Thursday 17th July 2025
Blog Page 1232

Porn & Policy at Teddy Hall

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It is not at all an unfortunate time to be a left-wing rabble-rouser at St Edmund Hall. Haunted by the ‘Ghost of Scandals past’, students at Teddy Hall over the last few years have embarked on a long march to liberate the college from its old association with lad culture.

This is a project that is somewhat half-complete. Teddy Hall, with its Men’s Officers, is not yet the envy of Wadham but nor is it deserving of the image of a boozy men’s rugby club with an academic college attached.

The transformation of the Hall has been radical enough that we were among the first colleges to boycott The Sun, a nominally ‘progressive’ step if highly problematic in its attitudes to women who work in pornography. We banned ‘Blurred Lines’ because of its role in perpetuating rape culture, we voted to divest from fossil fuels, and even voted to support a boycott of Israel in 2013 – the only JCR (I believe) to have done so.

But this obsession with cultivating an image of being ‘progressive’ has its own problems. This is in no way unique to Teddy Hall, but it bubbled over at the college last week when the JCR sadly voted to scrap one of its honorary members: the highly successful porn actor, Jenna Jameson. In a brilliant piece for Cherwell, JCR member Susanna O’Brien explained, “Sex workers are among the most stigmatised women in our society, and Teddy Hall missed an important opportunity to stand in solidarity with them.”

By wrongly focusing on how a college would be perceived, rather than the real function of our university in society, Oxford students once again put their foot in it – and the furore was reported everywhere from Cuntry Living to The Times of India.

This is the unchallenged tenet at the core of Oxford politics: that the utmost political priority is to sanitise our image for the sake of ‘access’. It was this thinking that last year led reactionary students to criticise the calling out of racism by “I, too, am Oxford”, as ‘bad for access’, wrongly believing ‘access’ to trump oppression.

In trying to combat a stereotype which is fundamentally true – Oxford is full of white male privilege – students can inadvertently ignore the role of that privilege. Perhaps Oxford politics should give up the unwinnable fight of polishing a privileged turd, and focus instead on dismantling those privileges instead.

Immigrants at Campsfield "guilty until proven innocent"?

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We’ve gathered outside the Cherwell District Council offices in Bodicote, just south of Banbury. Local councillors are about to decide on whether a proposal to more than double the capacity of Campsfield House Immigration Removal centre will go ahead.

Although the rain has been coming down all day, and the small parish takes over an hour to reach by bus from Oxford, the turnout is impressive: campaigners from across the country have gathered to express their animosity towards plans to expand a centre frequently accused of human rights violations by organisations such as Amnesty International.

Campsfield House Immigration Removal Centre, or ‘Campsfield House’, as it is innocuously signposted on the Woodstock Road, has a maximum detention capacity of 216. Converted from a youth detention centre in 1993, the private outsourcing company Mitie won a £27m contract to run the centre through its ‘Care and Custody’ subsidiary in 2011.

Since then, the Campsfield centre has incurred a fire, a suicide, and at least three major hunger strikes. A recent Corporate Watch feature reports, “There were no sprinklers installed, despite repeated advice from the fire brigade, and despite the fact that Mitie claims to specialise in fire safety.”

Under the current proposal, the centre would have its maximum capacity increased to 560, a plan which has received widespread condemnation from, amongst others, the Deputy Prime Minister.

But opposition to the expansion of Campsfield, and detention centres more generally, goes further than merely disdain for the mistreatment of immigrants within them.

There is also a problem with numbers. Of those detained in the UK, an increasing proportion are being granted leave to remain here. The exact figure is 45 per cent of those detained in the year 2014, compared to 35 per cent in 2010.

This is in spite of a trend of increased hostility towards immigrants by the coalition government within the same period. Given the fact that these centres exist for the express purpose of immigrant removal, this should mean a reduced demand on them – yet, incongrously, they are being expanded.

Moreover, this is costing the taxpayer £37,000 per detainee per year.

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The story of detention within the UK is rife with such inconsistencies. For instance, the Home Office claims to follow what it calls the ‘Hardial Singh’ principles. These principles state that detention can only be used when the Secretary of State “intends to deport the person”. The length of the period of detention must be “reasonable in all the circumstances”, and “if it becomes apparent that the Secretary of State will not be able to effect deportation within a reasonable period, they should not seek to exercise the power of detention.”

However, on 30th June 2012, the United Kingdom Border Agency reported at least 174 cases where migrants were kept at immigration removal centres for over a year. There are even reports of detainees being kept for up to six or seven years. Clearly, there is a discrepancy between policy and practice.

