Wednesday 16th July 2025
Blog Page 256

Stephen Fry convinces: Oxford Union votes to repatriate contested artefacts

Meg Lintern
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Stephen Fry convinces: Oxford Union votes to repatriate contested artefacts

The Oxford Union voted in favour of the motion “This House Would repatriate contested artefacts”, with 250 ayes to just 52 noes. The debate took place amid a packed chamber, with members being turned away at the door due to high demand.

Speakers in favour of the motion included Chika Okeke-Agulu, Director of African Studies at Princeton University, Steph Scholten, director of the Hunterian Museum and previous Director of Heritage Collections at the University of Amsterdam, and Sandhya Das Thuraisingham, a PPE student at Queen’s College. The proposition speaker that had attracted the crowds, however, was Stephen Fry, who was described by a member of the opposition as “nothing short of a national artefact – I mean treasure”.

The motion was opposed by Gary Vikan, Former Director of Walters Art Museum, Dominic Selwood, a historian, author, journalist, and barrister, Nadia-Angela Bekhti, a biologist at Hertford College, and Matthew Dick, a history student at Magdalen.

Union President Michael-Akolade Ayodeji opened, after which Sandhya Das Thuraisingham took the floor, introducing the speakers and reminding the audience of a very similar debate that took place nearly forty years ago when Boris Johnson (then President of the Oxford Union) argued that the British government should see the Parthenon marbles returned to Greece. 

In response, Nadia-Angela Bekhti argued that “repatriation causes a revisionist history”. To truly redress the wounds of the past, she contended, we need to move past questions of acquisition and address the issue of education. With owners of artefacts like the British Museum offering free entry, outreach and educational programmes, she claimed that it is “not a case of where these artefacts belong but where they can be of benefit to most people”.

In an argument that raised commotion from the audience, Bekhti suggested that individuals have no inalienable right to possess items that they do not own directly. Comparing the claim of the Nigerians to the Benin Bronzes to the claims of Statford-upon-Avon residents to Shakespeare’s manuscripts, she suggested that the repatriation of artefacts may not even be in the interests of those to whom they are repatriated. She said of the brutal seizure of colonial artefacts, “these wrongs cannot be made right, there are no owners when it comes to our shared history”.

Steph Scholten began his argument by rephrasing the title of the debate, suggesting that we should not be asking if artefacts should be repatriated but when. Claiming that the process of repatriation has been going on for decades, Scholten argued that the UK’s involvement in multiple international conventions, declarations, and agreements means that they are already part of this movement. Describing the injustice of holding non-western objects, particularly sacred and ritualistic ones, in western museums, he said: “museums are full of items that are valued in our western terms as objects but have deep spiritual value – we are trained only to understand their material culture.”

Above all, Scholten argued that repatriating artefacts is not a question of history, but of current geopolitical relationships: “there is an assumption that the meaning of repatriation is transactional, one off, and that it frees the nation of further obligations [but] it is a process that allows for building stronger relations.”

Dominic Selwood opened his response by stating: “Henry VIII wrote 17 letters to Anne Boleyn, some of which were pretty racy… most of them are now in the Vatican”. He claimed that the value of artefacts does not lie in their origins, but in their journey, suggesting that to repatriate artefacts would be to erase an important part of their history. He said: “the movement of cultural treasures abroad is constant… world’s highways have always run with objects in transit.”

His most divisive argument was that “the vast majority [of British-owned artefacts] were donated or purchased legitimately; Lord Elgin had permission to take the Parthenon marbles.”

Chika Okeke-Agulu’s speech was the most personal of the evening. Having been brought up in Nigeria during the civil war, he said that for his mother, “the lingering pain of that war was waking up and finding that the shrines had been systematically looted”.

Okeke-Agulu further claimed that the 1970 UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property was introduced suspiciously soon after most African countries won their independence. He said, “Africans have been asking for these treasures, for these incredibly valuable artefacts, since my lifetime”, suggesting that the Convention was passed to bar newly-independent nations from requesting the return of their artefacts from European museums.

Above all, Okeke-Agulu urged the audience to pay attention to the reception of Benin artefacts that were recently returned by the French, claiming that the immensely positive response from the Nigerian people indicated “the beginnings of the revival of the people who were for so long damaged by colonialism”.

Stephen Fry took to the floor later, greeting the various members of the audience as well as the “assorted media scum” [thanks, Stephen]. He was keen to express the function of the Union itself within the repatriation debate: “You can send a message to the world, as this chamber has often done in history. It has shown where the current of thought is trending.”

Primarily, he discussed the Parthenon marbles, which he claimed were “sawn and hacked away from the frieze of that extraordinary building… These were looted and stolen and exported without licence and they need to go back.”

In response to the argument that the artefacts are being used for educational purposes in museums, he retorted: “only 1% of what the British Museum holds is on display. 99% is simply not available…What should be written on the entablature is that star phrase of Frankie Boyle, ‘Gun Beats Spear’.”

Fry told the audience that if the Parthenon marbles are finally returned, “Britain will have done something which it hasn’t done almost in my lifetime: it will have done something classy.

“There is a future in repatriation which is more than tearing it out of one museum and putting it into another… send a signal that you here in the Oxford Union are ready to embark on an exciting adventure that will only enrich everyone.”

The debate was drawn to a close by Gary Vikan, who lamented his bad luck in following Fry. He argued that there are three possible options for the repatriation of artefacts: that this debate “blows over”, that the artefacts are unilaterally given back, and that a 50/50 partnership is drawn up between the museums holding artefacts and the nations that have a national claim to them.

