WELCOME CLASS OF 2015
E T O N A M O R S F R O T I D E E TH
Hola Pembroke! And welcome to the very first issue of the brand spanking new Pink Times! This magazine is by you, and for you. Everyone talks about Pembroke pride, but it rarely comes up in more than a hashtag. We wanted to create something to showcase all that Pembrokians do, whether that’s within the university, or outside of it. This edition features a charitable venture that has been set up by a former Pembroke student, a short story from the MCR, a quick chat with our former JCR Pres, Becky Howe, and so much more. We’re so excited to see our brainchild materialise, and we hope you are too! But we want to know what you think - so drop us a line! The next edition will be coming out in 8th week - so get submitting! The next deadline will be Sunday 15th November. Looking forward to hearing from you, Happy Reading! PMB love, Chillie xo (Millie McLuskie and Charlotte Lanning)
CONTENTS: "the stress of editing"
cover image: Lafayette Photography
Top of the Bops Powwow with the Pres From Russia with Love 'Normative' - a short story The Aspire Programme Cheerleading: In Defence of my Sport Sports Good News & reviews The Fun Stuff
p3 p4 p5 p6 p8 P8 p9 p10 p12
1 ginger pride
DJ PREZ
did the Titanic sink in the 90s?!
Johnny, she's not impressed
watch out Gibbs, your tie is next
making friends
2
father-son bop-bonding
3
...and then it all got too much
now that's motivation... image: Callum Spiller, Millie McLuskie, Charlotte Lanning
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POWWOW WITH THE PRES Becky Howe arrived in our hallowed halls of Pembroke in 2012 - a history student with an untapped passion for, you guessed it, rowing. Come Trinity of first year she was husting to become JCR President with a love of all things pink and Pembroke. Her eagerness to row proved unconditional when she maintained her seat in W1, despite claims from the coach that ‘it would be more useful to have a jam sandwich in there than you!’ But with Presidential responsibilities, the rowing pursuits came to an end. Abiding memories of first year were an unquenchable FOMO, consecutive nights out in Camera (yes it actually used to be good), falling into bed at 3am only to get up at 5am to be on the water - because, who hasn’t? Following her tenure as Pemb Pres, Becky crossed the pond and spent her summer of second year studying American and Constitutional History alongside International Relations at Cornell. And it was following this that she became determined to get onto a master’s programme for International Relations, in lieu of running for OUSU President. But on returning to Oxford, Becky discovered she needed an excuse to remain with those beloved dreaming spires… Third year started off with a bang, a big OUSU election bang. Once the position of president was in the bag, Becky’s preoccupation turned to her thesis, on the end of slavery and how the memory of it has been hijacked by white women, as well as Finals exams. These went well in some parts, but not so swimmingly in others, and Becky only just missed out on a First after some somewhat dodgy question papers. What is her most important message to the rest of us battling away at Oxford? Nothing is more important than your health and well-being. You can be ambitious, push yourself to the limit, and be really really hard working, but if you’re sacrificing your health for that then there is something very wrong. Identifying this and dealing with it can be tricky though. Becky’s advice? - Take a step back, get out of the Oxford bubble, make time to seek help, and learn not to be a robot. “The best thing about Pembroke is that people here aren’t just about their work - we are all individuals. Peminists, Pink Times, Parlour Group, The Two Cultures - these are just some of the things that make Pembrokians the best people in the whole world… So, what does being OUSU President actually entail - surely it’s more than that email we get once a week?! Well, yes.. “It’s a weird job - no day is the same as the next, and it’s impossible to get bored because there just isn’t time”. There are thirty committees in OUSU, and Becky works in a team of six full time elected officers, alongside twenty one part time unpaid elected officers, and a permanent staff team of 12 people. She has meetings with students, including JCR and MCR Presidents, and supports all twelve of OUSU’s current campaigns. Becky is the Chair of the Board of Trustees (OUSU is a charity) and she’s in charge of the governance of OUSU. If OUSU Council mandates something, she makes sure it gets done. Becky’s main campaign pledge was to find out how colleges and the university fit together in terms of welfare, and to plug the gaps that this identifies. It’s clear that for Becky, the welfare of students is paramount to students doing well at Oxford. But did Becky practice what she’s now preaching? We asked her how well she balanced academics and extras - “poorly”, was her response. Unhelpfully indoctrinated at school by someone who said ‘sleep is for the weak’, this was the first thing that Becky sacrificed. But after a harsh bout of glandular fever in Hilary of first year, sleep was moved up the agenda, and second year was much better. So take note, she’s not our favourite Pembrokian for no reason.
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image: Becky Howe
FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE... Every issue we're going to feature a piece from a Pembroke student currently on their year abroad so that if you're missing them you can stay updated and if you never had the pleasure of meeting them you can get to know them... Our first feature is by second year French and Russian student Manny Spring who is currently living it up in Russia! Since my arrival in Russia, I’ve become particularly interested in this whole idea of what lies behind the headlines. What do you know about Russia? Irrespective of whether you keep up to date with the news, your answer to that question is most probably affected by headlines and news reports (or the history and politics that drives them). So here’s an amalgamation of a day in the life of Ab Initio Russian student on her year abroad behind those headlines, behind Putin meeting Assad, behind sanctions and rifts. I wake up a little bit before my alarm, because (something I was very unaware of before my arrival) Russia does not seem to like or need curtains that are not see-through. I decide to put my scarf, which has already doubled up as a headscarf for monastery viewing, a savior in the cold and a matador cloak when I play with my new four-year-old friend, over the window. It now can add blind to its list of functions. I pop downstairs for breakfast greeted by babushka and Co. Homestay accommodation with a very cute family has so far equaled lots and lots of chatting (which if anyone knows me I absolutely love), lots of building Lego houses and a fair bit of shutting ourselves in a den-like cupboard. Ever had pasta and котлет (meatball and beef burger hybrid) for breakfast? Or aubergine? Or egg and potato pie? Fear not; come to Russia! I have to admit all are lovely; so don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. On leaving the flat, I embark on my descent of Mount Everest. If you think your room in Oxford is high up, try 10 flights of stairs every single day (20 flights if I count the walk home). Most remarkable of all my babushka and I carried a 30KG suitcase up these stairs. Baring in mind I am 5 ft. 1 and she’s not much taller, this was no mean feat. I go to cross the road; entirely new experience. Part of me embraces the queen-like aura as cars halt to a stop at the last minute (pedestrians have priority on most crossings), the other is terrified as to whether I will make it to the other side. I walk past at least six twenty-four hour flower shops. I am as clueless as you as to why they need to be open all day every day, but who knows when you might need some petunias? After University classes, which very much resemble those we have in Oxford both content and tutor-wise, we are keen to sample the modern Russian culture, including the rather snazzy shopping Centre Aura where you can ride electronic fluffy ponies around the food court. Other note-worthy afternoon activities include the teddy bear museum; essentially two rooms of gazillions of teddy bears who have outlived the Soviet, Tsardom and goodness knows what else. Yaroslavl’ has an actual bear called Маша! Following the recent crash in value of the ruble, it would be an understatement to say that Yaroslavl’ is fairly cheap. A ride on the trolley bus for 18p, two-course lunch for £2.50 and theatre tickets for £2.00 (more or less). I then head home to chat to my family, to crack on with my faithful spider diagrams and to get on with journalist-y news-y things. Oh and let’s not forget Skype; the ultimate year abroad tool to combat Pembroke and home deprivation. A more unusual evening could include a trip to the theatre to watch a very bizarre, but all the same entertaining, rendition of Romeo and Juliet. A leather-clad Lady Capulet leading her lover about the stage on a leash, Paris break dancing in the middle of a club (the ball) in a golden all-in-one suit with a purple plume and a fake fight at the beginning with the audience that for a good two minutes I thought was real, all make for a spectacular performance. Or for those wilder nights, there’s a club (мед; honey) with lots of nearly naked women swinging from the ceiling in sparkly disco balls and swings. Every-day Moscow edition is ever so slightly different, consisting of wandering around Red Square and reminding myself that I’m not in a fairy-tale world, calling four taxis in an attempt to get to a body-guarded Moscow Times Office, contemplating how to react to the dead body of Lenin, standing in front of the Bolshoi (or various соборы) in awe and dancing to the shouts of a DJ who does not seem to be speaking in either Russian or English. I have no doubt that the mainly wonderful (but also a little bit weird) awaits me in St. Petersburg next weekend. 5
