After recent interactions with national media, I’ve grown a little tired of the way Dunedin students are stereotyped.
Bless them, they’re genuinely intrigued by the spectacle of students burning couches in the street, stealing cones by the thousands, and squatting in our mouldy flats. These stereotypes haven’t come from nowhere and they are true to a certain extent. Yes, many flats have had issues with rats, and yes, Critic has played its part in reinforcing these images: our aesthetic is defined by cones, rats, bongs. It’s too easy. It’s low-hanging fruit. But as co-Culture Editors Lotto and Jordan have pointed out in office discussions this year, the “haha breatha” thing becomes a little tiresome.
The issue is that Dunedin’s just so far removed from the rest of the country. To get anywhere besides the main centres of Christchurch, Wellington, and Auckland is a two-flight journey. Because of this, we seem to be the only ones in the know about what actually goes on here. Not to throw anyone under the bus, but during a fifteen-minute phone interview with RNZ about couch burning I had to correct them numerous times over outdated facts about Dunedin. The “news” that couch burnings are out was old to me – as I’m sure it is to other students who haven’t identified with the term “scarfie” while they’ve been at Otago (except when watching Taika Waiti’s Scarfies film and recognising your flat in the background).
I first encountered this in 2023 when, as News Editor at the time, I broke a story about conepinching. Among other bits and bobs, cone theft was costing the Dunedin City Council’s George Street renovation project $40k annually. We’d admittedly been stoked with the scoop, but it was also a run-of-the-mill news story I typed up during a lecture. Big Media went loopy over it. Within a week, I’d been interviewed by Stuff’s Newsable podcast, the Breakfast Show, and Seven Sharp. This was big. This was journalism. This was Dunedin students. National media has tended to only pick up the negative aspects of student culture at Otago. When we publish a story about a paper mache Haast’s eagle named Gloria, they hit us up about road cone pinching for a prime time story. Where we’ll run a light-hearted quiz to
find out what Countdown rat you are – deli or confectionary aisle? – the Breakfast Show will hit us up for a live cross to ask whether students could have been behind it all. Imagine their shock when I didn’t play ball and informed them that students live in North Dunedin, travel largely by foot, and would only borrow a mate’s car to drive out there for the Pak'nSave bargains.
And when we launch a centenary book proposal, Critic is invited to speak on the “death of scarfie culture” after a couch-firefree O-Week, with a brief mention of our most ambitious project tacked onto the end. Again and again – as Critic runs columns on the student bands with a cult-following at Pint Night who haul band kit from flat parties to clubs events; as we report on student activist groups standing up for their beliefs and copping flack from the public; as we quote students struggling to make ends meet in a cost of living crisis – we’re fighting the prepackaged Dunedin stereotype of piss-sinking degenerates with an appetite for arson. It’s a bit like someone insulting your sibling. It might be true to a certain extent, but only we’re allowed to say it – only we know the truth of it.
Critic promises to keep walking the talk of reflecting the reality of students back to themselves. As the Editor, that means publishing a whole range of content. Because even if I’m not the target audience, there’s someone reading who will be, someone who deserves to see themselves represented in the mag. There’s a mixed bag in this issue: Pint Night loyalists, queer ceilidh dancers, tauira Māori, movie nerds, flash mob enthusiasts, tarot girlies, bush doofers, student activists, IBS-sufferers, fans of The Onion, and Castle residents with a case of breathaffection.
Nau mai, haere mai kia koutou
NINA BROWN
BDS Complaint Prompts
30-Minute “Robust” Exec Discussion 6
Exec Submit Against Treaty Principles Bill 7
Execrable: The First OUSA Exec Meeting (that Critic attended) 8
Barnyard Boogie in the Botans 9
Te Rōpū Māori SGM: $100k from VC, Āpiha Hauora and Ahurea roles filled 9
Pint-flation at U-Bar: An Economic Analysis 10
Student Job Search: “Students in Otago Are More Likely to Secure Work” 11
Wanted: Serial Central Lib Red Wine Slugger 11
Mr Prez ‘Bribes the Media’ with $1k Centenary Book Pledge 12
FEATURES
Big Red vs The Admin: Who Controls Castle? 18
CULTURE
Whebruary Wrapped: The Month that Doesn’t Sleep 26
The Call of the Wild: A Bush Doof Epic 30
Reviewing Literal Shitholes: The Best Places to Shit on Campus 32
Send letters to the editor to critic@critic.co.nz to be in to win a $25 UBS voucher.
Dear Hater from Last Week
Your comment about student slacktivism last week is false and disrespectful. Lots of Otago students are active in the wider community or on national/international causes, and keep up with current events, organise, protest, lobby, and despite your assertion, do actually give a shit. Plenty of students are also hamstrung by the cost of living, and can't dedicate as much time as you demand, but that doesn't diminish someone's interest. For good measure, this has always been the case. What student protests have concentrated on have always been litmus tests for injustice, be it Vietnam, Apartheid, Climate Protests, and BLM, and most recently Palestine. Stop being so fucking negative and actually channel your anger into something meaningful, you prick.
Respectfully,
An optimist
supposed to procrastinate my assignment now?
Maybe I just need to complete my transformation to fully woke before I can enjoy the wellington publications, but i feel that I'll never forget my roots as a Dunedin student.
Sorry if this is not relevant to you at all, I just thought you should know that the Critic is superior and an actually decent publication.
Regards,
A nostalgic postgrad
letters
Editor’s response: This is so sweet. We love you, too.
Dear Critic,
Editor’s response: Fight! Fight! Fight!
Guys, its week two. Get it together. Where is 28 down?
-Annoyed crossword fan
Apologies for the previous tone, I was wrong.
-Not annoyed crossword fan
Editor’s response: Yeah, you were
Hi editor,
this may sound like a weird title but I promise I'm not that weird kid who kept returning to their highschool to relive the glory days. (Well maybe i am...)
I recently moved to Wellington to do a masters degree, all is going well except the student magazine here sucks ass. The articles are dense and boring, and even the crosswords are all about karl marx and niche political memes from 100 years ago. Where are my booze reviews? My snap of the week? An actually decent crossword? How am I
LETTERS POLICY
How long is too long when leaving your stuff in central library. The best cubicles are taken early at 8am and then they may leave a macbook to charge for 2 hours for returning. Yet here I am in a long open desk instead of a nice cozy cubicle. Of course no one has the balls (especially not me) to move the stuff and sit down. But come on take your stuff with you if you are leaving for 30 minutes or longer. If you need to charge for free power do it but do it, but don't do it in a cozy cubicle.
Kind regards from a breather who loves their cubicles :)
Dear Mrs Critic
I would just like it to be made known that my mates Joel and Elliot actually have rather nice singing voices - and they certainly didn't sing for ten minutes. I appreciate the need for good content but I personally thoroughly enjoyed their rendition of "Something In The Orange".
Yours,
Joel and Elliot's number 1 fan
Editor’s response: You’re a good friend <3
Missing: Two of the three Critic couch cushions. Give them back, please.
Dunedin Fringe Festival opens this Wednesday!
Radio One’s first Market Day is this Wednesday, March 12th
You can now recycle tetra paks/ cartons in the Link! There’s a big bin
Israeli-Palestinian film No Other Land won the Oscar for Best Documentary last week
The Otago Disabled Students' Association is holding their Special General Meeting on Friday, March 14 from 1-2:30pm in the OUSA Clubs and Socs Otago Room – open to both disabled or ally tauira for the disabled community!
The Highlanders are now the Hulk, in line with the NZ Super Rugby team’s collab with the Marvel Universe. Cue “hulk smash!” cries from the Zoo at the next game this Friday against the Hurricanes Pak’nSave is in trouble with the Commerce Commission over “misleading specials”
Otago med student
Annise Boothroyd is running all 11 NZ Great Walks to fundraise for the Otago Southland Rescue Helicopter Trust. You can follow her journey via her Insta @great_runs_aotearoa
Foreign Affairs
Minister Winston Peters sacked Phil Goff as the UK High Commissioner over comments Goff made about US President Donald Trump, ODT reports
OUSA Student Support’s Whānau Day is this Saturday, March 15th on the Union Lawn from 1-3pm (Clubs and Socs Evison Lounge if wet)
It’s OUSA Flat Fest this Thursday from 10:30am on Union Lawn
Luxon told Newstalk ZB, in response to complainants over the school lunch scheme that’s seen some kids chewing on melted plastic, to “go make a Marmite sandwich”
Trump’s hit pause on US military aid to Ukraine after a disastrous meeting with President Zelensky that went viral globally
Kiwis will have to wait for the roll-out of a single payment public transport card across all NZ services, which was delayed due to testing complexities
Trump told Congress last week: “Our country will be woke no longer”, referring to the “tyranny” of diversity and inclusion hiring
Concludes with vague plans to “canvas student opinion”
The OUSA Exec are in the hot seat over OUSA’s Boycott, Divestments and Sanctions (BDS) “posture” against businesses associated with the state of Israel – including Domino’s, who was excluded from Tent City. Two formal student complaints (and one informal complaint from a taxi driver) were the subject of “robust discussion” at last Wednesday’s Exec meeting, reaching the conclusion that they will “canvas student opinion” on the stance.
OUSA President Liam White explained to Critic that complaints centred on concerns the Exec are “pushing [their] own political agenda without consultation with students” and that they felt the Exec were “encroaching on their freedoms by taking a boycott position.” The former he was on board with, to the latter he responded: “You can still buy whatever pizza you want.”
OUSA’s BDS “posture” stemmed from last year’s Exec – primarily former President Keegan Wells and then-Pols Rep Liam – who instructed CEO Debbie that they would follow a BDS list for internal commercial dealings. The global economic and political movement “aims to end international support for Israeli violations of international law by forcing companies, institutions and governments to change their policies,” according to BDSmovement.net.
Following the BDS movement comes with a hefty price tag, including turning away business from retailers like Domino’s at Tent City, as Critic Te Ārohi reported in Issue 2. According to Liam, the broad response has been positive following Critic and the ODT’s reporting. “I’ve had quite a few students and alumni come to me to say they’re really proud of the position that OUSA has taken, but there have been at least two students who have reached out to say, ‘I have these concerns,’” said Liam.
Some of the concerns raised by an anonymous student included OUSA’s neutrality, use of compulsory student services fees for political advocacy, and the potential alienation of Israeli students. They called for OUSA to acknowledge and apologise for taking a political stance on a “complex global issue” and suggested OUSA focused on “fostering inclusivity, such as hosting events that acknowledge losses on both sides rather than engaging in boycott measures.”
While OUSA has remained tight-lipped about the exact price tag the posture has had for the association thus far, Liam admitted in an interview with Critic that it was “a lot of money”. Given FSO Daniel expressed worries over OUSA’s financial situation at last week’s meeting, there seems to be a sound foundation for certain OUSA employees’ reported sourness over the number.
Given the financial stakes, Critic pressed Liam and Pols Rep Jett on the rationale behind their “posture”. What about Steve Irwin’s philosophy of “I don’t give a rip whose money it is”, using whatever funds possible for his cause – in OUSA’s case, to the benefit of students. “I think it’s a tricky one to answer because I don’t think it accounts for the purpose of BDS, which is to
By Nina Brown Editor // critic@critic.co.nz
put pressure on the state of Israel for its conduct in Gaza,” he said, before correcting “conduct” to “genocide”. “I think there’s definitely something to be said for putting economic pressure on bad actors in the international system. It worked against South Africa for apartheid.”
While the purpose of denying business from BDS-listed companies is to “put pressure on the state of Israel,” it’s questionable whether North Dunedin Domino’s has any connection to the state. Al Jazeera reported last month that the US-based pizza maker, with franchises around the world, is facing blowback after social media posts said Domino’s gave free food to Israeli soldiers, but that “there’s no evidence to support those claims.”
North D’s franchise owner Greg told Critic Te Ārohi that until he was denied a site at Tent City this year, he’d never heard of BDS – nor did he believe his business had any relationship to Israel. There’s an important difference between a franchise location and a corporate location: a franchise means someone buys the place and owns it, while corporate locations adhere to the company. Greg explained that as a NZ franchise, the only connection that Domino’s has is the name and branding. This is something he’d explained to OUSA – falling on deaf ears. As of print, OUSA has not responded to Critic’s request for confirmation of and comment on this alleged conversation.
Thirty precious minutes of everyone’s time was spent in confidential committee at last week’s Exec meeting. Given that Critic was there but not allowed to take notes, we asked Liam following the meeting what they talked about (on the record). “Not to Chris Luxon my way out of this, but I would probably just say that it was robust – a variety of opinions were held,” said an annoyingly diplomatic Liam. “It filled me with confidence that we could have some tricky discussions in the executive, and really respectfully.”
Official minutes from the meeting show the conclusion (with many amendments and rewordings along the way) to be, “The OUSA Exec has reached the consensus decision that we will review the BDS posture and pursue further student feedback alongside a risk assessment and policy development. Over the coming months OUSA will seek to canvas a student consensus by encouraging robust debate on campus – and hope to reach a decision by July 2025.” Liam added, “If we get there before then, fuck yeah.”
