Wednesday 25th June 2025
Blog Page 134

A fresh(er’s) perspective on Michaelmas term

Mair Andrews
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A fresh(er’s) perspective on Michaelmas term

When I transitioned from GCSEs to A Levels, my mum and I created a mantra: “you have to float before you swim, otherwise you’ll sink”. It was a way for me to remember that I was learning, not just academically – but also personally. Sometimes, you have to let a new experience come at you like a tidal wave before you can try to interact with it, control it, and make the most of it. One of the first things I did after moving into my accommodation in Freshers’ Week was to write this little mantra on a post-it note and Sellotape it to the wall next to my bed.  

University life is completely alien to anything I have experienced before. You would expect the excitement of being an ‘Oxford Student’ to disappear – after all, everyone here got into Oxford. For me, it did not disappear exactly; it was buried. Everyone has their moments of being excited about being here, whether it is their first walk past the Rad Cam on the way to a lecture, or simply Matriculation, but no one says it aloud. The reality that I was attending Oxford University didn’t hit me until I was taking down my room decorations at the end of term; I was imagining what I would say to my friends from home about my first term, comparing it to their university experience.   

I visited a friend at Nottingham University – my second week, her third – and I was outraged.  She had not written a single essay while I had already written three, and we were both studying English. But still I felt like she had done so much more than me: her flat-mates made her social life look just as exciting  as the one she had at home, while I hadn’t formed a close circle of friends yet. It wasn’t until that visit that I realised how completely different Oxford is as a university experience, defined by its short terms, heavy workloads, and small class sizes.  

My social life was strange to begin with. Looking back at photos of Freshers’ Week and seeing the crowd of people I befriended on day one, whom I have not since spoken to, is hilarious. Leaving Atik early on a Wednesday night because “I’ve got to translate some riddles tomorrow!” is never something that I imagined people to accept without mockery, but being surrounded by like-minded people is not just a cliché from a personal statement: it’s something that has made university life feel like everything I wanted it to be.  

My approach to Michaelmas term was that it was a trial run for the rest of my university experience. I signed up to many societies at Freshers Fair so that I was on the mailing list but did not have any time to attend any meetings. I don’t regret that. Now, I’m walking into Hilary feeling like I know how to live independently and how to do my degree (more than I knew in October, at least). With Michaelmas completed, I know how much time my degree takes, and therefore how much time I have left to dedicate to societies and sports. 

Stage one of my mantra has been completed: I have learned how to ‘float’ and how to get by at university. As I am packing my suitcase for Hilary term, I am preparing to start stage two – ‘swimming’, and thriving. The new term coinciding with the new year works perfectly – after a break for reflection, I get to give it another shot. 

Bled dry: the financial plight of international students.

Alicia Martínez Patiño
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Bled dry: the financial plight of international students.

“Oxford is committed to ensuring that no one who is offered a place is unable to study here for financial reasons.” The financial anxieties of those browsing the Oxford University website will likely be soothed by such a reassuring message, highlighting the institution’s commitment to accessibility. The prospective international student may later be a bit confused by the Undergraduate Financial Guide, circulated across the different colleges at the beginning of the year. When advising students on how to assess financial struggles, the document simply asks: “Did you ensure that you would have sufficient funds to cover all costs before you came to Oxford?” If there was any hope of softening the financial blow of overseas tuition, it is surely long gone. 

Oxford is undoubtedly expensive. Whether from the UK or overseas, university in general is always an extra expense for all, in tuition and in living costs. It doesn’t help that, at £9,250 per year, UK higher education is among the most expensive in Europe (for its own home students!). Consequently, the satisfaction of getting accepted can be eclipsed by concerns about covering the costs. Financial anxieties are a reality for the vast majority of students; these worries are certainly not alleviated for international students, who must come to terms with the fact that the already daunting price of Oxford can be more than four times higher. Course fees for 2024 range from £33,050 to £48,620, and even the less expensive humanities degrees, like History or Law, remain at £38,550. 

