Critic - 2024 Issue 22

GUEST EDITORIAL: GET IN LOSER, IT’S TE WIKI O TE REO MĀORI

Ka pāpā te whatitiri

Hikohiko te uira

Kahukura ki te rangi

He aitu ka riri rongo mai ka hē

Ko ngunguru

Ko ngangana

Ko apārangi

Ko te titi o te rua ko te tao whakawahine

Ko te motumotu o te riri

Te awa o ngā rangatira

Taumārere herehere i te riri

Te puna i keteriki

E tū atu nei Ngāti Hine pukepukerau Tiheiwā mauriora!

You’re probably asking yourself, “What does Mean Girls have to do with Māori Language Week?” Well, why not? Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori deserves that main character energy, and what better way to celebrate than by channelling something as iconic and irreverent as Mean Girls?

Because here’s the deal: just like Mean Girls stormed the pop culture scene with its sharp humour and unforgettable one-liners, wāhine Māori are strutting their stuff and turning heads. Whether they’re schooling us on the marae, dropping truth bombs in Parliament, or owning social media like the true queens they are, they’re bringing te reo Māori into the spotlight with unmatched style, mana, and zero apologies.

This week, we’re not just giving a nod to their contributions; we’re rolling out the red carpet for their audacious spirit and their knack for bringing te reo Māori into the limelight with unapologetic flair. It’s their moment, and we’re here to make sure everyone notices.

So, what does Mean Girls have to do with Māori Language Week? In many ways, everything. At the same time, nothing at all. And that’s the whole point – why settle for the usual, boring conventions when you can spice things up? Mean Girls didn’t just follow the rules; it

rewrote them. Māori Language Week deserves a celebration that’s as bold and rule-breaking as our beloved plastic clique.

In a world where Indigenous cultures often get the “we’ll get to it eventually” treatment, reimagining Māori Language Week with a splash of sass isn’t just about adding a quirky twist. It’s about making a statement that te reo Māori isn’t just a quaint relic of the past but a vibrant, living force that deserves to be celebrated with all the pizzazz and flair it can handle.

Let’s get out of our comfort zones and shake things up. Let’s celebrate te reo Māori with the kind of energy and edge that’s impossible to ignore, proving that our language and culture are not just important – they’re absolutely sensational.

In this week's spread, we dive into the hearty debate of the role of women on the marae and explore lighter yet equally significant topics like the term ‘plastic Māori’. We’ve also got a few bilingual puzzles, a centrefold for the Sheathas of Ōtepoti, and more engaging content to keep you hooked.

Let’s keep it simple, e te iwi. You don’t need to overthink the kaupapa of Māori Language Week. Just show up, be present, and don’t be the person sitting on the sidelines pretending to get the vibe but missing the point entirely. Whether you’re fluent or just starting out, the key is to be engaged and enthusiastic.

So get in, loser – it’s Māori Language Week!

Āku nei mihi,

HEENI KOERO

TE REREUOA

(Waiōmio) valley gewl.

Unexpected UniFlats

Maintenance Visits “An Accident Waiting to Happen” 7

Crestani Parents Object to DropKicks 8

Castle St Courtyard Set to Split 10

Te Huinga Tauira, Debriefed 11

40% of Current Exec Plan To Rerun for 2025 12

Stumbled Down the Rabbit Hole 12

Toast Time Introduced At Subs 13

CULTURE

The Plastics: “So if you’re Māori, why are you white?” 18

Ngā Wai-hono-i-te-pō and the Kīngitanga Movement: A brief Critic Te Ārohi explainer 20

FEATURES

That’s just the rules of Wheminism - Opinion: Māori Wāhine deserve their flowers 2

The Limit Does Not Exist: Kura Kaupapa Māori and Beyond 32

COLUMNS

Critic Bachelor 36

Local Produce 39

Debatable 41

Mi Goreng Graduate 42

Booze Reviews 43

Exec Column 44

Horoscopes 45

Snap of the Week 46

LETTERS

LETTER OF THE WEEK

Dear Mrs Critic,

I challenge the Ski Club to supply evidence of all members successfully being able to Ski. I have looked at their Instagram and it's always the same two people in the videos. When these people post photos it is always at the top of the mountain and never the bottom. I think the Ski club is a front for drinking and orgies.

Sincerely,

A Ski - sceptic.

Editor’s response: Oop, new conspiracy just dropped.

Dear Critic,

The University of Otago has many advantages over other universities in this country, but its science-fiction collection isn't one of them. The collection itself is gargantuan: Asimov, Heinlein, Clarke, Hubbard – and so on. But it is almost all locked away in Special Collections, a grim fortress that leeringly monitors who enters and why, that confiscates your bag upon entry, and that refuses to issue books to you. How can one relax with a sci-fi novel in this environment?

The Central Library has permitted a few morsels to escape the fortress: Wells, Verne, Tolstoy (no, not that Tolstoy). But is this enough? I don't think so, because I've already read them all. And don't tell me that these books are fragile and need of protection: they are paperbacks and hardbacks, not crinkly archives.

Dear Mrs Critic,

letters

People on campus are not hating to their full potential. Each morning I wake up and guzzle down some haterade and proceed to hate on everything I see. The new tables in the link make it look like tables at a primary school. People wear Uggs outside and inside because they are not smart enough to know what classifies as an inside or outside shoe. Radio 1 are idiots that like a dumb bird and jumped on the bandwagon of every other loser in this rotten town. I demand every person hate on at least three things before they go to sleep at night with their one pillow that they never wash the cases for. Embrace the hate in your heart.

Sincerely from,

THE biggest hater.

It is time for people to complain about this. The fantasy and horror genres just don't quite cut it.

Signed: Grumpy History Tutor

Editor’s response: Have you tried the public library?

Dear Critic,

I’m writing to express my utter rage at the university no longer having Barista Bros iced coffee in the vending machines. This decision being made so close to exams can surely only be an attempt to sink me. I get that supporting the uni cafes is important but unless they’re willing to staff them into the late PM when I’m hunkered up in the law library (looking for any sense of joy), I’m going to be fucking complaining.

p.s. I’m aware there’s Monsters but I hate them #coffeeforlife

Love,

A struggling second-year xx

Editor’s response: You’re wrong. Monsters are where it’s at.

Dear Mrs Critic,

I HATE monsters (the creature, not the drink)

Sincerely,

Someone who is scared of the dark

Hi Critic,

We are doing our MANT252 social action project on the importance of positive body image, and we'd like to share the following message with students!

Body positivity is like giving your inner ‘critic’ a much-needed holiday. In a world where beauty standards are as unpredictable as fashion trends (remember when tiny eyebrows were in? body positivity encourages individuals to appreciate and embrace their bodies the way they are, regardless of shape, size, or appearance. By promoting inclusivity and self-love, body positivity helps people develop confidence and prioritise mental and physical health over aesthetic perfection. Ultimately, it empowers individuals to focus on their well-being and self-worth, rather than external validation. Body positivity is all about embracing your flaws, quirks, and all, and realising that your body doesn’t need to fit into society’s ever-changing beauty trends. It’s about giving the middle finger to unrealistic standards and learning to appreciate your body for the amazing things it can do, like surviving Mondays!

So what can you do to increase body positivity for yourself and others? Complement others on qualities not based on appearance, practice self-care by engaging in activities that make you feel good about yourself, and ditch the negative self-talk

Thanks!

Dear Mrs Critic,

Can you please let us know your whereabouts on Friday from 2 to 3PM?

Sincerely,

The Police

Dear Mrs Critic, My tummy hurts.

From,

Someone with a sore tummy

Dear Mrs Critic,

She Sam on my Smith til I Soppet

Love from,

A secret admirer of "Big Dog"

Dear Mrs Critic,

As an avid critic collector, I was thoroughly disappointed and saddened this week as I came across not a single copy of the magazine in the entire university! I have been forced into mourning as, one, my source of entertainment for the week is non-existent (online version doesn't hit the same), and two, my collection (which I have been working very hard on for the last 2 years) will be incomplete. Where have you hidden them?!

Yours sincerely,

A broken hearted critic collector :(

Editor’s response: You’re not going crazy, the print runs have been smaller this semester for budgeting reasons. I’m just as sad about it as you are!

Dear Mrs Critic,

How do I get down from here?

From,

Someone who is very stuck

Kia Ora Critic,

My name is Ella Borrie and I'm currently doing the MANT252 course which requires my team and I to do a social action. We are out here doing God's work trying to save the yellow eyed penguins and would appreciate your help and platform! InLight of conservation week could you please post this QR code for our yellow eyed homies? It links to information about over visiting as many of these birds are currently endangered and too many visitors scare them off when trying to nest.

Thanks heaps,

Ella and team

Monkeypox has been linked to Queenstown's Winter Pride Festival

The Coalition Government’s Treaty Principles Bill was released last week. 440

Christian leaders called on MPs to vote down the bill in an open letter stating their opposition, saying it would undermine what Te Tiriti guarantees

Kendrick Lamar has been announced as the headliner for the 2025 Super Bowl half-time show

Dunedin-based strippers are preparing to protest against unfair working conditions following unjust dismissals and “increasingly harmful” working conditions at Stilettos Revue Bar in Dunedin

UniQ are calling all dark souls, gothic girlypops, ghoulish gays, emo and scene kids of Otago Uni for their upcoming Gothic Horror Banquet and Ball – Friday September 20th, 7pm at the Staff Club! Head to their Insta @uniq.otago for more info

Kamala Harris (officially backed by Taylor Swift) and Donald Trump faced off in the first US presidential candidate debate last week. Trump claimed that immigrants are eating people’s pets and that the Democrats are conducting transgender surgeries on illegal aliens

Victoria Uni has announced its divestment from all Israeli government bonds after almost a year of consistent pressure from the student body. Student Justice for Palestine Pōneke says, “This is student power, pushing to hold these academic institutions and leaders to account”

An intruder allegedly assaulted security staff at the Dunedin Hospital last Tuesday, who was later found wandering around the top floor

School Strike for Climate are hosting a nationwide Aotearoa Climate Strike on September 27th, joining thousands around the world for a Global Climate Strike. You can join in Ōtepoti at 12pm on the Otago Museum grounds

‘A Crazy Rich Asian Ball’ is being hosted on Saturday, September 28th at Tūhura Otago Museum at 7pm by OFSA, OUThSA, OUTSA and OSC. Tickets are $65 for club members, $75 for non-members. Head to the clubs’ Instagram pages for more info

Exec election forums will be every day this week MondayFriday from 12-1pm in either Union Hall or MCR. Come along to hear from your Exec candidates and ask them questions. Head to @ousaexec on Instagram for more information!

clubS

Critic Te Ārohi and Radio One are teaming up with the Career Development Centre for a Creative Careers evening this Wednesday, September 18th. There’ll be two back-to-back panels of industry professionals from 5-7pm at the Burns 1 Lecture Theatre, followed by networking and nibbles at the Careers Centre

The Paralympics wrapped up in Paris last week. Aotearoa came away with with nine medals: one gold, four silver, and four bronze

Unexpected UniFlats Maintenance Visits “An Accident Waiting to Happen”

Privacy? Never heard of it

UniFlats residents caught off-guard by unanticipated visits from staff and maintenance crews have been left feeling “a bit weird”, to say the least. One Clyde Street resident told Critic Te Ārohi that she was suffering from a severe bout of food poisoning when maintenance staff entered her flat unexpectedly. “I was throwing up at 7am and I just heard a bunch of men downstairs, rustling around,” she said. Over the past few weeks, Critic Te Ārohi has received a myriad of reports just like this one of UniFlats crew letting themselves into flats.

This isn’t the first time the issue has been brought to Critic’s attention. In a 2019 article, Critic reported on complaints of unannounced visits from landlords and Property Services. With stories from current residents carrying the same tune, it seems to be an ongoing issue.

With a regular tenancy, this would be illegal. However, UniFlats sit in a strange grey area – not quite a flat, but not able to be defined as a residential college, either. What this means is that they are not classified under the Residential Tenancies Act that would otherwise require them to provide a minimum of 24-to-48-hour notice to enter the property.

Director of Campus and Collegiate Life Services, James Lindsay, told Critic that UniFlats operates instead as a “collegiate community”. When asked what this meant for residents, exactly, Lindsay explained, “This designation reflects the unique nature of UniFlats, where the prime purpose is to provide suitable accommodation for mostly international students arriving to study here. We provide furnished accommodation, wifi, power, student activities, pastoral care and welfare support services as part of the package.”

When notified of residents' concerns, Lindsey told Critic, “We understand that unexpected visits can be disruptive and we aim to ensure this does not occur [...] We strive to notify them of any scheduled visits.” But UniFlats residents explained to Critic that “notice” was a bit of a loose term for the warnings they’d be given of visitors (if any at all). If residents are given notice, Critic has been told that this usually includes a rough period of time during which they could expect a visit. This period could span up to three weeks, depending on the type of maintenance service. Social anxiety could never.

