Sunday 27th July 2025
Blog Page 365

The Love Language of Chopsticks

Megan Chin
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The Love Language of Chopsticks

I am not adept at fine dining. Even after a couple of terms of formal meals in college (albeit curtailed by the pandemic), I still haven’t quite grasped how to neatly balance a pile of peas on the back of my fork, which is apparently the European style. There seems to be such a vast grammar of cutlery knowledge, from spoons to wine glasses to napkin arrangement. 

Frankly, I think I’m much more accustomed to the simple language of chopsticks. Simple, however, is by no means straightforward. To me, the humble art of chopsticks conveys more than any elaborate silverware ever could.

My grandfather’s love language is to teach. One of my earliest memories is of him teaching me to use chopsticks, the proper way. “Only your first two fingers should be moving”, he tells me “and your two chopsticks must never cross”. He can use the chopsticks ambidextrously. He shows me chopstick tricks and we play chopstick wrestling (trying to pry a pea from the other person’s chopstick grip). In the grasp of his skilful hands, there is no need for any other cutlery. There is no need for knives at the table when even slippery noodles can be sliced clean with a pair of chopsticks.

My grandmother’s love language is food. In her hands, the wooden chopsticks are no longer just cutlery, but a vehicle of her concern: “Come, eat more. I cooked this especially for you”. She teaches me not to waste food, to 省, to save. Though she knows little of the origin of chopsticks, they were invented for this very reason — to scrape the leftovers from the bottom of the cooking pot. Leftovers do not exist, however, in this household. For in spite of all the nagging that she gives my grandfather, when he comes home from a long day’s work, what really matters is how my grandmother gently places the best ingredients onto his plate with her chopsticks, and takes the remainders for herself. There is no need for grand gestures, when the simplest emotion of all can be expressed with a pair of chopsticks.

There are all sorts of ways you can use a pair of chopsticks. The custom of using chopsticks differs across cultures, across countries, even across households. But wherever you are, using chopsticks takes practice, patience and perseverance. After more than fifty years of marriage, my grandparents are still figuring it out, with every meal and every mouthful. Deciphering the code of chopsticks takes work, and perhaps nobody is ever really an expert — but isn’t that the beauty of it? That though our chopsticks may cross from time to time and we might drop the food on the table, we can always pick it up and try again.

Artwork by Rachel Jung

What in the World isn’t ‘Global’? A Look at the Causes and Silencing of Ethiopia’s Tigray Crisis

Josh Self
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What in the World isn’t ‘Global’? A Look at the Causes and Silencing of Ethiopia’s Tigray Crisis

CW: violence, sexual violence, descriptions of mass killing.

In a ‘global’ world, national conflicts reflect international trends—or so the argument goes. Our ‘global’ orthodoxy assures us that we live in a world where everything and everyone is interconnected, where patterns of causation extend over the furthest reaches of the Earth. And perhaps the COVID-19 pandemic—literally a disease of ‘all people’—vindicates this worldview. But to this flawed weltanschauung, I present Ethiopia’s Tigray Crisis. 

With ‘global’ discourse dominated by Trump, Brexit and COVID, the Tigray Conflict has been pushed to the periphery and isolated. In the hierarchy of what is important in the world right now, the Tigray Crisis ranks very low indeed. For us, this Western-imposed isolation of the Tigray Crisis exposes the asymmetric power structures and false promises of the ‘international’ age. This incomplete coverage exposes where the power is in our world and where the ‘global’ is not.

If the Tigray Crisis remains almost unknown in the ‘Western’ public consciousness, it is first worth trying to correct this injustice. In April 2018, Abiy Ahmed became Prime Minister of Ethiopia and he quickly took steps to liberalise his country. He ended a decades-long standoff with Eritrea, freed political prisoners, welcomed rebels back from exile, and appointed reformers to key positions. In doing this, he even won ‘global’ accolades, including the 2019 Nobel Peace Prize. However, the pace and scale of these reforms unsettled key players in Abiy Ahmed’s ruling ‘Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front’ (EPRDF) coalition. The hitherto dominant ‘Tigray People’s Liberation Front’ (TPLF) fiercely criticised these measures, with its most fervent objections centring around the apparent end of ‘ethnic federalism’—a fixture of Ethiopian politics since 1995. In short, Ethiopia’s ethno-federal arrangements allow for the devolution of political power to Ethiopia’s ethnically fragmented population. The system aims to establish equality between ethnic groups, but its success is fiercely debated.

For those opposed to the constitutional provision, ethnic federalism undermines national unity and promotes ethnic antagonisms. Ethiopian academic, Menychle Meseret, argues that ethnic federalism ‘has made ethnic groups believe that they have their own areas, and if you come from a different ethnic group … You are chased out, burnt, killed’. However, according to ethnic federalism’s proponents in the TPLF, the provision ensures against the forced-assimilation methods practised under former emperors from Menelik II (1889-1913) to Haile Selaisse (1930-1974). In this view, ethnic federalism acts as a bulwark against coercive centralism. 

As Ahmed Soliman, a fellow at the think-tank Chatham House, alerted to in 2019, ‘Abiy’s aggressive reform agenda has won praise, but shaking up Ethiopia’s government risks exacerbating several long-simmering ethnic rivalries’. Abiy can hardly have been surprised that centralising reforms which redistributed power from the TPLF brought with it significant backlash. And it is in this backlash that we find the origins of Ethiopia’s present crisis.

On 21st November 2019, Abiy Ahmed formed the ‘Prosperity Party’ by merging three of the four parties that made up the EPRDF with five other affiliate parties. Before this move, the EPRDF only governed four of Ethiopia’s ten regions; by creating a new party, Abiy extended control over the whole country except Tigray. Ethiopia’s PM is driving the country’s transition from the centre and the TPLF argue that their concerns are unheard. Undoubtedly, Abiy’s agenda has exposed the taut ethnic fault-lines that have long-bedevilled Ethiopian society.

