Critic - 2025 Issue 20

EDITORIAL: I WANT ESSENTIAL WORKERS ON MY ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE TEAM

To cope with long distance, my undergrad friend group has subscribed to a monthly newsletter called Letterloop. Each month brings a fresh set of questions for everyone to answer. They range from the mundane (“how’s work going?”), to the serious (“what’s your biggest regret in life?”) and the silly (“gayest thing you’ve ever done”). The company compiles them into an “issue” updating everyone on one another's lives –mainly how well we’re coping with being Adults.

In the latest issue, it asked, “If you were in a zombie apocalypse and you could only choose 3 people from the Letterloop group, who would be on your team?” Outside of a couple rogue answers – like one friend who just wished for a bullet “cause fuck living through that” – we all chose our friend who’s a Wellington Emergency Department nurse, and who I’ll call Grace. No one else would know how to stitch a wound (I’ve heard zombies bite), stave off infection, or perform CPR. Naturally, in times of disaster, it comes down to the people who are the backbone of society.

Our government was faced with a similar decision the last time there was an apocalyptic event in Aotearoa: the Covid-19 pandemic. Faced with the difficult choice of who would still need to work while the rest of the country went into lockdown, they identified “essential workers”. According to Government data in 2021, the largest essential workforce was in healthcare and social assistance. That includes nurses. Years later, however, that same government appears to have forgotten just how essential these workers are.

One Monday morning at 2am earlier this month, Grace sent this message into our groupchat: “Our healthcare system is actually fucking failing beyond public recognition.” They were ten nurses short that night, and had just been told that none of them would get a meal break. While they were meant to have two nurses in charge plus one doing ‘flow’, they had just one. A patient had shit himself in the corridor screaming to be cleaned for over an hour, but they didn’t have the staff or a private place to get cleaned up. “Like this is worse than third world countries,” she said. It wasn’t an exaggeration; nurses who had trained and worked in third world countries told her that.

An hour later, it got worse. Six nurses whose shifts had been extended to 3am were asked to stay until 7am, meaning working a 16 hour shift. “You can’t give safe care with [a 16 hour shift],” she said, probably typing on her phone while on a brief toilet break from the chaos. And it wasn’t even the busiest they would get. Technically still working a Sunday shift, Grace told us that Mondays were always their busiest, saying, “I don’t even wanna think about what it’s gonna be like tonight.” They were already eight registered nurses down and sick calls hadn’t started yet.

The weird part? When we all expressed our sympathies, she said, “Haha nah I’m chilling, it’s like this all the time it’s just flabbergasting every once in a while.” That’s just how it is, apparently. It’s a story that’s been reinforced by data showing 50% of all day shifts were understaffed between January and November last year across hospital wards in 16 health districts. That’s why more than 36,000 Te Whatu Ora nurses, midwives, health care assistants, and kaimahi hauora voted to strike in July, and will continue to do so until the Government pulls their heads out of their asses and does something about it.

The undervaluing of essential workers is a pattern across other industries. The building blocks of a functioning society are healthcare workers (health), primary industries (food), justice (law and order), education (kids are the future), government (big decisions to be made), and journalists (communicate big decisions). Throughout Covid, these were the people who kept the country – the world – running. But the government has forgotten the work of their colleagues, which has gone unnoticed and unrewarded. I just hope that it doesn’t take a zombie apocalypse for the Government to recognise the value of hardworking Kiwis who show up for their country every day without applause.

NINA BROWN

LETTERS

Kia ora goon victims,

Regarding my now-famous appearance in the Bushball article of Issue 17:

1. I would like to state that yes, while I was my own goon victim, by the time we rolled out of Wānaka I was already 100% top fit again (having been driven out earlier, since walking the whole track wasn’t really on the cards… oops)

2. I’d also like to clarify that Aspiring Hut has 32 bunks, not 60. The maximum number of humans one can actually cram in there for a party, however, remains an unsolved mystery.

3. Could I please request a physical copy of said Issue? I was on a 10-day post-goon-victim skiing retreat, and only learned of my feature from OUSSC on Saturday.

Keep gooning (responsibly),

Apparently - somehow - known as the "Goon Fairy"

Editor’s response: Doing generations of goon-slappers proud

Send letters to the editor to critic@critic.co.nz to be in to win a $25 UBS voucher.

Dear Critic,

I just wanted to thank the lovely staff at OUSA for helping me fulfill my 93-year-old grandfather's wish for me to find his name immortalized in the Link. I popped into OUSA's main office to randomly ask about a plaque that lists past OUSA presidents that is supposedly on display somewhere in the Link. Expecting to be met with a blank stare, I was instead guided to Donna Jones' office who, upon hearing my grandfather's name, immediately pointed to a picture of them together hung on her wall. His only visit back to campus since graduating and immigrating to the states was about a decade ago! I got to video call my grandfather in front of said plaque; I think he was more chuffed to see that than he is about the fact that I've followed in his footsteps by coming here to complete my PhD.

"K.E.W Melvin, OUSA president 1956-1957"

Thanks for making our day, Donna!

Maddy

Editor’s response: This is so sweet!

–To the "pizza lover,"

You claim to love pizza, yet you're defending Dominoes, the most mid crap to ever grace the pizza scene. You can buy Pam's frozen pizzas for $7 at New World and they slap the shit out of Dominoes.

And anyone skeptical of BDS should understand like with Apartheid South Africa, sanctions need to be in place at every level, both governmental and in civil society. Student Unions across the world, from India, to Portugal, to Canada, to Brazil have all adopted BDS. If we students adopt this policy, it places pressure on our elected leaders to do the same. It's more than just symbolic; it's material.

LETTERS POLICY

If a cautious, step-by-step approach is taken in implementing the policy with appropriate consultation, then there's no need for BDS to be the end of OUSA like so many insist it will be.

Yours, Neave

letters

Editor’s response: To anyone curious what this is referring to, you can read the pizza lover’s letter in issue 19

Dear Critical Critic,

Last Thursday, OUSA lost and OSJP won. They did so with 1,766 votes in the referendum (8.83% of 20,000 students), and fewer in this SGM. I suppose if ACT can hijack government on 8.64% of the vote, this is fine.

With power comes responsibility. You can protest in the pouring rain or be in the room, wielding power to make impactful decisions. Well, with power, Jett Grohsinski has only ever made one decision — how deep to stick the knife in his colleague's back.

Some want power for the student body; others want power over the student body. Last week, we saw that difference in action. Teachers went on strike against their awful pay offer, and their students and families stood with them. Meanwhile, OSJP were busy planning for the SGM. They had a coup to perform, and a policy agenda of beggaring our student union. Congratulations.

From,

Neil Hattersley

Editor's response: To clarify, students beyond OSJP will have voted for BDS in the referendum, and only 53% of 1766 students voted for it

Letters should be 150 words or fewer. The deadline is Thursday at 5pm. Get them into Critic by emailing us at critic@critic.co.nz. Letters of a serious nature directly addressing a specific group or individual will not be published under a pseudonym, except in extraordinary circumstances as negotiated with the Editor. Critic Te Ārohi reserves the right to edit, abridge, or decline letters without explanation. Frequently published correspondents in particular may find their letters abridged or excluded. Defamatory or otherwise illegal material will not be printed. We don’t fix the spelling or grammar in letters. If a letter writer looks stupid, it’s because they are.

The Opportunities Party has turned to Seek to find a political party leader and they’re “not fussy about your CV” –just that you can “handle the heat without melting”

A group of about 50 Dunedin teachers joined a nationwide strike last week, rejecting the government's offer of a 1% pay rise

The Unipol September group fitness challenge is approaching! There’ll be themed classes and prizes up for grabs from September 8th – 28th. Quarter 4 memberships are available for $35

The Otago Raw Comedy Quest will be running from August 28th to the 30th, with finals on September 27th for NZ’s ‘best new comedians

In memory of recently passed student Tessa Sheild, her friends plan to run the Dunedin half-marathon “to carry on her legacy and strive to make her proud”. As of writing, they’ve raised $7,785 towards Whānau Refuge Ōtepoti as they train, an organisation Tessa volunteered for

The Bangladeshi Students’ Association (BDSA) was affiliated last week, an international student group who warmly welcomes students from Bangladesh

Bee Card fees are increasing from September 29th. For adults, the fare will increase from $2 to $2.50 – cash fare will still require a $2 and a $1 coin ($3)

OUSA are running a free rainbow self defence class on September 27th from 10am - 4pm. You can sign up for all OUSA Rec classes by visiting their website

The New Zealand Young Writers Festival is running from September 13-14 at Te Whare o Rukutia in Dunedin, promising a “dynamic weekend of literary talent” with performances, workshops, and discussions

Locals’ penguin mascot Waddles is missing! Last seen on August 11th, he’s 9 years old, has sparkly blue eyes, and is black and white. If you have any information, contact Locals via Insta (@otagolocals)

Want to see your brain? Join an Otago Uni Psychology research study! Spend 5 hours with us (MRI + exercise test) and get $100 + brain pics. Scan the QR code for more info.

Night ‘n Day lost around $60k last Wednesday after selling 20,000 blocks of butter at a discounted rate, down $3 to $6.50 per 500g block. Rather than a marketing promotion, it was “chance to highlight what is wrong with butter prices,” Stuff reports

Otago Uni Vice Chancellor Grant Roberton has released a memoir titled ‘Anything Could Happen’

Te Wānanga o Aotearoa, the largest Māori tertiary provider in the country, has announced a proposed “organisational redesign” that will cut around 60 roles, 1News reports

BDS is Back: Students Overwhelmingly Endorse Posture at SGM

“This is the best engagement we’ve seen without a barbecue”

It was standing room only in the Main Common Room (MCR) last Thursday as a large group of students met to vote on a motion on whether OUSA should re-adopt their Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions (BDS) posture. The student general meeting (SGM) was called by Political Representative Jett Groshinski and Luca Schulz, a member of Otago Students for Justice in Palestine (OSJP). TL;DR: the motion passed.

