Friday 5th June 2026
Blog Page 24

OURFC crush Cambridge to sweep Varsity 2026 

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Stepping out onto the field carrying the weight of a historic rivalry is one thing; winning the battle is another. Yet that is exactly what Oxford’s Blues did last Saturday. 

As the 141st Varsity match commenced, the stakes held more than just quantitative significance, but pride, tradition, and most importantly, bragging rights. A meeting of sunshine and rain, of young and old, of past and present, culminated in a staunch victory for both the Women’s and Men’s teams. 

Oxford’s Women’s team defended a four-year streak of titles, winning by a dominant margin of 52-8. Captain Chloe-Marie Hawley elicited audible awe from the crowd as she led the Dark Blues to victory with a kick of razor-sharp precision. Despite their rocky start, Oxford’s women recovered diligently to command the field, displaying a mixture of possession and determination in the first fifteen minutes which culminated in the game’s first try. Hawley, foreshadowing an afternoon of calculated conversions, brought the score up to 7-0. As the crowd proclaimed: we had not yet seen Cambridge score a try. 

DPhils, undergrads or internationals: whoever was on the pitch, regardless of their stage in the academic ranks, age or background, was this day united in one goal. Backed by history, alumni, and friends and family from far and wide, Oxford knew they had one job – shoe the tabs – and shoe the tabs they did. 

A score of 19-0 at half-time had Cambridge’s prospects looking bleaker than the grey skies enclosing Stone X stadium. Cambridge was to find no silver lining in the second half – only the boisterous glee of navy-lined blazers. Sophie Shams scored Oxford’s fourth try, followed by a trusty conversion from Hawley to make the score 26-0. In response, a rapid solo-run from Cambridge’s Esther Makourin gained Cambridge their first try of the game. The scoreboard read 26-5. Nevertheless, as the sun peeked through the clouds, it was clear the Dark Blues would succeed in foiling the tabs’ bright hopes. Oxford wasted not a moment to react; the second half was simply a consolidation of defeat. Spurred on by a Dark Blue war cry, the beating drums could only remind Cambridge that time was running out. A final score of 37-25 would seal Oxford’s victory for yet another year.

The crowd was on their feet, beer cascading, as the whole team pelted towards the centre, supporting even their injured players towards the celebrations. Having also clinched Player of the Match, Hawley rejoiced as her teammates hoisted her into the air, their glossy trophy reflecting the now-streaming sunlight as well as the jubilant crowd.

Victory may have appeared easy for the Women’s Team, but as the horns blasted, the Men’s 3pm kick-off at StoneX would prove just how much perseverance is demanded of these players throughout their 80 minutes on the pitch. 

The Men’s Varsity Match was an edge-of-the seat affair. Oxford’s early lead of 5-0 was established by Will Roddy, powering towards the corner in a fast-paced start. Cambridge won a penalty soon after to equalise, courtesy of an aggressive Oxford scrum. Even scores would be a recurrent theme of the match: Cambridge’s Danny Collins reinforced a try from James Wyse to establish a Cambridge lead of 7-5, before a penalty taken by Oxford’s George Bland levelled the field to 10-10. 

No one was left wondering whether these walls could talk: the stadium stands were brimming with navy and turquoise blue. Alumni and supporters alike had a lot to say from the sidelines, with one heckling his own side from the stands. His uninhibited accusation of uselessness proved a feat of tough love, however, prompting a solo-dash from Oxford’s number 11, Wolfe Morn, in a narrowly-missed try. 

Soon enough, Oxford retook the lead. A try just before half time from Harry Pratt pushed the score back up to 15-10. Half-time respite did not hinder Roddy’s efforts; the forward proved his indispensability with a hat-trick soon after the second horn had blown, galvanising Oxford into a lead of 20-10. A sudden shift in weather brought no change in fortune for the tabs. As the clouds parted, however, Harry Bridgewater pulled through, converting Josh Hallett’s run to the line. The score read 27-15. 

Hungry for more, Roddy claimed his fourth try of the afternoon. Bridgewater provided the conversion once again, stepping up to the plate for a score of 37-18. Cambridge, credit where it’s due, refused to quit even in the throes of the game’s last quarter, with their persistent efforts edging them up the scoreboard. But Oxford’s defence stood firm, holding them up at the halfway line, and 37-25 is exactly where the numbers remained as Oxford notched a sweep of the Varsity Matches. Penning his name in the history books, Roddy was crowned Player of the Match for a formidable individual performance. 

Tears of victory attest to the sport’s poetic brutality: the battering and bruising of the game is not divorced from its deep sentimentality. The heavens split, casting a spring afternoon’s surprising sunlight over the rainbow seats of StoneX stadium. Pent-up pre-Varsity nerves purged themselves amidst the celebrations as players confronted their own place in history: some lamented the loss of team members in years to come, while others mourned their final dalliance for the Dark Blues. An uncertain future is, however, what keeps us coming back, year after year, to watch this historic rivalry unfold once more. 

The Varsity Matches of 2026 belong to OURFC.

