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Unity is the antidote

Freya Robson
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Unity is the antidote

At a recent march in Oxford against the far right, one speaker’s words really struck a chord with me: “We need unity irrespective of our differences on other issues.” This declaration was all the more poignant given the eclectic mix of political groups represented at the protest, including those campaigning to keep Campsfield Immigration Removal Centre closed, the Oxford Labour Club, and Women Against the Far Right. An unshakeable sense of togetherness bound the groups together, and it was then that the antidote to the mess that we call British politics became clear: unity.

I’m aware that simply throwing out the word ‘unity’ as a quick fix to political turmoil seems ridiculous, as if proudly offering up a singular sandbag when a tsunami comes rolling in. What we don’t need is another ideological proposition, the likes of which can be discussed at length in a tutorial as the world falls apart around us. But unity is so much more than that; it is a rallying cry for anyone who can get behind a common goal. A goal that, in this case, is the protection of our communities from the far-right threat that is slowly but surely seeping in.

For too long, British politics has felt like an unending roundabout of infighting while the world falls apart around us. I am reminded of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s analogy of intellectuals as flies in a jar, endlessly talking over ideological minutiae rather than ever actually getting anywhere. Whilst I recognise the irony of referencing a philosopher when criticising unsatisfying conclusions, this analogy really does seem to resonate.

Following what The Guardian called “the worst unrest seen in the UK for a decade” during the wave of anti-migrant riots in the summer of 2024, it was found that nearly three-quarters of the British public felt worried about right-wing extremism. However, in the two years since this statistic was produced, we have nothing to show for how we have countered these fears. If anything, these concerns have been strengthened and intensified, with groups like Patriot Platform filling the streets to preach about women’s safety, while clad in black balaclavas and chanting “stop the boats”. I’m left wondering where our collective terror of the growing extremist ideologies has disappeared to. Or, rather, where it has been channelled instead.

Whilst it is true that a large proportion of the UK fear the far-right, the recent action that has been taken speaks for itself. The Labour Party has been battling it out with the Conservatives in government in a treacherous game of who can seem the toughest on immigration, attempting to claw back lost voters. As a result, MPs from both parties are discussing immigration in a more hostile way than at almost any other point in the past century, according to a recent study by The Guardian. Meanwhile, despite their consistently anti-far-right rhetoric, the Greens are busy redefining Zionism and dividing their party supporters along the way. And to top it all off, Liberal Democrat leader Ed Davey is describing the surge in far-right ideologies and change in UK political opinion as a “historic opportunity to win many more seats”, rather than a threat to our nation’s diverse community. The people might agree on the issue, but finding the solution is a completely different story.

As it turns out, constant bickering about party politics doesn’t actually get us anywhere.

So what does? Saying that we should all work together to counter the rise of the far right is easier said than done – and feels a little too High School Musical-esque. But having political cohesion across parties is really not so far-fetched. We only have to look across the Channel to France to see how cross-party collaboration can be accomplished. In the French political system, elections involve two rounds of voting, with the first round eliminating candidates with the fewest votes. A benefit of this system is that between the first and second rounds of voting, it is common for parties to join forces to compile their votes. For example, in the 2024 legislative elections, between the rounds of voting a broadly left-wing party arose called Le Nouveau Front Populaire (NFP), made up of over six smaller parties hoping to combat the far-right party, Le Rassemblement National (RN). The result was a success: 182 seats for the NFP against 143 for the RN and its allies.

While French politics are clearly not flawless, and this system does mean learning a ridiculous number of acronyms for newly formed parties in every election cycle, it does teach a valuable lesson. Acting as a collective does not mean thinking as a hive mind, nor does it mean having exactly the same views on every issue. But what it does mean is showing unity in the face of opposition, particularly when that opposition threatens to push our fellow citizens out of the country.

And making governmental change is just the beginning. The reality of implementing unity in  political action is something that can be done both day-to-day and in Parliament. Opening up conversations with peers about the far-right without veering into irrelevant discussions, and engaging with people from different political leanings to find common ground; these are the ways in which we become a collective.

So whilst the antidote of unity may not be a quick and easy fix, it can certainly help us in the long term. Our wonderfully diverse community is under threat, and our fears need to be channelled to inspire collective change. Maybe, after all, High School Musical was right  – we truly are all in this together.

A sport inspired by Harry Potter has come into its own

Gavriella Epstein-Lightman
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A sport inspired by Harry Potter has come into its own

It isn’t often that fiction becomes reality. But that is exactly what has happened to Quidditch, now named Quadball. 

The sport originated in the pages of the Harry Potter books in the late 1990s. A few years later, in 2005, two students at Middlebury College, Vermont, decided to transform an imaginary sport into a real one. Devoid of flying broomsticks and magical spells, the students nonetheless created a sport fit for muggles. Since then, it has grown rapidly and is now played in more than 40 countries worldwide, with over 20 teams currently competing in the UK. 

Quidditch arrived at Oxford in 2011. The Oxford University Quidditch Club (OUQC), founded by student Angus Barry, was one of the first of its kind in the UK. One of its earliest competitions was a cuppers match between Worcester and St Edmund’s Hall. In time, the club’s membership grew large enough to accommodate two teams: the Radcliffe Chimeras and the more relaxed second team, the Oxford Quidlings. The Radcliffe Chimeras quickly attained national dominance, winning the first and third British Quadball Cups in 2013 and 2016. Currently the OUQC competes as a single team, the Chimeras, winning the 2025 British Quadball Cup to become the first team to win the tournament three times. 

The first Quadball World Cup was held at Oxford in 2012, with just five teams. The tournament has since grown: the most recent World Cup, held in Belgium last summer, featured 31 teams. The 2027 World Cup is due to be held in London in July. 

The rules of Quadball might appear complex but are, in reality, surprisingly simple. There are seven players per team, each of whom plays with a broomstick (or PVC pipe) between their legs as a handicap. The keeper guards their team’s three hoops; three chasers try to throw a volleyball (or quaffle) through the hoops to score; and two beaters throw bludgers (or dodgeballs) at opponents to immobilise them. Twenty minutes into the game, a referee acting as the snitch, wearing a yellow flag, enters the field, and each team’s seeker must catch it.

Watching Quadball for the first time, I was taken aback by the chaos of the sport: with four balls in play simultaneously, it is akin to watching three different sports at once. To seasoned Quadball players, like current OUQC Captain James Kramer, the chaos is what makes the sport so enthralling. “Once you’ve played for a while, you get a better reading of a game, and the chaos becomes a tactical opportunity,” Kramer tells me. “There’s so much opportunity for tactical depth, exciting plays and innovation.”   

