Monday 7th July 2025
Blog Page 435

Rhodes Must Fall Oxford demands statue falls in 2020

Imogen Duke
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Rhodes Must Fall Oxford demands statue falls in 2020

Rhodes Must Fall Oxford continues to campaign against the statue of Cecil Rhodes, demanding a definite removal in 2020, following Oriel College’s announcement that its independent Commission of Inquiry will not submit its final report until January 2021.

Oriel has stated that the Commission “has license to consider a full range of options for the statue.” The Governing Body voted in June to support the removal of the statue.

RMF Oxford’s recent action has been ‘Freedom Summer’, a series of protests taking place around Oxford. It also emailed all heads of colleges requesting that they contact Oriel to demand that the statue is removed in 2020 and is covered until its removal.

RMF Oxford have so far only received a response from Somerville College. The head of Somerville, Janet Royall, told RMF Oxford that she welcomed the Independent Commission of Inquiry.

Somerville College’s Governing Body stated on 17th June that they welcomed “the decision by Oriel that they wish to take down the Rhodes statue.”

RMF Oxford noted in its communication to heads of colleges that so far only Baroness Valerie Amos has been outspoken against the statue. Baroness Amos is the new Master of University College, and is the first black Master of an Oxford college.

Amos told BBC Breakfast: “We shouldn’t airbrush history, but I don’t think you need a statue of Cecil Rhodes to help you to have a conversation about that history. I would take it down.

“This is a man who was a white supremacist. An imperialist. He founded a company that made money through slave labour in the mines, and you’re telling me that we have to put up a statue of this person, glorify their memory to have a conversation about our history and the messy complexity of that history. You don’t need a statue.”

Heads of colleges signed a letter in June expressing their support for Black students and acknowledging the “collective failures to address attitudes and behaviours which amount to discrimination”.

This was in response to an open letter, written by Common Ground Oxford and signed by over 10,000 people affiliated with Oxford University. This letter stated that “the University has made only inconsequential inroads into tackling the material legacy of imperialism,” noting that the statues of Christopher Codrington and Cecil Rhodes still stand in the University. Rhodes was not mentioned in the University’s response.

RMF Oxford said: “We have heard from several loud voices at the University (Oriel, VC and Chancellor) who have taken to the press to either delay efforts to decolonise Oxford or going so far as to ventriloquist anti-oppression icon, Nelson Mandela, in an effort to silence the movement.

“There has been a deafening silence from heads of Oxford colleges on the issue of Decolonisation, specifically denouncing white supremacy and the veneration of white supremacist symbols at Oxford. Last week we sent a letter to all heads of college imploring them to break that silence, like the first Black woman Master (Baroness Amos) has done. We have been met with out of office responses, silence or avoidance.”

In the letter to heads of colleges, RMF Oxford wrote: “We believe that the issue of Rhodes has come to be a stain on the fabric of our academic community. The persistence of his uncritical adornment of Oriel College threatens to tear at the delicate fabric of inclusion and democracy woven together by decades-long efforts of numerous people across the Collegial University. The time has come to take bold steps towards living the values of our University and the global community.”

Oriel College told Cherwell that the College will not take any action or make any statements regarding the statue until the Commission has completed its work.

“But where are the bonnets?”: Little Women and historically inaccurate costumes

Nina Holguin
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“But where are the bonnets?”: Little Women and historically inaccurate costumes

In case you didn’t know, Little Women (2019) won Best Costume Design at the most recent Oscars and there are a good number of people who are tremendously annoyed by this. They generally don’t complain about the aesthetic of the movie, instead their focus lies with the historical accuracy of the movie or, rather, the lack of it.

Particularly vocal is Micarah Tewers who, on her YouTube channel with over 1.2 million subscribers, posts videos showing the clothes she makes, some of which are inspired by clothes seen in movies and on awards show red carpets. In an 18-minute video, she rants about why Little Women didn’t deserve the Oscar for Best Costume Design, commenting on the many historical inaccuracies and costume choices that she feels do not add to, but detract from the movie. I love Micarah and her videos, but I don’t agree with everything she says. However, what’s most important is that Micarah’s criticism leads us towards debate over historical accuracy in film – and whether we consider it integral to the cinematic experience.

Micarah points to many historical inaccuracies that frustrate her, bonnets being one of them. The film decidedly lacks bonnets, despite them being a key fashion item of the day. The hair of the Marchs’ is down when it shouldn’t be, and side parted when a middle parting was the only way to part your hair. The colours of some garments wouldn’t have been available at the time. Laurie’s romanticised clothes don’t escape judgement either. Little Women is not a textbook historical vision of the 1860-70s.

Credit Wilson Webb/CTMG

Little Women, as with any movie, has to battle with realism. A movie rarely wants its viewers to be preoccupied with the fact that it isn’t real. Films need to be an immersive experience. If the March family walked around in jeans and t-shirts, it would immediately take us out of the experience of the film because we would be constantly focused on how wrong it was.

However, directors should not be confined to realism. The fact of the matter is that a period drama, or any movie set in certain time, does not need to be historically accurate. A film is an artistic expression and should be treated as such. There needs to be a balance of stylistic and creative intent and realism: it’s fine to have inaccurate elements so long as the viewer’s experience is not worsened by it. Both historically accurate and inaccurate elements should be seamlessly embedded into the movie. A movie that manages this well is A Knights Tale (2001). The film is set in medieval Europe, yet has modern music and fashion influences; nobody bats an eyelid at this because this adds to the quirkiness of the film and the modern moral of social mobility.

I actually love it when movies are deliberately inaccurate in order to achieve the correct emotional response in their audience. Satine’s outfits in the Moulin Rouge! (2001) frequently misrepresent the fashions of the Belle Epoque era the film is set in. Turn of the century dancer outfits would not be scandalous to us today and were Satine to be clothed in these garments, we would lose essential characterisation and understanding to historical accuracy. Instead, the costumes in the Moulin Rouge! are sexy by modern day standards, with hints to the era in which it is set. The movie creates the right response all while keeping the audience immersed. Something similar was done with the dance sequence in ‘The Favourite’ (2018). As we are not in the 18th century we cannot quite comprehend what was socially acceptable, modern or scandalous back then. Instead of relying on Queen Anne’s reaction to show how bizarre and modern the dancing of Colonel Masham and Lady Sarah was, the dancing was made bizarre and modern by our standards instead. Yet crucially, while historical accuracy is sacrificed to enhance the audience’s experience, we are still not taken out of the reality of the movie.

