Tuesday, May 6, 2025
Blog Page 102

How to make rizz-otto

Georgie Allan
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How to make rizz-otto

When interviewed for this job, I was asked if I cooked and if I would be willing to write about it for Cherwell. I answered yes, I can cook, though one of my flatmates would disagree. Fortunately, I already wrote about said flatmate’s cooking last term. In the interests of student food journalism, and my appetite, I convinced him to let me document his dishes once again.

The dish of the week was mushroom risotto, a simple Italian classic which nonetheless requires skill, and a patience I have personally never found in a kitchen. Its popularity is in part derived from its adaptability. The recipe can easily be adjusted to accommodate a variety of dietary requirements and preferences, and paired with a selection of light white wines. The mushrooms Jack chose were chestnut and shiitake. Porcini could not be found in our local supermarket at such short notice.

Anyone hoping for more specific ingredient quantities than last time is in for disappointment – this dish was cooked on instinct. It began by toasting the risotto to give it a nutty flavour. This step is not necessary but does improve the final taste. Then the onions were very finely diced and softened (though not browned) on a low heat in a mixture of melted butter and oil. Once they were partially cooked, the finely diced garlic was added, and the onions seasoned with a little salt, though not over-salted in anticipation of the salt in the stock added later. When the onions had softened, he added back the risotto rice, and separately fried the mushrooms.

The next step was to turn it up to high heat, and add a glass of white wine – in this case Dino Pinot Grigio, the cheapest available from our local supermarket. Once the alcohol has cooked off it was time to add stock. Jack recommended chicken, rather than beef for aesthetic reasons, though for this particular meal he used vegetable stock as the dish was vegetarian. Do not add it all at once, but rather little by little, cooking off the liquid each time. This must be constantly stirred, or if you have the skill (which he assures me that he does) tossing is better.

A common misconception is that risotto is made creamy by the butter and Parmesan added at the end, but the process of stirring releases starch from the rice which combines with the liquid to create the creamy quality of the dish. This is the reason a short grain rice is used; it releases far more starch. This stirring and tossing and stirring and tossing took forever. The time was used productively to practise the art of tea towel whipping. Never mind the assortment of knives and onions, this man’s culinary sadism knows no bounds.

Then suddenly the dish was done, the mushrooms combined, the risotto served. Jack elected to use a pecorino rather than a Parmesan cheese for a stronger flavour. I admired the balance between the smooth texture of the risotto, which was not however reduced to mush. It embodied simple umami flavours, warm and comforting in the cold weather. It was also ridiculously filling, so if you don’t have a hoover in human form it might require storage in the fridge. If you do choose to microwave it, some of the liquid may be lost resulting in a reduction of creaminess, but if done well this won’t ruin the dish.

Earlier in this article I mentioned the adaptability of risotto as a staple, and Jack had several suggestions on how that could be accomplished. The obvious variations include different meats and vegetables according to taste. When changing the former, be sure to switch the stock accordingly. Jack also recommended mixing in chorizo, as it releases a reddish oil when cooked, making it useful as a garnish to make the dish more visually appealing. Browning the butter could have a similar impact. Saffron was also recommended as an ideal variation, though this particular ingredient is unlikely to be found in a student kitchen.

Various adaptations of the dish led me to question (or more specifically, question Jack) on the relationship between risotto and paella. They are similar only in that they are both rice dishes – their preparation is very different. Paella is more similar to a Middle Eastern style of cooking, which sees all ingredients combined and cooked together. Risotto on the other hand prepares the rice and other components – such as meat and vegetables – separately until serving. This is somewhat unique as the liquid is continually reduced and replenished, a technique used solely on risotto or arborio rice.

Jack was not the only one of my flatmates to deny the extent (or rather the existence) of my cooking skills – though his critique was certainly the most deserved.

And this was not the first of my flatmates’ risottos I’ve sampled. I have the great fortune to live with Univ’s welfare rep, Marcus, who offered his own take on the dish this time last year. I don’t feel able to comment on the risotto itself, as every element was concealed by the sheer quantity of Parmesan. As the fluid was reduced, this classic Italian dish morphed into a block of solid cheese and rice, with no other discernible flavour or texture than Parmesan.

The only comment offered by the chef – “not enough parmesan”. It is worth mentioning, the flat fridge never contains fewer than four blocks of Parmesan, replenished on an almost daily basis due solely to Marcus’ consumption. Fortunately, his rizz more than compensates for his risotto (I had to work it in somewhere. Be ‘grate’ful I was talked out of ‘rizz’otto. Ok, I’ll stop now). My own culinary creations may not be complex or skilled, but they are at least palatable.

For an easy student meal I can only recommend risotto. It is simple, scalable, adaptable to most dietary requirements, and affordable within a student budget. However, if like me patience when cooking is not your forte, find a friend to cook it for you or the rushed result is sure to be a crunchy, soggy mess.

The Autobiogra-phony

Nina Naidu
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The Autobiogra-phony

I woke up this morning, entangled in my silk sheets and gazed upon my impeccable visage in the colossal seven-foot long mirror. The revelation of my perpetual attractiveness was, unsurprisingly, my first triumph of the day. A rigorous fifteen-minute journey through the expanses of my ultramodern chic mansion led me to the arduous task of overseeing my office, where my dutiful secretary valiantly faced the burden of responding to my many mundane emails. Naturally, I needed a reprieve, so off I went for an urgent Thai stone massage. The inconveniences of my charmed, perfect life persist, as does the indomitable monotony of unparalleled opulence. Life is tough, friends. It always is.

A master of saying everything and nothing all at once! I sure would make a great celeb. Reading certain celebrity memoirs feels like deciphering the elusive aspects of their lives drowned in mundane details and words that I’m almost certain didn’t come out of their own lexicon. Not only is it uninteresting, it’s also a real pain to slog through. 

While some autobiographies disappoint, like Prince Harry’s Spare, others, such as Jennette McCurdy’s I’m Glad My Mom Died, receive my highest praise. With the surge in supposedly self-written celebrity biographies, I can’t help but ask: are they truly penned by the authors themselves, and does it matter if they aren’t? 

Some celebrities, particularly actors, attract avid followers eager to delve into the intricacies of their careers, family backgrounds, and personal lives. For example, A Pocketful of Happiness by Richard E Grant.

Attending Grant’s talk in Oxford during his book tour was a real privilege, providing insights into his upbringing in Swaziland (now Eswatini), his relationship with vocal coach Joan Washington, and his fascination with Barbra Streisand (so I’m sure he is thrilled to also read her recently released memoir). With a blend of tenderness and humour, I was excited to read it after his talk, only to be a little disappointed at its structural integrity. Whilst heartwarming, the narrative lost its charm halfway through with excessive name-dropping and meandering stories. 

Similarly, I encountered struggles reading Making It So. Despite Patrick Stewart’s 83-year-old perspective, the memoir delved mostly into the first 25 years of his life, emphasising acting camps and teenage jobs. Surprisingly, it lacked depth about his later career, especially his iconic role in Star Trek. The focus on career overshadowed glimpses into his personal life, which mostly revolved around childhood or his affairs, but overall provided an interesting perspective, particularly for  those interested in his career at the Royal Shakespeare Company.

I am certain that these books by Stewart and Grant were written by the actors themselves; they are filled with charm but not much editorial intervention.The personal insights humanise these celebrities and yet at times their exploration of topics so extravagant, such as Grant’s friendship with King Charles, makes it difficult to connect with them. Engaging with their audiobooks, however, proves satisfying, given their natural storytelling abilities. 

As fascinating as these grandiose memoirs are, dealing with fame, wealth, and lavish lifestyles, I find a deeper connection with narratives that offer a truly human experience, filled with emotions and relationships beyond the spotlight. Paris Hilton’s memoir, Paris, for example, defies expectations, considering her ditzy socialite persona. It is filled with heavy content shedding light on trauma and abuse during her time at a Utah boarding school. Despite her millionaire heiress status, Hilton’s transparency about collaborating with ghostwriter Joni Rodgers adds commendable authenticity– a rarity in an industry where many celebrities don’t acknowledge external help. 

Critics often reproach celebrities for not openly acknowledging using ghostwriters, deeming it ingenuine and arguing that it diverts resources from lesser-known authors – but I disagree. J. R. Moehringer, the ghost writer for Spare, contends that ghostwriters are essential for crafting the most compelling stories. He likens it to commissioning an artist to paint someone else’s vision. Celebrities bring unique and captivating details, and if they require a writing expert to skilfully articulate their story, collaboration sounds sensible. Ghostwriters, well-versed in the process, contribute to a more polished book, steering clear of mindless word salads in pursuit of authenticity. 

This collaboration enables an unconventional audience to experience the joys of reading, even if only as a gateway into the literary world. Consequently, this can prove beneficial for the publishing industry by generating more revenue. Celebrity memoirs are a reliable source of profit, providing the means to support and publish lesser-known authors. It’s a win-win scenario!

As long as celebrities are transparent and not intentionally misleading their audiences, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t applaud them for utilising writing and ghost writers to share their journeys with the world. 

University Chancellor Lord Patten announces retirement

Ellie Yau
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University Chancellor Lord Patten announces retirement

University of Oxford Chancellor Lord Christopher Patten has publicly announced his wish to retire at the end of the 2023-24 academic year, ending his 21-year-long tenure as Chancellor. 

Having read History at Balliol College for his undergraduate degree, Lord Patten noted the impact the University has had throughout his life: “I think it is true to say that Oxford made me, not just because of the three happy years I spent there as a student, but because of what it has continued to mean to me over the years up until the present day.” 

Lord Patten stated: “This year, I will have my 80th birthday in May. I hope there will be many birthdays to come – but I am unlikely to have another 21 years in the job as Chancellor of the University.” He further expressed his wish to continue his involvement with Oxford, “trusting he will still be able to work for [the University] from time to time.” 

Oxford’s Vice-Chancellor Irene Tracy issued a response to the announcement, noting Lord Patten’s commitment to “tirelessly championing Oxford at home and abroad,” as well as expressing her personal gratitude to him for his support in her transition to Vice-Chancellor. 

She wrote: “On behalf of thousands of alumni, students and staff and the many people whose lives have been changed by the University’s work, I thank Chris and his wife Lavender for their service, and wish them well in a richly deserved retirement.”

Before serving as Chancellor of Oxford, Lord Patten was the Chancellor of Newcastle University from 1999 to 2009. He has also held numerous parliamentary roles, most notably serving as the final British Governor of Hong Kong from 1992 until its handover in 1997.

Lord Patten’s full letter of retirement to Professor Tracey is available online.

The Language of Cooking

Selina Chen
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The Language of Cooking

Under Oxford’s dreaming spires and overlooking Magpie Lane’s centuries-old cobbles is a simple modern kitchen. I like to think of it as my friends’ little corner of the world. Here, nine or so teenagers gather for homemade meals twice a week, crowding around induction hobs and squabbling over how an onion ought to be chopped. We claim a space at the heart of Western scholarship and fill it with aromas of multi-ethnic cuisines that reflect our diversity.

I remember, surrounded by this warm messiness, the many times I’ve spoken the language of cooking.

– – – 

When a flock of chattering Chinese-American aunties congregate for the terrifyingly efficient task of folding dumplings, you can always tell which dumplings are produced by whom. Some arch like the spine of a mountain, sealed by intricate folds the shape of a lotus flower, others lie flat like a tame leaf, smooth-edged and round-bellied.

My mother’s dumplings sit primly with curves like the crescent moon – a shape she learned from my grandma, a petite woman with missing teeth and a lyrical Shandong accent. My grandma learned it from her own mother, a beauty with 4-inch-long feet crushed by societal expectations of the last foot-binding generation. Inherited from this line of Northern Chinese women, the crescent-moon dumpling is now proudly mine.

