Thursday 9th October 2025
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Protests widen the rift between public and police

William Hosie
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Protests widen the rift between public and police

The only protest I’ve ever been caught up in happened three summers ago, one Saturday in August, when pro-Palestine rioters took over Edgware Road. My confused and slightly worried 15-year-old self tried making his way through the crowd and in the process, ended up contributing five pounds to the Palestinian cause and receiving a free bracelet. I didn’t really know what I’d contributed five pounds to, but it felt like I’d done something good – until the protest turned violent, with a group of men choosing to boycott the local MacDonald’s. I’m still not really sure how that was effective.

Although the vast majority of the people protesting in August 2014 were of Arab ethnicity and thus directly linked to the cause they were defending, it seems a lot has changed in the past three years. What was previously a political statement has become a wider cultural trend. Protests have become a mainstream part of our day-to-day lives. Protesting is hip, it’s edgy, it’s fashionable. You post your photo on Instagram to show the world you went to an anti-Trump rally, holding up a banner with a message about combatting fake news or something.

Last summer’s women’s marches are probably the most legitimate of recent protests. Yet at most protests nowadays, people don’t protest because they support the political cause being defended, but rather because protests are thrilling experiences. If people want to make a political statement, all they have to do is go online and launch a petition on change.org. If they’re joining protests, disruptive marches, and riots, it’s because these have become exhilarating spectacles. Who can design the best poster? Which brilliant mind has come up with the best slogan? Riots are euphoric events, disguised as political activism.

One can explain this unsettling new trend by the change in the political climate over the past few years. Not only have politics and showbiz never been as intertwined as they are today (the Glastonbury chants of “Oh Jeremy Corbyn” epitomise this), but political discourse in the past years has also turned nasty. The debate of measured arguments has become a sour exchange of insults. The reawakening of the hard-left through Corbyn, and the intensified voices of the hard-right in post-Brexit Britain, has created a populist and volatile backdrop where opinions are more extreme.

The gap between the right and left extremities of the spectrum continues to widen, causing riots. The increase in protests is only one symptom of the anger that typifies our current political landscape. Journalist Cosmo Landesman argues that protests, particularly in America, are no longer about the battle of ideas, but about the battle against the police. That the police behave in a discriminatory way towards minorities is a fact. And yet the current level of confidence and trust in the police is higher in metropolitan areas than it has been for a while.

Landesman deplores the systematic targeting of the police in the States, explaining that this tendency only overshadows other, arguably more pressing problems, like gang culture and black-on-black crime, both of which cause more deaths than the rarer (though non-negligible) shooting of black youths by policemen.

Gang crime is not just an issue which anti-police and anti-establishment protests unwittingly overshadow: it’s something they make more easily possible. Tom Gash, author of Criminal: The Truth About Why People Do Bad Things, analyses the ways in which legitimate protests are being used as a cover for a very small minority of people, out to cause trouble.

Rather than being a particularly vocal expression of democracy and free speech, riots mark the end of democracy. Rather than helping protestors achieve legitimate responses to their grievances, protests widen the rift between the public and police, representatives of an establishment keen to close ranks and cancel public enquiries.

So don’t indulge in protests. They have become a young adult fad with little, if no, effect. If you want to let your hair down in public with a mob of cool youths, just wait for Notting Hill Carnival.

A little creativity can change a lot about the way we protest

Anoushka Kavanagh
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A little creativity can change a lot about the way we protest

Kreuzberg, Berlin, 1 May 2012. The tension is tangible as 15,000 protesters defiantly face 7,000 menacing police, heavily armed and shielded. The protesters have been warned that a new water cannon, with a 10,000-litre capacity, will be tested on them today. But they remain unarmed. That is, until several inflatable foil cobblestones float into the crowd.

Security forces, only minutes ago ferociously formidable, are thrown into disarray as the drifting decoys are blithely bounced through the throngs of marchers. A scene of comic confusion quickly unfolds. Troopers scratch their heads before sprinting after the strange shapes, and taking a stab at them. The shiny surfaces are slippery though, and they struggle to deflate the spectacle. As the sun sets, the stones are still gliding through the crowds, glistening in the twilight. The squad of riot cops has been defeated by a bunch of balloons.

