Sunday 28th September 2025
Blog Page 309

The problem with criminal biopics

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On the morning of November 27th 1989, a domestic Colombian aircraft headed for Alfonso Bonilla Aragon International Airport in Cali, southwest Colombia, took off from El Dorado international airport in Bogota. Five minutes into the flight at an average speed of 794 kilometres per hour, the plane had risen to an altitude of 13,000 feet, when suddenly two consecutive high-explosive detonations ripped the airliner into two flaming halves which fell dismally to a three-mile radius around the town of Sochoa. The incident killed all 107 people on board alongside an additional three people on the ground who died as a result of their proximity to the rapid descent of the plane’s falling debris.

The domestic aircraft was Avianca flight 203 and its mid-air explosion was the apex attack in an era of narco-terrorism in Colombia started by the infamous Medellin cartel. Its head was arguably the wealthiest criminal the world has ever known: Pablo Escobar Gaviria. The explosives planted in Flight 203 by the Medellin cartel was meant to eliminate the then Colombia presidential candidate, Cesar Gaviria, who had declared war on Pablo and his drug-peddling cohorts. Cesar Gaviria narrowly missed the flight because of security reasons and eventually went on to become Colombia’s 28th president.

Despite Pablo’s famed ruthlessness as evident in the aftermath of flight 203, there are few personalities in popular culture to date, either dead or alive, who can successfully boast about attaining the dizzying levels of his posthumous celebrity status. The growing list of films, songs and documentaries that have been inspired by the life of the man who presided over one of the most profitable criminal enterprises in history makes sure the eponymous legacy he allegedly coveted stays intact.

Rather than focusing on the victims of Pablo’s crimes or showing how the rise of the violence perpetrated by rival drug cartels has adversely affected Medellin and Colombia in general, the majority of the biopics on Pablo tend to tow the overworn path of displaying the extent of Pablo’s ostensible wealth and his criminal ingenuity while spending less time on his ignominious downfall and the harrowing depths of his crimes. The result of this is a worldwide fascination with one of history’s most brutal characters, whose acts of narco-terrorism can be said to be on par with that of Osama Bin Laden – even though the two men share different ideologies and a common disdain for the intervention of Western government in their respective countries.

This is the problem with criminal biopics. Whether it is attempting to educate its viewers about the end results of a life spent in the annals of the criminal underworld or just participating in the vain, retrogressive act of celebrating individuals for their perversive ingenuity, flawed criminal biopics which fit into this category always end up creating an eponymous legacy for their subjects. From classic movies like the Godfather to recent pictures like the Wolf of Wall Street, Hollywood’s fascination with the extravagant lifestyles of the criminal elite, especially those with a rags to riches back story often elevates the characters of these movies to anti-establishment saints who were able to amass colossal amounts of wealth despite the unfair odds posed by their immediate environment.   

This problem isn’t specific to Western film industries alone. In Nigeria, the shoddily-named film industry, Nollywood, has also rolled out a number of movies that seem to glorify armed robbers who possess supreme supernatural powers that enables them to evade capture by security agents. While it might not be the direct intention of movie directors in Hollywood, Nollywood or global film industries, to glorify certain criminals, the subjectivity of any work of art renders it susceptible to multiple interpretations by its audience. In this case, there’s a need for movie directors and storytellers to display sound judgment while creating their stories, especially in environments where people often tend to pursue a life of crime due to kleptocracies that have ensured that the average citizen does not get their due benefits from the state. 

In a widely read article written by Evan Ratliff for Bloomberg, the chronicled fall of “billionaire Gucci master” Ramon Abbas AKA Hushpuppi, whose vain display of ostentatious wealth on Instagram attracted over two million followers, teeming with hopefuls that constantly hang on to his motivational anecdotes because they provide an alternative route for millions of hardworking Nigerian youths who have been failed by the ineptitude of those in government. While no peculiar circumstances in life excuse an exclusive devotion to a life of crime, it is also worth noting that the recent rise in online scams perpetrated by “yahoo boys” in Nigeria is a direct result of the huge indifference of the Nigerian political elite to the rising levels of poverty in the country. 

In this sort of environment, Rogues like Hushpuppi are seen as heroes who have defied the ills of their environment to attain some sort of dreamscape where the everyday struggle for money is a distant worry. Mixed reactions have trailed the announcement made on Instagram by Mo Abudu, the CEO of ebonylife TV, a major Nigerian entertainment company, to collaborate with American movie producer Will Packer on a movie based on the Bloomberg article. While there’s a need to “tell our own stories with authenticity and avoid making characters that are one-dimensional”, as espoused by Mo Abudu in a publication by Premium Times Nigeria, the much-touted “hushpuppi movie” should not be a biopic. In fact, the name “hushpuppi” should not be used in the movie in any case.

The reasons for these demands are self-evident. Any biopic with eponymous references to the life of hushpuppi would elevate him to the status of an urban legend like that of a Pablo or an Al Capone despite the intentions of the storyteller or movie director. There’s simply no need to make a movie about a man that has contributed in enormous proportions to the international disregard for Nigeria and Nigerians. Stories about the rise and fall of online scammers and their extravagant lifestyles in Nigeria can still be expertly told without making any reference to hushpuppi in particular. 

Nigerians don’t need another Pablo to define its international image in the way the legacies of the Medellin cartel’s drug wars have created harmful stereotypes about Colombians. Just like there has been an absence of worthy legacies to be turned into biopics in most of Nigeria’s political history, the name Ramon Abbas AKA hushpuppi needs to be allowed to recline slowly into the deep, dark cesspits of Nigeria’s history, the place where it rightly belongs.

Image Credit: Pxfuel

Auntythetical: The pressure of the dreaming spires

I always wanted to be the best at anything I tried, and because I grew up in a somewhat-small Northern city, attending an okay-school where I worked hard, this was entirely attainable.

I’ve been privileged by an upbringing that granted me access to things like a quiet space to work, and parents who highly valued my education (although, perhaps too much at times).

I enjoyed it when my friends came to me for help with schoolwork or their personal statements, because it meant my work was seen by others.

I worked with the scarce material that I had to create a viable application to university, capitalising upon my interest in language and all things ancient- as well as my father’s desire for me to attain the Oxford brand name- to make the leap from science A-Levels to something I truly craved to study.

But now that I’m here, a desi Classicist at Oxford, I’ve never felt so out of place.

Everything that I thought made me worthy of being here, that I fought to read and learn alongside my studies, feels insignificant. Like dust, blown off the table of assumed knowledge by the first breath of someone about to take over a tutorial with esoteric interpretations of the Iliad that I’ve never heard. Even though I benefit from all that my parents have struggled to provide me with, being here has exposed me to astronomical levels of privilege that I didn’t know existed. 

This sort of privilege entails speaking fluent Latin and Greek since you were 11 and having teachers- all with doctorates from Oxbridge in the subject that they teach- who train you to apply for their alma mater from the moment you complete your SATS. Very much unlike the rotating band of substitutes who, having completed unrelated degrees in Sociology or PE, taught me in A-Level Biology. What I put in my university application was my peers’ bedtime reading when they were children. Classics and many of those who study it exist within a bubble. An elitist bubble that is dominated by white men who went to public schools.

I have pitted myself against these people and have tricked myself into thinking this a strange form of meritocracy where we begin and end on unequal footing. I feel as if I can never catch up, visible in how I struggle to understand arguments and references my classmates make, or how my tutor tries to pretend like I’ve made a valuable contribution to our discussions.

There are so many cultural and intellectual nuances that I just don’t have access to: I don’t even know what I don’t know. And I’m scared by how much I feel like I don’t belong.

On several occasions, people have verbalised this to me. First, they notice how much I stick out, how my appearance and ethnic background is less than reconcilable with my degree.

Then, they feel empowered to articulate this to me, with questions ranging from ‘are your parents okay with this’ to ‘why don’t you study your own culture’.

Desi families have a reputation for pushing vocational degrees like medicine or law onto their kids, and as harmful as this stereotype can be, this was still true for me. With this, came many emotional and practical obstacles.

Despite failing to understand exactly what Classics is, much of the desi community around me cannot comprehend why I’m studying a ‘gora’s’ degree, and what I’ll be able to do with it. I had to convince both my parents and a series of concerned aunties that my choice was justified and future proof. I had to insist that I would never want to do something as unstable as archaeology (once I had explained to them what that was). One facet of this that genuinely upsets me is that I need feasible continuity plans to justify what I’m doing to everyone in my life, when knowing how little I belong in Classics makes me struggle to justify my choices to myself; making this whole enterprise feel pointless. It’s not good enough to want to study Classics- it must have reasonable career progression, which I know is not guaranteed. I’m afraid of sharing the burden of this worry with my family, as it would only reaffirm their scepticism about my decision. For all that they’ve sacrificed, expected disappointment but an uncertain future would be a poor repayment.

But I don’t think desis like me, who chose ‘unconventional degrees’, should have to carry the burden of arbitrating between their academic passion and their ethnic background.

This disharmony might never have been so pronounced if not for the inherently exclusive nature of Classics. Classics today is incredibly diminished compared to what it should be, such that it has cast out people like me when we would otherwise have contributed richly to it. To illustrate, the extensive oral tradition that culminated in Homeric epic potentially has roots in Bronze Age literary canons from India, Mesopotamia, and so on.

The very notion of Classics is Eurocentric, ossified at a time when the fruitfulness of western civilisation was used to justify the oppression of peoples perceived as inferior. Why should Classics be limited to (frankly, overstudied) things like Cicero and Greek tragedy, when it would benefit from rightfully including, say, the kingdom of D’mt or Mukarrib rule, instead of shunting them into generalised, antiquated categories like ‘oriental’. In heralding the Mediterranean alone, we consciously shut out all the contributions of other societies. And when we do that, we prevent people who should have every claim to this community from joining it.

I don’t want to feel left out of this discipline, but I also don’t want to be a part of a fundamentally exclusive institution. I want the history of my ancestors to be promoted at the forefront of academia alongside those of my white peers, and not as an addendum found in the back of the appendix. But I don’t want to pretend like I can compete in an arena that I’m not equipped to be in, because I’m a small fish in a big pond and everyone is a Retiarius. Therefore, the natural conclusion is compromise. I switched to Classics and Sanskrit, where I feel capable in a way that I never did with my single honours. I’m also letting my parents down just a little less by honouring our heritage in my studies. But most importantly, I belong.

Auntythetical: Being stuck in the middle

As week 5 and its disappointment approaches, it might be pertinent to talk more on themes of loneliness and unstable friendships. Of course, you might be a social wreck regardless of your ethnicity but being desi sometimes feels like hurdle that we struggle to jump over to catch up with our non-desi friends, who are already at the finishing line and receiving the prize of ‘settling in’. I’m constantly struck by the recognition that the source of my difficulty fitting in is irretrievably intertwined with the fact that I have immigrant parents.

Not in the clichéd sense that I’m ‘stuck between two cultures, never fully a part of either’, but rather, that my personality has been cultivated around my cultural sensibilities, such that maintaining friendships with white girls feels entirely uncharted. Even if I have been trying my whole life.

Having spent a long time searching for a reason why I was always the ‘other’, I found that, unsurprisingly, it was rooted in the stifling family dynamics I grew up with. My parents had a love marriage, which is almost embarrassing considering how much they dislike each other. This manifested in them constantly arguing, delivering sharp words and ultimatums with me and my sister as intermediaries. Long stretches of my childhood were spent trying to mediate between them, and this tension bled into my adolescence. Being a mediator as a child in a desi family is a common experience yet creates a contrast with feeling as if you are on the periphery in friendship groups. Desis fluctuate between being the centre of negative attention in the home, to being entirely forgotten, and this becomes a difficult task to navigate. 

It is never an easy thing to acknowledge, that no matter how nice and understanding one might try to be, and no matter how much one might be made to adopt the role of caregiver, the more socially acceptable ‘funny’ or ‘cool’ friend will always be preferred. My culture has forced me to gain a self-marginalising ‘maturity’ that somehow only makes me attractive when I’m needed as a safety-net friend. People know I will be there, even if they’re settling for less by relying on me.

Another aspect to consider is my need to please people. I suppose that growing up on guard instilled a subtle fear in me, as I searched for the best way to walk on eggshells around my parents. Consequently, I know that I over-analyse every situation, often meaning that I try to pre-empt how people feel and how to make their feelings about me positive. This has made me overcompensate with loyalty; a sad desperation hiding behind projected images of dedication. This desperation has led to me forcing myself to adjust to uncomfortable situations, thus crossing the boundaries of normal friendship.

However, because brown girls lend so much of their emotional energy to appeasing others, it feels like our personal interest in how our friends see us is at much greater risk. Needing to prove my worth constantly, I aim to make everyone feel heard and content with my presence in their life. But so many brown girls I know have been plunged into situations far beyond what they can handle, hoping that the power of friendship will carry them and their friends through circumstances that are damaging to themselves. This is all done under the assumption that this is what friends should do, which is sadly unreciprocated. 

Whenever I see friends cussing each other one day and assuming all is forgiven the next, I’m horrified. I can see why living with my volatile parents has caused me to expect permanent vendettas from the smallest of clashes, but I will never understand how people are comfortable remaining in friendships in which they are perceived as less-than-perfect. I have constantly witnessed how they incessantly apologise when they think they might have offended someone or stepped out of their role as the approachable one.

The mockery of desis in real life culture and media can explain why we struggle with friendship. Hurtful stereotypes about brown people inform our interactions with one another. Namely, the television/film trope of the nerdy, weird desi character with a worn-out, kind of questionable backstory and ambiguously Indian name (the typecasting as terrorists is another conversation). This can be seen in The Big Bang Theory, and even cartoons like The Simpsons or Phineas and Ferb. In this way, writers and directors are upholding the harmful notion that brown people are the other, regardless of how integrated they might be. They have strange voices, even if the character was seemingly raised in America; dubious quirks, like an inability to talk to women or general creepiness; and a tendency to want to break free from the shackles of their brownness, only to be foiled by caricatured, traditional parents.

In all these cases, the desi character is the scapegoat of the group, whom everyone expects to be a pushover and treats accordingly. This hurts, because it’s exactly how people used to- and potentially still do- see me. When you must accede to being the butt of everyone’s jokes and are lovingly bullied until it doesn’t feel so loving, there seems to be only one possible explanation: you’re just different. But by different, I mean lesser.

The feeling of isolation constantly harassed me, and it’s easier to simply deal with mockery of what I now realise to be desi values and cultural traits, than to risk being alone. My non-desi friends would never racially abuse me, but I always knew I didn’t connect with them in the same way.  There would be moments of unnecessary hostility towards me because of some infraction I had committed (like answering a question in class or wearing bright clothes) with such fecundity that my entire role in the friendship group would be consistently called into question.

The ostracism I felt had forced me to choose between my identity and the chance to have friends. It took a long time for me to reach a point where I made sure my friends were allies first, and these boundaries didn’t get in the way.

All of this makes it feel a lot safer to stay solely within groups of brown girls. I used to be so glad knowing that I have some stable, certain friendships with other girls like me, even capitalising upon the marginal social stratification within these groups. There, I would take on the role of mediator yet again, but this time, liaising between the ‘normal’ girls and these less socially apt creatures: a glorious power-trip.

That is, until I realised that this was incredibly demeaning, and I was acting in exactly the way that I hated when delivered by others, and it wasn’t okay simply because I was brown too.

By feeling like I was ‘settling’ for people just like me, I was also buying into the idea that desis were less than. Keeping awkward brown girls as my own safety net was still a way of using them to feel better about myself and my discomfort with my other friendships.

My closest friends now are desis, and that’s a choice, not my own desperation.

My brown friends are some of the best I’ve ever had, and it’s taken me a long time to find them. I do not have to restrain my personality to fit what others demand of me anymore. Friendships are more self-serving and intuitive: we both give, and we both take. Having similar backgrounds and shared experiences is no longer a mark of shame that we’re all eager to shed, but something I’m grateful for, as it brings us closer. We’re good enough- more than- for each other and can finally settle knowing we won’t be left behind.

Professor Louise Richardson to leave position of Vice-Chancellor

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Professor Louise Richardson is set to leave Oxford after a seven year term as the Vice-Chancellor. She will leave the role in December of 2022 and assume a new role as President of the Carnegie Corporation of New York in January of 2023. 

The Carnegie Corporation of New York is a philanthropic fund founded in 1911 by Andrew Carnegie in order to support education programs throughout the United States and the world. The Carnegie Corporation announced their new President today on their website, describing themselves as a “grant making foundation that inspires action in democracy, international peace, and education.”

A spokesperson for the University of Oxford explained that “the process of choosing a successor to Professor Richardson is already well-advanced. A committee charged with nominating the next Vice-Chancellor, led by the Chancellor, began work in July this year. It is expected to submit a name to the University’s Congregation for approval in summer 2022.”

Professor Richardson commented: “My time at Oxford has been the most exhilarating, challenging and rewarding period in my career, and there remains so much more to be done together in the year ahead. At Carnegie I will be leading a Foundation dedicated to my twin passions of education and peace, but Oxford – and my remarkable colleagues here – will never be far from my thoughts.”

Lord Patten of Barnes, Chancellor of the University of Oxford, said “Louise has confirmed to me that after seven years as Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, she will take up the post of President of the Carnegie Corporation of New York in January 2023. I know Louise will serve Oxford in her last year in office with the same passion, strong leadership and unending energy which has delivered so much for the University. When Louise finally leaves, she will depart with our very best wishes and deepest thanks.”

Image: Alan Richardson/CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Philippines presidential candidate did not complete Oxford degree as he claims

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The University of Oxford has confirmed that Ferdinand ‘Bongbong’ Marcos Jr., candidate in the upcoming presidential election in the Philippines, did not complete his degree at the University. 

Mr. Marcos Jr. has claimed repeatedly in the past that he obtained a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy, Politics and Economics (PPE) from St. Edmund Hall, and has used his degree and academic background to argue that he is uniquely qualified to be the President of the Philippines. 

However, Oxford University has confirmed that this claim is partly false. Although Mr. Marcos Jr. did matriculate at St. Edmund Hall in 1975, Oxford has said “according to our records, he did not complete his degree, but was awarded a special diploma in Social Studies in 1978.”

This sort of Special Diploma is not considered as prestigious as a full degree, and was often awarded to students who failed to complete their degree.

The university confirmed in 2015 that Marcos Jr. never completed his degree, and an article on his own campaign website prints the statement of the Oxford Philippines Society: “Marcos failed his degree’s preliminary examinations at the first attempt. Passing the preliminary examinations is a prerequisite for continuing one’s studies and completing a degree at Oxford University.”

The issue first arose in 2015 when it was noticed that his profile on the Philippines Senate website displayed the claim that he obtained a PPE degree. 

This is not the only degree course he never finished. He enrolled at the Wharton School of Business, part of the University of Pennsylvania, for a Master’s Degree in Business Administration, but dropped out in 1980 prior to his election as Vice Governor of the Ilocos Norte province. He also claimed on his Senate profile to have completed his MBA at Wharton.

‘Bongbong’ Marcos Jr. is the son of Ferdinand Marcos Sr., a former President of the Philippines from 1965-1986, who ruled under martial law from 1972-1981. His dictatorship was notorious for brutality and corruption, and a revolution in 1986 forced him and his family into exile in Hawaii.

Marcos Jr. began his political rise at the age of 23 while his father was still in charge, but since the return from exile he has continued this career, being elected as a Representative, Governor and most recently as a Senator. 

In 1995 he was convicted for tax evasion, and in 1997 received a prison sentence of three years. He was further involved in controversy during his failed 2016 Vice-Presidential campaign, after which he publicly challenged the results, despite a 2018 recount showing his opponent’s lead actually increasing.

His election campaign this year to succeed Rodrigo Duterte, whose presidency saw a strict and bloody campaign against illegal drugs and potential human rights abuses, is backed by the ‘Partido Federal ng Pilipinas’, which supports Duterte. Other candidates include social democrat Ronald dela Rosa, current Vice President Leni Robredo and former boxer Manny Pacquiao. Sara Duterte, the daughter of the President and current mayor of Davao City, is running for Vice President. Her campaign is allied with Marco’s presidential campaign.

This article was corrected on November 18th at 14:45 to update the current state of the Presidential Race.

Update at November 19th, 1:16AM: spelling corrections.

Image Credit: Alvin678/CC BY-SA 2.0 via flickr

AstraZeneca will start making profits from Oxford vaccine

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The Anglo-Swedish drug giant declared in their latest financial results that “the company is now expecting to progressively transition the vaccine to modest profitability as new orders are received”.  However, the vaccine will remain non-profitable in developing countries. 

AstraZeneca had previously promised that they would administer the jab on a not-for-profit basis “at cost”, and would only start to make money from the vaccine when Covid-19 was no longer considered to be a pandemic. 

After consulting with experts, Chief Executive of AstraZeneca, Pascal Soriot, has said that the disease was becoming endemic; he added that contracts that have been signed are for next year and that “this virus is becoming endemic which means we have to learn to live with it”. Mr Soriot told the Financial Times in May that he did not know when the pandemic could be considered to be over and that this decision would be made on a country by country basis. 

Mr Soriot previously stated: “We decided to provide it at no profit, because our top priority was to protect global health”. We are all very proud as a company of the impact that we’ve had. We are the second largest vaccine in the world in terms of volume, we saved millions of hospitalisations, and we estimate about a million lives”.

The Chief Executive said to the BBC that he had “absolutely no regrets” about not making a profit during the pandemic when other drug competitors were. Pfizer and Moderna have both received profits from their vaccines. 

Soriot added that the vaccine is “not something we see as a huge profit-earner”. The average expected profit margin in the drugs industry is around 20%. However, Mr Soriot said that AstraZeneca, which charges $5 per shot of the vaccine at cost price, would not see that percentage of profit. Pfizer has said its profit margins are in the high 20 percentage points which are split with partner BioNTech. Pfizer generated $13 billion in sales from its vaccine in the third quarter compared with AstraZeneca’s $1.05 billion. 

The drugmaker anticipates profiting on the vaccine this quarter as they have agreed new sales commitments in addition to those made during the pandemic. Mr Soriot said that he expects a “solid finish” to the year and that “Our broad portfolio of medicines and diversified geographic exposure provides a robust platform for long-term sustainable growth’. 

Money obtained from the profits will be reinvested into the development of the antibody treatment for the virus. Last month the company revealed positive results from their trial of the Covid-19 symptom treatment which they are producing alongside the vaccine. The treatment, composed of two antibodies, is undergoing final clinical trials to test its safety and efficiency. 

By the end of 2021, AstraZeneca estimates to have supplied 250 million doses of the vaccine to the Covax programme for developing countries. Whilst the vaccine has received criticism for issues including rare blood clots and mistakes in clinical trials which have knocked AstraZeneca’s global reputation, it remains key in the Covax sharing initiative.

As of September 2021, AstraZeneca and its partners have supplied 1.5 billion doses worldwide in over 170 countries. 

Image: Gencat / CC0 1.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Catholic society honoured controversial Cardinal with five course banquet

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The Oxford University Catholic Society, the Newman society, has come under fire for inviting the controversial Cardinal George Pell to give this year’s St Thomas More Lecture. The lecture was followed by a drinks reception and five course black-tie dinner held in Cardinal Pell’s honour.

Pell was sentenced to six years in prison in 2019 over five counts of sexual abuse, before his convictions were quashed in 2020. The lecture discussed: “the Church’s suffering in our post-Christian society”.

The St Thomas More lecture is an annual event, which was inaugurated by Cardinal Pell himself when he was Archbishop of Sydney in 2009. The cardinal is an alumnus of the University, having graduated with a DPhil in 1971, and is a Patron of the Society. 

The cardinal served as Archbishop of Melbourne and Sydney, becoming a Cardinal in 2001. He was later appointed to be the first prefect of the newly created Secretariat for the Economy for the Holy See. In this capacity, he was considered one of the more powerful figures in the Vatican. More broadly, he was known for his adherence to Church orthodoxy and his public debates with atheists and non-adherents. 

In 2017, Pell was charged five sexual assault offences against children. One of these charges was dropped in 2018. The alleged sexual assaults took place when Pell was a priest and later an Bishop in Melbourne. 

A jury found Pell guilty of five counts of sexual abuse in 2018, and he was sentenced to serve six years in prison. His first appeal with the Victoria Supreme Court was unsuccessful, before the Australian High Court unanimously voted to quash his conviction. The High Court said at the time that “Making full allowance for the advantages enjoyed by the jury, there is a significant possibility … that an innocent person has been convicted.”

Despite the acquittal, Pell continues to be a controversial figure in the modern Catholic church. The organiser of a protest against the Cardinal’s presence, who is also a practicing Catholic, says: “It is egregious that Cardinal Pell should be speaking about the suffering of the CHURCH when in 2017 Australia’s royal commission into child sexual abuse found that in 1973, “Cardinal Pell was not only conscious of child sexual abuse by clergy, but he also considered measures of avoiding situations which might provoke gossip about it.” This was only released last year because at the time the Cardinal was appealing his own conviction for child sexual abuse.”

The organiser told The Tablet that hosting Pell was “shockingly insensitive” and added: “Cardinal Pell was not only conscious of child sexual abuse by clergy, but he also considered measures of avoiding situations which might provoke gossip about it.”

In response, the President of the Newman society, Vincent Elvin, told Cherwell that: “The Newman Society and our members deplore the scourge of sexual abuse which has afflicted

Holy Church in recent decades” but that “As for those allegations which have not been subject to trial in the judicial system, the Society is unable to make its own judgement on these, but is instead guided by Holy Church. In particular, the reception of Cardinal Pell by the Holy Father in October 2020 is a sign for us of the good standing of the Cardinal within the Church.

“It is on the basis that Cardinal Pell has been exonerated, and received in good standing by members of the Hierarchy, that the Society is confident in its position to mirror those shepherds of the Church by welcoming the Cardinal and inviting him to give the St Thomas More Lecture.

“In the post-Christian society seen in this country and throughout the West, we find that many of the individuals who make up that sacred Body are indeed suffering for their faith. Cardinal Pell’s experiences are a particularly stark example, but ordinary Christians suffer in less obvious and less visible ways.”

Cardinal Pell has been approached for comment through the Vatican.

Image: Kerry Myers/CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons