Sunday 26th April 2026
Blog Page 366

‘Fear of Kidnapping and Beating’: The ‘Triple Crisis’ of Female Refugee Care

Fiona Zeka
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‘Fear of Kidnapping and Beating’: The ‘Triple Crisis’ of Female Refugee Care

CW: sexual assault, abuse, suicide, sexism

‘Dress as unattractive as possible’, my maternal grandmother instructed my 13-year-old aunt, ‘you don’t want to get raped.’

Costume was their only escape. In the cold, white-tented camp of Bujane, Macedonia, Kosovar women like my aunt and mother could not afford to be women. Having already escaped the horrors committed by male soldiers in their native land, they were all too aware of how their gender affected their treatment.

Their bodies were battlegrounds. In Kosovo, gang-rapes were a common ‘instrument of war’. Serbian security forces and paramilitary groups often entered private homes, raping women in front of their family members. It was performative; it was political.

Internally displaced groups drifting towards wherever felt safer, anywhere from home, were incessantly victimised. They were stopped and bullied by the army, police and paramilitaries, who used the threat of rape to extort money. In some cases, mothers and daughters were carried away even if money was provided. They were raped in the home, in the streets, and in temporary detention centres. But they were no safer in the camps that were supposed to offer them ‘refuge’. In the camps, women were not adequately provided for. Menstrual hygiene provisions were non-existent. A Kosovan female refugee I interviewed this year, and who has chosen to remain anonymous, commented: ‘We didn’t have menstrual pads. Just pieces of cloth which we had with us. We boiled the cloth strips when we could to clean them and share with others. Most responsibility fell on us women. The camps were flooded with women who were escaping with young kids in tow. We lacked protection from our husbands and male family members, many of whom were left in Kosovo. Constantly we feared kidnapping and beating.’

Not only did women have to ‘bear most of the responsibility of care’ in the camps, which included waiting ‘for hours’ in lines for water and rationed food, looking after children and elderly family members, but they also constantly feared ‘beating and kidnapping’. Soldiers and paramilitary groups surrounding the refugee camps preyed on vulnerable, solitary women out on errands. Young women were tempted by offers from men to go to Italy, France, America. They were desperate to escape their life in the camps. Those who escaped were never heard of again. Many have been assumed dead, or worse, embroiled in sex trafficking rings.

From lines of refugees girls were pulled, beaten, and sexually assaulted. B.B., a twenty-two year old woman from Mitrovica, Kosovo, reported that:

‘It happened while I was in line with the people. We met Serb paramilitaries. […] He took my hand and told me to get in his car. … He told me not to refuse or there would be lots of victims. He swore at me and said, “Whore, get in the car…” [….]He started to beat me. I lost consciousness. They said that they were paid to do this. I begged him [the first rapist] to kill me but he didn’t want to.’

Gender-based violence against refugees is more than sporadic, personal attacks – it is systematic. As the Serbian paramilitary claimed in B.B.’s report, they were ‘paid to do this’. Sexual violence was state-sanctioned.

Unfortunately, studies on sexual violence committed against displaced people are far and few between. A 2014 study estimated that around 21% of women in 14 conflict countries reported sexual violence,  but we know that the number of unreported cases far outweigh the number of those reported. In peacetime, rape crisis centres and other support services for women are scarce. In wartime, they are almost non-existent. Female refugees who were assaulted were barred from travelling to access support due to the conflict, and the danger that being a woman outside posed to them. Furthermore, there was a cult of silence around sexual violence – one which still haunts countries like Kosovo. In B.B.’s case, ‘He told me not to tell anyone or they would take me for good and shoot my family’. Violence was hidden by the threat of more violence.

Silence is a hard stain to get out. Even when they reached their host countries, refugee women and asylum-seekers could not voice their trauma. When your legal status is unconfirmed, coming forward with your story is dangerous. It could mean being sent to a detention centre, being interrogated, detained, and being repatriated. For example, the Women’s Aid Organisation in Malaysia assisted a Rohingya woman in 2020. When she went to the police station to report sexual violence, she was ‘detained by the police on the basis of her immigration status and denied her right to lodge a report’. This fear bars refugee women from accessing crucial support services in their host country, such as the police services, shelters and hospitals. An example of how this plays out is in Malaysia, where making a police report is a prerequisite for accessing women’s shelters and hospitals. When a police report could lead to detainment (in detention centres where you are not protected from sexual harassment), silence is safer.

This silence extends to cases of domestic violence and workplace harassment. In Malaysia, a refugees’ lack of legal status means that they are deprived of the lack of the right to work. Subsequently, many refugees are forced into the informal workforce, with no access to protection from employer abuse. They are left to suffer ‘inhumane working hours and the withholding of wages’. Labouring in the informal, or ‘grey economy’, deprives women of common social benefits such as a pension, health insurance and paid sick or maternity leave. Out of fear of losing their jobs or facing violence, they are open to routine exploitation.

Without legal status, and due to working for criminally low wages in the informal sector, many female refugees are forced to rely on their partner. Financial dependence on a male partner, combined with a lack of access to crucial social support services, mean that female refugees are particularly vulnerable to domestic abuse. In a survey conducted last year by Harmony Alliance, a migrant and refugee women advocacy organisation, and the Monash Migration and Inclusion Centre, over a third of migrant and refugee women said they experienced domestic violence. Temporary visa holders invariably reported higher levels of domestic and family violence, encompassing physical, emotional and financial abuse. Survey participants also reported proportionately higher patterns of migration-related abuse and threats (for example, the threat of deportation or separation from dependants). The struggle of those abused is compounded by feelings of isolation from the rest of society. Only 30% of the sample said that they trusted their neighbours ‘a great deal’ or ‘lot’, and those who had experienced gender-based violence said they saw the police as systematically unjust. A lack of trust in their neighbours and local support services leads to more women continuing to suffer in silence.

Reaching out for help has become a task more strenuous than ever during the COVID-19 pandemic. A ‘loss of livelihood, home, savings, and prospects of a better future shape the narratives of these [immigrant] women’. Gendered employment precarity has sharpened, with employment rates for immigrant women falling by almost 15%, in comparison to a fall of 8% for immigrant men. Indeed, pandemic-induced job losses (and losses of life) have been concentrated among low-wage industries.

Policymakers must recognise that human rights are not conferred by your legal status, your gender, your birthplace or workplace. They are inherent. In order to protect female refugees, all countries must become party to the 1951 UNHCR Geneva Convention. This will enable refugees to access crucial services in their host country, thereby mitigating the risk that refugee women face when reporting abuse. Systematic sexual abuse must be dealt with by immediate international legislative reform. The ‘tradition of impunity’ which has plagued international courts must be reversed.

Underpinning this is capital. Female refuge centres are in dire need of funding. Financial stability is a prerequisite to leaving an unsafe domestic situation or an abusive dynamic in the workplace. We need to unmask those that exploit vulnerable women for informal labour.

Aside from political and financial changes, we need cultural change. This means thawing the culture of silence around sexual harassment that has perverted the justice system. We need to recognise women, all women, as human beings who have the inviolable right to live a life without fear of violence. Reader, we have a lot to do.

Oxford nightline is open 8pm-8am, every night during term-time, for anyone struggling to cope and provide a safe place to talk where calls are completely confidential. You can call them on 01865 270 270, or chat at oxfordnightline.org. You can also contact Samaritans 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, by calling 116 123 or emailing [email protected].

Image Credit: Mia Clement

“These are full humans that we have to take in”: An Interview with the Cast of Quartet

Sam Spencer
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“These are full humans that we have to take in”: An Interview with the Cast of Quartet

I wrote Quartet over a year and a half ago in early 2020, sitting down for an hour every morning to chip away at it as my way of getting through a term in lockdown. Having handed over my script to the trusted hands of Alex Foster (director) and our stunning actors, I was itching to find out how Quartet has developed. Sitting down to speak with cast members Rosie Owen and Lydia Free, I wanted to know their thoughts on Quartet and how they are finding their first foray into drama at Oxford.

The two came to Oxford drama from different paths. Lydia took a year out of education, working as a waitress, before coming to Oxford. The time out taught her that drama was her priority, so she jumped straight into auditions in her first term. Rosie is a second-year, who stayed out of drama in her first year over lockdown. She tells me she was pleasantly surprised by how friendly the auditions were and that it felt like a workshop, far from the image she had of Oxford drama that ‘you have to know the right people’. “I really enjoyed the audition. It wasn’t ‘you do this’, ‘you do that’ – it was ‘show us what you can do’,” she tells me, adding that she wants to tell her first-year-self, “Everyone can do this. You can.”

Rosie plays Joe, the titular quartet’s kind-hearted actor, while Lydia plays Chris, the quiet and observant writer. It made me laugh to hear that the two have a feud over who’s character is more likeable; neither are budging. Lydia jokes, “I am actually obsessed with Chris. I have a deep soul connection with that boy. I think he’s a beautiful human”. Rosie parries that Joe is “there for absolutely everyone”, to which Lydia ripostes that Chris “seems like a lovely, lovely, kind, observant guy”.

Seems is the integral word here, though. Conversation quickly turns to how thoroughly the actors have been investigating and unpicking their characters. Rosie tells me that in the read-through she initially saw Joe as “quite performative and has a kind heart” but, during the rehearsal process, has found him to be someone with “a very strong sense of integrity” and the true “glue” and “leader” of the group. Lydia too is reckoning with the darker sides of lovely lovely Chris who, to her enjoyment, delivers what is perhaps the cruellest line of the play. “These are full humans that we have to take in,” Lydia tells me.

For both Rosie and Lydia, the malleability of the script is one of their favourite parts of Quartet, that will keep it “new and fresh” with every performance. “It has got the potential to feel different each night … I love that about good writing, that it’s not just one-note … There are so many lines and dynamics that, if one night you say something differently, it can change the tone and meaning each night. It’s very poignant,” Rosie says.

Lydia in particular is looking forward to playing with the flexibility of the script in the final scene. Without revealing too much, the final action of the play leaves a lot to be questioned in regard to Chris. Lydia jokes, she wants to “maximum [sic] the audience’s despair of wanting answers”. Rosie too jumps in, “that last bit is really ‘Oh sh*t!’” You’ll have to come see Quartet to find out what it is they’re talking about…

Quartet is playing at the Burton Taylor Studio 9.30pm Tuesday 23rd November – Saturday 27th November. Tickets are available via the Playhouse website.

https://www.oxfordplayhouse.com/events/quartet

Image Credit: Zoe Heimann

John Evelyn: MT21 Week 5

Sasha Mills
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John Evelyn: MT21 Week 5

As Steve Jobs once said, ‘you can’t connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards’. Never have more inspirational words been spoken. 

