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St Edmund Hall unveils new eco-friendly accommodation 

Isa Bojaj
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St Edmund Hall unveils new eco-friendly accommodation 

St Edmund Hall has opened new, sustainability-focused accommodation in Norham Gardens, one of Oxford’s most affluent neighbourhoods.

 The College describes the buildings, which took three years to construct, as an “exemplar” of sustainability. Designed by architects Wright & Wright LLP, they are certified with a Passivhaus standard, widely regarded as the industry benchmark for energy efficiency, and were built using “sustainably sourced and low-embodied carbon materials”. According to a press release on the Teddy Hall website, the buildings will use 70% less energy than the typical modern building. 

It contains 127 en-suite study rooms, split across three new buildings: Willis House, Ashton House, and Elliott House, on the nearly 50-year-old Norham St Edmund site. The buildings, which back onto University Parks, are powered at least in part by solar panels and are heated by air-source heat pumps. 

The rooms include heated towel racks, big double beds, and dimmable lights. Despite the luxury, the College kept the nightly rate in line with the rest of its Norham housing. The College told Cherwell that it “recognises the need to keep rents as low as possible” and that its accommodation costs are “below the median of all Oxford colleges”. By that standard, tenants are expected to pay around £30 a night. 

Rooms on the site will be reserved for Teddy Hall returning undergraduates. They will not be available to postgraduates and, by extension, not be offered through the Oxford University Collegiate Accommodation System, now in its second year of opening college rooms to students from other colleges. The accommodation will allow Teddy Hall to accommodate all undergraduates for their whole degree. 

The development’s outdoor spaces are boasted as climate-resilient and biodiverse, with landscaped gardens and lawns. For budding geographers and biologists, the most intriguing feature may be an ecology pond. 

Chancellor William Hague said in a press release: “Norham St Edmund is a world-leading blueprint for future student accommodation projects and sustainable building design, both in Oxford and beyond. I look forward to seeing it serve a thriving college community for generations to come.

Summit calls for human rights safeguards on AI

Cherwell News
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Summit calls for human rights safeguards on AI

Human rights experts called for stronger legal protections against the risks posed by artificial intelligence (AI) at an Oxford AI and Human Rights Summit, with speakers arguing that human rights standards must be embedded into AI governance and technology. 

The summit was hosted at the newly redeveloped Rhodes House in Oxford and organised by the Institute for Ethics in AI. It built upon Professor Yuval Shany’s consultation on a white paper, published in 2025, on the need for and feasibility of an international AI Bill of Human Rights, which proposes ways to adapt existing human rights standards so as to better address some of the unique challenges posed by AI systems and their uses. 

An opening video address from the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk outlined how AI policy can keep pace with a fast-developing technology. He said that “great power demands responsibility on the same scale, and when the two don’t match, we have a problem”. Corporate control, he explained, means that AI policy stretches beyond existing national borders. He continued to praise this summit for bringing together leaders and representatives at the forefront of the discussion.

 Speakers called on the UK government to establish legislation, recalling Labour’s manifesto commitment to an AI Bill of Human Rights. The panellists broadly agreed on the importance of human rights, but appeared less aligned on what enforcement should look like in practice.

 In an exclusive interview, Michael O’Flaherty, the Council of Europe’s Commissioner for Human Rights, told Cherwell that political short-termism risks undermining efforts to address the long-term consequences of AI. “We are infected across our societies with shorttermist responses to the great issue of our societies and politics,” he said, adding that electoral cycles make it difficult for politicians “to think beyond the next election”. 

O’Flaherty also noted that younger generations no longer take the international human rights system for granted. “There is no longer an assumption that the human rights system is safe, that it will survive,” he told Cherwell. He argued that political leaders increasingly treat human rights selectively, saying: “Increasingly, leaders are treating human rights, if they are respected at all, as an a la carte buffet. We take those rights because they serve our goal. We’ll ignore others because they get in the way.

The summit also heard concerns about the effects of AI-generated misinformation on communities that may have limited access to, or awareness of, the technology itself. An audience question asked human rights experts to consider the impacts of AI on populations, such as those in India, who might be unaware of its existence. The focus on the impact of AI on populations in developing countries more vulnerable to the power of big tech was a key theme of the summit. 

Eileen Carter from the South African Human Rights Commission warned that underrepresentation of African languages in large language models could exacerbate existing inequalities. She also raised concerns about the effects of misinformation and deepfakes on elections, referring to more than 360 deaths associated with unrest and the amplification of narratives. 

The third panel, which offered a civil society perspective on promoting human rights in AI systems, offered some hope. Across all speakers, the potential for AI to transform the beliefs that underpin human rights, including the rights to water, education, and an interpreter, was debated. When asked about AI’s potential to unravel and alter the definition of human rights, such as what is included in the ‘right to education’ O’Flaherty told Cherwell: “The damage that can be done by AI has hit more dramatically and more visibly than perhaps any other sector within education through the phenomenon of cognitive loss, of cognitive transfer. We’re only beginning to realise the extent to which we have allowed education to be fundamentally undermined for an entire generation. 

“It’s time to seize that now and engage it. I’m not sure that the classic understanding of the human right to education is particularly well-framed for this extraordinary development.”

