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Perspective

Crossing the Channel of Difference in Covid

Crossing the Channel of Difference in Covid

Albane Colleau and Constance Byé


There’s no denying that 2020 has been tough for everyone, and students have suffered their fair share. However, as coronavirus experiences go, everyone has a very different perspective on it all. This is why we’ve decided to share our story, to raise awareness on what we feel is a situation that has been overlooked by most in Durham, being a university that somewhat lacks an international student voice.

Let us state once again that this article is not about blaming anyone, or saying all international students have lived the same thing – even both of us have very different views on this. This is simply about retrospectively sharing how we saw this past year, and about our hopes and fears moving forward.

Constance: To start off, let me say that Durham is and has always been a ‘very English’ university. Truth be told when I got here I was slightly scared cultural differences would mean I would only be able to make friends with other French people. And indeed, it was hard and exhausting at first, what with the different humour, the slang, the fact everyone seemed to already know each other from school. But in the end, I managed, and have never had so much fun as I did last year, amongst a fantastic group of friends. Bottom line is I didn’t feel ‘international’. Sure, I still occasionally got reminded of WWII or got called a frog, but generally speaking I felt as integrated in the Durham life as anyone.

Albane: Arriving in Durham felt like starting a new life, probably like most of you. However, making friends was slightly different from my expectations: many people I met already knew a bunch of other students and in only two weeks they had huge friendship groups. I realised that not being perfectly fluent in English and not knowing anyone was making it all a bit harder. Hopefully, I rapidly felt well integrated, everyone was adorable despite some poor French references, including the classic “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” on nights out. Overall, I was living a happy Durham student life, not even missing French food anymore!

Constance: Covid changed that, hitting us hard in March. This was a very stressful and anxious time for everyone, rushing to make plans to get back home. But few people actually realise just how hard it was for international students. I saw most of my friends have their parents drive up to pack their rooms, or help them get back home safely, and with all their belongings. Meanwhile, I was urgently packing a single suitcase, not knowing if my flight would be maintained, not knowing if the borders with Belgium would close before I could get back home, not knowing if the rest of my things would get disposed of when I left; and worst of all not knowing when I would be able to see my friends again. I just couldn’t shake this feeling of panic, and fear of just being utterly alone at that moment, with my family hundreds of kilometres away and unable to help.

Albane: When lockdown rumours started, I felt pretty nervous about such unprecedented measures, but I quickly understood it meant leaving the UK for an uncertain amount of time. Like Constance, I only had a few hours to pack as much as possible and to say goodbye to as many friends as possible. At this point, I wished I was as lucky as my UK friends who seemed quite relaxed, waiting for their parents and not constrained by any deadline. France was also expected to close its borders soon and I was only hoping that my flight wouldn’t get cancelled a third time. Like many of you, I was heartbroken to leave Durham at this time of the year, when I felt at home and had exciting plans coming up. I spent an amazing last night with friends, but I had this very uncomfortable feeling that I would miss out on a lot after I’m gone home. In fact, I was scared that time and distance would damage the relationships I had built from the ground for 6 months…

Constance: Fortunately I managed to get home, and I settled into lockdown life (for the first time). Home for me has always been in big cities; and while I love living in Brussels, lockdown there was certainly less easy than being in the countryside, where most of my English friends had settled. The difference between my friends and I slowly became obvious. Although the situation in Brussels wasn’t as bad as in Paris, it was hard for me to stay put in a city apartment. I couldn’t take long walks outside or escape when I needed to (which is often). Unlike in the UK, masks in Brussels were – and still are- mandatory at all times. I hated walking down the depressingly empty streets, and just constantly being scared of being called out or stopped by the police. It didn’t feel like my city any more, I’d never seen Brussels look like a ghost town before. It made my anxiety levels skyrocket, to the point where I didn’t even want to go on my daily walk any more. Exercise, of course, was out of the question, with gyms and parks closed. I just feel like this is something people that lived lockdown in the countryside would not have had to go through, and even lockdown measures in London were never as harsh as in European capitals. It heightened the difference I felt being French in an English university, even though I wasn’t even at Durham. This feeling was made worse as time went on and lockdown was gradually relaxed. Most of my English friends live in the same area, and it was easy for them to see each other or organise walks, trips to the beach or invite themselves to each other’s houses. Or meet up in London. Not to say they shouldn’t have, or that they purposefully excluded me. Of course not. The virus did. This just to give my perspective as an international student, and show the impact lockdown had on my university friendships- it was hard to see the fun they were having while being hundreds of kilometres away. And don’t get me wrong, it was so nice to see my friends from home, but as Albane said, in the end I do feel like I missed out on a lot.

Albane: I enjoyed my French lockdown with my family but I wouldn’t say I was happy overall. It’s been tough for everyone, but I’m not sure many Durham people realise how hard it’s been (and still is) for foreign students in particular. Drawing a line on my student life was one thing but seeing my UK friends spend fun times together made me feel sort of excluded, especially because I couldn’t do the same in Paris. That might seem overdramatic but lockdown in France was quite different to that of the UK. I could only go outside once a day and for no more than an hour. I had to be alone and I couldn’t go further than one kilometre away from my flat, whether I was food shopping or running. Believe me, those measures were making me anxious, regularly checking the time and how far I was from my building. Masks were also compulsory alongside the governmental form that justified my time outside. Controls were frequent and I could see the police walking down my street several times a day. One sad fact is that whenever I would walk past a police officer, I wouldn’t feel protected or safe like before but I’d feel scared. Lockdown in Paris also meant spending two months in a flat, with incredible weather – which some of you might know is horrible in this city because you can’t escape from it: there is no AC in most buildings so either you accept to be hot or you live with all shutters closed (which adds some saddeness to the whole not-so-exciting situation). In addition, the ‘arrondissement’ I live in is known for its liveliness, with its hundreds of restaurants, bars and shops; witnessing its emptiness was quite tough. I simply didn’t feel at home anymore. For two months and a half, I lived two minutes away from friends that I hadn’t seen in eight months – somewhat missing out on things in France too – and who I didn’t get a chance to meet before June. For two months, all my friendships were fully relying on texts and calls. That is mad. And we can all agree it’s pretty hard to deepen relationships through the phone. But it’s even harder when most of your friends can do so, as they still have some sort of social life. It was obviously no one’s fault and I was happy my friends in the UK could make the most of their quarantine. Coronavirus has been unfair on everyone, and it made me feel rather alone, regarding both my home and uni friendships. Overall, it was sad to notice the change that occurred from how integrated I felt before lockdown, and the feeling of missing out constantly growing during lockdown.

Constance: I was overjoyed to find out we could come back in September. I think that for most international students, and definitely for me, coming back to university is always more exciting.. Consider that for us it involves a long trip, changing countries and what you’re used to, and living a completely different life. It’s hard to explain how Durham can in any way feel ‘exotic’, but it really does to me. I was finally reunited with my friends, and things could go back to ‘normal’. I didn’t really mind the second lockdown in Durham. Sure, it was frustrating missing out on all the opportunities we had last year (and pubs closing was quite a blow), but in the end I was very happy to be in Durham and not Brussels this time. I think as an international student this also made me realise how attached I am to Durham, and how much more independent and committed I feel staying here. The downside of this is nonetheless quite strong as well. You feel once more very far away from your family. This isn’t helped by the fact it’s almost logistically impossible for international students to own a car in Durham, meaning we can’t just go home anytime we feel like it. Planning even a weekend home is complicated, and expensive. This was heightened with Covid. Upon coming back in September, I really saw the borders as very real, and very able to shut me off once again.

Albane: I was lucky enough to come back to Durham for a few days at the start of July and it was probably the highlight of my summer; I couldn’t wait to return in late September. As much as I love being home, I had chosen to study in the UK and I didn’t want anything to stop me from living this abroad experience I’d dreamt of for several years. Even if it implied a two-week quarantine, a reduced social life and all my classes to go online. I had been away from Durham for the whole lockdown and for most of my summer time; my only wish was to resume my student life and reunite with those I hadn’t seen since March! In fact, I was actually excited to live in such special circumstances in Durham. I was also aware the borders could now suddenly close for real and I could get ‘stuck’ in England. However, when the UK went into its second lockdown, even though my family wanted me to come back home, this time I didn’t hesitate a second and chose to stay as I really didn’t want to miss out on anything anymore. However, I was sadly surprised when some English friends decided to go home. I realised how relatively free UK students were, in comparison with foreigners: they can go home rather whenever they want, and most luckily they don’t fear being stuck in Durham.

Constance: I can tell you as an international student that not coming back to Durham for the start of this term was out of the question. I was determined to come back to Durham for all the reasons listed above. I also feared if I waited too long, the borders would shut again for good, and I wouldn’t be able to come back for quite some time. This is something that once again highlights the difference between me and most of my English friends. Most of them have decided they will delay their return to university, because they are lucky enough to be able to do so without fear of borders closing, or trains and flights being cancelled. Like Albane just pointed out, all they have to do is drive up, and have the luxury of being able to make a decision as late as they want. I also think being in the UK, they don’t have this same feeling of missing out, and why would they?

Albane: I absolutely wanted to return to Durham too. The uncertain situation created stress regarding the likeliness of borders to close again. In addition, I was also fearing to be alone in my house, and travelling to Durham represents more of a commitment than it does to people living in the UK. Even though my parents didn’t want me to leave, I couldn’t picture to completely renounce my student life. Studying online was already tough, but being in another country would have made it even worse. I’ve returned safely to Durham before the start of the term and although the city is pretty empty, I’m glad I came back. I feel at home in my house, and I enjoy wintery-looking Durham. One of my dearest wishes is obviously to have some ‘normal’ social time again soon, seeing all my friends and meeting new people. However, looking at what I’ve been through during the pandemic, I can’t help myself but wonder about the impacts of Covid on my social life in Durham. Should I focus more on deepening my relationships with internationals, and French people in particular? Indeed, I’ve realised I can’t ignore that I don’t live in the UK and that I’m simply not English. It is a sad idea especially because the very first social objective I set to myself when I arrived at university was not to hang out with French people and to have the most English experience possible. And I can’t help but ask myself, after these events heightened my differences with UK people, if I should still put my social efforts towards this initial goal… Covid has shown living abroad interfered with my friendships in the UK, and I have one main fear for Durham’s social future: might the now undeniable differences between internationals and UK students lead international students to group themselves together more than before? I’m scared Durham could become somewhat more fragmented than it already is…

This new lockdown is a big blow for everyone, in particular international students, whose majority desperately hopes to make it to Durham before Easter break. Covid, and more recently Brexit, made all of us realise how real borders are and can close at any point. It intensified in a way the differences between internationals and UK students, even though we’re all spread out in Durham within colleges, courses, activities and so on. All university students have been undoubtedly impacted by the pandemic, losing out on their education but also on their social life. Living abroad, we’ve been yanked back and forth between two countries, but especially severely disadvantaged against building formative friendships, and this is something we hope will get better in the future. We remain optimistic and hopeful!


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Perspective

It’s 2021, Why are Creative Industries still Undervalued?

It's 2021, Why Are Creative Industries Still Undervalued?

Beth Perry


As October rolled in and I returned to Durham following six months of lockdown, the reality of my final year and lack of future prospects began to emerge. Facing the notorious annual job hunt in an already over competitive and now pandemic-volatile market, I palpably felt the lack of graduate creative opportunities. It became apparent that embracing the Durham stereotype of applying to every bank in the City, every Times top-100 Graduate Employers or the Civil Service, would only result in me selling my soul and mental health to a future in which I frankly found no passion. Where were the creative graduate opportunities that excited me and why were they so difficult to find?

There is an ingrained underappreciation for the importance, socially and economically, of the global creative sector. From Advertising to Publishing, TV & Film to Arts & Culture, creative careers are found in almost every walk of life. In fact, these industries generate more than £100bn a year to the UK Economy. Before the pandemic, future prospects were booming, with employment rising three times higher for these sectors than the national UK average in the last decade. So why then do they hold so little weight, other than perhaps in marketing and advertising, within the graduate marketplace?

In my ‘younger and more vulnerable years’, I was encouraged to pursue the ‘respectable’ vocation of the Law and had little to no exposure to careers in creative sectors. This clearly can’t be because these are dying industries, so why are creative careers not better advocated for, is there a lack of commonly held respect? Whilst there is no clear-cut answer that can be offered in the space of one article, it could be held that graduates depend too much upon the traditional channels of corporate employment, so that careers in the creative world are simply, albeit unintentionally, ignored.

Over time I have come to find that it is the Art World, specifically the Art Market, that I am drawn towards and that there are, albeit few, graduate opportunities available. I was encouraged to see the flexibility of this industry in response to the pandemic, in October Sotheby’s produced a live streamed auction of Contemporary Art. During this, a notorious Banksy painting ‘Show me the Monet’ (2005) went under the hammer for £7,551,60, two million more than its highest pre-auction estimate. Elsewhere, online success has also been attained by galleries such as the Royal Academy with their interactive tour of their famous Summer Exhibition. It could be argued that this switch to technology has been able to provide not only a novel, but a more cost effective and less exclusive environment than in-person viewings invite. These exciting and resilient responses to the pandemic highlight how careers here could be held, contrary to popular belief, as commercially appealing and highly innovative to future job seeking students.

Similarly, large international corporations have hired creatives to help them adapt to this growing digital marketplace. Forbes Magazine highlighted that ‘today’s successful companies are the ones willing to […] embrace creative innovation and technology’ as the ‘recipe for the perfect digital event’ (6 April 2020). I wonder; perhaps, with the movement of services online, will the importance of creative careers may be finally held with the high regard they deserve?

Whilst these companies, larger galleries and auction houses have shown themselves to be resilient, unfortunately other smaller members of the sector have found themselves in an increasingly more precarious financial position and with a lack of serious attention from Governments during the Covid crisis. The Art Newspaper and economist Rachel Pownall revealed in April last year that 33.9% of galleries around the world are not expecting to survive the pandemic. Interestingly though, having predicted the economic impact of Covid-19 upon the Arts, in the same article Pownall stated that lockdown has in fact highlighted ‘the societal impact of a world devoid of arts and culture’ and that it may even ‘encourage improved financing of the arts in the future’. Maybe the suffering of creative industries worldwide has finally woken people up to their social, political and economic importance in our constantly evolving international marketplace, and perhaps then, creative careers in all their shapes and sizes will be offered the same new acclaim.

Frankly, this period, having begun as one of stress and angst, has in fact excited me immensely about the future of creatives leading into 2021. Looking forward, the Art World’s persistent response to the pandemic has stirred up an increased interest in me to pursue my passion for Art and business at an Auction House. In some sense then, the pandemic, despite financially impacting the creative sector on an unprecedented level, has positively catalysed an awareness of the importance of the arts and their ability to support wider industries of more notable standing. Adapting and reshaping methods to suit the growing online populous has favoured creatives, with this platform being an example. Shouldn’t we then hope for the relatively narrow selection of our graduate marketplace to experience the same sort of transformation?