Michaelmas was always destined to be unpredictable. It took six weeks to sharpen the knife but when the dagger was finally plunged, many were surprised to see The Tobacco Dispenser clutching the weapon – et tu, Mr Flip Flop?  John Evelyn would like to advise The Camera Man to ensure flash is on in future, to avoid such nasty surprises coming out of left field. 

Certainly one of the cleanest slatings in a while, Jevelyn hears The Runner Up was proud to see his old partner in crime, pulling the strings once more. The Merton Mystery and Sgt. Major Gilet were quick to line up also, following the example set by the ghost of the Late Etonian earlier in the week. Interestingly, the final string to the quartet caused a great deal of market turbulence, with the Euro performing remarkably strongly. 

At the time of writing it is unclear whether The Camera Man still has much of a squad to work with. PV13 is probably too busy posting facebook stories to notice the drama, whilst North London’s Demeter has decided to resurrect his short lived acting career. On the bright side, John Evelyn would like to draw The Camera Man’s attention to the week 4 edition, reminding him that he still has his paper speech to look forward to and he now even has an opposition speaker to roast! 

Amongst all the election chatter it would be easy to forget the comical psychodrama unfolding amongst the Secretary’s Committee. Mr Mrs Horvath finds herself at the center of A Fish(er)-y plot to take down Mr. Last Minute Revealed. However, given his exemplary record as a hard worker, she continues to wax lyrical about her favourite seccie to an incredulous (and mildly incensed) committee. Such a committee is also looking for a new chair to pick up the mantle from Mrs Horvath. John Evelyn notes that one candidate is overtly reminiscent of The Overcompensating Seccie Loser. Both blonde, both ineffective hacks and both belong back in the Ocean! I’m sure his Scottish predecessor will be happy to offer tips on how to back the wrong side in an election. 

Alas, eyes back on the Presidential prize. As Oxmas day draws ever closer, perhaps Lincoln will be home to the nativity, as the next Christ Church hack is born. Let’s just hope The House looks more favourably upon their new star, than the prophets who have come before.

Oxford Colleges reject student-led climate rankings

Maurício Alencar
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Oxford Colleges reject student-led climate rankings

The majority of Oxford and Cambridge colleges received the lowest “U” grade in climate rankings published by the student-led group Climate League of Oxford and Cambridge. Anvee Bhutani, Oxford SU President, summarised on Twitter: “Oxford colleges overwhelmingly fail”.

However, in a statement released to Cherwell, a spokesperson for Oxford University’s Conference of Colleges said that they “don’t consider that a competitive league table of the sort CLOC proposes is a useful tool, or that it provides information that can be relied on”. 

Across Oxford University, four Oxford colleges received a score of 0 (grade U): Brasenose College, St. Antony’s College, St Catherine’s College, and University College. 

Somerville College topped the rankings for Oxford with a score of 51, which was graded as a “D”. Corpus Christi College and Mansfield College followed in second and third respectively, with scores of 47 (grade E) and 46 (grade E). 

Images were projected onto sites across Oxford. Here, a “CLOC” is projected onto the Bridge of Sighs. Image: Suzanne Williams via Goukamma Consulting

CLOC published a “Score Breakdown” for the rankings. Within the breakdown, the general comments section states that there is a “dishonourable mention” of climate and environment for University College, St Catherine’s College, and St Antony’s College. For Brasenose College, the comments state that “climate [is] completely absent from [the] College’s public information” and that there is “seemingly no attempt to consider the environment at all”. 

CLOC also outlined its methodology. Upon setting out its scoring criteria for colleges, CLOC “followed the example of the Environmental, Social and Governance (ESG) investment movement”. Its scoring principles included consulting “extensively with experts including professional environmental consultancies as well as faculty-members from both Universities”. CLOC affirmed that they looked “to avoid a wealth bias” between colleges. In addition, only “publicly-available information” was used for the ranking. 

The number of points which could be awarded to colleges for climate action varied according to different areas. These areas consisted of “decarbonisation” (35 points), “divestment” (30 points), “delinking”(20 points), and “governance” (15 points). 

CLOC excluded all permanent private halls from the ranking “because they are not independent, self-governing, and financially autonomous bodies”. Reuben College was also excluded “on the basis of how recently it was created”, as was All Souls College, “given its size and special financial status”. 

The spokesperson for Oxford’s Conference of Colleges stated: “We don’t agree with the methodology. Their assessment of the policies and practices of individual colleges is both inaccurate and incomplete, so that the ‘scores’ they have allocated to colleges are wholly misleading. In any event, individual colleges are not comparable, given the great variety of their resources and buildings. Overall, we consider that the CLOC league table gives rise to the risk of box-ticking rather than genuinely effective action.” 

Oxford students created a visual representation of the CLOC Tables by the steps to the Clarendon Building on the 19 November 2021. Video: Matilda Gettins

Anvee Bhutani, Oxford SU President, stated: “Most colleges have received a U, and the best only a C in our ranking, showing that their climate ambition ranges from poor to non-existent. This is not only unacceptable, but deeply hypocritical. To the outside world, Oxford University pretend[s] to be [a] leader in the fight against the climate crisis. Yet on the inside, many of their own colleges are lagging far behind, with no strategies to reach net zero and continued ties to the fossil fuel industry.”

