Declining birth rates: NZ fertility drops in line with global trend
The human race needs more babies
It was previously believed that 2.1 children per woman was the replacement level needed to sustain the global population, but it's now thought that the rate is higher – at 2.7 kids per woman.
It's grim reading for a Saturday morning. But when three-quarters of the world's population lives in countries where lifetime fertility rates are below replacement levels – including Aotearoa where the fertility rate has dropped from 2.17 in 2010 to 1.56 per woman in 2023 – maybe the Uber driver (and, I hate to admit, Vance) has a point?
Sociologist and Massey University emeritus professor Paul Spoonley has been tracking birth rates for years. He believes there are three main reasons why women are choosing to have none or just one child.
'An important factor is the increasing number of females with tertiary qualifications – 43% of women have tertiary qualifications compared to 36% of men,' says Spoonley. 'That means a greater participation by women in the workforce.'
It won't come as a surprise to anyone but the cost of living is another reason we're not rushing to have more children.
Professor Paul Spoonley says the cost of living is another reason Kiwis aren't willing to have more children. Photo / RNZ
'Children are expensive and the increasing cost of living and housing can force the decision for some in terms of having children versus buying a house.'
Add to that the daily costs and trade-offs of employment, i.e. the so-called Motherhood Penalty or economic disadvantages faced by women in the workforce post-children, including pay and career advancement.
'Similar issues explain the increasing age of women having their first child,' says Spoonley. 'Last year more children were born to women 40 and over compared to births to women aged 20 and under.'
If you thought climate change was the reason why some women aren't reproducing, put a tick on your bingo card.
While Spoonley admits it's difficult to tell how significant this issue is, and how many women it affects, 'for the generation currently making fertility decisions, the environment is a growing consideration'.
Lucy Hughes* is one of those women. The Wellington policy analyst believes it's 'ethically unjustifiable to bring kids into a world that's on fire'.
'The climate, and what humans are doing to it, is the number one crisis not just for my generation but for all of us,' believes the 28-year-old.
'I'm so worried about the catastrophic future this planet is hurtling towards, and the fact that governments aren't doing anything about it, that I've decided the best thing I can do for the environment is not add to the number of humans fighting for ever-decreasing resources.'
Having been widely criticised by family and friends for her decision, Hughes is reluctant to use her real name for this story. But suggest that she's contributing to the end of humanity and she'll roll her eyes.
'I don't judge anyone for having kids but they feel free to judge me. I've been called selfish and stupid but my position is, faced with a future of war, flooding, heatwaves and food shortages – and politicians in various states of denial – I think I'm right not to have kids.'
Jacinta Woodnutt has the kind of close-knit, wholesome family people make sitcoms about. The mother of six shares a four-bedroom home with her husband, high school teacher Stephen Woodnutt, and their six children – five boys and one girl who range in age from 14-3.
The Woodnutt family, from left, Stephen holding Gilbert, Matthias, Patrick (top), Cecilia, Damien (bottom middle) and Jancinta holding Edmund. Photo / George Heard
Their suburban Christchurch house is cramped and sometimes so noisy that Australian expat Woodnutt, 35, escapes to her bedroom for 'five minutes of peace'.
'It can be hard raising six kids, especially on a single income, but there's a lot of joy and laughter in our house.'
Woodnutt, who met her Kiwi husband when they were both students at a Sydney Catholic university, admits that the couple's strong faith played a large part in their decision to have six children.
'As per the church's guidance, we use natural family planning practices. But the real reason for having six kids is that we both come from large families [Woodnutt has 10 siblings, her husband has four] and we both really love kids. We believe children are a blessing and a gift from God.'
Not everyone sees it like that: Woodnutt is often met with raised eyebrows and comments such as 'Don't you know which century you're living in?' and 'You don't need to have lots of kids any more'.
'I've had total strangers say to me, don't you have a TV? Sometimes people are genuinely interested in what it's like to raise six kids but many are just rude.'
Jacinta and Stephen Woodnutt and their children Patrick, Matthias, Damien, Gilbert, Cecilia and Edmund. Photo / George Heard
Having been at the sharp end of judgment, Woodnutt would never judge anyone who chose not to have children.
