Mixed member proportional (MMP)—a parliamentary system in which seats are allocated according to the total number of votes each political party receives—came about in New Zealand after a referendum to change the voting system in 1993. The referendum was in response to the huge dissatisfaction with the then-voting system, First Past the Post (FPP). Under FPP, governments were elected by a minority of voters and could easily pass unpopular legislation. Many votes were wasted, and elections were normally decided by a small number of “swing seats”. This was highlighted in consecutive elections throughout the ’70s, ’80s and early ’90s. The change to MMP has meant a fairer democratic political system that ensures your vote counts wherever you live in New Zealand.

Currently under MMP everybody’s party vote has equal weight in the makeup of Parliament. It means that parties that have support spread across the country rather than in one electorate can have this overall support reflected in parliament. Under the old FPP system voters only got an electorate vote—not a party vote—so if you were a Labour voter in a safe National seat or vice versa there was little chance your vote would make a difference. Under MMP, your Party vote counts no matter where you live and you still get an electorate vote to choose the local representative you believe represents your local community.

Furthermore MMP is a proportional system which means that the makeup of Parliament mirrors how the population voted in the election. This is probably the most important characteristic of the system—it means that the number of seats that parties get in Parliament reflects the share of the party vote they receive. The math is simple, if a party gets 15 per cent of the party vote they get 15 per cent of the seats in Parliament. Other systems such as First Past the Post or ‘Supplementary Member’ (SM) do not deliver a proportional outcome and tend to deliver overwhelmingly to incumbent parties rather than a Parliament that reflects the true opinions of voters.

MMP means that Parliament is more diverse and so are our Governments. Major established parties are required to work with other parties to pass legislation, a process which leads to a wider range of views being considered. It means that law making is more cooperative and more considered. Due to such changes MMP has ensured governments can no longer ram through deeply unpopular legislation at will, as was common under FPP in the 80s and 90s—they are required to discuss, cooperate and make a clear case for change.
MMP means that Parliament looks a lot more like modern New Zealand and less like olde England. This has been demonstrated by an increased diversity of ethnicity, gender and political perspectives in our Parliament. Such diversity in our Parliament better reflects New Zealand and means that more groups get a voice at the decision making table. Electoral system research tells us that a switch back to a non-proportional system such as FPP or SM would make such diversity more difficult to achieve and sustain. One clear advantage of MMP is that it allows MPs to represent constituencies other than geographical electorates. In our current Parliament we have MPs that are able to act as representatives of the GLBT community and our younger MPs often choose to advocate on youth issues. MMP allows for representation that better reflects society.

On 26 November this year you will get to vote in the referendum to decide whether or not MMP stays. Furthermore, if a majority of voters elect to keep MMP in the referrendum MMP will be independently reviewed and recommendations for any amendments will be considered. This means a vote for MMP is not only a vote to ensure we continue to have a more democratic Parliament—it will also be a vote to make MMP even better.

Were Students for Palestine being simultaneously derided as self-righteous-social-justice-pricks and Hamas-terrorist-sympathisers? Yes, and in the kind of paradoxical label combination that would have the likes of Glenn Beck and his ilk frothing in neo-con[sensus].

Ultimately, the most troubling aspect was that the article’s substance itself articulated little about the dangers of racial stereotyping. In fact, it undermined its own basic premise about the rise of anti-Semitism due to the overwhelming presence of an Anti-Arab/ Islamophobic discourse, which is equally as vile as anti-Semitism. They both dehumanise and justify annihilation. I’m specifically referring to the underlying implicit suggestions that the majority Palestinians are ubiquitous terrorists and are racially predisposed to corruption. How can we honestly take a condemnation of racism as sincere if it is propped up with a barrage of racist notions?

Acclaimed Jewish and Israeli scholars/ writers such as Norman Finkelstein, Avi Shlaim and Antony Loewenstein (who SFP hosted at a speaker event in 2010) have argued that increasingly, the term anti-Semitism is sometimes being misappropriated to silence criticism of Israeli policy and its treatment of Palestinians. Although Israel defines itself as a Jewish state, it is by no means a reflection of a monolithic Jewish people globally all in agreement about its policies and conduct, and it should not claim to be so. People who wish to criticise Israel on the basis of its brutal treatment of Palestinians should be free to do just that.

In reality, it is evident sometimes that deep-seated anti-Semitism and Islamophobia masquerade as ‘political’ opinion in relation to Israel-Palestine, when in effect, they are nothing more than bigotry. I have seen examples of both of these on campus. Anti-Semitic scribbling in sharpie over the top of anonymously posted Islamophobic posters is symptomatic of this. It was probably the work of one or two independent individuals, but about as helpful for each respective cause as smashing oneself in the face with a brick.
Now then round up, 2011 has been a busy year, especially as we held a solidarity fortnight in August which kicked off with an extremely successful SRC where around 100 students filled a room and passed a motion to affiliate Vic with ‘The Right to Education’ Campaign at BirZeit University in the West Bank, stressing that education is a universal right. We also hosted Dr Nigel Parsons, lecturer of Middle East Politics at Massey University, who presented his own fascinating research on the current situation in the region. We then co-hosted the UNRECOGNISED art exhibition with the creative Concerned Citizens collective to raise awareness of the Palestinian statehood bid at the UN.

I’m unashamedly Palestinian, and for me this action is about wanting my cousins to have the kind of futures where siege and occupation do not define their existences. However, other members of SFP are not Palestinians: they are simply people who see it as a worthwhile human cause regardless of their religious or racial proximity. Herein lies the reason why all over the world there are thousands of parallel university groups just like ours working to change the terms of the debate regarding Israel-Palestine. We maintain that there is only one line of division on this subject, and contrary to popular belief, it’s not a line of division between Muslims and Jews. Nor is it a line of division between Israelis and Palestinians. It is a line of division between those who stand for the equality of all, and those who stand for the supremacy of some.

No, the people of Palestine certainly don’t deserve basic rights and freedoms any more than any other group, but they certainly don’t deserve them any less either.
Peace.

Some benevolent overlord would cut apples into quarters and dispense them equally to everyone. Despite her peculiar obsession with the alphabet, she would always clean us up when defiled by the tyranny of our own bladders. When we were not dressed as tiny pirates, frequent and proud public nudity was acceptable. Life was but a vain quest to discover China at the bottom of the sandpit, hands smeared with honey and green paint in equal measure. Do you remember kindergarten?

And primary school! Bare feet and low-hanging branches to be conquered. Nudity was no longer acceptable—lesson learnt that time we were too lazy to do our fly up, and that day we abandoned our shorts on the back field. Freedom was in peril. But Coke was only a dollar a can, and the lollies were but five cents a pop.

The journey through childhood was a carefree one. Incrementally new freedoms crept into our life—we could walk to school, we could stay over at Jacinta’s—but always, they were conditioned by new responsibilities. While walking to school we had to stay clear of the friendly stranger in the fetching trenchcoat, and it was no longer acceptable for someone our age to go to Auntie Sarah’s wedding dressed as Batman—despite the eternal need for justice to be done.

At the time we could not conceive of how little responsibility we bore. We could not know how these times fitted into our lives—whether they were Good or Bad. We had no point of reference; this was all we knew. Now we reflect on those times with a reverence for the long and lazy afternoons, wistful for the time before assignments and jobs. We wish we realised at the time just how good we had it. It is only with the passing of years that we realise the unique nature of those days; clarity is borne of time.

And now we are at university. The next step. Some of you will be coming to the end of your first year, others on the cusp of graduation, and the rest of us are lost somewhere in between. But why, exactly, are we here? University costs money. It steals your time. It’s hard. As another year draws to a close, we ought take stock of all that has been and gone to try and explain to ourselves what the fuck is going on. There are many answers.

Those of a somewhat clinical bent will tell you that your degree is an investment. You, as a rational actor, have assessed the increase in your earning potential as a result of becoming qualified, and weighed this against the cost of tuition. Obviously, if you are here, that analysis lead you to enrol. Similarly, the government has attempted to measure how much it is worth for the community to have you educated and has subsidised you accordingly. You want to further your prospects and university is the tool by which you do that. This is all true—to some extent at least. But university is not, and never has been, purely a means to an end. This doesn’t adequately explain what we are doing here.
Others will tell you that university, and what it represents, is the goal in itself. This is the answer of unconditioned idealism. The pursuit of knowledge is what furthers us each as individuals; it is what sets us apart as human beings. University is that sacred place in which knowledge, and the pursuit thereof, is worshipped. The library is a temple; the professors disciples of truth. There are things that only university can teach us, that we cannot learn from travelling the world or through a nin- to-five shift, week-in week-out. We come to university to be a part of this: to gain knowledge and be exposed to new ideas, sharing our own in return. We are here to unlearn our superstitions and prejudices, and to liberate ourselves from ignorance. We are here to contribute to the most noble of ideas. But experience tells us that this is frankly not the way things are, no matter how much we hope it to be true.

These two narratives have been endlessly litigated. Here we are not going to revisit that enquiry. Both have elements of validity, but to promote one to the exclusion of the other is reductive. There’s another way to reflect on why we are here at university. It’s one that isn’t often described well in the glossy undergraduate prospectus we picked up at open day. University is about more than just what is learnt or experienced in lectures or tutorials. It’s the cumulative experience. It’s about this time in your life. As a young person. At university. Right now.

It’s the freedom. It’s simple but odd; we can do whatever we want. At first one cannot appreciate the enormity of it. At first, the new freedom is feeling sly while drinking cask wine in your hall room past 10pm. The new freedom seems to be never doing any work. It’s waking up at 4am to peer into your neighbour’s window just for kicks because mum’s not enforcing her silly rules anymore. It’s deciding that you really like spaghetti so, from now on, you will eat nothing else. But, it takes a while to find where the real liberty is at. It is not that what we do has changed dramatically—it doesn’t matter so much whether we have actually exercised these freedoms—but it is the very fact that, suddenly, we know no master but ourselves. Except for the motherfucking po-lice.

But freedom brings its own burdens.

It’s the responsibility. While our freedom is ours only, so too are our failures. Every day of university adds weight to the student loan, ever-growing and ever-hungry. “Feed me”, it cries, embarrassed by its size, alone in the dark. And still we have to pay that rent. Worst of all—unlike the primary school years—Coke now costs $1.90 a can, and lollies are forty dollars a pop. Further, lecturers don’t really care about you. No one is going to chase you up for dropping a grade or for forgetting an assignment; they don’t care. They’ll just fail you. And then you cry. And mum’s not there anymore. There’s also no one to tell you when to stop. Because sometimes you take your freedom that little bit too far. It’s that time you have to fork out fifty dollars for a rug doctor after the neighbour has one too many shandies. It’s when you have to go sober for a week because you had to pay off a mysterious internet bill, brought about by virtue of your flatmate’s (read: flatmates’) incessant porn habit. Or, it’s when you can’t return home for a week because the house has been decreed unsafe after you decided to do some ‘minor’ renovations.

It’s the people. They come in many different varieties. Fucking hipsters. Fucking library-rats. Fucking douchebros. Fucking greenies. Fucking student politicians. Fucking wannabe-journalists. Vitriol aside, the oft-touted value of diversity is in all respects true. You meet, and in some cases learn to love, people that you would never have selected to dance with at the school disco. Perhaps the communists aren’t all that unkempt (lie), and the libertarians aren’t all old white men (lie again). The right way of doing things changes, and that’s for the best. Without reference, we can’t know the true quality of our own way of life. And perhaps you’ll suddenly feel compelled to buy a Che Guevara t-shirt, start calling your acquaintances comrades and stop wearing shoes—they’re oppressive, man.

And while diversity is rad and all, university also provides the chance to find people who are fundamentally the same as us. You like dressing as a 17th-century duke? That wasn’t okay before university, but now there’s a whole collective of people who share in your depraved fetish. And who would have thought that other living things actually enjoy the subtle melodies of Aphex Twin’s back catalogue? There are also others who have read the abridged version of Nietzche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra just like you have—and they’re just as much of a wanker as you. While you used to have to be real underground to appreciate Bansky, everyone at university owns a spray-can and has an uncanny nous for cutting socio-political critique. No longer do you have to continue hiding your peculiar bohemian habits from the clutches of the backwater agrarian community from which you originate.

Most of all, it’s the experiences. Squinting as the sun rises while you’re still up writing a substandard essay on the economics of Buddhist metaphysics. It’s the futile attempt to slink home through the last shadows the following morning, as the sun rises once more, revealing the conspicuous stains on your shoes. It’s finding a glass of milk beneath your bed, concealed there by a ‘friend’ six months prior. And that fucker will always be half-full. It’s feeding five people with a can of budget tomatoes like you’re motherfucking Jesus, but more holy (Luke 9:10-17). It’s the excitement of a new sexual encounter, quickly—very quickly—followed by a deep sense of shame. But it’s a shame that will become a source of mirth by lunchtime. Too bad the rash won’t retreat as quickly.

And then there’s the loneliness. And the corrosive self-doubt. It’s when no one is home but you, it’s three in the morning, and in realising that you should have started writing that essay two weeks ago, you think perhaps you’re not as cut out for all of this as you once thought, not as smart as you had always assumed, and you wonder if maybe the future is not as certain as it once was. But then you stop. You stare out the window, watching the city seethe, and know that—despite all the shit—it was the right choice. You are where you belong.

We are often told that these years are the greatest of our lives. The sad thing about this is not that it is all meant to get worse very soon, but how rarely we appreciate this. The painful truth is that so often we only really appreciate things in retrospect. Perhaps it is impossible to look upon the present with any semblance of clarity. Perhaps it will all just fly on by and it won’t be until twenty years have passed when—suddenly—it will hit us: there was something curious about those days. Or perhaps you were a particularly wise toddler, and knew all along exactly how precious nap time at kindergarten was. But if you weren’t—as we weren’t—don’t let the same become of your years at university. To never pause and realise that university means more than mere words on a certificate and dry facts in your mind would be the greatest tragedy.

There was a time when everything was simple. Afternoons were spent talking shit with friends on the porch. There were cigarette butts on every surface, and it wasn’t quite clear why they hadn’t been cleaned up. You had a lecture in an hour—maybe you would go, maybe you wouldn’t. The government gave you an allowance. And all you had to do in return was write essays and get drunk. Life was but a vain quest for glory in the glossary of a text-book and the last dregs of wine in the bottle. Bukowski said: “We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.” This is why we are here.

Do you remember university?

I love its crowded streets and the feeling that all of those houses and shops were haphazardly poured between the hills and the harbour. I love the Wellington airport descent and its ability to make people treasure how short life is; the spontaneous applause upon landing if the Southerly is particularly strong. I love that the mayor bikes everywhere in an impeccable outfit covered by a large fluorescent vest. I love Wellington despite the fact that for every latte consumed at one of its numerous cafes someone around the world is wondering why the city is named after water proof footwear.

The reason I am writing this is that for many of you this may be your first summer in Wellington and you may be less than enthused by the nation’s capital. You might not be fond of its brutality towards umbrellas and snobbery towards coffee/things that more than five people like. You might not be keen on the idea of spending summer in a place where New Year’s Eve temperatures regularly stay in single digits.
For you, dear naysayers, I have compiled this list of my personal favourite things about this city during the warmer months in an attempt to convince you that you don’t need to leave Wellington to have a summer holiday. Haere mai everyone—from the sprawling metropolis of Hamiltron, City of the Future, from the West, East and North coast, from blink-and-miss towns, the Taranaki and deep South, the King Country and Canterbury. A warm welcome, even to you Aucklanders, haere mai.

Thorndon

Thorndon has lots of potential for cheap summer entertainment despite its reputation as a posh suburb. At the moment the tulips are in full bloom at the Botanic Gardens and have been arranged in honour of the Rugby World Cup to resemble the flags of various participating nations. I have difficulty making out the flags in some of the gardens but the South African tulip display looks particularly flag-like. During the evening you can spot glowworms in the gardens or get a unique view of Wellington by climbing to the top of the circular hedge opposite the cable car. If you like swimming outdoors, but aren’t brave enough to swim in the Wellington harbour, Thorndon Pool opens on the 22nd of this month.
The Thorndon Fair takes place in December on Tinakori Road with jewellery, clothing, arts and crafts and food stalls. Every year around 25,000 people attend this event which has a gold coin entry charge to raise funds for Thorndon School.

Free concerts are held in the SoundShell over January. Last year Bella Kalolo, Lisa Tomlins, Sam Hunt, and Jess Chambers performed among other local and national acts. There is a nice relaxed atmosphere with a bubble machine and light display in the surrounding gardens. During February, outdoor movies are played from a large screen in The Dell on Sundays. The Dell is tucked behind the rose gardens and cafe in the botanic gardens. Past movies include such classics as Eagle vs Shark and Amelie.

Oriental Bay, Waterfront Area

Celebrations for Diwali, the festival of lights, are being held at the TSB Bank Arena on the 15 and 16 of this month. The festival involves Indian and South East asian food, performances, and cultural demonstrations including a Bollywood Dance Competition. Entry cost ranges from a gold coin donation to $5 depending on which day you go.
For some exam stress relief, you could give ice skating a go at the temporary rink on Queens Wharf. This is $15 for students and runs until the end of October. Other warmer weather Oriental Bay activities include swimming out to the fountain or sampling every Kaffee Eis ice cream flavour by the end of summer—nothing says colour blocking like three scoops of gelato.

The Italian Festival is scheduled for November 6 with live music stalls selling Italian products, cooking demonstrations and dance shows ($10 entry) at the Westpac Stadium. A group of traditional Italian flag wavers who have won 30 tournaments in the past 45 years are travelling to Wellington from Faenza, Italy for the event.
Homegrown 2012 takes place on the Wellington Waterfront on February the 18th. The line-up includes Concord Dawn, The Black Seeds, Shihad, Kora, Blacklist, The Adults and many other kiwi bands with further announcements still to come. Tickets can be purchased from Ticketek for $95 plus booking fees.

Karori

Sirocco, the quaint Kakapo who attempted to mate with the head of a zoologist during a Stephen Fry documentary, is now housed at Karori Sanctuary just up the hill from the botanic gardens. Unfortunately you will have to begin saving your pennies now if you want to visit him as entry for adults costs the kingly sum of $39.50 and there is no student price. The cheaper option is to view Sirocco through TV3’s live webcam feed which airs from 8.30pm each night.

Cuba St

The Wellington Fringe Festival hits the streets in February bringing interactive, entertaining and strange performances to the city CBD. A range of theatre, comedy, music, dance and visual arts acts take place over the month. Despite some speculation that the Wellington City Council was considering removing funding from the Festival and Carnival, the events will still be Council-funded, although they are now delivered by the newly established Creative Capital Arts trust. The Cuba St carnival is a great event involving diverse sections of the community and people with flats that look over the parade route become popular at this time of year.

Somes Island

Somes Island is managed by DOC and has a flourishing population of native wildlife due to the pest eradication programme they have in place. You can catch the ferry out to Somes for $17 return and camp overnight on a DOC campsite for $10 per person. There are kitchen facilities and a flush toilet in a building next to the camping area.
If camping isn’t your thing, then the Forest and Bird hut can be rented. While it says its a hut, it’s really a perfect little cottage perched on an island in the middle of Wellington harbour. It is more expensive to rent at $200 per night, but if you’ve got eight people then that’s only $25 per person. I particularly like the Somes Island’s lighthouse, the brightly coloured parrots that fly around the place and looking out at the halo of surrounding city nights in the evening.

Hataitai and Kilbirnie
The Kilbirnie Recreation centre is holding a roller disco on the 12 November from 8pm to 11pm. Why not celebrate the end of exams by dressing up and making a fool of yourself on wheels? Entry is $15 (including skate hire) and there are prizes for best dressed.

One Love, an event celebrating Bob Marley’s birthday, is held at the Velodrome in Hataitai on Waitangi Day each year. Radioactive decided not to hold One Love this year due to the cost of rebranding its station and the uncertain economic climate. However, the station intends to hold One Love again in 2012 which is good news for dub and reggae fans across Wellington.

Brooklyn

There are many things I like about Brooklyn—it has the best fish and chip shop in Wellington and is also home to a fantastic movie theatre called the Penthouse. The Penthouse was built in 1933 for a local family at a time when the name was more likely to make people think of an upper level apartment than a raunchy magazine. It once had a resident cat and is on a street which has perhaps my favourite street name in Wellington—Happy Valley Road. If you want a scenic place to eat your fish and chips, then you can trek up the Brooklyn hill to the windmill. From there you get a panoramic view of Wellington and can see the mountains of the South island on a clear day. Until the freak weather this winter, the windmill was one of the few places in Wellington that would get snow in central Wellington during really cold weather.

South Coast

The Island Bay festival takes place each year in mid February. It begins with the Blessing of the Boats, a tradition originating from the South of Italy where boats are blessed by a Priest at the beginning of each boating season according to the belief that this ceremony would protect the crew from harm at sea. The Blessing of the Boats ceremony has been carried out since 1933—a year in which four men, including three Italians, drowned when their boat sank in the Cook Strait. During the festival, local musicians play at the Band Rotunda which is close to the waterfront and looks out on a view that Rita Angus depicted in her famous painting, ‘Boats, Island Bay’.

Further around the coast to the west is a gravel road which leads to the seal colony of Red Rocks and makes for a nice bike in summer. Just around the corner to the East of Island Bay is Houghton Bay which is a good surfing location for experienced surfers. Houghton Bay also has a calmer beach that is popular during summer for swimming, snorkelling and general lazing. Lyall Bay, close to the airport, has surf conditions that suit a range of abilities and several places where you can hire boards and arrange lessons. The Maranui Surf Club has bounced back after a devastating fire in 2009 and continues to do a great Tradesman’s Breakfast on Tuesdays—$16 for a Big Bay breakfast and coffee.

Newtown

The organisers of the Newtown Festival describe the event as putting “the Unity Back in Community” and I think this sums it up nicely. People from all over Wellington come to the festival to see a range of cultural, music and dance performances and browse the street stalls. It is one of the most diverse events on the Wellington calendar and the scale of the Festival is impressive considering its not-for-profit nature.

Cricket at the Basin Reserve is another tradition at the heart of the Wellington summer. The site evolved from a lagoon to a swamp during the 1855 earthquake, and then to a cricket pitch following a successful petition by local residents. It’s a cosy ground with stray sixes occasionally making their way into the traffic which circles its perimeter. The Twenty20 matches which are usually over in about two to three hours are good for those people who prefer cricket in small doses, but the Basin also hosts multi-day tests and domestic first-class matches for the cricket purists among you.

He shows no sign of recognising her as he hands back the eftpos card that she keeps expecting to decline. She thinks there is a sadness in the way one corner of his mouth twitches as he punches numbers into the cash register. Like he’s too tired to even put much effort into being properly sullen. He doesn’t recognise her but tonight is the fourth night in a row they’ve met under these circumstances. Charlotte buys Skittles and cigarettes and walks home with the wind tumbling in the streets and powerlines buzzing overhead, the city’s vermillion tinge against the night sky. She thinks about people she has known, places she has seen, and she knows something is slipping, somewhere.
Something drifting away. In her room she sits at the window and smokes cigarettes and plays music quietly. She listens to sad old Prince songs and turns up the heat in her room and leaves the window wide open because she likes the sharp contrast of winter air and cloying warmth, the cold like a knife. The fluorescent lights on the roof of her room hum quietly. She doesn’t look in the mirror. Lately she’s been spending hours painting her nails, tracing them with intricate multicoloured designs. In one corner of her room sits a pile of this trimester’s textbooks, pristine, unopened. Anthropology, History, History again. Charlotte looks from the books to her MacBook. She puts the cigarette out and flicks the butt out the window. She feels awake, free.

4:30 AM, say the green digits of her alarm clock.

Charlotte sits at her laptop and opens Wikipedia. Lately she has been binging on genocides, massacres, war crimes, atrocities, devouring them, horrible facts that seem to throb and pulse on the screen.

She reads that Hitler may have had syphilis.

She reads about the Cambodian regime led by Pol Pot, which executed more than two million people.

She reads about cults, religious splinter groups, dubious paranormal events. She reads about bizarre and obscure artists who worked all their lives without ever achieving recognition or acclaim, even after death.

She reads about murder-suicides, mysterious disappearances, unusual deaths.

Eventually sleep comes through the sickly glow of the laptop’s screen and keys. She curls up in the gigantic old chair that had been her father’s and wakes at eleven the next morning with a stiff neck, golden sunlight smeared across the wall behind her desk.

“What’s wrong with you. You alright? Like, you’re all distant and shit.” Sara stubs out her cigarette and sits back in her chair and gazes quizzically at Charlotte from behind knockoff Gucci glasses. They sit at a table on the pavement outside Copyright, the café down the road from the university. The sun is bright but gives no warmth and to Charlotte the whole scene is hyperreal, glossy, the sky an impossible shade of blue. From where Charlotte sits she can see the fine hairs on Sara’s face and some not-so-fine ones speckling her upper lip.

“I dunno.” Charlotte picks at her eggs benedict. “I’m pretty tired I s’pose.”
“Tired. You look like you’re on antidepressants, babe.”
“Nah. Nah, I just, I dunno.”
“Cheer up. I’m worried about you. You need to like, get laid, or something.”
“Haaa. Whatever.” Charlotte looks away. Some men are at work across the road. All wear sunglasses and brightly coloured orange vests. With shovels and jackhammers they’ve torn a long gash in the street’s sleeping back. They gather in a circle and confer in loud voices. Now one lowers himself into the hole, crouches inside, removes the succulent innards, handfuls of brightly coloured plastic cables.
“Charlotte. Are you gonna eat that?” Sara leans forward. “I heard the eggs here are like amaze.”
“Nah. I’ve got a class now anyway.” Charlotte doesn’t move.
“Yeah. You haven’t been to hissed two-two four in ages. We’ve got an essay due, like, next week?”
“I know,” says Charlotte. Sara prides herself on telling it like it is, it’s something she says often; because of this she talks as if everything she says is a controversial but undeniable fact, everything a possible source of debate, as if she’s forever waiting for somebody to deny the obvious.
Charlotte pushes her eggs forward.
“You can have them,” she says. She hates it when people abbreviate class names.

Midnight. Charlotte has some weed that Sara gave her, free, or maybe just Sara’s still feeling guilty about that thing that’d happened with Trent last year. So anyway, a free fifty bag of weed, and at first Charlotte had said no but then she’d accepted, thinking that it might help her sleep. She rolls a joint and pauses with it stuck in her mouth, lighter in hand, thinking. Weren’t antidepressants meant to make people happier? Make them look happier? She shrugs, lights the joint, blows smoke.

After she finishes she sits before the laptop. Scans the usuals. She feels a start, thinking suddenly that she doesn’t know any of the people on her Facebook feed. She can feel the weed taking effect.

Sara Cloughton had a great time at lunch with her girl Charlotte Bingham today!

Charlotte stares at her own name. It looks strange tonight, simultaneously familiar and alien. She rolls another joint, her face lit blue-and-white by the screen. She thinks about killing herself. She can’t decide. She hates knives, razors. Too cold, too clinical. She doesn’t think she’d have the guts to jump off a building and anyways she’s heard about people surviving, even from ten, fifteen stories up. She holds her hands in the air, palms up, and gazes at her wrists, thin and pale in the light from the computer. The veins are faintly visible. She imagines the bright tracks of a razor, thin and beautiful. The way the cuts would look before blood burst free.

She Googles, how to tie a noose. There are a million hits. No, one and a half million. Some pages even provide a three-step diagram. She rubs her eyes and starts to laugh, feeling that her head has grown, that her scalp is tingling, her ears sprouting the size and colour of cabbages.

Five in the afternoon on a Thursday or maybe a Tuesday. Charlotte stands in the supermarket, in the third aisle, next to the tinned tomatoes. A green basket with black handles hangs from her left hand. Today she is wearing her prettiest and most brightly coloured skirt, pale blue. She stands with her feet neatly together and considers the stacked rows of cans. She has been in the supermarket for nearly half an hour but the sole item in her basket is a red capsicum, chosen for its smooth curves and bright, flawless skin. She’d taken it carefully from the stacked rows of its kind, feeling as if she was somehow separating it from its family, its friends, feeling that maybe she should buy another, to lessen the pain of separation. Now she stands with her basket and her capsicum and she contemplates the tinned tomatoes. She hasn’t eaten for a day and a half and there is a hard twisted knot in her stomach but she feels clean and pure. A few metres away there’s a boy with brown hair and a pale face and Charlotte watches him. He has dark quiet eyes and his nose is slightly too big and it’s crooked but his lips are beautiful, the colour of the inside of a strawberry. He wears a huge old pair of headphones and a black duffle coat with wooden toggles and in his own green basket there is a single blue-and-white packet of Budget spaghetti. Charlotte watches as he runs his gaze across the cans of tomatoes, looking for the cheapest. A dinner alone, maybe. Eaten before the glowing screen of a laptop. Can of chopped tomatoes, packet of spaghetti. A total cost of less than two dollars. Charlotte wants to push his hair out of his eyes and run her fingertips over the soft bumps of fading acne at the corners of his mouth. He meets her gaze briefly and then looks away.
The security guard is just getting on-shift when Charlotte comes into the building and punches the elevator call button, shopping bags dangling from her hands. She has milk, the lonely capsicum, a six-pack of Coca Cola and a packet of instant noodles. She tries to remember the guard’s name. Ron. No. Barry. That’s it. The sleeves of his cheap polyester windbreaker are pushed up to his elbows and the hairs are on his arms are thick and white. He nods at her and she smiles at him the way she always does but tonight he stares back at her as if he’s scared of something or confused maybe. The lift dings and she steps into it, confused, looking at her feet as the doors close.

Charlotte sits at her computer. She doesn’t want to go to sleep. She doesn’t know what she wants. She tries to imagine what Sara is doing right now. Sleeping, probably. Charlotte has no friends. This thought comes suddenly, an ominous shape, a ship appearing through the rain. Charlotte has no real friends and she is a different person with everyone she speaks to, effortlessly shifting the colours of her personality to better suit her surroundings. She stands up quickly. Grey morning light runs its fingers across the curtains. The pillows of her bed swim up towards her. What it means. What it means when you begin to draw meaning and warmth from everyday encounters, from people behind counters and at the steeringwheels of buses. When you face a professional smile and feel a jolt.

She falls asleep in her clothes, lying on the bed, above the covers.
Charlotte wakes at two in the afternoon. It is the fourteenth day since she stopped doing things for reasons she does not understand. She sits up on the bed and rubs her eyes. Her phone rings. She looks at the screen. Blocked number. She doesn’t answer.

Later on she sits at the laptop. In her inbox, two emails from two tutors. She ignores them both.

a scruffy vagrant, a
stormcreature, this
tinned-tomato boy:
i wish he said hello
to
me

Charlotte rolls her eyes at the screen. Bullshit. Trite nonsense. In high school she used to sneak down to the back field and smoke cigarettes with a girl named Martina. Martina called herself Marty for reasons nobody understood, not at the time. People’d made fun of her and said it was a guy’s name. Charlotte didn’t even really know Marty, she was just someone to smoke with, an extra set of eyes to watch for teachers, a spare lighter. One rainy lunchtime in the middle of bleak July, Marty had thrown her cigarette butt on the ground and turned to Charlotte. Charlotte was sixteen, Marty a year older. Marty rolled up the sleeve of her school-uniform jersey.
Look at this, she said to Charlotte.

Charlotte looked. Around Marty’s wrist a bright blue-yellow bracelet of bruising. A matching ring on the other wrist. Charlotte looked from the bruises to Marty’s face and saw nothing in her eyes.

Who did that to you, Charlotte said quietly.
Oh, well. My dad. He gets, you know.
Shit.
Don’t tell anyone, yeah?
I won’t.
Promise.
Yeah, ‘course.
Two weeks later Marty was dead, pills, and her father was in court, multiple charges. Charlotte didn’t go to the funeral. The father hired a million-dollar lawyer, escaped conviction on all charges but one. At her seat in front of the computer Charlotte picks at her fingernails. The polish is chipped again.

My complaint certainly doesn’t need to be said, but it feels as if it ought to be at least mentioned, and the final issue seems to be the place to do that.

Whenever I read Salient, I tend to encounter students musing upon their own experiences rather than recounting things that they’ve discovered or been told, as a traditional journalist might. It could be argued that this improves the articles: surely people would know better than anyone else things that they themselves have experienced? I know that it might seem like there nothing wrong with using personal experience as a substitute for fact-finding.

But I don’t think so, and I think it creates a problem. The narratives we create about our past, unknowingly and unavoidably, are the ones we then use to justify our actions. That means when I’m writing about myself or my experience, it takes a real effort to to accept that there could be a different interpretation of events, or see myself as being in the wrong. It’s probably—and here’s where things get complicated—equally difficult for whoever I think wronged me to think that they did something wrong. We’re unlikely to both be right, and we are unlikely to be able to overcome our differing perceptions.

In the real world, we’d take a dispute like that to court, where a neutral mediator would decide things. It wouldn’t work if the same person was judge and prosecutor in court; why would it work in a magazine?

It’s complicated to criticise Salient for doing this, partly because it might be justifiable. The magazine’s role is not only to report on things, but to try to change them for the better.
If the personal experiences of Salient’s writers inspire change in the way others behave, then they are indubitably justified. Unfortunately, I don’t believe that they do. First, they misunderstand the nature of identity, and then they preach about it to those already converted to their way of thought.

A good example is the many articles dealing with queer issues. This coverage presumably had two aims; to help the non-straight come to terms with their sexuality, and to help the straight come to terms with the sexuality of others. Both these approaches can be shown to have failed.

The fundamental problem is that identity is a personal construct, not something that can be inculcated by a magazine. I am bisexual, I was bisexual before Salient told me that it was acceptable, and I will still be bi even if Salient has the unspeakable temerity to tell me that it is not acceptable. Conversely, if Salient were to devote a future issue, a Gaylient equivalent, to murder, I would not start to believe that murder was acceptable. Even if it explained the complicating factors, the agonising provocations murdererers endured, the overt cruelty of their prisons and the invisible cruelty of an uncaring and discriminatory society, I would still not be persuaded that murderers ought to be released, or the crime legalised, and I would especially not be persuaded to dabble in murder myself.

I imagine that if I were a homophobe, I might feel the same way about homosexuality, and no matter how earnest the articles, they would not change that belief.

There is also the same problem with self-belief that I have already alluded to; no-one is likely to believe themselves to be discriminatory. Many of the incidents of discrimination that I have suffered were inflicted upon me by people who would have been terribly offended, had I told them they were homophobic. (I remember, for example, a girl who told me that she had nothing against gays, she merely found that they lied more often.) So no-one who reads such articles is likely to change their behaviour; they believe that there is nothing for them to change, only the actions of others to condemn.

So what can we do? To remove any hint of the personal from the magazine would be to reduce its interest; but if it does no good and is only one side of a story, does it deserve to stay?

Comment upon issues could be reserved to those not personally involved, but if personal experience still has a place perhaps it is best incorporated in a magazine broader than merely news and comments. Its essentially emotional rather than factual truth could be reflected in creative work, poetry or short fiction.

But I don’t know, and that’s why I have felt doubtful about this complaint. I have presented an issue that may not be an issue, and that certainly lacks a solution; and it’s not up to me to decide what happens next. That’s the job of the writers and of the editors; and of the other readers.

Your call.

Surprisingly, adult hawk wasps are nectarivores, feeding off the flowers of milkweeds or sweet fermenting fruit. The natural alcohol in this fruit often gets hawk wasps as crunk as a first year on a Wednesday night and they have been described by one random internet blogger as doing “nosedives into the swimming pool for no apparent reason, crashing into me, falling to the ground and just laying there flailing about.” AOTW OTP.

Except for some small aching for its constant stimulation in the forms of links, access to friends and to their ‘lives’ I was doing pretty well. Just when I thought I had gotten the hang of cutting away virtual contact, I saw an interesting work of art by Ben Rubin called Listening Post whilst doing research for my Art History essay. In this work, the artist has created a live-update of all mentions of the word “I am” (and the sentence surrounding it) in low security chat rooms. Intrigued by this wonderful idea of tapping into the thoughts of strangers, I decided to try something I had never done before. I went on Google, and typed in ‘chat room’. I found a page called chatting.com and logged in. And so, armed with the screen name ‘Hippokiller’ and lilac italic font I entered into this mysterious realm on the 27th of September 2011.

Nervous and intrigued, I walked into the ‘foyer’ room. I scanned the conversation preceding my entry. To no surprise there were open casting calls for Bangalore girls for “friendship/chat.” There was also some vaguely boring thread about Christmas which MadelineSunshine and Enya21 were having. I watched as the room’s conversation paced past quickly. Christmas. Bangalore. Reaper, another user, talking about shooting possums.

Wonderful.

Being the open and confident person I am, I decided to quip up and said “hi”. Nothing. Christmas became a conversation about Christmas in summer compared to winter. Mr. Bangalore was joined by another man who wanted some Tamil ladies. Reaper had a friend, Within_the_darkness, and they discussed various hunting guns. It felt like I was in small room with people shouting over each other.

Like the friendly, slightly naïve person that I am, I piped up again “So, I’m new here.” Nothing. “So, why do you guys come to chat rooms?” Nothing. The chat room crowd were a tough crowd. It felt like my high school years all over again. I decided a new strategy. The next user who logged in was Urcz. I saw him log on, and said immediately, like that over-enthusiastic kid said “hi Urcz!” (I hoped would come across as a friendly conversation-starter). I was not going to be defeated by the chat space. Nothing. At this point I became disillusioned with the whole process. A virtual world filled with paedophiles, old men, desperados, and all the other rejects of society were on no terms going to reject me. Tamil man made his usual rounds. I put on my capslock and wrote TAMIL! Tamil man whispered (a chatroom term where only you and the other person can have a private conversation) “Are you Tamil?” Success. My next move was an open forum question. I asked them (the room) what they did with most of their time besides sleeping. Urcz, one of ‘in’ crowd, responded “I sit in front of the computer all day, I hate the sun” I responded “Why, are you afraid of the daylight, are you a vampire?” Urcz said “lol, yes.” I had just made my first online joke.

Even Reaper and Within_the_darkness got into the conversation about vampires. People were even starting to use my name, addressing me by the shortened nickname ‘Hippo’. I continued badgering the Tamil and Bangalore men by shouting out “TAMIL!” and “BANGALORE!” every time they did their rounds. Another user was asking for a mature woman. The one below him(?) for a 14 – 16 year old. I told them I was a mature 14 year old Tamilian. I also ‘confessed’ that I was too darn ugly to go outside and that I had no friends (perhaps if I kept staying in chat rooms that would be a self-fulfilling prophesy?). After that I had one good conversation with SouthernSkies47 about why he(?) should be out making the most of his lives and not wallow in past regrets, and another simultaneously with Urcz and MadelineSunshine about dreams. In the end, after half an hour, I was the chat room queen bee. Satisfied, I logged off and finally started my essay.

Somewhat confusingly for many, it has no leaders and no single list of demands or requests. What they do all have in common is that they are “the 99%”, a group of people (which includes you and I) who have financial concerns, largely as a result of the top 1 per cent of society who have amassed large amounts of wealth and aren’t sharing. The protestors are using the Arab Spring tactic, essentially a wave of unrest involving strikes, marches, occupations of land and use of social media to create enough unrest in a region to force extensive change—this tactic has been credited with the overthrow of three governments (Tunisia, Egypt and Libya).

Currently, protestors are occupying Zuccotti Park in Wall St, New York City. They began the occupation on 17 September, and the number of those residing in the park nightly fluctuates around the 200 mark. The occupiers have set up everything from a kitchen and medical booth to a library, have met with local apartment dwellers/owners to ensure their living arrangements don’t clash, and are daily donated enough food for the entire movement. Various websites broadcast requests to ensure the occupiers can remain safe and healthy, for example, use of washing machines and driers after rainy spells. There is talk of how to ensure the occupation doesn’t peter out throughout the fast-arriving New York winter. Occupiers are in for the long haul. Per the Arab Spring process, marches and rallies occur almost daily, and many other groups use the occupation as a springboard for their protests. On September 27, over 700 uniformed pilots protested heavy pay cuts in the wake of the recession, and even the Canadian Postal Union wrote to express full support. Occupy Wall St is a resolutely peaceful occupation, as opposed to a prolonged protest awaiting the city to meet specific demands.

Occupying Wall St was started by the website Adbusters, who per their website are “a global network of culture jammers and creatives working to change the way information flows, the way corporations wield power, and the way meaning is produced in our society.” The aim, in short, is to “end the monied corruption of our [the USA’s] democracy.” So, as the financial centre of New York, Wall St was chosen as a target to occupy. Wall St, an eight-block street, contains the New York Stock Exchange, and has historically housed four other exchanges, such as the New York Board of Trade. John Robb, of the Global Guerillas movement, writes,

“What’s the real goal of this protest? Frankly, it’s probably a recognition that the center of power in the US doesn’t reside in Washington anymore. It’s on Wall Street. This protest dispenses with the middle men (the US Government) and goes straight after the real power.”

Most importantly, Wall St symbolizes the entire financial and banking systems for most Americans. When the corporation Enron was found guilty of fraud, for example, “Wall St” was blamed despite Enron not having any headquarters near the street itself. The occupation of Wall St as a location highlights financial corruption as the thread running through all protestors’ complaints.

So what’s the point? Where is the piece of paper everyone can refer to, to tell you why this is necessary? Everyone protesting has a slightly different cause. While there is a document everyone supposedly agrees on, it isn’t published on the official Occupy Wall St site, nor is it necessarily useful to those trying to summarize the movement, as it simply lists everything from objections about the cleanliness of the water, to wars overseas, to workplace discrimination. To put it in a sentence, the protestors at Wall St are furious with the system—economic and political, which allows wealth and power to be so unevenly distributed, with catastrophic results for humans and the Earth alike. They have been put into situations which they have no control over as a result of the world as it stands. The idea of the slogan “We are the 99%” is to help with the knowledge that few of us choose our situation, and most poor people are not poor as a result of some bad choices, or any choices, they personally have made.

How did poor people get to be so poor, then? Well, in the case of the USA, remove the safety nets we New Zealanders take for granted, and add a few generations of poverty to the family line. As an example, if you get sick, your ability to get medical assistance is largely based on the amount of money which you have—in 2009, individual insurance costs averaged $4,824 annually, or $92 weekly. With no insurance, a hospital visit for a birth, broken bone or similar can cost around the $10,000 mark. The Commonwealth Fund’s 2010 survey found that 33 per cent of American adults went without needed healthcare because they couldn’t afford it, and 20 per cent were struggling to pay existing medical bills. A friend in Wellington recently visited the Accident and Emergency Medical Centre. After the taxi, doctor’s fees and medication, he was out of pocket by $160, because one of the two drugs he needed were unsubsidized. We would consider that an expensive visit, and at that price many of us would be unable to afford such care, while an American would be unsurprised and out of luck for better options. Protestors old and young have no unemployment benefit to fall back on, and left university with debt on their tails to find that previously thriving industries have no job openings.

Westerners often fail to consider the state of the USA to be bleak because we are comparing it to the previous belief that there is a minimum level of poverty in Western society. There is perhaps a minimum level of poverty in New Zealand, but certainly not in most countries. Wealth disparity in the United States of America is the highest in the developed world, so while 13.7 per cent of Americans live on less than $15,000 a year, the top 1 per cent live on $350,000 or more. The money is there, in the country, but not remotely evenly dispersed in one of the wealthiest countries in the developed world. G. William Domhoff writes,

In the United States, wealth is highly concentrated in a relatively few hands. As of 2007, the top 1 per cent of households (the upper class) owned 34.6 per cent of all privately held wealth, and the next 19 per cent (the managerial, professional, and small business stratum) had 50.5 per cent, which means that just 20 per cent of the people owned a remarkable 85 per cent, leaving only 15 per cent of the wealth for the bottom 80 per cent (wage and salary workers). In terms of financial wealth (total net worth minus the value of one’s home), the top 1 per cent of households had an even greater share: 42.7 per cent.

Hence, for Occupy Wall St, the cries “We are the 99%” hold meaning beyond income or class level—they reflect the absence of assets, of control, of power, for the 99 per cent of the population who are affected by the economy on a daily basis, and literally do not own the country they live in.

Anyone may successfully argue that Occupy Wall St doesn’t have the answers as to how to fix the problems the movement highlights. No plan of action to change society, and the world, has been released by the movement. There are, by design, no leaders in this movement, so no single person to ask, and no fixed ideology to recommend. While the culture of a leaderless, demand-free movement is incomprehensible to many, its strength lies in these aspects. To pull power out of the hands of the top 1 per cent of society, Wall St has to lose its grip on the Government, and the lives of the bottom 99 per cent. This will require more than a few bills passed in Congress, and significant reforms in most areas of society. To do so, the cry “we are the 99%” must be heard and repeated by most of the 99 per cent, something which can only happen when those occupying Wall St, and various locations in the world, bring enough awareness to the atrocities happening in the financial sector to make our lives so different to those in the top 1 per cent.

The administrators of VUW, led by Pat Walsh, continue to implement policies that radically change the provision of education by this institution with little or no real consultation with students. Most of the cuts are being made in the Humanities as part of an international trend towards the corporatisation of universities. The crisis is the subject of a recent paper released by academia.edu, focusing on “the close relationship between the crisis in the humanities and the corporatization of higher education, and the deep political significance of that relationship. For the humanities, and the related set of disciplines known as the liberal arts, are so essential to democracy that an attack on the former is an attack on the latter. Democratic political culture cannot exist without the humanistic disciplines of history, philosophy, literature, rhetoric and so on. Running colleges and universities on a business model, focusing on profit margins as the primary objective of higher education, is a serious threat to the foundation of democratic societies.” The threat is real. Last month’s termination of two valued papers in the subject of International Relations at Victoria has reduced the discipline to a training programme for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade, and cuts to Criminology have devastated the quality of the major here. These ‘changes’ to our education, to use the euphemism of our detractors, do represent a process of dying education, as they represent only the most recent offensive in a sustained attack against critical thought.

We Are The University exists to promote discussion and action against threats posed to higher education in New Zealand by Government and university bureaucracies. Given that the administrators of VUW have shown that the ‘student consultation process’ in the form of written submissions is redundant, we have been looking at other ways to express our opposition to their policies of higher fees and corporatised education. Angry, militant protest action is not an illegitimate means of effecting political change. Struggles won through popular protest include those against slavery, apartheid, segregation, the war in Vietnam, and the list goes on. The Arab Spring should serve as a further example.
We have to understand that there is a time for dialogue and compromise in all circumstances, but when dialogue fails, new means of resisting illegitimate authority must be developed and employed. We must also understand that there are times when the interests of social groups conflict, and dialogue alone will do nothing to change that. Major corporations tend not to be in the habit of granting decent wages and better work conditions out of goodwill; workers win these rights by striking, demonstrating, occupying. In the same way, we cannot expect governments, public servants and students’ associations to represent the interests of students unless students themselves are willing to fight for them.

The most rational thing people can do is understand when their interests are threatened and take a logical approach as to what can be done to resist the threat. If dialogue has consistently failed, then the next step must be taken, and to promote dialogue alone, as a recent Salient opinion piece and guest editorial have, defies reason. Protest has worked here at Victoria; it saved the Film School in 2008. Please, if you have grievances concerning our tactics, I invite you to become involved in the group and be a part of the discussion. To do nothing and accuse us of being unreasonable is unfair and unhelpful.

Merrin: With the election coming up in November, what differences do the Greens offer over other major and minor parties for tertiary students and those entering the workforce?
GH: The Green Party values students; we’ve always been champions for student rights and adequate funding under successive National and Labour Governments. A smart country invests in its young people. The Green Party is committed to increased funding of tertiary education, greater student support and reducing the student loan debt burden.
One of our three election priorities is our plan to create 100,000 new green jobs through business incentives and government leadership. This will benefit graduates and along with our student loan debt write-off scheme for every year you stay in New Zealand, will help keep you in New Zealand. The other two election priorities are cleaning up our rivers and waterways and lifting 100,000 Kiwi kids out of poverty.

Another difference is we were the only party to oppose the so-called Skynet Copyright law passed under urgency and believe we need greater legal sources of content like Netflix
.
Merrin: Green policy available online states that you have the ultimate goal of removing the student loan in favour of fully Government-funded education, introducing a universal student allowance, and enhancing the funding for universities. What other areas of the budget would be sacrificed for these policies?
GH: We think spending money on education and supporting students is an investment in our economy and society. Obviously the national budget is tight and we couldn’t achieve all these straight away but we would work towards them. Unlike other parties addicted to foreign debt we have identified $8 billion in revenue over 3 years by ending pollution subsidies, halting some motorways, a temporary earthquake levy and a capital gains tax to fund our priorities and repay debt.

Merrin: I understand that the Greens are in favour of research, but resists anything that resembles genetic engineering in food production and nuclear power. Can you explain to science students who are interested in these areas why they should have to go overseas to further this research?
GH: We do support greater research and think it will play a key role in a smart prosperous economy. We support genetic research but believe it is prudent to keep organisms that have no possibility of ever occurring in nature in the lab until they are proven safe to release into the environment. New Zealand currently does have atomic research however there is no need for New Zealand to have nuclear power or weapons.

Merrin: Assuming that the current opinion polling is reflected in the election and the National Party retains Government, how will the Green Party work with the Government on tertiary education policy? Will you work against VSM?
GH: We will work with any party on issues where we agree (like our deal with National to insulate 200,000 Kiwi homes) but it is unlikely we would help them form a Government. It would be great to work with them on tertiary education issues in the future because currently they are on the wrong track, making studying less affordable, less accessible and impossible for some as they turn away thousands of students.

We support the important role of student associations in representation, advocacy and providing services. We will work with any party to change the law to let students choose how they organise and spend their student levies, not be told by the Act Party.

Merrin: In light of recent comments by Don Brash, what is the Greens policy on drug decriminalisation?
GH: We want to reduce the harm caused by all drugs and believe when it comes to cannabis current laws just aren’t working. We will prioritise the prosecution of crimes such as violent offences ahead of personal cannabis possession and enable doctors to prescribe cannabis products for severely ill patients.

Doc: I want to start by talking about the biggest elephant in the room when it comes to students voting for the ACT Party which is Heather Roy’s VSM Bill. How do you think students will vote following the passing of this bill?

SW: I think for the overwhelming number of students, they don’t really care much about their student associations. There is a small group of student politicians that care very much about [the Bill], there is a small amount of people that feel they shouldn’t be required to join the Association. But if you look at the number of people who turn out at elections, not that many people are engaged in student politics. I think the reality is most students won’t really notice a huge amount of difference. Obviously there are a small number of students who will be particularly supportive [of the Bill] and in that respect I feel they will be the ones more likely to vote for ACT.

Doc: With the global financial crisis beginning to take its toll on New Zealand’s economy, something that is inevitably going to be increased is university fees. Does the ACT Party have any particular plans to help circumvent these increases in costs?

SW: Realistically speaking, the only person that has benefited from my own tertiary education is me, so the ACT Party supports people paying for their own tertiary education. The effects of increasing subsidies for tertiary education is to take money away from low income people and give it to people whose future incomes are likely to be higher. Another thing that happens with increased fees is that students demand a lot more from their lecturers when they feel they are paying a significant cost to be there, and I think that’s a good thing. Something that is missing from the tertiary education market is consumers who are willing to decide which courses to do on the basis of what it provides them rather than the course that is easiest.

Doc: A more recent announcement from the ACT Party is the potential reinstating of youth minimum wage between the ages of 15 and 19. Victoria’s undergraduate population falls into the high end of this minimum wage bracket—what do you think this will do to their employment opportunities?

SW: The Bill would allow the Government to reinstate youth minimum wages for those aged 16 and 17, so it would be unlikely to affect university students. It would be most likely affect school students who work part time or people who had left school and were working.

Doc: Are there any other significant policies that you would like undecided student voters to consider when they finally choose to vote in the general election?

SW: When parties talk about policies that are going to benefit students, people get wrapped up in facts and thinking about the massive personal benefit that these policies are likely to give them, such as interest-free student loans. What I have realised in my time in ACT is that these policies are specifically targeted at particular groups and they are all short term actions. The main thing I would say to students is to look 20 years into the future and ask what kind of New Zealand they want to live in. Major political parties like Labour and National don’t really have any solution for inequalities in the education system—they will just keep trucking through with what we are already doing. If you think about what kind of New Zealand you want in 20 years, you want it to be economically prosperous, you want it to be freer in a personal and economic sense and you want it to be a fairer society. If that’s the kind of New Zealand you want, there is really only one choice and that is the ACT Party.

To summarise their tertiary education policy, the Maori Party believe it should be easier to access, and more targeted towards skills shortages. They advocate a universal student allowance, set at the level of the DPB, as well as a policy of fees reduction. Bridging courses would be made free, as according to Te Ururoa Flavell’s website, “bridging courses at tertiary level compensate for poor quality secondary education”.

Furthermore, the Maori Party supports a retraining allowance, as well as the investment in trade training and apprenticeships. There is a focus on training people for industries run by Iwi groups, such as farming, fisheries and forestry. They also believe skill shortages should be addressed through investment in industry training.

He linked the VSM Bill to a raft of “neo-liberal policies” which had been reducing representation in New Zealand for years, stating that in terms of representation Aotearoa had been “moving backwards since the 1980s”. Minto was vocally proud of both Mana’s and the Unite Union’s support of the We Are The University protests on 26 September, stating that Mana is “very much on the side of the students”.

In his Draft Education Policy, Minto stated that he would like to shift the focus of tertiary education from attempting to create a knowledge society to a critical and creative society. He elaborated that Mana was committed to focusing tertiary education on bettering the individual to the point where they were not simply tailored for one job, but instead educated to be a better citizen who would be capable of filling many roles in society. He used the example of the “fitter and joiner” as someone who used to be equipped with the skills to work in many industries, as opposed to what he sees as the modern reality of students coming out of their degree or qualification and entering one particular role at the minimum wage rate, an effect exaggerated by their student debt.

Mana is proposing to cut Government funding to Private Training Establishments while funding Maori Private Tertiary Education providers under the treaty responsibilities of the Crown. Minto defines the Mana Party policy as an effort towards clearing up a mess that he sees as being created by previous Governments.

“After National’s complete failure in providing any proper tertiary education policy, Labour then said ‘we are going to put Maori and private providers together and we’re just going to fund them on a bums on seats basis’.”

Minto got quite heated at this point, saying that this funding “was just money that was bled out of the public system.” He summed up the issue of PTEs by drawing a clear distinction between Maori Tertiary providers and PTEs: “I think what we have to do is separate out Maori institutions from PTEs. And in fact Maori providers in general are not-for-profit organisations, they are there to genuinely provide opportunities to Maori that haven’t been there in the past and they need to be supported and encouraged.”

Mana aims to reduce and eventually abolish student fees while also retaining interest-free student loans. Minto asserted that under Mana’s educational policy “the funding would come from the government on a pay-as-you-go basis.” He elaborated on the issue of paying the bill for this saying “there are three ways we would pay for that: introduce a comprehensive capital gains… secondly, the introduction of a financial transactions tax used to compensate for the 15 billion dollars lost in GST” and “Thirdly, a progressive taxation system which means that those on high incomes pay a hell of a lot more than they pay at the moment.” He justified the removal of student fees and the continuation of interest free loans by asserting that there would be “an increase in government income but it wouldn’t come from lower income earners”, And that with the rise in national wealth the country could “easily pay for students”.

What are the key aspects of New Zealand First’s tertiary policy and how is it going to be funded?
Basically our policy for graduates is a dollar-for-dollar repayment scheme, so if the student stays in New Zealand to pay off their student loan, we’ll match them. The idea is that it will be funded by the taxes that a person pays while they are in New Zealand and it’s better than a high student loan forcing them overseas because that’s the case at the moment. We’ve got a student debt of over $11 billion. It’s phenomenal. The idea is to encourage people to stay in New Zealand to help our economy instead of going overseas. It’s about viewing students as an asset—an investment—as opposed to a liability.

New Zealand First has a history of attracting older voters, with the exception of the dollar-for-dollar policy, what is New Zealand First doing to connect to a younger generation?
To accompany our tertiary policy, we’ve got a great policy—which has been poached by Labour—regarding apprenticeships. Our idea was that because there are so few apprenticeships here in New Zealand and consecutive governments have basically failed youth in that regard, we were going to pay their dole money to the employer when they take on an apprentice. So it makes it in an employer’s best interests to take them on. That’s another way we’re going to help young people out.

Fairfax recently announced you as one of the youngest people standing in this election. What made you want to run and what made you want to run for New Zealand First?
What made me want to run is just pure representation. A lot of politicians go on about representing their people, but I really don’t think they are. If you look at the face of youth politics at the moment, it’s basically just Gareth Hughes. I think if you’re going to look at someone like that—he dresses up as a clown and goes to protests—you’re not taking youth seriously. In order for the public to take the youth voice seriously, they need to look to someone who takes themselves and the group they are representing seriously.
Why New Zealand First? Because New Zealand First is opposed to sectional interest. The media might make out that we’re a party for old people, but at the end of the day we’re a party for all New Zealanders. We’re about creating a nation of communities, not a community of nations. Basically, we’re not for the workers, we’re not for one ethnic group, or business people, we’re for the whole lot. That’s my motivation.

I read online that you oppose VSM. Would you want to make a policy to reinstate CSM?
Personally I’m not a fan of VSM. John Key released a statement today saying the core functions of student unions would not be affected and I think that’s a load of bollocks. Regarding student unions, I think there was too much bureaucracy to begin with and that gave them a bad reputation. I think they could be slimmed down a bit to their core functions, to properly represent people, maybe reallocate a few resources away from sports teams and stuff like that and towards representation and grievances and stuff like that. I would personally oppose VSM and seek to reintroduce CSM because it empowers people.

Do you think tertiary education is a right or a privilege?
Neither—and that’s a good thing. But I don’t know that I’d describe it as a right, because what happens when you describe something as a right is generally people then think that it should be free. And so I just don’t think it’s helpful. it’s a political statement, rather than anything else. I just think it’s something really good for people to participate in and it provides skills which will really help them in later life as a general rule.

Student services levy—your recent proposal, why the change in direction? And why is it the Government’s place to decide what services a university can and can’t provide with the Levy?
Because I think the institutions, not just universities, that charge it are showing signs of really operating in what you might call a geographical monopoly situation. Where the fees have gone up very significantly and there’s not really any visibility in terms of what they’re spent on. You get different noises from different universities, some saying that it’s absolutely necessary for the sort of no-academic stuff, and then others posturing that they are putting up their student services levies because they’re not getting enough money in other ways. And either way, and if that’s the case it’s an attempt to get around the fee regulation, and so what we’ve decided is needed is a much more transparent system, which identifies what can be—through a gazetting process—what can compulsory fees be charged for and then requires them to lay out how they use those fees. So that students can see whether they are used well or not.

