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(Words by Tessa Keena - She/her - Te Ātiawa) Kuia Sometimes, I spend so much time  looking in the mirror trying to see you. I make too much noise putting cutlery away and hear bracelets move over your wrists. When my knuckles get tough from going outside in winter I don’t moisturise them. I run my fingers over the creases like I used to rub my face against your hands and cheeks. I wish I could be you standing in your pink dressing gown by the river and at the same time be the kid running up to you with a million questions. If I speak from so deep inside me that I untie my tongue from fear’s grip I am as close to you as I was  when you sat next to me at dinner. All these times, I am trying,  at the very least, to thank you. All these times, I am everything because of you. Kuia  He wā ōna ka nui hoki taku te wā e pau nei i a au e titiro ana ki te whakaata me kore e kitea koe He nui rawa taku hoihoi i a au e whakahoki maitai ana, ā, ka rongo i ngā kōmore e nekeneke ana i te kawititanga o te ringaringa. Ka pūioio ana ōku monamona nō te putanga atu i te takurua kāre e monokutia ana e au. Ka pā taku ringa ki ngā hākorukoru. Pērā i te mirimiria o aku kanohi ki ō ringaringa, ki ō pāpāringa. E popori ana ko koe kē ahau e tū nei me tō kahu ānewa māwhero. i te taha o te awa, otirā, ko te tamaiti e oma ana ki a koe, e ui nei i ngā pātai miriona. Mehemea ka puta taku kōrero i taku puku tonu, ā, ka wetekina taku arero i te ngau a mataku, he pērā taku tata ki a koe i tō nohonga mai ki taku taha i te kai o te pō. Katoa, i ēnei wā, kei te ngana ahau, Kia tutuki te iti rawa, te mihi ki a koe. Katoa, i ēnei wā, nāu nei au. Moko Sometimes, when I spend too much time  looking in the mirror I can see you. I laugh so loudly  at my brother’s stories and hear your voice echo off the walls. When my body is able to move without getting tired I don’t stop running. I go past the dairy and cafe like I’m showing you  all the places I used to hang out. I wish I could meet you and ask a million questions about the world you live in and at the same time sit beside the river in silence and watch you skim rocks across it. If I think about the way you will speak I want that to happen right now. You are so close to this world when I sing or try to make things better. All these times, you  remind me who I am.  One day, I hope  to thank you in person. Moko He wā ōna, ka nui rawa te paunga o te wā i a au e titiro ana ki te whakaata, ka kitea koe.  Ka pukukata ahau ki ngā paki a taku tungāne, ā, ka rangona tō reo e paoro ana i ngā pātū. Ka pakari ana taku tinana me te kore i wherū, ka mārohirohi taku oma.  Ka pāhi i te toa me te kāmuri.  pērā i taku whakaatu atu ki a koe ngā wāhi katoa i haere ai au E popori ana ki tūtakina ai tāua kia ui au i ngā pātai miriona. e pā ana ki te ao e noho nā koe, orua tonu, te noho ngū ki te taha o te awa me te mātaki i a koe e whakaripiripi kōhatu ana. Mehemea ka whakaaro ake au ki te āhua o tō kupu, ko taku hiahia kia pērā ināianei tonu nei. Kei te tino tata koe ki tēnei ao nōku ka waiata, ka ngana rānei ki te whakapai. Katoa, i ēnei wā, nāhau ahau i whakamahara ko wai rā ahau.  E manako ana, he rā tōna, ka mihi au ki a koe, ā-tinana nei.

Words by: Reni Broughton (She/they - Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Ngāti Ruanui, Ngāruahine, Ngāti Whātua ki Kaipara, Ngāpuhi) Whaia te Mana Motuhake: Ko te huarahi noa iho o te ora ki te whawhai areare o ngāi iwi taketake katoa. I mōhio ahau i te wā i whakaae ki te mahi, he [ ] Māori au. I wawata noa au, kāore au e pērā - ka whai hua kē taku tūranga me taku mahi, ka whai pāpātanga taku mahi i runga anō i ngā hiahia o te Māori (arā te manaakitanga me te manarite, ko te tikanga ka tutuki aua mea) Engari, kua 9 marama e mahi ana au i “taku mahi moemoeā” kua pau katoa te hau,kua pokea au e te mahi, e ngana ana ki te whawhai i tētahi ahurea me tētahi pūnaha e kaupare tangata ana, e whakaturi ana, e takahi mana ana i te iwi Māori. Ehara tēnei i te wheako hou, i te wheako motuhake rānei. He māori rawa tēnei wheako ānō nei he ōrite te kōrero ka rongo koe mai i tō māmā, i tētahi o ō hoa rānei i a kourua e inu tī ana, e tangi ana rānei whai muri i tētahi wiki nui i te mahi.  I knew when I accepted the job that I was a token Māori hire. I naively hoped that I wouldn’t be – that I could make my role and my mahi matter, that I would be able to create impact and change that aligns with what māori have been asking for (like basic respect and equality at the bare minimum). But I’m now nine months into a should-be dream job, feeling burnt out and fragile from the workload of trying to battle a culture and system that inherently excludes, ignores and disempowers Māori. This is NOT a new or unique experience, and it is such a common occurrence that this could be the same story you hear from your mum or your mates over a cup of tea and tears after a hard week at work. Me pono taku kōrero, kei te āwangawanga au. Ko mātou te reanga e tū hei ātete taketake? I roto i te wāhi māhi, ā he whakamataku te wāhi hei takahi. Ki te tino māori tēnei wheako arā, ko te paunga o te hau me te kaikiritanga i waenga i ngā kaimahi Māori, kei hea hoki ngā puka tohutohu e whakamārama ana me pēhea te puta? Me pēhea te noho haumaru? Me pēhea hoki e kore ai whakapau kaha tino wawe nei i ā tātou aramahi? Kāore ahau i te hiahia ki te āwangawanga, ki te whakapōuri rānei i ngā tāngata i mua i te tīmatanga o ā tātou aramahi. Engari i hiahia kē au ki te whakamihi i te pae o te pakanga ka takahia e tātou. E hiahia ana au kia rite tātou: arā kia kite ai tātou i ngā tohu mate o te tāmi nahanaha, ka mutu kia mōhio ai tātou ki ngā rautaki ka taea te tangata te tiaki i a ia anō i roto i aua horopaki.    Truthfully? I’m worried. We are the incoming generation of indigenous resistance into the workforce, and it is a terrifying landscape to navigate. If this experience of burnout, fatigue and racism is so common amongst kaimahi māori – then where are the how-to manuals on how to survive this? How do we keep ourselves safe?  