WELCOME TO NAU MAI ‘22 MAGAZINE
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Kia ora tauira mā, mālo e lelei and warm Pacific greetings! Ko Melissa Lama tēnei. It’s my absolute privilege to be your Student President for the Otago University Students’ Association in 2022. Firstly, I’d like to offer a hearty welcome back to Dunedin. I know it’s been an interesting few weeks, but we’re all glad to have you back on campus. I know that for many of you, the lack of an O-Week as we know it comes as a big bummer. And trust me, here at OUSA, we’re not exactly stoked about it either. The team here had managed to wrangle two of the biggest D&B artists on the planet to come play for you, and we were absolutely gutted to have to cancel the shows. In the past, O-Week has been something that people attended from all over the country. Dunedin just knows how to party. But this year, we made the call to cancel the party in the interest of our communal health and safety. That’s not a decision that we made lightly. And I know, it sucks, but it’s the right decision. In the meantime, we’ve organised a few safe events to ensure that you can still enjoy some semblance of an “O-Week as we know it”. We’ve also got heaps of other services still available: $4 lunch and Student Support via the HUB, to name a few. The Radio Onecard still gets you mean deals all over campus, and we’ll still be putting out a free weekly issue of Aotearoa’s most bangin’ student magazine: Critic Te Arohi. So there’s still a lot to look forward to. O-Week headliners or no, we know that you’re still going to mingle and enjoy the return to campus in true Dunedin fashion. And that’s great, we hope you have a blast. Just make sure to keep our communal health in mind, and work with us as we try to keep the party going - in whatever form it can take. Remember: we’re all in this together. Welcome back, everyone. It’s going to be an interesting year and I can’t wait to see what we can accomplish together. Ngā mihi nui, mā te wā, Melissa Lama
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OUSA is is YOUR student OUSA YOUR studentassociation. association.We We represent represent students’ interestswithin withinthe theUniversity University and and provide students’ interests a wide range services,events eventsand and support. support. a wide range ofofservices, ousa.org.nz ousa.org.nz
Leading OUSA is your elected student executive who represent your
Leading OUSA is your elected student executive who represent interests to the University, community, and country. They work to your improve interests to the University, community, and country. They work your student experience and the experiences of generationsto to improve come yourthrough studentstudent experience andadvocacy, the experiences of and generations focused campaigns initiatives.to come through student focused advocacy, campaigns and initiatives. president@ousa.org.nz president@ousa.org.nz
Critic is OUSA’s independent student magazine, out every Monday during the semester. It’s got all the on-campus gossip, plus it’s a good source of alternative news and general mayhem. Volunteer and be part of an awardwinning publication. critic.co.nz
OUSA owns Ōtepoti’s finest independent radio station. Stream online, download the app, or set your dial to 91FM. Volunteer and get yourself some valuable media experience, and don’t forget to collect your Radio Onecard to take advantage of amazing student deals in and around town! r1.co.nz
Events There are over 150 sporting, cultural, political and religious clubs and
societies, are all 100 per cent student-led. There are overand 150they sporting, cultural, political and religious clubs and societies, and they are all 100 per cent student-led.