The objects in question were created for the demonstration by the art-activist collective ‘Eclectic Electric Collective’ (e.e.c) – and are effectively what it says on the tin: five feet tall inflatable silver sculptures, mimicking conventional cobblestones. A reinterpretation of an age-old weapon of antiauthoritarian struggle, these tools of intervention were intended to do what the collective does best: innovate enduring protest strategies.

Cobblestones have long been tools of protest. In both the Paris Commune of 1871 and the 1968 demonstrations, paving was used as weapon. Not only is it an easily accessible medium, but it’s also symbolic of dissent: by removing part of a city’s pavement, you are refusing to consent to the authorities. Yet where real cobblestones cause casualties, the inflatables are harmless. Instead, they are simultaneously playful and protective: while designer
Artur Van Balen (now a member of the artivist collective, Tools for Action) has labelled them “weapons of tactical frivolity” – making protest an interactive, engaging experience for opposing participants – the inflatables also act as a physical fence to police batons.

This interactive element was key to the cobblestone’s conception – for the objects necessitate consideration in a way that more traditional weapons do not. Van Balen says that the shapes truly reach their full potential when they succeed in creating a situation in which “your opponent needs to decide what to do”. The opponent, in this case the cops, must now engage with the rioter in order to quell the disobedience. Security forces cannot simply open fi re or whip out batons, because brutally battering a harmless floating sculpture is somewhat challenging, not to mention ineffective. The comic nature of the situation then strips the authorities of much of their power, in much the same way as protest theatre. As such, these artivists are attempting to close the rift between police and protesters, via playful visual language.

While the cobbles were initially deployed individually at marches, in more recent years they have been compiled collectively into sculptures, that further challenge the nature of protest. The units are arranged into linear or grid formations, then secured by Velcro to one another, so that they resemble walls. Together, they hinder movement in much the same way traditional barricades would. Again, this plays on another historic device of discontent.

Barricades are now almost a cliché of civil unrest, thanks in part to Les Misérables’ iconic scenes. But their origins lie in the religious conflicts of 16th century south-west France. By the 19th century, the structures were indeed highly visible at major riots across Paris, including the July Days and the 1848 revolution. Typically, barricades were fashioned from hollow barrels, stuffed and secured by stones: arduous to construct, immoveable, and relatively permanent.

The inflatables by contrast, can be folded compactly and transported transnationally. Significantly, the lightweight shapes facilitate rapid creation and elimination. During the 2015 UN Climate Summit in Paris, Tools for Action sent packages to activist groups as far afield as New York, Portland, and London. Inside, were instructions describing “how to block a street in 20 seconds and just as easily disappear again”. Not only does that suggest the cobblestones enable greater spontaneity, but it indicates the transportable tools are effective in uniting protesters globally, through shared spectacles.

Drawing from these instructions and inspirations, inflatable blockades have been employed in Portland, outside the US Forest Service offices in protest of logging; in Westchester, New York, in protest of fracking; and in Lausitz, Germany, at the Welzow Sud Lignite Coal Mine, in protest of the continued burning of the dirtiest form of coal. The latter protest had a particularly international dimension to it, as 60 inflatables – made in the Netherlands, UK, France, Denmark, and Sweden – were amalgamated outside the mine.

These collected cobblestones were the product of the ‘training for trainers’ programme, launched in 2016 by Tools for Action and the Laboratory of Insurrectionary Imagination. Under this initiative, activists came together to learn about organisational tactics and creative direction, before heading home to instruct a new generation of activists.

But this was not the first time that the artivist collective had expanded their horizons into creative education: in 2015, the ‘inflatable barricade training’ project was established in Paris, educating climate activists in new methods of demonstration in the run up to the COP21 Conference. Nor was it the last.

Recently, Tools for Action teamed up with Respekt Buro to launch their most ambitious, comprehensive programme to date, using the floating foil cobblestones: ‘Barricade Ballet’. Named after the unique demonstration choreography which demonstrators and artists created together, the project sought not merely to change ideas about strategies of protest, but to change ideas about the matters at the heart of the protest themselves. The protest for which the programme prepared was a reactionary demonstration, against a forthcoming neo-Nazi march in Dortmund, June 2016. In the preceding months, the collective worked within schools to create open, inclusive environments in which to address the issues facing the city. High-schools are thought to be a common recruiting ground for neo-Nazis in Germany, so project organisers believed it important for discussions to be held about xenophobia, discrimination, and Neo-Nazi ideology here. Of course concurrently, students were given the opportunity to engage in artistic forms of direct action – creating the cobblestones to be brought to the forthcoming protests, and constructing barricade choreography.

