Monday 4th May 2026
Blog Page 791

Disabled characters must no longer be the villains

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When Cerrie Burnell was hired in 2009 to be a presenter for CBeebies there was a flurry of parents filing official complaints to the BBC to oppose this being “allowed” on their television screens. They argued that their children would be frightened and “freaked out” by Cerrie. Why? Because Cerrie’s lower right arm is missing.

What led to such a reaction? The dehumanisation of Cerrie in this manner, as something “freaky” or to be “feared”, is an attitude that is still widely prevalent to this day, and has historical roots in the ableist treatment of those with disabilities and disfigurements throughout history.

In the 20th and 19th century freak shows involved those with disabilities, disfigurements or bodily conditions being exhibited as “freaks”, and were used as a common form of amusement for the general public. Such shows were incredibly profitable for the showmen, and this shouldn’t be forgotten in the context of the recent movie The Greatest Showman (2017), which erased several elements of P.T. Barnum’s problematic and exploitative use of those with disabilities, and went as far as to romanticise his legacy.

Even today, the tradition of the “freak show” continues in evolved forms, such as shows like Channel 4’s The Undateables and Too Ugly for Love? Those without disabilities watch such things and are able to partake in a self-gratifying pity-fest, entirely unaware of the patronising and exploitative elements that affect those portrayed.

When we look closer at children’s literature and movies, these attitudes are further established. Villains in children’s literature and children’s film are often disfigured or disabled. Peter Pan’s Captain James Hook has a hook for a hand, Scar from The Lion King has a scar on his face, In Roald Dahl’s The Witches, the witches, who eat children, have no hair and no toes, and even in Harry Potter, as Voldemort’s soul disintegrates, the more deformed his body becomes.

This common trope may go unnoticed by the able-bodied community, but it means the only representation that those with disfigurements and disabilities is that of villainy. The idea of evil is being continuously linked to those with disabilities or disfigurements, and writers and filmmakers need to understand this is unacceptable. This is inappropriate representation that only seeks to further prejudice and marginalisation for those within these communities.

‘Changing Faces UK’ is one of the leading charities aiming to change this by campaigning for “a world where people positively welcome a new baby with a cleft lip and palate, invite the school friend who has Apert syndrome to their child’s birthday party, and confidently shake the hand of the interview candidate who has eczema.” They have been in discourse with several media companies in order to change this, and one of the movies particularly celebrated by them is the adaptation of R.J. Palacio’s Wonder.

Wonder follows Auggie, a young boy in New York with the rare medical facial deformity ‘mandibulofacial dysostosis’, starting his first year at school. Auggie is ostracised by nearly all the student body, and the film follows his relationship with his family, those who he befriends, and his aspirations to become a scientist. It’s a moving tale that finally centres on the experience of those with disfigurements, but also makes a powerful commentary on the oppression that those in these communities undergo. A scene where the mother of another pupil explains why she photoshopped Auggie out of the class photo due to his condition “ruining the photo”, echoes the Carrie Burnell controversy.

Wonder isn’t the only example of representation for characters with disfigurements or disabilities. Katy, from Jacqueline Wilson’s 2015 novel by that name, is a protagonist in a wheelchair with a complex and sophisticated story. Augustus Waters and Isaac from John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars are also examples of this. However, there’s still much more to be done. We still run the risk of such characters being flat, and must continue to ensure the disability itself is not made to be such characters’ only personality trait.

The author of new short story collection In The Beginning of the World in the Middle of Night, Jen Campbell, makes several videos raising awareness for the need for appropriate representation of disability in literature and film. She describes one Icelandic fairy tale which she felt did this beautifully, The Myth of Sedna. Sedna is a girl, who is also a giant, whose father insists she must marry. Due to her repeated rejection of her father’s wishes, her father wishes to throw her overboard and Sedna clings onto the side of the ship by her fingers; her father then cuts off her fingers one by one. Sedna falls into the ocean, becomes a Goddess of the deep, and her fingers become seals and whales of the ocean and live underwater.

The myth of Sedna presents a story of disfigurement which is both beautiful and empowering to those who undergo similar conditions, such as Campbell herself who, having ectrodactyly which can affect the hands and fingers, struggled to see appropriate representation for those like herself.

The representation of disfigurement in literature, film and other medias needs to continue in a way that will do members of these communities justice. Through the eyes of Auggie in Wonder we were able to see the cruelty that the able-bodied community inflict. After a day of ostracisation at his school, Auggie is crying about the bullying of his facial disfigurement and asks his mother “will it always matter?” To answer Auggie’s question, until media is held accountable for the just and proper telling of these narratives, these perceptions won’t change.

Writers and filmmakers need to start making a place for the disabled community in their narratives, and not just tokenistically. We need stories where those with disabilities, disfigurements or other disorders aren’t reduced to their condition, but are central characters with their own complex and authentic narratives. As ‘Changing Faces UK’ writes, “we want nothing short of a complete reframing of disfigurement which tells the truth about this experience and acknowledges everyone’s right to acceptance on equal terms.”

Hillary Clinton is coming to Oxford

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Hillary Clinton will speak in Oxford at the end of the month.

The failed US presidential candidate will give this year’s Romanes Lecture at the Sheldonian Theatre on 25th June.

The event is open to Oxford University staff and students, and the general public.

The Romanes Lecture is the University’s annual public lecture, and has been given since 1892.

It sees a “distinguished public figure from the arts, science or literature” given a special invitation by the vice chancellor.

Previous speakers include Gordon Brown, Karl Popper, and Winston Churchill.

It will be the second time in a year that a failed candidate from the 2016 US Presidential Election has spoken in Oxford. Last summer, Bernie Sanders – who was beaten to the Democrat nomination by Clinton in 2016 – spoke at the Sheldonian as part of a book launch.

The Clinton family are no strangers to the University. Former US President Bill studied PPE at University College on a Rhodes Scholarship in the late 1960s, while the couple’s daughter, Chelsea, twice studied at the college – she completed her MPhil in International Relations in 2003, before graduating with a DPhil in the same subject in 2014.

Registration for Clinton’s talk is free, and will open here on Monday morning.

Hundreds turn out for Oxford Pride

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A brightly-coloured crowd filled the streets of Oxford today, as the Pride Parade wound through the city centre.

For some it was a display of love, while for other participants it was a political message.

True to its origins with the Stonewall Riots in late 1960s America, the parade featured flags and banners with various political messages.

These included placards from major political parties, along with Wadham’s Red Flag, which commemorates certain movements through the years and features phrases like “End Apartheid!”

Also represented were several charities, including blood drives and Cancer Research UK.

The parade began at the Radcliffe Camera where a large crowd prepared flags, placards, and bandanas. Participants started on their way at around noon, walking from Radcliffe Square to Broad Street, up Cornmarket, and towards the castle quarter.

The parade ended near Oxford castle, where the True Colours concert offered drag numbers, choral singing, and grunge music.

Near the concert were plenty of booths with Pride memorabilia and flyers for pro-LGBTQ+, political, or charity organisations.

Every major political party had a booth except for the Conservatives, according to a Labour staffer.

Esther and Nicole, two young women from Bristol, told Cherwell that they came to Oxford just for the parade.

Esther said: “We want to show our love and appreciation.”

Revealed: Colleges’ property investments worth £1.5 billion

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Oxford colleges’ property investments are worth over £1.5 billion, Cherwell can reveal.

An investigation by The Guardian revealed that Oxford colleges’ property holdings include a Scottish castle captured by Robert the Bruce, an international cricket ground, and a betting shop in one of London’s poorest boroughs.

The estimated £1.521 billion valuation of colleges’ property investments is more than the total funding for all universities and higher education institutions for the next academic year.

The figure excludes the majority of college sites, as most are not valued, and most  historic assets accrued before 1999.

Colleges’ holdings encompass some 85,364 acres, an area bigger than the Mediterranean island of Malta (78,090 acres).

The college with the largest portfolio in terms of area is Merton, whose property holdings and land stretches over 14,074 acres.

The two other biggest landowners are Christ Church (10,664 acres) and All Souls College (9,272.67 acres). The holdings of those three colleges alone are valued at around £460 million.

Cherwell can reveal that Merton’s holdings include a Buckinghamshire golf course, several Lincolnshire farms, and two Oxford pubs (Turf Tavern and St. Aldate’s Tavern).

