Thursday 17th July 2025
Blog Page 258

Breaking Bridge

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CW: Sexual assault.

Women want to be able to look and feel good when going on a night out and not be sexually assaulted. Fun fact: the two actually are not mutually exclusive!

From a woman’s perspective, Bridge only has sexual assault strategies to tick security boxes and to keep their female customers coming. Bridge needs rules that would actually support and help their female customers, not exclude them further and in no way help the issue. Maybe starting with training their staff not to grab women…

After a long night bopping, I headed for the exit thinking only about whether I should get cheese or garlic mayo on my chips from McCoys. I asked the bouncers at the exit to open the metal gates so I could be let out, but not before one managed to get a firm feel of my firm behind, while I struggled to push this lump of a man off me. The issue wasn’t helped by the (at least four) other bouncers watching him who did not stop smiling or laughing for a second to get him off me. It is easier to be satirical, and I know it helps me to talk about it, but on a serious note I cannot see any way in which his action could be justified, and believe me, I have thought it through a lot. He was in a position of power, and abused that power by feeling up a drunk, alone girl.  

Fast forward a few weeks and I had finally regrown my lady balls (and third year effort) enough to return to Bridge for a college bop. While ‘Bad Bitch Behaviour’ provides many superpowers, drunk bladder control is sadly not one, so I recruited my (male) friend to come to the toilet with me. Now I could have gone to the bathroom alone, however being alone in a club I was recently assaulted in didn’t really appeal to me. Pee complete, we returned to Spirit together to regain our status of ‘not-boring third years’, only to be immediately kicked out of the club by a male bouncer. Apparently, my friend and I were a threat to the people in Bridge as I could have been sexually assaulted by my friend. As you may know, there is no gender-neutral bathroom in bridge, so my options to feel safe and to go to the bathroom were limited.

I justified our joint toilet trip using ‘Grope-Gate’, only for the bouncer to reply, “well I’ve not heard about this so that doesn’t matter here”. Their resolution to the incident was to kick me out the club, with nobody else there or to walk home with none other than the man they said could have just abused me in the bathroom. That evening, Bridge said that my sexual assault, which occurred in their venue, “didn’t matter” and I was yet again put at risk and made to feel vulnerable by the actions of their staff. I get angry at the fact that Bridge act like the biggest threat to me in their venue is myself and my friends, rather than their own staff. 

I work hard both physically and mentally to have a body that I feel confident in. So not only do I love feeling and looking drastically better than my mid-lecture, half-asleep state, but I also bloody love seeing my female friends out in the club looking confident too. Sequin covered tops. Short cut skirts. Low cut tops to get the ‘ladies’ out. High slit skirts which would make my Nanna say, “oh love, do you need to borrow a needle and thread?”. EXQUISITE. Nights out should be about being able to dress up however you want to and feel confident and safe enough to go out with friends, get a bit too tiddled and have fun. Half of the student body is excluded from this privilege, simply because they have so many more aspects of a night out to consider and worry about than most men. 

Bridge does not actually care about how women are treated in their venue; they advertise these ‘protective’ strategies as a way to tick boxes and make women believe they are at a safe venue and continue to buy tickets. My truth is that Bridge could not give two hoots about the welfare and security of their female guests. Bridge needs to improve their security strategy, perhaps starting by teaching the people they hire what sexual assault is, and that women don’t actually want to be felt up by a random man. I do wonder if Bridge has surveyed female students to see what would actually make them feel safe and supported in a club.

I can guarantee that even I will be back in Bridge sooner or later, albeit glaring at the bouncers a little bit harsher and holding in a wee so I don’t get kicked out or left alone feeling unsafe. So, if you see me bopping in my favourite low-cut top and trousers that fit *just right*, just know it is a very strong act of feminism.

Unai Emery – The perennial over-achiever loved by Europe and rejected by England

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Three Europa League trophies in a row with Sevilla, a domestic treble at Paris Saint-Germain, and yet another European triumph with unfancied Villareal over the giants of Manchester United last season.  Unai Emery’s 11 trophies have earned him adoration across the continent but here in England fans still mock him as the man who ‘failed’ at Arsenal, despite the fact that he missed out on Champions League football by just one point in 2018/19.  So, what more does the enigmatic Spaniard have to do to earn the appreciation of football’s most inward-looking fan base?

In the end, he only lasted six months in North London.  There is no doubt that expectations were for more but his tenure was one defined by fine margins.  Sinking to fifth on the final day of the season, behind rivals Tottenham, was certainly disappointing for Arsenal fans, but in hindsight, subsequent seasons have shown that that may well have been a fair ceiling for the club at the time.  What is more, he managed to negotiate the notoriously gruelling Europa League schedule and lead the Gunners to their first European final since 2003.

And no one would blame Emery for never wanting to return to management in the Premier League.  In his time in England, he was routinely mocked for his accent by fans and pundits alike, criticised for transfer decisions that were out of his hands and presented with a squad that lacked cohesion and any kind of real identity.  Never given the opportunity to build the side in his image like his much-lauded successor Mikel Arteta, the board hung him out to dry as the scapegoat for their various failings.

His rejection by English football couldn’t contrast more with his reception on the other side of the Channel.  Here, he maintains a reputation as one of the most meticulous and dedicated managers on the planet, with stories of his match preparation for his side’s Champions League tie against Liverpool serving as the perfect example – he spent four days at the training ground studying the Reds, watching some 15 games in their entirety and picking them apart as he constructed his game plan.  Those who have played under him only echo these sentiments with Joaquín, who played under the Spaniard at Valencia, remarking, “Emery put on so many videos I ran out of popcorn! He’s obsessed with football – it’s practically an illness.”

It isn’t just his attitude though – his achievements with unfancied smaller sides, especially in Europe, have been nothing short of extraordinary over the years.  At Sevilla, he won the Europa League three times in a row, knocking out the likes of Valencia, Fiorentina, and Liverpool in the process.  At PSG too he far from underachieved, domestically at least, winning seven trophies in two seasons.

This season though may represent his most impressive European odyssey yet.  He has managed to steer Villareal, a side with a budget a fraction of the size of most in the competition, to the semi-finals of the Champions League.  Along the way, he has stunned two of the continent’s super clubs with Juventus and Bayern Munich both left outplayed and well beaten by the Yellow Submarine.

So, the question now is what does he have to do to convince English fans?  In reality, I doubt he really cares.  A dramatic comeback against Jurgen Klopp’s Liverpool may seem unlikely in tonight’s semi-final second leg but his reputation in La Liga will remain nothing short of sky-high.  Going forward, a return to PSG has been much talked-up and he has long-held aspirations of trying his hand at Serie A.  However, few can deny that Emery is at his best at smaller clubs he can mould in his image when he is backed by a reliable board, as a result few would blame him if he chooses to stay away from the world’s biggest clubs for the foreseeable future.  For now, the Spaniard is quite content at Estadio de la Cerámica and he will look to build on this year’s European success again next season, domestically and abroad.

Image: Aleksandr Osipov, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Sisu and the forest roads to success: How Finland has dominated world motorsport

If you’ve ever watched competitive racing or delved into the history of motorsports, you’ll likely have observed an interesting, albeit strange, pattern. Among the many thousands of professional drivers over the years across many different racing disciplines, a great number of them hail from a small, sparsely-populated Scandinavian nation that is not often discussed within the sphere of world sporting success outside of those sports which rely upon the use of engines or snow. 

Listed as the ‘happiest country in the world’ as per the annual World Happiness Report, Finland is a country that I have been lucky enough to visit several times since a young age. It is a place of immense natural beauty, piercingly cold winters, and home to a population of straight-talking people (the name Kimi Räikkönen springs to mind!) who especially enjoy the outdoors and are seemingly unafraid of the elements. Finland’s land mass is 39% larger than that of the United Kingdom but its population pales in comparison; with only 5.55 million people living there as of 2022 as opposed to the UK’s 68.53 million. Outside of the largest cities such as Helsinki and Tampere which are mostly situated in the more naturally hospitable Southern half of the country, Finland’s landscape consists largely of vast swathes of woodland that are interspersed with over 187,000 lakes. In the words of Kimi: “Bwoah.”

Famous exports of Finland have included globally-popular tech products such as Nokia phones, wildly successful mobile games like Angry Birds and Clash of Clans, the very palatable Fazer chocolate, and much more. However, it has also produced some of the very greatest racing drivers both today and in the last several decades. From Formula 1 greats Mika Häkkinen, Kimi Räikkönen and current Alfa Romeo driver Valtteri Bottas, to the legends of rally racing such as Juha Kankkunen and Tommi Mäkinen, the prevalence of Finnish drivers in the highest echelons of the motorsport world is something that no motosport fan or even novice observer can ignore. 

So what is it that gives the Finns such talent behind the wheel? Such a question, of course, has no single answer, but there are perhaps a few principal pistons that form the backbone of the Finnish racing engine. 

The first and arguably most unique of these components, is the Finnish concept of sisu. A Suomi term, this concept is hard to define, and indeed many Finnish people will say that it has no true English equivalent. However, it might most easily be understood as a spirit of ‘guts’, ‘courage’, or ‘determination’. Many years ago, during the golden era of pre-punch Top Gear, Mika Häkkinen explained it to James May as such: “Climbing a tree and jumping down from there, that doesn’t mean sisu. That is not courage. Sisu we can very much relate to in motor racing. For example, you’re driving a rally car in a forest extremely, really fast, and you need courage to be able to brake late, to go on the throttle really early, to go really close to the apex of the corners.” 

‘Courage’ is quite apt in capturing the basic essence of sisu; but seems to serve as an oversimplification. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend watching some Finnish rally driving – when you come back, you will likely agree that ‘courage’ is not quite the whole picture. Drivers launch their cars into corners, they fly over bumps, slide their wheels over gravel roads and try to avoid the many people on the side of the track whipping their heads around to follow them, who are also quite possibly the bravest (or craziest?) spectators in the sporting world. At 2021’s Rally Finland competition – dubbed the ‘Grand Prix of Rallying’ – drivers clocked an average speed of 123kph on narrow gravel roads. At those kinds of speeds, one mistake can prove fatal; and yet, the Finns have perfected the art of pushing themselves and their cars to the limits in a way that some Finnish people have translated as ‘going beyond one’s own abilities’, leaving no room for fear to produce extremely costly errors, or, even worse in their eyes, slow laps. 

The surroundings and environment of Finland are also a key factor in explaining how Finnish drivers have had so much sporting success in relation to the country’s size. Due to the routine envelopment of asphalt roads with thick snow each winter and the reliance upon rural gravel roads in order to get around, many Finnish people learn to drive cars in different terrains by practicing on quiet tracks from extremely young ages. It is not uncommon for children to regularly partake in woodland racing events, or learn to control slides on Finland’s many frozen lakes. 

The national driving test system is also among the strictest in the world, with drivers required to have completed at least 18 hours of formal instruction (including a mandatory spell on ice) as well as 19 theory lessons – prior to the two tests – in order to receive their interim licence and legally drive on public roads. If that wasn’t enough, they must take a second test after two years in order to gain a full licence. If you’ve experienced the British driving test (or indeed most countries’ tests), you’ll appreciate just how demanding this system is; and it’s therefore no wonder that most Finnish drivers’ base qualifications and abilities seem far better than those found elsewhere. 

In conjunction with the collective sisu spirit, Finnish society has created a special place for motorsports in its culture which enables all kinds of people, both old and very young, to participate in the sport and enjoy the communities and opportunities that it provides. ‘Folk racing’ is a popular pastime in Finland, which involves local people using inexpensive vehicles (often capped at a value of €1,000) to race one another at small gravel circuits all over the country. Racing is in many nations viewed as an upper-class sport that excludes the majority of those who have an interest in it on the grounds that they cannot afford to procure, modify and maintain cars or track fees, but Finns have lowered the barriers to entry and transformed it into an accessible activity that everyone can take part in, whatever their ability. Those that do particularly well are sometimes lucky enough to enter the professional racing world, while others are able to enjoy the sport for its own sake without breaking the bank. 

Accessibility within motorsport is something that most fans agree should be improved upon significantly (the overall costs of becoming a Formula One driver, for example, is said to run into the tens of millions of dollars), and although the inherent costs of the sport will always be a barrier to some, perhaps we should take more heed of the way in which the Finnish people have helped to open up the activity to as broad a demographic as possible. Indeed, how can a nation truly discover its greatest potential champions, if its youngest and brightest talents are never given the opportunity to develop themselves?

Motorsport is to Finland, as the NFL is to America or cricket might be to India. It both informs and is informed by the nation’s culture, serving as a product of the development of the society in which it exists. Finland’s reputation for all things mechanical following its independence from Russia in 1917 as it developed its own economy and identity brought it great success in industry and manufacturing; it naturally followed that this love for engineering combined with the country’s unforgiving environment and sisu spirit to produce a place for its citizens to thrive behind the wheel. 

Say what you will about the brilliance of Brazil’s Senna, Austria’s Lauda, the strength of the Spanish Sainz racing lineage or the many talents of Scottish drivers – in any case, the Finnish have truly carved a place for their nation in the history of all things motorsport, and they’re showing no signs of slowing down. 


Image Credit: Sarah Vessely / CC BY SA-4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Sale of Blackwell’s: The long-term defence against Amazon

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I think it’s safe to say that the majority of Oxford students have had some sort of experience with Blackwell’s; whether that be a quick browse to kill some time, or a disciplined scan of its bookshelves to finally get round to buying that book off the reading list. 

I first went to Blackwell’s during my interviews, on the suggestion of a family friend who described it to me as an ‘iconic landmark of Broad Street’, and I soon realised why. On approach, the shop seems antique with its navy façade and bold lettering – its appearance is far from the more established bookshop chains such as Waterstones. This impression continues on the inside; the quaint front of shop hides a large but still charming interior, maintaining a welcoming, family-owned feel. In other words, almost as soon as I stepped in, it felt more authentic than some of its more mainstream rivals and for many, including myself, this atmosphere is the bookshop’s unique selling point. 

When it was announced at the beginning of March that Blackwell’s had been bought by Waterstones, it triggered a real mixture of reactions and emotions: disappointment, frustration, but also a sense of understanding and a reluctant acceptance of the position Blackwell’s found itself in. The Dublin-based independent Gutter Bookshop tweeted that the deal felt “sad and inevitable but hopefully it’s also an opportunity to keep Blackwell’s alive.” Meanwhile the Green Party Peer Natalie Bennett viewed it as yet another example of a fallen family-owned bookshop, a victim of the giant companies which continue to dominate their sectors, furthering the homogenisation of our economy.

What Natalie Bennett crucially highlights is the current nature of the book-selling industry, an industry in which physical bookshops, particularly independent ones, are struggling to survive in light of the growing dominance of online retailers like Amazon – a narrative we are now well familiar with. Indeed, this sale is being framed by both Blackwell’s and Waterstones spokespersons as a protective measure and a necessary decision to keep Blackwell’s alive and running. Blackwell’s was a fairly predictable target for Waterstones. The business had made repeated losses in recent years, according to accounts published by Companies House, and had net liabilities of £3.8mn in the year to January 2021. After attempts at refinancing and their failed move towards employee ownership, seeking new ownership was their only real option in order to remain competitive in the industry. It is certainly possible to view this sale as further evidence of the increasing homogenisation of the global economy and the continuing trend of larger companies creating monopolies in their sectors by squashing smaller competitors. However, as David Prescott, the chief executive of Blackwell’s put it, the sale is the best way to “secure the long-term future” of the business whilst ensuring that the physical bookshops are not forced to shut. 

Acquiring Blackwell’s also fits neatly into Waterstones’ strategy to combat online forces such as Amazon. Back in 2018, they bought family-owned chain Foyles with a similar arrangement. They have continued to target several independent booksellers, ending their family ownership with the promise that it might help them survive in the long-term as online bookselling continues to dominate. It is tempting to view this acquisition as a regrettable end to the 143 years of family ownership of Blackwell’s, but strategies like this are perhaps the sector’s best chance of survival in the battle for dominance with online rivals. Even I, on some of my trips to Blackwell’s, find myself holding back and thinking ‘maybe I shouldn’t buy this now, I could probably get it for cheaper on Amazon’. These acquisition models could secure the long-term future of physical bookshops and allow them to keep their pride of place on our high streets.  

Importantly, it has already been announced that Blackwell’s will continue to trade under its own brand, pacifying many loyal customers, but the veritable consequences of this sale are still yet to be seen.The question of the buying experience returns; will this acquisition result in noticeable changes to the consumer’s buying experience in Blackwell’s? Many choose to make their book purchases from smaller, independent bookshops precisely because the buying experience is often more personal – and a large part of the anxiety surrounding this sale is centred around the concern that Blackwell’s might lose what makes it stand out from other commercial chain bookshops. There is a certain joy at browsing the shelves and displays of independent bookstores and reflecting on the individuality of the owners. 

Whenever I entered Blackwell’s in the hour’s break I had between tutorials nearby, I always discovered some new and original display, such as the mystery books display where books were concealed in brown paper with a label attached describing it in a few words. It is different ideas like these which makes us associate phrases such as ‘independent’ and ‘family-owned’ with valuable buying experiences. Blackwell’s is still a chain, with 18 shops spread throughout the UK. I remember my surprise at walking through the centre of Newcastle and spotting one across the street. However, the Blackwell’s franchise is certainly not as extensive as other chains such as Waterstones, allowing it to successfully retain its individuality and charm. I think the reason that we cling onto this idea of the ‘independent’ and ‘family-owned’ bookshop as an ideal and lament their loss is because we are desperate to hold onto what they represent – the individual or the family over the large corporation. Although larger chain bookshops have their own advantages, it is this want for the original, personal buying experience which is driving the desire to keep independent bookshops and physical bookshops alive, despite the rise of online book retailers. How long this lasts, however, is yet to be seen.

Ultimately, the sale of Blackwell’s represents the sad but necessary reality of industry today and the need for adaptation in this hostile market. If we want to keep physical bookselling alive, and avoid the complete supremacy of online retailers like Amazon, we need to adapt. Agreements like that with Waterstones, although uncomfortable, could be the long-term future of this industry. This will probably not be the last family-owned bookshop to yield to this acquisition model, falling back on the ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ mentality. What remains to be seen is whether Blackwell’s succeeds in retaining its unique identity, its ‘family feel’ in the future – the basis of much of its success. For the many Blackwell’s devotees out there, let’s hope it does!

Image credit: Peter Trimming /CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Two Oxford undergraduates run in upcoming council elections

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Kai Pischke, a third-year computer scientist at Somerville, and Janey Little, a first-year PPE student at Lady Margaret Hall, are both running as Liberal Democrats in the upcoming Oxford city council elections. Little, the current president of the Oxford University Liberal Democrats is running in the Holywell Ward, while Pischke, the former OULD president, and current general committee member, is seeking election in Carfax and Jericho. 

Personal experience as well as general disappointment with the political status quo have motivated the candidates to run. For Pischke, it was hearing about small issues like the reintroduction of greyhound racing or re-opening former pedestrian roads to traffic, that pushed him to seek election. Drawing on an experience in climate activism as part of the “Green Lib Dems” subgroup, he hopes to lessen Oxford’s environmental impact as a city and a university. Little also has experience in Lib Dem politics as a Young Liberals Policy officer and Lib Dem Women Youth officer.

Pischke emphasised that the local Lib Dems are not solely moderates, nor one-sided, but campaigners who “have a very ambitious program”. Running on a manifesto focused on transport, housing and the environment, they advertise themselves as a local party of concrete actions and plans. This includes promoting cyclist and pedestrian safety, maintaining Oxford’s Green Belt and biodiversity and supporting modern construction methods and standards in new developments. A cabinet post dedicated to the climate emergency and significantly reducing car traffic in the city centre have also been proposed.

Councillors oversee a variety of municipal services including some aspects of transport, housing and social care. There is also a history in Oxford of councillors interacting with the university and colleges. Some have denounced Oriel’s Rhodes statue or supported the Climate League of Oxford and Cambridge campaign in the past. Pischke and Little state that despite these actions, students often face feelings of powerlessness and difficulty enacting change. At times, local politics seem disconnected and overlooked. But, as Pischke says the city council does indeed have “an important role to play”. He hopes to liaise with JCRs, MCRs, the SU and other student groups on important student issues, notably climate change.

Little and Pischke have focused in particular on improving mental health services, cycling provision and help for vulnerable populations like the homeless in their campaigning. Their “unique perspective” as students is one that Pischke feels needs to be shared, especially in a ward dominated by students and young people, like the one in which he is running. There is some precedent for undergraduate students serving in local politics, as the role is technically a part-time job. A student was elected to Sheffield city council in 2012, while a Shropshire teenager became a councillor in 2018 shortly before beginning university. However, the average age of councillors in England is 59.4 years old according to a 2018 census.

Council elections will take place on May 5th. UK students can vote in both Oxford and their home area if properly registered.

Image credit: Oxford University Liberal Democrats Facebook page

Censor steps back from safeguarding duties after ‘liking’ explicit tweets

The long-running dispute between Christ Church and its former Dean may have reached a settlement last term, but the College is facing public scrutiny once again. The Christ Church Junior Censor has stepped down from safeguarding duties after a complainant found him to have liked tweets containing erotic images.

The College was alerted to this on March 30th by ‘Gilo’ – whose surname Cherwell has withheld at his request – after the Junior Censor followed him on Twitter. Gilo is a writer and CSA survivor. Gilo contacted the Christ Church governing body, the Bishop of Oxford, and Chancellor and Vice Chancellor of the University, raising concerns over the Junior Censor’s safeguarding responsibilities.

A mathematics professor, McGerty’s responsibilities included granting students permission to have parties, and overseeing non-academic discipline. Private Eye reported that McGerty told colleagues he was stepping back to avoid “becoming a distraction” as the College undertakes an independent safeguarding review. The review is being conducted by Ineqe Safeguarding Group. 

Gilo highlighted that Christ Church’s safeguarding policies state that members of staff with welfare responsibilities for students should have demonstrated the “appropriate qualities to perform such a role”. In an email conversation with the Bishop’s Chaplain, Gilo explained that he was concerned that students “might think twice about presenting [welfare] issues to a man who promotes [explicit content] on social media”.

He told Cherwell that it was “hypocritical” of Christ Church to give McGerty welfare responsibilities in light of the controversies which have engulfed the College in recent years.

‘Liking’ a tweet on Twitter saves the post to one’s profile, and may lead to a tweet getting recommended to one’s followers. Gilo told Cherwell he was alerted to the images by a friend shortly after McGerty followed him on Twitter. McGerty has since changed his Twitter handle.

Eight minutes after Gilo alerted the College, he received a “sinister” anonymous email from ‘Wolf Man’ reading: “There is something seriously wrong with you. Please get some help and stop wasting peoples time. It’s desperately sad that you have nothing better to do. Seriously? Do something better with your life.” 

When approached for comment, a representative from Christ Church told Cherwell: “Christ Church received a complaint about a series of pictures that Professor Kevin McGerty ‘liked’ on a personal Twitter page unconnected to the College during a period before he took office as Junior Censor.”

