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Placed by Legoloscar Aragorbbie (he/him) 9: ARAGORN Coming in strong at number nine is Aragorn. The reason for Aragorn being at the bottom of the list is because Aragorn is a lesbian. I will not be explaining further or taking questions on this matter. 8: GANDALF Gandalf simply does not have any transgender vibes to me, like, at all. Gandalf, I think, is the resident chill cis guy who just inexplicably has seven or eight close trans friends. Gandalf would totally invite me to get a pint of mead with the boys at the tavern and literally not even be weird about it. 7: BOROMIR Boromir is lowkey the platonic ideal of a fantasy hero. He’s valiant, strong, and has a very angular World-of-Warcraft face. A true manly man. Shoutout to all the trans guys out there who go super hard on getting jacked, or like, lumberjacking, or whatever it is the manly bros are up to. 5 & 6: MERRY & PIPPIN I love these hobbits. They seem like the type of cool guys I’d meet outside at a house party and have a deep and meaningful yarn with. Merry and Pippin also 100% have their community’s backs. I mean, convincing the ents to join in with the war against Saruman? Those are some guys who will stick up for their people. That’s pretty respectable. 4: SAM Sam is one of my favourite Lord of the Rings characters. He’s loyal, kind, and the best friend (read: gay lover) a hobbit could ask for. Also, Sam gets to be in the top half because when I was a kid, my brother and I had the Shelob Lego set and Sam was my favourite of the minifigures. Are you taking this list seriously? I’m not. 3: FRODO Ha, I bet you all expected Mr Frodo, everyone’s favourite short king and main character to top the list. Well, he’s up there—you fellow tboys know he’s a pretty cool guy to watch and say “wow, he’s so me for real”, but real scholars of tboy swag can identify two members of the fellowship who are really swagging it tboy style far beyond the rest. 2: LEGOLAS It’s him, it’s the barrel-surfing, physics-defying twink you all know and love! Legolas is the best, what do I even say? He has beautiful flowing hair, elegant green clothes, and he’s also an incredibly skilled archer. I would so encounter this man at Ivy, tearing it up to some Charli. 1: GIMLI Alright, at number one, top of the list, the Fellowship member who I personally reckon has the most tboy swag, it’s Gimli. Gimli is special because not only does he have the plucky cavalierness and short stature that tboy swag as a concept is built on, but he’s also a bear and you know I’m right. Gimli is the greatest synthesis of transgender whimsy and self-assured, strong masculinity. And that is why he is my favourite swag tboy from the Fellowship of the Ring. Peace.

