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HENRY BROADBENT (HE/HIM) A leaked Ministry of Justice document seen by the New Zealand Council for Civil Liberties (NZCL) reveals the Government is currently considering a secret proposal to overhaul the Terrorism Suppression Act, in a dangerously draconian development. The closed-door proposal includes the creation of new criminal offences encompassing expressions of support (distribution of information, display of symbols) and, notably, a focus on New Zealanders internet activity. Proposed changes could allow ministers to class online endorsement of/support for proscribed groups as “material support” for terrorist activity.  The consultation document reportedly also includes provisions to lengthen the period of designation from three years to five, and to make it far easier for the Government to label a group with the designation.  A statement from the NZCL has condemned the secret consultation, describing the closed doors process as “a disgrace”, and the proposed powers given to ministers as “dangerous” and open to misuse by the police. Misuse of such laws overseas renders the threat posed by these proposals far from academic. Hundreds of people in the UK have been arrested in the past few weeks since the UK ban of Palestine Action as a terrorist organisation.  As Israel ruthlessly bombs Gaza, shoots children, aid seekers, doctors and journalists, and starves entire families to death each day, retired teachers, reverends, priests, former magistrates and charity directors are among those facing criminal charges in the UK for opposing the ongoing genocide. Already, police and ministers there are using the ambiguity of these authoritarian practices to blur lines further. Last week, a protester in Kent was threatened with arrest by armed police and had her house raided for holding signs that simply read: “Free Gaza” and “Israel is committing genocide”. Meanwhile, UK ministers continue to flagrantly break international law in their support for the Israeli war machine. Oppose their actions and you may face jail time. We must not let this be the case in Aotearoa.

By Darcy Lawrey (he/him) If you’ve been following the Wellington mayoral race, you’ve likely heard about Ray Chung, Andrew Little and maybe Karl Tiefenbacher. But on June 9, former chartered accountant Alex Baker entered the race. I sat down with him to hear his case for the capital’s top job.  Baker explains that it was a feeling of guilt which compelled him to run.  “I was just having such a nice time with my kids, gardening, et cetera, when I just started feeling a bit guilty, like, I am selfishly doing DIY in my house, when I could be like putting my skills to use to try and deal with some of these issues that my kids are going to grow up and face.”  And looking around at the competition, he didn’t feel reassured. “Wellington would be better off electing an empty seat, than having Ray Chung as mayor,” he says.  Baker is no more enthused about the centre-left contender either.  “Andrew [Little] is the left-leaning candidate, but I just don’t believe for a second that he actually cares about the city making progress, […] he's not focussed on things that are going to make this city more affordable, more sustainable, that are going to make the city a place that people want to move to.”  In May, Little told the council it would be “unethical” to continue signing contracts for the Golden Mile pedestrianisation project. Baker calls this decision “dogshit” and warns that delaying the upgrades could inflate the cost from $100 million to $250 million if central government funding is withdrawn. He is the only major candidate who supports continuing the ambitious project, kicked off by Tory Whanau.  Baker is also highly critical of the city’s long-term underinvestment in its central business district, particularly Courtenay Place.  “This was a really great vibrant place. And then, for 10 years, we thought that the government was going to invest in making it better, so we stopped spending money. And now it's a shithole.” He says. According to him, the Golden Mile upgrades are key to revitalise the area — not just “a bit of paint and water-blasting”. On student issues, Baker aligns with the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association’s (VUWSA) campaign tagline “No Work, Shit Pay, Why Stay?” “100 percent,” he says. “Why would anyone stay, when there’s shit pay? That’s exactly what my campaign is about […] purposeful, well-paid work is why people stay in cities.” His flagship policy is to overhaul how the council calculates rates— shifting from total capital value (including buildings) to land value alone. He argues this would drive investment in affordable housing and discourage land banking.  “Land bankers and owners of underdeveloped, high value land will pay more,” he says. “This will either incentivise them to put the land to better use, or ensure they pay their fair share.” Baker also supports improving priority lanes for public transport, working with mana whenua, and compensating businesses for disruption caused by city-improvement work.  In addition to running for mayor, Baker is standing for a councillor seat in the Eastern General Ward. While he expresses frustration at the lack of media coverage his campaign has received, he says public response has been encouraging. Having largely self-funded his campaign, he insists he’s serious—and he wants to win. Enrol to vote at vote.nz to have your say in the local election on October 11, 2025.

TW: Online abuse and misogyny By Marcail Parkinson (she/they) “She’s thuuuuuuuuuuck.” “Kiwis like Ms Parkinson need to be mocked & ridiculed. She is exactly what is wrong with modern-day NZ. Weak, insipid, shallow & bereft of critical thinking skills and all in the name of feelings.” “What a dumb bitch.” “Good to see VUWSA presidents have not become less cunty since my day.” “Marcel just wants to be left alone to finish her degree in victimization, followed by a master’s in entitlement and maybe some research into unwarranted resentment. Little flower can't cope with adults yet.” These are just a few of the messages I received in the months after April 2024, when Victoria University of Wellington postponed its planned Free Speech Debate . Though pitched as a discussion  on free expression, the  panel was glaringly lacking in diversity—and featured speakers who had a documented history of platforming racist and bigoted views.  At the time, I was serving as VUWSA President. Alongside many others, I raised concerns about the event’s promotion, coordination and speaker lineup. Following discussions with university leadership, the event wasn’t cancelled, it was postponed and reformatted to include a more diverse lineup of speakers. You might be thinking: Marcail, I’ve never heard of VUWSA before, and I definitely don’t know who you are, surely no one gave a shit about this. Unfortunately, you'd be wrong. My inboxes—email, DMs, social media—were suddenly flooded with hate. Every day brought more abuse, mostly from people enraged that I had (in their eyes) tried to ‘cancel’ a white man. For them, my request to diversify a panel was an unforgivable offense. I was labelled a “stupid woman” bent on silencing straight white men. One person told me to move to a country where women still couldn’t vote, if I was so determined to cancel free speech. Honestly? At first, the anonymous trolls didn’t faze me. They were faceless usernames—probably some sad guy in his parents’ basement. But then I started recognising names. Fellow students I’d met with. Mutual friends. Then politicians—David Seymour among them—and the official ACT Party accounts. This is when it got harder. When disinformation and misogyny come not from strangers, but from people I knew, and from those in positions of power. It’s hard not to feel powerless when the future Deputy Prime Minister posts on social media criticising you and encouraging a pile-on from their followers. And this wasn’t my first time on the receiving end of online hate and abuse. In 2019, I was a spokesperson for the School Strike for Climate. At 16, I was incredibly naïve to what it meant to speak publicly to the media as a young woman. During my first live TV interview, my singlet slipped slightly, exposing a bit of cleavage. By the time I got home, my message requests were filled with  unsolicited sexual messages. The next morning, the Facebook comments on the interview video were full of  men gleefully saying they were  “too distracted” by my top to hear anything I said.  