Forty years after Boris Johnson argued in a Union debate that the Parthenon marbles should be returned to “where they belong”, the audience of that same chamber reached the same conclusion. The only remaining question is whether the debate will need to return in another forty years’ time. 

Oxford Student Film Review: The Pacifist

Flynn Hallman
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Oxford Student Film Review: The Pacifist

CW: murder, gun violence, mental illness

On Tuesday 21st May 1940, a brief section in the news columns of the Liverpool Echo was headed: “Student Remanded Smiles To Friends From The Dock”. The case referred to the events of a few days prior, in which John Fulljames, a nineteen year old undergraduate of University College, Oxford, opened fire at fellow students from his bedroom window overlooking the Radcliffe Quad. In the process, he killed one and injured two others. The Pacifist, a short film detailing the days leading up to the event from Fulljames’ perspective, premiered at the college on 29th April this year, a few metres away from where, almost exactly eighty-two years prior, the event took place. 

The Pacifist was put together by a team of recently graduated University College students. Matthew Hardy (2018, English) wrote the screenplay and collaborated on direction with Jack Rennie (2017, PPL). The premiere was held in a building overlooking Merton Street, late on a Friday evening. I attended it alone, and arrived a few minutes early. Not knowing anyone else in attendance at the ‘invite-only’ showing, I naturally feigned interest at the artwork in the foyer as a steady trail of college alumni, student peers, and relatives of those involved in the production filtered into the venue. Thankfully, this neat reminder of my social awkwardness did not last too long, and we were led upstairs to the lecture theatre where the screening took place. 

The film begins with Fulljames, played by Levi Mattey, preparing for a trial of an altogether different kind to that described in the papers of 21st May. A conscientious objector, the eponymous ‘pacifist’ is intent on attaining a legal exemption from joining the Western Front. Fulljames’ psychological deterioration in the days before the date of his hearing constitute the film’s direct plot-line. Yet The Pacifist’s principal effect lies in the multiple perspectives in which it represents Fulljames. He is at once an avowed socialist and an Oxford aesthete, at times a genuine victim of incontrovertible circumstance, at others overly self-pitying and narcissistic. Hardy writes Fulljames’ echoic repetition of quotes from Hamlet, Julius Caesar, and Matthew 24:6 alongside his own skittish ramblings. The effect is such that any judgement regarding the authenticity of Fulljames’ psychological affliction is brilliantly set against the self-consciously performative nature of its manifestation in the film. 

Mattey’s performance deftly captures the subtleties of such a character, while his two friends (played by Jerry Mutulu Woolley and Chester Caine) provide well-executed foils from which to compare his increasingly disassociated identity. From as early as the opening scene, Fulljames’ anxious, anti-war stream of consciousness vocal overlays twee shots of him walking the grounds of his college. The atmosphere of much of the rest of the film rests on this form of juxtaposition. One evening, solitary bare-walled bedroom shots depict a sleepless Fulljames disturbed by a lavish college dinner party going on downstairs. This disturbance then transmutes into a dream-sequences set across two of the college’s most romantic sites: the chapel and the sculpture of Percy Shelley. At first, Fulljames’ feverishly anxious thoughts about the war echo in the background as we see him contemplating the statue outside its gated confines. In the most beautiful shot of the film, a silence suddenly falls as he climbs the gate and begins touching and embracing the sculpture. The pallid figure of the drowned Romantic poet provides the inspiration for the film’s main illustration, and this scene then transitions into the chapel. Here Fulljames’ skittish interior monologue begins again in earnest, as the spectre of one of the ladies from the party (played by Martha West) encircles him tauntingly. 

Hardy carefully interweaves such scenes throughout the film, creating an atmosphere in which surface appearances consistently hint at the murkier realities which often comprise them. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the film’s mise-en-scène. Beautiful establishing shots of Oxford come in intervals: its obsolete battlements and sandstone alleyways, the silhouetted spires of chapels and bell towers, dons cycling past in the sun. In an early dialogue between Fulljames and his friends, they debate rumours that Hitler was deliberately preserving the city, intending it as the new capital of a conquered Britain. Fulljames, as with the audience, is made conscious that the peacefulness of the wartime city is only sustained by its perceived suitability as the prize of a fascist dictator. 

Even in the mid-twentieth century, Oxford remained a mecca for public schoolboys imbued with the fragile patriotic pretence which sustained the elite circles of a faded empire. At breakfast on the morning of the incident, Fulljames is said to have argued with the boys he would go on to shoot. The film depicts this scene with him defiantly railing against the misguided patriotism of the boys as they taunt him for supposedly turning his back on his country. “You know nothing of England!” he shouts, before resorting to a painfully Shelleyan cry of “I will not submit to these jealous gods”. 

In the film’s end credits, it is revealed that Fulljames was admitted to Broadmoor, a high-security psychiatric hospital, following a diagnosis of ‘split mind’ disorder, or schizophrenia in contemporary terms. The Pacifist’s atmosphere hinges on a fulcrum which finely poises the supposedly ‘split’ nature of Fulljames’ inconsistent characteristics. It presents us with a unique kind of ‘conscientious objector’, whose eponymous ideology is represented with dark irony against the violence he goes on to commit.

On the same day as the headline of the Liverpool Echo, minor variations in the details of the case were published in provincial newspapers throughout the country. Each began with the same detail, that Fulljames had appeared in the dock “smartly dressed in tweed coat and flannel trousers”. The bathos of the unnecessary detail embodies much of what makes the student such an elusive character in the film. The image of the pretentiously apparelled nineteen-year-old smiling at his fellow students from the dock is at once eerie and sad. It is a minute detail which brilliantly hints at an ideologically flawed character, innocently ignorant of his own sheltered remove from reality. The Pacifist, in setting, circumstance, and characterisation, captures the atmosphere of this remove, eerily anticipating Fulljames’ final act. 