The Exec didn’t land on an exact plan on how they’d “canvas student opinion”, but discussed options such as a forum and referendum which is pencilled in for May, but to be confirmed. “This is part one of the conversation,” Liam noted. To stay in the loop, minutes of Exec meetings are published to the OUSA website and you can follow them on Instagram @ousaexec or email Liam directly at president@ousa.org.nz.
Exec Submit Against Treaty Principles Bill
Good intentions, not so good execution
The OUSA Exec has submitted in opposition to the controversial Treaty Principles Bill. On Thursday, February 27th, President Liam and Politics Rep Jett presented an oral submission to the Justice Committee based on the written submission Liam hastily penned in January on behalf of the wider Exec.
The Treaty Principles Bill, spearheaded by ACT leader David Seymour, has been a national (and international) subject of controversy. At its most basic interpretation, it proposes to redefine the Treaty principles and put them out to referendum for confirmation. Seymour says the Bill would ensure all New Zealanders have equal rights. But as Critic’s Ētita Māori Heeni explains, from a Māori perspective it is a “blatant attempt to strip Te Tiriti from the law, severing Māori rights from the foundations of the nation.”
The Bill has been the subject of widespread controversy since its inception, manifesting in a nine-day hīkoi mō te Tiriti (“march for the Treaty”) across the motu in November last year. On November 19th, Te Ao Māori News reported that over 42,000 people descended on the steps of the Beehive to rally in opposition to the Bill. According to Stuff, the Bill has received over 300,000 submissions – at least three times more than any other Bill has received. There were so many submissions that Parliament’s website crashed. A voice among those submissions was OUSA.
Speaking on behalf of OUSA, Liam regarded his submission to be representative of the 20,000 tauira attending various campuses across the motu. “Particularly relevant to this submission are the approximately 2,400 Māori students studying at Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka,” he wrote. Aside from tauira Māori, Liam felt he was “representing the opinion of the vast majority of Otago students.”
Liam admitted to Critic that the submission was written almost solely by him following the 2024 Exec’s approval and given the short time frame and timing (the semester was over and everyone was on holiday). “I thought it would be best to say, ‘okay, I’ll just proceed with this.’ That process probably isn’t great, but we’ve done it a couple of times.” In an interview, Liam assured Critic that there shouldn’t be any issues with the current Exec, citing having “too much on the agenda” as the only reason why it hadn’t been formally approved yet. “I mean, it aligns with all my values, there’s no issue there. I don’t think [Jett and myself] stepped out of our area,” Liam explained, with Jett humming in agreement. However, at their next Exec meeting Clubs and Socs Rep Deborah pointed out some inconsistencies in the submission.
By Hanna Varrs News Editor // news@critic.co.nz
When asked about his expertise on the matter, Liam referred to his time spent in POLS319 (Treaty/Te Tiriti politics) as “helpful.” He also ran the submissions by Te Rōpū Māori Tumuaki Takirua (co-presidents), and invited them to sit in alongside him for the submissions. Scheduling conflicts unfortunately did not allow for this.
In a nutshell, OUSA’s submission took issue with the Bill’s favouring of the text of the Treaty of Waitangi as opposed to Te Tiriti o Waitangi. This is “significant” because there is “inconsistency between the principles outlined in the current iteration of the Treaty Principles Bill and Te Tiriti o Waitangi.”
Building on this, OUSA (read: Liam) expressed concern that the Bill would depart from the “standing judicial interpretations” of the Treaty principles – an “inappropriate” result, as OUSA regarded Parliament as not being in a position to “redefine the relationship between the Crown and Mana Whenua as articulated in both Te Tiriti and the Treaty.”
By introducing a Bill that redefines the Treaty principles, OUSA is critiquing Parliament’s place in going back and one-sidedly redefining the relationship between mana whenua and the Crown, shutting the door on Courts and the Waitangi Tribunal. OUSA’s submission opposes this, saying it is not right and would “[fail] to preserve the unique rights afforded to Māori as the Indigenous people of Aotearoa.”
Liam and Jett told Critic they felt “unprepared” when they were called on by the Justice Committee to speak to the submission. They knew they were opposed, but like many Kiwis, when grilled on the nitty-gritty seemed to come up tongue-tied. Instead of the usual five minutes for presentation, they wound up with ten due to being shoulder-tapped by MP Francisco Hernandez and “not reading the email properly.” “And then James Meager, who is the chairperson of the Justice Committee, said we had some question time. And I look over at the Parliamentary clock and it says seven minutes,” said Liam. The pair ended up getting grilled worse than the questions your mum asks after you get caught sneaking back in after an unapproved night out.
Jett and Liam explained that the majority of the questions were about why they considered the unelected Courts should have a say on the Treaty principles compared to democratically elected Parliament’s supremacy. After the pair kicked each other under the table a few times (“[there wasn’t] an easy answer”), they settled on the consensus that the court's incremental and relatively well-informed precedent had aided the development of some solid ideas about what Treaty principles were. And the grilling continued, but at least OUSA had said their piece.
Execrable: The First OUSA Exec Meeting (that
Critic attended)
“That was a long meeting, fuck me” – Liam
The OUSA Exec had their meatiest meeting yet last Wednesday, March 5th – coincidentally the first Critic Te Ārohi was in attendance for. Critic parked up in the corner couches and locked into an hour and a half of aggressive note-taking (firstyear-lecture style) and aggressive listening during ‘confidential committee’ (eavesdropping-on-neighbouring-$4-lunch-tables gossip style).
Mr President began the meeting at 9:02am by saying, “Fuck it’s a big agenda today.” The typical 13-or-so-item list had expanded to 25 items, proving Liam’s famous waffling tendencies noted in last year’s quarterly reports have carried through. On the agenda: some boring shit about business and marketing plans; some juicy shit about angry student emails about the Exec’s BDS “posture”.
Here’s the lowdown on Exec meetings: every Wednesday at 9am, members of the Exec – students’ elected representatives with designated portfolios – meet in the “bullpen” (their office) with the OUSA CEO Debbie Downs and Secretary Donna Jones. It’s at these meetings that they make all the big decisions, like what issues they’ll tackle, whether to back a political movement, any matters arising from the student body, and who’ll man the barbeque at an upcoming event.
If OUSA is the Beehive, the Exec bullpen is Parliament, and Critic sits in the Press Gallery – observing and taking notes on the important shit (and writing fun quotes like every time Liam swears or when Callum’s dog crop dusts the room). And much like Parliament, Exec meetings are open to its members (students) to attend, given they send a cordial heads up to Liam via email before rocking up. In the absence of students, however, Critic’s the eyes and ears.
Meetings start with a round-the-table update from everyone. Liam’s “snowed under” but chirpy nonetheless. Academic Rep
By Nina Brown Editor // critic@critic.co.nz
Stella was “feeling grumpy” after a Uni working group suggested changing 18-point papers to 15-point, which she thinks is a “stupid idea” (where a Uni staff member “waved his finger in [her] face for 45 minutes”). Finance and Strategy Officer Daniel “talked about financials” at a FESC meeting, admitting to feeling a bit nervous about OUSA’s fiscal situation. Callum came in late with his dog.
Next were the big-ticket items: the Exec’s Treaty Principles Bill submission, BDS complaint, and the Exec’s annual agenda. A quick summary of the Treaty Principles Bill submission and some pointers from Clubs and Socs Rep Deborah on certain inconsistencies on Liam’s hastily written submission from January (prompting him to advise his successor to Pols Rep, Jett, to “be consistent”) was the gist of agenda item 16. And then onto 17: ‘BDS Complaint’. “This is a doozy,” said Liam, before promptly motioning for the meeting to enter into ‘confidential committee’ (no notes allowed) for thirty minutes. Boo.
Liam then hopped out of his seat to skip to the whiteboard and plan the annual Exec agenda: “This is the fun interactive bit.” Each Exec member signed onto the different goals that they intend to make ground on: the cost of living (sucks), student culture (including a student bar), student welfare, education accessibility (like lecture recordings), student housing (also sucks), and a “new era of OUSA” (dramatic but okay).
On the last item, Liam explained he’d “done some thinking” over summer about ensuring OUSA is “student focused” – implying he intends to follow through with his promise in the first OUSA Critic column: “Let’s make this a year of action.” Given that’s the longest meeting in recent Exec history, it seems students can expect further robustness from the fresh cohort of student politicians.
Barnyard Boogie in the Botans
Queer Joy Kicking Pride Month Off Right
The combination of flowing skirts and local band Frivolry made for an “afternoon of dancing, fun, and queer joy” to kick off Pride Month the first weekend of March. Organised by Dunedin Pride, the traditional Scottish and Irish folk band played a Ceilidh (a Celtic barn dance, pronounced “kay-lee”) in the Botanical Gardens, open to all. Critic Te Ārohi could not resist tagging along.
The band taught the crowd the dances as they went, and called out the moves alongside the tunes. Meihana Pōtiki-Grayling, Chairperson of Dunedin Pride, said that the organisation “has always tried to create safe spaces for the queer community, very out and proud in public with our rainbow flags and our little whimsical outfits.” Many of the outfits were in fact straight off a Pinterest board, except for the surprising amount of neon Crocs.
Meihana emphasised that Pride Month is “all about creating queer joy. At the moment, there's a lot of queer fear and anger, but it's really important that we leave space for joy.” And neon crocs, apparently. Elliot Weir, treasurer, agreed that they were creating “a space for people to come and dance, to be frivolous.” We see what he did there! He added, “It's a scary time for the queer community at the moment, but when everyone comes together it can be less scary.”
By Stella Weston Staff Writer // news@critic.co.nz
The event was open to all, and all came – couples young and old, groups of twenty-somethings in corsets and cowboy boots, and parents with young children (our future generations do not appear to be dance inclined). The formations were lopsided, the claps were mistimed, and every single person there had a massive grin on their face.
Meihana asked the crowd to “come join me so I won’t be sad up here by myself dancing alone,” and the crowd did as they were told. Spinning and laughing, the strength of the “small but mighty” queer community was evident. In Meihana’s words, “we might be in the deep south, but Dunedin is a much more open and accepting place than people believe it to be.” Elliot added that “we are here, we aren’t going anywhere. We have a whole month of events planned and hope to see as many people at them as possible.”
Indeed the month lined up is rife with events, including a return of the drag show SoliloQueens (+ Kings), a series of events run with the Hocken, a pride church service, Dungeons and Drag Queens, crafternoons, and many more. To find out more about these events, check out Dunedin Pride’s Facebook and website and get involved – “That's what we are trying to do this pride month: really bring everyone together.”
Te Rōpū Māori SGM: $100k from VC, Āpiha Hauora and Ahurea roles filled
Te Rito exec fully complete and fully funded
Te Rōpū Maori (TRM) have successfully filled their Āpiha Hauora (Wellbeing and Recreation Officer) and Āpiha Ahurea (Cultural Officer) at their most recent special general meeting (SGM). The VC has also committed to a $100k grant, allowing the Te Rito exec to be paid.
The SGM kicked off just shy of quorum. Uncontested candidates Renee for Āpiha Hauoa and Matangiorupe for Āpiha Ahurea were unanimously voted in after a revote due to a previous sole vote of no confidence, which would have meant another SGM on the cards for TRM. Critic says “phew”.
Big on the agenda was TRM’s exciting announcement that the Vice Chancellor has granted TRM $100k in funding. When approached about what they intend to use the funding for, co-Tumuaki (co-Presidents) Pou and Ngātiki told Critic Te Ārohi that $80k will be used as remuneration to pay for the Te Rito executive. This is to make sure the Te Rito members are being paid, bringing them into line with paid student executives like OUSA and UOPISA.
“Te Rito currently receives an honorarium at the end of each semester that is significantly less than our parallel student bodies,” Pou explained. “With this funding, we can ensure that our exec facilitates their roles without negatively impacting their studies and hauora and to recognise the mahi that they do.”
Critic was told that the other $20k will be used as a contribution to the 30th Celebrations of Te Rōpū Māori being an incorporated society. “The kaupapa for this celebration is to highlight and acknowledge the mahi of our tauira both past and present, and to celebrate Māori success at Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka,” Pou said. He advised tauira to keep an eye out for the dates for this celebration – they’re still TBC.
By Hanna Varrs News Editor // news@critic.co.nz
Renee, who will fill the Āpiha Ahurea role, told Critic that she wants to “bring the ihi, the wana, and the mana to our Te Rōpū Māori spaces.” She is especially looking forward to TRM’s weekly Cultural Hours, which are open to all Māori and non-Māori – nau mai, haere mai! Built into this Cultural Hour this year is “Iwi o te Wiki”, where each week a new iwi will be chosen to be uplifted and celebrated through teaching waiata from said iwi. Renee empathises with those who are feeling a bit homesick, telling Critic that some may feel “disconnected from their Māoritanga. I want to bring the feeling of home to Dunedin with as much mana Māori that I can generate here at the uni.” Kia ora.
