Universities set for strikes and protests

Will the anger at higher education cuts gather force across the country?

Are we in line for widespread strike action and protests in British universities?

Higher education is one of the first areas to be hit by public spending cuts. According to the University and College Union (UCU), 15,000 jobs could be lost -- the majority of them academic posts -- while institutions may have to close courses and campuses. The Guardian reported yesterday that potential savings include more than 200 job losses at King's College, London, 700 at Leeds University and 340 at Sheffield Hallam, while entire campuses could be closed at Cumbria and Wolverhampton.

Staff at Leeds have voted in favour of strike action against these large-scale job cuts. The ballot had the highest turnout that UCU has ever seen, indicating that emotions are running high. Staff at Sussex University will also vote next week on whether to strike if the threat of compulsory redundancies is not withdrawn.

And how have students reacted to the budgetary crisis facing their universities? It is a mixed picture. At Leeds, the student union lobbied against strike action from staff, having received assurances that cuts would not affect students. But students at Sussex have launched a concerted protest effort, in recognition that "an attack on education workers is an attack on us".

One hundred and six students have occupied the top floor of a conference centre with the aim of disrupting the university's business interests. Meanwhile, the student union is urging students not to participate in the National Student Survey, in the hope that the threat of reduced survey ratings will put pressure on the university management.

There are two main issues at stake here. The first is the immediate concern of job losses and a shortage of university places for prospective students. The second is the deeper ideological concern about the value the state places upon university education -- is it being deliberately pushed towards private funding? And what is the proper role of business interest in education -- do we risk sacrificing the pursuit of knowledge as an end in itself, and the study of the arts, in favour of target-driven, financially motivated research?

Industrial action by staff is clearly triggered mainly by the former, although ideological issues may come into play at some level. The student protests at Sussex, though, seem to incorporate both. Students in recent years have been accused of apathy, but their situation has the potential to draw attention to the deeper concerns underpinning the university crisis.

A wave of occupations of university buildings during the Gaza strike last year prompted speculation that we were witnessing a resurgence of student protest. It will be interesting to see whether protests against cuts gather force in the same way.

 

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Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear