I’ve been a member of the University of Oxford for 6 terms and 6 weeks. During that time I’ve seen the £9k freshers arrive, complained about the inordinate number of three course dinners, ignored two boat race victories, failed to be elected JCR VP, and watched three different OUSU Presidents come along. And through the incredibly varied experiences of Oxford, there has always been one constant: what does OUSU do and why should we care?

And why should we? OUSU has little to no impact on our lives as students. Its offices are hidden away behind the Combibos garbage, and the only interaction it has with most students is a weekly spam email. Not to mention that it sounds more like a crew date venue than a student union.

So we are left in a place where most people A) don’t care about OUSU, and B) think it does nothing. It’s no surprise, therefore, that the OUSU elections stir up all those inevitable feelings about our student representatives.

If you genuinely don’t care about the student union, then don’t vote. Your right to be apathetic is just that: a right. Turnout for our elections is, generally, abysmal, not because we’re a bunch of uninterested, Russell Brand acolytes who can’t think clearly enough – or operate a computer – to actually vote for a candidate, but because we work hard and think independently, and our independent thought often makes it difficult to join a ‘group’ of thinkers.

So the consequence is that most of you won’t vote and I don’t blame you. But I will vote, because I’ve come to weirdly care about OUSU. I don’t know if it was Martha Mackenzie’s emails, which I automatically binned in my first year, or DJT’s Wolverinesque mutton chops (and bizarre insistence on remembering the ‘J’ in any newspaper reference to him), but I find myself genuinely caring, and worried, about the result of this election.

First things first, Alex Bartram is not a bad candidate and we would by no means be damaging ourselves if we elected him. Likewise, I think it’s fantastic that Nathan Akehurst has managed to organise a proper left-wing slate, and many of the issues that he highlights are things that I wish were brought up more often. But their campaigns are fixed on the trite adage of ‘OUSU doesn’t connect with the people’, which is boring and repetitious. If they really thought that nobody cares about OUSU, they wouldn’t be running for President. In the same way that I didn’t bother going to my Oliver Wyman numeracy test this morning; if they felt that OUSU wasn’t an effective employer, they wouldn’t be applying to work there.

Jane Cahill’s campaign has hit road bump after road bump, and the undercarriage of their election vehicle is hanging by a thread. But stupid electoral marketing shouldn’t make a difference to your choice of OUSU President. Frankly, I could find out that the entire OUSU website had been plagiarised from Facebook and it wouldn’t make a piss-inch of difference to the way I think. 

Jane4Change are calling for the student union to have a bigger impact on student lives, not by undermining its previous achievements because they ‘don’t care’, but by developing it into something more accessible to the average student.

If you try and pop in for a drink at the OUSU offices on Wellington Square at the moment, you’ll be greeted by a stern receptionist and the disapproving, albeit moustachioed, face of Tom Rutland. If you try and organise a society meeting on their premises, you better pray your society is about as popular Lonely Nerd Soc, because there is about 20 cubic inches of conference space available. Jane is going to start the process towards a proper student union building, with cheaper drinks than the Purtle Turtle and more bureaucratic looking corridors than the SSL.

Yes, they’re student politicians (a weird charge to level against them in a student political election) and yes, James Blythe does look like he’s involved in a body-swap comedy with Peter O’Toole, but their vision for OUSU involves building on an existing infrastructure. And if you think that existing infrastructure is insufficient, then you’re probably just not understanding the difficulty of being an effective student union at a collegiate university. It’s fucking hard.

Voting in the OUSU elections is about as exciting (and difficult) as shopping at Ocado. About 25% of the student body will probably just ‘forget’ to vote, whilst another 25% are probably too wrapped up in their three-piece management consultancy circle jerk to bother worrying about ‘that ouzo thing’.

But if you’re someone who has the required two minutes to vote, and vaguely cares about the way we’re campaigned for, then I’d like to recommend voting for Jane Cahill. Her campaign management might make you think that she’s about as transparent as a piece of felt, but she’s the only candidate who talks in positive terms about what we can achieve at OUSU, and that’s the least disingenuous way of approaching a student union that suffers from a chronic lack of involvement.

