At the beginning of my sand mining fight 5 years ago, I wrote a blog post asking people to join in to help stop sand mining at Pakiri beach, north of Auckland.
In it, I shared a story about my mum planting pōhutukawa trees at Pakiri – tiny seedlings tucked safely into the shelter of giant sand dunes, 20 feet back from the edge. She imagined her mokopuna sitting beneath them one day.
When I wrote that piece, those dunes and beach were in a sad state, ravaged by continuous sea bed sand mining that had been happening for 80 years. The beach was in a terrible state and the tree was just only still holding on – its roots exposed, looking like it could be swept away with the next shift of sand. Mum quietly said she thought she might outlive it.
It felt like we were already too late.
Today, I’m incredibly proud to say: sand mining at Pakiri has come to an end.
This has been a huge battle – not just over the past year, but for decades. For some locals, it’s been a fight spanning three generations.
At first I wasn’t sure that I would be useful in the fight, I wasn’t a scientist, lawyer or coastal expert. But I am proud of the role that I ended up taking which was getting the story noticed and making it visible through media and an awareness campaign. I also managed the online petition where we gathered over 16,000 signatures.
Our small community came together – not as one voice, but as many. Tangata whenua with deep ancestral connection, legal minds, scientists, organisers, storytellers and neighbours united together.
Step by step, voice by voice, something shifted.
And alongside that fight, something else grew.
People I had only known as a child are now close friends. We’ve built real relationships, shared purpose, and a deeper connection to this place and to each other. There was something seriously beautiful in it – a reminder that protecting something can also bring a community back to life.
It doesn’t undo what’s been lost. The dunes are still diminished, the beach has been ravaged, and the tree is still fragile.
But now, at least, the beach has a chance to slowly heal itself.
Already, we’re starting to see small signs – larger shells returning, more seaweed washing up again. Local surfers tell me the sandbanks are better too. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A quiet recovery.
And I keep thinking about that little pōhutukawa – still holding on.
I’m hopeful now that my mum’s wish might still come true. That the tree won’t be swept away. That maybe, one day, my own mokopuna might sit beneath it in the shade.
It’s bittersweet, of course. Sadly though the mining might not have fully been stopped – it’s just moved up the coast.
Bream Bay, we see you. We’re right behind you.
For anyone facing something that feels too big, too powerful – I hope this story is a message of hope. At the beginning it felt like it was a true David and Goliath situation. But if you just start.
One step at a time. There are many ways to make a small voice carry, and united your voice is so much stronger.
Pakiri proved that. Being involved with the campaign changed my life.
And I couldn’t be prouder of our little community – for showing up, for standing firm, and for fighting back with such spirit.
