Christchurch Invitation

We build our nations on memory but no country has a pain-free history. Yet what we choose to remember is wrapped in political perspectives, in questions of identity, and in ways of seeing. “Memory is politics. It’s a choice,” says Anne Talsnes. Anne is the Senior Advisor to the 22 July Centre in Oslo, Norway – a centre established to carry forward the work of memory and learning from the 2011 terror attacks in that country.On that date in July, 77 people were killed in a terror attack that took place, firstly outside the government buildings in Oslo, and then on the island of Utøya. Eight people were killed in Oslo itself and a further 69 at a youth camp on the island. With New Zealand’s experience in 2019 of a terrorist attack in Christchurch it’s important to listen to those who’ve had to find their way out of these blood-stained pathways. Anne joined us in Christchurch in March 2026 for our Unity Summit. We talk here on the learnings that society can share, and she offers some of her own reflections from her visit here, especially on the question of responsibilities towards those who live amongst us with incredible grief.

The bar-tailed godwit weighs just 300grms. From New Zealand, each year, they double their weight to fly to the Yellow Sea, then to Alaska. In Spring they return – a non-stop flight of eight or nine days; 11,000 - 12,000kms! Sometimes people can be born and grow up in a place but never feel entirely at ease there; instead, feel a belonging when they arrive somewhere else. It’s happened to me; certainly happened to my father.Tanya Jenkins left Holland when she was just 19. On the world map New Zealand looked the furthest away so she headed here thinking she’d make her way back slowly. Except that this is the place where she felt at home. It’s been said that everyone in New Zealand can trace back to someone who travelled here, whether recently, as a migrant or a refugee, or centuries ago, in a waka, a double-hulled canoe, across the great Moana. Seen that way the Māori framing of whakapapa – of each of us having lineages and connections, even belongings, to other places and people – offers a richer way of seeing how we all can fit.Tanya talks here about what New Zealand offers – in space and clear air and possibilities – and her work in environmental education, especially the rich lesson of the bar-tailed godwit: that tiny, profoundly impressive, migrating bird on the longest non-stop flight each year between Alaska and New Zealand – belonging here and belonging there.

How do we make spaces for others – not spaces with limits, but so that any disability in one dimension doesn’t limit big possibilities in another? What support and pathways can we create to unlock potential, create structure and belonging? Back in episode 5, Jeremy Faumuinā Spoke about his work as a social worker with the New Zealand Police; with his concentration on young people who have made dumb choices; and about the Pasifika (Moana) concept of the Vā and about honouring the spaces between us. But Jeremy is also a sports coach and he talks here about creating and building opportunities for athletes with intellectual disabilities to grow through elite sports. About the Special Olympics, and the Churchill Fellowship that'll take him to Japan, Spain and Australia to study and learn from successful models.

How do you tell people’s stories so they can say “Yes, you have heard me. That is what I want to say.” This is the second of two conversations on the development of the verbatim drama, “Memorial.” A play that, in a sense, gives permission for hard, suppressed questions about Muslims as “others” to be asked. And that speaks of loss in a way that can be understood across cultures and spaces and experiences.In the previous episode we spoke with Arianna Gayle Stucki. Today, via zoom, Arianna is joined by the play’s co-creator, Adam Elsayigh. Together they discuss the special, even idiosyncratic, process of how this play came together. That process brought together a team of volunteers, transcribing the recorded interviews and listening for pauses and inflections. This was not a process that fell back on AI or any machine generation but that process itself drew in a wider circle of people affected by the stories. The word clouds produced from the transcriptions pointed to the significance of the Māori whakatauki (or saying) on the most important thing in this world: "He tangata, he tangata, he tangata" – "It is people, it is people, it is people!"

