REVIVAL Plain Text

REVIVAL

4 Features

14 Culture

What Happens Now? by James Taylor Heaven as a Queer on Earth by Cameron Cochrane

Sunrise, Sunset by Julia Hegele Fact, Fiction, Folklore by Daniel Castro The Time for Talk is Over by Monique Joy Raranga

22 ‘In a Dream’ Illustrated Photoshoot 36 Art&Photo 28 Politics

Belief in the Time of Bezos by Eilidh Akilade Rise Up For Rojava! by Jane Herbelin

Matilda Eker Christina Kyriakidou Chris Timmins Jordan McKibbens

45 Style&Beauty Skating to the Cottage by Lucy McLaughlin Very Fierce and Angry by Kieren Mehta

52 Science&Tech I’m Manifesting It by Abigail Whelan Where Witchcraft Meets WhatsApp by Tiarna Meehan

57 Creative Writing Elemental Struggle by Hannah George

Vivre by Emma Urbanová Nature is Not for Everyone by Eden Dodd

A Letter from the Editors

We start this year’s spring issue with a question: ‘how are you doing?’. It’s a loaded one, and one that many of us don’t feel up to answering truthfully these days. The naive optimism of last spring is a fading memory. The annual promise of renewal this season brings feels somewhat dampened. You’ve probably been better, and to be honest so have we. At the beginning of our time as Editors-in-Chief at GUM, we anticipated our spring issue would be released into an almost-normal world. One that had been ‘revived’, you might say.

As we reach the one year mark of an era defined by loss, hardship, and mindnumbing governmental fuckups, REVIVAL serves as a moment of release. It is the sickly sweet, emotionally charged aftermath of pent-up rage, and an antidote to mundanity. The articles in this issue ring with an intense passion and a refusal to be silent in the face of suffering.

While engaging with timely issues like the inadequacy of current mental health advocacy and the tumultuous political situation in Rojava, REVIVAL also delights in colourful, sensitive journalism concerning modern Witchcraft, the power of Camp aesthetics, and South American folklore. Even REVIVAL’s most colourful, farcical moments inject their absurdity with a sharp political bite. Though our culture may not yet be revived from its sickness (viral or otherwise), what we have borne witness to over the last year is a growing intolerance for our entrenched societal injustices. It is precisely this renewed activist rigour which our spring issue exemplifies.

Unfortunately the local independent cafes and university buildings which stock GUM in its physical form remain closed, and so our spring issue marks a temporary shift to the realm of online-only. Without the financial limitations that come with printing, REVIVAL takes full advantage of it’s new digital home. The result is a collection of personal essays unconfined by insensitive word limits; in-depth investigations into international politics; and an expansive collection of illustrations, artwork, and poetry.

The intention for REVIVAL from the beginning was to focus on the restorative powers of healing - be that in the spiritual, environmental, or cultural sense. In a time of relentless uncertainty and ever-increasing frenzy, the pieces in this issue encourage stillness: a chance to learn, to contemplate, and, most importantly, to heal.

Complete with one terrifying human-sized bunny and only a few mentions of the C-word, we hope REVIVAL provides you with a much needed moment for personal introspection. Enjoy.

With love, Graham Peacock (he/him) and Lara Delmage (she/her)

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WHAT HAPPENS NOW? CW: Discussions of Race/Racism and Mental Illness

WORDS

James Taylor (he/him)

ART

Yana Dzhakupova (she/her)

How are you doing? Are you alright? In non-pandemic times these questions would be trite, banal, asked with dull formality and answered in the same style, a part of the awkward social rituals we all dutifully performed.

But current - seemingly unending - circumstances have put new emphasis on this cliched inquiry, slanting the verb in italics - ‘no really, how are you?’ It is now asked in genuine terms, because, this time, we care – not that we didn’t always before, but the unique crisis we are all enduring has reverted the question back to its roots, concentrated it to its purpose. The expected answer is no longer taken for granted. Because we are probably not all right, not all right at all. And so, I put the question to you, reader: how are you?

How are you feeling?

Are you coping alright?

As always, it’s totally fine if you aren’t. It’s been tough. The healing process from trauma (and the last year has been traumatic and then some) can be arduous, and often we’re not adept at acknowledging we need to heal. Of all the cliched phrases, one always sticks out - time is the greatest healer. And despite its hackneyed reputation, it’s true - even if time as a concept has seemingly been chucked into the air along with everything else.

We always complained we needed more time, and then bam! For some of us, here it was, acres of it, stretching far off into the horizon.

But it hasn’t been time to go to the gym, or time to spend with friends. It has just been time, blank and impersonal, a lump sum. We have been forced to take time on its own terms. At the beginning, there was a dishonest rhetoric of using all this time to ‘improve’ ourselves: to get on top of mental or physical health, to pick up that new hobby. And it was utilised by many, myself included. But trying to ‘heal’ in a period of

intense global sickness is the most striking of contradictions; it is the juxtaposition of two opposite realities which cannot coexist.

As a long-term depressive, attempting to magically heal my mental difficulties in a period of isolation was never going to work.

It was all subliminal distraction, more than anything, and it was one not all are afforded. The key workers, the sick, and the grieving were never given the option to use this time for such.

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Healing is not about time as substance, it’s about time as process. Having countless free hours will not fast forward healing: it takes time in its natural, undiluted form. It’s about moving forward through time, not being static within its confines. Trauma has many facets, and despite the severity of individual problems many of us have been facing, it’s fair to say the last year has also been a time of collective political trauma. And how do you heal politically? If we think back to last May, the Black Lives Matter demonstrations and protests in the wake of the murder of George Floyd brought attention to a deep societal wound that had never been allowed to heal. The mood was one of fury and exhaustion – if the world can pull together to fight a physical sickness, why can’t there be the same efforts against the sickness of injustice, prejudice, and systematic racism?

Perhaps the most potent healing energies come from a desire for, and being part of, tangible change.

We have the power to instigate change, regeneration, and metamorphosis, if we can truly pool our resources The desire to change, to heal, has become universal. It has spread to environmental and global issues.

We have been given more time to read, educate ourselves, and reflect.

And it’s safe to say, everyone is tired. Taking agency in national

or individual regeneration will undoubtedly be taxing. At the time of writing, however, there are invigorating signs of progress. The result of the recent US election has culminated with the removal of one of modern politics’ most toxic figureheads. And, finally, a vaccine is here - working to our knowledge, at least. There was a palpable euphoria on the days these glimmers of optimism were announced, a collective sigh of: ‘finally’. It showed that we have the power to instigate change, regeneration, and metamorphosis, if we can truly pool our resources.

National conversations feel reenergised, forward-looking.

But these material factors will only go so far towards a global, collective, spiritual healing. I think, now, no one wants to go back to how things were before.

Healing in the biological sense is the replacement of damaged tissue with an entirely new layer of cells. So, the process of spiritual healing is not about a reclamation of the old, pre-trauma self, but the constitution and the acceptance of newness. If we just return it will erase our experience, the very material of our metaphorical tissues. Think of the stages of grieving: acceptance is the final, almost transcendent, step.

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Trying to ‘heal’ in a period of intense global sickness is the most striking of contradictions; it is the juxtaposition of two opposite realities which cannot coexist

Healing is individual and temporal, and we need to allow ourselves to grieve before we can accept. It will come in its own time. So, what to do with all the exhaustion, the pain, the anger?

Accept it. We can’t ignore it, or make it go away, so our only choice is to accept its reality. Scar tissue is stronger, after all. It’s not something we can force on ourselves in all circumstances, but acknowledging the need for its presence - is vital. We are moving towards a ‘new normal’, as they say, but I think that phrase has become detached from its origins now. We’ve found ourselves untethered: we don’t know what we’re moving towards, and it certainly doesn’t seem normal.

During these long months, music has become a solace. One album from countless that has caught my attention is Titanic Rising by Weyes Blood. On one beautiful track, Wild Time, it sums up not only practically everything I’ve been feeling, but also what healing truly offers to us all. She sings, ‘Turn around, it’s time for you to slowly let these changes make you more holy and true... it’s a wild time to be alive’. And isn’t it just.

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SUNRISE, SUNSET: reclaiming my

Judaism in the advent of the alt- right

WORDS Julia Hegele (she/her)

CW: Discussions of anti-Semitism Jewish by blood, suburban by my parent’s decision, I had lived my life in relative distance from my ancestral community. With the exception of lengthy seders and early memories under palm fronded sukkahs, my experience as a Jew has been parched by the evangelical draught of cultural deprivation endemic to the urban sprawl of Denver, Colorado. With the exception of my annual escape to a summer camp where I could exist blissfully in Jewish space, my relationship to my people was born out of self preservation and silence. I was bonded to the Torah not by communal recitation but by self taught Hebrew; major holidays were spent in a high school surrounded by four different churches; even family recipes went flavorless when consumed alone. Demographically I was a Jew, but my identity was compromised by inaccess, shame, and isolation. Although my family kept in touch with cultural practices, we stayed out of synagogue and essentially forgot the ancient spiritualism we were indebted to. The practice I was most familiar with was struggle - the ancient unifier of a people who have been persecuted since the dawn of Judaism. I had resigned myself to a second hand knowledge: stories of practice with none of my own to connect through, watching my religion through documentaries, statistics, and the pages of books.

