Why Our Nation’s Carers Are Striking: A Message for Every New Zealander

by Rebecca Thomas

Humanity, not hierarchy

"They do not leave their work at the door. They carry it home—on their shoulders, in their hearts."

This isn’t just about teachers striking. It’s not just doctors. Or nurses. Or the staff holding up our hospitals, kura, and clinics with quiet, relentless dignity.

This is a collective exhale of exhaustion—a slow uprising from those who were never meant to shout, finally saying:

"Enough."

You might be hearing about strikes. 

Again.

Teachers. Nurses. Doctors.

It’s easy to get numb to it. Easy to sigh and scroll on.

But before you do—please pause.

These aren’t just jobs. These are people whose daily work is grounded in humanity, not hierarchy.

And when they strike—not for profit, but for dignity and capacity—we must ask:

What state are we really in, as a nation, when our carers start walking away from the people they care for?

These Are Not Industrial Jobs

Strikes are often associated with steelworkers, ports, or shipping. But this is different.

Teachers, nurses, and doctors are the emotional and ethical backbone of a functioning society.

Their currency is care, not profit.

Their outcomes aren’t quarterly—they are generational.

This Isn’t About Them—It’s About Us

The people stepping out of their workplaces right now are not the loud ones. They are the steady ones—the ones who show up when your whānau needs them most.

• Teachers who dry your child’s tears after a rough morning

• Nurses who catch what the machines miss

• Doctors who stay past their shift because they know the next hour could change a life

  
  

They don’t leave the job at the door.

They carry it in their bones, in their dreams, in their hearts.

But right now, they’re at a breaking point.

Not because they want more.

But because there’s nothing left to give.

 Grounded in Humanity, Not Hierarchy

This workforce isn’t resisting accountability. It’s resisting being crushed.

You don’t clock in to care. 

You don’t file a spreadsheet on grief. 

You can’t schedule compassion into quarterly performance reviews.

The people holding up our education and healthcare systems are anchored in humanity, not hierarchy. And when they begin to say, “I can’t do this anymore,” when they start to walk away from the very people they serve—we must stop asking what’s wrong with them and start asking what’s gone wrong with us.

Something to Think About Every Time Brian Roche Speaks

As Public Service Commissioner, Sir Brian Roche holds one of the most senior and well-paid roles in the public sector. While his exact salary isn’t public, similar roles in recent years have been reported in the range of $500,000 to $600,000+ per year—several times more than what a teacher, nurse, or psychologist earns while working with our most vulnerable.

And yet, when frontline workers say they can’t keep going, he tells them the government’s offer is “a very good deal.”

This isn’t just a gap in income. It’s a gap in understanding.

So the next time he speaks of “fiscal responsibility” or “negotiation envelopes”, ask yourself:

How can someone so far removed from the classroom, the hospital ward, or the early childhood centre speak with such certainty about what’s “enough” for the people holding our nation together?

When We Let Our Carers Fall, We All Feel It

You might not think this affects you. But when our key workers are worn down, undervalued, and ignored—the ripples reach all of us:

• Hospital wait times grow longer

• Children’s learning suffers

• Support systems collapse under strain

• The safety net we all rely on begins to unravel

  
  

Whether you’re a business owner, a solo parent, a student, or retired—your wellbeing is tied to theirs.

It’s Time to Stand With Those Who Stand for Us

This is a moment for solidarity.

When you support teachers, nurses, and doctors—you’re not supporting protest. You’re protecting the people who will one day care for you, your parents, your kids.

Support looks like:

• Speaking up when someone mocks “another strike”

• Asking your MP what they’re doing to make hospitals and schools safe to work in

• Thanking the teacher aide who stays late

• Writing a letter. Sharing a post. Not looking away

  
  

Because when crisis knocks on your door—it won’t be a CEO who answers.

It will be someone grounded in humanity, not hierarchy.

And whether they stay in that role or walk away? That depends on how we, the public, choose to stand with them now.

A Country Must Decide What It Will Stand For

This is not a crisis of logistics. It’s a crisis of values.

If the people we trust to care for our sick, educate our tamariki, and support us through trauma are saying they can’t keep going, we need to stop asking “Why are they striking?” and start asking:

“What kind of country have we become, if we’ve made caring untenable?”

Board members aren’t in the NICU at 3am. 

Strategic planners aren’t breaking up schoolyard fights. 

Ministers aren’t sitting with grieving parents after suicide.

But our nurses, teachers, and doctors are.

The government isn’t failing because workers are striking. It’s failing because it refuses to hear why they have to.

He Karanga ki te Iwi – A Call to the Nation

Offer your support to the people you trust with your health, your tamariki, your whānau.

Because in the end:

A nation isn’t defined by its budgets, or boards, or policies. It’s defined by how it treats the people who care the most.