4 June 2016, Dortmund, Germany. 900 neo-Nazis flood onto the city’s streets for their “A Day of the German Future” rally. 5,000 counterdemonstrators are also rallying. They connect their cobblestones and construct the barricades. At BlockaDO, the demonstration against the alt-right is confined by police, as neo-Nazis approach.

Unrest unfolds, and the foil inflatables protect protesters from police as planned. Unlike in Berlin though, the cops in Dortmund are better prepared: they cut the sculptures to shreds. But before they can do this, the counter-demonstrators are able to realise the full potential of their plan: their metallic barricade acts as a literal mirror held up to the alt-right, forcing marchers to reflect upon the city’s society.

Germany may not yet have won the fight against the alt-right, but it appears pioneering paths in direct action are helping to tackle problems peacefully and playfully. Instead of alienating, Tools for Action are engaging. Entertainment and aesthetics can replace animosity and aggression. A little creativity can change a lot about the way we protest.

Correction and clarification: Cherwell 20 October 2017

Cherwell Editors
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Correction and clarification: Cherwell 20 October 2017

Cherwell would like to correct and clarify several inaccuracies in our front page lead article from 20 October 2017.

It suggested Oxford Union President Chris Zabilowicz is under investigation for “electoral malpractice”, that he had “placed” unelected officers onto the Union’s Standing Committee, and that he could be impeached as a result.

Although a ruling by Zabilowicz is currently under investigation for an alleged rule breach, he is not facing allegations of “electoral malpractice”, is not yet a defendant, cannot face impeachment directly as a result, and the two unelected committee members were appointed by existing members of Standing Committee and Union officers, including Zabilowicz.

We stand by the amended version of the article published on our website.

A film that celebrates an artistic history too long hidden, too long misunderstood

Gazelle Mba
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A film that celebrates an artistic history too long hidden, too long misunderstood

In 2010, the artist Lynn Hersham released her first film !Women Art Revolution. In its exploration of artists such as Nancy Spero, Judy Chicago, Ana Mendieta and Howardena Pindell, the film gifts its viewers a seemingly endless array of archival footage, interviews and video art. Each image, every word spoken, fashions and recreates a history so long hidden, so long misunderstood. !Women Art Revolution painstakingly and movingly records how, in the 70s and 80s, feminist artists created work with the aim of fusing the worlds of politics and art. Their work speaks not only to the political movements of their times, but also to the burgeoning and now all-encompassing politicization of identity and experience.

Perhaps the most poignant moment in the film, one which presents the necessity of the film’s existence so clearly, is when ordinary New Yorkers are asked about their favourite female artists, and most can only name Frida Kahlo. Today, Frida Kahlo’s name is to be found in headlines once again, not in essays dedicated to her political commitments or her artistic abilities, but in the ways she has been reduced and commodified, a bracelet shackled to the wrist of prime minister Theresa May.

Much has been made of the intractable differences which separate Kahlo from May. Kahlo, a lifelong communist Mexican artist left disabled by a bus crash in her youth, incongruously and strangely attached to the body of May, whose allegiance to capitalism and the various oppressions it yields are obvious, and under whose leadership the government’s record on disability rights has been called a “human catastrophe” by the UN. While the Prime Minister’s jewelry can be dismissed as simply an ‘aesthetic choice’, its meaning calls out for analysis and exploration. Writing in the London Review of Books, Paul Clinton notes that Margaret Lindauer has argued that we have in a sense “obscured the specific political and geographic context of Kahlo’s work. Her transformation into a role model, as much as into a commodity used to sell t-shirts, films or, indeed, bracelets, has reduced the artist to her image and biography.” Yet, Kahlo’s commercialisation does not simply demonstrate the reduction of the artist to “her image and biography”, as Clinton and Lindauer state, rather it is emblematic of the ways in which neo-liberal and conservative discourse harness the power and resonance of identity politics, in ways that warp, distort and reduce the socialist and revolutionary politics of its purveyors, so as to nullify the challenge and opposition they present to the dominant and powerful. Frida Kahlo and the artists of !Women Art Revolution animate sites of intellectual and political contention, found in struggles against class, racial and gendered oppression. West evinces the “complicated relationship” the Chicano and queer activists who adopted and championed Kahlo’s image had “with the left wing in the 1980s, which saw identity politics as individualistic rather than concerned with collective struggle, linked to the self-interested culture of the Reagan and Thatcher era.” Her later work invokes Judith Butler’s argument that Marxists had too often portrayed struggles over identity as “merely cultural rather than concerned with questions of mate- rial production.”

However, I would argue that our flawed conceptions and understandings of Frida Kahlo and her ilk, lie not in our failure to see identity politics as concerned with material production. Instead, it is in the way identity politics creates icons and role models whose thorniness, revolutionary instincts and ideas are dulled and eroded, so they can stand for anything and all things, be all things and as a result be nothing. It also leads to the politicisation and radicalisation of individuals whose work and activism is simply representational, who are themselves reflections, but not mirrors which incite re-examination and as a result, tangible and material change.

Nowhere is this more prevalent and pernicious, than in the critical and public reception of black women artists. Take the wildly similar yet dissimilar depictions of blackness by the artists Kara Walker and Tschabalala Self. Succeeding her groundbreaking 2014 installation “a subtlety”, Kara Walker returns to the two dimensional images of brutality and fear of which she was made both famous and infamous in her show: SIKKEMA JENKINS AND CO. IS COMPELLED TO PRESENT THE MOST ASTOUNDING AND IMPORTANT PAINTING SHOW OF THE FALL ART SHOW VIEWING SEASON! Her paintbrush expertly and viscerally renders scenes which investigate the nature or meaning of race, gender, sexuality and violence. Meanwhile in her first UK solo exhibition, at Pilas Corrias gallery in London, the artist Tschabalala Self, explores through a variety of media: painting, print and sculpture the commodifcation and hyper-sexualisation of the black body, using the New York Bodega as a the physical or geographical site of these happenings.

The political potential of Walker’s work is evident, but she denies and rejects any notion that she is a role model, a portrayer of triumphant and invincible blackness. The pain and fear in her work cannot be so easily compartmentalised and sentimentalised. She resists categorisation both biographically and in her art, a categorisation which would otherwise limit and stifle the radical and critical aspects of her work. Kara Walker is not supposed to paint or depict what she does, yet she offers it to us time and time again. She offers new political possibilities through her defiance. On the other hand, Tschabalala Self’s handling of the black female body and its accompanying sexualities, view the representational as inherently political. Self herself has stated that “the bodies that my work is talking about are constantly politicised, so it’d be impossible for the work not the politicised.” But to what politics does she allude to? What do these figures have to offer beyond the mere fact of themselves? Perhaps the shortcomings of Self’s work are best revealed by the language critics have used to denote the black female she represents. The Guardian calls them “raunchy” and “hedonistic”, W Magazine lauds these “self-constructed women” who “exuded confidence and cool” in “unapologetically sexual positions.” As shown by these terms and epithets, in her desire to subvert and take ownership or possession of that which has been declared shameful and abject, there is nevertheless a contradictory re- establishment of structures which originally rendered her subject matter shameful and abject.

Their sexuality is rid of complexity, reduced to the feelings and perceptions it arouses in others. It is divorced from the insidious and structural transactions of power, which give it its meaning in the first instance. These bodies are delicious and entertaining spectacles, but not a spectacle which draws and call attentions to their darker political contexts, in ways that illuminate and elaborate our understanding of them.

It becomes worthwhile to focus on the specific rather than the general, the meaning of a particular work rather than the overarching implication of this artist’s entrance into the mainstream or the public acceptance of their work. We must go back, in order to excavate and rediscover the ideas and critical thought which stimulate and energise their artistic and creative resistance. Our need to constantly equate the representational with the radical, is to lose too much, to silence what else there is to say and call into question.

May’s racial disparity audit is a token gesture of little substance

Michael OConnor
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May’s racial disparity audit is a token gesture of little substance

The government’s race disparity audit contains many numbers, few words and no recommendations. Its thoroughness is laudable. The amount of new information it purports is questionable. In essence it simply collects all the existing data on the subject together in one place and clearly demonstrates the continuing existence of racial inequality in the UK.

A number of recent reports by think tanks and parliamentary committees have drawn attention to racial disparities in British society. The McGregor-Smith review highlighted the  extent of racial discrimination at work and a recent report by David Lammy drew attention to inequalities in the Criminal Justice system. Similarly, the Runnymede trust has published a series of studies exposing racial gaps in educational attainment.

Thus, we already have plenty of evidence that racial divides exist. The racial disparity audit doesn’t contain any ground-breaking new discoveries on this front. It simply collects the data that we already have and puts it in one place. If the audit stimulates the Government to do something about racial disparities, then it will have served a useful purpose. If not, then it should be regarded as what it is: a waste of time and effort.

The race disparity audit does have some value. Its data is easily accessible online. Previously, the data on racial inequality was scattered across the internet or buried in Whitehall filing cabinets. Now it is all in the open. This is a victory for government transparency, if only a minor one. As Theresa May noted, the government doesn’t have “anywhere to hide”. It can’t plead ignorance any longer. Racial divides exist, and the government has to do something about them. But, despite this, the government has put forward few specific proposals.

However, the audit itself doesn’t contain any concrete policy recommendations. It’s quite possible that the government will make a few token gestures and then let the matter rest, satisfied that it has burnished its progressive credentials. Perhaps this seems too cynical but   previous Conservative governments have been reluctant to implement the recommendations of parliamentary committees and independent commissions tasked with addressing racial inequality.

The Conservative Party has turned a blind eye to racial divides before and it may do so again. Hopefully, the audit will encourage debate and lead to the development of a concrete policy programme designed to address the issue of racial inequality. But it may well sink without trace – and I suspect that it will. I hope that I will be proved wrong. But I am willing to bet that I won’t.

Oxford’s first black graduate celebrated – but how much still needs to change?

Emily Lawford
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Oxford’s first black graduate celebrated – but how much still needs to change?

The story of Oxford’s first black graduate has been celebrated after a plaque for was unveiled last week at University College. Christian Cole, who matriculated in 1873 to read Classics, left Oxford to become a seminal figure in the English courts as the first black African to practice law.

The plaque was installed thanks to the efforts of Pamela Roberts, a leading cultural heritage practitioner and the director of the project, Black Oxford: Untold Stories, which aims to promote the historic legacy of black students of Oxford. University College has been chosen as the appropriate home for the plaque because Cole, who graduated as a non-collegiate student, became a member of the College a year later in 1877.

Christian Cole was born in Sierra Leone in 1852, when the country was still a crown colony of Britain. The grandson of slaves, he was adopted by Reverend James Cole of Waterloo before going to Oxford at twenty-one. At university, Cole was supported by an allowance from his uncle, and by money he made from tutoring and giving music lessons alongside his studies. He was a well-known figure at Oxford, and his presence is documented in diaries and cartoons from the time. After his uncle died, his fellow students started an appeal to raise money to help him financially.

University College purchased his published work on the Anglo-Zulu war in 2006 for £1000. The college archivist, Dr Robin Darwall-Smith, told Cherwell: “I think that it’s very important that we remember Christian Cole, because he was a great pioneer as the first black African to get an Oxford degree. “He had tremendous ambition: he came up to Oxford to read Classics, which was then the toughest course in the university, but got his degree nonetheless. I also think that he had a certain flair, because he spoke in the Oxford Union and attended Encaenia, and in general was something of an Oxford ‘personality’ during his time here. I myself have long admired Cole, and am proud of his links with Univ. I hope now that people will look at his plaque and feel inspired by his example.”

Yet 150 years on, Oxford is still facing criticism that it is institutionally biased against black students. New figures revealed this week that 10 out of 32 Oxford colleges did not award a place to a black British pupil with A-levels in 2015. Oriel offered just one place to a black British A-level student from 2010 to 2015.

The University has said that they hope that this this commemoration of Oxford’s first black graduate highlights the University’s inclusive stance towards applicants from all backgrounds. Dr Rebecca Surender, Pro Vice Chancellor for Equality and Diversity at Oxford, said in a statement: “Christian Cole’s place in Oxford’s history as its first black graduate is one that deserves to be recognised and celebrated. The plaque will be a reminder of how far we have progressed since Cole graduated from Oxford.

“The University has made it a priority to reflect in its iconography the full range of Oxford’s history and the experiences of its members.”

This commemoration coincides with the launch of the Oxford Black Alumni network, a platform for future generations of leading black individuals to connect and collaborate. The Oxford Afro-Carribean society spoke to Cherwell about the plaque’s significance. “We at the ACS see it as important to commemorate this landmark moment in the history of diversity at Oxford and are happy that the University has recognised Cole’s importance, particularly during the week that new students were matriculating,” a spokesperson said.

“Christian Cole stands as a testament for past, current, and prospective students of what you can achieve regardless of your background.”

A day in the life: thesp

Callum Coghlan
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A day in the life: thesp

I awaken to the booming tones of Sir Ian McKellen as King Lear. An inspired choice for an alarm, I’m sure you’ll agree. I consider what to replace it with next week – maybe a bit of Anthony from Caesar?

I’m not going to lie, I am incredibly busy at the moment. For one play about a school in Wales, I’m designing a super edgy soundscape featuring actors singing over each other, nails scratching on chalkboards, and a flock of bleating sheep. I’m juggling this with my role as a psychopathic yet sympathetic North Korean spy, who is struggling to keep his homosexuality a secret from Kim Jong-un (it’s so relevant, you can’t miss it!) If that’s not enough, I’m also directing an experimental, naturalistic, contemporary, physical, gender-swapped Marlowe play, where everyone is naked above the waist for narrative reasons. And to sell tickets (Jesus Christ, we need to sell more tickets). I log onto Facebook and encourage everyone in the play to share the event NOW. And write something cool and edgy on it like “cOmE aNd sEe tHiS pLaY i’M iN! I pRoMiSe iT’s sIcK! pLuS nUdItY!!!!!!!” Maybe just “nUdItY” actually? Which reminds me: time to change my profile picture for the eighth time this term. The best drama hack ever is that my old profile picture gets so many more likes when I finish working on a play, and this means that I main
tain that crucial online popularity façade. Even that guy who was an extra in the Playhouse show I did last year is now one of my BFFs.

After a quick breakfast, I head straight over to the O’Reilly to rehearse for the final night of my dark re-imagining of Beatrix Potter’s classic story, The Tale of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle (the interpretative dance elements are just inspired), after which everyone will shower me with praise and affirm my amazing performance. Then I will
go for my termly pint of local craft ale with acquaintances that I only ever see when I nag them to come to my plays. The night draws to a close with a mad one with the cast in my house in Cowley, where we’ll be sure to ad-lib our favourite tunes from Phantom of the Opera, Hamilton, and High School Musical. I can’t wait to finish my degree – next stop RADA and then I’ll definitely be on track for a sick career in film!

St. Hugh’s drops Aung San Suu Kyi’s name from common room

Oscar Baker
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St. Hugh’s drops Aung San Suu Kyi’s name from common room

St. Hugh’s JCR has voted to remove the name of its Junior Common Room, currently named after the controversial leader of Myanmar Aung San Suu Kyi.

In a meeting last week, the JCR resolved to remove the name of their common room. According to the motion, it would be a statement of “solidarity with the persecuted and oppressed minority of Myanmar”. The motion aimed to show students of the college “condemn crimes against humanity and Aung San Suu Kyi’s stance on this issue”.

The motion also mandated the JCR Committee to petition the Principal and other college officials to write an open letter of condemnation to Aung San Suu Kyi on behalf of the college.

The vote was in the form of an anonymous online ballot. The motion passed with 115 votes in favour of the motion, 45 votes against, and 11 abstentions.

Affnafee Rahman, the second year student who proposed the motion, told Cherwell: “The fact that Aung San Suu Kyi studied in this college… makes the Rohingya crisis far more relevant to the students of Hugh’s.”

