Blog Page 1113

Oxford stands silent in memory of Jo Cox MP

Tony Diver
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Oxford stands silent in memory of Jo Cox MP

Hundreds of students and townspeople of Oxford stood in a vigil in Radcliffe Square on the 18th June in memory of Jo Cox MP, who was shot and stabbed in her Yorkshire constituency on Thursday.

The vigil, which brought a crowd of around 250 people, was organised in association with Oxford University Labour Club. In a statement, a spokesperson for OULC said that its members were “deeply shocked and saddened” to hear of her death.

She was described as a “hardworking, passionate and dedicated Member of Parliament” who “died whilst doing her public duty”.

Mrs Cox, who was attending a constituency surgery at the time of her attack, was rushed to hospital on Thursday afternoon, where she later died.

Thomas Mair, who was today charged with murder at Westminster Magistrates’ Court, gave his name to the court as “Death to traitors, freedom to Britain”. He was driven away and remanded in custody.

Oxford’s vigil was addressed by speakers from Oxford’s Labour community and members of other political parties, who gave their tribute to her life and work: “Jo was fearless, or at least appeared fearless at the times that it really mattered.”

“Jo loved love. Her politics were inspired by love”.

Speaking at the event, OULC co-Chair David Parton described his reaction of “overwhelming happiness to see the coming together of people at this awful occasion”.

“It means so much to see everyone here, and you can see the community in Radcliffe Square tonight”.

The vigil took place for around thirty minutes, after which a collection was taken.

OUSU releases its annual Impact Report 2015-16

Katherine Pye
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OUSU releases its annual Impact Report 2015-16

Oxford University Student Union has released its annual report on their work this year, including what they have achieved and the reflections of the Sabbatical Officers Becky Howe, Cat Jones, Emily Silcock, Nick Cooper, Lucy Delaney and Alasdair Lennon.

The team highlighted four key areas for improvement. They reported a disparity in student experience between colleges with regards to “suspension, student welfare and workload”. The team also expressed concerns about neglect of graduates, who represent 47% of Oxford’s students and rising; an increase in graduate student numbers should only come with a “commensurate increased in crucial provisions”. The needs of trans and non-binary students, OUSU claim, need more attention, and Oxford University should ensure its impact on the wider oxford community is positive.

OUSU set out three main targets for the next academic year; firstly, to ensure welfare is a key priority across colleges, secondly, to encourage successors to continue setting out campaigning priorities in ‘Visions’ to OUSU’s main areas of work, and thirdly, to continue improving engagement and representation of graduates, who have “less college involvement and fewer safety nets.”

The team highlighted the achievement of the OUSU Student Advice Service; 2016 saw an increase of 90% in the students supported, and an online web chat service was launched. Attendance of drop in sessions has also increased by 33% and the Service gave out Living Out talks to 20 colleges reaching 1,000 students.

For the first time OUSU created an online Alternative Prospectus with 30,000 flyers advertising the website distributed to 6,000 state schools. 15,000 were also circulated at University events.

OUSU also reported it has have secured the provision of lecture recording technology for all departments, to be centrally funded, from Michaelmas 2016, through their network of 623 course representatives.

In Freshers’ Week 2015 sexual consent workshops were available in 30 JCRs, and available in 20 MCRs, compulsory in 10. OUSU trained over 450 students to facilitate the workshops.

Becky Howe, the outgoing president of OUSU told Cherwell, “’I’m really proud of everything OUSU has achieved for students this year. We’ve written a report on student welfare, mental health and support, based on our survey which 5,900 of you took. It will inform policy for the uni on mental health, workload and much more. We’ve won lecture recording, which will be centrally funded and available for all departments from Michaelmas. We’ve trained hundreds of students to facilitate consent workshops, to run their common rooms, and to be course reps.”

“Our campaigns have done great things this year – particular shout out to our newest campaign, SusCam – and we’ve totally changed the structure of OUSU so that from Hilary term next year, campaigns and common room reps will be the executive committee of OUSU. This is just a snapshot of what we’ve done: it’s been an amazing year and its been such an honour to be president.”

