As we reflect on the ‘team of five million’ and the collective effort over those tumultuous months, essential workers’ experiences should be at the forefront, writes Nayantara Sheoran Appleton.

The one-year anniversary of our first Covid-19 lockdown in Aotearoa was accompanied last month with a lot of slapping ourselves on the back for a job well done and reflecting on the year that was. 

The “team of five million” is writing its narratives of life with and without Covid-19. We see many stories of “being kind”, of “being in it together”, simply “loving your bubble”, of the amazing “communication strategy” and 1pm briefings as a national ritual that united us. 

However, in all this talk about winning and victory, many of the narratives of the people on the ground who did the hard work have been sidelined. Research released by the CARUL Collective of scholars, of which I am a member, draws on survey responses from more than 2,000 respondents since April 2020. 

This data shows “winning” in Aotearoa depended on more than just the winners hailed as such in public and media discussion. It depended on two key groups of essential workers: supermarket workers and healthcare workers. 

Lockdowns were a different reality for many of these essential workers.

As one of our respondents, a nurse, said of the complaint of others stuck at home bored (which was their reality, but clearly not a universal one for people on the frontline): “I got tired of hearing people complain about being bored. I would have loved to be safe at home in a bubble. I am a nurse. Working through lockdown takes over your life. You can’t get away from Covid-19. It’s a concern of the majority of patients I had contact with during lockdown. Continually hearing ads on radio/TV affected many, causing unneeded mental stress on people already under stress with loss of income and changes to their life.”

Some families had to create their own additional rules and protocols to contribute to the national winning project. A respondent wrote: “My wife is a healthcare worker, and son is a security guard at a hospital. There is little PPE [personal protective equipment] for them, and we have had to establish our own protocols for them as our other son is immunity compromised.”

Although some respondents spoke about the stress of shopping in grocery stores, responses from grocery workers were an important reality check on the experiences media and public discussion mostly focused on. 

Yes, more of us shop in stores than work in them and the tendency to focus on the majority experience is understandable. But, in focusing on the narrative of the shopper, we can mistakenly minimise the amazing contribution supermarket workers made – even under extremely stressful conditions. As one wrote, “As a supermarket worker, customers on occasion treat us like lepers or don’t understand why some stock is not available. Also, we are informed that we are B-grade essential workers yet we face more people in any one day than most other essential workers yet can’t get simple aids like flu jabs till well down the list.” 

While most people in lockdowns were appreciating their time with family, some families had to exclude family members because they worked in supermarkets. As a mum of grown children in Christchurch wrote, “My other son and his girlfriend … were their own little bubble living away from us. Interestingly I had initially advocated for our bubble to include them (i.e. a family who lived in two houses which was allowed in some circumstances) but my partner was adamant he didn’t want to be exposed to my son’s girlfriend who was a supermarket worker.” She went on to talk about her partner, who was a nurse and did not want to be doubly exposed. These negotiations of who was included and not included in bubbles were deeply stressful for a lot of families whose contributions made this winning possible. 

Narratives like these are a reminder that when the story of winning over Covid-19 is written it will have to account for more than communication strategies or “staying home”, but rather how the people who make our everyday possible put a lot on the line. While we are busy patting each other and our leaders on the back, let’s take a moment to thank our essential workers and reward them for what they have made possible by creating policy (and pay) frameworks that recognise this contribution. 

As one respondent, a working grandmother, wrote, “My grandson would like to spend time with us. But as we are a house of essential workers, three of us at a supermarket, we think the risk is too high.” This was after the level four lockdown, when other families were allowed to mingle and merge their bubbles. Not a reality for a lot of people on the frontlines. 

One quote that really resonated came from a supermarket supervisor responding to a question about their activities during the previous 24 hours in level four lockdown in April 2020: “Working – at home housework – sleeping”. That routine simply repeated, over and over.

So as we cast our minds back to that extraordinary time in 2020, let’s remember our essential workers who went over and above, forgoing a lot of teddy bear walks, in order for us to win. 

This research was conducted by the CARUL Collective of 15 scholars in Aotearoa (independent research scholars and academics at AUT, the University of Auckland, the University of Waikato and Victoria University of Wellington) and the UK (London School of Economics). 

Last week, 500 Wellingtonians rallied for a city free from sexual violence. Maddi Rowe, one of the organisers, explains why they’re calling for change.

I stood behind the makeshift stage in a pink hi-vis vest, glancing hopefully up at the low, rain-swollen sky. The dozens of makeshift cardboard signs pitter-pattered with the rhythm of the light rain. A week before this moment, the organising team of the Wellington Alliance Against Sexual Violence crammed into a tiny office lobby to talk logistics and strategy. Now, we were looking out at the 500 faces of people we didn’t know, but understood that they were hopeful and angry, just like us.