Recently, the sport has distanced itself from Harry Potter. In 2022, the sport’s international governing bodies announced it would change its name from Quidditch to Quadball, citing Rowling’s “anti-trans positions”. This came in response to JK Rowling’s controversial comments about transgender people, but also as part of an effort to establish an identity for the sport independent of its fictional origins. 

“We clearly were Quidditch when the sport was founded, but I do think the sport has moved as far away as it can from that,” Kramer tells me. Whereas a decade ago, 90% of players were Harry Potter fans, now “in the two years I’ve been at the club, I don’t think we’ve had a single person join who is a Harry Potter fan,” Kramer adds. “We have built an identity as Quadball, and we have a very LGBTQ+ inclusive community,” he says. “We’re not going to shy away from our origins, and there’s plenty of people still in the community who were massive Harry Potter fans, but it’s also not who we are today.” 

Kramer tells me that he was initially uneasy about trying out Quadball as a fresher because of its connections to Harry Potter. Its Quidditch origins were a “barrier to entry” rather than what drew him to it in the first place. “It was only when I did see it for what it is as an actual sport with its own community and own identity that I joined,” he says. 

At a recent Quadball training session, I spoke to star performer Thomas Yates, who began playing the sport only last year. As he began his second year at Oxford, he chose to play Quadball because everyone starts at university as a beginner, with the same level of experience. Since then, his rise in Quadball has been dizzyingly fast. At the British Universities Quadball World Cup, he played well in a match defined by muddy, wet conditions, and he was scouted by Team England. He subsequently attended England training sessions and played his first international match over the summer. “It’s quite weird to get a message from a coach saying, ‘Hey, do you want to go and play a sport internationally?’” Yates tells me. “I felt like I can’t really turn that down, can you?”

The OUQC has enjoyed a surfeit of incredible moments, but one match in particular elicits excitement at its mere mention at Quadball training. It was the final of the British University Quadball Cup in 2026, pitting arch-nemeses Oxford against Cambridge. The latter entered the final in imperious form, having bludgeoned past their previous opponents, whereas Oxford had faltered along the way. This was a match defined by delicate skill, fierce tenacity, and tactical nous. After a hesitant start, Cambridge rediscovered their form, inching ahead of Oxford in goals. They had control of the dodgeballs, and momentum was in their favour. There was one snag: Cambridge did not have the yellow flag (or snitch). 

At twenty minutes, the flag runner entered play, confounding seekers on both teams with his unyielding athleticism and nimble speed. As he avoided capture, Cambridge surged ahead on the scoreboard, leaving Oxford staring down defeat. After 23 minutes of fruitless pursuit, Oxford had just three minutes before the game’s time cap would automatically hand Cambridge victory. Yet, in those final precious moments, Oxford’s seeker caught the flag. Two more goals in the last 90 seconds sealed Oxford’s victory. It is no overstatement to call it a nail-biting finish. 

“It is one of the highlights of my playing career,” Kramer says.  “I would say that’s probably the most intense, exciting game I’ve played.” He stresses that this was a very abnormal game – the time cap is typically applicable in just one per cent of games.

A more representative Quadball game was the semi-final against Edinburgh at the same tournament. It was played in terrible conditions – the ground was a mudbath. Oxford was three or four goals behind throughout, and was desperately trying to wrestle its way back into contention. Despair quickly became delight when the Oxford seeker caught the yellow flag, propelling the team to victory. “It was just so dramatically perfect,” Kramer says. 

With a formidable Quadball team and a close-knit community of players, OUQC looks set for another dramatic, exciting, and successful year. In March, the club will host an international development tournament, bringing in teams from Norway, Belgium, Switzerland, and Scotland. 

As I left the Quadball training session on an incredibly cold October afternoon, I felt that there is a magic to the game that owes less to its Harry Potter allusions than to the bonds of community it creates.

A decade worth celebrating: Spiced Roots turns ten

Priya Burrow
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A decade worth celebrating: Spiced Roots turns ten

Ten years ago, a small Caribbean restaurant opened its doors on Cowley Road. This year, Spiced Roots celebrates its tenth anniversary, and Oxford has every reason to join the party. In that decade, it has given the city warm welcomes, packed evenings of music and rum, a home for its Caribbean community, and, not least, an octopus salad I have not stopped thinking about since.

Ask yourself when you last went to a Caribbean restaurant. Now consider when you last went to a French or an Italian one. For most of us, the latter comes far more easily, and that is a shame, because Spiced Roots is one of a kind. There is nothing else quite like it in Oxford, and a meal here makes a joyful case for why Caribbean food should take its place among the cuisines we ordinarily celebrate most.

Its success is no accident. Since opening in 2016, Spiced Roots has taken the overall prize at the Oxinabox Food Awards and become one of the city’s most cherished independent restaurants. Its owner speaks about it with infectious pride. The name honours his heritage, and he wants the restaurant to be a hub for people, as well as a place to share his culture.

What is striking is how little credit he will take for any of it. He sees himself not as the author of his menu, but as the custodian of recipes long shared communally in Trinidad and handed down through his own family, in which his grandmother cooked and his aunt catered. “It’s not innovative,” he insists – rather, it is authentic and cooked the way it is supposed to be. Time spent across the islands explains why the menu celebrates the whole Caribbean, instead of just one corner of it.

The experience starts the moment you arrive. We were welcomed with a hibiscus ginger beer, and every drink that followed matched its quality. The homemade ginger beer was unlike any other I have ever tasted – sweet yet startlingly fresh. Rum lovers are spoiled here too: the bar holds well over 100 sipping rums, and the team runs masterclasses for anyone who suspects, rightly, that rum deserves the reverence we usually save for cognac.

My friend and I shared a Kingfish Steak (£19.50) and the Boneless Curry Goat (£20.50). The Kingfish was extraordinary, with bold, beautifully judged flavours. The Curry Goat, marinated for 48 hours and cooked in goat bone stock with curry leaves, coconut milk, carrots, and potatoes, was hearty and warming in a way that felt almost familial, as though it had been made with care for generations. Both portions were generous, as were the doubles (£6.95): piled with chickpeas cooked with garlic, cumin, and curry leaf, finished with cucumber, tamarind, and hot sauce.