Incoming Āpiha Hauora Mantangiorupe told Critic that his objective focuses on being a support person and giving Māori tauira the best chance of a successful Uni year through their wellbeing and lifting their spirits. He told Critic that he’s keen on organising “sports, charity events or even setting specific activities that people love to do but can’t get being down here, like waka-ama or even tree planting.” He looks forward to seeing new faces, seeing Māori tauira thrive, and wants to “put Te Rōpū Māori in an even better position than it is today by doing my best and setting our tauira up for the future.” He promises that students can look forward to seeing amazing events organised just for them and having a person who they can go to and talk about “literally anything.”
If you’re interested in keeping up with pānui or kaupapa TRM has coming up, you can follow their social media channels to stay up to date. You can find them @teropu.maori on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok and whatever other new socials you youngins are using nowadays.
Pint-flation at U-Bar: An Economic Analysis
Pint-tastrophe as pint-prices pint-crease due to pint-spiracy
Students could once walk into U-Bar’s Wednesday Pint Night with a crisp $20 note, leaving four pints happier and with a shirt as soaked as your poor liver during Flo and O-Week. News of ‘pint-flation’ has spread across campus following the discovery that students’ most thirsted-after pints have increased in price –from $6 last year to $7 (the two pints and a watery OUSA butter chicken are hardly worth sacrificing the tinny-$20). Critic Te Ārohi’s economist reports on grumbles from the 90-minute line.
The humid, dimly lit U-Bar was filled with thirsty students at the first Pint Night on Wednesday, February 26th, armed with their weekly cost of living payment. Reports from the line were that over one hundred people entered the bar within ten minutes of opening, and that most of the IDs were ‘06 and ’07s (freshers have graduated from Toga, it seems). Levels of stoke were high, eager to get amongst the live music from regulars like the Audio Visual DropKicks. But there was something in the air (besides tinnitus and body odour): the word “seven” was on everyone’s tongue, and it tasted as bitter as the coil burning on your mint solo.
First-hand accounts from the battlefield were riddled with superlatives when they caught wind of the extortionate prices ahead (read: were told by Critic). “Disgusting,” “shit ass,” and “ridiculous,” were among the most commonly used to describe the price increase. One student even alluded to threatening behaviour Critic can’t reprint – despite admitting to not drinking beer. Note: Pint Night discounted prices apply only to Speights, both Gold Medal Ale and Ultra (hence the emphasis on “pint”).
Critic Te Ārohi reached out to ‘The Man’ behind it all: University Union’s General Manager Stephen Baughan. He confirmed that pints had indeed increased to $7 due to inflation, an economics term even BA students are all too familiar with. Economics major and AVDK bassist Jeremy told Critic that 20% is “a lot higher than inflation,” saying that the Reserve Bank of New Zealand “will have to get onto this.” Critic notes that these numbers are based on what students from 2020 remember paying ($4) but that U-Bar has been unable to confirm.
Students’ pint glasses are half-empty when it comes to once again being at the sticky end of the cost of living crisis. As fifthyear Will put it, “The more you drink, the more fun you have. So when you think about it the cost of fun is getting more expensive along with everything else.” But in Baughan’s humble opinion, the $7 is still a “good deal”.
Critic Te Ārohi cheekily prompted Baughan into a pint-flation economic deep-dive – or rather, schooner-flation. At 430mL per serve at U-Bar, the supposed “pint” (570mL) could be closer to a “schooner” (425mL). This means that the $10 pint of Speights at The Bog is roughly the same value (57ml/$) as the $7 schooner from Ubar (60ml/$). A good deal, Baughan – one on par with the cheapest beers in Dunedin – but it’s not what it used to be (stares
longingly out the window).
By Peter Barclay Contributor // critic@critic.co.nz
Baughan set the record straight at these claims, saying that a pint in Aotearoa generally means the largest size on offer (that’s what he said) and is “widely accepted” to be between 400mL and 600mLs, “and we fall within that range.” At Critic’s suggestion of renaming Pint Night to ‘Schooner Night’, Baughan was a stickin-the-mud: “We do not want to change the name ‘Pint Night’ because it has been the catch phrase for many years.”
This wasn’t the first conspiracy Mr U-Bar was hit with. Anyone who’s come within spitting distance of U-Bar is familiar with its climate so tropical it could support a venus flytrap. But on Wednesday, U-Bar wasn’t tropical, it was thermo-fucking-nuclear – and it soon became apparent why: the heaters were on. Pint Night was in a situation not so dissimilar from Cars 2’s Miles Axelrod's nefarious renewable fuel scheme: a line long enough to sober students up, and the heater blasting to get them sweating and thirstier than Pavlov’s dogs.
U-Bar had the perfect money making machine, and they’ve just increased the price of the pint to cash in. The campus-based bar enjoys a near monopoly on venue-oriented student boozing and live music. And with no student bar to compete with, U-Bar doesn’t have to keep their prices low to stay competitive –they’ll fill to capacity (and more) every Pint Night regardless. But Baughan cut this theory off at the knees. “Our University’s automated heating scheduling unintentionally created the tropical feel and that has been rectified for this week,” he told Critic Te Ārohi before the second Pint Night last Wednesday (a promise that was kept).
Wondering if students, using the power of collective bargaining, would stand against the price hike, Critic borrowed the Radio One mic to ask students (stuck in the line and with nowhere to run) if they were going to continue to attend Pint Night and buy beer every week in spite of the stacked Pint-onomics in U-Bar’s favour. Student Anna said, “I usually get two, now I’m just gonna get one.” Thrifty Sam said, “I’m not buying anything. I get wasted then come in.” A nearby group of third-years agreed: “Let's pre more and buy less beer.”
Whilst this sentiment was shared by many, no one said they’d stop coming to Pint Night, and almost everyone we spoke to agreed that the attraction of Pint Night is the “super sick bands” and not the cheap beer. One student we spoke to said she’d “rather kill [herself] than pay $7 for a beer,” whilst waving her empty pint glass in the air. So whilst U-Bar’s price hikes are “ridiculous”, their monopoly on live music has students in a price inelastic choke hold.
Student Job Search: “Students in Otago Are More Likely To Secure Work”
Fuck you, Auckland!
There’s a small part in all of us that wishes we could afford a Netflix and a Disney+ subscription. But, as university students, managing a job and our studies (especially full-time) can be a difficult feat. With the total applications through Student Job Search (SJS) increasing by 23% over the last six months, and vacancies dropping by 27%, the struggle is being felt all across the motu. However, SJS reckons Otago students have better luck with that capitalist grind.
Student Job Search, founded in 1982 (the same year as Micheal Jackson's hit album, Thriller) has the sole purpose of “[alleviating] student poverty.” Louise Saviker, the Chief Executive of SJS, provided Critic Te Ārohi with some very sexy statistics about your chances of being employed in the Otago region (provided there’s no footage of you drunkenly doing the worm on the Catacombs floor). Otago is the place to be, making up a steamy 14% of national vacancies and an extremely seductive 6% of national application numbers. Keep going – we’re close.
Comparatively, Auckland has 33% of national vacancies and an unfortunate 51% of national applications (suck it, Craccum magazine). To make more sense of these numbers, the average number of applications per job vacancy in Otago is 2.5 compared to 9.5 in Auckland. “All of this paints a clear picture, that right now, students in Otago are more likely to secure work than in many other regions,” Louise told Critic Te Ārohi. “That’s fantastic news for Otago students!”
By Zoe Eckoff Staff Writer // news@critic.co.nz
SJS reports that over the two days they visited Tent City during O-Week, over a thousand students registered with SJS. “It’s clear there is a demand for work,” Louise reiterated. “The knack is connecting keen student workers with suitable job opportunities and that’s where SJS really shines.”
In February 2025 alone, SJS reported over a thousand jobs were listed in the Otago region. One-off jobs make up 60% of these vacancies, followed by casual roles (17%) and part-time roles (10%). SJS loves a quick buck. FYI -- signing up for SJS is gonna give you a much better chance of employment with far less competition, as it is an exclusive service to university students. “Given it’s free to advertise with Student Job Search, there are no barriers for employers to list roles on our site,” Louise explained. SJS has engaged in marketing campaigns focusing on boosting employer registrations and vacancies to much success. “We have more initiatives planned for 2025,” Louise told Critic.
Being a student right now is rough (especially given the news of pint-flation at U-Bar and some Rob Roy prices increasing by 20 cents) but being an Otago University student is certainly less so – as long as you sign up for Student Job Search. Students have a far higher chance of getting employed than Critic Te Ārohi has of getting our couch cushions back (we miss them more every day).
Wanted: Serial Central Lib Red Wine Slugger
Looks like the Hemingway method is catching on
Planning on a bender but don’t know where? Consider the Central Library. A mysterious male individual has been caught not once, not twice, but allegedly on weekly occasions of drinking six to seven bottles of wine in the Central Library over the summer break. However, the University is reportedly only aware of two bottles found.
There is no confirmed identity of the wine enthusiast. However, security guard John* told Critic Te Ārohi that he was on shift at the time when a bottle was initially discovered. “We find around six to seven bottles a week. Most of them have been found in the UniPrint bins,” he said. When asked how security knew it was the same individual and not a different person, John stated he could be sure as the perpetrator “only drinks red wine – he is a classy guy.” Either that or he’s attempting to execute the ‘Hemingway study method’.
Campus Watch and the University were only aware of two bottles found in early February. “We are not aware of a regular problem of wine bottles being left in the library [...] No particular details about the wine were recorded.”
On top of this guy sipping and studying his way through the Dunedin summer, the possibility of the wine enthusiast having free accommodation in the Central Library ground floor bathrooms was also discussed by John. “There is also a guy that was found sleeping in the male bathrooms on the ground floor every weekend from the end of last year to the start of January,” he said.
The University was asked if they could confirm whether the report on a man sleeping in the Central Library bathroom was true and if it was connected to the wine bottles. A spokesperson told
By Cailin Williams Contributor // news@critic.co.nz
Critic, “There was an incident last year where a man was found sleeping in a Central library bathroom. I am not certain if there are any connections with the wine bottles.” The University stated that if they were to find anyone sleeping in the bathroom on University property, “they would be dealt with appropriately to ensure the safety of students, staff and University property”. As far as John and the Uni was aware, there have been no further reports on the individual since then.
Critic asked the University if they believed the wine-slugger and the library-sleeper were one or multiple individuals, to which a spokesperson responded that they “do not have enough information to speculate. The central library is open to students, staff and the general public”.
So far there has been no confirmation of the two individuals being the same person. If one were to speculate, the time frame between the pre-game in Central to the slumber party in the bathrooms would seem to be awfully convenient.
Students in the library were approached about any knowledge surrounding the wine incident. Lily, a 5th-year Health Scientist, recalled that she “was doing summer school but didn’t notice anything odd in Central.” Olive, a 2nd-year Business student, spoke to us about her summer school experience. “Nah. [The library] just seems how it usually is, to be honest. The worst I’ve seen is someone sneak a vape.”
At the time of writing, students seem to have suffered no harm as a result of the library wine bandit. Cheers to that *clink*.
*Name Changed
Mr Prez ‘Bribes the Media’ with $1k Centenary Book Pledge
Critic reports on themselves in epic show of narcissism
Disclaimer: This article was written by said media.
In a generous publicity stunt, OUSA President Liam White matched donations towards Critic Te Ārohi’s Centenary book up to $1k last Tuesday, March 4th (payday). The 100-year-old magazine has until March 16th to raise $70k to fund a full-time book editor – now $2,420 closer thanks to the student president.
Within three hours, the stunt had raked in 85% of the $1k goal. Comments ranged from messages of support for Critic Te Ārohi (“my favourite weekly read”) to milking the President’s promise (“destroying Liam’s paycheck”). Whatever works for you.
Critic Te Ārohi parked ol’ Prez on the office couch (still missing two of three cushions) to spill the tea on why he was forking out the cash. “I thought it would be good to bribe the media,” said Liam (funny guy). “I just think that would be a very useful thing to have in the back pocket. If there was a propaganda machine working back here.”
Then he turned serious. “I just thought it was really important,” said Liam. He compared the project to OUSA’s 2019 book Audeamus! We Dare! that marked 129 years. “Nerd alert, I’ve read that a couple times and I loved it.” He admitted that a Critic book would be “more exciting than our book to be honest – so I'm just interested to see what comes out of it.”
Funding has been difficult to secure for the book that promises to tell the story of “a century of the Otago student experience
By Nina Brown Editor // critic@critic.co.nz
through the eyes of Critic Te Ārohi”. Critic has appealed to the wallet-holders of OUSA for some moolah, but Liam said that he wasn’t sure there was the budget for it. Taking it into his own hands, Liam said he thought the match donations would be a “cool idea” to “get you guys money”.
Liam admitted to having worried about this setting a precedent for donating to other projects – especially those from other OUSA departments. “I didn’t want to set the precedent too much but I just thought it was a good project that would be really valuable.”
The more “selfish” part of it was that he wanted a “free copy” and to get a sense of OUSA’s relationship with Critic “because it hasn’t always been good.”
