Wednesday, April 30, 2025
Blog Page 1456

Could new legislation cripple OUSU?

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Today the Transparency of Lobbying, Non Party Campaigning and Trade Union Administration Bill goes to Parliament, as of course you already know.

The lengthy title and the highlighting of the word ‘transparency’ probably mean you are fairly bored but on the whole positive about this piece of prospective legislation at the moment: maybe you hope that it might represent Nick Clegg finally coming good on a promise to the electorate and cleaning up politics. If you’re a member of the Labour party, or a sympathiser, you might expect it to curb some of what you see as the egregious power, exercised through backroom lobbying, of Unite and the other big trade unions.

In reality, this law is a disaster. The statutory body that will be empowered to administer it, the Electoral Commission, has called it ‘impossible to enforce’, and Parliament’s own Political & Constitutional Reform Committee is seething because it is scheduled to host the consultation on this issue on the very same day the government introduces its bill. Our local MP, Andrew Smith, has called it ‘profoundly undemocratic’.

Why does one more piece of poorly written and rushed legislation matter, in a news cycle dominated by the unimaginable suffering of the people of Syria? This new law deserves your attention, Oxford student, because, believe it or not, it has the potential seriously to undermine the work of your student union. Under the new law, any expenditure by OUSU that could potentially be seen as relating to politics will have to be approved through a cumbersome process that will be administratively cripping for such a small organisation.

Of course OUSU shouldn’t be party political, and despite what some mutter in the back room of the KA, it isn’t. It must, though, engage with current political issues: as OUSU’s sabbatical offers go into bat for an increase in student support and bursary money from the University in Michaelmas, they must take into account, and use in their arguments, major events that have disproportionately affected students: the economic crisis means more people’s parents are less able to offer any financial support, and that vacation work is harder to get hold of; the increase in tuition fees could continue to have long term affects on access work; and the reduction in government financial support for higher education is, as you would expect, tightening budgets across the University. 

All these changes are political. They are covered by the new law-to-be. If OUSU wants, as it surely must, to raise awareness about this campaign among Oxford students; if it wants to involve Oxford students in its campaigning to make sure that the University spends as much as is humanly possible on securing the financial means for any student who is offered a place to take that place up and complete their course, then it will have to spend precious resources, both the time of sabbatical officers and the hard-won extra money granted by the University this year, on the ‘significant new burdens’ (again from the Electoral Commission) of form-filling and box-ticking this law requires.

Many Oxford students, often for very valid reasons, are suspicious of OUSU. In this case, though, if we don’t speak up and try and prevent the passage of this horror-story-bill, we will stymie any chance of really effective campaigning that could deliver more money to help the poorest of our fellow students. Such a failure to act would be negligent in the extreme, and in a University constantly under attack as a citadel of the posh and the privileged, a Student Union equipped to campaign for fair and generous student finance is a key weapon: we must not lose it. Write to your MP. Tweet. Blog. Act. Save OUSU’s ability to campaign for students.

Review: Leeds Festival

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Leeds festival (and its sister at Reading) is the most no-nonsense, and down to earth of the UK festival scene. Held every year in the spacious grounds of Bramham park on August bank holiday weekend, it hosts 3 days of acts, mostly falling into the ‘alt-rock’ genre, but managing to incorporate also punk, metal, rap, dance, dubstep, and folk. No tepees/yurts/glamping are to be found here – it’s all about the music and the mud. Some of my Oxford friends did sneer when I told them I would be attending – “only teenage emos go to Leeds”. Yet it offers a grown up and full festival experience that it can rightfully brag about. This was my experience of it this August:

The Acts:

Leeds/Reading offered an excellent and typically diverse line-up this year, possibly inferior only to Glastonbury (in my opinion). The headliners were Eminem, Green Day and Biffy Clyro – thus spanning rap, pop-punk and prog metal on the main stage.

All managed to put on a show that captivated the audience each night. Biffy Clyro put on a visually stimulating performance, complete with pyrotechnics and a gigantic tree. Green Day really managed to connect with the audience, and must be commended for playing a lengthy 2 1/2 hour show in the rain. Eminem’s very presence on the Sunday night sent the packed arena wild. 

Aside from these headliners, I went to see the Lumineers, Fall out Boy, Kodaline, Bastille, The 1975, White Lies, Jonny Marr, Imagine Dragons and Chase and Status. All more or less delivered as expected. I was particularly impressed with the Lumineers- Cellist Neyla Pekarek displayed excellent vocal talent on the Friday. I looked forward to Bastille (having played St Hughs Ball in 2012). I wasn’t disappointed. They were able to dramatically brighten up my hangover on the rainy Saturday afternoon, delivering a stirring and emotional rendition of ‘Pompeii’. I was also exceptionally pleased to see Jonny Marr playing some old Smiths songs. (Bigmouth strikes again was particularly commendable). That said, I did feel that Imagine Dragons fell a little flat on the Sunday afternoon. 

8/10

Drinking:

I won’t be drinking strongbow again. Prior to going down to Leeds I decided to buy 3 cases, seemingly a good idea at the time. By Saturday morning, nursing a terrible hangover, (and having shamefully performed the chunder dragon) I had thoroughly decided that it tasted at its best like stale vomit. The new ‘dark fruits’ version does not taste much better, resembling sickly Calpol.

That said the festival offered a very generous scheme whereby a plastic bag full of cans could be exchanged for a cup of Tuborg or Gaymers. “Workers Beer” appeared at the festival- a trade union initiative selling beer at an affordable price with funds used to campaign for workers rights. If alcohol by Saturday afternoon had begun to leave a stale taste in your mouth, there was a decent lemonade stand in the arena. 

6/10

Food:

When pot-noodles, cereal bars, and cans of cider drunk at breakfast no longer cut it, we hit the various food-stalls. There was much to choose from- fajita vans, pizza vans, pasta, ice cream, carveries and even an organic buffalo meat stall. Last year festival organizers offered patrons a free bacon sandwich. Unfortunately this was not to be repeated. Burger vans were to be found everywhere, including on our campsite. Sadly it was exceptionally dear, at about £5 a pop. One night I opted for a fajita stand to find it shockingly overpriced at £7, with oversized and unpalatable onions unceremoniously thrown in.

We were however, camped next to a wonderful crepe stall, that offered all manner of gooey crepes, liberally dowsed in nutella, (at a reasonable price) which went down a treat either as a warmer following a rainy evening in the arena, or as a hangover cure.

5/10

Toilets

Assessing a festival on its toilet facilities is like judging a fish on its ability to climb a tree. They weren’t pleasant. Most of us closed our eyes, gritted our teeth and got on with it. Some decided to bring their own toilet seats along with them (I’m not joking). Others decided it would be much better idea to defecate in a bin-bag and leave it on someone else’s tent or their own. The one positive is that I found “ A buller man would down that…” written above one toilet.

3/10

Weather

Not good at all. A Thunderstorm on the Thursday night, followed by torrential rain on the Saturday, which created torrential rivers of mud and took many tents with them, mostly the inferior pop-up tents (at about £30), which leaked in an instant. Moral of the story- invest in a good tent.

2/10

Other Entertainment

Leeds unlike some festivals allows its patrons to have small knee-high fires on campsite, and sells firewood and kindling on site. This is useful a) if you wish to warm yourself up on a night b) if your vision by nightime has become increasingly blurry due to alcohol consumption. A number of 5-a side football pitches were erected on site, which went down a treat. At night, following the last main acts, the silent disco and the outdoor ‘Piccadilly’ nightclub continued until 4AM, with DJs based in caravans in each campsite playing till about 6. Our campsite had a dubstep caravan which seemed to play the same song for hours and hours on end.

7/10

 

Fellow Festival goers

The great British public at a festival is something that all tourists in this country should see. It is a national institution. A typical example of how the British (particularly those from the North) behave at festivals was the gentleman who seeing that his tent had been flooded and defecated on overnight shrugged it off with: 

“eh, what’s a fella to do ? I’ll go for a greggs and I’ll be fine.”

There were many amusing sights to be seen over the weekend. A group of young men playing football in dresses. A bloke wearing only boxer shorts, covered head to toe in mud, describing his two years working in a bakery to a group of admiring girls. The same man appearing at every gig holding up a massive sign which proudly read ‘I need a shit’. A couple having sex on the ferris wheel.

We bonded with strangers easily. We could wander into any campsite, sit down, open a can, and start a conversation. You could shout out ‘Alan!’ anywhere, and you could guarantee someone would shout ‘Steve!’ in response. No-one would mind any ridiculously immature antics. Even getting hideously rat-arsed, arranging tinned spaghetti to look like penises, knocking over a gazebo, falling onto a tent and then being sick everywhere.

9/10

We Can Still Save Syria

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“Never again,” we like to tell ourselves, again and again. Looking back, we know Thomas Hardy was right to anticipate “all nations striving strong to make red war yet redder”; the so-called “war to end all wars”, beginning in 1914 with Gavrilo Princip’s bullet of the century, would not really end until 1991. Outlived as he was by the old men who sent him to die, Wilfred Owen’s glib submission “dulce et decorum est” should represent more than anything else the grim legacy our generation inherited from the 20th century. Our heroes showcase a grand hatred of war.

Except we see the world beyond through different spectacles. The student voice, which in the 1960s called on Britain to take a moral lead in the world, drops dead with apathy or sinks into “post-colonialist” hysteria whenever faced with foreign conflicts; the Labour Party has been mellowed by a populist sickness that chases after old Tory slogans; and Barack Obama, with his innocuous charm and Nobel Prize to think of, would rather pretend there is no war than bring it to an end.