Then came the Grilled Octopus Salad (£8.95), the dish that made the evening. The octopus is steamed, marinated in garlic, coriander, Scotch bonnet, and lemon, then finished on the grill and served over avocado, baby leaves, cucumber, and tomato beneath a bright pineapple chow. It arrived beautifully presented and tasted vividly fresh. It was the best dish of the night, the best I have eaten in Oxford, and genuinely one of the best things I have ever eaten.

Yet the food is only part of the joy. The staff are kind and hospitable, plainly delighted to see you and proud of what they serve, and that warmth is why people keep coming back. Spiced Roots works as well for a single drink as for a full dinner, and the team caters for larger events too. Its calendar is a celebration in itself, with live music, Saturday sip-and-paint evenings, and cocktail-making sessions.

Above all, Spiced Roots is a sanctuary for the wider community, and especially for Caribbean people in Oxford. It is a place to connect with heritage: the owner grew up in the Caribbean, and he wants those in the diaspora to reconnect with their roots. The restaurant works in partnership with the Oxford African and Caribbean Society and, most significantly, is involved in the Cowley Road Carnival, where town and gown come together. We, as a community, have an obligation to support the sanctuaries of Oxford, and few are as worth celebrating as this one.

Ten years in, Spiced Roots is looking firmly ahead: to the carnival, to its work with charities, and to making the restaurant a place where Caribbean history is learned, as well as tasted. Visiting is about far more than trying something new. This is a restaurant whose impeccable food is somehow the least impressive thing about it. It has given Oxford a great deal, and the next ten years promise even more. The argument is settled: Caribbean food belongs at the very top of Oxford’s table, and so does Spiced Roots.

What the UK can learn from threats to Canadian student journalism

Emma Heagney
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What the UK can learn from threats to Canadian student journalism

Now, more than ever, British people turn to social media, rather than traditional broadsheets or broadcasters, to access the news. A 2025 Ofcom survey found that 51% of adults used social media for this purpose, with Meta and Google dominating the list of most-used platforms. However, while studying in Canada this summer, I found this trend was unexpectedly much more complicated in the Great White North than in the UK – hoping for a quick scroll through the main Oxford newspapers on Instagram, my access to The Oxford Blue was blocked. In fact, almost all news sources were blocked, instead yielding the result “People in Canada can’t see this content.”

I quickly learned that the vast majority of online news content in Canada had been blocked by both Meta and Google, due to a controversial piece of legislation passed in 2023: Bill C-18. The Bill, also known as the Online News Act, seeks to regulate these platforms, as the Minister of Justice describes it, by introducing a bargaining framework for news businesses to claim fair compensation “when their news content is made available by dominant digital news intermediaries and generates economic gain”.

It seemed straightforward enough – that is, until Meta and Google responded by imposing a blanket ban on news content, a ban that largely remains today. If you are in Canada, whether a resident or tourist, you cannot, in most cases, view the news on Instagram or Facebook. Similarly, Canadian newspapers found their content removed from search results, news pages, and Google Discover.

A similar incident occurred in Australia in 2021, when the introduction of the News Media and Digital Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code led Meta to ban news from its platforms. A week after the news blackout, restrictions were lifted due to a deal struck between Meta, Google, and the Australian government, but the reason for the different outcomes in Australia and Canada may be due to the nature of the legislation – the Australian law did not necessarily designate the exact platforms to which the rule applied, unlike Bill C-18.

In Canada, larger broadcasters with strong funding models survived the impact of Bill C-18, and Google did eventually reach an agreement with the Canadian government. But Université Laval in Quebec found that a large number of young people changed their news consumption habits in response to Bill C-18, mostly by shifting away from Facebook and Google. Some smaller publications – like student newspapers – suffered, remodelled, and had to find alternative tools for growth.

Three years on, I met with student journalists at two of Montreal’s most prestigious universities – Concordia and McGill – to learn just how much impact the Bill has had on their operations. However, enveloped in each interaction was an immense culture shock, and a realisation that North American university systems are vastly different to those in Britain.

I headed to the Concordia University campus on Canada’s Labour Day, expecting an office roughly equivalent to the shared Oxford Student Publications Limited (OSPL) space on Folly Bridge – modest, but functional. Greeted by Tamara, the Creative Director of The Concordian, I was welcomed into a lively office, fit with podcast equipment and working Wi-Fi. The workspace was given to The Concordian team by their university. In fact, the entire street was lined with tall office buildings exclusively used by Concordia student associations. Even more radical was the fact that working for The Concordian was a paid role, offering a huge incentive for involvement. Admittedly, it may not pay the bills, but it was a far cry from British student journalism, where participation is most often completely voluntary.

Sitting in on a pitch meeting, I was struck by the sheer enthusiasm of the team. This is not to say Cherwell is particularly stress-inducing behind the scenes, but it is naturally a side hustle for busy Oxford students, who often balance multiple essays, tutorials, and classes in just one week of a degree which has very little to do with journalism at all. Having a dedicated journalism programme, as at Concordia but not at Oxford, goes a long way to attract competent and passionate student reporters.

This enthusiasm is only fostered by the fundamental optimism that underpins North American culture, in opposition to the UK. Aidan, who spent two terms abroad in London, compares both sides of the Atlantic for me: the UK simply does not have the same funding or attention for its student journalism. The Harvard Crimson, for example, raised $15 million dollars in 2024. The job market for journalism students is also relatively healthier across the pond than back home, with the Canadian Summer Jobs scheme providing businesses with funding to employ young people aged 15 to 30, a programme which Aidan tells me has allowed him to undertake internships with various newspapers across the Canadian provinces. In fact, The Concordian does not print at all in the summer term, precisely because the team hopes that they will be too busy with their internships to publish biweekly. You would be extremely hard-pressed to find such confidence in the UK – media and journalism in particular are, by far, the most competitive sectors for internships at Oxford.

It is this kind of structural support that left The Concordian relatively unscathed in the aftermath of Bill C-18. Their former Instagram account had been blocked by Meta, but thanks to Tamara’s knack for social media, the growth of their new page has been impressive. Nevertheless, the passing of the bill has also meant the introduction of new obstacles to maintaining an online presence. Tamara gives me a whistle-stop tour of Canadian journalism on her phone, showing me the various hoops publications must jump through to avoid being blocked. The Concordian is very careful not to refer to itself as a newspaper on its social media channels, and many regional broadcasters have circumvented the changes by encouraging their reporters to post articles on their personal pages instead.

