Sunday, May 11, 2025
Blog Page 43

Interrupting Oxford time: Can we defend the clocks falling back?

Sophie Price
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Interrupting Oxford time: Can we defend the clocks falling back?

Mid-October crawls around, and the annual scenes of complaint begin to seep into walks back to college: we turn to our peers to express shock and disappointment that it’s “getting dark so early”, plagued by amnesia of the same solar plight that has haunted us for every autumn of our lives.

The controversy of the clocks going back is a debate whose flame is extinguished almost as quickly as it is ignited, making headlines the weekend itself and then not being spoken of until it returns in March. Of course, the ‘spring forward’ is received far more favourably by the public, even if it does mean an hour of sleep is lost that night. In the autumn, however, as the short-lived (but glorious) extra hour of sleep wears off and the early darkness comes in full force, we are left with the common question of why we bother turning the clocks back at all.

The time change has certainly been controversial throughout its century of existence. Debates in the national news tend to centre around the impact on health due to circadian rhythm disruption, economic benefits and shortcomings of extra daylight (so we can spend time spending), and even analysing crime rates. However, as students, our understanding of time and the difference light and dark can make to our routines has a much different focus.

The 24-hour day at Oxford, compared to the vac, can feel like trying to organise your time in an alternate universe where each hour feels so much shorter and more valuable. The concept of a daily routine, even before you bring in time changes, is haunted by the problem that there is more available to do in a day with academics and extracurriculars than there are hours to do it.

The anti-‘fall-back’ crowd raises points about the early darkness making it harder to continue with work if you look out of the window and feel that your day is over at 4pm. Beyond scholastics, sport and socialising can also be negatively affected by the shortened afternoons. The medics and psychologists among us can then bring in the impact of less sunlight on mood, combined with week five blues, making a convincing argument for how the clocks going back can negatively affect all facets of student life.

On the other side, there are the people (myself included) who get far more work done when it’s dark outside, and those who simply enjoy the longer, cosy autumn evenings. Moreover, the early morning running and/or rowing community (admittedly not myself) benefit from not being in complete darkness, as would be the case if clocks didn’t go back for winter. As entertaining as it is to join in the national sarcastic bitterness over the earlier sunsets, I for one can’t bring myself to truly loathe the time change.

Unfortunately, no manmade time zone changes can outmanoeuvre the relentless march of the solstice, forcing our sunlight to be shorter in the winter even before the time change: it becomes more of a question of whether you prefer an earlier morning or a later night. Walking around in the darkness at 5pm is no more dismal than a dark wander to a 10am lecture had clocks not turned back. The pendulum swings both ways, and those who despise the darkness are rewarded with longer hours of daylight when the clocks go forward. In March, the ‘spring-forward’ half of the system allows for more time to enjoy the daylight when people are more likely to be utilising it for socialising than in the cold winters.

To defend the clock change might be a bold opinion and perhaps it simply boils down to whether you are the type of person who thrives in the summertime or prefers the snug winter months. I’m a proud lover of autumn, and the change in time is part and parcel of this season. Within the media frenzy that is stirred up every year, it can be easy to forget that the clocks going back not only have some benefits to speak of but also tend to be inflated into a more drastic upheaval than it really is.

 Nonetheless, the clock change appears destined to remain controversial. Whilst having drawbacks, it can benefit night owls whose productivity spikes at dusk, or early risers who appreciate waking up to natural light seeping through their window when the cold makes leaving bed that much harder. So, on behalf of the few who don’t mind falling back, perhaps we are giving daylight savings time just a little more hatred than it deserves. 

Rory Stewart on populism, podcasting, and why he left the Bullingdon Club

Hassan Akram
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Rory Stewart on populism, podcasting, and why he left the Bullingdon Club

Rory Stewart has been an academic, podcaster, writer, diplomat and politician. He read PPE at Balliol. While an undergraduate, he tutored Princes William and Harry, and attended a meeting of the Bullingdon Club. He has written several acclaimed books, including Occupational Hazards, an account of his time as a governor in Iraq; and Politics on the Edge, a memoir of his parliamentary career spanning 2010-2019. In government he served in various positions, including Prisons Minister, and in 2019 was a frontrunner for the Conservative leadership contest won by Boris Johnson, of whom Stewart remains a critic. He has also written travel books, The Marches and The Places in Between. Since 2022 he has co-hosted, with Alastair Campbell, the immensely successful podcast “The Rest is Politics”. Cherwell sat down with him to discuss his opinions on the US election, populism, the Starmer government, the prison system, and his personal goals for the future

Cherwell: Was there anything in your early life which foreshadowed your later career? 

Stewart: I was very interested in travelling when I was young. A lot of my strongest memories are of spending time, for example, in Borneo when I was eleven, and again in Malaysia when I was eight, and Thailand when I was fifteen, and in Xinjiang, China when I was sixteen or seventeen. They had a deep impact on me. I have boys who are seven and ten and we’ve just been travelling in Afghanistan together, and I’ve been very struck there by getting a sense of what they notice and what they do and don’t notice. One thing that’s very striking is how attractive jungles and rainforests are. Watching my seven-year-old walk along the paths and watch the birds, tress, flowers and nuts, reminded me a lot of being that age. 

Cherwell: When you were nineteen you came up to Balliol. Do you have a memorable tutorial moment from your undergraduate years? 

Stewart: I had a tutor called Martin Conway who was a History tutor at Balliol. I remember very strongly doing the Spanish Civil War with him, and realising that the story of why Franco won the war was almost a village-by-village, town-by-town story. It was almost a question of a million tiny events, almost unpredictable flips, 51-49, in tiny communities that won it. We often forget that looking back at history. We imagine there are big single causes driving things. It struck me how often these are often close-run things, how they are very contingent, and how the great causes are things that we read back into them. I feel that way about the US election at the moment. It’s very tempting to say, This result is because of two or three main things, but what strikes me is that it’s 70 million people and individual minds in each ballot, with a wide variety of knowledge and beliefs. The process of simplification in history is misleading. It’s one of the things that made me change from History to Philosophy at Oxford. I became very confused by what it really meant to as a question like “What were the causes of the First World War?” It seemed to me that almost every event which preceded the First World War was a cause of it. 

