We don’t talk you and me And it’s striking Really How your words no longer Light up my phone The lover bubble we burst through Now we go it alone While couples walk in worlds I’m not part of And I feign understanding As they talk about love
And I look on my life all thin and uneven With metaphors trying When no one believes them Redrafting a life with no object for feeling Relaying the foundations of my self esteem and
Refusing to act out the same old scenes Because I left all that in 2019
This week, I’ve been thinking about Karen. My interest was piqued when the Financial Times’ weekend supplement featured a piece about ‘Karen the pushy mom’, following a flood of Karen jokes on the popular video app ‘TikTok’. According to the author of the column, ‘what really marks out a Karen… is their capacity to complain and get their own way’. A Vox article from earlier this year takes the definition a little further, characterising Karen as ‘blonde, has multiple young kids, and is usually an anti-vaxxer. Karen has a “can I speak to the manager” haircut and a controlling, ‘superior attitude to go along with it’. The joke itself is perhaps best represented by a viral TikTok which depicts a mother at a fast food drive-thru who seemingly throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way – this is classic Karen behaviour.
Interestingly, the Karen meme has been floating around for quite a while. In June of 2019, Guardian columnist Grace Dent wrote about the Karen in all of us, ‘fostered by the I-Want-It-Now-Culture’. Back then, the trope was not so overtly racialised. – Karen was certainly a white suburban mom but use of the meme didn’t result in the kind of heated arguments witnessed online recently, with some white women branding the term a ‘slur’. The argument kicked off when journalist Julie Bindel took to Twitter earlier this week to ask ‘Does anyone else think the ‘Karen’ slur is woman hating and based on class prejudice?’. Soon after, the Editor of the conservative ‘Feminist Current’ published a piece in which she concluded ‘Of course “Karen” is a sex-based meme, and of course it exists to mock and dismiss women’. Other media outlets have also picked up on the debate, and as with all online arguments, Karen began trending on Twitter.
Those who deal with Karens generally work at what we are currently terming the ‘frontline’. Working-class service sector workers, particularly those in supermarkets, are often confronted with angry customers who are upset with a product or an in-store experience. On the most basic level, the Karen meme is about person to person interaction, and the racial and class-based structures that manifest in our everyday lives. White and middle-class, Karen is comfortable throwing her weight around in the store because she feels entitled in a space where she exists to be served. Crucially, she is not aware of the way in which she enacts the privileges afforded to her. This is where the joke often lies.
Of course, many of us fail to pause before each social interaction and pick apart the structural layers that form our identity. But Karens wield their privilege in a nasty manner, getting away with yelling at shop-floor workers and drive-thru employees, and then producing crocodile tears if held accountable for their actions. In a country such as America, where African-American women are twice as likely to be incarcerated as white women, it would make sense that the latter group feel more comfortable acting aggressively in public spaces.
When it comes to using privilege, the history of white womanhood (particularly within feminist movements) is riddled with contradiction. At times, white middle-class women have been powerful allies in anti-racist and anti-colonial movements. Catherine Impey was an English Quaker in the late 19th century who campaigned on an anti-racist platform. She launched the magazine ‘Anti-Caste’ in 1888. Anti-colonial activists include Ellen Wilkinson, a white British MP in the early 20th century who campaigned for self-rule in the Commonwealth.
At other times, however, white feminists have stepped on the backs of members of the working-class, and those in an ethnic minority (particularly Black Americans), in order to secure their own rights. In America, the early campaign for women’s suffrage openly allied itself with white supremacist sentiment, with many prominent suffragists such as Elizabeth Cady Stanton arguing that it would be preposterous for Black men to be given the right to vote before white women had it. In Britain, white middle-class women such as Violet Markham strategically supported social imperialism, advocating for eugenics-based policies and lauding social Darwinism, and boosted their own public profiles as a result.
These snippets of history may feel irrelevant to a 21st century meme, but collective memory is a powerful thing, and the social context to Internet discourse should not go ignored. Some of the most hard-hitting Karen tweets are those that reference historical or present-day injustice. One Twitter user responded to Julie Bindel saying ‘“Karen” was a term created *specifically by Black women* to talk about white women’s interpersonal + state violence against us and our communities: calling the police on us for getting coffee, threatening to have us fired, talking down to us at work (where we’re now ‘essential’)’. Another user suggested that the young white women yelling abuse at Black students when public high schools were integrated in Montgomery in 1963 were historical ‘Karens’.
Crucially then, Karen does not represent all white women, and though the meme feels reductive and may present offensively, it is a symbol more than it is anything else. Feminist movements in the West have been splintered along race lines from their inception, and people of colour are right to point to the ways in which white womanhood can be weaponised within the current system. And though it seems that every other thought-piece these days is about the way in which coronavirus has laid structural inequality bare, it is clear that this theme of unfairness is on people’s minds. Perhaps it is only natural that our memes feel more political than usual; the scaffolding our society rests on has been exposed as unbalanced, with the Karens of the world getting their way where others cannot (and often, because others cannot). No joke exists in a vacuum, and the memes and TikToks trending currently are capsules of the societal mood during this crisis – it would be wise to treat them as such.
All throughout the world, health professionals are facing some of the most disheartening scenes of our times. Their efforts are valiant, there’s no denying that. These men and women are on the front line of a conflict that has no precedent. They charge into battle each and every day. Some may be critical of the use of bellicose rhetoric, of this language of war. I will, however, be a contrarian. It is a necessity to adopt such an approach. This is, indeed, a war. We have seen a soul-crushing number of casualties, each and every single one of them a tragedy. However, fortunately, the vast majority of us have merely been passive witnesses to this calamity.
Healthcare providers have not been vested with such good fortunes. They have not only been real, active witnesses to this great human tragedy, but as well, they have found themselves playing the part of the Moirai. The Moirai, the Sisters of Fate to the Greeks in antiquity, controlled the thread of life from every mortal being from birth to death. When looking at the heart-wrenching stories that have come out from severely hit nations, such as Italy and Spain, where doctors and nurses have been forced into the horrible task of defining which patients get to live or die, such a comparison becomes palpably clear.
One thing needs to be made explicit: the fact that these men and women are being forced into such scenarios is beyond dreadful. As stated previously, they are already being forced to deal with the horrors which we’re fortunate enough to learn from through our televisions and phones. I understand that the dire nature of the circumstances is forcing such draconian pragmatism to become the order the day; I will not abdicate rationality for the sake of blind idealism. However, what I will do is make a case against this becoming a norm, for one cannot assign such value to one life over the other.
To do so would be to negate the potential of every single human life, regardless of caveats and descriptives. Thanks to equality of opportunity, one of the hallmarks of modern life throughout the global north, this has never been more pertinent. Every single individual, regardless of their background, age or identity is nowadays capable of attaining their full potential in life. Opportunities and ambitions are plentiful, and to seize them has never in human history been more possible. To artificially and arbitrarily define that some lives are in any way whatsoever more valuable than others, and then to act on these judgements, is a violation of this principle. Such a violation should never, under any circumstances, become ordinary and mundane.
However, and perhaps of far greater importance, to allow for these measures to become commonplace would be to allow for us all to be led astray from the path towards something we should as a society aim for now more than ever; sonder. To acknowledge that every single stranger we pass by as we make our way through a street has a deep, complex reality much like our own, something we cannot even begin to contemplate. Every single person enjoys a completely unique conscious experience. They have things that provide them with joy, they love and are loved. Every individual alive at this moment in time, or any other moment indeed, is or has been an entire cosmos we are not able to fathom. To pretend then that we can arbitrarily assign disparate values to individuals is folly.
I wholeheartedly understand the case for the measures being adopted by doctors and nurses throughout Europe in these challenging times. We should not be blinded by idealism amidst the crisis our world now faces. Our reality is what it is, and if such actions are necessary for the greater good, that of saving as many lives as it is possible, then we should indeed adopt them. However, let us not allow for them to erode our character. We ought to understand that these awful measures may just so happen to be the medicine needed to fight this plague, or to at least ensure that its toll is not as cruel as it could be. At the same time, though, let us not forget that to assign value to human life in such an arbitrary manner should not become a normalized aspect of life once we have won this war, whenever that may be.
The great cosmos that is every single living individual is invaluable. Let us not be ignorant to that, regardless of the violent and brutal tidings of circumstance. With our character untarnished, accepting that conscious experience is beyond the realm of value, we will see through these times of plague and dread. We will, together, weather out this storm.
For Thomas, there was an indescribable fascination with the movement of the pen on paper. The familiar pressure as the nib traced his name, over and over, claiming the blank spaces as his own. He was getting distracted again, digressing from the tedious task at hand. Yet the harsh lines of the pixelated computer screen stung his eyes – tempting abstinence. He liked the irony of his abstinence from work, this active defiance, it made him feel as though, in his procrastination, he had turned off from the highway momentarily, to watch languidly as his colleagues passed him by.
He sifted absently through his emails. The words blurred into one another on the screen, drifting momentarily, leaving no impression upon his brain. As if in imitation, outside the office, the rain ran in eddying streams down the window. It reminded him of that day, years ago, when he and his sister had been caught in a thunderstorm on the slopes of Skiddaw. He was grateful for the office then, enclosed within the white sterility of the walls, shielded from the elements. Yet… that insistent tentative yet. There was something exhilarating about the thunderstorm; as they crouched, pressing themselves against the rocks, the deluge surged around them, cold water biting naked skin. As the lightening ripped, a jagged glare, across the sky, he felt that rare numb panic – that complete vulnerability. He remembered that moment when he turned towards her, face streaming with water, eyes brimming with tears that weren’t his own. He could see her shouting, but no words reached him. In this moment of lost communication, unable to move for fear of being caught by lightening, there seemed a sudden hilarity in it all. He was laughing then, standing up, reaching up to the sky in reckless abandonment.
Absorbed now, in the window, he watched as a group of boys jostled against one another on the pavement. Their faces were indistinguishable from distance, yet he could vaguely hear their voices, washing over one another in an attempt to be heard. He revelled for a moment, in their ignorance that he was observing them. He wondered ironically if, when one of the boys glanced at the window, he too was centralising him in an unspoken narrative. Their anonymity inspired his curiosity. The cans of beer that they were swigging gave it away, he thought, they were probably on their way home from a game. He could remember distinctly the warm sensation of the alcohol; the drifting of long hazy summer nights into a contented oblivion. Hands outstretched, hesitantly reaching towards the heat of the fire. He glanced across at his friends faces, candidly caught in the amber glow. Their laughter ricocheted back to him and he was awash again in the unaffected naivety of youth. When the path stretched as far as the eye could see, dipped in the rosy hue of the sunset. No longer able to distinguish their features, his vision was blurred by the tides of time. As the light faded outside the window, replaced by the encroaching darkness, he avowed to make changes to his life tomorrow. To step outside, to reconnect. Yes, it would happen tomorrow!
Yet, half-heartedly he recognised the emptiness of a promise that would never be fulfilled. Fated to be caught perpetually behind the window, always waiting for that elusive tomorrow.
Tell us about yourself: where you’re from, what subject you’re doing, and how you got into rugby?
I’m Jasper, a second year physicist at Oriel, and I live in Cambridge. I first played rugby in Sydney where I grew up and continued it in Tokyo, where I spent four years. Since then, I have been playing in and around Cambridge, and now at Oxford!
As a rugby blue, how many hours do you devote to training
or competitions each week? Does it get into the way of academic work?