Despite being blocked, The Concordian is not eligible to negotiate with Meta. Part of the problem, according to City Editor and former Editor-in-Chief Aidan, is that Canada has no official, government-affiliated regulatory body for newspapers. Student publications therefore occupy a grey area – functioning just like ‘real’ newspapers, but not having the same legal expertise or government funding as regional or national outlets. The same is true of the UK’s Online Safety Act, coincidentally passed in the same year as Bill C-18. Journalists are exempt from the “duty of care” imposed on online platforms, but the current criteria for “journalism” do not map neatly onto existing regulatory bodies like IPSO, of which Cherwell is one of the first student-run members.

On the other hand, a lack of institutional support can exacerbate the damage done by Bill C-18. Speaking to the Editor-in-Chief. Mairin and Creative Director, Zoe, of The Tribune at McGill University, I discovered a vastly different situation. The Tribune’s funding model allows them to maintain editorial independence from McGill University – when paying their tuition fees, students contribute a small subscription charge to the various clubs and societies at McGill, including The Tribune. However, it has often been at odds with the central university, a relationship which Mairin and Zoe believe has been problematic in the wake of Bill C-18.

In particular, The Tribune’s political leanings and history of holding McGill accountable have been difficult to reconcile with the university’s own affiliations. Having published stories on the restrictions faced by Palestinian offer holders, the historic use of blackface at McGill, and the lack of diversity among McGill academics, The Tribune often reports stories that may provoke outrage towards the university. While there are many ways to get around the Bill C-18 social media bans, it is also possible for news outlets to be reported to the relevant platform for distributing such news content – an innocuous charge which may seem utterly ridiculous to British journalists, but can be weaponised against Canadian news outlets, especially student-run publications which do not have dedicated legal teams. The Tribune’s editorial board has, time and time again, been subject to such reports, and while the perpetrators cannot be confirmed, it is perhaps a natural conclusion to assume that high-risk stories come with high-risk consequences. Mairin tells me: “We just want to reach students and show them what is really going on at their university, but without a stable social media presence, it is so incredibly difficult to be seen by them.”

Nevertheless, like the hard-working team behind The Concordian, The Tribune has not been discouraged by Bill C-18, perhaps due to the doors that a long-term position on a student newspaper can open. Mairin and Zoe explain to me that internships and society committee positions are seen as absolutely essential at Canadian universities – the expectation is that you commit to them as a path either to “grad school” or a lucrative career. Coasting on the prestige of your university’s name – or the honorific MA (Oxon), in our case  – is simply not enough.

When I first reached out to The Concordian and The Tribune, I anticipated a much more dire response to what I deemed an absurd situation. Student papers would be hit hard, I thought, with social media bans being huge obstacles to obtaining readership and funding. In some ways, they were, as several Canadian publications have had to migrate from one blocked account to another. A sense of caution has certainly become part of the newspapers’ operations, for fear of being reported to Instagram for simply publishing the news.

But the most striking difference I discovered in Canada was not the lack of news available to me. Instead, I had never even considered the sheer amount of structural support offered by the government, universities, and other bodies to these ambitious student journalists, support that instilled hope and protected the papers against Bill C-18. The perseverance of The Concordian and The Tribune in the face of Bill C-18 demonstrates just how impactful institutional support can be, not least for allowing these student journalists to believe that their work is worth fighting for.

New Oxford Windrush generation exhibit opens for Black History Month 

Madison Garrett
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New Oxford Windrush generation exhibit opens for Black History Month 

Amidst recent political tension provoked by the government’s refusal of slavery reparations to the Caribbean, this year Black History Month is celebrated uniquely in Oxford. The inaugural exhibition at the newly opened African Caribbean centre, The Island, honours the thousands of Caribbean constituents the government invited to the UK in post-war efforts to rebuild the country. The exhibition at 16 Park End Street offers an Oxonian perspective on the historical transit of the Windrush generation. 

The path to opening Oxford’s African Caribbean centre has been lengthy, as Euton Daley, a curator and community researcher of the exhibition, shared: “The idea of The Island concept has come about over many years with us as a community not having a place.” Spearheaded by a group of organisers for the last four years, the passion project A Place for We sources and shares the history of the Black community in Oxford. The main objective is not only to share the suffering endured across the Oxford community, but also to immortalise it in an archive, as the organisation aims to map spaces no longer available to the community and to advocate for a permanent cultural centre. 

As The Island launched, it was with the support of an Oxford college that allowed for its historical presence. Owned by Nuffield College, the Park End Street location was previously a Staples. However, having been vacant for over a decade, the stationery store space has been transformed into a realm of Caribbean culture for community use. With a two-and-a-half year lease, the aspiration is that the exhibition’s success will guarantee the permanence of a global cultural centre there, serving as a communal workspace and public forum. 

Now serving as an archive of Caribbean-Oxford history crafted by descendants of the historically oppressed, rather than a story woven by colonial enslavers, the community space provides an opportunity for communal fun and historical engagement. The exhibition serves as an anthropological backdrop of West Indies living, staged as the interior of a 1960s Caribbean home. Throughout the space, informative posters educate viewers about Oxford’s Black history, such as the Windrush generation nurses who served for the NHS in Oxford, staffing local hospitals and GP surgeries. Displayed on the chestnut living room table is a community collection of artefacts, photographs, and stories donated by Windrush-descended families and cultivated by researchers at Oxford Brookes University. Interactive activities are also available, including a passport postbox and map where Caribbean community members can pin their local neighbourhoods across Oxford. “We’ve made it such that people can actually sit here and relax. We’ve got a selection of books that people can read and browse through. Some people even come in here to work during the day. They volunteer [or] work up doing their own admin work. Rather than sit at home on their own or go to a cafe, they come here. We’ve got Wi-Fi so people can sit and work and do things,” Daley adds, highlighting the importance of community building he hopes will stem from the space. 

The first weekend of The Island’s opening launched with a social gathering featuring a talk led by Michael La Rose, the director of New Beacon Books. The North-London-based bookshop is one of England’s first Black publishing houses and specialist bookshops, with longstanding community activism across the Black Parents Movement, Black Youth Movement, and Supplementary Movement, as well as advocating against communally-believed racially-motivated atrocities such as the New Cross Massacre. Alongside the talk, New Beacon Books held a bookstand selling a selection of Caribbean novels. Acknowledging the recent hostility between the government and Caribbean islands regarding the debate surrounding reparations, La Rose said: “Britain is a special place in Europe, and that is because Black people have struggled here in Europe, in Britain, and has changed the society. But it is a constant struggle because we know Prince Charles don’t want to say nothing [sic]. Andy Burnham wants to keep things the same, so we got to have a constant struggle. We got to reinvent ourselves and use the tools we have nowadays to battle for the new battles ahead [sic].” 

