On ‘Inkwell: A Night of Art and Poetry’

Elizabeth Huang

In A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf writes: “For my belief is that if we live another century or so – I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals – and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think…then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare’s sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down.” As we were planning and preparing Inkwell, the art and poetry night we are putting on at the Heong Gallery this Sunday (25 February, 6-9pm, free entry, I think you should come!), we didn’t talk about the common life, or rooms of our own, or putting on bodies but, nonetheless, we have circled back and found ourselves face to face with the same ideas.

Amelia Bodies
photo via instagram | _ameliawang_

Inkwell is vey much about making room, opening up an intimate space in the public context, in which the sometimes messy and often imperfect products of lives lived in a gendered world can be presented on their own terms. We want to showcase the work of those disadvantaged by the gender paradigm, and are featuring a range of women, non-binary and trans artists and poets. Kate Collins of Mark My Words put it just right when she said, “The first question that is asked when you go and see a play is ‘was it good?’…Why should we have to decide that? Who says what ‘good’ is?” ‘Good’ is in some ways, a means of marginalising voices which we do not recognise or understand. Perhaps, you will come to Inkwell and think some of the work strange or naïve or technically unpolished. We invite you to lay down those thoughts briefly to consider also the person, the body, the subject who has created it. We have asked all of our contributors to provide a short biography and reflection on their own creative practice to assist you in this. Though art itself may speak to us, it can do so only in language which we already know – the artists or poets’ own accounts remind us not to speak over, or ventriloquise unwantedly, their voices. During the evening, words and voices will also be embodied by their authors reading aloud: another opportunity to take a moment to listen.


       Inkwell comes from our desire to bring people into a welcoming space in which such conversations can be had. We talked a lot initially about calling-in, rather than calling-out, an opportunity to celebrate and collaborate – inviting people into spaces that might even be unfamiliar to them (cis male friends, take note), as respectful observers but also as participants in a multi-way dialogue. The image of the well is one of a communal space – the focal centre of a community and a literally fluid space. The inkwell is the spiritually the same – it is a source of vital and creative forces and a space for radical self-making. Our poets and artists explore, in their individual ways, the liquid self and the ways in which it ebbs and flows and crashes against the experienced world. These are big words, for what is really a little show, but they are words we have thought about carefully, and which we offer to you sincerely.



Come then, on Sunday night – wend your way to Downing’s Heong Gallery for Inkwell. We have art and poetry (and crafty things!) – you have eyes and ears and a certain curiosity. Not even a century ago, Virginia Woolf found herself barred from the libraries and lawns of Oxbridge. Not even a century later, we are here.


all drawings by Kitya Mark for Inkwell 


A Love Letter to FNTM FEST

Ellie Cole 

I’m not a writer. (Other than the essays that I- note to self- should be writing for my degree.) And though I’m not what people may consider to be the epitome of ‘shy and retiring’, I’m not usually one to share my thoughts publicly via ye olde written word. In short, I apologise for my lack of eloquence and flair.

FNTM is, very simply, a festival created by people who may experience disadvantage because of their gender identity or presentation.

Now would probably be the point at which I should shower you with statistics or case studies to demonstrate the existence of a gender paradigm, but I think that a short trip down google lane will do that just fine. Gender is an incredibly personal and delicate matter, and we have aimed to be as inclusive as possible in regard to this. If you’d like to know more about how why our creators all identify as female, non-binary or trans, we’ll have a few more blog posts on this that I hope you take the time to check out and engage with. But, for now, know that we are just a group of people who want to facilitate great art in a space that is comfortable and supportive.

I’m not sure that I can do justice to the love, dedication and creativity of everyone involved in bringing this festival to life. In all honesty, I thought that it was going to be nothing more than a pipe dream. But that quickly changed as more and more people came onboard and poured nothing but energy, excitement and enthusiasm into their roles.  (Look at that alliteration- Maybe I am a writer after all…)

So here we are – 10 days away from our launch night and our first event, and we’ve got so much to offer. This is a festival built from scratch by a load of talented, driven and creative people saying ‘Yes, we need this and I want to help create this’. And as such, it is basically one big celebration, and we invite anyone and everyone to come and celebrate with us.