“An external investigator was immediately appointed by Christ Church. The investigator did not find ‘liking’ the images raised any significant safeguarding questions of a primary nature.”

“On receipt of the complaint Professor McGerty volunteered to step back from his role as safeguarding lead, to avoid becoming a distraction at a time when Christ Church is engaged in an independent review of safeguarding across the joint foundation.”

His safeguarding role has been taken up by Clare Hayns, College Chaplain. Professor McGerty continues as Junior Censor.”

“A further complaint, concerning an email from an individual identifying themselves as ‘Wolf Man’ could not be investigated any further because the complainant was unable to provide the requested information.”

A representative from the Conference of Colleges said, “the Chair and Deputy Chair of Conference, and the Chair of the Conference Legal Panel, were contacted during the vacation by the complainant, and they undertook to seek assurances from Christ Church that the matter was being dealt with appropriately. These assurances were received.”

The University of Oxford and Kevin McGerty have been approached for comment.

Image credit: Sonia Shuster

“Why am I the one on trial?” – Review: Prima Facie

CW: Rape, sexual assault.

Review contains spoilers for Suzie Miller’s Prima Facie.

“It’s not emotional for me, it’s the game – the game of the law.” So asserts Tessa Ensler, criminal defence lawyer, at the beginning of Prima Facie, Suzie Miller’s eye-opening firecracker of a play which had its West End debut on 15th April at the Harold Pinter Theatre.

After a successful opening run in Australia in 2019, Prima Facie has been transferred to London this year, with Justin Martin as director. The one-woman play traces the trajectory of Tessa, played by BAFTA-winning actress Jodie Comer, as her entire world is overturned after an unexpected and traumatic incident shakes her faith in the justice system to which she has been staunchly devoted her entire career. Miller’s original script explores the flaws of the existing judicial system, particularly its cold-hearted methods of conducting trials, and its inability to see past the prescribed mechanics of the written law to the real individuals who resort to it in an effort to obtain justice.

At the play’s opening we are introduced to Tessa, a highly sought-after lawyer who has overcome both class and gender differences to reach the top of her field. She is successful, she is blasé, she is confident, perhaps arrogant. Comer dominates the stage, standing high up on an office table and firing out her lines with a fearsome energy which suggests Tessa’s ownership of the courtroom. On all three sides of Miriam Buether’s set, shelves filled with casefiles rising to the ceiling make it clear that Tessa is a prolific barrister, and indeed she herself tells us that she has not lost a case in months. Tessa swaggers as she relives her past victories in the courtroom, exulting in the thrill of the elaborate stage-play she has turned her job into and relishing in the feeling of seeing the prosecution fumble and falter under her infallible line of questioning. “Works every time,” she smirks.

In the background, a pulsating musical beat accompanies this rapid-fire monologue, its incessant thumping mirroring the cut-throat nature of the legal system. Tessa herself acknowledges that she has successfully defended people accused of sexual assault who may well have been guilty. Explaining this brutal professionalism as a requirement of her job, Tessa has an unwavering faith in the idea that the law is a vehicle for social justice.

However, the tables turn very quickly. Tessa’s perspective on sexual assault changes irrevocably when a colleague rapes her and she is forced to test the very system she is part of but which, she discovers, is far from perfect.

When Tessa returns to the courtroom after 782 days of awaiting a trial to take place, it is under entirely different circumstances: “same court, no armour”. It is poignant to note the contrast between this Tessa and the one we see at the beginning of the play. No longer does she have the self-assuredness she had 782 days ago, but is a mere shell of her former self, trembling and unable to face her old colleagues. She crumbles under the cross-examination she had once dished out with such prowess, becoming muddled in her own story under the purposely confusing and intimidating interrogation of the defence lawyer. The stage is dim except for a single spotlight on Tessa, emphasising the irony of the fact that she, though the victim, is the one being scrutinised and humiliated – surely the very opposite of justice.

Prima Facie is Jodie Comer’s West End debut, and she is utterly compelling in the role of Tessa. Comer has previously been described as a chameleon because of roles like Villanelle in Killing Eve, but her performance in Prima Facie, with all the shifts and switches it involves, is one to rival even Villanelle’s versatility. At moments throughout the play, Comer shifts into several other distinct characters to portray multiple parties involved in dialogues, including a courtroom judge, an irritating law student and an uncaring police officer. I am certain that I was not the only member of the audience who barely blinked during the play, so transfixed was I by Comer’s masterful execution of what is a physically and emotionally demanding script. Equally, she handles the humorous moments of the play with as much flair as the heavier ones, her comic timing as excellent as ever. On the whole, her command of the room was impressive; for the 100 minutes – with no interval – that the play lasted, Comer barely paused to take a breath, nor did she allow her audience to.

A particularly chilling moment is when Tessa, frightened and vulnerable after just being raped, suddenly switches into lawyer-mode, and instinctively begins to cross-examine herself the way she had cross-examined women in the courtroom. The musical beat starts up again, perverting what is an emotional moment into something to be objectively analysed under the cold lens of the law.

It is thus that Tessa learns, in the cruellest way possible, that a forensic, rational line of questioning and burden of proof cannot make sense of something like rape, because there is simply no way one can rationalise the horror of being violated. The woman who once vociferously defended the judicial system comes to the realisation that the concept of justice is merely an ideal, which in reality is often unattainable, especially for women. As Miller, herself a human rights and criminal defence lawyer of many years, comments in the Playwright’s Note to the script, “the legal system is shaped by the male experience”.

“Look to your left. Look to your right,” Tessa instructs the audience, pointing out that one in three women in the room have been sexually assaulted. This statistic resounds particularly loudly in our post-#MeToo world.

Coming out of the theatre, there was not a dry eye in sight. Miller’s script effectively sheds light on the fact that the law needs to evolve with society, adjusting to the modern understanding of consent and of the ways sexual assault can manifest itself – it is rarely as simple as black-and-white. “Why am I the one on trial?” Tessa asks. The question has yet to be answered.

