Monday, May 12, 2025
Blog Page 480

Oxford medical students join NHS to combat coronavirus

Oxford medical students have volunteered to help the NHS during a time of peak demand and stress. As of March 20, twenty-four 6th year students have joined the emergency department at the John Radcliffe Hospital in both administrative and patient-facing roles. This includes working at reception and performing blood tests.

According to the university, the students have already passed their Finals examinations and are qualified to deliver basic care. Additionally, non-final year students are assisting in a non-clinical capacity.

Dr Catherine Swales, the Director of Clinical Studies at Oxford University Medical School, told Cherwell that they “have volunteers from all clinical years” and that students are “matched with roles that need filling (as determined by the OUHFT). Non-final year students have been offered non-clinical roles.”

She adds that medical students are equipped for the environment of a national health emergency: “The whole course is designed to prepare students for practice. We would not allow students to volunteer in roles if we didn’t feel they were ready. We have an extensive pastoral care network both centrally and with the colleges and this is very active currently, supporting the students in what we all recognize is a stressful time.”

The COVID-19 pandemic has raised questions about how medical students might receive adequate teaching when universities are closed, especially as much of their practice is clinical. Nationally, universities are considering the possibility of graduating students early. The General Medical Council (GMC) has told students that “legally, it’s for the relevant university to decide whether or not you’re able to graduate”. It encourages universities to continue education and assessment so that medical students may join the workforce as quickly as possible.

Image Credit to Jackie Bowman / Children’s Wing, John Radcliffe Hospital / CC BY-SA 2.0.

Music: In Isolation but not Isolated

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The unfolding coronavirus pandemic has led to the cancellation of concerts and festivals around the world: Glastonbury, entire seasons at the Royal Opera House and Metropolitan Opera, and, worst of all, Eurovision. Compared to the threat posed by the virus, these lost opportunities and cancellations may seem trivial, but they are upsetting nonetheless. The mass closure of schools and conservatoires and the effective ban on large gatherings, including gigs and concerts, can be especially upsetting if you are a musician, or know a musician whose livelihood is under threat.

On the brighter side, music is a lifeline for many people – listening to the right playlist can draw you from a state of inertia to a dance party in the kitchen during the long, and often worry-filled, hours of self-isolation (please resist the siren call of TikTok). Listening to music is undoubtedly a different experience in a world transformed by Covid-19 – the apparent dissolution of the musical community is clearest in the absence of gigs, concerts, and shows, meaning performers and audiences can no longer gather in a room to share their passion. However, the communal experience of listening to music need not be lost in isolation, even if it has been significantly altered. Rather than stunting the experience, the measures taken to reduce the spread of the virus have stimulated an influx of creative solutions to this issue, enabled by social media and other web platforms.

One noteworthy initiative attempting to tackle this issue of cultural connectivity is the Corona Cultural Festival 2020 Facebook Page, founded and operated by Millie Cant, a second-year music student at Pembroke College. The page includes a virtual book club hosted on the video call service Zoom, as well as a weekly list of recommendations of books, films, and documentaries. For communal music listening, there are collaborative Spotify playlists and a list of music recommendations shared on a Google Document that anyone can amend. It may not be the same experience as listening to a piece of music in a concert venue, but it provides a virtual space where music can be shared and recommendations exchanged, ensuring listening to music remains an interactive and communal experience even when not experienced simultaneously. Thus far, this page has amassed 1,659 followers, encouraging a creative communal space online in order to, in Millie’s words, “look out for our own and others’ mental and cultural health”. Here, listening to music is a communal experience in that it is linked to the recommendations and experiences of others within a virtual community.

The act of going to a concert has unfortunately been halted by the virus, and cannot truly be emulated virtually, as the physicality of the event is arguably a large part of the experience. However, the live-streaming of concerts and musical performances has allowed a preservation of the sense of immediacy felt in a concert – the listener is truly placed ‘in the moment’ as they hear a piece of music unfold in real-time. Even better, the live stream format helps listening to music to remain a communal experience despite geographical difference – like in a concert setting, everyone experiences the music in the same moment, and without the irritation of someone rustling sweet wrappers five seats away.

Furthermore, the fact that many of the streaming services for opera and classical music venues are now free and available on the Internet may allow a kickback against elitism in the classical community. With these free livestreaming services, such as the Berlin Philharmonic Digital Concert Hall, people will be able to explore new music at no cost and from the comfort of their homes. This isn’t to undermine the value of live concerts – for the performers, concerts are the centrepiece of performance culture and a vital source of revenue. However, it demonstrates that listening to music during this pandemic need not be an isolated experience, even when in isolation.

The Covid-19 pandemic is proving to be difficult for the music industry as bands, orchestras, opera companies, and music festivals are struggling, forced to cancel events for the safety of their audiences and the community at large. It has, therefore, become more important than ever to support both music and musicians culturally, financially, and communally. Live-streaming and services like Spotify, YouTube, Google Play and Apple Music, amongst others, allow for the continuation of a communal experience of listening to music. They also support artists – buying merchandise where possible and holding onto tickets for postponed concerts are also valuable steps towards supporting a future for the industry post-pandemic.