'Just as I don't want people to have a go at me for my fertility decisions, I would never criticise anyone because it's nobody's business. I totally respect their choice.'
But what about declining birth rates?
'I'm definitely concerned about that because it means fewer doctors and people we need for the future. For me, a child is a sign of hope so while I understand the perspective of those who don't want to bring children into this terrible world, we have to have hope.'
It's a sentiment that's repeated, almost verbatim, a few days later at the other end of the motu.
Premaloka Treacy is a yoga therapist on Waiheke Island who owns Prem Heart Yoga School and Lily & Lotus cafe/concept store, and is mother to six children aged from 10 to 26.
The Treacy family from left: back row,Lalita-Jewel, Paul, Gabriel, Cashel, Luka and Uisce-Lily (holding Bantry). Front row, Premaloka and Delilah-Belle (holding Sandy).
Treacy, her Irish husband Paul and two of their six children live behind the cafe (her oldest two recently moved to Dublin for their OEs, one is studying in Wellington and one flats in Auckland).
'I never ever considered I wouldn't have children,' says Treacy. 'We thought we'd have three or four but to be honest, we didn't really plan any of our children. And then I got addicted to having kids. They're the biggest blessing in our lives and we're a really strong, close family.'
Treacy would be the first to admit that not everyone is cut out to follow her example.
The Treacy family from left: Delilah-Belle (holding Bantry), Uisce-Lily (holding Wolfson), Premaloka, Paul, Lalita-Jewel (in front), Luka (holding Sandy), Cashel and Gabriel.
'Kids are a huge financial cost and a lifetime commitment and I understand that not everyone feels the same bond as I do, or that some women have had trauma in their lives or don't want the disruption. It's certainly not easy having six kids, especially when we had four under 5 years old, but when you have a child you bring hope into the world – hope for good, kind people who will make a difference. I'd never say to anyone, have a baby because our birth rates are falling but if you love and want kids and have the support to do so, then go for it because that child will bring you joy.'
* Name has been changed to protect identity
How governments tackle declining birth rates
In Hungary, if you're the mother of four or more children, you don't have to pay income tax for life. Hungary also offers subsidies to help large families buy cars and houses. Poland, too, offers incentives.
Hong Kong offers cash bonuses for each newborn as well as easier access to subsidised housing for families with children. South Korea, which has the world's lowest birth rate, is also offering cash incentives to new parents. Russia has extended a hefty cash payment, originally for new adult mothers, to include school girls in an attempt to reverse a dramatic decline in the country's birthrate.
But Spoonley warns that these policies haven't stopped fertility decline.
'The interesting thing is that pro-natal policies of various governments around the world have had almost no impact on fertility decisions or reversing fertility decline. Sweden, which has far more generous pro-natal packages than New Zealand, did see a small blip but reverted to ongoing low fertility.'
Spoonley believes the key is to figure out exactly what's driving falling rates so that governments can introduce effective policies to combat it. 'International experience shows that it's hard to reverse fertility decline. We need to better understand the issue and look at alternatives such as better educational investments and productivity improvements.'
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Newsroom
17 hours ago
- Newsroom
An incident in Karori
My landlady was a slight, graceful woman who taught at a local school, and when she arrived, she took me to my room and introduced me to her little dog, Eddie, who wagged his tail and followed us as she showed me around her house. She pointed out the framed pictures of her two daughters, one of whom was living in the US. 'You seem perfect,' she said after we took our seats in her kitchen, where she told me I was welcome to help myself to her pantry before preparing dinner for us and opening a bottle of wine. 'To a new life,' she said, as we clinked glasses. The warmth that rose through my body as I drank her wine reassured me as she talked about the differences between Australians and Kiwis, before mentioning her support for New Zealand prime minister John Key. 'We have what you'd call a tall poppy syndrome here, and people don't like that he worked his way up without accepting any help,' she said. I had friends and relatives whose political views differed from mine, and so I chose not to assign too much meaning to her words. This woman had been generous to me, and on my first evening in a new country I was eager for good omens. She and her daughter were up and about when I came upstairs for breakfast the next morning. Her daughter, a young woman who had just graduated from university, was as friendly as her mother and seemed excited to learn I was a writer. Inviting me to help myself to the breakfast they'd prepared, she talked about her older sister, who was dating a Stegner fellow and had given up her career as a lawyer in New Zealand to work for a nonprofit in America. Both she and her mother urged me to make myself feel at home, and in their company it was difficult not to. 'My other daughter would love to know about you,' my landlady said, as her younger daughter stacked our dishes in the sink. 'She loves to hear about people from different countries.' Her daughter had left the kitchen when she added, 'I don't know how it is in your country, but here we open the windows to let in fresh air.' Caught by surprise, I didn't know how to respond. 'We do that all the time in my country,' I said, noticing how she was busying herself with the dishes, as though she hadn't heard me at all. 'So Monica, do you mind if you open your sliding door just a little? Just to dry out your room,' she responded, her eyes grazing my face. I returned to my bedroom and opened my sliding door an inch, hoping to push away my misgivings to the farthest corner of my mind just as I heard a knock on my door. My landlady let herself in, holding a squeegee in one hand and a towel in the other. 'Do you know what this is?' she asked, holding up a squeegee. 'Of course.' 'The next time you take a shower, hose down the walls with the shower head, squeegee them, then use this towel to dry them off,' she said, tossing them onto the bed. 'I want to keep it clean.' She had promised to take me to their village, where there were two supermarkets and several banks. After I had showered and dressed, I returned to the kitchen, where she waited for me. 'You take your time in the shower,' she jokingly said, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter. Sensing her meticulousness, I had done a thorough job of cleaning my shower stall, but now I wondered what it was, exactly, that she wanted. But my own confusion was silenced by her insistent footsteps as she made her way to her front door, and I hurried to follow her. As we drove down a hilly road toward a cluster of shops she called their village, our easy conversation turned to the things I wanted to buy from the supermarket and the neighborhood public library that had a good selection of books. I hardly noticed when she parked right in front of an ATM—her morning cheeriness made me forget about my unpaid rent, and it was when she nodded at me that I remembered what our first order of business was. She stood a few meters from me, watching me expectantly as the machine rejected my card. I panicked, for I had expected to withdraw the funds I needed from my overseas bank accounts before my scholarship checks came in. When I finally approached her to tell her what had just happened, her face darkened. 'So you don't have my money?' she asked, her voice now a low growl. I rushed back to the ATM, pushing my card into the slot before figuring out that I had to withdraw smaller amounts from different accounts. Though astonished by her sudden hostility, I had no time to let it sink in—I was too afraid to displease her, for I had nowhere else to go. She smiled when I handed her my rent and bond, and any misgivings I had were washed away by her good-naturedness as she helped me open a bank account and accompanied me to the grocery store. 'You probably have so much more variety back home,' she said to me, as we pushed our cart past shelves of fruit. I could sense that like many older white people I had met in the US, her world remained small. It appeared like she was trying her best to welcome me into it, despite the strain my presence seemed to be exerting on its smallness. The next day, a truck driver who sped past me while I was walking to the grocery store yelled something that sounded like 'go home.' Upon my return, I told her about what had happened, and she took me into her arms while declaring, 'We love Filipinos here.' It was the reassurance I needed to quiet my uneasiness over what had just happened, or what I perceived to have happened. I spent the rest of my day trying to cast aside its unpleasantness, determined to not let anything ruin the beginnings of what was a promising new chapter of my life. The next morning, as I prepared my breakfast, she told me that her daughter in the US was upset about the incident. 'She's inconsolable,' my landlady said, her voice gaining the heaviness of syrup. 'She's mad that something like this would ever happen to you.' I knew I was supposed to feel grateful for her daughter's sympathy, and yet her words pressed on me like an odd and uncomfortable weight. Laughing, I said, 'It's nothing.' Her eyes remained pinned on me, and I glanced away from her as I poured coffee for myself. 