NORMATIVE - A SHORT STORY Juan Ruiz Villalobos won an internal MCR competition last Trinity for a short story on the theme of Pembroke. His story was inspired by the rose and thistle in the Pembroke crest. Lucius daydreamt of his garden. This wasn’t a particularly hard thing for him to do, considering he stared at it on the other side of the window. The roses were in full bloom. It had rained every day for the past two weeks, and though Lucius understood that this was inherently good for the garden, he couldn’t help but sigh. Instead of enjoying their company in person, he was stuck indoors, staring at them through a drop-streaked pane. The whistle of the kettle brought him out of a reverie in which he rubbed a silky petal between his finger and thumb while the sun warmed the back of his neck. On the counter, Lucius had already prepared his cup and pewter tealeaf strainer. It had been his grandmother’s, and part of a vast and eclectic collection of knickknacks that had all gone to the small museum attached to the visitor center in the outskirts of town when Lucius had inherited the house. The strainer was the only thing he had kept. Lucius pulled the cork stopper off the large glass container next to the cup and used the spoon-like apparatus to lift a teaspoon of dried thistle seeds. He brought them up to his nose to take a whiff. They didn’t smell like much. He surprised himself every day he did this, wondering why he expected anything different. There was the vague scent of dust and age, but that scent clung to everything in the house, especially when it rained. The seeds came from his own garden. Those were the only two things Lucius grew: roses and thistles. The roses he dried and used as potpourri around the house to ward off the damp, and the thistles he dried and drank as tea. The thistle seeds had come to him on an uncommonly sunny day five years before. It was one of those summer days when some of the younger residents of Newport would rush to the pub claiming they had seen Ireland from the entrance to the bay. Then one or two of the regulars grown fat on beer and boredom would nod their heads and give a short “aye,” of affirmation before recounting the time when they too had been outside on a sunny day and seen the distant shore. Lucius had been on his way home up the main street from his job at the post office. His thoughts were already on the roses. He didn’t notice the man until he had all but bumped into him. Luckily, the stranger was looking, and when Lucius merely grunted an apology and kept walking past, the man held Lucius’ shoulder gently and held him in place. “Excuse me,” said the man, with a thick accent Lucius couldn’t place, “I’m looking for the Golden Ass.” It was only at this point that Lucius had noticed how out of place the stranger looked in this small town of Pembrokeshire. He looked like he had just sprung from a tale in One Thousand and One Nights, complete with turban and dusty clothes. When Lucius was a kid and read this story, he had dreamt of visiting Arabia as a missionary. It was one of those childhood dreams that slowly fade with time until it can only be remembered with amazement that it was a dream at all; a silly folly. Now, the longing had come back to Lucius, unexpectedly. He laughed, loudly. The stranger looked perplexed. “No Golden Asses round here. You’ll find the Golden Lion just down the road there,” he said, pointing behind the man, “but the only Ass around here is the owner of the pub ‘imself.” The stranger turned to see where Lucius was pointing, then back to Lucius. His looked of confusion had been replaced with a smile. “It’s quite alright. I think I’ve found what I was looking for. Thank you for your help. Here, take this as a gift of my gratitude,” he said, bowing with a flourish. Before Lucius could offer any words of dismissal, the man had placed a small packet of sackcloth in his palm and began to walk down the street towards the Golden Lion pub. “Thank ye sir, but I don’t really…” With his back turned, the foreigner lifted his right hand and waved away his concerns. “You’ll thank me someday,” he answered and tapped his turban twice. So Lucius had gone home with a shrug of his shoulders and a spring in his step. He had his flowers to attend. He forgot about the packet for a few weeks until he stumbled upon them in his living room, while clearing out the last of his grandmother’s boxes. His curiosity getting the best of him, Lucius planted the seeds in a small pot and waited for them to grow.
