Benny Morris aftermath ... Page 3
Rats, rats, rats ... ... ... Page 3
News through the ages ... ... Page 4
Chat-GPT overtakes LSE? ... Page 6
Interview: On LSE Senior Visiting Fellow Dr. Gubad Ibadoghl ... ... ... Page 8
Reflections from our Editors ... Page 9
The fall of the activist spirit ... Page 10
Pornographising disadvantage.. Page 11
And don’t forget to flip for Flipside!
THE BEAVER’S EDITORIAL BOARD 2023/24
GATHERED IN THE MEDIA CENTRE AT THE END OF AUTUMN TERM, CELEBARTING THE HOLIDAY SEASON
True beauty does not depend on others’ temporary approval; such beauty is only fleeting, it relies on a constant, insatiable chase for flaunts, compliments, reassurance, attention. It hinges on the choices of others, whether they decide to give or not the reaction that one craves.
True beauty lies in the realisation of one’s character. In the consummation of real passions and aims.
A truly beautiful self is a unique self that creates, acts, and presents honestly, yet powerfully. Whose realisation supersedes reactions; attention comes only as a transient by-product of the beautiful self. In contrast with ephemeral beauty, that constantly chases acknowledgement, true beauty does not chase, it is calm, satisfied, and infinitely creative.
Looking back on 75 years of The Beaver, I realise our paper is a beautiful paper.
Through thick and thin, times of more and less readership, faster and slower turnarounds, lavishly financed and meagerly (de)funded, The Beaver is the epitome of expression. A place for students to leave their reticence aside and write. Write what is important to them, to others, to LSE, to the world. For readers to share, converse, experience, mobilise, but to do so together, with the Beaver as a source of collective information.
It is in these senses that the Beaver realises its raison d’être, regardless of the circumstances. It is in this sense that it is, and will continue to be, truly beautiful.
Join us in celebrating this amazing milestone! We wouldn’t be here without you.
Starting off as papers stuck on walls, The Beaver has not only persevered, but evolved since its first print publication on Thursday, 5 May 1949. From the christnening of the paper by George Bernard Shaw, to covering major student protests which have marked the last century, and facing the prospect of complete defunding — we’ve seen it all, and have made it through to the other side.
The cover has changed just as much as the rest of the paper has since the beginning, but for this special occasion, we wanted to bring back the original cover from the first volume. (See if you can spot the people reading in the original logo!)
It’s the end of another academic year, and another time reminisce (stay with me, this isn’t like what I wrote in December!). I guess that’s sort of the theme of this whole issue, so apologies in advance for excess levels of sappiness. For my last editorial, in line with the headline, and since my tenure is coming to a close, I wanted to share some things I probably shouldn’t have done as Executive Editor.
Missed meetings
I have been to most Ed Board meetings this year. However, the ones I did miss were simply because I left the country to go on a trip. No real reason or excuse, call me a hypocrite if you want, I don’t care.
Yes, I used the Media Centre as my own personal office. Why? Because
for the longest time, I could not afford my own desktop, and I love the big screen too much.
Napping on the MC couch
It’s not something a serious Exec does, and should have gotten me evicted from the media centre the first time I did it.
All of this to say, be better than I was.
LSESU ELECTION RESULTS — Will be announced on 21 March at Results Night.
BEAVER IN NATIONAL NEWS — Cover story from issue 933 was covered in the Daily Mail.
KATE MIDDLETON — Ed Board cannot figure out what happened to her or where she is.
Beavers are the friendliest animal around, so you will always be welcomed at this newspaper with open arms, whether you want to write, edit, draw, take photos and videos, or yap on a podcast!
Join the 2024/25 team to be a part of the legacy of the next 25 years!
Photographed by Ben Chen and Angus Timmons
Executive Editor
Alan Nemirovski executive.beaver@lsesu.org
Managing Editor Eugenia Brotons Batista managing.beaver@lsesu.org
Flipside Editor Sana Agarwal editor.flipside@lsesu.org
Frontside Editor Vanessa Huang editor.beaver@lsesu.org
Multimedia Editor Claire Yubin Oh multimedia.beaver@lsesu.org
News Editors
Iraz Akkus
Chenoa Colaco
Features Editors
Liza Chernobay
Amadea Hofmann
Opinion Editors
Honour Astill Kieran Hurwood
Part B Editors
Emma Do
Julietta Gramigni
Review Editors
Christina Jiang
Sheila Mutua
Social Editors
Rhea Jethwa
Kaviesh Kinger
Sports Editors
Robert Khandzhyan
Matt Sudlow
Beaver Sound Editors
Kate Banner
Laila Gauhar
Illustrations Editors
Francesca Corno
Mithalina Taib
Photography Editors
Ben Chen
Angus Timmons
Videography Editors
Valerie Schwane Torres
Rebecca Stanton
Website Editors
Hila Davies
Christine van Voorst
Social Media Editors
Emma Gallagher
Fay Qian
Charles R. Stuart Founding Editor of The Beaver
From Vol. 1, No.1:
"The first part of the venture has succeeded: "Beaver" has gone to print. In its new form it has inevitably lost some of the character of the older version — the "mural Beaver," as Val Sherman calls it elsewhere — but in some respects such a loss is not to be regretted. Articles which now appear should be more thoroughly prepared and
more discriminating than was previously the case; it should be possible to interest far more students in the diverse activities undertaken by their fellow students; and the physical strain incurred in reading the paper no longer exists.
It is on the second count that "Beaver" will be most severely tested. If it fails to induce a more cohesive atmosphere among the students, if the same appalling lethargy prevails despite the appearance of
"Beaver," then it has not justified its existence. We hope that it will justify it.
In short, "Beaver's" task is to prevent students from stewing too long in their several juices," as Mr. Bernard Shaw remarks on the front page.
"Beaver" has changed its face and at the same time it has changed its procedure. ... And now we're keeping our fingers crossed."
On Monday 4 March, the LSE Law department hosted a public lecture entitled ‘Rethinking 1948 and the Israeli Palestinian conflict’ in the CKK building, hosted by Dean of LSE Law School and Professor David Kershaw with controversial guest Benny Morris. Prior to the event, LSE staff and students voiced dissent with the Law department’s decision to invite Benny Morris as a speaker, given his reputation as a radical historian and previous xenophobic remarks.
The event started at 6:30 pm, with strict entry requirements. Attendees were told to arrive 45 minutes early to allow time for security measures. In front of the CKK building students gathered to denounce the event and its speaker, affirming their support for a free Palestine and declaring that racism, apartheid, and Benny Morris have no place on LSE campus. The event had relatively low attendance with less than a third of the Sheikh Zayed Theatre
being occupied. Some students had reportedly booked tickets and boycotted the event.
As the event commenced, Kershaw took to the stage addressing concerns voiced by students prior to the event. He explained that the Law department strives to provide different viewpoints on pressing issues and that he welcomes students to critically engage with Benny Morris in the Q&A section of his talk.
Kershaw’s speech was interrupted by a student criticising Kershaw’s decision to invite Morris to the LSE campus, declaring that: “Staff, students, and alumni have raised concerns about this event and its relevance in an institution which is supposedly interested in serious academic discussion. Hate speech is not academic freedom. Racism is not academic freedom. Kershaw you have failed your students and the LSE community. Hate speech off campus. Racism off campus.”
Kershaw encouraged the student to finish his complaint. Momentarily after resuming
his speech Kershaw was interrupted again by a student complaining about Morris’s past comments: “The person you have invited has openly espoused ethnic cleansing and genocide. Professor Morris has declared ‘there are circumstances in history that justify ethnic cleansing.’ I refuse to debate whether Palestinians are human or not. I refuse to debate whether they are humans of equal worth.” As the student left the room in protest, he was called a Nazi by a fellow attendant.
Morris was repeatedly interrupted by students criticising him and outlining his past controversies. Some attendees demanded that disruptors let Morris finish speaking. In response to another disruption, Morris shouted: “You’re boring, you’re actually quite boring.” A student countered: “You’re actually quite racist.” Morris then proclaimed: “I’d rather be a racist than a bore.” Students started chanting in response: “He’d rather be a racist than a bore.”
As the event continued and interruptions ensued, Kershaw
accused students of being in breach of the Academic Code, asked them to leave the room; some attendees were escorted out by security.
The event concluded with a 45 minute Q&A which some students used to critically engage with Morris’s talk and past comments. Morris asserted that some of his quotes were either taken out of context or a joke and reproached students for being unable to take such jokes.
An LSE spokesperson said: “Free speech and freedom of expression underpins everything we do at LSE. Students, staff and visitors are strongly encouraged to discuss and debate the most pressing
issues around the world.
“LSE has clear policies in place to ensure the facilitation of debates and enable all members of our community to refute ideas lawfully, and to protect individual’s rights to freedom of expression within the law. This is formalised in our Code of Practice on Free Speech and in our Ethics Code.”
“On Monday 4 March November, the LSE Law School hosted the historian and academic Benny Morris on ‘Rethinking 1949 and the Israeli Palestinian conflict. Despite some protests, the event took place as planned with Dr Morris speaking and taking questions from the LSE audience.”
Throughout the academic year, several students have reported seeing rodents in LSE buildings, including but not limited to the Centre Building, the Old Building, and the LSE Student’s Union Building.
While many students expressed health and safety concerns over the rodents, others have a more positive outlook.
“I love the rats, they’ve become my friends” one student tells The Beaver. “I look forward to seeing them every day”.
Kieran Hurwood, one of the current Opinion editors at The Beaver, stated that the “rats were prolific” within the Media Centre in the Student Union Building. In fact, the general consensus in the Media Centre was one of support and community with the rats.
An editor of The Beaver who wished to remain anonymous questioned the alleged “discrimination against the rats”, arguing “who are we to judge these rats, they’re probably just as depressed as the Econ students who haven’t converted a spring week. Let them live in peace”.
However, this year’s Beaver Frontside editor Vanessa Huang disagrees with this narrative. “I already have mice in my flat,” she states, “I don’t need this.”
When Beaver Review editor Sheila Mutua was asked about her opinion on the rats, she enquired “rats specifically or are we grouping the mice in too?”
