Volunteering at Reading Festival '24
Across the staff campsite was a scattering of sun-kissed noses and cans of cider. The stark comparison between our little commune to the vast spread of freshly turned 16-year-olds amassing the other camps is almost comical. The first day saw them trudging through the grass. Bags hanging from every limb, hunched over and tired. In spite of their fatigue, they still crackled with excitement. Faint tunes of songs floated from tents and carried through the air. Just gone midday and the festival was already edging towards full swing. Volunteers saddled themselves with bags that seemed too heavy for the weary travellers to bear. Tents sprouting from nowhere began to populate the empty field. By 11 am, there were already the beginnings of a stampede running through the gate to secure a good pitch. Almost as quickly as they appeared, the familiar sound of cans cracking open became the percussive backdrop to heated tent discussions. Despite the punctual beginning, it wasn’t until the evening that the more explicit behaviour emerged.
The parade of progressive strides to female empowerment has given us much inspiration for festival body paint. That’s what it seems like any how. I think it’s commendable that such a safe space has been created where girls can feel so safe to express themselves. Reclaiming their sexuality in a playful and fun way. On the other hand, I am left to wonder whether “shag me im easy” scrawled down a young girls leg is in fact the result of female empowerment or in fact a mere play into the male gaze. The lines seem hazy. Blurred between feminine confidence and naive perception of what it is to be a feminist. Amid all the laughter, it can be easy to lose sight of the fact that these raving festival goers have only just opened their GCSE results the previous day. The early hours of the morning after the music had just begun to get heavier seemed to welcome more and more stumbling feet to medical tents, slumped over in chairs and clutching to stewards in hi vis. The vast numbers of seizures, of unresponsive teens and alcohol abuse are startling to sober eyes.
Being swept up in the moment, being cradled by the music and hugged by the warm alcohol in our blood can often be enough to forget. But maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe the grip that substance abuse has on our young people should be a more familiar topic of conversation. Maybe pills and canisters shouldn’t be on the packing list of young teens. On my first shift, I remember being alerted to an unconscious individual who needed assistance. He laid on the ground shirtless, face implanted into his own vomit. I asked his friend how old he was. 16. He had opened his GCSE results just a couple of days prior and now had uniformed strangers shining flashlights into his dilated pupils. I asked him if he was happy with his results, said I bet his mum was proud of him. No response. I doubt he’ll remember me. I laid my jumper over his exposed torso and continued to try to talk to him, occasionally attempting to put his friend at ease with trivial jokes. At sixteen, life is still largely composed of school uniforms and packed lunches. I think that fact is easily glazed over. Sixteen is old enough to commit your body to the protection of your country. I wonder whether their mothers still leave them notes in their lunch boxes. His face lay contorted, mouth lulling open, vomit caressing his cheek. Spots decorated his cheeks, telltale sighs of his juvenescence. I wonder if he realises that he might have never got to see his mother again. He didn't simply have 'one too many', he paralysed his body. Had he not been found, he may have drowned in his own stomach lining, being thrown against the back of his teeth.
Reading Festival truly provides a chasmic escape. An opportunity to meet people you would never otherwise have the pleasure of. To lose yourself in the music and feel the vibrations course through your body, emerging in the flailing of limbs to your favourite song. Stimulants have become a firm fixture in “gig culture”. Clouds of cannabis hanging over tents and chattering jaws pummelling chewing gum. There is a large acceptance of this. The acceptance that “it will happen regardless”. This mentality seems to shift labour to the medical sector and security forces as opposed to prevention measures. Not only do we have an overworked and overstressed NHS, but we have carried this across to festivals too. On Sunday, the welfare tents seemed to be flooded. Some even amassing a crowd of spectators surrounding the entrance, waiting for friends. It was hard to discern whether these friends were waiting out of concern, obligation or amusement.
Reading Festival. An eye-opener into the world children are surrounded by, the world they endorse and aspire to participate in. Maybe if politicians went to more festivals, they would be better at pretending they're in touch with the society they're employed to represent. Children are a crushing responsibility. Maybe we should be reminded of that more often.
ps reading festival was sick, I simply don't like brushing overdosed teenagers under the category of simply being a British upbringing xx
Add comment
Comments