How do we keep from burning out so early in our careers? I don’t want to stress and depress people before starting out in our careers, but I did want to take a moment for us to acknowledge the battlefield that we’re stepping onto. I want us to be prepared: both to recognise and articulate the symptoms of systemic oppression, but also to identify the ways in which we can protect ourselves within these contexts. I runga i ō tātou hīkaka me ō tātou ngākaunui ki te wetetāmi, ki te whakakī wāhi, ki te whakamana i te mana motuhake, ki te puri papanga i ngā whare Pākehā - hei ngā taiao taraweti tō reo whakahē me tōna kotahi. Me tū tēnei hei reta aroha ki a koe i runga i tērā haerenga.    In our eagerness and ambition to decolonise, reclaim space, enable mana motuhake and hold colonial institutions to account – we will find ourselves in hostile environments where we might often be the lone voice of dissent. If anything – let this be a love letter to you on that journey:   Kia tūpato i ngā takune pai.  Tokomaha ngā tāngata atawhai e mihi ana ki tēnei mea te tautika kore, kātahi ka noho ki te tēpu me ōna whakaaro pai ki te tautoko i te kaupapa. Kore rawa koe e whakapono i ngā wā katoa, ka huri ēnei takune pai ki te mahi. I te nuinga o te wā tū ai te iwi Pākehā hei kaitautoko, engari me uaua ka kitea i a rātou e uiui ana i ō rātou mana me tō rātou whiwhi painga. I ētahi wā, ka puhi iho tō rātou [ ] tō rātou kūare me tō rātou horokukū ki te āhuatanga tuku, i tā te hoa takune pai. 1) Beware of Good Intentions There are so many well-meaning people who recognise and acknowledge inequity and come to the table with the best intentions to support the kaupapa. We can’t always trust that these good intentions will follow through to action. Pākeha people are often supportive but rarely have ever had to interrogate their own power, authority and privilege. Sometimes, their fragility, ignorance and reluctance to compromise will shoot down any good intentions that supposed allies can have. Lean into these allies with good intentions where you feel you can, but be cautious not to lean too far.   2) Recognise Microaggressions If you hear people describe you as ‘angry’, ‘negative’ and ‘too critical’, or if every time you bring up kaupapa māori, it turns into a performance review about how you’re not meeting THEIR expectations – chances are pretty high that you’re experiencing a form of racism called microaggression. Please don’t be fooled by the term ‘micro’ - It’s aggression, just a gaslight version. Just because these microaggressions are more subtle does not make them any less violent. These acts of racism are insidious because they are subtle and sneaky. Learning how to recognise them and how to articulate what these micro acts of violence are can be critical for your mental well-being. I personally like to take my list to therapy or brunch with friends (a.k.a. Group therapy) to laugh/cry/vent about. It’s helpful, particularly in addition to point #4.   3) Te Tiriti is a Tool Te Tiriti o Waitangi is an essential legal tool. Regardless of personal critique, we might have for it, understanding this document is critical because it is one of the very few explicit tools that we have to defend ourselves and our rights as Māori. Research and understand the document, the discourse around it, insights from Waitangi tribunals, and how it is applied legally and across different sectors and industries on a governance level down to daily operations. Understanding these concepts will enable you to hold our organisations to account and give you legal precedence and evidence to back recommendations you might make for Māori. We have to be savvy enough to code-switch in effective ways - and using legal and academic references to elevate our attempts to hold organisations accountable makes our positions stronger.   4) Keep a Record Keep a paper trail of dates, names and descriptions of conversations and experiences that feel racist. This includes any recommendations you make for kaupapa māori initiatives that go primarily ignored, giving written feedback and signalling evidence of why decisions may be inappropriate, asking managers for written reasons why they do or don’t follow recommendations – Keep a record of all of it. Effective record keeping can keep us safe when people become threatened by our advocacy, and our records can become a protective measure for ourselves, as well as an opportunity to hold others to account. Sometimes, the only power we can hold in our positions in the workforce is the ability to hold people accountable – even if it is only to you.   5) Look After Yourself As we work up against mammoth challenges that are mentally, emotionally and spiritually exhausting, we have to learn how to look after ourselves so that we can sustain our progress towards change. Some things I’m learning include: - Picking three things to focus on: You will be pulled in so many different directions, and this will exhaust you. Pick three priorities to focus on and learn to say no. - Finding Respite in your Community: Gather with your people (whoever they are) as often as you can. - Doing the things you love: We bring our strategic mahidog energy to work, but we also need to make sure we nurture our spiritual, creative and physical sides as well. Think: Whare tapawha holistic hauora vibes.   We’re coming into this space with a powerful, tangible whakapapa and legacy of resistance, advocacy and asserting tino rangatiratanga. One of the most beautiful traits I often see amongst our generation is this insatiable fire – this energy that refuses to accept inequity and inequality as normal and acceptable forms of treatment. People will resist. They’ll fight to silence you and disempower you. There will be times when you will feel (or made to feel) crazy and insane for your advocacy, for being frustrated with systemic violence and for refusing to settle for bare minimum efforts to change. But even if the journey feels lonely and isolated – you’re not alone in the pursuit of mana motuhake.    We got backs, and we’re in the trenches with you, kare. Keep fighting.