The Arab world’s Franz Ferdinand moment was the self-immolation of Tunisian street vendor Mohamed Bouazizi in 2011. He would cause the downfall of four governments and two civil wars. In Syria, a refugee crisis unparalleled in modern times and a death toll perhaps matching a decade in Iraq shows no sign of abating; and our moral obligation to act has grown with every passing day in which we have excused ourselves from doing so.

Even if Iran, Russia and Syria’s neighbouring Arab governments hadn’t already turned the civil conflict into an international (and imperialist) war then it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Chamberlain’s grisly dismissal of the “quarrel in a far away country between people of whom we know nothing”, with which he would justify his capitulation of the Czechoslovakian Sudetenland to Hitler in 1938, would be as feeble a defence against fascism as the paper on which “Peace for Our Time” was written. The attempt to absolve ourselves of the common allegiances human beings owe to one another is a twin terror, morally and pragmatically.

So if it would be “illegal” to assist our Syrian comrades then the auspices of international law are not worth the hearing. This week, many are remembering King’s prophetic dictum that “one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws”. To charge Putin and the Central Committee of the CPC with legal jurisdiction would be no less a farce than the proud “Anglo-Saxon” George Wallace, governor of Alabama, advising Kennedy on racial segregation. The UN’s failure to stop the wars in former Yugoslavia, its self-absolution of obligation in Rwanda, and the great negotiator Kofi Annan’s sleepwalk into the Darfur extermination can only point to two choices: the Security Council must either be democratised or be dismissed.

Those who agree with the moral imperative to intervene but who nonetheless remain sceptical of which road to take can be roughly summarised into: those awaiting the UN’s report on the attacks, those who know that jihadists are as bad as Assad, and those who believe that, given these variables, involving ourselves can only worsen the situation. All three concerns need to be chewed over – and spat out.

The first is irrelevant. If the rebels are responsible then chemical weapons are loose in a sectarian bloodbath. But if, as expected, Assad is indeed calling our bluff, then it’s worth remembering that the nadir of war criminality occurred quite some time ago as the exposure of torture chambers for “terrorists” – unarmed civilians and their children – by human rights groups has already revealed. Assad is simply becoming more promiscuous of his attraction to savagery. 

So whatever the case, annihilating a few weapons has little worth if the armed murderers remain in play. In the Spanish Civil War, George Orwell’s hatred of the Soviet forces did not choke his support for the Republican government. America is in a better position than he was then – it can fight both the regime and the clerical fascists who fantasise of replacing him. Britain’s resolution at the UN proposes “all necessary measures to protect civilians” which as a principle, though certain to be thrown out by Russia and China, is pretty strong: because it implicitly recognises that support for the opposition must be conditional on humanitarian essentials.

And, as policy-makers well know, a secular victory is not as mad as it seems. American cooperation with Turkey, Jordan and (possibly) Israel could enforce a no-fly zone to snuff out the last bases through which Assad gets his foreign supplies; it can provide better training and much more sophisticated equipment to the Jordanian-backed southern groups pushing against both the regime and al Qaeda affiliates. In the north, videos emerging of incredibly brave Syrian civilians standing up to jihadists are far from anomalous: five cities under the control of the Islamic State in the north have reported protests against their occupiers, their Sharia impositions more likely to horrify than convert.

The rise of the Nusra Front and Islamic State is a result of the collapse of the Syrian economy, upon which they have feasted, together with the total isolation of the FSA secularists when set against their religious rivals. Not only will bolstering the FSA encourage regime defections, but it might also lure back lost regiments. Vermin thrive in the dirt, just as fascists thrive in poverty; and to isolate the masters, you feed their slaves.

For socialists, the absolute midnight of the 20th century was said to be the Nazi-Soviet Pact of 1939, the moment when far left and right totalitarianism collaborated against the free world. It is difficult to be sure of the exact hour in Syria, only that it is not yet too late; but that the moderate opposition is shrinking every day – and that midnight is coming. 

Facebook sets the terms

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I forgot to set the alarm this morning, but I needn’t have worried. Facebook woke me with an email instead, and said they wanted my face. If you have an account, then they’ll want pictures of your face too.

What’s changed, you might say; didn’t they always reserve the right to use my image as and when they saw fit?

Not comprehensively enough as it turns out. Facebook settled a lawsuit in the US last week with users who appeared unwittingly in adverts for products they hadn’t agreed to endorse. They’ll receive $15 each in compensation.

However, under new terms and conditions being consulted on from yesterday, Facebook are reserving the right to begin this for all users, without an opt-out being available.