Revival - Spring Issue

Features When swastikas descended on Charlottesville, I expected to feel the same dull ache that comes when you familiarise yourself with the extent of anti-Semitism, but I felt something different. I was wracked with such a pang of devastation that I couldn’t sleep for days, a breaking that felt older than my soul. Yet I felt I didn’t deserve to grieve. I wasn’t practicing. I wasn’t active. My Judaism was all hypothetical, dormant. It was this unbearable and unspeakable guilt that I bore with me from the mountain west across the sea to the UK in the autumn of that same year.

I never expected a break in anti-Semitism, but I was unpleasantly surprised by the normalcy surrounding anti Jewish rhetoric in my new home - a grounding of prejudice that was made more painful by an even sparser community of Jews. In my first day alone in Glasgow I took to the streets, crawling up hills and panting down long stretches of motorway until I reached the pinnacle of Garnethill. Through trees and light washed sandstone I was jolted out of my daydream by a Star of David. I had passed churches, Finnieston’s gurdwara, mosques to the north and south, and here joining them was the most charming synagogue I’d ever seen. Standing in its courtyard I felt a pull of something deeper than want or need. I was at home. The place before me was not claimed by my city friends, or my religion teacher, or even my mother and her worn, golden menorah. This was a place entirely my own, free to explore and free to falter in. I don’t think I truly felt G-d until that moment - and not the defined, personified G-d of contemporary imagery, no white flowing beard or halo, but the G-d who appeared to Elijah as a still, small voice after fire and flame.

I had resigned myself to a second hand knowledge: stories of practice with none of my own to connect through, watching my religion through documentaries, statistics, and the pages of books

The same day I found G-d, extremists gathered in Berlin to commemorate the hanging of Rudolph Hess.

A month later I spent my first High Holiday in my beloved new home, sharing the motion, the kindredness, the language of my people in communal prayer for the first time. I saw a swastika keyed into a wall on my walk home.

Two months after that I had my Star of David ripped off my neck in a student union.

I watched my activist idols refuse to denounce anti-Semitism, from Alice Walker to the leaders of the Women’s March. I wept at reports of vandalism, violence, normalized beatings of my people around the world. I nodded as people told me sweetly, ‘You don’t look Jewish’, asked my opinion on Israel, and proceeded to entreat me to theirs. But I also lived with humility and cognisance, respect for others and kindness - not merely in theory but in practice. I incorporated prayer and reading into my daily routine. I taught my friends to make hamantaschen, I bundled my own spices for havdalah, I lit candles and hid my eyes from their holiness.

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I DON'T THINK I TRULY FELT G-D UNTIL THAT MOMENT - AND NOT THE DEFINED, PERSONIFIED G-D OF CONTEMPORARY IMAGERY, NO WHITE FLOWING BEARD OR HALO, BUT THE G-D WHO APPEARED TO ELIJAH AS A STILL, SMALL VOICE AFTER FIRE AND FLAME

A year after I first attended services, I watched 11 worshipers die in a synagogue.

I felt the same rage, the same pang, that same endless reverberation of anguish that came to me after Charlottesville. But this time there was no numbness, no disconnection, no confusion as to my place. As I had been rebuilding my connections to my people, the antithesis to our existence had been rallying with the same strength. But it is now, as the alt-right spills further into our streets, our timelines, and our governments, that I see with clarity the brilliance of my people. Our unparalleled commitment to living through circumstances that deny our place on this planet, our reliance on community in times of peril - these are the things that I was missing, that needed revived from deep inside me. As those who oppress us grow in strength, so must those they seek to diminish. There is no ‘good’ time to come into one’s Judaism: prejudice is a great constant of our identity. However now I am not resigned to numbness, but rather I am compelled with the agency of thousands of years to do what the newly radicalized right would hate the most: grieve, recover, and live.

When two celestial bodies are enlightened, the one that burns brighter will eclipse the other for a moment. But it is the one that burns steadily that will engulf the weakened, rasping husk of the exacerbated star. It is a stolid, warm, existence that - despite burns - will always shine through the violence of the universe.

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THE TIME FOR TALK IS OVER

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CW: mental illness, discussions of race, queerphobia, and transphobia

WORDS Monique Joy Raranga (she/her) ART Rosie Stobbie (she/her)

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When reflecting on the status of mental health advocacy, it’s easy to conclude that we’re doing much better than 20 years ago. And, in a way, it’s true. Long-term movements are steadily changing public attitudes towards mental health – last year, the Time to Change campaign reported a 12.7% improvement in attitudes towards mental ill-health since 2007. And in the unprecedented (sigh) age of lockdowns and self-isolation, protecting public mental health is on the minds of many. If we couldn’t before, we can safely say now that people are at least talking about mental health more than ever.

Amidst this growing crescendo, however, there are vital details being ignored - to the detriment of long-term mental wellbeing. Current strategies - whether from governments or grassroots movements - often centre around de-stigmatisation and ‘speaking out’. This combats the all too common culture of dismissal, disbelief of mental illness, and fear of the mental ‘abnormal’ which pushes sufferers into the margins. Yet, while it is vital to cultivate a compassionate culture, there is a downside to this hyperfixation on a singular step within a much longer journey.

Too often mainstream movements homogenise those suffering from poor mental health - failing to investigate the innumerable factors which lead individuals to require help in the first place. Consequently, a clear and personalised map for navigating recovery is not determined.

Once people do speak out, self-care practices like ‘staying hydrated’ and ‘journaling’ are among the first to be recommended by peers and professionals alike. But, while valuable, there’s a limit to what your Chilly’s bottle and the notes app can do. It’s fantastic that more people are overcoming stigmas, speaking out, and asking for help, but are those in power - the ones who are supposed to be listening - actually doing anything? Does mental health advocacy as we know it go deep enough?

Combatting systems of oppression, such as classism, racism, and queerphobia, have an underestimated impact on the deterioration of our mental health. The WHO’s definition of health specifies ‘physical, mental, and social wellbeing’ – it’s essential to see these three avenues of wellbeing as both individually important and interwoven. But the very causes of societal ill-health are often side-lined in the mental health discussion, especially in the traditional ‘objectivity’ of science and medicine. Apolitical strategies are not enough: oppression must be addressed as a public health concern.

For one, the far-reaching effects of capitalistic ideals are a clear impairment to our collective mental health. The central theme of profit-over-person necessitates the diminishment of the worker to an expendable machine, condemned to fulfil corporate expectations for survival.

A system which relies on the threat of withheld access to basic necessities will grind away the mental stability of anyone - especially those with a depleting bank balance. Capitalism thrives not only at the expense of mental health, but directly off the back of it. Anxieties surrounding job insecurity - and the cascade of homelessness, starvation, and poverty that can follow - allows for exploitation of the workforce through lower wages and longer hours.

This reality is criticised by political theorist Chomsky, and cited by economist Greenspan as the reason for US economic success. Profit-oriented systems are fundamentally incompatible with the social, physical, and mental welfare of communities. Can simply speaking about the resulting mental turmoil and engaging in self-care practices truly help in a system that breeds and feeds off such habits?

It's fantastic that more people are overcoming stigmas, speaking out, and asking for help, but are those in power - the ones who are supposed to be listening - actually doing anything?

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PROFIT-ORIENTED SYSTEMS ARE F U N D A M E N TA L LY INCOMPATIBLE WITH THE SOCIAL, PHYSICAL, AND MENTAL WELFARE OF COMMUNITIES

Prejudices against racial and queer identities, amongst others, also have an indisputable mental toll. Systemic violence against those who aren’t white, heterosexual, and cisgender pose a danger to all aspects of health, mental health being no exception. To scratch the surface, Stonewall have found tragically high rates of mental ill-health amongst LGBTQ+ people, with over half experiencing depression in 2018. These issues also persist as marginalised individuals navigate treatment: for one, Black men are 17 times more likely to be diagnosed with a serious mental health condition than their white counterparts.

The ‘neutrality’ of medicine, be it biomedical research or applied healthcare, is ignorant to the unconscious biases ingrained in our systems; and it is this ignorance which facilitates its violent disregard of those experiences which stray from the privileged norm. It’s important to interrogate the motivations behind our research and the providers of medical training – who are they really looking out for while ignoring the voices of marginalised groups?

It’s critical that we take an intersectional approach in all discussions surrounding the forces breeding mental ill-health. Coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw, intersectionality refers to the interconnectedness of traditionally separated identities and how their overlap influences our experiences. Yes, we need an understanding of how transphobia, racism, and wealth (or lack thereof ) impact transgender people, people of colour, and the working class, respectively, but to treat these injustices as separate factors would be to invalidate and oversimplify the violence experienced by working-class Black trans people.

These criticisms of current strategies should not fuel a wave of cynicism. Stigma continues to isolate victims, particularly those conditions demonised by popular culture, such as schizophrenia. Even conditions we consider widely understood remain, well, widely misunderstood: how often do we hear judgement of poor hygiene or social withdrawal, forgetting that these are possible

manifestations of depression? Talking about these experiences and helping each other understand their cause will always be essential to mental health justice. Acts of self-care, while easy to write off, often provide critical solace to those who might struggle to do ‘more’. Self-care practices can even be seen as a radical act in themselves. Black queer activist, Audre Lorde, poignantly defined them as ‘not self-indulgence’ but ‘self-preservation’ and ‘an act of political warfare’. Indeed, the value of taking walks or drinking water should not be dismissed, but, of course, such practices are not the be-all-and-end-all. Our self-care must be more than skin deep; there is little a Lush bath bomb can do to stop systemic oppression.