Christ Church owns over 1,000 acres of land in both Yorkshire and Northamptonshire, while All Souls’ portfolio includes the Kingston-upon-Thames branch of Jack Wills and a private members tennis club in Middlesex.

All Souls, which is Oxford’s second-wealthiest college, despite the fact it does not admit any undergraduates, also owns over 300 properties in Brent, a deprived borough in North-West London.

The College owns the freehold of a Ladbrokes branch, as well as the leasehold on Zam’s Chicken and Pizza, among other properties in the borough.

Brent has one of the highest poverty rates of any London borough, and several of those living and working in All Souls-owned buildings told The Guardian they hoped any money made from its holdings in the area would go towards access work.

An employee at Zam’s Chicken and Pizza said: “[It seems] unusual for a university to have so many buildings, but I suppose it’s good to have assets. They probably should use the money to make the student population more diverse.”

Lorain Buckle, a 65-year-old Brent resident, whose house is owned by the college, said: “My house is a leasehold so I pay the ground rent to the college every year – it’s about £8. They are not active as a landlord and operate through a company… it’s only really recently that I realised it was them that owned it.

“Any money the University has should definitely be going towards getting a wider pool of applicants.”

Should colleges be allocating more of their funds to access work?

Write for Cherwell and have your say – send a 150-word pitch to our comment editors.

The oldest property owned by any college is Buittle Castle in south-west Scotland, which was built in the 12th century and given to the Scottish nobleman John de Balliol, who, with his wife, Lady Dervorguilla, founded Balliol College, in 1263.

The castle was later captured by Robert the Bruce in the 14th century, before reverted to the crown, and is now owned by Balliol again.

Some of the more unlikely holdings include the Ageas Bowl cricket ground near Southampton, which is owned by Queen’s College, and Millwall Football Club’s training ground, of which St John’s College is the landlord.

St John’s, Oxford’s wealthiest college, is one of several colleges to have received agricultural subsidies amounting to hundreds of thousands of pounds, according to data from the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra).

The figure includes £117,000 paid to Waterside farm in Berkshire, which St John’s owns, in common agricultural policy subsidies paid in 2016.

The tenant farmer received the grants, which are supposed to conserve the environment by protecting wildlife and maintaining rural landscapes, despite the local council putting forward plans to extract 200,000 tons of gravel from the farm, which is situated in an area of outstanding natural beauty.

Local residents reacted furiously to the council’s plans, with one writing a letter to St John’s which aimed to “highlight the damage that [the] College is intent on inflicting on the environment, the ecosystem, the neighbourhood, the town, and not least, the residents.”

The College declined to comment.

The Guardian’s investigation also revealed that Oxford and Cambridge colleges collectively own 126,000 acres of land, an area four times the size of Manchester, and more land than is owned by the Church of England.

An Oxford University spokesperson said: “The central university’s strong balance sheet allows us to fund new initiatives for our students, staff and outstanding teaching and research.”

Additional reporting: Xavier Greenwood

Café Circuit: Colombia Coffee Roasters

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Nestled in the Covered Market, Colombia Coffee Roasters brings authentic Colombian coffee, hot chocolates and delicious baked goods to Oxford.

The coffee served here is of the highest quality, with the beans sourced from the family farm in Colombia and then hand-roasted in Oxford. This gives the coffee a deep, bitter flavour, which, although not to everyone’s taste, I love.

As someone who doesn’t like their drinks too sweet, another favourite of mine is their hot chocolate – made from rich, dark, Colombian chocolate, they have the perfect level of sweetness without becoming sickly. There’s a hot chocolate menu, so you can choose your preferred cacao percentage and sugariness.

They also have a large variety of loose leaf teas to choose from, with some really interesting flavours, such as mint choc chip. These are strongly infused, but not stewed, and full of flavour.

To perfectly complement the slightly bitter note of the hot drinks, Colombia Coffee Roasters also has on offer a delicious array of baked goods. The pastries, such as the apple crumble or almond croissant, are perfectly cooked and flaky, but undoubtedly the best of their sweet treats are the brownies. The cheesecake brownie is sweet and dense, although the ultimate winner has to be the salted caramel brownie – the perfect gooey-ness and the caramel is to-die-for.

Also on offer is a selection of savoury food, such as empanadas and quiches, if you’re looking for something slightly more substantial.

Although the prices here are definitely higher than at many other independent Oxford coffee shops, with a small hot chocolate being nearly £4, the incredibly friendly staff almost make up for it. They are always keen to give you advice if you don’t know what to get, and genuinely care that you enjoy your drink and experience.

Let’s Talk About: Rustication

Rustication is an utterly Oxonian term. The word has a mysterious, almost taboo-like element to it. It’s often whispered rather than spoken, some of us not entirely sure what it is or what it entails, though are aware it’s a serious decision.

I was your stereotypical first year hermit: relatively social for the first two weeks of Michaelmas before disappearing into my room never to be seen again. Whenever I left college I went via the back gate. The one time I went through the Porter’s Lodge, I had to show my Bod card to prove I wasn’t a tailgating tourist.

During that brief spell of sunshine last Trinity, when everyone else sitting out in the sun, I was sitting in my room and polishing off my 20th boxset of the year. Later that week I went to a tutorial and spent the whole hour and half crying. After that things moved very quickly.

I went to the GP, spoke to all my tutors, and my friends from home before I finally worked up the courage to tell my parents and sister that I wanted to rusticate. Like most parents, they were worried I was making a mistake by leaving. I think their biggest concern was I might never come back.

Looking back, I had spent my whole first year of Oxford in a torturous existence. I was unhappy, though rather than acknowledging it, I adopted that all too familiar British ‘stiff upper lip’.  When I was finally brave enough to make a completely selfish decision, I realised it was probably the most important one I’ve ever made.

As soon as I knew I was suspending my studies, it felt like a physical weight had being taken off my shoulders . I had a whole 15 months of academic relief ahead of me. It took me a long time to build up to doing any work again. For my first three months off all I did was rest, socialise, travel and see friends. It was a tremendously liberating experience. I felt in control of my own life again. If my university experience was the subject of a history essay, rusticating was my turning point, my watershed moment, albeit a good one.

In September 2016 I got a job at the local Sainsburys, this kept me productive and gave me a feeling of independence I was yet to experience.  When I left that job ten months later, it was not just a bit of extra cash I’d earnt, but a lot more self-esteem. By doing something very different to academic work, I had proven to myself that there was more to life than studying. To be at a place like Oxford is both a choice and a privilege, but I learnt I could still take another route in life if I wanted to, moreover I could still be happy.

Rusticating led to me feeling fulfilled again.  I went to see my friend in Japan and I went interrailing around Europe. I even started reading around my subject about half way through the year for pleasure, because studying was no longer dictated by deadlines. I felt happy.

Coming back this year has been amazing, I’ve found a wonderful group of friends and comfortably passed my Mods. I am far more settled, secure, and I enjoy my subject. If I hadn’t had the confidence to rusticate, I would still be struggling through now – utterly miserable, isolated and with far fewer fond memories of my time at university to look back on.

Don’t be afraid to do what’s best for you. Sometimes the road less traveled is the one which can change your university experience for the better.

Recipe Corner: Kebabba

That’s right – KEBABBA. You’re here now and you can’t go back, lured in like the drunken revellers are drawn to the lights of the kebab shop, intrigued by the sights and smells. But, what is this KEBABBA, you ask? Is it the long anticipated reveal of Oxford’s answer to McCauley Culkin’s Pizza Underground — a doner themed ABBA tribute band? Is it a new word which joins together in an incongruous harmony both of my staple late night nutritional and listening habits? Is it an inane pun constructed for the sole purpose of spinning 500 words about the time me and my friend William made a Kebab?

Well to answer your entirely valid questions, dear reader, it is because over the past few days I have come to the startling conclusion that, and bear with me on this one, ABBA and Kebabs are the same thing: food is music, life is art, ABBA is kebabs.

How is that possible; one is the greatest pop group of all time, and the other is the greatest and most pervasive late-night meal? Yet both occupy the same space in our collective heart. Our yearning for ABBA is the same as our insatiable desire for a dripping lamb kebab.

1. They are at once repulsive and alluring. If foods were bands then kebabs would be ABBA. There is something grimly fascinating about ABBA. It’s so kitsch, so cheesy, some of their songs contain suspect lyrical constructions, and yet you can’t get enough because they are addictive. You just don’t get bad ABBA songs. You don’t get bad kebabs. You get good ones for sure. But the bad ones are still good. You enjoy the moment you sink your teeth in like you enjoy the “uh huh” in the chorus of Knowing Me Knowing You: slightly guilty but without regret.

2. They are things which drunk people enjoy. Drunks like ABBA. Drunks like Kebabs. Do you remember that pres when your friend jumped up on the table to sing along enthusiastically to “Take a Chance” and the table leg buckled and she fell over and everyone won’t let her forget it? Do you remember when when your mate came back from a night out and fell asleep on your bed with the side of his face resting delicately on his half-eaten kebab and only woke up at 8am the next morning? ABBA is the soundtrack to our embarrassments in the same way kebabs are their taste. When you wake up the next morning you’ve either got that song from pres stuck in your head or the taste of the garlic sauce in your mouth, or if you’re lucky, both.

3. They fly in the face of pretension. “Yeah mate, no yeah would definitely be up for going bully tonight, yeah I’m a big fan of (insert buzzy rah DJ) gonna be mad” – except you don’t really want to go to the Bullingdon do you? What you actually want to do is get a cheap bottle of wine, get some ABBA on at pres, get to the undisputed Best Night in Oxford: FNE (Friday Night Emporium for the uninitiated), request ABBA over and over again for 45 minutes until the DJ eventually succumbs and plays ABBA songs to all 6 of you in the club. Then when it shuts, you want to walk down the High Street to see Ahmed’s in the distance, just peeking out from around the bend, ready to dish up a dripping, oil-sodden, delicious, disgusting, meaty, perfect kebab. And then you want to walk back past all of the miserable looking people coming back from Cowley, with their cool hair and their identical clothing, and their sad eyes, and you want to eat your kebab and shout out The Winner Takes it All in its entirety and feel great.

That’s that really. If you would like to know how we made a kebab and want to make one yourself there’s a recipe below. A good idea for a barbecue is one of the big roasting trays from Robert Dyas filled with coals because it gets way hotter, and is better, than a one-use tray. 

Ingredients:

For the meat and marinade:
Chicken thighs (skinned and de-boned or breasts if you’re lazy)
Greek yoghurt
Harissa
Crushed garlic
Lemon juice
Lots of salt
Pepper
Cumin
Olive oil

For the rest:
Something to hold it in (I.e. bread, pitta, wrap etc)
Salads and sauces

Method: 

1. Mix all the ingredients for the marinade together and taste it to work out ratios for yourself. The yoghurt mix should just about coat the chicken and it should have quite a lot of lemon juice and salt. The flavour will get less intense during the cooking so make the marinade more powerful than you think it should be.

2. Add chicken thighs and leave to marinade for about 8 hours (or as long as you can realistically – 2 hours is probably minimum).

3. Poke multiple skewers through one of the pieces of meat and layer the rest on top until it resembles a kebab.

4. Try and keep it high over the flame so it doesn’t cook too quickly on the outside. We used bricks to support our one and turned it manually every minute/couple of minutes.

5. Wait for probably longer than you initially expected (will depend on the heat of your barbecue) and shave off the outside bits of the kebab when they get browned.

6. Serve in pitta/wrap/bread with salad and sauce.

7. Take photos of your kebab and show them to Ahmed who will be politely underwhelmed and cause you to question why you even attempted this undertaking in the first place.

In search of Irish Revolutionaries

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‘Hearts with one purpose alone / Through summer and winter seem / Enchanted to a stone / To trouble the living stream.’ So wrote Yeats of the Easter Rising in ‘Easter, 1916’, the poem from whose first line Roy Foster’s most recent book, Vivid Faces: The Revolutionary Generation in Ireland 1890–1923, takes its title. Foster’s focus, however, is less on political events than on the men and women who participated in, experienced and interpreted them. And the central argument of this book is that these individuals were not actuated by ‘one purpose alone’. In characteristically elegant and readable prose, Foster paints a rich tableau of pre-revolutionary Ireland, revealing a diversity of aspirations among the future revolutionaries. Political liberation was to be accompanied, for some, by sexual or literary liberation; the boundaries of gender and religious confession were to be reshaped as well as political boundaries.