The spokesperson for Oxford’s Conference of Colleges concluded: “Oxford Colleges are engaging closely with the University, with experts in the field, and with their undergraduate and graduate communities to set policies on sustainability, including through our Sustainability Working Group. The Group’s current efforts are focussed on agreeing a common way to measure and report on our energy and water use and our biodiversity, and we plan to report on these using an agreed common approach early next year.”

The spokesperson added that “there is information about what we have already done” in a report published last May and on the University’s website.  

A revised CLOC ranking will be published every year.

Cambridge University has been contacted for comment.

Image: Suzanne Williams via Goukamma Consulting

What next for Meta?

Oliver Hall
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What next for Meta?

Mark Zuckerberg might want to sell us all on the metaverse, but there are far more pressing issues for the social media giant. As yet more whistle-blowers emerge off the back of a month of chaos, what lies ahead for the $1 trillion company?

Reports that had emerged weeks ago suggesting that Facebook will change its name were correct, signally a shift in focus from the world’s biggest tech giant. It is perhaps the biggest marker yet of just how far the fall from grace has been for Mark Zuckerberg’s company. In the recent edition of the annual Verge Tech Survey, 34% of people said they had a negative opinion of the brand, down six percent on last year when it was already the second worst-performing company. 31% said that they believed it had a negative impact on society and just 56% said that they trusted Facebook with their personal information. The most striking revelation though was that 72% of those surveyed said that they think Facebook has too much power. Zuckerberg claims his name change and rebrand plans are to refocus public attention on the company’s long-term goal to create ‘a new metaverse’, but in reality, he is clearly scrambling for a way to win back public confidence.

Recently, crises have come thick and fast for the California-based multinational. The week beginning 4th October was certainly the worst in the company’s history. It all began when former employee Frances Haugen leaked documents showing that Facebook ignored internal evidence that its Instagram services were having a negative effect on the mental health of teenagers. This was followed by a bombshell appearance on the US politics show 60 Minutes and a showstopping Congress hearing at the end of the week where things went from bad to worse for the tech giant.

In stark contrast to Zuckerberg and other tech bosses during their own recent congressional hearings, Haugen provided clear-cut answers and declined to comment on issues she didn’t know about. This was all made much easier by the slew of documents she revealed to the house.  

Amidst this chaos came an even bigger disaster for Facebook. On Monday 4th and Friday 9th, the 2.8 billion people who use Facebook’s services around the world were hit by lengthy global outages. Businesses were brought to standstill, including Facebook itself, with employees unable to access text messages and emails. It was a poignant reminder as to just how embedded the company has become in the daily lives of people around the world. The way in which several African countries saw their economies come to a halt owing to their reliance on Facebook-based payment platforms illustrates many of the dangers of an overreliance on so-called ‘big tech’.

And to put the cherry on top, recently a new whistle-blower has emerged. This former employee has evidence that Facebook was aware of Russian interference in the 2016 US presidential election and chose not to take action at an earlier stage, as well as echoing Haugen’s sentiments that the company continually “puts profits before efforts to fight hate speech and misinformation“.

So, out of all this, what lies ahead? These recent problems have only intensified calls for stricter regulation of the company, most prominently in the US. There, it awaits the result of planned congressional legislation, a judgement from the new US Attorney General, and the outcome of a lawsuit led by the Federal Trade Commission that was relaunched in August. The UK and EU look ready to follow whatever path the United States takes, but appetite for change here is yet to spread into the political mainstream in the same way as it has across the pond.

Despite recent shifts in how people perceive the company, it seems almost impossible that public pressure will force Facebook to make any kind of significant changes. It is too integrated into businesses and the economies of countries around the world; but more importantly it is seen as far too much of an essential to everyday life for the vast majority of ordinary people.

The most likely outcome then is more worrying. Change is unlikely, perhaps impossible, and will certainly be slow-moving if it does ever arrive. Gautam Hans, a Law Professor at Vanderbilt University, pointed out in an interview with the Guardian that the business has dodged regulatory scrutiny since its inception. “I think Facebook will survive”, he said. “It’s too powerful and too robust. It’s hard to think of a world in which it doesn’t exist.”

So, it’s almost impossible to say what the next twist in the tale will be for the newly named Meta. Perhaps the public or employees can force change, perhaps governments will increase regulation. In reality though, the road ahead is long – everyone can see the problem, but few can agree on how to solve it.

Image Credit: Anthony Quintano / CC BY 2.0

Code Name Mary: Jewish Heroes

Tamzin Lent
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Code Name Mary: Jewish Heroes

It is rare to hear about a life as extraordinary as that of Muriel Gardiner. A student who left Oxford for an underground socialist movement in Red Vienna, a Jewish woman who saved countless lives from Nazi Germany, a woman who spent the entirety of her life, in her lover Stephen Spender’s words, “dedicated to doing good to others”.  

The new exhibition – “Code Name Mary: The extraordinary life of Muriel Gardiner” at the Freud museum runs until January 2022 in London.  I had visited museum in Vienna, to see, much to my disappointment – a replica of the entirety of the contents of the house in Hampstead. Yet, it is something about the quaint little gallery in the house in London, with it’s strange collection of antiques, that really makes it feel as though Freud might look over at you from round behind the desk, and greet you. Visiting the Freud museum is always a fascinating experience, from seeing the original couch lodged in the corner of the beautiful little house in Hampstead, to the exhibitions, and the paintings of the Wolf Man. It was, however, striking to realize that we would know almost nothing about the famous “Wolf Man” without Muriel – the woman who published the account of Freud’s most famous patient, and further, wrote a book about the account herself.

