Please do not look at my unopened emails please please pl—
Nau mai hoki mai e hoa ma - welcome back to campus for semester two! Even though I swear we went on break two days ago, alas - we are all, collectively, back in the fucking building again.
We all would have loved to have spent the break taking an actual break and decompressing from the hellish conclusion of the first semester. Americans get to spend their uni breaks either existing in a Christmas winter wonderland, or sitting on beaches with their hot and diverse group of mates as they drink White Claw and ignore their upcoming election.
Unless you’re a rich twat (or my partner on a working holiday <3), you probably weren’t in California over their summer. You spent it in Aotearoa, and you probably spent it working. Maybe you were preparing for the next semester, picking up extra shifts to make rent, or desperately searching for an internship. Maybe you had to remain in a state of limbo at AUT because your office is located at WG704 and every break you get from your 9-5 is heading off to another class at this godforsaken university. Maybe that’s just a me problem, though.
So many of us are going into our final semester of uni, and shaking with bated breath in fear of what comes after we graduate. Theoretically, the time, stress, and thousands of dollars sunk into tertiary education should be enough to guarantee you a stable job in your field or industry once you leave uni - but often if your years studying aren’t supplemented with internships, volunteering opportunities, and hours spent networking - you’re kind of left to the dust, especially if your degree is in the arts, communications, or (god forbid) business schools.
Unfortunately, universities aren’t really here to help you get a job. AUT is first and foremost a business, and although we’ll be hearing from the AUT power list of chancellors in our news editor, Caeden’s, piece, the truth is that none of their admirable goals and aspirations could be brought to fruition if the institution went bankrupt. Without sustainable government support, making money has to be the priority for universities. The same goes for most media institutions, art galleries, film studios, and anything else deemed unimportant by the coalition government. Priorities have to go to tax cuts for landlords, I guess.
There isn’t enough space for a meaningful kōrero about the impacts of capitalism across Aotearoa without being mind-numbingly annoying, so we’ve curated this issue to provide examples of folks working within the system to break it, like Jennifer Cheuk, stories of students adapting to new work environments and burnout, and a couple classic local listens from myself and Max to break up the economic dread. Hopefully, you can take something away from this issue that makes you slightly less stressed about the inevitable doom that faces us all. Apologies if you came for a bunch of commie rants - Just find me drunk on the side of Karangahape Road this weekend, and I’ll satiate your bizarre need for leftist mansplaining.
The AUT Power List
Staff and students are often attracted to AUT for what makes it different from other universities. Themes of practical knowledge and equity frequently emerge when people are asked what makes AUT, AUT.
This direction is not accidental. Considerate effort is put into shaping the university to align with this vision; the feeling of the campuses, how AUT is perceived by others, and the principles underpinning degrees - to name a few examples. The people who lead this are the Senior Leadership Team.
Many students won’t know who is in this team, and when they do it’s often due to scandals. Infamous incidents include Vice-Chancellor Damon Salesa making headlines for the dismissal of 170 academic jobs in 2022 while his own six-figure salary shot up, or calls for resignations in senior leadership following a 2021 investigation into 200 complaints of bullying and sexual harassment at AUT.
In a quest to learn how these illusive and occasionally controversial figures who shape our university perceive themselves and their jobs, I visited their offices, caught up over Zoom, had extended kōrero at cafés and received written responses when possible. Discussions were shaped around the leaders most obviously relevant to students - our Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor, as well as the Pro Chancellors who lead the different departments we study in. To your upper-right is a summary of their mahi - a.k.a. the AUT Power List.
The Heavyweights
Rob Campbell - Chancellor
In Rob Campbell’s own words, In the analogy where the senior leadership are a board of directors, the Chancellor is the Chair. Put simply, the role of the council is to set strategies and policies and to make sure the university is financially sustainable -The Chancellor oversees this process. Rob Campbell, with his strong corporate background, was approached by the Council for this role. He told me he always had a view that universities should not be elitist and noticed AUT was the university trying to do something different from the norm, so he accepted.
The centre of Campbell’s vision for AUT is his desire to see a ‘healthy university.’ This includes a range of goals; encouraging equitable access to education, a healthy work environment, fair
pay, fair process, a healthy place for students to study, pastoral care for students who live on campus, and a healthy place for research. What underpins this ideal of a healthy university is Campbell’s belief that “to be a healthy university, we need access to our community. We can’t be a healthy university if we are elitist and disconnected from our communities.” He notes AUT has made significant progress in this space, but there’s still a lot of work to be done, including a focus on implementing Te Tiriti o Waitangi across the university. Campbell phrases this as a “genuine desire to be a Te Tiriti based university” from the Council. However, he’s not naive enough to ignore the looming threats to Te Tiriti, and Te Ao Māori, from right-wing organisations and the government.
“The centre of Campbell’s vision for AUT is his desire to see a ‘healthy university.’”
In many ways, it is appropriate that a university “trying to do something different” has a Chancellor who reflects this. Campbell has been outspoken on a variety of social issues, including rights for Māori, LGBTQ+ communities, women and disabled communities. He lost his roles as Chair of Te Whatu Ora and board member of the Environmental Protection Agency over comments criticising the National Party’s opposition to Three Waters. It makes sense now then that he’s well aware of the challenges marginalised students, especially Māori students, face under the coalition government. There is no doubt his views have remained consistently to the left, and his high-profile governance roles, including his current role as AUT’s Chancellor, have not wavered them.
We ended our kōrero with Campbell emphasising his desire for the Council process to be as accessible and open as possible. He encouraged students to attend their hui and read the minutes online. He’s also around campus often - more than other Chancellors - and wants students to kōrero on the issues that matter to them with him when they see him.
Damon Salesa - Vice-Chancellor
Damon Salesa has an impressive list of accolades. Following his successful career as an undergraduate Arts student, he went on to become many “firsts”l He was the first Rhodes Scholar of Pacific descent, which through a journey of many high-profile positions in academia, led to him becoming the first Vice-Chancellor of Pacific descent at a New Zealand university. He’s still a
renowned scholar (despite having to pause a lot of this work), and in his spare time he recently won an Ockham for his book ‘An Indigenous Ocean’.
Our kōrero began with him describing his day-to-day to me, where he said he “often finds himself having to explain the role.” In many ways, he explained, it’s the equivalent role to a school principal and he considers himself to be the “kaitiaki of AUT.” He makes sure AUT is taken into account by the government, iwi, alumni, industry and other “community stakeholders”.
“His ‘why’ is the students. He misses teaching and will still occasionally sub in. He wants students to know that he loves hearing their stories, including the challenging ones.”
His ‘why’ is the students. He misses teaching and will still occasionally sub in. He wants students to know that he loves hearing their stories, including the challenging ones. He recognises the efforts students put into even just turning up, and believes the university has a responsibility to match that effort. When I asked about the issues students are facing such as cost of living and mental health challenges, he said he had made a note to include solutions to these issues as part of the university strategy document. The solutions include flexibility for students and an emphasis on AUT’s unique practical learning which gives students a reason to come to campus. Crucially, Salesa does not shy away from the fact students come to University because they want/need jobs when they graduate. Salesa’s AUT focuses on creating graduates that the world, including the workforce, needs.
Throughout the interview, Salesa stated that it is his career in academia that grounds him today. He said his background is always connected to how sees and acts in the world, including
his desire for equity. He wants the quest for knowledge to feel relevant for everyone. This belief even comes through in how he described his commitment to Te Tiriti. AUT’s Te Reo Māori name embodies this best -Te Wānanga Aronui o Tāmaki Makau Rau references one of the three baskets of knowledge - Te Kete Aronui. This basket focuses on knowledge as discovery and innovation, and the transformative power of education.
Vice-Chancellor Damon Salesa can be contacted at damon. salesa@aut.ac.nz.
The Interviewees
Kate Kearins - Pro Vice-Chancellor
Kate Kearins is the Pro Vice-Challencer and Dean of the Business, Economics, and Law faculty. Her aim is to teach students to care, question, and act responsibly -she’s especially proud of the compulsory courses on ethics and social impact in business. She kept referring back to this phrase - “social impact.” In her own words, “We need a large and diverse army working to solve the unsustainability issues facing the world.” She sees an opportunity for AUT to be part of a new wave of university, industry, government and community working together to make a positive social impact. She wants her students to be part of this.
“She sees an opportunity for AUT to be part of a new wave of university, industry, government and community working together to make a positive social impact. She wants her students to be part of this.”
She’s noticing this term - social impact - is more and more relevant in our rapidly changing world with shorter and shorter innovation cycles As a result, new advancements in areas such as Artificial Intelligence will be very familiar to AUT business and
law students. She’s stayed at AUT because it’s “more edgy, less bureaucratic”, which makes this kind of rapidly developing tertiary curriculum possible. She’s the champion of a university that is streamlined, systematic, and in touch with the world outside of academia.
Pro Vice-Chancellor Kate Kearins can be contacted at kate. kearins@aut.ac.nz.
Pare Keiha (Whānau-a-Taupara, Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki, Rongowhakaata) - Pro Vice-Chancellor
Pare Keiha holds three portfolios; Dean of Te Ara Poutamathe Faculty of Māori and Indigenous Development, Dean of the Faculty of Culture and Society, and Pro Vice-ChancellorMāori Advancement. He sets strategies for the university and is responsible for student success in these areas. He’s especially proud to support the success of Māori students - Keiha describes all of this as “the best job in the world.” In his own words, “I am part of a whanau who change young people’s lives, their whānau, and the communities into which they were born - forever. And so we do magic together on a daily basis.”
“I am part of a whanau who change young people’s lives, their whānau, and the communities into which they were born - forever. And so we do magic together on a daily basis.”
His vision for AUT is one based on the university’s combined “commitment to equity and excellence.” He is proud of the level of “world-class” education students receive, especially because it is an education that is “applied and relevant.” In his responses, Keiha emphasised his connection to his students as being a key part of his role. This includes his connection to the postgraduate students he supervises (“ambitious young Māori scholars who have a commitment to serving their communities”) and his alumni who he is proud to see “continue serving the communities into which they are born.”
Pro Vice-Chancellor Pare Keiha can be contacted at pare.keiha@aut.ac.nz.
The Others
Several other Pro Vice-Chancellors are also particularly relevant to students but were not available for an interview. They include Guy Littlefair, Pro Vice-Chancellor and Dean for the Faculty of Design and Creative Technologies, Brett Cowan, Pro Vice-Chancellor and Dean for the Faculty of Health and Environmental Sciences, and Jacoba Matapo, Pro Vice-Chancellor Pacific.
Guy Littlefair - Pro Vice-Chancellor
Guy Littlefair oversees some of the biggest, most well-known schools at AUT. He is responsible for the influential School of Communication Studies, including it’s Journalism programme, at a time when this industry is rapidly changing. In 2018, after his Inaugural Professional Address, Littlefair told AUT he is motivated by knowing he can make a difference to young people and New Zealand more broadly.
Pro Vice-Chancellor Guy Littlefair can be contacted at guy.littlefair@aut.ac.nz.
Brett Cowan - Pro Vice-Chancellor
Brett Cowan became Dean of Health and Environmental Sciences in 2023. He came from the Crown Research Institute, where he served as Chief Scientist and General Manager Research, Head of Commercialisation and Māori Economy. Shortly after Cowan’s selection as Pro Vice-Chancellor, Vice-Chancellor Damon Salesa told AUT that “Brett is deeply committed to the health and wellbeing of Aotearoa, to uplifting all of our communities, and understands how AUT has been and will continue to be, a leader in this mahi. He knows first-hand the critical role of Allied Health professions, and understands the opportunity presented by the faculty’s unique combination of health, sports and science.”
Pro Vice-Chancellor Brett Cowan can be contacted at brett. cowan@aut.ac.nz.
Jacoba Matapo - Pro Vice-Chancellor
Jacoba Matapo became Pro Vice-Chancellor Pacific in 2023. Her background is in the School of Education, Faculty of Culture and Society where she specialised in Pacific Education Research. Her research had a particular focus on “activating Pacific philosophies and relational ontologies, to confront education politics and discourse that continue subjugating Pacific people’s language, culture, spirituality and identity in education outcomes.” Last year, Matapo was part of an AUT campaign that encouraged parents to value their children’s education, including at the tertiary level. As part of this campaign, she said she sees AUT’s role as “fostering strengths alongside leading academics in the field, amazing researchers in this space, and changemakers.”
“she sees AUT’s role as “fostering strengths alongside leading academics in the field, amazing researchers in this space, and changemakers.”
Pro Vice-Chancellor Jacoba Matapo can be contacted at jacoba.matapo@aut.ac.nz
Joshua Willmer on his Paralympic Journey
Joshua Willmer has had a passion for swimming for as long as he can remember. And in a couple of months, he’ll be in Paris representing New Zealand at the Paralympics.
The meaning of hard mahi often comes up when people are talking about work - “do the mahi and get the treats.”
To Willmer hard mahi means having to persevere through the challenges of only having one arm while engaging in competitive sport. You won’t hear Josh complain though, probably because he’s underwater, putting in the mahi for the 2024 Paralympic Games.
He’ll be part of the team that heads over to Paris in a couple of months. Willmer will be competing in the 100M SB8 Breaststroke race, the same event that he won gold in at the 2022 Commonwealth Games in Birmingham. He then went on to break New Zealand records at the 2023 World Para Swimming Championships in the 100m SB8 Breaststroke race.
Willmer says his journey to becoming a competitive swimmer began with his childhood, “I actually grew up in Kawakawa Bay so definitely learning to swim was a must, which probably led me to swim but I loved swimming from a young age. I’ve played other sports as a kid, I always wanted to play Rugby League as a kid but ended up playing touch and other sports growing up”.
“Mum always took me to swim programs to learn how to swim because she said we are surrounded by water so you have to learn to swim. By doing swimming lessons and moving up in each group I ended up doing squad swimming at my local swim club”.
Willmer’s life today consists of a grueling training schedule, “my weekly schedule is really busy at the moment, so my day consists of training early in the morning and then training again in the
the afternoon”. Josh explains that being a paralympic athlete has extra, unique challenges, “being different from everyone else, you kinda have to adapt to certain things at training and some things are easy, and some things take longer to learn”.
Josh aims to make sure his balance between swimming and life stays just right and takes every opportunity given to him. When asked what the word “mahi” means to him, Josh says “mahi means putting in effort because it goes a long way in our sport by just putting that little bit more effort in, and hopefully at the end of the set, we will get the treats.”
This attitude is paying off - Willmer’s record time for 100m Breaststroke is 1 minute and 14 seconds. 6 seconds off the Paralympic world record for this event, held by Ukraine’s Andriy Kalyna. Willmer recently broke three New Zealand records at the 2023 Para World Championships in Manchester, England. Joshua swam his first 50m of the SB8 100m heat with a time of 34.79 seconds, before breaking that same record in the final, swimming 34.62 seconds.
There’s no doubt that come August, Josh will do New Zealand proud at his first Paralympic Games in Paris. His determination and commitment to achieving his goals will inspire many future New Zealand Olympians and Paralym-
Written
By Henry Lee (he/him) @henry.lee11 CONTRIBUTING WRITER
STUDENT LIFE IN THE COST OF LIVING
The cost of living crisis is a secret to none, and felt by all. No matter your age, financial standing, or political stance, there’s no denying that the price of everything has gone up, and as students globally are continuously telling their governments that they are struggling, you would assume it’s an issue high on the priority list of those in control. Yet, it seems the reality is quite the contrary. I talked to 5 AUT students from all different fields of study about the ways in which they are feeling the financial pressure; from personal hardships to where the government can improve, here’s a first hand stance.
Mōrena! What’s your name, what do you study and what are your pronouns?
E: Elliote, I study occupational therapy, and she/her.
B: Billy Blamires, Fashion, they/them.
J: Jan, Psychology, she/her
I: My name is Isla and I study Communications at Aut. She/her pronouns.
Ella: My name is Ella, I study marketing and PR, and my pronouns are she/her.
Do you have a job? And do you find that your income, from whatever stream that may be, is enough to support you as you study?
E: Yes, I have a job but the money is not enough solely from working.
B: Yup! Two jobs actually, plus studylink, and it has definitely not been enough to support me. Granted I am not great with saving but with rent etc and then the cost of the course - fabrics, models, etc - it’s been really rough this year. I’m definitely down to $0 [by the end of] every week.
J: [I’m a] personal trainer. Yes, it supports me because [my boyfriend] also works. I use student loan to pay for my rent.
I: I have a job as a waitress and with what I make weekly I wouldn’t be able to support myself. Not only do I have a student loan to pay for fees, but also my living costs. I have had to rely on my parents more than I would’ve liked too. I know I am in an incredibly lucky position to be able to do that, but I would’ve like to be a bit more self-sufficient.
Ella: I work part-time in retail. I work as many hours as possible per week, usually without a day of rest so I can support myself, though it still is never enough.
Do you feel as though the current cost of living crisis affects you personally?
E: Yes, there is a lot of stress that I endure living away from home and having to pay higher rent and utilities.
B: Yeah for sure, it’s been really hard. Groceries are near impossible, I also have a cat so two mouths to feed, haha.
J: Yes and no. My parents are suffering a lot and working a lot for their mortgage payments, and it's hard to find time with them. But me personally, no.
I: The COLC has affected me, in admittedly smaller ways than some, in things like taking time off work, doctors and dentist appointments, food costs and transport costs. I am grateful for the financial position I am in, but whenever I start to feel stressed about the COLC, I also tend to feel guilty, because I know there are people in Aotearoa struggling much more.
Ella: Absolutely. Having to work as much as possible to provide myself with essentials has meant my recreational spending and my savings have hit a low. I am concerned for the student debts I will inevitably be in for years since I am unable to put savings aside towards school fees.
Have you had to give anything up to make ends meet?
E: I barely go out to dinner, unless there’s a cheaper option. I write down dinners in preparation for the shop and don’t buy anything extra.
B: I’ve had to stop bouldering, which is my main stress relief and exercise. I also am having to do very limited grocery shops.
J: I haven’t had to give up buying anything, however the cost of living crisis has forced me to work more - I sleep a lot less!
I: The main thing I have given up, or swapped, is beauty services. I used to love getting my hair and nails done, but I do that all myself now. I dye and trim my own hair, give myself manicures and pedicures and tint and shape my own eyebrows. This saves me money on the services but also saves me time and transport costs, as I can do it at home. I’ve limited my alcohol consumption, which is also probably a good thing. Alcohol itself isn’t the expensive thing, it’s the hidden costs like Uber’s home and maccas in the morning.
Ella: I have given up many nutritional foods in my weekly shop, relying on snacks rather than meals to get me through the day. I still make sure to leave myself enough money per week for socialising!
Are there any other ways/things that you implement in your life to manage financially?
E: Discount stores, I get food stamps from uni.
B: I’ve been lucky that my parents are able to help where they can, mostly just with groceries from weeks where I fall a bit short. I’ve had to pick up extra shifts, but being in my final year it’s been hard to manage my time between two jobs and [my] uni workload.
J: Less sleep because I’m either working or cramming for something urgent, [such as] essays.
I: I like to look at things optimistically, the rising prices have taught me to be thoughtful about when and where I spend my money. It’s taught me to be resourceful and use what I already have, instead of ordering food or buying a new outfit. It’s also taught me the importance of budgeting and planning your finances.
Ella: Living at home has been a big help, though I still pay board and feed myself I am grateful I don’t have to spend extortionate money on a place to live.
LIVING CRISIS: FIRSTHAND THOUGHTS
What is your main concern regarding the current economic situation - for yourself, for students, or for the wider population?
E: That we’re disregarding our studies to be able to live. I physically cannot work any more than 20 hours because then the focus on uni starts decreasing. It’s a mix between working more hours when you don’t have assessments, [and] then suffering while doing exams/assessments.
B: I just don’t know how anyone is affording to comfortably live at the moment. Everyone I know who studies is stressed and completely split between work and study with no time or money to do anything that can positively affect mental health, like exercise or socialising.
J: [That] you HAVE to work to do anything unless you're dependent on your parents. My main concern at the moment is that I would have rathered to just start working and saving rather than going to uni at all.
I: My main concern regarding the COLC and students is that young people will be put off the idea of studying because of the financial hardships. I think education is so important and it should be prioritised. I also fear for the elderly because their pension and savings can’t keep up with the ever rising cost of living.
Ella: The fear of student debt is a concern for me, and I assume it is for many other students. I feel mostly for my parents and other working class families as they have been hit the hardest by the rise in cost of living, and are struggling to make ends meet.