According to Rahman, the passing of the motion means “that we, as concerned global citizens and promoters of peace have done some justice to our moral responsibility in standing up for the oppressed and those who don’t have a voice, and that for me is the most important thing”.

The motion was delayed following Sunday night’s JCR meeting. Several students felt that the highly important nature of the resolutions should be settled in an anonymous online ballot.

Elise Page, who seconded the JCR motion, said: “the symbolism of our condemnation has more weight,” given Aung San Suu Kyi studied at the college.

Recognising the meeting’s debate on the issue, they said: “Several members of the common room have pointed out that this is a complex issue – it is. What is not complicated is deciding whether human rights offences are wrong.

“We cannot sit by idle while the suffering continues. We must work with what we have namely, the prestige of an Oxford college, and one associated with Aung San Suu Kyi at that – to help those in need as much as we can.”

Aung San Suu Kyi, the State Counsellor and de facto leader of Myanmar, studied PPE at St. Hugh’s, graduating in 1967. She has received international condemnation for the Myanmar government’s treatment of its Rohingya minority.

The decision to rename the room follows the college’s earlier removal of an Aung San Suu Kyi portrait to in September. Last week, Oxford City Council concluded that it was “no longer appropriate” for Aung San Suu Kyi to hold Freedom of the City of Oxford.

The Myanmar leader has also been criticised by fellow Nobel Peace Prize laureates including current Oxford University student, Malala Yousafzai.

This condemnation extends from the view that Aung San Suu Kyi has been perceived as inactive in actively dealing with the severe humanitarian crisis in Myanmar’s Rakhine state.

The UN described the atrocities being inflicted upon the Rohingya as a “textbook example of ethnic cleansing”.

Speaking about the consequences of the ballot passing, the JCR Secretary Curtis Crowley said: “JCR Committee will be going back to the JCR to seek further arguments and evidence for both sides before petitioning the principal and other college officials”.

He stressed the need for a “strong and well-evidenced case” to be put to college authorities, who have already responded to the crisis in Myanmar.

In a previously released official statement, the college stated that it “shares the grave international concern about the persistent ethnic violence towards, and treatment of, the Rohingya community,” and they “earnestly hope that Aung San Suu Kyi will do everything within her power to stop the violence and address the underlying issues as a matter of urgency”.

The JCR Committee will now work to have the College add a letter of condemnation to this statement.

‘Oslo’ Review – “a gripping political thriller straight off broadway”

Harry Hatwell
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‘Oslo’ Review – “a gripping political thriller straight off broadway”

On paper, J.T. Rogers’ Oslo sounds like the most bizarre of plays for the commercial stage. Centring on the Israeli-Arab conflict and the 1993 Oslo Peace Accords signed by Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat, I thought it would be slow, and political in the worst of senses.

I was wrong. Bartlett Sher has directed the most fantastically attention-grabbing production I have seen at the National Theatre in a long while.

Those seeking a detailed exposition of the intricacies of the Peace Process and the contents of the Accords will be sourly disappointed. Rogers’ presents a deeply personal story set against the backdrop of the tale of two peoples – but it is only a backdrop.

The two protagonists are the relatively unknown sociologists from deepest Norway, who thought they had a new way to broker peace between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization. From a castle in Oslo, Terje Rod-Larsen and Mona Juul – both played exquisitely by Toby Stephens and Lydia Leonard – set about trying to bring together representatives from the Israeli government and the PLO, to sit face-to-face and negotiate.

At the time, it was the first time that any Israeli official had negotiated with members of the PLO. Negotiating with the terrorist organisation was illegal. This element of the historical fabric of the play adds an extra layer of excitement and drama to Oslo. The intimate set, designed by Michael Yeargan, really makes the audience feel involved in the secret talks.

Even though the script is somewhat confused by some lines directed straight to the audience, I still felt as if I was both watching and participating in the Oslo discussions.

Despite the high diplomacy and the political intrigue, Oslo offers a number of moments of great comedy. Sitting somewhere between Yes, Prime Minister and House of Cards, Geraldine Alexander, as the housekeeper and cook at the Oslo residence, offers great comic relief. The unique approach of Larsen and Juul forced the parties to approach each other as equals and friends when they were not at the negotiating table.

