Tuesday, May 6, 2025
Blog Page 455

The Art of the Perfect Playlist

Cecilia Wilkins Dulanto
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The Art of the Perfect Playlist

If you’ve ever doubted the power of the playlist, think again. From manipulating consumer behaviour (you can blame the background music at Society Cafe for the hit your student loan took last term) to paving the path to my own doomed love affair, as well as revolutionising the way in which artists and songs get their big break, playlists form the bedrock of the music industry and our own musical expression. 

So then, how best to harness this power? In the words of Rob Gordon (from the movie adaptation of Nick Hornby’s cult novel High Fidelity), “The making of a great compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many dos and don’ts. First of all, you’re using someone else’s poetry to express how you’re feeling. This is a delicate thing.” Because crafting the perfect playlist, “like breaking up, is hard to do, and takes way longer than it might seem”. (If you haven’t already read High Fidelity, there is no better time to enjoy the existential crisis of a broke record store owner and self-certified arsehole as he navigates love. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzQwbRdh5Ts)

Whilst seemingly superficial, the terrifying truth is playlists go right to the heart of who you are and are unavoidably personal and subjective. Nevertheless, below are what I believe to be some essential considerations to this subtle art.

Theme. The theme (or concept, if you’re feeling meta) is perhaps the most crucial aspect of the process. It is the foundation, the string that binds your tracks together, conveys a message and ultimately gives the playlist existential meaning. In short, it is the reason for its creation. Broken hearted? The theme might be “songs my ex hates”, “I found love again” (if your ex still follows you on Spotify), “ballads of a broken heart”, “best songs to cry to”, the possibilities are endless. Nevertheless, it is important that every track relates to the theme in some way for the playlist to maintain a sense of coherence.

Content. If the theme of the playlist is the foundation, the content is all the fixtures and fittings, your brother, sister, parents and dog. It is everything to the making of a perfect playlist. Now is your time to shine, be it with a devout passion for Fleetwood Mac (guilty), a morbid addiction to Requiems, traditional Andean flute music, or One Direction’s greatest hits, guilty pleasures all welcome, whatever floats your or your listener’s boat deserves to be there! Again, don’t hesitate to include a mixture of genres, after all who doesn’t like to brag about their multifaceted taste too impressive to be categorised.

Length. Spotify claims a good playlist should be 40+ songs, adding enthusiastically “there’s no maximum though!”. That might do for your marathon training playlist, but if your goal is to inspire musical appreciation in your listener rather than just exercise-induced pain relief, a shorter playlist (c. 15 tracks) is more conducive to the type of considered listening required. This is especially relevant to the ‘recommendation playlist’ where it is crucial not to overwhelm the listener but to keep it short and sweet, engaging and leaving them wanting more.

Running Order. Whilst society mourns the demise of the meticulous artistry of the album now replaced by hit singles and streaming services, one characteristic feature of the album lives on, retaining considerable influence on the making of the perfect playlist; the running order. Easily overlooked and unappreciated, in allowing you to carve out a journey for the listener (much like its role in the album) the order is often imperative to the communication of the concept, and so, must be skilfully executed. To refer back to High Fidelity’s Rob Gordon “You’ve got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention, and then you’ve got to up it a notch… there are loads of rules.” Kicking off with a corker is of obvious importance, but in fact the success of your playlist hinges on the second track. Like any successful TV series, which requires more than just a gripping pilot, in order to secure commitment the second track must be an affirmation of the playlist’s excellent quality throughout. Once this has been established the remaining tracks can be arranged by listening to the end and the beginning of neighbouring tracks and focusing on the type of transition you wish to achieve. Instructions for shuffle mode: NEVER. Pairing similar moods, instrumentation, genres, tempos, dynamics, or, if you want everyone to know you’re doing a music degree, modes, will form more seamless transitions than following, say, Miley Cyrus’ ‘The Climb’ (good song btw) with Metallica’s ‘Holier Than Thou’,  although there is something to be said for shock factor. 

Presentation. On the assumption that we’re all dipping into our trust fund for Spotify premium or Apple Music, we have the gratifying option of personalising our playlists with a photo and title. If you’ve made it this far you might as well give it an elusive or witty title that shows the rich variety of your cultural references. Bonus points/deduct points if it’s in another language. That said, ideally without making it the name of a track, the title should have some relevance to the playlist if you don’t wish to create unfulfilled expectations in your listener. The same rules apply for the photo; steer clear of gratuitous selfies. If the photo and title hasn’t completed your masterpiece, Spotify has a description box where you’re welcome to compose Latin elegiacs for your lover, or simply leave it blank and let the music speak for itself. 

With the basics covered, you now have the ‘privilege’ of hearing one I made earlier, a labour of love which took me longer to craft than to write this article.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0uqJlg8Xl11m3hi18NiL4H?si=RSITLbWtRxymrHtYC19YtQ

Review: Lost Horizon

Cecilia Wang
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Review: Lost Horizon

Of all the emotions that may be stirred in one during the current Coronavirus lockdown, tranquility is perhaps not the most obvious choice. Yet it is exactly how I have felt during my reading of James Hilton’s 1933 classic, ‘Lost Horizon’- enchanted tranquility. Now, I have never been cleared of the charge of being an escapist; and what better forms of escapism than to read about a remote, inaccessible monastery situated in the midst of a misty, mystified mountaintop, filled with thousands of books and many a musical virtuoso, set in a time when the general readership fantasised and fetishised about hitherto undiscovered treasures of the East that promised undreamt-of nirvana?

