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Lilly Kelleher (she/her; Te Ātiawa)  Noho Tahi, the inaugural project for the new Dan and Una Chan & Laywood and Joyce Chan Residency at Wai-te-ata Press, invited contributors to think on the concept of “peaceful co-existence” between Tangata Tiriti nō Haina (people of Te Tiriti o Waitangi from China) and Tangata Whenua, as well as Hainamanatanga, Chinese ways of being in Aotearoa. Published by 5Ever Books and edited by Etienne Wain, Jess Ye, Ballerina Chong and Lincoln Dam, the publication is a collection of stories presented in various mediums, including interviews, written reflections, poems, photographs, and illustrations that reflect the theme of “Noho Tahi”, and the legacy of the New Zealand Chinese Growers Journal  (1949-1972).  Inspired by the Growers Journal, Noho Tahi  introduces the concept of the publication as a garden, with the contributors as gardeners; planting new seeds for peaceful relations in future, as well as “composting” anachronous colonial ideals. The publication is separated into eight themed sections; Herenga, Reo, Kai, Marama, Reanga, Tuakiri, Haerenga, and Manaaki, displayed alongside original prints of the Chinese Heritage Types collection formerly used in the Grower’s Journal . The concept of co-existence is reflected in every aspect of Cal Ma, Jack Young, Juhyeon and Ya-Wen Ho’s brilliant design; from the stunning cover with O-Yoon inspired art by Juhyeon, to the unified formatting of the Te Reo Māori and Chinese text and heritage character types in the glossary, headings, and within the pieces themselves.  At a time of heightened political hostility about Te Tiriti o Waitangi, Noho Tahi provides urgent perspective on what it means to be Tangata Tiriti nō Haina, and further outside of the publication, what peaceful co-existence could look like for all Tangata Tiriti, regardless of ethnicity, culture, and creed. Noho Tahi  proposes that, by examining traditional values and history, pathways towards peaceful co-existence emerge, inclusive of both Tangata Tiriti and Tangata Whenua. The publication highlights the shared similarities between our cultures as opposed to what separates us; both Chinese and Māori cultural values prioritise community; caring for those we love and those we are responsible for. By relating to one another, we can forge a pathway to come together not only under Te Tiriti o Waitangi as Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti, but as a unified people who truly love, respect and care for one another and the whenua we live on and love, together. With a government very much focused on a monocultural idea of the “New Zealander”, Noho Tahi recognises that by treasuring our cultural differences and reflecting on occasions throughout our history where the Chinese and Māori peoples have aided and protected one another, we can continue to do so in our current-day fight for Te Tiriti o Waitangi and Tino Rangatiratanga. The publication urges us to realise that the colonially realised benefits many Tangata Tiriti take for granted are not a given, and can shift and dissolve in this tumultuous political landscape, evidenced by what is happening globally. What we do have the power to reinforce as Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti are our relationships with one another. What we can take from history, is that in the face of colonial devastation, Tangata Whenua have persevered and triumphed, as have past generations of Tangata Tiriti nō Haina in the face of racism, discrimination and erasure. Our collective ability to endure and uplift one another can be channelled into our intercultural relationships; we will not only simply co-exist, but aid one another using our ancestral knowledge and cultural values.  Ultimately, Noho Tahi proposes not just a peaceful co-existence, but a fruitful, reciprocal relationship; founded upon mutual respect, understanding, and the sharing of traditions and culture, the nurturing of which will ultimately build a better and stronger bond that will withstand any political or social interference in the future. The ties that bind us are stronger than those who seek to break them; “together we shall face / the changing seasons.” ( Growers’, 34).

By Madeleine Vivienne Pierre The single release party for Lipstick at Valhalla was a masterclass in reflecting the local band scene for Wellington students. The intimate yet passionate group littering the indigo, darkly lit scene with Penny Lane fur coats, Doc Marten boots and modern mullets all came together this freezing Wednesday night to celebrate their local alt-rock celebrities. I caught the end of opening act ‘Caught Inside’ polishing their set off with a rapidfire list of reminders including ‘free Palestine’ and ‘vote against that shitty fucking bill!’. Peak Wellington student life. When Lipstick took the stage, it was immediately clear how many people in the crowd knew the band personally, or at the very least the lead singer Oliver Bailey, and were excited to see their friends perform onstage. They launched into their set. One of the first songs, introduced with an amped “Brand new! Brand new! Brand new!”, contained an epic bridge showcasing both the talent and the star-power of the four. The number directly after was opened with a simple “we love this song,” which, evidently, the crowd did too.  Finally, just when the energy seemed to be on the decline, we were informed “alright, enough of that new shit” and the opening electric guitar to their top streamed Spotify release ‘Party’ chimed in, provoking a justifiably massive audience reaction. It’s not difficult to see why Lipstick is so favoured by Wellington students. Their outfits give the impression they were all under a different dress code from one another, and their nonchalance to the audience seems as though they are trying to make themselves appear untouchable.However, it is the reluctant smile that played on Oliver’s lips when the crowd starting screaming every word to ‘Party’, and the fact that the venue was so small performers had to hop from the stage into the dance floor to enter and exit that made the sense of community felt. As for the single itself, ‘Giving It Up': it has a definite alternative sound which begins reminiscent of 90s shoegaze alternative rock, but is quickly overtaken by Lipstick’s classic college rock style. Drums, riffs and a general auditory aesthetic flow partner with a voice gliding effortlessly through the flurry of instrumental work behind him. It’s a song that speaks on growing up and becoming someone new without realising it. If nothing else, it’s catchy, it’s an easy listen without being mindlessly commercial and it brings forward the aspects of indie rock that appeals to Uni students anywhere. This band is hopefully up-and-coming, but no matter where they end up, they are worth a listen.

