Heightened passions on Twitter - in defence of @pennyred

Giving away as little detail as possible “otherwise I'd have to kill you”, columnist and socialist activist Laurie Penny posted a job opportunity on her blog for a researcher to help her with her upcoming book.

By tweeting a link to the job description, in what may seem like an inoffensive use of social media to promote an offer, she sparked the fuse of right-wing blogger Guido Fawkes, who pounced at the chance to launch a vicious attack on the journalist.

A combined Twitter following of over 30,000 users witnessed yesterday's contemptuous exchange, which prompted emotional responses from supporters on either side.

And although I have no doubt that this made for an interesting Tuesday morning for the thousands of people sitting in front of a screen retweeting the spat, no one appears to have realised that had this occurred as a shouting match in an office, not only would they both have lost their jobs, but Fawkes would have been quite rightly villainised and reprimanded for his despicable lack of respect for a fellow journalist.

Having been a victim of cyberbullying myself, I am quick to condemn the actions of anyone cowardly enough to frantically bash away at a keyboard with the sole purpose of demonising someone else, which Fawkes undoubtedly did in his blog post 'Sexist Laurie Penny Exploits Unemployed, Pays Staff Below Minimum Wage', claiming that it was hypocritical of her to offer £500 for a month's part-time work.

What Fawkes seems to ignore is that the reality of the journalism and publishing industries make it as easy – if not easier – to fill such a position calling it an 'unpaid internship'. Had Penny not “passionately disapproved” of such tactics, she could have saved herself the money and got the work done anyway.

Putting aside the merits of the argument – unarguably initiated by Fawkes – the reaction on Twitter was perfectly encapsulated by media lawyer David Allan Green, who posted: “*munches popcorn whilst watching @guidofawkes and @PennyRed *”.

Despite Penny's relentless defence of her arguments, the insults kept coming, both on her Twitter stream and her blog.

The government defines bullying as including “abuse, physical or verbal violence, humiliation and undermining someone's confidence”. Yet there is no mention of cyberbullying other than in relation to teenagers.

Whether Penny felt humiliated or victimised is besides the point. A personal attack on the character of a person in front of tens of thousands of people is not an attitude that would be tolerated in any other walk of life.

Social networks are not soap operas with scripts of 140 characters, but interactions of real people in real time. Tragically, our society seems to have quickly become conditioned to see usernames as anonymous entities with no feelings or personalities behind them.

Luckily, Penny seemed unperturbed by the exchange. Let's just hope that next time Fawkes wakes up in in a particularly venomous mood, he doesn't choose to pick on someone with less of a thick-skin. Then again, maybe that's the only way we will ever wake up to the pitfalls of our abhorrent lack of sensitivity when it comes to online communication.

Loud and Clear

Dear Readers,

For no particular reason, my blog has now been subtly rebranded from Today Through My Eyes, to Loud and Clear: Today Through My Eyes.

It came to me in a flash of “inspiration” during my last week of an unpaid internship at the New Statesman which I have worked day and night (well, maybe not day and night, but definitely all trading hours) at a shoe shop in order to afford.

You will be pleased to know that my talents for envelope stuffing and transcription have been greatly nurtured, so if anyone is in the position to pay actual money for such services please do contact me immediately. Alternatively, if you would like to donate to charity, my bank details are available on request.

Much love,

Sirena xxx

Pick a future. Now!

When I was fourteen I wanted to be an astronaut. Actually, I wanted to be a journalist pretty much since I learnt to spell my name but that could have been plausible. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I walked into a class full of 14-year-olds and the girls said they wanted to be Lady GaGa and the boys Christiano Ronaldo.

As much as I would discourage such role models, aiming high and pursuing dreams – as far-fetched as they may be – is a crucial part of being young.

By the time you're 16 (and it wasn't that long ago for me), the pressure is mounting. Every day is a whirlwind of responsibilities, commitments and decisions you don't want to have to make.

This is why I have always opposed the UK education system which forces teenagers to decide st such as age, ruled often by hormones, to pick a path and stick to it for the rest of their lives.

Former education secretary Estelle Morris suggests that if students take their GCSEs at the age of 14 rather than 16 they will stay in school longer as they will have four years, rather than just two, in which to specialise.

I was never forced to make that choice, because I went to school in Spain, where you take around seven A Levels, four of which are obligatory subjects. For your other three you can choose between four groups of modules: arts, science, social sciences or humanities. Like most other people with the math skills of a linguist, I opted for humanities.