In what seems like a (sort of) effort to minimise awkward or downright intrusive sitches, Lindsey said, “The Property Services’ team follows a protocol and will always knock and wait for a response before entering a flat. If no-one answers the door, they will call out as they enter a flat.”

By Jodie Evans Staff Writer // news@critic.co.nz

Despite encouraging residents to reach out directly with complaints, residents who had done so described the subsequent responses from UniFlats as patchy, defensive, and passiveaggressive at times.

An international student told Critic he’d recently been left out-ofpocket after his multi-plug was confiscated from his bedroom during an electrical appliance testing visit. He was out of town at the time, and given no notice of the visit. When he reached out to query the confiscation, hoping for at least a refund for the device under warranty, he described emails from UniFlats as “passiveaggressive” and “unhelpful”. He's since been ghosted.

When signing their contract, residents agree to have read the UniFlats’ handbook, which states, “By sending a [maintenance] request you understand and agree for someone to attend your bedroom/area of the building to begin remedying the issue in a timely manner.” It’s no surprise that “a timely manner” may not be interpreted to mean “without specific notice” to residents upon signing. Some residents viewed the visits as an uncomfortable compromise they were forced to make for having better quality housing than their Studentville counterparts in privately-owned historical housing (sporting character-building mould decor). Privacy or insulation? An odd trade-off.

Also according to their handbook, UniFlats “[provides] a safe, clean, comfortable, well-managed and supportive residential environment that fosters a sense of belonging and enhances the University of Otago experience for students and their whānau.” Former UniFlats resident Rebecca* told Critic she had felt anything but. Early morning maintenance drop-ins had left her playing hostess to tradies while still half-asleep in her pyjamas on several occasions.

But it was the expectation being set for residents to always let strangers in, assuming they were staff, that worried Rebecca the most. She feared that the wrong person could easily use this situation to take advantage of vulnerable international students, calling it “an accident waiting to happen”.

Given the mounting concerns, Critic Te Ārohi asked UniFlats if they would look to improve their services to minimise resident discomfort. Lindsay said, “UniFlats is constantly striving to improve our services to our residents and encourage them to share their experiences – good or not so good – directly with us, so that we can reflect on those when managing our service expectations and outcomes.”

*Names changed.

Crestani Parents Object to DropKicks

The previously mysterious second objector can now be revealed

The opening of new venue DropKicks has been a sticky subject after two community groups opposed Loboski Venues Ltd.’s liquor licence application. Students for Sensible Drug Policy (SSDP) are one. Critic Te Ārohi can now reveal that the other group are Bede and Elspeth Crestani, the parents of Sophia Crestani, an Otago student who died in an overcrowded 2019 flat party.

On August 12th, Critic Te Ārohi reported that a new venue called DropKicks would be opening above Sal’s Pizza on the corner of Great King and Albany St. The venue has been described by some as a “landmark” music venue where the iconic Captain Cook Hotel once was. Most recently, it was occupied by Dive Bar.

Critic’s orignial article was based on a DCC notice that was pasted on the door to the building inviting the public to have their say on the owners’ liquor licence application, closing August 21st. Meaning, the objection period for the application was still ongoing. Critic Te Ārohi confirmed the opening of the venue by finding their website which stated: “The Dunedin city culture is something that has suffered over the past few years and we are here to do our part, to bring our city back to its former glory!”

People were pretty hyped at the news of a fresh venue on the horizon. The article post received widespread attention on Critic’s Facebook page. As of the time of writing, there are 500 reacts, 41 comments, and 17 shares. Comments of enthusiastic support included an emphatic “FRICK YEAH!” from the lead singer of the band Hot Sauce Club.

DropKicks’ opening was delayed, however, when two community groups objected to their liquor licence application. SSDP are a group with their fingers in many pies – this isn’t their first rodeo when it comes to local liquor licensing involvement. They’ve thrown their support behind various licence renewal applications including Moons, Eureka, Woof!, Carousel, and Residency – whose application they also supported in fast-tracking to make sure it was open for Flo and O Week at the beginning of the year.

Equally, SSDP has also made their disapproval of liquor licences

By Hugh Askerud & Nina Brown News Editor & Editor // news@critic.co.nz

clear in the past. They’re perhaps most well-known for their hand in stopping Eleven Bar from getting theirs renewed last year following revelations about the bar’s mismanagement. One worker was quoted by Critic calling it “the most cooked place I’ve ever worked.” Since then, however, it seems they’ve been on a bit of a spree, opposing multiple supermarkets’ licence – and even Otago Uni’s.

Now following their objection to DropKicks, SSDP explained to Critic, “Of course SSDP wants well-managed and financially stable student bars back; and once they’re back, we want them to stay. We’ve been arguing for years now that student bars, and Dunedin’s live music scene, are essential elements to address the crisis of alcohol harm experienced everday [sic] by Otago Students.”

SSDP accused Loboski Venues Ltd. of being an “unsuitable” applicant based on “their attempt to ‘steam-roll’ due process by announcing their venue and booking gigs before they had a licence; and evidence including issues of overcrowding and poor alcohol control resulting in excessive intoxication at another venue they operate.” They couldn’t comment further until the hearing, where evidence will be presented from all relevant parties.

The second group objecting to DropKicks’ on-licence application are Bede and Elspeth Crestani, the parents of Sophia Crestani. Since the tragic death of their daughter at a 2019 flat party, the Crestani parents have actively worked to make North Dunedin a safer place for students.

Earlier this year, there was a five-day inquest into Sophia’s death. At the inquest, Dunedin’s alcohol harm prevention officer Sergeant Ian Paulin mentioned how successive closures of licensed venues, including the student bar Captain Cook – the very venue DropKicks now hopes to occupy – had created an environment of flat parties which were difficult to control.

Critic Te Ārohi interviewed Bede last week, who explained his

reasons for objecting to DropKicks’ licence. He prefaced the chat by saying he would be willing to “turn an objection around into support” if Loboski Venues Ltd. was able to prove they could “meet standard safety conditions.”

Bede shared many of SSDP’s concerns alleging that Loboski Venues Ltd. at their other venue, Errick’s, alleging that the venue had knowingly exceeded capacity on at least one occasion. He also backed SSDP’s disapproval that the promotion for the venue had come out “a bit early” and that they should “respect the processes to get a licence, same as everybody else has to comply with and just let these things work through.”

Bede went as far as to call SSDP “a courageous group of young people”. While SSDP’s objections have drawn some criticism from peers – with some students disappointed over DropKick’s delay in opening on social media taking jabs such as calling the group “a bunch of wobblers” – Bede said, “It feels like they’re swimming against the Dunedin model of ‘just booze it’ [...] they are the heroes of Dunedin, in my mind.”

On a personal note relating to his objection, Bede said, “When it comes down to it, Sophia died for two reasons: massively excess alcohol and drugs at a party and serious crowding. She died because of crush. We would just hate to see that happen to a student again.” He reiterated that it’s not student bars that they have a problem with: “We 100% support student bars. We 100% support music at venues, and we think that Dunedin has really been badly served by not enough music venues or student bars.”

While both objecting parties are more or less on the same wavelength, a unique aspect of SSDP’s objection that’s raised an eyebrow, however, was their claim that Lobsoki Venues Ltd. was also unsuitable based on the fact that “the Applicant is a company with a sole director, and she’s 25 – there's no way you can have the expertise and experience to know how to safely run a Dunedin student bar at 25.” Because God forbid a young woman be a successful businesswoman.

The woman in question, Mili Lobo, addressed this accusation in her letter of support for the DropKicks’ licence application: “[...] yes, I am a young female, yes, I am an active mother, and this does not make me any less of a suitable licensee holder or

dedicated, proper and passionate business holder.” She goes on to describe her background as a businesswoman, starting at the age of 19 and growing a portfolio of six businesses, “all while balancing the demands of being a young mother and women [sic] in business.”

As for her “why” behind DropKicks, Mili explains: “My vision for the student bar is not just about providing a space to socialise; it’s about establishing a venue where safety and well-being are prioritised. I am dedicated to implementing harm minimisation interventions as a standard practice, ensuring that every aspect of the bar contributes to a secure and positive environment for all patrons.”

Part of the kaupapa of DropKicks is dedicated to providing a space for students to enjoy live music, which Mili says is one of the most effective alcohol harm minimisation interventions we have available. “There is a dire need in North Dunedin for bars that offer harm minimisation approaches (of which live music is a key one). With DropKicks we want to offer a safer option to people to enjoy live music and entertainment,” Mili wrote. “As with my other venues, alcohol is not at the forefront of this business.”

In direct response to allegations made by the Crestanis, Mili told Critic, “I am confident that if any person that has concerns about me personally and my businesses took the time to speak to me, they would feel comfort in what we are trying to achieve for Dunedin. They might also understand further the struggles we have faced with Errick’s and the processes we have been through [...] we work with many other community groups, businesses, advisors, individuals to always better what we are doing. My hope would be that these groups who are in doubt about us, take the time to work with us on working towards our mutual hope for our city.”

Learning of DropKicks’ mission statement, Bede told Critic, “That’s a great mission […] it would be nice to turn an objection around into support if we can see that they’ve really got a good connection and will manage that situation safely […] it would be brilliant.” A hearing for the on-licence application for DropKicks will be held in early October where each party will have an opportunity to present evidence in front of the district licensing committee.

Castle St Courtyard Set to Split

Landlords building walls faster than Trump

‘Courtyard’, the infamous intersection of breathadom between three Castle St flats, will allegedly soon be split with a fence. Breathas and sheathas alike are biting their nails at the impact the change may have on their beloved stomping ground for all manner of occasions: parties and sun beers included. Do landlords even get the point of Castle St?

Rumours are flying at the supposed “gentrification” of Studentville. The news follows confirmation that Big Red’s outdoor area will also be fenced off, dividing what was once an 18-person complex into three segregated groups of six. Residents have told Critic the change would “ruin the culture of Courtyard” as the three Courtyard flats traditionally sign on together to reap the shared benefits of the space.

Tara* (one Courtyard resident) was a bit miffed at the news. “Every party is pretty tame here,” she said, explaining that every party thrown in the area is above board with the campus authorities: the Proctor and Police. She worried that to erect a fence would “cause a lot of issues” – and that it was also lowkey giving Trump energy. Another resident, Jasmine* said that it could only be a divisive move, both physically and metaphorically: “You wouldn’t want to sign with all your friends if there was a huge fence in the middle.”

The girls worried especially about the impact that the renos would have on events such as the renowned annual Castle St hosts, such as ‘Courtchella’ and ‘Back to School’ parties. “The Proctor is aware of all this. You wouldn't be able to have things like that if you separated it,” said Tara. Seems Critic Te Ārohi isn’t the only one salty at the lack of invite.

When it comes to Castle St’s rumoured gentrification – including Big Red’s upcoming fresh coat of different coloured paint that could undermine the flat’s street cred – Tara said, “I understand where they are coming from with making all these rules and ideas but […] people just get aggravated by all the things that are

By Hugh Askerud News Editor // news@critic.co.nz

happening. People do come down to Dunedin a little bit for the fun Castle St things like that […] if you change all that up, people probably are less likely to come down, and it's just less fun.”

Deathstar, the notorious Castle St breatha den and “cement shoebox with smashed windows and mould on most surfaces,” as Critic wrote in 2022 (proudly winning runner-up for the worst Dunedin flat), has been no stranger to these changes. Over summer, a big fuck-off concrete wall was built by the flat’s landlord to separate Deathstar from Brotown and Tunnel. This is unconfirmed by Deathstar’s landlord, who did not respond to Critic’s request for comment in time for print.

Prior to the wall’s establishment, residents of Castle and Leith were known to gleefully flit between the streets at their whim. The loss of this wasn’t received well. Tunnel resident Harry* said, “I reckon it's pretty bullshit.” Deathstar resident Liam* added, “It keeps people out of the alleyway, which is good. But it's pretty inconvenient [...] We’ve got all our mates around there and having to jump it is pretty annoying.” Every resident in the area who Critic asked about the wall said that they knew someone who had been injured while jumping it.

One bloke neighbouring Courtyard summed up the whole Walls v Studentville issue by saying: “It’s a bit stink.” Harry said, “Especially at Courtyard, splitting all the flats up will make a big difference.” Liam* argued that the landlord fence culture “just ruins the fun for people who want the whole complex and want to build relationships with each other.”

Although residents argue that Castle St culture will not be affected by these changes (nobly standing steadfast in the face of adversity sorta vibes) it remains to be seen what the long-term consequences of landlord action will be.

*Names changed.

