Wednesday, May 7, 2025
Blog Page 460

Mental Health Services Under Corona: A Chance to do Better

Sasha Mills
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Mental Health Services Under Corona: A Chance to do Better

TW: suicide

With almost half of the world’s population under social distancing measures, people are being forced to adapt to a situation that is almost inevitably conducive to worsening mental health. Professor Rory O’Connor, in a paper published in Lancet Psychiatry, has called for greater monitoring of how the pandemic is impacting mental health. O’Conner has pointed to: “increased social isolation, loneliness, health anxiety, stress and an economic downturn,” as serious, potential threats to mental well-being.

For those with pre-existing mental health conditions, the present situation is likely to only make things worse. A regular routine and the ability to socialise often allows for respite from the symptoms of mental illness and can make day-to-day life easier. Meaning that, for many, the lockdown is an almost nightmarish situation to navigate. While data on mental health incidents has yet be gathered, Chief Superintendent Paul Griffiths of the Police Superintendents’ Association has said that: “there are very early indications of an increase in suicide attempts and suicides.”

Mental health services in the UK were already under strain before the start of the pandemic. A report by the BBC in 2019 revealed that half of the patients treated by the NHS’ adult counselling service have to wait over 28 days for their second appointment after their initial consultation. Of those who have to wait for more than 28 days, a sixth have to wait over 90 days. For those in a state of crisis, that can be enough time to make matters significantly worse.

Following the pandemic, we are likely to see an increased need for essential mental health services. After SARS, there was a 30% increase in the suicide rate of over 65s. The US-based Disaster Distress Helpline has already seen an 891% increase in use since the start of the crisis. Paired with the economic recession that the pandemic has led to, it is going to be more difficult than ever to find the necessary funding needed by the NHS to restore mental health services.

While it is inevitable that the crisis will lead to a rise in the prevalence of mental health difficulties, there is also a possibility for innovation in the mental health sector, and an increased awareness of mental health in the public eye. Despite the uncertainty of future funding for mental health services, the government’s decision to devote an additional £5 million to mental health charities during the crisis promises that we may start to see a growing prioritisation of these issues.

Counselling, both privately and through the NHS, is finding its way online. For many, accessing therapy is a luxury, and the adaptation of these services to a remote format may level the playing field for accessing mental health services, especially for those with dependents who may struggle to fit counselling in, especially if it’s not accessible locally. While websites such as Better Help have been offering (paid) online counselling for a few years, services like this still have not really reached the mainstream. Perhaps there is something to be said for the power of in-person interaction. It is certainly a lot harder to distance yourself when you are in a room with someone, but taking this stance cuts many people off from accessing invaluable help.

Most significantly, the pandemic has allowed greater empathy between us in terms of mental health issues. Few people I know would describe the situation as impacting them positively, and this shared experience has opened up a greater honesty both publicly, and in individual relationships. For the first time in my life, I’ve found myself being truly open with my friends about the things that I’m dealing with on a day to day basis, and it feels like the discourse around this kind of struggle has become more accepting, and easier to navigate.

While the future is not clear, part of me is optimistic that this is a real opportunity for things to get better. A time of crisis forces us to confront that which we would rather avoid, and for better or for worse, forces what was once hidden out into the light. While we all want to return to ‘normal’ life, I hope that this widening honesty around mental health is not something that changes. It seems like something that has been missing for a while. 

Album Review: Rina Sawayama’s ‘SAWAYAMA’

Sofia Henderson
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Album Review: Rina Sawayama’s ‘SAWAYAMA’

Rina Sawayama is unlike any other contemporary pop artist. Listening to her music transports you to nostalgic memories that don’t quite exist, capturing the feeling of playing the Bratz Wii game in 2007 just to listen to the soundtrack, or of pre-teen angst discovering Evanescence and Paramore in your bedroom. At the same time, it sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard.

The Japanese-British Cambridge graduate first graced our Spotify playlists with her 2017 EP Rina, featuring the previously-released ‘Tunnel Vision.’ Building on existing success, such as with standalone single ‘Where U Are’, Rina nonetheless brought Sawayama’s unique persona, and her music’s idiosyncratic production, into sharper focus. Much like the swan metaphor used in the music video for ‘Cherry’ – an exploration of her sexual identity against an early noughties backdrop – she has blossomed into an even more colourful and confident artist.

And so, Rina Sawayama emerges shimmering on her debut LP, SAWAYAMA. It’s clear that emulating Y2K has become her signature brand, and it’s one which is increasingly popular with the emerging generation of young people who grew up in that era. However, alongside fresh ideas, and thematically intertwining critiques of capitalism and patriarchy with an exploration of her experience as a British-Japanese woman, Sawayama successfully takes inspiration from the music of her childhood to craft an album that feels authentically her.

The LP opens with ‘Dynasty’, a rock ballad of sorts. Declaring that “the pain in my vein is hereditary,” Sawayama turns the connotations of a ‘dynasty’ of wealth and power on their head. She doesn’t pause for breath, either, launching into the album’s three singles, ‘XS’, ‘STFU!’ and ‘Comme Des Garçons’, successively. In ‘XS’, Sawayama plays with the conventions of classic noughties pop songs focusing on wealth, appearance, and “excess” (see what she did there?), delivering a cutting indictment of the trappings of capitalism – a force which constantly tempts us to consume “just a little bit more” or to yearn to fit into a size XS.

Stand-out track ‘STFU!’ alternates between angry verses and a pissed-off chorus of “shut the fuck up!” (if you hadn’t already guessed). Against a screaming, cathartic release of rage, the music video fulfils Sawayama’s desire to voice her anger at the sometimes-paralysing dual experiences of racism and misogyny. As her date stabs into his sushi with his chopsticks, commenting, “I was quite surprised you sang, y’know… in English”, he makes his fetishisation of Asian women – and total lack of self-awareness – uncomfortably clear. Sawayama awkwardly half-smiles before launching into the aggressive anthem, her giggles shifting into manic but melodic laughter.

Her thematic focus does not falter – in ‘Comme Des Garçons,’ she references the popular designer brand in a feminist dance anthem of sorts, declaring, “I’m so confident… Like the boys.” Sawayama revealed to Rolling Stone that the track’s inspiration was “the idea that the socially acceptable version of confidence is in acting ‘like the boys’, otherwise as a woman you get called a bitch.” It’s a declaration of her own confidence in faking it ‘til you make it, her clever use of genre laying the shallow reality bare.

