PART 2 Whānau Survival vs Wealth Preservation: The Human Cost of Government Spin

In Part 1 of our special on ‘Kāinga Kore’, Claudette compares two worldviews: of Beehive policy to street-level living. In Part 2, she tries to make sense of where kāinga kore whānau fit into the government’s economic growth plan. 

Prime Minister Christopher Luxon says his government is “ruthlessly focused” on lowering the cost of living. Finance Minister Nicola Willis claims households are better off by $60 a fortnight. But out here on the streets, in the freezing nights, the overcrowded garages, and the emergency motel evictions, whānau are not seeing relief. They’re seeing policy failure.

In Rotorua, in Whangārei, in Ōpōtiki, whānau are living without shelter. Some are sleeping in cars with their pēpī. Some are disabled, parked up in wheelchairs on damp concrete with no help in sight. Some are kaumatua over 65, quietly struggling to survive. These aren’t just statistics, they’re our whānau, our mokopuna.

The government points to inflation falling to 2.7%, new infrastructure projects, and bans on card surcharges as evidence that they’re easing the pressure. But the most recent Homelessness Insights Report tells a far grimmer story. 4,965 people were living without shelter on Census night in March 2023 – that includes rough sleepers, those living in cars, and people in makeshift dwellings like garages.

But since then, local data shows it’s only getting worse. In Auckland, the number of unsheltered whānau jumped from 426 in September to 809 by May 2025 – nearly doubling in just eight months.

In Whangārei, public reports show homelessness rose from 680 in 2023 to 1,200 in 2025. In Wellington, the number of rough sleepers rose by 24% in a single year.

The government says it’s moved 2,000 children out of emergency housing. But what they don’t say is that only 1 in 3 families actually got a permanent home. Many ended up in short-term transitional housing or back on the benefit. Some just disappeared from the system entirely.

And who are these people falling through the cracks?

Over 1,300 Māori were counted as living without shelter on Census night – more than 1 in 4 of all rough sleepers. A growing number are rangatahi. Many have aged out of Oranga Tamariki care with no roof, no support, and no access to emergency housing.
And Māori make up 60% of all emergency housing clients, but now face tighter rules, longer delays, and rising rejection rates. In March this year alone, nearly 1 in 3 emergency housing applications were turned down. That’s up from just 1 in 25 a year earlier. Many were told their hardship was their own fault that they had “contributed to their homelessness.” Advocates say, that’s not support, that’s punishment.

The Prime Minister says the government is delivering “real results” by building roads, lowering fuel taxes, and fast-tracking building materials. But none of that puts kai in the puku, pays the rent, or warms a sleeping pod in Rotorua.

Julie King, who runs ‘Love Soup’ in Rotorua, is doing more with donated blankets and campervans than the government is doing with half a billion dollars in contracts. She’s built a makeshift village where rough sleepers, including wāhine in crisis, are getting a second chance. And yet she’s struggling to get basic support from local or central government.

“Even just having a good night’s rest makes a massive difference,” she says. “They’re completely different people in the morning.” Her team is trying to house newly homeless women – help those fleeing meth-addicted partners, and support ‘streeties’ with suicidal grief, all while navigating bureaucracy that seems more focused on consent forms than compassion.

Meanwhile, Cabinet just approved up to 80% pay rises for Crown board members. Directors now earn more for attending meetings than many working whānau earn in a month. The message is clear: those at the top get investment, those at the bottom get cut off. This government loves to talk about discipline and restraint – but not when it comes to Crown fees.

For Māori whānau on the margins, restraint means going without. It means missing out on housing help because you couldn’t fill out the forms, or you got sanctioned for missing a meeting. It means being told that your homelessness is a “lifestyle choice,” while Cabinet ministers high-five themselves over tax tweaks and grocery surcharges.

What this government calls “fiscal responsibility,” many Māori are experiencing as dispossession. And as the Salvation Army warns, more and more people are being turned away with nowhere to go. Frontline staff are stretched. Advocates are burnt out. Community organisations are filling the gaps left by a system that has forgotten who it’s meant to serve.

Lt-Colonel Ian Hutson from the Salvation Army put it bluntly: “They tightened up the rules too fast. Now, if someone’s been deemed to have contributed to their homelessness, it’s almost like a brick wall.”

And while Nicola Willis boasts that 142,000 families will get an extra $14 a fortnight from Working for Families, she ignores the deeper story – that more and more families are losing their homes, not because of what they earn, but because of what’s been taken away.

This isn’t just a crisis of cost. It’s a crisis of care.

When a government tightens access to housing, blames the vulnerable, and pats itself on the back for small tax wins, while whānau who are kāinga kore pile up on the streets – that’s not recovery. That’s retreat.

In Part3 of our special on ‘Kāinga Kore’, Dale Husband talks to Julie King, Lani Hunt, and Aaron Hendry; Selfless servants of the streets, kaitiaki of our kāinga kore whānau, turning compassion into action, where policy has turned its back.

We have generated this image as we do not want to identify young people living on the streets 

Background Article: Homelessness Affecting Māori in New Zealand

Homelessness in Aotearoa New Zealand is a complex and growing crisis one that disproportionately affects Māori communities. For many whānau Māori, homelessness is not simply the absence of shelter, but the result of deep-seated systemic inequities, the legacy of colonisation, and ongoing institutional barriers.

The Scale of the Crisis

According to estimates from Stats NZ and housing advocacy organisations, over 41,000 people in New Zealand experience some form of homelessness. Māori make up approximately 50% of this total, despite accounting for only about 17% of the general population. This overrepresentation highlights a crisis that is both social and structural.

Māori are more likely to experience all forms of homelessness:

• Rough sleeping or living in cars

• Transitional or emergency housing

• Couch surfing or overcrowded homes

• Insecure, unsafe, or unhealthy accommodation

The causes of homelessness among Māori are multifaceted and interconnected:

1. Historical Dispossession and Colonisation

Colonisation led to the large-scale loss of Māori land and disconnection from whenua (land) and traditional communal living structures. The alienation of resources and erosion of collective ownership deeply disrupted Māori systems of housing, employment, and whānau care.

2. Housing Inequality

Māori are more likely to live in rental accommodation, face higher eviction rates, and experience housing discrimination. A lack of access to affordable, warm, and safe housing contributes to increased homelessness, especially in urban centres like Auckland, Rotorua, and Wellington.

3. Poverty and Unemployment

Māori experience higher rates of poverty and unemployment than non-Māori, making it harder to maintain stable housing. Even those in work may be priced out of the housing market due to low wages and high costs.

4. Systemic Racism and Institutional Failures

Discrimination in the welfare, health, and education systems disproportionately affects Māori. Māori are overrepresented in state care, the criminal justice system, and emergency housing; systems that often fail to transition people back into stable housing.

5. Family and Social Breakdown

Whānau breakdown due to domestic violence, addiction, or generational trauma can leave individuals;particularly youth and single parents; without safe or stable places to live.

Impact on Whānau Māori

Homelessness is not just about shelter; it deeply affects identity, dignity, and hauora (wellbeing). For Māori, the disconnection from land, community, and whakapapa (genealogy) further compounds the trauma.

• Health: Homeless Māori suffer higher rates of physical illness, mental health issues, and addiction.

• Tamariki (children): Children in homeless households face disruptions to education, malnutrition, and long-term emotional and psychological harm.

• Elders: Kaumātua often face hidden homelessness, couch-surfing or living in inadequate accommodation due to family breakdown or financial insecurity.

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