Prima Facie runs at at Harold Pinter Theatre 15 April – 18 June.

Rape Crisis National Hotline: 0808 802 9999

Image Credit: Helen Murray (Photography), Studio Doug (Design/Art Direction).

Ismat Chughtai on Indian female experiences

The Quilt and Other Stories is a 1994 compilation of short stories by Ismat Chughtai (1915-1991), a prolific writer of 20th-century India. She occupied a unique space as a woman in the Urdu literary scene of colonial India, which was undoubtedly a man’s world. As a Pakistani woman myself, I felt seen in her stories of the intimate lives of middle-class Muslim women, who battled a suffocating patriarchal society everyday. While the title story The Quilt no doubt is an excellent exploration of suppressed female sexuality, which led to a publicised obscenity trial in 1942 for referring to same-sex relations, I will be sharing my two favourite short stories from the collection (though it was quite difficult to limit myself).  

One of them is The Rock, which is told from the perspective of the protagonist’s sister, who narrates the breakdown of her brother Bhaiyya’s marriage. What makes her writing unique and appealing even now is how the narrative voices of most of her stories are women, who are spectators to the actions of the protagonists, just like us – we see events unfold with the narrator. 

Bhaiyya marries a beautiful teenager (Bhabhi, ‘sister-in-law’), nine years younger than himself, but soon married life ‘robs’ her of her good looks. As a natural result of giving birth, she gains weight, and in a show of control, Bhabhi limits herself to wearing red and pink, because her husband likes those colours. She is confined to the role of a dutiful homemaker, dictated by her husband’s fancies and wishes, a common tale in Pakistan and India to this day. 

Everybody seems to be content with this arrangement, Bhabhi included, until a new neighbour, Shabnam, moves in and ‘bewitches’ Bhaiyya. The narrator finds herself focusing her anger at Shabnam but sees the culpability of her brother, who starts making fun of his wife’s appearance. In all this, the temptresses are seen as the cause of Bhaiyya going astray, and he is pitied by other women for being entrapped in marriage, with an ‘ugly’, unshapely homemaker. 

The narrator describes her brother as a rock, unfazed by the waves leaping towards it, while the waves crash and disintegrate. In this poignant metaphor, the waves represent the women whose lives were ruined by him and by other men in South Asian society. Many South Asian women in the mid-20th century, when Chughtai was writing these short stories, did not have much economic independence and were restricted by unsaid societal rules, limiting them to the home. Therefore, for many women marriage was the only way of ensuring financial security and respectability, regardless of its restraints. Moreover, the bitter reality for many women was that they had to endure the infidelity or disdain of their husbands, but could not pursue extramarital relationships of their own; while it was only natural for a married man to be attracted to other women, it was an unforgivable sin for a married woman to be seen with another man. Marriage was a gamble, as Chughtai shows in her metaphor, as the waves disintegrate on contact with the rock. However, they still cast themselves against the rock, because they have no other choice, according to Chugtai’s stories. Some women at the time (and arguably now in rare cases) were at the mercy of men and their fleeting fancies, losing their autonomy through marriage and being reduced to nothing but possessions

Another beloved story of mine is Choti Apa (a respectful term for the second eldest sister, ‘little elder sister’), in which the youngest sister finds her elder sibling’s secret diary entries. The narrative voice is that of the youngest sister, hoping to uncover her sister’s deepest, darkest secrets and ruin her image as the perfect child with the perfect grades. As she hopes, she finds records of her sister’s secret romances but discovers so much more about her. This breaks her sister out of the limiting, two dimensional character of the ideal, modest Muslim girl. She can get angry. She can be jealous. She can be sad. Through this discovery, the narrator finds a newfound respect for her sister. 

What I love about this short story is the format used, which consists mostly of disparate diary entries and only includes the narrative voice of the youngest sister at the beginning and the end of the story. Since the narrator has found loose pages of the diary, the timeline is disturbed and jumps back and forth, and while it can be confusing, it is intriguing for the reader to see the development of Choti Apa and her life. Her many romances leave her confused as to which person to pursue a future with. 

“A thousand broad chests, high foreheads, thick hair, smooth ankles, strong arms. All are jumbled together like freshly spun threads. Helplessly, I look at that entangled mess. Which end shall I pull so that it disentangles into a long skein upon which one can ride and reach out to the horizon?” 


Under the veneer of the perfect woman is somebody confused and perplexed by the way of the world, unsure of which path to take and what lies ahead of them. For the women in The Rock, and many other South Asian Muslim women, one’s decision to marry could not be taken lightly and unsettled even the most shrewd of them. Ismat Chughtai cleverly encapsulates some of the many Muslim female experiences in a turbulent time in India, with independence struggles on the rise, and a burgeoning intellectual scene.

Local Hero: a modest masterpiece

What is the first thing that springs to mind when I ask you about the connection between a red phone box in the Scottish highlands, a crackpot oil multimillionaire from Houston, and a jaded and cynical negotiator who ends up trapped between the two colliding worlds? Some of you may think I’m mad to suggest that these unlikely characters can ever be connected, but those of you over a certain age might be able to guess at what unites this trio: David Puttnam’s classic film Local Hero. Indeed, it’s this strange collection of loveable characters, the traditionally-rooted soundtrack, the stunning scenery of the Scottish isles, and the message of the film itself that resonate with the audience. The result is a film which I believe we should all learn to love. 

Originally released in 1983, the concept of the film has evolved from a book written and edited by both Bill Forsyth and David Grieg into an upcoming musical that was supposed to premiere at The Old Vic  in June 2020, having previously premiered at the Royal Lyceum in Edinburgh last year. If you’re not familiar with the film, allow me to give a little synopsis of what goes on. It proceeds as follows: Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (played by the late icon Burt Lancaster), when not napping during board meetings, brainstorms the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be the perfect acquisition for his gaudy, capitalistic company Knox Oil and Gas. It’s decided that a company gofer should be sent out to talk to the locals in the remote village – they’re “not in a third world situation” with Ferness after all – ultimately choosing to send in cynical MacIntyre (played by Peter Riegert) due to his connections to the country to garner local support and close the deal. Even within the first ten minutes of the film, Forsyth’s wry use of irony for comedic effect and subtle character development begins to take shape: Mac himself is not, in fact, Scottish. Instead, it is revealed that his Hungarian parents chose the name when they arrived in the country because they thought it “sounded American.” 

