Tērā anō te mui o te mahi ki ngā pakihiwi o ngā māngai tauira Māori o te motu, rātou e whai i te ara pokepoke hei whai oranga ngā tauira ki ngā whare wānanga. Arā anō ngā tini take o te wā nei. Heoi, ehara i te mea he āhuatanga hou tēnei mō ēnei rōpū. Ko te ara takahi ai e rātou nō nā noa nei, he ara kōputaputa, he ara poutama ka ekea hei whakapāoho te reo o ngā tauira Māori ki te taumata o te hāpori whānui. Mā tēnei e taea ai ngā tauira te whakaputa whakaaro mō ngā āhuatanga maha ka pā ki a rātou. Ko ēnei rōpū māngai tauira he hokinga mahara ki taua whakaaro e mea ana he tikanga tō te whai mātauranga, ā, ko te ao hurihuri tētahi o aua tikanga. Atu i te pakanga mō ngā nawe pēnei i ngā pūtea taurewa me ngā tahua tauira (student allowance) kei te mura o te ahi rātou, tautohe ai mō ngā nawe e hāngai ana ki ngā take pāpori.

Ko te mahi a ētahi he whakahahani i ngā rōpū māngai, te kī kei te aro kē mātou ki te taha ‘mauī’, ki te taha ‘matau’ rānei o te kāwanatanga, otirā, ko mātou kē e noho kūpapa ana, te reo o te nui, o te rahi e hāpai ana i ngā nawe o te tokoiti.

Ko tā mātou nei mahi, he kawe reo o ngā tauira ki ngā rangatira o te Whare Mīere e mau nei te mana whakahaere o te motu. I te nuinga o te wā, ka tuku whakaaro hei hāpai i te mana taurite me te ikeiketanga mō ngā tauira katoa e whai ana ite mātauranga. Ae rā, he pai ngā rōpū mō te whakatipu tautohe, whakangungu wheako, whakanui whakaaro engari ko ngā rōpū o nāianei he ratonga matua ki te tokomaha o ngā tauira.

Ko te taupatupatu o tēnei wā e pā ana ki te pire e kīa nei ko te VSM (Voluntary Student Membership). I ahu mai tēnei i tētahi tikanga paremata, ka mutu, ko tōna tikanga he mea angitū, ehara i te mea he āhuatanga nā ngā tauira anō i whakarite. Nā tērā, ka whakapau werawera ki te whakamārama i ngā tini āhuatanga o ō mātou mahi, kaua ko te mahi i te mahi kē. Arā, kua mate mātou ki te whawhai i tēnei pire, ā, ka mate te tauira ki te whai huarahi kē hei tautoko i a ia anō.

He mea matua tēnei kohinga reo o ngā tauira e whakapāoho i ngā nawe o ngā tauira huri noa i te motu. I tēnei wā whakapaipai, whakatikatika o te wāhanga mātauranga, kua tino
whai tikanga te tauira reo tahi. Inā te pukumahi a ngā tauira ki te mau i tēnei tikanga o te reo kotahi, ko te reo e kōrerohia nei he mea e whakaputa i ōna māharahara mō ngā whakarerekētanga o te ao mātauranga. Ko tēnei te reo ka ngaro mēna ka whai hua te pire VSM.

Hei tirohanga whānui, ka taea te kī nā tēnei pire, kua whai wā tātou ki te tiro whakamuri ki ngā rā o nehe o te kāhui tauira. Ahakoa ngā whakapātaritaritanga o ngā tau kua pahure, ngā kaupapa maha e kōkirihia e te kāwanatanga, e kore te whawhai e mimiti mō ngā rōpū māngai tauira, ka ū tonu ki ngā whāinga a ngā tauira. Arā te whakatauki, ‘ko te pae tawhiti whaia kia tata, ko te pae tata whakamaua kia tina’ hei kupu tohutohu mā tātou. Kua tū māia te kāhui tauira kia whai hua te katoa o ngā tauira, ahakoa te aha, ā, me ū tonu ki te kaupapa matua.
I tēnei wā, kua āhei ngā tauira me te hāpori whānui hoki te kite i te pāinga o ngā rōpū māngai tauira. Mai i te pōwhiri tuatahi tae noa ki te whakapōtaetanga o te tauira i ngā whare wānanga, ka taea te kite he hua kei ngā rōpū nei. Mai i te whakatika kaupapa, ki te manaaki tangata, kua rongo ngā kōrero. Kua piki ngā taumata ki runga i te mahi whakatōhia e NZUSA. Ka takahi mātou i ngā huarahi o te Kāwanatanga, tuku ai i ngā whakaaro ā-waha me ngā whakaaro ā-tuhi nei, ka mutu, kua whakaputa ki te hāpori, kia toitū ngā rōpū tauira hei taura e honohono nei i ngā whare wānanga.

Kua roa nei tātou ngā iwi Māori e whawhai ana mō te rangatiratanga o te whenua. E hia kē mai nei ngā whawhai kua tau ki mua i te aroaro o ngā Kooti. E hia kē ngā hīkoi mautohe i tīmata mai i ngā moka o te motu. Kua rangona ngā hāmama, ngā tangi mō tēnei mea te whenua. Ka titi mai te urupounamu he aha ngā hua i puta? Hei tā ētahi e whai take ana te whakaaro, kāore ngā hua i puta nō te mea kua tangohia te nuinga o ngā whenua e te ringa Kāwana. Mō te takutai moana ka toko ake te pātai i hanga mai ēnei ture hei haukoti i te ao Māori, hei karo kē rānei i te ao Pākehā? He ture tēnei kia whawhai tonu ngā Māori mō ngā kongakonga noa iho? Tuatahi mai me whakamahuki i ngā ture kia mōhio tātou ki ngā aronga o ēnei pātai. Mā tērā ka kitea he aha ngā take, he aha hoki ngā hiahia, ngā wawata o tēnā, o tēnā.

Rangatiratanga

Mai rānō ka noho ngā iwi Māori ki runga i te whenua. Nō runga i ngā tikanga Māori i whakapau ai ngā rauemi. Koinei te whakamāramatanga o tēnei mea te ‘rangatiratanga’: kia noho ko ngā iwi Māori hei ‘rangatira’ ki runga i te whenua. He tikanga whakahaere rauemi e puritia e te iwi, he mana whakahaere tāngata e puritia e te iwi. Kāore i tua atu i te mana kua tukuna ki taua rangatira e tōnā iwi. Nō te iwi e rangatira ai te rangatira. Pērā i te whakataukī ‘e kore te ure e tū ki te kore ngā raho’. I te taenga mai o te Pākehā kua mahia tēnei kupu ki roto i te Tiriti o Waitangi. I whakamahia tēnei kupu ‘rangatiratanga’ hei kawenga whakaaro ki roto i te horopaki o te Tiriti. Engari he aha te whakamāramatanga o ngā kupu ‘tino rangatiratanga’ i Waitangi i te tau 1840?

“Ko te Kuini o Ingarani ka wakarite ka wakaae ki nga Rangatira ki nga hapu—ki nga tangata katoa o Nu Tirani te tino rangatiratanga o ratou wenua o ratou kainga me o ratou taonga katoa. Otiia ko nga Rangatira o te Wakaminenga me nga Rangatira katoa atu ka tuku ki te Kuini…”

Ko te whakamāramatanga o te taha Pākehā kei raro nei:

“Her Majesty the Queen of England confirms and guarantees to the Chiefs and Tribes of New Zealand, and to the respective families and individuals thereof, the full, exclusive and undisturbed possession of their Lands and Estates, Forests, Fisheries, and other properties which they may collectively or individually possess, so long as it is their wish and desire to retain the same in their possession.”

He aha ētahi atu horopaki e rangona ana tēnei kupu ‘rangatiratanga’? E tika ana kua mahia tēnei kupu kia tukuna he mana o te whenua ki te tangata. I tētahi tiriti hokohoko o Te Rarawa kua tuku atu te ‘mana’ me te ‘rangatiratanga’ o te whenua ki tētahi atu.

“kua oti te tuku e matou e Nopera Pana Kareao ma kia Reiha Teira tetahi wahi wenua oti tonu atu me nga rakau katoa me nga aha aha noa me nga aha noa katoa e tupu ana i taua wenua me nga mea katoa o raro o taua wenua me te rangatiratanga me te mana i runga i taua wenua (Te Mātāhauariki, 2007).”

Ka kitea i runga nei ka taea te tuku i te mana me te rangatiratanga ki tētahi atu. Engari he rerekē te tauira ki runga i te Tiriti. Ki roto i te tauira ki runga kua tukuna te ‘mana’ me te ‘rangatiratanga’ ki raro i ngā tikanga Māori. Heoi, kia riro mā te tikanga Māori e whakamārama i te ‘mana’ me te ‘rangatiratanga’ kua tukuna atu, hāunga atu tērā o te ture Pākehā.

Te Ture Takutai Moana

I te tau 2004, i kōkiri te Pāti Reipa kia whakawhiwhi i te ture Takutai Moana. I runga i te mataku tēnei ture i kawea. Ka whakanohoia te takutai moana katoa ki raro i te mana o te Karauna. Ka riro mā ngā iwi e tonotono ki te Kōti kia whakamātauria nō rātou tētahi wāhanga o te takutai moana. Taumaha hārukiruki ngā pīkaunga ki te hiahia te iwi ki te haere ki te Kōti. Me whakaatu ki te Kōti nō 1840 i pupuri ki te iwi te ahi kā o taua takutai moana. Mēnā kāore e taea ka hinga te kēhi. Ahakoa te rarahi o ngā moni i pau i ngā roia, i ngā kairangahau, e kore te rangatiratanga o tērā whenua e hokia ki te iwi. Ko te whakatau kē o te Kōti he ‘customary rights order’ he ‘territorial rights order’ rānei. He timotimo noa iho tēnei i tērā i mau i ngā mātua tīpuna i mua. I te whakawhiwhinga o tēnei ture ka puta te Pāti Māori.

Te whakakorehanga o te ture 2004

I ngā tau ka tohe te Pāti Māori ki te Pāti Natinara kia tīnihia tēnei ture. Tekau mā waru ngā marama i tautohetohe rāua kia puta he whakatau whakamutunga. E rima ngā peka e kawe ana i te matū o tēnei whakakorehanga:

1. Ka whakakorengia te ture o 2004;
2. E kore te takutai moana e pupuri ki tētahi tangata ake, ka noho mō te tini ngerongero;
3. Mēnā e pupuri tonu ana te iwi i te mana whenua o tētahi wāhanga o te takutai moana, mā ngā Kōti te tono e whakatau;
4. I ētahi wā ka taea e te iwi te whakakore i ngā mahi o ngā pūtahi hokohoko ki runga i te takutai moana;
5. Ka noho tūmatawhānui te takutai moana. Ka noho te whenua hei ekeeke mā te tini ngiangia ahakoa waewae tapu, ahakoa waewae pokanoa.

I te karenga o te wai, he hua ka puta i tēnei ture. Engari ki te ruku tātou ki raro i te kahu o te wai, ka kitea he raru kei te haere. Pērā i te whakataukī he kokonga whare ka kitea, he kokonga ngākau e kore e kitea. Tuatahi atu, e mate ana tātou i te whakaaro nō te Karauna te mana whakatau he aha te aha. Nō rātou kē te mana nekeneke i a tātou. I noho ngā iwi Māori me tō rātou mana whenua ki Aotearoa. Koirā i tuhia ki te ‘Declaration of Independence’ i te tau 1835. Tuarua nei, mēnā kei a tātou te ‘rangatiratanga’ o ngā whenua ki mua i te taenga mai o tauiwi i konei, he aha te take o te tononga ki te Kōti? Pērā nei tātou i te keretao. Kua mau ngā aho i te ringa o te Kāwana, tarapekepeke ana, whawhai ana. E noho tautauāmoa tātou ki ngā maramara o te whenua.

Ngā kōrero hei arahī i a tātou

I te tau 1992 i puta mai he kōrero o te Taraipiunara o Waitangi hei whakaaro ake mā tātou:

“It is said to be based on tikanga Māori, or Māori law, in that traditionally the tribes had authority over the seas adjoining their land, an opinion encapsulated in the recent expression, ‘mana-whenua, mana-moana’. We would hesitate to use ‘tikanga Maori’ or ‘mana moana’ to describe the scheme however, for it is arguable that traditionally the mana, or authority, did not extend far from the shoreline, and the central feature of this scheme is the value given to the distant fisheries of modern times. The authority went only as far as it could in practice be enforced, it could be said, and customarily, the open seas were open. The equation does underline however, that there are differences in the extent of traditional resource ownership amongst the various iwi” The Fisheries Settlement Report Wai 307, Waitangi Tribunal, Wellington, 1992, cited in Te Mātāpunenga, 2007.

Kei roto i tēnei pūrongo te titiro o te Māori ki tōna whenua. Mai i te oneone tae atu ki te moana, nō te mana o te iwi te whenua. Nō te whenua e ora ai te iwi. Nō te iwi e mana ai te rangatira. Koirā te rangatiratanga i mau nei i ngā Māori o mua. Te āhua nei kua ngaro tērā wawata ki te pō kia noho ngerengere.

He hua ka puta?

Ko tētahi aronga o tēnei pātai kāore he paku hua. Kua riro i te Karauna te mana whakahaere i ēnei momo take. Engari e ai ki te titiro o te Māori ko ngā mokopuna te puanani o ngā whakatewhatewha a ngā mātua tīpuna. Ka whakatōkia he kākano ki te whenua, ka pārekereke, ka tipu, ka rea. Ki te whakaako tātou i ngā tamariki kia mahara i ēnei tirohanga, ka mau tonu. Ehara i te mea e noho pūmau ngā ture a te Pākehā mō ake tonu atu. Pēnei i te moana e ākina ā tai. I tōna wā ka eke, i tōna wā ka hinga. Kawe kau tātou kia mau ki ngā tirohanga, i ngā wawata o mua, ka whawhai tonu atu mō te rangatiratanga o nāianei.

I te wāhanga tuarua o te Tiriti o Waitangi, i te mea Pākehā me te mea Māori, kei ngā tāngata Māori te tino rangatiratanga o ngā whenua, o ngā kāinga me ngā taonga katoa o Aotearoa, nō reira ko tēnei te mana, me kī te tūranga rangatira o te kerēme. Ahakoa he iti te kupu nei, he nunui te tikanga.

Ki ngā kaitono, e whā ngā take o tēnei kerēme e takotohia nei ki raro:
• Kua hinga te Karauna i tō rātou mahi ki te whakamana i te tino rangatiratanga me te kaitiakitanga o ngā kararehe, ngā rākau, ēnei momo mea taketake ki Aotearoa me te mātauranga Māori.
• Kua hinga te Karauna ki te tiaki i ngā taonga Māori
• Kua takahi te Karauna i te tino rangatiratanga me te kaitiakitanga o te Māori ki tō rātou mahi whakarite kaupapa, whakahaere ture
• Kua whati te Karauna i te Tiriti o Waitangi ki tō rātou herenga ki ngā kaupapa o te ao e pā ana ki ngā taonga taketake o Aotearoa.

Tokoono ngā iwi o te komiti whakarite engari kua kitea he take tēnei e hono ana ki te iwi Māori whānui. Kāore e kore, he nunui tēnei kaupapa. Hei whakangāwari i te kerēme, kua whakarōpū te kaiwhakawā i ngā take kia whā.

1 – Ngā Take Mātauranga Māori: E pā ana ki te pupuritanga me te tiakitanga o te mātauranga mō ngā toi, ngā whakairo, te hītori, ngā kōrero-ā-waha, ngā waiata, te reo me ngā rongoā Māori.

2 – Ngā Take Whakatinana Mātauranga Māori: Kua pāngia e ngā ture kāore e tiaki ana i ngā taonga nō te Māori, kāore hoki e parepare i ngā takatakahi a ngā taonga Māori pērā i ngā whakairo me ngā mokomokai

3 – Ngā Take Mātauranga Māori me te Whakatinana Mātauranga Māori: E takahia ana e ngā ture e pā ana ki te mātauranga me ngā herenga ki ngā ture o te ao. Kei konei ngā take o te mana ki te whakahaere i ngā mea hou, te rēhitatanga o ngā tohutohu mahi ai i ngā kupu me ngā tohu māori pērā i ngā tā moko whakapapa

4 – Ngā Take o te Taiao me ngā Rauemi – Ko ngā raru e pā ana ki ngā kaupapa e mahi ai i te taiao me ngā rauemi, me kī ngā rākau, ngā kararehe te mea te mea. Me whai whakaaro ngā iwi mō tēnei mea, te hanganga ora o ngā mea taketake o te motu.

Koirā ngā kupu taumaha o tēnei take, kua kitea i te iwi Māori te hōhonutanga me te whakaharatanga. Ko te matū o te kōrero, me kī taurangi te Kāwanatanga i te tino rangatiratanga o ngā iwi Māori ki ngā kararehe, ngā manu, ngā otaota taketake o Aotearoa, te honongo ki aua mea, me te mātauranga. He raru tēnei o te ao whānui me ngā iwi taketake.

Te haerenga a te kerēme

I te tau 1998 me ngā tau e toru i whai ake, ka tukuna ngā kōrero a ngā kaitono hei whakatīmata i te mahi. I te tau 2006 i kawea te tono ki te Te Kotahitanga o te Ao (United Nations) kia whai tautoko mō te haerenga o te kerēme. Ko te manako, ka whakamana te Kāwanatanga i te tukanga kia tere mai te whakamutunga o te mahi. I te tau 2007, i aukati ngā tukunga ki te Taraipiunara katahi ka rumaki te Taraipiunara ki te tuhi rīpoata engari kāore anō kia puta. Ā tōna wā, ka hoatu te rīpoata ki te Kāwanatanga, mā te Kāwanatanga e whakatinana. Ehara i te mea ko tēnei te mutunga o te mahi, he whakatō kākano kē.

Kua roa te wā rātou ngā kaitono e ngana ana. Kua tinakuhia te haerenga e te Karauna me ētahi kamupene e kore e pīrangi kia tutuki te kerēme. Waihoki, kua mate te nuinga o ngā kaitono, mā te whānau e hari.

Nō reira, kia mataara, kia hiwa rā. Ki tā te whakataukī “Te umanga nui a neherā ko te whawhai”, kia pēnei tō tātou āhua i te whaitanga o ngā taonga Māori, o tō tātou tino rangatiratanga.

Nō ngā tau 1970, i tīmata te taki o tēnei mea te waka whakaora i te reo Māori i runga anō i te waimehatanga o ngā puna reo huri noa i te motu. Ko te pōkaikaha tērā o te minenga, ka mate te reo, ka parea tēnei taonga ki rahaki, ngaro noa. Ka putaputa mai ngā kaupapa whakaora reo mai i ngā whāruarua o te motu pēnei i te kākano o te Kōhanga Reo, te pihinga o te Kura Kaupapa Māori, te mahuri o te Wharekura, te kōhuretanga o te Whare Wānanga hoki. Āra anō ko Te Ātaarangi e whakatō ana i te kākano o te reo ki ērā o ngā mātua, ngā pahake kāore i tipu ake i te reo. Whai muri ake ko ngā kaupapa whakaora i te mita o te reo, arā, ko te Kāpunipuni Reo tērā mo ngā uri o Taranaki, ko te kaupapa Kotahi Mano Kāika tērā mō ngā uri o Ngāi Tahu, anō hoki, ko tētahi pekanga o te tino karamatamata o te reo tērā e poipoia nei e te Panekiretanga o te Reo. He mea whakaora katoa ēnei kaupapa i te reo Māori i waenganui i a tātou mā, kōhungahunga mai, pakeke mai, kaumātua mai. Otiia, he aha te pānga o te reo ki te oranga o te iwi?

Kia para i te huarahi o taku kōrero nei, tuatahi ko te whakamārama poto mō tēnei mea te ‘reo-ā-iwi’ me tōna ‘mita’.

“Tōku reo ka tuku, tōku mouri ka ora.”

He reo e mōhio whānuitia ā-motu nei te reo Māori nā te mea he reo taketake o Aotearoa, heoi, he wāhanga anō tō te reo Māori, arā, ko ngā pekanga o ngā reo-ā-iwi. Ko te rerekētanga o te ia, o te piki me te heke o te reo, o ngā kīwaha, whakataukī, whakatauāki o ia iwi hei whakaputa i ōna ake kōrero. Hei tauira, ki tā te tuhinga Ngā Reo ā-Iwi a Te Wharehuia Milroy ki te pukapuka Te Kōhure, ka mea mai ia:

Ki te haere koe ki roto o te rohe o Taranaki me ōna hapū katoa, hei konā anō koe rongo ai i ngā rerekētanga, arā, i ētahi atu rohe kua rongo koe i te kupu ‘kei’ e whakamahia ana. Ki roto o Mātaatua, o Te Arawa, o Te Tai Rāwhiti ka rongo koe e whakamahia ana ‘kai’. Kei roto i ētahi o ngā hapū o Taranaki me Whanga-nui e pērā ana anō tā rātau whakamahi i tērā kupu, i te ‘kei’. He ‘kai’ kē, he ‘hai’ rānei mō te ‘hei’ (1996:53).

He mita ake anō kei ētahi reo-ā-iwi. Hei tauira ake, ki tā te mita o te Tai Tokerau, ka makere mai te ‘w’ i te pū ‘wh’ kia noho hei ‘hakarongo’ te kupu e mōhio whānuitia e te nuinga ko te ‘whakarongo’. Anō nei, ko Ngāi Tūhoe mā, kua kore mai te ‘g’ mai i te pū ‘ng’ kia noho mai ko te ‘whakarono’. Tau atu ki Te Waipounamu, ko tā rātou he ‘k’ kē mō te pū ‘ng’ kia ‘whakaroko’ te kupu ‘whakarongo’ nei. Ā, ki tā te Tai Hauāuru ka warea ake te pū ‘h’ kia ‘wakarongo’ kē te kupu.

He tauira noa iho ēnei hei whakaatu i te rerekētanga matua o ia mita, ā, kia noho ko ēnei tauira e whakaatu ana i te rerekētanga o ia reo-ā-iwi, o ia mita, kia mārama pai ai te tangata he kokinga anō tō te reo Māori.

I runga i aua whakaaro, ka tahuri ake anō ki te reo me te mita o te Tai Hauāuru hei whakatauira te tino ngako o te kaupapa nei.

Te Kāpunipuni Reo o Taranaki

E ai ki te paetukutuku o Te Reo o Taranaki, ko te aronga matua o te Kāpunipuni Reo o Taranaki he whakaako, he wānanga i ngā āhuatanga katoa o te reo me te mita o Taranaki. Arā, ko te ōrokohanga o te kaupapa whakaora i te reo o Taranaki i puta tuatahi mai te taki o ngā kaupapa whakaora i te reo Māori o ngā rau tau 1980. Ko ngā nawe i rangona ai e te iwi te take i tū mai te rōpū kaporeihana o Te Reo o Taranaki, nā tēnei i puta te ihu o te waka whakaora reo i te tau 1986 hei kawe ake i ngā wawata o rātou mā ngā mata reherehe mo ngā uri whakaheke.

E ai ki te pūataata rorohiko mō te rautaki o Te Reo o Taranaki, nō te tau 1991 ka huakina ngā tatau o Te Kōhanga Reo o Te Kōpae Tamariki ki Ngāmotu. Ka kotahi tau, ko ngā kuaha o Te Kura Kaupapa Māori o Te Pihipihinga Kākano Mai Rangiātea i tūwhera mai. Makere mai te whitu tau, ko te Wharekura i āpiti atu ki te kura. Anō hoki, ko Te Ātaarangi tonu e whakaako ana i te reo i Taranaki ki te marea, ēngari, ko te Kāpunipuni Reo i puta hei whakakīkī i te whārua mō ērā tokoiti matatau kē ana ki te reo.

Ko ngā tūmomo āhuatanga e whakaakona, e whakamahia ki ngā wānanga o te Kāpunipuni ko ngā karakia ōmua, ngā karakia hou, te whaikōrero, te karanga hoki, ngā waiata ōmua, ngā waiata hou, te kōrero paki, te pao maioha, me te taukumekume. Ko ēnei āhuatanga katoa he whai i ngā tikanga o Taranaki, o Ngā Rauru hoki. Ka tū ngā wānanga nei ki ngā marae huri noa i te rohe, ā, mā te hunga kua tangata whenua mai i aua marae e taki i ngā kōrero o ia wānanga.

Ko te mea nui o te Kāpunipuni, ko ngā kōrero katoa e hāngai tōtika ana ki ngā uri o ngā waka o Aotea, Tokomaru me Kurahaupō; ki ngā kōrero me ngā hītori o ngā iwi whānui o Taranaki. I a te tauira o te Kāpunipuni e wānanga ana i tōna mita ake, ko ia hoki e mau pūmau ana ki tōna ake tuakiri, arā, ko te reo tērā e mau kaha ana ki te tuakiri o te tangata. Ki tā te tohunga wetereo, Joshua Fishman, ko te takakino o te reo, he takakino o te tuakiri, arā, mā te oranga o tētahi te oranga o tērā atu hoki, ka mate te reo, ka whakamomori nei tātou i a tātou anō. Ki te ora te tuakiri o ia iwi, me ora anō tōna ake reo, mita hoki.

Nō reira, kei te ora tonu te reo?

Ka whānui taku titiro ki te oranga o te reo Māori. I taku tirohanga tuatahi ki tēnei urupounamu ka tere taku whakapae, āe, kei te ora tonu. I runga anō i te maha o ngā kaupapa whakaora reo e karapotia nei e te motu ināianei, i runga anō hoki i te mea e āhei ana ahau me te nui o ōku whānau ki te kōrero i te reo, te nui o ōku hoa hoki me ērā atu tāngata kei te hāpori, kei ngā pouaka whakaata, kei ngā reo irirangi, kei te ipurangi, kei hea kē mai e taea ai te kōrero, te rongo, te kite hoki i te reo e whakamahi ana – i runga anō i ērā whakatau āku, ka tika, kei te ora pai te reo. Ēngari anō, ki te tahuri ake ki ngā tatauranga ō mua, e whakaatu ana ēnei nama i tētahi āhuatanga kē.

E ai ki ngā kōrero o te pae tukutuku o Te Taura Whiri i te Reo Māori, i te tau 1913, āhua 92% te nui o ngā tamariki Māori e taea te kōrero i te reo Māori. Tau atu ki te 1973-78 o ngā tau, āhua 18-20% noa iho te maha o te tangata, ko te nuinga hoki he kaumātua. I te 1985 ka heke anō ki te 12%, otiia, e kore e mutu ki reira te hekenga o te tatauranga. Nō te tau 2006, ka puta mai anō ngā tatauranga mō te reo, i tēnei wā e kī ana e 4% noa iho te maha o te tangata ki Aotearoa e taea te kōrero i te reo Māori. Hei tāpiri ki tērā, mai ngā Māori katoa o Aotearoa – arā he 14% noa iho o te huinga tāngata katoa ki Aotearoa nei – 24% noa iho o aua Māori ka taea te kōrero Māori. Ki te whakataurite tērā ki te paihēneti o te maha o ngā tangata e taea te kōrero i te reo Pākehā, arā, e 95% e taea, tēnā, pehea tērā atu 5% paihēneti? Kāore e kore ko te nuinga – inā kāore i te katoa – he tangata nō whenua kē me tō rātou ake reo rerekē! Kāore kau he tangata e taea te kī e tūturu ana ko te reo Māori tōna reo noa iho. Kia whakaritea anō tātou i te rahi o te 24% o ngā tangata Māori; ko te nui o te tangata Māori e taea te kōrero i te reo Māori he pēnei te rite o te nui o te tangata noho ana ki tētahi rohe o Tamaki-makaurau i te tau 2006.

Ko ēnei momo tatauranga e whakaatu ana i te tino oranga o te reo. He reo rehurehu noa iho i te tirohanga mārō nei. Ka tata hemo te reo i te ngoikore o te nuinga me te tokoiti o te hunga matatau ki te kōrero, ngākaunui ana hoki ki te reo. Nō reira ka tika te ui atu, ‘kei te ora tonu te reo Māori?’

“He reo e kōrerotia ana, he reo ka ora.”

Otiia, ahakoa ngā tatauranga nei, kia mōhio mai koutou, ka mau tonu au ki te whakaaro, āe, kei te ora tonu te reo Māori. E kore rawa au e whakapae kua mate katoa te reo Māori tae noa ki te wā kua hemo katoa tātou e kawe i te hā, i te mura, i te ahi o te reo. Ēngari anō, he tika te whakatau, e kore te reo e ora pēnei nā i ngā rā ō mua, arā, te kaha rangona ki ngā wāhi katoa, te maringi noa mai ngā korokoro, waha, ngutu maha, te tika hoki o te reo. E kao. He ora pēnei i tētahi tangata e mau tonu ana ki tētahi tūpari, ā, ki te taka ia, ka hemo. Kei te kapokapo haere tātou i ngā kōhatu, i ngā paruparu, i te pātītī kia ora tātou i te pari rā. Kei te pēnā te ora o te reo ināianei, ko te whiu noa iho o ngā kupu hangahanga, ko te kaha mikirapu o ngā rerenga kōrero, o ngā kupu, te whakatū kaupapa whakaora reo maha, aha atu, aha atu mo te tūpono ka ora mai te reo i te muia o te reo, i te pārara o te hora ki te whenua. Ko te whakaaro nei kei te kōrerohia te reo, kei te kite atu, ko te tūpono kei te ora. Heoi, ko te reo Māori tērā e rere ana? Anei te tino ngako o ēnei kōrero. Ka mate tātou i te hurihanga o tēnei ao me ōna pānga maha ki a tātou, ki ngā iwi Māori o te motu, ki te reo hoki.

Maringanui he kaupapa whakaora reo pēnei i Te Kāpunipuni Reo. I runga i te whakaaro ko te ako, ko te whakaako hoki o te reo Māori he mahi paratī i te puna reo, he mea tīmatatanga noa iho hei eke ki te taumata kōrero. Ki te kōkirihia tonutia te kaupapa whakaora reo, hei māunu ake te oranga o te iwi hoki, me ruku hōhonu nei i ngā hōpuapua o te mita o te reo hei wānanga, hei wetewete i ngā kōrero a rātou mā. Kei reira kē te pūmautanga o te reo me ōna tikanga. Kia muramura mai te ahi kā ki roto ki tēnā, ki tēnā, pērā ki ngā pou o te reo Māori, te hunga kua roa nei e ‘tutungia te hātete’ o te reo, arā, kia Tīmoti Karetu mā, kia Te Wharehuia Milroy, kia Huirangi Waikerepuru, kia Tipene O’Reagan hoki. Kua riro mā rātou e mau i te ahi kā roa mo tātou kua mauheretia ki te reo paraoa o tēnei ao hurihuri, ā, ko te mura o te hā kei tēnā, kei tēnā o tātou e kawe tonu i te kaupapa. Ka tika kia para tonu tātou i tēnei ara o te reo kia tutungia tēnei mura hei ahi-kā-roa mo ērā e takahi ana i tēnei ara tāpokopoko.

Photo credit: Remon Rijper

Not all of us, of course. My neighbours are picking piles of silverbeet big enough to make a six year-old cry. In the depths of the nature-loving Cotton Building there are office windows full of tomato and basil planters, with the occasional mandarin tree thrown in for good measure. If you listen hard enough you may hear proposals for potato plots in the stairwells, conversations on eel-harvesting in the corridors, and tales of Tahr-shooting in the tearoom (for the uninitiated, Himalayan Tahr are a large, invasive ungulate).

For the majority of New Zealanders, it seems the concept of growing and harvesting our own food is either unwelcome or impossible. Here in Aotearoa many traditional mahinga kai (food-gathering places) are unable to be utilised by communities due to loss of lands as a direct result of colonisation, or through degradation of habitats and threat to native species.

Globally, we all know things aren’t too pretty, food-wise. Although it’s difficult to pin down concrete statistics, the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organisation estimated in late 2009 that over one billion people are undernourished worldwide, up from the 854 million estimated in 2006. Contrary to our childhood dinner table entreaties to “think of the starving children in Africa”, almost two-thirds of hungry peeps live in Asia and the Pacific. Suffice to say, it’s extremely depressing. So what to do?

The New Zealand Government is calling for ‘better’ (read: more intensive) global agriculture, to cut greenhouse gases and feed the hungry. They argue that we need to industrialise food production, possibly even adding a few pinches of Genetically Modified Organisms to keep up with the exponentially expanding human population. While our swelling species probably doesn’t help matters, it’s too easy to pin all our food issues on “overpopulation”. In fact, the world currently produces enough food to feed us all.

There’s a mash-up of reasons for malnutrition: poverty, harmful economic systems and conflict being first in line. What we’ve got here is a distribution problem. Think of Aotearoa: we’re a ‘developed’ country with a welfare system, supposedly clean water, and hundreds of thousands of cows meandering around paddocks nationwide. However we’re still subject to skyrocketing food prices, with families who can’t afford to buy breakfast, and kids succumbing to “third world” illnesses because of micro-nutrient deficiencies.

A primary school kid opens her lunchbox and sees no fresh fruit; simultaneously 30 fresh oranges are thrown into a skip behind a supermarket, resting next to a can of dented beans and a discarded tray of eggs, just one cracked. Last year The Guardian reported that global hunger could be alleviated by redistributing the millions of tonnes of food disposed of annually in the UK and US.

In New Zealand it’s particularly difficult for shops to give way unsold products, due to higher regulations dealing with use-by dates. While your local bakery staff may dearly love to give their excess custard pastries to the city mission, it’s likely difficult for them to do so.

It’s a bit upsetting when you start to mull over it. Luckily, there’s a global movement out there dealing with this sort of waste. It’s called freeganism.

Freeganism: a brief introduction

‘Freeganism’ is a mash-up of ‘free’ and ‘vegan’, describing an anti-consumerist lifestyle based on “limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources”. The movement sprung from a collision of alterglobalisation and environmentalism in the 1960s, with primary aims of reducing waste, limiting environmental and social harms resulting from goods production, and building awareness on how human actions impact the world.

Freeganism is often motivated for environmental, religious or political reasons. Freegan activities may include building renewable energy systems, squatting and cycle-sharing, For sake of simplicity we’ll focus on three issues of food freeganism: ‘free stores’, Food Not Bombs and dumpster diving.

But first, my disclaimer: I’m no active freegan. Rather, I’m interested in portraying freeganism in a fairly accurate light. Like all movements, freeganism is diverse and individuals are motivated by a smorgasbord of reasons; this article does not pretend to represent the movement.

Buying food, for free?

In May 2010, a small vibrant business was set up on Ghuznee Street by artist Kim Paton. The shop stocked a range of fresh produce and grocery items, but with a catch: all goods were completely free. The Wellington Free Store was designed to raise discussion around the value of products and definition of ‘waste’, exploring what happens to edible food items after trading stops.

For a fortnight customers flocked to look, comment and ‘buy’. The store was supplied by a number of local retailers, many who already provide excess stock to social agencies at no cost. Goodies included coffee from Supreme and People’s Coffee, bread from Arobake and Brooklyn bakeries, and produce from Countdown and Woolworth’s supermarkets.

Self-facilitation was rife: those in need carried shopping bags home with them; students self-moderated to a larger degree; others might have chosen a singular item. In a world where ‘need’ is often socially constructed, the Free Store showed that individuals and families may have a better idea of their own needs.

I recently caught up with Paton, planning a brief retrospective of the project. But I was pleasantly surprised: the Free Store is likely returning to our windy city. Paton says the two-week trial was a test, and that she plans to “look at viability over a longer period of time”; by late August a longer, four-month version of the Free Store should be underway, largely due to youth community group Zeal taking on the project.

Kaibosh is a Wellington non-profit organisation that has been working since 2008 to redistribute food products from retailers that would otherwise have been disposed of to charities. The Free Store worked alongside this organisation, but Paton considers the retail side of the Free Store important: “Businesses and shops are public spaces, and customers felt comfortable starting up in-depth, complex, intensive discussions.” Customers also commented that the Free Store had no shame attached, unlike perusing a food bank.

While Paton is incredibly passionate, she recognises that the store “should only exist when it’s viable to exist”. In a perfect world, businesses would change the way they run and the store would no longer function. This seems a far-off dream, but at least Free Stores are booming. A Dunedin Free Store is currently coming to life, and Paton has been asked to carry out a trial run in Waitakere City.

Diving into Dumpsters

Paton’s project highlights wastage in a consumer-friendly manner. But there’s also a secret squirrel community of dumpster divers out there, refusing to let supermarkets and bakeries throw away perfectly edible (and often remarkably delicious) food.

While it seems that everyone wants to jump on the ‘free store’ wagon, dumpster diving is the less cute-and-cuddly side of the Freegan coin. Not everyone likes the idea of climbing into dumpsters and over barbed wire to get their weekly groceries, and not everyone is physically able to. Then there’s the issue of legality: um… it’s definitely illegal. Trespass is the standard charge, but theft could also be on the cards. Last year three Dunedin students were arrested and charged for ‘diving’, so it’s not something to do for the hell of it.

The divers I talked to were quick to point out their focus on the unequal distribution of resources. Dumpstered food is often redistributed to those who need it through collectives or groups. Like the Wellington Free Store, dumpstering is seen as a stop-gap measure in an imperfect world, not a salve to fix the underlying problem.

The magnitude of wastage can be astounding: slightly dented tins of baby formula; deformed but perfectly delicious apples; more baguettes than you could ever carry. There’s enough to share it around.

Food Not Bombs

Admittedly, I was confused when I first heard about Food Not Bombs. It was a few years back, when I was still relatively green to being ‘green’, and the idea of giving away food for free sounded good, but why? My naive questions on the subject were answered with “Food’s a human right, yeah?” So I thought a little harder and decided I couldn’t help but agree with such blatant logic.

Food Not Bombs is a global grassroots movement of independent collectives which gives free vegetarian and vegan food to hungry people as a means of protesting war, poverty and military spending. Ingredients may be provided by surplus food from supermarkets and shops, or sourced from dumpsters. The movement has supported anti-globalisation and environmentalist actions during its lifespan of almost three decades, with a rough ideology that corporate and government policies allow hunger to continue in the “midst of abundance”.

Food Not Bombs has been represented in Wellington by a myriad of groups over the years. Soup and chocolate seem to be favourites of both food givers and receivers. One frosty Saturday night at 2am you may be lucky enough to score some free hot chocolate as you wander, tequila-soaked, down Manners Mall.

Just like the Wellington Free Store and dumpster diving, Food Not Bombs draws attention to the ridiculous amount of waste our society creates and the terrible state of our food distribution. Tonight, when we sit down for dinner, let’s remember that elsewhere peeps are simultaneously dining on dumpstered dal and rice; that volunteers are ladling out free soup; and that others have nothing at all.

Dumpster Diving Etiquette:

• Network with other divers.
• Dress appropriately: we’re talkin’ thick plastic gloves, long-sleeve shirts and pants, sturdy fabrics and footwear.
• Brings props: a torch and bags for carrying goodies at minimum.
• Be careful: watch for broken glass and unwrapped meat products.
• Be stealthy: Make sure no one is around and keep a look out.
• Take only what you can use or share.
• Leave the dumpster as you find it.
• Clean items (and yourself) thoroughly afterwards.
• If discovered, leave quickly and politely.
• Know your rights, ‘cause it is illegal.

Landlords and homeowners on Team Tumble Dryer insist that they “don’t want to be looking at somebody’s underwear out the kitchen window”. Their main argument is that visible clotheslines decrease the aesthetic and commercial value of their property. Luckily, vociferous opposition exists from groups like Project Laundry List, which was recently voted Grassroots.org’s June 2010 Member of the Month for their successes in raising awareness of the immediate, individually achievable environmental benefits of simply using a clothesline (or clotheshorse) as opposed to a dryer. Beyond its significant environmental advantages, using a clothesline also presents clear financial, personal, and even psychological advantages over using a dryer. Of the limitless possibilities for impacting positive environmental change, only one option happens to be lint-less.

Lurking in your laundry or your bathroom, the clothes dryer (not the solar-powered, rope kind) is one of the worst offenders on a scale of the sum of ozone-destroying greenhouse gases produced, also known as its carbon footprint. According to a study by Time Magazine, dryers alone emit up to one metric tonne of CO2 per household every year; for a flat of four people who wash and dry three loads of laundry every two weeks, this is roughly equivalent to 3300 square metres of deforestation per year. These figures seem especially staggering once we consider that they could be cut down to zero simply by choosing to use a clothesline, which generates no greenhouse gases and therefore has no carbon footprint.

Theoretically, the concept of a clothesline is the simplest way of harnessing renewable solar and wind energies. Figures on the Project Laundry List website say that only 8 per cent of American households line dry their laundry for five months of the year. If all of those who do not currently use a clothesline started to use one for ten months of the year, we could avoid 12 million tonnes of carbon dioxide from entering the atmosphere annually.

A 2008 Oxford University study showed that at least a third of carbon emissions savings in the residential sector comes from behavioural changes like line-drying. Furthermore, 80 per cent of the carbon emissions produced by a single pair of jeans comes from the energy used to dry them in a conventional clothes dryer. Once an emblem of economic success and prosperity, the clothes dryer has to many now become a quietly humming symbol of environmental disregard and ignorance.

All of these environmentally conscious benefits seem to be rewarded by the personal, practical benefits of owning and using a clothesline. Three of New Zealand’s largest energy companies—Meridian, Genesis and TrustPower—specifically recommend switching to a clothesline as a means of conserving about 6 per cent of the total energy used in a household, which is produced by a dryer alone. In an average New Zealand household using 12,000 kW of electricity per year, saving approximately 720 kilowatts by eliminating a dryer is equivalent to about $60 per year in energy savings, which in turn is equivalent to six bottles of Chat En Oeuf (described as a truly mouth-filling red wine packed with ripe berry fruit flavours, a touch of soft tannin and a subtle twist of spice and garrigue herbs) from The Mill.

Due to the natural disinfectant properties of sunlight, which is much less harsh on clothing fibres yet just as effective as bleach, red wine stains will remain a nuisance of your dryer days anyway. As a moderate form of exercise, the active yet calming routine of hanging up the clothes has been proven to help with weight loss, and its refreshing outdoor nature aids in the avoidance of depression and Seasonal Affective Disorder. The lint pulled from a dryer is a sign of how quickly clothes are worn out by being subjected to a weekly 45-minute tumble; more threateningly, dryer lint accounts for 92 per cent of laundry appliance fires, damage which results in 17,700 structure fires, 15 deaths, and 30 injuries every year in the United States (figures courtesy of Project Laundry list). As the Right to Dry movement is passionately aware, ‘hanging out’ is one of the simplest steps an individual can take to improve their personal laundry habits as well as minimise their carbon footprint and contribute to positive climate change.

Ultimately, the best reason for having (and the poorest excuse for not having) a clothesline is how easy, affordable and achievable they are to set up and use. Nylon rope (in neon colours, if you like to add a little something to your whites) and clothespins can each be purchased in large and dependable quantities from the $2 Shop on Cuba Street. New World, Moore Wilson’s, and most of the Sunday morning fruit and vege markets stock fragrant herbs like thyme and rosemary, which make your laundry smell wonderful when planted near or underneath your clothesline. If you don’t have room for an outside line, an indoor drying rack is available from most major New Zealand department and hardware stores for under $20. In addition to all of the carbon footprint-reducing benefits of an outdoor line, an indoor drying rack also serves to humidify a room during dry winter weather. The simple clothesline, and its proportionately extraordinary potential, proves that no individual act is ‘too small’ or ‘doesn’t matter enough’ to change the greater environment for the better.

The concept of ‘urban agriculture’ as a means of encouraging sustainability has been floated around in architectural circles for a number of years, and remains a favourite buzzword of many an Urban Designer. But is it really possible to kerb our environmental ills by planting a few potatoes in the backyard? Salient’s Stuart Taylor talks to comedian and self-styled opinionist Te Radar about his latest foray into self-sufficiency, Radar’s Patch, to discover whether it is indeed possible to survive off a typical quarter-acre section.

Firstly, what happened to the house and section you worked on once filming came to an end?

It was leased and went back to its landlords, who had bought it with the lease in place. They will no doubt do it up a little and then sell it and attempt to make a profit. Living the Kiwi dream they were.

And how does the project section compare to your usual abode? Has it changed the way you now live?

My house is in a bit of a better state, in fact it’s an old state house I believe. It hasn’t really changed the way I live. I potter about a little but I’m away so much that I don’t have a big garden, as it would simply die or become overgrown. And as far as being aware of products, food choices etc, I’ve always been pretty conscious of that.

How possible do you think it is to live a similar lifestyle in an urban situation where perhaps the sections are commonly subdivided and bare land is at more of a premium?

Space utilisation is what people make of it. I know people who grow vegetables in the tiny space between their house and the fence. People can grow a considerable amount in a tiny space. In fact I think the more space people have the more difficult they might find it. Less is more, as they say, and a small space, well used, can be hugely rewarding for little effort.

An interesting by-product of self-sufficiency is the emotional connection that one can develop with the process or product. How did you feel about leaving your quarter-acre paradise and its bounty?

This time round I didn’t mind, as I wasn’t as attached to the property as I was in the first series. But I do miss the chickens, and certainly the livestock from the first series. You can get quite attached to animals, even those you intend to eat. And there is always something a little frustrating about leaving somewhere just as you start to get things right.

With global trading, the seasonal variation in produce becomes less significant—that would be, certain vegetables can be bought year-round as opposed to earlier days when produce would fluctuate from scarcity to abundance as per the seasons. How do you deal with this disparity that at times could be used as an excuse against the idea of growing for oneself?

I guess it is what people are willing to do, or put up with. It’s also to do with where they shop: supermarkets or a local orchard or greengrocer? Many people might not have the time nor inclination to preserve, bottle, stew, pickle or freeze in times of plenty, but others do and love it. It’s really a personal decision as to where you will put in your effort in being a little more eco-aware. Do you buy locally produced tin fruit or bottle your own? Do you attempt to eat just those crops in season? While it is lovely to have a pantry full of home produce, the reality is for many people that it’s just not an option.

Something really positive to come from the series was the sense of community you managed to achieve with all of the characters who you met over the six months. Do you see projects like this as a means to reconnect people and to encourage active participation in the community?

I think that at the heart of both series was not a message of sustainability, but one about the importance of community. Participation in aspects of community life is essential for many, be it from sports clubs, to schools, to groups with similar interests. It’s a sharing of skills, using your money to reinvest in your community, in the form of supporting local small business, butchers, bakers, greengrocers, brewers, cheese makers, and so on. They are all a part of what makes a community a rich and vibrant place.

For me, the final real estate evaluation of the property was something of a disappointment, at least in that it perhaps represents New Zealanders’ core value system as being financially driven—‘useable space’ being declared as more economically valuable than anything put into it. What were your feelings about their reluctance to attribute any worth to the oven and chicken hutch, etc?

People buying property seem to like a blank canvas apparently, or at least something they don’t have to do too much to in order to achieve their dream. I was a little surprised that the thought of a place being set up for an eco-aware type wouldn’t have commanded a better response, but then having said that I guess she knows the market. I am sure that for someone it would have been ideal. But then again, people do paint their walls that weird off-white when selling to create the bland appealing-to-all look.

Another focus for you was the economic potential for such a lifestyle—both in terms of whether it is cheaper to live by producing for oneself and also in terms of potential income, particularly—with surplus yield—would you consider this one of the biggest hurdles for those interested in doing something similar?

The actual cost of producing some of the items didn’t strike me as being all that cheap, and was certainly time-consuming. However, many people do make a tidy sum from doing so, whereas others do so as a lifestyle decision, liking the fact that they can have a stall at the local markets, meet people, and make a little extra.

One great advantages of a supermarket lifestyle is the time-saving benefits. In your experience, does the sense of reward that comes with self-sufficiency equate the time input? Or is this perhaps something that would become more true over a number of seasons, etc, at least once you have the initial setup required?

Ah yes. Being time poor. We spent a lot of time just getting the basics set up, so each season, once you have that done, you can refine and improve. However, some things do take time. Killing and prepping chickens, for example. It’s a fair amount of effort, but again, something that you improve with over time. But, is the result worth it? Sure, it’s something you grew, but the chances of it being as fleshy as a nice free-range store-bought one may be slim, and then, given the time and money invested in rearing and butchering it, is it worth it? Again, this may be down to personal taste and pride. But, once you have systems in place, it should get easier. After all, you only have to build a raised garden plot once, then you move onto something else, while it enriches itself over the year with compost, etc.

In terms of New Zealand, one of our greatest agrarian pursuits is the use of vast swaths of land for dairy farming—do you think it is possible to meet some of our dairying needs in close quarters? Or is rearing livestock and the like perhaps a step too far?

If you mean people having a small holding and raising a cow for milk, I think for most it’s not practical. Again, it has to do with looking at the economics and your personal philosophy and practicalities of TIME. Rearing and milking a cow is time-consuming. It’s an everyday thing. And, arguably, much less cost effective. However, again, some people prefer it. The other option is small farmlets selling milk to locals direct, but there are a few laws about this.

What is your take on the difference between personal efforts to become sustainable versus the wider efforts required? Do you think this kind of grass-roots approach can ultimately lead to a change for the better?

I’d like to think so, but the reality is it’s a little bit greenwashy. Most of the refuse, resource use, and pollution comes from industry, and simply stopping the use of a plastic supermarket bag won’t change that. Again, it depends on your notion of sustainability. If it is a community thing where you support your local businesses, this is an excellent way of approaching it. Having said that, there are many great grass-roots ventures. Wastebusters, enviro-centers, resource pooling, shared allotments, are all vital and very good.

What is your take on greenwashing and voodoo marketing strategies that give consumers a false sense of satisfaction that they are doing their part?

Most people simply don’t have the time or the resources to fully investigate every aspect of their purchasing. But I think many are being hoodwinked. The belief that all free-range chickens, eggs come from happy chickens mooching around a field is a classic example. I think though that there is a huge difference in production techniques here than there are in the food industries in the US, and many people may not realise that. There was a recent furore over the chemicals in supposedly natural washing detergents, for example. Just because it’s labelled organic doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

A caution from the wise then… thanks a bunch for your time, Radar!

So it was with great pleasure (and a tinge of revenge) that I accepted the opportunity to help “energy audit” a flat. An energy audit is a process of checking how your crib can be made better—warmer, drier, more energy efficient. Freezing damp bunkers can be miraculously transformed into warm, dry, healthy houses. Or, at least that was what I was hoping as I shivered into the soggy villa that plays home to Max Hardy and Seamus Brady*.

The place was cold, damp, dark and obliterated by a menagerie of British political paraphernalia. Oh, and there were cats. Many cats. In hindsight, it was quite extraordinary how our brilliant auditors Seth and Sarah coped with the dank surrounds; they quickly got to work, analysing how the house coped with energy. They focused on where the energy came from, and where it could be leaking. How well the house was insulated was an important first check.

I’d never realised how I should be loathing windows. They’re like giant gashes in your house’s skin. Or, perhaps a more accurate (and less disturbing) comparison would be to a car window that’s frozen open at the top of Mt Ruapehu. Except, of course, comparing windows to windows is hardly literary genius. Anyway, they’re pretty bad, so getting a good pair of curtains can make a massive difference, keeping the heat where we can use it. If you have a Community Services Card, hit up the Curtain Bank through your local Citizen’s Advice Bureau—they’ll sort you out with thermal curtains, cut to fit, completely free.

Another little trick you can commandeer is the chimney plug (I’m thinking of copyrighting that title so don’t get any sneaky ideas). Unutilised chimneys are a common source of heat seepage: the average timber-free student fireplace is (in a fantastically ironic way) more ice-box than ice-eater. There is solace, however. Stuff a couple of plastic bags with newspaper, and then plug them up your chimney. It’ll go a long way to plugging an energy hole and, as an added bonus, the fool who in ten or twenty years time tries to light a fire will get a hilarious surprise.

Inevitably though, you can’t keep all the heat in the room in, but you’re still going to need to generate the heat in the first place. World health standards say that a room colder than 18 degrees is unhealthy, and in the Wellington winter you’d be lucky to get a high of fifteen degrees—generally the temperature is closer to zero. We all know how expensive heating can be, which means flats like Max’s end up cold. If your landlord happens to be an amazing post-Christmas-Carol Ebenzer Scrooge, I’m sure I don’t need to detail the delights of heat pumps—but asking is always worth a shot. However, for those of us less blessed, a better solution might be sorting out a roster with your flatmates and getting a good ceramic heater. If you use it wisely (young Padawan), it could be cheaper than you think.

It’s important to remember that heat is not the only grail good energy-knights are questing for. Think about how dry your house is—moisture is unhealthy, unpleasant, shit for the house and could even [insert gasping here] make your home less energy efficient. I know, right, damp equals lame. Unsurprisingly, bathrooms are typically the most soggy part of the house. Showers are often the culprit, with all that steam inevitably going somewhere, and your slimy body dripping water all over the floor doesn’t help either. New technology like shower domes can do a massive amount to dry up the place—you chuck them on top of your shower and they use Physics** to keep the steam from condensing. Still, at around $270 they’re kind of dear, and simply leaving a window ajar when you’re in the shower can deal to a lot of that steam. I’m sure that all of you, unlike Brady and Hardy, are wise enough to be using a bath mat too. ACC tells you too, so you know it’s a good idea, plus they’ll do a lot to dry up a floor.

Another common source of moisture is washing. When you dry clothes inside, all of the evaporated water is going to seep into your walls, roof and floor. The brilliant (if, admittedly, occasionally impossible) alternative is drying your washing outside. It’ll release all of the water into the air, and as an added bonus you’ll get that genuine clothesline smell.

A final source of energy-efficient goodness is the hot water cylinder. The one we looked at was pretty good, achieving the EECA recommendation of 60 degrees. It’s important that your cylinder is around this level, because that allows it to be hot enough to kill germs and invading swarms of Gumbumbles, while being not too hot to be considered unsafe. Remember, there’s nothing sexier than safety, and you’re going to be pretty gutted if you get sick the night before your final law exam or Olympic-level equestrian event. Make sure your water heater’s thermostat (if it has one) is at a decent temperature and help things along with a cylinder insulation wrap, which would probably pay for itself in electricity savings in less than a year.

There’s a lot you can do to make your flat warmer, drier and healthier. Ultimately, though, any major changes will have to come from the landlord. Quality ceiling insulation is always effective, and because of the EnergyWise insulation scheme, it would be heavily subsidised, so that you could get the job done for $15 per square metre. At around $400 for the average house, this is a cheap way that our landlords can up the value of their house while ensuring we don’t freeze to death. If you need help with convincing your landlord, VUWSA’s Warm My Flat campaign is kicking off soon, so talk to them and they’ll totally help you out.

So, what are you waiting for? Go get ‘em, you energy efficient tiger. Warm dry flats are where it’s at, you’ll be healthier, wealthier and stealthier. Well, maybe not stealthier, considering everyone will want to hang out at your place what with your newly found awesomeness, but it’ll be a good time. I promise.

*I’m assured that this wasn’t an instance of a corrupt VUWSA getting its exec a nicer pad.
**The Laws of Physics are the property of Monsanto Co, patent pending.

Find out more about VUWSA’s Warm My Flat campaign on their website.

Poo is something many of us are very familiar with. It comes in a variety of shapes and sizes. There are four million people living in New Zealand and there are many more sheep, cows, pigs and chickens. All of us put together would create a substantial amount of poo. With this being VUWSA’s Environment Week, I was curious how all of this is dealt with, so I did a very small-scale investigation. I spent three hours on the internet finding out what it may take you a few minutes to read in this article. I will, for the sake of being brief, only mention three poo varietals: people poo, cow poo and factory-farmed poo.

People poo

As far as I have discovered, most regions deal with people poo (or human sewage, as the Greater Wellington Regional Council likes to call it) in their own fashion. So instead of looking at every city I decided to focus on Wellington. You’ll probably be pleased to know that the “Discharge of human sewage” is classed as a “Discretionary and Restricted Coastal Activity”. This means that you have to get resource consent before you carry it out.

So what happens to our “human sewage” in Wellington? It took me about an hour to discover this, and it was on page 67 of a District Plan. Prior to 1986, “untreated sewage effluent” was dumped into Lyall Bay at Moa Point (near the airport). Thankfully, this is now considered “no longer acceptable” and now our poo is treated at a nearby sewage plant before it’s shoved into the bay (there are also three other treatment plants, my favourite one is called the “Southern Landfill Sludge Treatment Plant”).

Cow poo

We have a hell of a lot of cows in New Zealand. These too create a hell of a lot of poo. This poo poses a problem for New Zealand because it is one of the main contributors to pollution in New Zealand’s rivers. The State of the Environment Report 2007/2008 from the Ministry for the Environment showed that 40 per cent of New Zealand’s swimming spots were not safe for swimming. One of the main tests used in this report was testing the amount of the bacterium E. Colli in rivers. While this is normally a harmless bacterium it acts as a way to indicate “fecal contamination”.

Once again, it is illegal to dump a cow’s poo into a river without first getting resource consent and second, treating it. There are also some pretty hefty fines for breaking these laws, for example the Crafar family was recently fined $40,000 for “wrongfully discharging effluent”. However, there’s a sneaky part of the law, because it’s not illegal if you just let your cows walk into a river and poo in it. It seems as though you physically have to get the poo down to the river yourself somehow.

But the best quote on this topic has to come from Green Party co-leader Russel Norman during his Dirty Rivers Rafting Tour earlier this year. Describing the Waihou river he said,

“Heavy rain on Sunday morning had washed all the crap off the land and into the river… By the time I launched my kayak from the Te Aroha boat ramp… the river was solid brown, full of sediment and dotted with great mats of weed. At times the stench of cow effluent hung over the river.”

Factory farmed poo

Factory farms present a similar problem to dairy farms, but on a much larger scale. Remember the huge fuss that was made of the proposed factory dairy farm at the McKenzie Basin? The poo from the proposed 18,000-cow farm would have been equivalent to 250,000 people. This goes some way to illustrating how much poo is produced by large farms. Another example is of a Taranaki pig farm of 10,000 where the owners built a pit to store the resulting poo. This pit has a capacity of 72,000 cubic metres. That’s a lot of shit! Just imagine the waste from the approximately 350,000 pigs,which are kept in factory farms around New Zealand.

One major problem from these farms is that an easy and legal way of disposing of this poo is to use it as manure on fields. However, this is a lot of manure and probably far more than can actually be used for farming purposes. The most amusing—and slightly grotesque—images are those of fields covered in poo from factory farms (not as a way of growing plants, but as a way of dealing with this vast amount of poo).

To conclude, it would be safe to say that we produce a lot of poo. It would also be safe to say that the more we produce, and the more we produce in one place, the harder it is to deal with. The problem is that we can’t live in a world covered in poo, so something may need to happen sooner, rather than later.

The New York Times reported that more than 20,000 people and 1400 vessels were involved in containment and cleanup efforts, recovering around 13.1 million gallons of oil-water mix—and 745-odd dead animals. Approximately 60,683 square miles of ocean—equating to 25 per cent of federal waters in the Gulf—were closed to fishing, while the government and BP worked fruitlessly to stem the ruptured well.

On 1 June, here in New Zealand, Energy and Resources Minister Gerry Brownlee announced that the government had awarded a five-year exploration permit to the world’s fourth-largest energy company, the Brazilian giant Petrobras International Braspetro BV, granting them the right to drill a 12,330-square kilometre area off the east coast of the North Island.

To make such plans in the middle of the biggest environmental disaster in the United States’ history sounded like a “bad joke”, to quote Greenpeace. Petrobras’ credentials failed to impress the Green Party and East Coast iwi Ngati Porou, but Brownlee made it clear that he did not intend to back down.

Those in the industry are quick to point out that Petrobras has only been awarded a permit to explore, not to mine, and so the potential for damage is currently limited. The Green Party and Greenpeace refute this, describing it as irresponsible to drill at all while the cause of the Deepwater Horizon blowout is unknown. It’s fair to say that although it’s too early to predict what Petrobras’ investigation may lead to, there is already plenty of debate.

The bidding process

On 10 December 2008, the Ministry of Economic Development (MED) released the Raukumara Blocks Offer to international tender until 28 January 2010. The proposal covered two permit areas over the Raukumara Basin, a 25,000 square-kilometre area north of East Cape, at the northern end of the East Coast Basin.

The term ‘bid’ is misleading, as the companies involved (which the government refuses to identify, thus ensuring “the integrity of the blocks offer process”) did not offer a monetary amount. Instead, they specified a work programme that, if they were successful, they would execute in the area. Petroleum Exploration and Production Association of New Zealand (PEPANZ) executive officer John Pfahlert explains:

“Money is one aspect—i.e., they do actually have to have the money to do the work they say that they are going to do, but they bid to do a certain programme of work, which generally ends with the drilling of an exploration well.”

The government evaluated the programmes that they received in order to ensure that they were feasible and “supported by the financial and technical capability needed to give effect”. Although this seems somewhat ambiguous, Pfahlert insists that the factors taken into account by the government were not “opaque”: rather, “a bunch of criteria” was recognised.

“The reputation of the company, their track record overseas, the amount of money they’ve got behind them, the likelihood that they will deliver on the work programme, the expertise they may bring to New Zealand,” he lists. “Those sorts of things.”

Petrobras—the largest company in Latin America, present in 28 countries—successfully secured the rights to explore Raukumura Basin. Its oil and gas reserves in 2008 alone equated to 15.1 billion barrels, while according to the company’s website, its 2009-2013 business plan predicts “investments in the order of $174.4 billion real”—approximately NZ$137.2 billion.

Pfahlert doubts that the government was concerned by whether a particular company’s practices were considered environmentally friendly or not, as there are other processes in place to monitor this.

“Generally, I wouldn’t expect it to have a high weighting [in the decision making process], no,” he says. “Simply because any subsequent consents [a company] might need to obtain to undertake operations would have to be obtained in the normal manner under the Resource Management Act (RMA), or with Maritime New Zealand.

“You wouldn’t normally expect the government to be second-guessing companies’ environmental track records when there’s a regime in place that will deal with that anyway.”

Pfahlert reiterates that, at this early stage in the venture, Petrobras’ operations are limited, as “they don’t actually have permission to mine at all”.

“There’s a two-phase process that the government goes through—once you’ve made a commercial discovery, you have the right to exchange the exploration permit for a mining permit, but it’s a separate process.”

The MED outlines the minimum requirements for Petrobras’ proposed staged work programme as completing a regional 2D seismic survey, followed by a 3D survey; drilling one well, with at least 12 months’ notice of drilling given to the MED beforehand; and reporting and presenting a full review of the Basin’s potential post-drilling. At least one of the projects must be carried out within the first 18 months of Petrobras’ permit—and at this stage, the company expects to be drilling for gas, rather than oil.

Pfahlert believes that the drilling of a well probably won’t occur until year four or year five.

“At the end of year five, they have to make a decision about whether they’re going to carry on or not—though that will actually be determined by whether they’ve found anything,” he says. “If they find nothing, there’s every realistic chance they’ll drop the permit, and hand back any information they obtained to the MED, which can then try and attract someone else to show an interest in the area.”

What New Zealand stands to gain

Pfahlert describes drilling for “financial and commercial discovery” as a hit-and-miss affair.

“Internationally, the odds are that for every oil hole you drill, you drill nine or ten that are duds,” he says. “I think in New Zealand, the odds are a bit longer than that—maybe one in ten to one in 20. So, there’s a 90 per cent chance that every hole that’s drilled, around the world, is going to fail. That’s just the odds of the exploration business.”

However, if drilling does uncover minerals, “there are very significant rewards,” agrees Pfahlert.

“If there is a commercial discovery, these projects pay themselves off very quickly and get a lot of return to the Crown.”

Aside from Brownlee’s promise of increased “long-term regional development”, as well as more jobs for New Zealanders, the MED is hopeful that Petrobras’ investment will further the economic relationship between New Zealand and Brazil—the world’s eighth largest economy.

Pfahlert points to the success of the five wells of the Kupe project in Taranaki, drilled about 32 kilometres off the coast.

“I think the company there spent about $1.3 billion on capital costs, and around half of that went into New Zealand’s economy; it had around 800 people involved in its construction phase, and there are probably 100 people employed full-time on an ongoing basis.”

It seems hard to overestimate the monetary value of a commercially viable petroleum find. Last week, almost $700 million dollars’ worth of additional oil and gas reserves were confirmed to have been discovered at the Kupe field. New Zealand Oil & Gas’ chief executive David Salisbury told The New Zealand Herald that the company’s 15 per cent stake in the project could, at current prices, equate to close to a $100 million share in the increased reserve.

It’s no wonder that the Vancouver-based Fraser Institute recently named New Zealand as the second most attractive country to invest in for petroleum exploration—especially, as Pfahlert points out, “[companies] have drilled for and exploited the oil in all the easy places.

“The reason that companies have started coming to New Zealand is that the global demand for oil keeps growing, and the places where you find it keep becoming perhaps less popular to go to. Increasingly, companies will look to invest in places they perhaps wouldn’t have looked at 15 or 20 years ago.”

The MED says that education and health are among the sectors that benefit from petroleum and gas production, as the Crown collects royalties from extraction of minerals. Pfahlert also notes that the companies involved pay tax, which will benefit the economy.

“That’s where it’s no different to any other commercial enterprise, I guess.”

Gambling with the environment

Where the energy industry does differ significantly is the high amount of risk involved, as exemplified by the Deepwater Horizon disaster. The poor timing of Brownlee’s announcement provoked immediate concern that Petrobras’ mining could result in such a catastrophe. Others have pointed out that if both the United States Government and BP have struggled to manage the spill, New Zealand stands no hope of managing such a disaster. There is a suggestion, in fact, that New Zealand is in over its head.

Dr Rosalind Archer, a senior lecturer in Engineering Science at Auckland University, points to data released by America’s Society of Petroleum Engineers to show that “While there can never be an absolute guarantee that any offshore operation is perfectly safe… if international best practices are followed, the risk of an oil spill due to a blowout is extremely low.”

Indeed, Petrobras’ health and safety record has improved immensely over the past decade, since the explosion of its 36 Oil Platform on 15 March 2001. Then the largest floating, semi-submersible platform in the world, it exploded off the coast of Brazil, killing 11 workers, and sank five days later with an estimated 1500 tonnes of crude oil remaining onboard. An investigation found a number of causal factors (including human error), which were worsened by the lack of an adequate contingency plan.

To its credit, Petrobras was quick to learn from its mistakes. The Dow Jones Sustainability Index (DJSI) recently named the company as one of the most sustainable outfits in the world today, and especially praised it for its “benchmark” score for ‘Management System and Environmental Policy’. Management & Excellence (M&E) reported that Petrobras was the world’s most sustainable oil company, with a rating of 92.25 per cent.

Certainly, Petrobras’ “pedigree”, to quote Brownlee, is impressive—but can any positive report or glowing safety record excuse the potential risk?

“It’s a difficult issue: the chance of a major environmental disaster is extremely small. However, the consequences of such a disaster could be huge,” says Dr Archer. “If Petrobras’ exploration activities are monitored and managed appropriately, I am not uncomfortable with the balance between the economic gains that could be achieved, and the inherent risk.”

Green Party co-leader Dr Russel Norman is not so magnanimous. In a statement dated 31 May, he described the government’s planned offshore drilling as “environmentally reckless”, and challenged them to suspend any programme until “[oil companies] knew exactly what went wrong with Deepwater Horizon, they can ensure that it won’t happen again, and that if it ever does happen again, they have the ability to plug the well”.

Dr Cath Wallace, a senior lecturer within the School of Government’s Environmental Studies department at Victoria University, says that the Environment and Conservation Organisations (ECO) of New Zealand—where she specialises in public policy—agrees with Norman’s proposal.

“And we are not alone. The International Union for Conservation of Nature has also called for a pause while these issues are sorted out.”

Dr Wallace asserts that the potential economic gains of Petrobras’ exploration, no matter how vast, cannot adequately justify the risk of an environmental disaster—even if a commercial discovery is as unlikely as Pfahlert claims.

“In any of these issues, you need to consider not only the probability, but also the severity of harm,” she says. “The reality is that New Zealand does not have the capability of dealing with any major blowout or disaster.”

To some extent, this has been admitted by the agencies involved. In an article published on Scoop.co.nz, Maritime New Zealand’s media advisor Sophie Hazelhurst said that a spill exceeding 3500 tonnes of oil would surpass the planning, equipment and training that the organisation has in place. New Zealand would therefore be forced to seek help from overseas countries such as Singapore, Australia and the United Kingdom.

Furthermore, Dr Wallace believes that mining will damage New Zealand’s ‘clean and green’ image overseas—just as the government’s proposal to mine conservation land did. In April, Bob Lancaster, founder of Nelson- and Sheffield-based hiking company High Places, was quoted on Radio New Zealand’s Morning Report as stating that international press had described New Zealand’s potential mining of protected areas as “state vandalism”.

“We are losing our international reputation for environmental responsibility, and that will rebound on us in markets all over the world,” argues Dr Wallace, who maintains that the government is pursuing “a very old-fashioned resource extractive economic strategy”.

“We need to wean ourselves off fossil fuels, for the sake of the atmosphere,” she continues. “A much sounder and more effective approach would be to pursue economic benefit from an intact environment—that way, we maintain our environment and economy into the future.”

What safety nets are in place?

Despite suggestion to the contrary, Pfahlert feels that New Zealand is prepared to handle Petrobras’ proposal.

“I’ll put a caveat on it, though: there is certainly room for improvement, and in fact, most of the agencies are looking to improve the regulatory environment to make sure that it really is world-best practice.”

The MED has commissioned an independent study, due this year, on New Zealand’s health, safety and environmental provisions around minerals activities, such as deep-sea drilling. For this reason, Pfahlert dismisses suggestion that a standalone agency be erected solely to monitor Petrobras’ practice as “a complete waste of money”.

What is needed, Pfahlert maintains, is “one regulatory system” relating to practices taking part in the Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) 12 miles offshore, “irrespective of who’s doing them”.

“We’re expecting the government to introduce a piece of legislation to deal with the same sorts of things that the RMA considers,” he says. “You wouldn’t want to set up a system just for the Raukumara Basin with one company. That’d be foolish in my view.”

Pfahlert says that the proposed Environmental Protection Authority, which Environment Minister Nick Smith hopes to be functional by 1 July 2011, will also play some role in processing legislation and consent applications.

Dr Archer reiterates that Petrobras’ permit to explore the Raukumara Basin does not mean that deepwater drilling is imminent; in fact, she predicts it won’t occur before 2013 at the earliest. Consequently, it’s tempting to disregard the developments in New Zealand’s minerals extractions until minerals are indeed extracted.

Although Petrobras’ exploration seems inevitable, as further details of Deepwater Horizon come to light, we should be primed to react to them—especially if we are to prevent any deepwater catastrophes occurring on New Zealand horizons.

On 9 November 1989, Swede Eija-Riita Eklöf-Mauer stood by as jubilant masses, armed with sledgehammers, took to her young husband, bludgeoning the 28-year-old to death and tearing chunks from his wounded body until he was left barely recognisable to his grieving widow.

Mauer was, of course, married to the doomed Berlin Wall and she is one of around 40 self-professed ‘objectum-sexuals’ (or objectaphiles) worldwide. Put plainly, objectum-sexuals are individuals who have intense and meaningful romantic relationships with inanimate objects, often engaging in promiscuity.

A few years ago I remember seeing a particularly disturbing BBC documentary, ‘My Car is My Lover’, which followed several men with an expressed sexual interest in cars of varying description. Images of grown men plugging away at car exhaust pipes aside, this odd affection was iterated shortly after by the eloquently titled Married to the Eiffel Tower, which documents the relationship between American woman Erika ‘Le Tour Eiffel’ and the Parisian landmark. Despite a tendency to portray the two women as oddballs and fetishists, both Eiffel and Mauer are staunch defenders of their condition (for want of a better term) and are bent on showing the world that their passion is as ardent as any human relationship.

As Eija states on her website dedicated to objectum-sexuality, a fundamental condition for those who experience OS is that of animism, whereby individuals are prone to invest real human emotions into the objects of their affections—essentially considering them as living beings. Effectively this is an extreme form of the gender specific personification we already attribute to certain objects such as boats and cars. However, to the objectophile this association is so natural and instinctive that intense emotional bonds are established that extend beyond what is generally considered acceptable—particularly in sexual terms.

In the case of Eiffel and Mauer’s intense devotion and subsequent nuptials, the question of consummation inevitably arises—and understandably so, as coital relations between human and object are perhaps less clear when one considers the economies of scale and the general outward shape of such lovers. Mauer skirts this issue of size by reconstructing scale models of her late husband which she claims act as “a kind of fax machine” that “conveys my feelings to my beloved”.

Mrs Eiffel, on the other hand, has suggested that intimacy in object-human relationships is especially tactile, privileging smell, touch and hearing as a means of ‘mutual’ engagement. Having witnessed a freely available clip on YouTube, I can attest to her claims of achieving intimacy with objects of certain scales—however, watch at your own peril—the short video clip has since rendered the image of a middle aged woman gyrating against one of the steel tower’s girders permanently onto the back of my retina.

So far as the cause of such affections are concerned, many experts have been quick to classify OS as a type of paraphilia, or sexual disorder, explaining away these individuals’ intense connection to objects as something born out of an abusive childhood or as fetishism. However, American sexologist Amy Marsh, who appeared on an ABC news story covering OS, disagrees. During her research into the medical backgrounds of known objectophiles, Marsh could find very few cases of neglect and abuse to substantiate other experts’ claims, believing instead it could well present a new sexual orientation, and others agree.

According to an article in Der Spiegel, retired professor and former director of Frankfurt University’s Institute for Sexual Science Volkmar Sigusch believes OS represents an example of modern “neo-sexuality”, and uses its example to prove his hypothesis that society as a whole is drifting into asexuality.

On a puritanical level there is certainly a strong resistance to the idea of arousing buildings, but architects are a group of individuals who already possess a tendency to sexualise designs and design processes, if not entirely in jest. I can certainly vouch for a number of design projects that have been met with a few raised eyebrows

While examples of objectum-sexuality are few and far between, cases are on the rise, and who’s to say objectophilia won’t experience an increase in credibility in years to come? As a point of comparison, it’s worth remembering that in America, homosexuality was only officially ‘declassified’ as a pathological illness in the early 1970s. However, with only a handful of identified objectophiles and the extremely one-sided nature of such relationships, the case for OS as a new form of sexuality may be a little far-fetched.

Here are 5 Wellington ‘buildos’ to check out for the budding objectophile

1. The Carillion—Whilst a bit more elderly, this old horse shows no signs of ED after years of straight up service.
2. The State Insurance Tower (aka Darth Vader’s Pencil Box)—‘once you go black, you never go back’—nuff said.
3. The Majestic Centre—erotic nob detailing for her pleasure.
4. The Vertical Bungee towers—Stripped back structuralism meets double team.
5. The Beehive—for those turned on by power…and chodes…

There is a reason that all the FAQs online about asexuality begin with questions like ‘I just don’t see how asexuals can be close to anyone. How can you have a relationship without sex?’ We as a society are so programmed to look for the sexy in everything that it becomes rather hard to conceive of people whose brains don’t automatically jump brain tracks to dirty town. Luckily this seems to be changing. Asexuality seems to be coming into fashion. Stephen Fry just outed himself as asexy. Apparently there is even one on Shortland Street these days. So as the blossoming flower of the asexuality movement comes into the public sun, it seems like as good a time as any to get the basics down about our cuddly friends: asexuals.

So, uh, how many people are asexual? Like heaps? Or none?

One in every hundred people is asexual, some sources say (and we have no real reason to disbelieve them). Which means that someone on your street is probably asexual. Try to work out who it is.

Could I, uh, I mean, could someone be asexual without knowing?

Well, it is possible, but it would be kinda hard to miss. The basic base level definition of asexuality is someone who simply isn’t interested by the idea of sex as a physical exercise.

That sounds dumb.

You’re pretty close-minded it seems.

Nah, I mean just… It… Nah. I mean, how do you… y’know, with a person if you can’t get a bit of the old how’s your father?

There are many different ways to be intimate that don’t involve taking your clothes off and doing mime trampolining. There is a really interesting (if at points a little sociopathic) series of blogs at asexualunderground.blogspot.com about how to take your conversations to the next level of intimacy. Also, hugging. Some people say hugging is overrated. That is clearly because they don’t hug enough people. Or have razors for arms.

So, do asexuals just spend their whole lives alone staring deep into the ocean of the lonely that is slowly drowning this world?

I think you need to talk to someone about your feelings. But, anyway, asexuals do lack a sex drive, but that does not mean they lack a romance drive. They can form relationships. They even get married. They sleep in the same bed. They just don’t bone. Not even on the phone. Asexuals can run the gamut of sexual orientation from queer to straight, from bi to dry.

Hmmm. So, uh, I think, uh, my friend is asexual and, uh, I… THEY… They want to find out more?

Well, www.asexuality.org is the home of AVEN (the Asexual Visibility and Education Network), which is the place to go for some good general info and interesting forums. Asexuality Aotearoa has information on how to meet asexuals around New Zealand.

Oh, cheers. My… my friend will real appreaciate that.

All G.

So, what, it’s a pill to treat frigidity?

Not quite. To be diagnosed with hypoactive sexual desire disorder, an individual must satisfy the following criteria as outlined in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV:
1. Persistently or recurrently deficient (or absent) sexual fantasies and desire for sexual activity. The judgement of deficiency or absence is made by the clinician, taking into account factors that affect sexual functioning, such as age and the context of the person’s life.
2. The disturbance causes marked distress or interpersonal difficulty.
3. The sexual dysfunction is not better accounted for by another Axis 1 disorder (except another sexual dysfunction) and is not due exclusively to the direct physiological effects of a substance (e.g. a drug of abuse, a medication) or a general medical condition.
The emphasis here is that a lack of sexual desire in itself doesn’t warrant a diagnosis; the individual has to be significantly distressed by their low libido as well.

Maybe She’s Just Not That Into You

The etiology of hypoactive sexual desire disorder varies depending on whether it’s life-long or acquired, as well as whether it’s situational or generalised. Broadly speaking, however, sexual response (and thus dysfunction) involves an interaction between biological factors, the physiological mechanisms involved in sexual response; psychological factors, the affective and cognitive processes that sustain that response; and relational factors, interactions promoting intimacy and mutually satisfying experiences.

Drugs for sexual dysfunction address the biological processes involved in sexual arousal, but sex differences make it harder to target females. For males, the physiological basis of arousal is an erection: the arteries of the penis open, causing pressurised blood to rush into the corpus cavernosa, a spongy tissue running the length of the organ. At the same time, the veins leading out of the penis constrict, trapping the pressurised blood and thus elongating and stiffening the penis. Drugs like Viagra simply facilitate this process by increasing blood flow.

For females, sexual dysfunction is more difficult to diagnose. Physiological indicators of sexual arousal for females are diverse, and include vaginal lubrication, increased blood flow to the vulva, and the enlargement and erection of the clitoris. However, whereas men typically experience sexual desire in association with an erection, there is little evidence for a correlation between genital response and women’s subjective experience of arousal. Because of this, flibanserin doesn’t target any of these specific physical processes. Instead, it takes two steps back and targets the neurochemical processes involved in sexual arousal.

The Sexual Chemistry of the Brain

The classic linear model of sexual response involves four phases: desire, arousal, orgasm and resolution. At each stage, interactions between certain neurotransmitters and hormones play an integral and complex role, primarily in the hypothalamic and limbic systems of the brain. Sexual arousal results from an interaction between the excitatory and inhibitory sexual neural systems. Both systems are evolutionary and fundamentally adaptive: the former, allowing individuals to seek out sexual partners and reproduce; the latter, allowing individuals to minimise engagement in sexual behaviours that could potentially result in negative outcomes (having sex with the wart-ridden homeless man who lives outside Pak’n’Save), or to allow for a post-ejaculatory refractory period during which sperm can be generated for subsequent ejaculations (for better baby-making results). Arousal results from either direct activation of the excitatory system, or through suppression of the inhibitory system, or a combination of both.

The Excitatory System

The excitatory system is integral to the first three phases of sexual response, and the neurotransmitter dopamine plays the most significant role in modulating sexual desire. Studies have found that increased dopamine levels enhance the subjective sense of excitement associated with, and the motivation to engage in, activity geared towards attaining sexual rewards. Other key neurochemicals involved in the sexual excitatory system are norepinephrine, which plays a vital role in general arousal, and the sex hormones testosterone, estrogen, and progesterone.

The Inhibitory System

The mechanisms of sexual inhibition are typically exhibited post-orgasm, but can also be activated by situational variables such as stress, psychological processes such as specific thought processes, or through drugs operating on relevant neurochemicals. Activation of this system is characterised by shifting or minimising attention away from sexual incentives as well as inhibiting sexual responses where these incentives are attended to. So, for example, your 3am drunk self may feel that sleeping with your ex-boyfriend is a great idea, but thankfully the memories of him cheating on you come flooding back as you’re unbuttoning his shirt, and before he can prematurely ejaculate as per usual, you’re tripping over yourself to get the fuck out of there.

Opioids play a key role in this system by mediating sexual reward states. To take (not literally) a synthetic example, opiates like heroin produce a huge rush of euphoria, followed by a prolonged period of relaxation. Induction of this state is associated with a dramatic decline in sexual arousal and an inability to orgasm (if you get that far into the piece). So, you know, if you ever wanted to know what heroin feels like, it feels like a three-hour orgasm. Or something. High levels of opioids in the brain therefore reduce your motivation to seek out further sexual rewards, since you already feel awesome.

Endicannabinoids also play a role, inducing sedation. You become less responsive to stress-provoking stimuli, and experience a general sense of sleepiness. Yes, as if you just smoked a fat joint or, you know, violently came. Finally, serotonin promotes feelings of satiation, muscular relaxation, and a general sense of well-being. In other words, when the inhibitory system is activated, you feel pretty good and have no reason to seek further pleasure.

WANT TO WANT? TRY FLIBANSERIN OR YOUR MONEY BACK GUARANTEED!*

Flibanserin enhances sexual desire by increasing dopamine and norepinephrine levels (activating the excitatory system) and reducing serotonin levels (suppressing the inhibitory system). In support of its efficacy, a 24-week long clinical trial of the drug last year reported an increase in sexual desire, as well as what they termed “sexually satisfying events” from 2.8 to 4.5 per month, compared to 2.7 to 3.7 per month for those given a placebo.

*Money back not guaranteed

Despite these results, the Food and Drug Administration voted ten to one late last month against the approval of the drug, based on conclusions that it wasn’t significantly better than a placebo, and that the benefits of the drug failed to outweigh its side effects. These include dizziness, nausea, fatigue and insomnia. The panel did, however, acknowledge its potential benefits and encouraged the company to continue researching and developing the drug.

Sex sells sex sells sex sells sex

The drug in itself has a lot of potential, sure, but as with any company, Boeringer-Ingelheim’s ultimate aim is to turn a profit, and this involves pushing their product into as many eager mouths as possible. David Fitzhenry and Leslie Sandberg, in their overview of female sexual dysfunction in Nature in 2005, predicted that the market value of a successful drug treating female sexual dysfunction “could exceed US$4 billion in the US alone, with only 15 per cent of patients captured on therapy”. That’s a lot of super yachts. Or 114 trips to the moon if you book through Space Adventures (www.spaceadventures.com).

The attempted introduction of the drug into the market has raised eyebrows and sparked widespread debate, largely due to the company’s pre-emptive marketing campaign: this included a Discovery Channel documentary educating the public about hypoactive sexual desire disorder (though critics argue that reported prevalence rates—estimated to be around 1 in 10 for females—are exaggerated, and many prevalence studies have been funded by none other than Boehringer-Ingelheim), which in itself could create or enhance insecurities among women about their libido, inducing distress, the second diagnostic criteria of the disorder. A publicity tour was also launched starring the one and only Lisa Rinner, former Playboy model and actress on Days of Our Lives and Melrose Place (though embarrassingly, I recognise her only as ‘Logan’s mum on Veronica Mars’).

Classes for practising clinicians were also implemented: in one session, clinicians were given a case study describing a 42-year-old working mother who has to take care of her three children as well as her sick mother, and who no longer has any desire for sex. The diagnosis? Potential hypoactive sexual desire disorder. Obviously.

Leonore Tiefer, associate professor of psychiatry at New York University, expresses her concerns about the implications of introducing and marketing a drug like Flibanserin: “The much larger group of women without any medical reason for their sexual distress will inevitably be misinformed and misled into thinking that there is a pill that can get them the sex life they read about, the one they think everyone else is having.” Annemarie Jutel, associate professor of medical sociology at Otago Polytechnic, agrees: “On the one hand consumer culture is based on perpetuating feelings of sexual inadequacy; on the other, the industry has recognised an opportunity for exploitation, and has designed and presented a remedy: also for sale.”

Finger-Pointing Part Deux

Ultimately, you have to look beyond Boehringer-Ingelheim: they’ve invested into the development of this drug because there’s a genuine market for it. Societal attitudes now dictate that hypersexuality is the norm. Not wanting sex is not normal, and the medicalisation of low libido, Jutel comments, “reinforces an inadequately challenged combination of assumptions and observations about sexual function which consequently serve as a basis for commercial exploitation”.

Pathologisation of female sexuality—in what is arguably an attempt to control and moderate it—is in no way new; the direction has simply changed. In 1873, Edward Clarke, Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard, declared that women should not be able to pursue an academic life beyond secondary education, because it would shunt blood from their uterus to their brain, making them depressed, infertile and irritable. During this same period, French neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot concluded that most mental disease in females resulted from abnormalities or over-excitation of their genitalia. Masturbation was believed to be the cause of a whole host of psychological disorders, ranging from insomnia and exhaustion to epilepsy, depression, paralysis and insanity. Cliterodetomies were introduced as a cure for these ailments, and the acclaimed surgeon Isaac Baker Brown, whose practices led to the death of his career—although alarmingly not due to disapproval of his practice but reportedly jealousy over his commercial success—wrote about a series of clitoridectomies he had conducted, which successfully “cured” everything from one woman’s desire to divorce her husband, to treating a 20-year-old woman’s proclivity for sending visiting cards to men she liked and spending too much time in serious reading.

We’ve come a long way, true, but have we gone too far?

Societal attitudes towards female sexuality have since flung itself squarely into liberation, or so we like to think. But beneath the medicalisation of sexual desire lurk more sinister undertones. The diagnostic criteria for hypoactive sexual desire disorder is in itself problematic, since the necessary experience of distress is ultimately dependent on societal constructions of normative sexual behaviour. While laden with good intentions, pathologising low sex drive as a psychological disorder inadvertently perpetuates a norm of hypersexuality: You gotta want to fuck, now and always, else you’ve got a problem.

Names have been omitted for privacy reasons.

So just to clarify, you work in the sex industry, right?

I have—I’ve just finished working as a ‘supervisor’ at a brothel. I was actually a legit supervisor, not just saying that. So, I worked this year as a supervisor three nights a week at a brothel, basically running the place, serving at the bar, putting bookings through, and some light cleaning and a bit of sales. I did about two and a half years as a prostitute, with a bit of kink work added in. I also did three years on and off as a stripper. I got into the escort work through being around it in the strip clubs—I got to know some working girls and I was happily promiscuous. Eventually I decided if I was going to be having casual sex with drunk men who were often fucking crap lays, I may as well get paid for it.

I got into the stripping because 18-year-old me had an endearing habit of running around in underwear every time alcohol was consumed. It was much the same rationale: may as well get paid for it!

I worked for about two months as a waitress/promo girl in the strip club before I got up on stage. I took my time and really scoped it out, and I thought about the decision to start whoring for quite a few months before I started that too—and I’m very glad both those decisions were quite considered.

So it was something you thought through fully?

Yup, and my decision to quit was much the same. I was definitely still enjoying the job and it was still working out for me, but it was just getting more tiring, and I thought it’s definitely better to quit than get burnt out.

That’s a little bit different from the popular idea that women somehow get exploited and pushed into it. Is that idea justified?

I think that the idea that sex workers are coerced or exploited is part stereotype and part legitimate concern. Even though I entered the industry at 18, I have seen many girls start escort work at 18 who clearly weren’t aware of their own psychological and emotional limits, or the boundaries they needed to set to keep themselves happy and safe. And while I don’t, by any means, think that the industry is inherently exploitative, I think that if you aren’t protecting yourself and with a good support network in your personal life, there can be a lot of really hard emotional and mental problems to work through. Some related to the job, some related to the social discrimination, and some related to the wider social aspects, i.e. the prevalence of drugs in the industry.

So it’s something that, perhaps, wider society needs to gain a better understanding of?

Well I’ve always thought that a lot of the self-destructive behaviours I’ve seen—the higher visibility of substance abuse in the industry, the seedy characters some girls hang out with, and the messy relationships that are definitely hyped by stereotype, but can sometimes be seen—they can quite often be fuelled by self-destructive urges which are clearly fuelled by these internalised messages that girls get about their sexualities. NOT that I think being promiscuous means you’re automatically self-destructive, just that there’s often a link, you know?

I think the point is that we’re all a little bit ‘deviant’, and while there are millions of people who will never want anything other than monogamy and meaningful sex, I think a society that realises everyone’s a bit kinky in their own special way and that’s ALRIGHT will definitely be better off. You don’t need to be a raging whore who likes nothing more than a night of tequila, fivesomes and reclaimed language, to agree with sex-positive or sex-radical principles. The thing about sexuality is that’ll mean different things for absolutely everybody.