Khai Dye-Brinkman (they/them) Have you ever gotten hopelessly lost in IKEA? That, my friends, is what my existence felt like. Endless aisles of societal expectations, cryptic assembly instructions for "perfect lives," and the constant fear of winding up in the suffocating department of heteronormativity. That's what navigating life as a teenager felt like for me. Everyone else seemed to have a pre-built roadmap, complete with clear exits labelled "relationships" and "happily ever afters." But mine just led to a dimly lit corner marked "questioning everything." Coming out wasn't a dramatic movie moment. It was more like a messy, side-eye filled exploration of the internet, a confusing-yet-liberating world that offered a different perspective on life. There were stumbles, like that drunken attempt to kiss my best friend, but each experience chipped away at the pre-packaged expectations I'd been wrapped in. High school dances were the worst. Everyone else glided around like they were born knowing what to do, while I was stuck in the awkward zone, overwhelmed by emotions and unsure of how to navigate them. Here, the fluorescent lights seemed to amplify my confusion, casting a harsh glare on my attempts to fit in. Then, it hit me: being queer wasn't just about who I was attracted to or what my gender identity was. It was about finding a community of people who understood the unique way we see the world. They spoke the same "wait, is this normal?" language, a language born from standing slightly outside the mainstream. It turned out my map wasn't broken, it just led to a different, way cooler section filled with vibrant people and unexpected connections. Society throws this ‘perfect life’ narrative at us: the house, the kids, the corporate climb. But being queer forced me to ditch that plan and forge my own path. It's about embracing the unknown, even if it means stepping off the map entirely and venturing into the exciting, and sometimes scary, territory of self-discovery. This uncharted land held moments of exhilarating freedom, but also encounters with prejudice and the fear of rejection. However, within the queer community, I discovered a fierce resilience. We're a vibrant tapestry woven from artists, activists, dreamers, and survivors. We celebrate each other's triumphs, cry over heartbreaks, and remind each other that the truest form of badassery is embracing who you are, unapologetically. Finding my place in the queer world wasn't always easy. There were times when I wondered if I was "queer enough," a question that highlights the societal obsession with boxes. But guess what? Queerness doesn't fit in any of them. There's no one-size-fits-all way to be queer, and that's what makes our community so beautiful. We're a kaleidoscope of experiences and emotions, a constantly evolving masterpiece. And guess what? Embracing that fluidity is liberating. This journey of self-discovery led me to become the president of the student-led queer rep group on campus, UniQ. It was a space that on the outside might seem like a token club on campus, but we envisioned something more—a vibrant community hub, a safe space for LGBTQ+ folks to connect, celebrate, and advocate for themselves. Friday spaces where stressed students can come have a snack and study together, upcoming workshops on everything from navigating our collective queer history to how to pick up some essential life skills. Movie nights showcasing a diverse range of LGBTQ+ cinema, challenging stereotypes, and sparking thought- provoking conversations. Each event laid a brick in the foundation of a more inclusive campus culture. Within the walls of UniQ, there is a sense of solidarity that transcends adversity. We learn from each other’s experiences, offering a shoulder to cry on during struggles, and a chorus of cheers during triumphs. It is a space where vulnerability isn’t a weakness but a source of strength, reminding us that we weren’t alone in navigating this ever-evolving landscape of identity. This is your official invitation to join us, to anyone who feels lost in the labyrinth of societal expectations. Here, your "wait, is this normal?" becomes a badge of honour, a testament to your authenticity. Let your queerness be your compass, guiding you towards a life filled with authenticity, love, and a sense of belonging that's more fulfilling than any beanbag chair. Trust me, we have snacks—and more importantly, we have each other. We're a vibrant tapestry, and there's a space waiting for your thread to join the beautiful, ever-evolving masterpiece that is our community.

ETHAN ROGACION (HE/HIM) PICTURED:   Quasi on various buildings and modes of public transport in Te Whanganui-a-Tara Love him or hate him, there’s one thing you cannot deny: Quasi is a large fella. Since 2019, all five metres of his polystyrene, steel and resin visage has loomed over Te Ngākau Civic Square from the roof of City Gallery Wellington. He’s watched over graduation parades, protests and new art exhibitions, an enduring reminder that Pōneke is, in fact, kinda freaky. But his future is uncertain. City Gallery will leave its current home until at least 2026 due to ongoing construction work in the Civic Square precinct, as well as internal building repair work. In the meantime, the Gallery will be running its exhibitions out of other arts institutions in Wellington like Te Papa, and the Dowse in Lower Hutt. Delyse Diack, Acting Director Te Matapihi for Experience Wellington - the organisation which runs the Gallery— told Salient that, “The gallery team are working with the artist on the next steps for Quasi,” and are presently unable to give us any more information about his fate. Salient tried approaching Quasi himself for comment, but were unable to due to the jungle of closed footpaths and entryways blocking access into Civic Square. Quasi was designed by artist Ronnie van Hout in 2016, making his home on the roof of Christchurch Art Gallery in an attempt to—and this is true—“liven up” their civic centre following the 2011 earthquake. As if the people of Christchurch hadn’t suffered enough. According to City Gallery’s website, part of Quasi’s motivation for moving to the capital—other than his love for our better coffee and worse housing—was to “haunt City Gallery’s roof … presiding over a Civic Square largely abandoned in the wake of our own 2016 quake.” It seems that wherever destruction and disrepair appear, Quasi follows: a grim angel of death watching over the withering remains of our decaying cities. Christchurch Art Gallery’s lead curator Felicity Milburn told Salient that, “Quasi came into being down here in 2016, when this city was still living through vast and almost constant change—so it feels right that he has become the hands-down king of the surprise pop up.” Just as they were torn on whether he is good or… not, Wellingtonians are also divided on what Quasi’s future should look like. Should he move to the roof of another Wellington landmark? Perhaps he should move to my flat’s front garden, inspiring me everyday to do even better journalism (pretty please)? Or, should we go with the unthinkable and… send him back to Christchurch? Salient took to Clubs Day last week to gather some thoughts. VUWSA President Marcail Parkinson and Equity Officer Josh Robinson both want to see Quasi move up the hill to the University, with Robinson saying that Quasi would fit right in on top of the VUWSA Building at Kelburn. Parkinson, on the other hand, wants to bring our five-fingered friend closer to earth on the Tim Beaglehole Courtyard, at eye level with students. “I think it's a beautiful piece that really talks a lot about Wellington’s culture: two in the pink one in the stink’s really a great statement to make about Wellington and student life…” Labour MP Greg O’Connor told Salient that Quasi, “like a lot of art, becomes part of the flora and fauna of the city.” When told about the possibility that Cantabrians might want Quasi back, O’Connor replied, “No! No, no, no.” Green MP Francisco Hernandez, meanwhile, said he thought it would be “pretty funny” for Quasi to grace the rooftop of another Pōneke icon: the Beehive. All incredibly worthy suggestions indeed. Your move, Experience Wellington.