Ori, Re Ori, Hyde? That’s OUSA. Keen to go to some of the best events in town? OUSA is hosting them. Across Music, Art, Market Days, BBQs and Theatre. ousa.org.nz/events
Joining a club allows you to try something new, make lifelong friends, and
reapathe mental andyou physical of being activelifelong and engaged. Joining club allows to try benefits something new, make friends, and ousa.org.nz #comeplayousa reap the mental and physical benefits of being active and engaged. ousa.org.nz #comeplayousa
OUSA Recreation Programme
ActivitiesRecreation include arts and crafts, dance, health and exercise, sports, music OUSA Programme and singing, languages, food and beverages, and everything in between. Activities include arts and crafts, dance, health and exercise, sports, music Find your next obsession! andousa.org.nz singing, languages, food and beverages, and everything in between. #comeplayousa
Find your next obsession! ousa.org.nz #comeplayousa
University Book Shop. On-Campus and Great King Street. OUSA Owned, and giving back to Otago University Students. It’s the best place to find books in Dunedin, from course textbooks to journals and everything in between. unibooks.co.nz
The Night’s Watch I shadowed a Campus Watch team for a night and it was wild By Erin Gourley
“We’re not expecting a big night,” Pete from Campus Watch tells me, making a bold prediction that turns out to be way off the mark. We’re standing on the corner of Albany Street and Forth Street, watching a procession of drunken students in Highlanders jumpsuits leaving the stadium. “Usually people go off home after the rugby and not much happens.” Pete is wrong; my night will end with the police clearing Leith Street because two people, including a police officer, have been bottled. As it turns out, Campus Watch are not always right. But after trying to keep up with their walking pace, I have a lot of respect: their job is exhausting. The night begins at the Proctor’s Office, a place I’ve never been before. The foyer is reminiscent of a police station. I am buzzed in through a side door. I walk up some stairs and find Steve, an ex-cop and the leader of the team I will be joining, sitting alone in the break room. He is surprised to see me (I was apparently meant to stay downstairs until someone came up with me) but is friendly anyway. Campus Watch is big. Steve tells me that it has doubled in size since it started eleven years ago. There are five teams of eight people, named after the phonetic alphabet: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, and Echo. Steve is the leader of Team Charlie and has worked for Campus Watch for nine years. We have a Team Charlie safety briefing at 8.45pm, which involves having a chat about where to go for the night. Dave, one of the team members, is away so there’s a bit of pressure (he’s “allegedly fallen off a ladder again”). There’s a list of parties on, and the Traffic Light Party is a hot topic. Campus Watch haven’t figured out where it is at this point, but they’ve heard it will be big. “Other than that we’ll just look after people and do what we do,” Steve says. All of the team want to be assigned to the safety car, because walking around the streets of North Dunedin is cold and boring. Pete and Annabel lose out. They’re going to have to walk around with us. We head downstairs and get to see the mysterious CCTV control room, but only after signing confidentiality agreements. All I will say is that there are a lot of cameras and the images are very high definition. Campus Watch need the Proctor’s approval before showing anyone the footage. When the Dundas Street Dairy was robbed, they couldn’t show the police the footage until the next day. “Even if the police ask, you can’t show it to them.”
I am intoxicated with the power of the hi-vis/torch combo. One team member, Michael, stays in the control room for the night. He will radio us if he sees anything on the CCTV that we need to check out as well as taking calls. Annabel hands us high-vis vests and pocket-sized torches, and the shift begins. We exit via an inconspicuous door in St Dave’s – one that I’ve always thought was a cleaning cupboard – and set off into the night with Team Charlie. I feel official. A bus of high school boys wave at us. Students give us nods of respect. I am intoxicated with the power of the hi-vis/torch combo. But other than that, I’m stone cold sober. And drunk people are truly hell when you’re sober. Team Charlie, unlike me, are good at dealing with drunk people. Annabel and Pete stop to play beer pong with a flat of guys on Hyde Street. Annabel is jovial and chatty, and has an aunt-who-makes-supportiveposts-on-your-Facebook-wall vibe. Pete is chill and seems like a student. He’s also massive; he almost walks into the top of a bus stop as we walk around. At least five people greet him by name throughout the night. We loop down to the stadium, which is totally dead by this point. I ask what we’re looking out for. “Anything that seems a bit off, people who look out of place,” Annabel tells me. Whenever we see people standing by themselves, she asks them how they’re going. Often they ignore us or just grunt in acknowledgement, but no matter what, Annabel says “Just let us know if you need anything”. There’s a party at The Lodge on Union Street. We stand across the road and check it out. “Seems like a good vibe,” Pete comments. A lot of Campus Watch duties involve standing around. Steve reckons that “just being seen” does a lot of their Code of Conduct enforcement work for them. “It’s prevention – standing on corners, standing by parties, shining torches, and saying ‘Stop that!’ rather than trying to get involved in things.” Pete gets a radio message; someone needs a walk-home from Cumby. We walk over to the hall, and find a group of girls waiting in the foyer.
Charlotte’s friends are going to town, but she wants to go home to her flat on Castle Street. She’s an exchange student from California. Her friend fixes me with an intensely drunk stare and asks us for directions to Starters.
accompanying throb of drum and bass. The DJ, in what could be classed as a pretty bad decision, starts chanting, “F*** the cops”. The chant goes for about four repeats before fading out as the police swarm the flat. Partygoers are pushed onto the street and disperse in a haze of alcohol.
We walk Charlotte home. Her friends have kicked over some glass bottles outside Cumby, and Annabel gives such a disappointed “Oh come on, girls” when she sees this that I start to wonder if I should pick up the glass. Charlotte is impressed that Campus Watch exists. “It’s cool, I don’t think my campus back home has this.”
There are now thirteen policemen on Leith Street. They form a line and walk towards the students, moving the crowd towards the Dundas Bridge end of the street. Anyone who walks past the line-up will be arrested for obstruction, they tell us. A girl called Sammy tells me that her flat is just on the other side of the line. She’s not allowed to walk back to it. A lot of the people on the street claim to be in the same situation, but the cops won’t have a bar of it. “We are going to clear the street, if you’re here you’re going.” The policeman points at the paddy wagon as he says that. It’s a clear threat of arrest. So people start to move on, pushed off the street by a line-up of police and a few Campus Watch staff.
A smiling, Gloriavale-type girl from Student Life offers us a snag at the start of Castle Street. We get to skip the queue. “Knuckles, Campus Watch,” yells a guy in a Yankees t-shirt before fist bumping all of us. “You guys are legends.” Throughout the night, about eight people come up to us and express their love for Campus Watch. We’re starting to walk another girl home to George Street when Pete gets a message on the radio. Immediately, he turns and legs it towards Leith Street. At about the same time, a police car with sirens screams past. An ambulance follows about two minutes later. We reach The Castle and there’s a guy in handcuffs. His friends are outraged. The police don’t really tell Campus Watch what happened, but we know that there’s a policeman being driven to hospital who will need stitches in his leg. There’s a lot of confusion, and apparently there was a foot chase at the end of Leith Street. Annabel thinks someone has stabbed a cop; Pete is pretty sure it was just a bottle, and that it was thrown up in the air before it made contact. I talk to some people yelling at the police. Their friend, who hasn’t bottled anyone, is in handcuffs for obstruction of justice. He wouldn’t get out of the way when a cop asked him to. “He was trying to stop us from doing our lawful duty,” a policeman explains to a concerned friend. “But he didn’t even do anything!” they insist. Garry, the leader of Team Delta (who have an overlapping Campus Watch shift), is looking after a girl with a bleeding head. A bottle has hit her, too. The hair around her face is streaked with blood. We sit on the kerb with her and her friend while we wait for the ambulance to arrive. She’s sobbing and keeps touching her head in disbelief. Noise control arrives for the third time and the music stops. The party lights, rays of red and blue and green, seem out of place without an
It takes a long time to get everyone off the street. A guy pees into a hedge, unaware of what’s happening until Annabel asks him to move on. “But whyyy?” he asks. And then it’s over. The street behind us is drained of all life, apart from the students who have only just made their way around the block to get back to their flats. On the deserted street, about ten metres in front of a full line-up of uniformed police, two freshers are intensely making out. Things are quiet. The cops drive away. “Time for a cup of tea?” Annabel asks. We nod. We return to St Dave’s and visit Michael in the control room before heading up for some hot drinks. He is frustrated by the volume of unnecessary requests for the safety car. A lot of people ask for a ride validly, but it makes the job difficult when some people use it as a taxi. It can be hard to figure out whether people actually need help or not. “We might take you to Maccas, but we won’t drive you to town. It’s about getting home safely, it’s not a taxi service.” It’s 1.30am. I am so tired, despite the numerous coffees since 8pm. We’ve walked about 10km. My legs are sore. I think I’m getting a cold. Campus Watch still have over five hours to go. Their ten-hour shift will finish up at 7am. As I write this, wrapped in a blanket with a glass of rosé, I’m thinking of you Campus Watch, doing a job that is most people’s worst nightmare.
RESPONSIBLE PARTYING Partying responsibly isn’t hard, but it’s easy to get overwhelmed by the infamous Dunedin party scene. From O Week, to St Paddy’s, to Hyde, to Flow, to Re O, to red cards, there’s almost always a reason to celebrate. Parties are an integral part of student life, so it’s important to understand the risks. If a party looks like it’s getting out of hand, maybe it’d be time to head home. Check yourself and your mates when you’re out and about, and make the most of the resources available if you’re worried about your own, or someone else’s safety.
How to host responsibly
When you decide to throw a party, don’t make it a public Facebook event. Make sure your flat’s big enough for the people you invite, and have a plan if you become overwhelmed There are also some actions to take beforehand if you are planning on having a big one: •
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Register with GoodOne. These guys will help you out with almost anything you need. Definitely get in touch with them if you’re hosting something big, especially during O, Flow, or Re O. They provide a whole bunch of information about how to host well and put on the best event you can. Give Campus Watch a call 24/7 on 0800 479 5000. They’re traditionally viewed as the ‘fun police’, but actually they’re just looking out for you and your mates. They offer up a bunch of good advice and can even check up on the party while it’s going. If you think a party is getting out of hand, give them a call sooner rather than later as a heads up, or better yet, talk to them before the party even starts. Print out a QR code from the Covid website and get your party guests to scan in when they arrive. Remember that under red light, there’s a limit of 100 people in total through the night at any congregation.
OUSA Student Support Centre- 5 Ethel Benjamin Place help@ousa.org.nz ousa.org.nz/support ousasupporthub.org.nz facebook.com/OUSAQueer instagram.com/ellabellaousa
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Make sure to check with your neighbors before you host. Noise can especially become an issue once you start heading more to the peripheries of North Dunedin. Encourage your guests to bring cans. Smashed bottles suck for everyone. Have food and water available. Set an end time.
Looking out for addiction
As you spend more time as a student in Dunedin, you’ll inevitably be exposed to drinking and substances. Have a think about your usage, get educated and consider putting some harm reduction strategies in place. What kind of relationship do you have with alcohol and drugs? It’s a good idea to check on both yourself and your mates often, especially if you’ve noticed changes in habits or motivation. Check on your mates, check on yourself, test your drugs, and never be afraid to check in with Student Support if you think yourself or someone you know is struggling. KnowYourStuffNZ work in conjunction with the New Zealand Drug Foundation and provide great resources for safe usage. They’re here to help.
Where Did the Word “Breather” Come From?
Critic’s first use of ‘breather’ in the context of darthuffing, booze-inhaling, and BYO-vomming comes in 2016. This debut, alongside Google Trends data, cements 2016 as year zero for Otago’s usage of ‘breather’ in a general context. The article is the old blind date column, where two horny students would go on a blind date, then then anonymously log their debauchery for the city to read. In the write-up, published Sunday 13 March 2016, the ‘his’ paragraph said: “After a self diagnosis of soberness I decided to self medicate and inhaled a cheeky few diesels to loosen up with the breathers beforehand.” Whoever this anonymous young man is, he is our first published use of the phrase. Little did he know he would influence a generation.
By Oscar Paul
For years, Otago students were dubbed ‘scarfies’. The word was popularised by the eponymous 1999 film and came loaded with half-a-century of resentment from older generations. As ubiquitous as the ‘scarfie’ moniker once was, it has increasingly been replaced by a newer, more confusing title, that of ‘breather’ (informal: ‘breatha’). Where did all the breathers come from, and why did they destroy the scarfie? Research began where all high-level linguistic research begins: Urban Dictionary. The first mention of ‘breather’, in its New Zealand context, popped up in 2012. “brother or bro when reffering [sic] to a friend. Mostly used in new zealand by boys. In replacement of BRO,” wrote an Urban Dictionary user called ‘mother of god ;)’. The example they gave was “churr breather ;)”. Aside from the misleading use of winky faces and 2012 slang (‘churr’), this sheds light on the meaning of ‘breather’. While the Dunedin usage of the word has deviated from its relationship to ‘brother’ or ‘bro,’ the link might explain why ‘breather’ was adopted so quickly despite the fact that it is not a word in frequent usage. It’s just ‘brother’ with different vowel sounds. It also explains the informal ‘breatha’ as the logical progression of the Otago student dialect. The notion of being being a ‘breather’ is also linked to being a waste of space, according to some of the more misanthropic definitions on Urban Dictionary. “They take up too much oxygen breathing my air,” wrote user Kathylu in 2010. This may seem harsh, but in context of the other decidedly scatological definitions on the same page, it’s actually kind of charitable.
"The typical face of a mouth-breather." (1903) Image 23 from The Hygiene of the Schoolroom by William F Barry, MD.
This takes us to the very ‘80s-nerd-film insult, ‘mouthbreather.’ The term evolved from a technical term used by doctors to a slang term meaning ‘idiot’ by 1915, according to lexicographer Jonathon Green. Ever since, ‘mouth-breather’ has meant a stupid person in slang in numerous English-speaking countries. It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine that we would get too lazy or too intoxicated over the decades and simply not bother with the mouth in ‘mouth-breather,’ eventually using ‘breather’ to lovingly insult our collective subculture. The specific Otago usage seems to be a merger of ‘mouth-breather’ and ‘brother,’ creating a person who is your bro but also a waste of space. That brings us to Urban Dictionary’s most popular definition of ‘breather’: “Almost the entire opposite to a f***boy. This specimen lives entirely for the boys, and devotes their life to putting smiles on their friends’ faces, through particular acts such as shoey’s, rhinos, and getting naked,” wrote Breathersaurus in 2018. This is the breather we all know and love.
Loud. Live. Local.
‘Breather’ has almost entirely supplanted ‘scarfie,’ when referring to the Otago student population. ‘Scarfie’ is pretty easy to trace back as extensive research has already been conducted upon it. It came about because boomers, before they fucked the property market and when they were still at uni, would wear scarves around their necks to survive the bitter winters of Dunedin. In a 2006 NZ Herald interview with the curator of the Otago Museum exhibition Scarfies: Otago Student Culture, Ian Wards said that “the term ‘scarfie’ seemed to have been around for only 20 to 30 years,” having evolved from how popular scarves were with students. The demise of the word ‘scarfie’ may have been the result of increases in the price of wool, when supply dropped in 2015. This increased price started around 2015 and really got going around 2016, the inaugural year of the breather. The rise of the breather may be directly linked to New Zealand’s wool supply, or climate change, it’s hard to tell. These days, no one under the age of 27 describes themselves as a scarfie. Although ‘scarfie’ is a more inclusive term as people from any gender can be a scarfie, a lot of students reckon the term ‘breather’ describes a new kind of old boys club. But this is 2021. It’s been a full five years since the emergence of the breather, so goddamn, just make it gender neutral already.
Positive wellbeing supports your educational achievement Your university, and the Code of Pastoral Care, works to ensure you have a support system. This means that you should be: • safe, physically, and mentally • respected for who you are • supported in your learning and wellbeing • connected with your social and cultural networks and • able to have your say in decisions about services. If you have concerns about your wellbeing that aren’t being met, or you want to make a complaint, talk to your university or student association first. If it’s unresolved, NZQA is here to help.
For more information visit: www.nzqa.govt.nz/know-the-code #knowthecode
FORGOT to call
Mum?
OH WELL.
FORGOT YOUR PILL?
OH no! Bayer New Zealand Ltd., 72 Taharoto Road, Takapuna, Auckland 0622. PP-PF-WHC-NZ-0007-1. NA 13428. December 2020.