On top of the significant fee increase, overseas applicants cannot access the state-funded UK student finance scheme, or even Oxford-specific bursaries. We have no general financial assessments or needs-based loan schemes. I remember studying for some of my last high school exams and procrastinating by using the scholarship search tool on the Oxford website. Unsurprisingly, the results came up blank every time. International students are limited to the very few private funds designed by individual alumni or external organisations that offer limited grants targeted to specific groups, like nationals of certain countries or particular degrees. If you don’t fall under the eligibility requirements, there is nothing else the University will do. The widest grant available is Reach Oxford, which includes a list of ‘low-income countries.’ Regardless, only around three of these grants are given each academic year, and the eligibility requirements automatically exclude many countries. 

Clearly, financial support for international students is less than ideal, and many resort to private loans (and possibly lifetime debt?). But, in the commendable effort of advocating for much-needed change, some arguments for financial support for international students make the mistake of disregarding the importance given to home students. Oxford University is a public institution, so a significant proportion of its funding comes from the state; more than £100 million a year come from the UK public sector just in research funds, per the University’s Financial Statements. Oxford is funded by taxpayers’ money, a demographic in which international students are not included. A university like Oxford, where excellence is possible precisely because of the British population’s financial contribution, must commit to ensuring the highest level of accessibility for home students. The support given to home students is still not perfect, and it is surely reasonable for UK universities to focus on access for UK students.

However, it seems nonsensical to accept that a University with an endowment of £1.7bn can only choose between one or the other. An institution that boasts about the large proportion of international students within its student population cannot afford to leave them to fend for themselves. If Oxford wants a shiny website advertising a “ready-made international community” and a commitment to making “significant contributions to society – locally, nationally and internationally”, then improving support for home students should not come at the cost of ignoring access issues for international students. 

From conversations with other international students, some of the frustration caused by the lack of resources has been inevitably directed back to our home countries. Oxford is a competitive university, and it’s easy to question why our governments won’t encourage us to get a good education and fund our degrees. But this is naïve: if your home country refuses to finance your Oxford degiree, it’s likely because it already has decent (or good, or excellent) public universities. A case may be made for STEM students, but what does an EU country like mine have to gain from my post-Brexit, English law degree? 

However, international students are not the only ones who benefit from studying here. At the end of the day, an overseas student is just like any other. Applicants receive offers based on their potential, regardless of origin. Presumably, any university will want to help the people it selects to actually be able to study there. Advertising a competitive admissions process would, in the same way, surely mean that there is interest in hosting those who succeed in it. 

It is also simply not accurate to say Oxford is only interested in international students for the high fees – before Brexit became effective, EU students paying home fees were still consistently being accepted. But even if this were true, I don’t think anyone expects international tuition fees to suddenly drop to £9,250. A general, needs-based student loan system for overseas students from any country would allow for some financial relief for students (without doing away with higher fees altogether).  

Additionally, diversity is beneficial to any university campus, a goal towards which support for overseas students is also key. As the University tries to fight its elitist reputation, it seems counterintuitive to restrict international entry only to those who are privileged enough to pay out of pocket while pushing any others towards substantial debt. 

Studying abroad is supposed to be a uniquely enriching experience, which Oxford prides itself on providing for international students. But, with a lack of financial support, the University simultaneously continues to cater this opportunity to a select few. The financial treatment of international students is both exploitative and hypocritical, especially coming from an institution that seems to milk its image as a global community. 

Wild swimming in Oxford: ready to take the plunge?

Reuben Meadows
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Wild swimming in Oxford: ready to take the plunge?

‘Wait, here in the river – the Isis?’ When I tell people I’ve just been out swimming this is usually the first question I hear. Assumptions of a gentle Iffley Sports Centre swim are soon broken and replaced by genuine concern. For most, jumping into the river is confined to a moment of fresher’s week craziness – a punting stroke gone wrong, or a drunken hurrah into the Cherwell. Come Trinity, some may venture into Hinksey’s welcoming waters. But in dreary Hilary? Well, that’s just insane.

