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Words by Maia Ingoe (she/her) and Zoe Mills (they/she)  It’s that time of year again: hordes of freshers perform the annual ritual of scurrying to find a flat before the next academic year begins. The difficulty to even be offered a flat as a first-time renter has forced our news intern to accept a flat in the ditch of Devon Street in Aro Valley (pray for him).  To save you from the same fate, we’ve put together our top tips on finding a flat. Hit up the VUWSA Advocates, Brie Keatley and Erica Schouten ( advocate@vuwsa.org.nz ), for more free advice and support.  Make a flat CV   Just like for a job application, put together a CV showcasing your flatting group. Print it out and bring it with you to viewings—it’s a sure way to prove you are interested, organised, and memorable. A good flat CV should have photos of everyone—not your drunk pics from Shady Lady though, thanks. Include your current occupation (Student or working? Full time or part time?) as well as any renting history. Include a phone number for references from the halls, as well as a character reference and employment reference. Property managed tenancies will likely need you to fill this info out on an online form, so it’s a good idea to have it organised before applying.   Facebook is your bestie   Act like a boomer and spend all your spare scrolling minutes on Facebook. TradeMe is good, but Facebook is where the most rentals are. Most flats have filled up all their viewing slots within minutes of being posted, so get in quick. Comment that you’ve messaged, so you don’t get lost in requests.  Pin these groups to the top of your feed so that you don’t miss a post: Wellington - Rooms/Flats/Apartments/Flatmates, Flats and Rooms for Rent Wellington NZ, Flats & Flatmates - Wellington, Wellington Flatmates & Rentals, Flatmates Wanted Wellington, and of course, Vic Deals. There’s Facebook groups for all your specific needs, such as Wellington Pet Friendly Rentals, or Queer Housing Network NZ - Wellington.

Words by Xavier Farrow-Francis (any/all) 1. BB/ANG3L  by Tinashe Since splitting from her major label and going independent in 2019, Tinashe has been on a creative stream upward, sounding more liberated as an artist and fresher with each album. BB/ANG3L  is an all-time high for her, as she fuses sensual R&B with sleek and futuristic dance beats. Throughout her career, Tinashe has proven time and time again to push boundaries and experiment with her sound, but on this album it culminates in her glossiest, and most cohesive and addictive project to date. Listen if you like:  KAYTRANADA, Shygirl, Disclosure *Genres:  alternative R&B, UK garage, UK bass 2. My Back Was a Bridge For You to Cross  by ANOHNI and the Johnsons ANOHNI has always been an incredibly powerful voice in art pop, constantly using her music to advocate for the earth, for queer identity, for love. On her latest offering, she delivers one of the most emotionally affecting albums of this year. While her lyrics have always been stirring, she writes and sings with such potency as she croons about life, death, grief, and humanity, with soulful and rocky instrumentation as her accompaniment. Delicate, confronting, stunning, and heart-wrenching all at once, My Back Was a Bridge For You to Cross  is a masterclass in conjuring emotional responses in the listener, and there isn’t anything that makes this strong of an impression from 2023. Listen if you like:  Nina Simone, Lou Reed, Nick Cave, PJ Harvey Genres:  soul, singer-songwriter, chamber pop, art rock 3. softscars  by yeule An album like this one is really fascinating, because despite its penchant for technological sci-fi and fantasy themes, it still feels in tune with what it feels like to experience and struggle with depression and connection in the hyperdigital age. It’s a crackly and frenetic, but fragile glitch rock record. Even when considering its depressive nature, it sweetly encapsulates the distance you feel while trying to love yourself and the people around you. The glitchy pop aesthetics that permeated yeule’s former work are still present here, but they work together with a hazy shoegaze soundscape. They coalesce to create a body of work that feels like it was made not only for us, but for people thousands of years down the line, struggling with being alive in their cybernetic life. yeule provides an experienced and loving shoulder to cry on in softscars , and it’s uniquely touching. Listen if you like:  Wolf Alice, Grimes, Charli XCX, Beach House Genres : shoegaze, indie rock, glitch pop 4. Disenchanter  by Alaska Reid If you’re a sucker for songs that tell stories in a narrative style, Alaska Reid’s Disenchanter  is the album for you. Listening through the album, Reid conjures up recollections of road trips through an icy, wintery North America with her country-tinged and synth-inflected style of indie pop rock, and ruminative, introspective coming-of-age lyrics about a melancholy life. It makes for a magically windswept listening experience, not dissimilar to reading a book of essays written by a woman who wishes for better. Listen if you like:  Big Thief, oklou, Sky Ferreira, Magdalena Bay Genres : indie pop, singer-songwriter, Americana, alt-country 5. SUPERNOVA  by Ralphie Choo Oozing creativity and packed to the brim with sonic surprises, SUPERNOVA  is unlike anything I’ve heard. Taking clear inspiration from the modern classics—think Frank, Kanye, Travis—Ralphie Choo morphs so many sounds into one package, leaving your jaw agape for much of its runtime. Sometimes luscious R&B cuts, sometimes raging dembow bangers, it’s a wickedly cheeky debut record made all the more impressive when considering he made it almost entirely himself. Ralphie Choo is certainly going to be an artist to watch over the coming years. Listen if you like:  Frank Ocean, BROCKHAMPTON, ROSALÍA Genres:  neoperreo, glitch pop, experimental hip hop, Latin electronic Obviously, there’s tons of stuff that’s really great out now (or about to be) that I just didn’t have the space to go in depth about, but still want to point your attention towards. I’m super excited about these releases, and this is my last opportunity to get you to listen to them, so here they are! I’VE LISTENED + OUT NOW: Playing Robots Into Heaven  by James BlakeListen if you like:  Four Tet, Burial, Jai Paul, SBTRKT Genres:  future garage, dubstep, UK bass Get Up  by NewJeansListen if you like:  K-pop girl groups, Troye Sivan, PinkPantheress Genres : K-pop, UK garage, R&B Ooh Rap I Ya  by George Clanton *Listen if you like:* Tame Impala, Moby, Blank Banshee, ~vaporwave~*Genres:* chillwave, trip hop, neo-psychedelia Sorry I Haven’t Called  by VagabonListen if you like:  Billie Eilish, Jessie Ware, King Princess Genres:  alt-pop, R&B, indie pop Powders  by EartheaterListen if you like:  Yves Tumor, Caroline Polachek, Arca Genres:  art pop, trip hop, psychedelic folk HAVEN’T LISTENED + UPCOMING: Ambrosia  by Namasenda (out now!)Genres : alternative R&B, dance FEVER DREAM  by COUCOU CHLOE (out now!)Genres : hip house, freak trap Perfect Picture  by Hannah Diamond (out now!)Genres : electropop, futurepop Javelin  by Sufjan Stevens (out now!)Genres : chamber folk, indie folk Something To Give Each Other  by Troye Sivan (this Friday!)Genres : dance-pop, electropop SAVED!  by Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter (20 October)Genres : appalachian folk, avant-gospel Lahai  by Sampha (20 October)Genres : alternative R&B, neo-soul Nekkuja  by Marina Herlop (27 October)Genres : avant-folk, glitch pop 1989 (Taylor’s Version)  by Taylor Swift (27 October)Genres : Taylor Fucking Swift!!!!! Sweet Justice  by Tkay Maidza (3 November)Genres : pop rap, experimental hip-hop

Words by Kiran Patel (he/they) 2016 “So baby, pull me closer In the back seat of your Rover That I know you can’t afford Bite that tattoo on your shoulder” It’s the tenth time this week that I’ve heard this song, but I don’t mind. I’m suffering in the Vic Books queue with only five hours of sleep, patiently waiting for my flat white (cow’s milk) in a takeaway cup while pondering whether Harambe truly deserved to be shot. The First Year Panic™ effuses amongst us all, each person avoiding eye contact with one another in fear of being perceived.  I grab my coffee and plug my wired earphones back in, ensuring they’re securely looped under my shirt in case of an accidental and fatally embarrassing door handle catch. Racing past The LAB with minutes to spare before my lecture starts, I tactically weave in between the crowd of skinny jeans, denim jackets, and man buns that fill up campus. Snippets of conversations float past me in a haze:  “Oi, James’ party is gonna be LIT!”   “Fam, what time should we head to Estab tonight?” It’s only morning, but the restlessness for Friday night is palpable across the main building.  I slip into KK203, and, as per usual, my STATS193 lecture has already started. My acne-filled cheeks bubble up with a heat that’s all too familiar, and I’m awkwardly scrambling for the first seat I can find among the sea of two hundred other Arts majors. Head empty, no thoughts, I yank my damp notebook from my satchel bag that’s also empty without the reading notes I should have done. But even with $10,000 of student debt on my shoulders, my English Literature degree has never been the main priority of university. I’m already sending snapchats of my sweaty face to my Top 3 Best Friends, catching up on Harambe memes in the group chat, and deducing whether anyone has secured a booth for the day.  Tapping my pen aimlessly on the notebook that’ll remain blank for the rest of class, I daydream my way through the entire lecture with the possibilities of this weekend. The climate crisis and Trump’s presidency seem too far away to even think about. The only thing I’m worried about is which Hallensteins flannel shirt I’m wearing to Rowan’s party tonight.  2023 For Jia, a freshly 18 first-year VUW student, her uni day usually follows a similar routine.  “It starts with coffee, which helps with the right-of-passage walk up to the Kelburn campus. Then I go to classes, procrastinate, study back at my hall, procrastinate some more, and then head into town for my part-time job. It’s pretty basic.”  As a Writing Intern at Salient  and short film creator, she hopes her Bachelor of Laws and Bachelor of Arts conjoint will lead to a stable career.  “I’ve always known I wanted to pursue a career in the creative arts, but Law is helpful in giving me skills I’ll probably need in the future. There’s a lot of instability in the arts industry, and it’s a big fear of mine. I definitely want to do something that allows me to be creative, but I also want to have a sense of stability.”  Unlike the 30-second studying montages and raging parties she has seen in her favourite coming-of-age films, starting university came with the realisation that she’d need to strike a healthy balance between her academic and career pursuits, her part-time job, and having a social life.  “The psychological adjustment from high school to being entirely self-managed was pretty difficult at first, so I definitely had to set aside my expectations of what the university experience would be like. I’m learning to embrace the less fun side of things, like the 2 a.m. Red Bull study sessions, but also try to work in fun things around that.”  2016 With none of the foresight that Jia has, after class I saunter to the booths on level 2 of the library to “study” with my friends. Ah, the booths. Those nasty, squeaky, mould-coloured seats covered with stains I have no wish to identify. The booths still give me the same rush as when Priyal, formerly a friend-of-a-friend and now best friend, first asked if I wanted to come and study with her group a few months ago. As an awkward introvert in high school, it felt like someone had offered me the winning Lotto ticket. That one question sparked the possibility that finally I might just get to live out the coming of age montage I had always dreamed of having. But of course, I had to play it cool. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” I said nonchalantly, my entire body already humming the tune to ‘Sweet Resistance’ as we headed over to the booths. My life changed forever.  Now, sliding into the booth with a comfortable familiarity, I get caught up on the latest goss. “Did you see that Instagram just introduced a stories thing like Snapchat?” “Guys, I really don’t wanna go out with this whole clown epidemic going on!”  Like everyone’s favourite passenger princess, or booth bohemith if you will, I love to just sit there and take it all in; the drama, the gossip, the romantic developments in my friends’ lives that feel life-altering in the moment. It’s like I’m experiencing it all from far away, but not in a bad way. There's a vague sense of future nostalgia bubbling up inside of me, and I have this desperate need to capture these moments, these feelings, our youth, and bottle it for safekeeping.  