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Right-wing commentator withdraws from Reform Society event following Nathan Cofnas invite

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Neema Parvini, a right-wing content creator, has withdrawn from speaking at an Oxon University Reform Society (OURS) event later this term after learning of the society’s invitation to Nathan Cofnas, Cherwell understands. 

Through his YouTube channel Academic Agent, Parvini discusses political theories on the ‘rule of elites’ and right-wing commentary. He was due to speak at the society in November on “the need to tune out hyperreal culture wars and partisan politics”. After being informed of  OURS’s controversial invitation to Cofnas, Cherwell understands he pulled out of the talk “to make good on [his] commitment to this principle.”

OURS announced in their term card that Nathan Cofnas would speak at an event discussing Diversity, Equality, and Inclusion’s impact on higher education later this term at Oriel College. 

The invitation has produced online backlash since its announcement. Oxfordshire Stand Up To Racism have organised a “far right off campus” protest in Oriel Square for the event. Labour MP Bell Ribeiro-Addy has posted on X: “Barely two months ago, we lost Professor Jason Arday. Institutions across higher education spoke about inclusion and belonging. Now Nathan Cofnas is being given a room at Oriel College, Oxford, to ask whether DEI is undermining education.”

Cofnas was responsible for publicising allegations that the late Cambridge professor Jason Arday had plagiarised his doctoral thesis. The accusations began weeks of intense media scrutiny that resulted in the professor’s resignation. Liverpool John Moores University, the institution that awarded Arday’s doctorate, investigated the accusations and concluded that the doctorate should stand. 

Following Arday’s death, Cofnas was suspended from his role as postdoctoral researcher at Ghent University after concerns were raised that he created a hostile environment for students and staff. His suspension has since been replaced with a three-month measure barring him from teaching, requiring him to work remotely, and requiring his research to focus exclusively on the topics of his appointment. Over 17 academics affiliated with the University of Oxford signed an open letter opposing Cofnas’s suspension. The investigation into Cofnas’s behaviour is still ongoing.

Professional and student concerns surrounding Cofnas’s self-described “race-realist” beliefs were raised prior to his allegations against Arday. He faced student backlash at Ghent University, with 2,000 students signing a petition opposing his appointment earlier this year. He was also dismissed from the University of Cambridge after a blog post that reportedly amounted to a “rejection of diversity, equality, and inclusion”. The post includes the claim that, in a meritocracy, “Blacks would disappear from almost all high-profile positions outside of sports and entertainment”.

Parvini has faced similar controversy over his far-right views. The University of Surrey suspended him from his teaching role in relation to his far-right activism. According to HopeNotHate, an anti-far-right activist group, his posts on X include statements that Black and white people are a “different species” and that Black people “are closer to homo erectus.” 

Oriel College have stated that it is their policy to permit events booked by students who are committee members of registered societies but that “permission does not imply endorsement by the College”. 

In response to an earlier comment request about the invitation of Cofnas, OURS directed the paper to a statement published on Instagram. In the statement, OURS said they were “committed to broadening participation in University life by removing systemic barriers for marginalised voices”. They added that: “Nathan Cofnas has been repeatedly victimised with stigmatising language and structural apartheid by those with institutional power and privilege”. Recently, the society shared a post by Cofnas saying that Stand Up To Racism’s planned protest was a “predictable response by the epistemic oppressors”.

The society have since released a statement clarifying that “contrary to claims that have been circulated online, Neither Oriel College nor the University of Oxford exercised any discretion in the decision to host Nathan Cofnas, beyond providing such venues to the Society as accord to their legal obligations”. They added that: “constituent colleges of the University are under a legal obligation to host events like ours by virtue of the Higher Education (Freedom of Speech) Act 2023.” OURS have also condemned calls for violence against Cofnas circulating on social media in relation to the event.

Beyond the Rad Cam: My quest to visit all 22 Bodleian Libraries

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Eighteen months, 22 libraries, and an alarming number of opinions about chairs, toilets, and functioning lifts.

Somewhere along the way in my DPhil, I developed an unusually strong interest in library toilets. This wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I anticipated caring about when I arrived at Oxford. After spending eighteen months visiting every single library in the Bodleian network, I’ve discovered that the difference between a wonderful working library and a miserable one often comes down to the most mundane things: a comfortable chair, decent lighting, a desk at a height made for an average-sized human, and whether accessing the toilet requires a minor expedition.

Between March 2025 and October 2026, I visited all 22 Bodleian libraries, from the magnificent historic reading rooms of central Oxford to the obscure medical libraries tucked away inside hospitals. What started as a way of exploring different places to work gradually became a personal challenge. Once I’d visited enough, it seemed ridiculous not to finish. Of course, even counting the libraries is complicated, since the University spent much of my challenge rearranging its library estate. Several smaller faculty libraries have been consolidated into the new Bodleian Humanities Library at the Schwarzman Centre, while other collections have moved or merged. For my purposes, I counted 22 distinct library locations, treating the various reading rooms within the Old Bodleian, for example, as one library. And having spent hours actually working in each one, I have many thoughts.

Beauty is not everything

Oxford is hardly short of beautiful libraries. The Radcliffe Camera is iconic, Duke Humfrey’s Library feels like something out of another century, and the Old Bodleian’s Upper Reading Room is one of my absolute favourites. But my personal beauty queen is the Taylor Institution Library. Find a seat at the west-facing end of the upper gallery around sunset, and you’ll understand why. Watching the evening light fall over Oxford from that magnificent old reading room is difficult to beat.

Unfortunately, beauty doesn’t necessarily translate into productivity. I want a chair that doesn’t leave my back aching after six hours, a desk at a sensible height, and ideally somewhere to rest my eyes other than a wooden partition directly in front of my face.

The new Bodleian Humanities Library gets this balance remarkably right. It’s modern, spacious, aesthetically pleasing, and genuinely designed for people to work in. The Old Bodleian’s Upper Reading Room surprisingly also manages to combine historic grandeur with a comfortable working environment. Meanwhile, the Gladstone Link deserves an award for the least inspiring study environment. Essentially an underground bunker filled with bookshelves, it makes me wonder why anyone would voluntarily spend their afternoon there when Oxford has so many beautiful spaces above ground.

The surprisingly important business of basic facilities

The longer I spent exploring libraries, the pickier I became about things I’d previously taken for granted. Temperature, for example, can make or break a working day. During Oxford’s summer heatwaves, I discovered that the Girdlestone Memorial Library at the Nuffield Orthopaedic Centre has wonderfully effective air conditioning. Forget the picturesque reading rooms: when it’s unbearably hot outside, a tiny hospital library with functioning climate control starts looking extremely attractive.

Then there are the toilets. Some libraries have conveniently located facilities. Others require you to navigate several floors, multiple doors, or narrow staircases simply to answer nature’s call. At the Radcliffe Science Library, the number of times I found myself scanning my Bod card to get through yet another door made the experience feel vaguely reminiscent of a maximum-security prison.

More seriously, I spent part of this challenge on crutches after developing bilateral Achilles tendinitis. It gave me a very different perspective on accessibility. At the Vere Harmsworth Library, for instance, the lifts had apparently been out of order for a considerable time. I could, with difficulty, hobble up the stairs. But what about someone using a wheelchair? Having accessible facilities is rather meaningless if the means of reaching them don’t work. The librarians were sympathetic and helpful, but the experience made me realise just how much Oxford’s beautiful historic and modern buildings can fall short of providing genuinely accessible working environments for all readers.

The peculiar rituals of Oxford libraries

If there’s one thing Oxford does exceptionally well, it’s making an ordinary activity feel like an elaborate institutional ceremony. The Weston Library takes the prize for the most intense security procedures. Everything goes into a locker, water is forbidden, and upon leaving, you’re asked to flip through your notes and open your laptop to prove you haven’t somehow concealed a priceless manuscript inside. To be fair, the precautions make sense. On one visit, I watched a researcher carefully unroll an enormous historical scroll across a reading-room table with a librarian’s assistance. It was an extraordinary sight and a reminder that these aren’t merely attractive study spaces – they’re working repositories of remarkable historical collections. Still, there’s something wonderfully Oxford about needing to prove you haven’t smuggled a medieval manuscript out in your laptop.

The ‘hidden gems’

One of the greatest pleasures of this challenge was discovering libraries I would otherwise never have visited. The Education Library is a particular favourite. It feels like a house converted into a library, with large windows, greenery, cosy reading nooks, and even rocking chairs. It also has two gloriously ergonomic workstations, although securing one can feel like winning a small lottery.

The hospital libraries were another revelation. The Cairns Library at the John Radcliffe is surprisingly spacious, although finding it involves navigating what feels like a hospital labyrinth. The Knowledge Centre at Old Road Campus is smaller, but modern and well-equipped. These aren’t the libraries that feature on postcards, but they’re part of what makes the Bodleian network so interesting.

And the winner is…

After 22 libraries, I still struggle to choose one outright winner. My three five-star favourites are the new Bodleian Humanities Library, the Old Bodleian’s Upper Reading Room, and the Weston Library. Each offers something quite different: modern comfort, historic grandeur, and the extraordinary atmosphere of active archival research. For sheer beauty, the Taylorian wins. For cosy charm, the Education Library. For surviving an Oxford heatwave, the Girdlestone. And for making you appreciate the existence of windows, the Gladstone Link wins by a landslide.

But perhaps the most memorable part was the ending. On 5th October 2026, I was crazy enough to take an hour and a half bus to Banbury to visit the Horton Hospital Library: number 22. After eighteen months of exploring some of Oxford’s most extraordinary buildings, my grand finale took place in a tiny hospital library with colourful chairs and a round table. The librarian was delighted by my challenge and mentioned that, as far as she knew, only three other people had ever completed it. She even joked about creating a commemorative booklet for people who had visited them all, so I asked her to take a photograph of me. She did, and that was that. No certificate, no ceremony. Just a photograph in a little library in Banbury and the rather satisfying knowledge that I’d finally done it. And that felt like a fitting ending.

What began as an excuse to explore new places to work became one of my favourite experiences of my DPhil. I discovered corners of Oxford I’d never otherwise have seen, learned a great deal about what makes a genuinely good working environment, and developed opinions about library furniture that I suspect will stay with me for life. I’d encourage you to venture beyond your usual reading room. You might discover your new favourite place to work. Or, at the very least, somewhere with better chairs.

‘We were the poor relations’: Naomi Lightman on life as a woman at Oxford in the 1960s 

The year Naomi Lightman came to study at Oxford – 1962 – was the first in which women were allowed to become members of the Oxford Union. 

Four years earlier, the five women’s colleges had finally been granted equal status with the men’s colleges. Six years before that, the quotas limiting the number of female students at Oxford had been abolished. 43 years previously, women had been allowed to obtain degrees for the first time. 84 years earlier, in 1879, 21 women entered two cloistered halls of residence – the newly-founded colleges of Lady Margaret’s Hall and Somerville – and were the first female students at Oxford. Much remained to be done, but change was already under way. 

Naomi Lightman (née Claff), my grandmother, was born in September 1943 in Blitz-ridden London into a Jewish family. In her early days she was put under the kitchen table to keep her safe from the relentless wartime bombings. Soon after, she moved with her mother to Ayr, a small town in Scotland, to escape the Blitz. Her father was a doctor in Scotland in the Navy. “He was very deeply affected by the very high casualty rate”, Lightman tells me. “It had a lifelong psychological effect on him.”

Lightman turned two just days after World War Two ended. The war that had defined her earliest years now existed not in bombs or evacuations but rationing and ruins. Postwar London was a site of rapid reconstruction as thousands of evacuees returned to what had previously been the site of enemy attack. 

But school was not trouble-free. Bullied at her previous school, nine-year-old Lightman was sent to a recently opened Jewish girls’ school: Hasmonean High School.The following year, she did the eleven plus exams to apply for a grammar school. Her English paper was one of the best, but “the maths paper was the worst they had ever seen, so that was the end of that.”

With less than a decade having passed since the Holocaust, many of the students at the Hasmonean were the children of survivors. But the Holocaust was never mentioned. “This was the 1950s. People were so traumatised they didn’t want to talk about it or pass on the information to their children”, Lightman tells me. “I had to learn about it myself. I heard girls in the corridor whispering to each other.”

As sixth form approached, Lightman says that she “had every intention of staying on to the sixth form.” The only problem was, there wasn’t a sixth form. In previous years, very few girls stayed on at Hasmonean past the age of sixteen; many left to attend secretarial college and then get married. “As far as they were concerned, they had no desire and no incentive to carry on, and the school didn’t provide any incentive either,” she tells me.

“A friend of mine, Freya, wanted to stay on too, and so the school had to create a sixth form for us,” Lightman recalls. “Because she was doing different A levels from me, I had private lessons for two years, and I was very fortunate that there was one outstanding English teacher.”

During the first year of her A Level studies, the teacher said: “I read English at Oxford. Why don’t you have a go at it?” The teacher suggested she apply to Somerville College in particular, rather than any of the other women’s colleges, as it was seen as more inclusive – accepting of women who had not attended prestigious private schools like Cheltenham Ladies’ College or Roedean. “Of course the Hasmonean would have been totally alien, not only because it was not recognised by the Ministry of Education, but because it was a very new school and it was also a Jewish school”, Lightman notes. She was one of the first Hasmonean students to even apply to Oxford.

She then found out she had been called to interview. “I had never been away from home before,” she tells me. “I hadn’t even been on a train on my own before. I really was inexperienced in every respect.” 

Lightman remembers the trepidation she felt as she sat waiting to be called into the interview, surrounded by “very sophisticated young women”. “When I got there, all the girls were sitting there wearing little black suits, high-heeled black shoes, and very smart handbags, and they all had cut glass accents.”

The interviews themselves were no smooth affair. The first interview saw Lightman appear before a panel of people all wearing black gowns. “Very intimidating”, she remembers. “They shot questions at me, and I had never been in a situation like that before.” Her second interview was with the Somerville College Principal, Dame Janet Vaughan, a woman who was both warm and dignified. Lightman describes vividly how, on entering the cavernous interview room, she was unable to spot Vaughan. “You’re supposed to sort of walk into a room and look vaguely confident. But for me, it was the exact opposite. I spent some time trying to see where she was, and then eventually she put her arm up and said, ‘I’m here, dear.’” Lightman felt that Vaughan was “quite interested” in her, as she was “an unusual candidate from an unconventional background”. Years later she discovered that Vaughan, a haematologist, had been sent to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp after its liberation in 1945 to aid in efforts to feed survivors suffering from extreme starvation.