At the time, the idea of studying Ancient Greek, Latin and Art History seemed about as interesting to me as spending my Saturday nights writing political commentary. But I was sixteen, what did I know?

In retrospect, the Spanish system – despite the bitterness I felt at having to study subjects I hadn't the least interest in at the time - has stood me in good stead, giving me a thorough grounding in core subjects which I may never have chosen.

The idea that at sixteen you are prepared to narrow your choices down and completely limit your future is preposterous. But the idea of doing it at fourteen is a joke.

School is not supposed to be fun. It’s hard work and often tear-jerkingly dull, but once we’ve experienced what it means to study all different types of subjects, we will be ready to make a decision about a university degree based on a true understanding of our own talents and weaknesses - rather than a teenage whim.

Come back, @stephenfry! We can be the antichrist together

The Twitter world is buzzing. Literally. If there were a bright blue, scarily interactive planet gracing our solar system, it would have gone from a steady spin with a few minor bumps (Trafigura, Cheryl Cole, election debates, etc.) to a full-blown, gravity defying bounce that hasn't stopped for days.

Why? The king is dead. Well, maybe not dead, just 'no longer active'. Twitter is braced for a coup, but what was it that prompted Stephen Fry's sudden abandonment of his favourite form of mass communication?

Well tweetie pies, we did it. Yes, you and I, through our constant following, our shameless @replies and our traitorous re-tweets of a certain broadsheet which in a surprising Sun-like manner has taken immense pleasure in slating the reputation of the man it once heralded as our very own “national treasure”.

The backlash follows an article by the Guardian focussing on a couple of quotes lifted from an interview Fry gave Attitude magazine. Not only were they evidently taken completely out of context, but the headline was cleverly phrased to create this social media frenzy. In an effort to justify its allegation that Fry had “shocked feminists”, the Guardian quoted two women, whose condemnation of the comments was lukewarm at best.

Fry's penultimate tweet “So some fucking paper misquotes a humorous interview I gave, which itself misquoted me and now I'm the Antichrist. I give up”, is a clear indication of how frustrating these situations can be.

I recently wrote a comment piece, clearly marked as comment by a giant title on the top of the page, a cartoon byline and a first-person narrative that reads like an unsubbed diary entry. It is perhaps unfortunate that my view on what constitutes “writing to be proud of” differs drastically from that of the editor-in-chief of this minor publication. However, I complied and wrote a lovely little tongue-in-cheek rant entitled “Why I hate blondes” (please find full piece copied below).

I have now uninstalled the Facebook app on my phone because the endless flashing of messages from people telling me what a terrible person I am was overwhelming. My personal favourite has to be: “vrey professional!! well done!!! im not surprised that all your boyfrends ran away from you, smart ass, to stupid blondes! Hahahahaha)))))” [sic], followed up that evening by: “have nothing to answer? u re a shit journalist then!”.

I thought my article was pointless and silly, but this young lady just proved me wrong. The editor had clearly pinpointed our readers to perfection.

I think a thick skin is the first requirement for a career in journalism. Offending people and receiving copious insults in every form of communication possible has to be completely irrelevant to your work. Stephen Fry has been doing this for a lot longer than I have though, and it looks like he's had enough.

His final “bye, bye” tweet has caused the mourning of millions, but he cannot stay away for long. Just as I will continue to write articles madmouthing any section of society I deem deserving of my scathing words, Stephen Fry will be tweeting again by Friday. I guarantee it.


WHY I HATE BLONDES
[as published in the River, 30th Obctober 2010]

I hate blonde girls. Generally, I hate them in all shapes and sizes. Tall, short, fat, thin, mediumly chubby. Dirty blonde, platinum blonde, strawberry blonde, or my personal favourite hate toy: the natural blonde.

There are studies suggesting that blondes are a mutation, and men find them attractive because they are less common than brunettes (whoever came up with that had obviously never been to Oceana on a Wednesday night). Other, more Freudian theories conclude that men are born natural paedophiles and get turned on by traits which remind them of small children.

Either way, they piss me off. Especially the self-righteous ones. You know what I’m talking about, the ones that drown their brain cells in peroxide and then bang on about “stereotyping”. The best laugh I’ve had all week was when a facebook friend posted a status update about the woes of the blonde. And mis-spelled “cliché”.

I could go into long and personal detail about my experiences with blondes. There were the ones that the teachers always liked better in primary school, the popular ones who laughed at my outfits in college, the blue-eyed skinny ones that stole my boyfriends repeatedly... the list goes on.

