The University of Oxford and the Royal Horticultural Society are undertaking a project together to make information about plants more accessible and available.
Any one cultivated plant can
be known by many names. For example, Acer has over 1600 cultivars, with over
2000 different Latin names associated with them. This variety of names can
create confusion.
In collaboration with Denis Filer
and Andrew Liddell of Oxford University’s Department of Plant Sciences, the Royal
Horticultural Society has begun to counter this confusion through their use of
the BRAHMS database system. This software was originally developed over decades
to deal with biodiversity research, taxonomic revision and natural history
collection management. It has now been adjusted to manage the complexity of managing
and displaying all the cultivated plant names typically encountered by gardeners.
Professor R. George Ratcliffe, Head of the Department of Plant Sciences, said: “The Department has nurtured the development of BRAHMS over many years and its adoption by the RHS is a wonderful endorsement of the power of the tool for managing botanical names and collection data.”
BRAHMS will rank the various
names a plant has to determine which name should be used at various times, as
well as supplying data to an enhanced RHS website.
Dr Philippa Christoforou, BRAHMS Licensing Lead at Oxford University Innovation, said: “Working with the RHS and applying BRAHMS as its database management system is great news for the gardening community. We are excited to share the new naming system with all BRAHMS users across the botanical world.”
Sian Tyrrell, RHS head of horticultural information, said: “This is an exciting time for horticultural information management at the RHS and with the support of colleagues at Oxford University’s Department of Plant Sciences, accessibility and usability of our plant data is coming to the fore.
“Our charity is driven by our desire to support our members and the wider gardening community. The investment put into this new system will greatly benefit everyone and ensure that gardening becomes more accessible and enjoyable.”
Professor Stephen Harris, Druce Curator of Oxford University Herbaria, said: “BRAHMS is the product of long-term commitment by the Department of Plant Sciences to releasing the research potential of the data contained in botanical collections. The adoption of this software by the RHS affirms BRAHMS’s significant role in the management, analysis and security of global botanical data.”
University of Oxford scientists have developed a COVID-19 test which produces results within 30-45 minutes.
Oxford’s test will cost no more than £20, cheaper than those currently on the market, and will not require specialist training or equipment.
Developed by a new spinout company, Oxsed, the test is a simplified, one-step version of the viral RNA test. It generates a coloured result from a throat or nasal swab which can be read by the naked eye. Researchers say it can be used without additional tools or training.
Tests are also linked into a laboratory information system via Bluetooth so that results can be tracked. Researchers believe that it could be adapted for use in schools, airports, and for home self-testing.
The University has said the test could help combat the virus in developing countries: “Across the world, countries face the combined challenges of controlling the spread of SARS-CoV-2 while maintaining an economically productive workforce. Current testing relies on complex lab tests with supply chain issues arising from unprecedented demand; challenges of sample collection and turnaround time for results.
“Developing countries also suffer from a lack of testing labs and the financing of mass testing. Yet effective testing strategies are key for releasing countries from lockdown in a safe and sustainable way.”
Professor Zhanfeg Cui, Director of Oxford Suzhou Centre for Advanced Research (OSCAR), added: “Our test is ideal for use in community or field settings by lay persons and allows immediate decisions to be made.
“Immediate applications are: returning to work/education (i.e. schools, universities, companies) and making quarantine decision (e.g. care homes, hospitals, temporary migrants, tourists). Use of such a test could be crucial to economic recovery globally.”
Oxford University Innovation (OUI) has supported the formation of Oxsed to develop the test. Oxsed aims to “commercialise and distribute technology jointly developed at Oxford University and OSCAR for detection of COVID-19.”
Dr Jane Lin, a Licensing and Venture Manager for OUI, said: “Speed of response is crucial in the current pandemic, and we are very pleased to have supported our researchers through the commercialisation process in just three months. Now that the social venture has been incorporated we look forward to seeing the technology deployed globally at scale, in particular in resource-poor developing countries.”
The test will be certified and released commercially soon. Researchers say they will publish their results in the near future.
The Oxford University Centre for Teaching and Learning (CTL) has released detailed plans for remote teaching in the 2020/21 academic year. Cherwell has summarised what you need to know about next year. The CTL plans are guidelines for tutors and in no way binding.
Continuing remote teaching for students who are unable to return to Oxford
The University has announced there will be “a strong focus on tutorials and other undergraduate and graduate small-group teaching (face to face wherever possible) alongside online alternatives for larger group teaching, lectures, and some exams.” The plans confirm that remote teaching will continue for students who are unable to return to Oxford next year.
To facilitate a varied approach to teaching, the plans encourage supplementing small group teaching with recordings, summaries of the sessions, and making some resources available to students in advance.
Incorporating online tutorials survey feedback
Feedback from Trinity Term surveys has indicated that both students and tutors find online tutorials to be “more intense and tiring” and that getting through discussions often takes longer. The plan therefore recommends to tutors: “You may want to adapt what you plan to achieve in your tutorials, moving some activities online for completion before or after the tutorial (asynchronous), ensuring breaks if tutorials are long, or getting students to share their screen to show slides, text or visual material.”
The plans suggest “recording any live sessions and making them available on Canvas for students to review and for students who were unable to attend live sessions.”
Including online elements in small group teaching
The University advises teaching staff to “[use] a variety of activities such as think-pair-share, student presentations, structured debates and working together on a digital whiteboard, [to] help ensure all students are able to participate in a synchronous session even if it needs to be online.”
If remote students need to be included in a face to face class, the plans suggest pre-recording material and sending remote students notes in advance to allow them to follow even with a poor internet connection. Having face to face and remote students use the same tools such as SharePoint (for text) or OneNote (for images, equations and annotations) is highly recommended. The guidelines also advise tutors to assign remote students “buddies” to make their voices accessible to the teaching groups.
Recording lectures and making them more interactive
The University guidance advises lecturers to record and share live streamed lectures. The CTL website states: “If you would like to give a live streamed lecture from your own computer you should ensure that these lectures are also recorded and shared with students, so that those who cannot attend the live streamed session can watch the lecture as soon as they are able.”
The website further notes that lecturers may have difficulties recording and engaging 50-minute online lecture. According to tutor recommendations, “producing shorter chunks of lectures on particular themes or concepts” can help make lectures more engaging.
Additional suggestions to make lectures more interactive include offering a Q&A session in the lecture or assigning additional time for students to submit questions. Answers to these could then be shared on Canvas or in an extra recording.
Making laboratory teaching more flexible
As social distancing rules and PPE requirements may change, the CTL recommends adopting an approach to practicals that allows teaching staff to move between in-lab teaching and simulations with supplied data.
The website suggests using instructional videos in either scenario as a “flexible and inclusive approach to learning practical skills.” These should be prepared in advance and shared before the practical or replace the practical if face to face teaching is not possible.
Adjusting DPhil and Masters supervision
In the case that public health requirements make research and data collection temporarily impossible, the CTL recommends switching to “tasks [that] can help develop analytical and writing skills that the student can apply once they can resume their research.” Students at the beginning of their research are encouraged to “develop other academic skills such as writing book reviews or synthesising conclusions from a collection of articles.”
The University website also suggests setting up online gatherings of research students to create a support network. Supervisors “might want to set up a journal club to bring postdocs and research students together.”
Image credit to David Iliff. License: CC BY-SA 3.0
The Oxford Playhouse performed the play ‘A Theatre Near You’, with Jericho Comedy Club and Macrocosmic, to highlight their disapproval of the Government’s current regulations for theatres. The play was performed in the theatre to an empty auditorium and tickets were sold for access to an online stream.
The Government’s current ruling has left theatres able to open, but without the ability to put on live performances. The show was aid of ‘The Playhouse Plays On’ appeal, aiming to help support the Oxford based theatre which is struggling financially after a 3 month closure.
The show was introduced by Marcus Brigstocke, Stephen Fry appeared via video link, and the live line-up included talent such as Lucy Porter and Rachel Parris.
The show, written by Kevin Day from an original idea by Harry Househam, was directed by Oxford actor and director Simon Evans. Evans directed the BBC 1 show Staged, which has proved popular during the lockdown.
The show was live-streamed on Wednesday 8th July at 8pm, with tickets charged at £25 for each device or household and available up until 6pm.
Theatre director Louise Chantal told the Bicester Advertiser: “The COVID-19 crisis has affected every aspect of our lives, but for the thousands of artists, creatives, producers, technicians and venue staff who work in the performing arts, this closure could mark the end of their careers in the sector.
“Theatre, comedy, music and even panto are all under threat. The whole theatre industry is waiting on tenterhooks for a decision on extended government aid to mitigate the reduced capacities and nervous audiences to come. Many of our producing partners have cancelled tours, meaning we may have gaps in the programme for some time.”
The Oxford Playhouse’s website, in its advert for the show, also alludes to a similar scenario: “The COVID-19 crisis has affected every aspect of our lives, but for the thousands of artists, creatives, producers, technicians and venue staff who work in the performing arts, this closure could mark the end of their careers in the cultural sector. Theatre, comedy, music and even panto are all under threat (oh yes they are!).
“Following the announcement that ‘theatres can open on the 4 July, but without live performances’, all of us at the Playhouse got a bit cross. Then Jericho Comedy Club asked if we wanted to livestream a comedy gig with no audience to demonstrate how hard the government have made it for theatres to open without live audiences.”
The Government’s £1.57 billion support package for the arts industry meant the Playhouse recently received £150,000 from Arts Council England.
The University of Oxford has received a donation of £3.5 million from billionaire steel tycoon Lakshmi Mittal, to aid the development of a COVID-19 vaccine.
The University of Oxford is leading the race for the development of a coronavirus vaccine, with large scale human trials taking place the UK, Brazil, and South Africa. Professor Adrian Hill is heading up this effort, and has previously stated he hoped that a vaccine would be viable for October.
Commenting on the donation, Mittal said: “This year has been a wake-up call to the world to be better prepared for pandemics, which, as we have all experienced, can cause massive social and economic disruption.
“After a fascinating conversation with Professor Hill, my family and I concluded that the work he and his team are doing is not only extraordinary but essential, not just for this current crisis but for other challenges we may face in the future.
“The importance of dedicated and ongoing research in this field cannot be overestimated and we are delighted to be supporting this vaccinology professorship at Oxford.”
Professor Gavin Screaton, Head of Oxford’s Medical Sciences Division, said: “We are enormously grateful to Lakshmi Mittal and his family for their incredibly generous support at this critical moment. By securing the future of this pivotal leadership post, the University can continue to deliver and grow its world-leading vaccine research and focus on pandemic preparedness.
“The results of this work will have a significant impact on people’s lives around the world and will enable humanity to respond with even greater speed to the next global pandemic. The progress of Oxford’s vaccine candidate for COVID-19, which is currently in human trials, underlines the vital contribution that Oxford is currently making to this field.”
The University of Oxford Development Office said: “Boosted by a further £1.75 million in matched funding from the University, the Mittal family’s gift has enabled the permanent endowment of the post. Not only will this allow Professor Hill to continue with his vital research, but will also help to ensure that Oxford remains at the forefront of vaccine development for generations to come.”
This is not the first time that Mittal has donated to medical pursuits. In 2008 the Mittals donated £15 million to the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London in order to partially fund the new Mittal Children’s Medical Centre. In 2014, ArcelorMittal was also a founding member of the Ebola Private Sector Mobilisation Group, which coordinated the private sector response to the Ebola outbreak in West Africa. This year, he made a donation of ₹100 crores to the PM CARES fund during the COVID-19 outbreak in India.
In 2005, Forbes ranked Mittal as the third-richest person in the world. As of 2016, the Sunday Times Rich List estimated his net worth at around £7.12 billion.
In all honesty, I don’t think I speak about race all that often with my friends…which is actually pretty surprising given that majority of my friends are white and I am always in the minority in my various friendship groups. Growing up I always used to say, “Oh I don’t think about race that much, I don’t mind being in the minority at school- everyone’s nice so it isn’t a big deal”. Looking back now I think all I was trying to do was make myself feel better, and create this fantasy world in my mind where race wasn’t a major issue in life, where I was equal to everyone else and was viewed in the same way as my peers. But the reality is so far from this. For as long as I can remember, my parents have always told my siblings and I: “You need to work harder than everyone else. You need to get better results than everyone else. You must always be polite. Don’t be too loud, don’t let them say you’re aggressive. Make sure your hair is neat, make sure your lips aren’t dry, make sure your uniform is clean and tidy- don’t let them look down upon you because you’re black. Things in life are different for us.”