Rugby has the unique quirk of having its Varsity Match in
December which means the vast majority of our performance-focussed training
happens in Michaelmas with an extensive pre-season before hand. At the peak of
the season we are probably training 3-4 times a week with 2-3 gym sessions and
a game on a Friday night. This does consume a lot of time which invariably
means sacrifices in work or social life but after Varsity training is scaled
down appropriately so the work can be made up with a bit of commitment.
How does rugby compare to other blues sports, from your
experience?
I have pretty limited experience with other Blues sports but from what I have seen there is an almost universal shared dedication to their respective sports. Relative to the other sports, our season is very short, and so I think we have a reputation for the intensity of our pre-season and Michaelmas training.
What do you think of ‘lad culture’ in Oxford? How should
the problems with this be tackled?
Obviously, I can only speak from my experiences with Oxford and
Oriel but I would say that the ‘lad culture’ here is pretty minimal. We (at
OURFC) have no initiations and socials are, for the most part, events where the
team can buy in as much or as little as they like. We try to encourage
attendance as we feel that it is an important part of team-building but Oxford
is an intense environment with many conflicting time-pressures so we appreciate
that players may have other commitments.
At OURFC, the men and women’s teams are fully integrated, and
share a positive relationship in all aspects of running the club. With respect
to behaviour, I am pleased to say that I have never experienced anything that I
would consider offensive to myself or others during my time here, and I am
confident in saying that I believe we foster an environment where such
behaviour would not be tolerated.
The annual varsity match at Twickenham is surely one of
the highlights of rugby at Oxford. How was your experience playing at such a
prestigious venue, in front of a crowd of 22,000?
I have been lucky enough to play three times at Twickenham
and have experienced three very different environments. In my first year we
played an outstanding game and won a resounding victory, which remains the
proudest moment of my time at Oxford. The feeling of shared accomplishment with
23 of my best mates will be very hard to beat. This year we lost which was, as
you can imagine, another experience all together, but it highlighted to me the
importance of perspective in sport. We didn’t win the game but that did not
diminish the team’s achievements throughout the season.
This year, the match was played in suboptimal conditions
and Oxford lost both the men’s and women’s matches. What positives do you think
the team can take away from the match?
We learnt a lot that day about executing a plan and adapting
to our environment. We had developed a highly attacking game-plan that suited
our team well, but we weren’t able to move away from this when it really
mattered. It is an important part of leadership to recognise the changing
landscape and devise a way to overcome the obstacles and I think this was a
lesson we all learnt that day. Despite this, we spoke all year of seeing
changes as opportunities and not looking for excuses when things didn’t go our
way and I think it was a real strength of our team that we persevered with our
attempts to attack and play the way we knew best.
Many British university rugby teams never get to play at
Twickenham, unless they reach the final of the BUCS Super Rugby Championship, a
tournament which Oxford and Cambridge blues don’t even compete in. Do Oxbridge
teams deserve this privilege? Does it perpetuate a perception of exclusivity
surrounding Oxbridge, and is this part of an access issue?
I think that we are indeed very privileged to play at the
historical home of rugby, but this is justified by both rugby clubs’ status as
historic powerhouses in driving participation and the development of the game.
Up until the professionalisation of rugby in 1995, the annual Varsity Match was,
in a lot of ways, a trial game for the England team with games being played in
front of capacity crowds of 60,000, matching and in some cases exceeding crowds
for international matches. OURFC is 150 years old and has 340 ex-international players,
including 41 British and Irish Lions. I certainly think that matches of this
standard deserve to be played at the most prestigious ground in the country.
In modern times, the professionalism of the game has
increased the competition for crowds’ attendance and now we only draw around
22,000-25,000 but recently the Varsity Match company has been pushing free
tickets for local school children who would not otherwise be able to attend a
rugby match at Twickenham. In this way the Varsity Match not only gives young
children an opportunity to get into rugby, but it also gives them a very real
connection to both universities. We have players now who first decided they
wanted to come to Oxford from watching the Varsity Match on TV or in person and
so I think if anything, the game improves the visibility and accessibility of
the university.
The coronavirus pandemic has disrupted much in the world
of sport. How much of your sporting life has changed? In general, how has
university sport been affected?
Well as we’re all aware, the movement of Trinity term
learning online means that the vast majority of sports won’t be able to
organise team sessions or competitions. We have had to cancel the men’s tour to
Croatia, as well as the women’s tour to France and as well as this we had
scheduled historic fixtures for the men against the Barbarians and for the
women against the Penguins which have been postponed. We have also lost the
semi-finals and finals for the cuppers competitions which we are currently
working with colleges to reschedule.
Although we are now in our off-season, as a team we have
been impacted through the loss of team skills and fitness sessions, as well as
access to our gym. These are pretty key losses, as the off-season is a great
time to improve the small things that take longer to develop.
How will training carry on? What are you doing to stay
fit and also connected to your teammates?
We have been given training programmes by our Strength and
Conditioning coach which are great to keep the body moving and keep some sort
of sanity in these pretty hectic times. We’re also in the process of doing
video analysis of some Premiership games to maintain an awareness and
understanding of the game – it also gives us the chance to watch some rugby!
Obviously, the boys have our various group chats which have been going off
recently and these are keeping everyone together as a team.
Trinity term is going online. Does this mean more time to
focus on things other than sport?
Well if it is true that we will be given the same amount of
work as would otherwise be set, then it’s just going to be another Trinity I
guess. It’s unfortunate we are going to lose some pretty historic socials such
as the forwards vs. backs cricket game, but these are of course small
sacrifices in these times.
In light of the current coronavirus situation, we at Cherwell are interested in bringing together student zines to publicise Oxford’s writing community.
Many students in the coming weeks will be studying remotely, perhaps in self-isolation and quarantine, in a context of increasing uncertainty. Writing becomes more important than ever, not only for creative expression, but also for mutual encouragement, and of course for keeping in touch with Oxford even as we remain away.
Student zines are often little-known. The Media section on the university website lists three – Cherwell, Oxford Student, and Isis Magazine – but diversifying our voices can only be a strength.
Here are five of Oxford’s brilliant zines, introduced by their editors and reviewed by Cherwell. There are, of course, many more we have missed – please do contact [email protected] if you would like your magazine to be featured.
Hypaethral Magazine
Editor’s message: ‘Hypaethral Magazine is a new online platform for the arts. It seeks to provide a home for university students who are creative to submit and showcase their work during the 2020 COVID-19 lockdown.University provides opportunities for community, workshopping, events, and publication, but with terms cancelled, culture centres closed, and social distancing enforced it has become a lot harder to engage in the arts. Suddenly we’re stuck inside with a lot of time on our hands. Writing and creating art is accessible, fills this time, and is scientifically proven to improve our mental health. Art is a way to survive, and to express our emotions at this difficult time. That’s where we come in. We will aim to accept and post content on our website https://hypaethralmagazine.wordpress.com weekly, as well as starting a survival pack mailing list to get you through this trying time, and sharing prompts / challenges / recommendations on our social media.Art can transport us out of isolation. We hope we can help.‘
Perhaps the newest zine here, Hypaethral offers an eclectic range of creative writing from short stories to extracts from unfinished plays, presented in its minimalist web design. There is much potential in the few pieces it has so far presented: Maya Little’s Poem for Somewhere Else conveys a wistful view of isolated multiverses,while Lucy Thynne’s story Motherly Love is a masterful rendering of domestic tensions rising in the unsettling, claustrophobic conditions of quarantine.
Sine Theta Magazine
Editor’s message: ‘Sine Theta Magazine is an international, print-based creative arts publication made by and for the Sino diaspora. It was founded in 2016 by friends from around the world, and its staff, contributors, and interviewees have spanned the globe, from Sweden to South Africa, as well as right here at Oxford University, where our editor-in-chief is a student. We publish quarterly, themed issues showcasing the creative outputs of Sino creatives, and act as a platform for dialogue on the complex nature of diasporic identity. We also feature artists and writers online, on Instagram and Twitter.We serve to empower and connect the Sino diaspora but publish in English and welcome all readers.’
In the eye-catching vibrancy of their artwork, Sine Theta easily intrigues and, opening the striking covers, you will not be disappointed by the richness of its content, spanning poems, personal essays, and exclusive interviews, which have in the past included the nature writer Jessica J. Lee and performance artist Patty Chang. Its editors have a knack for tantalising submission themes, with beautiful results. However, the zine is less accessible, with most issues costing just above £10, though a pdf version is offered for its writers.
Cuntry Living
Editor’s message: ‘Cuntry Living Zine acts as a space to platform voices and issues of those identifying and experiencing oppression as women* and non-binary people. We have totally open submissions, and accept anything from poetry, to playlists, art, recipes or photography. We’re always striving to ask better questions, give better answers and platform new voices, and we make space for creativity without fear of judgement or rejection.We produce 3 zines a year, and run events alongside it, including club nights and craft events. Integral to the aesthetic of Cuntry Living is the DIY collage work that accompany the pieces submitted, produced during our ‘cut and stick’ sessions open to anyone. We cut up traditional, sexist media from magazines such as Glamour and Cosmopolitan and repurpose it for our message. We have digitalised our Winter 2019 and Spring 2020 editions, which you can find here: issuu.com/cuntryliving.’
Cuntry Living is propelled by a wondrous, irreverent defiance that explodes in vivid collage and sprays of cut-out words. This is where you can discover some of Oxford’s insta-poetry, with the undeniable influence of Rupi Kaur’s feminist art amongst others in the quirkily distinctive multimedia. The writing quality varies, although in Cuntry Living this is part of the joy of it – a delight in crafty experimentalism. Ella Woodcock’s Double Take, presented as a screenshot from a memo, is one curious example, as is the tiny note purportedly found in a copy of Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels.
Onyx
Editor’s message: ‘Onyx Magazine is an annual creative arts magazine that uplifts the work of Black poets, artists and writers. The magazine’s vision focuses on being an authentic tool of expression for Black creatives who are underrepresented both in higher educational institutions and the publishing industry within the UK. This vision stemmed also from the wealth of talent that Team Onyx felt was not being captured in print publication. Founded by eight Black Oxford undergraduates and printed in Oxford, the magazine features poetry, historical articles, art, creative think pieces, and is recognised by its black matt front cover and silver foiling. The name for the magazine stems from the historical use of Onyx as a medium to form pottery and art, which dates back to as far as the Second Dynasty. In a similar way to the gemstone’s use Onyx Magazine aims to be the medium through which Black creatives shape and express their artistry. It also points to the inherent value and worth of finding, polishing and celebrating ‘underground’ art. Since conception Onyx has been invited to No.10 Downing Street and the Houses of Parliament, and also won its first award in 2018.’
The gorgeous black covers with the mark of an onyx offer a foretaste of some of the artistic boldness within. In its thought-provoking articles on race, and such poetry as Theophina Gabriel’s exquisitely poignant III: Ghost, the magazine reveals inspirational creativity from a lesser-known side of Oxford, set off by brilliant illustrations playing with contrasts between light and dark. The latest issue of Onyx can be found at £7.99 online. During the COVID-19 lockdown, Onyx has also begun a ‘BUY 1 PASS 1 ON!’ scheme whereby you can choose to buy a copy and give another for free at no extra cost, while receiving a free enamel pin badge ‘as a nod to helping create a feeling of community and togetherness during this isolating time’ – a lovely gesture.
State of the Arts
Editor’s message: ‘State of the Arts aims to provide a space for new writers in Oxford to showcase and workshop their pieces. We host regular writing nights during term time, where writers read out their work, give each other feedback and throw around ideas. Throughout the vacation, and a potentially remote Trinity term, we will be organising live streams for writers to talk about their work, as well as digital workshop sessions. We are also setting up a playwright pool to connect writers and help them work together. To keep people creating throughout this time, we are sending out regular prompts and providing an online space for our writers to workshop each other’s’ pieces. We will publish select pieces on our website, and are hoping to put together a journal once back in Oxford.‘
A fledgling publication we are excited to introduce! Watch this space.
“It is with great pleasure that I call upon Mr. Malcolm X to speak fifth, in favour of the motion.” With these words, Malcolm X was introduced to the audience sitting in the chamber of the Oxford Union Debating Society. In the history of a society that has consistently seen significant controversy, marketing itself as a “bastion of free speech”, there is no doubt that this December 1964 debate, on the motion of, “extremism in the defence of liberty is no vice; moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue” was one of its most notable. In the speech that followed, Malcolm X spoke on racial politics, apartheid, protest and his definition of extremism.
He had been invited for President Eric Anthony Abrahams’ farewell debate. Abrahams was a Jamaican Rhodes Scholar, who had beaten out a Christ Church Etonian for the Presidential position. Alongside ex-Treasurer Tariq Ali (who also attended the debate), he had been ‘gated’ by the University a week previously for participation in an anti-apartheid protest.
Malcolm X’s first words were motivated by the speaker who had preceded him. He wryly joked that: “Mr. Chairman, tonight is the first night that I’ve ever had the opportunity to be as near to conservatives as I am.” According to Ali, Humphry Berkeley, a Conservative MP, mocked his name, personal identity, and his politics calling him ‘America’s leading exponent of apartheid’, and ridiculing ‘X’, questioning why not ‘C’, or ‘Z’. Malcolm took no qualms with responding: “The speaker who preceded me is one of the best excuses that I know to prove our point…I don’t say that about him personally, but that type. He’s right, X is not my real name, but if you study history you’ll find why no black man in the Western hemisphere knows his real name.”
His speech has been seen as one of the best articulations of his ideology and politics, showcasing his ability to engage and interact with his audience. Undeniably, this is one of the most significant visits in the Union’s history. The motivations of the committee and officers play an important role in the diversity of its speakers. Had the President not been a person of colour, who saw Malcolm as a personal and political role model, it is perhaps unlikely that Malcolm would have been invited to speak. An audience member questioned his attack on Berekley’s mocking points, questioning Malcolm’s ‘treatment’ of the MP. His response was simple: “You make my point! That as long as a white man does it, it’s alright, a black man is supposed to have no feelings. But when a black man strikes back he’s an extremist, he’s supposed to sit passively and have no feelings, be nonviolent, and love his enemy no matter what kind of attack, verbal or otherwise, he’s supposed to take it. But if he stands up in any way and tries to defend himself, then he’s an extremist.”
The Union has the platform, and the prestige, to be the centre of such historical moments. Yet it’s been embroiled in scandal after scandal, and the petty politics of committee continue to dominate its reputation.
Its public image can only be good as those who are its representatives: our own Prime Minister is one of its most prominent alumni, alongside numerous other prominent politicians, journalists and public figures who have expressed problematic comments on race. From Johnson labelling Muslim women ‘letterboxes’, to Michael Gove mocking Stormzy’s speech, to Jacob-Rees Mogg posting videos by members of the AfD – the current Conservative generation were raised and trained at the Oxford Union. Simon Kuper’s 2019 article in the Financial Times describing the Union elite during his own time at Oxford makes the image of the origins of the Tory Brexiteer mafia all too obvious.
It is impossible, therefore, to separate the institution from those who have held positions of power within it. Most recently, in the treatment of Ebenezer Azamati, a blind Ghanaian student, the society received international attention with its failure to quickly address the issue. In a disciplinary hearing, Azamati’s membership was suspended for two terms for violent misconduct. Azamati had been dragged out of the chamber for attempting to sit on a seat he had earlier reserved, given he was unsure about the possibility of accessible seating – when challenged by a security guard, he refused to leave, and was forcibly ejected from the chamber. After enormous pressure – a legal challenge from QC Helen Mountfield, a successful motion of impeachment and national and international media scrutiny – President Brendan McGrath resigned.
In 2015, after the debate on whether the British Empire owes former colonies reparations, the Union advertised a cocktail named ‘The Colonial Comeback’. The picture on the poster was of a pair of hands in chains. BME officer Esther Odejimi resigned following the controversy stating that she felt the creation of her role ‘was just an act of political correctness’. Odejimi did not respond to a request for comment.
The Union’s relationship with racial minorities is fraught, but all faith should not be lost – slow, but consistent changes provide fragments of hope for the future of the society. The appointment of an Ethnic Minorities officer in 2015 to represent the interests of BAME members of the Union signalled the beginning of an awareness that they had a wider responsibility to stand for people of all backgrounds. Fluctuating levels of BAME committee members are exhibited in recent years, but the current level of around 38% self-identifying Black and Minority Ethnic students on committee surpass the level of overall University representation (which, as of 2019, is at a dire 22%).
In defence of the Union’s position as the ‘bastion of free speech’, there is evidence of a wide-ranging variety of opinions present in its recent history. Panels on Uighur Muslims, the Holocaust, and Shamima Begum all give the impression of an engaged, dynamic Oxford Union which promotes meaningful and necessary discourse.
Within the last decade, visits from black icons — ranging from Al Sharpton to ASAP Rocky — evoke an Abrahams era Union: ready to give a platform for a worthy purpose. In November 2016, the Union’s famed red chamber was graced with the presence of Black Lives Matter activists. The event brought the mothers of sons lost to racially charged shootings across the Atlantic to share their pain and pursuit of justice. Sybrina Fulton, the mother of Trayvon Martin, united the chamber in tears as recounted her son’s tragic death at the hands of George Zimmerman. Sybrina did not let anyone forget that her “17-year-old son had everything to live for, and the mistake he made, the only mistake he made, was the colour of his skin.”
Jeremy Bararia, the only black member on Standing Committee in Michaelmas term, and one of the first to resign during the Azamati affair, informed Cherwell that if the Union is to change “it needs to be more progressive in the amount of representation in the senior leadership.” Bararia rightly stated that, “looking at the scope of backgrounds that this term’s officers come from, there’s definitely a real step in the right direction.”
“Quite a lot of people have come up to me and asked whether I think the Union is still very ‘white male’, and then I then tell them it’s an all-women officer team and half women of colour – they’re shocked.” Former President Sara Dube, a woman of South Asian descent, told Cherwell. Certainly, the senior leadership this term is far from the white-male-Etonian archetype of the 1980s, and these glimmers of progress suggest that Union has come far.
Yet, a fuller picture is less promising. The all-female, half-BAME officer team is partially explained by a series of resignations which led to a multitude of promotions and reshuffles. Former Union Treasurer, Melanie Onovo, gives a depressing insight into the stark reality behind the image of diversity. She tells Cherwell her time at the Union has felt more like “kind of being a token, like a coloured person who was needed for a slate, and that’s got me to where I am.” For Onovo, whose election was in the wake of the Azamati affair, “it has sometimes felt that other people on committee see me that way, and don’t see me as someone who is capable of making any real change here…just as someone who fit a narrative at a time.”
Dube, whose “Rise” slate won her election in a bloody three-way battle, concedes that her diverse committee is “not a sign that [the Union] has come very far,” by way of being an inclusive space. Looking at past committees, Dube concluded “stuff like this happens in cycles, I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if next year there were all male officers again.” A sad fact, given that looking back to the forces that brought Malcolm X to the Union shows us that who is on the committee is essential to upholding the right values. In contrast to Sara’s 27% BAME term card, Brendan McGrath’s was only 17%.
With that said, Onovo reminds us that the “arbitrary power” put into the hands of the President extends beyond their term. The termly members’ consultation on Union Accessibility, which Dube started, found that members’ greatest concern about the Union’s atmosphere was the profile of the speakers. They accuse the Union of promoting a hostile environment by way of platforming speakers who often actively work to make ethnic minorities feel unwelcome. The BAME officers from Michaelmas 2019 and Hilary 2020 were contacted for comment.
Onovo says the effect goes further; to Presidents of the past, she said: “You’ve hosted Steven Bannon and you’ve proved we platform racists, but what does that do to the future invitations of minorities and left-wing speakers who may feel unable to speak in an institution that has also hosted people who are directly oppositional to their existence and their identity?”
The Union must recognise that “free speech” cannot come at the cost of silencing the speech of another. This was made clear, as Cherwell reported, in the invitation of Katie Hopkins: Labour MP Naz Shah stepped down from the debate and Historian Evan Smith rejected the invitation to speak in the debate outright, stating: “the long history of previous invitations extended to racists and fascists by the Oxford Union” as the reason for his refusal.
Dube has maintained a commitment to the diversity of speakers, inviting Indian LGBT+ Rights lawyers and the founder of the MeToo movement. She acknowledges it will be a slow process to make everyone feel welcome, “not just in changing the profile of speakers, but in terms of changing the perception of the profile of speakers we have.” The media haven’t aided the good forces at work: invites to Steve Bannon and Tommy Robinson get international news coverage, whereas events like the Black Lives Matter Panel are scarcely reported on even within Oxford’s student journalism.
Nonetheless, simply diversifying the profile of the speakers is far from enough. As the Colonial Comeback affair illustrates, despite how progressive events inside the chamber are, attitudes outside the chamber define the atmosphere. As The Guardian reported, black students are no strangers to interrogation upon entry to the Union, and Nazi salutes at social events hardly indicate that minorities are welcome. Onovo discloses that change can only come from “changing the culture and structure here.” Rightly, she spreads the burden for the Union’s failures to champion all speech from the committee, to the staff and the members. Dube worked hard to remedy the institutional elements following the Azamati incident by way of compulsory workshops on diversity and coordination with the Disability Advisory Service.
The nature of the Oxford Union, however, makes this slow process an even more difficult goal. The eight-week life-span of a committee — where from the second week most are well into their election campaigns for the next term — does not foster an environment where real change is sustainable. As Dube identified, “cycles” of surface level change occur, and are quickly forgotten. The aftermath of the Colonial Comeback incident suggests a dismal pattern: inherent racism came to surface, and was supposedly eradicated by racial awareness workshops. Commitment to these workshops was evidently forgotten, and four years later, the Union appears to be no further along in dealing with its institutional racism. Evidently, it fails to live up to the significant role in discourse it has the potential to play.
“Whether I feel like a token or not”, says Onovo, “I’ve been able to reach officership of the Oxford Union, which is something that would have been impossible for someone like me not very long ago.” These important markers, nonetheless, often disguise how deep the Union’s institutional discrimination lies – until, a truly unfortunate event, like the handling of Mr. Azamati, makes it too difficult to ignore. “There are so many people…who are averse to change here who make it very hard to do the very big things that need to happen at the Union,” Onovo said, “even if it would be possible to start a conversation that is continued after you leave…what is the incentive for anyone to really do that? They have their manifesto claims, they get elected, they do their university work, and then they leave.”
A stepping stone for conservative politicians, a networking opportunity, another job, a chance to see celebrities, or a few bullet points at the end of CV: this is the Oxford Union for most of those involved. But if the label of “the last bastion of free speech” is to mean something, the committee, administrative staff, and members should recognise the Oxford Union’s international and historic reputation. This does not mean it needs to embrace a policy of no-platforming, but commitment to accessible policy, a diverse committee, and fair representation of high profile speakers is a good place to start. A Cherwell editorial from 1964 sums it up: “The Union still drags along, with a few furtive bleats of ‘change’, which never seem to materialise once the Presidential Elections are out of the way.” Let’s hope the Union of future terms can shake off this apathy.
Dua Lipa’s sophomore album Future Nostalgia is pop escapism at its best, just when we need it most. The singer belts her way through break-ups, new love and female empowerment, all whilst remaining upbeat, optimistic and, ultimately, fun. At a time when we are all seeking escape from the confines of our newly-restricted lives, Lipa proves the value of pop beats and dreamy lyrics for lifting our spirits.
From start to end, Future Nostalgia is a cohesive and perfectly planned concept album. The immersive, funky title track introduces the record’s flashy retro vibe whilst framing it at the innovative cusp of modern pop: “You want what now looks like, let me give you a taste”. ‘Cool’ is a light and summery take on new love, built on by the romantic lyrics and cheerful synth beats of ‘Levitating’, a highlight of the album. ‘Pretty Please’ continues Lipa’s romantic storytelling, with a pounding bassline and experimental instrumentals.
Future Nostalgia shows no sign of slowing down as it hits its stride with ‘Hallucinate’, ‘Love Again’ and ‘Break My Heart’, laden with striking vocals and deep, dance-heavy beats. The eleven-track record – relatively short in comparison to the longer albums many artists are currently producing – leaves no time for unnecessary filler tracks, never pausing in its relentlessly upbeat appeal. The concluding track, ‘Boys Will Be Boys’, drags the listener from Lipa’s glitzy ‘80s vision of love back into our reality. The string-heavy finale is the album’s most overtly political, tracking the accelerated pace at which girls are forced to grow up in today’s society.
The album is spearheaded by powerhouse lead singles ‘Don’t Start Now’ and ‘Physical’. The former feels almost like a second act to Lipa’s wildly successful 2017 single ‘New Rules’, offering closure to both the listener and the singer, who has gone from repeating her own mantra to herself (“One: don’t pick up the phone / Two: don’t let him in / Three: don’t be his friend”) to boldly warning her ex to keep his distance (“Don’t show up, don’t come out / Don’t start caring about me now”). The latter, ‘Physical’, is a stand-out track that best exemplifies the singer’s commitment to bringing the sounds of the ‘80s back to the top of the charts. A fast-paced synth beat lies beneath its powerful vocals, its lyrics making direct reference to the 1981 Olivia Newton-John classic. Lipa’s powerful and assured vocals on both catchy singles demonstrate the confidence and energy that underpins Future Nostalgia. Lipa, a credited writer on every song, sounds emboldened, empowered and in control from start to finish.
The myriad influences of disco, dance and pop run throughout
the album, to its advantage. From the sampling of White Town’s 1997 hit ‘Your
Woman’ (itself sampling Al Bowlly’s 1932 ‘My Woman’) for the song ‘Love Again’,
to the use of the guitar riff from INXS’s 1987 hit ‘Need You Tonight’ on ‘Break
My Heart’, the album is certainly a homage to the music of decades past. Lipa
is evidently not the first to be influenced in this way – the use of ‘80s-style
synth pop is becoming increasingly commonplace within the mainstream, seen in
notable recent projects such as The Weeknd’s new album After Hours – but
she perhaps takes it the furthest.
However, rather than blindly following a trend, Future Nostalgia consciously crafts a distinct sound for the singer. Lipa’s nods backwards do not simply replicate the sounds of the past, but use and manipulate them to shape a record which sounds undeniably modern. The album twists ‘80s pop tropes in a way that feels unique, personal and fresh, creating a project that evidences Lipa’s growth from rising radio favourite to Britain’s leading popstar. As promised by its title, Future Nostalgia takes the listener on a nostalgic ride to the future: whilst recalling the dance pop of the ‘80s and ‘90s, the album cements Lipa’s place in the future of British pop. Catchy, bright and enthusiastic, the album leaves the listener with no option but to dance along and be pulled into its worry-free world, if only for a few minutes.
Dua Lipa succeeds in building on the successes of her chart-topping
first album by layering her well-established vocals and commanding lyrics with
new sounds in pursuit of a cohesive and innovative follow-up that certainly
tops its predecessor. The album marks a turning point in her own career, as
well as marking Lipa out from her pop peers. Future Nostalgia is
completely its own, refusing to fade into the background of the crowded field
of contemporary pop music.
Sufjan Stevens is most widely known for his acoustic folk—or, as he terms it, “the strummy-strum acoustic guitar song”. Such stuff constitutes the bedrock of his early work, being a source for later accolades, such as his Oscar nomination for the soundtrack for the 2017 film Call Me By Your Name. He is, admittedly, a master of the form. With elfin features belying his 44 years of age, Stevens established a name for himself within independent music with early albums such as Michigan and Seven Swans, both quiet, introspective works laced through with the tinny delicacy of banjos and his high, fragile vocals.
But to write Stevens off as yet another ‘Pitchfolk’ softboy is, to my mind, a disservice. Stevens has been wildly experimental throughout his career, expanding to a cosmic scope in synth-laden The Age of Adz. His second-latest outing, Carrie & Lowell, collapses back down to the intensely personal, with Stevens stripping back to his folk-influenced roots to mourn the passing of his mother. Throughout the trajectory of his oeuvre, Stevens’ delivery has remained a constant: in ‘Carrie & Lowell’, his voice is barely a whisper above the cold twinkling of a guitar, with ambient synth intermissions granting breathing space to the palpable anguish of the vocals. His latest album, Aporia—made in collaboration with his stepfather Lowell Brams—seems to be an explosion of these aspects to a grander scale.
A Google search defines ‘aporia’ as ‘an irresolvable internal contradiction or logical disjunction in a text, argument, or theory.’ To me, this epitomises Sufjan Stevens as an artist. Stevens’ signature vocals are an unending source of ambivalence, seeming to fluctuate between euphoria and despair, breakdown and revelation. His early love songs waver in meaning, between being chronicles of Christian faith and of gay desire. His music is both acoustic and electronic, his lyrics both personal and metaphysical. His work’s dominant mode is tragedy, and yet he retains a taste for the camp and kitsch.
Aporia is largely instrumental. Working without an emphasis on his distinctive vocals or his signature acoustic guitar, Stevens still manages to retain all of the emotional articulacy that makes his work so compelling. The album is ambient and spacious, using synths to create vast swathes of uninhabited sonic terrain, as in the opening track ‘Ousia’. The track retains the feel of cosmic serenity that such sections create in Carrie & Lowell, inducing a trancelike sense of calm, laced with sitar-like twangs drawing from the Indian classical tradition. Stevens, however, is uninterested in restraining himself to chilled-out synths. The album bounces with virtuosic dexterity between tone and genre. The 30-second interlude ‘Palinodes’ sounds like a child’s recorder practice rendered in synth, giving way to the hysteria of sirens in ‘Backhanded Cloud’. ‘For Raymond Scott’ (named for the composer and electronic music pioneer) sounds like a malfunctioning 8-bit video game. Fuzzy shoegaze influences are discernible throughout.
Stevens’ vocals are present for a moment in Aporia, wrapped in the deeply layered synthesisers of ‘The Runaround’, the album’s seventeenth track. When his voice finally does appear, it is heavily modulated, lending it a gravity rarely found in his frail, boyish delivery. The lyrics seem to hint at the frustrated possibility of transcendence: ‘What are you waiting for? An open door?’
Aporia maintains a constructive tension—or, perhaps, a harmony—between the human and the cosmic. The ambient synth tracks approach mystic proportions only to lapse back into kitschy discordance or unbearable tension. A balance is maintained between transcendence and farce. With this album, Stevens has revealed himself once again to be an expert chronicler of the human condition, switching effortlessly between close-up, often painful, introspection, and visions of a higher order of being.
On the 27th of February 1900, a group of trade unionists, politicians and intellectuals gathered in the Memorial Hall on Farringdon Street, London. United in their commitment to improving the lives of workers, they established what would become known as the Labour Party. The labour movement had already made inroads into local government, bringing about the construction of social housing, better conditions for council workers, and the provision of free school meals. But on that day, a new dream was born: power in Westminster.
Keir Starmer is now tasked with reigniting that dream. He has already taken steps to renew the Party internally, with the appointment of a formidable Shadow Cabinet and immediate action on antisemitism. He also needs to re-evaluate whom the Party represents, looking outwards to the country instead of inwards to the membership. He must engage with voters on the issues they care about. He must address the big changes of the coming decade. And he must tailor his message to each region of the country. Labour can only win if it is relevant.
In 2010, Labour didn’t just lose an election – it lost its way. The subsequent leadership election saw Ed Miliband narrowly beat his brother, bringing with him internal reforms that boosted the power of the membership. Whether good or bad in their own right, these reforms were a sign of the Party turning inwards. We began to debate the issues that mattered to us, not the issues that mattered to the country. We spent five years picking apart the previous Labour government, giving Cameron’s government the space to run our public services into the ground. Miliband is a brilliant politician. However, he talked up his programme to be more radical than it was in order to appease the left of the party, while buying into the Tories’ rhetoric on austerity and immigration in a misguided flail at electability.
Devastated, the Party looked for change in the form of Jeremy Corbyn. The ideas generated during his leadership were exciting and much needed. Yet while the long-term, comprehensive vision was there, the political strategy wasn’t. Instead of honing in on issues relevant to people’s lives, the campaign tried to whip up a 1970s class consciousness that simply wasn’t there. The pitch of “For the many, not the few” left many wondering which camp they were supposed to be in. The sweeping ideology behind it seemed disconnected from people’s lives – a more truthful slogan would have been “For the members, not for you”.
Moreover, Labour didn’t behave like a party of government. With his activist skillset and rigidity in the face of criticism, Corbyn couldn’t foster unity. Factionalism drained talent from the front bench and allowed antisemitism to tear through the movement. If you don’t look ready to lead the country, the country won’t put you in charge.
Under Starmer, Labour must rediscover relevance. First, that means looking like a government-in-waiting, not an opposition-ad-infinitum. The COVID-19 pandemic has raised the bar for anyone hoping to run the country: voters will ask whether Labour can be trusted when crisis hits. Starmer’s moves so far to work constructively with the Government are encouraging. The breadth and talent on the front benches are colossal. However, it will only shine through if there is unity on the backbenches, so Keir must continue to cultivate this. The Party administration should be competent, not factional. It’s evident from the way Starmer staffed his campaign that he shares this view.
Second, it means listening to the issues which people care about now. This is where we failed on Brexit. We refused to believe that people really cared to leave. We didn’t listen when they spoke about sovereignty – surely, we thought, people only really care about incomes and public services. As a result, we campaigned only on the latter, treating Brexit like some minor inconvenience to be dealt with later. We must learn that if something matters to people, it matters full stop.
Third, it means getting ahead on the issues that will define the coming decade. We are already strong on climate change. But we are too quiet on emerging technologies – big data, artificial intelligence, and the dangerous concentrations of power that will accompany them. We haven’t mapped out how to engage with China’s rise and its increasing tensions with the US. We will face various crossroads regarding our role as a global player: trade relations; international development; and defence alliances against threats of nuclear, cyber and biowarfare.
Lastly, it requires a country-wide strategy. In Scotland, the SNP is the default party for progressives and the Conservatives are the default for unionists. Yet progressive politics needn’t entail nationalism, and unionism needn’t entail conservatism. Starmer’s plan for a federalist settlement is a bold attempt to harness the best of both. He must be equally as proactive in finding solutions tailored to every region, heeding the core message of Nandy’s campaign.
There’s a long road ahead. But after a decade of stalling, Labour is on the move again.