Closing the first half of the album, ‘Akasaka Sad’ and ‘Paradisin’’ continue along similarly experimental lines. The former’s hook seems almost directly lifted from Justin Timberlake’s ‘Cry Me a River’, but the track is far from a generic copy of an early noughties hit. Once again, Sawayama draws on her own experience – namely, the bond she feels with her parents through the distance she feels from Japan. On ‘Paradisin’’, she takes a much more straightforwardly nostalgic approach, continuing to hold our attention with a faster video game soundtrack-style vibe.

The second half of the record takes a slightly different turn. While the framework established from the beginning remains, each track seems simpler, calmer. A basic love song wouldn’t seem out of place here, yet Sawayama continues to tackle a different kind of personal material. ‘Love Me 4 Me’ serves as a kind of ode to herself; on ‘Bad Friend’, she explores her own role in the loss of a best friend on the same day as that of a partner. Towards the end of the album, ‘Chosen Family’ continues the discussion of platonic love. It’s a song written for her own chosen family – her “LGBTQ sisters and brothers.”

The track ‘Tokyo Love Hotel’ is where Sawayama paints the clearest picture of the difficulty she has found with feeling at home – exploring how Tokyo feels both like where she belongs and where she is an outsider. Using the metaphor of the love hotels used by tourists, she comments on how they see Tokyo as a personal theme park without stopping to think about the lives of the people who live there. But she too is a tourist: in the end, Sawayama admits, “I guess this is just another song about Tokyo.”

While the second half of the album lacks the punch of the first, it finishes on a high with ‘Snakeskin.’ Through the skilful metaphor of “a snakeskin handbag that people commercialise, consume, and use as they want”, she laments the pain of being used – by those she loves, by the music industry, by the society we live in – expressing her burning desire to break free and “shed” her skin.

Delivering her first LP, Rina Sawayama has already crafted her own pop persona. She plays on a generation’s memories of childhood whilst offering fresh subject material to encapsulate the mood of her late twenties. She’s angry at the world, reflecting on the choices of her younger self, as she attempts to put the pieces of her current identity together. And that’s why it works so well – aren’t we all?

Do we prefer man-made disasters to natural ones?

Various contributors
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Do we prefer man-made disasters to natural ones?

Amid the chaos of frightening facts and deadly conspiracy theories, we ask: do we prefer man-made disasters to natural ones? You’ve given us some of your opinions below.

Lydia Anderlini: Conspiracy theories provide an ‘alternative unreality’

Two days ago, I flew from London to my home in Washington DC. It was a seven-hour flight but already it feels like I’ve entered a parallel universe. Besides being isolated in my childhood bedroom rather than my grandmother’s guest room, the difference in news coverage of COVID-19 between here and the UK makes me feel like I’m on a different planet.

In the UK, the daily press conferences are informative and provide some sense of clarity in the government’s approach to the virus even if the officials don’t always give straightforward answers. But in the US, President Trump’s press briefings are a loopy mess of conspiracy theories about China, miracle cures, economic booms, and digs at Joe Biden. Clarity only comes when Dr. Anthony Fauci, the head of the US National Institute for Allergy and Infectious Disease, takes the podium to deliver the uncomfortable truth Trump refuses to.

Yesterday I turned to FOX News, to see what they’re talking about. It was strangely comforting- in a sort of Stockholm Syndrome way- because five minutes of Fox and you could believe that medication exists, vaccines are coming, tests are taking place nationwide, everyone has a wardrobe full of PPE which they’ll never use because by next week, we’ll all be out. It feels good to live in that alternative unreality.

FOX leads the pack in peddling in conspiracy theories and pseudo-science, and this isn’t new. We’ve seen it for years with climate change that they claim is just an anti-capitalist hoax. It seems that so long as a threat can be labelled as ‘man-made’ it is understandable, manageable, controllable, and conquerable. But a threat that is not man-made, that does not adhere to national borders or international alliances? It’s scary. The less we understand the problem the scarier it seems. 

Hearing scientists talk about what they know about the virus, is to listen to them talk about what they don’t know about it. The journalists want simple, soundbite-length answers, but the scientists can’t comply. They talk of the research that is still needed and how far we are from cures and vaccines. Like climate change, more research leads to more questions about its impacts. Though we may not fully understand how the virus attacks our bodies, or how climate change is going to impact us all, that is not an excuse to bury our heads in the sand and ignore the information we do have just because it’s incomplete.

The Earth and the human body are both nature’s creations and humanity’s scientific knowledge is nowhere near understanding them fully. But man-made threats, we can understand and stop. Take the UN’s call for a global cease-fire during this pandemic, suddenly wars that have been ongoing for years, that seemed so complicated to stop, have stopped. Politicians and militia leaders made this decision. But there is no equivalent measure for disease outbreaks or hurricanes, they can’t be stopped just because suddenly our politicians have the will to do so.

Resolving or preventing natural disasters will implicate us all to act, no one will be excused from the effort. But it also will require politicians and nations to acknowledge the fact that scientific research, though confusing and often unsatisfying, is the only way to truly prepare for nature’s threats. Threats that will only get worse if we continue to ignore the research we already have.

Lauren: Our response to COVID-19 is nothing new

When I asked my mum if coronavirus feels like the most important thing she’s ever lived through, I wasn’t expecting the answer to be yes. She was born in 1968, so she’s seen the fall of the Berlin Wall, the invention of the internet, 9/11 – even the moon landing (just). My brother made the point that his and my generation is quite desensitised to events like this one, given that a lot has happened since the year 2000, and we’re less inclined to see their importance on a historic level. There might be something to connect this with the fact that by and large, it isn’t the ‘zoomers’ blaming this outbreak on China or on 5G telephone masts; this is very much a ‘boomer’ phenomenon.

The bigger a problem is, the greater our need to explain it. This is a survival mechanism – we need to understand a threat to our safety in order to protect ourselves from it. A natural reaction to crisis, it can manifest itself in odd ways when we’re faced with something that is truly inexplicable and just a chance of fate. The argument can be made that this wouldn’t have happened if we all stopped eating meat, but disease is as old as time itself, and unconquerable even by modern medicine.

A millennium or two ago, people would rationalise a plague as the act of a displeased god, or gods. In this context it’s easier to see why we might be inclined to blame technology, something also omnipotent and often misunderstood. Even more so when these ideas come from people who have an air of credibility: in March, a US doctor on disciplinary probation claimed that 5G poisons our cells, forcing them to excrete waste and therefore bringing on COVID-19. Ironically, the idea that ‘airwaves’ are harmful comes from our fear of change – in the 1990s, critics of mobile phone usage argued that exposure to 2G could in fact cause cancer. We know that this isn’t true, just as we know that this coronavirus spreads by human-to-human transmission and not from telephone masts. But the psychological reasoning behind conspiracies like these remains unchanged.

The effects of nature are a much harder thing to rationalise than is technological revolution, which is ultimately man-designed. It isn’t excusable to promote these theories if they cause real damage. Pinning the blame for the virus on China especially is unhelpful, and it also encourages racist and xenophobic statements. But we live in a world where climate disaster and ecological breakdown are becoming fast-approaching realities. Extreme weather in the past decade has shown even climate change deniers that nature is something we live on top of, rather than alongside, and that we can’t abuse it forever without facing the consequences. The coronavirus pandemic is a reminder of this too – while its impact could have been lessened with proper preparation, eradicating deadly disease is still beyond us. Conspiracy theories, as outlandish as they may be, can be far easier to face than reality.

Emily Passmore: Conspiracy theories reflect a desire to control our own fate

The coronavirus pandemic has had an extraordinary impact on the way we live our lives. Freedom of movement has been drastically curtailed. Our work or education has either been adapted, often changing significantly, or has been put on hold. The IMF has predicted an economic slump to rival the Great Depression. In short, it has made the normal functioning of society completely impossible.

Wanting something or someone to blame for this is a perfectly understandable response. Conspiracy theories blaming 5G networks or biological warfare for the pandemic make for a satisfying narrative, with a clear chain of cause and effect, and an obvious villain. Preventing future crises becomes a simple matter of removing this villain from our society, whether through economic sanctions and international law, or burning down your local 5G mast.

The true causes of the virus do not make for such a neat story. Viruses are part of nature and new viruses mutate by chance, not by design. Perhaps there is some blame to be apportioned over the spread of the virus; government responses at home and abroad have been far from ideal. However, there is nobody to blame for the creation of the virus itself. That was down to nature, and as no government could have anticipated the mutation, no government could have been prepared to completely shut down the virus.

Accepting this means accepting the massive role nature plays in determining the course of our lives. More specifically, it means accepting that if our lives are stable, it is ultimately a matter of luck – one act of nature could change our lives entirely. We are not the masters of our own destiny, individually or collectively; we are just one part of a massive ecosystem governed by chance and the laws of nature.

Yet the idea that we can control our fates is culturally embedded and psychologically comfortable. If COVID-19 is man-made, it still holds; there is some group of people orchestrating the crisis, and in disempowering them, we can end the crisis. Each stage can be explained by someone’s decisive action. But, if the virus spawned naturally, nobody is in control, and perhaps more importantly, there is no sure-fire way to prevent a similar crisis happening in the future.

Of course, we are not entirely powerless. Emergency measures have controlled the spread of the virus and prevented countless deaths. By changing attitudes to public health and crucially funding priorities, the impact of a potential future outbreak could be greatly reduced. Even so, the threat of a return to social distancing and quarantine would remain, throwing doubt on the future. There would be no triumphant return to the old status quo of not worrying about disease.

The prevalence of conspiracy theories claiming that COVID-19 is a man-made disaster doesn’t indicate a preference for man-made crises; it reveals a deep aversion to changing the way we think about society and the economy. Consider the climate crisis. There is robust scientific data proving the horrific damage humans have done and will continue to do to the environment. To avoid climate breakdown, there will need to be huge lifestyle shifts and economic restructuring.

Climate conspiracy theories centre around global warming being natural, or if global warming is a man-made phenomenon, the culprit will be one country – again, often China. This eliminates the need for real structural change.

Accepting that our decisions and actions are constrained by the natural world is uncomfortable and requires sacrificing our idealised vision of controlling our destinies. It is no surprise that some prefer to believe a fiction.

SHORTS: The Future of the Climate Movement

Various contributors
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SHORTS: The Future of the Climate Movement

With empty roads and not a plane in sight some might see global lockdown as a quick-fix to the climate crisis. How can the climate movement maintain the urgency of its message, and what can it learn from this crisis?

Matteo Baccaglini explains why the climate movement doesn’t have to be a casualty of COVID-19:

Environmentalists claiming that the pandemic is a welcome relief for Mother Earth are doing themselves a disservice. Yes, energy consumption has fallen to decade lows; world travel has collapsed; air pollution has slumped; and wildlife has flourished. But if the lockdown persists, the picture could worsen dramatically.

Studies suggest that during the winter months, centralising heating costs by working in offices and factories is much more environmentally-friendly than everyone heating their individual homes. Meanwhile, the restrictions are hampering climate monitoring and disrupting important research. Crucial conferences like COP26, initially scheduled for this September, have been postponed. While environment charities are struggling for funds, major polluters – especially airlines – are successfully lobbying governments for billions of pounds’ worth of taxpayer-funded bailouts. Worst of all, the oil price has fallen to below $30 a barrel. If cheap fossil fuels bankroll the recovery, it could undo years of progress in renewable energy and electric vehicles.

So, we shouldn’t be complacent, nor extoll the pandemic as a boon for the planet. Besides, applauding the newfound cleanliness of Venice’s canals strikes as insensitive when millions of families are facing poverty and starvation from the economic slump. It threatens to perpetuate the unhelpful stereotype that climate activism is just a hobbyhorse for the rich.

Here are two challenges facing the climate movement. Firstly, widespread coronavirus hardship will sap popular support for sacrificing economic growth for the environment’s sake. To thrive in the post-pandemic world, we must embrace capitalism-friendly environmentalism, promoting policies that conserve both the economy and the environment.

Secondly, the international order that will emerge from the pandemic could be unrecognisable from the order which existed beforehand. Their lacklustre responses to the pandemic, coupled with rising tensions between China and the West, could severely weaken the authority of supranational institutions such as the European Union and the United Nations. That is bad news: climate change tops international agendas but is middling in domestic political priorities.

So, environmentalists should prepare to don their gloves and scatter their seeds much further afield from the familiar settings of Brussels and New York. As long as we recognise and confront these challenges, there is no reason why the climate movement should be a casualty of COVID-19.

Luke Hatton makes the case for ‘green economic recovery’:

2019 was the year when the climate crisis loomed large in the public’s consciousness. Millions of people took part in strikes across the globe, and the UK saw one of the biggest acts of peaceful civil disobedience in decades from the radical Extinction Rebellion. The pandemic threatens to disrupt climate initiatives, with many fearing substantial setbacks in climate initiatives and negotiations.

