With the 2018 census pushed online there’s been much discussion about reaching those without computer access, who still need someone to knock on their door. But what about those without even a door to knock upon? Lee-Anne Duncan visits Wellington’s Downtown Community Ministry

The southerly marks a sharp turn from a stunner summer to chilly autumn. At the start of each season, the Downtown Community Ministry marks the change with “Seasonal Kai”, a lunch they put on for their “taumai” – which is what DCM calls the people it supports, Wellington’s vulnerably housed or homeless.

Some 30 taumai – meaning “to settle” – have come to the lunch. About half are Māori and there’s only one woman, a fair representation of DCM’s clientele.

They’re very welcome. With the food waiting, a karakia is given and everyone is asked to consider what the change to the colder months means for those sleeping rough, those without a home.

It’s happenstance the quarterly kai has fallen on that day, one of three in early March that hi-vis-clad Statistics New Zealand’s field officers are at DCM to guide taumai through filling out the census forms. But it likely means a few more have turned up and will agree to add their details to the national count – something DCM encourages those assembled to do.

“This is a really important time for taumai to have a voice and tell the government we need to build more houses and feed more support and resources back to you. Filling out the census helps you add your voice,” the group is told.

Situated on the site of Wellington’s Te Aro Pā, DCM’s kaupapa follows what would have happened at the pā all those years ago.

“This is where people came for food, for shelter, for community, to have a voice, to speak, to be heard, to be lifted up, to be counted,” says DCM’s Michelle Scott. “So for us, supporting our people to be included in the census reinforces the kaupapa of this place.

“It’s been a great opportunity for our community to get together, to chew the fat about what’s important, what’s necessary for them to move forward, and what society should be prioritising.”

That’s exactly what Statistics NZ’s Dr John Mitchell set out to record when refocusing on how to count the hard-to-reach. “Many of them have high needs in terms of government services. Since government spending decisions are made on the basis of census data it’s even more important they are counted.”

Without needing as many people to go door-to-door this time, John says they could dedicate field officers to target people who couldn’t be reached with an internet code.

“That includes groups who are low responding and need more encouragement and assistance to be enabled to do the census. We had a community engagement team out talking to many communities – Māori, Pacific, culturally and linguistically diverse communities – getting the message across why it’s important to do the census, and looking at ways to enable them. A subset of that was obviously the rough sleeping homeless.”

As John’s team was out engaging, Michelle was also looking for ways to enable taumai to take part in the census. The organisation had worked hard to encourage them to vote in last year’s election, and many did. The feeling of empowerment, of having a say and being heard, remained.

John and Michelle came up with the idea of having census officers at the ministry – and other similar organisations around the country – to help marginalised people fill in the census.

“Usually that’s done by a street count,” says John. “Where field officers walk along looking for people sleeping rough, and try to persuade them to give enough information to complete at least some of the individual form.

“This census we’ve taken a multi-faceted approach. We’ve done a street count, but in eight cities we’ve worked with organisations who engaged directly using different approaches depending on what would suit their clients.”

“It seems to have gone well, with lots of buy-in by letting the people the rough sleepers know and trust recommend doing the census.”

Trust is certainly a major issue for  taumai and others like them. While voting is just ticking a box, filling out the census means handing over personal information.

“But they trust DCM and trust us not to get them into trouble,” says Natalia Cleland, one of DCM’s social workers.

“We’ve been talking about the census for weeks. We put up notices covering what the census is about, why it’s useful and what happens with the information. Our taumai also had the chance to tell us their concerns, then we could get the right information to give them confidence.”

“It also gave them time to gather the information they needed,” says Michelle. “We could say, ‘If you’re Māori and you aren’t sure about your iwi, go away and find out so you can include it in the census’.

“We wanted them to come with that rich part of who they are and what’s gone before them. It really appealed to them as a topic of conversation and it was fascinating to see them connecting and discussing their various backgrounds. So lots of other positive things have come out of doing the census here.”

But for the country the main benefit of having three days of census filling at DCM, and like organisations, is that many people have registered their existence who otherwise wouldn’t have.

“A lot of our people don’t have any ID and may not even be recorded on any databases. If they’ve filled out the census they are recorded somewhere as a human being and as a New Zealander,” says Michelle.

