Friday 1st May 2026
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Sequels and Spinoffs: serving commercial or creative interests?

Chung Kiu Kwok
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Sequels and Spinoffs: serving commercial or creative interests?

“Okay cool BUT WHAT ABOUT WINDS OF WINTER”, reads the entirety of the most liked review on Goodreads’s page for George R.R. Martin’s Fire and Blood. The beauty of Goodreads’s semi-democratic system is that it can be relied on to yield fairly representative opinions, factoring in some degree of social media savvy required to get your review to the top. The point is, the above reviewer was by no means an anomaly: When Fire and Blood hit shelves last month, its release was overshadowed by the avalanche of voices demanding that, instead of furnishing yet another 700-page side project that nobody had asked for, Martin should get to work on the next instalment of the A Song of Ice and Fire series. The latest offering of the series that began with A Game of Thrones in 1991 has been seven years in the making with no end in sight.

Most cases of maligned spin-offs are not as overt as outright having a hand in hampering completion of the main series. There are more subtle ways they can detract from the experience of the original. Perhaps the most polarising sequel of recent years, Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman, drew intense scrutiny for contradicting Lee’s repeated assertions that she would never release another novel, with many wondering whether she’d been “taken advantage of in her old age” by opportunistic publishers. It didn’t help that Watchman, although chronologically set two decades later, was practically an early draft of what would eventually become the classic To Kill a Mockingbird; the most jarring transformation manifested in the complete reversal of Atticus Finch’s character from beloved civil rights near-icon to raging segregationist. While some readers pointed to red flags in Mockingbird that had always betrayed Atticus’s underlying prejudices, others argued that Watchman portrayed a prototype of a character who would evolve through revisions into the principled man they’d always loved.

Although To Kill a Mockingbird will likely remain a classic no matter what spin-offs/rip-offs are published in its name, there are lessons to be learned from the controversy surrounding Go Set a Watchman. Most obviously, far from immunising works from being put under a microscope, the names of legends such as Harper Lee set an even higher bar for the novels they headline. After all, a higher-profile author means a louder, larger fanbase, and the last thing fanbases like is being told that they were wrong. Wrong about the story; wrong about the message; wrong about the fundamental beliefs of the figure they revered. To rub salt in the wound, the offending publication was barely more than a naked cash grab.

Commercialisation of lucrative book franchises makes for an easy target, but by no means do spin-offs require financial motivations to attract fire. Take the perennial childhood favourite of Harry Potter. Even after J.K. Rowling’s infamous assertion that “the story of [Harry Potter and the Cursed Child] should be considered canon”, legions of fans adamantly decry the stage play as horribly written, out of character fanfiction that butchered the spirit of the original series. As the world’s first billion-dollar author, it’s unlikely that Rowling was in desperate need of extra cash from Cursed Child. The critically acclaimed play, whose West End production picked up six Tony Awards, was more likely a product of genuine creative interest on the part of its writers (Rowling was one of several contributors). That didn’t save it from the ire of fans. Popular authors’ universes often expand beyond their control, fan theories evolving into cemented pillars of belief. If additions to an author’s universe clash with those beliefs, even if the additions are technically consistent with previous works, there inevitably arises the sense of being somehow cheated, of seeing a known truth destroyed.

Whether such a feeling is justified remains a different and not easily answerable question. On one hand, an author’s creations are theirs to do with as they please. They owe their audience nothing, the argument goes, and have the right to publish whatever spin-offs, sequels, prequels and companion colouring books (yes, it’s a thing for an increasing number of fantasy series) they wish. But this argument trivialises the amount of time and money that readers invest into a published series, which are invaluable to its success. Like it or not, the moment that an author accepts financial compensation for their work, an element of commercialisation is introduced into it. As long as creative engagement and dedication to the original canon stand alongside, rather than subordinate to, commercial interests, there should be no reason to fear the presence of monetary incentives in the publication of spin-offs. The brand power of a hit original won’t redeem shoddy writing in its successors, but a well-written, canon-consistent sequel may enjoy a warm welcome even if undertaken as a profitable venture. Spin-offs, sequels and the like are just like any other book: They stand on their own merits.

The Gilets Jaunes and working class anger

Daniil Ukhorskiy
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The Gilets Jaunes and working class anger

Two weeks ago, the Gilets Jaunes turned out for a fifth straight weekend of protest. It was time for me to see the movement first hand. Crossing onto the Champs-Élysées from Rue Marbeuf, I was searched by the police like anyone else wishing to go on the avenue that day. My appearance was met with quizzical looks from the gendarmes, as I lacked a yellow vest or any other visible sign I was a protester.  

Whilst the movement is another example of the strong French tradition of civil disobedience, it is also unique. Many of the grievances voiced by the Gilets Jaunes are rooted in the country’s economic stagnation, and Macron’s failure to address it. It is not policy failure, however, that constructed a broad coalition of the French working-class. It is Macron’s image as an out-of-touch, elitist, and arrogant ruler which has allowed protests over a carbon tax to become his government’s defining crisis. If he is unable to fix his image and kickstart the economy, Macron could be surrendering his country to the very populists that he defeated.

For a Saturday in December, the Champs-Élysées turned out to be surprisingly empty. Bereft of cars, and with police only allowing a trickle of protesters to enter, the broad Avenue was dotted with groups of people in yellow vests. They were mostly chanting and singing, with a handful staring down the gendarmes blocking off streets.

I spent the rest of the day speaking to protesters, trying to wrap my head around the movement that was dominating French political discourse. Every commentator seemed to have their own opinion on the origins, goals and tactics used by the Gilets, and I was determined to formulate my own.

Broken promises

Macron and his administration have an approval rating of 23 percent, or roughly half of Donald Trump’s. The Gilets Jaunes movement is its most serious crisis yet. The reforms to date, including a repeal of the ISF (wealth tax) and a shake-up of university admissions have been met with widespread discontent.

The “Eco Tax” on fuel, which sparked the Gilets Jaunes movement, was presented by the government as an initiative to help meet climate goals. Working-class people disavowedit for being blind to the needs of poorer communities. In a city like Paris, public transport is cheap, efficient, and used by people of all social strata. Rural areas of France, however, are lacking such services. Protesters pointed to the fact that they depend on driving every day to get to work.

Despite slowing growth in 2018, spokespeople for the Gilets Jaunes do not point to indicators of economic health. They point to specific initiatives, spun as evidence of Macron being ‘out-of-touch’. Caring little about what the policies entail, the movement is focused on personal gripes of economic hardship. What started as a movement against the self-contained issue of carbon tax has morphed into an all-encompassing proclamation of working-class anger.

This anger is largely justified. Macron’s policies of economic liberalisation have not borne the promised fruits. As France’s National Institute of Fiscal and Economic Studies reports, purchasing power and consumer confidence have waned and the business climate has continued to stagnate. People across France feel abandoned and ignored. Previously, this would mean a series of strikes, organised by experienced and professional unions, campaigning for a specific policy change. Now, the movement crosses party lines and unites most of the rural working class.

The Macron government’s main problem, however, lies not in their policies. They have an image problem. Rolling back the Eco Tax and promising an increase of the minimum wage did nothing to assuage the wave of anger, further illustrating how disconnected the anger is from policy considerations. When announcing the €15 billion package aimed at alleviating economic hardship, Macron did it from his Ivory Tower, an exquisite gilded office at the heart of the Palais de l’Élysée.

Like no other

The Gilets Jaunes are, broadly speaking, disorganised and uninformed. Unlike previous popular movements like Nuit Debout or other campaigns against Hollande’s labour law reform, there is no unified leadership or set list of demands.There is only a large group of angry, disillusioned people, many of whom simply proclaim that they want “no more taxes” or Macron’s resignation. For Macron and his administration, this presents a unique challenge, especially the latter demand. As a classically educated technocrat, Macron’s response to most issues is thoughtful policy change or grandiose speeches. His interactions with the public have been rocky and defensive.

When confronted by a young jobless man in September, Macron told him “go across the street and find yourself work”. The man was adamant that his job search had been prolonged and fruitless. This arrogant and callous remark symbolises Macron’s attitude of superiority– a focal point of criticism by the Gilets Jaunes. What Macron said to the young man was technically true: the hospitality sector has a job surplus. People, however, want to see a more empathetic President who is ready to listen to the concerns of the working class instead of talking down to them.

The dangerous alternative

As with other times of profound dissatisfaction with the ruling class, the environment is fertile for extremism to take hold. Marine Le Pen and her rebranded Rassemblement National pin economic problems on migrants and minorities. On the left, Jean-Luc Mélenchon points to big business as the root of all issues. This rhetoric has seen a resurgence as the popularity of the Gilets Jaunes increases.

Countless protesters that I have spoken to proclaimed that they didn’t vote in the previous election. Many used an old French saying: “choosing between the Plague and cholera” to compare Le Pen and Macron. Some of the rhetoric used by the protesters was even more alarming. When allocating blame, many lumped big businesses with the media, even alluding to a Jewish conspiracy. Reports have quoted protesters as denying climate change or blaming migrants for their economic hardship.

The spread and normalisation of such rhetoric throughout this mass movement is the most dangerous consequence of the protests escalating. Marine Le Pen voiced her support for the Gilets Jaunes, using the opportunity to promote her own ideology. The RN has been climbing in the polls as Macron’s popularity plummets, and the stage is set for a populist resurgence in the European Parliament elections in 2019. Those results will show whether Macron has allowed Le Pen’s brand of populism to flourish.

If the government cannot change the fact that thousands of voters see them as out of touch in bed with the elite, the consequence may be much more serious than a loss of power for the young En Marche party. Allowing the rhetoric of hatred to take root, something that Macron has spoken against countless times, could be a catastrophic failure and impact generations to come.

Time for a change

Macron’s concessions failed to placate the movement, as did a plea not to protest following the terrorist attack in Strasbourg. The Gilets turned out across the country for a fifth straight weekend of defiance.  It is clear that the government will not be able to solve this crisis with a set of laws or a particularly emotive speech delivered from the steps of the Élysée Palace. The demands of the movement vary regionally and individually, meaning that, to make a dent in the movement, the President must rethink his image – fast.

For the angry protesters across France nothing would make more of an impact than Macron swallowing his pride and admitting personal failure for a misguided policy and for his own attitude. Delaying his address to the nation for days after the apex of violence in Paris only reinforces the image that he is hesitant to accept his shortcomings. Although Macron accepted ‘a share of responsibility’ he was not ready to admit failure in full. Everything that I have gathered from watching Gilets Jaunes appear on the news to speaking with them in person, is that policy concessions will do nothing to appease their anger. The French economy has been in stagnation long before Macron ascended to office, and it is not surprising that he was unable to unilaterally reverse this trend.

He may believe that it is unfair to take the entire blame, given the complex origins of the movement. Despite what he may believe, the crisis cannot be solved through a rational dissection of its causes and origins. It is time for Macron to beg the people’s forgiveness before it is too late.

Ousted Oxford MP to be awarded peerage

Ben van der Merwe
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Ousted Oxford MP to be awarded peerage

The former MP for Oxford West and Abingdon, Nicola Blackwood, is to be granted a peerage and a return to government, according to the Mail on Sunday.

Nicola Blackwood served as a Minister in the Department of Health before losing her seat to Liberal Democrat Layla Moran in the 2017 election, and has since been working as a senior advisor for healthcare projects at the lobbying firm Global Counsel.

The Mail on Sunday reports that Ms. Blackwood is expected to return to her role as a Minister in the Department of Health and Social Care after the Christmas recess, despite losing her parliamentary seat 18 months ago.

Nicola Blackwood’s Global Counsel page highlights her “background in political office” and “experience from the health sector”, noting that she works for the firm on “policy areas related to technology and healthcare.”

