Undoubtedly, some time during this month’s election campaign someone will ask one of the party leaders the infamous question, “What’s the price of a pint of milk?” It’s a convenient test to see if our politicians are in touch with the ‘real world’. Perhaps it has become too easy a question now that every politician has learnt that, if they pop down the road to Tesco, a pint of semi-skimmed milk will cost around 50p. The problem is that we rarely ask how much the dairy farmers get paid for it.

In the year from January, the average price for milk on the farm gate fell from 34p to 20p a litre. Facing such a dramatic fall in income, UK dairy farmers are really struggling. As of today, the EU dairy quota system that has been in place since 1984 no longer exists. The planners of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) see this change as a great opportunity for the development of a more market-orientated, efficient, and export-driven European dairy industry. The European Commissioner for Agriculture and Rural Development, Phil Hogan, sees the change as “an opportunity in terms of growth and jobs”, as producers can now meet growing demand from Asian and African markets. The question is, will this reform be of long term benefit for our rural communities, or will it simply force the price of milk down even further, bankrupting smaller farmers and ensuring the monopoly of a few large-scale producers?

The Irish and the Germans in particular are in favour of this move, planned since 2003. It has been estimated that by 2020 the Germans will have increased production by twenty per cent, whilst in Ireland it may have grown by as much as by fifty per cent. The fear is that once again Europe will return to the era of massive dairy surpluses that preceded the 1984 quotas. A return to the milk-lakes and butter-mountains of the late 1970s and early 1980s would have a crippling effect on British farming. Already, the number of UK dairy farmers has fallen from 36,000 in 1995 to less than 10,000 now. Facing further price drops, there is a real danger that dairy farming as we know it will disappear from the British countryside for good.

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On Tuesday Belgian farmers led a convoy of European tractors to the centre of Brussels to protest against the change. While not the crème de la crème of the dairy industry, by burning the flags of major food processing companies, the farmers expressed genuine fears that small dairy farmers would be driven out of the market. All over Europe, small producers will be under pressure like never before to economise to survive.

With the right government support, the removal of EU quotas on dairy production should be seen as an opportunity for British dairy farmers, not a threat. The reform will undoubtedly reshape the dairy market, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that change will be a bad thing. Under the recent quota system EU exports of dairy products to growing markets in the developing world were hamstrung. New Zealand’s milk production rose from 7.6 billion litres to nineteen billion litres per annum over the course of the quota period, on the back of growing international demand for dairy products. But the EU’s stagnated. The quota system, fining countries for over-production, seriously limited the potential for increasing EU exports and rebalancing the trade deficit.

Already in Germany investment in the dairy industry means that efficient, technology-minded farmers are well prepared for the market’s revolution. Reiss, Europe’s biggest milk producer, has invested €8 million since 2012 in preparing for the uplift in production. Investment in milking carousels that can achieve three milking sessions each day instead of the usual two, or methane capturing systems to cost-effectively heat cattle sheds, means that they are ready to adapt to the change. If British dairy farmers want to not only survive, but prosper in the light of market reform, they too need to invest in technology and the export industry.

With the removal of quotas, European agricultural policy is finally looking outwards to an export led future. The removal of quotas means that smaller British dairy farmers will be forced to compete on a much more open market. If whichever government emerges out of the election wants to see a thriving agricultural economy, it needs to help dairy farmers invest in more efficient means of production. We need the government to support our farmers as they come to terms with new technologies and new export markets, producing cheaper and more profitable milk. Only if we support modernisation in the dairy industry will we be able to have our milk, and drink it.

He was right up in my face, so close I could smell the booze on his breath. “You’re a paedophile lover!” he shouted. “You like rape do you?” The man reeked of violence. They all did, him and the crowd behind him chanting “you ain’t English anymore!” at the four of us, defiantly stood, thumbs down as the hate march passed.

This is my defining memory of the day the English Defence League (EDL) came to Oxford. They were scheduled to march from the train station at 2:00pm, up past the council offices, behind the Westgate centre and on to the St Aldate’s police station where they would rally and listen to their speakers.

The counter-demo had been organised by UAF and the SWP on Bonn Square. Most of the demonstrators were middle-aged, probably seasoned veterans of protests. They were interspersed with perhaps 20 young people dressed in black, their faces obscured by hoods and scarves, with the odd anarchist flag on display. A few students were present. I have no doubt that had this rally been in term time, there would have been thousands.

Unfortunately the EDL are not that stupid. Easter weekend was the ideal time to stage a visit to Oxford, outside the term times of both universities, with the revision-swamped finalists home for Easter.  The clearest presence (helped by the high-vis jackets, horses and riot gear) were the police who had flooded into Oxford from as far afield as Kent to ‘keep the peace’. The old lefties muttered that when they marched the police never seemed to have peace on their minds.

Their prophecies were proved right as we drew closer to the march. We were separated from the route by 25 meters of ‘no-man’s-land’ between two walls of helmet clad officers, and a barricade of riot vans. How was our message of condemnation going to hit home if only the police were there to witness it? I hadn’t come all the way from Catz to watch the tops of flag poles march past!