The first of two conversations via zoom. It’s with Arianna Gayle Stucki in the USA, in discussion on how the verbatim drama "Memorial" came to be. We've talked about how stories get told; who tells them; and how that telling may take the story away from the one it belongs to. This is different.In June 2019 Arianna came to NZ to listen to people who had suffered loss and great hurt in the mosque attacks; not to seek a story but to listen to people who wanted to tell their stories. Trust had to be earned and hours of words recorded and transcribed. Long listening and weaving together, and full collaboration, has led to a play “Memorial” – a verbatim drama crafted directly from these words. It has already spoken to other people’s experiences of loss: a family who lost their son to suicide; members of a community in Buffalo, New York who experienced a racist shooting and, further afield, to students in Beirut, Lebanon with their experience of earthquakes. The hope is to bring it to New Zealand. In this podcast Arianna speaks to the process of how this work came about. In the next episode we'll introduce Arianna's co-creator, Adam Elsayigh and the two of them will talk more about the process of its development.

Today’s episode is the last In this first series of the Christchurch Invitation. (Before a break of a couple of months)Here I’ve pulled together a few clips to give something of the flavour of these conversations: Mark Solomon and Raesha Ismail on connections; John Sellwood on stories and who owns them; John Psathas on music to give people hope; and Jeremy Faumuinā with how you carry yourself in another person’s place – and on the Vā: the concept of the spaces between us.Plus a look ahead to the first conversations in the upcoming Series Two . . . we plan to open with two conversations via zoom. They're with Arianna Gayle Stucki and Adam Elsayegh in the USA, in discussion on how their verbatim drama "Memorial" came to be. We've talked about how stories get told; who tells them; and how that telling may take the story away from the one it belongs to. "Memorial" is about those who have experienced hurt and how their experiences can be properly heard. It calls on the March 2019 experience but it has already spoken across different experiences of loss in different settings.

Today’s episode will be the second to last In this first series of the Christchurch Invitation. (Before a break of a couple of months to reflect on what I’m trying to do, and to plan ahead!)So this will be a kind of looking back at some of the pathways we’ve wandered through; at what’s been talked about; hearing again from a few of the people we’ve met. And to try to draw a sense of some of the questions that they’ve raised and the connections that I am drawing.

It’s a truism that once you’ve made a journey you’re better placed to understand its demands. And hopefully pass on the learnings.Arriving in NZ, even with mastery of a range of other languages, there can still be struggles that the native English speaker may not recognise. A chronological age may prompt expectations of experience and understanding that a newcomer to a school (and even to systems of schooling) will struggle withIn Episode 13 we spoke with Hassan Hassan. He talked of arriving in New Zealand from Somalia at the age of 15, with no English and just a patchy experience of schooling. Dedication and application since that time means he's now earned a Masters Degree and is on track for more.For his friend, Merhawi Gebremichael, it was different. Speaking a number of languages including two Semitic languages, Arabic and Tigrinya, in Sudan he’d studied at Khartoum University; a place with a good reputation.So, two young men from a similar region of Africa – but different countries and communities and different faiths, one Christian, the other Muslim – they now work together to help other migrants and refugees navigate their own journeys. They speak here of gratitude for what they have received; a sense of debt perhaps; and a sense what they feel they owe and can give to others. 

Patrick O’Conner’s life has been with people and communities, and for the marginalised. He grew up in a Christchurch home of six children that was shaped around practical, Catholic values and with his father’s reminder that your work is to be “kind and charitable.” Involvement in 1969 with the anti-Springbok tour fed into the learning about the consequences of injustice. But, too, that there is always work to be done at home. What he has witnessed and been a part of paints a picture that goes against the caricatures often presented of Christchurch. A city that is now home to 203 different ethnicities: the first city in New Zealand to have a Refugee and Migrant Forum; the first to have a Multi-Cultural Advisor and a Multi-Cultural Centre. In 1991, together with Herman Ah Kuoi, Patrick set up PEETO – Pasifika Education and Employment Training Organisation. Inspired initially by the richness of Samoan culture, PEETO led from Pasifika communities into much other work with refugees and migrants in Christchurch. You work ‘with’ and not ‘for’ because it’s a two-way business learning of dignity and much more. 