The value of speaking out should not be dismissed, but true wellbeing cannot be achieved while oppressive forces remain integral to our society’s structure. The demands of mental health campaigns need to centre not just around de-stigmatisation and self-care, but around broader social justice. So, on whom should these responsibilities fall? We all have our role to play, through our own learning and unlearning, but fundamentally these demands must be directed at those with the resources to overhaul systemic failings: the governments we elect and the corporations we fund. We’re in a position today where more people are speaking out about their mental health – it’s now time to speak out about what’s hurting us and what help we need, and it’s down to those in power to respond.

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Heaven as a

on queer Earth WORDS Cameron Cochrane (they/them)

ART Ella Ottersbach-Edwards (she/her)

Queerness and religion.

In the eyes of many, this is a contentious pairing built for disaster.

CW: Discussion of queerphobia

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Institutionalised religions are often slow responders in the face of injustice and prejudice. If they are not actively inciting intolerance, they are perpetuating it through their silence. The framework here has to centre on both personal experiences and a (mostly) Westernised idea of Christianity, as this was most prevalent in my experience of queer exclusion. Though some experiences may be universal to queer people regardless of which institutional religion they grew up surrounded by, cultural, political, and religious nuances inarguably play a role in the backlash we experience against our queerness in religious spaces. This near-universal experience, along with the many other instances of disillusionment that can come with controlled spiritual experiences, has led to a cataclysmic migration of queer folk away from institutionalised religion in search of practices that better align with their identity.

Over the past 70 years, the rise of NeoPaganism and other nature-based religions have cultivated an environment of experimentation, and renewed spirituality, along with a rejection of the hateful religious dogma which typically surrounds LGBTQ+ identities. In the early 1950s, anthropologist and archaeologist Gerald Brosseau Gardner revealed to the English imagination that Wicca, Paganism and Witchcraft were all still alive and well, thriving in hidden Covens around the world. It is important to note, however, that whilst Gardner’s accreditation as the ‘Father of Wicca’ is not entirely misplaced, he possessed inherent privileges that made his views more palatable to an English audience. As an affluent white male, Gardner’s proximity to the establishment allowed him to communicate his religious views with a limited threat of persecution. It is important to scrutinise many of the modern day interpretations of Gardner’s practices, which have grown somewhat detached from the man himself. Many of these practices found their origins through religious People of Colour, though these communities were not given the platform to bring their traditions into the mainstream.

Gardener and his Coven decided that their spirituality was worth as much as everyone else’s, and though many of their exact rituals are mostly still kept secret, Gardner acted as the catalyst for increased exposure and interest in nature-based religions. Though Paganism may offer more room for interpretation than institutionalised faiths, the modern practice is not inherently shapeless. Certain ideas are foundational, particularly the importance placed upon the Earth, the respect for all human and animal life, and the presence of a God and Goddess symbol. Paganism is an old faith, but its principles of universal environmentalism align with progessive modern politics in a way that many other mainstream religions do not.

Likewise, Pagan ideals are not bound to a binary understanding, and are thus intriguing to diasporic queer folks. God and Goddess symbols reflect the inherent spectrum of gender identity. Though they are the prime masculine and feminine deities, they cannot exist without intertwining, changing, and growing within each other. Even speaking of the Deities requires an understanding of gendered issues, the confines of the gender binary, and the ability to reflect upon your own place in society. Many of the myths and stories around the Gods and Goddesses you choose to work with are often implicitly or even explicitly queer in nature. The very nature of Pagan ideology projects an inherent acceptance of queerness as an immutable truth. The introspection of the self that these religions often call for also creates a radical egalitarianism, as it requires that we understand and treat all life with empathy and that we fight for the systematically oppressed. The personal-political ideology as well as the flexible nature of Pagan spirituality encourages marginalised groups to craft the practice into a unique source of comfort and security.

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It is incredibly important, however, to note that with the expansion of Neo-Paganism in Western spaces many practitioners - including queer folk - have combined their understanding of Gaelic Paganism with the adaption and appropriation of non-Western traditions. Spiritual practices such as Smudging, crystals, oils, and Chakras are independent of a Western homogenisation, and often the cultural and colonial appropriation is forgotten about under the pretence of ‘spirituality’. The influence of social media and increasing globalisation on the westernisaton of NeoPaganism cannot be overlooked here, as is evident with platforms such as Tiktok which have a wider reach within queer communities. Though these online spaces have allowed for an increased awareness and intrigue into alternative spiritual practices, they are unfortunately dominated by instant spiritual gratification, and close the door to discourse on understanding where these ‘modern’ practices come from. Even the term Paganism is a large umbrella term used to capture many practices and faiths, but online spaces often don’t leave room for these nuances, and so discussions of alternative Pagan ideas are overshadowed.

To state that the ideology of Paganism reigns supreme over institutional religions such as Christianity or Islam likewise oversimplifies the problem found in institutional religions to the religion itself and not the institutions. Though religious beliefs are often used as a framework through which to justify harmful prejudices, it is often private and governmental institutions who propagate these narratives, rather than any religious texts in their own right. From a Western perspective, Christianity has played a role in the persecution of queer people, but it is undeniable that conservative political institutions having weaponised Christianity for their own gain. Religious texts have been manipulated to become a justification for religious piety which in turn pushes queer folk to leave in the misunderstanding that there was no space for their identity.

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Strict binaries and inflexible spiritual practices can be identified as the key driving forces behind the large scale abandonment of institutionalised religions by queer folk. Male and female gender roles, gender identity, sexual deviancy and purity, as well as moral truths and falsities, are often reinforced by the congregation. Be it verses from a holy text, songs, hymns or the view of other religions, they often create hostility within their own environment; those who exist outside of the binary are considered dangerous and are erased entirely. But for queer folk, existing outside of the binary is not only enticing but liberating. It is intrinsic to who we are.

This othering of queer folk more generally is almost entirely responsible for the revived interest in nature-based ideologies, as they allow for queer folk to take control of their own spiritual practices. As a marginalised group, it can often be the case that our identity directly informs the moral and political grounds we stand upon, and with the inherent egalitarian principles and dedication to the preservation of the earth found in Pagan ideals, both our identities and ideals align perfectly.

THE FLEXIBLE NATURE OF PAGAN SPIRITUALITY ENCOURAGES MARGINALISED GROUPS TO CRAFT THE PRACTICE INTO A UNIQUE SOURCE OF COMFORT AND SECURITY

FOR QUEER FOLK, EXISTING OUTSIDE OF THE BINARY IS NOT ONLY ENTICING BUT LIBERATING. IT IS INTRINSIC TO WHO WE ARE

These are all extremely contentious matters. Understanding queerness as a binding universal is a flawed way of thinking - the suggestion that queer people share a unified ideology is both ridiculous and reductive. Queer religious voices are often the first to be silenced in not only religious, but political and cultural conversations. This creation of a dichotomy when discussing spirituality can silence queer folk who have been able to find both community and religious freedom within institutional organisations. The active attack on religion from predominantly queer people has negated the experiences of the same community we claim to be fighting for. We must also be aware that an inherent rejection of Western religions in favour of an orientalist understanding of Eastern religions and spiritualties is not inherently a rejection of patriarchal, heteronormative frameworks. This desire to find community, to escape persecution, and to feel free are all valid, but as queer folk we must be aware of our colonised understanding of non-Western religions. Though these alternative frameworks of spirituality are enticing, we must not create a further binary for our community to choose between.

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FACT, fiction,

FOLKLORE WORDS Daniel Castro (he/him) CW: Discussions of colonialism

Growing up, I never checked for monsters under the bed. I never worried about the bogeyman,because I wasn’t clued in on who he was or what he did.

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Beyond the strange shapes and shadows that every child’s mind conjures at bedtime, I’m proud to say that dealing with nighttime terror was never on my agenda. This, I suspect, can be boiled down to the diverse nature of folklore across different cultures. Despite being born and raised in London, my mother (and her mother too!) made sure to teach my siblings and I how the world worked according to the old Colombian folktales. That isn’t to say that my mother never turned to myth or ‘magic’ to keep me on my best behaviour, either. One of the most common components of the traditional children’s story, regardless of cultural origins, is the didactic intentions behind many of them. In bedtime stories, fables, and tall tales alike, you will often find a teaching moment in the narrative: the ‘moral of the story’ that you’ll be familiar with if you’ve ever owned a copy of Aesop. If the bogeyman taught you about the dangers of bad behaviour, el duende did the same for me. So whilst I may not have been afraid of the dark, or a monster under the bed, I did have an idea of what might happen to me if I misbehaved.

When it comes to myth and magic in my family, the line between fiction and reality has always been somewhat blurred. You might boil it down to superstition, but my relatives will tell you that magic exists in the real world. The most far fetched story I’ve been told is that my cousin was almost kidnapped by el duende. Fiendish and green, he is a dwarf akin to the tricksters of other mythologies, who appears to cause mischief and chaos for unkempt children.

Regardless of whether I believed any of my family’s tall tales, this one in particular sparked my curiosity about Latin American myths and legends.

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It is important to be conscious of how the effects of globalisation and colonialism have changed the way that magic is perceived in different cultures

The existence of certain recurring motifs in the folklores and mythologies of different countries begs the question: where does lore come from? By definition, folklore exists in oral and material cultures, passed along informally between regions and generations. It is a product of shared identity, it belongs to all. Through this, mythos adapts and evolves as it crosses borders and cultures; remoulding to fit the traditions of different peoples. Stories brought to both the Philippines and the Americas by Spanish conquistadors, for example, manifest themselves in different ways: the Filipino dwende bears only a faint resemblance to the duende of Latin America outside of its name. Even amongst Hispanic countries, the myth diverges. In some territories, el duende helps innocent people to find their lost possessions. The dwarf who tries to kidnap disobedient children in some Latin American lore isn’t the same as the spirit who helps lost travellers find their way home in the oral traditions of other countries.

It is also important to remember that in the West, our concept of magic has become attached to certain aesthetics. The word magic will no doubt bring to mind vivid images of wands, mermaids and unicorns akin to Disney’s Fantasia, largely because this is how Western institutions have aestheticised and commercialised the concept in popular media.

The concepts of white magic and black magic - more specifically the assignation of colours to symbolise purity and evil respectively - were not always universally understood. Yet anyone with a television would be able to tell you that a witch is presumably bad, and that a fairy is ostensibly good. This interpretation has become almost universally entrenched, whereby magic is divided into a binary of good and evil according to a colour scheme dictated by Western ideologies. Such Western aesthetics have become standardised, and consequently exclude the traditions of other communities. In this way, it is important to be conscious of how the effects of globalisation and colonialism have changed the way that magic is perceived in different cultures.

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The civilisations of the Americas, for example, undoubtedly will have had different relationships to the concept of magic before the arrival of European colonists. The lasting effects of colonialism - as well as the onset of globalisation that adheres to the concept of Americanisation - have served as something of a muffler on indigenous stories and philosophies. Centuries after the advent of colonialism, the modern day education system still functions as an apparatus which prioritises predominantly Western cultures and experiences. For children growing up in a British education system with a non-European heritage, long standing traditions of non-white cultures are either explicitly discarded or quietly erased in favour of Western belief systems and aesthetics. These systems, which centre around European and American thought, monopolise the concept of magic, and erase pre-existing interpretations to replace them with the aestheticised magic of Hollywood and the West. Both the Western education system and entertainment industry work together in order to suppress this magical folklore, and legitimise Eurocentrism in the process.

It stands to reason that formal education functions as the antithesis of these oral traditions. By its very nature as spoken as opposed to written, folklore takes on an ephemeral nature - never remaining stagnant but taking on new forms as it proliferates. The education system, on the other hand, is omnipresent, enforcing a dogmatic, narrow-minded outlook through its teaching. The erasure of pre-Columbian mythology began with the invasion of conquistadors and colonising armies, intensified with the resulting diaspora, and is perpetuated today via mainstream culture. As a result of this centuriesold cultural upheaval, I myself have noticed the paradoxical clash of certain values regarding magic in my own household.

Both the Western education system and entertainment industry work together in order to suppress this magical folklore, and legitimise Eurocentrism in the process

My grandmother openly condemns all forms of magic according to the Christian teachings of Deuteronomy and Exodus, and yet, the magical bedtime tales she told me were intrinsic to my upbringing: stories of legends like el dorado, City of Gold. Of course, in this instance an issue arises where magic locks horns with religion, a relationship which is very complex. In Judeo-Christian teachings, magic that is not sourced by God is prohibited. This manifests itself in biblical texts through the actions of the Israelites (Moses and Aaron) who best the Egyptian sorcerers in competition. Of course, very few of the magics we think of today are derived from celestial spheres, as we generally distinguish between magic and religion as entirely different concepts. But as it stands, we can only ponder about the synergy between magic, folklore and religion in these regions before Western impact, if these concepts were even thought about in the same way at all.

I often wonder then, whether the bedtime stories that I was told as a child are the same ones that my ancestors told their kids. I think that it’s highly unlikely, as it is in folklore’s very nature to change and grow with the changing of peoples. There’s a certain sense of lost nostalgia in pondering the unwritten histories. At the very least I know that I will relay the stories my mother told me to my children, and they will tell their children (so on and so forth). And hopefully, when they remember these stories, they’ll think fondly of their ancestors, as I do of mine.

Revival - Spring Issue

CONCEPT Daniel Castro, Lara Delmage, Graham Peacock

GARMENTS Magdalena Nowak

ARTWORK MODELS Charlotte Docherty, Yana Dzhakupova, Robbie Campbell, Debbie Lui, Ella Ottersbach-Edwards, Nilanjana Mannaraprayil, Beckie Jenkins, Fara Odukale Rosie Stobbie

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IN A DREAM

MODEL Robbie Campbell (they/them) ART Yana Dzhakupova (she/her)

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MODEL Debbie Lui (she/her) ART Ella Ottersbach-Edwards (she/her)

MODEL Fara Odukale (he/him) ART Nilanjana Mannarprayil (she/her)

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MODEL Beckie Jenkins (she/her) ART Charlotte Docherty (she/her)

Based around the themes of healing, growth, and reflection that characterise GUM’s spring issue, this editorial is titled ‘In a Dream’. Focalising these ideas through the lens of youth, this project captures the carefree world we inhabit as children: where we are free from the social constructs and expectations we are pressured to conform to. Although originally intended to be carried out as a traditional photoshoot, due to social distancing restrictions in Glasgow we altered our concept into the form of an illustrated shoot, allowing GUM’s Visuals Department to reimagine the shoot in a fantastical setting that encapsulates the duality of a dream: at once fantastical and aspirational.

Wearing garments designed by Magdalena Nowak, our models are pictured alongside stuffed animals come-to-life and cakes galore in a childhood idyll permeated by the light pastel tones of a birthday party. Seeking to emulate the feeling of innocence and the lack of inhibition that comes with youth, this shoot is a celebration of self-acceptance, and an exploration of the theme of ‘revival’ in the context of generational upheaval.

Revival - Spring Issue

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Belief in the time of Bezos Politics

WORDS Eilidh Akilade (she/her) ART Yana Dzhakupova (she/her)

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Politics

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I have faith in capitalism. This is not some Wolf of Wall Street cult, but rather, a reliance upon capitalism as a constant – a constant in which I may consistently place blame.

I wasn’t raised religiously; my identity has never felt fixed; family is ever complicated.

Through some intersectional kaleidoscope, I’ve come to an incessant, and arguably irksome, critique of capitalism. And it is the closest thing I have to a spiritual belief system.

It is easy – and necessary – to blame racism, child poverty, the incompetent management of a pandemic, and any other societal evil on capitalism. It is slightly more abstract to blame last week’s panic attack, the misogynistic Tinder date, and your parents’ divorce on capitalism – yet still, I manage it. God loves a trier.

But having faith in capitalism is fucked: it’s an inherently negative mindset, taking away personal responsibility while forcing reliance upon that which we are aiming to dismantle.

It’s also probably blasphemous. And so, how does one hold onto faith in a capitalist system, without having faith in capitalism? I looked to my nearest and dearest for answers.

As ever, I spoke to my mum first. Although she now feels no pull towards any particular organised religion, she grew up attending the Free Church of Scotland every Sunday, as was typical on the Isle of Lewis in the sixties. ‘We stood for prayers, sat for singing.

The services were mostly in Gaelic when we were young,’ she tells me. It was a place of community – and one that has stayed with her.

Her faith is now somewhat fluid: ‘I do connect with the principles of most of the major religions - compassion, caring for others, and that your happiness doesn’t come from materialism.’ It’s reflected in how she built her life. Raising us, she sacrificed a lavish home and COS clothes to save for trains and planes and ferries, all so that we could spend holidays camped out in our family’s living rooms. ‘I think people with material well-being have certain advantages that help protect them, but they don’t necessarily have the relationships that protect them. And that’s what has kept me going this year.’

Teachings gained through a Sunday school adolescence have not merely sustained her, but also nourished her through 2020 – the most capitalist of capitalist years.

But amid such violent capitalism, there has also been a greater need for charity - a key aspect of Christian teachings.

The individualism which capitalism gorges itself on is antithetical to any sort of unity High unemployment, free school meals hanging precariously, and other Tory fuckups have encouraged community and compassion like never before. But my mother is hesitant: ‘If we had a more socialist system, would we have the need for the philanthropy that we do now?’ In this, she speaks to something that charity allows for: the failure of governments to care for their citizens. Something integral to Christianity therefore sustains capitalism. Capitalism demands our faith. It demands that we be good and do good – simply because it cannot and will not.

However, Georgina, a good friend, sees how capitalism limits community. ‘If our society wasn’t so stoically individualistic, I think people would be more inclined to come together as a group,’ Georgina says,

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‘whether that’s for religious or community reasons.’ The individualism which capitalism gorges itself on is antithetical to any sort of unity. Georgina was raised semi-religiously, with her mother a casual member of the Church of Scotland, and her father an atheist. Such an upbringing gave her an understanding of systems of power both within and outwith the church.

‘I still have some sort of belief in the things the Church of Scotland teaches, but I don’t go to church regularly anymore,’ Georgina says. It’s a move away from the physical: spirituality is grounded in internal belief, rather than external habits.

Nevertheless, it’s her politics which ground her. ‘My political beliefs help me cope with capitalism because I can see that there are practical ways forward to move out of a capitalist system.’

For Hannah, another close friend, it’s her faith which offers hope. Hannah was raised Catholic and, although she tried

‘As bleak as it sounds, the hope of a better world beyond this one is a big comfort ’ Heaven is in reach; an anti-capitalist society less so

Quakerism for a few years, she now most closely aligns with Catholicism. ‘As bleak as it sounds, the hope of a better world beyond this one is a big comfort.’ Heaven is in reach; an anti-capitalist society less so.