Kelly Mitchell (Any/all - Ngaati Maahanga) Nau mai e ngā kaitiaki o te matauranga, ki te whakarauika i nga whetū o te akoranga, ka whakarangatira, ka whakanikotanga i te huarahi mātauranga mo āpōpō. Ko te matauranga he puāwai whakapakari, he hua whakatupu i te hinengaro, hei rangatira i te ao e whakapau kaha ana ki te whakarauika, ki te whakarangatira i te hunga whai whakaaro. This article is to show gratitude for our Māori lecturers. Having just finished my degree, I have been reflecting on those who pave the path for us to achieve our tohu and how we ought to express our gratitude to them more frequently. I will talk a bit about some key lecturers and tutors I have had below, and also issue us a challenge going forward for how we might show our lecturers gratitude more frequently. Annie Te One was one of my first lecturers at the university, and Te Nia Matthews tutored me in her papers. They were bastions of the whakaaro that e kore koe e ngaro; he kākano i ruia mai i tō tūpuna. They taught us the work of Māori, past and present, in upholding our rights, and taught us how to wānanga about the present risks to those rights.Awanui Te Huia, Matua Mike Ross, Vini Olsen-Reeder, and Karena Kelly taught me te reo. Awanui taught me the possibilities. Matua Mike taught me and introduced me to the possibility of being relaxed when learning, as well as some new aspects of Waikatotanga. Vini not only taught but also created opportunities for us to use our skills, gave us experiences, and showed us what jobs were out there and encouraged us to pursue all that was available. Karena taught me that te reo had taumata beyond the university, and challenged us to aim for greatness. Carwyn Jones, Māmari Stephens, and Luke Fitzmauric were my Māori law lecturers. Nopera McCarthy and Riana Te Ngahue were my early-year Māori law tutors. They provided breathing room in papers filled with material that hurt the heart, and they brought to us examples of what Māori can achieve in the law: in legal academia, in the courts, in communities, and in Parliament. Luke let me know when the job I have now was advertised and told me to give it a go when I thought I had no chance of getting it. Our pūkenga Māori are often taken for granted, and only when they leave do we realise just how much we relied on them. Pūkenga Māori are torchbearers of knowledge, delving deep into the recesses of our histories and our present realities. Their influence extends beyond textbooks and lectures as they take up roles required for pōwhiri, tangihanga, karakia, and haerenga. However, despite recognising this, as students, we do not always show the same respect to our pūkenga Māori as other teachers, perhaps brought on by an expectation of heightened pastoral care or an easier path to success than other lecturers might give you. Nā tēnei hē, we can easily overlook the diligence and rigour required to excel in the disciplines taught by pūkenga Māori. E ea ai te werawera o Tāne tahuaroa, me heke te werawera o Tāne te wānanga. To properly acknowledge the cooks' efforts, we need to put effort into learning."Gratitude is not saying thank you for the extension, but rather it’s submitting the best work you have done all Trimester. He wero ki a tātou, let's show our kaiako gratitude by giving the same effort they give us". He aroha mai, he aroha atu. Nau mai e ngā kaitiaki o te matauranga, ki te whakarauika i nga whetū o te akoranga, ka whakarangatira, ka whakanikotanga i te huarahi mātauranga mo āpōpō. Ko te matauranga he puāwai whakapakari, he hua whakatupu i te hinengaro, hei rangatira i te ao e whakapau kaha ana ki te whakarauika, ki te whakarangatira i te hunga whai whakaaro. Hei whakamihi tēnei tuhinga i ngā pūkenga Māori i roto i ngā whare wānanga. I te otinga o taku tohu, kua whai whakaaro au ki a rātou i whakatakoto ai i te ara mā tātou kia oti ai ō tātou tohu, me pēhea hoki te whakapuaki i ō mātou whakawhetai ki a rātou. Ko ētahi pūkenga matua me ētahi tauira pērā hokie kōrerotia ki raro rā. Waihoki, ka whakapātari au i a tātou e koke whakamua ana ki te whai whakaaro me pēhea tātou e whakamihi ake ki aua pūkenga. Ko Annie Te One tētahi o ōku kaiako tuatahi i te whare wānanga, ā, i tū a Te Nia Matthews hei taku kaituruki i taua wā. Ko rāua ngā whakatupua o te whakaaro, e kore au e ngaro he kākano i ruia mai i a Rangiātea. I whakaako mai rāua i a mātou i ngā mahi Māori o mua, o naiānei hoki, arā me kōkiri ō mātou mōtika, ka mutu ka ākona me pēhea te wānanga mō ngā tūraru o nāianei ki aua mōtika. I reo Māori ai au nā Awanui Te Huia rātou ko Matua Mike Ross, ko Vini Olsen-Reeder, ko Karena Kelly. I a au i ō rātou karaehe, ka whakaatu mai a Awanui i ngā āheinga, ka ako mai a Matua Mike me pēhea te noho mauri tau i a au e ako ana, me ētahi āhuatanga hou o taku Waikatotanga. Waihoki ka huaki a Vini i te kūaha kia mōhio ai mātou me pēhea te whakamahi i ō mātou pūkenga, e whakaatu ana i a mātou ki ngā mahi e wātea ana mā mātou, ā, i akiaki ia i a mātou kia pērā. Nā Karena te whakaaro i whakatō ki roto i a au, he taumata kē mō tō tātou nei reo e tatari ana kia ekengia, ka akiaki ai ia i a mātou kia eke ki taua taumata rā.Ko Carwyn Jones rātou ko Māmari Stephens, ko Luke Fitzmaurice ko ōku pūkenga ture Māori. Ko Nōpera McCarthy rāua ko Riana Te Ngahue aku kaituruki tuatahi. Nā rātou i whakatū ngā wāhi haumaru kei waho i ngā pepa i kī ai ki ngā kōrero whakamamae i te ngākau. Ka mutu, ka whakatauira mai rātou he aha ngā mea ka taea e te Māori i ao ture: i te ture kura wānanga, i ngā kōti, i ngā hapori, i te Pāremata anō hoki. I te wā whakatairangahia te mahi e whai ana au ināianei, ka whakamōhio mai a Luke mō taua tūranga, me tana kī mai “karawhiua atu” ahakoa kāore au i whakapono ka taea. Kāore ō mātou pūkenga Māori e whakamihia pai ana, ā, ka wehe rā anō rātou, ka mōhio mātou ki tā mātou whakawhirinaki ki a rātou. Ko ngā pūkenga Māori ngā pou herenga o te mātauranga, e ruku hōhonu ana ki ngā auheke o ō mātou hītori me tō mātou ao e tū ana i ēnei rā. E toro atu ana ō rātou whakaawenga ki tua o ngā pukapuka me ngā akomanga i a rātou e pikau ana i ngā tūranga i te pōwhiri, te tangihanga, te karakia me te haerenga.Heoi anō, ahakoa tēnei, kāore mātou, ngā tauira e whakaatu ana i te manaaki ōrite i ngā wā katoa ki ō mātou pūkenga Māori pērā i kaiako kē. Tēnā pea, e pēnei ana tātou nā te pōhēhē ka kaha ake te manaaki, ka māmā ake rānei te ara kia eke panuku i a rātou, i tēnā ka whakatakotoriai e pūkenga kē atu Nā tēnei hē, ka māmā te pī i te pukumahi me te pākaha e hiahiatia ana kia eke panuku i ngā akoranga kua whakaakona e ngā pūkenga Māori. E ea ai te werawera o Tāne tahuaroa, me heke te werawera o Tāne te wānanga. Ehara i te mea, ko te whakawhetai te mihi noa ki te kaiako i te whakaroatanga, engari kē, he tuku i te mahi kounga rawa atu o āu mahi katoa kua oti i taua taraimeta. He wero ki a tātou te whakaatu ki ō mātou kaiako i ō mātou whakawhetai, mā te whakapau kaha, pēnā i a rātou. Aroha mai, aroha atu."Gratitude is not saying thank you for the extension, but rather it’s submitting the best work you have done all trimester. He wero ki a tātou, let's show our kaiako gratitude by giving the same effort they give us". He aroha mai, he aroha atu.