Dishes, like stories, pass down through generations. In my California Bay Area community, most Chinese families know some version of dumpling-making, much like the commonalities found in stories of shared culture and history. We fold these stories into existence through shared words – ingredients like fluffy flour and minced meat – and common grammar – the skilled kneading and flattening of dough under soft palms and hard rolling pins. 

Cooking, then, is a language we speak.

We gather for potlucks on Chinese New Years and Moon Festivals, our multicultural cuisines and bilingual murmurs building a new home an ocean away from our homeland. If I translate our language of cooking, we’d be saying: 四海为家. This is family.

– – – 

I learned the language of cooking when living in Morocco on a year-long US government program to study Arabic. With each personal connection and unplanned adventure, I fell deeper and deeper in love with the wide world out there, wonderstruck. But at the same time, the awareness that I was the only Chinese person around grew sharper, a wound irritated by the constant harassment that followed me down the streets.

“Ching chong Jackie Chan.”

“Korea?” 

“So you’re not pure American.” 

Since moving to the US aged eleven, I’d been living in an Asian-majority community that taught me to believe America is a country of immigrants, even if some people refuse to accept this fact and its beauty. Home is where I order tacos in Spanish, organise Indian catering for debate club, and make spring rolls with my half-Vietnamese family-friends – I call them my cousins when I don’t bother explaining that we are family in every way but blood. Yet, the doubts and confusion of Morocco made me wonder, guiltily, if I was American enough.

My palette soon began craving Chinese food but there wasn’t a single Chinese restaurant in my city. So I made my first Chinese dish for my host family: a simple dish of tomato and fried egg noodles, cooked with trepidation that they might dislike the strange flavours. In the language of cooking I was probing, uncertainly, “my home tastes like this – is it acceptable?”

Their response was lukewarm.

– – – 

The Western holiday season marked peak homesickness for my American friends in Morocco, many of whom had never spent the holidays away from family in a country that didn’t celebrate it. On Christmas Day, we gathered for a potluck party.

I brought hot chocolate and most of my friends brought sweets. However, George went all out and made fifty Vietnamese spring rolls with exquisite peanut sauce. I imagined his meticulous preparation process: a white guy from Virginia softening sheets of rice paper in warm water and tucking chopped salads inside.

My Jewish friend Jacob remarked that it was his first Christmas without eating Chinese food. He explained how, in New York City where he’s from, Jewish families have a centuries-long tradition to get Chinese food on Christmas Eve because no other restaurants were open. He remembered waiting with friends in the biting cold to get their takeout. I pictured the scene: Christmas lights, Hanukkah candles, and red lanterns all decorating the same street where queues of Jewish residents wrap around the corner like an embrace. I pictured America.

If I’d known about this tradition, I told him, I’d have cooked for him that Christmas. In the language of cooking we’d have a conversation between two minorities that historically didn’t fit in, but found their place nonetheless.

– – – 

Slowly I began meeting the few Chinese expats living in Rabat and some Moroccan university students studying Chinese. Together we dunked thinly sliced meat in bubbling hot pots and folded sticky rice balls around sweet stuffings for the Lantern Festival. I thought I could teach my Moroccan friends to make dumplings.

To a medley group, I demonstrated rolling and folding techniques. They quickly caught on after a few oddly-shaped experiments. Imane and Sara, especially nimble-fingered, filled up a large tray at impressive speeds. Watching the dumplings tumble in a pot of foamy hot water, I mused that there was something unusual about all this.

Then it clicked: All the dumplings looked the same. They all sat primly with curves of the crescent moon – like mine, my mother’s, and my grandma’s.

I thought of how, so far away from my grandma in China and my mother in America, I passed on our crescent-moon dumplings. I told our stories, encoded in the language of cooking. I said: “thank you for celebrating my culture.”

– – – 

By the time Ramadan rolled around in late March, I was speaking in Moroccan dialect and functioning in society undaunted. I decided to fast. For a month, I went without food or water from 4am to 7pm before feasting on iftar meals, the hunger and thirst bonding me closer to my local community.

I pondered what to cook for a potluck iftar at school and settled on orange chicken, a fusion cuisine invented for Americans with inspiration from Chinese food. Orange chicken represents the unique branch of food created by centuries of Chinese immigrants in America – inauthentic to the original but glazed with a unique social and historical value.

Chinese cooking never uses precise recipes but rather asks you to judge what is “just right,” relying upon instincts developed over a lifetime. My orange chicken, too, was a whimsically instinctive creation. I fried battered chicken and caramelised them in bubbling orange sauce, with spring onion and sesame tossed into the sizzling pan. The resulting sweet and tangy dish was devoured with fervour by Moroccans and Americans alike.

I overheard one of my American friends explaining to a Moroccan that this chicken is not merely Chinese, nor merely American, but a fusion of both in its essence.

Like me, I thought.

While I had been experimenting with cooking since childhood, my early attempts were like mere babbling – flavours without a profound meaning. But in Morocco I found my culinary fluency, the composition of prose and poetry in a blend of recipe and creative flares. I was saying: “I’m Chinese-American.”

During my last week in Morocco, I decided to cook tomato and fried egg noodles again. I kneaded fluffy dough and cut strips of noodles by hand. I knew my way around the kitchen.

What was once a question had now morphed into a declaration: “My home tastes like this.”

My host mom took a bite. “Bnin bizaf!” she said. Very delicious.

– – – 

I returned to California with new vocabulary in my language, chickpeas and turmeric and other ingredients I’d never used before. With these, I made harira soup and chicken tagine for friends and family, giggling at their struggles to eat with fingers instead of forks or chopsticks. Through cooking I was saying, “Morocco is my home too, and I miss it.”

