Friday 25th July 2025
Blog Page 933

Grad student: Oxford fails to accommodate perspectives it invites

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One term into a graduate programme at Oxford, I don’t know if I’ll ever run out of green meadows to stumble upon or intellectual resources to explore. But Insta-perfect libraries and a #1 World Ranking mask too-little discussed truths about this place: the financial burden of a social life here is unacceptable. Colleges and departments are failing to accommodate the perspectives they invite in. Students are hurting, yet they have little way to voice it here.

In sustaining such exclusivity, Oxford is perpetuating the prejudices currently miring the UK, US, and beyond. It is time this entire campus community make a deliberate effort to recognise the quiet struggles of so many here, to reflect on how we can alleviate them, and to come to grips with what a failure to do so implies for our larger global community. It is time we force Oxford to change.

From the baptism into pub-ism and, for the first time, experiencing problems like having to choose between a lecture with a prime minister or a debate with parliamentarians, the first few weeks here were bliss. The Rad Cam, Port Meadow, the rivers, the little boats that live on them: you can’t dream this charm. But my fellow grad students—inspiring, excited and grateful to be here, insanely diverse—won, hands down.

hands down. Nothing gave me more optimism for the coming years than listing all the different countries from which I was meeting people. The genuineness I sensed in many. This is exactly why I came here. But as I came out of the post-Freshers’ fog and the rhythm of the place started to emerge, I began having doubts about whether that harmonious melting pot would hold up.

Three weeks in, the diversity of the crowd at college events had withered. At my building’s first fire drill, I realized I had never even seen half the people who lived there. I repeatedly heard about the glass wall existing here between East Asian students and everyone else—and I heard of no one doing anything about it. In class discussions, I watched intellectual challenges be taken as personal attacks. I sensed people holding their tongues.

And as I began talking about some of these observations with others, I realized I wasn’t alone in making them. I began wondering why.

In doing so, what initially struck me as fun tradition, confidence, or high expectations on the part of the University began to look a lot more like ignorance, insensitivity, and more than anything, a missed opportunity to create an inclusive, empathetic environment.

Most of this, it seemed, manifested in college.

Many college-sponsored freshers’ events involved alcohol. The cultural divisions may have cemented from the start.

A new acquaintance told me that, in her college housing, pyjamas were not to be worn in e common room. At a college-sponsored workshop on formal dress, a student asked whether he could wear his tuxedo in place of a black suit without a stripe on the pants, under his robes, as sub-fusc. He hoped to avoid purchasing another suit. “Well,” the administrator responded. “I suppose… but I’ve never seen that before.”

A student who showed up to my college’s photo without a jacket was subject to embarrassment, in front of dozens.

The assumptions this borderline aggressive attitude toward dress makes about a student’s financial situation have no borders at this university, which sits on a £4+ billion endowment. College dinners are expensive. “You can’t even enter the dining hall at lunchtime unless you buy your own,” a friend pointed out. “Even the mindfulness class my college is holding this term costs money!”

Said a student in my department, “You pay $26,000 just to get here. And then you have to pay for everything.” Nearly everyone in her course is attending the Trinity Ball, which costs £200. Pocket change. She’d rather go back and see her family in the US (and perhaps save some money in the process.)

Unfortunately, not even the classroom is exempt from callousness. A friend of mine, who speaks English as a second language, had asked his professor during a lecture if they wouldn’t mind defining complex terms as they went along. He was having a hard time following the logic without them doing so. The professor suggested a dictionary and continued.

A non-white political science grad student pointed out that nearly every text assigned in his course thus far was written by a white person. His professors, he says, have been unreceptive to his criticism of the syllabus and he has thus taken it upon himself to bring an alternative perspective to class discussions. When asked if he’d recommend the program to others, he’s on the fence. In any case, he would warn them about this.

In both cases, the dismissiveness is disturbing. Most concerning, though, is the lack of institutionalised space for voicing these hardships, let alone for working to anticipate and avoid them.

In contrast to the many of them in my undergrad institution’s orientation program, neither my college, my course, nor those of any other graduate students I’ve spoken with, held mandatory workshops aimed at cultural or socioeconomic diversity awareness for graduate students. (There were several well-publicised, optional events around gender diversity, and I commend that.)

From what I’ve observed, when diversity discussions have taken place, advertisements for them have been relegated to the depths of weekly bulletins or list-servs most don’t receive. Ads do not only get people to the talks. They reflect what the university believes is important. They indicate what Oxford thinks we should care about.

If colleges and departments are to foster meaningful growth and relationships, they need to accommodate all different backgrounds—ethnic, religious, and socioeconomic included. What I’ve so far seen as a graduate student suggests there remains much to be done.

Despite all of this, there have been some encouraging signs. In my meeting with my college’s new master—she’s taking the time to sit down and learn from all new students—I shared many of these concerns with her. She seemed both genuinely disappointed by much of it and determined to get to work.

In Seventh Week, she helped organise a black and minority ethnic (BME) student discussion (in which I took part), aimed at understanding these groups’ expectations coming in and how they held up to experiences so far. It was a good conversation involving students, masters from three colleges, and a diversity officer.