‘Lost Horizon’ is set in ‘Shangri-La’, the locus that inspired the eponymous hotel chain. Our current predicament bears many similarities to that of the central characters- their physical movements are more or less restricted; their companions drawn from a small, fixed group; and to put the cherry on top of the cake- the hero of the book, by the name of Conway, was himself a student at Oxford before WWI- a Greek scholar, a rowing Blue and a rising star at the Oxford Union. The four passengers of a helicopter flight tasked with transporting them out of the mutinied area of what was then British India has been hijacked by a stranger pilot and eventually delivered them to the secluded mountaintop on the Tibetan Plateau. Henceforth, two British colonial civil servants: Conway, the former star of Oxford, rather burnt out by the Great War, and his subordinate, Mallinson, an impatient young man yet to shed his school-boyish shell; and an inexplicably and facetiously chipper American and a missionary, Miss Brinklow, who is never surprised yet always slightly indignant, whilst quietly reconciling herself with what she regards as unmistakable Providence. The bewildered company found themselves at the ‘Shangri-La’, a hybrid place evocative of Medieval monasticism, Renaissance scholarship and Buddhist transcendentalism; with the added pleasure of moderate chastity and immoderate ownership of gold mines. 

It might shock the kindred spirit of the 21st century to hear that three of the four abductees settled contently into their new life. The American who goes by the name of Barnard has not even the worry of his closed ones finding his name amongst those declared missing. One eventually discovers that he is, in fact, a bankrupted financier of 1933 Wall Street, on the run from the seething authorities eager to apprehend the person whose face has become the personification of the woes of the Crash. Barnard is no stoic or hermit, but rather, a contended exile revelling in his serendipitous luck. Miss Brinklow, devoted to God and his mysterious ways, soon takes on the mission of evangelising the local heathens, starting with learning Tibetan. It might be fair to say that neither is exhibiting symptoms of Stockholm syndrome or outright insanity, but it would certainly be a stretch to claim that they were enthusiastically taken with this new life.

Yet, it is to the latter category that our fellow Oxonian Conway firmly belongs. Conway’s state post-WWI has been effortlessly encapsulated by the High Lama in the term ‘passionlessness’. The rage and the shock and the sensual indulgences that were once made more delicious by the sense of rebelling against authority and approaching death had eventually proved both exhausting and unsatisfying. Conway thenceforth retreated into the cocoon of his inner life, rarely disturbed by the ebbs and flows of intense emotions. He indulged inconclusively in romantic dalliances and kept few close friends during his ten years wandering around China. Instead, he harmonised his surroundings through his distant appreciation of what he perceived as mannered, controlled and delicately flavoured cultural and artistic life, rather like the flavour and texture of boiled jasmine rice.

Shangri-La offered the ideal environment in which haste is rendered undesirable by the realisation that time is in abundance, thus eroding any shred of guilt he may have previously experienced over frivolous and flippant pursuits. Here, scholarship is a leisurely exertion and the works of Mozart the subject of harmonious, sensual indulgences. The purity of the icy, mountainous landscape bestows upon one a purity of academic and spiritual pursuits. One strolls around, appreciating the clarity of the blue moon just as freely as the detail of exquisite Sung dynasty porcelain. What was once decidedly considered to be ‘laziness’ in Conway is given full expression in his new life, liberating him from the mundane daily minutiae of colonial administration to appreciate many a Proustian delight. 

This is intermittently disrupted by the desperate outbursts of the fourth character, Mallinson, who angrily tries to escape his imprisonment to return to civilisation. Mallinson proves the complete antithesis of whatever self-indulgent and self-deceiving acquiescence Conway may have exhibited – the former is unrelentingly factual whilst the latter steadfastly retreats into an inner world of intellectual fulfillment coupled with emotional detachment.

The book was an instant classic upon its publication in 1933 and many to this day enthuse over its unique ability to evoke the enchantingly ethereal landscape and the sense of quiet, spiritual exploration. Whatever this current generation may feel about the mysticism evoked by Oriental expeditions that gained so much currency in the twilight of Western imperialism, Conway’s quest to make the most of one’s circumstances and the quiet delight in inner peace shines through.

Oxford eight-week terms are a time for many things, but purity or tranquility perhaps not the most prominent ones. Coronavirus has no doubt meant a great deal of anxiety and displacement for many, but one may yet emerge from this period with gratitude for the life one has managed to forge for oneself during it. At a time when newspapers and Facebook walls are teaming with hysterical headlines and one scientific journal sound just as authoritative and headache-inducing as the next, there is perhaps virtue in embracing the prolonged immobile solitude and inactivity that one may never get a chance to experience again. In an age that relentlessly pursues increased productivity and increasingly unforgiving of the lack of overt striving, a capacity for organised and fulfilled inner life may be becoming an unappreciated commodity. But does its unappreciated status confer undesirability? I am here reminded of an anecdote recorded in the ‘Commentaries’ by the last of the Renaissance popes, Pius II, who has since been crystallised into history as the doomed commander of the Last Crusade- during one of his travels through the rustic countryside, the pope stopped and stooped beneath a goat to taste the fresh milk and marvelled at the joys of earthly existence. His entourage were shocked by his lack of display of formality or status but nonetheless quietly offered a helping hand. The pope, then plagued by gout and taxed with the precarious fortune of Christendom after a life of strenuous striving, discovered momentary relief.

Estate Birds

Indigo Buckler
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Estate Birds

Rugged cracked concrete sighs
About the bleak,
The run down, deep
Into the town centre where I wander
Around aimlessly,
Pecking at the bin’s rejected rubbish
With other charcoal pigeons.