To them, I wasn’t a passionate 16-year-old climate activist. I was just a pair of tits.  Of course, the abuse I experienced as a student leader doesn't compare to what many political figures endure.  But the patterns are the same. A 2022 study on political abuse found that while harassment affects people of all  genders, women are twice as likely to receive death threats. Even one is terrifying. And the cumulative effect can be devastating—eroding mental health, pushing women out of public life altogether. This is how misogyny silences people.  In Aotearoa, we still don’t have laws explicitly addressing  stalking or online  harassment (though a bill is in the works). This means that when threats escalate, there’s often no official resource. The burden falls—yet again—on the women targeted, left to manage the fall out alone. Women in leadership shouldn’t have to “toughen up” just to survive. The constant barrage of abuse and harassment is driving women out of politics , and forcing those who remain to become desensitised to deeply harmful rhetoric.  So here’s my parting message: call out hate and misogyny when you see it. But more than that, stand with the people who step forward to lead. Have their backs. Fight for them. Fight with them.  Quotes taken from X (formally Twitter)

Words by Abby Saywell Your boss, your mum’s best friend, your annoying uncle at the family reunion—everyone wants to know: ‘what are you going to do after you graduate?’ If hearing this question activates your fight or flight response, you’re not alone. But if you’re like me and have less than one month until you finish your undergrad degree, it’s probably time to make at least one decision: should we stay at uni, or finally enter the real world? Instead of sitting through hours of information evenings or trying to decipher the postgrad section on the VUW website, I’ve gone straight to the source: real-life postgrad students.  Sam Mata  is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science with Honours, majoring in Artificial Intelligence. Reflecting on his academic journey, he shared that he didn’t always have a clear direction. “I started off with Engineering” he explains, “but honestly, it just wasn’t for me. Engineering's quite shit and felt restrictive.” By his third year, Sam decided to make a switch and completed his undergraduate degree in Computer Science instead. “It just made a lot more sense. It was closer to what I actually wanted to be doing.” When asked about the transition from undergrad to postgrad, Sam admits it was a big adjustment. “There’s a lot more independence, and you’re trying to justify your solutions to complex problems without anyone telling you what the outcome should look like. Time management is really difficult because you can’t just pull an all-nighter or cram at the last minute—it doesn’t work at this level.” His current postgrad degree involves balancing a research project spanning two trimesters along with coursework. “It’s a bit of a juggle,” he says. “But I like it. The 400-level courses are different; the class sizes are much smaller, and lectures are more like discussions. I have weekly meetings with my supervisors to check in, but other than that, I do the work whenever I can fit it in.” Sam doesn’t find the specialisation too limiting at this stage. “Maybe it feels that way for now, but research is actually a broader skill than people realise. From the people I’ve talked to, it seems surprisingly easy to go from researching one thing to something else entirely. The critical thinking and adaptability transfer between fields.” Finances are another layer of complexity. “I work as a web developer, and earlier in the year, I tutored two courses. Now I’m down to tutoring just one, but it’s still tough. I mean, I’m still a pretty broke student,’ he laughs. ‘You can definitely mismanage your time, but I don’t think I know anyone in postgrad who’s got an easy work-life balance. It’s just part of it.” For anyone considering postgrad, Sam’s advice is straightforward: “Reach out as early as possible to pick your projects. If you show you’re eager, you’ll get good supervisors who are actually interested in the project rather than someone who’s just been told to supervise you. Having good supervisors makes things way easier, so don’t leave it to chance.” Sophie Hampson   is currently studying for a Master of Fine Arts (Creative Practice) in Film. Reflecting on her academic journey, she shares: “In undergrad I ended up majoring in Film and Psychology and did a minor in Theatre. I wasn’t even studying Film at first—I was doing Political Science!” When asked about the transition from undergraduate to postgraduate study, Sophie admits it’s been both surprising and challenging: “I was expecting a bit more support, or just a general framework. But I also wasn’t expecting to feel as confident in my abilities as I am—to realise that I am actually capable. It's been really good for my own confidence and belief in myself. It's a lot of self-discovery and personal learning rather than external learning—this is like the third existential crisis I’ve been through!” Day-to-day, her postgrad experience varies depending on the phase of production. “In our first trimester we had typical lectures and workshops, learning how to use the equipment and create a film. Now we’re in the pre-production and production phases—less classes, so we can just go out and shoot. Then in post-production we’ll have more classes again. We’ve also got internships two or three days a week. Around all that, we do our other assignments.” It’s an intense schedule, but it keeps things dynamic and engaging. Despite the demands of postgraduate study, Sophie doesn’t find it restrictive: “In film, we have a very broad sense of learning. We’re working in four role capacities across multiple projects, so we get to do a lot of different things. I’m becoming a jack of all trades, in an environment where it’s still safe, so that’s quite cool.” The breadth of the programme allows her to explore multiple aspects of film production and gain a diverse skill set. Financially, however, postgraduate life is a struggle. “I am really struggling! I’m living off my savings and student loan. We’re not really supposed to work, but who the fuck can afford that? So, I’m a casual contractor for the uni social media team. But I’m literally living dollar to dollar.” Balancing her studies and the cost of living has been difficult, but she’s doing what she can to make it work. To anyone considering postgraduate study, Sophie’s advice is thoughtful: “It’s a privilege to get an education, especially to such a high degree as a Master’s. It can be kind of daunting, but if you are in the position that is fortunate enough, make sure you make the most of it. A lot of people don’t get these opportunities.” Though it’s a demanding and often overwhelming experience, she believes in seizing the chance to learn and grow, if you have it. Henry Isaacs   is pursuing a Master of Architecture (Professional), a path he had planned long before starting university. “I always knew I was going to do my undergrad in Architecture and then go on to Master's,” he explains. “If you want to be an architect, you need to do the Master's Professional.” For him, the transition to postgraduate study felt natural and expected. Surprisingly, Henry finds postgraduate study less stressful than his undergraduate years, though not due to a reduced workload. “It’s not any more stressful doing the Master’s—if anything, it’s less stressful. Not because of the workload, but because of my attitude towards it. It’s like ‘hey, I can do this’.” He anticipates a significant shift next year when it’s time to tackle the thesis. “What will be quite different is doing our thesis next year. It’s daunting, because some theses are unbelievable, but with SARC 491 (Research Methodologies) you see how you can get there.” Henry notes that the structure of his architecture degree hasn’t changed dramatically from second through to fourth year. “Second, third, and fourth year are identical, with design capstone being the big course of your fourth year. So you go to class and then we have our own studio, and you kind of just come and go.” He values the flexibility that the studio system offers, where students manage their own schedules