Why Feminism is Never Out of Date

I’m a white male, age 18 to 49. Everyone listens to me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are – Homer Simpson

 

Personally, I could not be more privileged. I am a straight white male. If you want to discriminate against me, you’re gonna have to start calling me specky. I am in a good position when it comes to physical traits that cannot be changed. This doesn’t mean that I, or anyone else in my position, or anyone who is in the exact opposite of my position, cannot identify as a feminist. Sure, women have the vote. Yeah, they are allowed to show their ankles now without being labelled too much of a harlot. I can’t, however, think of a year that has passed where feminism has not been necessary; where some sort of activism has not been needed  to show that women are still treated poorly, or that women are dictated to about their issues by men, or that they are somehow blamed for things that happen to them.

Student Democracy On Campus

The past couple of weeks have been a controversial time on campus but one issue seems to have been neglected: the dearth of competition in student elections. In the SRC alone, two of the four executive positions, including the president, were uncontested, whilst out of 34 non-executive positions only nine received more than a single nominee and a further 16 remain unfilled at this moment. Even with the implementation of online voting the turnout in the elections was only slightly higher than that of the preceding week’s independence referendum and none of the five postgraduate convenors’ positions were filled. It seems like a simple point but if you feel strongly about an issue then engaging in the democratic process is the way to effect a change; no action taken is a tacit endorsement of the status quo. Over 700 people joined a Facebook group entitled ‘Reform the GUU’ yet their presence at the other union’s AGM was conspicuous by its absence. Instead the hand over to the new board of management was a sombre affair, laying out their vision for the future of the union but devoid of the sort of confrontation that those in attendance had expected.

The Budget: Students Overlooked?

Creepy McCreeperface, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, (real name George Osborne for those of you that haven’t been paying attention), announced his budget recently. Emily Boldry takes a look at what students can expect to gain or lose from his plans.

From ‘The Prime Minister’s Office’

Is Staying Safe Your Responsibility?

The chances are you will have heard about the recent sexual assaults that have taken place close to campus. The BBC posted an article online, the SRC sent us all an email, and the story was passed around Facebook like a Kony 2012 video. People naturally responded. Loudly.

QMU Jailbreak

Over the last few years QM members have travelled as far afield as Egypt, Alicante & last year two groups got to Poland; all without spending a penny of their own money. They achieved this through taking part in QM’s Annual Jailbreak. The principle behind Jailbreak is simple, get as far away from the union as possible in 48 hours, the team that gets furthers “as the crow flies” is deemed the winner; the only catch being that you must achieve this without spending any of your, or anyone you know’s, money.

Interested? Want to know more? We asked some of our previous participants some quick questions to give you a better idea of what to expect from one of the best weekends of your uni life.

 

The American Way

We’re all guilty of using “Americanisms”. My friend from Aberdeen is the spokeswoman for DUDE, I revel in the AWESOMENESS of everything and even my dad is partial to throwing in a BUDDY every now and then. The biggest explanation as to why we’ve adopted so much American slang is surely the influence of US film and television. For example, the main character in The Big Lebowski is The Dude- everyone wants to be The Dude, he made milk cool again, for God’s sake. Thanks to Mean Girls we were both reacquainted with “skank” and introduced to “skeez”, and programmes like Friends, a show that plays several times every day in syndication and has done so for nearly twenty years, are responsible for the “Oh my God” and “like” pandemics that spread across the English speaking world. Diablo Cody, the writer of Juno, has been praised for the way in which she managed to engage with and portray the way American teenagers actually speak, and because of the movie’s worldwide success, we have picked up some Juno-isms like “food baby” and wanted to be as smart, witty and irreverent as she can be. While we might not all go around repeating every new word we hear on this week’s episode of Girls or chronicling the way Jersey Shore cast members speak,  the language and phrases British audiences are exposed to by the US media definitely have the ability to shape the way we talk.

