Author Archives: cultureweeklyradboud

By Seryal Hazal Mengüş & Maike Leerssen

Introduction: Sound as Social Action

Can music feed people? It might sound figurative, poetic, or naïve, yet this question guided our intervention, The Food Bank Project, created for the course Popular Music and Social Change at Radboud University. While music is often seen as entertainment or expression, we wanted to see what happens when it becomes a tool for redistribution and care. Our project responded to Sustainable Development Goal 2: Zero Hunger, which aims to end hunger and ensure food security for all. In the Netherlands, a country known for wealth and abundance, one in thirteen people faces food insecurity (estimate based on available data from Voedselbanken Nederland & Kickstart.ai, 2024). The contradiction is striking: overflowing supermarkets next to overworked food banks. We wondered how music might intervene in this silence. Hence, The Food Bank Project set out to connect sound and solidarity. Through a concert, a flyer, and a digital toolkit, we sought to transform listening into action and audiences into allies. This post reflects on that experiment: how an artistic gesture became a meaningful act of social change, even if small.

The Performance: Music for Food Justice

Our idea was simple yet ambitious: a concert where the ticket would be a donation for the local food bank in Nijmegen. We wanted to merge cultural participation with redistribution, bridging symbolic and material impact. Initially, our team consisted of three members: DJ Morris, classical musician Maike, and cultural researcher Hazal. Each of us brought a different skill set: practical musicianship, aesthetic sensitivity, and theoretical framing. Together we envisioned an evening of hybrid performance where electronic beats and live instruments would coexist, while the audience would contribute food or small donations at the entrance. The collected items would be delivered to Voedselbank Nijmegen-Overbetuwe. However, as often happens with small activist initiatives, the fragility of the project quickly became visible.

Our plan depended on factors largely outside our control: the venue’s infrastructure, institutional permission, audience sign-ups, and marketing reach. When no one signed up, the venue cancelled the concert. Looking back, this was understandable: without much promotion, the right timing, or a local network, small projects like ours often find it hard to reach people. This also revealed how easily socially-engaged art can be constrained by infrastructures of visibility and logistics: publicity algorithms, event management systems, and time limits that rarely accommodate grassroots projects. On the other hand, Morris left the group. Yet rather than abandoning the idea, we reimagined its scope and audience. Maike decided to perform at her conservatoire, ArtEZ University of the Arts in Zwolle, during her regular Friday class. This shift became more than a logistical adjustment: it marked a conceptual evolution from public engagement to engagement with musicians, with peers who might one day become the next generation of artist-activists.

On 17 October 2025, Maike performed Laura by Jacob van Eyck, a 17th-century piece for tenor recorder chosen for its voice-like tone and introspective mood. Before playing, she introduced the issue of food insecurity and distributed the flyers designed by Hazal. Each flyer contained a QR code linking to our Toolkit for Music Activists, a digital guide on how to use music for social change and food justice, written by Hazal. During the performance, the low, resonant sound of the tenor recorder filled the classroom. Afterward, several classmates approached Maike to express appreciation, not only for the music but for the message. Sven (a classical piano student) noted that she explained the topic very well and that he liked the flyer’s design. The combination of performance and information seemed to land well with the group.

However, while the concert achieved its immediate goals (i.e., raising awareness and collecting donations) we could not fully assess its long-term impact. Maike did not have time during or after class to ask whether students actually engaged with the toolkit or planned to use it. This remains one of the project’s main limitations. On the other hand, those who showed interest might have been people who already cared about social issues. A broader distribution of the flyer and toolkit across the university could have created more diverse engagement. Yet this raised another challenge: resources. Printing is expensive, and arranging digital distribution requires technical skills and access we did not have at the time. These practical constraints reveal how even small- scale activist initiatives are shaped by invisible infrastructures of time, labour, and cost: issues that often determine whether ideas can reach beyond their immediate circles.

The performance included a digital donation link (Tikkie), through which classmates contributed money. In total we raised €80, which Maike used to buy groceries listed by the food bank (tea, coffee, beans, milk, canned vegetables, and other essentials). She transported three heavy bags of goods on her bicycle to the donation centre in Nijmegen. The volunteer who welcomed her was surprised and delighted. Inside the hall, surrounded by shelves of donated products from supermarkets and individuals, the scale of need became tangible. Through this process, we learned that activism is logistical as much as emotional. Planning, shopping, and cycling with heavy bags were as much part of the performance as the music itself. The project thus unfolded on multiple levels:

• Redistribution: tangible food donations reached local families.
• Awareness: students learned about food insecurity in a country often imagined as problem-free.
• Pedagogy: the flyer and toolkit offered musicians tools to continue such work.

In short, our intervention turned the conservatoire, a space usually reserved for artistic training, into a site of care, reflection, and social connection. The project reminded us that activism does not require scale or spectacle. It can happen through sincerity, persistence, and a willingness to act where you are.

Tools for Change: The Flyer and the Toolkit

The flyer was both a visual anchor and a call to action. Its design juxtaposed statistics with a message: “Around 1 in 13 people in the Netherlands face food insecurity. […] Let the sound move beyond this room. Keep giving, keep sharing, keep creating change.” Printed on blank postcards, the flyer summarized the purpose of the concert, explained where donations would go, and linked, via QR code, to the digital Toolkit for Music Activists. The toolkit expanded on the flyer’s spirit, offering six concrete pathways for musicians who want to align their practice with social change:

1. Raise Awareness: Use performances to share facts, tell stories, and inspire conversation.
2. Redistribute: Turn gigs, rehearsals, or jam sessions into donation opportunities.
3. Turn Your Audience into Allies: Use QR codes, playlists, and online sharing to sustain action.
4. Push Your Institution for Change: Advocate for ethical food policies and zero-waste practices.
5. Self-Reflect: Treat fairness and care within ensembles as part of activism.
6. Stay Critical: Question charity models and aim for justice.

The toolkit also includes inspirations and readings, from Andrew Green & John Street’s “Music and Activism” to adrienne maree brown’s “Emergent Strategy.” It situates our small project within a global lineage of artists and movements that see music as both resistance and repair.

By distributing the flyer and the toolkit, our project aimed to extend beyond the classroom. Anyone who scanned the QR code could replicate or adapt the model. In this way, the intervention became pedagogical: not a single event but a portable framework for others to continue. As we wrote in the toolkit:

You don’t need a stage, funding, or fame to make an impact. Start with the sound you can make; others will join in. Play your part, the rest is a collective rhythm.

This replicability was key. Activism often depends on networks rather than numbers. If even one other student used the toolkit to organize a similar concert, the ripple would continue. Music, after all, travels easily and it invites participation.