Sterling Jones (they/them), Rainbow and Inclusion Advisor I’ve been invited to a Chappell Roan-themed birthday this week, and I am hyped . I’m the sort of person who’ll jump at any opportunity to dress up, so naturally I’ve been obsessing over my outfit all week. Do I want my look to be more “ My Kink Is Karma” or “ Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl” ? Classic or hyper-masc drag make-up? The options are endless.  But among this anticipation, there’s a nagging feeling of anxiety at the back of my mind.  You see, it’s my flatmate’s friend’s party. They’re wonderful, we’ve met before, but I won’t know everyone who’s going to be there, and that’s the source of my anxiety. It’ll be a new experience: new place, new people, and a new group of strangers to come out to.  For us queer people, with every introduction comes an invitation to come out.  My first time coming out of the closet was nearly ten years ago, and it was a big deal for me. It was terrifying, partly because I belonged to a conservative community, but mostly because pop culture told me that it was supposed to be. Every queer YA novel I’d ever read ( The Geography Club, Something Like Summer, Simon vs The Homosapien Agenda , just to name a few) prepared me for a dramatic affair, a point of no return. From that moment on, I would start shitting glitter, and everyone on the street would recognise me as Queer™. It was with that in mind that a trembling, sixteen-year-old Sterling posted, “Well, here goes nothing… I am gay.” It's a fear that’s stayed with me. I feel it when leaving the house with eyeshadow on, when I share my pronouns in a meeting, and when inevitably, I’ll be introduced to new people at my flatmate’s friend’s Chappell Roan-themed birthday.  But it’s not how I want to feel about sharing a part of me with the world. Coming out isn’t supposed to be an invitation for fear! It’s an invitation for connection.  There’s a tweet pinned up in my office, from author John Paul Brammer. It reads, “Remember what it felt like when you saw a queer person owning it, and it gave you permission to be yourself? You’re that person to someone”. And you know what? I do remember what it felt like. I remember what it felt like as a closeted fifteen-year-old to see a pair of queer lovers kiss goodbye (on the mouth!!) at Britomart Train Station before going their separate ways. It felt like hope. I remember it feeling like a promise that people like them, people like me,  could find belonging and love. And it was a hope that I really needed to carry-on, back then.  So, here’s my invitation to you: join me in reclaiming coming out as a source of connection and community and unlearning this intergenerational trauma we share for the generations before us, for the generations ahead of us, and for each and every single one of us.