The old broken clock face
Clangs; we flap from early to mid-afternoon;
One hand gets bored of Two; a teen
Mother puts Baby in Buggy while we
Welcome a wingbeat of peace in a solemn tune
Within a punctured melody.

Our wings swipe their colour into clouds that hide
An autumn Sun, shining
Decadently behind a silver screen,
Not burning or blinding.
The fire here belongs on the leaves
That overhang branches like youth’s sweater sleeves,

And regular, flashing blue lights,
Set to hunt some flaming thieves.
Concern passes like trains in the night.
Spiders sneak across symmetrical orbs of smashed glass
Panes of a single-glazed window,
Silent shoals of drifting litter and a crow
From the builder next-door,
Who surveys crumbling bricks of old new-builds,
And listens to asses braying in the market.

A bowl – two bowls – a pound.
A thousand flowers
Splayed on the ground.
I don’t mean the flower stall.
Out here they live all for one and one for all;
Brutal towers have brutal rules.

A hooded council,
With no currency to coin but the awry cry
Of the unseen
Estate birds;
We scatter as you hurry by.

Happiness is a cigar called Hamlet

Poppy Sowerby
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Happiness is a cigar called Hamlet

While the machine of commerce rumbles on, cynicism towards the smoke and mirrors of modern brand manoeuvrings is never too far from the media, or from everyday conversation. The changing face of advertising undoubtedly plays a part: fifty years ago, it was enough for companies to tie their products to a simple sense of satisfaction. In 1966, the first advertisement for ‘Hamlet’ cigars appeared, dreamed up by the Collett Dickinson Pearce agency: in each brief clip, a man caught in a sticky situation would light up a Hamlet and instantly feel relaxed. While whimsical setups like these are still de rigueur – think of the Tango ads launched in 2019 featuring a wisdom-bearing ‘Tanguru’ saving the day in awkward social mishaps – brands are under a new kind of pressure from consumers. If products can make us feel good, our heads are turned; if they can make us feel like good people, we elbow our way to the till.

When it comes to consumerism, the phenomenon of the ‘Easterlin Paradox’ has come to define how many social commentators connect purchase power and happiness. In 1974, University of Pennsylvania economics professor Richard Easterlin found that income and life satisfaction varied directly in developed and developing countries alike. This expected result, however, came with a hitch. As time went on and incomes continued to climb, happiness stopped increasing. It seemed that money could buy happiness – until you had enough of it. This paradox is often weaponised against rampant consumerism, seemingly proving that accumulating stuff won’t bring us joy. In more recent years, concerns about sustainability (meat-based junk food, fast fashion and plastic pollution among the sticking points) have escalated cultural condemnation of buying things for the sake of it: brands have had to adapt to consumer demand for more ethical-seeming products.

Over the past year, vegan versions of much-loved meaty fast foods have been rolled out nationwide. The way companies tackle the advertising of these new feel-good purchases becomes critical, as they jostle for position in the changing millennial market. At times, the handling of this new pressure can come across as somewhat jarring. Burger King’s advert for their ‘Rebel Whopper’, a plant-based version of their behemoth bestseller, centres around a bemused voiceover breaking character and asking why the chain should ‘bother’ if the vegan version tastes ‘just as good’. A hand leans into shot and spins around a soft drink cup, revealing the word ‘woke’ emblazoned on the side. One wonders how well the wokeness-taunting of a corporate giant responsible for the demise of more than a few cows will go down.

While this advertisement might be a little tongue-in-cheek, far-worse crimes have been committed by brands who’ve flogged the feel-good horse to its very last whinny. It’s news to nobody that Pepsi Max committed the biggest advertising faux-pas of all time in their 2017 ‘Live for Now’ campaign, which sees Kardashian Kendall Jenner fix police brutality by handing a cop a can of pop. The up-and-coming supermodel skulks in a shop door having her photo taken before glimpsing the generic protest (we have no idea what they’re demonstrating against, unless it’s the fact that they live in a dystopia wherein Pepsi-coloured clothes are mandatory), inexplicably snatching her blonde wig and joining the rightful cause, whatever it is. The bitter taste of this promotional misstep was well-documented on social media and in op eds the world over, to the point where Pepsi had to pull the ad within two days.

While the tanking of the campaign was catharsis in itself – and Jenner underwent public embarrassment akin only to opening a well-shaken can – the lingering discomfort of the whole affair lands resolutely at the doorstep of the consumer. Many wondered how the advert made it through several levels of executives to publication; what we should really be asking is why they thought we’d swallow it. If buying things won’t make you happy, feeling good about your purchases might: this has birthed a cynical new trend among lifestyle brands, which sees executives simply marketing our values back to us. What lies behind this increasing thirst for ethical consumerism? Why have even impulse buys become aligned with carefully considered and deeply sober world-views? The answer lies in the psychology of consumerism.

A universal truth of childhoods in late-capitalism is the existence of toy fads. Tamagotchis, Top Trumps and Lol Dolls: everyone remembers begging their parents for an overpriced piece of plastic, then rushing to school the next day to show it off. Then, as now, stuff confers status: psychologists have suggested that brand mentality encourages consumers to identify with the values associated with that brand (perseverance with Nike, or innovativeness with Apple). Seeing others sporting those favoured products makes it easy for us to mark out those that read from the same hymn sheet. While we are encouraged to compete among ourselves in paying extra for the privilege of status-conferring logos, we are vulnerable to the cynical pitching of such brands because we believe they connect us with others, and so form tribes based on apparent like-mindedness. The Caltech philosophy professor Steve Quartz has connected these modern consumer habits with those equivalents among our ancestors: ‘the very first shell necklaces some 70,000 years ago’ might have similarly been worn by particular members of a social group, and therefore have created factions that supposedly related to one another.

Where does this leave us? It’s clear that as time goes on, consumers become increasingly suspicious of advertising which unironically equates products with happiness. Post-financial crash and constantly amid political crises, it seems that big brands telling us to ‘open happiness’ (Coca Cola) or shell out to visit ‘the happiest place on earth’ (Disneyland) won’t fly like they once did. Cynicism towards brand ‘virtue-signalling’ is especially critical among consumers baffled by companies who dodge taxes seemingly without consequence. If brands can successfully remove the sheen of guilt from our consumer complexes by injecting campaigns with forced wokeness – as Pepsi decidedly failed to do – then materialism can, effectively, don a different hat and a pair of glasses and crack on. But it would pay to be wary of the feel-good fantasies increasingly conjured by big corporations. Where once we might have bought our own happiness, we’re now buying bigger dreams – but who really wins?

University intends to open in October, Vice-Chancellor states

Violeta Perea Rubio
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University intends to open in October, Vice-Chancellor states

An update from the Vice-Chancellor on Wednesday 6th of May announces that the University does intend to open in October, but raises the possibility that Michaelmas Term will not be run as normal. The notice also announces the creation of two new hardship funds to help students and staff affected by the pandemic.

In the statement, the Vice-Chancellor states the University “will be planning for Michaelmas term”, declaring intentions to open the University in October, although in a “changed world”. This means that social distance guidance and online teaching may continue into Michaelmas Term.

The Vice-Chancellor nevertheless emphasises that “as far as possible, we will preserve the face-to-face personalized education”, such as tutorials. Distancing measures are most likely to take place for group lectures and teachings.

They have announced they will adopt a policy of “test, trace and isolate” in order to allow for safety and normality in the new academic year.

The Vice-Chancellor has also announced two new hardship funds, one for students and one for staff, to aid those worst affected by the COVID-19 pandemic.

A “pilot program” to begin allowing on-site work in several departments is being developed as it is looking “increasingly likely” that the Government will begin loosening lockdown measures soon.

The University is also encouraging donations from individuals for both of these hardship funds and the research effort through the Development Office.

The statement gives further updates on the successful developments of the Oxford vaccine research, with its new partnership with pharmaceutical company AstraZeneca.

The University has been contacted for comment.

Image Credit to Prosthetic Head/ Wikimedia Commons

Queer in disguise: where sexual identity intersects costume

Eleanor Zhang
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Queer in disguise: where sexual identity intersects costume

While a male star may once have been able to wear an old wedding suit to the Oscar’s without anyone batting an eyelid, the increasing diversity in men’s fashion now continues to sensationalise the red carpet. From Timothée Chalamet’s harness-like ‘bib’ which exudes both glamour and rebellion, to Billy Porter’s floor-length gown that unapologetically demands for spotlight, queer culture is gradually trickling into Hollywood fashion, spoiling the world’s insatiable desire for more: more colours, more curves, more patterns. As LGBTQ+ equality movements gain momentum, the audience is no longer shocked by deviation from tradition. Yet how much of this extravaganza of pleats and tulle transfers to on-screen queer narratives?

In Levan Akin’s widely acclaimed drama And Then We Danced (2019), Irakli’s entrance into the film as one of the two protagonists is marked by a demanded change in his look: the dancer, who enters into a gay love affair over the course of the film, takes out his earring in a gesture of self-awareness when the trainer reminds him of where he works – the state-run National Georgian Ensemble, where homosexuality remains taboo. The story of a surreptitious relationship thus begins with the dancers’ disguise in heteronormative clothes. Yet a different set of costumes, with their transformative powers, offer the dancers a respite from constant camouflage. As Merab performs his last dance in his chosen costume – a billowing scarlet robe with a low V cut and decorative sequins– the intention to stretch the boundaries of masculinity presents itself without being provocative, since the item itself is accordant with the traditional Georgian dance costume design. The bold colour and delicate details accentuate the rebellious fluidity, which is channeled into the limber and effeminate dance movements. Reminiscent of Loie Fuller’s experimental use of fabric in Louis Lumière’s Danse Serpentine (1897), which remains an early example of gender stereotypes being challenged through the medium of dance, the dancer’s costume in the final scene is a muffled cry of protest. In this moment, unthinkable femininity is woven into tradition, pointing at a pre-existing harmony that the society around him denies. 

Akin’s exposition of the expressive quality of stage costume is not the first among LGBTQ+ films. In the biographical musical Rocketman (2019), Taron Egerton’s eighty-eight on-screen looks are strikingly flamboyant. Elton John’s ‘Dodgers outfit’ in the film, the only replica based on the musician’s 1975 stage outfit, is lavishly adorned with 140,000 Swarovski crystals, which complement the tight-fitting basketball uniform silhouette.  The crystals illuminate the singer in the spotlight. John is worshipped by a full stadium, untouchable from the censure in the world, surreal. The boundary between costume and every-day clothing is blurred in the film. In addition to oversized glasses and women’s jewellery, John is bathed by a kaleidoscope of rhinestones and sequins, creating an image of a conflicted artist who wraps himself up in colourful silk and animal patterns, overwhelming the eye with endless luxury to leave no room for criticism. It is camouflage of another kind, a shining armour that shields oneself from the world that is inexorably relentless. 