Cherwell: What did you think of the Oxford Union? 

Stewart: I didn’t like the Oxford Union, not my kind of thing, no. 

Cherwell: Did you read Cherwell? 

Stewart: I did, I enjoyed reading Cherwell, yes. 

Cherwell: You’ve mentioned that you attended a Bullingdon Club event once. How was that? 

Stewart: I didn’t like it, I didn’t like the tone of it. I don’t know what it’s like now but, then, the feeling seemed aggressive towards other people. It seemed as though the club members were setting themselves out to shout at people who weren’t at the club. That wasn’t something that made me comfortable or want to continue to remain a member. 

Cherwell: Since graduating, which has been your favourite of the careers you’ve pursued, and why? 

Stewart: Certainly running Turquoise Mountain in Afghanistan. It was something which had an intimiacy, a scale, a concreteness, a practicality which I’ve never really found elsewhere? 

Cherwell: On your time governing in Iraq, which you detail in Occupational Hazards, and your support for intervention in Afghanistan: What’s your response to the argument that Britain and the West really don’t have a place interfering with and occupying these countries? 

Stewart: My response is that we need to get a balance. Iraq and Afghanistan were humiliating messes. They were examples of extreme overintervention, hubris, and totally unrealistic attempts at nation-building. But I felt in my earlier career in Bosnia and Kosova, that it was possible for the West to intervene, to prevent wars, and to create more peaceful and secure situations for people. A world in which the West overintervenes is a bad world; a world in which the West does nothing is an even worse world. The fantasies of people who thought that Trump isolationism or Biden withdrawal from Afghanistan would lead to a more peaceful or prosperous world have been misplaced, as we can see in Ukraine, the Middle East, and Sudan. 

Cherwell: After your time abroad, you were in Parliament between 2010-19, years of which you give a very vivid description in Politics on the Edge. What was your aim with the book, why did you decide to write it after leaving Parliament? 

Stewart: I felt that one of the ways to understand Boris Johnson and Donald Trump and the rise of populism was to understand the nature of politics, to make people feel what it’s like as a day-to-day life. The kinds of things that get people promoted, the priorities of politicians, the way they talk to the public, the lifestyle that they live. If you want to understand why a police, you take people into the squadron and make people see the detective sitting at their desk. If you see want to see how politics goes wrong, you’ve got to take them into the tearoom. 

Cherwell: On populism, you mention in your theory of it in the preface to the book. What do you think is the nature, significance, and threat of populism in the UK and across the world? 

Stewart: It’s got three elements. One is individual policy. In Trump’s case, a policy could be mass deportation of illegal immigrants, 11 million people rounded up by SWAT teams and pushed across the border. The second thing is a worldview. In his case, a worldview about authoritarianism, isolation, and protectionism. The third thing is a tone of politics, an attitude towards your opponents, a way of speaking. You can imagine having a firm view on immigration without using the kinds of demonising, aggressive, scatological references that populists often employ. You can see this following Trump’s election. There’s no sense of a graceful victory, only a sense of people who, having won, now wish to trample on their opponents. 

Cherwell: On what grounds did you clash with the government over COVID policy in 2020? 

Stewart: I believe the government should have locked down earlier and lifted the restrictions earlier. Boris Johnson was very slow to react to events in Italy, very slow to embrace masks. He allowed things like the Cheltenham races to go ahead. I found myself in a difficult position where I was attacked by younger ministers when I pointed out the necessity for taking precautions and acting quickly. 

Cherwell: After Parliament you’ve become known for the Rest is Politics podcast. Is that the kind of thing you’ve always wanted to do and how did it come about? 

Stewart: It came about by accident. Alastair Campbell did an Instagram live looking for someone to do a podcast with him. This process generated my name. We did it as an experiment, imagining that we would record half-a-dozen shows, and people would listen as they might listen to half-a-dozen radio shows. We certainly didn’t imagine that this thing would become almost the dominant theme in our lives. We’re now better known as podcasters than anything else, and probably half my week is spent engaged in this act of podcasting. It began as something I thought I could do for an hour a week for six weeks while writing my book. 

Cherwell: Another process which generated your name was the Oxford Chancellorship election. You would have had a good chance of winning, so why didn’t you run? 

Stewart: It’s a question of getting a sense of what stage you are in your life, what sort of role it is, how much good you can do in it, how suited you are to it. It’s not an executive position, you’re more like a non-executive chair of a board of government. I think that can be frustrating particularly if, like me, you’re at a stage in your life when you quite like getting your hands dirty. The risk for me was that I’d get excited about trying to change things, then find out that wasn’t what the role was about. 

Cherwell: Would you run in the future? 

Stewart: I don’t know. We’ll see.  

Cherwell: Are you backing a candidate? 

Stewart: Not at the moment. I’m friends with William Hague and Dominic Grieve but I haven’t thrown my weight behind them. 

Cherwell: What have you made of Keir Starmer’s term in office so far? Highlights? Lows? 

Stewart: The highlight is that they pulled off a budget which, for better or worse, had content. It was bold and big – a lot of borrowing, taxation, spending – and consistent with their essential criticism of the Conservatives which is that they hadn’t spend enough, in other words austerity. That is the centrepoint, the highlight. The question is, Are there enough ideas behind their vision of growth? The growth projected from that budget is pretty pathetic. I would like to see them being bolder around AI, tech, investment, planning and infrastructure development. It still feels a bit defeatist. 

Cherwell: This summer the government was forced to release prisoners early. As a former Prisons Minister, do you think this was necessary, could it have been averted, and what could be done to prevent a repeat of it? 