When I was younger, before I knew I was a trans woman, I used to wish I was a gay man. In high school I had seen the way the gay guys were surrounded by a gaggle of girl friends and I wanted in. At first I thought it was because I was attracted to the girls, that's why I wanted to be around them, but as I grew older and discovered certain things about myself I began to realise that what I really wanted was just to be part of their group. I felt like I needed an invitation into girlhood. Last year, I found myself on a drive with a gaggle of my own gal pals. Speeding down the coast, playing Taylor Swift on the radio as loud as it could go and singing their blessed hearts out, I realised that was it. I'd never needed an invitation, I was already there. This year's Queerlient is centred around that feeling: Invitation. I want to welcome you, the reader, into the intimate. With a focus on lesser-known aspects of queer life, history, and personal interests, I hope this issue can open a door, or at the very least offer a peek through the curtain, to the smaller worlds of queer existence that you wouldn't normally get to see from the outside. And while I’m normally not a big Swiftie, even I found something special on that car ride. So with luck you’ll find something new and unexpected to love here too. UniQ President Khai tells us how they learned to embrace their queerness even when it was frightening, while Basil invites you to understand the place takatāpui identities hold in our culture. We have dives into queer history, local and international, and invitations of all sorts to a better understanding of the myriad experiences our people have to offer. However, please understand that Queerlient can only show so much. It's a tiny glimpse of a broad and diverse community and even a dedicated student magazine can never fully represent us. This is a snapshot of other worlds, so know that these worlds are separate. Queer worlds are forever detached from the mainstream, and while you don't always need an invitation, these are spaces we have fought to build for ourselves and we will fight to keep them. So please enjoy this sneaky peek into our space. Stay a while if you like, we’ve got room to spare. Goose (she/they)

DAN MOSKOVITZ (HE/HIM) Rutherford House will host a panel discussion of TERFs on Tuesday night after Te Herenga Waka greenlit their booking. UniQ and QED are organizing a counter-protest. Sall Grover, founder of Australian app Giggle for Girls exclusively for women, faces a lawsuit from transgender woman Roxanne Tickle. Ms Tickle was banned from the app due to being trangender. The case is currently in the Australian Federal Court awaiting a final verdict. Grover intends to escalate to the High Court if unsuccessful.  Grover is currently touring New Zealand to discuss the case with local TERFs, including an event at Pipitea campus on Tuesday evening.  “This event poses a direct threat to the inclusivity and safety of our community,” said UniQ president Khai Dye-Brinkman in a statement. “Our protest is not against free speech but against speech that actively works to marginalize and endanger transgender people.”  The Women’s Rights Party, which shares many of the same stances as Grover, is one of her key backers in her anti-trans crusade. They got 2500 votes, equating to 0.08% in the 2023 election.  Te Herenga Waka was keen to wash its hands of the event when pressed, stating that campus facilities are available to external groups on payment, and that security staff would be on-site. However, both the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor  declined invitations to Grover's event.  “We urge VUW to consider its role in hosting events that propagate discrimination and to advocate for policies that uphold the safety and inclusion of all students and staff,” added Dye-Brinkman. UniQ’s protest will begin at 4.30pm on Tuesday 9 July and meet at Pipitea campus, with marshals providing directions. Sall Grover’s event is scheduled for 6pm. EDITORIAL NOTE : A previous version of this article incorrectly stated Sall Grover's event begun at 9pm, instead of the correct time, 6pm. The article was updated with the correct time on 09/07/24

By Chris Girven Dad is picking up shells for the garden  Mum is sitting and watching  Ben is washing his hands in the water  So particularly  He is small against the sky  I take a photo of him  He pulls out his phone and  Takes a photo of me  The sea is charcoal black  It froths like a rabid dog  Tearing at the Jasper sand  Tripping over itself  Turning its face to mine Again  And again Chris Girven (Ngāti Kahungunu ki Te Wairoa) lives in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. They are takatāpui and study acting at Toi Whakaari: NZ Drama School. They love to write poetry, dress up, go to the Vinnies, and dance around their room.

