Pain | Issue 08 by Salient

Salient Issue 8

Pain

Vol. 79

Contents Features

Chocolate Cysts and Strings of Pearls

The Three Lives of Pain

Anywhere but Here

V-ISA speak out against outsourcing

Karori campus feeling used and abused

You just lost the youth vote

WCC are telling fibs

News

Regular Content 12 MÄ ori Matters

One Ocean

13 Gee-mail

34 Queer Agenda 35 Food 37 Visual Arts

38 Music

VUWSA Exec

Single Sad Postgrad

Stressed, Depressed, Well-dressed

Breathing Space

43 TV

Miss Demeanour

44 Books

33 "Sports!"

45 Theatre

33 W.W.T.A.W.W.T.A.S.

46 Puzzles

46 Notices

Postgraduate Connection

40 Film 42 Games

Editors: Emma Hurley Jayne Mulligan

Editors’ Letter As Tim explores in his feature, sometimes it’s hard to know where pain is coming from, are there particular causes or is it simply there? Is it enough that it is just there? If it is just ‘there’, how do you make it go away, or do you have to learn to live with it? Physical pain is often invisible, and we might unknowingly be around those who live with a disease, an illness, or a disability that pains them each and everyday. Sometimes this pain is not temporary, but will be with a person always, fluctuating in its intensity. Eve, Cassie, and Jennie have described to us their experience of this kind of pain, in their exploration of endometriosis and polycystic ovary syndrome. Pain can also happen out of nowhere, and we might be left to build a new life. Madeleine explores how this happened to her, in the wake of a serious accident at the beginning of the summer just gone. Vulnerability, openness, and honesty are intertwined with our experiences of pain and our abilities to work with and through it. Even though it is bleak and heavy, we cannot avoid thinking about pain. This issue is an attempt to explore, learn, and make sense of the ways in which pain impacts the lives of us all.

Pain is an ever present amorphous aspect of being alive. The cover image this week is a restaging of one of the most familiar experiences of pain we could think of—the experience of grazing your knees. Everyone has grazed their knees at some point in their life, people remember the tight scabs that spread across the graze causing you to limp so as to not rip the scab open again. Though they say you never truly remember the experience of pain, narratives are built out of the pain endured. Pain is not only physical, but is also innately mental, many different parts of the brain are involved in the experience of pain. It’s why sometimes you don’t feel pain unless you notice you’re bleeding; it’s why doctors encourage you to walk on and use injured parts of your body so as to not create an over exaggerated mental experience of the pain. Pain is never uniform—we all hurt in various ways, in different places, loudly or silently, constantly or occasionally, lightly or deep in our bones. And there are so many different kinds of pain: the numb dull throbs, the sharp shoots, the sore tooth or cut that weirdly feels good kind of pain. The language around pain is limited in English—for something so many experience—the realities and specificities of the experience are limited by what words we have to talk about it. The writers this week have lived lives impacted by pain, and felt isolated, different, and strange because of it. Here, they have been able to expand on these experiences and have given us the ability to see inside their pain—just for a moment.

Emma & Jayne xoxo

*Interview* with The Bachelor a.k.a who cares what his name is

Going Up •

Zero productivity during the break

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NZ International Comedy Festival!

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Lemonade

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House prices, haha, haha, fuck.

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Drake hype

Going Down What’s the worst part of your job? When women realize they just aren’t that into me. What’s the best part of your job? Overhearing them gossip about me at the cocktail parties over their glasses of rosé, it gives me a real feeling about the connections we’re building. So what do you actually do? Force women do to scary outdoor dates to try and make up for my boring personality. Kendrick or Kanye? Willie Nelson.

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Trying to find a seat in the library

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When you try to dye your hair blonde but it goes ginger

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Cold brew coffee going out of season

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When someone snapchats you but it’s also their story

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Spotify ads

Favourite quote? “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle”.

Keen to kōrero Humdingers Five prominent United States women soccer players have filed a wagediscrimination complaint to the US Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) , on the grounds that they continue to earn less than their male equivalents, despite outperforming them in total revenue and tournament wins.

A tradesman in Australia recently received a bite to his penis from a redback spider, an ex-Salient writer reported. Luckily there is an antivenom available, but unluckily the experience is incredibly painful and is compared to the sensation of having your flesh ripped off.

"Pehea o hararei?" Peh-hair aw huh-rarray. "How were your holidays?"

02.05.16

news@salient.org.nz

News V-ISA speak out against outsourcing and that all students had made use of at least one service. More than half of international students are also members of clubs on campus, something V-ISA wants to continue to see grow. V-ISA ended their forum saying that outsourcing would do nothing more than “push the problem around,” and would fail to “tackle the root cause of why the program isn’t attracting as many students as thought.” They also added that the program had not been reviewed in years and perhaps this would be a better step for the university to take. VUWSA will also make a separate submission, and VUWSA president Jonathan Gee supports both associations presenting their submissions from different angles, and hopes they will “influence the Senior Leadership Team to change.” Interim director of the foundation studies program Ian Masters has made two submissions to the university, one which addresses the “significant risks” of outsourcing, specifically those linked to “student learning, welfare, orientation, experiences and engagement.” Masters argues that the plan would not support Primary Strategy Three of the strategic plan—to provide a “holistic learning, teaching and student experience that is second to none.” He also stresses the strength of the current team, who take an “integrative approach” to not only teaching, but also in providing pastoral care to students—both things he says have taken years to establish. The program teachers have also made a submission opposing the proposal, as have university accommodation services. If the Senior Leadership Team choose their “preferred option” of outsourcing, V-ISA said they will continue to fight the decision and “make their presence heard.” “While the proposal is beneficial to the school in terms of increasing enrolment and cutting costs (read maximising profit), it is at the expense of compromising the quality of education future students will receive and preventing them from integrating into Victoria’s community” a spokesperson for V-ISA said. Submissions on the matter were due last Friday and will now be considered by the Student Leadership Team. V-ISA hope that in future the university “would know to consult V-ISA on issues like this.”

Kate Robertson

VUWSA International Students’ Association (V-ISA) are opposing the university’s potential privatisation of the VUW pre-degree foundation studies program. In a forum held last week, V-ISA presented the reasons why they’re against the university’s proposed plan, saying if it goes ahead Victoria will be taking “two steps backwards.” The proposal works towards “Enabling Strategy Two” of the university’s strategic plan, which outlines a plan to grow international student numbers from 12.5 per cent to 18 per cent. VUWSA president Jonathan Gee described the proposed outsourcing as the “first casualty” of the new Strategic Plan, which has a heavy emphasis on rapid growth. V-ISA president Deon Teo said the school hadn’t even consulted students on their plan, with Luo being the one to break the news of the proposal to current students. Luo said current students are “concerned about whether future students will receive the same quality of education and whether the cost will rise.” A central concern held by V-ISA is the damage outsourcing the program will have on international students’ welfare, their ability to meet and interact with other students on campus, and their opportunity to fully immerse themselves in New Zealand culture. With international students primarily choosing to live in homestay accommodation, Luo believes the outsourcing will only add to the isolation problem. For the past 12 years the foundation studies program was taught at Karori campus allowing for a strong culture to be created. V-ISA believes the culture has strengthened following the relocation to Kelburn campus, as well as giving the students increased access to services. Luo said most of the programme’s lecturers had been teaching it for years and were highly experienced educators, four of whom have PhDs. Concern around the quality of teaching is held by both V-ISA and VUWSA, with V-ISA seeing the program as a key stepping stone to 100-level university study that couldn’t be replicated externally. A recent survey carried out by V-ISA emphasized the importance of studying on campus for international students. It found that close to 80% of the students surveyed indicated that they use the Language Learning Centre and Student Learning Services almost every day,

Karori campus feeling used and abused

We are not so bad at sport after all

A public meeting was held last week, attended by over 300 concerned members of the public, to discuss the future of the university’s Karori campus. The campus, potentially worth over $20 million, is currently unused by the university after the Faculty of Education moved to Kelburn this year. Ownership of the campus was granted to the university on April 30, 2014 by the government for “university use”—within less than two years the university is no longer using the campus and is considering selling it, being able to do so at nearly twice the price. Members of the community voiced concern at the meeting that if the university sells the campus, residents would lose access to arts, sports, and community spaces there. The campus has netball courts, tennis courts, cricket nets, a gymnasium, a marae, a dance studio, a field, and a 400-seat hall which is often used for school assemblies and productions. University chief Operating Officer Mark Loveard said the university will consider whether the campus will be used as a teaching facility, as student accommodation, or whether it should be sold, and that the university will continue consulting with the community. Loveard said a report on the options and the ‘next steps’ would be considered in June by the senior leadership team. The senior leadership team and University Council will decide the future of the site by October. Resident Kay Webster asked if the university would consider selling the land back to the Crown for the same $10 million it paid for it, but Loveard said that under the Public Works Act, the sell-back price would have to be at market value. An online petition called “Save the VUW Campus for the Karori Community” had 945 signatures at the time of print and called the campus one of Karori’s “last vibrant community spaces.” Rob Gourdie, who helped set up the petition, said he fears that if the campus is sold to developers Karori would become a “dead suburb,” and would lack identity because “it’ll have lost its focal point.” Wellington Central MP Grant Robertson asked the Ministry of Education officers present if the taxpayer would still have to buy the land back at market value if it wanted to use it for any educational purpose in the future, for example a secondary school. Ministry tertiary education manager Roger Smyth said that was correct, but there were no plans for a new school in Karori.

Victoria University of Wellington’s futsal team are off to Brazil for the FIFA sanctioned FISU World University Futsal Games. This comes following Victoria University’s win over the University of Waikato 4-3 at the National University Futsal Championships at the Manawatu Sports Arena last week. The Victoria University coach was particularly excited about the win as it allows the Brazilian born Enrico Meirelles to return home. Post-match, Meirelles said, “After like four or five finals [with Capital Futsal in the National Futsal League], the feeling is amazing,” said Meirelles. “We have been working for the past two months with the boys, and I am very proud of them. They did an awesome job. Everyone works very hard for each other.” He went on to say that the team is headed to Brazil solely through merit. "It is going to be tough, but we are not just going to go there to play games we are going there to try and win.” Team member Royden Smith was also still buzzing from the win, saying the team “knew they had a great chance this year after having made the semifinals last year and only just losing on penalties,” adding that the victory felt “surreal” and “unbelievable.” When asked whether or not the team will be fundraising for the July trip, Smith said “they were looking into it”, hinting at a possible “sausage sizzle or two.” The inaugural National University Futsal Championship started last year and has proven incredibly successful, with National Futsal Manager for New Zealand Football David Payne seeing the world champs as important for the growth of futsal within New Zealand. "We were rapt with the National University Futsal Championship and the final showed just how much both teams wanted to earn the chance to represent New Zealand at the Worlds," said Payne. The match was live streamed on the New Zealand Football website, and following the NZ Secondary School Championships, received positive support. More than 9000 people watched the live stream, with almost 6000 unique views and the average viewing time was for almost ten minutes. On top of this, Facebook page dedicated to the event attracted an audience of 65000 people. The team will be off to Goiania Brazil in July, with the FISU will take place from July 3–10, 2016.

Charlie Prout

Emma Hurley

02.05.16

Boring report proves mildly interesting

Alex Feinson

You just lost the youth vote

Plans to implement a new online voting trial in the upcoming local body elections were scrapped last week due to a lack of confidence in the security processes of the program. Associate Local Government Minister Louise Upston said there is real concern that the trial did not meet legislative requirements to “guarantee public confidence in the election results,” as there had not been any extensive security testing so far. The online voting trial was set to be used during the Wellington mayoral elections; and the cancellation of the trial has been heavily criticised by mayoral candidates Justin Lester and Nick Leggett. Lester said the cancellations were “disappointing” and a “lost opportunity” for the council and the future of local body elections. Leggett echoed Lester’s disappointment, saying the decision was a “baffling decision, and a “blow to democracy.” In their respective positions as Deputy Mayor of Wellington and and Mayor of Porirua, Lester and Leggett have supported the move from a postal vote to an online voting system for years, and both the Wellington City Council and Porirua City Council have worked hard to develop and trial e-voting systems. Both Lester and Leggett were disappointed that the amount of work their councils have put in over the years were now wasted by this cancellation. For Legget, the online voting system was a way to cater to the student vote, saying it would benefit the “modern lifestyles,” of millennials. The current system in place is a postal vote, but after years of consistently low voter turnout the online voting trial was proposed in an attempt to increase turnout and involvement in local body politics. The proposed system was also seen as a way to make voting simpler, more accurate and less prone to errors. Lester and Leggett want to see the Government continue its efforts to develop an online voting system, as trialing it at a local level would be a good step towards making online voting at the national level a reality. To enrol to vote the old fashioned way, go to the Wellington City Council’s website. Voting for the 2016 local body elections will run from September 16th to October 8th.

Kate Robertson

University Provost Professor Wendy Larner has presented her first report to the Academic Board following her first 100 days in office. The provost is the senior academic administrator for the university, responsible for 'driving academic excellence' and overseeing the implementation of the university’s strategic plan. Larner’s report centred around how to support the implementation of Primary Strategy One of the plan, which is to “adopt a distinctive academic emphasis.” The report, Victoria Values: Towards a distinctive academic excellence, suggests fulfilling this strategy through the creation of a program that increases the link between civic engagement and course-credit. Larner says this would allow Victoria to “brand” its undergraduate curriculum as “offering embedded experiential learning,” possibly under the title of “Victoria Values.” The possible “clusters” include global citizenship, innovation and entrepreneurship, and societal challenges. These majors could pave the way to minors as well as a 180-point masters program. Larner believes that by growing this area of the curriculum Victoria would “be attractive to both domestic and international students.” Bae as fuck.

Iconic trolley buses on track for electric charge

Siobhan O’Connor

Wellington’s iconic trolley buses will no longer be retiring in 2017, with a number to be converted to “plug-in hybrids.” The decision follows a Generation Zero petition, signed by thousands, calling for Greater Wellington Regional Council (GWRC) to choose the electric option over new diesel-hybrid buses. Green Party MP Julie Genter said the move was “a big win for the Wellingtonians who stood up and said they didn’t want to see their city choked by fumes from dieselhybrid buses.” If GWRC more widely adopt the electric buses, the Green Party says Wellington will be leading the charge for electric transport in New Zealand. Generation Zero Spokesperson Nina Atkinson said “the ball is now in the GWRC’s hands as to whether Wellington moves to cleaner public transport or takes a backwards step to dirty diesels.” NZ Bus, the owner of the trolley buses currently under contract with GWRC, has signed on American company Wrightspeed to refit a number of them with electric motors. The deal is still in negotiation, with some councilors hoping for a trial period before the contract is signed. This would be primarily to ensure the buses can cope with Wellington’s hills—bloody classic.

