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complaints
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about us
Salient is published by, but remains editorially independent from, the Victoria University of Wellington Student's Association (VUWSA). Salient is funded in part by VUWSA through Student Services Levy. Salient is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA).
The views expressed in Salient do not necessarily reflect those of the Editor, VUWSA, or the University.
EDITORIAL AROUND THE CAMPFIRE
See page 36 for more information on Bird of the Week
Welcome back to Trimester Two! In this issue, Salient is being taken over and transformed into a literary journal. Inside, you will find the winning pieces of short fiction and poetry from Salient's 2024 Writing Competition, along with judges' reports and the usual news and puzzles (including solvable sudoku’s) you’ve come to love. Enjoy Trimester Two—you’re on the home stretch!
Despite growing up in Murihiku (known for being makariri) mid-winter was always special as it was the Māori New Year, signified by Matariki or Puanga or for my family; the only time of year we weren’t hōhā about waking up before 6 a.m.
Matariki, or Puanga, has been celebrated by Māori for a long time, officially recognised as a holiday in Aotearoa since 2022. Matariki and Puanga can be seen for most of the year, aside some weeks usually from the end of May to June or July, marking the new year. Puanga rises between May and June and signals the beginning of winter. Ngā whetū (the stars) are important guides for Māori. Traditionally, Māori used Maramataka for a lot; in relation to the New Year it was used to navigate seasonal changes, monitor kai availability, and track fish and animals.
Matariki (Pleiades), is a cluster of stars, some iwi/hapū identifying seven, and others nine. Some iwi/hapū say they are sisters, while others say Matariki is the mother and the stars are her children. The genders of the stars can also change, sometimes daughters, sometimes sons. Matariki is actually only one name for the cluster, and is the shortened version of Ngā mata o te ariki o Tāwhirimātea. It speaks to the star clusters’ origins in te ao Māori. After Ranginui and Papatūānuku were separated, Tāwhirimatea fled to the skies and, out of anger towards his siblings, plucked out his eyes and threw them into the sky—where they stuck to his fathers chest. The stars of Matariki and what they are connected to are: Matariki (Health and well-being of people), Waitī (Freshwater and its food sources), Waitā (Ocean and its food sources, Waipuna-ā-rangi (Rain), Tupuānuku (Kai from the soil), Tupuārangi (Kai from above), Ururangi (Winds), Pōhutukawa (The deceased), Hiwa-i-te-rangi (Growth and prosperity: ‘the wishing star’).
Puanga (Rigel), is often either the older sibling or cousin of Matariki. The star’s gender also changes. Sometimes Puanga is known as the wife of Rehua, and other times Takurua. Puanga also has a second name: Puanga Kairau, often interpreted as connecting to abundance of kai, but also interpreted as Puanga, the lover. This gives insight to the star’s special connection with Miro, Kumara and Kererū.
There are many ways to celebrate Matariki and Puanga, you might only celebrate one. I have always lived in places where we could see both, and it depends on which one of my iwi or hapū you ask what one I should prioritize. Traditionally, there were three main celebrations, the viewing—to interpret what the next year would bring, the Hau tuku (farewell to passed on loved ones and release of past challenges) and the Hautapu (feeding the stars). Puanga celebrations last a little longer—often going for a month or more— and include alot of wānanga around reflection and preparation. Though how you celebrate is really up to you and your whānau, simply having or attending a shared kai, connecting to te Taiao, setting intentions, reflecting and remembering, kōrero or star gazing are all ways of celebrating.
It's important for me to acknowledge that I am not the authority on this kōrero. Matariki and Puanga are known and celebrated in cultures globally and kōrero can differ. This is just kōrero that I have been gifted from my tūpuna and others that I am now gifting to you.
Mānawatia a Matariki.
Poetry | Judges Report
words by Cadence Chung
I wasn’t sure what to expect when judging the inaugural Salient poetry competition, so I really enjoyed being surprised by new poetic voices. One thing that always stands out in my experiences of editing and judging is how much of a privilege it is to read people’s work. When entering a competition, there’s a lot of disconnect: you write something, send it in, get a politely automated response. But for the judge on the other side, it’s an incredible chance to connect with someone’s art.
The theme of this competition was “By the Campfire”. For me, a campfire is a deeply intimate setting. I’m sure many of us can relate to the experience of sitting in the dim light with friends, perhaps a little tipsy, and suddenly feeling like all of your secrets can now be revealed. The campfire is a place to gossip, to weep, to argue about what should go on the Spotify playlist next. It’s a place that creates endless vignettes to slip into your pocket and keep.
The three poems that I selected as first, second, and third place stood out to me due to their concise, well-formed scenes. The winning poem, Unfinished Ritual, blends cultural and personal concepts in a biting way, each sentence short and perfectly placed, ruthlessly enjambed. I especially love the almost unexpected associations it creates, such as “You watched Lilo and Stitch last night, and thought / of my thighs.” It captures the bite-sized essence I love about poetry, its simple surface hiding a great undercurrent of ideas.
The poem that I chose as second place is sixteen minutes. Its first line, “sixteen minutes into saturday / and my arm is unbroken”, was instantly attention-catching, a strong beginning to its rapid unfolding. The pace of this poem is quick and speech-like. It maniacally runs through explanations and images, creating a montage of a night-time scene that brims with friends and desire and love.
The final poem in the winning three is Katipō. I smiled as I read this one—the sense of voice is so charming. Instead of using direct dialogue, interjections such as “āe” build up distinct characters in the poem. It’s a work full of fondness and joviality, clarified by its lyric turn in the final lines.
I also picked a shortlist of commended poems—there were so many outstanding poems submitted that I wanted to highlight more than just three. The poem Waikawa Beach is another great beach-themed poem, with striking lines such as “The sea is charcoal black / It froths like a rabid dog”. The poems Backfire! and The Fourth Day stood out to me for their strong sense of pacing, alternating between long and short sentences for maximum effect. The commanding voice in Backfire! was equally interesting and confronting (and it’s also the first poem I’ve read that has a Rango reference), while the last stanza of The Fourth Day ends the poem with the fascinating image of taking “a toothpick to a cardboard box”. The poem Mirror Burn, inspired by Louise Glück, is a flowing cascade of phrases such as “I kindle those green vowels”, while 8:00am in khandallah is a visceral and honest account of a Wellington scene.
Congratulations to everyone placed and shortlisted in this competition. It was a huge pleasure to read your work. And to those who weren’t placed, please don’t be discouraged—my job was very difficult, as I honestly found that every single poem had something unique to offer. Keep writing, keep submitting, and keep noticing the beauty of the world. There can never be enough poets.
Short Stories | Judges Report
words by Sue Orr
Salient called the orators to the campfire, and to the campfire they came. Some told stories, others were there to listen—to their ancestors, to their lovers, to our peat fire planet, smouldering exhausted from the inside out. Some pyromaniacs turned up to burn shit such as grammar and narrative logic, just for the fun of it. I suspect they, of everyone, had the best time.
The winning story, Fire Engines, dropped its readers into a futuristic Wellington that some days feels as though it’s already arrived. A couple watches as Matairangi’s (Mount Victoria’s) old wooden homes burn to the ground below them, to be replaced by skyscrapers. The nearby Home for Decommissioned Public Servants goes up in flames. Was it empty? Officially, yes. But what of the black fire engines?
Fire Engines is a call to action against political and environmental indifference, etched in chilling, unforgettable prose. The assured voice snares us from the very first sentence and refuses to let us look the other way. It’s rare to sink into a story knowing, immediately, that the author has absolute command over every aspect of the telling—originality, tension, plot, character, structure and style. Virginia Woolf said style was all about rhythm in storytelling. She reckoned if you got the rhythm right, then it was impossible to choose the wrong words. The writer of Fire Engines never missed a rhythmic beat. Other stories came close, but faltering craft ultimately nudged them down the shortlist. Grammar matters. Spelling matters. Dangling and misplaced modifiers most definitely matter. Read your stories out loud, writers. Be like Virginia. Listen to the rhythm.