I was drawn to Muriel because of her famous affair with Stephen Spender in Vienna, her underground socialist activities in Vienna, the way in which she saved countless individuals from the Nazi regime, her time at Oxford… in fact from the moment I heard of her, and the controversy surrounding Lillian Hellman’s character Julia (who was, in fact, Muriel), I was intrigued to know more. Muriel attended Oxford in the 1920s, before travelling to Vienna, initially for psychoanalysis. She was defiant whilst at Oxford, finding it “bleak, rigid, and unfriendly to women students” at her women’s college which she felt was like “a girl’s boarding school.” Her sense of purpose was always in politics, in righting perceived injustices. When she travelled to Vienna, she joined a radical underground communist group committed to Red Vienna, smuggling passports and money for her comrades under her code name, “Mary”. She housed anti-fascists, hiding them in her cottage, and eventually ended up leaving Spender for the leader of the Austrian Revolutionary Socialists, Joseph Buttinger, whom she married.

At the centre of the gallery is a large notice board with the word connections writ in large. A photograph of her in a glamorous black dress sits at the centre, and around her we see the faces of those she was entangled with in Vienna. We see Kim Philby, the famous Soviet spy, who she recalls meeting in her memoir and only connects face to name thirty years later, when she happened to pick up The Third Man by E.H. Cookridge, a biography of Philby; the poet Stephen Spender (Spender’s first sexual relationship with a woman was with Muriel), who recalls his time in Vienna in his poem of the same name; Sergei Pankejeff – the famous Wolf Man, and a patient of Sigmund Freud; (Muriel herself wrote a book about his case entitled, The Wolf-Man and Sigmund Freud); Freud; Joseph Buttlinger; Albert Einstein – a good friend of hers; and several other names, all of which testify to the network of brilliance she interacted with and assisted during one of the darkest periods of all time. It is enthralling to think about her time in Vienna, her involvement in the underground, as revealed in her memoir which deals with the hunted lives of her comrades, but also evokes her personal relationships, fragments of memories she clearly treasured for most of her life.

She is most famous as Juliain Lillian Hellman’s book Pentimento, which was later filmed as Julia – a film which stars Vanessa Redgrave. The controversy surrounding this film is perhaps one of the most fascinating aspects of the entire story. When the book Pentimento first appeared, her friends began to call her, insisting that she must be “Julia” as there were no other American women who were deeply involved in the Austrian anti-Fascist or anti-Nazi underground. Although she says that she tried to write her own autobiography prior to the publication of this book, it seems like the book is what prompted her to tell her own story. She was even involved in founding and funding the Freud museum itself, and seems in this way responsible for carrying on the legacy of all of those names surrounding hers on the Connections chart, even as hers has generally faded into obscurity.

An article written about the exhibition declares her to be “the most thrilling person you’ve never heard of”. It is bizarre that she lacks fame, given that she was perhaps one of the greatest activists amidst a series of incredibly famous names. An heiress, she could have remained in the States – but instead she came to Europe and spent years of her life smuggling people out of a war torn land. Jewish heroines like Gardiner deserve exhibitions, celebrations, books, and fame. They do not deserve to fade into obscurity, forgotten by generations.  Reading her autobiography, hearing her compassionate voice and her radicality speak for itself, is an experience to treasure. I would highly recommend it.

Image credit: Tamzin Lent

The problem with criminal biopics

Olanrewaju Ajidagba
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The problem with criminal biopics

On the morning of November 27th 1989, a domestic Colombian aircraft headed for Alfonso Bonilla Aragon International Airport in Cali, southwest Colombia, took off from El Dorado international airport in Bogota. Five minutes into the flight at an average speed of 794 kilometres per hour, the plane had risen to an altitude of 13,000 feet, when suddenly two consecutive high-explosive detonations ripped the airliner into two flaming halves which fell dismally to a three-mile radius around the town of Sochoa. The incident killed all 107 people on board alongside an additional three people on the ground who died as a result of their proximity to the rapid descent of the plane’s falling debris.

The domestic aircraft was Avianca flight 203 and its mid-air explosion was the apex attack in an era of narco-terrorism in Colombia started by the infamous Medellin cartel. Its head was arguably the wealthiest criminal the world has ever known: Pablo Escobar Gaviria. The explosives planted in Flight 203 by the Medellin cartel was meant to eliminate the then Colombia presidential candidate, Cesar Gaviria, who had declared war on Pablo and his drug-peddling cohorts. Cesar Gaviria narrowly missed the flight because of security reasons and eventually went on to become Colombia’s 28th president.

Despite Pablo’s famed ruthlessness as evident in the aftermath of flight 203, there are few personalities in popular culture to date, either dead or alive, who can successfully boast about attaining the dizzying levels of his posthumous celebrity status. The growing list of films, songs and documentaries that have been inspired by the life of the man who presided over one of the most profitable criminal enterprises in history makes sure the eponymous legacy he allegedly coveted stays intact.

Rather than focusing on the victims of Pablo’s crimes or showing how the rise of the violence perpetrated by rival drug cartels has adversely affected Medellin and Colombia in general, the majority of the biopics on Pablo tend to tow the overworn path of displaying the extent of Pablo’s ostensible wealth and his criminal ingenuity while spending less time on his ignominious downfall and the harrowing depths of his crimes. The result of this is a worldwide fascination with one of history’s most brutal characters, whose acts of narco-terrorism can be said to be on par with that of Osama Bin Laden – even though the two men share different ideologies and a common disdain for the intervention of Western government in their respective countries.