Quorum was easily met at the meeting, surpassing the 100person minimum by an estimated further 100. The lead-up to the SGM seemed to be extremely well-publicised, with story posts, fliers, emails, and even lecturers mentioning the SGM to students. The OUSA Secretary told Critic that it was the biggest SGM she’s witnessed in her time over thirty years with the association, and President Liam joked, “This is the best engagement we’ve seen without a barbecue”.

On the agenda for the SGM was the motion “That Otago University Students Association, in a binding vote, adopt the attached BDS Movement and Procurement Policy”. The motion was moved by Jett Groshinski, and seconded by Luca Schulz, who is affiliated with OSJP. Within this motion were four resolutions (summarised):

1. “OUSA formally endorses the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement as a legitimate and necessary form of non-violent resistance to the occupation of Palestine and systematic violations of Palestinian rights”

2. “OUSA commits to a BDS-aligned approach to procurement and investment within its own operations”

3. “OUSA acknowledges in certain areas – such as the purchase of essential operational equipment (e.g. software) – limited supplier options may exist”

4. “This policy applies solely to OUSA operations and finances, and does not extend to independent student clubs, the University of Otago, or individuals"

About half an hour before the event, Critic surveyed students in Auahi Ora to gauge how aware the general student body was about the SGM. Around the busy café, Critic spoke to thirteen students, of which 11 students were aware of the SGM being held on the BDS posture. The students that were aware of the SGM generally agreed it had been well publicised, with one student telling Critic that “someone spoke about it in class”. Six of those students told Critic they had planned to attend the SGM. Those who couldn’t make it told Critic it was due to “having to lock in” or they “had a test at 3pm”.

The SGM was chaired by Germain, Chair of Society of Otago University Law Students (SOULS). Also present was Abby Bowmar, OUSA’s Returning Officer in charge of the legal and constitutional

By Nina Brown & Gryffin Blockley Editor & News Editor // news@critic.co.nz

aspect of the SGM. Earlier in the week at the OUSA Executive meeting, Abby noted that it was unclear whether the motion would be constitutionally binding (unlike the referendum), as had been assumed and circulated by many groups (including Critic).

OUSA sought legal advice in the lead-up to the SGM to clarify matters. Germain said that, based on advice, clause 7 of the OUSA constitution lays out students’ powers – in albeit a jargonfilled explanation that left some crowd members confused. This includes setting external policy (like endorsing a Parliament bill) but not internal policy, which includes anything to do with the operations of the association (like procurement procedure for OUSA). What this essentially means is that only the first resolution would be binding.

Jett was the first to speak to the crowd. Wearing a keffiyeh, a symbol of Palestinian identity and resistance against Israeli occupation, he began, “What we have seen with BDS is nothing short of a failure of student democracy.” He described that when OUSA adopted their BDS posture last year, the “excuse was rolled out” of not having a student mandate. To do so, OSJP submitted a question in the OUSA Referendum, and achieved 53% of the 1,766 votes in favour of BDS. “That is a mandate, that is democracy,” said Jett, “and yet the Executive threw it out anyway. They didn’t respect the vote, they didn’t respect the process, they didn’t respect you.”

Next he spoke about another “excuse” of the Exec that BDS would be too expensive to adopt, treating the referendum as an “advisory note”. Criticising his colleagues in the Exec, he said, “But let’s be honest, the Executive never even did a costing [...] They never asked what this policy would actually mean in numbers. They just assumed it was unaffordable, and used that as a shield.” Jett refers to the meeting when the Exec decided not to continue with BDS when reviewing the referendum results. In that meeting, the CEO was asked for a rough estimate of what BDS would cost, prior to which the Exec had not asked her for a business case to be made of the implications of the policy.

Next, the seconder of the motion, Luca Schulz, took to the stage to address the SGM. He identified himself as an organiser for OSJP, which warranted a few cheers from the crowd, especially the group of OSJP members sitting near the front – many also all adorned in keffiyeh. In his speech, he said, “Critic disappointingly accepted OUSA’s pricing of the BDS policy without checking it” (ahem, we did) and that “[there is a] moral obligation to see a sooner end to genocide.” When speaking about OUSA, he said, “It is such an insult for the Exec to reject BDS twice now [...] this is not solidarity, the Exec has abandoned the one material action.”

Third up was President Liam. He began by saying that as the

official OUSA spokesperson, it hadn’t been easy to draft a speech representing the Exec’s position as a whole since they had been so torn on the issue (to put it lightly). “First and foremost, the Executive does support the people of Palestine,” he said, describing quiet ways the Exec have shown their support, such as recently backing Chlöe Swarbrick’s Sanctions Bill. “For some, that hasn’t felt like enough. I understand that. But I reject the idea that OUSA has been absent.”

In hindsight, he said that the call to step back from an “all-out” boycott was made “quickly, narrowly on numbers, without much exploration of what a more moderate ‘where we can’ approach could look like.” The Exec were open to a more moderate approach, such as the one presented by Jett at the SGM. “So, while the Exec rejected a version of BDS that we believed would have jeopardised our stability, I don’t believe the Executive is opposed to BDS in every form,” he concluded.

Then Liam went a bit rogue. The speech he had prepared for the SGM as the spokesperson for OUSA had been run by the Exec, who told Critic that they had been under the impression that they would appear as a team. In the middle of Liam’s speech, however, he deviated from the script to speak as a student, and not as the President. He agreed with Jett’s position that the Exec’s decision had been “undemocratic” and the referendum was the “clearest expression of student voice [they] had on the issue”. Liam thanked Jett and Luca for calling the meeting (despite it having been behind his Exec’s back) and holding the Exec to account, who he said had been “governed under a thin veil of assumed trust”. Liam said, “So let me be clear, I support this motion. It balances solidarity and feasibility, it makes BDS workable within OUSA without jeopardising the services that students rely on.”

After the first three speakers, the mic was then opened to the floor for any students to comment. Before the vote, a total of six students spoke. A PhD student and former OUSA employee compared the BDS movement to past student-protest movements with the Vietnam War and the Springboks tour. He also posed the question, “What is our democracy of students if not this?” Afterwards, Gemella, former Tumuaki of Te Rōpū Māori called BDS “an important kaupapa for indigenous people”. She explained, “We as Māori can’t comprehend what they’re going through, but know what it’s like to be colonised and [experience] intergenerational trauma.” After her impromptu speech, she invited the crowd to sing the waiata ‘Te Aroha’.

The only speaker against the motion of the SGM was Finance and Strategy Officer Daniel Leamy. As the one student most (painfully) aware of OUSA’s financial position, he took to the stage (visibly nervous) to explain his hesitancy to adopt the motion. He began by acknowledging that everyone agrees that it has been “mishandled” and that the Exec were, of course, supportive of BDS in principle: “No one disagrees it isn’t a great movement.” But he stressed just how crippling it could be for the association, who lost $680k last year. He urged students

to consider what may happen to OUSA’s services if a hardline BDS posture were to be re-adopted, meaning departments that “hugely support students in a way they might not realise” like Student Support or Clubs and Socs (home of the free brekky and $4 lunch) could be at risk. Daniel’s speech received less applause than most other speakers of the day, with a few, somewhat unsympathetic hecklers saying “shame” as he walked back to his seat.

Aaron Hawkins, former Dunedin Mayor and OUSA life member, took to the stage next. In a powerful one-liner that drew whoops and cheers from the crowd, he said, “[OUSA] can’t afford to determine our sense of moral clarity by working backwards from our balance sheet.” Jomana Moharram, a Dunedin Youth MP who previously had spoken to the Exec to urge them to adopt BDS, said that abandoning the posture “tells people like me that we aren’t worth it” and throwing away BDS-listed products you have already purchased is irresponsible. “No one wants to see their laptop thrown in a bonfire,” she said, referencing OUSA potentially needing to stay away from BDSlisted Dell laptops in the future.

Just under an hour into the SGM, it was time to vote on the binding-part of the motion. Due to the sheer number of attendees, a verbal ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ vote was taken. With a clear and loud ‘aye’, the motion was passed with overwhelming support. Only a couple, much quieter, ‘nays’ were heard scattered across the crowd.

After the SGM had wrapped up, Executive members Daniel, Stella, and Amy M. gave their reactions to Liam’s altered speech to Critic (after having a second to calm down). “I have nothing nice to say,” said Stella. Amy told Critic that she wasn’t mad about the result – she was in support of taking a moderate approach to BDS – but she was upset about being “lied to” by her president. Liam, however, stood by his choice. It had been made after consultation with around 20 people and a lot of to and fro all week. “I took advice from politicians about it,” he explained, who had given him a “mixture of opinions”. While acknowledging the frustration from his team, who some might say were thrown under the bus by their leader, he said he didn’t feel that he needed to run his personal opinion by them and had clearly signposted that he was speaking as an individual student “as every student has a right to”. He explained that “my personal thoughts were open; if any Executive member wanted to debate them on the floor, they could have.”

As for what’s next, Liam had promised the crowd that if the motion passed, he would move the motion (the non-binding part) at the Exec’s next meeting alongside Jett. He intends to set up a working group between the Exec and Palestine Solidarity Network Aotearoa to help shape the BDS policy, learning from other organisations of a similar size such as the Victoria University of Wellington Students’ Association (who have informally adopted BDS).

Ending Bad Care for Endometriosis

Changing healthcare for the better, one signature at a time

A petition has been launched to review and re-write the Government’s national endometriosis guidelines. The brains behind the petition, Endo Warriors Aotearoa, are a grassroots charity working to support those affected by endometriosis. Second-year Law and Politics student Jomana Moharram, who is on the Youth Advisory Board of Endo Warriors, explained why their petition was so important.

Endometriosis is an extremely painful disease causing uterine tissue to grow on other organs throughout your body. It often causes severe pelvic pain not dissimilar from period cramps – but much worse. “It’s so much more than a bad period,” said Jomana. “It’s everything in your life getting dictated by this illness [...] Your mental, social, physical wellbeing, your legs, your lungs… It's everything.”

One in seven women, girls, and people assigned female at birth are diagnosed with endometriosis, and even more remain undiagnosed. Endometriosis is hugely misdiagnosed, and as it’s predominantly females who suffer from it, the disease is not as researched. This means that medical care for endo-sufferers can be a difficult road. Getting the level of care and support needed is very rare, from getting an accurate diagnosis to the right medication. “What usually happens is they say, ‘It’s a bad period, go home,’” said Jomana. Either that, or they just give you contraception: “They hand them out like candy.”

For Endo Warriors, one of their main goals is to raise awareness of the disease, which can be “taboo”. Jomana told Critic that it’s important that the everyday student not only knows of the existence of endo, but also how to recognise the symptoms

By Stella Weston Staff Writer // news@critic.co.nz

and how to support people suffering from it. “Just knowing that endo is a possible diagnosis when your mates are telling you, ‘I’m feeling these things’ [...] that's a really big piece of knowledge that a lot of people don’t have,” explained Jomana.

The most important thing Endo Warriors are doing right now – beyond their typical work of supporting endo-sufferers and advocating for reproductive justice in general – is a petition to review the guidelines for endometriosis to improve access to diagnoses and support, and make them more inclusive. “Being on the journey with people as they get diagnosed and get the help they need is really meaningful work,” Jomana said.

The petition also aims to recognise endometriosis as a chronic (whole-body) issue, rather than purely menstrual due to the amount of pain it can cause. Unlike a period, endo can’t be soothed by a hot water bottle on the tum and a block of dark chocolate. Endo Warriors also want clearer guidance for diagnostic timelines, treatment plans, and national tracking around treatment outcomes and disparities.

The petition has already been supported by Benjamin Doyle, a West Hamilton based list MP for the Greens Party, but Endo Warriors are always looking for more local body members to support the petition. ”Every bit of support that we can get is amazing,” said Jomana. Students can sign the petition or sign up to volunteer by getting in touch through email (info@ endowarriorsaotearoa.com) or socials (@endowarriorsaotearoa).

Students Waiting Weeks for Mental Health Support

Waiting nearly as long as it takes to secure a flat

Student Health has the massive job of providing healthcare to 18,000 students at Otago University. If you don’t have a GP down in Dunedin (practically all of us) you’re going to Student Health for every cough, UTI, Covid test, and sick note. For mental health matters, however, a 4-6 week wait has been the norm.

One student, Fran* phoned the reception last week at around 11am to try and book in some counselling. She had no idea what support was available, but Student Health’s website offered “same day” mental health support appointments. After being on hold throughout her morning routine – she made her entire breakfast, ate it, and left the flat to go to Uni while still listening to Brooke Fraser’s ‘Something in the Water’ – Fran hung up and resolved to try again tomorrow.

The next day, Fran was prepared. She phoned the reception for an appointment three minutes after it opened. It was a Wednesday, so the clinic opened later than usual. She thought it would be a quick phone call, because how could the line be busy 180 seconds after Student Health opened its doors? After being on hold for seven minutes, she decided to march in there herself and demand an appointment.

At reception, Fran was told that mental health appointments can only be booked through the phone. With gritted teeth, she explained to the receptionist that she had tried to book through the phone for the last two days. The receptionist looked her up and down, said, “Are you okay?” and told her to try again tomorrow. She said to call as soon as they opened (which Fran had done) as “not many students are awake” at their ordinary opening time at 8:30am (unless they have a 9am lecture). Otherwise, Fran could book a week in advance instead.

When Critic reached out for comment, Clinical Group Leader of Mental Health and Wellbeing Richard Mooney stated that appointments are available either the same day as the student contacts the services, or within one week of a request being received. He has also stated that if a student is unable to get an appointment on the day requested, this is documented on their file. Urgent requests are transferred to a Mental Health support clinician on duty who can coordinate a plan for them. However, this does not apply when students such as Fran cannot get appointments because they are on hold for extraordinary amounts of time.

Critic has since learned that there are six appointments available per day for the “same day” mental health support service. These appointments are booked out on a first come, first served basis and tend to be fully booked before many students even call. For people such as Fran, this is a massive boundary in accessing support.

By Tilly Rumball-Smith Staff Writer // news@critic.co.nz

When Fran finally managed to book a mental health support appointment, she was told that while this appointment was free, proper sessions of counselling came at a cost of $15 per session and Fran would have to wait 4-6 weeks. Mooney confirmed the wait, and explained that wait times fluctuate based on demand and these current wait times are typical or a little shorter than usual. He acknowledged that no model is perfect, but said, “We believe the service on offer to our students is accessible and of a high quality when benchmarked against supports available to non-students in Dunedin.”

Fran is now successfully on the waitlist because the other options recommended to her were private counselling or external counselling based out in South Dunedin. Private counselling costs $150-$200 per session with wait times between 4-12 weeks, and Fran doesn’t have transport out to South Dunedin, so neither of these options were feasible. Mooney told Critic, “The current model at Student Health Services allows for rapid access to mental health support and intervention. We do not believe there is any other service in Dunedin which routinely allows swifter access to non-emergent, in person, clinical mental health support.”

Another tauira who Critic spoke to said they were faced with a 2-4 week for a mental health appointment late last year. “I think the only reason I got my script the first appointment is because I had been referred by a therapist,” they said. They managed to get prescribed SSRIs for anxiety but said, “It must be a lot harder without a therapist referral as the wait times for those are even worse and sometimes not accessible to students.”

To get the most effective counselling, Fran was told that she should sign an ‘Authority to Release Health Records’ form so that Student Health could see all of her previous health records from her current GP in Wellington. She was also made aware she can book in for as many same day appointments as she needed while waiting for counselling, and there is scope to fast track the referral if this is clinically indicated.

Alternatives to these in-person appointments is telehealth counselling services such as University partner Puāwaitanga, for students wanting to access counselling sooner and free of charge. There are also call and text services such as Need to Talk 1737 and Youthline (0800 37 66 33) and the Emergency Psychiatric Service for mental health emergencies, accessible by calling 0800 467 846 or at Dunedin Hospital’s Emergency Department. Māori students can also seek counselling support and intervention at Te Huka Mātauraka Māori Centre.

*Names changed.

First Came the Floods,

Then Came the Asbestos Relocated Carrington freshers forced to stay put for now

Things have gone from bad to worse for residents of Carrington College’s Dawson House. In July, flooding forced them to relocate to Toroa. Asbestos discovered under soggy tiles made them stay there. Adorning a metaphoric hazmat suit, Critic stepped in to assess the situation.

A few weeks ago, one of Carrington College’s houses, Dawson House, flooded. From the three-storied building, tauira on the top two floors ended their Re-O Week with a relocation into temporary accommodation down the hill at Toroa College. But that wasn’t the last issue for the freshers in Dawson, when residents found out that flooding had exposed asbestos underneath the floor in some areas of the house.

Director of Campus and Collegiate Life Services James Lindsay confirmed the bad news to Critic. “However, it was fully encapsulated underneath the [floor covering], meaning it is completely sealed within a protective barrier and was not releasing fibres into the air,” he assured. Therefore, there was no health and safety risk posed to any residents or staff involved, since asbestos is only dangerous when it’s disturbed.

Carrington resident, Raymond* heard about the asbestos sighting while still relegated to Toroa. “While [the asbestos] was covered I think it was fine,” Raymond explained, “but when it was revealed and untreated there was then an issue.” He explained that the removal didn’t prevent residents from being able to retrieve any of their belongings, but had delayed the second floor residents from returning as soon as they were supposed to from their temporary digs at Toroa College. However, he felt that communication “had been pretty good from staff to residents” and he didn’t really get the ruckus about it all.

James Lindsay told Critic that temporarily relocating some residents was done as a “precaution” as soon as asbestos was identified, and prior to any remedial work being undertaken. The asbestos was then removed by a licensed, professional asbestos

By Zoe Eckhoff Staff Writer// news@critic.co.nz

contractor (#dreamjob). “During the removal process, air samples were taken to ensure no fibres had become airborne. This was confirmed after completion as well,” he said. The site has since been certified to be safe for occupancy.

Two other Carrington residents aired dissatisfaction with how the discovery was initially communicated: a sign cautioning ‘Possible Asbestos’. Mandy* told Critic that she had originally found the sign funny, but not so much when it said ‘Confirmed Asbestos’ about a week and a half later. “Our only source of information was the signs,” Mandy said. “Someone went to talk to the wardens during a student rep meeting about it.”

About a day later, residents received an email which would allegedly be the first piece of communication regarding the asbestos. Roughly five days later, a group of people showed up in hazmat gear to remove the asbestos, which only caused their “anxiety to worsen". While James did not confirm this timeline of events, he did say, “All Dawson residents received an email on 11 August confirming that the asbestos clearance certificate was received on 7 August.” Apart from the asbestos, Mandy recognises that Carrington handled it “pretty well” and “it wasn’t their fault it happened in the first place”.