Amid the narratives of hustle culture and billionaires, Hannah sees how her faith offers an outlet. ‘We have a whole day built into the week for rest,’ she says. ‘And in the Old Testament there’s a reference to a year of Jubilee which (amongst other things) was dedicated to rest – I think a lot of it was to do with letting the land rest from cultivation but it’s good for people as well.’ Environmentalism is an inherently anticapitalist notion; no matter how detrimental it may be to future profits, late-stage capitalism is intent on burning our planet. Capitalism does not give space for rest - unless it can be capitalised upon in the form of face masks and bath bombs, of course.

‘I don’t think you can get a complete political philosophy from [Christianity] that you could apply to a state.’ She continues, ‘I can’t really align myself with a particular way of thinking, I have opinions on individual issues but nothing that fits cohesively into one school of thought – voting is going to be a mess.’ Faith writes against a hegemony of ideas – and any opposition to hegemony seems somewhat anticapitalist by nature. A striving for goodness seems to be incongruous to political divisions: morality is about the bigger picture.

Revival - Spring Issue

Politics

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It is this discussion of ideology that encouraged me to turn to Haroon. Haroon was one of the first people I knew who ever spoke of communism as something over than an aesthetic or a punchline – and perhaps is still one of few. Although raised Muslim, he is now agnostic.

Growing up working class and Pakistani, he’s aware of how capitalism affects marginalised people. ‘Other people don’t deal with all the effects of exploitative capitalism,’ he says, although he takes care to stress that he feels there’s people who have had it worse. Capitalism is not monolithic and this multiplicity is integral to its success.

And so, intersectionality is crucial when we discuss capitalism. Haroon continues, ‘I really don’t think Islam is compatible with capitalism because of how exploitative it is – but also because of the colonial background of it all.’ Not only are Islamic teachings somewhat irreconcilable with capitalism, but capitalism also tarnishes other faiths. It is difficult to pray to any god whose name was used as colonial justifications for oppression – specifically, for oppressing you and yours.

Capitalism becomes a spiritual guide of what not to do, a cautionary tale which could slip into the Bible, Quran, or Torah with ease

But it seems capitalism also offers the creation of a personal moral system in merely opposing it. Haroon says, ‘When people use capitalism as an excuse to be fucked up, with all these billionaires making money out of Covid, it reminds me not to be that way.’ Capitalism becomes a spiritual guide of what not to do, a cautionary tale which could slip into the Bible, Quran, or Torah with ease. It is tempting to fall for this system, but it can be resisted – at least a little.

Capitalism will not be dismantled by a reliance on capitalism, whether that is as something to blame or something to aspire to. In looking to those I love, they have capitalist critiques to spare, but they also have hope. What is clear is that if we are going to survive this, we must believe in something – religious, political, or otherwise.

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RISE UP FOR ROJAVA! WORDS Jane Herbelin (she/her)

CW: Rape, Kidnapping, Death In October 2019, the withdrawal of American forces from Northern Syria allowed the Turkish army to attack the Autonomous Administration of North-East Syria (NES), also known as Rojava.

Rojava is an enclave where the Kurdish and Arab populations are implementing the principles of democratic confederalism, a political concept theorised by Abdullah Öcalan, leader of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK). This revolutionary, multi-ethnic and self-organised system is based upon cooperative direct democracy, ecological justice, and a shared economy, with central values of women’s autonomy. Yet the future of one of the world’s most progressive political experiments appears in doubt, with many fearing that it could be crushed by Turkish forces, the Syrian regime, and the re-emergence of ISIS. Revival - Spring Issue

Politics

As the US cleared the way for the incursion to go ahead, Erdogan’s army invaded Rojava on the 9th of October 2019. From this point onward Turkish forces began perpetrating ethnic cleansing in the region. With the help of jihadist mercenaries, the Turkish army conducted summary executions in the form of airstrikes and mortar attacks on residential areas, whilst also forcefully displacing hundreds of thousands of people.

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THIS REVOLUTIONARY, MULTI-ETHNIC AND SELF-ORGANISED SYSTEM IS BASED UPON COOPERATIVE DIRECT DEMOCRACY, ECOLOGICAL JUSTICE, AND A SHARED ECONOMY, WITH CENTRAL VALUES OF WOMEN’S AUTONOMY To learn about the experiences of those involved in the revolution in the NES this year, I interviewed Berfîn Çiya, a Spanish internationalist working on ‘Women Defend Rojava’.

This campaign is managed by Kongra Star, a female led Syrian revolutionary group based in the region. Their actions are all based upon the same values of building a peaceful Middle East built on women’s liberation: ‘We try as hard as possible to give a part of ourselves to the ongoing revolution’. To Berfîn, one of the greatest successes an uprising can achieve is to overcome the borders established by nation-states, and thus to be internationalist in character.

Back in 2019, Spain was the first European country to announce support for Turkey’s military operation in Northern Syria. European nations, Spain in particular, continue to offer support today through distribution of arms to Turkey. Berfîn explains that as a Spanish citizen and a revolutionary she felt the urge to ‘take on her responsibility’ and to put herself at the service of this uprising.

Despite increasing attacks from Turkey and its jihadist mercenaries, she is currently able to live a normal life, thanks to the protection of the self-defence units of Autonomous Administration. Yet this is not the case in many other parts of Rojava, where the population is facing severe problems.

In January 2018, Turkey launched a cross-border military operation into the region of Afrin to clear the area of the Kurdish led People’s Protection Units (YPG) with the support of the Syrian National Army (SNA), a coalition of rebels. The incursion displaced 300,000 people, mainly Kurdish, and the local population is now exposed to Turkish nationalism and Islamisation. ‘Afrin became a hell where there is no security, with countless cases of women being kidnapped, raped, forced to marry jihadist mercenaries and murdered.’

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Those who fled Afrin are, for the most part, settled in one of the five refugee camps in Shehba, the last free region of the Afrin canton. In addition to the terrible living conditions in these camps, refugees are still subject to Turkish attacks and trade sanctions enforced by the Syrian Regime. Necessary goods are rare and expensive. Although weakened, the ideology of Rojava remains and helps people to organise in the most trying circumstances. ‘Refugees are still forming functioning communes and are using the mechanisms learnt from the revolutionary process, so they have certain tools to overcome the difficulties of daily life.’

The Turkish army is now based in Northern Syria and controls a large territory between the towns of Tell Abyad and Ras Al-Ain, which prevents the territorial continuity of Rojava. This directly threatens the existence of the Autonomous Administration. ‘There is an increase in attacks by Turkey and its mercenaries. The territory under their focus right now is Ain Issa.’ History repeats itself, ‘Turkey sent jihadists to support the Azerbaijani state during the war with Armenia, now they are returning to complete the tasks that the AKP of Erdogan has planned for Rojava’.

Alongside the constant fear of attacks from Ankara and the SNA, the Syrian Kurdish are now under pressure from Russia to cede full or partial control of the city Ain Issa to Damascus. ‘Ain Issa is a strategic territory, as it allows for control of the international M4 Highway, which connects us to Kobané. The invading forces have already built new military bases very close to the area, which is a clear indication of their will for occupation.’

The greatest victims of fascism and occupation are women and children. Last November, Berfin Rizgar, a female YPJ Kurdish fighter, was martyred in the fight against Turkish-backed jihadist forces in Ain Issa. A few days later strikes caused severe civilian injuries, with victims including a 3-year-old boy. Rojava was built from the ashes of ISIS in the most trying environment and offered new possibilities for society by addressing many of the issues affecting the world today: inequality, climate change, racism, and sexism. Between the aggression of Russia, Turkey, Iran, and the Syrian regime, what is the future of this Autonomous Region of North East Syria? As Berfîn said, ‘a revolution is intrinsically linked to a process of liberation, it is important to allow and help its ideology to expand to other parts of the world’. Rise up for Rojava!

ROJAVA WAS BUILT FROM THE ASHES OF ISIS IN THE MOST TRYING ENVIRONMENT AND OFFERED NEW POSSIBILITIES FOR SOCIETY

Revival - Spring Issue

Art&Photo

Matilda Eker (she/her)

Almost everything I make is inspired by the beauty of the everyday. I want my art to capture the comfort, warmth and beauty of the lives we lead. As soon as we start to really look at the details, there’s so much beauty everywhere. The sun shining through a glass of water; the yellow street lamp outside your window; the patterns on the leaves in the park. In my abstract pieces I try to make the shapes look organic and infused with life and colour.

Here, in this collage, I wanted to create forms reminiscent of birds, insects, fungi, plants and clouds. By putting human body parts in this context and using them to create new shapes, I hope to blur the line between people and nature, to show that we are part of nature. I also wanted to explore the idea of touch, and what it meant in 2020. Are these hands, lips and eyes touching each other or are they isolated in their layers? Maybe seeing so many different bodies in one small space will spark different emotions in different people: one might feel longing, or even stress. Either way, our relationship with our own bodies has been undeniably altered this year. Making these collages reminds me how beautiful our bodies are, and how beautiful and magical is the world around us. Even in times like these, there are still so many perfect colours, shapes and patterns we can lose ourselves in.

