Pacifist raises the issue (commenting on my last post) that Germany’s reluctance to get involved in military operations such as Afghanistan may not have anything to do with its past. He ponders:

Do you really think it has anything to do with their military past? Surely it has more to do with them having the sense to realise Afganistan [sic] is a murderous hell-hole from which they'll never be able to withdraw troops once they're in there.

This got me wondering whether the premise of the survey question (take part HERE) is even accurate.

There’s no doubt that the factor is worth at least considering — the Washington Post notes

a strong reluctance to send soldiers into battle given the country's Nazi legacy,

and according to the International Herald Tribune:

The experience of Nazism is actively alive in contemporary public debates over everything from the country's troops in Afghanistan to the low birth rate to the country's dealings with foreigners. Often it seems to stifle discussion that could proceed more openly in other countries with fewer taboos.

There are other factors though. The same Post report points out three:

* They see it as America’s own problem

* German scepticism of “an American combat-style approach”

* Chancellor Merkel having to work in coalition less pro-US political rivals

In addition, I’d add the rise in very left-wing anti-American politics in Germany (remember this guy?).

The issues are many, of course. As one German politician remarked:

It's a little bit too simple to put all this on a pacifist and reluctant German public

But I think our Pacifist may have got it with the most obvious and simple explanation.

Cherwell 24 is not responsible for the content of external links

Admittedly, it is difficult to talk about a play with full confidence when the only performance you’ve seen is one in which a translator is bravely attempting to interpret the words on stage into English in your left ear. However, in the one scene of the OU Chinese Drama Society’s new production of the play ‘I Love Peach Blossom’ that I saw, this hardly seemed to matter: the clever direction by Qian Li and the polished – at times graceful – movements of the actors managed to convey more meaning than many English productions I have seen. And – despite my knowledge of Chinese being entirely nonexistent – the language only seemed to heighten the drama instead of distancing me from the action, which could have been a potential problem for a non-Chinese speaking audience.

The production centres on a love triangle between three actors (played by Bing Su, Moyang Chen and Yuchen Xia), who cannot decide on how to finish their play. But (and this is where things get a little confusing) the play they are performing is itself about a love triangle, which becomes increasingly sinister when the wife’s lover Yan is trapped inside her bedroom after her drunken husband Yin returns home unexpectedly.

Eventually the play-within-a-play descends into violence, with the actors arguing over who deserves to be killed: should Yan obey his lover’s wishes and stab her husband? Or should the actors keep with tradition and let the wife be murdered for enticing Yan to commit such a terrible deed? As the play continues, the outside world of the actors merges with the world of the play, providing a fascinating comment on the connection between China’s past and present.

This unique production by the university’s Chinese Drama Society stands out among Oxford’s range of theatre, which at times can feel slightly boxed-in. The skilled performances of the actors – together with the excellent music and costumes – should create an exceptional atmosphere within the intimate confines of the BT. And fortunately for any members of the audience who don’t speak Chinese, no translator will be needed: surtitles will be included for the actual production.

‘I Love Peach Blossom’ by Jingzhi Zou will be on at the BT from Tuesday 5th – Saturday 9th February, at 7.30pm.

Jamie Oliver is to open an Italian restaurant in Oxford in what used to be the Cock and Camel pub on George Street.
Jamie bought the former Young’s pub and hotel after it closed earlier this month. The new restaurant is to be one of the first in his new chain, ‘Jamie’s Italian’. He plans for around 40 such restaurants to open on high streets around the country within the next few years.
The idea is to create a chain of affordable, high-quality, rustic Italian restaurants in town centres. All pasta will be freshly made on site and the bread will be created daily by artisan bakers. There will be lots of vegetarian options, and the chicken will be free-range.
Jamie Oliver’s publicist, Peter Berry, said that Jamie wanted to change the face of high street dining. “Jamie believes that outside London, there are a handful of good local restaurants but they are few and far between. Jamie's Italian aims to change all that,” he said.
Prices will start at around £5 for a pasta dish, and it will be possible to have an entire meal with drinks for around £10-12 per head. Given its low prices, students will be a key target clientele for the new restaurant.
“We absolutely hope to appeal to students who might be on a tight budget but also care about what they eat,” said Peter Berry. “The restaurant will be open 7 days serving breakfast, lunch and dinner so it works for students wanting to grab a quick bite between seminars, lectures – whatever,” he added.

There is some scepticism as to whether Jamie has the right credentials to be opening an Italian restaurant. One person commented on the Oxford Mail website: “This is a joke. How can a wannabe cockney open an Italian restaurant? Leave to the Italians!”

However, Umberto Garabello, President of the Oxford University Italian Society, does not think this matters. In fact, he is very much looking forward to the opening of Jamie’s new restaurant. He said, “I believe Jamie Oliver is a fantastic and incredibly passionate cook: I often use recipes from his websites and cookbooks as I’m a big fan of his ‘hearty-and-apparently-effortless’ food.”

He added: “I've had a few reasonable Italian meals in Oxford before but I normally find quality and authenticity to be fairly poor. If Jamie sticks to what seems to be the concept behind the chain, we are definitely going to have a new winner.”

Germany has been reluctant to get involved in military conflicts around the world since the events of the 1930s and 40s. Last week the US Defence Secretary called on Germany to deploy 3,500 troops in Afghanistan to help the coalition effort, but the response was negative. So I’m asking Feral Beast readers: should the Germans still be reluctant to get involved in military operations, over 60 years after the end of the war?

Take part in the quick survey HERE.

Seriously: it won’t take more than 15 seconds. Cherwell 24 is not responsible for the content of external links

by Lucy ArchibaldPart Two of the Ashmolean’s Chinese Prints exhibition showcases the work of established Chinese printmakers to Western audiences for the first time. The Chinese tradition of print-making is over a thousand years old, but this modern collection is more dynamic than dusty. Without the shock value of a more avant-garde exhibit, it is subtly disarming for its plethora of “alien” terms and references to less than familiar print techniques and events from Chinese history. Nevertheless, the colourful range of styles, subjects and images on offer – spanning a period of Chinese history which has evolved at an unprecedented rate – is both satisfying and stimulating. If you consider Chinese prints synonymous with water lilies and perhaps the odd reed-warbler, this collection will subvert your expectations. The exhibition does include Zheng Shuang’s Black Peony, White Peony, which is representative of the artist’s exclusive interest in floral subjects post-1970, but in general, the collection is indicative of the powerfully politically charged tendencies of print-making now. Perhaps the most moving of these is Wong Gongyi’s delicately entitled Autumn Wind and Rain (1980) which depicts at severely intimate quarters Qiu Jin, the poet, revolutionary and symbol of female independence, who campaigned against the binding of women’s feet and selling of women into slavery. Wong Gongyi’s print depicts the moments before her execution; monochrome and cut with hard lines, the medium of the piece seems to reflect its unsettling subject. This anguish is further reflected in the artist’s description of the creative process: “…dripping with sweat and tears, in a small storage room, my heart filled with grief and indignation.”Equally unsettling, perhaps, is the sense of a pervasive propaganda “theme”, particularly in the work of the 1950-70s. Next to Qiu Jin’s intense and unsmiling face is a representative of the Sichuan School – Xu Kuang and A Ge’s The Master (1978), depicting a Tibetan farmer in the Soviet style with axe in hand as a grinning and accessible heroic figure. In Reading Hard (1962) another Tibetan figure, a male shepherd in this instance, sits placidly reading amidst a monochrome yet bustling pastoral scene. The artist, Li Huanmin, seems to suggest that Communism has thrown off this individual’s shackles and in contrast he now sits reading. The description of the subject “reading hard”, however, seems intended to collide the leisure of reading with hard work and thus imbue the subject with a level of Communist acceptability. The artist acknowledges this political dimension to his work, regarding it as providing historical insight at the level of the individual: “I depict people, their noble characters, their rich inner world and their graceful bearing, because people are the motive force of history.” Zhang Chaoyang summarised his artistic project rather differently: “Beauty and freedom have been the goal of my aesthetic pursuit.” Yet he represents a strikingly similar scene in his autumnally-hued Heroes and Heroines Are All Around (1970) which (rather obediently, we suspect) chronicles a harvest scene in the midst of the Cultural Revolution when the artist volunteered to go to the Great Northern Wilderness. Subsequently, Zhang Chaoyang’s work was to become less propaganda-influenced and instead preoccupied with female classical beauty. This development is perhaps prefigured in the pretty girl clad in communist garb, who sits scribbling in the foreground of the scene. This recurrent artistic focus upon an individual pulled from a crowd seems somewhat incongruous with the political systems they articulate.The most recent work demonstrates a more satirical or at least enquiring edge. Kang Ning’s Forest (2004) in particular shows a progression from the earlier prints, while Li Yili’s Hometown Record with its mingling of realist and fantasy elements enacts his artistic intention to ‘create’ “…one’s ideal world” rather than merely document that already in existence. Short, if not sweet, this concise exhibition will certainly leave you with plenty to ponder, and is the ideal reason to finally (!) make it through the doors of the Ashmolean.
Chinese Prints runs until the 24th of February.