Thinking Through Practice: Theory, Tension, and the Politics of Small Acts

Our collaboration brought together different forms of knowledge: Maike offered musical practice and logistical action; Hazal contributed research, visual design, and critical framing. Both of us crossed domains: discussing, revising, and shaping the project as it evolved. This process was not just a way to get things done; it reflected the project’s core: a blend of action and reflection, theory and practice. The Food Bank Project was rooted in action, but it also made us confront the political, ethical, and pedagogical choices behind even small interventions. We were not just raising money, we were asking how music might serve as both a tool and a model for social change. This section reflects on the theoretical ideas that helped us clarify our intentions, recognise tensions, and think more critically about the project’s possibilities and limits.

We aimed for outcomes that were both pragmatic and prefigurative, borrowing these terms from Green and Street (2018). Pragmatic politics refers to music used as a tool to achieve external goals, such as raising money, increasing awareness, or supporting a cause. In this sense, the performance and donations clearly served a pragmatic function. But we also saw the value of prefigurative politics, where artistic practice models the kind of social relations we want to create. The project’s form and atmosphere were shaped by care, collaboration, and material redistribution. In this way, we tried to embody the change we advocated rather than simply calling for it.

We created the flyer and digital Toolkit for Music Activists with the logic of participatory culture in mind, drawing on Leksmono and Maharani’s (2022) work on K-pop fan activism. Their study shows how fans mobilize shared interests and emotions into collective action using digital tools. Similarly, we designed our materials to be accessible, adaptable, and emotionally engaging. The QR code offered not just information but an open invitation, an entry point for others to act. Instead of merely delivering a message, we aimed to start conversations: among peers, within institutions, and through future adaptations of the toolkit. Our project, like the fan activism Leksmono and Maharani describe, used shared media practices to connect care with action.

At the same time, we were aware of the project’s limitations and not blind to the contradictions we were working within. As Gentilini (2013) argues, food banks in wealthy countries are not evidence of abundance but of systemic failure. They have become normalized as substitutes for structural support, patching over inequality with volunteer labour and temporary relief, and relying on charity to compensate for weakened welfare systems. In the Netherlands, as Janssen et al. (2022) show, food insecurity is shaped by structural issues like income inequality, migration status, and housing precarity. Our intervention provided temporary support while also raising questions, especially through the toolkit, about why such a system exists in the first place. However, while well-intentioned, it touched only the surface of these deeper dynamics.

This tension between charity and justice is one we kept returning to. As Smith-Carrier (2020) points out, charity responds to symptoms, while justice seeks to address root causes. Our project engaged with both. We knew our project would not “solve” hunger. But we hoped it could shift attention from temporary aid to collective responsibility. The flyer, toolkit, and performance were designed not to position us as helpers or to gain moral satisfaction, but to invite others into a shared process of awareness and action. Finally, we were aware of the emotional politics of food aid. Research by VanderHorst et al. (2014) highlights how food bank users often experience shame, dependency, and loss of dignity. This awareness shaped our tone and messaging: we avoided framing recipients as pitiful passive “beneficiaries” and instead emphasized mutual care. Redistribution, not rescue, was the frame.

In short, theory did not sit beside our project, it worked inside it. Concepts like participatory culture, pragmatic and prefigurative politics, and justice-based food activism helped us clarify both what we were doing and what we were not. The Food Bank Project was modest in scale, but it was also an invitation: to act, to reflect, and to remain accountable to the social contexts that shape both hunger and sound. It reminded us that good intentions are not enough, and that even small interventions must be critically examined. It was one gesture among many, but by combining practice with reflection, we hope it can resonate beyond its original moment.

Conclusion: Let the Sound Move Beyond This Room

What began as a class assignment became an experiment in sound as solidarity. Through one performance, a few flyers, and several bags of food, we explored how music can bridge art and action, emotion and ethics. The Food Bank Project demonstrated that even in modest forms, music can move resources, awaken empathy, and question inequality. It can transform institutions of learning into spaces of listening, reflection, and redistribution. In a time when crises often feel overwhelming, our experience offered a simple truth: social change doesn’t always start with policy or protest: it can begin with a note, a gesture, a shared rhythm.

Start with the sound you can make; others will join in. Play your part. The rest is a collective rhythm.

Access the full toolkit here.

References

Brown, A. M. (2017). Emergent strategy: Shaping change, changing worlds. AK Press. Gentilini, U. (2013). Banking on food: The state of food banks in high-income countries. IDS

Working Papers, 2013(415), 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.2040-0209.2013.00415.x

Green, A. & Street, J. (2018). Music and Activism. From prefigurative to pragmatic politics. In: G. Meikle (Ed.), The Routledge companion to media and activism (pp. 171-178). https://www.taylorfrancis.com/chapters/edit/10.4324/9781315475059-18/music-activism- andrew-green-john-street

Janssen, J. M. M., van der Velde, L., & Kiefte-de Jong, J. C. (2022). Food insecurity in Dutch disadvantaged neighbourhoods: A socio-ecological approach. Journal of Nutritional Science, 11, e48. https://doi.org/10.1017/jns.2022.48

Leksmono, D. L. D. & Maharani, T. P. (2022). K-Pop Fans, Climate Activism, and Participatory Culture in the New Media Era. Unitas. 95(3), 114-135. https://doi.org/10.31944/20229503.05

Smith-Carrier, T. (2020). Charity isn’t just, or always charitable: Exploring charitable and justice models of social support. Journal of Human Rights and Social Work, 5(3), 157–163. https://doi.org/10.1007/s41134-020-00132-2

Van der Horst, H., Pascucci, S., & Bol, W. (2014). The “dark side” of food banks? Exploring emotional responses of food bank receivers in the Netherlands. British Food Journal, 116(9), 1506–1520. https://doi.org/10.1108/BFJ-02-2014-0081

Voedselbanken Nederland & Kickstart.ai. (2024, April 30). Kickstart AI and Voedselbanken Nederland partner to combat food poverty. https://kickstart.ai/press/kickstartai-voedselbanken- nederlands-partner-to-combat-food-poverty

On the podcast “Music as emotion processing tool: an explorative talk”

By MIES: Maud Hagens, Isa Bijker, Ebbie Putmans and Sophie van Mensvoort

Isn’t it fascinating how listening to music can have such an impact on our emotions and feelings? Imagine this, you walk around in the supermarket after a long day of work, drained by the rain, feeling moody. Then, you notice the song “Walking on Sunshine” playing on the supermarket-radio. All you can think is “what are the odds?” as you continue shopping. Suddenly you realize that you are humming the lyrics and notice that you let the melody take over. The day is not too bad after all.

Even though this is just a small example, it does illustrate the impact music can have on our mood. Interestingly, it is even argued that music can positively impact our mental wellbeing in general, through stress-reducing effects (Shapiro et al., 2021). Mental health is a serious issue within today’s society, as we all experience psychological difficulties on some level. We all handle these difficulties in different manners. While numerous people reach out to a psychologist to talk about their problems, others put their feelings aside and try to ignore them. When you find it hard to translate your emotions into words, music can serve as a tool to help regulate and express these emotions.

To familiarise and inspire a broad audience with this concept, the podcast Music as emotion processing tool: an explorative talk sheds light on the relationship between music and emotions.

A podcast, why?

The podcast forms an accessible and powerful contribution to the Sustainable Development Goal of Good Health and Wellbeing that is set by the United Nations. The value of utilising this medium lies in the opportunity it offers to informally and interactively address, for example, political and social issues. The political goal of mental health improvement fits seamlessly within the framework of prefigurativism. Please don’t let this word scare you off. Prefigurativismis a form of political activism that seeks to obtain a desired future in the present day. Researchers Green and Street (2018) argue that music, and specifically the lyrics, can act as a vehicle to address certain social structures and cultures, in order to reach a predefined goal. This shows the relevance of our podcast: it actively addresses the impact of music as a tool for mental health improvement.

It is proven that a podcast is an effective medium to educate listeners on health issues, particularly because of its accessibility and flexibility (Kakkhi et al., 2025). In addition, in this podcast several people have shared their experiences where music had an influence on their emotions. This also reinforces the impact of the episode, since the World Health Organisation states that storytelling is a powerful method to intellectually and emotionally connect people with the information that is provided (World Health Organization: WHO, 2024).

Sharing is caring

All these day-to-day issues that many of us can relate to, concretise the impact music can have on our emotions. So, let’s dive into a couple of the experiences that made this specific podcast a success.

The way lyrics of a song can touch us is beautifully described by Pleun. This young woman sent in her experience with Gardensong by Phoebe Bridgers. The straightforward songtexts often move her deeply: “It is as if I’m hearing someone singing out loud, what I have been feeling on the inside”. This resonates with how many of us feel from time to time: flooded with emotion but not able to grasp it or put it into words. This is related to Hess’ (2018) research on navigating identity through music. For artists, music can function as a site to convey complex emotions and experiences. It is incredible how music can positively support the process of expressing emotion for creators as well as enable listeners to give words to their own feelings. Pleun also mentions that she experiences difficulties dealing with anger. “I find it very hard to be angry. To find a way to express it, I listen to somewhat aggressive punk or rock songs, which I put my feelings into”. This shows that besides lyrics, specific genres, rhythms, and maybe even instruments or voice types can help process the feelings that are sometimes hard to regulate.

Babette, another woman that shared some of her experiences in this podcast episode, also relates to this: “I have this playlist called De-stressed. When I feel overwhelmed by everything that is going on, I just put on that playlist. Sometimes it even makes me cry, but in essence the music helps me to release the tension and offers me a bit of peace”. Interestingly, Amy looks at dealing with overwhelm and sadness from a different perspective. She emphasises the impact ‘happy’ songs can have on her: “I know that if I listen to sad songs, I will feel even more sad. I prefer to listen to upbeat, happy music that makes me feel energetic and helps me flip my mood”. The contrast between these experiences explains that music can mean something different to everyone. Fortunately, the accessibility of music allows you to take your time to figure out what works for you!

Besides the assistance of music with regulating current emotions, music can also function as a time machine. Specific songs can carry memories, either positive or negative. Pleun: “A song that always makes me emotional is Ribs by Lorde. It makes me feel very nostalgic; a little bit sad, but also happy. I used to listen to it a lot in my youth and it still hits home”. Feelings of nostalgia are something Amy also relates to: “Listening to music from my childhood makes me happy. For instance, on road trips we always listened to CDs by Bløf, Amy Winehouse and Alicia Keys. When I listen to this music now, it allows me to relive past experiences”. Music is omnipresent in our lives and can contribute to solo-experiences, but also shared experiences. Babette mentions Loyle Carner’s concert she recently went to: “Especially the song Loose Ends really got a deeper layer because of the experience I shared with my friends at the concert. I feel so grateful and happy when I listen to that song now”. Music can take you back to a certain moment and help you reflect on your experiences. It can evoke feelings of gratitude, but also allow you to feel past emotions that you may still carry with you.

All in all, these experiences are what make this podcast so powerful. It offers the possibility for listeners to identify with common struggles regarding dealing with emotions and may inspire them to deploy music when they get stuck in everyday mental obstacles. Unfortunately, the experiences discussed in this podcast only belong to young women. This could cause men and other demographic groups to feel underrepresented which would decrease the impact of the episode on a diverse audience. However, the experiences described in the podcast are not necessarily bound to gender. Therefore, the podcast still illustrates the accessibility of music as a tool to help regulate emotions.

Music and the brain

What actually happens inside our brain when we listen to music? This question is still puzzling as well as intriguing to many scientists nowadays. Even though there is still much to uncover, some insights can already be provided. The podcast reflects on these scientific insights by linking it to personal experiences. Based on the literature, the podcast reveals how music can not only evoke emotions, but also regulate them, whether consciously or unconsciously.

When you listen to a song with special attention to the lyrics, something special happens. The words don’t just tell a story; they help your brain recognize feelings that it already knows. The emotional centers of the brain – known as the limbic areas, responsible for emotion, motivation, memory and behaviour – start to light up (Alluri et al., 2013). This could explain why a breakup song can feel so real and relatable at certain points in life. Besides the lyrics, instrumental parts of a song have a strong impact too, as the rhythm and melody is likely to make your mind wander (Alluri et al., 2013).

But music not only affects our mind and emotions – it physically changes what is going on in our body. The rhythm of a song has direct effects on our autonomic nervous system, which is responsible for our heart rate and breathing (Eck, 2025). Some sounds can therefore make us feel calmer or more alert (Eck, 2025). So, it makes sense that you might unconsciously match your footsteps to the tempo of the song in your headphones, or feel calmer after listening to something soothing and slow.

Beyond that, music can actually help us train our emotions. It can help people experience, identify, express, perceive and modulate emotions (Neilsen et al., 2016). Think about those moments when you put on a song that perfectly fits your sadness – and somehow, it helps you release that feeling. Some scholars argue that humans have been using music like this for centuries, as music can guide the listener towards a desired mood (Csikszentmihaly, 1990).

What makes all of this research so valuable is that it validates what we already feel every day. The effects of music on the brain are not random or strange: they are literally wired into our body. The podcast connects this scientific understanding to real, personal experiences, showing that the emotions we feel through music are natural, human and valuable. These scientific theories add depth and reassurance. We are not overreacting when a song moves us, we are simply experiencing how our brains are built to respond. When we use music to feel, express or modulate emotions, we are tapping into one of the most powerful and universal tools for mental wellbeing.