Last February Ms. Blackwood was cleared by Parliament’s anti-corruption watchdog, the Advisory Committee on Business Appointments, to take jobs in the private sector on the condition that her employers would not unfairly benefit from her time in office.

Ms. Blackwood subsequently took paid roles at Policy, a firm which helps private sector companies get contracts in public services, and Eagle Genomics, a biotechnology consultant. She is also on the board of directors of the lobbying group Campaign for Science and Engineering.

Global Counsel serves a number of companies in the private sector with political interests, such as energy giant Centrica, which successfully lobbied for the government to ease restrictions on fracking.

The director of Spinwatch, a group which campaigns for transparency in lobbying, David Miller told Cherwell: “This is the latest in a long line of revolving door appointments involving public servants who go on to work for private clients in the lobbying world. There is no effective regulation of this and it is simply unacceptable for lobbyists to be appointed as government ministers in this way.

“Reforms are needed to the registration and regulation of lobbyists to make such issues clearer, and we need to abolish the totally inadequate system via [the Advisory Committee on Business Appointments] and introduce much stricter rules on the revolving door and conflicts of interest in order to protect the public interest in such matters.”

Global Counsel’s chairman is Peter Mandelson, who served as a minister under Tony Blair before losing his seat and subsequently returning to government as a peer.

Ms. Blackwood and the Oxfordshire Conservatives have been contacted for comment.

Les Misérables review: BBC adaptation soars, even without the songs

Olivia Hicks
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Les Misérables review: BBC adaptation soars, even without the songs

With over one hundred film, television, and radio adaptations to its name, Victor Hugo’s mammoth novel Les Misérables is hardly in need of a new one. But the BBC’s production is welcome nonetheless. Its glittering cast puts it in league with the 2012 adaptation of the West End musical, while its length and dedication to the original text puts it in league with the reigning master of adaptations – the four-hour 1934 Raymond Bernard film.

But the real gem of this series is its writer, Andrew Davies, who has adapted classics for the BBC from Pride and Prejudice (1995) and Vanity Fair (1998), all the way to War & Peace (2016). Davies is no stranger to grand, swooping historical dramas with hefty narratives, and, judging by its first episode, his Les Misérables adaptation will have no trouble fitting in with the rest.

The first instalment opens with a scene befitting of the series’ name. The screen is darkly coloured and filled with the bloody aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo. A crow sounds, a dead horse gazes lifelessly upwards, and rows and rows of dead French soldiers fill a wide-shot to its horizon. Most of the Waterloo scene is voiceless, though there is a brief interaction between Colonel Georges Pontmercy (Henry Lloyd-Hughes) and Thénardier (Adeel Akhtar), who is trying to rob the dead and convinces the Colonel he has saved his life. No screen adaptation could – or should – replicate Hugo’s lengthy digression on the minutiae of the Battle of Waterloo, but this opening fulfils an emotional duty towards the Waterloo chapter.

Dominic West and David Oyelowo, as ex-convict Jean Valjean and unforgiving police inspector Javert respectively, are an engaging duo as their decades-long enmity germinates in the Bagne of Toulon. The length of this adaptation allows us to see the development of Jean Valjean from a man hardened by the penal system to one sent on a journey towards the highest code of virtue. Shorter adaptations must make do with a generally honourable man, who exhibits a moment of weakness in stealing a bishop’s silver. Here, however, we also see Valjean’s crueller moments, from contemplating harm towards the compassionate bishop to stealing from a young boy. David Oyelowo appears only briefly in the first episode, but is still convincing as a paranoid, insecure Javert, over-reliant on order and rules.

Lily Collins’ Fantine is innocent, naïve, and gentle, but still manages to be likeable. In the wrong hands, Fantine’s role in Les Misérables could become a weepy, droopy Victorian cliché – she is misery incarnate – but Collins gives us a Fantine who is competent, if idealistic and a little gullible. We know she has misplaced her trust in her lover Tholomyès (Johnny Flynn), but her readiness to love him comes across as endearing, rather than pathetic. As the episode ends, she cradles her daughter and looks out onto the streets of Paris. She asks herself and the child, “Oh Cosette, whatever are we going to do now?” A line like this could crumble into self-pitying lamentation, but Collins’ delivery gives a sense of genuine questioning. We are led to believe that Fantine really is considering her options, while still recognising the hopelessness of her lot.

But the highlight of Sunday’s episode was Derek Jacobi as Bishop Myriel. It was, as would be expected from Jacobi, a stunning performance of a great character. It can be hard to read Hugo’s satire of the Catholic Church in Myriel’s unblemished virtue, but Davies is keen to point us in the right direction – such as in Jean Valjean’s comment to Myriel, “you’re a funny sort of priest” – and Jacobi’s subtle hints do the rest. The ethos of relentless forgiveness and devotion to a churchless form of universal love is quintessential Hugo, who a few days before his death wrote “I reject the oration of all churches, I ask for a prayer for all souls, I believe in God”. What is not inherited from Hugo, however, is the sternness and solidity Jacobi grants Bishop Myriel, who can be interpreted as a bit of a pushover. When he presses the candlesticks to Jean Valjean, mere moments after Valjean’s attempted theft, Myriel is almost frightening, ordering Valjean to become a better man – declaring that his soul belongs to God. Myriel’s act of compassion is no polite offering.

The first episode covers around a half of Volume I of the book. A whole volume involves a lot of narrative, and at times the episode does seem to move around a bit too much and a bit too quickly. There are a multitude of characters spread across France who need to be introduced. Episode one shows us Jean Valjean, first serving time in the Bagne of Toulon, then suffering abuse in a French village, then seeking refuge at the Bishop’s house, then wandering the roads. We also see Fantine meeting Tholomyès, deep in the throes of her love affair, and finally with her infant daughter.

There’s a lot to cram in in an hour, but it can’t really be helped; Davies’ mission to stay true to the novel can only really be achieved through piling in narrative. However, a “group urination in the forest” scene seemed a little unnecessary, especially as it must have come at the cost of more valuable scenes. It is likely that, with the main players now established, there will be enough space in successive episodes for the characters to develop fully as believable emotional beings, and that we will see the psychological repercussions of events, rather than just the events themselves.

The photography of the series is, however, very appealing. A scene in which a happy Fantine goes rowing on an idyllic lake, eats a decadent lunch at a finely decorated table, and soaks in the sunlight through the trees is particularly effective. The series has been described as big budget, and its visuals certainly support this claim; it’s lovely to look at.

The dialogue suffers from the insertion of a tiny amount of random French in an otherwise wholly English script – the odd “monsieur” or French song – which is distracting, and seems to serve no other purpose than to reassure the audience that this is indeed set in France. Other than this and the pace, however, the script is faultless. There’s no reason to suspect that this won’t continue, though hopefully more screen-time will be devoted to the inner workings of the characters who are, at their core, deeply sympathetic and worthy of close examination. Sunday’s Les Misérables debut showed a dynamic, glossy production with all the makings of a classic, albeit cannon-fired at 100mph.

How Victoria’s Secret Lost Its Sparkle

Orlaith Fox
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How Victoria’s Secret Lost Its Sparkle

Amidst a recent PR disaster, the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show underwhelmed (yet again) with viewer ratings tumbling to almost a quarter (3.3m) of the show’s initial pull (12.4m in 2001). Though recent controversy regarding the show’s inclusivity (or lack thereof) can be blamed for this fall from grace, Victoria’s Secret is also simply not as fashionable as it used to be. Are the collections timeless? Perhaps. Are they vulnerable to being upstaged? Definitely.

Of course, the VSFS isn’t meant to sell us their lingerie – the styles haven’t changed in decades. As director Ed Razek stated – to considerable backlash – in a Vogue interview, they’re selling us the fantasy that we too can parade in diamond-encrusted lingerie wearing 60lb angel wings to a crowd of adoring fans and not break a sweat. 60 of the world’s top size zeros make their way down the pink carpet and fashion’s most famous runway to music’s biggest performers, against a backdrop costing £9 million. It is an exercise in extravagance: the opulent Swarovski outfit and the (literal) million-dollar Fantasy Bra have become benchmarks of luxury, while the exclusivity of angel wings have been reserved only for fashion’s most elite.

However, this year’s offering was by all standards a poor imitation of its early glory days. It’s still the same old fantasy, oozing sex appeal and ethereal parade it was at its conception – boring by contemporary standards. Its fall in standards is visible in the performers making an appearance; the Show has previously pulled in huge names (think Taylor Swift, The Weeknd, Rihanna) and this year curiously featured smaller acts like Bebe Rexha and Leela James. In the past decade, the pre-teen sub-group PINK has taken a larger spotlight, marking the decline of the brand’s luxurious appeal, and the core group of Angels has shifted from living icons – Tyra Banks, Gisele Bundchen, Heidi Klum – to a younger and more celebrity-inspired crowd, such as the induction of Taylor Hill and the focus on Kendall Jenner (who certainly wasn’t there for her walking technique) and the Hadid sisters.

Nobody can deny that the brand has suffered a year of heavy criticism: Razek’s explanation that the show doesn’t feature plus-size or transgender models because it is supposed to be “a fantasy” induced an international boycott of both the brand – plummeting sales – and the show – plummeting viewer ratings.

There’s also an increasing stigma around the intensive training models for the Show endure – their ragged attempts to flood social media with #TrainLikeAnANGEL flop when you realise that not everyone can afford to pay $3,000 for 12 gym sessions. It’s also unlikely that on a student diet (and budget), we can stop eating solids and avoid carbohydrates for three days just to avoid bloating. We’re increasingly suspicious of photos of Victoria’s Secret models with 13” pizzas post-show, and both Elsa Hosk and Bella Hadid were forced to respond to Instagram comments that they looked worryingly thin around this year’s spectacle. Just last week, VSFS 2018 model Kelly Gale proudly videoed herself in a burger chain working out and eating a pear, commenting “not gonna pretend that I eat here guys cause I don’t”. We’re increasingly conscious of the extremity that they are pushed to – not as models, but as athletes – and though VS executives insist it’s a healthy competition the models drive amongst themselves, recent criticism of airbrushing and holding such a high standard of perfection have led consumers to look elsewhere.

Maybe it’s worth noting at this point that Victoria’s Secret is still the USA’s top lingerie brand – it’s a global household name which will take more than this to topple. Honestly, Victoria’s Secret could have continued with its stale styles and dated Fashion Show tradition, but it’s been threatened by the rise of American Eagle’s Aerie and, noticeably this year, Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty. The former has Iskra Lawrence doing campus tours to promote the #AerieREAL campaign celebrating diverse representation – a far cry from the somewhat noticeable blonde bombshell cliché overused by VS (nobody can tell me that Angels Candice and Elsa aren’t almost identical).

VS also seems increasingly outdated by more modern brands – Aerie undeniably has the edge on social media, while Rihanna’s Savage X fashion show was live-streamed on Youtube and hailed as the star of New York Fashion Week with its celebratory roster of diverse women, including Slick Woods who was nine months pregnant. Razek made a hilariously smug comment along the lines that Victoria’s Secret made pregnancy fashion first, with at least five models having walked while expecting. An impressive feat, of course, but you have to acknowledge the visible difference – Woods’ bump was impossible to miss (she claims to have suffered contractions DURING the show, giving birth later that night). The VS girls, on the other hand, were hardly showing with nobody beyond four months, and using elaborate cover ups at the slightest sign of a swell.