Image credit: Andrew Shiva / CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

“Strikingly modern” – Review: Twelfth Night at Waterperry Gardens

May McEvoy
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“Strikingly modern” – Review: Twelfth Night at Waterperry Gardens

Set against the verdant backdrop of Waterperry Gardens, with the sun as the only lighting and birdsong accompanying the musicians, Somerville College Drama Society and Sunday Productions’ Twelfth Night is truly a sensory delight.

Twelfth Night is – like most Shakespeare – well-trodden ground, yet this production rendered the play’s themes of gender and identity strikingly modern. The choice to cast female actors as male characters brought out the complexity of gender within the play; even when the heteronormative pairings are established, one can’t help but notice the actors are female. From the first scene where Viola (Erin Malinowski) disguises herself as a boy, the audience is encouraged to enter a world where the boundaries between male and female and truth and lies blur and dissolve. 

The production wholeheartedly embraced the homoerotic undertones of Shakespearean comedy. A game of croquet, a picnic, and the Duke’s court all serve as settings for such romance; the play even had the audience questioning the nature of Sir Andrew and Sir Toby’s relationship as they collapsed upon the floor together. Yet the production didn’t merely use the homoerotic elements of the play as a source of laughter. It was at points genuinely romantic, largely due to the nuanced performances of the main love triangle (or square). Malinowski was compelling as Viola, acting as our guide through the tangled web of affection she leaves in her wake. Lucy Thompson captured the complexity of Olivia, shifting from cold command to blushing openness within seconds, and Leah O’Grady was truly believable as the swaggering Duke. Her descent from self-assuredness, to confusion, to full-on gay crisis was one of the most memorable elements of the play.

It was the sincerity of emotion that marked the production as a particularly excellent rendition of Twelfth Night. Attention was given to the relationship between Sebastian and Antonio, performed with touching earnestness by Tabitha Minson and Gwendy Davenport. There were memorable moments of intimacy throughout and swoon-worthy stolen looks of longing between Orsino and Viola as they were serenaded by a love song. Even Malvolia (the now-female Malvolio) was given a striking depth of character, becoming far less readily an object of disdain.

Such sincere scenes were especially striking by virtue of the otherwise comedic tone. Tom Farmer and Cosimo Asvisio were hilarious as Sir Toby and Sir Andrew, providing a double act that reinvigorated the show at points where the energy was perhaps lacking. Celine Barclay as Maria offset the pair well and brought a satisfying level of cunning to her character. Occasionally scenes of the sub-plot felt unfocused or difficult to follow, but admittedly one never expects Shakespeare to be easy. Steph Garrett shone in what can often be a thankless role as the Fool, and her singing was beautiful. Where the comedy was most effective was perhaps in the actors’ use of physicality. All commanded the space well, and Farmer and Asvisio were deeply believable in their drunkenness. The stand-out comic scene from the play was Malvolia’s appearance above the stage in neon-yellow work-out gear, delivering the line ‘what-ho!’ while stepping into a deep lunge. Alice Hopkinson-Woolley’s Malvolia ably switched between cold servant and overzealous wooer.

The decision to remove the play from its historical context in its costumes, props and other visual elements was for the most part effective, yet admittedly it caused some confusion. The social or political standing of homosexuality was uncertain, and in a play that draws so much on gay love as forbidden love, it felt inconsistent switching between this theme and Malvolia’s plan to marry Olivia.

Performing the unique space of the Waterperry amphitheatre, which was hosting a student production for the first time, could also have posed problems, but the production turned these into strengths. Music –  a predominantly original score – punctuated the performance in the absence of a curtain or electric lighting and underscored certain elements of focus. The use of space was carefully considered; at times characters appeared above the stage, at times they descended through the audience, and most often they arrived onto the stage through an area the cast informed me was dubbed the ‘ditch’. The production certainly didn’t give the impression of a stage play that just so happened to be performed outside; the setting became an important part of its effectiveness.

Somerville College Drama Society and Sunday Productions’s Twelfth Night is showing again at University Parks – again in an outdoor setting – and I wholeheartedly recommend that you catch the performance. It’s a touching, funny, and ingenious show performed by a wonderful cast, and was certainly a highlight of my summer term.

Twelfth Night continues this weekend (14-15th May) at University Parks.

“Inclusive and psychologically profound” – Review: Dracula

Sophie Magalhaes
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“Inclusive and psychologically profound” – Review: Dracula

An uncanny chain of events, terrifying epiphanies, all topped off with a feminist statement of modern love – this is Leah O’Grady’s Dracula. An adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Victorian Gothic epistolary novel, the fragmented narrative is arranged into a theatrical plot in which the Countess Dracula (Gracie Oddie-James) uses her powers of seduction to wreak havoc upon modern civilisation.

I was filled with anticipation upon arriving at the Pilch Studio, and was delighted to find a set filled with antique furniture reminiscent of Stoker’s era. This unassuming setting, transported to a contemporary London flat, is home to solicitor Jonathan Harker (Samuel King) and his sensitive yet engaging fiancée Mina (Gillian Konko). Mina says goodbye to Jonathan as he heads off on business to Transylvania, a fleeting moment of human connection before the solicitor stumbles into the sinister hands of the countess.