I will never forget the feeling of being in assembly in prep school and it was Black History Month. “Today marks the beginning of Black History Month,” our headmistress announced, and almost automatically all eyes that were around me turned to look at me- the only black girl in my year. I remember feeling alone, there was no one else in my year I could talk to about this, no one would understand how it felt to suddenly feel different from all the other girls around you. Girls with whom only moments ago you were discussing trivial things and engaging in normal seven-year-old conversation. Now a barrier had been put up. Now you suddenly remember, “Oh yes, I’m not just Morayo…I’m Morayo and I’m also black. I’m different than all these people around me and I always will be different because this is the colour of my skin and there’s nothing I can do about it.” But soon enough somebody nearby would have cracked a joke about something, maybe what the headmistress was wearing that day and everyone would laugh quietly so as not to be told off. And that deep, sinking feeling you were feeling a few moments quickly dissipates and you shove it to the back of your mind. “So long as no one talks about it, you don’t have to think about it and then you won’t have to think about how you’re black,” is what you repeatedly tell yourself. One of the girls in the older years who is also black catches you after the assembly. “Don’t worry about people looking at you. You’ll get used to it, just laugh at them.”
“Don’t talk about race with people who aren’t black,” my mum always used to say, “You’re wasting your time and they won’t get it. They’ll think you’re being aggressive or rude. You need to have tough skin.” “You need to have tough skin” or variants of this is something that most black children will have been told at some point in life. For most of my time at prep school and in secondary school I just tried my best not to think about my race and pretend like I was colourless. But of course I wasn’t, and I was inherently different to most of the other girls. I was lucky enough that even though I was in the minority at school, there were other girls who were POC as well who I was friends with so I didn’t feel totally alien all the time. And I had white friends too! Lots, and when I would hang out with my friends I would never think: “Okay these three are white, she is Indian, she is Chinese and I am black”. It was “Oh what have you done for the history homework? Did you watch that movie? What did you think of this song?”- just regular conversation, because to me, I did not go through every day at school thinking “I’m different from these people.” From prep school I learned not to think about that, and I have been super lucky that I’ve never experienced overt racism either from other students or from teachers at school. Of course I would always feel slightly uncomfortable when the topic of slavery or colonialism would come up in class but once the class was over I would forget it. That’s what a lot of school was like: something a bit uncomfortable happened, I would feel a bit uncomfortable and remember that I’m different and then quickly forget it.
Things got a bit different after moving to Oxford for uni. I still had friends from different races sure, but I also met a lot of people who had never met a black person before. No fault of their own, especially if they grew up in towns that were predominantly white. But it was so strange to me having grown up in London which is such a melting pot. I was again one of two black girls in my year and no black boys. Usual from the usual, I don’t think I even noticed until someone pointed it out. It had been like that my whole life. Again I found I didn’t meet with any overt racism from people in my college or from my teachers, and so I was really lucky. Uncomfortable moments happened again, sure. There’s nothing like walking into your faculty building and having staff look at you as if you shouldn’t be there. I always keep my bod card in my hand when I go into the Classics faculty in case someone thinks I’m not meant to be there. Walking around Oxford is far different than walking around London: there’s not that many black people in Oxford and there are many more older people. Whenever I wait at a bus stop, I’m always stared at by older people. I’ve had bus drivers be so warm to passengers in front of me and then have a change of tune when it’s my time to buy a ticket. Some of you may be thinking, “Well maybe they just know those people and they don’t know you?” which is a fair suggestion. But I’ve been treated differently countless times in shops, in restaurants and on public transport to know that it is unfortunately most likely not the case. There’s nothing like walking into a store with your headphones in to have a quick browse. You’re aimlessly making your way through the different clothes when you realise that the shop attendant has been standing near you and watching you this whole time. Maybe you’re just being paranoid so you move to another section and there they are again. Fun times!
I went on a few dates with this guy in First Year and I was talking to a friend about how they were going. “Yeah he’s nice etc. But I’m worried if this continues that he’s going to have to introduce me to his parents.” “So what?” my friend asked. I didn’t quite know how to say it so I just said: “What are they going to think when they find out I’m black? What if they don’t want their son to go out with a black girl?” My friend was so shocked that this was a consideration for me, but to me it was second nature. The same thing happened again in Hilary of Second Year with a different guy. I wondered what would happen if things got serious and I had to meet his parents. I even said to a friend: “I just don’t understand why he wants to go out with a black girl?” I always joke about how no one fancied me in school and how I’m going to be forever alone. I always used to wonder if it was a coincidence that all my other non-black friends had lots of guys who were interested in them and yet I didn’t. I concluded that I was probably just less attractive than them and so eventually I’d just find someone in my league. I told my mum about it once when she picked me up from the station, and she told me “I’m so sorry Morayo but the reality is many of the guys might not even consider you or look at you in that way because you’re black. Black girls are generally not viewed as pretty, especially not dark-skinned black girls.” I remember feeling so dejected. It’s not like I could change my skin colour so what was I meant to do? Just accept that because I was black I was immediately unattractive? But that’s not every non-black person’s way of thinking and there are definitely non-black people out there who are attracted to all races. It still sucks to think, though, that some people could immediately just see me as ‘not pretty’ because I’m black. Some of you may be thinking, “But that’s just people’s preference, it’s not racist.” But isn’t funny how whenever dating studies occur it’s always the black race that is least preferred by everyone? Even black people themselves! And do you know what’s so sad, I too was guilty of this when I was younger. I would tell my friends “I don’t find black boys fit and I don’t think I will go out with a black boy”. I was so desperate to disassociate myself from my race. Thank God that I’m older now and know different. It is so crazy to me when people say they just aren’t attracted to a certain race. How can you not be attracted to A WHOLE RACE? Do you know how different people can look within one race? No two people of the same race look the same unless they’re twins or one of each other’s seven doppelgängers lol. I’ve been told before that “you’re pretty for a black girl” and when I got upset about it, I was told I should be happy because it’s a compliment. What’s funny is a lot of black girls have heard this before- could it possibly be the case that black girls are just pretty? Like every other race? And do you know what sometimes I don’t even blame people for not considering black people to be attractive because the first attraction you normally feel is when you have childhood celebrity crushes right? Given that media representation of black people is far less than most other races and is often in a negative light, it’s no wonder that some people grow up never considering a black person as a prospective partner. There’s the opposite end of this where black men and women are over-sexualised and fetishised. I have seen so many people on social media talk about how they want to marry a black man so they can have ‘cute mixed race babies’. I mean, come on! Is that the only reason you want to marry a black man? Are you prepared for the baggage that will come along with marrying a black man though, the funny looks you might get from other people because you’re an interracial couple, or knowing that your husband could be stopped and searched ‘at random’ and possibly even killed. No, it’s just about the cute mixed race baby isn’t it. I’ve made fun of a lot of the messages I’ve received before on my finsta, but there is something particularly degrading about receiving messages like “I’ve never been up a black girl before” and “I’ve heard black girls are the best in bed” and “Once you go black you never go back”. Black girls aren’t just good for the bed, there’s a million and one other great qualities about black girls and it’s a problem if the first thing guys think of when they see or meet a black girl is “she should be good in bed”.