What do you think, if anything, the Government can do to better support students during this time?
E: [They should] widen the support for students living away from home and in flats. Taking away the impact of what your parents income is on you for financial aid if the parents don’t support you through university.
B: I know at least with creative degrees like mine having fabric and materials required for the course, there’s been a lot of extra costs involved on top of the original course fee, so a subsidy of some kind for those things would be a huge help.
J: More student allowance would really help me, university placements should definitely be paid, free parking on campus and allowance should cover travel costs to and from uni.
I: I think the government can place more emphasis on rent control, price caps for supermarkets and affordable public transport. It would also be nice if the fees free program was continued as I know it makes a difference amongst my peers.
Ella: Putting a larger percentage of funding towards public transport and infrastructure will support students by making our commutes cheaper and easier. I spend $70ish on public transport alone in a week, making me not want to commit to the long and pricey commute, show up to class, or even continue with my studies. Not only does it take me over an hour to get to classes, but public transport has also become unsafe.
If you too are feeling the financial pressure climbing, know that you are not alone. There is support out there, both financial and emotional. Talk to your loved ones if you need to vent or be validated, or contact the AUT student councillors on 09 921 9292 if you are in need of some financial advice, and they will point you in the right direction.
Kia kaha, AUT. We’re in this together.
Room 42
I got called the n-word on my first day of a new job.
It was 2022 and I was in my final year of high school. After experiencing unpleasant scenes behind a McDonald’s counter, I was thrilled to have landed a new job as a kitchen hand at a retirement home.
This first shift was a training day where I tagged along with a long-time employee. The environment at the retirement home presented a comfort I could have only dreamed of during my time at Maccas (AKA satisfactory working conditions). The cooks, carers, and cleaners greeted me with sincerity and there was an absence of a repressive hierarchy. My trainer and I revelled the first of many coffee breaks only thirty minutes into the shift, accompanied by leftover dessert. The job was task-based, meaning you left upon completion; no more dwelling in boredom wishing the clock would accelerate. ‘I’d cracked it’ I thought.
A couple of hours later we’d finished most of the tasks. It was time to cease the night by giving out supper and I was to interact directly with the residents for the first time.
As I traversed around the different wings of the building I met the various characters that made up this interesting nest. Bernadette in room 48 relentlessly requests milk for the cereal she’s not meant to be eating on her diet. Tom in room 4 wants to discuss (in detail) the latest Top Gear episode and I must make sure to shut the door so his cat doesn’t escape. Shirley in the lounge room is dairy-free, gluten-free, and needs reminding she lives in room 36.
Knowing I had to remember these intricate details was becoming overwhelming…and then we visited room 42.
“Hello Ian, it’s supper time,” my trainer says whilst knocking on the door.
“Come on in,” Ian replies. We are met with a grinning man behind the door who is surprised to see two people. He looks at my trainer. “I see you’ve brought a little n-word along with you to help out.”
Did I hear that right? Surely not. Yes, I did. He just called me the n-word. He really did. Should I tell him to say
that again? Should I lash out? Should I leave? My body is ignited with a burning rage. But the fire is quickly quenched by the dampening feeling of defeat that leaves me stunned and silent.
I stand outside and my trainer proceeds to pour Ian his tea: a splash of milk and no sugar. Four vanilla wafers, his favourite biscuit, are placed on his table and we leave in a hurry to finish the supper round.
“They say stuff like that sometimes,” my trainer tells me. His voice is subdued. His head is bowed. His coloured skin was stinging just as much as mine.
I impatiently awaited the night’s end, eager to escape the venom of a passing comment that had poisoned a nearly perfect first day.
The following night when I returned to room 42 to deliver Ian’s supper he couldn’t even remember that I’d met him the night before. An encounter so stark for me had departed his mind in a moment.
“Welcome,” he said, “I hope they’re treating you well!”
The job quickly proved that out-the-gate interactions were certainly not an anomaly. Winnie from room 34 would hide cups in her purse and tell me she didn’t know where they were. Shirley once stole a loaf of wheat bread off my trolley and began having a munch (remember she’s a coeliac). But no matter how distressing, absurd or ignorant this behaviour might have been, my duty to care for the residents wasn’t going to be interfered with.
Dementia wants nothing more than to be the boss. Dementia wants his employees —the vulnerable residents— to do his dirty work. He wants to exploit their vulnerability, and then make them bear the consequences of his behaviour.
I don’t excuse the unacceptable behaviour but when it transpired in the retirement home, I often had to excuse my instinct to react with resentment. I had to learn to put my own discontent aside; there was no one in more need of compassion, gentleness and understanding than the residents themselves.
Over time, visiting Ian became one of my favourite parts of the job. He’d show me the latest puzzle he’d completed and we’d have a yarn about today’s news. He would talk about his family, and his weekends away at dancing competitions. He proved to be polite, intelligent and analytical - always making sure his empty cup was right at the door so it was easy to pick up at the end of the night.
During the few years I worked at the retirement home I watched as Ian slowed down. I would find him asleep on his chair at supper time and soon enough he began going to bed before supper time even rolled around. Ian passed on early this year. I think fondly of him, the lessons and the laughs he bestowed from room 42 during my supper rounds. He was a sweet man who left me feeling quite bitter on my first day.
It’s easy for me to dwell on how capitalism has made work unsustainable for the health of humans. We aren’t designed for 40-hour work weeks. The unpaid domestic labour performed primarily by women is undervalued. The nuclear family dynamic strips us of community support. Staying informed on the latest studies and solutions to the world’s problems is tiring work. I often feel I have little time to appreciate the mahi that matters to me.
I clean my grandma’s house weekly. Dusting the shelves, decorated with photos of her four daughters and nine grandchildren, I look into the familiar faces of my whānau. She gives me updates on my young cousin’s achievements, and I turn the ancient hoover on and off so I can hear her. The iPhone comes out, a piece of miracle technology for someone who grew up without a flushing toilet, and we lovingly awe at pictures and videos of school plays, award ceremonies, and craft projects. Filling buckets with hot soapy water, I catch her up on my artistic ventures. While I mop the floors, we discuss ‘when’s good’ to help with grocery shopping or running errands for my aunty, who’s ill and has two high-needs disabled children. She asks me about my work. I put all the rugs and chairs back in place. In one hour we’ve accomplished more than we expected. The wheels on our family unit turn smoothly for another week.
Every December, my family starts the preparations for Christmas. I loathe Christmas. I hate its capitalistic overtones and Coca-Cola’s red Santa. I hate that in Aotearoa, we celebrate it in the middle of summer when I already feel forced to be happy about sunshine and beaches. It makes more sense as a pick-me-up to the chilly misery of European winter. I resent how stressed-out people get about performing Christmas correctly, breaking the bank to ensure there are gifts under the plastic pine tree.
My Grinch tendencies aside, every year, I watch my whānau achieve an amazing feat. Organising gifts, seating, food, and drinks for 20 people, plus whoever gets invited along. For many years, I’ve had friends or partners whose own family Christmases aren’t happy ones. They’ve attended mine and been treated to gifts and meals catered to their dietary requirements. They’ll often say, “This is so kind, you didn’t have to do all this”, to which my entire family would respond, “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re welcome any time!” this standard of care is our bare minimum.
Work doesn’t just keep food on my family’s table and roofs over our heads; it keeps my family together interpersonally. Love isn’t just a feeling: it’s an action. When I spend my time writing emails, editing, writing, and coordinating with clients, I count myself lucky to have a job I don’t hate. Picking up my cousin’s prescription and driving my grandma to the doctor never feels like a chore. When members of my family ask me to help cook, drive, or clean, I am deeply fulfilled. It comes with the knowledge and security that, should I need it, I would be taken care of as effectively as I care for others. This is the kind of mahi that I cherish. The work ethic my family has instilled in me doesn’t involve bending over backwards for money or status. They taught me that the labour of love can create a sustainable interpersonal ecosystem. It branches out into my relationships outside of my family, so I’ve never felt bitter about helping someone in need.
Written & Illustrated By Tashi Donnelly (she/her) FEATURE EDITOR | @tashi_rd
I first met Jennifer Cheuk 卓嘉敏 when she was plus-one’d to my 2017 birthday party. Within minutes of meeting, we were analysing niche animated media, fangirling over comics and brainstorming each other's future projects.
Half a decade later and several Auckland Zinefests later, in January 2022, I received a message. "I'm going to do my own magazine with blackjack, and hookers,” Jenn said, “I'm thinking of calling it Rat World".
Within three months, the first issue of Rat World: A Magazine for the Underground was launched at NiceGoblins HQ. Two years and another six issues later, I'm still blown away by Jenn's creatively collaborative spirit and her intense drive to platform underground arts in Aotearoa. When I heard we were doing an issue of Debate themed "Mahi", she was the first person that I thought of.
Jenn's most recent project, Everything That Moves, Moves Through Another, is a landmark anthology of twenty-seven creatives from across Aotearoa; conceived in response to the lack of authentic representation for biracial, mixed-heritage and multi-ethnic individuals living in Aotearoa. Supported by the Asian Arts Fund and published by 5ever Books, the anthology features photography, comics, essays, poetry and multimedia art.
I wanted to Nardwuar you a little…How did publishing
Everything That Moves, Moves Through Another (ETM, MTA) compare to publishing your own anthology, The Peculiar Thoughts of a Hummingbird, when you were 17?
Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, oh shit. Wow, okay, yeah, that was very Nardwuar of you, okay, fine.
I was always really interested in the way you could manifest emotion and theme in a tangible process. I think that’s what’s so amazing about publishing, that you can be really in touch with paper and glue and binding. For that first book, we got it printed at some random book binder-ey place that was family-owned out East, and they forgot to put the spine title on it. When I received it back, they were like: “It doesn’t matter, it’s still a book”. I was about 15-16, and I looked at it and thought: Well this isn’t the book as a full object. I was kind of aware of what it needed to be, to be held as a book.
I was chatting with Sinead Gleason recently, the Irish author, and she was like: “Anthologies are a really accessible reading point for people, because there’s so much in them and so much variation, that you pick it up and if you don’t like page 9, you can flip to page 20 and there’s something different that might be for you.” I think about that a lot, and that’s probably why I really like magazines as well. [So] many times I pick up a novel, I read the first page, I go: Ugh, not for me. Not to diss on novels, but I think that anthologies can be such a special place
of finding work and discovery.