These scenes are full of jokes and gags, allowing us multidimensional views of Philips Arditti’s Uri Savir (Director-General of the Israeli foreign ministry) and Peter Polycarpou’s Ahmed Qurie (PLO Finance Minister).

The multi-faceted set – an almost palatial room with plain walls – features stunning projections from 59 Productions. When Lydia Leonard’s character brings the audience up to date with current events in Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza, she is surrounded by images of the incidences as they unfold. The effect is a theatrical experience
which is truly immersive.

The play begins with the Jerusalem skyline projected across the stage; Oslo does not just transport us from London’s South Bank to a castle outside Oslo, but also to Israel, and eventually the White House. As can be expected from a play of such complexity, and one which tries to err on the side of political caution, I found myself leaving the theatre with more questions than answers.

I can’t help but question Rogers’ motives in writing Larsen and Juul’s story. The end of the play sees the characters tell us where they are now, in 2017: Larsen seems to be defending his actions as the only effective way to beginning the peace process, while Juul appears to criticise this.

Everyone in the audience knew of the terrorist attack in July on Israeli border guards on the Temple Mount and the ensuing crisis; in light of this development, it felt uneasy for Stephens’ character to be so gushing in his self-praise. Oslo chronicles a process started in 1992. Peace is not forthcoming.

Oslo is at the Harold Pinter Theatre from 2 October until 30 December.

Life Divided: JCR meetings

Julia Routledge and Abby Ridsdill-Smith
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Life Divided: JCR meetings

For JCR meetings

By Julia Routledge

The barons of 1215 cleaved to Magna Carta. The Convention Parliament presented a Bill of Rights to James II in 1689. The Victorians were propelled towards widespread suffrage by successive reform acts. And here in Oxford, we too have our own laudable democratic marker – the JCR meeting. “But it’s a pointless forum for pointless debate which belabours pointless issues!” I hear you clamour. “The one good thing about it is the free food.”

Not so – although, admittedly, the promise of Domino’s pizza and lukewarm beer does possess an astonishing power to lure even the most anti-democratic of students to convene on a Sunday evening.

But the JCR meeting is so much more than a beacon of light for an impoverished undergraduate deprived of sustenance for a full three hours since welfare tea.

For a start, where else would you be able to pore over such a diverse array of motions? Into the cauldron of the JCR meeting are sprinkled liberally all the different spices of college life. Motions range from the more serious questions about access and welfare to controversial disputes about the state of the JCR coffee machine, and one particularly memorably occasion at Merton, during which the purchase of an expensive brand of organic, ethically-sourced and vegan detergent elicited ferocious debate on both sides of the argument.

Such awe-inspiring moments are sure to go down in the annals of democracy. The JCR meeting is a humble creature. It does not aspire to greatness and never seeks to be anything it is not, but it is always reliable and there to offer refuge – and on a bleak winter’s evening, that might be exactly what you want.

Against JCR meetings

By Abby Ridsdill-Smith

It’s the Facebook posts which reel you in: repeated demands for quorum on the college noticeboard, desperate offers of increasingly extravagant free snacks and the latest hundred motions for the night to come.

Filled with a mysterious combination of fatigue, hunger and intrigue, you hit the JCR – and immediately realise the enormity of your mistake. It’s the smell which hits you first. There’s something unique about it: an unusual pairing of hot pizza, the occasionally cheeky beverage and that almost imperceptible undertone, the hidden fragrance of despair.

Emanating from the hollow-eyed committee members responsible for half these motions, it is only added to by the anguish which various thesps bring, as they continue to try to bolster drama funding.

If this experience could be worsened any further, you’re crammed in the JCR with every other person who’s decided that tonight is the night for a wild one (at the JCR meeting) while stuck to a slightly old and peeling chair. Most likely, your phone’s out of charge and you’re metres from the nearest available exit – that’s just how it works.

As for the motions themselves, do I need to tell you how boring they are?

By the time we’ve discussed the pros, cons, intricacies, constitutional amendments, images and best way to present the motion in the minutes (should colour be used? Comic Sans or Times New Roman?) then we’re already two hours into the meeting, with another 15 motions left.

It’s times like this when I really wish I hadn’t checked my Facebook: democracy is all well and good, but evenings of stale chat and pedantry don’t present it in its best form.

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