– – – 

Another year, another home. From different colleges around Oxford, my friends regularly flock to our little kitchen, the spatial heart of our group. Liyanah, of Sri Lankan heritage, made us curries with rich and spicy flavours just like her mother’s. Will, Christmas-obsessed but denies it, made reindeer fudge and brought us a cupcake-decorating kit – resulting in some artistic masterpieces and some less-than-mature jokes. I cooked everything from simple ramen to more elaborate dishes like orange chicken, Mexican rice, and Moroccan tagine.

Not only do the dishes express meaning, so does the context of sharing. The early morning noodles during freshers’ week were an introduction, a “not sure who you are yet but hey” to Lucas and Jake, two then-strangers who have now become my close friends. The pasta on a random Tuesday when our dining hall cancelled dinner on short notice was a message of care, a “don’t worry, I’ve got you.” The taste-test hash browns I offered to neighbours, knocking door to door, were also my checking-in, an “it’s been intense, how are you doing?”

When I cook with friends at uni, I unshoulder the burden of formal dinners and confusing table etiquettes, of immaculate subfusc and formidable architecture, of glamourous lecture halls and Rousseau-esque pontifications – of everything too posh, and too white. I become myself again in our chaotic kitchen with its multi-ethnic food. Here, I’m the only Chinese person, and the only American, but that’s okay because home is no longer one specific place, but the embrace of all places.

On Chinese New Year, inshallah, I will teach my British friends to fold crescent-moon dumplings, tucking all the pieces of myself – China, America, Morocco, and England – into savoury stuffings.

– – – 

After one of our potlucks, I posted a group photo of us with the Arabic word “عيلتي.” The next day, Liyanah told me that she’d drawn up a family tree of our friend group based on our personalities.

She had no idea that عيلتي meant “my family.” I told her, and we marvelled at the coincidence of how we’d both come to the same thought. 

Or perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence, but that we communicated through the language of cooking.

The Oscar Best Picture Winner You’ve Never Heard Of

Hassan Akram
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The Oscar Best Picture Winner You’ve Never Heard Of

With the Oscar nominations for 2024 having been released in anticipation of March’s ceremony, it is worth looking back on a former Best Picture winner that has never got its due. Ninety years ago this March, the 6th Academy Awards decided that the Best Picture was Cavalcade, an adaptation of Noel Coward’s play about the lives of two London families over the social and historical changes between 1899-1933. For your average film-goer, other 1930s Best Picture winners like All Quiet on the Western Front or Gone with the Wind may ring a bell, but even most film buffs haven’t heard of Cavalcade.

We open with the illustrious Jane (Diana Wynyard) and Robert Marryot (Clive Brook), a Victorian couple celebrating the turn of the century. Most period films smell more strongly of the year in which they’re produced than the year in which they’re set, but here the period setting is convincing and immersive. The costumes and interior design are perfect: Jane and Robert’s glamorous attire embodies the grace, beauty and refinement of a generation. Streets, offices and theatres are set up just as authentically. The production values alone are lavish enough to make the film worth watching: with 150 speaking parts, 15,000 minor roles, 25,000 costumes, a single scene using 2,500 actors, the cinematography is sweeping enough to appreciate it all.

Throughout Cavalcade, the characters are constantly shaped by historical events: the Boer War, the death of Queen Victoria, the First World War, and the Roaring Twenties. The changing experience of Britain – national griefs, joys, trends, and social shifts – are mirrored in the central characters. A subplot concerning the former servant’s daughter marrying the Marryots’ son is an obvious symbol of the shrinking class divide. There is a strong anti-war message, too, in keeping with the times (this was the year that the Oxford Union voted not to fight for King and Country); the mindless jingoism surrounding the wars is contrasted with scenes of soldier after soldier dying.

Some scenes are especially well-constructed, such as the one in which Jane, framed against a backdrop of cheering patriots, tries to compose herself after seeing her husband off to the Boer War. Later, two young newlyweds go for their honeymoon on a cruise ship and, looking out to sea, discuss their hopes and dreams for the future, while gentle music plays in the background. It’s a touching scene, and when the camera zooms slowly onto the deck towards the word “Titanic”, the audience silently understands. Moments like these – with their economy of construction and their reliance on dramatic irony – reveal the skill of Noel Coward’s stagecraft.

The final scene is the most memorable. In a callback to the opening, Jane and Robert, grey and weighed down with age, welcome the New Year of 1933. The New Year itself is symbolic, for the whole film has essentially been about the destruction of the nineteenth century by the twentieth. Jane and Robert are all that remain of the Victorians. There is a tangible sense here of the enormous social change and personal loss that they have suffered; yet still they remain the same people sitting in the same room on the same date as thirty years earlier. Quiet moments like these reinforce the epic, saga-like quality of the rest. Then Robert says: “Let us drink to the hope that one day this country of ours – which we love so much – will find dignity, and greatness, and peace again”, and a montage of modern trends and noisy music takes up the screen; the implication is that the perceived dignity, greatness and peace of the Victorians has vanished forever.

The cast is mostly competent, but Diana Wynyard is by far the stand-out performer. Only Clive Brook comes close. It is Wynyard’s film more than anyone else’s, and she binds the scenes and characters together more centrally than the director. She has a classical acting style and an engrossing screen presence which, together, outweigh the efforts of every other player. This is even more impressive considering this was only her second film. It is unfortunate that she never “made it” as a film actress, her only other memorable roles being Mary Disraeli in The Prime Minister (1941) and as Helen Walsingham in the adaptation of H.G. Wells’s Kipps (also 1941).

It is worth comparing Cavalcade to This Happy Breed (1944), which isanother Noel Coward adaptation about the experiences of a single family over a period of historical change: in this case, 1919-39. Happy Breed is probably the better film. Although it was a piece of wartime propaganda and lacks the grandeur of its predecessor, it benefits from a blend of David Lean’s skilful direction, a largely domestic setting with proto-kitchen-sink realism, and a first-rate cast of household names (Celia Johnson, Stanley Holloway, John Mills) who give the story a homelier and more authentic warmth. It succeeds as both a drama and a social history.