Rat World and ETM, MTA share an ethos in being so varied in the types of media present. An anthology feels like a magazine issue on a grander scale.
It’s probably because I have trouble making decisions. (Laughter). I think it’s a lot to do with form, because I’m aware that magazines are a bit more ephemeral. We did have a much longer period of time with ETM, MTA, and I was able to give people so much space to work creatively. That’s what [has me] really psyched about this publication, that you can see the time and capacity and energy just put into thinking and investigating; Thinking about form and creativity…That’s a luxury, right? To be able to give time to do that. That was a really big part of this project from the very beginning, [as] this is such a vulnerable topic.
[ETM, MTA] was built out of a real collective practice. All of the design was done so collectively. And similar to Rat World, we took a lot of time with the contributors to make sure they were happy with how their work was presented. If they had a particular typeface or design style they wanted on the page, we made sure that that was a conversation we had together. Not only is that important for being respectful to the artist, but it’s also being respectful to the process of creating; experimenting and finding new ways of thinking about work together. Otherwise, you’re just going to see the same stuff. It becomes like the Instagram algorithm. If you’re making stuff by yourself forever, you’re just going to be in your own echo chamber.
Rat World Issue Seven: Queer Takeover is a collaboration with Auckland Pride. How was that for you, letting your baby bird rat fly?
Nathan from Auckland Pride approached me about doing a collab for the next issue. And I thought that was a great idea, but I was also aware that as much as I was an ally for the queer community, I wouldn’t be able to provide the right editorial scope and support that would be needed. That’s why I really wanted to get a guest editor for this one. I think that’s important as an editor; knowing when to step back, when to understand your context, biases, and perspectives, and when to give someone else space to hold the publication for themselves. I think having Nathan and Jean [be] a part of this [has been] great. To have different perspectives on different art forms and interview structures that I wouldn’t have thought of. Opening up the space for people is so much fun. I do so much of the Rat World work at like 3am, so I’ve been having to try [to] figure out myself how to do it sustainably; because I don’t want to impart that structure onto someone else. It’s been a good realisation about working in a more healthy way, I guess, because there are other people on this project now. So I’m thinking: Well, I can’t just email someone at midnight and be like “Ah, I forgot to do this thing. Let’s do that
Sleep is mahi, having dinner with your family is mahi…
I really like your take on ‘mahi’ for this, being about ‘work’ in that wider sense. The work we do for each other as well as ourselves. But if we’re talking about ‘mahi’, I [need] to talk about burnout. I’ve been working a full-time job (as Programme Director for the Auckland Writers Festival), doing Rat World, writing a CNZ funded script (Notes Underground), doing this book, and also I was the archivist for Satellites, the first Aotearoa Asian arts archive. I had a real difficulty saying no to things, and I’m getting [a lot] better at it now. I sent an email yesterday saying I don’t have the capacity to do this super amazing thing. Sending that was really hard. I think it’s easy in these [unstable] freelance scenes to just say yes to everything at once for fear that there will be nothing in two months.
I’ve been having a lot of conversations with people about how to make this a sustainable scene. Even with 5ever Books who are doing and producing so much, it’s really difficult on a shoestring budget with such a small team. How can we help each other when funding isn’t a given anymore? How can we support that labour? In terms of burnout, it’s hard. People often ask me: “How are you doing so much?” I don’t want people to think that this is what you should strive for, because a lot of this was not sustainable for me, and I’m having to pare back a lot. If you saw me three months ago doing everything, that was not a good look. Please do not strive for that. I was not happy, and I was not doing well.
I’m on this journey of trying to understand the best workflow for me, ADHD and all. For me, it manifests in [crawling] into a hole and [ignoring] everyone. Sometimes I get emails that are amazing opportunities, and I completely close up. Then I don’t tell anyone, so no one knows I had to reply to this email. So I just ignore it and then months later I’ll realise I’ve missed a deadline for getting back to [the] person - and I have a complete mental breakdown about it. The first step I’m trying to do is tell people, so there can be support around me. With ADHD, there’s so much going on in your brain already that is completely used up. That’s the ADHD superpower, right? I can identify any Spongebob or Simpsons episode just from a single frame, but I can’t reply to your emails.
You’ve talked before about Hong Kong and how it has influenced your practice…
Everyone in most of East Asia, they do that “996” thing. 9am to 9pm, 6 days a week. The work culture is crazy. Everyone I know
is burnt out who lives in Hong Kong, pretty much. I feel like I have a lot of that in me, because of the people that I know over there and the family that I have, but then I also am aware that it’s not good because of where I live here. And so I’m always trying to sit back and be like: Wait a moment, that’s not healthy or sustainable, and it’s not a practice that I should glorify.
I’ve been having a lot of conversations with All My Friends, a queer Asian creative collective. I’m helping them platform articles for the upcoming exhibition Niu Gold Mountain, which is all about investigating the migrant diaspora in a contemporary context. I’m so aware that my parents didn’t have this opportunity, and they weren’t able to have an education or to pursue arts. I know that my parents love [the arts] world, and I was so grateful and so privileged for them to be able to introduce me to these sorts of things in the context that they could. I’ve carried that with me a lot, that even though I’m in the arts scene, [and] I didn’t go and be a lawyer or whatever…I still want to do this justice as much as I can. I want to do my parents’ sacrifices justice. My grandfather was illiterate in China, no one in my direct ancestry could have done this, I feel very lucky all the time and I just want to do it.
Whenever I lose my way and I tell people I don't know what I’m doing, people will look at me and go: “But it’s obvious what you’re doing”. When I was four, I wrote and ‘published’ a little zine. It’s called The Dragon Who Lost His Parents. I was looking at [it] and I was like: Holy shit, I really made another book. I have another upstairs called How to Speak English for My Dad. This is my interest in language…I was about eight and I’d written chapters on grammar, language, syntax, and translating between Cantonese and English for him. Recently, I looked at it and I was like: God, I really am the most predictable person ever, aren’t I?
Despite Jenn's assertion that she would be taking time off soon, we spent the rest of our conversation planning hypothetical future projects. A novel, an Aotearoa comic anthology, a comics-only Tāmaki Makaurau Zinefest…Jenn doesn’t seem likely to stop the mahi anytime soon, and underground art in Aotearoa is distinctly better for the collaborative communities she has fostered and created.
Everything That Moves, Moves Through Another is available for purchase from 5everbooks.bigcartel.com.
Rat World Issue Seven: Queer Takeover is available for purchase from ratworldmag.com, follow @ratworldmagazine on Instagram to stay up to date on future issues! And check out Cam’s piece “I Made a Comic That Turned Me Trans” in the pages of the latest issue.
You can find Jennifer on Instagram at @selcouthbird.
Visual
Credits:
1. Jennifer Cheuk 卓嘉敏 photographed by Aidan Dayvyd
2. Rat World Issue Seven cover credit: Allié Tran photographed by Abigail De’Avo.
3. ETM, MTA cover credit: Ersha Island 二沙岛 photographed by Harry Matheson.
Written By Danielle LeGallais (she/her)| @thesecretlifeofdans
"Building community in the trenches": A kōrero with a recent AUT law grad
How the fuck do you get a job in law?
I was lucky as I met my current employer in 2018 when he volunteered with me at an Christmas event serving our street whānau. His wife rang me up in 2022 and asked how my law degree was going, as she liked what I was doing for the community. I will talk more about getting your name out there later, because unless you’re blessed with connections to the profession through whānau and friends, securing employment in law can be very hard. Here’s some tips that may help:
1. Visit AUT City Campus Employability Lab for help with your CV and cover letter. They are there and paid to help students get their shit together in this respect. Lean on them. They will also keep you updated with law-specific events you can attend. The AUT Edge Award is another kaupapa that can help make you look more employable as you get recognised with a certificate for volunteering. Check it out.
2. After you have your CV and cover etter apply for roles in law, including volunteer and/or admin roles in firms, immediately. Getting your foot in the door is the most important step in securing a paid graduate lawyer role further down the track. I’d wait till 2nd or 3rd year till I applied for paid law clerk roles (just so you know more), but even those are competitive. If you’re already known at a firm, an employer seeing you as a good fit in their team will put you ahead of other candidates. Interviewing and training up people takes away hours they can bill. Many want to avoid that shit where possible.
3. Your grades matter, but not as much as you think. For the big firms and clerking roles for the District and High Court judges, you do usually need to be hitting that A range for an interview. Good grades will get you a foot in for an interview. But for the smaller firms, they will assess you more holistically. Get involved in other things like the AUT Edge Award to build your profile, especially if your grades are less than ideal.
4. Physically show up to recruitment events and speak to recruiters and guest lecturers from the profession as much as you can, even when nervous. They will be more likely to remember you, especially if you include in your cover letter to a firm that you met their recruiter or a guest speaker lawyer or whatever, who inspired you to apply for this job. Also, practising building rapport with other legal professionals is helpful.
5. There are papers you can take at AUT where you have to go out into the field and engage with people in the profession (again, foot in the door!!), then you write a reflection and receive academic credit for it. Some of these papers
are: LAWS776, LAWS736, and LAWS755. I recommend using papers like these to get connected to people in the profession and proactively emailing those you meet with your CV afterwards
Less of a pro tip, but more of a summary of my friend group’s experience, who all had jobs in the profession before we graduated. We got our jobs by being proactive with applications, by constantly sharing in all spaces we went to that we were law students interested in whatever field we were leaning towards, by doing cool community shit and including it on our CVs, by leaning on AUT staff and lecturers for their connections, by saying yes to attending events in a firm that through networking later led to quality paid employment as a graduate lawyer, and so on. It’s not easy, but if it was, everyone would do it.
What was your experience transitioning from law school to the profession as a woman of colour?
It's helpful when getting your foot in the door, but if they are social washing, which many are, you may be entering an unsafe space .Most organisations want to genuinely, or pretend, to look like they are empowering marginalised communities such as women of colour. It makes them look good when they play the “we are so diverse” card.
Once in the profession sometimes you do need to hold people accountable if they have not made a safe space for women of colour, or other marginalised communities. One awesome thing about a law degree though is your building your toolbox or kete with the tools you need to be a strong advocate in spaces of injustice. Unfortunately I’ve used these tools for myself and for others who have been overlooked in the profession, and you’ll be ready to do that soon.
