Where are the Village People?

We’ve all heard that saying – it takes a village to raise a child. But have we really stopped to ask what kind of village we could be talking about? Have we ever taken the time to unpack the meaning, or what it could mean? We’re probably familiar with the idea the saying conveys, that raising a child and doing it well is a communal effort. It’s about input from a myriad of people, ranging from friends, neighbours, teachers, extended whanau and of course parents.

The idea is underscored by the belief that everyone in a community has a part to play in the outcomes of a child’s development. There’s even a quiet “many hands make light work” type principle floating through the background.

So why is it that when it comes to policy, regulations, implementation and dealing with the very people these outcomes affect, all of a sudden there’s often a completely forgotten village? If policy and regulation are about "raising" or building something for the future...wouldn't bringing the village along help?

At its centre, the idea of the helpful village is built on social capital. That invisible glue of trust and networks, that range from the “I’ll give you a hand with that, I’ve got a couple spare” or “Bob will be the fella to ask” to “I’m stuck can I borrow you and your tractor?” type energy.

It holds communities together, but it’s also the stuff which drives a sense of place and belonging. It drives people to commit to volunteering and keeps the local hall from becoming a sanctuary for just borer and spiders. But it doesn’t grow by accident, in rural areas it may be over generations and decades… and still flickers deeply within our rural communities. (But arguably elements are heading towards nostalgia - like the days of community groups carting conventional hay for fundraisers).

I’ve worked in the primary sector and rural spaces my entire career and over time I’ve ended up working where these two worlds collide. Where the reality seems to be a collection of chaos and confusion. The village is still there, it’s just not getting that regular knock on the door. That experience has drawn me to the idea that the power of conversation and connection isn’t a nice concept but rather it’s a must to create.

Over and over, I’ve seen people caring about similar things. Farmers, growers’, council staff and policy leads, often trying to fix the same issues in different ways. The alignment is there, but no one seeks it out, instead diverse solutions get created, each framed by their own lived experience. If no one’s bringing those efforts together? Right at that intersection is where it breaks down.

Regulations become the electric fence in the paddock. Designed to stop the wayward but regularly hemming the wrong ones in. Resentment builds, not from those dodging accountability, but from those who’ve been doing the right thing all along.

When regulations became a substitute for relationships. it sets a burning torch to trust, wears people down, and buries good ideas under layers of well-meaning but disconnected effort. When all it would take would be for the people setting the rules to have some understanding and connection with work on the ground.

Then when the fence is put in the wrong place… the metrics of what is measured also can be so wrong and create divide. We measure “engagement” by the number of submissions received - but not whether the feedback was actually heard or integrated. How often do we track the number of workshops delivered... but when did we last see a measurement on whether anyone changed their practice or felt heard?

But it has been done right before. I remember a kitchen table chat with an orchardist in the Bay of Plenty discussing a group he’d been involved with in another part of the country. Building a village, not just in name but in practice. “They’re farmers. growers, post-harvest folk, environmental planners, a couple of locals…even someone from council. No agenda. Just a feed, some talking, and some shared problems. What’s changed? Everything.”

That’s the power of building that social capital, the foundations for a functional village and getting out of that singular view and into the same conversation.

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“The trouble with doing it in silos is we automatically think someone's got favouritism over us, and we're the ones being held to account. If it's going to work, it has to be the same for everyone. Not just the bloody pricks in the office getting a free pass while the rest of us cop it. You want voices from people who are actually out there doing it.” There is social capital made simple.

But building social capital can happen in unexpected ways too. A low-cost regenerative farmer highlighted a different approach entirely “My passion is to get more people into farming. Because the ones who bag it? Half of them are in it.” He runs field days. Talks at schools. Brings locals onto the farm. Helps with CVs. Yet some still take the mickey out of his approach, his response? “I’m learning to hate people with love.” His methods are unorthodox. His measures are soft. But his outcomes? Deeper roots. That’s village thinking. Quietly. Powerfully.

Social capital isn’t fluff; it’s a foundation. It’s what turns policy into partnership, and consultation into collaboration. Organisations that remember this and build with the village, not around it or bulldoze right through it, don’t just deliver better outcomes. They help raise better futures.

Maybe, we’ll remember where the Village People went. Turns out, they never left. Those people in our rural communities, farms, and small towns are still there. When will we remember to knock on their doors and embrace that "it takes a village to raise a child"?