By Jia Sharma (she/her) Day Moon’s new EP, Garden Rock , surpassed and disproved every expectation I had going into their recent live show. I deliberately avoided listening to the release beforehand, opting instead to experience it fresh and live. I’m so glad I did. Each song came as a welcome surprise—filled with so many different voices and unexpected twists and sounds.  They opened with Warm , introduced by guitarist Louis: ”Would you like to warm up with us?” It was the perfect invitation, immediately lifting the energy of the room.  La La Lorelai  stood out with its whimsical touch, while Orange Platform Boots  brought a groovy, infectious energy that had the crowd jumping all over the place. But it was Intimacy  that truly stole the show. Moody, haunting, and emotionally rich, the track cut through the high-energy set with a striking depth. Leaf, the band’s percussionist, delivered an ethereal vocal performance that matched the atmosphere perfectly.  In fact, all four vocalists had their moment in the spotlight. Each brought something unique to the stage, adding colour and character to the night. One standout moment came when Lex, one of the vocalists, began making bird sounds mid-song.I don’t know if there’s anything more Garden Rock  than that.  And what is  Garden Rock? The  band offered a delightfully cryptic prompt: “If you want to know what it means, listen to the EP.” They’re right—no single definition quite fits. . It’s scruffy with lots of vocals and percussion that features a diverse mix of sounds. However, don’t take my word for it, nothing can compare to actually hearing it.  Midway through the set, Day Moon treated us to an unreleased track, Alley Cat Boogie , featuring vocals by pianist Belles. This performance only made me even more excited to see what this band will do next and hinted at even more versatility to come. When the final song ended, the crowd naturally started chanting “One more song!, — but the band had played through their entire repertoire. With an EP this strong, it surely won’t be long before they’ve got more to offer. What’s striking about Day Moon is how effortlessly their alternative sound crosses into broader appeal. On tour, the band encountered wildly different crowds across the country, yet even in places where no one knew the words, people connected. That speaks volumes.  The EP itself—self-produced and “homemade”—is impressively polished. You’d never guess it wasn’t crafted in a professional studio.  It feels like a love letter to Wellington as much as it is a musical statement. Day Moon describes themself as a band made by  Wellington for  Wellington, and it shows. They care less about their genre or trajectory, and more about the creative space they’re cultivating.In their time together, they’ve carved out a little corner of the Wellington scene.  With the tour wrapped, the band is taking a breather.  But we won’t have to wait long for more. L Day Moon returns to the stage at San Fran for Eyegum Wednesday on September 3rd, playing alongside Fine Wine Social Club. I can guarantee this is not a band to miss. If not for the name alone, then for the mystery, the music, and the magic of Garden Rock. You won’t leave disappointed.