Corpus Christi College unveils its first female portrait

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Corpus Christi College recently unveiled the first portrait of a woman to hang in its hall since the College’s foundation in 1517. The portrait, which depicts the College’s President, Professor Helen Moore, is also Corpus Christi’s first portrait painted by a woman. 

Professor Moore became the college’s first female President in 2018, shortly after its 500th anniversary. Corpus Christi began admitting women as graduate students in 1974, and started admitting women undergraduates in 1979. Moore became a Fellow in English at Corpus Christi in 1996. 

Professor Moore told Cherwell: “Being painted by an artist of Miriam Escofet’s standing was a great privilege and an experience I will never forget. Corpus was eager to enhance the visual diversity of the Hall as our most public space, and the portrait was designed with its final setting in mind.”

Miriam Escofet is a Spanish painter and graduate of Brighton School of Art. Her previous work has been selected for the BP Portrait Award exhibitions in 2009, 2010 and 2012 as well as the Royal Society of Portrait Painters’ annual exhibition. In 2020, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office commissioned Escofet to paint a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II.

Escofet told Cherwell: “It feels like a huge honour and very special to be [sic] the first woman artist to paint the first female portrait to hang in the Hall since the College was founded. Not only the first female portrait, but a portrait of the first woman President of the College. There is a lovely symmetry to that. 

“I truly believe in the power of art to shape our imaginations and sense of reality, so I hope that this portrait, in its own very modest way, will act as an ambassador for the achievements of women and be inspiring in some way.” 

Discussing the process of painting Professor Moore, Escofet told Cherwell: “It is always a compliment and an honour to be chosen to paint someone who is so eminent in their field; they invariably show a curiosity and respect for the creative process, which is very conducive to a good outcome. The time spent with someone during sittings gives me a vital insight into their personality, which is always a key component of a portrait.”

Oxford meets Hackney meets Mexico City: Bigfoot reviewed

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 4 Stars

This term, stumbling home from Indie Fridays or on a pilgrimage to Tops Pizza, I kept noticing this decidedly cool bar a little way down the Cowley Road. With fairy-lights strung across its wooden terrace and ‘Bigfoot’ scrawled in playful letters across the glass, it seemed slightly out of place in central Oxford. If anything, this kind of idiosyncratic concept and DIY glamour belongs firmly in Hackney. But I’m a Londoner at heart and, as if I hadn’t already been tempted enough, discovering their £5 Margarita Wednesdays sealed the deal.

Even on a dreary evening in February, the place is buzzing, but we manage to squeeze ourselves around the last empty table outside. The crowd is young and surprisingly fashionable for Oxford – there are no college puffers or quarter-zips in sight. Inside, the Hackney theme continues: mid-century modern furniture, plants hanging from the ceiling, and beanies as a seemingly compulsory uniform. Oh, and plenty of Bigfoot memorabilia. But the place is saved from suffocating in its own coolness by its laid-back atmosphere, the friendly waiters and scruffy charm.

The menu itself is simple but mouthwatering: four different types of tacos, five varieties of margaritas, and a few eclectic beers on tap. They have a whole menu of chasers for these, but I’m here for the margaritas and won’t let myself get distracted.

When it arrives, the watermelon margarita is just as pink as I’d hoped it would be. It tastes like summer and, more dangerously, not at all alcoholic. The standard one is a slightly classier affair, one that strikes the perfect balance between bracing and refreshing. These people know how to make a margarita.

In the name of journalistic integrity, we decide to order all of the tacos. For me, the standout of the night is the carnitas – the rich flavour of the braised pork perfectly balanced by the lighter notes of pickled red onion and pineapple. I’m less convinced by the chicken taco, the flavour of which is dominated by the chipotle mayo, but it is not unenjoyable.

I have (I hate to admit) a childish aversion to mushrooms, so I leave the oyster mushroom taco to the others, all of whom promptly inform me that it is their favourite. Apparently, the umami of the miso glazing and gentle spice of the jalapeno sauce is enough to make you forget you are eating an actual fungus.

The final taco is decidedly less familiar, but this is serious research we’re undertaking, so it’s cactus time. I’m really not sure what to expect but am more than pleasantly surprised to discover that cactus has the texture of pepper. If it has a distinctive flavour, it’s masked behind the cheese, jalapenos, and salsa, which are already a match made in heaven.

The tacos are definitely on the smaller side, and by the time you’ve eaten an entire meal’s worth, the cost does begin to mount up. But if you want to unwind, drink some filthily good margaritas and feel like you’ve escaped Oxford for a few hours, then Bigfoot might be the place for you. 

Rival protests over Iran war at Carfax

An altercation broke out between rival protesters at Carfax Tower on Tuesday evening over military escalation in Iran. A protest against US-Israel attacks on Iran was organised jointly by the Oxford branches of Stop the War (OSTW) and the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (OCND), and was supported by Oxford Students Palestine Solidarity (OSPS), a group representing students at schools and universities across Oxford.