Other recent graduates, for instance a Politics and International Relations alumni from 2023 commented that “coming to London from a small town, I’ve found that you are never too far from a rat and LSE campus is no exception. They’re
just harder to spot in the city”.
“I’ve never seen a rat, but I’d love to”, says second-year Law student and Ethics and Sustainability Officer Himani Iyer.
Common areas where rats were sighted included behind desks in the Student Union Building and the LSE Library. These places are known as the ‘rat hotspots’ amongst the students.
An LSE spokesperson said: “LSE recognises that the
quality of the campus is an important factor in overall student experience. Regular cleaning and servicing takes place weekdays according to the specified schedule, and buildings have daily janitorial provision. We have recently carried out significant pest control measures across the campus, and the Estates team organises monthly routine inspection visits from our pest control contractor. Staff and students can also report issues via the Estates Helpdesk.”
Upon completing my bachelor’s degree in 2022, I had heard little talk of artificial intelligence (AI) outside my philosophy classrooms. Yet, when I began my master’s programme at LSE last September, AI was being discussed wherever I turned. Clearly, something huge had happened in my year out of academia, about which I knew very little. It seemed that I ought to know more.
OpenAI’s ChatGPT celebrated its first birthday in November 2023, having generated innu merable headlines, concerns, and grandiose speculations worldwide. In the same month, the UK hosted its first global AI safety summit. South Park’s episode Deep Learning leased shortly after, featuring and co-written by AI: Stan’s girlfriend is being arrested at school and “going to jail for cheating”. Her crime? Using ChatGPT in an essay.
(Spoiler!) Stan saves her, declaring, “We can’t blame people who are using ChatGPT. It’s not their fault!”, instead condemning the companies who’ve monet ised AI and rapidly made it widely accessible. He then promotes the need for equal access to, control of, and contributing power in gener ative AI. Sounds ideal – but what’s the reality? More im portantly, will any conniving LSE students be “going to jail for cheating” anytime soon?
resemblances of human texts, but have no understanding of language”, Skrandies explained, and so only “become meaningful when we read them”. He expressed AI’s potential for students, “redefining how learning looks” for language-learners especially, but there remain distinct “concerns around integrity of assessment”.
In assessment, “reliable detection is the problem and we don’t have answers yet”, Skran
tember 2023, suggesting such a ‘scramble’. It acknowledges the “potential threat generative AI may pose to academic integrity”, LSE’s commitment to academic standards and valuable awards, and their “robust approach to academic misconduct”. But it also recognises “opportunities for both staff and students to explore… to enhance teaching, learning, and assessment”. LSE is keeping communications synchronous with techno
legitimate uses for AI, provided any use be stated explicitly. Development students in the Foundational Econometrics course (DV494) are likewise encouraged to use AI for help with coding. Management students are being offered the ‘sector-leading’ Managing Artificial Intelligence (MG4J8) course, which critically assesses big data and AI from “an integrated social-economic-political-technical perspective”. Other departments defer to
such as text” for qualitative researchers, and “social dimensions such as bias”. Another course, ‘Generative AI: Developing your AI Literacy’, is also available, hopefully aiding students in the rapidly-evolving AI-era academy.
To gain a first-year perspective, I spoke to Geography student Irini: she was undertaking A Levels when ChatGPT launched, and claims that school pupils adopted AI quickly, while policies lagged. Now at university, Irini is a student ambassador and sits on LSE’s Student Education Panel. She finds AI useful for -
tions, summarising readings, and deconstructing questions, but believes it can “limit one’s parameters”. She worries thatIrini queried the notion that “AIsays for you”, and misconceptions that students have malicious intent: rather, they “just use it to make their lives easier”.
To better understand the nature of AI, I spoke to LSE Language Coordinator and linguistics lecturer Peter Skrandies. AI is essentially “human-like text that is coherent”, he began. AI are ‘Large Language Models’ (LLMs) which source data, in the form of human language from trillions of instances online. They “create
is not capable of monitoring for AI use, since “beyond 7-to9 words, any human sentence is likely unique [and] this is how plagiarism is detected”, Skrandies warned. Consequently, “all universities are scrambling to form policies” around AI, and LSE’s policy has to “evolve and become more sophisticated”.
LSE’s ‘School statement on Artificial Intelligence, Assessment, and Academic Integrity’ was updated less than two months after its release in Sep-
established a working group to include student voices.
School guidance itself is essentially prohibitive, “unless otherwise specified by individual departments”. It is also effectively federalised, devolving guidance even to individual course convenors. Many departments proactively release specific guidance on AI usage: the Media and Communications department, for example, articulated various
an originality matter, and any copyright breaches. However, it permits AI use in “literature searching, idea generation and providing proofreading or editing suggestions”, and for coding tools or generation of non-text elements, but all need declaring explicitly.
For students keen to learn more, the online audit course ‘AI for social sciences’ offers introductions to “AI in real-world settings”, its utilisation in “unstructured data
Most of her first-year friends “use it every day, for everything” – AI is nowtegrated into daily life”. Irini remains optimistic about AI’s potential use in learning, but predicts more in-person exams and assessment, which peers generally don’t want. She is less optimistic about career prospects, however, concerned that ‘high-’ and ‘low-skilled jobs’ alike may be replaced.
Formerly-hesitant MSc Political Sociology student Jack first “approached ChatGPT from a Luddite perspective”, with similar trepidation around how AI “may threaten jobs and exacerbate existing ine-
qualities”. Other ‘hippie’ concerns included surveillance expansion, “the race to market AI”, and the half-jokingly alluded-to “impending machine takeover”. It is, Jack felt, not just “a cool new toy” like any other product. Still, he is “being won over”, albeit with
Education at LSE, also believes that universities have a “responsibility to embed AI into the curriculum”, so that students properly understand it. She’s already seen how rapidly AI is changing computer-coding practices. McCoy believes that LSE is well-placed to lead
“We must ‘come to terms with what [counts] as intelligence’, as we aim to “make sense of a chaotic world” with this new technology.”
a “healthy level of scepticism”. He now uses AI for summarising material, streamlining information, and condensing his own work, to “clarify his own thinking” alongside others’.
Jack still harbours some fears: what might be lost through the “delegation of thinking to the software”, and how his own thinking patterns may change in response. Since masters students are “tasked with their own set of knowledge-creation and cannot just rely on the work of others”, ChatGPT may allow “satisfaction of research requirements without compromising learning”, Jack supposes. He lastly added that prohibitive policies are “anti-intellectual and idealistic”, and that “the more intellectual purity is demanded of us, the more meaning and applicability [are] risked losing”.
I next interviewed LSE Professor Charlie Beckett, director of journalism think-tank Polis and leader of its ‘JournalismAI’ project. His present concern was that universities are generally underprepared for AI’s “potentially destabilising” influence. However, Beckett assuaged, AI is “not a disaster, as such,” for education: it requires addressing promptly, with technology needed to monitor assessed work, but it may present opportunities for assessment, such as normalising written or oral tests. We cannot ignore or ban AI, so we must instead successfully “bring it into the classroom”.
Emma McCoy, Vice President and Pro-Vice-Chancellor in
be more frequently flagged as AI-generated, according to Skrandies, and they could feel greater pressure to use AI in competition with anglophone peers. As such, the invariably Anglo-centric academic world may further disadvantage ESL students.
with such massive debts, is “tied to the system of grading”. AI might yet force complete rethinking of this ubiquitous metric.
ideas and debates through centuries of open dialogue. We just need the measures to ensure that this endeavour is not lost to AI.
both research and teaching on Ai usage, and that “everything is on the table” regarding Ai in education.
Eric Neumayer, LSE’s interim President and Vice-Chancellor, argues that we must “embrace AI, absolutely…the world has moved on [and] everybody has access now”. AI presents interesting research opportunities, he believes, and benefits could include immediate exam feedback.
Assessment is the “real challenge”, however: we cannot fight technological progress, but he remains optimistic that universities will prevail. Neumayer is sure that “human intelligence remains key”, and won’t be trumped. We must “come to terms with what [counts] as intelligence”, as we aim to “make sense of a chaotic world” with this new technology, he professed.
On top of these issues, universities aiming for carbon-neutrality, as LSE claims to, will also have to seriously confront the significant environmental costs of AI computing. But some fundamental problems at hand are not entirely new. The first and most obvious regards integrity, honesty, and transparency: any AI usage must be stated as such (though, at present, this effectively falls to individuals). Plagiarism, dishonesty, and malpractice have always plagued academia, but AI clearly broadens the scope.
Another issue concerns systemic biases against second-language English (ESL) speakers. Their writing might
Skrandies elucidated an increasingly visible third problem: divergence between commodified academic certifications and grading systems, and “true learning” objectives. There is “conflict between the idea that we are individuals who can be objectively graded”, Skrandies suggested, which is “counterproductive to the idea of learning”. Yet academia, especially when costing students
Ultimately, as Neumayer alluded to, is the matter of what exactly counts as one’s ‘own work’. Where exactly should lines be drawn on originality? Stealing someone else’s remarks from a seminar for an essay? Mimicking a lecturer’s argument, or private conversations? Perhaps using YouTube without citing videos? If one’s parents were university-educated, that too would likely influence students’ thoughts and written work. No woman is an island, after all: academia is based in the collective production of
Nevertheless, as Isaac Newton famously said, “if I have seen further [than others], it is by standing on the shoulders of giants”. Thanks to AI, those giants have now grown far greater. It will be the fortune or misfortune of younger generations, the AI-‘guinea pigs’, as Professor Beckett jovially labelled us. With careful guidance, healthy imagination, and aspiring attitudes, we may still hope that their shoulders allow us to see further than any generation before.
Dear Editor,
I am writing in response to last issue’s “Women silenced across ranks: LSE’s mishandled sexual misconduct investigation into professor.” This was an excellent article and I am truly in awe of the women who courageously came forward, despite the attempts, time and time again, to silence them. And yet, quite depressingly, this is happening everywhere in academia. I can name many, many more individuals at LSE I have been warned about and who have faced zero consequences, to say nothing of the innumerable cases of academic misogyny we see in other universities. Academia is rotten to the core.
Best, Anonymous ***
Dear Editor,
Like many who believed that Benny Morris should not be given a free platform to speak at serious academic institutions, I was deeply disappointed by Kershaw’s decision to go ahead with the event. I believe that there are parameters to what can be considered viable within academia. Institutional neutrality is a mirage: the inclusion of any views in a
university setting is a basic affirmation of their acceptability, even if not necessarily institutional agreement. Dehumanising rhetoric, justifications of ethnic cleansing, and generally blatant racism are not within those parameters. So, a number of us made our own case clear.
Best, Cameron ***
Dear Editor, My interest in the article “Women silenced across ranks” began when I expressed concern to a friend over blank pages in The Beaver. The legal delay was not surprising, but it did prompt me to think about how sexual misconduct cases are often prolonged and tedious by design, and the many steps that will need to be taken for this to change. Recent figures show that only 3.2% of sexual assault cases are ever prosecuted. In a system that clearly favours the perpetrator, it has been disappointing to see LSE not rise to the occasion and provide principled, committed and unwavering support.
I hope that all students and staff will engage with the fantastic
work being done by Hands Off LSE and the current petition for an independent review of sexual misconduct procedures.
Best, Nick ***
Dear Editor,
The concept of institutional neutrality and free speech on campus is one I have personally reckoned with several times over the course of my student experience. Whilst the insight from LSE’s faculty member was welcome, I found myself underwhelmed by the article’s conclusion. We’ve heard this before: the necessity of discussion and collaboration, the importance of avoiding inciting further division. But this doesn’t solve the issue at hand. LSE as an institution was established on socialist, progressive, radical values. To bolster its newfound ‘neutrality’ both besmirches those foundational principles, and is frankly a grandiose oversight, as how the School chooses to invest its money, or decides whose voices are deserving of a platform, is anything but ‘neutral’.
Best, I.S.
Dr
Ibandoghlu: Son speaks out eight months after LSE academic’s detainment in AzerbaijanVanessa Huang Frontside Editor
Dr Gubad Ibadoghlu has been a Senior Visiting Fellow at LSE’s Department of International Relations since 2021. Much of his research centres on corruption in Azerbaijan, particularly through its exports of oil and gas. Dr Ibadoghlu has also, on several occasions, criticised Azerbaijani president Ilham Aliyev. At this very moment, Dr Ibadoghlu sits in a cell in Azerbaijan, awaiting potential criminal charges and a prison sentence of up to 12 years.
Dr Ibadoghlu relies on two insulin injections every day, having developed type 1 diabetes alongside his preexisting type 2 diagnosis. His resting heart rate stands at 120 beats
Bayramov first found out about his father’s arrest from a phone call with his brother. It hadn’t been a huge surprise: Dr Ibadoghlu had long been a dissenting voice against Azerbaijan’s spectre of corruption. He had demanded transparency as a board member of the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI), attended protests, and established an NGO that refused to comply with government regulations. And the government had responded accordingly, summoning him to the police station and levying criminal charges against his NGO. So Bayramov thought this would be like the other times: soon enough, he thought, it would be over.
Eight months on, Dr Ibadoghlu remains in detention, on
“He has been ‘left to die in prison,’ his son, Ibad Bayramov, says.”
per minute. His back pain is so severe that he struggles to get out of bed. His blood pressure and blood sugar are double what would be considered ‘normal’. On top of this, his cardiac issues put him at high risk of a heart attack. He has been denied medical attention and the prison conditions are only worsening his health issues.
He has been “left to die in prison,” his son, Ibad Bayramov, says.
Having left Azerbaijan to work in the US and then the UK, Dr Ibadoghlu returned briefly in July 2023 to visit his ailing mother. He and his wife found themselves surrounded by several cars on the way to her house. Without warning, their vehicle was rammed into from two sides. Plainclothes officers then emerged, violently dragging Dr Ibadoghlu and his wife into separate cars, detaining him while his wife was later released.
familiar case in this recounting. Alexei Navalny too was a political prisoner and ardent critic of his government – in his case, principally, Russian president Vladimir Putin. He died in prison in February this year, and Bayramov is doing everything he can to stop his father from careening towards the same fate.
“trumped-up charges,” as Bayramov puts it. The labyrinth of fabricated charges rests on fake witnesses, planted money and religious extremist material, and allegations from state media organisations of accepting $15 million from foreign governments, he says.
Most disheartening is that Dr Ibadoghlu’s prospects for a fair trial are virtually non-existent. Bayramov describes Azerbaijan as “one of the worst [places] in Europe” with respect to human rights: “the judiciary, rule of law, democracy – none of these things exist in Azerbaijan.” In theory, Dr Ibadoghlu can have legal representation. But most of the country’s lawyers have either been jailed or exiled, and those that remain can only really do “admin,” operating within a wider system of suppression and injustice. In Dr Ibadoghlu’s case, 45 appeals have been filed. None have been accepted.
There are shades of another
On LSE’s part, the School released a statement upon Dr Ibadoghlu’s arrest and detention, calling for his release. Several politicians, such as Jeremy Corbyn, have made similar statements; the European Parliament also voted to demand his release. But these statements “are just not enough,” Bayramov says. “The only way to stop it is by taking actions, not with words, not with statements.” He points to the necessity for the imposition of sanctions, akin to those applied for Russia. “It’s high time to say that if you don’t start releasing these people, we’re not going to let this continue.”
Even so, Bayramov sees sanctions alone as insufficient in addressing the systemic issues at hand. Western nations, he contends, have historically engaged in lucrative business deals with countries like Russia and Azerbaijan, allowing them to flourish economically.
In 2022, for example, the EU signed a deal with Azerbaijan that would double imports of Azeri natural gas by 2027. Nations ultimately engage with regimes that serve their self-interest. Sanctions then ring hollow when decades of persistent financial backing have laid the foundation for these atrocities to happen in the first place. He elaborates, “How did Russia finance their war in Ukraine? Through selling oil and gas to Europe.”
Bayramov urges individuals in the UK to contact their MPs, demand answers from the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office, and
ensure access to adequate medical treatment for Dr Ibadoghlu. Resident in the UK for two years before his arrest, Bayramov stresses the importance of the UK’s diplomatic intervention to support Dr Ibadoghlu.
Even within Azerbaijan, Bayramov describes expressions of solidarity that are begin-
[within Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus] that has not had any major changes in the political sense,” he says. Dr Ibadoghlu remains steadfast in his belief that Azerbaijan can one day become a democracy – “and I’m sure he will continue fighting for it until his last breath,” Bayramov adds.
On a personal level, Bayramov
“But these statements ‘are just not enough,’ Bayramov says. ‘The only way to stop it is by taking actions, not with words, not with statements.’”
ning to emerge. On social media, reports on Dr Ibadoghlu from state-run media increasingly garner dislikes and negative reactions. Unable to quell the growing discontent, comments on Facebook and X abound, indicating a desire for change and justice.
And perhaps this discontent foreshadows Azerbaijan’s future. Bayramov points to some other post-Soviet states that have had major protests and revolutions: Ukraine, Armenia, and Georgia. “Azerbaijan is the only post-Soviet country
is finding ways to keep going. When the news first broke, he “probably went a month without even understanding that time is passing. All the buildings looked the same; every day looked the same.”
Still, he remains unwavering in his advocacy and support for his father. “He told us that whatever happens, you should have a goal to fight for,” Bayramov says. “My goal is to get him out of prison. And until that happens, I will keep my hope as high as it was on day one.”
The Beaver’s meaning
Whilepulling this issue together, I’ve been processing the end of my three years at this paper, I think I’ve remained stuck in denial. It almost seems like my time at The Beaver felt like 75 years, yet it flew by in the blink of an eye. The cliche of “this feels like it was yesterday” is the only way I can think of describing how I remember my first day on the paper, coming into a Features meeting with a pitch about alternative career paths at LSE.
I always imagined the work I’d do here to be as glamorous and exciting as Rory Gilmore circa Yale Daily News. And sometimes, it is. But I think the most rewarding part of my job has been seeing everything come together after pulling through the not-so-great bits — the eight-hour formatting days, the tiring fights with LSE and the SU, and the tedious copyediting, among other things. I think working for so long on this paper has taught me what The Beaver is all about: it’s about a community of people coming together and putting the work in to create something from nothing, not for any other reason than because we care.
No one who’s worked on The Beaver (back in 1949, or in the 1970s, or now) started off caring about the paper — but it’s something that we’ve all grown to love for the impact it can produce, that rewarding feeling after every issue that comes out, and most importantly, because of all the amazing people with whom we’ll forever be intertwined with on paper. And for that I will always be grateful.
Vanessa Huang Frontside EditorEmerging from the throes of news creation, I often joke that my role over the past year has amounted to little more than peddling gossip. By virtue of my role as Frontside Editor, juicy tidbits are often tossed my way. And it doesn’t help that as an ed board we’re often sat in the media centre, gleefully trading the rumour mill’s latest concoctions. They say it’s the journalist’s job to bear witness. I’ve been wondering what that means.
Gossip certainly carries negative connotations: invasive, tasteless, and stamped with a predominantly feminine stereotype. Journalism, on the other hand, is feted for being truth-seeking, authoritative, and trustworthy. We strive to separate ourselves from the lowly gossip. We tell ourselves we’re doing it to benefit other people. We coax secrets from the most reticent of sources, eavesdrop on private conversations, shamelessly exploit the vulnerabilities of others, and tell everyone – all in the ostensible pursuit of spreading “information.”
This isn’t to say that journalists are simply profiteers of human misery, festooned with bylines and press passes. There is undeniably important journalism, stories told with care and compassion. But the incentives are there for us to spin lurid tales – to commodify suffering for our own fulfilment. When I look back on my work from the past few years, there are certainly pieces I’d be glad to take back – or at least articles I’d rewrite, interviews I’d redo. Telling someone else’s story is a weighty responsibility. It deserves to be handled with care.
Sana Agarwal Flipside EditorFor the love of words
As a child, I always used to hide in my bed with my little journal that had a Journalism, or professional gossiping
shiny pink lock on its clasp, a sacred place for all my doubts, fascinations, and broken rhymes. Over time, writing became isolatory in nature, my own little endeavour. In my 10s it was a side quest I had discovered, one that required me to yap rhyming words, stringing them together in a poem. In my early teens it transformed into something partly cathartic, partly cringe as I, like every middle schooler, thought my life was doomed.
If you’re someone who has felt like life has taken precious things away from you before, you’ll understand what I’m going to say next.
In the past years, a lot has been lost and gained, but words have always stayed and that for me is what laid at core of the ‘act’ of writing – the fact that it was wholly mine, unshared. Not anymore though, and I say this with the utmost gratitude.
From the time I stepped into the media centre for the first time to now, on my very last formatting weekend – this paper has shown me the greatness and limitlessness of sharing words. And how, when shared, they stretch way further than any of us individually can. It has birthed camaraderie that overcomes the solace of writing alone. A furiously passionate band of equally chaotic individuals united by one thing –words. And so, here I find myself so at peace, having shared my first love with all of you. Thank you for showing me that both love and words, when shared, Honour Astill Opinion Editor
Whiplash at LSE
Let’s face it. LSE is a bit shit. I was first transplanted to London in 2020 armed with the warning from an acquaintance that LSE was a ‘profoundly Houellebecqian environ-
ment’. But I had failed to anticipate just how much the institution can be your oppressor one day, a faceless, antipathetic machine, causing bureaucratic nightmares. Or your best friend the next, home to the friends who make your heart warm or dazzling and pre-eminent experts or dozens of opportunities to transform your life.
Nonetheless, the experience is occasionally pockmarked with what feels like serious transgressions which incite discontent in the community without much in the way or redress. OGs will remember hearing about cleaners’ conditions or Hotovely’s invitation. These days, hosting Benny Morris or allegedly protecting an abusive professor comes to mind.
It’s ironic being part of The Beaver is what has personally inundated me with LSE’s bad press, but also been home to many perfect and tumultuous moments, which means unfortunately I can’t help but love the school.
Amid all of the problems LSE is facing, who knows what the future holds for the newspaper. No one can promise it will go on (like this) forever, or knows how many handovers it has left in it. Just this year did the paper narrowly escape existential defunding threats. But I do know that for a few years, we were here, and it was beautiful. I hope the spirit and soul be-
Kieran Hurwood Opinion EditorA purpose for journalism
It can be hard, in the modern world, to justify formal print journalism. Much discourse and news is now distributed via blogs, Twitter, podcasts, or short-form videos. Media is saturated beyond common human comprehension - it would be impossible to know of every content creator, to listen to every viewpoint. As young people, I feel
we usually have a tendency to over-rely on these mediums to supplement our increasingly shortening attention spans.
Not all is lost. Where we in the print and formal digital journalism sector maintain authority is through trust and training. While I’m not a huge fan of the gatekeeping around British journalism, the imposition of legal requirements, moral standards, and ethical considerations on our work gives us greater credibility. They protect us, and they protect the subjects of our journalism. It is not the case that The Beaver has always had to abide by these rules - The Beaver’s Sports section in the 90s certainly didn’t anyway. In the era before social media, before the digitalisation of our paper, the likelihood that we would be sued by a public figure unhappy with a claim made in our fledgling paper was improbably small.
Today, the rapid and sometimes uncontrollable dissemination of information means that we in the print sector have a new purpose: accurate and ethical reporting. In the midst of hazy conspiratorial stories cooked up by journalistic amateurs, student and trainee reporters are now relative professionals. At 75 years old, The Beaver’s stories may not always be widely spread, but they are valuable teaching tools and examples of our integrity as young journalists.
The reputation and repertoire of LSE has always far exceeded national borders. Though this can be attributed to the ‘stellar’ higher education standards and opportunities offered by the School, it also has much of its roots in what makes the spirit of LSE distinct from other renowned universities. Our founding mother and fathers set socialist-leaning attributes into the heart of the university when it was first opened. From the ontset, the fabric of the university was weaved with a sense of togetherness against the reigning status quo.
LSE’s pedagogy consequently focused less on theory, which higher education at that time often worshipped, and more on the importance of contemporary, bureaucratic, practical applications of learning. Webb famously claimed that “the radical vice of University life [is] the divorce of thought from action”, clearly setting priority focus on action, rather than just seminal debates trapped within the confines of the classroom. Those attending LSE were entering an environment of assertive dynamism and gaining tools to pioneer genuine change. Students were expected to be the ‘doers’ of so-
ciety and not just preachers of the hypothetical.
As I look back at old editions of The Beaver, in honour of the 75th anniversary, I can see how this reputation was immortalised. From its preliminary years in the 1950s urging students to “Boycott: Action Stations” with its very own Boycott Committee, to major headlines such as, “Can we really protest too much?” in the 1990s, every issue is filled with addressing not only important campus-wide and domestic, but also international complexities and injustices. The pictures and the coverage always emanated an unmistakable sense of unity within the student body, stepping out with big signs with even bigger volumes of people. Causing a fuss. LSE’s protest and defiance had a certain flair and yes, bourgeois, charm. A mesh of comedy, outrageous (yet successful) protest methods, and frankly jailable political commentary, no box was left unchecked. This all-encompassing charisma can be seen in the quintessentially LSE headline of the 1999 Women’s Liberation Campaign titled “NO BRA BURNERS
PLEASE, we’re LSE!” with the coverage accurately describing the event as a “defiant two fingers to all those who were anticipating a hysterical rabble of
screaming”. Now we’re lucky if we can fill a monthly town hall meeting at the SU without demanding some voucher as a reward.
I can’t help but question whether LSE’s strong fighting spirit has deflated (in fact I’m perfectly sure it has). There seems to be a domestication in the way we approach injustice, or how we stand up for what we believe in comparison to the good ol’ days. Could it be that we are all far too polarised –only defending our own niche definition of right and wrong on the international and domestic happenings? Taking to the CBG square when it suits us. Perhaps when we don’t have an important class or AC that we just can’t pass up. If so, are we losing perspective of what is important as an aggregate, as a collective, and as a community? Especially when put into a hierarchy over our own direct future.
Or are we just burying our heads in the sand, turning a conscious blind eye as long as we graduate with the LSE’s already acquired impressive reputation and hurrying to the next phase in our life where we are perhaps more hidden in our 9 to 5, less exposed or expected to bear the accountability to take to the streets by something or other?
Maybe we aren’t wholly responsible for this crisis of faith in activism. The direction of LSE’s ideology saw a sharp shift from the very top of LSE’s administration with Walter Adams, LSE’s Director in the 1960s, placing emphasis on stripping out LSE’s Fabian tendencies. Perhaps we’re finally seeing that trickle down to the student community. The adoption of institutional neutrality in response to recent world events and a change in LSE’s aim means the focus has been on providing the ‘politically correct’ takes so as not to scare away donors and speakers. We have gone from hosting the first suffragette meeting to inviting alleged gender critics and racists to our campus, guised under the branding of free speech and providing a ‘balanced’ argument. LSE’s message has therefore changed, from what’s right, to what’s acceptable; trading what is important for the progression of society’s ideology to what is politically correct at a given moment in time.
Perhaps this is far too cynical a view? Perhaps the observation is grounded in the disillusionment of a few unfortunate situations or disappointing protest turnouts. Realistically, other external factors, like
the entire direction of Western societal progression with our commercialisation and technological dependency, are also at play in diverting our attention from important realities. Even so, the calibre of our conversations and care for anyone but ourselves seems to have declined, from the collective to the individual. And I know I’m not the only one who thinks so. There seem to be far too few of us willing to share and contribute our opinion, if we have any of that left at all, as a tight-knit unit.
Maybe, we can dispel our scepticism by simply looking back at the last few weeks. For instance, our return to archetypical LSE-spirited response to the hosting of Benny Morris by our very own Law Department, or The Beaver’s illumination of perpetual sexual misconduct by LSE’s own staff. Because does it really get any better than providing a catchy chant to dismantle an (alleged) racist or cause a huge Twitter storm to expose an (alleged) sexual predator? I don’t think so.
And though this is all pointing in the right direction, we still have a long way to go before we realise LSE’s community has tragically tamed its fighting spirit. We seem to be less and less inspired by each other, generally following what the herd is doing and thinking little of anything else. How incredibly boring and disappointing. I suggest we take a look back at our own history, our archives that covered 75 years of activism and reinstate LSE’s progressive eccentricism, without which there seems to be a gaping hole in what makes LSE worth enduring.
When I first came to LSE four years ago, I was quite scared of the city, having only ever lived in a relatively unequal, semi-urban, semi-rural part of Southeast England. Whizzing ambulances, massive crowds, and too much choice from shops to restaurants to libraries now abounded around me. I mostly stuck to myself. It has been a long time since then, and through a series of fortunate events, I have developed effective social skills and to some extent, a friend group dynamic with some. This year, I have had the privilege to take up the mantle of Opinion Editor at The Beaver and to do a multitude of other things with my free time. I have undoubtedly had a good time here at LSE, and I will graduate with strong grades and lifelong friendships when I leave.
But, there is something else I have observed during my time here. Modern Britain, the intelligentsia of our nation, has become fixated with social mobility, and rightly so. Our nation is deeply, deeply unequal. The stats and our collective experiences bear this out across a range of metrics: from employment in top jobs, to top university places, to life expectancy, to incomes, to quality of healthcare and schools. Consequently, many scholars, charities and organisations have tried to rectify this. Indeed, there are a plethora of organisations devoted to helping people from disabled, ethnic minority, socioeconomically disadvantaged, and otherwise marginalised groups to get a taste of workplaces and social environments which might usually be out of reach. These experiences and programmes are frequently of excellent quality, receiving awards, and significant political and financial backing. They are part of the answer to resolving socioeconomic
inequalities in this country.
However, as someone who has applied for many of these programmes – with varying levels of success – and completed a couple, I must say that there remain substantial challenges around access, assessment, and implementation.
The core of these problems is storytelling. Many of the most successful applicants on these programmes have an amazing life story to tell. They have something in their lives which sets them apart from other candidates. This is nothing new and arguably has always been a part of job applications: when faced with the challenge of a sea of homogenous candidates, how do you pick between them without succumbing to the temptation of asking about uniqueness? Competition for schemes and supported internships is understandably high on social mobility schemes given the small quantity of places. Research internships, work experience placements funded by departments, financial support for postgraduate study – recruiters for these programmes are keen to understand our motivations and want to bring together interesting people with interesting stories to build common understanding among tomorrow’s elite.
‘My parents came to this country from (X) in the year (Y)…’ or ‘...growing up in (X) neighbourhood in (Y)…’ are common statements to hear, be-
cause these make for engaging and interesting stories which secure places on social mobility programmes. I am guilty of this myself, though for my family’s dignity I rarely discuss the more sensitive parts. I grew up in a working-class neighbourhood in a low-income household, with complex family history stemming partly from our mixed-heritage background, all while harbouring an undiagnosed disability. I was let into my local grammar school on appeal, and have now had a successful first-generation academic career in one of the UK’s top universities. I have an interesting story to tell and was able to secure access to some of these programmes. But… what about those that don’t?
and social stead. What made it worse was that many of them would be trapped in this cycle: their children forced to attend schools which were substandard due to poor funding and societal challenges, with some potentially – though not as frequently as you might expect –becoming caught up in criminal activities. This might make an interesting story, if more of them, like myself, were supported and given the chance to break out of that cycle. But it is just that: the interesting stories are those in which disadvantage is initially overcome by extraordinary luck (for example, being accepted to study at a top university) despite extraordinary embedded disadvantage. The schemes and programmes primarily select those with an interesting story for advancement, leaving behind the ‘ordinarily’ disadvantaged.
The harsh truth is that the youth demographic in the community in which I grew up was mostly comprised of white British kids who had rarely left their hometown. Some of them were immigrants, or descended from immigrants, mostly from eastern Europe, but well over half of them were white British families in poor financial
I could do. It also acknowledged that my skills wouldn’t be perfect, instead focusing on my potential for development and capacity for reflection. However, other social mobility schemes have simply asked me to narrate my life, asked me why I’m applying, often hinting that when applying for the role I should specifically cite how difficult (or different) my life has been to others. It ends up resembling something almost pornographic, asking us to perform in a certain way, act in a certain way, as if to gratify them that the donations of time and money that the lucky put towards these schemes haven’t gone to waste.
Really, what many of these schemes are asking young people to do is narrate their life’s tragedies and tribulations to a panel of the lucky few who have already succeeded, who will then judge whether we have been lucky enough, and whether we are skilled enough at telling our story of luck. In some way, I feel this is an unavoidable process, but it clearly detracts from actual skills-based assessment and discernment of potential. One positive application process I went through asked me to carry out a presentation on policies I believed would be effective for a specific situation. It gave specific parameters, genuinely assessed me on my skills, and gave me an opportunity to demonstrate what
In my view, this runs the risk of creating a narrow elite of tomorrow whose primary skill is simply to tell their story in a persuasive way, and whom are once again lucky. There is nothing wrong with telling one’s story – and it comes with many transferable skills – but I am concerned that if this becomes a priority skillset for our generation, then we may become a generation that puts ourselves down and mopes in our disadvantage. We may even compare our levels of disadvantage to others, inadvertently turning on one another when we should be focusing on fixing the exclusion of not just the interesting disadvantaged, but also the disadvantaged who aren’t all that interesting. It is true that not everyone can statistically be successful. It is true that luck plays a huge factor. But it’s also true that getting into a mentality where we simply accept a system of socioeconomic disadvantage and selective social mobility will bring little overall change to our society. Our aim should not be to elevate those in disadvantaged positions to the positions of those who have been lucky, but instead to bring about a change in which few or none experience the indignity of disadvantage on the scale that many of us have faced in this generation.
Welcoming The Beaver’s 75th anniversary, the 2023/24 Editorial Board came together this issue to celebrate our wins and accomplishments throughout our long history. From design changes to new sections, The Beaver has been constantly experimenting to push the limits of our content and journalism.
But what will The Beaver look like in 25 years, celebrating our 100th anniversary? We asked our Editorial Board, now experienced veterans in their craft as we reach our final issue of the year, for their aspirations, visions, and dreams for the not-so-far future as they themselves move onto another chapter.
Get a real pet beaver
New Data section
The Beaver celebrating 100 years winning Best Publication
story: on how LSE failed a sexual assault survivor mishandling of sexual misconduct
The Beaver journalists start getting paid
A Beaver TV station
The Media Centre getting
Pick your player!
Firstly, our very own, The Beaver -- you are serious at times but a seeker of fun. Every time you land on a box with the word “beaver” in in the text, you can swap positions with another player.
You are Baby Tembo, the elephant living outside the library. Protector of animal rights, you have one chance to resist sliding down when you land on a box with snakes.
Small but mighty, you are the LSE Penguin in front of the library. Get an extra jump every time you land on a blue box.
Last but certainly not the very least, you are responsible and trustworthy like our Executive Editor, Alan. Say Slay! every time you climb up the ladder.
What could possibly be easier than writing an article about my favourite sport? Football dominates my life in a way that many might question, especially my family and friends. Yes, I do have to watch Bournemouth v Luton on a Wednesday night. I could talk about football forever.
Football is emotion and disaster, it is passion and tragedy, triumph and despair. We love football for its iconic stories, for the fact that the underdog will always have a chance against the favourite. This emotional, mental side of the game represents both the charm and the ugli ness of the sport.
The 1950 World Cup was the first to be held after WWII and was hosted by Brazil. 13 teams took part in total, with the group stage format looking funky because of several withdrawals, including India. This was India’s first, and to date only, qualification for a World Cup. Before the tournament, the press spread narratives carrying racist tones. Among these was the myth that the Indian team was denied their request to play barefoot and therefore declined to participate. The reality however, was that it was a lack of funding, do mestic interest and prioritisation of the Olympic Games which led to the withdrawal.
Nonetheless, the tournament’s early rounds matched the enthusiasm of fans. Two teams stood out: Brazil and Uruguay, both crushed major teams along the way, in cluding Bolivia, Mexico, Sweden, and Spain. The group stage saw the first of two major shocks: USA v England, the ‘Miracle of Belo Horizonte’. American keeper Frank Borghi, a hearse driver, pulled some incredible saves all match. The breakthrough came when Walter Bahr, a pri mary school teacher, sent a looping ball into the box, with Joe Gatjens heading it past the England keeper. Joe was a Haitian accounting student in New York and washed dishes in a Brooklyn restaurant to make a living, whilst the England team were all fully professional. The underdog story of all underdog stories, with the added bonus that England lost.
“The biggest problem was this feeling among the supporters, the media, and the directors that our name was already on the trophy”, said Brazil coach Flávio Costa. That psychological pressure was doomed to crush them.
Uruguay had very different ideas. Legendary captain Obdulio Varela delivered a passionate, strong, emotional speech to rally his teammates before entering the Maracanã’s hostile atmosphere. That fateful morning, he bought as many copies as he could of that same O Mundo newspaper and encouraged the Uruguayans to urinate on them in the changing room.
Brazil scored the first goal through Friaça and sent the entire nation into raptures, but a Juan Schiaffino equaliser caused immense shock. The joy and passion of the Brazilians was replaced by a deathly silence. “Silence descended over the Maracanã, striking fear into my players’ heart”, said Costa. The emotional momentum began to shift in the stadium and the Brazilian players also lost psychological control over the game, with Varela’s loud shouting driving the Uruguayans forward. They once again displayed lethal counter-attacking football and Ghiggia put them ahead with 10 minutes to go. The Brazilian goalkeeper Moacyr Barbosa was seen as responsible, as he dived too early and let the shot go past him.
The Uruguayans were crowned champions, “I felt pain seeing them suffer. I was crying for them… It was a tragedy. A funeral”, Schiaffino commented after the match. To this day, the Maracanazo is remembered as a national tragedy in the hearts of all
And then came the final, hosted at the iconic Maracanã stadium in Rio. The stadium was freshly built, with an official capacity of over 170,000. It was sold out, though the match is estimated to have been attended by over 200,000 Brazilian fans. The atmosphere could not have been more hostile for the Uruguayan side up against the hosts Brazil.
The match was to become known as the ‘Maracanazo’.
Brazil played a free-flowing attacking style, spearheaded by the iconic front tree of Zizinho, Jair, and the team’s talisman Ademir. Uruguay were a disciplined, resilient side with a more conservative style, but all of Brazil and the footballing world expected the Seleção to make light work of them.
Rio-based newspaper, O Mundo, published an article on the morning of the final, 16 July 1950, titled: ‘These Are The World Champions’. Engraved gold watches were prepared for the Brazilian team, and FIFA President Jules Rimet was rumoured to have prepared a speech in Portuguese for the post-match celebrations.
Legend has it that thousands committed suicide in the aftermath of the match, with 3 official deaths reported from inside the stadium itself. Barbosa was forever vilified and scapegoated by fans. This was not without an element of racism, as he was one of only 3 black players in the team. No player of colour would play in goal for Brazil until 2006 and Barbosa would never play for Brazil again. In fact, Brazil too, did not play a single match for almost 2 years. The white shirt worn by the Brazilians on that fateful day at the Maracanã was considered cursed and it was replaced by the now-iconic yellow shirts, blue shorts, and white socks that we all recognise. Racism, superstition, conspiracy, and tragedy cast a huge shadow in the aftermath of the Maracanazo.
The psychological element underlying the game of football is absolutely crucial, and now it is more than ever important for players to remain in control of the mental side of the game. We have new iconic stories and narratives made every week, underdogs taking on favourites and succeeding against all odds - and yet the dark side of the game persists. The racism and discrimination, the toxic media narratives that sensationalise events, the fans who allow their emotion to boil over into extreme and ugly forms.
Just as it was with the Brazilian team in 1950, we fans are so quick to build teams and individuals up. And yet, just as in the story of Moacyr Barbosa, the Brazilian keeper on that fateful day at the Maracanã in Rio, we fans and spectators are even sharper when it comes to tearing down the heroes of yesterday. The 1950 World Cup epitomises what we love most about the spectacle that is football and its successes as a sport, but it also highlights issues of the past 75 years that still persist in the game.
Freeze-frame.
Time: last October, probably about 6:34pm, at night.
Plaice: a kind of fish, pretty nice fried.
AHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
That was the sound I made whilst being dragged off the street by the LSE Beaver (I later found out his name was Felix one warm night on the Italian Riviera during our six-month love affair). The shock of the violent animal-on-hottie attack made me temporarily lose consciousness and when I woke up hours, maybe decades later, I found myself strapped to a desk chair, my wrists and ankles bound by RAG t-shirts. I knew instantly where I was, the source of my sleeping attire for the past two years: THE MEDIA CENTRE, home to a paper I set-up personally 75 years ago, a paper that goes by the name of The Beaver
As my eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light, five figures slowly came into focus. Was this some sick, sordid game? I hoped not, as I recognised Alan, Executive Editor, and Sana, Flipside Editor, of some paper (A4 or A5? I will have to ask), and three others, some of whose names I am still unsure of. Look, I’ll get to the point - I was known around these parts. I was an incredibly successful Sports Editor in a past life. Men wanted to be me, I wanted the men to want to be me, and I at least kinda wanted to be an editor at the time. That was before I was fired - I was going to print that Minion fan fiction OR ELSE! (Kevin and Bob, you deserve each other!).
However, as Alex (Alec? Alan?) and the other ones begged, the paper was in trouble. Funding was so tight, they could only afford four brand new iM acs. Only one person could save their candy ass es and stop the extremely tight budget from go ing to waste (lol): The Matt Sudlow, a.k.a. THIS GUY.
Now, their words were kind of true. Yes, I was Sports Editor not too long ago. Yes, the read ers loved it, all one of them (thanks, Mum!). Yes, I am hot, smart, and genius. And most importantly, yes, I could save the paper.
However, there was a slight issue. I just still didn’t know what this ‘spourtz’ was (note for copyeditors: PLEASE spell this right and do my job for me). Just look at any of my old is sues: I printed whatever people submitted (well, apart from FIXTURES). I was desperate. Ideas were bled dry, dryer than a blow (like a blow dry er). But, this time it was going to be different. I wanted that incredibly prestigious SPA award nomination, a nomination that would launch my career faster than I can run, and lordy can I run moderately fast! So, after reluctantly agree ing to personally #SaveTheBeaver, I made it my
mission to learn, just what is sport? End of introduction.
To find out what this ‘SPORTS’ was, I would have to do some research. Research is the backbone of any good article, something the writers in this paper clearly are unaware of (take notes, Frontside!). So, what better place to start than this paper. Old issues. Like super old. So old, it’s kinda weird that they’re hanging around a room full of students.
The first ones I picked up were 25 years old. What a coincidence! It’s as if I’d planned it. 25 years ago, the world was a different place. The digital world was but a seedling, the 1999 Ontario Highway 401 crash had just shocked the world, and there was a whole lot of tappin’ to bring us all into existence. Most importantly for my mission, The Beaver Sports section also looked incredibly different, in that, it was actually good! Content burst from the seams just like when I try and convince myself I DON’T have great childbearing hips. Not my words, the words of a former Managing Editor, and Talisker-enthusiast, who I am not allowed to name. BORING!
It was clear to me in that moment that a quick glimpse at the 25-year old headlines would surely give me the answer I had been looking for. Sublime:
“SQUASH = SHIT: IT’S OFFICIAL”, “BASKETBALL DIP THEIR BALLS IN THE RIM!”, “EPSTEIN GETS COCK STUCK IN DOOR”, “WHO KILLED BAMBI? WHO GIVES A FUCK?”.
Ergo, one may deduce from these jejune and puerile locutions, of which one is above, a superior postulation of the conceptualization of the aforementioned ‘sport’. One must beget a historically veracious query for you, dear reader, to fortify my discernment - is fucking a sport? Insert your own punchline here, I at least want a semblance of a career in the future.
Next, but not least, if anyone drives a red Ford Fiesta with a bumper sticker that says “honk for a bonk”, I think your car is really cool, and also it is ABOUT TO GET TOWED.
Last, and least, with the word count running low and an unbelievably lax dress-code confusing me at the 24-hour gym I went to for research (something I was sure to point out when I left the next morning), I turned to the last chance saloon - the internet. According to Cambridge Dictionary, Sport is “an activity needing physical effort and skill that is done according to rules, for enjoyment and/or a job”. Oh, my all-important question is answered!
This is my final issue of The Beaver, almost three years to the week I was first elected editor. I have made lifelong friends, and also lost most of them. I was warned for ripping up the paper, and praised for ripping open my shirt. From stashes of vodka to Concentrated Lemonade, from Mika to ‘The Disposition’, who could never imagine that a lockdown whim could give me life. I don’t like conclusions, they are too final; who knows where this sporting journey of life will take me. So, to make this this truly An Ode to Matt, I will
EDITED BY RHEA JETHWA AND KAVIESH KINGERAfter a year of being your Social Editors, we come to you over-saturated with choice: filled to the brim with critiques, reviews, and discussions of all the things our writers have loved, hated, and missed. Having spoilt our readers with endless discussions on fashion, lifestyle, love, and recipes, it’s time to continue the tradition one last time. For our 75th issue, the So cial Editors bring you our Top 3. After much deliberation and discussion, we have settled on the three things that keep us going: Matcha, Mid Men and of course, Chicken Shops.
In the post-Emma Chamberlain era, where the Queens of Erewhon and Clean Girl Aesthetics run the show: undoubtedly matcha is on this list. Having lived in London for some time now, we have moved away from the Starbucks addiction that once defined our Tumblr King Kylie identities. I mean realistically, who is even drinking Starbucks in 2024? Instead, matcha defines the it-girls of the upcoming decade. Light, refreshing, caffeinated, and pretty, a Blank Street iced vanilla matcha with oat milk is the ultimate accessory. Pair it with a monochromatic outfit, or something more striking and maximalist, matcha goes with all. Looking for something sweeter for a special occasion, go for the Iced Blueberry Matcha. We do give an honorary mention to our Princesses of Knightsbridge enjoying their Café Kit suné’s (but we all know it tastes terrible) and our Cool Girls trekking down to East London for their morning Jenki and Spitalfields Brunch. While the freshly stirred matcha in Jenki remains unmatched, and the Kitsuné energy is perfect for a morning debrief, Blank Street remains at the top. Close to Holborn station and easy to find, Blank Street matcha is an everyday essential. Kitsuné and Jenki end up framing you, coming with their predetermined aesthetic labels. But you define Blank Street, where all styles are welcome.
velop a sense of humour. In which case you should keep hold of that man because they’re rare in the modern dating pool. What more could you ask for than a man who cares about what you have to say and can make you belly-laugh. A mid man who carries himself well, takes care of himself, and has good style is an instant 10/10 anyway.
Finally on our list is an undeniable classic. While we are sure this is the first time ‘Vogue’ and ‘Chicken Shops’ will be used in the same sentence, we are here to defend a freshly fried warm meal till our graves. In need of a post-lecture snack?
The Holborn Chicken Hub has thinly sliced and perfectly spiced fries, while Wrights Bar will give you the ideal pickme-up in the form of thick chips. Coming back from the club and in need of some company while you take your makeup off and watch Netflix?
Your trusty corner-side chicken shop will stay open, never judging you for going to three Sways in a row. Our favourite however has to be Phat Bite. Located in the South of London, this halal and elevated chicken shop offers you classics with a sprinkle of masala. They fuse South Asian, Middle-Eastern, and classic British flavours to give you food like never before: Masala Fries, Paneer Burgers, and Grilled Meat Platters.
There you have it, our top three picks. To close off, we wanted to add that we’ve enjoyed using this platform to share our opinions and also spotlight other creative discussions. We hope that you take what we have to say completely seriously and shape your whole personality around it.
Now, when looking for love (or a short-term distraction) we believe mid men are where it’s at. They didn’t receive abundant attention in school, meaning they actually had the time to develop a personality. No one hard launches their dates now anyway, so you don’t have to worry about what he’ll look like on your instagram. A date with a mid man will actually allow you to discuss yourself and any common interests you might share, rather than having to listen to a 10/10 explain every photo in his camera roll. If you’re lucky, your mid date may not only be interesting, but years of being brushed over might have forced him to de-
by TRISTAN JOSEPH ESPINOZA & illustrated by FRANCESCA CORNO
Read While Listening To: Prisoner of Love (Lawrence Hart Remix) by NZCA LINES
Dear Tristan, How do I search for love when my own immediate future is uncertain? Is it appropriate to? Does “the one” even exist?
Earnestly, Anxious Lover
Dear Lover,
I’m writing to you from the upstairs bar at Berlin’s Soho House, while I sip on a cosmo that tastes almost too sweet to be true. As I look around me at the dozens of millennials searching for their next connection, I’m reminded of the fact that everyone is looking for something in this life – and that hunger will never be satisfied.
I wish I could tell you exactly how to find a lover or what the most appropriate decision is when it comes to your love life, but the truth is that I never can. Love is arguably the one thing myself and NASA scientists have come to an agreement on: we don’t understand it. When I first moved to university in New York after living in a tiny farm town, I thought I’d find my Mr. Big within the first few months. And, to my surprise, it would take another year and a chance one-night stand before I’d ever meet someone who’d sweep me off my feet. He was the kindest, most thoughtful man I’d ever met, and it was hard to imagine him as anything but my inevitable Mr. Big. Yet, I felt something within our relationship was off-center and I said goodbye to him after a few wonderful months.
I never thought I would date again, especially after a breakup that made me listen to Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 Minute Version) for days on end, but suddenly I met my second boyfriend after a chance encounter only a few weeks later that turned into a period of bliss. Man number two made me belly laugh at every moment and undoubtedly, loved me like there was no tomorrow. At one time, I even thought I would marry this man and we would raise a family together in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn. But I used all my energy to love him, so I was left feeling like a ghost in my waking life. When I expressed this, our relationship soured and turned into one of the most toxic situations of my life. After an explosive fight outside a jazz bar in Tribeca, I left him to find myself again.
A few days later after wishing love goodbye, I fell into my third relationship after a blind date that was set up by mutual friends. He was beautiful – the kind of beauty that makes an entire room take notice – and became my best friend when I needed someone most. He was the type of guy I always wanted to date when I was younger, the “all-American” boy that everyone loves, someone I could talk to for hours about something as mundane as peanut butter. I thought that after two heartbreaks, my third love would finally be the one that God had always intended for me to find. But we shortly discovered that we wanted different things and that our futures weren’t aligned. So, as quickly as we met, we disappeared from each other’s lives entirely.
The point of detailing my entire love life to you is to say that the longer I’m alive, the more I’ve realized how little control I have in who I love. Yet, it’s important to never let limited time stop you from making a decision that’ll ultimately change your life for the better. None of us know the answer to the age old question about who our “one” is or if there’s even just one we’re meant to love. But, I do know that we each can have multiple lovers, in many different countries, that prepare us for the person we’re meant to eventually settle down with – and, it could even be the man I’m seeing right now. So, with the idea that your life could change at every chance encounter, I want you to ask yourself one crucial question: Are you ready to start looking?
For our 75th issue, writer Zoé emulates an article from a 2000s Beaver article, looking back on Shalin Ghelani’s top shopping spots and how they measure for the modern shopper.
In an age where TikTok trends and Instagram reels shape the zeitgeist of existence, shopping has changed and so, another Odyssey begins.
London calling to the faraway towns. Plastic power is over, Apple Pay rules all. Oxford Street is still proper trash with mosh pits of slow, slow people, herds of lost tourists with selfie sticks, and homicidal maniac pi geons. The exquisite culinary experience has expanded since 2004, KFC and Mcdonalds are the canonical stops, but now a new range of Pret a Manger, Itsu, Wasabi, and cute coffee shops (Arro!) make it a little bit more enjoyable. But I wouldn’t settle and I bet you wouldn’t either.
So, what can a girl do?
Step away from the crowd at all costs and make your way to smaller, more delicate spots. Some old haunts of London (mentioned in the old article) are settings where trendy meets timeless. From the iconic Kings Road, to the vibrant Brick Lane, and the charming corners of South Molton Street, to the posh vibes of Sloane Square, not forgetting the bustling Spitalfield Market . These are like the cool kids’ club of the city. They’re essential pit stops, where crowds are just right for a bit of breathing space.
With a culinary scene that crosses the borders and treasure troves of local sellers with everything from antiques to second-hand threads and quaint cafés, these spots are just an advenBut beware,
not all recommen- dations stand the test of time. Some might still be legitimate, but they’re just not worth the hype anymore.
Why stick to the same old Portobello Road Saturday routine, when you can shake things up on Westbourne Grove high street and Bayswater (Sunday in Brooklyn)? Forget the tourists in Covent Garden and dive into the eclectic charm of Seven Dials Market (go for a matcha custard wheel cake!)
Hop on the Northern Line for a trip to Battersea Power Station and breathe some industrial chic into your day, don’t forget the park too. And when it’s time to indulge in your green side, skip the ordinary and wander through the bustling Columbia Road Flower Market.
Last but not least, venture down Chiltern Street, where commerce and sophistication intertwine, offering a haven for the discerning shopper and urban explorer alike (Monocle is a must - not just the cafe, the shop too).
EDITED BY EMMA DO & JULIETTA
I wish to talk of ghosts when I speak of memories. Ghosts of cities, ghosts of alleyways, of darkened parks lit by construction lights. Memory for me congeals and warps into these apparitions, haunting each corner, hallway, and pavement. Yet who, I enquire the phantoms, made you such? Why have you come back with vengeance and cannot rest in the annals of history?
Who killed memory?
Visiting Gallipoli in the summer of 2019, I stood struck by the stillness of the Northern Aegean landscape. Kids splashing in the azure sea, pines stretching and bending to taste the brine mured the landscape in a calm idiosyncratic Eastern Mediterranean. A seeming paradise, it had been for over a century a site of pilgrimage for the nationalist: whether Turkish or Anzac. Monuments of the fallen strewn across the hills, commemorating the bloodiest of the Great War, had become temples to prostrate oneself to the ‘capital N’ Nation. Even within the calm, I couldn’t shake off the memories of the war my Baba kept recounting, teary-eyed, of soldiers my age running into bullets. Unrivalled bravery for the love of the motherland, of course. Mothers burning henna into the hands of their sacrificial sons.
But when I kneeled over to place my ear against a rock, I was startled to hear another scream echo through the restful sleep of our martyrs. I stumbled back, it seems there is a haunting, ghostly stirring in this geography. A latent memory, it seems, has filtered through the sands and set up a haunting of its own kind. I dig through the sand to find who it is, yet to no avail. Instead, I turn to the memory of my dede, my grandfather. He tells me it must have been the dispossessed: the memories of the Greek and Turkish villagers expelled from their homelands in the population exchange of 1923 (Mübadele), 1.6 million forcefully relocated across the Anaolian and Greek Peninsulas. Lives ripped apart, languages forgotten, and lineages erased, the great ‘unmixing’ of the Greek and Turkish nations was taking place, predicated on the elimination of a sedimentation of a heterogeneous memory, these unruly memories blooming against the grain.
It seems certain memories get enshrined and laid to rest in textbooks and monuments, becoming a piece within the corpus of history, the annals of power. Others, meanwhile, were discarded and relegated to the realm of the abject, left to scream through the sand. Unruly ghosts encapsulated within the hills, giving out their last breaths within the dying memories of the few. A trickle ebbing into the abyss. From Gallipoli, twenty thousand Greek speakers were sent across the Aegean. Their memories turned into whispers in their ancestral villages, congealing and clotting into ghosts of the landscape.
In motion was the transmission of national memories, real or fabricated, it did not very much matter. These memories of war were to take root and animate the land I was standing on with historicity; my Baba made it a point that I knew who I was stepping on as I walked.
A nation of memories imbued these into the landscape; the aforementioned pines turned into solitary soldiers standing guard on our burning beaches, the breeze carrying our mehmetçik’s last breath into our solemn Turkish night. What is a nation if not an accumulation of memory? Collective memory transformed this sleepy fishing town into a shrine for the birthplace of a people: a new race, the children of the Republic from which a Secular Turkey would rise. My father said so, the schools said so, the TV said so, and the marches on the street said so.
However, silence doesn’t signify loss. These ghosts still have their sway, simply unheard. The Rum ghost of Western Turkey, still haunts the traditions of the village dwellers, poking its head out in the accented Turkish, every articulation punctuated with memory of a time past. These ghosts, their memories, and nightmares, are imbued into the boulders and wrangled trees of the coast.
I’ve taken it as my duty to seek these latent whispers, to tease out these ghosts into words and to ground these hidden memories into writing. To transmit and lay to rest, to birth new annals of history. These ghosts of feminine disobedience, queer riots, and defiance of the marginalised, I will pluck these memories out of old tongues, lost books, and secrets held in the topography, buried under urban sprawl or sunk under the waves and grave soil. I invite you to do the same with me, to recover forbidden memories, and to create a world anew.
it was the beach where people came to die
Or rather where i saw them
My grandma losing friends
Mine getting old
And my parents - older
every summer when august was sweating enough to squirt its water on all We would lay down
Our bodies hot withnoise
What do you know?
Is that him?
Is that her daughter?
It was the beach where people came to get old
All faces where time digs into the jaws
Excavating old age - jellyfish and small crabs reading until it is safe to go outside
Dancing under the water and moon and swirling in the wind
Cheekbones fattening and dripping a little
Crushed lavender under the eyes like sad crescents
The stars rusty with senility and a sprinkle of tears
fuck, where is everyone?
Who is time?
Why has she robbed me of everything?
Small feet on little pebble
The lumps on your chest
Later becoming a merry-go-round of insecurities
Sexual sexuality sex and sexual sexuality sex
Appropriating your face
And that hole between your legs
Back then your sister hadn’t been hurt
Your dad still had hair
Your mum wasn’t lonely
Your brothers lived in your house too
And your great-aunt lived
On the beach at night alone
The masts lined up for their funeral boat hulls like cadavers slowly dying too - just like us
I stay silent - a little aware of me
How could I seek the empty world again?
Waves and waves and you were so tiny
Remember your short hair
The one-piece swimsuit - pink with a yellow hippo
The castles swept in sand
Drinking anguish to drown out the noise
You remember - trapped a little
A big gap between who you were
Where is she?
What is she doing?
Please come and save me
Please come and get me
i’m cold
Take me home please
Come now, bring me to the beach
Let us take the sun - allow her to judge us
To the point of redness
We can swim too and forget it all
Open water
Drown it all - the noise
The noise always Third Prizes Sharing
by EUGENIA BROTONS BATISTA
For those who are familiar with Rainer Maria Rilke, excuse the naiveté of my review, I could not help but be stunned by my first experience of his writing.
I picked up Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet fortuitously, as I was sifting through the set of Penguin Clothbound Classics in search of Bonjour Tristesse, my initial pretext for making an appearance at Waterstones on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Bookstores are a perfect site for aimless activity: I tend to pick up books (which I have no intention of buying), read a few pages, and put them down.
This is what I expected of Rilke’s Letters. But once I read the first letter, I could not close that dratted pink book. I flipped to the next letter, and the next, barely aware of bodies awkwardly shuffling past me as I stood in the middle of the aisle for 45 minutes, devouring the pages in the slim volume.
Rilke writes his letters to Franz Xaver Kappus, a 19 year-old Austrian officer cadet and aspiring writer, aiming to guide young Franz in the early stages of his journey as an artist, a poet specifically. Franz sends him poems, Rilke
gives him feedback; not on his writing, but on how Franz ought to carry himself through life. Rilke tells him about how to feel uninhibitedly, to be able to turn to the page and express pure, raw emotion - of the kind that is required for good writers - to move readers.
But Rilke is not really writing to Franz or any young poet for that matter. Rilke is writing to his younger self. He writes what he wishes he would’ve known as a young adult, in times when he was faced with the struggles of existence: its absurdity, its loneliness, its pain. He writes the words one needs in times of solace, sadness, and desperation - when the world seems to fall apart, piece by piece. He writes to rebuild hope and direction from the ruins of frustration and purposelessness.
I placed the book back on the shelf and walked limply towards the exit; ravished, overcome by the weight of my emotions finally spelled out on the pages before my eyes. I did not buy the book that day, because I had already read it. But I bought it the day after, because I needed to read it again. For those ever feeling slightly lost in insignificance, I encourage you to do the same.
Anaïs Mitchell’s stage musical Hadestown takes familiar myths – Orpheus and Eurydice, Hades and Persephone – and melds them into one decidedly anti-capitalist tale. In this story, amidst burgeoning climate crisis and poverty, Eurydice travels to the underworld, only to find herself stuck in a life of degrading labour under the reign of ruthless factory boss Hades. And thus Orpheus follows, on a desperate mission to save her.
Sung-through folksy jazz coupled with intimate staging create an experience that feels as epic as it does personal. So too does Hadestown bring performance at its very best – each cast member delivering with such sheer gusto that the audience cheers and gasps with every beat of a well-known story. In the deepest depths of despair, we hold onto our shared hope and our shared love. We take the old songs – the sad songs – and we sing them anyway.
illustrated by CHRISTINA JIANG
Luridly bound in film tropes, The Third Man should not be so captivating. Set amid the post-war tensions of a Vienna divided between the Allies, failed author Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) encounters black cats and open ladders whilst searching for his old friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles). Alpine Zither music reigns and Dutch angles slope. Yet the clichés are so neatly composed that they are charming. Maybe because Graham Greene first cultivated its mood and characters in a private novella, created solely to write the screenplay. Or, as is rumoured, because Welles secretly directed the film, instead of Carol Reed, leaving indiscernible masterstrokes. Either way, the kitschy excess never tires or bores, even where it might overwhelm. With a Cold War climax so iconic that “doing a Third Man” has become an industry byword for a twist ending, it still draws aspiring diplomats and film-makers alike.
Tobe Hooper’s classic, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a classic in more ways than it is credited for. Beyond the visceral, unrelenting atmosphere of terror that the film creates through its gritty 16mm videography, it taps into the psyche of 1970’s America. Implicating a culture both exhausted by deindustrialisation and desensitised to the violence of the Vietnam War; the film tries to make the audience understand its role in violence. While rough around the edges in production value, its terrifying grip on the audience and lasting cultural significance cements it, in my mind, as one of the most important American films ever made.
written & illustrated by ZOÉ
BOCQUILLON50 years ago today, David Bowie released Diamond Dogs and its controversial cover by Terry O’Neil. The album masters a mix of glam rock, soul, funk, and urban apocalyptic themes creating a unique musical experience that showcases Bowie’s ingenious songwriting
Notting Hill undoubtedly plays into all known romance tropes to date and yet, we find ourselves surrendering to the cheesiness of it all. A floppy-haired Hugh Grant brings the perfect amount of Englishness to the meek travel bookstore owner, William Thacker, alongside the
and theatrical flair. Its bold and inventive musical arrangements draw inspiration from Nineteen Eighty Four and the writings of William Burroughs. The album’s production incorporates avant-garde experimentation, adding to its allure, with tracks like ‘Rebel Rebel’ and ‘Diamond Dogs’ oozing raw energy. On the other hand, ‘Sweet Thing/Candidate’ demonstrates Bowie’s ability to craft intricate, multi-layered compositions, making the album one of his best and most underrated records. Diamond Dogs is a landmark work in rock history, with an unprecedented influence on the punk revolution in the years following its release. Yet its ambition and boundary-pushing innovation make it less unified than some of Bowie’s other works.
doe-eyed, perfectly poised Julia Roberts, who plays American actress, Anna Scott. The film brilliantly captures the beauty of London’s parks, lively markets, bustling streets, and the iconic real-life travel bookstore in Notting Hill. To this day, it remains a popular hotspot amongst many looking for their own meet-cutes. On its twenty-fifth anniversary this year, it is hard not to succumb to a rewatch of this classic that changed the trajectory of rom-coms in totality.
bell hook’s incisive pen is what makes her, her. If you disagree, good. She does not write to be agreeable.
All About Love is made to be a manifesto. Wired with constitutional terms, hooks makes bold statements, which might be (and are) contested, but that is one of the greatest virtues of this book. It is a rigorous examination of what we take as truisms about love.
hooks disbands the myth of Love as a hazy, irrational feeling, and replaces it with a version that requires conscious commitment, effort, and devotion. Her version of Love is relevant on a personal level, but simultaneously raises bigger questions, tying our modern experience of love to capitalism and consumerism.
Essentially, hooks shows us that there is a better, more meaningful way to love.
As I began to write this interview, hyper aware that it’s my last one, I could feel a little ache accompanied by a sense of pride. At the beginning of this year, myself and the Executive Board have had a lot of chats about the 75th anniversary issue, only to find ourselves here, deep in the trenches. For this last issue, I thought it was only worthy to interview the man who brought Flipside to life, back in 2016 — Jacob Stokes.
Jacob entered the Media Centre on a Wednesday, as we scheduled the interview to happen right after our Editorial Board meeting, where I announced my anticipation to meet him, half-delighted, half-drained (from the madhouse that is this newspaper). As he found himself in the chaos once again, he greeted me and Ben, the photographer. “I wish I had a photo somewhere of the Media Office before the year [I joined], it was just an absolute wreck, completely,” Jacob told me later, during the interview. “I can’t stress just how disgraceful it was. We spent like a week cleaning it out to curry favour the SU. [We went] through basically like a decade’s worth of cables and rubbish. And we found some incredible things. They’re like stuff that has just been sitting there for about 10 years.”
After wrapping up our photoshoot, Jacob and I found ourselves sitting in the Denning Cafe on the first floor of the SU building. To kick-start the interview, I enquired about Jacob’s early days at The Beaver, where he served as the Executive Editor, “I actually won the position of [the election] by a vote. Me and this other person were tied and then they found one vote somewhere! It was a proud moment for me.” Jacob joined the paper as a Part B Editor in his second year at LSE, after being completely detached in his first, a strong testament to the legacy of the Part B editors who go on to embrace the sometimes-brutal-yet-infinitely rewarding role of the Flipside Editor.
“If you go back to the paper, you can find in the archives, anything from around 2014, 2015, it’s terrible. There was little emphasis given to the undergraduate experience or student experience in general. So much of the paper [at] the time reflect[ed] the same,” Jacob said, rather candidly, elaborating how The Beaver at the time wasn’t particularly engaging or exciting. “So really, what I tried to do with it was to kick-start some way of thinking about how the paper should be,” Jacob added, which marked the start of the transformation The Beaver was about to undergo.
“I’m not sure [whether] students want[ed] a student paper, or a magazine … or some kind of hybrid between the two,” he said, explaining the challenges faced by the Executive Board at the time. He discussed how student journalism is uniquely equipped with space for innovation, which can be difficult to find elsewhere, and young minds are not just receptive but exhilarated to create. “We needed something a bit more lowbrow, with more art and more culture. We kind of pushed the boundaries in terms of absurdist humour.” Jacob smiled craftily, as I nodded having gone through the archives over the past weeks, which delivered a knocking laughter (thanks to the amusing headlines and almost traumatising graphics!) for myself and editors.
interview by SANA AGARWAL photography by BEN CHENI then asked him the much anticipated question, “Why did you call it Flipside?” to which Jacob smiled rather warmly. I could tell he was briefly teleported, deep in thought for a moment. “Actually, my girlfriend at the time mentioned calling it Flipside, and I thought: ‘That’s a great name.’ But at this point, [no one] put two and two together. I just remember standing there [in the SU cafe] getting a coffee and I had last week’s paper with me, upside down. And then I was, I was going like this,” he said, pretending to flip the paper, “and I was like, whoa, holy shit.” And so Flipside was born.
“I just remember bolting upstairs, and I was just like, ‘Guys don’t say anything!’, and then just doing the thing, just flip[ing] the paper, pitching it,” he added. I could sense the enthusiasm that marked this transformation of The Beaver, even years after its origination. “The idea is actually very simple. And [it’s] pretty damn timeless, you actually have a clear separation between the two sides of it. It gives you so much more creative space in both places. And you don’t actually have to really worry [whether] the two things [Flipside and Frontside] fit together, or are commensurate with each other, because they’re set,” he explained the thinking process behind his genius.
“Maybe I wasn’t really a natural fit to be the Executive Editor. But I think it was useful to have someone like me for the reroute, for the revamp. Melissa and my entire team worked very hard,” he added, giving credit where it’s due.
Jacob explained how back in his days the team printed 32-page issues every week, “It did really affect the team like towards the end got very strained. And it was difficult for us all to kind of keep bond in the way that we were in the beginning. It was more for me just to kind of step away and just go no, okay. This is all too much for all of us, so towards the end, the last few weeks of it, we did start to cycle through people in terms of taking on responsibilities.”
When asked what his biggest takeaway from The Beaver was, he revealed, “There’s limited time. And I’ve worked very hard to scale down my visions when it comes to projects or life, or just relationships with people in general, and just learn to be a bit more satisfied with just what you can do. And be a bit more clear about your limitations.” Him and I went on to discuss how this is especially central to student journalism, because we as young writers tend to “let our imagination just spiral out of control.”
When asked for final remarks, Jacob brought up the original vinyl called ‘Sgt. Pepper’s’ by The Beatles, “When the needle gets to the end, it just goes around the inner groove over and over again. [It’s a] four second clip of John saying, ‘Never could be any other way’ … That always stuck with me.” As he confessed this, there was something stirring inside me, wrapping up my very last Flipside Interview. And to that I say, I am glad that it’s this way, I’m glad I was here, with all of you. He was right, it never could be any other way.
edited by SANA AGARWAL photography by BEN CHEN
Words fall short as I try to pin down what Flipside and each on of you mean to me. So this is my tribute to all my lovely editors. An ode to the endless banter, camaraderie, and most of all love. Thank you for everything you are and everything you do. We were here and that’s what remains. This is us, this is flipside. That’s my time. - Love, yours only, Sana
REVIEW: Timelessness in the 20th century
SOCIAL: Stick to the Classics
SPORTS: A final farewell
PART B: The legacy lives on