Real took out second place and lit a different kind of flame. The unnamed protagonist meets up with an old childhood friend, Squid. Squid’s a user and has recently been exhibiting symptoms of a raging poetry addiction, including an exploded vocabulary and lyrical phrasing. The pair ingest from a buffet of poetic offerings before the protagonist finds the perfect high in her own work.
Real is sassy—effortlessly clever, riding drug tropes hard while never losing sight of its true intention, the celebration of poetry. It’s also very funny. I challenge you not to feel sorry for the hapless Squid. "I preferred what you gave us last week. Acrostic poetry just hits all the buttons in my brain" he says of their dealer’s newest tab. Poor Squid. He was destined not to get it.
Crushing, in third place, scales the highs and lows of a woman’s infatuation with the checkout operator at her local health food store. It too is delightfully funny, in a Fleabag kind of way. We empathise with her tolerant, sweet boyfriend, who endures the crush until it comes to an end that’s both inevitably organic and pathetically artificial. Again, craft elevated this story into a prizewinning position, ahead of other stories that were strong in originality but stumbling in execution in small ways.
I judged this competition without knowing who the authors are and I look forward very much to finding out their names. Congratulations, Salient, on a most excellent bonfire.
WED | MOON | 7pm
Jazz & Pizza with Jake Baxendale
Wednesday at MOON: $15 pizzas, and excellent live jazz from 7pm (for free!). The usual team will be responsible for pizza and beer; this week's jazz duo will be provided by Jake Baxendale. Since transplanting from Golden Bay to Pōneke, Baxendale has made a name for himself in the jazz scene as an excellent alto saxophonist and original composer, playing in and heading a range of local groups, when he’s not touring overseas. You will be well fed, delighted, and transported by the power of jazz.
FRI | San Fran | 8pm
Ringlets, Dale Kerrigan, Macho Macho, and Feshh
Four incredible bands. One excellent venue. One unforgettable night. This Friday will see some of Aotearoa’s finest artists descending upon San Fran for an evening not to be missed. Ringlets have been making waves in Tāmaki Makaurau with blisteringly highenergy post-punk. Dale Kerrigan will provide a grungy mix of noise/math rock straight from Ōtepoti. Macho Macho have been tearing up the scene here for some time and are certain to deliver. And Feshh! I love these guys—shoegazey, super fun live.
protest calendar
Olive Tree Planting at VUW
Queer Endurance Defiance and UniQ are organising this Tuesday in peaceful protest against (another!) transphobe being platformed on our campus. Sall Grover, an Australian anti-trans ‘activist’, is speaking at Pipitea—she has a history of harmful, hateful rhetoric explicitly aimed at undermining legal protections for transgender people and directly threatening the safety of our queer communities. For more info and a full kaupapa of the protest, find @UniQVictoria and @Queer_Endurance_Defiance on Instagram
THUR | Rogue & Vagabond | 9pm
The Bigboyband Presents: A Winter Wonderland
The Bigboyband is here, and it is their sworn mission to help you in your fight against seasonal depression—with music. Leading the pack will be Pōneke’s most charming front man, deftest jazz bassist, and most treasured composer: the legendary Seth Boy. He’s keeping things intimate, and inviting only fourteen of his closest friends onstage. Seth tells us we can expect: “... blues, ballads, trumpets, warmth and friendship, amazing guest vocalists, romance, trombones, and raging burning swing”.
SAT | MOON | 8pm
Big League: ‘Heathen Sound’ Album Release Tour (with Sure Boy)
Indie rock kids! This is for you. Visiting from Melbourne are indie outfit Big League, stopping in at MOON on a New Zealand/ Australian tour showcasing their latest LP, ‘Heathen Sound’. In the three years since their last record, Big League have only refined and improved their sound—the new LP is a treat, and the set promises to be excellent. But it doesn’t end there! Joining Big League will be Pōneke indie legends Sure Boy (a must-catch in their own right), and, for some folk/Americana goodness, Bill Hickman and the Deadly Sins.
Tickets $15
Scan this code for a more comprehensive protest destination.
Join Student Justice for Palestine this Friday morning for a tree planting ceremony in solidarity with Palestine. From the organisers: “For Palestinians, the olive tree has become a symbol of hope, perseverance and resistance in the face of brutality and occupation. As we approach the 9th month of the genocide in Gaza, let's reflect and strengthen our collective struggle for life, justice, and Indigenous liberation everywhere.”
Tickets $10
kawepūrongo
Tri 1 Grading Failures “Unacceptable”, Students Say
Salient has seen shocking information that reveals something we once thought was impossible—University administrators made a mistake, and students were left with little to no explanation.
One student, who wishes to remain anonymous, told Salient that the Engineering and Computer Science faculty “really mucked around” students of 200-level courses. According to the allegations, around a third of AIML231 students received an incorrect final grade, which was only remedied later. For many students, this meant initially being told they had failed a course that they had actually passed.
Another AIML student told Salient that her grade still had not been corrected—having had her final grade artificially lowered from an A to a B after the re-grading. This appears to have been done with permission from the Associate Dean of Engineering.
But the problem was not contained to the ECS faculty. One 200-level Linguistics student told Salient that incorrect final grades were provided to LING227 students. The student, who was initially told she had received a B+ for the course, was later informed that her actual grade was A. Her final grade shift was nearly 10%. Unlike the AIML students, the budding linguists received no apology and no further communication from the University.
Deputy Vice-Chancellor (Academic) Professor Robyn Longhurst acknowledged the failure, stating that “educational institutions do experience this issue from time to time”.
“Approximately 90 percent of grades were published before the Trimester 1 grade entry deadline. Te Herenga Waka is aware of a small number of Trimester 1 2024 courses where a cohort's final grades were incorrectly entered into students’ academic records.”
Seemingly contradicting accounts from AIML and LING students, the Deputy Vice-Chancellor also noted that “[these] errors were recognised quickly, corrected, and this was communicated to impacted students.”
However, our AIML student wasn’t so convinced. Speaking to a Salient reporter, she said that her final grade did not reflect the results she had attained in the class. With a lack of clarity in reporting results, and despite the uni’s assurances otherwise, many students feel left in the dark.
So why did this year’s results leave so many students confused and disappointed? It might be worth looking at budget cuts. According to both Deputy Vice-Chancellor Longhurst and Associate Dean of Engineering Christopher Hollitt, mistakes were made due to a high workload for administrators. With 229 jobs being cut in last year’s round of staff cuts, it’s difficult not to see a link between an increasingly strained administrative staff and a University that functions less and less adequately by the day.
FIRST PHOTOGRAPH OF ELUSIVE MĀTĀTĀ CAPTURED IN WELLINGTON WETLAND
In a landmark achievement, the elusive mātātā, or fern bird, has been photographed for the first time in Taupō Swamp, near Plimmerton. This
Endemic to Aotearoa, the mātātā is classed as 'at risk—declining' by the Department of Conservation due to habitat loss and predation. The sighting, celebrated by Judy McKoy, Chair of Friends of Taupō Swamp & Catchment (FOTSC), reflects years of dedicated conservation work.
Greater Wellington’s Senior Biodiversity Advisor, Jo Fagan, emphasised the importance of this sighting, noting that the presence of mātātā signifies a healthy PhOebe rOberTSOn (She/her)
PICTURED: Mātātā photographed in Wellington Wetland. marks a significant milestone for restoration efforts in the wetland.
“Rare and wonderful species are returning to the Taupō Swamp; some, like the mātātā, are now being photographed by people visiting and working in the wetlands," says McKoy.
KIWIS FIGHT FURRY ALLEGATIONS
DAn mOSKOviTZ (he/him)
If there is one thing Aotearoa is known for, it’s birds. If there is one thing birds are known for, it’s their feathers. This information is apparently novel to Cadbury Australia.
While in Melbourne last month, I came across a store selling Cadbury chocolate as part of a promotion called “Furry Friends.” Said chocolate features pictures of quintessential Australian creatures like echidnas, platypuses, and… kiwi?
As we learnt, way back in paragraph one, kiwi are birds, and as such have feathers, not fur.
A Cadbury spokesperson said the “Furry Friends” promotion was only in Australia, despite kiwi being endemic to New Zealand. Cadbury did not comment
wetland ecosystem. The recent survey documented nine mātātā between October and December 2023, the first official record in the area.
Supported by Greater Wellington and Te Rūnanga o Toa Rangatira through the Community Environment Fund, FOTSC’s efforts continue to revitalise the wetland, ensuring it remains a home for native species.
as to why a feathery animal endemic to Aotearoa was included in an Australian marketing campaign about furry animals.
In a statement, NZ-owned chocolate brand Whittakers responded, saying “Kiwi are feathered rather than furry, and Whittaker’s is known for telling it like it is in our marketing and our wider commitment to Good Honest Chocolate.”
“It’s not really for us to comment on the inclusion of kiwi and other ‘friends’ that aren’t furry in that range, [but] irrespective of any differences in how furriness is interpreted, it’s nice that in Australia they consider kiwis to be their friends.”
PICTURED: The ‘Furry Friends’ promotion featuring Kiwi. Image credit: Dan Moskovitz
LAWS 378 Exam Includes “Concerning” Question on Gaza
eThAn rOgAciOn (he/him)
The end of the trimester is normally pretty stressful, even in the best of circumstances. We’re all pretty familiar with that struggle, but spare a thought for anyone that took LAWS 379: Dispute Resolution last trimester. In their final, highly time sensitive, 40% weighted test, students were asked to position themselves as a peace negotiator between Israel and Hamas during a hypothetical ceasefire, and to facilitate “mediation”.
Student Justice for Palestine Pōneke described the inclusion of the question as “offensive and dangerous”, stressing that “Israel's brutal occupation of Palestine and genocide in Gaza is not a hypothetical scenario or intellectual exercise; it is a current injustice which our university and government have been at best silent on, and at worst complicit in.”
The test question offered students little context, reducing a genocidal campaign to “widespread death and destruction”—a phrase that could just as easily describe the aftermath of extreme weather as it does the land dispossession and ethnic cleansing currently unfolding in Gaza.
Gaza is referred to as a “Palestinian territory” in the test. No reference is made to the fact that the state of Israel exists on occupied Palestinian land forcibly taken during the 1948 Nakba. Further, the question unequivocally asserts that the goal of the Israeli invasion of Gaza is “to destroy Hamas,” equating Israel and Hamas as conventional adversaries in a “war”. This is despite an enormous power imbalance, and constant, explicitly genocidal rhetoric from members of Netanyahu’s Cabinet.
In May, ICC Prosecutor Karim A.A. Khan KC said that, while part of Israel’s aim may be to destroy Hamas, they are equally interested in “collectively [punishing] the civilian population of Gaza.” This has lead to the deaths of more children in Gaza in the last five months than across the whole Ukraine war, the indiscriminate bombing of civilian population centres, and the extrajudicial killing and torture of Palestinians. “These crimes, in our assessment,
continue to this day,” said Khan. Authoritatively representing events so entirely devoid of context displays, at best, incredible negligence.
Responding to suggestions that forcing students to place themselves in a neutral, arbitral role without prior warning is irresponsible, Provost Prof. Bryony James told Salient that, while it is relatively normal for academic thinkers to consider highly charged topics like the genocide in Gaza, “we are mindful … of the need to pay careful attention to the ways in which we discuss these topics and the forums where these discussions take place.”
The statement added, “The University will …ensure that students do not encounter highly sensitive topics for the first time in a high-pressure, timed assessment, and that such material is only included if its inclusion is necessary for robust assessment of course material.” It is important to stress here that concern around the exam question has universally revolved around its value-loaded framing and exam context—not the presence of a “highly sensitive topic” alone.
The Dean of Law, Prof Lee Godden, has confirmed in a statement that students “adversely affected by the inclusion of the question, will be offered the opportunity to have their overall final grade in the course [adjusted] based on a reweighted combination of … assessment items”. Godden did not respond to request for comment.
In a statement to Salient, the VUWLSS Executive 2024 said that, “Since discovering the issue regarding the LAWS 379 final exam, VUWLSS' primary focus is working with VUWSA and the Faculty of Law to address this issue and ensure that student voices are heard throughout this process.”
VUWLSS advises that impacted students can reach out to them on vuwlss@gmail.com or education. vuwlss@gmail.com
TERF Panel Sparks Community Backlash
DAn mOSKOviTZ (he/him)
Rutherford House will host a panel discussion of TERFs on Tuesday night after Te Herenga Waka greenlit their booking. UniQ and QED are organizing a counterprotest.
Sall Grover, founder of Australian app Giggle for Girls exclusively for women, faces a lawsuit from transgender woman Roxanne Tickle. Ms Tickle was banned from the app due to being trangender. The case is currently in the Australian Federal Court awaiting a final verdict. Grover intends to escalate to the High Court if unsuccessful.
Grover is currently touring New Zealand to discuss the case with local TERFs, including an event at Pipitea campus on Tuesday evening.
“This event poses a direct threat to the inclusivity and safety of our community,” said UniQ president Khai Dye-Brinkman in a statement. “Our protest is not against free speech but against speech that actively works to marginalize and endanger transgender people.”
The Women’s Rights Party, which shares many of the same stances as Grover, is one of her key backers in her anti-trans crusade. They got 2500 votes, equating to 0.08% in the 2023 election.
Te Herenga Waka was keen to wash its hands of the event when pressed, stating that campus facilities are available to external groups on payment, and that security staff would be on-site. However, both the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor declined invitations to Grover's event.
“We urge VUW to consider its role in hosting events that propagate discrimination and to advocate for policies that uphold the safety and inclusion of all students and staff,” added Dye-Brinkman.
UniQ’s protest will begin at 4.30pm on Tuesday 9 July and meet at Pipitea campus, with marshals providing directions. Sall Grover’s event is scheduled for 9pm.
We want to hear from you!
Mārama's Surgery Journey is Empowering!
words by Te Huihui o Matariki Chi Huy Tran (he/him)
Taranaki Tūturu, Te iwi o Maruwharanui, Ngāti Maniapoto
Marama Davidson will soon go through surgery, and her openness about her breast cancer diagnosis is incredibly important for women's health awareness. Her bravery in sharing her experience and emphasising the significance of mammograms for early detection is truly inspiring. By prioritising her own health and family, she sets a compelling example for women everywhere to take charge of their health. Let's continue to support and uplift each other, spreading awareness and advocating for regular screenings to ensure the well-being of all wāhine.
Pacific Islands Forum Critique
France over Kanaky
words by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her/ia) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi-Ngāti Hine, Tūhoe
The Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) has expressed deep concern over the ongoing unrest in Kanaky (New Caledonia), criticizing France's handling of the crisis. Despite increased French security measures, the territory continues to face violence, arson, and roadblocks. PIF Secretary-General Baron Waqa highlighted the arrest of pro-independence leaders and raised concerns about militarization. Dialogue efforts are underway, with PIF aiming to engage Paris ahead of the upcoming leaders' meeting in Tonga. Critics, such as Dr. Meg Keen, advocate for a regional police approach under the Biketawa Declaration to ease tensions. The situation remains tense amidst fears of further escalation and upcoming elections in France.
Top 10 Most Popular Ingoa Māori for our Pēpi this Matariki
words by Te Huihui o Matariki Chi Huy Tran (he/him) Taranaki Tūturu, Te iwi o Maruwharanui, Ngāti Maniapoto
Released by Te Tari Taiwhenua every Māori new year. For our future young pāpā and māmā out there, if you’re ready to take that next step after graduating lol, or during studying, chur. Tama:
words by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her/ia) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi-Ngāti Hine, Tūhoe
Whakaata Māori is undergoing a structural review following the announcement of a significant funding decrease totaling $9.5 million by 2027. Kaihoe were informed of the financial challenges during a hui last week, where CEO Shane Taurima highlighted baseline funding since 2008 as a major factor. Taurima emphasized the need to cut costs by 25 percent to accommodate future inflation, warning that content may be impacted. The organization, pivotal in revitalizing te reo Māori through its programming, faces uncertain times with ongoing funding disparities in the media sector.
Rangatahi Make Bold Statement at National Kapa Haka Competition
words by Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her/ia) Ngāti Whātua, Ngāpuhi-Ngāti Hine, Tūhoe
A number of rōpū at the national secondary school Kapa Haka competition in Nelson have used Haka to make bold statements around the ongoing attacks on Te Tiriti o Waitangi. NZ First deputy leader accused tutors and composers of using children to attack Māori politicians and misrepresent government policies. However, Reikura Kahi, co-chair of Te Mātāwai, defended the Haka, stating, “the new generation is more politically astute then politicians give them credit for” and “it's a response to the treaty being under threat”.
Welcome back to our very special project! This year at Salient we decided we wanted to celebrate our Pasifika language weeks, and not just the official ones. The uni community we are a part of is diverse, and while the New Zealand government may not officially recognise all our Pacific whānau we want to celebrate as many as possible.
Aotearoa’s official Wikin te Taetae ni Kiribati | Kiribati Language Week runs from the 713th of July 2024. The theme this year is: ‘Eutakirakean ma kabwaekekean ara taetae ni Kiribati ma kateira ao rabakaura, bon maurin ao tokabetin te IKiribati | Thriving and flourishing our Kiribati language, culture, and knowledge build IKiribati resilience and prosperity’. Make sure to keep an eye out for events this week and celebrate by learning some taetae ni Kiribati (Gilbertese).
Republic of Kiribati ( Tungaru)
Kiribati (pronounced Kiribas) is located roughly halfway between Hawai’i and Australia. It sits on both the equator and 180th meridian, making it the only country in the world to sit in all four hemispheres. With 33 islands, the majority of which are atolls, the country has a population of over 116,000 people—over half of which live on Tarawa atoll. Most inhabitants of Kiribati are indigenous I-Kiribati (or Gilbertese peoples) as well as a small population of Tuvaluan and other ethnicities. Kiribati gained independence in 1979, largely from Britain but also the United States, who had made claims for two islands. The name Kiribati was chosen for the state, but the indigenous gilbertese or taetae ni Kiribati name for the islands is Tungaru. Kiribati, as is the case with many Pacific nations, is one of the world’s highest risk countries in the face of climate change, particularly the effects of sea level rise and risk of storm surges. Although we know this space has been made in Salient for learning the basics, acknowledgement and awareness, it would be wrong of us, as members of the whānau of Polynesia, to not advocate for this nation's preservation. For language, for culture and for their home.
Kiribati’s official language is English, but most residents also speak taetae ni Kiribati (Gilbertese).
Te Mauri, te Raoi ao te Tabomoa = Health, Peace and Prosperity
(The motto of Kiribati)
E uara matiuum? = How was your sleep?
Tekeraoi! = Good luck!
Tekeraoi n am bong ni bung! = Birthday greetings
Numba = See you later
Tekeraoi am bong! = Have a nice day!
Ko na mauri = Hello (Singular)
Kam na mauri = Hello (Plural)
Tai karaba te rabakau = Don't hide your knowledge
The phrases and words above were found in dictionaries, articles and videos, mostly created for the purpose of preserving language and helping visitors who visit to communicate. The last phrase is a favorite of I-Kiribati master weaver Louisa Humphry.
It’s important to recognise that all cultures and languages are incredibly diverse. There are different dialects within languages, unrecognized languages and peoples. With Polynesia being so spread out, across large and small islands and villages, there is an unimaginable amount of culture that simply can’t be fully appreciated with just words. We encourage everyone to be respectful, open minded and always keep learning <3
Bougainville comes and comes and comes again. You watched Lilo and Stitch last night, and thought of my thighs. It’s summer, so I wore a pareu and you said easy access.
Don’t take my top off, you’ll take my skin too. Although, I never had skin to begin.
Dear God, dear Hina, I’ll never be mā.
Mauatua Fa'ara-Reynolds (she/they) is a Tahitian/Norfolk Islander studying at VUW. She currently works as a staff writer at Salient
sixteen minutes into saturday and my arm is unbroken.
my friends, somehow (mostly) alive and intact, smoking on the edge of the porch, drunk and arguing over the playlist queue: i love every single one of them i break the cherry between my teeth like a prayer. spit the pits out, one, two, a reverse communion i am giving my god back to the earth what are you looking at, a voice breaks the night which is really just a request for company, so, gather.
talk of matariki and the three stars on orion’s belt placing me up in that sky: you could work at the planetarium interrupted, a tiny green stalk is tossed through the air followed by (far above us) a comet, or just the international space station spiralling down over the horizon. like a miracle, like a promise. salt thrown over the world’s shoulder, and we get up to dance see? i could work. i could make this all work.
Zia Ravenscroft (he/they) is a queer and trans writer, actor, drag king, and student. He has been published in Starling, bad apple, The Spinoff, Overcom, and Takahē, and performed at the National Poetry Slam Finals in 2023.
Gotta get driftwood, you said. Pick it up carefully, you said. We trusted you because you knew. You came here every summer as a kid. Round, leggy, black with a red danger stripe. Your nan got bitten while collecting driftwood here, āe. Didn’t kill her, ae. Got her good. Right on the index finger. But that story wasn’t as good as the one about that time she dropped her sausage straight into the fire. How she fished it out of the flames with her stick and ate it even though it was burnt. ‘Never waste a good sausage!’ she laughed. What a crack up. It took us a long time to make a campfire that night. And when you held your stick over the flames,
Sarah Caroline Bell is studying the Graduate Diploma of Arts (Greek) at Victoria University of Wellington.
Last summer when Matairangi burned, Ginny and Tom stood at the window of their lounge, watching kākā shoot skyward from the burning trees. From the distance, they looked to Ginny like pages torn from books and thrown into a bonfire. It was Tom, voice tight, who told her it was the birds being tossed in the hot gusts of the blaze as they tried to find clean air. Ginny reached for Tom, and they held their breath as they held hands, expecting the birds to disintegrate the way charred paper flakes apart when touched. Feathers to ash, ash to dust; a grey haze drifting down over the city.
For days they watched the flames spit and crackle down the hill, devouring the last of the pines and the old freestanding houses. The firefighters battled to stop the fire spreading into the city but made no attempt to stop the houses burning. The government reassured the citizens that the houses had been abandoned just days before, that they were no longer homes that needed saving. When the blaze was finally extinguished, Ginny stood at the window, cheeks sooty with mascara, as she looked across at the landscape of charred planks and framing, trunks and limbs.
Now, each day, a new growth of skyscrapers reaches a little taller, climbs a little higher up the blackened slope. Ginny can’t help being captivated by the way the sunlight bounces off the glass, can’t help thinking how warm and dry the residential towers will be. She and Tom live in one of the city’s last remaining wooden buildings, a grand Edwardian dissected into apartments decades ago. Although she likes that it has character, the kākā that now roost in the eaves have found every loose board and nail. Every time it rains, there’s a new leak. Whenever the southerly blows, another draught Tom loves those birds. Against the regulations, he sprinkles seeds and chopped up fruit along the window ledges. Ginny loved them when they flashed orange and brown amongst the trees, but now she hates the way they hunch grey outside the window, eating chunks of melon from their deformed claws. Even though the light is better under the window, she’s moved the table into the corner of the room so that when she works from home, she doesn’t have to see their crooked wings and stumps.
Late one afternoon, when the shadows of the tall buildings drench the city, the screech of a siren cuts through the air. Ginny catches the smell of smoke, like walking past someone on the street who uses the same washing powder as an ex; forgotten familiarity heavy with memories. She looks out the window in time to see a red fire engine turn into the street. It’s impossible not to notice now the clouds of black smoke spilling out the window of the stately four-storeyed HDPS Building further up the road. As the smoke thickens, crowds of black and grey-clad commuters gather on the footpath. The circling light from the fire engine flashes horror and fear onto their faces. The room behind Ginny pulses red.
She hears Tom running up the wooden stairs leading to their apartment and turns towards the door as he lets himself in. They stand, arms around each other’s waists, angled to watch the blaze. The firefighters aim jets of water at the building but make no attempt to go inside. Ginny notices Tom’s glance move to the kākā lined up along the window ledge. The glow of the fire tinges their feathers orange, the way they used to be. They look like rotisserie chickens slowly turning away from the heat.
Ginny and Tom watch until the flames are doused and the fire engines drive away, an on-and-off red flash as they pass in convoy under the street lights. A yellow plastic tape encircles the charred and saturated shell, lifting and falling in the night breeze like the shallow inhale and exhale of someone dying. A security guard stands by the door.
The next morning dawns ash-grey and damp. Ginny and Tom walk back and forth between rooms in the wintry light, radio on in the background, as they get ready for work. Ginny freezes, tub of hummus in hand, when the news reporter announces that they’re talking to Ian McCutcheon, Minister of Communications and Marketing, about the previous night’s fire at the Home for Decommissioned Public Servants. It could have been a terrible tragedy, McCutcheon agrees with the reporter. Voice like smoke; memories and danger. We’re truly grateful that all the residents had been rehoused just days before. The Minister’s words are particles clogging Ginny’s lungs. Body still, she turns her head towards Tom as he enters the room. He puts his hand on her shoulder as they silently listen to the report. They’re in good accommodation out by the Wairarapa banana plantations. It had already been determined that the HDPS Building was unfit for habitation so we won’t be refurbishing it. It’ll be demolished to make room for something fit-for-purpose.
‘I didn’t realise it was empty,’ Tom says. ‘What a relief.’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen people coming and going, even yesterday,’ Ginny says, slowly spreading hummus on bread for their sandwiches.
‘Probably surveyors,’ Tom says, reaching around her to take the knife out of her shaking hand. ‘I was hoping they’d restore it, but I guess that’s not an option now.’ Tom gently moves Ginny aside and puts slices of cucumber on the bread. ‘Well, not an option they’ll pursue.’ Tom’s part of an urban guerrilla group whose mission is to daylight Kumutoto Stream; he believes that restoration is always an option.
Ginny agrees that it was a beautiful old building from the outside, but had heard it was dreary and dark inside. She’s seen the residents standing in the weak sun outside the building, always hunched over and coughing as though trying to clear black mould from their lungs. She narrowly escaped living there herself. When the Pioneer Party got re-elected, they made sweeping cuts across the public service. The whole Department of Oceanic Wildlife was disestablished. She never spoke to Ian about it, but she thinks it was only thanks to him that she got redeployed into the new Ministry for Resource Measurement.
It confirmed to her that she had been right to lie to Ian about why she was breaking up with him, several years before. When she told him it was because he didn’t want children, he was upset, but accepted that it left them no choice. She suspects that, ever since, he’s felt he owes her something.
It was the right decision to keep politics out of it. She still remembers his excitement when he told her he’d won the commission for the Pioneer Party’s election marketing. It wasn’t to do with the politics at first, he was just excited to have his first big client after setting up his own marketing consultancy. Over successive nights, they’d sat side by side on the couch as he clicked through a draft presentation on his laptop, testing out different designs with her.
I’m thinking either a log cabin or a camp fire for the new logo. Both give off a cosy, inclusive vibe. Log cabins are sturdy, built with hard work and no waste, but the camp fire motif suggests a collaborative way to work through the burning issues of the day and works well with their party colour.
The Party had opted for the log cabin in an orange circle and had gone on to win on a platform of back-to-basics, family values. Ian had been offered a permanent role as Chief Branding Officer for the new government. A few months into the role, he started joking about heading off to the Campfire for work, his name for the Executive Wing of Parliament. By half-way through the first term, the media and public were using the name for the circular building. Ginny broke up with him in the lead up to the next election, about the same time — acting on Ian’s suggestion — that the Party tinted the windows orange. Now he sits at the round table on the top floor of the Campfire, one of the few making decisions for the many.
Ginny can’t sleep that night. Her skin flushes fiery hot, sweat soaking the sheets despite the low temperatures outside and in. She gets up and wanders through to the lounge, pushes up the sash window. It’s well past curfew and the streets are empty. Up the road, the HDPS Building is a hole burned into the night. The breeze carries ice crystals and ash. It settles on Ginny’s clammy skin as she leans against the sill.
A movement catches in the corner of her eye. Ginny turns to see a fire engine slip into the street. As she watches, it rolls silently down the road, in and out of the dimmed street lights and the shadows in between, appearing and disappearing like an earwig burrowing through freshly-turned soil. Ginny waits for it to slide into the next pool of light. When it does, she sucks in another breath on top of the breath she’s been holding. The light glints off the body of the fire engine, black and shiny.
Ginny’s heard rumours about the black fire engines. She’s heard they’re stationed in the old bus tunnel that cuts through the maunga, never out in daylight. More than rumours, Tom brings homes stories shared amongst the guerrilla group as they sit around a sheltered flame on their night time missions: Marama saw one, blackly sliding between the deadest hours of the night and the burned-out houses, when she was dropping seed grenades on Matairangi after the fire. Several others thought they saw them cruising around Kelburn when returning home after releasing tuna in Ōtari-Wilton. That had been the night after the fire in the student union. The fire that had razed the Hunter Building the same day that the students had planned to protest. Thankfully — according to the State news reports — they had cancelled at the last minute.
She moves back into the shadow of the room so she can watch unseen. The crew get out of the truck and walk in single file into the building. For almost an hour, they go back and forth, entering the building empty-handed and exiting with bags tossed over their shoulders. A lumpy polyethylene pyramid forms as they dump the bags beside the truck. Its elbows and edges catch the light. Ginny’s body grows cold as she watches the crew work their way through the pile, one person at either end of each bag so they can swing it up into the back of the truck. The bags sag and shift; broken bits of something slip and tumble around inside. A fine white powder settles on the windowsill.
Ginny casts her eyes up the street, hoping Tom’s not about to roll around the corner on his bicycle. Hopefully his group are safe under the cover of the trees, billy on the boil for midnight smoko, passing information and making plans.
She’s never asked Tom about those plans. He still talks passionately about breaking through concrete to let Kumutoto breathe fresh air again, to let it shape its own banks once more, to flow its own course to the sea. But she knows it’s not the group’s only mission anymore.
Tomorrow she’ll ask if she can join them. They’ve been working quietly for years, patient and unseen, but she can feel the pressure building in the way Tom paces around the lounge, the way he scans the windows of buildings when they walk to work together. One day soon they’re going to find the weakness that allows them to split apart the system, erupting through the surface like a geyser. She wants to be there when they flood the streets.
Gina Butson lives in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. She completed her MA in Creative Writing at the International Institute of Modern Letters last year.
About this week's Artist
This week's centrefold is designed by Libby Morrison Libby is a multimedia artist with a BFA HONS from Massey University. She creates dreamy and vibrant scenes exploring the measurement of joy. Her installations are fun playful and an invitation into a silly, surreal and sometimes serious dreamscape.
To stay up to date with all the silliness on Instagram @friendsies.knit
time for the people important in your life!
worth rekindling. It’s time for a massive kiki and get all that gossip!
sometimes. Just chill out and bask in it.
into making plans and strengthening your connections.
At first, I just wanted to feel something. Just wanted escape, if only for a moment. That’s why I met up with Squid. He was a user, everyone could tell. He had changed in the last year, his vocabulary exploding. Strange words would form in his mouth like sour candy, surprising him even as they danced out over his tongue. Sometimes he would speak in odd rhythms, lyrical and airy, or quick and punchy. Dead giveaways.
We called him Squid as kids—as in Squidward—because he had a big ole drooper of a nose. I felt a bit guilty about it, seeing him again now that we were older. Not that he had ever seemed to care about the name. Actually, more people seemed to know
‘It’s like experiencing life in 4K,’ Squid said, pulling something out of his pocket. We were off the main streets, in a graffiti-splashed alley. ‘A lil somethin’ to sing to the soul.’
A slip of paper in a plastic baggy. Thin and delicate, Squid held it lightly in his fingers. Words were written on the paper, arranged in half sentences.
‘Pure fuckin’ poetry,’ Squid said, opening the bag and pulling out the paper by the edges, careful not to let the letters absorb into his skin. ‘Here, go ahead.’
I took the paper by an edge and pressed it into the skin of my forearm.
Paper to skin and sinking in. The words flowing into my bloodstream. It hit like the Netflix intro. Swoosh. A rush of blood to the head.
‘Fuck,’ I said, and had to sit down. Squid just laughed.
The words were inside me. Running up and down my skin, following a track, on rails, each word flowing into the next. And they spoke, right into my ears, into my brain, rippling over the wrinkles like a rollercoaster riding a soundwave.
I could smell the roses red. The violet blues. The emotion behind them. Tears formed in my eyes from that orgasm of language. Tingles up the back of my neck with a lick like ice, goosebumps pimpling.
And then it eased off. Slowed plus reverb.
‘How’s it feel?’ Squid asked, kneeling down, eyes bright in the dark orange light of the alley.
‘It feels like music,’ I said, my chest tight, throat restricted. I felt like I might let out a sob at any second.
I got deep. Finger snapping deep. Me and Squid, we’d wait around Right Bank, a little
It captured something brittle. It felt as though it could snap in half like dried spaghetti the second you put any weight on it. It was experimental, fluid and almost nonsensical in places. I had written it with Bet in mind. It was about her, really.
I invited Squid and Bet over to my shabby apartment to share it with them.
Squid frowned when he took it, eyebrows knitting together above his big drooping nose. ‘This is different from your normal stuff. I don’t think I like it.’ His mouth twisted, as though a bad taste lingered on his tongue and he was trying to scrape it off
Bet had a different reaction. She started to cry. Slowly at first, and then with increasing violence, her lip quivering and shoulders shaking as she held back a sob. She glared across at me while the tears ran down her cheeks.
After the poem had run its course, she grabbed her things and left the apartment.
Squid watched her in confusion. Asked what her problem was.
Stephen Woods is a Wellington-born writer who usually goes by Steve to reduce the risk of accidentally being called Stefan. He's a recent graduate of Te Herenga Waka Victoria University of Wellington where he snagged a BA in English, an MA in Creative Writing, and some nice student loans before escaping the campus. He has previously been published in Turbine | Kapohau, and despite practice he still despises writing about himself in the third person.
broad shoulders and wide, lopsided smile. It’s The Hair. Caramel-coloured, overgrown, falling into his eyes. The Hair that could launch a thousand ships.
I bet he’s into astrology and homeopathy. I bet he sleeps with women who wear a lot of hemp and own too many houseplants. (I bet those women have also developed a Pavlovian response to the beeping sounds of checkouts.) I bet his bedding is organic cotton. I bet he plays guitar badly, but endearingly. I bet instead of joining a gym, he stays in shape by going on long nature walks. I bet he stops to feed birds from a pool of seeds in his hands. I bet he gets the seeds at a discount from the health food store.
Whitney belts out I Will Always Love You which feels a bit on the nose, but that song is always playing in supermarkets, so I try not to read too much into it.
I watch as he packs my groceries, reading the side of my ‘I Stand With Ukraine’ tote bag. We start chatting. We start connecting. We both love oat milk and democracy!? It’s kismet! It’s written in the stars!
He hands me my receipt and oh! I think of a cartoon dog nudging a meatball with its nose. I hear the romantic swells of an accordion, like we’re in Pa-ree, being serenaded by a Frenchman in a striped shirt. I look at the shelf of herbal tonics, and what’s this? They’re all wearing berets! The essential oils next to them are are smoking cigarettes! The avocados are holding roses between their teeth! And the celery, well, the celery is swooning at the whole charming scene…
You have a crush, my boyfriend tells me, you have a crush on the guy at the health food store.
It’s his favourite story to tell friends when we go out to dinner. Liv has a little thing for him, he’ll say, topping up the wine glasses. It’s not a thing, I’ll say, mock-offended, I’m in love.
She gets very giggly, he’ll say, her face goes red as a tomato – an organic tomato, of course.
Our weekly shop starts to become more vegan. Doesn’t it just feel better for your body? my crush asks. Oh god yes, I say.
He tells me which of my items can go in my non-existent compost.
I add a pot of organic, cruelty-free sunblock at the last minute, saying I don’t need any more freckles.
I like freckles, says my crush, running a hand through The Hair.
I think about it all the way home.
When I stop at an intersection, a man raps on my window. You left some shopping, he says, pointing to the roof of the car.
I catch strep throat over Easter, and I can’t get a doctors appointment for three days. I look online for natural remedies to help me get by. I gargle ginger-infused water. I chop a garlic clove in half and wedge it in my ear. That’s how my boyfriend finds me. Ginger-breathed and garlic-eared, entombed in our sweat-soaked bedding. He feels my clammy forehead, checks my temperature. He brings me water and Nurofen.
Our usual supermarket was out of leeks. I was making my boyfriend leek soup, which I don’t even like, but he’d been having a tough time at work. I tried three different supermarkets before I remembered the health food store, a last ditch attempt. The store smelled like incense. The other shoppers were all Pākehā women with oversized beaded jewellery and dreads. The vegetables were pale and misshapen. I reached for a leek and the whole pile came tumbling down, drumming against the floor. A man appeared at my side. He smelled like a freshly sharpened pencil.
Do you need a hand, Miss?
That’s how I met the health store worker.
I’m watching cartoons with my niece and nephew. When I was their age, I thought the biggest challenges in my life would be avoiding falling anvils, avoiding quicksand, avoiding dynamite sticks. Not arguing about chores and errands, arguing about late bill payments, arguing about that job opportunity he won’t take.
I thought relationships would be saying things like I love you and Darling! and you’re selfish and lower your voice the neighbours will hear you and what’s even the point in this anymore? and fuck you.
My flatmate had been in a play at BATS. She’d invited me to the afterparty where I drank too much, danced terribly, and spilled half my drink down the back of a man’s shirt. He was nice about it. He wore glasses. He was chatty.
I take it you’re one of the actors in the play, I said at one point.
How’d you guess? he said.
Because you’re tall, handsome and extroverted, I said, making him blush. Well, he said, you’re right about two of those things
Yes, I said, leaning closer, on second thought, you’re not actually that tall. That’s how I met my boyfriend.
My boyfriend rushes to me when he hears the front door slam. Did you remember to get onions? he asks, scanning me for grocery bags. He cut The Hair! I say, dazed, slightly irate. He puts a placating hand on my shoulder. Nevermind about the onions, he says, I’ll heat us up some leftovers. After a second helping of microwave butter chicken, we stand together at the kitchen sink, me washing up, him drying. He touches my hips absentmindedly as he moves around me, putting things away.