Foster’s approach is prefigured by his previous books, but is perhaps best summarised by the course description of the revolutionary Ireland further subject that he taught to a generation of Oxford history students. He concentrates on ‘the less conventional aspects of the period’, and uses ‘pamphlets, newspapers, memoirs, polemic, poetry, and fiction’ to create an account in which ‘Yeats [and] Douglas Hyde … are as central as Charles Stewart Parnell … and Eamon de Valera’.

Four chapters of the book are creatively titled ‘Learning’, ‘Playing’, ‘Loving’ and ‘Writing’, discussing respectively the educational, theatrical, romantic and literary milieux of the revolutionaries. Throughout these chapters Foster builds up a recurring cast of characters: pedagogical reformer Patrick Pearse, painter Countess Markiewicz, feminist Kathleen Lynn, antiquarian F. J. Bigger, secularist Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington, and many others. Set among the unconventional figures and eccentrics who populate these pages, the affairs of a Roger Casement appear rather less unique.

These characters belong to overlapping circles. The Plunkett siblings used their family wealth to set up not just a training camp but also a theatre and a commune. Gaelic League camps were less important in teaching Gaelic than in forming friendships and loves. Revolutionary haunts in Dublin are described in detail (the absence of a map of the city is a pity), but small-town and rural Ireland, and Ulster, are also considered.

Foster uses diaries to wonderful effect. We discover unknown sides to well-known figures like Terence MacSwiney, the Lord Mayor of Cork who died of hunger strike in 1920, whom we find writing frenetically of his love of Ibsen and his deeply emotional experience of the Irish countryside. And we receive vivid and often moving insights into the lives of more obscure participants, like Rosemary Jacob, a young Quaker woman whose fears and desires – sexual, social and political – Foster excavates with remarkable sensitivity.

But the idealism of the pre-Revolutionary years is only half the story. Looking back, the Ulster revolutionary Bulmer Hobson remarked: ‘the phoenix of our youth has fluttered down to earth … a miserable old hen’. For Foster, what happened after 1914 was a tragic failure. The diverse hopes of the earlier period were buried by an oppressive conservatism, which, as last week’s referendum reminds us, has frayed only very recently. Why this conservative turn occurred is a question that perturbs Foster, but to which he does not give a definite answer. Here, perhaps, the almost exclusive focus of Vivid Faces on elites is an obstacle. You may not realise it from reading Vivid Faces, but there were more instinctive sectarians in revolutionary Ireland than reasoned secularists, more traditional Catholics than radical feminists.

But we should be grateful for what we have. At his inaugural lecture in Michaelmas, Ian McBride, Foster’s successor in Oxford’s chair in Irish history (now re-named the Foster Professorship in his honour), addressed the question: why study Irish history, especially if you are not Irish? His answer was that Ireland was an instructive case study for those interested in wider themes like violence or revolutions. Very true, as the introduction of Vivid Faces, which considers the Irish Revolution in comparative context, demonstrates. But Vivid Faces also suggests another, for me more compelling answer to the question. It is the richness and intrinsic interest that it reveals of the experiences and feelings of Irish men and women and how they gave expression to these – the capacity of this island to produce far more of the zest of living, learning, loving, playing, writing, fighting and remembering than its size would warrant. To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, if you are tired of Ireland and Irish history, you must be tired of life itself.

Dichotomous Lives: The Lives of Diaspora Kids

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If there is one thing I have learnt from churning out philosophy and politics essays for almost a year, it is that there are two sides to everything, even when we only want to acknowledge one of them. The cross-cultural lives led by second generation immigrants and other multi-cultural kids are no exception. On the one side, we’re told that we have the best of both worlds: People envy us for being bilingual, for getting to eat exotic food at home, for being able to celebrate foreign holidays. What is not nearly as often addressed however, is the other side of the coin. The somewhat less enviable truth that in a sense, we’re neither fish nor fowl: That many of us spend years trying to puzzle the bits and pieces of our mixed cultural heritage into one coherent identity.

In the world today, there are at least as many bilingual children as there are monolingual ones. One in every four children born in England or Wales in 2014 had mothers that were themselves born outside of the UK. Wherever we look, the rise of globalisation has brought with it an ever-growing number of cross-culture kids of all kinds and yet, it is rarely acknowledged that many of these children grow up with the feeling of not belonging in the very country they were born and raised in. If this does not call for change I don’t know what does, and I want to share my own experience of a dichotomous life because fostering understanding is the first step towards encouraging change. While I don’t have the answers for how to bring it about, I hope to do my share by shedding some light over what it might be like to live a dichotomous life today’s society.

Born and raised in Norway, the biggest difference between me and my Chinese born parents has always been our sense of belonging – or rather, their sense of belonging and my ack thereof. We travel to China every year and once the plane lands in Beijing Capital Airport, my parents are home. They might have lived in Norway for 40 years, but their home will always be on Chinese soil. The experience is different for someone like me. I might look and sound just as Chinese as any other person seen on the busy streets of Beijing, but in the eyes of natives I am nothing but a “banana person”. Someone with yellow skin but white insides. They are always pleasantly surprised when I turn out to be a fluent Chinese speaker or admit liking Chinese food because it’s unexpected. They assume that I primarily belong in the country and culture I grew up in and that anything Chinese that remains is just extra bonus – me getting the best of both worlds if you like. I’ve long lost count of how many times I wished it was that simple.

Parts of a different culture are not something you can simply fuse with another coherent identity like some add-on upgrade. If you win some you lose some, and while I wouldn’t trade my Chinese heritage for the world, feeling like I fully belong in Norway at the same time has been impossible. Because it’s not easy to identify entirely as Norwegian when you grow up with other children squinting their eyes at you because they are curious as to “how you see the world”. It’s not easy to develop a genuine feeling of belonging if the lady in the grocery store instinctively talks to you in heavily accented English instead of in your common mother tongue. And it sure isn’t easy to feel completely at home when you’re in a park two quarters from your house and a jogger slows down to tell you how happy he is to see that his local park has become more popular with tourists.

I came to realise that belonging is a two-way street – you cannot identify with someone who doesn’t accept you as one of their own, and it seems like neither the Chinese nor the Norwegians were entirely willing to do that when faced with a hybrid like me who appears to be neither fish nor fowl.

It used to make me angry and bitter and I thought the people around me prejudiced and insensitive for ignoring and mocking the efforts I had made to fit in. It was only recently that I realised my feelings were unwarranted and misdirected, and that no individual was at fault for me being unable to reconcile the different aspects of my cultural identity. I was hit by the realisation that the lady at the grocery store and the talkative jogger and the vast majority of the people I was blaming were not being consciously racist or microaggressive, but simply reflected beliefs and habits that had been entrenched in society for centuries.

For as long as history has been dominated by nation states, our sense of belonging has been closely connected to our cultural and national identity. It is therefore no wonder that as globalisation brings with it increasingly complex identities, the question of belonging becomes more problematic. While I can only speak from my own experience and observations, it seems like society has not yet learnt how to properly accommodate for the existence of cross-culture children. The sense that you need to feel British in order to belong in Britain is still ever so strongly imbedded in social norms and conventions, and once we realise that, it becomes clear that this situation cannot be improved through anger, frustration and the blind assignment of blame. What we need is to draw attention to this relatively rarely addressed global phenomenon and to aim for a wider and better understanding of how it affects people.

And thus, we have come full circle. The reason I emphasised the importance of fostering understanding at the beginning of this article is because I believe that is the only way to change society from within. I no longer, like I once did, look for a way in which I can become Norwegian enough to be accepted. Rather, I now wish for a world in which I can feel at home in Norway without feeling 100% Norwegian. I wish we could make the first steps towards a society in which people can belong without being 100% anything. Where no cross-culture kid feels the need to forcefully reconcile the different parts of what will likely always be a dichotomous identity and a dichotomous life, because they know that they have a place where they belong regardless.