02.05.16

Quiz Me Like One of Your French Girls

SPECIAL EDITION SALIENT SUPER MEGA QUIZ 1.

What was the first album of Prince’s to go to number one in New Zealand?

What is the name of the new character in Game of Thrones played by New Zealander Joe Naufahu? The latest United Nations climate change agreement is named after which European city?

14. What country, and with what note, won the International Banknote of the Year award for 2016?

Who is the first civilian elected President of Myanmar in 53 years?

15. Which national-leader of a permanent member of UN Security Council told John Key that they supported Helen Clark’s bid to be the next Secretary-General of the UN?

Which five feminist icons are going to feature on the new US $10.00 note?

16. How many years has it been since William Shakespeare died?

Which three cultural/political icons are going to feature on the new US $5.00 note?

17. 17. What is the original title of the book by Barry Crump that the film Hunt for the Wilderpeople is based on?

Who is the current Minister for Māori Development?

What is the name of Beyonce’s new album?

Which celebrity TV personality did Beyonce fans mistakenly attack online for allegedly being Jay-Z’s mistress?

10. When was the Chernobyl nuclear disaster? 11.

Which British singer was recently removed from a Heathrow airport lounge for shouting and causing a disturbance?

12. What were the five states voting in the US primary elections on Wednesday last week?

18. 18. In what city in California does the annual Coachella music festival take place? 19. 19. What century-long ban was recently lifted in Turkey on a traditional Māori practise? 20. 20. Race Relations Commissioner Susan Devoy is famous for playing what sport?

1. Lovesexy (1988) 2. Khal Moro 3. Paris 4. Htin Kyaw 5. Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott, Alice Paul, and Sojourner Truth 6. Marian Anderson, Eleanor Roosevelt and Martin Luther King Jr 6. Te Ururoa Flavell 8. Lemonade 9. Celebrity chef Rachael Ray 10. April 26th 1986, 30 years ago last week 11. Susan Boyle 12. Connecticut, Delaware, Maryland, Rhode Island, and Pennsylvania. 13. Tom Brady 14. New Zealand with the new design of the $5.00 note 15. President Xi Jinping of China 16. 400 years 17. Wild Pork and Watercress 18. Indio, California 19. A ban on performances of the haka at Gallipoli, the Defence Force performed one at this year’s service 20. Squash.

Alex Feinson

13. Which NFL star has had their four game suspension reinstated because of their involvement with “deflate-gate”?

Cable car going into hibernation

Wellington City Council are telling fibs

On June 7 the cable car will close for two months for repairs. The upgrade will cost $3 million and include replacement of the steel cable, a new electric motor, and an advanced computer control equipment. The quick turnarounds and full carts of people have been putting an increasing amount of pressure on the already struggling cable car. Last upgraded in 1979, the interior and exterior of the cart will also be overhauled. “We’ve estimated that each car has made something like 1.2 million trips up and down the hill in the time, and more than 30 million passengers have been carried,” said Wellington Cable Car Limited’s chief executive Simon Fleisher. Wellington City Councillor and council transport committee chair Andy Foster said the refit was “necessary to keep the service running well into the middle of the 21st century.” According to Foster, the new system could carry an additional 150 to 200 passengers per hour. While the shutdown is only temporary, it will affect those who take the cable car to campus. “I’ll have to wake up half an hour earlier to walk down to Pipitea campus. It’ll be freezing too,” commented one Weir House resident. A driver at the Cable Car has said, “people needn’t worry. It’s only closing for roughly six weeks. We’ll be running a bus system in that time, and it’ll cost the exact same amount.” The bus system will run every 20 minutes and will directly pass Victoria University. The refitted cable car system is expected to be up and running by July 31, with Wellington City Council hoping the upgrade will compensate for the anticipated rise in customers during peak season.

The Wellington City Council (WCC) has revealed that plastic bags put in recycling bins by residents have not been recycled since 2011. WCC’s waste operations manager Adrian Mitchell realised the bags were not being recycled in October last year, when the current waste contract the government has with a private company came up for renewal. Upon switching contractors in 2012, plastic bags were stockpiled until the search for a way to recycle them was abandoned and they were sent to the landfill. WCC’s previous contractor had the facility to recycle plastic bags, but have now gone out of business. According to Councillor Iona Pannet, no one in New Zealand currently has the capacity to recycle plastic bags. Last July, Minister for the Environment Dr Nick Smith announced the government would be partnering with major players in the retail sector such as PAK’nSAVE, The Warehouse, New World, and Countdown to bring about soft plastic recycling facilities. These retail spaces will host drop off spots for plastic bags. The bags will be initially sent to Australia for recycling, until the right infrastructure is established in NZ. The system is expected to cost around $1.3 million nationwide. Smith believes this will be a better solution than the frequently discussed plastic bag levy, or a total ban on plastic bags, which is enforced in countries such as the Netherlands, Brazil, and South Africa. With regard to the miscommunication, Councillor Iona Pannett said the situation was nothing more than a “mistake,” and stressed there was “no conspiracy here.” This discovery follows months of drama surrounding recycling in the central Wellington region, which has included a number of student flats being blacklisted by the council for not properly sorting their recycling.

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Oliver Clifton

McKenzie Collins

02.05.16

Kelburn residents have voiced concerns during a hearing panel about Victoria University’s acquisition of the Gordon Wilson flats on the Terrace. The former Housing New Zealand flats are now owned by the university and are in the process of being rezoned. Residents were worried about noise and disorderly behaviour, with one going as far as to say the university “couldn’t be trusted” to establish accommodation that wouldn’t upset neighbouring residents. Despite these fears, there has been no explicit mention of plans to develop student accommodation in the area. In a proposal submitted to Wellington City Council last year by Urban Perspectives on behalf of the university, it was proposed that the flats be demolished to create a “pathway” to Kelburn campus. Campus Services director Jenny Bentley said the demolition of the flats would support “the university's vision is to physically link the Kelburn campus to the Terrace by way of a safe, convenient and attractive pedestrian access.” The flats have been vacant since May 2012 when they were deemed unsafe, with engineers saying the facade could collapse in an earthquake or “strong wind.”

In an attempt to persuade high school leavers across New Zealand to pack their bags and head down south, the University of Otago has well and truly blown its scholarship budget. New scholarships created by the university have put them in $230,000 of debt during the first two months of this year. One of those new scholarships is the New Frontiers Scholarship, which awards $5000 to those who achieve an excellence endorsement in NCEA Level 2 and 3, and $2500 to those with excellence endorsed at Level 2 or 3. The new scholarships were created as a response to a decrease of first-year students applying to the university last year. When commenting on the matter, a spokeswoman from the university said, “the tertiary environment has changed, becoming much more competitive.” This incentive subsequently backfired on the university, with the number of students who applied for the scholarship being significantly more than anticipated for in the budget, increasing 6.7% compared with 2015. The deficit ended February 29, and it is unknown how many scholarships will be rewarded to first-year students next year.

VUW continues to build and name things

Mum and Dad fighting over tertiary education, again

Over the mid-trimester break, renovations and construction on Victoria campuses have continued— shock. Salient therefore thought it might be a good time for an update on what the fuck they’re actually up to. There has been demolition carried out in the Maclaurin building, with changes to fire exits and access to MCLT103. Work has started on the facade of the building and the windows are being put in. Culliford Drive, which acts as the Gate Seven access to campus, is expected to narrow down to a single lane road due to the Gateway construction area, but traffic management has been put in place. Further general construction noise like hammers and nails and drills will continue. The building that houses the International Institute of Modern Letters on Waiteata Road is to be renamed the Bill Manhire House. This is in recognition of the service done by Emeritus Professor Bill Manhire for the university and to honour his contribution to New Zealand writing. The small toilets on the ground and mezzanine floors of Rutherford House are closed until further notice, however the larger toilet facilities (male and female) will remain available on the ground floor. There is construction being carried out on the lift lobby on the ground floor after 5.30pm, so students who need to use the lifts after this time will need to go up to the mezzanine floor. In Trimester Three, further major development to the main building on the Te Aro campus will commence.

Labour leader Andrew Little has slammed the National government over the increasing cost of tertiary education. Citing recently released Consumer Price Index data, Little said tertiary education has been put out of the reach of many, and is locking families into generations of poverty. For the last seven years, education costs have risen faster than overall inflation, said Tertiary Education Union (TEU) national president Sandra Grey. The TEU has repeatedly warned the government that there was disconnect between the funding of tertiary education and the actual cost. The government has defended themselves against these claims, saying the increased number of graduates proves the cost of tertiary education is not placing study out of reach. A spokesperson for Minister for Tertiary Education, Skills and Education Steven Joyce, said that since 2008 there has been a 20 per cent increase of students graduating from tertiary institutes around the country. “Taxpayers pay on average about 70 per cent of the cost of tuition, student fees pay the other 30 per cent,” the spokesperson said. “On average students are paying off these loans through their wages in about six years if they remain in the country following graduation.” Mr Little said Labour intended to provide three years free post-school study or training for every New Zealander if it forms the next government. 10

Jennie Kendrick

Otago Uni are desperate

Katy Groom

Kate Robertson

Kelburn residents angry about non-existent building

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Maori Matters

One Ocean

Rakaitemania Parata Gardiner & Taylor Wanakore

Laura Toailoa

The kawakawa tree and its medicinal qualities reign supreme amongst the natural remedies employed by our tūpuna to soothe a myriad of ailments. Kawakawa is our Te Ao Māori equivalent of Lucas’ Papaw balm—the one product can serve a multitude of purposes. Applied topically, you can use it to remedy aches and pains, cuts, burns, and grazes. Consuming it as a tea will help to ward off the inhibitants of the winter months and generally, boost your health. Massaging it into the skin is both therapeutic and medicinally benificial. Ko te rangatira o te wao i kaha whakamahi ai ō tātou tūpuna hei whakamahu i ō rātou mamae, ko te kawakawa. Kawakawa te tāwara, kawakawa te kakara, kawakawa te ingoa tonu. Rangona ai te pepa o te tī kawakawa e te motu whānui, te wai whakaora i ngā pānga o Takurua. Heoi, ko te momo kawakwa e auau ana te kite, ko te pani. Anei āku tohutohu kia taea ai e koe te mahi i tēnei pani kawakawa. E rua ngā wāhanga: te hinu, me te pani.

What better time to write a column about “pain” than when I’m in the middle of writing an essay that’s hurting my will to finish the year… (What do you mean it’s only the second half of the first trimester??!!). I had a difficult and uncomfortable conversation with my sister once in which I wanted to do the things that made me happy (at least immediately so), and she wanted me to see how those decisions affected the people around me. I thought I’d seize this moment to pull out the line I’d heard in palagi movies and TV shows and blogs my whole life: “But it’s my life right? So I should decide what I want to do, for me.” And my sister, ever so graciously, refrained from slapping me across the face. Instead, she lowered her voice in the way you never want to hear Samoan women do, and replied with: “Who do you think will pay for the hospital? Who do you think will buy everything you need? Who do you think will offer you a home when you can’t afford to live on your own? Mum and Dad will. You know that. We will. Don’t pretend like you’re in this alone. You didn’t just spring up from nowhere when you entered this world. And you’re not the only one getting you through. But, even after all of the hassle they’ll have to go through for you, they’d rather that than you making a decision out of fear and shame.” I’m here because my parents decided to move from our third-world heaven to a land of education and (hopefully) prosperity. I am here thanks to them, and their parents before them, who prioritised school over religious commitment. I achieve my successes because of the history that is behind me and those who surround me. And, by the same token, when I suffer they do too. My shitty decisions will ripple out to my loved ones, and their unconditional love ripples back. I am not my own woman—and not in an objectified way in which I’m my family’s property to bend at their every will. But what I do will somehow affect them, for better or for worse we are intrinsically tied, and I don’t want it any other way.

Hinu Kawakawa: Hinu (Pai ki au te hinu huawhenua) Rau kawakawa, māroke (he pai ake ngā rau māroke kia pai ai te uru o te hinu ki rō rau) Meatia ngā rau kawakawa i tētehi ipu, tōna kīki nei. Maringi mai te hinu ki roto. Kauroritia ki tētehi rākau tūpuhi kia ranua katoatia ngā mea e rua. Taupokitia te ipu, ā, waihotia kia noho mō ngā wiki e 2. Rūrūhia ia rā. Pani Kawakawa: Hinu kawakawa Wākihi pī Meatia tētehi ipu karaehe ki runga i tētehi kohua e koropūpu ana. Whakaurua te wākihi me te hinu kawakawa. Ki au nei, pai ake te 1:1 hinu ki te wākihi, māmā te pani engari mārō tonu. Ka haunumi te hinu me te wākihi, ka whakaurua ki tētehi ipu anō, ā toka noa te pani. Pai ana te whakamahi!

Gee-mail

VUWSA Exec

Jonathan Gee VUWSA President

Rory Lenihan-Ikin Welfare Vice-President

As the voice of Victoria’s 22,000 students, VUWSA writes lots of submissions. These might be submissions to the university on issues such as the Trimester Three change proposal (which would have reduced your midtri break to one week), or to the Wellington City Council on introducing things like a rental warrant of fitness. We write all these submissions to ensure that we’re getting the best deal for you when the university, council, or parliament make decisions. Recently, the university began the consultation process on changes to international pre-degree pathways. These are programmes that enable international students to meet the academic eligibility requirements for undergraduate study at Vic. In a strategic effort to scale up the number of international students (from 9% to 18% of all students), and almost double the size of the university to around 30,000 students, the university is proposing to outsource the Foundation Studies programme. I don’t think this is okay. The university’s strategy to rapidly grow the number of students is potentially exciting, as Vic grows its reputation and students become more embedded into Wellington city. But, that growth needs to be managed alongside appropriate student support and high quality academic programmes. By outsourcing Foundation Studies to a private provider, there is no guarantee that these students will have the same access to services like Student Health and Student Learning. There is no guarantee that the ‘Victoria brand’ and quality that they are paying tens of thousands of dollars for can be replicated by a private provider. VUWSA is standing with international students in opposing the outsourcing of Foundation Studies. We’re asking the university to pause and think about the students. What do they think about the Foundation Studies programme? What are their concerns around access to student support? What are the benefits for students as a result of this rapid growth? These are the questions we’ll be asking in the coming weeks to ensure the university is getting the best deal for you.

→ Warmer, drier flats as a result of the Government’s new ‘minimum standards’ (they are crap) → Warmer, drier flats as a result of the City Council’s rental Warrent of Fitness (they still haven’t done it) → Wellington’s endless summer of 2016 (it will end) → Well spaced out assignment deadlines and stress free hand-ins → Consistent 8 hour sleeps (I wish) → Healthy, home cooked meals every night (I’m looking at you Te Puni) → Bloody great wellbeing The odds might seem stacked against you, because they are. Many before you have done them—and you can too! Of course we talk about the importance of staying on top of things, being orgnanised, maintaining balance etc., and these things are really important. But students are asked to walk a very fine line in order to be successful, and at times it all gets overwhelming. There are things available to help keep you going. If you didn’t get a flu shot at any of the drop-in clinics, don’t worry, you haven’t missed out. We have one final clinc at Te Pūtahi Atawhai on Wednesday 11th May at 9.30am. From then on just visit Student Health at either Pip or Kelburn and book an appointment for one. If you’re a vulnerable student (ie, you live in a cold, damp flat), a flu shot can really reduce your chance of getting sick. If you’re struggling with poor mental health, the wait times to see a counsellor can be challenging (ie. the demand on the service), but try not to let this put you off. If you do need to be seen immediately, Student Health has systems to facilitate this. If not, a session with a counsellor, even if it’s a couple of weeks down the line, will probably be beneficial. For those that wouldn’t usually seek help when they need it, why not give it a go? The stigma around getting mental health support, particularly among dudes, still very much exists. The public health system certainly fails to provide adequate support, so why not make the most of the counsellors while you are paying for them at university? 13

Chocolate Cysts and Strings of Pearls Three women share their story of living with endometriosis and polycystic ovary syndrome.

For all the strides that medicine has taken, the patriarchal bend has led to an absence of studies on women’s bodies. This has resulted in a lack of understanding for many conditions and diseases that women suffer. Endometriosis (endo) and polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) are two such conditions that still aren’t fully understood. People seeking treatment for endo or PCOS at Wellington Hospital will find themselves in the women’s health unit, where other women are getting advice on their pregnancies, having ultrasounds, miscarriages, or giving birth. It seems bizarre that so many patients with such varying reasons for being there were all lumped under the umbrella “women’s health.” Not only is it transphobic (not all women have uteruses, not all who have uteruses are women), but it is indicative of a culture that has failed to engage with the illnesses contained within the “women’s health” category, and has resulted in a lack of awareness making access to diagnoses for those with endo or PCOS difficult or impossible. Endo advocacy organisations report that up to 10% of women have endometriosis, but it is mooted that the real statistic may be even higher; as many people go through their lives unaware of cysts or endometrial issues until they try and have children—and even then it’s not always caught.

be annoyed if someone told me that the period pain I was experiencing was “normal” and just had to deal with it. Considering about half the population have periods, and many of those people experience some form of associated pain, “dealing with it” doesn’t really seem to be an acceptable solution. It is a diminution of the severity of “women’s issues” and thus an entrenched aspect of misogynistic culture. I first saw a doctor about my period pain in second year. The pain was so bad it would give me migraines and I would be bedridden for the first day or two of my period every month. The freezing flat I lived in atop Brooklyn hill had never looked as bleak as it did the day I called my flatmate on his phone from the next room to ask him to find my ibuprofen from the cabinet as I couldn’t get out of bed. At my first doctor’s appointment I was given bulk amounts of paracetamol and ibuprofen and asked to consider going onto a contraceptive pill—in the hope it would manage my period pain. There was no discussion of the possibility of it being endometriosis or anything other than regular period pain. I tried the pill a couple of months later. It was my first hormonal medication and, although it slightly lightened my bleeding, I found myself crying about strange events that would not normally affect me. I cried crossing the street because the light in Kelburn village looked so pretty and I knew I wouldn’t be able to capture it for posterity on my phone. I cried because we ran out of coffee beans. I was crying almost daily for a fortnight of my cycle. I stopped taking the pill and hoped that the period pain would go away.

Eve Kennedy

Endometriosis can be characterised as a disease or a chronic illness. Its cause is unknown, but it results in endometrial tissue (uterine lining) being flushed the wrong way out of the uterus and sitting in areas of the pelvis or torso where there shouldn’t be any endometrial tissue— e.g. on the ovaries, bowels, intestines, kidneys. The tissue continues to function like endometrial tissue and thus, when people get periods, the tissue will often bleed into the pelvis and be extremely painful. Instead of just having a period discharged the usual way, it is also discharged back into your body where it can form painful cysts. As a teen, I had experienced varying levels of pain during and around my periods. Unluckily for me, no-one else in my immediate family experienced much period pain and so what I was experiencing was written off as mere cramps. This is an all too common event for women with endometriosis: their pain is written off as “normal” and women are expected to continue in their daily lives regardless of the pain. Even if I didn’t have endo, I would

it’s not often such a glaringly immediate and pervasive concern. Sometimes when I’m having an endo flare I pretend my uterus is its own sentient being, because that’s how it seems. It will be a pain a lot of the time, to the point where it effectively controls how I live my life, but most of the time I just feel sorry for my poor little uterus which just doesn’t know how to function like a normal uterus should. Endo flares make me bloated, tired and they lower my immunity, so I often get other viruses or bugs that if I were healthier I wouldn’t get. I had pneumonia and legionnaires’ disease last year, and when I was hospitalised with it I got so angry with my “scarred pus-sack of a body” that I considered trying out religion so that I could ask God for a refund and a new body—or at the absolute least, be turned into one of those talking heads from Futurama. It’s annoying and frustrating, but I find if I get too caught up in my own head about how this disease may stay with me for life then I get too dejected when thinking about my future. Having endo hasn’t stopped me loving my body or even my uterus. It’s made me think about how as an able bodied person I take my body for granted, and how little support there is for people with chronic illnesses who can’t always work or study all the time. I admit that in most pained moments I have threatened my own uterus with performing a hysterectomy on myself with a kitchen knife and a soup spoon. It didn’t stop the pain, so I took a tramadol, slathered my torso in deep heat, and watched Gilmore Girls.

I finally got a diagnosis in February of 2014. I had been away at Camp A Low Hum, and after having too much of a ~good time~ I put the extreme pain I was in down to the combination of period pain and hangover/come down. By the following tuesday, I couldn’t walk and was finally admitted to hospital with suspected appendicitis or a ruptured cyst. I had tennis ball sized cysts around each ovary. Those in the business call them “chocolate cysts,” because the blood forms cysts outside of your uterus and as it ages turns the colour and texture of melted chocolate. I had an infection in my pelvis which had spread to my blood from one of the cysts rupturing. The validation I felt at getting a diagnosis was immense: finally, I wasn’t just a big baby/ drama queen/attention seeker! And, all it had taken was five years of pain, two rectal examinations, and three internal examinations of my vagina! Relief! I’ve now had two laparoscopies (keyhole surgeries) for removal of cysts and endometrial tissue around my bowels, intestines, and ovaries. I have an hormonal IUD in place and I’ve been hospitalised three times in the last two years for endometriosis. After my most recent endo flare-up, where I had yet another cyst rupture and subsequent pelvic infection, my GP (Cathy, bless her soul, I want to be her best friend and she has been so good to me over the last couple of years) talked to me about children; whether I want them, and if I do, how I need to think about starting a family immediately. I have effectively exhausted my treatment solutions for a while, as my specialist will not operate on me to remove further cysts as too much surgery will result in too much scar tissue, impeding my fertility further. My mirena was put in during my first surgery, and doctors led me to believe that it was going to be a great cure for my endo pain and that it may even cease my periods altogether. Unfortunately, it took six months of constant bleeding before I had any noticeable decrease in pain. Two years on, I’m happy with my mirena. I bleed less frequently than I used to and the pain is slightly lessened, but it is by no means a miracle cure. Enduring six months of hell post-insertion was not worth the benefits I receive. I have found the most relief I get from the pain is acupuncture. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have just had my first entirely pain-free period after seeing an acupuncturist weekly for two months. My baby-making situation is complicated further by virtue of me currently being in a serious relationship with a woman; even if I were to start the process of having children immediately there are already significant fertility hurdles in place—for once it’s not just my beat-up body getting in the way. I have always known I want to have children, and having endometriosis has only reinforced that. I worry about reconciling my wish to have a career that makes use of my degrees with my desire to have children. Something that most people have to worry about eventually, but

How would you describe your body/uterus? I would describe my uterus as cooperative but under resourced, it tries its best but it just can't keep up.

Jennie Kendrick

Half of the world’s population (roughly) have a vagina. Yet we get embarrassed talking about the organ, and hide behind fluffy euphemisms. Tampon ads are all pink and happy, when having a period is anything but. Advertising campaigns make having a period seem like such a uniform experience; one or two days of heavy bleeding, then four days of continually easing blood flow. Nothing that should be too painful to inhibit you from jumping in a pool

wrapped around my fallopian tubes, and thus was too risky to remove without risking damage to the tubes. The surgeon also removed my hymen, that had developed abnormally as a thick band of muscle blocking my vaginal opening like a stop sign. I had always found this funny, as if my body had put a no-entry sign en route to my uterus. However, I only remember three things about waking up post-surgery: the blood-stained white fishermans’ gumboots the surgeon wore; laying in a bed of my own blood from the D and C; and having my cotton underwear returned to me in a non-descript brown paper bag. Endometriosis is a condition that, if left untreated, can render a woman infertile. In the uterus, there is the endometrium lining which during menstruation sheds due to a hormone called progesterone. This shedding prevents the fertilised egg from implanting itself and sprouting a baby. When a woman has endometriosis, the tissue that makes up this lining is found outside of the uterus and can grow in various areas such as around the ovaries, outer walls of the uterus, bladder, and any area in the pelvic area. When a woman with endometriosis has her period, the areas of tissues bleed, causing pain, inflammation, and sometimes scarring. The most common symptoms of this condition are pelvic pain, heavy and/or long periods, and difficulty falling pregnant. No one really knows a heck of a lot about endometriosis. For years, it had been exclusively placed under the label of a “women’s issue”—an issue that was taboo to talk about. For years, the only other person I knew that had the same condition as me was the daughter of a family friend. “It’s really rather tragic, especially now that she has such a lovely man-friend,” my mother had whispered to me. Mum doesn’t think that anyone under 21 can be labelled a ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’, and rarely uses the word ‘partner’. I wondered if this is how other people would talk about me. No matter how well-educated, kind, or successful in my career; I would be “unfortunate” because my own body may compromise my child-bearing ability. I remember being ten and so confused when my eccentric brother’s girlfriend asked if I had started bleeding yet. I had never even heard anyone call menstruation anything other than a period, and didn’t even really know what happened when you ‘became a woman’. Cringe. I have always hated the idea that sexual maturity and fertility equates to womanhood. It seeks to alienate women who weren’t born female, or struggle to get pregnant. When a large portion of a woman’s identity is considered to be her ability to reproduce then it's scarring for those who choose not to procreate and for those struggling with fertility. Our white-bread, homogenous society is so obsessed with reproduction. Why? We don’t need more humans on this earth. My ability and desire to have children should not be assumed. I am not a less valuable member of society. I was told by a doctor that I should have children by

or wearing a goddamn g-string. As women with vaginas, we need a better vocabulary for pain, to dispel the embarrassment surrounding our bleeding organs and be able to talk freely about our experiences. I had started menstruating on April Fools Day; looking back at it now, it was a pretty cruel joke. I was eleven, the standard age that the women in my family had experienced their first period. I took a week off school; the pain was so excruciating that I could barely walk. I lay on the couch with a wheat bag on my tummy and was force-fed paracetamol by my mum. Painkillers never really helped me personally, so I usually just forwent them, weathering the pain. I would often skip school because of the pain, and after having such bad periods that I couldn’t stand up without fainting, I finally went to the GP. My GP was very sympathetic. The gynecologist that she referred me to however, was not. A brusque lady named Ruth disregarded my symptoms, handing me a pamphlet explaining what a period was. I was mortified and discouraged by this initial encounter—knowing deep down that there was more to it. I remember crying to my mum, just wanting some validation for what I was experiencing. I had more success with my now-gynaecologist, a nice German man with cold hands, who explained that I was lucky to be diagnosed with endometriosis early. I was put on a contraceptive pill at first, continuously taking the “active” pills and discarding the “sugar” pills so that I wouldn’t (theoretically) have a period. With the blood flow restricted to the endometrium, the tissue growing as cysts on my fallopian tubes would dry out and unlikely to cause more harm. But my uterus had other ideas. I bled for two weeks straight. I stained a pair of my friend’s shorts and had a tampon stuck on my abnormal hymen—it was a traumatic event. My own body had humiliated me—I was a freak, unclean, and in an unfathomable amount of pain. I decided I was over the pill, and after a LOT of snotty crying in the doctor’s office, I decided to have a laparoscopy. I was two weeks away from my fifteenth birthday when I was wheeled into the operating theatre. I was poked and prodded, even asked if med students could watch the procedure. No one had even ever seen my vagina, apart from my mother when I was a baby, and I was still at the awkward stage of puberty of being deathly embarrassed by my own body. But I had hope, hope that the insertion of a Mirena would give me some reprieve from my endometriosis allowing me to be a normal member of society. During my surgery, they had made incisions in my belly button and on my bikini line to insert a camera and forceps into my pelvis to look at my uterus. From there, they dilated my cervix and scraped the lining of my womb off using a curette (this procedure is coming referred to as a D and C), inserting the mirena and taking photos of the endometriosis in the process. The tissue was mainly

risk of endometrial (uterine) cancer; and, most commonly, fertility problems. In some cases, ovarian cysts will rupture, which can be extremely painful. On the mental health end of things, a recent study suggests up to 60% of women with PCOS experience depression and anxiety. While the presence of the aforementioned symptoms indicates PCOS, the condition is usually formally diagnosed by an ultrasound examination of the ovaries. PCOS cannot be cured, but there are a variety of ways in which it can be managed. The causes of PCOS are not fully understood, but a gene contributing to the development of the condition has been identified, indicating that it could be hereditary

25, and compromise my career to become a mother. My older sister even offered to have my child for me, to be my surrogate. It’s a pretty heavy conversation to have with someone, to think about the worst case scenario, and discuss your potential infertility. I was always slightly bitter towards my sister, with her normal periods and two days of light bleeding: a “pretty” experience compared to the R18 gore-fest that was my monthly reality. I didn’t have any bleeding for three years following the Mirena insertion. This year, I am due to have another laparoscopy, to inspect the extent of the damage, and replace my IUD. Although this method doesn’t work for everyone, it has managed my symptoms adequately. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the pain; and plucking up the courage to talk to a doctor about your vagina may be the thing that allows you to keep all your options open.

Right from when I got my first period at age 12, something was off. They were infrequent, and when they did arrive, they were often accompanied by a pain that was raw and sharp—I’d never felt anything like it. Was this what it was like to be a woman? If so, I felt quite firmly that it wasn’t for me. Our family GP asserted that it was just par for the course with puberty, and that things would settle down and become regular. This seemed to make sense, because puberty is such a crazy time anyway, and everybody has a different experience. There was about six years where I thought that my irregular cycle, and the unpredictable pain, was ‘normal’, if inconvenient. At 17, with no improvement, I was booked in to see a gynecologist who worked out of Family Planning. She was the first to suggest PCOS, and prescribed a contraceptive pill that also functions as an androgen blocker for women with PCOS. The pill would eliminate any cysts on my ovaries, so there would be no risk of a cyst rupturing, and being on contraception meant I could have a regular cycle, with less pain. In retrospect, that horrible pain I felt could have been from ruptured cysts— it’s scary to think I didn’t know what was going on in my own body. The cysts were described to me as looking like a “string of pearls”—a quaint descriptor that belied their possible menacing presence in my body. For a formal diagnosis of the condition, I would need to have an ultrasound that would confirm the presence of the cysts. Around two years later I had the ultrasound, and there they were, the promised pearls, all my own. Perhaps the weirdest thing to learn about PCOS, however, was the effect that it could have on my fertility. As a teenager, children were a foggy presence lurking somewhere far in the distance, something that I didn’t even need to think about thinking about. But, when I was told that having children may be more difficult for me than it is for others, I felt abruptly cut off from something which is assumed to be so innately female. I felt ripped off, and sad, and confused about why I felt sad. If I wanted to have children, I would need to start planning for it sooner than other women, so that I had a better chance. That’s a strange thing to be confronted with as a teenager.

How would you describe your body/uterus? Strong, temperamental, bitch, resilient.

Cassie Richards

PCOS is a hormonal condition that can affect women from puberty onwards. It’s thought that 5-10% of premenopausal women have PCOS (this vague statistic is due to the fact that many women don’t know they have the condition). PCOS is usually characterised by cysts on one or both of the ovaries. Basically, an overproduction of androgens (the male hormone), disrupts the ovulation process. I’ll let the Southern Cross Healthcare Group describe exactly what happens: “An egg begins to develop but does not fully mature and therefore is not released. Instead, the follicle in which the immature egg is contained becomes a fluid-filled cyst. Each cyst is usually between two to six millimetres in diameter, and, over time, multiple cysts can cover the ovary.” There are a number of symptoms associated with PCOS, including: irregular periods, excessively painful periods, weight gain, acne and oily skin, excess hair growth, and even hair loss. Some women may have only one or two of these symptoms, while others may exhibit a few. The implications of PCOS can, however, be wider ranging: there is an increased risk of diabetes due to the insulin resistance associated with PCOS; an increased

Patches of Endometriosis

Ovary Womb Lining

Endometriosis

Cyst

Polycystic Ovaries Syndrome (PCOS)

doing your own research is important. The first answer isn’t the final answer, and this particularly applies to women’s health, where there are often large information gaps. If you feel that one doctor isn’t giving you the right answers, try another. Seek out others in the same club, and compare experiences. For me, managing my weight is important for managing my PCOS, both now and in the long-term. But, there are many other avenues that can be explored (such as herbal remedies, acupuncture), and what works for one will not necessarily work for another. The most crucial thing is to know your own body, know when something isn’t right, and empower yourself with knowledge.

Some women with PCOS have little to no trouble with conceiving; some will consult fertility specialists, undergo IVF treatment; others will not be able to conceive at all. There’s no real way to know until you try. But this idea that the ability to bear children is a given for women is inaccurate. Getting pregnant can be difficult for lots of women, for a variety of reasons. PCOS is just one piece in the weird fertility puzzle. Initially, I felt a lot of shame connected to having PCOS. I had never heard of the condition before, and certainly didn’t know of anyone else who had it, so I assumed it was something bizarre and freakish that I’d been lumped with. That couldn’t be further from the truth, and as I came to realise how common the condition is, I felt less alone. We are isolated when we don’t talk about women’s health issues, and the best way to combat this is by opening up to those around us. Each woman has a different experience of PCOS, it’s the nature of the condition, so asking questions and

How would you describe your body/uterus? Occasionally misbehaves, but we’re learning to be friends.

Madeleine Ashton-Martyn

The Three Lives of Pain Madeleine shares her story of experiencing and enduring extreme bodily pain. The piece describes the details of a car crash which may be triggering to some people.

I didn’t have the tools to face dying at all. I don’t have the tools to understand that I was that close to death now. There’s no guidance for that. When something you’re used to seeing only from a great distance is that supremely close to you, it appears completely alien. Death interrupts the way we comprehend our own identities and existence so fundamentally that our understanding of dying is completely externalized. Death appears too big, too absolute in its opposition to existence, to be comprehensible in individual and personal terms. It’s much easier to tuck death neatly away in the realm of the ‘they’—far removed from where it may touch ‘you’ or ‘I’. Through this othering, it is possible to sanitize the personal within death and reduce death to some unknowable and generalizable concept, far away and completely out of touch with your own reality. Death is simultaneously universal and acutely individual. The circumstances of your own death will be unlike those of any other, and how you experience your death will be known only to you. The pain of dying lies in an intense awareness of what you’re about to lose. Fear and sadness spring directly from what has meant the most to you throughout your life; the people who you are lucky to have loved, those who have loved you in return, and all those thousands of small things that are woven together to create who you are. There is nothing more individual than this awareness. In dying, there’s this bizarre liminal state where simultaneously you’re the most acutely aware of your existence that you’ve ever been, but you can also physically feel that you’re fading from existence as a self and starting to exist as a story. All the unique details of your own life and personhood confront the enormity of unknowable death. What you have known so closely and so deeply comes to meet what you have pushed away

On the 18th of December I was in a high-speed car accident at the T intersection where state highway four meets state highway three near Te Kuiti. I was asleep in the passenger seat until impact. The car I was in pulled out into the intersection when it shouldn’t have, and a car coming from our right hit us at 100 kilometers per hour. There’s this trope that “there’s nothing that prepares you” for that type of experience, and it’s true. The language for, and the acknowledgement of, pain and suffering in our culture are totally absent. Prior to that afternoon I had no idea how many types of pain there are. I mean, I still don’t, there are people who have experienced far greater and radically different pains than those that I have known. The silence around suffering denies guidance for those in pain, and in some ways denies their reality. Putting words to unknowable experiences demystifies them, so here’s my understanding of the pain of dying, the pain of surviving, and the pain of living. The pain of dying We spun from the road after the car hit us. I awoke on impact and my vision was flooded with inflated airbags. I was trying to figure out if what was happening was real or if it was some bizarre event I was constructing in my head. The car skidded to a halt on a gravel patch to the side of the road. I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t that sort of gasping, as though you’re breathing through a straw type of breathlessness. It was as though there was a great weight on my lungs, making it impossible for them to inflate. As though they were entirely flat within my chest, limp without purpose. This was the first point at which I thought I was going to die. 21

Madeleine Ashton-Martyn

Performing the expected role of the ‘good patient’ who does not speak candidly about death or suffering and who expects to follow a path leading directly back to the prepained self is impossible.

from the possibility of knowing. You can imagine the irreconcilable nature of this. There’s a glaring awareness of the closeness of your existence, while you also find yourself pushing that personhood into the same far away category that you had neatly tucked death into leading up to this. This inbetween state that you’re left in, without the social codes to make sense of death in terms of yourself, fosters dualities: between trying to remain rational while overwhelmed with emotions, becoming incredibly dependent while maintaining an essential autonomy, rejecting that this is the end though accepting that it’s very much a possibility. It’s impossible to understand how your identity and your values fit within this scenario, and how it will guide you through it. It’s bizarre that considering the universality and inevitability of death, that there remains this enormous dissonance between self and conception of death. Finiteness doesn’t have to be considered in this way, and putting a narrative to the individual experience of dying demystifies and centralizes the reality. The pain of surviving I was on the side of the road for about an hour experiencing incredibly intense pains in my abdomen and lower back without pain relief. Eventually, I was airlifted to Waikato Hospital. There wasn’t a moment during this time where I was unconscious. Before that afternoon I didn’t know that pain like that existed. I was given multiple scans, asked a barrage of questions, hooked up with painkillers and eventually left to wait. At this point I was still in intense pain but was getting regular doses of fentanyl, an opioid painkiller 80 times the strength of morphine. Fentanyl fogs up your thinking and somewhat blocks your memory, but I was still completely lucid. A surgeon came into the ward to give me the results from the CT scan they had performed when I had first arrived. He told me that I had fractured my L1 vertebrae and had severe ruptures in my colon with possible trauma to my pancreas. I honestly had no idea how to interpret this information so I asked him, “I’m not going to die though, right?” He only told me, “these are very serious injuries.” Loss of who you are in intense bodily pain is absolute. The pain is so demanding, so exhausting, that its presence overrides everything else. Intense bodily pain demands to be felt so deeply that it supersedes the world around you, and the self within you. Memories slip away, notions of identity and value are severed, and relational situatedness shatters. Those rich, layered narratives of memories, knowledge, and experience that surround and protect your identity fall away. There is no possible way to create meaning simultaneously in those moments. That is what

Madeleine Ashton-Martyn

a part of your identity. Eventually, you are forced to confront the fear around the implications that a pained self will have, and you let go of the loss of familiar ways of being. When you’re experiencing pain on a daily basis it’s impossible to keep it separate from your conception of self. The articulation of this new personhood is often as woefully inadequate as the articulation of the pain that onset it. In explaining it, you face an underlying assumption that pain can be undone. As though if you can apply feelings that negate pain, maybe pleasure or happiness, then it will disappear completely. Others tend to assume that the pathway to recovery is paved with feelings that undo pain. It's supposed to slowly lead you back to your pre-pained identity. The lack of language for articulating that this simply isn’t the case can be interpreted as a lack of pain itself. This interpretation not only becomes a denial of suffering, but a denial of who you are as a pained person. This can be a shattering experience. Performing the expected role of the ‘good patient’ who does not speak candidly about death or suffering and who expects to follow a path leading directly back to the prepained self is impossible. Misunderstandings and denial of pain are felt as others turning away from something so fundamentally shaping your experience that you feel your new existence is denied. Where pain can be self-destroying, care from others can be self-creating. Others can strengthen the re-building of identities that incorporate ongoing pain. Others legitimize and encourage what this new identity is experiencing and what it is to become. The people around you have the capacity to validate and create the truths that self-construction is built on. Through human care this self is brought back into reality. I’m going to be in pain for a while. I’m going to know the nature of intense bodily pain. I’m going to carry with me this weird understanding of what it’s like to be that close to death. I don’t expect you to understand it, because I know that you won’t be able to. I know as well that others will experience pain, that is in every way as legitimate as mine, that I will never be able to understand. There’s no real resolution here, and nor should there be. To make steps towards understanding these massive, identity destroying and identity shaping experiences, we have to give words to suffering. While it’s impossible to create a sense of reality in a vacuum, it is possible to shed light on a dark part of human existence by bringing it into the public realm. There’s no greater truth than that.

loss of self feels like. Intense bodily pain isolates you completely. You are cut off from reality in the world and left without language, replaced with at best an occasional capacity to cry out. You are the most alone that it is possible to be, but the self you are left with is completely unfamiliar. Intense bodily pain cuts you off so radically from reality that once it disappears you are forced to begin to forget it in order to reclaim yourself as real, instead of the unreal self that existed within that pain. Even having felt it, it’s so hard to know that this pain is real; that this loss of who you are within it, is real. Establishing what happens when you undergo intense bodily pain as a truth, when it has no public existence is so difficult—it’s exhausting. You don’t get the luxury of legitimation through external validation that you might with other private experiences. Instead you end up endlessly questioning what it meant, what exactly was happening to you within it. It is near impossible to have any kind of confidence in the truth of this pain, when you have never seen it around you in any form. There is no public element for intense bodily pain, and nor can there be. It can only be felt. The pain of living I underwent two surgeries. The first was exploratory to better assess what was going on in my abdomen. The trauma to my bowel was much worse than initially expected; it was severed at both ends and ruptured throughout. Parts were removed and the rest was sewn up. The second dealt with the fracture in my back. Two metal rods and six pins were put in to stabilize the fractured vertebrae. I spent eleven days in hospital, the first three in the critical care unit and the remaining eight in the general surgery ward. I have been in pain since December. I’ve suffered daily debilitating fatigue, three infections including a particularly excruciating viral one, and the loss of a number of opportunities. Since being discharged from Waikato I have had countless follow ups with orthopedic surgeons, concussion specialists, psychologists, occupational therapists, nurses, and GPs, as well as a multiple trips to after hours and ED. I spent a month recovering in Nelson before moving back to Wellington to start to reclaim a self-sufficient life. In desperation to create distance from the loss of identity and personhood within intense bodily pain, you try to deny a new normal. It seems as though the fastest path away from the loss of self leads to that same identity that you knew before pain. This is not the case. There’s a reshaping that occurs to incorporate the enormity of experiencing intense bodily pain, and near death. Ongoing pain can’t be ignored, it becomes interwoven with who you are. Pain becomes

Teresa Collins ferrertyr.tumblr.com

Tim Grgec

Pain isn’t always visible, it’s often a deep, invisible sensation. In this piece Tim shares his experience of depression, his story is one that is individual and also universal, and he shares an honest portrayal of his experience. This piece includes several graphic descriptions which may be triggering to some people, and discussion of suicide.

Anywhere but Here I wanted to appear normal, when all I felt was a harsh and unforgiving emptiness. Depression was worse than sadness, worse than a bad mood. Depression was exhausting. It was the absence of feeling; the inability to envisage ever being happy again. It made me feel like I did not belong in this world. And nothing could assure me that I did. After my mum died of breast cancer when I was seventeen I could not sleep. For years I tried all the conventional things: no screens at night, exercising every day, only using my bed for sleep and sex, chamomile tea, walnuts, bikram yoga, and meditation. But the nights were always heavy and inflated. I would lay there in the dark, angrily passive, watching my duvet rise and fall—the effort of falling asleep was always too noticeable. Time slowed to an unbearable stasis. All I could think about was my dead mum’s still-warm hand. There was such a stillness to her eyelids, a lifeless look: a look that no longer saw anything. Despite the metallic aftertaste and grogginess of the next day, I relied on Zopiclone, a small blue sleeping pill that tranquilises the nervous system. My anxiety developed in my first year of university. I was eighteen, living in a hall of residence, drinking a few nights a week, and regularly taking drugs. My hangovers and comedowns carried with them an overwhelming sense of unease; an unease that I could not attribute to any obvious cause or reason. It was just there. This was fine until I remained anxious into the next week, and then it became constant—incessant and always lingering. On good days I could go to class or busy myself with readings and essays. On bad days I could feel the weight of every individual’s stare passing me in the hallways, in the streets, and in the claustrophobic aisles of New World Metro. With the anxiety came panic attacks. They would happen abruptly, alarming the heart until I could no longer breathe. My mind became an uncomprehending flow of

Depression was a dampness. It started in the margins of my life, every so often leaving its residue precipitated on the windows. I would try to clear it with my fingers, but soon its fog came every morning and every morning my hands were wet and cold. The moisture arranged itself about my room with careful, quiet footsteps. It darkened the surroundings, adding weight to the carpet, my clothes, sheets, and duvet. All around me, something soggy and uninviting began to replace the firm, sharp surfaces. It eventually found its way inside my body until I myself became damp. By then it was inescapable. I lived separately from everyone else, alone on the foggy side of the windows—numb, empty, and afraid. I dreaded leaving my bed. Life’s most routine tasks— waking, standing upright, eating, drinking, and speaking—became so frightening that I could no longer physically perform them. Instead, I spent each day covering my face with a pillow, waiting for the quiet to put things back to where they are supposed to be, drifting in and out of tears and sleep. I hated myself for it. There was a shame and inadequacy in not feeling ‘better’. I hated myself for being self-consumed and for being dependent on others. Every conversation was about me, every conversation was hopeless. I was a burden, always sullen, incoherent, disconsolate and lethargic. I felt sad that my sadness made others sad. I worried about how others worried about me. Even to those that had experienced their own version of depression, I was inaccessible. No detail escaped my intense observation. I felt guilty of my presence. Instead of dragging around my long face dressed in despair, it was easier to give the impression that I was okay and improving. I wanted others to believe that all of the late-night conversations, tears, money spent on doctors and psychologists, stress, and love, had achieved something.

Tim Grgec

Depression was worse than sadness, worse than a bad mood. Depression was exhausting. It was the absence of feeling; the inability to envisage ever being happy again. It made me feel like I did not belong in this world. And nothing could assure me that I did.

life disconnected from the people around me. They only saw a false, smiling mask. At the worst point of my depression, I had just turned twenty-one and had moved to Melbourne after completing my undergraduate degree. Melbourne was an escape. As if my mind would be refreshed from a three-and-a-halfhour flight and two thousand five hundred kilometres of geographical separation. I was on the plane, crying privately, thinking: “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be here.” Here was not the Melbourne I was heading to, or the Wellington I had just left, but being alive in the world. I wanted to be anywhere but here. The unfamiliar landscape added to my sense of aloneness. Melbourne was an endless grid of flat streets and tram stops, without a horizon of green, bush-covered hills. I started drinking a lot more. Just one sip would make me feel calm, one glass would ease the day, ten more would make me feel like the person everyone expected me to be. I started abusing pharmaceutical drugs. I craved the numb happiness they brought. For whole evenings, nothing would matter, nothing would exist. But sober, during the day, I nursed a paranoia subdued by a tough self-loathing. I hated the hopelessness, the humiliation, the attached meanings of conversation, and the bushy eyebrows that did not suit my face. I hated how everyone seemed to live so naturally, when nothing seemed natural to me. For months I was captivated by the idea of suicide. I would research ways of killing myself—hanging, jumping from height, vehicular impact, bleeding—and entertain each method in daydreams at work. They were such horrible ways of dying. I remembered, as a child, a neighbour’s chocolate Labrador ate rat poison while on a walk somewhere and died spewing up parts of her stomach. My doctor in Wellington had given me threemonth’s worth of antidepressants to last until I was settled. Added to the supply of prescription drugs I had obtained in Australia, I easily had enough for a fatal overdose. But, all I could picture was that poor dog. One evening after my flat mates had gone to bed, my preoccupations culminated into a pressure I could no longer withstand. I grieved for everything lost: my mum, my friends in New Zealand, my childhood home, my former bubbly self, a time when everything made sense. I felt as if there was no place on earth for me. All I had left was the desire to end things. I took a drink bottle to the bathroom and swallowed my remaining Zopiclone all at once. I did not count them, but I remember thinking that there were not as many as I had hoped—probably about twelve or fourteen. Then, with an immense nervousness, I waited to be carried off to sleep. At first, nothing happened. I lay clutching each arm, listening to the traffic lights clicking at intervals. Far off, the dull hum of cars coming and going. The sheets were sticky. It was such a strange interlude, counting each breath, anticipating the tide gathering itself in the distance and coming to pull me

thoughts: a room of crowded, unfamiliar voices arguing with each other, yelling faster and faster. Every second felt like I was falling further from reality and into the territory of the deranged, who cannot return to the world but instead live in their own unique place that is horrifying. I cannot remember the exact moment when depression joined me. It was sometime during secondyear. Perhaps I was reading the paper one morning, not looking at anything in particular, when the sky became sad, too, sagging grey as I found myself climbing the endless steps of profound melancholy. My adolescence— the six years of foreboding that led up to my mum’s death—was partly characterised by a fear of pity from others. Years later, the same feelings returned. I did not tell anyone that I was depressed. Inwardly, I lived a secret 28

Tim Grgec

understood the feelings I was experiencing, and wanted to help. My words had been filed away in a small, dark drawer inside me for so many years; it was nice to give them some air. An exercise and sleep routine helped me break the depressed habit of thought. Routine provided a sense of structure, familiarity, and direction. It gave me purpose. Exercising was the only way I could feel sleepy at night. So for forty minutes every evening, I left my cluttered mind at home, and ran. It was almost like I went into a day-dream while on my feet, a temporary relief that gave me a space to rest my head. Sometimes I could even forget my depression altogether. Consistent sleep brought demarcation between days: a break between the recurrent fits of gloom. My tiredness was not as heavy. I began to remember things in clarity again. The dark circles under my eyes lightened. About two months ago, I returned to Melbourne. This time, aged twenty-three, to start my Masters degree at a university over there. I was reluctant to leave Wellington. Over the past year or so, the daily walk to Kelburn had become manageable as I learnt to restrain my depression. I had grown fond of the sterile office buildings that stood huddled together along the edge of the harbour, as if sheltering each other from the wind. Wellington was familiar. On the plane I felt scared. I was returning to the place where I had tried to kill myself. I was worried the thoughts of malignant sadness might still be there, waiting for me when I arrived. I am still overcome with that feeling of dampness. Spread throughout my body, it seems so fixed and implacable, like it may last forever. It is no longer, though, something totally consuming that takes from me all that makes life worth living. Now, there is a line between functioning and feeling, or rather, between depression and vitality. Some people throw themselves across the two extremes, while others stick to the line, wavering tentatively over to each side and muddying the border. This is me, wearing a false, smiling mask only some of the time. I am here.

under into depths suspended in time, darkness all around and inside, where I could refuse to exist. I awoke the next evening with a headache. Frustrated it did not work, and frustrated about what was to come, I staggered to the bathroom and cut my left wrist several times with a razor blade. I then vomited over and over. My flatmate found me in the shower, crying, holding my arm with a towel. It was not so much the appeal of taking my own life than wanting to escape consciousness. How lucky I would be to fall asleep forever, I thought, and not have to face the days. I promptly moved back to New Zealand. I had no immediate family living there. Thankfully, however, I did have the support of some very close friends whose families looked after me as I tried to get my world back into focus. It was a confusing period of adjustment. I had no sense of what parts of my depression arose from my mum’s passing, a family history of susceptibility, sleepless nights, protracted hangovers, post-graduation existential concerns, and which parts were invented. The sense of isolation persisted. Life, having tried to bury it under my tongue, was divided into fortnightly prescriptions and weekly visits to doctors and psychologists. I hated seeing medical professionals. Doctors, I felt, could not help me. Each week, the same story of how my anti-depressants were not taking effect was met with a prescription for a higher dose. My head was always muddled. My face in the mirror remained disconnected. No matter how many steps I took, I remained in the same place each week, seated in a sterile consultation room, feeling nothing. There was such a difference between each psychologist I saw. One gave me an instructional lecture on the science of depression: how the brain works, the way chemicals are involved, working both inside and outside nerve cells. Another sat in silence, as if waiting for me to burst out in monologue and reveal the full extent of my disastrous thoughts. The expense of private consultations also created an underlying pressure to reach some sort of outcome after each session. I felt guilty and somehow responsible. There were so many things I would say in my head, things no one else could ever know. It took six months of clumsily articulating my thoughts and feelings until I found an anti-depressant (my fourth type) that actually restored within me a sense of optimism, and a psychologist I could confide in. I stopped drinking and taking illicit drugs. I no longer relied on getting wasted to the point of oblivion every weekend, pretending I was still an undergrad. I also decided to tell my family—my Dad, my uncle and aunt—about how I had been feeling all of these years. Until then, they had not known the details. I had shut them out, thinking that they would not want to hear, or would not cope with the pain of what had been real for me. The conversations with my family were at times difficult and uncomfortable. But those who loved me the most now

If you’ve been experiencing depressive thoughts on a regular basis, or are finding yourself experiencing suicidal thoughts or feelings, or just want to talk to someone about your own mental health then please reach out and get in touch with a professional. If it’s an emergency please call 111. Youthline: 0800 376 633, free-text 234, or email talk@youthline.co.nz Suicide Crisis Helpline: (for those in distress, or know someone who is) 0508 828 865 Depression Helpline: 0800 111 757 / www.depression.org.nz

Single Sad Postgrad Sharon Lam

Dancing With Sad Sweaty Businessmen The night proceeded to get worse as lights were dimmed for “free time.” This was instantly triggering and I was taken back to the horrors of primary school discos. My friend who I had hoped was equally as terrorised as me, was quickly asked to dance and I was once again alone. Now I was well and truly reliving a disco, only this time I didn’t even have a paper bag of gummy bears to comfort eat. An instructor who I will amiably call Old Man Yellow Teeth tried to approach me, but I ran to the water cooler. Hydrated out of avoidance, I stood alone at the side watching people dance unattractively and thought about various lollies. When teaching resumed, all the men had started to smell of BO. Delightful. While switching one pair of dripping hands for the next, I made the mistake of looking at the mirror. In it I saw a horrified young woman, holding hands with a very sad-looking, sweaty 40-year old businessman, shorter than her (and she was quite short). A tragic pair. She looked very dissatisfied, and he was looking at her feet with a tortured expression. Who was she? A drop of sweat from the businessman’s forehead fell onto my shoe, seemingly in slow motion. Disgustingly, I realised the woman was me. After that thoroughly depressing night of dancing, I have not been back. I continue the partnerless dance of life itself, and it is a happy one, free from the sweaty hands of Ceroc.

I love trying new things. It’s just one of my many qualities that make me so quirky and dateable. So when a friend asked me if I wanted to do Ceroc, a type of partner dance, I instantly said yes like the fun, spontaneous person I am. I had zero preconception of what Ceroc entails, thanks to another quirky habit of mine, which is tuning out of conversations that aren’t about myself. In my head I was waltzing around, impressing the Ezra Miller-lookalike dance teacher in his floating white top and tight leather pants that hugged his perfectly sculpted rear… Oh, how wrong I was. How very, very, wrong. The class operated on a rotating partner basis, divided strictly into men and women. Because there were more women, there were times spent dancing on your own. This was a lose-lose situation. Being alone felt very alone, because you were literally standing by yourself in a room full of couples holding hands, staring at an empty void in front of you. And yet, when you did have someone holding your hand, it was the sweaty grasp of an unknown man you either pitied, or felt creeped out by. A painful realised metaphor of my own love life. But, I would not let silly Ceroc get me down. I would get over myself and embrace my aloneness. So, I got really into the moves, namely the spins. I spun like I had never spun before, only to trip over my own feet into the partnerless void that I was trying to make the most of. My friend laughed. The metaphor continued.

Breathing Space Stressed, Depressed, Well-dressed

Student Wellbeing Leaders of The Bubble

An open letter to my 14 year old self

Victoria University’s motto is know your mind. We are studying at a world-class institution with vast collective academic intelligence, one well decorated with degrees. But, what does know your mind really mean when we reflect on our self as a whole person? What’s it feel like to be you today? Are you cheerful, calm and vigorous? Did you wake up feeling rested and refreshed? Is your day filled with things that interest you? Nearly half the students at university (45%) aren’t feeling that way. They are telling us they are feeling stressed, anxious, isolated, and depressed. Let’s reflect more deeply on know your mind in light of the above statistic. How many of us really have an idea of who we are? Without that knowledge, we cannot have a peaceful mind that is a friend, as opposed to an enemy that constantly drags us about with mental concoctions and sorrowful states. Knowing our own mind requires understanding. The body and mind are material, and therefore temporary and changing. Yet, we may become overwhelmed with thoughts that can lead to anxiety. Most distressing experiences are due to a conflict between our body and mind, when we don’t pay attention to what we need. When we are taken over by anger, lust, greed, envy, and sadness it can fog our view. This cycle can spiral into pools of depression and dissatisfaction. Instead of focussing inward, we try to change our external situation to escape the mind. Yet it travels with us everywhere, weighing a heavy burden over our tired selves. Our essential identity is the “I am” that stays stable among all the flickering changes of body and mind. Mindfulness and meditation is a growing phenomenon, with many experts recognising the need to look inwards and connect with this part of our-self. This is one way we can bring the mind under control, understand our identity, and in that way attain peace of mind. Attending to our bodily health, our whanau, and our spirituality are others ways to increase our wellbeing. So what about those 45% of students who aren’t feeling it, what’s being done for them? Victoria has an integrated approach to student wellbeing, supported by senior staff and communicated in the university’s Strategic Plan. Victoria staff and students have partnered on a number projects and initiatives focused on student achievement, development, and wellbeing. Student representatives make valuable contributions on behalf of their peers.