 In a discussion on different countries’ regulatory approach to AI, Suresh Venkatasubramanian, professor at Brown University and former AI advisor to US President Joe Biden, argued that AI systems should not be treated as inevitable developments beyond human control. “We continue, I think, to talk about AI as a thing that emerged out of nowhere that we just have to deal with,” he said. “We forget that these aren’t coming from an alien planet and they were built by entities that choose to build them in a certain way.” He called for pressure on technology companies to make different choices about how AI systems are developed. 

Questions of accountability also emerged during discussions about AI’s potential to improve access to justice. Research presented by Philippa Webb said that only 10% of people who have access to a lawyer can get one while there are thousands of bookings for an interpreter in a court covering 150 languages. However, this progress is not cemented as “general-purpose chatbots hallucinate 58% of the time on a legal task”. The use of AI in moderating legal proceedings raised fundamental questions about humanity and authority. Thompson Chengeta from Liverpool John Moores University said that “human rights is the last line of defence so when we say we want a human rights based governance… human rights is not an idea, it is an obligation. There is a gap that can only be recovered by a legally binding instrument”.

The event culminated in a panel offering an industry perspective. Co-host Dr Caroline Emmer De Albuquerque Green questioned representatives from Meta, Google, Microsoft, and OpenAI. Michael Karimian, who works in digital diplomacy at Microsoft, discussed the role of private sectors in engaging with AI, defining corporate responsibility as something which “provides transparency and identified risks”. 

All companies supported having formal programmes to ensure that they have an AI policy in place. Within their own companies, they suggested protective measures such as specialised training to ensure that policies, such as whistleblowing, are understood. Alexandria Walden from Google described how consultations with stakeholders could be used to identify when the product breached users’ boundaries. These assessments, according to OpenAI’s spokesperson, “feedback into tangible technical input” and “benchmark it”.

Fundamentally, understanding the rationale behind human rights is imperative, though lacking. Alexandria Walden from Google said: “Whether or not they understand human rights, they care enough to infuse it in their company… we might not always get it right, but it is something we care about.” 

Where former panels discussed controls to ensure human rights are considered in the development and implementation of AI products, this panel focused on mitigation. A spokesperson from Google pointed out that technology is inevitably going to move faster, so multiple tools are needed. Companies, OpenAI’s representative noted, still encounter issues such as discrimination and free speech. Consequently, they regard this as an additional policy which companies have a structured model to deal with, but newer companies, and newer industries, haven’t learnt it yet. 

In her concluding remarks, Green called for policy makers to “make the abstract actionable” at both governmental and corporate levels. She argued that, by framing the issues posed by AI as human rights issues, we gain a “foundation” for recognising AI’s many societal impacts.

All work and no pay: Why Oxford students aren’t allowed to have jobs

Emma Heagney
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All work and no pay: Why Oxford students aren’t allowed to have jobs

In the periods between the regular read-plan-write cycles of an Oxford term, a student is free to relax, travel, and, most likely, procrastinate on revision for next term’s collections. Strangely enough, however, the ‘vac’ is also the only opportunity for an Oxford student to work, not through problem sheets and essays, but in the most fundamental sense of the word. The University of Oxford maintains a controversial policy that largely prohibits undergraduate students from taking up paid, part-time employment during term time.

The stipulations of this policy are rather unclear. Accessible information is scarce, with most online advice directed towards graduate students. In all fairness, the University does set out defined limits on the amount of paid work a graduate student can undertake: encouraged forms of employment include teaching, research assistantships, and working as a junior dean for a college. Graduate students are “advised to undertake no more than 8 hours of paid work per week, and to discuss this work with their supervisor beforehand”. 

However, for those who work in hospitality, retail, or other non-academic industries, this cap provides little opportunity to earn enough to meet Oxford’s living costs. An eight-hour shift worked once a week at the Oxford Living Wage amounts to £449.92 per month, while the average rent for a one-bedroom flat in Oxford is £1,353 – this wage covers just a third of such a large expense, without accounting for bills, groceries, and other costs. To supplement this income, the University advises graduate students to contact former and potential future employers, as well as to request funding from companies with corporate social responsibility aims.

For undergraduates, the University’s recommendations are few and far between. Perhaps the most substantial source of information can be found on the Careers website, which states that “term-time employment is permitted only under exceptional circumstances and always with the explicit agreement of your tutor and senior tutor”. Exactly what these “exceptional circumstances” may be is unclear, leaving room for flexibility.

The University’s main priority seems to be that students treat their studies as a full-time job. Granted, it makes sense – Oxford is infamous for its intense workload across all subjects, as well as the short terms which cram up to 16 essays or problem sheets into just 8 weeks. Balancing such an intense workload with a part-time job could prove incredibly difficult and certainly could threaten the academic development of Oxford’s brightest. 

When asked about the purpose of the policy, the University told Cherwell that its “approach to paid work during term time is intended to enable undergraduate students to focus on their studies and make the most of Oxford’s intensive academic terms.

“We recognise that students can face financial pressures during their studies. The University provides a range of support for students experiencing financial difficulty, alongside substantial bursary provision for those from lower-income households. This includes Crankstart Scholarships and other targeted support, as well as financial assistance for students who experience unexpected difficulties during their course.”

