Tuesday 30th September 2025
Blog Page 275

Generation Sharent: Are Hyper-Exposed Children the Price of Social Media Fame?

Welcome to the world, Generation Z! Smile for the camera! Your childhood was hyper-exposed. Your young lives were documented via photos and videos, uploaded, shared, liked and commented upon by people you will perhaps never meet. Your parents are so proud of you, and want to share you with the world, but what does that mean for your future?

In the internet’s early years, the emphasis on child protection was placed on limiting what children could see on the internet. Now, the concern has shifted; children are a social media commodity, whether financially or simply within social groups. Their images, names, and locations are often given out freely online by parents without consideration for the potential impact on their future lives and privacy. So ubiquitous is this kind of parental oversharing that researcher Stacey B. Steinberg coined a name for it in 2016: sharenting. Steinberg explores the delicate line that exists between parents’ right to post about their lives online and a child’s need for privacy. The challenge for policy-makers and internet users alike is to decide whether a parent’s desire to share images of their child supersedes the child’s right to privacy. I contend it should not. So, what should be done? Once we can acknowledge it’s gone too far, how can we intervene?

The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child recognises in article 16 the importance of a child’s right to privacy, and states

“No child shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interference with his or her privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to unlawful attacks on his or her honour and reputation.”

In practice, however, individual states’ laws regarding online privacy differ greatly, and most often the nuts and bolts of children’s online access and exposure are decided by the social media platforms themselves. Whether a child is able to access a platform is the purview of the platform’s terms of service, and many rightly have policies regarding gaining consent prior to the uploading of content containing children. However, parent-run social media accounts which centre much younger children are omnipresent on sites like Instagram and Youtube. Instagram and Facebook allow users to choose who sees each post, potentially limiting the audience for pictures of children. Still, this decision is left in the hands of the parents. Mandating that accounts containing the visible faces of children under thirteen – the age of use of most social media sites – must be private would better future-proof children’s privacy.

A further concern comes from ‘sharents’ who are hopeful influencers, enticed by a huge financial incentive should their child become the next internet star. Indeed, one of Youtube’s wealthiest creators of 2019 is an eight-year-old boy who rose to fame by opening children’s toys on camera. Recent discussion surrounding the responsibility of platforms to protect children from exploitation and exposure has centred around this kind of mega-famous child creator, as well as the ‘family vlogger’ genre of Youtube creators and TikTok stars. These channels, while run by adults, primarily draw audiences through filming and posting the daily experiences of their babies or children, sometimes from the second of their birth. These children, it’s unnecessary to remark, have no say in their participation, while their image is freely disseminated to millions of strangers across the globe. Few would disagree that this is a violation of their privacy, and that their parents’ actions will have a significant impact upon their future employment and, perhaps, safety.

It’s not so simple, however, to villainize every social media parent. TikTok’s Maia Knight began posting videos of her twin girls for her own enjoyment. She likely never expected to grow an audience of 7.6 million followers, who give her children affectionate pet names and call themselves the children’s collective father. While Knight could withdraw from the spotlight and take her children offline, her account is now generating enough of an income that she can remain at home with her children and set them up for a safe, financially stable life. Walking away from this kind of stability is surely not an easy task. While the concerns for the safety and privacy of these young lives remains, my ire resides with the systems that exploit us all, children and adults alike, when it comes to surviving in the digital age, rather than mothers like Knight. 

The complex problems brought about by the internet age require nuanced solutions. Ultimately, child content creators should be protected under both privacy and child labour laws in their home country. However, this would require an immense legislative overhaul, and would likely be pushed against by large and powerful corporations behind social media platforms. So what can we push for in the meantime? Many are actively campaigning for social media platforms like Youtube to demonetise content which centres children under the age of thirteen until such legislation can be created. This action would disincentivise over-exposing children for financial gain and would decrease the exploitation of children too young to give their informed consent. Many tabloid websites and magazines are opting to blur the faces of celebrity children to protect their privacy. It is not unreasonable to suggest platforms like Instagram require the same level of protection for ordinary kids in their terms of service.

Social media is real life; the images we share, information we give and discussions we have are part of our life story permanently. While parents’ desire to share the lives of their little ones are often borne out of the best intentions, a child’s right to determine the course of their lives on their own terms, on-and-offline, should take precedence.

Image: NIKON CORPORATION / Public Domain Certification via pixnio

Viva La Varsity

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Dark Blue vs Green. Green? Shouldn’t it be Light Blue? A Cantabridgian colour does not exist. It’s always slightly different. Cambridge University Ladies’ netball Club comes closest to wearing the closest acceptable shade of light blue. The pigment on the Lax club is somewhere closer to the mixed green-blue-turquoise. 

And live from the River Thames, the rowers from the eastern side of the OxCam arc just dress up in full green, no shame. Snotgreen, à-la-Joyce. Don’t even talk to me about the colours of CUAFC. The rugby team goes about completely avoiding Oxonian mockery, adding in white stripes to avoid full-scale artistic scrutiny. A fun fact for you, to add to the pure humiliation: Cambridge used to play in pink!