Residents were compensated with TimTams for their troubles, which Mandy seemed a bit miffed by (despite TimTams costing an arm and a leg in this economy). Instead, she reckoned relocated residents shouldn’t have had to pay for the weeks they lived in Toroa. Lindsay responded, “No. All students continued to receive all services and support from Carrington College in a safe and secure location for a short period of time.” Toroa is pretty nice, actually.

As of recently though, the second floor residents have finally been moved back into Carrington. Huzzah!

*Names changed.

The Most Insufferable Person You Know Becomes LinkedIn Influencer

The sound of students audibly sighing across Dunedin last week was recorded as a magnitude of 1.9. This disturbance comes after the most insufferable person you know is now a LinkedIn influencer. Sora Noying, a fifth-year Law and Politics student, who is more commonly known amongst acquaintances as “that soulsucking bitch”, made her breakthrough post last Tuesday on the least-fun social media anyone could possibly use.

Her post, entitled “My flatmates didn’t do the dishes. I put them outside their doors. Here’s what it taught me about leadership:”, garnered over 8,000 reactions, solidifying her position as the most insufferable person you know.

By Anderson Coomer Shitposter// criticaltribune@critic.co.nz

Speaking to Critical Tribune, Sarah, her flatmate, said, “We hadn’t even finished eating; we were sitting down watching Netflix and were going to do the dishes after.”

Sora declined to comment on the matter to Critical Tribune, instead directing us to a more recent LinkedIn post. “Your ambitions are allowed to change. Your version of success is allowed to change. You get one life. Don’t spend it chasing a dream that doesn’t fit anymore.”

PUZZLES

Cryptozoology is part of a long line of various pseudosciences, promising to reveal hidden worlds that traditional sciences fail to properly comprehend. You may have heard of many ‘cryptids’, like Mothman, Bigfoot and the Chupacabra.

Dunedin could be host to all sorts of critters that the establishment (the Zoology Department, we suppose) don’t want you to know about; merely for being exceedingly rare, nonsensical, and in some cases totally made-up. Critic Te Ārohi has taken it as our solemn duty to investigate, categorise, and fabricate an inexhaustive taxonomy of several of Dunedin’s most fantastic and fascinating cryptids.

Cone Hermit Crab

(Paguroidea viaconcus)

Ever wonder why traffic cones end up in such strange places? One proposed theory is giant hermit crabs! P. viaconcus, or the ‘cone hermit crab’, is a theorised nocturnal crab responsible for some amount of these shifting cones. The life-cycle of the crab is one of continuous migration. Crabs begin their lives in the nutrient-sparse spawning grounds on the road, where they spend much of their time curled up in the tips of the road cone, barely noticeable. Once the crab has reached sufficient size, they scuttle to more nutrientrich hunting grounds – backyards and the insides of student flats are particular favourites – where they then settle and grow further. When the crab has reached full maturity, it’s suspected that they return to the roads to spawn, though any full migration back that way has not yet been successfully observed.

Sock Gnome

(Gnomus soccum)

The ‘sock gnome’ is a species of gnome that lives in the back of washing machines and drawers. Identifiable by the bright red conical growth on its head, G. soccum is a vestivore, with a diet composed almost exclusively of socks and other small items of clothing. The gnome has specialised incisors, capable of fraying fabric into smaller strings that can be digested by specialised enzymes that can attack polyester and cotton at the molecular level, causing holes, tears, and outright disappearances of clothing from the washing machine.

Flat Sprite

(Spiritus insula)

The flat sprite is a member of the fairy genus and bears a lot of similarity to several other notable species. Like most other fairies, S. insula larvae sporulate in enclosed hollows of wood. But while most species do this in hollows in trees, the ‘flat sprite’ are instead born in closed wooden drawers. The larvae then feed on pieces of dust, crumbs, and at the later stages small pieces of cutlery (ever wonder why you’re always out of teaspoons?) that accumulate in the corners of the drawers. Once the sprite has eaten its fill, it will pupate into its adult form, which is capable of taking flight and leaving the drawers.

Adult flat sprites display a behaviour that is thought to have evolved mutually with ‘Scottish brownies’ (S. brùnaidh). Where brownies are known to do household chores in exchange for glasses of milk, S. insula are instead known to leave dirty dishes and unfinished glasses of drink out in random places about the flat. Unfortunately for us flatters, it appears that only the flat sprite has managed to migrate to Dunedin, leading to a destabilised ecosystem where clutter seemingly accumulates out of thin air, with no flatmate taking any responsibility for any of it.

Psychic Mould

(Stachybotrys psychica)

Dunedin flats offer a unique ecosystem for all manner of microorganisms. One such organism that Critic has discovered is S. psychica or ‘psychic mould’. S. psychica appears very similar to the more common black mould (S. chartarum), with the added effects of inducing migraines, strange dreams and hearing whispers (colloquially referred to as ‘the voices’). The first culture is theorised to have originated from the grotty flats of particularly stressed students. Growing on a unique combination of warm moisture, spilled RTDs, and exam notes shoved down the side of a couch, the culture developed a kind of sentience of its own. Whether or not new theorised cases of psychic mold have spread from that initial colony or have evolved synchronously is the matter of much pseudoscientific debate.

Leith Monster

(Ignotus owheo)

The idea of monsters in the water has captured minds around the world, from mighty taniwha and the Loch Ness Monster, to modern-day megalodons and bunyips. It would be totally amiss for us to rule out the possibility of some such creature inhabiting our own campus waterbody, the Leith. Lured by the possibility of a totally new cryptid discovery, Critic Te Ārohi conducted a thorough(ish) investigation, staking out the Leith one cold night. Despite our best efforts, all that we found was a group of ducks –who refused to be interviewed – before we had to head back home to warm up. The main conclusion of this fruitless study is that if the proposed Leith Monster had any sense, it would have migrated to warmer waters for the winter.

Powering over the steep hill of the Southern Motorway, your eyes are blessed by scenery so beautiful it may force you to pull over. As the sun beams on the broad expanses of the Taieri Plains, a magical town sits in your eyeline. With just under 15,000 residents, the quaint town is not too busy like its neighbour, but has all the hustle-and-bustle one could need. Local legend even says the weather might be slightly sunnier over the hills, too. It’s not a mythical place you may dream about in your lectures – it’s Mosgiel. And I fucking LOVE Mosgiel.

As you sit back in cold, shitty Dunedin, here’s some inspiration on how you can spend the perfect day in Te Konika o te Matamata/Mosgiel and not just ignorantly pass it by when dropping your friend off at the airport.

Dunedin does not sport a Disneyland or Rainbow’s End. Mosgiel, however, is essentially in the same league of attractions with Wal’s Plant Barn. Set on the outskirts of town, down an unassuming concrete driveway, is a garden store with something more. Aside from lots of plants and flowers, life-changing experiences such as minigolf, a driving range, a maze, and miniature train are on offer.

Many dusty Sundays have been spent battling it out on the tee – if your stomach can handle the drive over the hill, that is. With technical turns and terrain, friendships are tested as your competitive spirit airs out tensions among the group. Just be prepared for death stares from whānau on their wholesome days out (especially if sneaking to the manicured bushes for a tak-yak). If you manage to clutch a win, make sure you buy a pot plant on the way out as a reward for your (100% skill-based) victory that will most likely blend in with the other foliage in your flat (mould).

The Botans may have an expertly-curated garden spanning the finest botanic plants across multiple countries, but Mosgiel has the Memorial Garden. It’s a flat field with a pretty mean playground. Various swings and spinny things bring a level of adrenaline unparalleled by any of the lame Ōtepoti playgrounds. It also comes with a skate park and one of those tall spiderweb thingies you can climb on. You know. It’s like a tower thing. With wires. You get it.

There’s plenty of other chances to reconnect with nature too. Not needing a harbour to impress everyone, the Silverstream Walkway and Peter Johnstone Park have the views that rival St Clair on a sunny day (and without the crowds). You can pretend that the birds and wildlife you see are straight out of a David Attenborough documentary, despite being a 20 minute drive from

nature-devoid North D. If you’re after more views, you can take the scenic route home over the Three Mile Hill road as well (not recommended for shit drivers).

For the thrill seekers among us, the closure of Moana Pool’s hydroslides for the second half of the year has been a blow. Fortunately, Mosgiel sports its own pool, Te Puna o Whakaehu, which is much more modern than its Dunedin sibling. There aren’t any hydroslides, which undeniably suckss, but plenty of thrills can be had in the spa pool. Chances are, it’ll be a lot quieter than Moana Pool as well, making this the perfect stop to swim off your excitement about Mosgiel.

For the fashion-conscious among us, it’s a tough market of indie baddies on George Street with the likes of Static Age, Paper Bag Princess, and Recycle Boutique. Mosgiel, on the other hand, only has the occasional nana to fight over the last pair of jorts on the rack. The Hospice Shop and Sallies are dark horses for your next shopping sprees – just don’t tell the locals you’ve found out. Often the deals are better than their city counterparts, making up for the petrol money you spent hooning your shitbox car over the hill.

It must be acknowledged that Te Konika o te Matamata seems to have this reputation of a sleepy town. Not sure where that’s come from, but the town knows how to turn out for a good time. A staple of the social calendar is the Wingatui Races, which reportedly have an atmosphere that rivals the Melbourne Cup. Prepare for show-stopping outfits, a good day on the piss, and pretending you know how horse-racing works.