Even during the vacation, when students are supposedly free to work a part-time job or internship, the University states on the Careers site that “during the vacations you will have academic work, and this should take priority among your other commitments”. In the long vacation, for example, undergraduate students are prohibited from undertaking an internship in the Summer Internship Scheme longer than eight weeks.

Instead, the University recommends a few alternatives. These may be useful, but are not realistic for everyone. For instance, it mentions “part-time or seasonal work supporting the running of the University and colleges” and “internship programmes… that you can work on during the vacations”. Both are viable options, although Oxford-based opportunities may depend on students being able to secure vacation residence, provision of which varies by college.

One particular alternative, however, is commonly taken up by many undergraduates, and often seems like the only suitable way to earn money while abiding by the policy: “Ad-hoc work can sometimes be found by advertising your skills locally as a tutor, translator, or proof-reader.” As students at one of the world’s most renowned universities, famous for its low acceptance rate and exceptional academic standards, many are well positioned to succeed as tutors alongside their studies.

For example, Anne, a Biology student at Merton College, has tutored throughout her entire degree. However, she has found that tutoring is not always an efficient source of income. “Having multiple students of the same subject definitely makes it worthwhile as it decreases the amount of time needed for research and preparation, but it’s harder when that isn’t the case, because you just aren’t working enough hours a week for it to mean something.” The financial gain from tutoring is very helpful, she says, mainly because it lets her have a good social life, which she otherwise might not have been able to afford. For international students, however, even a job as casual as tutoring is out of the question, with visa restrictions prohibiting freelance work.

Other students manage to bypass the no-job policy without the University ever finding out. Silvia graduated in 2025 with a degree in Philosophy, Politics, and Economics (PPE) from New College – while working a corporate job in London at the same time. Although the logistical challenges were manageable, the mental burden of keeping such a huge secret from her tutors was especially taxing. Silvia told Cherwell that “you constantly have to prioritise things it’s materially impossible to prioritise: a job you really care about with real deliverables and people relying on you, versus exams you worked so hard to get to and the outcome of which will (I thought) determine the direction of your life”. For Silvia, it was often a struggle to perform basic daily tasks – “I had to make a calendar event on my phone so I made time to wash my hair” – while saddled with the dual pressure to work and revise.

Silvia managed to pursue her Hannah Montana-esque lifestyle by simply not telling her tutors. Keeping quiet on LinkedIn, carefully scheduling tutorials, and even hiding her job from her friends allowed her to maintain the façade. Thankfully, her employer was more than supportive: “I genuinely think sometimes my boss cared more about the outcome of my exams than I did.” It is undeniable that the obligation to commute physically from Oxford to Waterloo multiple times a week was not compatible with the need to spend her spare time in the library, but Silvia’s workplace allowed her to be flexible with deadlines and even take time off for collections – “if only Oxford did the same!”

For Silvia, taking such a huge risk was worth it, particularly for the financial benefits. Perhaps the greatest result of her job, however, was the significant advantage it gave her when looking for another job. “I see so many recent graduates who are way more brilliant and accomplished than me struggle to get jobs because they’re only eligible for entry-level ones and they’re one of thousands of applicants. Working through university put me in a massively better financial and professional position in the long run, and despite the stress, I really had an amazing time doing it.” 

Yet, she also sees value in Oxford’s ‘no jobs’ policy, in large part due to her concern that normalising employment would put pressure on students from disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds. “I think Oxford should take on more of a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy – part of the difficulty balancing the two for me came from the fact that I had to actively hide I had a job, and the stress and fear of what would happen if I was found out. A better way would be if the University still strongly discouraged working students without punishing the exceptions.”

Naturally, the University of Cambridge, an institution with a comparable workload to Oxford, similarly restricts term-time employment. An overview of other British universities, however, reveals an overwhelmingly encouraging sentiment – King’s College London, for example, describes the benefits of part-time work as including “experience and exposure to different types of work which will provide you with valuable workplace skills, experience and confidence”. Some, such as UCL, even offer their own temping agencies, in which students can apply to work on campus. Where universities do have limits on employment hours, they are often recommendations, rather than strict policies, and do not impose a blanket ban on part-time employment, as Oxford does. For example, the University of Bristol advises a cap of 15 hours per week.

For many students across the UK, paid employment can make a degree accessible. Soaring living costs mean a student loan is simply not enough to live on at Oxford, and must be supplemented by help from family members, external (and fiercely competitive) scholarships, and part-time work undertaken while at school, amongst other things. For students whose families cannot readily make up that shortfall, a restriction on earning during term can therefore have a very different effect from one experienced by students with substantial parental support. 

A student at Oxford whose parents both earn the minimum wage (roughly amounting to £24,784.50 a year each) may be eligible for £7,033 in government maintenance loans, which are also intended to cover the vacation periods. In addition, they would not be eligible for the Crankstart Scholarship. Say they are randomly allocated to Pembroke College, having been pooled from their original choice – their rent would cost anywhere between £5,453.53 and £10,716.81. This eye-watering sum is completely disproportionate to the maintenance loan they receive, requiring them to rely on the help of their parents, who already earn the minimum wage and have little room to provide up to £3,000 of support, excluding groceries and other living costs. The University’s own resources estimate nine months of living costs to total between £13,275 and £19,575 – the maximum maintenance loan a student could receive at Oxford is just £10,830. Whatever the means, the assumption is that a student receives funding from somewhere else.