When my brother got into his secondary school at 13+ my family were overjoyed. I remember when our family from Nigeria called to say congrats. “Congrats Matthew, but the hard work doesn’t stop here,” they said, “You will need to continue to work hard, you need to get the best results in the class so you can succeed. You are going to have to put in extra effort.” About a year after being at this year my brother was invited to a concert in central London, which all Music Scholars had been invited to. At the end of the concert on his way home my brother called my mum, almost in tears. “What happened?”
“When I got to the venue, I came in with my friend (a fellow Music Scholar) and he went in first. I was right behind him and he was allowed through to the seating and was handed a programme by the lady at the doors. She then looked at me and didn’t offer me a pamphlet. Instead she asked me what I was doing there. I explained that I was there for the concert and she asked me if I was sure I was meant to be here. My friend then told her I was with him, and I was in his class at school. She then let me through. This happened in front of so many people Mummy, I was so embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry about her, Matthew, what she sows she will reap. Thank God you got into the concert, and don’t worry about all the people who were looking at you. Good luck to them, they can’t control your destiny.”
When my brother was awarded the Music Scholarship, there was a ceremony held at the school to congratulate all those who had been successful. As always, my mum had dressed my sister and I very well and made sure we were very neat. “We can’t look scruffy,” she always told us, and what’s so funny is I always remember that during school other parents constantly told my mum how neat and presentable her kids were. Their compliments were said with a bit of surprise, hmm maybe they thought that’s not what black kids were like- I’m not sure. I had been so excited to go to the ceremony, to go to my brother’s school and see what the big deal was and why everyone made so much of a fuss about it, and I was so proud that my brother was a scholar! As soon as we arrived in the Great Hall for the ceremony, all that excitement quickly went away to be replaced with extreme embarrassment. I was so self conscious. We were the only black family there and all the other families were white. No one spoke to us for a while, I couldn’t eat my food because I was so desperate to leave. “I feel so uncomfortable because we’re the only black people here,” I told my mum. “Never feel uncomfortable for being who you are Morayo. Matthew got this scholarship the same way all of their sons did.” Eventually I’m sure, we must have spoken to other people, I can’t quite remember. But what I do remember is that painstakingly slow first hour where I felt so displaced and embarrassed that we were there at the school.
When we would go on holiday abroad, that’s when it would be the worst. I found people blatantly staring at my family and I with disgust or disapproval. We once walked into a restaurant in Dubai and a lady said very loudly “What are they doing here? How can they afford this?” I begged my mum to let us go to a different restaurant, I didn’t want to sit in a place where everyone around us was staring at us while all we wanted to do was eat some lunch and chat. But my mum has always been firm about these things and she refused to change restaurants. “We deserve to be here as much as anyone else Morayo, take your time with your food and enjoy it. Who cares about these other people, are we not eating the same food as them? Did we not pay for this food the same as them? So go on, enjoy.” I would keep my eyes firmly on my family alone and would try to blur out all the people around us that were staring.
Once whilst in Westminster, I went with some friends to buy something from a truck outside the school. My friends were in front of me and paid with card. When it was my turn the cashier told me that they didn’t accept card when I brought mine forward. I protested that my other friends had paid with card and then she told me the card machine was now broken and do I want to pay with cash or not. I left whatever it was that I wanted to buy there- as if I was going to give her money after that.
As we got older, my brother and I realised that the friends we had in Sunday school had started to act differently towards us. “Why do you guys sound white?” we were asked multiple times, “Why are you guys trying to be white? Who do you think you are? You think you’re so great because you go to private school.” After a while we only had a few friends left at Sunday school and eventually stopped going altogether. I would be so confused and frustrated. “What is sounding white or being white?” I would often ask myself “How can I be more black? What should I do and say so that I can fit in? Why do they think I think I’m great because I go to private school?” But of course what would make me ‘fit in’ at Sunday school wouldn’t necessarily make me ‘fit in’ at school during the week. I have been told blatantly before “How you look doesn’t match how you speak”. Great, thanks. Guess I’ll go away and change the way I’ve always spoken to suit the way you think I’m meant to speak because I’m black- because all black people sound the same don’t we?
The comment about me going to private school used to irk me the most. I don’t think and never have thought I was better than anyone else because I went to private school. “Why have you sent your kids to private schools that are so far away and cost so much?” My parents would hear. “If you didn’t pay fees then you could move away from this area and live somewhere nice. They’ll never fit in. Black kids aren’t meant to go to private school, just send them to Harris like the rest of the kids in South Norwood.” That comment has always stuck with me. “Black kids aren’t meant to go to private school.” It’s not true, obviously, but hearing things like that when you’re young is damaging. I don’t think I knew it whilst I was at school but now I realise how much pressure I used to put myself under, subconsciously. Any of my home friends will know how much I used to stress about tests, even in prep school lol, because I would always be scared of being in trouble with my parents for not doing well. Subconsciously I would tell myself “You have to work harder, you have to be smarter or you won’t get there and you need to make Mummy and Daddy proud. They’ve sacrificed everything for you to go to private school. You need to prove to your teachers that you are clever even though you’re black. You need to show everyone that you’re no different, you need to prove that you’re just as good.” And if I’m honest, this train of thought has never left me. I still always feel the need to work harder, to be smarter and to prove to everyone and to myself that I’m just as good, even if I am black. People joke about how I’m overly organised and can be uptight and fussy which I definitely am hahaha. But I think it’s also as a result of this mantra I’ve been taught since I was young, in a way always striving to be ‘the perfect black girl’. I never used to understand why my parents would make such a fuss about everything and why I always had to be on my best behaviour and look neat and be polite and follow this list of endless rules. Now that I’m older I realise that my parents understood what it meant for me to be the only black girl in my year at prep school. They didn’t want me to stand out unless it was for good things, they didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to think I was unintelligent or scruffy. They never wanted my brother to wear hoodies outside of the house and we thought they were ridiculous but we soon understood why.
