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Oxford University Proctors accept one in eight sexual misconduct reports for investigation

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CW: Sexual assault, rape

A Cherwell investigation found that only 5 of 40 sexual misconduct complaints reported to the University of Oxford’s Proctors’ Office in the past 7 years were accepted for investigation. Excluding the four reports complainants withdrew, 86% of reports resulted in a No Further Action outcome.

In contrast, the University of Cambridge investigated 84% of reports made through its Student Disciplinary Procedure in the same period, and upheld 33% of total complaints.

In the course of this investigation, Cherwell spoke to students who said that their assaults were referred to as “misunderstandings” by staff, that they were discouraged from reporting as they were told it would be a devastating process, and that they were told that Oxford prefers to resolve these matters with “informal conversations” between the victim and the accused rather than disciplinary action.

At Oxford, if a student experiences misconduct from a student at their own college, they can make a report to their college dean. Each college has its own disciplinary procedure, which the dean can then use to investigate the report. If, however, a student experiences misconduct by a student at another college, the student must contact the Proctors – the two academic officers who oversee student discipline across the entire University. The Proctors would then consider whether to investigate under their own disciplinary procedure.

Freedom of Information (FOI) responses show that policy restrictions were the main reason cases were not accepted for investigation by the Proctors.

Fourteen cases, or 35% of the total number of reports, were referred to another body. Of these, ten were referred to the police, two were referred to colleges, and two were referred to investigation by other bodies.

Referrals to colleges occur when both the reporting student and the accused student attend the same college, so the complaint falls within the jurisdiction of the college dean. 

Referrals to the police occur when the matter involves “serious criminal conduct”. The University stated in a FOI response that, under its Serious Criminal Conduct Policy, it “will not usually investigate a report of conduct that could constitute serious criminal conduct until it has passed through a Police procedure”.

Graph credit: Oskar Doepke

Seven reports were refused investigation because the alleged incident occurred outside the context of the University. Two were refused investigation because too much time had elapsed between the alleged misconduct and the report. An additional report was refused investigation because both reasons applied. 

Three complaints did not progress because one of the parties left the University. One was refused investigation because the student was about to finish and was dealt with under a No Contact Arrangement. Three cases received a No Further Action outcome with no reason recorded.

Of the five cases the University investigated, one was upheld with a formal disciplinary sanction, two were referred to the Student Disciplinary Panel with outcomes unknown, and the other two did not result in disciplinary sanctions. As a result, the percentage of reports made to the Proctors’ Office which end in a disciplinary sanction falls between 2.5% and 7.5%.

The University’s investigation and complaint-upholding rate are markedly lower than those of the colleges. Of the 15 colleges that responded to FOI requests with exact figures, 50% of reports were investigated, and 35% were upheld. 

Cherwell also compared Oxford’s investigation rates and complaint-upholding rates against other universities. Of all the universities that responded to Cherwell’s FOI request, Oxford’s Proctors’ Office had the lowest investigation rate: Cambridge investigated 84% of complaints in the same period and upheld 33% of them; the University of St Andrews investigated 100%  and upheld 38%; the University of Edinburgh investigated 44%  and upheld 13.5%; the University of Newcastle investigated 100% and upheld 56%; and the University of Bristol did not specify how many cases were upheld, but investigated 100% of cases in the past five years.

These figures raise questions about whether Oxford is doing enough to take action against sexual assault and harassment, as well as supporting those who are victims of it. 

The University’s Non-Academic Disciplinary Procedure classifies “sexual intercourse or engaging in a sexual act without consent” as a Category 4 Breach, the most serious category, with an indicative penalty of expulsion. “Touching inappropriately through clothes without consent” is Category 3, with an indicative penalty of suspension.

On paper, this suggests the University recognises sexual assault among the most serious forms of misconduct – one which merits severe punishment. In practice, however, the data suggest the University is highly unlikely to take formal action against it.

The data also highlights likely under-reporting at Oxford. Across the 30 colleges that responded with figures, between 85 and 111 formal sexual misconduct complaints involving members of the college were recorded in the last 7 years. Combined with the 40 formal complaints received by the Proctors in the same period, this averages 18-22 reports per year. Even though this excludes some colleges, this suggests that, in a University of 26,000 students, sexual misconduct is under-reported. 

This is consistent with findings from Oxford’s Sexual Harassment and Violence Support Service, which found that among students using the service in 2023/24, only 16% reported to the Proctors’ Office and 11% reported to their college. It explicitly says students choose not to report because of concerns about negative outcomes or that no action will be taken.

An OURSPACE survey by sexual violence researchers, administered to Oxford students in 2021, found that 76 respondents reported they had been raped in the past year at Oxford. One hundred and fifty said they had experienced unwanted sexual touching, and 188 reported that they had been stalked. The survey included 1,314 respondents, only around 5% of the total student population. Because students chose whether to respond, the survey may not represent the wider student body, so it cannot tell what proportion of all students experienced sexual violence that year. But it does strongly suggest that the real number of sexual violence incidents dwarfs the number of formal reports received. 

University context

Oxford’s Student Disciplinary Procedure states the University will not investigate conduct that occurs outside a University context. Conduct occurs in a University context if it takes place on University or college premises, or in the course of University activity.

In a FOI response, the University stated its rationale, and in doing so, referred to sexual assault and harassment that happens outside of a University context as “disputes amongst individuals” that were outside of the intended aims of University procedure. They told Cherwell: “The purpose of the disciplinary procedure is to address misconduct by students, rather than to resolve disputes between individuals.”

The policy makes no provision for the effects on the victim of being denied the opportunity for an investigation. 

Serious Criminal Conduct Policy

The provision that the University “will not usually investigate a report of conduct that could constitute serious criminal conduct until it has passed through a Police procedure” was referred to in an email as its “Serious Criminal Conduct Policy”.

Oxford’s adoption of such a restrictive policy is an outlier amongst UK universities. For instance, Cambridge, Durham University, Edinburgh, and University College London all expressly allow disciplinary investigations into allegations of serious sexual misconduct to proceed without a police investigation having occurred first. Standard practice across most universities is to pause procedures only if a police investigation is occurring at the same time. 

Referring cases of serious criminal conduct to the police, with the University willing to intervene once their investigation concludes, can sound like it gives serious misconduct the weight it deserves. But in practice, it often means that survivors cannot achieve justice from either body, and those accused walk free. 

Home Office statistics show that rape investigations leading to a charge or summons took a median of around 14 months to reach that outcome in the year ending March 2026.

The same figures show that around 5% of rapes recorded by the police in that time resulted in a suspect being charged or summoned. Combined with the rate of conviction once a case reaches trial, around 3% of rapes reported to the police result in a conviction. The majority of rape survivors have trauma-related symptoms or PTSD and are required to relive their most distressing moments in order for the investigation to proceed. 

The policy meant survivors were required to put themselves through a lengthy and potentially retraumatising ordeal, with no conviction in the majority of cases, for the University to investigate their case. 

In theory, reporting students could ask for a University process after a police investigation has completed. But in practice, none of the ten students who refused a University process on this basis came back to ask the University to take on their case once a police process had concluded. It is highly plausible that the demanding nature of the policy means survivors were likely to disengage from the system before that point.

When contacted, Oxford said it introduced changes in 2025 that strengthen the University’s ability to investigate serious misconduct and allow it to investigate more cases without a reporter first having to make a report to the police. 

Time constraints

As Oxford’s FOI responses show, there have been three cases in the past seven years where an investigation by the Proctors was refused on the basis of a delay in reporting. 

The University changed its Student Disciplinary Procedure in 2025 to allow discretion to investigate cases beyond the six-month timeframe, noting that there are more likely to be good reasons for delayed reporting in cases of sexual misconduct, harassment, bullying, or conduct involving violence or a threat of violence.

Currently, the procedure states that it will not investigate a report made more than six months after the incident, unless “there are good reasons for the delay in the Report being made or there is a strong interest in the investigation proceeding regardless of the delay in the Report being made”.

From a trauma-informed perspective, delayed disclosure in cases of sexual assault and harassment is common. The current policy means survivors reporting beyond the six-month limit have to advocate for themselves to justify that they had a good reason for not reporting earlier, and the Proctors then decide whether their argument is valid. 

Despite the procedure being revised to allow discretion in investigating cases beyond the six-month time frame, a sexual misconduct case was still refused investigation on the basis of a delay in reporting in the academic year 2025/26.

ItHappensHere, Oxford University’s student-led anti-sexual violence group, criticised the University’s multiple restrictions on investigating sexual misconduct. They told Cherwell: “It can be unbelievably traumatic for a survivor of sexual violence to be denied the chance to have their voice heard and their experiences treated seriously, and we hope the University policies are able to change to reflect this. Only around 3% of cases of sexual assault reported to the police result in someone being charged, let alone convicted, and many people choose not to go to the police at all due to fears of being disbelieved, blamed, retraumatised, or seeing no action taken. This leaves people with their only chance for justice being at the university level, and the statistics show this is being denied due to unreasonable policies that don’t align with either the colleges’ or those of other universities.

“We’re looking to work with the university on this issue and to make sure survivors are supported, and cases properly investigated to protect all students. If you’ve been affected by sexual violence, there is support out there and people who believe you, and we’re working on making the university a safer, more supportive place for everyone.

“We’ve heard so many stories of survivors being silenced by the university. Students do not trust that the university or its colleges will take reports of sexual violence seriously or handle them sensitively, and many are afraid of retaliatory action. There is a collective responsibility to change the culture of silence, and that starts with changing policies that prevent cases being heard at all.”

Colleges

Among the 30 colleges that responded with figures, between 85 and 111 formal sexual misconduct complaints were recorded in the last seven years. That averages 2.6 to 3.4 per college.

A higher number of reports does not necessarily indicate a higher incidence of sexual misconduct: other factors that affect the number of reports may be the culture around reporting, students’ confidence in the college’s response, and staff’s attitudes. 

Colleges often offer the provision of an informal meeting to advise students considering making a complaint. Whether deans or principals appear encouraging or discouraging in such meetings can affect whether a student goes ahead to make a formal report.

Graph credit: Oskar Doepke

Jesus, Regent’s Park, and Reuben were the only responding colleges that recorded no formal complaints. The three colleges together represent thousands of students passing through over the period, so the absence of any formal complaints across these colleges raises questions about whether students who experience sexual misconduct are being adequately encouraged and supported to report it.

Like the Proctors’ disciplinary procedure, many colleges include a provision stating that a dean will not normally investigate an incident if more than six months have elapsed since it occurred. Balliol, Brasenose, Christ Church, Lady Margaret Hall, Lincoln, Mansfield, Regent’s Park, St Hilda’s, St John’s, Trinity, and Wadham all have such a provision. Harris Manchester and Keble have an equivalent provision of 3 months, and Merton offers 60 days.

These provisions often state that a dean may investigate in “extraordinary circumstances”, with considerations like “risk of harm”, “reasons for a delay in reporting”, and “the gravity of the alleged breach” viewed as making such circumstances more likely. 

“Risk of harm” is not defined in any of these policies, and it does not specify whether it refers to the risk of reoffence or whether it includes any psychological harm to the reporting student of having their case denied an investigation. In practice, both are highly likely to be the case in instances of sexual misconduct. Research shows that rates of recidivism for sexual offences are significant: one study in the U.S. found that of 238 students who reported committing at least one act of sexual coercion or assault, 68% committed another act during the four-year period, and a separate study analysed data from 12,624 male students and found that more than 87% of alcohol-driven sexual assaults were committed by serial perpetrators. This raises questions about whether perpetrators who routinely escape formal accountability are emboldened to continue their behaviour, and thus pose a safeguarding risk. 

Without internal guidance on how to interpret “risk of harm”, the attitudes of deans and wardens may vary, meaning the same circumstances could result in an investigation at one college but be rejected on the basis of the time limit at another.

Student testimonies

Cherwell sent out a survey to ask students about their experiences of reporting sexual misconduct, or their decision not to report. The survey had 27 respondents.  