"His thoughts were already on the roses. He didn't notice the man until he had all but bumped into him"
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He hadn’t expected a magic plant that would give him gold or wishes, but he was greatly disappointed when he found the common milk thistles growing in the pot. It wasn’t even an exotic variety of thistle, merely the same that grew in the fields in the area near the standing stones. Rather than get rid of them though, he planted them out in the garden, on an empty bed he was preparing for a new rosebush he had ordered. Months later, when he began to harvest them, the bed was filled with the weeds. He had the proper gloves to deal with rose thorns, so the thistles proved no problem either. His wife had made a passing comment they were good for the liver, but Lucius didn’t drink. Perhaps it was the fact that the man had pointed at his head; Lucius had recently given up on the products meant to bring hair back to his balding head. More likely than not, it was the child in him that still wanted a story worthy of Ali Baba that caused him to boil the weeds and try to drink them. At first, he had tried boiling them fresh, only to discover the taste somewhat bitter. He found that when dried, the taste was reduced to something sweeter, almost as if he were drinking milk tea, but fainter. And because he already dried rose petals regularly, it didn’t take him long to develop an efficient system for drying both. It wasn’t until a year later at the pub, when he sat down next to a woman who owned the only organic shop in town that he found out one was meant to dry and crush the seeds to get the most out of them. “You don’t even need to boil them in tea,” she said, “just pop them in some yoghurt or your morning cereal. I have this great quinoa muesli recipe that has thistle in it I can give you.” Lucius had kindly declined and continued to boil them, though he did take her advice and crush them. Lucius couldn’t sleep that night. If he didn’t visit his garden in too long, he got restless. He twisted himself sideways, looking to spoon. A reassuring hand searched its way through the covers and wrapped his shoulders in a warm hug. “We’re both worried about you,” said his voice in the darkness. “Rosie and I care about you too much, Luce.” Lucius nodded in the darkness, turning around to meet the unshaven face that pricked him as he kissed it. “Is that all you talk about now after you have sex?” he asked their shared lover with a chuckle, “how worried you are about me?” “Among other things,” answered John, “it’s not normal, this obsession you have with the garden. Rosie says you used to talk about traveling, about leaving at some point.” “You have better chances of leaving. You’re young. You could get a job anywhere. Why stay here?” “You know my father needs help with the farming equipment. There’s no decent mechanics around here anyway. You have your savings, though. Why don’t you and Rosie take a vacation? A break would do you good.” Lucius kissed him on the forehead and placed his hands on his chest. “Sweet, sweet you. Always worrying about us. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Rosie, I’ve got you, and I’ve got my garden. What more could I want?” The two of them sighed simultaneously. In the dark, Lucius turned away from the warmth and tried closing his eyes. The next morning was clear, with no clouds in sight. Lucius hurried from the Golden Lion home. It was a bank holiday, and while his wife preferred meeting with their boyfriend at his small apartment during the week, Lucius needed the anonymity and reliably clean comfort of a hotel room on the weekends. Their home was off limits to the affair, a space sacred to him and Rosie. The house was empty. Rosie was most likely down at the bay enjoying the sunshine. John would give her his company and spend the day with her. Knowing Rosie, she had packed them a picnic lunch. It was a weight off his shoulders, knowing she was happy and accompanied. He switched on the electric kettle and as he waited peeked his head briefly outside through the screen door. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said to the bushes, smiling as their sweet smell entered the house. The kettle shut off with a click, and Lucius hummed to himself as he went through the motions of pouring water into the cup and stirring it with the strainer spoon. After five minutes of seeping, he took a sip. A scream choked in his throat as the sickly sweet taste surprised him. Quickly grabbing the spoon, he clicked it open. Instead of dried thistle seeds, he was surprised to find dried rose petals. Scratching his head, he stared at the spoon in silence as the horror of what he had accidentally done dissipated and the warmth of the rose water spread through his chest. “You know,” he muttered to himself, “that’s not half bad.” His eyes wandered over to the glass jar with dried thistle seeds, and he shook his head again, in his mind reviewing everything he had done up to the point of taking a sip. “I could’ve sworn…” The thought of joining John and Rosie at the bay crossed his mind. Instead Lucius went outside to his front porch and sat down facing the street away from the bay and his garden. There he sat, mug in hand, while the back screen door swung on its hinges with the wind that carried the smell of fresh roses into the house.