The amount Liam donated was what he would normally put away from a paycheck, three weeks’ rent and two weeks’ groceries –he’d done the math. He’d also run the numbers, and calculated that if Vice Chancellor Grant were to put in the same amount from his paycheck, he would have to put in $12.50 for every dollar Liam put in, meaning $12.5k in a similar gesture of support for the Centenary book.
“There’s not a lot of time left, so get your donations in now!” said Liam (Critic didn’t even need to blackmail him). To check out the full proposal, head to Critic Te Ārohi’s website critic.com under ‘Support the Critic Te Ārohi 100th Year Book’. You can follow the book’s fundraising progress through Instagram (@criticmag).
PUZZLES PUZZLES
PUZZLES PUZZLES
WORDFIND
SPOT THE DIFFERENCE
There are 10 differences between the two images
SCARFIE
PEPPERONI
ARSON
PINTFLATION
EXECRABLE
POVERTY
FRIVOLRY
DONATION
CENTENARY
SLUG QUOTE
TOM HANKS
WHEBRUARY
FREE RANGE
PSYCHEDELIC
BIDET
CAGE
COLLAGE
MUESLI CHARDONNAY
Illustrated by Jackson Bird
Six60-Promoting Radio One Insists They Remain Alternative
Listeners are having Radio None of it
Student station Radio One has issued a statement that they “remain alternative”. This follows backlash from loyal listeners (with more Docs than a hospital) who say they have “sold out" after promoting popular Dunedin band Six60, who’ll be playing on Union Lawn this Saturday.
The statement was released this past week after mounting pressure from listeners and volunteers alike. “I was kind of hoping to be able to play something a bit more left of centre when I started but you end up playing surf rock. Not like Dick Dale or anything, just like breezy jangly guitar stuff,” said one surly volunteer.
A long-time listener remembers the times where Radio One, who celebrated their 40th birthday last year, were playing
By Billary Harry Shitposter // criticaltribune@critic.co.nz
songs you could only find there: “Now everyone plays the same slop, I may as well just revert back to vinyl.” Radio One’s staff have vocally opposed this by saying, “The music that we get sent and play on air is labeled as the alternative genre so nuhuh.”
‘Alternative’ as a genre is not just about music, as many listeners have mentioned. Nirvana sounded different than everyone else, but they also had alternative attitudes towards the mainstream, unlike the artists Radio One continue to promote. When Critical Tribune sought further comment from the station, their response was to turn the office radio up louder and scream: “What? I can’t hear you!” Here’s hoping our TEU membership includes hearing checks.
Lectures to Now Include Brand Deals in an Appeal to Younger Demographic
Raking in that capitalist moolah
While many students have made a strong call for the University to add closed captions to lecture recordings, the University has opted for a different direction. “We feel that students are just used to a different kind of media so we plan to incorporate that into our recordings,” said a representative. Lecture recordings will now contain brand deals for companies like Squarespace, Raycon earbuds, and Manscaped.
“We think this is a great opportunity for students as they
By Billary Harry Shitposter // criticaltribune@critic.co.nz
earbuds, which have a long, durable battery life that means you can catch up on 20 lectures without your earbuds dying like they would with other brands.” When Critical Tribune asked how students felt, they responded by saying “we have them on two times speed regardless so it goes in one ear and out the other.” The University has listened to this feedback and made sure to have the advertisements two times slower than the rest of the lecture.
U-Bar Heating Turned Up to Make a Biodiversity Enhancing Greenhouse
Operation North D Orokonui is a go
Last Wednesday, the plan to turn U-Bar into “North Dunedin’s Orokonui”, was officially put into motion, by relaying a direct pipe from the campus’s main boiler room into the University’s last remaining bar.
In an exclusive interview, University Property Services revealed to Critical Tribune that because of the nature of the bar –that is, the lack of natural lighting and airflow–“U-Bar could remain at a steady 36 degrees centigrade, with an astounding 94% humidity.”
The consistent heat of the venue allows for the perfect conditions for the growth of fungi, bacteria and even the spread of viruses, which, aligning with the values of the University of Otago Sustainability Office, all result in the institution accumulating Carbon Credits for contributions to the region's biodiversity.
By Anderson Coomer Shitposter // criticaltribune@critic.co.nz
The increased focus on Carbon Credits has been crucial in the University’s new stance on achieving Net Carbon Zero by 2030. The Sustainability Office’s desire to increase Carbon Credit production has been defined by the task to offset the “eternal fire of the large-scale combustion engine required to keep the Clocktower ticking.”
Student outlook on the changes seems to be overwhelmingly positive, with one student, Huzz, commenting, “I was so worried about emissions that I didn’t even burn any couches in O-Week. It’s good to know that we can get back to it now.”
Another student approached for a comment in U-Bar stated, “Dude, it’s unreal, there’s alcohol in the precipitation. It’s like I’m vaping piss.”
Bi
Content warning: Contains reference to sexual assault and animal abuse
Castle Street has a way of making legends out of flats. Some burn bright, some burn out, and some burn couches. Big Red has done all three. The fifteen-man flat is as notorious as the street it stands on. They are the Breatha Castle, and their Monday ‘Red-Out’ host rivals even the biggest weekend turnouts of O-week parties.
But it was this year’s ‘Red-Out’ where the struggle for control over Castle Street –between the authorities and the student body – came to a head. When I went to interview the boys in Big Red, they’d just been stripped of their ability to host for the first time in decades. Castle may be known as the heart of the ‘City Run by Students’ (as one viral video termed it); but there’s little doubt the street is now a shell of its former self.
By Matilda Rumball-Smith & Iris Hehir
Illustrated by Gemma McKinney
While previous students spent their university years dancing around burning couches and guzzling beer ‘til the sun rose, our nights end at twelve. Nonnegotiable. CCTV cameras are fixed to power poles, surveilled around the clock by Campus Watch, whose on-the-ground teams prowl at every corner. They’ll joke and jive, asking students where they’re off to after dark with a knowing laugh, before offering a “have fun, stay safe,” that might also be read as “I’m not your enemy.” The trade-off for this friendly exchange? Heads now peek out of drawn curtains, anxiously glancing both ways down Castle for the threat of hi-vis, before exhaling a puff from a bong. Sure, it’s illegal. But it’s also a world away from the privacy our parents were afforded in their own homes to do the same (even if they deny it).
THE
A decade of increased surveillance, court cases, and University crackdowns came to a head two weeks ago with Big Red’s non-host. This is the story of how we got there.
Knock, Knock, it’s the Proctor
I was originally tasked with interviewing and filming a ‘behind the scenes’ feature on Big Red to emphasise how much work goes into throwing an Orientation Week host. From scaffolding, to lights, smoke cannons and fireworks, each flat’s reputation is on the line to throw a rager, raking up costs up to $10k for the night. At 11am, I arrived at the red-brick complex – against the wishes of the boys, who’d messaged Critic minutes earlier from their flat instagram @bigreddih to cancel the interview: “Proctor’s already on our ass, so ceebs.” The neighbour’s landlord had refused the boys use of their shared driveway for the host, so Proctor Dave Scott informed them they must cancel.
Birkenstocked boys scurried in and out of the building like ants, carrying odd items – a mini TV, a box of clothes hangers, and a vape passed from hand to hand. As it turns out, the entire flat group were moving in the same day as they were scheduled to host. Surely it’d be less stressful if they gave themselves more time to get settled in, I thought, but I didn’t bother asking why they didn’t move down to Dunedin after O-Week. They would have laughed.
The boys were apologetic about having to cancel the interview. It was obvious that everything had gone to shit. Half of them pile into a car for a trip to Mitre10. A friend from The Hedge flat offers sympathetically, “Need some money for the spray paint?” It's a wholesome display of breathaffection. Big Red are scrambling. They still don’t have a location to host at, mere hours away from the party
The flat had been warned earlier not to go ahead with the host, but they didn’t take the warning seriously it seems. It’s their private property, after all – who are they to be told what to do? What’s O-Week without the iconic ‘Red-Out’? It’s unclear why the boys suddenly decided to heed the warning today. Resident Finlay* is very gracious in speaking to Critic, but it’s clear he is not the mastermind of Big Red’s hosting operation. He picked his own name, presumably because this interview embarasses him.
Finlay: Oh, we’re just not allowed to host here.
Critic: Is that because of the Proctor, or the landlord or…?
Finlay: Um, I think – we don’t really know.
Critic: But you knew a week ago [you weren’t allowed to host], right?
Finlay: Yeah.
Critic: Did someone come in today and warn that you’re really not allowed to do this?
Finlay: I don’t know. It’s all a bit confusing.
How Big Red’s host got shut down is a much longer and more confusing story than just that morning, or even the weeks prior. It traces all the way back to 2009 and two words: Undie 500.
The Undie 500 (read: “undie-five-hundy”) was a hitch-hiking style race that ran from 1988 to 2009, in which Canterbury engineering students would buy a car for less than $500, decorate it as everything from a lego brick to the Jamaican flag, and pub crawl their way from Christchurch to Castle Street. The event became a legendary part of Otago student culture. These days were the peak of couch burning, binge drinking crates of Speight’s, and massive open-host parties. On Saturday, 12th September 2009, all of these student antics collided in what became the third and final Castle
Street riot. Students fended off police batons, while police were pelted with bottles, bricks, and bicycle parts. Fires burned on the road. Cars were flipped over. 80 arrests were made in a single night.
Castle Street unruliness had reached its peak, and the University wanted to intervene. By this point, the Student Code of Conduct had been in force for two years, a by-law that allows the Proctor to sentence students to community service, suspension, and expulsion over specific activities, like couch burning and initiations, not easily captured under the law. Couch burning and initiations were, of course, closeheld traditions to Big Red, who last year, in lieu of being able to burn a couch, constructed a multi-level ‘couch stadium’ (exactly what it sounds like). Notably, the boys were forced to take it down to make way for fencing that now divides the flats. One resident even speculated it was part of a plan to “kill student culture, and without the culture, Dunedin is just a shit Palmerston North.”
Although students couldn’t enrol at the University without accepting the Code’s terms after its 2007 introduction, Castle Street was now aflame, as residents blatantly defied them. So the following year, Campus Watch was introduced to patrol student areas. Around the same time, the iconic student bar Gardies was shut down and transformed into the study centre ‘The Marsh’, partly to help distance the University’s image from the so-called ‘Otago student lifestyle.’ As ViceChancellor Harleen Hayne later told the Otago Daily Times in 2012, it was "no longer cool to behave in a drunken, disorderly manner." She continued to defend the University’s crackdown on student drinking, concerned that "the actions of a few would continue to overshadow all the positive things Otago students achieved during their time in Dunedin."
The University’s growing control over students’ personal lives and residences didn’t happen without resistance. A group of 350 student protesters gathered outside the Clocktower, holding signs reading "Consult us, you cunts", "Off campus, not ur fuckn business" and "You can’t spell Skegg without keg" – referring to then-Vice Chancellor David Skegg. But the crackdowns weren’t just about drinking. Perhaps the first instance of the University cramping Big Red’s style was forcing the flat to call itself ‘Big Red’. That’s right — the red-bricked complex used to be called ‘The Cuntry Club’, with the convenient omission of an “O”. Campus Watch warned the flat that if a public sign was made, they could be fined up to $1,000 for “offensive language”. Asked whether the sign was a reasonable expression of student creativity or whether it overstepped the mark, then-OUSA President Logan Edgar replied, “Fuck, I don’t know what to think of that.”
Logan had figured out his thoughts by Monday, 8th February 2010, however, after the OUSA-organised Toga Party left George Street littered with eggs, rubbish, and glass — okay, par for the course — but also with smashed cars and shop windows, and people injured. When students arrested on minor charges were also accused of breaching the University’s Student Code of Conduct, and faced additional punishment, OUSA took the University to court. They argued the Proctor had overstepped his authority by enforcing rules on behaviour that took place off campus at an event the University hadn’t even organised. However, Justice Gendall dismissed their claim, ruling that the University had the right to govern the conduct of its “members” when their actions “affect the good reputation and standing of the University institution [...] in the eyes of reasonable and responsible members of the public.”
Gendall’s decision would go on to alter the course of Otago student life. And not without consequence.
1pm: Boys Banding Together
Finlay had answered “I don’t know,” eleven times in our fiveminute interview, so I figured it was best to come back a couple of hours later. By then, Big Red had finally secured a venue for ‘Red-Out’: Horn Palace, a flat whose piss-ups are easily heard from the study centre across the road.
All the boys are in a much better mood as they spray paint red devils over any and all surfaces. They’ve also started preing – a sure-fire mood-booster. I ask one of the Horn Palace residents why they agreed to take on this massive night. He looks me up and down in confusion.
Kirin: We’re mates?
Ben: Just looking out for our friends.
Ollie: Big Red asked us. We were like, ‘Yeah, sweet.’
Critic: So for you, is hosting good for like, street cred?
All the Big Red boys start laughing and point to one of the Horn residents taping up a window ledge. “Yeah, especially this guy.”
To them, the idea of not helping out hadn’t even crossed their minds. Big Red needed help, and the budding bromance between them and Horn Palace was pure and sweet. Even though the host is at Horn Palace, Big Red is paying for all of it. For a single night, the 15 boys have had to fork out around $3900 for essentials such as lights, smoke cannons, the setup from Gravity Events, and the DJs. One of the Horn boys is letting Big Red hire his own personal decks at mates rates, which they all seem a bit relieved about.
The Proctor comes round to Horn Palace and seems pleased with how things turned out. With the neighbour’s property manager getting his way and the boys having a place to host, he has no reason to expect further issues. “Are you guys nervous about being the best host? Is it a competitive kind of thing?” I ask. They all shift their feet and look at each other. “Not really,” Ollie offers humbly. “If there’s like ten people it’d be pretty dry, but hopefully we get like fifty or a hundred people or like more… Yeah, like the other hosts.”
There’s a slight nervousness in the air. Expectations are high. This might be the last ‘Red-Out’ the street ever sees. It won’t be the same. A law professor tells Critic that if Big Red has a legal right to use the driveway, blocking them from doing so may be an interference with this right. But the boys won’t argue it. There’s not enough time, and this is just the way things are now.
Imagine a prison, but not just any prison — a circular one. A ring of cells, each facing inward toward a central watchtower where a guard stands and overlooks all the inmates. But there’s a twist: the prisoners can’t see inside the tower. They have no idea when the guard is watching, or if there’s even a guard in there at all. Because they might be watched at any given moment, they act as if they always are. They behave. They follow the rules. They fear the punishment. And that, French philosopher Michel Foucault argued, is how power really works. Not by brute force, but by making people surveil and discipline themselves.
It could be said that Big Red is one of Castle’s many metaphorical “prisons” and the Clocktower is more of a watchtower. Several hundred CCTV cameras survey the streets, Campus Watch is on patrol 24/7, and the threat of phone cameras (or rather, videos ending up in front of the Proctor) have all forced the hands of residents to ‘behave’ according to the ideals of authorities.
In 2023, police received only 13 call-outs to Castle Street — down from 51 in 2021, even in the midst of multiple COVID-19 lockdowns. The disappearance of weekly street parties has led 61% of students to declare that Castle Street is now "dead," according to last year’s Critic census. There were reportedly zero couch burnings during O-Week this year, an absence so notable it’s made national news. Last year, one of the biggest parties — Lakehouse’s St. Paddy’s host — had gone from a grassroots piss-up to a sponsored event with a PR-focus on "safe drinking". Events like ‘Courtchella’ are now wrist-banded and ticketed to minimise property damage. Gone are the days when the bond was just an additional rent payment you’d never see again. Even Big Red tells Critic the flat is keen to get their bond back in full.
Of course, this new-normal is being welcomed by many. When Critic asked why Big Red were prevented from using the shared driveway for their host, Fridge’s property manager Matt Morton had a straightforward answer: “There have been serious incidents already in the past with a balcony collapse during a large party on Castle Street, ending in a student becoming permanently disabled [...] With potential liabilities for a property owner, why would they agree and sanction a third-party using their property for a [host]? I cannot think of any reason why any owner would ever agree to that.”
Then there are the gang rumours that swirl around ‘Red-Out’ every year. According to legend, the night coincides with a Mongrel Mob initiation — one that involves assaulting female students. Yet on the day, no one seems particularly concerned about a looming gang presence. Finlay assures Critic he doesn’t know whether the rumours are true, as he’s “not in contact with any gangs” (we’d hope not, Finlay). Campus Watch are tight-lipped, stating it’s against policy to speak to Critic Te Ārohi. We do know that several girls’ flats were reportedly ‘red-flagged’ — a practice where gang members supposedly mark ‘easy targets’ ahead of the night. But a source tells Critic that one of these so-called flags was actually just a small piece of a hat mistakenly left behind by a tenant. This only fuelled the other theory: the rumours are a scare tactic to stop freshers showing up to Castle parties uninvited.
Even if gang initiations are a myth, there is still a history of safety concerns that many would argue justifies the University’s oversight. A University of Otago spokesperson tells Critic: “Every year, the Proctor’s Office proactively engages with flats identified as hosting major parties during [...] Orientation Week [...] to address safety risks and Code of Student Conduct expectations. The University’s involvement in connection with student parties is educative and pastoral [...] The primary objective of our CCTV network is student safety.” The spokesperson also wished to note that more than 90% of requests to review camera footage originate from students themselves and that the Proctor’s Office and Campus Watch “consistently perform highly” in annual student satisfaction surveys.
But safety doesn’t explain every instance of the Uni’s control over students’ private affairs. In 2018, it was discovered that the Proctor had illegally trespassed into multiple student flats to confiscate and destroy their bongs. He later sincerely apologised for his actions (prompting an OUSA Exec member to say, “We just decided to forgive him, [but] there will still be a protest; there will still be an expression of emotion.”) That same year, a member of Campus Watch took offence at Critic’s ‘Menstruation’ issue cover, and confiscated and burned the copies; sparking an outcry over censorship that made international headlines (at one point, reaching #1 on The Guardian UK, above Donald Trump’s talks with North Korea).
And then there’s the growing number of tenancy clauses that prevent students from hosting parties in their own flats.
When Critic asked members of the Law Faculty whether these clauses were legal or interfered with the right to “quiet enjoyment of property” we seemed to hit a legal grey area — they didn’t know the answer (though Tenancy Services’ website states these clauses are “likely unenforceable”).
But landlords don’t need to worry whether these clauses are legal, when students self-enforce them without question. Nowadays, parties are smaller, antics are tamer, and the consequences are clearer — even when they are empty, black-letter threats.
11pm: The Last ‘Red-Out’
I’m now following Big Red’s journey on Instagram because my flat can’t muster the energy to go out on a Monday night (and I’d rather eat worms than be caught at a host by myself). The Instagram stories show a slow start, but hope isn’t lost. Sluggish starts have been typical of this year's O-Week, except for Courtyard’s ‘Back to School,’ which saw people drinking at 9 am.
By 11 pm, Castle Street has finally kicked off. Dressed in pyjama pants and a red hoodie (both for support and to avoid being mistaken for a fresher), I wander over sober to find the boys have pulled off the impossible. Without knowing the past twelve hours of drama, you’d think they had wanted to move the host down the road themselves.
The vibes are high. A half-crumpled RTD can lands at my feet, a cry of “fucking freshers!” echoes in the distance, and my co-worker Jono somehow ropes a senior constable into an interview – a surprise, considering police had been telling me “no comment” all night.
The constable explains that police have negotiated with the Dunedin City Council and the mayor’s office to hold off noise control complaints until the predetermined cutoff: midnight. “The students are really magnificent,” he says, praising their obedience in unplugging speakers at the stroke of twelve. The constable insists he’s a “great believer” in Dunedin-style street parties, but struggles to reconcile their size with the capacity of the flats, calling it “a recipe for disaster.”
There’s a running joke in the Critic office that all investigations eventually lead back to the closure of student bars — and this was no exception. Instead of putting down the pints and picking up the books, as the Uni may have hoped, students turned to flat parties en masse as the last remaining venue for the ‘Otago experience.’
The constable isn’t wrong, but it’s hard to ignore how different these rules are from the freedoms these same adults once enjoyed. Even Vice-Chancellor Grant Robertson, when asked last year in a sit-down interview with Critic about his own days living on Castle Street, hesitated before answering. “Um no, yeah, I dunno,” he stuttered. “I better be careful here, but yeah. I mean, look, you know, we enjoyed ourselves.”
I ask the boys of Big Red if they’re enjoying themselves. They reckon the host is going “real well,” all things considered. If the flat can claw back their right to host from the landlord by next semester, it won’t be the last time the street sees them behind the decks, hands waving to the crowd. But in the likely scenario they can't, the flat plans to pass their hosting duties along to someone else.
As I trek off into the night, back to my bed, I take one last glance at the red-crowd with a silly sense of melancholy. Two streets over, the bass has already faded. By the time I reach my front door, it’s silent.
The adrenaline and lawlessness that students expect from Castle legends have been swept up and zip-tied. Students are bored. The collapse of student culture feels a bit like living in the aftermath of an indescribable disaster or death. Although today's students have never witnessed it, nor can specify what has died, the feeling of loss lingers on campus. As one former Critic Editor penned in his last editorial: "There is no student body. It doesn’t exist. There is no cohesive group of students. Everyone has retreated so far into individualism, into digital and physical isolation, that an overall sense of community has been lost.”
But culture doesn’t vanish cleanly. Every few years, resistance to authority starts bubbling up. Flats, eager to reclaim their ‘traditions,’ start chasing a past they’ve never even known, a past that ceased to exist before they ever set foot on campus. And, inevitably, shit hits the fan.
The most recent example of this in collective memory is initiation-gate, where abusive hazing activities between second-years and freshers erupted in a national scandal. It started with a tub of water, an iPhone, and the abuse of a live eel. Then more initiation stories re-surfaced: freshers forced to strip and watch porn, urinated on, pelicaning (vomiting into each other’s mouths), chain-smoking inside a sealed wheelie bin, and being pelted with frozen eggs, which left a student blind in one eye, to name a few.
Many participants defended these initiations as a ‘rite of passage’ and an ‘Otago tradition.’ But upon investigation, they weren’t really a tradition at all — in fact, they were younger than the students themselves. What, then, was really being preserved? These initiations seemed less like heritage and more an assertion of dominance. ‘Tradition’ is a word easily thrown around by a student population desperate to resurrect a lost identity.
This struggle to preserve ‘tradition’ recently hit Big Red on a much more personal level. One thing inherently accepted about the flat, is that it’s boys-only. Last year, when rumours circulated that DNA Property Management was specifically selecting female tenants to soften Big Red’s reputation, many people were unhappy, including the male tenants at the time.
One section of the flat was offered to a group of girls, set to move in on February 17th this year. But they never signed. I reached out to one of them, Diana*, to ask why. Isn’t turning down Big Red the equivalent of Kamala Harris getting elected and then giving up the presidency? She tells me they received both direct and indirect threats from male students warning of short and long-term consequences if they moved in.
After Diana’s viewing, word spread like wildfire that girls were being offered Big Red, and everyone had something to say about it. Even a 2008 article from the Otago Daily Times states, “The boys' flats line the eastern side and the girls the west,” with Big Red sitting at the most Eastern point. “Surely [you] must have noticed,” a student interviewed suggests.
Gendered segregation wasn’t the only tradition the girls threatened to uproot. Until last year, it was Big Reds’ right to hand-pick which freshers would take over the flat in
renovations. Not being hand-picked was at the forefront of Diana* and her flat’s minds when deciding to turn down the lease. They feared Big Red would be broken into by old tenants “in a rage” that girls were now living there. If the male residents could no longer control Castle, they would at least control who lived there.
Like an ouroboros eating its own tail, students keep trying to resurrect a culture they’ve never actually lived, only to watch it collapse again. And some will go to irrational lengths — harassment, misogyny, and hazing activities indistinguishable from abuse — if it means keeping what little ‘tradition’ remains in their grasp.
The Next Day
The morning after, Castle is eerily quiet. I get the sense I’m in a much better state than the residents — probably curled up in a fetal position or off on dusty Maccas runs. The odds of them making their 9am lectures seem low. Horn Palace’s front yard is buried under stomped boxes and crushed cans. A single red wig lies abandoned in the gutter. In the distance, Big Red looks untouched, as if the night never happened.
Despite the location swap, the theme of Big Red’s host remained non-negotiable. I asked Finlay if he ever considered departing from the ‘Red-Out’ theme, but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Wearing red has been synonymous with the host for as long as anyone can remember.
It turns out some aspects of Castle Street are so entrenched that even landlords can’t undo them.
Last year, Big Red’s landlord optimistically planned major renovations for the flat, including a complete repaint of the exterior. While many of the changes went ahead, the ‘minty sage’ repaint never happened. I ask Finlay why Big Red didn’t turn into Big Mint. “I’m pretty sure this is a legacy building. So, the Council was like, ‘Nah, you’re not allowed to paint it.’”
And so, with traditions slipping through their fingers like sand, the students finally got a win — though not by their own hand. Big Red stayed red, not because of student defiance, or even the landlord’s will, but because the Dunedin City Council, the ultimate authority, said so.
Once, students set couches ablaze in the middle of this street. Now, they peek through curtains before
Nā Heeni Koero Te Rerenoa Ngāti Hine, Te Rarawa, Te Waiariki
The Month That Doesn’t Sleep
Whebruary
While the world recovers from New Year’s sluggishness, Māoridom hits the ground running – protesting, performing, protecting, and proving that mana Māori is as relentless as ever. For Māori, February isn’t just the second month of the year; it’s a battleground, a stage, and a rallying cry all at once. From the fierce competition of Te Matatini week, to the Treaty Principles Bill submission hearings, and the crowds at Waitangi, February was a collision of politics, culture, and activism.
