The $50m school with no students
A mysterious group called the Flying Phoenix Trust spared no expense building a large compound on farmland near Waihi, planning to establish a school for international students far from the temptations of city life. A decade on, the $50m complex is mainly used for school camps and the odd retreat. Tony Wall unpicks the history of the facility and who’s behind it.
Areligious cult. A Taiwanese Government bolthole. A nudist colony. No theory is too outlandish for Waihi locals wondering what’s going on behind a formidable set of security gates on rural Landlyst Rd. A sign about 10km out of Waihi, on the road to Whangamata, points the way to something called the Waihi Academy, nestled in a bucolic farming community known as Golden Valley.
Venture past the unmanned security booth, up a sweeping driveway, and you are greeted by a remarkable sight: a sprawling campus, featuring seven palatial buildings with sandstone pillars, grand balconies, domes and arches, set on 10ha of perfectly manicured grounds.
There’s an administration block, four classrooms, two dormitories each sleeping 120 people, staff accommodation, a commercial-sized kitchen and dining area and topping it all off, a 600-capacity grand hall.
Inside is no less impressive: Italian marble floors, Asian hardwood doors, floors and furniture, cedar entrance canopies and imported stone-work.
It’s got to be the grandest property in the Hauraki District, maybe even Waikato – the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a big city.
Of course, none of it came cheap. Construction started around 2006 and by the time it was finally finished seven years later, the bill was almost $50m.
So who’s behind it, and where did the money come from? That’s not so easy to find out.
The Waihi Academy has a website, which says it hires out the facility for school camps, conferences and retreats.
Its vision: ‘‘To promote peace and harmony through multi-cultural interactive learning experiences that enhance personal and spiritual growth that respects the true essence of all living things.’’
A Buddhist organisation, perhaps?
Stuff visited the campus and met the programme director, Tony Kang, and his assistant, Jasmine Liu, both Taiwanese New Zealanders. Kang explains that the land and buildings are owned by an entity called the Flying Phoenix Trust; he only leases part of the site for school camps, conferences and retreats.
Until Covid hit, he was working with high schools in the area to bring students from Taiwan and Singapore. They’d spend a week at the academy having an ‘‘OE’’ type experience, then head to the partner school for tuition.
Since the border closed, he’s been hosting the occasional school camp – Hamilton’s Sacred Heart Girls’ College has stayed and Tauranga’s Aquinas College is booked for October, as well as retreats for groups such as Baha’i followers.
Anyone is welcome to hire the place, Kang says, but the trust has four strict rules: vegetarian food only, no alcohol or cigarettes, separation of the sexes in the
dormitories and the right to refuse entry to the wrong type of people.
‘‘If they want to come with a little bit, ah, crazy party, I don’t think we will accept that,’’ Kang says, laughing.
He admits the rules have made it hard to attract customers and the business has struggled to make money, but the trust doesn’t charge much rent and it takes care of rates and maintenance.
‘‘This trust don’t owe any people money, they don’t need to worry about someone taking the property, mortgage or something,’’ Kang says.
Flying Phoenix is not a religious group, he says. ‘‘Their philosophy, their principle is they are all vegetarian, they want to promote harmony.’’
(In East Asian culture, the mythical phoenix, or fenghuang, is a symbol of virtue and grace.)
Liu, Kang’s assistant, adds that the owners are concerned about global warming and want to protect the earth. ‘‘They’re like Greenpeace.’’
Neither Kang nor Liu will give a contact name or number for anyone from the trust, saying they avoid publicity.
The land the academy sits on – and several other farms on Landlyst Rd, including a kiwifruit orchard and lavender farm – are owned by a company called Tatung Ltd. (Tatung is a district in Taipei, the Taiwanese capital.)
There is no trust called Flying Phoenix listed on the charities register, but there is a limited liability company of that name with some of the same
directors and shareholders as Tatung, mostly Auckland-based Taiwanese.
According to property records the main chunk of land was purchased in 1998. In 2002, resource consent was granted to develop land previously used for farming ‘‘into a learning and cultural centre for Taiwanese and New Zealand students’’. No more than 320 students could stay there at once.
A report by a joint Hauraki District Council-Waikato Regional Council hearing committee shows some locals were suspicious of the project from the start.
Neighbouring farmers were opposed, one submitting that the proposal was a ‘‘totally inappropriate use of rural land’’ that would ‘‘change the environment in this locality forever’’.
The neighbour was concerned that the ‘‘real purpose’’ of the centre may be different to what was stated in the application, a fear expressed by other submitters.
Local iwi also opposed the resource consent, concerned about the impact of stormwater and sewage discharge, earthworks and oil spillage on areas of significance to Mā ori and a lack of consultation in line with Treaty principles.
But council staff recommended consent be given as any adverse effects of the development could be mitigated and it would be a ‘‘major asset’’ for the community.
