Tuesday 22nd July 2025
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The long read: the politics of Eurovision 2019

Joanne McNulty
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The long read: the politics of Eurovision 2019

For the third time in its history, the 2019 Eurovision Song Contest was held in Israel on Saturday 18th of May. This was the first time, however, that the contest took place in Tel Aviv rather than Jerusalem, as Israeli officials had wished. Fearing that holding Eurovision in Jerusalem – a disputed territory with Palestine – would be in transgression of the contest’s ethos of apoliticism, the Eurovision Broadcasting Union (EBU) insisted – after much contention – that the contest be held in the undisputed city of Tel Aviv instead.

This was the first in a long list of conflicts between the EBU and the Israeli government and forms part of a wider controversy surrounding Israel’s hosting of the contest at all. In line with the rules of the contest, Israel, as last year’s winner, had the right to host this year’s edition – but activists from the pro-Palestine group Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) have argued that Israel should never have been allowed to host or even enter the competition in the first place.

The BDS movement has existed in official form since 2005 in response to a call from Palestinian NGOs to boycott Israeli products and cultural events until the end of what it describes as its “occupation” of Palestinian territory, likening the treatment of Palestinians in Israel to South African apartheid. The purpose of this article is not to come to a conclusion on the BDS movement and Israel-Palestine conflict as a whole, but rather to explore the arguments for and against boycotting Eurovision 2019 and the reasons for the overall failure of BDS’s boycott attempts. Tensions between the two countries, already high, have flared even further over the past few months, with Tel Aviv being the target of rocket strikes from Hamas, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu insinuating that Arabs in Israel were second-class citizens, and children from both countries being killed in crossfire.

None of this was mentioned during the live broadcasts of the Eurovision Song Contest, which markets itself a pan-European cultural celebration – strictly apolitical, of course. The contest is a golden opportunity for host countries to boost their tourism industries, but also to promote and construct their national culture in the public imagination and to suppress criticism of their policies. Had Israel been allowed to host the contest in Jerusalem as officials originally wished, it would have formed part of a wider campaign in Israel to have Jerusalem recognized as the country’s official capital (and therefore to undermine the Palestinian claim to the city).

Slots in both the semi-finals and the final were put aside to include interval acts ostensibly representative of Israeli culture (Madonna’s shaky performance notwithstanding). For example, the inclusion of the Shalva Band, whose members are all disabled, as an interval act in the second semi-final suggests that Israel celebrates and is inclusive towards its disabled citizens. In reality, the country’s disability pension is less than half the minimum wage and the government has faced protests from a group calling themselves the Disabled Panthers – but viewers at home are highly unlikely to have been aware of this.

The contest’s frequent past associations with camp and the LGBT community additionally provided ample opportunity for countries to partake in a process known as ‘pinkwashing’, in which LGBT rights are foregrounded in order to mask the lack of human rights for other groups. This is not exclusive to Eurovision – part of Israel’s national branding has for a long time been its status as a kind of outpost of LGBT rights and tolerance surrounded by an otherwise hostile Middle East. The Eurovision Song Contest being hosted in Israel allows LGBT fans to actively participate in this process of ‘pinkwashing’ – as long as the contest remains a source of camp, LGBT-friendly entertainment, the uncomfortable realities behind the scenes can be safely ignored.

Even countries that are actively hostile to the LGBT community have been able to exploit its support for Eurovision. Hours before millions of viewers watched the final of the 2009 contest in Moscow, Russian police violently broke up the Moscow Pride parade. The hypocrisy of European audiences engaging in a fun cultural celebration while the war continues in the Gaza strip a few miles along the coast is one of the main arguments deployed by BDS in favour of a boycott of the contest. During the contest itself, gay host Assi Azar made multiple references to the acceptance of Israeli society of his sexuality, and transgender 1998 winner Dana International sang a cover of ‘Just the Way You Are’ accompanied with a kiss cam that included gay couples kissing.

BDS has fallen at every hurdle. Israel successfully hosted the contest, and though full viewing figures are yet to be released, in the UK viewing figures averaged 7 million, a small increase on the 6.9 million who tuned in in 2018. No nation decided to boycott the contest. Of the 43 countries who participated in Eurovision last year, 41 returned. The two withdrawing, Bulgaria and Ukraine, did so for unrelated reasons.

A petition to boycott the 2019 contest gained traction in Iceland, but the country’s broadcaster, RUV, ultimately announced its participation any way, and found enough acts willing to participate to hold a national final. Every country managed to find singers willing to perform in Tel Aviv, despite pressure from BDS. Pink Floyd founder and BDS activist Roger Waters went as far as addressing a personal letter to Conan Osiris, Portugal’s participant, urging him to withdraw. Osiris acknowledged receipt of the letter, but never directly responded.

What doomed BDS’s campaign against Eurovision from the start is the fact that according to the rules and ethos of the competition, Eurovision is officially strictly apolitical. It has its roots in the aftermath of the Second World War and was originally conceived as a means of bringing a divided continent together through the medium of light entertainment. To this end, the politicisation of the contest was strictly prohibited – the only thing that mattered was the enjoyment of music.

Whether a nation-based song contest can ever be apolitical is another matter – but the de jure apoliticism of the contest hamstrings any attempt at anything other than neutrality. The EBU would never revoke a country’s right to host because of its government’s actions. Every broadcaster must pay a fee to participate in the contest, under the assumption that should they win they gain the right to host the contest the following year. Were the EBU to revoke K AN’s (the Israeli broadcaster) right to host the 2019 contest, K AN would have grounds for a costly legal case against them. The BBC, meanwhile, could never have boycotted Eurovision 2019 because it is a state broadcaster and is therefore obliged to remain impartial. The same principle applies to most of the other participating broadcasters across Europe.