It’s not cool to like OUSU (hence why I was accused of ‘rimming’ them) and I’m sure that, if I post this on my Facebook, I’ll get the usual barrage of ‘nobody cares!’, ‘*yawn*’, and ‘fuck off Nick u stupid hacking cunt’, but I feel like it’s worth writing anyway.

Even though I’ll be gone – unless you give me a Masters (please give me a Masters) – I still find myself, somewhat inexplicably, caring who becomes President of our student union.

Nick Hilton,

Editor of Cherwell and President of Lonely Nerd Soc

Every college has its dirty little secret. Normally tucked away at the far end of the furthest quad, you can see across Oxford the respective mistakes of colleges’ loony forebears in the 1960s. “Good joke, guys” would be my initial reaction to most of them if I did not have to live in one of their number. It was quite something, arriving at a stunningly beautiful (ok, moderately stunningly beautiful) college, a key factor in my choice of college, to be presented with the keys to Staircase 4. The looks of sympathy I got on arrival were an indicator of things to come. A spiral staircase, a Soviet-esque roof suitable for the handover of spies and another spiral staircase later, I was in my room and pleasantly surprised that at least it was marginally less prison-like in its decor than the hallway. Perhaps the most depressing aspect was that it does not have the modcons one would expect a modern building to possess: the hot water, when not coloured red by what I presume is rust, is freezing cold. It is another two spiral staircases, hard enough to navigate whilst sober, to get to the two loos for fifteen people. Indeed, in my freshers meeting with the College President, he was most enthused when he mentioned knocking the entire monstrosity down. It does, after all, ruin the so-called ‘architectural integrity’ of the place. 

In a desperate attempt to see the positive side of all this, I will now try to justify why these 1960s monstrosities, from St John’s infamous Beehive building to my very own, humble Staircase 4, add to the richness and diversity of Oxford Life. The first point to make is that it could be seen as a massive group-bonding exercise. Whilst we are all admittedly suffering, at least we can find mutual consolation in the fact that we are all suffering together. In fresher’s week, once the usual subject-staircase-place of origin formula was used up, we filled those awkward pauses with endless moaning about the hot water system or the paucity of loos. It was, to use that ghastly phrase, what one would call an ‘ice-breaker’. 

These 1960s monstrosities are also a vital component in the overall architectural character of the place. For, without them, Oxford would be dull in its uniform beauty. The monstrosities fulfil an important function; by breaking up the homogenous architectural experience, they render the 16th century turrets and stain-glass windows all the more impressive by virtue of comparison. Indeed, I appreciate the beauty of the view outside my window all the more by the relative hideousness of the building in which I am sitting. (Incidentally, one of the great bonuses of living in one of these 1960s buildings is that you do not have to look at them.) Furthermore, they are proof that Oxford is a living, breathing city. It is very easy to see Oxford as a city of the past, a monument to the nation’s heritage. Yet, it is easy to forget that it remains an active institution, filled to the brim with young people and a sprinkling of academics. The disconnect between the two is bridged by the less tasteful elements of the city’s past and, indeed, such elements showcase the full range of the city’s history, in a way that the orthodox beauty of traditional Oxford cannot. On the same train of thought, the architectural imperfections of Oxford make Oxford seem just a little less daunting and more welcoming to timid freshers who descend upon this alien city. 

Several of my fellow inmates, and independently of each other, came up with the following interesting psychological angle: living in architectural-hell in your first year means that your second year accomodation will nearly always prove a step up. It is a natural progression in many colleges to go from shoddy building in the first year to beautiful, stereotypical Oxford building in the second – although perhaps this does not apply to St Catz. Not only does this transition make you appreciate the second year accommodation to a much greater extent, but it also makes the burden of first year accommodation all the more bearable.

So, next time you bemoan the poor architectural choices of your respective colleges, remember that they, as much as the ancient quads, are part-and-parcel of the Oxford experience, and, most likely, where some of your best memories of Oxford will be made. And even after a few weeks, the sharp edges of Staircase 4 are beginning to grow on me – It is home after all.

