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TEDDY O’NEILL (HE/XE/IT) | NGĀPUHI OPINION: On Saturday the 27th of July, at San Diego Comic Con, Kevin Feige announced that Marvel will once again be casting Robert Downey Junior in a role for the MCU, only this time, it’s not Iron Man. No, instead, Downey will be playing Doctor Doom. This is wrong for a whole catalogue of reasons, but the main one is that once again, Marvel are whitewashing their Romani characters. First it was Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, which broke my heart and subjected my flatmates to a lot of angry rants about Marvel’s casting. Now they’re doing it again, to a character who’s origin story centres on the fact that he was persecuted for being Romani. Don’t believe me? Go read literally any Doom comic book. Doctor Doom is one of the largest and most impactful villains in the Marvel universe, usually facing off against the Fantastic Four (why is he in an Avengers movie? I just know Marvel’s going to try to justify this casting by using multiverse BS). He’s been portrayed in live action films multiple times now—and they still can’t get the casting right. The oppression that Doom suffered because of his Romani heritage is integral to his character. Seeing as Romani people are still oppressed to this day, it might be prudent to have the general public’s first introduction to this character be his actual character and not some random multiverse knock-off, right? This way the public—who don’t know much about comics—won’t think that that’s his actual character, assume he’s white, and hold prejudice against any Romani actor they may bring in in the future because of the nostalgia bait of RDJ playing him first, right? Oppression of Romani people started in the middle ages, and evolved over time. This history of persecution reached unimaginable heights in the 1940s—Romani people were specifically targeted in the holocaust, alongside Jewish people, Slavs, queer people, people with disabilities, and other minorities. Even now, segregating Romani children in schools is common practice across Europe. The uplifting of Romani children from their families is something which us in Aotearoa can understand, due to Oranga Tamariki’s treatment and uplifting of Māori children. Romani people deserve representation, and when characters have been created with specific backstories that highlight the mistreatment of oppressed people in mind, you’d hope that when they’re cast in films, the actors playing those characters would at least be the right ethnicity. I suppose this won’t surprise anyone, though, considering Marvel is owned by Disney, who support the genocide of Palestinian people in Gaza. Plus, they’ve whitewashed a lot of characters before, as I mentioned earlier. Having said I’m not surprised, I will say that I’m shocked they’ve dragged Robert Downey Boomer back out of the geriatric closet, instead of at least casting a new white guy. It seems that RDJ, tired of blackface (see: Tropic Thunder,) has decided to simply embrace ethnic erasure instead. This with the MCU’s full support, probably because they’re desperate for a cash grab now that the MCU is tanking. Marvel comics fans, I’m truly sorry, and if you were even slightly excited for the X-Men film they announced, I guess you’ve gotta hope and pray they don’t pull this same shit with Nightcrawler. As for Avengers: Doomsday ? Thanks, but I will not be watching

And Even More Times I’ve Almost Died  Swilled by Will Tickner (he/him) CW: Drug use Let it be clear—I’m a man of many mistakes. To call myself intuitive would be a lie, and for a friend to say that I’ve an ounce of critical thinking skills would mean that they were being held at gunpoint. I’m Will Tickner, and I put the “will” in “ last will and testament .” I pull onto the highway without indicating. I invite strange men to my flat in the dead of night. I drink so much coffee my bloodstream is sponsored by Nescafe. Some mistakes I’ve made have led to brushes with death, but there’s always character development to be had, and lessons to be learnt. Back by unpopular demand, here’s some more recountings of the times I’ve almost died.  Cats: The Bruisical  Unfortunately, I’m a theatre kid. Fortunately, it’s a great excuse for the question I’m usually asked, which is ‘why are you like this?’ I’d like to formally apologise to those I grew up with who didn’t know—Sincerely, Me. The theatre company I was abducted by was amazingly well run and supportive, so after a few years of having fun I stuck with it because it was hard to Say No To This . One of the first musicals I ever performed in was Cats: The Musical . That was my first lead role at eleven years old. I was completely zazzed to play ‘Growltiger the Pirate Cat,’ because at the end of his musical number he gets to walk the plank. It’s important to note that the director always went absolutely ham with lighting, sound design, set design, and All That Jazz . The director decided that the plank I was pushed off would be high onstage, and offstage there would be a mattress to fall on. When our show opened, everything ran smoothly … until the third performance.   During the last few bars of my Show Stoppin’ Number , I got ready to walk the plank, and I looked down to spot that the stagehand had forgotten to slide the mattress below me. I thought to myself that it couldn’t be that far, and instead of taking the less painful route of stepping down the long way, I took the leap of faith. Instead of Defying Gravity , I ended up landing without crouching, and folded in on myself like an accordion.  One of the backstage hands saw the aftermath of what I can only imagine looked like that one Peter Griffin meme. Except instead of Peter Griffin, it was a scrawny twelve-year-old in a skimpy cat costume. They helped me up, and I miraculously hadn’t broken my legs. Since the show must go on, I dusted myself off for One Day More . I don’t know how I was able to survive to perform another show. I’ve come to the conclusion that I was more durable in school, considering I now sweat like a fire hose when I walk up Cuba Street.  Lesson: It’s the Hard-Knock Life , some cats don’t land on their feet. The Worst Morning To Campus  March 13th, 2024. I remember this morning down to the minute because of one person, and it’s not the one who tried to whack my shins.  8AM: My alarm blared. I needed to get up to go to my lecture on campus at noon, and had to catch two buses to get there. I just had a late night, and couldn’t be arsed getting up yet. 8:10AM: My alarm sirened again. I cancelled it.  8:20AM : Another alarm. Giving up, I clicked off my phone for a sleep-in.  11:19AM: I overslept. I checked the time — the first bus would leave in three minutes. 11:20AM: Panic. I grabbed a clean t-shirt, a not-so-clean pair of jeans, and my tote bag. 11:22:AM: I made a mad sprint to my bus stop, just as the first bus arrived. Trying to tag on, my card made that embarrassing beep when you don’t have any cash. I sheepishly loaded more money on and sat down. I thought that the worst was over, as my second bus would be right on time.  11:35AM : My second bus was not on time. I looked out to see it already leaving Courtenay Place. At that point, I was mulling over my options. Either I try to sprint to the next stop before the bus, or give up and not go to campus. 11:36AM: Cut to me, sprinting down Courtenay Place. My sneakers were on the verge of tears, and my macbook was slapping against my hip. I was nearing the next stop outside the St James Theatre and the bus was caught in traffic: I could make it.  11:37AM: An older man in a wheelchair appeared from the alleyway. He had a look of deviousness, and was carrying a singular crutch. He spotted me coming and grinned.  11:38AM: Time slowed. The man stopped his chair directly in my path. He held up the crutch like a golf club, and drew it back upwards . My feet pummeled the brick pathway as I approached. He looked at my legs and he took a hard swing . What would be your instincts in this situation? Take the blow? Hell no . You dodge it. Fueled with adrenaline and my spite for Metlink, I lifted my feet off of the ground. I heard the swish from the crutch below me as I jumped the hurdle.  11:39AM: I landed back onto the path and continued towards the bus, heart pounding as I heard a maniacal giggle from the man behind me. I tagged onto the bus and sat down, puffing. 11:46AM : I arrived at campus fifteen minutes before my lecture. Feeling shaken, I went to get a coffee to help with my jitters. I got into the line at the Lab, and right when I was about to order … some girl cut in front of me . As I weighed whether to say anything, she squawked to two of her friends, and signalled to cut in front of me too. The three of them ended up taking an eternity to order as I stood there in disbelief and anger.  12:07AM: After all of my efforts to arrive on time, I arrived late to my lecture. I did that awkward thing where you arrive loudly and everyone stares daggers into you. I may never get my revenge on the man in the wheelchair. But I can get revenge on the girl with the bad roots who cut in front of me at the Lab on Wednesday the March 13th at 11:48am. I’m waiting to see you around campus for the same reason everyone else will be waiting for me to appear on One News : anticipation of death.  Lesson: High School Athletics Day wasn’t entirely useless. Tapestry Trouble Currently, I live in a little shoebox room; I love my little shoebox room. It does its job housing me, and I’ve enjoyed covering every inch of the walls with posters, postcards, and mementos because the minimalist lifestyle is for neat freak psychos. When I moved into my flat, I couldn’t figure out what to put on the wall I slept on, so I bought a large tapestry. It fit the entire surface area perfectly, and I thought it went with my crazed maximalist vibe. Fast forward to winter this year, and like every single student flat in Welly my room began to get really cold. I bundled up every night, and fought valiantly against the falling temperatures. Recently, I began to get badly ill for a couple days at the time. I wondered where my strange illness was coming from, and just theorised that I was just always catching Covid every other week. That was, until one morning I rolled onto the wall in my room and tugged the tapestry down off my wall by accident. Horrifically, I looked up to discover that my entire wall was covered in mould. The tapestry was hiding a truly disgusting gradient; light at the top and a dark green as it reached the floor. For an unknown amount of nights, I had been sleeping next to an entire spore colony…a real low point for me this year. After making a very disappointing call to my dad to ask what to do, I tied a tea towel around my face, slipped on some kitchen gloves, and managed to do a massive bedroom extermination/deep clean/bleaching on my one day off. I don’t know how many days I would’ve had left if I hadn’t discovered it. Lesson: Leave your windows/doors open a smidge to circulate air flow in your room, even in the winter . Why I Don’t Drink Gin  I come from a family of “drinking enthusiasts.” Not alcoholics, just people who work hard and play harder. And they love to play hard every year at the family Christmas party. One particular year, my sweet old grandparents hosted in their back paddock. A line of picnic tables had been set up with a large Christmas dinner, at the far end was a hefty drinks table. I wasn’t too excited to be around my family, as I had spent months in the same house as my parents during lockdown. We had just finished a piss-easy game of cricket against my younger cousins, and I had started tweaking from the repetitive “how’s school going?” questions from my aunts. I looked for a way to handle all the boredom. Relief came when I found myself, comically, sat next to the alcohol during dinner. A bad idea formed when I saw that everyone was distracted cutting the roast.  Now sure, looking back, the bottle of gin wasn’t the greatest choice to reach for—but the other options were spare bottles of Tui, or my uncle's homemade cider he wouldn’t shut up about. I grabbed the entire bottle, and quickly poured it into a big plastic cup. Not wanting to get caught, I decided to disguise it with the worst mixer I could’ve picked: Coke Zero. As dinner finished and the sun began to set, I began drinking from my horrible concoction and the whole night began to feel a lot more bearable. However, the night became a whole lot more unbearable for the rest of the family.  My parents didn’t notice too much right away since they were both hammered. It wasn’t until the very end of the night that they found the empty bottle at the table, and spotted me cussing out my aunt. Realising that neither of them could drive home, my parents enlisted my poor drunken older brother to walk me home. He was an absolute trooper for getting me the two kilometers back through the wop-wops. I don’t remember much of the walk, but my brother later described it to me as the hardest thing he’s ever had to do drunk (this says a lot considering I once caught him trying to explain cryptocurrency to our dad over a box of Somersbys). By the time we had gotten home, I had fully blacked out.  My parents came home in the early hours of Boxing Day to find me passed out a few feet from the front door. I was in a pool of my own vomit, consisting entirely of the bottle of gin, Christmas dinner, and my bad choices. They sadly peeled their plastered child off the floor, knowing that they were raising someone who would never be able to tolerate his alcohol. Lesson: Coke is not a mixer for gin.  I make mistakes. I miss my bus more than I miss my mark, and I meet with the grim reaper as often as law students do ketamine (too often). My body goes through a panic whenever I’m told I’m loved. I have musical flashbacks when I wear tights. I’m perpetually terrified of people in wheelchairs. However, near-deaths and mistakes are just moments to further the plot, and are always a good story to look back on and laugh at. That’s why I only ever drink gin at Christmas; it’s now tradition to have a glass with the aunt who I said looked like a “frigid bitch.”  Stressed and depressed with lemon zest, Will Tickner x