"Their home was off limits to the affair, a space sacred to him and Rosie"
images: Creative Commons
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CHARITABLE CHAPS The Aspire Programme
Many Pembrokians do amazing things for good causes but too often this flies under the radar. So, if you're doing or have done something great for charity, whether it be Movember or the marathon, please tell us about it! Former Pembroke E&M-er Naveed Javaid tells us about the charity he's recently set up...
Having just graduated this summer, I underwent a period of reflection about my time in Oxford. Like many others, I came to Oxford with doubts – the biggest one being whether I truly belonged. I questioned whether Oxford was for someone like me – a first generation university student, comprehensively educated and son of a Pakistani migrant taxi driver. I left in tears, Oxford had become a second home to me. I made some incredible friends and have memories that I will cherish forever. Reflecting on this made me realise just how fortunate I was to have been given the opportunity to come here, and how rare it is for people from a similar background to myself to be given such an opportunity. I could bore you with statistics all day but I don’t need to do that - just take a look around you. There are a lot reasons why so many backgrounds are underrepresented at Oxford and other elite universities, and lack of talent isn’t one of them. A few major factors, in my opinion, are that there is a lack of information available to certain groups about Oxford and the application process and the fact that the expectations and aspirations of certain groups are anchored so much lower than the potential they possess. Not all kids have parents or other family members who studied at a place like Oxford and the working class believe that Oxford is a world away from them, a place people like them don’t belong – no matter what level of talent they possess. To try and combat this I have set up The Aspire Programme, a programme that will hopefully bridge the gap between expectations and potential when it comes to students applying to elite universities. The aim is to get bright students from backgrounds where they would not traditionally be expected to be high achievers and go to top universities and help them achieve and surpass their potential. Young people need high aspirations and the best information to make the right choices and this is what The Aspire Programme is all about. Once appropriate students have been identified, they are then put through a mentoring programme where they are matched with university students or graduates who act as role models and provide guidance to help put them in the best position to achieve their potential and to get the best opportunities. I look back on my time at Oxford with a great deal of appreciation and recognise the fact that I was incredibly fortunate to have been given the opportunity to spend three years here – I now want to try and help others get that same opportunity and to have the same experience as me. If you’d like more information about the programme, want to volunteer or have any ideas (I’m open to suggestions/comments/feedback) then please get in touch or send me an email at aspire.programme@hotmail.com.
CHEERLEADING: In defence of my sport What do George Bush, Kendall Jenner, Ronald Reagan and Blake Lively have in common? They were all cheerleaders. Let’s get some common misconceptions out of the way: we don’t use pompoms, we don’t chant, and we most definitely don’t cheer for anyone for free. Modern cheerleading is athletic and demanding. Cheerleading is the fastest growing sport in the UK – notice I used the word ‘sport’, as this is the most frustrating and ignorant impression of cheerleading that we have to contend with. Last year the Oxford Sirens, the University Cheerleading Squad, trained for over six hours a week to prepare for competitions, including every Friday morning at 7am post-Bridge. Training includes jump conditioning, improving your flexibility, strength training, tumbling, and drilling stunts over and over until you are black and blue. I have had my nose stamped on by a flyer (the girls who are lifted) mid-routine and had to keep the stunt up; one girl went home from training in an ambulance and competed two weeks later; we all did our conditioning on Christmas Day. If you miss a training session you’ve prevented four other people from practicing, if it was a pyramid day that becomes the whole team. Yes, we sport precariously large quiffs and have an unhealthy obsession with glitter. We wear bows that make us look like Minnie Mouse (cheers for that nickname, Mum), but cheerleading is a performance sport! We have two and a half minutes to make a physically and mentally draining routine look effortless – through our facials and sass we have to convey that this is the most natural thing in the world; that we are the best. In Trinity term of last year I managed to coax eight Pembrokians into competing in cheer cuppers, despite the prospect of a 6.30am wake-up and several impromptu practices for the porters on Chapel Quad. Although we didn’t place, we were the only team to both pull off a Level 3 partner stunt and to have an all-girl stunt group. Sian’s tumbling prowess had our coach begging her to join the squad and Conor’s contribution as our team mascot had the other teams writhing with envy. The UK Championships now draw audiences of approximately 9,000 people and next year we are sending four British teams to the World Championships. Go on, tell me again how cheerleading isn’t a sport. 8
image: The Oxford Sirens
Natasha Fairweather
SPORTS REPORTS POOL After a successful end to the season last year, big things are expected from Poolbroke in 2015/16. The First VI captained by Alex Wood and Tom Gibbs kicked off on Wednesday 21st October with
FOOTBALL As roman philosopher Seneca the Younger once
a tough match against Somerville, captained by
said ‘it is a rough road that
Olivia Murray. Unfortunately despite a strong
leads to the heights of
performance from Laurence Wroe (even a broken
greatness.’ A rough road
clock is right twice a day), the match slipped
lies ahead for PCFC.
through our fingers and ended up finishing 5-4. The
The 2015-16 season has
2nd VI captained by Jamie Engineer pulled off a
begun with the sole aim of
convincing win against Harris Manchester with a solid 9-0 victory (The other team forfeited) and are looking forward to building on this victory and achieve promotion at the end of the year. Pembroke 13 - 5 The World Tom Gibbs
achieving greatness, going one step better than last – Cuppers glory. The campaign has started well. Mike Hargrove’s 2nd XI won their first and only league game to date, a 4-3 classic away at Wadham, with Laurence Wroe’s 1
st
XI winning their sole league game 4-2 at home to St.Anne’s. As Jose Mourinho is currently learning, squad harmony is imperative to achieving team success, and one of the most encouraging aspects of the year so far has been the integration of a strong core of freshers into the PCFC ranks, both on and off the field – helping the club cement its status as a cornerstone of the Pembroke extra-curricular scene. Greater challenges lay ahead, with potentially the greatest laying just around the corner. A first round Cuppers draw against fellow favourites Queen's is an early clash of the giants and certainly not one to be missed. Jack Harrison
RUGBY 40-0: PCRFC leave a trail of destruction in their wake. PCRFC kept the John Radcliffe busy on Saturday 17th October, as they kicked off their season against rivals Merton/Mansfield, a sidewho beat the Pinks 4 times last year and often by triple digits. Not to be cowed by the past, in the very first tackle of the season, Alex Timmons brought down Merton/Mansfield's biggest and beard-iest. The result was a broken arm for them, and a concussion for us. Not to be outdone, another Merton/ Mansfield player left the pitch 5 minutes later with a dislocated shoulder, after making contact with former Pembroke captain Richard Baugh. Despite these setbacks, Merton/Mansfield held the line, blocking PCRFC from any points in the first 20 minutes and often making a few breaks down the line. Yet Pembroke's dominance couldn't be kept out of the scoreboard for long, with fresher Josh Southworth breaking free of the defence and making a darting run to the try line. A sustained counter-attack by Merton/Mansfield then saw Pembroke defending for much of the rest of the half, with the team hanging in there to make the half-time score 5-0. In the second half, Pembroke's back-line had more success, scoring four more tries. Josh Southworth reached the line once again, joining Ross King who also took two home. The 5th try was made by PCRFC's very own Captain Enzo Frater, scoring with his signature (but fortunately unnoticed) knock-on. Despite these breaks, PCRFC were then on the defence for much of the half, with Merton/Mansfield desperate to claw some points. It was a only solid Pembroke line and a tireless effort from our former glorious leader, Ben Nabarro, that stopped them climbing onto the scoreboard before the final whistle. The injuries and exhaustion could not detract from this 40-0 victory, one PCRFC could only have dreamed of last year. Conor Hamilton
