It’s blackberry picking time, and this year there are definitely more than usual. Whether this is because the blackberry bushes were left to spread during lockdown, or because people aren’t picking them for sanitary reasons, I’m not complaining! Sometimes it can be difficult to know what to do with them all. It goes without saying that the biggest and tastiest ones should be eaten immediately; the rest can be frozen and used in the delicious dishes below.
Wild blackberries can be rather sharp, so here are a few recipes to sweeten them up a little, taking you through the seasons.
Simple summer sorbet
Sorbet, ice cream’s sweet ’n stylish sister! This blackberry sorbet is extremely easy to make and very refreshing.
Ingredients
500g fresh blackberries, or frozen blackberries, defrosted
Squeeze of lemon juice
Tablespoon of icing sugar
250g caster sugar
300ml water
1 tbsp gin (improves the texture of the sorbet and won’t impact the flavour, but is optional)
Method
First things first, make a sugar syrup with the sugar and water. This may sound difficult, but I promise it’s not! Put both ingredients into a saucepan and bring to a boil on a low heat, without stirring. Once the sugar has dissolved, take the saucepan off the heat and leave to cool.
For the blackberry purée, cook the blackberries in a pan on medium heat with the lemon juice, icing sugar and a splash of water, stirring occasionally so that it doesn’t stick, for fifteen to twenty minutes. Blitz the mixture in a food processor then sieve to remove the seeds, or pass through a mouli if you have one.
Combine the sugar syrup, blackberry purée and gin (if using), then leave to cool in the fridge for at least four hours. Pick a container to store your sorbet and place in the freezer for an hour before churning.
Now for the exciting bit. If you have an ice-cream maker, pour in your mixture and let the machine work its magic until you have a firm sorbet (approximately 40 minutes). An excellent result can also be achieved without an ice-cream maker, but with a bit more TLC. Simply pop the mixture into the freezer, stirring every fifteen minutes or so, until frozen (two to three hours).
This sumptuously smooth sorbet would be perfect paired with meringue, Eton mess style. Alternatively, add a little texture with my lemon crunch biscuits (pictured below – head over to @greens_and_grains for the recipe), or just enjoy it on its own!
Not-so-humble autumn crumble
Nothing beats a crumble with a dollop of creme fraîche on the side. In the following recipe sweet apricots balance sour wild blackberries. I like to jazz up the crumble topping with oats and nuts, but feel free to keep it simple.
Ingredients
175g flour
115g butter, cold, cubed
115g caster sugar
50g oats
50g hazelnuts, roughly chopped
300g blackberries
700g apricots, de-stoned, and cut into quarters (roughly 650g de-stoned weight)
Squeeze of lemon
Method
Preheat the oven to 175C. Precook the apricots in a saucepan with a splash of water and a squeeze of lemon juice over a medium heat for seven minutes, adding the blackberries for the last two minutes. Meanwhile prepare your crumble topping by rubbing the flour, butter, and sugar together in a large bowl until it resembles breadcrumbs. Stir through the oats.
Spoon your semi-stewed fruit into a large baking dish, then sprinkle your crumble mixture on top. Bake for half an hour to 45 minutes, adding the chopped hazelnuts five or so minutes before the end. When golden brown and and oozing at the edges, take it out the oven and leave to cool for ten minutes.
This crumble is on the tart side – if you prefer it slightly sweeter, sprinkle 25g Demerara sugar on top five minutes before the end of cooking.
Warming winter compote
As autumn turns to winter, fresh berries are no longer in season. However this is the perfect time to get some frozen blackberries out of the freezer and stew them. Jam or jelly, compote or coulis, there are so many different ways of making the most of frozen fruit, the simplest of which is the compote.
Ingredients
Blackberries
Lemon (optional)
Method
Cook the blackberries in a pan on medium heat with a squeeze of lemon and a splash of water, stirring occasionally so that it doesn’t stick, for fifteen to twenty minutes. If it starts to stick, add another splash of water. It’s that simple!
This compote is lovely when it is still hot swirled into a bowl of yoghurt with a few seeds sprinkled on top for crunch. Cold, it’s lovely on top of vanilla ice cream or a steaming bowl of porridge. Store in a tupperware for five days to a week in the fridge.
It is a fact of the universe that, in difficult times, people turn to music. It often seems somewhat counterintuitive that in states of sadness we try to alleviate the burden by listening to downbeat, sorrowful songs in particular. But in this way, music acts as a therapy. It embodies our emotion, makes us feel like our feelings no longer just sit inside us, and the most poignant music ultimately provides us hope that, even in forlornity and depression, times will always improve, and that our sadness is not eternal.
Arcade Fire’s acclaimed debut Funeral surfaced from a melancholic period for the band’s members: multiple, including vocalists Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, had experienced bereavement with the death of close family members, which gave the album not just its morose title, but a distinct air of introspection, reflection, and ultimately optimism, which culminate in a deeply intimate, forlorn, yet hopeful collection of songs. The band of multi-instrumentalists from Montreal were projected from obscurity to attain passionate praise from the public and music industry by this deeply personal album that rose from the ashes of the bands misfortune.
The album achieved universal acclaim, worldwide recognition,
and moderate sales success upon its release back in 2004; NME went as
far as to name it as the 13th greatest album of all time, ahead of
classics from acts like the Beatles and Oasis. Despite the accolades, Funeral
has slipped out of the core inventory of ‘classic’ alternative rock records, overshadowed
by the band’s later exploits, which include a Glastonbury headline set six
years ago and multiple platinum-selling records. But as we have progressed
through these unprecedented times, when we have experienced isolation and had
the opportunity to reflect on all aspects of our lives, their debut effort
feels more poignant than ever.
Arcade Fire are often tentatively referred to as an ‘indie’ or alternative rock act, but they have never conformed to the typecast, frequently substituting the typical guitar-heavy, fast paced intensity of the genre for a vast arsenal of percussion, world, and ethereal string instruments that creates a sense of grandiosity and scale beyond that of a typical alternative album. Funeral’s first half is dominated by meditative, principally major-key ballads, which serve as an acceptance of the imperfections of their existence, and the sadness that characterised the albums emergence. 4 songs on this half sit under the title of ‘Neighborhood’, which points to their lyrics reflecting on the mundanities, and occasional drama (see ‘Power Out’), of day-to-day existence in landfill suburbia. This concept would reappear in their 2008 album The Suburbs which controversially won the Grammy for best album, much to the chagrin of an expectant Eminem. On ‘Une Annee Sans Lumiere’ (A Year without Light), Butler and Chassagne make a sullen declaration of the misfortune that befell the band, yet even here the music feels pensive and hopeful, rather than falling into morose pessimism.
The second half of the album contrastingly serves not as a
reflection of the past, but as a mission statement of optimism, a pledge to rebuilding after the
fall, to standing tall above tragedy; this sentiment is embodied by the immense anthem
‘Wake Up,’ the biblical refrain of which was designed to be chanted by angelic hordes
on high, if not by 80,000 festival goers at the Pyramid Stage. ‘Haiti’ tells of
Chassagne’s hope for the future of her afflicted ancestral homeland, and folds
into perhaps the albums most influential track, ‘Rebellion.’ Here, driving
piano chords, sprawling production, and forceful vocal hooks fashion an anthem
of sanguinity and escapism that would move even the most unfeeling listener.