But there’s something addictive about doing something crazy.

I’ve swam in lakes and rivers for as long as I can remember but began swimming in Oxford almost a year ago in Hilary. While less than affectionately known as Hellary, a trip to Port Meadow can be a  momentary respite from the library doom and gloom. It breaks up the endless rhythm of essays and tute sheets. You arrive early at Port Meadow. A morning chorus is building. Sunlight filters through the thin mist covering the fields. It feels like a  magical place, and a far cry from the High Street hustle and bustle. An escape. 

On entering the water, you’re shocked awake from the early-morning delirium in which you had convinced yourself this was a good idea. And it is a good idea – but perhaps the romanticised charm of these riverside pastures was a little too powerful. Too late now, you’re standing waist deep and committed to the plunge! Adrenaline is surging. You imagine yourself somewhere tropical (southern Spain perhaps?) until a duck floating past reminds you of the cold-water plunge you’re undertaking. It’s 6 degrees, 8 am and most of a reading list is waiting for you back home. But the shock of the water helps put things in perspective. 

It’s an increasingly popular Oxford pursuit, and I’m glad to see more and more people heading out into the city’s watery back garden. Port Meadow offers the chance to take a break from the internet frenzy – although I wouldn’t blame you for sharing your open-water bravery with all your friends online! It’s too good to keep a secret. And it’s a great chance to make some like-minded friends: whilst sharing a moment of numb glee, I have met some of the most open people along the Isis. 

If you’re not ready to brave the winter swims, you can wait till Trinity to try Hinksey: a not-so-secret paradise. It’s now a well-known summer term destination. Oxford’s Miami Beach draws in crowds of students during some of the year’s hottest days, filling the grassy banks with the sounds of laughter, and the splash of an occasional tumble from the pontoon. Located on Abingdon Road, it might be a bit of a walk, but it’s worth it. Once a former gravel pit for the railway, natural springs have transformed the site into an Oxford oasis. You may see a red-crested pochard, or perhaps a lesser-spotted Engineering student.

If I’ve convinced you to give it a go, but you’re not sure where to start, Oxford University’s very own wild swimming society offers a great outdoor community and a safe way to start out. One of the most popular events is an 11 am swim on Saturday followed by brunch at St. Anne’s College. Truly unmissable – the hash browns (and company) are to die for.

For me, swimming in Oxford offers a chance to leave behind the stress of the Radcam rat race. While it certainly isn’t a cure-all, I have found it helps me balance my student life. Not to mention, it’s a fun way to surprise people. Standing on a silty bank of the river Thames as a cool rain begins to fall, I do sometimes question what I’ve got myself into. But I couldn’t go back. Whether you join us for an early Hilary dip or wait for a sunny afternoon in Trinity, do give it a go while you’re in Oxford – it would be great to see as many people as possible get out and enjoy Oxford’s amazing scenery. 

‘Home is where the heart is.’

Disha Hegde
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‘Home is where the heart is.’

The Michaelmas vac is a strange part of the Oxford calendar. For freshers, it is the first time they will be making the return home – having to stuff overpacked suitcases and newly purchased stash into their car after just eight weeks here. Some return to tiny villages, others to big cities and others remain in Oxford. Others spend a couple of weeks on the slopes of Val D’Isere. Very few of us, however, are as lucky as I am to be returning to the land of Milton Keynes…

Going back can be a challenge. The student returns to a familiar land, but everything feels different. I just started getting used to being in Oxford again and suddenly it’s time to move back. No longer are my weeks filled with hours at the Rad Cam, spontaneous Swan and Castle trips or Bridge Thursdays. Rather, I return home to find my younger sister has raided my clothes and makeup, and is somehow taller than me (although at 5’ 2, I have no right to act surprised…). While I was busy in the Oxford bubble, the familiar parts of my hometown have also grown in their own ways (like the number of roundabouts for example).

