How to Claim a Space for Youth Amid Auckland's Gentrification

Down a laneway off Onehunga’s main street, a nineties-built building—which lately has known clearance shops and closing-down-sales—now has hope. Out the front, working the barbecue, Amiria Puia-Taylor is in full command of the street, calling over Saturday shoppers en route to Dress-Smart to tell them about a new community space. Soon enough there’s a crowd.

Meet the 312 Hub. Named after the original Onehunga bus route made famous by local rappers SWIDT, the Hub is the new kid on the block. It’s run by James Waititi and sisters Sabrina Puia and Amiria Puia-Taylor. The three had read about council plans to develop their neighbourhood and knew a community space was needed outside of any council-controlled process. “We smashed out this proposal and it was [about] dreaming up how do we make sure that young people don’t get missed in the conversations of consultations and advisory,” says Amiria. Panuku, the council’s urban regeneration arm, offered the three the space for a year.

Auckland Council has provided the space but doesn’t control anything they do. It makes for a tricky relationship, says Amiria, one they’re working out as they go. “We were really scared at first. But Panuku have this model called do-learn-do. Where you do it, and then you learn, and then you try it again. So we’re taking that on, and learning the way council operates.”

Amiria and James met while both working in TV. They would spend their Friday post-work drinks dreaming up a space that would include all the things they felt they needed but didn’t get from art school, high school, and from just generally growing up in Auckland. That process helped them work out where those gaps were. “None of our LGBQTI whānau feel safe," says Amiria. "And me and my world, my graffiti homies and those that hit up and do walls, they’re so uninformed about the significance of location. I wouldn’t mind creating something where they can come and learn so that they’re gonna go out there and do their pieces and do it safely.”

The result is a multidisciplinary approach to engaging the community. On a day VICE visited, for example, James was working on a series of practical talks aiming to familiarise Polynesian artists with a Western art frame, with FAFSWAG’s Tanu Gago and curator Olivia Laita confirmed as speakers; the downstairs area was booked for a workshop to train young people how to navigate open water by the stars; and local resident Mama Rose has opened an op shop under the stairs. Amiria spoke about plans for an exhibition that would include every creative person in Onehunga, “to weave everyone in and warm everyone else up into the space”.

James says it has all so far happened in line with their original vision. But that has always been a pretty loose vision. “A lot of it has been serendipitous. A lot of people have just been like, ‘You know what? I wanna do this here,’ and we’re like, ‘Okay. You were in our dream.’”

"Yeah, we intended it,” says Amiria. “We didn’t know it was gonna be like this though. One of the things I think we’ve all had is that we’re not used to being helped. It’s such an unfamiliar thing. Whether it’s because we’re Māori or Polynesian, we’re just so used to smashing it out and doing it. And we realise a lot of people feel like that. When they come in here, they’re not used to being given a spray can.”

Their approach puts creativity at the centre. One Friday, Amiria was manning the gallery. A couple of guys walked past and she could hear them trying to figure out what 312 was. “I was like, ‘Nah, come in.’ I offered them a really insignificant amount of spray cans and they laughed at me because little did I know they were graffiti artists. And then they said they’d come back tomorrow. And I totally didn’t think they would all come back.”

But they did. Four cars deep, ready to go. “They ended up helping and mentoring two younger boys that needed the exposure and to learn how to do graffiti properly. And they were just not used to being given paint, and walls, and to be left to do whatever.”

It’s about claiming the space. The walls are covered in graffiti, murals stacked against them. Over the stairs “ONEHUNGA” is painted with pride, two metres high in fluoro pink. Amiria says 312 Hub’s first exhibition highlighted the importance of doing so. The featured artists brought their aunties and uncles and cousins. “I would say about 20 percent of them are still here but the rest have moved out of Onehunga. We’re happy to have the hood change [but] we just don’t want these things happening.”

But can a place change inclusively? For Amiria it’s the million-dollar question. “There was a conversation in the making of our proposal where it was said ‘change is good, as long as it includes our people’.”

“It’s mean if you get new buildings, just make sure our people are in there. There’s all the factories here which has meant a lot of people have been able to stay in the hood because they’ve kept their jobs here. But it gets to a point with the cost of living now, they’re having to go to Roskill or to Clendon, where the houses are cheap. Which is a bit fucked up, if you ask me.”

Council consultation for the Onehunga transformation is currently underway. The 312 Hub has been running sessions to talk through the plans and get community input. For Amiria research is power. “If you’re passionate about the place you live in, know it. Know what the changes are that are gonna hit it and get ahead of the game with that.”

In the meantime, the mahi is getting people through the door. Running events almost daily to keep the lights on, bringing people in and warming them up to the space.

For Sabrina, the way to do that is to just let it flow. “Last week this big guy walks into the gallery and he carves 21st keys. And then he got this idea that he wanted to start carving in the style of an artwork on the wall. He’s like, ‘Could I come down and put my stuff here?’ He wanted to put on a show to help raise money for cancer patients. And he wanted a new set of teeth, that’s all he wanted.

“And he left here crying. Like this big gangster. And he’s been in the hood for 30-plus years. He’s like, ‘finally something’s happening on this side of life’. I was like, ‘There’s room for everyone here.’”