Words by Teddy O'Neill (he/it/they) | Ngāpuhi, and Kate Seager (she/her) Episode 116: Bob Mortimer: Taking the hot cheese of chat and pouring it over the nachos of humour, Bob chooses to picture Genie-James wearing a football jersey and blue cowboy boots within seconds of his entrance, so you know it’s off to a great start. Truly a man after my own heart, Bob describes his starter as soft, floppy, salty and delicious: the humble Odeon hotdog. He’d like to have his bread course in the 60’s, then the starter course three years later, so that Bob can keep track of the couples in the restaurant and get invested in the drama. Wait, is this Off Menu or Love Island ? Regardless, this episode slaps. - Teddy Episode 23: Dynamo  The Magic Man himself. The first magician on the Off Menu podcast provides an episode to ease you in: it’s chill, it’s where the rumours about the River Thames really started, and Dynamo the magician is there talking about his dream meal, which includes giant yorkshire puddings filled with corned beef hash made by his grandma, who may or may not also be James Acaster. Really, his menu reflects the pub food lover in all of us. They also answer the age old question: did falling into the River Thames cure or cause Ed’s type one diabetes? - Teddy Episode 185: Florence Pugh Deep and sumptuous is how you’d describe Miss Pugh’s menu, and  her voice. MY GOD what a joy it is to listen to. Florence’s menu is one for foodies and hospo workers, as she deep dives into life growing up with a restaurant owner for a dad—hardly surprising as she describes each dish with such detail to the point of specifying the arrangement of food on the plate. Listeners will be pleasantly surprised to know that James tries (and fails) to bring up Midsommar ,   leading to a twenty minute discussion of the ins and outs of Florence’s experience on set. For first time listeners this episode is exactly what you would expect from Off Menu . Three Michelin stars, would highly recommend. KS - Kate Episode 119: Jamie Oliver: Jamie Oliver, renowned chef and one of the UK’s foodie darlings. How can you not want to hear two comedians annoying him into telling them his dream menu? They talk for an unbelievable amount of time about underwear, but honestly it’s still great to listen to. Upon the ceremonious question, POPPADOMS OR BREAD? it’s revealed that Jamie has brought them a plate of different poppadoms to chow down on, (listen with caution: the crunching is loud.) Jamie’s meal sounds delicious, and it’s a fun, upbeat episode with actual food knowledge included, for once! - Teddy Episode 103: Bimini Bon Boulash Remember that time in lockdown when we made margaritas in the sunny back garden and ladled it into each other’s mouths in place of shot glasses? No? Just me, and apparently Bimini Bon Boulash. When asked the question “poppadoms or bread?” not only was Bimini’s menu the first to suggest raw bread dough and make it sound delicious, but she curated an entirely vegan menu I would gladly ladle into my gob every day of the week. Bimini talks of the cooking and eating habits of her mother (Heather) and boyfriend (Stefano), as well as providing restaurant recommendations I will  be trying during Euro summer this time next year. Still not convinced? All I can say to that is: UK hun? KS - Kate Episode 235: Amelia Dimoldenberg (Live in Manchester) You know her, you love her, but this is no Chicken Shop Date . Rather, it’s a live episode where Ed watches patiently as Amelia and James’ personalities gel like “two kids meeting for the first time”. Amelia is a woman after my own heart: she eats two breakfasts (one of which is a smooth bagel with Lurpak butter), her dream water is from her grandparent’s shower, and her McDonald’s order is a Happy Meal with four chicken nuggets and chips, and has a designated drawer for the toy. I didn’t particularly enjoy the chaos of this episode—but what else have we come to expect from Amelia Dimoldenberg? KS - Kate Episode 42: Greg Davies If you know me you know that I love a Christmas Special, and boy oh boy do the Off Menu lads pull it off. “Who the fuck are you? Who made you Doctor Shatter?” Greg cries, as Ed suggests shattering his poppadoms rather than breaking off pieces, before saying that anyone who orders a starter is just as rude as those who shatter poppadoms. The Jolly Green Taskmaster  Giant himself is the first in the series to pass on not only one course but two, deliberately skipping out on a starter and a side. This surprises no one as Greg, notoriously not  a food boy, provides a detailed description of his medium-done steak fillet main course, and yes he WILL LEAVE THE RESTAURANT if anyone dares to disapprove of his steak’s doneness. - Teddy Episode 237: Lucy Beaumont (Live in Manchester) I’m no Brit but “since they’ve had a Tory government in power the gravy has got worse”. Well, that’s according to Northern comedian Lucy Beaumont. Why, you may ask, has gravy been on a steady decline since David Cameron’’s big win? : “Because gravy is love”. This b-b-b-bonus live episode of Off Menu  takes listeners on a journey through “deep savoury flavours”, mini yorkshire puddings filled with cottage pie (don’t mind if I do), and possibly the best story involving a horse you’ve ever heard. Although Lucy’s episode takes my second to top spot for the horse story alone, I’d recommend taking a lie down immediately after listening—it’s quite a ride. KS - Kate Episode 225: Susan Wakoma (Live in Bristol)  Ed, James and Susan walk into a bar. Susan wears a white veil, multiple rings on each finger and mourns the death of her five husbands (one of which fell off a boat proclaiming his love of lemons). Ed pretends to be the mother of one of Susan’s ex boyfriends. James has a scruffy little beard. After dining on many oysters, many plates of truffle pasta, and many portions the worst side dish ever, they exclaim to an overworked and underpaid bartender: “Give me something that’s gonna wake me up and fuck me up.” If you listen to one episode on this list it has to be this. The Off Menu menu of Susan Wakoma is my all time favourite—not for the menu, not for the ex-boyfriend anecdotes (of which there are many), but for the best reaction to “POPPADOMS OR BREAD?!” in the history of the podcast. What a treat. - Kate Episode 229: Sam Campbell (Live in Nottingham)  Picture a thirty-two year old man wearing a shirt that says FOOD LOVER, and a red crash helmet. Atop the helmet is an upright fork, with a vegetarian sausage skewered onto it. This is Sam Campbell, my favourite comedian. Sam’s menu is an actual trip; from getting into sparkling water via the Sydney library who apparently give it out for free, to a main course of Biangbiang noodles, (“ It's just the longest noodle you've ever seen. So, when you see a bowl of this stuff you're like, 'Oh, there's probably 40 noodles in there.' There's, like, three.”) They talk Portino, they talk pickleball, and Sam provides a guided meditation to describe what a pikelet is. Sam also has to tell the boys what Shapes are, because apparently no-one in the UK has ever had the delicacy that is Chicken Crimpy. This episode takes the cake—or rather, the sponge roll—for me, but I will say one thing: you will probably have no idea what’s going on the whole time, (in the best way possible.) - Teddy Honourable Muchions  Ep. 4 : Nish Kumar; Ep. 231 : Iain Stirling; Ep. 109 : Nicola Coughlan; Ep. 241 : Mike Wozniak, Ep. 245 : Tommy Tiernan, Ep. 227 : John Robins, Ep. 226 : Noel Fielding; Ep. 5 : Aisling Bea; Ep. 62 : Ivo Graham; Ep. 176 : Paul Mescal; Ep. 85 : Jo Brand; Ep. 95 : Rosie Jones; Ep. 100 ; Ep. 200 .