Don’t Judge a Student By Their Passport

Remember, if you will, the following: you’re back in first year, and Freshers’ week has just passed, leaving you blissfully happy and rolling in new pals, but also with an only semi-functioning liver, not a lot of dignity and absolutely no cash. Some of the more carefree souls among us might stock up on Tesco Value canned pasta and wait for the sweet relief of Loan Day. Others will have enough willpower to trawl through Gumtree and start looking for a part-time job. And some will have to swallow their pride and phone up Mum and Dad and politely ask for more funds. What if, however, all of the above mentioned options were not available to you? No student loan, no scholarship or any funding whatsoever from your home government, no eligibility to work in the UK (yet…), and parents who barely have enough money to support you as it is. Such are the problems faced by Bulgarians and Romanians studying in the UK.

What A Load Of Old Crap

Excrement continues to truly astound the human race. Scientists in America have claimed that by analysing molecules in faecal matter that is over seven thousand years old, they are able to track the movements of sizes of populations. In turn, this could have a more significant impact on environmental science, as it is hoped that using the method will enable a more detailed and accurate look at how humans impacted on their environments, and distinguish this from natural effects.

Permanent Acceptance

Tattoos are everywhere, and everyone has an opinion on them. In the Western world, getting inked has become increasingly accepted, particularly amongst younger generations. A few months ago, a writer who was part of the upper echelons of British society sought to find out Britain’s real opinions on tattoos, given that they are no longer the domain of working-class sailors. She spent hours one Saturday morning getting fake-tattooed by a professional, emerging with a two, fully coloured, sleeves. As soon as she walked out of the studio, she experienced the instant judgement of strangers, as well as admiration from other passers-by. The same day, she attended Henley Royal Regatta, where she received a less than complementary reaction, with other women openly deriding her apparently permanent lifestyle decision. The writer’s boyfriend commented at the end of the day that she had adopted a more confident walk, which she put down to the effects of being constantly looked at in both a positive and negative way. The experiment showed exactly how divisive tattoos are, especially when they are worn by attractive, young women.

From their roots in tribal traditions, through their use as identification for sailors, tattoos today have arguably come to symbolise a rejection of the natural human body, which is exactly what its opponents cite as their main criticism for the art form. However, the pool of those rejecting the popularity of tattoos is getting smaller. When supposed stalwarts of conservatism, such as Samantha Cameron, admit and openly display their own body art, they potentially encourage others. Of course, they also serve to solidify hardcore opposition (‘Look! Even SamCam fell foul!’). These same people generally tend to be more than happy to dish out derision to people who have tattoos, but who cannot stand being criticised themselves (‘But we’re right! This is how God made us! Well yes, obviously God makes bad people too, but I’m not one of them and howdareyouquestionmysuperiority’). In addition, there is, naturally, a pool of people who see the increasing popularity of tattoos as bastardisations of the spirit in which they were conceived. They’re usually inked themselves, and do not necessarily favour their ‘club’ being overrun by people who think they’ve made a massive political statement by getting their own name inked on their back (or something).

In a world where young people have far less to protest about, it makes sense that we use tattoos (at least initially) as a form of rebellion. Our parents and grandparents had the very real threat of war, less money and more visits to Church than us, so our way to show them that we are quite seriously not turning into them is by being selfish and spending our minimum-wage earnings by rocking up at a tattoo studio on a Sunday. But our ‘selfish’ act is really not that selfish at all; for every person who gets inked, society moves one step forward to celebrating diversity. It has to, otherwise it will have to ostracise everyone who has ever had to buy Bepanthen for non-nappy rash related reasons. The depoliticisation of body art is not necessarily a bad thing, and has far more important consequences than it initially seems. Recognising and celebrating differences in bodies makes it easier to do the same across all walks of life. Importantly, no-one is forced into getting a tattoo; those who have them are generally quite accepting of those who make the choice not to, because they are respectful of individuality. Maybe there should be a pop-up tattoo artist studio at the next Tory conference; those who don’t die from the shock of it might be keen to help us normalise body art, although no-one needs to see Boris Johnson get a butterfly inked on his buttock (you know that would happen).

[Laura Thomas]

Travel Log: South Uist

One of our newest contributors, Yasmynn Lloyd, took a trip up north over the summer to the Outer Hebrides.