With the Prosperity Party formed, Ethiopia was due to hold general elections on 29th August 2020. However, Abiy rescheduled the elections for an undetermined date in 2021 citing the threat of COVID-19. At this juncture, the long-running tensions between Abiy and the TPLF hit a new low. The TPLF accused Abiy of using COVID to illegally extend his time in power and they pressed ahead with their local elections in September. These elections were declared illegal by the federal government, which responded by cutting all funding to the Tigray region. For the TPLF, this response amounted to a ‘declaration of war’. Finally, the situation turned to violence on November 4th with a TPLF attack on a Government defence base. The TPLF cited pre-emptive self-defence—but, whatever the case, there was no doubt Ethiopia’s conflict had begun.

In November 2020, following a month-long ‘law enforcement’ campaign that included airstrikes and ground troops, Abiy declared victory over the TPLF. This ‘victory’ came following the shelling of Mekelle, Tigray, a city with a population numbering 500,000. Abiy insists there were no civilian casualties, but witness reports attest differently. Further, Abiy’s pronouncement of victory was manifestly premature. ‘Almost all the Tigrayan forces are outside the big towns and cities’, related one TPLF intelligence officer. Al Jazeera observed ‘that the large numbers of fighters and substantial military hardware that the TPLF is widely believed to control had … already been tactically retreated into the nearby mountains’. And on November 12th, the now-fugitive TPLF Chairman Debretsion Gebremichael denied that the conflict had ended: ‘we are still holding. These people cannot defeat us. We cannot be beaten’.

With Tigray cut off from the world and journalists blocked from entering, much remains unclear about the conflict. But what we do know is incredibly worrying. According to a report released on November 17th by the UN Refugee Agency, the fighting has erupted into a ‘full-scale humanitarian crisis’. A TPLF-led, 24-hour-long massacre in Mai Kadra, Tigray on November 9th saw reasonable coverage in Western media. A preliminary investigation revealed that as many as 600 innocent victims—all labourers not subject to the conflict—died at the hands of TPLF forces. According to one witness, ‘those wounded told me they were attacked with machetes, axes and knives. You can also tell from the wounds that those who died were attacked by sharp objects’. ‘Police and TPLF youth militias went all over town searching for non-Tigrayans to kill’, attested another onlooker, ‘at around 3pm, police and the youths with machetes came to the home we were hiding in’. 

This is one of many shadowy crimes against humanity reportedly committed in Ethiopia over the past six months. In February 2021, The Associated Press exposed the killing of an estimated 800 people in the city of Axum, Tigray; government-backed Eritrean forces are blamed. Further mass killings will likely come to light as further investigations are conducted. There are also disturbing accounts of sexual violence and abuse, fears of mass starvation and reports of ‘fires burning and other fresh signs of destruction’ all occurring at Tigrayan refugee camps hosting nearly 100,000 people.

*

In September 2020, the Trump administration suspended $130 million worth of aid to Ethiopia because of ‘a lack of progress’ on negotiations pertaining to the construction of a dam on the Blue River Nile. According to state department officials, this decision came directly from the President. This was an unusual intervention in African affairs for a President who never visited the continent and rarely commented on it publicly. Trump’s reference to African countries as ‘shithole[s]’ epitomises the former-‘leader of the free world’s’ total bankruptcy of sense regarding the diverse African continent. 

Donald Trump’s ignorance, although singularly damning, is not unique. Centuries of suppression and neglect have created an unconscious mental block that disallows the global north from viewing Africa on its own terms. I fear that if the Tigray Crisis ever earns its due coverage in ‘western’ media, it will be used to buttress age-old representations of Africa as a ‘dark continent’ defined by anarchy, poverty and peril. In the eyes of the wilfully uninformed, the Tigray Crisis might prove Trump’s ‘shithole’ remark. Ultimately, this familiar but false imagery the global north uses to ‘imagine’ Africa needs immediate and complete revision. For in such a continent of ‘darkness’, crises like that in Ethiopia appear ‘normal’—and they are not.

The silencing of the Tigray Crisis is but another chapter within a narrative of Western global domination. And, unfortunately, we are not even close to the fundamental reconsideration of global affairs needed to correct this injustice. While Brexit and Trumpism saw pundits decry ‘the end of the global world’, it is important to recall that which was never ‘global’ at all. It is still customary—if not encouraged—to consider ‘global’ relations as the varying interactions between China, Russia and the US. And with this narrow geopolitical gaze, it is scarcely believable that nations outside of the ‘big three’ and their influence do anything at all. A quick check of BBC News’ ‘World’ page will underline how unimportant ‘other’ nations are. 

As is dictated by centuries of Western thinking, the Tigray Crisis is culturally destined to remain quiet.

Image via Paul Kagame on flickr.

An Ode to the Zoom Dinner Date

Ellie-Jai Williams
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An Ode to the Zoom Dinner Date

I’m a big believer that what you eat and how you feel are intrinsically linked. But often there’s another element to sharing a meal that makes you feel good – company. There’s something about sharing good food together that is not only relaxing and nourishing but intimate, helping to foster a sense of closeness and a bond created through a shared experience. But, as with pretty much everything right now, what happens when couples are separated, restaurants are closed, and morale and motivation are at an all-time-low?

Something my girlfriend and I have found helps both allow us to spend quality time together and give us both the boost we need after a long (and in these times, emotionally draining) week is eating dinner together via zoom. It seems simple, but putting the effort in really helps to bring both a sense of normality and a bit of excitement to your week. We make sure to wear something nice, put on some makeup and treat ourselves to a glass of wine – as we would for those long forgotten dates in restaurants! I even play some jazz and light candles for myself for the added sensory experience.

This week was especially tiring for me and come Friday I was feeling pretty overwhelmed and burnt out. Whilst I was taking the time to mindfully get ready for my date by having a relaxing bath, I realised I hadn’t taken any time to just breathe for almost a whole week. Sometimes I find my productivity surges when working from home due to lack of distractions, commuting, noise, socialising – the general chaos of day-to-day life has faded into the background. But a surge in productivity, like any sense of unbalance in life, does not come without a cost. For me, that cost is that the lines between work and leisure become blurred; with not much else to do in the evening, I find myself doing another bit of an essay instead of unwinding in conversation. With no walk to the library to make, I decide there’s no point getting dressed. With no one to share breakfast ideas with, I find myself having little more than a biscuit and a cup of tea. Come Friday I wake up exhausted and unmotivated, not understanding why – until I realise I’ve spent nearly a week in pyjamas, alone most of the time, and have done little else but work. The work-from-home working week is precarious and can all-too-quickly become depressing, unless we make the active effort to do nice things for ourselves and others, no matter how small.