There are further discrepancies regarding the Home Office’s policy on the detention of vulnerable people. Rule 35 of the ‘Detention Centre Rules 2001’ was designed to prevent torture victims being locked up in all but exceptional circumstances, but the general consensus among campaigners and detainees is that it doesn’t work.

An audit of its effectiveness by the Home Office found that only 9 per cent of Rule 35 reports led to release. More damning evidence against the efficacy of Rule 35 is revealed in a report by Medical Justice, who assessed the cases of 50 torture victims (verified as such by independent doctors). Of the 50 victims, only one person was released through the Rule 35 process.

Furthermore, six people within the sample were hospitalised from going on hunger strike, and eight attempted suicide; the report concludes, “Whilst Rule 35 is presented as a safeguard, its successful implementation is trumped by wider political and economic goals, thus making it little more than a fig leaf.”

We spoke to Ameena, who was detained in Yarl’s Wood IRC for five months. She told us how, on arriving in the UK, she immediately sought asylum in London, and after giving her story to immigration officers, was detained the very same day.

“I was without a lawyer or interpreter, and my English at the time was poor,” she explained. “I had to do the whole thing alone. My case involved FGM, which I had to discuss with a man. I had never discussed it with a man before, and for me it was terrifying.”

Although the UN recognises FGM as torture (meaning that by the Home Office’s very own guidelines, Ameena should not have been detained), the process went ahead anyway. She told us, “My five months in the detention centre was the worst experience of my life. I was treated like a criminal – even though cutting girls is illegal here, and I was a victim.”

Talking about the psychological damage her detention incurred, Ameena explained how “every day I thought about the sick people, the mentally ill, the people who had been there for years, and I thought to myself: is this going to happen to me?”

One day, Ameena was told she was allowed to remain in the country. “Since I left I’ve been receiving counselling and taking medication. I think about that place every single day.”

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Ameena’s case isn’t rare. Research by Women for Refugee Women has investigated the impact detention has on women in particular. Their report found that 85 per cent of detained women they spoke to had previously been raped or tortured.

Shockingly, there is evidence that such abuse extends into the detention centres themselves. In 2013, a detainee from Yarl’s Wood called Tanja came forward with claims that she had been sexually abused at the detention centre. In one case, she was made to perform sex acts on guards who were “well aware that I did not want to”.

Shortly after these allegations were made, three more women came forward with cases corroborating Tanja’s. Serco, the private-sector company that runs Yarl’s Wood, denies the allegations. However, they did admit to dismissing a male member of staff for “inappropriate behaviour with a resident”, after an incident was captured on CCTV.

Interested in finding out more about life inside Campsfield, we visited a detainee at the centre to get a first-hand account from this near-mythologised institution. Upon entering, we were thoroughly searched, and after passing through six metre high gates, had our fingerprints and photos taken. Usman, who was nearing the end of his third month at Campsfield, had agreed to talk to us.

Describing life inside, he tells us, “I’m lucky in that I’m not sharing a room with anyone. Earlier, I was sharing with several others. A lot of the rooms contain three or four people, all crammed inside a tiny living space. Some rooms squeeze in as many as six people.”

Usman earns £1 an hour working in the centre’s shop for visitors, and is allowed to earn a maximum of £21 a week. The money is needed to pay for extra food throughout the day, as the meals provided “are not enough for one person”.

Describing a typical day of food, he lists, “bread and milk in the morning, chips or white rice with soup, or a chicken burger for lunch. Dinner is often curry; I’d like some more fruit or vegetables.”

Usman is critical of the medical help available to him and his fellow detainees. “The other day I was feeling run down and the only help I got was the nurse telling me to wear a jumper and a hat. There seem to be huge limits to what help they can and can’t give us.”

Usman describes the mental state of detainment as “constant torture”. “I feel my mental health deteriorating; I’m already losing my memory. Someone I know who was in here for 16 months now has lasting mental problems from his detainment. Another guy who was only 19 years old finally got out, then passed out at Oxford Station. The idea of freedom made him feel dizzy.”

Some detainees are led to self-harm, Usman tells us. “A lot of people put in confinement as a result of ‘bad behaviour’ hit themselves to get out of it. One guy’s in hospital at the moment after swallowing a razor blade.”

Usman’s friend explains to us how his nephew was detained several years ago. “Back then, though, there were much better detention conditions, and he wasn’t detained long. There was a gym he could use, the rooms were all singles, he was even allowed to learn IT skills while he was there! I was very shocked when I first came to visit Usman.”

“It’s worse than prison here,” Usman interrupts. “At least in there you know how long you have left in your sentence. I’m not a criminal, we are not criminals, and yet we’ve been put through this process where we don’t know whether we’ll be forced to leave tomorrow.

“They told me I was being deported three times without it actually happening. The last time, I said goodbye to my friends and family. My wife was crying, I was extremely depressed, and then I get a call saying they’ve messed up the travel documents. I have no idea what’s going on until the last minute.”

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Usman believes he will finally be deported next week. “I’ll be back to square one, as though the past ten years never happened,” he says.

While the Home Office looks to ignore the pleas of detainees like Usman, members of the Campaign to Close Campsfield have been protesting the centre since before it was built.

When we visited two members of the Campaign, Liz Peretz and Bill McKeith, it was clear that we’d come during a particularly busy period. Bill was on the phone to a lawyer in London, penning a letter to Cherwell District Council to attempt to get them to reconsider the proposed expansion of Campsfield.

According to Liz, the “official” reason behind the proposal is that the government has recently employed a great deal more immigration officers who will be carrying out increased checks on more families, and need somewhere to warehouse the anticipated influx of people on the way to being deported.

“However, we think it is a very muddled picture,” she added. “It’s quite likely to be the private firms, like Mitie, that have encouraged the Home Office to ‘modernize their stock’ of Detention Centres. This bears absolutely no relation to the other set of arguments that are going on in Parliament as we speak, that there should be a time limit on detention.

“If you could get a time limit on how long someone could be detained for, you wouldn’t be looking at how you can expand the stock – you’d be looking at contracting it.”

Second to Greece, the UK has the largest number of detained people in Europe, and Liz believes that there is a psychological component to the Home Office’s detention policy.

However, detention as an act of “muscle-flexing” by the government, she explained, “just doesn’t work. The Home Office’s own statistics show that more people are coming over than ever before: war and conflict and poverty all over the world won’t just disappear!”

However, a former detention custody officer at Campsfield firmly believes that the centre’s existence is justified by it being a successful deterrent for prospective immigrants.

Asked to elaborate on his former role, he tells us, “I did security: I prevented people getting out, as well as getting in.” Although he considers that he did the most he could to help detainees when he worked there, he believes there is only so much one can do. “If you helped them too much you became targeted,” he explains. “You become known for being sympathetic, and you get more and more people coming to you for help.”

His story corroborates an anecdote shared to us by Liz from another detention centre within the UK. The immigration officers who deported the smallest percentage of their cases, she told us, had a white monkey put on their desk.

Such attitudes show a callous disregard for the realities which asylum seekers face with deportation, which in many cases entails death. This prospect made a significant im- pression on us when we spoke to a campaigner called Ade, whose boyfriend is seeking asylum within the UK, and has been in detention for 11 months since his appeal. His boyfriend is from Nigeria, where homosexuality is illegal, and, in some areas, punishable by death.

“If they send him back to Nigeria, they will kill him,” Ade tells us with the sombreness of a person faced with the prospect of losing a loved one.

With so much at stake in Ade’s boyfriend’s appeal, the policy of “guilty until proven innocent” – the asylum application process as Liz describes it – is in an even more obvious and urgent need of reform.

After 20 minutes outside the Council’s offices, we were told that we could observe the meeting from the public gallery. We filed in, only to leave ten minutes later, the councillors having voted to defer their decision to the next meeting after receiving the letter from Bill.

Reaction to the decision was mixed: on the one hand, Campsfield would not be expanded today, but on the other, the campaign would have to maintain its momentum if it hoped for a better outcome next time.

While it is heartening to see so many people mobilised, these protests can only hint at the severity of the UK’s detention situation, which is putting thousands of people every year through “the very worst kind of mental torture”.

Some of the names in this piece have been changed to preserve anonymity.

Information and Links: 

We are grateful to Oxford Migrant Solidarity for putting us in touch with those inside Campsfield, enabling us to visit the centre.

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Debate: Are crewdates an outdated Oxford institution?

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For

Alistair Sterling

Crew dates aren’t just outdated, they are damaging. Have misogynistic, binge-drinking, stereotype-reinforcing, lad-culture inducing affairs ever been acceptable? I’m generalising of course; not all crew dates are like that, but the concept does have significant issues that need to be identified and addressed.

The typical crew date, like the meal to be consumed, follows a set menu. Two teams of opposite genders arrive at the restaurant, sitting alternately. The more attractive members sit towards the middle of the table, and those ‘less blessed’ are resigned to the ends, where they can mull over the tribulations of aesthetic objectification.