and time. Although the Master’s is more specialised, it still provides room for exploration. “It’s more specific than undergrad, but next year will definitely go right into something you want to do. This year has still been working up to the thesis.” For Henry, it’s the opportunity to focus on a specific area of interest that makes the Master's experience valuable. To support himself financially, Henry works part-time as a tennis coach, a job he’s held since his college days. “I coach about 7-8 hours a week—you don’t want to do any more than that.” Balancing work and study is crucial, and he’s found a rhythm that allows him to manage both without overwhelming himself. When it comes to advice for prospective postgraduate students, Henry is clear-eyed. “If you can get where you want to without doing the Master’s, then I personally wouldn’t do it. But also, don’t feel like you shouldn’t do it because you’re not going to be good enough—you’re more than capable. It’s more whether you’re actually interested in doing postgrad.” He urges people to think carefully about their motivations. “Really consider why you want to do it, and if that makes it enough to do one or two years more, go for it.” For him, postgraduate study is less about necessity and more about passion and a genuine desire to delve deeper into the discipline. Alex Walker  is pursuing a PhD in Health, but his academic journey has been anything but linear. “I did an undergrad in History and Classics, then a Master’s in Educational Psychology, then a PhD in Health,” he explains. “I think of it as slowly moving towards what I really want to do.” His progression reflects a process of refining his focus over time, gradually zeroing in on his true passion. Reflecting on his experience, Alex wishes he’d been kinder to himself during those early stages. “It can feel like you don’t belong, that you don't have what it takes. It was a real journey getting comfortable working with supervisors and feeling like an equal.” For many students, the transition to postgraduate study can be intimidating, and Alex found it challenging to see himself as more than just a student. “You're really primed to think of these people as your lecturers and yourself as the student. It’s amazing how you slowly shift from mainly listening to being the one talking the most.” The structure of a PhD is quite different from the undergraduate or even Master’s experience, something Alex appreciates. “It’s so different in the PhD context, because that’s where your usual markers of courses and assignments go out the window. Some weeks I’m doing lots of reading; other weeks it’s just writing; for several months I was doing interviews—it can be so varied.” The autonomy and lack of traditional structure might be daunting to some, but for Alex, it’s what makes the process unique and engaging. “I actually find it liberating,” he says. At the start of his PhD, he struggled to find a direction, feeling pulled in too many ways. But once he settled into his niche, the clarity came. “Once you find your niche, you can start identifying unanswered questions more clearly.” The freedom to pursue a highly specialised topic has been one of the most rewarding aspects of the experience for him. Financially, Alex acknowledges that he’s in a fortunate position, thanks to a doctoral scholarship. “I am really lucky to have a doctoral scholarship, which means I get paid a stipend to cover rent and things like that”’ However, he’s quick to point out that this kind of support shouldn’t be left to luck. “I feel like it shouldn't be a matter of me being lucky—everyone should get support, because I can’t imagine how tough it would be without it.” He believes that equitable financial support should be a standard for all postgraduate students. When asked what advice he’d offer to others considering postgraduate study, Alex is encouraging. “If you’re not a constant A+ student, please know that postgrad can absolutely be for you! I know many people who got their best grades in postgrad, but really struggled in undergrad.” For him, success in postgraduate study isn’t about academic perfection—it’s about knowing why you want to do it. “I think knowing why you want to do postgrad is far more important than having the best GPA.” Finding that motivation and purpose is what truly matters in navigating the challenges of postgraduate research. Ren Pritchard  is currently pursuing a PhD majoring in Cognitive and Behavioural Neuroscience. Their academic journey began with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology in Australia, before moving to New Zealand to complete Honours in the same field. “I got offered a Master’s by Thesis scholarship in Cognitive Behavioural Neuroscience, but at the nine-month mark I upgraded to a PhD” Ren explains. This transition allowed them to delve deeper into research and commit to a long-term project they were passionate about. The shift from Honours to PhD came with its own set of challenges, especially since Ren has a chronic illness. “Honours was a lot of literal hours of physical work—I never felt ahead of the game in Honours! So it scared me when people kept saying a PhD is so much more work, as I really struggled with the time commitment due to my chronic illness.” However, Ren discovered that the nature of PhD work suited them better. “I’ve realised it’s about what people consider to be hard work, and what types of work people prefer. Even though a PhD is more in-depth and requires more thinking, there’s only really one big project to focus on, and I personally prefer that. It just depends on who you are.” Describing the process of research, Ren outlines the iterative nature of the work: “With research, you want to answer a question. So you read the literature, find what’s missing, design a study, run the study, get the results, and write it up.” The flexibility of a PhD means that week-to-week tasks can vary greatly. “It’s hard for PhD students to say what they do in a week, because it changes depending on the week they’re in, and you get to manage your time the way you see fit.” This autonomy has been a positive aspect for Ren, allowing them to balance the demands of research with the realities of their health condition. Although Ren’s research is highly specialised, they’ve found that the process has also enhanced a broad range of soft skills. “I know a lot  about my thesis topic! But when I break it down, I’ve enhanced all these soft skills: I’ve learnt how to design a study, how to write that study up, and how to look at theories and ideas from different angles.” The depth of knowledge gained is balanced by the flexibility to explore additional areas of interest. “Your knowledge can get super specific, but it’s really up to you how much you choose to learn and what you do with your time.” Financially, Ren has managed by combining savings, part-time work, and scholarships. “When I first started studying, I was told that for every part-time job you do, you lose a grade. Because I’m a bit older, I can mainly live off my savings with a few hours of dance teaching work on the side. I also got some scholarship money which helped to cover costs—there are a lot of scholarships out there if you look around.” For many students, managing finances can be a major barrier, but Ren emphasises the importance of seeking out funding opportunities. As someone navigating the PhD journey with a chronic illness, Ren is candid about the difficulties, but also hopeful. “I don't want to downplay how unbelievably hard it is to have a chronic illness and do the PhD because it really does suck. But the more people who are disabled that go and advocate for themselves, the better it's going to be.” Ren is passionate about encouraging others with disabilities to pursue academic goals, believing that representation and self-advocacy can change the system for the better. “I want more people who are disabled to try and do these things because it is definitely doable—look at me, I’m here, and if I can do it, you can too.” Ren’s advice for prospective PhD students is grounded and realistic. “Just make sure you pick a topic you like, find a supervisor you get along with, put in the hard work, and it will all be worth it.” For them, the journey has been about finding a path that aligns with both their interests and their personal needs, proving that success in postgraduate study is as much about adaptability as it is about academic ability.