The result of her Oxford application came by telegram, or rather, “a man on a bicycle.” “To my absolute and everybody else’s astonishment, I got a scholarship.” But Lightman felt she could not accept the offer. “I was an only child, and my mother and I were very attached to each other. She and my father had a very difficult relationship, and I thought it would upset her very much if I lived away from home for three years. So I decided on my own to turn the scholarship down, and I wrote a letter to the Principal.” She still wanted to continue her studies whilst supporting her mother, so she enrolled at University College London to study English. Very quickly she realised she had made a mistake; she had little in common with the academic assigned to support her studies and realised that the tutorial system at Oxford would have been ideal for her.

Lightman wrote a letter to Vaughan, explaining her mistake. Vaughan responded that she could take up her offer the following year, but this time would have to pay her fees. How would she pay the fees to attend Oxford? While it only cost a few hundred pounds, it was money her family – living in their cramped London flat – could not afford.

“I made some inquiries, and I discovered there was a Jewish charity that gave money for education”, Lightman tells me. “I had an interview with them, and it was very stiff and uncomfortable, but eventually they said they would give me part of the money.” The rest was lent by a friend of her mother. Finally, after numerous exams, interviews, letters, and changes of plan, Lightman was to matriculate at Oxford.

The first thing Lightman remembers about Oxford is that she had her own room. “I had never had a room of my own”, she says. Due to her family’s poor financial situation, she had shared a bedroom with her grandmother her entire life and would do so until she got married.

Life at Oxford was markedly different for men and women. The latter were in the minority: in 1959, women made up just 16% of the university’s undergraduate population. Male students only could enter Somerville during set hours, and female students were barred from male colleges in the evenings. Lightman recalls that fellow students used to climb over barbed wire to enter college secretly if they had been out later than curfew.

Male Oxford graduates were expected to use their degrees as launching pads for impressive careers. Women, meanwhile, were still expected to do little more than marry and have children. This was no more clearly demonstrated than when, in Lightman’s second year, a fellow English student at Somerville was told by the careers service that she should aspire to become a tour guide at Blenheim Palace. Lightman also remembers writing arts reviews for Cherwell, though the paper was, in the 1960s, no bastion of female empowerment: there were few, if any, women in senior positions.

“When I went to seminars and social events, there were very few women, and the men seemed very confident in a different sort of way”, Lightman observes. Many of the men carried themselves with the effortless assuredness and sophistication born of their public school education. “It was like a very rich family and we were the poor relations,” Lightman says, describing her experience in these situations.

Lightman had three very close friends throughout her time at Oxford, all of whom remained friends with her long after she left. Their rooms were close together, and they were constantly in and out of one another’s. One, whom Lightman remembers as lively and friendly, acted in a play for which Lightman designed the costumes. Another was at ease in Somerville’s intensely academic environment, as her father was a Cambridge professor. Of the third, Lightman recalls that “we could talk to each other about things that upset and worried us more than with others”. 

One aspect of Oxford life that has changed little is the stress of Finals. To cheer her up during the agonising wait for results, Lightman’s mother took her to a play, but halfway through she fainted out of nervousness. Just a few days later, she received the telegram informing her that she had been awarded a First.

After graduating, Somerville offered Lightman a graduate scholarship. She told them she was getting married. She had met her future husband, Gavin, the year before she matriculated at Oxford, through a mutual friend. They started dating in her second year. “Gavin used to come at weekends to visit me, and it was very sweet because the girls used to say, ‘It’s a Gavin weekend, isn’t it?’ and they said they could tell from my face.” 

Continuing graduate study at Oxford was impossible, as Gavin worked in London as a barrister. Somerville found a Doctor of Philosophy (DPhil) supervisor in London, where Lightman worked on her thesis. One day, years into the DPhil, her supervisor said: “I’m retiring in three months, and you haven’t finished yet. You’ve got three months to finish it.” This prompted weeks of frenzied writing as Lightman rushed to finish her PHD even whilst pregnant. Soon after, her supervisor “rang me up and said, ‘You’ve done it, Naomi. You’ve got your DPhil”.

Graduating with an Oxford degree – and a doctorate – may have opened doors for men, but it certainly did not for women in the 1960s. Lightman recalls an interview at a London university for a lecturing job. The first question she was asked was: “Does your husband approve of you working?” She was so taken aback she was unable to answer.

Her mother had built careers for herself despite the barriers facing women in the workplace, working variously as an artist, agony aunt and magazine editor. Lightman would do the same, working as an English tutor at Surrey University, Royal Holloway, the Open University and Birkbeck.

Fifty years after graduating, Lightman returned to Somerville for a reunion. The college, she found, looked almost exactly as she remembered it. The entrance hall, the Junior Common Room (JCR), and the gardens, seemed untouched by time. Each room she entered resurrected a memory, a tutorial, a seminar, a friendship. “There were ghosts, the shades of the people as they had been in their youth,” she recalls. “I could see them in my mind”.

But amid the familiarity, there was a marked reminder of how much had changed. Two decades before Lightman arrived at Somerville, Margaret Roberts had studied Chemistry there. Better known by her married name, Margaret Thatcher, she went on to become Britain’s first female prime minister. A woman reaching the highest political office in the country would have been unthinkable when Lightman attended Oxford in the 1960s. She expected, therefore, to find Somerville proud of its most distinguished alumna. But the students and faculty were more concerned with the substance of Thatcher’s policies than the significance of her achievement. “There was a bust of Thatcher in the college, but it was nowhere to be seen”, Lightman recalls. “I asked someone in the college and they said they had to put it in a hiding place as it was being assaulted. People intensely disliked her policies.”

Even as the college grappled with how to pay tribute to Thatcher, the very fact of her success captured something of the changes that had occurred since Lightman’s student days.

When Lightman left Somerville after the reunion, she was leaving a college that had changed little in appearance but profoundly in the possibilities it offered its students.

“I am proud of being a Jew, and equally proud of being an Arab”: Professor Avi Shlaim on Iraq, Zionism and belonging

Long before he became one of Israel’s ‘new historians’, Avi Shlaim was a boy in Israel, self-conscious about the sound of his first language. Years earlier, that same boy had been growing up in Baghdad, a city that had been home to Iraqi Jews for two millennia, in a Jewish family that called Iraq home and felt, in his words, “very Iraqi”.

In Baghdad, Shlaim recalls only speaking Arabic growing up, and tells me the other main aspect of Arab culture that remained with him throughout his life was food: “very spicy” rice and chicken, a staple in his Iraqi household. Upon moving to Israel, he encountered Ashkenazi food which he said was “culturally alien” and, in comparison, tasted “incredibly bland and boring” to him. 

“Religion didn’t mean very much to me then,” Shlaim says, as he describes his family as being culturally, rather than religiously, Jewish. Equally, he felt “very Iraqi”, and that in Iraq, his family “felt very much that this was our home. This was our country. We did well there. The Jews in general did very well.” 