Then the ringmaster introduces the show, welcoming everybody to this spectacle that is, of course, sure to be full of wonder and merriment. The pre-purchased bottles of Tesco Vintage are uncorked (or more likely unscrewed) and the drinking begins. ‘Pennying’ and ‘sconcing’ follow swiftly, each accusation sculpted carefully and precisely for the unwitting crew dater who thought their vibrant sexual encounter had gone unnoticed or that their disturbing foray with a tutor had long been forgotten. Unfortunately, it had not.

As the evening progresses, voices are raised to levels unmatched by the waiting staff in their feeble attempts to communicate that the gruel is going to be late, leaving confusion for both parties. At this stage, however, nobody really cares what’s going on, because it will inevitably taste similar when it comes back up on the walk to Park End. Everyone is now significantly more left-wing, except that one guy sat in the corner, wondering why he bothered coming in the first place.

This behaviour is reminiscent of a teenager’s 16th birthday party – a rowdy, disrespectful group of drunks, with no care for those they may be affecting. If such exploits occurred in an isolated environment, I would have much less of a problem. The crew date is not an inherently troubling concept, but the manner in which they are currently conducted is frankly disgusting. The heteronormativity, the archaic ‘faux-Buller’ behaviour, the pressure on members to get utterly buttered (despite the fact that 21 per cent of adults in the UK are teetotal), are indicative of an institution that still clings feebly onto the notions of yesteryear. In a progressive, inclusive, cultured, and educated environment of which we have the privilege to be part of, why do we still allow such things to go on?

The crew date, steeped in a history of mythical proportions, is an institution so dressed in tradition that we wilfully overlook the damage it causes. Those crew daters with influence over those less experienced abuse their standing t o make others’ evenings a misery. All of this happens under the guise that it’s ‘just a bit of banter mate, if you can’t take the heat get out of the kitchen’. The waiting staff are poorly treated, and women are often objectified, both by sconces and by actions during and after the affair. Too many times I, or my friends, have sat and watched as a burly crew dater stands, taps his glass and announces that the person to his right slept with umpteen ‘birds’ during a ‘night on the pull.’

Crewdates needn’t be like this. A lively meal with a few drinks and lots of people is no bad thing. But currently crew dates perpetuate a culture that jars with the progressive nature of Oxford today. Outdated? Yes, but they are also symptomatic of a student culture which needs to do a lot more introspection 

Against

Harry Gosling

As a fresher who has only recently been initiated into the Oxford tradition of crew dating, I do admittedly have a relatively limited pool of experience from which I am able to draw.

Yet even from a relatively narrow point of view, I can see there is little about crew dates that is inherently wrong or outdated.

The principal purpose of crew dates, it appears to me, is to have fun. They are an opportunity for students to draw breath as they lurch from one essay crisis to another. I think that the chance to meet new groups of people over dinner should be embraced, not rejected on account of the actions of the few rather than those of the many.

The tradition of pennying for example, while arguably serving to perpetuate the existing culture of drinking to excess, is hardly confined to crew dates alone. Sconcing too, despite the inevitable embarrassment caused, is quite simply just part of the fun. Even the horrifyingly over-priced food offered by some of Oxford’s less refined dining establishments can, in spite of first appearances, turn out to be edible once copious volumes of cheap alcohol have been consumed.

Aside from the enjoyment dimension, crew dates serve another important purpose in enabling students to meet other groups of students from outside their usual sphere of interaction. It is particularly the case with arts students that socialising happens predominantly between members of the same college. Societies are a good opportunity to meet fellow students, but crew dates are an almost unique opportunity for members of student societies and sports teams to meet like-minded people.

Of course one of the criticisms levied against the crew dating culture in Oxford is that it perpetuates and further embeds the unsavoury aspects of ‘lad culture’ and predatory sexual behaviour. There are numerous unfortunate examples of crew date members embarrassing themselves by expounding crude stereotypes. The by now infamous email sent by the social secretary of Pembroke College Rugby Football Club to its members during Michaelmas 2013 instructed recipients of the email to “pick” a fresher to accompany them on the crew date.

This type of behaviour is quite rightly condemned. Fortunately, however, this sort of attitude is fairly rare. You only have to look at the growing popularity of crew dating, exemplified by the multiplicity of crew dating websites now available, to see that they are regarded as a predominantly harmless and enjoyable experience, not an outdated one. Students can choose whether or not to attend crewdates; the fact that so many do choose to attend is indicative of their positive reputation.

It is undoubtedly true that a small minority of participants may treat crew dates as something of an ‘opportunity’. Perhaps I am naive, but this supposed crew dating culture does not appear to be particularly pervasive. The real problem is ‘lad culture’ and sexual opportunism, and these are not confined to crew dating alone. Would we argue that clubbing is outdated just because some individuals indulge in unsavoury behaviour?