Music therapy: Do It Yourself

In the podcast, music therapy specialist Monica Wagner adds a professional layer to the discussion (Bijker et al., 2025, 2:35-5:10). In her profession, she focuses on two main forms of music therapy: a receptive approach, where you listen to music, and an active one, where you create music yourself. This episode highlights the receptive side. For Monica, this form of therapy is powerful because it is accessible to everyone. Even people who claim not to be musically-oriented at all are still affected by it. As she puts it, music reaches you whether you want it to or not.

What Monica deeply values about music therapy is its ability to process emotions – even the uncomfortable ones. She believes that real healing happens when we stop trying to think our way out of processing emotions, and instead feel our way through it. When we face sadness, fear or frustration, those emotions become smaller and eventually lose their power over us. In her sessions, she uses the elements of rhythm, melody, tone and harmony with clear intention, showing that therapy is not just about “playing songs together”. Finally, Monica shares a piece of advice that shows how personal and accessible music therapy can be – it can be as simple as creating your own playlist. This playlist could consist of songs that gradually move from calm or even sad songs, toward more uplifting ones. This playlist can quite literally help you listen to your emotions.

While the podcast explores the interesting receptive side of music therapy, the active side remains undiscussed. As a result, the podcast misses the chance to show how actively making music can be transformative as well. Active music-making must engage with different areas of the brain, which fosters a different kind of emotion processing. Including this side of music therapy could have offered a more complete understanding of how music can heal, not just by entering our ears, but by flowing out through our own voices and actions.

What to take away

In the end, music is not just something we listen to – it listens back. Whether you belt out a punk song in the car or quietly let a melody soothe you, you are tuning into your emotions. As Monica Wagner says, “music reaches you, whether you want it or not.” So next time life feels offbeat, press play, feel your feelings and let the music do its thing.

References

Alluri, V., Toiviainen, P., Lund, T. E., Wallentin, M., Vuust, P., Nandi, A. K., Ristaniemi, T., & Brattico, E. (2013). From Vivaldi to Beatles and back: Predicting lateralized brain responses to music. NeuroImage, 83, 627–636. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuroimage.2013.06.064

Bijker, I., Hagens, M., Putmans, E., & van Mensvoort, S. (Hosts). (2025, October 22). Music as emotion processing tool: an explorative talk (Nr. 1) [Podcast episode]. In Popular Music & Social Change. Radboud University. Accessed on October 28, 2025.

Csikszentmihaly, M. (1990). Flow: The psychology of optimal experience. Harper & Row.

Eck, B. A. (2025, October 17). How music resonates in the brain. Harvard Medicine Magazine. https://magazine.hms.harvard.edu/articles/how-music-resonates-brain

Green, A., & Street, J. (2018). Music and activism. In Routledge eBooks (pp. 171–178). https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315475059-18

Hess, J. (2018). Singing our own song: Navigating identity politics through activism in music. Research Studies in Music Education, 41(1), 61–80. https://doi.org/10.1177/1321103×18773094

Kakhki, S. K., Aghebati, N., & Moonaghi, H. K. (2025). Exploring the impact, challenges, and integration of podcasts in patient education: a systematic review. BMC Medical Education, 25(1). https://doi.org/10.1186/s12909-025-07217-4

Neilsen, P., King, R., & Baker, F. (2016). Creative arts in counseling and mental health. In SAGE Publications, Inc. eBooks. https://doi.org/10.4135/9781506306049

Shapiro, S., Center for Music Ecosystems, Sound Diplomacy, UN Costa Rica, UNICEF, & UN SDG Global Action Campaign. (2021). Your guide to music and the SDGs. https://playfair.act4sdgs.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/SDG_Music_Guide.pdf

World Health Organization: WHO. (2024, 1 oktober). The power of storytelling for health impact. https://www.who.int/westernpacific/newsroom/feature-stories/item/the-power-of-storytelling-for-health-impact.

Why Vinyl Recycling Should Be Made Possible Again

By Marije Makken, Imke Kuijpers, Jildou de Jong and Daan Verhaegh

Introduction and the Sustainable Development Goal

In recent years, vinyl records have made a surprising comeback. What was once considered an outdated format is now celebrated again by music lovers around the world. This “vinyl revival” makes record stores flourish again and contributes to a growing sense of nostalgia and authenticity in listening habits (Hendricks 2016, Calamar and Gallo 2009). Record collecting has become a cultural practice that brings people together, allowing them to connect with music in a tangible way.

However, behind this renewed passion lies a pressing environmental issue that receives little attention: the production and disposal of vinyl records are far from sustainable. Vinyl, or polyvinyl chloride (PVC) is a non-degradable plastic material that can be recycled, but often is not (ECVM, 2025). This issue directly goes against the core principles of the United Nations Sustainable Development Goal 12: Responsible Consumption and Production. This goal includes the need to reduce waste, reuse materials, and make consumption systems more circular (United Nations 2025). Yet the current structure of vinyl production and disposal disrupts this cycle rather than supporting it. Vinyl records that could have been recycled and repurposed end up burnt [DV1] in waste facilities. This process recovers some energy but contributes to pollution and the loss of valuable materials (Milieucentrale[JN2] [DV3] ). Besides that, a vinyl record wasted is a music album wasted.

To explore this tension, we conducted research into vinyl’s sustainability in the Dutch context. We attended public panels with experts from major music companies, visited local record shops in Nijmegen, and contacted large waste processors to collect different perspectives on the subject and to create an intervention in which we could try to attract more attention to the topic of vinyl recycling.

Intervention: the research

In our research on vinyl and its sustainability in the Dutch context, we came across some very interesting matters. To begin with, we attended a public panel during The Haarlem Vinyl Festival called “This Is How We Do It – The Path To More Sustainable Record Manufacturing”. Speakers on sustainable vinyl production were in attendance from different fields and countries of vinyl record manufacturing companies, such as Warner Music Group and Republic of Music. In this panel we learned that the return of vinyl has become a trend and is even called the vinyl era. Although consumers are willing to pay a lot for non-sustainable vinyl, they are less willing to pay a little more for sustainable options (Emanuel et al. 2025). In his book Wax Trash and Vinyl Treasures, Roy Shuker describes this as a “hunt”, there is “value to the process of gathering music more than the actual possession of it” (Shuker 2010, 110). In the panel talk however, we learned how music collecting can be done in a sustainable manner.

In this panel talk, we also learned that there is a lot of unsaid or insider information on the sustainability of vinyl production. That reminded us of Paula Serafini’s 2020 paper “A rapist in your path”, where she describes how performance art addresses pressing topics such as gender violence or femicide. Art activism, Serafini writes, becomes a practice that tries to achieve political transformation (2020, 293). This is exactly what we set out to do in our intervention; exposing the unsaid about vinyl sustainability.