So, to go down a slightly different track for a minute—what do you think makes a good sex worker?

I think the most important thing, and it may seem glaringly obvious, is people skills. Especially empathy. The nature of the job is such that, even if you work in a very standard knock-shop where it’s ‘get in- get off- get out’ mentality, you’ll never have any two clients looking for exactly the same thing.

The most successful hookers I’ve known have had the same things in common: an ability to have interesting conversations on many levels, the ability to connect with many backgrounds, a brilliant natural smile, and a sense of ease with their own bodies. If you don’t have those things, the jobs where clients book you for four hours just to talk about their lives, depression or ex-wives, are going to be the hardest things ever. And no matter how good your body is, if you’re not comfortable with it, providing a really good and non-awkward sexual service is near impossible. One of the most incorrect stereotypes about the sex industry, in my experience, is that guys book girls just so they can fuck ‘em and walk away.

All of my regular clients—and I had several who’d book me around once a fortnight/once a month each—did so because I was genuinely open to trying new things, and I welcomed the idea of getting myself off at work, and showed them how to do it.

So what should the stereotype be?

The stereotype of what the client wants?

Yeah, we’ll start there…

It’s a hard thing to generalise, but I think almost everyone who uses the sex industry wants to find a service—no matter what ‘flavour’—with someone who is happy, respects themselves, and makes the client feel like a king. More often than not the essence of the service is escapism—and the punters I know would hate nothing more than spending an hour with a worker who’s clearly unhappy with their job, because then they, the client, isn’t going to have much of an indulgent escapist time.

People like being pampered, and paying a beautiful person to have sexy fun with you is definitely an indulgence.

It must be an incredibly insightful role to be in. To be the arbiter of people’s deepest desires, needs, fetishes and dreams. Does that ever weigh on you?

[Laughs] Woah—it does now that I think of myself as the arbiter. It’s definitely a responsibility, especially in terms of confidentiality, and respecting people’s privacy… I’ve definitely found it more empowering than anything—the confidentiality’s an important concern, but the feeling of being trusted, the quite real connections you get—especially with regulars—and being able to see the beaming smile on a repressed dude’s face after you’ve pegged him for the first time, that’s pretty rad.

And I wish more of society could appreciate just how fucking sweet a post-orgasm smile is, without being grossed out by it.

But one question went unanswered… What exactly made her a virgin? Who was to know if she had or hadn’t? She seemed like a savvy girl. She had just made $45,000 for a one-night stand. Was she just taking us all for a ride? And who was the man willing to pay such a huge sum? Did he have a fetish for being the first?

As we near the end of 2010, virginity is still a subject of much obsession. We have a culture that likes ticking boxes. Male, female. Gay, straight. Virgin or not… But as blurred as sexuality is in our modern age, nothing is more obscure than virginity. Instead of throwing away the term, we have instead created a lot of footnotes.

Losing your virginity in the strict sense is to have intercourse with someone of the opposite sex. Countless poems, movies and books in western culture have been born from recognition that losing your virginity is one of our important milestones. Could there have been any plot line in American Pie if virginity didn’t matter? As teenagers, the marketing of virginity goes into overdrive. You find a nice guy and ask those two deal breaker questions: “watz ur star sign n r u a virgin?”

What we fail to realise in our sweet teenage years is that it is far from simple. How do you even prove such a thing? We can’t tell if a man is a true virgin. However, men have a delusion that they can pick a virgin. The hymen, it seems, is the medical trump card. The sad truth is the hymen is often broken long before sex—tampons, playing sport, medical exams. The hymen is the wild child who can’t be tamed. So why do some people still cite this as real proof?

An article in 2004 stated that after all the studies that have been conducted, it was confirmed that “A doctor cannot determine from a vaginal examination whether a women is a virgin or not”. The scary thing about this is in many countries examinations of this kind are carried out to determine if a woman is a virgin before she gets married. And these results are taken as unquestioned medical proof, meaning serious consequences for the women involved. How could I explain the only affair I had was with a tampon?

So if we cannot prove virginity physically, who then are the real virgins? How did Miss $45,000 prove her meat was fresh? Men seem to take a rather more causal definition of virginity. If it goes in it counts.

However, there is the growing trend among women of the ‘technical virgin’. Virginity is now everything but the act of entering through the vagina—so you can still be considered a virgin after a lot of oral and anal sex. Many extreme Christian schools in the States are dealing with the implications of this motto. The vagina was seen as the only hole that counted. They turned a blind eye to all ‘back door’ action. Without any proper sexual health education, pregnancies were on the rise (born-again), and rates of STIs went through the roof.

I went to a girl’s school with its own pregnancy problems. But virginity was always a good talking point. My technical virgin friend had discovered a problem. She referred to it as having been 99.9 per cent roasted. The boyfriend went in, but it was over after one push. She did not want this to be her story, the one she couldn’t forget. He may have counted it. But she was a lady with high hopes for herself and this was a job well below par. We decided for a full roast there needs to be at least three pumps. But then my lesbian friend pointed out, did she have to be a perpetual ‘virgin’? She is far more Magdalene than Mary, yet men all call her a virgin. She was told the only homosexuals who lose their virginity are gay men.

Virginity has always whipped out horrible clichés for women. If you lose it you are a slut, if you don’t you are a prude. But for me this was the final straw. She is not a virgin, plain and simple. So why do we have to hold onto this male mentality that it takes a cock to make it pop?

As I mused over my missing cherry, I asked my friend to recount his story. At 17 he stumbled down Queen Street and decided his moment had come. He walked into a brothel ready to become a man. The cash was laid down and clothes were lost. He said he wanted to get it out of the way, and what better way than to see the guru of virgin stealing. Sadly, alcohol and erections don’t always work together. And after some awkward limp inning and outing they got in a bath and just ended up talking about her kids.

He left feeling confused. Was he now a man? Finally he could just be one of the guys. Yet after all that hype he couldn’t shake off the disappointment. That was sex? Nobody can prepare you for what it is really like. Everyone has such different stories; we are never going to have a clear test. It is time to stop being judgmental. It is time to embrace virginity 2.0.

We can sell it, buy it, save it. Rebuild it, lie about it and become a born-again. The hype shouldn’t be in the what counts, instead it should be what you think counts. You get to choose when; you get to choose with whom. Where, and what to wear while it happens. People have really shitty stories about losing their virginity. It was awkward, painful, drunk, quick and average. Why should that be a memory you are not allowed to forget? Since physically we can’t determine a virgin, it has become a state of mind. Virginity will always be a grey area to define. But it doesn’t have to be for you.

The contraceptive pill was first approved in the United States in early May of 1960, and reached the United Kingdom and New Zealand the following year. It was the reliable and safe method that women had been waiting for, and was readily adopted by those who could access it. Now, it’s widely available and heavily subsidised—but by no means has it resolved all of New Zealand’s issues with contraceptive health. In fact, many within the public health sector consider that these are still not being adequately addressed.

Prior to its introduction in New Zealand, women had been doing whatever possible to plan and space the births of their children. The methods used, which included the use of a diaphragm, which was often poorly-fitted; the ‘rhythm’ method; condoms; and withdrawal, were often ineffective, and as a result, the rate of self-abortions was high. The McMillan Inquiry of 1937 found that at least one pregnancy in five ended in abortion, and that the majority of women dying were married with four or more children.

“People have always used whatever’s been available,” says Dame Margaret Sparrow. Sparrow, now President of the Abortion Law Reform Association of New Zealand, has had an active role in promoting safe sexual practices, as well as the use of contraception. She was one of the first women in New Zealand to use the pill, and said in Helen Smyth’s book, Rocking The Cradle: Contraception, Sex and Politics in New Zealand, that it changed her life: “That was the first time that I ever really experienced good fertility control.”

Certainly, it’s hard to exaggerate the impact that the pill had on women’s lives. “They truly saw it as liberating,” says feminist and women’s health campaigner Sandra Coney. “And they enjoyed the chance to be sexual and to choose sexual partners, not guarding their virginity while lining men up for marriage… and the fear of pregnancy, which had been such a great constraint, was removed.”

In Rocking The Cradle, Smyth wrote that within just five years of its introduction to New Zealand, 40 per cent of married, fertile women were on the pill, equating to some 100,000 packets a month. Today, the pill is taken by more than 100 million women worldwide, and a wide range of contraception is easily attainable in most developed countries. It’s inconceivable—if you’ll excuse the pun—that women once had to struggle to obtain access to the pill, even after it had been made legal.

All the single ladies, put a ring on it

New Zealand—the first country to grant women the vote–was among the first to introduce the pill, but it did so unwillingly. For the decade following its introduction, the pill was largely prescribed only to married women, and while this had an immediate impact on the rate of self-abortion among that group, there was no mind giving to the huge number of unmarried women who were struggling to avoid falling pregnant.

“[The introduction of the pill] had a huge impact, except it took a while to catch on, because doctors were very reluctant to prescribe it,” remembers Sparrow. “There was even a statement from the New Zealand Medical Association, saying that doctors shouldn’t prescribe the pill to unmarried women because of moral objection.”

This didn’t deter Sparrow, who worked at Victoria University’s Student Health Services between 1969 and 1981—over which period, attitudes towards sexual health changed a great deal. She modestly allows that she was “instrumental” in ensuring access to contraception for students.

“I saw that as one of my roles, and that was why I became involved at Family Planning, so that I could give students a better service,” she remembers. “I think when you’re sitting in a consultation room and students come to you, it does push you to think—well, why shouldn’t I prescribe it?”

Sparrow also wrote articles for Salient on services such as pregnancy testing and emergency contraception, “just to let students know that they could come to Student Health for contraceptive advice”.

Sympathetic doctors such as Sparrow were godsends for unmarried women seeking access to the pill and, as Smyth writes, many women were prepared to go to great lengths to do so. Many women bought themselves engagement and wedding rings in order to coax their doctors into writing them a prescription. Family Planning found what Chief Executive Jackie Edmond describes as “a more pragmatic way” of resolving the issue.

“We used to give them things to put on their finger when they came to see us,” Edmond says with a wry smile.

The momentum of the women’s movement

Thanks to the efforts of individual doctors who understood that contraception was indeed “a basic healthcare necessity”, the pill became more accepted and accessible in the 1970s. Lynda Williams, coordinator of the Auckland Women’s Health Council, says that that decade’s women’s liberation movement was an important milestone.

“During the 1970s, there was more pressure to make the pill more widely available to young women, because this was when the feminist movement finally reached New Zealand,” she says. “We had consciousness-raising groups getting involved with menstrual extraction techniques; looking at their cervices; reclaiming knowledge of their own bodies…

“The expectation that the pill would be made more readily available started to impact on the medical profession, and I think they were slowly forced to become a lot more liberal, instead of trying to impose their own beliefs—religious or otherwise—on women.”

Certainly, Coney says, “It didn’t take much to change women’s ideas.” She asserts that the women’s liberation movement began as a “reaction against the homebound role of our mothers, and the expectation that we would simply leave school and marry.

“Contraception was embraced as a tool to allow this freedom to make life choices that were not dictated by biology and social expectations.”

Feminist groups began to promote the formerly taboo topic of sexual education. As part of Knowhow, Coney gave out leaflets on safe sex practices at the gates of schools, and ran a telephone advice group.

“It wasn’t just women’s lib, though these ideas were promoted and explored through writing, discussions, abortion law reform, workshops and so on,” she remembers. “There was a workshop on how to masturbate at the 1979 United Women’s Convention.”

The difference 50 years makes

Sparrow agrees that today, contraception must constitute a significant percentage of the work of Victoria’s Student Health Services. “Times have changed!” she says.

Edmond suggests that modern women—and even those of her generation (“I’m 47, and all my sexual reproductive years, I’ve had access to services and contraception. I’ve never even had to consider that I wouldn’t… and same for you, though I’m slightly older than you.”)—tend to take these services for granted. Contraception is available from most chemists, general practitioners and public health services, and in most cases, it is subsidised for people under 22 years old. While most acquiesce that it is preferable that teenagers use contraception than have unplanned pregnancies, there are small but vocal (“Very vocal!” interjects Edmond) groups that think otherwise.

“We’re constantly being accused by groups such as Family First and Right to Life, and [New Zealand Herald columnist] Garth George,” sighs Edmond. “All we’re doing is offering the same services as any GP offers—we just talk about it a bit more.

“They’re trying to take things back to how they were, but in fact it wasn’t that good. All this stuff was happening in the background: people were getting pregnant when they didn’t want to be, then. I think it’s all a bit idealistic really.”

Despite the efforts of groups such as Family Planning, New Zealand has the third highest rate of teenage pregnancy of the 31 developed countries recognised by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). The result is reminiscent of a report recently prepared for the Ministry of Health by the Public Health Advisory Committee, which showed that among the most deprived neighbourhoods, New Zealand’s rate of infant mortality is worse than that of all developed countries bar Mexico and Turkey. Evidently, the discrepancy between New Zealand’s richest and its poorest is immense.

Williams points out that the OECD figure of teenage pregnancies is misleading because “there are specific ethnicities that are overrepresented in these figures”—as, she says, both the Maori and Public Health Advisory Committee have attested to.

“At a board meeting I was at two weeks ago, we were told that a certain age group—up to, I think, 25-years-old—something like one in five Maori women were getting pregnant,” she says. “The figure was so staggering that the board asked that it be checked.

“There are a lot of factors involved,” continues Williams. “There’s alcohol, there are heavy religious and cultural norms about not talking about contraception and sexuality. And Pacific women, even those that are married, tend not to have much control over their own fertility.”

Edmond says that Faming Planning has “still got a lot of work to do” before the issue of unplanned teenage pregnancies is addressed.

“I think young women continue to struggle to negotiate condom use—and that’s a challenge even when you’re my age, let alone when you’re 16 or 17,” she says. “Alcohol, too, has had a huge impact on decision making and doing things at haste, then repenting at leisure. We haven’t been really very good at getting the message out that young women should be using contraception as well as condoms.”

In a bid to tackle the problem, the Auckland District Health Board enabled women aged under 25 years old to access the emergency contraceptive pill (ECP) for free, as part of a five-month trial that started at the end of 2009. A preliminary evaluation of the scheme last year found a 13% reduction in the number of abortions at the Epsom Day Unit, the region’s principal abortion clinic, while last month The Manawatu Standard reported an increased demand in the ECP. However, the Auckland DHB decided that these figures were not able to be considered “statistically significant”.

“I have argued vociferously that [the ECP be made free permanently], as it would save money, but the Board is financially strapped,” says Williams. “They’ve put it on their list of priorities, but there is no talk of it coming in for the next wee while.

“We still have very conservative people around. There are one or two [men] on the Board who would vote against it.”

Women’s Health Action Trust’s policy advisor Christy Parker considers it a “shame” that the DHB has decided not to continue with the scheme.

“We strongly support increasing the accessibility of emergency contraception, and see accessing it as a fundamental sexual and reproductive right,” she says. “Our argument would be that a five month trial was too short a time period to demonstrate the success of such an intention.”

Areas for improvement

Although it seems that it will be some time before the ECP is made free of charge, there has been some development in the range of contraception available. 3 News reported in early June that the government’s drug-buying agency Pharmac intends to fund the long-acting reversible contraceptive Jadelle. Once implanted, Jadelle offers contraceptive coverage for five years, although it can be easily removed from a woman if she decides to change contraceptive, or try to conceive. Usually $300, it will be available free, bar the cost of a doctor’s visit and a dispensing fee, and Pharmac expects that some 35,000 women will take it.

“It’s one of our claims to fame,” says Edmond, visibly excited. “We’ve been advocating [for it] for two years, so we’re thrilled—we don’t get many wins.
“The pill relies on a human factor, and we’re all human, we forget… which is why we’re so keen on Jadelle. It’s really going to offer another option for young women.”

Although it is a long-term contraceptive, it remains to be seen just how effective the Jadelle will be in reducing the rate of teenage pregnancies, although Williams says she’s unsure of the number of Maori and Pacific teenagers that use services such as Family Planning. In order to ensure that sexual education and services are more wide-reaching, Williams would like to see Family Planning have direct access to schools.

“If I could wave a magic wand, I would insist upon government funding for Family Planning to offer comprehensive education on sex and contraceptive options in high schools,” she says. “The government needs to put a whole programme in place that looks at dealing with all of these issues, rather than [taking] a piecemeal approach.”

Parker cites a “damning” report from the Education Review Office into sexual education in schools, released June 2007. She describes it as a “really horrifying read”.

“Although we have quite a good sexuality education curriculum, it really wasn’t being implemented in practice in schools, and I’m not convinced we’ve seen any effective response to that yet,” she says. “I guess we feel that we’re really failing our young people in terms of sexual education.”

Parker says that sexual health education is not being approached in a “nationally coordinated and consistent fashion”, and that it’s a huge problem.

“It’s not about the birds and the bees, or pointing to an anatomy diagram. We see the need for quite a holistic framework around sexual education that integrates sexuality as part of the whole person.”

Sparrow also believes that sexual education is an area that needs immediate improvement. She hotly agrees that the government was shirking its responsibilities when it comes to issues of sexual education and contraception.

“My impression is that it’s quite patchy, and although some schools do take responsibility, it’s probably a little bit too little and too late—and often not relevant to the big questions that young people really want to know.”

What does Family Planning want to see implemented over the next five to ten years?

“We want comprehensive sexual education in schools, and we’d love to see more programmes for parents to learn more about talking about sexuality and sex,” says Edmond immediately, ticking them off one by one. “We would like to see a range of services for young people to access their sexual health, while keeping up-to-date with any new contraception out there.

“Public health programmes that push the use of condoms and contraception. More discussion around drinking and its impact on decision making. And programmes on gender-based violence and coercion.

“So we don’t want much!” she jokes.

“The other thing we’re saying is not universally liked, but you should be enjoying having sex; it should be a pleasurable activity,” says Edmond. “If you don’t want to have it, don’t have it. Don’t do it because you think you should do it: do it because you want to…

“People don’t like it, but I think it’s a good message. It’s pragmatic.”

Controversy aside, contraception is about choice. Being well-informed and aware of the options available enables a woman to make a decision that suits her and her individual needs. With the assortment available, it’s strange to consider that not so long ago, there wasn’t much of a selection to choose from. Who knows what changes to contraception and sexual health services the next half-century will bring about, but what can be counted upon is this: groups such as Family Planning will work to bring about the best and most convenient service possible.

The actual contents and impact of the government’s annual Budget are often difficult for the average Joe to understand. We’re bombarded with information and analysis in the media. Added to this is the plethora of alternative translations and interpretations put forward by various political parties and interest groups. The 2010 Budget, with its key focus on tax reforms, is no different.

Director of Victoria University’s Institute of Policy Studies Jonathan Boston helps to clarify the Budget as a whole: “In broad terms the Budget is relatively consistent with what one would expect from a central-right government.” He explains that this is down to the “clear desire to reduce the overall level of public expenditure as a percentage of GDP over time, and in the desire to reduce tax rates, particularly on middle to high income earners”.

However, Boston is quick to comment that the current government has exercised a certain level of restraint, as many “central-right governments might well have reduced public expenditure more significantly than the current government has done”.

“Certainly by comparison with the National Government of the early- to mid-1990s, there were rather more significant changes then, to social assistance, health and education than have been signalled thus far under this government.”

Boston says that this reflects the pragmatism of New Zealand’s current politicians working in an MMP environment. This compares to the ideologically driven political behaviour that was evident in New Zealand politics in the late 1980s and early 1990s. He says that as a result of the coalition agreements that have eventuated because of MMP, “it may well be that the Maori Party exercised a restraining influence on policy in a number of areas, such as primary healthcare for example, that might have occurred otherwise”. Despite recognising that there are only a small number of elements in the Budget that are clearly positive from the Maori Party perspective, Boston believes that the Maori Party no doubt affected certain changes from behind the scenes.

Bill’s ‘fair for all’ budget

In an interview with Q+A’s Guyon Espiner following the Budget announcement, Minister of Finance Bill English said the government believed that this Budget was fair across the board. He specified that the government “paid quite a bit of attention to the various measures of fairness and equity”, and that “background papers will show that all those measures have been applied”. He believes the government has “achieved a good balance of fairness between people, lower and higher on the income scale”, but more importantly he said that the intended increases in economic growth would ensure that all New Zealanders could “get ahead”.

Across the floor, the Labour Party’s Finance Spokesman David Cunliffe has slammed the Budget not unexpectedly, saying that, “this is really an old-fashioned National party budget that rewards the few at the expense of the many”.

Cunliffe is particularly concerned about cuts to government spending over a number of sectors. He believes that “the quality public services Kiwi families depend upon—like good healthcare when illness or accidents strike, and a great school for the kids—will all come under huge pressure from the cuts to spending”.

Green Party co-leader Dr Russell Norman has also raised concerns that the Budget tax trade-offs will effectively “widen the gap between New Zealand’s haves and have-nots”.

“The tax cuts in this National, ACT and Maori Party budget will go mostly to the well-off, while raising GST hits those on low incomes disproportionately. It punishes those who already struggle to make ends meet. And the punishment falls most heavily on Maori and Pacific peoples. So this Budget will increase inequality and increase the social deficit.”

These various interpretations have been repeated time and again in both pre- and post-Budget analyses, press releases and news segments. So how does this Budget actually measure up in terms of fairness?

Boston believes that “from a static point of view, it is slightly regressive; that is to say, the distributional shifts favour to middle to high-income earners, at the expense of low-income earners. Essentially the changes are likely to increase inequality, rather than increase equality”.

However, he says it is important to recognise that from “a dynamic point of view, the changes may not be quite so regressive, and so over the medium to long run, and from a life-time earnings point of view, the changes may not be significantly regressive”.

A ‘tax swindle’?

Professor Robert Buckle, chair of the Tax Working Group who devised the changes in taxation as announced in the Budget, points out “you really have to pin down what people mean by fairness”.

In contrast to Boston, Buckle thinks that from a static perspective, “it is fairly well recognised that, for salary and wage earners, the combination of the cut in personal tax rates plus the GST increase, means that right across all income levels, people will have more disposable income after tax”. Buckle also believes that “in a dynamic sense, there are quite widespread benefits”.

Buckle says that there were a lot of “loopholes in the tax system that were advantageous to some people—particularly people who had opportunities in accumulated wealth, and could invest them into certain types of savings vehicles”. Therefore, “If the tax system had been left alone, the after tax distribution of income would have been possibly unfair. I don’t think a lot of people appreciate these kind of issues.”

This underscores what Buckle outlines were the aims of Tax Working Group, in ensuring New Zealand was facing the future with a tax system that was fair and sustainable.

“The international research, which is pretty robust, has emerged over the past twenty years as a result of quite sophisticated micro-econometric research and as a result of econometric panel estimation studies of different tax structures across different countries, and it suggests that taxing company incomes, and taxing personal incomes tends to be more damaging for growth, entrepreneurship and innovation.”

Buckle explains further: “The IMF have simulated this tax switch, very much along the lines we advocated, and it reinforces the argument that this sort of tax switch can lead to higher savings rates, higher investment, higher employment growth, and higher real wage growth. Therefore, those who are unemployed will benefit by stronger employment growth. Those on salary and wages will benefit from higher labour productivity and real wage growth, so that’s how these things come through.”

Analysing the benefits of changes in what is taxed, and with the hike in GST central in most people’s minds, Kiwiblog’s David Farrar outlined some benefits of increasing GST, illustrating that, compared to income tax, GST is easier to administer, difficult to avoid and covers a wider base.

Far beyond adhering to what Labour Party leader Phil Goff refers to as a tax swindle, the results of this tax switch could see reductions in both incentives and the distinct abilities for the wealthiest in New Zealand’s society, to avoid paying the correct tax rates relative to their earnings and overall wealth. New Zealand thus may be facing a tax system that is indeed fairer across the board.

What about education?

So what did the Budget hold in terms of funding for the tertiary sector? While the cuts in income tax and increases in GST affect every New Zealander, one would hope that the government’s commitments to tertiary education would be of particular interest to readers of this particular publication.

As reported by Salient straight after the Budget announcement, there were really no surprises. Tertiary Education Minister Steven Joyce outlined that “while we are committed to interest-free student loans, it is important we are fair to taxpayers and remove any perverse incentives from the scheme as it stands”.

Joyce says that in the face of the increasing costs of the student loan scheme, the government is intent on improving accountability and boosting performance within the tertiary sector.

The initiatives announced in the Budget include a focus on performance, which will require students to pass more than 50 per cent of full-time courses over a two-year period, in order to be allowed to continue borrowing. Furthermore, the government has placed a “lifetime limit” on access to student loans, outlining that there is to be a seven-year borrowing limit for an undergraduate degree.

The fees around borrowing have also increased, with the Student Loan administration fee increasing from $50 to $60, as well as the introduction of a $40 annual “account fee” to be applied at the completion of studies. It was this fee that led Green Party tertiary education spokesperson Gareth Hughes to accuse the government of trying to “charge interest by stealth”.

Addressing the costs of increasing enrolments, highlighted by Victoria University’s inability to accept further domestic admissions for the remainder of 2010, Joyce has said that “Budget 2010 will build further on last year’s record number of student places and ensure access for young people who are keen to succeed and committed to New Zealand”. However, there has been no increase in funding to cover this. The package includes ensuring 1735 additional full-time places at universities, but as Labour Party tertiary spokesperson Maryan Street explains, “These are not 1735 new students. Most of them are already in universities but being carried and funded by the universities themselves.”

Street continues, saying “This goes nowhere near meeting demand in these institutions, and certainly goes in the opposite direction from other countries like Australia, which is investing heavily in very real terms in its tertiary education institutions.”

In light of this, one might argue that the tertiary sector got dealt a fairly raw deal. However, compared to the cuts in funding for early childhood education—a sector which has been proven to offer the most bang for the buck in terms of educational effectiveness—as Boston explains, politics was on the tertiary sector’s side this round.

“The government could have decided to charge interest on student loans, if not for students currently studying, then for those who have finished their studies—but with half a million New Zealanders having student loans, that would have been very unpopular. I suspect a modest reduction of funding to early childhood education was easier than some other policy choices would have been.”

Before you complain about how unfair the lack of funding in the tertiary sector is, do keep in mind that by cutting back on the funding for early childhood education—in what is arguably children’s most crucial developmental stage—perhaps John Key is simply ensuring there will be significantly less competition for YOUR job 20 years down the track? Just saying. Maybe it ain’t so bad after all. But then again, only time will tell.

Well cry me a fucking river. When I finally moved into a flat in second year, my sole income was from a StudyLink allowance of $150 per week. Rent was $100. This left $50 for food and power. Putting aside a bit of money each week for the inevitable power bill, this would leave me with roughly $3.50 to spend on food each day. And I had a 9am class on one day of the week.

Problem solved.

If you think you’ve got problems, then this should put things into perspective. Hungry, cold and skinny perspective. It sounds impossible, even to me. But I did this for a good part of the year. I survived, and even did well at uni.

Me at uni.

Think of this as your worst-case scenario. You have to cut back on everything. You will have to make some extreme lifestyle changes. As a student, this will bring you down to three main areas of expenditure, which will be your absolute necessities just to keep you breathing while studying.

Parmesan, Gruyère and Havarti.

1. Food and drink

My diet during this time consisted mainly of two-minute noodles (pre the discovery of Mi Goreng, so this makes my story infinitely more tragic than yours), eggs, bread and cheese. Cheese is expensive, but strangely delicious. It was probably the one good thing I had going in my life, and it’s versatile.

a) What to eat
 i) Buying food
You will need to spend your $3.50 wisely. Buy versatile foods in bulk so they’re cheaper and will last you a while, such as rice, potatoes and pasta. Use these to bulk up your meals, even more than you otherwise might, so that they last longer. Take leftovers to uni the next day. Remember that flavour is a luxury. You will need to budget, find the discounts and specials, spend only what you absolutely need and make sure you don’t waste your food.

 ii) Cooking food
Think about communal cooking: Has your flatmate got a can of tomatoes? With your bread you’ve got the basis for tomatoes on toast. Bonus points for saving power too.

b) What to drink
Water. It’s free.

c) Alternative sources of food
 i) Free stuff
When things are desperate, you should always be on the lookout for free shit, and know where you can get it regularly. Go to VUWSA in Kelburn on a Wednesday or Friday morning and get some free bread, and check out their Food Bank while you’re there. The free bread once kept my entire flat fed for a week.

Ant, Mark and Bella.

Remember that every little bit counts. Don’t be afraid to scrounge off your richer friends, and wear plastic bags instead of shoes for maximum pity.

 ii) Relatives and friends
If you have relatives in town you should try to organise a regular home-cooked dinner or meal with them. You’ll get at least one decent and hopefully nutritious meal out of it each week, and they’ll be happy helping you out when you need it most, and can’t find language.

 iii) Live off the land
Growing your own veges will result in a lot more street cred, nutrition and inflated self-worth than playing Farmville. It also makes you statistically less likely to be murdered in a library.

Other than growing your own food, getting back to your hunter and gatherer roots is another option. Know your natural environment and what foods it may provide.

Nutrition!

If things are so desperate that you have cut back to the bare basics, then you will need to make sure you are getting enough of the right nutrition in your diet. Food plays a more important role in your general mood—and entire life—than you may realise. Without the right nutrition you will be in a bad mood, unable to concentrate, and have low energy levels. With poor nutrition you will also be more susceptible to sickness, which will just plain suck.

Especially as a student, you will need lots of Omega 3. This is a fatty acid commonly found in fish that is needed by the brain to promote neuronal growth. Basically it makes you smarter and more likely to remember things. Eat fish before and during important study periods to make the most out of them, or if you don’t eat fish, think of other ways to please her get Omega 3 tablets on special from a pharmacy.

2. Shelter

Note: An important factor in keeping your shelter costs down is cooperation from your co-dwellers.

a) Keeping your power bill down
My flat was so cold I had to put a jacket on when I went inside. Keeping in the same room as your flatmates helps heaps. If you can all cook, eat, socialise and study in the kitchen, then you can get it warm easily during the cooking and then keep it warm, rather than all going off to use separate heaters.

When things got really cold, we would warm our hands inside the fridge. Instead of a hot-water bottle or electric blanket, take a hot shower before bed. This, along with a sheet, duvet and three blankets, keeps me warm during the night. As a bonus I wake up with awesome hair.

Another tactic I used when things got cold was to just be at university as much as I could, because it was so damned cold at home I would wake up and breathe out, and my breath would freeze and hit me in the face. It’s really warm at uni. Staying there later has a few other benefits—you get in some more study, and the university pays the power bill.

I hear finding a spoon also helps.

b) Keeping other flat costs down
You will need to cut down on luxury items. This will be expensive showering items, the good toilet paper, makeup, etc. Stuff you don’t actually need. If you need things repaired or bought that your landlord isn’t responsible for, do it yourself if you can. I built a letterbox for my flat. It was shit and we also blew it up once, but it was free and better than the brick.

3. Transport

Do you really need to catch the bus? In my opinion, if you’re fit you should be able to walk for at least an hour to get to uni. Your legs are the cheaper and more reliable option anyway. Or, if you can get the funds together, a bike is a good investment. Me? I skate on my skateboard to uni now, instead of using my legs like a sucker.

If you do need costly transport to get to and from home, then consider crashing at a friend’s place close to uni occasionally. Each night will save you two trips. Get someone from one of your classes and turn it into a study session. You can also steal their spoons to warm you later.

Conclusion

Don’t be afraid to ask for any sort of help in these areas. Think about who may be able to help you. Read Zoe Reid’s column in Salient, ‘Yo Mama Shoulda Told You This’—it’s brimming with useful advice, especially on things that will save you money. If you get into financial trouble, ask for help. Talk to your parents and friends. These fellows may also be able to help:

VUWSA
StudyLink
Student Services

Fail that, get a haircut and get a fucking job.

To clarify, in keeping with the views of the Polynesian Panthers themselves, Maori are included under the term ‘Pacific Islanders’. Unless stated otherwise, all references to Pacific Islanders in this text includes Maori. In the words of Tigi Ness, “We are living on the biggest Pacific Island.”

While many of you may not have heard of the Polynesian Panthers, hopefully you will have heard of the Black Panthers, a now (arguably) disbanded African American revolutionary left-wing organisation that worked for the self-defence of black people. Over time, the Black Panthers’ initial stand against police brutality in black neighbourhoods became a call for staunch black nationalism for all African Americans. The strength of the movement spawned generations of strong African Americans, to whom the Panthers provided basic human rights—such as their free breakfasts and education for children programmes—and, importantly, personal strength and pride in their heritage.

The Polynesian Panthers group was founded on 16 June 1971, borne from a large mix of Pacific Islanders, including Samoans, Tongans, Niueans and Maori. Tigi Ness, a New Zealand-born Niuean, describes the founders as “former gang members and students”, mere “teenagers in response to the racism we were experiencing in Auckland”. The majority of the founders were high school students, not university students or adults; most were from working class families and inspired by Black Panther founder Huey Newton’s concept of black unity.

The Panthers were mostly first generation New Zealanders. Their parents reaped some of the benefits of New Zealand’s economic boom in the 1960s, when they were encouraged to migrate to New Zealand to provide cheap labour. The government turned a blind eye to expired working visas and illegal migrant workers until the production boom dwindled in the mid-1970s. Although wages were higher, living conditions were often poor and Pacific Islanders were often subject to racism and police harrassment. The fortunes of many Pacific Islanders, who had uprooted their families and lives to work for wages less than the average New Zealander, took a turn for the worse as the economy started on a downward spiral. The government aggressively targeted overstayers—that is, people who illegally remained in the country past their work visa, or failed to get one in the first place—and these first generation New Zealanders were at risk of being sent back to a country, and society, they never knew. The problems many Pacific Islanders already faced in New Zealand were only compounded by this episode in New Zealand history.

On top of fears for their families, many Pacific Islanders lived in dangerous neighbourhoods, with many young people feeling their only options for survival were to join a gang or simply hide at home. The Panthers formed to provide the young with another option. They were searching for something positive—the life their families moved to New Zealand to create, as opposed to the oppressive policies and poverty keeping their cultures and communities downtrodden.

The reasons for joining the Panthers were relatively diverse. Some, like Will Ilolahia, were looking for a better way. Will remembers being a member of the gang ‘Nigs’ (because they were often called ‘niggers’), but he was trying to find something more meaningful in life. He began reading American books about the Black Panthers and soon “woke up”. Some chose the Panthers initially for its more aesthetic appeal—as Tigi Ness did—with “black leather, berets, Island shoes, raising their fist”. Once initially formed, the Panthers knocked on doors of people they felt had the same ideals.

The Polynesian Panthers challenged discriminatory practices in areas such as unequal pay, unsatisfactory working and housing conditions, education, police harassment, legal rights and prison visits for families. The extent to which the Pacific Island communities felt these injustices is shocking. Before the Panthers, it was often the norm for Pacific Islander houses to have only cold water. In addition to minimal pay, they were expected to work through all breaks, including unpaid lunch breaks, to keep their jobs.

Police harassment of Pacific Islanders was common from 1974 to the late 1980s. Some were picked up by police and those who weren’t holding papers showing their legal status in New Zealand were arrested. The extent of police harassment was such that Pacific Islanders made up 86 per cent of all prosecutions for overstaying. Police began ‘dawn raids’, knocking down Pacific Islanders’ doors in the early hours of the morning, demanding passports from all occupants. In response, the Polynesian Panthers began “dawn raids” of politicians’ houses by banging on the door with floodlights, demanding to see passports, and running away as politicians came to the door. It only took a few weeks before the Polynesian Panthers effectively stopped all dawn raids on Pacific Islander communities.

Much of the Polynesian Panthers’ work was in empowering the Polynesian community to raise their quality of life. The Panthers organised strikes in factories with substandard working conditions, and the Tenants Aid Brigade (TAB) boycotted and protested outside sub-standard housing. To combat failing grades at school, the Panthers organised homework centres—locations simply with tables, chairs and a quiet space so students could do their homework. Many Pacific Islander families simply did not know their rights or entitlements, and the Panthers ensured that knowledge was passed on and utilised.

The Panthers provided much needed assistance to Polynesians caught up in legal wrangles. Pamphlets were distributed advising individuals of their rights, such as being able to ask police whether they were being arrested, and what for. Legal aid was often provided to individuals needing court representation. One of the most successful initiatives was organising buses to prisons, so families could visit, and further support was provided to prisoners who had no family on the outside. While this was a free service, prisoners gifted the Panthers substantial amounts of the money earned in prison to show their gratitude.

The Panthers, along with many Pacific Island youth, also supported Maori causes and political events, such as the 1975 Land March and Bastion Point occupation. The Panthers became adept at political lobbying, which became apparent during the dawn raids in the 1970s, and the Springbok Tour of 1981. Tigi Ness was jailed for his actions during the tour, but was eventually released without charge. Will Ilolahia, along with Hone Harawira and others, was on trial for two years, only getting off the charge after Bishop Desmond Tutu flew in to be a character witness.

Many of the Panthers voiced concern that the government’s way of control was to divide and conquer the minorities, and as a result they banded together to fight the threat to their cultures and communities. Miriama Rauhihi-Ness remembers a time when being Maori and embracing Maori culture was “literally… cut out of you at school, all of it”. She cites the 1975 Land March as a turning point, where New Zealand society began to be more accepting of Maori culture, both within Maoridom and in Pakeha society. Nowadays, all Panthers encourage Maori and Pacific Islanders to remain strongly banded together as whanau, with pride in their heritage.

Lessons for today

The Polynesian Panthers are adamant that everything they fought for over the past 30 years is just as relevant now. Pacific Islanders are still significantly over represented in school dropout and prison admission rates. As the reoffending rate is so high, the Panthers feel the only point of the current prison system seems to be to provide jobs for guards. Now that there is talk of privatising prisons, their concern is greatly increased.

Will Ilolahia points to “complacency” as “the real battle”. We perceive there to be less racism from individuals, yet we are failing to address institutional racism—racism within the government and other institutions. Another related concern is that we are simultaneously more and less connected, talking to many people online and over text message daily, yet we no longer say hello to people we walk past on the street.

The Polynesian Panthers are still empowering generations of Polynesians. Records company Dawn Raid, Che Fu and Scribe all cite the Panthers as an empowering influence. The Panthers’ take home advice to wannabe movers and shakers at Victoria? Stay at uni, get your degree, and get into a position to make change—their experience, knowledge and passion are here to help, as strong as 30 years ago.

It is the end of the trimester. Assignments are due. Exams are coming up. You probably have an immense dislike for university right about now. Stress. Pimples. Eye twitches. Sleepness nights. A lot of this probably due to the fact you’ve exceeded the recommended number of energy drinks to consume in a 24-hour period.

Nevertheless, it is at times like these that it is comforting to remember why you’re at an establishment like Victoria University—you’re here to get a tertiary education, an education that will one day hopefully improve your employment prospects and see you contribute positively to New Zealand society. Or, at least that’s the lofty, idealistic reason why you’re at uni that you may not have thought of.

The relatively open access to tertiary education that New Zealanders have enjoyed seems to be under threat. In recent weeks both Victoria and the University of Otago have implemented measures to manage enrolment numbers for the rest of 2010. Vic has closed all new domestic admissions for 2010, while Otago has capped enrolment numbers across a number of programs. Other universities are looking to introduce similar measures to deal with increasing numbers of students in the current limited funding environment.

But why has it come to this? Why has Vic been forced to shut the door on new domestic students, a decision that the University Council itself said it was reluctant to make? A number of factors, including the economic recession, increased demand and limited funding from the government and other sources, have prompted universities to consider new measures to cope with the challenges facing the tertiary sector.

And the door was shut

As has been reported in Salient, the University Council decided not to accept any new domestic undergraduate admissions for the rest of the year at a recent public meeting. The decision came in the wake of predictions that student numbers were going to reach 110 per cent of the cap funded by the Tertiary Education Commission (TEC) under Vic’s investment plan.

Following the council meeting, Chancellor Ian McKinnon explained: “The university has no further capacity for new undergraduate applicants this year. In simple terms, if they [student numbers] go above 100 per cent, the university forgoes funding and incurs costs, and this has an immediate impact on the quality of the university.”

Vice-Chancellor Pat Walsh told Salient after the meeting that “There is no enthusiasm for this decision, it was made to meet our legal obligations and to protect the interests of current students and staff.”

Salient reported that Vic enrolments are 20 per cent higher than they were at the same time last year. Increased student numbers has been a common trend across all tertiary education organisations (TEOs)—not just Vic. To an extent, this increase in student numbers could have been forseen: not only are the products of a baby boom in the early 1990s hitting uni age, job losses caused by the recession have led to many people heading back to tertiary study to upskill. Unfortunately, it appears that the current government has not provided universities with adequate additional support to cater for this influx of students.

Chair of the New Zealand Vice-Chancellors’ Committee (NZVCC) and Auckland University of Technology Vice-Chancellor Derek McCormack understands why Vic made the decision.

“New Zealand universities are committed to maintaining the international quality of their teaching and research,” says McCormack. “That is why they have, unfortunately, had to restrict student numbers—in order to maintain quality.”

Co-President of the New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations (NZUSA) David Do says Vic’s decision is unfortunate, given its impact on prospective students.

“We feel that on a practical level they shouldn’t have done it this way, because students had not been given proper notice that the entry requirements were changing, and that’s going to affect their plans for moving into education.”

VUWSA President Max Hardy, student representative Conrad Reyners and former VUWSA President Fleur Fitzsimons voted against the motion to close admissions. Hardy was reported in Salient as saying that “such an unattractive decision should not have been made without first having all the appropriate information”, while Fitzsimons said the decision “felt very panicked and lacking detail”.

The fact that New Zealand universities are feeling forced into making such decisions has raised concerns about current levels of tertiary education funding. How does the government fund our universities in the first place?

So where does Vic get its funding?

The majority of the university’s funding comes from government grants, with the next greatest proportion coming from domestic tutition fees—then international tuition fees. Figures in the 2009 Annual Report show that Vic received about $137 million in government grants last year. Domestic tutition fees made up almost $65 million of the university’s revenue, while international tuition fees accounted for about $25 million. The university’s total revenue for 2009 amounted to approximately $281 million. The figures show clearly, government funding makes up a significant portion of the univerity’s total revenue.It is the role of the Tertiary Education Commission (TEC) to oversee the allocation of government funding to universities, in accordance with the policies implemented by the government of the day.

The role of the TEC

Established under the Education Act of 1989, the TEC operates the tertiary funding system generally, while also overseeing the planning process and the performance of tertiary education organisations. According to its Statement of Intent, published online, the primary aim of the TEC is “to give effect to the government’s Tertiary Education Strategy (TES)”. The government is required to publish the TES under the Education Act. The TES provides a basis for all the government’s decisions relating to tertiary education. The TEC is bound to ensure that these are implemented across New Zealand’s eight universities, 20 institutes of technology and polytechnics, and hundreds of other tertiary education providers, such as training organisations, wananga, and schools.

The TEC’s board of commissioners provides guidance to the Minister of Tertiary Education about how best to allocate the $3 billion that the government commits each year to funding the tertiary education system.

In order to receive funding, a tertiary education organisation must have an Investment Plan, which it devises in collaboration with the TEC. The plan must outline the following four details: how a TEO will work towards achieving the government’s priorities as outlined in the TES; the TEO’s mission and role in the tertiary sector; the programmes and activities it runs or undertakes; and its proposed outcomes, including performance indicators.

Tertiary Education Minister Steven Joyce says that in terms of allocating funding for places for students at universities, “The TEC will work with universities (and institutes of technology and polytechnics) to determine the areas of high demand. In doing so, the TEC will seek to allocate according to the priorities of the Tertiary Education Strategy.”

In the event a TEO is found to be shirking its responsibilities, outlined in its investment plan, or it is behaving in a manner contrary to agreements made in the plan, the government is within its rights to restrict funding.

The impact of Investment Plans

The limitations placed on Vic by the investment plan with the TEC were one of the reasons behind the decision to close new domestic admissions for the rest of 2010. Vic was rapidly approaching the enrolments cap it was allowed for 2010.

Walsh explains that all universities have an investment plan, which outlines enrolment targets on “not only how many students [can be enrolled], but also how many of those students the government will fund”.

“In our Investment Plan, we give an undertaking to manage domestic student enrolment numbers between 97 per cent and 103 per cent. We will not receive government funding for any domestic students we enrol in excess of 100 per cent.”

Basically, if the university exceeds its cap, it carries the burden of funding those students itself—without extra funding from the government. Walsh reiterates that universities have a legal obligation to implement their individual investment plans.

Through the implementation of individual investment plans with universities and other TEOs, the government effectively manages how many New Zealanders can access tertiary education each year. In the past this appears not to have posed significant problems. However, it seems the government has not adequately prepared for the recent influx of students entering into tertiary education.

Walsh says that universities will have to seek funding from elsewhere in order to deal with the greater numbers.

“Because we are working in a capped funding environment, revenue from the government will be relatively fixed, and this means universities will need to look for additional revenue sources to meet any increase in expenditure.”

Walsh does say that New Zealand has “one of the most generous student support funding arrangements in the world.”

“The government spends a lot of money on tertiary education but it’s about finding the balance between money spent on students and funding for the institutions,” he says.

“Policy frameworks need adjusting to get that mix of funding right. Interest-free student loans, open access and capped funding don’t mix in a recession. In addition, universities work within a maximum fee system which limits how much they increase fees.”

McCormack says “the current system is far from ideal”. He points out that most tertiary programmes take more than one year to complete, “but funding is only secure for one year at a time”.

“The investment plans that universities agree to with the government [via the TEC] are three-year plans,” he says.

“Any decision by a university to accept additional students must take into account the pipeline consequences into subsequent years, in a situation of funding uncertainty over those subsequent years, with no guarantee of funding beyond one year at a time.”

President of the Tertiary Education Union (TEU) Dr Tom Ryan says that the TEU believes that the investment plan cap should be lifted, to allow greater numbers of enrolment into universities and other TEOs during the recession.

“We note that across the ditch in Australia, the government has said clearly that it wants more people getting degrees,” says Ryan. “It’s one of the policies they’ve introduced during the recession as part of their $1 billion extra spending on tertiary education. So it’s a pity that the [New Zealand] government has maintained the cap.”

The Budget: an exercise in treading water

Joyce points out that the changes announced at the recent Budget have allowed for the creation of more places for students at universities.

“We have refocused tertiary education funding to create approximately 4900 EFTS [equivalent full-time students] above previous baselines from 2011—a record number of core tertiary places,” he says.

“For universities, this means 1,735 additional full-time places compared to what was previously budgeted. As a result, the number of places in universities will be 765 greater in 2011 than this year’s record number.”

Joyce adds that the government has also increased spending on tuition subsidies—the Student Achievement Component (SAC)—which is the government’s contribution to the direct costs of teaching, learning, and other costs driven by student numbers.

“Around $40 million per year will be invested to increase tuition subsidies by 2.2 per cent, with approximately $23 million of this funding going to the university sector. The increase will support quality tertiary education.”

Also announced in the Budget was the end of the fee maxima policy, which allowed course fees to increase by a maximum of 5 per cent a year. The policy has been been replaced with the Annual Maximum Fee Movement (AMFM), which will allow TEOs to increase course fees by up to 4 per cent—but it only applies to fees for 2011.

Joyce says the change should give students more certainty about future study costs. He says AMFM removes the “distortive effects of the previous policy, which meant that providers with higher cost courses (with fees at or above the maxima) were unable to make increases in fees to offset the increases in the cost of provision”.

Do points out that AMFM gives no indication of what system will be in place for 2012.

“The minister has only set a fee limit for next year, and I think a lot of students are worried about how high their fees could go if there are no limits.”

Despite Joyce’s reassurances that the government is prepared for the influx of future enrolments, some remain unconvinced.

The 2009 Budget saw a number of cuts made to the tertiary education sector. Finance Minister Bill English backpeddled on prior commitments to increase funding made under the previous Labour government, and various scholarships and other funds were cut to save money.

The cuts have continued in this year’s budget, says Ryan.

“To a large degree, what was announced specifically in this year’s budget continued what the government introduced last year,” he says. “So it’s more the general government’s direction [that] has reduced the spending in tertiary education.”

McCormack agrees. “The 2010 Budget has primarily been an exercise in re-allocating existing money to achieve a limited number … of additional places at our universities.

“At the same time, per student funding is declining in comparison with university cost increases, and money for initiatives to make up for this shortfall, such as the tripartite salary funding, has been withdrawn—as announced in Budget 2009,” he says.

“The cumulative impact is that funding has been decreasing in real terms over time, and this most recent budget does not turn this trend around. Holding the line—or indeed going backwards—makes it harder for universities to prepare their students to be able to make the valuable contributions to New Zealand that are needed to ensure future growth.”

Do says New Zealand is beginning to fall behind Australia when it comes to tertiary education funding.

“The Australian government has put a significant boost of investment into universities and also student support,” he says.

“In contrast, last year’s budget in New Zealand saw cuts to several funds in tertiary education. So we feel the government should be actually increasing investment, and not keeping it stable or reducing it.

“We would have hoped that the government would do further work on addressing underfunding and student debt, but, unfortunately, this budget treads water,” Do says with a sigh. “It’s fairly lacklustre.”

‘Less’ can only go so far

Many in tertiary education have called for increased government investment in the tertiary sector, particularly given the recent emphasis placed on increased funding to be invested in research, science and technology.

McCormack comments, “As New Zealand’s universities constitute the most important part of the research sector, this funding may lead to new opportunities for university research. But is does beg the question, why hasn’t the government also matched this investment with direct funding for university research and teaching capability?

“If knowledge leads to prosperity then surely universities, as creators of knowledge, should be key drivers in the government’s plan. [Instead], the government has been talking about financial constraints, doing more with less, driving efficiency, holding the line, etc. with respect to the budget for our universities.”

NZUSA agrees with the NZVCC about the need for increased public investment.

“Even though the government wants ‘more from less’, there’s only so much you can do with the same amount of money,” Do remarks.

If government funding is not increased to match the demand for places at universities, access to tertiary education could ultimately be restricted, with universities unable to fund places for more students themselves.

NZUSA believes that this denies New Zealanders a basic ‘right’ to access tertiary education. Over time, this will result in fewer skilled graduates emerging from the tertiary education system. Do also points out that limited enrolments will likely affect minority students, or those from lower decile schools or lower socio-economic backgrounds.

“We need to think about the people who might be put at risk,” he says bluntly. “We think that the government is making the wrong choice when it comes to what way it is spending its money.

“It should have increased overall funding so that more New Zealanders can access education.”

The search for a sustainable solution

Joyce defends the actions that have been taken by the government in the tertiary education sector.

“All universities have informed the TEC that they will continue to manage their enrolments according to their current funding levels throughout 2010,” he says. “There is no extra funding available in 2010 and TEOs are all committed to managing within their means.

“In Budget 2010, the government provided a price increase to tuition subsidies. This will mean that universities will receive $23 million more in government funding in 2011 than in 2010.”

Regardless of the Budget’s immediate impact on tertiary education, it’s clear the government still needs to find a viable long-term solution to the continued calls for greater direct investment in TEOs. Universities are already turning to alternative sources of funding to try to cope with the demands of increased student numbers, while maintaining a high level of quality.

If more funding is not forthcoming, will universities be forced to consider more drastic measures to ensure they live within the means outlined in their investment plans? The fact that Vic and Otago have already taken reluctant steps should be a clear signal to the government that action needs to be taken to ensure that New Zealand’s universities are adequately funded—so that those who want to take up tertiary study can do so without worry of restriction.

Not only does this tell of the way in which technology has assimilated itself irretrievably into our daily lives, it is also testament to the convergence of that technology. Media is no longer restricted to its original platform. Instead, we watch television on our laptops; use our cellphones to connect to social networking sites, and make international calls over the internet. Every major newspaper—and many of the minor ones—uploads its content to a location online, from where it flows through to websites such as Twitter and Tumblr. Convergence has combined our once-separate roles of readers, spectators and internet users: consumers are now able to both produce, and participate in the media.

Well, that’s the simplified definition of the concept.

“There are two images of convergence,” says Dr Angi Buettner, lecturer of Media Studies at Victoria University and co-editor of the New Zealand Journal of Media Studies. “One is that a lot of things overlap, but they’re all there. The other is that a lot of things converge together to be filtered, and what you have coming out is one thin line of a lot of things.”

Dr Buettner thinks that the former premise is “our wishful thinking about convergence”, and that the second is the more realistic model. I ask Dr Buettner whether she anticipates that this “thin line” will decrease the number of sources of information or viewpoints on a particular issue that are available to the consumer.

“Potentially, it might increase the number of voices,” she says, “but which item is going to be picked up and pushed through the different platforms of publishing? Pragmatically, it will be the best, nicest-looking little story. Someone has to re-circulate it and what’s going to be picked up is something that’s already successful with audiences.”

However, Fairfax Digital’s Social Media Editor and Stuff.co.nz blogger Greer McDonald believes that above all, convergence increases access to different opinions and information.

“Fairfax has more than 780 journalists spread out across the country, and convergence means that readers don’t have to be living in Southland or Taranaki to access that region’s news,” she says. “Readers are getting their news in new ways—and from a larger number of sources—rather than becoming limited.”

Social Media is Big Business

That Fairfax Digital—part of Fairfax Media Group, which owns a significant proportion of New Zealand’s newspapers, magazines, and community newspapers—deemed it beneficial to appoint a Social Media Editor is testament to the importance and influence of Facebook, Twitter, and other social networking sites.

“All those platforms are just opportunities to have an outpost, really,” says Tarver Graham, of Auckland-based web design company Gladeye, which produces interactive work and digital strategy “for companies that want to make their brand come across super-cool online”.

With an official website, staff blogs, and Twitter, Facebook, and Vimeo accounts, Gladeye has considerable online presence.

“We try to keep our main website reasonably profesh, but with Twitter and Facebook, we can show a bit more of who we are, and be a bit more relaxed,” says Graham, who maintains that social media allows companies to take care of their supporters.

“If your brand or company shows some love for their supporters, that loyalty is often returned, and loyalty and genuine passion for a brand is not something that you can fake or buy,” he says. “With social media, it’s really important to be genuine, because people will see through it otherwise.”

Luke Appleby, a multimedia journalist who writes Stuff.co.nz’s ‘Connector’ blog, lists the benefits of Facebook and Twitter as “building and maintaining contacts, generating instant feedback, and crowd-sourcing.

“Twitter has also proven its worth in our newsroom for monitoring breaking news, especially internationally, through a number of feeds.”

McDonald testified to this on Radio New Zealand’s Media Watch programme, broadcast on 25 April 2010. Earlier this year, the New Zealand Press Association reported that the fires at Titahi Bay were under control, but McDonald’s Twitter told a different story.

“Basically, through Twitter, I was able to provide a blow-by-blow account of what was happening, which was contrary to what the Fire Service was informing other news agencies,” she told the show’s host, Colin Peacock.

An energetic Tweeter herself, McDonald is drawn to the service’s immediacy. She describes it as “the virtual pulse of communities around New Zealand, and the world”.

“People discuss personal issues and business ideas, all in the one space,” she says. “Where once you would head to the local pub to find out what everyone was talking about, you can now jump online and connect with that same information—and on an even greater scale.”

A More Interactive Experience

Of course, this exchange of information is just that—an exchange, as both Appleby and McDonald have experienced first-hand. Readers can comment on Stuff.co.nz blogs, which, in Appleby’s words, “can allow the reader to become a part of the post themselves”.

“Having comments on everything you write can make you more cautious, and more accountable,” says Appleby. “If you get something wrong, you’ll be told about it, and I have done a few times.”

McDonald’s blog, ‘Lady in the Red’, documents her bid to take control of her personal finances. One post, in which she admitted buying a pair of boots instead of replacing her car’s worn tyres, attracted 147 comments, in any of which, readers admonished her for her “frivolous, un-thought-out purchase” (K, #44).

This would suggest that media’s newfound interactive element can position readers a little too close to journalists—although McDonald is unfazed. In fact, she says she writes “in a way that encourages the reader to respond to me and my ideas”.

“In terms of what and how I write, blogs allow me to write more creatively than what most print media models are set up for,” she adds, citing the sometimes-controversial, often opinion-based nature of the medium.

This increased participation also applies to news. Stuff.co.nz, which receives 115 million page impressions a month from 3.9 million unique browsers, engages its readers with interactive quizzes, games and video. The site’s current opinion poll asks readers to determine “who would win in a fight” between Dame Kiri Te Kanawa and Susan Boyle. (At time of writing, it’s 388 – 371 to Kiri.)

“Many journalists are now waking up to the fact that most audiences love—and expect—more than one form of media from some news outlets,” explains Appleby. “You can effectively combine print, audio, video, data and audience input into one, rapidly updating article, available from anywhere with internet access.”

Just as businesses have added Facebook and Twitter to their arsenal of marketing tools, several are turning to online outfits such as Gladeye to provide them with interactive advertising applications. Gladeye created the House of Travel mixandmatcher Facebook competition, which attracted 44,000 players in the fortnight it was active.

“I think our trademark attention to detail helped make the game satisfying to play for a long period of time,” reflects Graham. “We worked on the physics of the [spinning wheels], and the look of the dials. Also, the soundtrack added a layer of mood, and that helped with the generally satisfying character of the game.

“I really believe that if something seems real, you can trick the brain into thinking that it is real, even though you know it’s not.”

Form and Function

Dr Buettner points out that according to Sherry Turkle, Professor of the Social Studies of Science and Technology at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, an increasing willingness to take technology at face value is one of the features of convergence culture.

“So what we see here,” explains Dr Buettner, gesturing to her desktop Apple Mac computer, “does not show us in any way how a computer works, how visual programming works… and the news doesn’t show you anything about the news production, news gathering, the editing process, or how it’s visually pulled together.

“You don’t get that, because everything is absolutely smooth in its flow.”

Dr Buettner believes that the Apple iPad, once it becomes more widely used, will change the character of computing and social media.

“News will be converted into a very smooth application that looks good, and basically gives the audience what they want,” she predicts.

McDonald says that the iPad will have an especial appeal for New Zealanders.

“Kiwis have that fantastic quality of being affected by ‘new and shiny-itis’—we love to be included in the latest technology that the world is using, and we enthusiastically promote products that improve the way we do things.”

Appleby is more cautious.

“It’s easy for us in the developed world to proclaim that the iPad will eventually help us to consume all forms of media, but what of those who can’t afford, or simply don’t want one?”.

A Place for Print

Buettner points out that not long ago, it was predicted that the book was going to disappear—“but it hasn’t”.

“People have an enjoyment of reading something on paper which cannot be substituted by any electronic device,” explains Appleby. “Everyone likes to consume different forms of media in different ways. We still have people using HAM radios and Morse code, speaking Latin, and creating traditional art with paper.”

Graham agrees—but to a certain extent.

“There’ll always be a place for print, just like there’s a place for painting even though we’ve had photography for a century and a half already,” he allows. “But these brands, and the companies behind them, will evolve in a digital landscape. They need to think of themselves as selling content, not paper. Paper is a mugs’ game. Paper is a commodity, whereas words (stories, ideas, opinions, or whatever) have a unique value.”

Dr Buettner predicts that books, newspapers and magazines will turn into a “niche market, geared towards people who like having the paper on their coffee tables–people who want that medium.

“It will not be [media’s] main platform. Print won’t be the form that will make the money. I don’t think news will be on the internet, I think it will be on even more mobile media, and I think it will get more of a print-type character.”

“What is the new beast going to be?”

Of course, the nature of journalism—both as an occupation and an industry—will have to change accordingly, and Dr Buettner maintains that in the future, the job will be very different.

“A lot of journalists will have to take on more things that the editor would have used to have done, and that they’ll have to become even quicker—so it will be a question of time management more than anything,” she says, recalling McDonald’s flat statement that the speed of online media means that “deadlines don’t exist”.

Appleby, who was trained in multimedia journalism (“I can confirm that it has proven useful so far”), believes that journalists will need to be multi-skilled in areas of print, online and television journalism in order to increase their chances of gaining employment, and McDonald agrees.

“I think reporters will be expected to be more open-minded in what the future of their role may require them to do,” she says. “New journalists who can adapt quickly will be the ones that find the most success.”

Dr Buettner maintains that the industry is currently in a state of change: “There’s a question of ‘what is the new beast going to be?’.

“I think it can really go in two directions,” she elaborates. “News industries are quite aware that now is the time when decisions are going to be made that affect how the industry is going to look like, so I think it’ll be a really interesting time to watch. And if you go into that business or field of the media over the next five years, you can probably participate in what it’s going to look like.”

On 13 January this year, a group of Chinese internet users converged on Google’s Beijing headquarters bearing flowers and candles. Google had announced the day before that it would no longer comply with Chinese internet censorship laws—a decision which, the group suspected, would result in a ban on the popular search engine. Upon reaching Google headquarters, however, they were informed by a neighbourhood security guard that they would need to apply for a permit before laying their flowers on the company plaque. If they did not, they would be committing an “illegal flower tribute”, and would be liable for persecution.

Illegal flower tribute. Put together, those three words seem about as much of an oxymoron as “Microsoft Works”. Yet they also happen to epitomise the very same logic that is used to justify internet censorship. The act of censorship is defined as the examination of an information medium “for the purpose of suppressing parts deemed objectionable on moral, political, military, or other grounds”. When a government takes on this responsibility, it is effectively deciding what information should or should not be made available to its citizens. This is an immense power to wield and, to quote Superman, it can have a devastating effect when placed in the wrong hands.

So how does internet censorship affect people? How has internet censorship been employed by governments, and how have those affected managed to get around it? Is there an acceptable form of internet censorship? This article will address these questions by looking at three recent examples—Google China and Operation Aurora, the 2009 anti-government protests in Iran, and the Great Firewall of Australia.

China: Flower Tributes and Cyber Attacks

Google China has a controversial history. When it was founded in 2005, it announced that it would comply with China’s existing laws on internet censorship. It later justified this position by arguing that “while removing search results is inconsistent with Google’s mission, providing no information … is more inconsistent with our mission”. The fact that Google would come to hold 29 per cent of the search engine market share in China may also have influenced their decision.

The extent of internet censorship in China is substantial. “The Chinese government has undertaken to limit access to any content that might potentially undermine the state’s control or social stability,” writes the OpenNet Initiative.

“[It does so] by pursuing strict supervision of domestic media, delegated liability for online content providers, and increasingly, a propaganda approach to online debate and discussion.”

The Chinese government, according to OpenNet, censors anything that is considered to be “endangering national security and contradicting officially accepted political theory, conducting activities in the name of an illegal civil organization, or inciting illegal assemblies or gatherings that disturb social order”.

The type of material that is censored varies from the potentially subversive (such as searches on Tianamen Square, Falun Gong or the Dalai Lama) to the potentially offensive (such as criticisms of national leaders, distortions of Chinese culture, and material that is “sexually suggestive or provocative”).

Google China received heavy criticism for its policy of compliance with such strict censorship laws—collectively titled the ‘Golden Shield Project’—for so long. Therefore, it came as a shock when, in January 2010, Google suddenly announced that it was “no longer willing to continue censoring [their] results”.

“We will be discussing with the Chinese government the basis on which we could operate an unfiltered search engine within the law, if at all,” the announcement continued.

“We recognise that this may well mean having to shut down Google.cn, and potentially our offices in China.”

Even more surprising was what had led to the change of heart. “In mid-December, we detected a highly sophisticated and targeted attack on our corporate infrastructure originating from China that resulted in the theft of intellectual property from Google.”

Google believed that “a primary goal of the attackers was accessing the Gmail accounts of Chinese human rights activists”.

Operation Aurora, as the attack came to be named, had not only been directed at Google. It had begun as early as the middle of 2009, and had been directed at dozens of major companies around the world. Along with search engines, Aurora appeared to have targeted aeronautical firms like Northrop Grumman and antivirus developers like Symantec. McAfee concluded that the operation had been intended to steal “highly valuable intellectual property from its victims”.

So what does this extreme bout of cyberspace fisticuffs have to do with censorship in China? “Censorship, such as the blocking of websites, is fairly crude but effective when combined with targeted surveillance and attacks,” explains Nart Villeneuve, senior fellow at the Citizen Lab, Munk Centre for International Studies University of Toronto.

“The objective is to influence behaviour toward self-censorship, so that most will not actively seek out banned information of the means to bypass controls and access it.

“[This] nexus of censorship, surveillance and malware attacks … is the key to China’s information control policies.”

Iran: Social Networking and the Green Revolution

When the results of the June 2009 Presidential election in Iran were announced, many Iranians expressed disbelief. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, conservative fundamentalist and political firebrand, had been re-elected in a landslide, gathering almost twice the number of votes as his closest opponent, Mir-Houssein Mousavi. Almost immediately, supporters of Mousavi took to the streets, alleging widespread fraud and vote-rigging. This initial demonstration would escalate into a widespread protest movement called the ‘Green Revolution’, named after the colour adopted by protestors from Mousavi’s campaign.

The internet played a crucial role in the unrest. All internet service providers in Iran must go through a single government-managed gateway, providing the government with a single point of access for monitoring and filtering internet usage. This allowed the government to block access to all major foreign news outlets during and after the elections, as well as the websites of several opposition parties.

“The Internet censorship system in Iran is one of the most comprehensive and sophisticated in the world,” states OpenNet. “[It is] rooted in its constitution, which declares that ‘the media … must strictly refrain from diffusion and propagation of destructive and anti-Islamic practices’.”

“Efforts to control online speech by the Iranian government have relied primarily on large-scale internet filtering and the threat of targeted legal action,” continues OpenNet, adding that the government has a strong focus on developing its own web monitoring tools in order to reduce its dependency on Western software.

Despite the Iranian government’s attempts at censorship, the protestors made extensive use of social networking tools to get information out to the world. “Any democratic movement in a totalitarian state needs as much international support as it can get,” states Homy Lafayette, author of a blog titled ‘Iran News in English’.

“Hence, the choice of language I use for my blog. I want to influence, in my own humble way, international public opinion.”

Blogging in English became one of the most popular ways for Iranian protestors to bypass internet censorship due to the fact that censors targeted blogs written in Farsi. “I blogged for years at my Farsi weblog,” writes Jadi, author of ‘Inside Iran’, “but these days I’m filtered in my own country so I have to write here in English.”

Video sharing websites such as YouTube allowed for the direct uploading of amateur footage from the protests. The video showing the shooting of a protestor named Neda Agha-Soltan was later termed “the most widely witnessed death in human history”.

Twitter and Facebook proved invaluable for organising protests and disseminating information within Iran, with the former even postponing a scheduled network upgrade during the protests so as not to disrupt its service. “We have no national press coverage in Iran,” tweeted mousavi1388 during the protests, “[so] everyone should help spread Moussavi’s message. One Person = One Broadcaster.”

“Part of the efforts of those who oppose the regime is concentrated on overcoming state propaganda,” agreed Lafayette.

“It is ironic that someone in London is usually better-informed of what is truly occurring in Tehran, than someone in Shiraz.”

Lafayette indicates, however, that attempts to bypass internet censorship were merely part of an overall campaign by protestors to bypass government crackdowns. “In the first days of the post-election unrest, for example, I would argue that SMS messages were much more effective than websites,” he says.

“CDs and DVDs containing video files showing the regime’s brutality have been distributed around the country to people who do not necessarily have broadband or Internet know-how. In some rare cases, I know that important statements and speeches have been photocopied and distributed hand-to-hand on good old paper.”

Lafayette asserts that these methods “not only convey information, but also set the tone and maintain resistance.”

Australia: Where the bloody hell are ya, internet?

The debate over internet censorship in Australia had never been a particularly vocal one before December 2009. Up until then, censorship laws were comprised of a smorgasbord of state- and federal-level legislation aimed mostly at preventing unsuitable material from being made available to minors.

On 15 December 2009, however, the incumbent Labor government introduced a new piece of federal legislation titled ‘Measures to improve safety of the internet for families’. This legislation proposed to introduce, for the first time, a set of mandatory internet filters for all Internet Service Providers. The subsequent furore over the proposal led to it being dubbed the ‘Great Firewall of Australia’.

So what does the legislation propose, exactly? In the media release for the legislation, the Minister for Broadband, Communications and the Digital Economy Stephen Conroy stated that it was intended to block “child sex abuse content, bestiality, sexual violence including rape, and the detailed instruction of crime or drug use”, as well as subject matter related to terrorism. This material, collectively referred to as Refused Classification (RC) content, is “already illegal to distribute, sell or make available for hire … [in] films, computer games and publications.”

Upon first glance, Conroy’s proposal might seem fair—a measure aimed at applying the same standard to the internet that is applied to other communication media. However, the legislation has evoked intense opposition from both the public and from private organisations. “This plan will … waste millions of taxpayers’ funds in a bid to enforce a level of censorship that will set human rights in Australia back several decades,” argues the Digital Liberty Coalition (DLC).

“[It] will impact legal as well as illegal material.”

The DLC concern over the impact the legislation will have on legal material seemed to be confirmed by a leaked copy of the Australian Communications and Media Authority blacklist of Refused Classification sites. Among other innocuous websites, the list included the URL of a Queensland dentist, a tuckshop convener and a kennel operator.

“506 sites would be classified R18+ and X18+, which is legal to view in Australia but would be blocked for everyone under Labor’s mandatory censorship scheme,” wrote The Age.

Critics have also pointed out the lack of transparency in both the creation and ongoing maintenance of the blacklist. “This scheme was implemented without public consultation,” argues the DLC. “Even the advisory board for this scheme is closed-door and by invitation only … All minutes of meetings and information as to goings-on within this advisory panel have thus far been kept out of the eye of the public.”

Anti-censorship campaign group GetUp agrees. “Under the plan, the government can add any ‘unwanted’ site to a secret blacklist.”

They add that testing of internet filters demonstrates that they “will slow our internet by up to 87 per cent, make it more expensive, miss the vast majority of inappropriate content and accidentally block up to 1 in 12 legitimate sites.”

To censor or not to censor

When it comes to the examples of China and Iran, the case is fairly clear-cut—when you are suppressing domestic criticism and preventing the flow of news in and out of your own country, it’s a pretty fair bet to say you are abusing your power. But is there an acceptable level of internet censorship that can be agreed upon? The concept of ‘net neutrality’, which runs deep in most Western countries, would suggest otherwise.

The ‘Great Firewall of Australia’ presents an interesting case. On the one hand, the Labor government’s desire to prevent children from being exposed to material that almost everyone would consider offensive—child pornography, racism, bestiality and sexual violence—would seem to be a logical, even noble one. On the other hand, the mechanisms by which they are pursuing this goal—mandatory censorship, secret blacklists, inability to distinguish between what should and should not be blocked, and unproven technology that affects internet speed—are questionable, to say the least.

But if the idea of internet censorship is to be seriously called into question, should it not also logically extend to other forms of censorship? If it is considered unacceptable to sell Refused Classification material in movie or video game form, should it not also be unacceptable on the internet? Or, as the ‘net neutrality’ argument goes, is the internet a special case where the free flow of information—however corrupt and perverse at times—should not be interfered with? Alternatively, do ALL forms of censorship strip citizens of their personal liberties, as the libertarian argument goes? Does stripping individuals of the right to figure out for themselves what is and is not questionable material make them less well-rounded human beings?

At the very least, we should all be thankful that we live in a country where we can have these debates without being in danger of persecution. Nobody should ever have to fear reprisal for making an ‘illegal flower tribute’.

This action, on the part of the producers of the movie, comes in the wake of The Hurt Locker’s disappointing US$16 million takings in the United States, especially considering the film’s reported $15 million cost, and the fact the film won six Academy Awards, including Best Picture. The Hurt Locker is now relegated to the position of lowest-grossing Best Picture recipient of all time.

It is in the face of these attempts at punishing file-sharers in the US that New Zealand continues to review its digital copyright law with the Copyright (Infringing File Sharing) Amendment Bill, soon to go under review by Select Committee.

Section 92a: the original proposal

The original Section 92a amendment, scrapped by Prime Minister John Key in March this year, called for a three-strikes policy, which would see violators have their internet services disconnected in the case of continued infringements. This required the cooperation of Internet Service Providers (ISPs) in identifying and punishing offenders. As intellectual property expert John Katz QC explains in the May ’09 edition of Intellectual Property Journal, “Nobody who respects copyright and the creative inputs it protects could reasonably object to putting into place measures to prevent the avalanche of illegal downloads and the like, all of which impact heavily on creative industries.” However, he says “A solution such as s92A is a blunt instrument and shifts the policing from the owner of the copyright to the operator of the pipe through which the illegal activity is channeled—the (ISP) or similar utility.”

In addition to charging ISPs with policing their own customers, Katz explains that they would have also been forced to absorb any costs associated with the legislation: “The purpose of provisions such as s92A is to ensure that the problem can be laid off so that it becomes not the problem of the rights owner, but the problem of the ISP. This then means of course that the costs of compliance are those of the ISP and the costs of compliance will inevitably be passed on to ISP customers.”

This led TelstraClear, one of New Zealand’s largest ISPs, to refuse to back the disconnection of alleged file-sharers as outlined by that bill, which basically meant the law could not be effectively introduced as it required approval from all ISPs in order to see implementation, leading to its eventual retraction by the Prime Minister. Keith Davidson, then-chairman of InternetNZ, a non-profit organisation dedicated to protecting and promoting the internet in New Zealand, commented at the time: “Terminating an internet account was always a disproportionate response to copyright infringement, and to force ISPs and other organisations to be copyright judges and policemen was never an acceptable situation.”

Despite the failings of the original amendment, Matt Sumptor, a partner at the law firm Chapman Tripp and lecturer at the University of Auckland, also writing in the New Zealand Intellectual Property Journal, recognised that “The only way you can stop people ripping off works is for piracy to have predictable and unwelcome penalties for those on the wrong side of the law.

“If there is one unifying policy initiative in copyright law, it is the need to confront and address the piracy problem on the digital frontier.”

Cue Commerce Minister Simon Power and the 2010 Copyright (Infringing File Sharing) Amendment Bill.

Section 92a: revamped

While there are a number of similarities to the original proposed legislation, Power’s bill does differ significantly in the requirements imposed upon ISPs. The new bill would see a three-notice policy, similar to the original three strikes, which Power says is to “educate and warn file-sharers that unauthorised sharing of copyright works is illegal”. Rights holders have the ability to request ISPs to issue these infringement notices to offenders; the first informing the user that infringement has occurred, and the second and third acting as repeat warnings. If an offender continues to infringe, the rights holder can then seek a penalty at the Copyright Tribunal for up to NZ$15,000, relative to the damage caused.

The bill also includes a provision that would see the suspension of internet accounts for up to six months, but it outlines that suspension will be processed by the courts in order to ensure both parties are heard, and the action will only be taken in cases of serious infringement.

The crucial difference here is that ISPs are only required to issue infringement notices due to their holding access of account holders’ personal information, removing the burden of having to negotiate process and penalties with rights holders.

While InternetNZ has stated that they welcome the bill, seeing it as a step forward, they have still raised a number of concerns, especially with regard to the suspension of accounts.

Jordan Carter, InternetNZ’s policy director, says “InternetNZ opposes account suspension as a remedy. It is both disproportionate, in that the penalty is too severe given the activity, and futile given that the public won’t put up with no net but will instead get a new account with their ISP or another.”

Carter has said that InternetNZ will argue against the account suspension provision in the select committee process, as well as suggesting “the notice system should simply be about notices going to alleged infringers, and giving them the right to reply back to the alleging rights holder”.

Furthermore, Carter believes some “technical changes” need to be made before implementation. “The definition of ‘ISP’ needs to be clarified; there are some details about how the notices process will work that could be clarified. There is also the need to clearly set out what it means to ‘suspend’ an internet account. The legislation should not create a ‘strict liability offences’ for account holders.”

The Creative Freedom Foundation has also raised concerns over the proposed punitive measures. Bronwyn Holloway-Smith, Director of the Foundation explains, “We’re strongly against internet termination as a penalty, and the lack of detail defining the scale of fines, among other things. We’ve always been opposed to the inclusion of internet termination as punishment. Due to New Zealand’s geographical isolation, the internet is a vital tool for artists to connect to the rest of the world—to organise international exhibitions, plan tours, or send movie files overseas for time-critical post-production work.”

Furthermore, Holloway-Smith questions the enormity of the proposed $15,000 fines. “We initially suggested a $1000 limit on fines but they’ve gone for $15,000 to match the Disputes Tribunal and, really, we think that’s excessive. We have no information on whether that limit will be reached for one movie or 1000 movies, so we don’t know if the fines will be reasonable.”

So… can file sharing actually be stopped?

Carter believes that “The educative side of sending notices will have an effect, and it should reduce file sharing. Many people just don’t know that it is illegal, or if they do, they assume nobody knows they are doing it. Receiving a notice will make it clear that their assumption is wrong on both counts. Overseas experience points to considerable reductions when notices begin.”

The scope of the effectiveness has to be questioned, however. In an interview with Salient earlier this year, Katz said, “Quite frankly, whatever steps are ultimately enacted I cannot see that it will bring an end to the problem of illegal file sharing. It may well help but I think the problem is too wide-spread and too enormous for there to be a truly effective 100% catch-all solution.”

Google trends appear to back this up, illustrating that while some file-sharing sites have experienced significant drops in usage, for the most part there has been a steady increase in usage trends worldwide despite the introduction of laws designed to deter users, and legal actions such as those being taken in The Hurt Locker case.

While we will have to wait and see whether legislation in New Zealand, be it the current bill or some future incarnation, will have any effect on deterring Kiwi offenders, Carter speculates that “The better response is to develop new models for the commercialisation of audio and AV content. Rights holders should be focused on making stuff available to the public in a fast, user-friendly and affordable way.”

Holloway-Smith agrees. “Many studies have shown that the primary cause of illicit file sharing is unsatisfied customers, so ultimately the business models need to change. The Hurt Locker was released in US theatres on 26 June 2009, and on DVD on 12 January 2010. However, the movie wasn’t available in New Zealand when it was nominated for the Oscars, or even when it won the Oscar. In fact, it took another month to be released to cinemas in New Zealand and we’re still waiting for the legal download.”

She adds, “Movie companies are behaving like it’s 1995, with staggered international and regional cinema releases followed by DVD/Blu-Ray releases, and months or years later legal downloads are offered, if at all. For a globally connected world that makes no sense, and so—when it comes to the hysterical claims of millions of dollars of lost sales from piracy—we’ve got to ask whether these supposed lost sales have actually occurred when these businesses fail to fulfill consumer demand.”

InternetNZ will be hosting seminars at the end of the month aimed at assisting submissions to the Select Committee. These seminars will “provide for sharing of information and enable critical analysis of the Bill”, and will be held at the Intercontinental Hotel in Wellington on 25 May, and at the Aotea Centre in Auckland on the 26 May, both running from 9am-1pm. The Creative Freedom Foundation’s website creativefreedom.org.nz will also offer a full analysis of the proposal in the coming weeks. Select Committee submissions are due on 17 June.

Geoff Stahl, a lecturer in advertising and sub-cultures in the Media Studies department at Victoria University, says that the internet is a “triangulation of market, audience and participant”. Which is a fantastic way of saying that at times we are targeted as a seller’s focus point, sometimes we sit back and watch stuff go on in front of us, and sometimes people watch us do our thing. Kind of like the real world. So what’s the difference between the internet and the real world?

We are all very aware of the massive scale of the internet, so perhaps it would be easiest to indulge in the petty vice of metaphor to gain insight. Bear me with me, if you will.

The Looking Glass

The internet, as mentioned above, is a repository for the brain farts of the most privileged people on earth. At some point or another, each person on the internet has decided, this is the time for me to leave a little piece of myself in the public domain. You can find it there if you’re willing to look hard enough. So it is essentially the world, as it relates to the privileged few. To dip into metaphor, the internet is a lot like the Wild West was a little over one hundred years ago. There are a few laws in place, but essentially you can get away with anything until you commit an act in a jurisdiction where it would be deemed inappropriate or illegal.

The internet is the last truly free ideological domain. It is a place for the learned and the intelligent to converse, share, idealise and realise. We are without restriction and can remake ourselves to be anything we want. We can research and discover the highest flights of intellect that mankind has reached. We can sate our deepest, darkest and most depraved desires. There is a place for us to revel in our most fringe interests and hobbies. The internet brings us, intellectually at least, closer to those who we never imagined were just like us. Stahl refers to this idea as “…an evolved ethos stemming from a commitment to a collective. It also, in some ways, rests on an idea of exclusivity.”

Each of these communities is, online, called a forum. Often there are numerous forums devoted to the same subject or the same collective interest. Within a forum there are numerous threads, each dealing with its own specific area of esoteric debate. Within these there are often sub-threads. Let’s think about it like this:

Each forum is a town. A town is made up of a number of different kinds of buildings. So the main part of the forum is going to be the town hall. Then you have the church, the store, the school and various specialty businesses. In order, you generally have a thread about the canon (or accepted truth of a matter), a thread about merch, collectibles or stuff associated with your interest that you can purchase, a thread for those who are new to the interest or who are looking to expand on their knowledge base, and then a whole bunch of other threads about everything else associated with the focus or focii of this town. Sorry, forum. Some of them might actually have nothing to do with the focii, they just happen to be things that like-minded people (in one area) want to discuss among themselves.

The players in this little farce

There is an enormous misconception surrounding people on the internet. Of course it’s funny to make jokes about how you were chatting to this super hot chick from just down the road and she suggested you meet up. So you toddle down to the carpark outside Pak’n’Save and wait, wearing the red hat and polka dot scarf you said you would. Suddenly a dirty grey panel van pulls up next to you with “Free Candy” poorly hand-painted on the side and a shadowy pot-bellied figure mutters through the open window, “Hey you going my way? I was just talking to you online.” Yeah don’t bother lying, everyone has a story like that.

It is imagined that somehow the internet allows you to be less authentic than you are in real life. But this is fundamentally not true. Unless you are some sort of psychopath, you constantly pretend things about yourself. Stahl sums it up well: “Real life is not necessarily more authentic than online life. We are constantly performing a version of ourselves that is situationally appropriate.” That pretty much says it all. You might not be pretending to be a 14-year-old girl when in fact you’re a 23-year-old guy, but you’re definitely pretending to like your boss even when you’d rather choke the life out of them with your bare hands. Or when you pretend to be civil with your boyfriend’s dropkick mates when you’d rather cuss them out and smack them in the head with the ugly fry-pan you got given by that weird chick who used to live in your hall of residence, but now lives in a possession-free commune.

All the internet does is lift the restraints of what we are physically capable of dissembling. As long as you can keep a decent thread of continuity running through your stream of lies, no one will ever be any the wiser. Or maybe you’re just letting loose the beast that dwells deep in your chest, but no one sees it IRL (in real life).

So where does this fit into our carefully crafted metaphor? In the glory days of the Wild West there was relatively little communication between the towns. So it was pretty easy to completely change your identity between towns and ride into a new one being someone utterly different. Of course it’s a little more than that on the internet, but for the purposes of this particular metaphor it will suffice.

The existential paradox

Of course into every life must fall a little rain, and in every good Western myth there is a bad guy. The spectre of privacy invasion looms large on the horizon here. Let’s have a look at a case study. At the moment the single most popular community site on the internet would arguably be Facebook. It exploded across the public consciousness, sweeping with it a whole new way of interacting. It also made the seven degrees of Kevin Bacon game a whole bunch easier ’cause suddenly you could see exactly how many steps removed you were from anyone else. So why is Facebook the villain of the piece, or at least the villain of this particular case study?

It has become more and more apparent in recent months that there are some glaring flaws in the privacy settings on Facebook. Not only that, there are some truly disturbing inadequacies in the terms and conditions of the Facebook user agreement. It turns out that none of the information that you upload onto Facebook actually belongs to you once it is uploaded. It becomes the sole property of that nebulous entity called Facebook. “But!” I hear you cry, “What’s so nebulous about Facebook? What can I possibly have to lose here?” A fair question indeed, intrepid user. It turns out that Mark Zuckerberg, the former Harvard student who graced us with his system, was perhaps a little less than forthcoming with his intentions. In documents very recently brought to light, he outlines his laissez-faire attitude towards the privacy concerns of the users of Facebook. This instant messenger conversation from 2004 highlights this particularly disturbing facet of this informational powerhouse’s personality with alacrity:

Zuckerberg: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard

Zuckerberg: Just ask.

Zuckerberg: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses, SNS

[Redacted Friend's Name]: What? How’d you manage that one?

Zuckerberg: People just submitted it.

Zuckerberg: I don’t know why.

Zuckerberg: They “trust me”

Zuckerberg: Dumb fucks.

An incredibly cavalier and distressing viewpoint from a man who runs a website that has somewhere in the region of 450 million users. I think the character of villain quite nicely fits Mr Zuckerberg in this particular metaphor.

We are anon and we are legion

Before you start tearing your clothes and covering your heads with ash, weeping and mourning for your lost privacy, we should first examine the curious heroes of our metaphor. Oddly enough, and as is so often the case, we find them where we would least suspect. The heroes of the internet are the oft-spoken-of but little-understood trolls. Their community exists within a forum called 4chan. In the main, the surface of 4chan and the sub-forum /b/ seems to be little more than degrading bigoted and inflammatory rhetoric. It sets out to instantly offend those with tender sensibilities and to hound the hypocrite and the outspoken status quo supporter. But with a little patience and some careful digging it is possible to begin to understand a little more of the denizens of this seemingly lawless town. Perhaps it is best to let them speak for themselves on the matter of their own psychology:

“Behold, a public Bulletin Board, Built of Both Brilliance and Barbarity By Bastards with Boners. This Bastion, no mere Bulwark of Boredom, is a Brutal Barrage of Blistering Bullshit, Barely Benevolent…But Behind the Bigotry and Boobs, Beyond the Bitter Broadcasts of Bragging Buffoons; here be the Body Politic. A Brotherhood of Blasphemy, Blessed with more Balls than Brains, Battling the Bland, the Bogus, the Benign. Bedlam? Bring it on.”

Within this touchingly poetic self-assessment of their own mentality lies a fundamental truth. While to all intents and purposes they appear to have only their own interests at heart, they do in fact have a decidedly rigid code of ethics. They wreak havoc on systems that they deem to be fundamentally imbalanced or unfair. When roused by an example or expression of injustice they take it upon themselves to rectify the situation. When this wrath is brought to bear, the sheer weight of numbers and varied areas of interests among the members ensures that most problems are resolved swiftly, in vengefully vigilante-esque fashion.

So within our metaphor they take the role of the group of unknown gunmen riding only for justice in its most primary of forms—the most fascinating thing about the Anon movement, for that is how they refer to themselves. Which is, in itself, a fascinating insight into their psychology, for it ensures that no one member can be found or singled out to be more important or above the rest. But as I was saying, the most interesting thing is that every time they exploit a flaw, they scrupulously document in a publicly accessible database. Every time they find a weakness in a website or seek to wreak havoc on a chain of stores that have unethical employment standards, they document every step of the process. This puts them in an entirely separate class from run-of-the-mill troublemakers and mischief seekers. But the essential fact remains that they work for the benefit of people rather than institutions.

All good things must come to an end

So there it stands. An examination of the internet through metaphor and discourse. It’s still not a friendly place to go, but interesting places are rarely completely safe. I have no doubt that for the most part you will continue on in the vein you have already, by perusing Facebook and occasionally swooping through Google to do some last-minute revision. But in the words of many, many generations of hard-toiling prospectors: “There’s gold in them there hills.” All that remains is for you to summon your courage and find it. And rest assured, if it all becomes too much for you and you find yourself at the mercy of the wicked denizens of the internet, if you seek honestly and fairly, there will be those who will help you.

Best of luck. It’s a wild frontier out there.

“You’ve done too much, much too young,
You’re married with a kid when you could be having fun with me,
You done too much, much too young,
Now you’re married with a son when you should be having fun with me.”

—The Specials, ‘Too Much Too Young’, 1979.

They sung it in ’79, and we’re singing it even louder today.

It’s 2010 and we live in a secular, progressive society. We are Generation Y, with a passion for individualism and ourselves. We have contraception, not to mention a healthy cynicism for love. The average age for marriage in New Zealand is 28 years plus, and rising.

And yet we all seem to have those mates who have been dating since—it seems—forever. Now they’re deciding to get married. Many of us would react with a “what the fuck?” or at least an “oh my god”, but for some marriage is still the natural next step to take.

What is causing some young people to buck the current trend and decide to marry young? Is it just a small town phenomenon: religion, boredom, something in the water? Are small town folk still adhering to old-fashioned values? Just why, for God’s sake, are people doing it?

Is it weird now?

Information from Statistics New Zealand released just this month confirms that Kiwis are choosing to get hitched later. The median age for first marriage is 29.8 and 28.1 years for men and women, respectively.

In 1971 it was a different story—the majority of New Zealanders marrying for the first time were aged between 20 and 24. Today, based on recent statistics, only 16 per cent of men and 23 per cent of women decide to tie the knot that young.

And why would you? These days there isn’t much you can do in a marriage that you can’t do in a romantic relationship—unless you’re a devout Christian. As a result, we have seen the marriage rate decline to a mere third of what it was at its peak in 1971.

Statistics New Zealand suggests many factors have contributed to the decrease, such as a rise in de facto unions, a general trend towards delayed marriage, and an increasing number of Kiwis remaining single.

Sandra Johnson got married at age 21, and has been married almost 30 years. She agrees that times have changed—in the late 70s a lot of people did marry young in her hometown of Invercargill, and in other small towns all over New Zealand.

“I had just finished my nursing training when we got married, and in my class of nurses probably half of us got married soon after graduating,” she says.