It is not the crew dating culture in Oxford that needs to be challenged; it is the broader culture of ‘lad banter’ and sexual opportunism that deserves our attention. The attitude of some individuals towards crew dates may be outmoded, but the crew date itself should certainly not be considered an outdated institution.

Student apathy should be blamed for OUSU’s malaise

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For all the moaning and whingeing about the conduct of our Student Union recently, at least one issue has temporarily been put to rest: we now know that OUSU does actually do things. Far from the rallying cry from two years ago of “OUSU needs to do more”, the criticism now appears to be that OUSU considers its remit too broad, or runs too swiftly into issues more complex than it realises. Contrasting starkly with our own President’s admission in his letter over a year ago that “OUSU doesn’t do new or interesting things”, it seems to be those exact properties that have marked the Marine Le Pen protest for students’ ire.

If you’re worried about another tedious defence of the decision itself, or a thunderous condemnation of the purported arrogance of those who saw fit to vote in favour, then fear not. I have no interest in wading into that minefield, and I’m sure that those with far more nuanced arguments on both sides will be more than willing to fight for their respective causes.

However, what cannot be ignored is the hypocrisy of those with the depth of feeling to hold lengthy and public strops decrying the decision to endorse the protest, yet who failed to perform the unbelievably simple task of reading the agenda of OUSU Council and sending a short email to any of their college representatives to ask them to vote against the motion when it was brought to Council weeks ago.

Oxford students are world-renowned for their ability to read monstrous amounts of text in an embarrassingly small space of time, and yet it is certain that nearly all of the signatories of last week’s open letter failed to find five minutes in their no doubt incredibly busy days to skim through the agenda online.

Contrary to popular belief, the malaise that is currently afflicting OUSU isn’t one of over-enthusiastic student politicians, nor is it one of interest groups running rampant. The problem is apathy, and it has found its way into the life-blood of everything OUSU does.

From a referendum that was investigated because a 16 per cent turnout was “larger than expected” to the recent presidential election, which saw a decrease in the number of votes cast from previous years, the spectres of disengagement and disinterest loom large over the entire Student Union, and as heartening as it is that a decision by OUSU has inspired such attention, all this anger should not be directed at the Student Union, but ought to be rather more navel-gazing.

To put it simply: if you don’t vote, if you don’t read your OUSU Council agenda, and if you don’t email your college representatives about issues that are important to you, then you no longer have any grounds for comment on what OUSU Council does. If you refuse to engage with the system that tries to represent you but openly rail against decisions it has made, then you are no better than Russell Brand: shouting from the sidelines at those who care enough actually to get involved. While this may suit the thousands of students who are neither interested in nor care about what the Student Union does, the increasingly vocal sect who remain perfectly content in silence only until OUSU commits some deed with which they disagree have no such excuse.

To quote Theodore Roosevelt, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena… and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place will never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

It’s true: the critic’s chair is always more comfortable and safe than actively taking part. So if you desire to criticise decisions made by Council, by all means get up from your seat and wade in. It’s not hard: a short email to any of your numerous representatives will suffice. Otherwise, sit down, and stop talking.

OxStew: Unless conscious, college choice does not matter

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In the two years that I’ve spent as Admissions Officer here at Pembroke College, one of the things I am asked most often by prospective applicants is how to decide which college they should apply for, under the impression that this is an all-important decision. In reality, though, unless you are a fully conscious human being, capable of experiencing emotion and noticing your surroundings, it really won’t matter which college you end up at.

Apart from things like different state/private school composition, altered attitudes towards rustication, completely separate teaching setups, widely varying socio-political atmospheres, and divergent accommodation arrangements, you will have exactly the same student experience no matter which college. It’s all technically Oxford after all, what does it matter if the college forgot to mention their concrete jungle first-year accommodation miles down Cowley Road? Gazing from your window into someone’s garden shed is exactly the same as musing upon the dreaming spires and picturesque lawns of the college prospectus. In any case, being totally unaware of your surroundings due to the torpor into which you have fallen will make it even less likely that these differences will affect your time here at Oxford.

Most students base the decision on their favourite college crest, or just the one with the funniest name. I hear Oriel is full of students with an obsession for Oreos and the Little Mermaid. Got a favourite saint? Perfect. Perhaps there’s a college with the name of your place of birth? Decision made. You won’t regret it, I promise you. Of course you won’t. Regret implies consciousness, whereas you’re able only to conform, all possibility of regret taken from you by this lethargy which has dulled your senses.