Delight In the heart of the city, where the lights glow bright, Lies a place of delight, beneath the moonlight. Tiger's, it's named, a haven of spice,  Where Malatang simmers, a fiery entice.  Milk tea flows smoothly in delicate streams, Its sweetness is a comfort, like warm, gentle dreams. A cauldron of broth, bubbling and hot,  Awakens the senses with each savoury shot.  Rows of fresh veggies, a colourful display, To dip and savour, in a flavorful array.  Mushrooms and tofu, greens crisp and fine, In Tiger's embrace, they steep and they shine.  Amazing fry bread, golden and light,  Crisp to the bite, a true culinary delight.  Chopsticks in hand, we gather and share, Around the great pot, with warmth in the air.  Laughter and stories, the steam intertwines, In this haven of Tiger, where harmony dines. The boldness of peppers, the hum of the night, In each bite of Malatang, pure culinary delight.  A symphony of flavours, both fierce and serene, In the heart of Tiger, where tradition is queen. So come to the table, where cultures entwine, At Tiger, where Malatang's stars always shine.  A taste of the East, a vibrant embrace,  In the glow of the lights, find your own place.

ETHAN ROGACION (HE/HIM) OPINION : Over the last few years, restaurants across Wellington have been shutting up shop—and the death knells seem unending. Concord, another high profile restaurant, recently announced its closure, taking to social media at the start of the month to tell their followers why. “The current appetite for dining out is understandably low and the city’s hospitality scene is hurting a great deal,” the statement read. “Wellingtonians love their hospitality scene and it must be sad for them not to be able to enjoy it as they have done so in the past … priorities change under [economic] duress and we empathise.” A “Challenging Time for Hospitality” From Concord to Monique Fiso’s Hiakai, the hospitality market is strained, and it's not hard to see why. As the cost of living skyrockets and people across the city struggle to put groceries on the table, the cost of eating out is too high for many Wellingtonians.  Steve Armitage, Chief Executive of Hospitality NZ, echoed this sentiment, telling Salient  that “It's certainly a challenging time for hospitality … with increased costs and limited household disposable income having a direct impact on operators.” Lean Into Diversity The solution to the demise of restaurants in the city is unclear—though change in the hospitality industry is rarely ever a bad thing. As someone whose only hospitality experience is dining out, I do have an idea. With the demise of long-running institutions like Concord, a swathe of challengers have entered the scene, pushing the case for a greater diversity in Pōneke’s food scene. Places like Babaili Malatang, Jinweide Beef Noodle, and Kisa have added greatly to the city’s culinary landscape. While well-established places shutting are always a loss to the industry, it also creates room for people to be more experimental: to try something new. Up in Auckland one of the most influential hospitality groups is David Lee’s Namu, best known for fusion food that combines traditional Korean flavours with Kiwi staples. Last year, in his first foray into Pōneke, Lee opened Crack Chicken, entering a market lacking players in the fusion food market.  Leaning into playing with flavour creatively can only be a good thing. Where there’s creativity afoot, good shit  is sure to follow, right? Though, maybe this year’s WOAP offerings are a warning against excess… So… Where to From Here? Armitage told Salient that, “While conditions are tough right now, [Hospitality NZ are] confident that hospitality can come out the other side of this downturn thriving.” “Wellington also has a number of major events to look forward to, including All Blacks tests, Beervana and the World of Wearable Arts which will provide a much-needed boost to many operators ahead of the summer visitor season.”  However, there is undeniably rough sailing ahead. Concord’s advice to people saddened by the decline? “...Visit your favourite bars and restaurants, there are plenty of incredible places in Wellington, some real heroes out there still forging on to help make this city wonderful.”

Words by Abby Saywell (she/her) I remember moving to Wellington for university, realising the last time I had to make friends was when I was five years old. Asking my fellow students if they wanted to play tag or make a mud potion wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Maybe we could still bond over Lego though? Anyone who’s ever moved anywhere new — whether it be for your studies, a new job, or a relationship — knows this exact fear and has probably asked themselves the same question: “How do I even talk to a stranger?” Unsurprisingly, shyness and social anxiety do complicate the situation, creating a fear of talking to strangers. If you’re shy, you’ll probably think a stranger didn’t enjoy talking to you, even if you had a good time talking to them. But this seems to be one big misunderstanding: research shows that having a conversation with a stranger is consistently enjoyable, regardless of who initiated the interaction. Of course, it’s inevitable that some people just won’t want to talk to you. As Joe Keohane writes in his book, The Power of Strangers , “They might be tired, distracted, or prejudiced, or just private. It’s okay. Move on.” Luckily, there are plenty of strangers to go around! Okay, so you’ve set foot outside of your bedroom. Now what? Well, hear me out, because my first tip is to put your phone in your pocket. Mindlessly staring at your phone is a classic strategy to prevent anyone from talking to you in public. In fact, half of 18-29 year olds report using their phone to avoid interacting with other people—and those stats are from nearly ten years ago. If you want people to approach you, you first have to make yourself approachable. This starts with eye contact, meaning your eyes need to be readily available. If you can make eye contact with someone, chances are they’ll think you seem likeable and open for a chat.  When you find someone to talk to, start the conversation by trying to find something in common. “That small commonality works as a little bond,” says Keohane. The more obscure this commonality is, the more this little bond can grow. You could start off with something safe like the weather, guaranteed to be relevant to anyone sitting right next to you. Other top-hits for first-year uni students include: What are you studying? Are you in a hall? Where are you from? Isn’t this hall food disgusting? Once you’ve got the ball rolling, just follow your curiosity.   New Zealand is small; soon enough you’ll discover that you’ve been talking to your friend’s cousin’s neighbour the whole time. Another way to find commonality is to put yourself in a room full of people who share your interests. Luckily, that’s exactly what clubs are for. And university clubs can get niche — fencing, traditional folk music, or korfball, anyone? To really turn a stranger into a friend, things are going to have to get personal. No, this does not mean dumping all your life problems on your newfound korfball teammates. According to Keohane, research has shown that “when one person expresses something personal, the other person will match them.” By saying something real, honest, and personal, you’re subtly encouraging your conversation partner to do the same. Without realising it, they will start to reveal more of themselves, as if the two of you are competing for the title of most authentic stranger. When you reach these more personal levels, you’ll like your conversation partner more, they’ll like you more, and you’ll have a better chance of forming a deeper connection. If you’re still feeling uncertain about it all, don’t just take it from me; take it from real students who took part in research about talking to strangers:  I feel more connection to the world and also I feel people around me are more friendly. This made me feel happier and more fulfilled. Strangers are generally friendly and helpful. I met people who I believe will become my good friends. With a little effort you can find friends easily. Good luck!