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Art&Photo

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Christina Kyriakidou (@space__shaman) is a Glasgow-based multidisciplinary artist whose practice involves sculpture, painting, performance and digital art media. She studied HND Visual Communication/Illustration in City of Glasgow College and in 2019 graduated with a BA (Hons) First class in Contemporary Art Practice. With an ever-increasing interest in socially engaged art and its role in education and social change, she is currently doing a Masters in Adult Education, Community Development and Youth Work at the University of Glasgow.

Her work has been exhibited at Glasgow GoMA (February 2020), WASPS Studios, The Old Hairdresser’s, Art Number 23 as well as in exhibitions organised by the Visual Arts Scotland and the Society of Scottish Artists. In late 2020 Kyriakidou had her first solo show in Greece.

Inspired by Western consumerism and wastefulness, Kyriakidou aspires to make art that raises existential questions and addresses environmental issues. As a multidisciplinary artist she experiments with different areas of practice and often reintroduces the waste in her work. Her ‘Monoliths’ sculptures encapsulate debris collected from beaches and rural areas. Debris is a direct documentation of a consumerist lifestyle and simultaneously, a visual representation of modern-day stress and addictions.

The ‘Monolith’ sculptures contain the information our ‘evolved’, consumerist society is leaving behind in the form of waste. They serve as modern-day fossils for future humans to examine after our civilization is gone. During the lockdown, pollution in parks and rural areas seems to have increased. This led me to focus on collecting rubbish from the area around the Scottish canals in Glasgow and I started my personal #pickupyourcovidtrashchallenge.

Kyriakidou’s abstract series of macro photography of objects and paint encapsulated in the Monolith is a hybrid project between her two creative enquiries, consumerism and mindfulness.

The work aims to capture the overall essence of ’being present’. The oceanic atmosphere enhances a peaceful, euphoric feeling, almost like being in the womb. The presence of floating bubbles in the photographs is seen as a strong symbol of mindfulness: a fragment in time, a bubble of air in the busy, overwhelming environment of the modern way of life.

MONOLITH/S by Christina Kyriakidou (she/her)

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These are the first pieces I created as part of an ongoing series to recreate the Major Arcana. Using my friends as muses alongside traditional tarot imagery, the cards are a celebration of magic, queerness and colour.

Chris Timmins (he/him)

Revival - Spring Issue

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Jordan McKibbens (she/her)

Jordan McKibbens is a fourth-year, Art History and Philosophy student. Jordan was born and grew up in Glasgow, where she also studies. In her spare time, she paints, draws and produces digital art that concerns human nature and identity, often with underlying spiritual and religious meaning or themes. McKibben’s influences include cinematography, and surrealism, as well as baroque and Italian high renaissance art works. Often, McKibbens’ work takes the form of portraiture or figurative works.

However, this piece is particularly out of her comfort zone. Inspired by Anthony Gormley’s Lost Horizon and the artist’s use of space, McKibben’s work explores the body’s interaction space, as it situates itself as a sculptural object. She uses acrylic, watercolour paints, and pencil to create the work. Thinking of the Greek and Roman sculptures that are missing limbs and noses, this work illustrates their missing counterparts. However, the body is also connected through motion represented by the long, purple tubes. The space which contains the body parts is meant to represent an exhibition room in which the body is then displayed. Ultimately, the piece reflects movement, space and the energy we all possess.

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Style&Beauty

skating to the

cottage

WORDS Lucy McLaughlin (she/her) Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t TikTok but actually Marie Antionette that first glamorised and promoted the cottagecore aesthetic? A recent Twitter thread from the Museum of English Rural Life traces the French monarch’s exploration of the rural idyll and her role in creating the pastorally ethereal style we’ve come to call cottagecore. Parallel in its humble roots is the skate aesthetic, which has recently been utilised by fashion giants.

In their 2016 Fall show, Dior lined their runway with neon red ramps and half pipes to frame their collection which fuses fine tailoring with 90s skater boys.

This raises the question - what effect does this glamorisation and appropriation have upon the source communities of these aesthetics?

ART Ella Ottersbach-Edwards (she/her)

knitting hats for local pondlife, and pressing wildflowers in leather bound poetry books, are prime examples of this. This routine gives no indication of a means for income for which one might buy the Victorian tea dresses or gold gilded china sets exhibited. There’s a difficult line to tread here between the positives of cottagecore - a harmony with nature showcased in this aesthetic, and the calmer If you aren’t familiar with alternative to the rise and grind Hameau de la Reine, it’s the way of life continually pushed small farm village that Marie on us - and the negatives which Antionette had built by her sees peasant farming being favourite architect where she appropriated into a popular and her friends would dress aesthetic. up like shepherdesses and milkmaids and ‘frolic’ around.

While the French royal court’s financing of a peasant-inspired stage for the purpose of a working-class cosplay is quite an extreme example, we can see how this glamorisation of lowincome aesthetics has bled into mainstream culture today. The abundance of videos on TikTok which promote a lifestyle where days are spent making jam, Revival - Spring Issue

46 Trends which are born from glorifying the visual culture of traditionally poor communities, should never be without mindful critique Style&Beauty

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To provide a fair assessment of cottagecore, we need to look at when and why the aesthetic gained so much traction. At the height of the pandemic, the TikTok hashtag #cottagecore hit a staggering 100 million views and the Instagram equivalent boasts over a million posts as of writing. The simultaneous rise of cottagecore with the increasingly inescapable realisation that the world is on fire shows the aesthetic and accompanying lifestyle as a neo-Romantic yearning for a safer, selfsufficient past. And isn’t that what society does when threatened by crisis: seek solace in our nostalgia for a more stable time?

The rural isolation and reliance on the landscape tied up in the cottagecore package understandably provides comfort for the communities trapped inside cities at the centre of the action (who also face the highest levels of restrictions). However, this yearning for a fantasy and the idealisation of rural life which has historically been bound with laborious hardship, disease, and poverty is a coping mechanism; not a radical solution to techno-industrial capitalism.

accessible either. Since their adoption into Urban Outfitters, Dickies have risen in price, and the steady gentrification of Depop means second-hand options don’t align with secondhand prices. These so-called ‘accessible’ options are the ones seen most often on social media alongside cottagecore. Their glamorisation however, is not due to fantasy, but an appropriation by classic fashion houses which has trickled down to the high-street.

I’m not insisting you throw out your embroidered bandana or favourite pair of

The simultaneous rise of cottagecore with the increasingly inescapable realisation that the world is on fire shows the aesthetic and accompanying lifestyle as a neo-Romantic yearning for a safer, self-sufficient past

Skate aesthetics and culture is a bit different as it’s easier to trace brands who create for this community specifically. Supreme began in the 90s as an underground, almost speakeasy space for skaters in the know.

Due to its gaining popularity through celebrities such as Tyler the Creator, Travis Scott and even Scary Spice, the brand is now stocked on prestigious online platforms such as Farfetch and Flannels, collaborating with high-fashion superstars like Louis Vuitton. Even if you are in the elite position to afford a piece from a Supreme collaboration, their ‘drop’ system of selling makes for a competitive shopping experience with no guarantees. Not only are the prices exclusive, but so is the mysticism surrounding how to purchase; an exclusionary business model which arguably alienates their original, niche community. And even if you don’t want to set your alarm to secure a £1000 hoodie, your high street options aren’t exactly

Dickies (for one, I’d have to do it myself ).

However, the revival of both cottagecore and skate aesthetics does prompt us to consider the communities from which these styles stem. Both these examples draw upon low income aesthetics, in the form of the peasant villager/farmer, and in the urban skater. For cottagecore, this has had an uneasy idealising effect on poorer, rural lifestyles, whereas the alienation of the original niche is more prominent in the glamorisation of skate.

Ultimately, trends which are born from glorifying the visual culture of traditionally poor communities, should never be without mindful critique.

Revival - Spring Issue

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To introduce Camp, nothing holds a candelabra to Susan Sontag’s ‘Notes on Camp’: the 1964 essay which both deciphered and disseminated the art form. Separate to the slang ‘camp’, synonymous with femininity in men, Camp is an aesthetic obsessed with the strange, the niche, and the theatrical. By its very nature, Camp defies a rigid explanation.

In the words of Sontag, to define Camp would be to betray it.

CW: Discussions of queerphobia

VERY FIERCE AND ANGRY WORDS Kieren Mehta (he/him)

Lena Waithe’s Met Gala outfit proclaimed - where Sontag’s seminal work failed to acknowledge - Black drag queens invented Camp. It is, however, intrinsically - though not exclusively - queer. Often as flamboyant and androgynous as those who shaped it, Camp provides a source of great comfort to many queer people. With the growing commercialisation and co-option of queer culture it’s no great surprise that we seem to be in the midst of a resurrgence in so-called Camp aesthetics.

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The ‘highlights’ of the 2019 Met Gala, ‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’, were a good indication of where Camp rests in public sensibility, with the majority of attendees channelling the colloquial ‘camp’ more than Sontag’s analytical, capitalised understanding. The same would occur the following year with Harry Styles’ 2020 Vogue cover: conventionally attractive, white cis men presenting as femme is the lens through which ‘Camp’ is appreciated within the mainstream. Even the most purportedly fashionable figures of our era appear unsure of what Camp truly is: a miasma, existing long before Sontag.

Why do we seem to only talk about Camp in the context of celebrity and entertainment?

Camp is supposed to be accessible to all. It requires only passion and an intolerance for conventionality - characteristics often found in queer people but relatable to any marginalised person. As such, Camp functions as a powerful and restorative mode of self-expression: no other art form celebrates queerness, tackiness, irony, and outrage to the same extent as Camp.