Ultimately, the brand’s resistance to change left room for new businesses to come in and dominate the field, and a celebrity business like Rihanna’s was never going to flop – the showmanship and diversity of her NYFW show are just added bonuses. Where Victoria’s Secret remains steadfast is with their younger group (look inside any secondary school class to see that PINK water bottles and bags are the new generation’s answer to our Abercrombie and Jack Wills). PINK stores are popping up far more than its older sister sub-brand. Victoria’s Secret stopped its swimwear range to opt for an expansion of its increasingly popular sport wear, so maybe this is the kind of change we’ll see as they put more effort into PINK.

For now, it’s nice to see the brand sweat – like Razek insists with his models, maybe a little competition will be healthy, and encourage the brand to modernise its ranges and, more importantly, its branding.

The money behind the St Peter’s Perrodo Project: meet the Perrodo family

Jorrit Donner-Wittkopf
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The money behind the St Peter’s Perrodo Project: meet the Perrodo family

2018 saw the completion of the latest stage of the Perrodo Project at St Peter’s College. Thanks to a £5 million donation made by the Perrodo family, two of whom are alumni of the college, St Peter’s now boasts a plethora of “flexible teaching spaces”, and numerous other “improvements”.

Many of the donors who shower Oxford’s colleges and departments with gifts have dubious backgrounds, even if – like the Perrodos – their philanthropy conforms to the University’s policy on charitable giving. The Sacklers, who give their name to the Sackler library, own Perdue, a company that pleaded guilty in 2006 to marketing drugs with “intent to defraud or mislead”. Their painkiller Oxycontin has since been at the forefront of an opioid crisis that had, by 2016, caused 200,000 deaths. Wafic Saïd, namesake and donor for the Saïd Business School, is credited with brokering a multi-billion dollar arms deal between Saudi Arabia and the UK. Further back, the 18th century slave-trader Christopher Codrington gives his name to the library at All Souls college.

Bearing this in mind, I decided to look a little more closely at the Perrodo family. Soon their donation was framed in a similarly murky light.

For almost half a century now, the Perrodos’ primary source of income has been Perenco GL, an oil and gas exploration company founded by paterfamilias Hubert Perrodo. Perrodo was born to a family of Breton fishermen and, after a number of years working in the oil industry, founded the company that became Perenco in 1975. In later life, he developed a passion for playing polo and growing wine – his polo team, Labégorce, is named after the vineyard that he owned near Bordeaux. Today, his descendants form one of the most influential ‘oiligarch’ dynasties. Their company, Perenco, is a low-profile yet mammoth player in the oil industry, extracting more than 250,000 barrels a day across the globe.

Perenco GL specialises in buying up sites that larger competitors deem unprofitable. Many of them come with a ‘problematic’ indigenous populace or environmental dilemmas that draw the unwanted media limelight to those at the top of the pyramid. Flicking through the scores of legal battles and criminal charges levelled against the Perrodo family’s flagship company, it became more and more clear that Perenco operates on the margins of what is moral – and on the margins of what is legal. Perenco’s abuses are hidden from watchdog organisations by a thick canopy of trees – the remoteness of its oil wells and the opaque Latin American systems of control mean that the international press has great difficulties accessing information about Perenco’s activities. But a little digging can perhaps give us a flavour of the behind the scenes of Perenco’s business activities.

According to a scathing report by Collectif Guatemala and French environmental groups, Perenco uses ‘1970’s-style’ drilling tactics in some of the most biologically diverse and vulnerable ecosystems on the planet. In breach of internationally-agreed extraction protocols (employing water and air-transport to limit rainforest destruction, for example), Perenco has constructed 204km super-highways through the heart of the Amazon. Only last year, a planeload of nature documentary-makers discovered a set of illegal runways that had been carved out of protected forest land using controlled fires near one of Perenco’s wells in Guatemala. In Columbia, Guatemala, Peru and the Congo, Perenco’s pipelines have leaked on an abnormal scale, destroying protected flora and fauna as well as polluting surrounding rivers.

On the human rights side, Perenco GL’s record is even more questionable. On the 1st of November 2018, Reuters reported that a Venezuelan state oil company official testified to having received millions of dollars in bribes from Perenco, in return for “preferential treatment”. The practice of bribing local officials seems not to have abated over the past two decades, since newspapers first began reporting Perenco’s practices. Already in early 2012, the Colombian newspaper El Spectador had reported on Perenco’s policy of illegally outsourcing work to undercut and thereby maroon unionising contract workers.

Most sinister of all, in 2012 French Newspaper Libération reported on the several testimonies by paramilitary fighters who accuse Perenco of having financed armed militias for several years in eastern Columbia, paying out thousands of dollars in oil in return for serving as the coercive arm of the company. The fighters were members of the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia, a paramilitary and drug trafficking group responsible for the deaths of at least 50,000 Columbians.

Just as problematic is Perenco’s ongoing illegal expansion into the homelands of the last remaining ‘uncontacted’ Amazonians. The Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian Rainforest presented a court case against Perenco for what it deems illegal intrusions into ‘Area 67’, a preserved hinterland reserved for local indigenous groups by international convention. In 2012, Perenco faced international condemnation when it came to light that the environmental consultancy it had contracted had withheld evidence of an ‘uncontacted tribe’ in the company’s operational zone. These tribes are at serious risk from Perenco’s oil rig workers: environmental groups estimate that 50-80% of the indigenous groups could die within months due to their limited immunological defences.

Perenco’s quiet expansion into Amazonians’ territory is unlikely to be halted by anything other than concerted legal action and global condemnation – Area 67 was recently found to have a vast oil reserve beneath it and the Peruvian government is unlikely to neglect capitalising on such a lucrative source of revenue. Perenco GL itself completely denies the Amazonians’ existence. Perenco’s Latin American regional manager likened the idea of contemporary Amazonians living alongside his rig workers to the idea of the Loch Ness monster: “much talk…never evidence”.

When Cherwell asked Perenco about the allegations, a spokesperson for the company said: “Perenco is a leading, responsible, oil and gas company, adhering to the highest industry standards wherever it operates. Furthermore, Perenco makes a significant contribution to the national and local economies where it operates and runs a wide range of initiatives to improve the lives of those living close to its operations.

“With regards the specific points you have raised, Perenco strongly denies any such allegations.”

Perhaps the Perrodo family itself is actually unaware of the day-to-day running of their company and simply reaps the dividends, dishing them out plentifully for nobler pursuits, such as investing in education, playing polo or sponsoring 24-hour car races at Le Mans. One would like to imagine that the Perrodos have somehow innocently overlooked the storm of bad press their flagship company has been receiving over the past decades and could at some point be stirred into action by well-meaning student activists writing in the Cherwell. That is, I think, unlikely.

Billionaire oligarchs’ grants go some way to guaranteeing Oxford’s continued hegemony. To see how central oil money is in the university’s make-up, one need only note the existence of the Blavatnik School of Government, the ‘Shell Professor of Earth Sciences’ and the BP-funded Centre for the Analysis of Resource-rich Economies. The oligarchs who invest in Oxford and universities across the country enhance their brand image, receive tax breaks for donating to registered charities, and are immortalised through cutting edge architecture. This is one current cost of our prestigious education.

When told of the questionable background of the Perrodos’ fortune, many of my colleagues at college nodded knowingly and reminded me that this was the nature of corporate capitalism; such corporations would always meet local resistance and be challenged by environmentalists. As a PPEist friend of mine drily noted, such issues inherently crop up when predator multinationals go for gold in the Global South (think Shell, BP and Nestlé, for example). Perenco is no better and no worse than many other multinationals. But is that a reason to accept their money without question or comment? St. Peter’s didn’t seem to think twice – when asked to comment on the allegations levelled against the Perrodos’ company, Perenco, there was only talk of the family’s “charitable purposes”. According to the Master, “the entire fabric of the college has been greatly enhanced”.

At heart, it is a question of posterity. Today, we look on Christopher Codrington and Cecil Rhodes with distaste. Will we look at Oxford’s acceptance of oil-tainted money with the same feelings a hundred years hence? Even those who think Rhodes should stay perched on his plinth – or who believe Oxford’s implication in the Paradise Papers is only natural – can surely agree that colleges would do better to consider donors’ packages as a whole and not be led blindly by big money philanthropy and grandiose promises. Of course, we may stand corrected in a decade’s time if Perenco achieves its lofty green energy goals and governments legislate the rest. But for now, this seems little more than a pipe-dream.

‘New year, new me’: why it’s time to ditch new year’s resolutions

Reem Ahmed
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‘New year, new me’: why it’s time to ditch new year’s resolutions

Picture this: you’re at a family gathering that’s taking place between Christmas and the New Year – the period of limbo, when no-one knows what day it is or what they’re supposed to be doing. There’s too much food and the drinks are flowing. Your distant aunt-something-or-other, whom you haven’t seen since the last annual family gathering, sidles up to the dessert table, eyeing the tiramisu. She takes a sizeable portion, along with a few other sweet nibbles. As she’s moving away, she catches your eye. A guilty look passes over her face. With an embarrassed laugh, she assures you of one thing, which happens to be the same thing she tells you every Christmas: ‘I’ll start my diet next year.’

Sound familiar?

If your family and friends are anything like mine, in the weeks leading up to the new year and in the first few weeks of the new year, the same old mantra is bandied about without fail: ‘New year, new me’. And yet, by the time January 31st rolls around, your best friend has already broken her vow to spend less money on clothes (the ASOS New Year sales are invariably her downfall), your little brother has broken his vegan pledge with a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk and that tiramisu-loving aunt from the family gathering has not been able to resist the donuts at the weekly office meetings.

I, too, have been responsible for making empty promises the moment the clock strikes midnight and breaking pretty much all of them in the few weeks that follow. In the past, I’ve resolved to do everything from getting more organised, to writing in my diary every day, to exercising more often and practising more self-care. Though some resolutions have lasted longer than others, none have resulted in a long-term change. I’ll be organised for a week, then devolve into my usual messy habits for the rest of the month, and this process will repeat itself for the rest of the year, until I promise myself – once again – that I’ll get more organised in January.

This is apparently a universal problem. If the statistic floating around on the internet is anything to be believed, only 8% of people actually stick to their New Year’s resolutions. This begs the question: is there any point to making New Year’s resolutions in the first place?

Ultimately, I think not. From my numerous unfulfilled resolutions, there is one thing I’ve learnt over time: the very concept of a New Year’s resolution sets you up to fail from the get-go. It’s an unrealistic promise to suddenly break all your old bad habits on January 1st and maintain this impeccably until the 31st December, a promise to transform into a ‘New Me’ merely overnight and banish the ‘Old Me’ to the deep recesses of the past, never to be seen again. Not only is the impulsiveness of New Year’s resolutions a recipe for failure, but also the fact that resolutions tend to be too ambitious. Perhaps there is something about the monumental striking of the clock at midnight that inspires within us a desire to monumentally change our lives. In reality, small, consistent and gradual changes – which can be adopted at any point in the year – will lead to greater changes overall. Furthermore, there is something illogical about the fact that, though in our goal-oriented society we’re constantly striving to better ourselves, many of us wait until the new year to finally make a change. This only fuels procrastination – how many of us have found ourselves gorging on as much junk food as possible, because the new year is quickly approaching and we’ve decided that we’re going to start eating healthily when it begins? Why do we always wait until tomorrow to better ourselves?

If you’ve succumbed to the annual tradition once again and have already made your New Year’s resolutions, good luck; I hope you are part of that 8% who stick to them. If you have yet to make yours, be realistic, devise a plan and start off with something small. And, if you have no desire to make any New Year’s resolutions whatsoever – good for you.

‘A bit of Bah Humbug’: Christmas in Great Expectations

Isabella Colletta
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‘A bit of Bah Humbug’: Christmas in Great Expectations

As the author of one of the world’s best loved festive tales, Charles Dickens is an undeniably “Christmas-y” author. With nearly every year bringing a new inspired take on the classic ‘A Christmas Carol’ to our screens, from the old-school Muppets take to Hallmark movies, he is often given the trite title of ‘the man who invented Christmas’. Whilst A Christmas Carol is a typical family favourite (as it should be), most of Dickens’ novels can capture much of our feelings around the Christmas season. Great Expectations is a prime example. Whilst this novel is certainly not the cozy, festive read many people enjoy in the wintertime; it is can be that necessary cynical antidote to Tiny Tim’s sugary exultations.

Pip’s childhood Christmas dinner is almost something out of a millennial comedy sketch. Turns out spending Christmas day surrounded by relatives or family friends who will take any opportunity to bash the youth of today is an antiquated festive tradition. If you’re emotionally exhausted from the inevitable family debate about Brexit, Pip‘s awkward Christmas dinner is a familiar scene to be relished around this festive period. Surrounded by his dreaded sister’s middle-class acquaintances, Pip experiences the barrage of questions and assumptions everyone must deal with at some point over Christmas. If the minimal but joyful dinner of the Cratchit family in A Christmas Carol represents the generosity and thankfulness we aspire to at Christmas, then Great Expectations embodies the reality. One of the tableaus from the original serial form of the novel shows Pip trying to escape this scene, alongside the hilariously identifiable understatement of a caption: “Pip does not enjoy his Christmas dinner”.

Despite the setting of Christmas Eve taking place through the perspective of a child, there is little excitement of what this will actually bring. In fact, the anticipation of the novel lies in Pip’s discovery on this day not of presents or food, but a mysterious and threatening stranger in a graveyard. For our protagonist, the occurrence of this gothic plot means Christmas is a bit of an inconvenience, which can be refreshing to read about amongst the constant festive mania.

Whilst not warm and festive, Great Expectations is in some ways the perfect post–festive read as it becomes a comforting antidote to all the things we love to hate about Christmas. It’s gothic plot and gloomy settings enable the perfect form of escapism from the traditional Christmas scene Dickens characterised in A Christmas Carol. It can be fun to believe that Dickens created this bleak scene from his own disillusionment around typical scenes of festive joy. Writing to a friend, he once stated that “I feel as if I had murdered Christmas”. If Great Expectations is his response to that, it works perfectly in contrast with the festive scenes and moral solutions established in A Christmas Carol.

There is no simple moral lesson to be learned in Great Expectations. The novel depicts the growth of Pip as his perceptions of the world are twisted and moulded by the class structures and wealth he encounters. Pip doesn’t immediately learn any lesson from his encounter with the criminal in the graveyard at Christmas, which would be too in keeping with the festive season. Nor do we. Christmas comes and goes, and we continue to read about Pip’s mysterious experiences.

The novel is complex, dramatic, engaging and a little bit depressing. It is a fantastic read, but what makes it so wonderful to read around this festive season is that it doesn’t take the Christmas day setting too seriously. Whilst it makes for a comedic festive scene, the core of the book and its pull lies elsewhere. Dickens rejects any pressure to conform to the conventions of the holiday. Instead, like all days, Christmas passes in the novel without much notice from the author or the protagonist. After the overwhelming mania of Christmas, its intense commercialisation, and the arrival of your relatives on Christmas Day, it has become a comforting thing to read about

Manchester United are finally playing catch-up with old rivals Liverpool

Cal Flintoff
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Manchester United are finally playing catch-up with old rivals Liverpool

When Manchester United picked up their record-setting 19th English first division title in 2011, the manager at their bitter rivals Liverpool was none other than Kenny Dalglish. A totem of the sweeping success Anfield had enjoyed in a roaring two-decade period now a distant memory, Dalglish’s installation at the helm betrayed the need at Anfield for familiar faces, for comfort and for a thread from which to trace to better times.

Liverpool were untouchable between 1975 and 1984, topping the first division on seven occasions in the nine-year spell, proving irresistible on the continental stage too by forging a dynasty in Europe with four famous triumphs in quick succession. In front of a packed-out Wembley stadium in 1978, Dalglish scored the winner to down Belgian opposition Club Brugge. No abundance of foresight would predict the circumstances of his return over thirty years later: no league title since the turn of the 90s and a demise accentuated – accelerated, even – by a potent miscellany of off-field events, perhaps underlined best by the 1985 Heysel Disaster and the subsequent blackout of English teams in European football.

“Au revoir Cantona and Man United. Come back when you’ve won 18”

When in 1994 a group of forward-thinking Liverpool fans unveiled their challenge – scrawled on a bed-sheet in block capitals marker pen – at Anfield, the power-shift in English football was already well underway.

By now, foreign players such as Eric Cantona were percolating into English stadia and broadening the division’s horizons; as English football returned on the European agenda, a new force had emerged. This was Manchester United’s second triumph in a row in the newfangled Premier League and just a few months earlier, capitalising on sources of new money in the game – and with commercial nous that would come to define the upcoming era, tilted to the Christmas market – the club had opened a gargantuan megastore. With Ferguson and the Class of 92 allied together, a global brand was born.

Liverpool and Manchester United have always revelled in each another’s failures. The landscape of English football is defined with great heft by their rivalry and the eras of dominance celebrated and endured. When Jurgen Klopp’s side took 36 shots against a Mourinho side set up like a roadblock, counter-attacking with two articulating lorries in centre-midfield, it was emblematic that the two now have their boots on the other feet once more. When the Kop sung to a chorus of “Don’t sack Mourinho”, it was an embarrassment analogous to the infiltration of the Anfield Road End in 2011 to proclaim that United were back; a haunting taunt and an emphatic dent to the image of the club – through the lens of fandom or the charts on Wall Street.

It is tempting to suggest that it has taken a strong, genuinely title-challenging Liverpool to shake Manchester United into action. As Liverpool top the Premier League at Christmas, United languish, cut adrift and are left to rue a post-Ferguson era that has left the pioneers looking primeval. There are other factors at play, of course, the circumstances blurred, but the parallels are difficult to ignore. As Manchester United struggled to adapt to a new era, Liverpool acted to adopt the structures required to run a successful modern-day superclub. Jurgen Klopp provided a philosophy to buy into; Mourinho brought with him his pragmatic toolbox but no clear direction other than a third season December check-out, this time at the Lowry, almost exactly three years to the day since his last.

So, in a roundabout way, to Ole Gunnar Solskjaer. Why a manager who failed to stymie a struggling Cardiff City and who, according to Clubelo ratings, has failed to improve his Molde team over a three-year spell in the 23rd strongest division in Europe? On pure managerial acumen and efficient recruitment strategy, the managerial loan-deal ranks as just about the most left-field decision the club has made in the Premier League era. It makes the seven million splurge on Bebe on account of a personal recommendation look like logical, well-reasoned business.

If the appointment of Jose Mourinho and the subsequent coup in attracting both Paul Pogba and Zlatan Ibrahimovic to Thursday night football supposed to be proof United still reside on a higher plane to their newer, more zealous and opulent rivals, then hidden beneath the media-savvy, feel-good arrival of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer is a stark admittance that the club is now finally playing catch-up.

The club needs time. Lots of it. Liverpool’s hare-brained high-press and explosive transition may be inimitable with the lumbering presence of Romelu Lukaku, but their strategies are far easier mimicked. More pointedly for Manchester United, they need a smoke-screen from which to conduct it behind.

From the vantage point of the boardroom, Solskjaer is the perfect candidate. A club legend and 1999 hero, he is a manager with serious ambition but nonetheless one who could never claim to land the job on merit; one who will claim no autonomy over January dealings and who will return to Norway with his celestial status unperturbed whether Kylian Mbappé tears his side to shreds or not. Alan Shearer took Newcastle down in 2009; Kenny Dalglish led Liverpool to a lowly finish not replicated since the 1960s. Roberto Di Matteo won the Champions League with Chelsea. Quite clearly, it’s a gamble, but it’s one that the current iteration of Manchester United feel obliged to take.

As Ed Woodward puts it: “His history at Manchester United means he lives and breathes the culture here.” In the eyes of the baby-faced assassin, he may now be the manager but Sir Alex Ferguson will always be “the Gaffer”. For all parties then, the appointment hopes to bring familiarity. For United, the familiarity with the winning culture of old, the hairdryer treatment and Fergie time; and for Solskjaer himself, familiarity with a bench from which he has analysed so many games. But for once, he’ll have to do it all without leaving it.

Edward Burne-Jones at the Tate: A reminder of greatness

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Edward Burne-Jones at the Tate: A reminder of greatness

Perhaps one of the lesser-known names among the Pre-Raphaelites, and yet commonly heralded as one of Britain’s greatest painters, the new Edward Burne-Jones exhibition at the Tate Modern marks the first solo showing of his work since 1933. Like the Tate Modern’s summer show-piece, Picasso: 1932, the new exhibition is rich in detail and overflows with the intensity and power of the artistry on show. Possibly one of the most profound experiences to be had in the world of art this winter, this exhibition is not one to be missed.
The exhibition begins with Burne-Jones’ early pen and ink drawings and instantly one is presented with work so thorough in detail, and so fascinating, that it’s hard not to spend hours on the first few works alone. Pieces such as Childe Roland, inspired by the Browning poem ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came’, exude intricacies, the sunflowers seeming to be tossed around by the wind, half beautiful, half monstrous – and conjure entire worlds, into which one is subsumed as if in a dream. Burne-Jones’ gothic take on the story of Noah’s ark, The Return of the Dove, with its corpses and skeletons floating in the water alongside the ark, typifies the enchanting, decadent nature of his work, which tinges, colours and permeates every piece on show. The showpiece of this first room, The Annunciation and the Adoration of the Magi uses a colour palette of golds upon rust red that paints the nativity in a new and sensual light.
The highlight of the exhibition is however its third room, which houses the best-known and most mesmerising of Burne-Jones’ works. The succession of strong-jawed women laying claim to their respective unassuming, scantily-clad men, is intoxicating as it is disturbing. Burne-Jones’ attention to detail throughout ensures the works are as striking when viewed up close as they are, arresting the gaze from afar. The exhibition also offers a glimpse into the other sides to Burne-Jones’ character, both as a man and artist; his amusing sketches paired alongside various preparatory studies and unfinished works. One such work, Souls on the Banks of the River Styx, a haunting depiction of the fate of the souls of the dead, chills as it moves, and is all the more beautiful for being left incomplete.
A series of Burne-Jones’ portraits of friends and family members explores another side to his character, whilst the exhibition is at its most immersive with its presentation of The Briar Rose series. With lines written for the piece by William Morris printed in gold along the walls, and the canvases arranged so that one’s path runs parallel with that of the prince, into the woods, the council chamber, then the court, then the bower, one seems to come upon the sleeping beauty as if a part of its dream world. The power of this series, its detail and its beauty, is wholly hypnotic. One enters the mind of the man and returns to the real world altered. Suddenly beauty lurks in the minutest of detail, and power in the simplest of gestures.
The exhibition ends with a series of tapestries, produced as a part of Burne-Jones’ long-term involvement with William Morris’ Morris & Co., which, dazzling as they are, serve to anchor one again to the material world. Thus, the experience of the exhibition itself is actualised in its construction. One is taken to new worlds, lands of fairy tale and myth, shown things beyond one’s own most-buried dreams, then these same worlds, this same beauty, is applied to material surfaces; a piano, a wall-hanging; and one leaves the exhibition with the sense that, yes, life can be that beautiful, and that decadent, and that sweetly melancholic. And thankfully there waiting for you beyond the doors of the exhibition is the gift shop, amply stocked to satisfy one’s newly replenished aesthetic needs.

An experience more than just an exhibition, this is not one to be missed; an insightful but always respectful glimpse into the mind of one of Britain’s greatest painters.

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