A restless and lonely woman confined to a remote castle, Oddie-James’ countess is the picture of feminine mysticism: unlike Stoker’s blood-thirsty masculine Count, this shift provides a fresh lens through which the audience can see how disaster comes from a desire for control. The image still seared into my memory is the moment in which Dracula perches herself next to Jonathan and dangles a piece of paper into her mouth. A creepy sub-human surrealism contrasted with the innocent is at the heart of the play’s escalation from a simple story of human connection to a sensational Gothic drama.

Back in Whitby, we see the friendship between Mina and her confidante Lucy (Macy Stasiak) as they navigate prospective marriages and their place in the world. Sitting on a cliff overlooking a beach, Mina writes poetry and Lucy paints. These simple moments of connection demonstrate the humanity that is at the core of this Gothic mystery. Stasiak and Konko’s interaction brought to life an endearing one-of-a-kind friendship. Mina’s rational sensitivity and Lucy’s charming sassy attitude is a delightful dynamic of opposites, yet the countess does not hesitate to use her powers of seduction in blighting this friendship, taking Lucy for her own. Perhaps the most captivating Gothic turn appears in Dracula’s eerie appearances moments before she is to bring disaster. Her shadowy silhouette behind the room divider spoke to me in its fusion of tradition and modernity. A Victorian drawing-room and the shifting nature of a female seductress, Dracula inhabits Mina’s consciousness and thus ‘queer Dracula’ is realised, blurring the rigid lines of Victorian sexuality in favour of a more inclusive and psychologically profound turn of events.

Amid this grief and uncertainty, comic relief comes in the form of Lucy’s three love interests. Quincy the loud American frat boy (Alex Foster), asylum administrator Seward (Sam Burles), and posh Durham student Arthur (Oliver Tanner) all bring humorous individual personalities. I found the scene in which the entire group dances around singing Take Me Home, Country Roads to be a beautiful testament to their camaraderie, that they are still able to find joy and forget about the looming horror and tense atmosphere. The three boys, united in their love for Lucy, along with Jonathan and Mina, are headed up by Van Helsing (Bailey Finch-Robson), a “middle-aged professor who speaks like a Victorian goblin.” Possessing a strange insight into the minds of evil, Finch-Robson’s German accent and meticulous physicality added to the character’s realism as well as creating an air of foreign mystery, creating the impression that we do not really know who Van Helsing is.

Making her Oxford drama debut as Renfield, Clara Wade’s performance stood out in the harrowing accuracy with which she portrayed insanity. The discomfort I experienced in watching her performance – as a shivering, debilitated shell of a person imprisoned in an asylum – speaks to its brilliance. A woman “fighting for her soul”, she is the image of the consequences of neglected mental illness, challenging the antiquated notion of a raging lunatic who is nothing but trouble.

It is impressive how O’Grady manages to weave myriad contemporary themes into a Victorian epistolary plot, whilst still retaining the original Gothic mysticism. The dramatic plot is never fragmented or incoherent, yet it still possesses a degree of ambiguity so that the audience can discover each turn of events along with the characters. This adaptation blurs the lines of antagonist and protagonist in arranging a unique cast of characters plagued by their own demons – making who the true villain is the core question of the work. I can guarantee that I am not alone in hoping for more ingenious theatrical adaptations from Serendipity Productions, as their fresh spin on classic works is an asset to the Oxford drama scene.

“Outside, in drag, covered in glitter”: Little Shop of Horrors comes to Oxford

Neily Raymond
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“Outside, in drag, covered in glitter”: Little Shop of Horrors comes to Oxford

Everybody better beware: Little Shop of Horrors has arrived in Oxford. 

The wacky musical tells the story of a meek florist, Seymour Krelborn, who finds himself in possession of a plant named Audrey II with a rather alarming appetite…for blood. Directed by Ollie Kurshid, Little Shop represents the return of the Eglesfield Musical Society’s spring garden musical, and we couldn’t be more excited. We spoke with Ollie about the process of putting together this fantastic, flamboyant, and undeniably frightening show. 

Why Little Shop?

Little Shop is a fabulously fun and goofy show, but what really excited me about the chance to direct this production is its deeply political message: an age-old story about greed, ambition and the end of the world. The show tackles an idea that lies at the heart of many global issues – from corruption and capitalistic greed to global warming – with a wonderfully entertaining style of comedy that is equally as terrifying as it is spectacular to watch.

This musical presents some unique technical demands – for one, a giant carnivorous plant. How has your team faced up to the challenge?

Designing Audrey II has been one of my favourite parts of the process. Making puppets and the final plant costume have certainly been new challenges for me! I wanted to incorporate elements of drag to help bring Audrey II to life onstage, and that certainly influenced my design of the final plant dress. Drag has a wonderful ability to mix extremes and take us to unexpected places, and I thought that would be such a perfect fit for the character and the show. Designing the set has also been so much fun. We’ve got a few fun tricks up our sleeve…but you’ll have to come and watch to find out more!

Describe the musical score of Little Shop in three words.

Funky. Hilarious. Terrifying.

The Eglesfield Musical Society wasn’t able to have its annual garden musical last Trinity, due to COVID restrictions. How does it feel to be back on your feet?

It’s wonderful to be back in the gardens of Queen’s! Working outdoors has presented its usual challenges, of course, but I think there’s something particularly fantastic about a garden musical. Where else would you perform Little Shop except amongst the plants?

What makes this production of Little Shop different? 

We’re outside, in drag, covered in glitter and green! Our show is very different from the original Broadway production, but hopefully that means it’ll be exciting to watch both for newcomers and fans of the show.

Little Shop of Horrors continues its run in Queen’s College Gardens until 14th May. Tickets are available here. 