Occasionally, you’ll hear people argue that location is an important consideration in terms of which college you might want to pick, but this really is overstated. The easy 25 minute walk from St Hugh’s to Exam Schools every morning will be a leisurely start to your day, and barely different to if you were at one of the colleges in the centre. And you’ll scarcely even the notice the walk – you notice little these days.

Similarly, it is sometimes said that you should take financial matters into consideration when deciding on a college, but although St John’s gives each of its students £300 to spend on books and laptops whilst Pembroke forces its students to pay for formals they might not even be able to attend, financial issues should not be a problem for a student at any college. And in what way would they be a problem? Why would those figures in your bank account even matter? What would even constitute a problem for you, now that you are devoid of the ability to feel pain? Nothing matters anymore.

Bar Review: Pembroke

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My trip to Pembroke bar had a worrying start when I walked into a completely empty room, with Rick Astley creepily playing in the background. Rather disappointing for 9pm on a Thursday. Where were the blazered Bridge-goers? Where were the bearded Cellar-dwellers?

Alas, neither of my questions were answered, as the bar remained uncomfortably quiet all evening, which seemed odd especially given its central location. Despite this, the lack of customers did allow me to admire what must surely have been a recent renovation. With bare-bricked arches and a stainless steel bar, they’ve come quite close to the continental riverside effect, and if there’d been some Heineken and a couple more stoners I realistically might have been in Amsterdam.

That said, Pembroke’s bar is plagued with the classic ‘spare room’ problem. Quite small and impractically narrow, it borders on claustrophobic as soon asyou walk in. To make matters worse, the sound system has about the same quality as a builder’s radio, 100 metres away, being played painfully through an extensive network of tin cans.

I then understood why the Cellar-ites weren’t so keen on hanging out here. I was somewhat impressed with the beer selection, which included two lagers and one ale on tap, and five or six different bottled beers in the fridge, all of which were slightly cheaper than your average student bar.

The spirit choice, on the other hand, was fairly predictable – the same choice offered by nearly every college bar. The bartender was quiet, and although he didn’t offer the most welcoming of atmospheres, his ‘seen-it-all-before-and-don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude was admirable in a way.

But the biggest credit must go to their signature drink, the Pembroke Pinky. It’s a half-pint concoction including a triple vodka, grenadine, and ginger ale,vwhich, instead of taking the usual tactic of masking an inordinate amount of alcohol behind utter sickliness, has a more moderate, spicy flavour, thanks to the ginger ale. And because it’s only half a pint, you don’t have to gulp down excessive amounts of liquid before finding the courage to dance. I always find that where alcohol is concerned, efficiency is key. And for £3.50 it packed a punch in terms of value as well as of booze.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆ (2/5)

Although very little stood out as especially impressive here, it’s a good-looking bar in a central location, with an almost adequate array of drinks at respectable prices, so a tentative bravo to Pembroke.

The Campaign: Oxford Climate Society

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Activism has become a dirty word. With climate action conjuring up images of not-so-peaceful protests and radical stunts such as Greenpeace’s take-over of the rig in the Arctic, it’s no wonder most hesitate from taking action. But it doesn’t have to be like this. The Oxford Climate Society was founded as an inclusive movement which believes in using our creativity to move climate change up the political agenda.

2015 is a pivotal year for climate action, with the General Election, and COP21 UN negotiations in Paris at the end of the year.

One of the pillars of the Oxford Climate Society is action. The actions we take are all about acting local, thinking global — actions you take in your city have the potential to reverberate globally to mobilize politicians to act decisively on climate change.

We are currently focused on the upcoming national #TimeToAct2015 climate march in London on March 7th. It is independently organised but our aim is to maximise Oxford’s presence. Often people are held back by not having anyone to go with or are intimidated by not knowing what it’s all about. This is why we’re providing Oxford students and residents with the opportunity to meet, make banners together, and feel a sense of community with those planning to go. All of this will be happening in the afternoon and evening of March 6th, right before the march the next day (like us on Facebook to keep up to date).

Alternatively, if you feel more connected with the cycling community or think fracking is the number one problem, there will be a multitude of ‘blocs’ marching on the day representing climate causes they connect with most (see timetoact2015.org).

We will also be doing some publicity stunts and mass flyering on February 28th — if you’re keen, meet us at Carfax Tower at 10am.

The action doesn’t just end there. We want people writing to members of government — we can provide template letters. Two debates are also planned for Trinity and Michaelmas involving politicians, leading scientists, thinkers to get people talking. In the lead up to COP21, we will be gathering all our energy to raise awareness and join others in urging leaders to agree on a progressive climate treaty (we are even looking for a separate Campaigns Officer to lead us in this).