So why is this album so meaningful now? To me, it embodies
the significance of optimism and hope, in times of decay and sorrow. The band
did not, in their bereavement, choose a route of self-pity and bleakness, but
one of optimism – reflecting on the reality of the present before projecting
themselves towards a brighter future, like the proverbial phoenix that rises
from the decay of its past form.
And this brighter future was realised for the band; Vocalists Butler and Chassagne married, and the band would achieve continued success throughout the subsequent decade. As we emerge from this period where so many of us have experienced isolation from those closest to us, including our partners or family members, when some of us may have experienced sickness and even bereavement, we are able to use music as an outlet to emotion, and to assure us that there is a brighter future, that sadness is finite. Funeral has provided solace to me when isolation has become challenging and, while everyone has experienced this period differently, the universal language of music can be an outlet to all of us as we emerge into an uncertain future.
Oxford is set to implement two temporary bus gates, restricting cars from entering certain parts of the city centre.
Backed by both Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the measure aims to reduce congestion and support Oxford’s recovery from the coronavirus pandemic.
One bus gate will be located on either Hythe Bridge Street or Worcester Street, and the other on St Cross Road or South Parks Road. A third bus gate will be kept under review and implemented at a later date.
They will only be accessible to buses, taxis, blue badge holders, disabled tax class vehicles, and emergency services.
The temporary bus gates will be installed at the end of September at the earliest, but the timescale will reflect the consultation with stakeholders and the public, government guidance, and the spread of COVID-19 in Oxford.
Councillor Tom Hayes said: “Oxford’s narrow medieval streets are routinely clogged up with stop-go traffic, with vehicles cutting through, using the city centre as a permanent rat run.
“Right now we need to support businesses and support people to shop in the
city centre, and supporting travel by buses, cycling, and walking is how we can
achieve this. We can’t afford to have vehicles cutting through that don’t stop,
don’t spend, and don’t support local jobs and businesses during the toughest
time they’ll ever know.”
A City Council Residents Panel found that 80% of residents
supported restricting private vehicle movements in the city during the daytime.
Only 10% of residents surveyed travelled into the city by
car, and a 2017 survey found that 70% of shoppers arrived by bus.
The Oxford branch of Build Back Better, a Coronavirus Recovery Campaign, has backed the measures and called for a total of seven bus gates in a petition to the council.
Charlie Hicks from Build Back Better Oxford told Cherwell: “Bus gates are key to a better Oxford. By cutting congestion massively through the city centre, we will be able to redesign the public spaces for people, air will be cleaner, more people will cycle and walk, we can have more open-air markets, trees, benches – you name it”
“Broad St. and St Giles could be some of the most beautiful
streets in Europe, if they were not car parks!”
Build Back Better Oxford has also created a series of photos of a car-free Oxford.
What Oxford could look like, proposed by Build Back Better’s #BetterOxford
Oxford Brookes University and the Oxford University Student
Union have joined residents in supporting the bus gates.
Ben Farmer, VP Charities and Community, Oxford SU said: “We…welcome the proposed temporary bus gates in Oxford City centre, as a good measure to reduce traffic in central Oxford and provide safer streets for walking and cycling.”
The University of Oxford supports the gates, but has concerns that they could harm the operation of the University if implemented in isolation.
“Colleagues across the university are concerned about how they will get to work as the new term starts and we believe this will be made more difficult – and that it could adversely affect the operation of the University – unless mitigating measures are taken in parallel with the introduction of the new bus gates,” said David Prout, Pro-Vice-Chancellor (Planning and Resources).
“We want to express again our long term support for
integrated measures (bus gates, parking charges and improvements to public
transport and walking and cycling) to reduce congestion, improve air quality
and enhance the sustainability of the City of Oxford.”
The proposed bus gates come as part of wider measures to aid economic recovery after the pandemic. Oxfordshire County Council has committed to investing almost £3 million to support safe pedestrian and cycle spaces in cities, whilst the City Council is working to allow pedestrians and cyclists to maintain social distancing.
The bus gates will be in operation between 7.30 am and 6.30 pm. The City Council says: “Bus gates do not prevent access to areas of the city, however aim to redirect traffic through a different route and aims to reduce the use of the city centre as a through-route.”
The Councils have not set a duration for the bus gates, but Experimental Traffic Regulation Orders have a maximum time limit of 18 months and full public consultation is required before they can be made permanent.
The city centre already has bus gates at High Street, George
Street, and Castle Street.
Four years after the now familiar opening thumps of Hamilton were first heard, the White House has met the Mouse-House; Disney+ allows subscribers to stream the original Broadway production of the show at home. The zeitgeist seems enamoured with a second wave (thankfully not that kind – not yet, anyway) of Hamil-hatred and Hamil-mania, (Disney+ seeing a 72% download increase), Oxford included. Newspapers, including this one, have seen (or surrendered to, depending on your view of musical theatre fans) abundant revolutionary content. In the midst of a global reckoning on race and a terrifying attack on trans rights led by someone who near-enough raised many readers of ‘the franchise that must not be named’, these are naturally the perspectives with which we are most disposed to examine our cultural output, our media.
Hamilton was heralded as an extraordinary feat in its treatment of race when it debuted. The colour-blind cast it became well known for (historically, virtually every character was white) thrived on its ability, as creator and star Lin-Manuel Miranda put it, to voice “a tale of America then, told by America now”, and casting calls encourage particularly BAME performers to apply.
The show is a landmark in the size and number of roles it makes available to actors of all ethnic and artistic backgrounds; rap artist Daveed Diggs (originally the Marquis De Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson) had never been in a musical before and Jasmine Cephas Jones (Peggy Schuyler/Maria Reynolds) was previously struggling for roles in reaction to her vocal style (she’ll be back later).
However, there are flaws which ought to have been obvious at the time; its treatment of slavery, portraying Hamilton’s character as free from this particular sin, accusing Jefferson of delivering “a civics lesson from a slaver,” has come under justifiable fire of late. We had, perhaps, become lackadaisical: Obama was ending an eight-year term, we could gesture to Black History Month as a sign of our progression, and Leslie Odom Jr. won the Tony for his role as Aaron Burr (alongside Hamilton’s record breaking 15 other nominations). But signs were there – Trump was rising, Brexit starting – and we were too busy back-patting to notice. Well, now we’ve been forced to face up to these misrepresentations and educate ourselves for the better.
However, despite the recent criticism of race in the musical, what seemed to me uncontroversial until reading an article on Hamilton’s relationship with Maria Reynolds (from Cherwell, 16th July 2020), was its discussion of sex. A piece itself quoted there, ‘How the Women of Hamilton are changing Broadway’, is one of a multitude concerning the major roles played by two of the Schuyler sisters, rightly praised for complex characterisation. Jasmine Cephas Jones originated the smaller but significant role of Maria Reynolds, whose sexuality is brought into contention with comparisons to the proposed ‘acceptable’ forms of femininity expressed by Angelica and Eliza Schuyler.
To read the show as if its perspective vilifies Maria’s sexuality seems to me to give both too much credit to Alexander Hamilton and far too little to an audience. First, Hamilton corrupts his wife’s lovingly “Helpless” devotion to him, not Maria: he introduces the unsettling repetition of the earlier song. Further, watching him berate someone (“Stop crying, goddammit, get up!”) whom he knows doesn’t have “the means to go on”, whom he puts in his debt, and reduces to helplessness, does nothing but grow our sympathy for her while diminishing any respect for him. It would be a strange thing indeed were that sympathy equated with the denigration of her sexuality. The criticism seems plainly and very justly levelled at Hamilton’s promiscuity. Even Burr, our narrator, preferred to “let him [Hamilton] tell” this story, emphasising where the guilt lies.
It only seems possible to read the situation as a censure of Maria’s sexuality presupposing this as an ‘invalid’ form of femininity. This, too, would be curious when the justification Hamilton gives for his exploitation of this vulnerable person is his “longing for Angelica / Missing my wife / That’s when Miss Maria Reynolds walked into my life.” In the same breath, he acknowledges not only the loving wife to whom he will soon betray his faith, but also the surreptitious (and perhaps more insidious) connection with Angelica.
This is not to say, by any means, that Angelica is – or should be – condemned, but merely to demonstrate that to point to Maria as the example of sexual or feminine ‘deviance’ is to treat our characters inconsistently. The last thing we see of Maria Reynolds is, in fact, her witness to Hamilton’s public declaration of their affair. Front of stage, watching her read the pamphlet bearing her name, watching paper shower the stage, our compassion is for her, not the man who used the information as political insulation. Our abiding image is not the femme fatale but one of numberless, silenced women wronged by our history.
The innumerability of these figures is painfully apparent. Many have commented that the life of virtually every character in Hamilton could fill a musical of their own; underlying this criticism of Maria’s treatment seems to be an understandable desperation to fill out every story. I for one would kill to see the sequel song in which we witness Maria’s divorce from her husband, apparently her attorney put on quite a show (his name was Aaron Burr – I’ve definitely heard of him somewhere…). But we must then ask ourselves what Hamilton is as opposed to what we demand of it. There is no single right answer to this. However, it is undeniably theatre, entertainment, art, and many other things besides. It is not documentary.
What happened to Hercules Mulligan? Or Angelica’s husband, John Church? Theodosia Burr is her father’s last “thought before the slaughter” – her tragic demise is left unmentioned. You will find any number of articles called things like ’10 Hamilton Historical Hiccups’ or ‘The things Lin-Manuel Miranda ignored’ each of which details the moments where Hamilton deviates from the history books (excluding, of course, each time they break into song, dance, or soliloquy – or all of the above). A prominent example is his meeting with the Schuyler sisters; Angelica was already married when she met her dearest (or is it ‘her, dearest’?) Alexander. However, the narrative of her sacrifice for her sister’s happiness and the uncomfortable resolution that comes from it are not served by this fact.
To make Hamilton as engaging artistically and dramatically as is possible, things change. Though do not mistake this for a disavowal of Hamilton’s historical potency; the ‘EduHam’ initiative (in which school students were invited to research and workshop their own historical theatre piece with help from Hamilton creatives) demonstrates the production’s commitment to developing youth interest in history. This is compiled with, and intensified by, a ticket lottery and promotional street performances; “The plan is,” as Hamilton says, “to fan this spark into a flame.”
Whichever way I mix the metaphor, Hamilton has burst many sparks into a blaze. Reigniting youth interest in history is something nothing else has really done. Nevertheless, one show cannot be all things to all people at all times. Of course, we must hold our culture to account, we must call out the hidden assumptions and injustices with which we ourselves are inundated, and the art we create with all our imperfections. But how are we ever to be, well, ‘Satisfied’? Four years ago, Hamilton’s success in role-creation and access to theatre and to history was a resounding achievement. That will not change. As new productions hopefully rise up to continue the work that was done, we can look back at this as an early but powerful stride forward.
We cannot say that it’s perfect – what is? However, that this show is the focus of strident demand for fulfilment of every one of its atypical storylines seems an apt comment on the dearth of such characters in the theatre and access to them. There are so many potential stories about characters like those identified in Hamilton. They need writing, but Maria is not the problem. We must challenge our biases, as we have started to when examining race. These are not limited, though, to the prejudices of our artists: we must interrogate ourselves as audiences as well. Bringing as many diverse groups together to see Hamilton, with an historically divergent cast, works as an attempt to take us outside our own assumptions.
The show is not necessarily problematised by the rapid rotation of its roster of characters, nor by its exclusion of certain facts altogether, like futures of its smaller roles. ‘Hamilton’ itself may refer not only to Alexander but to Eliza also. This is their story and thus they, and those closest to them, are focal. In the end, it may be apposite that any forename was omitted: it seems more her story than his. Certainly, Eliza tells it and, by doing so, encourages us to discover more about those on the periphery of the show’s narrative. We can tell their stories.
Footballing heroes often come from the most unlikely places: from Eder winning the 2016 Euros for Portugal, Bobby Zamora promoting QPR to the Premier League in 2014, or Pulisic’s hamstring winning Arsenal their 14th FA Cup. The players who step up for big games are rarely the ones you expect. Last week in the oft remarked ‘most expensive game in football’ your averageJoe Bryan stepped up to the plate. The solid, albeit unspectacular, right-back saved the day for Fulham with a fine brace in added time to send Fulham back into the Premier League at the expense of their local rivals Brentford.
Going into the game, Brentford
were heavily touted as favourites. Thomas Frank, a man who looks more like an
art-house film director than a football manager, had transformed Brentford into
the most entertaining side in the League since his appointment as Head Coach in
October 2018. Led by the ‘BMW’ front line of Benrahma, Mbeumo, and Watkins, who
managed 59 goals between them this campaign, this free-flowing, goal-laden
brand of football turned Brentford into the team to beat. Coupled with
excellent post-lockdown form, they found themselves at the cusp of automatic
promotion only to be robbed by Barnsley. Despite having to take the long road
to promotion, Brentford were confident. Attacking midfielder Emiliano Marcondes
went as far as to suggest that Fulham feared them.
While Fulham had already lost to
Brentford twice this season and lacked the flair of Frank’s men, there was good
reason to have faith that they would be able to spoil the party. Having won the
play-offs two seasons prior, much of the squad had winning-experience and had
been on a 7-game unbeaten streak. Scott’s ‘Parkerball,’ though questioned by a
large contingent of fans, was securing results and allowed Fulham to control
and dictate the pace of games with the lion share of possession. Though slow–
Fulham have had the least fast breaks of any team in the Championship this
season- this ability to control games put them in a strong position to get a
result at Wembley.
The game itself was cagey and at times, a badly tempered affair. The two sides were very evenly matched for the first 90 minutes: a couple of shots from Fulham’s Josh Onomah in the first half and a solid second-half response from Brentford’s Watkins demanded a save from Rodak. This deadlock was settled in extra time. As fans prayed for a saviour, fearing a penalty shootout, Joe Bryan provided the goods. After 105 minutes Fulham were 1-0 up, Bryan’s outlandish 40-yarder free-kick the cause. Raucous celebrations followed, and only minutes later, the right-back was at it again with a neat 1-2 with returning talisman Mitrovic guaranteeing Fulham’s return. The Bees were able to salvage a consolation goal at the death; however, it was too little, too late. As the final whistle blew, two things were certain: Fulham’s return to the Premier League and Joe Bryan’s new-found club status as the unlikely hero.
Today on the Internet I learnt you can buy “manly” face masks on Etsy. One quick search yielded 400 results, each bulging with the obvious hallmarks of masculinity: beards, camo, tree logs.
However, despite the collective efforts of the Etsy marketplace, masks are, apparently, not manly. In a recent paper currently undergoing peer review, scientists from the Universities of Middlesex and Berkeley found that male research participants were less likely to wear a mask than their female counterparts. They found that men tended to associate negative emotions with masks, agreeing that they were “not cool”, even “shameful”.
If this research is accurate, then this begs the question, how has a public health measure become a point of gender expression?
This unwillingness to defer to those who know more than you and the dismissal of a ‘little flu’ that has killed over 670,000 people are all characteristics associated with toxic masculinity. The cult of the ‘manly man’ subscribes to a narrowly defined conception of what it means to be male: independent, individualistic and with an instinctive need to show one’s own strength.
It is interesting then, that Trump has recently made a complete U-turn on his spurious claims surrounding the use of masks.
In an interview with Fox Business, Trump stated he said he “sort of liked” how he looked in a mask. This mask in question was not just any mask. “It was a dark, black mask, and I thought it looked ok. Looked like the Lone Ranger. But, no, I have no problem with that. I think – and if people feel good about it, they should do it.”
In attempting to portray masks as manly, Trump invoked the manliest man of all, the Lone Ranger. Referencing the stock character cements the President as a hero. He works independently from the authorities but always adheres to his own strict code of honour. He is a vigilante, guided by compassion and yet somehow stoic, without emotion. Furthermore, Trump draws upon the Wild West, an image that has long been framed as a barren land of lawlessness – the macho man’s ultimate dream.
Once again, we should take Trump’s exact words with a pinch of salt. He can’t have done too much research on the matter (the Lone Ranger actually wears an eye mask) but his comments nevertheless tell us something about how language is co-opted in order to maintain gender binaries. It is clear that masks are not manly, indeed the study mentioned above highlighted that in places where face coverings are mandatory, there is no distinction in the intention to wear a mask. Despite this, language is used to frame the seemingly apolitical into something that reinforces toxic conceptions of gender expression.
Language forms a part of a network that upholds patriarchal forms of gender expression. This includes our social interactions, our media, our institutions and our history of gender. This is a network that cajoles and bullies its victims, which includes men, women, and those who don’t conform to this binary.
Upholding this rigid binary is dangerous. Pleck, in The Myth of Masculinity writes that these constructs are so impossible that men will inevitably fall short. The stigmatisation of emotion, for example, finds its outlet in a consistent failure to openly discuss mental health, resulting in higher suicide rates.
More recently, the American Psychological Association published new guidelines, underscoring the ways in which the ‘manly man’ conception of gender harms boys and men, across all ages and ethnicities. These guidelines suggested tackling the hyper-heteronormative values which attack men, whilst balancing this with their many privileges in a patriarchal society.
It is clear that there is no single model of masculinity that can fully accommodate the human experience, as felt by those identifying as male. Any deviations from the impossible norm are treated as abnormalities, yet the criteria for becoming ‘masculine’ are arbitrary and elusive in nature, as the gendering of masks show.
Breaking down this harmful binary will be a task that endures beyond COVID-19. Wearing a mask is a good start.
As a fourteen year old with severe ‘only gay in the village’ syndrome, it is not an overstatement to say that stories centred around LGBTQ+ figures became a cure for loneliness. After all, to read is to become part of something bigger than yourself. As well as the direct dialogue from writer to reader, I realised that I was just one of a larger readership: an intoxicating mix of individual and collective experience that was validating above all else.
I have no particular claim to expertise about LGBTQ+ literature, but with Pride Month now behind us, I wanted to pay tribute to the stories which, for me, served to create a form of context before I found community.
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit – Jeanette Winterson
Language gives the tools to share the experiences and emotions of LGBTQ+ people, and to communicate this aspect of personal identity. I think there is an assumption that we are all born equipped to express feelings of romantic (and platonic) attraction. However, as hollow and clichéd as it sounds, representation is so important in facilitating this. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is a story which does a lot of things, but, crucially, it shows the innocence of loving girls. A semi-autobiographical work that celebrates the power of literature, Oranges charts the transition, from youth to adulthood, of a lesbian girl growing up in a working-class, evangelist community. Her blossoming attraction to women is shown as part of this journey, and so, in a sense, the book allowed me to read my self-discovery before I had publicly named it. It is clever, moving, and, at moments, deeply sad. Another important aspect of the work is that its central theme – the rejection of single-mindedness – is treated with a wittiness that surpasses bitterness, so that reconciliation is charted as much as betrayal.
The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde
I am aware that my ‘passing privilege’ as a bisexual women has allowed me to adopt a language of pragmatism when discussing sexuality. In the past, when I talked about my love life in new social settings, I would use, truthfully but disingenuously, only male pronouns. This was purely for comfort: there are, of course, many environments, both within and outside of the UK, where disguising sexuality is a matter of life or death. A tragedy of the particular nature of this silence is that it goes unrecorded. But in the sprawling, stylised speech of the three main, male characters in Oscar Wilde’s only novel, homoerotic themes are explored and celebrated. Wilde’s invocation of aestheticism and Hellenism were intended, I think, as a code for other closeted men to recognise: designed to be hidden in plain sight from those who would (and, ultimately, did) persecute Wilde for the contents of the novel.
Orlando: a Biography – Virginia Woolf
This was described by Vita Sackvile-West’s son as the “longest and most charming love letter in history”. Indeed, this is a book so much the product of the author’s love for another woman that, had Virginia not met Vita, it surely would have never been written. Woolf places her lover, ‘Orlando’, in Elizabethan England, and creates an epic biography for him/her, spanning over 300 years. The protagonist’s sexual orientation and gender shifts over the course of the book, and this fluidity of gender throws into sharp relief the restrictive binaries of sex in the eyes of the law and social mores. Woolf worried that the work’s fantasy elements would cause it to be seen as a ‘romp’, and that it would be taken less seriously than her other novels. However, to do so would be to neglect an important aspect of the novel: this is a piece of LGBTQ+ literature, which sacrifices neither the promotion of a political agenda, nor the celebration of intimate and joyous queer love, in its expression.
The Colour Purple – Alice Walker
“I think it pisses God off if you walk by the colour purple in a field and don’t notice it.” Set in 1930s Georgia, The Colour Purple depicts the lives and remarkable resilience of young black women born into poverty and segregation. It is impossible to draw a single message from a book which deals with a number of complex issues, but it is striking that it is the only book with a lesbian protagonist for which a woman has won the Pulitzer Prize. ‘Powerful’ does not do justice to this story of self-actualisation and emancipation, in which colour runs as a thread to mark moments of liberation throughout the text. The title itself is a profound signal of Celie’s changed relationship with God, transforming from a white man who has power over her to a non-gendered touchstone of strength and spirituality. I think some WLM suffer from anxieties about taking on the male gaze, but there is no hint of this here. Walker is trailblazing in her exquisite depictions of female love, and her portrayals of lesbian sex carry a lack of self-consciousness which only adds to the intimacy of the scenes.
Twelfth Night – William Shakespeare
I think of this Shakespeare play as the first piece of LGBTQ+ fiction that I read. Aside from the most bad-ass of female comedic characters, it is just so much fun. Viola – disguised as a young boy – becomes the focal point through whom heteronormative expectations and conventions are manipulated, to the point that the audience must question whether Orlando falls in love with a girl dressed as a boy, or simply the boy that he believes her to be. I like to think that Shakespeare can’t have intended Twelfth Night to be watched or read as anything other than a joyful exploration of love for multiple genders.
Self-help is a maligned genre. And, for a long time, I was one of its detractors.
I convinced myself that self-help was a guilty pleasure: such books deserved to be buried deep inside my bedside drawers, rather than proudly displayed on my shelves. Whenever I picked up a self-help book I’d find myself thinking, “Pull yourself together and read some real literature! If you need insight into the human condition that badly then for the love of God woman, just read Dostoevsky!”
Training myself out of the shame associated with self-help is an ongoing process. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’d sooner be caught on the bus reading Fifty Shades of Grey than a volume entitled, Get your Shit together and Stop Being Insecure (FYI this is not a real book, but if you fancy writing it, then I’ll be the first to buy a copy). Both genres – erotica and self-help – feel uncomfortably personal, as well as inextricably linked to self-gratification. God forbid that some rampant narcissist might combine the two and read a self-help book about sex! (of which there are, incidentally, many good ones).
In my mind, self-help had become synonymous with self-indulgence, and this belief was making it harder for me to benefit from the ‘help’ these books had to offer. I decided that it was time to unpack my relationship with the genre.
Beyond the fact that reading them involves confronting personal problems, I’ve worked out that my discomfort with self-help books boils down to two things: the elitist assumption that they are ‘lowbrow’ and the sexist idea that self-help which focuses on any subject beyond material success is for women.
First, elitism. To understand the snobbery directed at self-help, it’s worth considering where the modern self-help movement originated. Forms of self-help literature have been around for millennia, from ancient Greece to Tang Dynasty China. However, it was in 1859 that Scotsman Samuel Smiles published Self-Help: the book to which the commercial genre of today owes its title.
Comprised of lectures that Smiles had delivered to working men in Leeds, Self-Help was “a primer for the poor in self-education and upward mobility”. Smiles certainly believed that he was empowering the working classes; but the book spun a pernicious narrative. Its emphasis on the individual responsibility of the poor to transcend their circumstances, minimised the duty of the state and fuelled a harmful distinction between the ‘deserving’ versus ‘undeserving’ poor. No wonder that, over a century later, Margaret Thatcher wanted to give a copy ofSelf-Help to every schoolchild in the country…
It makes sense that self-help is deemed ‘lowbrow’. The genre’s very name comes from a manual for the ‘lower’ classes: literature designed for the aspirers rather than for the aspired towards. It was inevitable that those who could afford to lounge around reading Ovid in their private libraries would look down upon self-help. The genre was not for them, and I think that this downward-looking perception of self-help has been absorbed into our cultural milieu, which has always been defined by the tastes of the elite.
In an ideal world, self-help would not be necessary. Some even argue that its existence perpetuates a system whereby the government offloads its welfare responsibilities onto individual citizens – a phenomenon that has become more apparent than ever in the time of Covid-19. But we should not ridicule something that has served not only as a means of therapy, but of survival for people when the state fails to uphold their interests for them.
This is what the ‘self-care’ movement of the late 20thcentury was all about: survival. In her 1988 essay, A Burst of Life, Audre Lorde penned the now famous phrase: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.” As a self-described “black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet”, Lorde recognised that she could not rely on a white patriarchal society to promote her basic health and wellbeing, let alone her prosperity. Self-care was adopted by various black civil rights, queer and feminist groups who made the same realisation and sought to rally against their systematic disempowerment.
Given the influence of feminist activists like Lorde on the self-help and self-care literature of today, it is all the more disconcerting that the genre is often mocked and belittled as a ‘women’s thing’. Though, of course, it’s not for all women: only the desperate women, the sad women, and worst of all, the unstable women – the ones who are somehow failing to thrive in today’s society.
Was I just imagining the pitying expression of the bookseller when I picked up a copy of Chidera Eggerue’s What a Time to be Alone the other week? “It’s for a friend,” I wanted to lie. “Bad breakup. She’s feeling very… *whispers* unstable.” “Ah yes,” the bookseller would grimace back at me, “we get a lot of those in this section.”
Something that occurred to me while reading another self-help book (Florence Given’s Women Don’t Owe You Pretty) is that people often attack self-help because it’s something that others use to empower themselves, to proactively tackle the challenges that they face. The best way to stop this process of empowerment in its tracks and preserve the status quo is to ridicule and invalidate the tools that people use to care for and better themselves.
As long as self-help is portrayed as an inherently feminine and superfluous genre, there will be no winners – not even men! Laughing at guys who use self-help as a means of exploring their emotions, dismissing their attempts as ‘girly’, simply fuels the stigma surrounding men’s mental health. Men are likely to restrict themselves to the self-help stereotype that is The 7 Habits of Highly Efficient People rather than considering self-help books that could help them to look inwards. Meanwhile, women who read self-help books about material success are at worst, shamed, and, at best, shoehorned into the one-dimensional trope of the ‘strong, independent woman’.
I should have prefaced this article by pointing out that there is a lot of self-help out there that is complete and utter bullshit, and that there are certainly exploitative patterns within what has become a huge money-making industry. Self-help is not a replacement for therapy or for the care owed to us by the state, and we should be wary of anyone who tries to tell us otherwise. The purpose of this article has been, quite simply, to decode the mockery of self-help books, to consider why we are laughing and who we are laughing at.
It took my own experience of trauma to recognise that maligning self-help can contribute to disempowerment, and to think non-judgmentally about the traumas which might have led other people to seek self-help and self-care. For now, my self-help books are still stowaways in the bedside drawer and you certainly won’t find me reading them brazenly on the bus. However, I can say that I’ve learnt to admire individuals who, for whatever reason, choose to take their wellbeing into their own hands. So, think twice before judging someone who uses self-help, because there may come a time when you, too, could benefit from it.
“More smiles? More money.” This was the rallying cry of
women around the world in the 1970s. They were adamant that women everywhere
should be paid for not only their relentless housework but also the constant
and equally gruelling emotional labour they were forced to perform every day.
Women, they protested, were unfairly made to “cook, smile, [and] fuck” every
day of their lives, without even the faintest acknowledgement of the monumental
effort this required.
A campaign for the remuneration of housework seized the
zeitgeist, fuelled by Silvia Federici’s seminal work. Since the movement’s
heyday over 40 years ago, there has been an increased recognition that the
experience of the (white) housewife who can afford to stay at home is not a
universal experience. Society has changed a great deal, but the weight of
reproductive work’s burden forced upon women has not changed. While we need to
remain critical of attempts to generalise the experience of women, it is worth
asking ourselves: what exactly was the purpose of this campaign? Could efforts
to reinvigorate it be successful?