“Clue” as a Chamber Piece for Our Time

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I’ve only been away from Oxford for a week. I’ve only spent a week in isolation at home with my parents. But a week is long enough. Long enough to unpack, fuss over my dog, locate and devour the best that the kitchen cupboards have to offer, enjoy a lie in, read the first few chapters of a book, ravage Netflix and try to catch my parents attention over the burrrrr of BBC news by doing handstands in front of the TV. Long enough to check Facebook, wash the dog (who’s smell, rather than excitement, now seems her defining quality), lose my Mum and Dad indefinitely to the 24 hour news channel, have another lie in (because why bother getting up), check Facebook again, throw the phone, slam the door, let out a little scream and, finally, finally, resort to board games.

As is so often the case in moments of mild domestic distress (power cuts, Christmas once food and conversation are spent) board games appear like a shining light in this time of confinement, glowing through the gap between the doors of their dusty cupboard. They promise a laugh or two, an argument or two; connection despite social isolation. Mum turns off the news and we settle on Cluedo. As I unfold the board and glance over ‘the dining room’, ‘the study’ and ‘the lounge’, thumbing the tiny metal dagger and rope, I can’t help but wonder if over the coming months of quarantine the walls of my house might begin to feel just as impenetrable as the boundaries of the board; whether I too might be stuck in an endless loop, dragged from room to room, never venturing outdoors.

I stop in my tracks. There’s an image in my head that I can’t seem to shake. Miss Scarlet, Professor Plumb, Mrs Peacock and co. come to life and stuck in a house together. Wasn’t there a film, based on the game Cluedo that I loved when I was really young? A quick Amazon Prime search later and I have both my answer and its opening credits on my screen. 

Clue (1985) is a riot of a film; an ensemble black comedy; a who-dunnit which doubles as a parody of the genre; a farce, choc-full of slapstick humour and endlessly quotable, campy one liners. Double entendres, daft wordplay and all sorts of other silly nonsense surge at unnerving speeds. The film has me at “Monkey’s brains”.

Today Clue is considered a cult classic, but the road to cult appreciation has been a long one. Upon its release the film was a big, fat flop, both financially and critically. Released with three endings, viewers would see a different one depending on what theatre they attended. This ‘gimmick’ was ridiculed by critics who found the film to be laboured and downright silly, joking about the unlikelihood of audiences paying full admission three times to catch three different endings, none of which, alone, felt satisfying. So how did Clue come to received its overdue acknowledgement as a proper movie and not just a cheap gimmick? Well credit is due, at least in part, to run-off from the Rocky Horror/Tim Curry midnight movie circuit. Curry, again, proves himself to be a one-of-a-kind actor playing Wadsworth, the butler who narrates the action (and there is a heck of a lot of it). He acts as the game night host, as it were. Indeed, the film starts out much like a game of Cluedo might in real life. Just as my family members, one-by-one, took a seat around the dinner table to play, each member of Clue’s stellar cast arrives at the door of the mysterious mansion, is assigned a colourful character alias and is shown to their seat at the dining room table by Wadsworth. Cluedo further permeates its film adaptation. Important elements, such as the dead body and myriad possibilities of who killed whom, in what room, and with what weapon, are preserved throughout. 

Whilst I love Clue and have come here, mainly, to sing its praises, it must be said that the opening few minutes of the film are pretty dire. Much of this is owed to the challenges inherent to both whodunits and farces: they need a lot of windup before the Jack jumps out of the box. There is a gallery of characters to be established and motives to be assigned. The various rooms whose doors will be slamming need to be mapped out with precision. Whodunits and farces are unforgiving plot machines because they need to be complicated in order to fool their audience down the line, and setting up all the dominos that will cascade in act three can be tedious. Thankfully director Jonathan Lynn and his cast make relatively quick work of it. Once the board is set, with characters, period clothing and an exquisitely detailed, gothic murder house all in place, things begin to fall apart in the loudest, most vibrant and brilliantly melodramatic way possible. 

So relentlessly and deliberately convoluted is the plot (which I will not even attempt to relay in this review) that no viewer will likely able to make heads or tails of the film’s central questions: whom, where, why, and with what. One could probably say the same of the actor’s onscreen. This is part of the film’s fun. The bodies just keep piling up as the cast frantically scurry about the house. Like any good farce, events escalate until the escalation itself becomes the central joke, and characters are left delirious and breathless, improvising their way through an increasingly quick, increasingly bizarre plot.

Watching Clue today it strikes me that the film is pretty racy for its PG rating. No wonder I loved it as a kid; it was an early exposure to transgression with no traumatic repercussions. There is murder but no blood, sex but no nudity, tons of screaming but not a single expletive. The movie offers up a buffet of offenses, from murder to blackmail to infidelity to (gasp) socialism, without paying any thought to their often unpleasant complexities. Clue only ever delivers the thrill of the infraction. Perhaps this is what irks so many critics, what leads them to accuse the film of being ‘all show and no substance’. Perhaps this is why some consider Clue as a ‘fast food’ film; instantly gratifying, all adrenaline rush, more akin to a roller coaster than a real movie, a ‘nourishing’ movie.