The reason why I say all of this is because it’s bad right? It’s uncomfortable to read I’m sure, but I definitely don’t apologise if it is uncomfortable to read because it’s even more uncomfortable to live it. This post isn’t meant to be some self-pitying sob story. The situation that black people face in this world is far past pity – it requires actual change and action. Yes, some of the things I’ve gone through in life (and I haven’t even listed them all here) have been difficult, but I haven’t mentioned once that I was ever scared for my life. Scared that I was going to be shot or kneeled on because of my skin colour. I’m so lucky to not have worried about that myself…yet. There are black people out there who have endured WAY WORSE than me on a daily basis. The things that I have gone through don’t even compare. Just like many of the other stories I’ve seen about black people being killed in the US, the story of George Floyd has really shook me to my core and I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about his friends and family. I think about my brother and my dad and how I would feel if I found out one day that they’d been murdered by police. I know my brother and my dad- they’re good people. They both work incredibly hard, they’re both intelligent and funny and love football. They’re normal people, just like millions of other black men out there. There’s nothing wrong with black men and there’s nothing wrong with black people. We have families and friends and the same emotions that all other humans have. Yet in America, and not just America mind you, this fact is totally disregarded. I don’t think George Floyd’s family would’ve crossed the mind of Derek Chauvin once whilst he knelt on his neck. I don’t think George Floyd’s dreams and the things he would’ve wanted to achieve in life would’ve crossed his mind once. The fact that George Floyd was a human being just like him wouldn’t have crossed his mind. I just cannot see how he could have continued to kneel on Floyd’s neck if it had.
I never thought I would make a post like this or speak much about this at all, and I never really have done, as I said at the beginning. The reason why I’ve felt compelled to make a post about this is because I’ve always thought that racism was something that came from older people and it was the backward thinking of older people. I always used to think that people in my generation weren’t bothered by race and weren’t themselves racist. But I have been so despondent these last few days as I’ve seen some of the black people I know repost messages they’ve received on their stories of people our own age sending extremely ignorant and quite frankly racist messages to them. The point is that racism is as alive and as rife as ever. So I’m making this post to really beg all of my non-black friends out there to please please please educate yourselves and learn about the struggles of black people, even if it does make you uncomfortable. Even if you think that it’s not your problem and you’ll never have to deal with these things, please still make the effort to know about it and to help practically in any way you can. Call out things that you see that aren’t right and stand up for people that are discriminated against. There’s nothing more black people can do at this point and we need help.
This was the caption alongside the post:
I was hesitant to write all of this down and post this. A) because I was worried about coming across as the stereotypical ‘angry black woman’ and then I thought I don’t care! Black women do have things to be angry about so yes we’re angry! Amongst a whole bunch of other emotions. B) because this is not something I’ve ever really spoken to my friends, either at uni or at home, about in such depth. The feelings and memories that I’ve expressed here are ones that I’ve always tried to forget about or just tell myself ‘it wasn’t that big a deal, move on’. But you know what it is a big deal. It is a big deal that some people in this world have to constantly think about their skin colour, which they were born with, and think about how other people are perceiving them and how it makes the people around them feel. When I was having a conversation with a friend the other day about race, she told me that in all fairness she had never really thought about her race much. I didn’t hate her or feel angry at her, all I could think was ‘she’s so lucky’. I can’t imagine a life where I didn’t think about my skin colour and that’s really really sad. Life is so hard. But it’s even harder when you’re discriminated against or treated differently over something that you didn’t choose and over something you can’t control: your skin colour. It’s just a colour!!!! So what! It doesn’t say anything about a person apart from that they have that colour skin. It doesn’t tell you about their morals or beliefs. You can only know that by talking and getting to know someone. I hated being black growing up and I’ve never said that out loud to anyone but I’m saying it now because it’s the sad reality of a lot of black kids. You don’t see yourself a lot on TV or in films that much, unless they’re dedicated black films or black TV shows where everyone’s black. It’s not that common to see dolls that look like you. People will always ask you where you’re really from. You’ll be told you sound white or speak weird if you don’t use that much slang when you speak.
You’ll feel embarrassed when friends come over and try to stifle a laugh at the way your parents pronounce things. You’ll dread that moment in registration when you have a new teacher that won’t know how to say your name and after being told will probably never get it right and so you’ll just settle for some variant of your name, so as not to make a fuss. You never want to make a fuss. You never want to cause trouble and be a trouble maker because that’s what black people are known for and you don’t want to be like that. But then you get older and you realise that black really is beautiful. You start to appreciate your skin and how it glows in summer. You smile when people tell you that they’re jealous you don’t get sun burnt. You’ll be happy about the fact that ‘black don’t crack’ and you won’t look old when you are old. Slowly but surely you begin to love yourself and be proud that you’re black. You feel lucky to have such a rich culture, great music and food. Slowly but surely you begin to deal with the trauma you’ve gone through as a child, and yes I’m using the word trauma, and try to begin to unlearn some of the teachings that have been instilled in you to always work harder, to be smarter, to be presentable and approachable. But then the sad realisation hits that you can’t unlearn these things because the world is no different than when you were younger. You still have to work harder, be smarter, be polite and not intimidating, be neat and not cause any trouble in order to succeed. And all the while, some of these things will have never crossed the minds of other people. Not once.
A massive thank you to all my non-BAME friends who have really stepped up in the last few days since the murder of George Floyd and are intentionally trying to make a change and also trying to educate themselves on what it means to be black and what you can do to help. It means a lot. This post has been so cathartic for me and I never thought I’d be able to say these things out loud, that I’ve been holding in for such a long time.
The following links have been included at the request of the author:
In a city of dreaming spires, where casual magic hangs in every cobbled lane at golden hour and each paradisal quad in bloom, I didn’t expect to find some of the most enchanted moments of my time at Oxford in a dense, dimly lit room in the East Oxford Community Centre.