Aotea Great Barrier Island’s lonely fight against the seaweed threatening it’s livelihood DAN MOSKOVITZ (HE/HIM) Take a look at this map of the Hauraki Gulf . Up in the top right corner is Great Barrier Island, or Aotea. It’s at the fringe, straddling the gulf on one side and the Pacific on the other. But that's the point. It is the Great Barrier. Despite being New Zealand’s sixth-largest island, its population barely ticks over a thousand, and is the world’s only island dark sky reserve.  On Aotea, petrol can reach four dollars a litre. The island is almost totally reliant on solar power and generators, and Aotea’s own website talks about how toasters are a rarity  because of how much power they draw. For many, but particularly the island’s mana whenua (Ngāti Wai and Ngāti Rehua), the sea remains a prime source of food. All of this is under threat. Aotea Great Barrier Island is the site of what’s been called New Zealand’s worst marine biosecurity disaster.  Part One: The Invasion Caulerpa  is a genus of seaweed. It doesn’t really look like much, just your standard frilly green weed in the water.  But what makes Caulerpa special is the incredible speeds at which it can grow; up to a centimeter a day. This means Caulerpa can effectively smother the rest of the seafloor, stifling the growth of other seaweed, overtopping corals, and changing the all-round habitat. To make matters worse, it can also regenerate from fragments, meaning if a strand of Caulerpa snaps, those pieces could create two new patches. Hence anything which comes into contact with the seafloor—like an anchor or a net— becomes a biosecurity risk. Caulerpa invasions have posed massive ecological problems overseas. But in 2021 two species ( Caulerpa parvifolia and brachypus, collectively referred to as exotic Caulerpa ) were discovered at Aotea, causing the Ministry of Primary Industries, through its Biosecurity wing, to launch its response. Dives by NIWA confirmed the scale of the problem. In one patch, the seaweed’s coverage had expanded from 0.01 square meters to 1840m in just a few months . Three years on, and most of Aotea’s west coast is coated by Caulerpa. For many on the island, it's borderline traumatic.   “ Caulerpa covers nearly a quarter of the island’s sea-floor,” says Maurice Ngatai, a skipper on the island and a member of the Ngāti Rehua ki Ngāti Wai trust. “It’s smothered everything so nothing can grow. “It’s a noxious weed, but nobody knows how to deal with it.”  “We still rely on the ocean to provide sustenance for whanau and the community. We can’t go in there at all to get kai” said Kelly Klink, a member of Ngāti Rehua. Barry Scott, a retired Massey University professor who moved to the island post-retirement, describes what the seaweed is doing to the seafloor as “heartbreaking.” So how has Biosecurity NZ responded? Where there is Caulerpa, Biosecurity puts in place Controlled Area Notices (CANs). These forbid activities which come into contact with the seafloor, like net fishing or anchoring.  “ We still rely on the ocean to provide sustenance for whanau and the community. We can’t go in there at all to get kai ” Throughout 2022 and 2023, Caulerpa  crept up Aotea’s coast, trailed by extensions of the CANs. But this was it. This was about the extent of the Biosecurity response. For many of Aotea’s residents, it felt like abandonment.  “We’ve been abandoned since it came out,” said Klink. “We had been fighting Caulerpa for two years before anyone on the mainland had heard of Caulerpa , with no money.” To top it all off, in May 2024, Biosecurity New Zealand allowed three crayfishing boats—two from Leigh, and one from Aotea itself—into Aotea’s CAN. This was a biosecurity risk; craypots could absolutely create Caulerpa fragments. Biosecurity said this was needed for the crayfisher’s livelihoods, but for those on the Barrier, sweltering under restrictions since 2021, this was an outrage. “I asked Biosecurity if they had a code of ethics,” said Scott. “They put the rights of two or three fishermen above the rights of the whole island. What’s more, they created a biosecurity risk. It undermined our trust, our confidence, and our respect.” A few months later, Caulerpa was detected at Leigh.  Biosecurity admitted fault in the lack of consultation with the Barrier, but said the crayfishers were unlikely to be the source of Leigh’s Caulerpa, as Leigh’s Caulerpa was found in an area different to the boats and biosecurity measures were in place.  Three years on from Caulerpa’s detection in 2021, and all but the northern tip of Aotea’s west coast lies within a CAN. Just a single sheltered port—Fitzroy, thanks to an exception from the CAN—remains open for anchoring. For an island which relies significantly on Auckland's tourism, Fitzroy is a vital lifeline.  “Port Fitzroy is the Mecca for recreational boats,” says Scott. “If you don’t keep Fitzroy free of Caulerpa  then the island faces very hard questions. Does it lockdown? Or does it let boats in, which will spread Caulerpa throughout the Gulf?”  Currently, a small patch of Caulerpa exists at Fitzroy’s mouth. As summer comes and the waters warm, there’s real concern about whether it will spread into the rest of the harbour. Scott and others on the island have set up the Aotea Caulerpa Response Team but, devoid of government funding, their options are limited.  Part Two: The Spread The exotic Caulerpa incursion attracted little media attention until 2023, when it was discovered at Omakiwi cove in the Bay of Islands. There, a combined effort from council, iwi, and locals rapidly propelled the seaweed to national attention. This is a sore point for many Aotea.  “Mana whenua and the Regional Council went ballistic and caused so much noise that MPI felt embarrassed,” said Chris Olliver, a member of the Aotea Caulerpa Response Team about Omakiwi.   “They sat on the minister's desk and thumped the table and as a result the minister gave them $2,000,000. Unless you can get that sort of impetus, you are working within the slow bureaucracy.”  The incursion at Omakiwi is ⅙ the size of Aotea.  Three years on, and much of the Hauraki Gulf and Northland are feeling the effects of Caulerpa.  This has brought upside of there now being more groups invested in the incursion, but means Aotea, already struggling to gain traction in its response, is now fighting with other affected areas for funding. That’s apparent at both Omakiwi, and at Waiheke Island, the site of the second-largest infestation. There, while Blair Anderson of Ngāti Pāoa (the iwi of Waiheke), is quick to acknowledge Aotea’s suffering, he still describes Biosecurity as “responsive,” and is upbeat about their response to the Waiheke incursion. For comparison, exotic Caulerpa covers 820 hectares of Aotea’s seafloor. Waiheke’s incursion measures at 410, Omakiwi’s at 240. All of this led to Klink taking Biosecurity New Zealand to the Waitangi Tribunal, a move she herself admitted was to draw attention to the situation on Aotea. Because Aotea, at this point, is desperate. Many on the island wish to just speak with the Biosecurity minister, and plead their case, hoping to try and show him the personal struggle on the island.  But again, their pleas have been ignored.  “ They sat on the minister's desk and thumped the table and as a result the minister gave them $2,000,000. Unless you can get that sort of impetus, you are working within the slow bureaucracy. ”   Part Three: The Minister  The appointment of Andrew Hoggard as Biosecurity minister probably raised eyebrows. The former Federated Farmers president turned ACT MP is as fresh as can be. Elected in 2023, a month after becoming an MP he was Minister of Biosecurity. Yet Hoggard has done well with Caulerpa . Throughout 2024, in the most austere government in living memory, he reallocated $15 million from elsewhere in MPI to the Caulerpa response and has incentivised research into new technologies. But Aotea is still at the periphery. While Biosecurity officials were hopeful of using the funding to support on-island suppression efforts, so far just $200k has gone to the island with the largest infestation. So why is Aotea getting such a paltry response compared to Waiheke, Omakiwi, and more?  According to Hoggard, Aotea is still part of the plan, but Biosecurity’s main focus right now is R & D. Only a small lagoon in California has ever been able to eradicate Caulerpa before, and certainly nothing at the scale of NZ’s incursion, which is why Hoggard hopes to scale up new technologies. “We really need our technologies sorted before we go in there [Aotea],” said Hoggard when interviewed by Salient . “It's the worst spot and trying to tackle it without everything firing on all cylinders will be, quite frankly, wasting money.”  Scott worries this is too much linear thinking. Caulerpa will continue to spread while this research occurs, meaning interim suppression could make things cheaper down the line. Similarly, as Olliver points out, having a nest of untouched Caulerpa could provide a nursery for it to spread to the rest of the gulf.  And while there's probably some validity in Hoggard’s points, none of this was communicated to Aotea; Hoggard has no plans on visiting.  “I'm not one that’s just doing token visits,” he said. “If I'm visiting somewhere, it's to check in on progress and solutions. “And from the surface, there's not a whole lot to see. I suck at swimming. I’m not going to put on a wetsuit and go underwater. No way in hell you’re getting me diving.” Part Four: The Future  So what are these new technologies? If there’s a case for hope, it's here. Caulerpa is now taken seriously across the board, meaning there is now a slate of iwi, ministries, councils, and researchers all throwing the kitchen sink at the problem.  Suction dredging has gained the most attention. Imagine a vacuum cleaner powered at the seafloor, sucking up Caulerpa, sand, and anything else unlucky enough to be in its path. This can take the form of driver directed—a handheld vacuum cleaner—or a mechanical ship-bound dredge.  The cost of this is enormous. NIWA estimated such dredging to cost hundreds of thousands of dollars per hectare of Caulerpa cleared.   A potentially more cost-effective solution is being trialled by Ngāti Pāoa. They’re placing woollen mats (whāriki) over Caulerpa, which suffocates everything under them. Meanwhile, researchers at the University of Auckland are working on a UV light treatment, and kina have also been tested as biocontrol. No matter what gets used—most likely a combination of what’s already been mentioned—it’s going to be ecologically damaging. Suction dredging sucks up seafloor alongside Caulerpa. Whāriki suffocate everything under it. UV light is a big unknown. As Klink herself puts it, “to save the ocean, we’re going to have to kill the ocean.” And science takes time. Making things scaleable takes time. But Caulerpa spreads fast, and Aotea is teetering. Fitzroy is the only major port left for anchoring, but summer is coming, and with it comes the faster spread of Caulerpa. Whether Fitzroy will hold is another matter entirely.  The consequences of inaction cannot be overstated—modelling suggests Caulerpa could proliferate between Northland and Hawkes Bay. Maurice Ngatai grew up on Aotea, living off the kai moana. For him, it's about his tamariki, and whether they will be able to experience the same life he did.  “The sea floor is the beginning of the food chain for us. But in ten years time, this stuff’s gonna take over. I’m going to have to tell my kids they better get used to having no food.” The barrier has been breached. Whether it will be fully broken is yet to be seen.