The Oxonian Dandy: Accessories

Dante OKeefe
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The Oxonian Dandy: Accessories

This week, I have been mentally straining myself in an attempt to send you off, fellow dandies, with something profound and wise. Your weekly copy of Cherwell taken away, who knows where progressive and avant-garde fashion advice can be found? I could, perhaps, recommend some other trendy fashion writers, yet I do not think there is any other who could satiate that Oxonian lust for clothing of the variety I would brand as ‘experimental traditionalism’. Those of you who know me, can, of course, email my nexus if you have any wardrobe queries over the long vac – just the standard ‘dante.okeefe’. However, for this issue, I shall address accessories. You now know the staples, the basics, but how are you really going to demonstrate and spread the concept of the Oxonian Dandy this summer, wherever you end up? It’ll be with the finer details.

There’s a never-ending list of accessory categories, and I’d thoroughly advise trying to master as many as you can, and perhaps make some more yourself. Has anyone yet thought of personalising sandals by removing the straps and replacing them with neon shoelaces, thus creating an individual and glow-in-the-dark look? No. Nor have I seen reverse-polarised sunglasses that reflect inwards rather than out. Accessories do not need to be functional: they ought to be stylish.

I am also a great believer in the school of thought, first put forth in the late 80s (a great era of pioneering fashion!), that the key to an accessory’s successful employment, is, as so often is the way, to use it in a suitably inappropriate fitting. One might think that a plaited belt might be best used on the waistband of a pair of trousers or shorts, however, it could also be successfully employed as a garter. Many adapt their handkerchief to form bandanas – summer festival favourites – but how about using it as a cravat? A scarf could easily transgress its winter confines by tying it round the waist, resplendent in a pseudo-piratical knot.

I hope, then, that I have thus shown that there’s a high likelihood that with a little imagination the accessory draw can be frequently opened, in any season, on any occasion. I shall now divulge some of my personal favourites that you’ll often see me don around town. I’m a firm advocate of the pocket-square, and have a collection whose fabric could line an entire room. They’re a classic Christmas present, and often can be purchased in sales at vastly reduced prices. While if you’re after something flamboyant, such as my blue and white dogtooth number, you’d want to get a silk pocket-square, if you want something stiffer you’d be best with cotton. White handkerchiefs should always be Irish linen. I also rarely put on a shirt without first looping my shark-tooth necklace over my slender neck. A man in the village pub sold it to me: it had been pulled out of a fisherman’s leg on the river Itchen after a violent maiming at the hands of a wild trout – I never knew they grew so large! I’m sure similar alternatives could be found online.

The accessory is often a fantastic finishing touch for an outfit. Whatever you do this summer, make sure you match your dandy personality with your dandy fashion.

Playlists and procrastination: soundtracking exam season

Sophie Jordan
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Playlists and procrastination: soundtracking exam season

Sit down and open a few books, type an essay title, play around with an introduction and – give up.

This sadly well-known routine doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with music, yet it very quickly becomes associated with the couple of beats we switch between until eventually settling for a random selection.

The fact that this music mostly goes unnoticed is representative of its purpose: to slide past our ears and blend into the background, just present enough to discourage us from seeking additional distraction.

In order to simply become a reassuring part of the dull scenery our college rooms offer, ‘essay music’ needs to be something we can’t sing along to, something which won’t get us excited enough to attempt writing while on a moonwalk roll, nor kick off a few hours of meditation on how our doubts are growing faster than the word count. For once in our lives, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ just won’t do.

The moment we default to YouTube is crucial. With a little inspiration, our ears can be graced with a long-forgotten oldie or last year’s obscure indie crush, or even go straight to good old Ludwig for a couple of 70 minute-long symphonies saving us the stress of having to think of the next tune. That is, until the flamboyant ‘Ode to Joy’ emerges three quarters of the way through ‘Symphony no.9’, sending cold sweats down our shoulders while we anxiously glance at the calendar.

The risk here is falling into compulsive repeat-button-pressing after rediscovering a favourite. Maybe Portishead’s ‘Threads’ is not a song that should be listened to more than five times in a row, and hearing Beth Gibbons’ quivering “I’m worn, tired of my mind / I’m worn out, thinking of why I’m always so unsure” over the obsessive leitmotiv of a gloomy bass, certainly won’t make an essay any easier to write. Luckily for us, beyond the failures of personally picked essay music and just around the corner of the desperate search for “random chill music” on YouTube, lie its wonders.

If the tempting option of looping Imagine Dragons’ ‘Warriors’ and the yet dafter prospect of working exclusively to ‘Taking the Hobbits to Isengard’ tend not to last as long as the songs’ original duration, surrendering to Youtube’s guidance and powers can still be worthwhile. Among the platform’s strange mass of options and creeping undead dubstep, Canadian folk band Leahy stands out to provide the most adequately mindless music to work with.