30% of respondents said they reported their experience of sexual misconduct, while 70% said they did not. Of the options listed, the most prominent factor influencing students not to report was fear of social consequences, with 18 respondents citing this. The second most prominent factor was a lack of trust in the colleges’ or the University’s procedures, cited by 15 respondents. Third was the fear of a counter-complaint initiated by the perpetrator, cited by eight. Six respondents cited a lack of information on reporting channels, three cited policy barriers, and the “Other” category included concerns that the respondent wouldn’t be believed and concerns that the matter wouldn’t be taken seriously since the perpetrator was a woman.

Of the eight respondents who said they reported their experience, three said they were “very dissatisfied” with the University or college’s response, two said they were “somewhat dissatisfied”, two said they were “somewhat satisfied”, and one said they were “neither satisfied nor dissatisfied”.

Cecily

Cecily (name changed to protect the student’s identity) told Cherwell that one of the reasons she did not report her alleged sexual assault was that multiple members of staff at her college warned against making a formal complaint, telling her the process would be devastating.

“They were deeply against reporting because in most cases it causes more harm to the victim than it does help,” she said. “I was told they would go through my whole history, anything I’d ever done, and tear me to shreds. And that it would be very humiliating.”

She added that her College Chaplain told her the University’s response to cases like hers was often to encourage an “informal resolution” where the two parties attend a supervised meeting to “talk through their issues”. She said that in a case which revolved around sexual assault, she “could not see how this would help at all”, and demonstrated the University’s lack of awareness around issues of sexual violence.

She also claimed that before he assaulted her, her alleged perpetrator had already been investigated for sexual misconduct by a different college, but this had resulted in no formal consequences.

Another reason Cecily did not report her alleged assault was the response of some of her peers when she told them that she had been sexually assaulted. Some did not believe what happened, while others believed her but continued to be friends with the alleged perpetrator. Some encouraged her to remain friends with him herself.

She said that this made her feel “horrible and invalidated”, and that her diagnosed PTSD was made worse by her peers’ response. 

“All this happened even though it was deeply traumatic and negative, and affected everything in my life for months,” she said. Cecily says she had to go on antidepressants as a result of her PTSD. 

“I think there are more people who will invalidate you by saying ‘it’s sexual assault, but there is still room to forgive’ than there are people who will invalidate you by denying there was any assault at all.”

“Not all rape culture is as explicit as denial and disbelief – a lot of it is playing things down and trying to pretend they never happened.”

Hannah 

Hannah (name changed to protect the student’s identity) describes waking up to a male friend who was pressing his body against hers and rubbing his hands up and down her body. She said it took her several months to realise that what she experienced was sexual assault.

She says she spoke informally with her College Dean about reporting her alleged assault, and says he discouraged her from making a complaint. She was told by the Dean that it would be her word against his, and that if she made a formal complaint, it probably would not go far. Instead, it was suggested that she speak to the student who assaulted her to resolve the situation, which the Dean referred to as a “misunderstanding”. 

Hannah also said she was put off making a complaint by the fact that the harassment advisor in her college was one of the alleged perpetrator’s tutors.

She told Cherwell: “There is definitely a rife culture of typically privileged male students who do not have any concept of the meaning of consent and do as they please, pushing boundaries to the point where they assault girls.”

Hannah said she later witnessed the man who assaulted her making unwanted physical contact with other women, and that she was concerned that if no formal authority ever intervened, he would continue to engage in such behaviour. 

Emily

Emily (name changed to protect the student’s identity) told Cherwell that she experienced sexual coercion and physical assault from another student at Oxford, and that her alleged perpetrator retaliated against her when she expressed an interest in seeking a No Contact Order against him.

She said she did not formally report her perpetrator’s conduct due to a fear of retaliation. However, she said she did tell him she would ask her College to apply for a No Contact Order from the Proctors, and this was enough to trigger what she believes is the retaliation she feared.

According to her, her perpetrator made a series of allegations and vexatious complaints to every society and workplace she had been involved in. It took three months of investigation before they were deemed vexatious and dropped.

While the investigations were ongoing, Emily says she received an email from college instructing her not to talk about the complaints made against her. The email read: “For your own wellbeing you must keep this information strictly confidential, make no reference to the complaint or allude to its existence in any way in communication on social media / email / etc.”

Emily says she feels this was likely reputational damage control by the college, and that she felt alienated from them as a result.

She says she also received an email from the perpetrator’s college saying she was banned from its premises, with no explanation. As well as this, her College did not end up making an application for a No Contact Order to the Proctors because the alleged perpetrator’s College had applied for one and received it before they could.

Emily says that while some members of staff at her College were verbally supportive, she feels her College Dean was unempathetic, and that her perpetrator’s College was more effective in supporting his retaliatory counter-complaints than her own College was in supporting her.

Retaliation in response to allegations of misconduct is classified as “victimisation” by the University. Oxford’s Harassment Policy and Procedures says that the University defines victimisation as any instance where someone is subjected to detrimental treatment because they have, in good faith, made an allegation of harassment, indicated an intention to make such an allegation, or taken any other steps in connection with the policy and procedure, or are suspected of having done any of these things.

The Policy says that: “The University does not tolerate any form of harassment or victimisation”. It states that those in positions of authority “have a duty to implement this Policy and to make every effort to ensure that harassment and victimisation do not occur”.

Emily says that the University let her down by allowing victimisation to occur against her, despite its stated no-tolerance position towards it. 

She says her alleged perpetrator had been previously reported to his college by another student, but that no action had been taken against him at the time. She told Cherwell: “I was horrified to find out his college had already received reports against him. By not dealing with his behaviour from his very first victim, it allowed him to continue hurting other individuals, and then hurting me.”

Dan

Dan (name changed to protect the student’s identity) told Cherwell that he reported a member of staff for harassment at his college. Allegedly, Dan said he had personally witnessed the member of staff engaging in unwanted physical contact of a sexual nature with other staff, and that they were known to make sexually charged comments to students. He claims this member of staff’s behaviour was an “open secret” in the college for at least two years.

He added that while many of his peers supported him in bringing forward a complaint, others discouraged him. He said that since the member of staff was known to give free wine and formals to their favourite students, some discouraged him as it meant they would lose these “perks”.

Dan said that when he and his friend spoke to the Head of Welfare at his college, they were told not to let the information relating to the complaint “take on a life of its own”. He says he later found out that another student overheard another member of staff making disparaging comments in public about him and his friend for reporting. This included being annoyed that they wanted to take it further, and claiming that they had no proof. 