But the most questionable I think is the “I’m-blonde-and-gorgeous-and-I-want-everyone-to-see-me-naked-but-don’t-judge-me” ones. Lingerie model Rachel Rigby-Jones proudly told the River that she is happy to have sugar daddies who will provide her with the princess lifestyle she has always wanted. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry,

A degree in Business, a pilot’s licence and another degree on the way and her best shot at a career is posing naked on the cover of one of the least classy of lads’ mags. It almost makes me want to burn my bras and worship the ground Germaine Greer walks on. Almost.

I am not a feminist. I’ll prove that by not even mentioning the women’s rights movement, the right to vote, the media sexualisation of women, or the rising numbers of female eating disorders in the UK. But if the best we can do for male attention is dye ourselves into some resemblance of either a pre-historic mutation or a snotty toddler, perhaps it’s the boys that need to re-think their priorities.

You know what? I don’t even think I want to justify it further. I just hate blondes – no explanation needed. Burn them at the stake, I say. Who’s with me?

Browne Report - not all bleak

As a student who will graduate at 21 years old with a personal debt of over £30,000, I would fully encourage the abolition of tuition fees. Then again, I would also encourage philanthropists to offer me their fortunes and allow me to spend my life writing ranting blogs and baking misshapen brownies.

I was outraged when I heard that there was a chance tuition fees would be raised and I still fail to see a way in which this would benefit anyone other than the wealthy. But neither can I put my full weight behind a blanket criticism of all the recommendations set out in the Browne report.

The introduction of tuition fees in 1998 the was hailed as New Labour at its worst, favouring the middle and upper classes to the complete detriment of many underprivileged students who would not be able to front the costs, even with the help of low-interest student loans. The argument that it would discourage the less motivated was a direct contradiction of the 50 per cent target, which allowed university places to be filled by students with lower academic abilities.

An increase in fees would be bad enough, but uncapping them so that universities have carte blanche to charge whatever they want, for whatever they want leads to a de facto privatisation of the higher education sector (or industry, if you will).

Similarly, the idea of government funding for departments deemed by Whitehall bureaucrats to be the most worthy laughs in the face of vocational teaching, and courses in Arts and Humanities becoming more expensive than the sciences will cause creative industries to become even more elitist.

Yet in a slightly schizophrenic turn, there are elements of the Browne report which, if applied, would mean a more progressive system of university funding.

No up-front fees, and a repayment threshold of a £21,000 salary - compared to the current, unrealistic £15,000 - will be beneficial to less well-off students. And Vince Cable's suggestion of a tiered interest system will avoid those with the financial means (or the parents with financial means) to cover the costs from getting away with not contributing their share to the national money bank.

Part-time students would also benefit from the ideas set out in the report. It seems absurd that there is currently no help available to those having to undertake their studies whilst working, as they are often more in need of financial aid than eighteen-year-olds with parental support.

It is unfortunate that the more positive aspects of this reform have been overshadowed by the main issue of uncapping tuition fees. The Liberal Democrats have now set themselves up for a catastrophic loss of support amongst young people - a demographic often overlooked by the main parties whilst campaigning. More worryingly, passing legislation so detrimental to students will likely exacerbate the loss in confidence and trust in politics amongst my generation.

I have often made my position on higher education funding clear. Lowering university places to allow entry to only the exceptional would allow for full funding of those students who will bring something positive to our society and do not have the financial means to subsidise themselves for three years. This way, we would have dedicated, well-educated graduates without normalising debt for an entire generation of mediocre students who consider a university education to be a rite of passage, rather than a privilege you earn through years of hard work.

Internships from hell: My experience

I thought long and hard about this blog post, just as I tweeted not a word about my predicament and remained open-minded and optimistic to the point of dishonesty with most people who asked how my internship at the Independent on Sunday was going. And I do realise that throwing into the blogosphere my contempt for a national paper will not do much for my future job prospects.

I can envisage my more diplomatic lecturers reading this post and shaking their heads: “So much promise,” they might be thinking. But if I can warn future interns of what awaits them, or even give a little bit of insight to the people who caused my distress, then it's worth sacrificing the very slim chance that one day the IoS may have come knocking on my door, begging me to work for them.

I should mention to all those aspiring journalists who are gasping in envy at the fact that I got myself an internship at a national paper that the extent of the screening process was calling up the right person and saying: “Hi, I'm a journalism student, I was wondering if it would be possible to do work experience with you during the summer.” And without further ado I was offered a month's unpaid work placement, which I had to politely decline in favour of a more reasonable two weeks, although even this almost bankrupted me, my only salvation being that national papers don't expect anyone in before 10:30 am so I saved myself the peak-time train fares.

