Issue 11 - Blxck by Salient

EDITORIAL

LETTERS & NOTICES

THE PEOPLE

NEWS News Party Line Tweets Of The Week

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FEATURES My Name is My Name The Priviledge of Ignoring Race Interview with Black Power Then You Can't Tell Me N***in' Right? La'u Pele. My Beloved.

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ISSUE 11

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News. MONDAY , 27 MAY 2019

Law School Lacking when it Comes to Māori Students JAMI KERRIGAN & JOHNNY O’HAGAN BREBNER Following our earlier article on Māori law students, Salient obtained more data on the number of Māori across different levels of study at the law school. This new data, alongside discussions with students and faculty, suggest more could be done to support Māori law students. The new information from VUW outlines that 13% of all law students in 2018 were Māori, as were 14% of undergrad law students, 7% of honours law students, and 5% of postgrad law students in courses provided by the Faculty of Law. This does not include PhD candidates. Importantly, the data indicates a low retention rate of Māori law students moving from first-to second-year Law. From 2009 to 2017, retention was negative. This means that the overall proportion of Māori students in cohorts was dropping moving from first- to second-year.

The Māori Admission Process The Māori Admission Process (MAP) is a separate entry system for Māori law students going from 100 to 200 level. 10% of the total seats are reserved for Māori students who apply for entry via MAP. However, VUW says that last year, MAP received fewer than 20 applicants. They told Salient that many “Māori students who gain entry into second-year do so via the standard process.” Māmari Stephens, Associate Professor at the Faculty of Law, spoke to Salient on the issue. “Quite often what we see with MAP is that Māori students who aren’t confident in their Māori identity, might not choose to come through the process.”

"Many Māori and Pasifika law students, [...] would not survive law school without the support of Ngā Rangahautira and Pasifika Law Students' Society. As well as our Māori and Pasifika liasons..." - Rhianna Morar

From 2010 to 2014, and in 2016, not only was retention negative, but it was worse than each of the previous years. Retention for the cohort moving into second-year in 2010 dropped 1.46 percentage points; in 2014 the equivalent drop was 3.02 percentage points. Salient talked to academics in the faculty and Ngā Rangahautira (NR), the Māori Law Students Association, to discuss the issue of Māori experiences at the law school.

Aphiphany Forward-Taua, Tumuaki Wahine of NR, suggested that it may also be due to the misconception of MAP; that the process is only for students who do not get good enough grades, or that students who identify with their Māoritanga are the only ones that can go through MAP. This is not the case.

Barriers for Māori Students Stephens gestured to Pipitea campus as an example—“Where is the Māori iconography?” she asked. “This building is an icon of colonial power structures. We walk the corridors of power that Pākehā men, mainly, built.” Aphiphany Forward-Taua echoed this: “Our land was stolen off of us, and it was done so using Pākeha law, yet there is no acknowledgement of these grievances in the Old Government Buildings ... all of the hara still permeates.” According to Aphiphany, she and many of the Māori students today

News.

are the “only people in their family, wider whānau, hapū, and iwi with the courage to come to VUW law school,'' especially because “it is the very building that the Treaty of Waitangi sat under, being eaten by rats and ignored by colonial lawmakers”.

Rhianna Morar also says she and many others “would not survive law school without the support of Ngā Rangahautira and Pasifika Law Students' Society. As well as our Māori and Pasifika Engagement Advisors, Izzy Wilson and Purcell Sali.”

She says that at law school, “you are learning to be a lawyer, the way that all lawyers have been taught for the last 100 years,” explaining that anything outside of the mold does not make the cut.

However, Stephens believes the students are the biggest reason for their own success. “Māori students bring a different life experience, a different whakaaro, different ways of seeing the world… [It] can kind of shock [the Faculty] out of our complacency.''

“They’re regimenting us [in the syllabus], to make sure that when we come out, we are shaped like squares or triangles… I’m trying my hardest to remain a star.”

Stephens said she truly appreciates and welcomes them with aroha and appreciation, and hopes that others can do the same, rather than just “paying lip service”.

”But it’s so difficult,” Aphiphany admits.

Suggestions for Improvements, Ignorged Learning more critically about the Treaty of Waitangi was a “lifechanging moment” for Aphiphany, as she “finally understood where all of the transgressions in [her] life had stemmed from,” encouraging her to wholly engage with her Māoritanga.

“Thank God for NR”, the Importance of Ngā Rangahautira Aphiphany is extremely thankful for the committed space where tauira Māori can share their whakaaro, Māori perspectives, and where they feel empowered to be Māori. Aphiphany elaborated, “a lot of our Pākehā colleagues come from life experiences and whakaaro where when they succeed, they succeed for themselves.”

“Te Āo Māori is truly beautiful,” she believes.

Rhianna Morar, VUWSA’s Welfare Vice President, explained that “law school is an institution based on western legal systems and concepts… the reference to tikanga Māori concepts and the Yet for Māori students, Treaty of Waitangi are taught from a colonising narrative, unless Carwyn "It is the very building that the Jones or Māmari Stephens are your Treaty of Waitangi sat under, lecturers.” “We all do give a damn, however giving a damn is not always enough,” Stephens says. “We need structural and content-based change.”

being eaten by rats and ignored by colonial lawmakers” - Aphiphany Forward-Taua

“Our mana is having integrity, making courageous decisions to make positive change for our whānau, hapū, iwi— and most importantly, to acknowledge the plight of our tīpuna... When Māori succeed, it isn’t an independent win, but a win for all Māori.”

In previous years, Māori law students created a student-led tikanga seminar series, inviting external speakers to fill in the gaps that they weren’t getting through the law degree programme.

In September of 2017, 150 law students were part of a student submission to the faculty, addressing the culture of the law school. Recommendations included offering a more balanced Māori perspective on issues brought up in the syllabus, the “urgent” health matters of the student body, and also targeted Pasifika interventions.

The “amazing wealth of kōrero and knowledge Māori students have is worth acknowledging and really appreciating,” Stephens said. This year, Aphiphany aims to collaborate on a “notes and advice bank” initiative, where senior students compile notes from their former years, passing them down to 100-level tauira, in order to better support Māori students to “get them over the line”; increasing both the statistics and the success of Māori law students.

The faculty has not responded, despite their deadline being March 2019.

The Importance of Having More Māori Faculty Indiana Shewen, a VUW law graduate speaking at graduation this month, says that the guidance from Dr Carwyn Jones (Faculty of Law, Crown–Iwi relations) “is the reason why [she is] graduating with [her] law degree,” admitting that she “almost didn’t make it through the first year of her degree.”

Māmari Stephens, being very aware of the lack of Māori content in the programme, has recently gained funding to create a Māori and Pasifika source book, an easily accessible compilation of cases, concepts, and stories. The aim, Stephens mentions, is to push the boundaries of staff, enabling them to gain confidence teaching Māori content that they may not be experienced in teaching.

The type of attitude that Jones and Stephens carry throughout the Faculty is “essential” to the success of the Māori law students, Aphiphany states; without them “we are lost”.

Salient wishes to extend this research to our Pasifika law students, and to Māori and Pasifika experiences in other fculties. If you have any personal experiences, please contact news@salient.org.nz

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Largest-Ever Teachers’ Strike Scheduled For Wednesday KAT BUISSINK Both the primary and secondary teachers’ unions have voted for a joint strike on May 29, which will take place this Wednesday. Earlier in the month, almost 50,000 members of both NZEI Te Riu Roa, which represents primary school teachers, and the Post Primary Teachers’ Association (PPTA), representing secondary school teachers, voted “overwhelmingly” for the strike, according to a joint statement released by both unions. The teachers unions have been in negotiations with the Ministry of Education since early last year, which have stalled in recent months over failure to agree on details in their contract, such as pay, class size, and the availability of learning support staff. “The offers we have received from the government have not addressed the issues our profession is facing. They will not turn around the crisis in education that is looming,” said NZEI Te Riu Roa president Lynda Stuart.

Education Minister Chris Hipkins told RNZ that he sympathised with the teachers but could not raise pay further, saying “we've got to get the balance right here” so the government’s other priorities, such as housing and mental health, could also be addressed. Hipkins said that the Ministry of Education’s current offer, which would put most teachers in the top 20 percent of income earners in New Zealand, and almost all principals in the top ten percent, showed that the government did indeed take teachers’ demands seriously. An independent survey conducted by The Navigators and commissioned by the two unions found that 89% of New Zealanders felt that teachers did need a pay rise and that education spending should be prioritised. No end is in sight for the dispute, as the government has already ruled out additional education spending in the 2019 Budget beyond what they have already proposed to unions.

“We are united in our aspirations,” added PPTA president Jack Boyle. “Teachers do not take strike action lightly. We would rather be with our kids in our classrooms. We want a positive outcome.”

Armed Police Confront Striking Fast Food Workers KAT BUISSINK (AGAIN) Fast food workers, who were on strike the weekend before last, came face-to-face with armed police on the picket line.

Auckland showed NZ Police at KFC Pakuranga, armed with both tasers and handguns, escorting customers through the picket line. Salient can confirm that police present at other locations were armed with tasers, but cannot confirm if handguns were present elsewhere. Reports suggest that handguns were not present in the Wellington region.

Workers from KFC, Carl’s Jr and Pizza Hut stores, all owned by Restaurant Brands, were on strike May 17 through 19 to protest what their union believes are low pay and unfair staffing practices.

A KFC Pakuranga worker told Salient that the police presence was extremely intimidating, especially in an area with a high Māori and Pacific population. “I just want to get paid enough,” they said, “and not worry about getting shot.”

The contract changes proposed by Restaurant Brands which are under dispute include a pay increase that does not match the minimum wage increase, a reduction of breaks from 15 minutes to ten minutes, and failure to address understaffing issues in stores.

Unions Wellington issued a statement saying, “Armed New Zealand Police officers have no place on a picket line. It is not OK for police to take sides in an industrial dispute.”

While many of the stores across New Zealand were closed for the entire three days, it is not believed any Wellington store was forced to close entirely. Other locations, while technically still open, were blockaded by striking workers to prevent cars accessing the drive-thru and car park.

Unite Union agreed last week to a Restaurant Brands request to begin mediation with a third party over the dispute.

Some of these picket lines were met with an armed police presence. A photo posted on social media by a senior organiser at Unite Union in

News.

Recognition of Uni’s Underpaid and Underappreciated at Living Wage Day FINN BLACKWELL Living Wage Day last week brought to the forefront one of the most pressing issues shared by students and employees alike: the need for a living wage to be introduced throughout Victoria University.

As part of the Living Wage at Vic campaign, students were able to submit thank-you notes to staff, showing their appreciation for the hard work that they do around campus.

The newly introduced Living Wage at Vic Club held an event for Living Wage Day in the Hub to highlight the significance of a living wage to key workers in the university, including tutors and cleaners.

The Living Wage club received 550 submissions.

One of the guest speakers was cleaner Rebecca. Originally hailing from South Sudan, Rebecca is a mother of five (with her youngest being only eight years old). She told the crowd that she wakes up at 4:30 a.m. to come and start cleaning floors, bathrooms, and more around campus. “My working days are long, long days,” Rebecca remarked. “It’s very tough and dirty,” she continued. “We are happy to do it, but we need a living wage”. Rebecca closed with a message for the university itself: “Victoria University, pay your cleaners a living wage”. A statement from an anonymous tutor was later read out by Marlon Drake, who outlined both the poor payment of many tutors, and their contracts, which limit their ability to talk openly with each other or publically about their pay conditions.