Upon his arrival in the “old country”, Mac is met by Daniel Oldsen (the incomparable and incredibly young Peter Capaldi) – a wet-behind-the-ears junior from the Scottish branch of Knox – who ends up accompanying the American through a tartan-clad micro-culture of Scotland. Together, they encounter characters such as the charismatic yet coy Publican-slash-accountant-slash-hotelier Gordon Urquhart (played by the dashing Denis Lawson), his ever-randy wife Stella, the seemingly impenetrable marine biologist and mermaid-like Marina (played by Jenny Seagrove), and the capitalistic Soviet fishing boat captain Victor, who comes to visit the village to check on his investment portfolio occasionally. His star-studded lapel might suggest one thing, his proud statements surrounding the western trappings he’s accrued over the years suggest another. Each character encountered is just as idiosyncratic as the last, but all are lovable to the audience in their own idiosyncratic way.

Whilst it may seem a startling claim to make, I’d argue there isn’t another 80s British film that can lay claim to having such a unique, lasting and deep-seated affection as Forsyth’s modest masterpiece – and modest it is, considering that it was shot entirely on a shoestring budget of £3 million. Compare this to other films of the time such as Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life from the same year which, although being a box office success, seemingly fails to capture the affection of the audience in a similar manner to that of its predecessors. 

Whilst Python (1983) was deemed to be a box office success, Local Hero was not given the same accolade – having a limited theatrical release in America at the time and making over $5.9 million at the box office (around $15 million today). It’s this that makes it an underdog film –- it was never destined to be up there with the action thrillers at the box office – but it still went on to bloom on VHS and DVD, gaining a cult following since. Up in the sky somewhere, there’s even an asteroid named after the film’s zany, astrology-obsessed oil baron Felix Happer – the 7345 Happer, to be precise. Local Hero is an obscure film, its slow-paced, character-driven ethos very much mirroring that of the life the locals in Ferness lead. Despite this, it overcame the initial theatrical setbacks it faced to leave a lasting impression both at home and further afield. Even the BPI-certified Silver soundtrack, written by Dire Straits frontman Mark Knopfler, managed to make more in gross earnings than the film itself – resulting in the song “Going Home” receiving an honorary place in the encore at many of the band’s concerts. 

Now, you’d think that this relatively unknown film wouldn’t be one to bring you to the verge of tears by the time the credits are rolling at the end. There’s nothing about it being an emotional film on any review site such as RottenTomatoes (which scored Local Hero a rare 100% rating) or IMDb. If anything, both sites mark out this film to be a comedy with no prior warning that tissues and hankies may be needed by the curtain call. It’s commonly described as being quirky, ‘indie’, easy-going, warming – but weepy? Goodness no. The storyline too does not hint at the emotional turbulence you, if you’re like me, might experience. 

It has been compared to a quieter version of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting: nothing really happens, nothing really occurs throughout the whole film. The first time I watched it, I found myself coming away with no real sense of what I’d just watched. An American goes to Scotland, on what he views as another cold, emotionless business deal, ends up falling in love with the place. His love isn’t meant to last; as soon as he begins to settle down, he is off once again. His stay cancelled at the last minute, he is forced to return to his own reality with nothing to remember his time in Ferness but some shells, a few polaroids, and a pining for a bright red phone box. Nothing major happens, but that doesn’t stop you from falling head-over-heels with the whole thing. The wonderfully eclectic cast, the gorgeous scenery, that one particular scene where a giggly, drunken Mac calls his boss from the aforementioned phone box, excitedly detailing the developing aurora borealis to him. It’s hard not to come away from such a film without feeling as though you’ve learnt something new or gained a new friend. You’re not sure what you’ve learned, but the feeling is still there. 

Despite not really having a clue what to make of it the first time I saw it, I remember for some bizarre reason I felt almost as though I’d gone through a breakup by the end. The older I’ve got since first watching it, the more it feels as though I’m watching the final scenes from Romeo and Juliet.

Having fallen in love with this bucolic paradise, Mac is brutally expelled from his newfound Eden back to the snazzy all-American inferno of skyscrapers, capitalism, tailbacks on the Downtown road, with only seashells and snippets to remember his Caledonian dreamland. It felt as though the viewer went through that separation alongside Mac – we’re with him for the whole film, and by the end of it it’s hard not to feel with him as he grieves for his new lost love. Perhaps again, this is a soppy take on an otherwise unemotional scene, but it’s hard not to relate to the feelings that must be running through his mind.

Simply put, Local Hero is a beautiful film. Although not a box office smasher or a thriller that leaves you on the edge of the seat, there’s something oddly beautiful about it that resonates with you once you’ve left the theatre, or cinema, or turned off your TV.  

Image credits: Arcaion / Pixabay License via Pixabay, Dominika Roseclay / Pexels License via Pexels

Artwork by Wang Sum Luk

Following the money: the meaning of “selling out”

‘I love selling out’ declared Charli XCX when speaking to NPR about Crash, released in March, a project which sees her lean into mainstream pop, ironically playing the part of an industry ‘sell-out’. She leans into the artifice and fun of mainstream pop, embracing its fantasy. However, many don’t view ‘selling-out’ in such a positive way; it’s often an accusation levelled at artists who change their style to something more mainstream and is often associated with inauthenticity, shallowness, and a lack of new ideas or integrity. But why is it such a bad thing to want to find commercial success, and are accusations of ‘selling-out’ ever justified?

At the simplest level, so-called ‘sell-outs’ are artists who lack artistic integrity, following popular trends and styles to cultivate mass appeal. The Black Eyed Peas arguably best fit this description, with the group abandoning the conscious hip hop found in their first two albums for mass marketable club bangers with EDM production, big hooks, and lyrics such as ‘You love my lady lumps/My hump, my hump, my hump’. But I’m not sure if they are a good example of an artist ‘selling out’. I’m not convinced that anyone feels let down by the Black Eyed Peas – they come across as unashamedly commercial, and no one really cared about their earlier work anyway.

To me, accusations of ‘selling out’ typically suggest some sense of betrayal; I think the simple desire to make more commercially successful music is not enough to be a true ‘sell out’. Take FKA Twigs for instance – her brilliant 2022 mixtape CAPRISONGS was marketed as more commercial and fun than her previous work, and this was welcomed by critics and audiences. I would argue that accusations of ‘selling out’ are triggered by other factors: a shift towards musical choices that are seen as less ‘authentic’ and a perceived ‘betrayal’ of an original audience, paired with a decrease in quality and originality.

So which musical choices are seen as less ‘authentic’? A common example that provokes ‘sell-out’ accusations is ditching your guitar in favour of synths. Taylor Swift took this route in 2014 when she left behind her country roots with 1989, a pop album filled with synths and catchy choruses. She achieved massive commercial success, but some complained that she had become ingenuine. Furthermore, this move is not always commercially driven – The Strokes have recently been incorporating more synths in an artistically interesting way. For example, The New Abnormal (2020) includes prominent use of synths, and was well received critically, but didn’t reach the commercial highs of their earlier, rockier records.

Furthermore, these ideas about what sounds more ‘authentic’ are very fluid and bound up in lots of assumptions. For example, why is danceable music often assumed to have less artistic value than music that supposedly ‘transcends’ the body? And why is live instrumentation more authentic than electronics? These assumptions about authenticity and value can also be co-opted by artists wanting to gain some artistic credibility. This may have influenced Lady Gaga’s decision to leave behind her synths and pounding basses and pick up her guitar for her supposedly more ‘serious’ album, Joanne (2016). Similar motivations might explain why Taylor Swift has a Southern accent on her earlier country albums which had disappeared by 1989; some accuse her of ‘faking’ her accent to gain credibility and appear more authentic to a country audience. It seems that accusations of ‘selling out’ based on simple changes of style are generally based on assumptions about authenticity rather than anything more concrete.

Alternatively, accusations of ‘selling out’ could come from a sense of betrayal from the original fan base of an artist. Often this fanbase is marginalised and feels abandoned in favour of the more lucrative mainstream audience. For example, David Bowie’s music from the early 1970s, in all its outrageous, camp theatricality, appealed to queer folks and others that felt like they didn’t fit in. Therefore, when he signed a big record deal with EMI in 1983, started making blander pop music with mass appeal, and spent the 1980s trying to convince the world he was ‘just a normal guy’, perhaps it was a sense of betrayal felt by his original fans that led to accusations of ‘selling out’. Maybe the same is true with The Weeknd; fans identified with the moody, hedonistic, alienated persona from his earlier mixtapes, and felt that his bright, danceable pop on records such as Starboy (2016), After Hours (2020), and Dawn FM (2022) undermine what he had stood for.

Much of this sense of betrayal likely comes from pop music’s power to forge collective identity through constructing ‘us’ and ‘them’; audiences are upset when an artist reveals that they’re not ‘one of us’ anymore. This issue has been heightened by the social media age when audiences expect so much from artists in terms of authenticity and accessibility, and often form personal bonds with their favourite artists. However, an artist shouldn’t be beholden to the expectations and tastes of their original audience, and their audience will inevitably grow to include people from new groups as they develop.

Some artists survive accusations of ‘selling out’ due to their newer music still appealing to their original fan base. Paramore’s After Laughter (2017) is a good example, which moved away from their previous pop punk style towards a style more influenced by new wave and indie rock. However, it mostly survived claims of ‘selling out’ because the band retained their lyrical style, and the music still appealed to their original audience. Some artists survive accusations of ‘selling out’ due to the undeniable quality of their work; Bob Dylan survived accusations of ‘selling out’ after ‘betraying’ his folk audience because he reached even higher artistic heights after he went electric. As with Bob Dylan, if your music maintains its quality, then your credibility can survive shifts in audience and style, even if the shifts are towards a more commercial style and a more mainstream audience.

All in all, it seems that if your music is good enough, no one’s really going to care about whether you’ve ‘sold out’ or not. Complaints of artists ‘selling out’ seem more an expression of personal taste than anything else. In any case, we can’t know what motivates artists in their creative process so these accusations will always be speculative. Music fans’ frustration with a perceived lack of originality and artistry in the mainstream musical landscape is misdirected; it should be aimed at corporations who decide which music can find massive commercial success, not artists who decide to change up their style. As mass media has become controlled by fewer and fewer corporations from the 1990s onwards, it has become increasingly difficult to break into the mainstream without corporate sponsorship. Corporations are inclined to be risk averse, and therefore more likely invest in musical styles that have proven appeal, making the mainstream landscape less varied and interesting.

But music has always relied on sponsorship, whether from corporations or royal courts, and this doesn’t undermine its value – all artists have to sell to somebody. Music shouldn’t have to transcend industry, the body, or anything else to have value, and that’s a good thing because it can’t. Many complex factors and motivations influence the creation of a piece of art, and this should be acknowledged in a nuanced way rather than being reduced to simplistic ideas of ‘selling out’. Furthermore, hand-wringing about artists ‘selling out’ could be robbing us of the chance to enjoy some amazing pop music from the likes of Charli XCX, The Weeknd, Bowie, and even the Black Eyed Peas. The question to ask when listening to your favourite artists’ popular new album isn’t ‘have they sold out?’, but simply ‘do I think this is any good?’.

Image credits: geralt / Pixabay License via Pixabay