Thursday 17th July 2025
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Strictly Straight Dancing: Why millennials no longer watch TV

Fin Kavanagh
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Strictly Straight Dancing: Why millennials no longer watch TV

The vac offers a golden opportunity to catch up on some sorely missed trash TV. However, as we leave the Oxford bubble, it becomes clear the more progressive ideas and attitudes that many of us have come to adopt in our time here have not permeated into society far beyond Thornhill Park and Ride.

From the overwhelming prominence of gender binary toilets, to employees receiving well below the living wage paid at most colleges, students and their respective universities across the UK appear to be speeding down the progressive highway, while much of rest of the world looks like its struggling to get out of second gear.

Terrestrial television might be one of our best examples of this. The average age of an ITV1 viewer is now 60. Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Amy Winehouse could have all met their untimely deaths, been reborn, had an entire second career, died again, and they’d still be younger than the average bloke watching Broadchurch.

If you decide you’ve had enough of ITV1 and watching Gail Platt shout at her kids, you can flick over to BBC2 just in time for Pointless, where you can add an extra two years onto that age. No coveted Pointless trophy for working out that’s 62.

Fear not though, the average age of a Channel 4 viewer, the home of cult adolescent comedies like The Inbetweeners and the vomit inducing Naked Attraction, is a sprightly 55 by comparison. So bear in mind next time you ask “is that a wart or a third nipple?” that Gran may well be wondering the very same thing.

Mainstream television viewership is dominated by a demographic with views and values of a different generation, as are the production companies, station managers and focus groups where these programs are piloted. It should come as no surprise then that last week Strictly Come Dancing bosses have announced that it had no plans to introduce same sex couples onto the show.

Budding LGBTQ competitor and resident doctor on Schof and Holly’s This Morning, Ranj Singh, took issue with this. As I’m sure did the London Academy of Dance, the UK Same Sex Dancing Council and the multiple other same sex dance academies, clubs, and schools operating in the UK.

Yes, despite the tango originally being danced between two men, the producers saw adjusting the show’s very nuanced, intricate and in no way soul-destroying formula far beyond the capabilities of mere mortals.

And then there’s Love Island, the show that captivated millions and divided a nation. When the show’s producer was questioned on whether the station had any plans to make the show any less of a dystopian, hetero, Barbie and Ken fake tan fest, he replied rather sheepishly that the show’s format simply wouldn’t work if it included same sex couples.

Asked how it could be made more inclusive, he suggested: “we should have a separate show for gay audiences”. Cheers pal, that’s just how you reassure a bunch of questioning adolescents that their sexuality makes them no different to anyone else.

Well, fuck him I say. And, funnily enough, so did Sophie and Katie in the 2016 series, when they stuck two fingers up at the show, upset the heteronormative apple cart and coupled up anyway — only to be fetishized by half the nation in the process.

Anyone who says that these shows can’t embrace diversity is, much like Dr Alex on his recent Instagram stories, chatting absolute horseshit.

Take First Dates, a show which takes the concept of blind dates, which go as back as far back as the 1920s (when homosexual activity was still illegal in pretty much all the Western world) and applies a very modern definition of love to them. The shows successful applicants vary from individuals in their 90s, to people with both physical and mental disabilities — not to mention the vast majority of us who don’t look like we’ve been chiselled by Michelangelo himself. Yet the show still makes for entertaining, dramatic and often genuinely heart-warming viewing— without the need, funnily enough, to be near totally whitewashed or entirely heteronormative.

Television has always been a force for progression. From the first televised close ups of the Queen during her coronation, to Julia Hesmondhaulgh playing the first transgender character in Coronation Street, programmes both fact and fiction have challenged the way we view people in our society.

It’s the energy and daring of young writers and producers to question societal norms that has driven this. However, we now turn to streaming services and online platforms for our media fill, while the once maverick TV broadcasting falls by the wayside. Online shows both old and new are happier to move with the times, the producers conscious of the fact their younger audiences’ demand a programmes more representative of the society they live in.

But as we open a new Netflix tab, spare a thought for Gran, who sits plonked in front of her Sony Bravia with the volume on full as she listens to Len Goodman whittle on. With that laptop she got for Christmas still firmly in its packaging, she won’t ever stream new favourites like Queer Eye, Orange Is The New Black, or Brooklyn 99. Instead, she’ll be forced to watch the same regurgitated episodes of Come Dine With Me three times a day. It will do little to change her perspective on minorities, masculinity or mental health, but at least she can have a right laugh when Sue fucks up the panna cotta…silly Sue.

How Instagram ruined your summer

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How Instagram ruined your summer

Scrolling through my Instagram feed in August is enough to fill anyone who has spent the last month stewing in a rural backwater with an acute sense of inadequacy. I see picture after picture of bikini-clad friends sprawled on sun loungers, sipping candidly from enormous cocktails, floating on giant inflatables in sparkling swimming pools, or else enjoying rooftop dinners against glowing sunsets. Then there are the travellers – we see the smiles at the airport, the backpacks and bundles, and scroll past “Checked into: [insert enviable country]”. Day by day on feeds and stories we witness them befriending locals and fellow travellers, helping out with worthy causes, and relaxing around beach fires, in hammocks, or aboard yachts on Mediterranean oceans.

Summer has become like a mini gap yah. Everyone seems to be enjoying a perfect montage of picturesque family fun, quality time with friends, charity adventures to Thailand or Australia – and all of it well documented of course, in a regular stream of dazzling photos on Instagram.

Far from advancing my CV, my mental well-being, my prospects, horizons, and bragging-rights, I have this summer reverted to kid-mode. I have spent much of my time at home, bickering with my siblings, postponing vac work, and relishing reversion to total dependence on others. My sole attempt at being a grown-up was the acquisition of my first job at a pub in Oxford, which I loathed with every fibre of my being, and the small amount of money I did make I put towards my ISA rather than exotic travels.

Unsurprisingly, I have at times found myself feeling like something of a failure, because thanks to social media, #summer has become something we have to actively celebrate over the weeks, something that cannot – and should not – be “wasted” simply through lack of initiative, energy, or funds. We must take advantage of the hot weather by going abroad, swimming and festival-ing, take advantage of the time off uni by indulging in photogenic, high quality relaxation (we’re talking spa not sofa, pool not park!), while the ambitious take advantage of the free months by engaging in internships to boost their CVs.

When I stop and consider Instagram and its notoriously nebulous relationship with reality, everything makes sense – what we see in a photo is a single flash of time, a very carefully chosen, perhaps even constructed, moment in an ordinary life. Instagram is a platform designed for the nosy, ironically to punish the nosy, because what we choose to display to everyone we know is naturally going to be the very best we have. We post the best, not the normal, or we would be posting every five minutes rather than once every few days.

As a result, Instagram is a breeding-ground for competitiveness: we see other peoples’ best, and our pride demands that we present ourselves as better, and before you know it we have the string of preposterously glamorous photographs on my feed that cannot represent lives that I know are really very similar to my own. Could it be that this narcissistic cycle, which feeds on the worst of each of us – our pride, our self-absorption, and desire to dominate – manipulates us into feeling sufficiently insecure that we simply must keep posting to prove ourselves sufficient?

There is of course truth and real graft behind the pictures that we see. For most, every day spent abroad represents hours of labouring in minimum-wage jobs, and every day by the pool is surely balanced by a day at the desk – I am not the only one faced with Mountain Vac-Work.

So, depressing though Instagram can be for those of us who have not left the UK this summer, let’s not confuse social media for what it purports to be: a documentary of our lives. Well-angled snapshots of the ups do not displace the many downs we all have to face, and lack of publicity does not make your vac any less a summer. The Vac, after all, is what it says on the tin – a vacation from the pressures of Oxford – and whether you are vacating to long white beaches or to the back garden, it’s real worth is surely how much you enjoy it, rather than how good it looks next to others on the screen.

Lessons learned: Long-distance relationships

Julia Pieza
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Lessons learned: Long-distance relationships

If you’re reading this, you’re likely to be in a relationship, and with the end of the summer approaching fast, the ‘University question’ facing your relationship is looming above you. If you’re anything like me this time last year, you’ll have read reading dozens of articles desperately looking for reassurance that your relationship can survive the distance. Like me, you also may be surrounded by friends who have already broken up for university and it may seem as though the odds are against you.

Yet, a year later, I am here to tell you your relationship can not only survive, but also benefit from long-distance. Here are some lessons I’ve learned over the last year in a long-distance relationship.

Lesson one:

Plan your visits. Choose a date when one can travel to see the other, but remember that the first month of university is usually quite hectic, so make sure to give yourself enough time to settle down so that you’re comfortable travelling to see your significant other. Oxford terms can seem like an intense 8-week marathon, so being able to escape the bubble is something I personally began to look forward to when visiting my significant other.

Lesson two:

Be clear about each other’s expectations. This will be relevant if one or both of you has a heavy workload– understanding the demands of your significant other’s course will help you plan your time accordingly. Although working whilst with your significant other may seem like a waste of time, there are some things you may not be able to avoid, and it can certainly help to have someone to talk through your ideas with freely.