So why have we only opened up our roles to people who identify in this way? Gender is a very very delicate subject, there is no way of getting around it. It affords certain people certain privileges, which I will assume for the sake of ease is common knowledge. I’m not going to cite articles or reference cases, google is a wonderful thing and can give you far more examples than I can in this short little hello. The reason for this collaboration with these self- identifying groups is that these are the people who genuinely feel disenfranchised within creative spaces that they love – be it theatre, dance, art, poetry etc. A question that I’ve seen arise is ‘Why are non-binary people often ‘grouped’ with women? Why not male and non-binary?’ I’m not going to pretend that I have detailed and excessive knowledge why, but from speaking to people about it and reading what I can, the simple answer is that these are both groups that experience disadvantage owing to the simple fact that they identify in these ways. An interesting and very important follow up point is also often raised – ‘By consistently pairing self- identifying women and non-binary groups, are we equating their identities?’ Again, I’m going to give a short answer: no. And nor should we. But often this is the impression that is given and is something that we have tried to dispel.

‘SKINS’ by Kitya Mark, co- curator of ‘Inkwell: a Night of Art and Poetry’ (25 Feb,  part of FNTM Fest)

FNTM Arts Fest began 6 months ago when a group of friends were sitting in a flat and discussed how frustrating it is too feel as though you’re on the back foot and not really understanding why. Or rather, completely understanding that it was to do with our gender, but not really knowing what to do about it. We were a bit tired of complaining about the huge amount of talented actors around competing for the comparatively few roles that were accessible to women, let alone non-binary and trans people.

FNTM is our way of attempting a solution. FNTM is an expression of ourselves. FNTM is not the entire sum of our collective creativity, but we hope it goes some way in showing it.

FNTM Arts Fest opened on February 17 with ‘MARK MY WORDS’, a night of new writing described by Kate Collins to Cambridge Girl Talk as a chance to give new writers the opportunity to have their work ‘explored and discussed’ with judges Becky Prestwich (Royal Exchange Theatre, BBC), Afshan D’souza Lodhi (Z-Arts, Dog Horn Publishing) and Serafina Cusack (Theatre 503, The Bread and Roses Theatre). In a time where ‘the most recognised UK theatres have been pretty dismal when it comes to programming plays by female writers, and even worse when it comes to programming work by non-binary and trans writers’ MARK MY WORDS hopes to provide an accessible space to showcase work that is ‘touching and dark, lighthearted and sharp’, but most of all ‘important to the people who write them.’

Who’s That Girl? In conversation with Ore Ogunbiyi

In an interview with Abigail Smith, Girl Talk speaks to Ore Ogunbiyi, president of ACS, about her new podcast Lightbulb Moments, about speaking up as a black woman in Cambridge, and about creating that perfect insta.

Can you introduce yourself to our readers?

My name is Ore Ogunbiyi, I am a final year HSPS Student at Jesus. I’m also president of the African Caribbean Society (ACS), which is my baby, my pride and joy. I’m really into everything African politics and everything race politics.

You’ve recently launched your new podcast, Lightbulb moments — why did you start it?

I find that especially in Cambridge, but elsewhere too, I have lots of incredible, abstract conversations. And I always come to the end of these conversations and my mind’s boggling, and I want everyone to hear that, and everyone to have that feeling of being mind-blown. I thought about how I was going to bring people into these conversations, how am I going to share something I love. These conversations are too important for them to die the second I have them.


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Lightbulb Moments: Conversations Millenials Should Be Having

Did you have any worries when you started the podcasts?

I had quite a few! I was concerned I would run out of content, so I made myself a list of 30 topics before I started. But I was also concerned that just because these are topics I’m interested in, what’s that to say that other people will be interested. But I realised that the fact I’m having these conversations means there’s always at least someone out there who’s going to want to listen.