 

Total denuclearisation is a complete fantasy

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Putting aside the crass posturing surrounding the – as yet unconfirmed – diplomatic summit between North Korea and the United States, it’s important to ask: what constitutes ‘Mission Success’ for the international community when it comes to North Korea?
‘Mission Success’ is not North Korea’s willingness to engage in diplomatic summits and peace negotiations with international actors. That would be a conflation of the means of diplomatic success with the ends of said diplomacy.

The sustained failure of the six-party talks is one such example – North Korea has returned to the negotiating table intermittently since 2003, yet no concrete steps towards de-nuclearisation have occurred. Instead, it appears that North Korea’s nuclear programme has gone from strength to strength. Last year, North Korea successfully tested its longest ever flight of a ballistic missile. The missile travelled 3,700 miles and passed over Japan before landing in the Pacific.

North Korea is either close to achieving, or has achieved, the ability to threaten the United States with an intercontinental ballistic missile. There remain doubts over whether it has the technology to miniaturise a nuclear warhead, but experts – including Ian Williams, an associate director at the Centre for Strategic and International Studies – believe this is “just a matter of time”.

North Korea sees nuclear weapons as a guarantee of regime survival. It will not countenance de-nuclearisation even if the United States signs a non-aggression treaty. What else explains North Korea’s response when John Bolton, the US national security adviser, referred to Libya as a model for North Korean nuclear disarmament? Pyongyang’s reply was immediate: “(The world) knows too well that our country is neither Libya nor Iraq, which met miserable fates”.

The fates of Muammar Gaddafi, who gave up his nuclear weapons in a 2003 deal, and Saddam Hussein, who did not possess nuclear weapons during Operation Iraqi Freedom,
are plain to see. This is the main reason why the six-party talks failed miserably – North Korea would not budge an inch when it came to de-nuclearisation.

What about the recent inter-Korean summit, where Kim pledged to work towards a “nuclear-free Korean peninsula” and a formal end to the Korean War? We’ve been here before.

Eighteen years ago, South Korean President Kim Dae-jung and Kim Jong-il signed declarations about ending the Korean War and uniting the two countries. Kim Jong-il even agreed to create a joint South Korean/ North Korean industrial park in Kaesong, and to reunify families divided by the demilitarised zone (some suspect that North Korea used this particular scheme to smuggle spies into South Korea). Little has come of Kim Dae-jung’s “Sunshine Policy”. North Korea has not stopped its nuclear programme and continues to enslave political opponents.

Yes, negotiations are good. But Kim Jong-un is no liberal peace-maker. Negotiations are a necessary but insufficient condition for any substantial progress to be made He’s acting out of a decades-old playbook which mixes provocation with peace offerings meant to convince the international community to relax sanctions and legitimise his dictatorial regime.
It would be a mistake to treat the North Korea/United States summit as a negotiation over de-nuclearisation. President Trump and John Bolton might fantasise about stripping Kim of his nuclear arsenal and arm-twisting Pyongyang into a peace deal, but this is not happening. Kim, surely, views American promises as worth less than the paper they are written on – President Trump’s sudden reversal of the Obama-era nuclear treaty with Iran is one such example.

Any negotiation, therefore, requires American willingness to broach compromise. This means allowing North Korea to keep its nuclear weapons in return for Pyongyang’s own set of compromises. There are no two ways about it. Short of a military intervention which would entail incalculable human suffering, Pyongyong will not give up the one bargaining chip it views as essential to regime survival. In exchange, we must force North Korea to halt any future development and production of nuclear weapons. We can enforce this with regular IAEA and UN inspections, with clear rewards for sustained adherence to the deal (and, conversely, punishments if North Korea were to halt inspections or show a disregard for the deal).

These ‘rewards’ might include a gradual relaxation of sanctions, or American investment in light-water reactors. At the same time, there are some red lines that the United States cannot accede to – withdrawing troops from South Korea, for example, might lead to South Korean nuclearisation, due to a perception of profound insecurity. Instead of any genuine progress, however, I expect to see more posturing on the part of President Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un.

If this summit does take place, Trump will brand it as a ‘historic’ (‘the BEST’) meeting, deserving of a Nobel Prize. Kim will use it as propaganda and proof that North Korea’s nuclear status gives it a seat at the table of equals.