Words by Phoebe Sullivan (she/her; Te Aupōuri, Ngāti Whātua ki Kaipara, Ngāti Whātua ki Ōrākei, Waikato-Tainui)  Student executives are designed to advocate, promote, and empower student voices and the community. What encompasses student executives is this desire to serve – to serve for want of change, for want of advancement, but most importantly for want of wellbeing.    As Māori, to serve simply comes naturally to us. Whether this be on the pae or in the kitchen, we serve for the betterment of the community and for the wellbeing of our people. We serve because that’s our obligation; it is an extension of our manaaki, and it’s a means of giving back to the village that raised us.    As young, wide-eyed, and eager-for-change rangatahi in tertiary education, one of the many ways we give back is by serving on student executives and, most importantly, by helping Māori. It’s historically a part of us. Some of the greatest activists of our history include rōpu Māori, like Ngā Tamatoa, Ngā Rōpū Tautohetohe, and our own Te Hohaeiti Reo Māori Society. We serve for a purpose, for people, and simply because we just can’t escape a good call to a kaupapa.    Just like many of the Māori before me, I, too, have heard my call. For some reason, I’m still here, serving the kaupapa. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t seem to escape it.    However, the longer I sit on these student executives, the easier it has become to identify the many flaws that riddle the structure of student executives – not the people, the structure!    The mounting pressure put on tauira Māori to engage and to engage meaningfully with wider university frameworks is not only a contradiction to the engagements themselves but a violation of time and energy that could have been better spent elsewhere. Despite our evident dismay at these frameworks designed by old, white-collared university administrators, we are illusioned by our positions in the university structure that our engagements are taken as “sign-offs” and “green ticks”. This is a deception of progression that promotes the idea of a one-fits-all solution to student well-being encouraged by universities across Aotearoa. Unfortunately, tauira Māori are at the brunt of this deception, having become window-dressings of student-wellbeing policies to meet legislative standards.    By even engaging with these half-arsed policies created by these clerics, Māori have become cash cows that have lined universities' pockets without even the slightest bit of compensation to go with it. University structures have ruled tauira Māori and silenced our voices by commercialising our well-being for enrolment numbers and replacing the value of our education with a lucrative and flawed business plan. Unsurprisingly, universities still can’t scrape themselves out of this educational and financial deficit.    This pressure to engage and try to create better outcomes doesn't even address the internal pressure that students put on themselves to try to fix the institutionalised issues of universities. It goes without saying that tauira Māori, and any minority student who decides to be part of an executive, feels this most. The constant need to justify not only to the faculty but to our own peers why our mātauranga, hītori, te reo, and tikanga matter is beyond me. Justifying our place as an indigenous person is exhausting. Justifying our space as indigenous peoples is debilitating. We can’t even show our frustration and anger. So, instead, we project on our own.    Executives have become toxic pressure cookers filled with nepotism and narcissism fuelled by a popularity contest. Individuals don’t value themselves on their ability to lead but by how good their CV looks and by the number of “kaupapa” they're able to push out every year. The worst part is, sometimes it’s not even the university structure perpetuating this, it’s our peers. We’ve become manipulated by a system that measures outputs, rather than inputs; we’ve become obsessed with percentages, numbers, and budgets, and we deceive ourselves by disguising it under tikanga, white-washed by memorandums and financial agreements. Yuck!    Now, please don’t get me wrong. I say this all out of experience. I say this as an individual who has succumbed to all of these pressures in one way or another. I held myself to such a high-standard that when I couldn’t fulfil it, instead of going mad with power, I broke with despair. I walked around with the heaviest weight on my shoulders - a weight defined by the community I was serving and the responsibility I felt to ngāi iwi Māori. Only to realise that the weight I was bearing was one that was undeserving and the weight I put on myself.    I couldn’t see it, until I let myself take a step back. That’s the thing about student executives: once you’re involved with the politics of it all, you really think it’s the be-all and end-all. When actually, it’s just a student executive. In the scheme of things, the decisions we make don’t have a significant impact on all ngāi iwi Māori, and it only impacts those who are actually involved in the community the executive serves. We’re not politicians, and we’re not iwi leaders; we’re just a group of students hanging out, trying to create a culture within this boring-ass institution.    Trust me, I’m not trying to undervalue the importance of these executives. I’m just asking us to think about our roles within the university and within our own smaller communities differently. Yes, your elected student executive has an obligation to advocate, promote and empower. But we’re also only human. We’re bound to make mistakes or get things wrong, and ultimately, that should just be okay; in fact, it should be embraced. As ngāi iwi Māori, we all have an obligation to advocate, promote, and empower each other. So cut each other some slack, because at the end of the day, it’s just a student executive.

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him) Freshers have been left itching and scratching as an unwelcome guest has taken over VUW’s Capital Hall: an outbreak of the small skin burrowing mite commonly known as scabies. Salient  understands a small group of residents first noticed some unwelcome itches two weeks ago, and have since informed staff they were receiving treatment for scabies, causing mite hysteria throughout the hall.  A TikTok video filmed by a resident shows common rooms cordoned off with yellow and black safety tape and “do not enter” signs, as well as a printed out notice which was put under residents doors announcing “confirmed case of scabies in our hall”. A Capital resident Salient  spoke to said they are “not surprised” that that the hall has scabies as “its fucking disgusting” and “everyone is filthy”. They said that residents were all asked to wash their sheets, which became an issue as “half the people in this hall don't know how to turn the washing machine on”  “All the common spaces are getting heavily deep cleaned with intense chemicals to kill the skin nits,” the source confirmed. They also raised concern about the timing of the outbreak, which occurred at the start of the mid-Tri break, saying, “we could be spreading it all over NZ” A spokesperson for the university has assured Salient  that the situation is under control, with all known cases receiving treatment and advice from Mauri Ora Student Health. They said that the common rooms have since reopened and that the laundry facilities “only enable hot water washing to support our students in avoiding a range of communicative illnesses, including scabies.” The World Health Organisation describes scabies as “a parasitic infestation caused by tiny mites that burrow into the skin and lay eggs, causing intense itching and a rash.” The pinhead sized mites are easily contagious in shared living environments but are not necessarily a sign of poor hygiene. The true number of cases within Capital Hall, known for its feral behaviour, is unknown.