Shlaim points to the thriving Jewish communities that existed throughout the Middle East, the Levant, North Africa, Iran, and Turkey, before the creation of the state of Israel: “We were Iraqis whose religion happened to be Jewish.”

For him, a sense of belonging is the crucial difference between his experience in Iraq and that of Jews in Europe. “Iraq didn’t have a Jewish problem”, describing this as a problem that pertained instead to European Jews, in particular in Germany. In Iraq, however, “we had a sense of belonging, rather than feeling that we were a persecuted minority”. “We were not aliens, we were not intruders, we were not strangers.”

The turning point, as he sees it, was the establishment of the state of Israel on 14th May 1948. Following this, “any Arab who didn’t like Jews could say, ‘You are foreigners. You don’t belong here’”. Shlaim also singles out the Farhud, a violent pogrom against the Jewish population of Baghdad that took place on 1st and 2nd June of 1941, as a pivotal moment for Arab Jews. However, while Zionist historiography has often claimed Farhud as evidence of pervasive antisemitism in the Arab world, Shalim rejects this interpretation: “I don’t deny that there was an antisemitic element in it, but I attribute it mainly to British colonialism and the British policy of divide and rule and the British choice of the Jews as a scapegoat after the nationalist revolt of Rashid Ali al-Gaylani.” 

This event was traumatic for the Jewish community. In his memoir, Three Worlds, Shlaim argues that Arab Jews were caught between Zionism and nationalism.

His own family, however, firmly belonged to the mainstream, which was non-nationalist and non-Zionist. Shlaim recalls once asking his mother, who always “loved talking about the wonderful Muslim friends we had in Baghdad”, whether their family had any Zionist friends. She responded: “No, Zionism is an Ashkenazi thing. It’s nothing to do with us.”

For Shlaim, his family’s attitude was “very typical and representative of the mainstream attitude towards Zionism.” His family were “Iraqis who were happy to stay in Iraq” and “Zionism was something alien”, something which “didn’t have the slightest appeal” to his Iraqi-Jewish family or community in Baghdad.

Shlaim says the alienation went both ways: “The leaders of the Zionist movement looked down on Arabs as backward and primitive,” and they also “looked down on Arab Jews as part of a backward and unenlightened society.” Indeed, his memoir opens with a scene from his childhood in which he feels embarrassed speaking to his father in Arabic in front of his non-Arab Jewish friends.

In Three Worlds, Shlaim challenges the idea that Israel was a haven rescuing Iraqi Jews from antisemitism. “I say that the Zionist movement was a ruthless and exclusive movement that only cared about Jews and didn’t care about Arabs, and that the state of Israel, the Mossad, played a part in uprooting Arab Jews from their homes and bringing them to Israel.”

He tells me that his family’s migration from Iraq to Israel was not something they actively chose: “My parents didn’t really understand how we were catapulted, how we were uprooted from Iraq, where we were very happy, and landed in this European-style country.” His mother found the transition from Iraq to Israel “really traumatic” but later recovered. His father never did.

He makes it clear that the encouraged migration was not a humanitarian mission nor noble support for Jews in trouble. Rather, it was intended to serve the interest of the newly born Israeli state, which was “very short of manpower”. When asked what his evidence for this claim was, Shlaim spoke about his research, which found that three out of five bombs that went off on the streets of Iraq between April 1950 and June 1951, which targeted Jewish gathering places and a synagogue in Baghdad, were instigated by the Mossad through Jewish Zionist activists. This led to panic-driven urgency to leave Iraq, and helped accelerate the exodus of roughly 120,000 Iraqi Jews through Operation Ezra and Nehemiah.

He also tells me about an elderly friend of his mother’s, Yakov Kuli, who worked in the Zionist underground, and confessed to forging documents and paying bribes to encourage Aliyah, the immigration of Jewish people to the Land of Israel, and named a colleague, Yusef Basri, as a Mossad controller in Iran. Basri and another Mossad operative who planted the bombs, Shalom Salih Shalom, were convicted and executed by Iraqi authorities in 1951.

Shlaim’s Zionist critics instead argue that the main reason for the Exodus was not Operation Ezra and Nehemiah, but persecution of the Jews by the Iraqi government after the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. In response to these claims, Shlaim says: “I don’t deny that there was persecution, but the bombs on Jewish premises was another factor that has to be taken into account.” He also says that even if not one Iraqi Jew had left because of them, he would still condemn Israel: “Israel wasn’t created in order to make life for Jews in the Arab world unsafe.”

I ask Shlaim how he, as an Arab-Jew himself, explains why many Arab-Jews look down on other Arabs, or reject their Arab identity. Shlaim replies that while the Zionist narrative says that Arab Jews were hostile to Arabs because they lived with them, “because they ‘knew what they were like’, because ‘the Arabs only respect the language of force’”. He rejects the premise that it grew out of their experience of life in Arab countries, saying “the experience, certainly, of my family’s experience, was not a negative one. It was a very positive one, living with Arabs”.

The hostility, he says, was learned later, when Mizrahi Jews in Israel were “indoctrinated to see the Arabs as the enemy and to hate Arabs”. He felt it himself at school, where he was only taught the Zionist narrative of the conflict: “I never learned anything else… we were only taught the history of the Jews in Europe.” His education in Israel involved “an attempt to erase Arab roots, to erase Arab history, to systematically de-Arabise anything that was Arab, including the language”. Shlaim points to Arab and Iraqi Jewish writers such as Sami Michael but says they “never entered the canon of Israeli literature”, as well as noting that there are “endless memoirs by European Jews and American Jews,” yet by comparison, “there are very few memoirs by Arab Jews like mine”. As a result, his memoir became a way to “assert my right to write our history as I understand it”. Shlaim would like all people, young and old, to understand from his memoir that “Zionism changed the course of Middle East history”.

The rich history of the Arab-Jews is certainly absent from not only the Israeli school textbooks that Shlaim encountered, but from political and historical discourse, especially with regard to the creation of the state of Israel. When asked whether the history of this community is misunderstood, Shlaim is quick to respond: “The whole history of the Jews of Iraq prior to 1950 is not just misunderstood. It’s completely absent.”

When asked why the history of Arab Jews has received very little attention in wider discussions of the creation of Israel, Shlaim explains that European Jews were dominant in the making and identity-building of the state of Israel, “they gave it a Eurocentric identity”. “They didn’t want to be part of the Middle East, but they regarded Israel because of its values and its culture as part of the West”. 

Regarding his own personal schooling experience in the newly established state of Israel, Shlaim recalls carrying “a big chip on my shoulder and an inferiority complex for being an Iraqi boy,” something that governed his relationship with Israeli society and held him back at school. He did not challenge or rebel against this social order; instead, he “accepted it as a fact that I was inferior at the bottom of the pyramid”.

The change in his internal beliefs about his Arab-Jewish roots only came when he left Israel for England at the age of 15. “I could see Israel in perspective, and I could see that I wasn’t inferior”, he says. It was also his move to London that allowed his love for history to blossom. He credits this to his secondary school history teacher, who was a “classic example of one teacher who believed in me and encouraged me,” and he says that this was why he chose to study history at Cambridge University. 

I ask Professor Shlaim about his sense of identity today and whether he feels more Iraqi, Jewish, Israeli, or British. But I quickly realise that this question is itself reductive and an oversimplification of his broad and multi-faceted, multi-layered identity. “It reflects the complexity of the notion of identity”, he tells me. 

