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The cybersecurity breach of online learning platform Nuku has caused alarm for students and staff alike, calling Te Herenga Waka’s reliance on digitised learning into question. Reports indicate that Instructure, the company that owns Canvas, and the software on which Nuku runs, were made aware of a “cybersecurity incident perpetrated by a criminal threat actor” on 1 May 2026, that was “contained” by the following day. On Wednesday 6 May, the University informed students and staff that the online learning portal had suffered an “incident,” and that some personal information may have been accessed. The announcement read that “it is possible that names, email addresses and student ID numbers may have been disclosed.” And that “It is also possible that the content of messages exchanged in Nuku are included in the data.” This update came four days after the first statement from Instructure. The university was officially made aware of their involvement in the hack on Monday 4 May, two days prior to notifying students and staff. By the morning of Friday 8 May, Nuku had been disabled, with the university predicting that the earliest time the service would be back online would be 8am on Wednesday 13 May, five days later. On the same day, it became known that hackers had taken roughly 3.65 terabytes of student and staff data from 8809 institutions globally, with Auckland University of Technology and the University of Technology also affected within New Zealand. The group, under the name ShinyHunters, issued a ransom request that read; “If any of the schools in the affected list are interested in preventing the release of their data, please consult with a cyber advisory firm and contact us privately at TOX to negotiate a settlement.” ShinyHunters had previously breached Instructure in 2024, and were also responsible for hacking Ticketmaster that same year. This time, an estimated 275 million users were affected, with the main concern being targeted phishing emails, scams, and identity fraud. Instructure does not believe birthdates, passwords, government identifiers, or financial information were impacted. Nuku was restored on Monday 11 May, following reassurance from Instructure that the platform was safe to use. It became known on Wednesday 13 May that Instructure had “reached an agreement with the unauthorised actors,” which cybersecurity professionals suggest indicates that at least some of the ransom was paid out. This remains unconfirmed by the company. Instructure insists that they have received “shred logs” as digital confirmation that copies of user’s data has been destroyed, but experts warn that criminal assurances that data won’t be sold on is unreliable, and users should remain cautious. The incident is believed to be the largest recorded education-sector breach in history, and created significant disturbance for students, tutors, and lecturers alike. A tutor told Salient: “we got a lot of concerned emails from students right off the bat, especially in the lead up to exams, as Nuku is their go-to resource.” “We’re definitely seeing a little less preparation for the tutorials earlier in the week, just because they couldn’t access the resources, and of course that impacts teaching and engagement.” She says she was lucky to have a responsive course manager, who sent a comprehensive email detailing the way forward, but knows that “it was not the case for all courses.” Senior lecturer Dr Angi Buettner says that the Nuku outage has “added a lot of confusion and stress” to what is already a difficult time in the trimester. She says that when her course materials were suddenly not accessible, her teaching process was endangered. Her co-convenor Dr Lewis Rarm emphasised that “first-year students seem to be more alarmed,” and that disruptive events such as this one “provoke more anxiety in students.” Together, they have pushed back the deadline for an assignment that was originally due on Monday 11 May, so that students have more time to access resources. At the time, they couldn’t be certain that Nuku would even be back up and running in time for students to submit their assessments on Wednesday 13 May. Senior lecturer Dr Emma Tennent also provided her course with a blanket extension, because they were unable to access feedback from previous assignments. She said the outage posed challenges for her tutors as “they were not able to finish grading and upload feedback in the time they had allocated.” “As lecturers, we have been encouraged to put our material on Nuku to the extent where I don’t have full backups of all my course material outside the platform.” “It was really a wakeup call for me about how dependent we—both the university and tertiary educators more widely—are dependent on these platforms over which we have so little control.” As with Buettner and Rarm, Associate Professor Dr Nikki Hessel shares this sentiment. “We are all better off with books in our hands, pens at the ready, and sitting together in community. Incidents like this only make me more sure of that.” When contacted for comment, the University delayed answering questions regarding reconsideration of digitised systems, citing that it is still an active incident.

The government has moved to scrap final year fees-free, resulting in up to $12,000 of extra costs for future and current students. When announced by Labour in 2018 (then as first year fees-free), the policy had four major goals: to reduce financial barriers to education, support life-long learning, reduce learner debt, and increase participation. A 2024 Ministry of Education analysis found that out of the four goals, the policy had only reduced learner debt and recommended scrapping it altogether. National instead switched to a final year fees-free system in 2024, before subsequently removing it from 2026 onwards. Final year fees-free only went into effect on 1 Jan 2025, so those who graduated in 2025 or 2026 would have had their first year-free. Undergraduates who started in 2025 haven’t had their final year yet. And therefore, won’t get the fees-free they were promised. This leaves first and second-year students in 2026 at the short end of the stick with neither option accessible to them. Therefore, many second years feel as if the rug has been pulled out from under them. “First year fees-free was definitely a big incentive for why I wanted to go to university in the first place,” said second-year student David Houghton. “When that changed to final year, I still thought it wasn’t so bad because final year courses are more expensive than first year, so I was getting a better deal. But now there’s just ridiculous debt.” Houghton said the change meant he was planning to only take three courses each trimester next year, rather than the four he had been intending on when final year fees-free was still in effect. “It’s not a great feeling, knowing our debt is going to be a lot higher than it could have been,” said Will Robinson, another second year student. “I’m at the point where I’ve got to really work a lot harder with my finances.” Robinson said if he knew he would be paying for all three years, he would have worked to be much better funded coming into uni. The move comes after the government allowed universities to increase course fees by up to 6% in 2025. In the previous six years prior, course fee increases had been limited to between 2 and 2.8%. VUWSA Academic Vice-President Ethan Rogacion said removing fees free erected further financial barriers at a time where students were struggling. “It absolutely makes sense to review fees free, but the worst thing the government could do is cut it outright. Students are facing some really tough decisions about whether they go to university and study, or go straight into work.” Compounding it all, most relevant parties appear to have been blindsided by the announcement. Spokespeople from both VUWSA and Te Herenga Waka confirmed neither had been consulted on the axing. Tertiary Education Minister Penny Simmonds did not answer questions asking what consultation the government had done deciding to remove the fees-free programme. VUWSA will be holding a rally for fees-free on the 20th of May at 12 p.m. in the Hub.

Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns How The Devil Wears Prada 2 undoes the brilliance of its predecessor Spoilers ahead. The year is 2006. Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep)—tyrannical Editor-in-Chief of major fashion magazine, Runway—turns and enters a car. Her former assistant, Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), waves from across the street. We cut to Miranda inside the car: over her face, the passenger seat window reflects the highrise building in which her offices are housed. We get the memo: she is Runway, Runway is her. This is her burden, and she chooses it willingly. Miranda smiles privately to herself; Andy chuckles, and, having come at last to understand Miranda, chooses to walk away. Thus concludes one of the finest character pieces in recent memory. That film is The Devil Wears Prada—it’s slick and stylish; replete with great costuming and gorgeously unassuming cinematography, not to mention its quippy screenplay. Its ambition is not revolutionary—it’s not here to overthrow power structures, but rather to understand their purpose. Still, what’s brilliant about it is that, while it begins at the level of the social, diffuse to the particulars of labour and workplace culture, it finishes as a complex morality drama. What’s the price of perfection? What’s the relationship between beauty and money? And how much will you endure for what you believe in? You’d reckon the film would condemn Miranda—she’s needlessly mean and ruthless; a near-emotionally-abusive boss. But instead we learn, as Andy learns, of the sacrifices figureheads like herself make to uphold their institutions, and of the responsibilities they inherit alongside their power. The now-iconic Cerulean Monologue really cements things. Andy comes into a meeting tutting under her breath at Miranda and her staff for their obsession over the tiniest little details. Miranda, picking on Andy’s frumpy cheap sweater, decides to teach her a lesson: “It’s sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room—from a pile of ‘stuff.’” Ouch. Some part of me reckons that if it were made today, The Devil Wears Prada’s powerfully ambivalent ending would be replaced by something all too obvious: imagine Andy Sachs, I dunno, starting a union and storming Miranda’s office. Well, we don’t have to imagine, because we now have a sequel to answer that exact question. If the narrative arc of the first film can be likened to a funnel (where the broad-stroke social questions are slowly trimmed down to the level of interpersonal drama and personal choice), the new film inverts this structure. And it’s in this inversion that it becomes noticeably weaker and less coherent than its predecessor. The year is 2026. “Runway hasn’t been a magazine for twenty years,” says Nigel (Stanley Tucci) in a sardonic drawl. Andy’s now an award-winning hard-hitting truth-telling journalist—but her paper’s parent company has just downsized her department, and she’s been cut. Meanwhile, Miranda’s landed in hot water after Runway promoted a greenwashed fashion label that in fact produced its clothing at sweatshops. Andy makes her return to the magazine, this time as Features Editor, to clean up its image. Already so much is going on here—but what stands out is the crushing sense of Runway’s sudden marginality as an artful, glossy, print magazine in a social media age. After Andy cleans up the sweatshop scandal, the magazine suffers another blow: the death of its parent company’s CEO. Replacing him is his talentless son who sees Runway as something of a financial burden and hires a number of so-called experts to downsize it. An Elon Musk-type figure intervenes and options to purchase it as a trophy for his girlfriend, the bitter and self-interested Emily (Emily Blunt), returning from the first film. All is resolved when Musk-type’s ex-wife (Andy helped her restore her public image in a tell-all interview) swoops in and buys the magazine in a cash offer. The memo this time around? Capitalism’s actually alright, social media isn’t eating us alive, and AI doesn’t pose an existential threat to the arts: all we need is a good, benevolent CEO. I don’t buy it. In a weirdly lucid piece of screenwriting, the film itself ends up offering us this scenario’s analogy in the form of love interest Peter (Patrick Brammall), a charming Australian property developer. Andy goes to view an apartment: it’s in a gorgeous old 1920s building, but the developer has fitted out the interiors in a naff, pre-fab, everything-new sort of style. Andy’s grossed out, and starts joking about the apartment to one of the strangers at the viewing—only to find out he was the developer. It must have been mating season, because these two are inexplicably, heterosexually drawn to each other. Andy’s somebody who believes in preserving old things; who learned from her stint at Runway in 2006 that taste is not always democratic; who values beauty and integrity even when it’s not commercially viable. But Peter, having drank the capitalist Kool-Aid, lodges a disturbingly convincing counterargument: the city was actually about to pull this building down—developing it into tacky but sellable luxury apartments was his way of saving it. The fact that these two end up together (with Andy moving into one of his fugly apartments) is entirely incoherent, narratively speaking. Of course, in real life, people make compromises for security and fidelity. But this isn’t real life, it’s a film—and it ties these characters up in an awfully tight love-knot when they in fact represent incompatible views about the relationship between beauty and capital. I think of the Peter story as analogous to the Runway story because the film goes to lengths to show us a contradictory impulse within capitalism: how something produced by it becomes devalued, shamed, and obsolesced by its terms. And, as with the Peter/Andy pairing, the film is unable to reckon with the tension between Runway and capital, and instead forces them together in the alarming insistence that what we’ve got is the best we’ve got. But the capitalism of The Devil Wears Prada 2 has already begun to eat itself alive: those in charge, keen to optimise the life out of Runway, want to crush the magazine into a consumable online service, extracting value from consumers through data-keeping and digital marketing strategies. Power is becoming concentrated in the hands of “digital landowners”—owners with no vested interest, besides that of profitability, in the businesses that actually occupy their cyberspaces—in a process the economist Yanis Varoufakis calls Technofeudalism. Miranda remains, in this sequel, the film’s central and most compelling figure because of how she sees this catastrophe coming and remains steadfast in the face of it, nobly delusional like a string player on the sinking Titanic. Where in the first film, the fantasy of individualism still reigned and questions about power were subsumed to questions about moral character, here nobody has agency: everybody is a victim. The film’s suggestion that the best we can do is hope for angel investors to continue financing our cultural products (with some ounce of respect for the culture they hope to profit from) is an exceedingly bleak, if accurate, assessment. But it’s tied up in the contrary impulse to frame this coupling as narrative resolution. “I love... working. I really do,” Miranda says about the prospect of retiring. The shot is close-cropped, the focus shallow, the screen all Streep’s. I actually find it quite moving—but the world of 2006 has quickly vanished, and the follow-up question we beg to ask this film cannot quite interrogate: “Working for whom?”

Author: Ox - Ngāpuhi CW: Hate Crime, Addiction, Suicidal Ideation respite noun re·​spite ˈre-spət 1: a period of temporary delay 2: an interval of rest or relief The following is a collection of poetry around my experience leading up to, and being in, respite earlier this year. I never thought I would end up in respite care. As my mum would say, that was where the ‘crazies’ went when ‘their life went to shit.’ Well, I couldn’t really say I wasn’t one, and that mine hadn’t, so maybe she was right in the end. These poems are shaped around Te Pō, that period of darkness during creation when Ranginui and Papatūānuku were still embracing one another. It felt fitting to parallel my experience with this time before coming into being, into Te Ao Mārama. 1 – Te Pōnui It started on a bench Wooden In memoriam to some loved one. A boy beside me Full of caffeine, nicotine, cannabis Stomach empty Heart empty Lungs empty I was meant to end things with him But the sex is fun Even if his heart is in the wrong place Nausea heat sick and burnt white Get it out of me Get it out of me It’s stuck in me Fingers down gullet Digging, digging, digging It out of me It’s still in there Latched to the lining of my stomach Adhered to the edges of my lungs Bitter hot sweat and doom on the horizon I want to blame him Sweet talker Soothsayer A devil in disguise But it is in me And it is strong And I am weak And I did this to myself. 2 - Te Pōroa I tried to go camping 3 days later Packed and prepped as best I could Driver picks the music Unfair but sometimes he has good taste I don’t complain because I’m a good passenger princess Tent pitched by friendly hosts A tour of the property takes 10 square paces The discovery of one dunny in the camper And a 5 minute drive to the public loos Sends shivers through my shitter Daddy did raise a quitter but I believe in Nature vs nurture So I fill myself with nicotine, cannabis, alcohol A party in my gut and everyone’s invited Who cares about consequences when I’ve taught myself This is the only way to cope? Heart, heart, heart Pounding, pounding, pounding God it’s in me again I thought I drowned you Smoked you out Sent you running for the hills Everyone is getting high and eating snags While I have my fingers down my throat Digging, digging, digging It out of me. 3 – Te Pōuriuri They say panic knows when you’re scared It punishes you for running to safety By treating your retreat as its’ new home I’m driven back home by an angel In a Devilskin cap with tattooed hide Faux comfort offered by four familiar walls What do you think I do with my newfound freedom? I spend two nights Filling myself with nicotine, cannabis, alcohol For fun, you see? This is my normal My way to cope with being punished for Sitting on an empty stomach and full bench Of feelings, disappointments, and fears of the future. My friends return home and The fear comes with them Every footstep Every door slam Every indication of ‘other’ and ‘foreign’ In full force. A flatmate drives me to afterhours After his shower the next morning He can’t (and doesn’t want to) Wait with me My EKG and bloods come back normal After hours in the bathroom trying to expel It and Its contents A phone call with dad who missed the emergency “I’m not doing well, I’m having a panic attack right now.” “It’s those vaccines you got. I know you don’t want to hear that right now but You know I’m not lying.” 