Lesson three:

If they are at university, explore their city or campus. Truly integrate yourself into the life at your significant other’s university, even if only for a weekend. Meeting each other’s friends is the key to tackling jealousy and maintaining a healthy relationship; and it is more than likely that you’ll make good friends too. If they are still at home, this can give you a chance to visit family also.

Lesson four, and perhaps the most cliché:

Trust each other. There is perhaps no better way to learn what trust really means than by being in a long-distance relationship. The process of learning how to trust each other is rewarding too. There is a sense of self-confidence that comes from being in a room full of people with your significant other, meeting new people and knowing you’re both really just thinking about getting back to each other.

A long-distance relationship helps you learn how to live as an individual in a relationship, which is easy to forget when you’re with your significant other virtually all the time. You may have been warned or even discouraged by your family and friends, but there will be other people in the same situation here, counting down the days until their next trip across the country.

The support of your significant other at the start of this new chapter of your life is something I know I wouldn’t have been able to manage without– knowing that they’re there for you despite the distance, always ready to give you that pep-talk before your first tute or listen to you complain about annoying neighbours. That feeling you get when you’re just about to see them at a bus or train station; the pure excitement as if it were your first date, will remind you why you’re so good together.

Oxford student successful in campaign for mother’s right to cross Mexico-US border

Oscar Baker
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Oxford student successful in campaign for mother’s right to cross Mexico-US border

An Oxford student has successfully petitioned the U.S. government to allow his mother to cross the Mexico-U.S. border to see his dying father.

St. Anthony’s student Bill De La Rosa started the online and press campaign after U.S. authorities denied his mother’s plea for humanitarian parole.

Bill’s father, Arsenio De La Rosa, 85, is hospitalised in the USA, and doctors predict he has only a few weeks to live.

Bill and his mother, Gloria Arellano Montoya, crossed the Mexico-U.S. border at Nogales Port, Arizona late last week. Bill, his father, and his three siblings are all U.S. citizens, but his mother was barred from entering the U.S. for ten years in 2009 after being denied a green card. Bill’s brother Jim was honourably discharged from the U.S. Marine Corps in 2011 to become their father’s full-time caregiver.

Mr De La Rosa, who is a Marshall Scholar at Oxford, told Cherwell: “I believe my family had all of this support because people felt this was an injustice. The fact that the U.S. immigration authorities were not allowing my mom to see my dad even for just one day was plain cruel and inhumane.

“This outcome means the world to me, particularly because this means that we can come together as a family one last time.”

The change.org petition, addressed to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, received 16,069 signatures. Mr De La Rosa’s efforts received public attention in Arizonan local and regional press, as well as the support of local U.S. Congressman, Rep. Grijalva.

Mr De La Rosa wrote in the petition: “U.S. immigration law has already torn my family’s lives apart.

“My father is dying. The very least the U.S. government can do is allow her to see him one last time, and to allow him to see his wife during the final moments he has.”

It went from 5 days to 0 days to now 30 days. Mom has her humanitarian parole to come over after all the heat and…

Posted by Jim De La Rosa on Friday, August 24, 2018

U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) originally denied Bill’s mother’s application on 21 August, citing her 2009 denial of residency and ban on reentry. Bill launched his campaign the following day, saying he found this decision “strange” since “my mom had previously been granted humanitarian parole in 2011 when my dad suffered his first stroke.”

His mother Gloria had then been allowed into the U.S. for five days, with the CBP granting her another five-day extension upon completion.

In addition to the petition, Bill contacted U.S. and Arizona representatives, held a press conference, and had multiple TV and newspaper interviews.

The U.S. government reversed their decision by the morning of 24 August. Bill’s mother was given a 30-day humanitarian parole, longer than the temporary length Bill had expected.

He told Cherwell: “When I first heard about this, I simply could not believe it, especially the length of her humanitarian parole. I went down to Mexico that same morning to pick her up and cross the U.S.-Mexico border together.”

Bill De La Rosa thanked all those who had supported his campaign in a video moments after crossing the border.

Cellar: a haven for nonconformists

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Cellar: a haven for nonconformists

Cellar is more than just a club, it is a theme in and of itself. Most people describe Cellar as sweaty or grungy, but what has always fascinated me is that those dripping neon walls are covered in murals of the fantastical. Dragons, castles, princesses, goblins in radiant pinks and purples. Sure the art style looks like a stoner was given a 6-pack of highlighters, but these walls give me the impression that Cellar represents a desire for escapism that’s a little different to other clubs.

When the nights themselves often have quite niche motifs, a journey to Cellar isn’t an attempt to mindlessly lose yourself in alcohol, bass and the mouths of other people, it’s a journey to transport yourself to another point in time. To go to a club night for the sake of the music rather than only the social aspect shows that those who rock up already have an emotional connection to what’s being played, and because of this there’s a feeling of community between strangers there. We all already love the same thing, and want to be taken for one night to the world it came from.

People complain that Cellar itself is just trying to be edgy, as are the people who enjoy it. But to me it seems there’s a touch of self-aware irony. Clubbers there wear light-up sneakers, sequin jumpsuits, heaps of glitter, and holographic nightmares. I bring my best/worst trashy glam outfits there, and get free drinks from the club. In the way that people revel in the bright tastelessness of glam, Cellar keeps on being proudly and authentically dire.

Now I can’t vouch for all of Cellar – I’ve been to many Burning Down the House nights, a couple RnB ones, and Dance Kapital (what other club would agree to put on something as simultaneously lame and glorious as a Labour club night? I mean it when I say Cellar is self-aware). But I can at least say that Burning Down the House is something truly special. Bowie, Talking Heads, The Smiths, these are bands who can be said to have changed the culture of their time through the intellect and narrative of their work. Life on Mars?, Bigmouth Strikes Again, Once in a Lifetime tell stories, and the musicians’ careers can be said to tell dozens of little stories that shaped their period.

I’m always going to dance to Rihanna’s S&M or Taio Cruz’s Dynamite, but the English student in me knows that reading into the more profound lyrics of narrative songs often chosen in Burning Down the House surrounding that Smiths/Bowie/Talking Heads core group might change me ever-so-slightly as a person. Some people go to clubs to forget themselves, but I guess I look for something unforgettable and irrevocable.

The first time I went to Cellar was a kind of Renaissance for me. Only been clubbing twice before, fairly innocent, whisked away there by a guy I knew was bad news. To be brought into this seedy little den felt so right, and there were my favourite bands reaching out and telling me to seize life. The other clubs mostly present one or two large open floor spaces with strobe lighting, but Cellar is a dark little labyrinth, where drunk you could very likely get lost. Kiss someone in Parkend and all your friends and the entire floor are going to see it, but in Cellar you can easily be stolen away and find a nook you’ve never noticed before.

On top of club nights Cellar is a space for live music events given to local small bands, a sign that above all else, the place cares about music instead of ripping as much money away from you as it can. I haven’t been to these, but there is a devoted fanbase of people who don’t especially like club nights who enjoy Cellar gigs. Shutting down Cellar would leave even more of a social divide between those who go clubbing and those who don’t, if there is less opportunity for the halfway point of gigs.

Last time Cellar faced closure, the situation was one in which local support could make a difference – the relocation of the Lush store and issues to do with rent. This time, I can’t think of how the problem could be resolved by students, though I’m sure many would agree to pay more for entry, and will still do what we can to verbally support the club. This place means a lot to me, and I think everyone who goes there regularly has their own stories as to why it means something to them. Cellar shutting down would be a great loss to Oxford as a whole, but for now I suppose it’s up to the gods of crappy grunge to decide what will happen to it.

The Cherwell Freshers’ Packing List

Libby Cherry
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The Cherwell Freshers’ Packing List

After experiencing three terms of packing and re-packing, you will soon become adept in knowing exactly what you take to university. The first Michaelmas pack is always full of the unnecessary and, in hindsight, rather ridiculous (entire cutlery set for a dinner party of 12, enough food to see you through World War III, yet just one pair of socks). Obviously, what you will need varies massively from college to college, let alone for each individual, but here are some of the basics:

Clothes 

When it comes to clothes, the amount you bring is really up to you. I personally have no shame in declaring my laziness by hulking the entire contents of my wardrobe down to Oxford, meaning that I only have to do a wash every 2 weeks. However, no matter if you are a little more adept with washing machines (or have less obliging parents), you need to cover these main categories.

  • Day-to-day. Essentially wear whatever you want, wherever you want. Dress codes are fairly hazy, although I personally I always feel that whilst ‘In College’ I can dress very casually and slightly scale up if I’m going to faculty. Some may say that the pinnacle of sartorial showing-off is the RadCam but, equally, I have been in there in sweaty running leggings and no one has batted an eyelid.
  • Whatever your style, I would say just think layers, layers, layers. University buildings are erratically heated and it is not unusual to find yourself freezing in an unheated library to going into a packed lecture hall that is more Amazonian than Oxonian. Get ready to strip.
  • Bop clothes – The backbone of any fresher’s wardrobe is ultimately a collection of weird stuff that doesn’t really go together, or, if worn at once, wouldn’t come close to any kind of coherent outfit. Yet, combined with some more nondescript items, these garments make very enviable bop costume that can accommodate for pretty much any theme. The kind of things I’m talking about are bandannas, wigs, fluorescent tights, coconut bikinis, animal onesies, dungarees, PVC leggings, dog collars, anything that glows in the dark, tutus, Hawaiian shirts, anything food-related. And, of course, the absolute staple is glitter (for everyone). For the more creative: scissors, cardboard, and facepaint. 
  • The essay crisis outfit. This varies but is almost universally sweatpants and some kind of greatly over-sized school leavers’ hoodie. Comforting water-bottle strapped to stomach is optional.
  • Big coats – a lot of the pubs/drinking locations have outside seating, and, you will be spending a lot of time shivering. A full-face balaclava wouldn’t go amiss, in my opinion.
  • Clothes for formal – again, this varies from college to college. But generally a nice dress and heels will suffice, otherwise, its a suit or a suit. Whether you have to wear a gown is dependent on your college.
  • Sports clothes – make sure they are weather appropriate for first term.
  • Shoes – wear whatever you like on a regular basis, but in addition 1) 1x pair of ‘fancy’ shoes for formal 2) 1x black boring shoes for matriculation (whack out those old school shoes) 3) 1x pair of disgusting shoes for clubbing (they will be trashed. Whatever club. However classy aspire to be). 4) 1x trainers-for-actual-sport 5) 1x slippers. Essential in draughty bedrooms. 6) 1x flip-flops. Even in winter. I know. Trust me, they aren’t just for holidays.
  • Dressing-gown. Embrace your inner Edwardian – this is the only solution to dashing to the shared bathroom.

BEDROOM

  • Light features. My college room had a single bare bulb. Ask your college parents what your room will come with but I imagine that most rooms could do with a lampshade, fairy lights (battery-powered), and, possibly, desk lamps. 
  • Rug. 
  • Wall coverings – posters, photos of that gap yah/interrailing trip, more rugs. Check what is allowed for your college, but most will at least offer a pinboard.
  • Blankets/cushions – if you like that sort of thing.
  • 2x sets of sheets – they take surprisingly long to dry in November.
  • Additional pillow. Unless you’re a kind of Puritan that can deal with their single, flat offering.
  • Hot water bottle.

Bathroom 

  • Shower cap 
  • Towel 
  • Toothbrush 
  • Flannel

Eating

  • Snacks. Of course, there are supermarkets in Oxford. But I always found it useful having a supply of nuts, and reheatable rice pouches for those days when you can’t make it to hall and are absolutely ravenous.
  • Cooking implements: Check what is on offer at your college, kitchen-wise. But at least one set of cereal bowl, plate, knife, fork, spoon, mug, glass is useful. Tupperware and water bottle for lunch on the go. Sandwich bags are also good for sneaking food into libraries. If your college does offer a hob – wooden spoon, small saucepan, grater, colander are all useful. If you’re a foodie, raiding your home cupboard for spices and oil might be a good idea.
  • Surface cleaner, washing up liquid, sponge, scrubbing brush. 

Other equipment: 

  • Swimming costume. 
  • Bike. Most colleges house their freshers on-site so a bike may seem fairly superfluous if you are close to the centre of town. However, despite being at a very central college, I still found it useful cutting that 15 minute walk to faculty to 5 minutes! The essentials are: a back and front light, a helmet, a bell. It might also be good to have a back grid and bungee. A D-lock is absolutely vital if you choose to bring a bike as well.
  • Re-usable shopping bags/cloth tote bags.

All of this may seem a bit overwhelming, and like a bit of a challenge to get in the boot of a Ford Focus, but you’ll work out pretty quickly what you do and don’t need. No one ever packs the perfect selection of stuff, and as people in third year will tell you, it’s an art you gradually improve at term on term.

 

Freedom of speech is bigger than any Boris jibe

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Freedom of speech is bigger than any Boris jibe

As the press shifts to the next summer scandal, let’s take a look back to that Boris Johnson article. Amidst the fury, it seems to me there were several distinct strands of criticism lodged here, each ultimately less and less coherent.

There is first the protest in his own constituency, where defiant crowds gathered around placards that read, among other things, “my dress my choice”. The message is of course to be promoted, you might think, except of course it is the very thing that the offending article argued for. Those who took the time to read the piece before getting angry about it would have known that Boris’ position was precisely that the law should not interfere with choice of dress. In this, he notably deviates from the position of many, nominally “liberal” countries in Europe, where the burka is in fact banned. Some picketers’ error was to have staged their stunt in Uxbridge rather than, say, any city in Belgium.

Next came cheap shots of a party-political flavour, exemplified by the likes of John McDonnell, according to whom Johnson’s remarks reveal “how endemic intolerance is within the Tory party”. Again, we seem to forget that Johnson’s larger point was that we must, unlike France and Denmark, tolerate the wearing of burkas, regardless of personal feeling. But never mind what he actually said! This was all in a week that saw Labour’s leader tie himself in knots trying to explain why he flew halfway across the world to apparently lay wreaths on the graves of terrorists. Is the Shadow Chancellor just doing his bit to distract us from the real story — nothing to see here, but did you hear about this jibe a Tory backbencher made in his Sunday column?

But this is all beside the point, I hear you disputing, since the issue here is not Johnson’s actual message, but his tone, one which explicitly mocked Muslim women. It’s this, critics exclaim, which has rightly landed Boris, an influential public figure, in the trouble he finds himself. “[P]eople are objecting”, we are told, “not to Johnson’s views on the veil but his decision to mock the women who wear them”. This view is echoed by many others, who argue that “as much as anything, [the whole debate] is about respect for Muslim religious beliefs and practices”.

For a start, how exactly did this priesthood come to be elected, which apparently has within its remit the quite amazing power to decide for us which jokes we are permitted to tell? The very essence of comedy is often to subvert and mock, and who says they decide when this goes too far?

More seriously, a certain double standard seems often to be in play when such firestorms erupt, as they periodically do. For some time now, we have grown accustomed in this country to backlashes of the sort we have seen here whenever traditional beliefs and practices are mocked. Be it the release of The Life of Brian or the publication of The Satanic Verses, satirical works of various levels of seriousness have been denounced, censored, and in some cases we have seen those involved in their production threatened. The interesting thing about this kind of reactions is that they seem predominately to come in one direction.

What I have in mind is the asymmetry between the respect bestowed by default upon long standing (and typically) religious beliefs and practices on the one hand, and to less traditional ways of life on the other. Socially conservative, religious types regularly and publicly denounce “libertine hedonists”, who do not exactly regard godless rakes of the Boris variety to be their equals.

There is no doubt that for those who have dedicated their lives to such values as modesty and religious devotion, other lives shaped around a guiltless pursuit of power, sensual pleasure, and material comfort can seem empty, unaccountably narcissistic, and altogether wicked. It’s only fair that the people they regard as miserable sinners should be free to return the favour.

“It is impossible to live in peace with those one believes to be damned”, or so Rousseau would tell us. The liberal project, if we can call it that, is perhaps the modern West’s attempt to defy that statement. There is, of course, an element of truth in what Rousseau had said. As we have seen in recent weeks, the fiery tensions generated by a society in which we live side by side with others, whose idea of a ‘good’ life can be so different, can sometimes boil over.

A mutual incomprehension of this kind takes on many forms: we may exchange barbs, tell jokes at the expense of rival attitudes and approaches, or write up philosophical treatises to persuade the benighted of the truth. All of this is indicative of a robust, healthy, and open-minded society, where people are free to say what they think, and put forward their version of how life ought to be lived. Sensible limits should of course be in place to govern how we go about engaging these differences, but nothing in the Boris fiasco suggest that the line should not be drawn where it has always been drawn.

Short of libel and incitements to violence, the domain of speech should always be off-limits to top-down oversight.

Have your say? Visit cherwell.org/write or pitch to [email protected]

The Meg – mega-ridiculous, mega-fun

Becky Cook
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The Meg – mega-ridiculous, mega-fun

It may seem the best of summer is behind us: the World Cup paraphernalia has evaporated from shops and Love Island couples are already announcing their breakups.

Yet, it seems the latest offering from “WTF-movie” icon Jason Statham, The Meg, promised a ludicrous tail end treat for the drowsy sprawl of summer. The hilarious trailers promised us the ultimate big-budget Man vs Giant Prehistoric Shark movie, but has the Stath delivered the goods?

The opening scene plunges into the melodrama of Statham’s Jonas Taylor, a rescue diver in the throes of an underwater crisis. Statham utters laughable clichés such as “There’s something out there” and “We got this!”, while seemingly itching to break the fourth wall and wink into the depths of the camera.

From here, the film then doggy-paddles through the first act as a misfit ensemble of unremarkable characters and their synthetic dramas is introduced, while the audience becomes impatient for the Meg to swim onscreen and shed some blood. Statham growls his dialogue and engages in a flirtation with researcher Suyin (Li Bingbing), that is apparently conducted in a hermetically concealed chamber maintaining the vacuum of chemistry between the two. There are more sparks between Statham and the shark than between Taylor and his love interest.

Emulating the ancestral titan Jaws in its reluctance to reveal the carnivore, The Meg fails to sustain the icy terror Spielberg struck because the gargantuan Meg just isn’t particularly scary. In fact, it becomes less threatening with each glimpse we get of its fluctuating dimensions. 

As ever, it is man’s hubris that precipitates the catastrophic consequences. The Meg follows a submarine to the swanky research facility in the South China Sea, escaping its icy subterranean realm and miraculously avoiding the bends, only to emerge at sea level eager to wreak carnage on our heroes. This prehistoric predator first materialises from the murky depths in a shot of looming intensity reminiscent of Bruce’s entrance in Finding Nemo. 

At first it seems Statham intends on defeating the Meg by whipping off his shirt and tensing his abs.However, the film unfolds into a series of comically brainless plot points and set pieces, including Statham taking on the Meg solo, armed with nothing but a harpoon gun and his muscle definition. There’s never a moment where Statham’s heroic credentials are remotely in doubt; at on point, he performs mouth-to-mouth on Suyin while the actor playing the qualified doctor sits impotent at his side, having done chest compressions, leaving the heavy duty lifesaving part to Jason and his flexing pecs.

The film is an American-Chinese co-production with clear concessions made to appease both audiences, from lashings of CGI-shark mayhem to the clear advert for Chinese beach tourism that caps off the third act. Having watched the film in Shanghai, I was given a glimpse into the Chinese reception of this Hollywood/Chollywood fusion and, given the fact one woman starting giggling while watching videos on her phone a few rows over, I am not sure the high-octane sequences had the desired effect.

However, the cinema was packed with punters so perhaps such joint U.S. and Chinese productions could become a mainstay of blockbuster output if they continue to draw the crowds and the cash.

At times The Meg threatens to veer into the absurd; it takes a sheer effort of will not to collapse into giggles when Statham first rasps the word ‘megalodon’. Yet, in amongst Statham’s growled lines of haggard dialogue is a teasing possibility that he, and perhaps the film as a whole, holds his tongue firmly in cheek. Perhaps director Jon Turteltaub and Statham are in on the joke, as the film is at its most entertaining when it not only embraces, but revels in, the unrestrained impulse of silliness.

Privilege comes in many shapes and sizes

Megan Simmonite
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Privilege comes in many shapes and sizes

At Oxford, it is very normal to consciously recognise the privileges that we enjoy, be that white privilege, male privilege, straight privilege, class privilege, or education privilege.

Yet a newly acknowledged, if controversial, type of privilege that has been trending on social media seems harder to accept for some people. The privilege I am talking about is thin privilege. Thin privilege, which was brought to our attention through a series of tweets by Cora Harrington, has sparked many a debate on Twitter.

Thin privilege, as Cora explains, includes the ways in which a slim person may easily be able to purchase clothing, fit into a seat on public transport, and publicly eat excessive amounts without judgement. She labels it as a ‘privilege’ as it is something that thinner people have a duty to recognise, in order that we may progress away from a situation of unconscious bias that pervades society.

The immediate backlash that followed included repeated statements explaining how thin privilege is just another part of everyday life that overly PC, touchy millennial snowflakes are calling out. Yet it is much deeper than this, thin privilege does not just affect the availability of clothes in a shop, it can also have an impact on the level of medical care you receive and the way doctors treat you, as a consequence of how they perceive you.

The bias towards those who are thinner has carefully been constructed, and repeatedly reinforced by Western society through the media. Skinny people will be pasted across Vogue and Grazia, they haunt you in shop windows, they sell you haircuts, makeup, and even a lifestyle. This feeds into everyday life here at Oxford.

The purchasing of stash carries with it a clear nod towards the concept of thin privilege. For slim people buying stash is easy, male sizes range from small to 2XL, female sizes range from XS to XL. What happens when you need a larger size? The thin privilege in this situation is that there will (nearly) always be a size that fits a thin person, yes it may be a little big, but you don’t need to miss out on stash just because it doesn’t fit perfectly.

On the contrary, if these sizes are too small someone may be forced to go without stash, impacting their involvement in a particular sport, and ability to feel a part of that team. It is even worse in high street stores. Topshop sizes stop at a size 18 and Topman at XXL. Easily being able to buy a last-minute outfit in Westgate, for a formal, carries with it an air of thin privilege. Even if you have time to order something from ASOS, most of the models wearing the clothes are a tall size 8, and the majority are white, so it may be hard to visualise what the clothes will look like on all body shapes and skin tones.

Thin privilege is being able to purchase a large plate of food, along with two desserts in hall, asking for an extra-large portion in the JCR cafe, and making several hungover trips a day down Cornmarket to Mcdonalds, with nobody batting an eyelid. Yet, if you are a few dress sizes bigger you receive the looks and sniggers.

Many people justify their sniggers and remarks by explaining how the person ‘deserves’ it as they need to lose weight to be ‘healthy’. This is not only unjustified and clearly untrue, but it also points to why there is a refusal to accept thin privilege.

Most will remember the famous ad that erupted all over London, a skinny woman in a yellow bikini entitled ‘are you beach body ready’. Things like this distort the perception of health. Being healthy is not being a size 8, being healthy is having a balanced diet and taking part in exercise. Bar extreme cases such as obesity it has very little to do with if you are a size 6 or a size 16.

Thin people do need to address their thin privilege. Yes, weight can impact the ability to be comfortable on a plane, this is significant, but something that needs to be more urgently addressed is that weight can impact the quality of medical care that a person receives. Upon tweeting about thin privilege, Cora Harrington received an influx of replies. Many of these included stories of unfair bias when visiting a doctor, with some being called lazy, and others being told their condition was merely due to weight gain.

Yes, clothing is hard to find if you do not have a ‘typical’ body shape, which most of us do not. Yes, there are other privileges that are extremely important to recognise. Yes, weight can sometimes impact health. And yes, thinner people may also experience negative bias; this does not mean we do not have a duty to at least recognise our thin privilege. There are very crucial struggles to fight, but we do not have to disregard other types of prejudice.

In the midst of Netflix releasing its thin championing, body shaming, and widely criticised series ‘Insatiable’, it is even more crucial to tackle and therefore address thin privilege. By doing this thin people are not making themselves martyrs, they are helping to change society, in order to make life better for people of all body shapes.

It’s time to redress the balance of John McCain’s legacy

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It’s time to redress the balance of John McCain’s legacy

Tributes have poured in this week from all sides of the political divide to celebrate the life of John McCain, whose funeral was this weekend. The Washington Post’s editorial declared that “all over the world, Mr McCain is associated with freedom and democracy”; “he championed human rights with verve and timelessness – speaking out against repression and authoritarianism’.

His support for gun control, his liberal stance on immigration, and his opposition to the use of torture in Guantánamo Bay, as well as his time spent as a Prisoner of War in Vietnam has led journalists, even in the UK, to hail him as a “warrior politician”.  But this doesn’t tell the full story. Some of his actions – the effects of which are still felt around the world today – are not being mentioned. The well wishes circulating in the press fail to hold Senator McCain to account for what is an appalling political record. It is not insensitive to now attempt a little rebalancing.

Throughout his political career, McCain was an ardent supporter of possibly every American intervention, war, and militaristic use of force in its arsenal of foreign policy. Whilst praised for ‘championing human rights’, his opposition to the use of torture was not so much due to humanitarian sympathies, but because he said it did not “work”. Instead, it was only harmful to America’s legitimacy and global image.

Following his release from time spent as a Prisoner of War in Vietnam, now Senator McCain supported Reagan’s 1983 invasion of Grenada; Reagan’s efforts with the Central American fascists; Bush’s 1989 invasion of Panama; Clinton’s military threats in Bosnia; the 1999 bombing of Serbia; the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan; the belief that Saddam Hussein possessed “weapons of mass destruction”; advocated military action against North Korea in 2003, and subsequently, intervention in Libya and Syria. The day before he died, 22 Yemeni children were killed in yet another war supported by McCain, a tragedy which has failed to rouse anywhere near the same outpouring of grief in the media.

McCain’s legacy, for now, is shaped by today’s political climate. Fear and mass hysteria surrounding the election and presidency of Donald Trump allowed McCain to win the hearts of Democrats and Republicans alike through his recent criticism of the President. The overblown panic surrounding Trump’s administration has led to a short term memory loss; that people have said they’d prefer to have President Bush back in office is testament to how far we’ve lost our way. It is right that we should now attempt to remember McCain more realistically.

We should always remember McCain’s less commendable actions.  Restoring a more well-rounded view of some of the darker aspects of American history will alleviate some of the terror we feel today. Today’s politics are not the radical disjuncture from America’s past we’ve been led to believe. Don’t pine for a past that did not exist; don’t pine for a man who was not the hero we make him out to be. America has caused a lot of unnecessary destruction in the world, and McCain has advocated almost every intervention which has led to it.

Remember him as an American hero if you want to, but first ask yourself what that really means. He helped create the desert they call peace.

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