Find out more and how to be a part of the movement by visiting us at oxfordclimatesociety.com. 

Creaming Spires HT15 Week 6

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I went to an awesome party last night and it ended about 8am. I’m not even going to pretend that I’m awake today. But it’s because I went to an awesome party that ended at 8am that I can now talk about something important (for once). You know what those excessively long social gatherings are like – at about 5am it’s just a small group of people savouring the very last dregs of gin and inevitably talking about sex.

I love those conversations. Being an open person, I find talking about  favourite positions and sex toys the next best thing to actually experiencing them. And I have many friends who share this preference, no shame attached. I mean, if a person gives no fucks about loudly screwing someone in a toilet during a house party, they also give no fucks about telling everyone about it afterwards. But of course, not everyone is a crazed over-sharer. I also have friends who talk about sex without going into gruesome detail. They keep their private lives to themselves and that’s fine. I always assumed that behind their discretion hide perfectly satisfying, normal sex lives. One overly long party and a hundred G&Ts later my view changed dramatically.

The conversation turned to ‘Catholic guilt’. I admitted that despite my well-known promiscuity, it took me a long time to stop feeling slightly panicky after each casual encounter. Similar confessions followed. One girl, who is often outspoken about her contraception, admitted that she’s never actually had penetrative sex. Another, who is very open about her high libido,  disclosed that she finds vaginal sex very uncomfortable. A guy known for worshipping his girlfriend and referring to their sickeningly perfect mutual orgasms revealed that actually their sex drives don’t match at all and he’s thinking about ending it. Pretty much everybody I talked to (who didn’t chase me away for being an obnoxious nosy harlot) had a secret that made them think their sex life is not normal.

Erectile problems. Insecurities about pubic hairstyles. Disgust at oral sex. Disgust at any sort of sex. General unhappiness and the feeling of not belonging to our sexy young generation and not fitting in with everyone else except that when everyone else isn’t fitting in either, there’s no longer anything to fit into. Or something like that. What even is a normal sex life?

To me, we’re talking about at least a few times a week, with lots of experimenting. Or at least, that’s how it’s been for the past few years, after I finally decided that I am notnthe whore of Babylon just because I like giving head. Shiny pretty magazines would have everyone believe whatever frequency and level of kink they say ‘normal sex’ involves. Well, I call bullshit.There’s no normal. Stop overthinking your oddities. We’re all odd.

I’m going to sleep.

Interview: Reni Eddo-Lodge

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I feel the lyrics to ‘Q.U.E.E.N.’ by Janelle Monáe and Erykah Badu aptly encapsulate Eddo-Lodge’s philosophy. “Add us to equations but they’ll never make us equal.”


A talented journalist and social justice campaigner, Reni Eddo-Lodge has written about intersectional oppression since the age of 19. In 2013, she was listed in The Telegraph’s ‘Women to follow on Twitter’, and in 2014 as the Guardian’s ‘30 most interesting people under 30 in digital media’.

Listening to her talk about her vision of liberation rather than equality is truly refreshing. She has a unique ability to cut through the reification and rhetoric of the word ‘equality’ and expose it for what it often becomes, a doff of the hat to oppressive structures.

Eddo-Lodge explains how equality was the offspring of liberalism. She explores how largely white, straight cis-male political theorists sought to tackle inequality by raising the status of the underprivileged so as to achieve ‘equality’ with the privileged. In other words, liberalism’s response to difference between men and women, black and white, gay and straight is to “account for that difference” rather than “recognise that there’s nothing inherently wrong with difference”.

In light of this, it seems equality merely panders to the binaries set up by capitalism. “The idea of equality as climbing a ladder really troubles me, because it doesn’t help at all. If you embody difference in any way, whether through being black, a woman, or a LBGTQIA person, you may be offered the prospect of assimilation but you’ll never be able to shake off discrimination by accumulating wealth or capital.”

She recalls how her mum used tell her to “go and get a job and then you won’t have to worry about racism anymore”. But, she laughs, “Here I am, and racism is still bothering me.” As a little girl, she remembers watching the television, turning to her mum and saying, “When am I going to turn white?” This question was rooted in the media’s portrayal of black people as ‘baddies’ and white people as ‘goodies’.

“A system that was not built in your favour – neoliberalism or late-capitalism – will never work in your favour.

“When you look at discrimination and oppression through the lens of structural inequality, you can really begin to see how disparities are filtered through the system and it can’t survive without these disparities.” In short, equality demands assimilation within certain power structures, while liberation demands freedom from those oppressive power structures altogether.

Equality is an appealing idea, and it is “a very easy message to get out of the media”. But Eddo-Lodge views this as, at best, a misguided transitional stage, and at worst, a reinforcement of existing power structures. “I do advocate assimilation to some extent, like I advocate people who are a little more radicallyminded getting in those spaces and fucking things up and holding people accountable.”

Does “fucking things up” include rioting? After the riots of 2011 and Ferguson, I wonder whether she sees them 
as political acts towards liberation, and even an anarchic form of political participation, as suggested by the film Riots Reframed. She sympathises with this view. “It’s that inequality again… The rapper Okala says it really perfectly when he talks about ‘the environments that breed crime’ – who’s maintaining those environments?”

I ask her about 
how she thinks we can actively promote libera
tion as part of our daily lives. How can we achieve 
a balance between expression and self-preservation? Eddo-Lodge says she has come to realise that you need
 to pick your battles,
and surround 
yourself with those who understand and support you. “I think there are ways of getting the message out there without actively pursuing a conversation with somebody.” In a sense, she says, you can “reach people without trying to reach people, without emotionally draining yourself – you don’t have to do that”.

Eddo-Lodge no longer describes herself as an activist, but a writer. She cites “very basic practical reasons” for this transition. In the midst of the recession, “I couldn’t afford to throw myself into activism as a graduate, I needed to find something to feed me. I don’t feel qualified to call myself an activist – I’m not out there putting my body on the front line, and I hugely admire people who do. But I think we all have our different paths towards progress, and I don’t think that’s mine.”

Given her obvious distrust of capitalist attitudes, I ask her what hope there is for creative work which is often invisible to the market gaze. She tells me how the Internet has revolutionised possibilities for creative work. “The Internet was a huge tool for me. I’m not privately educated, I’m not Oxbridge, I’m from Tottenham. Without the Internet, I would not be able to have the career I have now.” One of the most important things she advocates is joining a union. “Creatives often work in an independent, self-employed way, and that often opens you to exploitation, and that’s why it’s important, if you’re going to pursue your passion in an independent fashion, that you join a union and know your rights.”

Eddo-Lodge speaks in a highly sensitive, patterned, and truly intersectional way. To challenge inequality, we must tear down the structures that construct difference as a negative thing. This must originate in a power analysis whose result is action. “Their power needs to be redistributed; it is not a case of us having a slice of theirs, but them giving theirs up.”

Bexistentialism HT15 Week 6

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In the world of bad analogies, I would have to say that my week has been like a very slow Chinese burn. But a slow Chinese burn is probably not the most interesting to read about. And of course, this column only ever contains those nuggets of gold-plated delight that you can find nowhere else.

So let’s move on from the feeling of pain, and talk about my Wednesday night. A classic tale of inebriation and regret? Not quite. Because, well, it seems my self-parodying technique has spilled over into another Cherwell realm. It appears that I am now the new Shark Tales presenter.

And so, shortly, I find my face on the internet. But the one thing to learn is that watching Shark Tales does not give you an insight into the presenter’s night. Or at least, not now I’m presenter. I stand on the bridge, surrounded by herds of drunken students. A tenuous rant on the selfie stick suddenly halts. I am abruptly caught in a Dante-style circle, shoves and arms thrust about me. It seems someone’s last downed pint has struck them sharply on the head. Animal instinct is released. Cameraman grabs me and pushes me through the drunken whirlpool. As we back off, the tussle multiplies. Fists are flung, and we freeze, unsure how to act.

Fortunately, Superman, disguised as a taxi passenger, jumps out of a braking car, and soon the initial mayhem is dissected. At this point, we decide it is time for a break. And so I find myself at 1am, in the coldness of sobriety, leaning against the wall next to Park End. Cameraman has stored his camera safely away, and we stare blankly ahead of us, as squeals emit from ebbing and flowing hubbubs. Cameraman puts his arm around me. “It’s okay,” he says. I spy the unmistakably obtrusive glint of a football tie, and realise my friend is in the smoking area. He shouts my name in dulcet and somewhat slurred tones.

After I explain why Cameraman and I are looking obtrusively mopey, a pep talk begins. In the midst of his drunkenness, he seems to still manage to persuade me into retrieving the microphone and returning to my role.

“To be or not to be?” I ask a passing stranger. “Fuck off,” they reply.

As I head home, I pass bedraggled multitudes, their aura unmistakably reeking of the Park End regret which will shackle the morning to come. Whatever else I’ve got myself in for, at least I’m safe from that.