4 – Te Pōkarekare Spiral, spiral, spiral Toilet swirl Flush with heat Human meatsack 25th, 26th, 27th The days blur in ED but the hours don’t 6 to 6 3 to 11 And a final panicked breakdown that’s Interrupted by a planned check-in from a friend I can’t forget his face As I spit and spew sentences to A mental health line It’s easy to forget he already lost a best friend before. Watching baby sensory videos and Joking about Veggie Tales raptures while Waiting for Mauri Ora to open The receptionist recognizes my voice but Pivots to concern when same-day counselling is mentioned Escorted across the road so I’m not tempted to Play Frogger poorly A quiet room sitting by the main office A hurried apology from someone scurrying through the shortcut ‘Sorry’ ‘I was never here’ And even a cheerful hello from my regular nurse I wonder if she read the notes from the counsellor Where I said I wanted to provoke a skinhead To murder me like the fag I am. 5 – Te Pō tē kitea Alone in ED again Apart from that whispering panic settled inside me Called in late by kaumātua with sympathetic eyes Karakia recited before they hand me the mic My voice is fraught with hiccups and sobs as I break upon the rocks Smashed to pieces beneath their watchful gaze Back in the waiting room again Listening to Mac DeMarco’s ‘Onion Man’ on repeat for 2 hours Probably fucked my Spotify Wrapped The tattooed angel returns with my overnight bag And two cheerful nurses pack it in their trunk Being in the backseat reminds me of home Clock strikes midnight Pulling into a long driveway Stepping into a modern house High ceilings Wide open spaces My new home for now Greeted by two cuzzies And a warm plate of aroha It’s the first meal I manage to keep down in days. 6 – Te Pō tangotango 12:02pm I’m visited by a clinician He tells me I need to ‘focus on me’ and ‘ask for help’ As he signs off a script for more medication “If you hold it under your tongue, it’ll take effect much quicker.” 4:07pm I dissolve the lorazepam as recommended Bitterness soaking into my saliva A hot flush runs through me And my heart pounds faster Ice cubes on the neck while pacing the hallway Finally curling up in a chair and staring blankly Until I’m called for group dinner at 6:02pm My thoughts spiral What’s the point I’m not good at anything I take up too much space “I don’t feel good enough for that right now.” No opinion is given but I’m scared I’ll be stuck in the dark forever. 7 – Te Pō whāwhā 7:05am Life sucks I don’t wanna be here Nobody really likes me I’m wasting space here People are in worse shape that me I just want to sleep. 9:01am Watching Galaxy Quest and eating buttered toast 10:24am The clinician is here again I’m part of a less than 1% population with paradoxical effects to benzos Guess I should feel special He extends my stay over the weekend And says I’m doing amazing. 1:20pm Watched Shrek while eating leftover dinner 1:55pm I’m working on a puzzle when a new guest arrives (we’re not allowed to say ‘patients’) Her face and arms covered in bruises Shouts muffled by my headphones She’s swept into a bedroom before I can reply “She’s far worse than they let on over the phone.” The house is frantic with energy now I can feel it buzzing in my brain Dirty and mean Something Bad happened I need to get away from It 8 – Te Pō namunamu ki taiao Papatūānuku cradles me in her arms Grass blades pricking my elbows and calves Exposed skin rubbing in the dirt Tamanuiterā gazes down lovingly at us both Papa scolds me even as warmth seeps into me “Your actions lead you here and you must face consequences. But that does not mean you have to do so alone.” The weight of judgement is borne gladly Adrift in the weeds and daisies I am finally accepted as her seedling Now is a time of rest. 9 – Te Pō tahuri atu 1pm I decided to go out for a walk I have to ask permission first and tell them what time I’ll be back It’s like being a kid again 1:06pm Feet numb Heat rising Sweat dripping I can’t do this I want to turn back 1:32pm I sit on a wooden bench alone Tāwhirimātea caresses my cheeks Blowing the sweaty brine from my brow Feels weird to be an adult at a playground Like I’m trying to turn back time But I want to go on the swings Feel the wind rush past my ears As I leap into the sky and embrace Ranginui 10:53pm Can’t sleep Keep tossing and turning Flashback after flashback Doors slamming Holes punched in the wall Shrill voices in a pink 2000’s Toyota Vitz “I’ll give you something to cry about.” 10 – Te Pō tahuri mai ki taiao 3:01pm I’m nervous We haven’t spoken in 6 years but The clinicians suggested I talk to people who knew me when I was younger She was the first person I thought to call The only friend left who’s known me for so long The only one left that I didn’t burn bridges with What if we’re too different now? 4:32pm Cameras flick on Mouths move a million miles a minute Everything from the Drake and Kendrick beef And drinking at New Brighton Beach at midnight on my 20th birthday To sad poetry we wrote on the bus And friends we’ve lost along the way Two spirits maturing at the same rate Across time and space It’s like we never left 10:32pm We’re interrupted by a nurse telling me I have to take my night meds Something about changeover and keeping routine I can’t believe how late it is And there’s still so much more to say “Wanna say how grateful I am bout our very long catch-up call, it really has helped me feel better moving forward!!” “Same here, it’s great to be back in touch with ya, homie.” 5:55am I wake to the glimmer of dawn Stomach full Heart full Lungs full There is life in me yet.

Add up your letters at the end. Sit with (or share with the flat chat) whatever it reveals about you. It’s Sunday evening—what are you doing? Planning the week ahead, sorting bills, and organising the flat Inviting everyone over for a shared dinner night Doing a quick tidy and relaxing after a productive weekend Heading to your partner’s place Ignoring the mess and hoping someone else deals with it Chilling alone in your room or out doing your own thing The power bill just came in—your reaction? Already paid and split, no worries Suggest discussing it together over dinner Pay your share promptly when asked Don’t notice “Wait, we had a bill?” Quietly auto-pay your part, no fuss Flat dinner plans come up—what’s your role? Organising who’s cooking and when Getting excited and inviting extras to join Helping out where needed Probably won’t be there anyway Eating the food Maybe joining, maybe not—depends on your mood A new flatmate is needed—how do you help? Taking charge of the search and interviews Making them feel welcome and included Showing up to meet them and give input Not really involved Complaining but not helping Staying out of the process What’s your ideal living situation? A well-organised flat where everything runs smoothly A lively, social household A balanced, respectful environment Living with your partner instead Somewhere you don’t have to put in any effort into finding A place where you can do your own thing The flat group chat is blowing up—what are you doing? Clarifying plans and making sure everything’s sorted Sending memes Replying when needed, keeping things practical Muting it Complaining about flat chores Reading it but rarely responding What’s for dinner? A planned, budget-friendly meal A shared dinner night with everyone contributing Something simple you’ve sorted for yourself (and maybe others) Whatever your partner is cooking at their place Someone else’s food Takeout, or a solo meal in your room It’s cleaning day—what’s your approach? Taking charge, making a plan, and assigning tasks Tuning it into a group activity with music Doing your share without fuss Making sure you’re not around that day Avoiding it by hiding in your room Cleaning your own space, you leave everything else clean RESULTS: Mostly A’s – The Head TenantYou’re the glue holding the flat together. Without you, the power bill wouldn’t get paid and the bond might never be lodged. Do your flatmates even know when rent is due? Probably not. Here’s some advice: next year, try living with a few fellow A’s—it’ll take a huge weight off your shoulders. Mostly B’s – The Community Builder You thrive in a social, communal flat. Shared dinners, board game nights, and the occasional flat party? That’s your ideal setup. You’d do best living with other B’s who are just as keen to create a warm, social environment. Just be warned: this kind of flat isn’t for everyone—especially not for those working night shifts or craving quiet time. Mostly C’s – The Dream FlatmateReliable, respectful, and easy to live with—you’re the backbone of a functional flat. You do your chores (mostly) on time, always pay rent promptly, and pitch in when needed, like helping find a new flatmate. You’re the kind of person every flat hopes to have. Mostly D’s – The Permanent Guest You’re always at your partner’s place… so much so that their flatmates might have strong opinions about you. Meanwhile, your own flat barely sees you. It might be time for a conversation—either about moving in together or setting clearer boundaries around how often you’re staying over and contributing to costs. Mostly E’s – The Problem You’re a nightmare to live with—and deep down, you probably know it. Rent’s late, food goes missing, and you somehow never seem to pull your weight. You act friendly to people’s faces, then turn around and talk shit about them the second they leave the room. It’s only a matter of time before it catches up with you. Sort it out, start contributing, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll be invited to the next flat dinner. Mostly F’s – The Independent Loner For you, a flat is simply a place to live. You keep to yourself, spend most of your time in your room or out of the house, and don’t get too involved in flat dynamics. You’re tidy, reliable with payments, and low-impact—nothing wrong with that. Still, you might be counting down the days until you can have a place entirely to yourself.

