Liz Filimoemaka on the bridge that stands between her neighbourhood and the new housing development in Wiri. (Photo: Justin Latif/Tina Tiller)
Liz Filimoemaka on the bridge that stands between her neighbourhood and the new housing development in Wiri. (Photo: Justin Latif/Tina Tiller)

SocietyOctober 1, 2020

Bridging the divide: What will stop gentrification hurting South Auckland?

Liz Filimoemaka on the bridge that stands between her neighbourhood and the new housing development in Wiri. (Photo: Justin Latif/Tina Tiller)
Liz Filimoemaka on the bridge that stands between her neighbourhood and the new housing development in Wiri. (Photo: Justin Latif/Tina Tiller)

Thousands of new houses are set to be built in South Auckland over the next 10 years, but the gentrifying impact of this influx of new residents is raising concerns in the existing communities.

As Liz Filimoemaka crossed the bridge between her predominantly state housing community and a newly established development in Wiri, she noticed a Pākehā couple approaching with their Countdown shopping bags.

“I said, ‘Hi, how’s it going? Do you live around here?’, but the man just kept walking and gave me the rudest look and then he said ‘we’re moving here from the city’.

“I replied, ’have a good day’, and he just kept walking away.”

Seeing Pākehā around Wiri in South Auckland is a rare occurrence for Filimoemaka, so she had hoped to be a welcoming face to this new pair of residents. Instead she was left feeling like she was an unwelcome intrusion.

“I was quite sad – I actually teared up – by the way he just dismissed me like that.”

For Filimoemaka, Wiri isn’t just where she lives, but a place that forms her identity and gives her a sense of belonging.

“I love the people,” she says. ”There’s so much love that’s shared – whether that’s shown through giving, or whether it’s just connecting with people on the street. You can just start a conversation with anyone really easily. I love how our neighbours look out for each other, like if we have funerals or birthdays, people will drop food off to your house.”

The site at 20 Barrowcliffe Place in Manukau is being developed into a residential neighbourhood of up to 300 new homes. The development is now in the final stages from when this photo was taken. (Photo:Supplied)

Auckland Council’s development arm Panuku facilitated this piece of council land to be developed by a partnership including Te Ākitai Waiohua and Puhinui Park Ltd made up of the New Zealand Housing Foundation, Te Tumu Kainga and CORT Community Housing. The new 300-house community called Kōtuitui Place, is right next to where Filimoemaka lives,  and she says many in her neighbourhood have been hopeful about the potential to buy their own place.

“It’s cool the development is happening and what it might mean in terms of getting into affordable housing. But it seems the houses don’t cater to the large sizes of our families as most of the homes are two to three-bedroom, whereas people around here are living in five-bedroom standalone homes.”

Filimoemaka isn’t the only one concerned. Mason Ngawhika is the Māori responsiveness manager at The Cause Collective, a community-development agency based in South Auckland. He says South Auckland’s unique identity as the unofficial capital of Polynesia, due to having the world’s largest populations of Māori and Pasifika, is increasingly at risk due to developments like this.

“A whole new cohort of people are moving in there. When you do regeneration in areas like this, the question is, ‘who are you doing it for?’ International evidence would say you’re not doing it for the current residents. You’re potentially going to see what makes South Auckland so unique – that Māori and Pacific blend – come under threat because of gentrification.”

He says almost 100,000 houses are due to be built across South Auckland over the next 25 years, and the region could be drastically changed if government agencies don’t take steps now to reduce the impacts on existing communities.

“There needs to be much greater effort in supporting families, particularly for those families that home ownership is a real possibility [for]. For us at The Cause Collective, home ownership is a circuit breaker to generational poverty as it’s an asset that can be passed on.”

Auckland councillor Fa’anana Efeso Collins says while the need for more houses in the region is an imperative, it shouldn’t be at the expense of his culturally rich and diverse constituents.

“We have to make sure South Auckland’s existing communities aren’t pushed out in the name of progress and providing homes for middle-class buyers using Mum and Dad as their bank. South Auckland’s unique Pasifika and south-Asian populations bring so much to our region and their value to our city can’t be underestimated.”

Rachel Enosa is the chief executive of The Cause Collective and says the key is supporting the local populations into jobs so they can afford to stay in the places they grew up in.

“You have to create pathways for the local people, to work locally, and have that money going back into the local economy – instead of people coming in and earning their money here and taking it back to the North Shore, for example. That’s how we’re going to build South Auckland and have thriving communities that grow and nurture local talent.”

Ōtara-Papatoetoe Local Board chair Lotu Fuli says her board is consistently pushing council departments to use more local businesses – and she believes the message is slowly getting through.