Sound volume unassumingly low, paragraphs slowly start to take shape on the page as the epileptic but somehow comfortable racing violin slots into the bored part of my brain. Had I the ability to tap dance, I would be out on the quad and clacking along with the perfectly synchronised, surprisingly musical group of siblings. Equally mindless, Com Truise essentially offers the electronic version of Leahy. This artist’s familiar-sounding yet disorienting pseudonym is like his music: the tracks on In Decay (2012) barely qualify as either original or even music, relying on little more than a gradually evolving rhythm and bubbly synths to exist and entertain.

Whether a safe choice or an entirely free venture into the big world of random beats, the music which accompanies us in our struggle to work efficiently gives us something to hang onto for comfort, and in turn tends to stick to our ears and unexpectedly become a regular listen. After all, the odd bit of synthwave will only send us straight back into the arms of classic alt-rock once the essay has been sent.

Pledge2Reg campaign sees almost 1800 participants

Sophie Jordan
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Pledge2Reg campaign sees almost 1800 participants

OUSU Vice-President for Charities and Community Emily Silcock has announced the final results of the Pledge2Reg campaign, with almost 1800 participants from all colleges.

Encouraging students to register to vote in the referendum on Britain’s European Union (EU) membership, Pledge2Reg promised a free visit from an ice cream van to the college that had the most members share their registration confirmation. This prize was won by St Hilda’s at the beginning of the month, with Hertford and Oriel also being rewarded for the high number of pledges in the last week and 24 hours of the competition.

The number of Facebook pledges per college ranged from 1 at Christ Church and Wolfson, to St Hilda’s 357, with the majority between 20 and 80. 306 of Hertford’s total 345 pledges were made in the last week of the competition.

Ultimately, a total of 24 colleges had over half their student bodies registered to vote in the EU referendum, with Hertford reaching 77 per cent and runner-up Merton 73 per cent. These numbers were confirmed by the City Council, although the council counted only those whose registered address was the college itself. As a result, students living out for the year or who registered to vote at home are not included in these statistics.

The data shows a large increase in the number of students registered per college since the beginning of term. Jesus College saw the largest increase at 26 per cent, while five other colleges also saw growth of over 20 per cent.

Pledge2Reg was organised in response to the fear that low student turnout would impact the results of the EU referendum.

Against Using Bells to Tell the Time

William Brown
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Against Using Bells to Tell the Time

Every fifteen minutes during my waking hours (and sometimes when I would rather be asleep) I am forcibly reminded of the time. I have no choice in this. It is the curse of the Oxford student to be inescapably surrounded on all sides by heritage clock towers and their perennial bells.

The clock in closest proximity to me, at about a couple of hundred feet, is that of Queen’s College. In fact, my bed and window are so aligned that I have a direct view of Queen’s clock tower – thus adding to my sonorous grievance the sight of its perpetual perpetrator.

It is in the nature of using bells to tell the time that the actual length of the period of the disturbance increases with each passing hour; first as midday approaches, and then again towards midnight. It is midday that marks not only the zenith of the sun’s path across the sky, but also the apotheosis of the day-long interruptions to whatever it is I might be concentrating on, and the climactic fulmination of my brewing indignation. At that time I must endure no less than four ‘ding-dings’ (indicating quarter-hours) followed by twelve complacent ‘dongs’ – about forty seconds of accumulative ringing altogether – forty seconds each day that I would much rather not have to spend leaning out my window, gesticulating and shouting profanities at the clock in a blind rage.

Of course, we all need to be constantly aware of the time in order to continue to abide by our long-standing national obsession with punctuality. However, the last time I checked, western civilisation had managed to come up with something called a ‘watch’ for precisely this purpose.

Why, then, do we persist in the indulgence of such an antiquated and unnecessary mode of time-telling? Perhaps it is out of some nostalgic sentimentalism? Such inclinations are all well and good, but only insofar as they don’t involve the forcible participation of everyone around you. I am reminded of a quip I heard about religion: ‘Religion is like a penis; it’s fine to have one, and it’s fine to be proud of it, but please don’t whip it out in public and start waving it around’...

Indeed, to follow this line of thought, the disquieting truth of the matter quickly begins to unravel when we consider who it is that owns and operates the bells and clock towers. That’s right – the Church. In every village, town, and city, the Church wields a monopoly on bells, and has therein surreptitiously garnered itself an unwitting captive audience – that is, anyone with ears. It hardly seems a coincidence that we find such an instrument in the hands of people whose livelihood entails in large part reminding us of our fallen state.