We must dig the grave of digital capitalism

Alex Beard
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We must dig the grave of digital capitalism

Image description: A crowd of people in a red-lit room holding up their phones with flashlights on

“Everything is boring, no one is bored.” – Mark Fisher

It used to be the case that I would savour those moments in which I was not subjected to the discipline and surveillance of my employer. Be it from the Victorian factory, the Fordist production line, or the paper-pushing office complex, whatever non-working time I had belonged to the refuge of the personal sphere: it was, in theory, time to myself. Totally free of capitalist influence it was of course not, and it is no wonder that the expansion of commodity consumption and media like commercial television expanded in accordance with the amount of time people spent away from work. Still, at a distance from the physical and intellectual deference demanded by my employer, I might spend time doing things that improved my quality of life: reading, playing sport, making music, spending time with family or in the community. In the space that was perceived by capitalism to be empty and non-productive lay the source of much human happiness.

We should not be so naive as to assume that the conquest of our ‘non-productive’ time today, that is to say the absorption of the personal into the digital – nor the resulting transformation of our social existence – has been the work of some kind of neutral technological force. On the contrary, we have been rendered catatonic consumers of what Guy Debord called “pseudo-history”,[1] and commodifiers of our own lives, in service of some of the most grotesque conglomerates capitalism has ever produced. It may have donned a new mask in the form of digital hyper-modernity, but the true face of capitalism remains: a vast majority of the population is exploited in service of the inhuman end of profit. In the spirit of Marx and Engels, it is up to us – the children of the digital revolution – to become the “gravediggers” of the system that has made us what we are.

If this sounds all too predictably histrionic for someone with an end-of-days belief in ‘just how bad things have got’, consider it another way. How much of your actual engagement with the world is little more than parenthesis in a day otherwise spent being fired around the same feedback loops of instant gratification, or the same perfecting of yourself as a marketable digital commodity? To what extent does it really involve the kind of critical thinking that is not in any way compromised by the urge to experience life, if not physically online, then mediated by its patterns of thought? I know it, in my case, to be vanishingly little.

We are engaged in a collective Faustian bargain. One that was forced upon collectively unconscious children the moment our equally oblivious parents, ambushed by the Blitzkrieg of big tech, allowed to be placed into our hands the means of our addiction. It goes like this: we never have to be bored again, just so long as they get all of our time, our data (friends, personal history, sexual preferences), and our attention. And they sell it on so that things are marketed to us that we neither need nor fundamentally desire.

“…as the tech gets smarter, we get stupider.”

I am, to be quite honest, not entirely sure what it is that this ‘absence of boredom’ even involves. I often find myself distracted from the vain attempt at engaging in some actual thinking to ‘find something out’ online, only to emerge as though from digital slumber five minutes later having caught glimpses of the iced lattés of fifteen different pseudo-friends and completely forgotten what it was I intended to find out. My friend recently told me that the iPad is often referred to in China as a “digital pacifier”. I can think of no better description of a technology which aims to permanently dazzle me with an infinity of meaningless ephemera, and which keeps me in a state of button-pushing infantilism so as to extract from me ever greater heaps of commodified data.

There is a troubling paradox which lurks beneath all this. If my previous paragraph holds true, I would not be online were it not for the possibility that it might teach me something about the world. There is vast emancipatory potential in digital technology. It makes vast sums of knowledge and information available to people who would never previously have had access to it; indeed, this article would not be possible were it not from the Internet. Applied to the world of work, it offers the promise of automation, liberating masses from degrading, mechanistic labour. No radical should be making the case for a return to shitting in the woods. Today though, digital technology is inseparable from capitalism. We experience it overwhelmingly in its infantilising, addicting, gamified form. Just as big money has a monopoly on technology, so too does technology have a monopoly on intellectual development: as the tech gets smarter, we get stupider.

I hold that social media represent capitalism’s most resolute victory yet over all those things which lie outside its traditional sphere of exploitation. It has changed the way we live and think in ways which we are only now beginning to acknowledge. It has rendered us universally proletarian, insofar as we own nothing of the valuable data we produce, we work fastidiously on selling ourselves as digital commodities, and we are ritually fed through cycles of control. So just as we seek to end the stranglehold of big pharma over life-saving medicine, so too must we emancipate technologies with revolutionary potential from the all-corrupting force of big tech.

If this article has concerned itself with the abstract, then its aim going forward will be more concrete. I want to examine the way that digital capitalism has transformed our relationship with ourselves and the world around us. My hunch is that there is no longer any such thing as a ‘digital presence’. Social media change the way we think and behave well beyond the time that we actually spend online, and hence the reality of social existence even for those of us who are not on them (a group to which I unfortunately do not belong). They render us narcissistic pseudo-radicals, who have the sense of changing everything while doing nothing of the sort. And while total abstention is both unlikely and probably unproductive, we must radically rethink our relationship to them. This, after all, is our reality.

[1]Debord, G., 1967. “The Society of the Spectacle”. §200

Image credit: Luis Quintero via Pexels

“Student drama done right” – Review: Much Ado About Nothing

Cosimo Asvisio
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“Student drama done right” – Review: Much Ado About Nothing

“Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps,” declares Darcey Willing’s Hero in the third act of Wadham College’s outdoor production of Much Ado About Nothing. The productionharnesses its idyllic, summery setting to explore the themes this quotation encompasses: ideals of love and courtship in a world dominated by gendered notions of how honour is achieved, and the use of deception as a means to an end. While maintaining the play’s comedic nature, Wadham’s Much Ado also reminds the audience of the sinister gender imbalances that characterise the play’s setting, Messina.