Taking offence to the rival’s colours exemplifies the haughty spirit of tribal elitism. What does ‘shoe the tabs’ even mean? Varsity is a fixture founded upon a snobbish, Victorian chivalric, public schoolish, stop-masturbating-in-your-bedroom-young-boys clash of virility and masculine physicality. Those great chaps who went to Oxford and Cambridge in the 19th century had to do something to get themselves outside: kicking a round football for the first time in 1874, kicking a strange oval ball for the first time in 1872, challenging each other to race boats down the river for the first time  in 1829. Varsity, why do you exist? Why do you think you are relevant?

The feelings among the rest of the British population are of this kind. Broadcasters’ interest in Varsity has significantly declined. Rugby league varsity only had a one-year cameo broadcast on Sky Sports. The rugby Union Varsity Matches used to be shown live on BBC One or ITV, but today no longer attract their interest. Long gone are the days when football Varsity was played at Wembley, let alone at Premier League stadiums such as Craven Cottage. Rumours are floating around that this year may be the last cricket Varsity at Lord’s Cricket Ground. Varsity is no longer regarded as the cornerstone event that represents the glory of esteemed British academia. The very institutions of the University of Oxford or Cambridge themselves may not be so greatly revered today as they once were, despite the enormous successes of scientific research. 

Like gowns at formals, speeches in Latin, trumpets at matriculation, Varsity is one of those old outdated traditions that could probably be done away with. Varsity is, by definition today, amateur sport played by “I-am-at-Oxbridge!” students who probably care way too much about their erg or beep test times. 

Varsity is harmless fun. The friendly animosity of the rivalry between Oxford and Cambridge is an energetic distraction to the soul-burning and hand-hurting activities of academic life. This forged conflict between the two historic universities is no real inconvenience of any kind to anyone today. Varsity sport fixtures are the Oxbridge student’ chance to actively escape the hard work-life, to emotionally invest oneself into a banter world of game, and to play competitive sport. It’s a pretty tradition. 

If the prestige of Varsity has declined over the last years, it has had little impact on the impassioned spirit of respective sports clubs. As much as Varsity may be for the patriotic man who is proud of the country’s success in academia and research, Varsity is for the 19-year-old student who cycles 20 minutes out of the city to train with his teammates at 9pm on a Monday night despite being in a serious essay-crisis. Varsity is for the proud parents taking a trip to Oxford to watch their wonder daughter play hockey for the 3s in the middle of Storm Eunice. Varsity is for the supportive friends who take their megaphones to sing silly and amiably provocative chants like “Have you ever seen Cambridge make a vaccine?”. Varsity is for committed coaches who could have once-upon-a-time “gone pro” if they hadn’t injured themselves. Varsity is for the postgraduates recruited from Oceania to win one game. Varsity is for the strict referees who are shouted at by annoyed students on the sidelines. Varsity is for the glee of shoeing the tabs. Varsity is for Park End and VK. Varsity’s for sanity though it’s weird, for tradition though it’s shady, for health though it’s stressful, for camaraderie though it’s absurd. 

… Most crucially: Varsity is for Oxford to win and C*mbridge to lose. 

Image: ale/ CC BY-2.0 via Wikimedia Commons

USWNT Have Won this Equal Pay Battle, Now Comes the War

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Tuesday 22nd February will undoubtedly be remembered as a monumental day for women’s sport both in the United States and around the world.  It was the day that the United States Women’s National Team (USWNT) and their governing body US Soccer settled in court for $24m and pledged equal pay across all competitions.  However, as consequential as this might seem on the surface, the deal is full of holes and the real fight for women’s sport is only just beginning.

It might have come more than two thousand days after their original complaint to the Equal Employment Commission and it over a thousand days since entering into a court battle but last week the USWNT did finally get their deal.  Captain and two-time World Cup winner Alex Morgan called it a “monumental step forward” and “an incredible day”.  She went even further when speaking to Good Morning America, stating: “It’s great to take that step forward. I not only see this as a win for our team or women in sport but for women in general.”  Teammate and campaigner Megan Rapinoe agreed when she said: “I think we’re going to look back on this day and say this is the moment that US Soccer changed for the better.”

USWNT are the most successful side in women’s football.  Four-time World Cup winners and five-time Olympic champions, their achievements dwarf those of any other nation and are on a completely different planet to those of their male compatriots.  And yet, on average US Soccer formerly paid the women’s side just 89 cents for every dollar that the men earn.  That is leaving out the bonuses that the men take home from major tournaments, double that of their female counterparts.  As a result, in May 2020 the full women’s squad sought $66 million in damages in court and so began the trial that ended last week.

Plenty of arguments arise time and again on this issue across different sports and countries.  We hear that the prize money offered by governing bodies is miles apart (a true and sad fact: FIFA pays out $440m for the men’s world cup compared to $60m for the women’s event) and that the TV revenue from women’s sport doesn’t even compare (often correct).  The fact of the matter is though that none of those or the other standard arguments stands up in the case of the USWNT, such is their success and popularity.  They win world cups, the men struggle and sometimes fail to even qualify, they get the nation tuning in whenever games come around whilst the men’s side are desperately trying to use social media to attract new audiences.  In this case and bearing in mind the concept of performance-based pay, it was nearly impossible to see why US Soccer wasn’t splitting pay at least evenly.