The People’s Republic of China is a state that splits the opinions of the world. Some see it as a repressive, authoritarian dictatorship, while others see it as the only sane alternative to the global influence of the West. Chinese people have been a part of our Pacific community since at least the mid 19th century, and since then China has seen an insane level of change in the form of civil war, revolution, and eventually the transformation into one of the world's premier global powers. And like all global powers, they hold our sea of islands to a high level of importance. I have no interest in the same fearmongering many participate in when it comes to talking about China (New Zealand’s long history of xenophobia towards our Chinese community certainly colours many of our interpretations of the country), but we should have an interest in those who have an interest in the Pacific. So let's track how the red sun looks in our Pacific sky right now. Papua New Guinea’s Prime Minister, James Marape, visited China at the end of April, and the most significant portion of his trip was found in the city of Guangzhou in Guangdong province, China. In the 90’s, farming techniques pioneered by Professor Lin Zhanxi known as ‘Juncao farming’ were introduced to PNG, which had huge positive impacts for farmers in the Eastern Highlands in terms of production and income. Marape was keen to emphasise this to his hosts, and made known his ambitions to strengthen PNG’s ties to all of Asia through the further development of their local infrastructure and their continued relationship with Guangdong province. China’s embassy in PNG released a statement claiming that “China is ready to work with Papua New Guinea to deepen practical cooperation in trade, investment and key development sectors for shared growth,” echoing Marape’s vision to some degree. PNG’s relationship with China has been watched closely by the United States and its allies, particularly Australia. As the decade progresses, Australia’s connections to the Pacific have been growing, in an intentional attempt to counter the ever-increasing Chinese influence. Sports diplomacy is one avenue China may struggle to compete with, especially in a league-loving country like PNG. A new NRL expansion team representing PNG is due to debut in 2028, with famous players like Jarome Luai set to make the move to Port Moresby. The team is being partially funded by the Australian government, and part of the deal for securing the funding was an agreement that PNG would not further defence ties with China. Marape sees the value in a nationally-uniting force in a country struggling to maintain a sense of national unity, and Australia seems to understand this, too. Vanuatu has spent the past few months talking with China, hashing out the details of the ‘Namele’ agreement, named after a leaf that symbolises peace and authority. Australia also has their own agreement in the works with Vanuatu, the ‘Nakamal’ agreement, which is focused on security and development. Worries were raised that Namele could impact Nakamal if it compromised Australian’s security and defence infrastructure, but Vanuatu's Prime Minister Jotham Napat has publicly pushed against this, emphasising that the Namele agreement does not include defence and that “Vanuatu will decide what is good for Vanuatu. We will not be dictated to.” China has a series of territorial disputes across Asia, including an ongoing back and forth with the Philippines in the South China Sea, where China claims islands the UN has ruled they have no right to. New Zealand and Australia have recently joined the Philippines in a military exercise named ‘Balikatan,’ the Philippines' biggest ever and one that extended through the disputed areas of the South China Sea. China’s foreign ministry released a statement, claiming that these countries “blindly binding themselves together in the name of security will only be akin to playing with fire and ultimately backfiring upon themselves.” New Zealand and Australia have denied they’re participating for any reason other than strengthening alliances. China, New Zealand, Australia, and the USA are always swinging their boats around in each other's waters to show off their military capabilities, and there is no doubt it's not helping stability in the region they all want a piece of. Also, happy Rotuman language week! The theme this year is “Ȧf'ȧk, putua, a'pumuạ'ȧk ma rak'ȧk 'os fäega ma 'os ag fak Rotuma, la se maoen 'e 'os tore”; treasure, nurture and teach our Rotuman language and culture so it may live on through generations. La’ ma alalum, until next time.

Pluto Rennie There is a correct way to be disabled. No one tells you outright. There’s no handbook, no neat list of expectations. But people recognize it instinctively—and, more importantly, they recognize when you fall short. Consistency helps. You should look the same every day. Your body should tell a clear, continuous story. Fluctuation confuses people. It invites interpretation, and interpretation invites suspicion. Last year, a friend of a friend—someone I’ve never actually spoken to—started telling people I was faking my disability. I assume she saw me on a good day, one where I could walk around the library without my cane. I assume she thought she’d caught me out. It’s a strange accusation, but not an unusual one. It rests on a quiet certainty: that disability should be obvious, stable, and easy to verify. That it should present itself clearly to others, like evidence. Anything less becomes suspect. When I was a young teenager, I tried to set a boundary. My medical history was being shared publicly to raise money for a hospital that had, at times, failed me. I said I found this strange. I was told, by a previously understanding family member, that I was being ridiculous—I could “find a problem with anything.” In hindsight, that feels like a misunderstanding. I wasn’t inventing problems; I was just refusing to make them consumable. Because pain, as it turns out, is more acceptable when it is useful—when it can be turned into funding, into narrative, into something that circulates cleanly. What matters is not just that you suffer, but that your suffering can be told in a way that reassures people: about institutions, about care, about themselves. To object to that is to disrupt the story; and disruption is read as ingratitude. In hospital, I learned there is also a correct way to feel pain. Too much, and you are dramatic. Too little, and you are not credible. Somewhere in between is the right amount: enough to justify your presence, not enough to make anyone uncomfortable. I remember the irritation more than anything else. Not overt cruelty—just a subtle tension, like I had exceeded something. A limit I couldn't see but was expected to know. You start to adjust yourself accordingly. Lower the volume. Contain it. Translate what you feel into something more manageable for other people, because seeing you go through that is oh so hard. Michel Foucault, a French historian and philosopher, writes about how power doesn’t just repress; it produces norms, behaviors, and self-regulation. You don’t need to be told explicitly how to act—you learn by being corrected, dismissed, or quietly disbelieved. Over time, you internalise the standard. You begin to monitor yourself. Is this too much? Is this not enough? Am I believable right now? Disability, then, is not just something you experience. It’s something you are expected to perform correctly. To present in a way that is legible, coherent, and above all, non-disruptive. The problem is that bodies are not coherent. They change. They contradict themselves. They have good days that undermine bad ones, and bad days that refuse to be hidden. They do not move in clean, linear narratives. They are inconsistent in ways that make other people uneasy. And so you are asked, quietly but persistently, to smooth that inconsistency out. To become easier to read. Easier to accommodate. Easier, ultimately, to ignore. Care sits awkwardly inside this—not because it is wrong, but because of how it is structured. It takes time, energy, patience—things that are treated as scarce, privately owned. So when you need more than your share, it doesn’t feel like a shared responsibility. It feels like an overstep, like you are asking for too much. I learned, slowly, to shrink around that feeling. To apologise not just for the inconvenience, but for the need itself. I could write a whole piece on liberal capitalism here, but I’ll be a good little commie and keep it brief. Under capitalism, need gets audited: What do you produce? What do you give back? How little do you cost? How efficiently can you prove you’re worth keeping? The self-made, working man has no time to care for us bottom-dwellers, and why should we expect him to? Lately, I’ve stepped back from disability groups and activism. Not because I care less, but because I am tired. Because my workload is heavy and my body is heavier. Because sometimes the most responsible thing I can do is reduce the number of things that are hurting me at once. I feel guilty about it—like I’ve failed some quieter expectation, not just to exist as disabled, but to do it productively. To contribute, to advocate, to turn experience into something useful. But usefulness has always been part of the problem. I am inconsistent. I am sometimes in pain and sometimes not. I am critical, ungrateful, emotional, tired. I have, at various points, been inconvenient. I do not make this easy. And I’m starting to think that refusing to be easy, to be coherent, palatable, and reassuring—might be the closest thing to doing it truthfully. And if that makes me suspect, so be it. P.S. fake claim deez nuts and fuck you ******.