But whether the proceedings from this meeting will translate into action remains to be seen. Moreover, some feel skeptical, even marginalised, by this top-down, researchdriven model of change, to begin with.

Said one individual who took part in a BME discussion, “It is frustrating to see the administration using students of colors’ experiences as data, but not treating us as creative individuals with ideas for responding to our experiences. Students have been voicing their experiences and strategies through activism like Rhodes Must Fall, but the focus groups seem to try to bypass that.”

When I started writing this piece, I felt the need to qualify it. These critiques might be nitpicky. Maybe I haven’t been here long enough.

Maybe the perfection of so much of this place makes the trivialities stand out. But, in surveying others, that’s fallen away. These are not trivialities. One term in, it’s clear that Oxford can do better. And I believe it has to.

The year 2016 made its message loud and clear. Our world is as globalised as ever, but that mixing of people has little bearing on how diverse crowds get along with each other. And as enlightened as we might think ourselves to be in this respect, we, the Oxford community, may not be all that different. In these times, how Oxford chooses to address issues of community will be a reflection of how it morally situates itself relative to the rest of the world.

The other side of that humility is just as urgent. History has it that many future global aders—be them political, academic, artistic— will come from this place. Here, they will have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to network, and they will learn lessons about respect, acceptance, and the value of difference from those who instruct and evaluate them. If we fail to capitalise on these opportunities here, we’re not doing our ailing world a favor.

In contrast to what our various administrations seem to assume, continuing to say how diverse this place is does not mean students will be automatically be harmonious with, or understand, each other. Owning three suits and having thousands of dollars of disposable income for social activities is just not reality for many.

Not all students enjoy alcohol, or being around those consuming it. Simply because they proved themselves worthy of admission, students with weaker English can’t just Google how to compete, without working twice as hard as everyone else. And the perspectives of old, white men are not the only ones that matter.

Unravelling these assumptions will not only be an administrative project. The fact is, Admissions has done a spectacular job of crafting a global graduate demographic, and much of the effort to transform that demographic into community will need to come from the the demographic itself. Us.

A growth in our collective consciousness of the diverse opinions, needs, and concepts of home that come along with an international student body, is, perhaps more than anything, what is needed. Yet at the same time, the structures that organise us exert profound influence on that consciousness. The University, colleges, and departments need to create far more space for the reflection and demands that will achieve a culture of inclusivity.

Let’s start by vastly increasing public discussion on the Oxford experience. Colleges should hold mandatory diversity workshops at the start of each year for new graduate students, administrators, and faculty, alike, and all three groups should take part meaningfully in the workshops’ design. (Whether new or old, everyone should have to participate at least once.)

As students, let’s supplement those with alcohol-free open mic nights, giving those the opportunity to express, however they see fit, the feelings with which they’ve no doubt Skyped home, filled journals, and written songs.

Last November’s incredible ‘Love Rally’—attended by hundreds outside of the Clarendon building—can be our model. Though the event aimed at fostering post- US election unity, by amplifying an attitude of respect, inclusion, and acceptance, from the center of campus, went far beyond that.

But most importantly, let’s act on the truths that come out of this. What sort of community do we want to have here? How is the University fostering or obstructing it? If graduate students aren’t getting to know each other, what are we missing out on? What is the world missing out on? When it comes to community, I hope 2017 brings deliberacy.

Blind Date: Charlie and Adam

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Charlie Willis (Second Year, French & Italian, Oriel)

Second week surely must be the best week to try new things and I, in keeping with this rule that I may have just invented, tried two: I ventured into Jericho, and I went on a blind date. As a south-east Oxford local, my cold trip over to the north-west felt somewhat cross-continental, yet Adam’s cheerful company made up for the trek (as did the ambiance of the bar). Our conversation flowed freely, covering everything from hospital trips in France, to the construction of prisons in Tasmania, to the oddities of JCR committees. Adam also proved gallant enough to buy us drinks over the course of this discussion. All in all, it was a good night. Whilst I am pleased that I braved the previously foreign world of the Blind Date, I am doubtful whether our relationship will blossom away from the realms of the third circle of friendship.

Out of 10? 7

Looks? Charming, and very smartly dressed

Personality? Friendly and talkative

2nd date? I’d say that we are very different people…

Adam Porter (Third Year, PPE, Worcester)

Appropriately enough, this turned out to be an evening of bon viveur (note: Charlie is a linguist, and my French is terrible). Fortunately, Charlie was adept at plugging those dreaded awkward silences, meaning that the only slight awkwardness was caused by the sub-par photography skills of the Rickety Press Bar-man – tall curly-haired man, if you’re reading this, I apologise. Incredibly, I only discovered that Charlie used to row about half-way through the date, and even then it only received a brief mention. Turns out she is now a recovering rower—I can only conclude that her chat is actually too good for her to be allowed to continue. Together we deplored Oxford’s many low-grade drinking societies, and the more ‘rah’ elements of our respective colleges. But Charlie has survived 14 years in Tasmania, so she’s skilled in avoiding snakes and other venomous creatures.

Out of 10? 8

Looks? Very good looking

Personality? Exuberant

2nd date? Never say never?

