GUEST BLOG: Vanessa Kururangi – No Place Like Home

“Mama. Mama, where are we going? …to the park tonight”?

“Nah, too many people there on a Thursday night. N’mine. One more day of school for you apopo, and then I’ll figure something out”.

“I know Ma… you’ll figure something out”.

*This woman. Trying to hide the sadness in her eyes and knot in her stomach. She frets inwardly, thinking “But how? How? Getting this kid to school is hard enough when the needle on the petrol gauge never bumps above ‘E’, and forget school fees – it’s hard enough trying to scrounge up some coins to get him lunch”.

“Mama. Shall we go behind Countdown? Remember? Remember when the bread man came that time? He gave us some buns aye Mama! The ones with the pink icing! Shall we go back there”?

“Maybe son. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out”.

“I know Ma… you’ll figure something out”.

*This woman. Falling apart at the seams. All of their worldly possessions jammed into a leaky boot. She aches with equal measures of frustration and anxiety, thinking “But how? How? It’s been four fucking weeks now. No help. Sleeping in the car. Instead of “go to the toilet before you go to bed” it’s “go to the toilet before they lock it up for the night”.

“Mama. Mama, what about the beach? There’s lights there so you can see who’s coming”.

She sighs. “Maybe son. Sit back in your seat and clip your belt in. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out”.

“I know Ma… you’ll figure something out”.

*This woman. She’s worked any job going, precarious wages, unstable hours, ridiculous shifts, you name it… kept everything above board at her end just to keep kai on the table. Now they don’t even have a table, never mind a house to put one in. She cringes as she opens the glove box in her car. It’s stuffed with letters, applications, bills. More bills. They spill out as she draws in a breath of resignation. She wonders “How? How? There’s no one who cares. Or at least, anyone who cares is in the same predicament. Living it rough. Agencies want paperwork. Banks want credit ratings. Landlords want rent that she just can’t afford for homes with more mould than what was on the bread she ate that morning. Fuck this shit”! She spits defiantly out the window.

Instead of “don’t kick off your blankets if you get hot”, it’s “don’t put your pillow against the window, it’ll get wet in the middle of the night”. And instead of bedtime cuddles, it’s bedtime warnings of “wake me up if you need to mimi”, and “ don’t lean too hard on the door, son – it might unlock while we’re asleep”. Not that she sleeps much these days. She fights back the tears.

“Mama. Mama don’t cry. I’ll figure something out. I’ll figure something out, Mama”.

It cuts to the bone, this fragile korero. It’s one we hope we never hear, or would ever need to have with our own children. But aren’t they ALL our children? So let us begin a new korero.

Let’s figure something out.

 

“After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world”. Philip Pullman.

 

I am obviously not a political commentator. I’m a creative. I write narratives and poetry reflective of the environment that I am exposed to. There are stories, important stories, which need to be told and heard – by both head and heart. Stories which need to reach as many people as possible.

Tell your stories, in any way you can. Speak your mind, stand staunchly in your truth, and don’t be afraid to reach out to whomever can grasp your reality.

Right now we are in a desperate situation, where we read stories of newborns spending the first precious days of their lives in cars. Where cancer stricken teenagers try to recuperate in homes sheltering up to fifteen people. Where decent, hard working people still struggle to get by. Where the government ignorantly spouts bullshit about how there have always been homeless people, and what we are in is not a housing crisis.

We are IN a crisis. What we are NOT IN, are homes.

It’s our narratives which put real peoples struggles under the nose of the government – holding them so accountable for the damage they have created, that they are forced into helping them. These are the narratives of people who are deeply affected by poverty, or jack knifed by unexpected circumstances, or personal upheaval… where their very real tales of life without a home reaches into our hearts, gives it a squeeze and jolts us into action. Their stories create a catalyst for change. We must give a booming voice to them, until the government fear a Robin Hood revolution.

Social Housing Minister Paula Bennett must be sweating between her butt cheeks due to the nonstop call to stop the selloff of State Homes. How she sleeps at night under snugly warm blankets and fluffed up pillows, knowing there are whānau literally freezing in their cars during these blustery Winter nights is beyond my understanding. It’s insulting of her to even think about selling state homes when thousands of middle, low and practically zero income families and individuals are battling to either find a home, stay in a home, or share a home with those who have nowhere to go. Seriously, who in their right mind would look at a housing crisis and think selling state homes could be any kind of solution?

PACT packed up and left, Wairarapa Trust House lost their trust, Habitat for Humanity saw that this was not humane, and the Salvation Army pulled their ‘troops’. And the National government still doesn’t get it.

In the meantime, local marae have stepped up to the plate, swung their bat, and rolled out a homebase for anyone who wants to step through their doors. I cannot applaud them enough. Of course this has made a mockery of our government, and I expected to see some sort of undermining of what marae are doing. I never ever thought that the callous, cold hearted, and I believe, deliberate, leak of a police investigation of Te Puea Marae chairman Hurimoana Dennis. Spokespeople for Hurimoana, the Manaaki Tangata Programme and Te Puea Marae handled this swiftly with the kind of class and style that left Minister Bennett with egg on her face, and the general public shaking their head in disgust. We saw through that desperate attempt at a smear campaign and were not fooled for a second. Power to Te Puea!

Don’t sell State Homes. Build more. It’s not rocket science, so let’s not complicate things. If the government do not want to be made to look like utter idiots, then perhaps they need to stop acting like utter idiots. It’s shameful. It’s pathetic. It’s weak. Most importantly, it’s unnecessary. Do your job, and you will look like superstars. And by “job” I mean “show up, shut up, listen, learn, and implement change”. Communities know what communities need. The governments job is to support communities to be the best they can be, by strengthening families, and supporting their aspirations. An aspiration is not to have a roof over ones head. That, is a necessity. One that could and should be provided for with State Homes. More of them, and more again. We cannot afford for a second to allow our government to ignore this simple truth.

So, I plead to all who are homeless, facing eviction, struggling to pay the rent, stressed over finding employment – everyone and anyone who is a warrior battling to survive this housing crisis in the myriad of ways that it affects us – keep telling your stories. Keep telling your stories. Keep telling your stories.  You are important. You are significant. You are needed.

You deserve a home. Let that truth be YOUR story.

 

 

Vanessa Kururangi is a State House Tenant Advocate