Ryan Cleland (he/him) TW: Sexism, harassment  Lena Forsén was a Swedish model featured in the November 1972 issue of Playboy . More than fifty years later, she appears again—this time not in print, but projected on the screen in my computer science class. Why? To understand that, we need to go back to the summer of 1973. Alexander Sawchuk, then an assistant professor of electrical engineering at the University of Southern California, was preparing material for a colleague’s conference paper. Tired of the grainey, outdated test images used since the 1960s, Sawchuk, a graduate student, and the lab manager set out to find something more visually striking: ideally, a glossy, high-resolution photo of a human face.  As luck would have it, someone walked into the lab with a recent issue of Playboy . They opened it to the centerfold and found what they were looking for. They carefully cropped the  top third of the image—Forsén's face—and digitized it. That image, known as “Lena,” became one of the most widely used test images in image processing, and also one of the most controversial.  In 2019 Forsén herself told the filmmakers behind the documentary Losing Lena, "I retired from modeling a long time ago. It's time I retired from tech, too... Let's commit to losing me." In 2024, the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE)  banned the use of the image in all of its publications.  So why is she now staring back at me in class?  To find out, I visited senior computer graphics lecturer Dr. Fang Lue Zhang.  Walking into his quiet office on the third floor of the Cotton Building, Zhang greeted me warmly. He said he  was “happy to be interviewed about this interesting question.” The image, he explained, is deeply embedded into the discipline. “Every course, every textbook has used it.” Still, he acknowledged that its continued use may now be alienating.  “People realise it's probably not alright. Maybe because years ago people did not have as much concern or consideration, but now people have much more respect for more and more women in engineering and people start to rethink the history of whether it is correct or not,” he said.  Zhang was clear that he personally doesn't find the image inherently offensive. “Lots of my friends who are image processors, most of them do not have feelings about whether it brings disadvantage or any effects to the field,” he said. “Maybe I am wrong, but that’s what I get.”  To understand whether Zhang’s view was widely held, I asked some of my classmates. Their responses varied.  One woman told me that the image’s origins made her feel unwelcome. “Choosing a sexualised photo of a woman, even if she isn’t fully nude, sets a precedent. As a woman in computer science, that doesn’t feel very inviting.” Another student shrugged it off: “You know compsci students don’t go outside—they don’t touch grass.” And another said, “I guess it doesn’t bother me that much. To me it's just a lovely picture of a lovely lady and if I didn't know anything about the associations of playboys I wouldn't bat an eyelid.”  The image clearly provokes a range of responses. But if even a small number of students find it alienating, does it belong in the classroom? Computer Science has long suffered from a gender imbalance. According to the New Zealand Technology Industry Association, women make up just 28 percent of the tech workforce. But it wasn’t always this way. In the early days of computing, many programmers were women. Programming was considered low-status clerical work, akin to typing or operating a telephone switchboard.   In 1967, Cosmopolitan  published a piece titled “The Computer Girls,” encouraging women  to pursue the field. In contrast, by 1985, 38% of computer science jobs in the U.S. were held by women. As computing grew more prestigious and lucrative, men began to dominate the field. Cultural changes—like marketing personal computers as boys’ toys and persistent gender sterotypes—contributed to the decline in women entering tech. Many of the women I spoke to described social barriers that made computer science feel unwelcoming. Several pointed to a sense of exclusion, saying it often felt as if cliques had already formed, leaving them on the outside—or worse, feeling unsafe.  “I didn’t know who I was gonna sit next to, who I was gonna be comfortable with,” one student told me. “Proportionally, compared to other classes, the chance of sitting next to someone uncomfortable felt high.” She recalled one unsettling incident in math class.  “I had a guy who stalked me that day. He followed me around a bit. I didn’t see him again, but I found out later he had asked out a friend, and a bunch of other friends, too.”  Stories like hers make it clear that the issue isn’t simply the gender imbalance. It’s the behavior of a select few which can create an environment where some women feel unsafe.  As another student put it: “I’ve realised it’s not all gross guys. The problem is I just don’t always wanna take my chances.”  Against this context, using the “Lena” image in class felt like more than a historical artifact—it felt like a message. It reinforces the sense that Computer Science remains a space where women are expected to tolerate discomfort and objectification. It's normalised. For students who already feel a minority in class, being asked to engage with an image rooted in P layboy  history is incredibly tone-deaf. That discomfort, students told me, was compounded by the broader culture of the field.  Still, there are signs of change. Some students said they’ve found comfort in the increasing presence of women in teaching roles. “It would be nice if there was more acknowledgement in class about ethics, and that women’s voices are so few that often they don’t come up,” one student told me. She praised her lecturer Andrew Chalmers, saying, “I would feel comfortable going to him—he would take me seriously.”  Another remembered a standout teacher: “One of the most amazing teachers ever was a lady teaching Information Systems.” She also appreciated that her group projects had gender balance, with two men and two women. Even Dr. Zhang echoed this point. “More female staff members will attract more female students,” he said. “When I studied, my class had only 30 students and just three women. But now, in our staff, we definitely have more than that—nearly 40%.”  Change takes time—but representation matters.  Last month, I travelled to Tāmaki Makaurau and sat down with Vicki Mercer—my programming teacher of four years, and without question the best I’ve ever had. In 1985, she graduated from the then North Texas State University with a Bachelors in English and “Information System s”. We spoke about what she called the “dark a ges” of computer science, and what it was like to be there during the field’s formative years. Between stories of hole-punching code and writing in Assembly, she reflected on how surprisingly mixed her classes were. Her first programming instructor  was a woman, and she said she always felt comfortable in those early classrooms. Growing up in an era when the “Lena” image was widely circulated in computing circles,  Mercer said she hadn’t even heard of it.  Her experience echoes what many of my peers had shared: the best antidote to misogyny or exclusion in tech isn’t debate over symbols—it’s increasing the number of women in the room.  Mercer moved to New Zealand in 1996. Since then, she said, the number of female students in her classes has remained relatively steady: “sometimes there were four or five, some years only one or three and several years there were none.”  Mercer recently stepped back from her role as ICT manager and teacher at Glendowie College. One of her former students,  Cat, now teaches programming in her place—a small but telling sign of progress.   As for the image that sparked these conversations, “Lena” was quietly removed  from our Assignment.  Dr. Zhang cited  evolving standards. “Just remove it for now and maybe later we can replace it with another Image.” There was no formal announcement, no classroom discussion. But the decision mattered. For many students—especially those who had felt uneasy or excluded—it marked a subtle yet meaningful shift: evidence that the culture of computer science can evolve, that it can listen, and that it doesn't need to cling to the past to teach the future.  In a field so often committed to innovation, perhaps it's only fitting that the conversation around who belongs—and what messages we send, even unintentionally—continues to move forward.

