Seven people have died on the Wellington waterfront since 2006. What should be done about it?

In 2021, 30-year-old Sandy Calkin died in Wellington Harbour after a night drinking with friends in the city centre. A coroner’s report into Calkin’s death, released last week, confirmed the cause of death was accidental drowning and found that there were not adequate safety measures in place along the waterfront. Since 2006, seven people have lost their lives in similar ways along the waterfront.

The coroner’s report has amplified a public debate about safety protections along the Wellington waterfront. Since March 2024, temporary fences have lined the water’s edge. It’s kicked off a constant low grumble of people upset that their scenic walk now looks like a construction site. Some of the best views in the city – like the angle of the Solace in the Wind sculpture looking back towards the skyline – are tarnished. Some popular wharf jumping spots are fenced over, while others – like the harbour diving board – are still accessible through a gap in the fence.

Wellington City Council has approved $11.1 million for waterfront edge protection, but there will be public consultation on what that looks like. There are four options on the table: 

1. Remove temporary fencing and complete lighting works
2. Retain temporary fencing and complete lighting works
3. Install fencing in key locations and complete lighting works
4. Install full edge protection fencing and complete lighting works
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It’s important to discuss the safety options around the waterfront, but it’s a difficult conversation. Families and friends are still grieving, and for some, the pain will never go away. All seven deaths were tragedies and should be treated with respect. 

The waterfront is a public space, collectively owned and enjoyed by all Wellingtonians and tens of thousands of visitors annually. Any decision about what to do with the space is subject to democratic debate – including a debate about how much weight we give to health and safety risks. 

Act MP Brooke van Velden caught some flak in 2024 when she said, “When it came to Covid, we completely blew out what the value of a life was.” It wasn’t a nice way of phrasing it, but it’s a perfectly valid opinion – through Covid, the government had to weigh the risks of death against the economic costs of lockdowns, and everyone has their own opinion on how they should be balanced. There are health and safety risks on the waterfront, and addressing them has costs.

Let’s put the risks in context. New Zealand averages about 90 drowning deaths per year, meaning there have been around 1,700 drowning deaths since 2006. Seven of those occurred on the Wellington waterfront. Six of those happened at night, and all involved people with alcohol in their systems. 

We may never know what happened in those people’s final moments. Did they stumble and fall off the edge as they walked along? Did they lose their balance while taking a risky wee? Did they go for a nighttime swim and run into trouble when they couldn’t find the ladder to climb back up? There is so little information and such a small sample that it’s difficult to say what would be the most effective way to prevent further incidents. 

In every city with canals, harbourfront promenades or seawalls, there are occasional reports of deaths due to people falling in the water or drowning after a late-night swim. An estimated 18 people a year die in Amsterdam’s canals – mostly drunk men who fall in while urinating.

Now, let’s put the costs in context: $5,000 per month for temporary fencing and $11 million for permanent installation is a decent chunk of change, but it isn’t going to bankrupt the council. We don’t need to overreact every time local government spends money. 

More significant than the financial cost is the impact on amenity and visual appeal. This is harder to quantify but shouldn’t be dismissed. When it comes to the waterfront, aesthetics matter. The natural beauty of the harbour and the people-friendly design draw people in to enjoy the space and spend money at the businesses that line the waterfront.  Have a few ugly fences stopped people from visiting the waterfront? Of course not. But it makes the experience slightly less pleasant and diminishes the area’s inherent value. 

It’s likely to be a contentious and messy consultation. The unpopular temporary fencing has positioned the debate as a zero-sum game between aesthetics and safety – but it doesn’t need to be this way. There are outcomes here that could benefit both. 

Wellington could copy what Amsterdam is doing by installing ladders and ropes along the waterfront so that anyone who falls in is never far from something to grab onto and pull themselves up. This would also mean better amenities for people jumping off the wharf for a swim during the day. 

Better lighting on the stretch around Te Papa could help to prevent accidental falls while also making the space feel more welcoming after dark, helping to draw crowds and late-night trade. 

There will likely be some physical edge protection in key sections. But that doesn’t mean they have to be utilitarian safety blockades. If Wellington is going to fence off the waterfront, let’s at least make sure the fences are pretty. 

Since October 7 2023, Palestinian t-shirts and kuffiya have become common for people in New Zealand to wear, to express solidarity. Yet very few of these products were actually made in Palestine; Shanti Mathias talks to a couple trying to change that.

“Our house just became a lot more Palestinian,” says Matt Hayes. He and his wife, Noor Alshawa, are the founders of Bayyāra, a business selling Palestinian ceramics, olive oil, spices and accessories in New Zealand. After months and months of delays, a truck pulled up their driveway on the Kāpiti Coast the day I spoke to them, containing their first order of goods. They’ve had to take their car out of the garage to make space for everything, and the other rooms in their house are filled with bars of olive oil soap and vibrant ceramics.