I was also concerned that my topics would be very skewed to things just concerning my identity; about me being black, about me being Nigerian, about me being a woman. But for me, overcoming that was realising that that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There are a lot of people who won’t have an insight into what my life is like as a black, Nigerian woman, who is living in the UK but also living in Nigeria. When I recently wrote my article about being black in Cambridge, a lot of people who hadn’t had that experience were still interested in it.

I was going to ask you about this! Your article went viral: what was that like? Were there any downsides?

100%. When you’re at somewhere like Cambridge, and you’re a black woman who tries to put themselves out there and engage in activism, you become hyper-visible. I remember coming back to college this term, and wondering if people were looking at me weirdly because now they know that I’m the person who wrote that article about the challenges of my experience. You can’t hide or blend into the background when you’re a black woman here. But then, I reached a point where I realised I didn’t care about what people thought of me: that’s their problem and not mine.

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The Varsity article which went viral

Why is it so important for women, and particularly black women, to have a platform in Cambridge?

It’s so important: especially being Nigerian sometimes it can be seen as ‘Why are you standing up and talking about this? Why are you being so loud? Why are you so angry for?’ But recognising that your opinions are valid; that people care about what you have to say. There might be people waiting for you to say something, people who rely on you speaking up about something. It’s important because there are a lot of other black girls out there who will see people like you speaking up, and you can encourage them. Also, it’s important to purposefully go against the grain, against people who want us to be quiet. If we don’t speak up who will?

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Ore speaking at the ACS Access Conference last year

Are there any issues you wouldn’t want to discuss on your podcast?

Pretty much anything is on the table, because I want to get the conversations going. I did say right in my introduction that I’m not working with any racists, any sexists — I just don’t see the need for it. However sometimes, there are people that have opposing views that I do try and bring up, and explain why I do not agree with them, or why that kind of view is not welcome in this space. But I think anything can be political, and anything can be relevant: we need to step away from this ‘its not that deep’ culture.

Who is your podcast aimed at?

So its full title is ‘Lightbulb Moments — Conversations Millennials should be having’, so I do tend the conversations towards millennials. We try to keep it accessible and relaxed in its approach, but also I try and talk about things that are relevant to our futures, and how we think about our futures. I have a lot more hope in young people; we’re still at a very formative stage, I have a lot of hope in how we can change. That’s also why I have a lot of different guests because everyone’s different experience of a topic is relevant. But also, my mum absolutely loves it and keeps telling all her friends about what she’s learning, which is really cute. So although it’s aimed at young people, it really is for anyone.

Speaking of guests, who would your absolute dream guest be?

The Vice-President of Nigeria, Professor Osinbajo. I’m giving myself two years and by then I have to make it happen. He is one of my favourite people in terms of how we share very similar views in terms of what Nigeria’s future could look like. He’s incredibly clever; he’s not giving up on Nigeria, and he’s one of the people who give me hope about Nigeria. When I was a child he was also a pastor at my church, so I also look up to him spiritually.

Which podcast are you most proud of so far, and which are you most excited still to do?

The one I’m most proud of so far is my most popular one, on Patriarchy and Capitalism. I had a lot of people message me about that episode just because they had not thought about the extent to which patriarchy is embedded in capitalism. Also because my guest was someone who I had contributed to his journey to becoming a feminist, and he acknowledges he’s still learning.

I’m most looking forward to the one I’m actually recording next weekend, which is on corruption. It’s something I’m really passionate about. I went to an Africa summit at LSE and learnt a lot about the way we conceptualise corruption and the way we use it to cripple how we view African countries. Without giving too much away, I think it’s really problematic the way that we see corruption as being endemic in some countries, while in other countries we’ll call it something different. We need to get rid of these tropes that some countries are just destined to be corrupt forever when that’s a lie.

Speaking of the future, what is your plan for yourself?