We found that focussing on the role of the consumer is not the right angle. In talking to record store owners and vinyl record lovers, we learned that vinyl records simply do not have a sustainable affordance, or sustainable qualities to them. It is up to the artists to make the decision of releasing their music on bio-vinyl (Emanuel et al. 2025). A great example is the band Coldplay, who did an eco-release and printed records on recycled plastic: nine plastic PET- bottles make one record. These plastic bottles come from Boyan Slat’s ocean cleanup initiative (De Machine 2024). Vinyl record production is mostly not sustainable (Devine 2019), a difficult- to-accept fact which is a bit of a taboo among vinyl lovers. This concealed fact made it difficult for us to intervene, since we did not want to step on the toes of people who do not bear the brunt of the responsibility – consumers largely do not have the agency to address the issue. The vinyl revival renewed the practice of hunting for vinyl, loving and ‘consuming’ vinyl, but also printing and selling vinyl records (Hendricks 2016; Gallo and Calamar 2009; Bartmanski and Woodward 2020; Shuker 2010). We consider all of these practices a form of musicking (Hess 2019). Musicking, or participating in any music practice can (or should) be done sustainably, we believe. Re-selling dusted vinyl records is the most sustainable practice when it comes to records. Re-using and reselling them ensures their first cause, which is to be played and listened to. To know more about our local situation surrounding vinyl, we visited record stores in Nijmegen. Rob Berbee, owner of the vinyl record store Vinylarchief in Nijmegen told us that he regularly welcomes crates filled with records that were previously collecting dust in people’s homes. Record stores such as Waaghals, Discords, Kroese, and Vinylarchief also currently bring their unsellable records to the Dar, the local residual waste management company, simply because they are unaware of any facility that recycles vinyl. The store owners expressed that they would gladly participate in recycling initiatives, as they prefer not to throw their vinyl records away with the regular waste.

To make vinyl recycling more accessible for consumers and store owners, our original intervention plan consisted of a recycling bin with two compartments, one for the vinyl and one for the cover. This recycling bin would be placed in vinyl stores and used to collect the vinyl that could be distributed to vinyl recycling companies. We had our eyes on a collaboration with Vinylrecycling, a recycling company in Lelystad, the Netherlands. Unfortunately, we were disappointed to find out that the company had gone bankrupt in 2024. The company was turning PVC – the biggest ingredient in vinyl – into raw material to make new products and distributing this to other companies. In an article by Lelystad News we read that the ‘Inspectie van Leefomgeving en Transport’ (ILT) decided that this raw material was waste. ILT is an inspection service from the Rijksoverheid in the Netherlands that maintains law regulations. And since it is not allowed to export waste to other countries, it became impossible to continue the recycling of vinyl.

The formal CEO of Vinylrecycling, Ivo Besselsen, stated that the company had to bring 20.000 to 30.000 tons of raw material to a landfill where it will be burned (Kunststof Magazine). And their company was not the only one: there are six more recycling companies that have gone bankrupt since the regulation of ILT in 2022 (Thole 2024). The regulation comes from the Dutch government (Rijksoverheid) and is focused on single use plastics, including vinyl. The regulation that caused the bankruptcy of among others Vinylrecycling is the ‘Beleidsregel bestuursrechtelijke handhaving verontreinigd papier-, kunststof-, en metaalafval 2022’ (wetten.nl). Part of this regulation is the enforcement of the export of waste and what is considered waste. In this case the product that comes out of the recycling of vinyls (granulate grains) is considered waste instead of raw material. We can conclude that the regulation the ILT enforced on these companies works against a circular and sustainable environment. This regulation makes it impossible for good initiatives, such as Vinylrecycling, to endure.

This results in shops, like Rob’s Vinylarchief, as well as consumers, not being able to sustainably get rid of their records, since vinyl recycling companies are bankrupt. Reviving vinyl by re-use is sustainable and environmentally friendly, letting it be wasted is much less sustainable. This realization became the foundation of our intervention. Having vinyl records recycled is preventing them from becoming a pollutant, and grants them a new purpose as a recycled raw material. If the system prevents recycling, awareness and policy change may offer the only route forward. Our project seeks to highlight this issue, connect the conversation to SDG 12, and advocate for a more circular and sustainable future for vinyl.

Intervention: the execution

We were left with no other choice than to dive even deeper into the discontinued recycling processes of vinyls. We contacted lots of other waste companies, but quickly discovered that absolutely none of them process vinyl materials in any other way than burning them with the rest of the waste, which is seen as a recovery of energy. The only way we could help the vinyl stores recycle the records they throw away, is if there are companies offering a recycling process to connect with. This meant that we decided to focus our intervention on trying to restore or change the regulation that ended these companies and ask for attention on this matter.

This is how our intervention turned into a petition, in which we ask for a change in the regulation, so the recycled PVC materials are not seen as waste but as new raw materials, and to make the recycling of vinyl records possible again. We set up a petition online and shared it with as many people as we could. We also created posters and flyers with a QR code to the petition, and asked the vinyl stores in Nijmegen that we visited previously to put them up. Kroese was, unfortunately, not interested in doing so, but Waaghals and Vinylarchief were very enthusiastic and hung up our posters in their stores. We hope that the people visiting these stores will notice and look up our petition, and this way we are able to include the vinyl consumers in gaining knowledge on the process of vinyl record production and to think about their sustainability. Hopefully we will keep receiving more signatures, but raising awareness on the issue is our main goal.

Lastly, we received a box of old records from our teacher Melanie Schiller that she was going to throw away. We put our flyers on the records and walked around the Nijmegen city center to hand them out to people on the streets and to store owners. We chose the Lange Hezelstraat as our main area, because we wanted to raise the issue with a broad and diverse audience and there are lots of vintage and sustainable stores there as well. A few of these stores were interested in placing our records with flyers in their store to help the intervention, which was wonderful. This made it possible to talk to people and to explain why we were doing this. Even though it was difficult to engage in conversation, as people quickly assume you want to sell them something, handing people a record was an effective way to make them see our intentions were about something else. Everyone we talked to was surprised that vinyl is not being recycled at all, so we noticed that this is an unknown topic among the general public. Most people were definitely interested in our case and happy to take a record from us, so it did feel like a successful attempt to instill some more knowledge and attention on the subject of sustainable vinyl and vinyl recycling.