Members of the VUW Senior Leadership Team had a notable absence from the presentations, much to the concern of those co-ordinating the event. “The [Senior Leadership Team’s] absence and silence speaks volumes about how much they care,” commented President of the Living Wage Club Richard Beere. When asked how much their cleaners are paid in an email, VUW said “it does not pay the cleaners directly”, though the contractor they use “is obliged to pay the minimum wage and any negotiated increases.” Chief Operating Officer Mark Loveard stated that the agreement with the contractors was updated to allow VUW to explore Living Wage options. Beere also mentioned how students could support the cause: through joining the Living Wage Club, pressuring VUW leadership, and, of course, thanking the cleaners they see around campus. Beere concluded at the event, “The uni has to get its shit together.”

Cleaners Emilia (left) and Rebecca (right) received a loud "thank you" from the crowd, acknowledging them as the "heartbeat of the university". Photo by Taylor Galmiche.

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Education Faculty Moving (Again) HANNAH POWELL Leaked documents have revealed that the Education Faculty at Victoria University is planned to move location. Victoria’s Faculty of Education administration is currently located on Level 8 of the Murphy Building, with the faculty’s 56 academic staff and 74 postgraduate students accommodated in the Wai-te-ata Apartments buildings. The faculty offers programs that challenge and encourage students to “critically and creatively carve their own path in the world of education,” and offers courses in Education, Teacher Education, and Educational Psychology. Until relocation in 2016, the Faculty of Education resided in Karori. An anonymous leak has indicated that the plan is for the department to be relocated into the Kirk Building in 2020. Kirk has been “allocated for Education”, however, what floors it will be allocated to are undetermined, due to requirements for earthquake strengthening. Planning for Kirk relocation has been in development since 2018. “The Waiteata Road premises were always intended to be a temporary

location for the Faculty of Education and we are in discussions where and when we will relocate,” said Professor Stephen Dobson, Dean of Education. General space requirements include a “functional relationship” between the students and staff of the Faculty and School of Education (Te Puna Akopai), and to erase the “physical [location] barrier” between the administration and the rest of the faculty. A waiting area for visitors and space for collegiality and academic and student growth is also envisioned. A space that enables Māori and Pasifika staff to feel it is a "tūrangawaewae" is also required under the Faculty of Education vision. “All staff have had the opportunity to attend a staff meeting to discuss this issue and provide feedback,” Dobson said. “They will again be given the chance to meet and provide feedback once we have clarification on the options.” Members of the Education faculty are apparently unhappy and upset about this decision, although Salient has not been able to verify this. The exact date for relocation is yet to be confirmed.

Thursdays in Black Continuing Kaupapa with Club Relaunch ANNABEL MCCARTHY A student-led Thursdays in Black Club has launched at Victoria University. Previously run through VUWSA, the campaign will now operate independently as a club. Thursdays in Black is a nationwide campaign to end sexual violence on tertiary campuses and in university communities. The movement seeks to raise awareness, promote a zero-tolerance culture, and encourage the prevention of sexual harm. The club’s executive was elected at the launch. Newly elected President Jahla Lawrence is a sexual violence academic at Victoria University and Co-President of Victoria University’s Feminist Organisation. Lawrence joins eight other members on the executive. The decision to form a club came about after a lack of consistent events. According to VUWSA President Tamatha Paul, the “campaigns work better on campus when they are spearheaded by clubs, external to the student associations”. Paul said university clubs are able to co-ordinate events more efficiently compared to student associations, which “only have the time [and

resources] to run infrequent, large-scale initiatives”. The club aims to increase its presence on campus and raise awareness of the Thursdays in Black kaupapa in the coming year. By holding regular events, Lawrence hopes she is able to build a community “dedicated to eradicating rape and rape culture”. Students and staff are encouraged to show their support for the campaign by wearing black clothing on Thursdays. The colour black represents harm caused by sexual violence. In doing so, participants demonstrate a demand for structural and cultural change within student communities, both on and off campus. The club’s first event will be a Thursdays in Black quiz night held in collaboration with several other university clubs. All proceeds will be donated to the Wellington Sexual Abuse HELP Foundation as part of their annual appeal. Lawrence is certain this will be the first of many collaborative events held by the club. The quiz will be held this Tuesday, 28 May, in the Hunter Lounge at 5 p.m.

News.

Free Speech At Risk at University - Shalom Students' Association THOMAS CAMPBELL Freedom of speech and freedom of religion is under threat at VUW, according to the Shalom Students’ Association. During a speaking event last Monday, president and cofounder of the association Andrew Iupati told audience members that rights to freedom of speech and religion at the university were under attack. The Students’ Association had put posters up around campus advertising a forum with National MP Alfred Ngaro, who was scheduled to talk about Jewish identity and Zionism. These posters were apparently promptly torn down, and Iupati stated that posters promoting opposing views, such as those from ‘Students for Justice in Palestine’, stayed up . Iupati’s claims were echoed by Ngaro when he began his talk, citing the misconception and misinformation that people had towards Zionism, “All we ask for is for is that Israel, like any other nation, has a fair and just opportunity to let its views and values be known.”

VUWSA has not altered its position on the Israeli–Palestine conflict since 1974. Twelve policies relating to the Middle East voted on by VUWSA members exist, including “a free, secular and democratic Palestinian state should be created.” Andrew Iupati told Salient that there are a number of oncampus groups that have been hostile to the Shalom Students’ Association, but refused to name the groups. “There are posters [advertising] other controversial events and it is our posters that are taken down, and for us that felt like an attack on our freedom to express our political opinions.” Shalom spoke to Vic Clubs on the issue, but Vic Clubs requested proof that someone was taking posters down. An email was then sent out to all clubs on campus saying that the conduct was inappropriate. Students for Justice in Palestine did not respond to requests for comment by Salient.

Alfred Ngaro MP addressing audience members at the Shalom Students' Association event. Photo by Thomas Campbell.

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AUSA President Anand Rama Resigns DANIEL MEECH [ REPUBLISHED WITH PERMISSION FROM CRACCUM ] AUSA President Anand Rama has handed in notice of his resignation. His resignation comes just nine weeks into his first semester as head of the organisation. Rama and AUSA both cite “personal reasons” for his departure. In a Facebook post released shortly after the decision was announced, Rama said he was not “in a good headspace” during his tenure. “Being in the role was taking a toll on my wellbeing and my life,” he wrote, “Today I put myself and my own health first, for the first time in what’s felt like a long time”. Rama is set to depart the AUSA house on the 27th of May. In his stead, current Education Vice-President George Barton will take the helm. Barton is perhaps best known for organising the Zero Tolerance Hui. He also helped implement a new policy which means the university will have to record all lectures from the beginning of next semester. “This is not how I ever wanted or expected the year to progress and definitely not how I ever wanted to come into the role,” says Barton, “My job now is to continue to enable our Executive to deliver on the work that we were elected to deliver on”. Barton says he plans to focus on following through with the AUSA’s promise of free exam seminars for big first year papers, to push for more engagement in local body elections, to strengthen the student council, to continue to develop working relationships with faculty associations, and to deliver a mental health report to the university.

An election will be held to determine who will take the nowvacant Education Vice-President seat. At time of writing, no-one has officially announced their intention to run, but Craccum is aware of several potential candidates. Candidates will be expected to put their nominations forward between the 20th and 27th of May. Votes will be counted between the 3rd and 7th of June. AUSA have expressed gratitude for Rama’s work on the executive. “We would like to thank Anand for the incredible leadership and service he has given AUSA,” a post on their Facebook page reads, “This place is a much better organisation for our students because of you. We wish you all the very best”. Barton echoes the comments of the rest of the team. “Anand has stepped down in order to look after his mental health and to finally put himself first. I cannot even begin to imagine how difficult a decision this would have been for Anand both personally and professionally. On behalf of our Executive, I would like to thank Anand for the incredible leadership and service that he has given AUSA both as Administrative VicePresident last year and as President this year,” he told Craccum. Craccum sincerely wishes Rama all the best in future. For his part, Rama says he hopes other students will learn from his mistake. “Learn to be open to those around [you],” Rama told Craccum, “Talk to your family, talk to your friends, talk to a counsellor, talk to anyone, because that’s the first step”.

VUWSA President Tamatha Paul Sends Her Support “I’m glad he was able to put his own mental wellbeing ahead of the role, and I encourage everyone to always put their health first. Being President of tens of thousands of students is not an easy job. You’re loved and hated, commended and criticised, frequently. The job is high pressure, no doubt about that.”

News.

Opinion. The Best Things In Life Aren't Free KATE ASCHOFF We all know someone who’s been on a benefit. Maybe you were on one over the summer break, or a mate back home is living off one. More and more young people are enrolling with Work and Income New Zealand. As of March 2019, over 854,000 New Zealanders were on a WINZ benefit. I’m one of these people. I’ve been on the “Jobseeker - Sickness” benefit for over a year now, since I dropped out of uni in 2018, when my mental health and study got too much to handle. In mid-2018, the government set up a Welfare Working Group, to assess the state of the welfare system in NZ. Since the release of their report, the government has committed to only three of the 42 recommended changes. One of the main recommendations, not yet committed to, was raising benefit levels from 12% to 47% of their current rate, which would be a huge increase in funds for beneficiaries. There hasn’t been a raise to main benefit incomes since the last National government. Social Development Minister Carmel Sepuloni confirmed that there would be no raises to main benefits under the 2019 Budget. Sepuloni said that the coalition government’s three proposed responses were just part of the “first phase of the two-phased approach” to welfare reform and that “we need to consider this [report action] as a part of phase two.” This means that New Zealanders like myself will continue to live in poverty and face ongoing inequality until the government decides it’s time to do more about it. The current response to this report is not enough to spare people from hardship and suffering. WINZ gives me $187.45 a week. After rent, food and transport, I only have $25 spending money. What can

you do with $25 a week? Not a lot. You can’t get a gym membership. You can’t go to gigs or movies with friends. You can’t get a warmer jacket for winter. You can’t just go to the doctor or dentist when you need to. It takes away the option of getting a Uber after a late night, or ever buying yourself something nice, or knowing if something bad happened you’d have money to fix it. It means that every payment I make causes me deep anxiety—if I bought the right thing or if I’m wasting my dollars. I try to use what little money I have to the best of its ability. But you just can’t win. Because I get so little money, I have to live week-to-week. This can mean going days with only $13 in your bank account. It means I can’t create any savings. WINZ provides just enough money for the bare necessities, but this means I can’t live with dignity. The things that give life colour, aren't free. I’d get paid more if I worked part-time on minimum wage. I’d get more money from Studylink for being at uni than I do from WINZ. I’d get more money from WINZ if I was well enough to work or if I didn’t live at home with my parents, who are also beneficiaries. I can’t partake in any of these things because of my ill health, so am forced to live off something that isn’t liveable. As bad as it is, I’m lucky. I don’t have children to support, I’m not a single parent, and don’t live with a severe disability. If my life wasn’t the way it is, trying to get by on $187 would be a lot harder than it already is. What would you do with $187 a week? With $25? Would you still get to do the things you enjoy, to fix what is broken, and to experience new things? Maybe. But the things we need most to thrive cost money, time and time again. We can’t expect the status quo to change by chaining people to a broken system.

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The Party Line The Party Line asks political parties’ youth wings a question every week. We publish their responses unaltered.

Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison won the recent Australian election, despite polling suggesting a Labor Party victory. What, if anything, can New Zealand learn from this "miracle" election result?

Young New Zealand First

VicLabour Whilst volunteering for local elections, I spoke to woke Wellingtonians with reckons on Australia. What came up was the fact that Labor didn’t campaign on its principles. The principles of all Labo(u)r parties are manaakitanga and collectivism. When you elect Labo(u)r you are trusting them to make the best decisions with those principles at the heart of it. When you make politics about numbers and figures, people aren’t going to engage. People aren’t going to trust you. It turns issues into figures. It makes things unpredictable. A ‘miracle’ happens. Maybe that’s what we can learn from [exceeded limit].