Te Matatini: The Pinnacle of Passion and Protest
Te Matatini o Te Kāhui Maunga 2025 was kapa haka at its most unapologetic. Every bracket was a statement that this wasn’t just a competition, but a showcase of endurance, defiance, and a reminder that kapa haka remains one of the sharpest tools of Māori resistance.
That resistance was reflected not just in the performances, but in the sheer scale of the event. A new pool, Te Awa, was introduced to accommodate the surge of new rōpū emerging from last year’s regional competitions, jumping from 46 to 55
teams – a testament to kapa haka’s unstoppable growth. More teams meant fiercer competition, tighter margins, and higher stakes; every second on stage had to count. From aprons and top hats, to poppies and political banners, the stage is both a soapbox and a battlefield. Among those taking that stage were former members of Te Rōpū Māori Students Association, now performing with some of the most elite rōpū in the country.
With more voices on the field, the statements became even louder. Mōtai Tangata Rau (Waikato) and Ngā Purapura o Te Tai Hauāuru (Taranaki) turned history into protest, taking the stage in colonial-era attire. It was a stark visual reminder of the narratives kapa haka continues to challenge. Angitū (Tāmaki Makaurau) pushed the boundaries of tradition and technology, delivering a haka penned by artificial intelligence, warning of its dangers while proving that nothing can replace the power of human expression. But some statements cut deeper than spectacle alone. Frustration with the political climate bled into performances, with rōpū using the stage to call out those they believe have failed Māori – none more directly than Winston Peters. Te Pikikōtuku o Ngāti Rongomai (Te Arawa) kept it all too human, delivering a blistering haka titled ‘Tangiweto’ (crybaby), taking aim at his anti-Māori
rhetoric and selective whakapapa. Quoting Hana-Rāwhiti Maipi-Clarke, they made their stance clear: moumou tō toto Māori – a waste of Māori blood.
But kapa haka is not just a stage for protest; it is also a vessel for remembrance, honour, and aroha. Emotion ran deep as waiata mourning the recent losses of Dame Tariana Turia and Ricky Mitai echoed through the stadium. Many rōpū (groups) paid tribute to the late Kīngi Tūheitia, while the new Māori Queen, Te Arikinui Ngā Wai Hono i te Pō, was embraced by the masses. Her ascension was acknowledged in a wave of powerful performances that reaffirmed whakapapa, tradition, and the enduring strength of Te Ao Māori.
Despite this being the first Te Matatini without renowned champions Te Mātārae i Ōrehu, Te Arawa’s dominance remains unshaken, with four of their five rōpū securing a place in Te Matangirua, the finals stage. They were joined by several renowned rōpū, including 2023 winners, Te Kapa Haka o Te Whānau-a-Apanui.
Te Kuru Marutea (Te Tauihu), stole the hearts of the people, and won the new People’s Choice Award with a waiata tira that went viral on Tiktok and Youtube, amassing over 4,000 votes and securing its place in everyone’s Māori hour. Meanwhile, Te Kapa Haka o Ngāti Whakaue (Te Arawa) took first place, their winning bracket a tribute to Sir Bom Gillies (‘Koro Bom’), the last surviving member of the 28th Māori Battalion, who passed away in November at age 99. Known for his humility, he accepted a knighthood in 2021 – not for himself, but as a tribute to all his Māori Battalion comrades. Their winning bracket was dedicated to him, a heartfelt tribute woven through waiata, haka, and sweet old-school charm.
Triumphant moments such as these highlight the very soul of Te Matatini. But beyond the trophies and titles, the festival itself continues to evolve – not just as a competition, but as a platform that continues to push the boundaries of kapa haka. With more teams, more voices, and an ever-expanding stage, the question now is not just who will take the podium in 2027, but how the competition itself will evolve to meet the unstoppable momentum of te ao haka.
Waitangi Day: See More, Say Less
Marked by tension, protest, and the usual political theatrics, Waitangi Day 2025 did not disappoint. ACT leader David Seymour – never one to miss an opportunity to test his luck in Māori spaces – found himself abruptly muted when the mic was taken from him mid-speech. Twice. Whether an act of protest or divine intervention, the moment summed up a general sentiment: some kōrero is better left unsaid.
Meanwhile, a group of wāhine Māori from Te Tai Tokerau delivered their own message loud and clear – all without saying a word. Draped in red blankets adorned with Tino Rangatiratanga and He Whakaputanga flags, they turned their
backs on Tama Potaka and the government delegation, a silent but cutting rejection of the proposed Treaty Principles Bill. With concerns that the bill seeks to box Te Tiriti into a narrow, Pākehā-defined framework, the response was unmistakable: Māori sovereignty isn’t up for rewording. Māori were not in the mood for empty rhetoric. From the silent resistance of the wāhine to the literal silencing of Seymour, the day carried a clear message: Māori are watching, Māori are speaking, and, most importantly, Māori will decide when to listen.
Treaty Principles Bill: The Fine Print of Power
The Treaty has never been the problem, the Crown’s failure to uphold it has. For decades, Māori have fought not against Te Tiriti, but for it, demanding the government honour its promises on land, healthcare, justice, and equality. Instead, the state has dragged its feet, ignored its obligations, and twisted the Treaty’s intent to suit its agenda. Now, the same government that has failed to deliver wants to rewrite the rules.
The Treaty Principles Bill, spearheaded by ACT leader David Seymour, is a blatant attempt to strip Te Tiriti from the law, severing Māori rights from the foundations of the nation. But Māori aren’t fooled – this isn’t a reset, it’s an escape plan. The Crown doesn’t get to break the deal and then rewrite the contract.
Thousands of submissions have flooded the hearings, the overwhelming majority in opposition. Māori leaders, legal experts, and everyday whānau have lined up to condemn the bill, dismantling its so-called justification piece by piece. Academics have called it legally incoherent, iwi representatives have called it a betrayal, and submitters have made it personal – because it is. Outside the hearing sessions, protests have amplified the rejection, while internationally, Indigenous and human rights groups have sounded the alarm. The bill has made headlines beyond Aotearoa, drawing comparisons to other settler-state tactics of erasure and control. For a government claiming to champion democracy, ignoring a tidal wave of opposition isn’t a good look.
But while the opposition has been fierce, the bill has also drawn its share of predictable supporters. Former National MP and Thames-Coromandel mayor Sandra Goudie, best remembered for refusing the Pfizer vaccine in 2021, appeared via Zoom to back the bill, offering a submission that was as baffling as it was revealing. Speaking with only her forehead in frame, she claimed there was unprecedented favouritism toward Māori, took aim at Māori businesses for only paying 17.5 percent tax, misrepresenting the tax laws that govern Māori authorities, and questioned why non-Māori didn’t have their own Waitangi Tribunal. By the end of her ten-minute submission, the response from the committee made it clear that little of what she had said carried weight.
As hearings continue, the divide couldn’t be clearer. On one side, Māori, legal scholars, and seasoned politicians are calling out the bill for what it is, an attempt to invalidate Te Tiriti’s power. On the other, the government’s case is being propped up by misinformation, revisionist history, as well as sheer incoherence and ignorance. If this is the intellectual firepower behind the bill, it’s no wonder the opposition is growing stronger by the day.
Taranaki Maunga: Mountains Don’t Move, Neither Do We
In a historic shift, the Treaty of Waitangi settlement for Taranaki Maunga passed its second and third reading in Parliament. As part of the settlement, the name ‘Mt Egmont’ (named after a European settler) will be officially retired, and Egmont National Park will be renamed Te Papa-Kura-oTaranaki, meaning ‘the highly regarded and treasured lands of Taranaki’. Furthermore, the mountain’s highest peak will be recognised as Taranaki Maunga.
Under the new framework, the national park and everything within it will be granted legal personhood, effectively owning itself. Its peaks will collectively be known as Te Kāhui Tupua. Yet, as with all so-called settlements, the struggle didn’t end there. The finer details of the agreement – who speaks for Taranaki, how governance is structured, and whether the Crown’s grip on decision-making truly loosens – are still playing out. Tensions flared in February as iwi representatives and the Crown negotiated the final stages of the settlement, with concerns mounting over whether the new governance model will genuinely uphold tino rangatiratanga or become another bureaucratic bottleneck. Meanwhile, environmental and development pressures continue to test the boundaries of personhood, raising the question: does legal status protect Taranaki, or just reframe the fight? One thing remains clear: mountains don’t move, and neither do the people who stand for them.
Business As Usual, Resistance As Always
February might be the shortest month, but in Aotearoa it stretches long in memory, leaving a trail of haka, headlines, and history in the making. While politicians scramble to redefine history, Māori are busy proving that the real authority lies with the people, the whenua, and the voices that refuse to be silenced. From the stages of Te Matatini to the submission floors of Parliament, the message is the same: Māori will not be sidelined, rewritten, or erased. February isn’t just a month – it is a movement, and it doesn’t end when the calendar flips.
Top Ropu (“Top Artists”):
1. Te Kapa Haka o Ngāti Whakaue
2. Ngāti Rangiwewehi
3. Ngā Tūmanako
Matatini Wrapped: 5 days
55 rōpū
2200+ kaihaka
70,000 attendees
2.5 million viewers
Treaty Principles Bill: 80 hours of hearings
300,000+ online submissions
Taranaki Maunga Settlement: 160 years
1.2 million acres stolen
The
I had always heard of bush doofs, and honestly, it sounded like some proper hippy shit. But when my name spawned in a mysterious meta server promoting an addy-to-be-confirmed neck-of-thewoods DNB-electro-psych doof to end all doofs, I knew something temptingly chaotic was on the horizon. My native Aucklander self thought, “Fuck no, that is not me.” My seven-year Dunedin-vetted self, though? “Fuck yeah, that is me.” I swear I felt the call of the wild right then and there: the blood in my veins started pumping, heart racing, nose twitching, lungs hungry. With an open mind, I clicked "Going". But could my mind be opened even further?
A Bush Doof Epic
By Ella Grayson Illustrated by Jimmy Tannock
Bush doofs might be a modern thing (the term popped up in ‘92), but let’s be real – Woodstock walked so doofs could run. It’s all about peace, love, and controlled madness set to a mind-bending soundtrack. The word ‘doof’ is just onomatopoeia for the sound of the bass of music, and honestly, if they had the tech in the 1960s they might’ve been pumping that shit too. It’s not often you get to dive into a raw, free-spirited community, and I figured this was my chance. I had no idea what to expect as a bush doof virgin. Neither did my mates. So, like Max stepping into his boat to find the Wild Things, into the wild we went.
The plan was as solid as it was gonna get, and thus, the wild rumpus would start. The coordinates dropped and we were on our own to find the way. The location? Unreal. Somewhere in the whop-whops of Central Otago, the sun beamed down, mountains stretched for miles, and one stage perched in an open field while the other three were deep in native bush. Imagine the midsummer night host from Saltburn, but add a little Mad Max dystopia. No reception. No distractions. Just us and the wild.
It was as if we were put in a time capsule, taken back to our once primitive days as big-foreheaded, chest beating neanderthal-esque creatures. Isolated and untouchable, neither prey or predator. At peace at the top. That is, until you see a phone. Imagine showing a phone to a caveman: it’d be eaten or smashed against a wall, or chucked into the fire like my mum did that time. No signal? No problem!
Don’t be a brain-rotted scroller at a doof. Find the balance between living in the moment and capturing memories. Respect the fact that most people are absolutely waved, and that especially means don’t wave your phone in their shit. Consent always matters. Some photos are best left un-snapped – events like this can be reputation-ruiners. So, embrace the lack of service, disconnect, and let yourself get lost.
Biggest piece of advice: PLAN YOUR OUTFIT, DOG! The night before the doof, I chucked some random clothing in a bag without a care in the world. I was so wrong. I would end up caring – a lot (I’m just a girl). This weekend was all about the nomadic lifestyle; we ended up getting ready by a river with no mirrors and only each other's guidance. Trying to get ready in 26 degree heat was a very moist task; several outfit changes later, I finally landed on something that made me feel bush doof as hell. I only packed my hiking boots for this trip which turned out to be the best decision of the outfit. I ended up walking loosely 21km.
Coupled with a pair of jorts, I truly felt like a Werner Herzog going out into zee nature. I decided to take a risk as a ginger and wear only a bikini top paired with a scarf and newsboy cap to try to give sun smart. No hat, no play. At a doof, you’ll never be the weirdest, wildest, or most interesting thing out there. Crochet, goretex, Furries, Patagonia, Birkenstocks, Red Bands, knits, RM Williams. Shoes? Optional. Be ready to see a lot of dogs out there and maybe get yours out too.
That day – you name it, I saw it. And sometimes smelt it. Everyone is rich in self-expression, with “everything” on display. My style advice? Be yourself, but tap into your hippy, alty, druggy, granola-core vibe. Everyone has it, so don’t be a snobby bum. Overall, no one really cared because it was so chill. So long as you didn’t bother
anyone else, no one bothered you. It was liberating – a temporary escape into a different reality.