Conclusion

Unless we receive a lot of signatures and we can send the matter to the Dutch government, our intervention will be a small occurrence. We are proud of it, nonetheless. The subject of sustainability of vinyl records and vinyl recycling turned out to be a much more complicated matter than we thought. Therefore, to really gain all the knowledge necessary on this topic, to make an exceptionally strong case for change and to set up a much larger intervention, we would need a lot more time to execute a deep dive into the matter. The best possible scenario would be that the regulation is changed and that the vinyl recycling companies are able to continue their recycling processes. We have heard from Vinylrecycling that the court case is still in progress, which is unfortunately why they themselves could not share much information with us. You never know what will happen, and we are rooting for the recycling companies. Once the recycling of vinyl records is possible again, we would be able to execute our plans of connecting the vinyl stores to the recycling companies and setting up a collaboration. Hopefully we can help the recycling companies in a way with our intervention.

So far, we have received 40 signatures on our petition, which we are proud of. We feel that we have raised awareness on this issue in some way. Of course, we hope to keep receiving signatures. The petition can be found here: https://petities.nl/petitions/maak-vinylrecycling-weer-mogelijk?locale=nl.

Bibliography

Bartmanski, Dominik, and Ian Woodward. 2020. Vinyl: The Analogue Record in the Digital Age. Bloomsbury Academic.

De Machine, “De eco-release van Coldplay,” 2024, in 3voor12.

Devine, Kyle. 2019. Decomposed: The Political Ecology of Music. The MIT Press.

Devine, Kyle. 2020. “Nightmares on wax: the environmental impact of the vinyl revival.” The Guardian, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/music/2020/jan/28/vinyl-record-revival-environmental-impact-music-industry-streaming.

Emanuel, Karen, Peter Runge, Vladimir Visek, Miriam Lessar, and James Stafford. 2025. Public Panel: The Path to More Sustainable Record Manufacturing – This Is How We Do It. Haarlem Vinyl Festival.

Gallo, Phil, and Gary Calamar. 2009. Record Store Days – From Vinyl to Digital and Back Again. Edited by Scott Calamar. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Hendricks, Jerome M. 2016. “Curating Value in Changing Markets: Independent Record Stores and the Vinyl Record Reviva.” Sociological Perspectives 59, no. 2: 479-497.

Hess, Judith (2019). Singing our own song: Navigating identity politics through activism in music. Research Studies in Music Education, 41(1), 61-8.

Kunststof Magazine. 19 november 2024. “Vinylrecycling failliet: geen uitstel tot uitspraak RvS.”

LelystadNieuws.nl. 7 dec 2024. “Innovatieve PVC recycler met grote ambities failliet.”

Shuker, Roy. 2010. Wax Trash and Vinyl Treasures: Record Collecting as a Social Practice. Ashgate Publishing Limited.

Serafini, Paula (2020). ‘A rapist in your path’: Transnational feminist protest and why (and how) performance matters. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 23(2), 290-295.

Thole, Herwin. 22 nov 2024. “Weer een plastic recyclingbedrijf failliet – Northvolt vraagt surseance aan in VS.” Mtsprout.nl, geraadpleegd op 16 okt 2025.

wetten.nl. Regeling – Beleidsregel bestuursrechtelijke handhaving verontreinigd papier-, kunststof-, en metaalafval 2022 – BWBR0046496. 1 Apr. 2022, wetten.overheid.nl/BWBR0046496/2022-04-01#Artikel3. Geraadpleegd 28 oktober 2025.

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Door Talin de Jeu, Isabel de Kock en Elly-Anne Zoutewelle

Overal waar je komt, zie je beelden. Je slaat deze beelden op in je hoofd en je vormt er ideeën over. Maar hoe vorm je beelden als je alleen je oren kunt gebruiken? Hoe bepaalt een accent of stemgeluid welke beelden je ziet? Wat gebeurt met beeldvorming als het visuele aspect wegvalt? Drie masterstudenten Literatuur en Samenleving, Talin de Jeu, Isabel de Kock en Elly-Anne Zoutewelle, hebben hier onderzoek naar gedaan door drie hoorspelen te analyseren, twee uit de twintigste eeuw (het Interbellum) en een uit de 21e eeuw. In deze podcast gaan ze met elkaar in gesprek over hun onderwerp en verkennen ze hoe beeldvorming op de radio plaats kan vinden.

Liever geen Spotify? De podcast is ook via andere platforms te beluisteren. Bekijk de opties via Buzzsprout.

De bovenstaande afbeelding is afkomstig uit het Nationaal Archief.

By Anastasia Yuchynska and Dorota Kuncevič

Regarding the fifth Sustainable Development Goal, “to achieve gender equality and empower all women and girls,” there is still a systemic problem: women are underrepresented in leadership and decision-making positions, frequently encounter obstacles to decent work, experience salary disparities, and employment segregation. Universities play a key role in promoting social change and critical awareness. Higher education institutions are critical spaces for promoting gender equality, yet they continue to reproduce systemic gender inequalities. According to Rosa and Clavero (2021), universities are still unequal spaces, despite formal commitments to inclusion. Meanwhile, work at King’s College London shows that Gen Z holds the largest gender gap in attitudes: younger men and women diverge more sharply in their views on gender-equality than older cohorts. (Skinner & Gottfried, 2025). The European Institute for Gender Equality et al. (2022) recommend strengthening intersectional approaches, providing sustained funding, and integrating gender equality as a core institutional value rather than an administrative compliance task. Such findings illustrate the urgency of engaging Gen Z in participatory, dialogue-oriented formats around gender. Our intervention started with education, where institutions such as Radboud University may function as both a reflection and an outlet for change.

The question guiding our intervention was: How do Gen Z students of Radboud University, across different gender identities, perceive addressed gender (in)equality? We designed an intervention grounded in research. By collecting and visually displaying students’ responses, our goal was to open a participatory space on campus: one for dialogue, self-reflection and critical awareness of gender perceptions, using music as a medium for connection.

At Radboud, our intervention targeted students across genders, inviting them to respond to music, to one another, and to the mediated question of gender (in)equality. We took inspiration from Hess (2018) and her concept of musicking, where we approached music not only as an aesthetic expression but also as a political act. According to Hess, musicking involves all forms of engagement with music: performing, creating, producing, and listening. Hess further suggests that these acts are “sites for identity formation and meaning-making activities”. Musicking is also linked to identity politics as “a mode of organizing around shared identities as sites of oppression”. Hess highlights that identity politics is not just about personal identity but also about collective action. Through music, individuals can articulate their identities and play a significant role in building community. Inspired by this framework, we approached music not only as a form of entertainment but also as a political action.

Why “The Man”?

In practice, we chose the cultural product “The Man” by Taylor Swift as a case study. We chose to use Taylor Swift’s song because it  highlights and critically reflects on the struggle faced by women, comparing them to what life would be like if “I was a man”. Swift’s song invites listeners to consider privileges and societal tendencies towards gender, while exposing the labor expected of women to achieve the same level of success:

“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can

Wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man”

(Swift, 2019)

According to Billboard’s Gil Kaufman, “The Man” is a pointed statement about “how much harder women need to work than men to get to the same finish line” (Kaufman, 2019). This framing allowed us to explore student’s reactions to the lyrics through the survey, where we aimed to collect lived experience and foster critical thinking about gender in their own environment.

