Tuesday 10th June 2025
Blog Page 645

SU creates survey for “vulnerable” student sex-workers

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SU creates survey for “vulnerable” student sex-workers

Oxford’s student sex workers are being asked whether the University is doing enough to ensure their safety and wellbeing in a new survey initiated by the Students’ Union.

SU VP Women Katt Walton, who wrote the survey, told Cherwell: “There is a demographic of students at this University who are engaging in sex work. I want to get information on how many there are, whether they felt that the University currently supports them, and if the University not providing enough financial support was a factor.

“There’s obviously a massive stigma around sex work, and I wanted students to feel like if they needed to access University support through, for example, through the Sexual Violence Support Service or through the counselling service that they wouldn’t be met with hostility or judgement if they disclosed that they were sex workers.”

The 43-question survey was sent out last week and asks about a multitude of aspects of sex work, from how it has affected the respondents’ self-esteem and their perception of the attitude towards sex work to the intricacies of their safe sex practices, how they advertise, and what services they provide.

Walton told Cherwell: “I was worried students might feel uncomfortable filling the survey in and might not want to engage with it, but it has been really successful. Hopefully it will give us an image of what sex work is like in the University.”

The survey also examines the demographics of student sex workers, including what college at which they study. Walton said: “Some colleges have a lot more money than others, so I think it might come out that students are having to fund their time as a student through sex work.”

Anna (not her real name) agreed to speak to Cherwell about her experience as a student sex worker. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to cover her living costs in Oxford, she entered the sex industry during her Masters out of financial necessity: “I spoke to a friend who had experience as a sex worker and it seemed like an option that could suit me.”

She has engaged in a number of types of sex work, primarily escorting and ‘girlfriend experience’- when a client pays for a sex-worker to pretend to be in a relationship with them during the session.

She told Cherwell: “The reality is that I definitely like sex, but sex as a sex worker is absolutely a chore. The cost of student living though seems to be ever increasing, so sex work is one of my main means of survival at the moment.

“It’s an incredibly dangerous type of work to be involved with and in the past, I have felt threatened and at risk with clients, which has caused significant mental and emotional obstacles in my life to overcome that have impacted on all sorts of relationships.

“I was unable to have sex with my partner without crying for quite a while during my first summer as a sex worker.

“The job is very risky – I was employed by a company one summer as an intern on the condition that I had sex with the boss whenever he wanted.

“To be honest, that job really fucked with me because I had to be constantly aware that he could want sex at any time and I had to be prepared to give it regardless of how I was feeling in case I lost the job or he withheld my wages (even if I was
tired, ill, didn’t want, etc.).

“Being cautious about what pictures I share anywhere on social media is something I’m always alert about in case a client finds it somehow.”

Anna also said that student sex workers are especially vulnerable because clients know they need money: “I once had a client ‘forget’ to pay me after 3 hours of sex, and another who requested that I go to his house to do incredibly hard-core bondage overnight for only £200.”

She told Cherwell that the University should do more to support sex workers: “It’s hard to access support without outing yourself as a sex worker unnecessarily. The University could provide or at least sign-post sex workers to Hepatitis B vaccines (of which there’s a national shortage), regular blood tests, and free condoms, lube, and other forms of contraception.

“In addition, supporting student sex
workers emotionally, with counselling and therapy, is something the University certainly has the resources to offer potentially through the Counselling or Student Welfare Services.”

Anna spoke positively about the SU initiative, telling Cherwell: “We’re a very vulnerable group in many ways – we’re often anonymous, and do our work secretly which entails huge risks. The University has the capacity to protect and support all of its students – even invisible minorities.

“The SU’s survey of sex workers I think can hugely benefit sex workers as a community because we would no longer need to be as isolated or hidden as before. That can only be a good thing.”

Sex work is currently legal in England, Wales, and Scotland. However, almost all activities surrounding prostitution other than buying sexual services are illegal.
A University spokesperson said: “We strongly discourage students from taking part in any activity like this which exposes them to dangerous situations.

“We encourage any students facing financial difficulties to talk to the hardship officer in their college or the central university’s hardship fund. All students should also feel comfort-
able to approach their college welfare team or the central services team if they have
any welfare issues.”

The National Union of Students (NUS) conducted a similar survey in 2016. One of the insights that survey provided was that more than half of students sex workers identified as LGBTQ+, and over half stated that they had a learning disability, other disability, long-term health condition, or impairment.The National Union of Students (NUS) conducted a similar survey in 2016.

One of the insights that survey provided was that more than half of students sex workers identified as LGBTQ+, and over half stated that they had a learning disability, other disability, long-term health condition, or impairment.

The Pitchfork Disney Review – ‘reality and morality is blown apart to become a nightmare’

Imogen Harter-Jones
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The Pitchfork Disney Review – ‘reality and morality is blown apart to become a nightmare’

Hoof and Horn’s production of Philip Ridley’s seminal play, The Pitchfork Disney embarks upon a drug and chocolate fuelled trip “on the ghost train” into the deepest, darkest and most disturbing realms of human imagination and fear. There are many deeply twisted fairy-tale elements to this surreal, intense and shockingly grotesque story of two claustrophobic 28-year-old Hansel and Gretel-like twins who are trapped in both the physical filthy house where they were abandoned at the age of 18 and their own mental prisons of childlike confused terror. When the deeply sexually repressed Presley (Alex Fleming-Brown) invites Cosmo Disney (Alasdair Linn), a perfect and manipulative stranger “with blond hair and a menacing angelic beauty” and psychotic tendencies into their flat – the twins’ contorted conception of reality and morality is blown apart to become a nightmare.

From the moment you step into this play the direct ‘in-yer-face’ nature of the performance is abundantly clear- the fourth wall is well and truly broken, which is ironic considering that the dysfunctional twins Hayley (Lou Lou Curry) and Presley Stray blockade themselves from the real world; like strays, they are truly lost. Cyrus Larcome-Moore’s Pitchfork Cavalier successfully sets the tone of the play, prowling around the theatre menacingly mixing malevolent laughter with mock-innocent childlike interaction. Lingering at the back of the stage with periodic musical interludes, Pitch is an ever-present symbol of darker evil whose true intent is hidden by a threatening black mask with his diabolical energy penetrating other characters’ psyche.

Alex Fleming-Brown and Lou Lou Curry artfully capture Presley and Haley’s irrational and incessant mood-swings shifting from vulnerable child to wily manipulator. In the early stages of the play Curry’s direct and powerful emotion reflected the true childlike fear and instability of Haley’s mind. Although Ridley’s writing stunts Haley’s character growth by limiting her to an unconscious doll which the male characters play with, this is itself a reflection of how women are perceived in society. Fleming-Brown’s portrayal of Presley was impressive especially his many powerfully delivered monologues which blurred the lines of reality and fiction, dream and nightmare. I was equally struck by his fastidious attention to tiny character tics. Cosmo is a sinister, sexual, serpentine and oddly-charismatic insect-eating showman shrewdly and terrifyingly played by Alastair Linn: he turns their home into his performance area. When he and Haley are explicitly homophobic in their interrogations of Presley’s sexuality, Fleming-Brown plays furtively with his t-shirt and his momentary glances betray his true desires which he too is running away from.

Equally noteworthy are the physical manifestations of the themes and preoccupations of the characters on stage through symbols and scenery, such as the large rug with motifs of the play scrawled across it, resembling a primary school child’s drawing, reflecting Presley and Haley’s key obsessions and childlike mentality. Chocolate wrappers litter the stage and are compulsively consumed in conjunction with “Mummy and Daddy’s medicine” – an addict’s mania – leading to Presley’s nickname, “Mr Chocolate”. Like Tracy Emin’s ‘My Bed’ Felix Morrison’s carefully crafted but subtly understated set-design mirrors the inner psychological chaos and transforms the twins’ existence into a physical reality.

Given The Pitchfork Disney’s reputation for shocking audiences and its direct treatment of homophobia, racism, sexual assault, violence and extreme erotic desire, Bertie Harrison-Broninski astutely avoids directorial temptation to portray these sensitive issues in a hyper-graphic way. Be left in no doubt, this production definitely is bold – it disturbs, shocks and takes us on an emotional journey. However, Harrison-Broninski also allows for subtler actions, including the twins’ uncomfortably intimate touches over chocolate-stained white pyjamas, which are just over the line of typical familial boundaries, to provoke questions about love, family and wider sexuality.

Step on “the ghost train” and see this sensational, exhilarating and swift-paced play which is impossible to ignore.

Who’s direction is it anyway? An interview with the director of How to Make Friends and then Kill Them

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Who’s direction is it anyway? An interview with the director of How to Make Friends and then Kill Them

How To Make Friends and then Kill Them is an all-female play about friendship, growing up, and three-sided relationships, written by American playwright Halley Feiffer. Having premiered in an off-Broadway production in 2013, this term Oxford will see its first performance in Europe – and at none other than our very own Michael Pilch Studio.

I sit down with the play’s director, Charlie Rogers, to discuss the play in greater depth. He tells me that the play is set in rural New York, following three women from childhood to adulthood and the friendships they forge with one other. Sisters Ada (Simone Norowzian) and Sam (Imogen Front) form a dramatic duo, but soon draw the quieter Dorrie (Saraniya Tharmarajah) into the equation. The play traces how this three way dynamic shifts as they each drift into adulthood: ultimately, Rogers says, revealing “how they ruin each other’s lives”.

I go on to ask Rogers more about his intentions behind staging the play – what drew him to it initially? He explains that he thought a lot about space when considering the play, and How To Make Friends and then Kill Them is a text well suited to the blackbox framework that Oxford does best. I find myself agreeing that the space of the venue should be at the forefront of a director’s mind when putting on a production, and look forward to seeing how it’s reimagined here in the UK.

However, Rogers and I’s agreement to discuss this production together was to an extent precipitated by the publication of an Oxfess, which appeared around the time of Coningsby Productions’ audition process last term.

#Oxfess26477 read: “What the f**k is up with male directors in Oxford taking plays with all female specified casts, with themes that are explicitly about the female experience and then deciding its appropriate to direct them? Don’t take expressions of women’s experiences and behave as if you have any right to interpret, let alone f**king DIRECT them. Honestly, the arrogance of some people here astounds me.”

The anonymous writer of the Oxfess raises a clearly topical point around the ethics of theatre production – that we should not partake in direction outside the scope of our own personal experience. It’s an increasingly common opinion on a contentious subject – but is such a viewpoint justified?

Rogers tells me that he first became interested in the work of Hayley Feiffer whilst working for the Finborough Theatre’s Literary Department over last summer. He explains that Coningsby Productions were successful in obtaining the rights, after a long process, primarily due to his work at the theatre. With the writer’s backing, Rogers questions, surely a director should feel that they are able to successfully put on a show?

Rogers remarks that the play, of course, deals with a number of “sensitive issues” and that many of these are interwoven into the experience of being female, simply because the characters happen to be women. Overall, he says, How To Make Friends and then Kill Them deals with themes “relatable to all,” such as addiction, friendship, and how things both change and stay the same as one grows from childhood into adulthood.