We asked our followers on Instagram what they wanted to know about finding a flat, and here are some answers. Take them with a grain of salt: they’re just my jaded personal opinions. But, as someone who’s been flatting in Wellington for over six years and has lived in many different flats, I reckon I’ve got an okay grasp on these things. I’ve lived in brand-new buildings in Newtown, and in falling-apart Thompson Street flats with ant-infested, rotting decks and landlords so bad the tradies didn’t want to work for them. I’ve lived with friends, strangers, partners, moved with a couple of days’ notice, and with months of notice. Finding a flat has taken me months; it has also taken 48 hours from booking the viewing to signing the paperwork. I’ve done hour-long viewings, and I’ve moved into places I’d only seen through a 10-minute Facebook Messenger call—which, funnily enough, ended up being the best flat I’ve ever lived in. Essentially, I have lived and I have learned. Maybe I can pass a little bit of that advice on to you. How do you find a flat? First, figure out whether you already have a group and want to take over an empty flat, or whether you’re looking to move into an existing flat by yourself. Either way, Trade Me and Facebook are the best places to search. Facebook groups include Vic Deals, Flats & Flatmates—Wellington, Flats and Rooms for Rent Wellington NZ, Flatmates Wanted in Wellington, and many more. Search “flats Wellington” on Facebook and join as many groups as you can. You can also use the renting section of Trade Me. From there, DM people on Facebook, or email/text listers on Trade Me, and arrange viewings. Once you have a viewing booked, turn up looking put together. Business casual is a safe bet. Bring a flatting CV with information about you and your flatmates, especially if you’re applying to take over a whole place. After the viewing, if you like the place and feel like you got along with the flatmates—or whoever showed you around, whether that’s a landlord or property manager—send a message saying you enjoyed meeting them and are interested in the room. Then wait for them to get back to you. If you’re applying for a flat takeover managed by a property management company, they’ll often ask you to fill out an online application. Do that in a timely manner. Finally: don’t get your heart set on one place. It often takes a while to find the right spot. Be nice, ask questions at viewings, and good luck. Is it better to flat with friends you meet in first year or with randos? Honestly, this is totally dependent on the people. My potentially controversial advice is to flat with friends in your first year. You’re all figuring it out together, and it’s more comfortable to go through the process with people you know. However, this can also lead to drama while you all figure out how to go from having your own space in the halls to living together in a flat. If you’re not feeling super confident in your first-year connections, it’s okay to go solo. It can be easier—and less daunting—to move into an existing flat where the utilities, furniture, and other pesky stuff are already sorted. No matter who you’re flatting with, my best advice is to set boundaries early. Don’t be scared to have conversations like, “Hey, can you please clean up after you make food in the kitchen?” Early conversations make a world of difference in the long run. What’s a reasonable price for rent? It depends on the area. According to MyRent, the median weekly rent for Wellington is $650. At the time of writing, MyRent lists median weekly rents at $470 for a one-bedroom property, $620 for two bedrooms, $750 for three bedrooms, and $900 for four bedrooms. If you’re living in the city, convenience costs more. I’d estimate somewhere around $230–$260 per week for a room in a three-plus-bedroom flat. If you go further out to suburbs like Roseneath, Newtown, Karori, or Berhampore, rent may be cheaper, but other expenses—like transport—can go up. Room size is also a factor. Some flats stagger rent depending on room size: the smaller the room, the cheaper the rent. But anything under $200 will, in many cases, have you living in a dark shoebox. On the other end, upwards of $300 can get you options like ensuites or walk-in wardrobes, depending on the flat. What’s a good way to divide up cooking? Are people generally in charge of their own meals? This totally depends on the flat. Some people do all their cooking on their own. I did this in every flat I lived in while single: everyone had their own grocery budget and their own fridge space. When I’ve lived with partners, we’ve split the shopping and split the cooking. Sometimes one person pays more for food and the other cooks more often. It’s all about communication. I also know people who do communal cooking: flats that assign a cooking roster, do a group shop once a week, and split the cost. There’s no single correct way to do it. It depends on what you want and who you’re flatting with. But you should absolutely talk about it with potential future flatmates before committing to a place together. Good personality traits for flatmates? It depends who you are, but you generally want people who are honest and dependable. Honest, because you’ll be sharing a living space with them. Dependable, because you want people who will pay rent on time, do the chores, and split cleaning fairly. A good flatmate doesn’t have to be your best friend. They do have to be someone you can communicate with without everything turning into World War III. What red flags should I look out for with potential landlords? Be careful if: They pressure you to sign a lease before you’ve viewed the property. The photos in the listing don’t match the flat you view. They contact you constantly, or seem like they want to be on the property all the time. The flat is poorly maintained—for example, it’s still dirty from previous tenants, full of junk, or has obvious damage. They don’t provide a clear tenancy agreement for you to read before signing. They don’t mention bond lodgement. In New Zealand, if a tenant pays bond to a landlord, the landlord must lodge it with Tenancy Services within 23 working days. They offer you the flat immediately without asking any questions. Sometimes that means they’re desperate for a reason. Trust your gut at viewings. If something feels rushed, vague, or off, slow down and ask more questions. Which are the worst rental companies? A good place to start is by looking up the rental company on Reddit or local flatting groups. I know, lame—but Google is increasingly full of AI summaries and generic reviews, while niche New Zealand subreddits and Facebook groups can give you a better sense of people’s actual experiences. Rental companies that often come up in complaints include Quinovic and Oxygen, but that’s anecdotal. Take those stories seriously, but also remember that experiences can vary by branch, property manager, and landlord. Private landlords can also be a mixed bag. Some are excellent and fix issues quickly. Others are slow, dismissive, or try to pass costs onto tenants unfairly. Try to get a vibe from the viewing: Are they responsive? Do they answer questions directly? Does the property look maintained? Personal recommendation: Joyce from Personal Property Management manages a lot of Kelburn and Aro Valley flats and I’ve had really great experiences with her. When does pre-existing (as in there before I was) mould tip into being the landlord's problem? Rental homes should be free from mould and dampness before being rented out. During a tenancy, tenants also have responsibilities, such as keeping the home well aired and removing small amounts of mould straight away. Tenancy Services recommends noting signs of mould or damp during the initial property inspection and raising concerns with the landlord before the tenancy starts. The best thing to do is document it as soon as you see it—ideally on move-in day. Take photos, email them to the landlord or property manager, and make sure there’s a written record. Always email your landlord first and give them a chance to help fix the issue. If they’re not helpful, you may be able to issue a 14-day notice to remedy. If the issue still isn’t sorted, you can apply to the Tenancy Tribunal. Tenancy Services says a 14-day notice gives the other party 14 calendar days to fix the breach, and if it is not fixed, the issue can be taken further. Before escalating, it’s a good idea to contact Tenancy Services on 0800 836 262 or book an appointment with a VUWSA advocate. They’ll be able to give advice tailored to your situation. Basically: if mould is interfering with your right to a dry, clean, healthy home, it’s worth escalating. But if the mould was visible before you moved in and you accepted the place anyway, it may be harder to argue later—which is why documenting everything early matters. Is there anywhere in Wellington that doesn't have mold? Yes, but you may not find it on the first try. When viewing, inspect the place properly. Look for damp spots, dark corners, condensation, water damage, and signs that walls have recently been scrubbed or painted over. If the flat smells