As you’re having the time of your life, thoughts about the boring admin aspects of your life may plague your mind. Never fear; Mosgiel has every shop you could possibly need – plus they’re way better. For groceries, you’ve got a state-of-the-art Woolies (rat free, too) and a New World so comforting you’ll want to have a panic attack when you think about any trips to Centre City in the after-work rush. The town was rocked by the closure of its Warehouse a few years back, but there’s a really solid Mitre 10 and brand-new Pizza Hut to source anything you can dream of.

A hard day of travelling means a well-earned meal to round off the perfect day in Mosgiel. The locals make a much friendlier crowd than some of the sleezy-types found hanging around the Octy on a night out. Head to the Mosgiel Tavern (across from the JW temple) with cheap pints and hearty meals; it is all a broke uni student could dream of, with deals so good you may never want to get on the motorway to head home. The oldies know how to be on aux too, with beats that’ll make Carousel seem like a retirement village in comparison. So get a jug, talk about how much you love your mates – but talk even more about how much you just froth Mosgiel. Try not to get cut off though, you’ll lose access to the best watering hole in the South.

It’s clear Mosgiel, just South of Ōtepoti, is unequivocally the centre of southern hospitality in this country. Prepare for your eyes to well up as you brave the drive home, queue your saddest songs, and pencil in your next visit. Never forget, Mosgiel is near. And it’s fucking awesome.

What HappenWould If There Was

t appen If r Zo pocalypse

By

On March 25, 2020, Aotearoa New Zealand declared a nationwide state of national emergency and moved to Alert Level 4 in response to the COVID-19 Pandemic. I remember how surreal it was – like something out of a low-budget movie. It affected everyone. If you’d told anyone before it happened that it would happen, I don’t think they’d believe you. But it did, and I haven’t moved on from that awful feeling that something like COVID could always be right around the corner.

Dr Peter Grace (a Teaching Fellow at the University of Otago with a special interest in international security) discussed with me that right after 9/11, one of the big initiatives was for intelligence agencies to reach out to Hollywood writers and novelists to try and envision what could happen next. The chances of someone getting in a jumbo plane and flying into the World Trade Centre were so out of the question that no intelligence agency could have pondered it. This forced intelligence agencies to confront an uncomfortable reality: there were unknown unknowns that may pose a threat to national security. Actual intelligence experts needed to rely on the most farout scenarios laid out for them by people whose job was to imagine the destruction of our society.

Conservative estimates reveal that more than one third of zombie movies were released after 9/11. Some international relations scholars have theorised that a social interest in zombies is actually an indirect attempt to get a cognitive grip on unknown unknowns in international security. As one member in one of the many zombie-apocalypse-prep Facebook groups I joined put it, “Zombie-prep is a metaphor for civil unrest, biowarfare, natural emergency, and all things that can go wrong. Zombie-prep is Murphy’s Law.” While the threat of a zombie apocalypse may be an emergency “Black-Swan” event, it works as a vehicle to discuss broader institutional and social responses to states of unprecedented emergency.

I can’t say that the New Zealand Government has asked me to write this feature to prepare for the inevitable, but here I am. If I can’t shake the feeling that something may be right around the corner, I’ll try to prepare for it. This is what would happen in (and how to survive) a zombie apocalypse in Ōtepoti Dunedin.

Stage 1: Outbreak

My first stop was to investigate what a zombie virus might hypothetically look like. Luckily for me, the University of Otago is the only University in Aotearoa to offer a 300level paper fully dedicated to in-depth learning about viruses and their interactions with their host – colloquially known as the study of virology. I emailed Associate Professor Mihnea Bostina, the course coordinator and a real-life virologist. He told me that his lab (the Bostina Lab) met the following day, and I should go along and talk to them about my latest maladaptive daydream – which they reassured me was, in fact, an unrealistic nightmare. But they entertained me anyway

As a Law and Commerce student, I’ve only ever wandered to the science side of campus for 100-level business papers, so I felt like a fish out of water. The lab group (nine post-grad students belonging to the Bostina Lab) welcomed me into where they were meeting: a maximally decorated office.

The Bostina Lab informed me that the University of Otago boasts specialised research facilities designed to safely handle microorganisms that pose a moderate to high risk of infection, known as physical containment (PC) labs. PC labs are ranked on a scale of 1-4, with a PC4 lab being the highest form of containment. These labs are crucial for research into infectious diseases, enabling scientists to study pathogens without endangering themselves or the surrounding environment. They incorporate multiple layers of physical and operational safeguards to prevent the escape of these microorganisms. The filters to the vents in that room are so fine that they could get clogged with individual cells. There’s only a handful of PC3 labs in Aotearoa – we don’t even have a PC4 in the country, which is used to handle real nasties such as ebola. Otago University has a PC3 lab used to handle diseases like tuberculosis, which kills about 1.3 million people per year. Otago University investigates drug-resistant TB so as to better understand how it becomes resistant to treatments, and then how to overcome these resistances by trialing new treatments.

Me: What do you think would happen [to cause a zombie outbreak]?

Bostina Lab: [A disease] could come out of a PC3 lab.

While diseases could hypothetically ‘escape’ a PC3 lab (most likely through somebody getting infected), the safety measures in place make this near impossible. The University told me that the PC3 lab operates under “strict national and international biosafety standards, designed to prevent any accidental release of pathogens.” You have to wear a hazmat suit and breathe HEPA-filtered air through a tube if you enter the PC3 – not the sexiest outfit. You also have to sign in and sign out – and that’s if you even get permission to enter. While you’re in the lab, someone from within the University is visually supervising you through cameras to ensure your safety (like making sure you don’t faint on the job) or make sure you aren’t doing something that is dangerous or risky. Those supervising over cameras can speak and communicate with you while you're in there. You also have to take a full body shower when you leave, plus get regular disease testing. The Bostina Lab told me if a zombie outbreak were to occur in Dunedin, it could more realistically be from a fresher catching it from a bioterrorist leak from a PC4 lab overseas. In this increasingly hypothetical and fictitious scenario the more I learned (thankfully), someone infected with a gnarly (possibly zombie) virus could pass it on to someone in their hall – the ultimate petri dish. However, PC3 labs don’t hold viruses that are of high individual and community risk (for example, tuberculosis poses a higher risk to researchers than the community, as it doesn’t spread very easily – usually through long exposure). So the chances of a ‘zombie virus’ being at the PC3 lab at all in the first place are nil.

Me: What sort of pathogen would cause zombies?

Bostina Lab: I’d say the most likely virus would be something that causes neuro-inflammation, and causes inflammation in the brain that changes behaviour –making you aggressive. You see that with rabies.

A virus like this could be stable in body fluids and start out with symptoms akin to the common cold, meaning you still feel good enough to go out and share drinks and vapes

with friends, spreading the virus extremely effectively. Diseases such as rabies and Lyme disease cause aversion to water and meat, respectively, and it may be possible for a virus to reverse those aversions into a strong craving for flesh. Or, it could cause your body to no longer be able to absorb iron and make you extremely hungry, driving you to seek out any meat you can find – and there’s not a lot of animals in urban Dunedin. And if it’s stable in bodily fluids, it can be transferred by bite or airborne droplets. If you breathe a neuro-inflammatory disease in, that’s quick access to your brain through the nasal passages, speeding up a breakdown in logic and character. Not good.

Me: Once fully infected, is there a way to reverse such a disease?

The short answer is maybe, but using my creative liberty for this apocalyptic event, I would suggest no. If the zombie virus was neuroinflammatory, then chances are it would damage critical structures in your brain that, even if the virus is cured, would leave you neurologically damaged. Some viruses (retroviruses) integrate with DNA and can exist indefinitely in the body, so there’s potentially no ‘getting better’ naturally either. “You’re either not going to be able to heal or recover from it, or your quality of life is so low that… You know,” one lab member put it. Other symptoms you experience when you’re sick (such as an ongoing fever) can spoil important proteins and cause seizures. Best case scenario, you’re naturally immune (there’s always a number of those ‘lucky’ people in any population), and get to watch all your flatmates slowly get infected.

Me: How do you think you could avoid catching something like this?

Bostina Lab: Retreat. Don’t see anyone. If people are attacking and biting you, you need to be away from people.

With those harrowing words, I left the Bostina Lab. Ultimately, our conversation had highlighted something that emphasised my fear: unlike vampires, witches, or ghosts, zombies do not necessarily require a supernatural act – maybe just rabies gone rogue. A poll of professional philosophers once showed that more than 58% of philosophers believed that zombies could exist on some level. Conversely, fewer than 15% of those same respondents believed in God.

That’s a bit like me now. I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in zombies.

Stage 2: Emergency Responses

Say the outbreak has hit. While students would begin panicking, several institutional mechanisms would begin to click into place. I’ll talk about those mechanisms soon – but let’s quickly consider where you could hide.

The first institutions I approached were the University of Otago and the Dunedin City Council. The University didn’t entertain me that much. Acting Chief Operating Officer Jared Hayes told me that the University has an Emergency Management Plan, which outlines how it would navigate

events that are disruptive to the normal operation of the University.

The Plan includes ‘human disease pandemic’, and the University’s Emergency Management Policy also includes an Infectious Diseases Emergency Planning Group – a broad cross-functional group of University staff and representatives from external agencies responsible for planning and advising on the University’s response to epidemics, pandemics, and infectious disease outbreaks. “It should be noted the intention behind the inclusion of these is to cover pandemics such as Covid-19 and seasonal influenza,” Jared says. Basically, the University is concerningly underprepared, despite potentially being ground zero for such an outbreak.

The DCC had much better arrangements, with a spokesperson confirming that they have “all the raw ingredients” necessary for a “well-defended crafting base on the roof of the Civic Centre”, stocked with wood, cobblestone, fibre, iron ingots, and coal (what in the Minecraft?). “Beyond that, a zombie apocalypse would most likely fall under the definition of a pandemic, and our response would be led by our Civil Defence experts at Emergency Management Otago,” they told me. Emergency Management Otago also said that planning for any contagion is the responsibility of Health New Zealand, and any Civil Defence planning will be dictated by their approach. Total run around.