So I have a little summer job with the BBC, which is exciting, and hopefully, a media outlet will just keep me, because then what if Lightbulb Moments ended up on the radio? That would be incredible. I’ve also applied to do a masters in journalism in New York, which I would really like because broadcast journalism is something I’m really interested in. Just some kind of platform where I could talk about politics, and these kinds of topics. It’s all about deconstructing false narratives and changing the narratives for some of the world’s most oppressed people, who just don’t tend to have a fair say in popular discourse.

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The kind of magic you can expect on Ore’s instagram

A final question for our readers: your Instagram is amazing. Can you share your wisdom on creating the perfect insta?

So I kind of get a cheat on the follower count, because I have my uni friends, my friends in Nigeria, my friends from school in England, so I’m kind of living this triple life. In terms of the perfect shot, I would say:
–  Lighting
–  Don’t overdo the hashtags
– Peak times — Sunday afternoon is very underrated, everyone’s hungover from Saturday night.
That’s the secret recipe.

Lightbulb Moments is available for free download here, and the next episode will be available this Saturday. Applications for the ACS committee open soon!

What we Talk About When We Talk About Sexual Assault

CONTENT NOTE: This article contains the discussion of sexual assault and victim blaming.

Bronte Cook  

The #MeToo and ‘Time’s Up’ movements have been a central focus of the media over the last few months, giving a voice to the countless women who until now have remained silent, or have been ignored, about the abuse they have suffered at the hands of men. This constant coverage has at times been difficult, and after some thought, I am finally ready to add my input; because my input is worthwhile, because I am angry and want to share my experience, and because it is cathartic.

To anyone else who has found this constant media coverage difficult to deal with: it seems almost selfish that I am adding to it. But I hope that in writing this I can contribute something valuable to the narrative. I write this not because I want sympathy but because I want everybody to be aware of the effect their offhand conversations can have- there is a concerning attitude towards consent that lies behind them.

During the first term of my final year of university, I was sexually assaulted in my university room by a fellow student. I knew him, but not well, and had returned back to college with him following a night out. I will not go into detail about what happened that night – I don’t want to unnecessarily trigger traumatic memories for anybody reading this, and I don’t want my account scrutinised and dissected in the way they often are in the media. I hope that those reading this will respect my lived experience and take my word for it. Whilst I consented to sex originally, I then withdrew this consent, and he did not stop.

Coming to terms with what occurred that evening has been a long, difficult, and continuous process. Doing so at the same time as near constant media coverage focusing on sexual assault and harassment has been both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing in the sense that I have been provided with a sense of solidarity and understanding that I would never have had otherwise. I have had the comforting knowledge that others know what I am talking about, can sympathise, and will believe me. However, it has been a curse, because social media has acted as a frequent reminder of that evening. And, more so, because although everybody seems to be talking about the issue, not everybody is doing so with tact, sensitivity and understanding. This has led to many upsetting and frustrating conversations when talking about reports in the media, or that had been heard about fellow students. I will deal with four of the most upsetting quotes from these conversations that I have, unfortunately, heard far too often.

‘Why didn’t she just leave?’

I have spent many hours asking myself the same question. Why did I not just leave? I was technically free to the whole time, in fact, he was in my room. I could have asked him to leave. It has taken me over a year to formulate reasons of any coherence. So here goes:

I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to offend him. I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to make him feel as though he was in the wrong. I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to believe this was happening to me. I didn’t leave because I didn’t quite believe this was happening to me. I didn’t leave because I was in shock. I didn’t leave because I was confused. I didn’t leave because I felt helpless. I didn’t leave because I felt that, since I had consented to sex in the first place, I didn’t want to disappoint. I didn’t leave because I was scared of his reaction if I tried. I didn’t leave because when I said I wanted to, I was told I shouldn’t. I didn’t leave because when I repeated myself, so did he. I didn’t leave because when someone knocked on the door to check where I was, he put his hand over my mouth. I didn’t leave because when my nose started bleeding, he didn’t stop.

This list could go on.

But ultimately, I didn’t leave because it was made very clear that what was happening was not mine to exercise autonomy over. I was not having sex that evening, he was.

