Debate leads in Student Press Awards Alongside Critic

Debate won six first-place awards and placed in eight other categories in a record night at the 2021 Aotearoa Student Press Association Awards. By David Wiliams (he/him)

AUT's student magazine led amongst eight student magazines, coming second for first place wins behind Otago University's Critic Te Arohi. Over 50 judges helped award 18 prizes, including journalists, authors, artists, and designers based here in Aotearoa and abroad.

Student News Reporter Justin Wong claimed the win for Best Student Politics Coverage. Business Desk Reporter and Debate alum Daniel Brunskill called his piece "Hikuwai Sounds Deep in the Red" a “really great yarn about uni finances (everyone’s favourite topic).”

Current Debate Editor Nam Woon Kim came first in the Best Reviewer category for his works “The Sexiest Albums of 2020”, “Where I Read Way too Deeply Into the Food From My Favourite Movies and Co.” and “Ping Pong the Animation: the ultimate comfort show.” Nam also placed third in the Best Photographer award. The Spinoff’s Culture Editor Sam Brooks praised Nam as “an incredibly strong, conversational voice, and a really great talent for capturing something with vivid language.”

Alana McConnell placed second on Best Headline with “Bullshit Operations Specialist: Your corporate dreams are bullshit”. Stuff’s Business Editor Susan Edmunds proclaimed that the title is “appropriately dream-crushing.” Her story on O-week drug testing also came joint third for Best Feature.

Designer Kwok Yi Lee came first in the Best Design category. House & Garden magazine’s Art Director Sacha Wackrow, said Debate is “the standout winner by a mile.”

Illustrator Yi Jong won the awards for best cover and best illustrator, with The Spinoff’s Creative Director Toby Morris calling Yi’s work “very impressive.” News Writer Justin Hu placed second in the Best News Reporter category for his coverage of cheating in online exams, Māori academics' criticism of AUT’s use of indigenous values, and the closing of Auckland’s favourite Korean pancake restaurant. Stuff’s National Correspondent Charlie Mitchell said Justin’s writing is “a joy to read.”

Editorial Assistant Andrew Broadley won second place in the Best Humour/ Satire category. Writer and comedian Robbie Nichol dubbed Andrew’s writing “thoughtful and honest but manages to avoid being self-important” adding “he can craft a think-piece, a silly quiz, and a listicle with charming and funny observations.”

Briar Pomana picked up the win for Best Creative Writing, Fiction, or Poetry for her two creative writing pieces. Writer Mandy Hager described her stories as “rich in nostalgia and vivid detail, with a real feeling of intimacy and very atmospheric.”

Debate also won third best website. Writer Tze Ming Mok said of the website “very clean and soothing.”

Other publications also scored their share of wins at the awards. Critic Te Arohi won Best Publication for the fifth year, while also winning Best Story and Best News Reporter. Following Critic and Debate, Massey University’s Massive won four first-place awards. Meanwhile, the University of Auckland's Craccum won Best Column with nine runner-up positions.

Debate

ISSUE 6 | SHIPS | 2021

Debate

ISSUE 4 | CLIQUES & CULTS | 2021

Debate

ISSUE 8 | GROWING PAINS | 2021

22

“Yeah I’m So Whitewashed”

By Nam Woon Kim (he/him), illustrated by Yi Jong (she/her)

Nam reflects on the use of the term ‘whitewash’ and how it reinforces ideals of white supremacy and undermines attempts to reorganise and redefine cultural identities.

I’d like to first acknowledge all the conversations I’ve had with my Asian and BIPOC friends about whiteness. At some point I realised there’s something uncomfortable about how we use this phrase and I can articulate some of this now thanks to the dialogue I’ve had with the people around me. This dialogue doesn’t end here, however, and I look forward to exploring this topic further in the future.

Today, I want to unpack and challenge the way ‘whitewashed’ is colloquially used to describe ourselves and our peers and what this demonstrates about one of the most insidious and powerful cliques of all: whiteness. This is informed by my perspective as a 1.5-ish generation Korean immigrant but I hope there’s something here that can resonate with anyone in the struggle against white supremacy.