Five hours later, our laptops idly sitting open and pens yet to be used, the plan for tonight has been cemented. We’ll head to the McDonald’s at Readings for a bit, catch the train back to Hannah’s for pres, and then head to Rowan’s Drummond Street flat when we’re all the right amount of tipsy. That same rush of possibility bubbles up again. I link arms with my friend Terena and the seven of us march down Kelburn hill, the cold September sun just beginning to set.  2023 As one of the only people that came from her school in Auckland to VUW, the halls have become the centrepoint of Jia’s life at university. “I came in knowing absolutely no one. I met my friends at my hall on the first day, and my whole floor has become such a community. I can’t compare it to anywhere else.” Given the structured and close-knit environment, the halls played a big part in helping her find a close group of friends within a pretty short period of time. “I can’t believe we only met six months ago. I can’t imagine any other circumstance where you’d meet a bunch of people, become super close and be set on living with them for the next five years.” However, since then, her friendships have developed far beyond simply sharing the same space. “The forced proximity definitely helped in the first few weeks, but we’ve surpassed all that now.” Beyond the halls, after a long week stuck in the trenches of their busy first-year lives, her friend group usually find themselves at the Oriental Bay boat sheds during the evenings. “The boatsheds have really defined the main experiences of our friend group. Before we all lived in Wellington, we used to see uni students all sitting on the boat sheds and thinking ‘that’s gonna be us one day’. And now it is us.”  2016 I have that same feeling now, looking back at our reflection in the Ivy mirrors as we’re dragging our feet up the stairs. It’s 4 a.m. and everything’s finally closing, but we’ve all been secretly ready to get food for two hours. The four Smirnoff Ices that I downed while we sprinted for the train six hours ago only gave me a temporary sugar rush and stomach pains, and there was no chance I was spending $7 for a drink at the club. So, like any brave soldier deathly afraid of FOMO and the shame of tapping out early, I pushed the exhaustion down and forced myself to dance to ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber like it hadn't been playing for five clubs straight.  We walk fifty metres across the road to the Manners Street Burger King, mid-bitch about our de-facto group leader who we’ve finally figured out is a bit of a narcissist. As per usual, she went home a few hours earlier after saying that town was “d-buzz” and she “wasn’t feeling the vibes”, which we now realised was her covert way of making us feel bad if we were having fun and she wasn’t. But tonight was different. Instead of giving in like the people-pleasers we were, we all decided to stay out without her. And we’re glad we did. Sitting down at an icky booth for the second time today, our conversations whiplash between how many McDonald’s Monopoly tickets we’ve collected and what life will be like when our parents die. The combination of our manic energy in this grungy Burger King is making me dizzy, and my mental camera tries to capture this exact moment. We eat soggy fries and take 5 a.m. Snapchat group selfies for clout, before finally rock-paper-scissorsing to see who orders the Uber back to Rowan’s.  For the first time, it feels like maybe we don’t need our group leader as the extroverted through line anymore. Maybe we’re actually pretty close on our own. 2023 Jia feels that there’s a lot of weight put on being a first-year. Most people in her classes seem to have a “prodigy mindset”, and she feels pressure to be “as successful as possible when you’re young”. On top of that, the expectation for everyone to have a “memorable first year” often makes her debate “whether I’m doing something because I want to do it, or am I just doing it because I feel that I should?’”  She looks back at her high school days with a certain nostalgia, missing the times when “those assignments felt so important” and she could “make mistakes without life-changing consequences”. However, she also feels like the current period of her life is pretty nostalgic too. Reminiscing on her year so far, she feels she’d had “pretty much all of my coming of age moments this year, rather than high school like I thought. When I think about the year that I’ve had the most life changing experiences, it would definitely be 2023.”  “It’s weird feeling nostalgic for the present. I’m already seeing these experiences as a montage in my brain with a David Bowie playing in the background,” she says.  ~ After returning to uni this year, I find myself looking back a lot more. Even having a narcissistic group leader was kind of great for the plot and our bond in retrospect.  Paradoxically, the more distant I get from 2016, the more vivid those memories of being a first-year are. I’ve always loved being the “remember when…” friend. But since being back on campus, the memories seem to haunt me now more than ever. Like when I go through level 2 of the library and gaze at the area where the booths no longer are, or see the once lively Reading Cinemas stand before me like a decrepit haunted house. I cling even more tightly to these memories, knowing that the physical spaces where they once belonged have long since evaporated. And yet, somehow, I wish it could all be real again.  I miss the times when things felt complicated but were actually very simple; when the uncertainty was scary but filled with exciting possibilities for the future.  But after listening to Jia, I’m also realising that that’s okay. Perhaps these memories are so significant because they’re happening for the first time, when the puzzle of adulthood is new and shiny and you’re trying to piece it all together. Getting to do it with people you just met, who are also going through the same psychological mindfuck of being independent for the first time, is a unique, one-in-a-lifetime experience that can never be repeated. While it’s easy to feel like I’m someone’s boomer grandpa that’s trying to get in with the kids on campus, I feel grateful for the life I’ve gotten to live beyond being in my first year of university. I’m grateful to see those friendships that I made way back then grow through the years into something even more precious now.  Maybe instead of constantly reminiscing about what my life was at age 18, it’s time to start being more grateful for what my life is at 25.