Governments have pledged trillions of dollars to keep companies afloat during the lockdown and will likely pledge trillions more to aid economic recovery. Calls for green stimulus packages – building in strict environmental conditions to corporate support and investing in clean energy infrastructure – are being heard around the globe. Ten EU climate and environment ministers and hundreds of business leaders, campaign groups and trade unions have signed an open letter calling on the EU to ensure its rescue packages are in line with climate commitments, as they fear the economic shock of the pandemic could stall or even reverse climate action. 

These fears are not unfounded. In Canada, the controversial Keystone XL pipeline has received a $1.1bn ‘strategic investment’ from the provincial government, and south of the border several US states have made it a criminal offence to protest against fossil fuel projects. Heavily polluting industries such as oil, gas and aviation have received billions of dollars in aid from the US government, while assistance for the renewable energy sector was not included in the $2tn support package.

The full impact of the pandemic on the climate movement will be determined by the recovery measures adopted. The case must be made for a green economic recovery, as current emissions targets would see the global economy facing losses by 2100 of as much as $600tn according to a journal paper published in Nature Communications. A green economic recovery plan would stimulate the economy whilst abating these future losses, providing a sustainable route out of the pandemic-induced economic crisis.

One of the lesser-known conclusions of the IPCC’s 2019 report is that emissions need to peak this year to limit temperature rises to 1.5C. National emissions targets would have fallen significantly short of this limit, but the temporary emission reductions due to the pandemic offers an opportunity to bring forward the peak. The pandemic has taught us how critical early action is in reducing the cost to human health and wellbeing – let’s hope this message isn’t lost in translation to climate action.

Grace Clark outlines the lessons we can learn from the pandemic:

As fear and suffering sweeps across the globe, the urgency of the danger posed by COVID-19 has perhaps temporarily suppressed the momentum and attention given to the climate movement. It is difficult to comprehend the enormity of one crisis in the midst of another and activists understandably have fears that the severity of the climate emergency will continue to be overshadowed by this very rapid and very visible threat to humanity.

Nevertheless, I am hopeful that as individuals and as societies, we will emerge from this crisis with a renewed receptiveness to the climate movement. Firstly, the pandemic has unequivocally taught us that acting early is the best form of response. The countries that have behaved pro-actively have seen far fewer deaths while those which initially resigned to denialism and even obstruction of the truth have witnessed a much greater scale of human loss. If governments adhere to this same mentality and as a society, we continue to amplify the voices of scientists above those of politicians when necessary, we could make a lot of progress in acting against the inevitable threat of climate change.

Furthermore, the international response to this pandemic has shown that, effectively overnight, societies can adopt radical measures that transcend purely economic concerns to prioritise the safety and well-being of all. The climate movement needs to utilise this proof that when necessary, human behaviour can change in the most unimaginable ways. The flexibility demonstrated in this immediate scale-down of how we live has shown that society can still function by shopping locally, limiting consumption, restricting air travel and commuting by mouse rather than vehicle. These changes show that the demands of climate activists are not impossible but simply require a compelling enough reason.

And perhaps most of all, this pandemic has hopefully made humanity realise what it values most. Consumption and happiness are not inextricably linked, what really matters is the safety and health of ourselves, our loved ones and our whole societies. And if we realise that climate change poses just as valid a threat to this, such an ethos, a reconfiguring of human happiness, could inspire a renewed energy within the Climate Movement. Let us learn and absorb the lessons of this pandemic, listen to what it has taught us about what it truly means to be human and work to fight for our world, which we are all so eagerly awaiting to be reunited with.

May Morning will be celebrated virtually

Florine Lips
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May Morning will be celebrated virtually

This year’s May Morning celebrations will be held online – they will be live-streamed on Facebook and broadcast in part by the BBC. Following the government’s advice last month on mass gatherings, the annual May Day celebrations were cancelled in their 500-year old traditional form.

The virtual celebrations will begin with a pre-recorded performance of the Hymnus Eucharistus by Magdalen Choir, which will air on the Daily Info Facebook page from 6 am, the Magdalen College Choir’s Facebook page, and will be broadcast by BBC Oxford. 

Other celebrations will include Morris dancing from Oxfordshire troupes, performances by local Oxford musician John Otway and a Welsh folk group, a spoons tutorial from Oxford University Morris, and a history of May Day from actor Tim Healey. 

At 8 am, Oxford’s community street band, Horns of Plenty, will perform a rendition of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, encouraging participants to join them in doing so while maintaining social distancing. Local musician Rufus Quickenden will then lead a May Morning singalong.

Magdalen College took to their Twitter page to share promotional videos ahead of Thursday’s event, including footage of choristers preparing separately for their recordings of the performance, which will be put together to resemble the sound of a choir singing in unison.

Councillor Mary Clarkson, Cabinet Member for Culture and the City Centre, said: “Despite the current coronavirus pandemic, we want to continue the tradition of May Morning celebrations in a safe online environment. May Morning is a unique event here in Oxford that many of us look forward to, and have attended over the years. 

“We want to encourage everyone, old or young, whether this is your 50th May Morning celebration, or your first, to come and join in the fun and celebrate with us online. All we ask is that everyone follows social distancing measures and is safe during the celebrations.”

Jude Stratton, of Horns of Plenty, said: “On May Morning in Oxford we take to the streets to celebrate both the coming of spring and the creativity of the wonderful people of Oxford. The Horns of Plenty love that moment when the last notes from the choristers die away and the crowds flood up the High Street ready to dance as we play. 

“In these strange times, we will keep the tradition alive by playing and singing from our gardens, doors and windows. Please join us at 8 am and the online celebrations before and after.”

The live-stream of the day’s events can be accessed via Daily Info‘s Facebook page. Oxford City Council is encouraging people to share May Morning celebrations via #MayMorning.

The intimacy of isolation: reflections on performing alone

Hannah Taylor
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The intimacy of isolation: reflections on performing alone

“Lights up. The actor is alone” – type aspiring playwrights all over the world, unconsciously in unison. I anticipate reading this line (or something similar) over and over again, as a wave of new writing comes crashing into the theatrical sphere in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. For what form of theatre better encompasses the solitude and separation defining this moment in history than a one-hander play with its single performer and bare stage?