“In small towns then we still held on to family values that had been instilled in by our parents. If you wanted to live with someone you got married, and had a family—just got on with it.”

These days, things are different. There is no norm to say that we should get married at any specific time, if ever. In fact, we are encouraged to pursue travel and careers before settling down. The women’s liberation movement was a contributing factor in the change in society’s attitudes to marriage.

Pill poppin’

Despite the fact the contraceptive pill became available 50 years ago, it was not readily available to single women from that time. Elaine Tyler May, Professor of American Studies and History at the University of Minnesota, says that of the 6.5 million women who were using the pill by 1964, the vast majority of them were married.

Johnson agrees that a lack of opportunities for women, both contraceptive and career-wise, led to more young marriages.

“Contraception was not so available as it is today, nor was abortion, so if someone got pregnant they got married. Smaller towns were more traditional in their values, travel was not as accessible and it was expensive, and job opportunities for girls were still a bit limited.”

Politics and gender roles also play a huge role in public attitudes towards marriage. For example, Susan Williams met the father of her children in the 1960s, when she was just 21. In the midst of the sexual revolution and women’s liberation movement, she made the conscientious decision not to get married, just to play her own part in the movement.

Now that women can choose to have a career, have sex without getting knocked up, and travel to almost anywhere in the world, marriage seems less and less relevant.

Melanie the escapee

It is hard to imagine Melanie Williams, 21, as a married farmer’s wife in Murchison—population 555 at the last census count. The tall, slender, red-head looks as though she has just stepped, gazelle-like, off the stage of a glamorous cabaret in New York. She studies architecture in Wellington, and plans to travel—but her life could have been very different if she had not broken up with her fiancée in Murchison at age 19.

“We had been going out a year and a half. I wasn’t planning on getting married young, I wanted to live together first and travel. He would have preferred that maybe I didn’t go to uni, and become a farm wife—which I didn’t want to do.”

When asked how she thinks her life would be different if she had ended up tying the knot, her reply resonates more with the sense of ‘dodged bullet’ rather than ‘lost love’.

“I would feel a little bit ripped off. Because I was still studying, I hadn’t achieved my various life goals that I wanted to pursue. Getting married, there is the expectation that you settle down and have children. It would have come too quickly.”

Melanie describes Murchison as a small farming community with very traditional values. A place with routine and ritual where it was fairly common for people to marry young. A place where you would go to a tea room and have a custard square.

“A lot of people were stuck in a previous time. Even the sayings they use… and the industries are less cutting edge. Even the way they dress, I really stood out. There was a strong sense of community and more traditional values, which translated in to marrying young.”

Small towns are like Greeks

Studies show that rural communities, like Murchison, do have more of a tradition of marrying young. The small town culture is similar to those cultures with a collective focus, such as Greeks or Indians, where there is an expectation to continue the family traditions or business and look after your elders.

City slickers can be compared to individualistic societies, of which most Anglo cultures are an example. These families encourage individual uniqueness and self-determination. Kids are cheered on to leave home, go flatting, and make a career for themselves. Marriage is postponed until you’ve done everything you want to do.

In collective societies marriage is an important marker in the life cycle, especially where there is a family business to continue. It signifies adulthood, and the succession of authority. If you’re not married by a certain stage in a collective culture, you become something else—a spinster, or that old guy who is always in the pub by himself.

Melanie noticed the difference between attitudes of those in Murchison to those in larger cities who are looking for love in the Hollywood sense. In Murchison, marriage is as much a model of practicality as it is of love, especially in a town where many girls leave because the main industry is farming.

“You’re going out with someone and, hey, there’s no one else, and you’re not gonna leave so you may as well marry them—to put it bluntly. Most of the people are paired up, and if they aren’t then you’ll just end up alone. There are a lot less girls in a community like that, so once they get a girl they stick with them.”

The Religious Model

Another reason people might marry young is religion. It is a common belief that the rule stipulating “no bonking before an eternal oath” has driven many a young Christian down the aisle.

In some countries sex before marriage is an offence punishable not just by eternal damnation, but also by a cane to the backside. Vice Magazine reports that “fornicators (people who fornicate but aren’t married) are flogged all over Asia”, with the number of lashes corresponding to how much of a fornicator you are. This is also the case in countries like Afghanistan, Iran, Sudan, Nigeria and Pakistan.

Thankfully we live in a society where we can “fornicate” as much as we like without fear of not being able to sit for a week—depending on what you’re doing. But are some young Christians still getting married just so they can get in the sack?

Mike and his wife Laura are Christians from Feilding and Gisborne, respectively, who decided to tie the knot young. Mike was only 21 when they got married last year, but he insists that sex had hardly anything to do with their decision to get married.

“Because of our faith, Laura and I didn’t go for the ‘try before you buy’ option, you know, live together first,” he says.

“It’s difficult, but that’s how much we believe in our faith… It’s so much more to us than just following some ancient rule… Sex is just one—awesome—part of marriage, and so when we decided to get married, sex was just one part of our decision.”

So Christians like sex too, but they also like God—fair enough. But with an increasing trend for citizens of Western nations to marry later in life, it’s fair to ask what exactly the benefit is of marrying young, if it’s not to bonk.

The “We found each other young” Model

For Mike and Laura, marriage was just the logical next step in their relationship, he says, as well as a commitment in the eyes of God to be together forever.

“We felt we had reached a point in our relationship where we were ready to make a serious commitment to each other. It kinda felt like things had ‘plateau-ed’ and marriage was the next step for us.”
Catherine Sparks and her partner are both 21, non-religious and from Tauranga. They decided to get engaged a year ago. Cat says that from age 17, they were both pretty sure that they were going to get married.

“The idea of being married and sharing everything and making a family with him is so exciting. It is a lifelong commitment… but not in the eyes of God for me, as I am not religious,” she says.

“I have had the best role models in terms of a happy marriage, my parents have been together for almost 30 years and still madly in love.”

Nicola, 23, married her partner both as a “celebration of love”, but also as a legal recognition of their relationship. As the couple want to live overseas at some point, this aspect of marriage was also important to them. Being a non-religious couple, this was the deciding factor between getting a civil union, and getting married.

“Civil unions are not as widely recognised overseas, so that was something we weighed up before we decided between marriage and civil union. I know people who have had to get civilly united and then get married later on because of visa requirements.”

The reasons for young marriage are more plentiful than we might think. But whether because of religion, because you have good role models, or because you want to be legally united, the decision to get married boils down to one thing: love. These couples really like each other, and plan to do so for a really long time.

A really really really long time

Getting married young means that you have promised to spend the rest of your life together, which—if you are smoke-free, eat healthy, and exercise—is a really long time.

The life expectancy for New Zealanders is around 82 years for women and 78 years for men. If you marry at age 21, you can probably expect to be with that one person for over 50 years. Which is a bloody long time—a long enough time to set off a siren of cynicism in most young people. It’s so long that it makes me feel like lying in bed with a ciggie burning in one hand and the grease from a chicken drumstick dripping down the other.

Yet some people have gone the distance, and still believe in the institution of marriage whole-heartedly. Barbara Johnston, an Invercargill girl, was 20 when she met Gus, a central Southland farmer.

“We had only known each other a year when we married and now we are coming up 30 years of wedded bliss,” she says. “When it’s all boiled down, what we want out of marriage is love, commitment, security—and it doesn’t just happen, you have to keep working on it.”

Today, with divorce rates being what they are, some couples are choosing to go in to marriage with more ‘realistic’ vows. Instead of “till death do us part”, one might say “as long as I love you”.
Take our celebrity friend Peaches Geldof, British socialite and daughter of rock royalty Bob, as an example. She was married in Vegas at age 19 to 23-year-old musician Max. After six months the couple separated, with Peaches revealing that she was always realistic about her marriage.

“You can’t ignore divorce rates. Every friend of mine has parents who are divorced. I didn’t go into it with Max thinking, ‘This is going to last forever,’ but I did go into it thinking, ‘I love him right now and I know that I’ll continue to love him for a long while.”

Just a few months after her 23rd birthday, Britney Spears married her childhood friend at The Little White Chapel in Vegas, ironically the same chapel where Peaches was married. The marriage lasted 55 hours.

Perhaps marriage is not the infinite vow of love that it once was. Perhaps there is now room for young people to toy with the idea of marriage for as long as it suits them—much to the Pope’s delight, I’m sure.

The Verdict

Despite the changing attitudes to marriage, all of the young couples I spoke to absolutely believed they would be together forever. All admitted that married life is not going to be easy, but that they were committed to it.

It might be true that people from small towns get married younger, but small-town values have well equipped these young people for the long haul—AKA wedded bliss.

Though young marriage may not be for everyone, a background of community, parents who have been together forever, a small, strong support network and an optional dash of faith can’t hurt when one finally decides to take the leap. Just don’t expect to see me walking down the aisle any time soon.

When I was about six or seven years old, I remember going on a road trip with my dad around New South Wales. As we headed north from Newcastle, he suggested that I might want to look out the window, for there was something big ahead of us. When I asked what it was, he told me that it was Ayers Rock. “Not even, Dad!” I replied, full of the cocky self-assurance of a child with a second-grade education. “Ayers Rock isn’t even in this state!” “I’m telling you, it is!” he replied with a laugh. “You just wait and see!”

And sure enough, another kilometre or two later, there it was—a giant, plastic eyesore, shaped and painted to look like Uluru. “The Rock Restaurant,” I read, groaning at my dad’s attempt at being cool. “But that’s not really Ayers Rock, Dad!” “No,” he replied, “but it is one of Australia’s ‘Big Things’.”

And so I was introduced to the common Australian practice of small things writ-large. Since then I’ve seen many more of them—the Big Ant, the Big Oyster, the Big Gold Panner. I even had the privilege of going to university in the town famous for the most sexually suggestive of the big things—the Big Banana. But what about New Zealand? As it turns out, you Kiwis have a few big things of your own—but surprisingly few people have written about them. This article is dedicated to small towns in New Zealand and their ‘big things’.

A long and lively history

The year was 1967. The Vietnam War was raging, the Space Race was at its height, and the hippies of the world were taking their first tentative puffs from the doobie of youthful rebellion. All of this paled, of course, to the preparations for the Christmas celebration in the small Kiwi town of Paeroa. In front of the town Post Office was erected a seven metre-high replica of a space rocket, topped by a loudspeaker that would blare music and announcements throughout the festival. The theme proudly proclaimed that “Paeroa was to rocket into Christmas”—and so it did.

The following Christmas, the rocket was reassembled and painted in a familiar pattern of brown and yellow. Thus was the ‘Big L&P Bottle’, world famous in New Zealand, born.

Most of New Zealand’s big things have similarly humble origins. Ohakune’s ‘Big Carrot’, for example, was conceived by Peter Hammond, a local grower of the Ohakune Growers’ Association. “The opportunity arose from the ANZ Banking promotion on [television] in the 80s as a prop from their advertising,” explains Bruce Thompson, Deputy Chair of the Waimarino-Waiouru Community Board.

“[It] was officially ‘opened’ by the King Country MP Mr Jim Bolger, and our mayor at the time Mr Bill Taylor.”

The operators of ‘Kiwi360’ in Te Puke—home of the ‘Big Kiwifruit’—stress the harmonious nature of their icon. “[It] is the shape of a kiwifruit slice, made up of Maori canoe paddles (waka hoe).

“The inclusion of Waka Hoe symbolises the land’s Maori heritage, the Mana Whenua of this land to the Tauranga Moana Iwi, and the orderly cooperation between peoples which has resulted in the success of our business.”

Big things also serve as a focus for ongoing pageantry in small towns. “Since 1984 a Carrot Festival has been held in the town featuring the large machinery for harvesting, floats and stalls,” says Thompson.

“It has [also] featured on the New Zealand postage stamp.”

It’s all about the produce

Big things typically represent the staple produce of their hometown. Apart from carrots, kiwifruit and bottles of soft drink, New Zealand’s other big things include a Big Crayfish in Kaikoura, a Big Salmon in Rakaia, a Big Trout in Gore, and a Big Sheep and Sheepdog in Tirau.

“[The Big L&P Bottle] represents our branding,” says Paeroa ward councillor Julie Bubb.

“We have flags down the main street with the L&P theme. All the food outlets in town have L&P painted frontages. We even have the L&P Cafe, which has a replica plastic bottle in front.”

Thompson proudly asserts that “the town of Ohakune was known as the carrot capital of the North Island”, and that the Big Carrot “stands proudly today promoting Ohakune and its wares”.

Martin Svehla, Ministry of Tourism Senior Communications Adviser, agrees that ‘Big Things’ are representative of what small towns have to offer. “Personally, I see them as a bit of fun. An exclamation point on what’s important to that town or area—something the community is proud of.

“There’s a big trout in Gore, and I understand that fishing on the Mataura can be spectacular.

“In terms of town branding I’d have to say I love what Tirau has done,” adds Svehla, referring to the Big Sheep and Sheepdog. “That’s a real feature, and I bet it makes people stop and have a coffee and slice of cake.”

A bit of fun

The people of Paeroa are “definitely proud of our local icon,” says Bubb. “The ‘bottle’ has become one of the most well known and photographed structures in New Zealand.

“There must be million of photographs of it around the world.”

Not everything about the icon has been effervescent, however. Before 2002, the bottle presented a rather unique problem in that the best place to take a photo of it was from right in the middle of State Highway 2. “There was naturally a concern about accidents, so the bottle was shifted at great cost to its present location where some bollards prevent the photographers from going on the busy highway.”

The biggest problem that the Big Carrot faced was of a more ideological nature. “Opponents were concerned at the anti-feminist nature of the ‘phallic symbol’,” explains Thompson.

“[They] suggested that two big swedes would be more appropriate.”

Quality over quantity

While New Zealand’s ‘Big Things’ may be few and far between, they are just as cherished by their small town patrons as their Australian counterparts. They present a light-hearted celebration of local industry and produce, as well as an unashamedly cheesy tourist attraction.

And just how do our ‘big things’ rate against their cousins in Australia? “I’m sure Australia has more,” admits Svehla. “I heard they’ve really embraced the whole ‘big thing’ idea on a large scale over there.

“[But] we really focus on quality here in New Zealand. I bet ours are made better. Probably using the latest America’s Cup fibreglass technology and the like.”

I’m from a family with a background in farming. Although I lived in town, and my parents aren’t farmers, there’s no way of escaping the agriculture sector when you live in a rural service town like Feilding. Heck, my dad is a rural contractor, not to mention I spent a great deal of my childhood at my grandparents’ farm not far out of town. I fed lambs in the backyard, I trudged through paddocks in gumboots, I collected eggs from the chook house. My rural roots run deep, however, they don’t run so deep that I feel compelled to turn my back on life in the city to become a farmer’s wife. Visions of green grass, hay bales and fuzzy white sheep may seem appealing for a fleeting moment, but the romance of the countryside isn’t enough to compel young people to ditch everything to pursue a life on the land.

Farming has never been the sexiest of professions, nor has it gained popular acclaim among primary school children in the “what I want to be when I grow up” stakes. Nevertheless, it is farming, and land-based industries more broadly speaking, that have been the backbone of the New Zealand economy for decades. The agriculture industry generates 64 per cent of our merchandise export earnings—making it New Zealand’s largest and most important industry. Further in this vein, New Zealand is the world’s largest dairy and sheep meat exporter.

Agriculture Minister David Carter acknowledged in a speech last June that the agriculture and horticulture industries are “the only two major industries in which we have sufficient scale, market share and supply chains to be truly competitive in international trade”. If the New Zealand economy is so dependent on agriculture, then why are we seeing declining numbers of students enrolling in agriculture-related qualifications, at both secondary and tertiary level? Why are young people turning their backs on the profession that is the very lifeblood of our nation?

The economic reality

When it comes down to it, it is upon agriculture that the New Zealand economy relies. It is an industry where New Zealand excels, and can excel further in the future. However, there appears to be a turn away from promoting agriculture and other land-based industries as a cornerstone of our economic development. This is not a recent phenomenon, says David Rose, Health and Education spokesperson for Federated Farmers.

“In the 1980s and 1990s there was a real push at government away from the [agriculture] sector in the belief that tourism and services were the ‘new black’. They haven’t been, as agriculture has increased in importance.”

It is plain fact that agriculture rakes in far more money for the New Zealand economy, compared to glamour industries like film or tourism.

“The creative industries received exposure far beyond their capacity to offer careers or employment,” Rose says.

“The fact is that agriculture is not just being on a farm, but covers all aspects of a $24 billion industry and encompasses [everything from] wine (horticulture), cheese (agriculture) to mussel fritters (fisheries) and even that roof over your head (forestry).”

Figures provided by Federated Farmers last year clearly illustrate the ongoing importance of the agriculture sector to New Zealand. Farm productivity has outstripped every other sector of the economy for many of the last 27 years. Much of this economic success is down to the work being done in Crown Research Institutes, universities and by companies like Fonterra.

Need further proof? Federated Farmers again stated last year that the total estimated spend of all inbound tourists for 2008 represented a mere 31 per cent of Fonterra’s revenue for the year ended 2008. Agriculture is important, alright?

The problem of education

Despite the economic prosperity and promise associated with New Zealand’s agriculture sector, there is no avoiding the fact that the sector is failing to attract desperately needed young people. In October 2008, the Primary Production Committee presented a report to parliament on the declining numbers in agriculture education. The report states in its introduction that the committee was “concerned about what appeared to be a drastic decline in students” in the agriculture sector.

The committee was informed that between 2003 and 2007 “the number of students studying agriculture and horticulture at a secondary school level dropped by 13 per cent”. You can study agriculture at NCEA Levels 1, 2 and 3, and as of last year, agriculture is offered as a scholarship subject. The problem is, however, that agriculture is offered in less than half of New Zealand’s secondary schools.

At a tertiary level, numbers are looking a little more hopeful. The report states that the number of students studying agriculture and related subjects have “increased substantially” since 2000. However, much of this growth has been at the certificate level, as a result of new requirements associated with purchasing agriculture compounds. At the diploma and degree levels, the report paints a slightly different picture: “diploma enrolments have fallen by almost 30 per cent and degree-level courses by about 12 per cent”. A study by Massey University around the time of the release of the report found that graduate numbers in the “agriculture, environment and related studies” category fell between 1999 and 2005, but numbers have been on the rise again since 2006.

Certainly, a number of problems face the agriculture sector in terms of attracting people to study the subject. These problems are in need of a solution, as the sector potentially faces a future shortage of qualified graduates who can take up research, scientific, finance, consultancy and other related positions that are essential to the development of the agriculture industry in New Zealand.

Farming’s just not cool

Those who haven’t spent much time on a farm, or have little to no knowledge of what agriculture actually involves, may have a slightly skewed idea of what is actually entailed in a career in agriculture. In fact, there’s a lot more to agriculture than just being a farmer, milking cows and shearing sheep, says John Beech, the Head of the Agriculture Department at Feilding High School.

“[That’s the] perspective that we’ve had over the years—that [agriculture] is just for dummies to go in to,” Beech says.

“It’s more than that, and there’s a huge opportunity out there in the academic scene for students, not just milking cows, but in academic stuff like university, consultancy, Fonterra and all those sorts of places.”

The Primary Production Committee also acknowledged in their 2008 report to parliament that the agriculture sector suffers from a few image problems. Poor public perception could potentially be one of the factors putting young people off taking up study in agriculture.

“There is a widespread perception that a career in agriculture is unfulfilling, involving too much hard work for little reward, and a farming career in particular is better suited to non-academic people,” the report states.

This perception is largely incorrect, but it does have a popular following.

Current Vic student Aggie Galloway says that agriculture is seen as “a bit of a bum subject”. Galloway studied agriculture at Feilding High School, and was awarded an NZQA scholarship in the subject last year.

“I don’t think [agriculture] appeals that much. I suppose it doesn’t really seem like a hugely viable way to make money, even though it is,” she says.

Many of those who end up studying agriculture at Feilding High School come from farming backgrounds.

“A lot of kids who [study agriculture] come through from the hostel, a lot of them come from farming backgrounds, and of course Feilding is a rural community—it is a service town for a rural area,” Beech says.

Chelsea Hirst is also an ex-Feilding High School agriculture student, who is now studying first year Agriculture Science at Massey University in Palmerston North. Although she doesn’t have a farming background, many of her classmates do.

“The majority of people doing the agriculture papers that I’m doing, they’re from farms. The people who are getting into [agriculture] have had experience in some way or another, whether that be on a farm or at school.”

It seems that agriculture is a field that those who are unfamiliar with it are put off dabbling in. Misconceptions about what a career in agriculture involves, and an ill-informed assumption that it is “for dummies” is doing little to attract people to undertake study in the sector, ultimately hampering the development of the industry in our green isles. So what can be done to buck the trend?

Attracting people to the paddock

Agriculture is given little to no status by secondary schools in New Zealand. Generally, the subjects chosen during high school will go some way to determining future study and career options. Agriculture barely rates a mention on the lips of careers advisors, thus it comes as little surprise that students are uninspired when it comes to thinking about a potential career in the sector.

Rose says that there is “a real lack of knowledge about agriculture among careers advisors and parents, who do not consider the career as they have no personal knowledge of it and do not talk about it”.

The introduction of agriculture as a scholarship subject has given it greater academic standing at a secondary school level. Beech says teachers of the subject pushed hard to get scholarship introduced, but there is still some way to go in terms of providing support and resources for teachers.

While agriculture is a subject that is pushed and encouraged at Feilding High School—the school owns two working farms—Beech says it is left in the dust by other schools.

“I guess it comes down to teaching staff,” he says.

“If you’ve got someone with a passion, then it gets pushed, and if you haven’t, it just gets forgotten about.

“I haven’t got any silver bullets or answers for the problem, but maybe the government needs to put some more resources into making an awareness that it’s out there and doing a bit more marketing of it.”

Of course, agriculture is just one of many subject choices available to secondary school students. Given the smorgasboard of options on offer, some who decide to head into agriculture at the tertiary level may find themselves without the basic subjects that are a foundation for agriculture.

“There is also the reality that agriculture is science, so needs preparatory subjects, which some students have failed to acquire,” Rose says.

Federated Farmers has also endeavored to encourage young people to get involved in the agriculture industry. Rose says many of the initiatives currently in place are only a few years old. Considerable promotion work is being undertaken by levy-funded industry organisations, such as Dairy NZ and Beef and Lamb NZ, in schools. The Federated Farmers Farm Day is targeted at urban-based primary school children to widen their horizons towards agriculture.

“We have others like Jacqueline Rowarth from Massey University, who visit secondary schools to talk with passion about the exciting agriculture industry and how students could be involved,” he says.

“More should be done to promote agriculture from the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry, as there is only a finite amount of time and resource we have as individual farmers. We can only do so much.”

A host of scholarships are also available to young people looking to undertake agriculture-related study at a tertiary level, Beech says. Hirst has received two scholarships which will go some way to funding her studies at Massey.

“If you want to do a tertiary qualification in agriculture, or horticulture, or forestry, or any of the primary industries, you’re just about guaranteed to get your degree paid for,” Beech says.

Equipping young people with all the correct information and subject options will ensure, at the very least, that students are aware of the study and career opportunities in the agriculture sector. Failure to attract more students to agriculture will only worsen the current shortage of graduates facing the sector.

What next?

Given the importance of the agriculture sector to the New Zealand economy, it is essential that the workforce is rejuvenated in the coming years. If this does not happen, the consequences are dire. If New Zealand is to remain a world leader in agriculture, the sector needs to attract the best brains this country has to offer.

“The age profile for farmers is growing and productivity improvements have helped, but the simple fact is we do not have the number of skilled entrants coming into the industries to sustain performance,” Rose says.

“A strong New Zealand must have a strong agricultural sector, as everyone’s standard of living depends upon it.

“Think of it like this—12,000 dairy farmers directly contribute a quarter of New Zealand’s exports. We are truly lucky that our temperate climate allows our world-leading unsubsidised farmers to export our top-quality food to the world.”

Beech also has concerns about a potential shortage of graduates for the future of agriculture research in New Zealand.

“I suppose when you think of the agriculture industry at the moment, it’s facing a few hurdles. There are issues with effluent, there are issues with carbon trading, there are all sorts of different things, animal welfare and stuff like that.

“Now if we haven’t got the bright young people to research in those areas and find some answers to some of those challenges, then we are going to struggle,” he says.

“A lot of countries out there are concerned about the environment, and if we’re not doing it right, and we haven’t solved some of these problems to make our agriculture industry a bit more cost-effective and yet environmentally friendly, then these countries are not going to take our [exports] and that’s going to be a problem.”

If your BA isn’t going so well for you, perhaps it’s time to consider a change. Maybe there’s a career for you in agriculture? Agriculture graduates are in demand, and are likely to be far more employable in a whole host of different aspects of the industry. Remember, there’s more to farming than just milking cows and shearing sheep. In the end, agriculture is the lifeblood of the nation. It is one of the few industries where we are a true world leader. If interest in agriculture among young people continues to decline, where does that leave our most profitable export industry?

Job prospects for graduates of agriculture-related tertiary qualifications:

• Research, science and technology. Fonterra, for instance, employs 350 researchers here and abroad.
• Banking and financial products.
• International trade.
• Trade diplomacy.
• Infrastructure, for example, water storage and broadband.
• IT.
• Industrial applications.
• Retailing—the multi-billion dollar support industries.
• Fertiliser. Ballance and Ravensdown, both cooperatives, are involved in exports too.
• Shipping, distribution and logistics.
• Food technology.

Primary school was fine, mostly because I was too young and naive to get the politics surrounding it. Upon returning there over the years (I’m the eldest of 5 to attend the quaint, yet terrifying Fairhall School), it has slowly revealed itself to be a poor, small-town imitation of a private preparatory school. You have the self-absorbed mothers, hell-bent on making sure their son/daughter is in the right volleyball team, or harassing the principal because their child didn’t win the prestigious Villa Maria scholarship. I’m not kidding. You could throw down a medal for ‘Most Promising Five-Year-Old’ and incite a fucking riot between permed 30-somethings attempting to live vicariously through their children—when they’re not buying Oprah’s favourite things.

That was only my school. For the ‘edgy’ 11 and 12 year olds, Bohally was your institution of choice. Situated right beside Marlborough Girls College, this place was notorious for pre-teen weed smoking and the start of the road to DUIs and teen pregnancy. I know at least two who started in my primary school class who have gone down this exact road. Not that it was all bad—it has churned out many a golden child who has gone on to complete high school. With Merit!

Entry to high school was an important time for those in form two with any hope of a hasty escape from the clutches of Blenheim. Many of my friends managed to scramble away to schools in Nelson or Christchurch, myself included, leaving once-beloved childhood friends for the firing line of fourth form resentment. You know the type—the ones who, after enduring a year of torture at the hands of sadistic fourth formers, deem the only reasonable option to be to pass on the legacy of pain. There were stories of daily firing squads, the hurling of apples at any third former who dared eat their lunch in public. I was fortunate enough to miss this sadism, as I was holed up in Christchurch, but regularly returned to Blenheim during holidays to view the town through my somewhat opened eyes.

Essentially, what makes Blenheim so soul destroying is its near-complete lack of anything to do. The council set up a skate park, but that was soon taken over by hoodlums and boyracers. It was situated right next to the train station, which was the unofficial home base of the boyracer tribes. Their favourite pastime? Parking up next to their friends in the carpark, and sitting there, getting high, talking about their cars and other times they were high, for hours on end. Two Cars, One Night, minus the innocence, thrown into Groundhog Day. There was the sporting option too, but even that only managed to fill a Saturday afternoon.

The easiest way to keep yourself occupied in Blehneim, short of going to Top Town Cinema 3 constantly, was to get into drama. At least, that’s how I saw it. For one thing, productions in Blenheim were the unofficial breeding grounds for awkward boys and girls. I saw many a love blossom from the middling-to-terrible choruses of ‘Man of Steel’ or ‘Fame’. But the best part of small-town theatre was, of course, the drinking. If you’re from Blenheim, there’s a 50 per cent chance your parents either work in the wine industry, or are close friends with someone who does. There’s your ticket. Stealing bottles from the pantry, going to stay at someone else’s house after the ‘Production After Party’, and unleashing 15 years of pent-up boredom in a series of ridiculous teenage singalong drinking orgies. Unfortunately, even this gets tired quickly. People never give up their houses for drinking, and there are only so many drama friends to ‘pash’ before everything turns into monotony. Especially when said thespians are addicted to a steady diet of Pink Floyd, Zach Wylde and musicals. Even the most positive outlook is shaken when you show up to a Blenheim ‘party’, only to find your friends sitting in a dim room listening to a friend covering ‘Comfortably Numb’.

When this becomes the highest point of your week, you realise the sad truth for those stuck in Blenheim for their formative years: there really is nothing you can do to escape the soul-sucking boredom of a town whose idea of ‘creating activities’ is to build a tacky amphitheatre that has been almost completely unused in the five years since its creation. All you can do is find a niche, crawl into it, drink wine and read books until your day to escape comes. Leave as soon as you realise you can. DON’T STOP BELIEVING.

My initial response, when asked to write of my hometown, was to refuse. When I first moved into a Vic hall of residence, I was ridiculed about my origins. I was mocked by a girl from Waipukurau. A guy from Wainuiomata literally pointed at me and cackled. The people on my floor thought they would display their superior wit by pinning the name of my hometown to my bedroom door, to ensure that any mere passers-by could participate in the humiliation. It would be an understatement to say that I was in no rush to re-embrace my past.

However, after pondering the request a little longer, I decided that it was time to come clean. Surrounded by others who were revealing their origins, in an issue dedicated to small towns, I felt that I was in a safe environment. It could be cathartic, I told myself. It could prove invigorating. *Deep breath*

My name is Franchesca and I come from Feilding.

Feilding has a bad reputation. Not in the ‘you-will-probably-get-beaten-up-by-12-year-olds-in-the-square’ way like Palmerston North, but more in the ‘you-will-probably-die-of-boredom-before-you-reach-12’ kind of way. For some reason, a community that labels itself ‘Friendly Feilding’, and has won the title of New Zealand’s Most Beautiful Town umpteen times, doesn’t garner too many cool points nationwide.

During my teenage years, this was exacerbated by the fact that the Holy Trinity of Feilding consisted of Rugby, Farming and God—generally in that order. When I attended FAHS—Feilding High School, the 1st XV rugby team were at their peak. The Whitelocks—a local rugby-playing family dynasty, three of whom now play for the Crusaders—were attending the school and, as a result, the team dominated almost any opposition they faced. Assemblies became little more than a bi-weekly wank-fest, where the principal proudly recited who made what representative team, who scored what try and who kicked what conversion. For many Feilding residents, a ‘cultural experience’ involved putting on the school colours, slipping on some gumboots and attending a rugby game. When the team met their arch-nemesis, Palmerston North Boys High School, 5000 people attended the match. Unlike the Crusaders, the 1st XV never had to drop their ticket prices to entice people to their game.

Feilding is a farming community. You can tell, because each Friday an unpleasant smell permeates the town as stock is transported in for the weekly sale. My farmer grandfather once told me that it was the smell of money. It put me off ever wanting to become a millionaire. When I first started high school, it was named Feilding Agricultural High School in honour of the school’s two working farms. While we didn’t have the numbers to sustain a Classics course, enough students were interested in the reproductive system of the school pigs to justify numerous Agriculture classes. For those of us who chose to take the bedrocks of Western education such as History, English, French and Geography, we were assured that our working farms were to our benefit as well. They gave us an edge over other schools, we were told. It showed the school’s diversity in the cut-throat world of secondary education. However, such justifications didn’t really help as we were being accused of bestiality at every inter-school sports exchange we ever attended.

For the 18 years that I lived in Feilding, it was generally accepted that if you were a true member of the community, you went to church. Despite the large question mark that I had hanging over my religious beliefs (aided, no doubt, by the fact that my mother had scorned institutionalised religion during my childhood in favour of the Spiritualist Church, where my siblings and I received new ‘spirit names’), the lack of local entertainment also drove me to God. Until my friends realised that if they kept inviting me, I would continue to argue with their pastors over the divinity of Jesus, my Friday nights were spent at various youth groups. Religion is so central to Feilding residents, that in a recent visit to the town I counted four churches in a one-kilometre stretch of road.

Yet, given the confessional nature of this article, I must admit that I loved growing up in Feilding. My childhood was literally a cheesy American family movie. Days were spent biking along tree-lined streets with the kids from next door, making forts and terrorising our younger sisters. We walked to school, spent the summer swimming in the river and played mini-golf at the Rotary-owned golf course. Feilding was a town where you could leave the door unlocked when you popped down to the supermarket. It was safe and, apart from the dairy owner who used to yell at us for taking too long to choose our one-cent lollies, everyone was cheerful. Despite the Holy Trinity, it can’t have been all bad. What I am today is a product of Feilding; and I think I turned out all right.

So, for the wellbeing of your children, and your children’s children, we examine and rank Disney’s most famous female protagonists based on their ability to promote gender equality and feminist ideals.* Hold on to your nostalgia folks, you’re in for a bumpy ride.

8. Wendy Darling—Peter Pan (1953)

Coming in dead last we have Wendy. I hated Wendy when I was little. I thought it might have been because she had cooties, but now I know the truth. Wendy is so docile and submissive to Peter’s white male privilege it’s sickening. Peter’s only recognition of her worth is domestic, after she sews his shadow back onto him when he crash-lands into the loft of the Darlings’ bourgeois London townhouse. His view of her changes little as the story progresses.

Constantly the damsel-in-distress, Wendy’s only purpose appears to be as the surrogate mother to Peter’s Lost Boys, a rag-tag group of children forced to wear animal skins for clothes, clearly suffering the consequences of a neglectful single dad. Wendy, you fail at life—and at feminism. The second-wave revolution was just around the corner, and by God I hope you were the first against the wall.

7. Jessica Rabbit—Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988)

Yes, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is a Disney movie. Look it up. Jessica Rabbit is characterised as a huge-chested, tiny-waisted femme fatale. Only she’s married… to Roger Rabbit. This is weird for several reasons. First, I don’t consider femmes fatales the epitome of empowerment. The modern femme fatale is a character model popularised by Raymond Chandler novels and films noirs adapted from Raymond Chandler novels. Unlike the femmes fatales of times passed (Lilith from Jewish folklore, for example), these incarnations suggest that women who have full control of externally enhanced sexuality aren’t to be trusted. It doesn’t matter how transgressive these troubled broads appear, they’re still objects of desire and are still defined entirely by the whims of the male protagonist. Case in point: Jessica Rabbit.

Now that I think about it, she’s not even a true femme fatale. She’s happily married; the protagonist’s desire for her does not lead him into mortal peril; and her unattainable desirability drives no one insane, nor does it lead to her own tragic death. She just talks huskily and is ogled by all male characters (and audience members). Her most famous line is fitting: “She’s not bad, she’s just drawn that way”.

6. Megara—Hercules (1997)

Any female lead destined to hook up with a demigod is bound to be relegated to stereotypes and clichés. This is a shame, because they almost scored a home run. Hercules characterises Megara as a witty, curiously detached femme fatale-wannabe with romantic musings and strangely Yiddish mannerisms. That’s cool, but no amount of witty banter will distract from her damsel-in-distress-ness. She does make a deal with Hades to save Hercules though—like how she made a deal with Hades to save her ex-boyfriend before the film began—except she dies and has to have her soul rescued from the underworld. If I’d made Hercules I would’ve had Megara be the demigod with super strength and had her spend the whole 93 minutes engaging in verbal ructions with James Woods’ Hades. Then I could call it HERcules. Genius. Ancient mythology be damned.

5. Princess Jasmine—Aladdin (1992)

Jazz rocks. Despite being royalty, she is grounded, level-headed, and falls in love with Aladdin for who he is, not what he is (which is, technically, Scott Weigner, who played DJ Tanner’s boyfriend in Full House). While a damsel-in-distress for a teensy part of the movie, the extenuating circumstances are both elaborate and awesome. I will excuse mildly stereotypical gender role situations if giant fucking hourglasses are involved.

The failing of Aladdin (and others) is what I like to call Idiot Single Dad Syndrome. That is, any narrative where the main conflict arises solely due to the patriarch’s stubbornness or pride, a situation that can only logically precipitate because there is no mother figure around to tell said patriarch to shut the fuck up and stop being such a proud self-righteous douchebag. This is the case in Aladdin where the Sultan adheres stringently to the law that Jasmine must marry a prince, only to have a change of heart and abolish this law at the film’s dénouement. Well la-dee-fucking-da, why didn’t you decide that earlier on? Oh that’s right, then there wouldn’t be a movie. Fail.

4. Pocahontas—Pocahontas (1994)

Pocahontas is a bastion of independence and Native American spirituality and values in the pale face of white European colonialism. Idiot Single Dad Syndrome plays a subtle role, but on the whole things are grand, if a tad historically inaccurate. Pocahontas is the noblest of savages, following both tangible objects (her heart) and the intangible (the wind), while talking to old willow trees and perching on high places as feathers and dandruff swirl around her, an effect that James Cameron would eventually steal (along with the basic story) for Avatar.

I should write more about her but I feel uncompelled to do so. Maybe it’s because Mel Gibson was the voice of John Smith, or because the only comic relief came from a raccoon and a hummingbird, but the movie as a whole just isn’t very memorable. Still, Pocahontas is a well-rendered character, and the story ticks all the right boxes required to attempt to retroactively assuage white male guilt. Thus, I place it commendably, a feat that retroactively assuages my own white male guilt.  

3. Mulan—Mulan (1998)

Mulan is the most overtly feminist tale Disney put to celluloid in the 90s. So why doesn’t it place higher? Sure, she rejects the rites of domesticity reserved for females in her society, and poses as a male in order to have her skills and attributes appreciated on an equal level. However, by fable’s end, the status quo doesn’t appear to have significantly changed. After running rings around 90 per cent of the idiot males in the story, she returns home as a hero, yet the society that forced her to change her appearance in the first place shows little signs of reform. The audience doesn’t notice this—they’re too busy wondering if she’ll get together with the hunky Li Shang. Mulan becomes the exception, not the rule, and this rousing tale leaves a bitter aftertaste.

2. Jane—Tarzan (1999)

I love Jane. She’s one of Disney’s most fleshed-out and realised heroines, helped in no small part by Minnie Driver’s wonderful voice acting. Jane earns the silver for several reasons, chief among them being her relationship with her dad, who is totally gay. Don’t believe me? The signs are there: Jane’s father is voiced by the late great Nigel Hawthorne, most famous for his role as Sir Humphrey Appleby in the sitcom Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister. In 1995, Hawthorne was outed in the lead-up to the Academy Awards. Though sexuality of an actor does not dictate sexuality of the role, Jane’s mother is absent, yet there is no Idiot Single Dad Syndrome here. Jane’s father is loving, sensitive, and easy-going. Traits which lead me to believe he isn’t heterosexual. Unless of course the story is just, you know, well-written.

Jane is independent and inquisitive, constantly seeking the natural beauty in her surroundings. She also becomes Tarzan’s teacher, educating him about all aspects of his origins. Tarzan becomes enamoured with her, fully appreciating her qualities without a hint of the sexual inequality present in his gorilla family. Finally rejecting the patriarchy of Victorian England, Jane gives in to her love for Tarzan, becoming the new member of the Gorillaz. Her father comes too, yet is not subject to the Hollywood Law of Cliché Coupling (where all sympathetic characters pair up and find love or companionship before the end of the story), furthering the gay rumours. Unless he shacks up with Tarzan’s gorilla mother, which, let’s face it, would be totally hot.

1. Belle—Beauty and the Beast (1990)

Belle wins. To date, Beauty and the Beast is Disney’s greatest achievement, and one they will never better. I’m not going to explain the plot, or how Belle is beautiful both inside and out—you all know it. Any movie with dialogue like “It’s not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas, and thinking…” is a winner.

What I do want to talk about is the feminist debates surrounding the film. Critics point out that Beast abuses Belle by roaring at her when she enters the West Wing, as well as throwing objects around in her presence, equating to an abusive relationship that serves to marginalise Belle when she decides to conveniently ignore these incorrigible actions and fall in love with Beast anyway. (Beast saving her life is not an adequate reason for forgiving these actions, apparently.) This is a fair point to make, but I must point out a curious nature of the Beast that sometimes goes unnoticed: he’s a beast.

As Belle begins to fall for Beast, he becomes more human, standing upright and wearing progressively more and more clothing and no longer losing his temper. While I am hesitant to justify anthropomorphised creatures when they act in an animalistic manner, how else was the Beast supposed to appear beastly? Be voiced by Colin Firth and say “I say, I do object to you being here, you must leave with utmost expediency, please”? Nonsense. It must also be pointed out that after breaking the spell, they don’t get married. Suck it, institution.

Disqualified: Princess Ariel—The Little Mermaid (1989)

Princess Ariel fails to achieve a ranking on account of her being both feminist and anti-feminist in equal measure. Permit me to explain: Ariel sacrifices her voice so she can walk like a human and seduce Prince Eric, betraying two integral aspects of her identity for a man. She later leaves her Merpeople completely by permanently transforming into a human and marrying Eric. Not very feminist.

Ariel is also the only female Disney character (as far as I’m aware) to be portrayed naked, her nudity alluded to by shadows and well-placed long red hair. The villain, Ursula, is portrayed as an old woman with a provocative, sexual nature (assisted by the fact that she’s a cecaelia—half-human half-octopus), hinting that if you’re old and ugly but sexually aware, you are a disgusting witch. Not very feminist.

It’s worth nothing that The Little Mermaid kick-started the Disney ‘renaissance’ of the 90s, and was, to a new generation of children, a film where the titular character was female—showing young girls that yes, they could be the star of their own story, unlike Aladdin, Hercules, The Lion King and Tarzan. They would only repeat this with Mulan nine years later. For these reasons, I feel like I cannot rank The Little Mermaid, and must leave it as a separate entity unto itself. (Also note the heavy Idiot Single Dad Syndrome in this movie, and don’t get me started on the Haitian characterisation of Sebastian the lobster.)

This rank is not necessarily to say what you should or shouldn’t watch. Rather, it’s for the sake of awareness, role-models, posterity and a better tomorrow. It’s my hope that, in time, a deep understanding of Disney will bring humanity into a whole new world, with a new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us no, or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming.

*Please note that only human characters are ranked. I don’t care how feminist Nala from The Lion King or Bianca from The Rescuers or Lady from Lady and the Tramp are; they are fucking animals.

This feature was also published in the Auckland University Students’ Association’s women’s magazine Kate.

 
Growing older, one’s own skin and body too easily become templates for all sorts of projections. Culture, as they say, gets in. I learned, as one does, that vaginas are political. They mean something, and that meaning is mapped out by their functions and uses, most prominently those related to heterosexual relations. (The word ‘vagina’ comes from Latin. It means sheath. As in, for a sword.)
 
I also learned that women’s genitalia are as varied as their faces. Some are frilly, some flare out, some are voluptuous, some are dainty. There are ‘innies’ and there are ‘outies’. Their colours range over pinks, mauves and browns, and each responds to touch differently, each a loveliness unto itself.
 
I was taken aback for a moment when I learnt that cunts too could be cosmetically enhanced by plastic surgery, and have been for the past fifteen years at least. In hindsight, it isn’t that unthinkable that cosmetic vaginal and vulval reconstruction happens. Upsetting, maybe. But not unthinkable. After all, the scene has been set: we have braces, boob jobs, eyelash extensions, penile augmentation, skin grafts, hair grafts, the reassignation of gender, brazilians for men and women alike—and that’s just naming a few. Over time, more and more aspects of the human body have come under vanity’s gaze and become candidates for perfection.
 
If vaginal rescaping was once deemed impossible or unpalatable, times have certainly changed. Put it down to the mainstreaming of pornography: these days, even straight women and monogamists of whatever sexual preference can see the genitalia of lots of other women. The bulk of these anatomies have been digitally or surgically airbrushed, but for those of us who have not had the pleasure of bedding many ladies, they are the point of reference and, by default, they shape expectations.
 
Elizabeth Haiken, author of Venus Envy: A History of Cosmetic Surgery, remarks that “before crotch shots were published, nobody was interested in this”. Dr Gary Alter, the fittingly named plastic surgeon famously associated with vaginal ‘rejuvenation’, calls it the ‘Penthouse Effect’. His clients allegedly come in wielding glossy porn magazines, demanding that he “make mine look like that”. 
 
Like many of you, I’m not one to pander slavishly after genital ideals propagated by porn. Big dicks, big tits: big deal. But possessing a pussy, one is bound to wonder (hopefully casually): what’s good? Am I okay? Even people who first hear of vulval reconstruction through criticism of it are startled into wondering how their goods measure up to what’s ‘good’. It goes to show how easily seeds of ‘what to want’ and ‘what to tolerate or change’ can be sown.
 
Judging by the before-and-after shots boasted by plastic surgery websites, it seems what everybody wants is the same: slim, straight and narrow, minimal ornamentation.
 
Reduction of the labia minora, the inner lips of the vulva, is the most requested procedure. Other procedures on offer include: trimming elongated or uneven labia, scraping excess skin off the clitoral hood, plumpening of the labia with a fat transplant, liposuction of pubic flesh, tightening of the vagina walls and surgically creating new hymens. To warrant these measures, age, human diversity, childbirth and active sex lives are cast as traumas. Their physical effects—larger labias, relaxed vaginal muscles and what have you—are held responsible for great discomfort, plummeting self-esteem, and thwarted sex lives by proxy.
 
Take a look at these testimonies from Shine and Cosmopolitan:
 
“My sex life has improved so much since the operation—we have more sex now than ever before. I’m much more into my boyfriend and now that I’m tighter, I’m much more confident about initiating sex. Even better, my boyfriend is enjoying sex with me more, as there’s much more stimulation for him too.”
 
“I was so thrilled by my new vagina. Dan and I ‘tried it out’ after just four weeks. What a difference—it was like my whole sex life was beginning again. Suddenly I discovered how amazing oral sex can be because I could finally relax and be myself during sex. I didn’t have to worry about my boyfriend seeing me naked.”
 
Reading between the lines of these and other testimonies, surgery salves sex-lives by modifying psychological outlooks via the modification of flesh. When it comes to sex, the body is mind incarnate. Our thoughts embodied in hands, necks, mouths, throats, cocks, cunts and sphincters. Feeling appealing means being appealing. It really is all in the mind. Most of the women getting the procedure recognise this. “Once you get a hang-up it just grows and grows. It’s all mental,” comments a woman interviewed by
Salon.com’s Louisa Kamps. “If you see something affecting your relationship, then, yeah, save yourself the head trauma and get it done.”
 
There are still risks, though. Dr Alter insists that he avoids cutting near the clitoris to guarantee your orgasm’s safety under his knife. But according to Dr Norman Schulman, chief plastic surgeon at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York, Alter’s logic is impossible: “There are women whose nerve centers are collected at the clitoris, women whose nerve centers are collected at the labia, women whose nerve centers aren’t even in the genitalia.”
 
Needless to say, beautifying the human body is not a contemporary phenomenon, neither is it culturally exclusive. Somewhat ironically, vaginoplasty’s West African cousin comes to mind. FGM (female genital mutilation OR modification, depending on your diplomacy) is more or less demonised in popular media. It is outlawed in several American states by a constitution that relies on FGM’s specific tribal and cultural context to distinguish it from plastic surgery of the same region.
 
FGM takes a variety of forms, but basically the clitoris is scraped down and the lips sewn up. The idea is to wrench physical pleasure from sex in an effort to keep women chaste. The oppressive motives in this are blatant. But cultural expectations—however subjugating—have an interesting way of sneaking in and making themselves at home in people’s ideas about what they want to look like. Case in point: an Egyptian mother whose daughter awaits excision expresses passionate distaste for the appearance of long labia in a nineties documentary, Hidden Faces. “Do you want her to be like a boy with this floppy thing hanging down?” she asks, painting the offending feature in the air with her hands. “It should be straight. Shhh. Smooth as silk.”
 
Anthropologist Christine Walley discovers something similar among the teenage girls she teaches in West Kenya. Her students display neither ignorance nor naivety when she gently asks them about the pain and loss of sexual sensation their infibulations entail. They assure her they are aware, already, of these consequences. They are also well familiar with criticisms of their custom (which has been illegal in Kenya since 1982), and on some levels, they concur with these. But much to their teacher’s mystification, their inductions to ladyhood make them feel prouder and prettier all the same.
 
The Egyptian ladies, the Kenyan girls, and the women confessing to Cosmo may come from very different cultural backgrounds. But in their differences lurks this sameness: ‘beauty’ precedes politics and is a way out of shame. It is conformity to populous ideals and it is also a state of mind. It’s a pity a person’s notions of beauty and ugliness cannot be resculpted as easily as a vulva can. Dr Nada Stotland, president of the Association of Women Psychiatrists, acknowledges that energy should really be used to help people feel proud of their bodies. “But at the same time,” she adds, “you can’t entirely denigrate the idea that a body feature could cause a person enough psychic pain to warrant surgery.”
 
With vaginal alteration, we are up against a philosophical knot: the freedom to opt out of ‘psychic pain’ seems to be part of the family of freedoms fought for by feminists and humanists alike. Labiaplastologists obviously think so. And the delight attested to by women who’ve had their bits surgically prettified cannot be denied. The technology exists, after all. As does the need to use it. The market has spoken and who am I to tell it to shut up? Even if the ‘freedom’ it speaks of feels tainted.

Rachel Bowlby brings intellectual relief to my vague sense of ill-fit between liberation and labiaplasty. She points out that the feminist’s freedom to choose and the freedom to choose as a consumer are two very different creatures. Either one may be intended when that gift-horse ‘choice’ is evoked, but one springs from an ethos of equality and the other from dissatisfaction and greed.
 
The onus to resist buying into the ‘Penthouse Effect’ doesn’t rest solely with women. Or with men, for that matter. Many people as horrified by labiaplasty as I might disagree, as they link its injustices to the long history of males designating feminine form and behaviour through art, literature, medicine and politics. This dynamic cannot be denied, but both genders must take responsibility for perpetuating ideas about what twats should look like. Beauty—said to be the harmony of form and function—loses something spectacular when its essence is sought in appearances alone. If there is a social divide here, it seems it is not between men and women, but between those who understand that aesthetic beauty means more than what is prescribed by popular culture, and those who have yet to figure this out.
 
Culture can’t be unlearned. The ideas drawn upon to formulate it, however, can—and must—be elaborated beyond those we are fed. Women’s genitals are tricky in this respect because they get so little airtime outside of porn and seduction. So inform yourselves: if a show and tell session with girlfriends doesn’t take off, I suggest beginning with porn made for lesbians and the book Femalia by Joani Blank, which compiles several photographs of female vulvas without conferring values onto their different forms.
 
Perhaps saying this to console someone whose self-loathing collects between their thighs has a smidgen more weight than having your mum vouch for your coolness? I don’t know. I can only hope their reasons for feeling how they feel are considered and well-informed.

This feature was also published in Kate, the Auckland University Students’ Association’s women’s magazine.

Wellington-based designer Alexandra Owen makes succeeding in the cut-throat fashion industry look easy. Upon graduating in Fashion Design from Massey University in 2005, she launched her namesake label in 2006. She made her public debut at Air New Zealand Fashion Week the following year, and opened her flagship store in Wellington last year. When listed, Owen’s achievements look effortless, much like the classic tailoring of her designs—but both are the results of a combination of clarity of vision and hard work.

How would you describe your designs? Who do you design for?

Sculptural, tailored, classic and elegant designs, for mature, sophisticated, thinking women.

What appeal did fashion design have you for?

The seasonality, freshness and ability to work on something new every day.

What influence did your education in Fashion Design at Massey University have on your career? Do you consider it important that those interested in pursuing a career in fashion study it formally, and at tertiary level?

I think it is important to have formal training as a base for working in the industry. It gives you a basic toolkit, but it is really character, courage and determination that helps you in the real world.

What designers inspire you, and why?

I love Dries Van Noten for his idealism, and humble beauty aesthetic. I loved Alexander McQueen for his cutting and drama. Locally, I love Zambesi for their enduring and wearable beauty.

How did you manage to make a name for yourself in such a notoriously competitive industry? What were your biggest obstacles in doing so?

I always think of Winston Churchill’s quote “Never ever, ever, ever give up”, or something to that effect. A lot of succeeding is believing in your cause deep to the core, while maintaining a good perspective on how what you do can remain relevant to your audience. Obstacles come every day in business, and come in many forms—but I have found they are there to teach us not to make the same mistake twice!

What have been your biggest successes, since your debut at Air New Zealand Fashion Week 2007?

Going to New York Fashion Week this year was a highlight. Opening a second store in Auckland. Continuing to do work we all look to work on here at the workroom.
What’s your opinion of the fashion scene and street style of Wellington?

I don’t get out much, but people here are far better dressers than those in Auckland, and even Melbourne for that matter. Wellingtonians have soul.

How do you explain general society’s fascination with fashion, and especially, the appeal it has for women?

At the end of the day, there are few women who could deny the attraction of an exquisitely designed garment. It is part of our nature as humans to appreciate visual beauty, whether it be a painting, piece of architecture or a Balenciaga dress. The French see fashion as relevant as any design form. I find it disappointing when society does not look beyond the fashion clichés to truly appreciate artists like [Yohji] Yamamoto, or Comme des Garçons, who have changed the way everybody today dresses.

How do you connect your designs, and fashion design in general, to art?

Fashion is still an applied art, and has to have a function, so its relevance is more rational on a day-to-day basis. The best fashion designers throughout history are just as relevant to modern society as Le Corbusier or Picasso. Women would not be wearing pants today if Gabrielle Chanel had not been truly radical in her day.

Would you ever consider designing menswear?

Menswear is another set of rules, complicated tailoring and different values. It is not for me right now, but never say never!

What advice would you have for students who want to work in the fashion industry, or start their own business?

It is vital that you know exactly what you want to do in the industry, to be clear about it as early as possible, plan it—even if it is over ten years, set goals and know what you want. Fashion offers many careers, so I think it is important to do as much work experience in the industry whilst studying to define what sort of roles appeal.

What are your plans for the future?

To continue showing our collections overseas, become a brand that is successful offshore, and to continue to make good collections.

How did you first get into politics, and did you always want to be a politician?

I was always interested in issues, always observed—I guess—things around me. But I wouldn’t say that I ever aspired to be an MP, or woke up one day and decided that that was going to be my career goal. I was a volunteer for Labour for over ten years before I became an MP, and in lots of ways I still see myself as a volunteer for Labour, I’m just doing what I used to do in a very different way. I certainly always admired the role though, and it was certainly a job that I thought was a very privileged one. When the opportunity arose to put myself forward for the list, I gave it a lot of thought because I knew the sacrifice that was involved and what a difficult job it was, but I guess at the same time, from having watched it from afar, I thought it would be a really privileged role to have.

What was it like when you first entered Parliament, particularly being a young female MP?

I guess when I first came into Parliament, everyone is equally daunted… It felt like everyone was on an equal footing. It is a very daunting place to come and a very daunting job to take on when you first come in. I had read those stories of women who had preceeded me from decades ago, and the difference and the contrast from what I faced and what they faced was quite stark. They were coming up against a lot of really practical things, exclusion by not having ladies toilets in all parts of the building, having areas they couldn’t enter into and just the culture of the place. We have at least come far enough now that Parliament is a very very different place. But that doesn’t mean that there still aren’t challenges. I think for women, be it young women or women in general in Parliament, some of those challenges still exist and I think we still need to work hard to make sure Parliament is a place where women, at any stage of their career or life, feel like it is a role that they can take on, and at the moment I think we still have to do a bit of work to make that a reality. 

What have been some of the successes of your parliamentary career so far?

I think success is measured in a different way when you’re an opposition MP, it’s a bit different than being in government. We spend a lot of time holding the government to account and making sure people are aware of the impact of changes being made. One of my areas is youth justice and youth unemployment. We’ve seen youth unemployment rise to record levels, and I’ve seen part of my role as making sure the government is held to account in addressing the struggle young people are facing, and have faced in the recession. Last year I held a youth job summit to highlight the fact that the government hadn’t focused enough of its attention on young people. One of the other things I guess has been a big focus for me of late is becoming Labour’s candidate in Auckland Central, which happened about eight weeks ago. It’s an enormous step, to come into an area and take on the job of representing the party in a marginal seat.

What do you want to achieve in your parliamentary career?

Return a Labour government… Seeing what the government has done in the period that they have been in power, there will be a lot of rebuilding Labour will need to do. There are things that I’ve become really concerned about, and I’d like to be part of a future government that will focus on this, is the lack of attention that has been paid to our future generations in the short-sighted decisions that have been made. Some of the examples of that are the suspension of payments into the superannuation fund, the slashing of Kiwisaver, an emissions trading scheme which subsidises heavy polluters at the cost of future taxpayers, which of course does nothing to make sure New Zealand is playing its part in reducing our impact on climate change. So I think we’re letting my generation and the generations behind me down at the moment, and we need a government that’s going to make some bold decisions on our behalf and we haven’t seen that. That, I think, will be one of the biggest challenges a future government will have to take on and I’d hope to be a part of that team.

What do you think are some of the main challenges facing young women today, and how could these be overcome?

I still feel like, in some of the conversations I have with young women working in different areas, particularly those who have moved into positions of responsibility quite young, what I hear from them is that young women still feel like they’re making either/or decisions—they’re being asked to make sacrifices rather than choices. I know it’s a very grand objective, but I would like to see us working towards a country where young women don’t feel like they’re making either/or decisions, but do feel like they’re being supported to make the choices that are right for them, rather than the sacrifices we ask them to make now. That all sounds very abstract. I worked in the UK for a number of years and saw there the efforts they were making to try and make work-life balance more of a reality, rather than just a slogan—to try and make workplaces genuinely family friendly, and to remove the guilt attached to making some of those choices that might be right for us. That’s something we should be striving for.

This week, in online magazine Coup De Main (www.coupdemainmagazine.com): a feature on Vampire Weekend’s gig in Auckland; a glowing review of the new Kate Nash album; and a guest blog written by indie rock band Clap Clap Riot. In other words—more or less business as usual for a webzine that prides itself on keeping abreast of popular culture in New Zealand. What sets Coup De Main apart from its thousands of contemporaries is its fresh, youthful energy, and the simple reason for this is that its editor is younger than you.

Well, that’s if you’re 22 or over: Shahlin Graves is 21. She is the co-founder and editor of Coup De Main, which was launched in February 2009, and now averages over 30,000 hits per week. She’s interviewed musicians that most people her age dream of seeing live, let alone meeting. And she achieved this before graduating with her Communications degree.

So, for those who are completely unfamiliar with Coup de Main, what do you do?

Coup De Main is an online pop-culture magazine. Our namesake is a military term that capitalises on surprise in a swift attack—and we take it to heart, in a war against lazy journalism, i.e. copying and pasting.

What prompted you to launch Coup De Main?

Dissatisfaction with the poor standards of music journalism was the main catalyst. Also, the serious lack of a local pop-culture reporter that was actually in sync with real-time—no one wants to be the last to know!—and happy to meet the whims of their readers, rather than only dictate bandwagons and force press releases at them.

What have been some of the successes you’ve experienced with Coup De Main?

There’s been too many to name. Every day is an adventure for us. We try not to stop and think about everything that has happened over the last year, because it’s literally the stuff that our dreams are made of.

I have a wall of Polaroid photos in my bedroom, which is a nice reminder of interview opportunities we have been lucky enough to secure. It’s really weird when you see someone like Florence + The Machine or The xx on the cover of a magazine you grew up reading, like NME, when you’ve also photographed and interviewed them.

What have been some of the difficulties?

Last year was a bit tough, because I was in my final year of my degree, and also juggling a part-time job at the same time. There was a lot of Coup De Main hustling and very, very little sleep. We’re a tiny team compared to all of the other local media organisations, but we don’t let that stop us from trying to better or out-do anything that anyone else posts or publishes.

In all honesty, though, I just feel like we are incredibly lucky. All of the publicists we work with look after us kindly, and for the most part, we’ve pulled off crazy concepts that people have really supported.

At 21, you’re a great deal younger than your competition. Have you found this to be an advantage, or a disadvantage?

It can be perceived a disadvantage in the sense that industry traditionalists sometimes find it difficult to take a 21-year-old seriously, but no, I haven’t ever found this to be an actual disadvantage, as everyone that we work with is amazingly supportive and patient.

I wouldn’t want to work with people that feel threatened by youth anyway. That’s terribly close-minded. I kind of welcome critics though: it keeps me on my toes and inspires me to work harder. I think that our accomplishments and success speak for themselves anyway. We’ve managed to get to a happy place where our reputation precedes us, so being 21 has become more of an impressive talking point than anything, I think.

What would your advice be for students who wanted to work in the media or music industries, or for those who wanted to start their own businesses?

You’re only ever as good as the last story you’ve written, the last campaign you’ve pulled off… I constantly worry about the complacency of our generation. Having gone through a Bachelor of Communications, I can honestly say that there were and are too many students who think that they are going to get their dream job handed to them on a silver platter with their degree. To get to where you want to go, you will need to work hard. Really hard. You might have to sacrifice many hours of procrastination to get there, but the sooner you wake up and realise that, the faster you will arrive!

As for me, I’m still not there yet. I procrastinate far too much. I’m content with myself, but I know that there’s still so much more that I could achieve if I prioritised better. Don’t be afraid to jump—what’s the worst that could happen? If anyone says ‘no’ to you, that just means you need to brainstorm an alternative.

Those interested in writing for Coup De Main can contact Shahlin at mail@coupdemainmagazine.com.

What has your involvement been, broadly speaking, in the wider debate about abortion and reproductive rights?

I think my full awareness surrounding the greater need for women’s reproductive rights globally came after I moved to Ireland in 2003. Born and raised in the US, I took for granted Roe vs. Wade and the fact that if I had the means, I could pretty readily access family planning and abortion services. In Ireland, the constitutional right to life of the mother is equated with the right to life of the ‘unborn’ (a term that has yet to be defined), making abortion a criminal offence in most situations. Now technically after the Supreme Court ruling in the X case (1992), when a 14-year-old rape victim was interned within the state and refused permission to travel to the UK for a termination, a woman is allowed an abortion where her physical life is at risk, including the threat of suicide (as X claimed she was suicidal in order to be allowed to travel). However, a woman would go a long way to find a doctor that would risk their professional licence (and who is sympathetic to the woman’s situation) to perform the actual procedure. Thus, most women continue to travel to the UK, and thanks to cheap RyanAir flights, to the Netherlands, Germany and Spain for an abortion.

It was shocking to me that in a country, albeit one based on traditional Catholic beliefs, could in the twenty-first century continue to criminalise and stigmatise women in such a stringent and blatant manner. As a result of this awakening, I became involved in a pro-choice group in Cork—Cork Women’s Right to Choose Group. We campaigned, protested and leafleted on the rights of women to bodily integrity and choice. I also researched the issue as part of my doctoral research on Irish women politicians and their engagement with feminist issues, using abortion as a litmus test.

Together, these experiences instilled in me the need for a holistic approach to reproductive rights and abortion. By this I mean that sexual and reproductive rights do not begin and end with abortion, but need to take into account the gamut of women’s sexual and reproductive health needs throughout their life cycle—sexual education, contraception, maternal health, abortion, cervical screenings and vaccinations, et cetera.

What is ALRANZ and what does ALRANZ want to achieve? What do New Zealand’s abortion laws currently say, and what are the implications of the legislation for women wanting an abortion?

ALRANZ stands for the Abortion Law Reform Association of New Zealand. As a group we are dedicated to decriminalising abortion and improving the medical practices that surround this procedure. There are several goals inherent within this statement. Primarily, we argue that abortion should neither be considered a criminal offense nor legislated for within the Crimes Act 1961. I think most women in New Zealand would be shocked to discover, as I was when I moved here, that there are only four grounds for a legal abortion up to 20 weeks’ gestation (after 20 weeks the grounds are more strict): when the physical health of the woman is endangered; when a woman has become pregnant as a result of incest; a severe foetal abnormality; and in instances of [harm to] mental health. According to Statistics New Zealand, 98 per cent of abortions fall under the latter category of [harm to] mental health. This has also been commented on by Justice Miller as part of the Right to Life v. Abortion Supervisory Committee case (which is waiting to be heard in the Appeals Court in October 2010), where he queried the legality of abortions being performed and the certifying consultant’s liberal interpretations of the law.

Firstly, this means that New Zealand women who need or want an abortion for any reason must fall under one of the four headings above. This does not include sexual violence or rape, although that will be taken into consideration. The ongoing court case throws this into relief, showing how inconsistently the law is being applied and how much more restrictive it could be.

Secondly, the process is inequitable in terms of availability and accessibility, and [is] also convoluted. Specifically, the process entails that the woman first visits her GP, before being referred on to two certifying consultants who determine the legitimacy of the woman’s claim under the four grounds. If one of the certifying consultants disagrees then the woman is referred on to a third consultant, whose opinion is meant to be final. ALRANZ asserts that not only does this not follow best medical practice, but it is also unnecessarily complicated, erecting barriers to good health care and further disadvantaging already vulnerable women.

I think aside from these facts, the underlying message is that women are not to be trusted to make choices surrounding their own bodies. Personally, I find this repugnant.

What are some of the problems with the current legislation?

The current abortion law is legislated for in the Crimes Act, which I just mentioned, in tangent with the Contraception, Sterilisation and Abortion Act 1977 (CS&A). The CS&A sets out the remit of the Abortion Supervisory Committee and the process of the certifying consultants. Virtually, it was a bad law to begin with, cobbled together based on a need to find some consensus. There has been a noticeable lack of political will to engage with the issue again, and as a result a bad law has been allowed to fester.

These laws were also put in place at a time when only surgical abortions were available to women. Now with advent of medical abortions, women can take two pills—one an antiprogestin and the other a prostaglandin—[at] up to eight weeks’ gestation and remain in the privacy of their own homes if they choose. However, the CS&A does not reflect such changes and is written primarily for surgical ones. I think it is important to note that while Family Planning has applied for a licence to perform medical abortions, they would still have to follow the legal rules outlined above. The woman would still have to go through the certifying consultant procedure, the pills would still have to be administered in a registered medical facility and women would still have to meet one of the four grounds.

Another serious fault with the legislation continues to be the lack of consideration for circumstances outside the four restricted grounds. For example: what happens when a woman, who is taking some form of contraception, gets pregnant as a result of contraceptive failure? Is she to be punished for responsibly engaging in sexual activity? And if she is, then how long are we going to tolerate the underlying assumption that women are not supposed to be sexual creatures (i.e. the virgin/whore dualism), and just merely seen as physical and culture reproducers? Personally, as a woman, I want to be determined by more than my ability to reproduce.

Why is ALRANZ advocating for legislative reform to guarantee women access to safe, legal abortions?

ALRANZ firmly believes that it should be a woman’s choice. The current abortion law is not even close to meeting that standard. It continues to criminalise women for their reproductive choices (and by extension their sexual choices) and sends out the message that women are not to be trusted with making decisions relating to their bodies. I find that rather hypocritical, given we are supposed to trust women as mothers to this unborn/foetal life, yet we do not trust them to say, “Wait, I am not prepared for or I am unable to care for another person at this moment in my life.” Isn’t that the more responsible decision? Shouldn’t the ability to make hard decisions also engender trust?

Are there any countries where ‘liberal’ abortion legislation has been introduced?

Many countries, including Canada, Spain, Portugal, the UK and the Netherlands, have fairly liberal abortion laws. In the main, the flood gates have not opened up and women are not racing to have abortions just because they can. That is an argument made against liberalisation in Ireland—all women will be doing it if allowed! Usually, liberalisation makes the procedure safer and perhaps less stressful for the woman herself, given that she might not have to jump through hoops to prove her need for the abortion. Again the focus here is trying to ease the distress of the woman involved and making sure she gets the best medical care possible.

Are there any examples of countries or states where more restrictive abortion legislation has been introduced, and to what effect?

I think this is an important question, mainly because New Zealand women have been ‘lucky’ (and I say that lightly) to date that more certifying consultants have taken such a liberal view of the law. Living in Ireland, I saw the rancor and vitriol that accompanies most abortion-related discussions. Yet, the voices that you never hear are the women themselves. Lots of the women that are forced to travel for an abortion have never left Ireland. And for the Salient readers who have been to London and ridden on the Tube, it can be an overwhelming experience for the everyday commuters. Can you imagine being pregnant, probably having to take time off from work under the guise of some excuse, getting on a plane for the first time and then being faced with having to navigate the London underground? Doctors are not allowed to make appointments for Irish women, so they must contact a clinic and make all the arrangements for themselves…Often Irish women are later on in their pregnancies when they do present themselves at the clinic, given the time it takes to raise the necessary funds and getting the time off from work. If the woman gives an Irish address, she will be given antibiotics as standard procedure, as they realise that the woman will not seek after-care once back in Ireland. I got an email the other day appealing for funds for a woman who had her travel/abortion plans disrupted as a result of the Icelandic volcano. She did not have the funds to reschedule the trip over again! Can you imagine the stress and anxiety of that—not knowing if you will have the means of getting the care you so desperately need?

This is what a more restrictive abortion regime looks like—silence, recrimination and the feeling of being disowned from your country. Abortion is often referred to as “an Irish solution to an Irish problem”. In other words, they export that which might disrupt or transgress the Irish cultural imaginary—a rural, traditional, Catholic culture. But what does it mean for these women? What burdens do they live with as a result of being treated so atrociously? And why is the right to life of the unborn more valuable than the right to bodily integrity and autonomy of these women?

I have a great background on my computer. It states: 77 per cent of anti-abortion leader are men. 100 per cent of them will never be pregnant. I don’t believe anyone has the right to tell me what I can or cannot do with my own body. I respect those who disagree, but they have the choice not to have that procedure if they find it immoral. I would not have any or very limited reproductive choices if the pro-life side had their way. Why do they get to choose for the rest of us?

Those lines were the last thing I wanted to see, but they finally confirmed the fears I had been blocking out of my mind. What now?

Discovering you’re pregnant is, for some women, one of the happiest moments of their lives. For me it wasn’t. It was panic, followed by loud cursing. I knew that the only two options I could consider were an abortion or to follow the pregnancy through. The problem was I naively believed that this decision would be a gut instinct. Once the pregnancy was confirmed, I thought that the right answer would appear—I peed on a stick and it turned into a fortune cookie. I wanted a miracle. Mary got an angel telling her what to do, where the hell was mine?

The next morning after a sleepless night I called my boyfriend who was living in Auckland.

“I am pregnant.”

Silence.

“Fuck, I guess we are having a baby… Holy crap”.
This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Now I was faced with the prospect of pushing his baby out of my vagina.

I felt so trapped; my mind was cut right down the middle. I knew that I would love it once it arrived, but should my first reactions have really been dread, panic and disappointment?

In an attempt to make this all disappear I made an appointment with Family Planning for another test. Maybe I had a faulty test? Though nothing could alter the fact my boobs had already gone up a cup size. The test result was positive. I burst into tears—how could this happen to me? The nurse told me I needed to make a choice. You can’t just wait this one out. I called my doctor. I was having an abortion.

It was the hardest decision I have ever made, but if I didn’t do it, I would become a mother. Not only was I filled with fear, but also with shame and guilt. I come from a huge Catholic family where pregnancy means birth and a baby. But I didn’t want a baby; did that make me a horrible person? I lived like a shadow around the house, locking myself away to cry into my pillow and hold my stomach. I couldn’t walk out the door without morning sickness gagging my throat.

My best friend stood by me and took me to my first appointment. We entered through the security door into the abortion services. I waited to see the doctor and counsellor. The waiting room contained a fuzzy television, a radio and silent teenage daughters with their mothers. People came and went. We all stared at the television.

I told the counsellor every fear, thought or question I had. I finally felt that what I was doing wasn’t ‘wrong’. She showed me the size of the foetus; it was a baked bean, a cluster of tissue. It didn’t even have a sex. I cried a lot, but more than anything it was from relief. I was no longer trapped. This pressure from society constantly calling a foetus a baby had made me hate myself, but now it was lifting.

I had started to believe I was a killer. But then I realised the people who don’t believe that women should have a choice don’t know anything about having a termination. All my life I had heard the abortion debate through history, media and religion. Yet before I entered this situation, I had no idea of the complexity of the emotions it can produce in a woman. I never thought it would happen to me. But it did, and everything changed. I have always believed in the right for women to choose. The thought of being forced to carry a baby that I didn’t want made me feel sick.

But I was in for another nasty surprise. While I was at peace with my decision and knew it wasn’t a bad thing, I was yet to learn who had the final say. Turns out the state had rights to my uterus.

I went against my father’s beliefs in order to have this abortion. And that was hard because I care about him and I knew he would be hurt. I didn’t let my friends, family or the church make this decision for me. It is my body; I have the final say, so how did a law become the supreme ruler of my body?

I had to lie about why I needed the abortion. I just didn’t want a baby. Yet in our law that means nothing. I had to say that I believed it would damage my mental health. It was humiliating. I had been dealing with so much both physically and emotionally. Yet my decision, “I don’t want a baby”, is criminal. If the government had really given a crap about my mental health then they wouldn’t force me to lie and to treat it like a ‘necessary evil’.

I am so tired of being scared of what other people think. I care about human life. I care about all the lives of the women who have been in my situation; I care about all the girls who one day might be. I wish I could care about a cluster of tissue but it just doesn’t seem to compare to real lives. This law isn’t just about services; it is trying to sit on the fence. You may have an abortion, but you better lie about why you had it. Be thankful we gave it to you. Be ashamed and silent. We need to keep the pro-lifers happy.

I went to the hospital for my procedure. I felt calm; this was the right decision for me. I lay on the table awake as they removed the foetus. I felt no pain, just the constant voice of the nurse holding my hand and keeping me talking. Once it was over I got wheeled to my bed to have a nap before returning home. It was gone.

I lay in bed with a hot water bottle and I cried harder than I ever have. I grieved what I had lost. All the stress, panic and sadness finally released itself. It was a strange emotion. I was relieved and didn’t doubt my decision. Yet I was still sad for what could have been.

I had to guard it as a secret for so long. Then I realised that was what was damaging my mental health. Because it was a decision I made, I felt I couldn’t express all the emotions I was feeling. Some people are so hateful—can you imagine what it is like to be called a murderer by people who have nothing to do with you? I couldn’t understand how this natural and widely accepted choice for women over centuries had become such a taboo subject.

Men have the choice of taking drugs to keep a dick hard for five hours. Yet women still don’t have a drug to fully protect them from getting pregnant. The amount of times I heard the “that baby could have been the next Einstein” was unbelievable. My abortion prevented a special life—could I make the same argument every time a boy leaves his juices in a condom? As a man do you feel guilty tossing your sperm away? When you put on a condom you are actively stopping creating another life.

Not being able to talk about what it is really like to go through an abortion openly confirms the myth that it should be a dirty secret. The idea that I could have a one-year-old now never leaves me. But at the end of the day I still feel that I made the right decision. This is something I should never have to justify or feel the need to hide. It is 2010. Sadly, this doesn’t mean much for feminism. Both Canterbury and Auckland Universities have very active pro-life clubs. These clubs protest to make abortions harder for women.

I am one out of every three New Zealand women who will at some point in their lives have an abortion. And this is one story.

The 26 April issue of Newsweek magazine caused a furore in United States feminist circles for its depiction of the reproductive rights movement as a “post-menopausal militia” in desperate need of new blood. Young pro-choice activists rushed to the blogs to defend their generation. “There are thousands of us working hard for the movement every day… We are more passionate than you can imagine,” wrote one. Or another, more bluntly: “I don’t know how many times I have to yell to be heard by older feminists. Turn up your hearing aids! Are you listening? We’re here.” 

Whether these young feminists like it or not, the pro-choice movement is propelled by older generations, and the lack of younger activists is starting to show. Support for the legal right to abortion in at least some cases has stayed at around 75 to 85 per cent since 1975, but in recent years the pro-choice movement has been drowned out by its strident, fundamentalist anti-abortion counterparts. The annual March for Life in Washington DC drew 200,000 participants this year. In contrast, a pro-choice demonstration in the same city in December 2009 drew a crowd of only around 500 supporters. 

In New Zealand, the pro-choice movement is strong and motivated—but ageing. Although most New Zealanders, and in particular young people, hold liberal views regarding abortion, there’s a big difference between supporting a woman’s right to choose and fighting for that right. And while anti-abortion groups are mobilising young people, through churches and university clubs, it seems the level of pro-choice activism is waning. So where are all the young pro-choice women and men? 

For a lot of people, abortion rights don’t seem like something we need to fight for. Many of us assume that, should we ever need an abortion, we will be able to have one safely and legally. To some extent this is true—abortion is de facto legal in New Zealand. But this isn’t anywhere near good enough. 

In New Zealand, abortion is a criminal offence. An abortion can only be lawful if, during the first 20 weeks of pregnancy, two certifying consultants agree that one of four conditions has been met. Incest leading to pregnancy, potential physical and mental harm to the woman, foetal defects, and mental disability are grounds for abortion. Rape, age and socioeconomic circumstances are not, although the former two can be taken into account. After 20 weeks, an abortion can only be performed to prevent permanent physical or mental injury to, or the death of, a woman. 

So thanks to an outdated, unfair and demeaning law, abortion remains illegal for most women who find themselves pregnant. And it would be unobtainable, if it weren’t for the Abortion Supervisory Committee and doctors who take a liberal interpretation of New Zealand abortion law. In practice, abortions are very rarely denied, and the vast majority are performed on the grounds that there is a serious risk to the woman’s mental health. 

Why should we be angry? There are plenty of reasons. Abortion is a medical procedure, yet in this country it is treated as a crime. The law reflects neither current practice nor current public opinion. Most New Zealand women are mentally healthy, and they’re perfectly capable of making a rational decision about whether or not to continue a pregnancy. The requirement that two consultants must approve a woman’s abortion by certifying that she is mentally unfit is unnecessary, time-consuming, and ultimately degrading for the woman involved. And many women, because they live in rural and provincial areas, effectively don’t have access to abortion.

The most common argument from pro-choice women and men for not actively defending reproductive rights is that, if we press the issue, we might lose what gains we’ve already won. Yes, abortion is not technically legal in most cases; but if it’s accessible and safe, at least for the majority of New Zealand women, what’s wrong with the status quo? 

This is a terrible argument. In reality, our reproductive rights are not secure—they are just a court case from being taken away. The latest in a long line of attempts to challenge the legality of abortion is ongoing court action instigated by Right to Life New Zealand. In 2005, the anti-abortion group applied for a judicial review of the Abortion Supervisory Committee, arguing that it was allowing abortion on demand in breach of its statutory duties. Justice Miller, in his ruling on the case, expressed “powerful misgivings” over the lawfulness of many abortions carried out in New Zealand. Both the Abortion Supervisory Committee and Right to Life have appealed the ruling to the Court of Appeal, to be heard later this year.

This legal drama shows that the threat to reproductive freedom is real. But the courts aren’t the place to settle this kind of discussion. We need serious informed public debate on this issue. And we need more young women and men to stand up in support of the right to choose. 

The pro-choice movement is not about promoting abortion, killing babies, or any other accusation that the other side throws down. It’s about providing pregnant women and their families with safe choices, supporting them, and letting them make informed decisions about their future. If it sounds like something you’d be interested in supporting, take action. You can find more about the Abortion Law Reform Association on their website, www.alranz.org. You can also show your support by joining the ALRANZ group on Facebook. Women deserve the right to choose. It’s time to start fighting for it.

For most of those who study at Victoria University, the Te Aro campus on upper Cuba Street might as well belong to a separate institution. Those trendy design students dressed in black; the wannabe architects spending sleepless nights with their scale models: they’re a different breed. Hell, they don’t even use Blackboard down there.

For all its eccentricities, Victoria’s centre of architecture and design is home to some remarkable work, which is being recognised at both a national and an international level. Just a few weeks ago, for example, a team of postgraduate architecture students were chosen to compete in a Solar Decathlon competition organised by the United States’ Department of Energy: the first successful entry from the Southern Hemisphere, ever. Needless to say, this is kind of a big deal.

What’s more, despite the degrees’ competitive nature and the arduous hours of work required to succeed, design and architecture students seem to relish their study. Of all of Victoria University, it is plausible that Te Aro alone is home to the fabled ‘campus culture’, where students make lasting friendships in lectures and tutorials; and where uni is both a social hub, and a hothouse of creative ambition. With its sprawling structure, geographical detachment, and dismal communal areas, Kelburn can only dream of such solidarity.

Leading the Southern Hemisphere

The Solar Decathlon team is comprised of Anna Farrow, Nick Officer, Ben Jagersma and Eli Nuttall. Their response to the competition’s brief of designing, building, and operating an energy-efficient, attractive and affordable house was a reinterpretation of the humble Kiwi bach. Their proposed timber structure impressed judges, who selected them to compete against 19 other collegiate teams from around the world.

“I researched the bach typology, and thought that it was a good starting point for a remote structure that could be solar-powered,” says Farrow.

“We thought it categorised New Zealand’s unique identity,” adds Nuttall. “There are some things in the bach that we thought represented our way of life and culture—the outdoor living, the open-plan social hub…”

“Simplicity,” puts in Jagersma. “Nothing too fancy!”

All four are pursuing their Master’s Degree in Architecture.

“It’s the worst time of your life, and the best time of your life,” says Officer of studying architecture. “You spend five years with the same 80 people; it’s like high school all over again.”

“You spend heaps of time at school, but there are cool things about that,” says Farrow, who has noticed the lack of engagement at Vic’s other campuses.

“I did a couple of papers up there [at Kelburn]—you turn up to class, you don’t talk to anyone, and you leave again.”

Jagersma believes that Te Aro’s cooperative spirit could be a result of the “nature of design”.

“We do a lot of work together, and we chat about our designs,” he says. “Because you spend so much time thinking about what you’re doing, you just naturally get to know each other a lot more. An essay’s more of an individual thing—you don’t really go and discuss it so much.”

Nuttall hopes that the number of students involved in their Decathlon submission will help them to bring Vic together. The team are working with students of media, communications, law and commerce, among others, in order to ensure that their bach excels in the competition’s ten contests—only one of these exclusively pertains to architecture. Some of the other factors that their construction will be judged on are its market appeal, its affordability, and how comfortable it is to live in.

Farrow, Officer, Jagersma and Nuttall will travel to Washington in October 2011 to build the bach to scale on the National Mall. It will be exhibited alongside the 19 other teams’ houses for a period of ten days, during which around 150,000 people are expected to visit this temporary ‘solar village’.

There’s so much work in store for them between then and now, it’s understandable that the team hasn’t thought much of their plans for the future, post-Decathlon.

“I guess it’s going to open a lot of doors for us at some stage,” says Officer. “I think I’ll stay in New York and never come home. That’s the dream.”

A Competitive Advantage

I ask Thomas Ibbotson, a Master’s student, whether architecture is as difficult, and as competitive, as Kelburn and Pipitea students consider it to be.

“Unfortunately, it’s exactly that,” he says, ruefully. “There’s usually a love-hate relationship with architecture.”

He attributes students’ high standards of work to the open nature of assessment at Te Aro.

“From day one, projects are presented by critique—meaning you present your projects to your classmates, tutors, and guest critiques, which forces students to take responsibility for their design decisions,” he explains.

“Having to stand up and present your projects means you have to be happy with your effort or attempt,” he continues, “which ultimately means doing the best you can, by putting in the maximum effort and time.”

With their work subjected to such scrutiny, it’s no wonder that design and architecture students spend so much time perfecting their submissions.

“Competition has been drilled into us,” says Ibbotson, though he allows that this has its advantages. It encourages the exchange and discussion of ideas, and even brings students together. “We’re always keen to critique, question or help out friends, as this is the best way for us to learn. Our friends have the most contemporary perspective and ideas available.”

Ibbotson agrees that Te Aro seems to “differ greatly” from Vic’s other campuses. He says this is due to the long hours students spend working alongside each other.

“We become pretty tight, and there are always a few laughs in the studio.”

Te Aro students are also encouraged to enter competitions, in order to further their practical skills. Ibbotson won second place in the Monument to a Memorable Event competition, organised by the Commonwealth Association of Architects, with a structure that commemorated the Wahine disaster.

Of his entry, Ibbotson says that it was “interesting to research, and offered a lot to work with”.

“Over the development of my submission, I learnt a lot about my own design process: where I start, and how I tackle certain challenges. It made clear my strengths and weaknesses.”

Ibbotson believes the study of architecture “could be applied to a variety of careers”, but at this stage, he has “no idea” as to his plans for the future.

“I have to finish this year first.”

A Change of Focus

Certainly, Karie Higgins and Megan Oliver used their Bachelor degree in Architecture, specialising in Interior Architecture, for something other than its obvious purpose. Shortly after graduating in 2004, they began to dabble in jewellery design—“for no particular reason, other than a bit of fun,” says Higgins.

Their brand, d_luxe, has gone from strength to strength. Higgins reels off a list of their successes to date, which includes collaborating with fashion designers twenty-seven names at Fashion Week; finding stockists for their designs in Australia; and establishing an online boutique.

Higgins describes studying at Te Aro “a completely different experience to Kelburn campus”.

“There, it’s more of a ‘get to the lecture and then get out of there’ type of deal. I assume perhaps at the other Vic campuses, you’re usually in far larger groups, and you don’t communicate with your peers so much… Te Aro students hang out on campus even when they aren’t working!”

And it’s true—it’s hard to imagine that happening at Kelburn (“Hey, wanna go smoke and ogle construction workers?”).

“There’s a real community that develops at Te Aro, mainly because of the studio teaching and work,” says Higgins. “You’re always collaborating with the people in your year, and sometimes with those from other years and disciplines—so it’s a great way to meet and get to know other people.

“By the end of your degree, most faces in the building are familiar, and because of the hours you need to actually be on campus, it does begin to feel a bit like a second home.”

Again, this seems nothing like the Kelburn experience—though perhaps if we didn’t have to leg it up a hill to get there, we’d spend more time at uni. And this could have been a reality.

In 1902, when the Victoria Council was yet to settle on a location for the university, the preferred spot was a 13-acre plot of Crown real estate in Mount Cook. However, then-Prime Minister Richard Seddon refused to part with it.

Had he been more amenable, the rest of Victoria University could have shared in Te Aro’s central and creative location, which has a lot to answer for in drawing the masses to study on the weekend. Certainly, Higgins appreciated “all that Cuba Street has to offer in terms of culture and convenience”.

“It is true though that, as a result, design students probably spend a disproportionate amount of money on coffee!”

Midnight Espresso must do a roaring trade on the night before hand-in.

Both Higgins and Oliver credit their time at Te Aro for their dedicated work ethic, their conceptual thinking skills, and their responsiveness to innovation, while their knowledge of interior architecture is apparent in their work. As d_luxe’s website states, “The move to jewellery design was simply a shift in scale.”

“People often say that you can tell that we’re trained in ‘interiors’, as we love composing our images and objects in a way that utilises our background in spatial design,” says Higgins. “We consider the whole environment as integral in our imagery.”

Sleepless in Te Aro

Patrick Thompson is an award-winning student of architecture, having won awards in the Habitat 3E Housing Competition, the New Zealand Institute of Architects’ Graphisoft Student Design Awards, and the Team Architecture Scholarships.

He believes that architecture and design is such hard work because it’s not a cut-and-dried process. “I think one of the main factors is that it’s very hard to ‘finish’ design,” he says. “It can always be improved upon, or looked at differently, no matter what stage you’re at.”

It’s fortunate, therefore, that the Te Aro academic staff are so accommodating.

“If you have any questions, they’ll always give you time to have a chat,” says Thompson. “Also, there’s lots of tutorial time, which, over five years, can create some great relationships with staff.”

Ibbotson agrees.

“I imagine students at Te Aro campus have a very different relationship with staff. They’re often not just lecturers, but also tutors, who spend one-on-one time with students.”

A recurring theme in interviews with Te Aro students is the late nights spent at uni.

“I’ve lived with students from other campuses every year,” says Thompson, “and the only difference is a lot less sleep.”

Workplace Romance

Jordon Wisniewski, however, sees some benefits in wiling away the midnight hour (well, almost—it shuts at 11.30pm) at Te Aro.

“During project time, the campus becomes your life,” he says. “The faces you see the most of are your classmates, burning the night away rendering, sketching or sanding, so you form pretty strong bonds with these people. I’d say out of all the campuses, we definitely have the highest rate of couples getting together at school.”

Wisniewski has a Bachelor of Design, majoring in Industrial Design. Along with fellow graduate Matt Fraser and senior lecturer Jeni Mihova, he has helped build ten models depicting detailed sections of the Parthenon and Acropolis. The models were on display at Te Aro last week, and will soon be exhibited at the Acropolis Museum in Athens.

Wisniewski’s role was to interpret drawings and sketches of the site, and to create two of the larger scale models of the Parthenon.

“I’m not an architecture student, so the opportunity to be involved in an architecture project has been really interesting—especially one that looks at one of the most important buildings in the world.

“The challenge of building a classical structure using modern construction techniques was one of the most frustrating and enjoyable projects I’ve done.”

Wisniewski believes that a Bachelor of Design or Architecture incorporates skills that are applicable to any field, “depending on what spin you put on your degree”.

“The campus is constantly in flux; already, the degree I’ve completed has changed, so it will be really interesting to see what graduates in the next five years will be doing.”

He credits the campus’ continual evolution with the assortment of students that study there: he maintains that there is no such thing as a ‘typical’ Te Aro student.

“Our faculty is made up of the practical, the academic, the fashionable, the deros, those who are logical and those who daydream,” says Wisniewski. “Having all the different flavours in close-knit creative quarters is what produces innovative work. This also makes the atmosphere really interesting to work and socialise in.

“Seeing other people doing well really pushes you to produce something great, and although you’ll eventually be competing with your classmates in the big bad world, they’re your most useful resource, and become some of your best friends. Or your potential husband or wife!”

Having said that, Wisniewski is quick to point out the limitations of his argument: he estimates that he’s spent a total of 12 hours at the other Victoria campuses over a four-year period.

“Despite that, I’d have really liked to have split my studies between campuses, and would definitely recommend anyone interested in taking a paper at Te Aro to give it a go.”

Indeed, several of the courses offered at Te Aro are open-entry, so go on: listen to Wisniewski’s advice. Discover that artistic inclination. Soak up the atmosphere. Make some friends. And take some of that community spirit back to Kelburn with you.

Josh: What do you do?

Daniel: I was hired back at end of ‘96 as a conceptual artist. I was one of a group of concept artist/designers—a kind of interchangeable term really for us—all hired about the same time when Weta was looking to build a design team. Until that time, they had a couple of artists who would do design work for them, and on the kind of projects they had been working on until that time, that was as much as they needed or could sustain. But the company was looking a bit bigger at the time. Lord of the Rings was the major film that came along straight after the original King Kong fell through for us. And I really cut my teeth on that—that was a pretty amazing experience. I tried to spread myself around at the time.

Since then Weta Workshop has diversified a lot more, and we have got more strings to our bow. Now the company does collectibles…we have a little bit of publishing [and] our own TV production group now as well. I’m finding I’m less involved in the actual art design side of things, and a bit more in art directing other things, like we have got Weta Productions, which is making children’s TV programmes. We did Jane and the Dragon a few years ago, and most recently is The Wot Wots.

My role with those, or with The Wot Wots, has been liaising with companies that come on board as licensees. So there has been a toy company come on board to make toys for them, and I am in charge of supplying them with reference imagery, and art directing the toys they bring back and say, ‘Hey we want to do this’, and I’m like, ‘Well it doesn’t quite look like the character so change to this’, whatever. I am a toy collector as well, so it’s been quite cool to see how the other side of that works.

Most recently I have been helping get some books off the ground for Weta. I wrote the World of Kong book that we did, which was a fictional bestiary of Kong’s islands. We did a behind-the-scenes art book for the Narnia series and I wrote the text for that as well… At the moment, I am just in the last couple of weeks or so of finishing off the District 9 book, which we are hoping to have out for Christmas this year. A little late behind the movie, but I think everyone was surprised that the movie was such an amazingly big hit—not because it wasn’t cool, but because nobody was expecting it to get the exposure that it did.

Josh: How did you get to doing what you are doing?

Daniel: I have always been interested in creatures and costumes and monsters and all that kind of stuff. Most importantly world building, because that is something we really pride ourselves on doing. I’ll explain a bit more about that as we get along. But I have always been interested in that ever since I was a kid. It wasn’t until I was at Polytech—I was at Auckland University of Technology—and was doing an illustration course [and] within that I was trying to twist it as much as possible towards creature design for the movies and that sort of thing… There is no degree you can go and do in that. Fortunately, my tutors—once I had convinced them and shown them there was actually a career to be made in doing that—they were happy to support me as long as I met all the broader curriculum requirements.

I found out about Weta in my last year that I was there—I found out there was a company here in Wellington doing that kind of stuff, which blew me away as I imagined you would have to go to the States to do it. I contacted Weta and came down and did some work experience here, and walked away three months before my degree was due to finish—when I left they said there was a job waiting for me as soon as I had finished. So I graduated and moved to Wellington two months after graduating, and have been here ever since. So it was a pretty wild ride.

I think there is a combination there of luck and good timing, but also being passionate about what I was doing. I wasn’t necessarily especially good about what I was doing in the beginning, but I had a real passion for it and Richard [Taylor] really responds to passion. As I say, good timing as they were looking to put together a design department for King Kong, didn’t have any people, and I walk in and say I am interested in this kind of stuff. So really, really lucky.

It is a lot harder now because everyone knows about Weta. The kind of career I am in is something that a lot of folks know about and would aspire to be in, so the competition is much bigger and fiercer. We get dozens of portfolios every week and you look through them and just go ‘wow’. There are some incredibly talented people out there… but obviously there is only a certain number of people the company can hire and it’s all built on what opportunities are available at the time for work… So I feel very fortunate to be there and I can’t see myself going anywhere in the near future.

I touched on world building earlier… World building is—say you get a script for a movie and it needs a monster—we want to think about what the whole world that monster lives in is like and how does that affect the way the monster should look and how does the monster look in that whole world. The whole package.

Often you go to movies and you will see a monster run on screen and [it] is wearing a crazy costume—maybe it’s a medieval setting—but you look at the costume and think ‘Well that looks like cast rubber’ or ‘that looks like some sort of kevlar composite or something like that’ and ‘that creature looks really really clean but everything around is dirty’. There is something in it that makes you go ‘that is not fit for that’.

What that tends to be a product of is that they will have one company doing the set design, they’ll have another company doing the costume, another guy doing the creature and you end up with a weird jumble of parts that doesn’t usually mesh. What we try to do at Weta, and why the company has in the past taken on so many different roles on a different project, is to try and get that singular brush stroke that paints the world believably from start to finish.There are many artists working on it but they are all pulling in the same direction and they all understand each other.

Josh: What if someone, at uni say, shared your passion and wanted to get into this notoriously close-knit industry? What would their path be?

Daniel: It shouldn’t discourage people from pursuing the dream. I am proof that it can come true. So if you have a dream and a passion for this kind of stuff, then throw yourself at it. I think nothing will sell you better than a portfolio that is filled with really cool work that demonstrates how passionate and excited you are about what you are doing. Because you can’t engineer passion, that has got to come from the person. That is the one thing when you come to see an employer [that] you have to have from the beginning. You can learn and get better as you go along, but [passion]’s got to be there.

I think an important ‘to do’ is to be creative in where you go to. Weta is obviously the big name in town at the moment but there are other companies around. [They’re] obviously not the same size as Weta, but something that is really opening up, particularly in the last five to six years is video gaming, and there is a massive need for conceptual artists and designers in the video game industry. The gloves are really off there because you are creating completely fake worlds so you don’t have to be restricted to the kind of visual constraints that say somebody making a costume to fit on a guy has to. Even if they [designers] want to end up back in film eventually it is a great place to get in and some of the smaller gaming companies could certainly use talented young artists.

Publishing can be a way in, I think. [It is] tough in New Zealand because it is a small market for an illustrator to break into, and I can’t really speak too much about it because my experience has really been based in film design. But comics or illustration, particularly if you can find overseas clients to work for in addition to New Zealand companies, so you can get the amount of work you need, there [are] possibilities there as well. And the internet also makes it possible to work for clients overseas so Weta need not be the only company to come knocking on the door of.

Josh: So it’s hard for fresh faces to get house room at Weta. Is there room for smaller outfits to develop their own corner of the market?

Daniel: Yes, certainly there is. And Weta is not the only guy in town. They are obviously the best and most well known, but there are plenty of other companies doing stuff. Three Foot Seven is going to be doing a huge amount of work, arguably much more than Weta would be on The Hobbit. And in Auckland you have a massive film and television industry up there as well, which shouldn’t be forgotten about. In fact we get all the press down there and typically we are doing the movies down here. But a huge amount gets done in Auckland—like six TV shows being done up there at the moment. There are plenty of opportunities around… It’s tough because the work comes and goes, and it’s a bit of a roller coaster ride in getting work [security], but there is definitely work around to get.

Josh: What keeps you in a famously fickle business?

Daniel: The one really amazing thing about Weta Workshop—and it is totally to Richard Taylor and Tania Roger’s credit, the founders and runners of the company—is that they are in it for the long haul. The film industry is feast or famine, jobs come and go and there will be lots of work for a short amount of time and there will be no work for a time. Richard and Tania have really tried to build a crew that they then, as much as possible, keep during the hard time and sustain during those times. Also they will find work to suit the crew they have got, rather than necessarily finding crew to suit the work they have got—I mean they do that too, but definitely they try to keep the core group. My limited experience with friends overseas is that the [visual] effects companies tend to shrink and grow according to the jobs—they will fire everybody when a job finishes and then hire a new bunch of people when the next job comes along. Richard as much as possible tries to create that sustainability of work all the way through where people can go to work and know that they have a job eight to six every day, five days a week, forever.

Richard wants crew to be there for the long haul. He says that his greatest pride is not the number of prizes on the shelf or certificates on the wall, it is the number of babies born to the crew. He says that if people are having babies it means they have sustainability and security in their work, and that is something to be really proud of in the film industry where the whole industry is anything but sustainability and security. That loyalty comes back in the other direction because of his attitude.

I would say the values of the company are part of it. Staying in New Zealand because I still think it’s the best place to be and definitely where I want to raise my kids. That keeps me here. A lot of it is definitely that loyalty you get from the company.

Josh: Do you have a favourite outsider who has come in to employ your services—someone you personally dealt with? I mean obviously Peter Jackson is probably going to be a notable figure there.

Daniel: He’s pretty awesome but I tell you what—I can’t say too much because this is still in the works­—but Guillermo Del Torro, the time I have spent with him so far is amazing—just incredibly giving, friendly, open guy who is just all about the artistic merits of what he is producing, and not at all about ego and political nonsense and that kind of stuff, which makes him a joy to work with. So from the amount of interacting I have had with him, which is not a lot so far, he is amazing. An incredible guy. And whatever happens with The Hobbit—it happens or it doesn’t happen or whatever—that in the future we will get to work with him more because he is awesome.

It’s not often you will hear any kind of consensus reached on what is considered a masterpiece in a field as subjective as architecture. In fact, you could go so far as to say that in the architectural world we thrive on criticism and actively seek fault in anything which might be regarded as such. However, the Futuna Chapel in Karori is generally regarded by students and professionals alike as one of the finest examples of twentieth century New Zealand architecture and one would be hard-pressed to find someone who would challenge the authority of this timeless work by the late architect John Scott.

To those without the slightest architectural inkling, the brilliance of the Futuna chapel may not be quite so evident at first glance. You could be forgiven for thinking that the roof looks more like one of those origami pick-a-number fortune tellers you used to make at primary school* than an example of great Kiwi architecture. Naturally, to vocalise such naivety would probably have any self-respecting architecture student rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. Consider then, this brief introduction to be an opportunity to understand the chapel’s important contribution to the architectural stock of our fine nation.

In 1958 Hawke’s Bay architect John Scott was approached to design the Futuna Retreat Chapel to commemorate the martyrdom of St Peter Chanel on the French Polynesian Island of Futuna in 1841. In spite of the initial response of the Society of Mary to the design declaring “it’s a gazebo”, the praise of several renowned architects ensured that the Futuna chapel would become an emphatic break from New Zealanders’ “clear but derivative” ideas about what a religious building should look like. It was opened in 1961 as a place for silence and inner renewal for any person of faith who had aspirations of finding deeper meaning in their life. After an uncertain reception in its first few years, in 1968 the New Zealand Institute of Architects finally awarded it a deserved prestigious gold medal, which was followed by a 25-year award for enduring architecture in 1986.

In early 2000 it was decided that the Society of Mary had no further use for the building and it was sold off to property developers who wished to build a number of residential units for Karori retirees. Concern about the building’s future began to surface when it was revealed that the Chapel was being used as a materials store during the units’ construction, and following the discovery that a number or valuable items had been stolen—including a laminated mahogany figure of the crucified Jesus (by Auckland sculptor Jim Allen), an urgent interim injunction was ordered on behalf of the Wellington City Council to stop the chapel being damaged irretrievably. After the successful injunction, its purchase was negotiated by the Friends of Futuna Charitable Trust, who are currently engaged in its restoration and in fundraising the required amount to pay back the loan used to secure its purchase.

While at first approach the chapel seems to be a simple, unpretentious building in the quiet seclusion of a Wellington suburb, it gradually reveals itself as a complex and magical piece of architecture composed of light and silence. In the dark interior the days and the seasons are experienced through the play of the sunlight, projecting ever changing patterns onto the cave-like walls through the vibrant, coloured glass windows (also designed by sculptor Jim Allen).

According to architectural historian and Victoria University lecturer Russell Walden—who has also penned a literary ode to the building in Voices of Silence (1986)—on overcast days the chapel appears “sealed in sleep”, yet on a bright day when the conditions are perfect, the colour and light combine to a truly magic effect that could make even the most sceptical person believe. Having initially been disappointed with his first experience of the chapel on a grey and dreary day, he recounts his second visit whereby “On that wonderful occasion the full primitive power of Futuna was a unique revelation in light. One moment the illumination was gloriously and intensely there—the next moment it was gone again.” He laments that the only means he has to convey his experience are poetic metaphor and colour photography and can only stress how pivotal the embodied experience is in capturing that which is beyond word and image.

From the outside, the chapel is undeniably a modernist building. Its geometrical rigour gives it an outwardly sculptural quality and a purity of form that hides its natural qualities inside. Beneath the strange and irregular appearance of its timber-tiled roof, the chapel’s strong connection with the earth becomes apparent in a rich, roughly textured cave-like interior. Greenstone inlay in the floors and a South African cardinal-red granite altar table add considerable polish to what architect Bill Toomath once described as “a vivid, dramatic setting rivalling the splendours of early Byzantine churches” due to its expression of peace, silence and inner joy through a rich use of texture, colour and moving light.

The building is significantly touted as an early attempt at bi-cultural architecture and it draws upon idioms from both Maori and Pakeha heritage. Scott, who was intuitively sensitive to place and context, included elements of indigenous architecture within more traditional elements of ecclesiastical design to present a new cultural hybrid in Futuna. With its large centre pole, steep sloping eaves, and unpretentious, almost deferential entrance, the building has antecedents in the marae and whare. Its description in the Wellington City Council’s heritage inventory marks its use as a place of contemplation and the manner in which an appropriate atmosphere is achieved as a further reflection of a spiritual dimension influenced by the marae.

The chapel marks what is widely regarded as the finest work for its architect John Colin Scott, who passed away after heart surgery in 1992. As an architect he stood firmly against pretence and was respected for his honesty and straightforward approach, drawing from his cultural background as a Maori architect to present New Zealand with a new model for a national architecture. Although the majority of his commissions prior to Futuna were for private houses, the chapel he designed for his former school St Johns College (Hastings) in 1954 led to the commission for the Futuna project which, through its rugged simplicity and reflection of values held dear by Maori, is now considered a “truly New Zealand” piece of architecture.

Its significance, which continues to this day, is in a large part due to the bold gestures made in terms of its departure from the architecture of the time, which still looked only to a European heritage. As it approaches its 50th anniversary, safe now from developers in its new status as a category one historic building, it still stands as an example of what a bicultural New Zealand architecture could be and its popularity with students today attests its modern value.

While its position at the top of the New Zealand architectural canon is rarely challenged, for many who sing its praises it can be extraordinarily difficult to explain just what it is that makes it so special. For this reason, those wanting to chance upon that elusive architectural epiphany that might help them understand the building’s charm, or perhaps exactly what it is that makes their friends down at the Te Aro campus quiver with orgasmic delight, there is arguably no better chance than a visit to the Futuna Chapel—a much-loved piece of architecture whose significance extends well beyond its time and place. Make sure to head along on the next (sunny) open day and be prepared to leave any preconceptions at the door—as Russell Walden notes, “The chapel only smiles at you if you are ready to be smiled at.”

For more information about the chapel of Futuna check out futunatrust.org.nz/ or read The Voices of Silence by Dr Russell Walden (1986).

*Learn how to make an origami fortune teller or ‘cootie catcher’ at enchantedlearning.com.

“Sometimes… you know… when you meet the real, actual people… and you look at them… their little beady eyes and… mean…mouths… sort of sneering. I mean, I know this is what they think people like me think so I hate thinking it, but I just find myself thinking that they’re from a different fucking species, with their weird t-shirts and trousers and tabards. Why do they wear clothes with writing on them? And why are they so fucking fat?”—Hugh Abbott, The Thick of It

Despite common conception, the printed t-shirt is an extraordinarily complicated thing. It is a fashion. It is a trend. It is advertising. It communicates messages so the wearer doesn’t have to. It is a cultural signpost. It is a thing shared by many groups and subcultures, yet it is a main point of difference between them all. It measures the popularity of fads, reminds us of things forgotten, officiates memes, subverts and commodifies. The printed t-shirt is a complicated piece of cotton. This article will look at a brief history of the fashion item. Through these threads, the fibres of the mainstream, counterculture, and art will be felt and plucked. From iron-on to ironic.

The evolution of the t-shirt

The history of the t-shirt is slightly ambiguous. Consensus can be drawn that the t-shirt evolved from the undergarments that were worn beneath workers’ clothes from as early as the 1890s. During World War I, a transition from heavy wool undergarments to lighter cotton ones took place, along with a change from full-body longjohns to ‘undershirts’ and ‘undershorts’. However, the exact date the t-shirt emerged is still debatable. In America, clothing brand Champion traced its first ever shipment of ‘Michigan’-imprinted t-shirts to an Ann Arbor sports shop in 1933, making this one of the first examples of the printed t-shirt (or at least one of the first examples of a significant quantity of printed t-shirts sold at retail). The release of The Wizard of Oz in 1939 saw one of the first printed t-shirts created as promotional merchandise, while in 1942 the US Navy added the t-shirt to the official inventory of all its recruits, a move that sparked the t-shirt’s eventual defeat of the tank top as the preferred undergarment to the United States military. To add to this victory, the July 1942 cover of LIFE magazine featured a buff male sporting a gun and an ‘Air Corps Gunnery School’-printed t-shirt, one of the first portrayals of the printed t-shirt as a publicly worn piece of outerwear.

Though these anecdotes trace the first examples of the t-shirt, the garment was yet to catch on as a new fashion. It wasn’t until Marlon Brando wore a white workers’ t-shirt in the 1951 film adaptation of A Streetcar Named Desire that the t-shirt tore into the mainstream. In the 60s, while hippies tie-dyed their white t-shirts out the back of their Volkswagen Kombivans in a chronic haze during Woodstock, the advent of plastisol ink and the plastisol transfer would soon revolutionise the screen printing industry. These developments would crystallise the printed t-shirt’s destiny as an unprecedented fashion item among the young baby-boomer generation. This also goes lengths to explain why my grandparents have never worn a single t-shirt for as long as I’ve known them. Anyway, further fine-tuning of screen printing process with plastisols would allow images sourced from photographs to be printed, while the addition of titanium oxide made the final designs opaque instead of clear.

These innovations were used to great effect in the marketing of Steven Spielberg’s 1975 film Jaws, with over 200,000 promotional t-shirts printed and distributed upon the film’s release. The success of Jaws changed the Hollywood film industry forever. The first official ‘blockbuster’ film, Jaws opened in hundreds of theatres across the country (until then films only opened in a few theatres in major cities), backed up by a huge marketing campaign that featured the printed t-shirt. The feasibility of the printed t-shirt as promotional merchandise was now realised. A year later, a run of t-shirts featuring Charlie’s Angels star Farrah Fawcett was released and millions were sold.

By the end of the 70s, the printed t-shirt was a cultural tour de force. Many designs that emerged during this period continue to sell today. Examples include The Rolling Stones’ licking tongue, I <3 NY, and the smiley face. It was also during this time that one particularly influential person’s image began to proliferate both the mainstream and counterculture. You know who I’m talking about. Based on Alberto Korda’s 1960 photograph, and stylised by Irish artist Jim Fitzpatrick, this caricature was first popularised in 1967 when the original photo appeared in Paris Match magazine just weeks before said person was killed in Bolivia. You guessed it, you coffee-drinking Cuba Street urchin you. Che Guevara.

Oh, Che

The actual date Guevara’s likeness was first emblazoned on a t-shirt is unknown. Or at least, I couldn’t find it. Critics of Guevara’s iconoclastic indoctrination into popular culture appear to lump his t-shirt appearances with the mass manufacture of his caricature in general. Therefore, until new evidence comes to light, one can make the educated guess that Guevara’s shirted debut occurred during the initial t-shirt boom of the 1970s. (Do any of you know, perchance? I am curious.)

Much critical ink has been spilled over the highly capitalistic reproduction of Guevara’s image, a feat that, some argue, repackages, genericises and sterilises his likeness, turning it into a Western marketing cliché that dilutes his revolutionary countenance—something Guevara himself would have despised. In a way, this is true. But in another way it is the most archetypal example of the printed t-shirt as a medium of alternative expression. The forever controversial Guevara’s likeness being (ahem) hung out to dry was an early example of the printed t-shirt acting as a sounding board for countercultural values as well as mainstream fashion trends. The popularisation of Guevara’s image has kept both his personal narrative, and the narrative of Cuba, far more relevant and remembered than if it were relegated to the history books. The countercultural aspect can also be seen in the controversial nature of Guevara himself—some see him as a hero, others see him as a monster. In America, wearing a Guevara t-shirt would be even more subversive, given America’s pigheaded relations with Cuba in the past and present, a history that grants Guevara (and Cuba) the role of the noble underdog.

Of course, this has its own series of problems associated with it. Such a form of t-shirted counterculture would not be as palatable were it not for the romanticism of the Cuban revolution and aesthetic appeal of Cuba itself. One could wear a shirt bearing the flag of North Korea with the same ideology behind it, but it probably wouldn’t go down as well. Some people don’t like Che shirts because the only people who wear them nowadays are naïve ideological d-bags. I don’t know anyone who owns one of these shirts, so I can’t comment, though I once photoshopped one onto a colleague for a campaign poster. Where does that figure in counterculture? My friend Simon has a t-shirt of Che Guevara wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt, which is pretty boss.

My point is, no matter what arguments or perspective one may have, the reason why these arguments and debates even exist at such a populist level in this current wintry economic climate is because of the printed t-shirt. Mainly. And while the printed t-shirt has yet to elevate another recognisable figure to such lofty iconographical heights (though it came close with Shepard Fairey’s ‘Hope’ poster for Obama), it is doing something equally debatable with another countercultural figurehead: Banksy.

And then there was Banksy

Throughout both Auckland and Wellington an increasing number of people are sporting printed t-shirts that feature a reproduction of Banksy’s notorious street art. This curious phenomenon leaves one befuddled. Anyone who has been to Banksy’s website will note that Banksy himself does not sell official merchandise. A trip to the ‘shop’ section of the website presents one with this note:

“Products not actually included, serving suggestion only. All images are made available to download for personal amusement only, thanks.

“Banksy does not endorse or profit from the sale of greeting cards, mugs, tshirts, photo canvases etc. Banksy is not on Facebook, Myspace, Twitter or Gaydar. Banksy is not represented by any form of commercial art gallery.”

Further armchair research leads one to an online clothing store that sells Banksy t-shirts. Above the mosaic of different shirt designs the store has a note, stating: “All Banksy t shirts on this page are 100% unofficial and are not endorsed by the artist.” Interesting. If the artist doesn’t endorse it or profit from it, why would one want to spend money on it regardless? It seems absurd: an artist whose main body of work is illegal in nature and publicly available, so in order to own a copy of the work, the public buys it bootlegged from a third-party that obtained it for free and does not share the profits with the artist. Banksy’s work has always operated on a level similar to that of advertising: virally spread visual information that, due to its prominent and high profile content and positioning, the audience must experience and absorb whether they want to or not. However, instead of selling a product, it sells subversion.

So why then would you feel compelled to buy a Banksy t-shirt? Why not, say, buy his book, then if you really felt you needed to put his art somewhere, redecorate your flat with a can of spraypaint, against the behest of your flatmates? The answer: one of the biggest caveats of the printed t-shirt is other people. The main reason why one would realistically or ideologically want to wear a Banksy t-shirt is so the people who walk past you on Cuba Street (and are probably wearing Che Guevara t-shirts themselves) will know that you are the kind of person who knows and ‘supports’ Banksy. This, I feel, is symptomatic of the fiery baptism of the printed t-shirt medium in general and its subsequent integration by the baby boomers. The ‘me generation’ turned the potential of the printed t-shirt into a somewhat selfish and narcissistic idea that only serves to make people hyper-aware of the public audience who will see their t-shirt and judge them forthwith. Not to mention the invisible audience who ‘see’ their t-shirt and exist inside the wearer’s own head. As offspring unfortunate enough to have the ‘me’ generation as our parents and mentors, we are equally as doomed.

Of course, you could take the argument I made for Che Guevara and push it right back into my face with Banksy. You could claim that a significant portion of people wearing Banksy t-shirts keep his artwork in the public consciousness, thereby maintaining his reputation and notoriety and allowing all to be happy. You could do that, but you’d need to know a few things first. Unlike Banksy, both Koda and Fitzgerald (and Guevara’s daughter Aleida) endorse the proliferation of Guevara’s image—if his ideas are communicated along with his face. Banksy does not. Banksy’s face has never been revealed to the public. Banksy is alive and continuing to produce work. Che Guevara is not and does not. If Banksy never intended for the work to be on a t-shirt, isn’t one fueling the capitalist machine Banksy’s artwork is often attempting to subvert?

I am painting a bleak scene here and don’t mean to suggest all people who own Banksy t-shirts are naïve d-bags (not all of them, at least). Once again, it is an example of the effect the printed t-shirt can have, especially in the context of a contemporary artist and their interaction with the mainstream. A lot of current t-shirt producers are cool. There’s Threadless, who maintain a thriving community of artists and art critics through the user-submitted and user-voted nature of their print runs. Most of the webcomic community on the internet make their living by selling t-shirts and merchandise, along with a significant proportion of contemporary New Zealand artists. There’s also Mr Vintage here in New Zealand, who produce small runs of t-shirts that lovingly recapture aspects of New Zealand nostalgia or Kiwiana that would otherwise be forgotten. There’s also T-Shirt Hell, an American website once-famous for its ‘Worse than Hell’ clothing line: a selection of ultra-offensive t-shirts that no one with a brain would ever dare wear out in public, invisible audience or no. Choice examples included: “The Qu’ran, now in 2-ply!” or “I like my women how I like my coffee… ground up and in the freezer” or “I f*cked the Olsen twins before they were famous”. These designs are now no longer available. One wonders why.

For me, the greatest printed t-shirt-related event (aside from the Joel Cosgrove ‘I <3 My Penis’ saga) was the 2007 Big Day Out. Hard rock/emo band My Chemical Romance were on the bill, fuelling speculation that Mt Smart Stadium would be a teeming mass of black eyeliner, long fringes and androgyny. This speculation fuelled anxiety which was then expressed through the mainstream by people attending the day with perjorative t-shirts such as “I hate Emos”, “Emos should die” or “Fuck Emo” or something equally confrontational and deluded. Unfortunately for these punters, the emo wave had crashed and rolled back at the conclusion of the Taste of Chaos festival in late 2006. By the time January 2007 rolled around, there were hardly any emos left at all. They had burst from their gloomy chrysalises and become indie hipster butterflies. This left the emo-haters in a strange situation. They outwardly hated a subculture via printed t-shirts that was no longer around to be hated on. Oh how confused they must’ve been. Stripped of all purpose, the t-shirts must’ve faded and crumbled to dust, reduced of all worth and floating away like ash on a breeze. Unless they were all wearing them ironically.

So there you have it. T-shirts are complicated. They are fashion and market-influenced cultural signposts that contribute to the current hyper-communicative clusterfuck we all find ourselves currently inhabiting. To understand the history and semiotics of this wearable art form and fashion is to walk around campus with an ‘I was at Disneyland 2010’ printed t-shirt on your chest. Except you’ve never been to Disneyland. You’ve never even left New Zealand.

Sources:
E. Dixon, Mark, ‘A T Shirt history: From underwear to outerwear’
Lacey, Marc, ‘A Revolutionary Icon, and Now, a Bikini’, New York Times
Wreksono, Asmara, ‘The Most Famous Statement T-Shirts’

In case you haven’t heard, Avatar is awesome. An alien moon circling a distant planet, an exotic swathe of extraterrestrial flora and fauna—oh, and let’s not forget the ten-foot tall sentient beings who dart across the landscape like giant blue ninjas. What makes James Cameron’s masterpiece different, however, is the role of humanity in the interstellar first contact. No longer the hapless victims of an alien invasion, Avatar’s humans are themselves the invaders—the “sky people” from a far-off world. In Cameron’s digitally-created world, we are the aliens.

Strange as it may seem, the idea that humans might one day be extraterrestrial emissaries to an alien world is not entirely far-fetched. Yet almost everywhere we look, the task of finding life seems to be a daunting one. Interstellar distances and that pesky light-speed barrier make our chances of actually meeting alien life beyond our solar system rather slim. Closer to home, scientists speak excitedly about the possibility that microbial life may have existed on Mars millions of years ago.

But there is another candidate for life beyond our world. It is close to home, it contains a body of water larger than all of Earth’s oceans combined, and it has its own internal energy source. It has all the components believed to be necessary for life—and, what’s more, it has them today. Right now. Enter, stage left, Europa.

No, it’s not the band that wrote ‘The Final Countdown’. Europa is one of about sixty satellites of Jupiter, the largest planet in our solar system. It was discovered by Galileo Galilei in 1610 along with the three other ‘Galilean moons’—Io, Callisto and Ganymede. Very little was known about it until the 1970s when NASA’s Voyager missions were able to photograph it up close. What emerged would puzzle scientists. Europa appeared to have an icy outer crust crisscrossed with an ever-shifting landscape of cracks, fissures and craters. Through some unknown process, the surface of Europa seemed to be continually reinventing itself like a bad home renovation show.

The subsequent Galileo mission concluded that Europa’s bi-polar topography is most likely due to an ocean of liquid water beneath the shifting crust of ice. This ocean, heated by Jupiter’s immense tidal pull, is estimated to be as much as 50 kilometres deep. This same tidal pull is the cause of the fiery volcanic activity of Europa’s cousin, Io, and it is highly probable that the same volcanic activity occurs on Europa in the form of volcanic vents on the ocean floor. What’s more, it is theorised that the impact of cosmic rays on Europa’s exterior could convert the ice into oxidizers, providing a supply of oxygen into the subsurface ocean.

Europa contains all of the ingredients necessary for the development of a food chain—liquid water, oxygen, and an energy source. Put them all together, and that’s life, baby.

The grand scheme of things

So why is Europa so important?
“[Europa is] one of the very few places, along with Earth, where all the ingredients for life potentially exist,” says Dr Curt Niebur, NASA Program Scientist for the Europa Jupiter System Mission. “And what we’ve found on Earth is that wherever you have those ingredients for life, life somehow manages to make things work.”

“At the moment we know of just one planet which supports life,” adds Dr Claire Bretherton, Education and Public Programmes Manager at Carter Observatory Wellington. “But if we could find life on one of our own near neighbours this opens up the possibility of many, many more locations in our universe where life may be able to exist.”

For many, this puts Europa at the top of the list in the search for life. “Some scientists rate it higher than Mars as a likely abode of life and more worthy of a major initiative,” explains David Maclennan, President of the New Zealand Spaceflight Association.

“Wherever there is water, there is usually life, even if only of a microscopic nature.”

Niebur stresses that Europa presents a case study of what might be a common phenomenon throughout the universe. “As we’ve explored the universe … we’ve found that these giant gaseous planets like Jupiter are very, very common.

“And while we would not necessarily expect life to arise on these gas ball planets, what we’ve found unexpectedly in our solar system is that the moons orbiting them can actually be quite hospitable places.

“It could be that Earth-like planets are very rare in the universe, but habitable moons around gas giants might be quite commonplace.”

This means that the ‘goldilocks zone’—the narrow strip of space around any given star where the temperature is ‘just right’ for life to arise—may not be as significant as it was originally thought. Europa is well beyond this hypothesised temperate zone, yet it seems to harbour all of the necessary preconditions for life. “We’ve completely turned that [idea] on its ear in the past five to ten years,” says Niebur.

Fly me to the Moon… of Jupiter

If you’re anywhere near as geeky as me, you’re probably wondering the same thing I am—when are we going already?! As it so happens, NASA is currently working on a joint mission with the European Space Agency (ESA) to do just that. The Europa Jupiter System Mission, scheduled to be launched in 2020, is comprised of several spacecraft designed specifically to explore the moons of Jupiter, with a focus on—you guessed it—Europa.

“The goal of the overall mission is to investigate what we call the emergence of habitable worlds around giant planets,” explains Niebur.

“We’re going to study these unexpected oases in the outer solar system—learn how they formed, learn what sustains them, and learn exactly how hospitable they are. And once we understand these things, we can then perhaps learn how unique our solar system is, or if these kind of conditions might be commonplace in the universe.”

NASA has announced that the mission will not include a lander, citing both the complexity of a landing and a lack of knowledge of the Europan terrain. “Simply put, we just don’t understand enough about Europa yet to land there,” says Niebur.

“There are some basic, global science questions that we are asking that can only be answered from orbit. And once we learn enough, we’ll be able to both ask more focused questions that require a lander and, just as importantly, be able to design a vehicle that can survive landing—which is not an easy thing to do.”

Money is also an issue, with the ESA’s contribution facing competition from two other proposed European space missions. President Obama’s recent proposition that NASA focus its energy on a manned mission to Mars may also distract vital funds and expertise from Europa. “At the end of the day, it all comes down to money,” explains Maclennan.

“No bucks, no Buck Rogers.”

Can you dig it?

Like the kid on the first day of school who comes prepared with a full pencil case, NASA is already thinking ahead. In 2009, a team of scientists braved the cold and the threat of rampaging penguins to test out a small submersible vehicle named ENDURANCE in the frozen waters of Lake Bonney, Antarctica. Their key objective was to determine whether it was possible for an automated craft to melt through several kilometres of ice and explore the subterranean ocean underneath it—without any input from human operators.

The mission was a resounding success. “It was very much like being on a space mission at times,” explains Associate Professor Peter Doran, the mission’s lead investigator. “We’d be in the tent in the middle of the lake watching the live feed.

“Part of the excitement was the discovery of new things, part was the fear of getting it stuck … It is now a $5 million plus vehicle and we had little interest in losing it!”

Apart from exploring and taking scientific measurements, ENDURANCE can also render a three-dimensional map of its underwater world. “It was exciting … when we were exploring the terra incognita of the underwater glacier face,” says Doran.

The craft, affectionately nicknamed “The Bot”, is now “on R&R back in Austin Texas”. But will it ever go into outer space? “ENDURANCE itself is too big to ever go to Europa,” states Doran.

“It has just been teaching us how to do autonomous science in an extreme aquatic environment. For the Europa science, the next stage is to scale down.”

Niebur asserts that an ENDURANCE-based mission is the next logical step in the exploration of Europa after the 2020 mission. “I would bet that a lander mission is going to be sitting right near the top of the list for future exploration.”

We could be the “Sky People”!

What exactly might we find beneath Europa’s icy surface? “We really don’t know,” explains Niebur. “You would assume that it would be simple life—single-celled organisms—but we have no way of telling.

“Even in what we would consider drastic and unwelcoming environments on Earth, like around hot springs or volcanic vents, you can see a very complex eco-system arise.”

And how might the discovery of life beyond our planet affect us here on Earth? “How would it NOT affect us?” Niebur asks. “The implications of finding life beyond Earth would be profound in all walks of life.

“It’s impossible to imagine what you could learn scientifically or philosophically or spiritually if life—if ANY kind of life—were discovered beyond Earth.”

Maclennan is somewhat sceptical of the effect it would have on the everyday person. “I really can’t see the average Joe/Jane Bloggs getting too worked up about it.

“I think most people would just shrug their shoulders and go back to watching the real alien life forms on reality TV shows like Survivor or Big Brother.”

At the very least, the prospect that extraterrestrial life might exist within our backyard is an exciting one. And whether or not Europan life is complex in nature or merely the alien equivalent of herpes, it would solve once and for all the riddle of whether we are alone in the universe. If life can evolve independently twice in the same solar system, the chances are that it is prevalent throughout the universe.

And as for me? I’m holding out for alien sea monkeys.

We’ve all wished we could forget, at one stage or another. We wish we could forget trivial embarrassments: the time we texted a booty call to our mum by mistake, or the time we vomited chunks of mushroom and merlot in the shadows of the nearest alleyway. We wish we could forget the heartbreaks, the failures, the things that make us cry.

For a long time, these wishes were purely that: a flight of fancy. So much so that Eternal Sunshine won the Saturn Award for Best Science Fiction Film the year it was released. Targeted memory erasure is, after all, a ludicrous concept, and one destined to exist only in fantasy and film—or so we thought.

The Human Memory System

The main reason targeted memory erasure seems so implausible is because our memories are incredibly complex. Rather than being located in one specific area of the brain, the human memory uses a number of different neural structures, reflecting the different types of memories we have.

First of all, we have our short-term memory. This refers to our ability to hold information in our mind over a short space of time, usually only a matter of seconds. Although individuals differ in their capacity, we can, generally speaking, hold 7± 2 chunks of information (partially why telephone numbers are seven digits long). Rehearsing information in our short-term memory results in it being consolidated into our long-term memory, where it can then later be retrieved.

Long-term memory can be categorised according to ‘declarative’ and ‘non-declarative’ systems. Declarative memories are those which we are explicitly aware of and are able to articulate, and can be either episodic or semantic. Episodic memories catalogue our past experiences, and are typically associated with a specific time and place. Semantic memories, on the other hand, refer to our knowledge for generic facts. These memories lack the temporal and contextual component that characterise episodic memories, so although we all know that a light year is exactly 9,460,730,472,580.8 kilometres, we are unlikely to remember the precise moment when we learnt this.

Non-declarative memories, on the other hand, are more implicit in nature. They include physical skills, like riding a bike or doing sweet karate moves; spatial knowledge, like how to find your way around your house in the dark; and emotional associations, like how the smell of matches reminds you of birthdays.

The difficulty in erasing a specific memory is twofold. Firstly, sensory information is stored accordingly throughout the brain. Visual details are stored in our visual cortex, auditory details in our auditory cortex, and emotional details in the areas associated with emotional processing.

Memory storage is further fragmented because different types of memories are stored in different parts of the brain, and any specific memory we have will typically involve these different types. Let’s take, for instance, our memory of the time our big brother handcuffed us to a shopping trolley and then ran away, leaving us there for two hours before our mother found us sobbing in the dog food aisle, our pants a sodden mess. This memory is likely to involve not only episodic information, but also semantic information like the name of the supermarket (New World); emotional associations, such as how the smell of dog food now makes you weep; and spatial information, like the layout of the different aisles and the convoluted path we took as we tearfully searched for help.

Every time we retrieve that sordid ordeal from the recesses of our brain, the neurons associated with this memory are simultaneously activated and, as a result, strengthened. This is best summarised by Hebb’s rule that ‘cells that fire together, wire together’. Every time a memory is activated, the relationships between the neurons associated with it grow stronger, making it easier to remember. This is why repetition works: the more practice those specific neurons have at communicating with each other, the more efficiently they can be retrieved. This process—by which the associations between neurons are strengthened—is called long-term potentiation, and is integral to remembering.

Every time we retrieve a memory, we reconsolidate (or re-save) it. The neural activity involved in this process mirrors that initial process of consolidating information: after all, we’re basically re-running that process of transferring information from our short-term to our long-term memory. During reconsolidation, however, the memory being retrieved is temporarily vulnerable to modification. We tend to give specific details greater emphasis, for example—we’re more likely to remember the ugly dress your boyfriend’s bitchy ex was wearing than her inane comment about the sociology paper she’s doing. Over time, our memories are slowly re-edited. Details are lost while others are retained.

This process of reconsolidation is key to targeted memory erasure. If disrupted, our memories might not get properly re-saved. In some cases, they might not get re-saved at all. Although a number of neurochemicals are involved in the processes of long-term potentiation and reconsolidation, the two enzymes PKMζ and αCaMKII play a particularly important role in the retention of our long term memories, and hence have been the focus of research thus far.

Bypassing Memory Lane

Despite the staggering complexity of our memory system, targeted memory erasure is well on its way to becoming a reality. Studies have found that blocking either PKMζ or αCaMKII result in specific memories being erased, presumably because it disturbs the reconsolidation process. Researchers have, for example, developed a drug called ZIP that blocks the activity of PKMζ in the brain. In one study, rats were trained to press a lever in order to get a treat of cheese. Typically, once rats learn this behaviour, they don’t forget it. When a single dose of ZIP was administered during the execution of a lever press (and hence the process of reconsolidation), however, the response stopped. The specific memory (knowing that pressing the lever resulted in food) ceased to exist.

It isn’t just classically conditioned behaviours either. Studies have also erased rats’ memories for spatial information, including their ability to navigate their way through a maze while avoiding areas resulting in mild electric shocks. Thus, when ZIP was administered, the rats forgot their previously learnt knowledge of the space, and paid the price for it.

Taste memory has also been manipulated in aversion studies, where rats were given sugar water that elicited the symptoms of food poisoning. As you’d expect, they quickly learnt to avoid drinking said water. One dose of ZIP later, though, and they were lapping it up again, oblivious to the negative consequences of doing so.

Although ZIP has only been used on rats so far, scientists speculate that it will operate in a similar fashion in the human brain. Theoretically, then, if you administered ZIP while retrieving a specific memory, that memory could be erased forever. All those painful memories—the unnecessary fight you had with your boyfriend last week or the time you (accidentally) called out Anne Tolley’s name in the throes of passion—wouldn’t just be a thing of the past, they’d be gone forever.

Hello oblivion, goodbye shame?

The implications of these findings are huge. Drugs like ZIP could potentially serve as a ‘cure’ for psychological disorders like post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or drug addictions. But although their potential benefits are clear, whether such memories should be erased is another question altogether. We remember for a reason. We remember because it helps us learn, adapt, and ultimately, to survive.

Sure, we can forget that the homeless guy who sleeps in Central Park once cornered you and demanded that you hand over your wallet. And sure, maybe then we’ll stop shaking in fear every time that odious stench of bourbon, sweat and pee wafts past us. But if we forget, we fail to learn. If we forget, we live in a state of perpetual ignorance. Erasing traumatic memories means that we’ll continue to strut obscenely down that seedy stretch of road screaming “I’m rich, bitch!” and we won’t be a better person for it.

Erasing traumatic memories may offer an instant reprieve, but it will also hinder the natural process of recovery. If we erase these memories, we stunt our personal development, and our perception and understanding of the world becomes severely skewed: terrible things become less terrible, shameful acts seem less shameful, and we deny accountability for our actions.

Perhaps most importantly, erasing our memories means erasing a part of who we are, not just as individuals, but society as a whole. Our memories shape who we have become, without them we are vacuous vessels. Santayana’s observation that those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it springs to mind: what if, for instance, we erased everybody’s memories of the Holocaust?

Likewise, erasing the physical and psychological aspects of addiction sounds great—in theory. On the one hand, it has all the makings of an idyllic, addiction-free society. On the other hand, we become addicted for a reason. Providing the means through which addictions can be easily overcome may simply encourage greater experimentation, and an increased proclivity towards addictive behaviour.

Of course, many argue that the benefits of forgetting outweigh the costs. Walter Glannon at the University of Calgary maintains that “When a condition is intractable to other interventions, when it severely affects one’s quality of life, and when it poses a significant risk of harm to oneself and to others, considerations of immediate efficacy can override considerations of long-term safety.” The man has a point. PTSD can stem from horrific experiences like the time your dad made you bomb a small village in the South Island. The symptoms—which include flashbacks, nightmares, and depression—impact greatly on your ability to function in daily life. Nevertheless, rather than searching for a quick fix, emphasis should be placed more on addressing the actual experiences causing it. PTSD develops for a reason, and those reasons aren’t necessarily unavoidable.

Remembering the Past: Ro15-4513

The development of Ro15-4513 in 1984 raised similar ethical questions. Initially developed as an antidote to alcohol overdoses, commercialisation of Ro15-4513 was halted due to the legal issues surrounding its effects. Just as ZIP blocks the effect of PKMζ, Ro15-4513 was found to block the effect of ethanol without removing it from the bloodstream. In other words, you could knock back an entire bottle of whisky, do a little dance, realise you have a test in an hour, administer a dose of Ro15-4513 and sit your test sober (but fail because you didn’t actually study). The implications of this drug were concerning to say the least, largely due to its short half-life. Multiple doses were necessary for patients who were significantly intoxicated because the drug would wear off before the alcohol had metabolised in the body. There was, as a result, the possibility of a false sobriety. If alcohol was still being metabolised when the drug wore off, individuals would become incredibly drunk again, possibly resulting in serious accidents (like passing out on the motorway and plummeting to your death).

It’s not all bad though. One of the implications of ZIP is that it offers a starting point to develop a drug that enhances, rather than blocks, the activity of PKMζ or αCaMKII. If this is the case, the progression of neurodegenerative disorders that affect memory, like Alzheimer’s, could be slowed down. Of course, even the development of a drug like this poses a number of ethical issues: How much is too much?

