Jonathan Godfrey, President

I asked myself this question over the summer while taking a break — although some people might think my idea of a break hardly counts. I minimised the time I spent on my laptop doing what I call work. I deprioritised emails not addressed to me personally and stepped back to take a good look at a few things in life.

My simple answer? I can’t be all things to everyone, and that shouldn’t be a surprise. When I meet the person who is successfully being all things to everyone, I’ll bow to their superiority — and acknowledge them in a future column. None of us can be all things to everyone. We have to draw the line somewhere.

So, if we as individuals can’t be everything to everyone, can we ask any organisation to be? I don’t think so. Let me tease this out a little, because it has consequences — starting with how I’m approaching 2026.

It began with a realisation: I was burning out by trying to do too much for too many people in 2025. And I decided that this extends, perhaps starts, with my employment.

My New Year’s resolutions include putting a person using their voice ahead of anyone using their keyboard. That got an early shot at success. Summer means no school for the kids, and this summer that meant board games and lambs. Whether it was kids wanting a game of Ludo or lambs needing a cuddle on the farm, the laptop and the outside world it connects me to were quickly relegated.
Yes, I know lambs aren’t people, but they do have a voice — and it’s hard to ignore them.

In 2026, I’ll prioritise reading — and possibly responding to — emails sent to me individually over those sent to a group. I’m enjoying this more than I expected. It requires discipline, but part of that was made easier by leaving my mobile phone in the lounge overnight. No temptation to doom-scroll social media when insomnia calls.

I’ve also decided to feel less guilty about ignoring people who aren’t reaching out as much as I reach out to them. If I wasn’t the last person to contact a friend or family member, it’s on me to reconnect. Some of my volunteer work gives me personal affirmation; the rest might end up on a cull list.

Once I made decisions for myself, I turned to the bigger picture: the future of Blind Citizens NZ.

In my AGM address last year, I said that our organisation cannot continue as we have in recent years. We must change. I didn’t offer too many answers then, but I believe it is time for a fundamental shift — so we don’t just drift along. The world has changed. We must, too.

If we needed evidence that Blind Citizens NZ must exist, it comes from the Shining a Light on Blindness report released at the end of February. Published by BLVNZ, it uses administrative data collected by government agencies and fed into the Integrated Data Infrastructure (IDI) at Stats NZ.

It focuses on 15 to 64-year-olds receiving a service indicating some level of vision impairment. That group contains 4,623 people.
The report compares them with a much larger group who report difficulty with vision and with the rest of New Zealanders of the same age.

Expand the age range, and the total identified as having a “severe visual impairment” rises to 7,911. I’m not a fan of that label, but let’s leave that aside.

Even using just the 4,623, the data is stark. Only 1,185 have a wage or salary, and only 543 earn what might be considered a good wage — $60,000 or more. That leaves 3,438 with no salary at all. Some may not want employment, but I think we should ask how many have given up seeking work entirely.

The report also highlights outcomes vastly different from the general population. Life expectancy is lower. Home ownership rates are far lower. Educational achievement is lower. And 473 of us required mental health support in 2023 alone — over 10% in what should be the prime of life.

I’m not surprised that people need support, but the numbers are startling. And the real figure is likely higher, given service backlogs across the general population.

Shining a Light on Blindness is a prototype for understanding our community. It also reveals opportunities. The ethnic make-up of these 4,623 people is increasingly Māori, Pasifika, or other non-Pākehā. And every census question could potentially be compared “us and them”: Te Reo proficiency, imprisonment, victimisation, and so on. These are difficult topics, but important. Answering them requires better administrative data, improved decision rules for identifying “severe visual impairment,” and perhaps even a chance to improve the language in reports about us.

I’ve always known that with the right data in the IDI, such analysis is possible. It’s part of what has kept me working with Stats NZ and other agencies for over a decade. My time and energy improving disability data and evidence haven’t been wasted — even if I’m dropping some other commitments in 2026.

Prioritisation in my life is certain. This year, you need to help our collective effort to decide what Blind Citizens NZ will be in the future. That means exposing our priorities and deciding what matters most as a community. Only then will the Board know what to give the highest priority.

Shining a Light on Blindness shows that Blind Citizens NZ still has a role. Our voice will take such reports and do the hard yards with government officials. I also want more of those 4,623 people to know we’re on their side — and that it’s our work that makes a blind bit of difference for their futures.