The contest is of course political. The very concept of a contest in which representatives of states compete against each other is already inherently political as it implies the recognition and existence of all states which participate – leading to problems for partially unrecognised states like Kosovo. Eurovision Asia, an event originally planned for 2018 by the EBU, was ultimately shelved because too many Asian states were diplomatically incompatible with one another to form a large enough cohort of participants.

Were Israel to be prevented from hosting the contest, it would not only be seen as the EBU ‘siding’ with Palestine, but also as the EBU denigrating Israel and its citizens. In a contest like Eurovision, which for one night a year delineates ‘European culture’, the importance of Jewish representation is obvious.

The continued participation of Israel in the contest ensures that that representation – and the inclusion of Jewish people in a cultural construction of ‘Europe’ – is guaranteed every year. Until 2015, all Israeli entries had to include Hebrew lyrics, and even after that songs like perpetual 2015 favourite ‘Golden Boy’ have mixed Mizrahi instrumentation and melodies with Western pop.

There have of course been several non-Israeli Jewish Eurovision contestants, but there are few of them, and their Jewishness is often entirely unnoticeable – often intentionally. Ukraine’s 2006 contestant Tina Karol – real name Tetyana Liberman – adopted her stage name specifically because she believed that her Jewish surname ‘held [her] back ’, while Can Bonomo, Turkey’s Sephardi 2012 contestant, faced anti-semitic abuse from the country’s right-wing press. Ideally, even a Eurovision without Israel would still contain a healthy amount of Jewish representation – but the fractured nature of the contest’s organisation and the discrimination that many Jewish artists face in their home countries make this unlikely.

The counterpoint to this is the question of who actually gets to be represented, as Jewish people are not the only citizens of Israel – around 25% of its population are from other religions, who are rarely represented in Israeli Eurovision entries. While numerous commentators have questioned whether the inclusion of Israel and Australia is indicative of the contest constructing European culture as explicitly white, the reality is slightly more complicated. Israel’s eligibility to participate in the Eurovision Song Contest does not stem from a selective ‘Europeanness’ conferred to them by the EBU – rather it is one of a number of Middle Eastern and North African states who lie within the European Broadcasting Area and are thus eligible to participate. The issue is that most of its eligible neighbour states – and the eligible states in North Africa – do not recognize Israel.

The Palestinian national broadcaster, PBC, faces even more obstacles – as it is not a member of the United Nations, it is ineligible to be a full member of the EBU and is therefore unable to participate in Eurovision. Any Palestinian representation in the Eurovision is therefore, paradoxically, only possible through Israel.

In the history of Israel’s 40 year participation at the Eurovision Song Contest, it has been represented by a Palestinian performer once – in 2009. The song in question was a duet with an Israeli Jewish singer titled ‘There Must Be Another Way’ – a ballad with a not-so-subtly masked plea for peace in the Israel-Palestine conflict.

Though BDS supporters have argued that artists performing in Israel is tantamount to condoning the country’s policies, the Icelandic act – self-described ‘anti-capitalist BDSM techno band’ Hatari – decided to use its participation in the contest as a way of raising awareness about the Palestinian conflict. They criticized the Israeli government, stated that they were prepared for the EBU to disqualify them, and even challenged Netanyahu to a traditional Icelandic trouser wrestle. The band’s entry – Hatri mun Sigra, or ‘Hatred Will Prevail’ in English – imagines a nihilistic, dystopian future in which far-right populism succeeds. The song ultimately came in 10th place, Iceland’s best result in a decade. When their televoting score was announced, the band members unveiled scarves with the Palestinian flag on for the TV cameras to capture, prompting a roar of outrage from the audience.

Hatari’s outspokenness, however, may come at a price – at the time of writing the EBU was discussing the potential punishment, which could include fining RUV or even banning them from the contest. They also risked getting into legal trouble – after it was discovered that they had been among the signatories of the boycott petition to the Icelandic broadcaster, Israeli civil rights organization Shurat HaDin suggested that they had a case to bar the group from entering Israel. Publicly calling for a boycott of Israel violates the Entry into Israel Law, thus opening the door for the government to deny the band a visa. Though the band managed to enter Israel without issues, the very fact that a group can form a legal case against a participating Eurovision artist for their political views – which are not particularly radical – is worrying in itself.

BDS’s ultimate failure stems from their delay in organising a boycott attempt, waiting until every broadcaster had already confirmed participation before beginning to lobby them. By the time that a group of 50 British artists had signed a letter calling the contest to be moved in January, it was already far too late to do so. The only route left for BDS activists was the general public. But there is nothing that a boycott of viewers could have achieved other than reduced viewing figures. In previous contests that have been subject to boycott attempts – Russia 2009 and Azerbaijan 2012 – very little happened beyond the withdrawal of one or two countries, and the contest returned to business as usual in the following years.

Although a massive reduction in viewing figures would send a message to both the EBU and Israel that Israel’s hosting of the contest was not welcomed, it is unclear what would ever come from this. The EBU could not justifiably expel a country for delivering poor viewing figures, and any reaction to the figures from the Israeli government would be an attempt at rehabilitating Israel’s public image rather than any actual policy change. Israel will most likely participate again next year, and the controversy will be forgotten. If the UK’s viewing figures are anything to go by, this reduction in viewing figures will not happen.

Whilst the 2019 Eurovision Song Contest is now over, Israel’s participation in the contest along with several other countries like Russia and Azerbaijan will continue to be contentious, and we should not assume that the issues of politicization and cultural boycotts will not arise again. Nevertheless, despite the often contradictory nature of Eurovision’s commitment to apoliticism, it is not an ignoble goal. The image of Israel constructed by K AN is not necessarily analogous with the image of Israel that the Israeli government would like to construct, and celebrating Israeli culture is not the same as celebrating Israeli policy. Some viewers may believe that the contest’s unifying power even in the face of divisive politics is exactly what should be celebrated – others may believe that human rights abuses should never be ignored in any context.

The reality is that the case of Eurovision 2019 has demonstrated that without early and consistent coordination, boycott movements are largely ineffectual. The most effective form of protest – regardless of whether or not it was the noblest or actually showed the most solidarity with Palestine – was that espoused by Hatari, who engaged with the contest critically and exposed Eurovision as the inherently political event that it is.

Pots, Spice & Lunchbox: Jeong’s Dosirak

Ashley Lo
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Pots, Spice & Lunchbox: Jeong’s Dosirak

Often finding myself disappointed by the overpriced but unnecessarily dense sushi and cold Chinese platters outside Asia, Korean cuisine is my safe bet – one that doesn’t usually disappoint. Self-evidently, it’s almost impossible to mess up Korean food – get your gochujang right (or just buy it?), soak your meat, stack the kimchi and you are set to go with some quality Korean food. Sounds easy, right? At least, that’s what I’ve concluded from my Kfood haunting in a few cities, from Chicago, South Bend, Toronto, Taipei, London and, finally, to Seoul. There is a downside to this, however: it is equally difficult to make outstanding Korean dishes, be it bibimbap, bulgogi, or jjigae.

Curiously, Oxford, with such a high density of Thai restaurants, really only has two places that do Korean. I guess three if you include Pan-Pan, but I am suspicious of anything fusion – to put things in perspective, it’s like seeing a European restaurant that does Spanish style ravioli or Lyonnaise
tapas. Bamboo, with somewhat of a negative reputation despite being well hidden away in Cowley, has a suspiciously Chinese feel – an unfair impression, perhaps, after the owner’s wife decided to converse with me in fluent Mandarin. So that left me with Jeong’s Dosirak in the Covered Market.

I’ve been there for a few times because I love Korean food. It is tasty and spicy – not your wasabi spicy, your salsa spicy, or even your Sichuan spicy. It is our Korean spicy: kind of sweet, kind of hot, glides on the tongue, burns in the throat and sits in your stomach like a dying, gasping volcano.

For the first time, I got a Bibimbap, the Korean equivalent of pasta in Italian cuisine. It was standard: a well-mixed rice bowl with assorted vegetables and marinated beef. But since it didn’t come in a burning stone pot and hence was without the rice crust, I would say I still prefer the Bamboo version which, by the way, also comes with a fried egg on top. Always a win.

Then on a cold depressing day in January, I got the Kimchi Jigae (tofu and pork stew). A no brainer, right? The steaming soup and all that spiced up kimchi and tofu really warmed me up. Be careful not to dilute the stew with your tears because you will not stop guzzling even as you cry. The stone pot
also looks adorable.

On my third visit, I discovered my favourite: the Dakgalbi (spicy stir-fried chicken) Dosirak. Think marinated diced chicken smothered in a gochujang-based sauce with cabbage, sweet potatoes, and scallions in the hue of a flame, tenderly bathing in rice. Smells like heaven and tastes like devil. It is
attended by a multitude of sides which often include kimchi, japchae (glass noodles), eggroll, kimbap (sushi roll), each sitting in their tiny cells if you’re into the perfect aesthetic. There is a reason why this place is called Jeong’s Dosirak and not Jeong’s sweet chilli fried chicken, which I found way too soggy.

Although slightly pricier than the other eateries in the market, Jeong’s Dosirak comes with the best, though remarkably unkorean, wallpaper and (wooden!) tables; for less than 7 pounds, you can get a decent lunchbox or rice bowl. It is nutritious too: fibre, protein, carbs, no macro gets left behind. Did I mention you also get the good old kimchi, which, by the way, can prevent ageing and assist in weight loss? A downside, however, is that even when sitting inside, food is served in plastic containers. The portion, like the cute family business itself, was more petite than I am used to but
hey, less is more right? And as a Covered Market establishment, of course, it is only open until 5pm six days a week. Oh dear, do I wish I could enjoy its wholesomeness on a Sunday night in good old England.

Jeong’s ordinariness is what makes it so special, and I always find myself going back just for another hot spoonful of chicken or tofu. It’s the kind of restaurant we need: a little spicy, a little cosy.

Ted Bundy Reinvented

Rose Shohet
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Ted Bundy Reinvented

Joe Bertlinger’s Ted Bundy biopic, released to Sky Cinema on Friday, seemed to be just one more of the latest string of films blatantly cashing in on some of the most horrific series of murders in recent memory. Starring Zac Efron, Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile had stirred up controversy upon its announcement for its very concept — fictionalising the attacks of an already notorious serial killer, with little compassion or attention given to the victims of the horrific tragedies. Whether these accusations hold up now that the film has been released, is up for debate. How accurate is Efron’s depiction of Bundy as a man of overpowering charisma? Is it ethical to convert true crime into fantasy at all, regardless of the way in which it is executed?

Bertlinger has had a 25-year career as a true crime documentarian. His 1996 documentary Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills had a huge impact on the case he was examining, as the film exposed the wrongful conviction of the three teenagers interviewed, eventually helping them with their release from prison. The core message of his films, he says, is that we shouldn’t condemn people based on appearances; it is generally the people you would least expect who might be responsible for murder. Indeed, this formula may work for those who have been wrongfully convicted, but it is exactly this belief — that Bundy was not the kind of person you would expect to be a serial killer — that creates the central flaw in the way in which Bertlinger chose to portray the murderer. This problem was already prominent in the Netflix documentary about Bundy, Conversations With A Killer, also directed and produced by Bertlinger. Conversations falls into the trap of presenting Bundy ashaving the charming magnetism that he played into while in court, as opposed to the cowardly creep who was much less intelligent than he wanted the world to think he was. According to those who knew him, Bundy was a shy, reserved man who was relatively articulate, but hardly a genius. Diane Edwards, his first girlfriend, referred to him as being “pitifully weak” in an interview. His avoiding detection for so long was not due to his own mental acuity, but because of a lack of communication between police across the different states he committed the crimes in. Bundy is not the last person you’d expect to be a serial killer: in fact, his behaviour fits the profile of serial killer pretty accurately. This construction of a fantastical persona is not only an inaccurate rewriting of history, but also harmful to his victims. It encourages the myth of that Bundy had some sort of overwhelming magnetism, a lie which Bundy himself so clearly wanted to cultivate due to the notoriety it brought him. Similarly, despite Bertlinger’s best attempts to hone in on a murderer’s perspective via the material collected by journalists Stephen Michaud and Hugh Aynesworth, the interviews with Bundy himself revealed very little about what it was that caused him to commit what is believed to have been upwards of 30 brutal murders. Many of his explanations come across as aimless rambles. In the same way, Extremely Wicked’s recounting of the narrative from the perspective of his ex-girlfriend, Liz Kloepfer, fails to grasp the inconvenient mediocrity of Bundy’s true personality. Bertlinger’s argument that anyone can be a serial killer regardless of his outward appearance is effective in some instances. The opening montage effectively highlights the dichotomy between Bundy’s quotidian life with his girlfriend, while a voiceover with a newscast recounts the callous murders of countless women, creating a jarring juxtaposition. Nonetheless, Efron’s ability to convey the charm and charisma he displayed in court leads to his victims becoming mere footnotes. It becomes increasingly infuriating to watch. It is unclear throughout whether he actually committed these crimes. As Sam Adams mentioned in his Slate review of the biopic, “if you wanted to make a movie about a jovial law student named Ted Bundy who was unfairly accused of the most heinous crimes imaginable, you could reuse 90% of the footage without changing a thing.” When the evidence piled against him is so irrefutable, the lack of attention the film gives to these actual crimes makes for an incredibly uneasy viewing experience. Thus, while the biopic remains as factually accurate as it could possibly be, the angle it takes is one which makes it difficult to defend. There are so many aspects of the Ted Bundy case which would make for a fascinating biopic. What made Carole Anne-Boone stand by him during trial, despite all the evidence that was so piled up against him? How much did Bundy benefit from white privilege during his time in court, where the audience would laugh along with his jokes despite the gravity of the case against him? What were the wider implications of Bundy’s conviction, as people started to become aware that serial killers were not a removed danger, but could be living anywhere within society? The fantasy that Bundy possessed some sort of irresistible charm and magnetism, however, is not one of them.

‘We can still be friends’: Thoughts about my Exes

Cherwell Life
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‘We can still be friends’: Thoughts about my Exes

I first realised I was a teeny bit in love when I heard “The Winner Takes It All” playing on the radio, and I got terribly upset at the thought of being dumped by my girlfriend. Very twee of me. And rather inconvenient, since I’d caught feelings in the middle of A-Levels: I even skived off revising the Third Crusade in order to lose my virginity. But in my defence, I’d never felt that way before. Oh, there’d been other people. From fumbled schoolboy kisses in the bike shelters after crappy discos to teenage dates in art galleries (pretending to be rather more cultured than I am) I’d had my fair share. But this was my first proper girlfriend. More than that, despite the cliché, this was the first person I’d really fallen for. I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was in the place where Saladin and Richard the Lionheart should have been.  Dearest reader, I was a happy young fool; a happy young fool in what Hollywood calls lurve.

So with that experience, I have sufficient authority to say that that whoever it was that first said it was better loving and losing someone than never loving them at all was talking right out of their arse.

Obviously, she dumped me. Her reasoning was perfectly justifiable, and she was very sensible about it. I nodded along, agreed when she said we’d still be friends, and left amicably. Once I got home, I  preceded to crank up the ABBA and start crying. My Dad tried to perk me up a bit – “son, in life, you go out with lots of people, they break up with you, until there’s one person that doesn’t” – but it didn’t work. I was far more interested in being morose than moving on. I’m a humanities student, so being a tortured romantic (and Romantic) has a natural appeal. However, I was much less Percy Shelley, and much more a bit of a moron. I haven’t talked to her since. 

It’s been different with Girlfriend 2. Mainly that’s because we can’t afford to avoid each other. Short version is: friends, went out, split up. But since we’re at the same college, with the same friends, asides from ostracising ourselves from society, we’ve had to find a way to get along. She’s been much better at in than me. I was far too mopey and shy, whereas she toughed it out and is now doing better than ever. I wasted a term being an idiot, made the blood a lot more bad than I should have done, and was – once again – a bit of a moron. 

Which is sad, because she was lovely. Genuinely lovely. We got along like a house on fire. She cared for me, and made me smile like no one I’ve ever known. I royally cocked it up, and got depressed about it. I knew I’d let her down and shot myself in the foot. So I’ve resolved to do better this term. Not to get back together with her – both agreed that shouldn’t and won’t ever happen – but just to get along. 

Admittedly, mixed results so far. We’ve had a chat, and I can look her in the eye again. I even made her laugh recently, which felt brilliant. Baby steps, but I think we’ll be alright. 

Because it seems obvious to me that if you like someone enough to date, then you like them enough to spend time together, ask them about their day and make sure they’re doing alright. It can be tough (especially if you’re a sad sod like me). But much like Avengers: Endgame, it makes sense in hindsight. You can wonder what might have been, why it all went wrong, and curse the fact that Ross and Rachel made it look way too easy. But if you can be happy for them, if you can smile when they mention their date that night, or laugh together the way that only friends can, then things will work out okay. 

I really hope I can get there with my second ex. Truly. Especially as she was much nicer person, in hindsight, than my first one. I fell in love because I was young, foolish and, surprise, a bit of a moron. Oh well. Provides good copy, if nothing else.   

Unbelieva-ball

Alex Melling
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Unbelieva-ball

As Trinity term begins, so does ball season at Oxford. No doubt a great deal of students are looking forward to this much-appreciated reprieve from studying (and stressing out over not studying), especially when many of us have exams, but is this the case for everyone?

There is an undeniable air of sophistication around the idea of a ball, and it’s always nice to immerse yourself in that every once in a while, but at a lot of universities, Oxford in particular, these balls breed elitism and the very class-divide that the university is supposed to be trying to quell. This may sound like an attack on something very well-intentioned and just generally enjoyable, but selectively enjoyable things that exclude certain people on the grounds of wealth and social upbringing need to be reformed.

Unlike a lot of things at Oxford, balls are not an exclusive tradition, and other universities do it too. Perhaps this makes it more acceptable, considering that wherever you go, there will probably be a ball and it sure won’t be free. However, the average cost of a ball ticket at St. Andrew’s, another old, prestigious university, is £35. The ‘cheapest’ ball ticket at Oxford ranges around the £85-£90 price tag, usually increasing in price for extra privileges, such as a meal or some free drinks.

Oxford may be one of the best universities around the world, but if we pay the same as everyone else for tuition, why can’t we pay the same for entertainment? St. Andrews can pull off balls that are just as good as ours, so why are they over double the price here? Oxford as an institution has grown comfortable with cutting out certain groups of people in the past, but that by no means makes it an acceptable practice in the present.

I knew well before I arrived at Oxford that I would not be going to any balls. The money that I would have to put into attending even one would set me back far more than I deem it worthy to spend a night in a suit drinking cocktails. This is the reality for a lot of students here, and it makes one lose faith in the promises that the university has made to iron out elitism and make the university accessible and enjoyable to everyone, regardless of background.

This is hardly something I lose sleep over, but what I didn’t know was that I would be made a fuss of for not going. As a result, I must vacate my room for the night of the college ball, which ultimately I see as an insult. Do they think I’m going to try and sneak into the ball? Maybe that has happened before, maybe they have to take precautions, but nevertheless, being moved to a different building for a night feels like an attack on my decision (that essentially wasn’t much of a decision) to not go to a ball. I would have been happy to stay in my room all night and not be a disturbance; I take this action as a lack of trust and a disrespect to my reasons for not attending.

It also serves as a physical separation of students that is centred around their financial background – I know that some people won’t be going simply because they don’t want to, but for those without a choice this feels very much like a physical manifestation of the class separations that Oxford is supposed to be fighting against. Going to such lengths to make sure a person cannot be included in something feels very wrong to me, and perhaps the university instead should be going to these lengths to make sure that everyone has the opportunity to be included.

In all honesty, I wish I didn’t have to sound like I am trying to stop anybody from having fun and making the most out of their time at university, yet it seems unfair for certain types of enjoyment to be exclusively for those with the money. Yes, I am aware that essentially that’s how life works, but when there is an opportunity to avoid this, why wouldn’t anyone take it, especially at a university that is as wealthy as this? It almost feels like the poorer students are being punished for their financial situation – colleges and the university as an institution offer great financial support for people who are really struggling, but there is no way to justify needing a bursary on the grounds of unacademic, entertainment-based activities, and even if there was, it simply doesn’t feel right to be having to take this money for something like a ball, which should already be accessible to all. 

The future of Oxford is the hands of its students – it’s our responsibility to decide whether to cast off old, elitist traditions and move towards a place of equity, or continue along a path of financial discrimination that crops up in places that the institution seems to overlook. So let’s do the right thing.

Review: At Eternity’s Gate

Amber Sidney-Woollett
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Review: At Eternity’s Gate

It is worth watching At Eternity’s Gate for Julian Schnabel’s mesmerising cinematography alone. This new biopic of Vincent van Gogh, with the titular character played by William Dafoe, is rich with contextual information about the painter’s life and explores the profound bond he shared with his younger brother Theo, as portrayed by Rupert Friend. It also examines, in great detail, his history of mental illness and the blackouts he experienced during his worst psychotic breaks.

Dafoe honours our cultural memory of this artist and provides us with a perspective on the man as much as the artist. Though prone to violent outbreaks, such as the shocking scene when van Gogh screamed at a group of French children and chased them across a field, van Gogh is largely presented as a gentle-giant, at his happiest with a paint-brush in his hand. One of the aspects which surprised me the most was the kind of hero-worship which characterised the relationship between Paul Gauguin (Oscar Isaac) and van Gogh – at least as portrayed by the film – as van Gogh was left heartbroken at his friend’s decision to leave ‘him’ (as he viewed it) and cut off his own ear, ostensibly to gift it to his fellow painter, not to a prostitute as pop culture has suggested.

In March 1886, van Gogh, moved from Antwerp to live with his brother Theo, thus heralding the beginning of his famous ‘Paris Years,’ until February 1888. It was under his brother’s guidance that Van Gogh became a member of the group of young avant-garde artists experimenting with new styles, attending the eighth and final exhibition of the French Impressionists work in Paris that same year. The Impressionists and the colour theories of Chevreul helped to alter his style which was to become still freer. Van Gogh’s original work was nurtured by Gauguin whose disregard for the conventional methods of painting forged a strong friendship between the two of them. Despite the exaggerated presentation of van Gogh as a kind of Messiah-figure the film beautifully showcases the French countryside and the layer of ‘fairy dust’ which has been scattered across this motion picture renders it the more poignant if anything.

The time which van Gogh spent committed to the Saint-Remy sanatorium was intercut with shots of him in conversation with his doctor, portrayed by Mathieu Amalric, whose eyes regularly fill with tears at the suffering this artist experiences. The ending of the film, with van Gogh’s prolonged death, is emotional – as is to be expected, and left me a little tearful. However, I do cry a lot so this might not be the best indicator of the film’s emotional impact. Schnabel follows the new cinematic trend in portraying van Gogh’s death as a tragic accident, as accepted by the recent animation Loving Vincent, offering the less critically acclaimed version of the events surrounding his death.

A film like this did not need to be produced, of course, the easiest way to understand an artist is always through their actual work. But I’m glad it was. It is a powerful portrayal of an artist who has always suffered under our misconceptions of him; then as now. One cannot help but think that van Gogh would be appalled by his fantastic immortalisation and would struggle to believe that one of his paintings could now sell for hundreds of millions of pounds. Van Gogh was a man of simple tastes, wanting only money for his painting equipment and food. The scenes where van Gogh wanders through the French countryside, breathing in the air as if it is the only thing keeping him sane and alive, feel very pertinent today for a world consumed by the excess and trappings of luxury. Like van Gogh, we too should go back to basics and strip away the learned fantasy, drawing upon what we know to be true within ourselves.

Uni announces two new access schemes in “sea change for admissions”

Angus Brown
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Uni announces two new access schemes in “sea change for admissions”

The University of Oxford has announced two ambitious new access programmes, set to bring in up to 250 students from disadvantaged backgrounds annually by 2023.

The two new programmes, Opportunity Oxford and Foundation Oxford, both aim to increase the number of students from socio-economically or otherwise disadvantaged groups, including carers and refugees.

According to a University press release, “When fully up and running, these major new programmes will offer transformative paths to outstanding education for up to 250 state school students a year, representing 10% of Oxford’s undergraduate intake.

“This represents a significant step change for the University, boosting the proportion of students coming to Oxford from underrepresented backgrounds from 15% of the current UK intake to 25%.”

The first programme, Opportunity Oxford, will introduce a study programme for up to 200 students who have lodged a “normal” application to the University and are on course to achieve their entry grades but need additional support to “bridge the gap” between secondary school and university.

The programme will provide a structured course of study at home, as well as a two-week residential study course before the start of the first term. It will introduce students to lectures, tutorials, and university level group and individual work, and will also work to build on the students’ subject knowledge and academic abilities.

According to the University, this will allow these students to “begin undergraduate study with greater confidence, new friends and familiarity with life at university.”

Some students on the Opportunity Oxford programme may be those who have previously failed to meet the University’s entry requirements.

The second programme, Foundation Oxford, will run a university-wide version of the “Foundation Year” scheme pioneered at Lady Margaret Hall, and will “be offered to students who have experienced personal disadvantage or severely disrupted education.”

According to the University, “The scheme aims to open up places to students with high academic potential who, owing to their circumstances, are not yet in a position to make a competitive Oxford application.

“Eligible students could include refugees and children in care or with care responsibilities themselves. Once in operation, offers for Foundation Oxford will be made on the basis of lower contextual A-level grades, rather than the University’s standard offers.”

Successful applications will then undergo a one year, subject-specific programme building their capacity for university level study: those who are successful will then move onto the Oxford undergraduate degree for which they were admitted.

The current plan is for the University to phase these programmes in, building to 200 Opportunity Oxford and 50 Foundation Oxford places by 2023.

The programmes are inspired by Univ’s existing Opportunity Programme and LMH’s innovative Foundation Year scheme.

According to the University, “The schemes offer students the chance to immerse themselves in the Oxford environment, developing their study skills and their subject knowledge. The students will benefit from the University’s internationally outstanding teaching facilities while living and studying in a college community.

“By the end of their programmes they will have developed the confidence to meet the challenges of a demanding undergraduate degree. Both schemes will be free and students’ residential and living costs will be fully funded throughout the courses.”

The Vice Chancellor, Louise Richardson, claimed: “This is a sea change in Oxford admissions. Colleagues from across the University, its colleges and departments have united behind a commitment to accelerate the pace at which we are diversifying our student body and ensuring that every academically exceptional student in the country knows that they have a fair chance of a place at Oxford.”

Meanwhile SU President Joe Inwood said: “This is a major step forward in improving access to Oxford. Students are excited to see the University commit to these new initiatives, and it is a reflection on student efforts to bring this to the forefront of the University agenda.

“Oxford SU has long held access at the heart of our work, so this is excellent news for Oxford students.”

According to the University, the new programmes will “build on the success of Oxford’s existing activities to open its doors to a wider field of students. These include the UNIQ summer school, the Oxnet communities initiative and the use of contextual information to select students for undergraduate courses.

“Most recent figures for the 2019 intake show a record 64.5% of offers were made to students from state schools while 15.7% of offers went to students from the most under-represented backgrounds.

“This summer will see UNIQ expand by 50% to help a total of 1,350 state school pupils from disadvantaged backgrounds transform their chances of making a successful application to Oxford.”

Ffion Price, who studied on Univ’s Bridging Programme, said: “As a student who knows first-hand the benefits of access initiatives such as the Univ bridging programme, I could not be happier to see the University taking the necessary steps to ensure that more prospective students of the future are extended the same life-changing opportunity.

“It is a turning point for this institution – a recognition that, while unfortunately students up and down the country are not afforded a level playing field, as an institution we are capable of generating initiatives that help to combat that.

“It is a significant step towards ensuring that those who are capable, and have had to endure unique circumstance and hardship through no fault of their own, are afforded the opportunity to succeed as much as anyone else.”