“It’s a constant battle from our governance end as we have to push council officers to have confidence in the groups that are out there, and we know they can do that work. There’s very few Māori and Pacific construction or architectural groups on the council procurement list, but once they become part of that procurement list, it opens up the doors, and it’s got multifaceted benefits for our community.”

From left; The Cause Collective’s Mason Ngawhika and Rachel Enosa, Auckland councillor Fa’anana Efeso Collins and Ōtara-Papatoetoe Local Board chair Lotu Fuli

Enosa believes more also needs to be done to empower people to speak up for themselves.

“What we see in these communities is that the residents are just dealing with bread and butter issues of survival. They don’t have time to turn up to meetings and respond to letters, they just need to deal to their day-to-day lives. It’s not that they don’t care, it’s just not their lived reality. That’s why we’re putting a lot of investment into growing community champions who can speak out about what’s happening in the neighbourhood. The time is coming that public services need to change the way they engage with South Auckland, particularly with all this urban development happening around the area.”

As a resident of Wiri, with the development occurring on her doorstep, Filimoemaka says she’s also been frustrated by how locals have been communicated to regarding the development.

We usually get mail if there’s roadworks, but there’s been very little with this new development. I went along to an open day – I was one of the only brown faces there, and the person at the front was talking about how this place was going to be all about connecting communities. He was really preaching it, so I asked a question, ‘if you’re all about connecting communities, why don’t you connect with the current community?’ and he just shrugged it off, and he tried to refer me to someone else.”

While Panuku isn’t responsible for how the development has been advertised to the local community, Panuku Development’s priority location director Richard Davison says the council-controlled organisation has undertaken a number of projects to improve connections for the local community and renew the urban environment, including Barrowcliffe Bridge, the new Wiri Playground, and Barrowcliffe Pond Pathway.

“One of our priorities is to increase the number of available homes in Auckland, particularly homes more people can afford and homes for the elderly. To do this we work closely with communities, mana whenua, other partners in the private sector, the crown and community housing organisations to facilitate good development outcomes. We don’t physically build housing ourselves, but we work with all parties to ensure that the development of council land will meet the varied needs of the community it is a part of. Our core regeneration work is creating inclusive and accessible town centres which contribute to the vitality of a neighbourhood, focusing on upgrading public spaces such as parks, playgrounds, cycling paths and streets.  Panuku also supports local social enterprises and entrepreneurs through activity such as The Papatoetoe Food Hub, The Kitchen Project, and Te Haa O Manukau (a partnership with Panuku, The Southern Initiative and ATEED) which is operated by Ngahere Communities.”

And he says buyers will be able to access more affordable houses through a range of home ownership schemes.

“Kōtuitui Place contributes to the wider Manukau Framework Plan and our Transform Manukau urban regeneration activity for central Manukau, and will provide a range of dwellings from one-bedroom apartments to four-bedroom houses. At least 50% will be sold under an affordable housing scheme and there will be a range of purchase models including rent-to-buy and shared equity to help ensure affordability.

“Transform Manukau is an ambitious 20-plus-year programme of change, designed to cater for a growth in population from 6,000 to 20,000. We’re working closely with Manukau communities as it’s the involvement of local people that will lead Manukau to its true transformation as the thriving heart of the south.”

For Filimoemaka, all she wants is for the new people coming into her suburb to make an effort to connect, starting with saying ‘hi’ on the bridge.

“It would be awesome to connect – like genuine connection, not just tick boxes, but show us they actually care.”

Keep going!
The author shows off her new skills (Photo: supplied)
The author shows off her new skills (Photo: supplied)

SocietySeptember 29, 2020

The humiliating, thrilling experience of learning to ride a bike as an adult

The author shows off her new skills (Photo: supplied)
The author shows off her new skills (Photo: supplied)

Is learning to get around on two wheels as easy as riding a bike? Not exactly, writes Wyoming Paul.

As an adult, saying that you can’t ride a bike can feel like admitting you’re not sure how to use a can opener, make a bed, fry an egg, or read a clock. It’s a basic milestone of growing up — it means a new level of freedom and independence, like the five-year-old version of getting your driver’s licence — and almost everyone passes the test.

But I never learnt to ride a bike growing up, due to a perhaps overgrown sense of self-preservation (read: fear). I repelled all teaching attempts, convinced that rolling down a hill on wheels was suicidal, and rolling up one impossible. Even the flat was absurd. Just like it doesn’t make sense to me that planes remain in the air, neither does people staying upright on two thin wheels – and it doesn’t matter how many times people said “But, physics!”

As a kid my lack of cycling skills was occasionally humiliating. The worst was Bike Safety Week at primary school. While everyone else in my class rode their bikes around the basketball court like they were born with tyre limbs, I, along with one or two other students, was displaced from the herd. We were put in a separate area, learning to ride from one orange cone to the next with training wheels.

If only. (Photo: Getty Images)

Later in life, cycling seemed like a skill you either learnt growing up, or never. I’d spurned my chance — the time had passed, the bicycle opportunity had expired, and I was doomed to a life without two-wheeled friends. Rather than being a learnable skill, riding a bike felt wild and out of reach, like superstardom.

That didn’t matter too much, though. Not being able to ride a bike almost became a point of pride in my teens and twenties. I enjoyed the stunned look on people’s faces when I said I’d never learnt – it made me feel like my lack of ability was endearing, a quirky part of my identity. I was a rebel.

Plus, it wasn’t as though I knew many people who actually rode bikes for transport. Everyone was capable of riding a bike, but most people hadn’t been on one in years. So what if I couldn’t? It felt like a hypothetical inability, irrelevant to real life — more similar to not knowing how to do a triple backflip than not knowing how to open a can.

Along with those more psychological reasons, there were the common barriers that stop many Aucklanders from cycling. Limited cycling infrastructure, hills, and anti-bike drivers made learning to cycle for transport reasons seem outside the bounds of rationality. I also knew a few people who had had serious cycling accidents: my sister got a concussion after being hit by a car while riding a bike, and a friend of a friend had broken a leg. It seemed not only natural, but also logical not to learn.

Unfortunately, my boyfriend challenged nature and logic by becoming obsessed with the idea of teaching me to ride a bike.

The ‘relationship ruiner’ in action (Photo: Getty Images)

My first experience of cycling was on a tandem bike with my boyfriend in Holland. At that point the only thing I could do with a bike was walk it like a dog, which meant I was totally at his mercy to get around safely. As captain of the tandem, he controlled the gears, brakes and steering, and was the one of us who could see where we were going.

Because you’re so reliant on one another, the tandem bike is sometimes known as the “relationship ruiner” or “divorce bike”. To avoid mutual hatred, you need precise communication, teamwork, and a high level of trust, and as a complete novice not used to the sensation of cycling, all of those dynamics were heightened. Fortunately, the communication and trust were there, and we ended up having an incredible day.

“I’m definitely learning to ride a bike now,” I’d said, hopped up on endorphins.

“Why don’t you try being at the front of the tandem?” my boyfriend suggested, right before we returned the bike.

“OK!”

The falling down was immediate. While I’d learnt to enjoy cycling, I had not learnt how to actually cycle.

Ready to ride (Photo: supplied)

It took me another year, until lockdown, to really try to learn. Partly this was because there was suddenly a far safer environment for cycling. The other part of it was that during lockdown, time felt stagnant. What could I claim to have done for months of 2020 other than rewatching Buffy and Gilmore Girls?

So I borrowed my sister’s bike and started the slow process of learning. The various pain points can be summarised as follows:

  • The mounting problem. For hours, I couldn’t get my second foot on the pedal. “One TWO,” my boyfriend repeated patiently. “You need to lift your left foot and get it on the pedal.” But my left foot wanted to remain securely on the ground. I tried various mental techniques: At one point, I decided that the key to learning was all about discovering the bike’s true name. I would pat the handlebar and then test a name, “Perhaps you’re a Sandy,” as I pushed off. Depending on the bike’s performance, it was a sign of whether I was on the right track.
  • The going straight problem. Once I could get on, the bike would wind back and forth like its spirit animal was a snake.

“Why is it doing this?” I moaned.

“You’re doing it,” my boyfriend said. “Stop looking down and squirming.”

“The bike is possessed by a snake demon!”

“Maybe you’re possessed.”

“Absolutely not. I want to go straight. Straighty straight straight.”

  • The turning problem. Once “straight” was handled, there was changing direction. I had an overwhelming desire to ignore the advice “just turn the handlebar”, and instead tilt my whole body dangerously, despite knowing that tilting is the first step to falling. I’d then leap from the bike and look at it accusingly, like it had tried to bite me.

While the statement “I can’t ride a bike” sounded, at least in my ears, dashing and quirky as long as I had no intention of learning, once I had decided to learn, the embarrassment of sucking was acute. Every time I saw another person on the street I would quickly dismount and wait for them to pass, anxious that they would know what I was: incompetent.

Today, I can proudly say that I’m not totally incompetent, and even better, I’m capable of doing things that I couldn’t do just a few weeks ago. I can get on the bike all by myself, avoid static objects by breaking to a safe stop, cycle in a straight line, and turn both left and right.

There’s something hugely rewarding about learning something new as an adult, especially something with such a clear can/can’t dynamic as riding a bike. As children, we’re constantly learning new skills and reaching new heights of capability. But as adults, too often it feels like we’re done – we do the same things every week, because we’ve already learnt everything we want to learn, and certainly don’t want to feel incompetent again.

But I found joy in being incompetent — in getting past the difficulty and embarrassment, accepting that I’m quite shit, and continuing to try anyway.