“In my case, it was Israeli society that shaped my identity as a Zionist. So I grew up as a Zionist”, but this was not an identity that Shlaim would choose for himself. Through Three Worlds, he has sought to “reinvent [himself] as an Arab Jew”. When asked how he explains an Arab-Jew identity to someone who considers it a juxtaposition, he tells me: “I don’t see the contradiction.” Linguistically and culturally, he says, his parents had “much more in common with other Muslims throughout the region than they did with Jews in Eastern Europe”. 

Shlaim is proud of his Arab-Jewish identity, though he acknowledges that “the genocide in Gaza has made me distance myself more and more from Israel, and drawn me closer to Jews”. For him, the core values of Judaism are “truth, justice, and peace”. “The essence of Judaism is nonviolence,” he says, describing Netanyahu’s government as the “antithesis of these core Jewish values”.

Near the end of our conversation, he tells me he is “proud of being a Jew, and equally proud of being an Arab. The hyphen in Arab-Jews doesn’t divide Jews from Arabs; it unites Jews and Arabs”.

How cinema has taught us to see Autumn

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Every October, as the days rapidly shorten and the need for layers starts to become a hassle, many of us find consolation in the familiar promise of a ‘cosy autumn film’. Everyone has their favourites, from nostalgic rom-coms like When Harry Met Sally… and heart-wrenching classics such as Dead Poets Society to the spookier feelings of Hocus Pocus. But what do all these autumn specials have in common? Many seasonal rewatches do not actually take place in autumn. For instance, Fantastic Mr. Fox perfectly captures that ‘fall feeling’, but does not mention the season at all, and many consider the Harry Potter franchise quintessential autumn films although they span entire years. So, what is it about these films that makes you want to curl up at home while the leaves fall outside?

Film has manufactured a recognisable autumn colour palette, perhaps the most obvious tool filmmakers use to signal the season. Burnt orange, deep burgundy, and highlights of gold are integral to autumnal scenes, flashes of warmth as the weather gets colder. Wes Anderson’s adaptation of Fantastic Mr. Fox is bathed almost entirely in these colours, with the greatest ode being the colour of the main character’s fur. Similarly, the most easily remembered scene from When Harry Met Sally… is the iconic Central Park sequence where the characters are surrounded by autumnal oranges and yellows. Autumn in England is often depressingly grey — looking out of my window in Oxford at this time of year is disheartening and a reminder that the time for shorts and flip-flops has well and truly passed. Seeing a dead leaf on the ground, however, somehow has the opposite effect of reminding me that summer is dying, instead bringing me a warm feeling and a desire to eat a pumpkin. This romanticisation of decay lies at the heart of the autumn we see on screen, where the bright colours of a tree’s swan song are saturated to the maximum. This use of colour in film is thus perhaps not a reflection of autumn as it is but rather one of an autumn that is bearable to its viewers.

Texture and lighting play a similar role in creating an autumn feeling. Scenes that convey an autumn feeling are unusually tactile, full of tweed, dusty pages and wood panelling. The costume designers of Dead Poets Society, for instance, leaned into the East-Coast prep school aesthetic with heavy blazers, coats and patterned knitwear, which pair nicely with the woody interiors and old books created by the set team. The low natural light means that much of the film is aglow with candlelight and warm lamps, which push the warm autumn colouring even further. The scene in the cave, lit entirely with candles, is a clear example. This desire to create warmth indoors is perhaps innate to us, and films reminiscent of this season call on this instinct, reminding us to make our homes a respite from the dreary outdoors.

The true warm feeling we get when we watch a beloved autumn film, possibly for the tenth time, cannot, however, be explained by aesthetics alone. There is something inherently nostalgic about this season, which returns us to our familiar routines and environments, while the year comes to a close. This intersection of change and continuity lends itself well to nostalgia, making us conscious of time passing while trying to recreate the experiences of years gone by. Returning to Oxford unsurprisingly makes me want to watch Harry Potter just one more time, a series which reminds me of my childhood and beginning a new school year at my own Hogwarts. Autumn is clearly a time for comfort and reflection, a fact the film industry has learnt very well and pumps into new releases at this time every year. Hollywood understands just how profitable this feeling of nostalgia can be.

The commercialisation of seasons has been growing as a business. Any supermarket at this time of year will have an array of autumn scented candles, knitted throws, and three aisles of Halloween decorations. The palette, texture, and candle-lit glow of autumn films are accessible to your own home with a single shopping trip. These films did not give our society a hankering for warmth in the cold, but they provided the way this warmth should look, and this look can now be sold to us. Hocus Pocus, which has now become a cult autumn classic, was initially a commercial and critical flop upon its release in 1993, losing nearly $17 million. With a poorly timed July release date, a tone watchers found awkward, and poor reviews, there was no way to tell what it would become when it was released. Its status as a fixture of this season was built through repeated TV airings and its presence on streaming sites, demonstrating that the industry can manufacture tradition through pure determination. Similarly, across social media and streaming sites, companies and individual influencers create autumn watchlists and vision boards, pushing us to build these films into our seasonal routine. This cycle of creating an on-screen vision of what autumn should be, whether teary, romantic, or spooky, and then providing all the tools to recreate it for ourselves, is perhaps the strongest reason for an endless list of films that fit the ‘autumn genre’, an intangible feeling that filmmakers have managed to manufacture. I’m not immune to this, having my own watchlist for this season and a preference for autumn-flavoured coffees, but it may be worth wondering whether our vision of autumn is our own or one cinema has ingrained in our memories.

I no longer want to be an astronaut

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The Millennium Prize Problems are a set of seven famous unsolved maths problems collated by the Clay Mathematics Institute, each with a $1 million bounty. They range in respective subfields – for instance, P versus NP asks about computational complexity classes, while the Riemann Hypothesis, perhaps the most famous, seeks to characterise the non-trivial zeroes of a well-studied function on the complex plane.

The very fact that these problems exist contributed in no small part to my desire to become a maths researcher. For me, and I’m sure for many others, the dream of solving one of these ‘unsolvable’ problems carries more significance than just the cash reward. It’s only slightly about the reputation and fame it would bring. To the mathematician, the beauty of the problem and the satisfaction of conquering it are impetus enough. Indeed, when the first (and, until recently, only) one of these problems fell in 2003 at the hands of noted recluse Grigori Perelman, he declined the money and the Fields Medal – the maths version of the Nobel Prize – that came with it.

Perelman’s solution to the Poincaré conjecture was to young mathematicians in 2003 what Apollo 11 was to aspiring children playing with toy rockets in 1969. It proved these challenges are not insurmountable – after all, if Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, why shouldn’t I be able to?

The second Millennium Prize problem gave way just this September. The Navier-Stokes problem, a problem of fluid dynamics, was solved.

By OpenAI.

It’s worth acknowledging the ongoing dispute about the publication of this solution. Allegedly, OpenAI (the company behind ChatGPT) gained unauthorised access to research by Australian mathematician Tristan Buckmaster and Anthropic staff member Levent Alpöge, who were independently working on the problem while using advanced models of Anthropic’s own large language model (LLM), Claude. This has understandably opened up a wider conversation about plagiarism and the ethics of using AI in research. But while this is certainly morally dubious, it’s not what concerns me. Regardless of whose solution this was, it was certainly found using heavy AI assistance.

Just last week, OpenAI dropped 372 papers covering various well-known unsolved problems in mathematics and computer science. As someone in the unfortunate position of soon applying for a PhD in maths, it seems to be harder than ever to get one’s foot in the door. How can I, a bright-eyed but inexperienced undergraduate, compete with thousands of machines trawling through the sum of all human knowledge in parallel?

The irony in this situation is not lost on me. Mathematicians and computer scientists have developed tools capable of stealing the jobs of millions of artists and writers worldwide, and now our chickens are coming home to roost. That said, though, while perhaps a generation of future software developers and quant traders may find themselves a few hundred grand shorter each year, the prospective maths researcher will not suffer as much financially. It’s notoriously underpaid, and is out-earned by a large proportion of jobs that don’t even require a degree.

The mathematician doesn’t study maths because it pays well. To quote Poincaré himself, the mind behind the first Millennium problem to be solved, “he studies it because he takes pleasure in it, and he takes pleasure in it because it is beautiful”. Even if it no longer pays, the artist can still paint. The author can still write. The mathematician’s very canvas is stolen from them, and they don’t even have the satisfaction of knowing they could have done a better job – anyone with a semblance of taste is disgusted by AI art and would refuse to read an AI novel. But it is brilliant at maths.

I don’t have a way to spin this in a positive manner. I don’t like being bleak, but I can’t see a future for me in maths anymore. Any unsolved question will soon be munched up and spat out by a computer, and there’ll be nothing left to aspire to.

The stars are going out, and I no longer want to be an astronaut.

Beyond litter and emissions: The environmental costs of loud sound at music festivals

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The music festivals of the summer have packed up and moved on. Stages and sound systems have been dismantled, litter cleared, and land reseeded. While little now remains to suggest that thousands of festivalgoers descended on the outdoor spaces that host open-air festivals, a less obvious question lingers: what impact did all the noise have?

Many of the environmental costs of festivals are already widely acknowledged. With audiences travelling from afar and large sound systems and lighting requiring significant energy, festivals emit substantial amounts of greenhouse gases that contribute to global warming. They also produce and send tonnes of non-recyclable waste to landfill. Similarly, camping equipment is often treated as single-use – for example, at last year’s Reading Festival, over 55 tonnes of tents were abandoned.

The venues themselves can also suffer due to the pressures of music festivals. Heavy equipment and large crowds compact soil, reducing the water and oxygen that can reach roots. In fact, campaigners in Finsbury Park argued that the two hazardous trees Haringey Council felled in advance of the electronic-music festival Krankbrother in 2025 had reached such a state of ill health due to excessive trampling from previous festivals.

Yet there is a rarely discussed type of pollution without which music festivals simply could not function: loud sound. Though we can see speaker cones vibrating and metal fencing rattling, loud sound is sometimes overlooked as a pollutant since it is more or less invisible. However, as acoustic ecologists often point out, sound is an important part of our environments and can actively shape relationships between organisms, rather than simply being background noise. This, in turn, means that sound itself may disrupt ecosystems.

Of course, open-air festival sites are also habitats, and the organisms that inhabit them reside not only in the landscape, but in the soundscape too. In fact, scientific research suggests that the drastic changes to the acoustic environment that music festivals cause can be harmful to nearby organisms. For example, loud low-frequency sound has been associated with stress responses in some organisms, including those in aquatic habitats. Further, loud music can significantly reduce bat activity, potentially fragmenting important habitats. Similarly, loud sound may reduce nestling survival rates, while one study suggests that the resulting reduction in biodiversity may persist even after an event finishes.

The tricky trade-off is that what drives wildlife away is part of what festivalgoers come for: the visceral thrill of loud music pulsing through the body. Indeed, festival sound systems are designed to enhance this very experience, comprising massive subwoofers capable of producing loud low-frequency sound. The challenge, then, is to preserve this experience while reducing its ecological impact.

Festivals have already begun reducing waste, improving public transport, and switching to cleaner energy.  Noise should become part of that sustainability effort too. Moving forward, more research is required to identify which species are the most vulnerable and at what times of the year, which frequency ranges cause the greatest disturbance, how long effects last, and whether events of shorter duration are safer. With this information, festival organisers would be better equipped to stage acoustically sustainable festivals.

The solution, then, is not to cancel music festivals nor to strip away the powerful sound that makes them exciting. Instead, we must understand the effects of loud sound well enough to reduce unnecessary environmental harm, a particularly important objective since festivals take place in vulnerable ecosystems that are already under increasing stress due to climate change.

Decluttering Your Bookshelves: How Selling Old Books Benefits You and the Environment

Student rooms often have limited space. Between textbooks, lecture notes and titles bought with the intention of reading them one day, shelves can quickly fill up with books that may never be opened again. When the end of term arrives or it is time to move accommodation, deciding what to do with unwanted books can feel like another task on an already long to-do list.

Rather than leaving them to gather dust or throwing them away, selling books you no longer need can be a practical way to free up space, earn some extra money and make a more environmentally conscious choice. It also gives books that are still in good condition a chance to be read and enjoyed by someone else.

Why Sell Your Unwanted Books?

It is easy to end up with more books than you need at university. A textbook might be essential for one module but rarely opened after the exam, while novels and non-fiction titles can build up as reading interests change. Although some books are worth keeping, others may be taking up valuable space without serving much purpose.

Selling unwanted books gives you an opportunity to reclaim that space while recovering some of the money you originally spent. With student budgets often stretched by rent, food and travel, even a little extra cash can be useful. It could go towards everyday essentials, social plans or the next set of books you need for your course.

Online book-buying services provide a way to sell books that are suitable for resale. Students can check which titles are accepted and compare services before deciding how to pass on unwanted books. WeBuyBooks is one service to consider, offering a student book-selling service for those looking to sell books they no longer need.

The Environmental Benefits of Selling Second-Hand Books

The benefits of selling unwanted books go beyond a tidier room and some extra spending money. Selling them can also help make better use of the resources that went into producing them. Book production requires raw materials, energy and water, from manufacturing paper to printing and binding each copy. Passing a readable book on to a new owner gives it the chance to be read for longer rather than being discarded.

Second-hand books can also provide a more affordable alternative to buying new copies. This is particularly relevant to students, who may need to purchase course materials alongside other reading. When an existing copy meets someone’s needs, buying second-hand can help reduce the demand for a newly manufactured replacement. Selling books you no longer need helps keep them in circulation and gives other readers the opportunity to use them.

Reselling books does not eliminate every environmental impact associated with publishing. Packaging and transportation still require resources, and the overall benefit depends on factors such as delivery distances and whether a second-hand purchase replaces a new one. Nevertheless, extending the useful life of books is a practical way to make better use of products that have already been made.

What Should You Do with Books You Cannot Sell?

Not every unwanted book will be suitable for resale, but that does not mean it needs to be thrown away. Start by sorting your books into those you want to keep, those you could sell and those that might be better suited to donation or recycling.

Books that are still in good condition but have little resale value may be welcomed by charity shops, libraries or community book exchanges. You could also ask fellow students whether they need any of your old course materials. A textbook that you no longer need might be useful to someone taking the same module. Remember to check donation requirements before dropping books off, as not all organisations accept every type of book.