VicNats

In the space of six years, Australia has seen 5 different Prime Ministers. To see Scott Morrison, hold onto power can mean two things. Either he has taken onus and ran the nation well in the short time he has been in power OR that the opposition took the political climate for granted. Critics of the opposition claimed there was not enough substance from Labor when pushing the climate-change banalities or higher taxes– and rightfully so. Change isn’t granted from a rational voter base for the sheer use of platitudes. Rapport needs to be earnt.

The Australian election proved once and for all that despite its good intentions, no party can win the popular vote promising more taxes and greater uncertainty. As seen in Australia, despite the Labor Party starting off with a huge lead in the polls, the Liberal Party reminded Australia about the real consequences of a Labor Government and balanced the playing field. For us, it showed the power of communication with the public and that people always prefer being treated as individuals instead of a source of income. The Young Nats look forward to spreading this message into the 2020 election. - Grahame Woods

How It Works: Enrolling for Local Elections JOHNNY O'HAGAN BREBNER, KATE ASCHOFF & RACHEL SALAZAR Changed address? No Want to change where you vote?

Hard copy forms at VUWSA Yes

(Recommended to do this by August)

Update your details

Fill in and return by Aug 16th

Not actually enrolled? Online forms at bit.ly/

2sWViTw

Code to be mailed to you

Congrats, you're enrolled!

Vote.

“nietzsche would have absolutely crushed it on twitter until he got ratio’ed one too many times, had a 72 hour meltdown and started a fascist youtube channel from a basement” - @chick_in_kiev

“back in 2011 i watched the first episode of game of thrones & absolutely loathed it. tonight i will watch the finale. i have not watched anything in between. wish me luck.” - @davidfarrier

THANK CHRIST GAME OF THRONES IS OVER COL L ATED BY EM M A M AGUIRE

@em_ma_maguire

“People are really mad that the actor who played a dark mysterious tragic figure of the night for girls is playing a dark mysterious tragic figure of the night for boys.” - @EricaFails

“listen I’ve never seen Game of Thrones but I am 100% behind anything that disappoints thousands of nerds” - @SortaBad

“Now that Game of Thrones has ended we can get back to the things that really matter, jacking off and voting.” - @SJSchauer

“Petition to reshoot the last season of Game of Thrones so that instead of being about dragons it’s a Scandinavian police procedural about an alcoholic detective named Jürgen Gämøfthrœn” - @pixelatedboat

“Gearing up to tweet ‘oh so I guess Batman sparkles now!’. doing push ups. psyching myself up for it” - @LucyXIV

“A guy who is famous for playing a vampire is simply not the right person to play a guy who dresses up as a bat!” - @NicSampson

“ever since Endgame came out I've been getting a lot of kudos on my 2013 fanfic "Five Things the Avengers Caught Tony Trying to Put in His Ass" and, I get it, fandom, I know, this is how you grieve <3” - @twwings

“y'all might be bitching but at least your favourite tv show wasn't an obscure australian sci-fi show cancelled after a cliffhanger in 2004 and never remade” - @em_ma_maguire “When people ask me how tall I am, I always say "5'3. The same height as Wolverine." Because I think it's important that people learn Wolverine trivia whenever possible” - @magencubed

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Features CW: Partner Abuse Ownership is a concept I struggle with. I’m 21. I modestly own a few cameras, the odd kitchen appliance in my flat, and a wardrobe of clothes I’ve accumulated over the last four years. These things are mine to do whatever I want with. I could paint my breadmaker black and set it on fire if I wanted to, no questions asked. Some of my friends have cars, but they’re bought by their parents. My classmates and distant friends live in some of the most flash apartments, again paid for by their parents. On the other side of the coin, I have friends who are owned by their partners. Through emotional, physical, or financial abuse. The state of possessing something, whether it’s free or not, is something we experience everyday. From groceries to clothes—possessing and disposing, buying and selling—we live and die by barcodes. I’m standing in the Moore Wilson’s bulk checkout line. *beep* Barcode by barcode is swiped as the conveyor belt transfers the possessions from that of the company to the customer. We, the customers, are oblivious to the length of time our ownership will last. From the plastic of a toothbrush to the polycarbon in your phone, you will dispose of your possessions one day. The only thing you will own forever is your name. During the abolition of slavery, my ancestors were given the name of their slave owners. A reminder to the definition of ownership and its longevity. A mark that was made skin deep. A brand that identifies the claim of ownership. A barcode, if you will, permanently tattooed onto the back of their necks. We all have a barcode. It’s arguably our most valuable asset. It carries financial value, social reputation—and, potentially, shame. Your barcode may share similar lines and spaces as those of your family. Yet unique numbers set us apart from family members who sit on the same shelf. Our last names can possess multiple meanings across a variety of contexts. In your hometown, your last name could be a representation of your grandparents who were active community members. It could be the symbol for an occupation, or the service your family provided to people. But my last name is not my name. I don’t know where I’m from. I actively skip the conversations about my ancestry, because it’s something I’d rather not know. Sure, hometown and place of birth are easy answers, but I can’t exactly trace back four generations willfully. Living in this absentia is bliss, but also black. I have nothing to subscribe to and no promises to fulfill. If my barcode was just fabricated in order to claim psychological ownership for an eternity, what affiliation do I have to it? Is it no more than my mother’s handwriting of my name on my backpack in intermediate? 17

The world we live in has a faster pace than ever before. Our parents were able to acquire many different assets. A house, a car, long-term investments. If you talk to any regular at your local RSA, they’ll let you know that “in the good old days”, things lasted a lot longer. From milk to a telephone, we are the first generation to be aware of the fact that all of the things around us are finite. The lifespan of everything (outside of us humans) is getting shorter, and everyday we are confronted with the idea that all man-made structures have been created to break, to one day perish and malfunction, in order for us to purchase something new. Meanwhile, our names will never die; the letters are chiseled into stone that will last centuries. Planted into timeless conversations and stories that will be told at cookouts and barber shops. Cursed or praised, they will remain in history for at least a few generations. Which, if i’m completely honest, sounds pretty fuckin’ cool. I can wear my barcode proudly, as a tainted piece of art. A symbol of finding peace with being ‘a mongrel’. I look at my friends and whānau from Kaitaia, who proudly wear their names as a kind of tā moko, sharing the stories of their family. Some tragic, others triumphant. As I stand in the bulk food section, I realise the barcode doesn’t set me apart from anyone else. It’s unique in its creation and it’s mine. I can live with the barcode on my neck and pay homage to it, the fact that my identity is unknown. In many different ways, my life is a living blessing and nightmare. The feeling that all physical labour I do is for the profit of an idea, not a family name or lineage. The same numbers and lines, that are carried around proudly by others, are blurred for me. Between the blurred lines, I find solace in absentia. In 2013, Pusha T released an album titled My Name is My Name, an album released with monochrome images that asserted himself in the rap game. An album that showed he had peaked, completely owned himself, and was celebrating that fact. On the back of the album art, Pusha is seen in a completely white room, the only thing visible the white reflection on his skin and his eyes. On the other side of the album is the barcode. Whittling himself down, Pusha defines himself as the black lines in his barcode; his new identity. Having no identity to subscribe to grants me the feeling of freedom when I wake up in the morning. The surname I carry is fabricated and means nothing, yet everything to me. The name is absent, but the numbers matter. My purpose in life is to buy back my barcode, the black and the white lines. Make it my own name. To create value and reputation for my last name. To make myself my only possession.

Features One day in class, my Year Six teacher asked me what I was, and I said: “I’m just a New Zealander.” Her response? “You can’t be just a New Zealander, or else you’d look like me.” I don’t think I need to specify her skin colour. And I want you to imagine how it would feel to get comments like that constantly, what that would do to your concept of self. Before all else, I am compelled to point out that I’m a Kiwi. I’m a proud New Zealander, and some deep-rooted part of me feels the need to constantly defend that. Before someone inevitably asks, I can feel the spiel unfolding: I was born in New Zealand, and on my Dad’s side I’m a fourth gen. (Yes, Asians first arrived here in the 1800s.) I’m not saying that a first gen or recent immigrant cannot also be a Kiwi. My explanation is evidence of my defence mechanisms, sensitive from a lifetime punctuated by ignorant comments. In 2019, I’m tired of the assumption that a classic Kiwi is someone white—not even someone Māori. Tired of people saying that someone is ‘half Kiwi, half other’ as if the ‘other’ half can’t be Kiwi too. (I’m begging you, learn the difference between nationality and ethnicity—New Zealander isn’t an ethnicity.) I’m tired of the medical forms that allow you to be a “New Zealand” European, but otherwise label you as solely Asian, Māori, or Pasifika. The forms continue to entrench the popular yet false concept that only people of European heritage are New Zealanders. A white person who arrives fresh from Britain is instantly accepted because they are the literal Kiwi archetype. Their New Zealand identities are a given, whereas I’ve had to guard mine all my life. There was a point when I was constantly angry about racism. I kept starting strongly worded essays only to lose energy halfway through. I talked openly about discrimination, sometimes pathetically invoking the “it just isn’t fair.” I got mixed responses. I got told that my problems weren’t debilitating enough to worry about, as if experiencing the most discrimination was a competition. As if it wasn’t enough that New Zealand has never fully compensated for its White New Zealand immigration policy, or that the majority can still find a politician’s racist jokes funny. One of my peers helpfully inputted that “racism against Asians isn’t as bad as racism against African Americans so you shouldn’t let it get to you.” I was stunned into silence—a rarity for me. Another reaction to the ignorance was my attempt to Reject Race Entirely. Not in the sense of denouncing anyone of my own race. Not in the sense of ‘All Lives Matter’ or saying ‘I don’t see race’ as a scapegoat for not actively dealing with the issues. I just didn’t want people to keep asking me where I was from, or ‘really from’, or where my parents were from. In response to the scrutiny, I began declaring that my ethnicity was irrelevant to my personal identity. Ethnicity doesn’t carry any weight without a cultural backing. As someone who speaks no Asian language, learned how to use chopsticks at restaurants, and has always had mostly white friends, I can safely say that my culture is of generic white New Zealand. Of $1 dairy lolly bags and barefoot BBQs. To me, my ethnicity is purely my DNA; it has little to do with who I really am. I’m not “white-washed” or “in denial”. 19

I just want to identify however I choose to. I just want to be viewed, not as part of an ethnic mass, but, as myself. The frustrating truth, however, is that society refuses to let me do that. I’m “rejecting my heritage”, a dilemmathe ancestrally English–Irish guy next to me would never have to experience. People with European heritage often don’t call themselves European, because Europe has nothing to do with them today. Fair enough. But by that same standard, I shouldn’t have to call myself Asian. The fact is, white people can choose to escape their ethnicity and heritage. They have the privilege of Just Ignoring Race. They can form their own identity around their interests, passions, and family background. But I will always be Asian in New Zealand, even if I decide that being Asian is irrelevant to me. And to be honest, I’m over the double standards. You may have noticed that I’m calling myself ‘Asian’ without specifying. I’m not doing this to lump all Asians together; I have a complicated relationship with my racial identity. And the moment I explicitly state that my blood is Korean, Japanese, or Chinese, I become Korean, Japanese, or Chinese—as per everyone. I prefer to simply identify as an Asian New Zealander. Or, even better, as just a New Zealander. I only willingly identify as Asian for the purpose of promoting a more inclusive society. Being ethnically Asian may not have impacted my personality or identity, but my experiences of racism certainly have. It’s worth mentioning that the problem cycle is refreshed by new immigrants who share the pre-conception that Kiwi means white. In my personal experience, it’s more often new immigrants who ask me where I’m from. If they feel they don’t belong, they see me as a kindred spirit. As Emma Ng points out in her book Old Asian, New Asian there’s tension between established non-white New Zealanders and recent immigrants. For example, I almost resent new Asian immigrants, for fear of being lumped in with them. And then I feel guilty. That shouldn’t be my guilt, it should be society’s. I’m writing this because I’m over having to defend my New Zealand identity. I want to focus on my dreams, friends, and mental health, like anyone else. I don’t want to look introspectively at my racial background. But I feel like society’s shoved a load labelled ‘minority’ into my arms and I’m being forced to carry it. After 19 years, the weight’s becoming a little much. I’m realising that I’ve been hurt, and I want to allow the wounds to heal. Certainly, I want to make change and create a more inclusive society, but it’s difficult. Actively thinking about racial ignorance makes me feel angry and helpless, and the easiest thing to do is think about something else. I don’t want to keep talking about race, but I know I have to. It’s worth it if one more person will admit that New Zealand is racist. In Wellington, people think that if they’re not racist, nobody is, and that’s just not the truth. Just ask a non-white person to share their experiences.

Features MORE THAN BLACK POWER

was a violent father, was a violent partner to my partner, and until I learned how to deal with violence, it remained that way.”

CW: Sexual Abuse, Partner Violence, Family Violence Eugene’s story is important because despite all odds, despite the way he was molded to be a deeply angry man with no future, he rose above all the challenges he faced. He kept his head up and bit the bullet. It shows a courage that inspires me to be better than what I think I am. Though my early life wasn’t as tragic as Eugene’s, I can say there were some chords that were played in the same key as mine. From growing up without a father present, to abuse from a family member I trusted; I was angry, hurt, and confused on the inside, and this toxicity eventually seeped out to the way I was portraying myself. We all wear masks to hide our deepest, darkest thoughts—for some, the masks that hide our hurt look like leather, tattoos, and patches. Sometimes, things need to be broken before they can be fixed, and recognising that we are broken is the hardest part.

“When people ask me what I do, I just say I help.” - Eugene Ryder. You may have read about Eugene Ryder at some point in your life. The label of ‘Black Power member’ often follows him. But he is also a loving father, an activist, and a social worker whose work has led him to meet people such as Prince William and Barack Obama. Though he may have 58 convictions to his name, it’s hard to dislike the guy, once you hear his story. He was late to our meeting, and through my phone I heard a paced, husky voice stumble through an apology. There was a strange comfort in knowing that even someone who (in my eyes) was scary as fuck had shitty time management skills, just like me. I was initially nervous, but this quickly quelled as we got acquainted. His open and warm smile complimented his rotund figure, and I felt as if I was hanging out with a mall Santa (with a tā moko, and minus a beard). He exuded an aura of calmness and intelligence. Every word was strummed with a weight of brevity, each sentence hemmed by a particular joviality.

Once we do, however, change is possible. Eugene working to overcome his fear of water is one testament to this—a fear that was once so crippling, it meant he couldn’t even bear to step into a bath. It stemmed from getting taught to swim by being thrown off a waterfall. But when his nine-year-old daughter swam back from the ocean one day, carrying some pāua for her father to eat, Eugene realised that the tough demeanour he had built up from a decade of being in a was dwarfed by something as humble as water. The very next day, Eugene enrolled for a master diving course, which took nine months to complete. “That became my way of dealing with anger, because what I realised when I was on the water, 12–15 metres [deep], that regardless of what shit I was going through out there on land, [the water] remains... Whether I’m good or bad, this remains; so [it] helped calm me.”

Eugene’s father was a priest and had 38 children to seven women. He died in a prison cell. Eugene lightheartedly declaims, “[My father’s] life was a huge contradiction; his teachings meant that none of his children were going to be Christians.” Eugene grew up in a cycle of abuse. At home, his father inflicted it upon him and his siblings: physical to the boys, and sexual to the girls. At school, the teachers practiced corporal punishment. He recounts a story of when he was ten and at the arcade with his siblings: An older boy had come up behind Eugene’s 11-year-old brother and tried to intimidate him for a turn on a machine. “He went and told my sister and [she] found out who did it and just stabbed him.”

Love and anger are two emotions that may seem to juxtapose each other, but when anger replaces love in your childhood, they seem synonymous. Love was shown as violence in Ryder’s household, and Eugene grit his teeth as he acknowledged that he had assaulted his wife. “But I've seen my [wife] stick by my side, even after being hit, you know, and I think if it wasn't for her, I'd be probably doing life now.” Together, they worked out the triggers to his violence and enforced a time-out to the ocean. “And as a result I would not be violent, the family would be fed for a week, and I enjoyed a hobby that I was doing.”

Eugene’s formal education ended when he was 12, when he left home and started living on the streets. Not long after, every sibling in his immediate family ended up in state care, where they faced more abuse on a daily basis. In state care was where he learned that he had to either “be a perpetrator of violence, or a victim”. For Eugene, it was a matter of survival.

Eugene spent a whole deal of his life thinking that his upbringing was the way every Māori child was brought up. It wasn’t until he discovered things outside his own world and beliefs that there were “more than one truths, or more than one reality”. He took a hard look at his truth, or reality—one of institutionalised racism, one of survival and pressure, of deep and misunderstood love—and started fighting for change, first in his own life, and now for others.

At age 16, Eugene robbed a bank, hoping to expedite his entry into the Black Power gang. It did not, and he was promptly picked up by the police and tried. He spent the ages of 16 to 20 in prison. “I had to grow up pretty fast in [prison]... I saw people come in, you know, kinda innocent, and leave real abused… I learned to stand my ground.”

As we parted ways, we shared a hongi. I can still feel his forehead pressed against mine. I’m still trying to unpack everything I heard. But his story reinforces my belief that things can better—if you let it. And that we need to constantly look for experiences beyond our own little universe—even if it doesn’t come from a face, or life, that looks like yours. “If we can all listen with the intent to listen, rather than to challenge, we can hear the messages behind some of the kōrero that is being given.”

Coming out of prison, Eugene was broken, and he wanted to experience all that he had missed out on. He officially joined Black Power, and started selling drugs to support himself, which he got caught for. The constant exposure to violence during his formative years had shaped him into craggy rubble. He fathered a couple of children to a woman, and confesses to not being the best father, to put it lightly—“I used them to learn how not to bring children up. I

Features I love Kanye. Now, I'm not necessarily talking about the Kanye who waltzes into the Oval Office to demonstrate his admiration for a man who wouldn't look out of place in either a travelling circus or a field of oranges. I'm talking about Kanye the artist, Kanye the creative. Whether as a prepubescent teen claiming that these imaginary girls certainly weren't gold diggers, or a young adult exhausting my leg muscles up Devon Street to the beat of “Power”, Mr West has been a constant in my life. Whether in his music or his public opinion, censorship is the one ingredient he refuses to mix into the unique cuisine that is Kanye West. Leaving this ingredient out, in an ironic way, seems to be one of the ‘secret ingredients’ to his artistic prowess. As consumers of Kanye's art, we've always been fortunate enough to have the freedom to appreciate, interpret, and extrapolate on any piece Ye produces, without any shackles binding what the artist is trying to get across. It allows for a more holistic picture of the artwork, and that old adage of 'art for art's sake' to be more comprehensible. I use the example of Kanye here to address this ever-present collision of censorship with artistic freedom and consumer choice. There is a reason why censorship exists. It allows us to ease our young ones into the relentlessly cruel world that awaits outside the front door, to avoid conflict, or, more simply—to appease those who wish to live their lives with a degree of naivety to how the world can really be. We recently witnessed the threat of censorship in the domain of art, when a sculpture by Finnish artist Jani Leinonen depicting Jesus on the cross was placed in Israel's Haifa Museum of Art. However, Jesus was replaced here with a crucified version of Ronald McDonald. The sculpture garnered a wealth of protest from Arab Christians, who were opposed to the gross satire of their sacred religion, and the Israeli government also agreed it was inappropriate for a statefunded museum to disrespect religious symbols, though the gallery stood their ground. At face value, these rejections hold weight. The intertwining of a fictional, comical fast food-chain character with one of the world's most emotive symbols isn't going to go down like a cold one on a Friday afternoon. And I believe with artwork that delves into the volcano that is religion, a degree of caution and sensitivity is advisable. However, was the call for censorship valid? This sculpture was part of an exhibition within the museum, "Sacred Good", which was based on the portrayal of religion in this current age of consumerism. McDonald's are arguably the poster child for 21st century consumerism, sadly, and the figure of Jesus Christ is like the 2000-year-old rockstar of religion. The exhibition aspired to properly illustrate how religion is viewed through the lens of consumerism, and an intertwining of the two was an impactful way to do so. Limiting this would have detracted from the value of the message this exhibition was trying to get across. To settle tensions and avoid further possible conflict, the museum offered a careful and considered solution to church leaders and officials. That is, the positioning of a non-obtrusive sign prior to entering the exhibition, providing a forewarning that the content ahead may be offensive. This compromise allowed for the freedom of choice. But consumers should have the freedom to choose.

Now, more than ever, we live in the age of the conscious consumer. People are beautifully grasping the freedom to consume and interpret art in such a way that carries personal meaning. We relish this freedom. It allows us to take our own little slice of the world and apply value to it. This is what makes being able to connect with the work of actors, musicians, artists, philosophers, and writers so special. The forms of art they share can have individual meaning specific to each person, regardless of what the artist intended to depict. Censorship fractures individual connection. This is where we welcome Mr West back in to the fold. We all know that Ye has a lot to say. In The College Dropout, he showed us how creativity doesn’t have to conform to what’s ‘hot right now’. Graduation was Ye’s way of telling us that his artistic capacity was not limited to one aesthetic of sound, while My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy exposed the vulnerability and emotion he let freely pour into his work. But as important as any of these ‘confessions’ is what Ye’s work symbolises for the portrayal of ‘black’ in art, and how this is so often represented as in absentia to freedom. In 2019, we’re wondering where Kanye’s views on racism and being ‘black’ currently stand, but in the past he has certainly gripped firmly the paintbrush used to portray the link between ‘black’ and lack of freedom. Lines such as “we get racially profiled, ‘cuffed up and hosed down, pimped up and ho’d down”, ‘’Cause they don’t want nobody that’s colored out of the lines”, and “They see a black man with a white woman at the top floor they gone come to kill King Kong” all reinforce the lack of freedom so connotated with the idea of being ‘black’. It’s a sad truth of humanity’s past failings. Censorship is tied in with this idea of in absentia, which is tied to the idea of ‘black’, which is in turn tied to the absence of freedom. Art is so often censored of its freedom because one either feels threatened by its expression, concerned about its story, or scared of its truth. Kanye said it best when he described those that are ‘black’ being ‘cuffed up and hosed down’, deprived of the right to freedom. The censorship of art can be often so wrongly used as a means of deplorably violating the rights of the creative, the rights of the consumer, and of creativity’s freedom. I should add the caveat that I don't agree with eradicating censorship entirely. This would be flirting with naivety. However, this idea of censorship ought to not be cradled and nurtured like a newborn infant. Infants need protection, but a balance is equally required to allow them to have the freedom to learn and to make mistakes. Tonight, lying in bed, I will slide my headphones on in the hope of getting immersed in a world of music, devoid of the physical one around me. I will scroll through some of my favorite albums. I’ll internally converse with that voice inside my head as to which one to listen to. Predictably, I’ll land on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. As I close my eyes, my finger will press on the tab emblazoned with the title “Runaway”. That opening C chord will strike me, never ceasing to send a chill down my spine. I’ll be absorbed by this mininarrative Kanye confesses. I’ll experience far too many emotions for a nine-minute period. And I’ll quietly thank Kanye for letting his creativity run freely.