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) In November of last year, the Fair Pay Agreement Act passed its third reading in Parliament, supported by Labour, the Greens, and Te Pāti Māori. Fair pay agreements (FPA) allow employees and unions to negotiate with employers on what a fair level of pay within an industry is.  Make Work Fair, a campaign backed by the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions, describe FPAs on their website as having the ability to ensure that “nobody in [an] industry can be paid less than the rate agreed. It’s like the minimum wage, but for a specific industry. This will be negotiated by unions and employers in that industry.” Alongside pay, an FPA can ensure fairness of negotiations over leave, working hours, and health and safety. Industries with FPAs in force include bus drivers, supermarkets, hospitality, and early childhood education. Aidan Donoghue is a current VUW student who works part-time for the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions as the FPA organiser for Wellington. Previous to his current job, he did a four-year stint in hospitality, one of the industries green lit for FPA bargaining. “Fair Pay Agreements are the biggest breakthrough in workers’ rights in 30 years, and are guaranteed to provide untold protection and benefits for all working class Kiwis, especially youth,” says Aidan.  The Labour Party stated in a press release as the bill passed that FPAs “will not only improve wages and working conditions, [they] will also encourage businesses to invest in training and level the playing field for employers trying to do the right thing.” Neither ACT nor the National Party are in favour of the Fair Pay Agreement Act, believing that its implementation will harm the economy and that not all workers will want to engage in bargaining.  Paul Goldsmith, National’s Workplace Relations and Safety spokesperson stated, “Fair Pay Agreements will make New Zealand’s workplaces less agile and flexible and make all workers beholden to a union agenda. It will force employers and workers within a sector to bargain for minimum terms and conditions for all employees in that industry or occupation, regardless of whether or not they want to be included.” Both National and ACT plan to repeal the act if elected into government later this year.

Words by Ethan Manera (he/him) Willis Lane flaunts itself as “an exceptional curation of bars and eateries” with an “eclectic ensemble of vendors, gourmet wonders, curious attractions, and interactive experiences”, but what makes it different from any other Wellington CBD food court? I pulled together a rag-tag team of hungry third-years to put this new establishment to the ultimate test. We set out to try one meal from each of Willis Lane's 12 vendors, to see if this new eatery really lives up to the hype.  Disclosure: Willis Lane paid me back (bc cozzy livs), but had no control over what I wrote. Red Lantern  6/10 We parked up in a comfortable booth at Red Lantern to try out their buffet of what they describe as “imaginative twists” on Chinese dishes. We got a $18 large plate and filled it with a combo of all they had to offer. The beauty of a buffet is your ability to load the boat until you get a dirty look from the staff. The szechuan chicken was an absolute stand out: good level of heat and perfectly cooked veggies. The fried rice: bland. The sweet and sour pork: average. Overall, it's a safe option. Chinese food catered to Pākehā taste buds. Hot Like A Mexican  8/10 The first thing we noticed about Hot Like A Mexican was the steep price. Whether you wanted two tacos, one burrito, or the quesadilla, it would set you back about the same price as a five-pack of Wellington City Council rubbish bags. Additions, like guacamole, come at an extra price. Despite this, the chicken quesadilla was the finest quesadilla I've ever had, packed full of high quality, fresh ingredients, with a deliciously fiery salsa. They do lose points for not having any slushy margaritas available, despite being on the menu. Nam Nam  6.5/10 Nam Nam promises authentic Vietnamese street food. We ordered the chicken fried rice and roast duck cuốn (rice paper rolls). The fried rice was tasty but not very flavourful—more of a side than a main. The cuốn was pleasantly refreshing, although we would have appreciated a bit more flavour from their famous roasted duck. Nam Nam is like a close friend’s flatmate: they're nice, but you wouldn't go out of your way to hang out. Enjoyable, but forgettable. Downlow  9/10 At this point, Willis Lane was getting busy, but Downlow unfortunately was not. We ordered a double smashed cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate thickshake which totaled $26. George considers himself something of a burger connoisseur, and in his words, “Downlow didn't disappoint.” The presentation was immaculate, and the burger was just as delightful: a plush bun, beef patty, fresh red onion, and a briney pickle. It’s what I imagine a real life Krabby Patty would taste like. The chips were perfectly seasoned, with a nice crinkle shape. The thickshake wasn't special. It was rather thin and had an artificial chocolate flavour. You can’t win ‘em all. Crack Chicken  7/10  This much-hyped modern fried chicken joint is the latest creation of influential Auckland restaurateur David Lee. Drooling in anticipation, we went for the original fried chicken burger and fries. Our excitement soon turned to distress. The bottom bun was completely soggy with grotesque purple coleslaw discharge. As I tried to take my first bite, the structure of the burger crumbled. While the chicken itself was good, it was too large for the sodden bun, and the burger fell to pieces. The seasoned fries were bussin though. Wasabi Sushi  6/10 You would be forgiven for not noticing Wasabi Sushi if you power walked through Willis Lane really fast. I hope their rent is cheap. Ailish tried the prawn sushi and said it's “more fishy than one would expect”. The rice was incredibly sticky which helped each piece stay together nicely. The batter to prawn ratio was dubious, making the $14 price sting. One thing I appreciate about Wasabi Sushi is its unmatched convenience: the grab n go system means it’s perfect for any yo-pro trying to make the most of their short lunch break.  Rick’s Cheesesteaks  7.5/10 At this point in our culinary endeavour we were struggling. The thought of a beefy roll covered in nuclear-yellow cheese elicited cold sweats. We got the classic beef cheesesteak with the ambiguous “cheese wiz”. The thing felt like one of those big UE Booms. The taste could only be described as very savoury. “If I was starving, this would go down a treat,” George uttered while going down on the cheesy hoagie. Rick provided perfect bulking if you're a gym bro.  Angry Ramen  9/10 The staff here were very nice. I’m actually unsure what is angry about this place at all. We ordered a chicken katsu donburi bowl. It was ready quickly and the presentation was fantastic. Salty and delectable chicken, a good amount of sauce, and the little side salad was appreciated. Ruby described it as “a really solid meal”. For $16.90, it's a little on the expensive side, but so is fucking everything these days. Wilson BBQ  6/10 We ordered a platter for one, which boasts the brisket, pulled pork, ribs, and BBQ smoked sausage, a bread roll, potato salad, and coleslaw. This clocked in at a mighty $35.90— highway robbery as far as I’m concerned. The rib (singular) was deliciously smokey and the brisket was beefy. George reckoned the sausage was an underdog, and the pulled pork was so doused in sauce it was unenjoyable. The sides were a non-event. Wilson BBQ was tasty, but the price made it unjustifiable. If you were a wealthy alpha-male type who loves a meaty treat, this would be ideal for you. Foo Du Dumplings  5/10 The questionable variety of food sloshing around in our stomachs was taking its toll. Ailish took one for the team and tried the prawn dim sum herself. As far as prawn dim sum goes, she said it was incredibly chewy, and rather wet, “which didn't get me excited”. Upon chewing the dumpling, Ailish reported something bizarrely crunchy.  Nyonya Malaysia  8/10  “Chicken curry with roti”—a simple name which piqued my interest. Costing $16.90, with $4 for a side of rice, this  curry was bussin. Perfect amount of heat and tremendously flavourful. It had hearty chunks of chicken and soft cubes of potato. We were also caught off guard by the blue rice. Turns out this is a Malaysian thing. Very cool. Corso Pastaria  6/10 I was really excited for Corso. It's by far the biggest restaurant in Willis Lane, offering six different pastas alongside antipasti, salad, and desserts. We mistakenly asked the staff what the best pasta was, and the kind gentleman suggested beef cheek ragu. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The pasta was disappointing. There was barely any sauce, just stray pieces of beef cheek strewn around the bowl. Taste wise, it was unimpressive. The tiramisu was a divine saving grace—creamy, sweet, velvety. I’ll be back, Corso, but I won't be asking your staff for advice next time.