In a similar tone, Daley, whose parents are members of the Windrush generation, calls for progress through unity within and beyond the Caribbean diaspora: “If there’s one thing I’d like us to be a bit more united together, we’re all doing lots of different things in our own patch and for different people. But as a group, as one community, we don’t always come together. And that’s hopefully by having a space, I think that will make a big difference. Oxford students should visit to be informed, to help support it, to help advocate for a permanent space and a permanent building for the community.” 

The community space, open to the public free of charge,  featured events including workshops, community talks, and performances until the end of October. It is a collaboration also involving Oxford-based arts and social justice charity Fusion Arts, African community-led group African Caribbean Cultural Heritage Initiative, UK charity Oxfordshire Community Education Group, and theatre and cultural arts collective Unlock the Chains Collective.

“There’s a play in that”: interview with ‘The Gang of Three’ playwright Robert Khan

Saul Grenfell
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“There’s a play in that”: interview with ‘The Gang of Three’ playwright Robert Khan

It’s Budget Day as I sit in the foyer of the Oxford Playhouse. Down in Westminster, Chancellor Healey faces his first major test. But up here, another Chancellor Healey faces his own, as the tour of acclaimed political drama The Gang of Three comes to Oxford. Robert Khan and Tom Salinsky’s play dramatises the political and personal rivalries between Labour heavyweights Roy Jenkins, Denis Healey and Tony Crosland. I sit down with co-writer Robert Khan to discuss political friendship, the enduring appeal of the ‘70s, and what today’s Labour Party might learn from its predecessors.

Khan and Salinsky have been writing together for years. After a successful run of their play Brexit at the Fringe, it transferred to the King’s Head Theatre. A producer asked them to “pitch me some more ideas, boys”, and asked whether they’d read Giles Radice’s Friends and Rivals, the comparative biography of three modernising men of the Labour Party after Harold Wilson’s surprise resignation. Khan had. “There’s a play in that”.

Initially worried about how to make it relevant to a modern audience (“Does anyone under 50 know who these duds are?”), concerns were quickly dispelled. The play’s debates are hardly confined to the 1970s: do the ends justify the means? Can political allies really be friends? And what happens when personal ambition gets in the way of a shared political project?

There are clear parallels between then and today. Khan’s clear that the piece needs to stand on its own, but there’s no denying the resonances: geopolitical issues, price of oil and cost of living crises throughout the 70s. It is 50 years since the IMF crisis. Jenkins’ resignation as Deputy Leader in 1972, at the Shadow Cabinet’s decision to back a referendum on Britain’s entry into the European Economic Community, offers another reminder of how easily political disagreements can become personal divisions.

The Labour leadership election earlier this year carries particular echoes of 1976. I ask what lessons he’d want Burnham to take away if he were in the audience that evening. Khan is quick not to put down the new PM – “It’s not for me to give lessons to our Prime Minister!” – but if there’s one thesis of the play, it’s to avoid infighting. The divisions between Jenkins, Healey and Crosland ultimately prevented any of them from becoming Prime Minister. Callaghan won against all three in 1976. Michael Foot narrowly beat Healey in 1980. Because three politicians “who basically believed the same thing” “couldn’t come together”, none became leader or PM. 18 years of Tory government followed.

Yet the three were formidable figures. Healey championed the term “hinterland” in discussion of politicians, and Crosland drew up the seminal work The Future of Socialism. For Khan, they are “heavyweight figures who we don’t get in politics anymore”. They fought in the war, something he wonders may have given them a particular perspective on political life. 

Could a similar play work in 50 years’ time about Burnham, Healey, and Mahmood? Maybe, Khan says, but they’d need to be tested. Or have strong personalities. Johnson would work, and did for Khan and Salinsky’s Kingmaker. Truss might, if only as a farce.

Staging such big figures seems to present a challenge. How do you capture the essential qualities of such well-known figures? Khan recalls a particularly useful piece of advice when going over the script with Bill Rodgers, who, alongside Jenkins, formed the ‘Gang of Four’ who split from Labour to form the SDP in 1981. “The thing about Roy Jenkins was that he was an Edwardian. He needs to be played as an Edwardian”. 

Other things changed when dramatised. Tony Crosland loses a “so posh” RP accent. Some less palatable comments Healey made in the House likewise aren’t represented. But the one thing that makes the transformation convincing, Khan says, is actors who can completely inhabit the characters.

Though this evening there’s an understudy in the house: co-writer Tom Salinsky steps in for a role. It’s a big night. Denis Healey’s son is also in attendance (decked out with a similarly glorious pair of eyebrows, apparently).

Khan and Salinsky seem to have a far more harmonious relationship than that of their protagonists. They met at Southampton in 1990, but, as Khan jokes, “it only took us twenty years to come up with our first good idea”: Coalition at the Fringe in 2012. Since then, they’ve written plays on Murdoch, Houdini, and the post-Brexit Tories, and even audio dramas for Doctor Who’s Tom Baker and Peter Davison. “We don’t sit together and write it like Galton and Simpson”, Khan tells me. Instead, they draw up character developments together and write scenes by themselves, which the other edits. “It’s like magic fairies have come along and improved it by the morning”.

What’s next for the duo? At the King’s Head next week, they launch Saving Alan Turing. “What hasn’t been done is the last two years of his life”, according to Khan. With the 75th anniversary of Turing’s conviction for gross indecency approaching, the production also promises to revisit a story whose significance extends well beyond its historical setting. Turing’s pioneering work in computing and artificial intelligence gives the play an especially contemporary dimension.

But for now, The Gang of Three is here in Oxford, apt for a play with a connection to the city. All three were contemporaries here – Healey and Jenkins at Balliol, and Crosland at Trinity – with Jenkins and Crosland briefly being lovers, as explored in John Campbell’s 2014 biography. Cherwell itself gets a mention or two (Robert says the actors’ pronunciation had to be corrected). And just as his ambitious real-life politicking never got him the top job, Healey is the object of a gag about an imagined unsuccessful run for Union President. How little some things change.

‘The Gang of Three’ is running at the Oxford Playhouse until 31st October.