When we ask the question ‘why did she not leave?’ we put the blame, either intentionally or implicitly, on the victim or survivor. We make it their responsibility to control the situation. When I am told by (usually, male) peers ‘I would have just left’, my response is ‘good’. I really mean this too; I hope that if anybody is ever put in that situation, they are in a position that they feel they can leave. I hope it is easy to jump up and say ‘no’ and head for the door. However, I also ask that they respect that it is not always that simple.

Why didn’t she report it at the time?

I can only try and use my experiences to suggest some reasons. I did not report what happened that evening.

I didn’t want to believe it had happened.

At the time, I didn’t think it felt ‘violent’ enough to report.

I didn’t want to deal with having my account scrutinised.

I didn’t trust the welfare infrastructure around me to deal sensitively with the matter.

I didn’t report it because I didn’t want to be a victim. I didn’t report it because I didn’t think that him being punished would actually make me feel any better. I didn’t report it because it took me a long time to admit to myself what it was that had happened to me. I didn’t report it because I didn’t want to admit to him that he had made me feel how he did.

There are all manner of reasons why somebody might choose not to report what has happened to them, ranging from shame and a sense of being in the wrong, to not feeling like what has happened was severe enough, or not wanting to ‘make a fuss’. Personally, it took a number of months before I stopped giving him the benefit of the doubt. I argued with friends who referred to what had happened as sexual assault because I was not ready to accept it, instead falling back on ‘he was really dodgy with consent’, aware, with a horrible and constant feeling of violation, that this meant the same thing. There is no ‘correct’ way to deal with trauma; the fact that somebody did not report an incident should not discredit them.

She has ruined his career/reputation

Has she? Or has he?

Women do not bear the burden of protecting men from taking responsibility for their own actions. Women are taught to be submissive, taught not to question men, not to embarrass men, and not to complain. We are socialized to accommodate men. If I had a pound for every time I was told ‘don’t rise to it’, or ‘he’s just trying to annoy you’ as I was growing up, my overdraft would be much less of a concern right now. It was not his action, whoever he in this circumstance happened to be, but my reaction that was a problem. As far as I am aware, a man’s career should not be considered more important than a woman’s bodily autonomy.

But he’s so nice/friendly/’woke’/’on board with consent’

As well as being misguided and upsetting, this phrase provides insight into a concerning and dangerous attitude towards consent. These are all terms I’ve heard used to describe alleged abusers, either in relation to the man who assaulted me, peers, or women in the media.

It is very difficult to hear somebody who has violated you and made you feel so uncomfortable described as ‘nice’ or ‘friendly’. If we maintain this idea that the average ‘nice’ guy is not capable of acting in this way, we allow men to distance themselves from such behaviour. Men need to be open to challenging their own behaviour, and that of their friends, if we are to move forward. This is not limited to clear-cut cases of assault, but is a call to examine behaviour that is commonplace, often seen as acceptable, but also incredibly questionable. One thing I have noticed about the media coverage over the weeks is that if something is not clearly illegal, people have been quick to condemn the accusation being made public, as though if somebody is made to feel uncomfortable and violated they should keep it to themselves until it borders on the criminal. There is no logic to this at all. Something does not have to be illegal for us to question it and consider whether it is positive, consensual practice. Was it okay to put their hand back on that girl’s thigh after she removed it? When she hesitated and said ‘I don’t know about this’, should he have persisted? If she is nonresponsive and does not seem enthusiastic about the sexual act taking place, should he not have stopped and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue?

Persistence is too often celebrated, and no is taken to mean ‘keep trying’. Most women will have experienced a man in a club that keeps reappearing throughout the night and snaking his hand around their waist, dancing too close behind them, or repeatedly offering them a drink despite being told no multiple times. It is sad that often ‘I have a boyfriend’ is the only way to get rid of these people. ‘I have a girlfriend’ does not have the same power, I have discovered. Apparently, it is only other men’s relationships they are concerned about infringing upon. If anything, saying ‘I have a girlfriend’ only serves to escalate the sexualisation and flirting. Whilst it may sound like a small inconvenience, being aware that somebody’s attention is on you for the evening, or batting away unwanted touches, can completely ruin an evening, and make somebody feel incredibly anxious and on edge.

