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Words by: Jia Sharma (she/her) Last weekend, Great Sounds Great took over venues up and down Cuba Street. This was a night packed with some of the best acts Wellington has to offer. When I saw the lineup for the festival, there was one band I knew I had to see: Maiden Name. Since forming last year, the band has garnered a strong following in Wellington, known for their ‘post-gender ethereal rock’ sound. Before hearing them play, I didn’t quite understand their self description but halfway through their first song, it suddenly made complete sense.  Picture me, fresh off a horrendous Jetstar flight from Auckland, rushing straight from the airport to the familiar comfort of a Wellington gig. I could hear the band playing from across the road and I already knew I loved it when I walked in during the first song. The vocals were especially impressive — a mix of raw emotion and technical skill that grabbed everyone’s attention. The sound was truly unique, almost otherworldly. The bass solo in their second song was a highlight, and their ability to incorporate screaming without losing their musicality was remarkable. Maiden Name stayed true to their description, blending rock with an ethereal energy that filled the room. Their set went by too quickly, and I left Valhalla wanting more. Since playing their first proper gig opening for Milktooth last year, Maiden Name has been warmly welcomed into the Wellington music scene. They’ve got big plans for the rest of this year, including their first digital releases.  Maiden Name has their first single, ‘Sin’, coming out later this month. The lucky crowd of Valhalla got to hear it and I’m sure would agree with me that it should be highly anticipated. This single will be followed by a five song EP that will be released in October. A stop-motion music video is also added to the list of exciting releases by the band this year.  The EP was recorded over a short period of just two days last year. While recording the band played the songs in full, with the intention to record them the same way they were written. The EP will feel organic and authentic to their live sound. I’m eager to hear how this translates to a digital format, hoping it keeps the same raw energy I experienced live. Their live show exceeded my expectations, and I’m confident the EP will, too. The release show will take place in Valhalla on Halloween. So be ready to grab your tickets to celebrate what is sure to be an amazing EP.

Words by : Maya Field (she/her) CW: eating disorders, transphobia, sexual assault.  “Survivor is such a beautiful microcosm for the world,” said Ozzy Lusth, a contestant in May 2017. He may have said the word “microcosm” at least five times during the Survivor 34: Game Changers reunion, which was very “we live in a society,” of him. But Ozzy was right. Although it’s a reality TV Show, it still holds up as a social experiment with gameshow aspects.  Survivor  works because it features everyday  people—who would probably never meet in normal life—contending over real problems, like starvation, survival, and the $1 million prize. It’s not a reality TV show about drunken rich people, with sisters fighting over a Bentley or a housewife selling cardigans on HSN; it has real stakes, and a life-changing prize.  Because of the realism Survivor  presents, feminism is inherent to the show, though this may not be apparent at first glance. When you consider the numerous instances of fairly vile behaviour, you realise it’s consistently directed towards female, POC, and/or queer contestants. In the earlier seasons these instances were presented by production as ‘fly-on-the-wall’ moments, allowing the showrunners to avoid intervening—as in a social experiment. Now, production loves to explicitly highlight the way dynamics in the show echo real-life issues. Survivor  has always been political; it’s just recently the producers are drawing some sort of line in the sand.  Season Five had the first (aired) instance of truly awful in-game behaviour towards women. This was the first #MeToo Moment, which the show really tried to sweep under the rug (watch out for 2019). The barest bones is that, while they slept in the shelter, Ted Rogers Jr. grinded on Ghandia Johnson, without her consent, while lying next to her in the tribe. Ghandia pulled him aside, he apologised and explained that he was married, and mistook her for his wife. Initially, she accepted his apology. Thanks to some pot-stirring from season-winner, Brian Heidik, Ghandia revoked her acceptance, got more upset (totally justified), and was voted out for an ‘emotional breakdown’—just her screaming on the beach, letting out frustration at ‘petty drama’ that was actually sexual assault. Really icky stuff—pretty routine treatment of emotional women, especially emotional WOC, though. Season 14 was the first time there’s been a Final Three comprised totally of African Americans. For some reason, that I can’t quite put my finger on, the jury (mostly comprised of white contestants) were very bitter towards the Final Three. One juror, Lisi Linares, asked the condescending question of “how many zeros are in a million dollars?” I like to think she asked this because she didn’t know Ten Seasons after the Ghandia situation, we have Season 15. One contestant, Jean-Robert Bellande constantly sought out tribemates Courtney Yates and Amanda Kimmel to sleep next to, made inappropriate comments, and was just a total creep. He was creepy to both women, but he was also incredibly aggressive towards Courtney, so I’m focusing on her.  In a Zoom interview (can’t find the date, but it was either during or after Season 39) Courtney explained how she went to production, saying that she didn’t want to be there because of how uncomfortable she was. They asked her to “not ruin the show.” Jean-Robert was aggressive towards her in every sense of the word. Courtney fired back with humour and brilliant bitchiness, because that was the only way she could get her complaints heard. Her confessionals are legendary for her brutal wit. Her allies, Todd Herzog and Amanda, insisted that they cared about her, but kept Jean-Robert until Day 24, pandering towards him and his ego. Her other tribemates saw her as annoyingly spiteful and petty, rather than uncomfortable and unsafe.  