Instead of their original function to deceive, queer characters’ costumes work to disillusion. The experimentation with clothing, or the lack thereof, lends insight into their mechanism of existence in a world where every minority’s survival is hard-won. 

Reading Around the Lines: the Need for Data Literacy

Maya Misra
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Reading Around the Lines: the Need for Data Literacy

“Flatten the curve!” is the oft-quoted justification for social distancing. It’s a good one, and made more appealing because the graph is one we can easily understand. By changing the rate of infection we can prevent hospitals from being overwhelmed and making hard decisions about whom to save.

It is comforting in a crisis to trace curves, to track data, to feel like you’re on top of day-to-day changes in the situation. But this crisis has revealed a lack of true numerical literacy, among both the media and the general population.

On April 16, UK cases passed 100,000. It was a major milestone, yes. However, something that neither those reporting on it nor Public Health England mentioned was that finally cases had reached something of a linear growth rate: about the same number of cases were being reported per day, rather than that number steadily increasing.

More frustratingly, nowhere on the PHE site are “rates of change” mentioned. But they are crucial; it’s how you can understand whether the situation is, you know, changing. Our news sources do not report on it, partially because it’s less ‘click-baity’, and partially because neither the journalists nor the readers understand the concept properly.

Everyone—everyone—should know basic calculus. Calculus is derivatives and integrals–what happens if you look not at the curve, but how the curve is changing? This can be done for simple lines, for complicated polynomials, for exponential and linear functions. Less important than knowing the derivative of tan(x) though is that through calculus, you gain an intuitive apprehension of key concepts. If we understand the maths, we understand the process.

I am sure many of you have seen the option on COVID-19 graphs to switch to a logarithmic view. Logarithmic (log) functions are useful because exponential functions (that crazy wild curve up) are hard to eyeball. Log functions make them linear, something our brains can grasp. When the log function is a sloped line, you have a constant exponential increase. When it plateaus off, you have a linear increase. Knowing a decent amount of maths, I understand the relationship between a log and exponential function. But for people who do not, a log function does not actually make things easier to interpret, when that’s what it should be doing.

That interpretation matters. “100,000 cases” sounds terrifying. “Cases hold steady at 5000 per day” is reassuring, because that is a situation under control. Our hospitals can target their capacity to manage 5000 cases and reopen the nation in such a way that we remain at that level.

There are a dozen other important factors in this pandemic that maths is essential for understanding. What analyses are used to define at-risk populations? What is the time lag between exposures and cases and deaths? How important are the dangers of false positives in widespread antibody testing?  

The data we do not understand makes us more uncertain. Unless we can look at a graph and interpret it ourselves, we will fall prey to people trying to spin the situation, whether it is ‘this is the disease of the century’ or ‘this is no worse than a flu.’ 

More than questioning the media’s representation, we must critically examine the data itself. The more scientific terms exist in the title of a study (“serological tests”, “heparin dysfunction”, “qPCR” when I scanned through PubMed), the more likely we are to trust it, or perhaps to avoid thinking critically. Yet data, especially data published in a rush, is quite unlikely to be reliable. Science is constantly disproving itself, and that’s its greatest strength…when everyone is well-versed in the area of study and can pick apart flaws. But to most people, for whom science only emerges as headlines during a crisis, this is brushed aside.

Looking back at the H1N1, or swine flu, outbreak in 2009, three different studies ranged from 30% to 70% in their estimates of how many people had ultimately been infected by the strain. So how can we expect to have any reasonable amount of certainty on COVID-19? Sometimes, it is best to stop overanalysing the science and focus on delivering care to people who need it. 

There is also not always a “single answer”. Infection fatality rates, the ratio of infections to deaths, will not be the same worldwide even if every country had perfect screening. Infection rates depend on social distancing and population demographics. Fatality rates depend on quality of medical care. For example, in the Middle Ages the risk of death from the bubonic plague was 70%. Today, with modern antibiotics, the risk is only 5%. Diseases are context dependent. Parallels cannot be easily drawn between different situations, and for COVID-19, in a developing situation, we should be suspicious of not only the data but also heavy-handed attempts to contextualize it.

This means being wary of comparisons to the swine flu/Spanish flu/SARS/MERS/[insert plague of choice]. The virus shares features with all of them to a greater or lesser extent, but it is a separate emerging disease with an individual pathology.

This also means challenging the bodies publishing statistics. China avoided alerting the international community when COVID-19 first broke out; North Korea denies infection entirely. Though these are extreme examples, every governing body will have its own small biases. Bias and misrepresentation will become important again as pharmaceutical companies and universities (yes, even our own beloved institution) compete to bring a vaccine to the market.  

Statistics matter. Mathematical relationships matter. If you want to brush up, Khan Academy is a good place to start. We cannot all be epidemiologists, but we can know our maths and question data. Our ability to understand the world depends on it.

_____

Some helpful videos about the maths of COVID-19

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kas0tIxDvrg one of the best videos for an overview

Logarithms specifically the videos on the log/exponential relationship

Logistic growth or the curve you see with COVID-19, and one of the most common models of growth in nature

Bayes’ theorem of conditional probability (video) which helpfully uses a flu metaphor, and will become important because of the likelihood of false positives in antibody testing

Oxford’s community: life beyond the spires

Luca Webb
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Oxford’s community: life beyond the spires

Students from disadvantaged socio-economic backgrounds are twice as likely to be low performers. Think about that for a moment. Sometimes at Oxford it’s easy to forget that educational inequality is a problem that stretches far beyond access to our own university. In fact, it stretches right across our education system and deep down into our schools. So much so that 40% of disadvantaged pupils in schools in England fail to reach a GCSE standard pass mark of a grade 4 in Maths. It shouldn’t be this way. Moreover, as Oxford students, we have real power to change this, beginning on our own doorstep.