In my opinion, a good vacation should always feature copious amounts of sleep. Even if your tutors may have fed you the age-old line of ‘a vacation is just when you vacate Oxford and continue to work elsewhere’, it is important to take a proper break and to help yourself recover after the trauma of an Oxford term. The lack of impending deadlines is an exhilarating feeling and the threat of collections is not quite enough to destroy that feeling either. I like my recovery days to be punctuated by long naps, mum’s cooking and Netflix’s ‘Are you still watching?’. Although I found this term that Oxford managed to creep its way onto my screen regardless; thank you Saltburn and Wonka. 

At some point, the time for the vacation staple arises – the big termly catch up with home friends. This consists of life updates and embarrassing ‘remember when’s’ and before long all the time apart seems to just melt away. It feels like nothing has changed yet at the same time it feels like everything has. I catch myself accidentally letting words like ‘Michaelmas’, ‘Hilary’, or ‘rustication’ slip and have to make sure not to use the word ‘Oxford’ too much in conversation for fear of sounding absolutely insufferable. One of my friends has developed a Scottish twang in her accent (studying in Edinburgh), another has spent two years in the real world working after deciding not to go to University. There is a bittersweet feeling as I remember how we have all grown as people but also how much our lives have grown apart over the last two years. People are starting to think about jobs and where they might want to settle down in the future. Others are taking the ‘go with the flow approach’. It all feels as though it is moving a bit too fast. 

I often grapple with a persistent feeling of guilt about not staying in touch with home friends in the way I feel I should have. And yet, every year I also feel a sense of guilt for letting those earlier Oxford friendships wane. Throughout my time at Oxford, I have grown so much as a person that coming home almost feels like a bit of a culture shock – even though I live only an hour’s drive away.

It can feel like a bit of a conflict – the home where I grew up now feels like a waiting room before I get back to my ‘real life’ at Oxford. It’s been months, and soon it will be years since I walked down paths I used to take daily. But regardless of where ‘home’ is, or where it becomes throughout my life, there is no feeling quite like returning to the place you were made.

New Year’s Resolutions: Why are we so bad at keeping them?

Matt Taylor
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New Year’s Resolutions: Why are we so bad at keeping them?

New year, new start. It is a terrible cliché. But the fact is, as another year ticks by, it’s a good opportunity to close down the open tabs in our brains and refresh the browser. However, having created some new, unused space, we fall into the trap of filling it with so-called New Year’s resolutions, stacking up new tabs and maxing out. According to a You Gov poll, 29% of 18-24-year-olds intend to start 2024 by making a New Year’s resolution. Yet, how many will actually stick? 

The custom of a New Year’s resolution dates back 4000 years to the Babylonians. They would celebrate the new year by promising the gods to pay their debts and return any borrowed objects. Whilst today we don’t make promises to the Gods, we do make them to ourselves. Has this innovation made it easier to stick to them? Well the same poll reported that only 9% claimed to have stuck to their resolutions throughout the year. Even after 4,000 years of practice, why are we so bad at keeping them?  

New Year’s Resolutions are about getting into the habit of doing new things. Too often, we set such overwhelming ambitions that we’re just lining ourselves up for failure. The first hurdle we trip down on is Mondays. Like the new year, starting something new at the beginning of the week is certainly enticing. The synergy of 2024 starting on a Monday should make committing and sticking to our promises easier. But the problem with Mondays is that there are 53 of them this year. There will always be another Monday to star again but before you know it, it will be 2025. 

In all seriousness, it’s because we’re muddled up between means, and our ends often confuse the difference between aspiration and practice. If the polling data is anything to go by, we make a practice out of setting goals and aspiring to achieve them. This is the wrong way around. If we are to stick to our ‘resolutions’, there has to be a change. The most effective habit to create this change is focus.

