In the lead-up to the election, chronic homelessness has emerged as a major focal point in urban areas, and it's not just a problem our biggest cities are grappling with.
Te Tai Hauāuru is the second largest Māori electorate in land area, stretching across the western North Island. It includes the cities of Palmerston North, Porirua, Whanganui and New Plymouth.
New Plymouth, the main city centre in the Taranaki region, has grown by 50% since the 2018 Census to 78 in 2023. But staff at a local shelter told 1News the data was not capturing the true scale of the problem.
Living a rough life
Chronic homelessness has emerged as a major focal point. (Source: 1News)
James Walker is part of the community of rough sleepers in the city.
"The last 30 years I haven't really worked and I just want to do something. I want to work like everyone else, and I want a job, and I want to make a difference in the next 50 years so that my kids can look at me.”
He is upfront about his struggles, admitting to drug use and past indiscretions, including damaging “a few” houses “thirty-odd years ago”, that has meant he has fewer choices in life.
“I just feel ashamed about where I'm at and I feel like a disappointment,” he said.
Born in Opunake, he said his father was violent towards his mother growing up, and they split when he was still a child. He ended up “in and out” of social welfare.
Growing up he felt “out of place” because he was treated differently.
"I was that kid in school that was so hypo that no teacher wanted to have me in their class for too long," he said.
Walker said it felt as if rough sleepers like himself had already failed before they even started, that there were "beautiful human beings" who were misunderstood.
"We care about people just as much as people who don't like us care about their people… I just feel like they feel like we've become a nuisance in their society. It's like… they've just got sick at the sight of us.”
While he may call Auckland his second home, for Darin*, Taranaki is where he's from – born and bred. "I'm from here, I'm from the mountain."
Darin said life as a rough sleeper can be slow with nowhere to go. His biggest challenge is staying out of trouble.
"Can't go anywhere, can't leave New Zealand. So, it is like, I mean, most of us got bad records anyway, so we can't go anywhere else. But life, you just got to do the best you can, and yeah. Just live day-by-day, I guess.”
He said he tries to avoid anything to do with politics because there is "nothing left" for him and the "older ones" who are slowing down.
"There's no jobs for us, there's no, I don't know, man. People like me can't get into places, that's one thing. Doesn't matter what, we walk into somewhere and they look at you and they might ask you to leave, and you probably ask them, ‘what's the reason for?’ I don't know, we're just being judged."
'Broken hearts that keep beating'
Of the community they belong to, Walker said everyone was going through the same struggle, but people find it difficult to express it in words.
"I've spent a lot of time just sitting by myself thinking about what I would say if I got a chance to say something… every time I thought about it, I'd think, ‘oh, nah, shame’. But I was thinking, ‘Nah, there's no pride to be had in holding back’, you know?
“No voices will get heard if we don't speak up and everyone's hurt right now, they're all broken hearts that keep beating.”
He has tried to put himself in the shoes of business owners, he said.
“How would I feel, you know, homeless people outside of my shop and I'm trying to run a business? But like, I probably wouldn't be too happy that it'll slowing my business down.”
He recognised businesses were struggling and he wanted to think about solutions that could work for everyone, ideally, where rough sleepers become a part of the society that is trying to "shut us off", he said.
“Because there's no second plans. But there's not many ideas about what they can do. The only thing that's come up is [the shelter].”
A place to shelter
Te Whare o Tapatahi, a local homeless shelter for men at the Y Taranaki, opened 11 months ago to meet an urgent demand. Over half of their clientele are Māori. The men are fed, given a safe space to sleep, shower, and launder their clothes.
Kylie Ewing, senior social services manager at the Y, said they work with chronic rough sleepers who have experienced significant or ongoing trauma, and suffer from mental ill-health and addiction issues.
“They're normally the most visible and they're normally the ones that have the most interactions with the general public.”
The rate of severe housing deprivation per 10,000 for the New Plymouth district is reported to be less than 1.5%, according to the latest census data.
But Ewing is sceptical of census findings that only records data from a single day.
While numbers fluctuate, Ewing said they’ve had 124 unique individuals that have stayed and had kai at the shelter, but in terms of service delivery to all participants, the number is over 6000.
“Our experience within less than a year of encountering 124 that have come in and engaged in our services means I don't believe that we've fully captured that, all of the people. So, I think the numbers are bigger than what have been indicated in the past.”
'It's 46 pages long'
Some of the barriers rough sleepers face are huge and systemic, said Ewing. She said policymakers needed to think about the end user and make policies fit for purpose.
“If our purpose is to provide emergency housing to our most vulnerable, how do our policies and processes, how do they support that purpose, and are they for the people?”
For example, she said some of the rough sleeping community find filling out forms frustrating with some having “pretty low” literacy or “form blindness”. They will often feel whakamā (embarrassed, ashamed) and resentment at having to fill them out.
“If quite a few of our guys are on the Jobseeker benefit, they have to then apply for x-amount of jobs within a certain time period. They also have to redo this application multiple times a year. It's 46 pages long.”
She said they would either not complete the task or would not attend the appointment which agencies will then have to react to their choices, escalating the issue.
Accessing other forms of housing also come with significant barriers.
In 2024, tougher eligibility rules to get into emergency accommodation were introduced, including ongoing requirements to prove a need.
“Often they won't even apply for emergency housing because they don't believe they're worthy of getting it,” said Ewing.
“And when they have applied in the past, they have that feeling reinforced by them being declined.”
Transitional housing
As of August, there were 65 contracted transitional housing places in Taranaki.
Billie Simpson, assistant regional manager for the Salvation Army’s supportive housing team, said the demand for transitional housing is “quite high” and she receives multiple emails every day seeking housing.
“We have been fortunate enough to have quite a few Kāinga Ora builds completed, and we also have some iwi-based builds that are literally across the road from us at the moment that are being completed. But the demand is so much higher than what we can supply.”
She said there were a range of reasons an applicant might be declined, including criminality to bad financial background.
“They're all parts that when you go and apply for a house, if you haven't addressed those things, or if you've got mental health challenges and they haven't been addressed, you won't be able to present yourself in a way that would come across to landlords favourably.”
Even if they secure housing, Ewing said they have found that often complex issues do not disappear if rough sleepers find a home – the opposite, in fact.
“They find that when they have got a room that they are isolated, or they feel isolated. All of those issues that they were able to ignore by potentially using come crashing in on them.”
That’s often when they are at their most vulnerable, she said, and it is when her staff can provide wraparound support and invite them to the shelter for kai and community.
Te Whare o Tapatahi – a shelter called 'home'
Darin spends time at the shelter when he’s in New Plymouth, even though he has a “good spot” out on the street.
He describes the pod beds as like “stepping in jail”, but it “doesn’t bother anybody” seeking a warm bed for the night and food on the table, especially during winter.
Walker said there were some teething problems at the start - "as there is with anything" – but the staff are “lovely” and “it's been really good”.
The shelter has become a place the men have called home, said Ewing. Staff have had conversations with rough sleepers about their hopes and dreams for the future.
“Often their dreams are, ‘What is a perfect day for you? Where does it start?’ We explore things like, ‘Who would be around you, what would be the meal?’ And things like that."
She said they would talk about what they would do if they won a million dollars, but the “practical-ness” of their lives meant they were not able to dream. She said one rough sleeper said they would go to the islands, but another one pointed out, “there's no way you're going to get a passport”.
For Walker, who has recently turned 50, his dreams are practical but inspired by staff and his experience of Te Whare o Tapatahi: he wants to work at the shelter and with the people. And he recognised the need to “clean up” his life to make it happen.
“I mean, that's all I want. You know, it's something, something that's better than what I've had,” he said.
Ewing wants to expand the shelter’s service to open seven nights, and she wants to open a similar facility for wāhine, and a day centre that provides wraparound support. Furthermore, she wants to see those services feed into a papakāinga where rough sleepers can have homes.
She said homes would look different depending on the stage of life and needs of each individual. For one, a bed in a room is all they might need.
"And they come to us for the kai and the showers and the laundry and everything else.
“Whereas someone else might look like a completely self-contained home, like a three-bedroom home for a family, but we're all in that same community, all together.”
Why should taxpayers pay? A 'no-brainer'
Ewing understands the cost involved of running a shelter and says there is a lot of “back and forth” on why people should pay to help rough sleepers when they “choose” to be homeless.
“When you get to know them, and you get to know their stories, there's very little about their life that is a choice. It's between a bad choice and an even worse one.”
But she said it was important for people to care, especially when the return of investment into a programme that helps chronic rough sleepers or homeless people transition into housing is $7 to one, she said.
“That's a no-brainer. It costs, but it's where do we accept the cost to be at? Do we accept the cost to be at somewhere where we are supporting a fellow human being to have the best out of their lives that they can possibly have, or are we having that cost in Corrections, are we having that cost in police time, EDs, mental health?
“Because we are paying for it, and at the moment we're choosing to put our money at this end rather than supporting the individual to be the best that they can.”
So, while the shelter needs to be community-driven and led, the biggest barrier to keeping the doors open is the cost, said Ewing.
“We've been incredibly lucky to have local funders such as New Plymouth District Council, Toi Foundation, and also lottery funding as well to enable us to do what we're doing at the moment. But to be sustainable and to be open seven nights, we desperately need government funding.”
Government funding
Last week, the government announced the Y Taranaki would receive $3 million over the next three years to expand the support they provide through Te Whare o Tapatahi.
Joanne Dusterhoft, chief executive of the Y Taranaki, said the funding is a game changer.
“We are thrilled to receive this funding. It gives us greater certainty to continue and build on the work already underway, supporting some of Taranaki’s most vulnerable people and helping create pathways towards greater stability, wellbeing and connection.”
She said the three-year investment provides greater certainty for the shelter and its staff.
“This funding means we can continue building on the work already underway, strengthening the support we provide and reaching more people who need our help.”
*not his real name
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