As a company name, “Untouched World” hints at something quietly distinctive: beautiful materials, restrained elegance. Along with that, a significant recognition for sustainability and high quality. A Christchurch-based company, it counts among its wearers some very recognisable public figures.I met founder and CEO, Peri Drysdale, at this year’s “Unity in Diversity” dinner – an annual event led by mosque attack survivor, Farid Ahmed. I was curious about where these worlds meet – his and hers – and about the common ground that Peri sees in Farid’s work. Hence this conversation. On its website, Untouched World speaks of being “the first fashion company in the world to be recognised by the United Nations for sustainability.” To reach that stage has taken a vision, and a fair share of determination. Early on Peri was struck by the importance of branding; of a country’s name – its identity – being seen as synonymous with certain qualities. And of adding value to anything you produce. She’d grown up in a time before the EU when raw materials from New Zealand – butter, dairy, beef and lamb – were almost reliant on the UK as a single market. As a woman in business, and first targeting Japan, hers has been a journey of discovery – of self and of others – to a wider sense of relationships: from the way you work, to the people you work with. A journey that reveals many layers beneath the first impressions. 

This conversation brings together three members of a student co-design team “Action the Compassion”: Eric Antony, Teresa Steiner, and Ewan Mander. The Action the Compassion student huis are something like a sibling to these Christchurch Invitation podcasts: they developed out of the same place of origin. Their focus is on students from across Christchurch and Canterbury coming together from their different schools and backgrounds to frame and explore conversations about the issues that impact on them. The first explored the theme of tūrangawaewae – the Māori concept of "a place to stand." Other themes have included resilience, identity, and belonging. The intention is to meet, to talk, to listen. School uniforms are discouraged but the team here today admit that (whether this is some sort of Christchurch thing or not) the questions often drift around to "What school do you go to?" A question that plays into preconceptions.Today we start the conversation with the issue of pressure.

For Tā Mark Solomon (Sir Mark Solomon) knowing who you are; knowing your family's relationships; and treating others with respect are crucial. As Kaiwhakahaere (Chairperson) of Ngā Tahu for eighteen years, there was much that he learned to listen to and watch, and many elders to learn from. He listened to the ones outside the meeting who might not speak up inside; spent time in the kitchen and he watched the strong, sometimes quiet influence of women elders. In China on a trip with New Zealand government representatives a man introduced himself as "the one who buys all your crayfish" and reminded him of the need to be visible "at least once every year." Then Prime Minister John Key observed how things worked in China and said, "It's obvious we cannot do without a Māori contingent. Every time Māori walk into the room the talking level and engagement goes up." In this korero he talks of the necessity of recognising "our massively changing demographics," and the power of the Māori economy; of treating everyone with respect: "when you give respect, you get it back." All this, and much more.

If conflicts are a fact of life, left unmanaged, they can be costly. And not just in financial terms. Yet, “when handled constructively, conflict is a normal and useful part of life.” Today, Wayne Marriott speaks of his work in conflict resolution and management, mediation and more – in short, peace building. That can be at the family level, in small groupings or communities and organisations, and onward. We live with some dreadful realities that we can reference. How then do we see what is happening and learn to break out of the cycles.In this work, resolving conflicts must go beyond surface problems to the heart of an issue; to relationships, and to recognise that healing is done 'with' people, not 'to' or 'for' them. As a member of MBBI – Mediators Beyond Borders – Waynes is connected into conversations and the important advantage of shared learnings foremother settings. His decision to head overseas to study – at an age a bit later than many – came from a realisation that he needed to challenge himself in different contexts. And here, the choice of the Eastern Mennonite University in Virginia, USA, was not a casual one. He was learning among a multi-national, multi-cultural cohort of students. And the Mennonite traditions (and the work of Center for Justice and Peacebuilding) offered a very significant learning experience.In this conversation Wayne makes mention of at least one occasion from the time of the mosque shooting when he was made aware of the personal impact on one of his own family of the events happening around him – something that he might not otherwise have anticipated.

Lianne Dalziel's three terms as Mayor of Christchurch included the savage experience of the 2019 mosque attacks. But as a citizen of Christchurch and, for an extended period, as a local Member of Parliament, she's also experienced earthquakes, fires, and more. That direct, lived experience, is very significant. In the process of responding to a critical event, she says, "the early decisions are best made at the local level." She reflects here on resilience and on learning lessons and takes issue with some of the terms that get used. The term "unprecedented" is one. "There are always precedents." In the case of the mosque attacks the use of the term "lone-wolf terrorist" tends to cloud rather than clarify.In framing any Commission of Inquiry it is important to publicly consult when drafting the terms of the inquiry lest it appear that government departments are being protected – a consequence that might undermine trust. And to engage those directly affected, at a time when they are ready to engage. She compares overseas experiences of ongoing inquiries – in Australia and the UK – and our failure to examine the work of recovery after the Canterbury earthquakes and the central government impact and decisions; to ask what worked and what didn't. But lessons are not learned until they're embedded and, in a time of social media and division, she stresses that we look back "to understand and not to blame."

Farid Ahmed’s name became very widely known when his wife, Husna, was killed in the Christchurch mosque attacks in March 2019 and he forgave the killer. In Episode 18 of these podcasts we spoke about his upbringing in Sylhet, Bangladesh; witnessing his father’s role as something akin to a village magistrate; and of what became, for Farid, a kind of practical education in disagreement, conflict, and the pathways through this. Here he speaks further about his sometimes stubborn understandings of justice and principle, even from a very young age.

Intersectionality means pulling together, working from the different strands of who we are. And for Tyla Harrison-Hunt working like this is a strength, not a burden. He offers the example of high performing teams where amazing collective leadership is a powerful element in their success. In the best collective leaderships each one knows their role and does it well.The lessons seem clear: bring in everyone, take in their perspectives and every strength in those ideas in order to come to a desired outcome. Yet our political systems operate with short cycles, often just three-year periods. The changes tend to be see-saw like. So we see a continual cycle in which money and time are wasted, and a distrust in the political system develops. Intersectionality must be for the benefit of others.Before becoming a Christchurch City Councillor, Tyla worked as a sports coach across 127 schools. About 12 of those were of very high and complex needs. He’s seen great gaps in wealth and what’s on offer in different places, yet the beauty of working with young people as they grow up; with those who are having it hard. At a basketball practice on a frosty morning in one Christchurch school a young boy stood before him barefoot. He and his brother share one pair of shoes and today it’s his brother’s turn. How do you work to change these things? Working across the city he could employ a “Robin Hood model,” finding that wealthier parents  in private schools were “extremely charitable” in sharing what they had. It was, he said, “eye opening to see how beautiful the city could be.” The challenge is in making the change a lasting one.In Tyla’s case the intersectionality he works from includes the Māori frameworks he grew up with: to always welcome somebody else and to go above and beyond for them. “A pathway to enable me to provide assistance to those who needed it most.” He learned service leadership and that “leaders eat last.” And, too, the complementary value systems he learned as a Muslim – of consensus and discussion.  Together, they offer “the cultural and spiritual frameworks that are so important when systems fail.”

In the March 2019 Christchurch terrorist attack, Farid Ahmed’s wife, Husna, was killed. He and his daughter then spoke together about the path they should take. It would be one, not of anger and retribution, but of forgiveness. He said, “ I do not want to have a heart like a volcano.” That forgiveness at such a brutal, calculated act has prompted a range of responses: wide-spread respect felt globally but also, and, from others, a difficulty in understanding, and even a kind of discomfort.In this conversation we talk about his upbringing in Sylhet, north-east Bangladesh; about hard work, the coming of the monsoon rains and the regeneration of the land; about his father’s prominent position in the community as a kind of magistrate and more; and how, from an early age, Farid would listen in and absorb the deliberations of elders.  Our hope is to follow this story and take the conversation further.