After some Googling, explanations from Otago University’s Peter Grace, and reading an excellent article by Victoria University’s Jim Rolfe, I found out that as soon as the threat of any national security risk gets out, a Watch Group is formed. Watch Groups are a “tool to obtain situational clarity” in chaotic emergency situations, according to the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. Who is within a Watch Group depends on the nature of the event, but Watch Groups are created to ensure high-level coordination between agencies and advise the Prime Minister and Cabinet on what emergency response should be. These groups kind of act like a national security ‘filter’, deliberating on whether issues should be escalated or referred back to agencies (such as the Police) to deal with. For example, the 2008 Global Financial Crisis was discussed by a Watch Group, but referred to the Reserve Bank to deal with, as it was within their jurisdiction.

Once a Watch Group identifies an issue of national security, they will ask if this is a single agency issue or requires close central coordination. Given the magnitude of threat a zombie apocalypse entails, the matter will likely be referred to the Officials Committee for Domestic and External Security Coordination (ODESC). ODESC is the committee with all the power for security coordination: formed from the Security Intelligence Service, Government Communications Security Bureau, and the National Emergency Management Agency, as well as any other agency who should be involved with an emergency. It’s like our version of the FBI and CIA. They come up with an emergency response and refer it to Cabinet (basically the brain of our Government, if you aren’t familiar with political lingo).

“What’s interesting about ODESC, in the zombie setting, is that they have a devil’s advocate. That’s to overcome groupthink. They also have cognitive profiles on all members [of ODESC] – that’s to overcome cognitive

biases like confirmation bias [...]”, Peter tells me. Basically, it means that ODESC is socially engineered to deal with critical situations like a zombie apocalypse. If Peter was on ODESC in this situation, he’d freak out. The only zombie movie he’s ever watched was Shaun of the Dead, and he couldn’t stop shaking for hours after. If I was there, I would probably think of the worst case scenario and try to block all roads in and out of Dunedin, essentially putting a dome over the city à la Stephen King. However, ODESC is a carefully considered environment, and challenges those lines of thinking to come up with the most robust response possible for our nation. “I think, for instance, you’re gonna have a credibility problem with zombies. If one of the committee members started to go grey and make groaning noises, that credibility crisis would be overcome quickly. So there’s going to be a testing period to see if this [threat] is real, like we saw with the [COVID19] pandemic.”

Given the zombie outbreak would be localised in Dunedin, this point is especially salient. No matter how intelligent you are, humans have an innate inability to rationalise with what they do not know. There would be a period of “what the fuck” within ODESC, as images and videos flood social media and news outlets of students and staff infected

with some mystery virus that drives them to inexplicably hunt for human flesh with more passion than I hunt for a Powerade on a Sunday morning. For example, Peter assumed that a zombie apocalypse would stem from the traditional literature idea of an outbreak, which happens where there is an overcrowding of Hell, causing souls to be stuck in undead bodies on the living plane. Conversely, I jumped to the assumption it would be caused by a virus. These are the sorts of debates ODESC would have in this “what the fuck” period. This is also a period where we might begin to have civil unrest, as other citizens within the nation begin to question if what they’re seeing is real – potentially exacerbated by increasingly realistic AI depictions of catastrophic events. In other words, it’s an environment for conspiracy theories to develop.

ODESC would inevitably have a brief power struggle given the uncertainty of the situation. With our proximity in time to the COVID-19 pandemic, perhaps the most natural response would be to treat the outbreak like a pandemic. One option would be to appoint the Ministry of Health as the lead agency within ODESC, but this seems wrong to Peter in the context of zombies – I dunno if even Ashley Bloomfield could calm me down in the face of the undead.

“I think that’s the sort of conversation they’d be having,” Peter suggests. The Police is another option for a lead agency, who would treat the outbreak as a law and order problem. “You’ve got two law and order problems. One is that zombies are violent, and so the Police will be trying to stop violence as opposed to spread – not to say that

the [Ministry of Health] won’t be doing their job as well. Secondly, you’ll have looting going on as people try to build their defence.”

If it’s not a law and order problem, then maybe it’s an invasion problem. But not an external invasion; rather, internal. In a way, a zombie outbreak is akin to a civil war, in which citizens are becoming zombies and fighting against citizens who are not yet zombies. This is a military issue, potentially leaving the Ministry of Defence to lead the response. But the military is not necessarily immune to infection, creating a fifth column issue – in which a group within a conflict-ridden nation undermines that nation in favour of the enemy. Here, the military may be undermining the emergency response through becoming undead while still in military kit. Now you have the Ministry of Health, Police, and Defence all battling over who is correct to take control in this situation. Peter even suggested (“tongue in cheek”) that Births, Deaths and Marriages (they register Births, Deaths and Marriages) may get involved due to the amount of citizens dying but being walking dead – “you’re now chasing your tail trying to register the [un]dead”. Nonetheless, it demonstrates how the whole Government would be affected by an outbreak.

At this point, Peter would expect a co-opting of experts, such as virologists. “You’d also turn to people who know a lot about zombies”, Peter explained, which could be drawn from those who are familiar with zombie literature (including the contributors to r/ZombieSurvivalTactics). In other words, once this feature is published, I would probably be top on the list for who ODESC would call – which is great because journalism pays fuck all these days. Consolidating all of this, ODESC would advise Cabinet, who may adopt recommendations as they see fit.

From the research I have done, the natural sciences have already considered the zombie problem (as was clear from my trip to the Bostina Lab). Another example was a study done by physicist Thomas Wooley, who explored the best place to hide from the “random walk” pattern of zombielike bodies using the diffusion equation. If, for example, the initial zombie outbreak is 90 meters away and they have a diffusion rate of 100m2/min, then they’ll catch up with you in around 26 minutes. This also illustrates why you should never stay and try to fight zombies – it is always better to run. Getting double the distance between yourself and zombies approximately quadruples. When the zombies do catch up, hopefully you’ve fortified your base with enough obstructions that a human could navigate, but a decaying, unathletic, and brain-dead zombie would struggle with. Physics! Mathematicians have also modeled the theoretical spread of zombies (they gave the world 100 days). Forensic anthropologists have considered how long zombies can persist while their body decomposes. It appears I am not the first person to ponder any of this.

Stage 3: Local Social Response and Recovery

Recovery would begin as soon as a response has been decided and recommended to Cabinet. Peter suggested to me that, if we proceed with the Bostina Lab’s definition of zombies, you could "wait out" the outbreak until the zombies died and the problem was over. They’re still technically mortal, and if we’re going off what forensic anthropologists

theorise, then they'd only have a limited amount of time before they start decomposing on their feet. Granted, the colder climate of Dunedin may sustain how long they last compared to more humid environments. “Therefore, you could try to contain them to one island, because they couldn't take the Cook Strait ferry over to the other,” Peter suggests. However, if a “real” zombie apocalypse occurs (one where the zombies aren’t technically mortal, and instead regurgitated back up from Hell), time would not be on our side – at some point we would make contact with the zombies again, furthering spread. Let’s just hope the Bostina Lab was on to something.

In the UK 2010 election, the Citizens for Undead Rights and Equality (CURE) party was founded by 26-year-old Harry Cole. He and his friends didn’t literally want to create a party demanding equality for the living dead, but rather use the party as a vehicle to express their discomfort toward, and alienation from, mainstream parties, setting out to mock politicians and the voters who were prepared to back them as zombies. Politicians “represent a very small, elite group of people, not the general public,” Cole told Time Magazine. CURE managed to get 317 votes.

Despite Cole perhaps not meaning CURE or his sentiment to have a direct application to a zombie outbreak, he demonstrates an important point: zombie outbreaks are illustrative of social division. An example is what we saw when the first COVID-19 lockdown was announced: affluent people fled from major cities to their holiday homes. Those most affected by an outbreak will live in densely populated areas, unable to escape to holiday homes, much like we saw during COVID. For the majority of the public, those who have become zombies will inevitably be our friends, flatmates, and family. Sympathising with the undead will be likely. As recovery efforts continue, formation of other activist groups is bound to happen – Undead Aotearoa, ZPeace, or charters pushing for the recognition of the Rights of the Undead. Daniel Drezner, an author I have referenced several times throughout this feature, discusses that the likelihood of a ZombieLeaks entity publishing sensitive and classified information about the counterzombie regime seems strong, undermining any Government response to the outbreak.

Here at ground zero, Peter thinks we’d have preferential treatment for those who have guns and survival skills, whereas those bound to rest homes and hospitals are left to pray. Guess it's time to join the Hunting Club to prepare. Searching ‘abandoned’ within r/Dunedin reveals that there are some in our midst that are into urban exploring: the hobby of exploring abandoned or otherwise inaccessible, often human-made structures, that are not typically open to the public. Beneath our feet stretch old tunnels, many sewers but some built in response to the threat of WW2. The photos I’ve seen of them look creepy as fuck, with one explorer describing navigating them as “back-breaking level on the pain-o-meter”, given their “stoopiness”. However, you could potentially envision some little freshers using these tunnels to navigate into and away from central Dunedin, as some of these old sewer lines lead into the hills that surround central Dunedin. The DCC told me that there were also a number of privately-owned tunnels and bunkers scattered around the city, which could be a helpful advantage for some lucky owners. The University further confirmed that there are three WW2-era bomb shelters under the Geology and Archway West buildings, so students could make good use of those as well.

Those who have cars are also likely to be at an advantage, being able to escape to other areas – so long as the Government’s response hasn’t meant sectioning off Dunedin to die. While these days dismissed as largely a myth, the general manager of Rising S (a company that sells private doomsday-esque bunkers ranging from USD $40k into the millions) Gary Lynch claimed Rising sold heaps of bunkers to NZ. They’re “all over the place”, Lynch gleefully told CNN in 2020. Another American company, Vivos, claimed that it built a 300-person bunker in NZ, but when the founder was asked for details, he refused to say any more – or even confirm its existence. Perhaps if you had a car, student ingenuity and some mates endowed with “connections” (nepotism funded by generational wealth), you could find these bunkers. Food for thought. Maybe Forsyth Barr is converted into a makeshift hospital, or the Meridian Mall as a stronghold.

Peter thinks there would be a further question about whether democracy would be the first casualty, or whether you end up with total anarchy and tribalism, where only the strong survive. Maybe if preferentialism does prevail and the Government becomes uninterested in the dire fate of the South Island, anarchism would become our Southern heartland. Maybe there would no longer be any order, and grand institutions like our University that once housed talented professors and students alike would fall to the insistence of time’s ever-marching arrow.

But who really knows? I’m just a writer for Critic.

Massive thanks to the following friends, scholars, authors, and platforms for making my daydream come to life and entertaining me:

• Peter Grace

• Mihnea Bostina

• The 2025 Bostina Lab

• Grace Verryt

• Molly Smith-Soppet (for editing this to make it funny)

• Daniel Drezner (author of Theories of International Politics and Zombies: Apocalypse Edition)

• Philip C. Hill (author of The New Zealand Public Health Response to COVID-19 and International Implications for Managing Future Pandemic Threats) Jim Rolfe (author of Prudence, Principle and Pragmatism - New Zealand's Security in the 21st Century)

• r/ZombieSurvivalTactics

• Zombie Apocalypse Survivors Network (Facebook)

Quickly rising the ranks, Pages Layn is getting around Dunedin like a juicy piece of gossip, popping up all over the place, opening just about any gig they can. Having debuted at the first Pint Night of the year, this pack of punters have now managed to score themselves a spot on Rhythm & Alps lineup. Critic Te Ārohi invited the rock and blues band to spit some yarns and find out the secret behind the sauce.

Frontman Alfie Buxton led the charge during the interview. Having noticed a lull of rotating bands at Pint Night, Aflie began assembling the dream team of musicians at the tail end of 2024. While manning the lighting decks at U-Bar’s Pint Night, he scouted talented drummer Mikey Dean on stage. "I was pretty impressed by him, so I asked him if he was keen to do something," said Alfie. Thankfully, Mikey was on board. Alfie then roped in local talent Ben McMorran of Caribou.

The latest addition to the group was Gus Logan. The pair met in music class, but it was Gus’ voluminous mullet that caught Aflie’s attention. Pacing into the office, Gus carried his electric guitar with an air of confidence only rivalled by Mick Jagger. When looking over to Gus throughout the interview, he would either be fiddling with the strings of his guitar or twirling the ends of his luscious locks between his fingers (can’t blame him with a mop like that).

Pages Layn finds inspiration in the sound of the ‘70s, pioneered by the greats of Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones, though the band's devotion to Britpop does not go unnoticed. Alife was lucky enough to see Oasis in Cardiff over the mid-sem-break. To celebrate, the band played six Oasis songs on their first Pint Night back. Gus joked that Alfie got a little bit “carried away.” Ben even attempted to contact Liam Gallagher before one gig, inviting him to play alongside Pages Layn at The Crown. “He didn't respond,” said Ben. “Poor form, honestly."

The bandmates endeavour to release a new song each month until the end of the year. ‘Roll Over’ is their first release thus far, which was recorded alongside two other unreleased songs with Sam Charlesworth, lead singer of The Beatniks and a local producer. Sam operates a recording studio based in his bedroom, producing music at professional standards. Doing the best with what he has, Sam will often run leads down the hallway, spreading amps across his flatmates’ rooms to capture the best quality in his recordings. Alfie admires Sam's professionalism and his patience: "You can absolutely waste his time and he won't get angry."

Performing at R&A is a dream come true for the band. Asked how they scored the spot on the lineup so soon into their career, Alfie cheekily replied that they reached out to their "contact on the inside." A General Manager listened to their music, saw a video of their set, and gave the greenlight for the punters to go ahead. Alfie is expecting to get the bottom tier slot – 4pm on the first day with about 80 people watching – but he’s not phased. “I don't care,” he said. “It’ll be so good.” Gus mysteriously promised that they are going to do “something really special for that gig.” They didn’t let on what, but consider our interests piqued.

On stage, the boys have earned a reputation for playing their sets shirtless. The goal on stage is to have fun, said Alfie, but also mentioned a "few goals” for the end of the night. In response to Critic’s raised eyebrows, Alfie prompted Gus to explain his ‘four-step plan’ to take a girl home after a show. For the sanctity of all involved, we won’t indulge the readers with the contents of the sequence of events – you can get in touch directly with the campus Casablanca if you’re curious.

Moving on, Alfie noted that Dunedin's student music scene is in "a bit of a reset period at the moment." While the more established bands in Ōtepoti like Hot Sauce Club, The Beatniks, and IVY are opting out of the weekly Pint Night rotation – instead choosing to play less frequent but larger gigs as their careers grow – Alfie wants to fill that gap. His goal is to take that slot as “that regular band you see around”.

But it won’t be for long. Alfie will be heading back to England next year, meaning Pages Layn will have to split roads. Though the band hasn’t been around for long, they’re proud of what they have done so far. “I'm starting to watch the videos [of our sets] and not cringe!” said Alfie, which is certainly something. Alfie wonders if there will be a day “where everyone reunites in London”. Maybe one last jig.

For now you can catch Pages Layn around Ōtepoti and at Wānaka’s Rythm & Alps over New Year’s. You can check out their song ‘Roll Over’ on all streaming services.

ByJonathan

BY Gin Swigmore

I drank Wild Boar Bourbon and Cola while playing a 1983 version of Trivial Pursuit. Half of the questions were about the Soviet Union. Fitting. Like oil and water, bourbon and communism just don’t mix. Drinking Wild Boar makes you feel like you’d be complicit in the Red Scare. The drink unlocks a primal desire to binge drink while listening to Van Halen, and scream about how the communists are ruining the country. Or, if you’re feeling contemporary, treat ‘communist’ and ‘wokie’ interchangeably. Pissed off that I didn’t know the name of the USSR’s state travel agency, I abandoned Trivial Pursuit to realise that in Oz, Wild Boars are sold in 15% ABV cans. Enough piss to turn a 6-pack into 26 standards. With further research – i.e. drinking enough to realise that Wild Boar tastes like a mix of ten-cent coins, battery acid, and crude oil put through a French press – it was clear that Wild Boar’s core business model is to appeal to people that want to get as fucked up as possible.

make sure to get roasted & unsalted

Logically, I decided to do some research on why these damn ‘insert interchangeable term’ removed Aotearoa’s B&C heritage, or respectively, the 10% Diesel, 12% William Maverick, and 9% Cody – otherwise known as the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit of breatherism. A Godless nation we now are.

Here’s an extremely brief and marginally accurate recap: in 2012 RTDs, led by this ‘courtcase in a can’ trio, incited a mass moral panic which led to the Justice Minister (then Judith Collins) calling for the ban of any RTDs over 6%. With a slight amount of lobbying, the ban was backtracked and the alcohol industry set their own regulations under the Voluntary Industry Code for RTDs in 2012. Regulations that now maintain the 2.0 standard drinks per vessel, or 7% limit. Which, unfortunately, due to the butterfly effect, led me to drink Wild Boar’s flat bourbon and cola. And due to them not being 15%, I can still remember the metallic aftertaste and getting smoked in ‘80s Trivial Pursuit.

The moral of the story is to buy Diesels instead.

(As a side-note, RTD companies, according to this code, cannot advertise the effects of caffeine in their drinks. But I guess Nitro’s “Sleep when you’re dead” doesn’t count).

Hangoverness: Robert Baratheon after a hunting trip

Book Pairing: Anything from coke-fuelled Stephen King

Additional Use: Lighter fluid, drain cleaner

This week we are serving up a raw cookie dough slice, the perfect sweet to pair with a coffee or satisfy those afternoon choccy cravings. Packed full of goodies like dates, peanut butter and tahini, it gives you a more nutritious and affordable option to those vending machine treats. Make this up at the start of the week and dip in throughout the week. Enjoy and thank me later

Instructions:

Step 1. Pour boiling water over the dates until covered, and let sit for 20 mins.

Step 2. While the dates soak, toast the coconut in a small pan over a low heat. Keep an eye on it, tossing occasionally, until lightly browned. Remove from heat.

Step 3. To a blender, add the toasted coconut and oats. Blend into a flourlike consistency and place into a large bowl.

Step 4. Add the tahini, peanut butter and melted coconut oil to a bowl with the coconut-oat flour.

Step 5. Once they are softened, blend the dates, and add them to the bowl. Don’t worry if they aren’t totally smooth, a few chunks are okay in the slice.

Step 6. Mix the ingredients until combined, and then fold through the chopped chocolate.

Step 7. Scoop the mixture into a lined container/tin/tray and place into the freezer.

Step 8. For the chocolate topping, melt the chocolate and coconut oil together in a small pan over low heat.

Step 9. Remove the slice from the freezer briefly and pour over the chocolate topping.

MI GORENG GRADUATE

By Ruby Hudson

Step 10. Place back into the freezer on as level a surface as possible. Freeze for a few hours to set.

