What kind of economy produces the highest adolescent suicide rate? Ours
By Georgie Craw.
This article was originally published on The Spinoff.
The latest Unicef Innocenti Report Card 19: Fragile Gains – Child Wellbeing at Risk in an Unpredictable World ranks Aotearoa 32nd out of 36 wealthy countries for overall child wellbeing. We are rock bottom for child and youth mental health, with the highest youth suicide rate among EU and OECD countries. It is a competition no one wants to win.
The Unicef rankings are a wake-up call, but they’re not surprising. They reflect choices. Political ones. This isn’t just theory for me. In my former role as executive officer of Child Poverty Action Group, I saw firsthand how political decisions shape lives. In that role I worked with advocates, communities and academics pushing for systemic change. A core part of that work involved advocating for long-term solutions, instead of just charity. It was about improving systems that were never designed with the dignity and wellbeing of people in mind.
It is important, necessary work. But what has become increasingly clear to me is, if we really want to fix poverty, if we want children to flourish, we have to go as far upstream as we can. We have to radically improve the economic system that underpins it all.
Because the truth is, our current system is working exactly as it was designed to, just not for the greater good of everyone.
As Toby Manhire’s podcast series Juggernaut shows, neoliberalism, the dominant economic system we live under, was deliberately designed to give more power to the market: deregulating corporations and privatising the public. And our politicians really went for it. Taxes were overhauled and welfare budgets were slashed. We were told that economic gains would trickle down.
Instead, the approach devalued our own people and created rampant wealth inequality. As Max Rashbrooke details, New Zealand had the biggest increase in income disparity in the developed world between 1985 and 2005. And it was during the 1980s and 1990s that we saw an upward trend in our overall suicide death rate. Child poverty, inequality and mental health crises aren’t bugs, they are features of the system.
Image: Spinoff
Today, young people face a future that feels increasingly out of reach. Home ownership is slipping away, tertiary education is expensive, and the climate crisis looms large. They’re being told, implicitly or explicitly, to expect a lower quality of life than their parents. This isn’t the natural way of things and it demands a serious and future-focused response from our politicians.
Budget 2025 is around the corner, and it will tell us, once again, what our leaders value. It will show us if our decision-makers are choosing to prioritise what really matters: real support for mental health, liveable incomes, access to quality housing and education, and the wellbeing of our communities.
So, what would I like to see in the government’s budget? Intergenerational thinking.
Yes, I want to see increased funding for youth mental health services, but if we are truly to go to the root cause of the problem, the budget would include a commitment to public housing and housing affordability so that every child in Aotearoa can grow up in a stable housing environment. Housing instability is more than just a roof issue, it’s a stress factory for families. Constant moves can chip away at a child’s sense of community, identity and safety.
It would include a commitment to real, sustained action on climate change. Not just vague targets, but serious investment in reducing emissions. Rewiring Aotearoaand Recloaking Papatūānuku are two examples of climate action that actually save money. The mental toll of living through climate anxiety is real, especially for young people who are increasingly aware that the world they’re inheriting is in crisis. A future-focused budget would treat the climate crisis not as tomorrow’s problem, but as today’s emergency, and invest accordingly.
It would include more examples of community wealth building in action. “Community wealth building” might sound like jargon, but it’s working overseas to grow jobs and prosperity. At its heart, it’s a simple idea: keep jobs, resources and decision-making in local hands. One of the best examples of this was the earlier version of the healthy school lunch programme, a model that created local jobs, supported small businesses, and strengthened communities.
Instead of funnelling money to distant, multinational corporations, this approach helps keep wealth circulating locally. And it’s not just smart economics, it’s intergenerational thinking. By strengthening the social and economic fabric now, we create the conditions for young people to thrive in the decades ahead.
The budget should also include new metrics of success. We have to ask ourselves what the purpose of the economy actually is, and what metrics we should be using to measure it? In Aotearoa, we still measure success by how fast GDP grows. But did you know that oil spills and car crashes grow GDP? While unpaid care isn’t counted?
But GDP doesn’t tell us if children are fed, if they feel safe, if they can access mental health support when they’re struggling. It doesn’t tell us if policies help people live with dignity and connection. What gets measured gets managed, and we’re measuring the wrong things.
A wellbeing economy flips the script. It doesn’t ask “how fast is GDP growing?” but “is our economy delivering what people and the planet need to thrive?” It demands new measures of success, ones that actually tell us if what we are doing counts.
Those indicators might include livable incomes, access to housing, health and education; and an environment that can support future generations. The things that truly show whether we’re on the right path, both for our generation and for those to come.
We can make this shift, but it demands courage and genuine leadership to break away from a failing status quo. Imagine a future where we lead not in youth suicide statistics, but in pioneering an economy designed around wellbeing and long-term impact.