I must say that in my limited experience I have found an inverse correlation between how easy it is to get an internship and how much you enjoy it. My two weeks last summer at the Brighton Argus, which had a similar system of giving away free work to anyone who asked, was enough to put me off the local and regional news industry for life. At the more selective Press Gazette I felt I learnt more than in an entire year of university; the Guardian, which demands CVs, clippings, and application forms gained me two published articles and much-appreciated free coffee; and I have high hopes for the New Statesman, which brought me in for an interview for their coveted internship.

But back to the Sindy. Day after day, in my usual pushy way I would ask for research, transcriptions, stories, tea-making or any other task that the news desk might need fulfilling. I was met with disdain and complete disinterest.

Although at first I assumed that it was a personal, after the first few days it became apparent that of the vast number of interns the IoS takes on, the majority spend their time browsing the web for ideas to pitch and subsequently get rejected without so much as a reasonable explanation. I say the majority because there were exceptions. Namely the Cambridge student who was interning for three months and the Oxford student whose parents got her work experience at the IoS at every available university holiday. They seemed to get quite a few bylines.

Not that there wasn't a highlight to my ordeal: I was sent off to a Quaker house (at my own expense, of course) to do vox pops with very friendly phtographer. Also, the cafeteria soup is cheaper than the Guardian's and the bread is nicer. But I wouldn't want to be inaccurate and infer that we were never given any work; on a couple of occasions someone would come over at 6pm with some 'urgent' research, and when explained two hours later that the information was unobtainable, it turns out that they were pretty sure that was the case already.

This is just my story of two very unpleasant weeks, but every day hundreds of aspiring journalists are put through terrible hardship in order to acquire this kind of valuable “experience”. And for what? In the hope that in the future they will be able to break into the industry. Fingers crossed they don't end up entirely disenchanted before their big break. Fingers crossed they don't pick the Independent on Sunday.

Has someone missed the point of Facebook?

Government documents, political articles, final dissertations, legal arguments... even blog posts are sort of thing that I expect people to take seriously. But Facebook groups? You must be joking. Oh wait, you probably are!

Back in the days when I was still allowed to ‘become a fan’ of things (much more non-committal than ‘liking’ them, I find) I was a self-proclaimed fan of serial killers, eugenics, coco pops, Beverly Hills 90210 and ‘if the world ends in 2012 I won’t have to pay back my student loan’. Does this make me psychotic, schizophrenic or a cereal-eater? No. It means that I understand that sites such as Facebook are not to be taken seriously.

Those of you well versed in the art of social networking will also recognise the tongue-in-cheek aspect of Facebook compared to rivals such as Twitter, or even Myspace in its hayday. Facebook is private; members can handpick who they want as contacts and edit that list with a couple of clicks. In this familiar and enclosed environment, why shouldn’t we be allowed to make jokes with our ‘friends’, regardless of how distasteful others may find our sense of humour?

Cameron’s idea that he could scream out into Facebook oblivion about where spending cuts should lie is nothing short of hilarious, prompting the most popular response from this newly-engaged public to be along the lines of ‘if you can’t work it out yourself then get out of government’. I wonder if Facebook founder Mark Zuckerburg is a closet communist and it was all a set-up.

As if this hadn’t made me sceptical enough of Cameron’s so-called ‘down with the kids’ attitude to social networking, along came the whole ‘R.I.P. Raoul Moat You Legend’ Facebook group affair, which with a little help from his mates at the Daily Mail, our Prime Minister managed to blow so out of proportion to that the poor woman who set it up has had her face plastered all over the press for her ‘sick joke’. I suppose it doesn’t help that she’s a single mother, either.

I recognise the insensitivity the group displayed to the bereaved families of Moat’s victims. I also accept that this group was not only politically incorrect but also downright offensive. However, the idea that a government should be able to remove anything from the public domain based on that set of criteria is not only a travesty to the ideal of free speech but also a prelude to an era of censorship which will see many comedians, writers, musicians and journalists unemployed in the near future.

I rarely update my Facebook status with anything that is not drowned in layers of irony, sarcasm and obscure and useless references that few people pick up on. As far as I’m concerned this is all part of the point. If I were only allowed to write the sort of things that would be considered acceptable by politicians and right-wing media outlets I would delete my account in an instant. And surely that’s not what David Cameron wants.