The night before date night, my (lovely and very thoughtful) girlfriend sent me some pasta via post from one of our favourite companies, Pasta Evangelists. As much as I love cooking an extravagant meal from scratch, the times we’re living in undoubtedly take their toll and so, we decide to treat ourselves to a bit of an indulgence that wasn’t another Chinese takeaway. We ate our pasta over Zoom together and enjoyed every second. After the call ended a few hours later, I still felt a wave of post-call loneliness coming to the realisation she wasn’t actually there physically – but I felt so much lighter, happier, and connected. I fell asleep relaxed and with a smile on my face for the first time that week.

Making the effort to get dressed up and treat yourself to some good food isn’t something we always feel like doing when we’re exhausted, but it’s something I believe we should make the effort to do more often. After living for a year with some form of lockdown restrictions, it’s easy to settle into the rhythm of doing the same thing, eating the same thing, and enjoying the worn-in comfort of wearing the same pyjamas – but in order to stay motivated and inspired, we need variety. 

So I encourage all of you to schedule a dinner date this week, and do it properly – it doesn’t need to be expensive, but making the effort to fully show up will undoubtedly give you a boost and help you say f**k you to the notorious lockdown lethargy. Even better, it will not only make you feel happy, but allows you to share that happiness with someone you love. So make the effort to share the same meal together with your girlfriend, boyfriend, best friend, mum, dad, auntie, whoever it is that makes you feel good – buy the same ingredients from the shop and send them one of your favourite recipes. Cooking and eating together is a type of love language, and there’s no reason why that can’t continue to flourish even when you can’t be physically together. 

 

Check out @spaghettiandspice on Instagram for more food related stories, recipes and inspiration.

 

Image credit: Davide Cantelli via Unsplash

 

The Pret Phenomenon

Karishma Khosla
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The Pret Phenomenon

In case you’re one of the few students who hasn’t claimed their free trial, or never witnessed the never-ending queue which sprawled halfway down Cornmarket Street, let me remind you that Pret A Manger launched the UK’s first in-shop coffee subscription last September. For £20 per month, customers can claim five Pret drinks each day, including milk alternatives, additional syrups and espresso shots at no added cost. Now you may be asking: what’s the catch? Well, besides having to claim each drink at least half an hour apart, there isn’t one, yet!

Given that the average Pret drink is around £2.50, the subscription is good value. From your ninth drink, you’re saving. The real question is whether you would have bought those nine drinks prior to the subscription service. Not all of us are coffee addicts, and so, whilst it’s good value, whether we are actually saving is open to debate.

Getting your money’s worth becomes considerably more challenging when there’s no longer a Pret store around the corner, as many of us realised when we returned home at the end of Michaelmas. There are just under 400 Pret stores in the UK, but not everyone has one near them. The subscription service is quite flexible and makes it easy to cancel, providing a solution for students returning home for the vac (or longer as it transpired!) The Pret subscription caused further issues when a customer was isolating and unable to use their coffee subscription. Pret explicitly states that “the QR codes can only be used in Participating Shops and cannot be redeemed online” whilst their pausing facility only stops the subscription from the end of that month, which may be a futile solution if your isolation ends before this – something some of us might have learnt the hard way last term! 

For students who are endlessly in essay crises, balancing too many things or frankly just feeding their caffeine addiction, the subscription service was inevitably going to be a hit, particularly after months of takeaway coffee being a rare treat! It’s understandable that during a global pandemic and with various lockdown restrictions, we begin to appreciate the little things, including a hot drink and a walk in Uni Parks or Christ Church Meadows. It also offers a reason to leave college. Plus, as anyone who has a Pret subscription will probably know, it is almost impossible not to find a familiar face in the queue. (I certainly found my college wife in the Pret queue mid essay crisis more than once!)  

The subscription offers customers large savings, making us wonder whether it is profitable for Pret. Their speciality was food rather than coffee, so the subscription allows them to grow through targeting a new market and building on customer loyalty- an integral part of staying afloat for any business during the pandemic. Pret may have recognised the costly impact of these subscriptions. Students have noted that Pret is slowly restricting the number of drinks eligible to be claimed, as one affronted Oxfessor commented: “thanks for ruining my day by removing smoothies and frappes from your subscription. how am I meant to get through these times without a berry blast?”

Pret focuses on sustainability as well as location to differentiate themselves. Organic coffee, recyclable packaging and a commitment to donating all leftover food each day, combined with their dominant presence in London, distinguishes them. When the pandemic hit and the city went quiet, Pret’s customer footfall plummeted and prolonged remote working left them struggling to regain sales. 

For Pret, the free trial encourages people to visit, sometimes with friends. More importantly, there’s the possibility that they will buy additional items once they are in store. This explains why Pret subscriptions cannot be redeemed online. How many times has your barista asked if you’re “sure you don’t want a brownie bar to compliment your coffee?” A customer with a Pret subscription is unlikely to head to Costa or Starbucks. This is the level of competition the pandemic caused in the coffee industry and might well result in a price war! However, it seems only those with coffee as a secondary product of their business are engaging with these subscription services, with Leon recently following suit. The free trial lures people in, and given the addictive nature of caffeine, they may well become long-term loyal subscribers. Once you’re hooked, that’s it. It feels bizarre to pay for a coffee after cancelling your subscription. Maybe that’s the hidden catch after all- not only to coffee but to the subscription itself!  

