‘Tender is the Gelignite’ – 0.5 preview

Introducing the first chapter of Tender is the Gelignite

0.5

Definitely not the best idea to stare at the rain when you’re crossing the road.

First, no matter how calm and relaxed and dreamy you feel, your mug will form a snivelling sneer. Second, it’s likely that a pretty-car will knock your block off. Unintentionally for once.

A black shiny pretty-car screeches to a halt right up by my hip and I blink and jump back onto the pavement. It careers off again straight away, with a tuneful ‘fucking stupid, miserable, crazy, fat, dick-flapped cu-…’ stringing out of the driver’s window. I wrinkle my conk. The watchtower looms over the dim and dingy rows of red warehouses, prickly coils of barbed wire lacing over obtuse bleacher roofs.

In the UK there’s what I call UMAY, laws where you literally may pick whatever Uniform you like. Any clothes any style any arrangement. Which is great. Freedom and choice and all that. I like knowing who and what I am. Just so long as you stick to it afterwards mind, that’s very important.

Me

Feet: Laced-up bovver boots.

Bod: Black jumpsuit. Jersey.

Coat: Woollen, blood-coloured.

Choker: Scarf, like a blanket. Black, white, yellow.

I crunch my way through the downpour, the chopped fragments of glass, grit and sodden cardboard, squishing, mingling and munching in the thick soles of my bovvers, a firm barrier between my digits and the grindy, grimy slop. Careful: scantily scattered used condoms are a slippery risk, always best to avoid splurting skins.

Completely out of control Conscript.

This creeping crisis always begins when I first start walking to my Employment. At the beginning, I step into the hustling muscling city Centre-For-Work. Buildings are tall, sleek and clean. Dull sky is reflected beautifully, pavements are fresh and clear, streets are pedestrianised for bods, odds, sods, Conscripts, capitalisers, Employers and bods. Not many Poor Ones but they constantly hang about unseen. Clacking from the soles of hard-heeled shoes clash with snaps and spits coming from the Autogrammers, their portable ze-cams and ze-phones capturing the commute. Autogrammers aren’t just some nuisance bods that you need to dodge with their flashes and their cracks; they fill the city Centre-For-Work, providing photographic evidentials of everything and every bod all the ploughing time. That’s why you’d better stick to your all-important Uniform, especially during the day. Otherwise you’ll be Unrecognised and, well, that’s always a mess waiting to mong.

Walking through the city Centre-For-Work is void and impersonal; bods autogramming, staring at hologrammed ads or news stories on the roof tops or plodding along in a misshapen and miserable manner on their way to some office box or other. But there’s some comfort in seeing other like-feeling shittos living out the communal curse, no matter how vapid and sophisticatedly superficial the surroundings.

But crossing the ornate nineteenth century old old cold bridge into Strangeways, like I do and did every sodding day, you want to see as few bods as possible. You can never trust anybod driving them BMW, Jaguar or Mercedes Benz around a god-forsaken No Bod’s Land shit-hole dump like where I work. But you see them there a lot. What has a nice pretty-car got to do with a place so crap? A place so measly, oozing with muck, sweating like a foul ponging cheese or cold sore on the way out? Them BMW, Jaguar and Mercedes Benz form a clean, cool contrast to such a mildewed patch: the rotting decaying roads and alleys; prozzes clopping about in puffer coats, flashing over-worn underwear and grotesque kitten heels as they perch on corners or fumble after these luxury-wagons, these fill-your-bovvers cock-on-wheels succulently-leather-arsed motor machines. Drug dealers dally at an angle to the prison, the tell-tale trainers lobbed over the disused ze-phone wire, hanging in a still brooding manner over the grids of warehouses.

I hate to see those cars. I hate being mistaken for a prozz. They crawl up alongside you. Even though you can’t see the toads inside you can feel the goggly woggly globes scanning your bod like you’re a slab of meat hanging in a blood house. Except they want to fuck you instead of eat you. Same thing really though, no? Tell me I’m wrong. I fantasise everyday about smashing them up. In my head, I take one of the slippery slimy waste bricks that has been lying chucked about round here since who knows when and pummel it into the pretty-car. The windscreen doesn’t stand a chance against my bricky blows, with Odious Toadious inside bricking his denim dick-casket as glass shards are cast in all the directions. He screams and shouts ‘you crazy betch’ and I shriek with delight at his panic, taking my big booted bovver foot to the hood and kick kick kick.

TAKE THAT YOU FILTHY FAT FUCK

No pretty-cars lurking today. I crunch on unwatched.

I pass the same bod every day. I think he must actually live in Strangeways or something because he’s always hurrying down the hill, every fucking day. He’s Asian, with a kind pleasant mug. We glance at each other every morning. I get the feeling he’s a nice bloke. You can tell who the nice ones are around here. The ones who keep their heads down and plough on; not the serial strutters, the swaggering shits who are proud to be a big-shot in a piss-pot like this.

Welcome to the hub of the UK’s fashion industry, the old Hell by wholesale.

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Final Coer JPEG

Tender is the Gelignite is now available to buy from Amazon. Get your copy here >

Copyright © Elizabeth Harper 2017

‘Tender is the Gelignite’ – personal thanks

Tender is the Gelignite is now available to buy from Amazon. Get your copy here >

Final Coer JPEG

I wanted to write something separate to a few very special people who helped me to bring Tender is the Gelignite about:

Thanks to Annie, Char and Fiona who read early terrible drafts and still thought there was something to work with. The encouragement you gave me when I mentioned I had a mere idea for a novel was mind-blowing.

Thanks to Emily and Izzy . You are so inspiring and wonderful and I have always felt so lucky to have you as friends.

Thanks to Jess and Hayley for being wonderful blads. I don’t get to see you guys enough but when we do reunite, it’s utter magic. Laura, you still haven’t got rid of me yet, for which I am thankful. Also to Katie, Cate and Helena who I can’t do without.

Thank you Jack Sullivan for all the times, one recent favourite being when we got pissed in that Sam Smith’s in the West End, chatted for about 9 hours and then terrorised the greeting card department at Liberty’s London. That was so much fun.

Thanks Zoe for allowing me to air my thoughts about one particular passage that I really wanted to get right. Our discussion really helped.

Thanks to my former colleagues at ACN Europe UK and Rotterdam: Suzanne, Steve, Liz, Teun and Kim for giving a chatty randomer the opportunity to write a book whilst being able to afford rent and bills and things like that. Looking back, I must have sounded totally insane and you really didn’t have to give me a job, but you did and I am very, very grateful for that. I learnt so much with you guys and also developed a stroopwaffel addiction. Thank you.

Also thanks to Daisy, Krista, Jane, Joe/Josephine, Graciela, Agnes, Amy, Nat, Hannah, Benedicte and Oksana for the encouragement, the laughs, the food and for helping me to realise that I could find life-long friends in a totally unexpected place. Thanks also to the Crazy Cows for your encouragement and kindness… they know who they are and I love them all.

Thanks to Mollie, Joe, Claire, Sue, Jeb, Chris, Jo and all the grandparents for being so kind and supportive.

Thanks to my parents. To my Dad for being super chill and encouraging and my Mum for being terrified at what I was doing. You guys sure know how to keep a child balanced.

To Grandma: I dedicated this book to you but I don’t think you should take it to your church group.

Thank you Nicole. There really are no words. You are the best person on the planet. And also Mark 2, you really are a very cool cat.

Mark. You helped with the cover design, the formatting, the PLAN, the research into distribution, pretty much everything that requires some enhanced brain cells. I literally couldn’t have done this without you. But also, I couldn’t have done this without you.

Get your copy of Tender is the Gelignite here >

Lana Del Rey: music, fans and commercial mayhem

Anyone who knows me knows that Lana Del Rey is one of my all-time favourite women. Her music found its way into my life in 2012 at a very interesting time and over the years, I have enjoyed her intricate and very moving play with enigma and persona, and her excellent storytelling. Her second LP Ultraviolence has particular significance for me: her collaboration with Dan Auerbach, of one of my favourite bands of all time The Black Keys, was what my dark, gritty dreams were made off. Moody and intertextual, casually referencing A Clockwork Orange, Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, The Crystals, Virginia Woolf, Nina Simone and Lou Reed, the album, for all that it was pared back compared to its Lolita-infused predecessor Born to Die, was still sumptuous and cinematic. It told the post-Lolita story, revealing the stony and unsettling aftermath of a narrative that was previously fizzing and overflowing with youth, hubris, desire and mournful chaos. Ultraviolence shows us that Born to Die as a concept was only ever going to be fleeting, that it’s flipside was dark, serious and dangerous. It was initially jarring for many fans and critics, with the Guardian famously indirectly berating her during the initial promotion for her extra-marital involvements and for dwelling on death.[1]

I felt, however, that Ultraviolence was the perfect continuation, the only continuation of the story; and she famously culminated the whole trilogy with Honeymoon, a similarly intertextual record that oozed with malaise, deliberation and a bittersweet sense of an ending. Indeed, in the videos for Freak and Music To Watch Boys To, Del Rey was flocked by a gaggle of young Born To Die-esque beauties and there was an uncanny sense that whilst Del Rey sipped her Kool-Aid, she was passing the waifish, young, naughty, nymphet baton to the next generation. This trilogy of Born to Die (including its Paradise EP), Ultraviolence and Honeymoon are modern classics and we have been so lucky to have a woman tell such a captivating story of self-awareness, femininity, sexuality, danger and maturity so publically and with so much success. She is a master storyteller and her mountains of lyrics and intricately produced tracks are a testament to this.

On Ultraviolence, Del Rey wrote a satirical song called ‘Money Power Glory’ that documented a young down-and-out, bitter about being poor and yearning for dope, diamonds and an affluent, aspirational land far away. The song works well as a critique of the neoliberal culture we live in that revolves around these three eponymous entities, yet sardonically laughs at the fact that in spite of knowing that these things don’t make us happy, we still ardently and avidly crave them.  Over the past few days, however, Del Rey threw her fans into a capitalist chaos that I don’t think reflects the satire of her previous viewpoint and that has slightly jolted the way we should approach her new era.

On Wednesday 18th June, posts went up on Del Rey’s Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts announcing that she was doing a surprise show at London’s O2 Academy in Brixton for the following Monday 24th July. Considering Del Rey has only performed once in the UK in the past 4 years, at Radio 1’s Big Weekend in Hull in May 2017, there was a huge appetite for this gig and it immediately attracted a lot of attention. I was unable to go because I am out of the country next week, but wanted to help my younger sister, an equally avid Lana Del Rey fan but at the time delayed at an airport in France, to get to Brixton. In the end, it proved impossible for me to buy her tickets for her because O2 Brixton do not accept tickets without the ID of the initial lead buyer. As I would be out of the country, neither of us could go. I must admit I was temporarily embittered but, you know, I’m going to Greece next week. It’s cool. I was still, however, witness to everything that unfolded and it left a sour taste in my mouth.

Fans who wanted access to the pre-sale had until 5 o’clock on Wednesday 18th July to register. This involved pre-ordering a copy of the new album Lust for Life, due for release on Friday 21st June, for around £9.99 in exchange for a pre-sale code.  At 9:00 the next morning, Wednesday 19th July, pre-sale tickets went live and sold out in a matter of seconds. General sale tickets went live at 12:00 and, again, sold out in a matter of seconds. Social media was completely abuzz with hundreds of fans disappointed and frustrated that within moments of the clock hitting 12:00, ticket vendors were refreshing and declaring that there were no tickets left. Barely minutes afterwards, tickets were appearing on Viagogo selling for £600 a go. This puts fans in another bind because, as previously mentioned, O2 Brixton do not accept tickets without the ID of the initial lead buyer. Touts are, inevitably, selling on tickets at extraordinary prices to fans who won’t be able to enter the building with them anyway. This is something that Ed Sheeran has actively addressed in relation to his up-coming string of gigs by cancelling around 10,000 tickets.[2] It has not been announced whether Del Rey and her management are addressing this.

From the beginning, Del Rey and her management were capitalising, literally, on the enthusiasm of fans desperate to see such a rare show. By asking people, mostly young and whom she appeals to with a clear direct ‘you’ in new songs like ‘Love’, to put up money at little notice in exchange for privileged access to tickets seems mean and underhand.[3] These are people who have spent and probably will continue to spend money on Lana Del Rey and her merchandise in the future and it wasn’t exactly a generous gesture. It became increasingly unfair as the number of people registering for pre-sale swelled massively making it increasingly unlikely that many of these fans were even going to get tickets. After pre-sale and general sale, it appeared on social media that fans were being charged £52 a ticket which, again, on 24 hour notice for a gig next week in one of the most expensive cities in the world, seems ridiculously unfair. It suggests that the fans who could pay the most, by pre-ordering Lust for Life and then stumping up £52 for a ticket, were the ones who got to attend. This is isn’t exactly au fait with the pseudo-hippie aesthetic of freedom, love and lusty carefree youth that Del Rey’s new era is embracing. Instead, she created a virtual stampede, reminiscent of the kind of materialistic commercial madness seen on Black Friday, that was desperate and undignified for those involved.

I understand that many people frequently feel disappointed about missing out on gig tickets and that Twitter will fill up with moaning, weeping and various other melodramatic emotional responses as a result. But when young fans are played with and cast aside for commercial gain, where the artist and management are profiting so heavily from (a) creating multiple financial barriers to gigs and (b) subsequently pitting fans against one another, I find it hard to completely justify and get on board with it, no matter how much I admire the artist. It’s not the sort of marketing tactic I would expect from someone who claims so often that she deeply cares about her fans. Sure, this is all part of Del Rey’s mysterious and unpredictable persona that I’ve so enjoyed up until now, and I’m sure the online furore that has been triggered is happily feeding the myth, but it ultimately shows disdain and an emerging disrespect for fans. Del Rey knows she will be flocked wherever she goes, and her management have taken decisions to rinse as much money out of fans as possible using the mystique and desirability of the artist as fuel. If they were really serious about making as much money as possible, as shown in the strategy to release tickets, then Del Rey should just do a pre-planned tour, giving more people the opportunity to see Del Rey and with ample notice to get tickets. Instead, fans were served with a last minute rare appearance, charged over the odds and ultimately leaving many completely in the cold.

This comes within a week that a song called ‘Groupie Love’ has been released, focusing on the obsessive nature of music fans who see themselves as special and at one with their icon but are just part of a crowd of other likeminded groupies. Del Rey presents herself as being a groupie in the song but after the closure of her Born To Die, Ultraviolence and Honeymoon trilogy, this seems outdated. She has claimed that Lust for Life is for and about her fans: she has previously hinted that she’s ‘cooking something up for the kids’ and in an interview with Billboard said, ‘I felt like it was more wanting to, like, talk to the younger side of the audience I have’.[4] We can, therefore, argue that ‘Groupie Love’ is a nod to and an acknowledgment of the behaviours and naiveté of her fans which she can happily temporarily adopt and play along with. It seems slightly cynical, however, that one moment Del Rey is lauding and romanticising her fans for their groupie mentality but then plays on that very love and obsessiveness to ramp up pre-order sales and to sow financial divisions amongst them. I was then also reminded of an Instagram video Del Rey uploaded on the 22nd September 2016 where one bearded friend jokes that ‘Lolita14 is following [me]’ and another bearded friend  claims, ‘I need one of those’, before joking that he should ask fans who direct message him asking to meet Del Rey to send nudes as payment. In the video, Del Rey laughingly calls them ‘gross’. I think talking about fans in this way is distasteful verging on predatory, but also flippant and exploitative of a fan base who have been whipped into obsessiveness generated by the Lana Del Rey myth-machine in the first place; the level of attention she gets shouldn’t be surprising and something to scoff at. Del Rey has said that she no longer sings the lyrics ‘he hit me and it felt like a kiss’, because she no longer sees it as appropriate or acceptable, but then will happily upload a video encouraging fans to send nudes, even if only in jest.[5] It is undeniably hypocritical.

On the other hand, I can appreciate that some of Del Rey’s fans can be bratty nightmares. By saying this, I refer to the leaking of songs and material that have continuously plagued her career, including the leak of Lust for Life just two days before its official release. Del Rey famously called the fans sharing the link ‘U little fuckers’ and it is understandable that she was angry at such a violation of her privacy and of her agency to share her art when and where she wanted to. I can appreciate that when fans border on the obsessive to such an extent, it must be infuriating. Ironically, however, it served as the perfect counter-balance to the commercial, money-driven hysteria of the O2 gig tickets sales simultaneously unfolding, and many fans took the opportunity to download the album from a spectral link on Twitter. It is important to say that many also did not, choosing to respect the release date and openly condemning the leak out of loyalty to Del Rey.

I am so excited to listen to Lust for Life on its release today and I want to see where the story is going next. I embrace Del Rey’s collaboration with uber cool cats A$AP Rocky, Stevie Nicks and Sean Ono Lennon, and currently love her meditative outputs ‘Coachella – Woodstock In My Mind’ and ‘Summer Bummer’. But there is something that isn’t sitting quite right with the way the campaign for Lust For Life has been run. There has been an arrogance to the treatment of fans that has focused on profit and controversy instead of kindness, understanding and respect. It’s creating a toxic relationship whereby fans are whipped up into a frenzy by last minute rare appearances, clambering over one another figuratively and financially to get tickets; whilst at the same time, Del Rey’s music is leaked without her permission and much to her visible indignation. I’m not getting off the Lana Del Rey train just yet and I don’t suppose I ever will. But for an artist who quotes and reveres Nina Simone’s mantra of reflecting the times, I hope that Del Rey forsakes the capitalistic, commercial trappings of the pop industry and instead, holds a mirror to these very things. She can continue to be elusive and enigmatic whilst still being generous to the people who keep her in the position she is in.

[1] ‘I wish I was dead already’, Tim Jonze, The Guardian, 12th June 2014 [accessed 07:02, 20th July 2017] https://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/jun/12/lana-del-rey-ultraviolence-album

[2] ‘Ed Sheeran cancels 10, 000 tour tickets being sold on re-sale sites’, Huffington Post, 17th July 2017 [accessed 21:16, 19th July 2017] http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/ed-sheeran-tour-tickets-touts-resale-sites_uk_596ca344e4b03389bb18b6b9

[3] ‘Look you kids with your vintage music […] Look you kids, you know you’re the coolest […] it don’t matter because it’s enough to be young and in love’, ‘Love’, Lana De Rey 2017.

[4] ‘Everything we know about Lust For Life (so far)’, Billboard, 29th March 2017 [accessed 22:40, 19th July 2017) http://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/pop/7743538/lana-del-rey-lust-for-life-album-everything-we-know

[5] ‘Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness: a conversation with Lana Del Rey’, Pitchfork, 20th July 2017 [accessed 07:10, 21st July 2017] http://pitchfork.com/features/interview/life-liberty-and-the-pursuit-of-happiness-a-conversation-with-lana-del-rey/

Open Letter to Nancy Rothwell

Dear Nancy Rothwell,

As an alumnus of the University of Manchester, I would like to congratulate you on the appointment of George Gideon Osborne as the new Honorary Professor of Economics at the university. I did my undergraduate and Masters’ degrees in English Literature at the university and have many friends currently undertaking doctoral research and teaching in a variety of subjects and fields there. I believe this is a watershed moment for many of your students, both past and present, because what we have seen develop over the past 7 years has finally become general public knowledge: this university cares more about private interests, profit and image than it does about students and an excellent standard of academia.

A university that once boasted some of the most brilliant minds amongst its staff, that was a world-leading centre for ground breaking research, sharp critical thinking and progressive, socially responsible teaching has opted for a shallow neoliberal poster boy for austerity as an educator, with a poor economic record in government and generally despised by those who have suffered and borne witness to the suffering that his policies have brought about in this city and beyond. That is before we even mention the fact that this man is responsible for the rise in tuition fees that have made higher education a luxury both in Manchester and around the country, instead of a public right and service. Whilst many other decisions made by you and your management regarding the funding and structure of the university have been crassly cynical, including the many cost-cutting mergers of schools and faculties across campus, this is the most overtly cynical and offensive yet. Finally, the University of Manchester is showing its true colours and its true contempt for so many of the people currently working and studying there. You and your management care only for the superficial. This mockery of the university is completely unacceptable but it is finally coming to national attention.