Using bells to tell the time, then, is little more than a horological ruse for the subliminal delivery of ecclesiastical didacticism. Certainly, the more discerning (or agitated) ears will hear in the ringing of the hours their true, ominous purpose: an over-eager, anticipatory knell to perpetually herald our impending demise.

In light of this revelation, the quip that ‘religion is like a penis’ takes on an even greater congruity. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain the pertinence of clock towers to a comparison between religion and penises… But just as clock towers sound off unnecessarily, so will I deign to indulge: if the church is the ‘body’ of Christ, then the church clock tower is, without a doubt, his raging, ringing erection in anticipation of judgement day. And then will all the bell-ignoring heathens find their just punishment in the fire and brimstone.

‘What’s wrong with being hopeful?’

Charlie Willis
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‘What’s wrong with being hopeful?’

When I see the milk-coloured candles of blossom on chestnut trees, I am back with you. In early June, when the evening sky was dusky pink and the air was both heavy from the day’s heat and cool with the nearing of the night. And I see you lying in the long grass in the field behind your house, your arms flung out and your red hair ragged and loose. There were lime green smudges on your dress and you rolled your eyes when I mentioned them.

“They’ll wash out,” you said and then you smiled at me. I never told you that your smile made my eyes sting and my heart swell out across my chest like a hot balloon that threatened to burst if I took another breath. I think I was holding a daisy, or a little buttercup. Sometimes I am annoyed with myself for not being able to remember the type of flower it was. I picked off the petals one by one and then I was left with just a tiny golden orb on a stem. I lay down beside you. The earth smelt sweet beneath me.

“I feel sad when the blossoms are out on chestnut trees,” you said and I remember laughing and then the laughter catching in my throat when I saw the crease in your brow. I wanted to ask you why it made you sad but I was afraid you’d think me too stupid to work it out for myself. A silence hung between us as I stumbled around trying to think of something clever to say in reply.

“Why?” I asked when the silence began to ring in my ears.

“I love seeing them so much,” you sighed. “It’s my favourite time of year, when the chestnut trees are covered in those little towers of blossom.”

“So why does it make you sad?” I asked and hated the clumsy thickness of my voice. You didn’t reply. A magpie gargled in the thicket behind us. In the wings of my vision I could make out at least one chestnut tree beyond the thicket that was decorated in the upturned cones of white blossoms. The soft, sharp scent of the flowers slipped across the evening air.

“I suppose it’s just because I can’t look forward to them anymore,” you said. At the time I thought this sounded like something someone would say in a film and I wished people were watching us as we lay there. I tried very hard to think up my next line, to think of the words my character would say to make you feel better.

“But you’ve got other things to look forward to now,” I said, “like autumn.” I wished I had suggested something more interesting and specific like “toadstools” or “amber-coloured oak leaves.”

“But then I’m always looking forward to things and I’m never actually enjoying things,” you said. “It’s sad,” you added. A breeze brushed through the strands of grass around us and the pearl peach sky seemed to suddenly shift to a darker shade.

“At least you’re always full of hope,” I said. You turned your face towards me and frowned.

“Always full of hope,” you repeated. Neither of us spoke for a long time. And I remember I was feeling irritated then, and perhaps, for the first time, more with you than with myself. The hissing of the traffic on the distant motorway grew louder.

“What’s wrong with being hopeful?” I asked. You sat up and ran a finger through your hair, your face turned up to the sky.

“It’s just an empty way to be,” you said and then scrunched your nose at me and stood up. You brushed at the bright grass stains on your skirt and then began to walk away. “Come on,” you said, over your shoulder, “it’s getting cold.”

So now I feel sad too when I see chestnut blossoms in springtime. And not because I have acquired your habit of mourning for the anticipation of things but because I can only think of you when I see them. I remember that last time I saw you, in that twilight of early June. I can only remember one or two aspects of your face, like the apricot lipstick you used to wear and how the colour of your cornflower blue eyes was like a bruise. I can only hear your voice saying one or two words, and even then I hear it only faintly like a shout that’s swept up in the wind.

And so I dread the end of May and the way the flush of spring creeps across the countryside. The cherry trees outside the church now are thick with blossom that clings to the twigs and bows like pink snow and the hawthorn in the hedgerows is frosted with bunches of cream flowers. The chestnut trees beyond the thicket are tense in their green richness. Even though the air is still crisp enough in the mornings for my breath to billow out in blooms of steam, there is a whisper of warmth on high, hanging just above my head.