Then, because it’s 2007, we have the eating disorder rumours. Articles questioned if Courtney was anorexic, and if it was responsible of Survivor  to have her on-screen. At the Season’s reunion, Jeff blatantly asked if she had an eating disorder. She didn’t, she was just tall and thin. Survivor  deprives you of basic nutrients, so obviously everyone’s bodies go through drastic changes. It’s kind of a given. Interestingly, no one checked in to see if ‘Big’ Tom Buchanan was suffering from an eating disorder, despite his weight loss still being the record, with 80 pounds lost in Season Three. Just saying…  On Season 34 (Game Changers), Jeff Varner outed Zeke Smith as transgender at Tribal Council. The rest of the contestants rushed to Zeke’s defence, unanimously voting out Varner. They didn’t even go to vote, they just kicked him out. If you’ve seen any stand-alone clip from Survivor , it’s probably this one. Not much more needs to be said other than don’t out people, and don’t paint trans people as deceptive. The following year, the show got a GLAAD Media Award for Outstanding Reality Program, accepted by Zeke.   The so-called ‘unprecedented’ events of Season 39 are really gross. This label is also why I spent so long on Courtney Yates and Ghandia Johnson. Basically, Dan Spilo (someone who ‘works in Hollywood’) was very ‘touchy’ with the women. Kellee Kim and Molly Byman were particularly upset by this. Kellee and Missy Byrd bonded over their mutual discomfort around Dan. Kellee approached older tribemate, and Dan’s ally, Janet Carbin. Janet stepped outside of the game to talk to him about his behaviour.  Cue the most disgusting series of events: Kellee gets voted out, Missy (and her ally, Elizabeth Beisel) turn on Janet and say that they never had a problem with Dan, so Janet apologises and is targeted. Then, on Day 36 (out of 39 days), Dan is ejected for an off-camera incident with a crew member. Janet, the only one left to root for, is then voted off on Day 37. Survivor  calls this season “unprecedented.” We’re just going to ignore Ghandia and Courtney, then? Fans tend to ignore this season, just because it’s so unpleasant. I don’t think we should act like this season doesn’t exist, but I also wish Dan never gets an ounce of attention, ever.  On Season 40 (Winners at War. The most awaited season ever), Sarah Lacina gave a stirring speech about how women are villainised for playing like men—lying, backstabbing, etc. She makes a good point, except that she did the exact same thing to Kass McQuillen in Season 28, going so far as to say that Kass was setting a terrible example to her daughter. She didn’t own up to her hypocrisy, but she is a cop. Surprise.  In Season 41, Host Jeff Probst switched from saying “come on in, guys,” to “come on in.” Why? To make a more welcoming environment for the young girls watching at home, obviously. It’s Survivor’s  equivalent of corporate feminism, or Target’s Pride Collection. Conservative fans lost their minds at the wokeness, which was really funny.  Season 43 onwards highlights one of the most important, and shameful, parts of being a woman: you’re not always going to get on with other women. Cassidy and Karla were allies who turned on each other in Season 43. Season 45 saw Emily Flippen and Katurah Topps make the bold decision to complain about tribemates in their confessionals. I loved every minute of Katurah complaining about Bruce, and I adored Emily just disagreeing with everyone on her Lulu tribe. Emily’s face of disgusted confusion at the Pyramid conspiracy theories made my day. Season 46 had a great rivalry of Venus versus Soda, Venus versus Tiffany, Venus versus Tevin, Venus versus every man except Randen, Venus versus the Empire State Building.  Opinions on Venus were extreme: you either loved her and her snarky confessionals transcending the dogpiling on her, or you found her unwatchable. As a fan of contestants like Courtney Yates, Eliza Orlins, Parvati Shallow, and Kass McQuillen, I loved her. Her wit and hater-levels were refreshing in an era of less villains and Jeff Probst, the inspiring “you gotta dig deep” Dad-Host hybrid.  Season 46 was a big step in the right direction, in my opinion, as it highlighted the key social aspect of Survivor : you’re not going to like everyone, and not everyone is going to like you (and, unfortunately, you’re stuck on an island with them). Season 45 and 46 mark a change in the right direction, casting wise, especially with the female contestants. Hopefully, production is making changes in the right direction too.

Words By Madison Brokenshire I have a confession to make: growing up, I thought New Zealand history was boring. I am not proud of this fact. And, unfortunately, I know exactly where a great deal of the blame lies: my highschool.  The majority of all I learnt about Aotearoa’s history was shallow at best; scraping basic myths about a singular event at worst. Every year around Waitangi Day, teachers would pull out the same lesson which approximately said, “There was a treaty and it was called Waitangi. There were translation issues and it still causes problems today. The End,” and then never bring it up again. Instead, we spent vague spans of time learning that apartheid happened in South Africa (but God forbid we ever let slip that Māori segregation was very real in Aotearoa, or really even bring up the 1981 Springbok Tour protests), and that blood diamonds are mined in Africa (but let’s not learn anything about workers’ rights in Aotearoa). All around me, I watched people complain that they didn’t want to learn about New Zealand because it was boring and nothing happened here. I watched students spout regressive, mildly anti-Māori sentiments to illustrate their complaint. And I watched the teachers agree with us when we said it.  Looking back, the fact that this occurred so constantly throughout my schooling that it was normalised to me is absolutely insane. Whether we like it or not, what schools tell us is formative. We absorb and develop unconscious assumptions to fill the gaps of what we aren’t told: New Zealand history was “boring,” “eventless” and “not worth our time” because people omitted it. What I hate more than anything is that I honestly began to believe it. I bought it, I bled it, I denounced my own history because I felt that it had no impact on my life. As if I wasn’t living in history every single day, walking on another iwi’s whenua, driving over a highway that crossed an urupā and pā where bones from massacres lay, as if the muddy ‘drain’ where I played as a child wasn’t the channelised remains a mighty crystal-clear stream that once flowed from the hills to the ocean.  