When I was in my early teens, I harboured a vague interest in video games. Whether it was because of my burgeoning but unrequited sex drive, or because of my rapidly diminishing sporting prowess, I would occasionally sit indoors and play games on my computer, or some console.

One of my childhood friends had a Playstation 2- something that God had not blessed me with- so I’d head round to his house and play games on that, which had more advanced graphics than the Miniclip platform games that I was used to. And, during those grotesque adolescent sessions, we played Grand Theft Auto III, and, ten or so years old, we would routinely beat prostitutes to death with a baseball bat.

Now, this isn’t designed to be a standard Daily Mail diatribe against violent video games. I haven’t gone on to kill prostitutes in real life, or even steal cars. Nor did I find the game particularly exciting, possibly because I got the biggest thrill from trying to observe the rules of the road (waiting at traffic lights in that game is how I developed patience). But with the release of Grand Theft Auto V, and the news that a man was stabbed for a copy, I’m slightly concerned that we might all be missing the point of what immersive game playing is.

At this point, I should point out that the last time I played a video game was several years ago. I find them extremely hard and frustrating, and, frankly, I’d rather watch repeats of The Office. But, once upon a time, I did play Red Dead Redemption, which has been described as ‘Grand Theft Auto in the Wild West’.

I played that game, and even, at one point, hog-tied someone and left them on the railway tracks to be flattened by a steam train. It’s a worryingly violent game, but one whose saving grace is the fact that we can’t actually go back to 1911 and ride around on horses. It’s basically the same thing that stopped me worrying about my friend massacring cave trolls in Oblivion.

But with Grand Theft Auto V, we have a game where players are positioned in the role of the ‘everyman’. No superpowers, no real backstory, just an ordinary guy. And then they’re let off the leash to commit whatever atrocities they desire. If I wanted to go out and recreate the Washington Navy Yard shootings, I could. If I want to slaughter pedestrians for money, I can.

Which, in itself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Moralising creative art is an unsophisticated way of tackling the topic. Grand Theft Auto V may have many other virtues as a piece of storytelling that focuses on the decisions of the gamer, rather than the pre-ordained narrative (whereas American Psycho or Complicity wouldn’t give you the option to avoid that path).

What worries me is the fact that the game is unrivalled in its popularity. The game is expected to gross over $1bn and the release has been met by feverish, fetid fan boy fanaticism. People are so overwhelmed by the release of this game that they’re willing to stab someone to get a copy of it. This isn’t life imitating art, it’s just life being shit.

The video game that inspires the greatest level of devotion by its acolytes is the one that most closely resembles the taboo possibilities that are out of reach in real life. I’m not so much worried that the game will breed a generation of prostitute-killers, as I’m worried that we live in a community where that is the fantasy. Nor riding horses, not slaying cave trolls, but having unrestricted access to an enormous arsenal that can be used to level and destroy buildings, vehicles and puny human lives.

It’s not the fault of Rockstar Games, who developed the franchise. It’s the fault of a consumer base who crave unmoralised violence. Sure, I could get knifed for a copy of Rollercoaster Tycoon, but at least my muggers wouldn’t be further dislocating themselves from society when they go home later and play it (unless they’re actually aspiring rollercoaster tycoons, in which case they’ll become hopelessly deluded).

The problem with video games is not that they’re artless or mean-spirited; it’s that the most popular title taps into our darkest fantasies. If Crash or Irreversible were the top-grossing films, then I’d argue that we have a problem there. Likewise, if Earl Sweatshirt were topping the album charts, I’d be slightly concerned (although Robin Thicke is worrying in many of the same ways). If Grand Theft Auto V is a barometer of the moral standards of our society then we should probably be extremely worried, and go out and dig bomb shelters.

And even if it is ‘just a game’, aren’t there better ways to waste your life? Go out and carjack a hoop and a stick, kids.

After a long summer, conference season has finally arrived. Political parties from across the country will now gather and assert their ability to lead the nation. You would think that such events would be a full and vibrant demonstration of democratic values. Sadly, the common wisdom seems to be they are not. The media will be there; the lobbyists will be there and the politicians will be there –everyone, but ordinary members will be there in force.

The decline in the membership of political parties is both well documented and often quoted. In the 1950s, the Conservatives had 2.8 million members and Labour one million. Today, political attrition has led to a Conservative membership of approximately 130,000 and a Labour one of 200,000. Correspondingly, attending a party conference has become less and less normal. That is not to understate the facts – the Labour and Conservative conference can both expect an attendance in the region of 10,000. The problem is not a shortage of people wanting to attend conferences, which have become a lucrative way of earning income for cash-strapped parties, but that they have become increasingly distant from the general public.

Is this surprising? Well, considering the ability of ordinary members to shape policies, not particularly. Annual conferences now play a minor role in shaping election manifestos, in both the Conservative and Labour parties. Most of the big outcomes of these conferences are pre-scripted and party strategists have largely decided what the themes of the conference will be far in advance.

It has been a long time since the grassroots of any political party managed to defy the leadership at a party conference. The Liberal Democrats are the only one of the main parties to have a reasonable measure of direct democracy at their conference. However, rather than being praised for this, there is constant speculation about whether the conference attendees will back their conference masters. This makes the politics of presentation seem more important than the politics of substance.

Everyone, in theory, seems to agree that conferences should be for members, yet peculiarly enough that is not what is happening in practise. Fringe meetings continue to be a hub for ideas, but it seems perverse that it is only at the peripheries of a conference where real discussion is taking place.

A partial explanation for this trend is that party conferences are no longer just for the members, but are part of a national political drama. Indeed, the media is already raising the stakes this year; the Daily Mail has helpfully pointed out that Ed Miliband is now as unpopular with voters as Iain Duncan Smith was 8 months before he was dumped as Tory leader, resulting in the Labour leader’s upcoming speech being turned into a crucial moment for his leadership. The focus then becomes less upon self-reflection and critical debate and more about a triumphant display for the party leader.

The concerning part about this issue, is that senior politicians have so little to say about it, or even worse, they deny it. For example David Cameron, in a message to Conservative Future members, claimed:

“Each year our Conference goes from strength to strength, finding new ways to give everyone attending the chance to get involved, have their say, and contribute to our Party’s work.”

The problem with statements like this, from all politicians, is that they radiate positivity, but bear little relation to reality. People begrudgingly pass it off, saying party leaders have to say things like this. In truth, it is damaging, as the issue of internal party democracy can only be addressed once it is admitted.

Naturally, having a conference representative of your base is a risk; it is a lot harder to whip ordinary party members, as opposed to career-minded MPs. It is a wonder how party leaders can express surprise at political apathy, when they are unwilling to even give their own members, who generally agree with them, their own say. Displays of faction on the national stage are certainly damaging, but equally a lack of discussion can lead to both weakly supported and poorly conceived policies.

British political parties have been top-down organisations for quite some time now. The ability of party headquarters, to parachute candidates into seats, makes that plain. It seems party conferences have become so thoroughly scripted that they verge on being a sham to extort media coverage from the BBC.

The decline of the party conference can be linked to several other national trends:  the decline in strong party affiliation, the decline in electoral turnout and, most clearly of all, the decline in party membership. However, a point will come where political parties will have to give power back to their members, even if it is only to maintain an organisation capable of campaigning on a national scale. Rushing activists around the country works fine for by-elections, but in general elections, parties will begin to be stretched extremely thin. A time will come when political parties will be forced to decide whether they wish to be democratically accountable to their members. If the answer to that question proves to be no, then they risk the overthrow of the current political status quo.

My heart skipped a beat or two on Friday afternoon when I learnt online that a participant of a Shark Tales video – a trainee at law firm Clifford Chance – is facing the sack because of comments that he drunkenly made to the Cherwell cameras, fronted by Toby Mather.

Shark Tales isn’t meant to get anyone fired, though its aim – to encourage students to embarrass themselves – can naturally be deduced from the presence of its cameras outside a nightclub at 3am.

As editor of Cherwell last term, I – along with my co-editor – sorted through the video footage before each Shark Tales edition was released deciding what stays, and what goes.

Mostly it’s quite easy. Racism, sexism, serious violence – that sort of thing – is immediately cut out. The perverse ethical effect of this, of course, is to protect students who have said really unpleasant things on camera from the sorts of consequences that have befallen the trainee lawyer, whose offence, if we’re honest, was only to glorify robbing one group of rich people to give to another group of rich people, otherwise known as the legal industry. 

There are in fact multiple cases like the lawyer’s, in which you are faced with content that doesn’t cross clear legal or ethical boundaries but does prompt you, as an editor, to think twice.

The footage with the lawyer had the merit of being hilarious, especially because of his flourish at the end in which he “refuse[d] my consent for this to go on the internet and I will sue you if it goes on.”

It was troublesome for the precise same reason. Legally, we were told that he had no case – consent had been expressed in agreeing to be interviewed for what he knew was a video. But ethically, we had to contemplate the fact that the guy had had a few drinks and sincerely, in a state of sobriety, did not wish for the footage to go online. He sent further emails to that effect.

The footage was included and the rest, it seems, is history.

The truth is that an editor of a student newspaper is placed, through the simple power of selection, on to a quasi-judicial pedestal that, ideally, a twenty or twenty-one year old shouldn’t be on. But someone has to do it.

Though different editors will make different decisions, recognition of the pastoral role that student societies play means that most student newspaper editors – though they may style themselves as mini Paul Dacres – tend to protect students from the full consequences of their actions.

This article, for instance, named the freshers who had unwisely “blacked up” at a college bop in our print edition. But we decided, given their sincere apologies, that it wasn’t worth hobbling their future career prospects by naming them in the online article.