Words by Niamh Vaughan (she/her) Not many know there’s crystals in the clouds That grace the sky at midsummer’s last light; To show themselves at day they are too proud Belonging to the mysteries of night. Can you believe the stars inside the earth Form constellations from the inside out? Perhaps they shine for when we leave the hearse To guide the ending all the world’s in doubt. Just like the opening flowers of the dawn Or wilting blossoms fallen to the ground, All souls that bloom are fated to be mourned, Becoming dust that forms the still unfound.  In glistening clouds and insects I find peace, Despite that life’s given so short a lease.

Words by Maia Ingoe (she/her) At risk of sounding like a conservative commentator, PSA: Public Service Announcements Election 2023  is not a play for the faint of heart. The satirical take on New Zealand politics is back again for its fifth election cycle and 18th production, and no one—not even Chlöe Swarbrick—is safe. The chaotic comedy runs until 26 August at Circa Theatre and is a must-see for any politics nerd (or anyone who despises politics). To my immediate delight, the set is a playground, complete with a slide and monkey bars.  There’s a set of ominous double doors centre stage and I blindly hope to see a politician burst through them. At first glance, I know the audience is in for some fun. The set provides endless opportunities for surprise entrances, three different levels, and all sorts of play. The show had me cackling at every turn, jaw dropped, aghast at the jokes made of politicians from both sides of the house. With a cast of five, the show’s characters change faster than a Labour minister can fall from Cabinet. To pull it off, the actors had to be masters of characterisation and the art of a quick wig change, and they did not disappoint. Simon Leary was a standout in his character changes: from the last standing cis, white man of the Greens, James Shaw, to his seedy, Hutt Valley born and bred take on PM Chris Hipkins, sailing onstage on a RipStik and cradling a can of Coke. Even National’s Chris Bishop was not safe from Leary’s spin, the character sporting a mullet and dim-wittedly calling after Nicola Willis at every opportunity. Bursting onto stage with unmatched energy, Carrie Green (Ngāti Porou) was another highlight, with her pūkana-serving Debbie Ngarewa-Packer of Te Pāti Māori facing the audience straight on. Anya Tate-Manning’s innocent take on Chlöe Swarbrick left something to be desired, but all was made up with her razor sharp wit and piercing stare as the blood-sucking Nicola Willis of the National Party. Written by seasoned PSA actors Thom Adams, Jamie McCaskill (Ngāti Tamterā, Ngāti Rangi), and Johanna Cosgrove, the Election 2023  script takes the tomfoolery to a new level of unhinged. There is no limit on what is too irreverent or too silly, and the burns are roasting hot. The National Party are plotting evil, Sean Plunket makes an appearance as a transphobic zombie, and Winston Peters makes an appearance (played excellently by Jamie McCaskill). Watch your back—the kingmaker even has his own song. The cast pull through with the perfect amount of unhinged behaviour that the scriptwriting demands. As the butt of many, many jokes, ADHD is even acknowledged in the programme. Each party has its own moment in the spotlight. The Greens abound with feeling circles and searching for the group chat leaker. Labour’s Chippy, Carmel Sepuloni, and Willie Jackson are grappling at the straws of a lost election. National’s Chris Luxon is delighted for some time with the boys, and Nicola Willis cleans up his mess at every turn. Te Pāti Māori are on the hunt for racists. Act’s David Seymour is dumb enough to have hung in there long enough to benefit from the National Party’s unpopularity (or is he?). In an age when our political landscape seems increasingly hopeless, it’s refreshing to sit back and laugh as the ridiculousness of it all is put in the limelight. Take a night off from your existential dread with Public Service Announcements: Election 2023 .

For the ‘Academic’ issue, we paired up with the New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF) and gathered three VUW film students to review an NZIFF film each. First, they were shown a couple film stills to review the initial vibe and make a guess about what the film was about. Then, after watching, they wrote up their final thoughts. Catch the films of the NZIFF on now at a cinema near you until 10 September.  More info at https://www.nziff.co.nz/2023/te-whanga-nui-a-tara-wellington/ Carmen , Directed by Benjamin Millepied, Shown 31 July-6 August Words by Xavier Farrow-Francis, Third-Year Film Student, Favourite Genre: Art Horror (any/all) Film at a Glance Right off the bat, I’m uncertain of what to expect from Carmen . The glitz and glamour  of some of the stills remind me of Chicago , but then the grittier stills make me think of Denis Villeneuve’s more down-to-earth work in the likes of Sicario , Enemy , or Prisoners . I’m getting the impression the musical scenes may be fantasies, like that in Björk’s award-winning performance in Dancer in the Dark . All of these components are showing me that Carmen  is going to take me on a thrilling, twisty-turny ride. Film Review Carmen  is a bold and ambitious directorial debut from Benjamin Milliepied. Throughout its two-hour runtime, it boasts sequences and set pieces to be marvelled at. Its abstract dance sequences are compelling, and there’s some beautifully poetic dialogue to be found. Combined with large-scale cinematography and a hauntingly operatic score from the ever fantastic Nicolas Britell, Carmen  is a film that oozes with grandeur… but unfortunately that’s about all it has to offer. It kicks off with a highly promising and striking opening scene, full with fantastic dance choreography which is intentionally and tastefully vague, leaving the viewer in a wondrous and hungry state. It sets up its central characters interestingly, assuring a depth that unfortunately never arrives. And past the film’s first act, Carmen  just gets progressively less engaging. The vagueness and lack of depth is precisely Carmen ’s downfall. What is meant to be a mystifying and epic tale of finding purpose in oneself through grief and disenfranchisement instead comes off as an underdeveloped and bewildering film that wasn’t quite thought through enough. There is a definite likelihood that Carmen  just wasn’t for me though. I think anyone interested in dance or musical theatre should check it out, as I think it may offer a unique take on the two art forms. My biggest warning would perhaps be to pre-empt yourself for a thin plot and more of a performance than a film. L'Immensità , Directed by Emanuele Crialese, Shown on 3 August Words by Willem Koller, Third-Year Film Student, Favourite Director: John Waters (he/they) Film at a Glance Once I get past staring into Penelope Cruz’s eyes and seeing the still of a queer teenager both slow dancing and staring knowingly into a microscope, I’m hoping for a trans, modernisation of High School Musical  where t-boy Troy decides between a future in microbiology or dance. The production design and costumes are definitely 70s, which, next to the image of Penelope Cruz holding a candle in what looks like Catholic mass, makes me cross my fingers and hope L'Immensità  will emulate the trends of sacreligious explorations of Catholism in 70ss films such as The Devils  and Don’t Torture a Duckling .  