Stewart: It was inevitable given that the Conservative government and the Labour opposition had conspired to keep increasing sentence length and introducing new offences and new sentences. Britain already has more people in prison per head than most European countries – fewer than the US – and that’s because we lock people up for longer periods. The reason prisons get full is about long sentence lengths. In effect, by increasing somebody’s sentence from two to four years, you’re effectively doubling the number of prison places being taken. I would suggest that we are approaching it in the wrong way. We need much better community sentences. Generally, putting people in prison isn’t good for the prisoner or for society. Prison should be reserved for extreme crimes where it’s necessary to put someone in prison to protect the public. When I was Prisons Minister we still had people in prison for not paying their TV licence or council tax. It’s ridiculous. 

Cherwell: Turning to the US, I know that you were very confident that Kamala Harris would win. Firstly, how much did you bet on her winning? Secondly, why do you think that she lost? 

Stewart: I bet more than I want to admit on her winning. As for why she lost, I don’t think any of us can know exactly why somebody wins or loses because it is 70 million people in a secret ballot. There are 70 million reasons she lost. What really matters  is that there are 300,000 reasons why she lost, which is the key margin in Pensylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan. 90% of Trump’s vote is, straightforwardly, Republican voters voting Republican. The question is, What are the additional numbers which increased Trump’s vote from last time and led to the Democratic vote’s collapse? There, I think that the mystery is not that Kamala Harris lost, but that someone like Trump – who is so manifestly unsuited to be President – should win, and should win a second time. You can imagine people make the mistake once. But to do it again after the January 6th insurrection, after he’s been convicted of felonies, after all that he has revealed about his character, suggests that a certain portion of the population has so completely lost faith in the old liberal-democratic processes, the old models of leadership, the open global system, in markets and economics, that they’ve resorted to a hand-grenade to throw against the world. That brings you to the nature of social media, the 2008 financial crisis, the messes in Iraq and Afghanistan, the rise of China – these are the reasons for the emergence of this new mood. It’s startling. You can explain it away as much as you want, but it doesn’t make it any less shocking or world-changing. 

Cherwell: What contemporary or historical figure do you find yourself most in sympathy with in politics? 

Stewart: [long pause] I’m intrigued by people like Pete Buttigieg in the US. I’m very interested in the strengths and weaknesses of Emmanuel Macron, why that experiment didn’t quite work. I’m intrigued by the ways Rishi Sunak got things wrong; he’s obviously a bright, hard-working, diligent person who somehow was lacking something. We live in an odd political moment where it’s difficult to match character and ability for a role. The media and the voters seem to want figures who seem to be quite unsuitable, creating an atmosphere that favours the Boris Johnsons, the Trumps, the Farages, in rather odd ways. 

Cherwell: Final question: What are your plans for the future? A political comeback? More books? 

Stewart: In the short-term another book. I’ve been experimenting with a novel, set in the 1940s. I’ve thought of writing about geopolitics or about ideas of heroes through time. 

The students working to tackle homelessness

Subhan Aslam
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The students working to tackle homelessness

When walking into Magdalen Street Tesco for a meal deal, sweet treat, or cheap bottle of wine, you’re always met with that polite request: any spare change? Homelessness in Oxford is unignorable. It’s an odd sensation to be at one of the richest universities in the world, whose city nonetheless has so many people in need of help.

As a student at Exeter, it is commonplace to see a scrappy piece of paper in the kitchen which reads “TSHA Do not Touch!”. Most of us don’t really know what they do but you assume it’s something good, so we leave the various pot noodles and tins of soup alone. Look further, however, and you’ll see a student movement dedicated to helping tackle homelessness in Oxford. Euan, a second year medic at St John’s, is treasurer of Turl Street Homeless Action and spoke to me about how he got involved with the charity. He felt confronted with the “harsh reality” of homelessness “almost every day and it made [him] want to try and do something to help”. 

TSHA has three main functions: bringing hot drinks, food, and hygiene products to those sleeping rough; providing company and offering a listening ear for those who want it; and bridging the divide between students and the homeless community. Euan told me how on his first shift he released “how insular and inward-looking this University can be”. We walk past those that are struggling on a daily basis and the vast majority of us happily go back to our grandiose dining halls for a warm meal without a second thought. We treat Oxford as our campus, ignoring the fact that we’re temporary residents of a city which isn’t just chapels, quads, and college bars. 

People start working with TSHA for a number of reasons and stay once they realise just how important their work can be. On my first shift I met Tony, a second year lawyer at St Hilda’s, for whom working with TSHA was simply “a nice break from reading”. Jack, third year historian at St Hugh’s, ended up becoming president of the society all initially as he was “bored in first year”. Unassuming motivations leading to noteworthy actions. 

TSHA has come a long way in recent years. Ivan, a third year physicist at Exeter, said when he started as a fresher, they would struggle to get 2 or 3 shifts out a week, but now they were happening pretty much daily. Another long-term volunteer spoke about how “this is the strongest the society has been in my 3 years volunteering”. There’s now an active community of volunteers and groups like Oxford University Islamic Society (ISOC) or the University rugby team (OURFC) come in to do regular shifts too.

Given the eagerness to help I was curious to learn why this wasn’t always the case. A volunteer told me when they started “there was no real publicity, and it was tough to see how to get involved”. The new committee understood these problems and with a proactive attitude have generated a real buzz. They revamped the social media, cleaned up the finances, and for the first time hosted a stall at freshers fair which was very successful. For secretary Ruby, fourth year engineer at Hertford, their “focus is getting people out every night”.

There are a number of regulars that TSHA visits, and on my second shift we met a group of them. Half a dozen mattresses pushed up against a wall, the people on them packed close together. We gave them socks, hot drinks, pot noodles, chocolate bars, and wipes, everything received with the utmost gratitude.

As we started packing our stuff away you couldn’t help but look up at the shimmering lights of the Westgate roof terrace, where just a few months ago a restaurant serving a £50 set menu with £30 worth of wine pairings was opened to great fanfare. There was an almost cinematic cruelty to the whole scene which made it hard for me to not feel angry at such stark inequality. TSHA is not a campaigning group, but their student society status means they can ask for money from college JCRs easily. This makes them a bit of a Robin Hood organisation. Taking from the rich the University and giving it to the poor of Oxford.

Homelessness is on the rise. In Autumn 2023 there were 46 people sleeping rough in Oxford, up from 27 in 2022. The seriousness of the issue is not to be understated as between 2021 and 2023 there were a recorded 27 deaths of homeless people in Oxfordshire. With this in mind, getting involved with TSHA seems like a no-brainer. As Ruby puts it, “You can do one shift and never again or do weekly shifts, it is really up to you”.

Just a couple hours spent walking around Oxford, pouring hot chocolates for people who need them, and asking them how their day has been. Maybe even talking about how music was better ‘back in the day’ and bonding over your love for Bowie, T. Rex, and The Doors outside the covered market.  

As students we often walk around wearing our college puffers with our heads held high, but it is looking down that gives you a sense of the reality of homelessness for many in Oxford. Even with no spare change to give, a spare evening can make a huge difference. 

Union votes ‘no’ on rules changes following mass resignations and a speaker walkout

Cherwell News and Investigations Section Editors
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Union votes ‘no’ on rules changes following mass resignations and a speaker walkout

Following weeks of infighting that led to a speaker’s walkout, the Oxford Union held a referendum yesterday on a set of rule changes. With 283 votes in favour and 325 votes against, the constitutional amendments did not pass.

Thus far into the term, racism allegations have been volleyed, two Returning Officers were elected with contested legitimacy, multiple top-ranking students resigned, and speaker Lord Heseltine walked out of a debate – attracting national media attention. With the Union deeply divided between two factions and the president’s position called into question, here’s a developing timeline of what happened.

The lead-up to this year

Current president Ebrahim Osman Mowafy was elected at the end of Hilary Term last year but was later disqualified from the role of President-elect in tribunal proceedings. He alleged that the tribunals were “racist” and “Islamophobic”.

Toward the end of Trinity Term, Osman Mowafy and three ex-presidents of colour signed a letter alleging that Union tribunals have been “disproportionately targeting individuals from non-traditional backgrounds”. The Union’s three governing committees – Consultative Committee, Standing Committee, and Secretary’s Committee – each passed a motion declaring the Union “institutionally racist”. Over a dozen committee members also threatened to resign over Osman Mowafy’s disqualification. He was reinstated as president by an Appellate Board at the beginning of summer.

Rules changes proposed

At the centre of Osman Mowafy’s allegations was the group of officers in charge of rules and elections – Returning Officers – colloquially known as RO World. The president’s faction believed the RO World had no oversight nor democracy: They were not required to be recused in a conflict of interest, and new ROs were selected from a pool of Deputy Returning Officers (DROs) in a process overseen by the previous RO.

Thus the term kicked off with Osman Mowafy, President-Elect Israr Khan, and their supporters pushing for 130 pages of constitutional changes that primarily aimed to reform the RO World. While the old rules stipulated a conclave would elect an RO from a pool of eight DROs, the new rules increased the number of DROs to 12 and gave electoral power to the Standing Committee.

Another controversial change states that the president will no longer be automatically resigned for failing to attend Access Committee meetings. Opponents criticised this as detracting from the Union’s commitment to accessibility. Other changes include opening up the Union for longer and reversing the ban on online campaigning.

At the Week 1 Debate, Osman Mowafy introduced the changes with a tearful speech to the chamber, which voted by voice – a method that was criticised for its ambiguity due to the large number of non-members present during the Union’s open period. The chamber voted in favour; however, the outgoing RO posted a notice that the changes could not be validly passed.

A tale of two constitutions

Now divided over two different versions of the constitution – one with the changes and one without – the Union saw weeks of heated arguments in committee meetings. The president’s faction blocked several students from becoming DROs, amongst them Russell Kwok. 

The contention also spilled over to public debates. In Week 2, Kwok accused Osman Mowafy of alleging that Kwok was “racist by association”. A spokesperson for the president said that the term was never attributed to the president but in fact has only been used by members of “RO world.

The social events officer at that time, Shermar Pryce, also accused Osman Mowafy of being in a room where his friend called Pryce a “coconut” and allegedly downplaying the term’s racism. A spokesperson for the president said that the allegations are “baseless and politically motivated”.

By Week 3, the faction operating under the old rules had elected Kwok as the new RO. At an emergency meeting the next day, the president’s faction disputed Kwok’s legitimacy and struck three more students from the list of DROs. Days later, the president’s faction elected Mohammad Zulfiqar RO under the new rules. As such, the Union had two ROs, each abiding by  a different version of the constitutions.

Opponents of Zulfiqar have criticised his lack of experience: He only matriculated this term. The subsequent string of removals also meant that the Union’s leadership shifted to students with comparatively less experience in the organisation. Two experienced students, Chair of Consultative Committee Noah Robson and Librarian Aryan Dhanwan, were also among multiple resignations, both citing discontent with the current governance and environment. A spokesperson for the president said the new RO world is chosen to include “a diverse range of legally experienced individuals” who are uninvolved with the old system to avoid bias.

Voice, membership cards, division, and poll

In a rare moment of definitiveness toward the start of Week 4, the Oxford Literary and Debating Union Charity Trust (OLDUT), which owns the Union buildings and manages finances, declared that the rules changes were not validly passed, and that meetings held under the new rules did not count.

As a result the president’s faction presented the rules changes again in the Week 4 debate. After the two sides spent over ten minutes arguing whether to have an argument, the House voted to indeed have an argument. 

A contest of lung capacity proved inconclusive, so students voted by count of membership cards in favour of the amendments. However, the opposition faction called for a “Division of the House”, which required every member to walk through the chamber doors either under “aye” or “nay” to vote. The chamber voted in favour of the rules changes 204 to 46 after a slow trundling process.

Yet this did not conclude the saga, as Oliver JL of the opposition faction requested a vote by “poll” conditional upon gathering enough signatures. By gathering sufficient signatures, they put the amendments to a referendum – what Union members were called to vote on.

Kashmir: A vote of no confidence

At Week 5’s debate, around two dozen gathered outside the Union with posters and chants to protest the motion “This House Believes in an independent state of Kashmir”. They told Cherwell that they object to the two proposition speakers — Dr Muzzamil Ayyub Thakur and Professor Zafar Khan — whom they alleged have anti-Hindu terrorism links. A member inside the chamber launched a vote of no confidence against the president.

Zafar Khan chairs the “diplomatic bureau” of the Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF),  an organisation that is currently designated an “unlawful association” by the Indian government. JKLF was a militant organisation throughout the 1980s; however, the organisation has renounced violence and has been calling for peaceful methods. Thakur leads the World Kashmir Freedom Movement (WKFM), an incorporated UK company founded by his father who was accused by the Indian government of spying for Pakistani intelligence. He has previously been booked by the Indian government under the ‘Unlawful Activities Prevention Act’.

Neither JKLF nor WKFM are on the list of UK proscribed terrorist organisations. A spokesperson for the president said: “It would be wholly unreasonable to claim that either speaker has credible anti-Hindu terrorism links.”

Osman Mowafy wrote in a statement: “This motion against me raises questions about the Union’s future as a space for free and open debate on important topics…It is a challenge to the essence of this society, to the right of every President who comes after me to lead with courage and integrity, without fear of backlash for debating the issues that need to be heard.”

Public reception

In a messy and emotional few weeks, both sides have accused the other of racism, undemocratic practices, and derailing debates. Week 4’s debate propelled internal politics into national media after the night’s star speaker Lord Heseltine – who at age 91 is the oldest Union ex-president – walked out, calling the “hijacked” debate “disgraceful”. Week 5’s debate also attracted protests and international media attention.

Within the University, the drama frequents Instagram accounts, student media, and Oxfess. Some members voiced their disinterest in the constitution and that they only want the debates. Amongst non-members, one student expressed amusement at phrasing such as “goons”, while another wrote on Oxfess that “the Union needs to learn that its relevance is contained entirely within its walls x”.

Abolish the high table

Madelina Gordon
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Abolish the high table

This is an article about class. About the class system. And Oxford.

Recently, my mum came to visit Oxford. Predictably so, I took her to a formal dinner. We ate our meal in a cavernous, candlelit hall, and she was amazed by the pomp and performance of it all. I, equally, felt enlightened by her presence. Watching someone foreign to Oxford experience this paradigm of the university’s culture spurred my own self-reflexivity.

The high table walked in, forming a long, straggly line and taking their mighty fine time getting up the two steps to the stage. Most of the heads sitting down at the table were balding, grey, and white. We jovially ate our meal, occasionally looking up at the backs of those sitting ‘above’ us. Despite being elevated to an impressive vantage point over the hall, most high-table-ers were far more concentrated on their pheasant than us plebs below them.

There was a man with Down Syndrome on the high table; he was the only one of them who actually did engage with the rest of us. He not only stepped down to the lower level, actually leaving the high table to speak with others, but he also disarmed all he chatted to, table hopping and striking conversations.

Towards the end of the dinner, whilst people not on the high table were still busily eating their desserts, the gavel was banged, chairs were scraped back, and the high table tottered out of the hall as unceremoniously as they walked in. The lights went on, and staff immediately started imploring the rest of us to leave. A visiting student next to me, mid ice cream scoop to the mouth, asked why it’s always the case that formal dinners ended so abruptly (and admittedly, long before the majority had finished eating). I explained woefully that alas, it was because the high table received their meals first, ate first, were finished first, and therefore were ready to get up and go first. And of course, they were the only diners of relevance in the hall; when they’re done, everyone is done.

As the line of high table diners shuffled out of the hall, they talked amongst themselves, not once looking down to clock our faces staring up at them. The same man who had been so friendly during the meal was the only one of the high table diners who took the time to engage with the room. He smiled and waved at everyone standing to watch, and got many waves and smiles in return. 

It is interesting that a single neurodivergent attitude – one of friendliness and positivity – was enough to truly shine a light on the absurdity of the high table tradition.

The high table has its origins in the 13th century, a time where class was the formidable front-runner of social stratification systems. In the Middle Ages, the table was designated for fellows, faculty, and ‘distinguished’ guests, with students at the tables below them. Back then, the dining arrangement reflected the academic hierarchy in colleges. Indeed, the elevated high table represented a reverence for educators. This, I think, is understandable.

Today, however, using physical hierarchy to command respect for those who teach us seems slightly out-moded. Why? Maybe it’s because the esteem in which academics are held, as custodians of knowledge, has slowly worn down as knowledge has become more accessible in the era of the internet. For the most part, most of us now couldn’t tell one academic on the high table from the other, and only know a handful of them. But maybe there’s something more that makes the high table feel a bit off. Maybe it’s because the hierarchy of academia it represents hits a bit too close to home. A bit too close to the bitter sentiment in British society towards class domination.

The class system in England is still deep and entrenched. Yet, this entrenchment exists alongside an awareness of, and increasing commitment to, eliminating class barriers. For the amount of emphasis placed on increasing access and opportunity at Oxford, the continuation of the high table tradition sits in striking contrast. This paradox implies that Oxford has embraced the most limited of revisions: we’ll admit a few more people who we once wouldn’t have, but once you’re in, hierarchy and privilege remain as operational as ever.

I think the contradictions at play are what I am seeking to point out. Can Oxford seek to improve access, diversity, and equality whilst it retains traditions that are both symbolic microcosms and physical reconstructions of hierarchy? Barriers into Oxford receive a lot of attention. I don’t think the same can be said of the many exclusive institutions you become accustomed to once you’re in. As access improves, albeit slowly, we might be coming closer and closer to the time where what’s going on behind college walls is reassessed. The relics of an oppressive class system that still stand alarmingly tall in Oxford would be first in line for the chopping block.

A high table, raised above a mass of diners, translates privilege differentials into a literal, physical, and visible hierarchical relationship. All there is to lose from removing high tables is a legacy of exclusion. 

A case for the EDI training I forgot about

Ellen Roper
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A case for the EDI training I forgot about

With everything Freshers’ week has to offer, the University’s Equality, Diversity and Inclusion (EDI) trainings risk being overwhelmed. Even so, they should be welcomed.

The session itself was fairly simple. There were a few slides on why EDI matters and what forms it takes at the University, while most of the training was focused on a handful of hypothetical case studies. In small groups, students were encouraged to consider what to do about a sexist tutor, or fellow students making antisemitic comments at lunch. Everyone seemed engaged in friendly, if slightly awkward discussion. Uneventful, but enjoyable, as far as these kinds of sessions go.

And yet, when I first saw this commission, I had forgotten that this training ever even happened. I suspect the experience also got lost in the whirlwind of freshers’ week for those less forgetful than me. 

Whatever the context, an hour-long briefing will hardly change one’s habits. Those who are used to being proactive in these situations won’t learn much, while those who would benefit from the content can easily tune out. 

Is there any point to these sessions, then, besides making the University look better on paper? The true impact seems almost impossible to quantify. Still, in a word, I would say yes.

First, the problem of discrimination is made explicit, harder to brush off as simply ‘the way things are’. Even those who are not personally affected might be more likely to take notice of problematic behaviour. 

Second, the sessions might just spark empathy in unique ways. One of the scenarios featured two imaginary countries in need of aid: one (seemingly) Western, the other a Muslim-majority country. Highlighting human experiences is better than nothing amidst relentless polarisation. 

My own key takeaway was to react with more empathy towards ‘offenders’. With students from radically diverse personal contexts, not all missteps are ill-intended, and an open question might be much more constructive than an angry confrontation.

Most importantly, the training legitimises action – seeking third party help or speaking out in a problematic situation is clearly condoned, even if the specifics of what to say or who to approach are lost in the general haze of Freshers’ week. 

At present, EDI trainings are a mere nod in the right direction. Even this is much better than looking the other way.

The Oxford Union: How to break the rules

Anon
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The Oxford Union: How to break the rules

How does one successfully get away with breaking the rules? The Oxford Union’s recent antics provide an elegant solution: sack everybody who could get in the way.

If you’ve recently stepped foot into the Union, you undoubtedly will have noticed a consistent air of discontent: from freshers to speakers, hundreds of visitors have expressed dissatisfaction at debates being derailed by student politics, and internal officials are being removed every few days. The early weeks of Michaelmas are usually the debating society’s most profitable, yet this term’s membership drive has been comparably underwhelming. Clearly, the institution’s recent record is rife with widespread incompetence, symptomatic of its ineffective and oppressive leadership.

President Ebrahim Osman-Mowafy seemingly could not have asked for a more united house near the start of term. As the candidate who inspired a walkout after being disqualified in Trinity, he detailed his disappointment in the Union’s Returning Officer and other electoral workers (colloquially referred to as ‘RO world’) in a speech before the term’s first debate. Proposing a list of rule changes that would reduce the power of ‘RO world’ and make the Union “more democratic,” President Osman-Mowafy passed the reforms through the house via a voice vote (the debating chamber yelled ‘aye’ louder than ‘no’).

A series of intense procedural disputes ensued, with Committee members trading claims of rule-breaking and invalidation. For one, the debacle took place during the Union’s open week, thus many of the voters were not even members of the society. Moreover, President Osman-Mowafy refused to hear selected objections against the reforms – for a society treasuring free speech, this displayed a great lack of self-awareness. Despite his claims that he has acted procedurally throughout, the rules change was recently reversed after a decision by the Oxford Literary and Debating Union Charity Trust (OLDUT), which owns much of the Union buildings and manages donations; this decision by OLDUT was directly acknowledged by Standing Committee. It is painfully clear that this was not some attempt to validly pass constitutional reform, but rather a planned exploitation of non-members in order to illegitimately force through overarching rules.

With the illusion of a new constitution in place, our President made no attempt to heed the Returning Officer’s warnings that his actions largely consisted of constitutional breaches and abuses of power. This was most blatantly exhibited the following week, when the appointment of electoral officials grew increasingly sour. Procedurally, applications for Deputy Returning Officer may only be struck if concerns are raised regarding their capability: this was not the case for three applicants who were struck without justifiable explanation, after not being allowed to defend themselves. That same week, three Deputy Returning Officers were later sacked on grounds of being “unfit, unwilling, or unable” to perform their duties, also without justification.

One might argue that perhaps this institutional reshuffling is rooted in good intentions, but this belief crumbles after a brief look at our new electoral team. Of the 12 Deputy Returning Officers appointed by Standing Committee, only three have worked in Union elections before, with five terms of experience between them; the six officials who were removed had a total of 18 such terms. Our new Returning Officer is a newcomer who matriculated mere weeks ago. The integrity of our elections and disciplinary proceedings now depend on Standing Committee’s handpicked appointees, largely selected out of friendship, rather than merit.

A culture of fear has festered across Union committees, following the removal or resignation of numerous officers: the Chair of Consultative Committee (a senior logistical role) recently resigned, citing a “depressingly toxic and hostile” atmosphere within the Union. Last week, the Librarian (among the officers, second in seniority only to the President) also announced his resignation, before engaging in a heated discussion against the President regarding the rules change. 

It was Harold Macmillan who deemed the Oxford Union “the last bastion of free speech”. He’d be direly disappointed to learn that critics and electoral workers are being removed without explanation or pressured into resignation.

All three debates this term have now been delayed by Private Business, wherein the President has been challenged on his new rules. He accuses his questioners of attempting to delay debates, but things are not so insultingly simple. With committee members being quietly removed, it is only in the debating chamber that the President can be held to accountability. Amid this week’s questions, a division was called; this required the entire house to leave the chamber, including the speakers, in order to conduct a vote. The last time a debate was delayed by a division was two years ago, under a President who soon resigned.

President Osman-Mowafy attempted to change the rules in order to ensure that he no longer had to attend Access Committee meetings, which operate solely to help the Union meet the physical, financial, and personal needs of all members. Due to the poor distribution of the rule changes, most members are conveniently unaware that the President has shifted his own responsibilities. To believe that the Union’s leadership is entirely honest requires naïveté beyond measure.

In his manifesto, President Osman-Mowafy pledged to make the Union more ‘transparent’, yet he refused to recognise that his reforms were invalid. He promised that the society would be more ‘accountable’, yet he has had numerous critics sacked. He vowed to ensure that the Union was more ‘engaging’, yet his tenure has produced disappointing membership numbers. His term as President has been marred by what is at best continued incompetence, and at worst, a knowing disregard for the society’s rules, history and members. Osman-Mowafy has taken advantage of votes by non-members, illegitimately removed opponents from roles, refused to publicly answer questions, contradicted the judgement of the trustees, and surrounded himself with personal appointees. He is a man who has fostered an environment of hostility to keep his critics silenced. It is thus the unwavering belief of this writer that President Ebrahim Osman-Mowafy must resign.

The myth of woke universities

Maya Heuer-Evans
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The myth of woke universities

In June 2023, the Conservatives created a new director of freedom of speech at the Office for Students. This innovation spoke to the success of a particularly widespread idea: that universities were hotbeds of ‘wokeism’ (defined, tiresomely, in vague gestures towards Marxism and identity politics) where controversial opinions were subject to censure. Since then, the notion of ‘woke universities’ biased against conservatism has been undermined by the legal and police action used against the encampments which were established across the country last summer in solidarity with the Palestinian cause. In a climate where students and administration are increasingly at odds, does the idea of ‘woke universities’ still hold? And, indeed, did it ever, or was it largely the construction of the right-wing press and politicians as a convenient enemy for the waging of their culture wars?

A cursory Google of ‘woke university’ will yield results mainly from 2020 to 2022. In the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests which followed George Floyd’s murder, universities initiated various inquests, programmes and research projects to uncover their colonial inheritances. The University of Bristol, for example, embarked on an inquiry which culminated last year in the reparative pledging of £10 million to address current inequalities. At the same moment, the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge held an exhibition detailing the institutions’ links to enslavement. These developments, echoed to varying degrees across the country, spoke to an increase in public awareness of Britain’s history of exploitation.

It was not, though, only these advances which gained universities their ‘woke’ status from the conservative crowd. Originally from African-American Vernacular English, ‘woke’ is literally a synonym for awake, used specifically in the context of being alert to social injustices. ‘Woke universities’, by this definition, should refer to any that are actively seeking to rectify their institutional wrongs and imbue a new generation of scholars with emphasis upon respect, equality and active allyship.

However, by 2022 a study by King’s College London found that more people understood the term as an insult than compliment. It was this derogatory sense invoked by conservatives like Braverman, who kept ‘woke’ ill-defined and ubiquitous enough to be a convenient descriptor for any and all potential scapegoats. The ‘woke universities’ of the press became 1984-esque caricatures of censorship, where academic freedom was suppressed and the brave individuals who dared speak out were ‘de-platformed’. In fact, university administrations continued to profess their commitment to open discourse, one that was clearly felt by students, given that 86% of those surveyed by the Office for Students in August 2023 said they felt free to express their opinion. To give a recent domestic example, Oxford’s Vice Chancellor Irene Tracey just announced a new ‘colloquium’ designed to foster conversation between polarised opinions.

There may have existed a broad consensus within students themselves and between undergraduates and executive bodies on this principle of open conversation, but a division in attitude towards action is observable. Take de-platforming, for example. Boycotts have typically been student-led decisions, not to censor hateful speech, but to prevent its promotion.These were rarely the life-altering acts of censorship they were made out to be, for this would have required administrative interference. The 2020 rejection of Selina Todd from the National Women’s Liberation Conference on the grounds of transphobia had no effect on her ongoing professorship at St Hilda’s, for example. These deplatformings were not a ‘left-wing’ only phenomenon, either. Conservative Science Minister Michelle Donelan, for instance, called for the cessation of all ties between UK Research and Innovation and Professor Kate Sang of Heriot Watt University in 2023 after Sang reposted a Guardian article Donelan took to be pro-Hamas. Examples like this involve far more tenuous evidence, and far more career-altering repercussions, than the action taken by progressive students above—precisely because they are made by administrative figures.

The gulf between administrative opinion and student activism evident in the two groups’ approach to no-platforming, so often ignored by the commentators who reduce universities to a monolith of opinion, was significantly widened by the war on Gaza. At the peak of encampment activity in May, there were 36 bases modelled off those in US Colleges, against which university administrations took increasingly antagonistic measures, including High Court appeals for permits to clear out those involved. The barriers adorning the outer Radcliffe Camera, and the pre-arrival mass emails which stressed the need to ‘express ourselves through civil debate, regardless of our views on events that are taking place’ clearly articulate this new tension within the university structure.

Does the last year mark the death of the university as a protector and outlet for calls against social injustice? There is room for optimism here. Administrative action is not always indicative of ideology; financial and practical pressures are ever-increasing, with consequences particularly for humanities degrees in which working class and BAME students are over-represented. And it is important here to remember that universities are not solely represented by their administration. The divide between executive bodies and students hampers any attempt to categorise whole institutions into woke or non-woke.

Given these complexities, it’s safe to say that the idea of ‘woke universities’ is largely a reactionist creation of the right wing. Problematised beyond easy deployment by the controversies surrounding Palestinian action, the label has largely faded from the current toolkit of commentators, and deserves to be relegated to the past entirely. Focus has instead shifted to specific university courses – particularly those ‘Mickey Mouse’ degrees – as if in tacit acknowledgement that it is now difficult to see universities as united bodies monopolised by a particular group and ideology. The potential for universities to be progressive sites, alive to social injustice and actively schooling staff and students towards its elimination remains. That hope, though, will require re-negotiation of the relationship between mainstream student opinion and university government.

The Breakfast Club: Bringing the mid to midday

Amanda Li
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The Breakfast Club: Bringing the mid to midday

Brunch is a particular love of mine. Between the poached eggs at Brasenose brunch, the coconut pancakes at The Handle Bar Cafe, and huevos rancheros at the Oxford Brunch Bar, there is no shortage of weekend brunch options in Oxford. So when my boyfriend and I decided to have a quick brunch date at the Westgate, we decided to try The Breakfast Club. The place is a UK-wide chain, based on American breakfast and brunch food. Though we came for breakfast, there was a lunch menu that seemed to be decent as well. 

The place was packed, and we were sat at a table with another couple; it wasn’t a bad environment. The peppy music was bright and breakfast-y, though the HP sauce and full English breakfast served as a reminder of what country we were in. I debated getting the avocado toast, but we eventually decided on eggs royale, blueberry and bacon pancakes, with some French toast sticks to share.  Their raspberry maple syrup lemonade was intriguing, and I enjoyed the tanginess of the raspberry and lemon, though you couldn’t really taste the maple as much besides just sweetening the drink. The food took a while – about twenty-five to thirty minutes for it to arrive. I admit that they were busy, so it was just a little bit annoying. The food arrived all together, and it certainly looked good. The taste and texture was something different. 

It is so easy to make pancakes too dry, and this place was no exception. The portions were fine, but there was not enough syrup to cover how dry and floury they were. The bacon was perfectly crunchy, and the blueberries helped add some flavor and add some moisture, but the bits without blueberries just tasted like I was eating flour even with butter and syrup added. The French toast (eggy bread for the Brits) was fine, but could do with a bit more even distribution of the egg and maybe some cinnamon and nutmeg to add some flavor besides sweetness. I found that £5.75 for a thick piece of toast cut into strips was definitely not worth it. The eggs royale, though a whopping £16.95, was not bad. The sourdough was high quality and perfectly toasted, and the egg was runny and seasoned well. The ratios of each ingredient were great, and they didn’t skimp out on the salmon. The hollandaise still was a bit lacking in something acidic.

Our biggest issue, though, was the price. Including the surprise 12.5% service charge, our breakfast was £50. I’m not kidding. My bank account will not recover. I wouldn’t spend that amount of money on a dinner, let alone a brunch, when BNC brunch is £5. Besides the eggs royale, which could theoretically be justified, the quality of the dish did not match the prices. Most independent brunch places are cheaper if not better tasting – the eggs royale at the Art Cafe are £3 less than here, and the bacon pancakes at the Oxford Brunch Bar a whopping £5 less. Skip this place and try them instead.

Red flags or human flaws: Has university dating culture forgotten what it means to love someone warts and all?

Ciara Beale
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Red flags or human flaws: Has university dating culture forgotten what it means to love someone warts and all?

Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that I am chronically on the Channel 4 website watching reality TV dating shows. Celebs Go Dating, Married at First Sight, First Dates (my favourite, and my last resort if I’m still single by 30): you name it, I’ve watched it. By their very nature, they require a certain amount of box-ticking. First Dates asks singles to list their preferences, which are then magically materialised into someone to snog at the end of the show. It’s almost uncanny how well they are matched every time: if ever a ‘dislike’ sneaks in among the ‘likes’, chaos ensues – these are the moments inevitably segmented into YouTube videos later on. No one has ever told me that I should base my dating expectations on the ‘reality’ TV that I obsessively watch, but these shows all broadcast something interesting about the way we view dating now, on and off the screen. Because we can fine tune our dating preferences on all manner of apps, which do Fred Sirieix’s job for us, we are able to exclude anyone who doesn’t quite fit the bill. Had I met certain Tinder dates in an organic environment, perhaps I’d overlook the fact that they’d chosen to list wrestling as an interest in their bio, or only have group profile pictures. But because there are always more profiles to see, more faces to scrutinise, I keep swiping – looking for an embodiment of perfection that I now fear doesn’t exist.

As a result of the tangle of influences from both dating apps and shows, telling me I should really watch out for certain (objectively benign) characteristics, I end up finding it reasonable when a contestant on Married at First Sight inexplicably calls her spouse a liar because he didn’t tell her about his acting career (AKA dabbles in am-dram), or when a suggestion of splitting the bill is enough for a first date to end on a sour note. Modern daters have become so merciless. Although I’d never watch Naked Attraction unless caught unawares while watching Gogglebox with my parents (eek), there’s something, somehow, more forgiving about it: your bits look a bit like mine, you’re wobbly in places that human bodies tend to wobble, let’s give it a go.  

Dating shows and other forms of box-ticking dating have existed for decades, and I fear I might be a special case in my guilty pleasure of watching them all the time. Yet the encroaching force that is The Internet has only made romantic matters worse. TikTok and Instagram reels (my chosen poison) are crammed full of red flags, green flags, ghosting, breadcrumbing, soft launching, and love bombing (sprinkle sprinkle). I had to Google ‘online dating slang’ to get a sense of how extensive the list has become and encountered many I’d never even heard of. Can someone please tell me what makes a flag beige? When did we all start waving flags around anyway? While some might like this shorthand as a tool to prevent wasting time, I feel this new dictionary of love languages has only muddied the waters. It’s now possible to designate a character trait as a red flag and rule someone out completely. What happened to second chances?

As you grow older, the kinds of debates you have with family members tend to change. At the ages of 6, 8 and 10, my brothers and I argued over which football team was worthy of support; 4 years on, who was robbed in the final of X Factor; give it another few years and we’re engaging in our own kind of mock politics (as my brother developed a never-explained obsession with Nick Clegg). Although last Christmas when I was reunited with my siblings, I was surprised when my light-hearted reference to someone having given me the ‘ick’, a term that had come into popularity in between occasions of us seeing each other, sent sparks flying. My eldest brother insisted the concept was demeaning and set unachievable standards for men. While I stumbled trying to defend it as a tool for women to redress the balance while faced with sky-high expectations set for us by men, I realised he had a point. All it takes is for me to catch a glimpse of a boy on a VOI and I’m out. I thought recently about how I’d never be able to go on holiday with a romantic partner unless I averted my eyes when they walked through the street with a suitcase. I did some sociological research for more icks and dug up: chasing a table tennis ball (how often does that even happen?), running for the bus (a reasonable necessity in modern life), tripping while running up the stairs (come on now). I think it’s high time we lower our expectations. In the words of Jessie J, Nobody’s Perfect. Maybe we just need another reminder.

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