I couldn’t disagree more. What the film may lack in terms of nuanced storyline, it more than makes up for with its nuanced treatment of language and the cast’s nuanced performances (Tim Curry’s intonation on the word “No” has become a favourite gag within the films committed fanbase). Clue’s ‘show’; its bravado, its clash and clamour, its back and forth, its puns, its facial expressions are its essence, its ‘substance’. Patched together like Frankenstein’s Monster – part boardgame, part farce, three endings – it stomps around in an ungainly fashion, bothering critics. How great! 

So, if, over the coming weeks, you’re secluded at home, if Netflix, books and even board games are no longer doing it for you, if you find yourself reaching for the lead pipe, ready to smash in the TV on hearing the word ‘coronavirus’ one more time, I recommend you take a trip to a different secluded house, one with thunder clouds clapping above and a murder waiting to happen inside.

SATIRE: 2020 Visions

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In my dream, it is morning. I get out of bed and go into the kitchen to make breakfast. Nothing is wrong. As the kettle whirrs, I hear a noise behind me. I turn around. Nothing is there, so I return to slicing fruit. As I slice a piece of melon, there is another noise. I turn around again. A man is lying on my sofa, cradled into a foetal position under a heap of blankets. Who is the man? I should be scared but it’s weirdly moving. I can’t see his face, but I can tell he is sad. I start to cry.

The man slowly wakes up, stretching his long limbs. He sits up. It’s Rory Stewart. He sees that I’m crying and starts to cry too. Tears run down both of our faces as we look at each other across the room. After a while, he stops crying. He gets up and hands me a tissue to dry my eyes with.

“It’s okay, Jack. I acknowledge your pain. You’re safe,” he says. His voice is soothing, and I feel safe. With my eyes, I ask him why he’s here. He understands why I’m curious but is evasive. “I’m not here to talk about myself. I want to learn about you.”

“Why me though?” I ask – again, non-verbally. He laughs. The shadow of a wry smile passes his lips. “I can see you’re not used to this. Maybe we should watch some television.” He sits down on the sofa and puts on Good Morning Britain. I feel as if he wants me to sit next to him, so I sit down too. We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching Piers Morgan and Susanna Reid. It’s on mute, so we just watch their mouths move.

When it cuts to an ad break, he turns to me and runs his fingers through my hair. I don’t know what to say, so I just nod. “Do you know why I’m here, Jack?” he asks. I have the feeling I knew the answer years ago. Seeing my hesitation, he says: “It’s because I want to connect with Londoners like you.” I start to tell him that I don’t live in London, but he puts a finger to my lips. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything. I like to get a sense of the space first.”

He closes his eyes and reaches his palms up to the ceiling. He is gently humming, and for a moment I imagine he’s levitating. “These walls are very kind,” he says mysteriously. “They have suffered, but they haven’t forgotten how to be kind. Am I right?” I simply smile at him.

“Lots of London homes are not this kind. You are one of the lucky ones,” he says. It’s not clear whether he’s talking to me or the flat. “I’ve been sleeping on sofas all across London, Jack. I want to be the first London Mayor who has slept on a sofa in every London borough. And you have helped me bring me a step closer to this dream.”

I feel happy for him, but confused. “How did you get in though?” I ask. He laughs softly. “My body is supple but strong. It allows me to climb up even the highest of drainpipes. Luckily, you left a window open, so I simply crept in after you fell asleep.” I move slightly further away from him on the sofa.

He sees my alarm and sadly looks down at his shoes. Did he sleep in shoes? He starts to mutter to himself. It’s hard to hear what he’s saying. “Said the wrong thing again… just like school… don’t listen to them…” I sense I should leave. Returning to the bedroom, I look over my shoulder as I leave. He sits on the floor with his hands over his head, rocking gently back and forth. I close the door, worried.

Some time passes. When I return to the kitchen, Rory is nowhere to be seen. The window is open, and I go to it just in time to see a blur of black suit dart around the corner. A note lies on the table. I pick it up to read. “Sorry not to be able to spend more time with you, Jack. Thank you for your hospitality. Would love it if you joined my campaign at https://www.roryforlondon.co.uk!”

I wake up, screaming.

SATIRE: Bullying: An Underrated Art form in Crisis

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Seeing as we live in an age of fake news and misinformation, I thought I’d start this week with a bit of good old-fashioned truth. Last week I was contacted by a few eagle-eyed readers to ask why I only ever seem to have negative things to say about Conservative politicians. ‘Why can you say something nice for a change?’ one reader asked.

Firstly, I want to apologise for not having the time to reply to each letter personally. Since its humble beginnings in Week 1, the column has, as the term has progressed, attracted hundreds of thousands of readers, many of whom write to me regularly, yet sadly there are simply not enough God-given hours in the day for me to respond to all of them. The Balliol porters are getting a little fed up with the sacks of mail they have to wade through each week, but I want you to know that I appreciate every correspondence.