The City of Oxford is known to people across the globe as a centre of world-class learning. Even when thinking about schools, the city appears to be a hub of renowned independent institutions. It’s only when you travel just beyond the cobbled streets that you begin to realise that there are also schools in areas of Oxford with high levels of socio-economic deprivation. In these schools, there are students with huge educational potential which too often is not unlocked. To many, the dreaming spires of our university indicate a different, unattainable world just down the road from their own lives and community. Look beyond these spires, beyond our colleges and suddenly, and a deep educational divide reveals itself in our beloved city.

Oxford Hub – a registered charity specialising in community-led change tackling a range of social and environmental issues­–have looked beyond the college walls for nearly 14 years, creating opportunities for people to participate and develop meaningful relationships in the Oxford community through volunteering or taking part in development programmes.

Schools Plus is an Oxford Hub project which aims to challenge educational inequality. It places university students as tutors in schools across Oxford city with indicators of disadvantage, such as a high proportion of students on Pupil Premium, in a bid to tackle educational inequality. The projects run across a range of subjects from KS1 Reading and Writing to A Level Psychology, and tutors volunteer for one hour a week to support pupils in their learning. But much more than this, tutors offer passion, enthusiasm and knowledge of their subjects beyond the narrow confines of an exam syllabus. To work with an Oxford student as a positive role model has real power to raise pupils’ aspirations about learning and higher education.

Now, more than ever, pupils need our support. With schools closed, the current coronavirus crisis has intensified existing educational inequality. Some pupils are fortunate enough to receive plenty of support with their studies at home, but many are not so lucky. This is an environment which, we can all agree, is challenging to work in, but this pandemic does not affect us all equally. According to the LSE, ‘in the first week of home schooling, pupils from middle class homes were twice as likely to be taking part in daily live or recorded lessons as those from working class households.’ 

Over the vacation, Schools Plus swiftly adapted to coordinate a digital version of our services. Imogen Runswick-Cole, Projects Officer at Oxford Hub and the staff member in charge of the project explains that “Our aim was that no child in Oxford City should have to miss out on their education during school closures due to Covid-19. The response we had from students was amazing, and volunteers have been busy creating and sharing online teaching content, educational games for young children and providing 1-1 online tutoring support.  Schools Plus Online is part of Oxford Hub’s ‘Oxford Together’ programme, a volunteer programme to help those in need during Covid-19. Oxford Hub is delivering Oxford Together in collaboration with Oxford City Council and other local aid groups.”

Getting involved with Schools Plus or other projects with the Oxford Hub immediately bursts that Oxford bubble and can help students become more engaged with their local community. Stepping over that boundary between ‘town and gown’ through social action is, in the words of volunteer Verity, ‘a great way to feel more integrated and at home within the city.’ But the impact of giving your time to help others is not restricted to those receiving the support. Tutoring is a real privilege and it’s so rewarding in just a few weeks to see students gain confidence in their own ideas and talk about their ambitions for the future. Volunteer Nadia, who was lucky enough to receive similar tutoring herself during her GCSEs, says that ‘sometimes the pupil knows what to do but has trouble understanding the wording of the question, which makes them feel anxious or stressed. Being able to help them resolve their worries and see their great progress is heart-warming.’

Being a student at Oxford means you are a member of more than just the university; you are a member of a diverse community in an amazing city. Yet within that community, we students undoubtedly occupy a privileged position thanks to the educational opportunities we receive. So, during these anxious times, when you’re struggling to find that elusive online resource or sneakily trying to google the answer during your virtual tutorial, remember that there are pupils who want to learn and may not get a chance to.  If you can, give something back to your Oxford community this Trinity.

To support Schools Plus and Oxford Hub you can:

– Volunteer your time by completing this form to support secondary schools or this form to support primary schools. 
– Donate to Oxford Together, and help us support more people across Oxford: bit.ly/oxtogether

-Follow Oxford Hub and Schools Plus Oxford on Facebook and Instagram to like and share the word.

Face to Face // Screen to Screen

Anna Robinson
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Face to Face // Screen to Screen

If there’s one thing a national lockdown has given me, it’s time. Weekly screen-time reports never fail to astound me – minding my business, hours deep in another unintentional TikTok binge, I am alerted by a notification that my phone usage has increased by 26% from last week: 7 hours 35 minutes a day. Oh joy. I cannot help but feel annoyed at what feels like a smug report from my iPhone about how many of these precious, productive lockdown hours I am spending on Facebook. Amidst a minor personality crisis that ensued from these reports, I started leaving my phone on a different floor to stop the temptation of hourly scrolls through Instagram (which last for 59 minutes). Yet my report still came back with rather disheartening statistics. I began to realise that the main culprit for my screen time was in fact video calls – that usually my screen time is less because I spend a large proportion of my day gabbing with friends in the material world: now I chatter through the medium of virtual platforms. 