Te Huinga Tauira,

Debriefed

Te Rōpū Māori braves JAFA city

Te Rōpū Māori sent a delegation of tauira to Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland in the last week of August – not only to escape the Dunedin winter, but also for Te Huinga Tauira, the annual national Māori students’ conference. Māori tertiary students’ associations across the motu gathered for a week of yarns, culture, and sporting activities.

Te Huinga Tauira welcomes Māori student associations to gather together to discuss and raise awareness of issues impacting their members. At Te Huinga, an AGM is held to elect positions on Te Mana Ākonga, the national Māori students’ association (arguably more functional than their NZUSA counterpart).

According to their website: “Te Huinga Tauira is also an opportunity for Māori students to nurture and maintain their cultural identity, access social and support networks outside of their institutions, and participate in activities that enhance, and add value to, their experiences within the context of their learning.”

Critic Te Ārohi spoke to three tauira from Ōtākou Whakaihu Waka who joined the Te Rōpū Māori trip north: first-year TK, third-year Matariki, and fourth-year Tomuri. Despite the week away meaning a chip into their studies, the three emphatically described the activity-packed week of waiata, kōrero, kapa haka (with all their practice apparently “paying off”), networking, and some cheeky parties. All associations stayed together at an Auckland marae.

By Gryffin Powell News Reporter // news@critic.co.nz

A particular highlight for the about 30-strong group from Ōtepoti was winning the Ki o Rahi competition. Yet it was the mātauranga (knowledge) gained from the week that was the real winner, according to the TRM team. “All the mātauranga from the events and listening to each other and seeing how all the groups see each other [was a] really good takeaway,” TK said.

Tomuri shared how Te Huinga Tauira reiterated how much of a second family TRM can be. “One of the big things that our tutors always make sure we know is we have each other’s backs [...] [Dunedin is] one of the more white cities, so it's really driven the sense that we are more than just family,” he said. TK added, “It was really easy to connect with other Māori students […] and being able to do Kapa Haka, I personally don’t think we do as much as other universities”.

Te Rōpū Māori wanted to give a shoutout to its tutor team –Renee, Teraia, Kowhai, Te One, Ngaroma and Distance – for all their support as tutors for TRM this year. And in particular Gemella Reynolds-Hatam, who they affectionately refer to as “Auntie” for her ongoing efforts as TRM’s Tumuaki alongside Distance, who joined as co-Tumuaki midway through this year to share the responsibilities of the demanding role.

Tomuri also shouted out Te Rōpū Māori’s socials (@teropu.maori on Instagram) for any tauira Māori wanting to get involved with their full calendar of events, from tutoring to sports games.

40% of Current Exec Plan To Rerun for 2025

What say you?

Nominations were open last week for the 2025 OUSA Student Exec. Critic Te Ārohi can reveal that four out of ten of the current OUSA Student Exec (40% for you maths nerds out there) are planning on sticking around next year – either rerunning for their own positions or branching into other roles. Who, you ask? That’s for us to know, and you to find out.

40% is a big jump from the mere 10% in the last elections, one that saw four of the positions won uncontested – including the once-hotly fought over Presidential role (hence The Dictator themed cover of Critic’s subsequent issue announcing Keegan’s reign). But are students sick of the same old? Why are the Exec rerunning and is this a good thing for students? Critic spoke to members of the Exec and the student body they represent for their thoughts.

One (anonymous) Exec member who plans to rerun told Critic Te Ārohi, “I think it's a real testament to the current executive to be honest […] Personally, I'm running again because I think the Exec has started a lot of really good work and I want to try and carry the energy we've brought this year into next year.”

In terms of what students have said about the Exec, one student said, “They’re doing a good job.” Supporting this claim, another student chimed in, “I reckon it’s a good thing. More experience for the next year and they can help teach the new people.” The sentiment isn’t a new one. Turnover in the Exec is notoriously high, with members typically only staying in one term

Stumbled Down the Rabbit Hole

An Immersive Alice in Wonderland Experience

Tūhura Otago Museum hosted Alice in Wonderland After Dark on Friday, September 13th, a fun (18+) event based on the Lewis Carroll book and that one Tim Burton film everyone chooses to ignore. Sporting free tickets and a craving for cotton candy, Critic Te Ārohi stumbled down the rabbit hole.

The event featured tea cup painting, a mixologist (boujee speak for bartender), croquet, a panther-themed inflatable slide, tarot card reading, and full access to the Tūhura Science Centre and butterfly museum! No one said it was a costume-party, so Critic looked embarrassingly out of place among the attendees dressed as characters from the book such as titular character Alice, the Queen of Hearts, and the Mad Hatter.

The event even managed to get the real Mad Hatter, Queen of Hearts, and the White Rabbit to attend. We snagged each for a delightful yarn. First up was the Mad Hatter, who we pulled up next to while he was assisting people painting their own tea cups. He had some “tea” in his cup as well. “It is amazing! It is always tea time because it is always six o’clock because I killed time!” he said. Facts.

The Queen of Hearts kept telling the Hatter to die, apparently. “She doesn’t like me very much and of course I don’t like her because she usurped the White Queen,” he said. “Oh,” replied a nearby breatha, tipsy on rabbit-themed cocktails. Gesturing wildly, the Hatter continued, “I will dance ferociously and vivaciously and dramatically when the White Queen wears the crown once more.” The White Queen was apparently not available for comment

By Hugh Askerud News Editor // news@critic.co.nz

– something they’ve told Critic on multiple occasions this year has meant a slow start as members learn the ropes of their roles.

Other students Critic spoke to, however, weren’t so sure. One student argued that there should be more new minds on the Exec: “It’s always good to have change and a few new ideas […] If it's the same sort of minds and people running it, things tend to stay the same.” Brendon* was a true Switzerland, staying neutral on the matter (largely from a position of reeking of political disillusionment) saying, “I feel like Otago has a good experience all around. I don't know how much power they have to increase that.”

The rerunning Exec member (quit speculating, our lips are sealed) said, “If those rerunning are successful, I think it'll mean you have a really efficient Exec who know OUSA [and] their roles, but more importantly how to work as a team. But also having half the team being new will bring in new ideas and challenge the returners to keep pace.”

Final nomination numbers are one for President; two for Administrative Vice President; one for Finance and Straregy Officer; two for Academic; one for Welfare and Equity Rep; four for Postgrad Rep; one for International Rep; three for Clubs and Socs; three for Political Rep; and two for Residential Rep. Voting will be open from September 30th at 9am, closing Thursday October 3rd at 4pm.

*Names changed.

By Jordan Irvine Staff Writer // localproduce@critic.co.nz

because the Queen of Hearts was there, he told us with a frown. It was at this point that attendees began to suspect these people weren’t actually their characters.

In response to the Mad Hatter’s accusations, the Queen of Hearts said, “He murdered time and I want his head to be chopped off but he keeps running away from his duty of having his head removed.” Critic Te Ārohi asked if the Queen of Hearts was willing to give back the crown to which she replied, “Absolutely not!” After informing the Queen that the Mad Hatter felt she was killing the vibes, she charitably replied that she would not cut off our heads if we joined her.

Following the White Rabbit, Critic gauged their opinion on the matter to which they responded: “I stand with the Hatter. He gives me candy floss.” Given the Hatter was not on cotton candy duty, Critic can only assume we’d stumbled upon some kind of black market. The rabbit ran away and could not be reached for any further comment.

Many people down the rabbit hole enjoyed being there. Attendee Macy commented, “It’s super fun. I love the music. There was a butterfly on my forehead. My friends got told by the tarot card reader that they were lost in life and needed to trust their intuition.” Said music was an imaginative mix of DnB and whimsical ballads. Her friend Sam, dressed as the White Rabbit, said, “It’s been great. My girlfriend loves the slide.” She could not be reached for comment as she went on the slide again.

Toast Time Introduced At Subs Club further cements its popularity among first-years with sticky hands

Dunedin's iconic nightclub, Suburbia (Subs if you’re a real one), has introduced a new initiative aimed at keeping patrons' pukus full and vomit off the floors. Taking a leaf out of residential colleges’ book, Subs has launched ‘Toast Time’, a weekly event held every Thursday from 10pm until closing. Say what you want about Subs – they know their crowd.

The club’s novel approach to helping students sober up (offering white bread toast) has raised eyebrows and sparked curiosity.

“Toast Time is inspired by the toast time that many first-year halls have,” Subs explained to Critic Te Ārohi. “Our Thursdays draw in a huge crowd, so we wanted to play into that.” The success of the idea was evident on its unadvertised debut night when the club went through 18 loaves of bread. Assuming your average serving is two slices, that’s about 150 booze-soaked stomachs settled.

Subs are chuffed that the initiative addresses two key challenges: keeping patrons moving throughout the club rather than congregating in entryways and staircases, and establishing a reputation for something beyond the usual cheap drinks that most bars use to lure in customers. But those are great, too.

By Molly Smith-Soppet Contributor // news@critic.co.nz

Reactions from students have been mixed. Amelia, a selfdescribed avid town-goer, shared her thoughts: “Even if Subs isn't my preferred club, it is a good idea [...] I do get extremely ravenous on a night out, so this would be fire.”

However, some older students were less enthusiastic, dismissing the club as a fresher haunt where they “wouldn't be caught dead.” Ronny, a fourth-year Finance student, voiced his concerns, saying, “What about my gluten-free homies? Classic, just another establishment denying the fact that celiacs exist.” Nicole, who is gluten-free, added, “God, I would never eat toast in a club – and that’s not just because I’m celiac.”

Refuting the claim that Subs was only for freshers, Jono (secondyear student and Subs-frother) commented, “Sounds great, though I am a little worried about the cross-contamination because Vegemite in my jam is not pleasant […] but at the end of the day, drunk Jono loves toast.”

The club noted that many students grabbed a few slices on their way out, so the next time you find yourself in town, consider grabbing a “jam roadie” as you head home. Fuck yeah, jam hands.

PUZZLES PUZZLES

PUZZLES PUZZLES

WORDFIND

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE

There are 10 differences between the two images

UNIFLATS

CAPTAIN COOK

PIZZA

TE HUINGA TAUIRA

KĪNGITANGA

PLASTIC

SEYMOUR

KĀI TAHU

KETEMĪNI

ŪPE ĪTI

KUINI

BURNBOOK

REGINA GEORGE

WHEMINISM

PAEPAE

KAUPAPA

ACHTUNG

TRIVIAL PURSUIT

TUMUAKI

MARAMATAKA

TE RĀKAUNUI

PINK

TE REO

Illustrated by Connor Moffat

Nā Jack Ruddenklau

Ngāti Tukorehe, Ngāti Raukawa ki te Tonga, Ngāti Raukawa

Heeni Koero Te Rerenoa

Ngāti Hine, Te Waiariki ki Ngunguru, Te Rarawa

Illustrated by Tevya Faed

“So if you’re Māori, why are you white?”

White Māori. Fake Māori. Plastic Māori. If you’re Māori, chances are you’ve heard these labels thrown around at some point – whether it’s a poke at your pale skin, your lack of fluency in te reo Māori, or even an aversion to kaimoana. You may have dropped the ‘whitewashed’ line yourself, half-joking, half-bracing for judgement as you step into Māori spaces. But here’s the kicker: these terms aren’t just jokes or casual throwaways; they’re verbal landmines that can obliterate your sense of self. What really hits home, though, is when a few of these stings come from our own. Out of all the labels, ‘Plastic Māori’ sticks like the cling wrap nobody asked for. It’s the instant go-to term for anyone who doesn’t fit some farcical and outdated standard of what it means to be Māori. Can’t speak te reo? Plastic. Don’t down kina like a champ? Plastic. Don’t look like the stereotypical image of a Māori warrior? Well, guess what: you must be a Plastic. You’re either the perfect embodiment of a ‘real Māori’ or you’re a fraud.

Let’s be real, the label ‘Plastic Māori’ screams of inauthenticity, as if you can distil what it means to be Māori into a checklist. But being Māori isn’t a one-size-fitsall experience; it’s shaped by your whakapapa, where you grew up, and the path you’re walking right now.

Behind The Label

Let’s peel back the glossy veneer of ‘Plastic Māori’. It’s basically a cultural participation trophy in a game where authenticity is judged by how perfectly you fit into some idealised, out-of-touch vision of ‘Māori-ness’. Maybe you grew up without te reo Māori flowing through your home, or you don’t look ‘Māori enough’ (whatever that means). Yet here we are, as though Māori aren’t already running the gauntlet of stereotypes and judgement, “Māori enough” or not.

Picture this: Christmas Day, and your racist uncle is holding court at the table, spouting off about enduring karakia at work meetings and making out-the-gate claims about how many

“doll-bludging Māori” would be stuffing their faces with KFC. Casual ignorance like this isn’t just hōhā – it exposes how deeply these stereotypes run (or sit), reducing rich, layered identities into offensive, surface-level cliches. You’re either not Māori enough or just “another bloody Māori.” There’s no winning.

Te ao Māori teaches us of our mana – alive, present, and pulsating through our whenua, whakapapa, and tūpuna. So, what happens when the mana running through our veins is questioned? How can ngāi Māori navigate a world that often sees identity through a narrow colonial lens?

Manufacturing ‘Plastics’

The term ‘Plastic Māori’ doesn’t just exist in a vacuum; like most issues tangata whenua face, it’s tangled up in colonisation. Much like actual plastics are churned out in factories, ‘Plastic Māori’ is an artificial construct that is slapped together from colonial stereotypes and rigid ideas of what Māori “should” be. It’s a prefab identity mould, designed to shrink-wrap Māori into something neat and digestible.

Colonial powers knew what they were doing, too. They imposed rules on Māori identity to weaken the foundations of who we are. Māori identities, however, are built on tikanga, whakapapa, and the living connection to our tūpuna. It’s those markers that should matter, not whether your cousin thinks you need a moko to be “legit” Māori.

To be Māori means living between worlds, constantly tiptoeing across a fault line. It's navigating a heritage that, more often than not, goes unseen or misunderstood. And yeah, you’ll get the quizzical looks and the, “So, how

Kīngitanga

Shockwaves reverberated through the motu on Friday, August 30th, as Aotearoa learned of the passing of Kīngi Tūheitia Pōtatou Te Wherowhero VII, the Māori King. Less than a week later, the Kīngitanga named its new leader: Te Arikinui Kuīni Ngā Wai-hono-i-te-pō, the youngest child and only daughter of the

Mainstream media have covered the news extensively – it’s pretty huge. But in honour of Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori and in light of recent revelations that some students treat Critic Te Ārohi as their only source of news, here’s an explainer of who this new Kuīni is and what the Kīngitanga is all about.

What is the Kīngitanga?

The Kīngitanga is one of the oldest institutions still standing in Aotearoa’s political landscape. Created in 1858 by Mātene Te Whiwhi and Tāmihana Te Rauparaha, it emerged as a response to the creeping colonialism that threatened Māori land rights. They envisioned a Māori leader who would stand firm against land loss and ensure that Māori voices were heard in the new colonial era. To put it plainly, the Kīngitanga was born out of necessity – a determined stand against the colonial tide, ensuring Māori sovereignty and representation in their own land.

But let’s be real: the colonial government didn’t exactly fall over itself in adoration of the idea. On the contrary, they deemed the entire movement to be a treasonous act. Nevertheless, the

Fast forward to today, and the Kīngitanga remains a powerful advocate for Māori interests and rights, pushing for social, legal, and economic justice. While its influence is vast, not all iwi pledge allegiance to it. The reasons for this lack of alignment are diverse and complex, reflecting a plethora of differing perspectives on governance, historical grievances, and contemporary political priorities.

Some leaders argue that the titles of Kuīni and Kīngi don’t encompass the full spectrum of Māori perspectives. Some iwi maintain their autonomy, asserting that their unique histories, traditions, and cultural structures shouldn’t be subsumed under the Kīngitanga banner. Others, however, believe that the Kīngitanga represents a vital, unifying force for Māori.

These roles are far from ceremonial. The Kīngitanga continues to spearhead hui where political and Māori leaders gather to tackle critical issues facing Māori communities, such as the ongoing battle for tino rangatiratanga (self-determination), protection of whenua from corporate interests, healthcare inequities for Māori, and the fight against entrenched systemic racism that persists

the Indigenous peoples and colonial powers.

Having sat on numerous boards focused on the preservation of Māori culture, Kuīni Ngā Wai-hono-i-te-pō has already shown a deep commitment to uplifting the Māori people, especially its youth. Her tenure on the University Council not only deepened her understanding of the inner workings of a tertiary institution but also allowed her to maintain a significant presence in the student community.

Referred to by Māori leaders as a 'new dawn', she grew up with te reo Māori as her first language and has continued her involvement in Kapa Haka, even teaching it throughout her university years. Her youth signals a new perspective for the Kīngitanga, with her long potential reign offering ample opportunity to influence not only Māoridom but also the broader landscape of Aotearoa.

What makes a Māori monarch?

Although the line of succession isn’t strictly hereditary, every monarch since Kīngi Pōtatau Te Wherowhero has been a direct descendant. The selection of a successor is deeply rooted in tikanga, with a council known as Tekau-Maa-Rua – comprised of 12 elected advisors from iwi across the motu – entrusted with choosing the next leader. Their decision is based on the principles of unifying and uplifting the Māori people. Kuīni Ngā Wai-hono-ite-pō’s previous actions demonstrate her commitment to these values, showcasing her potential to inspire the youth of Aotearoa to connect with Māori history and traditions.

While the Māori monarch holds no legal or judicial power, their symbolic role as a unifier of the Māori people is significant. The monarch is a figurehead for cultural pride and resilience, dedicating their life to the service of others. One key responsibility of the Kuīni will be engaging with Te Tiriti policy discussions, particularly as the current coalition government puts forward its proposals. Although not legally recognised by the Crown, the Kīngitanga continues to influence government policies by representing Māori interests diplomatically and challenging governmental authority when Māori rights are at stake.

Hopes and expectations

Ngā Wai-hono-i-te-pō’s ascension as the second youngest monarch to hold the Māori throne comes with high expectations for her dedication to the youth.

With the passing of Kīngi Tūheitia, his daughter, Ngā Wai-hono-ite-pō, has been named as the next successor to the Kīngitanga. As the second kuīni in history (following her grandmother, Te Arikinui Dame Te Atairangikaahu), she has expressed a strong commitment to revitalising te reo Māori and Kapa Haka.

At just 27, she brings a youthful energy to the monarchy. A graduate of Te Whare Wānanga o Waikato with both a Bachelor of Arts and a Masters in Tikanga Māori, her academic and cultural achievements stand as a testament to her dedication.

The University of Waikato has long been intertwined with the Kīngitanga and Waikato-Tainui. The campus sits on land that was originally settled by Ngāti Wairere and Ngāti Hauā, much of which was confiscated in 1864 by the colonial-settler government following the Waikato Land Wars. This action was later recognised as a serious breach of the Treaty of Waitangi, highlighting the complex and troubled history between

Robert Patman, a lecturer at the University of Otago, shared with the Otago Daily Times that he believes “under the new Kuīni, the Kīngitanga will strengthen, bringing the attention of the government to its commitment to the Pacific and also to championing the rights of Indigenous people all over.”

Josh Stewart, a postgraduate Māori Studies student, notes that the Kuīni’s accolades have already earned her significant respect. He adds, “Though it is hard to predict what her achievements or accomplishments may pan out to be, [her ascension] is a rallying point for iwi unity and consensus as a political unit, especially with the current political climate.”

The appointment of Ngā Wai-hono-i-te-pō has garnered comments from several political figures, including Prime Minister Christopher Luxon, who remarked via Twitter: “We welcome the Upoko Ariki, Ngawai hono i te po [sic], who carries forward the mantle of leadership left by her father.” Similarly, NZ First MP Shane Jones said that her appointment as Kuīni is “more than a generational shift,” and that “she will be the face of renewal.”

Editor’s note: Now, please, if this is all news to you: Critic Te Ārohi loves our faithful readers, but go read a news source from outside of your own backyard.

ĀHUA

Stand up if you've been personally victimised by te reo Māori

Illustrated by Connor Moffat

Whem inism That’s just the rules of deserve their

Nā Heeni Koero Te Rerenoa

Ngāti Hine, Te Waiariki ki Ngunguru, Te Rarawa

R.W.C

Ngāti Raukawa

Jessie Witeri

Ngāti Whakāue, Ngāti Ngararanui, Ngāti Ranginui, Te Whakatōhea

Maria Davis-Tini

Waikato-Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu

Hineira Tipene-Komene

Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Hine

Illustrated by Sarah Kreft

Navigating tikanga Māori can be like navigating your waka through the waves – it’s dynamic, fluid, and never the same from one iwi to the next. The idea that tikanga (practices) is a fixed, rigid structure is laughable when, for centuries, Māori have adapted, evolved, and thrived through change. Perhaps nothing highlights this more than the ongoing conversation about wāhine speaking on the marae. It’s a topic as diverse as iwi (tribe) and hapū (subtribe) themselves; one that stirs up passionate debate that is grounded in tradition yet open to reimagining what leadership on the marae and beyond can look like today.

Whaikōrero refers to the art of oratory on the marae.

Speeches delivered in a formal, ceremonial manner is a central aspect of Māori gatherings, encompassing both the structured delivery of messages and the broader practice of communicating important cultural, social, and political matters. The practice is steeped in tradition and protocol, often carried out by men on the paepae (orators’ bench). However, this tradition is not entirely static. Like other practices, it’s subject to the evolving nature of Māori

When it comes to wāhine speaking on the marae, there’s no one-size-fits-all answer – and that’s exactly the point. The idea that Māori beliefs can be boiled down to a singular, homogenous viewpoint is as fictional as spotting a taniwha in your backyard. The real beauty, and perhaps the challenge, lies in the fact that every rohe, iwi, hapū, and marae brings its own unique take on this deeply rooted

Waitangi Day in recent years has reignited the debate over wāhine and whaikōrero – often drawing public attention and critique from Pākehā perspectives. However, they will tend to frame the conversation through a lens of “sexism” and outdated “warrior” stereotypes. One thing, however, is clear: this conversation belongs solely to Māori. The term “sexist” simply doesn’t capture the nuance of the debate. For Māori, this is not a transient issue; it is a deep-seated, ongoing conversation that holds significant implications for the future of our cultural practices.

But the question remains: is the kawa against women speaking on the marae truly sexist? Or is it a misunderstanding, warped by the lens of white feminism – a movement focused on breaking gender inequalities in Western contexts that, when applied to tikanga Māori, overlooks the cultural and historical context of Māori practices as a result? Critic Te Ārohi dives into this discussion, speaking with several wāhine to uncover their perspectives on whether this age-old custom is a restriction or a reflection that white feminism can’t quite

Tikanga

Maori: A brief explainer

First, what are the traditional roles of wāhine and tāne on the marae? During pōwhiri (ceremonial welcome) and throughout tikanga, there is a clear genderbased delineation of responsibilities. Wāhine will lead the karanga (ceremonial call), guiding the manuhiri (visitors) onto

the marae, after which they take their place behind the tāne (men). The men then engage in kōrero (conversation) with the manuhiri, a practice that historically involved negotiations and was often linked to territorial expansion. Women will be physically positioned behind men which, contrary to assumptions of outside perspectives, is not a reflection of their societal value but rather an acknowledgment of their sacred role as bearers of life and guardians of wisdom. In the past, pōwhiri could end in conflict or bloodshed if agreements weren’t reached, and in those moments, men were considered more expendable. However, this does not imply that women were suppressed. The role of wāhine Māori on the marae extends beyond what is often assumed. Women set the tone and kaupapa for hui through karanga, and disagreement with the men’s kōrero could be expressed by physically turning their back on the speaker. After the pōwhiri, women are fully empowered to engage and make their voices heard.

Jessie Witeri

(Ngati Whakaue, Ngati Ngararanui, Ngati Ranginui, Te Whakatohea)

Jessie Witeri (Ngāti Whakāue, Ngāti Ngararanui, Ngāti Ranginui, Te Whakatōhea), a Māmā, renowned spoken word poet, and kaihaka (performer) in Northland-based group Waerenga Te Kaha, has passionately contributed to the discussion on the evolving roles of Māori women in every corner of our community. “I come from Te Whakatōhea, cloaked by the prestige of our ancestress, Muriwai, [who] was known to pull in the waka of Mataatua to shore,” Jessie shares, highlighting the legacy that shapes the wāhine of her iwi. “The women in my iwi very much liken themselves to our tupuna kuia – staunch, strong-willed [and] kind, but will put you in your place if needed.”

For Jessie, her understanding of gender roles on the marae has shifted over time. “I used to think it was all about sexism until I realised the power we carry as women. If we wanted to, we could absolutely shut down every aspect of a marae. Perhaps white feminism [and] Western ideologies, in general, carry the values – or lack of – that question the dynamic of wāhine Māori and tāne Māori working together harmoniously. As Māori women, I believe we should uphold our kawa – the kawa that our nannies and aunties carried for years. Doesn’t mean we can’t call out bullshit though.”

Women’s roles on the marae have evolved. Jessie reflects on this, noting that while certain traditions may seem unchangeable, they have had some adaptations. She believes some wāhine may have forgotten the extent of their influence, but maintain the authority to exercise it in other areas. “The aunty who runs the kitchen has the power to feed you a hearty beef stew or to give you plain biscuits,” she explains. “The speaker's wife may even show her lack of support through awkward silence as the kaikōrero (speaker) waits for his song that won’t come.”

Maria Davis-Tini (Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngai Tahu)

Critic Te Ārohi also speaks with Maria Davis-Tini (Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu), a young wahine whose deeprooted connection to Te Arawa kawa and commitment to

kaupapa Māori are evident in her roles as Aka Ahurea for Ngā Tauira o Te Kete Aronui (NTKA) and a dedicated student of Otakou Whakaihu Waka.

For Maria, the concept of women dictating the outcome of a whaikōrero resonates. “From my personal experiences, one of the nannies disagreed with one of the uncles on the pae, and in protest of what he said, she sang her own thing to whakaiti (diminish) what he was saying,” she remembers. “All in all, she was protesting against him. No one asked questions because that is our way. There is the freedom to speak up – you can respond.”

Maria, embodying the spirit of ‘Te Arawa hard’, shares her perspective on the role of wāhine on the marae based on personal experiences. For her, it has never been customary for women to speak from the orators' bench. “It’s just not in our kawa. I've never thought of that as something belittling to a woman because I was raised with it,” Maria explains. “I’m big on Te Arawa kawa, so I was never allowed to mihi [ki te] hunga mate (acknowledge the dead). That doesn’t mean I’m unprivileged, because it is to protect my ira wahine (female essence) and my whare tangata (womb).”

Choosing to Speak

While many women like Maria feel secure in the status of their cultural roles, it also begs a bigger question: do women even want to speak on the paepae? Jessie says that it’s subjective. “I know of women who do want to speak on the pae, and some who could never imagine themselves up there,” she says. “Some of the best silver-tongued speakers that I’ve heard in my short 26 years are women.”

In some iwi, the roles of wāhine on the marae have never been as rigidly defined. In others, recent generations have seen a resurgence of women stepping into spaces traditionally held by tāne.

Hineira Tipene-Komene (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Hine) stands out as a prime example of this evolution. Known for her outspoken nature and infamous kōrero at Ngā Manu Kōrero (a te reo Māori speech competition for secondary schools) where she stirred up controversy by lifting her skirt, Hineira is a formidable voice in Te Tai Tokerau (Northland). Although most Ngāpuhi marae do not permit women to speak on the taumata (dialect for orators’ bench), Hineria notes that the situation is different for those in Ngāti Hine. This divergence is attributed to their direct descent from Hineāmaru, who was of chiefly descent and settled the ancestral lands of Waiōmio Valley. Most young people don’t want to speak on the taumata, says Hineira. “A few nannies do [it] because they’re used to it,” she says. “For me personally, I don’t want to unless I absolutely have to.”

Evolving Roles

Marae were no stranger to the effects of World War II and the global shift that it spurred in gender roles. In our own Ōtepoti backyard, for example, the empty space that men left when they went to war enabled women to join the Capping Show, elect female members onto the governing student body, and take editorial positions at Critic Te Ārohi. Hineira shares that at the same time, the role of wāhine on the marae evolved while tāne went to battle. “Without

wāhine, we would have lost our tikanga on the marae, had they not carried on,” Hineira says.

This historical reality raises a compelling argument about evolving kawa across iwi and hapū. If wāhine were entrusted with preserving tikanga in such critical times, should their role on the paepae also evolve? Could the very fact that they sustained these practices in the absence of men signal that now is the time to formalise their contributions further, particularly in speaking roles?

On the modern day marae, Jessie highlights how this evolving role manifests in practice. Women will take on various responsibilities, from karanga and raranga (weaving) to supporting the speakers with waiata (song). “[Or] singing them down if we think they’re talking out of their ass,” she laughs. “We cook, clean, sit quietly as we acknowledge the stench of patriarchy, and do one of the hardest jobs in the world – look after their kids.”

So has gender delineation always been the norm in te ao Māori? As we embrace and understand the complexities of our history, there is room to recognise regional differences and adaptations that reflect Māori interests and evolution. By amplifying these regional variations, we acknowledge the dynamic nature of Māori traditions and the ongoing evolution of our cultural practices.

Colonial Restrictions

The perception that kawa exists to oppress wāhine Māori oversimplifies its purpose. Kawa is a reflection of deeply held cultural values, not a tool of subjugation. As guardians of the whare tangata, wāhine hold mana unique to them, even if it is expressed differently from tāne. This balance isn’t about limiting wāhine, but rather protecting and elevating their sacred roles.

Wāhine Māori have always held incredible influence within te ao Māori that far exceeded their Pākehā counterparts. Wāhine are at the heart of our pūrākau (legends). Papatūānuku, the earth mother, is the foundation of life, and Muriranga-whenua, Māui’s grandmother, whose gifted jawbone enabled him to fish up Te-Ika-a-Māui (the North Island), demonstrates the power of wāhine within both the physical and spiritual realms of te ao Māori.

Only with the arrival of Europeans in the 19th century were Māori subject to rigid gender norms. The Victorian belief in ‘separate spheres’ dictated that a woman’s place was in the domestic sphere, and their identity was tied to marriage and motherhood. These colonial ideas clashed with Māori traditions, where women hold significant roles in decisionmaking, whakapapa, and leadership.

Before colonialism, Māori society was fundamentally built on balance. Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatūānuku (Earth Mother) exemplify this: their harmonious relationship enjoys a balance of forces essential for life. In this balanced structure, wāhine play crucial, distinct roles that are complementary to those of tāne. Women are vital in decision-making, safeguarding whakapapa (genealogy), and upholding tikanga (customs). Their roles, while different,

are equally important, contributing to a harmonious and functional society.

For example, Te Rangitopeora, ‘Queen of the South’ signed Te Tiriti o Waitangi when it was brought to Kāpiti. Her signature wasn’t just symbolic – it was a bold assertion of mana, an acknowledgement that Māori women held influence in political decisions at a time when European women didn’t have the right to vote.

Meri Te Tai Mangakāhia was a member of Te Kōtahitanga Parliament, the Māori parliament established in the 1890s to address Māori issues and advocate for Māori rights. She played a crucial role in debates about land loss and the protection of Māori cultural identity.

These women, just some of many examples, used their positions to challenge colonial policies that aimed to undermine Māori sovereignty and women’s roles within their communities. Their activism was instrumental in the push for the recognition of Māori women’s rights.

In contrast, the colonial systems imposed by European settlers sought to restrict these rights. Colonists often overlooked or disregarded the established roles of Māori

women, imposing Western ideals of gender roles that marginalised their influence. The contrast between Māori and Pākehā experiences highlights how colonialism sought to reshape Māori society, eroding traditional roles and rights that Māori women had previously enjoyed.

Jessie, Maria and Hineira shed light on a conversation that can only be had among wāhine Māori, and not wellintentioned but out of context outsider perspectives on women’s role on the marae. These women reiterate through their personal experiences and perspectives that we must continue navigating these discussions while honouring our traditions. “All of these wāhine, who have played important roles in the infrastructure of te ao Māori deserve their flowers,” Jessie said. “Māori women, in general, deserve their flowers.”

The history of wāhine’s influence on the political, cultural and spiritual realms of Māori culture is testament to their enduring adaptability. Their importance on the marae is about more than just speaking, and their voices sing out both literally and symbolically, evident in the very cultural architecture of the continuity of our people. To view the exclusion of women from the paepae as inherently sexist is to project colonial understandings of gender, and ignores the many other ways that Māori women have positioned themselves at the forefront. They deserve their flowers, and deserve to have their roles recognised and celebrated, for all they have done to contribute to spiritual, emotional, and cultural wellbeing. Wāhine voices can be heard in many spaces, practices, and actions, if only we are attuned enough to listen.

Shakayla Andrews-Alapaki

Waikato-Tainui, Ngāti Mahuta, Pare Hauraki, Ngāti Paoa, Kāi Tahu, Kāti Māmoe, Waitaha

Hineani Campbell-Collier

Te Aitanga-ā-Māhaki, Te Whakatōhea, Te Whānauā-Apanui

Kiritea Smith

Ngāi Te Rangi, Ngāti Ranginui, Ngāti Pūkenga

THE LIMIT DOES NOT EXIST

Kura Kaupapa Māori and Beyond

Conventional education often shackles success to outdated standards and narrow frameworks, measuring achievement by grades or awards. The dynamic force of Kura Kaupapa Māori (KKM) throughout the motu redefines what it means to achieve greatness. Kura Kaupapa Māori are Māori language immersion schools, where teaching reflects Māori knowledge and culture. Tradition, far from being a relic, serves as a powerful catalyst for Māori, propelling the transformative educational approach.

The true impact of Māori immersion efforts, however, remains largely unsung. Too often, the achievements of its graduates are overshadowed by misconceptions such as a lack of academic rigour or resources, and may be undervalued by mainstream narratives criticising KKM kids for being “ill-equipped for the real world.” Sharing the stories of these tauira is essential – not just to correct these misguided perceptions, but to celebrate how KKM nurtures leading figures of our generation who thrive in both te ao Māori and te ao Pākehā.

Their journeys illustrate more than just academic milestones and the resurgence of te reo Māori. They represent a deliberate reclamation of identity that transcends the confines of the classroom, challenging conventional definitions of success and carving new pathways forward.

To gain a deeper understanding of the importance and impact of KKM, Critic Te Ārohi speaks with a few wāhine who have walked this path. These graduates have not only excelled academically but are thriving in their professional lives and proving that the limit truly does not exist for alumni of the kōhanga reo generation.

Shakayla Andrews-Alapaki

NEWS REPORTER, TAHU NEWS

Waikato-Tainui, Ngāti Mahuta, Pare Hauraki, Ngāti Paoa, Kāi Tahu, Kāti Māmoe, Waitaha, Niue

Shakayla is a powerhouse in constant motion. From commanding the mic as the go-to MC for any (and every) event to living out of a suitcase as she chases stories across Te Waipounamu (South Island) in her role as a News Reporter for Tahu News, Shakayla moves seamlessly through a world that demands both agility and unwavering focus.

Shakayla is nearing the completion of her degree in Māori and Pacific Island Indigenous Studies at Otakou Whakaihu Waka, all while making waves in a broadcast career that has already taken her as far as France to cover the 2023 Rugby World Cup. But no matter where she goes, Bluff will always be home for this wahine.

Reflecting on the journey that has taken her here, Shakayla admits that the path could have looked a bit different. “I've gotta say, [kura kaupapa Māori] did save me, in a way. I was at a mainstream school prior to attending kura kaupapa Māori. My dad wanted me to pursue te reo Pākehā [English language], me ngā hua o te ao Pākehā [and the fruits of the Pākehā world], but I just didn't feel like it was a fit for me,” Shakayla shares. “When I first attended [Te Wharekura o] Arohenua, it saved me from not knowing who I was as a tangata Māori.”

Returning to her roots was a pivotal moment that set her on the path to becoming a leading voice of our generation. Her upbringing in te ao Māori not only gave her the tools to reclaim her identity but fueled her relentless drive to amplify Indigenous voices on a larger scale. Whether she’s presenting the news, engaging with communities at local events, or representing Māori on an international stage at the Rugby World Cup, Shakayla’s commitment to telling Māori stories remains at the core of everything she does. Growing up in a predominantly Pākehā region, Shakayla had assumed English would take precedence, and that shaped her initial expectations of kura kaupapa. “There's heaps of Pākehā down where I'm from, so I just thought that was the way,” she said. “People think that it's a place where you go out to chill and end up failing.” But that’s not true at all, Shakayla says: “We've got the highest passing rates in NCEA.”

One may wonder why outsiders continue to underestimate the system when the success rates in KKM schools are so high. Perhaps this is due to a bias against Indigenous knowledge systems, or prevailing stereotypes around Māori achievement. Shakayla attributes these successes to the cultural grounding and unique support students receive, allowing them to excel academically while staying connected to their identity. “Everything we do is in te ao Māori and is [...] centralised around te ao Māori as well,” she explains.

It was this grounding that led Shakayla to seek more when she decided to study at the University of Otago. Reflecting on her decision, she said, “I just didn’t want to be around that āhuatanga (vibe). The Pākehā influence around that town was not gonna get me anywhere as a person – so I needed a way out,” she says, referring to the broader environment of her hometown, where a pervasive nonMāori influence shaped daily life in ways that felt limiting. In these spaces, where Indigenous identity often took a back seat to mainstream expectations, Shakayla felt stifled, recognising that the lack of cultural affirmation would not support her personal growth.

The University of Otago, while often perceived as a predominantly Pākehā institution, offered her something different – a chance to escape the constraints of her hometown and step into a new environment where she could define her own path. Though Otago may be seen as "extremely white" in terms of its student body and culture, Shakayla found it appealing because it represented a space where she could challenge herself academically, while maintaining the cultural strength instilled by her wharekura education. With Otago’s strong Māori and Pacific Studies programme, it became the natural next step in her journey of self-discovery and academic success. “It goes back to my parents,” she says. “As a half kūmara, half coconut, I also opted into picking up a couple of Pacific Island papers my first year, and I really liked it.”