Which film best represents your college?

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Oxford colleges are known for their quirks, and inspired by these traits, here’s part two of the Cherwell guide to movies that reflect our second homes.

Queens: With its infamous Florey building, a brooding hulk of concrete where freshers feel as if they are being kept against their will by sinister, totalitarian forces, Queens College will understand the inevitable comparison with 1984. Their extremely tight security—it is rumoured that Queenies hide some Big Brother-esque politico-military mastermind in one of their quads—means that the comparison with this screen adaptation of the Orwellian classic makes total sense.

St Hilda’s: Bridge of Spies sees Tom Hanks’ character engineer a person-swap across a bridge in Berlin. The scene in which the exchange occurs represents the incredible cultural contrast between the two halves of Berlin in the 1960s. Likewise, all Oxonians feel as though our neighbours across the Magdalen Bridge come from a different world. Even though colleges like Univ, Merton and Corpus reside a short stroll away, a chance encounter with a Hildonian on the bridge which spans the Thames feels akin to meeting a Berliner from a different part of town.

Keble: When one is walking to the Pitt Rivers, Natural History Museum or University Parks, one stumbles upon a college which may indeed be made out of LEGO. That’s right, this author feels obliged to let the cat out of the bag: you have been deceived, Keble is not made out of Victorian red brick as you have been told, but rather is constructed from 54,895,274 LEGO bricks, so it is only right that it be likened to The LEGO Movie. President Business’ (a.k.a. Will Ferrell) inexplicable insistence on keeping everything as it is via the use of the most unholy of holy super weapons, The Kraggle, reflects ironically Keble’s obsessively competitive sporting attitude. Shame they caught a crab in the women’s Christ Church regatta last Michaelmas. Darn.

St Peter’s: This College’s architectural style continues to baffle this author. A bizarre and incongruent mish-mash of red brick walls, glass facades, concrete monstrosities and ivy-green drainpipes all come together to form St Peter’s College, therefore if it had to be represented as a film Suicide Squad must be it. In DC’s customary summer let down, comic book enthusiasts were left baffled by this 2016 film which juggled awkward humorous dialogue, seven separate plot lines, innumerable villains-who-weren’t-actually-villains, and Will Smith, leaving the viewer walking out with a thoroughly muddled mind. This is also apt as St Peter’s played host to this author’s first tutorial, which also left him needing a stiff drink and a sit down after over an hour of complete mental confusion.

New: Stepping into New is like stepping into a new world: with its unassuming entrance on Holywell Street, all Oxonians are left with their mouths agape as they stroll into a college of Narnia-esque proportions. Consequently, New College must be likened to the yuletide cinematic sensation, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Most casual fans of TLTWATW would assume that this fi lm is the first in The Chronicles of Narnia series. In fact, this accolade falls firstly to Merton and The Magician’s Nephew.

Somerville: Somerville’s very own Iron Lady was the main character of a fi lm of the same name, therefore, on the continuing theme of notable political alumni, this college must be compared to the big screen retelling of the career of everyone’s favourite neoliberal of the 80s, Margaret Thatcher (not, unfortunately, Ronald Reagan). Just as most Oxford students will do their upmost to disassociate with the policies of this handbag-wielding, mineraggravating, non-turning Prime Minister and the fi lm based on her life, so Oxonians too are distanced from Somerville, which is an ungodly 20-minute walk from the Carfax Tower. You have to take too many right turns.

Ethics of crowd control under assault

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The events surrounding Trump’s inauguration – the arrest of 200 protesters for felony rioting in Washington, the videotaped assault of white nationalist Richard Spencer, the influx of enormous crowds of peaceful protesters to cities around the globe for Women’s Marches – have injected essentially anti-democratic conceptualisations of crowd control into the mainstream political discourse. Understandable centrist discomfort with the behaviour of “antifa-” protesters in DC who were videotaped and photographed destroying coffee shops, police cars and a limousine has given space to a basically anti-liberal argument for how to understand mass psychology. Backed by authoritarian racists like Jared Taylor of the alt-right think tank AmRen, those who belong to this school argue that “historically, Americans have taken a different approach to looting.” Taylor, ignoring, for example, the courageous refusal of the Washington, D.C. mayor to shoot protesters or rioters in 1968, nostalgically recalled a 1913 Texas state police order to “Shoot all looters, and shoot to kill.” More mainstream outlets like ZeroHedge bemoaned the potentially chaotic implications of radical leftist domination of street protests, while simultaneously raising concerns about the “police state” tactics a Trump administration might apply to social unrest. Salon, meanwhile, baselessly inveighed against an “alarming wave of repression” heralded by the arrests, which given the easy accessibility of footage of rioters destroying property in downtown DC do not seem to have been made without good reason.

