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Zia Ravenscroft When I first moved to Te Whanganui-a-Tara, I was entranced by the diva on the green pedestrian crossing lights around Cuba Street. A hand on her hip, hair piled high, strutting across the street like she owns it. Because she does. This is Carmen Rupe, the Queen of Wellington, New Zealand’s most famous transsexual. Arohanui, Carmen xx is a new exhibit at Wellington Museum and the first to celebrate her incredible life. I had the honour of being shown around by

Students who started university in 2024 and are graduating this year probably don’t know this, but you’re not really supposed to have the same Salient editor for three years. The last person to edit the magazine for more than one year did so in 2000 and 2001. So, yes, it has been a while. And, thanks to a slightly strange series of circumstances that brought me back to the job in 2025, you very nearly got rid of me. After three years in this job, I have learned a lot about jo

Susannah Crawford In the dining room of my family home in Christchurch, a black‑and‑white photograph hangs on the wall. Four men stand on an icy Himalayan ridge, their tents pitched on what looks like a forty‑five‑degree slope. The ridge is on Thamserku—a steep, fluted giant rising 6608 metres above the Khumbu in Nepal. Every Everest Base Camp trekker sees its dramatic profile from Namche Bazaar, but almost none will ever stand on its summit. Only six confirmed ascents have

Hanadi Hammad Al Bakhas In Syria, water was never just water. It carried the taste of belonging. I was five years old in my grandfather’s garden in Homs. Summer wrapped the day in warmth. Butterflies wandered through the air, flowers leaned towards the sun, and my little cat followed me wherever I ran. I was the first grandchild in my mother’s family, and everyone treated me like I was something precious. I grew up surrounded by love, convinced that childhood would always fee

A Constructivist Case for International Dinner Parties Angela Ipock International Relations spends a lot of energy debating what states want and why they fight. But one of the field's more interesting insights—one that constructivist theory puts at its center—is that neither wants nor identities are fixed. They are built. States, like people, come to understand who they are and what matters to them through interaction with others. Identities and interests are not given in adv

Pedro Hay If you’ve ever found yourself at a party, completely lost for something clever and interesting to say, perhaps you’ve tried sneaking in your incredible insect knowledge by mentioning that most ant species can lift ten times their own bodyweight with ease. Not only would this make you look really weird, but it’s also a lame fact. You should probably excuse yourself from the conversation at this point. If you want to really be the life of the party, tell them about t

Charlie Lehmkuhl Realising I grew up poor was not something I expected to happen at uni. Before I moved to Wellington, everyone told me the same two things about becoming a university student. First, they warned me about the hills—which I was NOT prepared for. Secondly, they told me how poor I was going to be. So I assumed we would all be in roughly the same situation: super fit from climbing the hills and flat-out-broke from trying to afford rent and food. Instead, I am s

Zara Boon "Act your age." While it might not be said to me explicitly very often, it's heavily implied. Look, I know I'm louder than most, and not just in decibels. I wear overly bright colours and have interests that a lot of teenagers would scoff at for being childish. I’m open about those interests, and love talking about them. I have little to no social anxiety anymore, and I throw compliments like confetti. At the end of each trimester, I give my lecturers tiny 3D-prin

As Salient’s unofficial Canadian correspondent, I’ve been writing far and wide. I even managed to write an entire satire piece on my flight from Vancouver to Quebec City. But one habit I’ve picked up on my travels has nothing to do with writing for magazines. It’s postcards. Yes, postcards: the outdated mode of communication used exclusively by old people, or left at the scene of a crime so the grizzled detective knows where to look next. I have sent upwards of 15 postcards

Medha Sharma “You laugh a second too late.” It happens so quickly that nobody notices. During my first week at Te Herenga Waka—Victoria University of Wellington, I slipped into a tutorial a few minutes early, hoping it would be easier to find somewhere to sit. A tutor made a joke. The room erupted in laughter almost instantly. I understood every word they had said, but not the cultural reference behind it. By the time I pieced it together, the conversation had already moved

Emily Malcolm and Clay Joy Smith If you are fed up with economic greed, the insane power of corporations, and the lack of local, face-to-face conversations—and believe the solution lies in learning, community-building and people power—welcome to Critical Signals. Critical Signals is a three-month programme running until the end of October. The idea is to bring together communities, technologists, artists, activists, and researchers to discuss collective changes we can make to