Web Series World – Nothing much to do

Naomi Gee
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Web Series World – Nothing much to do

Now finally to write about my favourite New Zealand creators, Candle Wasters, and the king of online Shakespeare adaptations, Nothing much to do.

I was always going to love this series. Since GCSE, Much ado about nothing has been hands-down my favourite Shakespeare play. Indeed truly the relationship between Beatrice and Bennedick is all I aspire to in a relationship. And Candle Wasters as a team have pulled this off so well, even adding a sequel based on Love Labours Lost, enchantingly named Lovely Little Losers.

As tends to be the trend with web series, this adaptation has more than filled its LGBTQ+ quota, with the blossoming relationship between Balthazar and Pedro, Hero’s lesbian parents and the list doesn’t stop there. The series picks up on some fairly serious themes, picking out parts of the original Shakespeare that I originally somehow failed to see. The most notable example is Claudio’s aggressive slut shaming of Hero. The point made here, that even if she had cheated, publicly calling her out on it at her 16th birthday party would still not have been cool. My perhaps favourite part, is that once the series is over Claudio and Hero do not end up together and he finishes with a rather unpleasant sounding girlfriend – just as it sensibly should be. Hero throughout is completely adorable, raving about room tours and make up videos, as you kinda would expect of a modern day Hero. I love that kid.

The central romance between Beatrice and Bennedick is splendid, particularly the way you watch it develop over the entire series. The addition of homemade music videos by each of the protagonists was a really lovely addition; a perfect adaptation for a modern audience. I also really appreciated the varying camera quality, which again added to the believability of the series and is something you will never see in a polished Hollywood Blockbuster, or even the best BBC adaptation.

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To conclude, all I can really say is these guys really get the essence of Shakespeare. I cannot explain the degree to which you become emotionally involved in the lives of these characters, just because they seem so real and present. So thanks Candle Wasters for all you have done. It takes a lot to get me this invested, and I hope the next adaptation of a Midsummer night’s dream (Bright Summer Night) is just as gripping.

Why I’m a … Christian

Nathan Chan
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Why I’m a … Christian

I am a Christian. I grew up in a Christian family and I guess it is fair to say that I have, more or less, been a Christian pretty much all my life. But that does not mean that my acceptance of the faith was one that came naturally. In fact, quite the contrary. My journey of faith has been a rocky one, one that has been filled with much hesitation and pain. I have constantly questioned the God that I so profess to believe in, and no doubt will continue to do so. I have doubted Him, disowned Him and even downright rejected Him. But here I stand as a Christian nonetheless. I believe in God, and I believe in the Bible.

Before I get potentially bashed for my statement of faith, I would like to first make a few disclaimers. This article is by no means intended to be the stereotypical testimony of how a prodigal son rediscovered God in the midst of debauchery. My story on how I came to find and accept God, though eventful, is honestly quite plain and probably not worth a read. This article also is not intended, nor is it qualified, to be a robust defence of the Christian faith. Many before me, all of whom are eminently knowledgeable and needless to say, more well-informed on God than I am, have provided what I consider apt justifications and rationalisations of Christianity. Should you wish to read something along the lines of such, I suggest that you turn to the very enlightening writings of individuals such as Ravi Zacharias, John Piper and Oxford’s very own John Lennox.

I do not intend to engage myself in the grand ever-going debate on whether God exists. But rather, this article, quite simply, is the reflections and ramblings of a young Christian on what it means to be who he is, his continual wavering, or for want of a better word, his continual battle between acceptance and doubt, and ultimately how his faith shaped and will continue to shape his life.

It is admittedly very difficult to be a Christian, mainly because most of what the Bible preaches is so seemingly out of place with contemporary societal standards, or more specifically how we, as university students and young adults, typically go about in out daily lives. We’re supposed to observe the Sabbath (which is, in a secular term, Sunday) and rest? God, that’s impossible. I have two essays due the next day, and I can hardly afford spend my day meditating and praying. We’re not supposed to get drunk? Jesus, come on, then what’s the point having a night out at Park End? Men are not supposed to have long hair? Christ, come on, I just want to look good.

Being a Christian, at times, means alienation from the mainstream, or in milder terms, a withdrawal from what most people are doing. It seems that being a Christian often equates to being at odds with the rest of the world. The Bible acknowledges this by telling me that I ought “not [to] be conformed to this world” (Romans 12:2), and consequently, “the world hates you” (John 15:19).

