accessing our services will cause distress.
Another aspect of our service delivery is a free-of-charge suicide prevention retreat, located out in the beautiful countryside. Our presence there attracted discomfort identical to our presence in the CBD: ‘it’s important work, but it should be done elsewhere’. There is no pocket dimension in which we can hide, just as our street whānau cannot simply disappear.
We know the importance of our central location, and we do not expect people who rely on walking, cycling, public transport – or who struggle to afford petrol – to travel long distances to receive our services, regardless of their housing status.
We also fully acknowledge the impact upon local businesses – which are already facing the hardship of higher living costs and recession – when stigma and fear caused by the presence of the homeless in our CBD dissuades potential customers. Fundamentally, every person should be safe in their city and their workplace. We are deeply sympathetic to this; it is a problem which affects us, too.
As mentioned at the beginning of this article, the support we provide currently to our street whānau is not a long-term solution. So, if the housing, cost of living, and unemployment crises are to persist for the time being, how can we workably, sustainably support the homeless?
Provision of solutions
The Ngāmotu Street Initiative (NSI) is currently collaborating with a number of local services to explore the feasibility of the development of a Day Centre and Night Centre for our street whānau, with transportation between the two.
The Day Centre will provide structured, trauma informed, supportive engagement and ensure easy access to social, health, and employment support. It will offer nutritious meals; case management and support services; daytime engagement to ensure street whānau are occupied, supported, and have a place to congregate; and structured entry guidelines to maintain a safe, productive environment.
The Night Centre will provide safe, dignified overnight accommodation, with a focus on stability and transition. It will include sleeping spaces (monitored, safe, and structured for rest and recovery); shower and laundry facilities; and night support staff (including medical and crisis support workers).
The integrated Day and Night Centre will work together to address immediate needs while providing pathways to stable living and housing. Drugs and alcohol will not be allowed on its premises, but it will offer addiction support, understanding that this is a health issue, not a personal failing. Evidence indicates that this will reduce homelessness, crime and anti-social behaviour, and reliance upon emergency services.
We are committed to supporting people from all walks of life, and that includes our street whānau. The stigma any given community faces will not stop us from extending our aroha to them – indeed, it is often stigmatised communities who need mental health support the most.
A collaborative approach is the only successful route – and this includes co-designed and co-produced solutions with those who will be served by them. We cannot solve homelessness invisibly, nor would we wish to do so – we are proud to be a source of safety and support for our street whānau.
While we work collaboratively on a solution which will create better outcomes for all, we hope that this discussion document will go some way towards overcoming harmful misconceptions towards our street whānau; that it might assist in cultivating compassion for those out on the street, understanding that this situation hurts them – as it also hurts businesses and disconcerts the public. It is not an ideal situation for anyone, but we should not be blaming anything but the societal circumstances which allowed this to happen.
The energy arising from our discomfort and frustration is far better used working towards solutions; and if this is something you are interested in doing, we would absolutely love to hear from you.
Ngā mihi nui,
Zach, Jamie, Justin – and the whole Ngāmotu Street Initiative Team.