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) and Maia Ingoe (she/her) VUW has become a hotspot for politicians heading to cast their vote, with Labour’s Grant Robertson and Ibrahim Omer voting in the Hub last Wednesday, and the Greens’ Tamatha Paul and James Shaw, alongside Wellington mayor Tory Whanau, voting here last Monday. Deputy Prime Minister Carmel Sepuloni showed up in support, but didn’t cast her vote.  As part of their political efforts, Grant Robertson and Wellington Central candidate Ibrahim Omer “awkwardly paraded around university, disturbing studying students to ask them if they’ve voted yet,” a bystander told Salient .  Robertson was closely followed by Study Wage For All protesters holding a banner with the words, “Only 37% of full-time students get any kind of allowance…the main culprit here is the National Government’s absurd means-testing programme.” This quote was from Robertson himself in 1996 when he was president of NZUSA. “We're holding up the sign to kind of remind him about where he's come from and what he should vote for,” said incoming VUWSA president Marcail Parkinson.  Robertson ignored the protestors until Hana Pilkinton-Ching, a Study Wage For All activist and current VUWSA campaigns officer, confronted him. “[When you were a student politician] you said that the current levels of student support were bad. Here you are, like three decades later, what are you doing about it? [...] Labour ruled out expanded eligibility to universal allowances, even though that's what you want to campaign for.” “We've done a lot over the last few years, including bringing in fees free, lifting allowances, [and] consistently lifting access to accommodation support. I know we haven't been able to do everything that you want, or that back in those days I was looking to do,” replied Robertson. The voting booth was not the only thing Grant Robertson paid a visit to, quickly turning to the Niuean Students’ Association sausage sizzle in the Tim Beaglehole Courtyard. “I’m not like the Prime Minister. I don’t eat lots of food,” Robertson said, promising to return for a sausage after he’d cast his vote.  Voting booths in the Hub are open on weekdays from 2-13 October, and voting closes overall for the 2023 General Election on 14 October.

Words by Angie Johnson (she/her)  I savour your name on my tongue still My mouth salivates as I reminisce on the flavour of how it used to feel The way it would wrap flawlessly around the individual letters Like golden honey dripping down my throat The taste is not as sweet as it once was There's the presence of a tartness Memories turned slightly sour Your smell haunts me as the thought of an old friend would Sneaking up my nose releasing a deja vu ache Let me roll around in your sheets like a child in long grass I want to walk home with a smile smacked to my face Past the old church and the trees in cages With you lingering off my neck once more I've touched another body since yours My fingers stuttered Sparks of betrayal whistling in the tips The landscape was different from the glorious terrain of your skin I would have travelled over you till my legs gave out and buckled beneath me My final resting place in your embrace I look for your perfect face in every crowd and down every street My eyes are becoming tired Reruns of grey buildings and bland expressions The world has lost its charm since you left me Bruised on my bedroom floor Can’t our eyes meet again through a coffee shop window? And dance like birds of paradise The way you said my name still echoes through my head Leaving trails of clementine sweet kisses down my eardrums The little gravel notes tickle my heartstrings Like hearing a song for the first time And knowing you’re never going to grow tired of it The inflections of your voice in the strawberry blush of the evening sky

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him)  Documents released to Salient  under the Official Information Act reveal the university ordered the removal of posters protesting staff cuts around campus ahead of Open Day. A staff member, whose name was withheld by the university, emailed the communications department in early August saying, “We have seen quite a few posters and fliers dropped across campus about “staff cuts” and “programme cuts” etc. I know we are a University and encourage freedom of speech, [...] but I don't want this to be a key focus for Open Day (given the purpose of Open Day is recruitment of new students!)”. A work order slip was then submitted requesting Campus Care “remove ‘stop the cuts’ posters dotted around the Campus ahead of the Friday 25th Open Day”. On Open Day, a video emerged of a security officer tearing Students Against Cuts (SAC) posters off a notice board in the Kirk Building, prompting widespread outrage on social media with many calling out the university for restricting students’ freedom of expression and right to protest. Some comments from both academic staff and students included calling the removal of posters “an act of silencing dissent” and “absolutely fucking disgraceful”. Staff involved had noted in earlier emails that posters on public notice boards were not allowed to be removed, and only those in areas such as windows, walls, and the columns in the Hub could be torn down. However, this was not communicated in the work order slip, and was only conveyed through a direct message at 11:20 a.m. on Open Day, 48 minutes before the video surfaced. When the university was made aware of the post, internal emails show the communications team called the situation “annoying”. “They shouldn't have been taken down. Grrr,” a staff member expressed. They responded to the outrage by releasing a statement saying the posters “were removed due to a misunderstanding”, and that the university “respects and strongly supports our students’ rights to express their views”.  The university was closely monitoring the posters discourse on social media, emailing screenshots of Twitter threads where staff and union spokespeople criticised the removal of posters. The released documents show university staff were also closely monitoring SAC’s plans for Open Day, with a staff member covertly photographing a student erecting protest posters in the Hub and emailing the image to other senior staff. A university spokesperson disputes this, saying the photo “was not taken covertly, but as part of our usual practice of informing relevant staff of activities happening on campus that might be of interest”. The university’s Chief Operating Officer, Tina Wakefield, maintains that the posters “were removed in error due to a misunderstanding”.

