Scraping dredges of hummus with my last-but-one piece of flatbread, my first year at Oxford ended with an anti-climatic sigh as I clicked ‘send’ on the last essay of term.
I hadn’t left Oxford in twenty four weeks – the extent of my travels since the Christmas Vac only going as far as Christchurch Meadows on one end and South Park on the other. Fourteen of those weeks I was one of only three freshers in my college who stayed once everyone else had been sent home. There were stretches of days when I never left my room, and weeks I never set foot outside college. I kept thinking the social isolation and controlled movement would eventually make me desperate to leave. I waited for the dreaming spires to morph into looming towers, or for my floor-to-ceiling windows to make me feel like a trapped test subject. Yet, as I came to the last couple of days before undertaking my carefully planned Corona-avoiding mission to get home, I found myself wishing I could be confined to Oxford just a bit longer.
As the crowds slowly started to dribble back in 8th week, I looked back to the start of the Easter Vac when Oxford was – over a single weekend – drained of tourists, staff, and students. The first few weeks were a strange period of acclimatising to the overwhelming silence that suddenly blanketed the city. In an old Western movie this is perhaps where some tumbleweed would roll across the screen and wind would stir up clouds of sand. Thankfully this was not the case, but the ringing church bells that flooded the Oxford of broad daylight tolled hauntingly in the dark, echoing endlessly down its cobblestone alleys. The first Wednesday night was notably marked with the screeching brakes of nocturnal cyclists navigating the hollow streets, highlighting the absence of the usual buzz of students walking (or rather, running and stumbling) to Park End. A lone porter patrolled the Lamb and Flag Passage as I watched on from my room above. Barely three nights in, I was sorely missing the turnstile sounds of 3am returns.
After two terms of dreadful rain, the weather turned cruelly stunning once there was no one around to enjoy it. Determined not to let it go to waste, I took occasional walks around town, piecing Oxford together in details that elude me (us) in the rush of a normal term. However, even with springtime blooms and seamless skies adorning the city, the roads abandoned of footfall, kebab trucks, and rushing cyclists often left me staring vacantly down a High Street peppered with “Sorry, but we’re closed…” notes on shop windows. Although, it wasn’t all a bleak dystopia: the ducks from the Isis became regular patrons of Cornmarket Street, no doubt lamenting the indefinite closure of McDonald’s and Gregg’s as I was. G&D’s stayed open, providing the much appreciated post-essay (takeaway) treat. And, much to my joy, the socially-distanced Tesco on Magdalen Street was better stocked and had more discounted items than ever. I took the opportunity to upgrade my student diet of fried rice and pasta to include smoked salmon and avocado, somewhat compensating for the terrible loss of Hall’s Sunday brunch.
Lack of routine made the days blend into a never-ending stretch, the lengthening summer days aiding this distortion of time. Taking up almost permanent residence on my sofa, perpetually staring out the windows attuned me to certain natural time and weather cues. The sun was at its strongest between 2-4pm, glaringly shining onto one side of the sofa where I would sometimes take an imagined tropical afternoon nap. On colder days the sky would be an ever so slightly deeper shade of blue. A narrow line of evening sunlight would hit the corner of my desk as the day drew to a close. How much the bigger trees shook due to the wind would determine whether or not I needed a jacket to head out. The group of pigeons that took refuge on my window ledge would start cooing or tapping on the glass at 5.30am. In a time of such uncertainty, these signs formed a reassuring rhythm – no matter how much I wanted to push those pigeons off the ledge as I tried to go back to sleep.
As I started to write this on the aforementioned sofa, the sun was shining in a brilliant blue sky and the leaves were a vibrant summer green. While I packed up my suitcase to return to one home, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was leaving another behind. Somewhere and somewhen in lockdown, Oxford the ghost town of remaining students became a little slice of Eden, a sun-drenched fortress which I was privileged enough to inhabit. I finish this piece on my second eastward flight, looking forward to being reunited with friends and family at home, but still thinking of spires against cloudless skies.
I am not alone in
having sought comfort in the pages of a book in recent months. But rather than using
literature as a means of escape, I have found myself reaching for dystopian
novels time and time again. Dystopian novels magnify social issues we have
grown complacent about. They deliver powerful warnings about what happens when poison
seeds are planted and allowed to grow: be it the suppression of women’s
reproductive rights, disregard for the future of our planet or the flourishing
of totalitarian violence. These books show that the transition from belief to
action, from rhetoric to destruction, can be an all too easy one.
The Handmaid’s Tale and The
Road fall within the genre of ‘speculative fiction’: Atwood’s dystopian
America is oppressed by a totalitarian theocracy, McCarthy’s is a
post-apocalyptic landscape of human barbarity. However, there is a sense in
both works that the authors’ bleak prognoses are not so far removed from
reality. The idea that the Road is symbolic of the course already taken by
humanity resonates with Atwood’s statement that, “there is nothing in [The Handmaid’s
Tale] that hasn’t already happened.”[1]
Of course, this has
taken on a whole new meaning in recent months. McCarthy’s survivors hoarding
“tins of food in nylon nets like shoppers from the commissaries of hell” makes
for eerily familiar reading. As the pandemic has compelled migrant workers
around the world to embark upon the long Road home, we need not look far to see
images of “creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways”. This may well
be the “frailty of everything revealed at last”, but these dystopian novels
show that crisis has long been brewing.
The unforgiving
landscape of McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic America is reflected in his stark
prose, as though the narrative too represents a “cauterized terrain”, stripped
back to its most basic elements. It is a new style born out of the devastation
of Armageddon: a “formless music for the age to come”.
McCarthy’s Road is
punctuated by ruptures in the connection between words and meaning, as though
the prose cannot hold together the horror of what humanity has been reduced to.
A language is yet to be birthed to accommodate the devastation. McCarthy’s
notion of dissonance within dystopian realms leads me to question whether our
new understanding of the world will change the face of literature forever. For
instance, what significance do we attach to romance novels in a world where
human contact is two metres out of reach? We are forced to question the
relevance of storytelling itself in a world where words are incompatible with
reality.
By contrast, Atwood’s totalitarian state does create a new language to implement patriarchal control. Offred’s outspoken narrative is an act of rebellion against it. In her own rendition of Cixous’s revolutionary feminist text, ‘The Laugh of the Medusa’, Offred regains control of her body through subversive meditation: “I sink down into my body as into a swamp, fenland, where only I know the footing.” Storytelling becomes a gesture against the silence of death and of his-story.
In this way, Atwood
and McCarthy’s tributes to the power of narration are a reminder of why turning
to literature is more important now than ever before. McCarthy’s man dreams of
“the charred ruins of a library”, in which extinction has befallen books and
the spirit to which they correspond. The hope represented by books is
inconsistent with the protagonist’s reality: for him, they are “lies arranged
in their thousands row on row”. This serves as a warning to the reader that a fundamental
part of the greying out of the world as we know it is the greying out of
language itself.
But where is the
comfort to be found in reading about societies that bear no resemblance to
normality? It is natural to seek affinity with dystopian characters as we too
struggle to navigate this Brave New World. The anonymity of McCarthy’s
protagonists creates the impression that it is not just ‘man’ and ‘boy’ that
must struggle to survive the Road: it is all of humanity. The emptiness of the
characters’ existence triggers the understanding that their struggle for
survival is not merely a physical one. In this time of crisis, the
protagonists’ reliance upon human contact, exchange and memory resonates deeply.
Ultimately, it is our connections
to other people, both real and fictional, that will carry us along our own
bleak Road.
Both novels convey the
complex ways in which memory bears upon and influences emotional survival. As “refugees
from the past”, memories are a means of validating “things no longer known in
the world”. This sentiment is more pertinent now than ever. At a time when
human intimacy and freedom of exchange have been grossly distorted, the
pervasion of memories can strike a painful contrast to our sobering reality,
yet they also provide the freedom to indulge in visions of hope.
The Handmaid’s Tale is testament to the fact that human connection
will prevail even in the most oppressive of circumstances. Valued solely for
her fertility as a Handmaid – a “two-legged womb” – Offred’s interactions are
fiercely controlled. Nonetheless, she enters into a secret sexual relationship,
exposing herself to the vitality of true emotion: “love, it’s been so long, I’m
alive in my skin.” Whilst I would advise careful deliberation over whom we
admit into our new support bubbles, Atwood certainly compels us to make the
best of these bleak circumstances. As Offred subverts the very genre of dystopia
with her romantic narrative, can we too distort the dystopian reality in which
we find ourselves?
The interconnected
nature of man and boy’s survival on the Road – “each the other’s world entire”
– is equally compelling as we redefine our relationships towards one another
and our obligations to those most in need. Whichever form it may take in our
new normality, there is always beauty to be found in human interaction and
solidarity.
Should we find solace in the knowledge that human suffering is an integral part of existence, that destruction has always been our fate? McCarthy’s Road certainly appears to lead to the end of civilization; the destruction of the world is “a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again”. Yet points of destruction and points of origin often coincide, and we may well have been offered a glimpse of the world in its new beginning: “perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made.” As we too embark upon our new normality, we must think carefully about the post-pandemic world we wish to live in. COVID-19 has aggravated inequalities so deeply embedded in our society that we have grown comfortable with their presence. As we reconstruct reality and the old world faces annihilation, so too must its failures. When McCarthy’s man and boy are on the verge of starvation, the man weeps about beauty and hope: “things he’d no longer any way to think about.” Dystopian narratives may be bleak, but they do not contribute to the barbarity of our times: they are, instead, a powerful reminder that in the midst of crisis, beauty and hope do remain. We ought to preserve them now more than ever.
Illustration by Anja Segmüller
[1] Margaret Atwood,
interview with Kathryn Govier, “Margaret Atwood: There’s Nothing in the Book
that Hasn’t Already Happened,” Quill
& Quire 59, no.1 (1985) 66
For the past 10 years, the Labour Party has seen itself collapse into what I can only describe as an unelectable, toxic mess in the eyes of the general public, allowing the Tories to maintain their grip on power. Scandal after scandal has dogged them, but the spreading of antisemitism within its ranks has by far been the worst. Keir Starmer’s swift sacking of Rebecca Long-Bailey may well be our first indicator that he is capable of the firm and authoritative management Labour has been lacking for so long. A potentially defining moment for his leadership, this could signal that Labour is, at last, leaving its shameful history behind.
In sharing an article which shifted the blame for the use of “neck kneeling” tactics, in instances such as George Floyd’s murder, from the US police force to Israeli security services, Long-Bailey’s actions were undoubtedly wrong. Whether intentional or not, they encouraged antisemitic conspiratorial thinking more than they promoted a nuanced discussion concerning Israel. In a party which seems to me already rife with a rotten, discriminatory atmosphere, such actions can in no way be seen as a simple mistake. Starmer was right to dismiss her, despite her apology – there should be no room for any antisemitic interpretations or anything even remotely similar in the Labour Party. It should never again be a place where such toxicity is able to thrive.
The move has sparked outrage amongst many of Corbyn’s supporters. Branding it an overreaction, they argue that Starmer has abused the gravity of antisemitism for his own political gains. Sacking Long-Bailey, a standard-bearer of the Corbynite regime in the shadow cabinet, indicates a significant departure from the previous discredited era. While many other instances of antisemitism go unchecked within the party, decisiveness suddenly seems easy when it involves removing political threats. Starmer’s behaviour may therefore be representative of a wider current trend in the Labour Party. It appears that antisemitism is selectively cared about, only doing so when it can be used for electoral advantages, prompting disproportionate and inconsistent responses such as this.
But after years filled with apathetic neutrality towards, dismissal of, and even active endorsement of antisemitism, is overreacting necessarily so inappropriate?
Under Corbyn, admirable though some of his policy aims may have been, the party ultimately crumbled. The general public became alienated from the hard left which quickly seemed to represent the party, and ugly intra-party factionalism tore it apart from the inside out. A bitter and antagonistic culture festered. Where Corbyn was reluctant to take initiative and therefore failed to quash the crippling issues posed by antisemitism, Starmer is acting decisively on the matter. The dismissal of Long-Bailey was a loud and bold declaration of his authority, unwilling to tolerate any antisemitism whatsoever, instilling fear into all opponents, lawyer become ruthless leader.
If Starmer wants to have any hopes of transforming the Labour Party into one that could feasibly form a government sometime this decade, he must purge them of all malicious remnants from Corbyn’s Labour Party. It has to be clear that under Starmer’s control, they will become a new party, one which isn’t so easily defined by its antisemitism, one which truly is for the many, not the few. The only way to do this is to set a precedent that cannot be challenged or defeated, as Long-Bailey’s dismissal does.
Yes, the choice may temporarily reignite factionalist wars within the party, having enraged Corbyn supporters, but it shows that Starmer has what it takes to be a strong leader in the long run. He can reunite Labour and control internal opposition, the very thing which persistently undermined Corbyn. With fresh direction and resolve, their future may once again be filled with hope. Firing Long-Bailey immediately should neither be criticised nor excessively praised – it was simply a minimal requirement for Starmer. Without it, the dark shadow of antisemitism would have no chance of ever leaving the party. This was the only clean start possible for Labour.
Future success now relies on Starmer’s dedication to this approach. On its own, I hold that the decision to sack Long-Bailey is mere virtue-signalling. It must be accompanied by an equally hard-line stance everywhere else. The actions of MPs such as Rachel Reeves, who have very recently and publicly celebrated anti-Semites, must be condemned and punished. When the EHRC report on Labour’s antisemitism is published, rapid action must be taken. The poison of antisemitism must be pulled out by its roots everywhere within the party.
Eradicating antisemitism in the Labour Party is important because it is just, not because it would improve their image. While Starmer’s dismissal of Long-Bailey is a step in the right direction, it is by no means the be-all and end-all – these are but baby-steps. If this really is a sign of progress, these new sentiments should be reflected against all other forms of injustice. The Labour leader’s recent downplaying of the Black Lives Matter movement as a ‘moment’ suggests this is a pipe dream. By devaluing the historical significance of the UK’s own protests, Starmer’s Labour Party continues to excel in its ability to disenchant, leaving many politically homeless. It reinforces the fact that the fight against discrimination is far from over. Sacking one shadow minister was right but nowhere near sufficient, and Labour’s struggle to finally shed its skin of prejudice will persist as long as people think it was.
Oxford University has published further information concerning its plans to ensure the health of both students and staff for the upcoming academic year. Priority testing, mandatory face coverings, and additional welfare support are among the key measures announced.
In partnership with the NHS, the University is creating a new in-house COVID-19 testing service for students and staff. Two sites – one in the city centre and one in Headington – will be opened in September, ready for the start of Michaelmas term.
Anyone who suspects they may have caught the virus will be able to book a test at either location online and receive the results within 24 hours of the test being taken. Although Oxford University has committed to maintaining medical confidentiality throughout the process, those who test positive may be asked to voluntarily disclose their recent contacts as part of the track and trace protocol.
Several new policies have also been announced to reduce the risk of infection among students and staff during Michaelmas term. Cleaning regimes will be enhanced with new facilities open for hand-washing. Face coverings are to be required for both students and staff during in-person teaching and in shared indoor spaces. However, there will be exceptions on some grounds, such as disability.
Teaching, living, and research spaces will be adapted to allow for adequate social distancing. One-way signage, modified timetabling, and increased ventilation will be employed in all university sites. Capacity limits will be in place in university libraries. A new ‘seat-finder’ app will be introduced in order to make it easier for students to find available study spaces. In situations where social distancing is not always possible, such as laboratory work, the University plans to implement further protective measures such as Perspex screens.
Students living in college accommodation and sharing facilities will be grouped into ‘households’. In an email to students seen by Cherwell, Balliol College Master Helen Ghosh explained that the measure was intended to “minimise the number of students who have to self-isolate if any one of them gets COVID-19.”
In addition to these measures, the University has also pledged assistance students adversely affected by COVID-19 and its consequences. Welfare support will be available for students required to self-isolate during term or upon arrival to the UK from abroad. Students who are unable to take part in face-to-face teaching will be allowed continue learning online. Vulnerable staff will also be given the option to teach remotely if necessary.
With every passing day, technology becomes increasingly indispensable in our world. Inventions such as electricity, the motor car, and the internet stand out as technological advancements which have transformed our entire society. We often find ourselves asking: what will the next breakthrough technology be? What will we be dependent on in twenty, fifty or a hundred years time? The answer, in fact, is already here: Artificial Intelligence.
The term Artificial Intelligence (AI) was first coined in 1956 and we have been using the technology for years. Recently, however, the term has become a major buzzword in the tech world. The Oxford Dictionary defines AI as “the theory and development of computer systems able to perform tasks normally requiring human intelligence”. AI learns through exposure to historic and live data and makes independent decisions based on this data. It learns from experience and adjusts to new inputs in real-time. In this way, AI is self-learning and does not require any human operation. Basic examples of AI include our mailbox filtering out spam and computers playing chess.
As technology develops, the omnipresence of AI assistants such as Siri and Alexa, robots replacing humans in certain jobs and the dawn of a new age of driverless cars, make it impossible to ignore the increasing effect that AI is having on all aspects of our society. Whilst the technology brings countless benefits, there are some complications which cannot be ignored, especially since development is so rapid. Most crucially, we do not currently have an adequate framework for legal issues that arise from the use of AI.
One such legal issue is intellectual property (IP) law. AI’s capacity for self-learning means that the data it holds and the outputs it produces could be considered as IP. Given the importance of data in our modern world, data produced by AI can be highly sought after. AI is currently considered in law as a tool as opposed to an entity which could have IP rights, but as AI develops, this could change. At present, human intervention is required alongside AI to make sense of any outputs, meaning that dependant on the jurisdiction, the programmer or the user will have IP rights over any output from AI. An example of where IP law is disputable is when AI, from its data sets, produces a highly desirable code. The programmer of the AI would typically be considered as holding the IP rights – is this fair considering that their ‘invention’ was unintended and derived from large sets of public data input into the AI algorithm? In the future, AI may be awarded IP rights, which would also lead to questions as to whether AI may be liable for infringement of other IP owners. Enforcement of holding AI accountable for IP infringement would provide yet another legal challenge.
The
question of liability is interesting to consider. Liability for negligence
rests with the person who caused the damage or who might have foreseen it. At
present, the programmer or the operator (depending on the circumstance) will
typically be ultimately responsible for AI’s actions and, therefore, liability
will lie with them. However, as
technology advances and AI becomes increasingly autonomous, this issue will
become more complicated. Unable to see exactly how AI devices reach their
decisions on how to act, we cannot accurately predict their actions. In an
instance where the output or behaviour of an AI device is unforeseeable, it may
be impossible for anybody to be declared liable as there would not be an
element of negligence, but rather an unforeseeable event. For example, who is
liable if a driverless car crashes? These vehicles are not yet fully
autonomous, so the human driver will usually still be liable, but the
technology is advancing. This is a developing area of law, and legal systems
worldwide are not currently equipped to deal with these issues. Clear laws and
best practices must be established which will determine the scope of liability
for those involved in the creation and use of AI.
Another legal – and ethical – issue with AI is inbuilt bias. Biased algorithms are reflections of the bias that exists in our society: algorithms learn through exposure to data, therefore, if the data which is drawn from our society is biased, the algorithm automatically will be too. For instance, an algorithm may select a white, middle-aged man to fill a vacancy based on the fact that other white, middle-aged men were previously hired for that position and subsequently promoted. The algorithm’s automatic reasoning could be overlooking the fact that the previous candidates were hired and promoted because of their profiles rather than their aptitude for the job. A vicious cycle of bias will then arise.
An
example of AI bias was highlighted in a 2016 ProPublica study which found that
an AI algorithm used by parole authorities in the US to predict reoffending
(COMPAS) was biased against ethnic minorities. Data provided by COMPAS is used
in courts to assist judges with sentencing decisions and, therefore, has likely
negatively impacted the sentences that ethnic minorities have received. The
algorithm continues to be used but comes with a warning to consider bias. Overcoming
bias will involve ensuring that the initial coding of the algorithms do not perpetuate
bias and potentially employing bias detection software, such as IBM’s Fairness
360 Kit which scans for signs of bias and recommends adjustments. Research into
ethical issues such as racial bias in AI is also critical as we become increasingly
reliant on the technology.
Last summer, the University of Oxford announced that it had received a donation of £150 million from American billionaire Stephen Schwarzman. The donation will be used to open the Schwarzman Centre which will house Oxford’s new Institute for Ethics in AI. High-profile computer scientist Sir Nigel Shadbolt will spearhead the development of the new institute which will aim to “lead the study of the ethical implications of artificial intelligence and other new computing technologies”. Research initiatives are vital for ensuring that AI continues to work to the benefit of humankind and that potential negative implications are minimised.
Ultimately, the fast-tracked and unregulated manner in which AI is being developed means that there are many legal and ethical issues for which we do not currently have requisite legislation. Without adequate legal frameworks, AI could cause more harm than good. It is vital that the technology is developed with a regulated approach, alongside legal structures which are fit for the 21st century and beyond.
Wadham students were asked to donate 25% of the rent they would have paid for Trinity Term, in order to recover costs incurred from the pandemic and contribute to staff wages. The scheme was successful in raising almost £20,000 for the college from students’ donations.
The scheme was proposed by Wadham College Student Union, and supported by the college. In a letter to students, Wadham’s SU President stated that contribution was needed as the college was paying all of its staff 100% of their salaries at a cost to them.
The SU noted that the money to pay staff was already committed, but that students’ contributions meant the college’s endowment would be protected for future generations of Wadhamites.
An email from the college Bursar noted the “generous” support of the SU and also the MCR of the in “a voluntary scheme to contribute to the salary cost of continuing to employ all our non-academic staff in the coming term.”
The Finance Bursar said: “An optional charge of approx 25% of waived rent will be added to Battels for Trinity Term. It is emphasised that this is a voluntary contribution.”
A later email of thanks said: “I would like to thank Wadham Students for their generosity, and to thank the officers of the Student Union for championing and supporting this scheme. Students have generously contributed almost £20,000 towards the employment costs of non-academic staff who are on furlough or are coming in to carry out essential work while most people are away from the college.”
Wadham SU wrote, in an email describing the Voluntary Contribution Scheme: “College has currently furloughed around 90 non-academic permanent and casual staff who qualify under the current furlough scheme, this includes kitchen staff, scouts and hall staff. Other domestic staff like some porters, maintenance, and administration staff are still at work, to look after the college. It was decided to pay everyone at 100% of pay plus NI and full pension contributions.
“For casual staff, college has decided to pay them each month an average of their previous year’s monthly earnings. Under the government’s current Job Retention Scheme, the government allows them to pay and claim 80% of the wages and NI, but by deciding to pay at 100% + pension contributions, it still costs college about 30% of the costs of Furlough.”
It was noted that Wadham is set to lose around £1.8 million as a result of the pandemic, also due to loss of Trinity rent income and B&B and conference income.
Students could opt in or out of the scheme by emailing confidentially, and were also reminded on their battels with the option to pay.
As of 2018, Wadham College’s endowment stood at £107 million. The SU stated in the email that only £400 000 of this was available in “unrestricted funds”. As most of the endowment generates income, “about £3 million in interest/returns on shares a year,” the SU argued that taking money out of the endowment now would harm future Wadham students.
When someone mentions British actors, who do you think of? Your mind probably jumps to people like Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston or Eddie Redmayne. Certainly, this appears to be a leap made by many a casting director. Yet all three of these actors represent the same, incredibly small, part of Britain. All of them were born and raised in London and all of them attended independent schools. Hiddleston and Redmayne overlap even more closely – both are from Westminster, London, and both went to Eton College and then Cambridge University. These are just three names out of many: Hugh Laurie, Hugh Grant, Dominic West, Harry Lloyd, Kate Beckinsale, Rosamund Pike, Ian McKellen, Tilda Swinton, Sacha Baron Cohen, Rowan Atkinson, Hugh Dancy, Thandie Newton – all attended either Eton College, Oxbridge, or both. Include the other fee-paying schools of Britain and the list expands to include almost all the most successful actors our country has produced, to say nothing of our writers, producers, directors, comedians, etc. About seven percent of British children attend fee-paying schools and yet they as a group are vastly over-represented in our entertainment industry. As someone who attended a state school, and who depends on receiving the maximum amount possible in way of bursary and student loans, it is impossible not to become even more aware of this imbalance during my time at Oxford – where on average between forty and fifty percent of the new student joining each year come from independent schools, and far wealthier backgrounds than I.
Let me be
clear: I am middle class. While financially I am not privileged, I still have a
Southern, middle-class accent which makes the acting industry more open to me.
Having an accent associated with the working class is a disadvantage for an
actor, in a similar way to Scottish actors who wish to ‘make it’ first having
to produce a decent English accent. Actress Maxine Peake has spoken about being
told to ‘tone down’ her Lancashire accent for parts and Christopher Eccleston,
also from Lancashire, has talked about his accent holding him back from
Shakespeare in particular, as there is a perception that working class actors
are not suited to classical theatre – and these are just two examples from
working class actors who have managed to make a career for themselves and are
in a position to raise awareness of this issue. Many would-be working class
actors are put off ever even attempting to make a living at it because of these
biases. Even if we imagine there is no prejudice involved, that no working
class actor has ever been judged for their accent or their background, there
just aren’t many working class parts, and those that do exist are often
supporting roles designed for comic relief. I have seen this phenomenon
in student productions here at Oxford. The University of Oxford has one of the
highest concentrations of wealthy, privately educated young people in the
country, and also a fantastic drama scene. It is disappointing that perhaps the
most consistent representation of the working class scene in Oxford student
drama is a servile, supporting role in a Shakespeare play portrayed by a
privileged person in an exaggerated imitation of a working class accent – a
character there to be laughed at, not with.
We must be conscious of our skewed demographic and make efforts to ensure the only portrayals of working class characters are not just supporting roles played out for laughs. Classism is something I have rarely heard discussed in Oxford, despite the fact that clearly, these discussions are more important here than at most other universities in the UK. We need to talk about discrimination against working class people, and acknowledge these biases within ourselves. How many of us have thought nothing of referring to people as ‘chavs’? In practical terms, the Oxford University Dramatic Society can focus their attentions and funding to putting on more plays written by marginalised people, encourage open discussion about class in acting, and raise support and awareness of vital charities like Open Door and Arts Emergency and campaigns like Actor Awareness, all of which are doing great work to encourage more working class people into careers in the arts, and offering support to make such a career more practical for people who have no family or family money they might fall back on.
The recent implementation of an Access, Diversity and Equity Rep and an Outreach Rep is a welcome step, and hopefully evidence of increasing awareness amongst our student population of class inequality in media. Alasdair Linn, President of OUDS, commented that “OUDS is making changes to improve the Oxford drama scene and the elitism that is inherent within it, a result of the many problems of access and representation within the institution of the University itself. We want to make it clear we are having these conversations, actively changing what we can do as a committee and are always open and wanting to hear from students about any issues and concerns. We aim to particularly support and encourage creatives from all backgrounds, especially working class creatives, to direct, produce and write for the New Writing Festival which aims to platform underrepresented voices on stage.”
I will be looking to see more of a working class point of view in our drama in future. Ultimately, after graduating many of us will go on to work in the entertainment industry, be that acting, writing, directing, or in any other capacity, and it is crucial that those of us who go on to have careers in entertainment remain committed to inclusivity, to tackling discrimination within the industry and to making such a career accessible to people from all walks of life.
I’ll be honest, at the start of lockdown I was terrified. Sitting in my childhood bedroom with Taylor Swift posters on the wall and my A-Level folders crammed beneath my bed, it was easy to feel like I’d been transported back to, and trapped in, my sixth form self. For me, that would include having a precarious relationship with food. The chaos of university had put this on the back burner for a while but, stuck inside these old four walls again, the familiar feelings of early teenage insecurity came flooding back. It was as though all progress I had made had been erased and I was back to square one, warily eyeing my plate three times a day.
But some things have changed. Maybe even irreversibly so. Next to my old (and frankly despised) physics textbooks now lie recipe books, some entirely dedicated to cheese, that I have gleefully pored over for hours. Next to my school timetable hang photos of new friends and messy nights out ending in beloved cheesy chips (Hassan’s, if you’re reading this, I miss you). My school uniform hangs side by side with my proudly ironed gown, witness to many a 4-course formal.
Maybe this is a sign that I desperately need to do a deep-clean (who still has their year 13 timetable on their pinboard?), but it is also indicative of far more than that. Lockdown has physically forced me to confront the massive changes that have occurred in my life over the past year. The strange combination of old and new versions of me that now make up who I am have suddenly become tangible. I am not the person I was last year, and my approach to food has improved beyond belief. Despite often having days where I still struggle, my attitude has, if not entirely changed, nevertheless shifted. My body and food are no longer sworn enemies but rather respectful acquaintances, occasionally even friends. Without weeks of compulsory isolation, I never would have taken the time to reflect on this newfound resilience.
Armed with this fresh self-awareness, I re-entered the world of quarantine. It is undeniable that, since March, much of our lives have revolved around food. Though the days of panic-buying pasta feel a lifetime ago, and even the bread baking mania seems to have calmed down, food is still everywhere. Not a day goes by where I don’t hear my family discuss the ‘quarantine 15’ or their detailed weight-loss regimes. With Joe Wicks and constant ‘fun home workout routines!’ clogging up my feed, it honestly sometimes feels like an obsession has gripped the nation. It speaks volumes that in the midst of a pandemic, we are still so scared of getting fat.
Last year, this would, without a doubt, have been a sucker-punch to my self-esteem. But my new perspective towards food has helped to combat this diet culture. Every time it rears its ugly head up in conversation over dinner, I help myself to another serving of Parmesan cheese. Or drink another glass of wine. This technique doesn’t solve everything and it by no means is always easy, but I try. Because really? I don’t think that concerns about weight gain should even dare approach anyone’s radar screens right now. We have much bigger issues to solve.
I’ve realised that I am now more than welcoming of any potential weight gain, a viewpoint so shockingly different to where I was last year that it’s almost laughable. Especially during such unprecedented times, fat is, if anything, a blessing. Of course, it’s important to do your best to stay healthy, but in a pandemic ‘healthy’ takes on a wildly different meaning. There’s no way you could expect your body to stay the same shape as when you were able to freely walk everywhere, go to the gym, and didn’t need to comfort eat your way through quite as many existential crises. With your entire life disrupted, it only makes sense for your body to change too.
Now, more than ever, it’s worth remembering how vital our bodies are to our own survival. Without them, we simply wouldn’t exist. I’m grateful for everything that my body has carried me through, every trial and error, every triumph, every mistake. I refuse to punish it for needing some extra protective coating in what is, quite literally, a global health crisis. If this is what my body needs for comfort, to get through what can feel like staggering loads of stress, then who am I to deny it of basic sustenance? I haven’t worn jeans (or any kind of relatively tight-fitting trousers for that matter) in months, but I have no doubt that when I finally do, they will be a little snugger and my belt will be a little more unnecessary. If having to abandon my belts or go up a dress size or two is the worst that comes out of this pandemic for me, then I will be unbelievably overjoyed. Generously loving my body for what it does is a maxim I aim to live by for the foreseeable future.
In the meantime, I plan to use the vacation to further explore my love for food. From homemade carveries to failed attempts at the TikTok Dalgona coffee, my kitchen will soon wish it could see the back of me. I’ve finally realised how freeing enjoying food can be, and I am adamant not to let anything stop me. I’m excited to make cinnamon rolls next week. I’m excited to try a rice pudding recipe I’ve had bookmarked for years but have always been too scared to make. And I’m excited to do all of this without obsessively counting calories. If that means that by the end of lockdown there will be slightly more of me, then so be it.
When life returns to normal, I’m sure many of my lockdown habits will disappear. At least I certainly hope so – being the girl who does TikTok dances every Thursday night at Bridge is not a reputation I strive to earn. But I also hope that I will emerge from my home, slightly cautious and scared of socialisation, yet ultimately proud of what my body has done for me over the past few months. I’ll be a little rounder, a little less well-groomed, but I will have survived this crisis.
As I head to the cheese floor, ready for another inevitable night of mistakes, the buttons on my skirt will strain more than usual. On my way home, I won’t hesitate before joining the queue at the kebab van. Food has found a home in my life again, and I will do my utmost to keep it by my side.
Beat provides information and support for anyone affected by an eating disorder. You can call their student helpline at 0808 801 0811, or visit them at beateatingdisorders.org.uk.
If you were to walk into the University of Antioquia in Colombia and navigate through the maze of halls until you found the law faculty, the first thing you would be confronted with is a grid of faces displayed on the wall. It would only be natural to assume it was a faculty board. Your assumption would be wrong. The faces staring back at you are the members of the University, students and teachers alike, who have died fighting for human rights in Colombia. Some are young, some old, but all chose to actively participate in a fight for what they believe in, in a country where it is not safe to do so. When I visited the University last summer, I was impressed by the frequency and variety of protests. I walked through a hall with pictures of human rights defenders hanging from the ceiling, obstructing the path. A student explained to me that the inconvenience caused by having to navigate through the hanging faces as you walk from class to class serves as a reminder of the mass disruption in the lives of the protesters themselves. Activism should not be easy and in Colombia, this is a given.
Last year alone, the deaths of 107 activists in Colombia were confirmed by the United Nations. To put this in perspective, the report by Front Line Defenders estimated that there were just over 300 murders of human rights defenders across 31 different countries. For Colombia to make up a third of this loss is heart-breaking. Those most at risk are defenders of particularly vulnerable communities such as indigenous or Afro-Colombian groups. The coronavirus crisis has only served to exacerbate this situation. Social mechanisms and organisations created to defend human rights protectors have been scaled back or put on hold due to health risks. With the country’s government and police forces preoccupied, and Colombia imposing a strict quarantine, the number of defenders murdered this year is expected to rise.
Activists in Colombia are as diverse as they are passionate. Michel Forst, the United Nations special rapporteur on human rights defenders described civil society in Colombia as “vibrant, active, dynamic and engaged”, stating that these individuals are “agents of change who preserve democracy and ensure that it remains open, pluralistic and participatory.” What makes Colombia unique is that these social leaders are almost always ordinary men and women, often living in small towns or villages, who have witnessed injustice first-hand and decided to act. Amnesty International has identified a few of the hundreds of these defenders and created profiles on them as part of their campaign to ensure that the government affords social leaders adequate protection. One such advocate is Damaris, an indigenous woman who has become a figurehead for environmental activism in the North of Colombia. Her campaign began after witnessing the damage that mining activity had done to her region’s ecosystem. Damaris raised awareness of the issues by bringing women in the indigenous community together, this, in spite of difficulties she herself had to overcome as a woman stepping out of the role dictated by her culture. Ezequiel is another activist, who has fought for decades to protect his rural community from violence. After suffering numerous threats, Colombia’s National Protection Unit allocated him individual security. He rejected this, stating that his whole community and not just him, deserved equal protection. Despite years of struggle, Ezequiel has managed to create a “humanitarian zone” for his area in which armed groups are not allowed to enter. This success has, however, only compounded the number and severity of the threats he receives. These are only a few instances of individuals across the country fighting for freedom, protection, and individuality.
Pablo Emilio Angarita is the co-author of the book Violencia, seguridad y derechoshumanos (Violence, Security and Human Rights) and the recently retired Professor of Law and Human Rights at the Universidad de Antioquia in Medellín. Pablo was an activist for many years, working as the Director of the Instituto Popular de Capacitación, an NGO, and assisting on the human rights committee in Antioquia. Amongst other things, his role in creating a community of students and lawyers who were willing to offer judicial knowledge to vulnerable clients eventually resulted in him being imprisoned for over 50 days on fabricated terrorism charges. I spoke with him about his personal experiences, his struggles, and the journey human rights activism has undergone in Colombia.
(Translated and summarised from Spanish)
Would you tell me about any difficult personal experiences you have suffered as a Human Rights Defender in Colombia?
“In 1987 I was the labour law professor at the Universidad Autónoma Latino Americana and a director of an NGO in the city. It was a dangerous time where there were frequent deaths and a huge number of forced disappearances across much of South America. I was part of a small team of lawyers who were doing a lot of work with the unions at the time, and this had attracted significant national attention. On this particular afternoon, I was working in my office with a group of other human rights lawyers when the military broke into the office. Four of us were taken and accused of being terrorists working in the service of drug dealers. You can imagine the fear and confusion. Our faces were everywhere. The news was covered with stories of us using our work as lawyers as a cover for an expansive narcotics business.
“There are many aspects of the experience that are painful for me to remember. Before we were taken to jail, we were blindfolded almost constantly and were made to walk through the jungle to various locations. For us, there was no physical pain, but the psychological anguish was constant. We would often hear screams in rooms nearby and fear that whatever things were happening would soon be happening to us. We didn’t know what would happen and whether we would ever see our loved ones again. The possibility that we would become just another disappearance was on my mind constantly.
“At the time in Colombia, there was huge panic about the Medellín drug cartel who were terrorising the country. The cartel wanted the government to negotiate on extradition to the US and were using frequent attacks as a bargaining chip to pressurise the state. What was especially bad news for us, and almost became the nail in our coffins, was that the week after the four of us were captured and sent to jail, a lot of the terrorist actions in Medellín stopped. This was, of course, portrayed as a success due to the capture of us “corrupt lawyers”.
“We were lucky enough that our case was known both nationally and internationally and we had amazing people working around the clock to get us out. Amnesty International became involved and sent frequent messages to the government. My students, staged protests throughout the city, raising awareness of what was happening. I consider myself extraordinarily fortunate in this sense. We spent 53 days in prison but without national and international pressure on our behalf, it could have been 20 years.”
What was Colombian prison like at the time?
“The way that prisons operated in Colombia when I was there in 1987 was a direct reflection of outside society. Those with power on the outside have connections and power on the inside. Some prisoners lived very well and had access to a huge variety of luxuries from musicians to fine wine, whilst others had to suffer every hardship of jail. The four of us felt privileged in that every day we would receive messages of encouragement from students or organisations who were fighting and campaigning on our behalf. But it was terrifying. Almost every day, someone would die in prison. As we were accused of being involved in the drug trade, which had affected and destroyed the lives of hundreds of Colombians, we were constantly afraid that a prisoner may try to exact revenge on us, for a brother or father who may have been a victim of the violence.”
Do you think the situation has improved nowadays for defenders of human rights?
“A number of developments have occurred relatively recently which have impacted the situation. The most obvious is the 2016 Peace Treaty between the Colombian government and the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia). As soon as the peace process was signed, many of the armed groups were demobilised, a significant step forward, and an indicator of change. The violence of the war has decreased and there are fewer casualties which, of course, signifies increased safety. Time precludes me from going into detail on this vast topic, but the current problem Colombia is faced with is that despite this peace treaty, there are sectors (such as extreme right groups) that are opposed to the peace process and therefore continue promoting the war. As well as this, there are other groups active in Colombia such as the ELN (National Liberation Army), who were not a part of the peace treaty and have called on the government to negotiate peace with them. As the government has not been paying attention, or enough attention, according to these groups, they try to force recognition by using terrorist tactics. Then there are problems with the treaty itself. There are private sectors, especially in the countryside that are not happy with the peace accord as concerns the fight for land in Colombia. Mass displacement has occurred over the years and many small land-owners are naturally infuriated at their land having been taken from them. They are campesinos (farm workers) who have been stripped of everything and forced into the city with their families to look for jobs and a new way to survive. Yet another, more controversial factor is that there are allegations against the current president of Colombia’s political party, the Democratic Centre, that indicate that there are reasons for the government not wanting to fully implement the peace treaty. One of the requirements of the treaty is that the government come clean about their actions and that the implications of the part that they played in the war come to light. There are allegations that they were involved in paying to assassinate social leaders, and that they facilitated the displacement and forced possession of land. This is a highly complex situation and although the situation has improved for activists since the treaty, defenders are still at high risk. Therefore, although there is hope, and there have been improvements, there is still a long way to go.”
What role do you believe the government plays in protecting activists?
“Naturally, some governments in Colombia have been more supportive than others. What I will say is that even though our governments believe and promote the fact that they work within the law and within the democratic frame, there are millions of threads that lead and tie them into the service of the elite and small groups of rich landowners. Governments maintain the appearance of democracy, that the state is in service of the people, that both law and government are neutral. In my opinion, this is a smokescreen. Diverting us away from the reality that the law and the state serve the powerful. In countries such as Colombia, history has shown that powerful people give money to politicians, they fund their political campaigns and so when these people reach government, there is a debt to pay. When governments act, they do this due to certain motivations and pressures. It pains me to think that if not for international pressure applied by groups such as Amnesty International, we may have stayed in prison for years longer, accused of being terrorists just because we were doing human rights work.”
Why do you think activists carry on fighting for their various causes, despite the risks being so high? What motivates them to continue?
“The life force behind the strong social movement in Colombia is the hope that these dreams will soon be converted into reality. Men and Women work to support mental health, to fight for feminism, agriculture, education, there are all manner of causes. Despite the situation, the driving force is always happiness and hope for the future. Yes, we cry when something happens to our loved ones and yet we dance salsa and cumbia, we protest and we march, and when we do, it feels like a celebration of something.”
Pablo ended the interview by quoting a well-known saying in the streets of Colombia: “They took so much away, that they even took our fear.” We love our country and we fight for a better tomorrow.
—
Colombia has been fighting for peace for as long as many of its citizens can remember. A country that boasts the greatest biodiversity per square foot of any country in the world. A place famed for its coffee, salsa, and the spirit of its people. A population that, despite countless struggles and hardships is consistently rated as one of the happiest in the world. Huge improvements have been made in recent years, with Medellín, in the past known as the murder capital of the world, being termed the World’s Smartest City, winning the World City Prize in 2016, and being universally acknowledged for its innovation. In comparison to 1993, Medellin’s homicide rate is 1/20th of what it was and 2/3s of those in extreme poverty have emerged from their situation. This is just one example of the potential and progress that Colombia has shown. Injustice works in darkness and significant efforts have occurred to shine a light on human rights abuses in Latin America. With groups such as Amnesty International, Front Line Defenders, and the OHCHR campaigning and petitioning the government directly for increased protection of human rights defenders, clear and workable recommendations have been put forward. If these are enacted and real change is actualised, then activists can concentrate on fighting for their causes without fearing for their lives, a significant step forward in Colombia’s journey towards peace.
“Los seres humanos no nacen para siempre el día en que sus madres los alumbran, sino que la vida los obliga a parirse a símismos una y otra vez”.
“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
All colleges will operate a “household” approach to accommodation next year to minimise the spread of COVID-19, Oxford University has announced.
Colleges are planning to group students into “households” in accommodation where they “share high-contact facilities such as bathrooms or kitchens.” Colleges and faculties have been preparing for the change.
Merton College is conducting a “worst case” housing ballot for undergraduates, on the assumption that “households” may be required.
Some rooms will be removed from the ballot if they are in houses which accommodate too many students for one household. This means that no living space will house more than 6-8 people. The spare rooms will be converted into kitchenettes, equipped with fridges, microwaves, and toasters.
The College will add five new houses to the ballot to make up for the loss of rooms elsewhere.
An earlier email from the Biochemistry department said students will be allocated a household of six to eight people on their corridor or living space.
If a student tests positive for COVID-19, their entire household must self-isolate for two weeks. Within the household, social distancing will not be required.
Balliol Master Helen Ghosh told students in an email that “all colleges will operate a system of ‘households’ for up to 8 students and occasionally more.”
In an email seen by Cherwell, Ghosh said that colleges were taking the measure to “minimise the number of students who have to self-isolate if any one of them gets COVID-10.”
Ghosh said: “If one person in the ‘household’ has a positive test, then everyone in it will have to self-isolate for whatever is the prescribed period. But this doesn’t mean that students will have to move around in a household ‘bubble’.
“Outside their staircase, flat or household zone, students will simply have to operate within normal social distancing and other rules, whether for teaching/studying, eating, or socialising. We may need to adapt some spaces to act as teaching rooms, so that we can ensure proper distancing and enable strict cleaning regimes.”
Further details of the University’s plans for Michaelmas include a University testing service, a comprehensive health regime, and supporting students who have to self-isolate, including international students arriving in the UK. There will also be online teaching for those unable to take part in face-to-face teaching.