I like to think of myself as open-minded, but when I saw my first set of free-range boobs, I was in awe. Just hanging loose in the breeze like it was the most normal thing in the world. That was my moment of realisation –this wasn’t just a party; this was a full-blown psychedelic social experiment. And that was just the opening act. The main event was a symphony of substances, beats, and raw human energy that carried us through the night into a kaleidoscopic trance.
Be prepared to lose your mates (and your minds) and always have a meeting point. Despite the chaos, I never felt unsafe. The event was well-equipped with a medic tent, plenty of food and water, and high-quality toilets. Friendly volunteers were always around, ready for a good yarn. They provided insightful and engaging education on safe practices. Their service throughout the night was exceptional – definitely a valuable presence (just a lil shout out to the homies).
Bush doofs and drugs go together like first-years and Scrumpy hands. Acid tripping, pure ecstasy, ganja, alcohol – hell, even a bitta horsey. Expect it all, but don’t be that guy. If you’re gonna dabble in the chemical arts, know what you’re getting into. This shit has been happening since the dawn of time (don’t fact-check me), and if Jesus was out here turning water into wine, life has always been a party.
Get your drugs tested. Doofers do drugs. For legal reasons, I was SO sober that night. For real-life reasons, I ended up sitting under a tree sweating absolute balls, spiraling into a kaleidoscopic void of my own. But like a phoenix, I rose from the ashes, did some mindfulness, and rejoined the living. Others weren’t so lucky. Humans lay scattered through the bush in various states of consciousness. Yet somehow, everyone seemed content, floating through their own minds. Moral of the story? Know your limits, don’t mix recklessly, and for the love of the Wild Things, don’t try new shit (especially psychedelics) at a doof. If alcohol is your vibe, no glass, no littering, and sometimes you gotta turn the wine back to water.
Would I go again? Fucking aye. See you where the Wild Things are. Bush doofs: a place where mushrooms might change your life, where you lose yourself to find yourself, and yeah – maybe a place to catch a view of a few rogue titties too.
“I saw my first set of freerange boobs”
Stomach churning, palms sweating, panic creeping in. You’re sitting in a lecture, when suddenly *that* feeling hits. Guaranteed to get you down in the dumps for the rest of the day, it’s a fight that you know you can’t win: You have to take a shit on campus,
Whether you’re lactose intolerant, pee-shy or just looking for somewhere to cry, use this handy list to plan your next evacuation points if you feel your tummy rumble.
2nd Floor Science Library
Your choice of floor in this liminal-space of a library greatly changes the game when it comes to toilet time. Ground floor has no toilets, relegating you to the stalls of the busy Science III foyer. First floor has only one-to-two stalls, and the most traffic of any floor. But on the second floor, a safe haven awaits after the asthma-inducing flights of stairs.
Fully enclosed rooms beckon those who brave the stairs, long enough so that anybody waiting should not hear you get down to business. They’re in a foyer too, relatively private from the rest of the library. If you’ve just departed your 500-person lecture in St Dave’s, sprint here for the personal space you’ve been craving for the last hour. Alternatively, if you’re in the library to get metaphorical shit done, use this wonderful room to take an extended doom scroll break from your study sesh.
Best for: Productive procrastination
Beware of: Sometimes stinky
Microbiology Building
Sporting the freshest reno on this list, the Microbiology building has forgone gendered stalls on every other floor for private, genderneutral swanky toilets. The higher up you go in the building, the quieter the toilets get, and the less freshers you encounter. But don’t go too high, you may stumble into a lab and accidentally cause an outbreak of a disease much worse than Fresher Flu.
The toilets always appear to be clean (but being microbiology, the worst germs leftover from labs can’t be seen), making it the perfect place to poop without concern. The sciencey surroundings can make you feel smart too, as you giggle at all the scientific terms for pooping. Excreting, voiding, bowel movements, faecal deposits etc.
Best for: Taking unnecessarily long breaks during your labs
Beware of: Going at the wrong time and having to fight with a thousand freshers waiting for their lab
Te Korokoro o te Tui
Nestled behind Robertson, this safe haven guarantees you one of the most tranquil dumps of your life, despite the irony of being inside of the music department. Critic did not spot a single other soul on their visit, but did spot a printer next to the toilets in the foyer. Those wanting to multitask can kill two birds with one stone, while saving the awkward hover around the printer.
This entry features the only stalls on the list (not that you’re likely to encounter anyone else), but there is a fully-enclosed and gender neutral wharepaku available as well. The toilets themselves smelt the best of any bathroom on campus, and sported a funky mural by the sinks to gaze at as you wash your hands. An airblade dryer replaces the usual paper towels, making you feel like an ecolegend.
Best for: Peace and quiet
Beware of: Noise – all the music studios are soundproofed, not the
Law Library Toilets
These toilets have a layout as equally confusing as the library they’re found in. Sandwiched between floors within the internal stairwells (because apparently law students are too good to be connected to the rest of the Richardson), lie private and isolated
Few other spots on campus give you this much concrete to stare at, despite being ten floors above Dunners. This provides the perfect sensory deprivation chamber in which to battle your intestinal-related demons that popped up in your study sesh. Rumour has it that sometimes there’s unguarded toilet paper to take back to the flat, to go along with the stash of stuff you take from SOULS by impersonating a law student.
Dungeon vibes
Hungover law students fighting for their lives
The Bidet: 2nd Floor Business School
Located conveniently above Te Mātiti, The Business School Cafe, the toilets here provide a quick escape for when your recentlychugged ice coffee meets its ultimate demise in your bowels. The toilets here are in a separate room of eight, gender-neutral, fully enclosed toilets. But one of these toilets is special, hosting (to Critic’s knowledge) the only bidet on campus.
Bidets are widely adopted in other cultures, but us in the West are lagging behind. Being more environmentally friendly, more hygienic and better at not clogging up pipes, there are many benefits to be noted. Armed with this knowledge and relentless optimism, the fifteen button panel was a marvel to gaze at. Bonus points because the toilet seat is heated, perfect for those 8am winter shits.
As a bidet novice, the presence of the ‘turbo wash’ button was concerning, so the much safer auto wash was selected. What occurred next was perhaps the longest thirty seconds of my uni-life, being pelted with what could only be described as the jet-setting of your backyard hose. Just when you think it’s over, it dries you too. But it burnt (like seriously, it hurt). Critic should warn any interested readers that the bidet does not appear to stop automatically either, because the bathroom door was shot with the same jet of water upon standing up.
Best for: The environment and health
Beware of: Knowing how to use a bidet without accidentally traumatising yourself
Bonus Round: Ask Otago Help Desk
Critic didn’t ask in time.
Best for: Changing your timetable and underwear
Beware of: The line of freshers behind you
Bonus Bonus: Gender Neutral/Disabled Bathrooms
Due to the building and planning laws that exist in Aotearoa, for a toilet to be considered gender-neutral, it must be fully-enclosed and have its own sink. Roomy, private and comfortable: attributes for the perfect dump in a public place. As gender neutral/all gender toilets, these can be used by anyone. However, most gender neutral bathrooms on campus also double as the accessible disabled toilet – often the sole one available. Though the Uni committed to building more gender neutral toilets more than a decade ago (check out 2023’s ‘Bureaucracy, Constipated’ for our coverage), gender neutral bathrooms are still in short supply on campus, essentially forcing queer and disabled people to compete for the shitter. Great.
Genderqueer students deserve affirming bathrooms that they feel safe in, and that aren't on the other side of campus, and disabled students need accessible bathroom spaces; room for a power chair, space for assistance, a table to change a colostomy bag or check insulin. However, these two marginalised groups find others in their already limited single bathrooms. There's already been a
The water is never as cold as you think it is. But the only way to find out is to jump on in. This is a philosophy that the Early Risers Crew embraces headfirst. The group, run by Keira Hill alongside her friend Jess Flemming, meet up at St. Kilda Beach every Thursday morning for a sunrise swim followed by a coffee mish to The Long Dog Cafe. 'Tis never a good day to be a small flat white.
Keira recounts that a delayed flight from a Wellington weekend session for the Whanake o Te Kōpara leadership course brought the idea for the club to fruition. While stranded together in October 2023, the original group of four decided on using sunrise swimming as a way to form new relationships with people that "you wouldn't usually cross paths with," while creating a safe space to "slow down and appreciate the small things in life."
Rumour has it that a polar plunge gives you more dopamine than a line of cocaine (I know which one I'd rather do). While some will call it psychopathic, Keira will tell you that the swim is the best way to start your day.
Every Thursday, the group meets just before sunrise on the beachfront of the St Kilda Surf Life Saving Club. Sometimes Jess and Keira will play a game to get everyone warmed up before heading into the water, but it’s also common for people to come and not swim – either because they got cold feet or just turned up for the vibes. Keira laughs saying she’s not exactly parked up on shore "yelling [...] 'Get in the water!'" at everyone. "If you don't wanna swim that's so fine," she says; everyone's more than welcome to "come and have a coffee afterwards."
The Early Risers Crew
Collabing with larger clubs and organisations helped the Early Risers to gain traction, such as working with Te Oraka (the Sustainability Office) last year to provide hot drinks and baking on the beach for an event series called Break Bites. Their Sunrise Yoga collab with the Otago University Nutrition Association was also a big hit. The group also featured on TVNZ’s Breakfast show, with a live broadcast of over 70 attendees sprinting into the sharp swells of the ocean.
Keira says her biggest challenge now is to "keep it engaging and fresh," while still maintaining the "essence of the club.”
Keira says she’s keen to “do something with Oranga Saunas,” a company which takes their wood-fired ‘hot box’ to beachfront spots across Ōtepoti. She also alludes that “a run club collab is probably in the works.” These collabs would complete the holy trinity of self-torture, combining endurance, hypothermia, and heatstroke all under one umbrella.
Joining the Early Risers Crew is a great way to take a break from the concrete jungle of North Dunedin. Keira explains that "connection to environmental and physical spaces can be a really good contributor to our wellbeing." Now’s your chance to trade in your freezing cold flat for the freezing cold ocean, to kickstart your day with the beauty of the beach and the beauty of meeting new people.
If you want to be part of the Early Risers Crew all you have to do is turn up. Even in the dark depths of winter they meet every Thursday but check their Instagram @theearlyriserscrew for updates.
By Jonathan McCabe
Watching all 137 Nicolas Cage Films
Throwingaway thekey
Reader’s note: This column has been in the works since the 30th of July 2024. Welcome to the Cage.
As Critic’s designated pop culture expert, I have been a fan of films for a very long time. This often manifested as becoming obsessed with one particular actor's work in a given moment (in 2023 it was Bill Hader, for example). Most recently it has been Nicolas Cage. Nicolas. Fucking Cage. My journey started when head designer Evie and I went and saw Longlegs starring the Cage. It was fine. 3 stars out of 5. Fell flat in the end but I was so invested in Cage’s odd performance. The makeup, the vocal delivery, and the facial expressions made all five minutes he was on screen so captivating. Cage has been a prominent actor since the 1980s and has even won an Academy Award. In two of my favourite sitcoms, Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Community, characters in the show have binge-watched all of his films. In the episode Safe House from Brooklyn Nine-Nine two of the characters are in a safe house with their only entertainment being every Nicolas Cage film (which one character is enthused about and the other is not but eventually comes around.) In the second episode of season five of Community, Introduction to Teaching, the residential film nerd Abed takes a class called 'Nicolas Cage: Good or Bad?’ where it drives him crazy trying to figure it out. I am willing to drive myself crazy to find out. I also want to use this as an opportunity to explore the tropes of his films, as well as film through the decades he appeared in film (1980-present).
I really love Adaption, which is super meta and odd. Conceptually I think Pig is cool (it’s like John Wick but pig instead of dog) but I found it rather boring. Cage did a lot of voice acting in kids films like G-Force, The Ant Bully, and The Croods.
By Jordan Irvine
Other films I have seen are Con Air (stacked cast, awful performance), Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse (incredible), It Could Happen to You
(fun enough) and The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent where he plays himself and gets recruited by the CIA to take down a drug dealer who is a big fan of the Cage. He swings from bizarre, to Oscar nom, to action star, to rom-com lead. As Jake Peralta put it: “The guy’s got range!” I began chronologically and used Wikipedia, Letterboxd, and IMDB to make sure I have the complete collection. Brubaker was first on the list, a film where he has an uncredited role as a prisoner. I did not see him but it was a decent film. The next film-thing, kinda, was a TV pilot called The Best of Times and it is clear Cage has been confusing from the start. He goes from singing 9 to 5 in a car wash in dungarees to having a monologue about how he is scared of being drafted into the war and ruining his future. This was insane and I’m amazed Evie watched half of it with me but I understand why she wanted the journey to stop. Fast Times at Ridgemont High was a rather awful film I don’t recommend and that’s not just because it lacks much presence from the Cage. The Outsiders is directed by Francis Ford Coppola (and isn’t that good). This is the last film where he is credited as Nicolas Coppola before he changed his name to Cage to avoid the nepo-baby allegations since he is FFC’s nephew. He chose the name Cage after Luke Cage and John Cage. Cool.