Dan Moskovitz (he/him) A Salient investigation has found that disabled people were neither consulted nor considered when the government moved to repeal the Plain Language Act (PLA), a law designed to ensure public information is accessible and easy to understand.  The legislation, introduced in 2022, required government agencies to provide plain language officers, staff training and report on their progress to the Public Service Commission (PSC).  After taking office, the National Party moved swiftly to scrap the measure, arguing that it imposed unnecessary bureaucracy. But for many in the disabled community, the law served a vital purpose.  “Neurodivergent people often struggle with how to interpret laws and regulations, and plain language makes them much more accessible,” said Hope Cotton, president of Victoria University of Wellington’s Disabled Student’s Association. “Many intellectually disabled people also rely on the PLA to make laws and government forms accessible,” she added. “Furthermore, disabled and chronically ill people interact with the government looking for funding for healthcare, medication, accessibility tools and benefits more often than the average Joe.” “I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve wasted trying to get the medication I need funded.” Cotton said the repeal runs counter to New Zealand’s commitments under the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities.   The DSA is not alone in its criticism. Multiple advocacy groups across the country have voiced concern that the repeal will make government communication less accessible to those who need it the most.  Despite this, documents obtained under the Official Information Act show that advice provided by the PSC to government ministers made no mention of the law’s impact on disabled people. Nor were there any emails or communications within the PSC discussing this issue.  The PSC did not respond to questions from Salient in time about why disabled about why disabled people were not consulted or mentioned.  Even Whaikah a — the Ministry of Disabled People — a ppears to have been blindsided by the act’s repeal. “We just saw the Plain Language Act is being repealed, but I don’t think we were consulted on the proposals,” wrote Amber Coyle, a ministry official, in an April 2 email to the PSC. “Do you think you could put us in touch with the team advising on this?” By then, the repeal bill had already passed its first reading in Parliament—on April 1. Whaikaha told Salient that subsequent conversations with the PSC occurred over the phone. No records of these discussions exist.  Labour MP Priyanca Radhakrishnan, the party’s spokesperson on disability issues, said the government’s choice to use its time and resources on the repeal was shameful.  “It’s very sad to have a government which thinks making democracy accessible is a waste of time,” she said.  The repeal bill is currently before Parliament’s Governance and Administration select committee. According to Radhakrishnan, more than 9,000 public submissions have been received, which were overwhelmingly opposed.  The committee is due to report back in October. Radhakrishnan said   she hopes it will recommend that parliament reject the appeal.  PSC Minister Judith Collins defended the government’s position in a statement to Salient. She considered it “the responsibility of every public servant to communicate using clear, easy-to-comprehend language,” and that repealing the act did not prevent this.

Dan Moskovitz (he/him) For graduates seeking a foothold in local government, the outlook is grim. Neither Wellington City Council nor Greater Wellington Regional Council has offered graduate roles since 2023, casting a longer shadow over an already bleak job market.  Data obtained under the Local Government Official Information and Meetings Act shows that Wellington City Council (WCC) ceased its graduate hiring program in 2023, after previously onboarding two to four graduates annually. When asked, a council spokesperson attributed the halt to shifting priorities within individual business units.  Greater Wellington Regional Council (GWRC), meanwhile, has never operated a graduate program and declined to comment on why.  Aidan Donoghue, VUWSA Engagement Vice-President, voiced frustration over the lack of opportunities. Donohue, who leads VUWSA’s “Where’s the Work” campaign, said he plans to press council candidates on the issue during debates ahead of October's local elections.  The decline in graduate hiring reflects broader economic headwinds facing Wellington’s public sector. Although government agencies were  instructed to trim budgets by 6.5 percent, graduate positions fell by  14 percent in 2024.  Competition for remaining roles is fierce. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade received 1100 applicants for its early careers programme last year.  Locally, both councils are still offering fixed-term internships. GWRC advertised six internships in 2024, while WCC offered 15. “An internship is better than nothing,” Donoghue said, “but a graduate role is better than an internship.We want to see more opportunities for students to get their foot in the door.”

