I read and listen a lot. Both to relax when I walk and to keep myself in the loop with thought leaders and cultural analysts who provide great perspective for me when developing strategies, proposals and policies for the complex array of issues facing us today.
Recently, after re-reading Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari, my thoughts turned to the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what we value. Harari makes the point that much of human society is built on shared beliefs, on things that we agree matter, even if they’re not strictly tangible.
That idea stayed with me and I began to wonder how it plays out here in Auckland. Whether priority is given to the lives we share as part of the myriad and diverse communities that make up the city, with their enriching interconnectedness, or to property values and development potential. A modest piece of land in Pt Chevalier captures that dichotomy perfectly and has become a real-world test of what we value as a society. For nearly a century, it’s been treated not as something to maximise, but as a lived-in space, a home to bowling, tennis and croquet clubs, gardens, and the everyday activities of people spending time together.
This hugely valuable community space is now at the centre of a legal dispute. An Anglican charitable trust has elected to pursue costly litigation over this land that has long served the public good and the situation invites us to confront the uncomfortable truth that we have become much too adept at translating everything into financial terms, even those things that resist such conversion. Community spaces exist outside this calculus. They generate less tangible returns such as social cohesion, intergenerational connection, positive mental health and a sense of belonging.
The argument advanced in defence of the legal action rests on the language of fiduciary duty. The trustees, we are told, must act in the best interests of their organisation. But this interpretation is conveniently narrow. It assumes that “best interests” are synonymous with financial maximisation. In reality, fiduciary responsibility is far more nuanced. It encompasses reputation, public trust, and alignment with purpose.
This tension between formal responsibility and moral obligation is not new. As Harari observes, one of the defining innovations of modern economic life was the creation of structures that separate personal accountability from collective action. Limited liability companies, for instance, have enabled extraordinary growth by insulating individuals from the full consequences of their decisions. This same separation has also fostered a culture in which ethical considerations are too easily deferred.
We are now living with the consequences of that deferral. The results of decisions made in boardrooms and trust offices echo through communities, often in ways that cannot be undone. When legal strategy overrides lived experience, and when financial logic eclipses social value, the result is a kind of civic impoverishment that no reference to a balance sheet can remedy.
Leadership, in this context, demands more than procedural correctness. It requires moral imagination, the ability to see beyond immediate obligations to the broader impact of one’s choices. Institutions, particularly those with charitable or spiritual mandates, must be held to the highest standard. Their legitimacy rests not only on what they do, but on how and why they do it.
The Pt Chevalier land is not unique in its function, but it is emblematic in its significance. It reminds us that community spaces are not luxuries. They provide the infrastructure for human flourishing. They are where children learn to belong, where neighbours become friends, and where the idea of a cohesive society becomes tangible.
To lose such spaces is to lose something far greater than land. It is to diminish the connective tissue that binds us together. And in an age where division and dislocation are increasingly the norm, that is a cost we can ill afford.