Customers will not want to lose the subscription service any time soon and at least while Pret have lost the revenue ordinarily generated by commuters, it is relatively safe to assume the subscription is here to stay. However, should the vaccine be successful, there will likely be a price hike as economic stability is slowly restored. So, be sure to make the most of the subscription when we do return to Oxford – you’ll definitely find me somewhere in the queue! 

Image Credit: Marco Verch via Flickr

A Green Wave of Change: Why Argentina’s landmark abortion law will leave a lasting legacy in South America

Scarlett Colquitt
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A Green Wave of Change: Why Argentina’s landmark abortion law will leave a lasting legacy in South America

CW: gender-based/sexual violence, rape.

Waving their trademark green scarves in solidarity, pro-choice campaigners erupted into ecstasy and jubilation outside the Argentinian congressional palace as the senate approved a historic bill to legalise abortion by thirty-eight votes in favour to twenty-nine against (with one abstention) on 30th December 2020. The crowd-members were part of the ‘marea verde’ or ‘​green wave’, a movement that fights for gender equality and advocates for abortion, so that Argentinians can have control over their reproductive rights without fear of reprisals. Campaigners who have fought side-by-side for years to decriminalise abortion held each other tightly as the screen lit up with the word that would change so much for millions of Argentinians: APROBADO, (approved). 

It is nigh-on impossible to understate the significance of this landmark decision. Argentina is a country where the Catholic Church has historically held sway, and it forms part of a continent where swathes of women and young girls are ostracised, shunned and even imprisoned for wanting to end their pregnancy. Once the Argentinian president, Alberto Fernández, signs the bill into law, Argentinians will be able to terminate their pregnancy for up to fourteen weeks, with exceptions after this point in cases of rape, foetal abnormalities or the endangerment of health. The wording of the law is also a cause for great celebration, as it is trans-inclusive, stating that anybody with a womb and the ability to get pregnant will be able to freely access abortions at public hospitals. However, the fight for equality does not end here; the ‘marea verde’ movement is now advocating for improved sexual education and access to contraception to go hand in hand with the new law.

In the context of its geographical location, Argentina is a highly progressive country with comprehensive LGBTQ+ and women’s rights. It was the first country in Latin America to legalise gay marriage and has been lauded by the World Health Organisation for its support of transgender rights. Since Argentina transitioned to democracy in 1983, equality has been supported by both public opinion and legislation. Even staunchly conservative and Catholic politicians have put aside their personal views on matters of equality—a practise now a cornerstone of Argentinian democracy. President Fernández is himself deeply Catholic, but has nonetheless recognised the need for more liberal abortion laws; he stated after the bill’s passage that he has to legislate for everyone regardless of his religious persuasions. However, this is not to say that the fight for abortion rights has been plain-sailing. This new bill owes a large debt to the pro-choice campaigners who have worked tirelessly for more than seventeen years and through thirteen draft bills to advocate for this change.

The spirit of the pro-abortion campaign is encapsulated by the #NiUnaMenos (‘not one woman less’) grassroots feminist movement which has spearheaded the fight against femicide and gender-based violence and argued for a reduction in the gender pay gap and for the enshrinement of transgender rights in law. Spurred on by rage following the murder of Chiara Paez, a pregnant fourteen-year-old who was found beaten to death and buried under her boyfriend’s house, the movement organised demonstrations which also found their footing in several other cities in Latin America. 

In 2016, the movement organised a mass strike following the murder of sixteen-year-old Lucía Perez who was raped and imapled. During the so-called Miércoles negro (​Black Wednesday), millions of women in Buenos Aires and beyond dressed up in black to mourn the death of Lucía and of thousands of other victims of gender-based violence. The indefatigable efforts of the #NiUnaMenos movement were pivotal in the legalisation of abortion in Argentina, providing the framework for the demands of equality and the impetus for the fight for abortion rights. The legacy of the movement can be seen in the crowds of women in Buenos Aires, Madrid and Oaxaca who protest every 8th March on International Women’s Day against gender inequality. It can be seen in the faces of the women who don green attire as part of the ‘marea verde’ movement and campaign in the streets. It can be seen in the faces of every campaigner, each of whom has their own personal connection to the women. And, above all, it can be heard in the shouts of every campaigner who is no longer willing to be silent and submissive on the matter. Every single one of these campaigners will benefit from the autonomy abortion legalisation grants them; each tear-stricken face in Argentina on 30th December 2020 is testament to the bill’s transformative power. 

The legalisation of abortion cannot just be credited to more recent movements, however. The pro-abortion campaigners stand on the shoulders of another landmark social movement, ​Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. T​his 1970s movement was composed of the mothers and grandmothers of children who ‘disappeared’ during the military dictatorship in Argentina, which was led by Jorge Rafael Videla. The women would meet every Thursday in the main square in front of the ​Casa Rosada ​presidential palace, with the goal to raise awareness for their cause, find their children and, later, advocate for harsh sentencing for the culprits of crimes against humanity. They wore their children’s nappies as headscarves, embroidered with their children’s names.. The current pro-abortion activists wear green headscarves in homage to these women and in a nod to the poignant parallels between the two movements.

Despite the cause for celebration for many people in Argentina and beyond, inevitably there are anti-abortion groups that are disappointed and angry with the bill. Standing next to the crowds of jubilant campaigners following the legalisation of abortion were a more sombre crowd of anti-abortion campaigners who welcomed the news with a heavy heart. Under the slogan ‘​Salvemos las dos vidas’ (​Let’s save both lives), these campaigners argue that abortion is a crime. They view abortion as tantamount to a death sentence for someone who has not yet been born. What these groups fail to realise is that by continuing to criminalise abortion, abortion does not stop. On the contrary, women and young girls are forced into unsafe backstreet abortions where their lives are at risk. The situation is even direr for poorer women and girls who cannot afford clinics or doctors who promise to keep their abortions confidential. These women and girls often have to induce their own abortions through haphazard means and are left at the whim of doctors and nurses who may choose to have them prosecuted for their choice or leave them to die rather than treating them.