The company’s decision to go for a modern adaptation of the play renders its themes accessible and, importantly, relatable. The scene of the ball organised by Don Pedro (Sohaib Hassan) in the first half – with its modern music, hilarious attempts at flirtation, and long choreographed dancing sequence with the entire cast onstage – plays upon well-known cultural tropes, pairing a satirical social commentary on upper-class courtship with party imagery we all recognise.

The inventive use of costumes and props throughout offers a visual entry-point into the themes of Wadham’s Much Ado. Deception and secrecy go hand in hand with the fulfilment of love. The anonymity embodied in the animal masks at the ball plays into this, especially with the choice to give the villain Don John (portrayed masterfully by Aravind Ravi) and his cronies (Alex Kahn as Borachio and Emily Oldridge as Conrade) masks with the faces of particularly threatening animals, including a bear and a rather savage-looking frog. Yet, the visual highpoint for me proved to be the journey Benedick’s (Ailbhe Sweeney) wardrobe took over the course of the play. As he begins to understand his love for Beatrice (Vicky Stone) and to act accordingly, he casts behind the white and black outfit that previously presented him as a soldier, a man, and a follower of Don Pedro, and attempts to celebrate his emotions with increased colour.

The ambiguous nature of deception – as something that can aid, as much as endanger, one’s fortunes – is emphasised through the contrasting use of stage space in scenes focused on Don John’s conspiracy and on Benedick and Beatrice’s love story. Both Don John and Don Pedro, and their respective retinues, actively work to deceive others; the difference, however, is that Pedro wishes to bring Benedick and Beatrice together, while John seeks to sow chaos in Messina.

Wadham’s Much Ado ably works its way around these contrasting types of deception. The fact that what Pedro and his friends Leonata (Lucy Turner) and Claudio (Jules Upson) are doing is harmless to Benedick is reinforced by allowing Benedick to dominate the stage with comedy, reacting theatrically to what he hears others say while attempting not to be seen by them. Physical proximity translates into emotional affinity, and friendship. Don John’s ruse, on the other hand, is a threat for the play’s protagonists: the scenes where he and his followers formulate their plots feature the near-immobile figure of John in centre-stage, which has an unsettling effect on those watching when compared to the show’s general dynamism.

Despite appearances, Much Ado is not purely lighthearted entertainment, and Wadham’s production both highlights disturbing gender inequalities and celebrates female power and agency. With a female actor in the role of Benedick, John’s machinations (but also, to an extent, Pedro’s well-intentioned ploy) take on a misogynistic undertone that drives home how men often attempt to control and direct women’s fates. Yet having a female actor in the role of Benedick combats this, showing that women can take on stereotypically male cultural tropes (being a soldier, a ‘lad’) with no particular difficulty.

Quintessential garden play vibes, several laugh-out-loud moments, and a commendable focus on the tricky themes of Much Ado all made Wadham’s 2022 garden play unmissable. Through its visual beauty, careful use of space, and amazing performances, Wadham’s Much Ado About Nothing is an exciting example of student drama done right.

Image credit: Alison Hall.

Oxfess: Why the fixation?

Atticus Evans-Lombe
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Oxfess: Why the fixation?

Let’s imagine it’s night-time, you’ve settled in for an early one after a long old day, and you decide to innocently scroll through the world of Facebook with your parent/friend/girlfriend/whatever. Perhaps you’re excited to show them the latest update to the Jesus College football team, or desperate to enlighten them with the news from the SU elections from your local hack. You scroll further and let out a sigh: that now-familiar monstrosity crosses your feed once again. “Keble freshers as ingredients from Najar’s”.

Sorry, what? Are they a bit confused? They’ve simply seen the latest in one of the more popular trends on Oxford’s thriving online confessions forum, Oxfess. Now the booming popularity of a site where people daily reincarnate their friends as Heston Services or coronation chicken may come as a bit of a surprise to them – especially after you’ve stood there with that ever-so-knowing smile at any previous mention of the word ‘ox-’ in conjunction with you in the past – but it comes as no surprise to you.

For as we all know, Oxfess is a thriving page, probably the most vibrant social network in Oxford: one part teen heartbreak, two parts class warfare, hub of endless gossip from the Rad Cam to Cowley Road, eternal shoulder for the stressed-out STEM student to cry on, and all the rest. And yet, why? Why does this anonymous page receive so much attention, when there are undoubtedly/probably better channels for much of the above? And, perhaps more importantly, is it possible it can do more harm than good?

Let’s begin with that first question. Why the fixation? The answer may seem rather obvious. Let’s face it, we’re all young, many of us teenagers. Half (at least) of what anyone wants to talk about is sex, relationships, love – it makes sense that many would flock to a site where we can anonymously get our fill of a cheeky bit of gossip. And indeed, you can hardly go five seconds on the site without something along the lines of “I can’t believe I ever went out with you / You were so shit in bed.”

Yet it was a different phenomenon on Oxfess that caught my eye. This was the abundance of that familiar prefix ‘ox’, positioned before almost any verb. A brief survey found a few regulars: ‘oxhate’, ‘oxlove’, ‘oxconfused’, and for those with stronger tastes, ‘oxfuckyou’. Given that the crowbarring of that holy syllable ‘ox’ before a word carries absolutely no practical purpose, why the ubiquitous use of this ‘Oxford language’? Do we feel that by applying said prefix, our words are imbued with a certain majesty, a clarity of purpose and superiority conveyed quite simply by the name, Oxford (University of, that is)?

Perhaps not, but the creation of this kind of unique ‘language’ certainly reveals some motivation for Oxfess’ frequent usage. Oxford is undeniably a very cult-y place. The intensity of short terms, in conjunction with the somewhat tribal collegiate system, creates a very unique bubble. It’s very difficult to define an exact ‘Oxford culture’, but it’s undeniable that many turn to Oxfess as a way to tap into it.

The reason for that is simple: Oxford is like any other university, a diverse ecosystem of students all co-existing, each with their own stresses, likes and dislikes. As an authentic student platform, where posts are made and shared by the student, and importantly by any student, it has status as a hub of shared experience, in creating a sense of community. 

Here is a place where anyone can share their fears or worries, their embarrassing or shameful stories, with no fear of judgement, or can ask for help and advice. I personally must say I have taken some joy in seeing my anger at Oxford’s terrible WiFi and Microsoft Authenticator usage (surely the most inconvenient system for signing in possible) being reciprocated online. Moreover, Oxfess is, of course, for Oxford. It’s a page where not only will everyone understand what you mean when you say “college puffer” or “suicide sconce”, but they will also get the unique stresses that come with being a student here. 

Oxfess’ popularity, then, can be explained as many things: a source of salacious gossip, a provider of genuine mirth at times, a function as some kind of societal hub, and if all else fails, a reminder that yes, you do go to Oxford and yes, you understand that lingo. Yet is it possible that this weird and wonderful site can it fact be malevolent, and its anonymous musings can in fact be a source for problematic tension that cut far deeper than we realise?

Theodore Roosevelt once said that comparison is the thief of joy. Any student today will understand exactly what he meant. Show me someone who has never in their life felt a twinge of sadness, a glimmer of FOMO when searching through social media and I will show you a liar.

Being an anonymous forum, Oxfess theoretically removes that threat, while also allowing ‘confessions’ to be brutally honest without fear of public judgement. Yet while it is of course conferred with good intentions, I believe that Oxfess’ mask of anonymity, while beneficial in most areas, is in fact highly detrimental in an area which should arguably be its most important. 

As mentioned above, Oxfess is a forum where people discuss things from the city’s best bike shop to the maximum number of people it is socially acceptable to get with on one Thursday night at Bridge. More troublingly, however, it is also a place where genuinely serious matters are discussed: cases of discrimination, of abuse, of institutionalised bigotry. Oxfess’ nature as a place for such whistleblowing is a credit to it and to the trust the student body has in it as a genuine platform for them.

Moreover, this is not to say that such stories should not be said on places like Oxfess; it is highly important that people are made aware of them, and perhaps Oxfess’ popular appeal means it is a necessary platform. Nevertheless, I believe that what makes it in many ways a force for good at Oxford, in fact does the opposite when concerning such serious issues. While its gossipy nature is in general student life funny, entertaining, and excellent escapism from a long day of work, it becomes problematic when it begins to trivialise genuine problems, several examples of which occurred in the previous couple of months. 

Towards the end of the Hilary Term, several cases of college-based discrimination/abuse were posted about on Oxfess. Such stories spread like wildfire, and soon several posts a day went something like “So is anyone going to tell us what happened with…” By turning these events into pieces of gossip, it spreads them beyond the control of whom they actually concern, and can lead to situations where two camps use the cloak of invisibility provided by Oxfess’ anonymity to throw shade at each other continually, thereby exacerbating the situation instead of actually talking about it. 

Perhaps we should simply take Oxfess for what it is, however: a fundamentally harmless forum for advice and gossip, and a place for Oxford’s famously neurotic community to let off some steam. After all, whenever you’re feeling frustration at Eduroam shutting off for the 17th time that day, you know exactly where to turn. 

Artwork by Ben Beechener

Thousands demand Oxford Union no-platforms Afghan politician

Charlie Hancock
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Thousands demand Oxford Union no-platforms Afghan politician

A petition demanding that the Oxford Union cancels a speaker event featuring a prominent Afghan politician who fled the country after the Taliban gained power has received over 10,000 signatures.

Hamdullah Mohib served as the Ambassador of Afghanistan to the United States from 2014-18, and was a close ally of former President Hasraf Ghani, under whom he served as National Security Advisor. He now lives in exile in the United States after fleeing Afghanistan. He told CBS that had he and other officials not fled, Kabul would have been destroyed by intense fighting.

The Oxford University Afghanistan Society will hold a protest outside the Union on May 11th, when he is due to speak. They say that hosting Mohib “diverts attention away from the ongoing and preeminently significant violation of the rights of the people of Afghanistan, especially of women and marginalised groups” and doesn’t adequately recognise his role in the humanitarian crisis gripping the country.

A petition circulated by the Society calls Mohib a “national traitor” for fleeing the country as the Taliban took control of the country in August 2021. It says that students from Afghanistan or are of Afghan heritage “do not feel safe” with Mohib being present in the city. They told Cherwell their goal is to get the Union to invite Afghans from marginalised groups and women’s rights activists instead.

The Society demands that the Union cancel Mohib’s appearance because they believe he is unfit to represent Afghanistan on their platform, and say that by doing so the Union would be “honouring the wishes of a nation and people in suffering”.

Mohib told Cherwell: “Since the sudden and traumatic collapse of the Afghan Republic in August 2021, I have been reflecting candidly and earnestly on the multiple factors that led to such a devastating outcome for my country, to which I dedicated a decade of my life in public service. My engagements and cooperation with the media, investigatory bodies, civil society, in public forums, and with my fellow Afghans inside and outside of Afghanistan over these past several months have all been part of this reflection process, as is my acceptance of the Oxford Union’s invitation to speak.”

Along with President Ghani, Mohib was reported to Interpol by the Afghan Embassy in Tajikistan for allegedly stealing from the Afghan treasury. Mohib has rejected these accusations, and Interpol says that no ‘red notices’ for the arrest of any Afghan government officials have been issued.