Total films watched: 4/137 Cageiness: Manageable Welfare Check: No concerns at this time
NAY:
Grow up, you’re not in a musical. Nobody wants to have their peace abruptly ripped from them like a vulture peeling the skin off a rodent’s carcass. If I’m ever strolling through the mall, minding my own business, and a flash mob suddenly breaks out, I fully intend to sue. Disturbing the peace is a crime. As far as I’m concerned, flash mobs are a bunch of show-ponies hellbent on commanding everyone’s attention, with the end-goal being to stroke their egos with a forced applause from any unfortunate onlookers caught in the blast-radius of cringe.
Now, I totally get the appeal of dance, and I myself am a fan of the artform; but jeepers, what are we doing, team?! We have dance studios and vacant sports fields for these things. If you absolutely have to rehearse and perform a colossal, 80-person dance routine, then do it well out of the way of others. Want people to see it?
Film it and put it on TikTok or something. Otherwise, at the very least, there should be someone with a megaphone who enters the selected public space ten minutes before the chaos begins, issuing a clear warning to anyone who values their peace that they are about to utterly violate it with a lethal dose of secondhand embarrassment.
A final point that needs to be stressed is that many flash mobs are unimpressive, generic, entry-level dance moves. This makes sense because it allows many less-experienced dancers to be involved and give it their all. Tragically, however, this means that the ONE potential spark of a redeeming quality of a flash
mob is immediately snuffed out. Even when the dancing is professionally choreographed, it’s hardly a blessing, considering that now you’re stuck watching a horde of dancers revelling in the destruction of your zen.
FLASH MOBS: YAY NAY?OR
YAY:
Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I swear flash mobs are redeemable – nay, important. Two words: Harlem. Shake.
In a world where going out in public puts one at risk of appearing in the background of a teen’s Tiktok dance, a flash mob would be a fucking breath of fresh air right about now – no editing, no screens, just pure unadulterated cringe the way the Lord intended. Humans are the social ape, our enhanced intelligence and language capacity makes us pack animals; in times aplenty we form herds. One could even say… mobs? It’s perfectly natural. Almost all cultures have a traditional or ceremonial dance, something passed on from generation to generation, something that the whole tribe knows and can join in on. Ancestral communal dances are the glue of society. It’s just that our society’s glue is the Macarena, which is humiliating. This could be a good thing.
Bear with me: Why has no one weaponised flash mobs yet?! It’s in the name really. If I didn’t know what flash mobs were and you told me one was coming to my work, I’d probably call a bomb squad and have a meltdown at my boss again. I do know what flash mobs are, and my reaction would be the same. Trapping someone with a flash mob is a yet unexplored avenue of human cruelty. I vote that we explore it, and the global reaction to James Corden’s mouse-onesie-clad dick-flopping publicity stunt is proof of concept.
Picture this: you’ve been lagging behind at the office. Due to employment laws, we can’t fire you. But you know what we can do, fucko? At 11:04am precisely you hear the squeaking of two dozen chairs pulling out from their desks, as the telltale intro to Pitbull’s ‘Fireball’ begins to play. You are stranded, surrounded; nowhere is safe – after all, the bigger they are the harder they fall, and this biggity boy’s a diggity-dawg. It is clear that none of us know all the moves, and you can hear perspirant grunting in the
off beats. A colleague faces the wrong wall for the group twerk. You are forced to watch and fakesmile as we struggle through the full four-minute duration. How much time did we spend on this? How did we do so much behind your back? What the fuck did you do to deserve this hell? But alas, you can only grin and applaud. What are you gonna do, get mad that we danced for you, you absolute psychopath?
I dunno, guys. Communal jump jam for the cause of evil sounds pretty sick. Count me in, bozos. And-a five, six, seven, eight.
Do you deserve a sweet little treat to get your energy up? Are you sick of spending your hard earned cash on teeny tiny muesli bars? Look no further because this week we have a banger, created by nutritionist Harriet Lidgard (for more recipes, check out her Insta @harriet_well or website harrietwell.com). Super yummy and packed with heaps of goodies, this muesli bar recipe blows any supermarket version out of the water. These are great to whip up at the start of the week and take into uni for that study grind. Enjoy, academic weapons :)
Ingredients:
½ cup rolled oats (blended to flour consistency)
2 cup roasted almonds (roughly chopped)
½ cup dried cranberries (roughly chopped)
2 Tbsp peanut butter
4 Tbsp honey
Instructions:
1 tsp vanilla essence ¼ tsp salt Chocolate chips to cover (optional) Sea salt (optional)
Step 1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees and line a baking tray with baking paper and set aside.
Step 2. Add the oats, almonds, cranberries, peanut butter, honey, vanilla essence and salt in a large bowl and mix until combined.
Step 3. Transfer the mixture into the baking tray and press firmly into an even layer.
Step 4. Bake for 20 mins until the edges are golden brown
Step 5.
completely cool. Slice into your preferred muesli bar sized servings.
Step 6. Once cooled and chopped, melt down some chocolate chips in the microwave. Dip the muesli pieces into the melted chocolate and then sprinkle a small amount of sea salt on each piece.
Store in an airtight container and enjoy a nutritious homemade snack throughout the week!
Muesli Bars
By Ruby Hudson
Time: 30 mins Price:$
By CHUNNY SwilliamsBill
BY Gin Swigmore
BAY & BARNESCHARDONNAY
A wise man once said to never start your wine drinking journey with expensive wines, because then the cheap shit will taste even worse.
Upon ignoring this advice, I quickly learned that the only thing better than an expensive bottle was a free one, especially when it’s stolen from your rich mate's wine cellar when his parents were at the supermarket. Naturally, my first experience with wine was when I was fifteen. It was a Riesling. Or maybe a Sav. Who would know, but it was a 2002 Felton Road.
6 Potatoes (medium size) (scribble: Choose a mix of what you like!)
Oil Salt Pepper
Ultimately, I ended up attempting to tackle sheep and chunnying on the carpet in the middle of the night, a high that only the finest quality of wine can bring.
Fresh vegetables of your choosing to serve (e.g. lettuce, tomatoes, red onion, avo, pickles)
Burger “Patty”
1 onion (diced)
500 g Beef Mince or 400 g Lisa's Mediterranean Falafel Mix
1 tsp dijon mustard
1 tsp tomato sauce (scribble: Don’t include the T-sauce or mustard if you are going for the falafel version)
I’ve been chasing that same high ever since, but with no one willing to donate a free or expensive wine I went for the next best thing: the cheapest and highest percentage bottle we could find. Say hello to Bay and Barnes Chardonnay.
2 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp dried oregano
2 tsp paprika
1 tsp dried thyme
Burger Sauce
3 Tbsp whole egg mayonnaise
1 ½ Tbsp tomato sauce
3 tsp pickle juice
Unlike that fancy Felton Road shit that appeals to people with a vague interest in René Magritte and middle-aged white people that only just realised they don’t have a hobby, Bay and Barnes take a more tacky approach, in what must be an attempt to feel like the Starbucks of wine brands.
1 tsp dijon mustard
3 tsp pickle relish (scribble: I use the Kev’s Pickled Gherkin Relish) Pepper
Even the label description on the back sounds like your recently single co-worker attempting to rally the troops for a night out after work on a Friday. “How’s about a Chardonnay?” Fuck, the bottle
is only one step off making a half-baked Boy reference.
As for taste, it’s a $10.99 bottle of shit wine. They’re all the exact same drink with different labelling anyway. It’s marketed towards the same people that drink Nitro – no one actually enjoys it, but it’s 13% and gets you fucked up. Chardonnay has the great upside of being potentially the most alcoholic white wine. In fact, if you’re feeling extra cheap, or fiending that extra bottle to drink on the benches of the Botans at 11am on a Tuesday, Liquorland has a deal for 2 for $20.
And if you’re really committed to writing yourself off, you can opt for Hardys Chardonnay: a 1-litre bottle of debauchery that comes in at an impressive 9.9 standards; it’ll get you fucked up before you can even say “1 mild butter-chicken and 1 garlic naan please.” If that’s not enough reason to do wine-hands this weekend, I don’t know what is.
Pairs well with: JA second bottle X-factor: Telling everyone that you're a fourth-year and don’t drink RTDs anymore Hangover Depression Level: 7/10. Like you're trapped inside the mind of Tim Burton Taste Rating: 4/10.
BDS EXPLAINED
BDS is a global movement launched in 2005 by Palestinian civil society, inspired by South Africa’s anti-apartheid movement. It is a non-violent campaign applying economic and political pressure to encourage compliance with international human rights law through:
Boycott – Avoiding products, companies, and institutions complicit in violations.
Divestment – Urging organisations to withdraw financial investments.
Sanctions – Calling for diplomatic or trade restrictions.
BDS targets institutions and businesses, not individuals. OUSA’s posture on BDS is not a stance on the broader conflict, nor does it target Israeli or Jewish students. OUSA is, and always will be, for all students. This position reflects OUSA’s commitment to ethical operations and student concerns.
Currently, OUSA does not engage with primary BDS targets, ensuring student funds are not spent in ways that contradict the movement’s principles. This does not dictate individual spending—no one’s
taking your Domino’s—it simply ensures OUSA aligns with student values.
The Exec has discussed BDS (as Critic has covered) and recognises that OUSA’s long-term commitment to the BDS position is a discussion for the entire student body. Until then, OUSA maintains its current posture and remains committed to transparency.
We encourage respectful and informed discussions about what students want from their association and what BDS means to them. There’s a good chance that there will be hard conversations around this issue – that’s just the nature of the issue. What will not be tolerated, regardless of your opinion, is people being intentionally intolerant and disrespectful to their fellow students.
As conversations continue, students are welcome to engage, ask questions, and contribute to shaping OUSA’s ethical responsibilities. In turn, we at OUSA want to make sure that all students are well informed, well educated but more importantly, well and truly a part of the decision-making process.
Jett Groshinski (Political Representative)
Your delulu optimism will be the only thing keeping you going this week. The whole world will be trying to drag you down but thank GOD for your rose tinted glasses. Just keep your head up and live like that motto on your mum's tea towels: keep on keeping on.
Your Body Mod: Brow piercing
Aquarius, you claim to be above the drama and a reformed gossiper but in reality you thrive on that shit. Your controversial opinions will probably stir up some arguments in class and your social life but remember not every debate needs to become a Ted Talk.
Your Body Mod: A tattoo you found on Pinterest
This week will bring a fair few awkward situations but your charm and ace shit talking abilities should drag you out. Just remeber not to lie too hard because at uni everyone knows everyone and one lie to the wrong person can get you fucked over.
Your Body Mod: Split tongue
You’re running on pure adrenaline this week and that's going to make you an absolute weapon. You'll have finished assignments weeks early and still be at the front of the mosh at Pint Night. When Saturday comes around, though, you will be in need of some serious bedrotting.
Your Body Mod: Genital piercings, your choice (didn't wanna research this one)
You have over committed yourself this week and you don't even know it. The stars advise you drop a few commitments but really the only thing that will be dropping is your average hours spent sleeping.
Your Body Mod: Belly button piercing
This week your need to have all your assignments done three days early will do you well, a new friend will ask to copy the tutorial task and though you let them, you will be silently judging them. But at least you have the decency to do it behind their backs.
Your Body Mod: Stretched ears
Your mysterious reputation continues to grow this week when you disappear for days without explanation. Turning off your snap location and being seen walking around South Dunedin will work best but not going to your classes also works. Remember, perception is more important than education.
Your Body Mod: Your first lobes
Feelings? You have a lot of them right now and while life is going alright, any small inconvenience could send you over the edge. It's okay though, your feelings are valid af.
Your Body Mod: Septum
You're the centre of attention this week. A particularly messy night will land you as a big name on campus (also known as a BNOC). Your Instagram followers will sky rocket and there will be legend surrounding your name, just make sure that you don't let it get to your head.
Your Body Mod: Nipple piercings
You have a flat klepto. Have you noticed your cheese go missing or your laundry liquid is a bit lighter than it should be? The stars are saying perform a stakeout in your own lounge to catch the culprit red handed.
Your Body Mod: A cheek dermal
The to-do list you wrote for yourself on Sunday is still full and the motivation to have a productive week is dwindling. Don't beat yourself up about it, not everyone is cut out for organised life, and Virgo you thrive in a little bit of chaos.
Your Body Mod: Poorly healed industrial piercing
You have been going a little stir crazy in your flat and the sma in lecturers isn't enough. It's time to get out and meet some people – go to those random events that a friend of a friend is hosting and ask everyone around what their life story is… it's a great way to strike up a convo.
Your Body Mod: Tongue piercing
SEND A SNAP TO US AT @CRITICMAG BEST SNAP EACH WEEKS WINS AN OUSA CLUBS & SOCS SAUNA VOUCHER
To commemorate 100 years of Critic, we're proud to announce a book proposal!
A centenary only happens once, and we need your help to make this project happen. Our deadline is March 16th to raise $70,000 to cover staffing costs. Scan the QR code to check out the book proposal and details for pledges and donations