Whilst I may still end up surviving on no more than half a dozen hours of sleep a night during my early years of employment, I would rather those working hours be in support of my own interest in the Art Market, rather than the result of pursuing a decades old tradition of graduates in a field where my creativity could not flourish in the same manner.

For more information surrounding the breadth of careers in creative industries see:
https://www.thecreativeindustries.co.uk/
For more specific information on internships and work experience at galleries, such as the RA or V&A, see their websites and Careers pages which are constantly updated as and when vacancies arise.
The Art Newspaper is an online paper that publishes articles written by top art historians, curators and economists about the art world and market.


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Perspective

Eyes on the Prize: Preparing Myself for a Lifetime of Failure

Eyes on the Prize: Preparing Myself For A Lifetime of Failure

Ollie Taylor


Coronavirus has almost entirely put a halt to all dramatic proceedings at Durham. With the exception of the occasional underwhelming and unsatisfying radio play hastily recorded on zoom, Durham Student Theatre has been able to produce very little. As an actor, this has unsurprisingly been most frustrating. Having not acted in a long time evokes a peculiar feeling, like an unscratchable itch, which is very difficult to describe to anyone who isn’t interested in the craft. This is exacerbated by a terrifying undertone: the fear that without practice, you’ll forget how to do it. This feeling builds up so much that you need to find a way of releasing some steam. If I’ve learned one thing from lockdown, it’s that I’m capable of entertaining myself for days and days on end with one big mirror and a selection of novelty hats. Also, there have been many times when I’ve suddenly realised that I’ve been prancing around my room for the last half an hour reciting bits and pieces from old plays. A long internal debate then ensues as I try to work out if I’m in the throes of a cabin-fever-induced bout of madness, or if I’m genuinely a bit of a fruit loop. Actually, it turns out I’m just an actor who hasn’t been doing a satisfactory amount of acting. Just as a revolting, sexually-frustrated adolescent discovers ways of practicing by himself with an old sock, I have found ways to assuage the desire to perform with a mirror and some flair headwear. The latter, however, is much less socially acceptable.

I could very easily sit here and whinge about the pandemic and how it’s ruining everything until the cows come home, but I’m not going to. Not because I’ve realised that I don’t have it as bad as some people, not because I feel it will dispirit you and certainly not because I’ve learned to look on the bright side, but because I can’t be bothered anymore. It’s got to a stage where any mention of the pandemic makes me want to eat my own face, so I’m dealing with it the only way an Englishman knows how- by finding something entirely different to whinge about. I shall attempt to give you a little bit of insight into the horrific career path that I’ve selected for myself. That may seem a little egotistical but I assure you that my thoughts reflect those of many aspiring actors who are all just as self-absorbed as I am.

After leaving Durham, I will be attempting to get into one of the hugely competitive drama colleges in London for a three-year course. The best of these take less than thirty or so in each year. Failing this, I will simply have to try again the following year. The success rate at getting into these places is much higher with slightly older and wiser actors and it is rare to get in at the first attempt. This is one of the many, many reasons why I consider myself lucky not to live in the USA. If I wanted to become an actor in America, I would’ve had to have moved to Hollywood with my family at the age of 8 to try and get a part in an advert for Weetabix, or whatever disgusting, palm-oil filled equivalent they have over there.

There is not really any knowing what happens next. I presume my drama college will help me find an agent to take me on. Early in my career, when I’m in the age range for most of the best parts in film and TV, I will simply have to be a whore for any part I can get. The industry is so competitive, so dog-eat-dog, and can be so harsh that it would be a devastating display of hubris to think of any part as below me. If I get offered the part of third spear-carrier in a terrible production of Macbeth in a tiny theatre in the arse-end of nowhere, I’ll be completely ecstatic, and carry that spear with outrageous vigour and enthusiasm. It is all about being busy, working hard, getting parts in as many things as I can, not becoming disheartened when things look bleak and just enjoying it as much as possible. The dream of getting a so-called big break and all the excitement that it would bring may be what keeps many actors going, but for me the chance to perform as much as possible is motivation in itself. There is always, however, the morbid sense of dread that the phone will stop ringing, the parts will dry up and I’ll have to start introducing myself at parties as an out-of-work actor, which is society kindly offering a way of telling other people that you’re totally unemployed.

People often ask me how long I plan to give acting a go for. There’s no real answer. I suppose as long as it’s financially viable. The myth of the poverty-stricken actor is most definitely not a myth. When I’m in my late thirties living in a tiny flat with five or six other failed actors it might be time to call it a day. Nobody’s done the washing-up in months. The cockroaches and mice we live with seem to be having a competition to see who can be bigger. The place is in serious need of a scented candle or at least some Febreze. No one can really afford to pay rent. We sit around watching TV and complaining that the actors they hire these days are useless. And most of us have some form of alcoholism or smack problem. I have neither a part nor a girlfriend in sight. The dream has melted away. I will then try and utilise my degree in Psychology from Durham and, twenty years after I should’ve, try to get a proper job.

That is my career path in its full. I personally can’t wait. It may be disastrous, it may be an enormous mistake and it may all end in tears but I love acting more than anything else, and life is too short not to make a go of it. It will be a sad moment when I decide I can’t do it anymore, simply because I will not be able to do what I most enjoy. But unlike professional footballers who, after retiring, are never able to emulate the feeling of scoring a goal for the rest of their lives, I’ve been through three lockdowns with no acting, so I know how to entertain myself with a mirror and a few silly hats.



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Perspective

Against Imitation: the Limits of Student Creativity

“Hope is soonest found among the comfortless” – Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia

Everyone starts somewhere

All great artists learn how to write, paint, or sing before they go on to master their given medium. Part of this process will inevitably include leaning form those that have come before them often through imitation; Hunter S. Thompson claimed to have copied out the entirety of The Great Gatsby in order to master the idiosyncrasies of Fitzgerald’s poetic style. If he had not done so Fear and the Loathing may not have been the literary tour de force it is today. Harold Pinter openly admitted that his early “comedy of menace” plays were directed inspired by the works of Franz Kafka. Would he be a Nobel prize winning playwright if he had sought to replace the Kafka’s tragicomedy on stage? Student artists, poets, playwrights, still mastering their craft should therefore be no stranger to imitating their artistic heroes. Their works will always be indebted to someone.

If music be the food of love, go on a diet.

In a recent review of a new song from a student band in Palatinate proclaimed the following:

“X are certainly a band to keep any eye out for in the music industry with their uniqueness and ability to push the boundaries of what songwriting is.”

The words imply that the song in question is the musical equivalent of Duchamp’s Fountain ready to shatter the conception of music itself and usher in a new paradigm of musical endeavour. I am no musicologist, nor am I musically literate but even I can tell that the song is imitating another. The track is a medley of garbled sound that could have been extrapolated from the CD selection of a mid-noughties’ angst-ridden teenager who has read too much Nietzsche. Echoes of The Libertines and a bunch of other forgettable bands that marked the paradigm with a faux “fuck Thatcher” attitude. Someone has not told them that she has been dead for years. The band (whose name has been anonymised for the sake of not ruffling any feathers or riling any egos) are one of many student “creatives” whose vocabulary consists of repetitive forms, styles, and concepts. Perhaps they are just forging their craft. Everyone has to start somewhere. But this excuse cannot be wheeled out for all cases, for there is a fine line between this and resting on artistic laurels, imitating not to develop their own voice but merely to steal other’s ideas to privilege appearance over reality.