strongly of bleach, be wary. Mould can also hide in walls, wardrobes, curtains, and behind furniture. Cold, dark areas are more likely to have issues. Flats with good sunlight, airflow, heating, insulation, and ventilation are usually safer bets. Pay attention to location, light, and how much sun the rooms actually get. In six years of flatting after halls, I’ve lived in eight flats. Only two had serious mould issues: one had mould in the walls and got almost no light; another had a mouldy, rotting, ant-infested deck that wasn’t maintained. If you do get some mould, welcome to Wellington’s old, single-glazed housing stock. A dehumidifier can help, and places like Kmart, The Warehouse, Bunnings, and Mitre 10 sell DampRid and other moisture absorbers. And for the love of God: if you’re in a dark or damp flat, open the windows when you shower. Don’t let the moisture sit. How does it even work? When should we start applying for halls for next year? Halls and flats are two different things. If you’re looking to move from a first-year hall into a second- or third-year hall, check the university’s website or talk to the accommodation office directly. They’ll have the most accurate deadlines and application process. If you’re flatting, start looking a couple of months before you need to move out of halls. You should definitely be actively applying at least a month before move-out. You may end up having to pay double rent for a couple of weeks, but that can be better than being left with nowhere to live, having to split up from your friends, or being forced into a random single room because you left it too late. If you’re worried about timing, talk to your RA early. Top things to avoid/look for? Avoid flats that feel rushed, vague, or weirdly desperate. If someone is pressuring you to sign immediately, dodging basic questions, or acting like you’re annoying for wanting normal information, that’s not a great sign. Look for sunlight, airflow, heating, decent water pressure, and signs the place has actually been looked after. Open cupboards, check corners, look around windows, and don’t be embarrassed about testing things. You’re potentially paying hundreds of dollars a week to live there. You’re allowed to see whether the shower works. Avoid obvious mould, damp smells, peeling paint, soft floors, broken windows, too many mystery stains. A bit of Wellington character is one thing. A bedroom that feels like a cave and smells like wet carpet is another. Also pay attention to the people. Do the flatmates seem relaxed? Do they answer questions honestly? Does the chore system sound real, or does everyone just “kind of clean when they can,” which usually means one person rage-cleans the kitchen every few weeks? Ask about bills, internet, parking, bond, notice periods, guests, parties, heating, rubbish, and shared costs. It feels awkward, but it’s better than finding out two weeks in that the power bill is enormous and nobody has bought toilet paper since move in. How do I not hate my friends I flat with? Accept that your friends will be different as flatmates than they are as friends. Someone can be great fun at a party and still be terrible at dishes. Someone can be lovely one-on-one and still never buy toilet paper. Flatting reveals habits you would never otherwise see. The serious answer: talk about expectations before you move in. Discuss cleaning, bills, guests, parties, quiet time, shared food, and what happens if someone’s partner starts staying over constantly. The less serious answer, from Jim: “Play devil’s advocate with yourself and pretend they’re good flatmates. Pretend they’re fictional characters—that way everything they do is fun and not annoying.” Honestly, both approaches may be necessary. How should the purchasing of stuff for the flat be divided, plates etc In my experience, the person with the most disposable income often ends up buying a lot of it—usually with the agreement that because they bought it, they get to keep it when they leave. You can also make a flat mission out of op shopping. It’s cheaper, more fun, and you can find surprisingly good stuff. Just be clear about who owns what, especially if someone buys something they particularly like. There’s no perfect system. Communicate with the people you’re moving in with and work out what suits everyone. It’s a good idea for each person to own at least a couple of plates, bowls, mugs, and sets of cutlery, so there are no surprise issues later. You do not need five toasters in one flat. Have a chat before everyone’s parents start donating appliances. In second-year, relatives often give flatting gear as Christmas presents, so it may shake out naturally that someone owns a toaster, someone else owns an air fryer, and someone else brings pots and pans. Maybe ask for a decent set of pots and pans for Christmas? WHAT THEY WISH THEY KNEW I wish I knew landlords don’t always care about tenants' wellbeing. If you can fork the cash, moving companies are worth it, if not, cityhop vans and a crew make it manageable. Take photos before moving things in. It takes a whole day to clean after moving out. I wish I had thoroughly read tenancy law, know your rights!

For years, researchers at Te Herenga Waka, wanting to study depression in rats, could dunk them in a tank of water and watch how long they struggled before giving up. The Porsolt Swim Test (PST)—also called the forced swim test—was a standard tool in preclinical drug research for decades. Now, the University has made its position explicit: it won't approve the procedure anymore. VUW’s Animal Ethics Committee updated its website to formally reflect what had already become practice in the lab, late last month releasing a statement “We recognise that scientific understanding evolves, and with it, the appropriateness of certain methodologies. Procedures that are no longer considered valid (such as the use of the Porsolt Swim Test for depression research) or relevant within the context of contemporary research will not be approved for use.” When I spoke with Adrian Bibby, Secretary of the Animal Ethics Committee at Te Herenga Waka, they told me that no application to use the test had been approved since 2018, and the last time it was actually carried out was 2017. Bibby explained this is because often both researchers and the committee remain committed to ensuring robust results that do not need unnecessary repetition, thus “Researchers often move away from outdated methodologies proactively, without the need for the Committee to formally ban specific tests.” Put simply, researchers move away from the PST far earlier than it needs to be banned. The reason for its obsoletion, according to Bibby, is that the test had become outdated and controversial within the scientific community. What happens to a rat forced to swim doesn't tell us nearly enough about what's happening in the brain of a person living with depression. Bibby informed me that both the University and the Animal Ethics Committee “remain committed to being open about how and why animals are used in research.” As such, the broad and diverse membership that make up the committee inform their opinions based on a range of sources such as “members’ expertise, guidance from the National Animal Ethics Advisory Committee, resources on alternatives to animal research, and emerging scientific knowledge.” Bibby makes a point to inform me that consideration for such tests are not tied to fixed review intervals but instead are considered based upon "Scientific validity and ethical acceptability.” When asked whether the Animal Ethics Committee is focused on reducing further animal testing within the University, Bibby stressed that “the term ‘animal testing’ is often used to refer specifically to regulatory toxicity testing, which the University does not undertake.” VUW requires all researchers to consider the 3R’s, “reduction—how the number of animals can be reduced to the minimum necessary; refinement—how methods can be refined to minimise impact and enhance animal welfare; replacement—how they can use alternatives wherever possible,” and as such Animal welfare is one of the highest concerns for the Animal Ethics Committee. However, in a statement, the Animal Ethics Committee did admit that “The Committee acknowledges that, despite significant advances in alternative methods, certain complex biological processes and integrated physiological responses currently cannot be adequately studied without the use of living animals (in vivo).” Approximately half of the University's animal research is conducted concurrently within conservation biology programmes. That means that the study of wild animals within their natural habitats is focused on non-invasive and non-harmful methods. Ultimately, VUW’s quiet shift away from the Porsolt Swim test reflects a broader change already underway in scientific research: a move towards methods that are more ethically sound and scientifically reliable. The evolving standards on the committee are ever-changing and we should look to them keenly as current scientific approaches change. This is a win for both the Scientific Community and for animal ethics as a whole.