It's not just about history, or History as a subject, either. Aotearoa-based material was MIA in pretty much every class I ever took—scarcer than water in a desert. In English, for example, the vast majority of films, books and case studies I recall examining were international (Western international, of course). Socially, the pop culture my peers and I consumed and discussed was exclusively international too. After all, what did New Zealand have to offer? Hunt for the Wilderpeople, Lorde, and… not much else. Despite being born, raised and educated entirely within this country, when it came down to it I couldn’t have told you much detail about its cultural or historical landscape. I had very little to do with my own whakapapa.  It took a big shift in my personal interests for that to change.  Embarrassingly enough, the catalyst came when I read a piece of (European) historical fiction that I unexpectedly loved, and it spurred me to start writing in the historical genre. Before I knew it I’d written an entire novel set in London, and when it was done I had to sit back and think, “Hold on, what the fuck? I’ve never even stepped foot in Europe in my entire life.” I decided I needed to write something set in New Zealand, because you’re supposed to write what you know, right? I chose my parent’s hometown as the setting. Suddenly I was curiously looking into my family history and whakapapa in the location, just for inspiration.  It all spiralled from there, and the whole thing was like a dam breaking. I was learning—really learning—huge things about Aotearoa that my school had never mentioned to me. More than anything, though, I was discovering who I was. I was unearthing my identity from a sieve, watching all these things fall into place that I had never quite understood about my place here. And, at the same time, I was uncovering a connection to my Māori whakapapa that I’d buried a long time ago—because as someone who doesn’t “look Māori,” it had always been a lot easier to ignore that part of myself if my knowledge of it was limited.  But maybe that’s what they want, right?  After all, I couldn’t talk about the erasure of Aotearoa’s history from schools without talking about what the fuck is going on with the Nactfirst coalition’s proposed reform of the History curriculum. In case you’re not up with the details, the rundown is this: at the start of 2023, a new compulsory history curriculum was introduced to primary and secondary schools under the then-Labour government. It asked schools to teach pupils about things like Māori history, colonisation, Pacific navigation, the challenges faced by early non-Pākehā migrants, the role of power in New Zealand’s history, and much else.  It was a really good idea. RNZ reported that ninety percent of teachers and the majority of students were enjoying the Aotearoa Histories curriculum. Predictably, though, David Seymour and the ACT party do not share my view. They campaigned on removing it, with Seymour writing in a Facebook post (ah, the joys of politics), that the new curriculum “threatens to indoctrinate students in left-wing ideas about colonialism, the welfare state, gender identity, and ‘cultural appropriation’.” He also claimed teaching about Māori history and colonisation was “dismal, depressing, and incorrect.” In late 2023, National signed into a coalition agreement with ACT—a document which included National agreeing to “restore balance” to the History curriculum. Following this, National Party education spokesperson Paul Goldsmith recommended that he wanted to see a move back towards teaching other countries’ history.  Can’t have the kids learning all that “divisive” knowledge about where we came from, right? If they know about the past, they might start getting a little too left-wing, and we can’t be having that.  Aroha Harris writes, “At the base of our histories are ourselves.” For all of those with whakapapa in this land, that couldn’t be more true. At the end of the day, it’s not just about identity and belonging for those of us with history here, even though that’s undoubtedly an imperative aspect of ensuring local histories are taught. It’s also about having an informed body of residents who hold a clear understanding of what has shaped the society they currently live in. One can’t just learn about the social contexts of other Western countries and dump that onto Aotearoa with the assumption that it applies—these islands are unique, dynamic, and nuanced in so many ways. Of course, struggles for liberation are connected all over the globe, and we in Aotearoa are certainly influenced by all sorts of push-and-pull global factors. Those things are all still crucial, and I’m not suggesting that isn’t the case—we can’t afford to be insular. Think of Springbok tour protesters in 1981, dedicated to fighting against apartheid in South Africa whilst refusing to acknowledge the bitter never-ending struggle of Māori—conveniently overlooking the dirt beneath their feet. It’s an attitude of selective blindness that lives on (thrives) today. I see it all around me: I see it in former friends, I see it in the classroom, I see it in the house of power. We’re a small island, but as a nation we seem to suffer from a whole lot of identity-lessness. I can’t help but feel we spend a great deal of time looking outwards, when at least some of that time should be spent looking in.  The fact of the matter is, without compulsory Aotearoa history guidelines, there exist schools where our history simply isn’t being taught. That was me. That was my experience. There is so much beauty and value to be explored here—and so much pain and mamae too—but the only way to heal these generational wounds is to unearth them—so that we can nurture regrowth, reconnection and reparations.  I’m incredibly grateful that I’ve finally been able to start digging my way through that process, and finding myself beneath the rubble. I write about Aotearoa’s history to heal the girl inside of me who was taught that her country and whakapapa had no history worth learning.