The University and its colleges do aim to provide plenty of financial support when a student needs it. The Oxford Assistance Fund, for example, offers grants of up to £3,000 to applicants in need, and up to £750 can be accessed from the Student Support Bursary. Several colleges have similar hardship funds, such as Merton’s Student Financial Support Fund, and many also subsidise expenses including food, books, printing, and travel. The principle is that, with the financial support available, you should not have to give up your time to work a part-time job, but this does not always mean that students can survive otherwise.

In fact, there are rare exceptions in which students can work casually for the University and its colleges, such as through working in their college bar or as a chapel officer. Perhaps most commonly, students are employed as student ambassadors, attending Q&A sessions and working through strenuous open days. 

Céline, a recent History of Art graduate from Christ Church, worked for the University as an Undergraduate Admissions and Outreach (UAO) ambassador. She describes the job as flexible and casual, with her able to fit sessions around her studies, and she certainly found the work meaningful as she was able to make a difference in young people’s lives. However, the irregular shift patterns meant that it was never a primary source of income for her. She also had another job, working for an online tutoring company, and felt pressure to keep this work a secret from her college. “I sought out a job with few and flexible hours so that I could hide my job from tutors who often arranged tutorials one or two days prior”, she told Cherwell. “I would absolutely seek a job with more regular hours and pay if it were allowed.”

The vacancies available to students, although limited, do display an attempt by colleges and the University to provide paid opportunities. These vacancies are especially important in a wider job market that has seen a sharp decline in casual roles and employment rates for 16-24 year olds. Students restricted to vacation work must also find employers willing to hire them for only part of the year. Perhaps this is a greater incentive for the University to relax its term-time policy, giving students the flexibility to work both at home and in Oxford.

Nevertheless, working a part-time job at university is exceedingly common and often necessary, not just for financial stability but also to learn crucial life lessons. After three years of tutorials and socials, nothing has taught me more about the world and communicating within it than working behind a bar. Especially at a university so overpopulated by the most privileged in society, there should perhaps be more of an emphasis on encouraging the privileged to enter the ‘real world’, rather than simply expecting the working classes to assimilate into Oxford’s traditional, upper-class culture. At the end of the day, we are adults, and working a part-time job is often a necessary component of growing up – the need to ask your teacher for permission perhaps ought to be left in secondary school.

As I pull yet another pint for an endless stream of punters, I feel incredibly lucky to have a casual job that allows me to return to Oxford each term, even if it means doing the gross tasks that no one else wants to do. My job helps to keep me financially stable, and I only wish that I could work more, rather than feeling punished for needing to dedicate my time to my job rather than to my studies. Oxford students are known for working hard academically, but we rarely talk about the often mundane jobs that fill our vacations – perhaps we would, if they overlapped with our university terms, but as long as our workload remains so intense, any relaxation of the University’s policy is unrealistic.

Oxford University launches Ebola vaccine trial in Uganda

Jeremy Azzopardi
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Oxford University launches Ebola vaccine trial in Uganda

Ugandan participants in a clinical safety study received an Oxford developed Ebola vaccine this week. 

Researchers vaccinated the first participants on 6th October in Masaka, Uganda. The phase follows the launch of a first-in-human Phase I trial in the UK evaluating the same vaccine candidate. 

They received the vaccine as part of an evaluation of the safety and efficacy of a ChAdOx-based Bundibugyo Ebola vaccine candidate developed by the Oxford Vaccine Group (OVG) and the Pandemic Sciences Institute at the University of Oxford. 

Development for this vaccine began in May this year in response to the ongoing Ebola outbreak in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). The research, led by OVG’s Professor Teresa Lambe and Professor Simon Drysdale, is funded by the Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations (CEPI). No licenced vaccine for the Bundibugyo strain of Ebola virus currently exists. 

In a statement to Cherwell, OVG said its involvement includes collaborating with the Ugandan research team to support “the study’s scientific design, clinical trial coordination, safety oversight, and evaluation of vaccine safety and immunogenicity”. The Phase I clinical trial addresses a rare strain of Ebola virus affecting communities in the DRC since May. The phase is a collaboration between the Medical Research Council/ Uganda Virus Research Institute and the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine (LSHTM). 

Dr Nicole Lurie, CEPI’s Executive Director for Emergency Preparedness and Response, told Cherwell: “It [the Bundibugyo outbreak] remains the fastest-growing and second-largest Ebola outbreak ever recorded – and we currently remain without a licensed vaccine or treatment.” The Bundibugyo Ebola epidemic in the DRC has surpassed 8,600 cases, with almost half of infections proving fatal. 

The outbreak was declared a Public Health Emergency of International Concern (PHEIC) by the World Health Organisation (WHO) in May. 

OVG told Cherwell: “For more than a decade, the University of Oxford has performed many clinical trials of candidate viral-vectored vaccines. Some of the most promising vaccines used a modified chimpanzee adenovirus, a harmless version of a common cold virus. The Oxford-AstraZeneca (ChAdOx1) COVID-19 vaccine was approved for emergency use in the UK in December 2020 and was estimated to have saved six million lives during 2021 alone, and over 3 billion doses were used worldwide.” The adenovirus vector vaccine technology trialled in this study was successfully used worldwide as part of the Oxford-AstraZeneca COVID-19 vaccine. 

More funding is necessary to ensure the development and approval of the Ebola vaccine. Lurie told Cherwell: “Without sufficient additional funding, we are at risk of not being able to develop these promising vaccine candidates… CEPI urgently needs US$128M now to keep our Bundibugyo emergency R&D response moving. Without it, we are putting the DRC, and the world, at tremendous risk.”

Innovation and technology define Vice-Chancellor’s annual Oration

Cara Hene
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Innovation and technology define Vice-Chancellor’s annual Oration

Vice-Chancellor Professor Irene Tracey opened the new academic year on Wednesday, 7th October, with the annual Oration at the Sheldonian Theatre. 

The Oration allows the Vice-Chancellor to define the priorities of the University’s highest office and reflect upon the past year at the University. This year, these include AI ethics, bridging the gap between “town and gown”, and the increasing importance of scientific innovation for the University. 

The Vice-Chancellor commented on the University’s influential role in shaping the AI landscape, both through technical research and noting work on AI governance from the newly launched Oxford Institute of Technology and Justice. Tracey referenced the university-wide rollout of ChatGPT-5 last year, while stressing the need for places where “students are taught to think critically and independently”. She identified Oxford’s tutorial system as a “unique asset” in combating the potential pitfalls of AI in learning. 

Tracey also spoke about local community work, such as partnering with the homelessness charity Emmaus Oxford: “I want my hometown people to actually feel that having the world’s number one university on their doorstep really does make their lives better.” 

From the start, the Vice-Chancellor also referenced that the turmoil facing British politics today might reflect “a nation not sure of its identity”. 

As for Oxford’s identity, Tracey pointed at the role of innovation and STEM, lauding a dizzying array of successes.“It is estimated that over two billion people worldwide are using or benefiting from a piece of research that came from Oxford… that’s impact,” the Vice-Chancellor said.

 The Vice-Chancellor also praised the “eye-watering investment” that Oxford quantum spin-outs have attracted. One such spinout, Oxford Ionics, was acquired for $1.075 billion by US-listed IonQ last year, while Oxford Quantum Circuits (OQC) closed a £260 million funding round this June – the highest ever won in Europe by a quantum computing company. 

“I sense we’re more comfortable now owning [innovation] as part of our identity,” the Vice-Chancellor said. 

For a university traditionally prized for the humanities and philosophy, with eight out of the last eleven prime ministers studying at Oxford, this is a notable shift.

The Vice-Chancellor went on to link these achievements in innovation to strong investment, referencing the University’s £6.9 billion in net asset value. In it, she thanked the Syrian-Saudi Arabian businessman and philanthropist Wafic Saïd for a “transformational” £15 million donation to the new Global Leadership Centre. 

The Vice-Chancellor then spoke about Oxford’s unique financial stability amongst struggling UK universities, calling for “that difficult national conversation about how we fund the UK higher education sector”. Just last week Nottingham University confirmed the closures of all modern language and music degree courses. However, Oxford is not immune to financial pressures. Oxford University Press workers are also still striking over offshoring jobs to India. 

The Vice-Chancellor also affirmed her support for diversity in higher education. She said: “If you are serious about excellence, the potential for excellence and finding top talent, you will end up with a diverse team.” “Look at the Premier League, or my beloved Everton”, she said. 

As said at the beginning of this year’s oration, the Vice-Chancellor concluded by arguing that “at this critical point in our collective history”, the University would make a mark on Britain’s identity as a “place of ambition, excellence, kindness and hope”.

Why does everyone like East of Eden so much?

Abigail Riley
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Why does everyone like East of Eden so much?

East of Eden is a special book in many ways. It is beautiful, for one, and loving too. John Steinbeck dedicated it to his editor and long-term friend Pascal ‘Pat’ Covici. In the preface, he describes East of Eden as though it were a box, a wrapped gift; for his dear friend, the author has packaged “the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation”, there is also “on top of these” “the love I have for you”. Above that “gratitude and love,” trapped with all the “joy” and “despair,” is the empty space of human potential: “Still the box is not full.” 

Steinbeck was born in 1902 in Salinas; thus, an unmistakable personal nostalgia colours the voice of the semi-autobiographical narrator. “I remember my childhood names for grasses and flowers,” he begins on the first page, “I remember where a toad might live and what time the birds awaken in the summer”. Throughout, despite, or perhaps because of, the various horrors the author explores, he always makes time for nature. In chapter eight we meet Cathy, one of those “monsters born in the world to human parents”. Amongst the schemes of her girlhood, Steinbeck remembers to mention “the young grass” that “bristled under the sun” and “the yellow dandelions”. In part, I think the explosion in East of Eden’s popularity is due to Steinbeck’s affection for Salinas Valley. The compulsiveness of his characters is present, as always, so is his ability to render any landscape powerful, visceral in prose. But there is something, ironically, lapsarian about East of Eden: it is a relic of the author’s own childhood. 