We chose to gather at the head of Courtenay Place, Wellington’s bar and nightclub strip. The place where sexual violence seeps into the brick footpaths, sticks to the dancefloors and slips inconspicuously into cocktails. The place where the problems manifest, encouraged by a culture of silence and shame that leaves citizens feeling disenfranchised and unsafe.

We yelled over bus engines and car brakes with borrowed microphones and megaphones. A Rally for a City Free from Sexual Violence, unearthing and displaying the ugly underbelly of Wellington city – the home of a sexual violence epidemic.

The WAASV came together following the huge influx of responses to a questionnaire by Sophia Harrison and Ella Lamont that asked people in Wellington to share their experiences of sexual violence in the city. The organising team consisted of a number of people who work in sexual violence prevention and student groups, including Thursdays in Black Aotearoa, the National Council of Women NZ and NZUSA, with the support of local expert sector groups such as Wellington HELP and RespectED Aotearoa.

As Wellingtonians, we noticed three gaps in particular that we implored the city council to act to fill. Our city needs urban revitalisation, where the streets are filled with structures that reflect the needs of the community. Our city needs a comprehensive revamp of the hospitality district, to train and upskill hospitality staff on sexual violence prevention procedures, so our citizens can drink without fear of anything but a hangover. Our city needs to prioritise funding streams for local sexual violence prevention organisations, so locals can access professional services with a much higher capacity.

Our goal was to invite anyone who had experience within the realm of sexual violence, because with such a pervasive and complex issue, acting as a community is the only route to tangible change. This rally was born from the same concept that every community-based action is born from – care.

Wellington has seen a 50% increase in reported sexual violence incidents in recent years – a hugely worrying statistic – with a lot of the incidents involving drink spiking and date rape. Our citizens do not feel safe any more. This is a city where circles of lamplight are safe zones, places to urgently hail Ubers, to adjust keys between white knuckles.

The dialogue around sexual violence scapegoats marginalised, impoverished communities and skirts around the broader picture – a lack of education around the complexities of sexual violence. This stems not only from insufficient resourcing but also a lack of the right vocabulary to express the issues. Because there’s a stigma surrounding it, we often can’t find the words to accurately and inclusively discuss an instance of sexual violence, words that understand the intersections between disability, race, ethnicity, cultural expression, sexuality and gender expression, as a few examples. 

This means the different variations of sexual violence aren’t well understood, meaning an instance of sexual assault can be described as harassment, or an instance of sexual abuse as assault. The use of language in this realm is exceedingly powerful. It’s important to know that sexual violence in any form is not OK, and that we should challenge our notions of what we perceive sexual violence to be. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s why we hold our decision-makers accountable. This is why we ask for better funding for sexual violence prevention groups – to hope that this information can become much more widely accessible.

As well as this, the current sociopolitical climate focuses heavily on punitive reaction, not rehabilitative prevention. Punitive measures begin an isolating process, wherein people who have experienced or perpetrated sexual violence are pushed to the margins of society. This is rape culture in action, creating ridges and rifts that are impossible to scale alone.

The Rally for a City Free from Sexual Violence was our way of holding light to the darkest corner of Wellington. We saw this happening across borders, with phone torches shining for Sarah Everard on Clapham Common in London. Sarah’s case reiterated to the whole world that those who are sworn to protect us can abuse their power – in a way that most of us know with a sickening familiarity. Watching Sarah’s vigil flowers being trampled by police boots would be a breaking point for a lot of victims/survivors in this city.

The recent sexual violence reports within the Australian parliament, meanwhile, show us the extent of closed-door rape culture – what happens when “locker-room talk” leads to sexual violence within the offices of elected officials. What it feels like to know key decision-makers are forcing their secretaries and aides into toxic, uncomfortable and life-altering situations. 

The bottom line is that sexual violence is about an imbalance and abuse of power. Those who perpetrate sexual violence use this inherent dynamic to inflict harm, including the police and political leaders. People who are supposed to protect us. 

With only a week’s notice, seeing a 500-person turnout to our rally was no surprise to us. Wellington showed up to say that they’re sick of seeing sexual violence on their streets, just as London showed up a few weeks before, pushing at barriers to hope something gives, and Australia erected platforms to stand parallel to parliament house and look them in the eye.

Wellington city needs care and attention. It needs community-based action. Most importantly, we need to be aware that living in the absence of sexual violence is a right, not a privilege.