Words by : Ophelia Muller (she/her) Okay so I recently started a new job and, of course, when I got offered it the first person I rang was my mum. She did the usual congratulations, I reminded her that I am currently doing way better than my younger sisters career wise, she told me to be nice and then asked me what I’ll be getting paid. I told her how much and her first question was: was that their first offer? Obviously it was, because how awkward having to turn around to the people that just offered me the job and demand more money. I didn’t want to be rude.  Now for this I was told off…don’t you know never take the first offer? Don’t sign ANYTHING until you’ve asked why they believe that is a valid pay rate for your role. You do know that one of the reasons the gender pay gap continues is because of young women doubting their worth right??? Well no I didn’t know that actually. I had no idea that I (who identifies very strongly as a feminist) perpetuate the social norms that result in women getting paid less. The norms that make me feel guilty for asking for more money, awkward for questioning a job offer, too polite to push back.  The gender pay gap in Aotearoa has been stuck around 10% for the past decade. With the average gender pay gap in Aotearoa sitting at 8.2%, and with women’s unemployment rate being 5% higher than mens. It is important to acknowledge as well that the gender pay gaps for wāhine Māori, Pacific, Asian and disabled women are substantially higher than the overall gap. For women of colour, this is where you get a double whammy of racism and sexism. The pay gap space is a complicated one: it can be difficult for people to understand; it can be difficult for organisations to understand. As a country we lean too heavily on our feminist past. We have a racist complacency that because we gave women the vote first and the gender pay gap between pākeha women and pākeha men is less than 10% we don’t demand better. But we need better, we deserve better.  Now you might think okay but surely it should be illegal to pay female workers less, which guess what! It actually is. The Equal Pay Act, created in 1972, made it illegal to pay people differently for the same job. This act was then updated in 2020 to provide clear pay equity processes. But if you do the maths, it has been 52 years since the first equal pay act was created, and four since it was revised. That means that for over 50 years organisations in Aotearoa have been underpaying women and the one legal thing that is meant to stop that has been ignored.  Now, I want to highlight that it is the organisation’s job to fix their gender pay gap, not the employee. However, it isn’t something that can be fixed quickly—so it is important to make sure you’re allowing space for this kōrero in your workplace.  One way into these conversations is asking early about their gender pay gap. For example, during a job interview. Let’s say you have an offer and are starting to have the salary kōrero. All you have to do is ask one simple question: what is your gender pay gap? Their answer will tell you everything you need to know about your pay, possible new boss and organisation culture. If they don’t know or refuse to answer that in itself tells you a bit about them.  So to help all of you incredible wāhine going into the workforce (now terrified that you may get paid less and have no idea) I spoke to an amazing wāhine by the name of Dellwyn Stuart who, amongst many other things, created an organisation called  Mind the Gap which fights for gender pay transparency.  She helped me compile some hot tips that you can follow to secure your equal pay! KNOW YOUR WORTH. You will never come out of a negotiation on top if you walk in doubting yourself. You are worth it, so make sure you get paid your worth. Condition yourself to be comfortable talking about money in a work setting.  Generations before us were taught to never talk about their salaries. So be comfortable having those conversations, make it known early with your boss that you will be asking for pay rises. Hold them accountable. Be curious.  If you’re unsure whether the rate you have been offered is standard, ask about the banding for the role. Question how people in a similar role have been paid over recent years so you know where you can expect to be situated. Put your boss on notice . There are lots of ways to come to these conversations without saying “pay me more money”, asking questions from the get go is the best way to put your boss on notice right from the outset that you would appreciate open conversations.  Never apologise for wanting to talk about how you are compensated for your work . If someone reacts badly that is on them, and is a red flag that might be worth listening to. Identify your champion.   It can be hard going into a new role, so identifying someone that you can think of as a champion, someone you can build a relationship with and speak too about these kinds of things will serve you very well.  So now (hopefully) as all of you incredible wāhine enter or continue through the job market you combat the gender pay gap that diminishes your worth in comparison to a man’s. Have the conversations, ask the questions, question the answers, and NEVER apologise for knowing your worth.

Words by Ruby Real (she/her) CW: Domestic Violence, Gender-based Violence, Police Profiling  In the 2002 thriller Minority Report, we are transported to the year 2054, where a pre-crime unit uses psychic power to predict violent crime before it occurs. This portrayal of 'pre-emptive justice' sparks a crucial debate: How reliable are predictive technologies in ensuring true security, and can we trust them? The film forces us to confront the reliability of predictive technologies in our own world. As we increasingly turn to algorithms and data-driven methods in law enforcement we must grapple with the limitations and potential dangers these systems pose – especially when it comes to objectivity, bias, and the discrimination already embedded into our social foundations. How can we reconcile the promise of crime prevention with the dangers of algorithmic error? What happens when they get it wrong, and most importantly, who is held accountable?  The real-world parallel to this fictional technology is Spain’s VioGén ( Integral   Monitoring System in cases of Gender Violence)  system, designed to assess and manage risks related to domestic violence. In operation for over fifteen years, VioGén has registered more cases than any other system globally—over three million, as reported in 2022. The algorithm operates through classic statistical models to determine a risk score, with categories that directly correspond to the level of protection subsequently offered to the victim. VioGén embodies the promise of predictive technologies, intended to enhance the safety of vulnerable individuals and provide a structured response to forecast gender-based violence. But whilst the algorithm is undoubtedly a pioneer of its kind, external audits of the system have raised alarming concerns about its transparency, accountability and effectiveness.  The most acute criticism of VioGéns is its risk classification system. When women come forward to report domestic violence, the police use a standardised 39-item questionnaire to input data into VioGén. This information is then supposed to objectively determine the victims risk level and guide the appropriate level of safeguarding and intervention. These are ranked from ‘non-existent’ to ‘extreme’. There are already a multitude of barriers that prevent women from seeking state intervention in situations as precarious and enmeshed as intimate violence, but even a system created to protect them underestimates the risks they may face.  Under its current design, the algorithm's risk analysis is shaped not only by the direct information gathered from the initial assessment but also by the distribution of gender-violence cases.  In 2021, only one in seven women who sought out police protection actually received it. This discrepancy reveals a troubling trend where resource allocation and funding constraints disproportionately affect women’s access to protection, reflecting broader societal issues of gender inequality and systematic marginalisation.  The algorithm's design allows many women to fall through the cracks, with rigid questioning that leaves no room for nuance and fails to consider the psychological nature of abuse. Moreover, the system’s objectivity is compromised by its resource limitations. VioGén is limited to a finite number of ‘extreme’ risk scores, meaning that budget constraints directly affect the likelihood that women will receive adequate protection. Many cases are dismissed with a ‘no apreciado’ (non-existent) or ‘bajo’ (low) risk score, reflecting both a technological failure and a critical fault in how gendered violence is institutionalised. However, the design flaw is not just a defect in the algorithm, it can be deadly. In 2014, fourteen out of the fifteen women murdered that year who had reported their aggressors for gender-based violence had received a non-existent or low-risk assessment from the police. This tragic outcome highlights how the intersection of inadequate technological solutions and systemic failures can have devastating consequences for women.  Whilst the algorithm has undergone some pretty significant updates since 2014, namely its new iteration VioGén 5.0 which implemented a dual-evaluation system for the likelihood of recidivism and lethal assault, it remains deeply flawed. VioGén is one of the most complex technologies of its kind,  but if such advanced systems are failing those who most need protection, what does this mean for all others like it?  The system has undoubtedly done some good, but how do we address the broader issues it raises?