Let’s get a few things out of the way first. I’m speaking specifically to how it’s used in everyday conversation to describe the social relations we have within our communities. I get that in these contexts it’s often used casually and innocuously in passing but I think it’s still worth examining. It’s also worth establishing that language is constructed and changes and like all languages, the term is stretched to suit many contexts. When used to describe a Mahjong set made by white, #girlboss entrepreneurs, the shoe fits. When describing the dominant narratives of U.S. Cold War history which erase an extensive legacy of coups and nurturing fascism in the Global South, the shoe also fits. But does the shoe fit when used as a label for yourself or a friend? Someone who’s ‘not that Korean, Chinese, etc?’ On one hand, it does. We know what this tends to mean so it’s not an invalid phrase. It encompasses everything from integration, to white friends, to not speaking your mother tongue, and so on. On the other hand, does it always fit? It certainly taps into what it’s like growing up or living in a white society but it falls short in several areas when discussing our collective experience of this often strange, colonial place called New Zealand.

What helped me recognise and understand my discontent with this phrase was that it relies on the false binary between those who are whitewashed and those who are not.

What helped me recognise and understand my discontent with this phrase was that it relies on the false binary between those who are whitewashed and those who are not. To not be Korean or X enough must mean there are those who are. The latter is generally perceived as the realm of ‘FOBs’ or those who stick to circles that only speak their native language. It seems that we’re positioned in either of these two cliques. I have no animosity towards anyone grouped into the latter, it’s the act of grouping itself that’s the problem. On my end, if you spent five minutes with me it’s obvious the circles I’m in mostly use English and aren’t Korean either.

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16

Yi Jong won awards for Best Cover and Best Illustrator. Finding Sexual Liberation via The Strip Club

By Dani Weaver (She/Her) | Illustration by Yi Jong

Kia Ora lovelies! I’m Dani, a first year comms student (who isn’t?) and dance teacher/choreographer at my recently established business-baby, Honeypot. Basically, I love to dance, and I draw inspiration from my hip-hop dance-crew years, as well as my more... exotic experiences. In other words, my classes pack a mean punch, and they’re hella sexy. I’m a big advocate for open sexual expression, embracing and celebrating the body, particularly the female form, and creating safe spaces for self-exploration to take place. If you’re interested in taking a class or just checking out the vibe, @honeypot.akl on Instagram is ya bestfriend. Or if you wanna see my own w(ho)lesome content, @lavendertheone.

When I saw that Debate were asking for writers to talk about all things sex, I salivated. Maybe it was the eggplant covered in blue jizz, or the deliciousness of the word ‘fetish.’ Or maybe it was the opportunity to over-share my sex-worker story with an audience of strangers. Or perhaps, a culmination of all of the above.

My relationship with sex has been a topsy turvy one. As a teenager I struggled with sexual shame, both internally and externally. My earliest encounters with sex were publicly shared through gossip and social media, making the last years of high school a living nightmare. I remember attending parties where students from other schools would approach me and ask “Are you Dani?” They seemed to spit my name, a now rumour-filled novelty and almost overnight it held a new meaning. One that was dirty. One I learned to be ashamed of. Teens these days seem to carry with them a level of ‘wokeness’ and self-awareness that honestly blows me away, but ten years ago, my peers' attitudes resembled that of Regina George. It wasn’t fetch.

I left school insecure and deeply troubled. I found myself in the most promiscuous phase of my life, partying every weekend and fucking different guys on the reg, completely oblivious to the underlying emotions I was supressing. So, where to from here? How does a young woman find sexual self-acceptance after experiencing such shame and ridicule? How can one embrace their sexuality, gender expression and the juicy, juicy goodness of their body? Spoiler alert, I found it all. And in the most unlikely of places: The strip club. So you hear the word ‘strip club.’ What comes to mind? Probably a dark seedy bar blasting AC/DC, naked women slinking over men in suits and the faint smell of Britney Spears ‘Curious’ wafting off some big ol’ fake tiddies. Now, I’m not saying this perception is incorrect. In my personal experience, it’s quite accurate! But dive a little deeper, past the sweaty tippingdollars and you’ll find some very important hidden gems, and some very liberated women. There’s something about being naked in front of a complete stranger that is incredibly empowering. It was in lapdances and stage shows that I found pride in my body as well as the bodies of other women. Every inch of skin was beautiful, every curve was something to be marvelled at, every movement powerfully feminine. Pussy Power is a real thing, by the way. The polarity is, in a taboo environment that is enriched in social judgment, I was able to release my shame, which propelled me into a life of flourishing sexual expression, and eventually into a career designed to empower women through dance.

Please don’t read this and think the only way you can connect to your body is by stripping. That is totally untrue. Intimacy is so important and can be found in a variety of different ways, but stripping was my gateway. Like any job, working in a strip club obviously has its downfalls, and because of the nature of the role, those downfalls can be quite intense.

Hikuwai Sounds Deep in the Red

By Justin Wong (he/him)

AUTSA’s orientation concert, Hikuwai Sounds, is expected to lose more than $120,000, with the association overestimating the number of paying attendees and diverting from a breakeven approach.

The concert was originally scheduled during Week 1 on March 5, but it was postponed to April 16 after Auckland was placed under Alert Level 3 restrictions.

Debate understands only 102 out of the approximately 1,200 concert attendees paid for a ticket. The rest got free entry as AUTSA gave away tickets on campus days before the event.

Budget documents of the past three orientation concerts, released by AUTSA to Debate, reveal the student association spent $179,290 on this year’s Hikuwai Sounds despite uncertainty around COVID-19 Alert Levels in Auckland, but they do not include revenue figures.

The finalised expenditure is yet to be released.

AUTSA’s Acting General Manager Simon Bell told Debate the exact numbers are not yet available, but ticket revenue is around $6,000 while the event made “roughly” $50,000 from sponsorship deals, while breaking-even and profitmaking is not the association’s intention for the concert.

“The intent is to provide an activity for the students and has no hope of making money.”

He told AUTSA’s Student Representative Council (SRC) in April that Hikuwai Sounds was “not a moneymaking

5 exercise”, and claimed more people attended than Auckland University’s orientation concert, Party at the Spark.

However, Auckland University Student Association (AUSA) General Manager Will Watterson, who was AUTSA’s General Manager from 2017 to 2020, confirmed to Debate that 1,443 people went to Party at the Spark.

He also said Hikuwai Sounds and Party at the Spark run on different models.

“From my time at AUTSA, I remember the concerts were usually run on a break-even basis.”

“AUSA almost always run our concerts at a loss in an effort to keep ticket prices low for our students.”

“Part of this loss is covered by the University, who make a small contribution to the event that rarely covers the difference between income and expenses.” Proposed spending for Hikuwai Sounds in 2021 nearly doubled from previous years, with the event’s 2019 edition costing around $93,000, while expenses for the Block Party in 2020 was around $68,000.

The documents also show AUTSA was aware that Hikuwai Sounds would not be profitable from ticket revenue and sponsorship alone.

Artist performance fees, including flights and accommodations, take up most of the 2021 expenditure, totalling $121,670, ranging from $300 to $32,000.

The budget also allocated $21,850 for production costs on audio, lighting, and LED screens, and another $16,000 for staging. The rest was divided on items including security, staff, and photographers.

The association initially planned on charging up to $45 for every early bird ticket, and $60 per AUT student. It also planned to set up a new ticket category named “Other Tertiary” that targeted students from other tertiary institutions, charging up to $60 per person. Public tickets and door sales would be between $70 to $80 each.

However, modelling projected that under proposed prices, losses could stretch from $80,000 to $115,000 in the “worst case scenario” of only 1,000 to 1,500 ticket sales. In a “best case scenario” where the concert sold 2,000, the deficit would still lay between $45,000 to $63,000. The model also suggested the concert must sell at least 2,350 tickets to have any chances of cutting losses to less than $45,000.

This led AUTSA to increase prices for all ticket categories, with early bird tickets at $60 per person and each AUT student ticket at $75. The “Other Tertiary” category was scrapped, meaning nonAUT students would have to pay $90 for a public ticket. Door sale prices also rose to $110.

But the modelling forecasted that even with 250 early bird tickets, 700 public tickets, and more than 1,000 AUT student-only tickets sold, the event would still lose $7,000.

Bell told Debate that AUTSA was willing to spend almost $180,000 on Hikuwai Sounds because it made a “statement of intent of hope” for the year, and the association was forced to prioritise attendance over revenue because of disruptions posed by lockdowns.

“We’re well aware that there are returning and new students who are apprehensive of having the student experience they would expect.”

“AUTSA made the decision to go ahead with an event and make sure it was high-profile enough so students can really take pride in it.”

He said feedback for the event has been “overwhelmingly positive” from his experiences on the door that night. However, AUTSA has not conducted a survey to back those assumptions.

Bell also claimed this is not “the most expensive student event in the country” as student associations in Otago and Wellington get “very expensive artists”. Debate is unable to verify these claims.

The association has not ruled out another concert for re-orientation week in July, with Bell saying the event would be smaller scale than Hikuwai Sounds if it goes ahead. 