Content Forecast: This review has mentions of grief. There are also minor spoilers. Words by : Angela Pelham (she/her) The Lochburn family have moved into Circa Theatre from the 5th of October to the 2nd of November, filling the stage with family drama, nostalgia, and lots of music. and the Lochburns , by married couple William Duignan and Andrew Paterson—playwright and director, respectively—presents an authentic depiction of a family moving through grief and change (with an ensemble cast of talented actor-musicians). I’ll admit that this play didn’t fully resonate with me—not due to any fault of the script or performances, but because the family dynamics simply didn’t reflect my own experiences and left me feeling like a bit of an outsider. That said, I fully recognize the talent of the cast and crew, the cleverness of the script, and the emotional range that had the audience both laughing and crying at times. Also, my viewing companion found the family dynamics extremely relatable, even to the point of being uncanny at times.  At the heart of  and the Lochburns  is the slow revelation of a simple yet poignant premise: Margaret, the Lochburn matriarch, has passed away some time ago, and her husband Gus is now succumbing to his long-term dementia. His three adult children, along with one partner, have gathered at their childhood home to confront the emotional weight of the past as they prepare to move their father into a care facility and pack up his home. While not much physical packing occurs on stage, it’s easy to forgive, given the amount of emotional unpacking the characters must do. Memories of the past are seamlessly and cleverly woven into the present action, allowing the audience to experience the past as it exists in the characters’ minds. The Lochburns are a family of both lovers and fighters, perfectly capturing the complex balance of loyalty and tension that defines so many family dynamics. " and the Lochburns  explores family, memory, and the passage of time with tenderness and authenticity. " Kali Kopae's portrayal of Margaret, the late mother, is a standout. Kopae transitions beautifully between past and present, embodying both the warmth of a loving mother and wife, and a ghostly presence that lingers in her family's hearts. Her renditions of songs like "You Belong to Me" and "A House is Not a Home" are beautifully sung, accompanied on the piano by Peter Hambleton (Gus). Kopae’s voice and stage presence are captivating, holding attention even when her character isn’t actively ‘present’ in the scene. For those familiar with the pain of loss, her performance will strike particularly deep chords. Stella Reid’s performance as Helena, the youngest Lochburn sibling, provides much of the play's energy. Her contrasting chemistry with her siblings and her soon-to-be brother-in-law is remarkable, adding depth and relatability to the family dynamics. Spanning from carefree and impulsive to reflective, Reid’s performance anchors the audience in both the humour and heartache of the story. Equally compelling are the moments between Simon Leary’s Jason and Jthan Morgan’s Sam, where the tender and often insecure dynamics of their relationship are delicately explored. Sam, an outsider to the family, navigates the Lochburns’ intensity with warmth and vulnerability. Hannah Kelly’s Mary clashes with many of the other characters, but we learn that her bossy personality is a blanket hiding her emotional vulnerability. The scene where she explores her similarities to her Dad is particularly memorable. The play's structure, which frequently moves between past and present, is cleverly done, though occasionally disorienting. There are, however, moments where the tone shifts unexpectedly. While the realism of the script and the production design grounds the story in a relatable family drama, some sequences veer into jarring melodrama. A full-blown musical jazz number toward the end of Act I, while lots of fun, felt somewhat out of place. Greater continuity in tone might have lent more cohesion to the play. The play’s sound design, unfortunately, presented some challenges. While the music and songs were beautifully woven into the production, the dialogue often suffered due to inconsistent projection or unclear direction choices. Overlapping dialogue added realism but, at times, obscured key plot points, making it difficult to follow the action and leaving me hearing nothing but noise. This was particularly noticeable during two major argument scenes, where underscoring with live song made important emotional exchanges nearly unintelligible. These sound issues detracted from an otherwise strong production and left some crucial moments feeling less impactful. The lighting and production design, however, were able to uplift the production. One of the most memorable moments is the first shift into the past, where the lighting design beautifully signals the change in time. The production design by Meg Rollandi, with its well-lived-in family living room—complete with records, knick-knacks, and seven working lamps (big shoutout to practical lighting!)—perfectly complements this nostalgic atmosphere. and the Lochburns  explores family, memory, and the passage of time with tenderness and authenticity. Its exploration of sibling relationships, parent-child dynamics, and the insecurities that arise in moments of change are familiar and relatable to anyone who has navigated familial transitions. While there are some tonal and technical inconsistencies, the heart of the play remains compelling, and the performances are not to be missed.

By Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson   It was 7:50pm and the sky was like ink when I arrived at Basement   Theatre to see Keagan Carr Fransch’s new work. I gazed up at four bold black letters,   floating in a glowing green box. The title of the show felt urgent—spelled in all caps, except for a rebellious lowercase ‘i’ at the end, inspiring scepticism. ANTi , presented by Black Creatives Aotearoa and Hand Pulled Collective, and directed by Dione Joseph and Sam Phillips, is a one-woman play “about a   family forced to meet at the intersection of queer love, religious   expectations, tragic heroines and Black womanhood." It promises to  illuminate the contradictions, duality and joy in our midst.   Fransch’s performance was visceral. Every backhanded compliment   and frostbitten stare one could endure at Sunday lunch materialised   in her spellbinding storytelling. Fransch appeared fearless as she   displayed unswerving vulnerability during engrossing recounts of   hallway confrontations and kitchen stand-offs. All while exhibiting   the brightness of hysterical eruptions that only happen with those  who know where all your soft points are.  Fransch never looked away from the countless painful truths that   coexisted in this story. Despite being the only actor onstage, she was   always looking directly into the eyes of the characters she was   conversing with. The way Fransch embodied the complicated love of   people who had not yet accepted all of her was disarming, to say   the least. Whether she was antagonising her sister or begging for her mother’s ear, Fransch’s courage to see every side of these  interactions was unfaltering.  At one point during the play, Fransch clothed herself in her family’s   imperfect affection and thanked them. “Thank you for your love.” She   acknowledged their intentions to protect her through their imposing expectations. Then, she did something I didn’t see coming. Fransch   removed the symbolic scarf she had caressed and hugged tightly   moments before. “But I don’t need it anymore… I am safe now… I am  loved… I am not alone.”  As she relinquished love that came with blindspots, Fransch made   space for a love that was complete. Love that she already had. Love   that embraced the woman she was rather than the woman someone  else wished she could be. Love that didn’t ask her to hide.  Watching Fransch choose herself and the love of her partner while   letting go of the permission she once needed from her family to be   who she had always been, was equally uplifting and shattering. From   witty remarks about “White Jesus” and respectability politics, we had   arrived at inner-child healing transcendence. Fransch called upon the   strength of all those who came before her and spoke her own  freedom into existence.   I was in misty-eyed awe of this delightfully disruptive show and   Fransch’s colossal range. ANTi is a must-see for anyone who wants   to laugh their way to hope, liberation and self-determined euphoria.