Words by : Fergus Goodall Smith (he/him) On July 21st, the President of the United States, Joe Biden, posted a single image on the POTUS Instagram account. It was a signed letter to the American people, announcing that he would not be seeking re-election. This came after weeks of strenuous efforts by his own party to loosen his white-knuckled grip on the presidency following a disastrous debate performance. Shortly after posting that letter, he endorsed Kamala Harris as his replacement on the Democratic ticket. Now, over a month later, Kamala Harris is the official Democratic presidential candidate, garnering party support in a blitz that has taken the world by storm. Alongside her is Tim Walz, the Governor of Minnesota and Vice-Presidential nominee. Tim exudes strong dad energy. Harris has had a meteoric rise to the top of the ticket, and social media has played a major role in this ascension. Kamala has been the subject of large volumes of memes. It started with her odd sentiments and life lessons involving the passage of time and coconut trees; her cackle was spliced into practically any song. Things really escalated when Charli XCX tweeted, ‘Kamala IS brat.’ It turned her fledgling campaign lime green, with Charli’s ‘365’ and ‘Apple’ becoming anthems of Kamala’s election bid. It seems like Kamala and Tim are riding a never-ending wave of momentum. At the Democratic National Convention, the Obamas, Oprah, and AOC gave stirring speeches, expressing unwavering support for the Harris-Walz ticket.. Along with the whole brat aesthetic, Harris also has Beyonce, Lil Jon, Stevie Wonder and so many other celebs cheering her on—even Jacinda was at the convention!  Before July 21st, it seemed almost certain that Donald Trump would be victorious. Joe was looking more and more like a fossil than a living being, and the shooting incident did wonders for Trump. That incident was the final blow to Biden’s re-election bid. Now, with a young, charismatic woman leading the charge things look to be on the up. Harris holds a 3.3% lead over Trump in national polling averages. But….no matter the hype, or the spectacle, the coconut trees or the context in which you exist, ‘Mamala Kamala’ is still facing an uphill battle. Even though she leads nationally, America’s archaic electoral college system means you can still lose the election even if you win the popular vote (it happened to Hillary in 2016).  Harris faces vile attacks from Republican Party members on a daily basis. Some claim she is a diversity, equality and inclusion hire; others say she got where she is by sleeping around…because…of course, it’s impossible for a woman to get to the pinnacle of politics on strength and determination alone, or because what she lacks in talent she makes up for in skin colour. Now Trump has called into question her race, stating she only started claiming she was black during the 2020 democratic primaries.  Trump, who has spent the last six years attacking Biden, seems unsure as to where to aim his vitriol now his beloved Joe is gone. It’s like…the love of his life divorced him, and now he doesn’t realise how good he had it. Trump’s attacks on Harris have become increasingly sporadic, misogynistic, and racist, lacking any evidence per the usual. But this is Trump’s speciality, he campaigns on cynicism, preying on the fears of others.  It is always easier to motivate with anger rather than with hope.  Kamala must try and win over independent swing voters in battleground states like Pennsylvania, where only a handful of voters may be the difference between victory and defeat. For Harris to win soundly, the youth vote, quickly becoming one of the most important voting blocs in the US, is a key to the White House. It falls on her to set out clear policies on where she stands on the Climate Crisis and the genocide in Gaza, her stance on a ceasefire and an arms embargo on Israel are key measures she must consider if she hopes to gain young voters’ support. She must fight back against the divisive rhetoric which can seem far more tempting to those undecided, and champion change and a path forward to a brighter future.  A second Trump presidency would result in a roll back of environmental efforts, removal of abortion rights, a rapid increase in support for Netanyahu’s government actions and massive tax cuts to the wealthiest 1%. The US election can seem over-saturated and over-reported, a spectacle of showbiz that puts Western ideals above all else, but the truth is, a US election is a global election, the policies of the candidates’ affect everybody. The stakes are high, the race is close, but most importantly, feminism ain’t dead.

Words by Emily Bull (she/her) Who is the Women’s Lifestyle Expo for? For the past couple of years, my mum and I have gone to the Women’s Lifestyle Expo at TSB arena. However, each time I’ve been bombarded with detox shots, weight loss tea and low-calorie alcohol options. Not to mention the array of cooking and cleaning-related stalls—many of which were created and run by men. The whole expo has a sexist undertone, which forces me to question: who is the Women’s Lifestyle Expo really for? As the Wellington Women’s Lifestyle Expo has passed, I’ve decided to have a look into what sorts of stalls will be at the upcoming Hamilton expo (run by the same people). Of the over 150 stalls I could find information on, I discovered the most common type of stall were ones that sold cosmetics or skincare, with a total of 27 stalls. Many of these stalls focused on 'natural skincare.'This was closely followed by food stalls (23), jewellery (16) and weight loss and fitness related products (15). A few of my favourite stalls include one which sells ‘holy’ hemp oil (I don’t understand what makes it holy), a candle stall which clearly uses multi-level marketing, and HRV for your home! So, why is this a problem? There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a woman who loves to cook, clean, or is super into her health. I personally am a massive foodie and love to cook and eat! However, the issue occurs when these are the only types of stalls we see at the expo. It encourages women to fit into harmful gender stereotypes, when similar stalls would never be shown at a Men’s Expo. Not to mention all the weight-loss promotion, when so many women have a history with eating disorders. Why am I being advertised for swimming classes for children, when there is the Baby Expo later in the year? Why are there so many stalls related to food and cooking when I can see those products at the Wellington Food Show? Being a woman is so much more than this, and I wish we could celebrate that instead.  A Broader Perspective It’s important to note that not all the stalls at the expo are problematic. At the upcoming Hamilton women’s expo there are pole classes, a women’s only gym and a bunch of fashion businesses which are owned by women who design their own products. There are incredible artists and female-related non-profits, like insight endometriosis. Plus, it’s exciting to see that there are a couple of tertiary education stalls. If I was to create my own women’s expo, it would be an opportunity  to celebrate stalls like these. A women’s expo should showcase female-owned business and give female-identifying artists a chance to share their work, not ‘funnel us into only things we are expected to do as women.’ (quote provided by Rewa Gebbie). I understand that making this change to the current expo may not be easy. They likely already hold a relationship with many of the stallholders and there is a chance they may need to accept a few random stalls to fill the space. But I believe that creating clearer guidelines about the types of businesses encouraged to join, alongside limiting the number of stalls with sexist undertones—like those focused on cooking, cleaning, and weight loss—would make a huge difference to the overall enjoyment of the expo.