Anti-war activists set up a small stall by 5.30pm, soon joined by other protesters. Speaking to Cherwell, a protester said that he had turned out because he was “outraged by this latest adventurism by Trump”.

Organisers from OSTW chanted slogans including: “From the belly of the beast, hands off the Middle East.” Posters at the stall read: “Stop the war on Iran”, and “oppose US and Israeli imperialism”.

A small group of counter-protesters also soon arrived, carrying the ‘lion and sun’ Iranian flag, a symbol of support for the Iranian monarchy, which was ousted in 1979 by the Iranian revolution. A counter-protester told Cherwell: “For decades, Iranians tried to get rid of this regime, with many momentum [sic.]… we tried many ways, and we couldn’t. Except war, what would be our solution?”

She expressed support for the US-Israel offensive, saying: “Myself, I do not like to see my city, my lovely Tehran, my country, being bombed. Who loves war, actually? But if we do not have any solution… What would be our solution, tell me? If you have a peaceful solution, I would definitely appreciate that, but we tried so hard, many different ways.”

One counter-protester held a sign reading: “Where were you when they massacred us weeks ago”, referring to the Iranian authorities’ killing of protesters in January. Protests in Iran began on 28th December last year after a steep collapse of the country’s currency. The American-based Iranian human rights group Human Rights Activists in Iran (HRAI) has confirmed the deaths of over 6,500 protesters.

Around 6pm, an altercation broke out between the two groups. A man standing with the counter-protest approached anti-war protesters and began shouting. 

Bombings in Iran began on Saturday morning with a joint US and Israeli attack on several sites in the capital city, Tehran. The bombing on Saturday killed Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. The reported civilian death toll in Iran stands at 742. A strike on a primary school in southern Iran reportedly killed 165 people.

Iranian forces responded by launching strikes of their own against targets across the Middle East. Missiles and drones struck Israel, Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Cyprus. Six US soldiers were killed in a strike on a military facility on Sunday. At least ten people have been killed by Iranian strikes in Israel. 

Israel conducted airstrikes on Lebanon beginning on Monday after rocket fire from the Iran-aligned group Hezbollah, and on Tuesday announced a ground incursion into southern Lebanon.

UK Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer has said that British armed forces in the region will not join US-Israeli offensive action in Iran but will cooperate with “defensive” strikes on Iranian missile storage depots and launchers. 

In a speech to MPs on Monday, Starmer said he did not believe that the US-Israeli airstrikes were legal and that the UK had learned from its participation in the Iraq War the importance of a “viable thought-through plan”. In his strongest rebuke of US President Donald Trump yet, Starmer said he did not believe in “regime change from the skies”.

OSTW organiser Teige Matthews-Palmer told Cherwell: “Oxford Stop the War Coalition has joined CND in calling a protest against the illegal US-Israeli war on Iran, and any UK involvement in it… We live in the long shadow of the US-UK invasion of Iraq, which, far from liberating Iraqis killed up to 1 million people and left prolonged chaos and suffering, while a few profit enormously from trading arms and reshaping the flows of oil and profits in the Middle East.

“Students occupy the places where ideas, values and hopes are contested, and students have a better world to win – one that is in direct conflict with the greed and violence of our political leaders.”

During the protest, Matthews-Palmer referred to US President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as “disgusting despots”.

An OSPS spokesperson told Cherwell: “If we’re looking for connections as oppressed people across the world from Palestine to Sudan to Congo to Kashmir and to Iran, we should fight any imperialist power that has a boot on our necks… I think Oxford students should come out to show solidarity and to demand an end to this disgusting war, and keep protesting and fighting imperialism in any of its forms.

“Everyone should pray for the innocent people across the Middle East who are being bombed by these Western powers.”

The Hollywood blockbuster and what it says about us

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Among the most cherished genres in American cinema today might uncharitably be described as ‘dad films’. These are blockbusters dripping with testosterone, usually involving some major set-piece, at the end of which our heroes, whether the government or the police, carry the day against the odds. Think of Die Hard, when Bruce Willis’s street-smart off-duty police officer defeated a gang of terrorists and left egg on the face of the overbearing FBI. The Hunt for Red October was a similar story. Jack Ryan (Alec Baldwin) is a CIA analyst specially enlisted to find a defecting Soviet submarine captain (Sean Connery). In the end the crisis passes, and nuclear war is narrowly averted with the help of the strongest Glaswegian accent the Kremlin ever had. 

With enough funding and hype behind them, these films can enter the national consciousness even if their very nature suggests they shouldn’t. Point Break, for example, is a deeply silly film: Keanu Reeves goes undercover to infiltrate a gang of surfers, who rob banks while wearing rubber masks of former US Presidents. On paper, the long, lingering shots of Reeves and Patrick Swayze surfing with very little on, not to mention the fact that it was directed by Kathryn Bigelow – a woman (gasp) – ought to have scuttled this film as a vehicle for middle-aged men. By rights, Point Break is the sort of film that bombs on release and ends up a camp classic decades later. But no – it made $83 million and ended up with a notably inferior remake, the blockbuster’s equivalent of an Oscar.

So, why do films like this not seem to have the relevance that they used to? After all, they were popular, and some of them were even good. But in the 21st century, stories like this just aren’t convincing anymore. In today’s world, the threat that people want to see vanquished isn’t limited to international terrorism, or the Soviet Union, or even straightforward armed robbery. The American population – the target audience for these films – have quite enough to worry about.

The comforting narrative that such films promote, where American power is used in the service of the innocent, seems not to resonate so much given the current state of affairs. Take for example the growing ‘militarisation’ of law enforcement to deal with perceived domestic disorder. Last year, 32 people died at the hands of US Immigration and Customs Enforcement – the highest number in over two decades. This year, as it takes on more government funding than any other law enforcement body, eight people died in January alone. None of them were armed. In this America, it’s far harder to buy the usual morality tales where the Good Cops fight against the system and everyone goes home happy.

This is arguably exemplified by Kathryn Bigelow’s latest effort, A House of Dynamite. The film centres on a fictional American government and its response to an incoming nuclear attack – but it falls flat in bewildering ways. For one thing, it consists of the same events repeated from three different perspectives, which are so similar that you may as well just watch the opening 45 minutes on repeat. Nor does the baffling conclusion help: everyone panics, Jared Harris’s Secretary of Defense throws himself off a roof, and then… roll credits. No resolution. No decision. A two-hour talking shop, an inexplicable suicide, and by the end of it all we still don’t know what the protagonists have actually settled on doing. You’d think that the imminent nuclear apocalypse would have sharpened their minds a bit.

The problem is the film’s uncertainty about what it actually wants to say. The view it promotes of America’s role in the world – a basically liberal, benevolent force for good – would have been misguided even when people bought into it under Bush and Obama. Two decades of war and its human cost have made that increasingly hard to defend. These days, however, not even the government can be bothered to keep up the façade. It’s little wonder, then, that we get a similar lack of conviction from the studios that make our major films.

Confronting the future of art: ‘Responding to AI’ at Christ Church

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In the face of changing technology, how do artists perceive artificial intelligence, and what role does it play in their work? Responding to AI, an exhibition curated by Aniq Shamsi and Alice King, confronted this question directly. I had the great pleasure of attending a private viewing of the exhibition in the Christ Church Chapter House, and of meeting the artists at the forefront of the discussion.

Whether AI-generated images can be considered ‘art’ is highly contentious, even among non-artists. Arguments against ‘AI art’ include the lack of originality and the negation of effort. But others see these tools as a platform for innovation, stimulating ideas and testing different options. The entanglement of art and AI is only increasing, with models like ArtEmis even claiming to be able to predict a viewer’s emotional response to art, using large datasets of visual inputs and textual descriptions. Entering the centuries-old Chapter House, I was gripped by the contrast between such modern subject matter and the truly historic setting.

I was initially surprised by how many of the artists I spoke to were in favour of artificial intelligence, or used it in their creative process. One such artist, Alan Kestner, used AI to layer the vignettes in his piece, which would have been extremely time consuming to do in the traditional way. The description of his work, Dark Eyed Sailor (2024), includes a positive reaction to AI: “It opens up new possibilities to extend an artist’s repertoire.”

However, not everyone agrees. Sonja Francisco, a DPhil Chemistry student at Wolfson College and one of the exhibition’s featured artists,expressed concern about the effects AI may have on the environment.  This was reflected in her artwork, Remember to Water the Pink Tulips in My Bedroom (2026). It consists of one mixed media piece and two separate tulip vases, one of which wilts with the label ‘generate image: pink tulips’, while the other blossoms. She poignantly focuses on the huge amounts of water used by data centres, creating tap droughts in local communities and affecting their everyday lives, down to the flowers in their homes.

A prominent theme of the exhibition was that of the artist’s creative process, and its inability to be recreated by AI. Munise Akhtar’s foray into Persian miniature painting focused on the physical effort artists pour into their work, tied to the emotions which motivate them to do so. After the death of her father, the symbolism of angels resonated with her, and she describes the creation of her piece as “allowing grief and focus to coexist within the same space”. She hand-burnished paper with stone, prepared pigments herself, and transformed raw gold leaf into paint. For her, AI cannot replace these traditional methods, nor can it remove the grief characterising her work.

Ruth Swain takes an alternative approach, with a series of oil paintings blurring the line between reality and image. Her Tom and Jerry (2025) piece captures the current state of AI-generated art, often producing images which are ever so slightly off or misproportioned. The viewer is presented with an unnatural, almost birdseye angle of a cat reacting to a photocopy of a mouse emerging from a machine. The painting intentionally mimics the appearance of AI and challenges the viewer to question the extent to which AI-generated images are reflective of reality. Swain confronts the theme of the exhibition directly, focusing on the viewer’s perspective rather than the meditative processes behind the art.

While the exhibition was student-run and featured the art of several postgraduates, it was nonetheless star-studded. M. Freddy, a Parsons School of Design graduate and featured speaker at MIT and the United Nations, explored the idea of art as a relationship through the concept of an envelope. Viewers were encouraged to open the letter, read its contents slowly, and reflect on how the fingerprints and subtle creases on the paper could not be recreated by AI. Likewise, Farrah Azam, an award-winning painter who has been commissioned by King Charles and Camilla, presented a beautiful work of gold leaf on a navy blue background depicting the London skyline, influenced by her Kashmiri background. Like others in the exhibition, Azam drew upon her upbringing and culture to ground her art distinctly in humanity. Aniq Shamsi, one of the curators of the exhibition and the Christ Church GCR Arts Officer, traced his family tree through the ancient cuneiform script (Inheritance, 2025), drawing upon such traditions to remind us that art and its power have endured several millennia before AI, and will continue to do so alongside it.

Shamsi and King’s Responding to AI exhibition was vibrant, heartfelt, and raw, stripping art back to its foundations and reconsidering what it means in a world of changing technology. The high quality of the exhibition and its organisation were impressive and spoke to the curatorial vision of Shamsi and King. Whether AI comes to have a true place in art is yet to be seen, but showcases like these forecast the controversy it creates, and remind us of the traditions that brought us to this point.

Gen Z and Oxford: Nihilism inside the bubble

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We all know that Oxford can feel like a bubble. Every day brings new challenges and new deadlines, to the extent that a week can pass in an instant and there is just no time to peek outside of the blinkered existence of tutorials and the occasional pub trip. But this tunnel vision can become restrictive, and even self-perpetuating. The hourly sunny notifications I receive from the BBC on the state of the world have become more and more easy to force to the back of my mind as I hurry from the Schwarzman to the Taylorian and back under a perpetually grey but evidently not-on-fire sky. It’s very easy, and almost necessary, to be an ostrich and stick your head in the sand, if it means I am able to desperately string ideas together to finish my third essay in a week.

The rise in nihilism (or ‘Doomerism’) in Gen Z is nothing new. In nihilism, everything is temporary by definition. If the world is going to burn in a few years, then we might as well enjoy ourselves instead of worrying about the next Prime Minister or saving for a house, right? If you have to work, it can feel more rational to spend the money you earn on something you’ll actually enjoy now, rather than saving it for a rainy day – especially when it feels like it’s been raining since 2008. Whether it manifests in politics, the economy, or the environment, this turn towards nihilistic thinking in general indicates a growing detachment from long-term planning, rooted in the belief that caring too much about the future may no longer be worthwhile. 

It doesn’t help that Gen Z is so often told it must save the world from itself. During Freshers’ Week, we were informed that we would contribute to the totality of the world’s knowledge, as if this fate were already mapped out for us: Don’t worry, privileged student, you’ve been accepted into a Hub Of Learning and can now be an upstanding, caring citizen by default. I remember telling my mother (Professor of Responsible Leadership, Improving Diversity, and Generally Making the World a Better Place) what I wanted to study, only to be asked what was useful about it.

The uncomfortable answer is that it isn’t. When the planet already feels like it’s in ruins, emerging with a Masters in some niche corner of French literary history does seem like a somewhat absurd endeavour. The guilt of not contributing towards a better future with each passing moment can lead to inertia: not feeling able or willing to do small things because I can’t single handedly save the world. This is even more prevalent in Oxford’s culture, where it can feel like nothing is of value unless perfect, especially if I’m already battling twelve essays a term. 

In this light, an impulse towards nihilistic thinking makes sense. Except I’m not enjoying the present moment so much as wallowing in perpetual existential crises about how it’s possible for the older generations to have put us in this position, knowing the answer, knowing we’re just as bad, and resenting them for it anyway. 

But if I’ve convinced myself of the futility of any action, am I let off the hook? Is my existential dismissal therefore just an easy way out, contributing to this paralysis? It is, after all, much easier to relax by doomscrolling and online shopping when you’re not worried about the environmental impact.

Nonetheless, reminders of how badly we need change are constant, even as I brush them away to deliver a well-formed argument about the far-right at a formal, clinging to a semblance of sanity. That is, until my friend in Oregon asks me, joking-not-joking, if she could marry me for an Irish passport. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore another headline about short-sighted political decisions as I’m distracted by a notification that fossil fuels weren’t mentioned in the last COP30 summit during my essay crisis in the RadCam, all the while feeling morally superior for using Ecosia instead of Google. There’s only so far performative sustainability can go in relieving climate guilt.

But the only way to escape fearing the crushing inadequacy of anything you could potentially do is to start doing it. And as much as I would love to be able to give up on everything outside my control, as many wellness podcasts would advise me, my sense of privileged moral guilt is too strong for me to not have a conscience, so ignoring everything is, unfortunately, impossible. This is what worries people looking at Gen Z nihilism from the outside: if nothing matters, what is the motivation to do good in society? 

The answer lies in the present moment. Nihilism as an all-encompassing worldview can start to feel oppressive, but by taking myself away from the endless feed of bad news, I’ve started to notice what can be done, rather than what can’t. Even with Oxford’s busy schedule, meaning can be found in something as simple as finding joy shopping in Oxunboxed, the student-run refill shop, or joining your college’s Climate Society. By paying attention to the small things, we can discover what does matter. If life in general is meaningless, we are, at least, free to try to make the present moment as good as we can, and to inspire others to do the same.

So, I’ll make my money count. I’ll go to a protest. I’ll vote for a Green Party councillor. This year I’ve decided that it’s about time I start acting like the integral part of this country’s future that the University tells me I am. Because if every member of Gen Z who cares in silence starts shouting about it, we might actually get somewhere.

We need summer re-sits

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When I was studying for exams in Trinity 2024, I broke my glasses. I needed an entire new frame and lenses, and my current prescription was about to expire, so I realised I could save money by getting a new eye exam first. I was unprepared for the result, though: I had a detached retina and needed surgery urgently or I could go blind in my right eye at any minute. Since NHS waiting lists were too long, I had to return to the U.S. to get treatment, which caused me to miss my exams. As Oxford could not offer me summer re-sits, I had to take them in Trinity 2025. This forced me to postpone an excellent PhD offer. 

My plan was to tutor for a year while continually reviewing the material so I would be prepared to ace my exams when I returned to Oxford. This was a good plan… until the night of 7th January, when wildfires ravaged Los Angeles. While I survived the Eaton Fire, my house was one of thousands that burned down. Needless to say, my life was thrown into turmoil, and it was months before I was truly able to get back into a studying routine. I managed to eke out a Pass in June and even get a Merit on two exams, but it was rough.

Moral of the story: we need summer re-sits.

Currently, Oxford offers summer resits for Prelims students – but no such provision exists for the following years. The reasons for this might seem to make sense; it maintains high expectations for students and disincentivises failure. Plus, it reduces the workload of administering exams. The system already grants departmental Boards of Examiners flexibility to consider a student’s extenuating circumstances. Namely, in fringe cases, if a student does well on most exams but fails one because they were ill that day, then the examiners might decide to disregard the exam they failed.

However, when extenuating circumstances cause a student to miss too many exams or perform too poorly, the examiners’ hands are tied – they might decide to remove the cap on the students’ re-sits for the next year, but that still forces the student to wait a year to progress. For example, when my detached retina caused me to miss all my exams, there was simply nothing to go off of. A year later, the stress of having one chance to take six exams despite how overwhelmed I felt was more than I could handle, since I was scared that if I failed too many I’d have to postpone my PhD offer by another year or even lose it entirely. The anxiety of the situation would have been greatly reduced if I’d known that I could re-sit the exams later that summer if needed.

To prevent students from finding themselves in these situations, Oxford should guarantee summer re-sits for anyone unable to progress due to their exams being affected by serious extenuating circumstances. Furthermore, different students might have different timing needs – for example, a student entering a PhD/DPhil programme might need the re-sit sooner, such as early or mid-August, while a student dealing with a longer-term crisis might need the exams later. To handle this, Oxford should give individual departments flexibility to decide on timing in consultation with affected students. I understand Oxford might wish to disincentivise failure and minimise its workload by not offering summer re-sits to everyone who fails, but offering them to those prevented from passing by external hardships is simply the just thing to do.

For Prelims courses, both Trinity exams and re-sit exams are set and checked at the beginning of the academic year. This could be done for Part A through C courses as well. Furthermore, if Oxford decides to make re-sit exams only available for students with extenuating circumstances, then if a certain re-sit exam isn’t needed, they could just not release it and use it next year, which would reduce faculty and staff workload. If serious extenuating circumstances really are so rare, then the burden of marking re-sit scripts  will also be minimal. On the other hand, if they’re not so rare, then that only strengthens the case for offering them, as this policy would be negatively impacting a large number of students. Oxford’s lack of summer re-sits puts it in a minority among universities in the UK – that must change.

I don’t hold this against the department and I am grateful for the support of my advisors and lecturers. However, while my experiences are hopefully among the worst, other students have also been affected by this.  I knew someone who lost their PhD program offer after also missing exams in 2024 due to illness. Furthermore, as Cambridge Student Union president Sarah Anderson points out,  a lack of re-sits particularly affects disabled students at risk of having their exam performance derailed by a poorly timed flare-up.

 The current system is both unfair and unnecessary, it’s time to change it for the better. Oxford is already deliberating on this issue at the University level and engaging in dialogue with individual departments. Let’s hope they will do the right thing.

Note: This article was incorrectly attributed to David Weisenberg in the Week 5 edition of Cherwell.

Lighthouse Productions on ‘Things I Know To Be True’

Fresh from the success of their debut production, Lighthouse Productions are set to deliver their second show: Andrew Bovell’s Things I Know to Be True (2016). “Bob and Fran are dealing with the unfathomable: their children are growing up.” Speaking to Cherwell between rehearsals, co-directors Ivana Clapperton and Alys Young teased their nostalgic, 2010s interpretation.

Moving from the Burton Taylor Studio to The Grove Auditorium has given the company momentum: they’ve moved from a mere 50 seats to a venue housing 160. Things I Know to Be True is also set to be the inaugural OUDs performance at The Grove.

Clapperton and Young are keen to explore themes of generational trauma, familial love, and what it means to (never?) grow up. “Fundamentally, we want to put on theatre that makes you feel something,” says Young, with “warm and fuzzy” as a guiding principle.

Young and Clapperton are evidently attached to Bovell’s play. Young says she was  enamoured by the script when she first encountered it. “It’s got these beautiful monologues that are fleshed-out characters in themselves,” says Young. For Clapperton, the appeal lies in the deep-seated nostalgia and “recreation of childhood” that the play evokes: “[The play draws] people back into the state of growing up.”

Soon we were joined by Lucía Mayorga (Fran), Sam Gosmore (Bob), and Hope Healy (Rosie), arriving back to Lincoln’s EPA Centre with lunch. Gosmore, Lighthouse’s first pick for Bob, was apparently poached for another show, before he returned to the cast. “People are always trying to poach him!” says Young, laughing. But Gosmore seems grateful to be back, calling the team one of the kindest he’s worked with. The cast provided Cherwell with some insight into their characters. An exploratory, incisive, and at times personal conversation followed. The cast members cut right to the heart of who the Prices are, and why they behave the way they do.

Healy is the first to appear onstage as Rosie, a 19-year-old who has just returned from a not-so-successful gap year. “Some of her language I wasn’t quite used to,” says Healy, laughing. “[Although] I sometimes speak to my parents in the same demanding tone.” Healy told Cherwell that Rosie embodies the play’s “grass is always greener” theme. She continues: “Rosie spends her whole life wishing she was older, [but realises that] life is right now. The boring bits are what life is.” On Rosie’s distinctiveness, Young cites her “mammoth monologues,” which allow the audience to “see the family through Rosie’s eyes.” Clapperton agrees that “she observes a lot.” Healy concludes that Rosie sees some character development. “By the end there are some learning curves… I’m the least mentally unstable!”

Mayorga (19) and Gosmore (20) are exploring age through physicality and emotion to depict Fran (57) and Bob (63). Mayorga explains that “Fran’s delivery of lines is different to how we might react, [since she and Bob share] decades of familiarity.” Mayorga muses on how an older relationship manifests onstage. “[Fran and Bob have a] constant awareness of each other,” she says. “There’s less of the playful, tentative vibes.” Young says they’ve also thought about how age creates a “shorter fuse,” describing how “everything just takes that little bit [longer].”

Gosmore describes Bob’s character as lost at the point when we meet him, having just retired. “He has a lot of free time,” says Gosmore. “This is the first time he’s ever had leisure time, [but] it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Bob spends most of his time gardening; Gosmore says “he’s just waiting for the time [to pass],” creating “a kind of crisis.” Clapperton adds that Bob has been “on autopilot” for so long, that he jars against his new life. When I suggest this is an intensely familiar figure – a retiree who’s into gardening – Young laughs in agreement, saying she regularly thinks of Bob in relation to her own grandparents.

On the topic of parenthood, Gosmore says that the Prices are “both very proud of having children.” Mayorga agrees, but says Fran has a “more complicated” relationship with motherhood than Bob does with fatherhood. “She places so many expectations on [her children],” says Mayorga. “[Being a mother] was never really a choice.” It seems that Fran’s excess love can often lead to an over-protectiveness, and a possessive imposition of control. “A lot of the time the concerns or the missteps are informed by love,” says Clapperton. In the same way, Gosmore says that “[Bob is] quite strict with his son [but] kinder to his daughters.” 

A particularly tense relationship in the play is between Fran and her daughter Pip (Gabriella Ofo). Pip is a big-city career woman, often at odds with her mother’s traditional values and expectations. Fran loves Pip, but struggles to reconcile feelings of pride with lingering disappointment. “There’s a lot of bitterness there,” says Mayorga, citing a disparity in gendered values. Clapperton says that Fran “sees [Pip’s] reasoning in herself,” with the irony being that “Pip is strong enough to make decisions that Fran doesn’t approve of.” Inherited female identity is a key theme in the play, with Young summarising: “We are our mums, but we’ve come so far, politically… [maybe] we are our mums, but more?”

The Price family garden is set to appear in an “ambitious set design” by Erin Cook. Young says it will form a place where “indoor and outdoor spaces have collapsed in on each other.” A wooden house with gauze windows will create a literal “window to the past”, where memories appear as silhouettes, enabling “a mirage” reflecting memories whose “meaning you can’t fully grasp.” Clapperton similarly emphasises a “conflict of interior versus exterior.” In regards to Ben Adams’ costume designs, I’m promised bootcut jeans.

If the play’s aesthetic is set to take us back to childhood, then its characters’ puerility will fit right in. “They’re adults but they’re still children,” says Young on the characters’ lapsed maturity whenever they’re around their parents. Gosmore notes “a teenage dynamic” that he says he’s experienced himself: “[When I go home], I revert to quite stroppy.”