This is the problem with criminal biopics. Whether it is attempting to educate its viewers about the end results of a life spent in the annals of the criminal underworld or just participating in the vain, retrogressive act of celebrating individuals for their perversive ingenuity, flawed criminal biopics which fit into this category always end up creating an eponymous legacy for their subjects. From classic movies like the Godfather to recent pictures like the Wolf of Wall Street, Hollywood’s fascination with the extravagant lifestyles of the criminal elite, especially those with a rags to riches back story often elevates the characters of these movies to anti-establishment saints who were able to amass colossal amounts of wealth despite the unfair odds posed by their immediate environment.   

This problem isn’t specific to Western film industries alone. In Nigeria, the shoddily-named film industry, Nollywood, has also rolled out a number of movies that seem to glorify armed robbers who possess supreme supernatural powers that enables them to evade capture by security agents. While it might not be the direct intention of movie directors in Hollywood, Nollywood or global film industries, to glorify certain criminals, the subjectivity of any work of art renders it susceptible to multiple interpretations by its audience. In this case, there’s a need for movie directors and storytellers to display sound judgment while creating their stories, especially in environments where people often tend to pursue a life of crime due to kleptocracies that have ensured that the average citizen does not get their due benefits from the state. 

In a widely read article written by Evan Ratliff for Bloomberg, the chronicled fall of “billionaire Gucci master” Ramon Abbas AKA Hushpuppi, whose vain display of ostentatious wealth on Instagram attracted over two million followers, teeming with hopefuls that constantly hang on to his motivational anecdotes because they provide an alternative route for millions of hardworking Nigerian youths who have been failed by the ineptitude of those in government. While no peculiar circumstances in life excuse an exclusive devotion to a life of crime, it is also worth noting that the recent rise in online scams perpetrated by “yahoo boys” in Nigeria is a direct result of the huge indifference of the Nigerian political elite to the rising levels of poverty in the country. 

In this sort of environment, Rogues like Hushpuppi are seen as heroes who have defied the ills of their environment to attain some sort of dreamscape where the everyday struggle for money is a distant worry. Mixed reactions have trailed the announcement made on Instagram by Mo Abudu, the CEO of ebonylife TV, a major Nigerian entertainment company, to collaborate with American movie producer Will Packer on a movie based on the Bloomberg article. While there’s a need to “tell our own stories with authenticity and avoid making characters that are one-dimensional”, as espoused by Mo Abudu in a publication by Premium Times Nigeria, the much-touted “hushpuppi movie” should not be a biopic. In fact, the name “hushpuppi” should not be used in the movie in any case.

The reasons for these demands are self-evident. Any biopic with eponymous references to the life of hushpuppi would elevate him to the status of an urban legend like that of a Pablo or an Al Capone despite the intentions of the storyteller or movie director. There’s simply no need to make a movie about a man that has contributed in enormous proportions to the international disregard for Nigeria and Nigerians. Stories about the rise and fall of online scammers and their extravagant lifestyles in Nigeria can still be expertly told without making any reference to hushpuppi in particular. 

Nigerians don’t need another Pablo to define its international image in the way the legacies of the Medellin cartel’s drug wars have created harmful stereotypes about Colombians. Just like there has been an absence of worthy legacies to be turned into biopics in most of Nigeria’s political history, the name Ramon Abbas AKA hushpuppi needs to be allowed to recline slowly into the deep, dark cesspits of Nigeria’s history, the place where it rightly belongs.

Image Credit: Pxfuel

Auntythetical: The pressure of the dreaming spires

Amal Salar-Hashmi
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Auntythetical: The pressure of the dreaming spires

I always wanted to be the best at anything I tried, and because I grew up in a somewhat-small Northern city, attending an okay-school where I worked hard, this was entirely attainable.

I’ve been privileged by an upbringing that granted me access to things like a quiet space to work, and parents who highly valued my education (although, perhaps too much at times).

I enjoyed it when my friends came to me for help with schoolwork or their personal statements, because it meant my work was seen by others.

I worked with the scarce material that I had to create a viable application to university, capitalising upon my interest in language and all things ancient- as well as my father’s desire for me to attain the Oxford brand name- to make the leap from science A-Levels to something I truly craved to study.

But now that I’m here, a desi Classicist at Oxford, I’ve never felt so out of place.

Everything that I thought made me worthy of being here, that I fought to read and learn alongside my studies, feels insignificant. Like dust, blown off the table of assumed knowledge by the first breath of someone about to take over a tutorial with esoteric interpretations of the Iliad that I’ve never heard. Even though I benefit from all that my parents have struggled to provide me with, being here has exposed me to astronomical levels of privilege that I didn’t know existed. 

This sort of privilege entails speaking fluent Latin and Greek since you were 11 and having teachers- all with doctorates from Oxbridge in the subject that they teach- who train you to apply for their alma mater from the moment you complete your SATS. Very much unlike the rotating band of substitutes who, having completed unrelated degrees in Sociology or PE, taught me in A-Level Biology. What I put in my university application was my peers’ bedtime reading when they were children. Classics and many of those who study it exist within a bubble. An elitist bubble that is dominated by white men who went to public schools.