Today, Shakayla does her whānau and community proud as one of the region’s leading news reporters at Tahu News, a regional news outlet based in Te Waipounamu. “I cover stories from the top of the South, from Te Tauihu to Awerua, to Bluff, to home,” she explains. “I just get around covering all these stories – ahakoa he iti, he nui rā nei [regardless if it’s big or small], I'm always at the kaupapa.”

When asked about the importance of te reo Māori and the role it plays in her current job, Shakayla's response is deeply personal. “I think it's [about] showcasing that there is te reo Māori within Te Waipounamu.” In the face of scrutiny from the North Island, where there is a stronger presence of te ao Māori, she says that ignorance overlooks the growing revitalisation of the language further South: “It's not even tauiwi or Pākehā, it's our own going against it.”

This challenge is also evident in the kura kaupapa system itself. “The kura kaupapa system won't evolve if whānau and raukura [graduates] don't come back to do their part,” she explains. “Hei poutuara, ki te akiaki, ki te poipoi i ēnei tauira [as support, to encourage and nurture these students]. If you don't have the support from whānau and raukura, the kaupapa is not gonna go anywhere.”

“Ki te kore ngā whānau e tautoko ana i te kaupapa, ka kore te kaupapa e ora ana mō ake tonu atu. You need whānau, you need raukura hoki. Hei hoki atu ngā raukura anō hoki, ki te whakaora i tērā o ngā kaupapa. If there aren’t whānau

supporting these kaupapa, it will not survive. Raukura must also return [to the kura] to ensure the longevity of these initiatives."

Hineani Campbell-Collier

KAUPAPA INNOVATOR, HEALTHY FAMILIES EAST CAPE

Te Aitanga-ā-Māhaki, Te Whakatōhea, Te Whānau-ā-Apanui

As a recent graduate of Māori Health at the University of Otago, Hineani Campbell-Collier is no stranger to excellence. Whether she’s championing Māori health outcomes or performing as a kaihaka with Te Matatini champions Te Whānau-ā-Apanui, Hineani moves effortlessly through these roles – embodying the spirit of a new generation of cultural and health advocates and determined to tackle the challenges of today’s world, particularly in health equity. It’s an unapologetic reclamation of identity while pushing for progress in fields often dominated by Western frameworks. Looking back at where it all began, Hineani shares that growing up immersed in te ao Māori profoundly shaped her identity. She attended secondary school at Ngā Taiātea Wharekura in Kirikiriroa [Hamilton] where she says a strong cultural connection and fluency in te reo Māori gave her a deep sense of belonging: “[It] instilled confidence, a holistic worldview, and cultural pride while emphasising the importance of my whakapapa and community.”

For Hineani, kura kaupapa Māori embodies the spirit of whānau kōtahi (united as one), where students experience a rich and culturally immersive learning journey. “Going to kura alongside cousins with aunties and uncles as teachers fosters a strong sense of belonging and community. Each tauira feels seen and valued as they are deeply engaged in te ao Māori me ona tikanga,” she says.

Even in the mighty Waikato, hurdles still remain, demanding justification for the existence of kura like Ngā Taiātea Wharekura. Despite their successes, these institutions continue to face scepticism. “People often think [kura kaupapa Māori] only focus on language and ignore academics. In reality, they offer a full curriculum, help build strong cultural identities, and aim for overall success in education,” says Hineani. It's a rich and immersive space, too. The curriculum includes learning waiata and hītori (history) that resonate with cultural identity. She explains, “The genuine care that teachers show for students' wellbeing ensures a holistic approach to education, making this experience both meaningful and supportive.”

Hineani also speaks of the strong uara (values) she was instilled with. “Our kura uara are embodied in the acronym ‘Poutuwhakaaro’ [...] representing our core cultural values: Pono, meaning honesty, reliability, and integrity; Tau utuutu, reciprocity; Whanaungatanga, relationships; Kawenga, responsibility; Aroha, love and respect. They've become guiding principles that I continue to embrace and live by long after my time at Ngā Taiātea,” she explains. “Poutuwhakaaro has shaped my character and continues to influence my actions and decisions to this day, serving as a moral compass in my daily life.”

Despite the strong foundation these wharekura are built upon, Māori immersion schools are still being labelled as

“non-mainstream,” which Hineani says is “kind of ironic [...] te ao Māori is crucial [to] our people's well-being, yet kura kaupapa systems are often seen as outside the mainstream,” she says. “It's almost as if our way of learning and being, which is so fundamental to who we are as Māori, is pushed to the sidelines in the bigger picture of education [...] Our cultural knowledge and practices aren't just add-ons. They're the foundation of our identity and well-being. It makes you wonder about the broader implications, like what does it say about our society when something so essential to us is labelled as non-mainstream?”

Hineani chose to study at Otago because of her whakapapa connection to Ngāi Tahu, wanting to connect to her heritage in whatever way she could. A career in health was definitely something she wanted to pursue, considering how significantly health issues affect our people, however she wasn't keen on entering a professional program and wasn't sure what other nonclinical career options were available in healthcare. Only after thoroughly exploring the degrees offered on Otago's website did she discover Māori Health: “And I thought that it would be perfect for me.”

Today, Hineani has returned to her whānau on the East Coast and is currently working at Healthy Families East Cape. There, she’s a part of a large-scale initiative that unites community leadership to improve population health. “We focus on preventing chronic disease by addressing root causes and transforming environments where people live, learn, work, and play,” she explains. Through collective action, they empower communities to make healthier choices and drive positive change for the thriving whānau. “I'm [also] a proud member of Te Kapa Haka o Te Whānau-ā-Apanui. This involvement has deepened my connection to my whakapapa on that side while allowing me to pursue a lifelong passion I've had since childhood.”

“My connection to te ao Māori has been instrumental in my role with Te Kapa Haka o Te Whānau-ā-Apanui, enabling me to serve as a cultural ambassador for Aotearoa at international events. These include the Rugby World Cup, the Guilin Festival and most recently, the Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture in Hawai'i,” she shares. “Without this cultural grounding, these enriching experiences wouldn't have been possible.”

Looking ahead, Hineani says that the future of kura kaupapa Māori lies in increasing their numbers so more communities across Aotearoa can benefit, and using digital tools and resources to enhance learning while keeping our cultural values intact are some ways of evolving the kaupapa. As I find my way through the health sector, I want to help promote te reo Māori and tikanga Māori in healthcare settings. This means creating resources that support graduates and making sure te reo Māori is used and celebrated in everyday interactions.”

Kiritea Smith

PROJECT MANAGER, OFFICE OF MĀORI DEVELOPMENT

Ngāi Te Rangi, Ngāti Ranginui, Ngāti Pūkenga

The Kōhanga Reo generation is truly here, and Kiritea stands as a proud testament to its incredible impact.

Kiritea was raised with te reo Māori from birth, meaning she grew up immersed in her language and culture entirely. This, she says, has shaped every step of her journey so far. Armed with a total Māori immersion upbringing and a Bachelor of Arts in Māori Studies and Geography from the University of Otago, Kiritea is a force to be reckoned with, having woven her passion for te ao Māori into the heart of academic and professional life.

Kiritea first attended Te Kura o Te Whānau-ā-Apanui on the East Coast before shifting to Te Wharekura o Mauao in Tauranga for secondary school. It was only after her koro (grandfather) passed away that she was sent to live in Tauranga to look after her nan, a common practice among whānau. “The whenua that [Te Wharekura o Mauao] sits on is part of my marae and hapū,” she says. “I ended up there because the principal and a lot of the teachers there at the time were my dad's relatives.”

Her return to her ancestral land was meant to be. Having grown up in the rural, tribal lands of Apanui, Kiritea says that she had been pretty disconnected from her whakapapa. “I didn't know the different narratives, [or about] Mauao Mount and how it got there. I could recite different narratives of Te Whanau-a-Apanui, despite not having any whakapapa there. But that's just naturally what's going to happen when you're brought up in it,” she says.

It was a pretty rounded experience, with a great deal of influence from local iwi and beliefs. “The curriculum is based on the local iwi narratives and also local iwi input into the curriculum, so they're like a part of the school boards usually,” Kiritea explains. “Kura ā iwi tend to create an environment that supports their own, so naturally students should be able to thrive.”

As with others Critic Te Ārohi spoke to, Kiritea credits her upbringing in te ao Māori as a leading factor of what brought her to Otakou Whakaihu Waka. “I actually wouldn't have gone to uni had I not gone to wharekura [...] There was a strong push from a lot of teachers. We were always encouraged to do different programs, like Hands On [at Otago].”

Initially, Kiritea aspired to study Surveying, a degree that’s generally only available at the University of Otago. She was granted an entrance scholarship to cover hall fees, which she describes as being one of the best first-year scholarships. “The scholarship is [awarded] based on your involvement with te ao Māori and a registration to your iwi to verify that you are, in fact, Māori. And those are two very small steps for a lot of kura kids,” she says, pointing out that the support structure in te ao Māori naturally integrates these elements of identity. “A lot of kura kids do succeed when they are within kura that support them to thrive.”

For Kiritea, an important factor to her academic journey was the promise of fees-free study – an initiative that is currently being scrapped by the coalition government. “When you had fees free, you could get StudyLink and [knew] you could kind of afford to go home at some point during the year.”

Since completing her studies, Kiritea has worked within the University of Otago, first in the College of Education as a communications coordinator, and now in the Office of Māori Development as Project Manager which she describes as “one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever done.”

However, she says that it’s very fulfilling in many ways. “The environment that I work in is very supportive and culturally competent.” From undertaking mihi whakatau (welcome) and developing workshops, to whakawātea (ritual opening) and Māori professional development. “One thing I do tend to really take notice of is that the team I work with now is very intergenerational,” she says. Her mahi is relative to any and every “kaupapa Māori that happens on campus, in some way, our team will have some sort of part in it. Either leading, advising or supporting.”

Kiritea says that the whakaaro of total immersion schools are changing. This is particularly on the basis of South Auckland-based Te Kura Māori o Ngā Tapuwae NCEA results, which made headlines for weeks with widespread surprise at the news that proved Māori immersion systems are, in fact, a success. “Full immersion is its own pathway,” she says. “It was really supportive of students going to different programmes, that [even] if you weren't successful in receiving some of the scholarships that come with different programmes, the school would just end up paying for you in full to go to that programme, no matter how far it was. So that's why I credit a lot to [Te Wharekura o Mauao] for doing those things.”

Kiritea’s successes, both local and abroad, tie back to the foundational support and cultural grounding she received growing up immersed in te ao Māori. Fluent in her native tongue, she carried the language and cultural practices with her to Vancouver, where she participated in Indigenous exchanges. “The highlights have been incredible,” she reflects of her experiences, including facilitating major events like the opening of Te Rangihīroa and accommodating manuhiri from Ngāti Mutunga; to her role in the recent University rebrand that unveiled a new ikoa Māori and tohu.

In her overseas mahi, Kiritea’s ability to use te reo and draw from her Māori upbringing became instrumental during her visit to Canada, where she attended the Healing Our Spirit Worldwide conference. This international gathering of Indigenous communities was an opportunity for Kiritea to bring the essence of te ao Māori to a global stage, meeting with Indigenous leaders and institutions such as the University of Alberta. Even amidst the complexities of navigating foreign landscapes, te reo and tikanga Māori acted as a compass, grounding her in her identity while building bridges with Indigenous communities across the world. Kiritea and her ope [contingent] attended a ceremony, similar to that of a pōwhiri, which resonated with her own cultural roots, reflecting the shared values of Indigenous peoples worldwide.

As it turns out, te reo Māori does have practical use beyond the shores of Aotearoa, despite what some believe. Wāhine like Shakayla, who continue to thrive in their careers while upholding te reo Māori, stand as living proof of its relevance. The same goes for Hineani, who defies the notion that kapa haka won’t take you far in the real world, and now travels the world as a cultural ambassador of our country, as well as changing the health outcomes of whānau in her home. Kiritea challenges the outdated idea that Māori traditions have no place in professional industries, demonstrating that cultural identity and leadership go hand in hand, turning heritage into her greatest asset.

The rest is simple: Māori culture and identity are not

constraints but powerful tools. These wāhine showcase that the foundations laid by te reo Māori and tikanga Māori not only hold significance locally but are also shaping the global future for Indigenous peoples. Māori are more than capable of handling their own affairs, using their cultural identity as a blueprint for leadership and innovation.