So, on the surface, this deal seems like a huge win for everyone.  Two million of those dollars have been set aside for “USWNT players in their post-career goals and charitable efforts related to women’s and girls’ soccer”, the team have their money, and the governing body appears to have made substantial commitments regarding the future of women’s sport.  Unfortunately, after the initial excitement, it has emerged that that isn’t exactly the full story.

For starters, the $24 million that was settled on pales in comparison to the $66 million that was being sought by the women after a group of economists outlined that as a fair sum.  The legal fees on top of that mean that it is hard to say how much of that money will actually end up in players’ pockets.

Goalkeeper Hope Solo was quick to point out this fault with her tone a stark contrast with teammates Morgan and Rapinoe.  Referring to the CBA she tweeted, “It doesn’t exist yet and is not guaranteed. … If the players had ever been successful in negotiating an equal CBA, there would’ve been no reason to sue the federation in the first place.”.

The current agreement expired at the end of last year before being temporarily extended until the 31st March, meanwhile the men have been playing on the same expired deal since 2018.  Reaching a new deal that includes the terms of equal pay will be far from straightforward given the fact that US Soccer are already in trouble financially and few believe that it is coming any time soon.

Beyond the American border, the pace of change appears even slower.  Vastly different television incomes mean that the top division in this country, the WSL, offers just £500 000 total to all its teams.  By comparison, the male Premier League offers total payments of £2.5 billion.  The FA cup pays out £25 000 to its female winners, just 1.4% of the £1.8 million the men receive.  

The examples of pay gaps are endless and bridge both borders and sports.  Some such as tennis and cricket might be doing better but the truth is that no sport is anywhere near where it should be.  So, whilst it was a win for the USWNT last week, we must be cautious not to overestimate how much is still left to be done.

Image: Rachel.C.King / CC BY 2.0 via Flickr

Nigel Lambert: 12 Years Refereeing Oxford

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The integrity of the matches played in all four leagues of the JCR college football structure is maintained by a small but well-known group of qualified referees that range from current University of Oxford students to long serving local officials. Come rain or shine, the men in black are an ever-present in college football, and their absence in JCR reserves fixtures often highlights their contributions to first-team games.

One of the most experienced is Nigel Lambert, a retired policeman and government security officer who has refereed matches for nearly four decades. Always keen to debrief teams on their performance following matches, and enjoying friendships with longer-serving players and the groundsmen of Oxford, he is not someone whose humility or warmth players need reminding of.  In February 2020, he was praised in a national Referees’ Association article for helping to save the life of a Women’s Blues defender who had swallowed her tongue in a match against Southampton Ladies. From his refereeing style to recollections of drunken pitch invasions in Cuppers matches, these are his memories.

How long have you been refereeing? When did you start refereeing college football matches?

I qualified as a referee 38 years ago. I started refereeing college football 12 years ago.

Has anything changed since you have started? 

Little has changed in college football in that time – it is more likely that it is me that has changed! In the prime of my refereeing career I was very strict. As a senior police officer I expected people to comply with my decisions, consequently bookings and sending-offs featured prominently!

What are your favourite sorts of matches to referee?

My favourite matches are the league games, which are usually conducted in a very civil manner. Women’s Blues were great as the ladies were so kind to me!

What would you say is your refereeing style?

My refereeing style is non-confrontational (unless this style fails). I will always try to show respect for the players and I value the many friendships I have made over the years.

Do any games stick out in your memory as being particularly notable?

Whilst I have officiated at many cup finals and representative games the most vivid memories are when things have gone wrong. Cuppers at Pembroke over the years has been a nightmare! The worst was a pitch invasion by drunken supporters intent on abusing me, aggravated by an obnoxious young man running the line for Pembroke who loudly disputed my decisions. He was a qualified referee, which made his behaviour even more distasteful. The Sabbatical Officer, who was present at the game, instructed Pembroke that he must never run the line for them again. Since then, Pembroke and I have been on the best of terms. The good memories are of outstanding sportsmanship when opponents were struggling through bad times, highlighting the strong values we all try to achieve in college football.

What are your favourite pitches and grounds to referee at in Oxford?

My favourite pitch must be St John’s, the Wembley of Oxford. I look forward to going to a number of other grounds through establishing friendships with groundsmen over the years. It means a lot to receive a warm welcome.

What do you enjoy doing outside of refereeing?

My other sport is running, with success as County Champion in my age group over decades. I have run about a hundred marathons, including fifteen in London and ten in New York. I am involved in the church, being Churchwarden of my parish church. I participate in pilgrimages, both in the UK and in Europe. I have walked five different routes on the Camino de Santiago, some in excess of 500 miles.

The political power of gender expression: Lessons from female dictators

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China’s three thousand years of written history has seen just one legitimate female sovereign: Wu Zetian of the late 600s. Charismatic and ambitious, she spent thirty years rising through the ranks of concubine, Consort, and Dowager to finally claim official sovereignty in 690. Though posthumously dubbed “Empress”, she styled herself “Emperor” and was keenly aware of the political power at stake in matters of gendered discourse.

