If you’ve ever worked in conservation you’ll know that funding windfalls are few and far between. Most of the time you’re scrounging for ways to keep the work going – furiously writing grant applications, rallying local volunteers and (if you’re lucky enough to have a job in this sector) working above and beyond your paid hours.
So when the previous government announced the $1.2 billion Jobs for Nature (JfN) scheme in 2020, organisations around the country rushed to apply for the funding. JfN was the pot of gold they needed to turn their pie-in-the-sky dreams into reality.
JfN’s primary purpose was to help those affected by Covid-19 find jobs in conservation. By September 2023, the scheme had employed 13,350 people in 493 projects. But it was also a massive boon for te taiao, the natural world. Up and down the country our harried ecosystems finally started to get the attention they deserved.
Evidence of the funding is everywhere, whether it’s the 19,000 sq km of land controlled for wilding pines, the 24,000 sq km under pest-animal control or the 9.7 million native plants that have gone in the ground.
But numbers don’t do justice to the transformations. There are swathes of land where bare grass has been turned into a forest of native saplings. Weed-choked streams now run clear, providing passages for taonga fish species. Whole clutches of baby birds are fledging in the spring without the pressure of possums, rats and stoats.
Restoration plantings bring a whole host of short- and long-term benefits: they mitigate the effect and intensity of wildfires, help cool the planet, stop sediment runoff into freshwater and marine environments and provide habitat for native plants and animals. Investing in conservation projects feels like a no-brainer in a world of escalating environmental crises.
But 2024 is the end of the line for JfN. Many projects have spent the past year scrambling to find a way to keep their mahi alive. Here in Lyttelton Harbour where I live, Kaimahi for Nature Whakaraupō (a partnership between Te Hapū o Ngāti Wheke, Living Springs and Conservation Volunteers New Zealand) is one of the largest JfN projects in the South Island, receiving $4.5 million.
Our project looked after 2200ha of land, planted 75,000-plus native eco-sourced trees, shrubs and grasses and employed 30 people over three years.
The project finishes at the end of March, having failed to find ongoing funding. While the field crews have undoubtedly left a legacy for the harbour, there are real fears that some of their gains will be lost. Staff worry possums and rats will creep back in, pest plants will spread and some restoration plantings might not survive the heat and pressure from weeds. The harbour will sorely miss the skilled staff.
Kaimahi for Nature Whakaraupō is just one project. Ask around and you’ll find this sadness about the end of JfN echoed elsewhere. Who will keep on top of the wilding pines? Who will walk the traplines and release the seedlings from weeds? What will happen to the thousands of people whose wages it paid? The scale of the loss is staggering.
Opponents of the scheme argued from the get-go that JfN was an enormous waste of taxpayer money. But I believe this perspective is shortsighted. What of the taxpayer money that goes towards fighting increasingly intense wildfires or responding to catastrophic weather events? Conservation holds some of the solutions to the present and future crises – investing in te taiao now will likely save us money.
Conservation work is an act of hope and resistance. It dares to believe that we can help heal our beleaguered environments and it resists the creeping cynicism of a world constantly in crisis.
Lily Duval is a writer, researcher and illustrator based in Ōhinehau Lyttelton.
