Poverty in Paradise: Tauranga’s Tommy Wilson on how Tē Tuinga Whānau Support Services Trust is helping people at the coalface

Tauranga is a fast-growing regional city in New Zealand and the economic powerhouse of the Bay of Plenty. But behind the glitz and glamour, homelessness, violence, drug and anti-social issues run deep. This is Poverty in Paradise, part one of a series on Tē Tuinga Whānau Support Services Trust which works at the coalface. Carmen Hall reports.

Dressed in blue shorts, hoodie and jandals despite the rain pelting down outside, Tommy (Kapai) Wilson is standing in a circle with his team.

He is in a gym of all places and his reflection is cast in the panel of mirrors behind him.

Rowing machines, exercise bikes, medicine balls, and weights are stacked neatly against the walls.

Māori panels depicting places of significance in Tauranga Moana and paying tribute to Tuhua, Matakana, Motuhoa and Rangiwaea sit alongside inspirational quotes that include: What is the food of the leader? It is knowledge. It is communication.

A boxing ring with blue, red, and white ropes dominates the space and is framed by an intricately carved Waharoa.

But Wilson is not here to work out. All of his battles take place outside the ring.

This morning, like every other weekday at 9.15am, the 68-year-old is here for a karakia, korero and waiata with people who work on the front line. The gym, which has an office, kitchen, toilet and shower, is one of four premises the trust operates from.

Wilson swears by this morning ritual because it gives everyone the opportunity to start their day on a positive note.

Te reo is used and some people pull small cue cards from their palms while song sheets are handed about for the lesser-known songs, which operations manager Corey Wanakore belts out on the guitar.

Wilson is the boss but loathes the word and staff are forbidden to use it.

“There are enough bossy people in the world. It harks back to slavery,” he tells me.

Wilson has two titles but prefers chief imagination officer over executive director and it was one of two stipulations he insisted on when he took the top job. He also didn’t want to be in charge of any money, so an accountant was appointed.

He had no salary for three years “so I had to create my own salary by writing books, doing speeches and talks and projects to bring revenue into Tē Tuinga, which I still do today.

“I was thrown in the deep end but because the kaupapa was something I deeply believed in, I knew I’d be all right. Tē Tuinga means to weave the community together to make this place a safe anchorage and that was a pretty good kick-start point for me.”

The trust has grown to be one of the largest providers of emergency and transitional housing in the Western Bay of Plenty.

It now manages two motels, two blocks of units with 31 rooms, and 15 transitional houses that can accommodate about 200 families and individuals including the elderly. They are at capacity and there is a waiting list.

Last year, about 4000 families, vulnerable people, and youth sought help from the trust as it worked in many realms such as prison reintegration, community youth services and remand facilities, social services and advocacy.

The trust’s staff are at the hard edge of the country’s housing crisis.

Wilson likes to joke and use phrases that often get eye-roll reactions from the staff at the morning hui or on Friday when they share kai for lunch. Some mottos have made it onto T-shirts.

“Cook a kai, share a kai and everything is kapai,” he says.

Today, several tables have been joined together and the culinary fare on offer includes rotisserie chicken, an assortment of salads, fruits, crackers, bread rolls, and cheeses.

His brother Stephen, who runs Happy Puku which provides cooked meals for the homeless, says: “We need to build longer tables, not higher walls.”

Wilson feigns outrage: “I’m sure that’s one of my sayings, bro.”

Janine Cork has everyone in hysterics showing off the new Te Tuinga uniforms which are purposely kept casual. She is waltzing, twirling, and flicking her head backward and forward like a supermodel. Cork is a valued team member and says she would pay to come to work. The former drug addict and mother was pulled from the depths of despair by the trust seven years ago. She was one of its first emergency housing recipients. She credits Te Tuinga for changing her life. Cork can also be found at Greerton Hall, cooking meals for the homeless every Tuesday as part of its Happy Puku programme. She initially did this as a volunteer and it remains a big highlight of her week.

“We take the broken and put them back together again. We deal with the lost, the lonely, the battered, and the bruised – those who are in the too-hard basket.”

That’s how Wilson sums up the work of the trust where he has been at the helm for more than a decade.

Demand has skyrocketed in that time.

Te Tuinga is a registered community not-for-profit trust and its history spans back to 1987.