Taylor Galmiche, Marigny, Digital P

Photography, 297 x 420 mm, 2019

Features My name is. It begins and ends with the spirit of my Aiga. The spirit of my ancestors, guided by the stars across seas, navigating new waters and new worlds. The same spirit my great grandfather, Leapai of Malie, upheld in the Mau Movement for Samoa’s journey to independence; in honest leadership, tautua, and in peaceful protest. The spirit that flowed within my mother, Vi of Mt Albert, when she chose to raise me, to serve her parents, over a life of her own. The spirit that encouraged my grandmother’s strength— fa’amalosi! Through the scornful words. Through the mocking tones. As she learned of her adoption. Of her husband’s devotions. Of the painful functions in life—as a mother, as a wife, as a migrant. Her name is Lefaataualofa. My grandmother likes to mock me. We share the same name and yet she insists that my nature takes after her husband, my grandfather. We call her bag lady—she has one for every possible use, hanging from every free doorknob, nestled underneath her bed, and then more bags stuffed inside other bags in all our cupboards. Her presence is sometimes claustrophobic, often meddling, at every chance taking on more than her tired body can handle. She makes food in excessive amounts, points out every mistake in detail, and becomes magically obedient and less snappy when those outside our immediate family are present. Almost as if she is hiding all the bags that she carries emotionally. Both her own and others’. I must remind myself constantly that her actions, seemingly overbearing and intrusive, are in fact her being living up to our name. Loving, and loving hard. Depending on the environment—which I often measure using an assurance spectrum called “The Willingness of Others to Understand”, how and what I introduce myself as is always changing. How I look and how other people look contribute. My mother used to say that we must always dress clean, because we represent my grandmother, our family, and essentially our ability to live out the values we were brought up with. I didn’t listen to her. I went through a period of only wearing button-up shirts with a mean print, but this stopped when Hawaiian shirts became a thing with white boys. I refused to wear dresses to church and I remember arguing with my mother about why I should be allowed to wear jeans instead. I hated combing, straightening, or tying my hair up properly, instead always wearing it in natural waves. Another phase saw me wearing overly baggy t-shirts and pants, a combination that did not have the approval of my mum nor my grandmother. This defiance may seem like typical teenager behaviour, but it’s an unusual reaction from a young Polynesian girl, in a house where what our parents or elders say is always right, never wrong. I didn’t realise it growing up, but if I wanted people to respect my name, how I presented myself had to be extra clean. As much as we like to pretend otherwise, human beings are judgemental and one’s aesthetic generally acts as an indicator to the nature of a person. Or for me—the willingness of others to pronounce and understand the significance of my name. I don’t need you to understand the full historical background of my name. Just a bit of effort in pronunciation will suffice. If I’m at a relatively expensive or hipster food place and they ask for my name—I say Naomi. Partly because Naomi Campbell is my idol and partly because it’s my middle name, gifted by my grandfather who values names with Biblical roots.

I lied. Both facts are true, but they aren’t the reason why Naomi is thrown out. It’s fully because I don’t want to be greeted mockingly with “Talofa” yet again in order to receive my coffee. When I hear others say my name, it again reflects their willingness. I hear it in the way they try again and again, wanting to get it right. I hear it, but differently when they ask a question after it—‘why?’ This one time, I had someone ask ‘why I was so brown’ after sharing my name. Another exclaimed at the exoticism. For a long time, I despised my name, and every fake struggle that was attached to it. I made every excuse to label it as inconsistent, inconvenient, and too intense. When people asked for its full meaning, I would mumble something inaudible about love, cheeks flushed and ears hot. My skin would crawl in school assemblies and prizegivings, as I would stand up in front of large gatherings to accept an award, to speak as ‘Taulofa’ or ‘Lowfar’ or ‘Talofa’. I resented my mother for not naming me Rebecca or Julia, the somewhat pretty names of pretty girls I knew growing up. I tried to teach them. But soon I gave up, and allowed people to stumble, trip over and mold my name into whatever was convenient, whatever made sense for them. Even if it meant responding to the wrong emphasis on vowels for years. I would go home, escaping from a world that didn’t get it, to one with struggle and love, from people who respected Lefaataualofa. We would feast twice a year in celebration of Lefaataualofa Matua (older) and Lefaataualofa la’itiiti (younger). Comfort. We would eat sapasui mamoe, palusami cooked and wrapped with care, kalo and bananas drenched in coconut cream. The smell of soul food is linked to the spirit of my Aiga, scents that now I rarely encounter since moving to Wellington. Nowadays, the closest I get to these feeds are through Facetime calls. A few weeks ago, my mother called me regarding an upcoming saofa’i within my grandmother’s village of Malie. This is a ceremony that takes place in the Samoan culture when a new matai, (holders of family chief titles responsible for taking care of the family) is accepted formally into the circle of chiefs and orators. She spoke of the significance of carrying my great grandfather’s spirit and legacy, a man who led with great humility and wisdom in trying times for the people of Samoa. To do my best to walk, speak, write, and love others as he did—drawing strength from our family spirit while I am here, far from home, and even farther from our Motherland. She spoke of my grandmother’s adoration for him, a man who continued to protect and love her even after she had been given up by her mother for adoption. She spoke of how he named my grandmother as Lefaataualofa before she was placed on a bus and sent to strangers as a newborn. A name meaning love cannot be bought. I often reflect on the many meanings Lefaataualofa has in my life. Sometimes I think about the power of my materialistic wants— something that differentiates my outlook from my grandmother’s, due to assimilation. A never-ending void that has the power to blind and cause destruction. I think about competition with myself and others. I feel the spirit of my great grandfather encouraging me— fa’amalosi—to walk taller and to speak with courage and passion. I think most about my mother’s ability to not take anything less than what is rooted in love. I see my grandmother’s worn face printed in my mind, her struggle and successes carved into her being. Today, I’m working on smiling as I introduce myself as Lofa. In many ways, I’m reclaiming what has always been mine.

NĀ POIPOIA TE TAONGA BETWEEN THE BLACK & WHITE Like most indigenous peoples, Māori are tasked with protecting the cultural integrity of age-old traditions as they are brought into the modern world. We face many obstacles while navigating the challenge of passing on our cultural legacy; the largest possibly being the risk of our cultural identity being diluted.

As the 20th century dawned, Te Reo Māori itself entered a new era. More formal grammatical structures and transliterations were incorporated. Te Reo Māori was levelled and frameworked so that it could be more widely understood. A standardised Te Reo Māori was able to be taught in mainstream institutions. Although the language we know today is hugely different from A lot of us share this fear. The colonisation of Aotearoa that of the past, changes have been made on our terms. dispossessed our people of aspects that define our cultural identity. Our whenua is divided and defiled. The essence of Te Reo Māori and its value to the identity Our language is misspoken and our stories are mistold. of Māori people remains unchanged. It is not just a means The insecurity we may have around the survival of our of communication. When Māori people speak Māori we culture is entirely warranted. The possibility of our culture carry and communicate the unique Māori perspective. being lost in a predominantly non-Māori world is very The multiple meanings of single words reflects the holistic real. For these very reasons we need to be proactive philosophy that is intrinsic to Te Ao Māori. The most about steering the way in which we adapt. important part of Te Reo Māori’s growth in the past few decades is that it was spearheaded by Māori. When Te Reo Māori is perhaps the most appropriate example others told us the future had no place for Te Reo Māori, of why this is so vital. Originally the dominant language we went out and made it. of Aotearoa, by the mid 1900s it was brutally oppressed by government. Children in schools were strapped for The modernisation of the Māori culture is often likened to speaking Te Reo Māori and, out of fear it would only its bastardisation. And frankly, if left in the wrong hands, cause them harm, Māori parents discouraged their it may well be. As guardians of our culture the only way children to speak it. we can safeguard its survival is by consciously steering it in the direction we hope for it to go. We should not In the 1970s, our people saw the need to reclaim and allow ourselves to be at the whim of change but pioneer re-empower. We needed to take control and make it instead. No time capsule exists for our traditions to changes on our terms instead of allowing our culture sit safely within for future generations to receive them to be silenced and shaped by others. Revitalisation ‘undiluted’. We might not know what adaptation will initiatives like Te Kōhanga Reo, Kura Kaupapa, and Te look like in 100 years time or even tomorrow, but we Ataarangi during this time were key. These initiatives need to be brave enough to navigate the greys between created Māori cultural redevelopment opportunities in the black and white. and out of urban areas for all ages. Solutions for Māori were being developed by Māori.

TE PAEA HOORI

Kia ora and welcome back. If you thought I planned on talking about anything other than the Met Gala this week, you were wrong. A couture- and celebrity-filled event, the Met Gala raises funds for the New York Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute. It also serves as a visually spectacular annual reminder that class society is alive and well. But I promise this isn’t the week that I utilise my word count to spout “eat the rich”-type sentiments. Every year, I follow the Met Gala events in a similar fashion to how others watch sports. It would not be unusual to see me on a sofa, beverage in hand, exclaiming to no one in particular why I disagree with a decision being made. I often found it audacious, to watch people who I suspect would break a sweat when subjected to light jogging, yelling at the professional athletes on-screen. But there I was: sporting a stained, oversized Green Day t-shirt, and my “around-thehouse” slippers. All the while brazenly rolling my eyes at the more underwhelming ensembles. The Met Gala has never been an occasion for subtlety. Sure, not all noteworthy looks from previous years have been voluminous and elaborate, but if ever you wanted to wear an jewel-encrusted Versace gown that took 600 hours to construct and features a nine-foot embroidered train—the Met Gala was probably your best bet. This year, however, a flair for theatrics was especially appropriate, seeing as the theme was ‘camp’—an aesthetic that is founded on exaggeration, irony, and subversion (for some history behind this concept, check out Nina Weir’s fashion review in last week’s issue).

But—to the placation of us armchair stylists—there was at least some drama, a breadth of interpretation, and selfreferencing humour. Each Met Gala seems to be met with higher-quality thinkpieces than the one preceding it. Some described their unease hearing mainstream critiques of a style so founded in the margins. Many applauded the queer inclusion but questioned if next year’s guests list would be the same. And most of us were left wondering if the Met Ball was doing as much for Queer culture, as Queer culture is doing for corporate revenue right now. Just next month, Virgin Airlines is launching a “Pride Flight” extravaganza—set to feature live performances, a DJ, and an all-LGBTQ crew. While I’m absolutely rainbow with envy of anyone who scored a ticket, the skeptic in me is torn: Do Virgin’s motivations lie mostly in the interests of their share prices? And if we’re just going to keep to this whole advanced-capitalism social order, does the motivation really matter? Corporate critiques aside, I finally closed all my tabs and decided it was too late in the day not to be wearing pants. All I was left thinking was about a scene from How I Met Your Mother: Barney is trying to convince Lily and Marshall to find out the sex of their baby, arguing that their child will be gifted genderless hessian sacks if they don’t. I’ve talked to people who hyperbolically speculate the movement away from gender binaries will leave us all in a utilitarian, grey tracksuit-wearing wasteland. But if Jared Leto’s adorned red kings-robe or Lady Gaga’s triple-costume reveal is anything to go by: fashion is only set to become more fun than ever.

Ongoing Met Gala fanatics waited in apprehension for another repeat of the 2017 'Commes des Garçons' event, where about three people actually came dressed to theme.