Consent came with a lengthy set of environmental conditions – the developer was required to plant trees to screen the buildings from the road, while the colour scheme had to achieve a ‘‘softening and blending of the buildings into the landscape’’.
There was very little media coverage of the development, other than a spate of stories in 2010, when an open day was put on for councillors and journalists.
Flying Phoenix trustee Bernard Jan explained that having the academy in a remote area would allow students from overseas to study in an environment where they would not succumb to the ‘‘temptations of city life’’, or become victims of crime.
Finance was raised from investors in Taiwan, who offered low-interest loans, he explained.
(Kang says Jan is no longer involved with the trust.)
John Tregidga, former Hauraki mayor, says it was never quite established why the group wanted to build such a complex in rural Waikato.
‘‘The Phoenix Trust has obviously got a significant amount of money behind it. They’ve purchased just about all the land and neighbouring farms all the way to the sea.
‘‘People were excited we were going to have this big investment . . . it was going to employ a lot of people.’’
But, he says while some overseas students came, the school never really took off.
‘‘It was getting used, but for a [$50m] investment you would expect that . . . as a business proposition it would have to turn a lot of people over.
‘‘I don’t believe that it was ever intended to be a profit-driven complex.’’
Tregidga says he met people associated with the trust on a trip to Taiwan, but never got to the bottom of whether they were part of some organisation or religion.
‘‘There’s a huge amount of rumours and a lot of speculation, even in Taiwan I tried to get exactly what was happening – to be truthful I don’t know.
‘‘I did meet one or two gentlemen in Taiwan who were supporting the process and the programme. They seemed like normal businessmen to me. They were short, brief meetings, we didn’t get into detail.’’
He wondered whether there was some tax advantage for the investors. ‘‘I’ve asked the question, I haven’t had an answer.’’
Tregidga says he worked hard to help the trust gain community support, and to their credit they put on open days, which were successful.
‘‘We were expecting a lot of people coming [from overseas] and it was going to be good for the community – that hasn’t delivered.
‘‘I’m hugely disappointed that such an amazing complex . . . hasn’t had the use. The potential is unbelievable.’’
Construction of the complex was hampered by delays, cost over-runs and a dispute with the contractor, McMillan & Lockwood.
Carsten Nopper, who was project manager of the first stage, which cost about $33m, says it was a challenging job because of language barriers and the fact it was never clear who was in charge.
‘‘It took all the time we were there building it . . . to actually figure out what the relations are between these people or what their background is,’’ says Nopper, who has since left McMillan & Lockwood and set up his own firm.
‘‘It was always left a little bit in the mystery side of things – who is really in charge and making the decisions?
‘‘It was always told to us, ‘we have to go back to the board’. All I know is there was a board in New Zealand and there was a board in Taiwan, and they reported backwards and forwards. Sometimes it took months to get a simple yes or no.
‘‘They were more concerned about the ducks that were swimming on the puddles on the site – what are we going to do with them? They love animals.’’
Nopper says he was proud of the project, but was left with a sour taste when the trust withheld a payment, accusing the firm of over-charging.
‘‘They said we basically ripped them off . . . and we had to go through an arbitration process. The outcome was, no, we didn’t. Everything was legit and documented and there in writing.’’
Trust representatives he dealt with were suspicious of China, Nopper says, even asking him to alert them if any Chinese people came to the site.
‘‘The funny thing is, one of the first school groups I know of who came to the Waihi Academy once it was finished . . . was a busload of Chinese students from Auckland. I think they changed their mind when they saw somebody’s interested in paying money.’’
Nopper says the Taiwanese would gather at one of the farmhouses they owned to pray; he thought they were Christian.
He encouraged them to be more open with the community and share their plans, to stop people speculating.
‘‘I kept telling these guys, ‘if you don’t open yourself up to the community down the road, what do you think you’re going to achieve here? You’re on their doorstep and they know virtually nothing about it’.’’
Although they made the site available for cultural days and events such as a vegetarian festival, they mostly ‘‘hid away’’, Nopper says.
‘‘Everything is absolutely pristine and the best of the best – but then it’s not used. So . . . everybody’s scratching their heads for years and thinking why did they do this?
‘‘Did they just want to have a retreat place that if China invades Taiwan they can get on a plane and come down here? No-one really knows why it hasn’t taken off the way it was supposed to.’’
McMillan & Lockwood and the trust agreed to part ways after their dispute, and a new architect and contractor were brought in to complete the development.
‘‘There was building material everywhere, it was very unorganised and really rough. They [the trust] were very frustrated. They don’t know how to carry on.’’
Kang, a machine engineer and project manager in Taiwan before he moved to New Zealand in 1991 and became a property developer, was brought in as project coordinator.
‘‘There was building material everywhere, it was very unorganised and really rough. They [the trust] were very frustrated. They don’t know how to carry on,’’ Kang says.
He appointed a project manager and a head foreman and says he managed to come in significantly under the $18m budget he was given. The complex was finally finished in 2013.