So, I’m going to have to disagree Micarah on a few things. I think losing the bonnets was a good idea. I think, to the modern-day viewer, bonnets look restrictive and old fashioned. They would not allow the characters to be as accessible as I believe the film wishes them to be. For me, the mix-match of fabrics and garments adds to an overall patchwork effect – the March’s were poor and making do with what they had. The colours of the costume, and the entire film, are used to convey mood and memory. A warm, rose tinted lens shows the March girls’ childhood (or perhaps just the events of book that Jo writes), and a cold blue lens focuses in on their real adult life. So, I don’t mind that there were unrealistic dyes in the movie.

Also, I think the movie plays with a lot of costume shorthand. These cinematic tropes allow us to quickly engage with the movie by referencing previous ideas and imagery. Laurie’s billowing white sleeves and floppy hair tells us quickly that he is a romantic person, evoking ideas of love and visions of poets. This does much to establish him as a romantic lead. Jo picking up her skirts and running down the street would have been shocking, if not totally unrealistic at the time. To us, however, this shows that she cannot contain herself within the restrictive ideals of the time and is actively trying to push herself and her society, not caring what the world thinks.

That said, not all of the costumes in ‘Little Women’ are brilliant and well thought through. In this respect I do agree with Micarah. A frequent issue is that the costumes don’t effectively reflect the characters. For example, Meg is driven by the idea of being a respectable lady within society but her clothes don’t always suggest this and are often quite unconventional. Her pink ball dress is supposed to be a rejection of the modesty Marmie had taught the girls, yet, compared to the other dresses, she has one of the more modest dresses at the ball. After Jo burns her hair, she complains about having to wear a bow in her hair, yet in later scenes, she does so anyway. Characterisation is so important in costume and it’s sad that the film often doesn’t deliver in this regard.

Photo credit: Wilson Webb; © 2019 CTMG, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

One of the greatest missed opportunities for the Little Women costume department was the fact that between the childhood of the March girls and their adult life there was no significant change in style. In the 1860s, the fashion was big hooped skirts, which moved to a bustle by the 1870s. This isn’t a major issue, however, as director Greta Gerwig decided to go for a non-linear plot and to use the same actors to portray the characters both as children and adults, referencing the changing fashions would have made for clearer distinction between the two time periods. Because honestly, if you didn’t know the story and recognise the cinematic switches between childhood and adulthood, the film might become really confusing.

I do like the costumes in Little Women’s and I often found them breath-taking to look at; I don’t know about anyone else, but I practically dream about Amy’s blue dress and cape. Not having watched many of the other Oscar nominees for Costume Design, I can’t make a huge statement on whether Little Women did or didn’t deserve the award. However, Micarah’s rant, and the complaints of others knowledgeable about costumes raise an interesting issue in cinema. Realism in movies is hard to get right, because as soon as you get the realism wrong, the audience will think of little other than how wrong it is. This is why I think the key to realism is to include an element of unrealism – the inclusion of something extraordinary or something that the audience hasn’t experienced allows it to go unnoticed when inevitably, a shot at realism is a few degrees off.

For people in the know, and there always are people in the know, glaring mistakes will occur and detract from films. For example, as an ex-competitive swimmer, I watched Sex Education and every time Jackson’s swimming was mentioned, I cringed and immediately felt distanced from the drama emotionally as I could only think about how inaccurate it was. So, I understand why historical fashion commentators are annoyed by historical inaccuracy in costume more than everyone else; it’s difficult to move past mistakes when movies are trying hard to be realistic, but you can spot their failures. However, for the everyday viewer, caught up in the cinematic magic, these tiny mistakes and discrepancies are really not that big of a deal.

Photo by Wilson Webb/Columbia/Sony/Kobal/Shutterstock.

‘Lockdown made me do it’: the sustainable benefits of getting crafty

Sophie Wright
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‘Lockdown made me do it’: the sustainable benefits of getting crafty

A month into lockdown, I found myself curing my boredom by browsing clothes online and inevitably buying outfits for occasions I wouldn’t celebrate. Safe to say Parkend Wednesdays will not be on the cards in Michaelmas, and a ‘Great British’ summer will probably not materialise either. Two months into lockdown, I decided that it was time to finally tackle my bedroom. 

A common cliché is ‘tidy house, tidy mind’; with that attitude, I opened my wardrobe. Sifting through it unearthed some too-small treasures of years gone by, shoved into the back of a cupboard and forgotten. Other discoveries were less promising; I’m sure many will relate to the fact that despite your mother’s bold claims that ‘the dress looks lovely’, the dress, in fact, did not look lovely. For someone with a distinct lack of practical skills, the mission to transform these finds into something I might actually wear felt a little bit daunting. But I cracked on with it; if people were making a small fortune on Depop and Etsy (occasionally funded by me) by selling vintage and up-cycled clothes, I might as well try doing it for myself on a budget.

  • Definitely my artsiest moment; this was so easy, just mix one-part bleach to one-part water, roll up the top and pour over the bits you want to bleach.
  • Very much a five-minute job of measuring the length of top I wanted and cutting it – now I have lots of spare fabric to work with, as yet unplanned!

The phrase ‘arts and crafts’ brings back distinct memories of primary school, tiny red-handled safety scissors and glitter just about everywhere except the page. Equally, the thought of making or altering a piece of clothing start to finish felt like something that my (far more talented) grandma would always do in front of the telly and distinctly unattainable to one girl armed with just some questionable garments and no sewing machine. Nevertheless, I got a needle and thread out and went for it. Taking a pair of scissors to a pair of trousers you remember costing you a certain number of hours of work could have ended in disaster… but, it didn’t. Proud at myself for succeeding at something (admittedly very simple) I’d never done before – altering an item of clothing I no longer wore into something I liked once again – I decided I would take this time to teach myself to do more.

I’ve hardly reached great heights of creativity, but I’ve made things I’d abandoned fit me again and created unique items. Tiny tasks like turning a skirt from a low-waisted one to a high-waisted one with a few stitches, or re-hemming trousers to make them more flattering would not have occurred to me a few months ago, especially with forgotten clothes that I’d already dismissed as unfashionable. In braver moments, I managed to transform a skirt that however much I tried couldn’t make fit properly into a top, a far too big dress into a top.

On one especially quiet afternoon, I threw caution to the wind and decided that tie-dyeing, inspired by something I’d seen on social media seemed like a great idea. Simply by cropping, hemming and taking in various items, it feels like I’ve gone out and bought a whole new piece of clothing. Lockdown has given me the opportunity to do stuff which really isn’t radical, but equally requires confidence and time to do.

Finding potential in things that I’d let hang in my wardrobe made me realise how guilty I can be of commodifying fashion. Even while I make an effort to buy second-hand, the closure of shops in lockdown makes this a lot harder. Looking at what I already have and finding forgotten items is making me consider how much of my wardrobe I actually wear. So many of us are guilty of not wearing things to their full potential and buying new things instead because of their rapid availability and low cost. By sitting down to alter an item of clothing, even in a completely amateurish way, you realise how much work goes into making something really simple, and question how the prices of fast fashion can possibly be justified. 

  • I’d always really liked this skirt but it was too big. I thought about turning it from an A-line into a pencil skirt by taking it in at the waist, but instead put pleats at the front to make it fit
  • Originally a skirt I’d bought on Depop, I decided the material would make a really pretty night out top. Wouldn’t advise looking too closely at my sewing but I’m excited to wear it!

According to a report on the fashion industry from consumer analyst Hitwise, fast fashion from leading retailers, especially those online, such as Shein, Nasty Gal, Missguided and PrettyLittleThing, account for 66% of all traffic in the fashion industry. Last summer, Missguided was advertising a ‘miracle’ £1 bikini, a product that simply couldn’t be justified as paying a minimum let alone living wage. Whilst the ethics of fast fashion are often focused on things such as the carbon footprint of a piece of mass-produced clothing, the Coronavirus crisis and investigations into social distancing in the industry have shed a spotlight on the conditions inside factories. As seen with Leicester’s Boohoo factory in recent weeks (a city just coming out of a localised lockdown), an undercover reporter at the Sunday Times reported that workers could be expected to receive just £3.50 an hour in unsafe, overcrowded conditions, a fact that Boohoo has been unwilling to confirm. The Independent’s Lauren Bravo reported that according to The Lowest Wage Challenge, globally less than 2% of people who make clothes for companies whose selling point is a low cost earn a living wage, a fact often skirted around by companies who justify this by paying the local minimum wage, a very different thing to the actual living wage. 

It is so easy in lockdown to spend money you might have spent out and about in normal life on new clothes. The websites for brands such as Topshop and Asos have been flooded in the past few months with editorials on lockdown dressing, with branding using the pandemic to market everything from loungewear to workout clothes for 9 am with Joe Wicks and ‘night-in’ outfits. The availability of fast fashion at the push of a button is trapping us in a cycle of buying and disposing of clothes far too regularly. With all the time we now have at home, let’s use it to consider how we can have a more sustainable attitude to how we dress, and even (dare I say it) give making your own a more modern and slightly cooler rep.

All images by Sophie Wright.

Culture in crisis: the impact of the pandemic on theatres

Rebecca Walker
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Culture in crisis: the impact of the pandemic on theatres

The coronavirus pandemic has wreaked havoc on countries around the world. A huge number of services and businesses are struggling: the NHS, airlines, retail and charities to name a few. With the economy under pressure, there have been calls for government action regarding many sectors, including the performing arts industry.

The priority of course has been, and should be, the health service. But as some semblance of normality begins to return, it becomes ever more noticeable that the doors of theatres remain closed until August, with massive financial implications.

The future of theatre seems bleak, as most establishments depend on their box office takings, which have been non-existent. The director of the National Theatre, Rufus Norris, says that only 15% of income comes from subsidies, and the remaining 85% from ticket sales. The predicament theatres have faced is how they can sustain themselves until the start of August, when the prime minister has announced they can reopen with social distancing.

Theatres shut without warning in March, and since then have remained empty. The possibility of reopening is now imminent, but this will come as too late for some. Already, Nuffield Southampton Theatres have announced their closure, there are possible redundancies at Manchester’s Royal Exchange and 400 job losses by the end of August at the National Theatre.

The Society of London Theatre & UK Theatre estimated losses for the sector at £630 million by mid-June, and by now, this will have only increased. Many theatres have asked for the ticket money from cancelled performances as a donation to maintain themselves whilst they are in dire need of aid.

We cannot let the theatres die during this time. They are a place for entertainment and a tourist attraction, and theatre is central to UK culture. They may seem less important in the midst of a pandemic, but if the theatres shut their doors forever, there will be vast implications that will affect the UK as a whole, with the risk of thousands of people being made redundant and of a serious blow to the economy. Not only that, it is also a forum for debate and challenging perspectives. Dan Romano, a current drama student at Manchester Met, reflects on the importance of theatre: “Theatre is an incredibly powerful art form and tool that we can use to influence culture, actually affect people and instigate change in the world around us. It’s something that is necessary not just as a form of entertainment or escapism, but as a platform for real change. So we can’t lose it.” 

So what is the government doing for the arts industry? On the 25th June, Oliver Dowden, Secretary of State for Culture, announced a “five-step roadmap” for the return of live theatre and music. The first two phases are already allowed. These are physically distanced rehearsal and training with no audience and physically distanced performances for recording and broadcasting purposes, such as the play Lungs with Claire Foy and Matt Smith at the Old Vic that has live streamed performances to a paying audience. The third stage is allowing “performances outdoors with an audience”, which has been possible since the 11th July. Stage four is allowing indoor performances with social distancing and this will be able to begin from August. Stage five will be fuller audiences indoors. By the time theatres will be allowed to open, pubs, restaurants and cafes will have been doing business for a month. Why has the hospitality industry received preferential treatment over the arts? It seems that the government has obvious priorities: pubs before culture.

The arts sector is still in limbo. Jon Morgan, director of Theatres Trust welcomed the news that theatres could reopen as “a step in the right direction”, but he said that “for most theatres it will not be economically viable to reopen with 30-40% audience required under social distancing“. The theatres will need continued support to be able to maintain themselves if they are to avoid bankruptcy.

When Dowden revealed the five-stage plan, there had been no funding to help keep theatres afloat. The £1.75 billion rescue package was only announced on the 5th July, almost four months after the closure of theatres. By this point, the industry was struggling and redundancies had already been made. It seems that this ‘rescue package’ came rather late. If, as Boris Johnson says, arts and culture “make our country great and are the linchpin of our world-beating and fast-growing creative industries”, I do wonder why it took so long to provide this funding that the arts industry was clearly desperate for.

This matter is close to home for me, as I have grown up with Sheffield Theatres, the largest theatre complex outside of London, on my doorstep. They put on a huge variety of shows, from touring performances in the Lyceum to their own plays and musicals in the Crucible. The hit West End musical Everybody’s Talking About Jamie was a Sheffield Theatres production before it transferred to London. 

They also run a community theatre group called ‘Sheffield People’s Theatre’ with ages ranging from 12 to 85. SPT puts on full-scale productions every year, which gives many people the opportunity to become involved in theatre no matter their age. But these sorts of projects are expensive. What will happen to them if professional theatres can barely support themselves, never mind community endeavours? Jane Norburn has been in a number of SPT productions, and before COVID struck, was part of the ensemble of the Crucible’s professional production of Coriolanus. She talks about the impact of the pandemic on community theatre projects, “From a personal perspective, [SPT] had become a life changing experience for me being part of the team…for the SPT people who rely on the workshops and support from the theatre community to keep them strong, I really worry.” 

It is both strange and sad to see the theatre stand empty and lifeless in the city centre. But not all is doom and gloom. Theatres are still trying to have a positive impact despite their circumstance. Sheffield Theatres is promoting ‘Free Cheers for Sheffield’ that involves recorded and live performances, links on the website to online streaming of theatre across the country and virtual workshops. The aim is clear: to keep theatre accessible even in this time of crisis. Rob Hastie, Artistic Director of Sheffield Theatres, stated that, “Theatre is what we do, not just the buildings where we do it. With Free Cheers we’re reaching beyond our walls to celebrate the joy and the sense of community that theatre gives us.”

Similar initiatives have been started around the country. The ‘National Theatre at Home’ and ‘BBC Culture in Quarantine’ have offered access to online performances, and Disney+ has a filmed version of Hamilton available. Even without the physical spaces, theatre has still been a part of people’s lives.

Now, there is a chance for the return of live theatre, but the government’s announcement that theatres can reopen with limited capacity in August does not bring relief for many. Sheffield Theatres have released they “will not fully reopen until spring 2021” and “have entered into a consultation with our staff team which could reduce our numbers by 29%.” Whilst it was a difficult decision, a socially distanced Christmas was not financially viable and touring shows have cancelled or rescheduled to next year. The main issue for Sheffield Theatres is the uncertainty. They are awaiting information on socially distanced audiences, there is no confirmation about when full audiences would be possible and the financial situation is unstable. Sheffield Theatres received the Art Council’s Emergency Funding, which will sustain them until September when they hope to apply for money from the government’s £1.75bn package, but lack details of the amount they would receive or whether an application will be successful. Theatres across the country are facing the same concerns, leaving the future of theatre in doubt.

Putting on a show is an expensive project, and with limited capacity audiences it is not sustainable. Many, like Sheffield Theatres, will have to remain closed, and inevitably face serious financial difficulties. They need more certainty with further information and urgent support. The government has been delayed in their approach to theatres, and this needs to change. The arts must not be forgotten.

If we neglect the arts now, we will undoubtedly regret it in the future.

EXCLUSIVE: Student journalists nationwide respond to coronavirus

David Alexander
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EXCLUSIVE: Student journalists nationwide respond to coronavirus

Robin Connolly, Epigram, Bristol

On the surface, students are seemingly most satisfied when they have something to grumble about. Although undeniably grateful when ‘safety net’ policies for this semester’s work were announced in May, Bristol students often found some aspect – whether speed, content or extent – of the University’s (and the world’s) response to the pandemic to moan about.

However, maybe actions speak louder than words, because despite the griping and dissatisfaction, I’ve been made to feel incredibly proud of the initiative and creativity that students have shown these last few months.

Artists for Armageddon, set up early in lockdown by students, was a Bristol-based initiative to “keep art alive and creatives connected in isolation,” exhibiting creative work online on a monthly basis. Meanwhile, three Bristol graduates launched the platform Closet19, encouraging people to declutter, sell their old clothes and donate the proceeds to NHS Charities Together. As well as this, Tom Marland, third year Politics & International Relations student, set up a website to track and simplify travel information relating to COVID-19, after he and a couple of friends found the sea of information relating to travel restrictions understandably hard to navigate.

It has been somewhat awe-inspiring to watch how young people have not just adapted to the topsy-turvying of the world, but to thrive within it and make it better for those around them. We might present ourselves as grouchy, not-quite-adults but out-grown-teenagers, however, this pandemic has also proven our ability to be observant, innovative and wonderfully compassionate.

Serafina Kenny, The Mancunion, Manchester

The University of Manchester has had a fairly standard response to the coronavirus pandemic; they’ve staggered start times for new and returning students, changed the way ‘Welcome Week’ is going to work, and have moved large-group teaching online. Small group teaching will continue in person, albeit socially distanced, but the university is aiming to make it possible to continue studying with ‘no learning deficit’ even if students are not physically in Manchester.

The University reported a possible loss of £270 million thanks to the pandemic, and so have done quite a lot of budget cutting, deciding not to renew any fixed term contracts for staff in the School of Arts, Languages and Cultures and asking staff to consider voluntary pay cuts or career breaks. However, the student Living Cost Support Fund has been extended for students struggling financially as a result of the pandemic, which should hopefully help students to continue their studies.

Some students are unhappy with some of the measures taken, especially the treatment of staff after the strikes earlier on this year and an increase in tutorial class sizes, but most are glad that the university’s learning provision has not been moved completely online for the whole year!

Rob Lownie, The Student, Edinburgh

Edinburgh goes to great lengths to emphasise its credentials as a truly ‘global’ place of learning, but this status is not working to the university’s advantage in the wake of Covid-19. Swathes of foreign-dwelling freshers are deferring their studies; some older internationals are not planning to return in the autumn. In any university this would be a problem, but at the University of Edinburgh, whose international intake is third only to UCL and Manchester among UK institutions, it may be financially ruinous. Given that non-EU students pay up to £30,000 a year for the pleasure of a Scottish education, the losses will not be recovered for several years. The university’s vice-chancellor, Peter Mathieson, suggested a drop in income of anything between £70-150 million.

For all the money mayhem, student morale is not completely dashed. Campus will be open again in September for those who dare to return; student exchange programmes have been cancelled for the first term but should still be operating from January; face-to-face teaching will be rarer, but not non-existent, over the course of the year. Scotland’s emergence from lockdown has been more gradual than the hurried lifting of restrictions down south, and most onlookers would agree that the decisions coming out of Holyrood are more considered than anything decreed by Boris Johnson. As a result, Edinburgh’s student population has cause for some optimism moving towards September. We know that, while things will not be quite the same initially, the quotidian comfort of normal campus life will be back before we know it.

Lauren Mcgaun, Impact, Nottingham

Since the University of Nottingham announced that all classes were moving online from the 23rd March, student responses to their lockdown approach have been largely positive. Criticisms were raised over the way the University approached pupils’ studies at the start of the transitioning to online learning. Many UoN students felt measures had been rushed through without the adequate support structures in place. This was particularly hard for students who weren’t from a privileged background as departments were slow to provide any guidance. Once the University became more established in its approach, however, students praised the constant stream of communication in the form of newsletters and counselling services.

Since lockdown began, many virtual communities have been set up to make undergraduates feel like they’re still in Nottingham. From ‘UoN Neighbours’ to ‘Communitea’ and virtual meditation sessions, there’s been lots of events to keep students busy. The Arts scene at the University has also thrived over the last few months as Blowsoc hosted their charity extravaganza and the Creative Showcase was shortlisted for an activities award. The University have since put in place a ‘no academic disadvantage’ structure to support students. Whilst online assessments will never suit everyone, it seems that the University of Nottingham has acted relatively well in unforeseen circumstances.

Megan Price, Empoword, Gloucestershire

Working towards deadlines, managing extra-curriculars and maintaining a social life is challenging in ordinary times. As we were sent in to lockdown, these pressures only became harder to manage. From the moment I returned home, I had one-to-one calls from lecturers and had access to unlimited extensions if I needed them. Despite the overwhelming support from my university, it’d be difficult to ignore being alone in isolation didn’t spark the productivity I first thought it would. As naïve I was to think I’d have no distractions to my impending assignments, I instead found video lectures tricky to engage in and my passion for my course disintegrated into boredom and demotivation. I attempted to find my drive by finding other platforms to write for, I started a podcast with some friends and I excessively wrote blog posts in between assignments. I found myself busily writing, attempting to remain creative and keep a routine. My lecturers pushed for this. They emailed compliments on my work, shared my articles on socials and believed in me. Their push for me to do well in this strange time kept me motivated to complete the year. Now my second year has come to its abrupt end, my routine has vanished and I can’t wait to return to ‘hopefully’ more normality in my final year.

Cerys Turner, The Boar, Warwick

I think a lot of people feel let down by the academic support the university has provided over the last few weeks – aside from an online learning certificate, little has been done to consistently and effectively engage with students from home. Despite this, the SU has been really great in keeping students together – the sabbatical officers set up a Facebook group called Warwick SU Corona Community, which posts updates and events from all different societies in one place. They’ve also hosted quizzes and even an online version of the SU Awards.

Imogen Usherwood, Palatinate, Durham

At Durham, those last three weeks of Easter Term are what every student looks forward to all year – nearly a month of summer balls, college days, concerts, performances and events, lazy days spent rowing down the River Wear and having picnics on Palace Green or Observatory Hill. The loss of that precious post-exam time has hit the student body hard, but we’ve been doing our best to make up for it. Colleges have organised lockdown events and activities over Zoom, there have been online theatre productions and musical performances, and this has actually been the busiest time ever for Palatinate’s online content.

That said, since lockdown started lifting, a kind of tension has definitely emerged among students, as most of us have had to return to Durham to move out of colleges or houses for the summer. Some have strictly self-isolated or socially-distanced and returned home as soon as possible, while others have stayed in town for trips to the beach, garden parties and other in-person activities. Some of my friends have abandoned apps like Instagram, because seeing photos of university friends hugging and meeting in larger groups has become ‘too stressful’. Durham students have missed out on a lot in the last month or so, but some are going to greater lengths than others in an attempt to reclaim it.

What’s it like getting a Coronavirus test?

Lizzie Harvey
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What’s it like getting a Coronavirus test?

Everyone has heard about the coronavirus test in one vague way or another. We’ve read about it in the news, watched Trump call them ‘overrated’ and seen clips of people in PPE poking around in someone’s nose. The UK managed to go from virtually zero testing capacity to being able to carry out 200,000 tests a day by the end of May and now, when cases are being tracked and traced, testing is going to play an even greater role in reducing the spread of the virus. But what is getting a test actually like? Should we believe that questionable friend of a cousin who swears hands down that the test made him throw up? To get a test do you need to be so ill that you’re in hospital or can you just rock up to a testing centre? Where even are the testing centres?

I had all these questions when I started to feel ill after travelling to London about a month ago. I’d worn a mask on the tube and used hand sanitizer in shops but there was always a chance that the temperature and sore throat I had started to develop was coronavirus, and with a key worker parent, I couldn’t take any risks. And so began the surprisingly short and easy process of getting a coronavirus test.

As I had some of the symptoms, I was able to book a test through the government website. The form I had to submit gave them all the information they would need if my test result was positive and they needed to start the process of track and tracing my contacts, and gave me a QR code and reference number which was used to link my information and test together. While I can’t speak for everywhere in the UK, particularly for places experiencing local outbreaks or in rural areas, finding a slot at a nearby test site was very easy; there were hundreds of slots available each day and I booked a test for that afternoon at a test centre just a couple of miles away from my house.

A couple of hours after booking the test, I arrived at the test site and held up a QR code to my car window, where it was scanned by one of the many workers there who were helping with the tests. Driving through the site, which in normal life is just a car park, was quite the adventure, with people holding up signs with instructions and a phone number so that staff could explain the process without having to yell. I had expected a hive of activity at the site, but it was empty, save for me, one other car and the staff. The test was passed through the car window, along with information of how the process of taking the test works, although you could have asked for assistance and someone would come and poke you in the nose for you.

The test is not something to fear. It’s uncomfortable, but infinitely less painful than the guilt of accidentally spreading coronavirus to your loved ones because you didn’t know you had it. It involves rubbing what looks like a Q-tip for giants on your tonsils and then up a nostril for about 15 seconds, and then sealing that all up in a series of tubes and bags with biohazard written on it in big letters. I was then asked to throw this out the car window and into a box where the tests were stored before being taken off to be processed. In my greatest demonstration of athletic prowess since school sports day, I got it in the box in one and was then free to drive off and wait for the results. The whole process was almost amusing, like I was in a dodgy sci-fi film or spy drama, until the seriousness of the situation hit me and I remembered that I was there because I was potentially infected with a deadly disease.

Luckily for me, the test came back negative. The results can take up to five days to come back, during which time your household has to be in complete lock-down, but mine came back the next morning in the form of a text saying I was in the all-clear. The whole process, from booking the test to getting the results took less than 24 hours and gave me the peace of mind that my family and I were healthy and could safely return to work. Unlike at the start of the pandemic, the UK now has the capacity to test the mildly ill and asymptomatic contacts. We are now in a crucial phase of the pandemic where we could get the virus under control through contact tracing, testing and social distancing. If in doubt, please get tested. I promise it won’t hurt your nose too much.

Currently, anyone who has coronavirus symptoms or lives with someone who does can get a test through the NHS, as well as everyone who lives in areas that are experiencing outbreaks. At the moment, this includes people in Leicester, Luton, Pendle and Blackburn with Darwen, although this will change over time. Tests must be done in the first five days of having symptoms and can either be done with a home kit that is sent to you in the post or at a test centre, the majority of which are drive-in only. For more information, see the NHS or government websites.

Comfort Films – Stand By Me

Ernest Lee
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Comfort Films – Stand By Me

Childhood is a slippery concept. One day we’re reading comics with grubby, chocolate-stained fingers at 4 o’clock on a Wednesday, the next day it’s a rush through university, work, marriage and whatever else we take as a synecdoche for adulthood. Sometimes we are ignorant dwellers on the threshold, or else dragged kicking and screaming across this boundary by a stark moment of realization or trauma. Stand By Me (1986) is a gem in the coming-of-age genre, which really could be better thought of as an umbrella of different films, ranging from quasi-autobiographies, adventure, to social melodrama. It blends an introspective exploration of friendship, trauma and childhood aspirations with moments of feel-good comedy and a qualified sense of wonder.

Rob Reiner’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novella The Body is relatively short and simple, as far as epic journeys go.  Although it drips with 1980s Americana, its four protagonists act on irresistible, universal impulses. The chance to locate the body of a boy hit by a train, and the opportunity to become town heroes, prompts a two-day-long journey along railroad tracks and into the woods. There are many memorable, humorous episodes: a scramble in a junkyard to escape the foreman’s infamous dog (‘Chopper, sic balls!’), a pie-eating contest and parable of injustice relayed over campfires, or the matter-of-fact narration (“We talked all into the night, the kind of talk that feels important until you discover girls.”) spanning Vern’s (chubby 12-year old Jerry O’Connell) love for cherry-flavoured Pez, or what exactly Goofy is. However, when bearing in mind the motivation for this journey, there’s a real sense of danger. At one point, for example, the four encounter a train hurtling down a bridge with nowhere else to go, with Gordie (Wil Wheaton) and Vern inches from death.

And indeed, family dysfunction, death and grief haunt this trip. Gordie grapples with the death of his older brother Dennis, while the town’s perception of Teddy Duchamp’s (Corey Feldman) father as a madman is at odds with his own image of himself as a war hero. Death remains a sobering encounter. When buying provisions with the handful of coins the group has left, the storeowner reminds Gordie that “in the midst of life we are in death”. At the climatic encounter with the body of Ray Brower, Gordie bursts into tears, comforted by Chris. They are simultaneously cognizant of their own self-interest – in the thrill of the search, and the promises of fame, not the dignity human beings deserve – as well as the promises their own futures bring; in Gordie’s case his knack for storytelling. Not every question can be resolved in a two-day trip: the issue of parents’ love, getting respect from one’s neighbours, and the possibility of a wasted future all linger.

“I think most good stories about boys are about journeys”, King muses in a featurette. In hindsight, there’s as much that the film excludes about childhood as it encapsulates – lamentably the experiences of girls and women. There are references to characters’ mothers, who serve as much as figures to disappoint as much as they are of discipline or respect. Yet, my own adolescence developed in largely male spaces, namely three different boys’ schools in Singapore, and if national narratives are to be believed, came to a crushing halt in the hypermasculine institution that was military conscription. As for the prism of the journey? It is useful to some extent: Joseph Campbell’s framework of mythmaking and discussion of journey posits a ‘hero with a thousand faces’, where a heroic sequence of actions sees the protagonist achieving and completing something supernormal, undergoing a ritual of initiation and growth. However, Stand By Me carefully navigates this idea of heroism. Immature boyishness and naivety are never glamorised, even as there is a distinct transition which the four have experienced by the end of the film.

I did not encounter this film at my favourite cinema, or through family tradition. Rather, it was screened in secondary school, a class I think was called Character and Leadership Education. Some enterprising schoolteacher might’ve written up a brief summary of the film, or its themes, to get it cleared for classes: puberty, entering the next stage of school, interpretations of adulthood and death. I might’ve done a worksheet on it: what struck you most about Gordie and Chris’ relationship, et cetera. But years later the film still evokes a sense of sentimentality, especially given its conscious treatment of the passage of time. The journey to see a dead body represents a brief moment where the lives of four boys were briefly intertwined: in the aftermath of the journey they unravel again, to the point where close companions come to just be passing faces in a school corridor. “It happens sometimes, friends come in and out of your life like busboys in a restaurant”, Gordie reflects. Chris, who successfully became a lawyer, meets an untimely death intervening in a fight. As for me: I’m still close friends with some people I sat with in that classroom; others have indeed drifted apart.

The film ends on a melancholic and wistful note, even as it celebrates a period of life irrevocably past. It is a reminder to treasure wide-eyed innocence and wonder, but not to sidestep growing pains; a call to appreciate companionship even as it comes and goes. “…I never had any friends on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Of bops and bargains

Sophie Grapentin
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Of bops and bargains
Artwork by Liv Fugger

“I mean we are doing something to slow it down, but this fashion is still going very fast.” With this statement hanging in the air, we stared at the table covered in clothes in front of us. We had just organised our first clothing swap in Oxford and were very happy with our turn-up of over a hundred students throughout the day. Yet, we couldn’t help but notice that the clothes people had brought in were almost exclusively from fast fashion labels.

A common argument brought forward in discussions about fast fashion is that being able to afford slow fashion is a huge privilege. Fast fashion brands like Boohoo, Fashion Nova and Primark are credited with making fashionable clothes accessible for everyone, creating a democracy in fashion that has never been possible before. With dresses being sold at £10 and T-shirts going for £3, in 2020, lack of money is no longer a reason not to participate in fashion trends. But fashionable clothes come at a high price, though it isn’t paid by the consumer. Our rapid fashion consumption has created a waste problem of immense dimensions. In the UK over two tonnes of clothing are bought each minute which is the highest consumption rate in all of Europe. The amount of clothes that go into landfill each year is estimated to be around 350,000 tonnes in the UK alone. Recycling clothes is possible but rarely profitable on a commercial scale. The majority of modern clothing is made from fibre blends, for example a mix of cotton, polyester and elastane, which makes recycling it more difficult as well.

The massive waste issue created by our fast fashion addiction does not just spoil landscapes in England or Wales, it is actually a problem of international relations (and international proportions). Around half of Europe’s unsold second-hand clothes end up being shipped to African countries, primarily Kenya, Rwanda, Tanzania and Uganda. There, these massive imports of low-quality clothes are credited with destroying the local fashion market and are often part of the political discussion of the international treatment of African countries. The states of the East-African Community (EAC) had already planned a ban of textile imports in 2015 but internal differences and immense pressure from the US-government stopped them from putting the resolution into practice. With Covid-19 the Kenyan government banned the import of used clothes with immediate effect in the name of disease control. While second hand fashion is disinfected before entering the country which makes its role in spreading disease unlikely, the pandemic has allowed the government to follow its neighbour Rwanda and prohibit the practice. It is unlikely that they will start imports again when the pandemic has ended, and this means that Europe and North America will have to find new ways to rid themselves of their ever-growing textile waste problem.

So, while demanding that everyone stops buying fast fashion is often based on assumption of financial privilege that not everyone possesses, cheap fashion does come at a high cost – to workers, to the environment and to this planet’s resources. And with these devastating effects at the back of our minds, maybe it is time to ask ourselves about the immense privilege of having an overflowing wardrobe, new clothes every season and a new dress for every social media post? Do we truly “deserve” fashionable clothes? And can we really call ourselves fashion lovers when we value our apparel so little?

It might seem contradictory at first that university students would be so heavily involved in the buying of fast fashion. Most students are highly involved with social or political issues, whether that be animal rights, environmentalism, global race relations or feminism, care about social class and its meaning or theorise on the moral value of consumption. Yet, when it comes to their actual fashion buying habits, these concerns are not reflected in the boohoo and Asos parcels piling up inside porter’s lodges and being squeezed into pidges.

Throughout the past weeks and especially the official lockdown fast fashion advertising to students has been constant and relentless. It is a running joke on Twitter that Fashion Nova continued advertising through the pandemic in the US with some users suggesting the discount code “unemployed”. And in my own inbox the MyUnidays emails advertising discounts on fashion and makeup appeared with the same consistency as reminders about library updates during the vacation and Trinity term. For many students, the maintenance loan hitting their bank accounts marks the first time they have so much money at their own disposal. And in a world where one can buy a simple T-shirt for less than £5 from one brand and a very similar item for over £500 from another, how is one supposed to know what fashion should cost. With evermore individuals participating in fashion, buying and wearing trendy pieces, the value that we see in clothes has changed and accordingly how we treat them has too.

The value of an outfit has shifted to depending on the act of wearing it and is no longer related to the quality of material, the accuracy of stitching or originality of design. The value we see in a dress is measured in the number of likes a ball photo can get or the amount of compliments a new bop look will achieve. In that sense, clothes lose their value as soon as they are taken off. And since they have little to no inherent value, we don’t feel the need to take care of them, repair them or just keep them in our possession. When a fellow student asked me if I could hem her new ballgown (for an event that same day no less) and I pointed her in the direction of a good tailor, she told me that the dress itself had only cost her £40, the same amount the tailor had asked for the changes she had in mind. This instance suggests that she didn’t understand that a dress as a physical item cost resources, time and skill to create. To her its only significance lay in the look she was trying to achieve for her social event. Here, we also see another reason for the popularity of fast fashion amongst Oxford students. At least usually, being at university means a never-ending flow of social events that require new outfits. If you take your bop themes seriously and enjoy your college and Union balls as much as your nights out, participating in student life can motivate a lot of clothes shopping.

Review: Haim’s ‘Women in Music Pt. III’

Deepra Sinha
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Review: Haim’s ‘Women in Music Pt. III’

As with other albums scheduled for 2020, the release date for Women in Music Pt. III experienced an upheaval. Having moved from its original April date to late summer, before being brought forward again to the end of June, its ultimate release date was “just in time for summer”, the band noted. It almost seems strange to think that this wasn’t the original plan. If there’s any season with which Haim (and this album) would be associated, it would be summer – the three Haim sisters have been the embodiment of sun-kissed Los Angeles and its breezy, cool girl aesthetic in both style and sound since their 2013 debut Days Are Gone. However, this glossy Californian veneer appears peeled back for the first time on Women in Music Pt. III.

“We named our album that because we didn’t want to get asked any dumb questions,” frontwoman Danielle told The Independent. This suitably exemplifies the new degree of directness and openness that Haim embrace on their third LP, as they consider loneliness, weariness, and depression in their lyrics. The sisters have been open about their personal struggles in the last few years: Danielle found herself dealing with depression; Alana was grieving the death of her best friend; Este was having difficulties with her type 1 diabetes. These themes are given worthy attention, while Haim simultaneously build upon their 70s Californian rock foundations in compelling ways.

The opening track of Women in Music Pt. III, ‘Los Angeles’, begins with a brief cacophony of saxophone, already suggestive of the novel directions Haim have chosen to explore on this album. It’s an airy song with a somewhat Caribbean twist, which almost masks the inherent sadness in the words: “These days I can’t win / These days I can’t see no visions / I’m breaking, losing faith”, Danielle sings about falling out of love with her home.

While unhappiness is an undertone in ‘Los Angeles’, it comes to the forefront as the record progresses. ‘I Know Alone’, a deceptively catchy electropop track, laments the endless passing of time and feeling detached from the world; ‘I’ve Been Down’ is an acknowledgement of melancholia and the need for help, as Danielle almost speaks the verses; ‘Now I’m in It’, initially released last summer as a taste of things to come and now offered here as a bonus track, details life in the midst of depression. Songs like these, with their penetrating lyrics, are representative of Haim’s growth with this album.

The most pointed reference to the album title is ‘Man from the Magazine’, a quietly scathing acoustic song that recounts the band’s experiences with sexism in music and their refusal to let it go (“I don’t want to hear / It is what it is / It was what it was”). Its biting last line rounds off what is a definite highlight of the album.

Haim’s sonic exploration and forays into other musical styles to augment their pop rock roots are also laudable. The saxophone is a welcome, unwavering presence from its first appearance in opener ‘Los Angeles’, to the tenth track ‘I’ve Been Down’, and the final track ‘Summer Girl’. ‘Another Try’ is an easy-going, reggae-tinged affair, littered with precise details that keep it sharp. A distorted scream underlies ‘All That Ever Mattered’, but its true defining feature is the searing guitar that kicks in during the bridge. Haim engage in more theatrics than ever with the lively rock song ‘Up From a Dream’, opening with a dramatic yawn and ending with blaring alarms, while the R&B-infused ‘3AM’ begins with a voicemail parody of a booty call. Flourishes like these could seem kitschy in some circumstances, but in Haim’s well-crafted ambience they make entertaining additions to the tracks’ textures.

While there are no real missteps or disappointments on the album, there are a handful of songs that don’t quite live up to the heights of the others. ‘The Steps’, ‘Gasoline’, and ‘Don’t Wanna’, while solid, are more conventional Haim tracks that perhaps would not seem out of place on their 2017 outing Something to Tell You. This is by no means a slight, but rather an indicator of how well Haim’s more daring ventures on Women in Music Pt. III have paid off.

Women in Music Pt. III expertly walks the balance of encompassing a wide range of sounds, while still coming together to form a cohesive album overall. This is the most interesting and personal album that Haim have released to date, and this development is truly welcome.

   

Image: Original image of HAIM by Raph_PH

Turning twenty in my bedroom: the illusion of being older

Sofia Henderson
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Turning twenty in my bedroom: the illusion of being older

I guess twenty-one is supposed to be the big birthday of your youth. But, for me, turning twenty is a marker that seems particularly significant. My years of teen angst and confusion are behind me, supposedly, and now I should do things that people in their twenties do: wear heels even when nobody’s forcing me to, pretend that I somehow ‘just can’t drink as much as I used to’, and laugh at the immaturity of hopeful and naïve eighteen-year-olds as I sip the red wine that I swore I hated before I was introduced to Oxford formals.

Yet as I sit as I have done for four months within the confines of my room at home, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still, I don’t know, seventeen?

I can’t remember what was going through my head as I neared my birthday at the peak of the pandemic in April; it almost feels as if it didn’t happen. I don’t like making a fuss on my birthday, anyway: the past two years featured a simple trip to Spoons with my school friends, the day always falling in the Easter holidays, and I’m content with nothing more than a cheeky drink and a good catch-up while my friends hand me homemade birthday cards and we share pitchers. Obviously, this year, this was off the table.

As I floated through the first day of my twenties, not being able to visit what is far from Britain’s finest drinking establishment, did not seem to be a great tragedy. I sat around and did what I wanted to, I hosted a birthday video call with my friends, and my parents ordered Pizza Hut for dinner. It wasn’t a particularly exciting day, and yet everything I did felt imbued with some personal significance.

I don’t think I’m alone in not enjoying making a huge occasion out of my birthday. We all like a bit of attention, but forcing yourself to have a good time can lead to the day ending with a tinge of disappointment. You either don’t have as much fun as you envisioned you would, or your plans are weighed down by a reminder of the unrelenting passage of time, or some other existential reality that hits you in the face every time you celebrate an essentially made-up occasion. And still we pretend the things we do on our birthdays are important. Perhaps, on a fundamental level, we need things to look forward to. We need times where we can let go of our responsibilities without any guilt, and we all want to believe that our ordinary lives are special – in the words of girls on TikTok, we all want to be the main character.

For a lot of university students in lockdown, the past four months have seemed like a time warp. Having grown used to independence and acting more and more like adults, we’ve been thrust back into our pre-eighteen-year-old lives. I feel like I’m seventeen, my life revolving around what my parents do, as I sit in my room which reflects my interests three years ago, and occasionally venture into the park with my friends. Maybe it’s because I never had the stereotypical coming-of-age experiences associated with being a teenager, but I can’t help but think that I’m missing out on a defining moment of my youth.

Turning twenty in lockdown has exposed even more just how performative the rituals we take for granted are. For me, there’s a tension between the sense that I’m supposed to celebrate another year of life with an exciting celebration, and yet being perfectly content having a takeaway and hosting a group video call. A tension between the sense that I’m finally supposed to be growing up, and the reality of my independence being out of reach. Maybe returning to uni for my final year will mark the moment when I feel a little older. Though, Oxford’s eight-week terms also have their own essence of unreality to them.

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