Housework – with its incessant vacuuming, washing, and
cooking – is frequently referred to as ‘social reproduction’. This is the idea
that domestic labour, although often entirely unpaid, is desperately needed by
the economy, to foster and sustain capitalism. These chores need to be
completed to keep both the current and next generation of workers alive and
well.
Housework, as such, is one of the most essential jobs in a capitalist society, if not the most essential. Without it, society would grind to a halt. The economic system that structures our lives is propped up by these responsibilities which women overwhelmingly tend to shoulder. As the song ‘Wages Due’ from 1975 goes: “what do you think would happen if we women went on strike? / there’d be no breakfast in the morning, there’d be no screw at night / there’d be no nurses treatin’ you, there’d be no waitresses servin’ you, there’d be no typists typin’ you-o-o-o”. In 2010, Forbes valued housework at £1.24 trillion in the UK, more than the value of retail and manufacturing output combined. The importance of this work is self-evident and yet this care work remains mostly unpaid, or severely underpaid when it is. Those who are responsible for keeping the cogs of society well-oiled deserve recognition and acknowledgement for their tireless work.
Despite its indispensable character, domestic labour has
been completely devalued, to the point where it is hardly even considered a
‘job’. The Oxford English Dictionary states that the definition of ‘menial’ is,
in one and the same breath, work “requiring little skill”, as well as that
“relating to the household, domestic”. This framing of housework has propagated
the common view that it is in women’s nature to complete it; cleaning and
cooking supposedly coming easier to them than to men. Viewing it as some kind
of feminine predisposition makes domestic labour seem like something that women
want to do, something that they should do out of love and the kindness
of their hearts. If a woman refuses to cook or clean, they obviously do not
care about their families and have failed as mothers and wives. When men do
chores, on the other hand, they are seen as ‘helping’ a woman in her natural
role or doing their wives a favour.
Housework, however, is most definitely not something which
comes more naturally to women, and it is in no way easy labour. In no world
would people argue that household chores are genuinely fun or desirable: they
are tiring, repetitive, and filthy work. Betty Friedan’s solution to this, and
one of the core tenets of second-wave feminism, was to suggest that women leave
the home (and its housework) to enter the paid workforce. By doing so, they
would become economic agents in their own right. What mattered was that women
were on a level playing field with men, that they both had a seat at the
capitalist table, a sentiment echoed in today’s #girlboss feminism.
But the thoughts propelled forwards by liberal feminists
were deeply flawed. Friedan expressed only the despondency felt by those who
had the privilege to be bored with their leisure time at home – educated,
middle-class, heterosexual, married white women. She assumed her experiences
were universal – they were not. bell hooks, one of the most renowned and
withering critics of the second wave’s arguments, berated the movement for
essentially erasing the existence of women who didn’t fit into this narrow
category. Earning the right to work outside the home was not a major concern for
Black women, many of whom already had to do so in order to survive. White
women’s acceptance in paid sectors would only be made possible by the
employment of low-wage domestic workers, overwhelmingly women of colour. The question
of housework would never disappear and pretending otherwise would never be the
answer. By considering only the emancipation of white women, the second wave effectively
shut out all other women.
Enter the campaign ‘Wages for Housework’ (WfH), led by
Federici amongst others. Not only were they characterised by determined efforts
to be inclusive, but they sorely disagreed with Friedan’s liberal feminism.
Housework, they argued, could not simply be forgotten and so her encouragement
to leave the home was entirely misplaced. Housework instead needed to be truly
respected as work. Their mission was to demand wages for housework, asserting
that this was the first step towards ultimately being able to refuse doing it.
Rather than something women are inherently inclined towards, it would finally
be acknowledged as labour. This prompted a name change for the movement’s key
work: Federici’s book ‘Wages Against Housework’, having originally been
named after the campaign itself. “From now on we want money for each moment of
it, so that we can refuse some of it and eventually all of it.”
The campaign’s anti-capitalist perspective is key here. The
women didn’t want their work to merely be incorporated into the capitalist
structure, effectively reinforcing their oppression. As Angela Davis argued,
what woman would want to be paid for the work that “drove her crazy”? Rather
than conceptualising wages reductively as a “lump of money”, the campaign saw
them as a means to an end. It was not even necessary for the wages to
materialise; of greater significance was accepting that they should be provided
in the first place. This would force an admission of the fact that unpaid
housework, all too often borne by women, is work, subverting and
revolutionising relations. The ultimate goal would be the collectivisation of
housework (social care) that could be run by communities for communities,
rather than being pushed upon women.
Drawing on criticisms of the mainstream feminist movement, the WfH campaign recognised that a failure to account for the vast differences in experience would never liberate women. From this arose an intersectional account of feminism – one which endeavoured to include all women. This was done by holding much broader definitions of ‘housework’ and ‘the home’. Focusing solely on domestic labour and the role of the white housewife would exclude legions of women, notably women of colour, women who weren’t straight, women with disabilities, working-class women, and sex workers. Housework was understood not only as a type of work, but as anything encompassed by heteronormative expectations. It ranged from traditional domestic labour to emotional housework, disciplining women everywhere in society, especially those locked out from the conventional ‘home’.
For efficacy’s sake, it was imperative that WfH found a way to organise themselves such that these irreducible differences were acknowledged while still striving for the common goal of recognition for their housework (no matter how broadly defined this was). This led to the development of allied yet autonomous groups, with agendas tailored to their individual grievances. Predominant examples include Wages Due Lesbians (WDL) and Black Women for Wages for Housework (BWfWfH). WDL met the needs of women whose housework was entirely independent from caring for men. BWfWfH, in turn, considered women of colour’s specific history of exploitation and its manifestation in today’s divisions of labour. From the inherent prejudices of care-work to the emotional housework required in managing everyday racism, they shone a light on issues so frequently abandoned by the mainstream. For example, where second-wave feminism advocated only for the right not to have children (through birth control), BWfWfH instead saw the more nuanced reality of reproductive inequity and forced sterilisation for Black women. Alliances which perhaps seemed unlikely or surprising were created between those that heteronormativity rejected. The women of the WfH campaign were dedicated to struggling together, beyond every existing division that stood in their way.
When the definition of ‘housework’ is restricted to its traditional sense, the movement encounters similar criticism to Friedan’s second-wave feminism. Indeed, the campaign did initially appear over-focused on the white housewife. Historical analyses, however, tend to focus solely on these literal demands for the remuneration of domestic labour, wrongly placing white women at the centre of the discussion. This forgets the sheer significance of autonomous groups such as WDL and BWfWfH. These groups were not on the periphery of the movement, merely some corrective accessory – they were integral and essential components of the campaign. It was an ever-evolving perspective, rather than a singular static mission. In ignoring their existence, this would not correctly be a discussion of the WfH campaign; it would be a discussion of a small clique of elitist women. These groups constituted as important an element of the movement as the founders. The Wages for Housework campaign was undoubtedly intersectional, and it would be wrong to pretend it was not.