When the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra (NZSO) were exploring how they, as the nation’s orchestra, could respond to the events of the 2019 Christchurch terror attacks and bring people together, they turned to the composer John Psathas. In 2024 that NZSO initiative resulted in three performances of their “Beyond Words” concert. The premiere would be in the Christchurch Town Hall five years on from those attacks – in a sense offering welcome to the migrant experience and seeking to draw something good and whole from that tragedy.He was ready to be involved but only if they could get “clear compass points.” His sense was that this would be measured by the question, “how would whoever was in the Christchurch Town Hall on that opening night receive this?” For John Psathas, “there were so many ways to get this wrong and just one possible way to get it right.”As the child of Greek migrants to New Zealand, he had seen early just how music could trigger intense emotions and a complex of feelings: joy, catharsis, longing, loss. When his family moved to Napier, he worked in their restaurant at a young age. Late at night, too animated to sleep, his musical education began, listening through headphones to a wide range of sounds – drawn always “to music that was positively charged.” He places great importance on the quality of the human relationships that we have and the question: “will we get some fulfilment from being together.” “What I write is a hope to change things for the better. It’s a desire to show that we care for others.”His compositions have often come from, and through, profound relationships. And vulnerability. Perhaps nowhere more so than in “Ahlan wa Sahlan,” composed for the NZSO as part of “Beyond Words.” In this podcast John Psathas talks about music and his life and “the most significant, powerful, certainly life-changing journey that I’ve been on; the most vulnerable I’ve been.”

The corner dairy is a familiar part of our landscape. The lives lived inside unknown to those just passing. Raesha Ismail was nine years old when her family bought the dairy on Springs Road, Christchurch. For a child it was a space full of treats that offered a joyful time. There, her parents modelled the meaning of very hard work and responsibility that saw Raesha and two of her brothers through university. Seven days a week and just two half-days off each year, with family life integrated into the shop, in a place that was part of the social fabric. Over time she’d experience those micro-aggressions and familiar stereotypes that some individuals seem unable to live without, and her early coping mechanisms included a kind of reactive, even self-mocking humour. Gender constructs might have limited others but Raesha found her own voice and, importantly, her own sense of identity, through determination and a sense of social justice.The death of her cricket-loving brother, Junaid, in the March 2019 mosque attacks called on all the strength and balance of her family and the support of those around them from the reputation they had earned.Her work now in culturally responsive, solution-focussed counselling means listening with intent and offering hope to others, especially for those with addictions and those experiencing shame. She quotes the line that “the opposite of addiction is connection” – connection to self and connections to those around us. Connection, belonging, identity are powerful elements in this korero.

Over almost forty-five years of working in journalism – first in radio, then television – John Sellwood’s experiences taught him many lessons. From one, very early, “live cross” in Wellington the need to listen, double-check, then triple-check were all brought home to him. If things can go wrong, they will. There is that possibility in story-telling that empathy may be a negative, almost a selfish act. He recalls putting himself in a place where he should not have been. As a journalist ‘you are not the story . . . stories were gifted to me; they were never mine.’In all stories the ‘what’ of what happened is easy, but ‘you have to wait for the why.’ It may come much later. The human stories that interest him ‘take time and trust, and a connection to the individual to come to something that’s worthwhile’ – for them, for the journalist, and for an audience that’s listening.The treasure he sees now is the ‘democratisation’ of the story: that it does not have to be mediated by another. And in the many stories waiting to be told by those at the edges of society; people who've often tried hard and failed. It’s here that he questions our notions of what exceptionalism means and questions where our judgements may separate us from so many.

To belong somewhere it seems helpful to have a kind of a map – of its people, their names, and the organisations that are prominent parts of that landscape. In Canterbury, Crusaders rugby is one such prominent name. Known for their many successes, for the coaches and the culture they’ve built, and the players who’ve come to be part of that story.Here, their CEO, Colin Mansbridge, talks about his joining the Crusaders from a rural banking background, but also of the team’s connection with the city, especially after the 2010/2011 earthquakes when all of their games had to be away from home. He speaks of their quiet work for good causes and, too, the struggle over their name after the 2019 mosque attacks. That’s when my own interactions with Colin began. The historical associations of “crusading” were material for passionate defenders and critics alike, and a fertile ground for provocative media stories. Serving then as the media spokesperson for Masjid An-Nur my concerns were for a wounded and vulnerable community being dragged into “no-win” spaces. We met and talked, and we keep in touch.

Arriving in New Zealand at the age of 15 knowing virtually no English meant that Hassan Hassan could only watch soccer and not join in. When the chance came for him to play, the words from his coach to “push up on the wing” were little more than sounds. More importantly, that lack of English blocked the way to the education that hadn’t been possible in Somalia, where his family had moved and moved again to find a safer place. But two years of intense application at Hagley College, here in Christchurch, and a determined focus on speaking and writing the language opened the doors. That continuing focus has led him to a B.Sc. degree in Geography and Chemistry. And now, eleven years on from his arrival in this country, he finalises his M.Sc.thesis, which explores positive youth development in the context of urban planning. Along with a part-time role as a youth support worker, Hassan’s clear aim is to carry forward what he has learned to give back to the wider society.

Pukehina in the Bay of Plenty is tiny. Growing up there, Maka Mohi knew where to fish and where to hunt. But the narratives he heard were that elsewhere was amazing; the Māori world wasn’t amazing. A misstep in high school meant leaving so, at 17, "thinking I was 24," he left for big city Brisbane. But big cities have temptations.The challenge: to find his way back. His father had told him his full name wasn’t just a name. "It’s a  title!" And he felt he hadn’t carried that title high enough. So, to learn who he was and to come to realise he’d been "raised amazing" – surrounded by love, and whanau. And his father’s words: "You’ll always have home."

At a time when the NZ government is discussing firearms legislation we consider the great harm from weapons in the wrong hands. Temel Ataçocuğu suffered major bullet injuries in the Christchurch mosque attacks. Almost six years on, he speaks about the drastic changes in his life, and on how his traumas can be triggered.He talks, too, about his Walk for Peace and about how he decided to make this walk, retracing the 360kms journey of the 2019 killer from Dunedin to Christchurch. Along the way he raised money for three children's charities and found great support, including the tearful support of an older Māori man whose whakapapa (his lineage) traces back to Parihaka – a place whose own story of non-violent resistance resonated with what Temel was trying to do. And he speaks about the sense of safety he feels with his family in Türkiye; and of a quiet longing to be on a small fishing boat in the Mediterranean.

In a previous conversation, Bariz Shah suggested the tables should be turned and the host (that’s me) should be questioned. I dwelt on that for a while, then asked Sara Qasem to be the questioner (There seemed a kind of balance: Sara was one of the speakers at the 2021 launch of The Christchurch Invitation / Mahia te Aroha and was my first podcast guest). But I thank Bariz for suggesting the idea.So this is loosely framed around asking how I came to have the perspectives that I have. And why respond to the March 15, 2019 Christchurch attacks with these podcasts?One underlying thread (though I maybe didn't draw the links strongly enough) was that folks like me who were brought up in the West but then accepted Islam had, in teh words of the killer, "turned their backs on their heritage, their cultures, their traditions, and become blood traitors to their race." And yet . . . . having taught literature for many years and having read pretty widely, and feeling deep respect for the lessons from my parents and family, I'm drawn again and again to the areas where we can find common ground to speak together and to listen. There are huge areas of common ground across cultures and traditions: different wordings, different ways of seeing and explaining, but a common ground of questioning of what it means to be human and to exist with others.I’m not sure how well I’ve addressed Sara's questions. We may just have to try again 🤔 !!

We're told that nearly 28% of New Zealand's population were born elsewhere. We come as outsiders, and learn to live in this quieter place where the streets, by comparison, can seem almost empty. Assumptions are often made: "Oh, you're from ______. That means . . . " It seems valuable to ask what we 'new' New Zealanders, we 'others' (I'm one) bring with us. What were we taught in those faraway places? What might we miss of that place we called 'home'?   Today Zahra Emamzadeh talks of Iran, of Tehran  with 10 million people, and the family (and food) that were, and are, precious to her; of her mother's response when she sent back pictures of Christchurch: "Where are all the people. In your photographs I only see the three of you!".

If we cannot dictate what happens to us, our power is in how we choose to respond. From being “played out” by someone he thought of as a friend, Bariz Shah learned to have higher loyalties. Prison offered a disconnect from what was hurting him but systems do not easily forgive or forget. So you look beyond for stronger, enduring points of reference. In Afghanistan after March 2019 with his wife Saba, he experienced people who had real self-acceptance and no victim mindset – "they knew who they were and they liked themselves." In creating 51 micro-businesses to honour those killed on March 15, 2019, Saba and Bariz found one way they could offer hope. In "Beyond Hope: From an Auckland prison to changing lives in Afghanistan" Bariz has documented the journey he has been on. In this podcast he speaks about the journey.

We enter a challenging world depending on our mothers. Then journey to realise ourselves as individuals. The young person making their own choices, even if they're "dumb" or seem dumb to others. The mother, here a single parent, concerned to protect, yet fearing losing her boys. In this conversation, Mel and her son Hakan share some of the challenges they have worked through. Her counsellor's words: "Be kind. Be there. But wait." And Hakan's recognising "the most important relationship you'll ever have in your life."

In Shirley Wright’s childhood her father’s habit of inviting people home meant interesting conversations around the dinner table. Even in a family with seven children there was always enough food for one more: you “put another spud in the pot.”   She talks here about the inherited memories she grew up with; of a great grand-mother and an unjust pauper’s grave; of her mother's teachings and of how much her work with refugees and migrants has given her.

With the NZ Police Jeremy Faumuinā says, "I get paid to care" for youth and community. Working with people who "haven't had encouragement" he explores what success looks like for them. And that key concern: what world will our young people inherit? His conviction is with the power of conversation (talanoa), of alofa (love and compassion), and with the Pasifika concept of the Vā – on common ground and the "betweenness" of spaces. His platform, "Vā Concepts," draws on his own Samoan heritage.

Savage attacks are deeply unsettling. Individuals, and their families are tested. Media may be hungry for stories. Our whakapapa – our, sometimes complex, lines of identity – may not be recognised. And then your child’s teacher might say, simply, “Just be here! Sit here in your own space!” Systems take over and your opportunities to work for the common good may be stifled. This conversation talks to the experience of Rosemary Omar and the loss of her son, Tariq, in the 2019 mosque attacks.

On his work in counselling: the privilege of working with young people and alongside men who are in prison; on helping people realise who they have in their corner; on the possibility of jiujitsu for building trust and overcoming anger; and more . . .

Bill White on his journey as an engineer; of how work done cheerfully is work done differently. Of being comfortable with mistakes and and accepting what others might see as physical limitations; of how sharing his researches on hydrogen power – the fuel of the future –  has to beyond commercialism and capitalism because of the importance to our existence.

The past does not define us but it shapes and lives on. Sara Qasem is a poet, a high school teacher; someone who responds strongly to the flavours of her Palestinian heritage and her life here in New Zealand.Her father, Abdelfattah Qasem, was killed in the March 2019 Christchurch mosque attacks. His continuing presence in her life comes through in the poems he shared with her and the values she speaks to.