Poetic injustice: a Platonic interlude

The relationship between imitation and the philosophy of art has been strained since Plato. Although his worries were metaphysical in nature, they nonetheless contain nuggets of interest to the present discussion. Plato held that all knowledge derived from Forms, the essential version of any thing that exist in their own imperceptible world. The most human human being. The most goatly goat. All physical objects are imperfect instantiations of forms. The red on the apple is not the reddest red, but nonetheless contains an aspect of red. Art enters the equation given that artists are able to separate appearance from reality. Plato’s example is that of a table which exists in an image, in reality, and as a Form. The artist had the ability to depict the table but without the tableness that makes it a table; I cannot rest a coffee cup on it given that it is merely an image. The artist’s copy is therefore further away from the perfect Form than the physical version of the table therefore making it worse. Plato’s aesthetics (if it can be called that) rests on a unity of values. What is true is beautiful, is good. The true table the real table is good and is beautiful. The false table, the imitation, the illusion is bad. Plato’s discussion of Homer exemplifies this argument. In the way that the artist can depict a table without the tableness, Epic poems like the Iliad can depict values like bravery, honour and duty in the context of warfare without the corresponding reality behind them. The illusion of war, not the reality and all the horrors of the phenomenal experience of it. When the reality behind such ideas is castrated, their appearances are all that remain leaving them vulnerable for misuse and propaganda.

Plato’s argument is dated. If we reject his framework, the Forms and the unity of the value spheres we can discard the theory and its distrust of artists. Would we then be throwing the baby out with the bathwater? In opposition, Kantian aesthetics demarcates the beautiful from the good. His theory came to dominate western conceptions of art right into the 20th century with Clement Greenberg. This does not mean we can disavow Plato completely. The great writer/philosopher Iris Murdoch revisited Platonic thinking in her essays on the Sovereignty of Good and The Fire and the Sun reuniting the value spheres whilst granting art a significant role in our moral lives.

Baiting, hating, imitating

Plato’s relevance could be seen in the world of student theatre. The world of thespians is already rife with corruption in a moral sense with its slippery power structures and surreptitious dealings. What about the metaphysics? Whilst much drama occurs offstage hardly any seems to happen on stage given that an alarming number of theatrical offerings do nothing to innovate and are content to repeat what has come before them whilst operating under the mask of the new. They are akin to Frankenstein’s monster; parts of this work and that play exhumed from their artistic graves, hacked and slashed together to create an ungodly mishmash of styles and ideas. Like the monster, the final product is not quite real, both familiar and unfamiliar (unheimlich to use Freud’s terminology) and is never quite able to exist on its own. One play performed last year shamefully stole, moment for moment, a choreographed sequence from a production of the same play (at another more prestigious venue) a year earlier. The trailer for the original production is, unluckily for them, readily available on YouTube. But nobody in the theatre knew this. To them, someone else’s creative prowess had been stolen by the creative team and passed off as their own. Appearance separated from reality. Plato would be rolling in his grave.

This is a curious phenomenon; directing a play would presumably entail that the creative team have something to say of their own.

The typical image of a suffering artist who cannot help but stive to communicate their malaise through their given medium springs to mind. Why would a genuine artist condone regurgitation?

Adverts that do not advertise

The root cause of this is the privileging of the “aesthetic.” This term, bastardised beyond comprehension from its original meaning referring to the philosophy of art, is uttered by feckless Instagram influencers and students prone to staining their walls with copious amounts of fairy lights. It is an almost meaningless term: “make it look aesthetic” simply refers to producing a certain look with a je ne sais quoi that deems it worthy of being exhibited*. This mentality has begun to swallow the art world and has dangerous implications: instead of striving to forge an artwork that has value in and of itself, directors, writers and artists can simply imitate the “aesthetic”, borrow the appearance without the reality and garner all the praise of the real thing without doing the hard lifting that is being creative. Imitation is necessary, but it can easily be over relied on in the name of laziness and ego-baiting. “as long as it looks good” is the adopted motto of far too many.

The fact that some shows at Durham are turned around in a mere three weeks is evidence buttressing this hypothesis. Similar length show at the National Theatre rehearse for three months.

There is no blood on my hands, they are just naturally red

This issue also rears its ugly head in the world of student film. One film, released not too long ago and shall also remain unnamed, was nothing but visual pastiche of artists like David Fincher or Rodger Deakins. The irony here was that whilst the film makers who are heralded as gods in the wide eyes of students who are drunk with desperation to enter the industry tell intriguing stories; their worshipers sacrifice narrative in the name of the aesthetic, to impress viewers who will be easily wowed with shmaltzy camerawork, gimmicks and expensive drone shots that do more to unearth privilege than anything else. The result in the case of this student offering gave the final product the aura of an advert despite not advertising anything. Throwing money and expensive cameras at people is easy. Crafting a tight woven narrative is hard. How can an advert that does not advertise anything be an advert? How can there be art when there is no creativity or craft?

Contemporary spectres

Social media is the spectre that haunts our generation. Despite our attempts to exorcise it, it lingers, furnishing the background of our interactions surreptitiously dictating the way we behave. The fact that we scroll on various apps, often for hours, and for minuscule amounts of time exacerbates the privileging of the aesthetic. We supposedly devote a mere seven seconds to pictures, two minutes to articles or writing, and only listen to the first few bars of a song before we swipe down deeper into the depths of algorithms, posts, and code. Therefore, the priority has to be what is immediately experienced. Whatever we engage in has to impress in the first moments of its engagement. For visual media that means adopting and adhering to previously establish gradients of quality, privileging the “aesthetic” – the tried and tested formula. A more challenging work that changes the apperception of our tastes simply demands too much within seven seconds. It must be tossed aside because it is boring. Therefore to be an artist whose work is engaged in, appearance is everything. Reality, the underlying meaning of the work where creativity and craft reside, and almost entirely dissolved.

Unseen trees fall in forests. Unseen art falls into the virtual void

Social media has another malign impact on art in the privileging of the aesthetic. In what is more or less duping others into believing that they are the originators of a creative vision, the “artist” (or artists in the case of the aforementioned play) will be recognised as an artist. Much has been written on social media and identity. It is unconventional to explore how Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat (the unholy trinity of social media) allow us to curate ourselves as if we were galleries, presenting highly tailored snippets into what appears to be our lives. We only see the result of tailoring, never the process itself. Will this picture match my “aesthetic?” To appear sociable, I only have to take an image of myself at a club. To appear diligent, I have to post an image of a pile of books in the library. To appear cultivated I must share a painting. It does not even have to be one I like. I do not even have to like anything.

Hegelian theory of recognition: we are ourselves as seen through the eyes of others.

This is an oversimplification of Hegel’s theory of recognition which I do not have room to fully delve into. The essential feature is this: I am a certain person only if I know to be seen as that person I the eyes of others. The obvious course of action is to act in such a way (the good man is one who does good deeds. He only knows he is good when people revere him as good, when people ask for his advice and smile at him). My identity is intersubjective. We can take John Donne at his word (no “man” is an island). The relevance of this should become clear: social media takes the weight off our shoulders. I no longer have to do thing itself to project appearance of its undertaking onto the Other, I merely have to appear to be seen to be doing it, something that social media does only too well given its emphasis on appearance and shunning of reality. Murdoch express a similar sentiment in the following:

Murdoch: “man creates an image for himself then comes to resemble that image”

Seven seconds is more than enough. The student artist only needs to post a few images of their work, a picture they copied from somewhere else, a mere segment of a film, an image of them wielding a guitar, and suddenly the image, bereft of any truth, is a reality in the eyes of others, and thus in the eyes of the “artists” themselves. This compromises the very definition of artistry. There no longer needs to be genuine creativity. Only its vestiges that can be stolen from elsewhere thereby mudding any reality that genuine art aims to express. They create an image for themselves. Then, through the eyes of others, come to resemble that image.