Federici’s most recent book exhibits shockingly trans-exclusionary opinions, with the author critiquing the trans community for supposedly betraying feminism. While we should condemn Federici’s beliefs here, this does not undermine the intersectionality of the WfH campaign. Though she played a substantial role in its genesis, it was not her creation. It was as much her movement as it was that of the autonomous groups rallying for the rights of marginalised women. It may have petered out slightly as a movement today, but its ethos and intense focus on inclusiveness would certainly support trans women and would surely denounce Federici’s views.
So why did this movement fail to reach the same relative
hegemony the second wave managed? This can be pinned on the immediate tangible
successes of the second wave. It was far easier to focus on further advancing
women’s capitalist journey, a struggle more naturally aided by the system than their
anti-capitalist critiques. The issue of housework, intimidating even when it
wasn’t so broadly defined, was pushed aside. WfH’s focus on intersectionality
before it had been coined as a term further diminished their potential
influence. How could they raise awareness of hardships experienced by women
considered invisible by society? In comparison to their liberal peers, the
women of WfH were too radical and were quickly lost in the more moderate shadow
of mainstream feminism.
The members of WfH made demands that were well ahead of
their time and unashamedly revolutionary. Where the liberal left neglected swarms
of women in their activism, the campaign chose to amplify their voices. From WfH’s
focus on typically excluded issues to its determined efforts to push
intersectional debates, its arguments have made crucial theoretical and
strategic contributions to other branches of feminism. While it certainly had
its flaws (risking both prioritising the traditional housewife and overlooking
trans women), its intentions and principles can still be illuminating today. At
a time when protest is resurgent, the intersectional approach taken by this
campaign is more significant than ever.
The campaign taught us many valuable lessons we would be
wise to remember. The first step towards ensuring a truly permanent cultural
shift, preventing its message from being consigned to oblivion, however, needs
to be in our open discussion of these issues again. It is only by opting out of
a profiteering capitalist society that women can free themselves from
oppression. Partial liberation of wealthy white women is not liberation at all
whilst society continues to benefit from the exploitation of marginalised women,
either through cheap labour, housework, or the emotional labour they suffer
every day. The contributions of the WfH campaign were immense, and we cannot
afford to let this movement be forgotten any longer.
Picture this: a man in his 20s has contracted COVID-19, but he doesn’t know it. He heads to the shop for some supplies. He stands in the socially-distanced queue, uses hand sanitiser and enters the store. He is not wearing a mask. He unintentionally showers the room with infectious respiratory aerosols and droplets, pays for his groceries, and then heads home. This has probably happened dozens of times across the UK. Despite this, face coverings were only mandated in shops and other enclosed public spaces from 24th July, in yet another example of the government’s response being too little, too late.
Like other respiratory viruses, SARS-CoV-2, more commonly known as COVID-19, is transmitted through droplets and aerosols produced when an infected individual coughs, sneezes, talks or breathes. Intuitively, blocking these droplets with a face mask should reduce transmission. This simple contention, however, has been the subject of hot scientific debate, policy clashes and political culture wars. After making the case that face masks work, we will pick apart how the UK government’s response fits into the timeline of emerging evidence and global decisions.
Face masks have been part of infection control for over a century. They were first implemented to combat an infectious disease epidemic in 1910, when plague swept through Manchuria, China, killing 60,000 people. Surgical face masks were adapted and mass-produced for use by the general population by Wu Lien-teh, a young Malaysian physician sent from Beijing to control the plague. This innovative measure received global attention, and large-scale mask-wearing was soon pressed into service as part of the response to the 1918 flu pandemic.
Despite their long history as a public health measure, there was very little evidence on the efficacy of mask-wearing until a handful of studies were conducted between 2003-2012 in the context of SARS, seasonal flu and swine flu. Early in the pandemic, critics claimed that the evidence that masks prevent infection was insufficient to support their use being mandated or even recommended. Commentators in publications like the Spectator still hold this opinion1.
So, do face masks work? The short answer is yes, although the full picture is a little more complicated. The scientific consensus is that face coverings, including home-made cloth masks, probably have the ability to reduce the risk of wearers spreading infection to others, a characteristic called ‘source control’. However, masks may provide little or no protection to the wearers against contracting infection from others.
The evidence is by no means conclusive. Randomised controlled trials (RCTs) on wearing masks in the community suggest that face masks may have no significant effect. By contrast, observational studies comparing the number of cases in regions after introducing compulsory mask-wearing policies with their predicted infection curve have shown that large-scale mask-wearing appears to be effective[1-3]. Although it is difficult to disentangle this effect from other measures introduced around the same time or changes in population behaviour unrelated to mask-wearing, these studies support the intuitive rationale behind face coverings. Similarly, recent mechanistic studies investigating how well masks protect against droplets and aerosols in a laboratory setting show that even cloth face coverings significantly reduce the number of droplets and aerosols produced[4,5].
RCTs are considered the ‘gold standard’ of experimental design for assessing the effectiveness of a treatment. In these trials, subjects are randomly allocated to either a treatment group or a control group. Observational studies do not randomly allocate their groups but instead compare outcomes for people who happen to be given the treatment or not. Whilst care is taken to try and match the makeup of these groups to remove confounding factors, there is no guarantee that a hidden variable other than the treatment could be responsible for differences between the groups, and so evidence from these studies is less certain than equivalent evidence from RCTs. Nonetheless, policy decisions are routinely made based on observational data and indirect evidence in order to provide a timely response to a rapidly evolving situation. Sometimes, authorities need to follow the ‘precautionary principle’ and implement measures even if the evidence for them is inconclusive.
Whilst RCTs are the ideal standard of evidence to aspire to, they may underestimate the effectiveness of masks for several reasons. These include small sample sizes, low adherence to wearing masks in the treatment group, and wide variation in experimental conditions leading to significant heterogeneity in results. It is not possible to conduct an RCT to address this question on a large scale due to the obvious ethical difficulty of preventing subjects from wearing masks. They are particularly poor at evaluating source control, as this requires testing all individuals who come into contact with the subjects, and so many RCTs only measure personal protection.
One of the earliest voices to bring all this data together in support of mask-wearing in the community was Jeremy Howard, a data scientist from San Francisco, who released a narrative review[6] examining the available evidence on 13th April. He concluded that the evidence available in early April was strong enough to support mask-wearing in the community. Over 100 academics, including a Nobel laureate virologist, signed his subsequent letter calling for widespread implementation of mask-wearing. At the time, the US CDC recommended wearing face coverings only where social distancing was not possible while the WHO suggested that only symptomatic individuals should wear masks. Howard put this down to an excessive focus on personal protection as opposed to source control, the low supply of face masks, and a lack of evidence from RCTs overly influencing the recommendations of advisory bodies.
Developing evidence and conflicting advice from the WHO and the US CDC meant that masks were adopted much later than other measures (such as quarantines and social distancing) in many countries. Even taking this into account, the UK was still significantly behind the curve. Mask-wearing became compulsory in shops and on public transport in Vietnam, the Czech Republic and Austria in March. Germany followed suit by the end of April. In many countries in Asia, such as China, Singapore and Japan, masks were already so culturally embedded that mandation was unnecessary. The US CDC recommended wearing face coverings where social distancing is difficult on 3rd April, and the WHO updated their guidance on 5th June. Why was the UK government so late to act?