I have pitted myself against these people and have tricked myself into thinking this a strange form of meritocracy where we begin and end on unequal footing. I feel as if I can never catch up, visible in how I struggle to understand arguments and references my classmates make, or how my tutor tries to pretend like I’ve made a valuable contribution to our discussions.

There are so many cultural and intellectual nuances that I just don’t have access to: I don’t even know what I don’t know. And I’m scared by how much I feel like I don’t belong.

On several occasions, people have verbalised this to me. First, they notice how much I stick out, how my appearance and ethnic background is less than reconcilable with my degree.

Then, they feel empowered to articulate this to me, with questions ranging from ‘are your parents okay with this’ to ‘why don’t you study your own culture’.

Desi families have a reputation for pushing vocational degrees like medicine or law onto their kids, and as harmful as this stereotype can be, this was still true for me. With this, came many emotional and practical obstacles.

Despite failing to understand exactly what Classics is, much of the desi community around me cannot comprehend why I’m studying a ‘gora’s’ degree, and what I’ll be able to do with it. I had to convince both my parents and a series of concerned aunties that my choice was justified and future proof. I had to insist that I would never want to do something as unstable as archaeology (once I had explained to them what that was). One facet of this that genuinely upsets me is that I need feasible continuity plans to justify what I’m doing to everyone in my life, when knowing how little I belong in Classics makes me struggle to justify my choices to myself; making this whole enterprise feel pointless. It’s not good enough to want to study Classics- it must have reasonable career progression, which I know is not guaranteed. I’m afraid of sharing the burden of this worry with my family, as it would only reaffirm their scepticism about my decision. For all that they’ve sacrificed, expected disappointment but an uncertain future would be a poor repayment.

But I don’t think desis like me, who chose ‘unconventional degrees’, should have to carry the burden of arbitrating between their academic passion and their ethnic background.

This disharmony might never have been so pronounced if not for the inherently exclusive nature of Classics. Classics today is incredibly diminished compared to what it should be, such that it has cast out people like me when we would otherwise have contributed richly to it. To illustrate, the extensive oral tradition that culminated in Homeric epic potentially has roots in Bronze Age literary canons from India, Mesopotamia, and so on.

The very notion of Classics is Eurocentric, ossified at a time when the fruitfulness of western civilisation was used to justify the oppression of peoples perceived as inferior. Why should Classics be limited to (frankly, overstudied) things like Cicero and Greek tragedy, when it would benefit from rightfully including, say, the kingdom of D’mt or Mukarrib rule, instead of shunting them into generalised, antiquated categories like ‘oriental’. In heralding the Mediterranean alone, we consciously shut out all the contributions of other societies. And when we do that, we prevent people who should have every claim to this community from joining it.

I don’t want to feel left out of this discipline, but I also don’t want to be a part of a fundamentally exclusive institution. I want the history of my ancestors to be promoted at the forefront of academia alongside those of my white peers, and not as an addendum found in the back of the appendix. But I don’t want to pretend like I can compete in an arena that I’m not equipped to be in, because I’m a small fish in a big pond and everyone is a Retiarius. Therefore, the natural conclusion is compromise. I switched to Classics and Sanskrit, where I feel capable in a way that I never did with my single honours. I’m also letting my parents down just a little less by honouring our heritage in my studies. But most importantly, I belong.

Auntythetical: Being stuck in the middle

Amal Salar-Hashmi
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Auntythetical: Being stuck in the middle

As week 5 and its disappointment approaches, it might be pertinent to talk more on themes of loneliness and unstable friendships. Of course, you might be a social wreck regardless of your ethnicity but being desi sometimes feels like hurdle that we struggle to jump over to catch up with our non-desi friends, who are already at the finishing line and receiving the prize of ‘settling in’. I’m constantly struck by the recognition that the source of my difficulty fitting in is irretrievably intertwined with the fact that I have immigrant parents.

Not in the clichéd sense that I’m ‘stuck between two cultures, never fully a part of either’, but rather, that my personality has been cultivated around my cultural sensibilities, such that maintaining friendships with white girls feels entirely uncharted. Even if I have been trying my whole life.

Having spent a long time searching for a reason why I was always the ‘other’, I found that, unsurprisingly, it was rooted in the stifling family dynamics I grew up with. My parents had a love marriage, which is almost embarrassing considering how much they dislike each other. This manifested in them constantly arguing, delivering sharp words and ultimatums with me and my sister as intermediaries. Long stretches of my childhood were spent trying to mediate between them, and this tension bled into my adolescence. Being a mediator as a child in a desi family is a common experience yet creates a contrast with feeling as if you are on the periphery in friendship groups. Desis fluctuate between being the centre of negative attention in the home, to being entirely forgotten, and this becomes a difficult task to navigate. 

It is never an easy thing to acknowledge, that no matter how nice and understanding one might try to be, and no matter how much one might be made to adopt the role of caregiver, the more socially acceptable ‘funny’ or ‘cool’ friend will always be preferred. My culture has forced me to gain a self-marginalising ‘maturity’ that somehow only makes me attractive when I’m needed as a safety-net friend. People know I will be there, even if they’re settling for less by relying on me.

Another aspect to consider is my need to please people. I suppose that growing up on guard instilled a subtle fear in me, as I searched for the best way to walk on eggshells around my parents. Consequently, I know that I over-analyse every situation, often meaning that I try to pre-empt how people feel and how to make their feelings about me positive. This has made me overcompensate with loyalty; a sad desperation hiding behind projected images of dedication. This desperation has led to me forcing myself to adjust to uncomfortable situations, thus crossing the boundaries of normal friendship.