The boys in military uniform, the saluting, the marching. The waving of our nation’s flag as if it justifies the deaths we are here to remember. The proud brandishing of guns; the very machinery that causes the destruction we mourn over. Poppy day isn’t about remembrance, it’s about glorifying the bravado that killed, and continues to kill, many.

Remembrance services are inextricably linked to the automatic respect and glorification of the armed forces, with more time given to military parades than reflection on those who have died. Our natural human empathy towards those who have suffered from war is manipulated in order to brand our foreign policy as worthy and heroic. Of course, at times, soldiers have been vital for the protection of our country, but we must be careful that Remembrance Day avoids using past battles to justify current policy. We cannot use the fight against Nazism to achieve public justification of Britain’s part in conflicts today.

In Flanders Fields, read to schoolchildren across the country, exemplifies the propaganda we face each November. It is significant that Remembrance Day has adopted McCrae’s poem, written early in WWI before the true horrors of war were revealed, since the campaign is desperate to romanticise and glorify the grim reality of war. ‘Take up our quarrel with the foe,’ reads the poem, echoing in services across the country. If Remembrance Day truly respected those who have lost their lives in war, it would surrender this bloodthirsty rhetoric and military propaganda.

But the military propaganda isn’t limited to the annual ritual of Remembrance Day. Organisations like Help for Heroes blindly label soldiers as heroes, whilst they fight wars that public polls continually express overwhelming opposition to. How can a hero die fighting an unheroic cause? Help for Heroes aims to care for serviceman and their families, compensating for the government’s continued neglect of the armed forces. Yet these campaigns rely on nationalistic rhetoric of heroes and protectionism, in order to care for serviceman, only serving to increase public backing of otherwise unjust and unpopular conflicts.

To blindly honour any armed forces, no matter their actions or purpose, is dangerous. We need to be free to support and protect ex-serviceman without glorifying the forces that continue to cause such widespread death and destruction. Remembrance Day stops us from doing this – it ties the memory of individuals killed by war with the groups that continue to perpetuate conflicts today. On Remembrance Day we should be remembering people who have suffered, yet we allow the campaign to manipulate our empathy into something more nationalistic, antagonistic and dangerous, lending itself to xenophobia and racism. The Daily Mail recently published an article challenging Muslim women to prove their patriotism by wearing a poppy, and it is exactly this pseudo-patriotism that has no role in an event to remember those who have lost their lives.

Perhaps more important is that Remembrance Day has been hijacked by the armed forces to the exclusion of the other victims of war. The Poppy Campaign raises funds for ex-Serviceman and their families, organised by the Royal British Legion and the Haig fund. Central to this is the memory of soldiers who have died in wars past and present. Not just soldiers, but exclusively British soldiers – as if war is not an evil that affects all sides, but an evil that is unique to Britain. Innocent civilians are forgotten – no poppies are worn in their memory, no services held, no poems recited. This is especially surprising considering that over 90% of the victims of modern warfare are non-combatants. Look at the Iraq war, where the death toll of over 120,000 civilians towers above the 5,000 occupying troop who have lost their lives. Yet on Remembrance Day it is clear that we believe it is only the British soldiers who deserve our memory.

Currently all that decides if we mourn the soldiers of the two world wars is their birthplace – after all, both German and British soldiers were separated only by borders – often both conscribed, and equally disillusioned with the war they fought. Today it is bizarre that we exclusively remember those who died in British uniform – the rhetoric of ‘protecting our nation,’ seems hollow considering the public’s opposition to recent foreign policy. On the one day we set aside to reflect, we continue to cling to the tribal mentality of remembering the soldiers who died on ‘our’ side and not ‘theirs.’ Has death and destruction not taught us that it is the loss of human life which is to be mourned, not just the loss of a national?

It is for these reasons that the White Poppy campaign is growing – a symbol for the memory of all who have suffered and continue to suffer, united in the shared belief in peace. It remembers the victims of war regardless of their army, their nation or their cause, because it doesn’t have the arrogance to assume that the British cause is any better than the cause of anybody else. It remembers those who brandished guns as well as those who refused to fight. It remembers the Iraqis as well as the British soldier. In short, it remembers victims of war because they were human, not just because they were soldiers.

It’s often said that since soldiers ‘give their lives for us,’ we have a duty to participate in Remembrance Services. Yet the greatest insult to their memory isn’t to object to the ritual military propaganda of Remembrance Day, it is to ignore their experiences. To claim that their death was tragic, but not tragic enough to stop the glorification of war and start the campaign for peace. It is an insult to allow their memorial services to be hijacked by the armed forces, who continue to cause the death and destruction we mourn over. Instead we must put remembrance back at the heart of Remembrance Day, and ensure that it is a positive force for peace in the future, and not for the maintenance of militarism, chauvinism and war.

Robert Walmsley: Yes 

We all know OUSU has a terrible reputation. Ranked the least popular student union in the UK for two years running and with a turnout of 16% at its last election, OUSU is anything but a cherished Oxford institution. Given this recent history, it is not surprising then that the idea has emerged that Oxford students need to somehow reclaim OUSU, if it can be said that students ever had a popular claim on it.

OUSU came into existence in the 1960s, with the aim of representing, supporting and enhancing the lives of students. Few would disagree that in recent years OUSU has fallen short of these aims. In spite of this, OUSU continues to matter, as it manages a fairly sizeable budget. OUSU is funded by a block grant from the University and the profits from its commercial subsidiary, Oxford Student Services Limited, known for sending you spam emails. However, despite these resources few students could tell you what this money is spent on. Although, the people who do use their services seem to be generally positive about them.

According to the website Unistat, Oxford has an extremely low level of satisfaction with its student union, even for a collegiate university. For example, the National Student Survey found student satisfaction with the Oxford University student union was 36%, compared to 42%, at Cambridge, 50%, at Durham, and 62% at York.

Considering the clear lack of an OUSU fan club, who are we to blame for this distinct lack of popularity? The answer most people seem to suggest is the indomitable scourge of student politicians.  OUSU does not have an unearned reputation for this. For example, Will Straw, OUSU President in 2003, has been selected to run, as the Labour candidate, in the constituency of Rossendale and Darwen, for the 2015 general election. It is no wonder then we see repeated promises of change, which has condemned Oxford students to feel like they are suffering from an endless rerun of the rhetoric of the 2008 American presidential election.

What seems to turn many people off is the disparity between the language candidates use to talk about OUSU elections and how students talk about it. Candidates talk in terms of utopian ideals of representation and abstract promises, while when students talk about OUSU the conversation is often characterised by mistrust, suspicion and general apathy. The consistently low turnout in OUSU elections is a demonstration of this fact.

The largest problem OUSU has is it has so far failed to reach a widely recognised purpose, which demonstrates its value to Oxford students. Oxford students need to know what OUSU provides them that their JCR or MCR does not. What will be far less clear to most Oxford students is who the right candidate to establish such a purpose is. Oxford has no shortage of student politicians, but it does seem to have a shortage of popular ones. If sweeping change does not happen this year… well, there is always next year.

(This article was mistakenly attributed to Will Railton in print on 15/11/13. Apologies to both Robert and Will) 

Alexander Trafford: No 

As we approach sixth week, and election-obsessed hacks of all sorts become increasingly nervous and over friendly, it is hard to miss the fact that you’ll soon be asked to vote for at least one person in at least one election because they are ‘the only candidate who will really make a difference’. OUSU’s is certainly the most obvious and least avoidable upcoming election. This is either because someone will almost certainly wake you up one morning by banging on your door and asking you to vote, or because the candidates will appear in your JCR meeting so that each of them can explain in turn why they really are the person who should be in the Labour Party cabinet in fifteen years’ time. With the largest electorate, OUSU’s is not an election to be ignored, and so I’m sure that you noticed the rallying cry this week that this term is our chance to ‘Reclaim OUSU’. Now, I didn’t want to write on this side of the debate to attack the particular slate or campaign; I think it’s an honourable one. Instead, I simply suggest that successful reclamation or not, most students won’t notice the difference. 