Despite having no background in education, the trust asked Kang to run the academy. He advised that running it as a school wouldn’t work.
Asian parents are looking for schools with strong academic backgrounds and old
boys’ and girls’ networks, Kang says, which the academy doesn’t have. ‘‘I guarantee you won’t get a profit from the education, really difficult,’’ he told the owners.
Instead, he suggested working with local high schools to promote the academy as a place foreign students could use while studying at their school.
Starting in 2014, he teamed up with six colleges, taking some principals to Taiwan to visit schools there looking for recruits.
Kang says in the first year about 40 students came out. By the time Covid shut the operation down, on average 100 students were coming twice a year, during Northern Hemisphere summer and winter holidays.
Parents would pay about $6000 for four weeks of tuition, including airfares. The money was paid to the individual school, and the academy would invoice the school for its services.
Ross Preece, former principal of Whangamata Area School, worked closely with Kang to promote the concept, travelling to Taiwan a couple of times with Kang and his wife. His school paid for his airfares, while Kang covered accommodation and expenses, Preece says.
‘‘We only got one or two [students], but that’s alright. We were really forming a relationship with them and it was around their facilities.
‘‘From our point of view we only needed one student to pay for my share of the expense.’’
Preece describes the academy as a ‘‘fascinating place. It was almost on the field of dreams, you know, ‘build it and they will come’.
‘‘I said to [Kang] ‘50 million is a lot of money’ and he said ‘if we are here for 300 years, and we plan to be here for that long, then 50 million is not a lot of money’.’’
The academy made an effort to reach out to the community, Preece says, putting on cultural days for year seven and eight students and connecting the school with a calligraphy master, calligraphy becoming part of the year six curriculum.
While he was a little suspicious of them at the start, ‘‘I had a relationship with them for four years and in that time they didn’t have any hidden agendas they were trying to promulgate. They just believe in doing good works.
‘‘When they built it, they’d have a real drive, then they’d run out of money and they’d pass round the hat and another five million dollars would turn up. It’s all donated money either from Taiwan or around the world or members in New Zealand.’’
He wasn’t sure of the group’s beliefs, but thought it was similar to Confucianism.
A woman renting one of five farm houses on Landlyst Rd owned by the Flying Phoenix Trust finally helps shed light on their philosophy.
‘‘They are followers of the Tao, which means the way,’’ she says, asking to remain anonymous. ‘‘They follow Lao Tzu, who brought up novel ideas around ethics and how to live a meaningful life centuries ago.’’
Taoism holds that humans and animals should live in balance with the Tao, or the universe, according to National Geographic. Followers believe in spiritual immortality, where the spirit joins the universe after death.
‘‘Initially it [the academy] was set up by donations from people who wanted to bring this philosophy to other parts of the world – it’s a beautiful, ethical way of living,’’ the tenant says.
‘‘I know them, they are really nice people, they do a lot of good work. They do things like give free tai chi lessons.’’
She says the trust is nervous about publicity in case their beliefs are misconstrued.
‘‘Much of what we read in the press is inflammatory – they’re worried people will write it in the wrong way.’’
We make contact with the only Flying Phoenix trustee who lives locally, Chih-mao Lin, known as George, who is also a director of Tatung, which he says acts as a trustee company for Flying Phoenix.
Are they Taoists? ‘‘Many people from Taiwan, we believe Taoism, Buddhism, that’s part of our life,’’ he says.
He won’t comment further without permission from the board, and asks that questions be emailed.
An Auckland lawyer called Fui Loong Chan, of Loo and Koo Barristers and Solicitors in Auckland, gets in touch. The trust is concerned that our questions are ‘‘intrusive’’, he says.
Any suggestion the organisation is shrouded in secrecy, as previous articles stated, is ‘‘not a good slant’’.
Eventually, Lin provides a brief written response.
The trust board is made up of ‘‘local persons who either have a permanent resident visa or hold a New Zealand passport’’, he writes.
The aim of the facility is to ‘‘foster the exchange of studies of language, culture, healthcare, and cultural technology, to promote ethics, mutual assistance and harmony and to seek to establish and maintain a positive working relationship with the people of Waihi’’.
The trust’s funding comes from ‘‘investor loans’’ and income from its investment properties, including houses rented to locals, the kiwifruit orchard and land leased for grazing and crops.
‘‘Further to the . . . philosophies of the trust, we believe eating vegetarian food can help achieve environmental protection goals by assisting in energy conservation and carbon reduction, which we believe is in line with the global environmental trend.’’
Travis Coffey, who was project manager on the second stage of the development, says because the community didn’t accept them at first, the group went into its shell. But as they opened up for things like the vegetarian festival and cultural days, that changed.
‘‘I’m your typical, meat-eating Kiwi guy, but being introduced to their way of life, the vegetarian food, we were really looked after, and I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them.
‘‘They are a spiritual group, there’s no organisation or cult or anything.’’