FULL IMMERSION IS ITS OWN

TRIVIAL PURSUIT (OF JOEL)

A hot new bombshell has entered the villa (Critic office)! Yes, you read that right – we’re stirring the pot. Keegan Wells (OUSA President) is joining the Critic Bachelor for a special guest appearance. Today, the remaining singles Micah, Brad, and Lily will be competing against Keegan in a good old fashioned game of trivia. The topic? Joel lore, of course! We’ll be testing how well the singles have gotten to know the man of the hour during the four dates they’ve each been on – plus some cheeky bonus OUSA lunch dates, if you’re Micah. Let’s see how well they stack up.

Joel and the singles trickle into the office. By now everyone has good banter and they all chat about the mid-sem break. It’s a genuine shame that someone will be voted off today. Keegan seems laid back about the whole thing, stretching out on the couch (where she’s been known to nap) and crossing her ankles. The singles huddle closer together, and everyone faces Joel who’s perched on the opposite couch. Several Critic staff spin on desk chairs, clicking and typing idly on their computers. I hope their disinterest doesn’t reflect yours, dear reader.

Editor Nina kicks off the trivia, announcing that there will be twenty questions for the singles to answer. If anyone thinks they know the answer, they are to smack the coffee table in front of them (we left our buzzer in our other pair of jeans). If Keegan wins, she will have the power to choose the two singles who make it through to the next round of dates. If either Lily, Brad or Micah score the most points, they will secure their spot, and Joel will choose the final single.

The game commences. The first question: what is Joel’s favourite colour? There is a sharp smack as all the singles slam their palms down onto the

singles proceed to go through the entire rainbow before I stop them. I’d forgotten to announce that there may be trick questions. “Does Joel even have a favourite colour? Or, maybe–”. My sentence is cut short as Lily brings her hand back down on the table: “Joel doesn’t have a favourite colour!” Joel beams at her – she knows him so well! Nina tallies her win on a whiteboard normally reserved for news pitches and Sam’s doodles.

Keegan proceeds to guess Joel’s favourite cuisine and dream travel destination: Japanese and Nepal. Things are going great – until the group is asked what Joel’s favourite season is. Earlier in the day as we'd drafted the questions, Joel had expressed his love of winter due to a love of mountaineering and snowsports. Keegan brings her hand down on the table. “Summer,” she says confidently. Joel smiles and nods, before breaking eye-contact with her to look at me. I complain that isn’t what he told me earlier, and he says, “I get to choose. You’re allowed to change your mind.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that he was giving Keegan special treatment. “What tipped you over?” asks Nina, looking puzzled as she tallies Keegan’s third point. “Nothing,” Joel responds, smiling. The cheek of the man.

Brad remembers that Joel’s top Spotify artist is Harry Styles (mentioned all the way back at speed dating), and knows that his favourite movie genre is nature documentaries (Nat Geo!). “Does Joel have a favourite book or author?” Nina asks. Keegan leans forward and smacks the table. “Yes,” she says. Everyone pauses, waiting for her to continue. “If you wanted to know his favourite book or author, that should have been a follow on question. The answer is yes,” she explains. Smart lady.

Unfortunately, Keegan’s strategy doesn’t afford

her the win, as it is common knowledge that Joel is far too busy to read nowadays between rewriting uni assignments, unsuccessfully running for Exec positions, and DeliveryEasy shifts. Micah is the winner here, bringing his hand down to answer, “No.” He proceeds to rip into Joel for all the trick questions. Don’t hate the player, hate the game (or me and ChatGPT for generating the questions).

“What is Joel’s childhood fear?” asks Nina. This is something they’d know if they’d been paying attention. “Pipe bombs,” chirps Keegan. “Zombies,” guesses Micah. “Trolls?” wonders Brad. “Oh, it’s something your parents made up to stop you from behaving badly, right?” says Lily. Joel nods eagerly. “Some place naughty kids went – it’s on the tip of my tongue…” We stop her there, it’s close enough to the real answer: the dreaded Boy Girl Soup Factory – something Joel revealed to Charlotte (miss her) in their very first speed date.

Things are getting intense now, with Joel nervously glancing up at the tally board. What’s Joel’s favourite hobby? It’s not a sauna, despite Keegan’s keen guesswork. “Snow shoeing,” says Micah, citing Instagram stalks as his source of inspiration for the answer. Joel shakes his head. “Thank fucking God, that’s a dumb thing to do,” Keegan says, rolling her eyes. She guesses alpinism, which is close enough to Joel’s true fave: mountaineering.

Joel’s favourite animal is the next topic of discussion, prompting two guesses for dogs and Lily saying that Joel looks like someone who likes otters. Joel hints that it's bipedal, causing even more wrong answers. Nina asks Joel to give another hint, who shoots back with: “No, I don’t want to give a hint.” Assertive king. Keegan stares down at her heavily stickered water bottle, eyeing one of a bird. A parrot, to be exact. “Kea?” she asks. Buzz! Another tally is added to the board.

The game continues. Lily correctly guesses Joel’s favourite cheese as brie. Brad knows that Joel is a night-owl and that his coffee order is a long black. The tallies are as follows: four to Keegan, five to Micah, four to Brad and seven to Lily. There is a clear winner, and Lily seems thrilled.

Keegan, seemingly salty about not knowing the Bachelor as well as she thought she did – but also having repeatedly stated, “I have nothing to lose” the entire time – suggests just giving away her points to someone. Self-sabotage to avoid the inevitable embarrassment of potential elimination? Joel’s head shoots up – and a crafty grin crosses his face. He suggests that in doing so, Keegan will be the one to decide the elimination. She pales, and quickly tries to back out. “No, that’s how it is. You have to do it,” Joel insists. Keegan thinks for a second, and asks to donate her points to Lily, who has already won. “No,”

says Joel, and pushes her to donate them to either Micah or Brad.

Keegan takes a measured look between Brad and Micah. “I feel like the Brad Army will come for me [if I don’t donate to him],” she stresses. “He’s a mad scientist,” pleads Micah. Keegan explains that she’s known Brad for a while now. Earlier in the year, they’d met each other in Queenstown before realising they both went to the same uni. For that, she seems to owe a degree of loyalty. “I’ve been at it from the start,” grins Brad. What a competitor. Keegan makes the donation.

“Sad days,” frowns Micah. “He hates choosing every time, he’s finally gotten out of it,” he sighs. “Well that made it way easier for me. Thanks Keegan,” laughs Joel. Keegan doesn’t seem thrilled. Micah gets a $50 DeliverEasy voucher thanks to our wonderful sponsors. “What do I get?” whines Keegan, looking sorry for herself. Nothing apparently, aside from another weird thing that pops up when you Google ‘Keegan Wells’.

“I’m sad to see Micah go, but congrats to the Brad Army. Power to the Brad Army,” Lily tells me afterward. “I am more happy to be through to the next round than I imagine I would feel when I have my first-born child,” she says, smiling softly. In the background, I overhear Micah suggesting yet another OUSA lunch-time catch-up to Joel.

Catch us in the next issue for the last two dates before we figure out who Joel will be entangled with for the rest of his life. Joel will be meeting the flatmates of Lily and Brad over $100 of DeliverEasy – and we all know the way to your flatmate’s heart is through a stomach-full of free food.

and Ati Teepa. 5.30pm. Free entry. REGGAE VIBES THE CROWN HOTEL Featuring The Yemenite, Unkle Jimmy, Laafta, Te Seleckta, JungleFari, and The Thief . 7pm. $5.

ST BERNIE - YOU SHOULD BE DANCING ERRICK'S Tickets from flicket.co.nz. 8pm.

SEPTEMBERFEST - SESSION 2

MARLIN'S DREAMING

- HIRL TOUR

ERRICK'S w/ Pearly*. Tickets from moshtix.co.nz. 8pm.

STEEZY'S TOUCH U BAR w/ Audio Visual Drop Kicks and Caribou. Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 8pm.

SEPTEMBERFEST - SESSION 1 YOURS Featuring The Duck’ns, Black Tomato Sauce, Scream, Bent Trent, Askhole, and and Roadkill. Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 6.30pm. All ages.

SEPTEMBERFEST - SESSION 3 YOURS

YOURS

Featuring Youbee-pastablaster, Keira Wallace, Grace Gemmell, Anna Laurence, and Hammer to Stone. Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 1pm. All ages.

BOTH SIDES OF THE LINE MOONS w/ Spectrum. Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 8pm. All ages.

RAYLEE BRADFIELD AND RENÉE COSIO

BALCLUTHA WAR MEMORIAL HALL

Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 7pm. All ages.

Featuring The Late News, Threeskin, KROOD!, Eris, Talking Furniture, and Bunchy’s Big Score. Tickets from undertheradar.co.nz. 7pm. All ages.

SAURIAN - 'BLED DRY' EP RELEASE

DUNEDIN MUSICIANS' CLUB

Tickets from eventfinda.co.nz. 8pm. All ages.

By Jordan Irvine

Bring The Noise final losers Achtung! are the newest postpunk band in Ōtepoti. Members include Jacob (he/him) on guitar, Niki (she/they/he) on drums, Henry on bass (he/ him) and George (he/him) on guitar. According to Niki, “The genesis of Achtung! is using old Critic’s as cum rags.” The band also makes music and plays shows from time to time. Critic Te Ārohi pulled up to a flat in Woodhaugh to chat with the band about their influences (warning: Transformers spiel incoming), formation, and a somewhat disturbing admiration for Critic Te Ārohi.

“The band had to happen. We received visions,” says Niki. The project actually started with Jacob and George jamming together (“which then became a thing”). Of course, every band needs drums, so Niki joined not long after. Henry then joined as the band's bassist with a hidden saxophone talent: “Which will show up in an Achtung! song,” promises Jacob.

The band's name derives from a shipping container at Jacob’s work: “I was like, ‘That’s a sick band name.’ Also my [great] Grandad’s German. I think.” Jacob is the lead songwriter of the group, explaining that he’ll write down some lyrics and chords and present them to the others. “I receive visions. Waves of inspirations from a new song that comes out and I’m like, ‘Fuck I wanna sound like that.’ Often the lyrics are snapshots of what I feel at the time.” Henry chips in, “He comes to me with the chords and demands I make a bassline.” George just plays over everything and hopes that it sounds good.

There’s some discord within the band over what their sound is. George says, “It has been described as post-rock, but I

don’t really know what that is.” Jacob adds, “I don’t know what it is either. It just sounds cool.” Niki thinks the band is punk because “I don’t know how to play my instrument.” This is probably why the word “eclectic” got thrown around a lot during the interview. Henry even mentions he doesn’t listen to the kind of music Achtung! makes: “I guess I’m bringing more of a disco influence,” he says. “I’m making us a post-disco band.”

Jacob takes a lot of emo influence for his lyrics. The band is also inspired by King Krule, Black Country, New Road, Jacob Stevenson, ‘Temporary Secretary’ by Paul McCartney and Transformers. “One of our instrumentals we start with is called ‘Robot Street’ because [of] Transformers. I fucking love Transformers so much,” says Jacob. “The OG cartoon is so good,” he adds. “The ‘80s movie is sick. Optimus Prime dies and then comes back in the cartoon an episode later, it’s so fucking cool,” says Niki.

Two of the band members (you’ll have to guess which) are also part of the band Give Up. This other post-punk band was offered to open for the Christchurch band Marsha, but when their drummer fell sick, Achtung! swooped in to save the day at the very last minute. It was Henry’s girlfriend's 21st, so he showed up in a three-piece suit ready to play some funky bass. He left immediately afterward. “Happy Achtung!” George blurts (Critic assumes this phrase came to him in a vision).

You can follow Achtung! on Instagram @achtun.g for upcoming gigs. Also look out for the Give Up/Achtung! Dunedin Double EP.

AGAINST

It’s clear that the New Zealand government isn’t living up to its obligation to promote te reo Māori (an official language in New Zealand, mind you). It's also clear that issues surrounding te reo are still controversial to a vocal minority of the New Zealand population – think the old white boomers on Facebook who have cars as their profile picture.

There’s also political parties who are more than happy to politicise this issue; we need only look at Act’s recent endeavours to see as much. These sentiments extend to National as well, with Minister for Transport Simeon Brown stating on record that he believes that there’s sufficient evidence to suggest that bilingual road signs negatively impact safety. These claims and complaints demonstrate a desire to resist change, which may be indicative that any future measures are likely to be met with similar resistance. Taking all this into consideration, it’s clear that attempts at implementing policy for bilingual road signs will use political capital that could otherwise be used to promote te reo in other (perhaps less controversial) ways. And at the end of the day, the jury is still out on whether road signs would actually do anything to shift crusty attitudes or whether they’re more of a tokenistic gesture.

There are bigger issues facing te reo Māori and an ongoing debate about relatively trivial road signs distracts from issues such as providing funding for te reo in schools or the role of tikanga in New Zealand society. It’s clear that last year’s election has resulted in a far more hostile and divisive political environment. The time for bilingual road signs will come, but for now there are far more pressing matters to attend to.