Cherelle Malongo, another student, who took part in the LMH foundation year and now studies Classical Archaeology and Ancient History, argued that “I am very pleased to hear that the University will be introducing Foundation Oxford.

“As a beneficiary of the LMH Foundation Year, I am heartened to know many more students will benefit from an Oxford education.

“As a young woman from Newham, Oxford seemed a distant dream, but since arriving in September 2017, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. The Foundation Year has changed my life and today’s announcement means many more lives will be transformed in the future.”

Review: Four Men in Their Respective Cells – ‘a whistle-stop psychological drama’

Evie Atmore
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Review: Four Men in Their Respective Cells – ‘a whistle-stop psychological drama’

Fly on the Wall Production’s Four Men in Their Respective Cells considers to what extent we truly know our reality, through the lens of four men imprisoned both mentally and physically. The play throws up some interesting questions for the audience to consider: Why these men? What have they done? Are they connected? And, most crucially, are they telling the truth, and, if so, can we trust their truth? Throughout the performance, the script, acting, and production combined well to force the audience to confront these issues and question whom their allegiance lies with.

Though there was a tendency towards overacting in the opening scenes, the overall standard of acting was good – Joshua Fine stood out in particular, with an engaging portrayal of a complex character. In terms of the characters themselves, there was an imbalance in the prominence of each in the script. This resulted in one of the characters becoming unnecessary as the play progressed, particularly in the climactic moments. The plot twists were delivered well, for which Eddie Chapman in particular should be commended. At points, however, these plot twists were too obvious, and elsewhere not obvious enough. A lack of character progression over the course of the narrative meant that one twist in particular felt too sudden and broke my suspension of disbelief.

For a play that only lasted 40 minutes, the Burton Taylor Studio was the perfect location for this whistle-stop psychological drama: dark and enclosed, the audience was immediately immersed in an atmosphere of oppressive isolation. This feeling was heightened through the use of dissonant violins before the show, and the sharp delineation of the stage into two halves, for two cells. The set design was clearly well-considered, and effective use of lighting aided understanding as scenes jumped from character to character. A particularly effective decision by Writer/Director Malgorzata Kaczmarek was the use of sound effects at moments of madness and violence – each character’s downward spiral was emphatically punctuated by ominous background noise. Throughout the play I found myself tense with anticipation.

The production team and actors worked throughout the play to create a suspenseful, somewhat claustrophobic environment, and to good effect. However, I cannot help but feel that this build-up was hugely let down by the ending of the play. Although the ending leaves the audience guessing, I did not find it adequately conclusive. The writing felt rushed and unfinished. Full resolution is not required at the end of a play, of course, but in general the audience should not leave thinking, “Was that it?” This was a real shame, and not an adequate testament to the work put into the production in other areas.

For a play with so much promise thematically, I cannot help but be disappointed by Four Men in their Respective Cells. This is not really the fault of the actors, the production team, or the director; rather, is due to the script not quite allowing the engaging, interesting and emotive parts of the play to come to the fore.

Worcester win hockey Cuppers again

Cerys Baines
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Worcester win hockey Cuppers again

Last week saw Worcester and Teddy Hall hockey teams battle it out to become Cuppers champions. This however, was not the first time that the two sides have met this year as they had already come face to face in the league. Teddy Hall had managed to snatch a victory over Worcester and take away all chances they had of winning the league, as well as ending a Worcester win streak that had been going for more than three years. Worcester would therefore be keen to take revenge and regain hold of the cup, which would cement their place as the dominant Cuppers hockey team, considering the success they have had in recent years.

It was clear from the start that tensions would be running high and the game was not very friendly, with both the Teddy Hall players and fans frequently shouting at the umpires. The Worcester side, captained by fourth-year physicist Oskar Williams, seemed the dominant team throughout the first half. They won short corner after short corner but were often unable to convert, which led to frustration. This meant that at half time, the score line did not necessarily reflect the scenes on the pitch, with Worcester only going into the break at 1-0 up, thanks to a goal from Jonah Boender.

However, in the second half the pace of the game picked up as the two teams became even more eager for a victory. Teddy Hall soon got back into the game and equalised to make the match more even. However, Worcester were determined to not throw away the momentum they had garnered and pushed to go back into the lead, scoring three goals in a row to put them 4-1 up with the game drawing to an end.

These goals were partly due to star performances from player of the season Jonah Boender, who scored an excellent hat-trick, and Aaron Goss who ran circles around the Teddy Hall defence. Ben Northam also managed to get his name on the score sheet. Boender in particular displayed the extent of his skill, scoring on two occasions from some superb drag flicks. The Cuppers title looked like it was in sight.

Whether it was over confidence, or just because the side just sat back, Worcester’s dreams of reclaiming their trophy came under threat as the match was drawing to a close. The game became extremely tense for Worcester as they let in two goals in quick succession with the timer running out.

The scenes on the pitch certainly led the Teddy Hall fans to believe they could do one over Worcester for the second time in the year, and there were numerous (very poor) chants shouted down the megaphone as well as smoke bombs being let off by the side of the pitch, which meant the game had to be stopped to wait for the smoke to go out. This display of support arguably could have prevented the Teddy Hall side to grab another goal, as it certainly disrupted the flow and momentum of the game.

Despite this, credit must be given to the Worcester side, who persisted and did not let these goals disrupt their cool. The Worcester side really began to show their dominance, with keeper Will Woods making some even more impressive saves. On the other hand, the Teddy Hall side became so desperate that by the end they had swapped out their goalie for a kicking back, which Worcester almost took advantage of. This meant that when the final whistle was eventually blown, Worcester had held on to their Cuppers title yet again.