Everyone enjoys beauty; a beautiful book, written in a determinedly readable style, is bound to become popular, not to mention the endless power of nostalgia. But there is something else in East of Eden, I believe, that has catapulted it from the fame of every book-tok influencer’s favourite lists to a multi-million dollar Netflix show. I read the book in 2023, perhaps a little ahead of the curve – if that’s possible for a book published in 1925. Since then, I have recommended East of Eden to everyone who asks. But, I would not say it is my favourite book; it might not be in my top five. Rather, I recommend East of Eden in the same way a film buff recommends Good Will Hunting.

It’s feel-good; it’s the ultimate feel-good book because it tells you that your life is your choice. Be good, be bad, be a little bit the one and a little bit the other: just don’t imagine for a second that it is not under your control to be so. The message emerges slowly over the first few hundred pages, but arrives suddenly at the forefront in chapter 24, through the voice of Lee, a Chinese man who cares for Adam Trask’s boys when both father and mother have abandoned them. Adam Trask, of course, embodies his biblical namesake as husband to the ‘monster’ Cathy, and father to the Cain/Abel parallel, Cal and Aran. 

Lee describes the arduous process of translating Hebrew with four elderly Chinese gentlemen who live in San Francisco, smoking opium and solving whatever problems people bring them. After two years, he and the four elderly gentlemen can translate the passage – thus resolving a discrepancy in English translations of the Bible. “The American version orders men to triumph over sin… The King James translation makes a promise… But the Hebrew word, the word timshel – ‘thou mayest’ – that gives a choice,” Lee concludes, “It might be the most important word in the world”. Regardless of whether or not Steinbeck’s Hebrew translation is correct, which it likely isn’t, he’s right that ‘may’ is the most important word in the world: it is the belief in choice, the hope at the bottom of the jar, the empty space in the box that is “still not full”.

If it weren’t couched in the natural beauty of Salinas Valley, or the fascinating moral drama of the Trask and Hamilton families, Steinbeck’s message wouldn’t work so well. That said, the message is central to the book. Whilst other authors of his period reach for obscurity, designing their work to be a puzzle, a dream that requires clever interpretation, Steinbeck teaches a lesson. He delivers an earnest sermon. East of Eden is didactic; it is a fantastic book, it has beautiful language and compelling characters, but it is ultimately didactic. People enjoy reading it because it gives them a sense of control: Netflix could gamble millions on its popularity because they knew it was something that made people feel good about themselves, something they would want to watch on the screen.

East of Eden is a book like Pandora’s Box. It is well crafted, beautiful to look at. Inside, the author examines what he sees as the fringes of humanity, our best and worst parts: “Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and good thoughts.” When all this has been discarded, when we think the box is nearly empty and the indomitable Trask lies dying, Steinbeck presents us with the final gift. It is the word timshel, the choice to be good or bad in our lives: hope.

The only thing missing from this bean was chocolate

Minnie Mertz
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The only thing missing from this bean was chocolate

If there were a smell I could capture, bottle up, and treasure forever, it would be the toasty and heartening smell of cacao roasting in the morning. Waking up at 5am for those frosty winter dawns was my everyday reality only a short while ago. Dragging myself out of bed, bundling up in thick jumpers, and traipsing through the soggy streets of Saffron Walden were the necessary tasks before entering what, in my humble opinion, could only be described as heaven. There is nothing quite like the sensory adventure you experience in a bean-to-bar chocolate-making room. Bean-to-bar production is, in essence, the process by which cacao beans are turned into that beloved end-of-day pleasure we love so much. 

Before Oxford, I spent a year working at Hill St, a prominent bean-to-bar chocolatier, run by brothers Greg and Chris. It quickly became apparent to me whilst there that true bean-to-bar chocolate making was a remarkably rare undertaking in the UK. The process itself is not one for the lazy or impatient. Through the meticulous stages of roasting, winnowing, grinding, refining, conching, and finally tempering, a chocolate bar is born. Each stage of the process is its own tricky, time-consuming, and complicated task. This method forms a luxury made not only with arduous amounts of love, care, and time, but with sustainability, high quality, and uncompromising flavour at its very tasty centre. 

Upon returning to Oxford this Michaelmas, I was beyond excited to be reunited with one of my all-time favourite spots, an Oxfordshire staple: The Missing Bean. This coffee establishment has become a second home, a place to catch up on essays and to fuel my brain for the day. A flat white with friends on Turl Street or an early-morning espresso at the Roastery in Cowley were pursuits I was so pleased to regain. 

To my delight, upon checking their social media, I caught sight of a brand new launch: The Missing Bean’s first range of bean-to-bar chocolate! I knew I had to get in touch and have a chat with the founders leading this venture. So my impending visit was not only the return to my favourite blend of coffee, but the discovery of a promising world within a business I already loved. 

My afternoon was led by the Head of Sourcing and the Head of Chocolate, Silviu Rad. What immediately struck me in our first few minutes was his passion for learning. There was no end to his desire to push the boundaries and create something incredible. Since The Missing Bean’s primary expertise is roasting coffee beans, the transition into roasting cacao was as smooth as the very chocolate I was about to taste. Silviu’s approach carried the same quiet obsession I garnered, and his refusal to produce merely what was necessary, and his determination to instead produce the best, was inspiring.

Standing in the roastery with Silviu as he talked through the refining process, the familiar waves of heated cacao wafted through the air. That familiar mechanical hum, jarring to some, carried such a wistful reverence to me. Having spent hours roasting beans myself and obsessing over getting that perfect taste, I know how incredibly difficult, but rewarding, a process it can be. 

Silviu pointed me toward their impact report, which details how building direct relationships, supporting farming communities, and respecting the planet form the pillars of their ethos. He spoke about embarking on their bean-to-bar journey by attending European expos, using their refined palates to explore the world of cacao and, more importantly, allowing them to meet the growers themselves. When chatting about these groups, Silviu lit up as if talking about an old friend. The relationships formed were so much more than business; they were grounded in respect, care, and enthusiasm for the craft. Cutting out the middleman creates a kindred partnership, which not only provides better financial gain and support for those in developing countries, but ensures much higher quality chocolate. This approach also helps growers protect biodiversity and maintain their environments. It was refreshing to see the importance of their sourcing, and to read introductions to the many members of the team that aren’t in Oxford, but remain integral to the process, halfway across the world. 

Then came the exciting part: the tasting.

Their single-origin bars, presenting the cacao beans from Costa Rica, Peru, and Brazil, are plain by name, though anything but by nature. As someone who has snapped and tasted many bars over my time, I can honestly say that I was sucked in by the depth and the bright, complex flavours in these chocolates. With this chocolate, every delectable molecule that dissolved on my tongue was not only absolutely delicious, but a further testament to the team’s patient processing and care. Each detail, from the careful sourcing of ingredients to the packaging, which represented the colours of the countries of origin, was carefully considered and did not go unnoticed. 

Alongside the core range, the team is set to release three variations with additions: black pepper and lime, sea salt and cacao nibs, and my personal favourite, coffee and walnut. Paying homage to their roots by developing a coffee-infused bar exhibits their dedication to self-sufficiency. In using their own roasted coffee, their creative, slightly nutty flair sets The Missing Bean apart from other bean-to-bar flavours on the market. To taste these products first was – excuse the pun – an absolute treat. This is sure to become my study fuel over the coming year and my pre-9am pick-me-up. 

The Missing Bean is set to launch this new enterprise on 17th October, online and in-store. Staying true to their ethos, they are raising money for charity in a sold-out launch event happening on 22nd October, which is sure to be a celebratory night. 

This isn’t just another commercial extension for a popular brand; it feels like the organic extension of a family ethos that stretches from Oxford to South America. The Missing Bean’s commitment to sustainable and transparent trade, to supporting local business, and to putting delicious chocolate right on our doorsteps might be the sweetest investment they have made yet. So get your calendars marked to head down and support this fruitful and exciting launch. As it turns out, the only thing missing from this bean was chocolate!

Striking workers demonstrate at Oxford University Press

Stanley Arlidge
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Striking workers demonstrate at Oxford University Press

A demonstration in favour of striking finance workers was held outside the Oxford University Press (OUP) last week, as the dispute over offshoring at the world’s oldest publishing house continues. 

Last week’s strike, which began on 28th September and ended on 9th October, marked the second round of strike action by the affected workers, who first went on strike between 1st and 11th September. The dispute began over OUP’s plans to offshore 48 finance department jobs to India-based EXL Services. 

On Wednesday, Unite, the union behind the strike, held a demonstration outside OUP on Walton Street. The demonstration was attended by around 25 people, including union representatives, striking workers, and OUP workers who had come out in solidarity with those on strike.

Under the shadow of a giant inflatable rat brought by the demonstrators, striking workers told Cherwell that OUP was trying to “intimidate” workers into not striking. One striking worker, who is not allowed to talk to the media, said that OUP had tried to say the strike was illegal. Cherwell understands that 21 of 28 union members, the only people legally allowed to strike, voted in support of it. 

Naomi Gravett, Unite’s regional officer, told Cherwell: “Some of these staff have been with Oxford University Press for 20, 30 years. They’ve given their heart and soul to this place… and they just feel like they’ve had their legs taken out from under them…

I could understand if it was a company that’s on their knees and they need to cut costs, but this is one of the biggest publishing houses in the world. They don’t need to save money, so it’s just profit over people.” 

According to public filings, the press made a profit of £47.1 million in 2025/26. OUP is an official department of Oxford University overseen by a delegation of the University’s academic staff. Asked whether OUP was in active consultation with the union to end the strike, Gravett and other union representatives told Cherwell that the union has received no contact from OUP since August. She added that “it was made very clear to us at the outset of the collective consultation that the decision had already been made. It was going to be outsourced; we were just discussing the measures.” 

Discussing the aims of the strike, Gravett said that “what we’d really like is Oxford University Press to turn around and say, ‘look, we screwed up here. You know we’ve made a mistake because this is people’s lives’”. 