Jess Scott Hi, bleach-blonde baby Jess, Where are your eyebrows, child?! You will soon (thankfully) ditch the purple eyeshadow, learn to apply eyeliner without looking like Pete Wentz circa 2007 (leave your fucking waterline alone), and that leopard print should never, under any circumstances whatsoever, be worn in public. Future Jess will be mad as hell that her mother let you bleach the living daylights out of your hair for three years. Also, that she allowed you to leave the house with a back-combed side fringe, pink dip dye, leather hairbow, and hoop earrings. Not to mention the various, truly atrocious, combinations of tutus, purple fishnets, pairs of denim shorts that you painstakingly shredded and bleached by hand, obnoxiously large rhinestoneencrusted rosaries... Parenting 101. You’ll move to a new city, cut your hair, lose weight (goodbye boobs, hello cheekbones), you’ll become the girl who doesn't leave the house without dark lipstick and a pair of towering platforms on. You’ll be buying designer lingerie, shoes, and dresses left, right, and centre, despite being scarcely able to cover your grocery bill. You’ll have four wardrobes bursting at the seams. You’ll be the girl with the most cake who could eat it too (but she wouldn’t dream of spoiling her vegan diet). You’ll have everything you ever wanted, but you still won't be happy. You’ll learn that sadness isn’t inherent to place, and that you will feel the same no matter where you are, what you own, or how you look. One day you'll walk past the boy you thought you’d never get over, and you won’t think a thing of it. One Thursday evening, in several years time, you’ll be perched at the bar your boyfriend owns, filthy martini in hand, working on an assignment that was due two days prior, wondering what the fuck postcolonial melancholia is, and you’ll realise that you’re going to be okay. You will be fine. You’re pretty fucked for this particular assignment, but it is worth 10% of a single paper in your entire degree, it is not the be-all and end-all, the sky will not fall, you are allowed to prioritise yourself and accept one stupid low B grade. You will be fine. P.S. You’re allergic to fake tanner, you just haven’t figured it out yet. 31

Miss Demeanour Dear Miss Demeanour, So I’ve been sleeping with the same guy on and off for a little over a year now. We’ve both separated, left each other, gone off with other people, and come back to each other at various times throughout this time period. We’ve cut contact, blocked social media, and avoided one another while both remaining in two very intertwined friend groups, which results in the contact resuming eventually. We’re close friends, and at the same time aren’t at all. I want to cut contact, I want to move on… however, in equal part I don’t want to move on at all, because I’m in love with him, which is why my attempts at getting away never work. For fuck’s sake, just smack me. —Stupid in the Hutt

Dear Stupid, I’d love to smack you, but no, you seem like you’ve genuinely tried to end this thing, whatever it is, with this guy, whoever he is, because you think you should. Key word in that run-on sentence being think. But, here’s the thing, sweet kitten-face: the heart wants what it wants. That was no dumb bitch who came up with that either, so

don’t go dissing it as some Britney shit. You and your dude keep coming back together because of the chemistry, and you know what? Suck it the fuck up. Do you know how lucky you are to even be experiencing this kind of emotional shizz? Were you even expecting me to say this? I bet you’ve been surrounded by a bunch of insipid blondes crowing crap at you like, “You deserve better!” and “He’s scrub, drop him!” Well, fuck your friends mate. And, fuck that brain of yours too, filling you up with craptastic rom-coms where the girl really does get the guy after all the stupid explosions, slamming of doors, and running mascara. Fuck all of it and fuck him while you’re at it, but literally, like, really just fuck him. And have a good time and turn your brain off for a while, and hey, turn off the fucking dramatics of deleting him from your social media. I know it can feel briefly empowering, but it’s fake-ass. Maybe this will turn into something serious, and maybe it won’t. But, if you don’t stick around you’ll never really know, right? I mean, you seem smart enough that if you really wanted to get the fuck away from him you would have already. Stop beating yourself up for liking someone you possibly shouldn’t. Listen to your heart, she knows what’s up. Miss D.

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What We Talk About When We Talk About Science

"Sports!" Joe Morris

James Churchill The anticipation of winter has been building over these uncannily fine autumn days, and with it, the Mount Victoria Bowls club winds down into its off-season. The communal box of jacks and bowls is locked away and the clover is left to grow. Those familiar with the spot will be dreaming of next summer, when the old-man pines overhanging the green will again be golden in the evening sun, splif smoke rising vertical through their boughs. Such waxing lyrics are biased, born out of my many summers of social lawn bowls. Come November, I encourage you: treat yourself. When you’re looking for things to fill your first summer away from home, when you need the perfect start to your weekend, or you need the perfect hangover activity with the flat, the Mount Victoria bowls club is the spot. The green fee for a social membership is a oneoff thirty dollars. The double shots of Grants Whiskey are two dollars, and the jugs of Export Gold are seven dollars. By my reckoning you should have your membership paid off in beer savings alone within the first two weeks, this is assuming you maintain the proper level of commitment to the club. Such commitment involves a willingness to escort some old codger down into town after a few and have him follow you into a bar (up Mighty Mighty’s stairs, in this case). Or, in another pursuit, one flatmate may have to consent to a middle-aged largely large lesbian threesome. Of course, these are all small prices to pay for the community and the price of beer. For the most part, the Mount Vic Bowls club is an incredibly endearing and positive place—and beautiful. Scrolling through their blog posts: “Ka Pai Kay!” “Well done Bradley & Amber!” “National Title for Leigh & Kristen! Well done Robyn, Sarah & Nicole.” They say it themselves on their front page: “A good time is never hard to find.”

“I believe what makes us unique is transcending our limits. Gravity pins us to the ground but I just flew to America. I lost my voice but I can still speak thanks to my voice synthesiser, how do we transcend these limits? With our minds and our machines.” For someone who can’t talk, Stephen Hawking is a great speaker. This quote comes from an exciting announcement made last week concerning interstellar travel. Stephen Hawking, Yuri Milner (named for first man in space Yuri Gagarin), and Mark Zuckerburg (who seems like a good dude even if he ripped off those rower guys in that movie), have announced a plan to send a number of tiny spacecraft to our closest neighbour in the cosmic neighbourhood, Alpha Centauri. The spacecraft would be only a little thicker than a postage stamp and would contain cameras, thrusters, a power supply, and communication equipment. They would only weigh a few grams and could be mass produced for about the same cost as an iPhone. The idea is to send off as many as possible, hundreds or even thousands of them, and even if only a few make it to Alpha Centauri then the mission would be a success. The coolest thing about them is how they gain their initial propulsion. Nanotechnology has allowed for ultra-light, sails that can be propelled by laser beams from Earth. With the continuing advance of laser technologies, it is expected that a sufficient array of lasers could accelerate the crafts to about a fifth the speed of light (that is 1000 times faster than any current spaceship). The machines could then travel to Alpha Centauri in about 20 years and send back photographs and data of whatever it might find. Alpha Centauri is actually a system of three stars and we are not sure whether or not there are any planets. I bet the photos would be pretty sweet. The plan is long term. It’s estimated that the project will take a couple of decades and will cost around $10 billion. I might be an old man by the time we get to see this all culminate, but it is exciting that humanity now has a plan involving interstellar spaceships.

Queer Agenda Postgraduate Connection

Content Warning: this column refers to historical and current medicalisation of non-heterosexual identities, and some of the subsequent results.

Tara Officer When I get busy I think of donuts. Why, you may ask. Well, it goes back to some advice a tutor I had as an undergraduate student passed on to me. His sage words were, “as you go through life, whatever be your goal, keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.” As postgraduate students, how often do you get asked, “how’s your PhD going?” or “when are you going to finish your Masters?” I guess, like me, your stock response is along the lines of: “it’s going” / “I’m not sure when it’s going to finish” / “I’m just too busy and trying to do too much.” In other words, I’m “balls deep in work with little chance of getting out with my original hair colour.” I argue that busy is a sickness. It may be invisible to passers-by, but it’s definitely one that has repercussions on your mental and physical health. The great news for me is that I’m not alone. Everyone, in the same boat as me is just as busy—most people are trying to do too much in the same finite hours. To make matters worse we are probably trying to do too much of the wrong thing. In the first phase of my postgrad life I had to learn the hard way that being busy doesn’t mean forsaking one part of your life for another. It’s about striking a balance. You can have it all. I’m still learning balance. I don’t think I’ll ever get there completely. But, I realise now that with the right support systems and plenty of donuts (preferably iced) I can do whatever I like. I guess, what I’m saying is that as a postgraduate student, motivation is important; as is recognition of the need to relax, smell the roses and enjoy the journey.

Western (read: white, colonialist, heteronormative, patriarchal) culture has a long and sordid history of treating non-heterosexuality as an illness. In 1886, Richard von Krafft-Ebing described homosexuality as a “degenerative sickness” in his Psychopathia Sexualis. In 1949, Sandor Rado rejected Freud’s assumption of inherent bisexuality, arguing that heterosexuality is natural and that homosexuality is a “reparative” attempt to achieve sexual pleasure when “normal” heterosexual interactions prove too threatening. The American Psychiatric Association did not remove homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) until 1973. It was replaced with a new diagnosis, ego-dystonic homosexuality, which remained until 1987. A vestige of ego-dystonic homosexuality remains in the revised DSMIII, under “Sexual Disorders Not Otherwise Specified,” which includes persistent and marked distress about one's sexual orientation. The DSM-V permits a diagnosis of “Gender Dysphoria,” only recently updated from the previous diagnosis of “Gender Identity Disorder.” Homosexuality was not declassified by the World Health Organization until 1990. The International Classification of Diseases still allows a diagnosis of “Transsexualism.” Conversion therapy is aimed at converting an individual to heterosexuality. While conversion therapy today is more of a “pray away the gay” sociopathic misunderstanding of how sexuality works, techniques historically used in conversion therapy included ice-pick lobotomies, chemical castration with hormonal treatment, and aversive treatments (such as the application of electric shock to the hands and/ or genitals, or nausea-inducing drugs administered simultaneously with the presentation of homoerotic stimuli—think A Clockwork Orange or American Horror Story: Asylum). While these therapies are now recognised for what they are (i.e. literally torture), there is virtually no legal restriction on more ‘mild’ forms of conversion therapy, either in New Zealand or around the world. Please know that queerness is not sickness. You are not unwell. The sickness is in a society that shuns and shames those it deems deviant, and refuses to accept and love all its members. <3 UniQ

Upcoming event: Postgraduate Quiz Night—May 11, 5.00pm in The Hunter Lodge There are great prizes in store for you, including free coffee cards, movie tickets, vouchers, restaurants gift cards, and more! Register individually, or as a team of four to six students/staff, by emailing sue.kelly@vuw.ac.nz. (Staff and undergraduates are welcome if at least one postgraduate student is on the team). Cost is $5.00 per person. All money goes to the Child Poverty Action Group.

Food Kate Morten

Long Dishtance

The perfect salad for your end of summer, last rays of sunshine barbecues (and my beginning of summer / unbridled optimism / London stays cold till June barbecues). These potatoes are a beaut sidekick for any kind of grilled main event. Plus if you don’t manage to finish the whole lot in one go, they’re equally as delicious fried up in a hot pan in the morning for a crispy, herby hangover cure.

What do you do when your Sunday boiled potatoes feat. old mate mint just aren’t cutting it any more? Quadruple the greenery. This salad perfectly embodies my, “throw some herbs at it, make it fancy” vibe. The dream combo of mint, parsley, rocket, and chives coats the outside of the ‘taties, while the vinegar (/ my lifeblood) soaks right into their skin, and cuts through their starchiness.

500g baby new potatoes 1 small bunch parsley 1 small bunch mint 1 big handful rocket 1 small bunch chives 2 tbsp olive oil 1 tbsp red wine vinegar Sea salt & pepper to taste

Rinse the new potatoes, cover with cold water in a pot, and bring to the boil. Boil until tender, when a knife slides easily into the middle (about ten minutes or so). Meanwhile, roughly chop the parsley, mint, chives and rocket and toss in a bowl with the olive oil and vinegar. Season to taste with loads of flaky sea salt and cracked pepper.

The Arts Section 37

Visual Arts

Music

39 Music 40 Film 41 Film 42

Games

43 TV 44

Books

45 Theatre

The Arts Section is sponsored by:

Thanks to Vic Books for providing copies to review.

Thanks to Reading Cinemas Courtenay for providing two complimentary tickets this week.

Thanks to Gordon Harris for providing a $100 gift voucher for the centrefold submission.

CROSS-BORDER:

Simon Gennard

Video works by contemporary artists from the Southern Mediterranean Pātaka Art Museum Now showing until May 15

Visual Arts

what art is and should be and where it should take place, or whether the men are outraged at the degradation of the performers. As a gesture of solidarity with an exploited underclass, the performance seems kind of clumsy. Far more interesting is the way the performance’s political utility comes under scrutiny, the way the confrontation spills out, repeats itself. Kenawy is steadfast. She eloquently and repeatedly explains the intention of the piece to men who interrupt her. The implications of performance outlast the image. The footage stops suddenly, and the words “Fight No. 3, Continued till early morning (No more documents [were] collected)” appear against a black background before disappearing, leaving the video to begin again. In Katia Kameli’s Untitled, a woman crawls out of a cardboard structure, hastily assembles a blank placard and begins marching. Slowly, she’s joined by other women, all marching silently, all holding blank placards. This video was produced in Algeria in 2011, following months of mass protests in Algeria and in neighbouring countries. Kameli’s marchers speak to the difficulty of ambivalence during times of political uprisings. Their silence, their blank placards, act less as a refusal of a position than a rejection of the simplicity of a position that could easily be transcribed upon a piece of card. Borders mean something very specific now. Probably something different to what the word meant in 2013. We’re an island nation, and relatively isolated from political upheavals happening elsewhere, but we’re by no means immune from the discourses being produced by these upheavals. Conversations about borders seem to happen either at the level of humanitarianism, or around the ability of national economies to absorb an influx of people, or, quite often, they manifest themselves as unapologetic racism. These conversations never seem able to contain the conditions that led us to the present, nor the voices of those caught up in these conditions. The works in Cross-border refuse presupposition, and they refuse to address the political using the language of policy. These artists scrutinise the ordinary, they scrutinise what political agents look like, how political change comes to take place, the capacity of the image to transmit nuance or ambivalence. Things are complicated repeatedly, relentlessly, restlessly.