On the other hand, Cavalcade is worth watching for its lavish scale, stagecraft, the absorbing sense of time and change, Diana Wynyard’s performance, and, above all, the little golden statue that it won ninety years ago. It remains a lush spectacle and the only way to live through four decades in two hours.

Cherwell Introducing: Zahra

Joseph Lomax
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Cherwell Introducing: Zahra

In our Introducing series, Cherwell will be bringing you the best up and coming artists in Oxford. This week, Joseph interviewed Zahra.

Please introduce yourself!

I’m Zahra, a 2nd Year Philosophy and Theology student at Christ Church, and I’ve just released my debut single, Windows Down!

Who is your biggest musical inspiration?

It’s impossible to choose one! Whenever I think about this I try and remember what I’d play on my family’s CD player from when I was about 4. Justin Timberlake, Madonna’s Hard Candy, Alicia Keys, Jennifer Hudson, Prince. So, a lot of pop, soul, and R&B: which I feel inspires me when I’m writing pop songs to use jazzy chords, or to incorporate an R&B drum pattern or influence.

Right now, I’d say my biggest writing influences are Boygenius, Phoebe Bridgers, and Olivia Dean. But I feel like the music of my childhood is just so ingrained in me sub-consciously I can’t help but refer to it.

Has your experience at Oxford influenced your writing/performing?

Oxford’s given me so many experiences to write about: I wouldn’t have gone interrailing this summer if it wasn’t for being at Uni which is an experience I wrote multiple songs about, or experiences of dating, boys, romance. Being in a new place and meeting new people is bound to expand your horizons. Funnily enough though, while being here gives me material, I find writing in Oxford really hard. As we all know, it’s so intense, and I find I can only write properly during the vacations: my emotional capacity isn’t there during term, and turning an emotional experience into a creative endeavour is hard to do here.

What is your first musical memory?

It’s a hazy memory I have of when I was 2 or 3, watching Mariah Carey’s We Belong Together music video. It’s just so nostalgic to me. It was my sister’s favourite music video, so we would watch it on the TV together and have a little boogie.

Do you find any connection between your studies and your music?

Doing Philosophy and Theology forces me to think deeply about religion, God, the world, and personal identity. After studying these things in depths and having 1 on 1 tutes it’s hard to get away from it sinking in personally as well: ever since I could recognise my love for philosophy and theology, I’ve had this existentialism which intuitively helps me with songwriting. My studies certainly help me think about my life, my emotions, and experiences more deeply, which goes hand in hand with songwriting and unlocking my creativity.

Describe your sound in three words.

Groovy summer pop.

Where do you want to be in 10 years?

I’ll be 30…that’s crazy! Ok so there’s two options. Realistically, I want to reach a point where I can look at my career and be happy and satisfied. Making a comfortable living from music, no side job or struggling to make music my main purpose.

But if we’re saying the sky is the limit, I’m still getting used to sharing my dreams with other people, like I didn’t tell people I sang until less than a year ago. I like to keep my big dreams close to my heart.

What’s your favourite song right now?

Kind of rogue, but it’s Tell Your Friends, by the Weeknd and, Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde. I’m in an angsty, Hilary, it’s dark outside and I’m getting drunk 3 times a week vibe! I’m gonna cheat and give you two.

What is a song that made you want to become a songwriter?

Well, it’s not a song but an artist: I have to say Taylor Swift. I think I learned piano and guitar because she plays them. Even though I was writing songs and melodies and poems since I was 6, when I remember being 10 at the piano, I remember thinking: ‘I’m going to write a song because Taylor Swift writes her own songs.’ I felt like I couldn’t be a true musician unless I wrote my own songs. I also had this knowledge where I knew my voice wouldn’t get me where I wanted on its own, so I had to write.

What do you wish was different about the music industry in 2024?

Tik Tok is a double-edged sword. It’s free and accessible, in an industry that is inherently exclusionary, and built on who you know. However, it’s become not just a tool, but a necessary medium for music promotion. Imagine Paul McCartney, or Amy Winehouse, as influencers: these cool, phenomenally creative people, selling songs on Tik Tok? It feels like if you want to be an artist you have to be an influencer, which so many people don’t want! It’s jarring for a lot of independent musicians, when labels expect you to have an online presence.

Zahra’s debut single, Windows Down, is out now. Her debut EP of the same name is coming in late April.

Follow Zahra on Instagram @ zahra.sahamad

It’s not whether you rusticate, it’s where: Suspension of studies at Oxford

Emily Henson
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It’s not whether you rusticate, it’s where: Suspension of studies at Oxford

Oxford has one of the lowest drop-out rates in the country, with around 0.9% of admissions not completing a degree, much lower than the UK average of 5.3%. Absent from the University’s “facts and figures” section is the number of students each year who suspend their study – or “rusticate” as it’s more commonly known.  

The practice isn’t new – Oxford students have been rusticating for hundreds of years. Historically, however, rustication was not taken as seriously as it is now; Oscar Wilde rusticated for one term merely for returning late from holiday in Greece. 

Today, the rustication experience varies massively depending on your College. Despite the university’s new “Common Approach” initiative to mental health, each college still has a unique combination of policies, JCR involvement, and collections standards for returning students. So with 50% of students considering rustication at some point, according to a Cherwell poll, what exactly does the experience entail? 

How many actually rusticate?

Across the university, around 4% of undergraduate students choose to rusticate every year. However there is significant variation between different colleges, with the rate ranging from 2% to 9%. 

One standout is Regent’s Park, which averages 15 rustications per year, despite only having 166 undergraduates. Proportionally, Regent’s Park has the highest levels of rustications at 9%, with more students rusticating per year than St Anne’s, a college with nearly triple the undergraduate population.

While Regent’s has greater assets per student than four colleges, as a Permanent Private Hall and not a college, it was not included in the wealth redistribution scheme attempting to alleviate inter-collegiate financial disparity. With mental health often cited as the cause for rustication, colleges that are already struggling with essential funding might not be able to sufficiently support students. 