After struggling to find student-based outlets for my
songwriting, it was my third year at university when a friend and I first bounded
down Cowley Road to the Catweazle Club, guitars clipping at our shins. Gathering
every Thursday night for the past 25 years (uninterruptedly, until now), I’d
heard encouraging whispers about the unplugged East Oxford oasis flagged as “Britain’s
most intimate performance space”.
Beyond the unassuming exterior, your senses are first struck
by the waft of incense and murmur of a house piano drifting through the
entrance; on stepping in, you wade into warm colour emanating from candles, and
a palpable energy about the room. Cushions on the floor and coloured drapes hug
the stage, evocative of a covert Moroccan den. For a place that attracts the
eccentric and adventuring, the atmosphere is unpretentious and calm as it fills
steadily with an unlikely miscellany of folk – old and young, performer and
spectator, regular and rover.
Over the course of the show, you are submerged in the beautiful
and barmy moments that unfold: from harmonica blues to sitar improvisations, cartoon
comedy to political rallying cries – and yes, a fair number of songsmiths like
myself, shedding layers of themselves over an acoustic guitar. I’ve felt spoken
word seared onto my soul, I’ve sung along to sea shanties and been bewitched by
serenades in different languages. The inclusivity cultivated (anyone can
perform, and anything can happen) is utterly invigorating; a domain for the
real and the radical, a night at Catweazle grants escapism from insular college-dwelling
into another cosmos entirely.
But the true magic is in the listening. The unique ethos of
the Catweazle is the curation of founder and compère, Matt Sage, who centres the
emphasis on a totally present and focused audience listening experience: “we’re
an open mic, without the mic – we’re just open”. The lack of amplification
draws the audience in closer to the performer, intensifying the connection into
an almost tangible force.
I’ll admit, my first time taking to the golden chair under
the beaming spotlight, the intimacy made me nervous. But my apprehension, along
with the lights and the faces, soon vanished as I sank into song, and the room as
one requited my vulnerability with absolute attentiveness. For artists, the
space provides encouraging responses, liberating release, and a source of
renewed inspiration and motivation to create.
Although only visiting once is enough to feel inaugurated into the secret club, it was a year later when, ignited with a revived confidence and passion for my music, I became more consciously immersed in the microcosm that is the Oxford local scene. It was easy to get to know the regulars, a community of friendly and fascinating figures who would hand me poems, flyers and sketches. The last Thursday evening spent together at Catweazle before lockdown served as a melancholic farewell, particularly for the older members who foresaw their prolonged period of isolation. Particularly poignant that night was a rendition of the now deceased John Prine’s ‘Angel from Montgomery’, to which a gentle chorus formed and swelled in solidarity.
There are several other standout venues on the Oxford circuit
I will miss: the Harcourt Arms, tucked away off Walton Street, guarantees an
eclectic Sunday night which evolves with every drink, song and vibrant
character walking through the door. From there you can head on to the open mic
at Sandy’s Piano Bar, run by country cowboy of East Oxford, Dave Kelly. On
electric nights there, I’ve had groups of total strangers dancing and singing
along unrestrainedly to my songs. Meanwhile if you’re looking to stumble across
local music on any given day, the late-licensed Half Moon is surely one of your
best bets, hosting everything from weekly folk sessions to monthly local artist
showcases. The roistering atmosphere in there when I’ve played has been
unforgettable (plus, it’s probably still open for a night cap whenever you’ve
finished somewhere else).
Park End eat your heart out – it is mainly sagas on the singer-songwriter
scene this year which have ended with me stumbling home past 2am on an
ill-judged night before labs. But I can’t say I regret it; I value the friends
I’ve made on the circuit, careworkers, teachers and doctors, whom I’d never
have met but for the common thread of local music.
So when my Oxford life abruptly ended in mid-March, it wasn’t nights out in Fever or days lazing in Port Meadow I was primarily mourning – it was the lost festivals and cancelled gigs, pulled out from underneath me just as I was finally finding my feet within this lively local scene. But like countless others whose lives have fleetingly passed through this multifaceted city and left a fragment behind on Cowley road, no matter how long I’m away, I know I will always have a home to come back to in these venues.
Recent local picks:
Steady Habits – ‘Hold in Your Breath’: Rootsy alt-country/Americana headed up by local troubadour Sean Duggan’s lush vocals and instant-classic songwriting.
The People Versus – ‘Ground Opening’: Fresh indie-folk collective where soaring melody (Alice Edwards’ lead vocal) meets soothing harmony, earthed by the pluck of a cello.
Catgod – ‘Blood’: Folk-inspired brother-sister duo swoon and swell over this moody track, elevated by intricate flute and vocal interplay.
Scraping dredges of hummus with my last-but-one piece of flatbread, my first year at Oxford ended with an anti-climatic sigh as I clicked ‘send’ on the last essay of term.
I hadn’t left Oxford in twenty four weeks – the extent of my travels since the Christmas Vac only going as far as Christchurch Meadows on one end and South Park on the other. Fourteen of those weeks I was one of only three freshers in my college who stayed once everyone else had been sent home. There were stretches of days when I never left my room, and weeks I never set foot outside college. I kept thinking the social isolation and controlled movement would eventually make me desperate to leave. I waited for the dreaming spires to morph into looming towers, or for my floor-to-ceiling windows to make me feel like a trapped test subject. Yet, as I came to the last couple of days before undertaking my carefully planned Corona-avoiding mission to get home, I found myself wishing I could be confined to Oxford just a bit longer.
As the crowds slowly started to dribble back in 8th week, I looked back to the start of the Easter Vac when Oxford was – over a single weekend – drained of tourists, staff, and students. The first few weeks were a strange period of acclimatising to the overwhelming silence that suddenly blanketed the city. In an old Western movie this is perhaps where some tumbleweed would roll across the screen and wind would stir up clouds of sand. Thankfully this was not the case, but the ringing church bells that flooded the Oxford of broad daylight tolled hauntingly in the dark, echoing endlessly down its cobblestone alleys. The first Wednesday night was notably marked with the screeching brakes of nocturnal cyclists navigating the hollow streets, highlighting the absence of the usual buzz of students walking (or rather, running and stumbling) to Park End. A lone porter patrolled the Lamb and Flag Passage as I watched on from my room above. Barely three nights in, I was sorely missing the turnstile sounds of 3am returns.