Similarly student editors have to decide when it’s fair to remove a student’s name from an article that embarrasses them or hurts their reputation. We are frequently asked to do so once the student in question, conscious that a future employer might google their name, starts job hunting.

There’s no easy answer, but the right approach, I think, is to try to judge – without sentimentality – whether the penalty that they claim to be suffering really measures up to the thoughtlessness of whatever actions prompted the article in the first place.  

The more pertinent advice, of course, for most readers who are more likely to be watching or reading Cherwell rather than producing it, is don’t be a moron.

Online learning platforms have become increasingly popular over the past couple of years. There are few people who have not learned something on YouTube: whether it’s how to play a guitar tune, bake a cake or assemble a table, almost everyone has watched online videos in order to learn basic skills. 

However, more structured, user friendly and advanced websites designed specifically around learning have been sprouting all over the internet in recent years, and their simple, hugely accessible platforms will almost certainly revolutionise the education sector in years to come. Having a computer as a teacher is now a reality.

One of the most well-known and successful platforms of this type is Khan Academy, which fuses educational videos made by Salman Kahn, its MIT-educated creator, and an intuitive lessons programme which not only teaches maths, but allows users to instantly practise what they have learned. Khan Academy’s huge success is due to Khan’s incredible capacity to explain, together with a thoroughly well-developed and easy to use interface. Essentially, Khan Academy makes learning fun. Khan’s vision is that students can practise what they have learned at school in their own time and at their own pace; and it seems to work.

However, Khan Academy is focussed mainly on school children learning maths. Increasingly, well-known (mostly American) universities have been investing in what are known as MOOCs (Massive Open Online Course). The name says it all – these are advanced courses, explained part by video and part by a computer system which test students’ skills in courses which are marketed for a huge online audience. This is the case with edX, Udacity and Coursera, all websites which offer university-level courses (usually ranging around two months in length). The courses offered are mainly associated to science subjects: computer science, mechanics and solar energy are all popular courses, although one can also learn about topics such as Philosophy or “The Ancient Greek Hero”. Each site has its own particular interface, but the concept is generally similar all around; interesting yet rigourous courses taught by real university lecturers. 

Ted, well-known for its thought-provoking videos on a wide range of topics, has not been slow to react, and has launched Ted Ed, where purely educational videos are posted, with the option to dig further, or practise specific skills. iTunes U has been offering free university lectures for a number of years. Other sites have skipped the whole video element, and have focussed purely on practical learning. Such is the case with CodeAcademy‘s incredibly user-friendly interface which has been teaching people around the world about computer code since 2011, whilst Duolingo teaches users a number of different languages whilst they help translate the web. 

edX, a MOOC originally set up as a joint venture by Harvard and MIT, states that its mission is to ” bring the best of higher education to students of all ages anywhere in the world, wherever there is Internet access”. Most of these online learning platforms are non-for-profit, and crucially, they are absolutely free for users. The potential of such a vast source of free knowledge is enourmous. Add the development of mobile apps to the equation and the impact becomes explosive. 

But what is in it for the universities and companies investing all this money in expensive online learning platforms through which they are essentially giving away free degrees? Whilst the benefits of reaching such a huge audience with your image are clear, none of these MOOCs include advertising, which would be the most obvious source of income. Meanwhile, openly for-profit MOOCs such Coursera and Udacity, whilst not charging for courses, have begun to charge potential employers for access to the best online students. Both platforms are also considering charging a small fee for a certificate of completion. Meanwhile, a number of American universities are now considering accepting online credits as part of their degrees, which is surely testimony to the rigour of the courses offered on MOOCs. Google have already partnered up with edX to create MOOC.org, a platform which has not yet been launched but which hopes to draw a large proportion of online learners. 

No doubt there are flaws to such initiatives. The self-discipline necessary to complete a rigorous course online is considerable, whilst some skills, in particular languages, are extremely difficult to perfect simply with a computer as a teacher.

Nevertheless, in an increasingly competitive job market, and with access to higher education becoming more expensive, it is not hard to see how free online courses could revolutionise the higher education sector in years to come; in a similar way to Wikipedia’s open, free access to knowledge, free online courses could soon become a fact of life. 

Crucially, Oxford need to get their act together and get involved in MOOCs and online learning, which may well soon be a benchmark by which to measure a university’s prestige and quality of teaching. You only need to take a look at SOLO or Weblearn to realise that Oxford have a long way to catch up when it comes to computer technology. MIT, Princeton and Harvard are not offering online courses out of pure kindness; they are fully aware of the potential that such platforms could have in future years. If we want to maintain our position among the world’s top universities, online learning is one of many areas in which Oxford needs to focus. And if it’s a problem of funding, then it is up to the government to decide where their priorities lie when it comes to education. If Oxford wants to remain a world leading university, we need to go online now.