In interviews, Mohib has said that he accepts some of the blame for the resurgence of the Taliban, but that the blame should also be shared with the Afghan government and the international community.

In a statement to Cherwell, Mohib said: “I fully understand the anger and emotion that Afghans feel toward Afghan and international leaders and those who were in positions of accountability, an accountability to which I still feel responsible, and this is one reason I continue to engage publicly about the crisis. I too, as an Afghan, am dealing with these feelings. I hope that Afghans can engage in this reflection process together, and learn from it moving forward to continue to work toward our vision of a peaceful, inclusive, democratic and sovereign Afghanistan. I hope this process does not become tainted by the same divisive politics that has hurt our nation in the past.”

The Oxford Union told Cherwell: “All of our members are invited to listen to Mr Mohib’s perspective and challenge him during his time here speaking in the chamber, as they are able to do with any of the speakers we invite to the Oxford Union.”

Image: Isaroumilla/CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

What’s in a name? The social inequality attached to where we go to school

Anna Fairweather
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What’s in a name? The social inequality attached to where we go to school

Before I got here, my understanding of Oxford was  limited at best. Instead of teachers and relatives passing down knowledge, I attended the occasional open day and read a book called ‘How to get into Oxbridge’. Having gleaned some idea of Oxford culture from websites like Student Room, I quickly came to understand that this is a place where, unlike school, not everyone starts on an equal footing. During the few applicant days I’d attended, I was asked the question ‘where did you go to school?’ several times, and therefore had expected this to continue when I got to Oxford. It is something I have always been afraid of, and only now, after five terms here, am I starting to understand why this is.

Oxford is already a perplexing machine for any student to navigate, but it is especially so for those who haven’t been exposed to this type of environment before. The spontaneous Latin phrases, gowns and beautiful architecture, gives the university a distinctly public-school personality. It feels like a continuation of the school years for some, and an erasure of a previous identity for others.

Personally, I believe I shouldn’t know someone’s school unless I either ask directly or ask an indirect question such as ‘how do you know them?’. Yet, I’ve found that amongst Oxford friends, schools are quite often used to describe people. Phrases like ‘oh they’re an Eton boy’ or ‘she went to St. Paul’s’ are often dropped into conversation alongside the standard ‘college, subject and hometown’. In a wider context of classism this reinforces the idea that these schools add to a person’s social standing.

My dislike of this question doesn’t stem from any shame of my background. In fact, I am very proud to have gone to my school and to have made it here despite any disadvantages I may have faced. It is instead because it identifies me as lacking something which I can never attain – a school with a ‘name’.

Of course all schools have names, but not all names are created equal; some have more ‘name’ than others. How to know whether your school is one of these? Think about whether you’d say I went to ‘… School’ or just ‘I’m from X’. Whenever I have been asked where I went to school, I’ve always just said ‘oh, you wouldn’t know it… it was just my local grammar school’. 

From time to time, this has been a shock to people as it has contradicted what they’ve assumed about me. In my first term at Oxford, quite a few people presumed I had been privately educated – I’m guessing because of how I speak and present myself. Whilst I don’t have a particularly ‘rah’ voice, I do have the privilege of speaking generically southern. It has been interesting to think about why this assumption was made; is it more appealing to some Oxford students because it would give me something in common them?

If you go to a school with a widely known ‘name’ then, whether you want it or not, people perceive it to be one of your characteristics. There is a persona matched with each of these schools, and whilst not everything on the list may be positive, the overwhelming judgment is positive. 

Now, technically, it only identifies an individual as going to one of these schools. However, it seems to me that what it does instead is identify everybody who hasn’t been to one of these schools. It’s not that there is a suggestion that going to a state school is in any way a bad thing, it’s just that it implies that going to a public school is somehow better. That it is an additional positive attribute to someone. 

When I think about it in the context of my own background, it suggests that if I was compared against someone identical to me in every respect, except that they’d been to an expensive school, then they would somehow be socially superior to me. I think this is exactly the reason why we need to stop romanticizing going to these types of schools. It continues to hold the university back from achieving any form of equality between students. 

Oxford can never truly be a fair playing field until the school that someone has been to is only considered to be a fact, and not something that has bearing on someone’s personality. Until then, public school students will continue to have the social advantage along with the educational advantages that come from attending these schools. 

My college (St Peter’s) has one of the worst state-public school ratios across the whole university. Only 55.2% of home students in the last three years’ admissions have come from state schools;  the only college which is less accessible is Christ Church, which had a 54% intake of students from state schools over the same period. The effect of this low state school intake is certainly felt by the state school students at St Peter’s, and I include myself in this. When I think about my year group and friends in Oxford, I am almost certain that I could name at least half of the schools of those who were privately educated. I don’t think I can name the school of a single state school educated one.

This is not because I have purposely tried to not learn them, but because the names of their schools are never even mentioned. This is an effect of our classist education system, that propagates the idea that our school’s names are not worth knowing. In fact, they are. I challenge anybody at Oxford reading this to think about their friends, and which of their schools you can name. 

I have no answer on how to solve the wider problem of educational inequity that this represents. However, I do feel that on an individual level we can talk less about these schools with ‘names’ and not mention them unless directly asked. On the flip side of this, make sure that if you’re aware of the schools that your privately educated friends went to, you also aren’t ignorant of the schools of your state educated friends.

For those like me who have come from one of these schools, we should proudly name our schools even when we feel like it won’t be remembered. I can start: mine is Parkstone Grammar School.

Image credit: Artwork by Ben Beechener

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