Columns

With Poppy Atkinson-Gibson

Before I begin I must stress that no one was harmed in the making of this story. Well, no one that I’m connected to. Really, this is a story that you have to laugh about and tell the grandkids. Such a story begins on a cold and stormy night in the darkness that was my dissertation term. For those poor souls who have been subjected to such torturous treatment you know the feeling of waking up panic stricken, soaked in a sheen of sweat and panting heavily in the lower Glink where you have just been awoken from a nightmarish slumber by a librarian for snoring too loudly and disturbing the frightened freshers around you who have been crying and shivering in a corner from the realisation that they are staring directly into a future reflection of themselves.

And so, having been rudely awoken from the best sleep I’d had in ages, I decided to get straight back to work and thus opened up my phone to be greeted by a date proposition by a one TJ. To cut a long story short, after trekking around several pubs in Oxford because there was no space, we had a lovely little date and saw each other sporadically for a while afterwards.

However, tragedy struck. Just when I’d finally decided on what our children were going to be called and whether we should have underlit kitchen cabinets are backlit ones, he was enticed away like one of the Pied Piper’s victims from Hamlin to the bright lights and bustling metropolis that is… Ipswich. Why I hear you asking? Well, I don’t want to brag but I was dating a man in STEM, and not just any man in STEM but a medical man. Okay so he wasn’t a doctor but really, judging from the oxloves, they’re overrated anyway. TJ was training to be a mental health nurse and apparently Ipswich was where it was at.

And so we messaged but slowly the messages which had started as a gush, turned to a trickle before eventually drying up. Such a progression I did feel was not unlike an A Level Maths problem about calculating the speed of water leaking from a crack in a bathtub. Having not taken Maths passed GCSE I was left to conclude that it was all Greek to me and I didn’t know what the future held for me and TJ. It was increasingly looking like we might not have any kitchen cupboards at all.

However, there is a twist in this tail. It is not merely one of love lost, and longing, it is not simply a tail of woe. It’s much more high octane than that. On Thursday, the day I had finished my exams (thank you in advance for the congratulations) TJ had asked me if I wanted to go for a drink and I had agreed because I was high on life and also none of my friends had finished and I felt like a third thumb, and he was back from Ipswich for a week to visit his family. However, he ghosted me. He went off grid, MIA, radio silent, deaf and dumb, if

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you will. I was miffed. I schlepped home and binge watched the entirely of Heart stopper on Netflix, which I highly recommend, and snuggled down (PS shoutout to whoever ordered the Heartstopper graphic novel from the Bod closed stack, I saw it on the shelves last week. We all wish we were you).

As I was snoozing away I received a missed call or two, well 8 to be exact, and some texts at 4.30am. I did not pick them up as I was in an exam induced coma and was simply dead to the world.

At 6am, the doorbell rang and again I didn’t hear it, however my housemate Alistair did and padded down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning (I imagine) and opened the door expecting it to be our other housemate Caleb who was on a might out and had probably forgotten his keys as usual. It was very much not.

Stood on the doorstep was TJ, covered in blood and holding a ginger cat that lives on the street and features frequently on my Instagram. The two stood there like the spiderman meme, the third party being the cat of course. TJ asked if this was our cat to which Alistair replied it was not.

TJ put the cat down and continued to stand on the doorstep in the breaking dawn light blinking. Alistair asked who he was and TJ replied:

“Oh, I’m TJ. Who are you?”

The conversation continued thus:

“Ummm, I’m Alistair. Can I help you?”

“Oh I’m here to see Poppy”

“Right, ummm. It’s 6am.”

TJ apparently checked his phone which was dead, frowned and made a small ‘oh’.

Seeing TJ on the doorstep, covered in blood and clearly quite drunk, Alistair offered him some water and asked him to come in, ever a good Samaritan, at which point TJ ran up the stairs and entered my room, put his phone onto charge and took off his jeans.

I was still very much asleep. However, as a brown belt in karate and thus essentially a ninja, I could feel a presence in my room which was probably helped by the fact that he crashed to the floor with a thud and a groan having got tangled in his jeans. My reaction? I awoke and screamed. I switched my fairy lights on which added unfortunately a lovely warm and cute ambience to a situation that was neither warm or cute.