The scenario runs something like this: on Monday you buy some trainers on a website; on Tuesday your best friend sees your name and face next to them in an ad; and on Wednesday it’s accompanied by a picture of you wearing them nearby. Facebook will have drawn all the information together automatically.

They also want to perform facial recognition on their entire collection of profile pictures. It will allow them to create the closest we have to a comprehensive catalogue of the world’s population.

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An extract from the amended Data Use Policy.
The advertising section has been completely rewritten.

Facebook’s struggle for profitability (unusual for a firm that holds a near monopoly in its field) is the core reason for the expansion into data vacuuming. Interestingly, even Facebook are struggling to come up with enough ways to use the unprecedented variety of information they now hold.

In my case, they know where I go (on my phone), what I’m browsing (every “Like” button reports back, even when you don’t click*), and now through facial recognition the things I do and with whom.

It’s difficult to see how these by-products of using their excellent social networking service will ultimately benefit us. We are being asked to take it on faith.

Using Facebook is all but compulsory; we know it, and they know that we know it. If you bother to read the amended terms today, be sure to look at the 13,000 almost exclusively negative comments beneath. Just don’t be under any illusions that you or I can refuse.

The proposed changes are detailed here.

* We have a “Like” button too (see below), so you are being tracked right now.

Review: 1913 – The Year Before the Storm

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The cover of the German edition of Florian Illies’ 1913 depicts an idyllic scene.  It is a Heinrich Kühn photograph of two girls dressed entirely in white ‘darting across the crest of a hill, the heavy August clouds pressing down from above’, as Illies later describes. The juxtaposition between this utopia of pure colours and perfect balance and the undefined threat of the clouds perfectly encapsulates the mood conjured by the novel. The various historic and cultural figures that make up its fabric are completely unaware of the events that are about to unfold, and go about their lives with a false sense of stability.  Yet a vague neurasthenia dominates, and a feeling of unrest and fermentation seems to seep throughout the artistic world. 

As Illies’ audience, we are entirely immersed in this world.  The broad scope of his account of the year is created through the compilation of numerous microcosmic viewpoints, shifting contemporary perspective to that of individuals of the era.  This is narrative history at its most evocative, a personal journal of the year told through the lens of day-to-day lives.    

The book is divided up like a calendar with each month introduced by a picture or photograph and followed by a verbal snapshot of events, with Illies leaping into the lives of artists, musicians, writers, psychologists.  The rapid changes of viewpoint give the book a filmic quality, so that as we flit between characters we not only see the links that form artistic movements and ideas, but feel as though we are at the heart of the creative process and turmoil of the time.  We are provided with a network-like picture of the world, though the connections here are not external political events but the private crises, interaction and disputes between the era’s major cultural figures.

Illies’ book is very much an artistically focused account of the year, with Vienna as its hub and Berlin just beginning to become a centre for new movements and ideas.  We are caught up in the excitement of major cultural events; the premiere of Stravinsky’s ‘Rite of Spring’, the collaborations and disputes of the painters in ‘Die Brücke’, the fraught relationship between Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung.  Politics, while never disappearing, recedes into the background, and figures who later change the course of history are shown within radically different contexts – Adolf Hitler, for example, takes the unassuming role of a failed art student.  The vivid descriptive style in which the year is recounted allows Illies to speculate over the encounters and interaction of his characters.  This is not a historic account for those wishing to closely investigate the concrete facts of this period, but rather an almost pictorial interpretation of events, allowing historic figures to appear before us as fallible individuals.  

 Even while we read Illies’ account from a contemporary perspective, it is almost possible to lose one’s sense of hindsight in the present tense of his prose.  We alternate between the vivid sensation that the events of the year are taking place right before us, and the subtle signs of unrest or irony that foreshadow what is about to happen.  The book acts as a snapshot of a generation dominated by an undefined desire for change, yet also unaware of the massive change about to be wrought to it. 

1913 is published Profile Books and is available in English here. 

"Boys better at exams" claims Oxford Admissions boss

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Mike Nicholson, the head of Oxford admissions, has sparked controversy this week by claiming that boys are more successful in exams than girls.

He holds that the key reason for this is that boys are more prone to taking risks, commenting, “We have generally seen male students tend to be much more prepared to take risks, which is why they do well in exams.”

According to Nicholson, this is a particular issue when time is of the essence. He noted that “generally, female students are risk-averse, and will tend to take longer to think about an answer. If it’s a multiple-choice question, male students will generally go with their gut feeling. Girls will try and reason it out. Obviously, if you are using timed multiple-choice assessments, that has a bearing on the likelihood of the female students even finishing the section, when the boys have whizzed through it.”

This is particularly relevant to a number of Oxford admissions tests, such as the TSA, which use multiple choice questions to select applicants.