Film Review Despite the fact that, surprisingly, my musical predictions weren’t as far off as I thought they would be, Emanuele Crialese’s L'Immensità  is a film that completely took me by surprise.  The film is a dramatic exploration of the impenetrable bond between Andrew, a young, bullheaded trans boy and his loving yet unorthodox mother Clara who live under an abusive patriarch. Perfectly balancing a combination of surreal performance sequences with a raw excavation of a suffocating, domestic space, the film is sunny and dream-like yet soberingly poignant. Moments of darkness and tension are elegantly framed, heavily saturated and dripping in warmth, tinged with normalcy, and undercut cleverly with sweetness. Under moments of calm and pure joy lingers a tingling feeling of melancholy for Andrew and his mother.  The exploration of Catholicism is artfully done. The Christ allegory explores trans protagonist Andrew’s desire to transcend his physical body and perform supernatural feats of physical metamorphosis. It’s arresting to watch Andrew have so much self-awareness and self-assertion as to know himself and be loved is exceptional in stories about trans children. Andrew is afforded a remarkably conventional romance, rare for any trans character in film, regardless of age. Although there is frequent resistance to his transness, the ecstasy of being seen as he desires to be seen comes through in crucial moments like a punch to the gut.  No one can depict the ephemeral connection to reality and the unique experiences of pleasure and distress created by the desperate aspiration for change like a trans director.  Crialese came out publicly as transgender when this film debuted at the 2022 Venice Film Festival, and notes that L’Immensita  is strongly autobiographical. The ending reflects this, depicting the sprawling nature of a life in progress. So don’t expect a tidy, satisfying resolution.  I don’t want this warning to deter you from watching this film, however. To me, the bittersweetness of the conclusion only strengthens the depiction of the transience of transness, leaning on the mechanism of escapism as so many of us do as we grow into a body that feels alien to us. As a viewer, I embraced this lack of stability, and I expect my feelings towards this film to fluctuate on every inevitable re-watch. As Crialese himself explained, “we are what we are in perpetual change”.  Brainwashed: Sex-Camera-Power , Directed by Nina Menkes, Shown 3-6 August Words by Wes Brooke-White, Second-Year Film Student, Favourite Movie: Ghost World  (he/him) Film at a Glance Opening my stills, I’m struck by a massive picture of Rita Hayworth’s face. I recognise the film without needing the helpful caption: that’s her in Orson Welles’s The Lady from Shanghai . It’s identified onscreen ‘as an example of gendered lighting’, which, combined with the woman watching from a cinema seat in the bottom right corner of the still, tells me this is a movie about movies. More specifically, at a guess, it’s an essay film like Los Angeles Plays Itself  or Aotearoa’s own Out of the Mist , with questions to ask about how films shape reality by representing women.  Film Review For better and for worse, I was right. Brainwashed  hits the classic stumbling block of being about too much to meaningfully develop any of its ideas. That’s true of many essay films. It’s hard to be systematic in a field which rewards sensational conclusions. The best make up for their academic shortcomings with strong rhetoric or emotional effect. Brainwashed  is a scattershot recap of an interesting discourse, but the width of its lens makes it feel shallow.  Filmmaker Nina Menkes cycles through dozens of examples suggested to reflect a mass cultural hypnosis: the arrangement of film techniques to code women as passive sexual objects. She breaks down elements of film form in helpful ways. Brainwashed  is best as an autopsy, carefully identifying a technique and revealing its invisible significance. The issue is that she immediately jumps to her biggest claims without laying groundwork.  During one of many montages, Menkes plays a clip from Julia Decournau’s Titane , a film lauded for nuanced, positive sexuality. Menkes erases this context to fit Titane ’s images of nudity into her universal formula. Her claim is so broad that it collapses under its own weight, and her examples begin to feel cherry-picked. She highlights one queer film ( Watermelon Woman , a far better movie about movies) and cites her own films no less than five times as positive examples. I don’t challenge the validity of some of her points (nor is it my place to) but her approach is self-sabotaging.             Brainwashed  is a presentation on how misogyny is baked into film language—an idea made famous by scholar Laura Mulvey in her 1975 essay. Mulvey’s often misread analysis of the male gaze is one of the most famous ideas in film criticism. Menkes interviews Mulvey, an incredibly articulate speaker. Based on Brainwashed  alone, though, you'd be forgiven for thinking Mulvey’s theories had gone unchallenged over the last 50 years. Feminist film criticism isn’t a monolith, and later theorists have expanded and refuted Mulvey’s points.  Brainwashed  excludes scholars like Patrick Shuckmann, Karen Hollinger, and Camille Paglia. Brainwashed  wasn’t on the hook to answer every interpretation of Mulvey’s work, but it flattens a living, breathing discourse and a rich body of queer and sex-positive cinema into a prepackaged headline. If you know these theories already, you’ll find no new insight. If this is your introduction, you’ll have missed the bus by about half a century.

Words by Francesca Pietkiewicz (she/they) On the last Sunday before we started back at work, Bella and I journeyed our way through Te Aro toward the historical glory that is Inverlochy Art School to attend an art workshop. The Chemigram Workshop was hosted by Shoot Golden NZ and their founder Fatima Grant. Shoot Golden NZ is an actively inclusive and sustainable photography organisation and ecommerce retailer. I talked with Fatima about their kaupapa and vision for photography.  “I started Shoot Golden NZ in December 2023, based in Wellington. As a female, LGBTQIA+, and Filipino-owned photographic business, I feel that as an underrepresented individual, it is my purpose to inform and inspire our creative communities. My own motto, ‘it's now or never’, is how Shoot Golden NZ was born,” Fatima said. “My vision for the business came together due to my background in a multitude of creative practices including photography, fine arts, gold and silversmithing.”  Upon arrival, Fatima sent us foraging into Inverlochy Art School’s surrounding gardens for our artistic practice. I felt transported back to a school holiday programme from my childhood, collecting lavender, leaf skeletons, and pretty petals. It was glorious. We would be making chemigrams, which are produced from an experimental form of darkroom photography that involves painting on and placing objects onto light-sensitive photographic paper.  “Shoot Golden NZ focuses on trading restored, refurbished, and otherwise saved analogue equipment with the aim to keep this gear out of landfill and in the hands of practising creatives,” Fatima told me. “Our kaupapa is strongly connected to reducing our carbon footprint on the planet, [and] encouraging like-minded people to support local businesses and shop sustainably.”  “Analogue photography forces the user to slow down and appreciate the environment around them. Having a limited number of exposures, one has to be selective in how you document your surroundings. This is what drew me to photography in the first place.” “In the Chemigram Workshop, I ask participants to take ownership of their work by looking to their surrounding environment for inspiration, collecting found objects such as foliage. [They then focus on] repurposing them throughout their work to contrast the abstract textures chemicals create, thus allowing the creative process to be natural and unique to each individual.”  After you’ve made your masterpiece out of household objects and botanicals, you expose it to light under an enlarger. Bella and I both agreed that the process of spraying coconut oil, squirting and spreading toothpaste, and drip dropping nail polish over our flowers reminded us of the types of joyous potion making and finger painting we did as preschoolers. Finally, you discard the beautiful mess off your canvas, take it through the developing process, and hang it up to dry.  It was an honour to attend Shoot Golden NZ’s first workshop. The whole workshop was a gorgeously freeing experience. It took the stress out of creativity that Bella and I often experience as working creatives. We were allowed to be kids again.  “As a predominantly self-taught photographer, I noticed a lack of inclusive and supportive spaces for exploring analogue photographic practices for art students and creatives alike,” Fatima explained.   “We run workshops for this very reason, allowing curious minds to learn these skills, including black and white film developing, cyanotype, chemigram, and photogram classes, to name a few scheduled throughout the year.”  Find Shoot Golden NZ here:   Website: shootgoldenz.co.nz   Instagram: @shootgoldenz

Words by Bridey Newell (they/them) I find what often deters people from climate change literature is a fear that it’ll be pretentious and preachy.  Maybe we feel that books about climate change are not as aware or intimately acquainted with global warming as we are. I mean, we’re 90s-to-early-2000s babies. We’ve spent our lives entering adulthood deep within the Anthropocene. Even outside of climate change, Gen Z is a generation caught up with the importance of individual responsibility. We receive calls to action via our (globally aware) social media every week.  On top of climate change, we’re living in a century that has witnessed the rise of #BLM, Covid-19 guidelines, #MeToo, and so much more. The role of the individual has been characterised as the core of political change, yet, the individual is powerless unless they force the hand of the powerful. Fun fact for you: BP invented the term ‘carbon footprint’. It makes sense that literature would encourage us and inspire individual action against climate change—and when we’re living in it, we don’t need it to be over-explained to us! We don’t need to be told to care. I get it…  But I see little reason to endorse sitting on our hands. Comfort avoidance dressed in nihilism’s clothing can’t give us much. So, the books I’ve chosen to review here are not meant to ‘open your eyes’ to the catastrophe that’s been unfolding since before we arrived on Earth, for better or worse. They are intended to help you examine the climate crisis and the environment from new angles, challenging your perspective—as all good storytelling is meant to do.  The Overstory  by Richard Powers Oh Lordy, you know when you read or watch something and you’re kind of just like, ‘everyone needs to experience this’? The Overstory  is one of those things! In all honesty, this is a book I think anyone could enjoy.  The Overstory  isn’t about climate change as much as it’s about trees. If you watched FernGully: The Last Rainforest , read The Lorax , or planted trees in your community with your primary school class as a kid, this book has the uncanny ability to bring you back to those moments. Primarily set in the 90s (but also not, but kinda, but not really), The Overstory  explores the kinds of thinking that drive industry, conservation, protest, and eco-radical action that we first glimpsed in childhood. It’s philosophical, passionate, and yet unpretentious in the way that many people might find fiction about deforestation to be. Honestly, this book is phenomenal. I’ve recommended this book to everyone: my flatmates, my boyfriend, my coworkers, even to a woman selling plants at a Saturday market in Nelson.  Richard Powers says he read over 120 books on trees as research for writing this book, and it shows. But it doesn’t read like a Wikipedia page by any means. Powers’ writing is strong, well paced, and keenly interested in making sure the reader remembers every word (which is pretty hard for a 625 page book). The Overstory  is available at Good Books for $26.  Bangkok Wakes to Rain  by Pitchaya Sudbanthad At my most concise, I can say Bangkok Wakes to Rain  is about the scale at which time allows change to unfold—be that rapid or slow, minute or extreme. Spanning over a century, this novel depicts the eponymous city and its citizens going through the motions of history. Sometimes tragic and threatening (as history often is), Bangkok Wakes to Rain  constantly searches for beauty and seeks to build a vision of an optimistic future. Memories, ghosts, and imaginations of utopian futures and pasts that honour the climate all retain an illusive lustre here. Through Sudbanthad’s poetic prose, we’re able to hold these realities in our hands, however momentarily.  If you’re still not convinced but want a book that isn’t strictly about climate change and is more concerned with culture, people, and our place within this world, then you’ll probably enjoy this one.  Bangkok Wakes to Rain  is available at Paper Plus for $32. The Earth Transformed: An Untold History  by Peter Frankopan Written by historian Peter Frankopan, The Earth Transformed  is both wildly interesting and satisfying. It’s a novel that explores human curiosity, deep diving into the rich history of our species. Retelling the history of the earth from the very beginning (as in 4.5 billion years ago), we, through Frankopan’s words, witness various climate changes through the ages. Eventually, The Earth Transformed  becomes a chronicle of our relationship with the weather, God, and nature. What I appreciated most about this book was its thoroughness. Frankopan gives time and attention to the ecological and meteorological histories of as many civilisations, communities, and landscapes as possible. The book seems only Eurocentric to the point that it is focussed on the role European imperialism has played in climate change.  The Earth Transformed  is available at Unity Books for $45. Regenesis: Feeding the World Without Devouring the Planet  by George Monbiot   I’m fond of all the books discussed so far, but this one was a pleasant surprise for me. Not because I expected to dislike it, but because it’s a bit out of my area of personal and academic interest. Regenesis  is a non-fiction exploration of sustainable agriculture in the UK, told by George Monbiot as he travels between farms. He brings us along as he learns about the unconventional techniques farmers are employing to ensure the health of their soil. If you’re studying the sciences or have an interest in agriculture, this book would definitely be up your alley. Studying a Bachelor of Arts, I knew to keep my expectations tethered and approach this one with a modicum of humility. I know very little about soil microbes. But Regenesis  was charming—Monbiot seems to understand that interest, not prior knowledge, is what drives learning. And as a result, his writing is both accessible and attentive to the priorities of the layman and the farmer.  Regenesis  is available at Paper Plus for $37. Braiding Sweetgrass  by Robin Wall Kimmerer Braiding Sweetgrass  weaves together indigenous knowledge and biological science to build stories of our natural world and how we can reconnect to it. Robin Wall Kimmerer is an indigenous American of the Potawatomi nation, and a decorated professor and scientist in environmental science and biology. Braiding Sweetgrass is poetic and heartfelt, and tells stories from a place of home and family. Each chapter imparts a lesson on how to care for the world outside of yourself. It is a must-read for anyone who cares for the environment today.  Braiding Sweetgrass  is available from Unity Books for $26.