Another thing on this point I will say that with the exception of judges, the courts have a shit tonne of women of colour and Pacific Islanders working in them. If I’m having a tired day, I visit my new mates over there with kai and I am instantly uplifted and supported. I feel we are building our own community within the courts, because we work together really well, which I’ll touch on again soon.
Does knowing how complicated and stubborn the law is make it harder to have faith in true systemic change?
When I first entered the profession, I was so overwhelmed with learning I lost faith in my ability to bring about systemic change working as a criminal defence barrister. Now I have learnt so much about the court process and I’m building my community in the trenches there. I see that there is huge scope for system
change through influencing the judiciary, which we all know is still a branch of the government. The court community we are building, which includes members from defence and prosecution, communication assistants, registrars, Police, Corrections, forensics, the non-adversarial court members etc, are working together for better outcomes for victims, offenders, and even us as players within the court because we are not fighting each other. I think working together we can be the change.
How do you manage dealing with cases that clash with your own personal morals/ethics?
There is a misconception, particularly for criminal defence lawyers, that we are morally corrupt if we represent a person who has committed serious harm in the community, but it’s an uneducated view.
A criminal lawyer's job (as one example) is to help maintain the integrity of the justice system. Helping maintain justice includes making sure someone has been charged correctly, that they were treated fairly whilst in custody, that the Police obtained enough evidence to lay the charges, to highlight what is going on behind the scenes for an offender to actually stop committing crime, etc etc. We also have strict ethical and professional conduct codes we must adhere to when it comes to representation.
On the other side of this, however, we are all human and sometimes you need to practise resilience when reading facts and going through evidence for particular clients. When I first started, I did feel weird about certain behaviours not aligning with my own values. But now, two years later, after seeing that in most serious offending, the accused were once or are victims themselves, it's now not as simple as someone’s behaviour clashing with my morals/ethics. My goal is to reduce harm to the community, and often the criminal justice system can be a place of closure and healing, even in horrendous cases.
How I stay strong in pursuit of justice is I look after my physical health and I am very careful where and who I spend my time with if I’m involved with a tougher case, and this helps maintain my strength.
How much of law school is actually useful?
It is very useful. Getting through law school requires commitment to work that sometimes bores you and a high level of comprehension. Both of these are required in the profession because being a graduate lawyer is not glamorous. It is lots of listening, reading, writing, re-writing, admin, fucking formatting, and you need to be able to understand points of law to a high degree. You may not transfer exactly what you learn in law school to your employment, but again you do walk away with the toolbox you need to be a lawyer. One cool point for fellow formatting-phobes, is that referencing in submissions to the court is so much more basic than what we have to do at law school, so ride that practise out for academia. You won’t need to endure referencing that high level again if you practise in criminal law, at least.
Another useful feature about studying at AUT and then practising in Auckland is I have more good relationships with members of the court, on all sides of the room, than my peers who graduated from Vic or South Island universities. This is very
helpful as when I need to ask the Police to negotiate down on charges, or get paperwork signed for bail variations for a client or get an email response fast or whatever, the people I used to study with are awesome. Also it’s cool to stay in touch with and have support from law school mates as we navigate the highs and lows of the profession as new graduates. We have an AUT alumni social justice group of lawyers working across the profession in criminal, property, youth, employment and Māori issues who meet up on a Friday night, join us, haere mai.
And finally, I can’t leave this question without acknowledging the non-justiciable international law frameworks I learnt in law school just piss me off at this point. Are they useful? One day soon I hope. Free Palestine.
What are the highs and lows of the profession?
The people and the people. I have touched on it before, but you really do build a community within the profession. I’m in defence, but my closest lawyer friend (another AUT alumni) is in prosecution at Meredith Connell. In court it is a pleasure seeing my colleagues regularly. There is another misconception that it is “us and them” between defence, the Police, Corrections, prosecution and so on.
For the most part we are all under-resourced in the courts and seeking the most just outcome for all parties together. There are also more good people than fuckwits in the courts, but the fuckwits are hard and seem to have a reputation known on all sides. I’d say that if you’re getting into this profession to be a bully, it’s highly likely people will talk about you.
A high is serving some of our most marginalised communities with a type of access to justice that is almost healing. Through court ordered programmes, victims and offenders often get access to rehabilitation programmes that help address addiction, violence, housing, barriers to a youth offender getting their licence, and a shit tonne of other awesome wrap around support. It's awesome.
One big low is poor graduate pay. Prepare yourself for this, it will last a few years. It blows ass.
And finally, the shit fuck conditions at the courts, specifically the duty court lawyer pay and the cells, are a horrendous low. Both sides of the interview rooms at the cells are bad for all parties. Successive governments SUCK for not maintaining working conditions in the courts to a reasonable degree. Boo.
Danielle LeGallais is a LLB graduate and current BBus student at AUT. She is a 3 x AUT scholarship recipient, 2023 Winter Graduation speaker, BBus and LLB mentor, and Uniprep tutor. She is currently a criminal defence barrister at Hamlin Law. She worked for Philip Hamlin for two years, first as a volunteer, then as a paid clerk and a barrister from February 2024 with a practising certificate from March 2024. Her community mahi include, co-founder and head of Sunday Blessings, an Auckland Rowing Association Board member, and a few more community-centred volunteer roles. She’s Cook Island Māori and a single mum of two boys and two dogs.
Questions submitted by current law students.
MONDAY 15FRIDAY 19 JULY
Work Sucks but these Films don’t!
Written By Nathan Cosmic (he/him)
@nathan.cosmic
Working within a corporate environment is a nightmare. Endless honeycomb cubicles illuminated by migraine-inducing beams. The average student, yet to begin their career, does not need to look far into the future to dread this environment. Cinema can be escapist through entertaining storytelling and fantastical world but it can also contain commentary on the reality of life today.
@GenKlytusEyes on Letterboxd CONTRIBUTING
WRITER
In preparation for entering a corporate environment, you may feel fear, anxiety, and even excitement. It’s a new chapter of life and a new world. So here are seven films that depict this enviroment, for the better and the worse.
The big short (2015)
Sub-prime mortgages, stock shorting, credit ratings. What does it all mean? Characters within The Big Short, a film about the 2008 financial crisis constantly speak in these terms. But these jargony phrases are often explained in the film by celebrities, like Margot Robbie and Anthony Bourdain who break the fourth wall.
The Big Short details three separate but coinciding stories of those who uncover the malfeasance of the banks and get rich off the subsequent financial crisis. With a cast saturated with A-listers, Steve Carrell, Brad Pitt, Ryan Gosling, Christian Bale, and Jeremy Strong, to name a few, the film is a thrilling comedy.
Although the film is about how an economic system can ruin lives, it tells the story in a clever, satirical, and serendipitous way. Like the hit TV show Succession, the quick movements, snap zooms, and minimal cuts add to the subtle humour and flippancy of the corporate environment the film’s characters live within.
With the American economy on the brink of collapse, financial institutions, the perpetrators of this crisis, find it unbelievable that The Big Short’s characters would foresee a recession. As the stories of our characters converge as they profit off this crisis, the question is whether they are heroes for sticking it to these financial institutions, who took excessive risks, or are they the enemy for profiting off this collapse.
the assistant (2020)
The pervasive glare of men and self-doubt run throughout this film. Julia Garner plays the titular assistant - a young, ambitious female aspiring to be a producer in the entertainment industry. To advance this goal she becomes an assistant to a unseen Weinstein-like executive of a prominent New York production company. She does her job perfectly. Nonetheless, she gets ignored and blamed for her male colleague’s mistakes.
With grey hues and tight blocking within small office rooms there is a persistent claustrophobia, transforming this space into unnerving sanctum. With oppressive lighting, office lamps or computer screen, Garner despite being taken advantage of continues to work tirelessly, not wanting to hurt her career chances. With limited lines, she has to act out loneliness, helplessness and a burdening sense of guilt through her body language and eyes.
With parallels to the present day, The Assistant recognises the silence and loneliness women often feel in the workplace. The film is a searing critique of corporate Weinstein-like environments where women are forced to turn a blind eye and endure sexism and misogyny for the sake of their careers.
Office Space (1999)
Set at Initech, a fictitious but typical software company, Office Space is a horribly relatable spoof on corporate environments and workplace culture filled with the constant nagging of middle management, malfunctioning office equipment, and obnoxious co-workers.
Our main character, Peter Gibbons, played by Ron Livingston, is a stereotypical office worker imprisoned in his cubicle. When introduced to Gibbons we immediately empathise with his struggle with the repetitious mundane nature of work. After a visit to a hypnotist, Gibbons rids his mind of the worry and stress poured out on him at Initech and gets promoted. From then on Gibbons is ‘free’ from the banality of work. The audience wants to be him. He plays Tetris at work, gets his office crush, ignores his boss, and finally lives his life how he wants to.
Office Space hits too close to home, yet the humour makes this film a wickedly entertaining and cathartic watch. Masterfully, the film exaggerates everyday workplace events and will have you laughing through the painful recognition of all-too-familiar situations.
Metropolis (1927)
Nearly 100 years old, the 1927 film Metropolis tells of a warning that humanity ignored. The film explores the conflicts that occur between different classes of citizens within an industrialised society.
Though, a silent film, Fritz Lang directs a series of amazing vignettes of monstrous machines devouring workers. A visual allegory of the machines built by other men destroying those who man oppresses. Accompanying the epic visuals, the actors’ expressions convey the pure, raw emotion of the moment. The bow heads of the single-filed lines of the citizens of the worker city evoke the depressing hopelessness of the proletariats. This is a contrast with the opulence and indulgence emitting from the wealthy industrialists who live in the spectacular altar they have built for themselves.
The prophetic warning told by Metropolis is that as humanity prospers and we create magnificent machines, we should not use them as tools for our apotheosis and the subjection of others. However, as we build an improved society, we should all benefit from prosperity and technology to have a better life and pursue happiness.
Norma Rae (1979)
Working is hard enough, but imagine having no future in a job and being paid to be in a prison. This was the experience of those who worked at the cotton mill in Norma Rae. Until one day, they decided to change the exploitative and brutal workplace conditions so as to give a hopeful future for them and their kids.
A labour organiser, Reuben (Ron Leibman), comes to town to start a union at the cotton mill, but at first, he is dismissed as this bombastic outsider from New York who knows nothing about the town and its people. But his charismatic and energetic passion for the cause convinces some like the film’s titular character, Norma Rae (Sally Fields) to join his cause. With Reuben’s passion and Norma Rae’s hunger for change, both attempt to endure the tribulations thrown at them by the mill’s union busting management.