To be clear, there is no sanction for violence that aims directly at undermining the legitimacy of the state, and protesters who eagerly vandalise the storefronts that are the livelihoods of normal people should not be free from justice. But failing to engage directly with the arguments of authoritarian alt-right about how to handle riots permits the ascendancy of genuine extremists. Highly upvoted Breitbart commenters labeled the rioters “domestic terrorists,” asserted that it was “Time to start relocating these commies to the internment camps,” and in the words of the user “WhiteBluecollarRedneck,” asked “Why not shoot them like the sick rabid dogs they are?” There is a time-honoured tradition of authoritarians seizing upon public unrest to impose new restrictions on private behaviour, and authorising new, repressive modes of silencing free discourse, and this is no different. The answer to that user’s question – beyond the immediate contempt any decent person feels for his rhetoric – lies in the modern social science of crowd control, which provides compelling reasons for both the practical and moral rejection of aggressive policing tactics. This is a question of immediate importance to both the U.S. and UK, given that as recently as 2011 Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary considered granting situational authority to firearms officers to shoot arsonists, albeit under more morally ambiguous circumstances than the outright repression sought by the alt-right wing of the contemporary American right.

We should consider how the knowledge of a militarised response whereby police would be empowered not just to shoot rioters with less discretion than they might other criminals would change the dynamic of the crowd response itself. Mainstream social psychology – the Elaborated Social Identity Model, or ESIM – would indicate that familiar ideas like mob mentality and deindividuation are somewhat outmoded, but in a way that would morally complicate the idea of further empowering the police with the power to kill because it would encourage a more hostile defensive response from the crowd, as the dominant evidence-based theory of human behavior during riots indicates. Make-shift identities form rapidly in crowds, even ones composed of a sizable fraction of peaceful protesters, and social scientists think that militarised police – which this police force would necessarily have to be – shape crowd behaviour negatively. Paramilitary police can be useful in policing riots, but only as an instrument of last resort; the consensus preferred model is “graded intervention” whereby police in standard uniforms are scattered throughout a crowd with which they interact and establish legitimacy.

The evidence from the increased implementation of these principles at events in sports like football with a history of violent, gang-linked hooliganism bears out the disutility of paramilitary police as a primary option for riot control and the promise of the graded intervention model. By contrast, the paramilitary model where police are garbed in essentially offensive equipment necessarily changes how a crowd approaches the police by decreasing their perceived legitimacy as a force for the maintenance of order. A police force that was viewed as authorised to use lethal force indiscriminately (and where it was known that those arrested would be killed) would necessarily increase this perception. Crowds would be structurally conditioned by virtue of the increased militarization of the police to prefer more assertive responses – where the police present themselves as antagonists, they tend to be understood that way – and a policing strategy premised on the maintenance of law and order would tend to incentivize an increase in violence and the death of protesters who would not otherwise become violent. It would essentially be entrapment.

To quote Clifford Stott’s article “Crowd Psychology & Public Order Policing” (commissioned by the police regulatory body of the United Kingdom, the author being among Europe’s most respected social scientists): “The scientific literature overwhelmingly supports the contention that collective conflict can emerge during crowd events as a consequence of the indiscriminate and disproportionate use of police force,” which is because of the “unanticipated impact that policing can have upon crowd psychology and dynamics.” The graded intervention model is established as the preferable model for handling protesters on the basis of known social science. Stott explicitly concludes that more forceful policing increases the risk that crowds pose a danger to public order. The use of indiscriminate force can “draw into conflict those who had come to the event with no prior conflictual intention.”

I’d emphasize that Stott directly rejects the “crowd psychology” model that posits agitators easily unsettling crowds that are then transformed into irrational vehicles for chaos, and instead emphasises that individuals within crowds retain a degree of agency that is conditioned in the crowd dynamic to react to the threat of an opposing armed and aggressive police force by drawing in even peace-minded protesters to a hostile response. It isn’t that people are deprived of agency entirely, but that situated within crowds they will react to a police force that starts shooting at them by becoming more aggressive even when they would lack that intent absent the forceful police response. The assertive police response is morally problematised because not only does it provide less effective public order policing than other methods, but it actually turns protesters violent and kills people who would not otherwise have died.

The classical understanding of the mob drawn from Taine and Le Bon, at least the latter of whom is widely read in introductory intellectual history courses, is no longer considered tenable. Le Bon’s characterisation of animalistic crowd comportment is no longer supported by empirical evidence: “A crowd is not merely impulsive and mobile. Like a savage, it is not prepared to admit that anything can come between its desire and the realisation of its desire.” The view of crowds that Le Bon proposed is one that has been easily swallowed whole by reactionaries like those Breitbart commenters at numerous points in recent history. It’s important to emphasise per Stott that a classical theory that “proposes that individuals within crowds are uniformly dangerous and unpredictable because they can spontaneously coalesce into irrational and violent ‘mobs’” promotes an “almost self-evident” conclusion that “they need to be controlled, and this control must be exerted primarily through the use of force.” Le Bon’s understanding of crowd behavior, once cutting-edge but since discarded, has become a largely invisible rhetorical weapon for authoritarians, who should be made to know that their beliefs about rioters are empirically falsifiable.