A light joke to calm the tension:

A man walks into a psychoanalyst’s office claiming to be a cat. After a number of sessions, he is cured and no longer believes himself to be a feline. He leaves the office into the real world but after ten minutes returns and says to his psychoanalyst: “but what if they don’t know I’m not a cat?”

(This was supposedly Jacques Lacan’s favourite joke).

We can imagine a long-haired Dr Martens wearing vintage cloth clad humanities student claiming a similar sentiment: “what if they don’t know I’m an artist?”

Imitation is a dangerous tool to wield. Granted, it is a wonderful thing to further engage in one’s adoration for an artist by choosing to learn from them, by painting like them, writing like them, seeing the world through their eyes. It is also often a necessary way to improve one’s skill as an artist. But it can also harm the very idea of art and creativity itself when misused in the name of egoism. We must remember to always strive for something real, a truth. Many philosophers have equated art to some form of truth; for Heidegger it was the truth of a subjective world. For Murdoch it was truth of the human condition. Theodor Adorno wrote that “art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.” There are some seriously talented creatives at Durham. I have seen some fascinating artworks and eagerly await to see the where the creative paths lead to for certain individuals. They must never allow themselves to become complacent, and must always strive to create art, not fake it.

*this definition is deliberately circular to highlight how bizarre the use of the term is.

Postscript
Student arts criticism as evidence to the thesis – The fact that student “creatives” often shun criticism suggests that they cannot separate themselves from the artefacts they create. This is because the art literally allows themselves to become the image they wish to adopt. Critique of the art is therefore no different to critique of the individual. Criticism is criticism of the actual person. The critics’ hands are therefore tied: “we don’t want to be mean so we cannot critique at all.” This is why the majority of student reviews make the subjects of their reviews out to be God’s gift to mankind. A reality check is needed.

Performative Contradiction – When the journal in which this article is published, it will be strewn across social media, paraded like some pagan human pawn to be sacrificed in exchange for a bountiful harvest. On the one hand this is done to promote the journal. It will not be printed, it cannot be handed out on street corners or sold in newsagents. It makes sense to promote it online. Its editors want you to read it. Social media marketing is a ubiquitous feature of being online, where even the smallest venture into the virtual realm is confronted with a barrage of advertising. The question is this: how you will perceive the people who share this? Who contribute to this? What becomes of the “creatives” in your eyes?

Addendum: what do you think of me, the author of this, these words here. What am I to you? What aspects (be they authentic or disingenuous) have I shown to the world? What do you think I am?

Mirrors ought to think before they reflect – Critics are not popular people. Then again if we were in the business of making friends, we would not have allowed ourselves to become what we are.

Unwanted guests at endless dinner parties – Pessimists ought to hate being right.

Damian Hirst, Desmond Tutu, and Amber Herd – I am not finishing my degree. My degree is finishing me.

My dream – the ultimate embodiment of the prioritisation of the aesthetic is Rupi Kaur. There is nothing beyond the words, they are an effortless compilation of simulacra, nothing but appearance, nothing but “vanity and vexation of spirit.” Too lazy to read the words? Are seven seconds too strenuous for you? Just look at the kitschy drawing instead. The only value her “poetry” would provide would be if one might read her entire oeuvre ironically. This would make her work parody, a criticism of the vacuousness of the “aesthetic” mentality and of a society that only gives attention to images. I hereby declare Milk and Honey to be post-modern masterpiece.


Alexander Cohen
Against Imitation: the Limits of Student Creativity

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Rightful Restitution: Why it’s Time for Britain to Relinquish Colonial

Rightful Restitution: Why It's Time for Britain to Relinquish its Colonial Artefacts

Athena Atherton


My first visit to the British Museum was at the ripe young age of eight and consisted of my mother pointing to various artefacts and reminding me that they had been ‘stolen’. When we reached the most famous exhibit, the so-called ‘Elgin Marbles’, my mother’s lecturing took a personal turn. The marbles that groups of tourists were passing by without a second glance were part of a collection belonging to the Parthenon in Athens. The beautiful, solemn Caryatids were torn from their sisters in the Erechthieon and shipped back to London in 1803. These marbles were part of a greater patchwork that unlocked our Greek cultural heritage, and they belonged in our country. The term ‘stolen’ that my mother repeated so often, suddenly had a deeper meaning when I looked up at the somber faces of the Caryatids. Since then, the British Museum has held none of its original appeal.

The importance of art and history in the formation of national identity and cultural heritage is paramount. As such, the destruction and theft of art in temples, shrines and palaces has been a strategy of war and colonisation since the first human civilisations. In 1897, the British Army sent 1,200 troops to invade Benin City (in modern day Nigeria) as retribution for the killing of a British ambassador, now often argued as a mere excuse to dominate the city and destroy its military resistance. This raid tore the city to the ground; the palaces, temples and homes of the citizens of Benin were looted and the treasures disseminated amongst the soldiers. Citizens were forced to recognise the political and military domination of the British by not only witnessing the massacres of their fellow citizens but also the removal of their cultural and religious property. This permanently reminded them of their subordination and eliminated any potential insurrections through the erosion of cultural unity. Today, there are over 4000 artefacts belonging to the collection of the Benin Bronzes, 700 of which are in the British Museum.

The obvious moral qualms attached to the theft of cultural property existed prior to the modern age. Over 2000 years ago, Cicero evocatively condemned a Roman praetor, who had stolen various cultural artefacts from Sicily for personal gain, for his immoral and unjust theft, introducing the modern concepts of cultural property and its intrinsic links to heritage and history. Cicero’s case summed up a debate that characterises modern post colonial relations in many countries today: where does cultural property belong, with the ‘finder’ or the creator?

Clearly, the immorality of looting is not a modern concept; those who opposed Lord Elgin in the early nineteenth century (most notably Lord Byron), often cited Cicero as an authority to express their dissatisfaction. Although Parliament ruled in favour of buying the Marbles, the morality and legality of the purchase was debated beforehand, and the existence of sustained opposition to the method of Elgin’s acquisition poses a question for the modern debate. If people believed Elgin’s methods to be morally dubious and there has been a case for repatriation for over 200 years, what current justifications does the British Museum have to keep other countries’ national and cultural property?

According to my mother and her fellow Greeks, Elgin ‘stole’ the Parthenon Marbles. However, this terminology has morally dubious connotations and is thus largely contested by advocates for the British Museum. They argue that Elgin was gifted the marbles by the contemporary Athenian authorities, to ensure their preservation.

However, in 1803, Athens had been ruled by the Ottoman dynasty since 1453, and Greece did not gain independence until 1832. Thus, the Turkish authorities that had ‘gifted’ Elgin the marbles were arguably not as concerned with the Parthenon’s exclusively Greek cultural significance. Upon the formation of modern Greece, diplomatic relations with Britain were quickly concerned with the return of the marbles, indicating the significance of their return to Greek cultural memory and pride. Moreover, many historians have contested the legality of their removal, which in my opinion increases the legitimacy of the terminology such as ‘stolen’. Using Cicero as a guide, Elgin’s removal of the marbles without explicit permission and for personal gain, can be condemned as immoral and thus the marbles deserve repatriation.

