Tired of being tired
Don’t get put off by the memey title of this one - this is our nature issue for 2025. Or our green issue, or environment issue, or climate change, or sustainability - however you want to refer to this silly little planet we live on and the way it’s been affected by industrialisation and aspects of our society that take a physical toll on the health of the planet.
I’ve already spoken at length about the terrifying state of the planet - my last green issue editorial was in and of itself a synopsis of the pieces I had done for our nature-themed issues in my first few years at Debate, and concluded with the same level of jaded desperation for something to change in the face of the climate crisis directly affecting my childhood community in Waitākere.
I think I’ve now become tired of being tired. We’ve reached a new rock bottom with the attitudes of our politicians towards the climate crisis. It feels like we can’t even begin to think about progress when everyone in power is actively trying to take us back to the 1950s. It’s been harder to think about the climate when the very lives and rights of trans people in Aotearoa are called into question, and the founding document of our nation is being thrown aside like a ball of paper. That’s not to mention how the cost-of-living crisis has made climate-conscious choices a privilege many can no longer afford.
Hence, we’re pulling the focus of this issue to the joy of nature and disconnection, in the face of kaitiakitanga being threatened on a regular basis. The theme is an obvious nod to young people telling each other to “go touch grass”, a euphemism for disconnecting from the internet and its algorithmic brain rotting to go experience nature and life in general. But I think that the phrase is more than just a jab at chronically online nerds. It signals a wider angst among young people who have grown up as digital natives in a highly technologically advanced society.
There are certain conveniences we’ve been offered as a standard in our lives thanks to the internet. We have constant access to an immediate database of almost all human knowledge, global communication, and tasks that once took hours now take minutes. However, we’re seeing a widespread refusal for the internet to completely engulf our lives - despite how badly Mark Zuckerberg wants us to live inside the Metaverse. If you’re reading this, you probably know someone who collects records or books, despite the fact that a technically more convenient option is available. You probably have plans to go out this weekend, even though you could scratch a social itch with Character AI. Hell, you might be reading this very editorial in one of our printed copies. Fundamentally, we could get the same job done with just our website and Instagram page, but just the thought of that is hellish.
The revival of physical media and life beyond our phones isn’t due to a bunch of hipsters running rampant. Humans crave meaningful experiences over pure convenience, even if it’s just the occasional home-cooked meal instead of a bowl of instant ramen. It’s genuinely just depressing to stay inside on your phone all the time. While going outside obviously isn’t some miracle cure to all ailments, letting the beauty of the natural world and leads to an increased quality of life. As much as my edgelord teenage self loved pretending to be an internet resident who was perfectly happy socialising solely via group chats and avoiding sunlight, it was impossible to tolerate complete and utter isolation - especially post-COVID. Yes, touching grass means you might get sweaty, and you might accidentally get bitten by a mosquito and be annoyed for the rest of the day, but we need to cherish and celebrate the world outside of the internet to avoid becoming dull, tired, and depressed.
Throughout this issue, you’ll find more sustainable ways to reassess your personal relationship with nature and the outside world. We’re not aiming to guilt trip anyone who’s introverted and prefers chilling inside, but these pieces recommend ways to find a balance between the convenience and dopamine of the internet, and the joy and serenity of everything else. From the depression-curing effects of lawn chairs, to illustriously beautiful albums inspired by nature, to recollections on the way nature has informed belief systems for centuries. By all means, spend tonight chilling out at home - but if it’s been three weeks since you’ve left the house and your vitamin D levels are at an all-time low, please - go touch some fucking grass.
Editorial by Liam Hansen (they/them) @liamhanse.n EDITOR
Illustration by Stella Roper (they/she) @dodofrenzy ARTS EDITOR
What the Hell Does the Council Do?
It’s no secret that politics isn’t sexy. Luxon and his gleaming head telling us what he’s going to say to us, Chippy and his undercooked activism, and Seymour and his endless raft of slop filled lunches.
There’s not much that could be less sexy, but some might argue that local government is one of those few things. Local government elections determine our mayors and our councils, but don’t get an ounce of the coverage that our central elections do. The proof is in the pudding here; In the 2022 local elections, 35% of Aucklanders turned out to vote - for 18-25 year olds this hit a low of about 25%.
This year we are fast approaching another local election, and despite the lack of glitz and glamour, there is sure to be some sort of entertainment that comes out of it.
What can we expect?
Wayne Brown, Auckland’s current mayor, has once again been pegged as the frontrunner for this year’s election. It’s a little too early for a candidate break down, as contenders are still welcome to throw their hat in the ring, but there’s hope that Brown can bring some continued entertainment. Having served as Auckland’s mayor for around two and half years now, he has undoubtedly had his headline worthy moments. Most notably, his whatsapp scandal, where he dubbed journalist’s ‘media drongos’, for simply asking what he, *the mayor* was going to do in the Auckland flooding crisis. They were of course interrupting a tennis match of his - clearly a much more pressing matter for the mayor.
Since then, Brown has graced Auckland with an outdoor pool on Karanga Plaza, aptly named after himself, Browny’s Pool. Also a fitting name when it was almost immediately closed due to bacteria issues. However, it would be unfair to ignore its success following those early hiccups.
It’s hard to know what key issues Brown will be bringing to his campaign this year, with a little while before campaigning kicks off, but we can hope at least for some of the same jaunty entertainment the mayor has become known for.
What’s different?
Although campaigning is yet to kick into gear, a few curveballs have emerged in the world of local government. Most recently, the ACT Party has put their hands up to give councils a complete ‘clean out’. What this means is that candidates for local council elections can sign up under the ACT Party banner, and whatever hard work they put into council, ACT will cite as their success.
Unlike the general election, most candidates don’t run under the banner of a specific political party, instead registering as an independent candidate. Candidates can also have affiliations with other groups that aren’t political parties, such as an action group for a specific suburb or cause.
So what am I actually voting for, and how do I do it?
When voting comes around on the 9th of September, it will remain open until the 11th of October. This leaves no excuse not to get involved. Although it seems trivial and confusing, your votes in this election will decide how Auckland is run for the next three years. It might seem less exciting, but councils are doing a lot more of the day-to-day work that directly affects what we have access to in this city.
You have all the way until the 1st of August to make sure you’re enrolled, which you can do at enrol.vote.nz. Then you’ll be sent your voting papers in the post - making things even easier!
Auckland Council represents the entire supercity; you’ll be voting for the mayor, and the members that will make up this council. Because Auckland is so large, we also have 21 local boards, representing different areas. In this election you will also vote for the members of those local boards.
Why should I know this now?
It’s early days, and a lot will happen between now and election day. But it’s important to be aware and keep on top of what’s happening in our city. Debate will be keeping you up to date with blow by blow accounts of all the drama, action and goings on later in the year - so keep your eyes peeled.
Written By Evie Richardson (She/her)
@evi3m4y NEWS EDITOR
Running into an Ex Whilst Reading Intermezzo on a Bus
I was walking along Ponsonby Road. Past closing shops, opening bars, through the dappled golden hour light and one martini deep. But something snatched away at my bliss. A blinding eyesore, with a mop of yellow hair, sitting and smoking a cigarette outside my favourite bar. The love of my previous Sunday night. Nothing particularly awful about the experience, and by no means did it end on bad terms. And yet, he had the gall to give me a swift nod of his head and awkwardly avert his gaze to his phone. I heard the weather app is particularly enthralling these days. Sick to my stomach with embarrassment, I began to wonder, how are we meant to cope with the nightmarish experience of seeing the ones we once felt for.
Running into an ex or an ex-lover is startling at best and at worst leaves us bedridden and stalking their followers into the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, anyone living in Tāmaki Makaurau will tell you about how they ran into their cousin, best-mate from high school, coworkers, a friend of a friend, and that one diva they lent lip liner to in the Whammy Bar bathroom; and all within ten minutes walking the length of Ponsonby Road. We unfortunately live in the unavoidable reality of seeing the ones you once loved, even if it was only for a minute. So let me get a map, we’ve got some navigating to do.
Sometimes you’ll run into someone you saw for such a brief amount of time, you forgot it even happened. But they often remind you, by existing in the same space as you, how dare they! Sometimes you can get away unscathed, with a mere, and undoubtedly halfhearted, “Hi, how are you? Bye!” It’s so nice when people act like decent human beings to avoid awkwardness.
Other times, it’s a snub. They pretend not to see you, or respond to your greeting with a flat smile and proceed to ignore you while sitting on the opposite side of the cafe you’re both at. It’s moments like these that lead to a spiralling whirlpool of anxiety. Going over every minutiae of your fleeting relationship for the next six hours. You call three of your friends, repeating yourself so often you start to wonder if it even happened. I find this to be largely unhelpful, shocking. People are strange, and some are better at dealing with the complexities of these encounters than others. I’ve learnt that it’s usually nothing
personal. Even if it was something you did, bruises always heal and that ego will be fine.