Dan says this made him feel discouraged from taking his complaint further, and powerless in addressing the harassment he was witnessing.

Dan ended up deciding to take it to senior staff, where he felt his complaint was taken on board seriously and swiftly. The college human resources team began an investigation into the matter, during which the member of staff in question left his position.

Dan said that while he was pleased that his complaint was taken seriously when it was escalated to senior level, he felt his experience “speaks to a culture of open secrets, underhanded benefits, and a feeling that honest reporting is discouraged”.

Isla

Isla (name changed to protect the student’s identity) said that she was raped after a college ball. She said that after her assault, she stopped going to lectures, stopped going to the Schwarzman Centre, and fell massively behind on her academic work. She said she felt “in a constant state of anxiety, as [she] no longer felt safe in Oxford”.

She told Cherwell that a man had left her college ball with her when she was intoxicated and struggling to walk, and then taken her into his accommodation at his college and raped her. Afterwards, the college’s porters saw her trying to leave the man’s accommodation, and they came to try and help her. Allegedly, they saw her slurring her words and struggling to form coherent sentences. They offered her a taxi to get home, which, in her drunk state, she refused.

Isla says she felt it was a mistake for the porters to do this, as she was clearly in no state to walk home alone. Her house was a ten-minute walk away, but she only got there an hour later, after having to be dropped off in a police car.

Isla says that after that night, she was dismayed that no one from the man’s college followed up with her. She said she found it hard to believe that people whose profession is in security would be unable to spot the signs of danger, such as an intoxicated woman being taken into an accommodation by a non-intoxicated man. Instead, she found out that the college had gotten involved, but only to Dean the student for breaching the college’s guest policy. She told Cherwell: “I was frustrated that the extent of the college inquiry into the matter was to Dean the student to discuss guest policy, and require only that he apologise to the porters.”

The student also admitted to her that he had been deaned in the past after another drunk girl was seen trying to leave his accommodation – again, for a breach of the college’s Guest Policy.

Isla said she then tried to obtain CCTV footage of her trying to leave the man’s accommodation in case she needed it. She went to speak with the porters and was told she couldn’t see the footage herself for data protection reasons. Instead, she was told that she should email the Head Porter. Isla says she saw this obstacle as a reason to give up, given her lack of trust in the porters after she felt they had failed to follow up with her after that night, and her deteriorating mental state following her rape.

Later, when the term finished, she felt more able to make a formal report as she knew she would not have to see her rapist again. She contacted the Head Porter and was told the CCTV footage she was looking for had been deleted, as all footage is deleted after 23 days unless a request is made to keep it. She was “baffled” that they did not think to keep it regardless, as she had come in to request it, and expected that a welfare concern would have been flagged. 

*name changed to protect the student’s identity

When asked for comment, Oxford University said: “Sexual misconduct, harassment and violence have no place at the University of Oxford. We are committed to fostering a safe and respectful community and to preventing and responding effectively to misconduct. In 2025, we made significant changes to our disciplinary procedures, informed by student feedback and consultation with student groups. These changes removed some of the barriers to reporting sexual misconduct and harassment, although we recognise that cases are under-reported relative to the number of students seeking welfare support.

“The University’s complaint-handling processes provide clear routes for concerns to be raised, considered and acted on. Changes to Statute XI, approved by Congregation in 2025, strengthen the University’s ability to investigate serious misconduct, including sexual violence, and allow the University to investigate more cases without a Reporter first having to make a report to the police.

“The changes also make disciplinary processes clearer and more accessible, and support compliance with Office for Students requirements on harassment and sexual misconduct. The revised procedures allow discretion for the University to investigate cases beyond the six-month timeframe, noting that there are more likely to be good reasons for delayed reporting in cases of sexual misconduct, harassment, bullying or conduct involving violence or a threat of violence.

“This term, all students starting a course at Oxford are required to complete the University’s Harassment and Sexual Misconduct online training. Developed with Oxford students, it reflects Oxford’s collegiate structure and signposts students to both college and central University support. This complements Healthy Relationships and Consent workshops delivered by trained student facilitators, with support from the Sexual Harassment and Violence Support Service.”

Harris Manchester College told Cherwell: “Although our published procedure references a time limit, investigations are in practice guided by the wishes of the student raising the complaint, not by the length of time between incident and complaint. We will shortly be publishing an updated policy to reflect this.”

Regent’s Park College told Cherwell: “Regent’s Park College places the highest priority on the safety, welfare and wellbeing of our students and staff. The College takes reports of harassment and sexual misconduct extremely seriously and is committed to ensuring that all concerns are considered fairly, sensitively and with appropriate regard to safeguarding. Our policies, including our Non-Academic Disciplinary Policy and Procedure, are regularly reviewed and follow University and Conference of Colleges guidance. 

“The policy to which you refer follows guidance issued by the Conference of Colleges. As the policy makes clear, the six-month period is not an absolute time limit: provision is made for allegations to be considered outside this period in exceptional circumstances, and the policy specifically recognises that exceptional circumstances are more likely to exist in reports of sexual violence and harassment.”

Lincoln College told Cherwell: “The College’s Non-Academic Misconduct Disciplinary Procedure states that reports concerning alleged breaches of discipline occurring more than six months previously will not normally be investigated. However, this is not an absolute cut-off: the Procedure expressly allows the Senior Dean to investigate where they judge that there is a compelling reason to do so. 

“In reaching a decision to investigate, the Senior Dean is required to consider the gravity of the alleged breach; whether it was an isolated event or part of an alleged course of conduct; the length of any delay in reporting; the reasons for that delay; and any barriers to reporting. The Senior Dean may also take account of risk to others when considering whether there is a compelling reason to investigate.”

Brasenose College told Cherwell: “Our student handbook includes more detail on the exceptional circumstances, noting in particular the emphasis on sexual misconduct and/or violence:

“In deciding whether there are exceptional circumstances, the Dean will place particular weight on whether there is a risk of harm to any current member or members of the College and whether there are safeguarding considerations. The Dean may also consider factors such as the severity of the alleged misconduct, whether the alleged misconduct was an isolated event, how much time has passed since the alleged misconduct, and any barriers to disclosure or reporting of the misconduct. Exceptional circumstances are more likely to be found to exist in cases of sexual misconduct and/or violence.”

St John’s College told Cherwell: “‘Risk of harm’ has intentionally not been defined in order to allow for the possibility of a broad interpretation. The non-academic disciplinary procedure states under 3.2. Formal Resolution ‘The College recognises that exceptional circumstances warranting the consideration of a report after more than 6 months may be particularly likely in cases of sexual misconduct or violence.’

“This implies that the 6-month time restriction would not be applied in cases of alleged sexual harassment or misconduct, and that such reports would be investigated in accordance with the procedure.”

If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this article and would like to seek support, please reach out to any of the following: 

It Happens Here: https://www.ithappenshere.co.uk/need-support

Oxford Sexual Abuse and Rape Crisis Centre: https://www.osarcc.org.uk/

University of Oxford Sexual Assault Support Service: https://www.ox.ac.uk/students/welfare/supportservice

Can students still afford to choose?

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There’s much about the experience of studying at Oxford that makes it truly unique compared to other universities. There’s the almost millennium-old tradition of wearing sub fusc and the regular formal dinners, but most glaringly of all perhaps lies in the day-to-day experience of the college system. While other students find a sense of community in their halls of residence or in student societies, at Oxford, the college serves as an amalgamation of the personal and the academic. It is where work is done, friends are made, and for most first-years, where they live and eat. This combination of purposes means that the college is central to the student experience at Oxford, and therefore inevitably forms a significant part of your identity at this University.

This can be a part of the allure of Oxford (or Cambridge) to the potential applicant. Pushing past the initial unfamiliarity that such a set-up may cause, the close sense of community that college fosters can add comfort to the disorienting experience of the intense eight-week terms and workload of studying here. While at other universities, there can be a sense of being thrown straight into the deep end, with little moderation between the intimacy of your student flat and the openness of the entire course and university as a whole, the Oxbridge college system acts as a middle-ground, allowing for inter-subject mixing and familiar faces. It also allows the applicant a unique degree of freedom in the environment in which they will be studying over the next three years. This freedom to be selective about elements may at first seem superficial, as prospective students compare the beauty of certain colleges’ gardens and dining halls. But, it can also involve having control over more meaningful traits. Factors such as the proportion of state-educated students at a college or of elements of its social life, for example, can act as deciders for where a student may choose to study. That such diversity between colleges can exist within the University is a great strength and enriches the quality of student life. Save those that end up being pooled or submit an open application, the majority of applicants often do research and get excited about the prospect of which college they are going to choose to study at and spend most of their time in. This gives them an immense, almost unparalleled, amount of control over a huge aspect of their university experience. 

However, consideration of living costs is growing to dominate conversations about higher education. Maintenance loans struggle to keep up with the growing costs of being a student, and the failures of successive governments to address the financial pressures that students face mean that for many the cost of university is growing unbearable. This negative effect is multiplied by studying in a city with living costs as high as Oxford. The purpose of going to university is not just to come out with a degree at the end, but to nurture interests independently for the first time and develop a sense of self at such a transitional age. This is something that the college system at Oxford can facilitate in a unique way. Facilities and interests between colleges vary, with the distinct rowing culture at Oriel, for example, contrasting with the reputation that St John’s holds for sports. While there is definitely scope for this beyond the college, the college system uniquely positions students to tailor their experience at university to what they want it to be. Taking full advantage of the opportunities presented by these years of study was previously facilitated by policies such as the maintenance grant, which gave students greater room to manoeuvre in their lifestyles and the ability to make choices which may have previously been inaccessible. The rising costs that going to university now entails, however, begin to limit this potential for choice. 

This is where a disconnect can emerge between colleges fostering an identity and the financial reality, which can be what shapes students’ decisions and experiences. My college, Wadham, has long prided itself on its progressive politics and liberal identity. However, rent for second year accommodation was recently proposed to rise by 10.63% up to £9470. Touting an inclusive image while charging rents which rank in the highest quartile across the University means that Wadham’s progressive ethos begins to ring hollow. Wadham’s character comes not only from a reputation nurtured by its students but also through its active efforts to encourage access and outreach. Its undergraduate centre doubles as a purpose-built building for widening access initiatives with schools to facilitate applications from a broader range of backgrounds. While these efforts to develop a diverse and progressive community are commendable, they sit uncomfortably with the reality of rent and living cost rises, which become barriers to students applying. While a prospective applicant may love the College’s garden and chapel and reputation of a liberal community, for an increasing number of applicants the primary consideration above all of these is cost. Wadham’s increasing unaffordability means it becomes eliminated as an option, no matter how progressive of a reputation it may boast. 

Ultimately, the issue of higher living costs limiting choice is not unique to Oxford and its colleges, and its impact on the college system is perhaps a slightly low-stakes issue. However, rising financial pressures playing a greater role in college selection begins to undermine the point of the college system in the first place. Colleges have great diversity in their beauty, their academic specialisms, their facilities and their ethos. This diversity is what can make the student experience here so unique. When financial considerations must take precedence in decision-making, these nuances become flattened. There is a growing contradiction between the choice the college system is supposed to offer and the financial reality underlying being a student today. The appeal of free choice is lessened when it can be exercised only by those who can afford it.

The insidious advertising of women in sport

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“Sex sells: Marketing 101” says one YouTube comment under Sydney Sweeney’s Novig advert. This is the advert where she poses semi-naked to advertise sports betting.“Guess the strategy works,” says another. Does it, though? I watched the entire thing, and I can’t tell you for the life of me what Novig sells. A Google search reveals that it is a sports betting company, which is a bit like finding out your dream job is in Slough. Clicks: sure. Website traffic: great! Whether this turns into any actual revenue seems to be a mystery the ad shows no interest in solving.

That is not the real issue, though, is it? All advertising sells a dream, Mad Men style: the aftershave, the sports car, the life in which nobody is ever on hold to the GP. Here the dream is sport itself, betting on it, and the opportunities it gives you. A world where women who look and act like Sweeney are simply there, accessible, like fresh towels, or a complimentary bowl of crisps. It is a peculiar lesson to hand an audience about sport, and what the women in it are for.

“Don’t be so precious,” some will say. “It’s just an ad.” Marvellous. And to be honest, advertising has always run on attractive people, so an actress booking a job is hardly a scandal.

But this is an ad with a naked ideal of women in sport, and that is a pressure women never asked for and should not have to live up to. Sweeney is an actress, not a sportsperson. She does not describe herself as an athlete. So who is it for? The male gaze, obviously. It’s virtually in the credits.

The bill lands with women who have to compete. They put up with rampant sexualisation already. Remember the row over Nike’s high-cut kit for the US women’s track team at the Paris Olympics, while the men got tank tops and shorts? Or when in 2021, Norway’s women’s beach handball team was fined for wearing shorts instead of bikini bottoms? The Novig ad did not cause any of this. It is just another instance of a wider pattern: a woman in sport is there simply to be looked at. Instead of the pressure to perform for themselves, their country and their families, which is a huge burden already, they are back to being audited: size, shape, what they look like and what they wear. A body is meant to be a vessel for performing at your best, not a billboard. The only question left is whether women’s clothes are too skimpy or could be skimpier.

Britain, in particular, has been here before. In 2015, Protein World covered the Tube with a bikini-clad model and the question “Are you beach body ready?”, selling weight-loss products by implying commuters might not be. Tens of thousands signed a petition, and the posters were defaced. The Advertising Standards Authority ruled the campaign was not offensive or socially irresponsible, but barred the adverts from returning in their existing form over unauthorised health and weight-loss claims. In 2016, Mayor of London Sadiq Khan introduced a ban on adverts across Transport for London’s network that could pressure people to conform to unrealistic or unhealthy body shapes. The product on offer was not just protein powder, but an “ideal body type”. Novig’s version is subtler, and thus harder to object to: nobody is outrightly told they are inadequate, only shown who counts, whose body is “ideal”.

Oxford is the home to Olympians Maureen Gardner and Dame Katherine Grainger. Despite the legacy of female sporting success, it is still a place for intense scrutiny over women’s bodies. One former student says the audit follows women into the gym. “Some men are convinced we train to achieve a figure that attracts their validation and admiration. In reality, we’d way prefer them not to be looking in our direction. We work for our health, not your attention.” Her question is the one the ad does not ask: “How can we use the gym to maintain our mental wellbeing if we have to worry all the time about being sexualised?”

The mixed messaging is the funniest part. Sportswomen can be marketed to men in the privacy of their own houses (most of Novig’s customers are men), but comedians like Shane Gillis can come on SNL and publicly deplore women’s outfits. Pick a lane. Women should decide what to wear, not advertisers, not governing bodies, and not comedians. Freedom of choice is not a difficult concept to grasp, yet the rules rarely follow any logic. A current Oxford athlete notes the rules barely hold together: men’s kit in figure skating and gymnastics is “much more covered”, yet in France women “cannot compete in professional sports wearing a hijab even though doing so would make no difference, nor breach any rules”. Too little for one woman, too much for another.

The reaction to the Sweeney advert has gone far beyond America’s borders. Women on social media are posting videos saying “this is what a woman looks like”. They are showing the many ways they actually play sports. 

Women’s sport, a current student athlete argues, “should not be about exposing women’s bodies, but instead demonstrating what women’s bodies are capable of”. Zahra Lari, one of the first Emirati figure skaters to compete internationally, wore a hijab and full-coverage kit, and was judged on her skating. Ibtihaj Muhammad, the American fencer who won Olympic bronze in 2016, and Nouhalia Benzina, the Moroccan defender who played at the 2023 World Cup, in a hijab among many others, are further proof that sport should not be about sexualisation. 

Nobody dragging themselves out for a 6am rowing session wants to be set dressing for a betting app. Though, to be fair, you can’t bet on rowing on Novig, apparently. I checked. Sportswomen would like to excel and be judged on that. Revolutionary stuff, I know.

The paradox of uniformity: Who do we dress for?

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Walking to chapel on a mid-winter Wednesday morning, you could almost be certain to hear a teacher’s anguished cry: “Take those hoop earrings out!” Until two years ago, my sixth-form had only admitted boys for nearly six and a half centuries. There was still a strange ring of uncertainty in the voice of authority that pursued us with moral outrage, insisting we favour studs. Somehow, I always found myself wearing the wrong thing. The attention fell on the clothes, but inadvertently, the body beneath them too. Ours was a peculiar kind of uniform: no formally prescribed list beyond vague terms like ‘smart’ and ‘sober colours’, yet we were endlessly policed. I learned what was acceptable and what was not mostly through a series of raised eyebrows and disapproving looks. It left me wondering: what exactly made one outfit acceptable and another an offence?

Most schools in the UK have a uniform. While it is not mandated, the government advises that a uniform provides ‘a sense of belonging and identity’. The logic is persuasive: if we think of uniform as something beyond just a logo or a colour, it offers a visible affiliation between an individual and the collective. Leaving school ostensibly offers an escape from such scrutiny. At Oxford University, there is no everyday uniform, but students quickly become recognisable by what they wear. Whether your friend religiously favours their rowing jacket, designer gear, Lamb and Flag merch, college puffer, or rejects these altogether, they seem to offer a shorthand about the self. The college puffer is particularly interesting because it occupies the space between anonymity and personal identification. Despite being the ubiquitous symbol of the Oxford student, a black winter coat conceals much of the outfit beneath it, allowing the wearer to blend into the visual landscape of the city. Yet the college crest and embroidered initials invoke community and are a declaration of identity. I still feel a surprising sense of camaraderie when I spot a stranger wearing a Lady Margaret Hall jacket. The distance between two people who have never met can be narrowed; the coat makes us alike. We are accustomed to reading garments as statements about their wearers, their tastes, and the connections they have. Whether those readings are accurate is another matter. Clothes can tell us something about a person, but they can also tell us what we have been taught to expect.

Adolescence is already a period of sartorial experimentation, moving between styles and trends as you try to discover who you are. However, dressing under the scrutiny of others acquires a different dimension. You begin to anticipate what might attract comment, becoming conscious of the gap between how you want to look and how you are permitted to appear. When judgement falls on a skirt, a neckline, or a pair of earrings, it is difficult to separate criticism of the garment itself from criticism of the person wearing it. Yet, being judged for my uniform made me conscious of my own emerging style. Personally, I am drawn towards exaggerated, masculine tailoring in blazers and coats that seems to parody the patriarchal authority that sought to impose its judgement on me. Whilst now there is rarely a day that I am not in heels of some description, my principal criteria for shoes is that they must make a noise before they are seen. I would knock Blakeys into the bottom of my loafers to achieve this effect at school. Perhaps even the most individual expressions of style bear the imprint of the expectations they seek to escape.

The uniform has an afterlife. Its influence can persist long after we have left the school, sporting club, or institution that first imposed it. For some, that is embedded in the ardent desire to escape from it and for others, a pleasure in the community it invokes. Both are equally valid reactions to its influence. I still find myself glancing behind me, expecting to hear a shout about the length of my skirt. For many, coming to Oxford is the first time living away from home and being surrounded by a set of new peers – and also the first time we have total reign over our own clothes without judgement. So how we choose to exercise that freedom carries a degree of interpretative value. And no, I almost never wear studs.  

Acts of time, physical giving, and words of touch

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There is something particularly unsettling about feeling useless in a situation. Call it hypercompetence or whatever other word you want, but as someone who likes to think of herself as relatively capable of fixing most things for the people in her life, I despise feeling unable to fix something for someone. This became particularly apparent the other day, when I spent nearly 16 hours at A&E with a friend, playing a unique and frustrating version of NHS waiting-room musical chairs – the only name I can think of for the absolutely absurd number of waiting rooms, seating orientations, and hospital furniture types we were acquainted with overnight. 

In all of my considerations and calculations, I foolishly thought that we would be there for a few hours max, because I’ve worked in my fair share of emergency rooms (or ERs, as we call them in the US), and I’ve seen how these departments tend to function. But those few hours turned into us camping out overnight in the waiting room(s), where my friend was very adamant that I did not need to stay and that I should go home and “get some sleep”. This was, however, impossible, since even if I had gone home, it wouldn’t have been to sleep, but to bombard her with anything I could find (medical articles, possible treatments, reassuring texts) to make myself feel useful enough to alleviate her discomfort. Instead, I took occasional jaunts to the nurses’ station, conducted semi-regular enquiries, and became a professional water-bottle-filler.

My friend, an incredibly hypercompetent and hyperindependent person, could have handled whatever she needed to handle. But just because she could do it alone didn’t mean she had to – even if my help was probably minimal, maybe nothing more than a warm body in the seat next to her. 

In the days that have passed since the A&E adventure, I haven’t thought much about the night we were there, or why I stayed. The passage of time, though arduous and frustrating (even downright ridiculous when we hit 4am with as many answers as we had questions), was still time spent with a friend. So, from my perspective, my staying was quite simple. Two plus two equals four. The sky is blue. You’re stuck in A&E overnight? So am I. 

I suppose you could call it quality time. Or an act of service. Or perhaps whichever love language it is that encompasses aggressively refilling someone’s water bottle from a suspicious pitcher while silently cursing NHS waiting times. But maybe that’s the point. We have become extraordinarily good at naming how we love, and considerably less interested in what loving someone actually looks like.

Ask someone their love language, and they’ll probably have an answer. They might even pull out online test results. I indulge the conversation every time, and even find how a person interprets the languages quite telling. But ask someone when they last felt truly seen, and they might need a moment.

Interestingly enough, while the love languages have been a part of my (and many others’) vernacular for many years, they were first introduced in 1992 by Gary Chapman, a Baptist minister, who found that people give and receive love in different ways. Using his anecdotal experiences from counselling couples, he created the five languages of love: acts of service, physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, and gift-giving. His book sold over 20 million copies and has influenced clinical practice, such as how these love languages can teach us things about value-based care, therapeutic practices, and even drive public health messaging, such as the Alzheimer’s Association’s 2025 Love Language Campaign and ZERO Prostate Cancer’s Caregiver Love Language Initiative. 

And yet his work has been debated for years. One 2022 study found higher relationship satisfaction, sexual satisfaction, and empathy between couples with greater intra-couple love language matches. But recent research likewise finds Chapman’s model to be overly narrow, saying that it does not offer a sufficient vocabulary for all that is encompassed in love. What do we do to ourselves by trying to find the vocabulary for loving behaviour? Does love, and the ways in which we show it, need categories? 

I’ve been thinking about the spaces between these categories, whether they are those of Chapman’s traditional five, or from a different model entirely. I think about the friend that remembers the date of an important meeting; the tenderness of a “text me when you get home” before you part ways; someone coming over to help you clean or organise when it’s all been a little overwhelming.

These gestures aren’t particularly extraordinary. And perhaps they do fall into the neat categories that Chapman gives us to talk about love. But there are also the words that touch and make you feel seen in a way that can sometimes feel exposing. There’s the way you give yourself to someone when you show them physical affection, be it platonic or romantic, because there is always a moment of sheer vulnerability when waiting to see how it will be received. Time, though intangible, is something we act upon, that we fill with actions and moments that have meanings we choose to give them. Love is remembering and being and doing and everything in between. Our language for it ought to be as expansive as it is. 

Perhaps that’s what those sixteen hours in A&E were, in truth. They weren’t particularly productive, certainly not comfortable, and hardly the sort of quality time anyone would willingly schedule. A circumstance of making that has far too many confounding variables. But it was time, nonetheless. Time spent together, even when there was nothing to do. Time that, in the grand archive of a friendship, might become just another small story we laugh about and retell: “Hey, remember that ridiculous night we spent in A&E?” 

So, I won’t stop you from talking love languages with me. I suppose that shows me something too. But it’s not everything I would hope to know, and I delight in the discoveries yet to occur.

Oxford SU launches pantry scheme to improve food access

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The Oxford Student Union (SU) has introduced a pantry scheme to provide students with access to food and day-to-day essentials. The pilot project, led by the SU President for Undergraduates Zagham Farhan, will run throughout Michaelmas term. 

Students can use the pantry between 9am and 5pm on weekdays. The pantry, located on the ground floor of the SU building, is accessible to all students and no registration is required. Items such as pasta, rice, oats, and canned vegetables are available. Students are limited to taking up to 5 items per week. 

A SU spokesperson told Cherwell: “Equity of experience is a key strategic theme in the SU’s newly launched Strategic Plan. We recognise that students all experience Oxford in different ways, and the SU is committed to ensuring that every student can thrive on equal terms throughout their time here.”

The scheme is being launched amid nationwide concerns about food inflation. The Food and Drink Federation recently projected a nearly 4% rise in food inflation by the end of 2026, due to the ongoing impact of the US-Iran war, drought, and the El Niño weather pattern. The same industry group forecasts food inflation to surpass 6% by mid-2027. The University estimates that food costs for a single, full-time student over a 9-month period range from £2,925 to £5,040.

Alfie Davis, Director of Operations for Oxford Mutual Aid (OMA), a local organisation tackling food poverty, told Cherwell: “Cost of living pressures are driving ever-increasing demand on OMA and other food support organisations in the city, and we are expecting this to dramatically worsen over the winter.”

The SU initiative follows similar food bank provisions at universities, including a food pantry by the Birkbeck Students’ Union and a student-run food bank at the University of Nottingham. A 2023 report by the Higher Education Policy Institute found that 27% of UK universities have a food bank, including one-third of Russell Group universities. More recently, a survey of 41 universities in England showed that 63% operated a food bank, whilst 59% ran free food voucher schemes.

Davis told Cherwell: “Fundamentally, the colleges and University need to consider ways they can redistribute their wealth and resources amongst the wider Oxford community. Students and locals alike are often left out of the vast wealth and growth the University holds, and we need to see the university community providing material support to grassroots community organisations like OMA (or the SU).”

The SU will review the pilot scheme later this year and consider how donations can be managed moving forward.

Cooking for friends: An apology, served hot

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“It’s probably a bit bland,” my friend said tentatively in the first week of living in our out-of-college house, just after they had put down a delicious plate of fish and rice. Without us even having tried a bite, the review had already been spoken into existence. My friend seemed far more conscious of their imagined shortcomings, anticipating a judgement that hadn’t even crossed our minds. Somehow, they seemed determined to make us aware of the meal’s imperfections before we’d even picked up our forks. This led me to realise that cooks and diners are rarely eating the same meal.

In second year – and for those of you who were better than I was in first year and took advantage of the student kitchens, rather than tunnelling through your UPay in the first three weeks of term – the opportunity to cook for your friends is not only a bonding experience, but also a revealing exercise in how we judge ourselves. It can demonstrate just how differently we judge our own efforts compared to those of people around us, and how easily our hypercritical expectations can overshadow what we’ve actually achieved.

When you cook for your friends, you are not simply tasting the end result of the bolognese in front of you, but also inevitably comparing it to the slow-cooked beef ragù tagliatelle you had imagined making: the version promised by an ambitious recipe, slightly silkier, properly al dente, requiring the niche type of Parmesan you discovered too late. Your guest has the considerable advantage of never expecting this imaginary version, but we often forget this. Perhaps that’s why, somewhere between hob and table, another course gets added to the meal: the apology. 

“It’s nothing”, “ignore the burnt bits”, “sorry, it’s a bit dry”, “I don’t know if it’s any good”, “it looked better in the recipe”. Most of us will have heard these phrases from hosts, whether friends or family, often before they have even finished handing out the plates, and certainly before anyone has even eaten anything. At university, when we’re stressed about deadlines, buried under reading lists, or recovering from a night out, the act of buying ingredients, chopping, cooking, and dishing out an entire meal requires an enormous amount of physical and mental effort. And yet so many of us are determined to immediately insist that the thing we spent an hour making is “nothing”. But why are we so intent on diminishing the gift at precisely the moment we give it? 

For much of our time at Oxford, the food we eat doesn’t necessarily demand this kind of vulnerability because it isn’t really ours. In first year especially, meals can feel remarkably institutionalised. Hall decides what we eat and when we eat it, formals turn dinner into ceremony, cafés are excused as study venues, and even a humble meal deal gets crammed between a tutorial and the next thing on the calendar. Eating simply became another activity Oxford timetabled for us. 

Of course, this isn’t everyone’s experience. Some arrive capable of producing dinner without consulting Google, cooking from their first week. But, for me, second year marked a change in my own, and many of my friends’, relationship with eating. Going out for dinner with friends has increasingly turned into “do you want to come over for dinner?” instead. And I found that feeding your friends, rather than simply eating alongside them, felt like a surprisingly significant change.

Unlike cooking, few creative pursuits have such immediate audience participation. Nobody hands five housemates an essay and then watches their faces as they read it, anxiously interrupting after the first sentence to explain why it could have been better, had they not run out of time. The pre-emptive apology, therefore, offers useful insurance. We anticipate the flaws in our own efforts before others can, reassuring ourselves that, on the off chance our guest does find the pasta slightly overcooked, at least we got there to point it out first! What we believe is modesty can often look suspiciously like self-defence.

Student kitchens should really cure us of culinary perfectionism. I remember attempting a new-and-improved version of a teriyaki salmon dish I had made countless times at home. This time, however, I was faced with a hob that had only one tentatively working ring, and armed with a blunt knife of uncertain provenance that my housemate assured me they had washed earlier – hadn’t they? If anything can teach us to abandon our expectations for restaurant-quality results, it’s the experience of trying to cook something vaguely edible under these circumstances.

Oxford can also make us particularly attuned to evaluation, just as we expect the acceptance or rejection that our tutors frequently fire at us. It’s unsurprising, then, that we treat dinner the same way: something is laboured at, produced, presented, and then awaits judgement. This pressure-cooker environment quite literally extends to the kitchen, and it’s easy to forget that your friend coming over for pasta isn’t a world-renowned chef in disguise. Looking at our own attitude to serving food to friends can be really valuable. I suspect that when others cook for you, the effort they put in after a long day is worth a lot more than the food itself.

So, the cook and the diner may never truly eat the same meal. The cook tastes every shortcut and imperfection; the diner experiences only what arrives on their plate. Beyond the simplicity of food-to-fork is the experience: the diner receives a serving of care and effort, and the cook engages in a labour of love.

The next time a friend tells you that the dinner you made is delicious, resist the urge to explain why they’re wrong. And the next time you put down a plate and feel an apology bubbling up, try suppressing the “sorry” and just stop at “I made you dinner”. 

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.