As for her own imperial name, “Zhao”, she issued a new Han character – 曌 – which comprised strokes highlighting the moon, a symbol for the female ‘yin’, and the sun, a symbol for the male ‘yang’. By controlling and rewriting language, she proposed that her position as Empress was a harmonious unification of traditionally male and female strengths. 

Wu is not unique among female dictators and leaders in her ardent attention to her own gender performance, and the implications of it. In an era calling for postgenderism and the erosion of binary gender, it is important to recognise and understand the historic, and lasting, phenomenon of gender expression as a tool for political ends. 

When asked to call to mind the mental image of a “dictator”, or a “despot”, or an “autocrat”, you’d be forgiven for imagining a moustached middle-aged man, perhaps balding, raising his arm in a military salute. Even the Advanced Oxford Learner’s Dictionary teaches students of English that a “dictator” has often obtained their “complete power” over a country “using military force”. 

The tight relationship between the office of dictator and its corresponding armed forces is a historic one and likely needs little explanation. A traditional route to political power has been to rise first through the military or to topple the existing authorities by coup d’état. Dictators then depend on military might to assert their regimes; could an individual lacking in military experience truly command the full respect and loyalty of the army? Machiavellian enquiries aside, we begin to see why there have been so few female dictators across history. In the modern era up to the twentieth century, women have usually been excluded from military service, and the field is still overwhelmingly male-dominated. How, then, we might ask, have the few powerful female dictators and leaders of history come to take up the mantle? 

Rulers Indira Gandhi (1917-1984) and Aung San Suu Kyi (1945-) have much in common. They were both educated at Oxford University, both became prime minister-figures of their respective countries, and, crucially, were both daughters of previous national leaders – Jawaharlal Nehru of India, and Aung San of Myanmar respectively. This is a well-trodden path. Many of the most culturally famous female dictator figures have come to prominence due to their links with politically powerful men. Eva “Evita” Perón (1919-1952) and Jiang Qing (1914-1991), known to contemporaries as “Madame Mao”, spring to mind here. The de facto or legitimate reigns of powerful women – Gandhi, Suu Kyi, Perón and Jiang included – have often been directed and overshadowed by the legacies of their male counterparts. 

The traditional discourse surrounding women in power has, as such, construed female leadership as rare, and unusual. Women have been painted as dependent upon their powerful husbands or male kin for political legitimacy. Indira Gandhi was dubbed “goongi goodiya” – Hindi for ‘puppet’ – by those who saw her as a weak and easily manipulable figurehead for a male-dominated Congress. Stock archetypes of negative femininity have also been drawn upon to criticise women in power for occupying space in the public sphere. 

This goes back to the days of Wu Zetian and beyond. Wu was said to have eaten her own children, and contemporary commentators used her as the basis for pornographic materials, stressing her beginnings as a concubine. She was, essentially, painted as the antithesis of the modest, maternal, ideal woman. Through making such claims to her immorality, her rivals aimed to weaken her political legitimacy. And this treatment is not unique to Wu. A string of female leaders throughout history have been characterised as evil, immoral, and dangerous women. 

Given this historic discourse surrounding women in power, it is unsurprising that women seeking power have felt pressure to acknowledge and use their gender in ways that men have not. Perhaps women feel forced to own up to their gender identity before it is seized and turned against them. The famous 1566 Speech to Parliament by Queen Elizabeth I saw her make the following concession: “Though I be a woman, yet I have as good a courage answerable to my place as ever my father had. I am your anointed queen”. While defending her gender, she appealed to traditionally masculine traits and to her paternal family line to claim legitimacy of rule. But she simultaneously asserted the beginning of a new era in which the legitimacy of her rule was tied to her female identity as “queen”. Across various nations, social expectations of what a leader should look and behave like have compiled over centuries and have largely been established from male models. These expectations have firm roots in society. Women have grown up with internalised pressure to conform to these models of ideal power in order to be taken seriously as leaders. 

But we also see cases where female leaders have deliberately used performative identity politics to reinforce their own legitimacy to rule. Women have emphasised their “feminine” or “masculine” characteristics to a greater or lesser extent to achieve political ends. Margaret Thatcher’s ‘housewife’ campaign saw her photographed in the kitchen and depicted carrying shopping baskets. She sought to stress her suitability for public life by emphasising that she had the management qualities required to make a good home and to be a good national leader. But, equally, she practised humming exercises and voice training to lower her pitch and develop a distinctive, typically masculine, tone, which might be viewed as more trustworthy. Women in power have often had to broadcast more “masculine” characteristics, and simultaneously weaponise their femininity, for their authority to be taken seriously. 

Is this the case in politics today? Must women perform their genders to retain political legitimacy? In my view, the short answer is yes. The gendered insults thrown about in national parliaments – such as Jeremy Corbyn’s “stupid woman” remark about Theresa May in 2018, or, in France last year, the attack on Mathilde Panot as a “fishwife” – suggest that gender, or at least awareness of gender, still plays a large role in high politics. Scholars have pointed out that women in twenty-first-century government institutions sometimes serve a representational function. They are a symbolic presence, seen to stand for all women, and seen to legitimise a government by making it look liberal and democratic. 

Women are expected to perform their gender – to visibly make known their “womanness”. The unsaid expectation nowadays is that female MPs speak about and work on the problems which predominantly affect women – such as abortion, domestic violence, and sexual abuse. Female MPs have done just this over the last thirty years and, as such, we’ve seen the privatisation of what counts as “public issues” as well as improvements to the socio-political condition of women more generally. But this phenomenon has also had the unintended function of placing female politicians as singular spokespersons for all “women’s issues”. Current female MPs are expected to act as female politicians, not just as politicians. This pressure is incredibly unfair. It leads to a tendency for generic and angry claims blaming female leaders for not having done enough to help women or focus on “women’s issues”. Where is this pressure on male politicians? Surely these issues should be a focus for all politicians, regardless of their gender. 

The ideal situation within high politics would be the complete deconstruction of the gender narrative. This way, women would no longer feel forced to conform to or perform aspects of their gender identity. But this is probably a utopic fantasy. We can hold out hope that, as binary categories of gender continue to be broken down and eroded, it will soon be so normal to have individuals of all genders in power that the public sphere takes on a more genderless climate. But, given the lasting power of using gender expression as a legitimising power tool, it seems unlikely that this will occur any time soon. 

Will we see more women in positions of leadership in the future? If current trends are anything to go by, then yes, this is likely. Will we see more women in the office of dictator in the future? This is harder to answer. Dictatorships, to my mind, are never an attractive option. And their historically military nature still excludes women. And in many ways, to back the rise of a female dictator seems a little bit like a toss-up between one’s own ethical ideals and supporting supposed female empowerment. 

As we look to the future, and the possibility of more female leaders and dictators, the real point is that we should remember our history. Gender, and gendered discourse, has always been an intrinsic element of politics. We should be aware of performative gender expression in politics and recognise when it is being used, and for what ends.

Image: Wellcome Library/ CC BY 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

How meritocracy fuels Oxford’s burnout cycle

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Something seems to snap in our collective conscience five weeks into an Oxford term. Suddenly, we find ourselves reaching for a third or fourth cup of coffee and spending hours staring blankly into space despite the extensive reading list open on our laptop. For four weeks, essays and problem sheets seem feasible even alongside a busy social schedule but now the thought of even typing out an essay title is pushing it. 

I could be over-exaggerating, but complaints of loss of motivation and burnout do seem almost universal  as we hit fifth week. Academic burnout brings social burnout, with texts from friends left on delivered for days on end as chronic tiredness just makes you want to curl up and sleep, rather than spend another night in Bridge.

I can’t quite tell if it is comforting or problematic that this is such a unifying experience that there is a label for it – the infamous ‘Fifth Week Blues’. Despite this term being widely used by both students and tutors alike, nothing seems to change. Expectations from tutors are the same as they were at the start of  term, if not higher, even though everyone feels like we are pushing and pushing for a non-existent, unreachable goal. 

‘Why don’t we have a reading week?’ is a question guaranteed to be heard in conversations amongst students in fifth week, as their tutors tirelessly explain that the intensity of an Oxford term couldn’t be lengthened any further. Realistically, though, no one is asking for another week of relentless reading and mechanical essay-writing.

We just want a bit of a break.

The desire to simply breathe, to spend a day without a to-do list etched into your brain, is a completely natural response to our unnatural environment. This environment is one that the high-achiever functions in – that the Oxford student thrives in, even – and also has an intense hatred for. I think this is what has normalised fifth week burnout. Everyone here works hard, managing to adapt to the intensity of the environment and cyclical deadlines. For a few weeks, this meritocratic culture works as a source of motivation, giving us goal after goal to work towards, and subsequent satisfaction when you achieve it – but this can’t last forever. This seems to lead us to one question, then – would the institution be the same without this intensity?

In order to answer this, we need to think about if there is a purpose underpinning the character of the term. As I’ve mentioned, it keeps us motivated as we have no choice but to write essays over the span of a few hours and continuously work. If I’m feeling cynical (and slightly Marxist) I’d say we are being trained to be good future workers, as the pressure fuelling an Oxford term seems to construct a direct bridge to a highly efficient workplace. Perhaps we are being taught to consistently prioritise work more than anything else, naturally leading us to a lifestyle in which family, hobbies and social life will always fall secondary to the most imminent deadline. Investment banking is cited as the classic example of this. The top firms and companies demand long working hours and a work-life balance is pretty much impossible – you work hard, because you know you are in a place that expects you to work hard – for high monetary reward but arguably little emotional reward.

I wonder if this cycle of working for the sake of working is universal. Rather, I feel it entraps individuals from disadvantaged groups more than others and overlaps with the concept of imposter syndrome. All students, regardless of socio-economic background, are deemed fit by the Oxford admissions process to neatly slot into this meritocratic culture. However, the fact that you are pushed to work hard may encourage someone who lacks security about their place at Oxford to work even harder. State school students across Oxford, for example, might constantly find themselves trapped in this cycle in an attempt to introspectively prove their place here. It is worth questioning whether a meritocratic culture truly works if it exacerbates social divides, or if it leaves people constantly trying to prove themselves rather than learning for the sake of learning.

On the other hand, it is undoubtable that studying in this manner teaches you skills that fall outside the actual content of your degree. You are forced to be organised, to improve, to persist, to not simply float. Having traces of these qualities got us into Oxford in the first place but being here pushes them further as they are solidified by the term structure. From this perspective, its terms make Oxford what it is. 

But let me return to my original point – even if this is true, we still just want a bit of a break. 

Undoubtedly , this article is not going to revolutionise the Oxford term structure. I simply echo the desire held by most for a reading week. We could maintain the fast-paced nature of the term and the motivation it brings, an environment that works well for most, but recognise that this cannot be sustained. I think it would do both our mental health, and quality of work, a favour. 

Though we can recognise the benefits of a reading week, I don’t think we will ever get one. The best you can do is to respect when you may need a break, and give yourself one, this week more so than ever. Utilise college welfare events, text friends who you haven’t seen in a while, and take a little more time to relax rather than working. Feeling tired and unmotivated at this point is, ultimately, normal – and the Hilary bubble we are currently in will not last forever.

Image: Mark Butler/ CC BY-SA 2.0 via Geograph

Oxford exhibit to dispel “curse of pharaohs” myth

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Many school children know the ominous tale well. When Howard Carter, a British archaeologist, ventured to the Valley of the Kings in Egypt and rediscovered King Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922, a curse lying dormant for millenia awoke. Some members of Carter’s team died in short order, lending credence to the haunting story known as the ‘curse of the pharaohs’. 

Long derided by archaeologists and historians as a silly work of fiction, the myth is finally set to be dispelled by a Bodleian Library exhibit coming on April 13. The exhibit will show that rumours of such a curse spread long before the discovery of Tutankhamun’s curse, and were trafficked by shady mystics sceptical of Egyptology. 

After Lord Carnarvon, one of Carter’s associates who entered the tomb with him, died in 1923 from a blood infection, the media in the West sensationalised stories of the pharaonic curse, drawn from the claims of mystics. Major newspapers, such as the New York World and the New York Times, published stories about the curse. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, famously endorsed the curse, suggesting that “elementals” had taken Carnarvon’s life. 

Egyptology was met with scepticism in the early twentieth century, as fears of the unknown mixed with an appetite for Gothic horror gave way to openness to the rumour. The exhibit will show that the curse was propagated by a frustrated archaeologist excluded from the original discovery team by Carter. 

A string of deaths that shortly followed Carnarvon’s fueled those rumours. A man who X-rayed the mummy fell victim to a mysterious illness. Another succumbed to arsenic poisoning, and it was believed that an affluent American died shortly after setting foot in the tomb. These deaths, the exhibit will show, were simply coincidences that did not even occur in close succession. 

Sceptical historians have pointed out that the vast majority of people who entered the tomb with Carter went on to live long, healthy lives. 

Although Carter dispelled such rumours as “tommy rot” at the time, he also indulged them in his own writings. He published a semi-fictional account of the discovery that includes a story of his canary dying from a cobra bite at the moment he entered the tomb. 

The exhibit will include fascinating primary source documents. It has hand-written correspondences between members of the discovery team and a telegram from a mystic warning of a curse. That mystic, later identified as Ella Young, an Irish poet, claimed that sandstorms in the desert and Carnarvon’s death were the works of the pharaohs. 

The exhibit has been curated by Richard Bruce Parkinson, Oxford professor of Egyptology, and Dr. Daniela Rosenow, who works at the Griffith Institute, Oxford’s Egyptology centre. It will launch on April 13, alongside a new book titled Tutankhamun: Excavating the Archive. 

Image credit: Roland Unger, CC BY-SA 3.0

New study links US Stand Your Ground laws to 700 additional homicides every year

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A new study has revealed that Stand Your Ground (SYG) laws, which allow protection for individuals who use deadly violence in self-defence, have resulted in an additional 700 homicides in the US each year since their introduction.

Under SYG laws, people have no duty to retreat before using deadly force in self-defence. This allows greater legal protection to those who use lethal force.

According to a new study published in the JAMA Network Open, the law is linked to an increase in homicide rates of 11% nationally, but up to 28% in some states. Research was led by a team from the University of Oxford, University of Pennsylvania, and collaborators at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine. The evidence collected suggests that the expansion of self-defence laws may lead to increased violence, resulting in the unnecessary loss of life.

Advocates for SYG laws claim that they protect the public by enabling retaliatory violence when faced with a significant danger. Critics, on the other hand, believe that the sanctioned use of deadly force is likely to enable greater levels of violence. Furthermore, some believe that SYG laws could encourage discrimination: implicit and explicit biases of threat perception could discriminate against certain minority groups, leading to higher rates of death amongst these populations.

These concerns have been tragically realised in recent years. The killing of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2021, the killing of Armaud Arbery in 2020, and the trial of Kyle Rittenhouse in 2021, have all centred around the SYG laws.