6 18 Summers at Nanny’s House By Briar Pomana (she/her) When Mum and I arrive in Gisborne, the town's pothole-ridden roads are the first to greet us. We've come from Auckland and can immediately sense how time has slowed as we pass two heavily muddied tractors half on the road, half in the water drains. The paddocks and pastures we pass are littered with oranges and sweet summer fruits, their scents reminding us of home. Signs with chalk prices in childlike fonts sit quaintly by homemade letterboxes. We tell each other that at the next sign, we'll stop, and we do so outside of a tidy cottage fenced off by roses and guarded by a pet goat. My Nanny’s house is across the bridge and on the same street as the weekly Sunday market. Gisborne is a fruit bowl of produce so the bustle of the market has packed out the street with parked cars. Manoeuvering past kids on pushbikes and Māori women in homemade harakeke hats, we finally pull into my Nanny's long gravel driveway. Arriving, we wait a few minutes to stretch our legs. Nanny's car park operates dually as a clothesline so there are makeshift rows of wire strung from side to side. Nanny invented this herself for when the weather is sour and not forgiving of a freshly washed sheet. Opening our car doors, my head gets lost in a pair of dangly jeans. Next to it, there is a plastic bag with what looks like more clothes. In the distance we hear Nanny yoohooing out the sliding door, bustling to greet us. She tells us not to mind the clothes in the line, they belong to a cousin that was due to pick them up in the next hour or so. Finally, my Nanny emerges like a tūī bird in the sun. As always, she is wearing her home clothes: a cotton T-shirt she's had for donkey's years and ankle-grazing lime green pants she picked up from the hospice last week. Both are in pristine condition. Her hair is brushed back so as to not cover her eyes; the wavy strands are wispy and white like a floated feather. My Nanny loves a good pair of scuff s, so she’s wearing her ROXY pair she bought from Rebel Sport last summer. Her style, even in this instance, is impeccable. My Nanny is an ensemble of glorious moments of time intersecting. I somehow remain surprised at how many faces of our family I see in hers. As Mum gathers our bags I move towards our matriarch. The grass she moves across is greener than a traff ic light and I imagine my cousins will be sprawled upon it shortly. As if on a trampoline, we bounce on the spongy summer earth towards each other. The afternoon rays of this East Coast sun strike what bare skin it can find and finally, we are home. I have always known summers like this, where the air is salty and the pavement wet with used beach towels. Summers where the hours are found lounging around on lazy boy chairs watching reruns of Coronation Street or The Chase on TV. This slow season at Nanny’s is my favourite of the year. It's long drives and falling asleep in the backseat after a day of swimming. It's jam-packed sandwiches of the week's leftovers and 1 litre bottles of juice. It's being put in a trance by the way the curtains are sucked in and out as you lay for a nap on your Nanny's bed. Summers in Gisborne sit somewhere in between a good cup of tea and the first BBQ of the year. Hanging togs on a neighbour’s washing line, from the side view mirrors of a car, or in the bathroom are all common practices. Living slow is how we best drink in what little time we can all be together. Going back to Gisborne for summer at my Nanny's house always leaves us feening for a game of cards and a parcel of fish n chips from London Street. These days round themselves off with the final of afternoon swims in an ocean that feels like bathwater and an unbroken mandarin peel. As it comes to an end, Mum and I wallow in the shallows together, chatting of the significance of our summer lifestyle in Gisborne. To live in this slowness is to live for the everyday moments that often get left behind. Mum and I cast our eyes out to where the ocean meets the sky and I wonder to myself why we ever decided to leave this place in the first place.  Pigeons of Auckland City

A comprehensive guide

By Andrew Broadley | Illustration by Yi Jong

A city is only as great as its pigeons, and if Auckland’s pigeons are anything to go by, Auckland isn’t so great. I now live in the central city and one of the first things I noticed was how manky the birds seem to be. They are hardened from a life lived in such close proximity to humans and cars and shops that sell the battered carcass of their cousins, the chicken, and it shows. It did get me thinking about all the different feathery friends I have seen on my journeys, so here’s a little list of all the pigeons you can expect to see.

The Pilot

An expert in flight. Gets as close as possible to you before veering off. Precision and power. Often considered the most impressive of the pigeons.

The Drunk Pilot

Unlike its sober counterpart, this pigeon is like the GP to your heart surgeon. He had high hopes but ultimately settled for mediocrity. No fancy manoeuvre here, this feathery fella is often found landing firmly on the hoods of cars and knocking into street signs.

The Cannibal

We all love a fried chicken shop to close out our night, and pigeons are no different. Often seen coated in the fried skin and grease of its feathered cousins, adorning it like a cape across their back. These pigeons have a certain twitch and itch that only comes from feasting on the scraps of, well, bird.

The City Slicker

Why are the city birds so oily? But not in a good way.

Justin Hu placed second for Best News Reporter | Briar Pomana won first place for Best Creative Writing Andrew Broadley won second place for best Humour/Satire.