Secondly, to the critics and naysayers who have their pens poised at the ready for their next letter of complaint, hold fire my friends. Because this week, I want to come to the defence of an MP who has been subject to grossly unfair criticism: I speak of course of Priti Patel. After the resignation of senior civil servant Sir Philip Rutnam, Patel has been widely denounced for so-called ‘bullying behaviour’. Yet amidst these headlines, I wonder whether we are in danger of forgetting something crucial: the many and varied benefits of being a bully.

Like smoking indoors or drinking while pregnant, I am increasingly worried that bullying is becoming an endangered pastime – an activity enjoyed by many, but at risk of being lost to the ever-approaching tide of political correctness. There have been countless studies on the harmful effects of being a victim of bullying, but what about the neglected advantages of being the bully? For example, scientists at the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America found that bullies show lower levels of inflammation, a biological process linked to higher risks of chronic diseases such as heart trouble and cancer.

Sure, it might be good for your physical health, but what about your mental health? I hear you. But a bit of light bullying is great for that too – as any bully will tell you, laughing at the misfortune of others is a fantastic way to boost self-esteem. Some may read the reports of Patel’s ‘unprovoked aggression’ against her staff and see a cruel, malicious bully. I see someone who is comfortable in their own skin, something we should all surely aspire towards.

In 2016, a survey by the Oxford University Student Union found that 54% of students felt studying at Oxford had impacted their mental health negatively – the solution to this problem is arguably staring us right in the face. To any students reading this who might be feeling a little low or under-confident, I suggest finding a peripheral figure in your life, ideally someone small and insignificant, and occasionally letting them know how you really feel about them. I promise, you’ll start to see the benefits within days.

Still not convinced? Think quickly of some of the great fictional bullies – Draco Malfoy, Nelson Muntz, Regina George. All more memorable and interesting than the so-called ‘nicer’ characters they were forced to share storylines with. In the latter books of J.K. Rowling’s fantasy series, Harry Potter was practically crying out for a light smattering of bullying. A combination of a powerful ‘hero complex’ mixed with unbridled narcissism made him an unbearable egotist. If Rowling ever decides to revive the franchise, I for one would be interested in reading Harry Potter and the Latent Realisation, in which Harry finally acknowledges how Draco kept his feet rooted to the ground, and prevented him from floating off into Blanche DuBois-levels of self-delusion.

If we are to change our thinking on this issue in a helpful way, perhaps we should start by viewing bullying as an art form rather than a ‘problem’. Because not everyone is capable of displaying virtuoso-level bullying – as with any skill, it requires careful practice. Watching an expert at work is like watching a prima donna deliver a Verdi aria – you simply have to applaud a master at the height of their powers.

Think about it: who amongst your group of friends has it within them to be an effective bully? Is it plain Jane who keeps herself to herself? Of course not. It has always been the most interesting people who have that innate potential within them – the person who lights up a room with their cutting remarks, the focal point of any party. Patel is one of these people: a misunderstood diamond in the rough, whose talents are lost on the majority of the mainstream media.

So, if this Patel-Rutnam debacle is to have a silver lining, I hope it can be this. That we can learn to appreciate bullying for what it is – a performance of the self which is good for both body and soul. In fact, if you do anything this week, ring your own childhood bully and maybe thank them for making you the person you are today. Lord knows, it’s about time they got some recognition.

SATIRE: Balls, Balls, Balls!

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A poisonous, horrible atmosphere. A culture of bullying and backstabbing. No sense of direction and no idea who you can trust. No, I’m not talking about my experiences at Catholic School – these are just some of the ways in which insiders have described the current political weather at Whitehall.

The Dominic Cummings era is well and truly upon us, and given his strict no-leakage policy, it’s a wonder that even these murmurs of discontent have managed to make it past his Iron Curtain. Cummings has always been a fan of the ‘trigger-happy’ approach to employment rights, but recently has been sacking special advisers like it’s going out of fashion.

At a recent meeting, it was reported that Cummings ‘humiliated’ young aides to Ministers Theresa Villiers and Andrea Leadsom by asking them deliberately detailed and difficult questions he knew they would struggle to answer – a style of ‘humiliation’ anyone who has ever been in an Oxford tutorial will surely be familiar with. The difference being that if you struggle with a difficult question as an undergraduate, most tutors won’t insist you leave the building and never return. That only happens in Christchurch apparently.

Six days later, the advisers were sacked in the reshuffle, along with Villiers and Leadsom for good measure. Perhaps surprisingly for someone who looks like they are used to people not remembering their name, Cummings really has embraced his inner diva since the election. Maybe all these sackings can simply be attributed to his desire to have less people around who might steal his spotlight. Lord knows I’ve often wanted to ‘sack’ friends from social situations where I feel they are preventing me from occupying my natural position – that position being right in the CENTRE of attention.