But what inherently is wrong with the world? Is there necessarily a dichotomy between being a Christian, and being a perfectly normal and ordinary member of society and of this world? The whole notion of being “set apart” from the world seems almost condescending.

As a Christian, I am expected by the big guy up above to be different. It is by no means easy. In fact, it never was meant to be easy. Having the Bible tell you that if you choose to follow the Lord, you shall be “persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12), is surely not an assuring thing to hear and accept. So am I supposed to just acquiesce to a life expectedly abundant with hardship? Am I supposed to just suck it and see, in return for some unseen divine reward?

Usually when I find myself asking these questions, which is most of the time, I turn to the powerful writings of Paul, a titan of a Christian, whose literary prowess, even from a secular point of view, is undubitable. As Paul puts it very aptly, I believe that notwithstanding it being difficult to abide my faith, all things work together for good (Romans 8:28). Though outwardly I am indeed having a difficult time, or as Paul puts it – “wasting away”, yet inwardly I am being renewed day by day.

One of the many reasons why I am and still remain a Christian is that the divine promise that it will definitely and surely work out towards the end is a very reassuring and comforting thought. I am constantly encouraged by the fact that I, however little I might think of myself, am actually a priceless gem, so to speak, in the eyes of someone much higher than us. He tells me, “You feel worthless? Don’t be. Just look at my hands, and look at my side. You are worth my life”.

I apologize if my article leads nowhere, as upon rereading it, I do realise that it is neither a justification for the faith itself, nor is it a compelling personal story of my journey of faith. I do not wish to gloss over some of the very powerful arguments put against Christianity, but that being said, I would like to conclude by saying this:

You are most certainly entitled to disagree with my faith. You might think that my faith is for the weak, for those who lack reassurance and stability, and for those who are unloved and isolated. However, I urge you not to categorically reject everything “Christian”. Heck yes, I admit that I am, indeed, weak, insecure in life and even clinically depressed. But that does not mean I turned to Christianity as some sort of “last resort” to “feel good”. If you are unconvinced with what you see of Christianity, fair enough – for such a conscious rejection ought to be respected. However, the same respect should be also levelled towards those who consciously and mindfully accept it. Approach Christianity with an open mind, reflect upon it, question it, challenge it even. I did that, made some very important decisions, and now I am and will continue to be a practising Christian.

Hollywood: Beyond the Pale?

David Lawton
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Hollywood: Beyond the Pale?

The film industry has a problem with representation. #OscarsSoWhite brought to the fore the disgusting reality of white domination in Hollywood. However, the problem affects not only awards, but also films themselves. Stonewall attracted opprobrium for whitewashing – the choice of a white male protagonist, Danny, is a classic example of a film being made more accessible to white society.

Then there is the problem of typecasting. Whilst white, straight cisgender actors are given room to explore, and are applauded for, “challenging” depictions of minority groups (think Redmayne), people of colour and minorities regularly find themselves typecast – often into stereotypical, one-dimensional roles. I hope my readers agree when I say this must stop. It is a simulacrum of white power.

The idea that a role or award should go to the most talented actor who applies for it appeals to our most liberal pretensions. It rests on the false equation that ‘meritocracy’ equals fairness. Anyone one has studied societies past or present will tell you that meritocracies never equate to equal opportunity. ‘Talent’, in any field, acting included, is never natural. Successful actors need to have been to the right schools, have the right friends, and know the right people. On top of this they often need a fair amount of Daddy’s capital invested to keep them going in an expensive city, without a regular source of income, while they try to make it. Just talent? I think not. Want to know why the film industry isn’t diverse? This is why.

Beware of anything with the word ‘natural’ preceding it. ‘Natural talent’ is a myth with a malodorous whiff of geneticism about it. Talent is created, not immaculately conceived. Creating a talent in the 21st century is expensive. Lots can and should be done to make the acting world more diverse, but these things are ultimately sticking plasters.

The root cause of this issue is economic. Whites control the means of production. Whites put the money in. Whites call the shots. Hollywood is perhaps one of the most culturally significant achievements of the American nation. This is not saying much. America was, after all, a state built upon the twin pillars of slavery and genocide. What else should one expect of it? Sure if we could reform Hollywood as a cultural institution that’d be great. But wouldn’t it be more rewarding to reject it altogether?

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