TJ replied with “oh hello”.

I enquired as to why he was here and he filled me in.

He had gone radio silent on me earlier because he had got into a fight at a pub and then gone off to a club where the antagonists also went to. Like the opening scenes of Romeo and Juliet, the two rival gangs squared up and continued the fray. Unfortunately there was more done than simply biting their thumbs at each other and TJ had had to go to the hospital and then the police station. When asked where he needed depositing afterwards he had mixed up his own and my address and landed at number 35 rather than 68 where he had befriended a ginger cat that reminded him of me (how cute) and then been let in.

I was gobsmacked.

I literally had no words, which I think was more linked to the fact that my brain was now simply a blob of grey mush in my cranium now exams had finished, but it also could have been because I had been broken into. I remained stunned into silence. TJ came over and kissed me on the cheek and then then climbed into bed and proceeded to spoon me, dropping off immediately to sleep and sniffling and snoring softly like a cat in the midday sun.

At 7.30 TJ’s alarm went off and he groaned like a lawnmower starting up. I switched the alarm off. He rubbed his eyes and looked at me, clearly a little bit startled and I had an intense feeling he didn’t really know what had gone on. I regaled him with the story. He apologised profusely and asked me to go for coffee with him to make up.

Weirdly, I said yes. I can’t quite explain why. I think my love of Wattpad smut and trashy romcoms have conditioned me to think this whole saga was entirely appropriate. My retelling of this story to friends has brought home that it probably wasn’t and I have some issues. However, we did indeed go for a coffee and all was well. After I had slurped up the last of my latte foam art and we were about to part ways, he said “I’ll see you soon?”, hugged me goodbye and trotted off. However, the soon has never come because I regret to inform that he has since ghosted me and I fear I may never see him again.

I would like to allay audience fears however and confirm we have subsequently had a house meeting regarding security measures which include not letting strangers into the house and double locking the front door. So really a positive experience all round. Not to mention that it provided me with conversation starters in college for days which was very useful because having completed my degree I have since realised I don’t really have much to say.

The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this work have been altered to protect the identities of those involved. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

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Sub Fusc - An Oxford Spotter’s Guide

It’s exam season once again, and if you leave your college at the right time, you might just see swarms of stressedout exam-takers filling the streets and turning Oxford into The Walking Dead’s richer, more entitled, sub fusc-wearing cousin.

With that said, because sub fusc is essentially a dress code, that means there are so many ways to approach it, so here are a few that I’ve recently spotted roaming Cornmarket Street with lifeless, glazedover eyes.

Full Glam Sub Fusc

They walk into the Exam Schools with their best suit/skirt, a full face of makeup, cool sunglasses, and a perfectly ironed shirt. They’ve done everything in their power to ensure that they look as good for their exams as they will on their wedding day, if not better. They aren’t here to play games – their organisational skills are second to none and they’ve been highlighting their notes, making flashcards and re-watching lectures for months now. In fact, they probably have a scholar’s gown, and they want everyone to know about it.

Last Minute Disaster Sub Fusc

They run to the Exam Schools as fast as they can, having overslept after a poorlyjudged, Jaegerbomb-fuelled night at Park End, and everything’s a bit of a mess. They had to borrow their housemate’s gown, their shirt has the remains of yesterday’s lunch on it, and their hair makes it look like they secretly live in a wind tunnel, but at least they made it to their exam. They only need to pass, right?

Sexy Sub Fusc

They’re so over the stuffy Oxford traditions that they’ve decided to pull out the mini skirt and force their Hot Girl Trinity into existence one way or another. Their performance in the exam is absolutely secondary to whether or not they get an OxLove written about them as they saunter to and from the exam schools, and if that doesn’t work, they’ll probably be at one of those Sub Fusc and Matriculation (S&M) Bops.

Sad Sub Fusc

They sadly wipe away their tears (and perhaps snot) on the tails of their gown, their shirts stained with tears, and their mascara running down their face, probably all because they forgot a science-y formula or how to form the optative in Greek (whatever that is). If you see one of these, its best to look away so that they don’t die from further embarrassment.

