The government’s latest reform risks dismantling the very conditions that make social housing more than just a roof, writes the Salvation Army’s Greg Foster.

I keep coming back to one question since last week’s government announcement on social housing: why now?

Not why reform. The social housing system is imperfect, and no one working inside it would claim otherwise. But why introduce these changes without consultation, at a moment when a genuine partnership between government and community housing providers was beginning to deliver?

I work for the Salvation Army’s social housing in New Zealand. Every day, I see the impact of policy decisions on real people. We own and manage 600 properties across the country and are currently building 400 more, not because we decided to expand on our own, but because the government asked us to step up. And we did, in good faith.

The people who live in those homes are not abstractions. Many of them have shown me through their homes with pride. Before coming to us, some had been living in overcrowded houses, emergency motels, cars or garages, places never meant for raising children. No one enters social housing because it is a good option. They come because every other option has run out.

Social housing exists because the private rental market has already excluded them. Their incomes are too low, their circumstances too complex, or their families too large. For many, a stable tenancy is not a stepping stone. It is the only thing standing between them and the street.

Against that backdrop, last week’s announcement landed heavily.

From April next year, minimum rent contributions will rise from 25% to 30% of income. For 84,000 households, that means an average increase of $31 a week. On paper, it sounds modest. In practice, for a family already counting every dollar, it means something else gives: food, power, transport, a bill left unpaid. For households living week to week, there is no such thing as a modest increase. 

The changes do not stop there. A redesigned needs assessment will prioritise those with the highest and most complex needs for social housing, but without the additional funding required to support those tenancies. Providers will be asked to take on more complex situations without the resources to do it well. That gap will not be absorbed by goodwill. It will show up in struggling tenancies, in crises, and ultimately in higher costs to the state.

There is also a structural reality that appears to have been overlooked. Our model is built on balanced communities, developments where people with a range of needs live alongside each other. That mix creates stability. It reduces pressure on tenants and staff, and it supports better long-term outcomes.

If policy settings shift towards concentrating higher-needs tenants in the same developments, that balance will erode. Complexes become harder to manage. Frontline demands intensify. Maintenance costs climb. These are not theoretical concerns. They are practical realities that carry financial consequences. Without adequate funding, the result will not be a stronger system, but a more fragile and expensive one.

Then there is the question of time limits.

The government’s own data shows that most households in social housing cannot readily move into the private rental market. When I hear discussions about limiting the duration of tenancies, I do not see a pathway out of dependency. I see a clock starting to tick for people who have nowhere else to go. 

When that time runs out, many will not step into secure housing. They will face instability once again, and, for some, a return to homelessness. We have seen versions of this approach before. It did not succeed then, and there is little reason to believe it will succeed now. 

These changes also cut to the heart of the partnerships that have made progress possible. Organisations like ours have invested and borrowed millions of dollars, and employed teams across the country, in response to government calls to expand. We entered into long-term commitments in good faith.

To see these changes introduced without consultation feels like a breach of that trust. Officials did meet with us afterwards, but the decisions had already been made. That is not what partnership looks like.

I want to be clear: I am not opposed to reform. The system does need to change. But meaningful reform requires honesty about trade-offs, genuine engagement with those of us working at the coal face, and funding that matches ambition.

What has been announced falls short on all three counts. It shifts cost and pressure onto those least able to absorb it. It asks vulnerable families to contribute more while offering them less certainty. It expects providers to manage greater complexity without the resources to do so sustainably.

And it risks dismantling the very conditions that make social housing more than just a roof – stability, community balance, and genuine partnership.

So, I return to the question I started with: why now? And I am left with a deeply troubling conclusion. The savings appear to come at the expense of people who can least afford to carry them.

We should not be balancing the books on the backs of New Zealand’s most vulnerable families, or the organisations that stepped up, in good faith, to support them. Not now, not ever.