Furthermore, advocates for Elgin and the British Museum argue that he took the marbles for their own preservation. The Museum continues to refuse repatriation based on this. For many Greeks, including myself, this argument is one of the most offensive. Lord Elgin, in his quest for preservation, succeeded in destroying much of the Parthenon when he carved out half of the remaining statues and shipped them to adorn his private home in Scotland. Only when hit with financial ruin did Lord Elgin, the mighty preserver, sell his private collection to Parliament. Despite all claims of preservation, a cleaning team in 1939 caused irreparable damage to the statues. Under the command of the director of the Museum, the unskilled team cleaned the statues with ammonia and scraped ‘dirt’ with copper tools, permanently disfiguring the statues and removing sections fundamental to our understanding of the statues. The so-called ‘dirt’ was in fact 2000 year old paint. This scandal was promptly covered up, with no one knowing the extent of the damage until a Greek conservationist team were finally permitted to study their heritage in the late 1990s.

In 1982, the Greeks formally requested their restitution through Unesco, stressing the issue of poor preservation. Yet the British Museum danced around allegations of the damage, calling them “gross exaggerations”. Ten years later it seemed these “gross exaggerations” were true. The retention of the marbles based on the grounds of preservation is simply an ode to Western colonial arrogance. Britain’s claim rests on the shaky assumption that they are better protectors of Greek heritage than the Greeks themselves, but the damage done by their bleaching tells a different story. The integrity compromised by the cover up tells a different story. The horror of the Greek conservationist team upon discovering that their 2000 year old heritage had been irreparably damaged by the hands of its ‘protectors’, tells a different story.

So who does cultural property belong to? I believe that those who created monuments that have inspired generations of art across the globe, are entitled to display them in their own countries. The primary justification of the British Museum, aside from the aforementioned, is that the Greek statues, the Benin Bronzes, the Egyptian artefacts and all the rest, belong in a cosmopolitan museum where everyone from around the world can have a chance to view them. But this denies aspiring archaeologists, historians, and artists in these native countries an opportunity to learn, by holding ransom their cultural and historical property: the keys to their past. If 90% of Sub-Saharan Africa’s (known) cultural property is in Western museums, how can its children ever truly understand their past without physically seeing it in their own museums?

Fortunately, one Western government has understood they must begin to amend the crimes of their past. In 2017, Macron declared “African cultural heritage can no longer remain a prisoner of European museums”. Since then, France has begun to return hostage artefacts, such as the Benin Bronzes. On the other hand, the British government has emphatically rejected any repatriation. In 2014, following George Clooney’s public support for the return of the marbles, Boris Johnson described him as “advocating nothing less than a Hitlerian agenda for London’s cultural treasures”. I hope the irony of “London’s cultural treasures” is not lost. Johnson’s position has not changed since then; the Greeks have requested the marbles be returned by the 25th of March 2021 and yet it seems that they will stay put. One can only hope that someday, morality in art and culture triumphs political pettiness.

If you’re interested in reading more about the topic, I found the book ‘Who Owns History’ by Geoffrey Robertson to be very helpful and informative.


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to club or not to club

To Club or Not to Club

Imogen Nation-Dixon

Spiking, specifically drink spiking, has been on the rise for years. Growing up, it was  an accepted norm – an acknowledged risk which we were all trained in minimising. As such, everyone carried their own, self-written rule book in order to protect themselves from consuming a toxic, harming substance.  

Cover your drink  

Watch as it gets poured  

If you leave your drink, buy a new one  

etc  

etc  

etc  

The list goes on and on and on and on, with every single person consciously acknowledging  the fact that their drink may be tampered with, and will have sought to eliminate any possible risks through controlling every variable.  

This is a depressing, accepted truth.  

This by no means implies that the victim is ever to be blamed for having their drink spiked. One can be careful, aware and do ‘everything right’ – but sadly some disgusting individuals find a way to manipulate situations for their own sick advantage.  

In 2019, the BBC recorded a record rise in recorded cases of drink spiking, with more than  2600 reported incidents in England and Wales since 2015. This doesn’t even scratch the  surface of the full scale of the problem; some STATs show that in many cases less than 50%  of spiking incidents are reported to the police and followed up by a blood test within the  narrow time frame.  

The problem is growing, and is worse than we think.  

More gross individuals are hopping on the bandwagon to gain a perverted sense of control  over others in a selfish, sick, pursuit.  

Why is drink spiking so accepted ? Why isn’t more being done?  

The rise in drink spiking is frightening for everyone. No-one knows who is next; yourself,  your brother, sister, cousin, father, mother …no-one is immune. As a result, we all carry our self-written rule book with a bit more vigilance. It has now become our guidebook for safety. A map integral in the navigation of, a fun, crazy, weird, spontaneous, drunk, messy, pizza @ 4, tequila fuelled confessions of love, some hangxiety, inevitable broken promises of  ‘grabbing a coffee’, night out.  

BUT safe.  

We always want to be safe. 

 

Which is why when the reports of needle spiking first began to surface in Nottingham and subsequently nationwide, I was scared. Our rule-book, our guide-book for safety, our map  for navigating a fun night out, did not account for this. Being injected (literally ‘spiked’) from behind is dystopian. As a club-goer you are completely and utterly powerless. 

You can seek to give yourself more rules.

– Wear a leather jacket
– Wear a roll neck
– Wear a thermal to give yourself an extra layer of skin
– Dance with your back flat against the wall
– Wear padded trousers
– If you have one, wear a stab proof vest. If not, I’m sure Amazon Prime will get one to you in time for Wednesday
– Borrow an aluminium armour from the drama costume department

Doing this will ensure that you have done all you can to
Have
A
Fun
Night out :))

This is ridiculous.

@ Babylon in Durham, yes I have had some fun nights in your club. But your music is not worth getting into an armour for.

No club or party is worth it.

The onus should not fall on us. We want real, positive change.

I recently made a post on Instagram campaigning for a #weeklongboycott of clubs. I do not think one singular night will make enough of an impact to force clubs to properly change. ‘One night in’ might force clubs to make performative changes – but I strongly believe that for real, concrete change, clubs need to be shaken and stirred.

Enough is enough.

At the end of the day, it is down to us students to campaign for the change we want to see. Durham’s leading sports clubs and societies have expressed their support of a longer boycott to force change, and the post campaigning for a week-long boycott has reached thousands of students nationwide. We are making a difference. Every conversation, every person who boycotts clubs, is bringing us closer to what we all deserve:
safety.
to club or not to club: it’s not really a question.

 

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Knowing about the Unknown

Knowing About the Unknown

Claudia Whaites

 

Why are you crying? Why are you in a mood? Why don’t you smile like you used to? Why did you just explode like that? Why can’t you control your anger? Why are you being so aggressive?

There is an obvious irony concerning men’s mental health in that the unknowingness surrounding it is known and yet remains untouched.

Let’s talk.

As a woman myself, I am fully aware of the derogatory and incorrect multitude of negative stereotypes we receive daily. However, our enhanced emotional sensitivity provides us with a sense of collectivism when it comes to opening up and supporting each other about darker subject matters. There is a taboo on this matter for men.

Let’s talk.

A supposed loss of masculinity and strength surrounds the address of these issues; hence a stigma has built up within society for the necessity for men to mask and internalise their emotions. Their connective network and access to support need to become more wildly available and accepted as part of the norm.

Let’s talk.

The ‘Movember’ charity addresses the restoration and strengthening of social connections between men. It is a prevalent topic of conversation among all genders during November. However, once those 30 days are up – that’s it. The conversation is brought to a stand-still.

Let’s talk.