Words by Ryan Cleland (he/him) Friends, Wellingtonians, fellow countrymen! Those used to reading the gossip columns of days gone past, those who scour Aunty Vic or the recently debuted Little Birdie. I present to you the best gossip channel, the agony aunt of Encyclopedias! Our very own humble Wikipedia. Arguably Wikipedia is one of the internet's greatest inventions, an amalgam of the past 300,000 years of human history condensed into 22.14 Gigabytes of information, constantly updated by the people and for the people. Now the upside to this is that some of the sauciest, most tea-worthy articles of history are present on that site known to wiki-editors as “Unusual Articles”. I want to present to you some of my favourites from my time spent scouring the free encyclopaedia. List of Sexually Active Popes Now, the sexual proclivities of the papacy may not be something you'd regularly think about, but if curiosity ever strikes, Wikipedia has you covered. This article contains a detailed list of popes who were sexually active during their lives, along with the reasons why. The list includes intriguing entries like Paul II, who was rumoured to have died not from indigestion caused by a melon, but instead in the throes of passion with his secret lover, a pageboy! Then there's Benedict IX, accused by his opponents of "many vile adulteries," to the point where, in 1045 AD, he resigned as pope with the hope of getting married. It seems many popes had rather promiscuous lives, and Wikipedia is there for all your research needs. The Blood-Vomiting Game Reading the title of this Wikipedia page must have you wondering what vile and gruesome medieval torture could have inspired such an article. In reality, it refers to a famous match in the classical strategy board game Go (shoutout to VUW’s very own Go Club). This particular game, played between Go prodigy Akaboshi Intetsu and Hon'inbō Jōwa on June 27, 1835, is notable because, near the end of the 4-day match, Akaboshi repeatedly vomited blood onto and around the board. While it could be seen as one of the biggest power moves of all time, most historians agree that it was not intentional and that Akaboshi most likely suffered from pre-existing gastrointestinal bleeding or pulmonary disease, which caused his death a few months later. Regardless, the infamous Blood-Vomiting Game of Go will “Go” down in history for its strange and dramatic circumstances. Code Name Devil Eyes In stark contrast to the lovable game of Go comes the CIA's war on terror, where they decided that the best way to sow dissent within Al-Qaeda was to secretly collaborate with Donald Levine, the creator of the G.I. Joe doll. Together, they designed an Osama Bin Laden action figure that was secretly engineered so that, when heated, the face would peel off to reveal a demon-like visage with red skin and green eyes. The plan was to scare children and turn public opinion against Al-Qaeda. The CIA, of course, denied the operation until 2014, when several prototypes went up for auction, selling for $11,879 and $6,250, respectively. Ferret-Legging Fancy yourself some extreme sports? Then look no further than the Yorkshire pastime known as Ferret-Legging, where two competitors tie the ankles of their pants shut before dropping two ferrets inside. They then quickly fasten their belts to prevent the ferrets from escaping. What follows is a test of endurance. Neither the competitors nor the ferrets are allowed to be drunk or sedated, and underwear is strictly forbidden. The sport, which has been in decline in recent years, requires little skill apart from what world champion Reg Mellor describes as "simply an ability to have your tool bitten and not care." Allegedly, the sport has been around for centuries, but it gained popularity among Yorkshire miners in the 1970s. Heaven knows why.

ETHAN ROGACION (HE/HIM) I love an overpriced coffee, don’t you? Strolling down Lambton Quay, oat flat white in hand, trying not to spill it while navigating a maze of suit-wearing Business Folk. It’s a sight Public Service Minister Nicola Willis seems eager to revive.  On the 23rd of September, Willis announced that working from home should no longer be the norm for public servants. Sure, remote work has its perks—increased productivity, less commuting—but Willis insists it’s time to get back to the office, partly to save the city’s struggling cafés. That is a distraction on two fronts.  On one hand, as the Opposition has pointed out, this doesn’t solve the fact that the Government’s programme of cuts still lingers over the city’s economy. But, perhaps more saliently, our real challenges—crumbling infrastructure, overdue earthquake repairs, and gutted arts funding—are being sidelined. And, let’s not forget, all of this is happening in the context of a global financial crisis, rising national inflation and the cost of living crisis. Wellington isn’t suffering because a few policy analysts are logging in from home. It’s suffering from years of underfunding and short-term fixes. The central library has been closed for years, critical infrastructure projects remain in limbo, and housing affordability is a pipe dream. And yet, instead of addressing these foundational issues, the Government is fixated on how many public servants are buying their flat whites on Lambton Quay. So, will this move save those ailing cafés? Maybe. But if we’re serious about Wellington’s future, it’ll take more than dragging people back to desks. It’ll take investment, vision, and a willingness to tackle bigger issues head-on.

Interview by Jia Sharma (she/her) PARK RD is no stranger to being on the road. Fresh off their New Zealand and Australia tours, they’ve learnt secrets of the trade along the way. The band has given us a peek into what life on tour is like, as well as advice for any bands looking to hit the road as well.  1. Preparation: What Goes Into a Tour? Music Rehearsals The core of any tour is the music itself. While it is important to practise your set list thoroughly, leaving some flexibility to adjust the song order or length depending on the audience and venue can enhance the set. This way the performances will remain exciting—for the band, and the audience.  Outfit Planning Stage presence is more than just the music. While it’s not essential, planning outfits ahead of time can help reduce stress—and it’s fun! Promotion A key part of preparing for a tour is making sure people know about it. Many bands find it helpful to create a lot of content in advance—announcing dates, sharing behind-the-scenes footage, and utilising social media as a whole.  Logistics Behind every smooth tour is a strong logistics team. This includes booking accommodation, arranging travel, and making sure everything runs on schedule. Having a reliable team can relieve the pressure on the band so you can focus on performing. 2. On the Road: The Touring Experience Touring feels like an adventure. PARK RD described feeling like pirates navigating their way through Australia. It’s early mornings after late nights, but everyone knows what needs to be done. The bond created through these shared experiences is incomparable to anything else. One of the best parts of touring is meeting new people. The musicians, fans, and locals you encounter along the way often provide a sense of home, even when you're far from your own.  3. Travel and Accommodation: What to Expect Sometimes, touring means finding creative ways to save costs. Staying with friends or family can offer financial relief and make your tour more viable.  In terms of accommodation, it can range from traditional hotels to pod hostels (think two metres long, one metre wide, and one metre high), which the band said “ felt like school camp with everyone being so close together”.  If you’re touring in Australia like PARK RD, being a member of organisations like APRA offers perks like free bags on regional flights, which can really ease some logistical headaches. 4. Memorable Tour Destinations PARK RD spent a lot of time dreaming about playing their own shows in Australia, and found that certain places will stand out more than others. For example, Brisbane offers great opportunities like Big Sound, where artists can play headline shows and surprise gigs.  Some cities may surprise you—places like Adelaide, which isn’t often considered a top tour stop, can offer some of the most intimate and rewarding gigs. Every tour location is special and memorable, in its own way.  5. The Best Part of Touring Touring is about getting outside of your comfort zone and growing as an artist. Each new city, venue, and crowd offers a chance to learn more about yourself and your music. The experiences, whether they are spontaneous adventures or writing sessions in legendary studios, shape you creatively. But at the heart of it all, playing shows is what makes the hard work, early mornings, and tiredness worth it. 6. PARK RD’s Top Tips for Touring Bands 1. Look after each other. 2. Everyone has a pair of headphones. When they are on, that means they are having me time. (Stole this from The Beths!) 3. Enjoy the shows, they’re the main event, they’re what make all the tiredness and not so fun moments worth it. 4. Remember to breathe. 5. Don’t be a dick (which also works for life in general). 6. Remind yourself why you’re doing it (whatever your own reason is) Whether it’s an international tour or playing a single show in a different city, these tips are sure to smoothen the experience. While challenging, it helps you grow as an artist and brings you closer to your bandmates. At the end of the day, it’s about the music. Every gig, no matter how big or small, is an opportunity to connect with your audience and share your art. So embrace the challenges, enjoy the ride, and make the most of every moment on the road.