Words by: Teddy, Ngāpuhi (he/xe/it/ia) In the 1960’s, second wave feminism became a thing that happened. White women all over the world were campaigning for equal rights, but as usual, they forgot that they’re not the only kind of women.  Second wave feminism expanded on the debate that women were having surrounding equal rights, discussing sexuality, domesticity, reproductive rights and women’s spaces in the workplace. The feminist movement has been dominated by white women’s voices throughout its tenure, and second-wave feminism tends to focus on the lives of middle-to-upper-class cishet white able-bodied women, ignoring the large portion of women who are not those things. The truly radical, intersectional activism of the time suffered erasure at the time, and from our shared histories. This is true, even for Aotearoa. In the 70’s and moving towards the 80’s, Aotearoa saw major social movements surrounding feminism, and around the place of Māori and people of colour in Aotearoa’s colonised society.  (Side note: it’s been noted many times that Māori women have been involved in feminism as far back as 1840, when at least three wāhine were involved in the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, which was dope because it was at a time where England didn’t care about women.) By the 70’s, though, when second wave feminism was at a peak and the women of Aotearoa were rallying, wāhine Māori and white women began to branch off from one another, as they were moving towards different goals. White women’s interpretations of feminism were influenced by that of the UK and USA, drawing primarily on their ideals and values, (sexuality, reproductive rights, workspaces, etc.,) whereas Māori women were building upon Mana Wāhine, which is a movement that takes into account sexism, racism, colonialism, class and politics, which fuels their drive for change.  I’m not trying to say here that Mana Wāhine is better than traditional feminism, but also that’s exactly what I’m trying to say. Feminism needs to be refocused into a holistic lens that isn’t concentrated on the West, because feminism that is for women who are minorities, is feminism for every woman.  Second-wave feminism was a great start, and of course we’ve moved on to bigger and better things now, with third-wave feminism popping up in the 90’s. Third-wave started to shine the light on intersectionality worldwide, seeing the unfolding of modern feminist movements like transfeminism, postmodern feminism, sex positivity and more. Nowadays, we’re listening to Black and queer feminist ideals, and focussing on broadly dismantling gender inequality and the structures that uphold it.    Though feminism is getting better at embracing women that aren’t the West’s idea of “normal,” (eg: anyone that isn’t a white able-bodied cishet woman,) there’s still so much work to do. TERFs are popping up all over the place nowadays, and with transmisogyny at a high, (just look at what happened at the Olympics), it’s more important now than ever to remind our trans sisters, especially those who aren’t white, that we love them and that women’s rights are rights for them as well.  Aotearoa, much like the rest of the world, still has a lot of work to do in terms of the decolonisation of feminism. So! If you’re looking for ways to decolonise and “intersectionalise” your feminism, look no further! Here are a few ways to be better allies towards all women: Use your privilege to uplift those who have less than you.  The more privilege you have, the more you need to listen. Donate your time, (and your money,) to those who need it. People will often join movements, and then leave most of the work to marginalised groups by being ignorant.  Learn how to cope with your guilt. As someone who has transitioned and passes as a man, I must acknowledge that I now, at least on a surface level, have privilege over a lot of women. And yeah, that makes me feel shitty. But it’s not a woman’s job to make me feel better, it’s my job to help dismantle the system that has given me that privilege in the first place. (This goes for everyone, btw! Men, yes, but also white women who have historically required a lot of emotional labour for WOC to explain their suffering to.) Don’t be complacent in a system which allows people to suffer. Feminism is not the same for everyone: for some, it’s an act of defiance, it’s radical, it’s dangerous. To truly uphold feminism, you have to be willing to understand its intersections. It's not enough to simply advocate for marginalised women, you have to educate yourself on them and their struggles as well. Learning and unlearning never stops in the dismantling of a patriarchy; embrace it.