Our goal was to create an accessible entry point to connect with students’ emotions and lived experiences. The song is culturally familiar, so it provides an accessible way to engage with complex issues surrounding gender. In addition, we wanted students to engage with other forms of media rather than just relying on academic articles when tackling complex issues. “The Man” is lyrically simple, catchy, rhythmically upbeat, and what’s more important, recognizable and memorable. It’s important to mention that we did not use any visual media, but analyzed the song’s lyrics and music.

Our Intervention

Our artistic intervention used Taylor Swift’s “The Man” as a catalyst for reflection on gender equality among Radboud University students. During lunch break at Radboud University, we went around the campus with 2 pairs of headphones and invited participants to listen to “The Man”, reflect on its message regarding gender in a pre-made Google Form and answer questions such as:

• How does the song make you feel?
• Can you relate to the experience expressed in the song?
• Do you think this musical piece emphasizes the experience lived by you/the singer/other people?
• Does participating in this conversation highlight for you the power of music when reflecting on the topic of gender inequality?

Their answers were collected and put on display, creating a “Web of (IN)equality” that mapped how gender is felt and experienced by different people. By inviting students to respond to our questions after listening to a song, we activated what Hess (2018) calls the political nature of music education, where music became a medium for amplifying marginalized voices. This approach aligns with her statement that “the personal is political,” particularly when addressing systemic inequalities. In our context, where research has shown that Generation Z holds increasingly diverse gender attitudes (Skinner & Gottfried, 2025), musicking offered a way for these tensions to surface. Since activist musicking creates space for challenging dominant narratives and building community, it is also a powerful tool for engaging students in discussions about gender inequality within the university.

To frame our intervention within a more detailed discourse, we draw on Rudy’s (2001) theory of radical and queer feminism, particularly her critique of additive identity politics. Additive identity politics is a model that assumes inclusivity can be achieved by simply “adding” marginalized identities to existing structures without challenging the norms that produce inequality. This model fails because the experiences and backgrounds of women are so diverse that meaningful conversation becomes difficult, which divides communities (p. 205). Rudy (2001) argues that this approach fails to account for the complexity of lived experience and the diversity of backgrounds. Instead, she calls for a queer theoretical approach, in which identity is understood as flexible and shaped by experience. For example, she explains that we cannot frame women’s liberation as an event involving “women only,” because doing so ignores the complexity of oppression and treats “women” as a fixed category in which everyone is the same (p. 209).

By creating our “Web of (IN)equality”, we demonstrate that gender is not a single story but rather many overlapping ones. The visual structure of the web itself reinforces this idea: at its center, the question “How do Gen Z RU students of different genders perceive the song about gender (in)equality?” radiates into a network of colorful notes. Every note represents an individual reflection, and together they form a constellation of perspectives that reveals how gender is felt, perceived, and interpreted through the lens of Taylor Swift’s “The Man.”

An analysis of the web shows several recurring themes. Many female participants wrote about frustration with double standards and a strong sense of recognition with the lyrics, some explicitly mentioning experiences of being underestimated or having to “prove themselves more.” One participant states that “it narrates the story of most women who work silently and handle home and work without taking credit”, while another stated “I think that every woman can relate to this”. These statements reflected a sense of validation, since the lyrics expressed frustration that often went unnoticed. Compared to male participants, female participants were more likely to identify with the frustration conveyed in the song. Male participants tended to express curiosity, reflective discomfort, or display carelessness, even though sometimes acknowledging that the song exposed forms of privilege they had not previously considered. Several responses were notably brief, occasionally limited to a single word or remark, with some participants stating that “It didn’t really change the feeling I had before listening”. Others, however, recognized its emotional impact, noting that: “It makes me feel empathetic with the struggles that women face in professional as well as personal life”. As a result of our intervention, we interviewed 20 people, 54.5% of whom were female, 40.9% male and 4.5% non-binary. In the end, 85% of participants mentioned that this intervention made them reflect on the issues they and/or others have/can experience and highlighted the importance of music in this process.

As previously mentioned, “The Man” was a deliberate and strategic choice. Rather than serving as an exploration of gender inequality, the song was intended to act as a conversation-starter that could open up space for reflection. It highlights everyday injustices in a way that is accessible. Some participants appeared to recognize this function, noting that while the song did not delve deeply into the complexities of gender dynamics, it pointed out surface-level issues and prompted them to think more critically about these issues. Some participants remarked that the song’s impact may be more about raising awareness than transforming perspectives. Nonetheless, these reflections highlight the power of music to spark dialogue and encourage individuals to reconsider their roles within broader societal structures. By using a familiar and culturally relevant piece of media, the intervention was able to bridge the gap between abstract concepts and lived experience, making difficult conversations more approachable and engaging.

Undoubtedly, this project also had its disadvantages. One limitation was superficial engagement. While many participants shared thoughtful reflections, others provided brief, less reflective answers such as “yes/no”, possibly due to time constraints or limited personal connection to the topic. This was specifically visible in the answers by men, who sometimes did not understand the topic or could not relate to the experience. Another drawback was the gender imbalance in participation, as a higher proportion of women than men took part and a small percentage of non-binary individuals were interviewed, which may have influenced the range of perspectives represented. Finally, the temporal, brief limitation of conducting the interviews during a single lunch break restricted the depth and continuity of engagement. It might have been a short moment of reflection which will not stick with our participants.

Reflection

By using music as an entry point, we created a less formal, but also important, place for critical reflection. Participants were part of meaning-making rather than only recipients of information. By doing this, the intervention contributes to the larger objective of SDG 5 – establishing gender equality. For Gen Z at Radboud, the question is not only what they think about gender (in)equality, but how they live it, feel it, and express it regardless of their gender category. We aimed to understand the emotional and social dimensions of these perceptions within the university setting. Using music as a reflective and participatory space, we invited students to share their responses and create a collective artwork that sparked dialogue and self-awareness. Therefore, our intervention moved beyond fixed categories and additive identity politics. Instead, it created space for students to express complex, personal views on gender through music. This is where music was a tool for connection, resistance, and reimagining equality.

It’s important to mention that through the process, we also became participants of the intervention. Doing this project allowed us to recognize how our own assumptions about gender and equality were challenged and reshaped through participants’ perspectives. We recognized that discussions of gender inequality often remain constrained to immediate participant groups, limiting both the diversity of perspectives and the potential impact of the dialogue. To address this, we’ve decided to broaden the scope of engagement beyond the initial participants.