The one-hander had already become widely cherished by both theatre-makers and audiences, far before “quarantine” was even a whisper on the lips of a government official. A play with only one performer is an easy way to showcase new work; it’s often simple to produce and stage, allowing room for the performance and writing to shine through. Also – crucially – it’s cheap. But, separately from practical elements, the one-hander has become such an attractive form because it seems to speak to a generation plagued with feelings of isolation. Of course, it’s become a bit of a cliché to blame everything on social media, but the truth is unavoidable: in our increased virtual connectivity, we have lost legitimate connection. Ours is a generation obsessed with moving forward, charging towards our ambition with independence and unstoppable acceleration. The one-hander responds to this by momentarily forcing us to pause and appreciate these small, introspective moments on the stage. There is no razzle-dazzle or hyper-theatricality or magic tricks. It is simply a character talking to us, telling us their dreams and fears, having a bit of cry maybe, and then leaving us to reflect on the overwhelming intimacy of the interaction.

This sense of intimacy is the defining quality of the one-hander – without it, we’d be watching at best a stand-up comedy set, or at worst, a kind of meandering ramble in the style of Ronnie Corbett’s Armchair Monologues. Of course, such intimacy is created in the very form of a one-hander, in that a single actor, stripped of the protective layer that the fourth wall offers, addresses an audience head-on. The actor must be fearless: they not only bare the character to the world, but they must also bare themselves. Simon Stephens’ Sea Wall, written especially for Andrew Scott to perform, is so enchanting precisely because it catches Andrew Scott’s own charisma perfectly. Obviously, he plays a character, a grieving father, but it is Andrew-Scott-as-a-grieving-father which gives the play its magic. The actor tells a joke and laughs, and the audience laughs as well; the actor spins into hysteria and cries, and the audience cries alongside them. Performing a one-hander requires such an infinitely fine attention to your own emotional capacity in order to successfully master the audience’s empathy. Being alone on the stage leaves an actor entirely vulnerable. But such vulnerability is so captivating that it renders them untouchably powerful.

The one-hander makes us its confidant: we, the observers, are made witness to the innermost secret chambers of a character’s heart. For just a couple of hours, we are granted the gift of feeling like we are reading Fleabag’s diary or listening in to sister’s unheard cries in random. The theatre’s atmosphere is one of trust, as a character envelopes us in their voice and confidence. However, the audience is never allowed to feel truly comfortable – the character’s privacy is at stake. The one-hander confronts us with an uncomfortable openness, assaulting us with unconcealed feelings of guilt, regret, and grief. Trapped in their seat, the viewer is subjected to painful silences between broken lines – silences which twist the pit of the stomach in empathetic circles – so that they have some pause to reflect. Silence is to the one-hander play what negative space is to art: a necessary nothingness which seeks to emphasise what is there. On the bare stage, there is nowhere to hide, and so the grimy underside of human nature lies exposed under the hot light of a Fresnel lantern.

The one-hander play is a conversation with a close friend, and yet at the same time it offers an uncomfortable degree of nakedness. I suppose, therefore, the effect can only be compared with having a conversation with a close friend whilst they’re naked – you never quite know where to look, or what to do with your hands, or whether you should even be there. These plays offer a unique closeness that we are often too polite or embarrassed to seek in our day to day lives. Such unashamed openness of the heart creates intimacy. It’s a necessary remedy to 21st century isolation.

Review: Lovecraft Country

Sam Ruaux
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Review: Lovecraft Country

I bought Lovecraft Country back in term time, and, as with far too many books, didn’t get around to reading it until much later. When I did, I found it a pleasant surprise; it’s a book which still hits all of those familiar notes of old science fiction while being self-aware and actively critical of the tradition which laid the foundations of its own conception. It lays cosmic horror against the very tangible horror of an era which I think many would like to forget existed. 

Such is the quality of Lovecraft Country that it holds its own whilst engaging with a world of horror-writing which has been established for over 100 years. As an introduction to the Cthullhu Mythos – this being the universe created by Lovecraft and added to by other authors up to present day – the novel works well. Having an interest in Role-player gaming, (for those in the know, I GMed games of the Call of Cthulhu tabletop RPG) I’d recommend the book to my first-time players as something to give them a grasp on the themes. It contains everything I’d want from a Mythos story: haunted dolls and scheming sorcerer-scientists, strange worlds under alien suns where unthinkable things dwell, innocent people caught in the crossfire and unexpected heroes. At the same time it doesn’t fall prey to the unfortunate over-amorphous description of some of the earlier works of cosmic horror. Instead, Lovecraft Country is pretty accessible to people who might not want to read about “unknowable, shapeless, cyclopean, eldritch, arcane, phantasmagorical” (and so on) descriptions of earlier works of cosmic horror.

Lovecraft Country also provides relatively guilt-free reading. Early in the novel there are meta discussions between Atticus and Montrose around the issue of racism in seminal early works of science fiction. Nor does this piece of science-fiction construct a new universe to shield the injustices of our own. Within its pages are many harrowing and emotionally charged descriptions of the African-American experience in the 1950s, including a heart-rending portrayal of the 1921 Tulsa Race Riots. I can’t promise you that you won’t cry (full disclosure: I did, a bit). There’s a fair balance of well-developed and full articulated male and female characters with their own story arcs and perspectives. 

At times parts of the novel feels a bit disjointed, almost like a sequence of short stories more than a comprehensive piece. While there’s some overlying structure it was momentarily jarring for me earlier on until loose ends started to be pulled together towards the end of the novel. It would be fair to say that the character’s responses to encountering the unfathomable mysteries of the Mythos are unusually blase; however, I think Ruff leans into the cast’s general familiarity with science fiction and metacritic of early science fiction enough that it’s not particularly hard to suspend disbelief. Who knows, perhaps if we were to discover aliens in our everyday life TV and media might have inoculated us out of any real sense of shock.

If you’ve finished Stranger Things and find yourself hankering for another taste of cosmic horror, or if the weight of quarantine has pushed you to search literature for the madness-inducing truth of the universe, or if perhaps you’re a veteran of the Mythos, I recommend Lovecraft Country to you.

Author’s footnote: The author noted that there is a whole discussion about H. P. Lovecraft and the extent to which his racism influenced his work (and whether he recanted later on) but he felt the space given was inadequate to sufficiently explore this here. ‘It’s true that to many the man’s opinions in everyday life will affect their ability to enjoy their reading. This is a theme explored by Rudd in Lovecraft Country, which I appreciate.’