Why the specific restrictions on things that it can be spent on? Why can student media, as opposed to representation be funded through the compulsory levy?
Yeah it’s quite interesting, and it is quite challenging, and there’s an element of you can argue some of those are the boundary. For example student media, you can have a debate as to whether that’s appropriate to include or not. But what officials have tried to do is come up with a set that nearly all students benefit from, of services that could not be charged on an individual basis, or not reasonably provided on an individual basis. And then gone out for consultation on that, and we’re studying the feedback on that consultation at the moment.

With voluntary student membership coming in next year, universities may be contracting out to provide those services—do you envisage that they’ll be contestable?
That will be entirely up to the university and the students concerned.

Why do you support Voluntary Student Membership?
I think philosophically it doesn’t make sense to require somebody who goes to a particular institution to belong to a particular association. I think we can all understand that concept. And that’s why ultimately I am comfortable with change.

At the last fee setting meeting, Victoria University Council voted to raise fees by the maximum 4 per cent under current Fee Maxima Policy, and they cited cuts to tertiary education funding as their reason. Do you have any plans to change this situation?
There hasn’t been any cuts, so they’re making it up.

So you’re saying they’re not telling the truth?
What I’m saying is they are either mistaken or deliberately obfuscating. The reality is that over the last two years, firstly the amount per student went up 2.2 per cent in the 2010 Budget. And it’s gone up two further per cent this year on a per student basis—so they’re making it up if they’re saying that is the case.

A number of Council members also said that they current funding model was unsustainable, and that the sector was at “breaking point”—do you or National intend to make any changes to the current tertiary education funding model?
No, not significant ones. And I disagree with that premise. All universities are doing well, they are well funded, they are profitable, and in fact they could continue to improve their income. And there are a couple of areas that they could really focus on and that’s the commercialisation of their research. And also, their international revenues. And in the case of international revenues, they lag well behind their Australian counterparts which they compete with for academic talent. And so I would suggest to them that that’s an area of focus.

Are you concerned with where New Zealand universities placed in the latest QS rankings?
No, because you can’t take those rankings in isolation, and in other rankings some of the universities have gone up. I mean obviously you always want to see them do better, and we are in a very competitive international environment. So I suppose you could say there is some concern about the QS, but it’s balanced with what’s happened with the other rankings. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that the taxpayer should just write out a bigger cheque.

So despite many universities around the country saying they need more funding, you don’t think they need it?
Well I would say there has never been a time where they haven’t asked for more funding. If you look back in history, I doubt that there has ever been a time when a university has said ‘we’ve got enough, thanks very much’. So there’s a certain amount that which goes with the territory. And when you deal with the global financial crisis and the recession, and you look at what’s happening to universities internationally, I think that the New Zealand university system is well funded by comparison.

The brain drain—many of New Zealand’s graduates choose head overseas for a better life, and they take taxpayers’ investments in their education with them, what are your views in this situation?
Well a couple of things. Firstly, I think that some people go and there’s no doubt about it, and some people come back. And there’s a natural exchange of minds if you like, and we lose some and we gain some through that process. And the international skilled labour market is much more mobile than it was when I was coming through university. And even then quite a lot of kiwis headed overseas for their OE, some came back and some didn’t. So firstly, that’s part of that and nothing is going to change that, because we do live in a mobile world. But it does point out that you have to have competitive tax settings, and a competitive economy to be able to retain as many of those as you can, and attract new ones in to replace them. And that’s why we’ve put so much focus on the tax system, and on strengthening the economy generally. Because that’s ultimately, no matter what people say, that’s ultimately what they do—they go where the exciting jobs are and the only way to get the jobs exciting is to make your economy more competitive. So that would be the primary comment on that.

I think in terms of them taking their investment overseas, yep that’s part of the challenge, although of course we get other countries investments back here. But I do think that they need to take responsibility for paying back their student loans, and we have a very poor record of students going overseas and repaying their student loans. Which is why we are putting a much stronger emphasis on those overseas, particularly in Aussie and the UK, repaying their loan to keep the integrity of the student loan system.

Do you support interest-free student loans?
Yep, the Government and I have supported it and we don’t plan on any change.

Students are part of the university community, which is meant to be the “critic and conscience of society”—given the amount of protests nationwide about the state of tertiary education and universities citing lack of government funding as a critical factor for cuts to—[cut off]

A, there have been no cuts. And B, I must say I haven’t noticed that there has been a massive level of protest. In fact the last one in Auckland yesterday I think they raised 20 people.

Yes, but the one on Monday had 300. You said that they should “keep their heads down”, do—[cut off]

That was just my advice in relation to fees. I can tell them that most New Zealanders actually think that students are in a pretty good position at the moment. And I don’t know that politically the challenges that the country faces that people really think that students should somehow be more looked after than they are currently. We actually have a very, very generous student support system, one of the most generous, if not the most generous in the world.

In a couple of words, why should students vote National at the election?
Because we are supporting the tertiary system. We’ve got more places in universities than ever before. We’re encouraging universities to provide results, which means looking after their students and encouraging their students better than they have in the past. And we’re making sure that the student loan scheme is sustainable, by chasing up those who go overseas without paying. So I think for those three reasons alone, I could tell you more if I had more time. But I think those three reasons alone, I think they are very good reasons to vote National if you are a student

Gerald: VSM has been a highly contentious issue amongst students. Why did you support VSM?
Dunne: People have a right to freedom of choice. We have widely accepted the principle of voluntary union membership in the private and government sectors. I don’t think that student associations are any different in that respect and I think it is for students themselves to choose.

Gerald: Do you think that student associations will suffer, in terms of service provision?
Dunne: I think that it depends on the way in which they market themselves to their members. I’m a strong supporter of students associations; in fact I’m a life member of UCSA. I think that VSM will provide opportunities for students associations to market themselves to students in new ways, and to become stronger.

Gerald: What policies are you offering that will benefit students?
Dunne: I think the main one is the policy on student fees. We effectively want to abolish student fees and cut by about sixty per cent the amount of money that students are required to borrow. We would fund that by abolishing student allowances. The net effect of that would be that the amount students borrow each week would be accommodation costs only. The maximum student debt per year would be around $6800, and that would cut student debt in half.

Gerald: Recently, within an international ranking of universities nearly all of New Zealand’s tertiary institutions had fallen. The researchers cited low public investment in tertiary education. Do you think the government is investing enough in tertiary education and what would you change?
Dunne: No, I think they need to invest more and my policy of a change to student allowances and fees would encourage greater government investment. I also think that the universities need to do much more to market themselves, to each other, and to the wider public. I think our universities have a lot of skill and talent within them, and there is a lot of very good research being done that isn’t being widely recognised.

Gerald: Many of your critics allege that you are an opportunist, who is willing to work with any party as long as they give you a ministerial post. How do you respond to this?
Dunne: Well I think that it’s a very silly criticism. I’ve always believed in being constructive. If we can reach agreement, then it is far better to work constructively to achieve policy outcomes rather than just sit forever in opposition. United Future has supported the government for twelve of the last fifteen years and we have achieved a lot of our policies as a result.

Gerald: In the past your party has been seen as being populated by social conservatives, the most notable being Gordon Copeland. How would you characterise the image of United Future today?
Dunne: Well those people no longer have any part in our party and I am delighted that they have gone. We are a centrist party which comprises people with a wide range of backgrounds and views. We are, in that sense, very much in the mould of the Liberal Democrats in Britain.

In the 1950S and 1960s as television entered homes across the globe, large groups of citizens had a feeling that change was in the air. And it wasn’t just because they would be able to swoon over their favourite movie stars or view the Queen’s Christmas speech while sipping a cup of tea in their own living room. There was the idea that this new form of technology would imbue social movements with a momentum never seen before; it would inform the ignorant, highlight the oppressed and include the excluded.

Over a half a century later, the degree of political change instigated by the humble television is arguable. Will your knowledge of the political process or awareness of the repressed really be enhanced by watching your favourite Master Chef episode?

As Kate Stone, an Assistant Lecturer at Victoria University notes, “when TV first came about there was a lot of hype about it creating a democratic revolution because everyone would be able to come so informed with this ready access to information. But yet we’ve decided to fill our televisions up with reality TV shows—you’re not learning skills to participate in democracy through those shows by and large.”

Recently commentators have contended that various forms of social media, such as Twitter and Facebook, provide the ultimate method for encouraging the masses to become involved in politics. Whereas previously when a major political event happened, people would pay close attention to the event to relay this information to their neighbours and friends, now people reach into their pocket for a recording device.

Rather than talking about the day’s events at the dining room table, events and viewpoints can quickly be conveyed to thousands of people across the globe. Twitter and Facebook can be used to form social movements which span cultural, religious, ethnic and national boundaries. We’ve all seen the protest scenes where hundreds of people hold their cell phones aloft, attempting to get a better picture of history unfolding. It seems only a matter of time before a communications company launches a pitch to exchange the Statue of Liberty’s torch for a smartphone.

A key aspect of the emergence of social networking sites is how it is affecting the way the political identity of young people develops. Internationally youth participation in the voting process is low when compared to other age groups. Currently over one in four young New Zealanders between the ages of 18 and 24 are not enrolled to vote.
Whereas previously supporting a particular party was important for developing a sense of political identity, now people can pick and choose which particular issues to align themselves with online. As Stone puts it, “you can affiliate with a cause just by clicking a button on Facebook.”

So is social media the key to youth political engagement? As with television, the answer lies in how this new technology is used in practice, rather than its theoretical merits. The Electoral Commission has taken on board new forms of technology to encourage youth voter turnout. It is now possible to enrol to vote online, through Facebook or request an enrolment form by text.

Politicians have also sought the youth vote by establishing a presence on Twitter and Facebook which are seen as key political spaces for young people. Stone believes that the effectiveness of this online campaigning is dependent on whether politicians seek to do more than just impart a message on potential voters.
“In terms of politicians and Parliament engaging I think it comes down a lot to how they choose to use their technologies—do they use it just as another means of advertising, so it’s essentially just a digital leaflet or are they using it to engage with constituencies which they otherwise would not engage with.”

Facebook and Twitter are not necessary an ideal venue for democratic discussion. Stone notes that despite Facebook’s ability to break down geographic boundaries, often particular causes and discussion will only engage a certain segment of the population.

“You don’t necessarily get a debate; you get a conversation between likeminded people.”

The Importance of Education

It appears that the revolution will not be catapulted on high speed broadband from Twitter and Facebook accounts. But Stone suggests that a democratic overhaul of sorts could be created by educating young people about the democratic process and why it is important.

A qualitative survey of young people commissioned by the Electoral Commission in 2007 examined why young people were reluctant to vote. Reasons included distrust of politicians, a lack of knowledge about the process, an unwillingness to participate in a process which was perceived to have no direct benefit and refusing to vote on principle. Those in the last category preferred to be politically active through protest, volunteering and petitioning.

Stone believes that civics education would help to engage young people in the political system, teaching them about the practical side of democratic participation as well as why this participation is important.

While many people criticise aspects of civics education which are currently in the curriculum—such as the Treaty of Waitangi—Stone contends that learning about the government does not have to be boring or repetitive. The key point is how the curriculum is presented to school students.

“I mean, I think there’s no end of interesting things you can learn about the Treaty of Waitangi but if you’re learning every year that it was signed on 6 February 1840 then, yeah, that is going to be boring.”

As well as the ‘facts’ of the political system, young people would be taught key skills that will enable them to participate fully in their society. This would include the ability to analyse and critique information which would help young people to understand how to choose the party or candidate that suits their value system best. Democratic engagement can be difficult without such skills because of the sheer quantity of information out there and the amount of jargon which is present in it.

Analytical and critical ability are generally only honed at a tertiary level but Stone believes there is potential for this type of education to begin earlier.
“You shouldn’t have to have a tertiary education to be able to understand and hold your government to account.”

While many may question whether five- to 18-year-olds are capable of understanding government processes, Stone believes that civic education could be effective if it engaged with people using concepts they already know and applying them to a different context.
“Obviously you’re not going to talk about the complexities of different forms of representation with five-year-olds but you can talk about ideas of fairness and ideas of having a say.”
Teaching young people the skills of engaging with government as well as the basic processes of selecting preferred candidates and parties has the potential to overcome a significant barrier that currently prevents effective participation for many young people. That hurdle is based in difficulties of communication, with government only taking on board the concerns of young people who can express their problems in a particular way.

For Stone it appears that issues affecting young people are being “lost in translation”. To participate fully, young people need to “understand the issues raised in the media about Parliament and translate this into their own language and then also translate their problems into the language which is understood by Parliament or the media.”

You might question the effectiveness of attempting to increase democratic engagement by solely focussing on young people within the education system—and neglecting those who are no longer at school. This is why Stone thinks that it is important to begin civics education early, when children are more likely to be in school. She also believes that it is important for members of the community to pass on knowledge and to keep the younger generation in mind when making political decisions.

Some civics education initiatives have already been established in New Zealand. The Electoral Commission began the Kids Voting scheme in 2007 which provides year nine students in secondary schools across New Zealand with the opportunity to cast a ‘vote’ in the general and local elections. In the 2008 general election, 13,079 children voted through the scheme.

Children chose from the same selection of candidates as the adult population although the final results differed with Greens and the Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis party receiving 11 per cent of the vote. The highest minor party vote went to the Bill and Ben Party, who polled at 12 per cent.

The importance of the Kids Voting initiative is not in the end voting tally, but in the skills and knowledge that children gain through the process. The reported benefits of the study include an increased knowledge of Parliament, a decreased perception of the voting process as complex and a rise in the number of participants who intend to vote when they turn 18.

Ultimately it is not new technology which will provide heightened levels of democratic engagement or encourage previously unheard voices to participate in the political process. The revolution will not be an application on your iPhone or a controversial Facebook redesign. It is the people behind the technology who can make the difference. While providing the next generation with the skills and knowledge to influence government might not result in the ideal democratic society, it seems like a pretty good place to start.

Ollie: In response to the ‘We are the University’ protests that have been held at the Auckland and Victoria Universities, Steven Joyce stated that students should “keep their heads down” because they are reasonably well looked after already. Do you agree with those comments?
David Shearer: I think his comments were heavy handed; I didn’t agree with them. Frankly, I think Steven Joyce should just quietly butt out. Students don’t normally go out and demonstrate for no good reason. There’s normally a pretty good reason … the other part of it is that the student protests are an important principle. They are something that I certainly grew up with at my time at university. It was sort of like a school master telling off students. It came off as patronising.

Ollie: So you do think the protests were valid then?
DS: Certainly. Some of the protests around voluntary student membership are particularly valid. I actually think the VSM Bill–the voluntary student membership–is a really abhorrent piece of legislation that is designed to crush student associations. So, for that reason, student associations standing up for what is theirs is entirely legitimate and right.

Ollie: You are entirely opposed to VSM?
DS: We have opposed it from the very beginning. We have taken quite a lot of criticism for the tactics we have used in Parliament to oppose it, but we felt that criticism was worth taking because we felt it was a bad piece of legislation. It’s a piece of legislation that I don’t believe National even supports. In fact, we were very close to a compromise deal with them a few months ago. What happened was it became involved with politics. Heather Roy was dumped as Minister and she picked up the Voluntary Student Membership Bill as kind of her consolation package. The National Party, in a sense, was obliged to get in behind it and support it… There is a democratic way of bringing that about that is in the legislation at the moment, i.e. having a referendum, and we didn’t dismiss that in the new legislation. It’s a heavy handed Parliament telling students what to do with their lives. It will undoubtedly destroy the very institutions which students depend on, and what will happen—as it’s happened everywhere else—is that universities will charge students for the same services that they are already getting through their students’ associations. That’s going to happen. So students will get taxed without being represented.

Ollie: More specifically, what do you envisage that compromise you mentioned earlier to look like?
DS: The idea is that students sign up for the students’ association but they have a period of time during which they can opt out.

Ollie: Like the English model?
DS: A little bit like the English model, or a little bit like Kiwisaver. You can opt out if you want to. … But on the whole it allowed most students to just carry on. What VSM has done has weighted it in the other way so inevitably students’ associations will be left with no money. So, for that reason, we will repeal it when we come back into government.

Ollie: Do you see any quality in the idea of allowing students to be free to associate with students’ associations as they choose? Do you agree at all with that side of the spectrum?
DS: I see student associations a bit like membership of a society which provides you with benefits that are a part of university or polytechnic as an experience. So, as a result of that, you sign up for it. If however you feel really really strongly, I’m happy for you again to opt out. But I don’t think that the analogy of it to be something like a workers’ union is an accurate analogy. … the bottom line is, you’re going to be billed for this if voluntary student membership comes in because many of the services that student associations provide very cost effectively will simply not be available unless the university funds it.

Ollie: On that note, Steven Joyce’s Education Amendment Bill No. 4 seeks to control what the university can spend with the money gained from compulsory student services levy, which will probably go up after VSM. Do you think it should be the role of the government to decide what the university spends its money on, or do you think the university should have the autonomy to do that themselves?
DS: The reason we supported Amendment Bill Four was because we felt that there was some real value in having students consulted and having a degree of say in how the levy is going to be spent. For us that was a big advantage. There was some evidence that universities were using that levy to fund other parts of the university, so in a way it made that clear. The difficulty is that universities will have to charge an increased levy… as a result of the VSM bill going through. At one point the government’s been sort of hypocritical. On the one hand, it’s saying the fees are getting too high and we’re going to try and fix that by sorting out the universities and giving students an opportunity to look at that. On the other hand, it’s quashing students’ association and charging students for the services they’re already getting through the students’ association, but not giving them as much say in how those services will be spent. Does that make sense?

Ollie: Approaching the election, what are the biggest issues facing students?
DS: Access is the biggest issue for students. This has been a fundamental value of the Labour Party since its inception. It means every student that meets the requirement should have the opportunity to go on to tertiary education, no matter what their personal circumstances. Access is the key principle. For that reason, in 2005 we took interest off student loans. We have worked towards a universal student allowance; we don’t think we’ll be able to do that, but over time that’s where we would like to be. I think National is very reluctant and they’re still very unhappy about going along with the interest off student loans. …while they haven’t said they will revoke it, I wouldn’t be surprised if, after the election, they turn around and reapply some interest on student loans. The other issue is the over fifty-fives. There are some restrictions on over fifty-fives getting those living allowances. I think that’s a backwards step given that our workforce is ageing. Everybody should be given the ability to go back to tertiary institutes to retrain for whatever they need to do.

Ollie: So the student allowance should be universal?
DS: In a sense. We should not be putting a restriction that you can’t be 55 and over. I think that’s discriminatory basically.

Ollie: Tertiary fees have risen quite significantly in the last couple of years. At Vic, they’ve risen 100 per cent since 1997. Do you think that this discourages young people from attending tertiary institutions?
DS: Yes, it does. Obviously if fees go up, what you’re effectively doing is putting the burden on running a university onto students, rather than funding universities adequately. In effect that’s the balance. You either put a lot of money into universities or you charge the students more who take out bigger loans and ultimately cost the government more in the long term. So I think the policy that we’re looking at is to look at the ways in which universities are being funded, but at the same time … look at restrictions on how much universities can increase fees year on year. At the moment it’s four per cent.

Ollie: You talk about providing more adequate funding, and you have also criticised Steven Joyce for effectively increasing university fees throughout National’s time in government, does that mean Labour will increase funding to university institutions?
DS: Our policy is—both in science and research as well as tertiary—that we’re very conscious that if we don’t have quality universities, which means they need to be funded adequately, then we’re not going to be able to compete with universities overseas and we’re not going to keep our young people here back in New Zealand… Our aim is to keep New Zealanders in New Zealand—obviously they travel, but you want them to come back—and to make our institutions as well-funded as possible. Our institutions have been underfunded and so therefore we are looking at the ways in which we can increase funding to those institutions so they are able to grow without having to massively hike student fees.

Ollie: What part do tertiary institutions play in Labour’s vision of a highly-skilled, innovative economy? How do they interact?
DS: They interact in a couple of ways for me. Obviously funding is a key component… In terms of the science and research spending, we would be pushing for our public research spending to be increased to the OECD average, so that we are able to compete with like-minded, like-sized countries. Now we’re not going to get anywhere close to places like Singapore and Finland, but it’s still a step in the right direction. It’s in contrast to what happened this year in the 2011 budget; the science and research budget actually fell by $12 million rather than went up. A lot of that will transfer across into universities because universities will obviously take some of that funding as well… I guess if there’s one other area, it’s looking at the way that we can get some of our innovation centres inside the university to work more effectively with the private sector.

Ollie: The most recent polling puts Labour on 28 per cent. Can Labour win this election?
DS: Yes. First of all, we’re in the middle of the Rugby World Cup at the moment. Nobody really is focussed on politics… Second thing is that no party has got above 50 per cent since 1951 under a completely different system. So National, while they are polling high now, I think most of the pundits would be very surprised if they went above 50 per cent. The question then becomes who supports them under 50 per cent? ACT is quietly unravelling as we speak. So we have a situation then where the alternative in the wings is a centre-left government…

Ollie: Phil Goff is polling particularly low. Why do you think Phil Goff is so unpopular with the New Zealand public?
DS: I think overall, a lot of people haven’t seen Phil Goff other than in a ministerial role where he’s had his head down … he just hasn’t had a lot of the airtime that obviously a Prime Minister gets. So again I think with the election, in the last few weeks people will start to see Phil more, and un-edited more in the sense that it’s not going to be a political commentator that chops three seconds out and slots it into TV. Having him sitting alongside John Key in a debate, I think people will be pleasantly surprised about how Phil comes across.

Ollie: Do you think the media then has had a role in not portraying Phil Goff adequately?
DS: Yeah. The way that politicians are seen is through the way the media decides to portray them. All leaders have honeymoons and I think John Key has had a particularly long honeymoon. And we have been dogged by difficult times, which play to an incumbent Prime Minister. So, for example, the earthquakes and things like that. They were tragedies, but it gives much more visibility to a Prime Minister to be seen to be doing the right thing. We can argue around the edges but John Key’s been out there and on the ground, and it’s really difficult to combat that…

Ollie: In a couple of words, why should students vote Labour in this coming election?
DS: When you look back at what Labour has done, Labour has consistently stood by students. We have stood by students through voluntary student membership at cost to ourselves; we’ve been roundly criticised for it. With student loans, we’ve taken the interest off them. Our goal is a much more affordable, universal student allowance. When you actually look at our record, we have been the party that has stood by students much more than the National Party has been.

Ollie: Anything else of interest to students?
DS: One thing I should say that is going to benefit students is our proposal for a tax-free first $5000. That will actually benefit students a lot. A lot of students will be doing part-time work as they go through their studies. That $5000 means they will walk away with more in their hand.

Instead of a system based on the most votes winning individual constituency seats (first past the post—FPP) we adopted a German style mixed member proportional (MMP) system. Overnight our politics changed from parties needing to win the most individual seats to govern, to a process where party vote branding and negotiating behind closed doors was required to form governments and pass legislation.

During the next eight weeks in the lead up to the election and referendum we are going to be re-examining that decision. We will hear a lot about ‘fairness’, ‘representation’ and ‘accountability’ in our democracy. What voting system ensures that all our votes are fairly attributed? How do we ensure that minority groups in our society have a voice in our Parliament? How do we keep the bastards honest? How much influence should small parties have on a government’s mandate?

The pro-MMP groups want this to be a race between the two extremes: MMP and FPP. The reason Vote for Change are campaigning is to ensure that the three options in the middle, Supplementary Member, Single Transferrable Vote and Preferential Voting examined. How do we achieve some of the benefits MMP has brought us, while minimizing the legitimate criticisms of FPP? For example, the system I personally prefer, Supplementary Member, has the advantages of 30 list MPs, but just as importantly, electorates that matter. Under SM the party vote applies to only the proportion of list MPs. It means that you can give your party vote to one party and your electorate vote to another. The difference to MMP is that the party vote does not trump the other. SM allows for minority representation but keeps the bulk of politicians directly and individually accountable to voters.

Democracy is about accountability but MMP made it accountability to the party bosses.

We all know democracy works not because it picks the best or brightest people for the job, but because it allows us, the voters, to turf rascals out. The ‘threat of the removal van’ has always been the reason democracy ensures that the leaders of our society act responsibly with their power. But having a system where nearly half our MPs are in Parliament because of a list has weakened accountability.

Under MMP electorates are a fiction—for a major party on Election Day a lost electorate is just another list MP (as the party vote proportion applies to the whole 120 parliament). That means that instead of Members of Parliament in a marginal seats standing up for their electorates knowing that they could be booted out if they don’t, under MMP those marginal MPs won’t want to ‘rock the boat’ in caucus, and are far more likely to stick to their party line to ensure that they are protected with a high list ranking. That is not fair and makes 50 of our current MPs focused on keeping their parties rather than keeping voters happy.

Small parties hold the balance of power and can lever laws like VSM.

After every MMP election a small party or parties have held the balance of power. In both the, 1996 and the 2005 elections, the ultimate winner was chosen by one man, Winston Peters. After each election MMP leads to effectively a bidding war, a courtship, by National and Labour to whoever is the balance of power. Vote for Change says that’s not fair.
Some say that it is an acceptable compromise to have a disproportionate amount of power in whatever party(ies) hold the middle 5-10 per cemt to prevent either of the major parties governing, with say only 45 per cent of the popular vote.

But it is not just the middle parties that sometimes find themselves with huge power. Take for example the way ACT managed to get through their Voluntary Student Membership law. It’s widely known that a few weeks ago Simon Power lost the support of the Maori Party for his criminal procedure reform. Under a typical MMP-style deal, on the day it happened, it appears a deal was struck to support a procedural motion to end Labour’s delaying of the ACT bill, on the understanding that ACT would ensure the passage of his reform. So thanks to MMP, now those five ACT MPs, none of which had sat on the select committee or had even likely to have read the bill, are entirely dictating to the Minister of Justice and the Government what clauses stay in and what clauses go. The fundamental right to silence will be determined by a subset of the five people in that caucus. Vote for Change say that is not proportionate power for a small party.

Vote for Change
If you’re uncomfortable about some aspects of MMP, but don’t want to go back to the other extreme of FPP, you must vote ‘change’ on November 26. This debate is important and voting change doesn’t mean ditching MMP or preventing the politicians reviewing it—it means Kiwis get three years to think about the pros/cons of the most preferred alternative and another chance to vote in three years time

Not exactly a unique opinion, to be sure. But whenever I hear people talking about it they always have the wrong idea. It’s investor confidence this or debt that or taxation the other thing. Nobody seems to take a step back and say well hang on now. What is the economy? Why do we even have one? Well I’ll tell you what an economy is. An economy is a system for organising all of the labour and capital resources we have. The basic idea is that we want to organise these resources in order to satisfy as many wants and needs of people that we can. Pretty simple, right?

Now, I can show you in the world right now, hundreds of millions of people who are unemployed, and who are suffering because of it. And at the same time I can show you hundreds of millions more people who would rather like to own pool tables and hot tubs. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out that something is very wrong with this picture. Not just a little wrong. Not just extend-some-more-cheap-credit-and-the-problem-will-go-away wrong. Fundamentally. Broken.
So why is it that the people without jobs can’t make pool tables for those without hot tubs? Oh, well, it’s because the rich(er) people can’t afford to pay them to do so. Yes their incomes are higher, but they’re spending it all on things already. Likewise the unemployed cannot afford to work without being paid. They need to survive as well. A little extra consistent income in the hands of the tubless classes would fix that right up. But where is that money? I’ll tell you where it is. It’s in the hands of the richest 1 per cent of people. Some people say they worked hard and deserve that money. I say that if they insist on using that money in such a way as to leave half the rest of us unemployed and the rest tubless then they don’t deserve squat. Most of us live in democracies. Why would I vote for an economy that leaves me tubless instead of one which provides me with pool tables? Madness!
There’s a little history here which I should review. People have a strong belief that rich people use money better than poor people. They invest, they create businesses, they create jobs, they create prosperity. There’s a good reason that people believe this. The reason is because it’s true. However, exactly who this is true of is not all rich people. It’s all about how the money is used. If you use your money to buy a plant and equipment and raw materials and labour, then good on you! You’re the good guys. You drive our economy ever upward and you satisfy ever more needs and wants. But if you use your money to speculate on property or currency or commodities like cereals or petrol then I despise you. You create no jobs, you satisfy no wants or needs, you create no wealth for anyone except yourself and what is worse!—Your despicable trading only drives up the prices of commodities! Your actions simultaneously make you richer and stifle the growth of everybody else! Food, housing, transportation, all of my basic needs cost me almost double what I should be paying for them because of you. That means that employers have to pay twice the wages. It means that nobody has money left over to buy products, no money left over to satisfy their other wants. You’re not the heroes who drive the economy. You’re the scumbags that grind it beneath your feet, and the sooner we stop you, the better off we’ll all be.

And that’s why I support a punitive financial transaction tax. I want to target exactly that kind of speculative commodity trading and make it impossible to profit from. Then we can get your colossal foot out of the smoking crater that was once a prosperous world economy and get on with our lives. In fact, if we stop you from masturbating all over us, then you’ll in all likelihood start actually helping us again by putting your money to productive use. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Rather, it was that if those boys wanted to flee from the disgusting abuse, their capacity to go to another school was severely restricted. New Zealand’s system of school zoning means that to go to the school of your choice you have to be lucky or rich enough to live near one that is good.

The current system is easy to understand. The government builds a school and then, on a map, draws an area around it: anyone living between the lines gets into the school. Anyone outside those lines typically goes to another one. If all schools were equally good, this would be fine, but they’re not. There are some, like Macleans College in Auckland, that are routinely recognised as being great, with high levels of academic achievement, teacher ability and parental involvement. But others continually fail their pupils. Even schools close to good schools can fail, as was the case with the dysfunctional Selwyn College, which, despite being relatively close to Macleans, had its entire board replaced by the Ministry of Education.

Every parent in New Zealand wants the best for their kids, and some really don’t want to send their children to one of the ten South Auckland schools that have a uniformed police officer on duty during the day. They can try to send their kids to a better school in a number of different ways. First, they can move to an area of the city that is in a good zone. Unfortunately for them, many other parents have had this idea, and the increase in demand for houses in that area raises the price beyond the reach of most. In Auckland, for example, one side of a road that is in the Grammar zone has an average house price that is $100,000 greater than the side that is out of zone. This is madness.

Alternatively, parents can send their kids to a private school, like Kings College, Scots College or Christ’s College. This is, of course, another choice unavailable to the vast majority of parents due to the costs involved. Finally, they can enter their children on the ballot of a good school, a system through which a very small number of children from outside the zone can attend that school. Every year there are hundreds of applications to Wellington College for out-of-zone children. Figures obtained by Stephen Whittington, a candidate for the ACT Party, show that last year there were 208 applications to the ballot. Of these, five were accepted. The remaining 203 children are now in worse schools.

In the absence of school choice, there is a captive market, where schools are safe in the knowledge that 99 per cent of the students that live in their area will be attending no matter what. This guaranteed income stifles improvement and innovation: even if the schools get better, the funding available to them doesn’t improve, and they can’t capitalise on students wanting to attend them. Worse still, the number of places in successful schools is often specifically limited by the Ministry of Education in order to sustain the rolls at others. That is, good schools are prevented from taking more students to ensure that bad schools are full of pupils.

It is an absolute outrage that poor parents in New Zealand have little choice but to enrol their children at schools that are worse than those rich parents can send their kids to. There are few areas in which those with low incomes are as discriminated against than schooling. The Government spends around $8,000 for every student in the country on education each year: this money should simply follow them to whichever school they want to attend. Schools would then have an incentive to improve: no board or principal wants to be responsible for the loss of $8,000 when parents, fed up with their taxes funding a terrible education, send their kid elsewhere.

Good schools will no doubt be oversubscribed to—Auckland Grammar at the moment probably can’t hold many more than its current 2500 students (although they have indicated that they would expand as much as possible if they were not subject to an enrolment scheme). However, with every new student bringing with them $8,000, and with no legal restriction on their capacity to expand (as is currently the case), they could build a new wing to accommodate more.

This wouldn’t enable everyone to attend Auckland Grammar; some children would still miss out. But now, unlike before with their captive markets, schools face competition pressures. In order to get as many of those valuable students, they will have to improve, innovate. Some schools will push academic achievement to attract enrolments; others, a focus on the arts or sports. The point is this: if schools continue to fail their students, parents should have the choice to send their children elsewhere. Even if it isn’t their first, second or even fifth choice, anything is better than a school that maintains order only through police presence, or a school that hides for almost half a decade tragic cases of sexual abuse.

For the record, I can accept most of these. Not that I’d do them, mind. But I can look at them and raise a bro fist of respect, because they are proud enough, happy enough or just ballsy enough to do it. Although, one thing that I have never understood for the life of me is piercings—the process of inserting metal or other foreign material through and into your skin as a fashion statement.

Now, when writing it like that, it sounds fucking ludicrous. Try fielding this earth-shattering concept in the Dark Ages. The only times any piercings went down is if you were pinned to a grassy hill by a spear or if you were the doctor attempting to remove said spear with an even bigger spear. But, like all formulae, once you have the basics, you can only build upwards. Say, for earrings. You start with a stud, then a dangly one, then a tube. Suddenly, these freaky people are channeling Quetzalcoatl and hanging paving slabs out of their ear lobes.

It’s scarily fascinating and fascinatingly scary at the same time. And like all things, I can’t get it out of my head until I find some kind of reasoning behind it, however backward it may seem logically. I see some of the prettiest girls—and guys, because I’m accepting like that—go out and ruin themselves by mutilating their noses, their lips, their tongues with all this jewelry with non-lethal hara-kiri.

What the hell sparks this process? Is it rebellion? I mean, the act of mutilating the body that was bestowed upon you just to prove that it is yours seems rather definitive if a little hard to digest. But then it can be reasoned in the same way a guy crashes his car. It’s the scratches and dents that give it character and narrative, and what makes it unique. Perhaps it works the same way with piercings. Then again, in the same manner a car has no selling potential after you’ve taken a tire iron to it, it’s the same when you apply a tire iron to your nipple.

In all honesty, the practicality is nuts. Piercings seem to have no other purpose than status. But even then, what status are you preserving by parading a bull ring through your nose? That you are a bull on heat ready to ride the nearest heifer? It doesn’t help that those particular piercings are female dominated, or maybe that’s just where I live. There are so many other ways to prove your point that doesn’t involve mutilating your body. And, it’s not stopping with staple art. Now there are implants that go under the skin to simulate, say, the alien queen planting eggs into your skull. At what point do we leave the uncanny valley of weird and fetishistic and return to the land of ever-so-slightly quirky?

All in all, I’ve never got it, and I never will. Perhaps they’re dying to prove a point which isn’t the “I walked in and they were having a two-for-one sale on bottle caps through frontal lobes, and deals like that don’t just appear on TradeMe” spiel. Maybe it’s a personal thing, maybe they just never grew out of that phase where it was cool to eat chalk and shove crayons up their noses. But I decided to pass on piercings when burnt sienna got stuck between my nostrils.

And don’t get me started on the chalk.

Besides considering the morality of breeding animals for human consumption alone, meat production is among the top contributors to climate change, which seriously jeopardises the lives of people in island states like Kiribati who have already experienced rising sea levels. Even on a personal level, eating a hamburger a day could increase your risk of risk of heart disease by one third. All scary thoughts when we consider that we’re eating twice as much meat as we did 50 years ago.

As an environmental studies student and a George Monbiot fangirl I know these facts. Yet, for as long as I have been endorsing the vegetarian lifestyle, I’ve also been known to let my taste buds rule on occasion, and order the chicken curry. Some would call this cheating. I call it flexitarianism.

Sounds sexy, right? Part-time vegetarianism has been the in-thing on the trendy streets of San Francisco for some time, but it reached New Zealand only a few years ago. In my opinion, there is little reason it shouldn’t have staying power. Whereas vegetarianism is an ethical (and therefore personal) choice, the attempt to eat less meat is just a good idea. It’s healthy, super cheap, eco-friendly, and best of all, effortless. Subsisting on the five other food groups is not difficult, and we flexitarians can do this without feeling like the only greener-than-thou guest at Friday night’s potluck dinner.

This may be the kind of statement that would inspire a Smiths song on walking, talking, meat-reducing oxymorons. To that, I argue that doing your little bit for sustainability still far outweighs doing nothing at all. There are certain parallels between the choice to cut down on meat and the one to use bio-oil as your fuel of choice: both are not as sustainable as going teetotal or donning your bike shorts, but both still cut down emissions substantially. Most importantly, both can be easily adopted into the average lifestyle.

Evidently, some vegetarians are more vegetarian than others, and as the environmental impact of meat production starts to be seen, full-vego may soon be the only way to go. Until then, call flexitarianism your prep-work, but don’t feel too condemned if you very occasionally indulge in homekill. Meat is murder, true, but Morrissey’s a bit of a bastard.

I can see you, narrowing your eyes and getting ready to turn the page because you think this is an ode-to-freaks sermon. You’ve probably already glimpsed your course’s resident weirdo this morning and wondered how anyone in a pink ski jacket could listen to that much Metallica. Maybe you’ve just had your day spoilt because the seemingly average guy you almost asked out followed you down Cuba Street talking about his exotic keychain collection. You’ve had enough of weirdoes and their eyebrow-raising ways. But that’s alright. This is not a tirade against you or a beat-down of normality. It’s a celebration of peculiarity and the way it makes life just that little bit spicier. Weirdness comes in many forms. The scale ranges from “I carved your name in to my arm last night, want to see?” (extreme) to “I think blanket man is Jesus” (mild). It affects people in different ways. Some like to play soccer while wearing swimming flippers, or eat grass when no one’s looking. Others are afraid of the colour blue.

Weirdness has also lead to greatness—think of Alfred Hitchcock’s macabre possessiveness, Virginia Woolf’s inability to write sitting down, or Walt Disney’s penchant for mice. The world isn’t exactly unsalted either. Forget global warming, dictators, AIDS, and the oddities in Animal of the Week—the planet is home to far more inexplicable occurrences. There’s a 24 carat gold toilet, eight-metre-long fingernails, Kim Kardashian’s fame, two-headed kittens, snake-charming, hot-dog eating contests, sword-swallowing, Hello Kitty, spoon-balancing, Silvio Berlusconi’s face, Flava Flav, 50 per cent water Just Juice bottles, Pez dispensers, and the fact that I got a whole page to write an opinion column when I am notoriously devoid of them. The point is that too many people these days fear the unusual. From radical hair colours to radical philosophies, being too different is cause for concern. It’s been one of the most damaging and insidious forms of close mindedness in history, yet each generation shakes their head and refuses to believe that it’s their problem. We take decreases in racism and sexism as proof that we’re more tolerant and enlightened than we really are. And that’s what keeps it going. Ethnic cleansing and racial segregation both start in the same place as the urge to belittle the fat guy with the Bon Jovi tee shirt or whisper ‘slut’ at the leggy Goth girl whose only infraction is being prettier than you. It seems like a stretch, I know.

This isn’t to deny that we’ve come a long way, because we have, and we should all be proud of that. It’s simply a reminder that everything gets better when we take a minute to chill the hell out, let go of the fear, and ask ourselves why we can’t try to appreciate those less conventional than ourselves. The freaks. The weirdoes. The nerds and the crazies. The people who talk to their reflections, act like they’re acid-tripping when they’re not, or are self-taught experts on Norwegian stamps. This isn’t a call for more anti-bullying facebook status updates. It’s an appeal to be a little nicer, maybe a smidge more understanding. If you don’t agree, that’s fine. It’s just an opinion.

Over the last week, I’ve been quizzing people left, right and centre (bias is bad) about politics in this fine country of ours, and the overwhelming majority have responded with disinterest and ambivalence. New Zealand politics is so deathly dull, Parliament TV has been successfully trialled as a sleeping aid for chronic suffers of insomnia. It’s deeply soporific, to a degree rivalled only by statistics lectures and watching grey paint dry in a room completely devoid of any other stimulus. It’s the only channel with negative viewers.

I have an opinion, however, as to how the machinations of the New Zealand government could better appeal to a generation brought up on a steady diet of explosions and instant gratification. For this, we look across the Pacific to the United States of America: the first thing you’ll notice, as you check out the political scene, is that everyone is angry. Foaming at the collective mouth. Politicians there are incredibly polarised, and compromise is a dirty word. Many take the phrase “Sticking to one’s guns” quite literally. Following the deplorable assassination attempt on Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in January of this year (which I am, to be clear, not encouraging the imitation of—use your words), politicians and political talking heads alike leapt to declaim the violent and aggressive nature of American political discourse (in much the same way that media outlets are only now discovering the racist swamp that is a Youtube comment section). Here, we face the inverse problem – civility and politeness. While the harmless-looking Phil Goff “respectfully disagrees” and the bland, smiling John Key manages to choke out an “I believe the Opposition is misinformed” between photo opportunities, the various would-be Republican presidential candidates are positively crawling all over each other in their haste to declaim President Obama as the “antichrist” and the “most stupid/least capable president in the history of the United States”. It’s fascinating to watch.

I recognise that there are some strong reasons underlying the New Zealand political timidity—we have a lengthy tradition of politeness and respectfulness. Several Members of Parliament have ‘Honourable’ right before their names. We have few real left- or right-wing parties; the big two are within spitting distance of one another. Our unicameral system reduces the potential for factions to gain power and obstruct the legislative process. Almost all of the time this is great, even laudable, but some might consider the system even a little bit too streamlined in certain cases cough file sharing cough. Besides that, New Zealand’s relatively progressive and liberal national values (not to mention our cabinet-acknowledged “socialist streak”) cut off a whole broad avenue of minority-bashing and infringement on peoples rights. There might simply be less to be indignant and “over my dead body” unyielding about.

But enough of these perfectly reasonable excuses. I want to see Opposition party leaders elected on the basis of hating the Prime Minister so much more than the other candidates. I want highly-publicised hissy fits from both sides of the political spectrum, generalised gnashing of teeth. I’m convinced that a little more spectacle, a little more sound, fury and outright rhetorical viciousness would do wonders for the dismal youth voting enrolment rates we’ve been hearing so much of lately. Fuck arms, give politicians the right to bear grudges. Maybe then politics would be an effective tool to get youth into ballot booths, instead of into dreamland.

 I know that is possibly the most overused word of the last two years, but it sums up fairly succinctly the concept I’m trying to put across. A concept that we could do with a lot more of. Our world is full of innovations and constructions to make us feel more comfortable, relaxed—to make everyday life easier and, to be perfectly honest, a little bit bland. There’s not much around today that really has the potential to overwhelm us with awe. Nothing to make us grin and giggle uncontrollably just because it’s there. That is exactly what we’re missing.

 Wouldn’t it be great if the world we live in wasn’t full of dreary quasi-mature office buildings and occasional abstract sculptures of steel and glass, but things our eleven-year-old selves could glimpse and be genuinely excited about the future. It’s childish, yes, but that’s the entire point. Sometimes, the kids are all, every last one of them, right—they’re using their imaginations, and isn’t that what we pay “creative-types” the big bucks for? If a child’s vision of the world could be implemented by adults with some technical expertise behind them, there would be some seriously awesome changes around here. Something better than a Wellywood sign.

 The possibilities are endless with the technology in this day and age. Dubai’s skyline has shown us what can happen with a bit of positive attitude, and Japan made the most of a cultural knack for awesome with an indoor beach. Auckland’s even got an indoor ski slope. But why can’t we take it further? How about a public waterslide that goes on a hundred metres? Or a statue of a sword, so high that it’s cutting through clouds, just for the hell of it? Who knows what we could dream up, if money was no object.

 And that, I suppose, is the one big hurdle to my dream. The bottom line. I don’t have to point out that money’s a little bit tight at the moment. There are problems that are going to take time and a lot of money to solve, and critics of awesomeness would quite rightly argue that they need our attention before we look to building a Futurama-style compressed-air-tube mass transit system. But why can’t we have both? There’s material for endless debates on the related politics and economics, but there’s something I wish the great minds would take into account. Instead of worrying and committeeing and thinking of a million reasons not to do something cool, why can’t we focus on reasons why we should?

 Look what happened to Auckland. They had the chance to build a central-city waterfront stadium, which would have been a step in the awesome direction. Instead, they decided it would make the CBD too noisy on game days, and refurbished Eden Park instead—far from awesome. 

Why not put aside a special fund for building awesome things. Some of the money could come from the lottery, or donations from people who’d love to see a fifty-square-metre public ballpit in Central Wellington. It’s not about anyone making money: it’s working for the public good. And since it’s creating construction jobs, the government can happily sign on with their support—they’ve contributed to far less worthy causes in the past.

 Life should be an adventure—not an exercise in drabness and uniformity. Stop whining. Care a little less about money, and a little more about giant foam sword arenas. There is a library in Kansas City shaped like a stack of books—how cool is that? We have the technology, the know-how, the imagination: let’s build awesome things!

My concern is not directed at what political parties say or what they do, instead it’s directed at the political space in which they talk. Something is missing from our generation’s politics. Something important, and it’s been lost.

Former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Tony Blair, said the that most important thing in politics was the power of ideas. What he meant by this was not that political parties were going to win hearts and minds by proposing new, populist policies. Instead, he meant that in order for politics to work properly, in order for it to matter, it needs to be based on a vision.

Visions, principles, values—these are amorphous things but they matter. Trying to pin them down and make them real is always a challenge, but its important. But in contemporary politics the power of ideas is conspicuously absent. And it has been since the late 1980s.

Thats not to say that ideas are not acknowledged. They are. But they have transmogrified into something more vulgar. Major political leaders now only pay lip service to values. Evocations of freedom, equality, personal responsibility, environmentalism or reason are bound up in the discourse of brand and image, not ideology or vision.

This represents something that is increasingly disturbing about the role and importance of politics in peoples lives. The Harry Potter generation no longer see politics as something that is empowering, or as something that can make our collective lives better. Our parents did, as did theirs before them. Earlier this year in the Dominion Post, Professor Jon Johansson said that if you truly want to meet a cynical person, talk to someone aged under 25. I think he has a point. The oft quoted reason for this is because our generation is blasé and apathetic. That probably plays a part—but as an explanation it is entirely insufficient. It is simply describing a sociological symptom, not a cause.
The reason for this disconnect is more fundamental. It goes to the heart of how our generation views the sociological role of politics. Since the mid 1980s, the power of political change and of political thought has become increasingly undermined by politicians, perhaps inadvertently. The rise of the individual has inherently shunned the importance of politics (of any ideological persuasion) as a force for good. Apparently, politics is now no longer needed to regulate society, it has been rendered defunct, superfluous to requirements. Instead, individuals acting according to their own interests will eventually lead to order and stability. Because we are rational, obviously.

The result of this was that politicians or political activists are no longer seen as visionaries—but instead as managers. Democratic elections have become an exercise in consensus over who we can trust to “run” the country. They are a competition for who we can trust to ensure that the apparatus of the State, along with the services we need to oil the wheels of individualism, are looked after and protected. Government, and the politicians who manage it are engineers within a system. There to keep us safe from unseen threats—the most obvious being international terrorism.

Ironically, it was Tony Blair and his third way Labour Government that contributed in the most obvious way to the removal of the political from politics. In the early years of his administration the British State was transformed from a vehicle that promoted patrician values to a public choice machine that simply provided people with whatever they wanted.
New Zealand’s own experiences of State reform during the 1990s and 2000s was similar. Even within a leftist-social democratic framework major policies were directed at the individual or the family—not at the nation, as part of a progressive vision.

The current National-led government personifies this insipid “govern by the numbers” approach to political life. This is reflected in the legacy of the last generation of student politicians—of which I would consider myself a part. Inadvertently or not the approach has been to manage the competency, sustainability and viability of our student institutions. It has not been to promote a vision about what it could be or what it should be for. This is nobody’s fault—a fact that frustratingly reflects a political culture which subconsciously shuns the political.

In order to break this cycle there needs to be resurgence in the power of ideas. There needs to be a re-appreciation of the importance of ideology. Not of only one, but of all ideologies—from the Libertarian right to the Communist left. Scarily, it is only the fringes of political society, the tea-partiers or the anarchists, who still cling to Utopian dreams. But they are only heard loudly because they are the only ones talking. We must have a conversation that drowns them out.

The purpose of politics is not just to figure out who gets what, where, why and how. It is to try to imagine how to create someone different. Without re-injecting the political back into politics we, both as individuals and as a collection of individuals, will never figure out how to change the world for the better.

Everyone, every single one of us has something which we do not value at all, which another one of us would be eternally grateful for. We can all make a positive difference directly to everyone in our lives in a meaningful way. Be a freegan. It’s easy.

There are layers and layers, and all you need to do is float on top. Ignore anything you’ve previously heard, ignore the label if you are uncomfortable with it. You don’t have to rifle through trash, or re-appropriate others’ possessions. Simply give things you do not need or want to people who will use them. Offer leftover dinner to your flatmate. Offer those shoes that don’t fit to your friend of the same shoe size. Two cheese graters just takes up space, but a flat without a cheese grater is really put out on occasion, so pass it on. You have this amazing potential to make so many lives seem better, easier, more comfortable, at an absolute minimum effort to you. Listen out for comments like, “We don’t have a —-” and assess how quickly and costlessly you can help. If you own something which doesn’t fit you or your lifestyle, quickly assess those around you to see if someone else would cherish it. Anything you own which you don’t actually use is better used by someone else.

If you won’t just give, loan things to people who you know always return them, or only loan things you don’t mind not getting back. If you have it, help others use it, or spend the time to teach them. If you have a friend who you don’t trust with your stuff, come over with the stuff, help them use it, and leave with it. In many cases, they’ll probably be more grateful for the help—and everyone understands nervousness about expensive belongings. Just offer the help in the format you’re comfortable, and it will be accepted or declined—no harm, no foul.

Freeganism also makes you a happier person. Did you know the people who live above me bake for me because I let them use my washing machine? I have never asked for anything in return, but they think of me often enough to turn up with hot delicious baking. At no cost to me, when I’m not using it, my washing machine is used by an entire flat of people. There is no conceivable way that I will stay at this house long enough for this $100 machine to require replacing, so what’s the harm? They’d probably just try to sneakily use it anyway, it’s stored in a communal area, and instead of spending many an hour fretting over washing machine possessiveness, I get cookies.

I think it is important to see each other as friends with a life, thoughts, feelings, and a future. It is important to care about everyone else’s future, because it’s our future too. Giving freely encourages love and empathy on both sides. It also gives us faith in people. Giving freely is a transaction where there is no fear in what is expected of us, and strength in ourselves to only give what we can. It is so rare to receive something you need, simply because someone has observed you need it. It shouldn’t be. Freeganism pulls us further away from a tit-for-tat system where we carefully measure out our love, money, and possessions to ensure we get ‘enough’ back from life. Society does not owe us anything. We are a part of society, and we owe it to ourselves to make society what we want it to be.

While it became the ‘burqa debate’ the central focus was on one element of the burqa which covers the face – the niqab. Media attention was initially sparked by the refusal of bus drivers in two separate incidents to allow women wearing burqa to board the bus. The bus company claimed that the bus drivers’ actions were not due to a prejudice against a particular type of Islamic dress, but because of a fear of facial coverings known as ‘maskophobia’.

Leaving the bus drivers aside and assuming that the coincidence of two people being diagnosed with the same rare medical condition was genuine, the ensuing public discussion revealed widespread misconceptions of the Islamic faith within New Zealand society.

Some critics argue that the burqa should not be allowed in certain situations while others called for an outright ban in public places. Opponents claim that the burqa symbolises the oppression of women, that it allows wearers to commit crimes with impunity as they remain unidentifiable, and that the garments provide a method for hiding weapons or other devices which pose a risk to public safety. Paul Holmes, in an opinion piece for The Herald entitled ‘No Place Here for Burqa’, claims that “even the most reasonable New Zealander—even the most pro immigration as I am—will tell you they hate the muslim face mask”.

These views mirror the anti-burqa stance taken by several influential politicians overseas. In France, burqas were banned from schools in 2004 and face coverings were prohibited in public places from September last year. Speaking of his objection to the burqa, French President, Nicholas Sarkozy observed, “We cannot accept to have in our country women who are prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social life, deprived of identity”.

Jack Straw, who served in the British Cabinet from 2007 to 2010, also became infamous for his views on the burqa when he refused to meet with constituents wearing face coverings. Closer to home, Cory Bernardi, an Australian MP publicly declared burqas to be ‘un-Australian’ garments which represent the repression of women and contribute to a growing trend of ‘burqa bandits’.

You get the feeling reading such comments that these powerful men had not spent a lot of time talking with the women that they perceived to be victims of the burqa. If they had, perhaps we would have heard a more balanced view of the burqa and its place in Islamic society. For example, that rather than always being an oppressive requirement, Muslim scholars generally accept the view that it is a woman’s choice whether she wears a niqab.

There was no public questioning of the attire that Holmes, Sarkozy, Straw and Bernardi select each morning. These men line up in their respective Google image searches wearing that beacon of Western culture—the tie. In my view, the merits for banning ties equal those for banning burqas.

You could claim that Jack Straw’s rivetingly awful striped tie turns him into nothing more than a faceless hanger for his polyester blend. The slightly trapped look in the eyes of businessmen darting down Lambton Quay confirms my suspicion that Paul Holmes cannot liberate himself, or others of his Yes Men generation, from their silk chains. Sure, Sarkozy has the most elegant tie of the bunch, but doesn’t this just illustrate Sarkozy’s repression by his sartorially inclined supermodel wife? While Bernardi looks innocent enough in his baby blue number, you’ve got to wonder whether that high collar is hiding something sinister.

Granted it may be ridiculous comparing ties, which are a quirk of dress, with forms of Islamic clothing which have far greater religious significance and in some cases prevent identification. But it is also ridiculous to contend that the superficial measure of banning the burqa will actually address or remedy the oppression of women. A common theme of imposing a blanket ban on either garment is undermining the freedom of the individual for very little public gain.

Recent events in Egypt and Yemen where muslim women have taken on leadership roles within public protest have caused those in the West to question the stereotypes that they associate with burqas and hijabs. Women, in a diverse range of clothing, are controlling their own liberation. Paul Holmes and other burqa ban advocates are only limiting choice in the name of freedom and should stick to making their own wardrobe choices.

There are times in life when you must stand up for what you believe in. Now is one such a time. I fight for the redemption of music. I fight for Robbie Williams. Yes, I’m out, and I’m proud.

Ever since Robbie Williams ripped off his own skin and cast his fresh flesh into a throng of ravenous half-naked ravens on roller-skates, I have harboured a secret crush. I am not ashamed to admit it, and I am not ashamed to have attended Robbie live in concert, Christchurch, 2001. It was a “sick” gig. Robbie remains the eternal spring of hope buried deep ‘neath my loins, the sparkle in thine lover’s eye, the heavenly breathe upon a supple summer’s wind. Robbie is my life; my destiny. They say music taste is subjective. Perhaps this is true. But not with Robbie. Robbie is truth.

In those days it was OK to be open about these things. They were brighter times; Robbie was universally adored. Torn from humble beginnings, he was cast into the spotlight, lusting after transcendent greatness. This he achieved in the spring of 1998 with the release of seminal compilation-infused-with-original-material classic, The Ego has Landed. It seemed Tony Bennett had fornicated with George Michael and produced the god-child of soft pop-rock. He was purity in a festering sin-pit of pop filth.

But then came the stigma. The album Rudebox was released and, just like that, Robbie was uncool. Rudebox: what was this enigma? I became insecure—ashamed even—isolated. Occasionally though, in the forgotten back-rows of class, the muffled phrase “I actually enjoyed the hidden track on Escapology” could be heard and I would know I was not alone. There was rare companionship. But there would always, just as swiftly, be retraction: “I don’t really like Robbie Williams.” Alas, it hurt me then to see those poor fools suppressing natural instinct. But I kept faith. It takes courage to swim against the current. I mean, if you can’t swim, you drown. But today, those dark times are over.

In defence of music, I offer you three reasons why Robbie Williams is the greatest recording artist of all-time:
Record sales are no indication of quality. Not so for Robbie. He’s sold a fuck-load of records. Everyone fucking loved him. How’s that for fucking tautology.

Robbie has the fertile mind for lyrical intrigue revered by all great musicians. Few have covered as diverse a range of subject matter. Compare the discussion of 21st Century mystic hedonism in ‘Let Love Be Your Energy’ with the analysis of medieval occult fatalism in the trip-hop infused archetypal Bond ballad, ‘Millenium’. “We’ve got stars directing our fate, and we’re praying it’s not too late, cos we know we’re falling from grace,” he sings in the chorus.

I don’t particularly like tattoos and it is no secret the Robbie has a penchant for the habit. But his tattoos serve a purpose. They are a reflection of his descent from god to fallen-angel. But he knows this. “Such a saint but such a whore”, he reflects in ‘Come Undone’. He’s self-aware; it’s fucking postmodern, trust me. It’s art. And every erudite bro has got to love a bit of art.

Now, nothing repulses me more than people who claim to possess superior music taste to others. But then, it is important that we reject total relativism. It leads to critical inertia. Sometimes it is imperative that we stand up for what we believe in. In doing so, we must not have any regrets: “they only hurt”. Robbie’s coming back you see. I know it. He must… for me… The Rudebox years are but his time dormant, buried behind stone. Soon, his heavenly spirit will return, the stone will be cast aside, and he will rise again. This time, more powerful than we can possibly imagine.

In these days of apathy and doubt, there is only one such thing I can say with certainty: I believe in Robbie Williams. If you too know truth, speak out. You are not alone.

I had spent months upon months of going on anti-Genetic Engineering marches; pasting stickers and posters reading ‘GE Free NZ’ everywhere; persuading my parents to shop religiously with the GE Free shopping guide—not to mention risking social exclusion by earning myself the label of ‘dirty hippy’ after getting preachy about the topic at my intermediate speech competition. And after all that, ‘Corngate’ broke, and the government was accused of covering up the accidental release of GE-contaminated corn seeds in the country.

I expressed my extreme outrage in a long and strongly-worded (for an 11-year-old) letter to Helen Clark. I’m not sure if it was my over-zealous use of commas or choosing to write in Comic Sans MS that gave me away, but instead of receiving a thoughtful, personalised and adult letter to match mine, I was fobbed off with a ‘GE and You’ information pack for children. At the time I was annoyed, even hurt, that my government thought I could be so easily appeased, simply because I wasn’t of voting age. I had spent hours researching, writing and editing that letter, only to receive a glossy booklet that did nothing to address the issues I had raised, but simply explained to me “What is Genetic Engineering?”. When I was older, I vowed, I would use my pull as a voter to try to change society into the place I wanted to live.

Nine years on from that incident however, and although I may have stopped using Comic Sans and excessive commas, I’m certainly not making the most of my advanced years to right society’s wrongs. Although there are still issues that get me hot under the collar, and certainly things I would like to see changed, the truth is that for the most part, I just don’t give a shit. And it’s not just about genetic engineering, or politics in general—I’ve no idea where the fiery passion of my childhood has gone, but these days I’m hard-pressed to give a rat’s arse about most things. In 2000, I would go hungry at times in order to avoid eating battery-farmed chicken. Now it’s 2011, and after attempting vegetarianism for two weeks, I decided that I didn’t really care anyway, and ate three mince pies in the space of an hour.

Although my childhood protestations had a notably political bent, no matter what our cause, there is no denying that most of us were far more passionate as children and teenagers. Oh, how we stuck it to the man with our temper tantrums, slamming of doors and rolling of eyes.

But now that we are older and capable of constructing a reasoned argument, why aren’t we using this ability to protect the things we hold dear? It seems a shame that we’ve lost our mojo just as we reach an age where society will actually take us seriously.

It’s easy to convince ourselves that we just don’t care; that there’s no point in trying, because even if we did it probably wouldn’t make a difference anyway. It’s easy to think that we’re above being outraged, too cool to get worked up, and too old to throw a tantrum. Yes, it’s easy not to give a shit—but when we let our apathy rule, we risk losing the things we really do give a shit about.

Whatever your cause—whether it be big or small—stand up, speak out, and do something about it. Maybe it’s the cuts to tertiary education that have got a bee in your bonnet; maybe you just paid way too much for a wrap that was actually pretty substandard at Wishbone. Pissed off, riled up, red in the face, cheated and angry? Then do something about it. It’s that simple.

Seriously, there’s so much shit music out there that whenever I happen to be in a situation where music is playing, I feel like a newly hatched coprophiliac maggot who is ashamed of what he has just done. In fact, as a certain Dim Post columnist once described my writing, finding good music is like “sifting through so much shit to get tiny flecks of gold”. And of all of the terrible music that I have heard, the song ‘Human’ by The Killers takes the fucking cake.

I first started to seriously dislike this song because of that line in the chorus – you know the one: “Are we human or are we dancers?” What the fuck does that mean? I thought. That makes no sense whatsoever. Humans and dancers aren’t mutually exclusive. You can be a human and you can be a dancer—being one doesn’t exclude you from being the other. I know people who are both human and dancers. You can be a human and not a dancer, and there are non-humans out there who can dance. Bees dance, did you know that, The Killers? And did you ever see that YouTube video of the parrot dancing to fucking drum and bass music?? Yes, dear readers, The Killers are misleading you through song.

It gets worse. Upon doing some actual research for this opinion, I looked up the lyrics, which actually read “Are we human or are we dancer?” …I’m sorry, what? Are we dancer? You mean, like, are we all one dancer? Singular? Really? Fucking really?? Not only does that logically not make sense, it also grammatically doesn’t make sense. I just… no. Just take a few breaths, count to ten. Okay.

Listen, I can appreciate art, and I understand that artists must sometimes push the limits of their medium for artistic reasons. So if we are to label this particular arrangement of words and musical notes as art, we must first find the reason why lead singer Brandon Flowers seems to be illiterate. I looked up the inspiration for the line and found it came not from a YouTube comment, but from a quote by Hunter S. Thompson, which is grammatically correct because he was literate, so it’s not that.

Perhaps he needed to omit the ‘s’ so it would rhyme? Well, throughout the whole song it only rhymes with the line “And I’m on my knees looking for the answer”. Well, so am I, but if he had put an ‘s’ on dancer and answer then it would have made sense and made the song slightly less shit, and it’s not like adding an ‘s’ would screw up the rhyme scheme. So that rules that out. He’s just illiterate. Brandon Flowers sucks at grammar so hard that ‘Karma Police’ by Radiohead was originally called ‘Grammar Police’ and was about him (Grammar police / Arrest this man…).

Let’s move on to the actual musical content of the song. There’s a beat in there somewhere. The singing makes you want to rip your inner ear out with a corkscrew. As the lyrics suggest (?), it is supposed to be a song you can dance to. But there just seems to be something a little off about it, something not quite right. Sure, there’s a sort of techno-dance sound to it, but you wouldn’t actually dance to it, would you? It somehow manages to be a very depressing song. A depressing dance song. How is that even possible?

Brandon Flowers is not only illiterate, he’s also musically illiterate. And the song is shit. But keep musicalising, The Killers. Maybe one day you’ll make your fleck of gold. Maybe.

But even in the face of these grave character flaws, I strive to be rational, a trait that is not prized enough by modern society. Fuck being earnest—earnestness is just, as P. J. O’Rourke so rightly said, stupidity sent to college. The importance of being reasonable, however, is paramount: if we can’t reach conclusions from deliberate consideration, if we can’t connect our beliefs to our reasons for belief, and our actions with our reasons for action, we are chickens without heads.

Too often, issues that are shaded grey are discussed in black and white terms. The argument over Voluntary Student Membership is a key example: to articulate it as a binary of compulsory or voluntary undermines the influences on and implications of the debate. Even worse than such total statements is hand-wringing, hysterical rhetoric. The New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations were quite rightly mocked for their “desperate” press release that declared that “members of the press release” would “tonight be appalled” that the “extreme… Bill” had not been reconsidered. I understand the intended effect of emotive language, but this verges on being insulting.

The same issue arose at the tumultuous ‘We Are The University’ protest on Kelburn campus a fortnight ago. Call me heartless, but changes to the International Relations programme does not constitute “the death of tertiary education”, and saying so undermines your point, alienates potential supporters, and makes it easier for your detractors to ignore, dismiss or rebut you. Moreover, the letter addressed to Vice-Chancellor Pat Walsh was, quite frankly, cringeworthy—petulant, sarcastic, and reeking of entitlement. I don’t dispute that the lack of consultation with students on changes to the University is disturbing, but snarky repetitions of “Pat” do not convey this, and that the protest’s organisers felt that this was an appropriate way of articulating these concerns—especially on behalf of other students—was acutely embarrassing.

Sometimes people confuse “discussion” with “sermon”, “lecture”, or “verbal assault,” but it’s easy to engage in reasonable dialogue, and doing so fosters constructive, rewarding, authoritative debate. Just be respectful of and open to new ideas; provide proof and justification; and concede to evidence that disproves your point. Your argument is never so powerful that it’s not necessary to talk about it.

By the same token, it is important to recognise the limitations of your opinion. Above all, you need to come to terms with the fact that all your opinions, without exception, are framed by your own experience and understanding of the world. Being a student of Victoria University, you are likely to be a white, middle-class New Zealander, aged between 17 and 25—and by that definition, you cannot be a leading authority on China’s economy or Michele Bachmann or the Israel-Palestine conflict. Not even if you hold a full online subscription to The New Yorker. It is of course vital to pay attention to international affairs, but fronting like an expert on issues that neither you nor I, by virtue of our position within the world, could ever hope to fully comprehend is misleading and presumptuous.

This is why we need to initiate a return to reason. Rationality does not preclude creativity or innovation: in fact, it reinforces their foundations. As one creative type, filmmaker Lars von Trier, noted—”if one devalues rationality, the world tends to fall apart”, and I am deeply concerned about the world falling apart. It is so, so important that we articulate ourselves clearly and intelligently and reasonably; otherwise, we just look like dicks. And if I’m going to look like a dick, it won’t be because I’ve made a blanket or overwrought statement that highlights the flaws in my logic. It will be because I’ve set my hair on fire.

This extends beyond the political parties themselves; they are selling a product and it makes sense for them to utilise any and all ad space available. They are not the true threat to social media, their supporters are.

“When you go to the zoo and you see a monkey throwing poop, you go, “that’s what monkeys do, what are you gonna do?” But what I wish the media would do more frequently is say “bad monkey.”

This quote is from Jon Stewart who was arguing that the media was being unresponsive to the failures of politicians and that a form of comfortable Nihilism had set in around the reporting of these political failures. He may have a point, but countering this is a universe of twitterers and trollers whose reactionary streak is inflamed by seemingly anything, and who refuse to debate on, or about, anything substantive. This is because the internet is seen by many as so divorced from the real world that what happens on it will not have any ramifications in the real world. They are wrong

How do you know if you are ruining the internet?

Substance can be subjective, but there are certain common traits of the type of lazy debating seen on the Internet. Here are a few:

Taking an argument anywhere just to win it—Whether by Godwin’s Law or pure stupidity, when someone fears the momentum in a debate is turning against them they will change the subject to something they feel better prepared to argue, even if the correlation between that and the original point is almost nonexistent.

Unrelated previous failures/controversies—Like the ‘taking an argument anywhere just to win it’ technique, this strategy involves making up for one’s lack of anything worthwhile to say by pointing to previous, but not at all connected, failures that this person had as proof that they are incapable of being right. This has the added effect of allowing the hack in this situation to dismiss any point you make, no matter how valid.

Ad hominem—Going on the offensive because you have nothing intelligent to say is a staple of the lazy-but-opinionated crowd. Calling your political opposite an offensive word for the female anatomy or calling them racist/sexist/homophobic/etc without any proof of the validity of your accusation is all too common in these partisan online arguments. It’s dirty, callous, and entirely out of line, but it has the added effect of rallying any like minded reactionaries who are looking for an excuse to behave poorly.

Why would someone ruin the internet?

One word: Signalling.

In contract theory, signalling is the idea that an employer will state a skill or level of proficiency they require from a potential employee, thereby attracting people with those skills to apply. In partisan Internet trolling, people use similar statements to show their loyalty to a party, ideology, or social group. This can come in the form of Facebook likes, events, or just using the above strategies to attack people who don’t agree with them. Far from being irrational—though it does stem from desperation and an unhealthy attachment to what others think of them—this type of behavour is often calculated and part of a greater goal—to convince others that you hold these beliefs and that this makes you better than them/in the same boat as them.

Next time you see one of your friends has joined ‘John Key is a ’ or any other non-positive partisan group, just remember that this is all a show.
When you go to the zoo and you see a monkey throwing poop, you go, ‘that’s what monkeys do, what are you gonna do?’ But what I wish people would do more frequently is ask themselves ‘why did I come to the zoo?’

The answer, obviously, varies from person to person. Some may apply some convoluted algorithm to assess a movie’s ‘worthiness’ while others may just cite a film they saw recently that they really liked. If asked, I’d be one of those sad fucks weighing up each film’s ‘worthiness’; my ultimate answer would be Miller’s Crossing, the Coen brothers’ gangster masterwork. It’s both technically flawless and incredibly entertaining—the dialogue is classic Coens; snappy, inventive and a delight to listen to; the actors (Byrne, Turturro, Finney, Gay Harden et al) all give spectacular performances; Barry Sonnenfeld’s cinematography gives a dry comic life to the autumnal production design; etc. etc. etc. I will never not love this film. But is that the truthful answer at any moment in time? Or, as Roger Ebert suggests of his stock answer—Citizen Kane—is it merely convenient?
The answer is alternately yes and no. No because I do love and will never grow tired of Miller’s Crossing—in contrast with Ebert, who is apparently “finished with” Kane. But yes, because if we follow Ebert’s lead, it is not the film I want to watch most right now. The same can be said of many of my other favourite films. I adore Bong Joon-ho’s monster movie The Host; Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s sweet confection Amelie; Rian Johnson’s sharp, resourceful high school noir Brick; Kim Ki-duk’s poetic, beautiful 3-Iron; Jean-Pierre Melville’s effortlessly cool Le Samourai. I love them dearly, but I do not want to watch them right now.

Right now, I want to watch Final Destination 3.

Final Destination 3 is everything I want out of cinema and more. I cannot profess to have the depth of feeling for FD3 that Ebert has for La Dolce Vita, the film he waxes lyrical about in his blog entry, but I can honestly say that I have a deep appreciation for every second of it. James Wong directs like Vincent Price used to act in the old Corman films, broad and deliciously hammy—Wong takes a film about teens running around, freaking out about their imminent deaths and uses his playful editing and cinematography to turn it into a wholly unique tragicomedy. Their futile humanity in the face of a grand, complex terror endears us to them; their deaths at the hands of methodically-constructed, ridiculous Rube Goldberg set-ups reveal the comedy of their situation. It’s lively, it’s exciting, and it’s a knowing and clever piece of filmmaking. If Sight & Sound called me up and asked me to submit a top ten for their poll each decade, would I put FD3 on it? Probably not. But, right now, it is the film I want to see the most and it deserves the title of ‘favourite film’ at this point in time. A favourite isn’t for life—it can be, and should be, just for Christmas, because our opinions are never static.

It’d be a little bit boring if they were.

The problem with this “nationalist” Palestinian movement is the complete lack of people interested in actually running a nation, let alone capable of doing so. It seems that only Israel draws intellectual criticism about its very existence. This is a fair call if you look at its positioning and the mental state of its neighbours.

It comes as no surprise that the same pompous hypocrites who delegitimise Israel are silent on far bloodier state establishments that involved larger displacements of people like, say, Pakistan. [You know, that politically fragile, Islamic state that has nuclear weapons..? Whoopee.] There is never any mention of the 10,000 Palestinians killed by Jordan who seized most of the land, have stripped refugees of their citizenship and continue to ban ownership of property sixty years on. The mass killings and human rights abuses in Syria, Sudan and Egypt are considered irrelevant, probably because Jews cannot be found to be at fault—although they could always find a way.

The social justice brigade (in the sickly form of Students for Justice in Palestine etc) is quick to join in on the self-righteousness, without even thinking that their twisted definition of the word ‘justice’ equates to the destruction of Israel. Usually when somebody hears the words peace or compromise they think happy things like harmony and understanding, but in this context it means an imposed solution. This “solution” means one side wins and the other loses because one side is “right” and the other is “wrong”. There is absolutely no thought given to the fact that both sides may have valid claims.

This bullshit concept of justice leads these middle class left wing pricks to believe, somehow, that Palestinian Arabs have the only historic claim to the area and that the Jews are solely responsible for all Palestinian suffering. This is despite the 750,000 tons of humanitarian aid to Gaza alone in 2009 from Israel. These same people protect the right to Palestinian terrorism or “armed resistance” (y’know, that military aid Palestine’s sending Israel, in the form of 6500 rockets).

If the Students of Palestine really believed in justice, they would demand billions of dollars from Arab states for the displacement of the hundreds of thousands of Jews and support them living in their rightful home. They would demand that the US stop funding the Palestinian Authority, who celebrate terrorists and pay salaries to murderers in prison.
If Hamas and the PA really wanted to take care of their people, they would save money on explosives and buy their hungry children some food. A great idea, I believe, given 70 per cent of their economy is foreign aid.

It is no coincidence that the Palestinian authority has just appointed the celebrity mother of seven terrorists to launch their UN campaign for statehood. You have to be totally immune to irony to be a Lefty these days.

(And no, I am not Jewish)

I think that bread is a savoury food and should never, ever be eaten with jam. Or honey. Or marmalade. I think that Six Feet Under is the best television show of all time. I think that celery is the worst thing in the world, especially when it’s in potato salad. Sometimes when I find celery in a foodstuff I just purchased—a foodstuff I assumed was celery-free—it gives me heart palpitations. As much as I hate the stringy green devil, I don’t know if it’s the worthiest thing to spend these six hundred words on. So, I’m going to write about the thing that makes me the most angry.

I believe in something so bland and so boring. I can’t even fathom it’s considered an ‘opinion’. I can’t believe this could be a fourth form debating moot or an essay topic or a contentious legal issue. I don’t understand why this is something that even has to be written about anymore. The thing I believe in most of all is that the gender of the people you fuck and the gender of the people you love should not matter.

At all.

Not to anyone.

Not to the church and not to the state and not to any other human being on this green earth.

I could rehash all of the tired-but-truthful arguments about same-sex marriage, like the Edge’s wedding competition and Britney’s 55-hour marriage. I could argue with you until I was turquoise in the face about gay adoption, and tell you about that Williams Institute study which showed child abuse rates are at zero per cent for children raised in lesbian households.

I could. But I’m not going to.

Because when I’m gay-writing about gay rights all I can think about is my girlfriend. We have one of the most boringly normal relationships ever. We spend our weekends trying to decide whether we, as two hollandaise-loving lesbians, think Floriditas really has taken out Aro Cafe for the coveted title of best Wellington brunch spot. Recently we’ve started getting our groceries delivered and it’s working really well for us. We love This American Life and we sing along to television theme songs so that by the time we’ve finished the box set we’ve perfected the harmonies. When I write about gay rights I think about how much I love her. And then I think about how we live in a country that considers our relationship to be lesser, just because there are two vaginas involved.

And then I want to cry.
It could be worse. It could be a lot worse. We could live in one of the 82 countries where homosexuality is illegal. My problems are small fry, compared to the queer people in other parts of the world who are thrown into jail or stoned to death. As small as my fry may be, it still sucks. It sucks that my girlfriend and I are supposed to be satisfied with a civil union. It sucks that Stuff.co.nz, ‘New Zealand’s Best News Site’, runs a ‘Weddings’ section but they have never featured a gay couple. It sucks that our smiley Prime Minister voted ‘no’ on the Civil Union bill. It sucks when people use the word ‘gay’ as a pejorative term but maybe I can’t blame them when the New Zealand legal system considers gay relationships to be of an inferior status.
I want New Zealand to change. I want New Zealand to legalise gay marriage and same sex adoption. That’s my opinion, if you will. If you consider a belief in equality to be an opinion.

Then the calls started, and the emails. “Hey, are you okay? Where’ve you been?” I guess his friends just wanted to let me know he still loved me. It was sort of nice of them. After all, it wasn’t just him I’d dumped. It was them too, the people I had shared the last years with who, I suppose, had loved me as well.

Occasionally, I’d bump into them. They’d hug me too hard and tell me wide-eyed how much he missed me and that he’d made so many sacrifices just to be with me. Of course, I had made him mad and stuff, but he was totally cool with it now. He’d take me back any day. It’d be just like old times.

“Here’s my number, we’ll have coffee.”

I was tempted. Those months were lonely. Cripplingly. My memories of them blur into avoiding people in hallways and eating lunch alone. I hadn’t just lost the people; I’d lost a worldview, a routine. A warm and wonderful security blanket had been yanked from beneath my feet and I wanted it back.
Had I made a terrible decision?

We did have some great times, with this wise, enigmatic guy. He was dedicated, kind, cryptic and mysterious. A real romantic. Everybody loved him. He was always there with a comforting word and reassurance. He gave me free stuff. We went to concerts and parties, full of bright and sober teens so eager to know all about me. For the first time, I really felt a part of something.

Only years later in the clarity of retrospect did I realise how stupid I had been. At first, it was nice not to feel wholly responsible for myself, to be answered for. But soon it was more. Soon, my body wasn’t mine and even the life around me and the thoughts in my head were somehow his. There was something wrong with me. I needed him. I owed him everything. I worshipped him.

That arrogant fuck.

And, god, did he lie. He told me wonderful, fantastical things, so obviously untrue. I watched him ignore unimaginable suffering and effortlessly control his adoring fans at whim. He was conservative, dogmatic, violent and dangerously persuasive. He ignored my questions and let me feel guilty, self-loathing and perpetually afraid of upsetting him. I let him take my money and use my worst fears against me. I let all the trademarks of an abusive relationship fly right under my radar. I let it all happen.

I was furious, but more than that, I wanted to help. I wanted to warn his next victims—the young and naive converts he will tempt down the same road. Maybe he’ll fool them for longer. Maybe he’ll hurt them more. I wanted them to know just how much of a dick he is. I wanted them to know that they were worth more.

I wanted them to know that dumping God will be the best decision they ever make.

A friend had introduced us. We were strangers to one another and our first encounters were fumbling and uncertain. My prejudices loosened by generous helpings of gin, I had let my guard down. At first I was embarrassed to be with cigarettes. We would meet infrequently; mostly in the dark, mostly drunk.

I knew the relationship was risky. I had been warned, and I promised I wouldn’t get involved. Cigarettes were no good for me. There was guilt and regret, but I always came back. My parents were unimpressed with my new acquaintance, suggesting that I find friends who had more respect for me, such as peppermint chewing gum or celery sticks. But I hate celery, and gum is too expensive.

Eventually I surrendered, the concerns of others’ no longer bothering me. Cigarettes weren’t all leather and tattoos. They had a softer side, always waiting in my pocket, willing to talk at any time.

Cigarettes fast became a part of my daily existence. We started to do it in public. Mornings were spent together, drinking coffee and planning the day. We would occupy one another on the walk to work, or the moments between lectures. And when the night came, we would sit together, shivering on the porch, and reflect on the day. They always knew what I was thinking, as though an extension of myself. Their mood was my own; moody blue smoke in the morning sun, a fiery glow and crackle in the evening air.
We were in love.

Time, however, seems to corrode that which is good. The idealism of our first months was soon marred by the realities of being so close. Some days they made me feel beautiful, and others degenerate. Some times bold, others timid. Both strong and weak. But we didn’t give up, determined to find the initial glory that had brought us together. Rapidly, cigarettes became demanding, forcing me to make sacrifices in the name of our bond. My wallet wept.

Quick, too, was the reluctant wedding. One day an impermanent dalliance, the next a committed bond. There was no bachelor party. Our honeymoon was a respite, full of justifications and rationalisations that it was love holding us together, rather than base chemical addiction. But not long after, we would share flights of passion, only to find the end in a guilty smear of ash and paper in a curb-side puddle. Each moment together was unceremoniously farewelled with a twist of the shoe.

I try not to see cigarettes as much anymore. This resolution has been less than successful. Cigarettes know how to make me take them back, writing me smoky love letters invoking the night we first met. Now they sit before me on the desk, laden with promise and despair in equal measure. I leer back at them, and inform them that this relationship has an expiry date. A moment later I apologise, and roll another.

Eventually I will file for divorce. The split will be acrimonious, the alimony patches and withdrawal. Red wine will never taste quite the same without my infallible companion, and no longer will I have an activity to punctuate awkward conversation. But maybe I’ll quit those too.

Until that tragic day, I’ll stick by cigarettes. For right now, I’m still in love. Despite the quarrels, doubt and guilt, cigarettes bring me moments of unmatched serenity. A time will come when this is no longer true, and I hope at that moment I possess the gumption to walk away. When that will be, I cannot tell you. But I do know that in the meantime I’ll learn to smoke in the shower.

Sex education needs to start early in order to be effective. How early? Early childhood education. I am talking about encouraging our children to be self-aware, respectful of themselves of others, and to learn that sex is about feeling nice with someone you like, but that it’s for older people. The key is that they learn that sex is meant to be good and fun. Not shameful and bad. It’s also important that children know their bodies are their own.

The primary school sex education curriculum needs to be about the fact that humans are often sexually interested beings from pretty early on. They need to know that the sex they are having with themselves is normal and fun, but that it’s personal to them. They should know what consent is, how to make decisions around sexual activity when they feel ready, what ‘ready’ and ‘age appropriate’ means, and how to communicate around this.

There was clitorally curious 12-year-old in the news recently. He had heard about clitorises and he understood that it made ladies feel nice. He wanted to make his girlfriend feel nice. And he wanted to check that that’s okay. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in a long time and I want to throttle the Herald for admonishing this poor kid for his natural curiosity.

Should two 12-year-olds be touching each other’s genitals? Well, a surprising amount of them are having intercourse. If we can encourage these kids to potentially plateau at mutual fun-touching, then that’s a really good thing. Rather than accepting—but also ignoring—the quintessential hand shoved down someone else’s jeans at a third-form dance, then deciding that maybe the other gender is gross, before getting drunk on scrumpy at someone’s party a month later and deciding to do it, can we just stop for a second and celebrate this beautiful 12-year-old?

Being given a condom and encouraged to try it on a banana or a wooden penis—and please, let’s all just cringe at the casual racism with the villainous, gross “big black [wooden] penis” described by a horrified mother in the media recently—is not going to suddenly make your 13-year-old decide to have sex. They probably want to have sex. And if they want to have sex, they’re going to have sex. So you better hope that Mrs Palmer in Health Sci gave them a lecture about using condoms. Saying that sex education increases young people having sex is like blaming umbrellas for rain.

If you have any doubt about that, look at the proudly abstinence-only education state of Texas and their unfathomably huge unplanned teen pregnancy rate. Then take a look at the Netherlands, which has some of the best sex education in the world, starting very young and making contraception and reproductive health choices taboo-free and easily accessible to all. They have one of the lowest unplanned pregnancy rates in the world.

To complement the potential for great, age-appropriate self-awareness based sex education in primary school, the secondary school curriculum should go further than that just safe sex. In year 9 young people should start talking about sexual and gender identities and getting to know themselves and what floats their boats. They should be talking about negotiating relationships, communicating what they enjoy and what they don’t enjoy, and what the difference between love and control is. They should feel confident in knowing what to do if they find themselves in an unhealthy relationship. They should discuss how to avoid ‘grey areas’ of consent. They should learn about the mixed messages in the media around sexuality, and they should be able to recognise the harmful beliefs those messages come from.

These conversations shouldn’t stop at year 10. Don’t pretend that parents are going to jump at the idea of having these conversations at home, or that groups of 14-year-olds themselves, who are exposed to the bullshit ‘1782 tips to please your man’ and “Gz up hoes down” culture are going to take it upon themselves to discuss what confuses them about sexual expectations.

We need to change out education legislation to require schools, all schools (because little Timmy at Saint Sacred Heart of the Angels in the Divine Family is still going to fuck Dylan from up the road) to teach not just the mechanics, not just safe sex, but the intricacies, preferences, conversations and joys of sexuality and gender. We need to start young, in an age-appropriate and open way. We need to accept that children of many ages and stages are having sex, and we need to encourage them to do it in a healthy, respectful way. Rather than shaming them and the people who try to help them.

If we don’t change this, then those horror stories you’ve got from your high school – about the girl who lost her virginity in the bush by the skatepark, or the dude who caught an STI from someone in the bathrooms at the ball—they’re going to be your kids. So you better start telling the horrified suburban Suzuki Swift brigade to stick their scaremongering bullshit where it can’t hurt any more young people.

Although he succeeded in ending the awarding of British Honours in New Zealand in 1996, and firmly advocated replacing the Privy Council as the country’s highest appellate Court—successfully executed by the subsequent Clark Government—17 years later Mrs Windsor remains the symbolic head of state.

Writing in the 1940s, the foundation Professor of Political Science at Victoria, Leslie Lipson observed of New Zealand’s political culture: “abstractions, theories, ideals—these are of little account or interest unless they can be immediately applied. Utility is the national yardstick.” The cultural pragmatism Lipson recognised endures, and goes a long way towards explaining why Bolger’s push for full and final independence remains unfulfilled. The question persists: Why, when New Zealand is already a de-facto republic, do we need to officially cut ties with the monarchy?

With the Government having initiated a review of our constitution, it is with deference to the aforementioned cultural reality that I advocate the prospect of a ‘soft’ republic.
The soft republic approach would see New Zealand’s system of government move to a parliamentary republic, with the current hereditary head-of-state replaced with a New Zealander chosen by New Zealanders, whether by direct election, or the more likely option of parliamentary appointment. Under the parliamentary republic model, this new head-of-state would retain the same powers, functions and responsibilities of the current Governor-General, but would symbolically reflect New Zealand, rather than Mother England.

As Victoria University law lecturer, Dean Knight argues, under this system we would have a head-of-state who retains the valued ceremonial and community functions of the current Governor-General, but would better represent and reflect the values of multi-cultural Aotearoa, and that’s the crux of the argument.

“The Royal Family do not represent us. They represent something different, and whether they be pop-stars, or champions of goodness, they lack the essential Kiwiness. While the office of the Governor-General has evolved to manifest many of these Kiwi values, there is a limit to which it can continue to evolve when it is a subordinate role anchored abroad in London.”

Often submitted as an obstacle to achieving full independence by way of its essence as an agreement between iwi and hapu on one side and Queen Victoria on the other, the Treaty of Waitangi need not be an insurmountable hurdle. As it stands, the New Zealand Executive has long assumed responsibility for meeting Treaty obligations (to varying degrees, of course). Essentially, a soft republic would retain the status quo, with the transition to a republic, initiated largely independent of wider constitutional reform.

Of course, an optimistic—or less-soft—view of the potential surrounding republicanism, is that it would allow, and facilitate a wider debate resolving the future role and place of the Treaty. This, as part of, and along side, the codification of New Zealand’s Constitution, would be a more ambitious approach to be sure, but an approach that would benefit the nation as a whole.

Assuredly, advocates of republicanism are unlikely to be beneficiaries of the current constitutional review. Bill English, while accepting that the panel will review the republican debate, has explicitly stated that the Government “is not advancing the prospect of a republic.” This is hardly surprising when the current Prime Minister seems to hold an unusual affinity for the monarchy, working to strengthen the old symbolic ties to the extent that he reintroduced knighthoods to the New Zealand Honours system.

However, the republican question is shrouded in inevitability—something even Mr Key will admit, even if he’s happy to leave it for the Sixth Labour Government to address. As Victoria’s Dr. Jon Johansson argues, “It’s a natural rite of passage that our history has inexorably been leading us towards.

“Britain, the old ‘Mother Country’ (for fewer and fewer of us), abandoned us several decades ago, to better put its own house in order (or at least to pursue its own perceived self-interest, which didn’t include providing continued guaranteed access for our protein-based products), so it is time we simply acknowledged this reality and did the same.”

In the context of ‘Mr. Brainwash,’ you can understand where he is coming from. Still, I think his original sentiment was right, and it applies just as much to music.

Everybody appreciates music. We all know that. I’ve never met anybody who doesn’t like some music to some degree. I’ve met people who don’t like chocolate or rice bubbles, and though I choose not to like them because of that, I don’t judge them to be the same soulless type that I might judge those, as yet unmet, who don’t like music. However, if the appreciation, the listening to and enjoying of music is the watching of porn, then the playing of music is the having of sex.

While it’s not necessarily the most elegant analogy to use, it does get the point across. And that point is this: not all of us are trying to be Ron Jeremy or Jenna Jameson, Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin; we might be, but it’s a small minority of people who participate in sex and sport who aspire to such heights of greatness.

At my high-school 85-ish per cent of people played rugby (a statistic of great pride for us all). Not everyone was doing it with the hope of being an All Black. Some may have, while for others it was a Saturday morning exertion of energy, for others an opportunity to try and start fights, and for the vast majority, a chance to dabble in a little Catholic school homoeroticism. But everyone did it—participation had very little to do with ability.

Alas! Not so with music. Attitudes towards the creatively engaging are treated with the weighty suspicion of Kiwi stoicism. From an early age people seem to latch on to phrases like “I can’t sing to save myself” and self-diagnose tone deafness with severe musical hypochondriasis.

Whatever weird kink in our maturation that blocks our desire to participate in something so universally appreciated is as irrational as procrastination. There’s nothing as rewarding and down right enjoyable as playing music.

Simply, it is my humble opinion that playing music is good for the soul, and everyone should give it a go. Just like calculus and coming to grips with Donnie Darko, it may take a bit of time and effort, but you will get there. Everybody has some sort of intrinsic musicality (see ‘Bobby Ferrin demonstrates the power of the pentatonic scale’) that isn’t restricted to Happy Birthday’s and Fringe Bar karaoke.

You might say that this could be applied to anything creative or artistic, and if you did you might just be on to something. I would happily concede to include anything creative, but I think music has the somewhat unique characteristic among the arts of being more inclined to sociability that gives its edge over the other arts for me. You might also say that having the opinion that everybody should do something artistic to broaden his or her minds is hardly an earth-shattering revelation. Again, spot on Bevan, but it seems that like eating habits, binge drinking and procrastination, we all know what we should do, we just don’t do it. So all I’m saying is, if you want to keep eating badly and drinking too much, while doing very little of productive worth, try your hand at music, and just maybe you can turn those bad habits into a lifestyle choice.

There’s a natural lull in the conversation and, feeling that we’ve really made a connection over the past few G&Ts, I lean over and ask you, my recently acquired bestest pal in the whole wide world, what your list looks like.

Come on now, everyone has a list. It’s that superficial inventory of requirements that pops into your head whenever the subject of an ideal romantic partner arises. Some qualities might be vague and others a touch more specific; ‘nice’ belonging to the former category and ‘a retired Olympic gymnast whose vying passions for LARPing and Nordic cuisine somehow create a neverending sense of turmoil within her’ the latter. My inquiry is fueled by equal parts curiosity and the overwhelming urge to warn you against the very notion of having a list because, may I assure you, mine led to nothing but trouble. Allow me to illustrate what I mean, you coyly quiet thing, by revealing the qualities which used to occupy the Top Three positions on my list.

Outdoorsy yet intellectual:

A bit greedy and a touch unrealistic, right? The sort of man who reads Ulysses from cover to cover for a lark couldn’t possibly also be an accomplished walker. Yet after reading the perpetually delicious Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods I was determined to meet such an individual. No one was more surprised than me when I actually found him though. My visions of us scampering about the countryside were tragically, however, not to be. Oh, he took me into the great outdoors alright, but I fear I was somewhat unequal to the task of keeping up my end of the intellectual banter while simultaneously trudging up a goat track and wilting under the glare of a sadistically radiant sun.

A musician:

I’m certainly not the only girl who swoons at the idea of some guitar-wielding gentleman serenading her with a song but, not content with simply waiting for Antonio Banderas to make his way into my life, I was foolish enough to actively seek out a mysterious musician. I got exactly what I wanted too—a man whose mystery morphed into a paralyzing inability to confirm if/when/where we were ever going to meet up. I had more chance of George Harrison texting me back. Musicians, and every heterosexual male in Young Labour apparently, are not only notoriously flaky but also as difficult to pin down as that pesky 70s indie-fringe you whimsically got a few weeks ago at the salon.

Charismatic:

Wow. This guy. Let me tell you about this guy. He who shall be somewhat less than affectionately referred to as Penis Face was, physically speaking, the polar opposite of what I usually find attractive in a male and yet so energetic and confident that I somehow forgot he was about a head shorter than me. Aesthetic appeal was the least of my worries. I’m not prone to getting all flustered and pouty when a fellow has a wee flirt with other girls but Penis Face sure distinguished himself by, on one memorable occasion, pushing me out of the way so that he could do just that. The experience of being spatially readjusted in this manner encouraged me to look upon his behaviour thereafter with a rather less indulgent eye and thus, when a set of unidentified teeth marks one day graced his shoulder, I pursued the matter with a withering sense of resignation. Upon being questioned on the origin of said teeth marks, Penis Face favoured me with a charming, if sheepish smile, and suggested that perhaps he had “slept on it funny”. There are few things less attractive than an inept liar.

I’m sure that these boys were, on the whole, perfectly lovely.  I suspect that I’m not still with any of them because of my rabid insistence on their possession of the very qualities which inevitably led me to resent them for quite some time. There was another boy, of course, amongst all of this. He was perfect and I simply couldn’t begin to tell you why. I sometimes try to account for why I liked him so much and why things didn’t work out there either but words, I’m somewhat bemused to report, fail me.

In my opinion, this concept is a very unhelpful figment of Hollywood’s imagination, perpetuated primarily by Disney and other films that end up in the Young Adult section of the video store.

I’m not saying this because I’m a bitter old person who wants to ruin your ideas of romance. I’m saying this in hope that you might come to your senses, and have a better chance of meeting someone you can have a long, genuine and mostly happy relationship with. I’m trying to save you some time.

Right now, you are probably looking for signs from the universe that he/she is the one. That you’ve caught the same bus to university for the past year but somehow never met. That you both love that same Bob Dylan album and own it on vinyl. That you both have dog-eared copies of On The Road. You know what all of that stuff is? Just shit you have in common, and shit you could have in common with any of the straggly looking fuckers around you.

You’re probably also waiting for that feeling. In movies they say ‘you’ll know’ when they’re ‘the one’, and it implies some sort of mystical tingling. I’ve had the tingling (on several occasions) and (every time) it just turned out to be hot sex-attraction. And sometimes gas.

Many of you are also no doubt rapidly adding to your list of must-haves in a lover: a sense of humour, nice eyes, same taste in music, nice arse, kind and thoughtful, will hang out with your friends, a good mix of intelligent and silly, same religion, same politics, dog-person not cat-person etc, etc, etc…

The problem is, if you keep looking for the instant magic and someone who meets your list of requirements, you’ll either be eternally dissatisfied or single. There is magic, there is spark, but it’s not because you’re fated to be together—it comes from mutual love, respect and friendship.

The fact is, in this world there are probably several hundred people that you could stand to be around for a good chunk of the day, every day, for the rest of your foreseeable life.

Uncle Daz is short, balding, and insists on wearing camo shorts year-round. Nothing I was looking for in an ideal man. But the man loves me unconditionally, is a wonderful friend and heaps of fun to hang out with. I don’t even mind his farts anymore.

I chose him because it was the right time. We were on the same page, wanted the same things from life and were both willing to put the work in. I chose him because I could trust him, have a conversation with him, and he didn’t mind my family as much as I did. It was nothing to do with destiny.

In keeping with my advisory role to you all: quit thinking that your fate is hurtling toward you, quit your dreaming. Instead, have a good hard think about what’s really important to you. Is it someone who listens to the same music, or someone who won’t cheat on you? (Hopefully both, actually). Just start being realistic, and stop waiting for the one.

It was not the newest Apple product that had people waiting up to five hours in the rain but the exhibition Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty. This was held in celebration of the late British fashion designer, who since the early 1990s continuously took the fashion world by storm with his controversial and trend-setting designs. With 661,509 visitors, it was the eighth most popular exhibit to be held at the Met in its 141 years. The museum has recently announced that the recent four major exhibitions held at the Met, including Savage Beauty, generated $908 million from visitors to the city. Clearly such exhibitions are money-making opportunities for public institutions and hosting cities. The public want to see fashion design, and institutions that give it to them are increasing their visitor numbers exponentially. New Zealand should get on board this international trend and celebrate its history of fashion.

Firstly, some of our public museums and galleries are already taking part in this evolving area of research and exhibition display. Te Papa continuously exhibits its textile collections in the Eyelights space. Currently on show is New Zealand In Vogue, which celebrates the former New Zealand version of the publication synonymous with fashion. There are other significant textile collections all around the country, including the Auckland Museum and the Hawke’s Bay Museum.

Secondly, in 2009 the New Zealand Fashion Museum was established and has already produced two exhibitions. Their most recent is titled Black In Fashion, opened to coincide with the Rugby World Cup. The New Zealand Fashion Museum is an organisation ‘without bricks and mortar’ and with that brings flexibility that enables exhibitions to be curated to suit the space and the designs. Black in Fashion will be travelling to Wellington in February next year.

Finally, two recent publications to be produced in New Zealand on the history of fashion are The Dress Circle: New Zealand Fashion Design Since 1940 by Douglas Lloyd Jenkins, Claire Regnault & Lucy Hammonds and New Zealand Fashion Design written by Angela Lassig. Not only do these publications contain mouthwatering imagery of some of our most celebrated fashion designs, but they open the door for further research and publication.

I believe these are all steps in the right direction. Douglas Lloyd Jenkins argues in his introduction to The Dress Circle that New Zealand has previously treated its fashion history as a recent phenomenon, starting year one at the moment ‘The New Zealand Four’ (Zambesi, Nom D, World and Karen Walker) took on London Fashion Week in 1999 and the New Zealand fashion industry got significant public recognition for the first time. However there is a far richer history of our fashion industry to be discovered, a lot of which has not been recorded. There needs to be major steps taken in order to preserve that history, including research, collection and conservation. Exhibitions that celebrate fashion are clearly popular and public support is there. Unveiled: 200 years of wedding dress is visiting Te Papa from the Victoria and Albert Museum in December and is already looking to be a popular exhibit with a large amount of pre-press and public interest. Next time, Te Papa could call upon its massive textile collection to present an exhibition the size of Unveiled, but instead celebrating New Zealand fashion history and our designers. Perhaps Karen Walker or Zambesi will get a queue around the corner too…