Art as Protest: Teaching Our Children the Cost of War

Yesterday, the girls and I went to the Reina Sofía Museum to see La Guernica. I’d been gearing up for this moment, as we’ve been working on a project to get our heads around not just the painting itself but the cost of war, the Spanish Civil War, and how art is used as a form of protest. No big deal, just your average casual family discussion topics.

The museum was full of artworks that laid bare the horrors of war from all angles—gut-wrenching, thought-provoking, and at times, overwhelming. But standing in front of La Guernica, in a world where women and children are still being bombed from above in Palestine, the weight of it all felt even heavier. Art has this uncanny way of making history feel not so much like history, but like something reaching out and shaking you by the shoulders.                                                                                         

I’ll be honest, I’ve been stressing about how to educate the girls while we travel. I have plenty of grand ideas—executing them with a tween and a teen, though? That’s another story. There’s been resistance. There’s been eye-rolling. At times, I’ve questioned my own sanity. But then, every so often, the magic happens. They think. They connect. They ask questions. They tie their whakapapa to the Spanish Civil War. They ask Dani whether their family was starving during the war. The answer: yes. Madrid’s working class were cut off, left to starve. The suffering rippled across the country.

And then, in front of La Guernica, we got into the big stuff. Symbolism. Protest. How a painting can slap the world awake. And how we can use art to process the things that words sometimes can’t touch.

So, despite my worries, I think we’re getting somewhere. Teaching my kids while on the road may not be a polished, textbook-perfect experience, but that’s fine by me. History isn’t about rote learning; it’s about feeling, questioning, making connections. And if it comes with a bit of pushback and some dramatic sighing, well, I’ll take it as part of the process. It’s sinking in—whether they admit it or not

Healing, Resistance, and the Power of Walking Together

 

#8M in Madrid truly opened my heart. It’s been a long time since I’ve been surrounded by so many people who share my values—who see the world as I do, who believe in justice for all. Walking together, dancing together, talking together, and chanting together—it all has a deep healing power.

As someone who has survived domestic violence and done the hard work of healing, this march meant even more. Violence against women—all women, including our trans sisters—is relentless. And in a time when toxic masculinity is still being glorified by men like Andrew Tate, Elon Musk, and even the so-called leader of the free world, I worry for my three girls.

I’m grateful to have a partner now who understands his privilege—who works every day to model a different kind of masculinity. One where men take responsibility for their emotions, unlearn harmful patterns, and heal from the trauma inflicted by unhealed men. Because it’s a precarious time for women.

Our rights are being rolled back. Women are being pitted against each other. Even within feminism, there are those resisting intersectionality—clinging to fear instead of opening to justice. That was starkly clear in Madrid, where two marches took place: one that was trans-inclusive, anti-racist, and deeply rooted in collective liberation; and another that was exclusionary, driven by anxiety and protectionism.

But standing in the midst of thousands, feeling the energy, the solidarity, the hope—we created something powerful together. Across ages, races, genders, and abilities, we found connection. And in a world that feels increasingly divided, that alone is an act of resistance.

I did my master’s in Human Rights Frameworks because they help us navigate the complexity of equity. They push us beyond fear and scarcity, reminding us that migrants, refugees, the Rainbow community—those who don’t fit into the structures we’ve built since World War II—are not threats, but people we can learn from, uplift, and stand beside.

The hard truth is, the very rights that movements fought for over the last 80 years are being challenged again. So what are we doing about it?

Are we teaching our children that power and success are not about domination and wealth? That real success is about healing, looking after our people, and dreaming of a world that doesn’t harm the planet or each other?

Reframing success. Honouring the movements that came before us. And refusing to go backwards.

These were the thoughts running through my mind as I marched. Walking with thousands. Walking with those who grow, birth, nurture — despite of the men who have yet to truly become men because they are still trapped in a childlike belief that their worth is measured by their bank balance and their ability to bully others into submission.

There is another way. And we must keep walking toward it.

💜💪 #IWD2025 #WāhineToa #StrongerTogether #TransInclusive #AntiRacist #JusticeForAll #ReframeSuccess

Two Weeks In: A Lesson in Patience

What I’m noticing, just two weeks into this adventure, is that my patience needs some serious work. 

Wow. I really can be hard on myself.

These first fourteen days have been all about shaking off the jetlag, finding our feet in this new rhythm, and adjusting to the full-on pace of big city life here in Madrid. The girls have started Spanish classes and are doing some kind of home education with me in the mornings — which, honestly, as I write that down, makes me pause. That’s actually a lot.