Words by: Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson Litia Tuiburelevu (Fijian Pākehā Tongan) is the writer and director behind the wave-making docuseries, STILL HERE . In response to the changing cultural and physical landscape of Aukilani, Litia set out to document the lives of families who made it what it is today. Despite rampant gentrification in Central Tāmaki Makaurau, the Pacific diaspora remains. STILL HERE is a visual representation of a zealous resistance to the erasure of intergenerational influence in inner-city suburbs. With Litia at the helm, alongside Ursula Williams and Torisse Laulu, STILL HERE tells the complex, colourful stories of Tagata Moana who live there now.  Growing up in Ponsonby, Litia’s frustrations about unwelcome changes in her neighbourhood stirred just beneath the surface. She saw real estate agents who relentlessly banged down her friends’ front doors with pushy propositions, and whitewashed buildings that sprung up overnight like an abrupt invitation to get out of the way. While her emotions churned internally, she searched for an avenue that would allow her to accurately express them. Out of high school, Litia studied law and art history at The University of Auckland. There, she trained as a lawyer, following in her mother’s footsteps. However, Litia had always been enamoured with film. She saw it as a powerful medium for storytelling and activism.  In law school, Litia wrote a compelling essay about gentrification in Pacific communities. But she believed that this story was better told through moving images. Litia’s drive to say something that had been on the tip of her tongue for years converged with her desire to follow a lifelong passion. She decided it was time to pick up a camera.  Firstly, Litia took stock of the resources that were within her reach. Knowing that she wasn’t formally qualified in film and lacked industry connections, Litia felt the humbling weight of her own ambition. Nevertheless, she utilised her existing writing skills and solid internet connection to get the ball rolling. Once Litia had recorded her ideas on Word doc’s and Canva slides, she took a deep breath and shared them with Torisse Laulu, an emerging producer who was keen to collaborate.  Soon after connecting with each other, Torisse and Litia posted a call for contributors to their project on social media. Much to their surprise, they received over 100 responses in one night. This led to the assembly of an eager and talented team. With basic equipment and momentum building, Litia and her small crew captured the leaving party of the Williams family at 101 Rose Road, Grey Lynn. This bittersweet memorial became a seven minute proof of concept, edited on iMovie and sent to countless platforms and producers. Thankfully, Ursula Williams from 4&5 Films picked it up and supported the series to secure funding from NZ On Air.  Following the confirmation of funding for the first season, Litia and Torisse brought another influential collaborator on board—Niuean Hip Hop artist, Diggy Dupé. Diggy opened the series with a candid kōrero and an intimate tour of his hometown in the “city boys” episode.  “We really wanted him”, Litia says, “given that his Central identity is such a core theme of his artistry. So, we just reached out and thankfully he said ‘yes’!” Since its release in July 2022, STILL HERE has evolved into an acclaimed body of work that thousands of people have engaged with online—airing on Re: News and TVNZ OnDemand, and receiving the ‘Best Video Documentary Series’ title at the 2023 Voyager Media Awards. It’s an official hit!  Beyond the numbers, STILL HERE  is a time capsule that serves to connect, educate and uplift. Litia, Ursula and Torisse have successfully created art that accentuates the mana of people and place. With a second season continuing to make waves, it is only a matter of time before the whole country (*cough* THE WORLD) sees the unapologetically brown version of Central Aukilani that they know best.

By Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson In your malaga, I feel seen  Afakasi speaks  So I am heard  I said I would stop calling myself that  But here we are  Branded “half”  But I am whole  A whole meal of a body  A whole mouthful of a name  So “afakasi” doesn’t split me  How Samoan are you?  fia Palagi  Not fluent in our gagana  As I bend at the knee and serve ipu kī  As I serve, as I serve, as I serve  Fluent in feaus  Fluent in siva  Fluent in fia poko  Nana’s ring slips onto my pinky  Uncle said I inherited her looks  O lo’u tamā said I sound just like her  Better keep my head in those books  Plastic skin  Big mouth  The other day this lady laughed when I told her where my fibres come from But I weave, but I weave, but I weave

Words by Te Huihui o Matariki Chi Huy Tran (he/him) - Taranaki Tūturu, Te iwi o Maruwharanui, Ngāti Maniapoto Aotearoa’s Efforts to Preserve Cyclone-Damaged Marae and Homes on Māori Land In a move to safeguard the cultural heritage of Māori communities, the New Zealand government has launched an initiative to support the relocation of marae and homes on whenua Māori that were damaged by cyclones. This effort aims to protect these culturally significant sites from further damage, and ensure the safety and preservation of these vital community spaces. The process involves navigating complex ownership structures and cultural considerations, emphasising the importance of collaboration and respect for indigenous traditions. It showcases a commitment to honouring and protecting the rich cultural heritage and tiakanga of Māori. Mārama's Surgery Journey is Empowering! Marama Davidson will soon go through surgery, and her openness about her breast cancer diagnosis is incredibly important for women's health awareness. Her bravery in sharing her experience and emphasising the significance of mammograms for early detection is truly inspiring. By prioritising her own health and family, she sets a compelling example for women everywhere to take charge of their health. Let's continue to support and uplift each other, spreading awareness and advocating for regular screenings to ensure the well-being of all wāhine.  Top 10 Most Popular Ingoa Māori for our Pēpi this Matariki Released by Te Tari Taiwhenua every Māori new year. For our future young pāpā and māmā out there, if you’re ready to take that next step after graduating lol, or during studying, chur. Tama:  Ariki/Te Ariki, Wiremu, Rāwiri, Mikaere, Nikau, Koa, Manaia, Manaaki, Kiwa, Kaitoa. Kōtiro:  Aroha/Te Aroha, Amaia, Maia, Anahera, Moana, Manaia, Ataahua, Marama, Atarangi, Tui.