Words by Jamie Livingstone (he/him) Before I begin, let me offer a quick disclaimer: I’m deeply grateful to live a life that allows me to travel. This is not a lament about privilege…however…when you find yourself aboard the Suzuki Swifts of the air, it’s not unlikely to be left with a few battle scars, plus the moral obligation to warn others of the horrors that lie in the skies above them. To put this ominous disclaimer into context, around three weeks ago, I boarded a 12-hour Jetstar flight, unaware of the terror I would soon endure. I tell you, reader, it was bloody harrowing.  Where do I even begin? Let's start with what happened roughly 1 hour into my flight. I was staring into the abyss, already questioning plenty of life choices, when I was interrupted by an ununiformed, unidentified figure, standing above me, glaring with unnerving intensity. I assumed he was lost or possibly in distress, so I began with a simple ‘You right mate?’. No reply. What followed was an excruciatingly slow reach into his front pocket (fearing the worst, I assumed he was summoning a glock) and he produced a mince and cheese pie, thrusting it into my lap. I stared at the meal as if it were a ticking bomb, waiting for it to explode. The mysterious man continued on his way, and that's when I awoke to the realisation that this gentleman was, apparently, a crew member. Jetstar, it seems, doesn’t require uniforms as they soar across the globe. Either that, or it was a mufti day for the staff.  Moments after this slightly unnerving encounter, my eye was attracted to the cockpit door, which was wide open. Not slightly ajar, completely fucking open. At first, I thought what you, as the reader, may be thinking, "Possibly the pilot was dropping a load and forgot to close the door?” Very reasonable assumption. However, forty-five minutes passed, and I concluded that the captain, who was piloting 300 passengers over the Philippine Sea, soaring through a torrential rainstorm, shaking hands with the devil, was entirely open for a Q&A from the passengers. Interesting tactic of customer support, considering the only question I had was ‘how the fuck do I get off this plane?’. Allow me to inform you that I practically sold my soul to get onto this flight; I was blessed to have a first-person view of the pilot's experience.  I know I sound like an arrogant twat, so I should compliment the fact that the lovely, ununiformed staff placed me in the emergency seating, which, considering my height, was greatly appreciated. I could properly relax and enjoy international travel…however…I was ignorant of the fact that being placed in emergency seating involved a complementary crash course in airline safety protocol. Yes, on Jetstar, they like to teach you their entire fucking job, in case you weren’t already loving their services. Had an emergency occurred, I was solely responsible for aiding every poor passenger off that tin can with wings. God-forbid an emergency did occur, I would’ve been put out of my misery faster. One can only hope for a miracle.  In-flight entertainment? Forget it. I doubt first class even received that luxury option. Why would you give 300 people the ability to relax when they can just stare at the greasy scalp of the passenger in front of them? There I was thinking I would be able to watch a newly released film and hopefully black out from boredom, instead I realised why anti-dandruff shampoo was invented, because the cock sitting in front of me hadn’t heard of showering before. It was like staring at the head of a mechanic who had been working for twenty years. ‘Greasy McGee’, I’ll call him, and if by some miracle, he reads this piece, please shower, I’m begging you.  Then came the layover—four hours in Rockhampton City, Australia. Let me write that again for impact. We had a 4-hour layover in Rockhampton City fucking Australia. Transit-lounge? Why would you invent one of those? Instead, 300 of us were informed by staff—who deserve medals—that we would be spending the 4-hour layover on the literal airstrip. I swear on my life, I’m not exaggerating or joking. So that’s how I found myself, using my luggage as a seat, sharing a cigarette with a man I’d met about 20 minutes ago, waiting for our plane to literally land right in front of us. What a predicament. During the first hour, I was empathetic. Patriotic, some would say. ‘I can’t believe they would let these hard-working Kiwi citizens, who paid an arm and a leg to board this flight, sit outside on an airstrip for hours’, I thought stoically. And then I’m not sure what happened, but three hours in, my morals completely transformed and I began thinking ‘these fucking guys deserve it’. Somehow I went from patriotically supporting the passengers to hating them and myself with immense passion. I apologise to you readers for my arrogance, Jetstar brought the absolute worst out of me.  I’m aware of how I sound. Spoiled. Arrogant. Slightly schizophrenic. But I’m only offering this piece as a cautionary tale, not to use this as a platform to bitch about my life. Next time you're scrolling through flight options and you excitedly notice some suspiciously cheap fares, please pause and consider whether you’re prepared to endure what I have described today. Think about spending 12 hours with the ability to sit shotgun with the pilot. Consider whether you want to have a smoke on an airstrip, which I’m pretty sure is illegal. If so, by all means, book it! I commend your bravery. But if I’ve done my job, you’ll opt for the slightly pricer seat—and a significantly smoother ride.