It was initially managed by Awanui Māori Women’s Welfare League and Whaioranga Trust and set up in response to the Children and Young Persons Act whose main purpose was to promote the wellbeing of children, young persons, and their families and family groups.

In 1993, Te Tuinga Whānau became independent, governed by community-appointed trustees – contracting directly to government agencies.

Under Wilson’s watch, Tē Tuinga has evolved to meet the increasingly complex needs of the community as it grapples with homelessness, the impacts of poverty, and methamphetamine use.

The service opened its first emergency housing project Whare 4 Whānau – A Place to Call Home on July 2, 2016, by then-Māori Development Minister Te Ururoa Flavell and trust life member patron Sir Paul Adams. At the time, Western Bay Primary Health Organisation chief executive Roger Taylor described the homeless situation as “diabolical”.

“People can distance themselves and say, ‘Oh they are druggies, oh, they make poor life choices’. Yes, there may be one or two of those cases, but that is not a fair characterisation of these homeless families at all,” Taylor said at the time.

The premises at No 7 The Strand was gifted rent-free by Tauranga Moana Māori Trust and transformed by an army of tradespeople and volunteers into accommodation for three families for up to 10 weeks in response to the number of families falling into homelessness.

Three homeless mothers and 13 children were the first to move into the facility, including a mum of six who says Whare 4 Whānau was her “saviour” as she had had nowhere else to go.

Wilson says many lessons have been learned along the way and at the start they were naive.

Staff were taken for granted by clients and conned in the early days. In one case, a client pawned a new barbecue donated to the trust.

But now the team, which includes ex-prisoners and gang members and former addicts who have turned their lives around, are not easily fooled. Te Tuinga vets clients and Wilson says: “We are here for the needy not the greedy.”

The trust now helps thousands of families in need each year.

Since 2019, government contracts have increased by four to 18 while the amount of funding has jumped by $1.4 million to $8.1m. Staff over this period increased by 62 to 71. However, the trust still relies on the generosity of the Tauranga community and businesses as a lot of its interventions are not covered and are only made possible due to donations.

Wilson says cases of staff dealing with daily drama and extreme violence are increasing.

“The violence is getting closer and closer to us to the point it’s on our doorstep. My staff are dealing with it and it is scary. My wife worries about me and I worry about my staff.

“We used to have sunglass Mondays because the wives and partners would come in with sunglasses because they’d been beaten and they’ve got black eyes. That still goes on. We see heightened anxiety and levels of confrontational violence across Tauranga Moana.”

Four days earlier, the police were called as a homeless couple camped across the road were screaming obscenities at each other. Two days later, a staff member had her car sideswiped by an individual who had allegedly tried to stab someone moments before.

He believes fear of the unknown is the driving force behind the increase in violence the service was seeing.

“Fear is the root cause of it. What do we fear the most? The unknown. They don’t know why they have ended up homeless or ended up in jail and we are trying to change that by unpacking and understanding their circumstances.

“We can’t expect the police to do everything and we can’t expect the hospitals to pick up the pieces. The community has to have an intervention.”

Wilson says Te Tuinga walks with clients towards a brighter future built on hope and wellbeing.

“Everyone has a story.”

Corey Wanakore served in the army for 28 years and was a probation officer before taking on the Te Tuinga Whānau operations manager role two years ago. He says the need is driven by the community and you put everything in your own life on the back burner when you come to work because you know you’re making a difference. Families are struggling to get a roof over their heads and poverty continues to have a huge impact on children. Wanakore says another major concern is mental health and wellbeing which has added another dimension to the help it provides. What you read and what you see is nothing compared to what is happening on the ground here, he says.

Growing up, Wilson didn’t just sing for his dinner, he did that and other tricks to get out of doing the dishes.

It was a tradition started by his parents, in particular his father Len, who had seen the horrors of World War II and fought alongside the Māori Battalion.

Wilson says his dad was made to shoot at people and saw “terrible things”. He was the only one of his mates in the Māori Battalion not to receive letters from home, which he found painful.

“His philosophy was never to be alone again, so he had 11 kids and we had no violence in our house because he had seen so much in the war. We were brought up with hard-case humour and every night we’d have talent quests to see who had to do the dishes,’’ Wilson says.

“You would have to tell a joke, do a yarn or sing a song.”

Wilson said his family home had a beautiful vibe.

“It was like a tourist attraction, everyone would come to our house because there was lots of kai and laughter.”