Camp may appear superficial, but it is fundamentally powerful.

It is an indulgence in being ‘too much’ by those told they should not take up any space at all

ART Ella Ottersbach-Edwards (she/her) Revival - Spring Issue

Style&Beauty Oversimplifying Camp to function as a synonym for extravagance (opulence!) is likewise exclusionary to those who cannot afford Camp garments that pass as genuinely expensive. Here again is a contradiction between the policing of Camp and the style itself. Camp’s roots are tied to working class communities who didn’t have the luxury of buying expensive outfits, and so made their own. Think of the Club Kids and ballroom drag queens of the 1980s - Camp means artifice as well as extravagance. For all their extravagant designs, Prada, Fendi and Christian Dior are still among the worst in big fashion for protecting workers’ rights.

Wearing something excessive, beautiful, and expensive, but yet potentially exploitative is entirely disrespectful of the marginalised communities Camp originates within.

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That is what Camp is: a beautiful, irreverent queer solace Camp may appear superficial, but it is fundamentally powerful. It is an indulgence in being ‘too much’ by those told they should not take up any space at all. In the New York ballroom scene of the 1980s, amidst the throes of the HIV/AIDS crisis and Reagan’s extreme conservatism, queer people of colour flourished in an excess of jewels and fur coats. In the safety of queer spaces, drag kings and queens - many of them trans - gave themselves drama and richness in a world which denied them such things. Transfemme POC were disproportionately affected by the AIDS epidemic due to their social, economic and legal exclusion from healthcare. We’ve lost so many of those who defined Camp culture, which can perhaps account for the loss of authenticity among modern audiences.

Who then, can we learn from? To embrace Camp is to reject conformity regardless of ridicule. With a contemporary surge in right-wing nationalism, widespread political disillusionment, and the stripping back of trans rights in the face of transphobic, racist violence, what should an authentic revival of Camp look like? The current co-option of Camp - a practice at odds with our obsession with identity politics - is unsustainable. Its radical origins must be re-established. Camp holds an infinite well of comfort to anyone on the margins if we look to its gleefully outrageous defenders like Alok Vaid-Menon and Jamie Windust, or even its originators: subversive performers who helped formulate the radical origins of Camp.

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In the early 20th century, Black performers including George Walker acted in minstrelsy - entertainment largely composed of white people in blackface to mock African American people. Through Walker’s insertion of himself into a space created to ridicule his culture, Walker applied a Camp sensibility to his anti-racist protest. And thus the idea of Camp as a method of cultural reclamation was born through a Black man in whiteface playing a white man in blackface. The Black drag queens that came after Walker took early Camp’s activist spirit and ran with it: bringing with them a bolder, exaggerated aesthetic, and a playful disregard for conventions of gender and sexuality. Camp grew from Black, queer resistance and its methods of protest are as gaudy, radical, and irreverent as its aesthetics.

Camp requires an intimate understanding of yourself, how you are perceived, and how to perform: with flamboyance, ferocity, and fun

Camp has never been apolitical: it may operate under a guise of frivolity, but the power of Camp is rooted in its subversiveness: one must be bold, and find joy in impertinence. Sontag’s Camp mustn’t be upheld as the backbone of the art form because it no longer maintains its outlandish appeal. Modern readers of ‘Notes on Camp’ are no longer shocked by the ‘sinuous figures of pre-Raphaelite paintings’, the Utopian-vision of Bauhaus architecture, or the gratuity of Titus Andronicus, which Sontag uses to contextualise her Westernised depiction of Camp. Her examples are redundant, and not conducive to the modern, provocative evolution of Camp. They no longer shock. Modern audiences of Camp often find their first exposure to the art form online - usually inadvertently - as I did as a 14-year-old on Tumblr. At this point in my life, all that was Camp about me was my earnest intellectualism matched with a worldly naivety, yet as a then unaware queer man, I found comfort there. That is what Camp is: a beautiful, irreverent queer solace.

Camp requires an intimate understanding of yourself, how you are perceived, and how to perform: with flamboyance, ferocity, and fun.

If Camp is thrilled by the bizarre and the fantastical, it must be everevolving or it becomes another example of cultural homogeneity. It cannot survive if it clings to apoliticism, and there is reassurance in the knowledge that those still in touch with its roots will never let it die. To be complacent would be dreadfully un-Camp. In an age defined by division, to be Camp one must be fierce and angry. Be angry in solidarity with those voices still oppressed; revive the spirit of the Black queer people who expounded Camp culture; and delight in new, revolutionary absurdity.

To be complacent would be dreadfully un-Camp

Revival - Spring Issue

Science&Tech

WORDS Abigail Whelan (she/her)

I’M

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IT

Manifestation has taken the world by storm. Initially stemming from New Thought philosophy – a 19th Century movement that emphasises spiritual healing the newfound tech takeover has seen the discipline surge in popularity. With the hashtag amassing over 5.6 billion views on TikTok, a quick search will throw up videos of tarot card readings, advice on making sigils, and written manifestations, all reminiscent of Tumblr spells from a bygone era.

Many videos centre on the ‘Law of Attraction’ and the idea of ‘speaking things into existence’, reasoning that people and their thoughts are ‘pure energy’ and directed focus presents the ability to materialise these thoughts into reality. The methods are copious: the 3 6 9 method involves writing your manifestation at differing intervals during the day, the 33 x 3 method requires 33 daily repeats, and the process of Quantum Jumping, sticking your manifestation to one cup and pouring water from another.

In theory, manifestation can take a surprisingly mathematical route: angel numbers reckon upon the notion that repeated numerical sequences in everyday life hold meaning beyond their numeric value: some a nod in the right direction, others a call for a reality check. Likewise, sandwiched between the D’amelio sisters, manifestation frequencies videos appear periodically on TikTok, their hum a welcomed break from the numbing drill of trending sounds. The relative frequencies are based on the 7 solfeggio scales, each said to present their own benefits and attractions.

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However, tales of adolescents manifesting a text back from their crush are, unsurprisingly, insufficient grounds to deem manifestation a science, let alone an adequate confirmation of its success. Manifestation is largely regarded as a pseudoscience namely for its inability to be proved false, with many central ideas falling apart under the microscope.

For manifestation to be proved accurate, the claims made by proponents of manifestation must be both falsifiable and testable – these are two pillars of a good scientific theory. However, there is no way to test whether manifestation truly works.

Yes, you can say that you ‘manifested yourself fit’, but did you? Or did you change your diet and exercise?

Manifestation makes no broad claims that could begin to be interpreted in such a way that would allow you to draw a substantial conclusion.

Although manifestation itself is largely harmless, it is a reliance on the practice that poses the real threat The foundations of manifestation are also laced with nuances of confirmation bias - the tendency to favour information in a way that confirms or supports one’s prior beliefs or values. Put simply, the belief in manifestation itself makes us more aware of its potential outcomes. Moreover, this newfound popularity can also be attributed to the nature of videos on the platform. The vast majority of them take the form of positive affirmations with supercuts of blue clouded skies layered over nightcore Frank Ocean tracks - what’s not to like? Through this, the algorithm buries itself deep into our belief system and weaves its way through the complexities of the subconscious.

Although manifestation may not be based on science, it does have its benefits. There is an undisputed upside to thinking positive. The notion that a positive way of thinking opens up possibilities and a negative one narrows them is a mantra known all too well. Manifestation also poses an intrinsic gateway for the placebo effect - we might start to indirectly implement these positive changes into our lives.

Tales of adolescents manifesting a text back from their crush are, unsurprisingly, insufficient grounds to deem manifestation a science Although manifestation itself is largely harmless, it is a reliance on the practice that poses the real threat. Researchers at Ohio State University found those who blindly trust their ‘gut’ were more likely to believe in fake news and conspiracy theories.

When manifestation crosses the line into delusion it quickly becomes dangerous.

What about the confines of the society we live in? In the omnipresence of capitalism, eventually beliefs will become commercialised if they have a large enough following. The astrology business is worth an estimated $2.1 billion in the USA alone. It consists of columns, websites, apps and more, all targeted at 20-something millennials.

Is manifestation the next industry about to boom?

After taking the world by storm in lockdown, it would be unsurprising. Although darker sides of manifestation threaten to corrupt the very essence of its practice, the pseudoscience has earned its place in society as a comfort - something that gives hope that things will get better in a time where uncertainty runs rife.

The algorithm buries itself deep into our belief system and weaves its way through the complexities of the subconscious

Revival - Spring Issue

Science&Tech

When shall we three meet again?

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In thunder, lightning, or on Zoom?