DARCY LAWREY (HE/HIM) At the Local Government New Zealand conference in August, Prime Minister Christopher Luxon informed a room full of mayors and city councillors that “the party is over.” “There is no magic money tree in Wellington”, he added.  He says that central government focuses on “must-haves”, not “nice-to-haves”, and he expects local government to do the same.  So, what does Luxon consider “nice-to-haves” to be? Apparently, the social, economic, environmental and cultural well-being of our local communities. Since 2018, councils around the motu have been required to focus on these four goals. Ending this focus on wellbeing aligns local government with National’s business-ey way of thinking. Despite council’s being made up of elected members, who campaign to deliver on a wide variety of community-based needs, National wants to run councils like businesses, according to Wellington Mayor Tory Whanau.  The same week of Luxon’s speech to LGNZ, Whanau made her opposition to National’s way of thinking clear in an opinion piece: “[…] we're not a business. We're a community of people who have community-related needs.”   Whanau’s critique of National direction for local government was pretty damning: “more than just being offensive and wrong, what was signalled by the Government would be a huge overreach in local decision-making”. She argues that Luxon is wrong to suggest that councils are not delivering what ratepayers want, characterising Wellington City Council as having “one of the most rigorous, open, and transparent decision-making systems”.   At the end of the day, this fight comes down to whether our councils should function as infrastructure companies, or as democratic institutions which work to make our cities and towns healthier and happier places to live. It can be easy to let local government fade into the background of politics, but the decisions made in the Wellington council chambers affect all of us just as much as those made at Parliament. With National’s final changes to how local government works coming later this year, now is a crucial time to be paying attention to our local councils.

(and other shower thoughts) Words By Kyle Cloete (he/him) 'Give your deaf child hearing aids’, they'll say. 'The child will grow up to benefit from auditory experiences’.  While I have grown up to benefit from listening to music, learning how to speak languages, and pretending to be a spy, it is exhausting to be hearing everything, all at once, at all hours of the day. I certainly don't go to bed with them on. Although I did once wander mindlessly into a shower with my non-waterproof hearing aids on. Ignoring the fact that how I perceive sound will never come close to how most people perceive sound, this is how it went down: The shower door opened with a creeaaak plip plip plip pliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssshhhhhhhh 'The water sounds so nice… so relaxing.' plisssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh bsgmbehhhh bgsmeghhh plissssshhh blaarrrrrgghhh 'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shiiiit.' I emerged, dripping wet, to the realisation that I was not designed to hear. I write this not with pity, but as one of the ways I accept my deafness. This acceptance has left a trail of broken hearing aids and questionable insurance claims over the years. A dog found my first cochlear implant to be quite tasty, my second cochlear implant is probably floating somewhere in the Pacific Ocean right now, and my current hearing aid fell down a flight of stairs by Murphy building. In fact, I am borrowing a hearing aid as I write this. I almost sat on this very hearing aid on the bus the other day.  Unless you expect me to paint my head with PVA glue, it is impossible to wear these things 24/7. I have not yet met a person who does. At some point, the batteries need to be charged, replaced, and it is impossible to wear them in some places (like the shower!). Sure, you could say that there is room for technological improvement, gene therapy, and further medical interventions to reduce deafness, but I don't see any need for this. I want to live in a world where different ways of being are respected. A world where it is carefully considered who gets to decide what needs to be 'fixed'. As this world seems to favour speech as a means of communication, I realise there are people who will, quite willingly, swim the Pacific Ocean to retrieve one of my cochlear implants. I also think about the possibility of waking up one morning to the sight of my audiologist holding a bottle of glue, and some colourful headbands to try out. In all seriousness, I get it. The idea of communicating without speech, or living a life without sound, seems scary or ‘abnormal’. However, may I point out that humans have communicated with each other in many creative ways throughout history. There’s painting, dance, gestures, texting, and of course, sign languages. Furthermore, I can assure you it’s great to sleep through the sound of fireworks, thunderstorms, dogs barking, and car alarms.  If you speak to a person, perhaps more than once, and if they don't reply or acknowledge you in any way, I suggest taking a pause. The person might not be as rude as you think. It might be that this person needs eye contact for communication. If you want to go the extra mile, think of ways you can communicate with this person without using speech or sounds. It might be that they are deaf. I don’t understand why there are bells on bicycles and electric scooters. To me, these bells are a stark reminder that all those who can hear have a right to stay clear, move out of the way, and know when a person is coming behind you. Whereas those who cannot hear are expected to have eyes on the back of their heads. I've received my fair share of concerned and disapproving looks from people on bicycles and scooters simply for not knowing that their bells were ringing. Most of the time, the frustrated person will shoot past me uttering something to themselves. I can’t wait for the day I’ll be walking and someone will go: ring ring ring ‘Excuse me!’ … ‘What are you deaf, or something?’ This is where I’ll turn around with a bright red and bejeweled tank-top with the words, ‘I’m DEAF’ in bold lettering. Ignoring, of course, the logistics of how I will be able to hear this person’s remark and time my response accordingly. I’ll be sure to find matching shoes. Perhaps Wellington’s well-known saxophone-playing tree needs a friend. I could find some Christmas lights to wrap myself in, and learn how to sing along to Taylor Swift, every time I go out for a walk. I believe my off-key singing and bright flashing lights will help deter some people from using their bells. I’m open to suggestions, really, as I continue to be baffled by the assumption that all  people can and should hear. I guess those who cannot hear, or those who do not want the burden of wearing hearing aids 24/7, are considered odd. I find it odd to be hearing everything, at all hours of the day, but maybe that’s just me.