A feed for fuck-all Earl’s What: classic, USA-style sandwiches. Price: $10.00 When: 7:30am - 2pm, Monday - Friday. They forgot to convert their prices when this New York deli moved to Pōneke. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ At first glance, ‘juicy’ doesn’t sound like how a sandwich should be advertised. I like to eat mine, not drink them nor have them disintegrate in my hands. But sinking your teeth into a toasted Philadelphia Steak from Earl’s means realising that ‘juicy’ is actually exactly how you’ve always wanted a sandwich. And it is exactly how this one comes. Thinly-sliced beef steak is silky, the colour of blueberry sorbet, and dripping with juices. It isn’t skimped on either; the meat ribbons back and forth in layers. On top of the beef are slabs of grilled capsicums, bright red with flecks of char still on them. Then a heaping of mellow-sweet, browned onions fill out the roll, topped with a slathering of soft cheese. The fillings are top-notch and generous; there is no way this is financially-viable for them. Regardless, it’s delicious. The menu does allege that there's a horseradish gravy too. If so, it doesn’t show itself with any kick, which is a shame. Regardless, the sandwich certainly doesn’t need it for saturation—the steak, capsicum and onions keep it well juicy. Any sliced bread would crumble under this filling, but the hoagie-style roll used here holds up well. It is thick enough to hold its own, without becoming just a mouthful of bread. It’s toasted enough to be crisp without shattering on impact like a baguette, yet still springy and reasonably light. As half a sandwich's volume, your bread has got to be pretty good. With the quality and quantity of fillings that Earl’s offers, one would expect and perhaps even excuse that they present them on a cheaper, voluminous bread. Their bread isn’t artisan, sure, but it’s certainly no Supersoft. Earl’s is part of the Wellesley Hotel building, a skinny wooden door on the corner of Ballance and Maginnity street. It’s hard to find, but well worth it. While I haven’t yet had all of Earl’s menu, I plan to. So far it’s been hits all the way down. The Choice Lamb, with roasted garlic kumara, halloumi, watercress, and mint gravy is like a travel-sized Sunday roast. Kumara and halloumi will never disappoint, but they do have strong flavours. Luckily, there’s plenty of lamb to balance them out, while the mint gravy keeps things from being too stodgy. I don’t get too many opportunities to eat lamb, and this is one that I grab with both hands. Their Pastrami Reuben is also one to recommend, though I have no authentic comparison. The closest I’ve got to a New York deli was a Jewish grandma who I lived with for a year after high school, who’d stack pastrami, sauerkraut, mayonnaise and ketchup on sliced Vogel’s. Earl’s scales it all up a bit, but all the components are pretty similar. Whether that’s a kudos to Earl or Elle, I’m not sure. Regardless, the Pastrami Rueben hits it out of the park as well, being a slightly lighter option than the steak or lamb options, with more acidity and bite. I love bringing people to Earl’s and watching their disbelief fade as their sandwich is handed over the counter, and then shatter completely after their first bite. Somehow, it really is as good as it looks. A half-size costs you $10.00 and makes a decent lunch. I probably could put away an $18.00 full-size, but I’ve never needed to to feel full. Savvy customers might get a whole one and split it. If you can do so with a friend—then and there—by all means, but these sandwiches are limp and disappointing after a night in the fridge. Hot and crispy is the way to go. It is a shame that not all their sandwiches are available in half-sizes; vegans and vegetarians are forced to go big or go hungry. For those after a stack of tender meat and sauce in a bun, however, Earl’s is your hole-in-the-wall. It’s only 5 minutes walk from Pipitea Campus, the service is friendly and quick, and the sandwiches are fucking divine. Am I talking shit? Do you wildly disagree, or want to feed my ego by telling me I’m so right? Or have I overlooked a place so far that readers really need to know about? Send me something to chew on at: guy@salient.org.nz.

The newest addition to Aro Valley’s village strip is Octo, a record store, café, Yakatori restaurant, and listening bar all rolled into one. Opened to the public on May 1, it has already gained support and what’s shaping up to be regular return customers in its first week. “Cool set-up is going to absolutely hum,” one five-star reviewer wrote. “Will be back,” and “would eat again,” said two others. The unique concept of a “listening bar” originated in 1950s Japan as a tearoom for people who couldn’t afford their own records, but still wanted to enjoy them. Rising in international popularity, the venues provide an alternative to clubs, with a focus on music and ambience rather than dancing. A collaboration between owners Benjamin James, Zuyi Woon, and Jeremy Hollis, Octo is being hailed as a Wellington first. “It’s about still being able to have a conversation with someone, and you might hear, you know, something you’re interested in,” James told Salient. When asked whether Octo will be focusing on just jazz, like original ongaku kissaten, the response was “hell no!” “I never want to pigeonhole the music that I listen to,” he said. Many will recognise James from Herb’s Mobile Record Store, the converted blue truck-turned-vinyl-shop that has frequented Wellington city and suburbs since 2021. Now, Herb’s has found a bricks-and-mortar home as OctoHerb, selling from Octo’s back room. As well as spinning vinyl from 10 a.m. Wednesday to Sunday, the bar will host DJs on Friday and Saturday nights, with no entry fee. The lineup for the rest of May includes Steve the Hat, GMajor, Webmaster, Vu, Takas, and booof. On the hospitality side of things, Zuyi Woon, co-owner of New Zealand’s only fully manual coffee bar Pour & Twist, has developed an enticing menu of Japanese-inspired snacks, including yakitori-style skewers, chicken karaage, and miso herb toasties. Bar food ranges from an affordable $6 to $16, while cocktails, wine, and beer come in at fairly standard pricing. Menus are printed on seven-inch vinyl records, a personalised, stylish touch. The bar itself has a cosy, intimate feel. Retro action figures and old working TV consoles decorate a dimly lit, dark wood interior that accommodates up to forty-five patrons. Octo sits opposite AroVision, one of the city's two remaining video rental stores. Together, the venues contribute to Aro Street’s nostalgic evocation of days gone by. James said they chose the Valley because it’s affordable, it’s home, and he’s “kinda over Wellington city.” “The city has had its heyday and is going through this intermediary time where it needs to sort itself out a little bit, whether that’s council related or business,” he said. “They’ve been kicking really great things out.” While feedback since the launch has been good, Octo has been two years in the making. The venue experienced building consent, liquor and licensing application delays, as well as some community pushback and what James described as a general adversary attitude from Wellington City Council, all of which made opening difficult. The project has been adapted from one with an outdoor area and later opening times to better suit these requirements, and locals are coming around to it. “A great addition to the Valley!” a passerby called out to me as I took the photos for this article. You heard it here first! You can find the listening bar and record shop at 102 Aro Street, a thirteen-minute walk from Kelburn campus.