In Collaboration with Forest and Bird words by Jasmine Starr (she/her) Stoic. Mysterious. Gloriously eyebrowed. A peculiar, handsome stranger, with great posture and immaculate tail feathers. The definition of style and sophistication. In every photograph, it’s dark eyes probe deep into your soul, planting a thought deep into your mind: “Stop scrolling past the Mātātā when you vote for Bird of the Year!”  This suave songbird has many other monikers, from Fernbird to Mātā, Koroātito to Kōtātā. But, this year, these poised perchers demand a new title: Winner.  The mātātā may be ‘another itty-bitty brown bird’, but they are far from boring. They are coloured dozens of shades of light, dark and reddish brown, with dark speckles that help them blend in with brush and leaf litter. Their magnificently long tail feathers measure a whopping 9 centimetres on average, half the total length of their body. Mātātā weigh only around 35 grams, a little less than a typical slice of bread. In spite of their small size, their energy is anything but lacking.  Despite the calm finesse displayed in photographs, the mātātā’s movements are far from stoic. They can barely sit still, hopping and twitching just like pīwakawaka. These majestic birds are also impressively bad flyers, flapping about madly with their tail pointing straight towards the ground. Mātātā prefer to hop, scuttle and crash through the dense underbrush. They are curious creatures, infamous for poking their heads out of the foliage to inspect researchers.  Mātātā are insectivores, feeding on various types of insects and small invertebrates found beneath the ground cover. They can often be seen picking up leaves with one foot, curiously examining the underside to find tiny critters for their next meal. Mātātā eat anything from caterpillars to small spiders to moths. Some southern subspecies will eat blowflies off the backs of sleeping sea lions!  These songbirds are well-known for their distinct ‘clicking’ call, like two rocks smacking together repeatedly. In fact, it sounds so similar that if you click rocks against each other, nearby mātātā will pop their heads out to investigate. They have a multitude of calls, from a shrill squeak, to a lower kew-whit, to a scrabbling chirp that sounds like said rocks, if the rocks were able to scream every time they were hit together.  Different subspecies of mātātā can be found in predator-free pockets around New Zealand, wherever introduced threats can’t reach them. They can live anywhere with dense, low underbrush and suitable living conditions—wetlands, estuaries, or dry shrubland—that provides excellent protection from natural predators. Mātātā are common in nature reserves such as Waikanae Estuary, as well as islands with effective invasive predator control, such as Aotea (Great Barrier Island), the Open Bay Islands, Titi (Muttonbird Island), and Tine Heke (the Snares Islands). They also live on Rakiura (Stewart Island) and Whenua Hou.  Mātātā used to live all throughout New Zealand, most notably in Wairarapa, Wellington, and Canterbury. They were pushed out and killed as collateral damage. We cleared their habitats and drained their wetlands for our own purposes. Mātātā depend on their home not being drained, polluted, replaced with invasive species, or turned into farmland. If their habitat is destroyed, they don’t have a lot of options–they can barely fly, and no banded bird has travelled more than 800 metres. If this loss of habitat wasn’t enough, these low-nesting birds and their eggs are easy prey for the usual suspects of cats, dogs, rats and mustelids. The Chatham Island subspecies is already extinct, wiped out by the purposeful introduction and release of cats to control rabbit populations on Mangere in the 1890s.  But it’s not too late for the other four subspecies. We can still reverse their decline.  If you live near a current or potential mātātā habitat, you can set up a restoration project of your own—and it can be fully funded from the Department of Conservation, or your local regional council! Reintroducing natives and weeding out invasive, introduced and exotic plants makes a huge difference for the mātātā, giving them the shelter and ecosystem health they need. Mātātā are heavily affected by introduced predators, so participating in trapping efforts, such as Predator Free 2050 or Give a Trap, makes a huge difference.  If you don’t live near a potential mātātā habitat, never fear! You can volunteer in tree plantings, weeding, rubbish cleanups, start a local community conservation group, or join an existing conservation group such as (ahem) Forest & Bird. Protesting, writing, and pressuring the government into making large-scale policy changes is important and should be done, but it can feel daunting and time-consuming. So, good news: There are other ways to help out! You can go outside, crawl around in mud, and make positive changes by yourself! And nobody can stop you!! If you don’t have the time or ability to get active in the community—or if you don’t want to cover yourself in mud—so much can still be done from a comfy, dirtless chair. You can donate to conservation societies, habitat restoration groups, or your local reserves. If you don’t have the money to donate, you can still do something as simple as raising awareness—so people with more resources learn how to help out too. Even voting for Bird of the Year brings previously underrepresented birds into the limelight, giving them the attention, resources, and habitat restoration so many of our precious creatures desperately need. And I don’t know about you, but I think the mātātā deserves a turn.  The Mātātā has us all fooled, thinking it’s another little brown bird to ignore on the way to something more glamorous. But, like so many creatures, there’s so much more under this first-glance exterior. It’s worth it to take a second look, so the less flashy birds have a chance to secure this same kind of support. And this year, why not cast your vote towards the curious, quivery candidate, the fabulously eyebrowed flapper, the one and only Mātātā?