His father was an ardent reader and found solace in books and “that is what kept him sane”.

He passed on his love of reading and writing to Wilson alongside other traits including an appreciation of love and the power of hope.

“Those are the legacies he left for me so that I’ve been able to continue on. I’ve made heaps of mistakes along the way.”

Wilson has been around the world three times and worked in 33 countries in his younger years. Back then, he lived in the fast lane and took “anything and everything you could put up your nose and drink or smoke and ingest”.

He washed dishes at Chateau Mount Ruapehu and then trained to be a steward and restaurant manager after leaving school to fund his travels.

Wilson says he shared a joint and interviewed Beatle George Harrison, and wrote about Nicole Kidman, Jimmy Barnes, John Denver, and the King and Queen of Nepal. He says he had a small acting part in Mission Impossible, flew in private jets, stayed in luxury penthouses, drove flash cars, and delivered a 132-foot speedboat for a millionaire’s son’s 16th birthday.

“I lived the dream and got to play with a lot of toys.”

Then he had an epiphany that would change the course of his life and influence countless others.

“I thought, man, they have got everything but what have they got? They are wealthy but not happy.

“I wanted to go home and the irony is I belonged exactly where I’d started and where I am today.”

He has been sober and drug-free for 18 years.

Social worker Delwyn Rowan has an announcement to make. The 69-year-old, who has worked in the field for 10 years, the last two with Te Tuinga and wants to acknowledge her colleagues for their acceptance and support which has been overwhelming. Rowan wants them to know she was given the all-clear at a recent health check, her anxiety has settled, she isn’t on any medication and her wellbeing is the best it has ever been. She works part-time with the homeless in transitional housing and finds the job extremely rewarding. “I help people get rent ready to move into their own whare and will do whatever it takes,” she says.

Every Thursday, you will find Wilson on the Tauranga Golf Course.

It’s the only time he turns off his phone, although he is known to check text messages while walking around the green and will return urgent calls between putts.

Golf has saved his life, he says.

About six years ago, business owners and community kingpins banded together to gift 80 children bikes through Te Tuinga. It was a joyous occasion but Wilson was tired and out of sorts.

His mood was weary and had not gone unnoticed by those closest to him.

“That was the day I was completely rinsed. My tank was empty. I was done.”

After everyone got their bikes, an emotional Wilson was presented with a new set of golf clubs and a golf membership.

“They just said this is what you need. It gave me a place to breathe and a place to go and exercise and walk 7.5km. It was a pivotal turning point for me as these good friends of Te Tuinga had come to my rescue so I could carry on and do what I’ve been doing.

“It saved my life.”

Unbeknown to him, his time out at golf would cement future relationships that have been beneficial to Te Tuinga, which he is grateful for.

An accomplished author with 33 books under his belt, Wilson is a storyteller, newspaper columnist and poet. His leadership style at Te Tuinga can be likened to his generous nature and belief in second chances.

“I am a very giving person. I probably give more than most and I expect nothing in return. I put the ownership of responsibility back on the staff. Everybody has value and if you add that collective value together, you get far more than just having one leader. You get a team of leaders.”

He said it was important to create a caring work environment that people want to be part of.

“We would never have grown to what we are today if there was just one chief executive holding the stick wanting everyone to be subservient. That is not my style.

“You feed the kumara vine and it grows. I think Māori need to celebrate their talents more instead of being humble and shy.”

Wilson and his wife Sarah, who is a master weaver, have a blended family with four children and eight mokopuna.

He lives tribally in four whare with about 20 whānau on Hamaruru Hill. The ancestral land has been in his whānau for 160 years and holds great meaning for him.

“If you live together and share your kai and your challenges, you can really have a full and happy life. Our house looks like a weaving museum, it’s filled with laughter, waiata, mokos and flax. There is not a lot of seriousness.

“At night you can hear the ruru, so it’s a pretty special place.”

However, just like the stories he writes, Wilson is preparing to close one chapter and open another.

At the moment he prefers to keep the details of an upcoming hikoi under wraps but will send me a memo.

He has already started to transition out of his Te Tuinga role but says it’s like the song Hotel California: “You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.”

Carmen Hall is a news director for the Bay of Plenty Times and Rotorua Daily Post, covering business and general news. She has been a Voyager Media Awards winner and a journalist for 25 years.