Sarah Pine, OUSU Vice President for Women, felt that these comments were unjustified and was disappointed that Nicholson was using “gender stereotypes rather than a more mature approach in understanding results in admissions tests”. She told Cherwell that “The comments by Mr Nicholson rely on unfair generalisations, which, once a student gets to Oxford, are disproved. The work that OUSU has done with the university’s Education Committee has completely disproved ‘risk-aversion’ as an explanation of discrepancies in exam attainment at finals, so there needs to be much more evidence before it is invoked at the level of admissions.”

She continued: “What is particularly sad is that this thinking doesn’t actually tackle socially enforced gender inequality, because differences are presented as innate. This means that boys’ overachievement in admissions tests like the TSA isn’t questioned. It is instead accepted as a problem with women rather than a problem with the test.” 

In his interview with the Telegraph, Nicholson also attacked the government’s recent education policy, in particular the Education Secretary Michael Gove’s plans to scrap As-Levels. He commented that “it is really helpful for many students to have a checkpoint part way through their studies to get a handle on how well they are doing” and that scrapping As-Levels might lead to “a tendency to take their foot off the gas”.

He also highlighted the work done by Oxford admissions in advance of A-Levels, ensuring that Oxford candidates’ results day is, in most cases, a more stress free occasion. He commented “We put so much of our effort into selecting students when they first apply, we don’t need to do an awful lot at this end of the process.”He also made it clear that Oxford’s stance towards adjustment was unbending, commenting ““Our main aim at this point is to stop people getting in touch with us if they want to come here through adjustment. We don’t have any vacancies.”

Nicholson was keen to stress, however, that the sole aim of Oxford admissions was to ensure that the brightest students, regardless of gender, class or any other factors, were awarded places at Oxford. He commented “We are looking for the best students we can find. It is not in our interests to take students on the basis of anything other than their potential to do incredibly well at Oxford.

That is not restricted to a particular school type, or social class or ethnicity or background or whether they are from the North or the South. Our entire reputation as a world class university depends on getting the best and the brightest we can.”

Eric Pickles’ American Adventure

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Eric Pickles has been spotted in a variety of locations across the US, courtesy of an Oxford student and a friend attempting to spice up their road trip.

From the sunny beaches in Crowfordville, Florida, to the Olustee Battlefield, nestled in among the civil war artillery, Pickles has had a considerable presence in the States recently, albeit in cardboard cut-out form.

Oxford’s James Johnson and his friend from Nottingham, Daniel Flavey, took it upon themselves to spread Pickles’ image, if not his message, out of admiration for the Secretary of State for Local Communities and Government by carting his image along with them as they made their way across the country. Johnson told the Independent “He has a lot of gravitas, and he’s a funny man. What better way to spice up our American road trip than bringing along the man himself?”

On their blog, they write that, “We are two British undergraduates, currently both at university in the UK. This summer, we are taking a coast-to-coast road trip across the American South and felt that there was no one better to accompany us than the Secretary of State for Local Communities and Government, the Rt Hon Eric Pickles MP.

As Conservatives and huge fans of Mr. Pickles, his outlook and his work to modernise and maximise value in our public services, we hope this blog goes some way to document the great man’s adventures across the land of our great Atlantic neighbour.”

Johnson admitted that the campaign had been met with a certain level of bemusement across the pond, but insisted that the response had been positive, commenting, “All the Americans ask who it is, and, when they find out, some are a bit baffled and others find it hilarious. It’s a great way to bond with people. People want photos with it and want to know more. It’s a great way of getting us interacting with the locals. It’s a talking point.”

Although carrying Pickles around a country the size of the United States is an arduous task by any definition, the duo are adamant that they will pursue their mission to the very end, saying “We’re one week into five weeks, and he’s coming all the way. He’s coming to Vegas, which is our last stop.”

Their blog, documenting the politican’s movements, can be seen here. http://picklesroadtrip.com/

Syria – What should happen next?

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Even though the House of Commons seems to have halted the UK’s movement towards intervention in Syria, we cannot yet be sure that other Western countries will not choose differently. Even if the UN will not support it, and even seeing as the UK government is hamstrung by a rebellious Parliament, it looks as if the US is gearing up for some sort of substantial effort. However, quite what sort of form this action would take or what it would aim to achieve is still up for debate.

[I admit that I’m not sure that there will be an intervention. It seems that way to me, but I’m quite prepared to be proved wrong by the events of the next few days.]

It is clear that the main justification for an intervention would be humanitarian. Before Parliament voted to block the principle of intervention, the UK Government outlined its legal position – “the legal basis for military action would be humanitarian intervention; the aim is to relieve humanitarian suffering by deterring or disrupting the further use of chemical weapons.” This is a view presumably shared by the US and its potential allies. However, it does not present a clear scope for intervention. Quite what is needed to deter or disrupt the use of chemical weapons is left up to the imagination of the foreign policy official.

It seems unlikely that such action will be minimal. If the US decides that it must remove the Syrian government’s capability to use such weapons, it will have to engage in serious bombing of strategic targets. It is however, the deterrence issue that is most likely to commit the US to a serious intervention. It is unlikely that the US will do anything less than fully throw their weight behind opposition forces on this front, or else they risk looking like they’ve done nothing to stop the slaughter of civilians by their government. The only deterrent factor that would really stop that would be serious US military backing for the rebel forces.

There should also be another objective. The Weapons of Mass Destruction that Assad possesses (the very certainty that the regime at least possesses these puts the lie to those drawing parallels with the Iraq War) must be seized or destroyed. This is not just in order to protect Syrian citizens – it involves a level of enlightened self-interest. Syria is by far the most unstable state out of the family that constituted the “Arab Spring”. We cannot be sure which faction will come to rule the country, or, indeed if the country will be governable at all, come the end of the current battle of attrition. In this context, it is deeply troubling that there should be chemical weapons facilities within the country, as we cannot be sure that these will not fall into the hands of militants who may use them against whatever target takes their fancy, whether it be the new regime in Cairo, the West’s most prominent ally, Israel, or perhaps even mainland Europe. It is a matter of pure pragmatism to prevent these weapons from belonging to a failed state, and one that should not be overlooked in the rush to prevent human suffering.

It is, however, far too easy to get involved in the world of the hypothetical and neglect the facts on the ground. Whilst the majority of the debate in the press has been well-argued, (bar a couple of lefty-types muttering about imperialism and some right-wingers moaning about it not being our problem), politicians have reverted to a simple narrative whereby there are two teams, one of which is the Bad Guys, headed by Assad (who is presumed guilty of a chemical weapons attack on his own people) and the other of which is the Rebels, who are presented as a homogenous group. This narrative leads to many assumptions, some of which are plainly false.

The most important of these is that there is one group that can be called “the rebels” in some meaningful sense. Whilst there is still an amount of support for the sort of liberal secularists who allegedly characterised the beginning of the Arab Spring, the majority of the rebels now belong to a patchwork quilt of Islamic fundamentalist militias, bankrolled by questionable states in the Middle East and including notable Al-Qa’ida franchises Jabhat al-Nusra and ISIS. These forces are fighting a Sunni sectarian war against Shi’ites and Alawites, rather than a war of emancipation from tyranny. Their actions during the last two years of fighting have included suicide bombings, the imposition of violent misogynist laws on conquered territory and the mass shootings of secular protestors. To lump these militants in with the secularist rebels is madness, yet politicians continue to pledge unconditional support for “the rebels”.

There are no quick and easy answers here, and no good guys either. To support either side against the other is to get into bed with some really disgusting partners. If America really wants the rebels (the democratic, secularist subset thereof) to win the war, they will need to do some really tough work – a no-fly zone will not stop the country falling to Al-Qa’ida in the event of a rebel victory, and other, more limited forms of intervention may not even result in victory at all.  The problem that the US faces now is that there is very little appetite for the full-scale, boots on the ground, nation-building exercise that would be necessary. However, anything less seems to leave Syria to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea, which may be equally unpalatable to the American public in a few years’ time.

(It is perhaps just as well that the House of Commons voted to block the government’s proposed principle of “limited intervention” – it is likely that that is not what they would have ended up with.)

Every dalliance that Western powers have had in the Arab world has been marked by a total lack of curiosity, nuance, or sophistication. We can only hope that leaders take these few days to reflect on a strategy that recognises the tensions and problems on the ground and throughout the region, rather than blundering into another unfamiliar country. It should be clear by now that this doesn’t preclude intervention, although it serves to complicate it. However, if a potential intervention is to serve the needs of the Syrian people, it must be effective, as well as well-meaning. It is important that US leaders are clear about what it is to which they are committing their country should there be an intervention. 

Review: Reading Festival 2013

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Reading Festival is Glastonbury’s kid brother in more ways than one. The Glastonbury Festival of Performing Arts is arguably the only UK festival bigger than Richfield Avenue’s offering; what’s more, the average crowd age of each reveals something more. Reading is the 16-year-old’s festival, and this year I was more aware of that fact than ever. As a faithful Reading Festival-goer of many years, I had no excuse for being annoyed at these young pretenders, as I had once been them myself. But I managed it anyway. Reading is my home festival, but it seems I have outgrown it.

But let’s focus on the music for a bit.

This year’s lineup certainly left much to be desired; Festival Republic must be seriously mistaken if they think they can follow 2012’s Friday and Sunday headliners, The Cure and Foo Fighters, with Green Day and Biffy Clyro. The former is a band so far from relevant it makes Rocky Balboa look 21st century, while the latter is a good band with some solid songs, but has a long way to go before it reaches the pedigree necessary to close Reading Festival. My hat is off, however, to the organizers for the inspired move that was bringing Eminem back to Richfield. The man is a true superstar with fans all across the UK, and a range of excellent material that was certain to set the Main Stage alight.