Stott attributes the “increase in police officers support for and use of tactics which rely upon the use or threat of indiscriminate force” in some parts of England to precisely this misunderstanding of crowd psychology that seems to underpin the proposed policy of shooting rioters.  The policing model alt-right commenters advocate is rooted in this inaccurate understanding of crowd behaviour. Crowds do have wills, but they have wills that are structurally aligned. Crowd behaviour does tend to correlate with the social identity of its participants, meaning that protesters whose demographic makeup is more inclined to view police as legitimate tend to be generally more peaceful, but this social identity is fluid and heavily affected by police behaviour. The use of indiscriminate force against crowds results in harm to protesters viewed by those around them as benign, which transforms the crowd’s orientation towards police – the “law and order” approach ironically delegitimises law and order. There is an overwhelming consensus among social scientists that “aggressive police tactics can and do have the capacity to negatively impact upon crowd dynamics.”

So as to the effect of aggressive policing on crowd behaviour, based on the conclusions of professional social scientists after a survey of the empirical literature, social history and criminology? Stott says that “supporting evidence also suggests that such indiscriminate use of force can then somewhat ironically contribute to a widespread escalation in the levels of public disorder.” Peaceful protesters and passerby who watched an aggressive police response unfold “came to perceive the indiscriminately forceful intervention of the police as an attack on democratic rights.” The police force delegitimises itself in the eyes of people who support the state and its underlying ideals, but who are conditioned by crowd dynamics to adopt a social identity – provoked by the police behaviour – that is antagonistic.

There was no instance across a sample of riots at European football matches where researchers found that escalation to less-than-lethal was used appropriately by police (who tend to apply it disproportionately) with the consequence that it was not effective for managing riots. Inversely, police forces that represent themselves in standard uniforms and which interact with crowds are statistically likely to be associated with “absences of collective conflict.” There was strong evidence that police forces in England that used the graded intervention model of policing transformed the social identity of English football crowds in the long term, eliminating a previously “antagonistic relationship” and suggesting that “the creation of common bonds of social identification between crowd participants and the police” was an attested method of policing that reduced the likelihood of rioting and police escalation of force.

This is why policy is not made in an ideological, doctrinaire vacuum. The question about why police should not just shoot rioters merits this response: because according to empirical social science, such a policy delegitimises the state in the eyes of protesters and passerby, leads to a more violent response by a crowd that has been conditioned to view the police as an aggressor, creates an increased risk of public disorder, and would lead police to kill people who would not otherwise have become violent. The assumption that people would be less likely to riot in the face of sustained violence at every protest that takes a wrong turn also rests on bad empirical foundations. The attested method that actually demonstrates a long-term normative relationship between police behaviour and peaceful crowds in situations that seemed primed for rioting is for a graded intervention method whereby police first and foremost establish a positive connection with the crowd (things like giving directions, reassurances of safety, even posing for photographs), reiterated over a period of time at subsequent events (football matches, protests) that convinces the demographics likely to attend the event that their interests and identity are aligned with the police.

Such a process would be impossible given a track record of police shootings of protesters during riots. That approach would be likely to lead to hostile crowd responses to police during the immediate application of the method and a long-term delegitimisation of the police in the eyes of the protesting public. The fact that crowd psychology, as we now understand it given modern social science, is in effect, does make a difference because of how what we know morally complicates aggressive police responses that serve only to undermine confidence in the state and aggravate public disorder in the near and long-term.

Rioters might, even though ardent supporters of the state and its rule of law, have been agitated to act in the way they do because of the track record of police behaviour they are aware of and the current hostility of the police they are encountering. Rioting, Stott’s evidence would imply, is not always aimed at “undermining the lawful order” in the manner that terrorism does but is often associated with a non-revolutionary reassertion of rights intrinsic to that order by protesters provoked by an antagonistic police response that negatively reshapes what could otherwise have been a positive relationship. It is often explicitly not linked with sedition, because what rioters are reacting to is sometimes behaviour by agents of the state that, in the contexts of the social structure of the crowd dynamic, negatively reshapes their collective identity and can invoke action in defense of rights guaranteed by the state (as Stotts describes happening at the 1990 Whitehall/Poll Tax Riots.)

The moralisation that rioters necessarily aim at undermining the rule of law seems hard to sustain both when rioters themselves sometimes consciously disclaim that notion, and when it is the assertive police action alt-right supporters recommend that social scientists say can be linked with increasing the risk to public order. As usual in the aftermath of 2016 and the year of “fake news” on both sides, it can be extremely difficult to foster evidence-based analysis of the underlying moral and empirical foundations of a policy. Those who would shoot rioters advocate a model of policing that lacks either sort of support.

 

Reviewing Moffat: Sherlock Series Four

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This series of Sherlock is particularly varied, playing around with genre far more than usual. The first episode, ‘The Six Thatchers,’ feels at many times more like an action or spy film than a detective drama. The third, ‘The Final Problem,’ shifts more in a Saw-style horror direction, with a tone perhaps the most unremittingly dark of any episode to date. However, the fact that the second episode, ‘The Lying Detective,’ which sticks most closely to the usual tone and nature of Sherlock, is by far the most enjoyable of the series, creates doubt whether this variety particularly adds anything.