TE HUIHUI O MATARIKI CHI HUY TRAN (HE/HIM) TARANAKI TŪTURU, TE IWI O MARUWHARANUI, NGĀTI MANIAPOTO Kaipara Māori Ward Disestablishment Sparks Protests OPINION: This government is fucked, tika! In a significant move, the Kaipara District Council has disestablished its Māori ward, and the community's reaction has been intense. Many people saw the Māori ward as a vital part of representing the local Māori population. In response, Te Rūnanga o Ngāti Whātua has stepped in, expressing their frustration and organising protests to voice their opposition. The council’s decision has stirred up a lot of emotions, showing just how important Māori representation is in local governance. This development is a big deal for the Kaipara community, as they work through what this change means for them. The protests and interventions highlight the ongoing fight for fair representation and how much the Māori ward mattered to tangata whenua. Coastal Cannibals: Industry Occupation in Whangārei Ngahuia Harrison’s research, "Coastal Cannibals: Industry Occupation on Whangārei Te Rerenga Parāoa," explores the impact of economic development on indigenous land rights. Completed as part of her Master’s degree at Elam School of Fine Arts and the James Henare Research Centre, Harrison (Ngātiwai, Ngāti Pukenga, Ngāpuhi) combines photography, video, fabric, sculpture, and a written thesis. Her work examines the outcomes and consequences of industrial activities in Whangārei Harbour, a historically significant gathering place for many rangatira and whales. By blending various artistic mediums, Harrison highlights the environmental and social repercussions of industrial development, emphasising the importance of collaborative and creative indigenous research methods. Her approach invites reflection on the balance between progress and preservation.

A Response By Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson Before it had even begun, Red, White and Brass felt like a victory. When I arrived at the ASB Waterfront Theatre, I was immediately greeted by a sea of red. Innumerable tiny Tongan flags adorned the high ceilings. Tonga had landed in this glistening foyer of pomp and prestige, and she made it hers from the jump. Despite being Samoan (and noting our intergenerational rivalry), I was glad that Tonga won that night. Entering a world of māfana, I felt like a child on Christmas morning. I was endlessly grateful and prepared for happy tears to run, a wad of tissues shoved into my handbag. The show opened with a captivating tribute to the small but mighty Kingdom of Tonga. My tissues were sodden less than five minutes in. What followed was a two-hour celebration of people, language and culture. A lively audience mirrored the joy onstage. Humour came to the fore often, and roaring laughter shook the walls of the theatre—sometimes, with only an animated side-eye to blame. The electricity among the cast made them easy to root for as main characters. I felt like I knew the dreamer, the beauty queen and the perfect cousin personally. Their bickering and scheming were as authentic as any argument or grand plan I had ever co-written with my own family. These remixed memories depicted a shared history that was frequently hilarious, and sporadically heartbreaking to watch. Complementing enthralling onstage interactions, exquisite set and wardrobe designs were assembled like an expertly curated exhibition. Slick transitions between traditional Tongan attire and digs of the diaspora further emphasised the real tensions playing out in Aotearoa and beyond. From trap houses to church pews, much of this story was told through visual cues. Among the storytelling stimuli were the mesmerising languages of music, and dance. Diasporisms and ancient traditions converged to form a dazzling choir of cultural pride. Harmonious hymns clashed with crip-walking wannabe gangstas, while young and old wore smiles as wide as the oceans they navigated together. Red, White and Brass: The Play was a triumph. Based on true events and an effervescent community, this show centred sacred relationships, diverse identities and cultural strengths. Unrelentingly high energy and a consistently swift pace culminated in an evening of dynamic, seriously entertaining theatre. It felt right to stand as the curtain rolled down. For Tonga. For the ancestors.

Words by Asmeret Kahasay Neguse (she/her) CW: Sexual and physical violence, trafficking, racism Oppressive, abusive, cruel, dictatorial. Words that sadly describe the last 30 years of Eritrea. When I think of Eritrea, my heart fills with love for my people; simultaneously, it shatters because of my love for them. The level of physical and mental torture that many Eritreans have had to endure is simply shocking. Join me in exploring Eritrean history, and in telling the stories of courageous Eritreans living under political persecution. From Mussolini To Afwerki: The Long 20th Century The second half of the 20th century was tumultuous for many African states—Eritrea was no exception. Decolonisation efforts after World War Two saw Eritrea finally free from ~60 years of Italian colonial rule; then came ten years under British military administration, and a further ten as a constituent state of the Ethiopian Crown. 1961 saw the beginning of armed struggle for Eritrean independence from Ethiopia. The Eritrean War of Independence, as it would become known, was further complicated by global power dynamics—Ethiopia, under a Marxist military junta, was supported by the Soviet Union, while the Eritrean Liberation Front was backed by the People’s Republic of China until 1972. After decades of intense fighting and shifting alliances (including the loss of Soviet support for Ethiopia during the European Revolutions of1989), the war concluded with the overthrow of the Ethiopian government by the EPLF and its allies on May 24th 1991; the happiest day of many Eritreans’ lives. Eritrea officially gained independence in 1993 following a UN-supervised referendum. As the leading guerrilla group, the Eritrean People's Liberation Front (EPLF) formed a provisional government for Eritrea, led by Isaias Afwerki. Despite Eritrea gaining independence, citizens are still facing harsh conditions. A new constitution defining legislative, executive and judicial branches of government and establishing a National Assembly, was drawn up in 1997. Under Afwerki, it was never enacted. The National Assembly has not met since 2002, and the legislative and executive powers are both held by President Isaias Afwerki. By September 2001, the government had closed independent newspapers, banned all private media, and arrested several journalists and senior government officials. The very few channels and newspapers left are all run by the unelected and only political party in Eritrea. What makes matters worse is that only 1% of the population can access the Internet. An absolute dictatorship. Bitweded Abraha Only a few months after the country gained independence, in October of 1991, Bitweded Abraha was arrested for expressing his concerns about Isaias Afwerki’s dictatorial tendencies. Abraha has never been charged with any crime or had a trial. Nevertheless, he was put into solitary confinement in 1994, then released briefly in 1997. During his release, he spoke publicly about his unlawful detention and voiced his concerns about the direction Eritrea was heading under Afwerki. “We should not be afraid of any one person but should be aware or afraid of breaking the law of the land and the laws of God, the creator. If we want to make social justice a reality, we need to have bravery and dedication. The Eritrean people need to shout openly and ask that these prisoners receive due process of the law and be bought before a judge. Do not be afraid! I will fight until justice is realised”. Subsequently, he was arrested again (only four months after his initial release), and placed back in solitary confinement. His current whereabouts and status remain unknown. The story of Abraha has become a powerful symbol of resistance. People soon realised that speaking out or protesting was dangerous. Shortly thereafter, Isaias Afwerki (boldly) renamed his political party to the ‘People’s Front for Democracy and Justice’ (PFDJ). Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu Yirgalem Fisseha Mebrahtu is another courageous Eritrean with a heartbreaking story. She co-founded the Adi Keyh Literature Club and worked as an independent journalist, publishing poetry for literary magazines until the ban of private media in 2001. Yirgalem then worked as a writer, presenter, and program director for a radio station managed by the Ministry of Education called Radio Bana . After six years at Radio Bana , on a random Wednesday in February 2009, Yirgalem and her colleagues were summoned to a meeting. They were instructed to board a truck, and taken to the Adi-Abeto prison centre. Here, she was interrogated and accused of “calling for the assassination of the president”; baseless accusations. After a couple months, Yirgalem was transferred to Mai-Serwa Prison, “notorious for its harsh conditions and mistreatment of inmates, many of whom are political prisoners”. During her interrogation, she was accused of writing poetry and short stories that allegedly suggested she did not support President Isaias Afwerki. She was also questioned about her email address, “justice-seeker”. Since exiled Eritrean activists often use the term “justice-seekers” to describe themselves, having such an email address was deemed unacceptable. Yirgalem was beaten because of her poetry and short stories. The interrogator interpreted and bent her words to imply she was speaking ill of the government. She denied this, and they tortured her. Yirgalem was in critical condition after repeated abuse and was taken to Halibet Hospital. After she regained some health, she returned to prison until she was released in 2015. Then, in 2017, she attempted to flee Eritrea and was arrested at the border and returned to jail for four months. After being released, she successfully escaped to Uganda. Now, Yirgalem lives in Germany and continues to tell her story of the horrible things she endured in Eritrea. Despite the atrocities committed by the President, there are still Eritreans who support the regime and unquestioningly believe in patriotism at the cost of their people. Yirgalem perfectly describes these people in the letter she wrote to the prisoners she left behind. “To your surprise, there are Eritreans who believe that there is no one who is unlawfully imprisoned in Eritrea. There are those who argue that Eritrea is governed in accordance with the principles of human rights; there are those who do not mind walking on fire with someone else’s feet and grind stones with someone else’s teeth. There are those who consider questions regarding rights and justice as crimes. There are those who still instil a culture of indifference. There are those who do not consider the conditions in Eritrea a problem until they touch their immediate family members.” Ciham Ali Abdu One of Yirgalem’s many poems is about Ciham Ali Abdu. Ciham, who has American citizenship, was imprisoned in 2012 at the age of 15 because her father, the former Minister of Information, had fled the country. She has never been formally charged or given a trial, and has not been seen since. Saron Getachew Saron Getachew is another strong and brave Eritrean woman who has experienced “hell on earth”. In 2015, she fled Eritrea at only 16 years old. She left to avoid the mandatory military conscription, which requires almost every boy and girl to enlist, for an indefinite period, as soon as they turn 17. She planned to go through the Sahara Desert, into Libya, across the Mediterranean Sea, and into Europe within a week; she had been told it would be a smooth journey. Saron had not anticipated the traumatic experience she would go through instead. Once she made it to Libya, she was held for ransom by kidnappers. While being held captive, she heard people being tortured, and grown men screaming out “yima”, which translates to “mum”. A man named Filmon was the torturer; he held a machete, a gun and a phone. With him was a man named Mohammed; he tried to sexually assault Saron. Saron called her brother to ask for money for the ransom. She told her brother she was not going to make it; she had witnessed people being killed and feared she was next. He repeatedly told her: “Saron, you're going to make it out, just focus, you're going to make it out”, but she didn't have much hope left. The money came through, and before long Libyans were transporting her and a group of others to the capital, Tripoli. En route, they were stopped at a checkpoint by men claiming to be Libyan government officials. At night, these men kidnapped some of the group, Saron included, from the Libyans they were with. They then sold them to other smugglers. Saron was sold to three different men within six months while trapped in Libya, and witnessed and endured deeply disturbing abuses. The torture that Saron endured is too graphic to share in this issue. However, that does not mean that it should be unspoken. If you want to learn further about the abuse she endured, you can click the button at the bottom of this page, to hear directly from Saron. Eventually, Saron managed to escape and to get on a boat across the Mediterranean Sea. Thousands of Eritreans die trying to cross the Mediterranean Sea; see the 2013 Lampedusa tragedy, when a trawler carrying asylum seekers from Eritrea and Somalia capsized off Italy's Lampedusa, killing 368 people. However, Saron made it out alive. She is now living in Sweden and has been diagnosed with Stockholm syndrome. To function as a “normal person”, she must take several medications. Saron feels she will never be the same person she was before Libya. She says even though she made it out alive, she will forever be mentally scarred. Saron continues to speak out for those suffering in Libya today. There are many alarming issues in Eritrea. Eritreans in Eritrea have no human rights; those who flee due to this find themselves facing massive danger. Eritreans want to be able to work and make a living and not have to live in fear every day. They yearn for freedom and free speech, and for their human rights to be respected. Which is why many flee, regardless of the consequences. More than 580,000 Eritrean refugees and asylum seekers were recorded abroad in 2021; Eritrea has a population of 3.8 million people. Eritreans are suffering inside and outside of Eritrea; men and women like Bitweded, Yirgalem, Ciham, and Saron are a testament to this.

Words & Cover Art by Ali Al Omari (HE/HIM) “The suppression, shadow banning, smear campaigns, doxing, threats, et cetera, are all because they know that their crimes are that morally indefensible, and anyone with an ounce of humanity will turn on them with the slightest exposure to those crimes”—Dr. Omar Suleiman In the heart of the 'land of the free’, a war rages against the very essence of liberty. Across oceans and borders students rise in unity, their voices ringing out against the chains of oppression binding Palestine. Yet, in response to their peaceful cries for justice, the heavy boots of authority trample their protests, shattering the illusion of free speech. At the esteemed halls of Columbia University and beyond, the call for divestment from Israel, a beacon of resistance against apartheid and occupation, reverberates through the corridors of power. Instead of heeding the call, armed forces descend upon the campuses, their weapons aimed not at the oppressors but at the oppressed. Rubber bullets, stones, and fireworks, the crude tools of silencing, rain down upon the righteous, turning peaceful dissent into a bloody battlefield. In the halls of academia, where knowledge should be revered above all else, the story of Asna Tabassum unfolds. A USC valedictorian is silenced, her voice snatched away by the hands of censorship simply for daring to stand in solidarity with Palestine. Her crime? Speaking truth to power, challenging the status quo with her unwavering support for the oppressed. Yet, amidst this blaring suppression, a lone figure emerges from the shadows. A symbol of defiance and resilience depicts the Lady of Liberty. Wrapped in the iconic Palestinian kuffiyeh, she stands as a testament to the indomitable will of the oppressed. But even she is not spared from the onslaught of censorship. Vandalized and defaced, her image serves as a stark reminder of the forces that seek to silence criticism and erase truth. In the face of such tyranny, let us not falter. Let us raise our voices in unison, amplifying the cries of the silenced, and shattering the chains of oppression that bind us. For true liberty knows no bounds, and only through the relentless pursuit of justice can we reclaim the shattered fragments of our collective humanity. Let us not forget the hypocrisy of the West, which champions freedom of speech only when it aligns with their agenda. When voices speak out against injustice in Palestine, they are met with silence or violence, revealing the true nature of selective freedom. It is time to expose this double standard and demand consistency in the application of liberty for all. Free Palestine!

[Online Exclusive Article] Words by Ngân Dang. With the 2024 Olympics in Paris commencing next month, many of us are gearing up for an exhilarating and well-anticipated winter filled with sporting competition.  Growing up, I was never a kid who was obsessed with sports—I barely played any, nor did I ever put in much effort to watch it regularly. However, the bubbling excitement around the Olympics has always been a norm for me. Without fail, I would wake up at odd hours in the morning to watch my favourite underdog pick compete against world-renowned athletes, tune into a rivalled football match, or focus on hours of gymnastic routines.  Somewhere between the festivities, I invariably become intrigued patriotic narratives that emerge during the Olympics. Especially in Aotearoa, rarely do we see such a glaring expression of national pride in our daily lives—but the international games have a remarkable way of uniting people and bringing out one’s love for their country. The Olympics will dominate conversations, with our athletes featured on the front pages of every newspaper. For a while, sports will be a constant presence, playing on screens from pubs to living rooms. The idea of national identity in the age of globalisation is always at the centre of these events. We don’t have to look too far. Tennis player Lulu Sun recently switched her national allegiance from Switzerland to represent New Zealand as an athlete. New Zealand backed her through the deep progression into this year’s Wimbledon, but this support is not always extended to many athletes with diverse upbringings. Sun’s choice sparked robust discussions in our community: on what grounds can an athlete choose to represent a certain nation?  This is a somewhat clear-cut matter on paper. According to the International Olympics Committee (IOC), a competitor can choose to represent the country they were born in, or one they are a citizen of. Some sporting associations also allow athletes to pick the nation of their parents’ and grandparents’ roots.  Individual sentiments about national identity in sports are much more nuanced and debated, however. Though most of us are happy to see the best athletes choosing to represent our country, hateful pushbacks about these complicated decisions exist—usually relying on the stereotypes of who would correctly reflect the national identity. Tournaments like the Olympics are therefore as much of a scene for politics and identity exploration, as it is a sporting and entertainment ground.  Sports can excel in rekindling passion and a sense of community. I may not be super patriotic, but my national pride definitely turns up a few notches whenever these international tournaments come around. Unworn sports jerseys resurge from the depths of my closet, match schedules are printed out and stuck on my wall—the whole thing. And it’s not just me, either. You can see the ‘we’ of a nation become tangible among the spectators, and the athletes that represent us as one collective.   We took the All Blacks’ rivalries seriously, scowled at our Aussie neighbours' victories, and cheered when Dame Lisa Carrington won her fifth gold medal in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. Sporting prowess can redefine a nation’s identity on the international stage. At the games, there’s something that every country and territory of the world focuses on and can excel in. Sports aren't an even playing field due to the financial and social advantages of powerhouses like the US, China, and Russia. But it has always been about hope and the unexpected. This creates powerful narratives for smaller countries to take the spotlight. During international tournaments, the association between athletes and nations is unparalleled. Every athlete who steps out into the arena aims to achieve personal excellence, but they also compete for their nation. My mate mentioned her excitement to see Aotearoa dominating in the usual categories: the rugby sevens and rowing amongst her favourites to tune into. Seeing one’s nation victorious at the pinnacle of sports can feel like a personal triumph in extension—you are seeing your community represented on that big stage.  Sporting competitions can be a force of unity, but they also reveal the divisive sentiments within our communities. With a nation’s hopes and expectations on their shoulders, athletes face intense scrutiny during international tournaments. When our teams lose, the frustration spreads as quickly as the pride that surges in our victories. A sensationalist media environment and tribalistic fan culture only fuels anger, creating space for racist and exclusionary narratives. After missing penalties that led to defeat against Italy in the 2021 Euros, England players Jadon Sancho, Marcus Rashford, and Bukayo Saka were targeted with racist abuse. Tennis star Naomi Osaka also faced immense backlash in Japan due to her mixed heritage, and her decision to represent the nation in her first Olympics. Athletes of colour have always been forced to go above and beyond to prove their place in the sporting world. As former footballer Mesut Özil commented on the hate he received after Germany’s early exit in the 2018 World Cup: “I am German when we win, but I am an immigrant when we lose.” The rise of white nationalism perpetuates the continuous cycle of racism, which excludes people of colour from the national identity. When athletes of colour win, the media hailed them as national heroes. But when they don’t exceed expectations, the first thing fans see through the lens of privilege and anger is the colour of their skin. The ‘one nation’ narrative exists until athletes fail to prove their worth to the country. In an increasingly interconnected and multicultural society, it is not far-fetched to think about how we can redefine the traditional boundaries of national identity, one that has always left out people of colour, to embrace diversity in our definition of belonging. Sporting organisations may try their best to pick and choose when to separate sports from politics (I’m looking at you, IOF). But that is a near impossible and unethical task to complete when the two topics have such an intimate connection. Sports can evoke new emotions and an unrivalled sense of belonging and patriotism. The passion rumbling through the community in these tournaments is what made me fall in love with the beautiful games. At the same time, international tournaments visualise globalisation and the way it is shaping our communities today. In this scene, athletes of diverse backgrounds are constantly pushing the boundaries of national identity, traditionally understood as a very exclusive sense of pride. Maybe it’s about time that we question the rigid boundaries on belonging that have always put the identities of athletes of colour up for debate and judgement. So, wear your New Zealand jersey with pride this Olympics, remember to have fun, and back every single one of our athletes through thick and thin.