FOR

The introduction of bilingual road signs is a hugely practical step towards making the use of te reo a more common part of day-today life. The Crown has an obligation to do as much, given te reo is an official language and therefore has equal status to English. The introduction of these signs could be done in phases, slowly replacing all the street signs stolen after a night on the piss and to give your grandma enough time to adjust. It would make the cost far more negligible, preventing potential attacks that the likes of old pal David Seymour could level against it.

As much as New Zealand likes to consider itself to be a world leader and a forerunner in adopting milestone policy (shoutout David Lange), we fall behind in recognising the importance of greater implementing te reo Māori. Ireland has had bilingual street signs since the 1920s – it could be about time we caught up.

Using te reo in everyday language is by no means a brand new phenomenon, either. Many government agency names use ingoa Māori. The potential dangers posed by these signs that Simeon Brown points to are negated by a Waka Kotahi report; two different versions of the word aren’t going to confuse a driver – and if they do, that driver probably shouldn’t be on the road in the first place.

Bilingual road signs represent a move towards the Crown honouring its Te Tiriti obligations, is a significant move to recognise and enhance the mana that these place names carry, and to recognise how integral te reo is to New Zealand’s identity.

SHOULD AOTEAROA HAVE BILINGUAL ROAD SIGNS?

By Ruby Hudson

Makes: 1 large loaf Time: 10 mins prep, 2 days ferment time; 2 hrs knead and prove, 45 mins bake

Difficulty: 5/5 (until you have tried a few times! Then it is

REwena LOAF:

2 cups rēwena bug

4.5 cups flour (+ more for dusting and kneading)

3 Tbsp white sugar

BUG Instructions:

Step 1. Add the potato and 1 cup of water to a pot and boil until the potato is soft. Keep the potato water and place the chunks of potato into a separate bowl. Mash the potato until smooth and let it cool for 15 mins.

Step 2. Add the mashed potato, flour, sugar and about 1 cup of the potato water to a mixing bowl and combine. It should be kind of runny like a pancake mix. If it’s too wet/ dry, add more flour/warm water until the texture is right.

Step 3. Cover the bug mixture with a tea towel and keep in a warm place to start fermenting. Placing it somewhere sunny is ideal, however a hot water cupboard or on top of a hot water bottle would also be suitable.

Step 4. After 24 hours of fermentation, mix in 1 tsp of sugar. After 48 hours, mix in ½ cup of lukewarm potato water (you can get this by boiling more potatoes for dinner etc. and topping up the reserved water from step 1). Leave this for a further 24/48 hrs or until the bug starts to bubble and grow. If it does not bubble by this time, repeat the feeding process. Once this is achieved, you are ready to bake!

Step 5. To make more rēwena in the future, reserve at least 2 Tbsp of your bug to continue feeding.

LOAF Instructions:

Step 1. Combine the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl, and create a large well in the centre. Add the bug into the centre. Mix the dry ingredients into the bug and fold until combined. Step

Step 2. The dough should be a little sticky, but able to be worked with. Add more flour or water until you have achieved the desired texture. Knead the dough for 5-8 mins.

Step 3. Place the dough into a large heat proof tin/dutch oven, and place somewhere warm to prove for 2 hrs or until it has near doubled in size.

Step 4. Place into a cold oven and set to 190 degrees celsius. Cook for 45 mins or until golden and hollow sounding when tapped.

Served best fresh with butter, jam, or honey!

REwena Paraoa

There are many pleasures in life. In Dunedin, it’s the Peninsula wildlife and alcohol. Put ‘em together and what do you get? Penguin piss. In honour of this year’s Bird of the Year election, the master brewers at Emerson’s have made a limited edition ‘Vote Hoiho’ NZ Pale Ale.

Despite being a Lion Corporate brand, Emerson’s can still claim local status because of this drop. To create this drink, Emerson’s partnered with the Yellow-eyed Penguin Trust, the Dunedin Wildlife Hospital, and the OPERA (Otago Peninsula Eco Restoration Alliance) to support the last remaining Hoiho on Aotearoa’s mainland. For every litre of penguin beers sold, Emerson’s donates $1 towards helping the penguins.

Hoiho beer is crafted from a blend of Graston Rakau hops and Riwaka Amplifier hop oil from Clayton. It’s up for debate whether either of those are real things or Emerson’s is sneaking into the Wildlife Hospital around the corner and stealing drums of actual penguin piss, Breaking Bad style.

Penguin-themed piss may be the one thing that can take away the moral ambiguity of drinking to excess when you really shouldn’t. The more you drink, the better chance you have of saving this poor bird from extinction. Emerson’s has finally made it possible to say, “Babe, me and the boys have to have a few more. The penguins need us.” Going to Emerson’s to put back a few of these makes you a certified Dunner’s Robin Hood, stealing from Studylink and giving to the birds. Truly a noble cause.

other – this beer sits comfortably in the middle. It’s like drinking your Dad’s homebrew with dinner: it’s meant to be savoured whilst you painfully get asked questions about its aroma, complex flavours, and what job you can get with your degree.

The Hoiho NZ Pale Ale (adorably advertised by ‘Vote Hoiho’ ribbons worn by staff) is on Emerson’s limited time brewers reserve, meaning you sadly can’t buy a box of these things. Your options are to order a pint or order a 1.25L rigger bottle – and if it comes in the same shape as a scrumpy, it must mean that this bottle is reserved for only the highest quality of drink. For those ordering their beers takeaway, the price for Vote Hoiho NZ Pale Ale comes in at $17.50 for 1.25L of yellow-eyed alcohol. With an ABV of 5.4%, the rigger comes in at 5.3 standard drinks, making for a cooked (but charitable) golden ratio of $3.3 per standard.

Pairs well with: Critic not hating penguins

X Factor: Just smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.

Hangover Depression Level: Painful, like watching a tourist trying to pet a sea lion

Taste Rating: 9/10. Feel too guilty giving this a lower rating

In terms of taste, this drop is pretty malty like an APA

CHURR E WHĀNUKTE

For non-Māori, some may ask why is Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori a thing? Why is there no English language week? Why do these Māori get a week to themselves?

Well, e te whānau, let me enlighten you my bro.

Te wiki o te reo Māori is our birthright. It is the reo that was once spoken by our tīpuna and the reo that will flourish in our mokopuna. Our reo is our continuum. For us as mana and tangata whenua, te wiki o te reo āori is a week that is our lifestyle; it is us revitalising and nourishing a part of us that was almost taken from us. It is our political foundation and standpoint as we continue to navigate te ao Pākehā as Māori.

This week symbolises our past, our present, and our future. It showcases the battles and fights that our tīpuna waged against the Crown and Government to allow our māoritanga to exist after the acts of external and internal colonisation. This week symbolises us, the kōhanga generation, the ones who are still unapologetically Māori and have no qualms about being the only Māori in the room to showcase our people. The ones who are more than happy to protest in any way, shape or form to make sure our tīpuna mahi does not die and that the Government is held accountable. This week reminds us that this needs to be the reality of all and should not be held to te wiki o te reo Māori or Mahuru Māori but our perpetuity, as it is who we are as Māori.

But this week also signifies what we need to fix as Māori and reminds us that those of us who know our reo, know our tikanga and our Māoritanga need to awhi and manaaki those that do not. Being Tumuaki Takirua o Te Rōpū Māori, you see the reality of our tauira at the University. You see tauira Māori who are storch within their Māoritanga and live and breathe their Māoritanga on a daily basis. You see Māori tauira who are trying to find themselves as Māori and navigate their Māori identity (churr come TRM Whare 523 Castle Street we can awhi hehe).

But you also see Māori tauira who find it hard to identify as Māori, going through the University and not feeling comfortable or allowing themselves to connect. And that may be because you are too whakamā that you do not know your whakapapa or may not roll your r’s the way that an East Coasty can. But that does not mean that you should allow yourself to build your own obstacles to understand yourself as Māori. This week is the week to learn a part of who you are and to allow yourself to connect as Māori.

I have watched tauira at the University learn who they are as Māori at our Te Rōpū Māori whare. I have watched my tauira become unapologetically Māori. We have one tauira in particular who has made me so proud

to be one of their tumuaki. He grew up in Denmark for his childhood, therefore being disconnected from his Māoritanga. He came to university not knowing who he was and his space to be in. Then one day, he began coming into the whare and became a common tauira. I watched him begin to understand that he is Māori. I watched this tauira do the hard mahi for our kapa haka rōpū for Te Huinga Tauira ki Tāmaki, and represent our Māori students at a national level. I watched him use being Māori as his superpower and learn the ways of his people and tīpuna. I watched his personality begin to shine and go from a university student to a tauira Māori.

Outside of Te Rōpū Māori, I work part-time with rangatahi who have not had the greatest upbringing due to the generational mamae of colonialism and urbanisation. I have watched my babies learn their whakapapa, their pepeha, and enter Te Ao Māori. I have watched them blossom as they weave their putiputi and sing their waiata. I have watched them look at being Māori as a blessing and not a curse, discovering that they deserve a lot more than the inequitable lifestyle that society has given them. I have watched my babies look at bettering themselves for their tīpuna but to make sure that their tamariki will know who they are as Māori. Because, he whakapapa Māori, he Māori ahau, he Māori koe, he Māori tātou.

So yo, this week is a lot more than just a language week for us. It is everything that our tīpuna have dreamed of and the foundation of the world that we want for our mokopuna. It is the infrastructure of our bridge to enable all Ngā iwi Māori to cross. And although you or your friend may be against it, just remember your whakapapa nē, as you may not be Māori and this week may not have any correlation with you. But your mokopuna could be Māori, therefore your whakapapa may one day be Māori.

And to be honest with you, I think it is time to extend Te wiki o Te Reo Māori to more than just a week, aye!

And to our TRM whānuk, TREE TREE TREE

mō tātou, ā, mō kā uri ā muri ake nei

For us and our children after us

E mihi ana nui,

Gemella Reynolds-Hatem

Tumuaki Takirua o Te Rōpū Māori

For Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori from September 16th-22nd, Critic Te Ārohi’s orb reads the maramataka – a calendar highlighting the connection between the moon and our well-being. The energy levels are caused by the gravitational forces of Te Ra, Marama, and Whenua.

RĀTŪ – TURU

The Orb's advice: A big haerenga (journey) awaits you – time to get planning. Today is a high-energy day so make lists, get colourcoding, and ensure that you have packed enough undies! You never know what eating too many kinds of beans will do to a person's bowels, and Rātū is way too early in the week to shit your pants.

On Rātū we scream at people wearing skinny jeans.

RĀPARE – TAKIRAU

The Orb's advice: Time to refresh and relax. As a medium energy day, use

this time to get that spring cleaning done. Change those sheets, clean that cone piece, and wipe the mould from your windows. Speaking of windows… maybe open them every once in a while.

On Rāpare we read the news. And not just Critic’s news section – we beg of you!

RĀHOROI – KOREKORE TAUTAHI

The Orb's advice: Sleep the day away and skip the trip to town. As a low energy day, try challenging yourself to take the least amount of steps possible. Having a productive Saturday is overrated – with exam season just round the bend, bed rot while you still can.

On Rāhoroi we eat two-minute noodles and drink litres of fizzy (a balanced diet).

RĀHINA – ATUA WHAKAHAEHAE

The Orb's advice: The beauty of life has been getting away from you, lately. Make sure to whip out your phone and take an obnoxious amount of beach sunset pics. While there, try embodying your 8-year-old self and picking up seven pieces of rubbish before you leave. This is a medium-energy day, so be sure to not over-exert yourself by posting more than once on your Instagram story.

On Rāhina we eat at least three kinds of legumes. Gut health is gut wealth.

RĀAPA – TE RĀKAUNUI (FULL MOON)

The Orb's advice: Today is a full moon, meaning emotions are heightened. This day could make or break your week, so ensure that you are feeling productive and getting out there to carpe diem! As a high-energy day and a Wednesday, it would be rude to not host the best pres ever, take the flat to Pint Night, and camp at the front of the mosh.

On Rāapa we don’t turn into werewolves (bitches) and are kind to those around us.

RĀMERE – OIKE

The Orb's advice: Friday is a medium energy day, and it will almost definitely be the most boring of the week. Nothing special will happen organically – you’ll have to seek it out yourself. Try to give back to the people who have given so much to you. Maybe send your mum flowers or thank your lecturer as you walk out of the room.

On Rāmere we don’t walk on the grass, we use the footpaths.

RĀTAPU – KOREKORE RAWEA

The Orb's advice: Low energy Sundays means getting creative with ways to make your life a bit easier, whether that is sleeping in tomorrow's outfit or making a week's worth of sandwiches in one go. Setting yourself up for an easier week will never be something you regret.

On Rātapu we take everything showers so long our flatmates start talking shit about us.