While the past year and a half of war in Gaza, now paused in a fragile ceasefire, has brought the Palestinian cause to millions of people’s attention, it’s remarkably hard to get things that are actually from Palestine in New Zealand. “There’s lots of stuff that is Palestinian themed, but made elsewhere,” says Alshawa. It’s possible, for example, to buy polyester kuffiya (titled “Sun-Proof Arabian Tactical Kerchief for Outdoor Activities”) for $4 from Temu, while Bayyāra sells more expensive $69 kuffiya woven in Palestine.

Her family is from Gaza, and Bayyāra is named for an orange grove owned by Alshawa’s father. Before 1948, the orange trees blossomed, and their oranges were exported around the world. But after several years of Israeli control, the business was no longer possible. 

Alshawa grew up in Saudi Arabia and the UAE, hearing stories of the bayyāra and life in Gaza from her Gaza-born parents. Before 2006, when Hamas was elected, they would spend holidays with her family in Gaza. “It was a big part of our life, not just a historical thing – there are so many memories of my family there,” she says. While she lives in New Zealand now, her Palestinian identity remains vital to her. “Even if you’re born elsewhere, you don’t shut up about being Palestinian. When I was growing up we had hand stitched cushions, books, encyclopedias of Palestine that my dad would read to us,” Alshawa says. Behind her and Hayes, on the video call, is another reminder of where they come from: a map of Palestine, and a map of New Zealand.

The war has been devastating for Alshawa and her family. “It feels like someone slapped me on the face [on October 7 2023] and it hasn’t stopped until now – I don’t fully get what has happened.” Her uncle, aunty – an accountant – and at least five of their cousins have been killed by Israeli forces. Another uncle has been injured, and everyone has lost their home – including a family apartment building that had been built on top of her grandfather’s house, intended to have space for all the family members to live or visit. It had just been finished when the war and bombing started. 

Alshawa, who married Hayes in 2023, has watched this from afar, feeling shattered. Initially, when she and Hayes had the idea for Bayyāra, they framed it as a way to help Palestinian businesses – but then they realised that didn’t capture the mutual relationship. “Palestinian businesses are supplying something people want, good olive oil and ceramics – you’re not just doing them a favour in purchasing from them,” Hayes says. Over the video call, I see that their cat has jumped on the table; he picks her up, and keeps talking. “People are willing to pay a premium for something from Palestine.” Palestinian olive oil is famous – the olive groves are among the world’s oldest – and soap made from the oil in a traditional process has been one of the most popular items in Bayyāra’s preorders, which the couple will now be able to ship out. 

So how do you import goods from one of the world’s most surveilled, controlled, contested borders? Around July last year, Alshawa and Hayes found their suppliers. “No one thought our orders were too small – I would get Whatsapp voicenotes from our ceramics supplier at midnight saying ‘I just finished your order’,” Alshawa says. Their food supplier, providing Palestinian olive oil and spices, helpfully offered to pick up the orders from the other companies so everything could be shipped in one go. For now, everything Bayyāra sells comes from the West Bank, not Gaza, but Hayes and Alshawa would love that to be an option in the future – and they hired a Gazan illustrator to create images for their website. 

“I’ve worked for companies importing from China, Vietnam, the EU, Mexico – in all those situations it has been harder dealing with suppliers than the Palestinian ones,” Hayes says. “If it wasn’t for the Israeli government, it would have been the easiest e-commerce business I’ve ever done.” Getting everything out of Palestine was the source of the months of delays. At first, they tried to get the shipment out through Jordan and the Red Sea, but that border was closed by Israel. Eventually, they had to pay the Israeli government to go through the Haifa border. “I remind myself that if we had never got it out of Palestine, it would be another victory for Israel,” Hayes says. Given how long it took the first time, they’re already wondering if it’s time to start another order. 

While Hayes and Alshawa acknowledge the urgent need for humanitarian aid in Palestine, they see working with Palestinian businesses as vital, too. “People migrate because they can’t find work opportunities. If you want to support the cause, you can support people to stay where they are,” Alshawa says. “There are a lot of established and trusted charities around, but we felt this was something we as individuals could start, that’s more sustainable for us and everyone.” 

The couple are running Bayyāra alongside their full time jobs. They’ve been surprised by the demand for Palestinian products, receiving hundreds of preorders despite the shipping delays. “There’s definitely a gap in the market,” Alshawa says. The Auckland-based Palestinian shop Preserved Identity, one of the few other options for buying Palestinian goods in New Zealand, has medjool dates, and lots of Palestinian cookbooks, for example, but no olive oil. Alshawa and Hayes hope that Bayyāra can show that “being from Palestine isn’t just about war, throwing stones – there’s a long history.”

“Palestinians have the tools and talent and resources – they’re just being suffocated by the occupation,” Alshawa says. “Why not bring that opportunity here?”