‘This dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool’: feminist lessons from Dolly Parton

Izzy Tod
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‘This dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool’: feminist lessons from Dolly Parton

In 1996 at the University of Edinburgh, embryologist Ian Wilmut led a team of scientists to clone the first-ever mammal using an adult somatic cell from a sheep. They named her Dolly. Their success was a monumental step forward in the field of stem cell research and an unprecedented intervention by mankind in the reproductive processes of nature. When asked why he chose the name, Wilmut explained: ‘Dolly is derived from a mammary gland cell and we couldn’t think of a more impressive pair of glands than Dolly Parton’s’. 

Country music legend, Golden Globe-nominated actress, philanthropist, humanitarian and theme park owner: Dolly Parton is one of the most successful people on the planet. She has also single-handedly both given and received more boob jokes than anyone else in history.

Dolly Parton invented the boob joke. If you’re brave enough to make one at her expense, she will make sure you know that you are only doing so because she allows it. Despite everyone’s best efforts, Dolly cannot be shushed, embarrassed or diminished by a joke about the size of her chest. For any single joke that is thrown at her, she has a hundred comebacks that are more entertaining, intelligent and funny; she has well and truly heard it all before. In an interview with The Telegraph, Dolly put it very simply: “When all else fails, I just tell a boob joke.” In this way, Dolly is able to imperceptibly reclaim the narrative surrounding women’s bodies, proving time and time again that she is so much more than a mammary gland.

Dolly began her career on the Porter Wagoner Show as his token ‘girl singer’; however, she was soon to grow so famous that she began to outshine Wagoner himself. The tension that ensued from the shifting power dynamic eventually resulted in Dolly quitting the show to pursue her own career and Wagoner suing her for millions of dollars in future earnings. The song she wrote about the split – “I Will Always Love You” – became the subject of controversy, as Dolly famously refused to fold to the pressure from Elvis’ management and instead offered the rights to the song to Whitney Houston, who went on to make her millions as the highest-grossing song by a female artist. Having left the Wagoner show, Dolly started up her own TV variety show, Dolly!, which provided her with more creative control and the spotlight that she was born to be in. She set about inviting other female artists to collaborate, including Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt, forging what would become a genre-defining musical sound (see the 1986 album Trio) and lifelong friendship. Dolly was consistently underestimated and undervalued in her early career by men in the music industry at a time when men were the music industry. Dolly’s insistence on doing things her own way, with or without permission of men in positions of power, is fundamental to her success as well as to her message of female empowerment.

Dolly’s confrontations with men in positions of authority are reminiscent of the 1982 classic film 9 to 5, which she starred in alongside Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin. The film exposes the daily harassment faced by women in the workplace as the three female protagonists attempt to overthrow their “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” boss, Mr. Hart, with an assortment of elaborate and hilarious schemes. The film, like Dolly herself, was considered by scholars to be too cartoonish to contribute anything substantial to the feminist conversation. But this criticism surely misses the point: Dolly, like the film, is outlandish and ridiculous precisely because the situation in which she finds herself in is even more outlandish and ridiculous than she could ever hope to be. With a gross profit of over 100 million dollars, the film was a huge success. But the song “9 to 5,” written by Dolly for the movie, turned out to be even more iconic, more or less providing a soundtrack for the feminist movement at the time. To this day, “9 to 5” exists as a charitable organisation lobbying for equal pay and fair opportunities for women across America.

However, Dolly’s feminist message extends far beyond the hits; it goes all the way back to her roots as a small-town country singer in Tennessee. Spending her adolescence as one of 12 children living in a one-room cabin in the Smoky Mountains, Dolly used her lyrics to tell the stories of the women she grew up with. Helen Morales goes so far as to call her early albums ‘an insistent witnessing of women’s lives’ in the Dolly Parton’s America podcast series. Her early lyrics ranged from topics such as domestic violence and unintended pregnancy (“The Bridge”) to postnatal depression (“Down from Dover”) to the unwarranted imprisonment of women in mental asylums by their own husbands (“Daddy come and get me”). By giving a voice to the female victims of patriarchal oppression, Dolly was reacting against an entire tradition in country music, the “murder ballad”: songs sung by men describing acts of violence against women. To get some idea of the brutality of this tradition, the song “Knoxville Girl” is a haunting place to start. From a young age, Dolly used her music to challenge the misogynistic traditions in country music and show the world what it meant to be a woman living in poverty in East Tennessee.

Once Dolly found fame and fortune in the mainstream music world, she did not leave this message behind. Her continued dedication to female empowerment can be heard in later songs such as “You Don’t Know Love From Shinola”, “Touch Your Woman” and “The Salt in my Tears”. Her hit song, “Jolene”, is a fascinating (and catchy) reimagination of female relationships in music; whilst Dolly begins the song blaming the other woman for her husband’s infidelity, she quickly becomes enamoured by Jolene’s “flaming locks of auburn hair/ With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green.” The male character is cast into shadow by the vivacious and technicolour relationship between the two women. “Jolene” is a love song focused on the other woman and a complete overhaul of the androcentric tradition in commercially successful breakup songs. 

Having spent the last thousand words painting a picture of Dolly Parton as a feminist icon of popular culture, to stop here would be to tiptoe around the one unavoidable truth about Dolly’s relationship with feminism: she refuses to call herself a feminist. When asked about feminism, several interviewers have reported seeing Dolly physically recoil or scrunch up her nose at the mention of the word. In an interview with Jad Abbumrad for Episode 1 of Dolly Parton’s America, she explains: “I don’t believe in crucifying a whole group just because a few people have made mistakes. To me, the word ‘feminist’ is like, ‘I hate all men.”’ In another interview with Meghan McCain for The View, Dolly sarcastically responds: “Does being feminine makes me a feminist? Does being common make me a communist?” 

These responses could have been taken out of a textbook on feminist myths. If Dolly Parton, the Queen of all things bejewelled and low-cut, buys into them, what hope does the movement have in diffusing a clear message? What’s more, why does Dolly reject feminist terminology when she so clearly accepts, and even represents, its ideology? 

The answers to these questions can be found by looking more closely at the era of feminism that Dolly grew up alongside. Take the movie Steel Magnolias, for example, another staple of feminist cinema in which Dolly starred. The film beautifully depicts female friendship: women working together, offering mutual support and unconditional affection. It is a representation of the ideal of sisterhood that was proposed by the second-wave feminists. But Dolly was never the kind of woman that second-wave feminism was talking about. Whilst her filmography is bursting with movies about women lifting up other women, this is as close as Dolly has ever come to experiencing kinship within the feminist movement. First, she was excluded for being too poor, and then, when she wasn’t poor anymore, for being too feminine. A line said by Dolly’s character in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas sums it up well: “Don’t feel sorry for me. I started out poor, and I worked my way up to outcast.”