Wellington is the melting pot of emerging bands & musicians, with notable talents such as the sounds of JQMIE, Mia-Nina, and Half/Angel. However, none have made waves quite like C.O.W., the hottest new Kelburn band. As of publishing, they have released their latest and only single, “Thank You Salient! (Feels Good On The Clit, Mate)”, alongside a full length music video. This magazine was given an exclusive interview with the elusive yet talented bandmembers—Edie Moore (19), P

Jemimah Long Before you start reading, remember that I am one person in the disabled community who is hard of hearing. I do not speak for everyone with Auditory Processing Disorder (APD). I am an APD advocate. I am proud of being hard of hearing and having APD, but I am not going to give you a warm, fuzzy, feel-good version of my experience. I do not want to sugarcoat it—though I will try to strike a balance. I was diagnosed with APD at 13 years old. Soon after, I got hearin

Pluto Rennie Nobody notices when the tea towel is replaced. They notice when it isn’t: when it becomes damp, vaguely smelly, and functionally useless. But when a clean one appears, the flat carries on as normal. Nobody asks how it got there. The tea towel has simply, almost magically, replaced itself. Of course it hasn’t. Somebody noticed it needed changing, knew where the clean ones were, put the dirty one through the wash, and returned another to the kitchen. It is a very

Gemma Bennion Dear [ One in ten women. On this occasion, me.] Your internal ultrasound does show signs of likely endometriosis. Please make an appointment to discuss the next steps. Kindest regards, Dr. [Bright eyes. Funny tie.] As the bus rattles into Wellington, I remember how I’d fought myself the day prior not to ask the ultrasound tech to buy me dinner first. Ah well. She hadn't seemed the joking kind. There I was, on my way to be told that short of a laparos

Kaitlyn Mclean (she/her) - Ngāti Uenukukōpako, Ngāti Whakaue, Tūhoe, Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairarapa, Kāi Tahu “We should vote because they expect you not to.”—Dr Ria Holmes Unless you’re pushing 30 like Nanny Shay, this year might be your first or second chance to participate in a general election. And if you’re sitting there thinking—“Why should I care?”—fair enough. Politics can feel like a bunch of people just arguing on reels about things that have nothing to do with you. E

Tayshon Yates (she/her) - Ngā iwi ō Muriwhenua, Ngāpuhi With our kāhui of nine Ngā Taura Umanga tauira, we hitched our waka and made our way to Te Whare Wānanga o Waikato ki Tauranga Moana to attend Hui-ā-Tau—Mana Motuhaketia Te Ao Māori, hosted by Te Puna Tahua Toa. The kaupapa was centred around celebrating rangatira who bring a Te Ao Māori worldview into the modern worlds of business and finance. For us as tauira, this was more than simply attending a hui. It was an oppor

Shay McEwan (She/Her) - Te Whānau a Kai, Ngāti Pāhauwera, Ngāti Porou C.W. Suicide There’s a particular darkness that belongs only to the hour before morning. It’s not the darkness of midnight. Midnight is settled, complete; it asks nothing of you. The hour before morning is different. The sky is still dark, but somewhere beyond what you can see, something has already begun to change. I think there are moments in life like that. They rarely announce themselves. There’s no rev

Manaia Barns (he/him) - Tūwharetoa ki Kawerau, Ngāti Rangitihi, Te Arawa Whānui In September 2025, 50 people shuffled into a lecture theatre at Te Aro Campus. They had just come walking from a pōwhiri a few meters away to take their seats. Once everybody had settled in, the kōrero began, and with it, Te Whakaturanga—The Māori Architecture and Design Symposium. To be Māori in certain spaces is sometimes to make space for Māoritanga where there is none. This is the case in the

Temepara Reihana (she/her)—Ngāpuhi nui tonu, Ngāti Kahu, Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairoa “Tem”—short enough, easy enough. And just like that, in a second, my beautiful name was silenced for 16 years—all to please the white man’s ears. But I never wanted it to be this way, But my mama said, “It's easier for them this way.” And I understood, because her mama had taught it to her that too. To make yourself smaller and soften your reo, was second nature for three generations. Every tea