The conditions our characters try to change are shown in the ferocious thunderous noise of violent machinery. Factory workers are drenched in sweat with small earplugs most do not wear. There is no essential fulfilment of fundamental human wellbeing. There is no air conditioning, no PPE, and no health care when workers get injured. Nothing. The mill’s management can cut pay at any time and when a union is about to form they sow racial division to undermine the cause.
At its core, Norma Rae speaks to the resilient human spirit. In the most ruthless of environments against the most cruel systems, humans can endure and fight for change.
The Apartment (1960)
In The Apartment, C.C Baxter (Jack Lemmon), a lowly insurance accountant, lets upper management use his apartment to have extramarital affairs with women they find or work with. In exchange, Baxter gets recommended for promotion.
Despite its comical angle, The Apartment is a punk rock film of its time, speaking against the cultural norms of the 50s and 60s. It takes serious topics like abuse and using women for sexual pleasure, and explores the effects on the women who are exploited. Moreover, The Apartment casts a dark shadow of disdain over its male characters who encourage and/or engage in these actions. Conversely, we empathise with our lead female character, Fran (Shirley MacLaine), who allows herself to be exploited by a man she is in love with.
The Apartment is rightly a classic; its mix of genres never feels imbalanced or striking but complementary. The film develops characters which are not black or white, but a thousand shades of grey. Baxter is charming yet he facilitates the exploitation of women so as to further his career ambitions.
Working is displayed as a separate life in The Apartment. Except for our main character whose life is consumed by work, causing a separation and not a realisation of his own and others’ humanity. While a career could feel like a different world, The Apartment affirms that we must retain our humanity in how we treat others.
tokyo sonata (2008)
Tokyo Sonata is a sharp Japanese drama that intricately tells a powerful message about how a father (Teruyuki Kagawa) loses his job and what that means for his family. He doesn’t tell anyone, to avoid humiliation, and lives a double life, leaving the house everyday in a suit as he attempts to find employment.
As the father and his lies are revealed, Tokyo Sonata offers commentary on the purpose having a career gives to a person. His relationship with his family unravels. The clash and deterioration of familial relationships begin when the hopes and dreams of him and his family’s careers are destroyed. The film is a unique insight and exploration into Japanese culture and its relationship between work and home life.
Saving the St. James Theatre
In the beating heart of Tāmaki Makaurau, a slumbering giant, hides in plain sight. Like Rangitoto, it lies dormant. The St. James Theatre, an icon of the city skyline, will soon awaken from its slumber. Mothballed for the last 15 years, the vaudeville theatre, a Category 1 listed building, first opened in 1928. The following year, it screened its first film, the pre-Code musical comedy Gold Diggers of Broadway. Ninety years later, this historic jewel faced demolition after a devastating fire forced the theatre to close in 2007. Yet the St. James has been saved and will aim to be reopened by its 100th anniversary.
Most Gen-Z in Tāmaki Makaurau won’t know the St. James by name, but they’ll know it by sight. It’s the boarded-up building that towers over Academy Cinema and Lorne Street. You’ll have walked past it dozens of times without knowing it. The comment section on a Facebook page set up to campaign for its restoration is rife with impassioned and lucid nostalgia. Former punters remember screenings of Clint Eastwood films and rip-roaring gigs. Miles Davis, Jeff Buckley, David Byrne, the Arctic Monkeys, and even Kanye West have graced the St. James and its hallowed stage. But, if you’re in your mid-twenties like me or younger, in our lifetimes, we’ve never experienced the magic of the St. James on a Friday night. That will soon change, owing to the enthusiasm and dedication of several parties—namely, Steve Bielby, a former AUT student, the heir to the Target Furniture empire and a passionate heritage architecture conservator.
I meet Bielby outside the St. James on a typically dreary Tāmaki Makaurau morning. Like the White Rabbit from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, he guards a side door as if he were the guardian of a portal to a different world. In a sense, Bielby is. This side door is only open for a minute or so while we make small talk, and he has to ward off several curious schoolchildren. Bielby can tell when the school holidays are because the number of trespassers increases. The real threat is thieves, who, in 2022, stripped the theatre of all its copper wiring and cables over a num-
ber of days. These thieves even stole a striking bronze statue from the grand marble staircase, which Bielbly, à la Nicolas Cage in National Treasure, had to track down another of. This search led him to the antiquities underworld of Europe and the backyard of a house on the outskirts of Paris. In that backyard was an exact copy of the statue he had been so desperately searching for.
Beyond this staircase, past the crude penis graffitied on the wall, is Bielby’s makeshift office. Documents are strewn over a large wooden desk. Office chairs sit perched. This dreary dwelling is seemingly the only space in St. James that has entered the 21st century. It took Bielby over a year to bring fibre into the theatre—a facet of restoration as crucial as repairing the foundations.
We make our way from his office into the second tier of steep seating that looks onto a gaping cavern. Like a Pinctada, a saltwater oyster, the pearl of the St. James is found in its innards. The rows of seats that used to line this tier have been stripped out, but the theatre’s ornate Spanish Colonial style is remarkably well preserved. You only have to look upwards in bewildered wonder at the domed Baroque roof to realise the historical significance of the St. James. Its elegant and ostentatious details starkly contrast the theatre’s exterior. But, if you look downwards, where the first tier of seating used to be, there’s not even a floor, just a hagged mixture of dirt and rubble.
Even for the most optimistic of minds, it’s a challenge to imagine that by 2028, Bielby will have restored the St. James to its former glory, but his confidence is infectious. He’s drawn to projects that “are often called unsolvable” and are “ultra-complicated.” They “take a long period of time” and “large amounts of money”, but the challenge is what drew Bielby to heritage buildings. The St. James is a step up from the number of smaller restorations he’s already done. But, if completed, this legacy project will serve Tāmaki Makaurau for generations.
When you’re cautiously tiptoeing around trip hazards, it’s hard to conduct an interview, so Bielby and I find a spot to sit. Among an expanse of mouldy carpet, wooden floorboards and pigeon poop, he explains how he enjoys the “quagmire of regulation.” It’s about arguing and reasoning “which pieces of regulation have more authority than others because these buildings don’t comply.” Much of the St. James is non-compliant as Bielby gestures to the handrails before us. “If we raise the handrails, in terms of sightlines, we lose the front row of three rows of seats.” There’s a quid pro quo. “We can comply and raise the handrails, but then you get a third of the amount of people in there.”
At the heart of any heritage building preservation and conservation project, there’s a tension “between the historical importance of the building and bringing it up to standard, but also respecting the building and its original qualities.” But the pressing matter for Bielby for nearly a decade had been where he would find the significant funds needed to bring the St. James up to standard.
The restoration of the theatre was entwined with an “idea that we could put an apartment building around it, and if we could put a few extra floors on that apartment building, that money could flow into the theatre and help kick start” this project. However, the plans for the $250 million associated apartment building never substantiated, and the theatre was in a “do or die” position. In 2023, the St. James was given a financial lifeline. After years of campaigning for its restoration, Bielby and vocal campaigners such as Chlöe Swarbrick, Bob Kerridge Jr and heritage advisor George Farrant were rewarded. The Labour government promised $15 million to help restore the St. James, matching the pledge made by the Auck land Council in 2015. Despite a new govern ment and mayor, the support for the theatre’s restoration is still there. Bielby is confident this project will finally cross the line.
There are conditions attached to the prom ised funding. One of these conditions is that stage one of the restoration of the St. James must have begun by June 30. This stage of the project is “all the essential things that the theatre needs to operate”-regulatory compliance and structural upgrades. There will be a public consultation process to figure out the “specific stuff” in stage two. Will the St. James be more like The Civic, the ASB Waterfront Theatre or Spark Arena? Part of the conversation around stage two is whether or not Bielby
hands it off to an entity that manages and operates the theatre. The grand Palais Theatre in Melbourne also desperately needed repair but was restored to its former glory, and Live Nation now manages the venue. Holding over 120 events a year, the Palais Theatre is a touchstone that the St James can look to, but its commercial model means there’s less time for community arts groups to use the space. The issue of how the theatre is used and by whom will be figured out by stage three. This stage is when the St. James goes turnkey and is open for the wider public to enjoy.
That date, June 30, is two weeks in the past when this issue goes to print and arrives on stands. So, as you wander Wellesley Street, dreading a two-hour lecture or a long commute home, take a slight detour and check in on the St. James. You might catch a glimpse of the beloved theatre, once the heartbeat of Tāmaki Makaurau’s central business district, being brought back to life.
Written By
Thomas Giblin (he/they) @thegreengiblin ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR
the st. james by thomas
polaroids taken by
Thomas Giblin
Smurfs, Communism
The Smurfs are a cheerful, utopian community of little blue creatures first created by Belgian cartoonist Peyo (Pierre Culliford) in 1981. They work together, living in self-sufficient harmony, each contributing to the good of the village and its leader Papa Smurf. Their classless, cooperative way of living is superior to Aotearoa and the world’s capitalist society. The Smurfs treat one another with equity and compassion, sharing their belongings and working together.
The theory that the Smurfs are communists has become increasingly popular over the last few years. However modern-day communism is not the term that best describes their economic structure due to their absolute lack of currency or trading system. Instead, the economic structure of the Smurfs’ village can be viewed as Primitive Communism, a social structure developed by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels used to describe hunter-gatherer societies.
“Instead, the economic structure of the Smurfs’ village can be viewed as Primitive Communism”
Under capitalism, people’s financial status and worth to society is calculated by the valuation of their labour and the capital their labour accrues. But the Smurfs mirror Primitive Communism.
such as Baker Smurf, Doctor Smurf, Farmer Smurf and Chef Smurf. They do not have set ‘hours’ of work or a rate of pay to achieve - instead working flexibly however works best for them. The Smurfs are always happy to help each other, with a sense of community at the forefront of their societal structure.
In our capitalist society, people often give up their passions for high-paying careers to take part in the rat race and avoid falling into poverty. With no pressure to provide income for themselves or their families, the Smurfs do not face this issue and can work on projects that bring them joy and fulfilment. In Primitive Communism, value is innate, rather than determined by social class. As such, the Smurfs are free to choose a profession based on their passions and skill sets.