‘Celebrity Traitors’ season two: Complex and compelling

Alice Rubli
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‘Celebrity Traitors’ season two: Complex and compelling

Reality TV series The Traitors has returned with its celebrity version and has topped viewing charts for a second time. People are hooked on the show where logical reasoning and random chance are simultaneously at play, in a game full of drama, tension, and cliffhangers. 

The theatricality of this show appeals to more than one of the viewers’ senses: outrageous outfits are flaunted, peacocks strut around the grounds, and intense soundtracks heighten the suspense. The premise is simple: a group of Faithfuls must attempt to identify the Traitors before they are murdered to claim the prize money. However, the show is rather bigger than the sum of its parts might suggest. Let’s consider the parade of outlandish outfits as contestants enter the breakfast room each morning: Maya Jama (a current celebrity Traitor) waltzes in wearing a huge furry cardigan by Agro, and Joe Lycett sports a lilac feathered shirt. The daily fashion parade has not always been part and parcel of the show; in the earlier, non-celebrity series of The Traitors, participants wore normal, everyday clothes. This new fashion trend fits well with the elaborate aesthetic of the TV series, with drama and tension at the heart of the game. Claudia Winkleman’s wardrobe is striking: her chunky high-necked jumpers, tartan skirts, and fingerless gloves make quite an impression. So, whether you’re a Traitor or a Faithful, your outfits matter. 

Outfits might seem insignificant, yet appearance and how the players present themselves are key to this show. In every series of The Traitors, one of the first things players look for is a ‘change in behaviour’ after Claudia has picked her Traitors. The clues to a contestant’s identity as Faithful or Traitor are few and far between, so it is essential that the players maintain composure if they don’t want to be called out for behaving differently. 

Actor Richard E. Grant certainly made a unique debut as a Traitor by announcing his true identity within the first five minutes. The ultimate consequence of this bizarre decision was his banishment, a seemingly obvious result, but it is worth considering how the players initially reacted to Grant’s revelation. Some Faithfuls still believed that he was one of them, and the group considered the possibility that his absurd declaration is simply consistent with his chaotic personality. It is clear that all players’ dispositions and character traits are being constantly analysed. For example, in the third episode, comedian Miranda Hart revealed her suspicions of mathematician and broadcaster Hannah Fry, who, having turned from Faithful to Traitor overnight, displayed much more anxiety. 

The audience’s omniscience at home is another crucial draw of The Traitors. The true detective work is in the hands of the players, whereas we at home have absolute knowledge and, therefore, the ability to criticise or applaud different styles of gameplay and decisions made by the players. We would not be able to congratulate Hart’s careful observation of Fry if we did not know the full picture. The abundance of strategies employed by the players allows a diverse audience to identify with different game plans. Are you an Alan Carr, chaotic and underestimated? A Ross Kemp, suspicious of everything and anything? Or a Miranda Hart, quietly observant? The show is accessible, in this sense: not only can anyone apply to take part in the non-celebrity version, but viewers can also realistically think about how they would play the game while sitting at home.

The current series, and the first series of Celebrity Traitors, present celebrities in a novel way. The producers aim to capture a diverse viewership, and they achieve this by booking celebrities known to a variety of demographics. The game works by allowing the audience at home to discover new celebrities to root for. So, if you weren’t a Kemp fan before, you might be now. In the first celebrity series, Joe Marler was not particularly well-known outside of his rugby fanbase. However, his excellent detective work as a faithful on the show propelled him to new celebrity status.

Whilst some might regard a reality TV series like The Traitors as lowbrow entertainment, perhaps it is simply because they haven’t watched the show yet. Whether the players are celebrities or not, the draw of the series lies in the complex psychological gameplay and eccentric aesthetics.

‘Put your blinders on, put your head down, and do the work’: Sharifa Al-Sudairi on her journey to becoming Saudi Arabia’s first female alpine skier

Saba Ahmadzadeh Noughani
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‘Put your blinders on, put your head down, and do the work’: Sharifa Al-Sudairi on her journey to becoming Saudi Arabia’s first female alpine skier

Saudi Arabia, a country renowned for its desert landscapes and scorching temperatures, seems an unlikely starting point for an alpine skier. Yet Sharifa Al-Sudairi grew up in snow-free Jeddah and pursued one of the most snow-dependent sports. Perhaps even more compelling, she started competing in her mid-30s, an age when many athletes consider retirement.

Al-Sudairi is Saudi Arabia’s first female alpine skier, competing internationally as her country undergoes a period of rapid social and sporting change.

“Skiing was not part of my childhood in terms of seriously doing this competitively,” she says. Instead, she grew up near the beach and remembers participating in water sports such as sailing, surfing and “just trying every sport under the sun”.

Al-Sudairi tells me: “I was in every sports club in my school.” She lists tennis, basketball, and “probably football at some point”. Yet while Al-Sudairi’s family encouraged her to do sports, she notes that “it was kind of something you do on the side”. Skiing first began as a “casual hobby” when her parents took her and her sisters on ski holidays in Switzerland: “Once a year we would go on these holidays.” She laughs as she recalls being “more excited about the hot chocolates”.

Her family’s interest in skiing began after a friend of her father recommended that they visit a beautiful spot in Switzerland, which they enjoyed and kept returning to. She describes her father as an “adventurous traveller”, the type of person “that spins the globe and says this is where we’re going to travel to in the summer”. So, skiing in Switzerland was something “we were going to try as a family, and that’s how we got introduced to it”.

At the age of 16, she moved to Switzerland for boarding school, bringing her closer to the Swiss Alps and giving her the opportunity to “really focus on skiing”. But even then, she did not ever see herself becoming a professional athlete. The sport remained a “casual thing in the back of my head; there was nothing more to it, at this point of my life”. What she did have, however, was what she calls a “competitive athletic bug”, but her professional life would first take her in a different direction.

After studying fine arts in London and continuing with a Master’s in Art and Business, Al-Sudairi worked as a gallerist, later becoming associate director at London’s Pace Gallery. All the while, skiing remained a passion pursued separately from work. This changed in the early 2020s, “when my country was going through all these significant changes”. She recalls feeling intrigued when she heard Saudi Arabia was starting a snow sports federation: “I said, ‘Wait, that’s something I know how to do really well.’”

It was a moment in her life when she felt she “really wanted to give back to my country”. Joining the federation, she says, was “my way of giving back and I get to do my sport professionally”. She told herself: “I don’t want to look back when I’m 80 and say ‘I wish I did this because that was the moment’.” Despite all the reasons that could have stopped her, she knew: “This was the chance.”

The sudden change came with many sacrifices. Al-Sudairi tells me she had to miss a lot of events and personal occasions with her friends and family, but “I did that kind of happily, because it really gave me so much fulfilment, you know, doing what I did”. While Al-Sudairi had to cut out some of the social aspects of her life to prioritise her athletic goals, she has no regrets because her friends were “always with me along the journey”.

For instance, when she had to turn down dinner invitations and late-night plans because protecting her sleep was important to maintaining her training and performance, her friends “understood that if I couldn’t make it for dinner, then they would come and see me for lunch”.

Her decision to take on skiing professionally at Olympic level in her mid-thirties stemmed from “just being inspired by what my country was going through”. Her journey representing Saudi Arabia began in 2022 when she took the leap and registered with the Saudi Winter Sports Federation. Her early races came at Ski Dubai, where she competed in regional indoor ski events that helped launch her competitive career. She remembers the support she received from her Jeddah community, which she says encouraged her throughout the process: “I felt like I went to the Olympics. The love that I got from my community was incredible.”

Competing in the sport competitively and nationally was, at first, unfamiliar territory. “I kind of didn’t know what I was doing”, she admits. Yet her presence alone marked a historic first for Saudi Arabia.

When asked whether there were moments when skiing felt impossible, her answer was immediate: “Right from the start it did.” Her decision to change careers and train as a professional athlete, at an age when many athletes were considering retirement, “did not make sense to many”. Someone even suggested that she take a desk job with the ski federation instead of skiing, but Al-Sudairi persisted and continued training. She recalls there being many moments where she “could have easily left skiing” but there was always “something inside me, a voice in me that said just go”.

The conventional route into elite sport is typically mapped out from childhood, starting with specialist coaching, participating in junior competitions, then national teams after years of progression. Yet Al-Sudairi’s journey was not planned as such, and growing up in Saudi Arabia, skiing was hardly the obvious career choice: “I think our way of getting into sports, as females in Saudi, was quite unique to other nations.”

Growing up, Al-Sudairi recalls being very aware that there are misconceptions about women in Saudi Arabia and, more broadly, the Middle East, but believes that “maybe at some point you don’t blame [people for having] the misconceptions”. For Al-Sudairi, the changes she has witnessed in Saudi Arabia are particularly significant for women. She describes Saudi women as “leaders”. Women in Saudi Arabia are working across sectors from some of the region’s largest companies to ambassadorial roles or, like herself, at the forefront of women’s sport.

Particularly in the past eight years, Saudi women have “slowly broken those barriers, probably in our way” and “kind of just proven to the rest of the world that women here are capable”. Even if not every woman was given these opportunities as a child, the next generation of Saudi women will certainly “know a world where they’re doing the exact same thing as any girl or woman anywhere in the world”.

But barriers remain. At the moment, Al-Sudairi believes the biggest challenge that young Saudi girls face in skiing is the lack of proximity to snow: “These sports need to be really accessible, and at the moment, it is a trip that you have to take.” She also considers family support and encouragement as factors in a young athlete’s success. “It makes it easier”, she says, believing that first and foremost, one’s journey pursuing their sport “has to be a family affair, because you have to commit a lot of time to it”.

Regarding her own challenges with sports, Al-Sudairi has also had her share of injuries. In 2023, during the ski season, she tore a ligament, which caused her to miss the summer training block. In December the following year, she broke her arm while training in Italy: “In these moments, you stop, and you think, is this worth it?” But she recalls that “even on the hospital bed when I broke my arm, it made me think, ‘I want to get back and show that I can do more’. I love the grind. I think I thrive off of this feeling.”

Her results have since reflected that determination. In February 2025, she was part of Saudi Arabia’s debut team at the ninth Asian Winter Games in Harbin and Yabuli, China, where she competed in the women’s slalom and served as a flagbearer at the opening ceremony. The following month, in Kolašin, Montenegro, she secured two second-place finishes across a series of International Ski and Snowboarding Federation (FIS) and national championship races. In March 2026, she returned to Kolašin and placed fourth in the National Championships slalom and fifth in the National Junior Championships slalom. She also competed in the National Junior Championships slalom events in Kopaonik, Serbia, that month.

However, being the first woman to achieve something was never her primary motivation. “I knew I had to put in double the work”, she says, and so she “wasn’t sitting there being focused on the fact that I was the first”. Representing Saudi Arabia as the first female alpine skier is an “incredible honour”, but equally, she “wasn’t quick to go and do it because ‘you might be the first’”. What mattered more to her was that she “just wanted to go out and ski”.

Yet she recognises the significance that being the first can have for others: “I think what matters to people who look like me is to know that there is someone from your background.” She adds that “it does make a big difference to them”. Despite the significant impact representation can have, Al-Sudairi grew up having no Saudi female alpine skier role models to look up to. Now, she has become the first herself. For a young girl considering an unconventional path, her advice is clear: “I would say, put your blinders on, put your head down and do the work. Don’t listen to the noise. There’s going to be a lot of it, but just be prepared to put in the work.”

She says sports, or any ambition for that matter, “has to consume your life, because every aspect of your life plays a role in whatever it is, something unconventional, challenging, difficult or not the norm that you are pursuing. Just keep going at it, even when it doesn’t make sense.”

In defence of consent training

Madeline Gillett
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In defence of consent training

CW: sexual violence

It is often well-intentioned, stereotypically ‘progressive’ people who argue against the need for Freshers’ Week consent training, or at least find it obsolete. This includes even those who are the most committed to dismantling rape culture, as well as those who are aware that sexual violence is horrific; something that they would never dream of committing. They might think those who really need the training won’t be receptive anyway, so what’s the point? Those who oppose rape culture might feel comfortable that they would never jeopardise someone else’s bodily autonomy, and think that those who could are a separate class of citizen; no amount of healthy discussion can be expected to save them, especially not an hour’s worth while hungover on a Wednesday afternoon. However, even thinking this unconsciously contributes towards a dangerous culture of complacency, ignoring the very nature of sociopolitical progress and how it manifests across time. 

During Freshers’ Week consent training, I heard people say that choking is a normal, expected part of sex. I also heard the term ‘normal sex’ batted around a lot, without any real attempt to actually explain what this was, or what exactly people are consenting to when engaging in it. In reality, ‘normal sex’ is a vast umbrella term for an array of acts. 

These oversimplifications are not inherently sinister, nor were they spoken by people whom I’d deem deeply ignorant and apathetic towards consent, such as the bigoted types you’d expect to see in a TV drama that stages sexual violence. What these assumptions do signify is the necessity to rid our minds of sociosexual scripts.

Sociosexual script theory was first coined by the sociologists John Gagnon and William Simon in 1973. It refers to the internalisation of societal norms, which can dictate how people act in sexual situations: often sex is informed by expectations of what is ‘normal’, as well as, or even more so than, preference. The theory becomes especially pertinent when thinking about gender roles and sexuality in sexual encounters. It’s not out of the ordinary to feel that you need to do something in a ‘mainstream’ or ‘conventional’ way, nor does it make you a bad person. What this can do, however, is make you feel pressured to enjoy certain types of sex more so than others, and make it unclear what is being consented to when sex is brought up. For example, sex is not necessarily just penis-in-vagina (PIV), even when it is between a cisgender man and woman. For one person, this might be the norm and to be expected. For the other, it might be deeply uncomfortable, or even not physically possible. 

Sociosexual scripts engender a harmful hierarchy of acts, deeming some less ‘serious’ than others, and therefore requiring less informed consent. What might be considered foreplay for one person can be the main event for the other, and so what one person is happy to rush into might be deeply vulnerable for the other. Sociosexual scripts are also inherently heteronormative: when we assume that ‘real sex’ is penetrative, we exclude what might be the norm for two cisgender sapphic women, for example, as well as pressuring cisgender, heterosexual people to define safe sex in a specific way. 

Choking and sexual strangulation are clear examples of this. Studies consistently show that there are significant risks and harms associated with this act, but what used to be considered a kink has recently made its way into the mainstream sexual script, with over one third of 16-25 year olds reporting being choked at least once during consensual sex in a study done in December 2024. There is a sense that this is both because of an uncritical approach to what is manifest in pornography – a disregard for its chauvinistic stagings and glorification of power dynamics – and also a desire to not be perceived as ‘kink shaming’. While there is merit in warranting people freedom for sexual self-exploration, it is essential that this rising trend is accompanied by an active dialogue about the dangers of strangulation, and the recent spike in choking-related deaths. In order to avoid situations such as these, kinks are often accompanied by ongoing conversations about boundaries, safety, and comprehensive aftercare, because of the awareness that they fall outside the bounds of the ‘mainstream’. The very act of shifting something from the category of kink to ‘normal’ sex requires reflection. When we make something a standard that was once physically threatening, and still is for many, people may assume consent, when open dialogue is required to foster a safe and comforting environment. Consent training, in this light, can be viewed as the absolutely essential counterpart to mainstream pornography, which engenders certain expectations if consumed uncritically. 

Consent training becomes more pertinent than ever when we dispel ‘the monster myth’. This refers to the notion that sexual assaulters are inherently monstrous people, detectably evil and with no capacity to be perceived as normal people. It breeds complacency: people think that they are immune to violating people’s consent if they do not associate with this stereotypical ‘evil’ or disregard for their sexual partners’ welfare. Breaches of consent also result from lapsed communication and a socially-informed assumption of preference, which manifests as selfishness or entitlement. Sexual violence can be perpetrated by close friends, in seemingly mundane environments. Understanding this is also key to understanding why survivors might not fit the script that society expects them to: they might remain friends with the perpetrator, or not even realise that what occurred was a breach of consent until much later. After the recent discourse about the ‘Cornell 7’ and people discrediting Jane Doe for remaining close to her abusers soon after her assault, it is more relevant now than ever before that we dismantle all expectations for survivors, and understand how common it is that sexual violence does not necessarily manifest in a violent or explicit manner. 

Consent is not only breached because the perpetrator does not care about the other person or is acting with wholly malicious intent. It can happen because of a lapse in communication, an incorrect assumption, or a misunderstanding between the parties involved about what sex entails. Complacency and misinterpreting consent as a case of monster versus human show a lack of nuance or ongoing reflection, both of which are key in understanding how to achieve attuned consent. This is why consent training is still important – the people who are receptive to it are still the people who need it. 

As co-president of ItHappensHere, an anti-sexual violence campaign for Oxford University students, I call for all colleges to have consistent and comprehensive consent training, including for postgraduates. It is essential that we foster a space where survivors know that their concerns are cared for, that their experiences count, and that there are people who are committed to creating an environment of informed consent. They deserve to know that the culture of complacency is being dismantled, one hour-long session at a time. 

SHVSS

ithappenshere.co.uk

survivorspace.org.uk [Oxford based]

solacesarc.org.uk

New scholarship created for Afghan women at Oxford

Freiderikos Vassos
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New scholarship created for Afghan women at Oxford

One scholarship will be awarded to a woman of Afghan descent to study at the University of Oxford each year in a new endowment from the Weidenfeld-Hoffman Trust. The scholarship, announced this month, will cover postgraduate tuition, travel costs, accommodation, and general living costs.

Eligible students must have already met the admission requirements for postgraduate study at Oxford and be of first- or second-generation Afghan descent. The money will endow the scholarship permanently, allowing it to continue supporting a female Afghan postgraduate student each year.

The scholarship results from a £2.5 million donation from Shabana Basij-Rasikh, an Afghan educationalist. Basij-Rasikh was herself a recipient of a scholarship from the Weidenfeld-Hoffman Trust,  which allowed her to study for an MSc in Public Policy at the Blavatnik School of Government.

Afghanistan remains the only country to formally disallow access to education for girls beyond primary school, with an estimated 2.4 million girls barred from secondary education as of 2026. More than five years since the Taliban’s second takeover of Afghanistan, higher education has more broadly been curtailed. Female enrolment in the nation’s universities reached zero by 2024, while male enrolment nearly halved between 2019 and 2024. 

Ongoing visa restrictions from the Home Office mean that applications from Afghan nationals made outside the UK will automatically be rejected. Consequently, women in Afghanistan who are not dual citizens will not be able to apply for a student visa and therefore cannot take up a place to study at the University of Oxford. Basij-Rasikh, who funded the scholarship, has raised concerns over the UK’s visa brake policy toward Afghanistan.

Introduced in March 2026, the Home Office has stated that the visa brake is temporary and will be reviewed regularly, but said it will only cease when the “UK government considers it appropriate to do so”. However, a University spokesperson told Cherwell: “The visa brake is based only on the main nationality you give on your application form. Applicants who have a valid visa for the UK are still able to apply for an in-country visa extension or another visa route in-country if eligible.”

The scholarship is scheduled to support its first beneficiary starting from September 2027.

Additional reporting by Jeremy Azzopardi.

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