According to Senior Study author Dr David Humphreys, from Oxford’s Department of Social Policy and Intervention, “Stand Your Ground laws have been enacted in the majority of states, and more states are currently debating their introduction.

“Supporters argue that introducing these laws will improve public safety by deterring criminals, but this research finds the opposite, showing that rates of violence increase (sometimes dramatically) following the adoption of these laws.”

The study considers the impacts of SYG laws in 23 states between 2000 and 2016. Researchers found that the laws were linked to increases in homicide and firearm homicide rates of 8% to 11% across the United States. Florida was the state with the highest increase in homicide rates, seeing a 28% increase following the introduction of SYG laws. Increases in homicides were found to be higher in southern states, but no states saw a reduction in homicides or firearm homicides. The laws were found to affect all Americans, regardless of race, sex, or age.

Lead author Dr Michelle Degli Esposti, also from Oxford, says, ‘It is critical that policy and law-makers consider the scientific evidence on the risks associated with Stand Your Ground laws before passing more lenient laws on the use of lethal force in self-defence. More research is needed to understand why these laws have serious negative impacts, but research consistently shows that, in most contexts, the laws are leading to unnecessary and avoidable loss of life.’

Image credit: Karolina Grabowski

Rubbish representation in schools, syllabuses and beyond

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CW: mentions of racism and sexism

In A-level English Literature, we didn’t study any texts by women. There were plenty of texts about women – from Thomas Hardy’s excruciating late Victorian fetishization of rural female poverty in Tess of the d’Urbervilles to Henrik Ibsen’s problematic portrayal of middle-class women’s agency in A Doll’s House, by a self-proclaimed non-feminist. But, of course, actually getting women’s own perspectives on womanhood, especially deep into *the past* (before the 20th century), would be a step too far. Canonical men have clearly said it better. It was the same depressing story with regards to race. We studied one novel by a writer of colour, Khaled Hosseini’s brilliant and heartbreaking The Kite Runner. Yet the text we studied which was lauded for its ‘breakthrough’ and ‘bold’ discussions of race was Shakespeare’s Othello. Shakespeare, who was not a person of colour. Ibsen and Hardy, who were relatively privileged men.

If this is the representation we’re getting at A-level, among students who’ve chosen to keep studying literature, what hope is there for the often even more constrained curriculum at GCSE? Not much, it turns out. A recent survey commissioned by Penguin Books found that a shocking 0.7% of English Literature GCSE students in England study a book by a writer of colour, and only 7% study a book by a woman. In 2021, only 0.1% of students answered a GCSE question on the only novel by a woman of colour on the AQA exam syllabus, Meera Syal’s Anita and Me. This is despite the fact that in 2021, 34.4% of school age children identified as Black, Asian and minority ethnic, and around half of the UK population identified as women.  

Literature is a beautifully powerful combination of self-expression, identification and coming of age. Despite often being badly taught, dismissed, or, as this government is keen on, underfunded, the consequence of English Literature being taught to pretty much everyone until the age of 16 is that we all spend a lot of time with the writers on the curriculum. Although Shakespeare’s plays are wonderful, teaching them as a discussion of race is often a cop out to get teenagers thinking about the incredibly important and personal issues of race and gender, when they are raised at all, through the stale works of the same white male southern faces. Why should and why will students be enthused by Dickens and Byron, when their perspectives are often so different from their own? Must we list ‘greats’ from various genres – Renaissance, Romantic, Gothic, modern – that students simply must study before we even begin to examine where the exclusionary category of ‘great’ even came from?  

Among the many depressing tenets of this tale is where it’s being dictated from. Michael Gove, UK Education Secretary from 2010 to 2014, reportedly disliked American literature– so there went To Kill a Mockingbird from the syllabus. Although we can do better than getting 15 year olds to read a somewhat problematic look at race in the segregated Deep South by a white woman, every older friend and sibling I know who studied the novel back before the new GCSEs noted its profound effect on them, and it’s definitely worth reading and discussing, rather than axing. More disturbingly, Govean reforms (which were even influenced by Dominic Cummings, for a time) also removed all ‘seminal world literature’ from GCSEs, just so Gove’s personal vendetta against American writers wasn’t the only national literature that students were missing out on. Anyone who has also studied History at school since the Coalition can equally enjoy upped compulsory British History, an approach which will set you up well for Oxford, which is swarming with British History and not much else. I’ve heard some awful stories from my friends who study English here about the scarcity of set and encouraged texts by women and people of colour, although experiences seem to differ from tutor to tutor. 

But it’s not good enough to leave it to often privileged tutors, canon-compilers and Education Secretaries to dictate which texts we study. Time and time again, they have failed to achieve even the remotest degree of representation, a damning outcome in a subject which is so linked to identity and the self. The texts we study at school and beyond should be chosen and shaped by the diverse populations reading them.

‘A wildly enjoyable ride’ – Review: The Importance of Being Nihilists

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Two pianos fall on two men. A surreal and captivating murder mystery unfolds, ably written and directed by Anna Stephen. 