“The Smurfs live in a pre-industrial society, untainted by capitalism or cultural standardisation.”
Baker Smurf is passionate about baking cakes and bread to share with the village. He does not have to worry about what time he wakes up or the amount of bread he is required to make and is free to work as much or as little as he wants, finding joy and fulfilment in what he chooses to do. Grouchy Smurf, on the other hand, can pursue his passion of ‘grouching’ at everything around him. Despite his lesser contribution to the village, Grouchy Smurf is treated like any other smurf.
Primitive Communism focuses on gathering necessary resources - with no need for constant development of new technology as everyone is content with their current lifestyle. The Smurfs live in a pre-industrial society, untainted by capitalism or cultural standardisation. Provided they have the necessary basics like food, water and shelter to survive, they are content with their simplicity, choosing
Communism & the Ideal Society
passion over progress and prioritising their personal relationships over material possessions. In our capitalist society we are always yearning for the latest iPhone or a new pair of Levi’s jeans. The Smurfs instead focus on what really matters, needs not wants.
The Smurfs’ leader, Papa Smurf, gives advice and holds authority over the community. He is a decisive, fair leader, who does not exercise this power for personal gain. While leading the decision-making process, he does not gain privilege from his authority, his value undetermined by his role. Papa Smurf showcases another aspect of primitive communism, having one or more leaders in the community, while still maintaining a decision-making process in which everyone’s opinions are taken into account.
In Primitive Communism, everyone who is able contributes to the collection and preparation of food, which is distributed equally. Because the Smurfs share their possessions freely with one another, no theft occurs within the village. If they want or need something, all they have to do is ask! No one goes hungry or without shelter, as they work collectively to ensure everyone is cared for.
“The only theft that occurs in the world of the Smurfs is by an outside threat: Gargamel. He is the personification of capitalism”
The Smurfs’ fulfilment in their chosen occupations is an effective crime reduction strategy. The only theft that occurs in the world of the Smurfs is by an outside threat: Gargamel. He is the personification of capitalism: a power-hungry wizard willing to sacrifice the lives of the Smurfs for his own selfish gain. The capitalist class system is a major contributor to high crime rates as individuals of lower socioeconomic status have also been found to experience more chronic and uncontrollable life events and stressors than those in higher socioeconomic statuses.
Homelessness is a reality for many, leaving them without the food, water and shelter necessary to survive. Many homeowners are in debt, working tirelessly to pay off their mortgage and support their loved ones. Stress and burnout have negative impacts on their mental health and well-being. The Smurfs’ lack of social classes creates a lifestyle that is beneficial to their state of mind by encouraging a healthy work-life balance and ensuring they treat one another as equals. I don’t know about you, but as a stressed university student, a healthy work-life balance is exactly what I need. Count me in!
Written By Kyla Blennerhassett (she/her)
WRITER
Written by MAX (they/them) @theundeadllama
CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Cooling down the burn-out
Ever woken up with that feeling of tiny weights on top of your eyelids, a sore body and zero will to do anything? You, like a lot of people, are probably burnt out. Before diving in, what actually is burnout? Let’s take a look into the world of exhaustion where there is probably so much on your plate that it’s slipping out of your hands.
Burn-out defined
Definition according to HelpGuide - Burnout is a state of emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion caused by excessive and prolonged stress. It occurs when you feel overwhelmed, emotionally drained, and unable to meet constant demands.
If we were to look at this like the new Inside-Out movie does at emotions, burn-out could honestly be it’s own separate little feeling inside your head’s control system. Orange, with big tired eyes and a constant flame that looks barely lit on his little head. When burnout’s on the control system, nothing else is going to cooperate. It’s almost like your body is giving up on you because there’s probably been times during your “girlbossing era” when you’ve given up on your body. As Taylor Swift once wisely said: karma’s a bitch. This is highkey your body taking revenge on you for not looking after it.
A lot of times people actually don’t even realize they’re burnt out. That’s why it’s so easy for people to pass up or ignore it. Usually, they say “I’m just tired, I’ll be fine soon” but the longer it’s ignored, the worse it gets. The main difference between just being tired and being burnt out is how long the feeling lasts. If it's 2-5 days-ish you just need a little rest, but any more than that means you need a long time to recover. Burnout can lead to some crazy connections and patterns in human behaviour; you could be too over ambitious and start depersonalizing your own needs, become cynical or even have your open-mindedness to change decrease. Stressed is blessed is not the motto you should be following. The Nap Ministry on Instagram says more and more Gen-Z people are normalizing unhealthy work hours, toxic achievement culture and the lack of self-care.
Why am I burnt out?
1. You girlbossed too close to the sun and forgot your basics. Food, water, and sleep. It sounds so easy but having breakfast (an iced coffee at 2pm), sleeping at 4am and replacing water for energy drinks day after day can take a toll on you. Whether this was because of mahi you’re involved in with the endless zoom meetings, exam study/uni and assignments coming up or anything else - you would have constantly been go go go.
2. You’ve been a BUSY bee. Life just got in the way of you being able to do the things that bring you joy. Prioritisation meant taking out things relating to wellbeing, self-care and even fun. This can leave you feeling burnt out because there’s no space being created for you to just exist, breathe and de-stress.
These two reasons combined are probably what is making you feel the way you feel. Still don’t notice it? Still in denial? Well, here are some burnout signs that pretty much show inevitably that you need some good ol’ hit-the-hay time.
Top seven signs you are burnt out
1. You aren’t making time for the people you love or haven’t seen them in a while.
2. You can’t remember the last thing you did for YOU.
3. You haven’t slept properly in a while or for enough hours.
4. You haven’t been eating enough or drinking enough water.
5. You keep getting colds/sick and body aches or sore throats.
6. Your will to do anything has plummeted down and all you wanna do is curl up in bed.
7. You feel like you need some relaxing time or a vacation - just anything away from work and people.
See? Don’t gaslight yourself, babe, you are most definitely in need of some self-care time.
What to do?
So how can you continue to slay - because let’s be real rotting in your bed (as ideal as that sounds) can sometimes make burnout feel even worse. Here are some ways to get your body, mind and soul a momentary reflection and pause so you can do whatever it is you need to do again!
• Do not be afraid to say NO to work. Trust me, in the long run, nobody will hold it against you if you ask for that extension for an assignment, postpone that Zoom meeting or don’t meet that person for that thing. If it means you kick-start your process of recovery, so be it! This truly is a situation where rest a while, run a mile comes into play. The more you try to add workload-wise during your already burnt-out state, the longer the time you will have to take to recover.
• Create space for YOU. Do an activity that you enjoy at least once to twice a week, don’t miss out on seeing the people you love and prioritize self-care. This doesn’t have to be how the media portrays it either - do what works for you. If it's self-help books and skincare, then do that. If it’s working out or dancing, embrace it - or honestly if you just need some good snacks and to curl up with a Netflix binge, literally do that…anything as long as it's for you and making you happy.
• Reassess. Re-prioritise. Relook. Why is your life burning you out? Are there things you are committing to, that you do not have the capacity for? Why are you doing these things? Doing a big brainstorm can help you identify what it is you need to do, to reshuffle your life so the cards are more in your favor.
Neurospicy of an International
Hustle International Student
avail. On top of this, I often worry that by admitting to my struggles with mental health (by seeking help), I unmask my neurodivergence and make myself vulnerable to prejudice in a work environment. I’ve found myself being extra careful in my interactions with people, just in case I do something less socially acceptable (whatever that means). In my opinion, New Zealanders are more accepting of different types of people. Still, you never truly know if mental health struggles or neurodivergence would be something you’d secretly be discriminated against for having, as if being on Student Visa isn’t enough of a struggle.
Eventually, I ended up going to a career expo at AUT wherein I found a company in the hospitality industry that would hire someone like me as a casual employee. It mostly involves manual labour but I don’t mind as the hours are flexible and I finally get a means to financially support myself to a degree.
Finding employment as a neurodivergent international student is a long and arduous process that may involve a lot of obstacles, rejections, and self-doubt. But, being able to study overseas is an opportunity to expand your horizons which a lot of people don’t get the privilege of experiencing. So, despite the difficulties (and multiple mental breakdowns), I can close my eyes and breathe in gratitude for making it here. However sometimes, especially in my low times, I can’t help but curse my bone doctor. She could’ve just shut her mouth (just kidding, kinda).
Content warning: This article includes mentions of drug abuse, sexual harassment, and violence.
“Name of the game. Move the money from the client’s pocket into your pocket.” In the first ten minutes of 2013’s The Wolf of Wall Street, Matthew McConaughey, as Mark Hanna, lays it all on the table. The stakes are instantly set. Jordan Belfort, played by the charming Leo DiCaprio, is determined to join the hedonism of Wall Street. Money is what makes Belfort’s heartbeat. It’s luxury, it’s power, it’s excess.
Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street depicts the rise and fall of Jordan Belfort, a stockbroker whose success leads to a life of excess, addiction, and crime. The film frequently depicts debauchery in full detail, with some of the more extreme cases including a character eating a live goldfish, throwing dwarves at an inflatable dart board, and public masturbation.
Hustle culture is the heart and soul of The Wolf of Wall Street. Wealth is power, and Belfort becomes a god of Wall Street, with his sales script becoming gospel for his disciples at his firm Stratton Oakmont. He is the American dream exemplified, a man who built himself up off the ground and became the largest over-the-counter investment firm of the late 80’s. For the young men who adopt this religion, they’re quickly handed Belfort's bible and welcomed in. His disciples adopt his moral values, worshipping the dollar above all else. It doesn’t matter what they need to do to get rich, no matter how many people they screw over. They trade penny stocks and equity of small businesses, to get large commissions from each investor. When that isn’t enough, they run pump-and-dump schemes. They’re the epitome of the finance bro, dedicating their entire lives and personalities to the accumulation of wealth.
The Wolf of Wall Street presents its world through Belfort’s eyes, and to Belfort, money is masculinity. He shows off his wealth to be more of a 'man'. He gets a luxurious mansion and multiple supercars. Money is power, and Belfort uses that power over women. The women in the film are treated as nothing more than disposable objects, whether it be a surface to snort cocaine off of, or a sex toy to keep in the office. Margot Robbie, in her breakout role, plays Belfort's wife, Naomi Campbell. Belfort, and by extension the camera, ogles her every chance he gets. Sex appeal becomes her character. Her line “Nothing like short
The Wolf of Wall Andrew Tate &
short skirts around the house” is now iconic. She’s a trophy object, a status symbol to show off Belfort’s wealth and success.