Angry Sub Fusc

After however many years of Oxford-related nonsense, they are no longer afraid to admit that they hate their degree. Every college has at least one, and you will always want to ask them why they don’t just change their course or rusticate to aid their sanity. Their gown is crumpled from being thrown on the floor and neglected, and as soon as they come out of the Exam Schools, they take it off immediately, feeling that the very fabric it’s made from is mocking their poor academic choices. Realistically, they probably aren’t even that bad at their course, they just want to go off to the pub, or back to bed.

Trashed Sub Fusc

They’ve finally completed your exams. Whether their finals are finished, or their prelims are polished off, they can be seen covered in foam, silly string, paint, eggs, confetti, and various other (hopefully biodegradable) debris. As soon as they’ve finished running away from the university staff who’ll attempt to give them a hefty £150 fine, they chuck it in the washing machine and run off to get absolutely hammered at Spoons. Welcome back to the final instalment of this column. This week has brought with it various activities. I had a week off university to mark the Dragon Boat Festival, which is marked by - surprise surprise - boat racing. The past couple of weeks have brought various challenges, so my friends and I decided we’d head down to southwest Taiwan to Chiayi, from which we took a bus up into the mountains to seek out the famed Guanziling hot springs for some much-needed R&R. I’ve been told on various occasions that all I seem to do is go on holiday during a year that, to most, looks like a 10-month long holiday rather than a year abroad. To this I have very little to respond to, because I think I deserve plenty of holidays. And also, you try dealing with torrential rain for three weeks straight and then tell me you don’t deserve a little steeping in the hot springs!

The Guanziling hot springs are particularly special because they are some of very few hot springs containing a specific mud type, which makes the water a dark, thick, silty grey. Over the two and a half days we were there, I took full advantage of the spa and its resources and did six face masks in two days, which probably ended up having adverse effects on my skin, but I justified it in the name of so-called ‘self-care’. I did plenty of toasting by the pool amidst searing sun and tropical thunderstorms, trying not to make eye contact with literally the biggest spider I have seen in my actual entire life – I’ve seen this particular species make a habit of setting up camp on the electricity wires. I also tested out one of those ponds where fish nibble at the dead skin on your feet, appropriately called the “Dr Fish nibbling pool”, an utterly novel experience. The trick is to try and enjoy the ticklish sensation and not look down, lest you catch sight of a particularly big fishy with mouth gaping open and its intentions fixed on taking a hefty chunk out of the sole of your foot.

Having steeped to our hearts’ content, we returned to Taipei for a weekend of debauchery and, in my case, confronting chores such as cleaning my room and putting on a wash that I’d avoided. On Saturday night, my friend hosted a birthday party in a three-floor motel room complete with a hot tub, sauna, pool, shower room and karaoke. I’ve briefly mentioned the motel party moment in previous articles but it’s worth exploring the premise. Essentially, they’re mainly located out of the centre of Taipei in the outskirts of the city, but still very much in the metropolis. When you walk in past the gates, you’re faced with a corridor full of garage doors on the side. Just as you’re asking yourself whether it might be best to turn back and walk out of the situation alive, you find that the garage doors each open up to lavish rooms within. It’s an utterly befuddling experience, and one which I can only liken to Hannah Montana’s wardrobe moment. We partied there the whole night, the bravest of us staying up until 7am for breakfast the next morning.

As I write my final article for this column, I am now in my final month of my year abroad, which feels surreal and strange that in a few weeks I’ll be leaving Taiwan and will be back in the UK. I realise now how used to life here I have become. On reflection, it’s been easily the most challenging year of my life, and looking back at myself from 10 months ago, I find it hard to believe I left home so easily and readily. It felt like moving out properly for the first time, except everything was made doubly difficult by the fact that my course-mates and I had to do everything in Chinese. While adapting to a completely new way of life, which transformed our routines, living situations, food habits and university life, I would say the most important thing that kept our spirits up was our surprisingly unwavering sense of humour, which carried us through in even the direst of straits. Taiwan is often defined in foreign media by its relations with other countries, but it is obviously so much more than that. It is a country bestowed with great natural beauty and a dynamic and diverse culture. From the first day we arrived in Taipei we were welcomed, literally on the street, by pedestrians passing by, and wherever we have travelled we have always been greeted with friendliness. I will miss life here a lot and will always feel very appreciative of how exciting and transformative the time has been that I’ve spent here. Love to you always, Taiwan! Cc xx

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Our politics and our society are afflicted by an absence of something: empathy.