However, it’s usually the ones who you dated for a while that hurt the most. Where your lives became so enmeshed they cannot be separated. And you’re both so lovely your friends unfortunately can’t pick between the two of you. Annoyingly, there is no quick fix to getting through a break up of that kind. Moving on during no contact is difficult enough, let alone seeing them go through the same process you are. Proximity can make you want them back, despite your better instincts, and your friends’ pleas against it. I spent a year doing that dance with my ex, doing my best twirls to and fro because I had no self-control.
Unfortunately, in this situation, that’s what you need. Sufficient knowledge that being single is probably better than returning to the relationship. It did, in fact, end for a reason. Far easier said than done, but that’s when you turn to your closest friends. I’ve heard they are great listeners, and are brilliant at preventing poor life decisions. After a while you start to build a life distinct from theirs and the pain of being near them begins to dissipate.
And then there’s the one we dread the most. The one place that is even harder to escape. A screen lighting up at 2am, breaking the month of no contact, explaining how they have changed. Shattering your boundaries, thinking that apologising for doing so will suffice. Blocking someone seems like the logical answer, but by this point, it can often be difficult to actually take that step. It can be so easy to want to reply. The itch of closure is all too easy to scratch, or to list every single way they’ve once wronged you. With a flurry of fingers hitting a screen, unleashing pent-up heartache has never been so easy, and unfortunately, is never a good idea.
I do hope the stars align, and you never bump into someone you used to see. Sometimes they’ll ask if you ever wrote about them in your column about relationships in your local student magazine. Unfortunately for them, the answer will still be no. Other times you run into the guy you once saw that was in a cult, two days in a row. Thank you to my friends for having such odd types. And with that, I wish you well. It’s tough trying to find your person whilst leaving a trail of bad dates in your wake. However, seeing the old roster regularly gets easier as time goes on and you gain more experience. And with a little bit of persistence and you’ll find yourself in the glorious position of realising it no longer bothers you.
Written By Elle Daji (she/her) @ellemnopow CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Season’s Change
Written By
Hirimaia Eketone (they/them) @hiri.music
EDITOR
Kia ora e hoa mā, kei te pēhea koe?
As the weather begins to cool, the mornings freeze while the heat still lingers late into the evening. The beauty of the ao around us is forever breathtaking. Summer may be gorgeous and bright, heoi anō there is something about Autumn that always draws me in. Beyond the blatant American capitalism of the pumpkin spice fad (which I’ve never understood), Autumn represents change as we creep closer towards the comforts of a hot fire and nestle into the company that surrounds us.
For today’s Te Reo lesson, we’ll continue the theme from the last couple of issues, focusing on descriptive words, while adding some action sentences that you can use to direct or deflect responsibility. We’ll be covering:
“Makariri”, “e haere ana au ki te ___” and “harikoa.”
Let’s start with the most applicable to the weather change. “Makariri” means cold, shivery, to be icy. Here’s a couple of ways to use it:
Kei te pehea koe?
Kei te makariri au/He tino tino makariri au/Kei te tino makariri au, koe?
( I am cold / I am very very cold / I am very cold, you? )
Next is a new sentence structure that we haven’t looked at yet, however, it’s pretty straightforward to use once you understand how it works! This phrase is used to describe where you’re headed.
“E haere ana au ki te ___” translates to “I am going to the ____.” “E ___ ana” is used for describing what you are doing, ie the use of verbs.
You could say “E hīkoi ana au” I am walking or “E moe ana au” to say I am sleeping. The addition of “ki te” means “to,” I am going “to” this place. It might seem complex at first, but using this simple sentence structure in passing is a sign of dedication to Te Reo revitalisation. Give it a try!
Last but absolutely not least, “harikoa.” “Harikoa” means happy, to be happy, to be joyous. As life settles and we begin to acquaint ourselves with another year of living, I find this lovely word to be a special addition to your database. As usual, here are a couple of ways to use them!
Kei te pehea koe?
Kei te harikoa au / He tino tino tino harikoa au! / Kei te tino harikoa au, na te mea he ataahua te ao!
( I am good/ I am very very very good!/ I am good, because the world is beautiful! )
It’s safe to say I continue to deeply enjoy this process- not only helping develop your understanding as readers, but also my own. Stretching out the basics of Te Reo always makes me happy and it is a good way to feel connected with my culture while informing others.
As always, mā te wā e hoa mā, I’ll see you in the next one!
You sit in quiet contemplation, lost in a book. Lost, too, in a new town, taking refuge on a park bench in the sunshine before you plot your next move. The estuary ebbs and flows before you, bristling where it meets the sea, reluctant to contend with the tides of Hawke Bay.
The seagulls gather by Perfume Point, waiting for some crumbs to be thrown from your lunch. Not likely. You trekked too far through town to find that bakery for your pie to be wasted on some ‘thieving shitehawks’ as your dad would say. You pay them no mind and remain obstinately intent on the latest chapter of your murder mystery.
A stranger takes a seat beside you on the bench and flashes one of those invasive smiles that indicates they want to start a conversation with you, when you’d much rather they bugger off. She sidles up nonetheless.
The conversation starts the same way that they always do. A brief greeting, some comment about the weather, before they notice your accent and make some sort of quip.
“You’ve got a bit of Pom about you…” this lady says, pressing for more information.
They like to do this. Find out a bit about you, so that they have something quirky to tell their families when they get home for dinner. A ‘guess who I met today…’ as the kids push peas around their plates. You usually give them a brief outline, some sort of self-deprecating remark about being from the middle of nowhere and how the mountains of New Zealand have far more character.
That tends to keep them happy and they’ll be on their way –although not before imparting some unsolicited travel advice. This lady was different.
You’d already dismissed her before she’d even approached you. A lady in her late sixties, wearing some hippie drawstring trousers that had seen better days, with a mismatched fleece. Long grey hair wound back into a bun and secured with a wooden pin thrust unceremoniously through the middle. A little unconventional, but nothing wrong with that. She was
just a bit too interested in the seagulls for your liking, as though the crazy cat lady had neglected her stereotype and imprinted on a flock of birds instead.
You didn’t think you’d be speaking for more than fifteen minutes. You were betting on her getting fed up of trying to get some novelty out of this solo Brit and wandering off to speak to the seagulls that she’d been feeding before she approached you.
Things don’t always pan out how you expect.
You close your book politely, but keep your finger wedged into the pages to indicate your imminent return to that paragraph, promising Agatha Christie that your lapse in concentration will only be momentary.
“You’ve got a bit of Pom about you… I can say that because I’ve been looking up my ancestry,” she assures you.
You aren’t sure whether this is meant to be an endearing attempt at finding common ground or just a way to soften the insult slightly.
Turns out it’s neither. She uses this as an opening to divulge her search for family, her vague recollections of her mother and the lasting legacy of her adoption. The gulls that were pattering on the pavement in front of us have decided that they’re no longer interested and have wandered off to pester an unsuspecting family sat further along on the pebble embankment.
You share a sprinkle of details about yourself in response. Yes, you know your parents and have met your grandparents. Funnily enough, your family have recently downloaded Ancestry and taken an interest in tracing back the generations. You recall when the first of the cotton swabs and test tubes arrived in the post. You were never keen on the idea and secretly think that those DNA kits are just a way of getting your chemical components stored in some sort of database. It’s a throwaway comment, not something you’re particularly keen on pursuing.
As it happens, she’s an avid Ancestry fan. Not just the one website either, with a token family tree here or there. No, this lady has been trawling through every archive she can find, paper and digital. Libraries, registry offices, cemeteries She tells you about the way she can feel the ghosts of her past shivering up her sleeves when walking into a building she has never set foot in. How there’s always some kindly stranger to let her into an old courtyard or closed museum after hours. How these coincidences show that she’s on the path home.
You glance down and notice that your finger has slipped out of your book. Sorry, Agatha. You no longer feel the need for a placeholder in the mystery, now drawn into your own world of intrigue.
You find yourself telling this lady about your ancestral village. It always held an idyllic charm in your early memories, fragments of light that drift in your subconscious. The babbling of the stream, a squashed frog on the lane, the chickens following you through the woods. How your feet always took you where you needed to go, even when you hadn’t wandered those particular rabbit runs before.
But this wasn’t about the earlier trips to great-grandad’s house as a toddler. No, this was about the seminal trip, when you realised that the village held much more than a single aging relative.
You’d swung open the wrought iron gates to the cemetery. Found the names of ancestors carved into the stones. Grandad was long gone by then, his name amongst his brothers, wife, and the generations that even he hadn’t known. All four centuries of them. You remember opening the doors to the small church; a single bell tower. No one was there, but the doors were always open in a place like that.
A butterfly was trapped, fluttering futilely against stainedglass windows. On the floor in the centre of the aisle that had seen your grandmother’s wedding and your mother’s christening lay another butterfly. One that had clearly been trapped a little longer than last Sunday. Its wings were already crumbling. You’d scooped up the fragments that you could. Not knowing why. It just shouldn’t be left to turn to dust on the flagstones. As you took it outside and the wind swirled the fragments across the cemetery, the other butterfly found its way out through the doors and into the soft light of the afternoon. You tell her that you felt that something had been restored. Some element reunited.