Me and my friends had checked out the march route on the EDL Facebook page, and slipped away to work our way round. We made our way down St Ebbes Street and cut back up behind the Westgate centre towards Castle Street. It seemed the police had not done their homework on Oxford’s back alleys, as we quickly slipped under the cordon. By the demolished multi-storey carpark we were stopped by some workmen. “Only members of the public can go further, no protestors allowed,” we were told by a workman gesturing to our placards. We put them down, and with that we found ourselves on the march route.

We hurried up the road quickly, passing EDL members waiting outside of Baby Love, and placed ourselves in front of some bleary-eyed daytime drinkers who had spilled out of the Swan and Castle to watch.  The EDL (the association of English Drinkers of Lager by the looks of them) came down the street. Muffled shouting could be heard from the hidden demonstrators but, apart from noise, the protest was obscured.

It seemed we would have to do it for them. The first rows had passed us when one of my mates’ friends raised her hands thumbs down. Seconds later the rest of our hands rose showing the marchers what we thought of them. Abuse came our way, the march faltered as demonstrators slowed to scream idiotic remarks at us. We stayed silent; with no wall of police in front of us, a silent protest was as far as we could go. The EDL quickly surrounded us and made their feelings very clear. The police reacted just in time, pushing between us. Within seconds 20 officers and a horse separated us and the march. We stepped back, our hands still, firmly raised and staring down the enemy. It was terrifying.

After the confrontation we followed the march and joined up with the rest of the demo. The remainder of the afternoon was spent marching and chanting, playing cat-and-mouse with the police as we tried to get as close to the EDL as possible. One memorable moment came when a lone EDL man appeared from round the corner shouting “EDL, EDL!” The scarf-clad crowd from earlier saw him and, to shouts of “get him!”, charged with a roar of support from the rest of us.

At the end of the protest I felt relieved. Relief that that was all the EDL had. A ‘national demonstration’, but maybe only 100-strong and most incapable of stringing a coherent sentence together. If that is all the fascists have got we have nothing to fear. There were no brains, no numbers, only self-isolating violence. If only UKIP were so toothless.

For a number of Oxbridge students Hilary Term was rounded off with a weekend in Amsterdam. Hoards of Oxford’s worn out and overworked students, hungover from essay and/or alcohol-induced all-nighters, piled into coaches bound for the Netherlands, enticed by the quirky architecture, the world-class museums…the drugs, the sex, the debauchery – because out in Dam all that’s legal. 

From the demographic on the trip, it’s fairly likely that plenty were in search of the latter; a weekend of intoxicated hedonism, a reward for surviving Hilary.  And fair enough, who isn’t partial to relaxation and enjoyment, in whatever form it comes? I myself was looking forward to passing my weekend in such a way. However, the reality of Amsterdam did not quite meet my expectations. 

Everything was far too overt, far too crude and out in the open. I wanted some impropriety that was, in fact, illegal. That’s not to say I have a predilection for breaking the law – far from it – but isn’t part of the thrill the possibility of getting caught? Maybe I am just painfully British, the stiff upper lip unwilling to loosen up a bit, but all that legalized debauchery just felt too seedy. Is there a place for taboo in our society?

The convenience of having soft drugs legalized is undeniable. You can walk into a coffee shop knowing that the next however many hours of haziness won’t get you a criminal record. Cannabis is easy to buy and you can ask for advice – people are there to make sure everything is safe. So far, so good. You’ve gone from sneaking around the streets to lounging in a legal, licensed establishment. Simple, convenient, safe. But didn’t you quite like the thrill of keeping it clandestine? And if you’re game for that, who needs Amsterdam?

This leads me onto the subject of prostitution. While exploring the Red Light District I got a strong sense that some things really should be kept behind closed doors. Out in the open it makes for a very uncomfortable evening stroll. Am I a prude? Sexually ‘vanilla’? No – I just have some respect for the female body. Passing by the empty windows, curtains drawn a few metres back from the glass, it really hit home what those women are there for. Even if the women are there by choice, it made me feel that no society should condone women objectifying themselves as an acceptable means of employment. Yes, models, actresses, in fact most celebrities – male and female – are selling themselves. But actually selling your body for sex? This seemed a step too far. Whatever sex means to you, it remains one of the most intimate and personal acts. Intercourse should never cross the line from intimacy to commodity.   

However, one cannot deny that it is a human right of these women to do with their body what they will. While much of it is about the earning potential, money is not the exclusive motivation for sex workers. There are many women who work in the industry because they enjoy having sex. Hell, if everyone had a job they actually enjoyed the world would be a merrier place! Yet these women still suffer from the stigma of prostitution. Even with its legalized status in one of the most tolerant cities in the world, some people who walk past and watch project lewd and misguided ideas onto the women in the windows.

Those passersby cannot comprehend what would compel someone to make a conscious choice to earn a living through prostitution. I for one find it difficult. Yet most of these women are there through their own will. There’s a call for more respect. The stigma comes from a misunderstanding; for sex workers are actually in control of what they do. They are by no means obligated to open the door to anyone, and they more or less decide which sexual favours to impart and at what price.

All in all, I came away from Amsterdam disillusioned with the idea of legalizing sex work and drugs. It may be safer over there, but I did not feel at ease with everything being so shamelessly public. Some taboos are there for a reason: to deter people from engaging in sordid and degrading behavior. In my view, something is either illegal for a good reason (i.e. prostitution) or, lacking that reason, its illegality just makes for a more thrilling high.