It's hard going living near a big housing project
Priced out of affluent Auckland areas like Glendowie and St Heliers, we bought a small house in the nearby suburb of Waiotaiki Bay. The neighbourhood’s idyllic views across the Tamaki Estuary were matched by its affordability and tranquillity. Finally we had a full section for a treehouse and trampoline for our son. Finally we had a home of our own.
Our delight in our new, diverse community didn’t last long. A private property company, Creating Communities, was awarded contracts to redevelop the neighbourhood’s state housing stock into a mix of private and social housing.
Soon there were mass evictions and large empty gaps of land nearby, their homes carted into a darkness volatile with mass demonstrations and clashes between police and protesters.
Seeing our neighbours vanish was hard. But as previous long-term renters and witnesses to news-reports of homelessness and a housing crisis, we assured ourselves the new dwellings were necessary. In the meantime Creating Communities had pledged to inform us of progress and replace the fencing of those whose properties bordered construction work.
When building began, though, so did disregard for residents. This started small. Without consultation, we were informed there’d be no replacement fence. Tearing it down would leave our property and our dog’s safety exposed for an unspecified period. We cited promises made but to no avail.
An irritation perhaps. Others followed. Unannounced, workmen dug up berms and pavements, and tinkered with overhead wires. Daily our internet and phone connection vanished, old waterpipes were ruptured and unexpected electricity outages occurred.
Traffic chaos remains as sluggish haulage trucks, cabs pulling six wheel semi-trailers, cranes and concrete mixers plague our roads. Between jobs, wide loads stop in narrow side-streets. Some even park in the middle of roads, closing them to locals.
Often the distress caused by intensified building work has been personal. For instance, I was in the kitchen when a flurry of white material recently swept across our section. At first, I imagined blossom shed by a nearby tree. Then I remembered it was winter.
Outside I discovered microscopic polystyrene beads everywhere, the results of foam insulation for new properties being cut in a prevailing wind. The material had carried through open windows into our son’s bedroom and the dog’s food and water bowls.
When I complained, the workmen responsible fled the scene. I sent photos to the project manager. Their lead contractor visited, he blamed me for being disruptive; his men, he said, had the right to do their job.
When I countered that my family had a right to freedom from environmental pollution and showed him the contamination, he shifted the fault on to subcontractors. Their representative visited and treated me like I was causing him a nuisance.
An industrial scale vacuum used for the entire day failed to remove the pollution. Our veggie patch is still a write-off and our garden offers up airborne clumps of polystyrene beads.
Hanging washing out a few weeks ago, I was leered and wolf-whistled at by a workman who then made sexual comments.
Another complaint led to a different lead contractor apologising. He said he’d spoken to his employees and subcontractors and was confident it wasn’t one of his staff because they were trained in appropriate behaviour. It must have been a subcontractor; however none admitted to the offence.
Blaring radio music; chats bellowed across scaffolding; regular f*** bombs: all create constant noise nuisance.
The housing future we’ve long been promised is now transpiring. It’s planned to provide new homes for those shut out of the property market. The impact upon residents of the immense, intensive construction work required to achieve that wasn’t addressed before construction started; and remains unaddressed still.