I have been told in the last few weeks that it is unpleasant and scary for many men to think that what they have previously been told is acceptable in sexual interactions might now be ‘called’ assault or harassment. Whilst I accept this might be concerning, I think the bigger concern must be that some men have not been aware of how their behaviour was being experienced before. It has always been unpleasant and scary for many women, daily, that so many sexual interactions involve coercion, persistence, and a sense of obligation. If we are taking steps, even small ones, towards changing this and moving towards sexual relationships in which true, enthusiastic and mutual consent is the norm, we should celebrate these steps.

This is not just a case of rooting out the bad apples; we are navigating a bad orchard. By this, I do not mean that every instance of sexual relations between a man and a woman is coercive, negative, or unwanted. I have had healthy, positive and consensual sex with men where I have felt I have been listened to and respected. What I mean, instead, is that the way in which we think about sexual interaction and consent needs to be re-examined. Consent to all manner of sexual interactions must be enthusiastic and continuous; an act taking place for both parties, not just the man. A thin, reluctant consent drawn out from persistence should never be thought of as sufficient.

My 17-year-old sister said to me recently that she thinks every woman has had sex when they didn’t want to. Not necessarily when they didn’t consent, but when they didn’t want to, whether this be through a feeling of obligation, coercion, or force. I am saddened both that this is telling about her own experiences, and that I am inclined to agree with her. If not all women, then most. And if not most, then far, far too many.

Grad Talk: Framing the Future with Izzy Kent

Izzy Kent graduated last year, having studied History of Art at Trinity, and has already found herself in her ‘dream’ role at the Wallace Collection. Her job varies hugely, from giving last-minute lectures to working in the conservation of the museum’s collection. Here she talks about applying for positions you don’t think you’ll get, the surprising things you learn on the job and the joy of turning the lights on. 

Interview by Xanthe Fuller

So, what do you do now? 

I’ve just started as the ‘Enriqueta Harris Frankfort curatorial assistant’ at the Wallace Collection. The Wallace Collection is a national museum in the heart of London. It’s relatively small but is up there with the heavy weights (National Gallery, British Museum etc.) in terms of quality. My job is a new position funded by the Centro de Estudios Europa Hispanica. As this suggests I specialize in the Spanish art at the museum including some sublime paintings by Velazquez, Alonzo Cano and Murillo.

How did you get there?

There’s a short answer and a long answer to this:

The short of it is I saw the job advert during my revision for finals and decided to apply. I really didn’t expect to get it as they wanted someone with a MA and fluent Spanish but it was such a dream position I thought I might as well. Then I went for interview and a couple of days later received a phone call saying I’d got the job.

The longer answer is a little more sentimental. I am incredibly lucky to have something that I am really passionate about, which is art and culture. There was never a moment, a lecture, book or exhibition where it all clicked and I knew it was what I wanted to do; I just can’t remember a time when I didn’t love it. So really, I’ve just been following my nose and trying to learn as much as I can wherever I can. I’ve done a lot of internships in different areas of the arts so by the time it came to applying for this job I was ready and knew, to an extent, what to expect.

Describe a typical day.

It sounds cliché but there isn’t really a typical day. It’s a small number of people looking after a large collection so I end up doing all sorts of jobs. I generally start off the day by doing a ‘gallery check’, going round all the rooms in the museum and checking that nothing is damaged. I’m usually the first one in each morning, which means I turn on all the lights to reveal the amazing art works – it may seem mundane but honestly it never gets old! After that it really depends. Currently I’m doing a lot with the conservation department, deciding which pictures need treatment and organising a major conference on Murillo happening in May, and giving tours and lectures. I’m also rewriting the gallery books (basically object labels), making audio guide recordings and researching our Spanish paintings.


What do you like about it? 

I love the diversity of the work. I’ll be handling a 400-year-old Mughal dagger one day, and researching a Velazquez painting the next, or visiting a conservator and seeing our paintings under the microscope. My colleagues have also been so supportive, teaching me about their areas of expertise and what it takes to look after the collection. Continue reading Grad Talk: Framing the Future with Izzy Kent

Time’s Up on what, exactly?

By Alfie Rosenbaum 

This is the name of the campaign against sexual violence being spearheaded by women in Hollywood. The main activity involved is the wearing of all black to the Golden Globes, and across the world people have set up mimic events to ‘stand in solidarity’ with the survivors of Hollywood sexual violence.

In Cambridge, an event has been set up on the 19th, whose organisers claim they hope to create further discussion around the issue of sexual violence on campus.

I’m unsure about this. Part of me feels that such public displays of defiance are important. Perhaps there is something powerful about people coming together to publicly make that statement. Perhaps this act will lead to further kinds of good. Perhaps it will create momentum and perhaps momentum will lead to change.

And yet part of me also wonders: what good, really, does wearing all black do for anyone? This is an issue that has appeared time and time again over the last few years. It was raised by people of colour when white people started wearing safety-pins in the wake of Brexit to signify their ‘alliance’. It was raised by Puerto Ricans when Americans responded to the Earthquake with ‘prayers’ on their Facebook statuses. Of course, unlike these two campaigns, survivors as well as non-survivors are taking part in the ‘Time’s Up’ campaign. I have no doubt that many of the women involved in writing and signing the ‘Time’s Up’ letter are genuine about their desire to affect change for people who are vulnerable to sexual violence. Nonetheless, I also believe it’s unlikely that the campaign is going to have any tangible impact on the lives of women outside of Hollywood. Like all movements centred around symbolism rather than activity, ‘Time’s Up’ has become an easy costume to put on, and many people are wearing it who shouldn’t be. Aside from the fact that the Hollywood element of the campaign feels very ‘Team America’ to me, the Cambridge off-shoot is self-congratulatory and pointless in its own frustrating way. I recognise that striking a balance between statement-making and policy shifting is difficult for all activists, but if our solution is just another black-tie protest, we’re doing it wrong.

Continue reading Time’s Up on what, exactly?

Feminist filmmaking with Pascale Lamche

Just as the Time’s Up and #WhyWeWearBlack campaigns keep the sexual and gender politics of cinema in the mainstream, Alina Khakoo talks feminist filmmaking with award-winning documentary maker Pascale Lamche. In 2017, Pascale won Best Director for International Documentary at Sundance in recognition of Winnie, her portrayal of the life and career of one of the most misrepresented public figures: Winnie Madikizela Mandela.

Winnie’s identity was highly constructed – in the film she refers to herself in the third person, she’s ‘Winnie the communist’, ‘Winnie the adultress’, ‘Winnie the criminal’. Did you feel that you were also constructing her as a filmmaker?

I felt that I was deconstructing images of her. What exist are attempts to discredit Nelson Mandela on the part of the Americans and the British by smearing Winnie in all directions. Knowing that people all over the world thought she was a murderer and a traitor to her cause, but that in South Africa she was revered, seemed a shocking divide to me. As a woman interested in history and politics and how oppression functions, I wanted to recover a significant person in South Africa and tell an important story about how women are so definitively neutralised in politics.

How do you navigate the ethics of being a white woman telling this story?

My view on the matter is that it depends entirely on the context, on where you’re coming from, on your work until that point. I’ve had a long relationship with South Africa and my late partner, to whom the film is dedicated, was Sowetan. I’d made films about Nelson, about Sophiatown. My heart lay in South Africa but I was a white European woman. I believe that any honest work which opens up the terrain should be tolerated. The industry has a duty to open its doors as wide as possible so that enough people can explore a subject that is in turn colonised by no one.

Continue reading Feminist filmmaking with Pascale Lamche