'It's not nothing. It's terrible.' 'Yeah.' I was annoyed that she was bringing the incident up again; there was something about her exaggerated tone that made me squirm inside. Did she expect me to be unable to recover from it, when living in a body like mine made me a natural target for verbal attacks like these? Looking back at our exchange, there was something about the way she prodded the wound that makes me wonder if she was waiting for me to offer up my hurt, like a gift, to her. But I wasn't yet willing to think of it in this way. I took a bus to my university, met my PhD supervisor for the first time, and took a tour of the campus and my new office with my institute's administrator. I sat with my discomfort until it slowly withered. I reminded myself that my landlady had insisted on taking my side, even as I tried to dismiss my own hurt. Her rage made me feel safe in a strange city, though it became increasingly friendly the more I talked to people and ventured down its streets. I bought ingredients for my dinner at a downtown supermarket and took a bus back home, only beginning to notice how quickly my expenses were eating into my savings when I got down at my stop and realised just how expensive my bus fare back to her house was. She had welcomed me to use her pots and pans, and had taught me to use her expensive-looking range with prongs rising from a flat surface at the push of a button, emitting gas when I turned a dial. Encouraged to use her condiments, I twisted her Himalayan salt grinder over my simmering chicken, not realizing that the cap hadn't been screwed on tight. The grinder fell into the pan, sending bright pink granules scattering all over my dish and onto the kitchen counter just as the front door opened and her lithe, assured footsteps announced her arrival. 'Is anything wrong, Monica?' she asked as she entered the kitchen, perhaps noticing the shock on my face as I attempted to gather myself. 'I'm so sorry. I accidentally spilled your salt.' Glancing at the kitchen counter, I saw that I hadn't spilled that much, and was embarrassed at my own mortification—it was just salt, and surely it was nothing to her. But then her face darkened, and in a low voice, she said, 'That's very expensive salt.' She perched herself on a bar stool and folded her arms, her silence issuing an unspoken order as I gathered the pink crystals in my palmand poured them back into the grinder. Was this salt so precious that I had to pour it back into the shaker despite the dirt it may have touched? It wasn't something I would have done in my own household, and yet my movements were not my own as I felt her eyes watching my every move, pulling invisible strings attached to my limbs. 'That's enough,' she said, as I tried to pick out more salt from my simmering dish. She narrowed her eyes and nodded as I apologized profusely. In my room, out of her sight, my discomfort hung in the air like a low hum. I had seen the same salt at the nearby grocery store, and was sure it hadn't been that expensive. (True enough, a few days later I saw the same brand of salt in the supermarket being sold for about $3.) I had lived in my own apartment prior to coming to New Zealand, and never thought I'd be reduced to a frightened child inside the place I lived. I could hear her footsteps and then a rapping on my door. 'You're in your room all the time. This is your house. Come out and explore!' she said, throwing her hands in the air. I smiled, thanked her, and told her I was busy attending to schoolwork. 'But you can work in the living room too!' she said, her voice forming a gentle plea. Was she trying to apologise for what had happened earlier? I found myself softening to her, and my panic began to ebb as I picked up my laptop and followed her upstairs. She disappeared into the TV lounge right next to her kitchen, while I made for her living room overlooking the hills. I settled uncomfortably into a sofa, not knowing if I could get any writing done in this room that bore no trace of use. It was dark outside, and I could no longer see the hills outside the living room window, but the L-shape of the house allowed me to peer into its kitchen and TV room, where my landlady sat on an easy chair before a flickering screen. Was I a figurine in her dollhouse, to be bent and arranged according to her will? I had to admit that she had a way with me, and I returned to my room, hoping to get away from this queasy feeling. The next day she saw me opening the pantry to reach for a canister of sugar. 'When are you going to get your own stuff?' she asked, with a note of impatience. Freezing in the middle of her kitchen, I answered, 'I thought you told me to help myself.' 'That's because you didn't have anything when you arrived,' she said, her voice a sickly sweet caress. Glancing at the coffee I'd just made with her grounds in my small French press, she added, 'Can't you buy your own coffee? That coffee is very expensive.' When I returned to my bedroom, I noticed that the bathrobe she had left hanging on my door had disappeared, and when I stepped inside what was supposedly my private bath, I noticed that the bottle of bodywash she had left for me was also gone. I was spending a lot of time in the shower, she said, when I stepped outside the bathroom. 'Aren't you taking good care of that beautiful body of yours?' she asked, as I stood in her hallway with a towel wrapped around me. I didn't quite understand what she was getting at until she said it aloud: 'But power is expensive, Monica, and with your tarrying my bill's shooting up.' Taken with kind permission from the newly published essay collection Returning to My Father's Kitchen by Monica S Macansantos (Northwestern University Press, $US22), available in selected bookstores such as Unity in Wellington, or as print or ebook version direct from the publisher. The longest essay is about her unhappy experience in Karori. ReadingRoom is devoting all week to coverage of that totemic Wellington suburb. Tomorrow: a stout defence of its supposed charms by Leah McFall, author of the classic work Karori Confidential (Luncheon Sausage Books, 2018).