It is estimated that over 3,000 Argentinians die every year from illegal abortions and given that by reporting these abortions there is a risk of prosecution and imprisonment, the true scale of the problem is likely even greater. In obstinately pushing to ‘save both lives’, anti-abortion campaigners are really arguing for a situation where often no lives are saved. When women have neither access to contraception or abortion services, they are left in a limbo where their rights are incidental to those of an unborn child. These women, who could go on to become doctors or lawyers or academics and lead a life full of happiness and joy, are instead left silenced and vilified by those who have no sympathy for the pain women endure when going through an abortion. Nobody has an abortion just because they feel like it. It is often a heart-breaking and, always, a very personal decision. The state should support abortion by funding safe, well-run hospitals and centres to offer this choice. 

The question of religion is also fundamental to the debate on abortion in Argentina. Argentina is a largely Catholic country and it is finding itself caught between the need for equality and the religious tensions that this progress creates. It is impossible to reconcile the need for women’s autonomy over their bodies with an institution that holds such a firm position against it. The current pope, Pope Francis, is Argentinian and therefore has a close personal connection to what has become a political chess game between the Church and the State. In an open letter penned last year, Pope Francis argued against legalising abortion, writing: “Is it fair to eliminate a human life to solve a problem? Is it fair to hire a hitman to solve a problem?”. It is clear that on both sides of the issue there are appeals to emotion and deeply rooted tensions that complicate the debate.

However, it would be disingenuous to suggest that the Catholic Church is pitted against the Argentinian government in such a way that there is no nuance in the debate. Many Argentinians fall along a spectrum of support for legalising abortion and for every Catholic who is in favour of legalising abortion, there is a women’s rights activist who is opposed to the idea. The Catholic Church is an institution and therefore does not reflect the wide plethora of personal views of Catholics in Argentina. Increasingly, more and more young Catholic women support abortion and gender equality at odds with the official Church’s stance on the issue. Unless the Catholic Church begins to recognise the increasingly liberal view that these believers take towards abortion, it risks alienating a generation of Catholics who do not see themselves reflected in such an orthodox, unbending dismissal of abortion. 

In spite of the tensions that the legalisation of abortion has raised in Argentina, the decision has been rightly hailed as a milestone in the fight for equality. It is hoped that the effects of this law will ripple and reverberate across the rest of Latin America, where currently only Cuba, Guyana and Uruguay have legalised abortion. Most Latin American countries allow abortion in critical situations, but in El Salvador and the Dominican Republic, abortion is still completely banned in all circumstances, even in the case of rape. 

The new law has undoubtedly opened up the conversation about abortion across Latin America, where campaigners on both sides seem to hold staunchly opposing views. The Mexican president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who has previously tried to dodge and duck any consideration of the issue, has acquiesced and stated that women should have the agency to advocate for the greater liberalisation of Mexican abortion rights. Conversely, Brazil’s president, Jair Bolsanaro, has publicly stated that he will do anything in his power to block any bill to legalise abortion. But if the legions of women and girls protesting in the streets of Brasilía and Santiago and Bogotá are anything to go by, Bolsanaro and anti-abortion advocates across the continent have an uphill battle ahead. The ‘marea verde’ has officially washed over Latin America and there is a tangible appetite for change. 

Image credit Paula Kindsvater via Wikimedia Commons

UK Hun?: Drag’s Message to 2021

Elena Trowsdale
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UK Hun?: Drag’s Message to 2021

What do Crazy Frog and the cast of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK have in common? I’ll tell you! Performing a painfully yet incredibly catchy song which relies on the word ‘bing’ and gets more fame than future historians could ever reasonably believe.

‘Bing, bang, bong. Sing, sang, song. Ding, dang, dong. UK, hun?’ is quickly becoming the anthem of 2021 so far. This chorus of the song ‘UK Hun?’, performed by the cast of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK Season 2, has been described by some as an insufferable earworm, and others as a catchy bop. No matter what camp you lie in, it is undeniable that the song itself has reached viral status, forming hundreds of memes, reaching Top 10 in the iTunes UK Music Chart, taking the world by storm and warming our cold, lockdown hearts through to the core. What started as an obscure Eurovision-esque challenge for drag queens on a reality TV series has become a sort of beacon of hope, guiding us through Lockdown take 3. 

The wacky tune which embodies the joyful spirit of camp, and the oddity of British comedy, serves as an example of the power of simplicity. Its repetitive lyrics have been floating round most of our heads, lifting our spirits, telling us, for some unbeknownst reason, to ‘Bing, bang, bong’. I’ve seen people on Twitter suggesting the song has done more for British people than the government has and I’m not sure I entirely disagree. We should be proud of our ability to allow songs like ‘Crazy Frog’ and ‘UK Hun?’ to almost top the charts and be proud of the community spirit they evoke between us. However, now it appears to be drag queens that are taking the so-ridiculous-its-incredible crown in the music industry. 

It’s no secret that drag is inextricably intertwined with song. Most of us by now will be aware of the ‘lip-sync’, a form of performance brought into the limelight by drag queens which now forms a part of mainstream pop culture. The lip-sync, which once was mainly a tool for celebrity impersonators and club-performing queens to add some movement and artistry to their act, is now a cultural phenomenon, with a segment on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon which morphed into its own reality TV show Lip Sync Battle. Lip-sync performing is fun, easy to start, but incredibly hard to perfect. Watching a skilled, experienced drag queen lip-sync can be a very magical experience, a moment of joyfully suspended disbelief which ties into the crux of drag as an artform of impersonation.

However, drag queens have begun to branch out from the lip sync into original music. In my opinion, the recent pioneer of this trend is RuPaul herself, whose stardom, music career and reality TV show success has led to a stream of drag queen pop artists. Trixie Mattel in particular has reached high in the charts multiple times with her albums, other honourable mentions going to Adore Delano, Alaska Thunderf*ck and Jinx Monsoon for their musical talents. Despite all these breakout artists, the most popular songs tend to be produced by the RuPaul’s Drag Race team, with songs like ‘Read U Wrote U’ by the cast of All Stars 2 becoming gay club staples. Following this trend, ‘UK Hun?’ is apparently already playing in clubs in Australia.

But Drag Race songs are more than just club anthems, they can provide a safety signal to the LGBTQ+ community. They show a layer of recognition, whether in public places or on the internet. A Twitter account posting ‘bing, bang, bong’ memes is not just engaging with comedy, but often an inherent acceptance of genderplay and normalisation of a part of LGBTQ+ culture. Every song produced by a Drag Race contestant could provide a spot of comfort for a listener in the void of Spotify. Drag queens, especially ones with the platform Drag Race gives them, can create original music that is identity-validating, community-uniting, accepted as mainstream, intelligent, and entertaining. In lockdown, this is especially valuable.

‘UK Hun?’ is no exception. Its funny innuendo ‘ding, dang, dong’ paired with its Eurovision campness makes it a joyful breath of fresh air – much needed on an episode of Drag Race UK when the queens have returned from 7 months in lockdown. Bimini’s verse in particular deserves an honourable mention for its intelligence and comedic excellence. It is my personal opinion that the rhyming couplet ‘Gender-bender, cis-tem offender,/ I like it rough but my lentils tender’ may be the best ever written in the English language, referring to their non-binary and vegan identity. Their final line ‘Love yourself, say that again’ is exactly what we all need to hear after such a difficult year. Promotion of self-love for all and checking in on your friends (UK Hun?) truly transforms this camp bop into a feel-good anthem. 

Even though we are all aware of the worldwide difficulties the pandemic has posed, drag queens are one of the uniquely affected groups who deserve our support. Whether it is buying their albums, contributing to Patreons, or booking them for online zoom performances, we should all endeavour to help skilled performers who have the power to help us in times when they are robbed of their stage. Without drag, the art and culture scene loses so much vitality and joy, and without an audience, drag performance could be lost as queens are forced to fall victim to career switch. Take advice from Bimini, ‘Sing it loud’ that drag queens are an essential entertainment, and at the end of the day, don’t forget to ‘Clap for the bing, bang, bong’.

Image credit: CarrieLu via Flickr

Clubbing in Culture: Rituals of Community-Finding

Poppy Atkinson Gibson
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Clubbing in Culture: Rituals of Community-Finding

Clubbing is more than just sweatily gyrating to a heavy bass on a Park End Wednesday or smoking and socialising in Bridge on a Thursday; clubbing is an act of community-finding. There are distinct communities, especially in Oxford, divided by club and then sub-divided again by floor. While people’s tastes are never so clear-cut between music types as the floors themselves, some group differentiation occurs as partiers cluster in different floors: the Cheese Floor devotees, the R&B fans, the heavy house enthusiasts. There are the frequenters of Fever, a club I have heard described on more than one occasion as like a sweaty velvet dungeon – endearing, isn’t it? There are also, of course, the staunch Bridge supporters, going through the ritual of queueing up in the cold and the rain in order to quickly whip through the dance floor, grabbing a drink if possible, before being ejected out into the overpopulated smoking areas to drift on the miniature quest for a lighter, huddling together and chatting about the inane and superficial which, in the foggy nicotine haze, seems of the utmost importance. 

            Clubbing is so much more than a night out. It feeds a deep part of our soul. There’s something almost animalistic about the desire to move in a dark, pulsating room, feeling the beat reverberate through our bodies, touching our hearts literally and our souls spiritually. As we unite with all parts of Oxford’s population, strangers for the most part, there is an ecstasy that can only be reached by moving to a song that simply takes over you in an inexplicable way, deciding and guiding your feelings and physical reactions. Zedd’s and Selena Gomez’s hit ‘I Want You To Know’ hit the nail on the head with the club-focused music video and the lines ‘You and me bleed the same light’. There is an innate connection with those around you in a club that just can’t be found elsewhere. 

            With the pandemic still raging, these communities have dissipated. They wander a club-less desert aimlessly, trying to rediscover the secret wells and boltholes of their ancestors, but find nothing except closed doors, silent streets, and tatty posters advertising nights that lie dormant. Where are these oases now? They exist only in our hazy memories and social media profile pictures. What the reaction will be when the clubs finally and thankfully reopen is difficult to predict. Excitement and chaos are certainly a possibility, with hordes of new and old descending to these sacred places to experience for the first time, or to rediscover, the joys of letting your body instinctively react to the music surrounded by like-minded strangers. For the Freshers who missed out this Michaelmas and Hilary, it will most likely be a baptism of fire as the crush begins.

It’s possible that we’re over clubs and we’ve found other ways to tap into that deep desire to dance, but in this bleak midwinter I find that difficult to believe. We may have made the slap decision to invest in a disco ball way back in March for those Zoom cocktail parties, but now they lie dusty and unused in a dark corner. A memento of times gone by, but never a real contender for the sparkling lights of the nightclub life which, like the star that guided the Wise Men, will take us back to our holy place: our redemption and our sin.

On the dancefloor is where you find your people in the deepest sense. The ones you are connected to on a higher plain, where conversation and detail is irrelevant. All that matters is the music and the dancing.

Teen Dramas: Winx Saga Doesn’t Fly

Joel Dungworth
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Teen Dramas: Winx Saga Doesn’t Fly

CW: whitewashing 

I have to admit, I’d barely made it five minutes into Netflix’s Fate: The Winx Saga before I was repeatedly checking that little red time bar along the bottom and getting more and more annoyed that it seemed to be working at half-speed. It wasn’t: the show was just limp. Watching the seconds drag by provided a better adrenaline kick than the show itself. This was disappointing – I am quite a geek for coming-of-age films and high school TV shows, so I had been hoping for some angsty fairies doing angsty fairy things, preferably to a similarly angsty soundtrack. I hadn’t watched Winx Club, the original cartoon, but a quick Google brought up a series of brightly coloured images all showing a group of young fairies in avant-garde fairy fashion – clearly very different to the teen show I had been hoping for. But I could see why those at Netflix would’ve approved an adaption. Take a set of interesting characters and their interesting traits and rev up the hormones. Sounds great. But what we have been left with is something which has drained all the life out of the Groovy-Chick-With-Wings aesthetic of the cartoon, and is quite simply bland. 

            There are plenty of reasons why Fate: The Winx Saga is not a modern classic before you come to its aesthetic qualities. As many have pointed out, the cast has been heavily whitewashed compared to the original, its side characters are stunningly dull, and you only appear to be given a subplot if you’re a white actor. It isn’t doing anything to revolutionise cinematography, and it falls concerningly short of being ethnically and racially representative of the world it supposedly exists alongside. It is lacking any significant depth or substance – and so episode one just trudges by. There is nothing there to grab you or impress you, and this persists right down to its aesthetic. The closest thing to a style is that one of the characters wears headphones. For a show so two-dimensional, it equally doesn’t establish an identity on the surface. The one thing it seems desperate to do is remind us that these people are teenagers – and painfully so. The first issue is that the cast all look about twenty-seven. But the bigger problem is that it is outrageously obsessed with teenage tropes. It crams in a clichéd reference to weed, sex, under-age drinking or parents-who-will-never-understand-you every thirty seconds, and then tries to smooth it out with completely shoehorned comments about Instagram or Harry Potter. It is trying so desperately to be hip that it becomes lost in its own contemporaneity. 

            Whilst Winx Saga is tripping over itself to scream 2020s at us, some of the most successful teen-based Netflix shows – Stranger Things and Sex Education for example – are both doing the opposite. Stranger Things is 1983 to its core, and Sex Education takes all the stuff we had in 2019, but makes it look like we’re watching a John Hughes film. Both these shows are fantastic visually, largely down to their retro aesthetics. 80s-isation appears to be a thing: a way of instantly making us aware of those canonical teen films of 40 years ago. Afterall, nothing says teenage quite like one of Molly Ringwald’s pink tops. Obviously, there are shows such as Skins which have successfully created a teenage aesthetic based on their own era, but I do believe that the crown rests with those puffy-sleeved dresses which have become the inescapable essence of any prom scene. 

            I love these films – I’ve watched The Breakfast Club more times than I am prepared to admit, and it’s the content of one of the three posters definitely not blu-tacked to my wall in college. The good ones are often described as ‘timeless’, but what is more striking is how they have retained their perenniality by infiltrating the very aesthetic of being teenaged, so much so that ‘coming-of-age’ appears impossible without some flannels and Doc Martens. Shows that have embraced this seem to have thrived – and the same is true in music, with the likes of The 1975 producing albums which lead songwriter Matty Healy has specifically related to the films of John Hughes. It was the golden age of the teenage aesthetic, and we are reluctant to let it go. Winx Saga is a perfect example of a show haunted by this, as it throws a thousand references to the 21st century at a wall and hopes they stick – but they just don’t. And where it could seek to counter the lack of diversity that runs through so many of the classic 80s teen films, it shies away from the task, in a way that Sex Education rose to the challenge. The Brat Pack films have an adolescent honesty and fragility to them which is eternal, and a show such as Sex Education can recall all of this by blasting out The The or Talking Heads. That definitively teen film aesthetic connects it into something bigger, whilst its modernity allows it to correct some of the issues which undermine the classics. Where the Winx Saga fidgets awkwardly with its contemporaneity, Sex Education evokes all that is immortal in Pretty In Pink and Sixteen Candles, but reminds us as it does so of the responsibility these coming-of-age shows have to display the diversity of youth, and not just the angst. 

Image credit: applecandy spica via Flickr

Review: Julien Baker’s ‘Little Oblivions’

Irene Zhang
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Review: Julien Baker’s ‘Little Oblivions’

CW: Mentions of alcoholism, substance abuse.

Julien Baker certainly wasn’t looking for new themes when she wrote Little Oblivions; deep inside a familiar crisis back in 2019, she sought fresh paths out of old problems. The result is an album that radically reimagines her sound, and instead of compromising the original magic that’s captivated audiences since 2015, richer instrumentation has only added to her music’s emotional possibilities.

The album’s lead single ‘Faith Healer’ made me gasp when it was first released midway through lockdown. Driven by almost-polyrhythmic drum beats and meticulously produced, one would be forgiven to mistake it for the work of another artist entirely. Baker’s rise to cult stardom through her two previous albums saw her music repeatedly described as intimate, bare-bone, indefensibly heartbreaking: she takes ‘sad girl indie’ to church and wrings out the genre’s most precocious confessions, then reveals them unembellished over acoustic guitar and piano. Critics repeatedly noted that listening to Sprained Ankle and Turn Out The Lights can feel like a ‘violation of her privacy.’

Little Oblivions, then, is a battle diary published long after nadir itself, with retrospective editing. The full-band sound makes it extremely listenable, and Baker’s silvery voice is snugly at home amidst metallic textures. The last 60 seconds of ‘Repeat’ are a sonically immaculate reminder of her proficiency as a rock musician, so unlike the singer-songwriter of years past yet eerily familiar in its final tremble. ‘Song in E’ is most reminiscent of her earlier work, but with a movie-soundtrack expansiveness accompanying subtle modulations. The secrets in the attic are now playing out on a theatre stage, with fresh hues brightening old idiosyncrasies.

A side effect of such personally revealing songwriting is that the music and the human are no longer separable. Baker simply cannot claim that any of her songs are entirely fictional, and it’s easy for media to fixate on her identity: at 25, she’s the lesbian-Christian-socialist bandmate of Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus, whose solo career melds an evangelical upbringing with alt-punk and insights on sobriety. (I recommend looking up her coming out story, if you’re in need of some hopefulness.) The opening track, ‘Hardline’, encapsulates her candid musical philosophy: with caustic chords on the organ setting the album’s tone, she sinks to the bottom of her register to beg for forgiveness before soaring an octave higher to kick off an acerbic chorus:

Until then I’ll split the difference

Between medicine and poison

When Baker discusses substance abuse in interviews, I catch myself thinking of a John Mulaney line: ‘I don’t look like someone who used to do anything. … I look like I was just sitting in a room in a chair eating Saltines for like 28 years and then I walked right out here.’ Especially in light of recent worrying news about Mulaney, perhaps it’s uncharitable to draw a comparison to Baker. Yet there is a similar incongruence between appearance and experience in both artists’ work: outwardly projecting youthful, white-American sprightliness, the revelation of past addiction still has shock value.

In Little Oblivions, Baker skillfully treads honesty without exploitation: while multiple songs on the album open with her intoxicated or unconscious, she spins a kaleidoscope of aftermaths and emotions. The listener may not relate to the exact same experience, but who among us has not reckoned with the fallouts of our own mistakes? Are not bouts of guilt and self-loathing part of the human condition? Little Oblivions frankly explains that being ‘good’ is impossibly difficult, that failing the expectations of others is as hard as accepting their mercy, and that to ‘climb down off of the cross’ can be authenticity rather than betrayal.

Does talking about God and alcohol in song after song ever get tiresome? Sometimes; Baker’s favourite lyrical devices are familiar to long-time fans, to the point where the rhymes get predictable. But what keeps bringing me back to Little Oblivions are all the colours of gratitude, if not joy, that Baker unearths. With an eye for dark humour, she conjures up a buoyant major-key melody in ‘Heatwave’ to announce:

I’ll wrap Orion’s belt around my neck

And kick the chair out

If unabashed happiness is beyond reach, at least we’ll bask in beauty. Baker delineates darkness without indulging in it, always elevating self-critical reflections and complexity. Three albums later, she finally gives us a proper love song in ‘Relative Fiction’: despite detailing mankind’s endless capacity for harm, she can ‘run through the high-beams’ with someone and get wonderfully caught up in the moment:

I don’t need a saviour

I need you to take me home

Might she be addressing that to a lover, or Jesus, or even herself? It seems that against all odds, Baker holds bleakness and badassery at once. She is at her best when her victory comes effortlessly, no longer beholden to romanticized narratives of hope or misery. After the devastation of Sprained Ankle and Turn Out The Lights, Little Oblivions assures her audience that she’ll be okay. She doesn’t believe in hell anymore; instead, survival itself is mostly fine.
I can’t wait to hear a longer take on the ‘Crying Wolf’ guitar solo live someday, truncated by some bluesy improvisations sadly missing from the album. In the meantime, Little Oblivions has given us more than enough food for thought.

Image credit: Rebecca Sowell via Flickr and Creative Commons.

Olympic Games 2021: what’s in store?

Anvee Bhutani
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Olympic Games 2021: what’s in store?

CW // Sexism

There is worldwide anticipation presently as the cancelled 2020 Summer Olympics which were set for last year have been given the green light. These Games were the first in the Olympics’ 125 year modern history that were cancelled due to the global health crisis. Japan has been living a fever dream as they were first forced to postpone before entirely scrapping their plans last year.

COVID-19

Naturally, the coronavirus pandemic has meant that unique provisions have to be in place to make the event COVID-19 secure. The difficulties remain high as the event, which involves tens of thousands of athletes, officials and journalists, is trying to go through. 

The committee announced that participating athletes would not be required to take the vaccine to compete this year, although they are encouraging the countries to vaccinate their athletes out of “respect for the Japanese people.”

While the summer weather in Tokyo may reduce the growth rate of COVID-19, unless the country sees a drastic reduction from the peak of cases in January, the Olympics are set to be a major public health risk to locals in the city and the rest of the country. 

This means that more restrictions than usual might have to be in place. Yukihiko Nunomura, the vice director general of the organising committee, told a media briefing, “No shouting, no cheering. Please cheer by clapping your hands, and maintain an appropriate distance in case there is overcrowding.” 

Sexism Row

This Olympics remains unprecedented as well because of the sexism row that took place recently. 

Former Japanese Prime Minister Yoshiro Minister Yoshiro Mori recently made remarks that female members of the Japanese Olympic Committee talk too much and after international outcry, he has recently resigned.  “If we increase the number of female board members, we have to make sure their speaking time is restricted somewhat, they have difficulty finishing, which is annoying,” Mr Mori had said. Not only did his comments trigger social media outrage, with the hashtag #Moriresign trending on Twitter, but also he was reprimanded by female members of his own family.

However, it can be argued that this scandal will be providing a bright future to the Olympics as a whole. The new Committee President, Seiko Hashimoto, has recently announced a new committee on gender equality. Ms. Hashimoto is a former Olympic medalist in speed skating who represents both a generational and gender shift for the committee. Her appointment is significant by virtue of the fact that Japan ranks 121st out of 153 countries in the World Economic Forum’s global gender gap index, but comes as a much-welcomed shift. While some claim the appointment comes as pressure on the committee increased, Kikuko Okajima, the chair of the Women Empowerment League, a newly forming professional soccer league for women in Japan, commented “I’ve not seen this much movement or energy for gender equality in Japan for a long time.” 

Regardless of the motivations behind the change, the female representation itself is something the Olympics have lacked in the past and hopefully is a trend to continue.

Games Prospects 

The prospects of each country also remains hotly monitored as the Olympics draw nearer. This is usually predicted by The Olympic medal table, a list of country rankings not officially recognised by the International Olympic Committee. While it is unofficial, it ranks all nations by gold medals won. The basic premise remains that the United States have topped the medal table at 17 of the 27 Olympics they have competed at. Meanwhile, while Britain fared well in the early days of the Games, in recent years they’ve fallen off the track.

Experts are also pushing this grim narrative with sports data company Gracenote, for example, calculating that Britain could see the biggest drop in medals of any nation from Rio four years ago. While this prediction came before the Olympics delay, it is forecasted that due to an inability to train, Britain might do even worse than this prediction. Nonetheless, young but up-and-coming athletes such as Freya Anderson and Sky Brown are expected to perform well.

Ultimately, whether or not the Olympics lives up to the hype they’ve created is yet to be determined, but the sheer fact that the games are continuing against all odds provides a much-needed thing to look forward to for this summer, and the equality changes it has ushered in also remain hopeful. As for me, I’ll be sitting back, relaxing and watching some of the world’s finest compete this summer, as it’s unlikely we’ll have much else to do.

Artwork by Fred Waine

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