Sue Orr   Salient called the orators to the campfire, and to the campfire they came. Some told stories, others were there to listen—to their ancestors, to their lovers, to our peat fire planet, smouldering exhausted from the inside out. Some pyromaniacs turned up to burn shit such as grammar and narrative logic, just for the fun of it. I suspect they, of everyone, had the best time. The winning story, Fire Engines, dropped its readers into a futuristic Wellington that some days feels as though it’s already arrived. A couple watches as Matairangi’s (Mount Victoria’s) old wooden homes burn to the ground below them, to be replaced by skyscrapers. The nearby Home for Decommissioned Public Servants goes up in flames. Was it empty? Officially, yes. But what of the black fire engines? Fire Engines is a call to action against political and environmental indifference, etched in chilling, unforgettable prose. The assured voice snares us from the very first sentence and refuses to let us look the other way. It’s rare to sink into a story knowing, immediately, that the author has absolute command over every aspect of the telling—originality, tension, plot, character, structure and style. Virginia Woolf said style was all about rhythm in storytelling. She reckoned if you got the rhythm right, then it was impossible to choose the wrong words. The writer of Fire Engines never missed a rhythmic beat. Other stories came close, but faltering craft ultimately nudged them down the shortlist. Grammar matters. Spelling matters. Dangling and misplaced modifiers most definitely matter. Read your stories out loud, writers. Be like Virginia. Listen to the rhythm.  Real took out second place and lit a different kind of flame. The unnamed protagonist meets up with an old childhood friend, Squid. Squid’s a user and has recently been exhibiting symptoms of a raging poetry addiction, including an exploded vocabulary and lyrical phrasing. The pair ingest from a buffet of poetic offerings before the protagonist finds the perfect high in her own work. Real is sassy—effortlessly clever, riding drug tropes hard while never losing sight of its true intention, the celebration of poetry. It’s also very funny. I challenge you not to feel sorry for the hapless Squid . “ I preferred what you gave us last week. Acrostic poetry just hits all the buttons in my brain”   he says of their dealer’s newest tab. Poor Squid. He was destined not to get it. Crushing, in third place, scales the highs and lows of a woman’s infatuation with the checkout operator at her local health food store. It too is delightfully funny, in a Fleabag kind of way. We empathise with her tolerant, sweet boyfriend, who endures the crush until it comes to an end that’s both inevitably organic and pathetically artificial. Again, craft elevated this story into a prizewinning position, ahead of other stories that were strong in originality but stumbling in execution in small ways. I judged this competition without knowing who the authors are and I look forward very much to finding out their names. Congratulations, Salient , on a most excellent bonfire.

Words by Sarah Caroline Bell It took us a long time   to make a campfire that night.  Gotta get driftwood, you said.  Pick it up carefully, you said.  We trusted you because you knew.   You came here every summer as a kid. Round, leggy, black with a red danger stripe. Your nan got bitten while collecting  driftwood here, ae. Didn’t kill her, āe.  Got her good. Right on the index finger. But that story wasn’t as good as the one about that time she dropped her sausage straight into the fire. How she fished  it out of the flames with her stick and ate it even though it was burnt.  ‘Never waste a good sausage!’ she laughed.  What a crack up. It took us a long time  to make a campfire that night. And when  you held your stick over the flames,  the smoke got in your eyes. Sarah Caroline Bell is studying the Graduate Diploma of Arts (Greek) at Victoria University of Wellington.