A pre-lockdown world saw screen time as essentially anti-social, unproductive – a way to disconnect from the real world. Now it becomes a tether to a sense of normality, an expansion of my isolation confines where the only people to talk to are my family, my dog, and occasionally myself. I am so grateful that I live in an age where I can see and hear my friends without their immediate, corporeal presence. I am grateful that with a few taps on my screen, four girls in dressing gowns and spot cream can collide in a virtual space, and for a while it feels almost as if things are normal again. With so much time – screentime – I have had the chance to consider my favourite platforms for virtual meetings. They all have a slightly different feel to them; a distinct virtual feng shui if you will. Microsoft teams has an entirely different ~vibe~ than Houseparty, for example, and Facetime is no Zoom call. I’ve tried and tested them all – here are my experiences:

Zoom is a very versatile platform. I had never heard of it before lockdown, but its existence has become a prominent part of my isolation experience. It seems to span the capabilities and needs of a wide range of ages. It’s user-friendly and graciously avoids the appellation ‘party’, which might alarm the Gen X among us. ‘Zoom’ has quickly been turned into a verb; when I ask where mum is I am frequently told she is ‘zooming’ with her yoga friends in the garden, doing a downward dog for all of the neighbours to see as well as her fellow ‘zoomers’. I’ve had zoom calls with my aunts and uncles, the family all gathered presentably around the dining room table while we discuss current affairs and recipe ideas. I’ve had Zoom calls with my college friends, virtual pub quizzes and replacement bops with costumes made hastily from the nearest thing on our bedside. The screenshare option means homemade PowerPoints featuring round after round of guessing the baby photo or ‘who wrote this hideously embarrassing facebook status in 2012?’ I would recommend using alongside your call the app ‘Psych’ – which I was originally very sceptical of but which I now shamelessly endorse: there’s not much new that is happening in lockdown, and this is a good way to get everyone laughing and reminiscing as you answer open-ended questions (with varying degrees of savagery) about each player respectively.

I should now mention that I am a sucker for a Facebook Messenger group call. It’s simple, unostentatious, but it gets the job done. There’s no need for a cumbersome laptop, no need to send out an email with a link – simply call whenever you feel lockdown tantrum number six brewing (or even when you’re emotionally stable but just want to see some familiar faces). As long as you remain on the actual messenger app, you can send photos on the group chat and still see everyone’s faces. This makes it perfect for sending accompanying visual aids to your line of conversation – be these homemade TikToks or a proposed Instagram post that apparently needs a two hour workshop for its accompanying caption (which is usually still unsatisfactory but you have to post in prime hours babes xx). This feature makes it a very productive space for figuring out which depop items you want to spend your student loan on (the answer is everything and all of it) or for sharing those adorable micropig videos you just have to show someone, without having to temporarily leave the virtual room to send them (I’m looking at you, FaceTime).

Next we have Houseparty. Like seemingly everyone, I was initially amazed by this app, but the novelty wore off pretty quickly. It has some pros, some cons. Firstly, it’s very easy to connect with people; there doesn’t need to be an existing group chat, you can simply join any open ‘room’ full of people as long as at least one of the participants is a contact. This informality means it’s easier to talk with people you wouldn’t usually call, but still enjoy catching up with. You can also play games once you’re in a room with everyone, but these are quite simply bad – not so bad that they’re good; just nonsensical and boring. These games also have a tendency to crash your whole phone. Another feature of Houseparty is its compulsion to send out a notification every time you or one of your contacts ‘is in the house’. This is, I feel, a very double edged sword. It means every time you go on the app, all your contacts are implicitly invited to recognise that you have friends you must be calling and how bully for you to be so popular. It also means that you are notified every time someone else is on a call with their friends, and there is a momentary flicker of crushing inadequacy and envy. Of course, with the way Houseparty works you could very easily invite yourself into any conversation you like … but sometimes I just want to be alone and selfishly not know that anyone else is having more fun than I am.

A nice juxtaposition to Houseparty in terms of ethos and ~vibe~ is Microsoft Teams. My only experience thus far has been a start of term meeting with my class. Unsure of the platform’s etiquette, I was hoping to join fuss free around a minute after the link went live – mildly supposing I didn’t want to be the first or last one to (virtually) arrive. My laptop ended up needing to download several updates and then found it difficult to open the actual software. This is not Teams’ fault, but I proceeded to direct my frustration at it nevertheless. I also couldn’t figure out how to zoom the frame out, so all anyone could see when I eventually (virtually) arrived was an intense close up of my face. Again, this was definitely a ‘me problem’ but I shall continue to blame Microsoft for my incompetence. Apart from that I only have one other minor complaint; you can only see four participants at any time. This not only reduces a sense of solidarity and togetherness, but it means I can only scrutinise four backgrounds at once. Virtual learning gives classes another dimension that can be rather satisfying for the curious (prying, nosey and prone to procrastinating) among us: each participant brings a little part of their contextual existence into the frame with them; you see a snapshot of their reality beyond Oxford. One positive of my own camera being so inappropriately zoomed in was that my fellow classmates couldn’t see all the parcels scattered behind me, and my ugly curtains were out of sight.

Admittedly, some of this screentime is spent ordering things online. But a lot of it is spent connecting, even if I’m just listening to my friends breathe as we communally view ‘Too Hot to Handle’ (trash TV at its not-so-finest). My screentime now represents less of a retreat from everyday life and more of a route back to old normality. If I were a pretentious and snobbish English student, I might now quote E. M Forster’s advice: ‘Only connect’. Instead, I will just say I hope you are looking after yourselves in this strange new normal.

Explained: Oxford SU ‘Academic Hate Speech’ motion sparks free speech controversy

Imogen Duke
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Explained: Oxford SU ‘Academic Hate Speech’ motion sparks free speech controversy

The Oxford University Student Union (SU) has condemned “hateful material in mandatory teaching”, after a motion on ‘Academic Hate Speech’ passed in Student Council last week. The motion has been widely reported on and has sparked debate about free speech in universities. The University of Oxford has responded with its free speech policy, used since 2016, which states that “free speech is the lifeblood of the university”. It has not responded to the specific recommendations of the motion.