Neditor-in-Chief So, you’ve survived halls. Congratulations. You’ve made it through mystery meat, communal bathrooms, fire alarms at 2 a.m., and that one group on your floor who treated the corridor like a nightclub. Now comes the next level: flatting. Flatting sounds glamorous in a very student way. You get a lounge. You get a kitchen. You get to pretend you are the kind of person who buys vegetables before they rot in the bottom drawer. But flatting also comes with something halls usually handle for you: the law. Unfortunately, your landlord, your bond, your lease, your rent, your inspections, your mouldy bathroom ceiling, and your passive-aggressive group chat messages all exist in a legal universe. So before you sign anything, here is your unofficial, very necessary, slightly dramatic, flatting survival guide. Tip 1: Know What You’re Actually Signing Before you sign a tenancy agreement, read it. Yes, all of it. Even the boring bits. Especially the boring bits. In New Zealand, you’ll usually come across a few types of tenancies. A fixed-term tenancy means you are locked in for a set amount of time, usually a year. You generally cannot just leave early unless everyone (including the landlord) agrees (usually at a cost), so do not sign a 12-month lease with people you have known for three weeks and one toga party unless you’re ready for the potential repercussions. A periodic tenancy has no fixed end date. It keeps going until either the tenant or landlord gives the correct written notice. This is more flexible, but it also means you need to understand notice periods and not just ditch your way out of the flat. A boarding house tenancy is different again. This is usually where you rent a room and share facilities with other people, and there are separate rules around things like notice, access, and house responsibilities. Basically, if you are renting just a room and not the whole flat, check what type of agreement you are actually under. Tip 2: The Bond Is Not a Gift to Your Landlord Your bond is not a cute little thanks-for-letting-us-move-in present. It is your money, held as security in case something goes wrong, like unpaid rent or damage beyond normal wear and tear. Before you move in, take photos of everything. And I mean everything. The carpet stain. The dent in the wall. The suspicious mark behind the fridge. The curtain that looks like it’s on its last legs. Email the photos to yourself so there is a record from day one. When you move out, your landlord cannot just keep your bond because they think “the place was messy.” There needs to be an actual reason. If there is a disagreement, you can go through Tenancy Services or the Tenancy Tribunal (explained below). The goal, by taking photos, is to avoid ending your first flatting year in a courtroom-adjacent situation over a shower curtain. Tip 3: Rent Is Not Optional, Sadly Rent is one of those annoying adult things where paying it on time is not considered impressive, it is just expected. Tenancy Services lists paying rent on time as one of the key tenant responsibilities. Set up an automatic payment. Do not rely on “I’ll remember on Wednesday,” because you will not. Wednesday will become Friday, Friday will become “oops,” and suddenly the flat group chat is in crisis over an angry email from your landlord. Also, sort out bills early. Power, internet, gas, rubbish, cleaning stuff, toilet paper. Nobody wants to become a flat parent, but somebody needs to know when the Wi-Fi bill is due. A good trick is to have one shared flat account where everyone pays the same amount weekly for expenses. A bad trick is letting one person pay for everything and never paying them back. It will only end in ruined friendships. Tip 4: Your Landlord Cannot Just Appear This is a big one. Your landlord owns the property, but while you are renting it, it is your home. That means you have the right to reasonable peace, comfort, and privacy, also called quiet enjoyment. Your landlord cannot just walk in because they were “in the area.” They usually need to give proper notice or get your permission. For necessary repairs or maintenance, landlords must give at least 24 hours’ notice, and the work should happen between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m. For things like showing the property to potential buyers or future tenants, they need to ask permission, not just announce that strangers will be wandering through your bedroom the minute of. Tip 5: Inspections Are Not a Personal Attack Flat inspections can feel like being judged by an adult who owns a clipboard. But they are legal and normal, as long as the landlord follows the rules. In New Zealand, routine flat inspections often happen about every three months. The most they can usually happen is once every four weeks, and your landlord must give at least 48 hours’ notice, but not more than 14 days’ notice. Inspections also need to happen at reasonable times: between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m. The cheat sheet is simple: do not live in a biohazard. You do not need to have a Pinterest kitchen. You do need to keep the place reasonably clean and tidy, report damage, and avoid letting the bathroom become a documentary about mould. If something breaks, tell the landlord as soon as possible. Do it in writing. “Hey, the oven is not working” is better than waiting three months and then casually mentioning you have been cooking everything in the toastie machine. Also, landlords can only ask for reasonable things. They cannot use an inspection as a magic wand to turn their maintenance problems into your personal invoice. If they inspect the flat and say, “That broken window is your issue to repair,” that is not automatically true. It depends how it broke. If someone in the flat smashed it, that is one thing. If it cracked because the frame is old, the weather was brutal, or it was already on its last legs, that may be the landlord’s repair. If in doubt, do not panic-text the group chat and elect the loudest flatmate as your legal representative. Phone Tenancy Services and talk it over with them. Keep photos, keep messages, and keep everything in writing. Tip 6: Repairs Are a Team Sport, But Should Not Always Your Bill Landlords have to keep the property in a reasonable state of repair and meet relevant health and safety standards. Tenants need to keep the place reasonably clean and tell the landlord about damage or repairs straight away. Translation: if the roof leaks, that is not your DIY issue. Tell the landlord. If you put a hole in the wall while trying to move a couch because someone said “pivot” one too many times, that is more likely your problem. Do not stop paying rent because repairs have not been done. Tenancy Services specifically says tenants must not stop paying rent while waiting for the landlord to fix something. It may feel emotionally correct, but legally it is not the move. You can try to negotiate a temporary rent reduction, but you cannot just decide the rent is now $12. What you can do is put it in writing. If you have asked your landlord to fix something they are responsible for and nothing happens, you can issue a 14-day notice to remedy. This is a formal written notice saying what the problem is, what needs to be fixed, and that they have 14 calendar days to sort it out. For example: “The roof has been leaking since 3 March. Please repair the leak within 14 days.” Tenancy Services has templates for this, so you do not have to invent legal language while angry. If the landlord still does not fix it after the notice period, you can apply to the Tenancy Tribunal. The Tribunal can order the work to be done, and in some cases may order compensation or other remedies. Keep photos, emails, texts, dates, and screenshots. Tip 7: The Tenancy Tribunal Is Not Your First Stop The Tenancy Tribunal is where tenancy arguments go when everyone has tried being normal and it has not worked. It is a formal place where tenants and landlords can sort out serious disputes, including bond disagreements, unpaid rent, damage claims, repairs not being done, rent increases, rent arrears, ending a tenancy, issues with notice periods, access and inspection problems, harassment, privacy breaches, illegal fees, flat abandonment, and disagreements about whether someone has breached the tenancy agreement. It is less dramatic than court, but it is still a legal process. Before you go there, try the boring-but-important steps first: talk to your landlord, put things in writing, keep records, take photos, and use a 14-day notice to remedy if something needs to be fixed. You can also contact Tenancy Services for advice or mediation. Mediation is often the better option because it can help sort things out without everyone entering the courtroom. Before applying to the Tribunal, get a second opinion. Contact Tenancy Services, Community Law, or the VUWSA Student Advocate Service. They can help you work out whether your issue is actually a Tribunal issue, what evidence you need, and whether there is a less stressful way to sort it. The Tribunal is the last resort. Use it when the issue is serious, you have evidence, and the normal options have not worked. Bring your emails, texts, photos, rent records, bond records, inspection reports, repair requests, 14-day notices, and anything else that proves what happened. “Everyone in the flat reckons it was unfair” is not evidence. A dated photo of the mouldy ceiling is. Basically: do not be scared of the Tenancy Tribunal, but do not sprint there every time your landlord sends an annoying email. Try to sort it properly first. Then, if you need it, the Tribunal is there. Conclusion: You Are Not Expected to Become a Tenancy Lawyer Overnight Flatting is a lot. You are managing rent, chores, bills, missing socks, mystery fridge smells, group chats and inspections. The basic survival guide is this: know what you are signing, get everything in writing, pay rent on time, report repairs early, keep the place reasonably clean, take photos, protect your bond, and do not ignore weird landlord behaviour just because everyone is busy and tired. You do not need to be dramatic. You do need to be organised. Screenshots, emails, photos, receipts, rent records, and dated messages are your best friends. They are boring friends, but they will absolutely come through for you. This guide is only a starting point. It does not cover every flatting disaster, every legal detail, or every “surely they can’t do that?” moment. For more information, check Tenancy Services, Community Law, and the VUWSA Student Advocate Service. They can help you understand your rights, your responsibilities, and what to do before things turn into a full flatting saga. Final survival rule: do not panic, do not guess, and do not let the loudest person in the flat become the legal department. Get advice early, keep records, and remember that flatting is survivable—even when turning on the washing machine vibrates all the walls in the flat.