Sunday 24th May 2026
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What are children really learning from their screens?

Saba Ahmadzadeh Noughani
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What are children really learning from their screens?

Today, when compared to my own childhood, screens dominate children’s lives more than ever, and it seems to me that the screens they are exposed to are worlds away from the ones I grew up on. When I look at some of my younger cousins’ favourite shows, it’s clear that the gap between our childhood experiences is much wider than I anticipated. I don’t recognise (nor like) any of their cartoons: they’re loud, rushed, flashy, so colourful they hurt my eyes, and the screen is simply too chaotic and cluttered to tolerate. 

The scenes are constantly changing and in motion, as if competing for attention. It’s almost aggressive. You get the impression that whoever makes these shows doesn’t even like, let alone understand, children. Instead, my childhood favourites like Come Outside and Mr Maker were always teaching me about the world. Charlie and Lola’s pastel colour palette was vibrant but not overpowering. Balamory was indeed colourful but not overstimulating.

Children’s television inevitably evolves, but as I look at the younger generation glued to their mini screens today, I no longer see the art of storytelling, but constant stimulation and noise. This doesn’t calm a child, but instead hooks them, their faces frozen to the screen, and makes them more anxious even after the device is switched off. It has been widely observed that fast-paced content triggers the “fight-or-flight” response in children, and hence makes them irritable, more prone to emotional meltdowns, and worse at self-regulation. 

It also makes me wonder what the point of children’s television is anymore. The shows I grew up with were educational and meaningful, but these shows seem to be just noise and colours. I can’t deny that it may engage children, and arguably that’s all that the media is meant to do. Yet, my concern remains. Research shows that environments, including screens, that are saturated with constant and fast-paced stimuli and sensory input can limit a child’s ability to concentrate and engage in deeper cognitive processing. 

And it’s hard not to notice. At the first sign of boredom, how often are children instantly shoved an iPad? How often do parents feed their children while they watch something on a phone? It seems that parents today depend on screens as a tool, like some bargaining chip, to get their children to do minor tasks.

I care because our children’s learning, attention spans, and concentration are at risk. I don’t want to see children, especially in their early years, glued to screens. I want to see them running around, playing imaginatively, expressing themselves loudly, and visiting all that there is to see. If circumstances don’t allow parents to provide this, and they prefer to occupy their children with a screen, then I beg of all parents, at least let the screen be a calm and pedagogical space. Even then, screens should only supplement play, not replace it.

Looking back on my own childhood, play meant puzzles, word searches, and dress-up. Cartoons were there to pass time or help me unwind from a long day of running around and exhausting my brain. But it seems that these overstimulating shows today would exhaust children even more. They’ve replaced their playtime, and it eats away at their childhoods.

These loud, fast, and flashy shows also condition children to expect constant stimulation, and consequently, make it much harder for them to engage with anything that demands their patience or reflection. My issue with these newer cartoons does not stem from taste or nostalgia, but rather, from awareness of how the media that children are exposed to in their formative years influences their attention, learning habits, and the development of independent, critical minds.

The cartoons I grew up on didn’t just entertain and educate, but were also how so many children understood routine. CBeebies aired bedtime stories, What’s on your plate? lunchtime shows, and in the mornings, I knew that it was time for me to leave the house for school after three shows had finished, always airing at the same time and order. They facilitated so many of my friendships. When my primary school friends would come over, we would watch CBeebies, and its cartoons were reference points in our lunchtime conversations. 

In my first year of university, when I was learning how to cook, I somehow came across a segment of an I Can Cook episode, and before feeling a rush of nostalgia, it saddened me that children today don’t have similar shows. When Mathew Baynton (who played Charles II in Horrible Histories) visited the Oxford Union in 2022, the entire chamber erupted in song. Everyone in that chamber knew the lyrics to ‘The King of Bling’. In today’s world of viral moments, trending sounds, and short-form content, what is it that will bring children that same sense of generational camaraderie in 20 years’ time?

When I see children watching Netflix shows, with personalised streaming, or scrolling through social media, I wonder if all children are actually engaging with the same content as one another, even if not at the exact same times. If not, does this mean they are experiencing different childhoods? What have they lost as a result? How many shared references, conversations, and even friendships will they now miss?

It’s clear that my childhood cartoons were a product of their time. Our children certainly won’t have what we had. Yet for something that was supposed to be a phase eventually outgrown, these cartoons have had a long-lasting effect on the way in which I perceive our changing and fast-paced world today, and I’m only just beginning to fully recognise and appreciate this when comparing them to the cartoons and media that the children of today engage with.

Booksmaxxing and the illusion of being “disgustingly educated”

Victoria Corfield
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Booksmaxxing and the illusion of being “disgustingly educated”

If you are as chronically online as I am, then it is more than likely that you will have come across the trend where people proclaim their desire to become “disgustingly educated” or “disgustingly well-read”. Content creators don their finest pair of reading glasses to affirm to their audience that they are indeed ‘intellectuals’ and display stacks of books to show off their seemingly never-ending academic reading lists. At a first glance there isn’t anything explicitly ‘wrong’ with this content. After all, wouldn’t we want to promote education in an age where school attendance, and young people’s interest in learning more generally, is in steady decline? 