Anyway, with all this doom and gloom swirling around Whitehall, you can see why the Tories would be excited for their annual ‘Black and White Ball’. This annual fundraiser is when the glittering lights of the Conservative Party essentially cosplay the Oscars for an evening – lack of diversity included. Dinners and sporting trips with various Cabinet Ministers are available for eye-watering prices, which is completely normal and fine in a modern democracy because how else would anyone enjoy cheese-tasting with Liz Truss?

Amongst last year’s treats was ‘A Night at the Ballet with the Chairman of the Conservative Party’ – a risk at any sit-down dinner. A mental picture of Brandon Lewis in tights would surely be enough to make even the strongest of stomachs bring up their Vichy carrots and braised ribs. By the time you’ve realised that Lewis would be in the audience rather than prancing around onstage it’s too late. Your £15,000 dinner is already looking back at you.

This year though, there was clearly an upgrade in terms of what was on offer. One of the various treasures available was a signed photo of Margaret Thatcher, sold for a very reasonable £4,000. Given the way Tory MPs continue to salivate over Mrs Thatcher long after her passing, Stuart’s reaction to having a child with his lesbian friend in TV’s Queer as Folk – which turned 20 years old this week –seems pertinent all of a sudden: “Most expensive wank I’ve ever had.”

Bizarrely, the evening was hosted by Wynne Evans, better known by his stage name: ‘that opera guy from the Go Compare ads.’ Stormzy must have been otherwise engaged. I know the entertainment industry is hardly brimming with Tory supporters, but Evans might as well have walked out onstage with the words ‘scrape’ and ‘barrel’ tattooed onto his face.

The War Against Coronavirus: Life After the Pandemic

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As governments everywhere declare themselves up for the ‘fight’ against COVID-19, the wartime analogies have become inescapable. Long before the pandemic reaches its expected peak in Britain, the events sweeping us now are already being compared to those which swept us eighty years ago during the Second World War. Just as we speak of ‘pre-’ and ‘post-war’ Britain, suggested historian Lord Hennessy, the current era will eventually be seen in terms of BC and AC – before- and after-corona.

Despite obvious problems with the analogy (coronavirus is not fascism) it reminds us of one of history’s more reliable lessons: crises on this scale invariably change the way politics is done. The war effort against fascism fostered a new political consensus. Not least, it showed that an expanded state could be a force for good in citizens’ lives; politics was different for decades thereafter, with both Labour and the Tories more or less committed to a National Health Service, comprehensive welfare state, and government intervention in the economy as a means to ensuring full employment. What sort of political shifts might follow the current crisis, then? Or to put it more optimistically, can we hope for an end to the political and social disunity of pre-corona Britain, and perhaps even for something like a ‘post-corona consensus’?

We might well worry that the political prognosis is bleak. Rather than fostering consensus, in many ways, the pandemic seems ready-made to further divide a country that remains deeply split by Brexit, and in which hostility exists not only towards ethnic minorities and immigrants, but also the BBC, Parliament, and the EU, along with ‘experts’ and anything else conceivably thought of as part of the ‘establishment’. The pandemic could simply fuel these sentiments, the paradox being that whereas adversity usually brings us together – in munitions factories and trenches, in the queue for rations – a successful response to the virus demands the very opposite – isolation and caution of others. Trump’s calculated use of the term ‘Chinese Virus’ is evidence enough of how all this can be used to strengthen populism and entrench division.

Boris Johnson, our very own populist, is yet to blame the spread of the virus in Britain on any minority group. And, in fairness to Johnson, as PM he has seemed unlikely to revert to the kind of divisive language he used so cynically during his campaigns for Brexit, the Tory leadership, and the general election. In light of the recent series of racially motivated coronavirus-related attacks, it might seem that this new-found restraint is not being replicated.

But there are some reasons to be optimistic that the war against the pandemic has the potential to heal some of Britain’s post-Brexit, pre-corona wounds. For one thing, this remains a shared experience despite the fact of physical isolation. As Lord Hennessy pointed out, COVID-19 is no respecter of social status, economic class, or ethnicity; privilege provides no insulation from a virus. As the Queen reminded us, the Royal Family will have to change its ‘normal routines and regular patterns of life for the greater good’ just like everybody else – even if it does get to do so from the confines of Windsor Palace. There is something to be said, then, for the argument that adversity will naturally bring the country together.

This is also the time for our much-maligned institutions to step up and win back some of the trust they have lost in recent years. For example, the crucial role the BBC intends to play in the crisis by disseminating news, providing resources for home-schooling, and helping coordinate care for the elderly and vulnerable, should be a reminder to those on both the left and right that it is above party politics and ideology.

More importantly still, the Government’s economic response to the pandemic is the opportunity to hold Johnson to his pledge that the era of austerity is over. Though the prime minister knows that those who lent their votes will not stand for another decade of spending cuts, the danger has always been that his conversion is more a matter of political expedience than a genuine rejection of Thatcherite small-statism. For the time being he has no choice but to keep his promise, as shown by the remarkable sight of a Tory government committing hundreds of billions to business loans, good old fashioned Keynesian fiscal stimulus, and wages for workers hit by the economic fallout of the pandemic.

Of course, these headline-grabbing measures are welcome. But to ensure that Johnson really does ‘send austerity packing’ along with COVID-19, the smaller numbers are just as crucial. The sort of figure that should stick in our minds is the £2.9 billion magicked up for social care. That money will provide community care that spending cuts have hitherto denied to elderly and vulnerable patients who need it – patients who have thus had to remain in vital NHS hospital beds quite needlessly. After years of austerity, even this modest funding feels like the exception. It should be the norm.

If the wartime analogy has a use, it is to remind us of the inescapable post-war logic of 1945. If everybody was in it together during war, it was asked, then why should things be any different in peacetime? The same logic must be reasserted over the coming months. If the Government can make sure we are all in it together now – if it can fund social care, if it can take the side of employees as well as employers – then it can do so in post-pandemic Britain too.

Restrict, Regulate or Educate? Young People and Online Porn

Mia Sorenti explores the complexities regarding young people and exposure to online pornography.

It is likely the majority of us have come into contact with online pornography at some point in our youth; unintentional pop-ups, jokes by friends, a curiosity that resulted in a hesitant “boobs” Google search. The premise of young people being exposed to this sort of content causes much discomfort and contention in society; the idea that innocent minds may be corrupted and warped by such unrealistic and unsavoury material prompts nationwide mobilisation against this ‘social evil’. Through looking at historic campaigns against pornography within second-wave feminism and the failed attempts of our government to regulate and restrict exposure to explicit material online, we can see how underlying attitudes towards pornography may fail to tackle the root problems that prompt unhealthy sexual attitudes and behaviour, and why restriction may not be the answer.

Pornography in the past – The ‘Porn Wars’ of the 80s

In her lecture series ‘feminism and philosophy’ in Michaelmas 2019, Professor Amia Srinivasan drew attention to the ways consumption of pornography and its consequences have been viewed in the past. In the 1980s, the feminist movement became deeply polarized over issues of sexuality in the United States. Some, such as radical feminist scholars Catherine MacKinnon saw sexuality in itself as a construct of male power: defined by men, forced on women, and constitutive in the meaning of gender. Pornography, then, was the ‘eroticisation of inequality’ which prompted harmful and violent attitudes towards women; as expressed in the notorious quote by Robin Morgan “pornography is the theory, rape is the practice”. Groups such as Women Against Pornography (or WAP) organised protests against ‘blue’ films and led anti-pornography tours of sex shops and pornographic theatres. Most significantly, MacKinnon and fellow radical feminist Andrea Dworkin strived to combat pornography through civil rights legislation. The Dworkin-MacKinnon Anti-Porn Ordinances of 1983 attempted to define pornography as a civil rights violation against women and would have allowed women who saw themselves as being harmed by pornography to sue the producers and distributors in civil court for damages. Whilst many courts accepted that depictions of subordination tended to perpetuate subordination, the ordinances were blocked by city officials and struck down by courts as pornography came to be seen as ‘speech’ and therefore protected as a constitutional right. 

What is most notable about these debates is the idea that pornography, and the consumption of it, is inherently corrupting and holds legitimate power to perpetrate anti-feminist rhetoric in society. It is possible to draw similarities with attitudes towards pornography today, at least at a governmental level. 

Contemporary combat with porn

So how do these attitudes manifest themselves in legislation? Regulations and restrictions on the production and consumption of pornography in the UK have increased dramatically in the last decade. The Audiovisual Media Services Regulations 2014 displayed how certain sexual acts are perceived as ‘undesirable’ and ‘harmful’, regardless of consent; a ban was placed on the production of pornography that contained acts such as female ejaculation, spanking and facesitting, with the latter deemed ‘potentially life-threatening’. Jokes and censorship of female pleasure aside, this apparent set of subjective moral judgments of what is or isn’t acceptable was one of a culminating series of attempts to regulate and restrict pornography in the UK. The climax of these attempts came into fruition in April 2017. 

In 2016 the NSPCC commissioned a study of children and young people’s interactions with pornography; this study found that 53% of 11-16 year olds had ‘stumbled across’ explicit material online. Regardless of the questionable research methods involved (the majority of information was derived from online discussion forums and online surveys), moral panic and outrage ensued to cries of ‘save the children’. In part a result of this hysteria, the Conservative government produced the 2017 Digital Economy Act, an element of which was the notorious ‘porn block’. The ambition was to prevent young people under the age of 18 accessing pornography online by enforcing the use of age verification software on all websites promoting explicit material. A user would be required to upload a photo of their driver’s license, passport or credit card to the government approved software AgeID (the manufacturers of this software, MindGeek, coincidentally happen to own a number of the ‘big-hitter’ pornography sites, including PornHub, RedTube and YouPorn… draw your own conclusions from that one). Alternatively, you could visit a newsagent to buy a ‘porn pass’! Initially intended to be implemented April 2018, the block became increasingly postponed until finally it was brushed under the rug late 2019.

Concerns with privacy and surveillance aside, there were some serious flaws with the block. In contrast to the 80s, the prevalence of the internet today means that the availability of pornography is unparalleled. Not only would VPNs render to block useless, the internet in itself is never easily tamed by the demands of a government: just look at the proliferation of piracy sites. More significant though, is the disparity between this attempted age regulation and the realities of sexual development in young people. The Brook Sexual Behaviours Traffic Light Tool, a guide to sexual behaviours in children and young people, is linked on the NSPCC website. The tool allows one to distinguish healthy from harmful sexual behaviour. Between the ages of 13-17, an ‘interest in erotica/pornography’ is deemed a ‘green light’ behaviour, essentially considered a healthy part of natural curiosity and sexual development of young people in this bracket. With these factors in tandem it would seem inevitable, or at least a very likely possibility, that young people will encounter or actively search out pornography before they turn 18.

Yet it is not only the government’s inefficient handling of the matter that is cause for concern; the porn block is a symptom of a skewed fundamental understanding of the ‘problem’ of porn. The intention behind the attempted age restriction was to prevent young people accessing online pornography in order to prevent them forming unhealthy ideas surrounding sex and relationships, and thus preventing them from perpertrating harmful acts and attitudes. Yet figures such as Dr Cicely Marston, whose research on porn and anal sex was cited by the government in the lead up to the attempted ‘porn block’, disagree with the governemnt’s conclusions. 

Amid concerns that exposure to pornography was prompting young people to coerce partners (namely in heterosexual couples) into anal sex, debatable assumptions were being drawn from Marston’s work. Firstly, it was assumed that viewing pornography online directly resulted in a rise in heterosexual couples trying anal sex, to which Marston emphasises that there was no clear link between the two. Problems with research finding correlations between pornography and sexual behaviour include the neglecting of other factors that are likely to influence sexual behaviour, such as personal dispositions, and difficulty of measuring potentially problematic and moralistic effects. There is merely a correlation, but nothing overtly conclusive. Secondly, there is the assumption that sexual behaviours such as anal sex are inherently harmful, to be discouraged and ‘unwanted’. This idea distinctly blurs the essential distinction between coercive and consensual sexual practices, and becomes more a subjective judgment on what sexual practices are ‘acceptable’ (as seen in the 2014 Regulations). The harms Marston identified in her studies did not stem from the anal sex itself, but from the elements of coercion that were part of many young people’s experience and expectations. Her findings indicated that young, straight men derived “kudos” from having anal sex with women, and that some placed low value on their partner’s wishes. She expresses how the fundamental problems behind coercion – of women’s desires being ignored, the men pushing/women resisting model of heterosex, and sex acts as goals for men – all long pre-date the era of easy access to online porn, as does sexual coercion itself, and can be found in many forms of media not considered pornographic.

The rhetoric behind the government’s attempts to regulate and restrict online pornography runs along the same strand as those campaigning against pornography in the 80s. Pornography is seen to have a significant ability to negatively shape young people’s ideas of sex and relationships, but as Professor Srinivasan articulated in her lecture, porn in itself does not have authority to perpetuate harmful ideals of sexuality. Pornographers, within this, certainly have ‘informal power’, in dictating the nature of the sex that is presented. 

I will take the opportunity to state that whilst there certainly are legitimate problems within the porn industry. The ethics of the production of the content and the types of content pushed by companies such as MindGeek, who have power in shaping society’s tastes, stands as evidently problematic. But, that is a whole other conversation in itself. More pressingly, in order for porn to have an impact in our society, it requires our participation. As asserted by Nancy Bauer in her book ‘How to Do Things with Pornography’: “the idea that women are essentially sexual objects for men, along with the idea that the happiest and most womanly women embrace this status, is ubiquitously accepted in our culture”. Marston, similarly, points to the idea that it is not exposure to portrayals of sexual acts themselves which cause problems such as sexual coercion; the fundamental causes go far deeper than copying what is on screen, and are tied to broader issues and attitudes within our society. Consequently, it is insufficient to suggest that reducing access to pornography will reduce the problems at hand, when the socio-cultural attitudes that support these problems remain unchallenged. 

The solution? Sufficient sex education

Ironically, the consensus of the young people involved in the contentious NSPCC study was that relevant and engaging sex education is necessary. So how about actually listening to the young people themselves instead of threatening the privacy of the majority of the adult population?

Better education and more frank and open discussion would help young people take a more critical view of pornographic imagery and challenge some of the harmful gender dynamics that promote problematic sexual activities. Essentially, within this, online pornography itself needs to be addressed and discussed. As explored, young people in the age of the internet are highly likely to come into contact with explicit material online, whether intentionally or not. Whilst not condemning pornography or associating it with shame, it is important that porn is identified as something created, directed and acted, and not as a depiction of reality. Not all pornography depicts harmful representations of sexuality, but it is important to make clear to young people that many forms of prevalent explicit material may not depict consent, may only include specific body types and appearances etc. 