A Possible Future Which Owes Naught to Memory

Picture this: The year is 2093. A new drug has been released into the market, aptly named ZIP. In townhouses all over the world, parents zealously crush up these pills on their Formica tabletops before sprinkling them carefully onto their kid’s cornflakes. They then wait impatiently, fervently hoping that their baby will become the next Stephen Hawking or Charles Xavier, minus the wheelchair.

Universities are swarming with lazy students who pop a couple ZIP at the beginning of their day. Cramming time is cut in half while drinking time triples. Weary lecturers keep jars of ZIP by their journals, their eyes darting suspiciously around as their shaky hands reach for yet another hit.

Meanwhile, in the back alleys of New York, a sweaty horse of a man clutches a handful of UnZIP as he waddles back to his loft. There, he greets his love. She stares back at him with muted eyes, her mumbling stifled behind the dirty rag tied roughly around her ashen cheeks. She squirms desperately in her chair as he descends upon her, but can do nothing as he crams the UnZIP down her throat. She whimpers as the memories of her captor melt away.

In a prison cell, a man grimly brings a bottle of UnZIP to his lips as he mentally relives the vicious stabbing of his son and his wife. Across the way, a rakish young lad shakes his head. “Has it come to this?” he asks.

The man gulps down a fistful of regret. “Yes.” He mutters hoarsely. “Yes, it has.”

Or not.

This is, of course, a future way beyond our grasp. Despite all the research, we still don’t know that much about the human brain, let alone our memory system. Although PKMζ and αCaMKII play a significant role in the retention of our memories, they’re not the only neurochemicals involved in this process, and the reality of targeted memory exposure is still a far way off. Indeed, Larry Squire, one of the leading researchers in the field of memory, warns that “It’s likely that any effects are reversible, temporary. You may be able to bring up a memory, weaken it, but eventually the memory comes back. The effect is more like interference than real change.”

The possibility of such a process is, however, there nonetheless, lurking in the shadows and sparkling in the sky. Be warned. Be prepared. And remember.

This article was first published in Craccum in 2009. Many, many thanks to Rosabel for her persmission to reprint this article. And thanks to Matt too. You guys rule.

For those who haven’t seen the infamous interview, could you briefly outline your argument against Earth Hour?

Basically, whether or not global warming is anthropogenic, or whether it is completely natural, I think the best response to any natural disaster—and there is a fantastic case study that has come along recently with that volcanic plume that has come all over Heathrow Airport et cetera—the best way to deal with a natural disaster is with the free market. It is with people consuming and producing goods all over the board, the way we do when there aren’t disasters. Through voluntarism and through free trade, rather than through rationing things out and essentially reducing consumption and going back to the cave, which is what I think Earth Hour is all about. Human Achievement Hour or Edison Hour is about embracing technology and science and using it. And using freedom to resolve the difficulties.

Could you clarify your personal position on climate change for me?

I know climate change is happening. I’ve seen the historical record. We’ve had ice ages in the past, and we’ve had warm periods in the past, so it’s not controversial to me that we have warming. I’m not an expert on this, but when it comes down to it, I haven’t been convinced that it is created by humans. I know a little bit about it, because I have friends who are climate scientists, funnily enough. My understanding is that it is completely natural and can be explained that way, and it is not necessary to blame human intervention in the climate problems that we are having.

You talk about the need to use technology to combat any disaster that may occur out of climate change.

And productivity too, the economy itself; the organism, the social structure that we have.
I think most people would agree with you, but would prefer to see preventative technology, rather than reactionary technology. How do you respond to that?

I think those are the sorts of people who want central planning. Look at this ash disaster over the airports. You don’t need some Stalin or some committee of people in a smoke-filled room, or somewhere out the back figuring out how the world is going to cope with this. The thing to do is to let individual coach companies and the train lines—and the shipping—let private individuals figure out how they’re going to get from A to B, because these sorts of problems are just way too complex, and I think that’s exactly the same and even more complex when it comes to global warming and how people are going to adapt to it. Look at some of the books you can read about past history. Humans have developed canals, the Dutch have this great dike system which they have been building for 500 years to keep the sea out. People have been irrigating, people have been having fire breaks for hundreds and hundreds of years. People respond to disaster scenarios by adapting, by creating new technologies, and basically by consuming and producing, and we get ourselves out of the shit that way. It works really, really well and I’d like to do it again this time.

In light of the dire warnings scientists have put forth, do you think governments should be encouraging business to innovate to respond to this warnings?

No, I think that would be completely unnecessary. I’ll use the analogy with children. You don’t need to tell children to eat sweets and watch cartoons because it sells itself. They know what is good for them. You don’t have to tell people to try and save money, and be thrifty and go for profit and save, because the incentives are already there. And I think it is the same with this. It would be ridiculous for a government to tell people what to do, and how to manage these crises. I think that people will have the incentive to do it, and in a free market they will be able to do it for themselves, and better than a state could arrange for the problem.

How do you feel about the resulting feedback from the clip?

I couldn’t possibly be happier. It’s wonderful. I think it’s coming up to 8000 people on that Facebook group. It seems to me, that for every 100, I get about 10 Facebook friend requests and emails, and out of that I get two or three really good people. Whether they agree with me or not, some of them are really great friends, and I wonder why we didn’t meet years ago, but it’s like you’re cold calling; you ring up people and you get one yes for every no you get. It’s been like that for me. I’ve met some wonderful people, and I am having some great conversations and it is really boosting my side of things. I don’t care about the whole lot of people who just swear, and make fun of me, and make ridiculous photoshopped images of me. Those are the sorts of people who don’t rate with me.

Were you speaking on behalf of Act on Campus in the interview?

Yes.

You have since been stood down as President of Act on Campus. Is that right?

No, I’m still president, but unfortunately my vice-president, and a couple of guys on my executive, mid-week from the first week decided this was embarrassing, and they set up their own version of Act on Campus. So we’ve got some nasty in fighting going on, but I am still recognised by the Act Party as the president, and I’ve got more members than they do. There are lots of arguments that can be had, but we’re trying to figure that one out. Unfortunately, they’ve got the keys to the website, but I still consider myself president and I’m doing my best to work that one out. There is something to be said for moving on though, because I’m a dad and I’ve got three kids now. I hope to wrap my degree up, and I’m trying to get out of the game and pass the torch, but unfortunately at the end of the show it’s become really exciting and there is a lot going on. So while I am trying to withdraw gracefully, there is all this tension. I need to figure out what I want to do, as I just want to be a dad. I’ve had my little stint at university, and student politics.

My flatmate often gleefully tells us of her latest golden shower experience when she gets home from work.

She heads off every morning and has a new story to tell us when she gets home. Seriously weird goings on really.

But there is method in her seemingly kinky madness.

Victoria University has partnered with Wellington Zoo to research possum contraception.

My flatmate Hadley Watson is on the research team, and part of her job is to play with animals, make them pee in a cup and feed them jam sandwiches.

It isn’t all cute animals and jam sandwiches in the wild though. Possums can be rather destructive, eating native bird eggs, and as carriers of tuberculosis they are a headache and serious economic threat for farmers.

Controversy surrounds methods to control the pests in the wild. The 1080 poison drops have prompted protests and court cases in an attempt to stop the drops.

Approximately $110 million is spent annually on possum control, and the majority of this is being spent on poisons.

Led by Associate Professor Research Fellow Doug Eckery from the School of Biological Sciences, research is underway to reduce reliance on 1080 poison by developing vaccines and other compounds to make possums infertile.

Before moving to Vic in 2006, Eckery had been involved in possum fertility control research for a number of years.

Eckery worked with the Wellington Zoo to establish a possum breeding colony, which allows the research team access to the possums to check the effectiveness of the contraceptive methods.

“I wanted to continue research in this area because it was challenging scientifically and also because the results can make a real difference to how possums are managed in New Zealand. But I needed access to at least a small colony of animals. Thankfully, we were able to relocate several animals from a colony I had previously established to the zoo.”

Eckery and his team work closely with the zoo to ensure the comfort of the animals.

“There are very strict guidelines for the use of animals in research, and just because possums are regarded as a serious pest, their use is no exception.

“Our possums are housed in free-range pens and a lot of effort is put into making sure the pens are environmentally enriched.

“Staff at the zoo treat our animals to the same high standard they would any other animal at the zoo and also provide any veterinary care if needed. Unhealthy or stressed possums won’t breed well, so it’s very important that we provided the right environment for our animals.”

Hadley said part of the team has bonded with the possums.

“When I began work with the project in January this year, I didn’t realise it would be such a boon for both the animals and scientists involved.

“While animal research can often be a sad affair, those of us working with the colony at the Wellington Zoo establish very real and rewarding relationships with our possums and treat them as colleagues in this effort to find a safe and healthy sterilisation method.”

Eckery told Victorious magazine the current global trend for the management of invasive wildlife species is the use of non-lethal methods of control.

A Hawkes Bay farmer says that while the poison programme has been effective, he would welcome longer-term biological controls.

“It takes a lot of time to mange pest control issues on a property. The 1080 programme has been very effective, but there were issues in the regional council management of the poison distribution and management.

“There is really no other option but to develop effective biological controls.

“While tuberculosis is the major concern, the destruction of the forests and native bird life is also a problem.

“They eat the eggs and destroy the trees. Flying over the native forests on our property, you could see that all of the rata trees were dead from the possums eating the shoots.

“Following the implementation of the 1080 programme, the forests had a chance to start regenerating and the increase in bird life on and around our property was very apparent.”

Eckery says the development of these alternative controls is encouraged across all research in the field.

“Following the recent reassessment of 1080 poison in New Zealand by the Environmental Risk Management Authority, a recommendation was given for more research into alternative methods of possum control.

“In line with this requirement, part of the reproductive biology research programme at Victoria is focussed on methods of fertility control for the management of possums in New Zealand.”

The research, carried out in partnership with the National Research Centre for Possum Biocontrol, is finding ways to control the fertility, but is also looking at how to administer the vaccines once completed.

“A major challenge now is to develop practical methods to deliver these vaccines and compounds to possums in the wild.”

Eckery says the partnership with the Wellington Zoo is very complementary and “it’s been a great fit”.

“It has allowed both of us to achieve some of our objectives and I think it has opened up new opportunities that we wouldn’t have had otherwise.

“In addition, the partnership has helped to educate the public about the impacts of invasive animals on biodiversity and has facilitated wider discussions about the use of poisons and possible alternatives to possum control.”

Wellington Zoo Chief Executive Officer Karen Fifield told Victorious magazine that conservation research is a key component of the Zoo’s conservation strategy.

The strategy is behind the motivation to partner with Victoria.

“We are thrilled to partner with Victoria University for the protection of New Zealand flora and fauna.”

New Zealand’s ignorant media?

New Zealander and Bangkok resident Simon Grigg, who writes the blog The Opinionated Diner expressed his shock at the lack of coverage from the New Zealand media following the events of Black Saturday, stating he was both “appalled”, and “amazed” at what he describes as “New Zealanders… giving Americans a run in the global ignorance stakes these days.”

Writing on Sunday 11 April, Grigg recounted: “At about 6am New Zealand time, about 12 hours after the shit had hit the fan, if you will, and bodies had begun to fall in Bangkok, I’d see how the biggest news outlets in New Zealand were covering this.” Grigg then posted images of the front pages of the NZ Herald, TVNZ News and Stuff websites, none of which had anything pertaining to the conflict in Thailand. Furthermore, Grigg says he “was reliably informed that this was the news item that had gone through to the editors of TVNZ”.

Asia New Zealand Foundation (AsiaNZ) media advisor, Charles Mabbett also found the New Zealand media’s response “disappointing”.

“Hundreds of New Zealanders go there each year on holiday. There are quite a number of New Zealanders based in Bangkok, working as journalists, or in public relations, who might even be married to Thai partners.

“We have very visible and strong people-to-people links with Thailand. We also get a few Thai students coming here to study at our secondary schools and universities, not to mention the number of Thai nationals that now call New Zealand home. In the 2006 census, that was about 6000, so it is likely to be larger than that now.”
Further to this, New Zealand also has reasonably strong economic ties to the Southeast Asian nation. According to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade (MFAT) website, in July 2005 New Zealand signed a Closer Economic Partnership Agreement with Thailand, and the country is currently our 10th largest bilateral trading partner, and 14th largest export market. From a global perspective, Thailand also holds an important place in tourism, currently ranked the 18th most visited country in the world.

“It is a country that is important to Southeast Asia, and indeed the rest of the world, and it was just disappointing to see that the New Zealand news media didn’t identify that as a high priority story on that Sunday morning, and even on the Saturday actually, just before the killings happened.”

Although Mabbett concedes, “the story was competing with the death of the Polish President”, and he admits “the media caught up”, he calls attention to the fact that “It’s not a zero sum game. It’s not a matter of one story competing against another, although in the way news is prioritised, it often is. Both stories really deserved prominence.

“The news has been traditionally Anglo-centric, or Euro-centric in New Zealand because of our Anglo-centric roots and colonial ties, but I think news editors need to reconsider and have a look at where we are on a map, and start to realise that there are fantastic news stories happening much closer to home, which by and large are being ignored by the New Zealand media,” he says.

“I think there is a good case to be made for a slight re-orientation, pun not intended, in what we decide is news, and how to lay it out on a website or in a newspaper, to give these kinds of stories more prominence so New Zealanders are more closely in touch with what is happening in a region that is close to them.”

Black Saturday

Not to be confused with the Australian bushfire tragedy of February 2009, Black Saturday is the name being used to describe the escalation of violence on 10 April 2010, which saw 24 people killed, and hundreds injured in clashes between the military and Red Shirt protestors, in the worst violence in two decades in Thailand.

The violence erupted when soldiers attempted to clear one of the two protest sites. Both sides suffered casualties, with eyewitnesses saying protestors used makeshift weapons including molotov cocktails, rocks and plastic chairs, among other objects, to repel the army. The army retreated eventually, after the deaths of six soldiers, and capture of four others who were paraded in front of a Red Shirt rally before being released.

The military say their troops mostly used rubber bullets, which experts have said can be lethal, and claimed that live ammunition was only used in “self-defence”. Later, the Police General Hospital autopsies revealed that nine of the dead were shot with high velocity bullets, some at a range of less than a metre.

There have also been reports of mysterious black-clad men who fired assault rifles and are suspected to have fired grenade launchers. It remains unknown on which side these men fought, with Red Shirt leaders claiming the men were sent in by the government as provocateurs, while government officials have blamed the Red Shirts.

Understanding the conflict

It is almost impossible to truly delve into the origins of the current conflict taking into account Thailand’s complex recent political history. The current 2008­–2010 conflict in Thailand has its origins in the 2005–2006 Thai political crises, although from the moment Thailand reverted from an absolute monarchy, to a ‘democratic’ state in 1932, the country has been ruled by a number of authoritarian regimes, and the political stability of the country has been disrupted by countless military coups.

Former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was democratically elected, winning by a landslide in 2001. He was widely supported by the rural poor for his policies, which saw poverty reduced hugely throughout his terms in office, as well as the introduction of universal healthcare. However, Thaksin was constantly thrown into the limelight, with opposition largely made up of the Bangkok elite alleging a number of conflicts of interests as well as claims that the prime minister consistently insulted the Thai monarch, King Bhumibol Adulyadej. This opposition eventually led to a military coup in 2006 while Thaksin was attending a UN summit, and the billionaire former prime minister has remained in exile ever since.

Following the coup, the military junta thoroughly revised the constitution and eventually organised elections for December 2007, subsequently won by the People’s Power Party (PPP), which was made up of many politicians from Thaksin’s former Thai Rak Thai (TRT) Party.

Throughout 2008 until now, power has been precariously held and heavily contested respectively by both the PPP, and then the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD). The PAD supporters usually dress in yellow (the ‘Yellow Shirts’), whereas followers of the cumbersomely named National United Front of Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD), who support the PPP, dress in red (the ‘Red Shirts’).

The 2010 series of events arose out of the seizure of assets worth over NZ$2 million from former Prime Minister Thaksin, and subsequent grenade attacks on three branches of the Bangkok Bank. Red Shirt protestors have since converged on Bangkok, calling for current Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva to both call new elections and officially stand down. The protests were relatively peaceful, until the situation escalated out of control on Black Saturday.

Thailand under the Red Shirt

Dr Pavin Chachavalpongpun, of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies in Singapore, recognises that in the face of this exceptional escalation in violence, “The position of power, long dominated by the Bangkok elite, is on the verge of collapsing.” Furthermore, he says that Prime Minister Abhisit’s “chances of surviving this brutal game are slim”. Despite the inevitable downfall of Thailand’s current government, however, he contends that the Red Shirt movement needs to clearly put forward its political ideologies in the view that many of its members “have passion but little direction”.

Dr Chachavalpongpun explains that it was former Prime Minister Thaksin who put in place the mechanisms which saw the majority of the Thai population begin to question their traditional exclusion from Thailand’s political system.

“Throughout the Thaksin Shinawatra period, the billionaire prime minister shifted the political consensus. He did this with a series of populist programmes, such as cheap universal health care, and ample village development funds… During his six-year administration, not only did (people) taste a more comfortable life, but they were also offered a chance to elect their favourite leader in a ballot box.”

He argues that as a result of this shift in the political consensus, the violence on Black Saturday proved that the rural poor are “no longer subservient” to the Bangkok elite and will continue to fight for a more equal society. Despite this, Thaksin’s role in encouraging equality, and the support he continues to enjoy from many of the Red Shirt protestors, Dr Chachavalpongpun is quick to point out that it is highly unlikely Thaksin could return to Thailand to govern.

“He is damaged goods. He was found guilty of abusing his power while serving in office. He might still be adored by millions of his supporters, but he has many millions of enemies too.” As a result of this abuse of power, he explains that the Red Shirt leadership “have claimed to battle against the social injustices and the double standards that have long prevailed in Thai society, and thus not really to protect Thaksin’s interest”.

Beyond the illustration of a refusal of subservience, a lack of clarity in the Red Shirt’s political ambitions have allowed the current government to accuse the Red Shirt leadership of simple thuggery. Furthermore, in the face of the violence that erupted on Black Saturday, Prime Minister Abhisit has gone so far as to brand the leaders as “terrorists”, mirroring the hyped rhetoric of many governments who hold power with questionable legitimacy.

The current demands of the Red Shirts are limited to a call for Prime Minister Abhisit to step down immediately, and call new elections, which has led Dr Chachavalpongpun to stress the exigent urgency of a full clarification in the Red Shirt political position and aspirations. “The Red Shirts need to transform themselves into an organised political party with a clearer political manifesto and long-term policy.” He explains that this is not only to “put across their political ideology and get rid of certain perceptions in the eyes of the Bangkok residents”, but also because some “of their followers from the rural regions, while endorsing the movement’s course to bring down the aristocratic rule in Bangkok, have a rather vague idea of how their lives would be improved after the election”.

At the end of the day, he emphasises that despite the Red Shirt’s predominantly rural support and their aims to see decentralisation of wealth and power, and increased equality, if and “when they come to power, they will undoubtedly have to deal with Bangkok, which after all, is the centre of political power. And the elitist class will never disappear. Classes are the main characteristic of Thai culture.”

Red Shirts

Worn by the National United Front of Democracy Against Dictatorship (UDD). They support the deposed Prime Minister Thaksin, and they claim that the current government is illegitimate. The are calling for fresh elections. The Red Shirts are the main group involved in current protests.

Yellow Shirts

Generally worn by the supporters of the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD). The PAD was originally formed in mobilisation against the former Thai President Thaksin Shinawatra. The yellow shirts have not been out in force in the latest round of protests.

Three days of competition ensued, with the team putting up a fight for the shield, however, due to distance we lacked the numbers and the shield, OUR shield—Shieldy—now has to spend the year in the frozen south til we can bring it back where it belongs.

Team Vic may have lacked in numbers, but we made up for it in results, winning five gold medals, one silver and four bronze.

Basketball:
Men’s—Gold
Women’s—Gold

Squash:
Men’s Singles—Gold
Women’s Singles—Gold

Debating:
Vic 2—Gold
Vic won all five trophies on offer at the Debating Competition.
Vic Debsoc took its winning streak to twelve consecutive wins at a Uni Games.

Cross Country:
Silver (Tomas “London Bridge” Bridgeman)

Netball:
Bronze

Tennis:
Men’s Singles—Bronze
(Brook “Morepork” Morepeth)

Basketball:
Men’s B—Bronze

Debating:
Vic 1—Bronze

Football:
4th

Aquathon:
4th

Rowing:
4th

Touch:
5th

Team Vic’s spirit was strong. At certain stages during the closing ceremony all you could hear in the velodrome was “V—I—C. VV—I—C” over the larger team chants from Otago and Auckland. The chants were even louder when Michael “Lone Victory Lap” Pittams made his way down to the stage to grab the unguarded shield for a final victory lap for Victoria University around the velodrome, before running down the stairs prompting Sport Southland staff to give chase. They eventually caught up with Michael “Lone Victory Lap” Pittams after he got tired and needed a rest. Rebecca “Grabaseat” Van Kuyk also spurred the team into further frenzy when she competed in Grab a Seat’s musical chair competition, coming second and then announcing to all the sports teams over the PA system that AUT was not a real university.

Team Vic would like to thank its sponsors VUWSA, Victoria University of Wellington and Railway Metro New World.

Team Vic would also like to extend its gratitude to The Ascot Park Hotel for taking such amazing care of our team, in particular The Tavern staff (Denise the bar manager you were amazing), house keeping and the reception staff (Katie thanks for being so understanding and whoever was on when the team left at 4.30am Saturday morning).

VUWSA would like to thank its athletes for their participation in the Invercargill Uni Games and hopes that you will return and compete in next year’s Uni Games 2011.

The team

Melissa “Manager” Barnard
Brent “You’re dead to me” Hayward

Basketball
Rikki Owen
Adam Lagan
Pekahau Parata
Sam Hillman
Devan “Where’s My Snowboard?” McDonald
Hone Komarkowski-Simpson
John “Drivethrough/sweatervest” Shoemaker
Josh McCombie
David Nichols
Tim Kung
Maclean Gordon
Kale Joines
Paley Li
Lisa Scott
Margaret Scott
Jessica Slade
Rebecca “Grabaseat” Van Kuyk
Rachel Beck
Matthew “Guns” Simister
Misaki “Late Night Van Hostage” Ochi
Gerrard “Ged” Light

Squash/the Squishies
Michael “Lone Victory Lap” Pittams
Stephen “Spider Bill” Kibblewhite
Robert “Wine and Cheese” Wall
Stephanie “Fanny” Smith
Jacob “Anger Management/ Teets” McCarthy

Tennis
Brook “Morepork” Morpeth

Cross Country
Tomas “London Bridge” Bridgeman

Aquathon
Amy “Dance Skillz” Robson

Touch
Lingy “LingLing/Lynx/Ca-Ching-a-Ling” Au
Scott “Scooter” Roche
Raimona “Rai” Tapiata
Abigal “Abi” Tepania
Stirling “Stir” Tito
Raiha “Giggles/Surfer Chick” Piripi
Moraz “Moron/Raz” Parker-Potai
Stephen “Comatose” McLaren-Elvy

Debating
Asher Emanuel
Lauren Brazier
Nicholas Cross
Richard D’Ath
Udayan Mukherjee
Tom Matthews
Sebastian Templeton
Sam Ward
Daniel Wilson
Paul Smith
Cassandra Shih
Jodie O’Neill

Netball
Courtnee “Tragic” Walker
Renee De Ruyter
Amelia Smith
Alisha Allan
Tekura Moeka’a
Tanya Wilson
Taina Wilson
Julie “COACH” Wilson

Football
Kane “GHD” Landers
Liam “Snowflake” Foley
Max “Max Payne” Hardy
Thomas “Drogba” Banda
Daniel “Rooney” Salter
Yorick “Prank Call” Canales

Rowing
Samantha McCombie
Tessa Bone
Rachel Mason
Larissa “KB“  Print
Vanessa Haigh
Riva Fisher
Lisa “Lap” Rofe
Alice “Makita” Courtney
Stacey Hone
Stephanie Clarke
Claire Rainier
Allanah Faherty
Katrina “Kat“ Fort
Jessica Judd
Amy Robson
Paul Rainier
Robert “Rob“ McDonald
Matthew “Wake up in the morning feeling like Matt Castle” Castle
Mark Harte
Griffin “Griff“ Hunt
Nick Launder
George Abernethy
Cameron Pentecost
Andrew Taylor
Hamish “Useless” Journeaux
Edward Warren
Douglas Cade
Justin “Maddog” Hurst
Michael “Big Mike” Herder
Silipa Burgess
John Chapman
Melissa Harding
Henry Lane
Francessa Kliffen
James Robbins
Axel Dickenson
Kelly “American Kelly” Allen
Jessica Vallance
Victoria Bartley
Josh “Tom Sparks” Roche
Owen Gibson
Nick Maher
Rohan Cahill-Fleary
Tam “Danger” Irvine
Liam Sweeney
Belinda Martin
Edward Cade
Paul Moreno
Lowry Gladwell
Elizabeth “Libby” Major
Tim “Swamp” Wilson

“Where are you from?”

That question never fails to trip me up, because the truth is—I’m not sure.

I was born and raised in England to (very) English parents. I continue to speak with that accent, and I drink four or five cups of tea per day—but I haven’t been back there for almost a decade.

Between the ages of nine and 13, I travelled with my family around Europe, the Caribbean and the South Pacific, spending a fortnight or so in each country we visited.

In 2004, we found ourselves in New Zealand, where we’ve lived for the past six years. I’ve survived NCEA; made lasting friendships; toured the length of the country; and even been confirmed as a citizen—but I’m still not sure if I consider myself Kiwi.

New Zealand is full of people like me: people who have no concrete sense of belonging to any one nation. Does this mean that there is no such thing as cultural identity? Or, alternatively, does it have such specific boundaries that it excludes more readily than it includes?

Culture shock

Fairooz Samy is in her second year of studying Political Science, International Relations and Media Studies. Her mother is Algerian; her father, half Turkish, half Egyptian.

“I was born in Cairo; I speak Arabic, French and English; and I’m a citizen of Egypt, Algeria, New Zealand and Britain,” says Fairooz.

“We immigrated to New Zealand in 2001, when I was 10, basically because my parents wanted somewhere nice for them to retire and me to grow up.

“It was a little odd at first, coming from Cairo to settle in quiet suburbia, which just doesn’t exist anywhere in Egypt. Everyone was nice, down-to-earth, super casual. You don’t get that level of ‘laid back’ in other countries.”

In Egypt, Fairooz had attended a British international school, “where there was this giant emphasis on the cultural differences between everyone.

“In New Zealand, I was this little freak who couldn’t even say ‘yes’ the same way they did,” she remembers. “I was accepted as the token ethnic girl.”

Fairooz recalls making a “conscious decision” to start speaking with a Kiwi accent when she was about 11.

“Nowadays, sure, I totally identify as a New Zealander—even more so when I’m overseas, but that’s probably because there isn’t anyone there who can tell me that I’m not,” she says.

“I’d be visiting family in Algeria and feel like a total tourist, starting every sentence with ‘Back home in New Zealand’, and feeling patriotic whenever we’d eat New Zealand lamb.”

Despite being well established in her second home, Fairooz hesitates when I ask for her definition of a New Zealander.

“I’m not sure if I’m the best person to answer that,” she confesses. “Is it all about backyard cricket, and school Kapa Haka?

“Maybe it’s as simple as the TV One ads make it out to be. Maybe New Zealanders are just that: laid-back, hard-working, generous, no-nonsense people, with such a population that there’s a tangible sense of camaraderie and dependability.

“Cheese on cheese, I know, but it’s giving me the warm fuzzies,” she says wryly.

Needless to say, Fairooz knows the advantages of having a couple of identities to select from.

“Whenever I get frustrated with some aspect of Kiwi life, I still roll my eyes and sort of thank god that I have a couple of other cultures to fall back on,” she remarks.

However, this has its drawbacks.

“It can get confusing, and I feel disloyal for taking such a pick-and-choose approach to who I consider myself to be,” admits Fairooz.

“I can’t escape the fact that racially, I’ll always be Arabic… but ironically, I’ve never met an Arab who really thought of me as authentic—Arabic isn’t even my first language.

“I’ve always felt a tad phoney.”

From Fire and Ice, to the Long White Cloud

Daan Kjartansson, a second-year student, was born in New Zealand to a Kiwi mother and an Icelandic father. He grew up in Iceland, but moved to Wellington to study at university. He is a citizen of both countries, and speaks Icelandic and English fluently.

He says he had no problems adjusting to Kiwi life, and that “it just happened”, as people at his university hall were interested in finding out more about his culture.

“The only problem is that I think in Icelandic, and always have to translate it into English, and I often forget the English words for something.”

Although he admits that he’s “becoming more and more Kiwi every day”, Daan sees himself as an Icelander.

“I still see Iceland as home, and all of my family still live there.

“I’m very interested in Norse mythology, which has played a big role in Icelandic history,” he says.

“And Icelanders are all about soccer, and I play a lot of soccer myself.

“Icelandic music also influences me quite a lot, and I try to listen to some daily, so I don’t forget about Iceland.”

Taste in music is one of the biggest differences Daan has noticed between his two cultures. Although he’s quick to point out that he can’t generalise New Zealanders, he’s noticed that most are interested in “rugby, drinking, and listening to reggae.

“The music produced here is quite different—there’s a lot of reggae and dub, which is probably influenced by the sun.”

Certainly, it’s hard to imagine The Black Seeds hailing from Iceland, where the climate is described as ‘sub-polar oceanic’.

Best of both worlds

Felix Hallwass, an Honours student, moved to New Zealand from Germany when he was six years old. He identifies strongly with both his birth country and his adopted one.

“I see myself as a German Kiwi, as I know my morals and personality are a combination of what my German parents have taught me, as well as what I have experienced as part of growing up in New Zealand,” he says.

Felix admits that while he considers home to be where his family live, “I’d always call Bremen my hometown, not Nelson. In sport, I’d always support Germany.”

I ask Felix how his cultural identities affect him on a daily basis.

“My parents, sister and I are German citizens, and speak mostly German at home, although it has slowly become an English-German hybrid.

“Having two distinct cultures to identify with, I’ve been able to decide the aspects or attitudes of each culture that appeal to me, or I agree with,” he says.

“The result of this is an interesting synthesis of ideas that influence how I interact with others, and this has given me a greater appreciation of diversity.”

Open mind, common sense

James Burtin, a second-year student of Psychology and Criminology, found himself in New Zealand in 2005. He was born in Grasse, France, to an English mother and a French father, and considers himself “a big mixture of hopefully all the good aspects of each culture”.

His diverse upbringing has influenced him in several respects.

“Probably the most important way is that I always try to be friendly to whoever I meet—especially if they’re new to the area, as I know how hard it can be to adjust to new places,” he says.

Felix agrees.

“I think my background allows me to empathise well with different people.”

“Apart from an identity crisis here and there”, Fairooz says that her background has made her “curious about the world”, as well as more tolerant.

“I try not to pigeonhole,” she says.

“I think that’s because I always expect people to have preconceived notions about me.”

This open-mindedness is a recognised characteristic of ‘third culture kids’ (TCKs): those who, as children, spent a significant period of time in one or more cultures, and now integrate elements of those into a third culture. TCKs often experience this ‘identity crisis’ that Fairooz refers to, as they’ve invariably never fully experienced one culture.

Fairooz empathises with my description of third culture kids.

“It’s ticking most of the boxes,” she says. “I can definitely identify with the global culture thing.

“But do I feel incomplete? Not really. I wouldn’t want to socialise with just other TCKs, either. Wouldn’t they be just as mystified as I am?”

“I don’t feel that I have to be friends with other TCKs exclusively, or that it’s easier to befriend them,” agrees James. “I just enjoy meeting others, as it fascinates me as to how they’ve adjusted to life in a different culture.

“I think I fit into the third culture category to some extent,” he adds.

“I can quite easily go from one clique to another without too much hassle.”

Future plans

I ask James where he sees himself in ten years’ time.

“I see myself living in another country,” he says. “I yearn for new experiences. I’m not sure where, but I’d enjoy living somewhere different.

“I will, of course, return to New Zealand, as out of the three places I’ve lived, it’s definitely my favourite.”

Daan concurs.

“I’ve got no idea what the future has to offer, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll still be in Wellington,” he says.

“I can’t see me going back [to Iceland] for good in the near future, but definitely for visits. The weather’s just a lot better here.”

Fairooz is more definite, when I ask her whether she intends to return to Egypt for good.

“God no!” she exclaims.

“My dad just got back from a month stay there, and he said it was like coming back from hell.

“I’d go back for a holiday—Egypt is an amazing place to visit, but I feel as though the only way I can have any pride in my cultural heritage is if I’m not living in a daily reminder of why I left it behind in the first place.

“In ten years, I have no idea where I’ll be,” she says. “Maybe in Europe, maybe still in New Zealand. It’s not such a bad place, after all.”

“He took me over to the poles, which were willow stumps, six to eight inches in diameter and twice the height of a man, and placed me against one of them … I stood with my back to it and he tied me to it by the ankles, knees and wrists. He was an expert at the job, and he knew how to pull and strain at the ropes till they cut into the flesh and completely stopped the circulation … I was alternately burning hot and shivering with cold, and the constant pain in my joints woke me whenever I did doze off from exhaustion … When I was taken off my hands were always black with congested blood.”

So wrote Archibald Baxter of his experiences during the First World War. This incident, however, did not occur in a German prisoner of war camp. It was called ‘Field Punishment No.1’, and it was the ultimate disciplinary measure of the First New Zealand Expeditionary Force.

Baxter was one of a small handful of individuals known as ‘conscientious objectors’—people who refused to obey the commands of their superiors rather than fight in a war that they did not believe in. His story is one that few people are aware of. Indeed, in the greater narrative of the Anzac Day tradition, the experiences of objectors are often swallowed up by stories of patriotism and sacrifice. And while the Anzac tradition is undeniably a valuable one, the stories of those who oppose war are just as noteworthy.

A conservative nation

Turn-of-the-century New Zealand was a far more conservative place than it is now. Strong ties to Great Britain and a powerful church made for a state with a hand in both the political and moral character of the nation. New Zealand had demonstrated its loyalty to the ‘mother country’ during the Boer War in the 1890s, and the state began to push for a robust defence force of its own in the following decade. This led ultimately to the introduction of compulsory military training (CMT) in 1909 for all men over the age of 11.

The roots of conscientious objection lie in the CMT legislation. It was opposed by a minority of religious leaders, socialists, and pacifist groups, who claimed that the legislation denied civil liberties and would lead to the militarisation of the nation’s youth.

“It was sort of … a test ground for what later emerged,” says Steven Loveridge, a PhD candidate at Victoria University studying the New Zealand home front during the Great War.

When war broke out in August 1914, many of these groups disbanded or perished.

“Most of the pacifistic societies … realised they weren’t going to win the mainstream over at the time,” Loveridge explains. Organised labour was also split between those who supported the war and those who saw it as a capitalistic struggle. The majority of the country, however, was unanimous in its support for Great Britain.

It was initially hoped that enough men would volunteer for service as to make conscription unnecessary. Indeed, 14,000 men had enlisted within the first week of the war. Nevertheless, by the beginning of 1916 the flow of volunteers was beginning to dry up; word began to reach home of the harrowing conditions on the front, along with the horrific injuries of the first returned soldiers. In August 1916 the government decided to take the plunge—it passed the Military Service Act approving conscription.

Who were the ‘conchies’?

Conscientious objectors (or ‘conchies’) were known by many derogatory names during the First World War—shirkers, cowards, loafers, parasites. Whatever the label, it is important to note that conchies were not a unified group. They came from diverse backgrounds and ethnicities, and their reasons for refusing to be conscripted were varied.

Not all conchies were anti-war, either. “People confuse pacifism and conscientious objection,” says David Grant, a prominent New Zealand historian on conchies.

“Conscientious objection is where a person refuses to be a part of the military establishment, by refusing to train under compulsory military training or refusing to join the army during wartime, on grounds of conscience.

“Pacifism is anyone who has an objection to war, but may or may not be [a] conscientious objector.”

The typical objector was either Pakeha, Maori or Irish, and they objected on religious, political, ideological, or anti-militarist grounds.

“You’d want to whittle out those who were motivated by not wanting to fight in a British fight, like the Irish and Maori,” argues Loveridge.

“They weren’t necessarily pacifists—they just wanted to pick their fight.”

Loveridge adds that the most vocal objectors were “miners and militants—those who objected to the war because of their view that it was a capitalistic struggle”.

Nevertheless, the state held all the cards in the conscription debate. With the passing of the Military Service Act and the War Regulations, those who openly protested against conscription risked imprisonment. Indeed, many individuals were charged with sedition and sentenced to hard labour for speaking out against the act, including Labour MP Paddy Webb.

The narrow provisions of the Military Service Act exempted only those who could demonstrate that their religion defined war as “contrary to divine revelation”. This left a broad swathe of conchies without a leg to stand on.

Defiant to the end: The story of Baxter and Briggs

Archibald Baxter and Mark Briggs were, for all intents and purposes, ordinary men. Baxter came from a working-class background, having left school at the age of 12 to help support his seven siblings. A pacifist and a Christian, he would later assert that “passive resistance to evil is the power that will yet conquer the world”. Briggs, in contrast, was a socialist and a radical unionist. The experiences of these two men represent the apex of state persecution of conscientious objectors during the Great War.

Baxter appealed for exemption as a conscientious objector after being conscripted in 1916; however, because he was not a communicant church member, his application was denied. He was transported to Trentham Military Camp where he refused to obey any orders issued to him. Over the following months he was moved between various gaols and barracks in the Wellington area, where he received a variety of punishments including solitary confinement and bread-and-water rationing.

Briggs was conscripted in the March 1917 ballot. After refusing a medical exam and repeatedly disobeying orders to drill, he was court martialed and sentenced to 84 days’ hard labour in Mount Cook prison. He gained a reputation among the other conchies as an unyielding objector who refused to obey even the most trivial of orders.

Believing that internment on their home soil was an inadequate deterrent, the government decided in 1917 that conscientious objectors should be sent overseas to the front. As a result, Baxter and Briggs—along with 12 other conchies—were rounded up and sent to the Wellington docks. The entire affair was conducted in secret—the Captain of the Waitemama, the troopship that would take the men to the front, was unaware of what was happening until the conchies arrived.

After being physically dragged aboard the ship, the men were forced to strip and don military uniform. Briggs initially refused to do so; however, he was given little choice when his clothes were thrown overboard. Handcuffed in a small cabin and taunted by the troops aboard the ship, Briggs and Baxter nevertheless remained recalcitrant. Briggs in particular refused even to walk where ordered, forcing his commanders to drag him wherever he had been ordered to go on the ship.

Upon reaching Europe, the 14 men were sent to Etaples base in France. Once there they were split up, confined, given reduced bread-and-water diets, mocked and threatened repeatedly with execution. Baxter and Briggs were singled out as the ringleaders of the group, with Briggs refusing to walk, stand, salute or wear uniform. On one occasion he was beaten by a group of volunteer soldiers when he refused to salute a sergeant.

Some of the conchies broke—sentenced to five years’ hard labour at a military prison in Dunkirk, they relented and became stretcher-bearers. For Baxter and Briggs, however, the situation only got worse. They were sentenced, along with two other objectors, to ‘Field Punishment No.1’, the most brutal penalty in the military arsenal. Bound hand and foot to a pole in the barest of clothing, the men were left for hours each day to the mercy of the winter elements. “The cold was intense,” Baxter would later write. “A deadly numbness crept up till it reached my heart and I felt that every breath I drew would be my last. Everything grew black around me.”

Somehow, the men survived their ‘crucifixion’. Baxter and Briggs were then sent to the section of the trenches experiencing the heaviest shelling, where they were beaten and denied food. Each day they were required to walk along the ‘duckwalk’ to the front. Naturally, Briggs refused, and was subsequently dragged on his back along 1000 feet of rough wooden planks and unforgiving ground. His back and thigh were torn open by nails; however, in place of medical treatment, he was thrown in a pool of freezing water and told to drown.

In 1918, the two men were made to march to the Somme. Briggs, still recovering from his injuries, could barely walk, while Baxter discovered that it had been ordered that the two of them were not to be fed. Half-starved and freezing, Baxter collapsed halfway to the Somme and was left behind. When he was finally found by a troop of British soldiers he had, despite the intense cold, removed his military uniform.

Baxter and Briggs were both discharged in April 1918—the former for exhibiting “mental weakness”, the latter with muscular rheumatism. Baxter would only write about the experience in 1939 at his wife’s insistence. In contrast, Briggs never spoke of his experiences again.

Evaluating the conchie experience

What made Baxter and Briggs stand out over their fellow conscientious objectors? “Stubbornness,” says Grant, “[and] a determination that they would not fight under any conditions.

“Despite the privations, despite the intense program that was hurled at them—number one field punishment, beatings, dragging up to the front line—they survived, they stuck it out to the end. The other 12 succumbed at various times, understandably.”

Grant does not consider the two men to be heroes. “I’ve been taken to task by a couple of my reviewers [for that],” he laughs. “I’ve tried to portray them as kind of ordinary men, because they had very ordinary backgrounds.

“But I think that they underwent an extraordinary experience and they handled it in an extraordinary way, so I think that their actions were extraordinary,” he says.

“Conscientious objectors… were treated with huge derision and anger by many other people in the populace. These people had not meted up as ‘true and proper citizens’ of the British Empire, and the treatment that they received would have been accepted as being correct by the vast bulk of the populace.

“These two stand out because they survived all those privations.”

The conchie legacy and the Anzac tradition

Baxter’s book, titled We Shall Not Cease, was a rallying point for anti-Vietnam war protestors. “The second edition happened to come out around 1968,” says Grant. “There’s no doubt that it was a stimulant for anti-Vietnam War protestors.” But what of some of the more recent anti-war protests? How do they fit into the dual traditions of Anzac and conscientious objection?

In 2007, members of Peace Action Wellington (PAW) held a protest against the Anzac Day dawn service in Wellington. They held banners stating that conscientious objectors were “the real war heroes” and burnt two New Zealand flags. Two members of the group were subsequently arrested and charged with offensive behaviour.

The protest was widely condemned as disrespectful. The protestors were seen as dishonouring fallen soldiers and hijacking a day of remembrance. But was that the true intent of the protest? “These protests are not an attack on old soldiers or their relatives,” stresses Valerie Morse, a member of PAW.

“The purpose has been to communicate that New Zealand is involved in wars of occupation, most notably in Afghanistan and Iraq … It is about recognising that while politicians spout phrases like ‘Lest we forget’, they are busily engaged in waging more wars.”

Morse highlights the thematic similarity between PAW and the conchies. “Peace Action is a united front, and as such has members from a wide variety of political perspectives.

“In the broadest sense, it can be seen as a continuation of a tradition of anti-war activism in New Zealand.”

Loveridge agrees that there are some similarities between the conchie tradition and recent protests. “In terms of the Iraq War, I think there’s a lot of connections between what you see in World War One and now. I remember one story about someone who refused to pay their taxes in Britain because they wanted to not be a part of … the war in Iraq.

“I guess it raises these questions of what extent you’re involved in society as a taxpayer, as a labourer, as a potential conscript, or as an ideological supporter.”

The protests undoubtedly upset and angered a number of Anzac supporters—but is that in itself enough reason to condemn them? “On one hand, one can view Anzac Day as a day of remembrance for the soldiers who died in war,” states Morse.

“On the other hand, one can view Anzac Day as political propaganda: it is attended by politicians and state officials who use the day as a means by which to link current New Zealand troop deployments with the fight against Nazi Germany.

“Flag-burning can be seen from the perspective that the government is not upholding the ideas embodied by the flag, and is therefore an appropriate symbol to attack.”

Open to questions

First and foremost, it should be recognised that Anzac Day is an important and valid commemoration in itself. Recognising those who have died in the nation’s wars is a good thing, and it should be encouraged. However, reserving the right to question the Anzac tradition is not only wise—it is essential.

The experiences of conscientious objectors during the First World War is one of those questions. Baxter and Briggs’s stories fly in the face of the traditional Anzac ethos. They were not humble, patriotic heroes, nor were they examples of the often-repeated ‘silent division’ stereotype. By refusing to participate in the war, these men thought they were fighting for freedom—and, in return, they were persecuted for their beliefs.

The PAW protests, however extreme, expressed several legitimate opinions. The protestors claimed that the Anzac tradition was being used to reinforce support for new wars. While Anzac supporters can—and should—reserve the right to rebuff these claims, they must first accept the right for them to be voiced in the first place. Nobody should ever be strung to a pole for disagreeing with the majority.

Baxter and Briggs demonstrate most of all the problem of overshadowing individual experience with collective legend. The men and women who fought—or refused to fight—in World War One did so for many reasons. By focusing on the high-level Anzac tradition, we risk losing these low-level, individual stories. In the end, how can we truly hope to appreciate the sacrifices made by the men and women who have fought and died for New Zealand if their stories are lost within the rosy haze of legend?