It is stereotypical and dull to criticise OUSU and suggest that our student union ‘does nothing’, which is why I’m only going to do that a little bit. Right or wrong, it is certainly a popular view that OUSU is irrelevant to the life of an Oxford undergraduate. There is of course a legitimate part of this claim; the collegiate nature of the University does mean that much of what is done by most other student unions is handled in Oxford by JCRs and their committees. Repeated pledges and plans for OUSU to offer a more typical student union building to act as a student hub are met with tepid responses and blank stares. Though there are a few particularly angry people who disaffiliate themselves from our student union before they even arrive here, on the whole OUSU doesn’t inspire hatred. Instead, most people simply aren’t interested: I say that the OUSU election shouldn’t be ignored, but it might be useful to remember the fact that the vast majority of students don’t even bother to vote.

I don’t deny that what OUSU does, it does well. Particularly when it comes to specific areas such as welfare, rather than attempting to represent the views of Oxford’s students on national issues, OUSU clearly provides a real benefit. The OUSU Exec repeatedly prove themselves to be very good at what they do, whether or not they are the ‘student politicians’ that some would have us resent. So why would OUSU need reclaiming? For more pledges to find new ways to extend OUSU’s reach and remit; something that students clearly aren’t calling for. Seeing as a student union’s purpose is to reflect its student’s views and wishes, it might be worth listening to that. Our student union doesn’t need reclaiming: the indifferent student body it represents clearly thinks OUSU is doing just fine.

A new atheist church in Oxford? Praise God! Who wouldn’t want a movement that’s committed to making a positive impact in our community? It’s wonderful to hear of the Sunday Assembly’s desire to be ‘a place of love that is open and accepting’. Leo Mercer argued last week in these pages that the Sunday Assembly ‘offered those things that religion provides, though without dogmas or liturgy’. He mentioned some of those things that the Sunday Assembly seeks to emulate: ‘community, a place in which to reflect, a sense of purpose, and so on.’

And yet I wonder: are the wonderful aims and desires of the Sunday Assembly really compatible with its self-conscious atheism? Community and purpose aren’t ideals that Christians have happened upon, disconnected from what it is we believe; rather they flow from our understanding of the world – the ‘dogmas’ the Sunday assembly wants to do without. The two are inseparable.

I’m not surprised by the Sunday Assembly’s desire to build inclusive communities. The urge to gather in community is common to all humanity. But can an organisation that states ‘we come from nothing and go to nothing’ really have any basis for affirming that we should ‘live better, help often, wonder more’? By contrast the Christian understanding of humanity being made equally in the image of God was the bedrock of the human rights we all cherish. Couple that with the Christian understanding of us as flawed, yet unconditionally loved by God, and you have a strong basis to treat others respectfully and lovingly despite inevitably being let down and letting others down. Of course, in practice atheists are often more loving and generous than Christians – but in principle, with an atheistic understanding of the world, there’s no basis for affirming love instead of hate, or helping instead of hindering.

I fear that in their search for loving community, the Sunday Assembly have mistaken the trimmings for the Sunday roast: I’m not connected with this stranger sitting next to me because I’m singing a Disney song with them, but because we both know that through Jesus we have been made right with God and are now in his family together.

The same goes for meaning and purpose. Jesus says that we are to love God with all we are and have, and to love our neighbour as ourselves. And he provides powerful motivation for those who seek to live out this generous teaching by setting us the ultimate example: loving us so much that he died for us. But if we ‘don’t do God’ then can there be ultimate meaning? Sartre seemed to recognise this tension in Existentialism and Human Emotions: ‘If I’ve discarded God the Father, there has to be someone to invent values…life has no meaning a priori. Before you come alive, life is nothing; it’s up to you to give it meaning, and value is nothing else but the meaning you choose.’ Can we honestly feel the depth of this predicament and yet continue to celebrate life with integrity?

I wish the Sunday Assembly every success as it seeks to impact our city for the best. And yet the question remains: can the reality of an atheistic worldview sustain the goals the Sunday Assembly longs for? Could it be that the Christian understanding of the nature of reality and the human condition is actually the only basis for living better, finding purpose and building community, ideals that are the centre of what it means to be human?