As a 4th year, I am more than accustomed to the Scottish weather. And I know as much as anyone that it isn’t exactly desirable. It’s not, shall we say, the main draw for people coming to uni here.

So when my parents announced at the start of the summer that our annual family holiday was neither going to be a fortnight all-inclusive in the Caribbean, nor a week in a luxury New York hotel and it wasn’t going to be a beach holiday in the Canaries or yachting in the South of France, I was devastated. It wasn’t even going to be camping in Cornwall or a caravan in Wales.

It was going to be 14 days in South Uist. Admittedly, this probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me since that is, in fact, our summer holiday every year.

For those of you less than clued up on your Scottish geography, the Outer Hebrides are a group of islands off the north west coast of Scotland. Last stop before Canada. South Uist is the second most southern of the group. Although it’s pretty far away, it’s not too difficult to get to. You can get a train from Queen Street to Oban, from where the ferry to South Uist costs about £20 (although it does take five hours, and on a windy day makes you regret getting the sausage casserole from the canteen). Or you can fly with FlyBe (to Benbecula, one of the central islands) from Glasgow Airport, which takes a much more palatable 55 minutes.

The buzzing metropolis of South Uist is called Daliburgh, and boasts an impressive two churches, 1 post office, 1 pub/hotel, 1 bunk house, and a Co-Op. The island itself is long and thin, and therefore has one main (single track) road, meaning that the bus service is pretty easy to figure out, although it isn’t that often. You can hire bikes or cars, though, which are an easier way of getting about. There are a few hotels dotted about the islands, and a couple of bunkhouses, but there are always cottages for rent; a quick Google comes up with literally tens of results, and since it’s not high season Ibiza, prices are more than reasonable.

As you can imagine for an island, the seafood is out of this world. It can be as short a time as half an hour between catching the fish and serving it up with chips and tartare sauce. Polochar Inn on the south end of the island does really good food; the fish and chips could put most to shame and you’d be shocked at the size of the scallops. But since this is a student magazine, you’re probably not too bothered about massive shellfish and more worried about the drinking establishments. There are a few pubs, including the Borrodale in Daliburgh, none are particularly cheap but neither are they overpriced, and they’re always warm, comfortable and full of red-faced whisky-drinking locals. Particularly during the summer months, village halls up and down the island hold ceilidhs pretty much weekly, and the pubs often have live music going on as well. It might not be Cheesy Pop, but you can’t fail to have a good time as the atmosphere is brilliant.

So you’ve sorted how you’re getting there, you’ve found somewhere to stay and you’ve managed to get some food and drinks. Well done. Now the small matter of filling your days up. For shopping, there’s the co-op, a hardware shop or the gift shop at the Kildonan Museum. Buchanan Galleries it is not, but you can get all the essentials, along with the obligatory magnet and postcard to send to your grandparents.

But the main reason we go back every single year is because it’s beautiful. Even if we get 13 days of torrential rain, that 1 day of glorious sunshine is enough to make the holiday. Sometimes it’s nice to sit in front of a fire with a brew and a board game, or our holiday entertainment of choice this year, box sets of The Walking Dead. Although, the 13th consecutive day of Monopoly with my sister can take its toll on my sanity. But when it’s dry, get your boots on and get outside. Walk east, to the hills; still lochs reflect the endless sky, and following sheep tracks through the heather takes you to places that feel like no-one has ever been before. Or you can go west, to the beach. Miles and miles of untouched beach; white sand, blue sea and rolling sand dunes; not a single person there. It’s a perfect place just to let loose; no-one can see you, and even if they did, no-one cares. Take a disposable barbecue down to the beach and stay until the sun sets at midnight. Unleash your inner child and build a sandcastle. Fly a kite. Sing. Race. Play football or cricket or tennis. Drink tea from a flask or beer from a crate. Even brave the Atlantic and dip your toes in the sea (then squeal and run back up the beach to put your socks and boots back on). But just stand, and look around you, and see beauty everywhere you look, and marvel that such a place exists.

 [Yasmynn Lloyd]