When approached for comment, Regent’s Park told Cherwell: “Suspensions can be for many different reasons: health – both mental and physical, personal and academic. We have a robust system of mental health support and welfare provision within the College, and the number of suspensions bears witness to our being willing to entertain requests for suspension in order to support students through challenging circumstances.”

Experience of rustication

The majority of colleges impose a restriction on rusticated students’ access to college facilities. St Hilda’s suspension of status regulation states: “The presence in college of undergraduates who are not on course are a potential distraction to other students.” Lincoln students are required to obtain written permission from their Senior Tutor before visiting College premises. 

Library usage across colleges broadly follows the same pattern, with permission being required from a college authority. The difficulty of obtaining permission and the reasons needed, however, differ between colleges, with some requiring a student to petition for access to specific college resources, such as archives, before being granted entry. St Anne’s students are categorised alongside other guests, gaining access to the library so long as they form an agreement with the Librarian. Balliol, by contrast, only allows library access by “exceptional appointment.” 

Some college JCRs, such as those at Lady Margaret Hall and previously at St Edmund Hall, have dedicated representatives for suspended students. Multiple colleges refer to the JCR Welfare Officers and peer mentors as points of contact for support. These schemes are largely unregulated by colleges, existing primarily within the JCR, and do not provide a source of consistent, centralised support that may be needed. 

In response to a request for comment, the University referred Cherwell to the Common Approach, which aims to “ensure that each student at Oxford can receive excellent support, regardless of their course or college.” Similarly, when asked for their policies, all colleges told Cherwell that students have continued access to University mental health services. The page for the Common Approach, however, does list the “college community” as the first source of support. 

Collections for returning students

College policies concerning collections for returning students are a major source of discrepancies in the rustication experience. Many colleges have students sit collections alongside their new cohort, with no grade requirement for resumption of academic studies. Pembroke has some students sit collections to “assess the student’s level of knowledge,” but does not use them as a barrier to re-entry.

Some colleges, however, do impose a required grade in collections for students to resume their study. University College displays a particularly stringent policy, which it grounds in the College’s need “to assure itself that the Student is academically prepared for return to College following a period of suspension.” Therefore, at least one collection is taken with specific grades required. Previous versions of their handbooks stated that students who failed these return collections could cease to be college members, but the College declined to comment on their current policy.

The most common pass mark for Colleges that impose such requirements is a 2:1, which can be a high bar to clear for students who’ve been suspended for a year. Students in these colleges are usually allowed library access in the weeks before their exams to facilitate their studies.

The discrepancies in college policies regarding collections means that one student’s minor roadblock might be another’s second entrance exam.

Finals results of those who rusticate

Students struggling and choosing to rusticate are more likely to achieve lower degree classifications. However, the large gap in achievement prompts questions regarding college support for students suspending their studies and how effective rusticating is as a process for maintaining a high standard of work. 

Graduating with a First is the clearest benchmark of academic success. While 39% of all Oxford students graduated with first class honours in 2021/2022, for students who rusticated, that figure was only 27%.  

On the other end of the spectrum, while only 5% of Oxford students achieve a 2:2 and a miniscule 0.6% graduate with Third class honours, these rates rise to 11% and 4% respectively for students who have rusticated at any time. Since the vast majority of graduate schemes require a 2:1 or higher, these students are expected to fall further behind their peers after graduation. 

In addition to these disparities in results, around 10% of students who rusticate end up failing to complete their degree. Again, it is important to emphasise that there are significant variations between colleges. Regent’s Park, Teddy Hall, and LMH all have more rusticating students failing to complete their degree than graduating with Firsts, but Somerville has over double the amount of students achieving a First than failing to complete. There, a term before their students return, they are in contact with both the Academic Office and their tutors. It seems clear that the support structures in place for returning students have a significant effect on their ongoing success. 

The effect of COVID

Students disproportionately rusticated in the 2020/21 academic year when COVID-19 restrictions reached their peak. However, the impact of COVID on suspensions was not equal across all colleges. Somerville had the largest increase from 8 students in 2019/20 to 23 in 2020/21. In the same period, Worcester saw the amount of students rusticating jump from 7 to 16 and Regent’s Park numbers doubled. Other colleges, however, appeared largely unaffected, with both St Hilda’s and New College dropping from previous years’ figures.

Furthermore, rustication numbers have not returned to the levels they were before the pandemic. This is in line with recent studies conducted by the University which show an increase in mental health problems both during and after the pandemic. 

What do the students think?

A Cherwell poll showed that around 50% of students had considered rustication during their time at Oxford. Considering that only 4% of students rusticate every year, what explains the reason for the low uptake?

The poll also asked students who had contemplated rustication why they hadn’t gone through with it. 51% of respondents were afraid of social isolation/stigma, 29% were worried of falling behind academically, 16% were concerned about finances, and 4% thought their college lacked the resources to support them through it. 

Written responses to the question ranged from one student saying “I realised rusticating wouldn’t solve my problems. I had to face them head on, rather than delay them” to another claiming “My college wouldn’t let me! I had no legitimate academic or mental reason apparently.”

Rustication Discrepancies 

To rusticate, students need to work closely with their College as an institution and make a personal case as to why they need to suspend their studies. However College policies and guidelines can be confusing and unclear, while prospective support during rustication may seem insufficient. When combined with social stigma, these factors go a long way to explaining why most students don’t seriously consider rustication. 

The personal nature of rustication already makes it a difficult experience to capture, but the diversified attitudes and actions of colleges offer no help: devolution of procedure to the colleges regarding rustication leads to vast differences in outcomes for students. 

There is no university-wide standard for the responsibilities of rusticated students. The resources and academic support provided during and after rustication also depend on the particular college’s guidelines. Colleges exist to provide a smaller, more supportive, academic community, and their individual nature is framed as an asset to the University, however in helping rusticating students, their differences appear to do more harm than good.

SU Town Hall: meet the presidential candidates

Cherwell News
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SU Town Hall: meet the presidential candidates

Elections for Student Union president open Monday to Thursday of 4th Week. Candidates include SU veterans and outsiders with a radically different vision for the role of the organisation and president. Cherwell sat down with seven candidates to hear about who they are and what they hope to accomplish in the presidency. 

Addi Haran Diman: 

Who are you?

Addi Haran Diman, third year in a DPhil in Politics at Lincoln College. 

On previous experience in the SU: 

I’m pretty much an outsider to that babble and I think that’s good because what’s really needed right now is someone who can shake up the system and is not part of the problem. 

On other relevant experience: 

I have been political for over a decade now. I have mainly been focusing on LGBTQ+ work as the President of OULGBTQ Society, founder of Oxford Trans+ Pride, and a community officer at Oxford Pride. I have an experience that not many students in Oxford have of negotiating with the University and advocating to achieve actual things. 

What would be your top goals as SU president? 

I would mainly focus on advocacy. There are so many glaring problems in Oxford, such as college disparities, rent rates, and backlog of the disability and welfare services. We are expected to perform exceptionally and so we should expect world-class support. It can be done with powerful representation and powerful advocacy. 

Describe your platform in one sentence:

Competence, seriousness, inclusion, powerful representation, advocacy. 

Shermar Pryce: 

Who are you? 

I’m Shermar Pryce, a third year PPEist at Univ.

On experience and motivations to run: 

I’ve always had a passion for student representation. I’m not really from a background which was traditionally represented in Oxford. I’ve interacted with the SU quite a lot in various capacities, including working directly for them this year, and before that as [University College] JCR president. 

On what the SU have done well: 

I think this year they’ve done well on EDI issues. They’ve worked hard to maintain the fine line between representation of people’s views and grievances while at the same time not necessarily becoming overly political as we’ve seen in previous years.

On top priorities as president: 

Empowering [College] Common Rooms – making sure they’re equipped to fight for the rights of students. I hope to collect data from colleges – anything from sustainability to rent and food prices – and make that available for everyone to see. It’s an invaluable tool for common rooms negotiating with colleges by leveling the asymmetric information that reps usually have to go off. It also embarrasses colleges. 

Describe your platform in one sentence: 

An SU that’s actually useful.

Reuben Constantine: 

Who are you? 

My name is Reuben Constantine, 2nd year at St. Peter’s studying Modern languages – specifically French and Modern Greek.  

On experience and motivations to run: 

I’m the treasurer of the 93% Club and access and outreach ambassador for my college, my faculty, and for the university as a whole. I’m also heavily involved in Class Act, which is an initiative run by the SU to address class disparities. I would ultimately love to be involved in allowing the university to become more diverse in that way [and] to profit from the same life changing opportunities that I’ve had.

What’s one thing you would have handled differently?

Honestly, nothing. I think in all the situations the SU have been, they’ve dealt with it the best they could.

Describe your platform in one sentence.

My campaign slogan is Make Oxford Smile; I want to contribute to building an environment where everyone can truly be happy.

Elliot (Riz) Possnett

Who are you? 

Elliot (Riz) Possnett, 2nd year, PPE, Wadham

On motivation to run: 

I love so much about this university, but there are so many things that infuriate me and that create massive barriers for certain groups of people. I want to make sure that everyone can get the best out of Oxford, and Oxford can be a better place for the wider world. 

On experience: 

[I’ve been involved in] strategy coordination for UK Student Climate Network and youth delegate to COP C40 Cities “Women 4 Climate” conference, as well as Oxford Trans Pride activism, including leading direct action protest inside the [Union] debating chamber. I’m also Chair of the Economics Undergraduate Joint Consultative Committee.

On doing things differently: 

I would replace the role of SU President with an “internal coordinator” role, taking the pressure and attention off of one person so the team can work in a more equal and efficient way.

Describe your platform in a sentence: 

I’m an experienced youth advocate and campaigner, and I want to use that experience to leverage collective power in the university with the support of targeted data-driven projects to put greater pressure on the university to make essential changes.

Tim Green

Who are you?

My name is Tim Green. My course is PPE. And I’m in my third year at Regent’s Park College. 

On experience with the SU:

Most students have had very little interaction with the SU, and that’s despite the fact that the SU has over a million pounds in budget and 17 members of staff. I think that’s not good enough. 

On background:

I was diagnosed with a disability in Oxford and I’m a bursary holder. I’ve led an access committee of about 15 people, we’d have meetings every week devoted to representing different groups. 

On specific policies:

A referendum for a reading week. A cap on rent inflation. A universal lecture recording policy. A helpline if people are experiencing issues. Because we have the resources to do these things, it just isn’t there at the moment. 

Describe your platform in a sentence.

To build an SU that works for every student in Oxford, with policies prioritising mental health and improving accessibility to forge an Oxford that leaves no one behind. 

Q Sun 

Who are you? 

I’m Q. Third year material scientist at Teddy. 

Why do you want to run for SU?

I’m running for empty chair; I envision a year without an SU president. The money that would go to the presidency – around £27,000 — would go to other things. The SU in Oxford functions with much less effect on the student population than it would at other universities because we have the Common Rooms. [The SU president does] relatively little. You attend meetings on behalf of the SU. You go to some events. That money could go to something different.

On experience:

I’ve got experience in not doing things. 

What happens if you win?

Well, I need to convince people I’m not running as a facade. I’d be the mechanism through which I bring the views of the students to the university that the SU might not be something that A) the students want and B) is needed. I’ll see whether the rules and regulations with the SU could be re-written, and put that to a referendum to see what the student population think at a wider scale. 

In a sentence:

The SU will run perfectly fun with no SU president for the year 2024-25. 

Isaac Chase-Rahman

Who are you?

Isaac Chase-Rahman. 4th year, Physics, Corpus Christi College.

On motivations for running:

The SU is broken. It functions similarly to SUs in other universities but Oxford is not other universities, and so the things that would normally be done by an SU are done by other groups. 

On experience:

[Within the SU] I’ve been the Chair of Student Council for two terms; previously I was on the Steering Committee and Elections Committee. I was JCR president of Corpus Christi college before that, as well as Returning Officer, undergraduate MCR representative, and secretary of drama society at Corpus. I’m also a peer supporter with University Welfare Services and sat on the tutors committee as a university representative.

What’s one thing you would have handled differently?

When the University decided to not put more money into diagnoses of specific learning disabilities, the SU should have pushed them to make sure that students who need diagnoses quickly are able to get them. There’s a problem of college disparity, but the University chose to shirk responsibility, and the SU didn’t put their foot down. 

Describe your platform in a sentence.

Reform, engage, transform.

Despite being on the initial announcement, candidates Lucy Wang and George Zhao are no longer in the race.

Voting will be open between Monday and Thursday of 4th Week. Full election manifestos are published on the Student Union’s website.

Oxford Council approves plan to expand cycle paths

Aarav Billore
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Oxford Council approves plan to expand cycle paths

In response to traffic and safety concerns, Oxford City and County Councils have passed a scheme to improve cycling infrastructure in Oxford and the surrounding Oxfordshire countryside, allocating £106,000 to the project. The plan, inspired by Cambridge’s network, comes in response to Oxford’s high bicycle usage and the current lack of other transportation alternatives. 

Grade-separation – the approach that separates different modes of transport and ensures that they do not interact – is the key improvement that the plan makes on the current usage pattern. Putting distance between cyclists and other vehicles makes the alternative to driving a more attractive option, which in turn decreases the number of drivers on the road. By fully grade-separating bicycles and cars, both parties can operate in more predictable environments, drastically reducing the number of collisions. 

The cycling scheme is likely to gain popular support. At the moment, cycling is one of Oxford’s most popular modes of transport, with 35% of residents using their bikes on a regular basis. Nevertheless, Oxford lags behind Cambridge, whose bike usage rate of 50% makes it the most bike-dominated city in the UK. This discrepancy is partially due to Cambridge’s well-constructed and connected cycle paths.

Cycling on Oxford roads can be dangerous, as cars routinely breach cycle lane boundaries and cause collisions. In November 2023, a cyclist was hit near Abingdon and had to be airlifted to John Radcliffe Hospital. A similar incident occurred on 18 January this year, when another cyclist was hit by a vehicle at The Plain roundabout at the east end of Magdalen Bridge and ultimately ended up hospitalised with serious injuries. Following the latter incident, City Council Member Katherine Miles posted online that to achieve zero traffic casualties, “we need to urgently remove conflicts between vulnerable road users and vehicles.” She continued, saying that this would significantly alleviate issues with both traffic and safety and highlighted the benefits of grade-separation. 

Low-Traffic Neighbourhoods (LTNs) have already been implemented in East Oxford as a method to improve cyclability. LTNs prohibit through traffic in residential areas, aiming to improve safety and walkability. The schemes have attracted criticism due to the perception that they increase congestion and constitute an attack on drivers. Despite backlash, Oxford City Council have recently decided to make these LTNs permanent and have cited their benefits in drastically reducing traffic and collisions, as well in increasing bike usage. 

With the increased focus on creating safe routes for cyclists, Oxford is set to live up to its reputation as one of the UK’s best biking cities.

A crash course in British politics: How elections work (Week 1)

Roy Shinar Cohen
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A crash course in British politics: How elections work (Week 1)

Welcome back to the crash course in British politics. This column is for students who know little about British politics and want to know more. But, I firmly believe that even a seasoned observer of Westminster (the area of London with the Houses of Parliament and many government buildings) could benefit from a refresher of the basics. This week’s article will explain how British elections work, and hopefully will answer all your related questions.

Before we discuss elections, we should have a basic understanding of the British political system. The United Kingdom is a democracy with several branches of government: the executive (government), the legislative (Parliament), and the judiciary (courts). British Parliament is made up of the House of Commons, which holds 650 seats, and the House of Lords, whose members are appointed. The seats in the House of Commons represent the 650 districts in the United Kingdom, out of which 533 are in England, 59 in Scotland, 40 in Wales, and 18 in Northern Ireland. On average, each member of Parliament (MP) represents approximately 100,000 people.

Elections in the United Kingdom generally happen every five years, unless parliament is dissolved earlier (the past five British elections were: December 2019, June 2017, May 2015, May 2010, May 2005). The current Parliament first convened on December 17, 2019, which means it will dissolve at the latest on December 17, 2024 (and elections would happen approximately a month after that). Essentially, the decision on when to dissolve Parliament and hold the elections awaits Prime Minister Sunak. But, for all we know he might have already made it. These decisions depend on complex political calculations, and in Sunak’s case, a fair share of hope things will turn around for the Conservative Party.

When elections finally happen every British citizen over 18 will have a chance to choose the ballot box – but what will they choose? In the United Kingdom, every citizen votes for a member of Parliament who will represent their district at the House of Commons (and not directly for the Prime Minister). These members of Parliament run on behalf of parties, and essentially are the party’s representatives for each district; the party that wins the most districts, and accordingly the most seats in Parliament will create the government. The winning party’s leader – today, realistically, either Rishi Sunak (Conservative) or Keir Starmer (Labour) – will become the Prime Minister.

In recent elections, two important changes occurred compared with historical trends. First, small parties (Scottish National Party, the Liberal Democrats, the Democratic Unionist Party, and the Green Party) have won more seats at the expense of the big parties (Labour and the Conservative Party). This has made it more difficult for the big parties to win an absolute majority and forced them into coalitions. The second change is that the elections’ results were even closer where in 2017 we saw 11 seats were decided on less than 100 votes and a dozen more on hundreds. This means they are very difficult to predict and easily swayed.

Finally, on election day, the polls open at 7:00 and close at 22:00. The results of the exit poll are announced very soon after that. The official results will be announced once all districts declare their winners, and could arrive overnight.

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