MAX NICHOL

The story of colour printing in Salient is the story of printing technology getting cheaper and better. The ability to print in colour has existed since the early 20th century, but it was expensive, and limited in the range and number of colours that could be displayed on paper at a time. Nowadays, colour has no extra cost, and Salient as a magazine is brimming with it. But for the first fifty or so years of its existence, Salient was published as a broadsheet newspaper, and like other broadsheets, it was published almost entirely in black and white. Perhaps one of the first forays Salient made into the world of colour was for its literary issues in the mid1950s. These issues were published as booklets, much smaller than regular issues, featuring poetry and writing from members of the student community. Their covers were printed on card and embossed with graphics in red ink, both of which would have been expensive flourishes at the time:

Small embellishments of coloured ink began to adorn the first and last pages of some regular issues in the 1960s and 1970s. Due to the way newspapers are printed (with the first and last pages printed on the same sheet of paper) Salient likely would have paid extra for just that one sheet to have colour. Due either to cost or technical limitations,

initially Salient only carried a single tone when there was colour at all. Through the creative use of black ink and negative white space, this could produce some pretty striking effects, such as this cover printed in support of saving the Hunter Building from demolition: Salient experimented with two- and threetone colour printing in the 1980s. By the mid1990s, colour printing and computer photoediting had advanced to the stage that even a student rag like Salient could afford to indulge in glossy covers with fullcolour images for every issue. Many of its covers in 1996 were earnest but amateurish attempts at harnessing new digital design software, with mixed success. The worst of these covers looked like something youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d whip up in MS Paint for a Year Five assignment. The best leaned into a kind of early shitpost aesthetic. Take, for example, this delightful depiction of John Banks holding a copy of Salient while smoking the jankiest-looking joint ever rendered in MS Paintâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;all in stunning technicolour: From there, it was a short leap to having more colour on the inside of Salient, too. Since around the mid-2000s, Salient has been printed with colour on nearly every page. Certainly in the last few years, the graphic design and visual identity of Salient has been strikingly wellexecuted, in part due to the liberal but balanced use of colour. Still, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s something incredibly charming about old issues of Salient. They look antiquated, yes, but every bit as carefully put together, in the simplicity of black-and-white print.

V UWSA

P SC:ONE O CEAN

TAMATHA PAUL

K’SHANA FA’AMASINO

He aha te tikanga o te kaupapa o Rāpare Kākahu Pango? Maybe you’ve heard the words ‘Thursdays in Black’, seen that small black asterisk on your VUWSA wall planner every Thursday, or noticed more people wearing black than usual on the fourth day of the week.

The valley of the shadow of death, Every trip, every stumble Run and sprint this is a test. Play it with class There is no shortcuts And forgive yourself Though you still fear. Look into the void Eyes wide shut, Black and blue you do not stare. Don’t be scared Your mind is steady, See anew Your heart is full. The depths But your breathing is heavy, May fall into eternity Letting them pull. But know you’re own heart How do you expect to rise? It doesn't matter The knock of tides. where you’re going Lungs to the top with water, What matters is that you start You bring yourself to slaughter. Float through the valley But you are wise? The shades of shadows You were taught how to swim, Wade in their midst So why do you let them win? Acknowledge them so Strip yourself down, Let the salt get in your eyes Bare your bones, And though it stings Til’ there’s nothing left You will survive. Are you alone? As long as you face, Or are you the same? And as long as you see Your walk through the valley Wipe of the wet Shows you what you’re made of Taste the sea But you refuse to see Admire your journey It is not fear What once was empty It is empty A sunset in the distance It’s what you create Filled with plenty. In that head of yours The whole time your eyes were close You still endured. You still endured Walking, crawling till there’s nothing left. Blood and bones are what you're made up of Hopes and dreams you did not give up on You accept the walk, though you may be blindfolded Scratches and cuts That made you moulded You scream Though your voice may be just a whisper Nesian Mystik, Mister, mister Be bold, be courageous Be humble most of all For not boasting Will see you soar.

Thursdays in Black is a nationwide, student-led campaign towards ending sexual violence in tertiary spaces—that’s on and off campus. The ‘Thursday’ and ‘Black’ motifs are an amalgamation of two campaigns from the 1970s—the silent protests on Thursdays by mothers of disappeared persons during ‘the Dirty Wars’ in Argentina, and the adornment of black clothing by women in the UK protesting the use of rape and violence against women as a tool of war, respectively. National treasure and current Green MP, Jan Logie, introduced the campaign to Aotearoa in the 90’s, encouraging tertiary students to wear black on Thursdays to raise awareness of sexual violence happening in these spaces—something seldom talked about at the time. Almost thirty years on, the campaign still goes hard— overcoming pushbacks from institutions, criticism, and even setbacks within the campaign itself. The Thursdays in Black campaign is not only about raising awareness, it’s also about clearly demonstrating a zero tolerance for sexual harm in our community. Some criticise the practicality or effectiveness of wearing black—after all, is wearing black going to have a massive impact on a survivor? Is it just another act of slacktivism? Wearing black on Thursday is a low-effort, consistent action geared towards creating dialogue, setting a theme, and shifting the culture. But we have to continue to push for structural change as well. Over the years, VUWSA has complemented its Thursdays in Black campaign with pushes for tangible action within the university—whether it’s implementing a standalone Sexual Harassment Policy, sponsoring VUWSA’s Sex Week, or adding lights and cameras to the alleyway off Boyd Wilson Field. Keen to get involved with the kaupapa of sexual violence prevention here at Vic? Flick through an email to welfare@vuwsa.org.nz and keep an eye on our socials for any updates.

Hi I’m Elena. My dad is a sex therapist and I’m studying to be a sex educator—we’re here to talk relationships and sex, so send your queries and worries our way (sex@salient.org.nz) One of the main mental blocks I have towards sex is a phobia of pregnancy, which carries over to a fear of semen coming anywhere near me. I don't want to cut out half of my potential dating pool because of this, but even with a copper IUD and barrier contraception, that tiny .01% chance of failure is paralysing. Do you have any tips for overcoming these fears? Elena says:

Dad says:

As we usually emphasise, having sexual partners where you can voice this fear is extremely important. All penetrative sex (especially vaginal sex) might feel too risky for you at the moment so having partners where you can express that oral and hand stuff is where you’re at is a good first step.

Phobias can be really difficult and confusing to deal with. Usually, we know our anxiety is irrational, yet we can’t stop the fear response from kicking in. Anxiety can seize any tiny doubt we have, and blow it up to feel like an inevitability— so being confident in your contraception could help.

It may be that having someone ejaculate inside of you won’t be something you’ll ever feel comfortable with, and that is totally okay. However, I do think it’s healthy to want to be able to develop a reaction to a partner’s bodily fluids that doesn’t revolve around fear. It might be that you start with small steps, such as your partner masturbating to finish when you’re being intimate, so you are able to develop a base level of comfort with being close to semen.

If you are dealing with a challenging situation, you want to start off as relaxed as possible. Are there other stresses in your life (health, identity, friends, family, study, work, etc) that are making your life difficult? If so, that may impact on your ability to handle this issue. Things that can help are getting regular exercise and enough sleep (crucial for absorbing stress chemicals), avoiding caffeine (which mimics the effect of anxiety) and cannabis (if you tend to get paranoid). It’s important to have good, reliable ways to unwind.

As someone who can get pregnant, I relate to this fear. But I would say that the more sex I had using protection responsibly and not getting pregnant, the more I was able to move past my anxiety. To me, the want for a fulfilling and unrestricted sex life outweighs the anxieties I have around pregnancy. I also am very clear on not wanting to be pregnant at this point in my life. If a condom breaks I will take the morning after pill. It might give you peace of mind to pick up a morning after pill to have at home. You can ask your GP to prescribe one for you, and if they are a good doctor, they will do this without making any judgments or making you feel uncomfortable.

Having a technique that allows you to deliberately relax yourself is really important in dealing with any phobia. Also important for dealing with panic is knowing what hyperventilation feels like and knowing how to breathe to deal with it. Most forms of treatment for phobias involve some version of getting relaxed then GRADUALLY exposing yourself to the thing you fear, while staying relaxed. If you can’t stay relaxed, then you need to back off and find a less challenging version of the exposure. Google “fear ladder” and “systematic desensitisation”. Being able to talk to your partner about what is going on for you is pretty essential to making this work. Clearly, if you are having sex with men, then you are getting exposure, but the question I have is whether you have the opportunity to build up to that while staying relaxed? It’s really important that you treat yourself gently and kindly and don’t force the issue.

UN I Q

SWAT

BROCK STOBBS

ANONYMOUS

In June 2017, the city of Philadelphia adopted a new Pride flag to kick off that year’s festivities. It was a rather straightforward change: Two new stripes of black and brown, atop the popular six-colour flag that we all have come to know. The new colours were added to highlight black and brown LGBTQIA+ members within the city’s community. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, this was not met without controversy. With every attempt to be inclusive, there are those who cry discrimination and divisiveness. And these are not random people, strangers in the distance, or the usual anti-gay crowd, but some of our own.

Tokenism. It’s the practice of making only a minimum (or symbolic) effort to do a particular thing, especially by recruiting a small number of people from underrepresented groups, in order to give the appearance of sexual or racial equality within a workforce/specific environment. In my personal experience, the way I have been treated has been defined by the colour of my skin. Growing up in an environment where the dominant culture doesn’t line up with yours can be really tainting over time. It’s especially alienating when someone comes along to “support” inclusivity, just to get a pat on the back, while only doing the bare minimum to help others—or even stereotyping different cultures. I’ve had people approach me with cultural greetings, I’ve seen rainbow flags used as branding, but I haven’t seen those people truly engage with who I am.

It is we, white people, who get offended when we are told we are not doing enough for those within our community. Or perhaps this negligence is better put as actively working against the interests and wellbeing of black and brown people, who have every claim to the pride we hold, and then some. We lack empathy, a failure to understand experiences that differ from our own. And they do differ. While I may experience discrimination solely on the basis of my sexuality (if even), black and brown queer people experience discrimination on the basis of race AND sexuality. Simultaneously.

Being spoken to in the language that your family came from and not knowing how to speak it is embarrassing. I appreciate the effort, but I’ve spoken English my whole life, and you can speak to me in English. Diversity and inclusivity are great, and I appreciate you—but please be careful and just treat others with respect and awareness. Knowing your limits is an important aspect of growth. When you see someone from a specific culture, try to approach them as a human being, not a stereotype.

They are not mutually exclusive categories of experiences and discrimination. They exist simultaneously and eternally. It is something queer people must reflect on with great purpose, and something we must act on sooner rather than later.

If tokenistic or ignorant behaviour happens, please address it with your lecturer, acquaintances, and friends to resolve the issues. And if you see it happen to someone else, don’t be a bystander: Enter conversation and engage with the person being mistreated so you can build a deeper understanding. Addressing stuff like this matters to your mental wellbeing and your growth while at university.

When I look at the people in UniQ spaces, they are mostly filled with white people, myself included. You could argue that this reflects the demographic reality of New Zealand, where 74% of people identify as Pākehā, but that kinda feels like a cop-out. In truth, it is probably because we, like so many others, fail to actively and explicitly work in the interest of black and brown people. On purpose or “incidentally”, we still fail. We forget that they are not just queer, but also black. They exist simultaneously and eternally. We need to do better if things are ever going to change.

A S K S I S SY

U NI CO U NCIL

ANONYMOUS

HUGO & ISSIE

Kia ora koutou,

I’m a first-year and meeting lots of new people. Back in high school, I was one of the smartest girls, but at uni there are lots of really intelligent people and I feel so very insecure at times. I have my own interests (music, art, food) but I feel like people look at me like I don’t belong here. This insecurity is seeping into my relationship with my boyfriend. I feel like I can’t contribute to conversations among my boyfriend’s smart friends. I worry if I say something to my boyfriend, he will feel uncomfortable and like he has to “dumb down” things for me. What do you think?

As you have probably all heard by now, the university is officially not changing its name! This followed a decision at last Monday’s meeting to not legally challenge Minister of Education Chris Hipkins’ decision. Instead, the university is instead choosing to undergo a “visual refresh”, in order to emphasise the “Wellington” part of our name. This followed data which showed that many prospective students and influencers were not aware that Victoria University was in New Zealand, let alone Wellington. Connecting with our progressive and vibrant city is important to us.