After a while, motion sickness sets in. The horizon dips and tilts, the image tumbles and jumps, obstacles— pedestrians, military tanks, men with guns—are navigated around. Emily Jacir’s Crossing Surda (a record of going to and from work) documents a mundane task: a daily walk from Ramallah to Birzeit University (both in Palestine). What we see is a second attempt, filmed through a hole cut into the artist’s bag. The first attempt, shot by a camera held in Jacir’s hands, was confiscated by a member Israeli Defence Force. Under occupation, the mundane is complicated by detours, checkpoints, the closure of transit routes (seemingly at a whim), and protocols around what can and cannot be seen. Borders are vague and unstable. They are walls, blockades, or checkpoints; heavily policed areas of land where movement is restricted to a select few; lines that when crossed turn people from citizens of a particular place into something else. In Cross-border, on show at Pataka Art Museum until May 15, borders can mean very different things depending on where you look. They appear often as sites of transgression—spaces of reimagined political possibilities—than they do as national boundaries. Since its initial staging at ZKM in Germany in 2013, Cross-border has spent three years travelling the globe. The original description of the exhibition suggests one impetus for the selection of this particular group of artists (all of whom are based in, or originally come from, the southern Mediterranean region) is the Arab Spring; which, according to the ZKM’s promotional material, Europe witnessed with “hope and skepticism.” It seems belated to speak of the Arab Spring as a contemporary event, but the potency of this arrangement of works is due to their ability to complicate questions of political agency, migration, and sovereignty. Often, works’ gestures are simple. Amal Kenawy’s Silence of Sheep begins with a group of underpaid labourers, led by the artist, crawling through a busy Cairo suburb on their hands and knees. They stop traffic and interrupt the flow of pedestrians, most of whom seem bemused but not otherwise affected. The majority of the eight minute film, however, documents a confrontation between the artist and a group of angry men. It’s difficult to discern the source of their objection. Whether it’s compelled by misogyny, or differing opinions regarding

Music

Going Underground with 121

Screenshot from 121 Underground Gig, Filmed and Edited by That Guy

in the face during a rugby game. Olly was left with a shattered cheek that required facial reconstruction surgery and five metal plates in his face. During this time he had many weeks off from university where he’d been studying fine arts. He was now stuck in bed, taking medication to numb the pain, and was feeling as though he had hit rock bottom. But, Olly claims this was the best thing that ever happened to him. “It made me realize how short time was. Literally I can put everything I’ve done now down to breaking my face.” One night after his recovery, Olly went out to a friend’s EP release party which was held in someone’s house rather than an established venue. Feeling ready to build himself back up after his time in hospital, he felt inspired to give house gigs a go. “When my parents went away I realized [his house] was a perfect set up… the kitchen bench, that’s a stage right here. We’ve got the dance floor and the smoking area too, so fuck yeah, I’m going to buy a PA and

If you have found yourself loitering in the city recently, you’re sure to have seen the many rad posters containing the three numbers: 121, followed by a bold UNDERGROUND RAVE title. If you saw all of this and you were looking for a good time, you would’ve found yourself in the large basement under Ivy Bar last Saturday dancing up a storm to some local DJ’s, surrounded by the sick work of local artists. So how the hell did a rave end up in Wellington? You can put that down to 19-year-old, Olly De Salis. A young guy bringing his friends and other local creatives together, expressing new sides of Wellington culture, and also just “giving the people something to fucking do.” From house gigs to skate comps, he’s done a lot of cool shit and no doubt there’s more coming soon. All I know is that you should definitely be keeping your eye out for those three numbers. Oddly enough, this all began when Olly was kneed

Zoe Claasen

Music

bunch of youth that are sick of heading to Courtney Place on a night out, with the same old bars and the same old drunk people you can’t relate to. Beforehand you might have gone to a decent house party, but it’s always your same group of friends and the same trap bangers. There is nothing interesting or creative about it, and it leaves us as consumers of other cultures rather than as people actively creating our own. 121 offers events that are new, interesting, and open to everyone, creating a culture that we all participate in and contribute to. During my discussions with Olly, he has constantly reiterated the importance of a “point of difference.” 121 is an ambiguous title that could represent many things. Who knows what we’ll see next. These events are super important because they’re helping to showcase and define the Wellington scene. By hosting gigs that celebrate not just the local musician but the photographer, the painter, the skater, the designer, and anyone who just wants to create something cool, 121 is able to bring in a diverse audience that isn’t exclusive to a specific archetype. Olly sums it up when he says, “I feel with music comes fashion comes art comes skateboarding. 121 has a lot of potential to grow because it isn’t just music specific, or just a single artist.” When I looked back at the photos taken from one of the first 121 parties, it felt oddly like looking at cultural archives of movements of the past. By bringing all the creatives together, you could see the related values and ideas that make up our community. By continuing to bring like-minded individuals together, friendships will form, collaborations will be made, and culture will continue be built. “A lot of people have been like ‘it’s like a movement starting’ and it’s cool, I want to see a bunch of other shit sparking off... a whole lot of things are happening now which is fucking awesome. I wasn’t anticipating that. I’m happy things are happening now.” What’s next for the collective? According to Olly, absolutely everything he can. “Obviously more gigs. But we can also expand bigger than that with gallery shows and listening parties and markets and festivals and just expanding because there are opportunities to do it.” That’s the honest truth, THERE IS SO MUCH OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE STUFF HAPPEN HERE. I can’t stress that enough. We’re a young country; we still have so much blank canvas to define a new generation of sounds and aesthetics. How about we be the ones to do that? As Olly says, “why don’t we try put wellington and New Zealand on the map? Why don’t we get people wanting to come here for the culture?” That’s what 121 is trying to do. Get on board and don’t forget those three numbers any time soon.

do it. I realized I was never gonna get this opportunity ever again in my life.” From there started the house parties. What was once a regular, suburban family home became a blank canvas for something new, and inspired a collage of bright murals and messages across the walls from the young, the creative, and the intoxicated. Friends, and fellow Wellington people expressed themselves with their own sounds. This was an active place, a place of collaboration, expression, and acceptance. This was 121. By hosting these gigs, where he could get his friends and other local creatives involved, Olly was able to provide a platform that gave them exposure within the wider community. This is so important because many creatives often don’t have any outlet for their work if they don’t already fit in with niche collectives or established events. “One of the main motivations behind starting 121 is Max Wollerman, he’s a talented musician but he had nowhere to play. So I was like fuck it, I’ll give him a physical platform to be able to do it. And then that expanded to photographers and artists so they actually had a 300-person crowd. Maybe people didn’t see the painting maybe they did, it doesn’t matter. It’s about the opportunity to try.” Then in March came the boat party, held at the Boat Café, with musicians such as LMC and Name UL to keep the vibes up. This was the first gig Olly had held at a proper venue, which gave him the opportunity to bring in larger crowds with people outside his usual social circles. The success of the boat party let him fund the next day's skate jam out at Newtown’s ‘tree tops’ basketball court. Unlike his other events, this was a chill time that brought skate culture into focus. With Five Boroughs on food, free iced tea from Lipton, and great New Zealand acts such as Totems and ROIDZ, the summer day provided a sober yet equally sociable and creative event. Then Olly got ambitious. A rave? In Wellington? It’s definitely not your usual night out in the windy capital, or anywhere in New Zealand for that matter. It definitely posed a new challenge, but with a range of awesome posters designed by local artists to bring in attention, and a well-established social media from previous events, Olly ended up with a hyped crowd of over 1000 people. This brought a mix of not just young, banger-loving hooligans, but also reached the older generation and foreigners who were ecstatic to find a space that played music they had gone without for so long. The place was filled with amazing UV art installations and talented DJs such as K2K, Max Worth, and Borrowed CS (just to name a few). To go from gigs out of his parent’s house to a packed, underground rave is a pretty awesome feat, and it will only continue to expand from here. So what’s the secret behind the success for Olly and his friends at 121? Well I think it’s because Wellington really needed something like this. First off, we have a

Zootopia

The Lady in the Van

Directed by Byron Howard & Rich Moore 5/5

Directed by Nicholas Hytner 4/5 Review by Jonathan Stevenson

Film

Review by Benjamin Lister

The Lady in the Van is based off of the book of the same name which was released in 1989, by the English author and playwright, Alan Bennett. Like many of Bennett’s works, The Lady in the Van is centred on his own life, and his attempts to find humour in the mundane. Usually his works focus upon his relationship with his mother, however in this instance, it is his relationship with Miss Shepherd (played by the ever brilliant Maggie Smith): a difficult, hilarious, and at times belligerent, old lady living in her van. Miss Shepherd’s arrival in Camden Town is met with a mixture of amusement and displeasure, with the locals not wanting her to sully the reputable image of the upmarket suburb of London. Despite this, she quickly cements herself as ‘here to stay’ after successfully bullying her way in by parking her van on Bennett’s drive (as Bennett put it “until you get yourself sorted out”)—and she proceeds to stay for the next 15 years. Bennett’s character (played by Alex Jennings) is split into two narratives (there are two Bennetts), and they argue with each other over whether they should live as the “self who does the living” or the “self that does the writing.” It all seems slightly contrived, and things are even stranger in the final scene in which the real Alan Bennett makes an appearance. In any case, it is Maggie Smith’s performance, as is the case in many of her films, that steals the show. She plays the role exceptionally well, injecting humour and delivering lines in a way only she can. Smith demands the audience’s attention, forcing us to like her character with her brash and often outrageous behavior—described by Bennett as “bigoted, rank, and rude.” Yet, she also shows subtle hints of the frailty and plight of an elderly homeless lady living in her van on someone’s driveway for 15 years.

Disney’s 55th animated epic follows the exploits of police officer Judy Hopps, the first bunny officer of the Zootopia Police department. It is an artfully animated and beautifully performed adventure. Taking full advantage of its premise, Zootopia explores some remarkable themes and ideas. Both Ginnifer Goodwin and Jason Bateman shine in their respective roles as Judy and misunderstood fox Nick Wilde. Both bring childish charm to their roles. That said, the film is infinitely better with the help of its star-studded supporting cast including JK Simmons and Jenny Slate. The real highlight comes courtesy of Idris Elba as buffalo police chief, Chief Bogo. While the voice-acting and animation may be the most interesting part of the film, there is also an expertly crafted story. Throughout Zootopia, the filmmakers do a remarkable job of examining very grounded and serious themes from discrimination and stereotypes, to police bias, and they do so without ever coming across as preachy or heavy handed. From small remarks like “only bunnies can call other bunnies cute, when others do it…” to the wider narrative being a metaphor for the cultural and political climate of the US, the film remains grounded and insightful. While some of the metaphors (and a great Breaking Bad reference) may be lost on younger children, the film is certain not to leave them behind, and they should still easily pick up on the message of being yourself and treating everyone with kindness. Despite all of this deep thought, the film never ceases to be unbridled fun and visually stunning. The film makes great use of its world dominated by animals. The pressure is on for Disney’s 56th animated picture to be every bit as creative, fun, and impactful as Zootopia.

Mr. Right

Directed by Cedric Nicolas-Troyan 2.5/5

Directed by Paco Cabezas 4/5

Review by Finn Holland

Review by Benjamin Lister

Remember that fantasy smash-hit Snow White and The Huntsman? No? Well apparently some people went and saw it, because now there’s a sequel. Well, prequel/ continuation/spin-off is more like it. The Huntsman: Winter's War is the latest in the slate of gritty Disney re-imaginings to make its way on screen, and so far these outings hath not fared well. Based around jealousies between sisters Ravenna (Charlize Theron) and Freya (Emily Blunt), the film kicks off with an instance of family betrayal and descends into a spiral of ensuing chaos for their kingdom. Freya, once sweet and noble, banishes herself to an icy solitary (reminiscent of Frozen), and becomes hardened and cruel. Sometime later, Eric (the huntsman, played by Chris Hemsworth) is reluctantly sent on a hero-like quest to recover a magic mirror, defeat the evil Queen, and restore balance to the kingdom. Surprisingly, where I expected garbage, I was greeted with a watchable film. Good? No, but watchable. The cast for one thing can do little wrong, and though the dialogue is somewhat flat and the plot thin, they manage to actually notch up the drama and even inject some chemistry into the otherwise bland material. But, for every likeable star there is a dwarf counterpart, and this film has four annoying dwarfs too many (sorry Nick Frost). For fantasy you could do better, but you could also do a lot worse, and I guess The Huntsman can sit snugly in the middle of the road until something better knocks it out of the way (no pressure Warcraft).

On paper, Mr. Right shouldn’t work. The romance, devised by film writer Max Landis (Chronicle (2012)), is at the best of times lunacy, and the characters that fuel the narrative are illogical and out of their minds. Yet despite this all of this, the story keeps moving from beat to beat in a quick paced and extremely fun way. Martha (Anna Kendrick) is a mess following a nasty breakup with her boyfriend, and finds happiness with a quirky guy (Sam Rockwell) who tells stories about killing people—the audience is encouraged to believe he is a hitman. The beautiful thing about Landis’ script is the way these characters defy basic logic, and yet do so in a completely acceptable way. If a guy doesn’t want to tell you his name you stop dating him right? Apparently not. This gives Martha only a slight pause, which in most films could be seen as stupid characters being stupid, but in the world of Mr. Right it is easy to believe these decisions and continue to enjoy the story. The glue that holds together this insane story is made up of the lead actors. Rockwell is charming (in the wierdest way) as the dancing, namehating, happy hitman Francis; and Kendrick shines as the flamboyant and self-destructive Martha. Although both hold their own in scenes, the film is infinitely better in when they are together. They have fantastic chemistry and comedic timing, and they are just so damn adorable, especially when walking side by side in matching Thing One and Thing Two shirts. Unfortunately, some of the secondary cast are left underused, particularly Tim Roth, whose evil hitman character could really have used more time and expansion. In the end watching Landis’s script unfold on screen is extremely fun, and the great actors play interesting characters in a completely illogical world—it offers quite the experience.

SIDENOTE: What on earth is Emily Blunt riding in this film? A polar bear-tiger? A polar-tiger? I want answers!

Film

The Huntsman: Winter's War

Is the PlayStation 4 NEO really necessary?

Games

Review by Cameron Gray

hardware is just barely capable of 1080p output as it is, and a number of recent releases have really pushed it to its limits—playing the recent Doom open beta made my PS4 sound like a jet airliner taking off. If the current hardware is struggling to keep up with the demands placed on it, then surely a hardware revision will do the trick? The issue with this is that almost no other midgeneration revisions have had this much of a focus on improving the graphics. There is already an established consumer base of 37 million units, and such radical changes risk splitting them into ‘old PS4’ and ‘new PS4’ camps, with one missing out on the benefits of the other unless they upgrade. Not everyone will be able to afford purchasing a whole new unit just to make their games look a little bit better, myself included—I had to dip into my overdraft to purchase my PS4 so I could better establish myself into this role as games editor, and I doubt I’ll be allowed to do that again. Sony have, however, established several guidelines for developers about what they can and cannot do with the NEO, which shows they are aware of the potential for a split to happen and want to prevent it. There won’t be any games that are exclusive to the NEO, for example. The real test will come though when the new units are released to developers, where we will have to wait and see whether they will focus their attention on the new hardware or the original. Maybe Sony realised that the PS4 simply couldn’t keep up with other hardware, but is this something that PlayStation fans even want? This situation is indeed baffling.

As much as I have harped on about the issue of preferred systems, I can’t help but admit that I’m a sucker for pretty much anything PlayStation related. Having owned many of the systems produced by the brand, little can make my gaming experiences feel more comforting than when I sit back with a DualShock in my hands. It was like that when I first played Crash Bandicoot fifteen years ago, and it was like that when I played Bloodborne yesterday. However, as much as the PlayStation brand holds a place in my heart, I refuse to be a fanboy, one who will defend Sony’s decision-making regarding the console no matter how indefensible those decisions may be. If those decisions are blatantly anti-consumer, you can bet on me calling the bastards out. Thankfully such things are few and far between, but sometimes even the seemingly banal decisions are a bit baffling. So with that in mind, it appears that recent rumours of a revised PS4 are indeed true. While mid-generation hardware revisions are nothing new for PlayStation (my ownership of a slim PS2 being testament to that), the changes slated for the new PS4 (internally dubbed Project NEO) are focussed on improving graphical output across the board. The new model boasts improvements to the CPU (overclocking the eight Jaguar cores to 2.1GHz from 1.6GHz); memory (8GB GDDR5 at 218GB/s, up from 176GB/s currently); and the GPU (36 “improved” GCN compute units at 911MHz, an improvement of 2.3x in FLOPs). In layman’s terms, this just means more power so your games will look better on your massive TV. The end goal for the NEO model appears to be not just higher, more stable framerates at a minimum of 1080p resolution (which will certainly assist PlayStation VR), but the potential for 4K output in the near future. The current 42

Broad City, Season Three 2.5/5 Review by Katie Meadows

weren’t always right, but they were never mean spirited. Slowly but surely everything began to unravel. I don’t know if there was something wrong with the ratings. I don’t know if the writing staff changed or maybe the show was meant to evolve like this from the beginning, but by season three my smart and sassy heroines seem to have become dumb, childish, and kinda bitchy. Several of the episodes open with gross-out body humour skits, and the “one of the boys” kind of attitude that I never wanted to leak into my perfect show. The girls got mean. Ilana especially became quite one-dimensional, reduced to a sexually aggressive narcissist who fetishizes almost everything about black culture. The refreshing intersectionality of the show’s feminism dried up to become extremely white and insular, going so far as to feature a cameo by Hillary fucking Clinton (serving Terminator realness). I used to treasure Broad City for being one of the only shows where I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t “woke” and ignore all my politics, but now it’s even worse because I find myself getting angry at these women for letting us down. We really need these strong, smart, and independent female characters, especially in sitcoms, and I feel a little betrayed to have that opportunity wasted by people who should know better. And where the fuck is Hannibal Burress? I’ll continue to watch it though. The show’s still funny and I do still laugh, but there’s some sadness. I miss when Broad City didn’t seem afraid to tear into the male world we live in, and when their representation of being human and flawed didn’t mean being selfish and ignorant. I guess I’m not angry, just disappointed.