Feminism, a powerful movement advocating for women's rights and gender equality, has taken many forms worldwide. In the Māori world, the understanding and expression of feminism weave through the rich cultural fabric, deeply rooted in Whakapapa, Tikanga, and Mātauranga Māori. For many, it is about reclaiming the Mana of Māori women, who historically held significant roles in their communities, ensuring that these positions of strength and influence are recognized and restored in contemporary Aotearoa. Māori women have always played vital roles in Māori society. They have been the guardians of knowledge, keepers of sacred traditions, and leaders in their own right. The concept of Te Whare Tangata, the house of the people, symbolizes a deep reverence for women as the bearers of future generations. The womb is considered tapu, positioning women as protectors of life and carriers of whakapapa, a lineage central to Māori identity. Historically, Māori society was more egalitarian in its gender relations than colonial structures imposed upon it. Māori women enjoyed autonomy, actively participating in decision-making, leadership roles, and spiritual responsibilities. The colonial era brought profound disruptions to these dynamics. British laws and Christian values imposed patriarchal structures that undermined the roles and influence of wāhine Māori, reducing their status within both Māori and broader New Zealand society. This legacy of colonization continues to manifest in the persistent challenges Māori women face today—systemic inequities in health, education, employment, and justice. Yet, in response to these challenges, there is a growing movement to revitalize mana wāhine, the concept of Māori feminism, which celebrates the inherent strength, resilience, and leadership of Māori women. Mana wāhine is a framework that honours Māori women’s experiences, rejects imposed colonial gender norms and seeks to uplift the voices of wāhine Māori within the broader feminist movement. Mana wāhine is deeply connected to decolonization, as it challenges not only gender inequity but also the colonial systems that have shaped much of the contemporary Māori experience. Māori feminists assert the need for a movement that is intersectional—one that recognizes the interplay between race, culture, and gender. Mainstream feminism often fails to account for the unique experiences of Indigenous women, whose struggles are tied to both sexism and the ongoing impacts of colonization. The resurgence of mana wāhine is seen in the arts, academia, political activism, and community leadership. Māori women such as Dame Whina Cooper, Meri Te Tai Mangakāhia, and contemporary activists like Pania Newton have played pivotal roles in advancing the rights of Māori women. Their contributions underscore the continuity of wāhine leadership and the centrality of Māori women in movements for social justice. In the contemporary Māori world, feminism is not just a fight for gender equality; it is a fight for the recognition of whakapapa, the honouring of tikanga, and the restoration of the balance between tāne and wāhine. As more Māori women reclaim their mana, they remind the world that feminism in the Māori context is about restoring harmony and honouring the legacy of wāhine toa, the true bearers of the future.  Noho ora mai,  Shay McEwan |  Te Aitanga-a-Mahaki, Ngāti Pāhauwera, Ngāti Porou

Words by: Niamh Prendergast (she/her) NZ run and hosted music festivals, and university O-Weeks, are dominated by male artists in their lineups and their headliners. Women are significantly underrepresented. Women of colour are even worse off. Naturally, all aspects of diversity are important and not just gender. The intent of analysing gender in lineups is not to singly advocate on that basis but to clearly identify one concerning trend that might encourage conscious diversity commitments from promoters. If unbalanced gender in lineups is a trend, it’s likely other aspects of diversity are missing the mark as well.  This year’s VUWSA O-Week had an appalling lack of diversity. In terms of gender, the week had a ratio of approximately five and a half men for every one woman artist. Of the top eight billed music artists, none were women. This puts our O-Week within a wider trend of festivals where gender diversity is consistently absent, reflecting wider issues of lacking diversity. Otago University’s O-Week had three headliners; none were women. Rhythm and Vines, a three day  festival, had only one woman artist in its top 10 billed acts. Le Currents had no women headliners, and its first billed woman artist was a member of a group listed 23rd on the billing. Electric Avenue’s first named woman artist was 11th billed, again with all male headliners. Homegrown, Bay Dreams, and Nest Fest were each diverse in ethnic and/or LGBTQ+ representation but all fell far short of gender balance, reflecting the need for more holistic lineup selection processes.  I don’t point this out with the intention to dog on anyone’s summer festy plans or be overly critical of O-Week, which I know many people have fond memories of. On the contrary, those events are fun! We need to be ok acknowledging that while we enjoy them year on year, festivals and O-Weeks get away with consistently prioritising white men. And it isn’t our fault. We have so few options; most festivals follow this trend, and many sell out tickets before even announcing their lineups. However, we can imagine if they were even better. We can also ask for better.  Let’s turn to an example that might draw some optimism into this conversation. Following criticism for its overly white lineup one year, Laneway Festival announced a more diverse lineup the following, with Stormzy, Steve Lacy, and Dominic Fike headlining. There’s two takeaways from this.  One: While the 2023 lineup was more diverse and the improvement welcome, Laneway still only managed to have one woman in its top 10 billed acts. Commitments to diversity need to be holistic and intersectional. Two: This is a large international festival. That its organisers listened to audiences shows us imagining better, and asking for it, isn’t beyond us. This is particularly the case for University O-Weeks, who are far from the exception when it comes to the trends. VUWSA openly acknowledged the issue of diversity, and said while committed to having a “lineup that reflects society”, they struggle with this since the music and comedy spaces themselves are not diverse. Here’s a statement VUWSA provided:  “ The VUWSA  O-Week lineup is put together via our promoter. This music lineup is determined by a lot of external factors we don't have control over – generally VUWSA 's personal input is solely limited to the acts we won't take… We recognise and understand that diversity in the professional music and comedy space is a problem, and that our lineup was not as good as it could have been this year in that regard. We remain committed to having a lineup that reflects society and every year this is one of our priorities when talking about acts.” While it may be true that white male artists saturate the music and comedy industries in Aotearoa, and promoters may work with those artists more, the lack of diversity really doesn’t need to be the case. At this year’s Welcome to Nowhere festival, women and non binary artists outnumbered male artists. That isn’t by chance; the festival is run by Eyegum Collective, who are conscious of diversity and supporting local artists. It appears that when promoters and organisers integrate diversity into their planning, that is reflected in their lineups.  Supporting artists is one reason that diversity is important, but not the only one. What is portrayed on stage often reflects and informs the culture of a festival or O-Week. To their credit, this is one aspect VUWSA are leading in. The organisers of O-Week are conscious that a large-scale event with an abundance of alcohol, drugs, and hormones can be unsafe at times. They explained that to mitigate issues, VUWSA has significant measures in place to support attendees, including a safe room (one of the only student associations to offer this) with medical support, food, water, chargers, and often an offer to be dropped off at student accommodation if someone needs to get home safely. They explain: “I nstead of dangerously intoxicated people being sent out of the venue onto the street to fend for themselves, we take them in and look after them.” Alongside onsite measures, VUWSA collaborates with the Wellington City Council on a city-wide safety campaign during O-Week, particularly around sexual violence prevention.  This commitment to safety measures shows that while O-Weeks and festivals are fun spaces, they are not immune from serious conversations when it comes to planning. If O-Week and festival organisers are willing to take planning seriously, which they should be, then they might like to include some tangible considerations of diversity.