This issue of suppression does not lie with the stereotypical stubbornness of boys and men who refrain from admitting they need help in fear of tarnishing their pride, but with society as a whole: condemning or frowning upon those seeking help. The idea of men suffering from mental health issues should be recognised for its normality. They should be able to engage with a safe environment (whether this is in an individual or group setting) at any time to express and engage with their hidden emotional and deepest thoughts.

Let’s talk.

The plague spreading through their minds needs to stop. It has already gone too far.

Why are you crying? Let’s talk. Why are you in a mood? Let’s talk. Why don’t you smile like you used to? Let’s talk. Why did you just explode like that? Let’s talk. Why can’t you control your anger? Let’s talk. Why are you being so aggressive? Let’s talk.

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Maasai Diaries part 3 – KOKO

Maasai Diaries Part Three: Koko

Laura Hutchinson

Koko is perhaps the most honored woman in the village. But it’s not because of her age – which she believes is over 200 – or her 40 plus children and grandchildren, her healthy herd of cattle or even her generous but tenacious spirit. She is most revered because she is the village circumciser.
‘Of course it is by choice. It is my living, young girl, but also our maasai way of life. I have cut nearly 500 girls, all of them are now women. I saved them and their families from a life of curses and death…’
‘Yes, I have had many girls die from bleeding. That is Gods way…’
‘When I was a girl, white man came and tried to put us in school, taught us of money and clothes, tried to change our culture. When Kenya received independence this was not so much. But now, you see white man coming again to change our ways – this time in the name of Christianity. My people have allowed them to educate us of the dangers of circumcising, but only because in return they give us food, medical care and help with more urgent problems. But some people are bowing to Jesus, leaving behind our local Nkai and traditions. The white man is stealing our culture again.’

It was both humbling and harrowing speaking to Koko. She raised some very mute points – who are we, as the collective west, to tell the Maasai that what they do is wrong, however barbaric it seems in our eyes? At what point does fighting for human rights cross the line into cultural degradation and insensitivity? What the Maasai see as the essential passage from girl to woman, we passionately condemn as mutilation. Educational campaigns and anti-FGM movements often vilify the villages where the practice takes place, denigrating the culture as primitive, rather than trying to understand the communities need for circumcision.

It is a practice that can mean the difference between life and death for a Maasai girl,regardless of what path she takes. Whilst the surgery may likely kill her and leave her with a lifetime of pain, turning her back on her culture and refusing the procedure would see her exiled from a community that is all about the collective whole. With both of those instances and Koko’s words in mind, I invite you to think about one thing; when approaching the topic of FGM, do we respond in terms of cultural relativism or politely informed outrage?

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Why has HIV been central to the conversation surrounding spiking?

Why Has HIV Been Central to the Conversation Surrounding Spiking?

Katie Rutter

 

The rise in reported cases of spiking in university towns over the past week has justifiably caused mass hysteria, particularly within the female student population. Central to this hysteria has been the emergence of the use of needles as a new tool of spiking and that it is this spiking by injection which has really shaken people up. However, the vast majority of conversations I have had regarding fear surrounding being injected with a needle in a club hasn’t even centred on the potential drugs being used but the transmission of disease. The use of a needle to spike girls in clubs is scary for so many reasons which do not incorporate the transmission of HIV yet for some reason the possibility of contracting this virus in particular has caused a hysteria which has fogged our conversation regarding spiking. A needle represents an unimaginably calculated attempt to spike someone as well as innovation in methods to enact violence against women.

From a young age, we, as girls, have internalised the obligation for US to never leave a drink unattended and to not accept a drink from a stranger. If we do this, we are as safe as we can be and the risk is minimised. However, when it comes to spiking through injection, the fallacy of a safety net woven together by precautionary tips is torn up. The protective measures which have been deemed sufficient prior to this new phenomenon no longer apply. The premise of agency which has given us the options to protect ourselves has become different. The victim-blaming rhetoric which has previously undermined the spiking of girls through drinks, supported by the precautions we’ve urged girls to take, has been completely torn up due to the nature of spiking via injection.

Interestingly, this idea that we cannot protect ourselves and that spiking is now affecting those who protect themselves as well as those who indulge in “riskier” behaviour also intersects with the conversation which has surrounded HIV. When many think about HIV they think of a distant and vague historic tragedy, an AIDS crisis which affected the LGBT+ community. While incredibly saddening, it doesn’t apply to their current reality or really intersect with their sphere. The narrative surrounding HIV in the late 80s and 90s and which to some extent persists today, is that HIV affects risk-takers. Suddenly, due to the rise in reported spikings using needles, many people have been hysterical regarding the fact that this alien virus could potentially affect straight women who have indulged in nothing riskier than heading out to a club.

The hysteria surrounding the contraction of HIV is fogging our conversation regarding violence against women. Not only this, but the conversation surrounding HIV is fuelling the misconceptions which follow the virus around and damage those affected by it. Yes, HIV can be transmitted through the use of contaminated needles. However, as tweeted by the National AIDS Trust, ‘getting HIV from a needle injury is extremely rare. A diagnosis takes weeks’. Furthermore, they have shared that if you do fear that you have been exposed to HIV in the past 72 hours, you can access a medication called PEP from a healthcare professional which reduces the risk of acquiring the virus. The NHS recommends blood testing for HIV and says that they ‘can normally give reliable results from 1 month after infection’. Much of the hearsay surrounding the spiking has claimed that those who have been spiked with needles have had confirmation of their contraction of HIV. This is incredibly unlikely. The NHS does not recommend blood testing until a month following exposure. HIV may well not show up in some individuals’ blood tests for 6 months following exposure. It goes without saying but HIV and AIDS are not synonymous. HIV can develop into AIDS if left untreated however treatment is available. People living with HIV today can take a single tablet daily which not only stops the virus from developing but also reduces the viral load to undetectable in the bloodstream. Not only this, but undetectable = untransmittable. People on effective HIV treatment cannot pass it on. If you are going to fuel fear regarding contracting HIV, you have to contextualise it with the facts. This does not invalidate fear surrounding spiking. It is an incomprehensible and very real fear. This fear though, should centre violence against women. Scaremongering regarding HIV de-centres the actual conversation which needs to be had and harms many groups of people.

The transmission of HIV shouldn’t be central to or allowed to obscure the conversation surrounding gendered violence through spiking. It detracts from the real fear felt by women and girls yet also fuels the already well-lit flames of stigma surrounding the virus and its link to the LGBT+ community. HIV shouldn’t be a dirty subject which is drowned in hysteria and misinformation. Yet, this is a different point. Female fear surrounding spiking is valid, justified and deserves every second of attention it has been garnering.

Recommendations: 

Gareth Thomas: HIV and ME
Terrence Higgins Trust website
It’s a Sin

 

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Echoes of a Religion

Echoes of a Religion

Emma Simon

 

I might be wrong but it’s possible that the emotional and social similarities of environmentalism and religion might not have crossed your minds much recently. With the Black Lives Matter movement fighting for social justice, as well as Coronavirus ravaging the “global stage”; it’s almost impossible to see beyond the pandemic tunnel vision that has developed. Coronavirus has completely dominated politics, the media, the economy and seems to transcend the ever-changing public focus; and I am hopeful that BLM can do the same. However, unlike these two public discussions, environmentalism is very much a victim of the media’s short attention span.

This sounds like a rather hopeless tone to be setting, but actually it’s the opposite. Where previously environmentalism has been chained to the confines of media trends, it’s now leaving those chains behind. Environmentalism may not be the apple of the public eye right at this moment, but it seems to have established itself beyond that, as something with a right to exist on its own without the crutches of news coverage. It has become a movement, an entity with which more and more people are identifying. To be environmentally mindful has become less of a fashion statement and more of a lifestyle with values and practices and beliefs – something with the echoes of a religion.