Yet most essential is education on things that may otherwise be neglected from depictions of sexuality in online pornography: consent; the importance of communication; trust and openness in healthy relationships and how to identify unhealthy ones; body variation and  positivity; informed information about contraception; lgbtq+ visibility and information regarding sex; that you don’t have to have sex until you’re ready, or even ever at all. In doing so, we effectively remove the authority pornography has in dictating the attitudes and approaches of young people towards sex, and ensure the responsibility for doing so lies in a regulated and approved curriculum. With relationships and sex education becoming statutory in all secondary schools across England from September 2020, there are certainly steps being taken in the right direction, but we have a long way to go to ensuring the sexual and emotional wellbeing of young people and our society as a whole.

If you feel that your sex education was pretty inadequate, or feel like your attitudes to sex and relationships may have been negatively impacted by porn, or just have questions that want legitimate answers that aren’t dodgy search results on google, try sites such as Bish UK or Brook. These websites have really good information and resources for young people about all kinds of topics such as contraception, relationships, gender, sexuality and wellbeing. 

‘Food For Thought’: The Buffa

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What do buffet staff think about as they watch you stuff down your fourth plate of chicken chow-mein? Maybe they’re questioning why anyone drinks cows’ milk when it’s clearly not for humans. Or maybe they’re fantasising about locking the doors and stuffing a grenade into your sundae.

Set against the endless monotony of a high street all-you-can-eat buffet, The Buffa sets out to answer that very question. Harry Berry’s character enters first; an ominous, silent presence who looms to the side of the stage as the audience watches a slideshow of images in the dark. This introduces a series of disconcerting, surreal episodes that occur throughout the two acts of the play, as intermittent bursts of strobe lighting and eerie dancing accentuate the friction between two characters who take a bizarre pleasure in driving the other up the wall.

The sinister undertone of the play is established before the main characters even enter, with discarded plates of uneaten chips and nuggets left to fester before the audience’s eyes. These – coupled with two tables, a washing-up bowl, and a TV – are the only props. You stare at the characters, they stare back. The barrier between the audience and the characters collapses across the two acts of the play, leaving us with an uncomfortable insight into their psyches. The starkness of the performance space seems to leave the characters vulnerable but, by the end, it is the viewer who feels exposed.

While it’s tempting to focus on the disconcerting and surreal aspects of The Buffa, a line of comedy runs through the play which helps to maintain an air of relatability about characters who, however absurd they may seem, are never irretrievably unrealistic. Philomena Will’s waitress was superbly acted and especially well-written, reducing sections of the audience to laughter throughout the piece. Humorous moments give the characters a sense of depth that makes them more than just tools of reflection.

Perhaps it’s accurate to say that The Buffa raises more questions than it answers. Clarity and plot are not at the forefront; instead, the piece is an investigation of minds at work in a mind-numbing environment, and all the contradiction and repetition that entails. Regardless of its disposition for the surreal and the shocking (watch the trailer to get a taste of that), The Buffa’s investigations of human relations are, quite genuinely, food for thought.

University bans society that no-platformed Amber Rudd

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In response to the society’s decision to no-platform Amber Rudd, the University of Oxford has deregistered UN Women Oxford UK from its affiliated societies. The society faced backlash after cancelling the International Women’s Day event hosting Rudd just 30 minutes before it was due to begin. They cancelled the event in response to student complaints about Rudd’s history in government and links to the Windrush scandal.

The decision to cancel sparked backlash from proponents of free speech, like the Free Speech Union – which sent an official complaint to the university. Governing proctors have now made the decision to de-register the society. 

According to the Daily Mail, outgoing Proctors Martin Maiden and Sophie Marnette ruled: “We have determined that the cancellation of this event was not carried out in accordance with university procedures, codes of practice and policies, in particular that of the freedom of speech.

“Therefore the society will be de-registered with the proctors. In addition, the proctors have directed the society to issue an apology to Amber Rudd.”

The decision to no-platform was criticised by the University of Oxford. In a statement from a spokesperson, the University expressed support for the proctor’s decision: “The University is strongly committed to freedom of speech and opposes no-platforming. We encourage our students to debate and engage with a range of views, and to treat others with the courtesy and dignity that they would expect themselves. The University strongly disapproved of the decision to disinvite Amber Rudd and the Proctors have taken just and proportionate action according to the policies which underpin the University’s stance on freedom of speech.”

Rudd was set to be interviewed about her role as Minister for Women and Equalities and speak about encouraging more women involved in politics. On Twitter, Rudd criticised the society and their decision as “badly judged” and “rude”.

In response to the controversy, the society halted its affiliation with UN Women UK and changed its name to United Women Oxford Student Society. On their Facebook page, the society defended their decision: 

“We would like to begin by directly apologising for our decision to invite Amber Rudd to talk at our society, in particular to the BAME students of Oxford and other communities affected by her policies. We recognise that we should have addressed this issue upon deciding whether to invite her. We stand by our decision to cancel the event and show solidarity with the BAME community. Holding the event would have been incompatible with our intention to be an inclusive and welcoming society and we cancelled it on this premise.

“We believe that the University of Oxford’s statement shows a lack of regard for the welfare of black students and we understand why students would not want to see celebrated a woman whose policies led to the deportation of members of their community.”

Image Credit to WorldSkills UK / Wikimedia Commons. License: CC-BY-2.0.