Latest news with #CND
Irish Independent
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Mark Beaumont: Protest is as much a part of the soul of Glasto' as the music
The Australian punks accused the media of 'trying to make it look like just a couple of isolated incidents and a couple of 'bad bands', so it appears the public isn't as anti-genocide as it is'. Pretty much every act I saw at this year's festival dropped a 'Free Palestine' in somewhere. 'The status quo has shifted majorly,' the Sniffers summarised – 'people are concerned and desperate for our governments to listen.' Amid such a fervent media furore, many seem frustrated that the dark spectre of politics has infiltrated their cosy sofa weekend watching Rod Stewart – which only highlights how disconnected the BBC-ified Glastonbury experience is from the fundamental meaning and history of the event. Ever since Michael Eavis gave out free milk in 1970 in the name of humanitarian togetherness, Glastonbury has been deeply political. In 1981, Eavis partnered with the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), whose logo is still prominently placed at the top of the Pyramid Stage, with the aim of raising money for the organisation and promoting its message of nuclear disarmament. Throughout the Eighties and early Nineties, it was a haven not just for the Green Field's hippies but for the otherwise outcast traveller community – infusing the event with the politics of rebellion, environmentalism and social justice upon which its modern counter-cultural reputation was built. Every year, the Greenpeace Field shouts about the latest developments in the climate emergency, and the Leftfield tent hosts speeches and discussions on a vast array of political issues. And throughout its history, Glastonbury has been the place where major bands and figures make major statements. In 2005, Bob Geldof brought the Make Poverty History campaign to Worthy Farm. In 2017, the then leader of the Labour Party made a high-profile Pyramid Stage appearance, drawn to the home of the mass by an 'Oh, Jeremy Corbyn' chant – galvanising the youthful hope that had grown around him at the time. In 2022, Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky crystallised the nation's solidarity with his country with a powerful video message to the Pilton masses. Waking up to the shock Brexit vote result in 2016, it was at Glastonbury that bands such as Bastille and Foals gave voice to Remoaner despair. And, three years later, it was during his dazzling headline set that rapper Stormzy – clad in a monochrome Union flag stab-proof vest – encapsulated the feelings of many in the nation when he got the vast, televised crowd chanting 'f*** Boris'. It may come as a shock to the TV audience that can bypass the politics pulsing from every corner of Worthy Farm each year (and particularly in 2025) with the flick of a red button, but brazen and confrontational stands on crucial issues of the day are what Glastonbury – and the passionate, sometimes angry young people who attend and play it – has always done. And will continue to do, especially now it's a public platform commanding viewing numbers in the millions. Glastonbury is far more than a big, flag-clogged gig on a farm – it's also a powerful source of righteous campaigning and high-profile tub-thumping, with many great and positive politicised moments under its belt. We might not agree with everything that's said here – we might find some of it unacceptable and shocking – but let's not be in any way surprised by it.
Daily Mirror
2 days ago
- Politics
- Daily Mirror
'Glastonbury is a middle-class hate crime - time to put it out of its misery'
Is this the way the future's meant to feel? Twenty thousand people in a field, calling for the death of conscripts, comfortable in the knowledge that if war ever comes for them they can afford to buy their way off the front line. A lady in a sunflower hat. A man proudly wearing the badge of the CND. A sea of people, all able to find £400 a head and the time off work to head to Somerset, all of whom have benefited from state-funded education, and not one expecting a terrorist to paraglide in and open up with an Uzi, as they danced and partied without a care in the world. They seemed not to notice the racial hatred, even when it poured from their lips. In fact, they'd probably be very offended at the suggestion, and point out they were echoing the words of a black man, and talking about the wrongs of a genocide, so it couldn't possibly be racist and don't you know how nice everyone is at music festivals? But when a pretty poor punk duo called Bob Vylan, whose sledgehammer wit is so perfectly displayed in their name, invited - or is it incited? The police will know - them to shout "Death to the IDF" it was a signal that everything that was once jolly lovely about 'Glasto' is as dead and buried as the 378 people slaughtered at the Nova Music Festival in Israel on October 7, 2023. Had Somerset turned into the same sort of killing field, to provoke a government by the murder of its innocents into an era-defining conflict, the survivors may well have signed up to fight back on the spot, sunflower hats and all. Whether the UK armed forces would have considered them any damned use is a different matter. But of course it did not happen in Britain, because Britain has no terrorist enemies, has never had a war within, and has always fought on the side of the angels. Except when it hasn't. And certainly, no-one has ever called for the death of the people who keep us safe, except for the Irish, the Northern Irish, the Iranians, ISIS, the Taliban, the Welsh, the Scottish, the Americans, the French, the Germans, the Italians, oh and quite a lot of everyone else. Part of the reason for the 40ft high metal fences that surround the Glastonbury site is not just to protect the wealthy people within from having to share sound with people who can only afford a download. It's also to keep them safe from the many sorts of terrorist who would quite enjoy walking into a field full of entitled white prats and blowing as many of them as possible sky-high. But people who float through life in fashionable wellies, who can afford to buy a tent for fun rather than fashion one out of sacks in a refugee camp, and who think it's a lark to be muddy for a couple of days because they know they won't have to wash in a puddle for the next year, did not feel empathy for a single second with the festival-goers who made the mistake of partying while living next door to someone who wanted them dead. They just called for the death of millions of Jews, because someone suggested they do so, and didn't think twice about whose company they were keeping. They didn't think that the Israeli Defence Force gets its troops via conscription, with little chance to excuse themselves. That everyone is a reservist until they're 40. They didn't think that may mean the IDF is not very professional, they don't all want to be there, and maybe aren't very good at shooting things, or indeed at not shooting things. They didn't question as to why Israelis still have conscription, and whether it might be linked to the fact people are trying to kill civilians ALL THE TIME. And they especially didn't do the maths about Palestinian people and Israeli people, who both suffer warmongering leaders, and if wanting your own country is fine for one of them, then it's fine for both. Nor did they recall that their own government - this nice, Labour, cosy, British government - is talking about bringing back conscription. While the soft-bellied Glasto-goers, with an average age approaching 44, could escape it, their children may not. How'd it feel if someone shouted "Death to little Crispin and Charlotte"? Not so socially-acceptable, then. But Glastonbury has long been the place where common sense went to die. From an indie, hippie festival in a field it's become an industry of its own, with established, mainstream acts vying with smaller ones purely to cash in. But when it's got to the point that Rod Stewart and Lulu are on the main stage, it needs more cops and cleaners than a recently-discovered mass grave, and genuine hippies can't scrape together the entrance fee, it's no longer serving any purpose beyond pure, naked capitalism. Vylan have put on a load of new followers, who will no doubt get tapped up to crowdfund the legal fees if they face any sort of police action for inciting the murder of an entire nation's youth. And they seem to have downgraded their status from being "violent punks" to being concerned about school dinners, and toned down calling for death to calling for peaceful protest marches. Good luck, as a criminal defence lawyer might say, with that. But Glastonbury's rather tainted star has fallen even further into the mire. It's surely time for this middle-class, middle-of-the-road, money-making, maggot-attracting hate crime to take its final bow, and leave music festivals to people who still know that they're supposed to involve some peace and love. Otherwise next year they'll try to go one better, and we'll see Ayatollah Khameini in the 'legends' slot, and bomb-making classes in a tepee.
The Guardian
4 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
‘Are we safe, if nuclear weapons are here?': trepidation in Norfolk village over new jets
The genteel west Norfolk village of Marham does not seem to be at the forefront of Britain's military might. A dance class is about to start in the village hall, a game of crown green bowls is under way and swallows are swooping around the medieval church tower as wood pigeons coo. 'It's a lovely, quiet little village,' says Nona Bourne as she watches another end of bowls in a match between Marham and nearby Massingham. Like many, Bourne is troubled by the news that this week thrust Marham to the frontline of UK's nuclear arsenal, in the biggest expansion of the programme for a generation. Without consultation, RAF Marham is to be equipped with new F-35A jets capable of carrying warheads with three times the explosive power of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Bourne said: 'When they spread it all over the news that these planes are going to come here from America with these bombs, it makes you think we're going to be targeted. My bungalow is five minutes from the base.' The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament is planning a protest in Marham on Saturday. Bourne, whose son-in-law used to work at the base, is tempted to take part. 'I might join in,' she says. 'My daughter says we've always been a target here, but I am concerned. If I was younger I'd think about moving, but I'm 83, I'm not going anywhere.' Sisters Becky, 29, and Katherine Blakie, 31, are heading to a friend's house for a plunge in their hot tub. 'I read about the weapons on Facebook,' says Becky. 'It's strange to think they'll be here in little old Marham.' Becky, who works in fundraising, is annoyed that the village was not consulted about the decision. She says: 'Marham and the RAF base are intertwined so we should definitely have had a say.' Katherine, a medical student, says: 'It makes you think, 'Are we safe, if people know nuclear weapons are here?'' At this stage it is unclear where the nuclear warheads will be housed, but new jets to be based at Marham have the capacity to drop them. Wherever they are stored, the fear Marham will be a target is widespread in the village. 'Look what happened at Pearl Harbor,' says Patricia Gordon after finishing her bowls match. 'We'd be obliterated here.' She adds: 'And with Donald Trump's finger on the button, does it matter that we've got nuclear weapons or not?' But her partner, Bruce Townsend, 77, a retired lorry driver, thinks the nuclear deterrent works. He says: 'You can't give up nuclear weapons. Iran, and those countries, know damn well that if they start anything, they'll just get wiped out.' He adds: 'I feel the same about the protest as I did about people who tried to ban the bomb. It's stupid. They can't change it.' It is the men in Marham who seem more relaxed about the prospect of nuclear-armed planes on their doorstep. Chris Joice, a carer who used to work at the base, says: 'We've had F-35s for so many years, and having the next model isn't going to make much difference.' Joice is out walking a friend's dog, Millie, who has an RAF roundel pendant strapped to her collar. He is concerned about the lack of consultation: 'I'm just annoyed that all these decisions go ahead and the common man doesn't have a single word in.' He adds: 'No one needs that kind of firepower. I'd rather people rolled dice to settle their beefs.' Others are more full-throated in their support. Jim Smith, 79, a retired construction worker, remembers nuclear weapons at the base in the 1950s. 'They had them up there in 1958 or 59 when they had the V bombers. It stopped a world war then. And it's no different now.' A man on a bike who would only give his name as John recently retired as a grounds maintenance worker at the base. He says: 'They're never going to attack us. It would be Armageddon if it comes to that. So it doesn't make a shite's worth of difference worrying about it.' He adds: 'I don't mind protest, I'm a biker so I'm all about freedom, but I've got better things to do. People protesting here don't live in the real world, they should worry instead about people sleeping on the streets in King's Lynn.' Colin Callaby, 64, is out picking cherries from a tree in the middle of the village. The cherries, which he plans to turn into wine, are the sweetest he has ever known. 'We're right in the firing line,' he says, 'but if there's going to be a nuclear bomb we're all done for so I'd rather be right underneath it and die instantly than be 50 miles away and take weeks to die from radiation.' He adds: 'It's very sad that mankind has got to spend billions of pounds on mass destruction and we can't do something better with that money. But what can you do?'
The Guardian
5 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
‘Are we safe, if nuclear weapons are here?': trepidation in Norfolk village over new jets
The genteel west Norfolk village of Marham does not seem to be at the forefront of Britain's military might. A dance class is about to start in the village hall, a game of crown green bowls is under way and swallows are swooping around the medieval church tower as wood pigeons coo. 'It's a lovely, quiet little village,' says Nona Bourne as she watches another end of bowls in a match between Marham and nearby Massingham. Like many, Bourne is troubled by the news that this week thrust Marham to the frontline of UK's nuclear arsenal, in the biggest expansion of the programme for a generation. Without consultation, RAF Marham is to be equipped with new F-35A jets capable of carrying warheads with three times the explosive power of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Bourne said: 'When they spread it all over the news that these planes are going to come here from America with these bombs, it makes you think we're going to be targeted. My bungalow is five minutes from the base.' The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament is planning a protest in Marham on Saturday. Bourne, whose son-in-law used to work at the base, is tempted to take part. 'I might join in,' she says. 'My daughter says we've always been a target here, but I am concerned. If I was younger I'd think about moving, but I'm 83, I'm not going anywhere.' Sisters Becky, 29, and Katherine Blakie, 31, are heading to a friend's house for a plunge in their hot tub. 'I read about the weapons on Facebook,' says Becky. 'It's strange to think they'll be here in little old Marham.' Becky, who works in fundraising, is annoyed that the village was not consulted about the decision. She says: 'Marham and the RAF base are intertwined so we should definitely have had a say.' Katherine, a medical student, says: 'It makes you think, 'Are we safe, if people know nuclear weapons are here?'' At this stage it is unclear where the nuclear warheads will be housed, but new jets to be based at Marham have the capacity to drop them. Wherever they are stored, the fear Marham will be a target is widespread in the village. 'Look what happened at Pearl Harbor,' says Patricia Gordon after finishing her bowls match. 'We'd be obliterated here.' She adds: 'And with Donald Trump's finger on the button, does it matter that we've got nuclear weapons or not?' But her partner, Bruce Townsend, 77, a retired lorry driver, thinks the nuclear deterrent works. He says: 'You can't give up nuclear weapons. Iran, and those countries, know damn well that if they start anything, they'll just get wiped out.' He adds: 'I feel the same about the protest as I did about people who tried to ban the bomb. It's stupid. They can't change it.' It is the men in Marham who seem more relaxed about the prospect of nuclear-armed planes on their doorstep. Chris Joice, a carer who used to work at the base, says: 'We've had F-35s for so many years, and having the next model isn't going to make much difference.' Joice is out walking a friend's dog, Millie, who has an RAF roundel pendant strapped to her collar. He is concerned about the lack of consultation: 'I'm just annoyed that all these decisions go ahead and the common man doesn't have a single word in.' He adds: 'No one needs that kind of firepower. I'd rather people rolled dice to settle their beefs.' Others are more full-throated in their support. Jim Smith, 79, a retired construction worker, remembers nuclear weapons at the base in the 1950s. 'They had them up there in 1958 or 59 when they had the V bombers. It stopped a world war then. And it's no different now.' A man on a bike who would only give his name as John recently retired as a grounds maintenance worker at the base. He says: 'They're never going to attack us. It would be Armageddon if it comes to that. So it doesn't make a shite's worth of difference worrying about it.' He adds: 'I don't mind protest, I'm a biker so I'm all about freedom, but I've got better things to do. People protesting here don't live in the real world, they should worry instead about people sleeping on the streets in King's Lynn.' Colin Callaby, 64, is out picking cherries from a tree in the middle of the village. The cherries, which he plans to turn into wine, are the sweetest he has ever known. 'We're right in the firing line,' he says, 'but if there's going to be a nuclear bomb we're all done for so I'd rather be right underneath it and die instantly than be 50 miles away and take weeks to die from radiation.' He adds: 'It's very sad that mankind has got to spend billions of pounds on mass destruction and we can't do something better with that money. But what can you do?'
Refinery29
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Refinery29
3D Nail Art Has Gone 'Amorphous'
The latest trend in nail art is all about dimension. We're seeing these nature-inspired forms — think, rain droplets and melting candle wax — built on top of the fingernails. Both artists and trend experts are clocking the trend towards 3D nail art, calling it "organic" and almost "amorphous" in shape. Sojin Oh is a nail artist who has made lifelike nail art her M.O., creating custom designs, like " amoeba nails" for Euphoria 's Hunter Schafer and jellied " koi fish nails" for Normani. According to Oh, her clients come to her specifically for her 3D gels. "Ninety percent of my clients come to me to do 3D," Oh explains. "I think people are starting to realise [3D art] is not as intimidating as it seems. [The art looks] more like little sculptures on your hands, rather than just polished nails." As someone who has never done a sculptural nail design beyond gel "plumping" — my question to Oh is basic: How does it work? Oh tells me that that process usually involves a clear building gel, similar to CND's Plexigel, or glass materials. "I sculpt with clear building gel or use glass materials I get custom made by my artist friend Grace Wardlaw," Oh explains. To create droplets and more intricate shapes, she'll use specific tools. "I use toothpicks and dotting pens," she says. "Sometimes, I'll use melted plastics to be more eco-conscious." Beyond Oh, many more artists have been experimenting with 3D art. Betina Goldstein posted a photo of these 3D gold "lunettes" hovering off a naked nail. Natalie Minerva, the artist behind the nails on Euphoria, created a " space abalone" design with thick gels, as well as Cassie-inspired manicure in collaboration with ManiMe: baby pink with raised 3D glitter dots down the middle. These are more minimalist than Oh's glass creations, but still, a step beyond simple polish. "I think people are being more exploratory with nail art in general," Minerva offers. "In my early years, I was really trying to push boundaries and I don't think people got it. It's not like you keep them forever. You keep [the art] on for two to three weeks — express yourself. It's like a tattoo, but it's not permanent." According to Brooke DeVard Ozaydinli, a Creator Marketing lead at Instagram, "chunky nail art" is a huge trend happening. "We're going beyond 2D nail art and getting into really chunky, 3D designs," Ozaydinli explains. "It really elevates the idea of a manicure; it's like a piece of art on its own. They're very eye-catching. These nail artists who are finding new materials are really pushing the trend forward." Of course, you can try a single gemstone or pearl nail art. But your next step might be something more blob-like and naturalistic, which seems to be where the trend is at the moment.