The lady’s eyes are sparkling. Perhaps through emotion. Perhaps just the eccentric twinkle that you hadn’t noticed until now.
For this piece you have carved of your heart, she promises to take you up a nearby mountain to see the land laid out bare before you, like the secret you have placed into her palm. She insists that you must see the bay from this vantage point. You’re not sure it’s a fair exchange.
Your mother always told you not to speak to strangers. Let alone get into her car. But this lady speaks of art. How she turns the ghosts into paintings, photographs the monuments
that provoke a visceral reaction. How the shiver crawls into the canvas. She explains the composition so simply, so elegantly, that the turbulent estuary before you unravels, winding into a feline shape that could sit in your lap.
She’s certain that it’s an intervention of fate that you met. The bench trembles a little and the seagulls go momentarily silent.
“Earthquake,” she says.
She’s sure of it.
You couldn’t say either way, distracted by the turbulence of the water before you. You want the tide to consume these thoughts, but the water’s too grey, too choppy for a swim. No, definitely not fit for the bikini and suncream optimistically chosen earlier that afternoon.
How could you have known how it would end?
The swallows wheel against the sky, now shot with the colours of sunset sinking over the horizon.
She tells you that you have a gift and it’s a blessing to have discovered it so young.
You don’t know how you feel about blessings. You have been seeking silence all your life, but seem to attract strangers and noise. Conversations and divulged confessions, as though you roam the streets in a priest’s attire. You guess you just have one of those faces.
You carry the burdens of strangers and sometimes commit them to the page.
By
Written By
Danielle Hutchinson (she/her)
@daniellelowenna CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Illustration
Tashi Donnelly (she/her) @tashi_rd
FEATURES EDITOR
Time of the Season: A selection of albums for nature
A stroll through Myers Park, the Auckland Domain, or the sands of Takapuna Beach is never complete without a set of headphones sitting comfortably on my head.
I guarantee you’ve had that experiwence of scrolling through your Spotify playlists, trying to figure out what songs will perfectly capture the mood. After all, music grounds you and reinforces what you feel, see, smell, and hear. The sensory experience of putting on one of your favourite songs and observing your surroundings can be incredibly therapeutic. It can be something that puts life on pause for a moment, allowing you to let go and appreciate just how spectacular nature is. I'm always searching for great music that gives me those moments of appreciation for our environment. Music from any genre can resonate with nature, be it jazz, reggae, or even screamo! No matter the tune, every piece of music has its place in the scenery you may find yourself exploring.
I'm sure by now you've thought of a song or album that brings you back to a specific environment. One album that brings me to a particular place is Mid-Air Thief's Crumbling (2018). The album's lush guitar picks and hushed vocals remind me of looking up at the Northland stars speckled across the night sky of Mimiwhangata Bay. But if you haven't thought of any music that gives you that kind of experience yet, that's okay!
Fortunately for you, I've selected four albums to provide soundtracks for your next outing, each thoughtfully paired with a particular location in mind within Tāmaki Makaurau. I strongly believe that all of these albums are perfect for enhancing a specific time or surrounding environment, allowing you to truly soak up all the sites the city has to offer.
Songs, Adrianne Lenker (2020) & Cornwall Park
Songs is an album that feels completely indebted towards the natural world, almost as if Adrianne wrote these songs to be played in front of a wall of pine instead of a crowd. I feel similarly towards much of her other music, be it her work in the band Big Thief or her various collaborations with Tucker Zimmerman and Buck Meek. Still, Songs is the only album that feels inappropriate to listen to in any environment other than one consisting of singing blackbirds and beech trees. This album serenades you with homely acoustic guitar and passionate metaphors, flowing through Adrianne's whistful vocals. It teems with the sounds of the natural world, be it the soft tapping of raindrops heard on “Come” or the use of shakers throughout the album, serving as a whistling breeze that follows you wherever you go. It's all so warm and inviting, and the song, “anything”, has become a
staple for me whenever the autumn season rolls around. Even on tracks tinged with sorrow, such as “half return” , Adrianne turns to the natural world to vent her woes. She writes: "The house is white and the lawn is dead / The lawn is dead, the lawn is dead". I would recommend Cornwall Park as the perfect spot for this album.
Ágætis byrjun, Sigur Rós (1999) & Churchill Park
Throughout the Icelandic group's sophomore album, beauty gleams like shards of ice even in its most frost-bitten moments. Listening to a song like its opener, “Svefn-g-englar” (“SVEHP-n geng-lahr”), encompasses the feeling of the nippy winter air chapping your lips as you walk past lumbering, skeletal trees. Ágætis byrjun (“OW-guy-tis BIR-yun”) breathes romance into conditions that can otherwise be quite dour, depressing, even. I'm sure there will be days when the walk to uni is enveloped by the unsavoury greyness of Auckland winter, making the prospect of studying that much more grim. When that time comes, I recommend digging for that scarf buried deep in your closet and putting on a song like “Starálfur” or the self-titled track. Hearing these string-kissed, intimate carols as you pass through frost-coated grass brings you a moment of connection to what may be, for me at least, an otherwise unforgiving season. While it may not salvage a rainy day in Auckland (What can?), Sigur Rós still brings so much affection to the winter environment. I'd suggest chucking this album on in Churchill Park.
Odessey & Oracle, The Zombies (1968) & Albert Park
Released six months after the summer of love, Odessey & Oracle by The Zombies transports you to the most picturesque, blue-skied meadow dotted with daisies and sunflowers - exceptionally ideal for frolicking. While that may sound cliched, this album holds some of that acid-dipped magic of the psychedelic '60s that makes you want to ditch your shoes and hug some damn trees. “Beachwood Park” translates the sensation perfectly, with muses about how "the breeze would touch your hair / Kiss your face and make you care / About your world, your summer world". Odessey & Oracle packs in such romance and exuberance throughout its runtime that it becomes difficult not to get swept up in the nostalgia. I specifically recall listening to the record in Albert Park on a summer's day, watching the sunlight leak through the oak trees as people went about their afternoon. This album feels like the soundtrack to the greenest summer day you can imagine, one that you want to immediately experience again once the organ solo fades out on its closer, “Time Of The Season”. Though I might be biased here, I can say Albert Park is absolutely the spot for this album.
Mother Earth’s Plantasia, Mort Garson (1976) & Domain Wintergardens
The most overt pick of the bunch, Mort Garson's Plantasia is the type of album that thrives by focusing on a singular theme. The album, made only using a Moog synthesizer, was created to help your houseplants grow and flourish. To hammer in the objective, Planstasia was given out for free in garden centres back when it was released, only furthering its legacy as the go-to record to play while you water your monsteras. Hearing the theatrical, dreamy synth arrangements on tunes like “Concerto for Philodendron and Pothos” makes you feel like you're in a science class about to watch the coolest time-lapse of fungi growing. Plantasia fulfils its job of making you feel like the music is made for plants rather than humans. So even if you aren't all that into what Mort Garson's putting down, chuck it on anyway for your plants' sake. I suggest you visit the Domain Wintergardens for this one and give the foliage a favour.
Armed with some quality tunes, there’s now no excuse to get inspired, get outside and get to explore some of the greenery in the city. Hopefully, next time you find yourself in one of the non-concrete floored spaces of Tāmaki Makaurau, you’ll consider how the right album could transform a simple walk into something much more immersive, turning an ordinary stroll to your bus stop into a scene straight out of a film.
Written By
Jed Scott (he/him)
@jed__scott
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
By
Sophia Lee
Illustration
The Ayurvedic Blueprint: A Holistic Path to Wellness
In cafes throughout the world, turmeric lattes—golden and promising numerous health benefits—have become an integral part of contemporary wellness culture. Yoga studios promote holistic healing, herbal oils line health store shelves, and social media personalities discuss “dosha-balancing” methods. These practices, often presented as modern discoveries, have their roots in Ayurveda, a healing tradition that originated in India more than three thousand years ago. Beneath these hip wellness trends lies a profound system of knowledge. What constitutes the essence of Ayurveda? How does it restore our connection to nature, and what significance does it hold in a world where man-made is the norm?
Ayurveda, meaning “the science of life” in Sanskrit, is one of humanity’s oldest holistic healing frameworks. It rests on the fundamental understanding that harmony between mind, body, and environment forms the foundation of true wellness. This philosophy is deeply embedded in Indian heritage and culture, passed down through generations through familial traditions and fundamentalist texts. Unlike Western medical approaches that primarily address illness after manifestation, Ayurveda focuses on preventive care, lifestyle adaptation, and natural remedies. In traditional Indian households, Ayurvedic practices are woven into daily life. Elders prepare ginger and honey mixtures for sore throats, villagers who cannot afford toothbrushes chew on neem tree branches for their antimicrobial properties, and meals are thoughtfully composed to promote balance. Ayurveda transcends mere medical intervention—it represents a philosophy of living in accordance with nature’s principles.
The cornerstone of Ayurvedic thought is humanity’s intrinsic connection to the natural world. This manifests through Ritucharya, the practice of seasonal living, which recommends specific dietary and lifestyle adjustments according to natural cycles. Winter calls for nourishing foods like ghee (clarified butter) and root vegetables, while summer heat is balanced with cooling elements such as cucumber and coconut water.
Ayurveda recognises three primary constitutional categories or doshas—Vata (air and space), Pitta (fire and water), and Kapha (earth and water)—each aligning to different elements in nature. Balance is nurtured through mindful nourishment, daily routines, and botanical medicine. Plants such as ashwagandha and tulsi (king basil) serve as allies for immunity, digestion and stress resilience, demonstrating Ayurveda’s reliance on nature’s healing powers.
While Ayurveda remains deeply rooted in Indian culture, global interest has carried its principles across continents. Wellness retreats inspired by Ayurvedic traditions appear in diverse loca-
tions from Southeast Asia to Europe. Herbal formulations based on Ayurvedic knowledge are distributed worldwide, and public figures and healthcare workers endorse Ayurvedic approaches to nutrition and self-care.
This widespread adoption raises important considerations. Many individuals unknowingly engage with Ayurvedic practices— incorporating turmeric and pepper for inflammatory conditions or practicing oil pulling for oral health—without recognition of their origins or numerous applications. This global integration makes Ayurvedic wisdom more accessible yet raises questions on cultural appreciation versus appropriation. Are we truly embracing the depth of Ayurvedic principles or selecting isolated elements that align with preferences and online trends?
The relationship between Ayurveda and modern healthcare warrants multiple questions. While Western medicine relies substantially on pharmaceutical interventions and evidence-based protocols, Ayurveda focuses on addressing underlying causes, preventive measures, and natural healing processes. Scientific evaluation of Ayurvedic practices presents both confirmations and questions. Certain elements, such as anti-inflammatory properties, meditation, and mindful eating, have received substantial scientific backing, while others remain supported primarily by traditional knowledge and experiential evidence.
Rather than positioning Ayurveda and Western medicine as opposing approaches, many healthcare professionals advocate for hand-in-hand integration. Ayurvedic nutritional principles can complement the modern understanding of dietary science, while its stress-reduction methods align with psychological approaches to mental well-being. Finding complementary strengths between these traditions may lead to more comprehensive healing frameworks.
As Ayurveda becomes increasingly accessible, individuals face personal choices regarding its implementation. Some embrace comprehensive Ayurvedic living — consulting Ayurvedic practitioners for health guidance. Others incorporate selected practices that resonate with their circumstances and needs.
Ayurveda offers a flexible framework rather than rigid prescriptions. It invites people to develop awareness of their bodies and souls, to understand one’s unique requirements, and to make conscious choices aligned with natural rhythms. In this era of diminished connection to natural environments and increased technology, Ayurveda provides a gentle reminder
to pause, listen to our internal wisdom, and reestablish our equilibrium with the natural world.
While contemporary wellness culture often presents transient trends, Ayurveda’s enduring wisdom offers something more profound and permanent: a pathway to reconnection with nature and ourselves. Ayurveda guides us toward balance and wholeness. As we navigate modern complexities, perhaps its most valuable insight is this: health encompasses not merely the absence of illness but rather the presence of harmony with the world that sustains us.
Written By Ishani Mathur (she/her) @vohnriladki CONTRIBUTING WRITER
You don’t need yet another reminder that the job market is bleak, but here’s one anyway. Employment rates for recent graduates have plummeted so dramatically that even retail and hospitality jobs, once reliable safety nets, are now hard to come by.
Like many of my peers, I naively believed that after years of late-night study sessions, skyrocketing tuition fees, and the coveted cap-andgown moment, I’d seamlessly transition into a stable 9-to-5 job. Instead, I found myself sifting through job listings that demanded ‘at least three years of experience’ for entry-level roles. So, like many graduates, I turned to internships because, supposedly, that’s how you get your foot in the door.
Internships have long been marketed as an invaluable stepping stone into an industry, a chance to gain hands-on experience, build networks, and sharpen skills. In theory, they’re meant to be rewarding, inspiring, and informative. What they’re not meant to be is free labour. And yet, that’s exactly what they’ve become.
Across Aotearoa, youngsters are finding themselves in a cycle of unpaid work, often juggling multiple jobs just to afford the ‘opportunity’ of gaining experience. Many are expected to perform the same tasks as paid employees—sometimes even more—without receiving compensation. Others have been completely ignored once their internship ends, left with no job offer and little to show for their time.
So, what’s the reality of unpaid internships? Here’s what some of Tāmaki Makaurau’s rangatahi had to say about working for free:
Note: Most respondents in this survey have chosen to remain anonymous, so pseudonyms have been used. Any resemblance to real individuals working in this industry is purely coincidental.
What industry were you interning in?
Photography (Emma)
Fashion (Naomi)
Marketing (Claire)
Fashion Magazine (Natasha)
Print Journalism (Celine)
Fashion (Gemma)
Public Relations (India)
Marketing (Jules)
Why did you apply for it?
(Emma) - I wanted to gain experience working in a photography studio. The teacher of the photography class at my school recommended it to me.
(Naomi) - I met the designer via a mutual connection and was offered the position through them.
(Natasha) - The owner of the publication was looking for a copywriter, so I applied just to try my luck. She ended up taking me as an intern instead of giving me the copywriter job.
(Celine) - I thought it would get me a foot in the door of writing articles/ blog posts. I was also very excited about the idea of working for print, it seemed cool and luxurious.
(Gemma) - My first internship was a part of a uni paper, and my second internship was to gain more industry experience with a company that I love.
How long was the internship?
(Emma) 4 months
(Claire) 5 months
(Natasha) Technically, almost a year, but it was quite inconsistent because I just wrote whatever I wanted whenever I could
(Celine) 3 months
(Gemma) 8 weeks & 5 weeks
Did you have hopes to join the workplace after the internship was over?
(Emma) Yes, I was hopeful to become a proper assistant.
(Claire) Initially, yes.
(Natasha) Yes, I was hopeful to work there, but my boss at the time hinted I wouldn't stay because she said something along the lines of, "What do you wanna do after interning for me?"
(Gemma) That would have been the ideal situation, but my view was realistic on the state of the industry.
(Jules) - Before joining, yes I thought it would be a cool company to be a part of.
How many hours per week were you working for them?
(Emma) Every Saturday from 7 am to 1 pm.
(Naomi) 3-5 hours per week, depending on how much work they had for me.
(Claire) 14 hours per week.
(Natasha) At the start, we agreed on 3 hours a week, but I was the one constantly chasing my boss when to meet up because she was always
busy and didn't have a consistent routine.
(Celine) 15 hours per week.
What kind of work were you doing?
(Emma) Nothing photography-related. I did a lot of cleaning and tidying inside and outside of the studio area. I also did some client data entry.
(Naomi) Quality checks, organising fabric swatches, creating a digital dip lab library for overseas manufacturers, organising pattern storage
(Claire) I helped with campaigns and marketing, writing articles, and photoshoots, and creating concepts for clients.
(Natasha) Copywriting work. The owner would give me minimal feedback regarding my writing without teaching or upskilling me.
(Celine) Writing blog posts to promote different products, delivering packages to clients and sponsors, and writing articles for their magazine.
(India) I cleaned the kitchen, walked the owner’s dog, got their morning coffees, and went to New World to buy whatever they wanted.
How did the company/staff treat you?
(Emma) - The woman who ran the business didn't like me very much. She asked some personal questions about my religious beliefs (which I didn't feel comfortable answering), and after this, I noticed a change in her behaviour towards me. Once, she asked me if I could clean her house and her son's bedroom(??!!) It was in the same building, but it crossed a boundary for me.
(Naomi) - I was treated with respect, but I was often given tasks that weren’t included in the original internship description. Some days, I would come in on the agreed day, and I would work to then be sent home as they had no work for me.
(Claire) - They treated me pretty well and gave me some free stuff, which was cool. It was a bit isolating sometimes when they would talk about exclusive work events in front of me that didn’t include interns.
(Celine) - Decent at the start, but then much worse when they refused to compensate me for an article I had written that they had previously agreed to compensate me on.
(Gemma) - At my first internship, they were always kind to me but they seemed more focused on what they could get out of it rather than what I could. During the second one, they were constantly making sure I was learning things and asking what I wanted to get out of the internship.
(Jules) - It does feel like Devil Wears Prada but NZ tall poppy syndrome version? I soon learned my place as an intern, barely interacting with other people, even though it is a small team I would doubt anyone here besides my mentor would know my name.
What were your key takeaways from this experience?
(Emma) - I was taken advantage of, especially since I was so young and inexperienced in work environments. Unfortunately, this experience disengaged my passion for photography for years.
(Naomi) - For future reference, if I were to seek another internship, I would head into this with clear boundaries and personal goals to gain from this.
(Natasha) - That I could do the same job but get paid! After learning how much copywriters get paid, it’s honestly not worth doing it "for
exposure". I think that mindset for artists is such a scam. It's much more fruitful to do genuine collaborations with people you believe in, like your friends.
(Celine) - Don't do an unpaid internship lol. Industries that take advantage of eager young people with no intention of hiring them or helping them upskill is so horrible.
(Gemma) - You learn a lot from observation so getting industry experience is valuable. But making sure that you are not being taken advantage of and actually learning things is important.
(Jules) - Unpaid internships and this industry can be a mixed bag. While they offer exposure and a foot in the door, they can also highlight how undervalued young talent is. I learned how to navigate professional spaces, observe industry dynamics, and understand that internships are sometimes more about what you take from them than what’s given to you.
Would you recommend unpaid internships to anyone?
(Emma) - I would not recommend them. The fact that creative work can go unpaid is unfair to those who need to support themselves financially and only allows a concentrated few who are privileged enough to succeed. In contrast, I have been working a paid internship over the summer in the corporate industry. Although I get paid in the corporate industry, I know this isn’t something I could do forever.
(Naomi) - Yes and no. I think it’s so important to intern for a company that aligns with your ethics, but I understand it’s difficult and not always realistic when you’re desperate for industry experience.
(Claire) - I would only recommend unpaid internships if it was short-term and the intern had a lot of say in what days they wanted to work.
(Natasha) - You have to understand when enough is enough, get paid for your work and not diminish yourself. Hold your head up high, be firm when negotiating and stand for your boundaries. Unfortunately, it's not up to students but up to the corporations/organisations/companies, etc to set up a system to pay interns. It's so unfair!
(Gemma) - Yes, but it is important to make sure they’re not too long and are at companies that have values similar to yours.
(India) - Not unless there is guaranteed employment at the end - or you are benefiting through experience/knowledge you could not obtain any other way.
As industries remain reluctant to provide opportunities for entry-level workers, let alone compensate them, the burden falls on young people to set boundaries and advocate for their worth. Until systemic changes are made, unpaid internships will continue to benefit companies far more than the interns who keep them running.
Years ago, I heard about the “Blue and Green Affect,” research that consistently shows living near green and blue spaces—such as parks, forests, rivers, lakes, and coastal areas—is linked to improved mental health and well-being. From my limited understanding of scientific research papers, we’re not entirely sure why this is the case. It’s one of those scientific questions that science itself finds difficult to answer definitively. May the Gods forgive my hubris, but I believe I know exactly why.
Against my own want or will, I am an introvert. Or hermit, cave dweller, homebody, couch-potato, take your pick of humorous descriptors. I mention this because I am someone who has spent a lot of my life indoors. With a mix of Autistic sensory difficulties, chronic anxiety and depression, and an ADHD inability to perceive linear time, getting outside for some vitamin D has been a struggle throughout my life. It’s annoying when you wake up one day and realise all the extroverted healthy people in your life were right about at least one thing: going outside will make you feel better.
Although I deeply love the indoors, spending too much time inside isn't healthy. The feeling of being cooped up is so universal that we have countless words for it—cabin fever, housebound, stir-crazy, cagey, etc. There are certainly many ways to make your interior space more livable. Feng Shui seems to be trending on TikTok, almost 30 years after "The Western Guide to Feng Shui" by Taoist Master Lam Kam Chuen was being passed around every middle class suburban mum. “No honey, we can't put the sofa under a sharp corner because the chi will be blocked, and the energy will be very upset.” And who could forget about the infamous indoor-outdoor flow. My point is that you can make your room as inviting and full of house plants as you like, but you still have to go touch grass under the clear blue sky, preferably (and according to science) next to a bubbling brook.
It’s not just about “getting outside”. The answer to improved mental health can’t be found in the gridlock graveyard and urban sprawl of big cities. Stepping out of an apartment into a smoggy concrete metropolis doesn’t make for a deep connection to mother earth. It’s probably not great for your respiratory system either (which is rich coming from me, a
chronic vape addict). The real improvements come from access to water and vegetation. Not just because of the better air quality but also because of the way we interact with these spaces. They serve as more than a nice piece of pretty scenery—they improve our bodies and minds.
Natural environments help lower cortisol (the stress hormone) and promote relaxation. Access to green and blue spaces is associated with lower rates of depression and mood disorders. Spending time in nature enhances attention, memory, and problem-solving abilities. Public nature spaces encourage social interactions, reducing loneliness and isolation. Exposure to natural environments is linked to improved sleep quality and overall mental recovery. And dear I say it, proximity to parks, trails, and water bodies increases opportunities for walking, running, and other forms of exercise. I’ve had a life-long desire to be prescribed two weeks in an isolated mountain town sanatorium to recover in the fresh air. I guess I wasn’t crazy after all, it probably would fix me.
It’s funny to imagine scientists devising theories about why humans need fewer drywall cubicles with fluorescent lighting and more parks with ponds. It seems self-evident to me, though I was raised in the hippie side of the middle class. Despite how efficiently we’ve removed ourselves from the food-chain, we are still animals. Surrounding ourselves with synthetic materials and artificial lighting has improved some aspects of human life—I’d prefer surgeries be performed in a sterile room with adequate lighting. But we've severed many important connections with the natural world, and our health is paying the price. So how can you carve time out of a busy schedule to reconnect with MC Gaia?
I’m incredibly fortunate to live on a half-acre property that includes part of the Waikumete Stream. It flows north from its origins in Titirangi, eventually merging with the Oratia Stream, and together they form part of the Te Wai-o-Pareira system, which empties into the western part of Waitematā Harbour. There has been a reforestation scheme since the mid-2000s to restore the stream banks with native plants, and my property now sits snuggly in a small valley surrounded by mānuka, kōuka, and pohutukawa. You’d think I would
spend as much time as I could in that garden paradise, yet I occasionally gaze up at the swaying foliage through my bedroom window like it's a screensaver.
I bought a picnic mat from a $2 shop, hoping it would encourage me to take my book outside to read amongst the trees and stream. It did, for a little while. The discomfort of the hard ground under my ass and inability to find a good position to read saw that dream fizzle out. I wanted to enjoy outside, but I wanted to be physically comfortable too. Then I bought a pair of lawn chairs and it cured my depression. I’m obviously being hyperbolic, but I have to admit, not by a lot. I’ve always known that spending time outside has greatly improved my mood, I just didn’t realise I could make the activity easier to do. Easier to WANT to do. When I sit down in that lawn chair with a cup of tea, the breeze running delightful fingers through my hair, the sound of leaves rustling and water dancing off river rocks, my entire nervous system relaxes. I can focus on the immense sky or an individual blade of grass. Everything slows down. There is nothing to do when you’re observing and being in nature. In our modern world of hyper-connectivity, we should remember there are things outside of our phone screens we need to connect to.
So if you’re lucky enough to have a garden, and you want to use it more, buy some cheap lawn chairs off TradeMe. You can probably find free ones on the side of the road on inorganics day, if you’re lucky. Maybe acquire a beanbag you can lug to the park and spend time communing with nature. If you have no problem roughing it on the hard-ass ground, just do it more. The point isn’t how you do it—it’s that you do it at all.
Because at the end of the day, we weren’t built for endless hours under fluorescent lights, scrolling through life from behind a screen. We’re animals, and animals need fresh air, open skies, and places to stretch their legs. It doesn’t have to be complicated, and it doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, all it takes is a lawn chair and a little bit of sunlight to remind yourself you’re alive.
Written By Tashi Donnelly (she/her)
EDITOR
Trail Mix: Ranking the good, the bad, and the blistering trials I hiked.
What qualifies me to rank nature trails? I’m still asking myself that. However, I did Duke of Edinburgh in high school, meaning I had to complete multiple tramps over two years. Duke of Edinburgh, named after Prince Philip, is a programme where students complete volunteer work and tramps to earn awards. Having been forced by my mum to do it, I roped my friends into joining me; thank you, Becca, Brooke, Hannah, and Marcia! We may have been almost shot by a crossbow, starving, exhausted, and tearing up at points, but we laughed.
Here are the tramps ranked from best to worst based on our experience staying overnight.
The Pinnacles = 4.5/5
I recommend climbing the tall pinnacle, a five-minute walk from the hut. The views from the top and the crisp air make it worth the eerie climb up the loose ladders to get there. Reaching the top, we had a spectacular view of the sea and the lush green trees on the hills. I highly recommend this track to students who are prepared for a moderate to challenging hike. We stayed overnight in the hut, which had an incredible view of the hills through its large pane windows in the dining area.
This track can be tricky, as you must walk up many large stairs, so be prepared to have your calves burning. I would also be wary, as the hike can be strenuous in summer.. I did need to stop a couple of times, which was embarrassing, considering my peers were managing fine. After sweating up to the summit, we were sorely disappointed after being told we couldn’t use the showers due to a water shortage, thus taking off ½ a point of my ranking.
Rangitoto Island/Motutapu = 3.5/5
This track is the most accessible to AUT students and is only a ferry ride away. Motutapu offers angelic scenery, allowing you to see Auckland from an almost aerial height. There is also Takahē!
I also recommend packing your bag with warm clothes, as it
gets cold. This was my first tramp, so I had the most mammoth bag on my back. Just an hour into the trip, I embarrassed myself by rummaging for my beanie—only to realise it had vanished. After holding everyone up for ten minutes, my teacher kindly offered to retrace our steps and look for it. About 10 minutes after she left, to my embarrassment, I found my beanie at the bottom of my pack., I later wore it, which led to an awkward conversation with my teacher about its sudden apparition.
Although this tramp involves walking through many fields across Motutapu Island, we were in awe at how stunning the bay was. When we arrived at our camp, the sky was a perfect landscape of pinks and purples, reflecting off the water like a painting. While we sat and ate, we enjoyed the sound of the sea and the Takahe running around. The facilities are quite basic, so this trip did feel more like classic camping.
A tip I would recommend is not making the rookie mistake of eating all the snacks on the first day like we did. Avoid the Rangitoto coastline—just ask Marcia, who lost a shoe. It's far more trouble than it's worth. And always keep track of time, as that ferry off the island will leave without you, and you will be stranded.
Te Whare Okioki 2.5/5
After looking the trail up recently, I saw it was closed due to the unsafe track. Hence, I would not recommend this hike, but I think there are important lessons to be learnt. I generally prefer elevated tracks with scenic views; deep in the bush, all you see is trees and dirt, which can get boring quickly. The one-hour trek to the waterfall offers some stunning views. But take my advice: be careful going into that bush.
Staying on track is the number one rule anyone would recommend when hiking, and it is imperative for this trial.
When navigating tricky trails with large slips taking away most of the path, lift the mood for yourself and others: As we made our way to the hut, we found solace in singing Nicki Minaj’s discography. We harmonised to Super Bass; it was a moment of shared relief. Thanks, Nicki.
Furthermore, do not venture into the thickest part of the bush off-track, which was what we were forced to do by our guide, Logan. It is true when they say the deeper you go, the worse it gets. Not only did I fall into a three-foot hole in a patch of wet grass, but I also had a near-death experience. . As we headed further off track, we were horrified to see a hunter with a high-powered crossbow aiming straight at us. Earlier, Logan explained that a man had died in a freak hunting accident as someone mistook him for a deer. My group and I began to scream, and the man dressed in head-to-toe camo with bushes attached to him lowered his bow.
I recommend staying around the campsite or huts, which won’t have hunters with crossbows. Worst of all, there are no showers, just a long drop. Yes, it’s as bad as it sounds. Marcia, once again drawing the short straw, got trapped when a possum decided to camp outside the long-drop door. Brooke, Hannah, and I stood and laughed for 10 minutes before the possum left.
Word of advice: I would check that any overnight trial has shower facilities or be safe and go to a hut; they tend to have the best gear!
Written By
Eva Morgan (She/her)
“Dismantling
Sport’s Colonial Foundations”
Sport occupies an enormous part of our country’s psyche. Life's problems just seem to disappear when there is a big game on, as we unite in the nation’s pubs and garages to watch our superstars take on the world. We love to watch and we love to play. The classic Kiwi backyard barbecue isn't complete without a Gilbert rugby ball (even sitting half-inflated in the garden, it’s an essential part of the aesthetic), and the summer beach scene isn’t complete without a plastic cricket bat, a tennis ball, and a dog that doesn’t know the rules. Being a golf-playing, football-adoring, sunscreen-reliant male, I love this about our country. But it is worth learning how we got into this relationship. There are numerous areas of history that we should not be proud of — sport gets no exemption.
The unfortunate truth is that sport was introduced to Aotearoa and many other nations as a colonial tool. British settlers believed encouraging Indigenous peoples to participate in sport was a great way to enforce Western traditions and beliefs about ‘dignified’ behaviour. According to the Journal of Sport for Development, settlers “attempted to infantilize Māori sports and destroy Māori knowledge, language, and culture.” To get a better understanding of sport and colonialism, I had a kōrero with AUT senior lecturer Dr Sierra Keung. Keung, whose research interests include Māori and Pacific athlete development and wellbeing, says the British used sports to both control and weaponise Indigenous people’s physicality and talent. “It was another tool for control… ‘We need you for these things, and then once you’ve delivered on those goods for the organisation or team, we don’t need you anymore.’” While progress has been made to combat these attitudes, Keung says they still somewhat exist today.
Let’s wind the clock back to pre-Endeavour times, because it's important to understand that Māori were engaging in sports long before the arrival of Europeans. In te ao Māori, sports are gifts given by atua (gods or supernatural beings) meant to ensure the well-being and development of humankind. They existed in all kinds of forms and served many purposes. Some sports were designed for training purposes, others simply existed for the whole community to enjoy. They were played as groups and individuals, day and night, with and without equipment. As the Journal of Sport for Development explains, “the spiritual and ancestral connection to atua, the importance of whānau, the drive to excel, the expression of joy, and the pursuit of mana are important tenets of Māori sports.” When settlers arrived, they imposed a culture that prioritised struc-
ture, hierarchy, and individual achievement — values that still dominate sport today.
While Europeans wielded sport as a tool of colonisation, Māori repurposed it for cultural reclamation. Thanks to their mammoth efforts over multiple decades to resist assimilation and play sports in terms of their attitudes and values, we are in a much better space now. However, according to Keung, there are still many issues with how sport runs in Aotearoa that need to be addressed. Māori and Pasifika are the front and centre of many of our big sports teams, yet they are still underrepresented in other areas of the sporting ecosystem such as coaching, psychology and leadership positions.
Furthermore, cultural, socioeconomic, and institutional barriers to participation still stand in the way of equity, from the grassroots to the international stage. Keung says “A lot of [Māori and Pasifika] families are financially and time-poor, and that directly affects participation.” For larger or intergenerational homes, it can become a matter of who can go, and who must stay behind. Kids miss out on playing for the All Blacks or the Silver Ferns — realising their dreams — because the system doesn’t support them. It’s fantastic that there are Māori and Pasifika role models at the forefront of our most successful sports teams, Keung says, but we need to create a pipeline where international glory flows all the way down to the grassroots level. “We always talk about the 1% that make it to the top, but what about the 99% that don’t?”
According to Keung, there are a few key areas of improvement that will make things better not only for Indigenous peoples, but for all of us. The first is to take a more holistic approach to athlete development. Often, she says, coaches and academies focus too much on performance. Instead, they should take a more holistic approach, developing all aspects of an athlete’s wellbeing, which is proven to boost performance. Part of this is catering for cultural needs and creating an environment everyone is comfortable in. There is “no use coaching them skills if they don’t feel good in the environment. If they hate being there, nothing’s going to stick.” The best way to do this is to hire more Indigenous coaches, physios, sports psychologists, and club directors. Keung says “baby steps” have been taken by some organisations in this area, with Māori and Pasifika advisory boards being set up, although their advice sometimes falls on deaf ears.
Something we can all do to enrich our collective experience is to take lessons from the te ao Māori approach to sport. When Māori had mana motuhake (full autonomy over their lives), sports, first and foremost, existed as a way for communities to connect. To Keung, “sport for us … it's just what we do. It's irrelevant what the sport is. We could be doing anything, but if it allows us to connect, allows us to be who we are … that's why we do sport.” She says that traditional Western values fly in the face of what sport, in its purest form, is all about. “If we’re only measuring success through a Western high-performance model, we’re missing the bigger picture of why sport is important in our communities.” For sport to be mana-enhancing, it must be about creating strong and meaningful connections. This looks like coaches taking the time to ask a player if everything’s ok at home. It looks like teammates uplifting each other after someone makes a mistake. It looks like teams getting together off the field — perhaps even accompanied by the odd beverage or two.
It's wonderful that we are a nation of sports fanatics, but I think it’s important to be aware of our past and to always aim higher. As they say, those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it. For me, it’s about continuing to build on the connections I’ve made in my social football team. It’s my team, not football, that makes Monday evenings one of the best parts of my week. It’s also about respecting my golf course, which is built on stolen whenua. I’d love to finish this article by writing something about how sport can unite our country, but I think Nelson Mandela did it better than I ever could:
“Sport has the power to change the world. It has the power to unite in a way that little else does. It speaks to youth in a language they understand. Sport can create hope where once there was only despair.”
Earthly Guardians: Nature Deities from Around the World
Since the earliest days of religion in antiquity, sacred deities and spiritual personifications of the natural world have held profound significance for many human cultures. Whether manifesting as a reverence for the spirits believed to inhabit the rocks, trees, and waterways of local areas, or large-scale organised traditions based around the worship of gods and goddesses of nature - the importance of this association of the natural world with the divine, and its impact on history, should not be overlooked. Here I have highlighted four different historical nature deities from around the globe, their stories and attributes, and brief outlines of their significance to the cultures from which they originated.
Pan: Originating in the rustic provinces of mainland Greece, Pan was the god of the wild, fields, and groves in ancient Greek religion. He was the patron deity of shepherds and flocks and was revered for his connections to fertility, spring, and sex. Depicted as a half-man, half-goat (a creature called “satyr” in Greek) and playing his pan flute with accompanying nymph attendants. Pan was not worshipped in official temples but within natural caves and grottoes due to his rural associations. With the spread of Christianity, the Church co-opted his imagery to represent the Devil. His horns, goat legs, and hooves became associated with demonic evil.
Freyja: The goddess of fertility, love, sex, war, and abundance in Norse mythology, Freyja was one of the most important deities of the old Scandinavian pantheon. She was believed to rule over a heavenly pastoral realm that received half of those who died in battle, with the other half going to Odin’s hall Valhalla. She was believed to possess the ability to see and influence the future. Even after the Christianisation of Scandinavia she was referenced and revered in rural areas well into the 19th century. Freyja remains a significant figure in modern neo-pagan revival movements today.
Tláloc: The Aztec god of rain and water, Tláloc was worshipped as the giver of life and sustenance in ancient Mexico. He was one of the most ancient deities in Mesoamerica, revered by the Aztecs as well as both the Maya and Olmec cultures. Tláloc was the god of various weather phenomena, including lightning and thunder. Jaguars were associated with him because their growl was thought to resemble the rumbling of thunder. There were many different rituals and offerings made to Tláloc by both ordinary commoners and the political elite of Aztec culture, with one of the two shrines on top of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan (modern-day Mexico City) being dedicated to him.
Ranginui and Papatūānuku: Aotearoa’s own homegrown god
and goddess of the sky and earth, Rangi and Papa are two of the most significant deities in Māori mythology. In the Māori creation myth, Rangi and Papa are the sky father and earth mother, from whom were born many important nature deities including Tāne (the god of forests and birds), Tangaroa (the god of the sea, lakes, and rivers), and Tūmatauenga (the god of war and human activities like hunting and cooking - as well as the progenitor of the human race). The children of Rangi and Papa worked to separate their tightly bound parents, creating the world as it exists today, with the sky above and the earth below. This act led to a great war among the gods, as Tāwhirimātea, the god of storms and winds, grieved over his parents’ separation and waged battle against his brothers. Ranginui and Papatūānuku are still revered and respected by many Māori today.
These nature deities have held great importance for the people who revered and worshipped them throughout history. Do we still believe that nature is sacred as a species? A brief look at the state of human-driven climate change and the centuries of industrial pollution and degradation of the natural landscape that has led us to our current dire predicament would suggest that - No, we no longer consider nature to be spiritually divine. However, despite this admittedly pessimistic and apocalyptic outlook, there is still some positivity that is worth noting. Although the destructive freight train of industrial capitalism has wreaked untold damage to the natural world and its ecosystems, modern ideologies and social movements are working hard to rectify the mistakes of earlier generations and work towards a future that respects and reveres the natural world in more of a similar way to how our ancestors did. If we manage to do this, collectively, as a species - and soonperhaps the trees and rivers just might stand a chance.
Written By Stu Paul (he/him) CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Illustrations By
Tashi Donnelly (she/her) @tashi_rd FEATURES EDITOR
Q: 22, they/them
As a third year and sadly having no luck in the crush or relationship department, what should I do? Be bold and brave or let the stars decide?
A: Dear Third Year,
Having a crush is a notoriously delightful experience, and as a shill for Big Romance, I’m a huge advocate for them. What better time than your early twenties to engage in the frivolity of crushes and relationships—before your frontal lobe has even fully developed. But I’m saddened to hear that you’re having no luck. Hopefully, I can give you a few pointers to help you get on your way.
Feeling stuck is frustrating, and many young people are confused about romance and relationships nowadays. It’s okay to feel that way. You’re not alone. If you’re feeling lonely, and want a special someone in your life, there are many things you can do to facilitate that happening—but your question is specific: should you take charge of your destiny, or leave it to fate?
As a professional heartstring tugger and certified HEA (Happily Ever After) enthusiast, I tend to lean towards the enchantment of destiny. I met my partner through Hinge, and when we got together I asked him if we should make up a story about how we met. He was confused by my aversion to telling people we met on a dating app. “It’s just not romantic!”, I complained. Would I have preferred to meet the love of my life on a rainy afternoon in a second-hand book store, where we had a flirtatious debate over Pride and Prejudice before realising we were both fated for one another? Yes. All we have for an anecdote is that I almost swiped left on my partner’s profile because he was wearing a backwards cap in one of his photos. But I digress. The idea of leaving love to the stars is alluring in a way Aphrodite would approve of. But maybe we can find a middle ground.
I suggest striking a balance between being bold and brave, and letting things unfold naturally. You could work on opening yourself up to new people and connections. If you’re not having luck with crushin’ on people already in your life, you could expand your social circle by starting a new hobby or joining a club. Timing does matter though, and romance doesn’t always happen on our imagined schedules. Some sports player once said: “You
miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” But then again, that didn’t end well for Oedipus. It’s important to remember that no matter how much effort you put in, you can’t force fate. You can make requests though.
My advice? Explore personal growth. Focus on personal development, building confidence, pursuing passions, and strengthening friendships. All of those things are bold and brave, and widen the scope of the stars’ fateful magic. Focus on friendships because unexpected romantic possibilities can arise from unlikely places. Don’t rush or settle, it’s better to wait for someone who aligns with your values and desires rather than jumping into something just for the sake of being in a relationship. At the end of the day, whether it’s fate or a swipe right, it’s about finding the right moment and person—no matter how you get there. And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll have that rainy bookstore meet-cute… or maybe you’ll just end up with an amazing story about almost swiping left on someone who’s now your special person. Either way, stay open, stay bold, and trust that good things are coming your way.
Q: 23 (she/her)
I love my best friend to bits, but there’s one small problem—her breath is bad. Like, really bad. I don’t think she realises it, and I feel awful even thinking about bringing it up, but it’s getting hard to ignore. I don’t want to embarrass her, but I also don’t want to keep suffering in silence (or holding my breath when we talk up close). How do I tell her without hurting her feelings?
A: Dear Anonymous
I commend you on striking the fear of God into me with this question. The only thing worse than smelling bad breath is realising you’re the bearer of it. The sensitivity of the situation you’re in is palpable, and I hope I can help.
It’s never easy bringing up something personal like this with a friend you care about. The fact that you’re so concerned about your friend’s feelings is really very thoughtful. It shows you’re a good friend. There are two overlapping worries in this scenario: the embarrassment of your friend potentially dispensing stank-breath unknowingly upon everyone around them, and the embarrassment of a difficult conversation with a beloved friend who’s ego you desperately don’t want to damage. You’ve obviously come to the same conclusion I have. It’s better to be honest. But how?
Firstly, you know your bestie better than I, so I can’t predict her reaction to this unfortunate news. I know that however gently someone told me my breath stank, I’d be crushed by the information. But I’d rather it come from a close friend than a blunt stranger. There are a few options for how you can approach this. I recommend tailoring whichever you choose to your friend’s sensitivities.
The Subtle Breeze Warning: Indirectly mentioning the breath issue is an option. You could bring it up in a casual, non-confrontational way. Next time you’re talking about health or hygiene habits, you could mention something like, “I’ve been trying to pay more attention to my oral health lately—do you ever use mints or gum?”
Humour: If your relationship allows for light ribbing of one an other, you could use humour to bring it up. But be careful that it doesn’t sound like mocking. A friendly roast sesh could do the trick if you know your bestie’s sense of humour well.
The ‘Brushing Up on Health’ Approach: This might be the most blunt way to get the job done, but it might also be the most sincere. Frame it as a concern about your friend’s well-being. Something like, “I’ve noticed sometimes your breath seems a bit off, and I just wanted to check if everything’s okay, it might be a health thing?” There are actually a plethora of health conditions that bad breath could be a symptom of, including gum disease, infections, kidney disease, and diabetes. Expressing a concern for the health of your friend (and the comfort of your nose) isn’t a bad thing!
It’s very likely that your friend doesn’t even realise what’s going on, and that there could be an easy fix once it’s brought to her attention. Good communication and honesty are key to any strong friendship. I’m sure your friend will appreciate you letting her know, and it might even strengthen your bond. Maybe she’s been wondering how to bring up with you that your toenails need some attention, and this will be the catalyst for a friendship upgrade: the nothing-left-unsaid stage. It might feel uncomfortable at first, but I’m confident your friend will appreciate your honesty.
Answered By Tashi Donnelly (they/she) @tashi_rd FEATURES EDITOR
Cross Street Music Festival
Karangahape Road is synonymous with many things: a thriving queer nightlife, great food, quirky shopping, but above all, its role as the epicentre of our musical talents. Whether it’s through musical homages to the street’s institutions (Vero-oh-oh-na) or its iconic venues, Karangahape continues to be a hub for our young homegrown talents. In a time where our current government is making it clear how little they care to support the arts, creative communities are fighting back the best way they know to – by having a good boogie on a Saturday night.
Cross Street Music Festival was created in 2018, but feels more topical than ever on its seventh year in. The festival’s all about exploring the rhythms of New Zealand's cultural identity through the universal language of music, and they couldn’t have it more on the head with this year’s lineup. As someone who annoyingly answers the question, ‘What music do you like?’ with ‘Oh, a bit of everything!’, I love a gig where I can tip my toes in as many genres and cultures as possible. Acts spanned across indie pop, rap, rock, R&B, electronic/dance and countless more subgenres. The crowd mirrored this diversity – from girls in their ruffle shorts and boots (the current go-to festival outfit) to men in their finest 3 Wise Men business casual, all shoulder-to-shoulder grooving. The latter dancing harder than you might have wrongly assumed! / Sophie Albornett
With the skies overcast and a crew relieved that the slight rain Auckland felt earlier in the day was brief and minor, Big Sur kicked off with their aptly moody alternative-country crooning as punters trickled into Cross Street. These guys have been killers of the Tāmaki Makaurau indie scene since their emergence midway through 2023, often being the sole country group that gets regularly played on student radio and bridging a gap between the alternative and country scenes of Aotearoa in ways the music community hasn’t really seen before. The five-piece played tracks from their EP ‘Black Mountain’, released in October of 2024 to acclaim and a nationwide tour. Singer/songwriter Niamh Pritchard, sporting a Palestine tee, called attention to their focus on resistance in the lyrics and approach to their music - be it for Gaza, Aotearoa, or Ireland. Fitting, considering one of the tracks from ‘Black Mountain’ largely utilising the Gaelic language.
Next up was Mammalien, the freak-folk brainchild of Joshua Worthington-Church. If the name sounds familiar, you’ve likely seen him conducting the hectic and brilliant Exploding Rainbow Orchestra or playing guitar for Princess Chelsea’s band The Dream Warriors sporting a hi-vis vest and a very well kept mullet. While his solo project isn’t necessarily new, having early gigs dating back as far as 2018, the band has kicked themselves into high gear in the last year or so with the release of singles “I’m Tired” last year and “I Don’t Want to Live on This Planet Anymore” a few weeks ago. The music sounds just as eclectic as you’d expect. Worthington-Church and co combine synths, jangly guitars, gang vocals and saxophones to create a cacophony of art-pop noise and glee.
There were a couple spaces around Cross Street designed to keep punters occupied between sets. Knees TVs had set up a little booth of old televisions with linked cameras - essentially selfie bait, but I’m no better than anyone else when an opportunity for a cool photo arises. Within the same booth was a little fighting game setup, while various other picnic tables and bean bags were placed around the festival site to add a very welcome option for anyone wanting to rest their legs or disconnect from the chaos for the moment. However, the Rave Cave was going strong for anyone who wanted to keep moving, with Monogy.my DJing to a crowd that was cramped but having a great time.
Dateline was one of my most anticipated acts of the night, having interviewed them last year off the back of the release of ‘Choose Me’, the debut single from their wonderful sophomore record ‘It’s All Downhill From Here’. I’ve seen them once since their early 2024 tour, as they kicked off Eyegums ‘Great Sounds Great’ festival down in Pōneke shortly before the album was released in full last Spring. That performance gave a taste of the record's amplified, faster sound compared to the group's debut, with an immensely strong dynamic range and a refinement of the grunge-influenced indie-rock the four-piece had become known for. Cross Street was no different - with the guitarists of the band, Katie Everingham and Reuben McDonald armed with what I’m ninety percent sure were the borrowed guitars of Jonathan Pearce and Liz Stokes. They were back in full force here, belting out tracks from both EPs with an irreverence and confidence only held by a band who has toured these songs up and down the motu for months.
Queenstown-born pop singer/songwriter Blake took a more chilled approach to the Cross Street stage, utilising a mixture of live drums and bass against backing tracks to simulate a performance of her usual bread and butter - pretty, positive and fun dance-pop. While the lack of a full band was missed, Blake and her two piece band made up of bassist Nat Hathaway and Thom Boynton made do with what they had, with the core rhythm acting in sync with each other as Blake worked alongside the backing tracks to captivate the audience. A special shout out goes to the track “Red Hearts”, a bouncy, fun track that earns its wonderfully danceable energy through a tried and true formula Blake has made her own.
Lastly before the reviewers switched over, I caught Lips as the sun started to filter out and the crowd became truly packed. This band, or at least singer/pianist Steph Brown, was the best at sticking to the nights ‘Out Of This World’ theme, with Steph sporting a bright green shawl of sorts to make her presence unmissable on stage. Kat Tomacruz, who had played and sang as a part of Mammaliens set earlier in the night, subbed in for Maude Morris on guitar while the rest of the band - Ruby Walsh on bass, and Fen Ikner on drums - returned for their first set of 2025. The band were hot off of the release of ‘The Wolf’, their single with E From Eels last Halloween, and carried the tracks some frenetic energy to their live performance. The band also teased some new material, coming off of their
upcoming album centered around privacy and the way the internet is affecting the way we interact with each other. We’ll unfortunately need to stick to their social media for the moment to see how they’ll roll out the new record - but they’re planning on finding a way to release it without relying on the very programmes they’re criticising. However the next record is released, I’ll be waiting for it with open arms. / Liam Hansen
Narrowly missing Lips, the indie-pop, Taite Music Prize-nominated heavyweight, I walked into a dance floor commanded from above; DJ Steve Oxton looked down on us from the nearby Wilson Parking lot, keeping the energy going between set changes. I found this a refreshing change compared to the usual awkward shuffle-Spotify-for-10-minutes-whilewe-do-the-set-change, and a great use of the space.
My three highlights of these 10-minute parties: Dropping TV Off immediately after Lips’ final song, indie-pop ballad straight into the battle-cry producer tag. Going from Run the World (Girls) into Walking on a Dream. I laughed at first, but then I was dancing ‘cuz it worked! Firing off air horns at any point during The Lion Sleeps Tonight.
Pōneke’s own Sea Mouse slid in to ease the hole left in my heart while I’m not at a $10 gig in Welly (I miss you, San Fran). The bluesy-rock-androll trio kicked off with an unreleased track, and boy, did they kick off. They leapt into each song as if they hadn’t just given their all on the last, not talking to us much, busy being vessels for the music. The lead’s falsetto shrieks almost gave Prince, or, as my friend put it, ‘if Van Halen did blues’. A nod to their forefathers with a Hells Bells riff-off; an off-thechain drum solo that almost cost them a cymbal; funky bass lines; the energy was all gas, no brakes without burning out too early, and finishing far earlier than it felt like they should’ve.
For those looking for dedicated boogie time, the Rave Cave brought the Berghain vibes (albeit, much smaller). Lil Bok Choy was one of three who manned the decks at the end of a dark, mysterious tunnel – probably just a carpark space – enveloped in red light and disco ball shimmer. If you’ve been lucky enough to snag a ticket to one of NYMPHO’s club nights, you'll know what to expect – check your genres at the door, we’re playing anything that gets you moving. She effortlessly took us through electronic, a bit of hyperpop, the kick drums of Jersey club and the thundering bass of Brazilian funk, with not a still person found in the groovy lair.
Walking out of the cave, we were slammed with the sounds of Zee a.k.a WHO SHOT SCOTT, the Iraqi-born, Aotearoa-raised alt-hip hop artist/ producer. Think Joey Valence & Brae or Beastie Boys; Bouncy beats, punchy drums, some rock influences, and overall a very 90s vibe. The ping-pong of energy between him and his MC reminded me of Doechii and DJ Miss Milan which I loved – carrying the whole show yourself is hard! Get your friend in the mix! Standout moments included Zee running into the middle of the crowd and injecting it with energy, and a rogue unicorn inflatable diving in from the carpark into a short-lived crowd surf.
As the skies darkened, the ball of energy I had seen weaving through the crowd finally hit the stage. With her 2024 release ‘Safar’ ranked at #11 on Rolling Stone AU/NZ’s Top NZ Albums of 2024, CHAII was my most anticipated act. Even if I didn’t know that, the introduction of a saxophone and flute quickly piqued my interest, her set-up being the most instrumentally diverse of the evening. The Persian-Kiwi blends the sounds of her motherland with hip-hop, electronica, pop, and a little R&B at times – the point is, it sounds awesome. Coming off the heels of international shows, her bubbly yet unshakably confident essence proved why she’s one of our top musical exports. Diving between Farsi and English, the set was a beautiful, authentic expression of Cross Street’s ethos and a delight to end my night on.
While it’s easy to get caught up in our favourite international acts when they finally grace our shores, we shouldn’t forget about the plethora of local talent we’re spoiled with. It was clear this night was a labour of love
on all ends, from the performers, to the MC, to everyone in the crowd cheering, singing and yelling exactly when they were told to. Ultimately, these gigs are for the people, with plenty of koha/subsidised tickets for us students and a genuinely pleasant, safe environment to get amongst. Above all, the music’s good! So, maybe when the refund from certain recently cancelled concerts hits and you don’t need it for this week’s AT top-up, give UnderTheRadar (or Debate’s very own gig guide) a geez for something new. Or better yet, stop by Cross Street next year! / Sophie Albornett