When the first season of Broad City came out in 2014 I was ecstatic. Finally a show about some real-life, real-ass ladies; not the bougie unattainable thirty-somethings of Sex and the City, not the painfully quirky and kinda racist millennials of Two Broke Girls, and definitely not the pretentious and completely awful people in Girls. Broad City had characters that I could actually truly relate to. Abbi and Ilana were girls who were best friends without an agenda, girls who just wanted to fuck without looking for a prince, girls without a lot of money but who still managed to smoke weed every day. In two words: YAASSS QWEEEN. I don’t think there was a single person I didn’t recommend this show to when it first aired. I was so militant about it that I was that guy making you watch the thing while I watch you watch the thing, who turns to you after every punchline saying “HAHA, RIGHT?” It was a great first season of television, pretty much consistently laugh out loud and relatable, and the second series was pretty damn incredible too. Upon first airing, Broad City was given the follow up slot to Workaholics in America. It made a lot of sense, and the former soon eclipsed the latter—I like Workaholics a lot, but I hate how immature it can be and I especially loathe whenever they throw in some cheap casual misogyny. Broad City was all the best parts of Workaholics, but with cute cool young women I could totally see myself and my friends hanging out with, and instead of sexist unfunny quips they had super funny jokes about how stupid sexism is. I liked that how, even though they were women in a male dominated television genre (remember, women can’t be funny), Abbi and Ilana never compromised their intelligence or their morals. They

Books

Beside Herself

The Bricks that Built the Houses

Chris Price Auckland University Press

Kate Tempest Bloomsbury Circus

5/5

4/5

Review by Harriet O’Neill

Review by Cassie Richards

The cover of Chris Price’s new collection of poetry, Beside Herself, features an illustration of a mask by Leo Bensemann, frowning slightly in its disembodied state, floating alone on the page. The poems in this collection can be read as a series of masks, and in them Price inhabits many voices and personas: from a man on the wrong side of a paternity test, to a medieval man called Churl, to Hamlet. She suggests in a teasing, conversational series of epigraphs, “oh to be someone else for once,” (Georg Buchner: Leonce and Lena), which is answered by Frederick Seidel’s, “but we are someone else. We’re born that way.” Or to phrase it in Price’s words, at the end of her poem “Abandoned Hamlet”: “I am every character. Every every character.” The voices in this book are strikingly varied, but they all ring with Price’s dark humour, and are executed with care and gravity. The title suggests a multiplicity of selves, with Price acting as both speaker and onlooker, or perhaps a ventriloquist of sorts. You never see her lips move, but the book speaks. The poems in this collection feel alive—swinging between comedy and tragedy. The word black recurs so often in this collection, Price said she was considering naming it The Black Book: but, comedy is tinged with unease, and grief has a punchline. Beside Herself is vital and surprising, and at times alarming. There is a wonderful sense of recklessness, but Price is a writer at the height of her craft, and her poetry carries no excess baggage. As she says in “Wrecker’s Song”: “All of my best lines are accidents / you cannot generate an accident. / You can only put yourself / in harm’s way.”

Many of you reading this will have come across Kate Tempest’s name before in some form. Hailing from London, she’s a poet, a playwright, a rapper, and now a novelist. Her most notable achievements to date include winning the Ted Hughes Award for her modern-day epic poem Brand New Ancients, and garnering a Mercury Prize nomination for her 2014 debut album Everybody Down. Okay, I’m suitably impressed. The Bricks that Built the Houses serves as a companion to Everybody Down, with each chapter mirroring a track on the album, or vice vera. It’s a story of gritty South London, where Tempest grew up, and the people who live there. The novel opens with Leon, Becky, and Harry in a car, leaving town, accompanied by a suitcase full of money. We don’t know what has proceeded this flight, but we do know that all three are anxious and tightly-wound, running from something. Tempest then takes us back a year, delving into their lives and those of the people around them. It’s a white-knuckle read in which we know the destination, but not the journey. Tempest is a skilled lyricist, deftly capturing moments and emotions, and this carries over to her prose. I found myself catching on certain sentences, compelled to read them again: “Her mouth is the funnel of a gramophone, her chest a spinning vinyl. The words are slow; they come out steeped in mud.” I wondered, however, if at times the writing was too metaphor-laden, preoccupied with drawing poetic comparisons rather than with the story itself. Despite this, it was a gripping read, transporting me right into the inner lives of the characters and their predicaments. I found myself not wanting to be let go. For a first novel this feels like a great achievement. Tempest is now firmly placed as a literary force and she appears to only be gaining momentum. 44

The Power of Women Review by Ruby Hansen and Ophelia Wass

Theatre

In If There’s Not Dancing at the Revolution, we were invited into the Propellor stage with the coy grin of Julia Croft—the dexterous performance artist and show’s creator. She was clad in a garish pink ball dress and Disney’s theme tune blared through the speakers around her. Croft presented herself frankly, the sounds of a megaphone told us that her body parts “are good, important and valuable.” It is the manipulation of this valuable body that drives ugly notions of objectification, complacency, and unconsented ownership. She outlined her body in white chalk on the walls and suddenly she was dead on the floor, in a brilliant red dress. She explored this body with a camera, the video images projected on the wall behind her—the audience was invited into a fleeting and visceral romance with Croft’s body. We watched stunned as she smeared lipstick in circles around her face like a target, rubbed onions repeatedly into her eyes, and pulled a BK burger from her underwear. Croft’s bulging clothing revealed that she was wearing every single costume-change at once. With the stripping of a layer, we were given a new narrative of female representation. A pink satin night-gown becomes Titanic’s Rose, a sexy Halloween-esque outfit offered a cheeky cocktail waitress, and later a liberating and glittery leotard completed with a huge confetti-bursting vagina traversed the vast scales of female exemplification. Finally, when all the costumes lay scattered onstage, the lights dim and the audience became deathly silent, Croft emerges from the backspace naked and faceless—a precarious pile of costumes hang heavily on her head. She stood, wordless, allowing the audience to observe her. Taking a vivid, she circled her breasts, vagina, and buttocks. Even in nakedness, we could visualise the effects of a media that commodifies and poisons discourse surrounding female body-parts. It is a euphoric and empowering moment to be a woman in the audience that night. Madhan and Croft approached important, pressing dialogue on the issue of gender and performance; deconstructing themes of female subordinance and the all-too-often sharp division between performer and audience member.

Auckland theatre company, The Town Center has blasted into BATS and rocked our theatre world. With subversive performance tactics, explosive and transformative set design, celebratory spectacle and strong, electric conversation, TITLED and If There’s No Dancing At The Revolution I’m Not Coming have pushed the boundaries of theatre and creativity. In BATS’ foyer, the audience of TITLED fill out forms indicating personal details, from religious beliefs to their perceived astrological alignment. The detail was extensive, we were bewildered yet intrigued for the immersive performance to begin. The crowd of people were ushered into the theatre, though it was not the Propellor Stage you might expect. The entrance led into a glowing green tunnel, filled with pumped air and ambient sound that hummed and beckoned. The audience met Nisha Madhan, TITLED’s creator, in the small backstage space. Aided by sticky tape, post-it-notes, and a vivid marker, Nisha drew words “ME,” “HERE,” and “HUMAN,” sticking them playfully on audience members huddled around her. Finally, she wrote “READY?” And we were. The doors flung open and the Propellor Stage was transformed yet again. Centre stage was a spotlight revealing a bowl of water, Nisha emerged in a sparkly black leotard, dipped her hair in the water and let it trickle patterns around the stage. As the water lubricated Nisha’s body and the ground beneath her, she rolled in a rhythmic pattern, becoming one with the water and captivating the audience with this cleansing ritual. The final act involved direct audience participation. One by one, each audience member was asked to stand opposite Nisha and echo her: “I am here. You are there. This is the moment we are together.” The oath was consecrated by drinking red wine, and the shredding of each person’s written form, which fell from the ceiling onto its respective audience member. Although, for the most part, the audience was left waiting for something to happen, Madhan successfully disrupted conventional theatre tactics and took ownership of her space by transporting the audience to a new dimension. TITLED is a wondrous experience, it evoked a strong urge to unify the audience with performer as a community.

Puzzles Made by Puck

'Category Five' Each of the words or phrases listed below contains a hidden member of a category, missing a letter. Identify the members of the category (each of which is four or more letters long), and figure out what letter is missing from each. The missing letters, in order, spell out the name of the category. FOLKLORE FREESTYLE INK CARTRIDGE MACADAMIA PERCENT OVERSHARING DRAG AND DROP OBERLIN COLLEGE GAYLORD SALMA HAYEK

Medium

Target goals

Week 7's 'Category Five' solution: STAR SIGNS - arie(s), (t)aurus, libr(a), vi(r)go, aquariu(s), scorp(i)o, (g)emini, ca(n)cer, pi(s)ces.

Good: 12 words Great: 15 words Impressive: 17 words

Notices Campus Careers Expo (for all disciplines)

Ngai Tauira SGM

Thursday 5 May 11am – 2pm The Hub (level 2) Kelburn Campus

There is an SGM to elect a Kaituhi (Secretary) and a Poutuarongo (Tikanga and Reo officer, VP). 5.30pm, at 42 Kelburn Parade, on Thursday, May 12.

Victoria Abroad – Attend an Exchange Information Session!

ICT Careers Expo Friday 6 May 12pm – 2pm Alan MacDiarmid Foyer Kelburn Campus Wonderful opportunity to explore future work opportunities in a relaxed and informal setting. Don’t miss out! See CareerHub for more information: www.victoria.ac.nz/ careerhub!

Why not study overseas as part of your degree?! Study in English, Earn Vic credit, Get Studylink & grants, explore the world! Information Sessions: Every Wednesday at 12:50pm, Level 2, Easterfield Building. Drop-in hours: Mon-Wed 1-3pm, Thurs & Fri 10:30-12pm Website: http://victoria.ac.nz/exchange

Contributors

About Us Salient is published by, but remains editorially independent from, the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association (VUWSA). Salient is a member of the Aotearoa Student Press Association (ASPA). Salient is funded in part by Victoria University of Wellington students through the Student Services Levy. The views expressed in Salient do not necessarily reflect those of the Editor, VUWSA, or the University. Salient is printed on environmentally sustainable paper, and with vegetable ink, and is completely FSC approved. Complaints People with a complaint against the magazine should complain in writing to the Editor at editor@salient.org.nz and then, if not satisfied with the response, to VUWSA.

Editors Emma Hurley and Jayne Mulligan editor@salient.org.nz Design and Illustration Ella Bates-Hermans designer@salient.org.nz News Editor Kate Robertson news@salient.org.nz Chief Sub Editor Tim Manktelow Distributor Ella and Jayne News Reporters Siobhan O’Connor Alex Feinson Jennie Kendrick Katy Groom McKenzie Collins Oliver Clifton Feature Writers Eve Kennedy Jennie Kendrick Cassie Richards Tim Grgec Madeleine Ashton-Martyn

Section Editors Cassie Richards (Books) Dana Williams and Isaac Brodie (Film) Harri Robinson (Music) Ophelia Wass (Theatre) Ruby Joy Eade, Lucy Wardle, Louise Rutledge, Robbie Whyte (Visual Arts) Cameron Gray (Games) Katie Meadows (TV) Other contributors Laura Toailoa, Rakaitemania Parata Gardiner, Taylor Wanakore, Jonathan Gee, Rory Lenihan-Iken , Sharon Lam, Kate Morten, Miss Demeanour, UniQ, Student Wellbeing Leaders of The Bubble, Jess Scott, Tara Officer, Simon Gennard, Benjamin Lister, Jonathan Stevenson, Finn Holland, Harriet O’Neill, Ruby Hansen, Joe Morris, Zoe Claasen Contributors of the week We are grateful to Tim Grgec, Madeleine Ashton-Martyn, Eve Kennedy, Jennie Kendrick, and Cassie Richards for sharing their stories of pain with us.

Read Salient online at salient.org.nz Contact Level 2 Student Union Building Victoria University PO Box 600, Wellington 04 463 6766 Printed by SMP, Wellington. Advertising Jason Sutton jason.sutton@vuwsa.org.nz 04 463 6982 Social Media fb.com/salientmagazine T: @salientmagazine I: @salientgram S: salientmag

Be inspired TAKE A CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP AS PART OF YOUR DEGREE OR TO DEVELOP YOUR WRITING. CREW 253 POETRY WORKSHOP

CREW 352 CREATIVE SCIENCE WRITING

CREW 353 WRITING FOR THEATRE

Leading poet James Brown will guide you through the art of writing poetry.

Whether you’re a Science student or creative writer, work with talented writers Ashleigh Young and Rebecca Priestley to develop your nonfiction writing with a science angle.

Learn the craft of writing for the stage with celebrated playwright Gary Henderson.

James is a poet, freelance writer and editor at Te Papa and has published a number of volumes of poetry.

CREW 255 CHILDREN’S WRITING Renowned children’s author Eirlys Hunter will allow you to explore different forms of writing for the pre-adolescent child and begin to develop your own clear voice.

Gary is a leading New Zealand playwright, director and teacher of playwriting whose work is produced locally and internationally. The IIML is very fortunate to have been able to lure Gary from Auckland to teach CREW 353 this year. This is the first (and might be the only) opportunity for up and coming Wellington area playwrights to benefit from the insights and experience of New Zealand’s best teacher of writing for theatre.

APPLY NOW FOR TRIMESTER TWO Applications close 21 June 2016 To find out more about the creative writing courses offered by the International Institute of Modern Letters at Victoria University, go to victoria.ac.nz/modernletters Capital thinking. Globally minded.