ANDREA VANCE

Stop tinkering and make homes a duty of the state

To travel the gap between rich and poor in Auckland only takes a few moments. The time it takes to hail and jump in a ride share. In a city-fringe suburb, just a 15 minute Uber ride from Britomart, Derek* owns a three-bedroom unit. This little flat, in a concrete block, has been good to Derek. But now it’s time to say goodbye: the ‘‘for sale’’ sign has gone up.

Derek’s not too sad. He’s got close to 100 other properties to look after. Derek is a property investor.

And he’s very good at it. He snapped up this little unit for around $514,000 in 2019. It had last sold in 2007, for just $250,000.

He turned the kitchen into a third bedroom, and was able to bring in four tenants (and their baby). They are immigrants, who work in the construction sector. Typical rent in the block is more than $500 a week.

Eighteen months later, Derek’s asking for $760k. ‘‘Yes, there is a money tree…. and this is it!’’ boasts the real estate agent’s literature.

Sami* pulls up under the ‘‘for sale’’ sign, ready to collect his Uber passenger. It’s nearly the end of a long, six-day week.

He’s been driving since 5.30am, and will probably knock off at 3pm, ready for Friday prayers.

But the streets are ‘‘so, so quiet.’’ Because of the pandemic, no-one is travelling, so he’s not picking up the profitable airport trips.

There is no money tree for Sami. He struggles to make the rent, feed his growing children. ‘‘Things are so, so hard,’’ he says.

Buying a house is a dream for other people. This is the tale of two cities: the best of times for those with skin in Auckland’s booming housing market; the worst of times for those struggling in