After two terms of dreadful rain, the weather turned cruelly stunning once there was no one around to enjoy it. Determined not to let it go to waste, I took occasional walks around town, piecing Oxford together in details that elude me (us) in the rush of a normal term. However, even with springtime blooms and seamless skies adorning the city, the roads abandoned of footfall, kebab trucks, and rushing cyclists often left me staring vacantly down a High Street peppered with “Sorry, but we’re closed…” notes on shop windows. Although, it wasn’t all a bleak dystopia: the ducks from the Isis became regular patrons of Cornmarket Street, no doubt lamenting the indefinite closure of McDonald’s and Gregg’s as I was. G&D’s stayed open, providing the much appreciated post-essay (takeaway) treat. And, much to my joy, the socially-distanced Tesco on Magdalen Street was better stocked and had more discounted items than ever. I took the opportunity to upgrade my student diet of fried rice and pasta to include smoked salmon and avocado, somewhat compensating for the terrible loss of Hall’s Sunday brunch.
Lack of routine made the days blend into a never-ending stretch, the lengthening summer days aiding this distortion of time. Taking up almost permanent residence on my sofa, perpetually staring out the windows attuned me to certain natural time and weather cues. The sun was at its strongest between 2-4pm, glaringly shining onto one side of the sofa where I would sometimes take an imagined tropical afternoon nap. On colder days the sky would be an ever so slightly deeper shade of blue. A narrow line of evening sunlight would hit the corner of my desk as the day drew to a close. How much the bigger trees shook due to the wind would determine whether or not I needed a jacket to head out. The group of pigeons that took refuge on my window ledge would start cooing or tapping on the glass at 5.30am. In a time of such uncertainty, these signs formed a reassuring rhythm – no matter how much I wanted to push those pigeons off the ledge as I tried to go back to sleep.
As I started to write this on the aforementioned sofa, the sun was shining in a brilliant blue sky and the leaves were a vibrant summer green. While I packed up my suitcase to return to one home, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was leaving another behind. Somewhere and somewhen in lockdown, Oxford the ghost town of remaining students became a little slice of Eden, a sun-drenched fortress which I was privileged enough to inhabit. I finish this piece on my second eastward flight, looking forward to being reunited with friends and family at home, but still thinking of spires against cloudless skies.
I am not alone in
having sought comfort in the pages of a book in recent months. But rather than using
literature as a means of escape, I have found myself reaching for dystopian
novels time and time again. Dystopian novels magnify social issues we have
grown complacent about. They deliver powerful warnings about what happens when poison
seeds are planted and allowed to grow: be it the suppression of women’s
reproductive rights, disregard for the future of our planet or the flourishing
of totalitarian violence. These books show that the transition from belief to
action, from rhetoric to destruction, can be an all too easy one.
The Handmaid’s Tale and The
Road fall within the genre of ‘speculative fiction’: Atwood’s dystopian
America is oppressed by a totalitarian theocracy, McCarthy’s is a
post-apocalyptic landscape of human barbarity. However, there is a sense in
both works that the authors’ bleak prognoses are not so far removed from
reality. The idea that the Road is symbolic of the course already taken by
humanity resonates with Atwood’s statement that, “there is nothing in [The Handmaid’s
Tale] that hasn’t already happened.”[1]
Of course, this has
taken on a whole new meaning in recent months. McCarthy’s survivors hoarding
“tins of food in nylon nets like shoppers from the commissaries of hell” makes
for eerily familiar reading. As the pandemic has compelled migrant workers
around the world to embark upon the long Road home, we need not look far to see
images of “creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways”. This may well
be the “frailty of everything revealed at last”, but these dystopian novels
show that crisis has long been brewing.
The unforgiving
landscape of McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic America is reflected in his stark
prose, as though the narrative too represents a “cauterized terrain”, stripped
back to its most basic elements. It is a new style born out of the devastation
of Armageddon: a “formless music for the age to come”.
McCarthy’s Road is
punctuated by ruptures in the connection between words and meaning, as though
the prose cannot hold together the horror of what humanity has been reduced to.
A language is yet to be birthed to accommodate the devastation. McCarthy’s
notion of dissonance within dystopian realms leads me to question whether our
new understanding of the world will change the face of literature forever. For
instance, what significance do we attach to romance novels in a world where
human contact is two metres out of reach? We are forced to question the
relevance of storytelling itself in a world where words are incompatible with
reality.
By contrast, Atwood’s totalitarian state does create a new language to implement patriarchal control. Offred’s outspoken narrative is an act of rebellion against it. In her own rendition of Cixous’s revolutionary feminist text, ‘The Laugh of the Medusa’, Offred regains control of her body through subversive meditation: “I sink down into my body as into a swamp, fenland, where only I know the footing.” Storytelling becomes a gesture against the silence of death and of his-story.
In this way, Atwood
and McCarthy’s tributes to the power of narration are a reminder of why turning
to literature is more important now than ever before. McCarthy’s man dreams of
“the charred ruins of a library”, in which extinction has befallen books and
the spirit to which they correspond. The hope represented by books is
inconsistent with the protagonist’s reality: for him, they are “lies arranged
in their thousands row on row”. This serves as a warning to the reader that a fundamental
part of the greying out of the world as we know it is the greying out of
language itself.
But where is the
comfort to be found in reading about societies that bear no resemblance to
normality? It is natural to seek affinity with dystopian characters as we too
struggle to navigate this Brave New World. The anonymity of McCarthy’s
protagonists creates the impression that it is not just ‘man’ and ‘boy’ that
must struggle to survive the Road: it is all of humanity. The emptiness of the
characters’ existence triggers the understanding that their struggle for
survival is not merely a physical one. In this time of crisis, the
protagonists’ reliance upon human contact, exchange and memory resonates deeply.
Ultimately, it is our connections
to other people, both real and fictional, that will carry us along our own
bleak Road.
Both novels convey the
complex ways in which memory bears upon and influences emotional survival. As “refugees
from the past”, memories are a means of validating “things no longer known in
the world”. This sentiment is more pertinent now than ever. At a time when
human intimacy and freedom of exchange have been grossly distorted, the
pervasion of memories can strike a painful contrast to our sobering reality,
yet they also provide the freedom to indulge in visions of hope.