What is focus? The idea of focusing is often misleading. It’s not a switch that can be flicked on, where we say, “Right, I’m going to focus today”. Instead, it is a habit that, once formed, must be constantly maintained. That is done by saying no to other stuff. It means sacrifice. It means saying no to things you want to do with every bone in your body. Saying no to things you can’t stop thinking about from waking up until falling asleep again. It takes practice. Research shows it takes 66 consecutive days to form a habit in the brain. That is hard. Start small. Start with one thing to say no to and build it up from there. 

Optimism alone will not create the habit of achieving the goal you’ve set for yourself. This is the reason why so many resolutions fail. Without the ability to focus, it just creates an endless doom loop of failed ambitions. 

Why not form the habit that will allow you to create further habits? Change is big and hard. It’s also lots of baby steps on a bigger journey. Most importantly, refining your ability to focus will give you the confidence to decide what is essential and what isn’t. Therefore it sets the parameters for further change in the future. 

Meaningful and lasting change is a lot of little things done well. It will scare you how many goals can be achieved when you truly learn to focus. Otherwise, every year, we just become a nation of almosts and maybes. 

0th Week: ‘Dough(nut) trust strangers!

Katya Ferrier
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0th Week: ‘Dough(nut) trust strangers!

Thursday evening. Eighth week. My head has finally stopped spinning after a tumultuous Park End (I think). A crinkled pastry bag is tucked under my elbow. I elegantly sit down on the landing of my college’s only building which predates the Russian Revolution (yeah Hilda’s!), lovingly refurbished with institutional blue-grey carpet which must be hiding a multitude of bacterial sins.

This landing is currently the locus that’s fuelling my body. With fuel comes growth. Although I’m not sure I’ve grown many inches since October, this landing, coupled with yummy food and great company, has probably been the site of my most productive (emotional) learning this year. So, this column hopes to bring you earnest musings from an (at times) foolish twenty-year-old. And maybe some culinary inspo from my college’s resident ‘Ottolenghi-in-waiting’ (a self-awarded title, sadly). 

Firmly positioned in the corner of the landing, I begin to inhale a creamy and decadent crosstown doughnut (it was the end of term; needs must). I glance up at this evening’s guest. My college daughter. Her azure eyes still twinkling with that fresher glow, she sighs before exclaiming: ‘Never, ever, leave your bike unlocked outside the faculty on the weekend!’

Whilst this doesn’t seem like a particularly revelatory thought – to not leave your belongings unattended – this throwaway comment lingered with me as much as the flavour palette of Crosstown’s Chocolate Truffle Doughnut still dances on my tongue six weeks later. 

The notion of a silly fresher leaving their unlocked bike out in the world, putting all their faith into their newfound city, has a vague naivety to it that intrigues me. The fact I’ve spent less than a year actually in my university city, and yet have amassed friends that I feel I’ve known for years appears both bewildering and paradoxical. 

Existentialism aside, I would have never built these friendships, without putting just a little bit of trust in the hands of complete strangers – leaving my metaphorical bike unlocked as it were. 

With it being the month of new beginnings, maybe those who feel a little too settled in the Oxford ecosystem and those who feel that Oxford still isn’t quite ‘home’, should have a little faith and welcome in some new characters. Leaving your ‘bike’ locked only limits your narrative. It can be all too easy to fall into a comfortable routine of library-lecture-bar-bed. Trust me (a stranger!!) and disrupt your daily ritual. January is too dreary after all. 

The Patience of Ordinary Things

Evelyn Power
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The Patience of Ordinary Things

Pre-university packing is undoubtedly a chore. But it is more than the boredom of the task that makes deviations from it so enjoyable. 

I try to avoid procrastination. I find it is generally an exercise in dread and guilt; more ‘deer caught in the headlights of too many deadlines’, than ‘casual enjoyment of leisure time’. What little self preservation instincts I have in this matter, however, fall completely out of the window when it comes to the distractions I find during packing for my return to Oxford. 

The ease with which I am entirely absorbed by the (re)discovery of my own possessions is an offence with a myriad of causes. Latent hoarder-ish tendencies, the multiple misguided phases of my teenage years, and an embarrassingly eroded attention span all play their part – but the clutter of an old bedroom evokes a tenderness that extends far beyond the mere distractions they provide. 