Words by: Niamh Prendergast (she/her) CW: Misogyny, Sexual Assault, Femicide, Gendered Violence THURSDAYS IN BLACK: In March 2017, hundreds of high school students protested on Parliament grounds after misogynistic ‘jokes’ circulated in a Wellington College boys’ Facebook group. The protest was a show of solidarity against rape culture in high schools. A few months earlier, Trump had won the Presidency after a campaign filled to the brim with hostility toward women. Sexual violence and misogyny were on our minds, to say the least. Later that year, Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey published their NYT investigation detailing years of sexual harassment allegations against Harvey Weinstein, prompting celebrities to pick up the phrase #Me Too, originally coined by activist Tarana Burke. What followed was a global movement. Six years later, we are in what is sometimes considered the post-Me Too era. The world is a different place, and the Me Too movement helped change it. But what does it really mean to be ‘post-Me Too’? I argue we need to be thinking seriously about new proliferations of misogyny and violence. It is no secret that despite positive trends in the likes of corporate feminism, women’s sport, and political leadership, we’ve also seen a global rise in gender-based violence, violent sexism, and misogyny. Women’s protests in Iran escalated in 2022 following the death of Mahsa Amini, with over 400 people killed by security forces since. Across the US, extreme laws regarding reproductive health have coincided with the rise of conservative trad wife content (yes, it is harmful) and concerning popularity of influencers sharing harmful misogynistic opinions, like Andrew Tate and Jordan Peterson. In Australia, a recent stabbing left six people dead, five of them women (the other was a security guard who died trying to protect others). This violence prompted nationwide protests and the Australian Government announced new sexual and gender-based violence prevention plans. The plans recognise the link between online and physical gender-based violence, ranging from addressing harmful deepfake pornography, to funding better support for victims of domestic and sexual violence. In Auckland, just last year, a man swerved on the road intentionally hitting two schoolgirls. He told police of his frustration at the injustice in not having a girlfriend. Experts have pointed out that this is the closest NZ may have come, so far, to an incel attack. The correlation between this explicit act of violence and online misogyny isn’t hard to unearth for anyone familiar with incel internet culture. The concerning thing is that this culture is easily accessible, and the proliferation of extreme misogyny is encouraged by algorithms that favour controversy. While these instances of extremism and gender-based, domestic, and sexual violence are diverse and not influenced by any one factor, it is clear we are seeing global rises in harmful misogyny, and that Aotearoa is not exempt. Feminism has made strides, but we live in a post-Me-Too era where algorithms determine social and cultural attitudes more than we may like to believe, and where domestic and sexual violence remains a consistent threat to women.  It shouldn’t take a femicide like in Australia—or even a leaked Facebook joke—for us to stand up for Aotearoa’s women. Deepfake pornography is in our high schools. The threat of incel violence is not hypothetical. Men we know well are falling down Tate-ist rabbit holes at the hands of the never-forgiving algorithms. Our domestic violence rates remain the worst in the OECD. Feminist thinking is needed to address these entangled cultural and legal issues. We shouldn’t be waiting for an act of extremism to get us talking, and we certainly shouldn’t be assuming that our (sometimes) progressive country is immune to gender-based violence.  In a post-Me Too era, we still need to be talking about sexual violence, especially its new proliferations under our increasingly volatile online contexts. Talk to your mates; learn about these issues. Those steps toward cultural change will make us ready for the legal changes this country is starting to talk about, like (but not limited to) banning deepfake porn, criminalising stalking, removing the rough sex defense, and improving the justice system for victims of domestic and sexual violence.

On day one of Pōkai Tuhi, I sat in a room full of people who I chronically admired—nervous, and feeling like an imposter. But my fear of not measuring up to the greatness in my midst dissipated as soon as the first joke cracked through our collectively awkward apprehension. From then on, I knew these Moana authors were the creative aunties, uncles and tuākana I had been longing for.  On day two I visited Taitoko School, with the effervescent Kiri-Michelle Mohi on a rosy-nose, blue-sky sort of morning. We cautiously stepped into a classroom of suspiciously quiet tamariki. Sensing that they had been eagerly awaiting our arrival, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for their invitation.  A Samoan boy sat upright at the front of the class and only took his eyes off me to study the upu pouring from his pencil. I watched as our oceans cascaded into dilated roots. He wrote a poem in both of his languages and read his words to us. Then, I knew I was in the right place—this was why we came.  On day three I solved all the issues of the universe on a long walk with my art-as-education sister, Emele Ugavule.  On day four I listened to the fiery wisdom of my publishing-as-activism idols, Nadine Anne Hura and Anahera Maire Gildea.  On the final day, I wept. No part of me wanted to leave this better world we had forged together.  Pōkai Tuhi was an opportunity for Moana authors and learners to engage in creative experiences that centered our ways of knowing and being. Together, we used literature as a tool for liberation. We continued our ancient tradition of storytelling on our own terms, and we shared our strengths with the next generation of knowledge leaders.  Te Kahu Rolleston (Ngāi Te Rangi), Brianne Te Paa (Ngāti Kahu, Te Rarawa, Ngāti Whātua, Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki and Te Whānau-a-Apanui), J. Wiremu Kane (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Toro, Ngāti Manu, Te Mahurehure), Kiri-Michelle Mohi (Ngāti Rangiwewehi, Te Arawa), Maria Samuela (Kūki 'Airani), Emele Ugavule (Tokelau, Fiji) and Inangaro Vakaafi (Niue, Kūki 'Airani) took all my mamae and made it sparkle. These powerful tagata o le Moana illuminated the perennial mana of all my ancestors and led me home.  By Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson (she/her)