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) and Zöe Mills (they/she) The long-winded process of staff cuts at Victoria University of Wellington finally has an end in sight, with Vice-Chancellor Nic Smith sending an email to all staff and students on 21 September, communicating the university’s final decision for courses set to be cut. The decision is the result of the financial sustainability process started by the university in May to cover a projected $33 million deficit for 2023, caused by drops in enrollment and bungled financial decisions by past university management. Six out of the original 17 courses under review are set to be cut completely: Greek, Latin, Italian, Geophysics, Geographic Information Science, and Physical Geography. Up to 260 jobs were initially proposed for discontinuation, before an additional government tertiary boost package was announced in June, with a total of $128 million funding for all Aotearoa universities—of which VUW is to receive $12 million over two years. With the final decision, the confirmed number of redundancies has dropped to 140. Seventy-five staff members have already opted for voluntary redundancies. An additional 65 roles are expected to be dissolved through a selection pool process. Dougal McNeill, former head of the VUW Tertiary Education Union (TEU), said, “It's been a very long and a very difficult year.” “I think the question of government underfunding has come to a real head and has precipitated this crisis,” McNeill told ^Salient. “When you look at the fact that funding for the universities has not been matching inflation for a number of years, there's a problem here that the government could see coming, and didn't actually act to prevent. So I think the bulk of the blame lies with the Labour Government.” However, he also points to a “lack of vision” from the university around the courses that have been discontinued—as mostly all of them have been humanities subjects. During the consultation process, the university accepted feedback from staff and those outside the university. A total of 1290 responses from non-staff were received; 1169 of these were for humanities subjects. This is indicative of the mobilisation of staff, students, and alumni to save individual subjects. Theatre is an example—it was originally slated to be merged with English and Film, and after a large campaign involving social media and submissions, is remaining a standalone subject. Professor Jeff Tatum, a current Latin lecturer, clarified to ^Salient that although the major in Greek or Latin will be discontinued, VUW students will still be able to learn the two languages as part of a major in Classical Studies through a consortium with Otago University. This means that VUW students will still be able to attend Greek and Language classes, however, the details of this are yet to be confirmed. “Although I don’t consider this ideal, I am gratified that the university concedes the importance of Greek and Latin,” said Tatum. In the Classics department, one of two senior lecturer positions is to be made redundant by way of a selection pool. “Losing a colleague is ghastly,” Tatum said, “and unjustified, based on the figures which the VC furnished us during this process. But deplorable stuff like this is happening in several programmes. And it’s extremely unfair. Neither [senior lecturers] deserve this.” “The reality is that the university is in a desperate financial condition, but this is largely the fault of past bad management by senior leadership. And yet it is academic staff who are paying the price,” Tatum stated. Courses that have managed to escape the chopping block are not completely out of the woods yet. On 25 September, an email was sent to all Theatre staff and students informing them that while the department wasn't going to be merged with English, a significant degree of courses within the discipline were set to be cut or were under review. “Theatre remains a standalone, critical, and  practical programme at Te Herenga Waka,” wrote a university spokesperson. “We will continue to offer our popular undergraduate and postgraduate degrees, including our industry-leading MFA. […] Over the next few days we will be making final decisions about what courses will be available in 2024, and what in 2025.” Ella, a second-year Theatre student, said that while she was “very happy” to hear that Theatre would remain a standalone degree, the current uncertainty around courses is making the faculty feel “on edge”. “For a lot of us, it felt that there was no point in even finishing our degree if we weren't doing actual Theatre […] but Senior Lecturer David [O’Connell] took voluntary redundancy. And then there's two more positions potentially being made redundant.” VUWSA President Jess Ye said that while she was glad about the reduction of courses to be discontinued, it was still “such a great loss” for the university. Last Tuesday, VUWSA sent an open letter to the Tertiary Education Commission, alongside NZUSA, OUSA, and MUSA, in a scathing criticism of the institution. The letter said the TEC has severely downplayed the impact of cuts and underfunding on the tertiary education sector, claiming that the commission is biassed due to its own hand in creating the crisis. “The Education Commission hasn't been sufficiently held accountable throughout this whole crisis,” Ye told ^Salient. “I feel like there's a clear conflict of interest that undermines their ability to provide quality independent advice”. Final decisions on exactly what staff members are lined up for redundancy to be announced by 27 October.

Words by Carys Chapman-Vari (she/her) A few weeks ago, my mate put on this cool, indie-sounding artist while we were getting ready to go out. After hearing the first few lines, I was obsessed . Every friend I’ve shown Keira Batten Coogan’s (he/they) music to has had the same reaction. Ready to seek out their next tour dates and learn about their background, I was shocked when my mate told me that Keira wasn’t a major underground super-star. Well not yet, anyway. Keira, instead, is an 18-year-old first-year Media Studies student here at VUW, and was kind enough to let me interview them for this piece. Keira has been involved with music their whole life. “My whole family is super musical. […] At family events, everyone puts on performances for each other and gets into little bands. [...] It's pretty cute.” Keira’s involvement in music is all thanks to their dad, who worked as a music teacher at the same intermediate Keira attended. This led to seven consecutive years of competing at Smokefree Rockquest, which Keira said never drained them, but only motivated them to be more creative every year. Recently, Keira was named in the top ten national solo artists for Rockquest, and received a Gifted and Talented Learners grant from the Ministry of Education to record and produce their new EP Lips Are For Talking . Keira isn’t writing to fit in a genre or be labelled, but for themselves and for “people who don’t have things made for them”. “My music [aims to be] a representation for queer people and neurodivergent people. Really, it’s for anyone who finds a piece of themselves in [one of my] lyrics, a bridge, or song.” Keira describes their songwriting process as turning poetry into song lyrics, which leads to their incredibly personal sound. This blend between music and poetry is one their favourite parts of making music. “My favourite long-lasting song on the