Now, these echoes weren’t something I’d previously thought much about and, at first glance, they felt strange to me. Having thought about it though, there is something beneath this which might be quite important. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t found it easy to understand, and I don’t expect you to either, but bear with me, I’m going to walk you through it and it might become clearer and potentially even interesting – but don’t hold me to that.

Before I start let me address one thing: whether you read this from a perspective of belief, disbelief, uncertainty or indifference to any faith, we can all agree that religion is unavoidably, and often beautifully heaped, with emotion and ambiguity. The battle between empirical evidence and faith is the essence of religious belief and it often causes an intensely personal struggle for anyone who spends even a minute thinking about it. This is one thing I want to make clear; religion is difficult and complex which is why I’m having a hard time putting it into a little box without subsections or branches. But, what I refer to here is religion as a social structure, a set of movements made up of various component parts, from belief and hope to ideals and perfections. This isn’t a ploy to undermine religion’s intricacy; and anyway, there is no world in which I have the kind of power to do that. Instead I want to make religion our reference point, something identifiable and contained despite its complexities. It is in this case that the yardstick against which environmentalism is to be measured.

It might sound like I’m taking the emotion out already, which I said was an unavoidable symptom of this discussion – but the clue is in that word – I can’t and also don’t want to avoid it. I’ve realised that for environmentalists , emotion is unavoidable as well. Their campaigns, global strikes and lifestyle alterations aren’t just the result of scientific research that proves the disastrous effects of our consumerist and industry-driven lifestyles. The motivation for these environmentalist practices are inherently emotional, driven by a belief system that sometimes goes unnoticed even by those who adopt it.

The term ‘belief system’ might sound out of place in a social movement inspired by empirical knowledge and scientific testing. Not only that but, in what is widely considered an increasingly secular society, believing in something unquantifiable has become a peripheral notion. We are working and thinking in a time defined by tangible truths and a post-enlightenment emphasis on evidence and facts. As a result, the concept of believing in something beyond oneself has become something almost exclusively associated with religion. But I would argue belief is, by definition, something entrenched within everything. It doesn’t just refer to the ethereal world of a God or set of gods but underlies the interactions of everyday life. You do not have to identify with a religion to be driven by a belief system – but to be driven at all does require belief. It is the basis upon which we make our decisions, back up our arguments and direct our actions. The belief behind an environmentalist perspective reclaims this broader definition as the basis for successfully navigating life.

Belief systems have and always will be innately connected to religion but, looking closely it seems they’re essential to environmentalism too. This notion of belief is quite important – just keep it in mind – it is the scaffolding for this whole discussion, and this is where the colour green comes in handy.

I can easily sit here and assure you that there is a belief system behind environmental protectionism – that’s all very well – but it’s also immaterial if we don’t actually know what these beliefs are. Here, the notion of believing in an ideal comes into the limelight and looking at it through a green lens is quite interesting. Now, I know that green might seem like a particularly uninspired choice for this article, but I’ve come to think that it might be more significant than just a generic environmental poster-colour. Greenness represents nature; now hear me out because I resent that cliché just as much as you do. What I’m saying is that the nature it represents is uninterrupted, uncorrupted by industry, pollution, plastic or deforestation. It illustrates an ideal of a self-contained perfect nature, without negative human disruption. You may even consider it a nature pre-human, before what we now ironically call civilisation’s ‘natural’ global progression.

Looking at it like this, Greenness begins to inhabit a multidimensionality that is normally overlooked. In a sense, Greenness is the ideal towards which environmentalism is steered. It is the image of a perfect world in which progress is sustainable and the environment is untarnished by the hand of human commerce.

Striving for a certain perfection isn’t something only environmentalists do; it is the basis of almost every established world religion, and I would argue, is the thing around which beliefs revolve. It’s funny because so far, I’ve displayed these two entities as similar but separate, but arguably their common ground isn’t limited to their development patterns. In fact, one central Christian ideal coincides quite remarkably with environmentalism. The idea of unharmed nature is at the heart of the Christian understanding of the Garden of Eden. It is a Paradise which Christians believe to be untouched by sin and the knowledge of evil, which echoes the environmental hope for the world, untouched by pollution and ecological destruction.
Shintoism and Animism also take root in these shared environmental principles, understanding nature to be a collection of spirits and gods which dwell within all living things. In these traditions, respect for nature is paramount and cultivates the utmost care for the environment simply by considering it as something other than a means to a human end. We shamefully perpetuate a culture in which nature is often considered an obstacle in the way of human development, when really, for nature, we are the obstacle. I am not here to preach, but that sense of human superiority that seems to have developed is undeniably unsettling.

The importance of ecological protection is evident in many religious traditions – whether it be Christian stewardship, or Animism’s approach to nature – to the point where it could just be seen as a subset of religious traditions. However, I’ve noticed one important difference, and that’s spirituality. Environmentalism has no need for a divine or spiritual otherness, whereas religion depends almost entirely on a belief in something outside provable scientific boundaries. This differentiation is important, but regardless of the contrasting nature of their belief systems, there is an underlying similarity which I have kept back until now. This is the striking power of hope which is essential to both religious belief and environmental belief. It is hope in the possibility of actually achieving the ideal of perfection being aspired to, whether that be a spiritual or an ecological paradise.

Of course, it may sound obvious but, without this sense of hope, the change that’s happening in lifestyle, politics, laws or traditions would be aimless. If there’s no hope of change occurring, why change at all? Hope is what spurs the global and personal action which has become increasingly evident in the news, on social media and from person to person. If you’re vegan because you know the environmental impact of dairy farming and meat production, it is because you have hope that a change in your lifestyle might help to achieve an environmentally ideal world. It is this hope which incites the change in the first place. As a social structure, environmentalism depends on this optimism as it develops into bigger and stronger movements like strikes and global campaigns.

Funnily enough, this isn’t a completely new concept. The French sociologist Bordieu explored this idea in depth and ultimately came up with what he called habitus. Habitus is the collective adoption of a perception of the world. It is the very normal way that we all assess the world, understand it in a particular way and then navigate it accordingly. He goes on to say how this becomes a pattern; by nature, we’re programmed to develop approaches to certain circumstances and then gravitate towards others who approach the world in the same way. People with shared perceptions and reactions are drawn to each other and become groups with a collective sense of purpose. This comfort and strength in familiarity is not a completely foreign concept; it’s the basis of any value structure and worldview, from environmentalism to Hinduism. It’s evident also in rituals across thousands of traditions; Extinction Rebellion, vegetarianism, Ramadan, Hajj, and Shabbat, to name only a few, and although they differ in origin, they display elements of that same habitus.

As this sense of collective environmental purpose grows traditions start to form, just as with established religions. It seems to me that when celebrations or practices become officially associated with a set of beliefs, it consolidates the purpose and meaning of the movement. The creation of Earth Day in 1970, celebrated on 21st March, is just one example of this. In a sense, I’ve come to think of environmentalism as a structure which people identify with and live their lives according to. It’s so unusual to consider a new belief system forming in the 20th and 21st century when often, and I’m no exception to this rule, people see belief as something potentially dated and historical. But, having looked into this more, environmentalism seems to be an example of just that; a scientific, post-enlightenment, unspiritual ‘religion’ which will endure for the attainment of an environmental paradise. And it’s with that thought that I end this article; religion and environmentalism are cut from the same hopeful, sociological, emotional cloth. One of collective beliefs, deeply held ideals, and ideologically inspired intentions.