While not having an address is one barrier to filling out the census, low-to-no literacy is another. Even taumai who DCM has supported into housing came in for support, with one knocking at DCM’s door at 8:55am on census day morning, waving his census form.

Yes, Statistics NZ offered to send field officers to people’s homes if they needed help, but that wouldn’t have worked for all of DCM’s taumai, says Michelle. “This is where their whānau is. Here, some of them have sat in our marae atea and discussed their answers with each other. They had kōrero with others who had already done it, and they’d say, ‘Well, I did that, I ticked that box’, so they got a huge resource from one another.”

Robert is one who wouldn’t have completed the census without DCM’s help. Released from prison in 2016, he slept for a while in his van. He’s housed now, but came to DCM to do this census – his first ever. “If someone hadn’t helped me, I would have just got pissed off with trying. We were told the story of why you should fill it out, and then it made sense to me so I did it.

“I encourage people who have been in prison all their lives to do this. It’s a piece of the puzzle that is missing. When we include ourselves in things like this, it helps us to feel part of the bigger picture and you want to do it more and more. It feels pretty cool to fill it out.”

Jason sleeps anywhere that’s (hopefully) warm and dry. Along with homelessness, literacy issues would have prevented him filling out the census.

“I understand we’re not counted but they’re trying to make a change, the government. I wanted to fill it out because it adds to the big picture. But without someone helping me, I couldn’t. I appreciate DCM giving us the opportunity to have a voice.”

The staff at DCM are happy to play their part in drawing that big picture. “It’s not giving an accurate picture of New Zealand society if we count only people who are willing and able to fill out their census forms,” says Natalia.

“We’re helping provide New Zealand build an accurate picture of who we are, and who are the ones with the highest needs. That feels really valuable.”

Statistics NZ can’t pinpoint when this year’s data will be available, but be sure everyone at DCM will be watching to see how that data is used.

“We’ve reinforced that this is about reciprocity – ‘tuki atu, tuku mai’, another of our kaupapa,” says Michelle. “We told our taumai that they give their information so, in turn, the government can support them – with enough houses, hospitals, doctors, etc.

“They now feel like they have a voice, that they count. Now they are watching to see if they’ve been heard.”

This section is made possible by Simplicity, New Zealand’s fastest growing KiwiSaver scheme. As a nonprofit, Simplicity only charges members what it costs to invest their money. It already has more than 12,500 plus members who, together, are saving more than $3.8 million annually in fees. This year, New Zealanders will pay more than $525 million in KiwiSaver fees. Why pay more than you need to? It takes two minutes to switch. Grab your IRD # and driver’s licence. It really is that simple.

The AM Show host claimed this week that while it is ‘hard work’ being a mum, ‘you can’t call it a job’. But should payment be the yardstick by which we measure work? Dr Jess Berentson-Shaw thinks not.

Parenthood is no walk in the cricket oval. There are many parents who would agree that it is “the hardest job they have ever done”, but is it really a job? I mean playing professional cricket, now that is a job, but is parenting? You get paid for professional cricket after all, but you don’t get paid for parenting, so it doesn’t really count as work surely?

But if we paid for parenting would we then count it as a “work”?

Last week I had a conversation with my 8-year-old daughter about rugby. She was somewhat incensed to discover that not only are there excellent women rugby players in New Zealand who get nary a mention on the back of a Weetbix packet, but also that despite winning the World Cup five times, they had up until this year not been paid to play (and now only a small salary). Meanwhile the men, who had won their World Cup only three times, were paid, ahem, quite a lot. I believe her exact words were “so the women have to work another job as well as do the job of rugby, even though they are better?”

I don’t wish to start a riot about the relative quality of women and men’s sports. I do want to discuss why what counts as “work” is influenced by whether it is paid. And that whether work is paid or not depends very much on social and cultural norms, not on the actual contribution of it to the functioning of society.

We don’t pay for parenting (or do we?)

We don’t pay people to expend all their time, money, energy, youth and good hair to raise a new generation to contribute to society (ie. play cricket and have opinions on the telly). Perhaps it is this lack of pay that causes some to see parenting as “not a real job”. Yet we do in a way pay for parenting. We pay paid parental leave, which when it was introduced as policy in 2001 was specifically intended to “cover the opportunity costs of parenting”. In other words, paid parental leave was designed to recognise that people who had just had babies were temporarily leaving a paid job to do another job for which they were not being paid. So we do sort of pay a salary; not much though, so perhaps people believe it lacks “real value” – i.e. monetary value

There is economic value to parenting, we just choose not to count it

Parenting is a hard, demanding and important job, but there is no (or very little) money changing hands over it, so it is not contributing to the economy as measured by GDP. But we have established there is some money changing hands, so that is a small fly in the ointment.

Another small fly in the “there is no real economic value” argument is that when, someone (i.e. not a parent) is paid to look after a child this does count towards GDP. The exact same work, just carried out by different people, is counted differently in our measure of economic activity. That is kind of inconsistent.

It is not that some people in government don’t get the issue either. Statistics New Zealand undertakes formal measurement of the value of parenting, and all unpaid work.

In 2009, Stats NZ carried out the Time Use survey. It reported that unpaid work contributed at least $40 billion a year to the economy. Women do most of the unpaid work and do it during their working years. Men still do unpaid work, but they do less of it and usually after they have retired. Most of the unpaid work women are doing is caring for other people.

A report by PwC in Australia last year looked at the monetary value of all that country’s unpaid childcare and put it at $345 billion a year. As the authors ask, “Why is it that a mother caring for her children produces no measured economic value, but the same mother hiring others to look after her children does?”.

It is not just mothers we are talking about here; it is people of all genders whose caring work isn’t formally recognised in economic activity.

So why don’t we count parenting?

Economists have been pointing out the glaring unbalance for some time. Prue Hyman, who has been writing on this subject for over 25 years, told Stuff earlier this month that “[unpaid work] contributes to the upbringing and wellbeing of the next generation of economically active people and it provides services, care and support for those who would otherwise be more dependent on public resources for their welfare.” And Professor Marilyn Waring, author of the book If Women Counted, was recently interviewed on Q&A where she told Corin Dann that “we have to realise [unpaid work] is the single largest sector in any nation’s economy. And the whole of the market economy only is able to function on top of that.”

It is not just the women raising the issue. Economist Richard Dennis has long argued that the unbalance in the economy created by ignoring the work of women is unjust and unacceptable. Dennis argues, in this great talk, that women are being sold a lie about what is holding them back financially: it has nothing to do with their choices and everything to do with what we choose to value in society.

At the risk of starting a second riot, parenting is not valued because we don’t value work traditionally done by women in the same way we value that traditionally done by men – even when women produce the exact same value. Take recent research by Dr Isabelle Sin, who found women in New Zealand producing the same value for a company were still paid 16% less than men. Nice.

Count it as an economic activity to ensure we focus on its importance

Caring for people is vital work; without it society would not function, literally. Think of all the people you work with – carrying out important, interesting work – who rely on caring work to do their job. All of us need caring for at some point in our lives, and many of us will do that caring.

As a society that values taking care of people, we need caring work to be not just done, but done well. One way of helping this happen is to count it economically. Counting the economic value of an activity opens it up to political attention, to policy and investment decisions. It makes people in power consider how to improve it.

The trick of course is how to get it counted. GDP is a pretty poor measure of what has real value in society because – just putting this out there – maybe money is not actually a good measure of the things that matter most. So right now Treasury is looking at new ways of measuring economic activity. That’s good news, but we should be alert to the risk that caring work will get left out of that framework if it is not seen as worthwhile by those developing it. Perhaps the real issue is who gets to say what matters in our society. Hopefully the people at Treasury are not former cricketers.

This section is made possible by Simplicity, New Zealand’s fastest growing KiwiSaver scheme. As a nonprofit, Simplicity only charges members what it costs to invest their money. It already has more than 12,500 plus members who, together, are saving more than $3.8 million annually in fees. This year, New Zealanders will pay more than $525 million in KiwiSaver fees. Why pay more than you need to? It takes two minutes to switch. Grab your IRD # and driver’s licence. It really is that simple.