As the Victorian cast of The Importance of Being Nihilists attempts to determine motive and murderer (the means is clear from the beginning), we follow Desmond Beret (Alex Still), a melodramatic, upper-class art dealer often accompanied by his butler (and secret lover) Wilfred Winman (Jack Klein). Along the way, we watch as Desmond’s sister Daphne (Téa Chatila) pines after Laurie Frith (Lucas Ipkendanz), a mysterious and aloof psychiatrist. Rounding out the cast are Lady Amethyst, mother of the Berets and Miss Holypoly (both played by Flora Symington), Strawberry John and Reverend Dev Votion (both played by Adam Najmudin Hall), incredibly named student Eppie Gramme (Esme Rhodes), and Cyril Disorder (Murray Whittaker), a victim of the violent cacophony that opens the play. 

The cast handled their respective roles deftly. Chatila was great as Daphne, buth excellent as her own mother, Lady Amethyst in disguise. Symington did precise work in her dual roles, and I nearly left convinced that I had watched two different actors. Adam Najmudin Hall was well-cast as the reverend, and his cool, laid-back presence on stage was quietly hilarious (perfectly accessorised by his round, slightly-too-small sunglasses), though I found his style of speech hard to pin down, an impediment that shifted between rhotacism and a lisp. I assumed it was to differentiate between the two characters he was playing, but I was never quite sure. For me, the clear standout here was Alex Still, who was deliciously charismatic as Desmond Beret. Cleanly navigating the pit-fall hammy farce, Still wore his mask quite phenomenally. His comic timing and delivery were both fantastic. Most impressive, though, was his clear commitment and attention to detail in his work. I often find that an actor’s hands can often be a tool for the undoing of a performance: they either fidget nervously or seem a little too controlled, a little too acted. Still inhabited his character entirely, executing a sheen of effortlessness through micro-gesticulation and small movements. He is an actor in total command of his performance.

Underneath these great performances, though, Stephen’s script, at once timeless and clearly specific, radiated through. In form, it is clearly Victorian, but with modern sensibilities. It was woven through musings on nihilism and the artificiality of character and personality – difficult subjects by any stretch. There was a constant, dizzying complexity to her words, and characters speak frequently in metaphor and circumlocution, but Stephen is always in control, and there was a definite musicality here. She managed, either consciously or instinctively, to create a rhythm so compelling that you sometimes forgot what exactly was being said. Her skill with language really is extraordinary, and on full display throughout the play’s duration. Some credit must again go to the actors here, who tackled Stephen’s tongue-twisting wordsmithery with barely a slip-up.

Visual and textual gags throughout reinforce Stephen and her crew’s deft hand in writing and direction. One visual gag of Cyril’s full name as written on his casket — Cyril ‘Anwir’ Disorder — I found particularly hysterical. I wasn’t sure about the many repeated uses of self-reflexive humour, but I did like when the dual-role actors went “Blast, I have to go off”, when their other character had to enter the scene. Another highlight was Still leaning on the fourth wall, as Desmond Beret cheekily fiddled with a piece of tape left loosely hanging on an overhead wooden beam (this may have been improvised, but I enjoyed it nonetheless).

I also appreciated the play’s stagecraft, especially on a small and limited set. The single door at the back of the stage was well used, with characters entering and exiting from both directions, which, combined with lighting, smartly communicated changes in scenery. 

Unfortunately, the play’s energy dipped suddenly in the final act: sometimes the plot felt unnavigable and relationships felt unclear, hindered by impersonations and suddenly revealed identical twins. The play constructs a comedy of errors, building to a climax as deceptions are untangled and lies are uncovered and then it…resolves? We learn by the end that Cyril is not actually dead, but that the victim was Strawberry John, a character who looks like the Reverend, both in cast and plot. We learn that Laurie Frith also has an evil twin, whose actions were confusing. There was also a conspiracy about pianos which might have been important. I left unsure about how it all connected. 

All of that said, obviously we’re supposed to be confused, as reassured by Desmond Beret’s own confusion. The pointlessness Beret conveys serves to reiterate the Nihilistic overtones of the play. The spirit of The Importance of Being Earnest is certainly there in character, setting, and tone, but it’s been made sadder and absurdist (in addition to the original absurdity): in short, adapted to our modern era. The characters Desmond Beret, Eppie Gramme, Rev Dev Votion fulfil the fates given to them by their names. Just as in the final act of Oscar Wilde’s play, Nihilists concluded with contrivance upon contrivance. An evil twin? Strawberry John all along? Who is Strawberry John, anyway? The play isn’t faultless, but is a wildly enjoyable ride: intelligent, funny, and a bravura showcase of exciting literary talent.

But we’re supposed to be confused, as Desmond Beret’s own confusion reassures us. The pointlessness Beret conveys serves to reiterate the Nihilistic overtones of the play. The spirit of The Importance of Being Earnest is certainly there in character, setting, and tone, but it’s adapted for the modern era: which is to say, sadder and more absurd. We’re left with a simple truth: not everything has a deeper answer, and perhaps we shouldn’t be looking for one.

Image credit: Hetty Nicholls