The folklore of Witchcraft has Supernatural ability runs thick to their practice. Preying been warped through the ages. through their bloodline, like upon public superstition, the This can be attributed to a the predisposition to some Witches took to the stone panoply of media presence genetic wonder. Although paved streets of Bucharest, from the dark condemning spared from the bloodbath they cast spells, conjured accounts of the Crucible to of medieval Witch slaughter, hexes, and hurled poisonous the glossy tales of children’s their history is complex, rife mandrake plants into the books. Our understanding with tales of persecution, river until the proposal was of Witchcraft is built upon suppression and, ultimately, ultimately scrapped. total fantasy. In contemporary triumph. Under the reign of Their workspace Western culture, as October Romanian politician Nicolae isn’t archetypal, no cast lays down to rest, the air Ceaușescu, their predecessors iron cauldrons of bubbling carries faint chimes of were governed by communist potions, no volumetric flasks doorbells and startled cries. ideologies, condemning any of startling lime greens and Children adorn Halloween form of Witchcraft practice, slimy oranges. A burning costumes of deep burgundies, even the most simplistic of stove is the nucleus of their crushed velvets, and flood the rituals could land them behind kitchen, its boiling contents streets in nylon, their crooked bars. With the overthrow of fill the air with a sweet miasma witch hats parading under the Ceausescu the witches re- of bay leaf and marigold. indigo skies. emerged from the shadowed Overhead, shelves display

Yet across the globe, depths of society. assorted jars of alphabetised between the snow-capped

Today, Vrăjitoare mixes: ghost chillies, goat mountains and winding are held in high regard, faeces and ginger. Their waterways of Bucharest, their existence is essential remedies are vast and varied, România, turrets of orangefor the transient operation of from foraged concoctions of roofed Saxon villages cluster Romanian society. In 2011, peony and sage to the bleeding like assets on a Monopoly word of a prospective ‘Witch cries of sacrificial rituals. As board. Behind the peeling tax’ spread through their political intervention within paint of shutter doors resides communities. The proposed Witchcraft gains more Vrăjitoare, an authentic law aimed to target the Witch traction, those within the Witch community. The economy, which stands practice are rapidly moving eldest of the Coven are at an estimated 1 million to digital spaces in order crowned in vivid headpieces, euros per year. For some to grow and protect their the wrinkled wisdom of their Witches the tax represented a community. foreheads fringed with bands certain degree of legitimation; This newfound of golden Romanian leu. Their the acknowledgement of technological renaissance dresses are embroidered robes Witchcraft as part of the brings a wealth of advantages of virginal whites and rich mainstream economy. Yet - an epitome of global reds, delicate swirls, with arcs for the majority the lack of magic. Nestled between of turquoise blossoming from any tangible support for condemning COVID-19 their hemlines. Their eyes Witches, coupled with no statistics and fatuous status are discerning: each glance viable evidence of a Witch updates on your newsfeed operating with a tangible school, pension or degree, you’ll find a showcase of foresight. made the proposal an insult spells. Facebook pages are now

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WHERE WITCHCRAFT WORDS Tiarna Meehan (she/her) CW: animal death

ART Charlotte Docherty (she/her)

MEETS WHATSAPP

Revival - Spring Issue

Science&Tech

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window displays, a ‘like’ is no more than a handprint pressed upon the pane. They parade possible purchases, a simple message sets the price and time. The majority of practices can now be done over the phone, only requiring a name and a desired spell. Their menus cater to a diverse palette: charming love spells The majority of practices for the heartbroken, money incantations can now be done over the for the financially flawed, and nefarious hexes for the vindictive. phone, only requiring a

The entities of Witchcraft and name and a desired spell technology have become increasingly intertwined. The phrase, Deus ex Machina - God from the Machine - gains a whole new meaning.

Their magical abilities are no longer governed by the temperamental throes of nature but by the signal and speed of broadband. Their desktops are now their cauldrons; their wands are now their smartphones.

A photo series by Lucia Sekerková Bláh, captures this 21st The entities of Witchcraft century guise through a collection of and technology have visual anachronisms. In one image, various witchcraft paraphernalia lay become increasingly scattered across a table: prayer candles, intertwined. The phrase, tarot cards and embellished crucifixes all juxtaposed alongside a Toshiba Deus ex Machina - God laptop, the cabled wires grounding the witches into a deep technological from the Machine - gains a tether. whole new meaning

On a pragmatic level this means a quintessence of communication for witches all around the world; the opportunity to partake in online covens, powerful group rituals and zoom call palm readings. The practice of Witchcraft, once contained within the folklore of The practice of Witchcraft, close knit communities, is now a ubiquitous global practice. once contained within Recent years have even witnessed the folklore of close knit the emergence of ‘WitchTok’, practices performed by amateur communities, is now a witches, usually juvenile in both ubiquitous global practice age and experience. Although met with initial scepticism the virality of the content facilitates the demythologization of the craft.

So, what’s next for Witchcraft? Since increased technological infiltration brings with it a sense of inauthenticity, there’s worry that technological overtake is a spiralling pathway to destruction. But perhaps ubiquitous connection is just the spell needed to keep the ancient practice of Witchcraft above water.

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Creative Writing

the distorted glass

clings to my cornea bending and fragile

I would never survive in the wild

reliant on the fingernail wick WORDS instantaneous tap Hannah George

a trap (she/her) three floors removed from anything real carelessly detached with only boiling water to warn me electricity invokes violence unquenchable weary rain, the fox

that stared with an indelible gaze a profound interruption tothesuffocatingconcrete fragmenting fluorescent streetlight connecting disparate elements I like to deny the presence of meaning hide my thoughts in delicate pots vessels to contain the wilderness

unable to grow beyond imposed boundaries

let dirt and discomfort

bring you to your senses we are playing with fire

Revival - Spring Issue

Creative Writing

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WORDS Emma Urbanová (she/her) April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.

(T. S. Eliot – The Waste Land (I. The Burial of the Dead))

allow me to reconverge in your arms while we talk about the love that hasn’t died buried under the fat hordes of ground, in depths of the warm earth clay and breadth of dirt, verses re-done that reeked of mould damp and rebirth -I am telling you, the process is imminent, now is winter, and once, the spring will come, are you afraid? of all that must be done, the flowers must emerge, the earthly scent – spurting out of the rubble one by one. that new spectacular that the springs delivers enhances me, and I just want to vivre I am grooming my soul soft by Tolstoy and my reason busied in the everyday fly and keeping my toenails very dainty that is how I prepare for this love.

I hope to find as your hands gently tear me asunder that I have been in a thousand-year-long slumber.

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Nature is not for Everyone

WORDS Eden Dodd ( she/her) Her feet found it first. Toes stubbed hard against something solid.

Held by hurt, her eyes found it next.

A brick.

Bold on the pavement, forgotten by a skip.

After forgiving its offence she picked it up.

Fingers fumbling, colluding with the concrete, she became absorbed in the absolute.

When she got home, she walked straight up the stairs and into her room. A vase sat on the mantelpiece above her bed. The flowers in it resting their necks, tired and tortured by the ebbing evening light.

Emptied of the ethereal, the vase was replaced to the mantlepiece but slightly to the right. In its place, in the centre, she places the brick.

Assertive in space and brilliantly brazen, the brick was defiant. An effigy of the (almost) eternal. Cracks colliding forming networks of weakness read instead as strength. An opus of opportunity and obstinacy. This is her new bouquet, built from clay and grit. An unapologetic aggregate of brick.

Revival - Spring Issue

TEAM Editors-in-Chief: Graham Peacock, Lara Delmage Editorial Coordinator: Ella Field Features Editor: Eilidh Akilade Politics Editor: Tom Hall Culture Editors: Cain Mckendry, John Tinneny Art & Photography Editor: Eilidh Wright Science & Tech Editor: Tiarna Meehan Style & Beauty Editor: Daniel Castro Creative Writing Editor: Lillian Salvatore Copy Editors: Ophelia Hazzan, Rosie Shackles, Ioulitta Triantafyllou Columnists: Bianca Callegaro, Beatrice Efimov, Lucy Fitzgerald, Julia Hegele, Kieren Mehta, Alice Millar Thompson, Deri Ronan, James Taylor, Ruth Underwood, Maya Uppal Graphics Coordinator: Nilanjana Mannaraprayil Editorial Artists: Charlotte Docherty, Yana Dzhakupova, Ella Ottersbach-Edwards, Rosie Stobbie Graphic Designers: Zachary Czerwiński (Print), Raquel Fonseca ( Journal) Digital Media Coordinator: Abigail Whelan Website Manager: Janika Popova Social Media Manager: Aisha Patel Business Operations Coordinator: Lucy Nicholson Advertising Manager: Larisa Hamilton Events Managers: Hannah George, Jade Harries

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Contributors

JAMES TAYLOR / YANA DZHAKUPOVA / JULIA HEGELE / MONIQUE JOY RARANGA / ROSIE STOBBIE / CAMERON COCHRANE / ELLA OTTERSBACHEDWARDS / DANIEL CASTRO / CHRIS TIMMINS / MATILDA EKER / JORDAN MCKIBBENS / CHRISTINA KYRIAKIDOU / JANE HERBELIN / EILIDH AKILADE / KIEREN MEHTA / LUCY MCLAUGHLIN / TIARNA MEEHAN / CHARLOTTE DOCHERTY / ABIGAIL WHELAN / EMMA URBANOVÁ / HANNAH GEORGE / EDEN DODD

Illustrated Shoot

CHARLOTTE DOCHERTY / YANA DZAHKUPOVA / ELLA OTTERSBACH-EDWARDS / ROSIE STOBBIE / MAGDALENA NOWAK / DANIEL CASTRO / LARA DELMAGE / GRAHAM PEACOCK / ROBBIE CAMPBELL / BECKY JENKINS / DEBBIE LUI / FARA ODUKALE

REVIVAL - SPRING 2021 ISSUE Glasgow University Magazine Facebook / Glasgow University Magazine Instagram / @gumagazine Twitter / @gumagazine Website / www.glasgowuniversitymagazine.co.uk Email / editors@glasgowuniversitymagazine.co.uk