However, because brown girls lend so much of their emotional energy to appeasing others, it feels like our personal interest in how our friends see us is at much greater risk. Needing to prove my worth constantly, I aim to make everyone feel heard and content with my presence in their life. But so many brown girls I know have been plunged into situations far beyond what they can handle, hoping that the power of friendship will carry them and their friends through circumstances that are damaging to themselves. This is all done under the assumption that this is what friends should do, which is sadly unreciprocated. 

Whenever I see friends cussing each other one day and assuming all is forgiven the next, I’m horrified. I can see why living with my volatile parents has caused me to expect permanent vendettas from the smallest of clashes, but I will never understand how people are comfortable remaining in friendships in which they are perceived as less-than-perfect. I have constantly witnessed how they incessantly apologise when they think they might have offended someone or stepped out of their role as the approachable one.

The mockery of desis in real life culture and media can explain why we struggle with friendship. Hurtful stereotypes about brown people inform our interactions with one another. Namely, the television/film trope of the nerdy, weird desi character with a worn-out, kind of questionable backstory and ambiguously Indian name (the typecasting as terrorists is another conversation). This can be seen in The Big Bang Theory, and even cartoons like The Simpsons or Phineas and Ferb. In this way, writers and directors are upholding the harmful notion that brown people are the other, regardless of how integrated they might be. They have strange voices, even if the character was seemingly raised in America; dubious quirks, like an inability to talk to women or general creepiness; and a tendency to want to break free from the shackles of their brownness, only to be foiled by caricatured, traditional parents.

In all these cases, the desi character is the scapegoat of the group, whom everyone expects to be a pushover and treats accordingly. This hurts, because it’s exactly how people used to- and potentially still do- see me. When you must accede to being the butt of everyone’s jokes and are lovingly bullied until it doesn’t feel so loving, there seems to be only one possible explanation: you’re just different. But by different, I mean lesser.

The feeling of isolation constantly harassed me, and it’s easier to simply deal with mockery of what I now realise to be desi values and cultural traits, than to risk being alone. My non-desi friends would never racially abuse me, but I always knew I didn’t connect with them in the same way.  There would be moments of unnecessary hostility towards me because of some infraction I had committed (like answering a question in class or wearing bright clothes) with such fecundity that my entire role in the friendship group would be consistently called into question.

The ostracism I felt had forced me to choose between my identity and the chance to have friends. It took a long time for me to reach a point where I made sure my friends were allies first, and these boundaries didn’t get in the way.

All of this makes it feel a lot safer to stay solely within groups of brown girls. I used to be so glad knowing that I have some stable, certain friendships with other girls like me, even capitalising upon the marginal social stratification within these groups. There, I would take on the role of mediator yet again, but this time, liaising between the ‘normal’ girls and these less socially apt creatures: a glorious power-trip.

That is, until I realised that this was incredibly demeaning, and I was acting in exactly the way that I hated when delivered by others, and it wasn’t okay simply because I was brown too.

By feeling like I was ‘settling’ for people just like me, I was also buying into the idea that desis were less than. Keeping awkward brown girls as my own safety net was still a way of using them to feel better about myself and my discomfort with my other friendships.

My closest friends now are desis, and that’s a choice, not my own desperation.

My brown friends are some of the best I’ve ever had, and it’s taken me a long time to find them. I do not have to restrain my personality to fit what others demand of me anymore. Friendships are more self-serving and intuitive: we both give, and we both take. Having similar backgrounds and shared experiences is no longer a mark of shame that we’re all eager to shed, but something I’m grateful for, as it brings us closer. We’re good enough- more than- for each other and can finally settle knowing we won’t be left behind.

Professor Louise Richardson to leave position of Vice-Chancellor

Estelle Atkinson
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Professor Louise Richardson to leave position of Vice-Chancellor

Professor Louise Richardson is set to leave Oxford after a seven year term as the Vice-Chancellor. She will leave the role in December of 2022 and assume a new role as President of the Carnegie Corporation of New York in January of 2023. 

The Carnegie Corporation of New York is a philanthropic fund founded in 1911 by Andrew Carnegie in order to support education programs throughout the United States and the world. The Carnegie Corporation announced their new President today on their website, describing themselves as a “grant making foundation that inspires action in democracy, international peace, and education.”

A spokesperson for the University of Oxford explained that “the process of choosing a successor to Professor Richardson is already well-advanced. A committee charged with nominating the next Vice-Chancellor, led by the Chancellor, began work in July this year. It is expected to submit a name to the University’s Congregation for approval in summer 2022.”

Professor Richardson commented: “My time at Oxford has been the most exhilarating, challenging and rewarding period in my career, and there remains so much more to be done together in the year ahead. At Carnegie I will be leading a Foundation dedicated to my twin passions of education and peace, but Oxford – and my remarkable colleagues here – will never be far from my thoughts.”

Lord Patten of Barnes, Chancellor of the University of Oxford, said “Louise has confirmed to me that after seven years as Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, she will take up the post of President of the Carnegie Corporation of New York in January 2023. I know Louise will serve Oxford in her last year in office with the same passion, strong leadership and unending energy which has delivered so much for the University. When Louise finally leaves, she will depart with our very best wishes and deepest thanks.”

Image: Alan Richardson/CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

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