If a book is too damaged to be reused, check local recycling guidance to see whether it can be recycled. By selling or donating readable books and recycling those that have reached the end of their useful life, you can reduce waste and help make better use of existing resources.

A Clearer Bookshelf and a Smaller Waste Footprint

Decluttering does not mean getting rid of everything you own. It is about deciding what you still need and finding new homes for the things you no longer use.

For students, a book clear-out is a good opportunity to make more of the resources they already have. Whether you sell unwanted titles, donate them to someone who can use them or recycle those that are beyond repair, small decisions can help reduce waste and keep books useful for longer.

Before your next house move or end-of-term clear-out, take a look at what is on your shelves. The books you no longer need could be just what another reader is looking for.

Oxford’s obsession with being busy is pretty performative, right?

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A culture of busyness?

Soon, it’ll be that time again. You’ve hit Week 5 of Michaelmas, found a minute to breathe, and now you’re looking at the blurry image of your family at the other end of a video call. You’re rattling off the items on your calendar: the work due next week, the society events you’re heading to, the time slots you’ve meticulously booked for your hobbies and your mates. It’s a smooth recitation at this point – after all, you did have the chance to rehearse it earlier with that friend you bumped into on Broad Street. And the only question you were asked was: “How are you?”

At Oxford, it seems like we get used to talking about our lives as nothing more than a summary of the things we’ve accomplished lately, or at least are just about to. The longer your list, the better you must be doing, because to be busy is to be making the absolute most of your time here – and who doesn’t want to be doing that? 

What this actually creates is a culture of ‘busyness’ in which having a full diary – regardless of what with – is valuable, and downtime is dangerous. It’s an attitude that has managed to pervade everything from our everyday conversations to the way in which we (and the University) present ourselves online.

For one, the popularity of Oxford ‘day in the life’ content means we’re never short of reminders that reinforce this mindset, even from official channels. Examples of the typical student day on the English Faculty website cite “my busy day” and wall-to-wall activity, where even the smallest lulls are filled with something worth mentioning. YouTube videos offering a glimpse into life at Oxford and attracting millions of views paint similar pictures of days with little blank space on the canvas. Cherwell’s own depiction makes no bones about an “intense” lifestyle and “long to-do lists”.  

You might be quick to dismiss this as content produced for its entertainment value, and there would be some truth to that; no one clicks on a five-minute read about a midday lie-in. But in doing so, you might also miss the important truth that the things we say about ourselves often reflect the way we talk to each other. The language of these students sharing their schedules is used thousands of times each day, in coffee shops and colleges, kitchen catch-ups and corridor chitchat. If it’s one that reflects the same romanticisation of hurtling from one thing to the next, then the case for a cult of busyness is clear. 

Oxford students aren’t alone in this either; a culture that prizes constant productivity seems to be an almost universal university experience. Last year, London School of Economics student paper The Beaver published a piece on the ‘performative busyness’ there, describing an attitude of “relentless hustle” that will ring familiar to the reader who knows all too well what it’s like to define success by the sheer volume of studying they’ve managed to pile up. American accents are saying the same at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where The Daily Cardinal writes that “rest starts to feel unearned unless it follows exhaustion”. Just like in Oxford, to have free time means to fall behind – whether academically, socially, or even simply in how much enrichment you’re extracting from your university experience. 

This is the crux of the issue, and, importantly, the reason why the belief in busyness is more than just a performance. Having a lot to do earns you respect, yes, but these writers suggest the motivation is more intrinsic than simple social currency. Students are busying themselves not only because they worry that their peers will find their level of activity inadequate, but because of the far more dangerous fear that they aren’t doing enough for themselves and their futures.  

What is left, then, is a way of talking in which ‘making the most’ of your time is causally conflated with taking on as much as possible. If plans with friends or recreational pursuits must be considered ‘things to do’ to meet this high and rising bar, then so be it. We’re busy, and we’re proud of it. Some of us are so busy that we decided to spend the summer vac writing about it. 

Where has this come from? And what’s keeping it up?

Naturally, some of this reflects the fierce competition between students. Sixty-two per cent of undergraduates get straight to work in high-skilled jobs after they leave Oxford, concentrated around industries like finance, consulting, law, and technology. Many of these will be competing directly with one another for a small number of opportunities at a handful of top firms, where any edge on a CV could make all the difference. You can’t afford to feel like you’re wasting precious years that you could spend adding to this at university, especially given the spectacular range of ways to do so that we’re so fortunate to have at our disposal. 

Another look through Cherwell archives confirms this: at least part of our desire to be busy comes from an awareness of just how talented the people entering the same job market are. An article debating whether Oxford works too hard describes one student’s acute awareness that here, you might find “your neighbour is a world debating champion fluent in 5 languages or your college mum has already been headhunted by NASA”. Better get working if you want to keep up with that. 

University is a uniquely difficult place to manage these expectations; much of your workload is organised on your own time, and there’s no clear limit on the amount you need to do, even before all the extracurriculars come in. There’s no ‘9-to-5’, no office to clock out of at the end of the day, and no space to leave your work behind. 

Still, despite the stereotypes, Oxford students are often at pains to demonstrate that they do know how to have fun, and competition is far from the full story. The desire to ‘be busy’ extends beyond flashcards and job applications, into the activities intended to be more exciting than productive. The implication is that the more you do, the more you get out of your time; busyness is valuable because it shows you’re taking every opportunity you can. This gives you cause to be suspicious of your spare moments, to worry about the things that will rush past you if you dare to spend a minute standing still.

Economists will be familiar with the term ‘labour theory of value’, which holds that the true worth of a good is determined by the total amount of labour needed to produce it. We risk applying the same logic to our time at Oxford, worrying that we can’t be having the best experience possible if we’re not doing all we can – a dangerous value system when the list of fun pastimes is practically endless. Besides, the theory has been rejected by mainstream economics for over a century. 

So why are we so preoccupied with being busy? The best argument, perhaps, is that university represents a golden window for young people, one in which it’s really possible to pack each day with the things that excite us. Our daily workload isn’t bound by a convenient time window, but neither is our chance to explore beyond it. We live within minutes of our mates, surrounded by societies, sports teams, and student productions. And it’s not just that we can busy ourselves, but also that we should – ahead of us lies an increasingly difficult working world, above us the hefty amount we’ve given up to be here. We have a precious period on our hands that we can’t afford to waste. 

More than that, this is a precious period made available for just eight weeks at a time, adding to the feeling that such opportunity is remarkably fleeting. The lengthy holiday awaiting at the end of each term seems to be a green light to reach breakneck pace in those two months, a whispered suggestion that it’ll be over before you know it and that there’s plenty of time to be tired later. 

So, is it bad for us? 

The fact that time at Oxford is brief and full of chances to do exciting things is not a particular revelation, nor is the insightful observation that we try to take as many of them as we can. Neither is a new theme to a University which is famous for attracting students ambitious and talented across a huge range of disciplines, including but never limited to academia. The reason we talk of a ‘cult of busyness’, then, is not because the lives of students look drastically different – it’s because the conversation has changed. 