Are we all slaves to the Oxford mindset? And is it really all that bad, Sam Harding asks.

Last week, in a spare hour between a lecture finishing and my tutorial starting, with the essay safely completed and printed, I spent a happy hour in the Grand Café. The scrambled eggs and smoked salmon bagel was the perfect brunch. But upon leaving, I felt a tingling sense of guilt that I’d wasted away an hour that could, and maybe should, have been far more productive and perhaps ‘academic’.

I know I’m not the only one to have these self-induced guilt trips. Many students feel an onrush of shame for every hour wasted over coffee, Facebook, long lunches and pub excursions. We have it drilled into us that every minute can, and must, be spent applying oneself to study. My friend from Bristol, who kindly called on Sunday night to bask in the glory of having spent nearly all weekend in bed, albeit with the company of her laptop and the OC rather than the dashing History student she is currently pursuing, did not, when I asked her, feel any guilt whatsoever. She had an essay due in on Tuesday, but it could easily wait until the end of the week. And the term’s reading list was, she admitted, a little too long for her liking (four books), but she could probably read over the holidays. But more than just the artificiality of deadlines and long-winded essay titles, with even longer reading lists, all crammed into one week, is the inherent psychology of the place. It’s hard for anyone to specify, but there is a general sense of work, work, work, and shame on you if you don’t.

Having said this, two of my closest friends seemed to have struck a clever, albeit physically demanding balance last term. Throughout the day, they are chained to their desks, ploughing through their work with relentless focus. But when the Tom clock struck seven, the switch was flicked, and an all-night marathon began of drink, drink, drink. Their enthusiasm echoed through the Meadows buildings until the early hours, as they tottered to their rooms. Admittedly, this term they have drawn up strict exercise regimes to balance out the damage inflicted by Messrs. Gordon’s, Smirnoff, and Sauvignon.

Indeed, there is a culture of work hard, play hard(er) that runs through the university. And perhaps it is effective, preparing us for after graduation, when many will pour into the 14-hour days of Med School, investment banking, journalism, politics, and law. Employers favour Oxford graduates for more than the reputation. Without tooting our own horns, we are accustomed to working ridiculously hard for prolonged amounts of time, and still finding time to socialise our cotton socks off. Yes, there’s the 5^th week blues, but no-one even considers taking a week off, or slacking the pace. We plough on through, not just because we have to, but because we’ve worked out how to. 

Perhaps we should all take a bow, and bask in our super-stamina. But don’t worry, narcissists, I’ve no doubt next week’s tutorial will bring us all back to reality.

by Sophie Frew

See also: video preview of the play

A few first night fluffs aside, this cast made a very strong team under Alex Worsnip’s direction. The Flu Season is self-consciously modern in the language and the images used by its narrators. The prologue and epilogue act as a commentary from the playwright, as if he began in love and this subsequently turned sour. These might have become redundant once the pivotal rejection takes place yet there is then a partisan split, the epilogue on side with the man and the prologue with the woman. Hannah Martin as the Prologue dealt well with a difficult transition from one side of a single mind to embodying the rejected spirit. The position of an amending epilogue jarred with the central message that both love and life are fleeting and imperfect. But Sam Caird, acting as the epilogue and voice of Will Eno, impressively portrayed the smugness of hindsight and the manic perfectionism of a writer who is even now correcting this work.

The sense of foreboding in the production was slightly overplayed, which prevented the audience from becoming fully involved with the love story. But the beauty and innocence of the love between the man and the woman comes because they do not overanalyse its consequences – as they do those of their conversations. Andrew Johnson and Lucy Murphy gave real humanity to the awkward inmates who seem destined for one another. The man’s change of heart makes this relationship reflect the previous experiences of their attendants, his glazed expression and passivity contrasting with the train-of-thought dialogue. Lucy Murphy had exceptional depth of emotion in the rejection scenes, making her story the most convincing within the play.

Sam Bright and Amy Mulholland, as the doctor and nurse, served as a quirky reminder of the hopefulness of love. These positive characters were brightly played, competently fulfilling their role of retrieving the audience from the edge of despair.

This tragic story was a cathartic experience which reminded the audience to go out and live. As the epilogue points out, there is no man and woman, their story is not real, but it is brought to life by this cast and, ostracised from society, the couple make their mark through love. Although dominated by the pessimistic epilogue, this is without doubt a highly affirmative and optimistic play.