Shay McEwan. (she / her)
Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki, Ngāti Pāhauwera, Ngāti Porou
There is no greater divide at Te Herenga Waka than that between the “free-spirited”, C’s get
degrees Kelburn campus and the stiff-legged, suit-clad Pipitea campus. One is like a cup of
instant noodles, and the crushed dreams of third-year arts students. The other? A corporate
wasteland where dreams are monetised, fun is a taxable event, and first years arrive already
knowing how to file a GST return. Somewhere in the misty Wellington hills, whispers tell of a
secret third campus, but like good mental health in Trimester 2, it remains a myth.
Let’s start with Pipitea. Home to the Law and Business Schools, this place is less “student
experience” and more “trial run for your future office job.” Everything is made of glass, steel,
and the cold, unfeeling embrace of capitalism. Walk into Rutherford House, and you’ll see a
sea of MacBooks, Patagonia vests, and law students stress-muttering case law under their
breath like a cursed incantation. Over in the business department, someone is mansplaining
crypto to a girl who didn’t ask. There are no lively student hubs, no chaotic club stalls
handing out free slightly stale biscuits—just suits, spreadsheets, and the faint smell of
impending burnout. If you’re Māori, Pasifika, or just someone who enjoys having a
community, Pipitea can feel like a social desert.
Then there’s Kelburn—the messy, chaotic, beautifully unhinged heart of student life. Here,
you’ll be offered a clipboard and a cause before you even step off the bus. Half the students
look like they haven’t slept in a week (because they haven’t), and there’s always that one
guy playing guitar who is not as good as he thinks. More importantly, Kelburn actually feels
like a university. There are clubs, places to just exist between lectures, and most crucially,
Te Tumu Herenga Waka and Ngā Mokopuna—a home base for Māori students to connect,
study, and eat a decent feed. The student support services are actually visible, and there’s a
general sense that, unlike Pipitea, this campus wasn’t designed by someone who thinks fun
is a liability.
The real struggle? If you study at Pipitea, you’re caught in a cursed limbo. Do you brave the
pilgrimage up the Kelburn hill (a journey of endurance, strength, and regret), or do you
resign yourself to a life of lonely lunches in a soulless study space, listening to finance bros
debate the markets (again, no one knows which ones)? Most of us start the year promising
ourselves we’ll make the trip—but by mid-trimester, Kelburn becomes a distant dream, like
an 8-hour sleep schedule or a stress-free degree.
Because at the end of the day, university is supposed to be about more than just surviving
lectures and filing assignments at 11:59 p.m. It should be about the people, the spaces, and
the experience—preferably not one spent under the harsh fluorescent glow of Pipitea’s
corporate fever dream.
