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Investigation: Scottish Under-representation at Oxford

News

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28th September 2020

Investigation: Scottish Under-representation at Oxford

In May 2020, Oxford celebrated as the proportion of state-educated students at the university hit 62.3%. In a triumphant foreword to the Annual Admissions Statistical Report, Vice-Chancellor Professor Louise Richardson described this as “steady progress towards diversifying the makeup of our student body”. This summer’s A-level fiasco brought fresh gains: 67.8% of incoming students are from state backgrounds, exceeding the University’s latest target.

Yet as the dust settles on this most recent, though unplanned success, one group remains chronically under-represented at Oxford. Scottish schools are experiencing no such gains. In 2018, 13 English private schools sent more students to Oxford than the entire Scottish state school system, which sent 16 students. The situation has not improved much since.

The figures for 2019 bore evidence of similar failings, with just 109 applications, 16 offers, and 11 final acceptances for state school applicants. 2020’s statistics, whilst not representing a new low, do not show significant signs of improvement either. Only 104 applications were made by state-educated students this year, resulting in just 19 offers.

The record for Scottish state representation is clearly abysmal, but it isn’t just state schools facing a disadvantage. Independent representation is also poor. As in the case of state schools, 2019 was a difficult year; only 127 applications were made, resulting in 19 offers and 17 acceptances, a significant decline from the previous year (155 applications, 27 acceptances). 2020 promises to return to the not-so-heady heights of 2018, with 152 applications and 31 offers.

Of course, small sample sizes create large variations that aren’t necessarily meaningful. However, Scottish representation isn’t showing any signs of significant improvement, unlike the representation of other traditionally disadvantaged groups (according to the University’s report). It is also feared by those students involved in access initiatives that a particularly poor year for Scottish representation might trigger a permanent decline in the numbers applying and therefore succeeding in gaining a place.

The Cydeside Project, a student-run access organisation for Scottish pupils, is demanding that Oxford do more to attract Scottish pupils. Founder Michael McGrade stated, “I refuse to believe there were so few capable of making it to Oxford. If Scottish outreach was taken seriously by the University, I am certain we would be looking at triple digits.”

‘Access’ is one of those things that most of us love to talk about in abstract terms. We might all feel a sense of obligation to help, but few of us are necessarily equipped to talk about access in any great depth and many of us lack a strong personal connection to the ‘issues’ being discussed.

Puzzled by the decline in applications from both Scotland’s state and independent schools in recent years, I interviewed some current students on their experiences. Why is it that Oxford does not seem to hold the same attraction in Scotland that makes English state and independent students apply in droves?

It is perhaps important to set these conversations in the wider context of access criticism. Discussions of access in Oxford have been criticised for being too impersonal and numbers focused. This was undoubtedly an issue encountered in the Scottish case. More important than this, it has been suggested, is creating an environment that helps those targeted individuals to thrive.

From the limited number of people that I have spoken to, it seems that the University environment itself is not the problem. More pertinent in Scotland is a false perception of Oxford as unattainable, alienating and unaffordable. This has gone unchallenged in schools and by the University itself.

In Scottish schools, Oxford is going unnoticed. Students and teachers don’t commonly see the University as a viable pathway out of school. The general consensus among the interviewees was that the University has no real reputation aside from vague and discouraging stereotypes.

A lack of familiarity with sending students to Oxbridge lies at the heart of this problem. Gerry, my first interviewee, explained that “when I was applying, certainly in the memory of all the teachers there hadn’t been someone who had successfully applied before, so, for me, my only exposure to Oxbridge came from sweeping generalisations. Going into it I had the perception that it was going to be filled with quite bookish, very academic people who were passionate about their subject, in the way I didn’t necessarily think people were passionate about subjects in the school I went to.”

One student added that “people at my school thought that Oxbridge was pretty much full of people who were very posh and/or insanely smart. Barely anyone thought about applying because they just didn’t think that they were the sort of people who Oxbridge were looking for.” Zaynab, a law student, also feared that “people are going to be different; people are going to be rich, posh, from private schools. People won’t understand me.”

So far, the University has struggled to make much of an impact even in some of Scotland’s biggest schools. For Peter, who attended the largest state school in Scotland, “there was almost no talk of Oxford at all.” He remembered stumbling across one of the University’s outreach efforts: “there was actually a talk in my school for anybody who wanted to apply to Oxford from Glasgow state schools. I was the only person from my school who was there.”

Chance encounters such as these would emerge as a dominant theme in these interviews. Without them, those in the state system were unlikely to get a sense of what the University could offer them. Peter explained that “in Scotland, it’s not really pushed the way it is in England. A lot of the big English schools will quantify their success in how many Oxbridge places they have. That happens maybe in the private schools in Scotland, but definitely not in the state schools.” To generalise, “that helping hand just probably won’t be there in state schools in Scotland. There’s no sort of culture where you’re to aim for Oxbridge.”

Being overlooked by bright students is probably not a problem that the University is familiar with. As Peter’s experience shows, the University’s more traditional approach to selling itself, (i.e. talks in schools and UCAS fairs), does not do enough to seize the attention of students who are otherwise untouched by the allure of Oxbridge.

Another limiting factor of the number of applications made by Scottish pupils is the reputation of the country’s own prestigious universities. Peter explained, “you’re more pushed towards high tariff courses in Scotland like Medicine, Dentistry and Law, that sort of thing…We wouldn’t consider Oxford and Cambridge ‘our’ two best universities. We’ve got great universities here, why would you apply [to Oxbridge]?”

So how can Oxford compete with Scotland’s impressive universities? Most important, according to the interviewees, is the “normalisation” of the University and its students. This is where those chance encounters and the personal touch becomes so important. Emerging as somewhat of a folk hero in this investigation was St Hugh’s Scottish Principal, Dame Elish Angiolini. “We have a Scottish principal at Hugh’s who was actually one of the people that I spoke to on the Open Day, which I think certainly was part of the reason that I applied to Hugh’s,” said Gerry. “Having that sort of relatable figure encourages you that it’s a worthwhile thing to pursue.”

Those students who came from state schools were reliant on distant connections. Peter stated, “the reason I applied to St Hugh’s was because one of my mum’s friend’s son had gone to study PPE there like 15 years ago. Another one of my mum’s friends who had been to Oxford phoned me and we talked through the interviews together.”

Gerry suggested that this reliance on making connections or lucky encounters was forced by the unpreparedness of teachers: “In terms of their willingness and their enthusiasm for helping they were absolutely brilliant, but I think one of the problems is the application process, as I see it, probably isn’t transparent enough at the moment. The consequence of that is if you have access to other people who have applied to Oxford successfully, I think you gain a reasonably significant advantage throughout the process.” Zaynab also found that “it makes such a difference if you know someone who’s already applied.”

Even independent schools in Scotland can find the idea of applying too daunting. “No one had a great understanding of what the whole process was like or what it would be like to actually go there,” said one interviewee. A significant barrier in this case was the reluctance of the school to damage its own reputation, fearing that an Oxford offer was simply unattainable for too many of its students. “Our school didn’t want to get a reputation of getting lots of people to apply because they knew lots of people were going to get rejected. They didn’t want to be a school that a) pushed it really hard or b) had lots of people fail to get in. So, they almost tried to get people not to apply.”

Frustrating for all of the interviewees was the contrast between their teachers’ willingness to help and their ability to help. Zaynab recalled “I had a lot of support in the sense of ‘you can do it!’ but I didn’t have a lot of resources. In the last 10 years, our school sent maybe one person to Oxford. So, the only person I was directed to was an English teacher, but it was probably the most useless experience. He was lovely, but I remember telling him about the LNAT and he asked me ‘oh, what’s that?’”

One interviewee described this as “information asymmetry” between the University’s understanding of its application process and schools’ understanding of it, suggesting that more transparency around the decision-making process might be the solution. “A lot of it boils down to a communication issue and maybe doing more to ensure that it doesn’t actually matter where you’re applying from. I think the uni is taking great steps to, in terms of once you get to interview, to take account of different backgrounds. The tutors tend to do a good job of accounting for those differences in terms of your overall education up to that point, but certainly the info you get before that point varies wildly.”

Poor communication even turned out to be a significant problem when it came to the elephant in the room: tuition fees. Scotland’s commitment to free tuition gives its universities a competitive edge, especially if the English system is poorly explained. Tuition fees have traditionally occupied a central place in conversations about access to higher education. Yet, in our abstract and generalising conversations about access we perhaps forget that the issue of fees remains a highly personal one. It falls upon the shoulders of each individual student to weigh up the costs and the benefits of university education, and, in the Scottish case, the information needed to make these assessments isn’t as widely disseminated as it ought to be.

Coming to these interviews I had expected fees to be a dominant, even overbearing part of the conversation. The idea that English tuition fees intimidate and discourage the brightest Scottish students now seems overblown (or even snobbish). Founder of the Clydeside Project Michael McGrade is wary of treating fees as a major factor in discouraging pupils. He told Cherwell, “this argument always stings me as a little patronising…It’s a pay as you earn system and prospective applicants, wherever they’re from in the UK, are bright enough to understand that. Likewise, simply because their mum and dad didn’t come here in the 80s does not mean a prospective applicant will not recognise the extraordinary opportunity that being a student here represents.”

In fact, the English university system as a whole also has some benefits that the Scottish system can’t afford to offer. McGrade stated, “we cannot help the fact that the standard of education at England’s ancient universities far outstrips that of Scotland’s…the zero tuition fee model in Scotland comes at a price. Holyrood will only give a university £1800 per student which means fewer contact hours in larger groups.”

Similarly, whilst the interviewees had all grappled with the idea of tuition fees to differing degrees, there was a general consensus that fees present the biggest problem when not fully explained or understood. “Unless you’re aware of the very unique benefits that we’re fortunate enough to get as Oxbridge students, then it can just seem a lot easier to stay at home,” said Gerry. “A really common question you get [from people in Scotland] is why are you paying the money, which I think is symptomatic of the lack of knowledge of the system. I can see why if you come from a certain economic background that if that’s not made clear to you, the idea of taking on an extra 30k of debt is not something that’s going to be appealing.”

For most then, fees present a problem when the system is little understood. If it wants to improve its access record in Scotland, Oxford will not only have to establish itself as a viable pathway out of school, but make sure that pupils fully understand what they would be signing up for.

The University is by no means ignoring Scotland. Yet, as mentioned above, the more traditional approach that works in England will need to be adapted to suit Scottish needs. In McGrade’s opinion “The University desperately needs to bankroll one of the colleges to act as a link college for Scotland.“ In response to a Freedom of Information request sent this Summer, Oxford informed Cherwell that St John’s College has been tasked with hosting in-bound visits to the university. However, the main access and outreach efforts of the College target specific parts of London.

In fact, most of the university’s Scottish outreach is managed centrally by the Undergraduate Admissions and Outreach Team (UAO). McGrade claimed “it’s been nearly a year since the University Outreach Office stepped foot in Scotland.” Those (independent) students I spoke to who had experienced outreach events in Scotland found them to be woefully inadequate, exposing the general deficiency faced by Scottish schools when it comes to interacting with the university.

The few interviewees who had experienced such events found them to be dominated by independent schools and run by well-meaning, but ineffective admin staff. One reflected on “how utterly useless those days were”, complaining “they were run by people who, now you look back on it, didn’t know what they were talking about. There were no Oxford students, there were no Oxford tutors, there were no members of faculty. An actual student’s perspective is so much more helpful than someone from admin.”

Among my interviewees, UNIQ turned out to be similarly disappointing. McGrade commented: “My experience has been that UNIQ does not seem to have made much headway at all in Scotland and this must be from a failure to advertise it. After all, it’s quite a way to come to Oxford from Scotland and often prohibitively expensive to do so.” This sentiment was shared by a number of the interviewees, who claimed they had not been aware of UNIQ or simply found out about it too late to apply. One student expressed that it was also difficult to find information about the University’s extensive options for financial support.

Information obtained by a Freedom of Information request revealed that in 2019, 9 participants were domiciled in Scotland. This resulted in 4 applications and 3 offers.

Tutors appear to be an under-used resource when it comes to busting the myths that surround Oxford. For those able to attend, in-person open days provide students and tutors with an opportunity to make this human connection. For Gerry, “the chance to meet tutors and have informal conversations who were there sort of demystified the situation in that you realised quite quickly that these people weren’t that different from your teachers at school. There wasn’t an oppressive or overt intelligence in the conversations as they were showing you around…For me, I think it probably did have a bearing on whether I applied at that stage because I was undecided when I went down.”

He added, “Making those sorts of events more accessible regardless of geography is probably a good step access-wise.” It is yet to be seen whether the more accessible online open days will have a significant impact on Scottish applications.

Not all the University’s initiatives are faltering, however. Particularly promising are those that seek to re-inject access and outreach with the much-needed personal touch. Of course, it’s not just the University that has a responsibility to improve representation, and student and alumni initiatives remain absolutely central to “normalising” Oxford. Exeter College recently trialled the East Lothian Project, a summer school for 12 pupils first put forward by a Doctoral student at the college. The costs were split in 2019 between the local authority, who funded travel, and the college, who covered the costs of the stay itself. Whilst forced to go online for the time being, it is hoped that the project will secure permanent funding to ensure annual visits in the future.

One interviewee also commended Christ Church for hosting Scottish pupils for the open day, with the provision of free accommodation and food. “The college was actually really helpful and friendly as they organised a lot of fun things for us to do in the time that we were there. However, the train journey down was 8 hours and quite expensive so this could be a barrier for many Scottish state school students who would be interested…it is a real shame that many Scottish students are unable to attend the open days.”

Moreover, the ability of students to make an impact should not be understated. An important first step is talking to students about their options. Gerry told me that “I feel I have an obligation, as someone who benefited from a chance conversation here and a little nudge there, to try and raise awareness in my community and in my own school that this is a viable pathway.” For him, this means overcoming the natural squeamishness that comes from talking about one’s Oxford experience. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing to be careful in terms of your self-congratulation, but there’s a time and a place when it becomes quite important…offering to go back and speak to students that are considering Oxbridge allows you to have those conversations in a way that isn’t self-glorifying or inappropriate.”

Personalised and friendly communication is certainly a core component of the Clydeside Project. With 100 Scottish pupils now being mentored, it is certainly making a difference. McGrade told Cherwell: “One school in Glasgow we worked with last year had never previously sent a student to Oxbridge. On offers day I got the news that three of their students had received offers from Oxford.”

Peter’s work for the Project involves targeting the most influential figures in education: headteachers, deputy heads, UCAS coordinators, and others involved in pastoral care. McGrade believes that promoting the University among these “gatekeepers” of education is a crucial part of the Clydeside Project’s mission.

The criticism of ‘access’ at Oxford is well-founded but importantly, not without practical solutions. The enduring positivity of those involved in access initiatives has proved, I hope, that the future is bright. ‘Access’ is not a vague goal we talk about in abstract terms, an obsessive numbers-fest, or a box-ticking exercise. Rather it is a complex process of trial-and-error, something that pushes whole institutions to reform whilst meeting the personal needs of individuals. The University may be an easy target for frustrated students, and indeed a healthy degree of criticism is sometimes necessary. But it is worth remembering how fruitful the collaborative efforts have been in the Scottish case. Oxford is a place that our interviewees love, a place that they are grateful for, and a place that they want to help other people reach. This passion, enthusiasm, and personal investment must occupy a central position in the University’s efforts going forward.

Many thanks to those who offered to be interviewed and to the Clydeside Project for their help.

Please note these figures are close approximations (for example, data is filtered to include those domiciled in Scotland)

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg: Unapologetically Female

Opinion

Maddie Dearman

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26th September 2020

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Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg: Unapologetically Female

It was September 2018; the RBG documentary had recently been released on Netflix and ‘UCAS’, ‘careers’ and ‘university’ were my sixth form’s favourite words. Influenced by Legally Blonde and Suits, I had decided on a career in law, and this is how I found myself watching RBG. I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know who Ginsburg was before this, (a tad late to the hype I know), so let me tell you now, less then two minutes into the documentary I did not expect to witness a small elderly lady lifting weights with the lyrics of Minneapolis rapper Dessa’s song ‘The Bullpen’ blazing over the top. This impactful introduction turned out to be fitting for Ginsburg, whose steadfast determination and drive for equality for all citizens led her to become a trailblazer for gender equality, in a time when laws enforced outdated gender stereotypes.

Ginsburg paved the way for the law reform in America; her work being critical to the passing of the Equal Credit Opportunity Act, which removed the need for women to have a male co-signer when applying for bank accounts, credit cards and mortgages. This greatly increased the mobility and independence women could have. However, Ginsburg did not solely focussed on gender discrimination involving women. Her first gender discrimination case was that of Charles Moritz, Moritz v Commissioner, which entitled men to the same caregiving and social security rights as women. From her work with Susan Dellar Ross which resulted in the passing of the Pregnancy Discrimination Act, to being instrumental to the requirement of women on juries, it is clear that Ginsburg’s legacy is well deserved.

Even acknowledging Ginsburg’s vast legal success, what was it that made her gain the attention of the general public? I’m sure it came as a surprise to many that a woman in her eighties became such a huge cultural icon amongst the younger generation. Ginsburg herself admits, jokingly, at the beginning of the RBG documentary that ‘everyone wants to take a picture with her’. Quite honestly, this was true. Named ‘notorious RBG’ on social media for her powerful dissents, Ginsburg’s face can be found on prints and tote bags. Tumblr pages, Instagram posts and even TikToks have been dedicated to her, detailing her vast achievements. What made Ginsburg so special is that she was a strong female voice in what has historically been an extremely male-dominated field. As one of only nine female students in a cohort of 500 at Harvard law school, Ginsburg was asked by the Dean why her place should not be given instead to a man. Even with the odds stacked against her, graduating into a field where females were not favoured, regardless of their credentials, she carried on fighting for what she believed in; equal opportunities for all. As only the second female justice on the American Supreme Court, Ginsburg contributed her worth. She did not sit quietly as a token woman. She stood up for what she believed in, and it was her tactful dissents that were widely publicised, contributing to her internet fame. In an age where our history in schools is full of the well-documented achievements of white men, Ginsburg’s legacy is a refreshing twist.

Since its release in 2001, Legally Blonde is often referenced as an inspiration for many girls to pursue a legal career, with the fictional protagonist, Elle Woods, receiving a place to Harvard law school despite doubts from her peers. Often termed a ‘legal queen’, what many young women admire in Elle Woods is her determination to make a success of herself academically despite everyone doubting her based on stereotypes of ‘dumb blondes’. In 2018, I found a real life model who embodied all of what is admirable about Elle Woods; successful, firm to her beliefs and unapologetically female. In 2017 in the U.K, 67% of law students were female, with 33% male. Even accounting for the fact every law student does not continue into a legal career, it is clear that despite progressive laws and public opinions, there is growing gender inequality as the higher we look up the career ladder. For example, only two out of twelve judges on the Supreme Court in the UK are female. Ginsburg’s legacy of gender equality is still relevant and important even given the progress made over her lifetime.

The most important lesson I take from Ginsburg is her grit and determination in sticking to her goals and morals, despite odds being against her. Nor was maintaining a happy marriage or raising children incompatible with her career. Ginsburg’s legacy is in her immense contribution to the revolutionary change in the American legal system in gender equality. Many law students, myself included, sign up to the degree with dreams of human rights work, inspired to make positive changes. Once beginning the degree, this can appear to many to be a naïve dream when faced with the financial realities of the corporate world. Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s legacy, I’m sure, will inspire many to attempt to achieve their ambitions.

Credit: Wake Forest University School of Law
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/

Oxford’s imperial present: ‘postcolonialism’ doesn’t mean it’s over

Opinion

Mihir Rajamane

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25th September 2020

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Oxford’s imperial present: ‘postcolonialism’ doesn’t mean it’s over

It’s a well established fact that a lot of Oxford’s current institutional ‘glory’ can be attributed to colonialism. A large amount of its capital was reaped from colonial enterprise, including from the worst of its kind, slavery (look at St. John’s research, for example). When we hear postcolonialism, however, we’re used to understanding it as a time period beyond the event that was colonialism. Being from India, many would say, for example, that colonialism ended there in 1947, and the ‘postcolonial’ era began after that. But perhaps it’s more accurate to think of postcolonialism as colonialism under national governments rather than the end of the system itself.

There are many aspects to colonialism, at the abstract level of sovereignty to material conditions of life and labour, but its reach is virtually unlimited. History has its way of entrenching institutions – whether it is through law, setting up of incentive structures, or the minds of people, every systemic change often leaves an impact that is hard to get rid of. What does this actually look like in the context of postcolonialism? The clearest example is the import of Westminster-style democracy across the colonies. This also comes with the adoption of the common law system in judiciaries. In a cultural context, this might include the use and spread of English across the world. There are much deeper institutions as well, such as colonial land revenue collection systems, the exploitation of forests (many occupied by indigenous populations), and the entrenchment of colourism.

One common question when we talk about postcolonialism is why nationalist revolutions didn’t ‘completely’ disown their colonial past. The answer is what I suggested at the start of the previous paragraph – that alternative institutions might have developed in their own manner in the colonies through a process of their own indigenous evolution, but when the British intervened with their own system, they inserted their colonial institutions into this process. This insertion was thus met with each colony’s own nationalistic revolution, but following the framework of dialectical and historical materialism, it was clear that a revolution born as an ‘antithesis’ to something, will always give birth to a ‘synthesis’ or a nation that is stuck in between its own ideals and what it fought against. Such a nation cannot be independent of colonialism.

Practically, we may attribute this to a variety of reasons. The Indian elite, for example, were already trained in British institutions- they became lawyers studying English law, politicians working in the model imposed by the British Parliament, and educationists and reformers influenced by the system of study the British introduced them to. To say they did this out of choice would be highly misleading – the incentives were made highly attractive because the British rewarded loyalty and service, and disincentives of brute force applied to dissenters. So, when we look at the nations born out of colonialism, we continue to see colonial structures that are alive and thriving.

This framework helps us understand Oxford’s present role as a colonial institution, since these structures extend beyond the nations themselves. At a very basic level, it is the impression of prestige that the British left throughout its colonies that continues to carry Oxford’s reputation today. As a student of law, for example, I can see how because of the Indian adoption of common law, Oxford has made itself indispensable to Indian lawyers. It is the pinnacle of the British academic elite, and if we want to understand Indian systems of law, we are still bound to look into British law – not only from the colonial period, but also contemporary law. For example, the reform of sodomy laws and sedition laws requires us to study contemporary British reforms in those fields besides colonial intentions, in order to change such laws within the framework of the legal system and principles the colonists themselves left behind.

After Britain made English indispensable to the Indian elite, and with its vast imperial footprint, the world, it made its own institutions that teach the language and store its deepest history of literature more valuable to postcolonial nations. This also holds true for history, sociology, anthropology and more, since the Western perspective of these subjects have entrenched themselves as the foundational accounts of the Indian narrative – look at Dalrymple, Omvedt, Austin, etc. Without prejudice to the expertise of many of these scholars, consider the case of Dumont for how such Westernised views may go wrong. Similar structures operate at various levels, explaining why Oxford, even today, continues to actively benefit from colonialism, and why the postcolonial populations strive (or struggle) to enter the institution.

What could this mean for Oxford? It requires a recognition as students and members of the university that we are not the pinnacle of merit, but the pinnacle of privilege. Our existence in this institution can be attributed to the extent by which we are able to derive benefit from, and contribute to, those colonial institutions that make Oxford valuable. This does not serve to negate the struggles of anyone to get into the university, but once we are here, we need to recognise that our individual efforts do not exist in a vacuum, but in the context of our position as people who are located in a colonial system, where elites across the world and British citizens are given an upper hand.

This raises questions on how we may recognise that privilege and work towards ‘decolonising’. This is a question with a range of responses, however, I suggest that with the global entrenchment of these colonial institutions, it is not possible to overthrow them and replace them with novel alternatives (the question of what kind of alternative being an equally difficult one). Instead, we need to be able to let postcolonial populations reclaim key structures and define them in their own terms.

This can include practices such as questioning any harsh policing of the English language, or even its use to obfuscate knowledge (sometimes phrased as moving towards a ‘global’ English, even in academia). It includes accepting into syllabi postcolonial authors, as well as expanding syllabi to serve a larger population, making Oxford a truly international institution. We should also be willing to share the privilege the institution has acquired and has bequeathed on us, by making active choices about who and what we platform when here, as well as what we chose to do with this accumulation of ‘Oxford privilege’ over the rest of our careers. This includes adopting practices of decolonisation throughout our lives, and making Oxford a space that permits decolonisation as a process. The institution should be admitting people who can benefit from its privilege, at reasonable and comparable costs, not just removing statues that glorify its colonial benefactors. It should continue to expand the ambit of its research focus, substantively and geographically.

Admittedly, the logistics of these issues are hard to settle, and many steps have already been taken, but I hope the aim of the article to shed light on the postcolonial perspective will increase participation in the suitable discussions towards exorcising colonialism from its haunt at Oxford.

The power of perspective: how the narrative lens can transform a story

Sarah Lewis

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25th September 2020

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The power of perspective: how the narrative lens can transform a story

The recent release of Stephanie Meyer’s Midnight Sun has introduced a new perspective on the Twilight story, now told from Edward Cullen’s point of view. Regardless of what we think of the series, they succeed in highlighting one of the most exciting and complex elements of storytelling: the perspective of the narrator. Who is telling the story?

As soon as an author chooses a first-person narrator over an omniscient third-person, the story suddenly gets a lot more interesting. Objective truth and reality fly out the window, and instead we are left with one individual’s version of events. It is then the task of the reader to decide what they believe.

All first-person narrators are unreliable to some extent, and many of the best novels out there utilise them to create depth and intrigue in their stories. Whether it be Nick in The Great Gatsby, or Nelly in Wuthering Heights, the unreliable narrator is a literary staple.

But perspective becomes even more powerful when a new narrator is introduced to a pre-existing tale. This was a device Mary Shelley employed in Frankenstein, which begins with Victor Frankenstein’s tale of the murderous and destructive monster, only to turn to the monster himself, who tells a very different story. Frankenstein’s nameless creation speaks of how his creator abandoned him, and of the loneliness that followed as he discovered the fear and disgust he inspired in others. Once the ‘monster’ has spoken, it is no longer clear who occupies the moral high ground.

Another transformative example is found in the 1966 novel that reworked the beloved Jane Eyre story. Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys gives a back-story to the ‘madwoman in the attic’, Bertha Mason. She is re-imagined by Rhys as the Jamaican-born Antoinette, whose life of trauma and neglect leads to a drastic decline in her mental state, and her eventual imprisonment in Mr Rochester’s attic.

The Jane Eyre story casts Mr Rochester’s first wife as a gothic monster and a threat, who is othered and stripped of her humanity. This is epitomised in Jane’s first sighting of Bertha, where she becomes an it: “What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal…”

Rhys transforms Brontë’s “beast” into a human being. Her rewrite provides a biting critique of English colonialism through her depiction of post-Emancipation Jamaica, combined with a feminist reading of the marginalised ‘madwoman’ who has suffered in a world of patriarchal oppression.

Wide Sargasso Sea had a far-reaching legacy within literary criticism as a whole, paving the way for other classic works of literature to be re-examined with a more critical eye. Feminist and post-colonial readings became increasingly popular in the latter half of the 20^th century, and are now essential elements of literary study.

The authority of the white and male point of view is undermined when voices that have been silenced for so long are finally given the opportunity to speak out, and to tell the story anew. This process of re-reading applies, perhaps most crucially, to history itself. A long-running story told by the winners, the colonisers and the men in charge – history is perhaps the narrative most in need of a re-write. Tales that tell of the ‘glorious’ British Empire, or of a ‘peaceful’ first Thanksgiving in the New World are just two stories told by biased and unreliable narrators.

As the Hamilton musical reminds us, it all comes down to “who tells your story”. Who controls the narrative, and whose agenda are we being fed? Now more than ever, we should all be reading with a critical eye.

So when Meyer decided to give us Edward’s perspective in Midnight Sun, the narrative is flipped on its head, but this time in a return to the white male’s point of view. Whether this finally allows us to understand Bella’s elusive vampire love-interest, or if it merely serves to highlight the more pathetic and possibly even predatory aspects of Edward’s character, is left for the reader to decide.

Yet what is equally true is that by re-inventing the Twilight story in this way, Stephanie Meyer adds to a long-running conversation on the nature of narrative, and what it means to tell a story. I’m sure for many Twilight fans, it’s really ‘not that deep’, but it is nevertheless a reminder of the power of perspective, and the transformative potential of a new point of view.

Oxford Brookes reports 30 coronavirus cases

News

Maya Misra

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24th September 2020

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Oxford Brookes reports 30 coronavirus cases

Oxford Brookes University has reported 30 cases of coronavirus among students as of 23rd September. Their semester began on 21st September, with Freshers’ introductions starting from the 14th. In a statement, the Brookes vice-chancellor linked the cases to off-campus parties thrown by students.

A party of over 100 Brookes students was recorded on 16 September, and the university subsequently issued a statement condemning student gatherings. Since then, police have increased patrols with the aim of breaking up gatherings that violate the Rule of Six, particularly in South Park.

The university states that it has issued about 150 fixed penalties to students “for breaches within halls of residences” since 12 September, the BBC reports.

No outbreaks among Oxford University students have been reported ahead of the start of term.

However, concerns have been raised by Oxford residents about the return of students to campus from across the country and world. The City Council estimates that between Oxford Brookes and the University of Oxford, students make up about 28% of the city population, the highest of any UK city.

In response, the City Council has organised a Virtual Town Hall on Monday, 28th September, which will include representatives from both universities’ administrations and student unions, as well as City Council, Thames Valley Police, and public health team representatives. Organisations will discuss their planned safety measures and hold a Q&A session.

From Oxford University, Professor Karen O’Brien, Co-Chair of Michaelmas Coordination Group will be speaking, as well as Ben Farmer from the Student Union.

Susan Brown, leader of the City Council, said: “We know that residents in Oxford are nervous about the return of students, and we want to reassure them that we are all working together to take as many measures as we can to minimise the risk from the virus. The universities and their students are very much part of the city of Oxford. Our businesses are starting to reopen, and many jobs rely on students being here in term time and we want to see the students safely in our midst. This event is an opportunity for residents to hear exactly what preparations are in place, and to ask all of us about the issues they see in their neighbourhoods and work so that we can reassure them. The universities, councils and police have been working with each other, residents’ organisations and businesses over the last few months so that we are all ready to manage the safe return of students.”

The SU, University, and City Council have been contacted for comment.

Image credit: Extua | Wikimedia Commons | Image has been cropped

Oxford removes Graduate Application Fee

News

Mark Robins

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24th September 2020

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The University of Oxford has voted to abolish its Graduate Application Fee.

Graduate applicants were previously charged £75 to apply to Oxford, however the University’s Congregation has voted to remove the fee by 419-380 votes. The fee will be phased-out by the 2024-25 academic year.

The Congregation, Oxford’s highest-level decision-making body, had previously voted to maintain the fee during a meeting in March.

The resolution, “To commit the University to the abolition of the graduate application fee in its entirety by the Academic Year 2024–25 and to prevent further fee increases in the meantime”, was rejected by 100 votes to 50.

However, more than 50 members of the Congregation requisitioned a postal vote on the resolution, leading to the reversal of the original decision.

Prior to the vote, graduates could request to receive a fee waiver if they were applying from a low-income country or were a UK applicant from a low-income background.

The resolution was proposed by DPhil student Ben Fernando and seconded by researcher Michael Cassidy. Fernando said: “This is a wonderful testament to what a group of staff, students, and academics working together can do to achieve a fairer and more equitable university. I’m so pleased to have been part of this amazing team of volunteers!”

Oxford SU had campaigned to remove the application fee, saying that it acted as “a deterrent to pursuing an Oxford education”. In a Student Council vote in Hilary Term, over 90% of students in attendance supported removing the fee.

The SU welcomed the decision: “We’re thrilled to see that applicants will no longer face the barrier of an application fee when applying to Oxford. This is a very positive step in the University’s efforts to widen graduate participation and we commend all of the students and sabbatical officers who played a part in pushing this outcome forward.”

Lauren Bolz, the SU’s Vice President for Graduates, added: “I’m excited to continue working with the University to further improve graduate access, particularly to expand the fee waiver to disadvantaged students from all countries before the fee is fully abolished in 2024.”

Oxford has over 11,000 graduate students and more than 30,000 people applied for graduate study in 2019.

The University’s Congregation acts as its ‘parliament’. It has over 5,000 members consisting of academic staff, members of college governing bodies, and senior research, computing, library, and administrative staff.

Image credit to: Mike Knell/ Wikimedia Commons

Cinematic activism: Wind River and the #MMIW campaign

Culture
Film

Nina Holguin

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24th September 2020

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Cinematic activism: Wind River and the #MMIW campaign

CW: murder and sexual violence

While missing person statistics are compiled for every other demographic, none exists for Native American women. No one knows how many are missing – Wind River (2017)

I watched Wind River for the first time a few of years ago. Despite the film’s well-known cast and director, I hadn’t heard of it and I wasn’t prepared for the movie when I sat down for it: its harrowing depiction of could-be-true events was poignant and devastating. It’s a great movie, but importantly Wind River is a statement: the world is wrong and we need to do better.

This is nothing new; cinema has been used many a time to amplify unheard voices. However, it is rare for the focus to be on the current injustices of the Indigenous and Native people in America, especially Indigenous women. I wrote an article about it at the time and titled it ‘Why we should be talking about Wind River (2017)’. Three years later, as many are still ignorant of the #MMIW (Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women) campaign, the movie is as relevant as ever. So, I have decided to revise it.

Set in the Wind River reservation in Wyoming, 18-year-old Arapaho Natalie Hanson (Kelsey Chow) is found raped and dead in the snow by Wildlife service agent Cory Lambert (Jeremy Renner). Rookie FBI investigator Jane Banner (Elizabeth Olsen) is assigned to the case and works with Lambert to find her killer. Racial tensions are a constant theme throughout the movie, especially between Banner and the Tribal Police, but their misunderstanding turns into respect as the movie progresses.

Wind River is really well-made. The cinematography of the bleak Wyoming winter is atmospheric and Nick Cave and Warren Ellis’ soundtrack is ominous yet understated, never taking the spotlight away from the hard-hitting minimalism Director Taylor Sheridan employs. The acting is good, and the final scene of Renner and Gil Birmingham (playing Natalie’s father) is the film’s standout performance, where they mourn the brutally unfair loss of their daughters. There are few scenes more heart-breaking. The movie ends on the quote featured at the top of this article – missing indigenous women are not recorded unlike every other demographic.

However, the movie is not perfect. It definitely suffers from tropes of white saviourism: while the tribal police support the investigation, it is led by Lambert and Banner. Banner needed to be white to show the tension between the FBI and the Tribal Police, as well as the general tension between white people and those on reservations. In the original script, Lambert was a quarter Arapaho, but this was dropped when Renner was cast, instead leaving his ex-wife and children his only connection to the reservation. While Renner may have brought in additional press and beneficial coverage, I think it would have been better to have Lambert’s character portrayed by a native actor.

There has been a long history of white actors playing indigenous characters which continues today: Rooney Mara (Tiger Lily) in Pan (2015) and Johnny Depp (Tonto) in The Lone Ranger (2013). Wind River has received criticism after actor Kelsey Chow falsely claimed Cherokee ancestry, and thus continued this erasure of native people in film. Native reviewer Jason Asenap also criticises the movie, arguing that it perpetuates the ‘dying Indian’ motif, where Hollywood movies continually show Native people dying or present their culture as dying. While both have endured hardships that should be remembered, to a very much alive and dynamic group of people, this bombardment of death is unrepresentative and tiresome.

However, putting aside these merits and flaws, Wind River can be understood as an attempt at cinematic activism, which seeks to raise awareness for the MMIW campaign. There has been a well-documented history of violence and brutality against all native peoples of North America; for those unaware, take time to research it. However, violence against Native and Indigenous women, as Wind River reflects, is still phenomenally disproportionate.

In 2016, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau established a National Inquiry into the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. The background to this inquiry found that between 1980 and 2012, Indigenous women represented 16% of all female homicides in Canada, despite making up only 4% of the population. They also concluded that Indigenous women and girls were “disproportionally affected by all forms of violence”.[1] A 2011 Statistics Canada report estimated that, between 1997 and 2000, the homicide rate for Aboriginal women was seven times higher than other women.[2] No wonder it has been described as both a Canadian national crisis and a Canadian genocide.[3]

In the US, Native women are two and a half times more likely to experience violence than any other demographic and 61% have been assaulted in their lifetime, a statistic 9% higher than any other group of women. It is also reported that 34% of Native women are raped in their lifetime and 67% of the perpetrators are non-native. On some reservations, native women are murdered at rates of more than ten times the national average.[4]

From these abuses the campaign of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women formed, demanding changes to hold those accountable and to protect some of the most vulnerable people. These include demonstrations, activism and creative responses like Wind River. However, this also includes legal changes: reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act in 2013, the creation of the National Day of Awareness for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls and bills passed in Wisconsin, the state of Washington and Arizona.

#MMIW Act or Savanna’s Act, named after Savanna LaFontaine-Greywind who was brutally murdered in 2017, reforms law enforcement and justice protocols to address the crisis. Hopefully, this act will mean the missing person statistics for Native and Indigenous women will now be kept and better reported. However, it has taken too many years for this to be finally realised.

The Violence Against Women Reauthorisation Act attempts to increase tribal prosecution rights further than the one passed in 2013, but, in the Republican Senate, its progress has been stalled. The rights of reservations have been a longstanding debate. The lack of support and the gaps in protection are unsurprising considering its history and unfortunately the lack of support from the conservative right in America is, again, historically unsurprising.

Cinema has a long history of using its medium to raise awareness. The power of film lies in its ability to force you to view a situation from another perspective and give such a personal take on injustice and crises. I commend Wind River’s attempt to highlight an issue which is rarely talked about. The MMIW campaign (which is also extended to MMIWG2ST, to include girls, two spirits and trans people) is a powerful movement producing real changes, going relatively unnoticed.

Unfortunately, Wind River didn’t create the hype or the greater awareness it wanted to, but to the few that have seen it, it opened eyes and hearts. We shouldn’t need a story which perfectly highlights terrible injustices and intimate pain to empathise with a cause, but it certainly drills the message home.

Wind River is an activism entry point. It raises awareness, but like with anything, you shouldn’t stop there. You shouldn’t stop at just being nicely enlightened and continue as you were. Especially with something so far away from many of our day to day existence, effort needs to be put in to actually help, to support and amplify Native voices. Wind River is good but it’s far from everything. Watch it and use it as a foundation to learn more and do more, that is all anyone can do.

If you would like to support #MMIW further, follow the Red House on Facebook and Instagram and follow #MMIW.

[1] https://www.rcaanc-cirnac.gc.ca/eng/1449240606362/1534528865114

[2] https://www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/89-503-x/2010001/article/11442-eng.pdf

[3] https://www.vice.com/en_ca/article/bn3b98/heres-what-the-missing-and-murdered-indigenous-women-inquiry-is-missing

https://www.cbc.ca/news/indigenous/genocide-murdered-missing-indigenous-women-inquiry-report-1.5157580

[4] http://www.ncai.org/attachments/PolicyPaper_tWAjznFslemhAffZgNGzHUqIWMRPkCDjpFtxeKEUVKjubxfpGYK_Policy%20Insights%20Brief_VAWA_020613.pdf

Image via Wiki Media Commons

A Prize of One’s Own: do we really need the Women’s Prize for Fiction?

Maebh Howell

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23rd September 2020

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A Prize of One’s Own: do we really need the Women’s Prize for Fiction?

In 1929, Virginia Woolf famously wrote that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”. Whilst a lot may have changed since the 1920s, Woolf’s sentiment in her essay A Room of One’s Own, that in order for women to write as men have been able to, they must have their own separate place in which to write, still holds true. Whilst the issue of women having their own income and property is a lot less contentious than it was in Woolf’s time, the idea of a separate space for women, in which to express and celebrate their creative talents, still provokes debate; most notably with the annual announcement of the Women’s Prize for Fiction.

The prize, which describes itself as “the UK’s most prestigious annual book award celebrating and honouring fiction written by women” was founded in 1996, inspired by the all-male shortlist for the Booker prize in 1991. This year’s winner, chosen by a panel of five leading women in a variety of fields, was Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet: a work centred around the death of Shakespeare’s son. Hamnet was chosen from a shortlist of six novels which included Bernadine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other; Angie Cruz’s Dominicana; as well as novels by Natalie Haynes, Hilary Mantel and Jenny Offill. However, after last year’s Booker prize was awarded jointly to two women (a historical moment in which Evaristo and Canadian author Margaret Atwood shared the prize), is a separate prize for women’s writing still necessary?

In the prize’s description of itself as “celebrating and honouring fiction written by women” there is a conscious nod to the years of criticism and trivialisation targeted at literature written by women. The misogyny that pervades the publishing industry may be seen in the way “women’s literature” or “chick lit” is undermined; often thought of as being fluffy and overly domestic in theme.

Kate Mosse, a co-founder of the prize, attested to the fact that even though “the majority of consumers and library lenders are women”, the genre of ‘women’s fiction’ was “being under-represented” in mainstream literary prizes. Whilst the suggestion that fiction written by women constitutes a separate genre perhaps speaks to the very marginalisation of women’s literature, the prize aims to remove the stereotype surrounding women’s fiction. In this way, the Women’s Prize for Fiction acts as a reparative or ameliorating institution; improving the perception of fiction written by women after years of negative press (or even no press at all). Furthermore, given that over two thirds of books bought in the UK are purchased by women, it makes sense to have a prize that reflects this trend: a prize created by women for the women that consume the majority of literature published.

Nevertheless, since the prize’s inception, it has faced backlash from women and men alike, with accusations of misandry thrown at the gender criterion and with some critics suggesting that the prize is patronising and belittling to the women that win it. Furthermore, the very category of ‘women’ implies a strict and outdated gender binary that is not representative of many people’s experiences with gender. Our understanding of the fluidity of gender has progressed since the prize was founded in 1996. By relying on the binary term ‘women’, the prize risks excluding people who do not feel comfortable with such a label and are already marginalised within the publishing industry. It is fundamental that all good works are recognized, to celebrate a diverse range of voices within the writing community.

Author A. S. Byatt (winner of the 1990 Booker prize) has refused to have her work considered for the prize, deeming it “sexist” and accusing it of “assuming that there is a feminine subject matter”.^[1]Other critics of the prize have suggested that the prize ghettoises women’s fiction, detaching it from bigger and more mainstream awards and encouraging separation of works as between genders. In fact, as others have pointed out, writers, readers, and publishers are overwhelmingly female; surely it should be young boys rather than girls being encouraged to read?

I believe that the original motivation behind the creation of the Women’s Prize for Fiction has been forgotten; the focus having shifted to criticising the prize for its exclusion of men as opposed to addressing the sobering reality of a literary world which continues to employ male judges to choose male winners for mainstream prizes. And why should the very existence of a prize for a specific group be condemned? The MOBO awards, which have celebrated music of black origins since they were first awarded in 1996, legitimise excellence in music for those who have traditionally been overlooked by the mainstream British music industry. Carving out a specific space for the recognition of achievements should not be viewed negatively, particularly when it celebrates art created by marginalised groups.

Another example of a prize which seeks to celebrate work done by often overlooked groups is the King Lear Arts prize, which was created this year in order to reach out to and encourage creativity in the over-70s by seeking to recognize their short stories, poetry, plays, art and music. This prize, as well as seeking to allay the boredom that many over-70s were experiencing during lockdown after being forced to shield, also seeks to create a space in the arts world for an older generation. This not only provides space and recognition for their work, but also encourages the very creation of art: something that should never be perceived negatively.

Further criticism of the Women’s Prize for Fiction cites the fact that whilst the audience addressed by awards such as the MOBO awards or the King Lear prize share a cultural heritage or tradition, women have no common cultural background or heritage as such that deserves to be recognized. This argument was raised by Cynthia Ozick, who pointed out that there are an abundance of prizes “for black writers, for Christian writers, for Jewish writers”, each of whom share a common cultural heritage, which women do not.^[2]

Yet, once again, this serves only to advance the argument for the Women’s Prize. The fact that women, making up 52% of the world’s population, have no single, common experience is something that the Women’s Prize for Fiction should, and does, celebrate. The international reach of the prize is something that ought to be praised: the only criterion for nomination is female authorship and the prize seeks to recognize translated work. Byatt’s accusation that the prize assumes “a feminine subject matter” is grossly miscalculated in light of the prize’s global reach.

Last year’s prize was awarded to An American Marriage by African-American author Tayari Jones; a novel which deals with the effects of incarceration on a black couple and explores the reality of racial injustice in the US. This book, which is both powerfully written and fundamental in exposing the deep-rooted racism in both the USA and the UK, shatters the common perception that women’s literature is trivial in theme.

The importance of the Women’s Prize for Fiction is no better encapsulated for me than in Bernadine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other. The shortlisted novel, which follows the lives of twelve characters in the UK, speaks to the very multiplicity of being a woman. Evaristo’s characters, whilst intertwined, all live very different lives, and the power of the novel lies in its exploration of the intersections of race, sexuality and gender across a host of women’s lives. Evaristo’s novel demonstrates why the Women’s Prize for Fiction is so important in creating space for a diverse array of voices, even within the bounds of the female sex and gender, which Evaristo demonstrates is far broader than we may think.

Woolf, in her 1938 follow up essay to A Room of One’s Own, Three Guineas, argued that women ought to remove themselves from patriarchal society in order to thrive, “we believe that we can help you most effectively by refusing to join your society; by working for our common ends – justice and equality and liberty for all men and women – outside your society, not within.” Woolf, across her two essays, establishes an important precedent for the validity of a separate Women’s Prize for Fiction. We can celebrate a broad range of female voices, whilst also seeking to elevate those who do not conform to such binary gender labels, in pursuit of a more diverse and accessible industry.

^[1]Charlotte Higgins& Caroline Davies, ‘AS Byatt says women who write intellectual books seen as unnatural’, The Guardian, 2010, < https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/aug/20/as-byatt-intellectual-women-strange>.

^[2]Cynthia Ozich, ‘Prize or Prejudice’, The New York Times, 2012, < https://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/07/opinion/prize-or-prejudice.html>.

OPINION: Boris’ Bill will shatter peace in Northern Ireland

Opinion

Lucy McCaughan

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23rd September 2020

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OPINION: Boris’ Bill will shatter peace in Northern Ireland

How far apart are your eyes? How do you pronounce the letter ‘H’? What do you call a Christian place of worship?

Your replies are as good as meaningless in every corner of the world, except for my home. Growing up in Northern Ireland, I have used the answers to these questions to unconsciously designate every person I meet as either Nationalist or Unionist, Catholic or Protestant, one of Us or one of Them. This prejudiced defence mechanism has been bred into me without my permission, and though I no longer care about the answers, I’ve learnt that ancestral habits are especially difficult to shake off. But I count myself lucky. My generation have to check our internal biases, rather than check under our cars for bombs. We have had the privilege of peace. And in no plainer terms, the Government’s latest Bill threatens to extinguish that peace before it has even reached its 25th birthday.

Last Monday, the Internal Market Bill passed through the Commons, propelling Johnson’s government one step further on its plan to override key components of the Withdrawal Agreement. Behind the political doublespeak which surrounds this Bill is one key proposal: allowing the Conservative Party to break international law. NI Secretary Brandon Lewis said as much himself, shamelessly stating that the Tories intend to ignore international legal obligations in a “very specific and limited way”.

If this Bill is passed into law, it will give the Conservative party free reign to unpick the painstakingly-crafted Northern Ireland Protocol, an essential piece of legislation designed to protect peace in Northern Ireland. The Protocol ended months of deadlock in negotiations by guaranteeing an open border on the island, effectively keeping Northern Ireland in the EU’s single market for goods. But in Boris’ world, these commitments were nothing more than a way to “get Brexit done”. Rule of law; reputation; respect for peace – all now meaningless as the Conservatives pursue an impossible vision of nationhood. In their desperate haste to cast off the chains of EU serfdom, the terrible troika of Johnson, Cummings and Gove have buried the philosophy of their own patron saint, Margaret Thatcher. She stated in 1975: “Britain does not renounce treaties. Our country’s greatness is the part it has played in spreading throughout the world…the rule of law.” The naked lawlessness of this Bill would have been utter anathema to Thatcher and her contemporaries, but for the Tories of today, charlatanism rhymes with statesmanship.

Should this Bill pass into law, and should the UK fail to reach a deal with the EU, then the return to customs checks on the Irish border is not just likely – it’s as good as promised. In a staggering display of solipsism, Johnson and Hancock have declared that the Protocol’s system of customs checks at ports unnecessarily disrupts trade and endangers the peace process. Such a claim adds insult to injury. The basis of peace on the island of Ireland is unfettered trade and passage across the 499 kilometre line separating North from South. As every person on that island knows, the only actual threat to peace is the resurrection of a hard border, of the kind which is enabled by this Bill. The imposition of customs checks along the land border following a no-deal Brexit would symbolise the regression of political healing in the North, and provide fair game for dissident paramilitary groups. If that sounds dramatic, that is because it is dramatic. John Major and Tony Blair, two major architects of the peace under which I have been so fortunate to live, put it better than any other: “this bill negates the predictability, political stability and legal clarity that are integral to the delicate balance at the core of the peace process.” Will it take another Brighton bomb for the British political elite to wake up to the fragility of the peace with which they so recklessly toy?

This Bill has been cooked up to protect neither peace nor trade. It’s about pursuing a Brexiteer wonderland where pure, unimpeded sovereignty exists. It’s about blemishing the image of your nation with the highest number of COVID deaths in Europe, and then scrambling to deflect attention. It’s about imperial nostalgia in the face of an increasingly disunited kingdom. And if left unchecked, the toxic nationalism of this Government is set to trample into the dust one of the most extraordinary peace accords ever agreed. If this sounds like hyperbole to you, then you are not as educated as you believe.

22 years ago, a unique meeting of minds across the islands of Britain and Ireland achieved the impossible. They gifted a generation of young people in Northern Ireland with the privilege of peace, and the chance to forge an integrated society. As a member of that generation, this Bill has confirmed our worst fear: the time when British politicians cared about peace in Ireland is now passed. I would bet my life that any member of the current government could wax lyrical about Henry VIII’s six wives, or analyse the illogical nature of the US electoral college, or recount the dictatorships of Hitler, Mussolini, Franco and more. I would also bet that they would fail to tell me which counties make up the tiny piece of land they apparently want to protect. They would fail to know when Northern Ireland was created, which parties are ‘green’, which are ‘orange’, and which are neither. They’d tell me they love Derry Girls – jolly good fun! – but they’d not recall the name of the 29-year-old who died by gunshot wound on the streets of that city a mere 18 months ago. Her name was Lyra McKee. She was the latest victim of the conflict which has paralysed and abused my beautiful home for almost a century. If this Bill goes through, if the Conservative party hurtles headlong into a no-deal Brexit, Lyra McKee will lose her status as the last victim of the Troubles. That is not a bet. That is a fact.

Image by David Dixon

Approaching sexual assault on screen: The triumph of I May Destroy You

Culture
Film

Anna Robinson

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20th September 2020

0

Approaching sexual assault on screen: The triumph of I May Destroy You

TW: sexual assault / rape

Michaela Coel’s I May Destroy You is what television’s been missing. Everyone should see this programme. It’s beautiful. It’s funny and it’s sad and it’s thought-provoking. It’s full of metaphor and meaning and feeling. It deals with sexual assault in a way I have never seen on television. Its characters are flawed and funny – they make us laugh at the most painful and surprising times; they can be selfish, insensitive, dishonest; they swear, smoke, drink too much. And Coel refuses to offer us the sanitised, tidy femininity we are used to seeing on television: we see things such as Arabella on the toilet chatting to her friends; we see period sex in all its realism. And we see sexual abuse in all its sickening ordinariness.

The series begins with Arabella struggling to deliver a draft of her book to her publishers. With hours left until the deadline, and her phone ringing with invites, she goes to meet some friends on a night out. Someone spikes her drink in the bar. The next morning all she remembers is a man on top of her, raping her in the bathroom stalls. We follow Arabella’s recovery, how she pieces together that night, and navigates her denial, her despair, her rage, her fear.

I love that Coel also explores kinds of abuse that don’t typically get air time. When Arabella sleeps with a colleague, Zain, she finds out after that he took the condom off without telling her. He gaslights her into believing it’s not a big deal. They carry on their relationship, but when Arabella discovers discussions of ‘stealthing’ online, she realises the she has been assaulted. As she later describes him, Zain is “not rape-adjacent, or a bit rapey: he’s a rapist”.

Coel reminds us that sexual assault is not always staring down at us from a bathroom stall. Sexual assault can be quiet, even subtle. It can be disguised with words to look ‘harmless’. Sexual assault can live hidden, unnamed in memories for years. Throughout the series, we hear Terry boast of her threesome in Italy – how she met two strangers and they went back to her hotel “and did things that prudish bitches don’t do”. But in a flashback we see that the two “strangers” appear to secretly know each other – “there was something about the way they left together”, Terry admits later. What Terry believed to be a spontaneous, unpremeditated encounter, was in fact planned and predatory. Terry “took the bait’” Her consent was gained through dishonesty. And that “still burns like it was yesterday”.

Kwame, one of Arabella’s close friends, explores the limitlessness of his sexuality with frequent Grindr hook-ups. He has consensual sex with ‘Hornyman808’, but the same man rapes him later in the evening. Three weeks later we see Kwame’s attempt to report it to the police. The scene is a masterpiece of discomfort. It crackles with awkwardness, sadness and disillusion. Magnificent and delicate symbolism operates throughout the scene to expose the flaws in the way the law handles sexual assault victims.

Under the lurid yellow light of the interview room, Kwame sits behind a large black table: its mass obtrusiveness seems to symbolise the barrier between the justice system and the people it is supposed to protect. We are made hyperaware of invasive background sounds; telephones ringing, conversations uttered. It is an auditory reminder than the average workday is churning on, all whilst someone is heaving their trauma out onto that black table in interview room one, ready to be dissected under the unsympathetic, disinterested light of the police officer – an officer who conducts half of the interview standing near the door, itching to leave.

This collision of the mundane workaday and raw trauma keeps the scene sparking with disquiet. The walls are a lifeless yellow and the room feels tired, worn down through usage. The wall behind Kwame is comprised of four translucent windows. Through the milky panes we can see the shadows of an office corner. Murky figures move past, resembling oceanic creatures swimming in shallower water above the claustrophobic depths of the interview room. The ghostly spectators of this clouded amphitheatre watch through the panes at the awkward vivisection about to happen.

The policeman is uncomfortable talking to a gay black man about rape. He chuckles under his breath, seems nervous, disapproving, and repeatedly ignores Kwame’s assertions that he has the rapist’s address, instead insisting that he need only gather the information asked for “on the form”. He asks about the extent of penetration, and is uncomfortable with the response: “you know, we have machines outside that you could have reported this on”.

He then asks Kwame if he needs anything – a glass of water perhaps? Kwame’s need for protection and justice is completely overlooked in the very place meant to provide these things, but at least his thirst can be quenched. The officer leaves out of an open door, with a sign which reads ‘ATTENTION: THIS DOOR MUST BE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES. YOU ARE PUTTING PEOPLE IN DANGER BY HAVING IT OPEN’. The officer fails to even shut the door for him: the system keeps breezing on, answering phones, filling out forms, but ultimately leaving doors open for offenders to walk free. Home Office statistics from 2019 suggest the alleged perpetrators of more than 98 per cent of rapes reported to the police are allowed to go free.[1]

Arabella’s experience with the police is less dismissive and more sympathetic, but it is ultimately just as fruitless. The day after she is spiked and raped in ‘Ego Death’ (the bar’s apt name), still in the depths of denial, Arabella reports “the man in my head” and what he did to her to the police. We see her in a hospital gown, having tests, samples and photos taken. She goes for a smoke, and sat next to her is another woman in a gown. There’s a large blood stain near her thigh. “Is this your first time?” the woman asks sympathetically. “Funny, isn’t it,” she continues serenely, “how nothing hurts and everything is beautiful?”

In a later episode, Arabella gets a call from the police asking her to come in. The original policewomen on her case walk in, one after another. They are both now heavily pregnant. Arabella and Terry screech excited congratulations. The officers ask to proceed with the meeting. “It has been nine months,’” Arabella is told, “since your first interview”. Reading from her folder the facts of the investigation – and never taking her eyes off the page – an officer informs Arabella that after testing the DNA of one suspect and it not being a match, there is “no longer an active investigation”. Arabella is asked if she would like her things back from forensics.

Their fat, fruitful bellies contrast with the withered, dried up, fruitless investigation. It takes nine months for a pinprick to gestate into a fully developed foetus; it has also taken nine months for the investigation to reach the stage of abortion. On one side of the table sits a rape victim, on the other two pregnant officers. We have the destructive and the constructive consequences of sex, juxtaposed across the desk. The babies will be born into a world where yet another rapist walks free. The officers’ pregnancies embody the fertile infertility of the justice system. Last year the proportion of rapes being prosecuted in England and Wales was 1.7 per cent.[2]

Michaela Coel, having been sexually assaulted herself, recalls going to the police station after the attack: “as we waited for the detective, I noticed him playing Pokemon Go on his phone. And that became the tone for the rest of my thoughts.”[3]

I May Destroy You traces a web of destruction and consequence, but Coel’s skilled and nuanced touch, her expert interweaving of comic relief and heart-warming moments with threads of darkness and devastation, prevents us from ever fully going under. The series brims with ordinary beauty and also the ordinariness of trauma. It is genuine and heartfelt. It captures the beauty in friendship and in finding your own power. A poster by Arabella’s bedside reminds us that we are made of 70% water. Throughout the series, water symbolises power: ‘we are made of the thing that can destroy us’, Coel explained in an interview. [4] In episode one we see Arabella flinching from the sea in Italy: later in the series, after her rape investigation is closed, we see her walking into the ocean, fully clothed. She submerges herself. ‘Going under’ is a prominent concept in the series: under water, under investigation, under the bed where Arabella throws all her things from forensics, under another person. Just before the scene ends, we see Arabella emerge from the water, ‘like a sea monster’.[5] We might be subsumed by the thing that can destroy us, but Coel tells us that we can, and will, resurface.

Art by Philip Olney

[1] https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/rape-prosecution-england-wales-victims-court-cps-police-a8885961.html%3famp

[2] https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/rape-prosecution-england-wales-victims-court-cps-police-a8885961.html%3famp

[3] https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2020/jul/10/michaela-coel-i-may-destroy-you-bbc-arabella-assault-racism

[4] https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=GWNb6uGc748

[5] https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=GWNb6uGc748