Country Living – How to fix the housing crisis (part 1)

Perhaps I had been floating in a naive bubble, blissfully unaware of the world around me. My nose squished up against its steamy window, and I was only exposed to foggy glimpses of the world and its woes. Then, a razor-sharp spear of social conscience hurtled towards my bubble and burst it, and, like a balloon full of tears, I fell to the ground and went ka-splat.

My new sobering reality came to me in the form of our housing crisis, and it went a little like this. My husband and I were in a position to rent out one of our farm cottages. A humble, but honest little 3-bedroom home with strong bones and a warm beating heart. A nice big yard to grow veggies with a kicker view. It was my dream to give someone a safe and loving long-term home. A decade ago, I would have found it hard to rent out my little cottage. People seem to like the convenience that urban living brings in a fast-paced world.

I thought it best to gauge any interest by placing an ad for my cottage on social media. I had previously seen a television report that some landlords were believed to be discriminating against families. This gutted me, as I have always seen families as the glue that binds small communities together. So with this in mind, I advertised my cottage coming with non-discriminatory landlords who were happy to welcome families into the home. What followed not only shocked me to the core, but broke my heart. Endless messages from families desperately needing a home, months of looking, lack of affordability, children living in caravans … Trapped in my bubble, I felt so ashamed that I was not fully aware of the extent of this crisis.

I’m not just talking about state houses and our disadvantaged. Many of those who contacted me about the home were our working class proud. Those who are throwing their legs out of bed every day, going to work, and paying their share of taxes. Some of the tales were so desperate I’m welling up with tears writing this. I cannot remember a time when I felt so desperately powerless to help. At what point is the penny going to drop with any of our governors that we have too many people and not enough homes? Surely, a few coloured counters in a grade one mathematics class could have sorted this simple addition and subtraction equation? So, please excuse me while I claw my unfit body up the top of a mountain, clear my throat and scream at the top of my lungs. “How dare any of our governors, past present or future leave our whanau in such an appalling and vulnerable position?” The blame game does not serve to build houses for our people, it only acts as a sponge to soak up tears that surely many must cry. Bureaucracy is not a brick to build, it is a chain that binds the hands of those who can.

So while our airwaves are filled with the sermons from the incorrigible, I will fall to bended knee with hand on heart and say what should be said by all that have governed and continue to do so: “For all of you out there that are struggling to find a roof over your heads, to those who are sick with worry and fraught with despair, or those who feel burdened with guilt that they should not carry, we are sorry, so incredibly sorry.”

Now, with that off my chest, I have been busy trying to spin my nightmares around to positive ideas. Unbelievably, my feeble little mind has hatched out an ingenious short-term plan to help relieve the housing crisis in a Kiwi-can-do, rural kinda way. To help achieve this, I am first going to avail myself of some of that $700 million cycle bridge money. Because contrary to popular belief, most of us find homing families a greater responsibility. Funnily, I can hear the bureaucrats in the background gasping with shock and horror at the thought from here. Never mind, I am just going to stick my fingers in my ears and repeat the words, “La la la, I can’t hear you”. He he. So, hold on to your gin and tonic and your muffin mix peeps, I’ll be seeing you next column with the revolutionary details.
… to be continued