We invite you to engage with the song The Man as a reflective prompt for examining personal experiences and perceptions of gender inequality. After listening, we encourage you to contribute your reflections by responding to the guiding question provided in the link below. By extending this activity beyond the initial intervention group, we aim to broaden the scope of dialogue and foster deeper, more impactful engagement with the objectives of SDG 5: Achieving Gender Equality. The web can be accessed through this link.

Works Cited

(2022). Gender equality in academia and research : GEAR tool step-by-step guide.               Publications Office of the European Union. https://data.europa.eu/doi/10.2839/354799.

Hess, Juliet. “Singing Our Own Song: Navigating Identity Politics through Activism in Music.” Research Studies in Music Education, vol. 41, no. 1, 15 Oct. 2018, pp. 61–80, https://doi.org/10.1177/1321103×18773094

Kaufman, Gil . “Drake, Idris Elba, Leo DiCaprio & More: All of the Celeb Moments on Taylor Swift’s “Lover” .” Billboard, 23 Aug. 2019, https://www.billboard.com/music/pop/celebrity-moments-taylor-swift-new-album-lover-8528181/

King’s College London. “Gen Z Men and Women Most Divided on Gender Equality, Global Study Shows.” King’s College London, 5 Mar. 2025, https://www.kcl.ac.uk/news/gen-z-men-and-women-most-divided-on-gender-equality-global-study-shows

Rosa, Rodrigo, and Sara Clavero. “Gender Equality in Higher Education and Research.” Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 31, no. 1, 23 Dec. 2021, pp. 1–7, https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2022.2007446

Rudy, Kathy. “Radical Feminism, Lesbian Separatism, and Queer Theory.” Feminist Studies, vol. 27, no. 1, 2001, pp. 190–222, https://www.jstor.org/stable/3178457

Skinner, Gideon, and Glenn Gottfried. “Masculinity and Women’s Equality: Study Finds Emerging Gender Divide in Young People’s Attitudes.” Ipsos, Feb. 2024, https://www.ipsos.com/en-uk/masculinity-and-womens-equality-study-finds-emerging-gender-divide-young-peoples-attitudes

Swift, T. (2019). The Man [Recorded by Taylor Swift]. On Lover [Album]. Republic Records.

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By Demi Storm 

From the 24th of May until the 8^th of June 2025, I was on my first ever research trip – which sounds very grownup. This trip to Romania was part of my PhD research on the experiences of space and time of mine- and quarry workers in Roman Dacia, using critical fabulation as a hermeneutic method. As I had never been to Romania before, the goal was to meet some people in the field, to visit Roșia Montană (where a Roman mining gallery can be entered), to go to as many museums as possible, and to see the votive altar that is central to my first case study in its context. To read (and write) about all my experiences of these two weeks would be too much, so in this blogpost I want to highlight only a few: the travel to Romania and the encounter with the votive altar. 

Travelling to Romania 

The travel to Romania took place over the course of three days. As I travelled by train, from Deventer, via Vienna and Budapest, to Cluj-Napoca, I saw the landscape change. On the first train in the direction of Osnabrück I wrote:

No more flat fields but a hilly landscape. Blue sky with some veil clouds. The green of the trees contrasting with the rusty rails. It looks different, it feels different but here too we find graffiti penises on walls.

A couple of naps, many tunnels, and twelve and a half hours later I arrived in Vienna for a short night. 

For the second day of travel, I would have loved to write that it was a beautiful trip, but I dozed off many times on the train. When I arrived in Budapest, I had a proper afternoon and evening in the city, which I spent walking around and visiting the Szépművészeti Múzeum (the museum of fine arts). There, I was lucky enough to be able to hold two Egyptian artefacts – a bronze figurine of Osiris and a scarab – in my own two hands, under the supervision of the most enthusiastic volunteer I have ever met.

The third day of travel was themed ‘time travel’. How, you’d wonder? If all goes well, we will cross the Hungarian Romanian border in the early afternoon. Then the time will shift by an hour. Pretty crazy, actually. Poof, an hour later than a second ago. Human choices and decisions. Modern time travel by train, I wrote down in my notebook while the train departed Budapest. But before crossing the border to Romania, I marvelled at the Hungarian landscape:

So many poppies in Hungary. Like red rivers. Vast greenery too; so many different shades of green. A farmer on a rusty brown tractor. Yellow meadows and purple flowers. Don’t forget the houses in the distance, the cars and churches. Hills, even further away. Here too, my favourite crows with a grey waistcoat. Birds of prey and swallows. A deer with a fawn. Bird species I don’t know. The train doesn’t go too fast either, which makes looking around easier.

Crossing the border at 12:48h was so lovely, not necessarily because of the changing time – my phone is still not quite up to speed on crossing national borders and thus time travel into the future. A quick flick of the plane mode on and off and then it’s 13:50h – but because I had arrived in the country of my destination, for me it felt like the research trip was now happening for real. I entered the context of my research and within four hours I would cross paths with Marcus Aurelius Arimo, who lived along the Mureș riverbanks some 1800 years ago – Arimo, for those wondering, is the person who dedicated the above-mentioned votive altar. Now Romania was not in satellite view anymore, it was three dimensional, even four, with the sounds, smells and sensations.

Visiting the Votive Altar 

In the second week of my stay, I travelled from Cluj-Napoca to Deva, one of the places along the Mureș that is central to the case study. Here a votive altar was found by nineteenth century quarry workers. The altar was dedicated by Marcus Aurelius Arimo to the gods Hercules and Silvanus around 212-222 CE. Arimo was very likely involved with quarry work, as he was part of one of the special units of the Legio XIII Gemina that worked on extraction of natural resources and the construction of buildings, roads, etcetera. Today, the altar is stored in the depot of the Muzeul Civilizației Dacice și Romane (the Museum of Dacian and Roman Civilisation) and I was able to make an appointment with the museum to visit the depot on the 3^rd of June. 

I was so excited to be at the museum, that Tuesday morning. The depot is underground, so we – I was accompanied by two people of the museum – walked down the stairs, narrowed by a metal construction that ensured the mobility of the artefacts in and out of the depot and decorated with spiderwebs. I did not exactly know what to expect of the depot, but I had not foreseen the possibility of past floodings of the space. At some point in time the water stood at about 40 centimetres, which marked its hight on the artefacts. The floor still had some puddles of water and mud and was inhabited by many worms too. It was a dimly lit space, cool – contrasting with the bright sunny and warm weather outside – and in this space I was finally facing Arimo’s altar. That was magical. I had stared at one online photo of the altar many times and now I could see it in real life, experience its dimensions, read the inscription, take photos of every corner, touch it. This experience made me even more aware of the longevity of people’s choices and actions, the history of the artefacts themselves and the dynamics between past and present times, and that was wonderful.

To keep this piece around a thousand words, I will stop writing now. If you want to know more or have any questions: please contact me at demi.storm@ru.nl.