Fergus Goodall Smith (He/him) When I first started thinking about this piece of writing, my mind jumped to where it always does as a political nut, the United States. What the democrats need is their own Donald . Then I reigned myself in a little: what the left (in NZ) need is their own Donald . Then I realised that Trump is not capable of existing in the New Zealand political climate. There’s no point writing an opinion piece on something that just isn’t possible. A fresh RNZ-Reid Research poll showed that 44.4 percent of us think Trump 2.0 has been bad for Aotearoa. Just 8 percent think he’s done anything worthwhile. So — someone who does survive in our Parliament. That would be David Seymour.  For all of his flaws, his quirks, and his general arseholery, I don’t think it can be debated that David Seymour is one of the most brilliant politicians to ever grace the floor of the House. From a one-man army in 2015 to a phalanx of MPs under his command following the 2023 election, he’s done something right. He’s now the deputy PM, a largely ceremonial position, but not in Mr Seymour’s eyes. Talking to Guyon Espiner last week, he was quick to mention the likes of Dick Cheyney as a second-in-command that wielded enormous power. Slightly concerning given Cheyney personally signed off on the CIA’s use of torture, and oversaw the deaths of over 200,000 civilians in Iraq — all whilst enriching oil and gas company Haliburton, of which he was CEO.  With 8% of the vote, ACT with Seymour at the helm has leveraged a relatively small margin to enact massive change and societal upheaval. He’s shoved his agenda down the throats of nearly every New Zealander, first with the Treaty Principles Bill, and now with the Regulatory Standards Bill. He’s often spoken out against Luxon, and suffered no consequence because of it. Now he’s on the verge of controlling a new Regulatory Standards Board, of which only he can appoint its members. David, to be frank, doesn’t really give a fuck if people hate his guts. He doesn’t care if he’s hugely overreaching, considering 92% of the country didn’t vote for him or his party. He’ll take every morsel of power and influence he can get, and he doesn’t shy away from it. Compare this to the Greens time in power from 2017 to 2020, and two ministerial positions from 2020 to 2023. Can you remember anything they did? Yes, James Shaw was the minister for Climate. Yes, there was the Zero Carbon Act. But did we see a capital gains tax? A wealth tax? Are these not the central issues of the Green Party? For ACT, treaty issues seem to be their top priority, and they’re definitely making headway with them.  I think a lot of people would look at the title of this article and immediately say “no they don’t, they’ve got Chlöe Swarbrick.” I’d rebut that point. Chöe is too likeable. She’s honest, and obviously capable, but she’s not a slimy git. That’s what the left needs. Someone who can rattle skulls and not apologise after doing so. Someone who will comb through legislation, and carefully construct bills using complex jargon that flies over most people’s heads. Someone who knows who likes them and who hates them, and is pretty content with watching those in the like category switch over to the hate category if it means furthering  their agenda. The left has adorned themselves with the mantle of moral superiority; they trip over it whenever they do something remotely close to the behaviour of this coalition government. Barbara Edmonds could be your favourite aunty, Chris Hipkins your by-the-book, goodie-two-shoes stepdad. That’s perfectly fine, but it doesn’t change much. Okay, I can’t help it, but in parallel to the US, and in the words of Jon Stewart; “Republicans are playing chess, and the Democrats are in the nurse’s office because they glued their balls to their thigh. Republicans exploit loopholes, Democrats complain about the norms over and over and over, and it has ghastly consequences.” Just like Mr Seymour, the left needs to start exploiting the loopholes and language of legislation if they hope to keep up with this government's accelerationist policy.   There are those still that dismiss Seymour. Those that hark back to his days on Dancing with the Stars. They think he’s some goofball, an odd looking fellow with a nasally voice and a quirky grin. Someone who’s fine with being the butt of the joke. In his words, he hates politics, he’s just an electrical engineer with strong conviction for liberal change. Wrong. Seymour is the most dangerous person in that debating chamber. A cutthroat politician who has his own caucus pinned under his pinkie. He’s a man who won’t forget grudges, or the ministers that made him the butt of their jokes. He’s a slippery trout that even the likes of Espiner and Campbell can’t catch. A man I think even the Prime Minister is scared of, and who rivals Peters in his political tact. Where is that fight, that dirty chaotic Game of Thrones  worminess? Where is that on the left bloc? Yeah, maybe it means you’re a one term government, like this one might be, but does it not feel like more has been rammed through the House in the last two years than in the entirety of Ardern years, half of which had Labour with a super-majority? Or under Key’s rule for that matter? There’s a new, greasy playbook in use now, and it can’t just be David’s fingers leafing through the pages.

Darcy Lawrey (he/him) Rumors swirled through the capital two weeks ago following sightings of FBI Director Kash Patel in the basement of the Beehive and Finance Minister Nicola Willis’s remark about“lots of handsome men in suits who look like they have guns.”A contractor at the Intercontinental Hotel, speaking on condition of anonymity, told Salient that anti-bugging police teams had begun preparing the hotel for the visit 10 days prior. But no bug was needed to uncover the reason for the influx of men in black: the FBI is officially setting up shop in Wellington. While the agency has long maintained a presence within the U.S. Embassy, Patel announced the establishment of a full legal attaché office (or “legat”)—an overseas outpost tasked with reporting directly to Washington, DC.  Foreign Minister Winston Peters’ said kiwis “should be grateful” for the move, while Intelligence Services Minister Judith Collins described it as a step toward enhancing the “safety and security of all New Zealanders”. The motivation behind the office’s establishment have sparked debate across media and online platforms. Marcin Betkier, a privacy law expert and lecturer at Victoria University of Wellington, told Salient  he believes the office is intended for “coordination of transborder anti-crime activities between NZ and the US,” citing the growing threat posed by  international cyber criminals. But Valerie Morse, a leading member of Peace Action Wellington, remains unconvinced. She views the goal of curtailing international crime as a pretext for anti-activist policing, stating: “the FBI has a very long history of investigating quote-unquote domestic terrorism, which we have to read as activism in this country. Morse also expressed concern for politically active students, pointing to the U.S response to pro-Palestinian protests at Columbia University. “What has happened there is terrifying,” she said.  According to Morse, the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service has previously pressed academics to report individuals whose research might be seen as compromising national security. With the FBI now involved “in the same kind of activity,” she warns that its presence in Wellington contributes to a “stifling atmosphere for freedom of expression and freedom of inquiry.” Overall, Morse finds the entrenchment of a U.S. domestic police force in New Zealand “really worrying”—it’s a view she’s not alone in. The Aotearoa Workers Solidarity Movement called the office’s opening “a dangerous expansion of American imperial policing into the Pacific.”  In response to the announcement, Green Party spokesperson Teanau Tuiono renewed the Green’s call for New Zealand to leave the Five Eyes intelligence-sharing alliance, saying, “we shouldn't be allowing foreign powers to set up shop like this”. Te Pāti Māori also condemned the move, arguing that it constitutes a breach of Te Tiriti o Waitangi

Darcy Lawrey (he/him) This week, Salient  asked candidates running for Wellington City Council a simple question: have you ever attended a council meeting? If so, what were your impressions? Here’s how their responses broke down:   Never Attended Andrew Little, prominent mayoral candidate, has never attended a council meeting. He emphasized his experience with the skills “needed to be mayor”, including “analysing complex documents,” and cited his previous work at “the highest levels of government”. Alex Baker , also running for major, told Salient last week that he has not attended a council meeting. However, after researching the council process, he was struck by the apparent lack of trust around the council table.   Joan Shi , standing for the Mayoralty and in the Northern General Ward, said she doesn’t recall attending a council meeting in person. She expressed doubt about whether the council “truly listens”, which has discouraged her from  attending—though she has submitted written feedback on the Long Term Plan. Sam O’Brien , Labour’s candidate in the Eastern Ward, says he’s watched numerous Council meetings online—but hasn’t attended in person. He describes the meetings as “pretty dry”, and believes they need to be more  accessible and engaging.   Ken Ah Kuoi , representing Independent Together in the Eastern Ward, has not attended a meeting. From watching online, he feels councillors “just rubber stamp whatever is presented,” and was “appalled” by what he saw as a “lack of understanding or experience.” Tony De Lorenzo, Lampton Ward candidate,   has not attended a meeting. He said that he tried watching online but found them too lengthy.    Have Attended Karl Teifenbacher,  a mayoral candidate ,  has attended several Council meetings, particularly those concerning the Golden Mile and the sale of the council’s airport shares—both of which he opposed. He felt that “there was often a lack of attention paid to the public submitters.”  Matthew Reweti,  running against  current Mayor Tory Whanau in the Te Whanganui-a-Tara Māori Ward, made an oral submission to the Council’s Long Term Plan in 2023 on behalf of the Te Ātiawa Fisheries Trust. He opposed the airport share sale, calling the kauapapa “important to our Trust as kaitiaki and for our relationship with Te Taiao.”   Jonny Osborne , the Green Party candidate for the Eastern Ward, has presented on the Long Term Plan and water management reform. His impression of the meetings is that, “while anyone can attend or present to these meetings, it isn’t a great way of engaging with the community.” He advocates for less formal, more inclusiv e ways of engaging with the public.    Joy Gribben , Labour’s candidate in the Western Ward, says that attending meetings revealed that “ often the elected representatives are not receiving all the information they would like. ” As a former Principle Climate Resilience Advisor, she found Christchurch City Council to be more transparent, particularly on climate resilience issues.   Ray Bowden , ACT’s candidate in the Western Ward, attended in support of a proposed Inner City Bypass and felt that his views were heard.   Trish Given , running in the Eastern Ward, has attended meetings and found them “generally well-run and structured”.  Andrea Compton , a Northern Ward candidate and former Independent Together member, has submitted multiple times. She described the council as efficient, with some councillors highly engaged.   Paula Muollo , Independent Together’s candidate in the Southern Ward, most recently attended council in support of the campaign to save the Begonia House. She described the council process as “very good”. Afnan Al-Rubayee , Labour’s candidate for the Lambton General ward, has only attended council once—in 2021—but regularly watches meetings online. She’s concerned about accessibility and says she’s “committed to advocating for greater accessibility so that everyone [...] has a genuine opportunity to be heard and take part.”