EP is ‘Waste A Pretty Girl’. The bridge that I'm really proud of is: ‘ I've learnt that politeness is safety / Does that make you think I'm in love with you baby? ’” Keira is a transparent artist and describes themselves in their Spotify bio as an artist who writes about “girlhood, queerness, and growing pains”. We struggled to find three words to describe their music, but we landed with “auto-biographical, bedroom, and comfort”. “There's not a single major event in my life I don't have a song about. It’s very weird to put it out there and have it as entertainment for people, it’s like an archive of my life on display. But it’s really cool that other people can connect with that.” So what’s up next for Keira? “Honestly, I don’t know just yet. After releasing the EP, recording and producing feels less scary. I'll probably just keep gigging. My sister’s band Cicada is who I usually perform with, but over the summer I'll probably be at Smash Palace in Gisborne.” If you want to know more, listen to Lips Are For Talking  and follow Keira on Spotify and Instagram. Instagram: @_kkeira Spotify and Apple Music: Keira Batten Coogan

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him) As the election draws nearer, political commentators start to wet themselves with anticipation, spout hot takes on potential electoral outcomes—but all too often, their commentary is unfruitful. I wanted to speak to the only person with the ability to know for sure what’s in store for election day, so I travelled to Christchurch to sit down with psychic medium, Ron L. Griffiths. Ron greets me from his well-manicured garden, wearing a figure-hugging floral waistcoat and chunky silver rings. Leading me into his mystical studio, he prepares for the reading by lighting candles and inviting spirits into the room. As we take a seat, Ron reveals that this isn't the first time he's predicted an election. It was 2016, in Queenstown, where he claims he successfully predicted Jacinda Ardern’s rise to power. Ron says he saw Ardern “walking along on holiday” near Lake Wakatipu, and asked if he could read her palm. “I said, ‘You're going to be the next Prime Minister.’” It was a big call, but Ron says it's proof of his abilities. “I stake my reputation on that election alone”. As soft spiritual music plays through a bluetooth speaker, he pulls out a velvet sack of stones, known in the psychic world as runes. The first rune pulled from his sack was blue, which Ron said represents the National Party. The rune was engraved with two people kissing, illustrating the party’s “togetherness” and unity. “I do think that National have got it together in terms of supporting each other.” The second rune was pink, “slightly off, but I'm gonna say red”. This was Labour’s rune, and painted a grim picture for the party. “The runes are telling me that, basically, Labour just can't keep it together,” Ron stated. The third rune was black and grey, which Ron believed represented Winston Peters as a storm cloud looming over the election. “He has been in a grey area for a while, [... but] Winston comes through and chooses National because they are just more together and Labour are at a crossroads.” Ron’s runes offered a brutal verdict for the left, predicting a National and ACT government will reign victorious come 14 October. “It pains me a little bit, but there you go,” he said. “Chris Hipkins will lose the election.” Ron went silent for a second, before dropping his next bombshell. “I get a feeling that Ginny Andersen, I think she's gonna be the next leader of the Labour Party.” Ron says the Hutt South MP will take over Labour’s leadership after Chris Hikins’ resignation following the election loss. “She’ll give Chris Luxon a run for his money next election.” Ron pulled out his “primo deck” of tarot cards, instructing me to ask the deck a question. I ask if there will be any shocking scandals this election, and according to Ron’s cards, we’re in for a dirty campaign. I pull the Queen of Cups, which depicts a woman wearing green and red dipping her toes in the water. He postulated that this represents a woman from the left of politics, in trouble for her overconfident nature. “She's about to fall into the water,” he said. “Her head's in the clouds.” As for the minor parties, Ron said ACT’s “time has come, I think [David Seymour] is gonna do okay, probably Deputy Prime Minister.” He pulled the ten of pentacles, perhaps indicating that they would get 10% of the vote. Ron pulled the “rebirth” card for Te Pāti Māori, which depicts a child with a large rabbit. “Hunt with the hounds, run with the hare,” he said, meaning the party will “just go with whoever is going to be beneficial at the time”. And the Greens? They'll do well, according to Ron, “because of the climate change and that type of thing”. As the reading wrapped up, I asked Ron to shed some light on what percentage each party would get. Ron declined, saying he’s “never been a number cruncher”. Ron’s prophecy may not provide precise percentages for election night, but his political projections pose tantalising questions: Will Labour overcome their runic troubles? Will Winston Peters return? And what scandal awaits the overconfident lady of the left?

Words by Tarifa Laban (she/her) I’ve always struggled with what box to tick on forms that only give you one option for your ethnicity. It begs me to consider: well, am I Samoan, or am I European? I’ve ticked the latter more often. (Something I am ashamed of). I’m not really too sure why I automatically put myself into that bracket. I think I’m afraid that if you were to see me in person, after I had ticked Samoan, you may think I’ve made a mistake. My identity crisis. I sit in rooms, the only brown face, and pretend like I don’t really have a care for my culture. Meanwhile, I cringe inside as jokes with racist connotations become normalised. I admire the ones more in touch with their Pacific Island cultures and wish I had a completely different reality. A reality where I didn’t feel like I had to be one way around my Polynesian friends, and another way around my palangi friends. There’s probably other people out there who live this double life like me. Who don’t know which bracket they fit into, or what box to tick on the form. Our identity crisis. I want you to know that I’m trying to find a place to fit. I don’t speak Samoan, but I yearn to. I can’t dance like my ancestors, but I could (I think). I’m not knowledgeable about my family tree, but it lives in me. I can feel them. I look like them. It’s where my melanin is from. I look brown. But am I? Am I a true Samoan? Whether I am or not, I’m still called a coconut, and then I’m also called an Oreo. The worst one is when I’m called plastic. Plastic. Like something that’s fake? I don’t want you to think I’m plastic. How do you even define that word? Why have I become your definition? Your identity crisis. I’m the token brown girl in your posters, your leadership team, your academic prizegiving, your advertisements, your, your, your… But sometimes I’m not. Sometimes you leave me out because you don’t understand me. Or maybe I leave myself out because I don’t understand me too. Maybe I am plastic. But that would imply that I’m fake. I’m not fake. I’m trying. My identity crisis. Everyone has their own story. Maybe we are all similar in one way or another. Maybe we’re all just trying to understand the complexities of being human. The complexities of our identities. What’s an identity again?

Words by Grace Fakahau (she/her) As the stars twinkle in the night sky, they twinkle like us, the grandchildren in my grandparents’ eyes. As the sun rises and the sky light sweeps the darkness of the night away, I rise too, in my grandparents' home. As the pan of eggs seethes and toast jumps up from the toaster’s heat, I jump to the large breakfast table and prepare for my grandfather’s prayer. As the food is passed down the table for breakfast, I am not only eager for the arrival of the food, but also for my grandfather's stories. My grandfather, who sailed the sea in the 1990s, tells me about my Pacific heritage. He tells me about the days he climbed up the coconut trees, the peaceful Sunday mornings at church with young children belting hymns from their little chests, the warm sun that shines through the sky and pigments his skin, the days he spent swimming swiftly through the clear waves at the beach with my family, the days of hard yards, learning cultural dances and performing them to his village, the days of showering in the rain while the warmth of the sun beams onto him, the days of riding his children to school on the back of his motorbike, he wants me to relive those days and experience the joy in my motherland: island joy, just as he had in my homeland. He awaits the day I head to the home I have never been to, the day where he can give me a tour of his village, the village that lights up at night from the full moon and stars sparkling in the night sky. He awaits the day we head to the friendly islands together. But how long does he have to wait before my island finds itself underwater? To find my island sunk? To find my people evacuated? To find my land gone? How long do I have left until I find my island under the sea? How long do I have left to bury my elders in their homelands? How long until it’s too late? History has been erased by the creation of a friendly yellow sponge. ‘Bikini Bottom’ is what they call my long-lost friend, Bikini Atoll. But like the sole on the bottom of one's shoe, we are stood on by the world. We’re forgotten, because apparently, we depend on the rest of the world. We are called leeches, sucking the resources from the developed countries around us, sucking their economy from the land—the land in which they stole, sucking their pockets dry, sucking. They say we depend too much, so we suck. My history fades as they parade on my stage. But they need to see that we are the ones who aid. We are the market for their ‘stuff’. We are the origins of their economy. We grew their agriculture. We lost our land and culture to grow theirs. If anyone is dependent, it’s them. They are the leech, depending on my islands for an Instagram picture at a beach, depending on my islands to book their tropical holiday homes, they contribute to my islands sinking through climate change alone. We are exploited. My Pacific islands face the effects of climate change today. The flooding, the rain, and storm surges increase as the floods of people at church on a Sunday morning decrease. The vibrant worshipping voices that steam up the warm Sunday mornings are now silent as they await the storm to pass and the sea to calm. The land that is my own home now belongs to the sea. My islands continue to sink into the sea as the developed government continues to sink into its caucus bench. The sea will rise, and my islands will sink, my ancestor's lands will soon become extinct unless the government of this so-called developed nation acts on its proposed climate emergency. Will I even be able to visit my islands, a home where my ancestors lay, and my people pray? Pray for the water to keep from rising and sinking my islands. Pray, for the very water that connects my islands, will sink my islands. Tonga, I fear losing her. This climate crisis is more than just the trees falling and the sea rising. It is the children laughing and giggling to each other as they walk through the floods up to their waistline, holding bags of fruit above their heads. It is the father who holds his son as he prays before the cyclone hits their village. It is the food that’s given out for the price of love. It is the churches where the village sleeps during the storm as one big family. These actions of resilience are mistaken as a sign that we’re okay. As my ancestors above look over me, they ask why I am crying. They ask why their islands are dying. I try to explain this climate crisis as a whole, but I’m focusing below, as I tulou between their headstones, sinking. As my voice breaks to save my islands, my ancestors ache as they sink into the dirty sea in silence. I will fight to save them. I will fight to save the Pacific. For my ancestors who sailed the Moana, who were raided in their homes and on the streets, hoping for a lifestyle filled with endless opportunities for me, I raise my voice. For my islands where my family lives and ancestors are buried, sea levels rise as my land sinks in a hurry, I raise my voice. For my islands that you book for your ‘tropical’ holiday yet ignore the effects of this climate change sinking us, I raise my voice. For my brown, Tongan, minority raised, child of immigrant parents, Salvation Army, Good Will, holey socks and shoes self, I raise my voice. For my ancestors, for my islands, for the hood. I raise my voice for my grandfather's stories.

Words by Porita Fruean (she/her) What comes to mind when I ask you, “What do you think of when you think of the Pacific Islands?” Let me help you. I am sure you think of white sandy beaches, crystal clear turquoise waters, and swaying palm trees. But what you might not know is that behind these serene shores lies a treasure trove of humour, quirks, and downright hilarious traditions that make up the ‘Real Island Way’. So, let's dive in. I’ll introduce you to the humorous side of these paradisiacal lands. Let’s discover what sets the Pacific Islands apart from the rest of the world!  We islanders have our own way of uncanny knack for turning every situation into laugh-out-loud moments. So prepare to chuckle your way through the hilarious world of the Pacific Islanders. ISLAND TIME Ah, Island Time, the mystical realm where clocks are just fancy decorations and schedules are as flexible as a yoga instructor. In this enchanted land, minutes turn into hours, hours into days. The phrase ‘I'll be there in five minutes’ translates to ’I’ll see you sometime this week, maybe’. Let’s imagine what it’s like to make plans on Island Time for a moment... You set a meeting for 2 p.m, but when you arrive, the whole island is on siesta and your watch is broken. Islanders have mastered the art of  being fashionably late  where being on time means showing up before sunset. We islanders laugh in the face of deadlines and give procrastination a new tropical twist. On Island Time, you'll often hear phrases like ‘soon come’ or ‘Fiji time’ (which is essentially a polite way of saying ‘whenever’). Island Time lives within its own world where ‘rush hour’ is replaced by ‘leisurely saunter hour’—trust me, you're more likely to see a sloth racing a turtle than anyone in a hurry. In the Outside World, we have to bend ourselves into becoming slaves to the clock, trying to cram as much as possible into every second. But on Island Time, each moment is savoured like a ripe mango, and there's always extra room for one more joke, one more song, and one more sunset. So, the next time you find yourself on Island Time, remember to take a deep breath, relax, and embrace the laughter that comes with living life in the slow lane. THE ‘NO WORRIES’ PHILOSOPHY In the Pacific, ‘No Worries’ has been transformed from a phrase and become a philosophy that Pacific Islanders live by. The ‘No Worries’ philosophy is a delightful glimpse into a world where stress takes a back seat, and life is lived with a perpetual grin. It's a way of life, an unwritten code that keeps all islanders consistently chilled out. In a world where people's brows furrow over every little inconvenience, Pacific Islanders have a knack for finding humour and happiness in the most unexpected places. Whether it's a boat mishap, a sudden downpour on the beach, or a coconut falling from the sky (yes, it happens!), our response is almost always met with a carefree shrug and a chuckle, “It’s no worries, we’ll be all good.” It's as if Islanders have unlocked the secret to eternal happiness—refusing to let life's curveballs disrupt their need for tranquillity. In the face of adversity, we exude a sense of calm and optimism, it's downright contagious. Islanders understand that life is a series of ebbs and flows, and fretting over every wave only leads to more unnecessary stress. The ‘No Worries’ philosophy isn't an excuse for laziness; it's a reminder to be present and live in the moment, not to let life's hiccups dictate your mood or take away your happiness. So, the next time you're bogged down by the daily grind, take a page from the Pacific Islanders' book and remember: life is better when you don't sweat the small stuff, and sometimes, the best way to navigate the rough seas of life is with a sunny smile and a genuine ‘No worries, mate!’ FLIP-FLOPPING LIFE AWAY On the sun-soaked Pacific islands, there's a fashion trend that's turning heads and tickling toes: it’s flip-flops every day! Yes, you read that right—Pacific Islanders have taken footwear to a whole new level of casual, and it's causing quite a splash. While the rest of the world debates the merits of sneakers, sandals, and stilettos, our island-dwelling friends have declared, “Why bother?” We've embraced flip-flops with such fervour that even the fanciest of occasions call for these rubbery wonders. Imagine attending a wedding ceremony with the groom in a crisp tuxedo and the bride in a stunning white gown, both sporting matching flip-flops bedazzled with seashells and palm fronds. It's a sight to behold! And let's not forget the hilarious pitter-patter of flip-flops echoing through the church as the bride walks down the aisle. But it doesn't stop at weddings. Pacific Islanders wear flip-flops to job interviews, business meetings, and even diplomatic summits. It's become a symbol of their laid-back lifestyle, and they're proving that you can negotiate peace in a pair of thong sandals just as effectively as in a stuffy suit. So, next time you're agonising over your shoe selection, take a leaf out of the Pacific Islanders' book and embrace the flip-flop revolution. Who needs high heels when you can have high laughs and high tides? SUNDAY IS FOR CHURCH AND NAPS Church in the islands carries a unique and deeply rooted significance, blending faith, culture, and profound connection to the natural world. The islands, with their breathtaking landscapes and close-knit communities, have nurtured a distinct religious experience that enriches the lives of all the island’s inhabitants. On Sunday mornings, the resonant tolling of church bells beckons islanders from their homes, a harmonious call to gather in places of worship often adorned with vibrant tropical flowers and vibrant colours. These church buildings stand as architectural gems, reflecting a fusion of colonial, indigenous, and contemporary designs, each telling a story of our rich cultural heritage. Islanders, dressed in their Sunday best, arrive at these places of worship not only to fulfil their religious duties, but also to foster a sense of unity within their communities. The church serves as a sanctuary for spiritual reflection, providing solace and guidance in the face of life's challenges. Hymns sung with passion and the soothing cadence of scripture readings create a unique melodic tapestry that resonated throughout the islands. In island communities, the church is more than a religious institution; it's a cornerstone of social life. After the service, gatherings spill onto lush church grounds, where families and friends share meals, laughter, and stories. These communal moments reinforce the bonds that hold islanders together, celebrating the diversity of their traditions. Yet, the islands offer more than spiritual sanctuary within their churches. Nature, with its awe-inspiring beauty, plays a profound role in religious life. Many churches are strategically situated to frame stunning vistas of the sea, mountains, or lush forests. Congregants often find spiritual connection in the serene landscapes that surround them, strengthening their faith as they contemplate the divine within the breathtaking natural world. In the islands, church is more than a Sunday obligation; it's a vibrant mosaic of faith, culture, community, and appreciating nature. It stands as a testament to the enduring importance of spirituality in the lives of islanders, woven seamlessly into the beautiful and intricate tapestry of their daily existence. In the hilarious world of the ‘Real Island Way’, our journey through the quirks and oddities of life on a deserted island has been nothing short of a rollercoaster ride. From coconut-powered Wi-Fi to hermit crab fashion shows, we've explored it all. ~ As we wrap up our adventure exploring the Real Island Way, it's clear that the Pasifika way is all about embracing the cheerful absurdity of it all.  It's about finding joy in the simple pleasures, like sunbathing next to a palm tree with a quirky sense of humour. It's about discovering that your only companions are a bunch of chatty parrots who insist on critiquing your cooking skills. In the end, the Real Island Way teaches us that laughter is the ultimate survival tool. It's the secret ingredient that turns a mundane coconut into a hilarious comedy prop and transforms a lonely night into a stand-up comedy show for the ages. So, as we bid adieu to our imaginary island paradise, let's remember to take a piece of that Real Island Way with us wherever we go. Because when life gets tough, a good laugh and a dash of absurdity can make even the most challenging situations feel like a tropical getaway.