The Handmaid’s Tale is testament to the fact that human connection
will prevail even in the most oppressive of circumstances. Valued solely for
her fertility as a Handmaid – a “two-legged womb” – Offred’s interactions are
fiercely controlled. Nonetheless, she enters into a secret sexual relationship,
exposing herself to the vitality of true emotion: “love, it’s been so long, I’m
alive in my skin.” Whilst I would advise careful deliberation over whom we
admit into our new support bubbles, Atwood certainly compels us to make the
best of these bleak circumstances. As Offred subverts the very genre of dystopia
with her romantic narrative, can we too distort the dystopian reality in which
we find ourselves?
The interconnected
nature of man and boy’s survival on the Road – “each the other’s world entire”
– is equally compelling as we redefine our relationships towards one another
and our obligations to those most in need. Whichever form it may take in our
new normality, there is always beauty to be found in human interaction and
solidarity.
Should we find solace in the knowledge that human suffering is an integral part of existence, that destruction has always been our fate? McCarthy’s Road certainly appears to lead to the end of civilization; the destruction of the world is “a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again”. Yet points of destruction and points of origin often coincide, and we may well have been offered a glimpse of the world in its new beginning: “perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made.” As we too embark upon our new normality, we must think carefully about the post-pandemic world we wish to live in. COVID-19 has aggravated inequalities so deeply embedded in our society that we have grown comfortable with their presence. As we reconstruct reality and the old world faces annihilation, so too must its failures. When McCarthy’s man and boy are on the verge of starvation, the man weeps about beauty and hope: “things he’d no longer any way to think about.” Dystopian narratives may be bleak, but they do not contribute to the barbarity of our times: they are, instead, a powerful reminder that in the midst of crisis, beauty and hope do remain. We ought to preserve them now more than ever.
Illustration by Anja Segmüller
[1] Margaret Atwood,
interview with Kathryn Govier, “Margaret Atwood: There’s Nothing in the Book
that Hasn’t Already Happened,” Quill
& Quire 59, no.1 (1985) 66
For the past 10 years, the Labour Party has seen itself collapse into what I can only describe as an unelectable, toxic mess in the eyes of the general public, allowing the Tories to maintain their grip on power. Scandal after scandal has dogged them, but the spreading of antisemitism within its ranks has by far been the worst. Keir Starmer’s swift sacking of Rebecca Long-Bailey may well be our first indicator that he is capable of the firm and authoritative management Labour has been lacking for so long. A potentially defining moment for his leadership, this could signal that Labour is, at last, leaving its shameful history behind.
In sharing an article which shifted the blame for the use of “neck kneeling” tactics, in instances such as George Floyd’s murder, from the US police force to Israeli security services, Long-Bailey’s actions were undoubtedly wrong. Whether intentional or not, they encouraged antisemitic conspiratorial thinking more than they promoted a nuanced discussion concerning Israel. In a party which seems to me already rife with a rotten, discriminatory atmosphere, such actions can in no way be seen as a simple mistake. Starmer was right to dismiss her, despite her apology – there should be no room for any antisemitic interpretations or anything even remotely similar in the Labour Party. It should never again be a place where such toxicity is able to thrive.
The move has sparked outrage amongst many of Corbyn’s supporters. Branding it an overreaction, they argue that Starmer has abused the gravity of antisemitism for his own political gains. Sacking Long-Bailey, a standard-bearer of the Corbynite regime in the shadow cabinet, indicates a significant departure from the previous discredited era. While many other instances of antisemitism go unchecked within the party, decisiveness suddenly seems easy when it involves removing political threats. Starmer’s behaviour may therefore be representative of a wider current trend in the Labour Party. It appears that antisemitism is selectively cared about, only doing so when it can be used for electoral advantages, prompting disproportionate and inconsistent responses such as this.
But after years filled with apathetic neutrality towards, dismissal of, and even active endorsement of antisemitism, is overreacting necessarily so inappropriate?
Under Corbyn, admirable though some of his policy aims may have been, the party ultimately crumbled. The general public became alienated from the hard left which quickly seemed to represent the party, and ugly intra-party factionalism tore it apart from the inside out. A bitter and antagonistic culture festered. Where Corbyn was reluctant to take initiative and therefore failed to quash the crippling issues posed by antisemitism, Starmer is acting decisively on the matter. The dismissal of Long-Bailey was a loud and bold declaration of his authority, unwilling to tolerate any antisemitism whatsoever, instilling fear into all opponents, lawyer become ruthless leader.
If Starmer wants to have any hopes of transforming the Labour Party into one that could feasibly form a government sometime this decade, he must purge them of all malicious remnants from Corbyn’s Labour Party. It has to be clear that under Starmer’s control, they will become a new party, one which isn’t so easily defined by its antisemitism, one which truly is for the many, not the few. The only way to do this is to set a precedent that cannot be challenged or defeated, as Long-Bailey’s dismissal does.
Yes, the choice may temporarily reignite factionalist wars within the party, having enraged Corbyn supporters, but it shows that Starmer has what it takes to be a strong leader in the long run. He can reunite Labour and control internal opposition, the very thing which persistently undermined Corbyn. With fresh direction and resolve, their future may once again be filled with hope. Firing Long-Bailey immediately should neither be criticised nor excessively praised – it was simply a minimal requirement for Starmer. Without it, the dark shadow of antisemitism would have no chance of ever leaving the party. This was the only clean start possible for Labour.
Future success now relies on Starmer’s dedication to this approach. On its own, I hold that the decision to sack Long-Bailey is mere virtue-signalling. It must be accompanied by an equally hard-line stance everywhere else. The actions of MPs such as Rachel Reeves, who have very recently and publicly celebrated anti-Semites, must be condemned and punished. When the EHRC report on Labour’s antisemitism is published, rapid action must be taken. The poison of antisemitism must be pulled out by its roots everywhere within the party.
Eradicating antisemitism in the Labour Party is important because it is just, not because it would improve their image. While Starmer’s dismissal of Long-Bailey is a step in the right direction, it is by no means the be-all and end-all – these are but baby-steps. If this really is a sign of progress, these new sentiments should be reflected against all other forms of injustice. The Labour leader’s recent downplaying of the Black Lives Matter movement as a ‘moment’ suggests this is a pipe dream. By devaluing the historical significance of the UK’s own protests, Starmer’s Labour Party continues to excel in its ability to disenchant, leaving many politically homeless. It reinforces the fact that the fight against discrimination is far from over. Sacking one shadow minister was right but nowhere near sufficient, and Labour’s struggle to finally shed its skin of prejudice will persist as long as people think it was.