But this morning was one of those ones that just knocked me sideways. My youngest woke up missing home. Really missing home. She wanted to call her bestie back in New Zealand, but it was the middle of the night there. And when the tears came, they hit me right in the heart.

Suddenly, all the doubts crept in. What have we done? Why did we think this was possible? Who did we think we were, taking their education into our own hands, dragging us halfway across the world?

It was one of those heavy mornings where everything felt hard.

Thankfully, my husband did what he does so well. He grounded me. He reminded me of our why, of the kaupapa that brought us here in the first place. And he nudged me gently to zoom out for a moment — to see what we’ve already achieved in just ten days.

I have been listing them off like a grounding meditation:

The walks around the city.
The friends and family we’ve connected with.
The way the girls are now confidently hopping on and off the Metro.
How they’re feeling brave enough to head to the local shop on their own to buy bread and milk.

And then there was Sunday.
A golden afternoon at Mercado de San Fernando in Lavapiés, with Anika and Dani getting to model for a local drawing group, the buzz of the market all around us, beers and food with friends. The amazing little bookstores we’ve stumbled into. The art on every corner.

And just like that, I remembered why we’re here.

We lived here 14 years ago but these streets are starting to show me different layers. I’ve found myself completely fascinated with is the faces of the older people here — especially those over 70. There’s something about them that feels like living history. I look at some of them and wonder if they were part of the La Movida, that generation who shook off the weight of fascism and burst into colour through art, music, and literature. It's fitting to be reminded of this during these times when fascist rhetoric seems to be rising again.

There’s a side of Madrid that hums with collective action, with resistance, with this deep, unshakable belief that the status quo is always worth questioning. You can feel it in certain neighbourhoods. You can see it in the posters on the walls, and hear it in the conversations.

And now, as we inch closer to March 8th — International Women’s Day — I’m curious to witness how this city shows up. From what I’ve been told, it’s a day that matters here. A day that pushes feminism to keep evolving. To stay honest. To hold its intersectionality at the core, or risk becoming something else entirely. There are TERFs here too, of course, and I wonder how those tensions will play out on the streets.

But back to today.

After the heartbreak of the morning, and a few days of walking beside my children as they navigate the ache of missing home, I’m starting to feel us settling.

We’re exactly where we need to be. 

I can see it now, through the tiredness and the homesickness. We’ve done the work — on ourselves, on our relationship, on our vision as a family. We’ve laid the foundation to guide our kids through this season in a way that feels grounded and true.

And that, right now, feels like enough.

Bridging Cultures: Our Family's Spanish Adventure

Welcome to our intercultural classroom blog! I'm excited to share our family's journey as we embark on a 7-month adventure in Spain, reconnecting with our children's Spanish roots after 12 years of building our life in New Zealand.

This space will document how I weave my interculturalist lens into our family's education during this experience. As an extension of my work at Intercultural Connections, this journey represents a personal application of the principles I advocate professionally. The theories and frameworks I use with organisations and teams are now being tested and lived through our family's daily experiences.

What does bridging look like for us? It means finding grounding in the discomfort of change and the unknown. It involves developing genuine curiosity about differences and learning to ask thoughtful questions. For us adults, it requires patience with the learning process itself—something I often emphasise in my intercultural training sessions and am again experiencing firsthand in a deeply personal context.

I'm already discovering that the bridging skills I teach professionally require consistent practice and humility when applied to one's own family life. Moving outside our comfort zones can be challenging, even when the destination is as beautiful as Spain. The concepts I explore at Intercultural Connections about adaptation, cultural understanding, and embracing ambiguity are coming alive in new ways as we navigate this transition.

Stepping away from formal education and our everyday routines takes real effort—this is definitely not just a long holiday! It's a deliberate educational choice that aligns with the core values of showing up with an intercultural mindset, that underpin my professional work.

In this blog, we'll share both the difficulties and the rewarding moments that make it all worthwhile. We'll post photos, tell stories, and hopefully, other family members will occasionally contribute their unique perspectives too. These real-world examples will complement the theoretical frameworks I discuss in my professional capacity, creating a bridge between theory and lived experience.

I invite you to join us on this journey as we navigate the joys and challenges of immersing ourselves in our Spanish heritage while carrying our Aotearoa roots with us. Through our stories, perhaps you'll find inspiration for your own cultural bridging, wherever you may be—and gain insight into how intercultural principles can be applied not just in organisational settings but in family life as well.