The detritus of our pasts reflect the hopes, ambitions and disappointments that accompanied them. What may appear to the untrained (or undeluded) eye as a wardrobe full of ugly hats and ill-fitting jumpers, contains the narrative of all the joys and pains and lessons learned of navigating a shifting identity, while also slowly realising that a ‘signature hat’ is a CBBC  costuming prop, not a thing that any actual functional person should aspire to own. The rediscovery of a notebook half-filled with ‘potential future catch phrases’ is not only proof that in 2016 I truly considered saying ‘schwing’ at the end of every joke I made; it is an encounter with yet another discarded attempt at reinvention, a reminder of the old yearning for change. 

How truly can we say that our past selves are gone, when there they are, right now – pressed between the pages of an old diary (in my case, rarely kept), woven into the fabric of a poorly-knitted scarf, wound tight around gifted rosary beads from a long-forgotten Catholic education? How easy is it to put down what you’re doing and hold a fragment of your own history in your hands? What version of you painted these walls and chose these posters and arranged these books? Do you miss them? 

When I finally get around to packing my actual necessities, I will (tragically) have to leave behind my old fidget spinners and top trump cards, so spending so much time rifling through them may seem like a waste – but it provides a valuable space for reflection on the past, as we move into yet another new beginning. It’s almost a story in itself, really; once, a girl lived in this room. She couldn’t leave a beach without taking a pocketful of ‘cool’ rocks, and imagined a whole different life for herself every time she bought a new item of clothing. She isn’t here any more, not really. But her dog-eared books and used-up perfumes and unfinished plans are. And so am I.

South Park to be restored following Bonfire Night damage

Ellie Yau
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South Park to be restored following Bonfire Night damage

The Oxford City Council has pledged to restore the city’s South Park “as soon as the growing season permits.” The beloved park sustained significant damage to its grounds during its Bonfire Night fireworks display on 5 November last year. The Charity Fireworks Display, now in its 55th year, is organised by the Oxford Roundtable, which deemed November’s display a “great success.” In an announcement after the celebration, the Oxford Roundtable said that “more than 20,000 people attended and [they] were hoping to raise £50,000 for local charities.” 

However, due to heavy rainfall in the week leading up to the event, the grounds had become overly saturated and particularly vulnerable to the heavy machinery used for the display. Locals noted that this was a usual occurrence after Bonfire Night and that they “have pleaded repeatedly with organisers” to ensure the ground is protected with sheeting – a policy reportedly rejected by the Oxford Round Table “on the grounds of cost.” One local even noted that the day after the celebration, lorries took surplus pallets to be burned on the remnants of the previous night’s bonfire, creating a “bonfire of the vanities.” 

When approached for comment, Neil Holdstock, chairman of the Oxford Round Table, said he was “absolutely heartbroken” after being “bombarded [by a] small number of residents,” contrasted with mostly positive feedback. He noted that the group, entirely composed of volunteers, did not get paid to organise the event but “are doing everything they can… as they do every year” to repair the park grounds. 

Despite a claim by Oxford Round Table Representative Christian Petersen that the areas affected “could have recovered by Christmas,” the wrecked grounds have continued to affect the park’s walkability throughout the winter period. Signs have been posted near the damaged areas to inform passersby of uneven, muddy ground.

In response to about 40 lodged complaints, the Oxford City Council launched an inspection of the grounds and announced that no long-term damage had been caused. However, it will be necessary to reseed and level areas of the park, which will be possible during the germination season in the spring; local stakeholders such as Friends of South Park and Oxford Preservation Trust will be kept informed of the restorations. The council has also revealed that the Oxford Round Table will fund the repair work, and they are in discussion with the group on how to best protect the park going forward while preserving the iconic Bonfire Night celebrations.

Councillor Susan Brown, Leader of the Oxford City Council, stated: “South Park is one of the jewels in Oxford’s crown… After all the rain we’ve had, the heavy plant used to take stalls and the funfair on and off the site churned up the ground in a way we haven’t experienced before. There are lessons to be learned to prevent this happening in future. We will of course ensure the park is fully restored, as soon as the growing season permits.

“At this stage I don’t want to rule in or out any options. I will also ensure we engage with the wider Oxford community before any final decision is taken.”

Oxford Vice-Chancellors’ compensation passed £1 million last year

Selina Chen
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Oxford Vice-Chancellors’ compensation passed £1 million last year

Due to sabbatical payment for former Vice-Chancellor Professor Louise Richardson, Oxford University Vice-Chancellors’ compensation passed £1 million in the last financial year; this figure includes the market rental value of their accommodation.

Richardson was compensated £289,000 for her time in office from August to December 2022, when she left Oxford with an additional £423,407 – equivalent to a year’s salary – as “payment in lieu of sabbatical” (as agreed upon when she took office in 2015, according to the University’s newly released Financial Statements).

Vice-Chancellor pays are set by the Committee to Review the Salaries of Senior University Officers (CRSSUO), which in 2019 decided on a 8.4% increase in the role’s salary, previously set in 2009. Before the increase, Oxford’s Vice-Chancellor remuneration ranked 11th nationally; now it ranks second after the £714,000 received by ICL’s Alice Gast.

However, Richardson chose not to take the increase until after the pandemic, when she received £542,000 for her work in the 2021-2022 financial year. ​​The figure includes her basic salary, a one-off payment for exceptional leadership during the pandemic, and the market rental value of the University-owned accommodation in which she lived and conducted duties – a chargeable benefit for tax purposes, but not money she actually received.

Professor Irene Tracey, who took office at the beginning of January 2023, was compensated £336,000 for her work until the end of July. Tracey chose not to take the 2019 salary increase in light of the current economic situation, so her pay adjustment matched the national awards for all higher-education staff. She also waived her entitlement to a sabbatical for when she leaves office.

According to the University’s financial report, Richardson’s total pay is 6.9 times that of average academic staff and 12.2 times that of all university staff, while the ratio for Tracey’s total pay is 6.5 times and 11.4 times greater, respectively.

Oxford University and College Union (UCU) Committee told Cherwell: “Whilst Oxford University’s Vice Chancellors continue to receive six-figure salaries, the pay and conditions of many staff who work to make this University a world-leading educational institution continue to deteriorate.”

2023 saw industrial action organised by Oxford’s UCU over salaries, working conditions, and pensions. What The Economist calls the university’s “other diversity crisis” further highlights Oxford academics’ low pay and short-term contracts.

UCU’s recent report on casualised staff at Oxford’s colleges and the Department for Continuing Education found that 64% of hourly worker respondents receive a real wage that falls below the Oxford Living Wage (£11.35/hr). Hundreds of University and College staff members are also effectively locked into a cycle of short-term contracts. In January 2023, two lecturers who were on fixed-term personal services contracts for 15 years sued Oxford over the “Uberisation” of their contracts.

Head of University Communications Stephen Rouse told Cherwell: “The organisation is highly complex and competes with other internationally preeminent universities to attract and retain the highest calibre academic talent and leadership. Recruitment of senior academics in this challenging market is a key responsibility of the Vice-Chancellor.”

CRSSUO Chair Charles Harman said in a statement: “The Vice-Chancellor’s pay is required to reflect the complex responsibilities of leading the world’s highest-ranked university in the face of ever-increasing global competition.”

On Saltburn, integrity and class

Mor Stinchcombe
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On Saltburn, integrity and class

I feared the day that the Film Studies people would touch Saltburn, largely because the stubborn thorn of ‘but sometimes the curtains are just blue!’ remains firmly, and unfortunately for an English student, fixed within my attitude towards film. 

However, the overarching reason why I wanted Saltburn to remain far from academic busybodying is that Saltburn, for myself, is a profound testament to the ability of directors to pull shock-value out of a hat. Which is not to say that the necrophilia, the sucking of semen from a drain, nor the murderous ascent to landed status is frivolous. It wasn’t frivolous when Emily Brontë slapped two of the above three into Wuthering Heights, anyway. Instead, it is all to say that ‘class’ and ‘power’ – two themes which haunt the Cherwell machine, primarily because they haunt the Oxford machine with an undeniable omnipresence – haunt Saltburn too. 

The tale of Oliver Quick has parallels to Wuthering Heights, in fact: effectively adopted by a land-owning family with a country house, then killing and shagging one’s way to the top. Do as the Romans do, as they say. But whilst the twist comes in that Heathcliff was portrayed as quite legitimately poor, Oliver isn’t. He comes from a middle-class family. This film is set in the Blair era, too, so the middle-class aesthetic differs from our current understanding of it. Yet what it predicts about the 2020s, way ahead of its time, is the feeling of necessity to create an identity by using, if not outright appropriating, working-class culture and suffering. 

Talking of ‘working-class suffering’ assumes that Emerald Fennel achieves what seems to be desired: that an alcoholic cracking his head on the pavement should be seen as a working-class death, and substance abuse, mental illness and distinct dialects are characteristically working-class. Fundamentally, dying that way and substance abuse are horrific. Using them as a false working-class experience denotes either Oliver using lazy stereotypes about poor drunkards dating back to the 19th Century, and being classist himself, or that these experiences are the easiest way to signal to an audience that a character (even off-screen) is working-class. I hope it’s not the latter.

Before I continue, before I get wrapped in very reasonable doubts about my ability to talk on such matters, I concede that I come from a lower-middle class or upper-working class (depending on the economic conditions) family, both parents born to labourers, which influenced my upbringing, too. Admittedly, I attended a grammar school predominantly populated by upper-middle class boys with aspirations to be either bankers or private doctors. I do not think that Oliver Quick is the equivalent of any of these upper-middle class boys within Saltburn; the class distinctions of the early 2000s and of the late 2010s and early 2020s are markedly different. However, it is worth pondering on how (and why) Oliver and my classmates both desire to use working-class culture for their benefit.

My first theory is that conservative approaches to economics have sacrificed personal identity to aspirational wealth. Who cares what your background is when you have money to spend? Well, you do, for one. It’s not fun being soulless. Therefore, if you have a grandfather who happened to be a miner, you might as well use this to parade some working-class credentials and inherit a claim that some form of intergenerational hard graft and suffering has fallen to you to wear as a badge. Yet, given the reforms which Blair did institute, I want to hold off judgement on this theory for the case of Oliver.

To turn instead to Oxford, and escaping the suburbs, a sentiment I feel much closer to. There is a reason why the TV programme discussing Boy George’s childhood is called Get Me out of Suburbia: the complete functionality and absence of colour in the place. There’s a whole Twitter (or ‘X’) account devoted to hating new-build houses, whose primary function is to be built and meet necessary regulations – and, one can only assume, be identical to the eyesores to the left and right of them. Oliver is a young man from suburbia, aching from an inability to escape from a place primarily defined by function into somewhere with a simply perplexing amount of forks, gowns and port bottles. It’s not beauty driving him; a glance at the final minutes, when Oliver explains his plotting, and when he desecrates Saltburn with his dancing, naked body, indicates as much. So, a possible response for Oliver to ascend upwards is to be as alien to this environment (a place still containing a disproportionate amount of private-school students – and grammar school students, sorry) and its inhabitants as possible and get dragged into it by force, and a little empathy on Felix’s part, rather than trying to muddle though. 

This is the fault with Oliver. There is possibly some nobility in muddling through, in being refreshingly honest about finding the rhythm and ritual simultaneously fun, liberating, whilst also a tad pointless. There is a sweetness to be found in being fine with drinking port (even if my IBS disagrees) from a plastic cup, as the vessel doesn’t matter, and anyway, I drop glasses like they’re hot. But Saltburn would have been very boring if Oliver had just been honest. 

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