What’s more, the NME Stage really seemed to be set to excel itself this year. When the music began on Friday with a late-announced set by Dry The River, one could tell that Reading’s second stage was going to be the place to be. Even though Deap Vally were a little disappointingly bland, an excellent showing by FIDLAR a short while later showed that their brand of youthful insincerity was exactly what the GCSE/A-Level crowd at Reading needed. Peace were on next, and showed a new maturity alongside their usual joyful exuberance, producing a highly stylized performance on a plain white stage which included a stellar cover of Disclosure’s ‘White Noise’ with a verse from ‘Another Brick In The Wall’ thrown in for good measure.

But it was Bastille who stole the day, with a stunning performance during which Dan Smith’s voice was almost (but not quite!) drowned out by the roar of a crowd who knew every single word to every single track, whether from the album or an earlier mixtape. Sadly, all these bands suffered from a disastrously poor microphone which meant anything they said between tracks was completely unintelligible. Fortunately someone did something about it just before Major Lazer took to the stage, at which point some classic festival misfortune conspired to force me to miss both them and A$AP Rocky, two of the acts I’d been looking forward to the most. From what I can tell watching coverage afterwards, the phone I dropped somewhere in the NME tent had little chance of survival.

But the rest of the day was far from a complete loss. I headed to the Festival Republic Stage, where an enchanting set from CHVRCHES was followed by an exhibition of pure, unbridled and confusing fun when Crystal Fighters took to the stage. Sebastian Pringle, dressed like a disco ball, careered around the stage like a demented satellite on acid as the English/Spanish folktronica band finished the day in style. Billy Joe who?

Saturday produced less excitement in quantity, but made up for it in quality. Early on the Festival Republic Stage, new boys Drenge were magnificent, running through the highlights of their excellent debut album and infecting the whole tent with their barely-contained adolescent rage. Swim Deep were, against all expectations, disappointingly lacklustre; after a second-class debut they really needed to make their hits count, but even ‘King City’ failed to inspire the usual euphoria (though to be fair, the indie kids jumped around anyway).

Soon afterwards, Foals did exactly what everyone has said about them all summer, and stepped up to the plate on the Main Stage. They’ve come a long way since ‘Cassius’ (which they didn’t even play) and Yannis Philippakis  looks like he’s finally where he’s always belonged: at the top.

After that it was back to the NME Stage, where Tame Impala were, predictably, their brilliant selves. Using the TV screens for their own psychedelic light show, they produced an atmosphere of hazy, trippy wonder. Finally, it was the moment I’d been waiting for for months. The moment I was missing Eminem for. The band behind my album of 2012: Alt-J.

They were everything I could have hoped for and more, dispelling all rumours of disappointing live shows almost as soon as the opening chord of ‘Intro’ had rung out through the tent. The crowd was spellbound by every song from hit single ‘Breezeblocks’ to ‘Interlude 1’, including an exquisite acapella cover of College and Electric Youth’s ‘A Real Hero’. Keyboardist Gus Unger-Hamilton was the only member to break the spell, with carefully timed exhortations to the crowd, but lead singer Joe Newman didn’t say a word throughout, preserving the mystery and aloofness of his genius. Instead, his only communication with the crowd came as he was unable to hold back his emotions at the sound of thousands of people singing his songs back at him. The set ended with the show-stopping ‘Taro’, as fake snow was launched into the crowd and Newman hid his face as the crowd roared the chorus for him.

Somewhere in between all of this, Jake Bugg was awful.

Sunday was always going to be an anticlimax after two such amazing days of music, but Alunageorge did their best to buck the trend with a set of true quality on the NME Stage in the early afternoon, including a brilliant cover of Montell Jordan’s ‘This Is How We Do It’. Tribes were surprisingly empty, considering their usual love for festivals, but things perked up later on the Festival Republic Stage, where Spector headlined to an archetypically chaotic crowd with real aplomb. After this, defeated by the weekend’s exertions, I sat down to watch Biffy Clyro from the back. Against my expectations, nostalgia took over, and I even felt a rush of emotion as fireworks launched into the air during ‘Mountains’. If that was the last song I’ll ever hear at Reading Festival, it was a pretty good one. ‘Mon the Biff.

Eating My Way Across America

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As my mum picks me up from Heathrow at 23:00 after a hellish 24 hour stint in San Francisco Airport, my stomach churns for some food – Marks & Spencer is closed; W H Smith’s selection of confectionary is tempting but then, the unavoidable hits me: the Drive-Thru McDonald’s on the way home. A pastime, nay a tradition, of stocking up here after a journey has developed in my family and so within what seemed like seconds I was clutching a quarter-pounder like there was no tomorrow. Something was wrong – was it too greasy? Not greasy enough? Had we forgotten French Fries? And then it hit me – I had been indoctrinated into the American Fast Food culture – chips were now French Fries and the idea that a burger a day wasn’t normal was a concept only worthy of my contempt. Every Subway, Burger King or KFC I passed in the next few weeks pushed me further towards desperation; seeing the fast food weight that I’d put on in America (approximately 10 lbs) slowly drop off me left me feeling wrong, even cheated. Why couldn’t I clutch my love handles with ease? Where was the love?

It was and is abandoned in the USA but it seems a shame not to describe the beauty and intricacy of the American Fast Food institution. 

We should start with the Mothership, the oh-so-beautiful-burger topped with cheese and perched coyly next to a slice of gherkin. “I’m bloody delicious”, it screams. American burgers are wonderfully to the point; there’s none of this “I’ll have a blue cheese and avocado burger with no bun”, just pure, simple hamburgers or cheeseburgers. However, there is often the choice of a double burger – these come in varying degrees of lush, either there is the double patty or the third bun and double patty combo… needless to say I wasn’t keeping tabs on calories. I was, however, ever conscious of my budget – a £10 GBK burger wasn’t really in my financial grasp – this turned out to be OK really with my favourite double cheeseburger from Five Guys dubbed “the best $5 burger a man can buy” by GQ Magazine. The burger market seemed to be a sort of classist system – there was a slight difference in prices but the level of service and quality was miles better in say In’n’Out burger than in McDonalds or Burger King. The East Coast/West Coast divide between Five Guys and In’N’Out was a hard one to judge so I settled on the conclusion they are equally beautiful culinary institutions. The famous Hooter’s was a great experience (I even bought a classic Hooters vest to my companions’ despair) and it was the only place that I couldn’t finish a burger (what a feat). It turns out that the ever so slightly misogynistic food parlor has a male counterpart, Dick’s. This was truly a disaster: we walked in and the waiter started explaining to us how Dick’s was all about “sarcasm” whilst he threw our menus on the tables. I wasn’t really sure which definition of sarcasm he was getting at but decided to embrace the restaurant’s “kooky” approach… what a mistake – the food was fine but the poor waiter’s annoying jibe of “come get your soda yourself” fell on deaf ears. I did feel quite bad as he looked as dejected by the whole experience as we were – I guess we just didn’t get his wit.

Each different city had a form of “Fast Food” that drew me, only momentarily, away from my burger fetish. I won’t go into the $1 slices of Pizza and footlong hotdogs from New York because I’m still mourning their absence in my life. However, there were many other cities that had worthy fast food – the first being Virginia Beach with its deep fried crab sandwich. When you think of a crab you think of snapping the pincers and scooping out the delicious white meat; this crab meal was quite a different affair. They had deep-fried the crab till the point of no return; its shell had disintegrated into the batter and even the pincers were edible. Although I would recommend trying this at least once, I wasn’t a huge fan and was left feeling a little bereft of a crab’s usual freshness and taste. Nashville’s BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, on the other hand, were quite a different story – one sandwich was enough to fill two hungry travellers but we were tempted to order another just for the taste. If you ever find yourself in Music City and want to try one of these head down to Union 417 and share it! We found that the portions in America were monstrous and could be split between two, especially at ‘Mother’s’ of New Orleans where they sold their famous “Ferdi Special” – this has to be the pinnacle of my non-burger foods… a “Po’Boy” sandwich filled with baked ham, roast beef, gravy and debris, which is the roast beef that falls into the gravy whilst it is baking in the oven – it sounds grim but it makes the meal. The sandwich was hard to fit into your mouth and when the waiter first slammed the plate on the table I thought that he’d given us double but no, it truly was a monster. Despite being horribly full I still managed to fit in one of Mother’s beautiful Pecan Pies – if you can stomach it, definitely try both.

The phenomenon that is the constant filling up of your “soda” was one of the best culinary revolutions to have hit the Western world – but why, oh why, has it not affected the UK. Apart from this the drink situation was fairly average, they have the same “soda” with some extras (Mountain Dew isn’t really something to shout about however) and wine can only be bought in Liquor stores so I ended up drinking a lot of Coors Light, which was described by many fellow Englishmen as piss-water (I secretly really liked it). Their milkshakes were far superior however  – but there was only one that brought boys to the yard and Kelis, it wasn’t yours – it was Jonny Rocket’s 780-calorie banana milkshake. Yellow in colour and so thick you can feel your arteries giving way with a scream of happiness. For over $6 it was a bit extravagant, especially as at that point I was living on a tenner a day but either way nothing could have been more worth it. 

If you want to enjoy some amazing American Fast Food in the comfort of your home nation, go to Covent Garden to the new Flagship “Five Guys” restaurant – you will not regret it.