However, once you’ve encountered a few videos of this type, a pattern emerges. This content presents the pursuit of knowledge as an identity rather than a practice, much like the speakers’ glasses. Beyond the parading of intimidating reading lists and displays of intricately annotated pages of classic novels, there is often little engagement with the intellectual substance of the works themselves. Education becomes something to perform rather than something to participate in, something which feels incredibly dangerous in an age where a reasonable attention span and deep thinking are coming to be our most valuable assets as humans. It is more aesthetic to simply have a perfectly organised reading list, than to read said works. 

Through this avoidance of actually doing the very work they promote, they ironically forgo the most important part of educating oneself: the act of learning. Learning itself is far less Instagrammable simply because learning any new skill comes with failure. Everyone will undoubtedly feel stupid at times (something which is only exacerbated in adulthood), but this is essential because learning requires mistakes. Hence, these displays of being “disgustingly educated” are less about the acquisition of knowledge than about the flaunting of interest; it is not about what the book means to you, but more what the book says about you.

This reduction of education to the superficial and the privileging of display over depth can perhaps be best observed in the world of BookTok, a popular sub-community on TikTok focused on literature, with creators often sharing reviews and recommendations. Notably, its emergence was one of the first instances in which a social media subculture had real-world impact, with BookTok heavily influencing real-world publishing trends and sales. However, in recent times the focus of BookTok appears to have shifted away from celebrating a love of reading, towards an approach to literature which casts reading as a competitive sport. 

There is an increasing amount of content in which people take on reading challenges, employing the use of timers and setting targets for how many books they aim to read. The most extreme form of this intellectual performance is a trend referred to as ‘Booksmaxxing’. This is an approach which centres on maximising personal growth and intellectual capital through reading an obscenely high volume of books. The very name of the trend establishes it as a response to the popular “Looksmaxxing” culture on social media, which prizes the pursuit of physical attractiveness, often through extreme measures. 

However, when the two trends are viewed in tandem, whilst their approaches and methodologies may vastly differ, the principle behind them is the same. They both centre on the performance or adoption of a particular characteristic as a means of social elevation. In the same way that ‘Looksmaxxing’ is about the improvement of physical appearance as a means of asserting superiority, in ‘Booksmaxxing’ this is translated into a performance of intellectual capital. It is less about reading for personal enjoyment and self-betterment than it is an imposition of a quantifiable framework onto personal intellect. In the same way that ‘Looksmaxxing’ marks a distinction between ‘high-’ and ‘low-value’ individuals on the basis of physical appearance, ‘Booksmaxxing’ enacts this through the display of how many books you’ve read, implicitly suggesting intelligence. In this sense ‘Booksmaxxing’ is not a rejection of shallow online culture but simply its intellectual rebranding.

A further dimension of this phenomenon becomes clear when we consider how easily it translates into comparison culture online. This ties in with the idea of being “disgustingly well-read” as a desirable characteristic. What we are seeing on social media is a glorification of a performative intellectualism in which attention becomes power and the apparent acquisition of knowledge becomes decoration. It becomes a means of asserting your superiority over others, which raises questions about privilege and access. It is crucial to explore the role which class and privilege play in discussions surrounding education and intellectual culture. Whilst we are fortunate enough to live in an age where education is universally accessible in this country, this performative intellectualism is inherently tied up with displays of privilege. 

If you are flaunting the fact you can read over 200 books each year as a means of social elevation, then what you are in fact saying is that you have the time and financial capital to devote to such endeavours. Furthermore, the subjects which are often foregrounded in these pursuits toward being “disgustingly educated” are often niche subjects that one wouldn’t typically encounter in a secondary school curriculum such as philosophy or art history. In an age of ever-rising university fees, where there is a regression in terms of who can access higher education, to be able to invest this level of time and money into such subjects is a privilege. 

I want to make it clear at this point that by no means am I seeking to devalue the arts. I am an English student myself and I believe that the decline of the arts in universities is a tragedy and that they are essential to our understanding of the world around us, however I simply mean that these degrees do not lead to the same kind of linear graduate career that studying a trade at college would. What is framed as intellectual ambition then begins to look less like the pursuit of knowledge and more like who can afford to have access to such education.

Ultimately, the central issue is not that people want to be ‘well-read’. After all, education is a key tool for self-betterment, as well as social mobility and liberation, and if trends such as BookTok or “Booksmaxxing” encourage more young people to pick up books and put down their phones then of course this is not without value. The danger arises when reading becomes something to be seen doing rather than something enriching in and of itself. Knowledge is not a costume you can put on for an audience, nor is it something quantifiable by stacks, timers, or yearly totals. 

Perhaps the more positive alternative lies, not in abandoning these online reading communities altogether, but rather in reshaping them into spaces that encourage genuine engagement with literature. A kind of digital book club culture so to speak, centred less on how many books you can consume and more on the experience of reading itself. A community that fosters ‘real’ learning, one which is rarely neat or aesthetically pleasing; the chapter you have to read three times, the definition you pause to Google mid-sentence. To read properly, in my view, is to misunderstand, to have to sit with a text, think about it and discuss it. If these online spaces can move beyond performance and towards discussion, they may ultimately succeed in doing something genuinely valuable: making reading feel exciting, accessible, and worth sharing.

Glamour and gossip: Oxford Fashion Society’s ‘Women in Fashion’

Emma Heagney and Amy Lawson
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Glamour and gossip: Oxford Fashion Society’s ‘Women in Fashion’

On a sunny Friday evening at the Research Centre in Christ Church, Oxford Fashion Society hosted a panel titled ‘Women in Fashion’, featuring Julia Hobbs, Senior Contributing Fashion Features editor at British Vogue (a gloriously convoluted title only fashion media could produce), and Daisy Hoppen, founder and director of PR agency DH-PR. It is easy to feel a sense of anticipation in the room: the two are some of the most high-profile guests the Fashion Society has hosted since a panel with Adam Baidawi (Global Editorial Director at GQ) in Hilary of this year. 

Yet – perhaps in typical PR fashion – the two women seem eager to dispel any such tension. When asked how they would describe themselves, Daisy, with a thoughtful expression, describes herself as a “problem solver”, whilst Julia, sweeping her elegant dyed-red bob out of her face, claims to be “5 ‘9 and a natural redhead”, drawing easy laughter from the audience. Neither has a fashion background: Daisy studied Law at undergraduate and Master’s level, before changing track and interning at the Financial Times, whilst Julia did Medieval History at Leeds, and worked at a jeweller’s – she chuckles whilst recollecting trips on the tube to Vogue House, laden down with thousands of pounds worth of jewellery. There was something almost cinematic about their stories of getting into fashion. After a spell of freelance writing, Julia describes how an acquaintance informed her of a job opening at Vogue, leading her to hand-deliver her cover letter to the doorman at Vogue House just before midnight. It’s hard to imagine getting a job this way now, but there is something charming about Julia’s story, humanising the industry in a way the media seldom does. 

With the recent premiere of The Devil Wears Prada 2, conversation turned to the depiction of the fashion business in the media. “The Devil Wears Prada is more of a documentary,” the women laugh. For them, it’s a good thing that the media glamourises working in fashion – for the most part, it is glamorous. Julia recalls a highlight of her career at Vogue, in which she found herself in Kate Moss’ London home, trying on clothes in the supermodel’s wardrobe, a story which seems to have been plucked straight from a young girl’s dreams. Above all, however, they want the job to be appealing to young people, and if glamourisation is the way to make this happen, then so be it. “Daisy is a Charlotte with a Samantha rising,” Julia tells us as they assign each other Sex and the City characters, proving that the fashion fiction of their youths had much of the same effect that it does now.

But fashion is not always glamorous. In fact, it’s “cut-throat” – as Julia shares, “the job won’t love you back”. A heavily-pregnant Daisy is quick to point out the toll that her job has taken on her experience as a mother. “Women have to make compromises”, she states, citing the pressure she felt to work throughout her maternity leave. For this reason, both women emphasise the value of female friendships and mentorship. While diversity in fashion has improved, the industry has a long way to go, with the British Fashion Council’s UK DEI Report finding that while women account for 78% of the fashion world, they constitute only 39% of executive teams. For Julia and Daisy, it is important that they support younger women in their fields – Daisy’s PR agency proudly offers year-long internships, and Julia expresses her desire to be a mentor-like figure to junior editors at Vogue.

As the biggest fashion magazine on the planet, Vogue also documents the changing media landscape. The pair discuss the recent news of The Face shutting down, reflecting an increasingly competitive market for arts and culture publications. They fervently agree that AI summaries are currently the biggest obstacle to journalism, and are threatening the viability of newspapers and magazines to stay afloat in troubling financial circumstances. “Fashion is ultimately a business,” Daisy tells us, “but print media isn’t going anywhere.” In a world soon to be dominated by AI, they emphasise the appeal of stepping away from the screen, and remind us that those working in fashion still look to print magazines for their inspiration. Sure, Vogue may have to take on creative partnerships with Ebay, BMW, Nike, and others to facilitate this, but at least there’s hope for a more analogue future.

The two are full of advice for those aspiring to enter the industry. For Julia, the key is to think outside of the box. “Being niche has a huge power,” she says, expressing that a lot of the content which catches her eye is sure of the value of its own perspective. She also comments on the value of getting to grips with making your own visual content, since this kind of medium is (marginally) less of a victim of generative AI when compared with written forms. As short-form content becomes increasingly ubiquitous, Julia seems to urge those interested in making a platform for themselves toward harnessing its power, to “challenge yourself to be comfortable on camera” – even if it is just for 60 seconds. Indeed, getting comfortable behind the camera is Daisy’s advice: “Cool girls bring their own cameras!”

Ultimately, the greatest advice they offer is to have fun: connect with others, keep up with culture, and don’t stop partying. While this may not always be conducive to a healthy work-life balance – “a lot of us are insomniacs” – it nevertheless rings true for the work that the women do. “People fuel this industry,” she concludes, referring to both the relationships between creatives and the journalists themselves. “Writing should share who you are, what you do, and where you’re coming from.” Any young journalist who has written for Cherwell or any other publication may feel this sentiment deeply – when looking for inspiration, the best thing to do is usually as simple as getting outside and experiencing life. After all, Julia adds, “fashion is gossip.”

Is there hope for young journalists in the midst of an unemployment crisis, funding cuts to arts-based degrees, and the unknowns of AI? Yes, Julia and Daisy think, but it is by far the hardest time to be a new fashion journalist. Gone are the days of fashion publications taking on a junior editor who has no clue what they are doing – young people now need to prove why they are useful to an office. But saying yes, even if you’re unsure, will go a long way.. Praise must be given to the Oxford Fashion Society committee for facilitating real, human connection between industry experts and budding writers, a connection which is needed now more than ever.

Blood will have blood: Cross Keys Productions’ ‘Macbeth’

Arun Lewis
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Blood will have blood: Cross Keys Productions’ ‘Macbeth’

The directors, Cameron Spruce and Stanley Toyne, had previously sat down with me for a wide-ranging interview about their hopes and visions for their production. From issues with booking a space to the complexities involved in transferring an Elizabethan play set in medieval Scotland to the streets and backrooms of the mafioso lifestyle, their play was nothing if not ambitious. Both elements, the mafia and Macbeth, are common cultural touchstones, the former in such important works as The Godfather, Goodfellas, Casino, and The Sopranos, and the latter in countless renditions over the years and across the world. I entered the chapel with one question: how could a student production fare in attempting to combine these two?

The core plot points of Macbeth – the witches, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s overarching ambition, and how, in their moment of success, they confirm their downfall – don’t require excessive explanation. Most students will have looked at the play in GCSE English, but few will have seen it performed to such quality, and doing such justice to the Bard’s thematic vision, as the audience in Somerville Chapel. To get over my minor gripes with the play before discussing its numerous strengths, I must say that the shouting of both Tristan Morse’s Macbeth and Sam Gosmore’s Macduff grew slightly trying, and ended up harming rather than adding to the depth of their characterisation. Occasionally, the scene changes would take a beat too long but, given the size of this production, this is understandable. The lighting, again understandably for the first night of a production, would at moments settle on the wrong spot, including my face for about half a minute.

Having dealt with my concerns, the strengths of the performance’s design merit consideration. The lighting is dynamically done, aligning perfectly with Peter Hardistry’s organ score – which Toyne had previously called the “motivic glue” of the play – to draw the audience’s attention to whom the directors want you to focus on at any one time. It is used to particularly great effect during the scene with Banquo’s ghost at the feast, as he appears on the loft before the organ – an excellent use of the space’s inherent levels to capture Macbeth’s decline. The space of the chapel itself is also exploited well, with Duncan’s funeral capturing both the sombre passing of a king and the political scheming of a mafioso. 

The performances themselves are all stellar, bar the aforementioned few small frustrations. Of particular note are Amber Meeson’s Lady Macbeth, Mary Stillman’s first witch, and Darian Murray-Griffiths’ Duncan. Meeson’s portrayal of one of the play’s core characters is nuanced and meaningful. It takes the undeniable ambition and excitement of the opportunity for advancement on Duncan’s death with a well-suppressed, yet present, self-doubt, with her viciousness towards Macbeth coming from a place of internal insecurity. As Macbeth gains more agency and begins conspiring – against Banquo and the Macduffs – her plans, and public edifice, begin to unravel, culminating in a very well delivered “will these hands ne’er be clean” scene. Murray-Griffiths’ Duncan has something of Marlon Brando about him, someone highly respected in his circles and affectionate towards his friends, but still a politician in his own world, and one whose absence is felt throughout the rest of the play. Stillman’s first witch, the leader of three who each capture a distinct element of the mob life, holds an authority and power that Macbeth desperately yearns for. The witches are the agents of Macbeth’s worst avarices, perfectly straddling the line between the mystical and the real.

Most intriguing of all the changes to the traditional performance, however, is Zoe Obeng’s Malcolm. Rather than being a relatively minor character, only present at the beginning by kickstarting Macbeth’s self-advancement, and usurping him at the end, Obeng’s prince dominates the entire plot. They are political in their own right, harrying Macduff to determine his loyalty before bringing him into their circle of amity once his family has died. It is a phenomenal change that brings meaning to an otherwise bland character.

Shakespeare revivals must tread a fine line: too often they turn into one-actor vehicles or experiments, or shipwreck upon the squall of their adaptation. Spruce and Toyne’s Macbeth does neither; it is well directed, confidently acted, and assuredly produced. It does right by the Bard’s legacy, giving a well-worn story a fresh lease of life.

Christ Church proposes 2,500 home development in West Oxfordshire

Angelina Wu
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Christ Church proposes 2,500 home development in West Oxfordshire

Proposals for a 2,500-home development in West Oxfordshire have been submitted by Christ Church College, in collaboration with UK construction company Bloor Homes. 

The proposed development would be constructed on college-owned land near Carterton, which is one of the five Strategic Locations identified for housing growth by the West Oxfordshire District Council. Named Foxbury Garden Community, the development is designed as a standalone community. If approved, construction on the current project could start as soon as 2029, with an estimated 1,500 homes built by 2041. 

The plans include two residential neighbourhoods, a new primary school, a cultural hub, a cemetery, and a medical centre. The development may also deliver new cycling and pedestrian infrastructure, as well as improved road access to Carterton. The project aims to support ‘economic development in West Oxfordshire’. A large portion of Christ Church’s proposal will involve developing affordable housing. A spokesperson for Christ Churh told Cherwell that the college “has consistently supported the principle of development … to help address the well-documented housing shortage in Oxfordshire.”

A public consultation exercise on the plans was performed in January 2026, including in-person events at Brize Norton. Residents and other stakeholders will have a further opportunity to voice their opinions to the council in the upcoming statutory consultation. The Christ Church spokesperson told Cherwell: “We would encourage anyone with an interest in the development to engage with that process when it opens.”


Christ Church had previously collaborated with Bloor Homes to develop Brize Meadow, where a new neighbourhood of around 800 new homes, a local centre, primary school, and employment area was delivered in 2018.

SNL UK and British sketch comedy

Vanisha Karna
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SNL UK and British sketch comedy

The arrival of SNL to the UK has been met with a mixed reception. While the episodes themselves have experienced some success in viewership, its introduction to UK screens has been regarded as yet another unnecessary Americanism, and perhaps a sign of the UK’s waning cultural influence. On top of this, the advent of SNL UK has led to some doubting the success of sketch comedy as a format, with many regarding the inconsistent quality of SNL in America as reflective of the genre as a whole. To dismiss sketch in this way, however, would be a mistake. SNL UK provides a ripe opportunity to explore our own distinct tradition of sketch comedy. 

Sketch as a format was first developed in Britain. In the mid-19th century, music hall was a growing form of popular entertainment, where a variety of acts would be performed, including singing, dancing, and brief sketches. Later in the decade, burlesque shows began to gain currency. In this context, to burlesque something meant to parody it, and these sketches would often take the form of short mockeries of traditional Greek myths or Shakespeare plays. By the early 20th century, revue theatre emerged as a site of influence for sketch comedy. Unlike burlesque, which would focus on one scene, revue’s more topical humour helped shape the structure of sketch into what it has become known to be today. 

When considering traditional comedy in Britain, Monty Python is what comes to mind for many. Running from 1969-73, Monty Python and the Flying Circus was the beginning of a troupe which was to become a bastion of British surrealist comedy. With Terry Jones and Michael Palin meeting right here in Oxford, and later performing with Graham Chapman and John Cleese from the Cambridge Footlights, their beginnings were typical of many who grew to be huge names of British comedy. Their enduring popularity and influence, however, come from their innovations in the form of sketch and their surrealist humour. Monty Python was known to often break away from the concept of a punchline altogether, with self-aware sketches ending in acknowledgement of their own absurdity. This departure from the traditional form of a punchline is something that SNL can perhaps take lessons from, with a forced punchline of little comedic value becoming all too familiar. The brilliance of the Pythons meant that their influence was felt not only in Britain, but across the world, with comics such as Steve Martin and Robin Williams citing them as amongst their greatest influences.

Returning to Oxbridge, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are two other names which come up frequently when considering our own tradition of sketch. Meeting as undergrads at Cambridge, their sketch show A Bit of Fry and Laurie gave the genre a new dimension as they performed as a comedic duo, instead of as part of a large ensemble. This reliance on a duo and the comedic tension between them meant that they were constantly required to innovate, whereas in ensembles, a larger range of characters often swallowed the humour. The lack of ensemble meant that it intensified, leading to comedy which was sometimes surrealist and always highly entertaining. Fry and Laurie, however, are also representative of the dominance of Oxbridge and middle-class backgrounds within British comedy. By contrast, comics in America are often discovered through more accessible institutions such as improv troupes like Second City in Chicago or stand-up circuits. Programmes such as SNL in the US play a key role in facilitating a more socially varied pipeline of talent, and therefore an institution such as SNL in the UK could play a similar role in creating a more egalitarian means for new talent to be discovered. 

Incisive commentary on current affairs is often where comedy shines its brightest, and SNL is no exception, with its Weekend Update often giving way to the most consistent laughs of the night. Such a tradition is pre-eminent in the UK, with sketch shows such as The Day Today and later satirical mock-news programmes like Brass Eye showcasing the genre at its sharpest. These shows demonstrated how sketches could move into biting media criticism and explore the absurdities of modern journalism and public panic, playing into a culture of widespread commentary. This tradition of experimentation – moving beyond the quick-laugh genre of impressions which dominate SNL – is often where British comedy can be at its best, as it wryly challenges institutions and their often hapless bureaucracy. SNL UK could very easily learn from this practice found in our comedy and eclipse its American counterpart in making genuinely incisive political commentary through humour. 

SNL UK, therefore, should not be seen as purely an American influence but be viewed in the broader context of our own rich tapestry of comedy tradition. Originating as a form with mass popular appeal, sketch comedy remains a relevant form today because of its adaptability and sharpness. While SNL in America certainly has its shortcomings, its arrival to the UK could take an entirely different direction if it is able to learn from the strengths of what came before it. 

Oxford and UNESCO launch a free global course on AI and Rule of Law

Ilya Rosenbaum
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Oxford and UNESCO launch a free global course on AI and Rule of Law

The University of Oxford has paired up with UNESCO to launch a free global course titled “AI, Justice, and Rule of Law”. The Massive Open Online Course (MOOC) will teach those in legal settings to navigate the ethical, legal, and human rights challenges of AI. 

“AI, Justice and Rule of Law” aims to help legal professionals examine the use of AI in courts. In particular, the course provides guidance on practical knowledge and issues surrounding AI in courts and legal systems and has included an AI and Rule of Law Checklist. The course strengthens its students’ understanding of fairness, accountability, and transparency. The programme developed through interdisciplinary cooperation between UNESCO and Oxford has brought together expertise in the form of academics as well as international competency frameworks. The Blavatnik School of Government, Saïd Business School, and the Faculty of Law used the Guidelines for the Use of AI in Courts and Tribunals, to support more informed decision-making in legal and public institutions.

Ignacio Cofone, Professor of Law and Regulation of AI in the Faculty of Law, told Cherwell: “We designed this course so that legal and public-sector professionals can … not just understand how AI systems work technically, but work through the harder questions about when AI affects rights, who is accountable, and what safeguards should be in place.”  

With the rapid development of AI, the course has been specifically designed to be updated over time. The University holds the course’s master files meaning that content can be reviewed and refreshed as AI and its surrounding legal debates evolve. The new course comes in the wake of Oxford becoming the first UK university to offer ChatGPT Edu to all its students.

As Philippa Webb, Professor of Public International Law at the Blavatnik School of Government told Cherwell, “We share the most promising practices and pitfalls to avoid through this course.” The course is currently available in English, with French and Spanish versions to launch in June. Further discussions to expand the course into additional languages are taking place by the University.

£26 million in visiting student tuition fees: Inside the finances of Oxford’s visiting student programme

Cherwell Investigations
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£26 million in visiting student tuition fees: Inside the finances of Oxford’s visiting student programme

When a Princeton student got into the University of Oxford’s visiting student programme at Worcester College, one of their first concerns wasn’t about housing or tutorials – but money. “At first, I wasn’t sure how much exactly Princeton would cover”, the student told Cherwell. “You have to make a budget proposal to them, itemising expenses like tuition, room, and board for your study abroad program”. 

“Thankfully”, the student told Cherwell, they could afford it. “They actually gave me more than I needed”. 

Unlike course fees paid by matriculated students – centralised by the University at £9,790 for home students and between £37,380 and £62,820 for overseas students – visiting student fees are determined independently by colleges. According to Freedom of Information requests by Cherwell, at least 24 colleges offer places for visiting students, five more than the 18 listed on the University’s website, which notes that the information is “indicative only” and “subject to change”. 

As of 1st December 2025, 585 students were listed as “visiting, recognised or other” under the Visiting Non-Matriculated Programme, about 2% of Oxford’s total enrollment. Students with this status can attend lectures and use university libraries, and have full privileges at the colleges they attend, including joining the JCR.

Programmes offered

Many of Oxford’s visiting students come from direct partnerships or memoranda of understanding with other universities. Worcester, for example, has direct partnerships with Harvard, Princeton, Swarthmore, and Wellesley. 

Most partnerships are with private American institutions, including Ivy League universities such as Yale and Dartmouth, and liberal arts colleges such as Sarah Lawrence College and Williams College – schools where the total cost of attendance can exceed $98,000. A few American public universities also have partnerships with colleges, alongside universities outside the United States, such as Tsinghua University and the University of Hong Kong. Some universities, like Sciences Po, also have partnerships with the University itself or affiliated departments, which assign colleges later. 

For students whose home institutions lack direct partnerships with Oxford, the only opportunity to enrol as a visiting student is through a study abroad provider. For North American students, three main providers operate in Oxford: Arcadia Abroad, Institute for Study Abroad (IFSA), and Oxford Study Abroad Programme (OSAP). 

Both Arcadia and IFSA offer placements at Herford, Lady Margaret Hall, Mansfield, St Anne’s, St Catherine’s, St Edmund Hall, and Worcester, while IFSA also offers additional placements at Regent’s Park and St Hilda’s. OSAP has partnerships with Magdalen and New, alongside “associate member” options at New, Oriel, and Trinity. 

The Oxford Prospects Programme, meanwhile, offers year-long visiting student programmes for students from Chinese universities at Blackfriars, Mansfield, Pembroke, Regent’s Park, St. Anne’s, St. Peter’s, and Worcester.

Visiting students – both those from direct partnerships and study abroad providers – stay in Oxford for varying amounts of time, either for one or two terms or the full year. Hertford, Lady Margaret Hall, and St Anne’s also offer extended fall programmes that begin in September to align with some universities’ semester systems.

Among all 23 colleges with visiting students, the number varies. In 2025, St Catherine’s had the most visiting students listed with 55, or about 5% of the college’s total enrolment, having hosted 366 total visiting students since 2021. Corpus Christi, on the other hand, offers the fewest places: just one student per year from the University of Missouri. 

Cost of attendance

In general, visiting student fees – for students coming from direct partnerships – are broadly comparable to overseas fees, which range from £37,380 to £62,820 in tuition costs. However, the cost of attendance varies by college, subject, and home institution. 

For instance, some colleges, like St Edmund Hall, adjust fees on subjects, charging students between £50,391 and £63,381 per year, including food and accommodation. Other colleges have a flat fee regardless of course, such as Mansfield, which charges students £46,000 per year. 

There is no central register of what colleges charge. The University’s website notes that “fees are set and published by each individual college”, and many direct partnerships involve their own financial agreements. Several colleges withheld fee arrangements from Cherwell under Section 43(2) of the Freedom of Information Act 2000, citing commercial sensitivity, meaning the cost of some programmes is not available through legal disclosure. 

Still, a student’s financial situation might affect actual costs. St Edmund Hall, for instance, offers a scholarship fund for American students and one for students from UNC-Chapel Hill. Students may also receive additional funding from their home institution. 

For example, the Princeton student at Worcester told Cherwell that Princeton – where they are on full financial aid – covered all tuition and accommodation costs, as well as an additional stipend for living costs. “I was surprised by the leeway they gave me”, the student told Cherwell, though the student added they are “not sure if they do this for all students on full financial aid”. 

For visiting students enrolling through a third-party provider, the costs are higher still. 

At both Arcadia and IFSA, the fees paid differ both by college and the program. For instance, the total programme fee at Arcadia ranges from  $73,995 at Mansfield to $87,995 at Worcester. IFSA, meanwhile, ranges in price from $69,095 at Regent’s Park to $81,085 at Worcester, with premedical students at St Anne’s paying $90,505. 

The breakdown of fees into tuition, food, and accommodation also varies among colleges. For example, Arcadia students at Mansfield pay $53,705 in tuition and $20,290 in food and accommodation, while the same visiting students at Worcester pay $77,155 in tuition and $10,840 in food and accommodation. Among all colleges with Arcadia and IFSA programmes, tuition fees range from $49,850 to $78,645, while food and accommodation fees range from $7,790 to $20,375. 

For both Arcadia and IFSA visiting students, the price remains higher than direct partnerships or applications to Oxford. For example, Mansfield costs $73,995 for Arcadia students and $70,225 for IFSA students. Converted to roughly £54,200 and £51,500, the price is more than what regular visiting students at Mansfield pay, set at £46,000 per year. 

OSAP’s fees are higher again. Registered visiting students pay $89,400 per year, with an additional $6,000 surcharge for certain STEM subjects. Even associate members – who have fewer privileges – pay $23,700 per term, leading to a yearly cost of $71,100. 

For visiting students coming through third-party services, one reason for the higher cost is the additional support and opportunities the organisations provide. For example, a spokesperson for IFSA told Cherwell that “all IFSA students receive a bespoke 3-day orientation from IFSA in Oxford” alongside other benefits, like health and safety support, private insurance, an IFSA staff member in Oxford, and the transfer of academic credit. 

One visiting student who enrolled in Oxford through IFSA told Cherwell that financial arrangements have been “fairly straightforward” with IFSA acting as “a middleman”. “I can imagine how, if I were dealing with this directly through Worcester, I would be incredibly frustrated.” The student added, “since they have made it so difficult to get anything done”.

Total revenue

Across colleges that disclosed figures in response to Cherwell’s Freedom of Information requests, visiting student fees have generated substantial and growing income. 

St Catherine’s collected more income from visiting student tuition fees than any other disclosing college, earning £5,050,436 from 2021 to 2025. During the same period, Mansfield took in £4,292,528, while Pembroke collected £2,483,222. 

Income collected from visiting student fees has also grown at several colleges over the last few years. For instance, St Peter’s earned £233,101 from visiting student fees during the 2021-22 academic year, compared to £573,760 in 2024-25. Meanwhile, St Hilda’s income rose from £200,292 in 2023-24 to £500,730 in 2024-25 – a roughly 150% increase. 

Across the twelve colleges that disclosed figures, the total income from visiting student tuition fees from 2021 to 2025 amounted to £26,474,583. As a number of colleges withheld total figures, this figure likely underestimates the actual amount earned by Oxford colleges. 

Still, one visiting student from a European university told Cherwell they found the fees they were paying their college “disproportionately high”. “I find it lamentable”, they added, “how visiting students have … contracts which are clearly motivated by colleges’ interest to earn more money”. 

Arcadia and OSAP were contacted for comment.

Twisted but funny: ‘The Birthday Party’ in review

Ben Woodward
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Twisted but funny: ‘The Birthday Party’ in review

CW: Rape

What’s stuffier than a perfume shop and more packed than a Lego Store on opening day? It’s the Burton Taylor Studio, and no less so than during the sold out run of Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party (5th-9th May). In this debut show by Postbox Productions, we are transported to a rundown boarding house where marital dispute, mental torture, and birthday games come together to create a disturbing yet humorous play.

Pinter’s play poses quite the challenge, and directors Marnie Frankel and Lois Avery are scrupulous in every detail (I should know, one of them sat next to me and filled what seemed like half a book with notes on the opening night). The audience is constantly teased with contradictory information. Is it a birthday party? Who is Stanley (Rufus Shutter)? And how Cockney can Goldberg (Will Hamp) go? And, though quite conservative in terms of design, the acting truly brings out the gifts of this play.

The opening brings a convincingly dishevelled Meg (Cait Kremenstein), whose voice and mannerisms are a consistent highlight of the night, fussing over breakfast for her rather resigned husband Petey (Charlie Heath) and Stanley, the sole boarder. Kremenstein, Heath, and Shutter have a lovely dynamic on stage, with subtle changes of tone and character. Humour litters the play, from the hilarious reveal of the trapdoor-cupboard at the start to Meg’s flirty attitude towards Stanley, and the cast allow the energy of these moments to lift up the darker undertones of the play.

Yet things change for Stanley when Goldberg and McCann (Seb Foster) turn up to stay and join Meg in organising his birthday party – but is it actually his birthday? Hamp and Foster offer a wonderful good cop, bad cop duo that is hilarious to watch on stage and blends the serious with the absurd (“All the same, give me a blow!”). Their torrent of lines as they intimidate Stanley serves a good number of gags and their timing is (for the most part) slick. Watching their complete change in manner, demeanour, and accent when dealing with Meg compared to Stanley gives a much-needed release of tension during the play’s darker moments. The pounding of the drum as they circle Stanley like vultures and the quiet intimidation of Petey had me on edge. Trapped inside the tight arms of the BT, you couldn’t escape the tension (or the noise!), but the directors ensure a good balance throughout.

The most well-produced moment of the show was the birthday party itself, where the cast play a thrilling game of Blind Man’s Buff. Lulu (Amelie Rosner), a neighbour of the boarding house, is allowed to shine in this section with her loveably clueless character mirroring the confused state of the audience. The quietness of this scene, as in turn each of the characters is forced to stumble around the stage, was punctured by Lulu’s scream at the end as Stanley attempts to rape her on the table. A harrowing and deeply disturbing moment, the cast handle it exceptionally well.

Nearing the end of the show, and practically sweltering in my jumper (did I mention the heat!?), we watch as Petey gives up a short-lived fight as Stanley is carried away. Quite why and how is for the audience to guess, as is the nature of every character in the play. The reserved character of Petey, the stoney-faced Stanley, the relentlessly positive Meg: all the characters in The Birthday Party are fascinating to watch and analyse, stuck in their sad story. Pinter’s play makes no attempt to glamourise this life, nor provide anyone to sympathise with, rather, one must simply enjoy the absurdity of the play.

One final conversation between Meg and Petey, who now live in a house with no borders, offers a bleak prospect at the end of the play, now devoid of humour. Heath’s impassive Petey contrasts with Kremenstein’s sentimental and unloved Meg at this moment, and it is with Meg’s wistful “I know I was” that we end the show, wishing that we knew anything as certainly as Meg.

Though it messed with my sense of reality, it was a very well assembled production, and the cast offered a promising selection of new Oxford talent. All in all, I am sure this is not the last we have heard of Postbox Productions.

‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ reviewed

Arun Lewis
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‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ reviewed

One of the finest traditions of Oxford drama is the summer garden play. Freeing the frenetic energy of the dramatic societies from the limited rehearsal spaces and platforms of Michaelmas and Hillary, Trinity sees the many green spaces of Oxford overcome by hectic preparations for garden plays, as directors experiment with the challenges of performing in an unusual space. With such a proliferation of performances, it also presents the chance for enterprising directors and productions to venture beyond their regular fare and explore less well-known, but potentially no less entertaining, stories.

This year’s Hertford-Mansfield Garden Play was a production of Shakespeare’s The Two Noble Kinsmen, co-written with John Fletcher which was the Bard’s last work before his death in 1616, though it did not appear in print until 1634. It wasreasonably well-known in its time, but has since faded into relative obscurity, only performed rarely and less well-known than its source work, The Knight’s Tale in Geoffery Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. For the sake of the reader, I’ll briefly explain the plot: Theseus, of minotaur slaying fame, is begged by three widowed Queens to intercede against the king of neighbouring Thebes. Theseus concedes, and goes to war, in the process capturing the King of Thebes’ nephews, Arcite and Palamon. All their brave talk of fraternal unity in the face of prison vanishes when they see Hippolyta’s sister, Emilia, and both immediately compete for her affection.

Eventually, all is resolved in a rather tragicomic fashion, but it is rather unlike most Shakespeare in that even in those plays that do tread the line between tragedy and comedy, few slip between the two as frequently as Two Noble Kinsmen. Its opening scene appears to set the play up as a tragedy, whilst its middle section better resembles a comedy; in a Lynchian fashion, after the play’s tragic ending, Morris dancers (who appear earlier in the play) return and do a merry jig. The comedy fits the Mansfield gardens, where the play was performed next to the hulking shadow of the Vere Hamsworth, well. Likewise, the challenging lighting situation, with the gentle afternoon sun of the opening fading into dark sky by the end, lent itself to the tragic development of the play, with the stark white lights used producing stark, dramatic shadows against the bare stone.


This production itself is the work of director Annabelle Higgins and producer Richard Morris, with two choral pieces composed specially for the play courtesy of Owen Robinson. The music does make the play, from its earlier Midsummer Night’s Dream-like feel of fancy to the low, ethereal and deeply unsettling humming from behind the audience as the play reaches its devastating conclusion. Select performances also deserve special mention, amidst the general success of the cast and crew; the eponymous kinsmen, Arcite and Palamon, are played with great flair and distinction. Palamon captures, as Emilia describes, a love-struck morbidity and obsession, whilst Archite’s focus on victory is clearly communicated through clipped tones and a contemplative countenance. Emilia is also exceptionally wellplayed, with several monologues that carefully balance expressing emotion whilst not forgoing the audience’s need to hear what’s being performed.

A few minor flubs occurred, actors missing a few lines and a malfunctioning light set just behind my shoulder. However, with the brevity of time afforded to garden play actors, this shouldn’t be held against them – it is a well performed play given its limited budget, space and time. Performing a lesser-known Shakespeare work was a bold directorial choice, and one that paid off. Equally impressive is the sizable, late run time, with actors performing from 7:30pm until almost 10pm for three days in a row, including a matinee performance on Saturday 9th May.

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