Bart van Es and the ripple effect of trauma

Ava Sharpe
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Bart van Es and the ripple effect of trauma

On the 2nd May, I lit a virtual candle to remember Sara Rozenberg. Sara was born in 1924 in Krasny Luch, Ukraine, and died in the Holocaust at the age of just 18. As I scrolled past the link to the virtual memorial campaign, my Facebook timeline began filling with posts shared by my friends commemorating the individual victims of the Holocaust they had lit candles for. The 2nd of May also happened to be the 27th of Nissan, the Jewish date on which victims of the Holocaust are remembered.

“Chaya Samsonowicz of Dzestochowa, perished at Auschwitz, aged just 6 years old.”

“Jacob Perla of Haifa, perished at Treblinka, 1943, aged just 5.”

Clicking the link led me to the website Illuminate the Past. With the simple double-tap of the screen, I had lit a virtual candle to commemorate just one of the six million Jewish victims. The option to “share this to your timeline” was then presented to me on the screen. I couldn’t help but think, was this virtual touch and share truly an act of remembrance? A name, a date, and a place of death was all I was told of Sara. By posting her name and place of death on my own page, was I truly honouring her life? I wondered how similar Sara would have been to me, what she was would have been like. Would we have thought about the same things?

The movement towards the memorialisation of individual victims of the Holocaust is the growing initiative taken by many contemporary memorial campaigns. Masorti Judaism has recently brought the Yellow Candle Project to the UK, in which individual candles are disseminated in an attempt to remember by name individuals who died in the Holocaust. The candle is modelled on the traditional Jewish memorial yahrzeit candle but is coloured yellow to resemble the stars that Jewish people were forced to wear as a mark of their religious identity.

Mati Kovachi, an Israel hi-tech billionaire from a family of Holocaust victims and survivors, last week pioneered a controversial Instagram project, in which an account was set up recounting the real-life story of Jewish girl, Eva Heyman, using the social media channels of a 21st century-teenager. In an attempt to bring Eva’s story onto a familiar platform, the project echoes the Yellow Candle’s campaign attempt to scale down Holocaust memorial from the collective to the individual level. In order to humanise the victims, the campaign attempts present their lives in reality as ordinary individuals with their own lives and experiences.

While we cannot claim to relate to these experiences of systematic persecution, the initiative proves successful in framing the victims as people, defined not only by their status as a victim of the Holocaust. Each of these people had their own friends, families, jobs and experiences. It is only when we consider this fact that we can begin to imagine the extent of all-encompassing, pervasive impact of the Holocaust not just on those who died, or those who survived, but on society as a whole.

Chaya, Jacob, and Sara were just three of the lives affected by the Holocaust. While we know that six-million Jews perished, the number of those impacted by the tragedy remains greater. Not only did the victims and survivors each have their own families, friends and colleagues who were subsequently affected, but there were those who sheltered and cared for Jewish people at the risk of their own lives or simply knew them from around town. We often hear the stories about the camps, the shootings, of Jewish fate being laid out in two options – death or survival.

But sticking to this binary of victim and survivor remains problematic. All those who survived continued to be victims of the Holocaust, spending their entire lives attempting to come to terms with profound loss and trauma, often proving unable to lead fully functioning lives as a result.

This traumatic inheritance is precisely why Bart van Es’ memoir, The Cut Out Girl, represents such an important turn in the field of individual Holocaust remembrance. Van Es’ memoir of the Jewish girl, Lien, who was sheltered by his grandparents in Holland during the Holocaust, is a moving tale of the difficulties and long-lasting impact on those, Jewish and non-Jewish, who survived yet remained victims to the effects of the Holocaust. These included not only Lien herself, but Van Es’ family who sheltered her.

Van Es presents their relationship, despite steeped in obvious love and compassion, as being fractured and turbulent, lasting long after the end of the war. Lien’s own struggle forging a relationship with Van Es’ grandmother, her confusion towards his grandfather, and her inability to wrestle with her own position within the framework of their family culminates in the tragedy and break-down of family ties common amongst survivors of the Holocaust. Indeed, Lien is eventually cut-off entirely from her foster family and uninvited from the funeral of her foster mother.

Van Es’ memoir is a poignant reminder that not all stories of survival emerging from the damage of the Holocaust are of triumph and reconciliation. The physical and psychological effects of the Holocaust lasted well beyond the liberation of Auschwitz, or the Allied occupation of Germany. Lien could not just return to normal life with the Van Esses once the Germans had been defeated. We must avoid attempting to romanticise the experiences of the survivors of tragedy, for liberation did not mean the end of suffering.

To remember those who suffered includes acknowledging that survival did not necessarily mean freedom. For the surviving victims of the Holocaust, the lack of freedom from trauma, mental and physical distress mean the longer lasting effects of physical and cultural loss did not release survivors from their victimhood. Van Es himself, not Jewish and writing seven decades after Lien returned to his grandparents throughout the memoir still attempts to reconcile with the effects the Holocaust had on his own family.

Despite this, the plea for memorialisation on an individual level is not always honoured. Just days ago, a German doll with hair from a Holocaust victim was found to have been displayed in a Turkish toy museum. The curator alleged that the victim whose hair was being used was killed at Auschwitz in 1941, with the doll having been on display since the museums opening in 2017. The dignity of the individual had been entirely eroded in the process, reducing them to just one of the thousands whose hair was sheared and stored in camps controlled by the Nazis.

As a result, the individual whose hair is now on the museum doll remains imprisoned in the form intended to them by their persecutors, effectively frozen in their oppression. We must remember the liberation of the victims of the Holocaust only began with the liberation of the camps. Lien’s powerful individual story remains helpful in the quest to humanise the experiences of the 6 million, as ultimately her story reminds us that to remember the individuals is to remember the collective.

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