The first and most obvious issue to be taken with this appointment is the terrible correlation of the hiring of our new Honorary Professor and the proposed cutting of 171 academic jobs within the university, leaving up to a 1000 members of staff uncertain of their future.[1] These cuts are supposedly being implemented to benefit early years’ academics, giving them sought-for opportunities and teaching experience; yet, the actuality is that this is an overt cost-cutting exercise whereby young academics will be systematically ripped off and overworked with unfair contracts.

This is already an on-going battle at the university, where, for example, many Graduate Teaching Assistants (GTAs) in the School of Arts Languages and Cultures, have had to fight hard for their right to be paid not only for the contact teaching they do, but also for the hours of preparation and assessing they do for their students. Unfair temporary contracts for young academics provide no stability and security, bogging them down with arbitrary administration. This prevents many from having the valuable time to research and publish the work required to secure a fixed-term position. It is shocking that within this context of unfair contracts and low pay, which has already been simmering under the surface at the university for a long time and which is going to have a catastrophic effect on the university soon when the job losses and inevitable staff shortages come into force, that George Osborne is being offered an Honorary Professorship. This man has overseen the greatest attack on public services in modern times, and his outdated, ineffectual but utterly devastating economic ideology is something progressive institutions should be resisting, not applauding. By offering him an ‘Honorary’ position, the university is condoning his government’s and party’s express desire to privatise and profit from public institutions, bringing services to their knees through a constant undermining of staff, their pay and their working conditions. The University of Manchester is condoning, adopting and perpetuating this very ideology with its own staff and it is outrageous. Ultimately, the unjustified cutting of jobs at the university will see satisfaction deteriorate whilst the quality and the quantity of world-leading research that is produced by those left behind will be seriously impacted.

Across the country, the arts and humanities have been suffering for a very long time in higher education, thanks in part to the cuts inflicted upon universities by our Honorary Professor’s government. The University of Manchester is no stranger to this: the Archaeology department is fighting for its very existence; I easily recall students competing for tiny amounts of money within the School of Arts Languages and Cultures to attend conferences; and Visual Anthropology students were struggling to showcase their final projects due to the lack of a couple of hundred pounds to do so. This is whilst our science, business and engineering peers were showered with seemingly endless funding and equipment, travelling as far away as Hawaii for all expenses paid conferences and receiving free iPads and e-readers along the way. Indeed, science and engineering are the main beneficiaries of the new so-called ‘Campus Masterplan’, with ‘iconic’ new buildings creating a ‘Northern engineering powerhouse’, a direct reference to the lacklustre and patronising pet project of our new Honorary Professor whilst he was still in government. The Arts buildings, on the other hand, have settled for some re-arranging and re-modelling. The arts and humanities are not taken as seriously at this university as the allegedly ‘useful’ scientific disciplines because they are not guaranteed money-makers propped up by industry. I think this is hardly surprising: in the humanities, we are taught to identify, critique and analyse social systems, structures and ideologies, challenging the powerful and rigorously giving attention to the disenfranchised. It’s little wonder that funding is stripped from these areas of research, so uncomfortable for those in power, when they are so very threatening to the hegemonic orthodoxies perpetuated by those like the university management and our new Honorary Professor of Economics.

Having spent time with doctoral students within the schools of Chemistry and Biology, I have found that there too the treatment of students is as disturbing as the institutional negligence of the arts and humanities. Whilst I am still angry that science students are given preferential treatment over those studying the arts and humanities, I find the interference of industry and private business in the funding of science research and equipment sinister and, ultimately, a threat to the integrity of the research conducted and produced by the university. This is seen explicitly in one of the areas of science that you and George are so proud of: your beloved National Graphene Institute. Whilst it features in all the press releases and marketing information about the university, the National Graphene Institute remains an enigma to many students. There are few opportunities for students to work in and use the facilities that the National Graphene Institute houses because it is so heavily funded and owned by private companies and industry. Whilst students from the School of Chemistry, for example, can easily collaborate and make use of the facilities owned by the School of Biological Sciences, to use the National Graphene Institute requires patronage from industry, successive meetings with supervisors and limited accessibility. Companies like Dyson, Seimens, Samsung, Rolls Royce and Tetrapak are gearing research towards their own profitable ends and, in the process, are alienating doctoral students and academics who should have access to the facilities available. It is not a collegial or collaborative enterprise except for the private businesses who are hoping to make money from graphene, and it is not fair for all the money being spent on graphene to not be seen or used by the vast majority of students.