Dan Moskovitz (he/him) In a rare show of trans-Tasman unity, New Zealand universities are teaming up with their Australian counterparts to negotiate more favorable terms with major academic publishers—aiming to expand access to scholarly research while curbing costs.   Academic publishing remains a costly affair, with journals charging steep fees for both access and publication. According to Chris Whelan, chief executive of Universities New Zealand (UNZ), subscriptions to academic journals account roughly 60% of university library budgets. So when contracts with four major publishers—Elsevier, Springer Nature, Wiley, and Taylor and Francis—came up for renewal simultaneously across both countries, the institutions seized the opportunity to negotiate collectively.  “Those four academic publishers publish roughly 10,300 journals collectively,” Whelan said. “As eight very small universities in a very large world, we don’t have much leverage. But we get a lot more if we negotiate with the 40 Australian universities.” Central to the negotiations is the issue of open access publishing, which allows articles to be freely available for the public—typically for a higher fee up front. While costs vary by journal, Whelan estimates libraries are spending tens of millions of dollars annually on open access fees. In a tertiary sector squeezed for cash, that’s a lot of money.  Open access is a major priority for UNZ, not only because it increases the visibility and impact of research, but also because most academic work is funded by the taxpayer.  “Almost all of our research is publicly funded, coming from either the government or directly through the universities.” Whelan says. “We have an obligation to make that public research publicly available.” UNZ has set a target of 70% of Aotearoa’s academic output to be open access. Currently, the figure stands at 62 percent, and Whelan hopes the upcoming negotiations will help close the gap.  He expects agreements with the four publishers to be finalized within the next three to four months.

Guy van Egmond (he/him) In the nave of St Peter’s on Willis last Monday, a crowd of people converged to hear Tamatha Paul and a panel of speakers speak against Aotearoa’s counterproductive justice system. There was a clandestine air before the event began, with vague flyers—“Join the Movement”—laid out on every seat. But as the space steadily filled with students, middle-aged locals and elderly alike, and MC Geordie Rogers asked us all to “squish up” on the pews, this air became one of shared purpose. The event, though limited by its tight one-hour slot, offered a range of perspectives that spoke to the need for a systemic sea change from a basis of compassion.  Paul opened with a reflection on her home town of Tokoroa, describing it as “a coin-flip town,” where the trajectory of someone’s life into poverty or crime is often out of their control. She challenged our revenge-based justice system that perpetuates this—focusing on longer prison sentences and fearmongering to win votes—even as court judges issue increasingly lighter sentences in response to unchecked rates of reoffence. She argued for a shift instead towards redistributive justice, where the pathways into crime are tackled with care and support.  Awatea Mita, from the Auckland Women’s Centre, seconded this vision, responding specifically to stalking offences. She described prisons as environments that reinforce psychological harm rather than heal it, while spaces where incarcerated people can seek help are underfunded. Mita also spoke to the colonial influence on whānau relationships that leads to disproportionate targeting of wahine Māori and Pasifika women, rooting these crimes beyond the justice system.  VUW’s Dr. Luke Oldfield then offered an efficient and incisive overview of penal populism. He touched on populism’s origins as a left-wing people’s movement and how it has since twisted to favour select, outspoken groups. Oldfield presented immediate reforms, including the redesign of biased public opinion surveys, while reiterating the need for a systemic overhaul.  Reihana Ali, stepping in for Abdur Razzaq, spoke on behalf of the Federation of Islamic Associations NZ. She focused on addressing the root causes of crime, particularly the breeding grounds of hate that leads to violence like the Christchurch mosque attacks. Ali argued that our justice system should be not an outdated British model or one that seeks to profit off adversarialism, but community-led and based on Te Tiriti o Waitangi.  The final speaker, Emily Groen from the Wellington Community Justice Project, offered a vision for justice that moved away from dehumanizing language and argued that Aotearoa’s reoffence rates—currently above the OECD average—should be a key measure of success. Groen also called for a Te Tiriti-based system, working with hapū to establish support and rehabilitation. Groen echoed her precursors by concluding that we should focus not on revenge, but empathy.  Though it ran overtime, the event flew by. The speeches were largely conceptual and looking from the outside in. Nonetheless, they served well as a reminder of the kind of justice system we could build—one built around prevention by compassion. As attendees filtered out to Te Tai Ohinga next door for further discussion, It was nice to hear an older man summarize the night: “I don’t usually come out to these kinds of things, but that was really good. And what a great turnout.”