Chop into small pieces and enjoy! This needs to be stored in the freezer so take a piece or two out when you want a sweet treat :)

FOR:

There is something almost heroic about pulling an all-nighter: 2am with an energy drink in one hand, wondering if your flatmates will ever know the sacrifice you made for this essay. You're not just a student, you're an academic weapon sharp enough to cut through half a semester's worth of skipped lectures and a proud member of the "sleep is for the weak club." While some people actually follow their study schedules, real legends know that procrastination + panic = productivity.

First, let's talk efficiency. If you spend two weeks "studying in advance," chances are you'll waste half that time making colourcoded flashcards you'll never look at again, or lying on the library floor questioning your life choices. An all-nighter, though? Pure, relentless grind. Eight (okay, twelve) hours of laser focus, powered by fear and caffeine, cramming everything you should've learned in a semester into one long Red Bull-fuelled fever dream. That's not just efficient. That's elite.

Secondly, memory works best under pressure. Do you really remember that fact you casually glanced at three weeks ago? No. But you will remember the definition of "elasticity of demand" if you frantically googled it at 3:47am while whispering, "Please, God, I'll never skip lectures again." In fact, psychologists call this emotional encoding. Your brain prioritises information that feels urgent, terrifying or both. So while your organised friend smugly reviews their perfect OneNote tabs, you're memorising by force, because panic, unlike neat headings and aesthetic fonts, actually sticks.

Not to mention, pulling an all-nighter is a bonding ritual. No one remembers their sensible study schedule, but everyone remembers the 5am delirium, the flatmate who started singing "Mr Brightside" from the next room, and the collective moment of madness when you considered showing up to your exam drunk just to see what happens. Studying in advance may get you the pass, but the

all-nighter? That's what gets you both the grade and the story.

So, is pulling an all-nighter more effective? Maybe it shouldn't be, but the evidence and your GPA say yes. Sure, it's chaos, but it's productive chaos, and in the end, grades don't care how you got there; they just care that you did.

AGAINST:

One thing I really like about my body is its stable blood pressure and normal cortisol levels. In order to maintain that, I don’t do dumb shit like stay up all night for a test or assignment I have known has been coming for the past fucking month. Okay – stuff happens. Things pile up. If that is really happening, chances are you will know, like, week out that’s the case and ask for an extension (#frontallobe).

I disagree with the “your brain prioritises scary information” argument. Studies have shown that a relaxed state of mind can improve memory and information retention. In contrast, when stressed or anxious, the brain's ability to process and store new information can be impaired. So yeah, you are probably wrong about that point. Emotional encoding sounds like something you say to make yourself feel better when you know you’re really cooked.I prefer to contain my feelings of dread and uncertainty about uni between the hours of 9-5 and spend the rest fucking around. Do all nighters doing drugs, not study. It’s about balance.

You are paying too much money to not go to uni, skip lectures and make yourself feel terrible by doing all nighters and cramming! Bring back enjoying learning! I love learning! And another thing: why the fuck are you paying extortionate tuition fees if you can’t even remember what you studied while you’re still paying off the debt years down the line?

I hate to sound like a mum, but this also doesn’t build good life skills. You have to learn how to get into productive habits and look out for yourself. Time management and working with deadlines is such a critical skill that will serve you well no matter where you end up.

IS PULLING AN ALL-NIGHTER MORE EFFECTIVE THAN STUDYING IN ADVANCE?

By Dirty Talk

THE TRAVELLING CUM JUMPER

Salty, bitter, metallic – the distinctive taste of cum. Caught off guard, I forget I can swallow. Matt lies down next to me while I pick up the nearest piece of clothing from the floor, spitting my own cum into the soft wool.

—What was that for?

—It’s called snowballing.

—Okay… just give me some warning next time.

First I’ve heard of it – I don’t read the Urban Dictionary for fun. And that kākāriki jumper? Not mine. I borrowed it from a friend last night for a cold walk home from the pub, and now I’ve (indirectly) cum on it. Staring at the viscous white smear in dim light, I think: is this machine washable? Matt puts his hand on my leg.

—What’s up?

—It’s just… this isn’t my jumper.

—Oh shit, you can wash it though, right?

—Yeah, surely.

The morning after, the jumper’s care label warns that I definitely can’t machine wash it. A coffee in hand, my ass still sore from last night, two futures furl out in front of me: hand wash it in my flat’s kitchen sink, or return it to my friend as-is? The second is definitely out of the question, and the first isn’t so appealing either. I don’t want the smell of my own cum wafting around the flat – not today, not ever.

Tip-toeing around the back of the house, last night’s rain seeps through my socks. I eye the vaping students over the fence suspiciously, as if they know what I’m about to do, and with a deep guilt I slip the cum-jumper into our general waste bin. I’ll say I lost it, or it got stolen by my deranged flat mate. Something like that. Hopefully, Frances will just forget about it. I’d like to forget about it too.

A week later, however, the jumper returns to my life. My deranged flatmate did actually steal it – out of the bin. He walks into the living room not just wearing it, but styling it. Tucked in, matching socks. He sits across on the couch across from me.

—Nice jumper, where’d you get it?

—Found it in the bin.

—You washed it first, right?

—Yeah!

—Good… good.

Your flatmate's dishes are starting to look like a biohazard. Channel your fiery rage into either cleaning them or weaponising them to tear the flat dynamic apart in the group chat. Either way, it's a good way to get some of those pent up emotions out.

This week's crime: Catfish your tutor

You’re convinced your flat is haunted. Spoiler: it is. But the ghost just wants a drink and to complain about their ex. Invite them into the lounge, share a Speight’s, and let them vent about the great Tinder pandemic of 2019.

This week's crime: Steal a rotisserie chicken

Stop pretending you don't care about what your flatmates cook for dinner. This is the third week in a row of nachos and spag bol. They are doing the bare minimum and it's not fair that you are whipping up some extravagant, vege filled, meal weekly.

This week's crime: Pirate Dance Moms and try to sell DVDs of it

Your emotional vice is out of steam. Leave the vape and the Satisfyer Pro 2 behind and try going for a beach walk, with a little bit of Fiona Apple and some sea gulls to be the soundtrack of the evening. Thinking about things is healthier than trying to forget, even if it is harder.

This week's crime: Sell fake IDs

The universe is not clapping every time you walk into the library, but sometimes that's the only motivation to get out of bed. You feel like a celebrity this week, and maybe you are. After all, it feels like there are eyes watching your every move.

This week's crime: Joyride a Campus Watch car

You think you're holding it together, but your notes app is 97% angry rants. It's probably time to get rid of those, lest you accidentally get way too drunk at Pint Night and end up reading them to strangers in the bathroom.

This week's crime: Streak through the Octagon

Your Facebook humour is going to peak this week. Get shit posting, everyone knows that nothing says Scorpio more than a well-timed post with a thinly veiled insult to your uncle with 47 likes.

This week's crime: Try steal a trolley from every supermarket

Your wanderlust is flaring up, but you don't have the funds to go away every time you feel the need to. Try settling for a spontaneous road trip to Milton. If you squint hard enough, it's basically Europe.

This week's crime: Kidnap a fresher

This week you’ll be caught in the middle of a flat argument about toilet paper – who bought it last, who’s freeloading, why there’s only one sad roll left next to the loo. Take the high road and buy a bulk pack, letting yourself bask in the moral superiority.

This week's crime: Pee on the keypad into your department's office

You have been ‘making a budget’ for three weeks straight without saving any money. The stars suggest deleting UberEats and buying some frozen dumplings. At least then you might be able to buy something nicer than 2-ply toilet paper.

This week's crime: Steal your flatmates laundry and wash it

You’re juggling too many situationships, and you are not even certain of your own feelings. Leaving things to work themselves out may have worked for you in the past but not this time buddy. So either clear the roster or choose someone to go steady with, good luck.

This week's crime: Sell counterfeit Speight’s that's just bottled piss

You’re a human sponge for other people's emotions. That's cute until you end up crying in a tutorial over someone else’s breakup. Try to protect your peace a little bit more because while it's fun knowing the goss, sometimes it does weigh a little heavy on your heart.

This week's crime: Climb the Clocktower

ROMANTICISE STUDENTHOOD OUSA EXEC

A few weeks ago, after a Pint Night, I spiralled into what can only be described as a mini existential crisis. I realised the countdown has officially begun. The final semester. Suddenly, the late night study sessions will feel nostalgic, a host will feel like a memory forming, and walking across Alhambra rugby field will feel like less of struggle (who knows though, could just be due to the sun showing its face).

Obviously, romanticising your last semester won’t actually solve any of Dunedin’s problems. But it will help you notice the charm of the place before it’s too late. So, in the spirit of making peace with Dirty Dunners, I’ve curated a list of things you shouldn’t forget to do.

Start with creating traditions. Pint Night is a must do, you can’t leave Dunedin having never gone to one. It’s more than drinking in a basement on campus, it’s watching the local bands and DJs, catching up with friends, and fully experiencing the ‘student culture’ that everyone keeps talking about. The same goes for flat dinners, studying in a cafe, or even procrastinating your assignment with a sweet treat walk – they’re all part of the experience.

Don’t underestimate the power of saying yes. If you’re aiming for the best grades then get the assignments done early so you don’t miss out on making memories outside of the library. Go to the event, join the study group, take the spontaneous road trip. Even if it doesn’t seem necessarily that exciting, it could become a core memory. Join that club that you were wondering about, sign up for the OUSA Exec (shameless plug I can’t even lie). You never know what amazing people you will cross paths and become friends with.

Romanticise your time in Dunedin, because why not?

Amy Martin Admin Vice President