While I enjoyed ‘The Six Thatchers,’ it didn’t quite live up to my high expectations of Sherlock. The plot is thrilling, but lacks the programme’s usual intrigue and vibrancy. It is too obviously designed to square away series three’s complications, with Sherlock’s murder of Magnusson rapidly hushed up, and to set up for the rest of the series. Too much of the storyline works backwards from the goal of bumping off Mary, rendering it too obviously engineered. John’s text message affair seems out of character, rather than exploring any existing flaws, meaning that his guilt and self-criticism lacks emotional resonance. The opening mystery of the dead boy in the car feels comfortingly Sherlock, and the conflict between the domestic responsibilities created by new parenthood and Sherlock’s world of cases and adventure is gently comical. However, the case isn’t connected well into the rest of the storyline, and the episode feels somewhat fragmented.

‘The Lying Detective’ really reminded me why Sherlock is so well-loved. It is emotionally poignant, psychologically appealing, with an appropriately intricate plot. Short- and long-form plotting are well balanced: the episode is built around a central case, while subtly riddled with hints about the new villain – the structure which served the first two series so well.  Culverton Smith is a perfect single-episode antagonist, creepy and compelling, tapping into fears about how money and power can thwart justice, through parallels with Jimmy Saville, and arguably Trump. The aftermath of Mary’s death is handled powerfully, and Sherlock’s obedience to her requests for his near self-destruction is frightening in its earnestness. Sherlock and John’s moment of agreement that Sherlock ‘killed [John’s] wife’ is heartbreaking, and the healing between the pair is convincingly incomplete. The camerawork used to portray Sherlock’s drug-addled state is beautiful and appropriately disorientating, meaning that we, like Sherlock, can not necessarily trust what we are seeing. Our brief loss of faith in Sherlock’s powers of deduction, usually such a reassuring certainty, becomes deeply unsettling.

Perhaps most welcome in this episode, however, is the return of the programme’s sharp comedy. Humour at John’s expense when people think his blog is kept by Sherlock during tense moments at the hospital only helps increase frustrated suspense, and we are treated throughout to classic Sherlock frankness: ‘I’m not sweet, I’m just high.’ The uncontestable comic star, however, is Mrs Hudson, as she masterfully manages her tenants, disarming Sherlock through a pretence of dropping tea, and persuading John to examine Sherlock before revealing that he’s locked in her car boot. Seeing an elderly female character with such self-assurance and strength is always wonderful, in particular the revelation that it is she driving a red sports car at top-speed, pursued by a police car and helicopter. No one could help but giggle as she reveals regarding Sherlock’s handcuffs that she’s ‘borrowed them before,’ or declares self-importantly, ‘Of course I didn’t call the police. I’m not a civilian!’

Euros’ control over ‘The Final Problem’ enables interesting psychological and ethical exploration of Sherlock’s characters, but changes the show enough to make the summary-style ending seem disingenuous. The choice to close with a focus on the legend of Sherlock Holmes, with Sherlock and John replicating at 221B all the marks and bullet holes that had previously built up naturally, rather than on the characters and relationships that are the real heart of the programme, ends the series on an oddly insincere note. The sudden disappearance of John’s trauma-induced hallucinations of Mary, Sherlock’s new concern for his own life after her sacrifice, and the damage to their friendship, also feels somewhat false. Euros, however, proves a formidable replacement for Moriarty, her exploitation of his legacy creating a satisfying impression of him passing on his role. Although we miss his electric and fun brand of evil, her clinical amorality is gripping in its own way. The extended flashback sequence featuring Moriarty was fun and well executed, exhuming his taste for oddly-placed pop songs, homoeroticism and sheer love of destruction – and I am sure everyone is relieved that the writers resisted the temptation to bring him back for good. Moriarty’s posthumous involvement in Sherlock finally feels finished.

This series of Sherlock had three good episodes, but only one great one. Euros was a worthy new villain, and if Sherlock does continue then I would love to see her return, although hopefully within a series less overambitious with its genre-play.

Letter from abroad: Spain and France

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The year abroad sometimes feels like an eternity. But, conveniently, it allows you to spend another year ignoring how unprepared you are for Finals.

The stress of organising your stint on the continent can seem unnerving. However, when you realise on the night before departure that you have no choice but to accept the fact that half of your year abroad is still yet to be planned, things become a lot easier. The year abroad is a lesson in language, certainly, but also in optimism and improvisation.

My plans for last summer were wild. I intended to volunteer to work in a library in Barcelona for a month and then do a language exchange in Madrid. Working at the National Library of Catalonia was a particularly interesting experience. And, whilst the staff tried their best to speak Castilian and allow me to (at least try to) understand and participate, they would often slip back into Catalan without realising.

Unfortunately, in embracing the culture so ferociously, I soon realised that I was perhaps going slightly overboard. Struggling to find cheap accommodation in Madrid, I realised I had to change my plans. About a week before the end of my library work I found an opportunity at a nearby summer school. When your command of the language isn’t muy good, and socialising proves difficult for you in English, let alone in Spanish, spontaneity and optimism are essential for survival.