Using masks early in the pandemic posed a threat to supplies for healthcare workers. This was one of the key concerns identified by the UK’s Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies, SAGE. This was not a surprise: an extreme shortage of PPE has been a strong theme in previous epidemics such as SARS. However, the response to this issue made little sense – instead of calling for increased production of medical and non-medical masks, the shortage was used as a reason to delay the recommendation of face masks.
Even once mask production caught up with demand, and evidence began to emerge that non-medical cloth masks could be effective, SAGE’s initial assessment was that the evidence for mask use in the community was ‘near nil’. This was mostly based on systematic reviews of RCTs[7,8] which showed no significant effect for masks.
Following reports to SAGE by the New and Emerging Respiratory Virus Threats Advisory Group (NERVTAG)[9] and the Royal Society’s Data Evaluation and Learning for Viral Epidemics group (DELVE)[10], SAGE updated their guidance on 21st April to suggest that there was enough evidence to support ‘recommendation’ of community usage of cloth face masks in enclosed spaces where social distancing was not possible. It took until 11th May for the government to implement this, advising the public to ‘consider’ wearing face coverings in enclosed public spaces. It was perhaps unsurprising that this weak and unheralded recommendation was met with almost no response from the public.
Over the months of May and June, evidence continued to pile up. Reviews from the Royal Society[11] and the Lancet[12] sided with Howard’s earlier interpretation of the positive effect of mask-wearing. During this period, as noted above, more and more countries mandated the wearing of face masks. However, there was no mention of face masks in the SAGE meetings over this time period in response to the increasing consensus, and the low uptake of mask-wearing by the population. Only on 9th of July was a review of the policy to be scheduled.
The problems were summarised by SAGE member Sir Jeremy Farrar, who told MPs “I think there was not enough urgency… I regret that SAGE wasn’t more blunt in its advice and more robust. But it didn’t have a job in holding people to account, unfortunately, for delivery of interventions that were made.” Critical analysis of the government’s response was not regarded as within SAGE’s remit. This is a serious deficiency in the structure of our COVID-19 response framework, which fails to account for the possibility that politicians may misinterpret or misapply complex scientific concepts.
The uncertainty of the evidence and concerns surrounding PPE supply were key barriers to the widespread implementation of masks in the community, but the minutes from SAGE meetings show discussion of a wider variety of hypothetical problems. The general public might use masks until they become ‘soggy’. People might abandon hand washing and social distancing. New crimes, like mask theft, could emerge. Masks might add to people’s fear and anxiety. Rather than blocking mask policies, these concerns should have been used to inform a more effective campaign of messaging to the public.
Even when the evidence for face masks was considered ‘marginally positive’, there is an argument that they should have considered invoking the precautionary principle and recommended mandatory use. In a pandemic, we should be reaching for whatever tools we have, even if we’re not completely certain how well they work.
In the end, the government acted before SAGE had the chance to review their policy and make a stronger recommendation. They announced on 14th July that masks would become mandatory in enclosed public spaces, and this came into force on 24th July – yet another inexplicable delay.
Compare this slow action with how abruptly lockdown came into force. There is no public health rationale for this difference in approach. It appears, rather, that the primary concern of the government has been optics – they wanted to appear stern and decisive when the public concern about the pandemic was at its height, and now that we are growing weary of lockdown, they want to seem laid-back and unworried. Mr Johnson has done plenty of talking about the R number, but it is not difficult to imagine that he has been keeping a steady eye on his approval rating all the while.
Even now that we have finally caught up with the rest of the world on mask-wearing, its implementation has been half-hearted at best. The messaging that has trickled through to the population is ‘wear a mask, or pay the fine’. The full guidelines on the new mask rules were only released less than 12 hours before they came into force. This is simply inadequate.
Adverts and posters should be equipping the general public with an understanding of how droplets are transmitted, why masks should be worn, and the correct way to wear and dispose of them (see the resources below).
This will also affect how many people choose to comply. Without straightforward and comprehensive messaging, people may be left to gather information and make their own conclusions from sensationalist and highly-politicised sources. The anti-mask protests in the US, Canada and Germany may not be so far away as we like to imagine.
Mask-wearing was introduced too late due to fuzzy arguments, the dismissal of valuable observational and mechanistic evidence by SAGE and the slow implementation of their recommendations by the government. It is strange that mask-wearing was held to overly rigorous standards of evidence, when similarly intuitive non-pharmaceutical interventions such as coughing into one’s elbow, or socially distancing, were implemented with similar or lower levels of supporting evidence.
Of course, mask wearing is more unfamiliar and uncomfortable, and requires a proactive effort to increase production and supply of masks. But these are insignificant objections compared to the loss of life – and freedom – that our conservative approach to fighting this pandemic continues to cost us. Who said a pandemic was going to be comfortable?
1. Wang Y, Tian H, Zhang L, et al. Reduction of secondary transmission of SARS-CoV-2 in households by face mask use, disinfection and social distancing: a cohort study in Beijing. China BMJ Global Health 2020;5:e002794.
2. Wu J, Xu F, Zhou W, et al. Risk factors for SARS among persons without known contact with SARS patients, Beijing, China. Emerg Infect Dis. 2004;10(2):210-216. doi:10.3201/eid1002.030730
3. Lau J, Tsui H, Lau M, et al. SARS Transmission, Risk Factors, and Prevention in Hong Kong. Emerging Infectious Diseases. 2004;10(4):587-592. doi:10.3201/eid1004.030628.
4. Konda, A, Prakash, A, Moss, G et al. Aerosol Filtration Efficiency of Common Fabrics Used in Respiratory Cloth Masks. ACS Nano 2020; 14(5): 6339-6347 doi: 10.1021/acsnano.0c03252
5. Leung NH, Chu DK, Shiu EY, et al. Respiratory virus shedding in exhaled breath and efficacy of face masks (brief communication). Nat Med 2020; [Epub ahead of print.] doi:10.1038/s41591-020-0843-2 .
6. Howard, J, Huang, A, Li, Z, et al. Face Masks Against COVID-19: An Evidence Review. Preprints 2020. doi:10.20944/preprints202004.0203.v2
7. Brainard, J, Jones, N, Lake, I, et al. Facemasks and similar barriers to prevent respiratory illness such as COVID-19: A rapid systematic review. medRxiv 2020 2020.04.01.20049528; doi:10.1101/2020.04.01.20049528
8. Jefferson, T, Jones, M, Al Ansari, L, et al. Physical interventions to interrupt or reduce the spread of respiratory viruses. Part 1 – Face masks, eye protection and person distancing: systematic review and meta-analysis. medRxiv 2020 2020.03.30.20047217; doi: 10.1101/2020.03.30.20047217
10. DELVE. 2020 Face masks for the general public. https://rs-delve.github.io/reports/2020/05/04/face-masks-for-the-general-public.html (accessed 23 July 2020).
12. Chu, D, Akl, E, Duda, S, et al. Physical distancing, face masks, and eye protection to prevent person-to-person transmission of SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19: a systematic review and meta-analysis. Lancet 2020 395:1973–87 doi:10.1016/S0140-6736(20)31142-9