NZ Herald
17 hours ago
- NZ Herald
Agrivoltaics: Waiuku farm combines solar panels with grazing livestock
Running the 48ha property has deepened her appreciation for farmers working to improve soil and water quality, while trying to maintain a profitable business. A desire to be outside and working with animals was part of the appeal for the Upchurches coming home as well. 'This farm is where I grew up, so it was a real coming home for me,' Merrin Upchurch said. 'When we were living in Europe in Amsterdam, I really missed the animals and being outside.' The couple started raising pigs, as Merrin Upchurch's mum Judy had planted a lot of fruit and nut trees. The pigs graze below and hoover up the excess windfall produce. They have a handful of breeding sows, a boar and young 'boar-to-be', and when Country Life visited, two litters of six piglets each. 'There was huge demand for the Berkshires because they've got a great rep,' Nigel Upchurch explained. 'They're known as the Wagyu of the pork world, and they are beautiful meat, nicely marbled, delicious, quite frankly.' Merrin Upchurch said the domestic pork industry had taken a hammering because it was cheaper to import from overseas, where many countries had less stringent welfare standards. 'There's nothing better than your own pork,' she said. 'Fattened on chestnuts and free-range like this, it's a completely different type of meat.' Six hungry piglets enjoy their breakfast. Photo / RNZ, Gianina Schwanecke The pigs are also fed food scraps from a thrice-weekly run to the local supermarket, which helps add nutrients back into the soil. Woodchips from fallen and felled trees on the property are added where the pigs roam during the winter months to reduce mud and absorb excess nitrogen. 'With the amount of produce we're bringing into the pig areas, there's actually quite a bit of nutrient coming into the areas,' Merrin Upchurch said. The pigs are also fed food scraps from a thrice weekly run to the local supermarket, which help add nutrients back into the soil. Photo / RNZ, Gianina Schwanecke 'This farm was actually run as an organic property for about 15 years, and so the inputs that have been added to the property in terms of fertiliser have all been natural products.' Rotating stock, including young mobs of heifers up to 200kg, also helps, as the cattle eat down the tougher grass the pigs don't like to eat. The couple aim to run the farm with as few external inputs as possible, with hopes to see it eventually become carbon-neutral, if not a carbon sink. The couple also run pigs. Photo / Gianina Schwanecke, Country Life It's why, over 18 months ago, they added more than 3000 solar panels across 3ha of the farm. It's the first solar farm built and operated by Lightyears Solar. Lightyears Solar owns the panels and leases the land from the Upchurches. It operates the single-access tracking system, which sees the panels follow the sun, Lightyears Solar co-founder and head of development Matt Shanks said. Woofers Tommy Falconer (left) and Tilly Millson (second from left) have been helping the Upchurches with feeding stock and planting native trees. Photo / RNZ, Gianina Schwanecke 'It works better with the livestock.' The farm generates enough energy to power between 600-700 homes near Waiuku, about 2.4 megawatts or 2400 kilowatts. Even on a grey, drizzly winter day, as it was when Country Life paid a visit, the panels still generate about 25% of their usual production. It's an example of agrivoltaics, the practice of simultaneously using land for solar energy production and agriculture, such as growing crops or grazing stock beneath the panels. As one of the first large agrivoltaic set-ups in New Zealand, there was a lot of 'learning along the way', Shanks said. Agrivoltaic operations are still at the experimental stage in New Zealand and typically include smaller grazing animals such as sheep, so running young cattle has added challenges. The couple run mobs of young heifers, up to about 200kg, under the solar panels across 3ha on the farm. Photo / Gianina Schwanecke, RNZ Shanks recalled running experiments with bamboo poles across the paddock to work out the height needed to be able to run cattle below. The answer? About 1.6m off the ground, so the heifers are unable to cause mischief by eating the wires. The dual land use with young cattle grazing beneath has made the farm more profitable. Lightyears Solar co-founder and head of development Matt Shanks (left) and farmer Nigel Upchurch. Photo / Gianina Schwanecke, Country Life 'Per hectare, this is now the most profitable part of the farm,' Nigel Upchurch said. It aligns with the couple's values and has also added environmental benefits. The solar panels provide shelter for the stock on wet, wintry days and during the heat of summer. 'This summer and autumn was really dry, and we actually noticed the grass was greener under the panels, so we're getting less water evaporation,' Merrin Upchurch noted. While power generated from the farm currently goes back into the grid, the couple hope they will soon be able to run the farm and their house from the solar panels. 'Something we're really keen on is reducing the carbon footprint of the property,' Merrin Upchurch said. In the meantime, new farms are going up around the country, maximising the amount of limited land for solar farms. Lightyears Solar has developed new ones in Canterbury and Wairarapa, with hopes to continue. – RNZ
The Spinoff
a day ago
- The Spinoff
What Canterbury can teach the rest of the country about insurance stress
In Canterbury, some people are still dealing with insurance claims nearly 15 years after the earthquakes – and worsening climate change means more New Zealanders may have this emotional and financial toll ahead of them. Kate Dewes has a four-drawer filing cabinet in the garage of her house in Riccarton, Christchurch; it's filled with documents related to the series of insurance claims and disputed cases she went through to get her home repaired following the 2010 Christchurch earthquake. 'Our general experience was traumatic,' Dewes says. After filing a claim following the initial earthquake, the damage to Dewes' house wasn't completely repaired. She and her husband, Robert Green, asked for the repairs to be fully completed, which became an ordeal that sent them to the High Court, where they had to pay for their own lawyers and expert witnesses. Dewes' case was particularly high profile; it was used as a kind of test case for the Canterbury Earthquakes Insurance Tribunal and a short film was made about Dewes' experience. It is only recently, after nearly 15 years, that her family has been able to live in a fully repaired home, which doesn't leak or have falling chimneys. 'You saw how I looked in the film – I'm much calmer now. We've got our home back,' Dewes says, sitting in her restored study. Following the Christchurch earthquakes of 2011 and 2011, insurance claims were an ongoing reminder of the disaster. 'From research in Australia, and anecdotally here, we've heard that disputing an insurance claim can be more distressing than the experience of the disaster itself,' says Lauren Vinnell, a lecturer in psychology at Massey University who studies disasters. 'Insurance is a really important part of recovery; if claims are settled quickly, people are less likely to move, businesses are less likely to close.' The years following the Canterbury earthquakes showed this acutely. Ilan Noy, a professor of economics, specialises in the impacts of disaster and climate change at Victoria University of Wellington, and has pored through economic data showing how the quakes reshaped Christchurch. 'Data from eight years following the earthquakes show increased levels of anxiety and stress,' he says. He looked at insurance specifically, comparing people in the red zone who accepted a government buyout of their house at its capital value (CV) to those who made an insurance claim. On a financial level, many people made the wrong choice – they could have got more money from the government than via insurance, or vice versa, with the choice largely influenced by what their neighbours were doing. But people who went through the government buyout process tended to be happier, even if they hadn't got the best deal financially. 'It's a lot more straightforward to tick a box and get the money within weeks,' Noy says. Negotiating with private insurance meant both sides paying for experts, making arguments about what the damage was. 'It's not terribly surprising that that process is more cumbersome than just going with the CV,' Noy says. Cantabrians' experience with insurance disputes, on a financial and emotional level, has something to teach the rest of the country as disasters exacerbated by climate change continue. Natural hazards like flooding, landslides and wildfires are more intense and frequent in a hotter climate. This is already affecting insurance. Areas with recurrent flooding, for example, have had their premiums hiked; Nick Smith, Nelson mayor, has pointed out that the council's hazard map, identifying risky areas, affected insurance premiums and house sales. Hundreds of insurance claims have already been made following the recent Nelson-Tasman floods. An independent reference group led by the Ministry of the Environment recently examined the issue of how to pay for climate buyouts in a report on climate adaptation. 'In the past, local and central government have offered buyouts of up to the full value of properties affected by natural hazards. These decisions reduce incentives for people to understand and manage their own risk, can distort property prices, and have given rise to an expectation that buyouts will continue, creating a moral hazard,' the report said. It recommended slowly phasing out buyouts over 20 years, as well as changing land-use patterns to reduce future risks. It's not just people in earthquake-damaged Canterbury who will be negotiating with insurers and the government for the value of their primary asset, it will be people everywhere. Vinnell's research team, a collaboration between Massey's Centre for Disaster Research and the University of Canterbury, has just launched a survey, trying to get a better understanding of the experience of disputing insurance claims, beyond Canterbury. 'People in a disaster situation are often physically and psychologically traumatised,' she says. 'We're interested in how this interacts with dealing with an insurance dispute.' Vinnell and the other researchers will use the survey as a starting point, also interviewing people about their experiences. While she expects that most people will have had a negative experience, she's also interested in people who have had disputes resolved quickly, and how they feel about it as a result. The mundane details, of emails and photos, documentation and going through policies line by line, look like office work. But it implicates your home – a major financial asset – and where you can live. Dewes would sometimes stay up all night preparing documents for hearings in the morning. 'When I was up all night with the photocopier going, using my computer, something that kept me strong was knowing that it could help a whole lot of other people settle – but I got close to a breakdown.' Her hope is that her case will set a precedent for others. After featuring in the short film, she had people come to her house 'bawling their eyes out' over their experiences with insurance claims, and wanting to talk to someone about it. Dewes has worked as peace campaigner and researcher; she was able to pay for lawyers and experts and was confident dealing with documents, which isn't the case for everyone. Still, the experience of disputing the insurance claim felt harrowing. 'In the end, the earthquakes were an absolute doddle compared to the insurance company,' says Robert Green, Dewes' husband. Continuing to find the money for lawyers was stressful, as was the fact that Green was diagnosed with cancer in 2013. 'I don't allow myself to think about what I could have done with the last 15 years if we hadn't had to deal with this – you'd just become resentful,' says Green. Dewes imagines more time with her kids and grandkids; less time living in a cold, leaky house, waiting for repairs. Both have practical tips for people preparing to dispute insurance claims. 'Take notes, of everything,' Dewes says. When calling an insurance company, write down what you've discussed; take photos and keep evidence of work you've done on your home in case the cause of damage is debated afterwards. She's also heard of people whose computers and documents are destroyed in a disaster; she recommends digital and hard copies of documents, kept at a different location. Insurance makes calculations to insure homes based on risk and profit, Noy says. But having ultra-high premiums – like, say, $50,000 – isn't a good look as a business, so in areas exposed to severe natural hazards, insurers may simply refuse to insure houses. 'Insurance is always a one-year contract, so every year insurers can recalculate the risk,' Noy says. Events like Auckland's 2023 floods have caused insurers to advocate for greater flood protection in areas where inundation is likely. For politicians, choosing to pay for buyouts of houses after a disaster isn't a financial calculation, but a political one. 'It's more about electability than cost,' Noy says. Telling people that their home, and likely their greatest asset, is now impossible to sell because it can't be publicly bought out or privately insured following a disaster is always going to be unpopular. Noy has called the current system, where the government has no set position on buyouts, the 'worst' possible policy option – especially because money spent on buyouts is money not spent on planning and preparing for future disasters. Vinnell has talked to the Natural Hazards Commission and the Insurance Council, both of which are interested in the outcomes of her research into the emotional effect of insurance disputes. 'We're particularly interested in how one experience might shape decisions to dispute insurance in the future,' she says. Homes are linked to emotions as well as mortgages and bank accounts. 'How much do insurance claims take into account the value of staying in your neighbourhood, choosing to rebuild or repair?' The number of people dealing with insurance disputes is likely to keep rising as disasters continue. 'I can see that this problem is going to get worse because of climate change, let alone another major earthquake,' Green says. Both he and Dewes feel for the many people who share their experience of living in damaged houses, not knowing when they will get a resolution. 'My heart aches for anyone else who has to go through what we went through,' Dewes says.