WHAT DOES THE STUDENT UNION MOTION MEAN?

The motion recommends expanding the University’s free speech policy so that hate speech on the grounds of gender identity, disability, and socio economic status is treated equally to groups protected by criminal law. It recommends trigger warnings on reading lists and guidance to faculties on what constitutes hate speech. 

The motion passed, which means that some SU officers were mandated to issue a statement condemning “the use of hateful material in mandatory teaching”. This is now reflected in a statement on the SU website from the Vice-President (Access & Academic Affairs) and the Vice-President (Welfare & Equal Opportunities). It states: “We must fight to uphold academic freedom whilst protecting our students from abusive sentiment. There is a difference between debate and abuse and the two should not be confused.”

A new SU Policy is also created by the motion: ‘Protection of Transgender, Non-binary, Disabled, Working-class, and Women* Students from Hatred in University Contexts’. The new SU policy recommends that the University publish guidance on the mental health impacts of prejudicial articles, with trigger warnings on reading lists as “a bare minimum”. 

It recommends that texts which, under the Council’s recommendation, would have trigger warnings, are not made compulsory to learn or be examined on. It states that the University’s free speech policy is “inapplicable” when the University requires students to listen, because attendance is taken and material is subject to examination. 

The motion specifically highlights that the University’s free speech policy currently “uses the criminal law as a benchmark for academic free speech protection”. It states that the Public Order Act 1986 mentions criminalised hate speech as against race, religion, or sexual orientation, but does not specifically criminalise “ableist, misogynistic, classist or transphobic hate speech.”

The SU therefore considers that current protection offered to students in these groups from academic hate speech is “defective”. The new SU policy states that the University should go beyond legal definitions of hateful material to offer adequate protection to students in these groups. 

The Student Council gives instances of hateful material currently used in academic teaching: an article advocating for “a moral duty not to have disabled children” and an article “advocating for the murder of disabled children after they have been born,” both on the FHS Medical Law and Ethics reading list. 

Under the motion’s recommendations, the minimum acceptable action would be for this reading list to have a trigger warning and for it not to be compulsory to learn or be examined on. The full recommendation would be that it not be included on the reading list at all. The Council considers that if ableism were specifically prohibited by the Public Order Act 1986, this would constitute “hate speech”. The Council refers to the definition of “hate speech” as to “stir up hatred against a particular protected group”. 

The motion was passed in the first meeting of Student Council in Trinity term. It passed with 28 votes For, 11 votes Against, and 10 Abstentions. The motion was proposed by Alex Illsley, Co-Chair of LGBTQ+ Campaign, and seconded by Leo Gillard, Secretary of Disabilities Campaign. 

HOW HAS THE MOTION BEEN RECEIVED? 

Oxford University told Cherwell that “the University has no plans to censor reading materials assigned by our academics.” The University did not respond to whether it may reconsider its free speech policy to include groups stated in the motion, whether it would encourage guidance to be published on “hateful materials”, or whether trigger warnings would be used on reading lists.

It referred to the free speech policy in University guidance, which states that “free speech is the lifeblood of a university”. This statement has been on the university website and referred to in free speech controversies since 2016.  

After the story was broken by The Oxford Student, many national newspapers, academics, and notable figures picked up on the motion. Coverage has focused on backlash from academics – especially regarding the ableist material condemned in the motion – and the apparent dismissal of the policy by the University. There has been less focus on the proposal to expand the disadvantaged groups named in the 1986 Public Order Act, and to reflect this in the University’s free speech policy. 

This motion comes as one in a line of free speech controversies that events in Oxford have sparked. In March, Amber Rudd was ‘no-platformed’ by the UN Women Oxford UK society. This received major national coverage coverage. The University responded similarly to the incident, with an emphasis on the importance of free speech. In the same week a talk at Exeter College schedule to be given by Selina Todd, a professor of modern history at the University, was cancelled at short notice. 

WHAT IS THE STUDENT UNION AND WHO ARE THE STUDENT COUNCIL?

Student Council is the decision-making body of the Student Union. Student Council is made up of elected students from every ‘constituent organisation’: representatives from common rooms, academic divisions and campaigns, and sabbatical officers. It proposes and votes on motions four times a term.

All matriculated students are members of the Student Union. All students can put forward motions, ask questions, participate in debates, and stand for election. When motions pass, they mandate the Union to act upon them. Motions most frequently recommend and/or condemn official university practices and policy, and inform how the SU works. 

A statement from the SU on the Academic Hate Speech Motion says: “The student voice of the University of Oxford is often ignored. This body seeks to change that. Those who engage in it, and all members are encouraged to do so, can bring motions, amendments, counter-motions, bid for funding for projects, and much, much more.

“[The] motion received no comments and therefore no debate and the members of Student Council voted to pass it. Sabbatical Officers are now mandated by Student Council to release a statement based on the resolves of that motion; their statement is now available on the SU website for members and social media channels.”

The statement from the VP Access & Academic Affairs and the VP Welfare & Equal Opportunities also stated: “If you feel that some of the nuances of this debate may have been lost due to the restrictions of the online format, please feed this back. We also encourage you to participate in the democratic structures of Council – all Student Members can attend, speak, and propose motions or amendments at Council meetings.”

The full motion can be accessed here and the statement made by the SU can be seen here.

Image credit to Abhi Sharma/ Wikimedia Commons

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