Second-wave feminism had a huge problem with class. The movement empowered middle-class educated white suburban women to take up office work and be paid fairly for it. This could not be further away from Dolly’s world as a child, in which ‘work’ meant manual labour in the fields as opposed to part-time secretarial jobs in the city. The women Dolly grew up with and sung about were not being represented by feminists at the time, and so had no reason to even consider labelling themselves as such. Theirs was an experiential as opposed to terminological feminism, a decision made every day to stand up against the proponents of patriarchy out of necessity as opposed to ideology. The legacy of this socio-economic alienation by second-wave feminism persists to this day, as many working-class women are uninterested in labelling themselves feminists since feminism has proven itself uninterested in them.

Talking about her childhood in her biography, Dolly explains that “womanhood was a difficult thing to get a grip on up in those hills unless you were a man”. Growing up in an environment catered specifically to the male, Dolly found herself craving femininity in any which way she could find it: scouring through magazines and newspaper clippings, searching for images of models, clothes, and makeup. Having been surrounded by masculinity throughout her early life, Dolly turned to femininity as a means through which she could define herself as an adult. But in doing so, she exposed herself to a new wave of disapproval from second-wave feminists: she was trashy, a blonde bimbo in a push-up bra, someone not to be taken seriously. At a time when Dolly was clinging to femininity in order to cope in a masculine world, the feminist movement was abandoning femininity entirely. The lyrics of her 1967 song “Dumb Blonde” point out Dolly’s frustration clearly: “Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb/ ‘Cause this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool.” Both men and women were guilty of underestimating Dolly because of her appearance, and it is because of this double condemnation that Dolly was left to fend for herself as an artist and as a woman.

Dolly was a third-wave feminist in a second-wave era, but the fact that she has yet to reconcile herself with feminism at the age of 74 suggests that perhaps third-wave feminism has not done enough to distance itself from the homogenising message of its predecessor. Rather than being vilified for rejecting the label “feminist”, Dolly’s rejection should be taken as a wakeup call that the movement must do more to champion intersectionality. Dolly is the un-feminist feminist icon that we desperately need because she reminds us what feminism should not look like and shows us what it should.

Productivity fanatics: A society that’s forgotten to press pause

Eve Bennett
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Productivity fanatics: A society that’s forgotten to press pause

There’s a wonderful irony to the fact that the mediums we turn to so frequently for procrastination are the mediums that shame us the most for doing so. A three-minute scroll through your Twitter feed at the moment is enough to remind you that Isaac Newton’s period of isolation led to his discovery of the theory of gravity, or that William Shakespeare used the plague outbreak of 1606 to pen dazzling works such as King Lear. Your Instagram feed is no better, plastered with cute graphics urging you to ‘Hustle from Home’ and telling you ‘Don’t Count the Days: Make the Days Count!’. Hoping to find some respite, you switch to TikTok, only to be bombarded with hundreds of healthy eating recipes and home workout plans. Having spent the vast majority of the day binge-watching Netflix in bed, you can’t help but feel increasingly aware of the hours and days slipping through your fingers.

This lockdown could be career-defining for a budding writer, revelationary for a researching academic, game-changing for a training athlete… and yet here you are, having spent a month at home with no magnum opus, ground-breaking discovery or personal best to show for it. If you’re anything like myself, this realisation came with a wave of guilt, shame and frustration. But here’s the thing: those feelings are not a result of any failing or intrinsic character flaw on your part, rather they are a toxic by-product of the all-consuming hustle culture that seems to have our entire generation under its thumb. 

We’ve become hooked on the idea that every minute of ‘empty time’ in our lives must be filled with productive activity, that any action not geared toward self-improvement has no value (or even place) in our day-to-day existence. This isn’t even remotely possible to achieve in normal circumstances, and yet as the entire world comes to an enforced standstill, this mindset seems to be tightening its grip more than ever. Whether it’s attending a Zoom meeting whilst working out or learning a new language whilst cooking a healthy dinner, the pressure to ‘get shit done’ is becoming more acute and inescapable by the day. 

I was one of the many who fell into this alluring trap. Stripped of all my usual excuses not to be productive (*cough* the pub *cough*), I initially felt thrilled by the idea of this vast expanse of free time and vowed to use it to do all the things that my social life had ‘held me back’ from doing. I was finally going to lose all the weight I’d gained from eating out every week, take the time to learn Russian, master my favourite Beethoven sonata on the piano, upload to my YouTube channel twice a week, get ahead on my university work… the list went on and on. 

But it turns out that setting that monumental expectation for myself was precisely my biggest mistake. Within days, the sheer number of possibilities had gone from exciting me to crushing me, leaving me overwhelmed to the point of complete inactivity. I was faced with an entirely empty calendar, and yet I am sure that even 8-year-old me was achieving more with her days than I was after a week in lockdown. I found myself paralysed by two very conflicting thoughts, with one voice telling me that ‘I’m never going to have this much free time again, I should use it wisely’, but the other reminding me that  ‘I’m never going to have this much free time again, I should use it to finally relax’. When added to the aforementioned guilt-tripping on my social media, the expectations of my viewers to live up to my reputation as a “Studytuber” and the University’s assumption that the academic year should continue as if nothing had changed, it soon became a very dangerous combination. 

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than eat, sleep and complete the most basic tasks. The sense of panic that I had fallen behind everyone else was rising, mingled with guilt that I was whiling away so many hours without any meaningful achievements to show for it. So began a vicious cycle of failed productivity and frustration. 

The situation I found myself in seems to be far from uncommon at the moment – friends and family alike have expressed similar concerns as they try, like myself, to clutch desperately at some sense of normality amidst the confusion by ploughing through their to-do lists. But I soon came to a realisation that changed my perspective entirely: nothing about this situation is normal, so what is the point in attempting to continue as if that were the case? We are not lesser beings for failing to thrive under these conditions. If anything, we should be seeing merely surviving as a remarkable achievement. There is simply no logic in expecting ourselves to be hyper-productive machines in the midst of one of the largest crises we will see in our lifetimes.

That’s not to mention the fact that we live in an age that makes productivity a trying task at the best of times. Yes, Shakespeare may have produced some of his best work whilst shut away in his home, but he didn’t have to navigate a constant barrage of online information about the status of the pandemic or battle the temptation of various online sources of entertainment. The same can be said for Newton: the significant intellectual strides he made in quarantine are impressive, but he didn’t have to worry about responding to hundreds of emails from his professors or sitting an entire term of his Cambridge degree remotely.  

Our frantic desire to avoid ‘wasting time’ points to a dangerously backward way of thinking, and it seems to me that hustle culture has distorted our perception of what constitutes ‘meaningful’ activity beyond recognition. If you manage to come out of this period fluent in a foreign language or well-versed in a new topic, that’s fantastic, but if you come out of this having done nothing more than paying attention to your own needs and the needs of the ones you love most, there should be no shame attached to that. There is no right or wrong way to spend the coming weeks and months, nor should there be any benchmark for what constitutes a ‘successful’ pandemic. 

Personally, I’ve found that setting some manageable goals to work toward has been both helpful and grounding, and so I’ve settled for a degree of ‘productivity’ much lower than my normal levels but enough to offer me some structure. Regardless of how you choose to get through this pandemic, however, it is important to remember that the hustling you see on social media is nothing more than a highlight reel. For every fancy desk set-up and 10k jog you see there will be a Netflix binge and a late-night snacking session that you don’t. Practising compassion, avoiding comparison and not expecting consistency in your levels of motivation will all help to alleviate the sense of guilt that hustle culture has hardwired you to feel. 

If one thing’s for certain, it’s that this crisis has exposed a glaring truth to the light of day: the fact is that our priorities as a society are in urgent need of a reset. Rest, relaxation and socialisation aren’t holding us back, rather they are enriching and essential activities that contribute to our wellbeing just as much as any new skill acquired or piece of knowledge gained. Whilst striving for self-improvement should by no means be frowned upon, it should also not be seen as the only way to lead a meaningful existence. 

Productive or not, no-one should be defined by what they achieve during this period of limbo. It seems that in a society that places so much worth on forward progress, we have forgotten how to press pause.

Food waste apps: small difference or meaningful change?

Bridget Stuart
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Food waste apps: small difference or meaningful change?

One-third of all food produced for human consumption globally is wasted and this is problematic for a number of reasons. First, waste almost always ends up rotting in a landfill, where it produces greenhouse gases. Food waste is responsible for 8% of global greenhouse gas emissions, contributing to the ever-worsening state of climate breakdown. Second, this wasted food could otherwise help sustain those living in food poverty. In fact, less than one-quarter of the food wasted in the UK, United States of America and Europe alone, would be enough to feed the world’s 1 billion most hungry. And third, food waste costs money. Annually, global food waste amounts to 1.3 billion tonnes of waste, which amounts to $1 trillion.

One way to help eliminate food waste is the use of food waste apps like Too Good to Go. This app allows food retailers to offer-up any surplus food in ‘magic bags’ at discounted prices. Hungry punters purchase said bags and receive an allocated timeslot in which to collect their food. Since its set-up in 2015, the app has saved 35,921,167 meals from waste globally – which has prevented 89,803 tonnes of carbon dioxide (CO2) from being released into the atmosphere. To put this in perspective, this is the same amount of CO2 saved by taking 19.5 cars off the road for one year. So, while this does help, it is not eliminating a lot of waste. Or something like that?

Too good to go is also actually only available in 11 countries. In the UK it is only available in 120 towns and cities. As there are 195 countries in the world and tens of thousands of towns and cities in the UK, this highlights a limit on the widespread influence of the app. Its effectiveness in reducing food waste is further diminished by other factors. You need a smartphone, and one which you can check regularly in order not to miss any available ‘magic bags’. You then need to be able to pick-up your bag during the allocated timeslot. Also, adding any dietary requirements or allergy filters limits your choices further. There is also the risk that you might get food you don’t like, as what’s in the bag is always a surprise.

This perhaps explains why the app is not really that popular. Only 2.8 million, out of 67 million, UK residents use the app. Generalising cynically, these users probably have enough money to buy take-away food anyway, do so regularly and are getting a hot bargain. No-one really seems that fussed about the environmental impact of the packaging involved or any food already in their fridge at home. In fact, the £4 saving on an already over-priced Paul’s cheese and ham croissant might be enticing people to buy food they don’t need.

So, while I can’t dispute the fact that Too Good to Go does help combat food waste, it is nowhere near popular, widespread or efficient enough to make a true difference. 

However, there are other food-waste apps out there. City Harvest and Food Cloud distribute surplus food to the homeless and food-bank charities. Approved Food and Clearance XL let you buy cheap foods online that are past their ‘best before’ date, but not their ‘use by’ date. There is also Olio, which connects you with people in your local area who want to give away their excess food for free! This may be great if you live in London, where there are 50 items within a 5km radius. However, as an adult vegan in the Scottish borders, the only item within walking distance that I could collect was a single pouch of Ella’s Kitchen ‘Spag Bol’ baby food. 

The main issue with these apps is that they address only the tip of the food waste iceberg, as consumers actually only represent 20% of total global food waste. Europe and the Americas are responsible for three-quarters of this consumer waste, so it is important that food waste apps are predominantly used in these countries. However, 64% of all food waste actually occurs during harvest or in subsequent storage, with 50% of this waste occurring in Asia. In Asia and Africa, very little waste occurs at the household, consumer level. These figures highlight a key fact: the main responsibility for dealing with food waste lies with the food and agricultural industries. This means, especially in developing countries, we need more efficient harvesting and better subsequent storage. However, there is still an imperative to address food waste at the consumer and household levels in developed countries.

Food waste apps are good, but only to a small degree. The popularity and widespread influence of food waste apps like Too Good to Go is constrained by many socio-geographical factors, meaning that the power of such apps to reduce food waste and its negative effect on our environment is minimal. These apps also do nothing to combat global food poverty. In the wider scheme of things, consumer waste is only a minor offender and efforts should really be focused on addressing waste at the industrial level of production. 

But it must be said that the apps do genuinely incentivise people to make more conscientious decisions to avoid food waste. This is making a positive contribution, albeit a small one, and is a step in the right direction. However, here’s some solid advice for the individual: make packed lunches, share food, get creative and compost properly. Also, any warm glow you may need from saving food from the bin can be had at the reduced section at the Magdalen Street Tesco’s, 3 p.m. Sunday. 

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