“I have everything every man has ever dreamed of. I got a big mansion, I got super cars, I can live anywhere I want, I got unlimited women, I go where I want; I do anything I want all the time.”
You’d think the above quote comes from The Wolf of Wall Street, but it comes from Andrew Tate, an online influencer and self-proclaimed misogynist. He's taken over the TikTok algorithm of impressionable young men globally, going viral by constantly spouting misogynistic rhetoric and parading his wealthy lifestyle. When asked what would happen if he was accused of cheating, his answer was “Slap, slap, grab, choke, shut up bitch, sex.” He moved to Romania, explaining, “I like the idea of just being able to do what I want. I like being free.” He is currently under investigation in the UK and Romania for several cases of sexual assault and human trafficking.
Belfort and Tate are similar, having both built a money-hungry audience and frat-like community where misogyny is fostered. The Wolf of Wall Street’s demonstrations of depravity are there to condemn, mock and diminish the Wall Street system and the finance bro. The Wolf of Wall Street tells you from the start that the system is “a fugazi … it’s fairy dust, it doesn’t exist.” The brokers are a product of a capitalist system that generates speculative wealth by buying and selling shares. They shuffle money around and get rich doing it, taking advantage of the system to hoard as much wealth as possible. The film’s satire is weakened by its appeal. Belfort and his disciples have been able to make hundreds of millions and live a life of hedonism. They don’t care about contributing to society, or the clients whose investments they use to fatten their pockets.
When Belfort's fall from grace was complete, there was no significant punishment. 22 months of jail time for securities fraud and money laundering. He's now grifting cryptocurrencies whilst his victims are still owed restitution payments, many of whom lost their life savings.
Just like Belfort espoused his Wall Street gospel to his broker disciples, Andrew Tate leveraged his fame to establish 'Hustlers University', a platform priced at $50 per month where subscribers could learn drop shipping techniques and how to push
Wall Street’s Legacy: & Toxic Masculinity
cryptocurrencies. The cornerstone of 'Hustlers University' was its affiliate program, promising participants 50% of the profits from new members they recruited. Tate created a pyramid scheme wealth distribution system, where the primary route to financial success lay in convincing others to join his community. He tied wealth to his ideas of toxic masculinity, pushing the idea that men are the providers and protectors in relationships. He says women don’t want a poor man who isn’t a provider, so if you pay him he can teach you to make money and thus become a 'man', who can ‘own’ a woman.
Even when the film is admonishing Belfort and what he stands for, finance bros revere him. At several screenings of the film near Wall Street, crowds of brokers cheered as Belfort snorted cocaine and worked against the FBI. In the film, Belfort is dubbed as the titular ‘Wolf of Wall Street’ in a scathing Forbes article. The actual article doesn’t use the phrase but is equally scathing in its description of Belfort’s sale tactics, calling him a “twisted Robin Hood who takes from the rich and gives to himself and his merry band of brokers.” In the film, the article leads to the Stratton Oakmont offices being hounded with eager young brokers desperate to join the firm. This scene mirrored the impact that The Wolf of Wall Street had, which unintentionally inspired a generation of new finance bros. The film allows itself to be appropriated by placing Jordan Belfort as the narrator and protagonist, putting the audience in his shoes allows them to empathise and relate to him. The Wolf of Wall Street feeds into the desires and insecurities of young men who are trying to find ways to express their masculinity. Those who see the rise of feminism as diminishing their own personal chances of success, disillusioned by a system that is slowly working to level the playing field and oust them from the top. They turn to Belfort and figures like Andrew Tate, seeking a role model who offers ‘quick-fix’ answers to the complex issues of wealth and masculinity.
There is real danger in having figures like Belfort or Tate as a role model. They prey on insecurity and fear to succeed. After The Wolf of Wall Street was released in cinemas around the globe, the real life Belfort became a motivational speaker, author, sales trainer and consultant. The position of the male role model and self-improvement influencer is easily used to manipulate an audience for personal gain. It’s important to be cautious when listening to these figures. The key is to listen to
how they uplift their audience. If it's by putting others down or promising wealth, it’s likely another Tate or Belfort. Don’t stand by while your friends or family fall under the influence of a negative role model. Sit down and have important conversations about how these mindsets damage others. There needs to be more role models in the community who can promote healthy masculinity and show the importance of uplifting others. People we can point to and promote when having this discussion, so that fewer people fall for the rhetoric of Belfort or Tate. That’s the key to pushing past the influence of The Wolf of Wall Street
Written
By
Jack Macpherson (He/Him) @jack_mac10 (Instagram) @jackmacpherson (Letterboxd) CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Wiri Donna plays Certified Rock Music™
The hooks, guitar riffs, and heart wrenching lyrics of Wiri Donna’s ‘Being Alone’ EP from 2022 are seared into my brain. The title track alone, led with an incredibly simple yet enticing guitar line slowly explodes into a cathartic banger, constantly bursting at its seams in anger until it can’t hold still anymore. It holds one of the most excitingly catchy indie rock instrumentals Aotearoa has offered this decade thus far, and combines them with a tale taking the most personal and difficult moments of songwriter Bianca Bailey’s life and breaking it into a million pieces. Again, this is only the EP’s first track.
The songs that follow continue to merge jangle-pop with introspective storytelling and a uniquely Wellington-like edge. I end up accidentally getting the 7/4 riff of ‘You Should Be Smiling’ stuck in my head about once a fortnight, I was behind the scenes as they performed a Trash Recital of ‘Dream of Me’ (long story), and I’ve had too many emo bus rides to closing track ‘Last Call’.
Now, Wiri Donna is back with a vengeance, gracing the alternative music scene with ‘The Gold’ towards the end of June. This may as well be the theme tune for the most terrifying horror villain of all time, but if it was fantastically performed by a bunch of Wellington music grads and associates who loved distortion pedals. This is the heaviest track Bianca and co have releaseda teaser to an EP that promises to continue on the bands catchy songwriting and certified rock bangers that have taken the country by storm. Off the back of the new release, I had a chat with Bianca about ‘The Gold’, her first EP, and what people can expect to come next.
Liam
Could you quickly introduce yourself and your music?
Bianca
I’m Bianca - Wiri Donna is my musical project which I started back in 2020. After spending a lot of years playing the drums, I decided that I wanted to do more songwriting. The guitar felt like the instrument that I wanted to lead with - writing songs with drums being your main instrument is very creative, but you can’t really achieve the level of communication that you want to get to with songwriting. It started off as an indie folk project, and I thought I was gonna write songs about gardening, but I feel like
once I figured out how to play the guitar in the style that I wanted to and figured out the music that I wanted to make, it sort of started evolving into this indie rock, more alternative rock sound. I do all the songwriting, and then I work with Harrison Scholes on the bass, Elliott Dawson plays the lead guitar, and James McEwan plays the drums.
Liam
Did it start off just being yourself?
Bianca
Yeah, but I was living with Harry at the time while writing all of the songs. He heard me every day in my bedroom playing the same six tracks over and over, and trying really hard to get good at the guitar. I got to the point where I played some solo shows, and then I booked these shows to have a band while struggling to find people who would actually be in it. One day at a gig, he came up to me and said “If you’re struggling to find people to be in your band, me and James have got you. I know the songs incredibly well already, from hearing you playing them consistently. We can make this work.”
Liam
The band’s first major release was the ‘Being Alone’ EP, back in 2022. What was the process for bringing that first piece of work together like?
Bianca
I had been in recording studios before, working on other people’s projects. But it was the first time that I was trying to articulate my ideas and the vision I had for it to other people. But I definitely had the right people in my corner to be able to use the language that I had at the time to try and articulate these things - it definitely started off as using lots of silly, descriptive, non-technical words.
Liam
How about your new single, ‘The Gold’? It’s a much darker sound than what’s on the EP - where did the ideas for this sound come from?
Bianca
That particular song was only written about this time last year -
‘The Gold’ was one of the last pieces in the puzzle of that record. I had known for a long time that I wanted it to be Rock Music™. I don’t think there’s any other way to describe it. It wasn’t long after the first EP came out that I met with our producer James Goldsmith again, and I was like, “we’re doing a rock record. It’s going to be chaotic. It’s going to be intense. It’s gonna be fun”, you know?
Liam
Are there any particular artists that inspired you to go down that sort of direction?
Bianca
I think at the time, I would say like Black Country, New Road alongside Dry Cleaning and Fontaines D.C. - UK post rock had a huge chokehold on me to the point where we demoed some songs, and James was like, “You need to go and you need to do some work on this. This is a great direction, it feels like you, you need a file and you need to sit with you a little bit more in it.”
Liam
You also directed the music video for ‘The Gold’. Was that the first time you had done mahi within that realm?
Bianca
It was indeed! To be fair, the concept for the music video was just “flame cannon”, so it was a situation where there was just a very clear and simple idea, and I knew exactly what the parameters were and how it needed to be executed. I really like being able to focus on making the music and bringing in other sorts of creatives to work on the visual elements. So it just happened to be for this particular one, I just wanted to get an Elon Musk sort of flamethrower, which is really
hard to get your hands on - I don’t think they don’t just give them out to people willy nilly. So we had to sort of re-focus on what we were trying to achieve, and I found a friend who works in lighting and had access to a pyro cannon. So we got to use that, which was pretty fun.
Liam
When it comes to the rest of the EP, what can people expect from that body of work as it’s slowly released throughout the year?
Bianca
I like to think that this EP feels a lot more confident. The last one was definitely a very coming of age, self discovery sort of moment. This record feels like “Oh, I’m here and I’m doing the thing.” It feels like a sound that I’ve been trying to get to for a while, but maybe didn’t have the right tools or resources or understanding of how to do that right. I feel like I’m making the right sound for the right time, and the right Wiri Donna that exists right now. That was so many rights. So many rights in a row.
Liam
Hopefully it’ll be a pretty alright record!
Wiri Donna’s newest track, ‘The Gold’, is now available on Bandcamp and wherever else you stream your music. You can also listen back to her 2022 EP ‘Being Alone’, pick it up on vinyl at all good record stores, and follow her @wiri.donna to keep in the loop with her upcoming releases and tour announcement for when she’s back in Tāmaki.