I have good news! It is 100% okay to feel insecure at times, especially during your first year of uni. I’m in my fifth year, and I still have moments where I feel overwhelmed and out of my depth.

As well as putting more emphasis on the “Wellington” part of our name, the university has adopted a new logo, and changed its Māori name to Te Herenga Waka (pending some final negotiations).

You’re currently going through a period of major transition (leaving high school, going to uni, meeting heaps of new people), this can involve carving out a whole new identity for yourself, and it can be quite an adjustment. Don’t be too hard on yourself during this time. Take some deep breaths and remind yourself that you have every right to be here.

We are hugely supportive of this decision. However, we know we could have done better. Through your feedback we’ve learned a lot, as both Council and as a whole community, and we need to rethink how we make decisions in general. We also had a good discussion with Prof Chris Marshall about restorative justice. This is an approach that emphasises repairing relationships and harm done, rather than traditional punitive concepts such as punishment and fault. We also had an awesome update from our student president, Tamatha Paul, who spoke of the Piki launch and the new Student Assembly.

You say you have your own interests (music, art, food)—this is great! Those subjects are really cool and interesting! Make it one of your missions to find or create groups of people who share those interests. It’s important to seek friendship opportunities independent from your boyfriend and his friends. This will actually help your relationship, because you’ll be feeling more confident about yourself, and you’ll have your own stuff going on.

Council are also working on the update to the Strategic Plan. This is the document that sets the agenda for the next five years. Students sit at the heart of this strategic plan, and it is super important that we get this right. Given that we are a values-driven university, it is fundamental that this document reflects empathy, responsibility, respect, fairness, and integrity. We’ve got some ideas of our own, but we'd love to hear from you if there is anything specific you’d like to see in this. The next council meeting is Monday, 10 June in the Council Chambers, which is in the Hunter Building. It begins at 9 a.m. and is open to everyone.

Try to remember that negative feelings don’t necessarily disappear forever—we just get better at recognising them and managing them. Be kind to yourself. You got this! Need advice? I want to support you! Send your queries and concerns to sissyatsalient@gmail.com (anonymity assumed unless you specify otherwise).

Ngā mihi

MOONww

My silver-gilded friend I see you above me Hanging peacefully Bathing the land in your lux You have no particular look For your face changes every night You are not perfect For your skin is specked And you have blemishes abound The heavens are silent For your beauty needs no words Yet you silently comfort me With your grace Reminding me that there is more That life is too short A Cosmic Perspective For you will be here long after I am gone And you will continue to dance across the heavens Casting light where only darkness reigns To befriend others And guide them on their way As you have done with me And many before me So, I thank you My silver-gilded friend

- Edward Jeffrey

Send your limericks, elegies, and odes to poetry@salient.org.nz

F ILM AVENGE RS: E NDGA M E * T HIS R EV IEW CO NTAINS SP OI LERS. IF YO U HAVEN’ T S EEN AVE NGER S: END G AME BY NOW, D O N’ T REA D T HIS.

REV IEW: E VA LOC K H AR T

Under normal circumstances, I don’t particularly care for Marvel films. I may have seen all 22 MCU movies, but that’s more because I find them entertaining, rather than being deeply invested in the characters. I haven’t read any Marvel comics, so I guess I’m what you’d call a "fake fan". My only hope when going into Endgame was that I would see Tom Holland. All I wanted was to look upon Tom Holland’s adorable little face and, if possible, hear him speak a line. (Spoiler: my wish came true!) All of that being said, I came out of Endgame beaming, and by the time this is published, I will have seen it in the cinema for the third time. First of all, let’s talk pacing. Endgame is three hours and two minutes long, but honestly, those hours fly by. Going into the film, I was worried about needing to pee, getting hungry, restless, and potentially bored. But to my surprise, I found myself engaged and immersed the entire time. Rather than showcasing three hours of glorified battle, which is what I was expecting, Endgame expertly weaves tender moments of character development, familial sentiments, tightly choreographed action sequences, plot twists, and humour. Avengers: Infinity War saw villain Thanos wipe out half of humanity, so now the remaining Avengers must split up to hunt down certain magical stones, which gives the audience several different parallel adventures to follow. If you’re not interested in what one group of characters are doing, it’s not too long before the film cuts to another storyline. On top of this, Endgame is peppered with unexpected cameos (Taika!!!) and funny little twists that make the whole movie feel like an Easter egg hunt—which I suppose it is. The writers were clearly aware that the fans knew this would be the final big-screen appearance of some of the oldest and most beloved Avengers.

So, they filled Endgame with cheesy, quintessentially ‘superhero’ epicness, sweet farewells, and wholesome friendship moments. It’s blatant fan service, and I ate it right up. Normally I would never mention the word ‘cinematography’ in the same sentence as ‘Marvel movie’, but the cinematography in Endgame was actually…noticeable.‽There were some surprisingly arthouse-looking shots, including a particularly beautiful shot of a sandwich. The colour palette wasn’t always obnoxiously vivid, as is the norm in most Marvel films. In fact, during the particularly depressing first act, the tones were mostly grey, which I was into. Speaking of the particularly depressing first act—the overall tone of Endgame was surprisingly dark. Black Widow talks about finding purpose in life and becoming a better person; Iron Man considers his moral integrity and looks morose while gazing at pictures of Tom Holland. The actors were given much more real, emotional material to work with in Endgame than in any of its previous installments, which means they were actually able to showcase their acting abilities. In particular, Scarlett Johansson and Robert Downey Jr’s genuine performances testified to their deep understanding of the characters they have portrayed for ten years. Overall, I really enjoyed Avengers: Endgame. The plot was tight as hell, and surprisingly complex, and the third act was legitimately epic. It delivered on everything the fans could have ever wanted, and perfectly wrapped up a story that has been ten years in the making. Honestly, aside from Black Panther—I think Endgame is Marvel Studios’ best movie to date.

F IL M D AFFODI LS REVIEW: FI NN H OL L AN D

Towards the end of the first act of Daffodils, I looked to my friend: To my surprise, they had grown about a foot. I quickly realised this was because my head was below the armrest, my shoulders were where my bum should be, and my torso was spilling into the isle. Onethird in and my body was twisting out of sheer ambivalence; never a good sign. I writhed upwards in grotesque yoga-like fashion and crossed my legs, resuming my pretentious default stance, and continued to be baffled by what was on offer. Admittedly, it took me a couple of days to come to terms with my contempt for the film. True, a handful of the tracks were bangers, but I stopped falling for the "you know this track, right?" trick in movies a long time ago. This serving of New Zealand pop culture wasn’t for me. The root of the problem is that the film romanticises a time in New Zealand that simply does not deserve the reverence it gets. Ah, the good old days of drinking and driving with the lads! Of antiquated courting rituals! Of everyone being white! Of putting up with disgusting behaviour that you can’t call out because they’re your relatives… After Jane Campion, Peter Jackson, Sam Neill, Lee Tamahori and Merata Mita have gone to such lengths to explain how our repressive, colonial past was a dark, brooding, and unideal time for more or less every party involved—it is bemusing to see a film turn around and expect me to willingly accept the glamourising of that very era. Many of the supporting characters were the kind who probably would have said “don’t mix sport and politics” and attended the matches of the Springbok tour.

I’m not sure if great acting and stunning writing would have distracted me from the political travesty of the film, or whether political clarity would have distracted me from subpar acting on top of a misguided script, but watching all these elements fall down in tandem was infuriating. Any time the story makes light passes at the socio-economic status of New Zealand, or the darker undercurrents that are undeniably present, the film corrects its course almost immediately because it knows that its target audience are middleaged, financially stable boomers who just want a light narrative to sip Pinot Gris to. They probably think depression doesn’t actually exist in New Zealand. They probably have dinner parties where the Capital Gains Tax is talked about with contempt. Yes, this in a New Zealand film, but not the one we deserve, nor the one we want, nor anything close to what we have praised in the past. If you want to support a project the Film Commission has backed, go and see Vai, or Merata: How Mum Decolonised the Screen while they’re still in theatres.

B OOK ON TH E B E AC H REV IEW: L I B E R T Y SOAN E S

Nevil Shute’s cautionary novel On the Beach was recommended to me on the basis that it is “devastatingly sad”, therefore, I would probably enjoy it. If the six-week dip did a number on you, I would suggest you stop reading this review and would certainly advise against reading this book. However, if like me, you enjoy indulging in a bit of gloominess every now and then, finding yourself a copy of Shute’s work might be the way to go. Any story beginning with T. S. Eliot’s famous quote—“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper”—is a good indicator that you are in for an emotional read. The book is written on the premise of the global devastation that could have ensued, had the destruction of nuclear war become reality in the 1950s. Our primary setting is South Australian suburbia. The truly depressing nature of the world’s affairs are revealed to us as the novel progresses. Nuclear bombings in the Northern Hemisphere have produced a deadly dust which is progressing southwards. This dust brings death—not instantly, but through a slow, cholera-like poisoning. The cloud takes several months to move, drawing southwards as we read. The way we, as the reader, understand this, is through the Australian navy’s gradual loss of radio contact with major cities. A striking indication of the scale of lives being lost. Large portions of the book are within a navy submarine expedition. The crew are in hopeful pursuit of life after receiving random radio signals from a station where no one should be alive. Along with some of the navy crew, we follow the lives of various characters trapped in the southern, rural towns close to Melbourne.

One of these characters is Commander Dwight Towers, who was at sea on a submarine expedition when war broke out, rendering him unable to return to America. Dwight is introduced to the young and enigmatic Moira Davidson, a (somewhat) functioning alcoholic who develops strong affection for the American. Although we see Towers develop strong feelings for Moira too, he is restrained by the memories of his wife and children, since dead from the nuclear destruction. The characters are my favourite part of Shute’s work. They are pure and simple; little is remarkable about them. But, it was this exact characteristic which made me feel so emotional throughout the book. The idiosyncrasy of Australian suburbia continues, despite the situation these people have found themselves in. Characters operate within strange parallels, of both complete acceptance and disbelief at the imminence of their deaths, not to mention the end of the world itself. They suppress both anger and love in the interests of preserving relationships, understanding that their time together is short. Simultaneously, they plant daffodils for the springs to come. Where we would expect anarchy, thievery, crime, and disintegration, people kind of just want milk and petrol. Shute’s work resonates with our generation differently to those that have come before us. His dystopian construct is not so far from our projections of the effects of climate change. I do consider it a caveat. It is a warning against a dystopia, fuelled by selfishness and greed that is, at the end of the day, completely avoidable. It also illustrates the crucial point that even those who take no part in the destruction of our planet will ultimately bear the consequences. And that no amount of money will save you at the end of the world.

TE LEVI S I ON THE B A D SE E D REV IEW: E M M A M AG U I R E

The Bad Seed is a gripping five-episode Kiwi crime drama that aired over five nights, a few weeks back. If y’all know my reviews, you know I love me some crime dramas, and this was no exception. Combining some of the best talents of Kiwi film and television with an amended family drama from The Night Book, by Charlotte Grimshaw, this television show was some of the best TV New Zealand’s had to offer in recent years. Brothers Ford (Dean O’Gorman) and obstetrician Simon Lampton (Matt Minto), live together in a leafy Auckland suburb alongside Simon’s wife Karen (Jodie Hillock), and their two daughters, Elke and Claire. Despite the dark and twisted past that Simon and Ford share, the family wants for nothing, and lives in a dream. All is not as it seems in their suburb, however, when one of Simon’s patients, Julia, gets viciously murdered in her home. As the police move closer, and the bodies begin to pile up, Simon finds himself caught in the crossfire. Ford and Simon share a dark past and a casual intimacy that belies the truth hiding underneath. Ford, who has lost his way, will do almost anything for Simon, and it appears that there is nothing more to it. However, with the police at their doorstep and enough evidence to convict Simon for Julia’s murder, Ford takes matters into his own hands. There’s really no ‘good’ character in this show, and there’s almost a delight in despicability. From Simon, who cheats on his wife with

one of his patients, to soon-to-be Prime Minister David Hallright, who has his own secrets, the only innocent parties in the show are the children, who get dragged along through troubles by their parents. This show is also a good exercise in political intrigue, which is nice to see in a Kiwi television drama. There aren’t many shows that delve into our thoroughly weird political system, but The Bad Seed revolves around Simon’s family, who are wealthy donors to the prominent centre-right political party, Future NZ (it’s an obvious allegory to the National Party, and it’s even spelled out in the book), and around the soon-to-be Prime Minister and his wife. While loosely based off a book, it’s far enough away that the show isn’t spoiled by the novelisation. There’s a strange sort of nostalgia in watching a show over multiple nights, as opposed to being able to binge it in a few hours. It’s genuinely exciting to have to wait for the next episode. I even got the book out from the library and read it when I was waiting for the final episode, because I was so curious about what was going to happen. If our crime dramas keep up this trend, I can absolutely see a resurgence of the genre in New Zealand. It’s only a five-episode story, but it’s as gripping and strongly written as something that takes years to conclude. The Bad Seed is a true example of pride before the fall. Everyone in this show has their own secrets to keep, and spends their lives hiding behind arrogance and wealth. When lives are built entirely on lies, it’s only a matter of time before the tables begin to turn and people get what they’re owed.

FAS HI ON FASH IO N & P OL I TI C S REV IEW: NI NA W I E R

If you don't think fashion can be political, you couldn't be more wrong. Fashion is accessible to all, and when worn in solidarity, can be used as a powerful political tool. We know of the #metoo movement, and Thursdays in Black, displaying solidarity with sexual abuse survivors at university. The colour black, worn in numbers, has power. The colour of clothing can have political weight, and campaign against oppression and mistreatment across the world. Take the yellow vest movement in France in December last year: Minimum-wage workers used this piece of clothing to protest high fuel prices. Yellow vests were cheap to buy, readily available, and highly visible in crowds—effective in protest marches, and even slightly tongue-in-cheek, as workers were seemingly supporting the movement by wearing nothing more than the uniforms their employers required them to. This simple protest, which also spread to Belgium, produced real discourse in European society and was ultimately responded to by the French government. This example showed the underrated power of fashion in politics—appearing effortless but having the ability to make real change. If you’re interested in learning more, I recommend the New York Times article by fashion writer Vanessa Friedman, titled “The Power of the Yellow Vest”.

But colours don’t need to be fluro to send a message. This past February, Democratic US Congresswomen banded together under the colour white to signal their disapproval of the Trump administration’s handling of issues important to women, from healthcare to equal pay. This colour has strong historical ties with the suffragette movement, and Feb 5 was the third time Trump's opposition had presented this unified message before Congress. Even in the politically tense climate of the US office, women were able to make a statement with nothing more than what they chose to put on that morning. Black, yellow, white. Colours are shaping our political world, carrying different messages, uniting people and giving minorities a voice. Alone, a yellow vest is the mark of a worker; a black t-shirt is just the fashion favourite of any uni student; and a white blazer could be seen on any professional woman on Lambton Quay. Yet, united in masses, these garments become a powerful tool that demands to be seen and acknowledged, sparking change for the future.

F O OD B URG E RS B A BY REV IEW: K I I & SA L

William and Kate got married in 2011. Also in 2011, Wellington on a Plate launched Burger Wellington. There is no connection between these two events. Since then, we’ve seen the rise of craft burgers, alongside the rise of craft beer. Now burgers are everywhere, and I can’t go around trusting just anyone who’s decided to slap patties in buns. Rogue Burger on The Terrace invited us to sample their menu. It consists of burgers and fries—the simplicity we ask of all burger joints. Options include the all-stars: Beef, Cheeseburger (with the option of a double patty), Fried Chicken, Fish, Veg—and, finally, the more experimental ‘Rogue Burger of the Week’. For students trudging between Kelburn and Pipitea, it’s the only legit burger on the way. When I close my eyes and think of the business end of town, I see chicken katsu, sandwiches in ridiculous amounts of plastic, and dry scones. A crowd that is consumed by the quick, easy lunches or the “guilt-free” overpriced salads. There’s a gap in the market here, and Rogue is well-placed to provide to a deprived crowd. Located outside the Sterling, Rogue blends into the ‘food pop-up’ scene, but have the look of an audacious outside pub and eatery. It’s got a welcoming atmosphere and has about eight tables you can eat at. It’s hard to find a seat here. If you’re having to wait for a haircut at your local barbers/salon, you probably trust that person’s gonna do a good job. Walking into a restaurant where you can’t find a seat is the same; a signal that

you’re in the right spot. If people who are willing to stand and wait for food are the kind of people who will follow you to the ends of Rongotai on horseback. Our tasting panel consisted of a 5’1 individual who struggles to finish a piece of toast for breakfast, and a 6’1 polo-wearer who can eat two full meals in under 30 minutes. We ordered a cheeseburger, chicken burger, veg burger, and some fries. We were graced with our plates in good time. The buns, patties, and sauce are made in-house. Each component is made with love and attention; you know they’re not just in it to make a buck (I don’t want none unless you’ve made your own, hun). Their burgers, menu-wide, are not overpopulated with fillings. The result is a balanced mouthful where the individual elements work together. As a lunch meal goes, it is the kind of size that requires a nap afterwards. Sally couldn’t finish it and would recommend splitting one portion of fries between two, or getting just the burger. We don’t like to complain about generous portions, but we also don’t like seeing food go to waste. (She ate as much as she could and rolled out of the door.) They’ve been open since January, with heaters set to arrive in time for winter. Rogue is launching a breakfast menu (available June 4) which features bacon-and-egg burgs and scrambled tofu. Burgers are bringing sexy back.

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R E AD THE REST OF THE M AGAZINE YA DING DO N GS

LAST WEEK'S SOLUTION

CROSSWORD: ONE DOWN BLUES

GOOD NEWS POP QUIZ 1. What global beauty brand is opening a flagship store in Auckland’s Queen Street? 2. Scientists from Columbia University are trying to do what in order to help refreeze the polar ice caps? 3. Simon Talbott (a New Zealand born surgeon) is said to be a surgical pioneer after doing what?

DOWN

1. 'La La Land' or 'No No Nanette', for example (7) 5. With 36-Across, Wu-Tang Clan rapper who had a solo hit with 'Brooklyn Zoo' * (2,5,7) 9. Legal tender with Washington's face on it * (3-6,4) 13. Reed in an orchestra (4) 15. Inaccurate (5) 16. Weighed down, like a ship (5) 19. Symbol of the star sign Cancer (4) 20. Greek god of war (or another star sign if you put an I in the middle of it) (4) 21. Old standard with the line 'But come ye back when summer's in the meadow' * (1,5,3) 22. Nobel-prize-winning Niels with an element named after him (4) 24. 'Swan Lake' attire (4) 25. What's black and white or red all over? (5) 27. Dog in 'The Jetsons' (5) 29. Necessity (4) 32. It's requested in 'The Lord's Prayer' * (3,5,5) 36. See 5-Across 37. See 4-Down

1. Short office note (4) 2. "Get away!" (4) 3. Snooker implement (3) 4. With 37-Across, author of 'The Death of Ivan Ilyich' (7) 5. Creature that comes in barn and screech varieties (3) 6. 'Nessun ____' (Pavarotti classic from 'Turandot') (5) 7. Lara Croft or a Nazi in an Indiana Jones film, say (6) 8. Holler (4) 10. Recent arrival to the world (7) 11. Educational display of figurines, found in many history museums (7) 12. "They're going to tell stories about this!" (or like 20-Across) (9) 14. What Americans might call a pub crawl (3,3) 16. Crustacean that can live up to 50 years and grow to 20 kg (7) 17. Home track in Florida of the most prestigious NASCAR races (7) 18. Stinging weed that can be turned into soups (6) 23. Neil Patrick of 'A Series of Unfortunate

1. Sephora, 2. Spray seawater into the clouds, 3. Giving a Connecticuter woman a new face and hands after she was attacked by a Chimpanzee.

ACROSS

WORD OF THE WEEK: "BLACK" TE REO MĀORI

mangu NEW ZEALAND SIGN LANGUAGE

PICK YOUR POISON, SUDOKU LOVERS

EASY PEASY

F*CK YA LIFE UP

CARTOON BY EUNICE CAMPANA

dang it not again i said the ‘WAREHOUSE’ not the‘WEIRHOUSE’

S L I GHTLY L ESS SAVA GE T HAN YO UR CO -S TAR APP

ARIES

LIBRA

You’re becoming flaky, and your friends are bored. Spectating the trauma of others will not help you to understand the world. Don’t push a definition on a relationship that’s working fine without one. You will not fall apart any time soon.

No one is buying the personalities you carefully curate for every new love interest. Stop letting people think you’re friends when all you want is their attention. Social currency is decreasing in value. Investigate corruption in the cryptocurrency industry.

SCORPIO TAURUS

Not everyone you want to have sex with wants to have sex with you. Stop asking questions about other people’s tattoos. You talk about others because you don’t have your own life. Drink more water. Emotional intimacy is underrated.

You can’t buy love, or at least not the type you’re looking for. You are not as kind as you think you are. You are not as smart as your mother thinks you are. But don’t let that discourage you. Investigate druid cleansing rituals and tell people you’ve done them.

SAGITTARIUS

GEMINI

Let yourself make a home somewhere. Running away from your problems only gives you blisters. Stop trying to be yourself. The US Military is the world’s biggest producer of carbon emissions. Stop glorifying the suffering of others.

Stop making excuses for the people who have hurt you. Don’t allow yourself to become a vessel for the self-discovery of others. Sometimes people will enter your life only to show you what you don’t want. Learn to ask for help.

CANCER

CAPRICORN

Self-awareness is next to godliness. Explore your psychic abilities. Let old friends go. Take a good look at yourself. Listen to your mother. Eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers will be more worthwhile than the education you’re paying for.

No one finds your rote-learned film facts interesting. Question what you’re truly passionate about. Spend time away from your lover. Your headaches aren’t because of your bad eyesight. Learn to make yourself useful. Buy silk pyjamas.

LEO

AQUARIUS

Why do you think insulting your friends is a good way to bond with them? Pay more attention to your feminine side. Trust your gut, trust in love. Go through a Kraftwerk phase. Perhaps you could buy a bicycle.

Having philosophical perspectives is not the same as being insightful. Be interested in what other people have to say. You still have so much to learn about yourself. Stop using an imagined need for fresh air as a means of procrastination.

PISCES

VIRGO

Being depressed isn’t a personality trait. Your problem is not your surroundings, your problem is you. The best you can be is kind and full of fun facts. Oversharing loses its cathartic effects eventually. Remember to floss.

Be open to discomfort, you might learn something useful for once. Take a break from controlling others. Rolling your eyes doesn’t count as addressing conflict. Old friends have more to teach you than you’d think.

Editors Kii Small & Taylor Galmiche Design & Illustration Rachel Salazar News Editor Johnny O’Hagan Brebner Sub Editor Janne Song Distributor Danica Soich Feature Writers Kii Small Emma Sidnam Yoon Hong Jamie Dobbs Lofa Totua Centrefold Taylor Galmiche @teegee.jpg Sponsored by

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About Us Salient is published by—but remains editorially independant from—Victoria Univeristy of Wellington Students’ Association (VUWSA). Salient is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA) and the New Zealand Press Council. Salient is funded in part by Victoria University of Wellington students through the Student Services Levy. The views expressed in Salient do not neceassarily reflect those of the Editor, VUWSA, or the University. Complaints People with complaints against the magazine should complain by writing to editor@salient.org.nz.