Empathy is misunderstood as an emotion.

It is not a fleeting, transient concern for somebody else’s welfare. It is not about feeling misery or melancholy for somebody’s misfortune. It is not even about identifying with somebody else’s beliefs or their cause. This is too passive to constitute empathy.

Empathy is a far more lively and active emotion than it is given credit for.

It requires entering a non-judgemental frame of mind and a decentering from your own egoism to imagine your peer’s experience and perspective. It requires a selfabnegation of ego and self-awareness. To comprehend your own emotions helps you to understand the experiences of others. The analogy we can use to understand about what empathy is, is that you should imagine yourself glancing in the mirror and not seeing yourself, but seeing a friend or family member or fellow citizen who is struggling and imagining what they are thinking and feeling and how this is influencing their behaviour. Empathy, although not named as such in the past, has long existed in the passage of time. Adam Smith published ‘The Theory of Moral Sentiments’ in 1759 and he wrote about the importance of fellow feeling and the challenge of trying to feel what others are experiencing.

Empathetic accuracy will often be imperfect, but we must all

On Empathy With Dan Harrison

summon the will to try.

Humans first develop empathy when they are two years old. It can be taught through role play, training in perspective taking and exercises in group problem solving. Close friendships and greater knowledge of others’ personalities and experiences can foster empathy.

Something happens in our brains when we are empathetic. When empathy increases, the ‘trust hormone’ oxytocin increases and is released by the brain and as a result we are more likely to trust others. Also, if we perceive trustworthy behaviour directed towards us, our oxytocin levels increase. So empathy matters as it fosters trust and bonding between humans. It has also been proven that empathetic individuals are less likely to exhibit social prejudice and are more likely to engage in prosocial behaviour.

Empathetic individuals are more likely to share, donate, co-operate and volunteer.

Increasing the capacity for empathy in society can lead to peace and justice. Empathy is a foundation for peace, as understanding others’ emotions and experiences can make negotiation and compromise more palatable and conflict less likely, as we will understand why our opponents approach a problem from another perspective. Empathy is a founda-

tion for justice, as we need to be able to understand others’ rights and when they have been violated, so we can protect them from the harsh, unrelenting winds of injustice.

Forging an empathetic society will be a challenge given the intense competition in our market economy and the entrenched fear and chronic stress engulfing the lives of many. Stress wears away at the nervous system. trapped in poverty, reshapes the brain, as the stress hormone cortisol etches a chemical traumatic trace on the mind. Without the ability to turn off this fear response, humans are less able to distinguish threats from non-threats.

Empathy becomes a great challenge when someone perceives threats everywhere and when insecurity and uncertainty mean that many in society can only afford to focus on survival. This is a great challenge that our society faces. Chronic stress and fear about the cost of living, insecure work, insufficient wages, uncertainty about security in retirement, anxiety about employment opportunities and fear about whether sickness will be treated plagues this land. And those who are fortunate enough to not be trapped in this chronic stress spiral will often blame individuals for their own predicaments and overlook the role of the external environment.

This absence of empathy is epitomised by attitudes towards the unemployed.

They are labelled as lazy, feckless, scroungers, exploiters of the welfare state and whilst it is true that a small proportion will fraudulently claim benefit (in 2019-20 the rate of benefit fraud across all welfare expenditure was 1.4%), people often overlook the role that low self-esteem, mental health challenges, physical illness, skills deficits and geographical and occupational immobilities of labour play in causing unemployment.

It is not only an empathetic society that must be forged, but also an empathetic leadership model.

The current occupant of N.10 was admitted to an ICU unit at St Thomas’ Hospital on the 5th April 2020. Surely it would be expected that this experience would induce some empathy from the Prime Minister for what NHS staff and COVID patients were having to deal with. But instead he continues to enforce the chronic underfunding of the institution that helped save his life and he enabled industrial scale partying in N.10 so that it became the greatest law breaking property in the UK during the pandemic. This behaviour suggests a cold-bloodedness and disregard for others’ experiences that is chilling. In order to build an empathetic society, the norms and practices at the top of society must be empathetic ones. The behaviour of the leaders of educational institutions, political institutions and businesses must remember that for ‘everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required.’

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