While in Spain my errors went unnoticed for the large part (largely because my friends didn’t speak perfect Spanish either), in France I got laughed at. I even got laughed at because I told people I was pregnant (which, incidentally, I was not). I grew fond of laughing at myself. In general, however, people are very positive and complimentary towards your efforts to speak their language. Whilst I know that my French accent is atrocious, my French friends say it’s rather cute. Given that my vocabulary is also quite bizarre, it’s actually nice to know that they find it funny. Additionally, even though my speech is often too literally translated from English, they tell me it’s rather charming. But, as I say, they are my friends, so they’re probably just being nice.

In all honesty, one of the hardest parts of the year abroad isn’t speaking the language; after a few weeks your brain starts to adapt and communicating becomes a lot easier. What’s difficult is how new everything is: a new culture, a new job, a new apartment and none of your old friends by your side. Before moving to Spain and then France, my friends and I would often joke about the ‘tactics’ we’d use to make friends. Whilst this was funny light-hearted conversation at the time, loneliness can be a real issue.

Yet, as with everything, optimism and improvisation get you through; you can make friends in the most random of places, such as in the park or, unsurprisingly, at the pub. I even once tried the tactic of just straight up asking people if they would be my friend. It worked. It isn’t until you live in a country, and tell people unwittingly that you are pregnant, that you realise in the world outside of Oxford there are no collections for you to fail, but rather a life from which to learn from.

Not Wong: I can’t wait until I could see your political hot-take of the day

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In some sense or another, this article is indubitably meta-, and suspiciously self-referential at points. In other senses, this is written in reaction to the trend of rising insta-hot-takes that has been permeating the social media sphere for recent years. I’ve compiled a set of relevant ‘sins’ of hot takes, and – should you, too, be amused by them – would strongly encourage you to engage in the exceptional activity of hot-take-spotting the next time you’re on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or whatnot. The caveats are apparent: i) this article probably violates some – if not all – of them and ii) these ‘sins’, despite my nomenclature, are probably often necessary and important features of public catharsis and collective healing. Caveats aside, here goes the list:

 

  1. The Other

We get it. You’re writing this piece to establish and critique the Other, and frame your commentary as coming from an independent and externally objective viewpoint. You’re defending the “Constitutional principles of American democracy” and advocating that we allow Donald Trump in the UK to “have a conversation with him and educate him into a better man” (even though chances are that he’ll point at your placards of protests and snort, “Fake News!”). But what you’re really doing is borrowing the moral high ground of the “Constitution” and “Educate the sinner” tropes to frame away the voices of those who find Trump’s presence abhorrent. To you, they exist as the Other – the petulant (against your maturity), the snowflakes (against your resilience), and the myopic (against your visionary quixotic quest of “negotiating with Trump” from behind iron fences 50 meters away from his expensive Presidential car a.k.a. “the Beast”). Alternatively, you may find yourself justifying the punching of Richard Spencer and framing all those who oppose the violence used upon him as “Neo-Nazis and fascist apologists” – the cruel and barbaric Other to your moral righteousness, the reactionary to your progressiveness, and a collective, homogeneous group that is worthy of moralistic dismissal. Online hot-takes not only develop the concept of the Other within their analysis – their critique is often predicated upon galvanising and reinforcing views already established within particular sociological groups; it is established on the basis of the dialectic between the Self and Other, with the Other’s discourse artificially strawmanned and essentialised into an easy target for unnuanced abuse.

 

  1. Your Source Only Matters in so far as You Know Them.

It is an unquestionable fact that 99 per cent of online statistics quoted in a majority of hot takes are either false or borrowed from elsewhere (which would, by proxy, render them false too). In the age of cyberbalkanisation and increasing prominence of traditional and external media outlets on social media, it is unsurprising to see some users echoing the views and thoughts of writers in established outlets. What is surprising, however, is the likelihood of individuals to parrot the thoughts of not only reputable investigators, but also conspiracy theorists, pop stars, and radical politicians. There is often the claim that we have entered a “post-truth era” – but this analysis is a tad simplistic: the concept of “truth” has never lost its perceived importance and legitimacy; it is merely that our imagination of “truth” has changed substantially. Social media have transferred substantial volumes of power to traditionally underrepresented marginalised and local discourses (cf. Foucault), and exponentially amplified their abilities to contest important discursive claims and push through conceptions of the “hard truth”. Internet hot takes from the ordinary Joe and Mary are the end products of these discourses – it doesn’t matter that no sources are cited and no data is provided: in an age when truth is still valuable but defined fundamentally as a property of the truth-maker, that your hot take is sourced from pure gossip doesn’t prevent it from being recycled amongst your friendship group and clotted with likes, loves, and wows. Maybe even the occasional angry react, too.

 

  1. You Don’t Say!!!

“Donald Trump is now the President of the USA.”, “Violence is bad.”, “Theresa May needs to get the British act together and sort out Brexit.” These propositions range from being plausibly true to absolutely true (at least in this world) – and yet we’re still inundated, every day, with excellent variations of them. Now, don’t get me wrong: political awareness and engagement and fundamentally important attributes of democracy – but it genuinely doesn’t take 100 hot takes emphasising some mundanely obvious, blatantly conspicuous facts in order for people to know that the world is awfully messed up in the Status Quo. I’ll admit it – grandstanding on social media is an inherent and instrumental part of public catharsis, see above, and rationalisation of exogenous shocks. But there comes a point of excessive fatigue, when over-used critiques and slogan-based analysis become worn-out and tedious, as opposed to inspiring and invigorating. A general tip to all aspiring hot-take writers, myself included, if what you’re saying isn’t i) new or ii) adds important effects in reinforcing, buttressing, nuancing, or shaping anything that is i) – it may be worth giving it a miss. I know – we’re all on a learning curve here.

 

  1. Virtue Signalling

Discourse-making is an inherently in-group vs. out-group activity. Those who echo your discourse belong to your in-group; those who disapprove of your discourse fall within your out-group. As you write more and more posts, the trenches between the permanent in-group and permanent out-group are deepened, and you begin to shift your incentives from trying to convert the undecided onlookers (i.e. the mythical “moderates”) to keeping your discursive allies (i.e. your “fans”) close to you. A large number of hot takes is virtue signaling, in that not only do they (as in 1.) seek to undermine the Other: they seek to do so with the ultimate end goal of constructing a better image for the author – whether it be in expressing that the author holds unique epistemic access (“I know things you never will.”); that the author is particularly meritorious or praiseworthy for moral reasons (“My moral outrage reflects well upon my public persona.”), or that the author has distinctively individualistic and independent views, this piece is most definitely parodying itself at this point.

It is worth noting that the above ‘sins’ are not inherent: they only become intolerable and problematic when done in excess, with excessive self-aggrandising focus. We human beings do need an Other to feel emotionally connected to the content we pursue and read; overtly academic and well-cited articles may be rigorous, but lose out in layman accessibility and generic interest. Not everyone is an original thinker – so to demand innovative and creative insights from everyone is not only an unreasonable demand, but a futile one at its very core. And finally – virtue (and vice!) signaling allows us to manage and regulate our public identities by putting at least some identity-sculpting agency back in our hands. Yes – we’ve had enough of horrendous hot takes, but that doesn’t mean every hot take needs to be stellar, rigorously evidenced, and thoroughly nuanced. That’d render it a cold take.

Spotlight: Sal Para

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Sal Para is the Oxford-based electro-pop artist you should be listening to right now. A deceptively simple, yet catchy beat, quickly joined by ethereal-sounding synths, opens ‘Her’, the first track off Sal Para’s debut and recently released Her EP.

The song builds in sound, adding layer upon layer of synths and a bass that mirrors the resonating, other-worldly vocals which hypnotically assure “When we’re together/ I, I only think of you”. The lyrics seem stuck on a loop, yet sound different with every delivery.

‘Black Sun’, the b-side to Her, is a more abstract effort—when listened to at full volume the synthetic beat, constantly extending and receding, is mind-numbing.

Sal Para is the first singing made by the newly formed Tremor Recordings, an independent electronic music label currently based in Oxford and bringing you local events that fuse music and art like never before.

It is difficult not to get lost in Sal Para’s music: it draws you in with entrancing melodies and mellow beats. Her is intoxicating and filled with a freedom that only comes at the start of a musical career, and a promising one at that.

Hungry for Ho fun

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Zheng has Tripadvisor’s seal of approval as the best Chinese restaurant in Oxford, and understandably so. It certainly has the most diverse and comprehensive menu, featuring the best of China’s regional and related cuisines: Szechuan, Cantonese, Shanghainese, Malaysian and Singaporean. The small building in Jericho where it is located may have an unassuming façade, but it hides one of Oxford’s hidden gems.

My favourite Chinese dish is fried ho fun noodles with beef, something I’ve eaten a million times in restaurants in London’s Chinatown and Hong Kong, and in my mum’s kitchen. It’s my personal litmus test of the quality of a Chinese restaurant, and Zheng’s version passed with flying colours: not too oily, beef perfectly seared, and the onions and bean sprouts cooked until just soft. The dim sum was also of excellent quality, with efficient service—you can see why this place is a local favourite.

The main downside is slightly more expensive pricing. Most dim sum dishes are a fiver, which can obviously get quite pricey if you order a selection, while most main courses are around £10.

If you’re looking for something a bit friendlier to a student budget, Noodle Nation is a cheap ‘n’ cheerful joint in the town centre. Most main courses are between £6 to £8, to which you can add a 10 per cent student discount and 10 per cent more on Mondays. The tables are laid out in sociable benches just like Wagamama’s, with a similarly bustling atmosphere.

As befits the name, there’s a wide range of noodle types on offer—chow mein, vermicelli mai fun, flat ho fun and thick cylindrical udon—which you can mix and match with your chosen meat or vegetable. There’s also a relatively good veggie menu, with the option to have most of the stir fries and curries with mixed vegetables and cashew nuts.

If you’re feeling like an appetiser, I would particularly recommend the meat ‘potsticker’ dumplings or veggie spring rolls which have gorgeously crunchy and crisp wrappers. The hearty portions and slick service make the restaurant a perfect spot for a quick and satisfying lunch or dinner.

Of course, these are only two of the many fantastic Chinese restaurants in Oxford— this New Year, go out and discover them.

慢慢吃! (Bon appetit!)

Zheng, 82 Walton St
Noodle Nation, 100-101 Gloucester Green