But, crucially, Rogers outlines his role of the director. He emphasizes the fact that a director serves simply as a facilitator, and that their job is “to make them [the actors] as good as they can be.” The rehearsal process is a wholly “collaborative” experience, he continues, and in this way the characters fleshed out on-stage are not simply realisations of the director – they are products of a process which incorporates multiple influences and perspectives.

Rogers goes on to argue that if we were to place restrictions on what certain people could direct and what they couldn’t, we would have a “literal vision of theatre” by which only those who have experienced something can attempt to understand it. He offers the example of William Shakespeare’s King Lear – can one only direct this play if they have suffered through madness? If we want to “redress the imbalances of theatre,” Rogers continues, we need to attempt to tell stories that are not identical to our own.

In this play’s case, I do not align myself with the views of the anonymous Oxfess-er. To argue that only a female director should direct How To Make Friends and then Kill Them is to foreground the issue of gender without concern for the play’s other themes. Equally, if we are to insist that such a play only be directed by a female director, I think there is a danger we ignore the fact that humans have quite a lot in common after all. If we are to immediately distrust a male director who wants to put on a play with an all-female cast, are we inadvertently suggesting a man shouldn’t have any interest in the female experience at all? – because that sounds like a very ominous vision for the future of theatre.

That being said, I find myself thinking that, for certain productions, directorial experience with a subject matter can be important, particularly those which are intersectional or have been historically silenced. For example, a play about the black female experience would most likely prove more authentic and effective if it were to have a black female director who could preserve the authenticity of the final product. And of course, at all stages of the directorial process, communication with the represented group is key. But, crucially, each play should be considered individually and judged as a final product. The audience has the ability to decide if a production is successful, and I very much look forward to seeing Coningsby Productions’ How To Make Friends and then Kill Them in fifth week.

Interview: quantum gravity physicist Carlo Rovelli

Tara Sallis
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Interview: quantum gravity physicist Carlo Rovelli

Our perception of science has changed. It is often the case that when we learn someone studies a science, we let out a groan or a hum of surprise. Whilst this may come from sympathy, admiration, and curiosity, the separation between scientists and the rest of us can seem vast. But this separation hasn’t always been there. Scientists used to be more occupied with literature, philosophy, and the arts. René Descartes, George Berkeley, Galileo, and Leonardo Di Vinci are some of the philosophers and polymaths who saw science as part of life’s philosophy. Science, for them, was part of life’s beauty and a tool of appreciation. The popularisation of science, through people like Brian Cox, Stephen Hawkings and Richard Dawkins has helped bring out the awe and romance for a subject that for many elicits a deep wonder.

One of the most influential, meditative, and eccentric popular science writers is Carlo Rovelli: a man inspired by the beauty of the discipline, who has reached millions of people with his insightful and accessible books.

Rovelli is an Italian physicist, best known to the public for his popular science book Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, but renowned in the academic world for his role in the creation of loop quantum gravity theory.

As well as his illustrious academic career, he has always been involved with the politics, culture, and people surrounding this subject. In recent times, he has written extensively for the culture supplements of various Italian newspapers including Corriere della Sera, Il Sole 24 Ore and La Repubblica.

As a student, he was involved with the foundation of two political radio stations and was later temporarily detained for crimes of opinion in the 1980s due to the controversy of his book Fatti Nostri. His individual, free-thinking, and rebellious approach make him a fascinating member of the scientific community.

Rovelli’s classically Italian mannerisms and eccentric enthusiasm make for a warm but engaging interview. His written responses come in frantic, clipped sentences and vividly told tales. He speaks first about his journey into physics, not with the usual one-track determinism of those who have dedicated their lives to a subject, but with a carefree respect for pure chance.

“I did not know what to do with my life when I was a young man. I did not imagine I was going to have the life I have had.” He explains. “I was very confused, attracted by all sorts of things. I was curious, rebellious and I did not like school. I was thirsty for all possible life experiences, so I read a lot and travelled.”

The picture that Rovelli paints of his school days marries up with his compelling career. He ended up studying physics at the University of Bologna in 1978, before doing a PhD at the University of Padova.

He tells me, “I chose to study physics a bit by chance, and perhaps I was attracted by the fact that it was a very general subject. It was only in my third or fourth year of university that I began to actually like physics. I was sort of falling in love with the beauty of the subject, which came from a love for life.”

Since discovering his love for physics at university, Rovelli has written multiple popular science books to share his passion with his readers, including The Order of Time, Reality is Not What it Seems, and most famously, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics. Like many things in his life, he puts much of the writing of this best-selling book down to chance.

“It all started with an article in a newspaper. I was asked to write about my own research into quantum gravity for the cultural supplement. I knew that the topic was too hard, because most people do not even know what ‘quantum’ means, let alone anything about Einstein’s theory of gravity. But my girlfriend said, ‘Well, then write three articles: one to explain quantum, one to explain gravity and the last one on quantum gravity’. At first I laughed, then I thought, why not? So I did it.”

In his anecdotal, humorous style, Rovelli continues, stressing the serendipity of his opportunities. “These articles had remarkable success, to the point that a mythical Italian publisher, Adelphi, contacted me and suggested I expanded the three articles into a book. I still thought it was a crazy idea but, I gave myself the objective of condensing the core of modern physics and my own fascination into a slim 80-page book. I put my passion for science into it, and my general world view.”

Rovelli has not limited himself to writing about the theory of physics. He has also reflected on science as a discipline, and the conflict between science and religion. In his 2011 book The First Scientist Anaximander and His Legacy, he expresses many of his views on these topics. His passion for the philosophical questions of science is clear, and he tells me that this book, out of all of them, he is “particularly attached to”.

“Each book has a different story and the process can be extremely different. My book on Anaximander simply grew out of notes that I was taking for myself when reading. I realized how amazing Anaximander had been and how immense his influence was on the subsequent development of science. My notes grew very, very slowly, while I was studying and reading.

“When one of my friends read them, they suggested I transformed them into a book, using Anaximander to detail what I think about the deep nature of science. Because I was working in this way, it took years before the book was complete.”

This book provides an insight into Rovelli himself, with provocative questions being raised throughout. Tellingly, he titles one of his chapters ‘Rebellion Becomes a Virtue’, a mantra that seems apt for his own life, as well as his understanding of the universe. He concludes the book with the idea that the success of scientific thinking is grounded in pushing the boundaries of our collective knowledge, and using acts of “learned rebellion” to break ignorance.

As our conversation moves towards his book on loop quantum gravity theory, Reality is not What it Seems, he again recants a story. He seems to have a well- rehearsed anecdote ready for the question.

“One night I was driving from Italy to France. The highway was empty as it was the middle of the night and I was thinking. Suddenly I got the idea of how to write the book and imagined its entire structure. I got excited and started putting together the book in my mind, until I realized that a police car was flashing me and I was going far above the speed limit. The policemen pulled me over and asked what the hell I was doing at such a high speed.”

Rovelli relishes the mischievousness of his rule-breaking and the theatre of the story. “I explained that I had just realized how to write my next book. The policeman smiled, wished me well for the book and let me go without a ticket. After that, the writing of the book was relatively fast. In a sense, I had been composing the book in my head for years. I just hadn’t found a way to structure it and I didn’t know where to start.”

The book reads as an account of the evolutions of science and philosophy. Rovelli stresses his core idea that, “our culture is foolish to separate science and poetry”.

He believes that science should be seen first as a lens through which to see the beauty of the universe, and not as a method that clashes with other disciplines.

He seems fascinated with communicating his complex ideas to the everyday reader and banishing the impression that science is in some way separate from our lives. But, when I ask him what the public should know more about, he gives one of the most passionate responses of our exchange.

“I think that the question should be put differently: the problem is not what the public ‘should’ know, but what people miss by not being aware of what we already know about the world.”

He expresses his frustration at people who do not approach science with the same wonder as him. “There is a beauty in all of this knowledge. There are marvellous treasures in the sciences and it is sad that so many people ignore them. It is like in music: there isn’t really music that people ‘should’ know, but ignoring music altogether means you are missing something beautiful in your life. Modern cosmology is extraordinary, and so is biology, and physics, and the list goes on.”

His animated response provides an insight into his own view of physics, but also his interest in writing popular science books on highly complex topics and agonizing over how to make them palatable for the every day reader.

As well as his popular work, Rovelli’s contributions to science have been remarkable. He has written over 200 scientific articles that have driven forward our understanding of gravity, winning an award for his contributions to theoretical physics in 1995.

This all began in the late 1980s, when in collaboration with Lee Smolin and Abhay Ashtekar he created the theory of loop quantum gravity. I ask him how he sees his popular books in relation to his ‘serious’ academic work and his feelings are clear.

“I prefer working on my science, my ‘serious academic work’. That is my true passion and what I mostly want to do. I see writing popular books as a side activity, and I hope it doesn’t absorb too much of my time.

”Despite these explicit preferences about his focus, he adds, “the books have given me contact with many people and this is a gift.”

The eccentric energy and rebellious spirit of Carlo Rovelli were apparent from our first exchange. He became animated with a boyish excitement when he spoke about his scientific work. His ability to connect with people’s childlike wonder and articulate his authentic, emotional desire to understand the universe is remarkable. Rovelli feels that chance has been the primary mover in his life, but for his readers, his ingenious skill, passion and love are what define his success.

It’s not brain surgery, so it must be rocket science: A Psychologist in the Oxford University Rocketry Society

Roman Hawrych
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It’s not brain surgery, so it must be rocket science: A Psychologist in the Oxford University Rocketry Society

This isn’t supposed to be a typical article. I’m not going to tell you about politics or protests or why you should be volunteering more on Saturdays – this isn’t really one of those. This is a long winded, rambling anthology about firing off homemade, solid fuel rockets high into the sky out near Bicester, and all the stuff that went into that. And it’s an open invitation for all of Oxford to follow us in the great adventure. So, you know, it’s supposed to be whimsical. You’ll have to let me know how I’ve done.

Finding a suitable rocket range anywhere near central Oxford turned out to be unexpectedly difficult; funnily enough, colleges that don’t let you tread on their lawns don’t take too kindly to your launching missiles off them either. Huh. Magdalen lets you play croquet off theirs, though, or so I hear. On that front, we actually got pretty lucky; our society president’s family has a farm out in East Bicester. It’s big enough to launch rockets up and descend them back by parachute safely, it’s out from under both Oxford and London/Luton flight restrictions during the weekend – and no tourists or thousand-year-old buildings we might accidently hit. We have special rocket insurance now, but early on, our events caused the clubs office insurance people at the uni some chagrin.

Of course, if you’re reading about rocketry, you want to hear about the launch days. That’s what it’s all about, what it all adds up to. Push a button, and the full sum of your hopes, dreams and fears leap, scream, and hiss into the air, all at once going 200 m/s. You swing your head back, watching the thing soar up with this awestruck, gaping smile automatically smacked onto your face. It’s glorious, even when it isn’t a big launch. Our “Launch Zero”, where the president and I launched one on our own rockets to test safety systems, resulted in a series of pinwheels, side to side loop the loops, and a lot of ‘wishing the fins had stuck on in there properly’. On the bright side, people seem to like loop the loops. On the downside, you don’t go very high up doing loop the loops, which is why I assume NASA tends to shy away from those sorts of maneuvers.

“Launch One” was an extraordinary endeavor, an auspicious day. I began, in the appropriate spirit, by waking up twenty past my alarm, and dressing like crazy person before flying out the door. We’d been up late into the night putting finishing touches on the rocket and trying to solve a computer error our Arduino avionics chip setup had been throwing – all to no avail, so we would be launching with no computers. It was alright, we had a 3D printed nosecone and fins to test, so we still had a mission to justify the launch.

We met at the train station, where I could see our fuelless rocket sticking, noticeably, out of a just-barely-too-small bag, back end out, with the fins clustered around. They were bright pink, stark against the body. The pink was for visibility, but the body was painted by a fine arts student who agreed to help – the thing looked gorgeous, black backdrop, all sorts of gold lines like circuits and wires dancing across it, it felt electric just looking at it. Dangerous, almost. Excellent, definitely. It’s a shame what happened to the thing, it would’ve been fabulous in a case. The OXS ‘Run Faster’, we’d named it – because if you were close enough to read it, that’s what you needed to do.

There was a lot of staring at the station, and a little pointing, but we were all too excited to care. I grabbed a desperately needed coffee, and we headed on through the gates. One of the guys working the gates actually stopped us to ask some questions about the spunky group of kids trying to carry a pretty conspicuous rocket onto a train. Is that a rocket? Yeah, it is, we built it. Are you going to, you know, launch it? Yeah, we are, we’re pretty excited about it. Oh, alright then. And then he waved us through.

Our taxi pulled in and we finished the third or so recap of the safety procedures. There would be a camera drone whizzing overhead, water buckets placed at particular distance intervals, people behind ‘safe zones’. One of the many things we’d learned from ‘Launch Zero’ was that we wanted more launch cable than the minimum required – in fact, we’d added twenty meters onto the minimum so we would be very comfortably far away. With everything set up, everyone ran out to their respective distances as we did a final check in over the phones. The countdown began, from ‘ten’ down the line. We hit two, breathed in to count one and then from nowhere a physicist yells WAIT over the comms. Pretty much everyone jumped or fell over, exasperated, frustrated, laughing. An instrument to measure altitude had been fumbled at the last second, of course it had. We yelled ‘stop’ at the final second, of course we did. What a trope, always happens in the movies. We figured that was our only goof up for the day.

We got through the count again, and hit the button. Nothing. The launch ‘idle’ light was on, which meant current was flowing out of the batteries, down the dozens of meters of cable, into the blast caps in the fuel slugs, and back out to the controller. The light would flicker correctly when we punched the button over and over again, which meant it was pretty sure it was working, despite the evidence to the contrary. Cursing, pacing, head scratching. Now that we’d punched the button, it wasn’t safe to approach the rocket for a good long time and not without taking all sorts of precautions – some of which call for discarding all the fuel that failed to ignite. How boring, how wasteful, how very much not what we came for. Eventually it dawned on us, flicking on like the idle light across the team, one after the other; looking to the extra cable, back to the remote and sighing. Finally, someone said it aloud, one word, ‘voltage’. There was extra cable, lots of extra cable. Lots of extra voltage drop. Meaning there was enough power for the test light to come on, but not enough juice to set off the blast caps. ‘We’re going to need a bigger battery’ came next.

For the record, we did some quick mental maths beforehand to make sure we weren’t going to melt any faces, and it looked good. The homeowner on the property had a riding lawn mower which ran off of a car battery – he was more than happy to loan it for a quick jump. Yes, we would be jump-starting our first brazen foray into the wild unknown, our precious rocket, like an old jalopy off of a car battery. And what a sight to behold, I tell you. Our intrepid president stepped up – ready to lay down his life in the noble pursuit of science (well I certainly wasn’t going to do it). Insulated garden gloves adorned, jumper cables held wide apart in either hand, with a steely-eyed-missile-man look that said I cannot believe what I’m about to do, he announced: we have a go. The countdown began. One way or another, it was going to be the last one. Three, two, one. Then, the Run Faster did just that.

Our team’s physicists keep telling me it couldn’t have gone any higher than 400, 500 meters at maximum, and that I’m being melodramatic on purpose, but I’ll swear until I die it soared for miles and miles into that great blue yonder – long after we saw the smoke trail off. Be that as it may, our physicists will die trying to prove me wrong. It might have gone as far as Mars for all we know. We never saw it again. We looked, and looked and looked and looked. All the adjacent fields were cow pastures, meaning manure, cow herds and all. Now that was one way to spend an afternoon. Splitting into teams, we went searching. It was supposed to have come down by parachute (and it may very well have) but we couldn’t see any evidence either way. Team one had more bodies, but team two had the camera drone, so we split the ground evenly. At first, when the cows got curious and the herd started rambling slowly and methodically towards us, some of our rocketeers became worried for a stampede and bolted right back over the fence. “Southerners” as one, I assume northern, physicist put it.

The final danger was the electric cattle wire all around the fields. Despite many warnings to the contrary, some rocketeers asserted it must be inert and would be fine. On team one, I was the liability, and had to be grabbed by the collar and yanked back from running into a cable about chest high. Wasn’t looking where I was walking.

We rode home that day cold, tired, our rocket missing in action, us literally covered in s-, and, heck, one of us even electrocuted (but oddly enough, not the one who handled the car battery). And yet, we were smiling, beaming with this giddy, ear to ear glean that must have made us look like an odd bunch on the way back. Hoots, hollers, the works. Yes, it could have gone better – but we launched a rocket. We. Launched. A. Rocket. I wouldn’t trade that train ride back home for anything.

We have fun, and we don’t take ourselves too seriously. The fuel, flight permissions, planning safety – no kidding around. But each other? Not a chance. Rockets are cool. Building the best rockets possible is gratifying. Doing it with the a brilliant, joyful, collaborative team – that’s a privilege and a pleasure. And, an invitation.

Sex Education review: exuberantly explicit

Hope Hopkinson
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Sex Education review: exuberantly explicit

Though the opening shots suggest a John Hughes or Stranger Things-esque setting in an endearingly overlooked middle-American town in the 1980s (with a soundtrack to match), Sex Education is Netflix’s latest contemporary, explicit, and very British discussion of sex, sexuality, and all that comes with it. The eight-part series sees seventeenyear-old Otis (Asa Butterfield), the sexually inhibited son of a relationship therapist, strike up an unlikely partnership with Moorfield High’s best answer to the ‘riot grrrl’ movement, Maeve Wiley (Emma Mackey). Together, they start a sex advice clinic
for their peers.

If I were asked to sum up the show in one word, it would almost certainly be explicit. Nearly every single one of the episodes opens with a sex scene of some variety, including straight up full-frontal nudity. Since its debut, it’s no surprise that a central talking point has been the appropriateness of the content for the intended audience. Taking pride of place on the streaming service’s front page alongside comparatively innocent teen shows such as Riverdale and Pretty Little Liars, the potentially affrontive nature of the show in relation to its target audience has been the topic of many headlines.

Several online news outlets have drawn comparisons between Sex Education and the controversial Thirteen Reasons Why, both of which utilise explicit imagery to forward their storylines. However, where the latter veers towards gratuitous trauma porn, Sex Education presents an honest and realistic representation of contemporary teenage culture.

It refuses to conform to the tiring tradition of sugar-coating anything that sits outside the realm of the PG-13, and this refusal makes it the relatable and refreshing show that it is. In their clinic (in reality, an abandoned, asbestos-filled toilet block), Maeve and Otis confront issues that are prevalent in young adults, removing the taboo and encouraging honest, open discussion. Combining these hard-hitting topics with some of the most quotable one-liners of recent times (see “she touched my eyebrows, and now I have an erection”) is what the show does best.

Aside from the issues directly tackled by Maeve and Otis in the clinic, the show shines in how it addresses the wider experiences of real teenagers. This is poignantly done through the character arc of Eric (Ncuti Gatwa), Otis’ best friend, and a victim of both verbal and physical homophobic attacks. His character arc sees him tackling these adversities as well as the pressures from his religious family. We also see the status quo being challenged through Maeve’s character. She is labelled a ‘slag’ and a ‘cock-biter’ by her peers, yet seems utterly unshaken in her sex positivity, reinforcing the revolutionary idea that women can actually enjoy sex too. In the second episode, Maeve falls pregnant and makes the choice to have an abortion. Instead of making this the focal point of her character arc, Sex Education does not let this define her. All the while, the topic is handled with great sensitivity, as an issue that is faced by women from all backgrounds and walks of life. The issues are breached with a comforting sense of normality, providing an honest and real exploration of the issues that many of its contemporaries push under the rug. It is welcoming that such a diverse and meaningful show is taking centre stage, reminding us that in whatever circumstance (really, whatever circumstance) we find ourselves in, we all need to “own our narrative” a little bit more.

The illusion of reality television

Annabel Jackson
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The illusion of reality television

When the first series of reality show Made in Chelsea aired in 2011, it was clear from the beginning that the heart of it was the relationship between two young Londoners, Spencer Matthews and Caggie Dunlop.

Between them, their conventional good-looks and blasé affluence became the distilled essence of the show. He was a bad boy socialite, as much a charming womaniser as he was caught up by other women’s charms, a Restoration rake stuck in Belgravia; she was the vulnerable, uncertain girl-next-door, someone from his childhood who suddenly reappears as a beautiful adult. Her re-entry into the Chelsea bubble disrupts his relationship with his long-term girlfriend, and throws the whole series into a drawn-out will-they-won’t-they arc of constant romantic deferral. The plot is perfect – part fairytale, part realism, all performed against the backdrop of the mansions of Knightsbridge. But doesn’t it all sound a bit too good to be true?

Made in Chelsea is a reality television show, but it admits to being a ‘structured-reality’ television show. The true nature of Spencer and Caggie’s real-life relationship cannot be truly known, by virtue of the fact that nobody’s relationship can authentically exist in the public eye. But its depiction on the show cannot be the truth of it. For one, nobody can make genuine, heartfelt declarations of love with cameras shoved up close and a whole crew of directors, producers, and engineers leering round; for another, by claiming to offer a ‘structured-reality’, the show effectively concedes to the fact that it hires scriptwriters and story developers to construct the ‘reality’ we observe; they admit to using television magic to conjure illusion.

The great irony of reality television is that it is, of course, an illusion. The creators manage to construct this pretence in two ways. On set, producers are able to contrive circumstances that allow them to control the content of the show.

For example, in the Love Island house, books and televisions are banned. The contestants’ phones are taken away from them, and they are instead given ones that are disabled from the internet. As it turns out, great television isn’t made by letting people watch it all day. It’s easy to imagine how this absence of mental stimulation cultivates an atmosphere of cabin fever, one in which tensions are raised to fever pitch and pack mentalities doggedly persist, when there isn’t a great deal else to do. Ironically, it’s the absence of activity that makes the show as voyeuristically entertaining as it is.

But when they have the footage, the producers then have to construct a narrative for the episode in the editing room. In the moment of filming, what happens can be manipulated to some extent through persuasion, creating high-pressure environments, or penning contestants in, but humans are still humans – they’re still prone to responding contingently, to behaving erratically, or simply to offering very mundane content. In order to make the show feel cohesive, well-structured, and logically episodic, the editors must work to construct narrative threads throughout each episode, whether it be that of conflict, romance, or failure.

Reality television is, then, in many ways a fiction. They tell us they are depicting something akin to an authentic reality, but flatten and stabilise the randomness and contingency of actual life, while refusing to overtly acknowledge the authorial voice behind it.

None of this manipulation would really matter if the content was actually fictional. But real people are implicated in this process, and their representations on national television won’t always help them when they leave the villa, or step back into the world of work.

Narrative arcs in reality television follow the tropes of folklore – good vs. bad, hero vs. enemy – and so those who are demonised in the editing process have their reputation soured. In an age of internet trolling and hyper-awareness about online reputation, this depiction isn’t easy to come out of. For all those celebrities who feed off of this gossip for their fame, like the Kardashians, for example, this concern is perhaps no issue.

But for the average person thrust into the limelight, they will come out of reality television with bucket-loads of baggage that has been amped up by producers, dissected by the Twittersphere, and dumped unceremoniously on their CV.

The fact remains that people still tune in. People will happily block out that which disrupts their illusion, when the illusion is far too much fun to bother becoming disenchanted with.

It seems it might all be too good to be true – but it’s also too far good to ignore.

Cracked Actors: Invention and Reinvention in Music

William Atkinson
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Cracked Actors: Invention and Reinvention in Music

We drove on through the night, our faces illuminated by nothing except the flash of the occasional speed camera. My father was driving as quickly as he dared. He drives like a vicar. A slow vicar. A really slow vicar. So, this was unusual. But for a good cause. I was playing an evil headmistress. As you do.

For two nights only, the people of Amersham got to see me in a production of Matilda. I looked like an evil drag Mary Poppins, except with a riding crop and an itchy white wig. Quite the look, and brilliant fun. It was very silly, very funny, and camp as your hat. I even had some solos, which is always exciting. Not that I’ve got an ego or anything.

Any way, the point of this nostalgia, apart from gratuitous self indulgence, is to show how playing a persona on stage is something dear to my heart. Broadly, a persona is a character a musician creates for performances. Mine was far from Ziggy Stardust, but probably had just as much makeup.

Ziggy is, of course, the most iconic musical persona out there. Chances are when most think of Bowie they have the shocked orange hair, ghostly white face and outrageous outfits in mind. With a man who was everything from a Nazi space duke to a ghostly harlequin, it’s interesting to that this persona endured. Why, in fact, do any? Why are Ziggy, Alice Cooper and (ahem) Sasha Fierce so iconic?

Adopting an alter ego for the stage is often sparked by a desire to draw attention to a subject, like Marilyn Manson exploring death, or Madonna sexuality. Sometimes it’s because a certain look proves memorable – think Bob Dylan with scruffy hair, clothes and guitar. Sometimes it’s to strike a pose for a particular song or album – like The Beatles and Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely-Hearts Club Band – or for spicing up a song, such as Mick Jagger playing Satan in ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. They’re either a way of bringing personal interests on stage, or something to make a song stand out.

If I’m honest, I don’t buy any of those excuses. Well, not entirely. Because I know what it’s like playing someone outrageous. It’s too much fun. I wouldn’t want to dress like Miss Trunchbull all the time, but up onstage, the audience cheering me on – it was liberating. My worries, my shyness, my irritating awkwardness, all wiped away. I was someone else, just for a little while. That’s why, I think, personas remain popular. Sometimes the only way to escape the usual is creating a whole different character. We get a chance to be who we’re not, who we want to be, or who we could never be but would love to be.

Beyoncé goes wild as Sasha Fierce. Nicky Minaj pushes boundaries as English homosexual Roman Zolanski. And Bowie? A man can’t go through that many faces without wanting to be someone else. There’s a fascination with the transgressive, a burning desire to do something completely crazy, that lurks within all of us. Bowie was just lucky enough to be able to let it out. Musicians are only human, and they dream of being someone else just as we all do. Fortunately, for them, they can make money out of it. You can’t be you all the time. Who would want to be? Not me. Being a bit outrageous occasionally is healthy. If it’s good for Bowie and Beyoncé, it’s good for us. Or at least that’s what I told the police officer who stopped my father for speeding.

Concerns raised about religious inclusivity at Somerville

Angus Brown
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Concerns raised about religious inclusivity at Somerville

Somerville JCR has faced controversy this week over a motion seeking to introduce halal and kosher food to hall, including accusations that the JCR is not sufficiently concerned about the welfare of its Jewish students.

The original motion proposed that “Somerville have decided to take octopus off the menu for the annual Fresher’s Dinner so this appears to be is a good time to review the menu in general, we think that they could do more in terms of hall provision to ensure that different groups of people can eat in hall more.”

The proposed changes faced opposition from some JCR members, who raised concerns that halal and kosher meat were produced in “inhumane” ways.

An amendment was then proposed “to remove the halal and kosher aspects of this motion due to the animal welfare concerns about how animals are killed in order for them to be halal and kosher”, which passed with 22 votes in favour, 8 against, and 7 abstentions.

Supporters of the initial motion argued that between 80% and 90% of animals used to produce Halal and Kosher meat are stunned beforehand (the correct figure is 84% according to the RSPCA), but concerns were raised that religious law prevents Kosher meat from being pre-stunned.

In the end, the motion passed with 26 JCR members voting “in favour of re-adding the halal and kosher aspects of the original motion on the condition that it is pre-stunned”.

However, this was met with a backlash on the JCR’s Facebook page, with one student even questioning whether “the JCR cares more about animals than its Jewish members”, whilst others noted that the acceptability of stunning is widely debated in Islam and particularly Judaism.

Another student claimed that the JCR’s Head of Environment and Ethics was “doing his best to ensure that we source ethical produce: “He is doing so in good faith and because he believes passionately in animal welfare.”

In a discussion about the new rules on Facebook, one JCR member said, “The forms of kosher and halal without pre-stunning were considered deeply unethical during the meeting so were removed from the motion. Religious thoughts were put aside for the sakes of animal welfare, quite rightly.

“This was later re-amended to permit halal and kosher only if animals had been pre-stunned, even though many are uncomfortable with this as this sort of meat fails to qualify as kosher/halal to many people (especially orthodox Jews).

“The Jewish and Muslim communities were poorly represented in the meeting as there was simply no one to represent them. In the mean time, I hope we continue to prioritize animal welfare over other abhorrent practices, without anyone feeling the need to get offended.

“We continue to offer vegetarian meals 7 days a week for anyone unhappy with the fact that their meat did not suffer the cold sting of a blade to the throat.”

The President of JScoc, Nicole Jacobus, told Cherwell: “The very fact that this amendment was passed in a JCR meeting without a Jewish student being able to challenge it highlights the lack of diversity and awareness of other cultures amongst students in Oxford.

“The vote to ban kosher food only makes the diversity issue worse, as it shows that Jewish students are not only poorly provided for, but that they cannot actively practise as Jews at Somerville.

“This reflects badly on the whole of the Oxford student community. Oxford JSoc is always there to ensure Jewish students have the freedom to practise their religion as they choose to.

“We appreciate that the Somerville JCR President has now liaised with both Jewish students at the college and the staff to clearly work towards making kosher food available to students.

“Nevertheless, this situation has demonstrated the severe lack of cultural awareness that Oxford is facing.”

Somerville JCR President Emmanuel Amissah-Eshu has said, “We are pleased that we have been able to secure the support of the JCR in asking College to provide more inclusive food options in the form of gluten free, lactose free and pre-stunned halal meat on our menus.

“It has resulted in a productive meeting with College where they said they would look into providing the above as well as a proposal for kosher food to be available upon request for those that want it. This will be followed up on to make sure it happens.

“The debate following the motion to ask College to provide more gluten-free, lactose- free, halal and kosher food was a difficult and controversial conversation at times but the JCR is a place for such discourse but the motion amendment and the resulting vote was solely based on the debate of stunned vs pre-stunned meat provision in Hall and not the religious implications.”

Changing Perceptions: Contraception is not just a ‘Women’s issue’

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Changing Perceptions: Contraception is not just a ‘Women’s issue’

In 2018 new developments in contraceptive technology were the cause of much excitement, as reports of a contraceptive injection for men dominated the headlines.

There was a sense that the conversation surrounding contraception might be changing. However, as drug trials for this drug progressed, reports of the side-effects and how they were affecting men take over the news cycle. Men reportedly complained of mood swings, acne and weight gain.

For women who have used birth control such as the pill, these side-effects will be strangely familiar. They are, in fact, the very same sorts of side effects many women experience when taking the pill, or using other methods of contraception such as hormonal implants.

Many newspapers told us that because of these side-effects, men dropped out of the drug trial, resulting in its closure. However, this was erroneous reporting. Most men were happy to continue the trial. It was the trial monitors that decided to stop the trial, because they were concerned about the side-effects men were experiencing and the medical ethics surrounding the issue. In this particular trial, 20% of men reported side-effects, which led to the monitor’s decision to shut it down.

This would be less galling but for the fact that in recent female contraceptive trials, 30% of women have reported side-effects for the trial to be stopped. It is disappointing but not surprising that the side-effects men had to suffer were viewed as intolerable, despite the fact that women have routinely experienced similar side-effects ever since the pill became widely available in the UK in the 1960s.

In a society where masculinity is often highly prized, the idea of talking about contraception methods with partners, let alone friends and peers, seems unthinkable and alien to many men. They fear that, in expressing a willingness to take such a contraceptive, or even to engage in a conversation about contraception, they will be viewed as ‘less of a man’. This hyper-masculinity leaves no space for men to engage in a conversation about contraception, much less to consider taking on the burden themselves.

Besides this, weaknesses in sex education mean that even if men wanted to discuss contraception, they don’t have the available knowledge with which to do so. In school, girls and boys are often split into separate groups to talk about the different experiences that they will undergo during puberty.

Often, men are not taught about female contraceptives, and thus feel that they have little to add on the subject. Beyond simpler and less effective methods, like condoms, men don’t feel they are in a position to discuss contraception in much depth. The onus is on women to make sure they use protection during sex, because they know more about it and they will face the ramifications of it going wrong.

It is said that a viable male contraceptive will not be readily available on the market until 2022. Despite this, it is clear that we need to re-think our understanding of contraception and our perceptions of the gender roles that are so closely associated with them in order to implement meaningful change to- day. We need to reassess our preconceptions of what contraception is, who is in a position to talk about it, and who has to make sacrifices in order to make sure sex is safe.

In order for the contraceptive methods to progress, the way we talk about contraception must progress too. And the potential consequences of sex are the responsibility of both parties.

It follows that the burden for preventing those consequences should be shared equally as well.

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