This brings me back to the inherent artifice and superficiality that the University of Manchester is constantly constructing for itself. On the outside, graphene has been a big financial success story for the university yet students are not seeing the benefits of this investment and instead watch their lecturers and teachers become at risk of losing their jobs. Similarly, the university has invested in a new 326 room hotel on campus in conjunction with the Alliance Business School.[2] It seems that the university management has forgotten that the university is a place of public learning and progressive research, not a leisure park for Honorary Professors and business people in suits to jet in for a masterclass or two. I do not see how a hotel and a shiny graphene institute, bankrolled and annexed by private businesses, are supposed to contribute to the vacuous ‘student experience’ that the university is so keen to market. George Osborne’s appointment as Honorary Professor of Economics is part of this same desperate grab for superficial international attention from a university that privileges profit over the people working and studying there: it has overseen a huge rise in tuition fees for home and international students; senior management have received significant pay rises whilst blue collar workers have been shafted on zero hours contracts; and it continues to slap Alan Turing’s name and face all over campus as a marketing ploy when it remained silent  in the 1950s when he was forced to chemically castrate himself for being gay.

The University of Manchester is not a corporate business, and yet it is being run in such a manner. Flashy appointments and flashy new hotels and research centres on campus make a stark contrast to cuts to staff and an authoritarian contempt for students. The appointment of George Osborne has brought this fact into daylight. His position on campus will, I hope, be met with resistance from students and alumni alike for the length of its duration. I am sure you are both currently basking in the attention that this announcement has received but I believe it is ill-advised, tone deaf and damages the brilliant reputation that the University of Manchester once had, ‘furthering the frontiers of knowledge through research and teaching, but also contributing to the well-being of its region and society more widely’.[3]  In its quest to hungrily make money and to become arbitrarily aspirational, for example ranking as a ‘world-leading university’ by 2020, the University of Manchester is diving into the depths of ideological infamy and history will not look kindly on this new frontier. [4]

[1] ‘Over 900 jobs at risk at University of Manchester as university announces major cuts’, https://www.ucu.org.uk/article/8775/Over-900-jobs-at-risk-at-University-of-Manchester-as-university-announces-major-cuts

[2] ‘University strikes hotel deal as part of £1 billion campus master plan’, http://www.manchester.ac.uk/discover/news/article/?id=12495.

[3] University of Manchester: Vision https://www.manchester.ac.uk/discover/vision/.

[4] ‘KPI 1: To be recognised as one of the 25 leading universities in the world, with 20% of subject areas in the top 20, as measured by our position in international league tables’, http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/display.aspx?DocID=25548.

Skull Money

Skull MoneyI remember standing in a queue at a cafe

Or getting ready to get onto a bus

Faffing with coins

And I told Annie

‘I don’t want to use this one:

It’s new and shiny’.

What. Why.

‘It’s pretty. I like it! I’m keeping it’.

She promptly told me off

For fetishizing money.

It’s true:

It’s all a fabulous golden fiction.

Who cares if it’s old or new, pretty or worn.

It’s all alloy and rotten

And irrational.

By accident I was given two skull coins

By two faceless strangers

And that felt more appropriate

To fetishize.

True, they are trying to

Commemorate William THE BARD Shakespeare

and some kind of pre-historic pre-coinage

Neanderthal person who lived in British Gibraltar;

But it feels quite alright

To keep two shining nothings of death and capital

Together and bright

Jingling about in my pocket or purse

Waiting, like my life, to be spent.

 

Photo: @E_S_Harper Instagram