Instead of recognising that we’re able – and willing – to be so busy because so many interesting things are happening in the community, so many incredible people around us, we’ve begun to treat the Oxford experience like a burden. We see busyness as a standard we’d be wasteful not to reach. We’re rattling off hobbies to reassure ourselves that ours is not a fortunate position we’re letting fall by the wayside. These things aren’t, and never have been, the bar for belonging in the university community – what’s changed is how we talk to ourselves. This doesn’t mean we’re any less aware of how much we’re getting from our three, four, maybe six years here; that much, at least, is the same. The ‘cult of busyness’ arises solely from that negative attitude towards it, one that frames busyness more as a bare minimum than a remarkable result. It exists only insofar as the language we use to describe what we do, the way we perceive other people telling us what they’ve been up to. In fact, we’re making the same choices about how we spend our time – busy culture or not – and explaining it differently. You wouldn’t be part of a society, go to an event, or make plans with your favourite people just to avoid an idle evening; so why talk about them like a tute sheet with a looming deadline?

Language that puts a premium on productivity can only be unhelpful if it warps the activities meant to bring us joy. It attaches the pressure of necessity to opportunities that should excite, turning things a younger you might’ve dreamed of into another job to be done. Oxford is worse than anywhere for a pressure like that, precisely because it’s so rich with great people to meet and interesting things to do; treating it as a task can make it seem like a mountain. 

Nevertheless, it’s a mountain firmly of our own making – and not one we need to climb. By reminding ourselves that we’re so busy because of the abundance of once-in-a-lifetime experiences we’re fortunate enough to have in our handful of years here, we can reframe the conversation. Without losing any of the achievement that makes university worth the sacrifice, we can cast off the ‘cult of busyness’ and start to look more lightly at how we spend our time. And a simple “how are you?” can go back to being just that – a friendly question, not an interrogation of accomplishment. 

‘Burning Down the House’: A review 

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During the odd ‘in-between’ space that is Week 0, I searched for a show to give me something to do, amid the random dilly-dallying and the odd collection currently occupying my time. It was in this rather dull moment that the Breach Theatre and Schwarzman Centre production, Burning Down the House, stumbled across me.

Upon assessing the general idea of the piece, I was hooked; Professor Kirsten Shepherd, fellow of St Catherine’s College, approached playwrights Ellice Stevens and Billy Barrett in 2021 with the idea of merging academic research and theatre. It is this play which aims to uncover the untold, previously neglected inspirations for Henrik Ibsen’s prolific A Doll’s House. Admittedly, I sat down in the Schwarzman Centre with certain expectations. The space used for the performance, after all, was the very same space used for my own lectures, and so my mind had already associated the show with academic excursions and a research-informed uncovering of the past. Seems relatively straightforward, no? Yet what unfolded onstage was something surprising, striking, and altogether a performance that left me with more questions walking home than I had entering the theatre. What was initially, for me, a historical recovery became, instead, an investigation into the instability of storytelling itself and how, throughout history, artistic endeavour has come at the cost of violent exploitation. For a production concerned with uncovering the past, Burning Down the House had a remarkable way of forcing the present into uncertainty. 

The production began with a rather rusty Henrik Ibsen, played by Peter Clements, ambling onto the stage and taking a seat to tell his own story. The slight foggy mist traipsing through the air hinted at what would come next, a literal interruption. Laura Kieler (Jacoba Williams) burst into the theatre, unsettling the audience with a reckoning scream. Clements’ Ibsen halted whilst Williams’ Kieler was confrontational and ultimately unforgiving. Already, my attention darted around the stage, and it was chaotic – yet it is within this chaos that Director Barrett begins to push the questions onto the audience. Kieler’s interruption, whilst theatrical, also removed the authority from Ibsen’s own narrative control.

From here, shocking truths unravel as competing versions of history collide, subsequently separate and clash once more before the eyes of the audience. In a small physical space, the intensity of the performance was consistently astonishing and played with the audience’s own sense of stability in the theatre. One narrative seemed to establish itself, and then another emerged to challenge it. Throughout this Punch-and-Judy process, I was left little chance to comfortably settle into any single version of events, and it was this perpetual uncertainty that I found most compelling.

As the abstract house structure shifted around the stage, repeatedly constructed only to be manually dismantled once more, I became increasingly aware of the deliberateness of storytelling, in that the stories we inherit are carefully shaped by those with the power to tell them. The actors moving the house around the stage became, to me, a metaphor for the forces through which historical narratives are built, often at the expense of those who they claim to represent. Ibsen refused to call himself a feminist, which now feels disturbing after witnessing the devastating immobility of Williams’ Kieler. She stood helpless amid the relentless movement, her stillness exposing the painful contradiction lying at the crux of the production: the woman who inspired Ibsen’s arguable magnum opus can no longer control her own story. Indeed, the visible presence of the actual crew during this made it feel much more visceral, suggesting how the narratives we inherit are continually founded, broken down and then reshaped. 

An aspect of the performance I found to be especially intriguing was that of Sophie Steer. Throughout the production, though she mainly played Suzannah Ibsen, the wife of Henrik Ibsen, she also mastered multiple other roles. Steer told Cherwell that “it felt like the show had a brilliant bedrock”, which is certainly true. The way in which Shepherd’s thorough research informed the foundations of the script, in my opinion, allowed it to become more experimental and, at times, almost surreal. Steer’s performance was simply magnetic; her capabilities as an actress held my attention, even though the production seemed to depend on erratic movement and consequent disorientation. Her rendition as both Kieler’s Uncle and baby was poignant in what she referred to as the “nightmare section”. It is within this scene that instability climaxes – reality becomes warped, and meanings become somewhat meaningless; thus, it becomes hard to gain a sense of what is going on. Language could no longer communicate effectively, but rather primal noise operated within this medium of theatrical disorder, as though the characters’ experiences were too overwhelming to be captured by ordinary speech. This resulted in Steer flickering between both the enraged uncle and the bewailing child in a moment of culminating tension during Kieler’s labour. For Steer, her method was to go in “strong and wrong”, and she told Cherwell that she “found” the uncle and the high scream of the baby. It’s almost ironic, since within a production centred on Kieler’s lack of agency, Steer’s audacious performance was rooted in her own creative freedom. The result of such a show was truly arresting. In a moment’s notice, Steer transformed herself from a figure of authority to one of complete dependence, shattering any distinction between power and vulnerability. Her incisive control over this felt particularly fitting within a production concerned with the denial of agency. It was here that instability became a feature of identity and not merely of narrative or staging of that matter. 

Ultimately, Burning Down the House was far from what I had first expected. Barrett’s production seemed obsessed with dismantling our conceived understanding of history; the chaotic staging, quickly shifting performances and refusal to offer certainty in any shape made for a deeply unsettling, yet equally fantastic, experience. In terms of what struck me most, I believe it to be how the production continues past just recovering a piece of forgotten history. Instead, it continues to question the very ways in which stories become forgotten, and who causes this to happen. That night, I left the Schwarzman Centre feeling truly befuddled, unsure what to really think – it was all quite bonkers to be honest! Yet I think that’s where its brilliance lies. In telling the neglected story of Laura Kieler, who was denied any control of her own story, it left me wondering how this is not solely contained to the 19th century. After all, the forces that silenced Laura Kieler have hardly vanished – they have taken different forms.