NETBALL Hell do those girls (and Ollie) know how to throw a ball. Last year we kept our position in Div 2 by, well, turning up, and we beat the Pembroke record for the most defeated team, winning all of zero matches throughout the year. So you can imagine our surprise when we smashed Lincoln (feat. Blues player) 17-7, and then went on to trounce St Hugh's 25-4. We might have had a minor blip against Oriel B, but we won on chat and good manners. Here's to an epic season! Millie McLuskie 9
Good News! It can be easy to feel a little down about the slow progress of liberation movements and various negative headlines related to campaigns, so here’s a list of good news and brilliant things that have been achieved in the last few months! 11th June Women’s rights defender Mahdieh Golrou was released from Tehran’s Evin Prison after three months detained for peaceful demonstrations. 12th June A decision of the Mexico Supreme Court resulted in a ruling that found that state bans on same-sex marriage were unconstitutional. 26th June The USA Supreme Court ruled state-level bans on same-sex marriage are unconstitutional, thus legalising same-sex marriage with immediate effect. 12th July Education campaigner Malala Yousafzai marked her 18th birthday by opening a school for Syrian girls in an informal refugee settlement in Lebanon's Beka'a Valley. 3rd August A Republican push to halt federal funding of Planned Parenthood fails in the US Senate, voted down 53-46. 11th August Amnesty International votes to adopt a pro-decriminalisation policy to protect sex workers around the world. 18th August A new study from the University of Leicester’s Department of Neuroscience, Psychology and Behaviour suggests that intoxication doesn’t affect the ability of victims of sexual assault to remember details of their assault. 20th August 53 Roma families living in an informal settlement in Zemun municipality in Serbia have been protected from forced eviction and promised alternative accommodation before any eviction should take place. 4th September Kentucky County in the USA starts issuing marriage licenses for same sex couples despite Kim Davis’ infamous opposition to the new law. 15th September Aqeela Asifi receives 2015 UNHCR Nansen Refugee award for her work educating Afghan refugee girls in the Jot Chandana refugee village, Mianwali, Pakistan. 18th September India’s Supreme Court ruled to protect two sisters previously sentenced to truly horrifying punishment in response to their brother’s relationship with a married woman of a higher caste. 13th October The First Response App launches for survivors of sexual assault and their supporters, launched by It Happens Here, Code4Rights and the Oxford Sexual Abuse and Rape Crisis Centre. 14th October OUSU elects the first ever Trans Officer, Elliot Parrot, in the first OUSU Council of the new academic year. OUSU Council approves the funding for the Disabilities, Sex and Relationships Workshop which took place on the 24th October. 17th October Rhodes Must Fall in Oxford's Matriculaction protest sees about 1000 matriculating students wearing red to symbolise their support for decolonising Oxford spaces. 26th October The UK government pledges name blind university applications from 2017 in order to combat unconscious bias against BME applicants. The Global Partnership for Education has responded to a petition launched by Malala Yousafzai and announced that it plans to expand its focus to support a
On Being a Woman in Theatre Despite the fact that acting, singing, musical theatre-ing and other thespian activities are typically seen as ‘feminine’, the world of drama is still dominated by men. The majority of parts in both mainstream and niche plays are for men. It’s something I see a lot, holding auditions in Oxford – we always see about three or four times as many female-presenting people (and usually talented ones as well) audition as male-presenting, but usually have half as many parts to offer them. In the same way as cooking is seen as effeminate, but top chefs are usually male, there are far more opportunities for men high up in theatre, despite it being seen as a female thing to do. The unfair abundance of male parts is why I’ve decided to put on an all female play this term. Playhouse Creatures was written by a woman as well, and it’s been so interesting to work in a female dominated theatrical space. It tells the stories of some of the first actresses ever to grace the English stage, describing the struggles they were served and the difficulties they faced (in being taken seriously, particularly), and so much of it still rings true now. The actresses end up valued only for their looks and not how talented they may or may not be; they can’t get shares in the company despite the fact they make most of... its money; and ultimately they are all subordinate to a man we never see, the theatre company owner. It is exciting to see, however, how far we’ve come in theatre – it’s now just accepted that women will play women, and many of the top new writers and directors in Oxford are female. It’s an ongoing fight, but maybe soon the balance will be far more even. Charlotte Vickers Playhouse Creatures is on at the Burton Taylor Studio, Tues – Sat 4
th
Week, 7.30pm
full 12 years of primary and secondary education for the poorest girls around the globe. image: Natalie Harney
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Pembroke Liberation Council
Film review: Suffragette Suffragette feels very much part of the cinematic zeitgeist. Like other historical and biographical films of recent years such as Lincoln, Twelve Years a Slave and The Imitation Game, this is a hard-hitting history lesson. It is a guilt-trip that does not so much preach (since cinema-goers are invariably converted already) as shed a brighter light on a social struggle that is already broadly familiar – the militant campaign for votes for women in the early twentieth century – by threading a fictional narrative through the careful recreation of welldocumented historical events. Although the events of the film are more than a century past, it is with the benefit of hindsight that the action of the film feels critically important since we are continually aware that the Great War will soon put the movement on hold. Of course, neither the fearless Emmeline Pankhurst (played with appropriate gravitas by the incomparable Meryl Streep) nor universityeducated chemist Edith (a typically alert Helena Bonham-Carter) nor downtrodden laundress Maud Watts (a fictional character convincingly rendered by Carey Mulligan) can foresee this. Nonetheless, all accept that peaceful campaigning has been futile and act accordingly; Mrs Pankhurst’s famous slogan ‘deeds not words’ becomes their unofficial motto. From the outset Maud is the lens through which we view many of the more shocking events of 1912 and 1913: the smashing of shop windows, the destruction of pillar boxes, the force-feeding of prisoners on hunger strike, the firebombing of Lloyd George’s country house, and, inevitably, Emily Davison (Natalie Press) stepping in front of the King’s horse at the 1913 Derby. The decision to end the film with
image: Beatrice Egid
Davison’s death (accompanied by a gradual fade to heavenly white light) is astute and artistically successful; Maud’s horrified and anguished reaction is our reaction. Prior to this, Maud’s separation from her young son at the insistence of her husband (Ben Whishaw) is affecting because her plight so contradicts the stereotype of the affluent suffragette able to live independently of men. If any character resembles H. G. Wells’s genteel Ann Veronica it is Bonham-Carter’s Edith, but even she hints at a far from comfortable past. The film is far more graphically violent than I had anticipated; even so, the scenes of day-to-day drudgery are no less shocking (and fascinating in themselves). As an evocation of Edwardian London in all its egregious stratification, and as a character-driven drama, Suffragette is a valuable and compelling film. Samuel Wood
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QUIZ: WHICH QUAD ARE YOU? How would you describe yourself on a first date? A. Traditional, I’ll show you chivalry like they did in the good ol’ days. B. I’ll wine and dine you but you won’t need to confess in the morning. C. Rough around the edges but you’ll have a soft spot for me. D. Flashy and suave, the Bolly’s on me.
Pick your favourite subject; A. Law B. Theology C. Geography D. Economics
MOSTLY A'S, you are Old Quad
Preferred whip? A. Unicycle B. Rolls Royce C. Ford Escort circa 1988 D. Lamborghini Huracán Drink of choice?
What’s your Farthings order? A. Ye Olde MOMA porridge B. Toast and Holy Water C. Double Fry up D. Vanilla Chai Latte and Sushi
MOSTLY B'S, you are Chapel Quad
A. Ale B. Blessed wine C. Frosty Jacks D. Martini
MOSTLY C's, you are North Quad
MOSTLY D'S, you are Rokos Quad
WHEN THEY WERE YOUNG
Can you guess who these MSNICs* are from these youthful pictures? *(medium sized names in college - all credit to Jamie White)
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A. The worlds cheeriest bouncer - Roger the porter B. Your very own JCR pres Jos McShane C. The most banterous Chaplain in Oxford - Andrew Teal
A