Afterwards, we sit on the sofa and watch our show. We share the last beer in the fridge, passing it between us, taking sips. I stroke his hair, tell him he’s going grey. So are you, he teases, kissing my shoulder. I lean into him, listening to his heartbeat, marvelling at its rhythm, perfectly in sync with my own.
Jemma Richardson is currently completing her MA at the International Institute of Modern Letters through Te Herenga Waka / Victoria University of Wellington.
Sofia Drew (she/her) is a poet and student of English Literature and Philosophy. However, the only time she feels she has the authority to call herself a ‘poet’ is in author bios (like this one you are reading now)! You can find more of her writing in Starling and Symposia Magazine.
Mirror Burn
by Sofia Drew
After Louise Glück
It was October and each second was rimmed with light such clean light. This was, for me, an extravagantly emotional gesture.
It was the trees that propelled my thoughts away from my body. Such new light. Gentle green: I can’t write about autumn in this city.
Everything, without cause, held a rare specificity. Each second flared like a smoke signal.
Across a great distance, I saw it: careful flames holding their silence.
There’s nobody to tell this story to. Hills swallowed the hot sea of everything. Hush. I’m so far away.
It was spring and each second splinters. Such clean cuts.
This was, for me, a glorious sort of displacement.
Melting dirt floods memory back into a new vessel. Perennial colour. Subtle shift: I kindle those green vowels.
Without cause, nothing holds. A new second scorches.
I was a great distance, seen: the fire became a naked mirror.
I tell this to myself: let burnout run the last desperate lap of my body. Return. I am here.
Geena Slow is a wide eyed graduate of Te Herenga Waka Victoria University from a small mining town. She wants to walk and write in forests everywhere around the world. If you’re interested, her work is featured in Starling, Overcom, and 2023 Ōrongohau Best New Zealand Poems.
Backfire! by Geena Slow
Look out at the grasslands, gulp, and get going. Better guzzle some water. Pretend you’re Rango, a reptile seeking power Blink in the dust, exfoliate your eyes until the wind crackles a laugh. I couldn’t help but notice you noticing me noticing you.
Stamp out a cigarette with your bare feet. Swallow the sting like you are the problem. Feel your tongue flicker out and in like a lizard. Taste the cumin. Hear the mosquitos. Whistle something happy. I’m down to one layer of skin already.
Side-step the possum on the yellow lines with its jaw hanging open in an infinite scream, like that man on the bridge with intensities for sky but with sharp teeth and fur. Pick an orange prairie flower and let it fall gently. It ain’t pretty, but if looked at the right way, kind of is. Pretty soon, I’m going to start seeing my insides.
The clouds stain smoke-scarlet. The fire is licking its way through the landscape, like you, hungry and a little lost.
Leaving behind glossy and oddly familiar sketches of trees and simmering fences. Burn everything but Shakespeare. Walk past the helicopters circling like flies in the golden orb of the sun, Battling the haze for control of the hills.
Something stirs in the West as the evening eats itself up with its own light.
Chris Girven (Ngāti Kahungunu ki Te Wairoa) lives in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. They are takatāpui and study acting at Toi Whakaari: NZ Drama School. They love to write poetry, dress up, go to the Vinnies, and dance around their room.
Waikawa Beach by Chris Girven
Dad is picking up shells for the garden
Mum is sitting and watching Ben is washing his hands in the water So particularly
He is small against the sky I take a photo of him He pulls out his phone and Takes a photo of me
The sea is charcoal black It froths like a rabid dog
Tearing at the Jasper sand
Tripping over itself
Turning its face to mine
Isobel Christie is a writer, actor and creative based in Te Whanganui a Tara who is studying English Literature, Theatre and Creative Writing. She writes from an intuitive place informed by a love of puzzles, improvisation and a pervasive passion for other human’s lives. She is currently working on her first novel.
Larry McMyler is a film and media student at Te Herenga Waka.
8:00am in khandallah by
Izzy Christie
under the shallow / the tempered porcelain below the wave / waits the rubber duck emulsified into congealed butter / i am at the dish pit with some czech boy who lives with his drug dealer. while we talk about language and “getting the fuck out of welling-ton!” he’s flying off to south-east asia / during the rainy season he’ll leave me here in the back of the kitchen humming show-tunes / watching the analogue clock tick i’ll think about him / because i must lose myself to get through the day while the tap drips / he sits under some palm tarp / as it / is pummelled by the rain.
The Fourth Day by Larry McMyler
I hold my hands skin-searingly close to a fire of my father’s making. I am ten, not yet old enough to drink my warmth like the other men.
I revere this sun, born not of a lightning strike or a rogue cigarette, but of a tentative and unflinching hand.
I wonder what life within may be like, to be kept at an arm’s length and no more—more importantly to produce no epitaph but stardust.
When I get bored of coveting the black inside of mauve inside of yellow, I make myself of use by slicing myself lengthwise then widthwise several times.
I catch the wind, but not on wings, I smile an apostate’s promise and vanish when morning comes.
I have occupied this night for seven summers or more, taken a toothpick to this cardboard box again and again until there is nothing but daylight left.
LITIA TUIBURELEVU - WRITER & DIRECTOR OF STILL HERE
words by Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson (she/her)
Litia Tuiburelevu (Fijian Pākehā Tongan) is the writer and director behind the wave-making docuseries, STILL HERE. In response to the changing cultural and physical landscape of Aukilani, Litia set out to document the lives of families who made it what it is today. Despite rampant gentrification in Central Tāmaki Makaurau, the Pacific diaspora remains. STILL HERE is a visual representation of a zealous resistance to the erasure of intergenerational influence in inner-city suburbs. With Litia at the helm, alongside Ursula Williams and Torisse Laulu, STILL HERE tells the complex, colourful stories of Tagata Moana who live there now.
Growing up in Ponsonby, Litia’s frustrations about unwelcome changes in her neighbourhood stirred just beneath the surface. She saw real estate agents who relentlessly banged down her friends’ front doors with pushy propositions, and whitewashed buildings that sprung up overnight like an abrupt invitation to get out of the way. While her emotions churned internally, she searched for an avenue that would allow her to accurately express them. Out of high school, Litia studied law and art history at The University of Auckland. There, she trained as a lawyer, following in her mother’s footsteps. However, Litia had always been enamoured with film. She saw it as a powerful medium for storytelling and activism.
In law school, Litia wrote a compelling essay about gentrification in Pacific communities. But she believed that this story was better told through moving images. Litia’s drive to say something that had been on the tip of her tongue for years converged with her desire to follow a lifelong passion. She decided it was time to pick up a camera.
Firstly, Litia took stock of the resources that were within her reach. Knowing that she wasn’t formally qualified in film and lacked industry connections, Litia felt the humbling weight of her own ambition. Nevertheless, she utilised her existing writing skills and solid internet connection to get the ball rolling. Once Litia had recorded her ideas on Word docs and Canva slides, she took a deep breath and shared
them with Torisse Laulu, an emerging producer who was keen to collaborate.
Soon after connecting with each other, Torisse and Litia posted a call for contributors to their project on social media. Much to their surprise, they received over 100 responses in one night. This led to the assembly of an eager and talented team.
With basic equipment and momentum building, Litia and her small crew captured the leaving party of the Williams family at 101 Rose Road, Grey Lynn. This bittersweet memorial became a seven minute proof of concept, edited on iMovie and sent to countless platforms and producers. Thankfully, Ursula Williams from 4&5 Films picked it up and supported the series to secure funding from NZ On Air.
Following the confirmation of funding for the first season, Litia and Torisse brought another influential collaborator on board—Niuean Hip Hop artist, Diggy Dupé. Diggy opened the series with a candid kōrero and an intimate tour of his hometown in the “city boys” episode.
“We really wanted him”, Litia says, “given that his Central identity is such a core theme of his artistry. So, we just reached out and thankfully he said ‘yes’!”
Since its release in July 2022, STILL HERE has evolved into an acclaimed body of work that thousands of people have engaged with online—airing on Re: News and TVNZ OnDemand, and receiving the ‘Best Video Documentary Series’ title at the 2023 Voyager Media Awards. It’s an official hit!
Beyond the numbers, STILL HERE is a time capsule that serves to connect, educate and uplift. Litia, Ursula and Torisse have successfully created art that accentuates the mana of people and place. With a second season continuing to make waves, it is only a matter of time before the whole country (*cough* THE WORLD) sees the unapologetically brown version of Central Aukilani that they know best.
Afakasi
Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson (she/her)
In your malaga, I feel seen Afakasi speaks
So I am heard
I said I would stop calling myself that
But here we are
Branded “half”
But I am whole
A whole meal of a body
A whole mouthful of a name
So “afakasi” doesn’t split me
How Samoan are you?
fia Palagi
Not fluent in our gagana
As I bend at the knee and serve ipu kī
As I serve, as I serve, as I serve
Fluent in feaus
Fluent in siva
Fluent in fia poko
Nana’s ring slips onto my pinky
Uncle said I inherited her looks
O lo’u tamā said I sound just like her
Better keep my head in those books
Plastic skin
Big mouth
The other day this lady laughed when I told her where my fibres come from But I weave, but I weave, but I weave
Te Herenga Waka Highlights
words by Ducky (she/her)
Did you know Te Herenga Waka offers a globally ranked programme in New Zealand Sign Language (NZSL) Studies? NZSL is the natural language of New Zealand's Deaf community, evolving to meet their needs rather than directly translating English. Over 22,000 New Zealanders use NZSL daily. The programme provides a solid grounding in NZSL grammar and communication skills, enhancing studies through the University's leading Deaf Studies Research Unit. This research includes documenting the NZSL lexicon and grammar, as well as creating teaching resources like the Online Dictionary of NZSL. Graduates can pursue careers in teaching, interpreting, policy analysis, research, or social work.
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words
by Mana Puketapu Hokianga (Te Atiawa, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Toa, Ngāti Poporo, Ngāti Ruapani)
Listen to the song “Māori boy” by Jgeeks and the Geeks before or while you're reading this to set the mindset for the read. This is only a short story, so surely.
Anyways,
Hidden In the lush valleys of Aotearoa, a Māori boy named Tūkōrehu grew up with pure naive optimism. Here he would learn traditional waiata, haka, mōteatea, absorbing the pūrākau passed down through generations, treating the knowledge of whakapapa, tikanga and kawa as wealth, rather than the accumulation of money. Yet, as he matured, Tūkōrehu found himself grappling with the conflicting expectations of his iwi and the evolving world around him.
In the eyes of his kaumātua, Tūkōrehu was to become a kaitiaki of his whānau, and the Rangatira of his iwi. He was expected to master the art of carving, to tend to the gardens of his home to provide for his kin, and to uphold the values of mana and tapu. But in the midst of modernity, these ideals often felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the clamour of a rapidly changing society.
Tūkōrehu would venture out of his papa kāinga to travel a world where success was measured
by academic achievement and material wealth, where emotional expression was encouraged, but traditional stoicism still held sway. He felt the pull of tradition tugging at his soul, urging him to honour the past, while the allure of the future beckoned with promises of individuality and progress.
As he journeyed through adolescence, Tūkōrehu grappled with his identity, torn between the expectations of his culture and the realities of the modern world. He sought guidance from his kaumātua, drawing strength from their wisdom, yet yearning to forge his own path.
In the end, Tūkōrehu realised that true maturity lay not in adhering blindly to tradition or embracing change for its own sake, but in finding a balance between the two. He learned to honour the wisdom of his ancestors while embracing the opportunities of the present silently, and calmly, knowing that his journey to manhood was not a destination, but a continual evolution of selfdiscovery and growth.
And that's it.
This is the end of part one of a fictional series named Son of the Tribe, about the breather named Tūkōrehu. Take the page to VUWSA if you want to see more of this series.
PUZZLES everybody's
bird search
What is the world’s longest river called?
Which city hosted the Summer Olympics in 2012?
Where is the Great Barrier Reef located?
In Greek Mythology, who is the Queen of the Underworld and wife of Hades?
Which country gifted the Statue of Liberty to the US?
The Whio, also known as the Blue Duck, is easily recognizable and at risk of extinction in Aotearoa's rivers. Its distinctive bluish color and striking facial markings make it a distinctive species, thriving in fast-flowing waters and serving as an indicator of river health. Whio are strong swimmers and are well-adapted to navigate the swift currents of rivers. They have specialized webbed feet and streamlined bodies that aid in their aquatic lifestyle. However, threats from introduced predators and human alterations to their habitat pose significant risks to their survival. Conservation efforts, such as predator control programs and restoring their habitats, are in place to protect these incredible ducks.
How many birds of the week can you find in this issue?
DOWN
1 Golf score; bird of prey (5)
2 Many former Soviet bloc countries, geographically and culturally (7, 8)
3 Allergic reaction life-savers (7)
4 Words on a neon sign outside some food outlets, maybe (3, 4)
5 Wooded area that looks the same in Autumn as it would in Spring (9, 6)
6 Outer limits (5)
7 Nobel Peace Prize laureate Root (5)
8 Keen (5)
Long, long time (3)
Suffix for 'trick' or 'confection' (3)
EASY BEGINNINGS
CROSSWORD MADE BY Nil
ACROSS
1 Description for conjunctivitis or the Gordon Wilson flats, maybe (7)
4 Radical; beyond the norm (7)
7 Person getting kicked out (7)
9 Windows program type (3, 4)
10 Captivates; locks in (7)
11 Follows (6)
13 Spookier (6)
15 Levy of Schitt's Creek (6)
18 Checking out (6)
20 Wearing away (7)
21 One of two cut into a ghost costume (7)
23 Catches in a snare (7)
24 Rutherford and Hemingway, for two (7)
25 Voted in, like VUWSA's 19D (7)
WORD SCRAMBLE
How many words (of three letters or more) can you make from these letters (according to the Scrabble UK dictionary)?
Good: 8 | Very Good: 10 | Excellent: 12+
Top-tier; best of the best (5)
Halved quarters; (7)
Governing boards (abbr.) (5)
Wipe out; remove (5)
podcasts.
with Speaker of the House Teddy O'Neill (he/it/ia)
Salient Undedited "Salient's Survivor themed party was the most fucked up experi ence of my life."
Arts & Culture "Listen Chat, there's a dog in the room right now and she's trying to eat a huge piece of paper so I'm sorry about the noise but it's really unavoidable."
Salient Team 2024 Ngan Dang (she/they, Staff Writer Intern) ; Monisha Dahya (she/her, Podcast Intern) ; Darcy Lawrey (he/him, Online & News Intern) ; Prunella Azzahra (she/her, Design Intern) ; Cedar Porteous (she/her, Staff Writer Intern) ; Phoebe's Dog ; Office Ghost (she/her) ; Phoebe Robertson (she/her, Editor) ; Te Huihui Tran (he/him, Te Ao Māori Co-Editor) ; Ashleigh Putt-Fallows (she/her, Te Ao Māori Co-Editor) ; M&M (Ash's cat) ; Guy van Egmond (he/him, Contributing Writer) ; Jia Sharma (she/her, Music Editor); Mauatua Fa'ara-Reynolds (she/her, Staff Writer) ; Henry Broadbent (he/him, Sub-Editor) ; Teddy O'Neill (he/it/ia, Speaker of the House) ; Ava O'Brien (she/her, Distributor & Sole Survivor) ; Ethan Rogacion (he/him, News Co-Editor) ; Dan Moskovitz (he/him, Chief Reporter); Will Irvine (he/him, News Co-Editor) ; Kate Seager (she/her, Designer)