According to the cast and crew, the production promises to deep-dive into child-parent relationships. Nostalgic, cosy, and tense, Things I Know to Be True will remind us, if nothing else, that “your family will always see through you.”

‘Things I Know to Be True’ shows at The Grove Auditorium, Magdalen College, 4th-7th March.

A masterclass in devising: ‘Noether’

Cartesian Production’s Noether is a production driven by passion. This original play, written by Esme Somerside Gregory, tells the story of the German mathematician Emmy Noether (Yael Erez) and her struggles with the misogyny of her male peers against the backdrop of the rising Nazi state. 

This show is unique in that it was devised entirely by the company. It touches on the major academic pursuits of Noether’s life; from her struggle for habilitation at the University of Gottingen in 1915, to proving ‘Noether’s Theorem’, and finally facing expulsion from Gottingen University under the Nazi administration in 1933 and finding refuge at Bryn Mawr College in America. My degree means that I rarely interact with mathematics, yet the skill of this production demonstrated to me the value of Noether’s contribution to the field. Although maths might well be a foreign language to me, the feeling of academic curiosity and fervour that the show conveyed is impressive to students of all disciplines. 

The show deviated from the usual OUDS venues, held in a lecture theatre in the Mathematical Institute. And that’s all it was, complete with a podium and a whiteboard and jazzed up with a wooden cabinet, ladder, and chair. The audience were seated behind desks, which was particularly convenient for this reviewer scribbling away in my notebook (I like to think the scratching of my pencil was more immersive than distracting). I was initially skeptical about this somewhat sparse set design but it proved to be suitable for a play so entrenched in academia. The production didn’t need a complex set to transport us to Noether’s lectures; they were played out immediately before us by Erez, and watched by the rest of the cast seated in the front row. 

Physical theatre was a recurring motif in Noether, with some moments triumphing more than others. The first use of this technique, where the cast arranged chairs which Noether stepped across and then leapt off was executed deftly but didn’t seem to contribute much meaning or visual interest to the moment for me. However, the company later staged an argument between Maggie Kerson and Esme Dannatt, in which Kerson, embodying the misogynistic resistance to Noether’s habilitation at the university, climbed a step ladder, with each step punctuating the words “every step of the way”. She was met at this level by Dannatt, raised up by the other cast members arguing in defence of Noether’s exceptional intelligence. The movements, paired with excellent performances from both Kerson and Dannatt, imbued this moment with an emotional intensity, and produced a captivating scene. 

During one of Noether’s lectures, Erez explained the maths while the rest of the cast began to move their arms rhythmically, creating shapes with the air; they pulled, tilted, raised, and lowered. The cast then joined Erez onstage, still reaching and compressing in these dancelike motions, first discordantly, until gradually the group began to cohere, and they were stretching, raising, inhaling in perfect sync. This dexterous expression of the learning process was undoubtedly one of the best moments of physical theatre in the show. 

Somerside Gregory’s script was well written, tight, and rich. She has clearly engaged in a ruthless editing process to capture a lifetime of devotion to mathematics within an hour. The script felt well paced, if a little dense with information that I was underqualified to process, but nonetheless, the narrative overall kept me engaged. The script balanced between focusing on Noether’s struggles in the university, and moving out to the wider tumultuous social climate. This provided a level of depth to the play, simultaneously the story of an extraordinary individual, and yet familiar to anyone who knows their European history. This script resonates ever more jarringly with today’s political climate – a line about America as the “hospitable” antithesis to Nazi Germany came across as sadly ironic, and highlighted the script’s relevance and sensitivity to its context. 

There were some issues with projection, with some lines getting lost, or trailing off towards the end. The cast were not fitted with microphones, and they had a big space to fill, so this is an understandable technical challenge. It caused particular difficulties when the audience were faced with a script that was already at times difficult to follow because of the richness of information. The show also featured an interesting composition by Nicole Palka, the initial few bars of which felt a little anachronistic, evoking something of an 80s sci-fi rather than 20th-century Germany. However, it soon came into its own, and underscored the cast’s movements with an almost cinematic quality. 

With its 1930s setting, the play inevitably interacts with the rise of fascism, and what this means for the Jewish Emmy Noether. The production doesn’t tiptoe around its difficult topics; it tackles them boldly, most notably in a scene where Noether’s teaching is interrupted by a bang at her door. The lights turn red and reveal a brown-shirted officer descending the stairs through the audience towards Noether, wearing a red armband. The officer’s silent presence instills a ripple of discomfort among the students, which bleeds into the audience thanks to a combination of the fidgeting and murmuring of the cast underlaid with the gradual intensifying of the sound. This moment was captivating; so simple, and yet so well executed. 

Noether was a masterclass in devising. The passion conveyed in Somerside Gregory’s script combined with the enthusiasm and precision of the cast produced a show that illuminates Emmy Noether through the skilful intersection of history, abstract algebra, and stagecraft.