In response, OUP told Cherwell: “All of the colleagues impacted by the changes have accepted the terms offered, which include enhanced redundancy terms. We have provided outplacement and wellbeing support, and funding for professional development. We continue to seek opportunities for redeployment, and some colleagues have secured alternative roles within the Press. 

“We have met with Unite to explore ways to resolve the dispute. Approximately half of the colleagues who voted in favour of industrial action took part in the strike. We have always acted, and will continue to act, in good faith.”

Hidden in plain sight: the bakery behind Oxford’s café counters

Priya Burrow
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Hidden in plain sight: the bakery behind Oxford’s café counters

Though you may not recognise the name, you have almost certainly eaten Gatineau’s pastry. If you have ever grabbed a flaky, buttery croissant at Tree Artisan before a 9am lecture, or rewarded a finished essay with something sumptuous at the Art Café, you have Gatineau to thank. For nearly two decades, this French bakery has quietly supplied many of Oxford’s favourite independents, from Society Café and Colombian Coffee Roasters to Missing Bean, Branca, and Alfonso Gelateria. Its name rarely appears on the label, yet its pastry has probably fuelled more tutorials than any of us would care to admit.

Gatineau is the work of Hervé Gatineau, who began a pastry apprenticeship in Toulouse at 15 years old, honed his craft at Laurent Bakery in Sydney, and spent a decade at Maison Blanc in London, several years of it as Head of Pastry. He opened his Summertown shop in 2007, and the business now balances its wholesale accounts with a loyal following of customers who come straight to the counter. It is a bakery deeply woven into the life of the city.

It is also more accessible than you might think. For students who rarely venture north of the University Parks, Summertown can feel a world away, so Gatineau came to us. Since Trinity, it has run a pop-up café on Radcliffe Square, with garden tables looking out onto the Radcliffe Camera. 

Still, it was the Summertown flagship that I was generously invited to visit, and there Gatineau’s delectable desserts and sweet treats were restored to their original purpose: bringing authentically French patisserie to an increasingly diverse Oxford food scene.

Arriving rather early on a drab Wednesday morning – the kind that usually calls for a meal deal and a library desk – I was greeted by a beautiful spread of pastries and breads, all baked that day. The cakes are made in the kitchen just behind the counter, reassuringly within view, and the whole shop smelled gloriously of baked goods. Warmly welcomed by the Gatineau team, we were soon presented with croissants, patisserie, chocolates, and madeleines: a small fraction of the full Gatineau range. 

The croissant (£2.70) came first – the truest test of any French bakery. As someone who typically steers clear of anything quite so indulgent, I was pleasantly surprised by how light and airy it sat on the palate, a testament to the French butter and flour Gatineau imports for exactly this purpose. Director Débora assured me that the vegan version is indistinguishable, which is welcome news for anyone whose college brunch options begin and end with toast.

The highlight of the morning, however, was indubitably the Paris-Brest Pistache (£7.95). Extra-crunchy choux is filled with a fresh pistachio paste made in-house and crowned with pistachio crumbs. The sweetness pairs perfectly with that texture, which leaves a slight savoury aftertaste. Be warned that it is generous: even split between two, it was more than filling, so treat it as a dessert to share rather than a snack to polish off alone.

Gatineau also offered the most undeniably French sweet treat, the madeleine (£1.50). It is the perfect size for a snack before a lecture or during a library break, and it caters to an array of palates: Madagascan vanilla, lemon, and Valrhona-coated. A florentine, with the classic lace of caramelised nuts and candied fruit, added a welcome crunch to the sweeter end of the table. The house chocolates came last, studded with macadamias, cranberries, and pistachios. 

The same care extends to what is in your cup. The coffee is Mexican, chosen to complement the food rather than overpower it, and the beans on the shelf come from Missing Bean, one of the cafés at the other end of Gatineau’s delivery round.

What truly sets Gatineau apart, however, is the ethics behind the pastry. As a wholesaler, it thrives on relationships rather than simple supply, and many of them run both ways. Alfonso Gelateria is a good example: its gelato is served at Gatineau’s café on Radcliffe Square, while Gatineau’s pastries sit on the counter of Alfonso’s new shop on Little Clarendon Street. In a city centre increasingly lined with chains, that kind of mutual support between independents matters.

Its ethos extends well beyond Oxford, too. Débora explained that Gatineau sponsors chefs from Indonesia and the Philippines to learn the exacting, and often arduous, tradition of French patisserie, giving them rigorous training and a secure job within the city’s wider community. Closer to home, fruit and vegetables come from local farmers wherever possible, so the patisserie counter shifts with seasonal produce, while the flour, butter, cream, and chocolate are imported from France for the sake of authenticity.

All of this painstaking care is reflected in the price. Gatineau is undeniably on the more expensive side, and few students will be making it a daily habit. But you are paying for skilled people and excellent ingredients rather than a brand, and a 10% student discount softens the blow considerably.

So whether you need a celebration cake for a friend’s birthday, catering for a ball or a survivors’ breakfast, or simply a sweet pick-me-up between the library and your next tutorial, Gatineau is the answer. With its pastry already on so many of our café counters, and its own pop-up a stone’s throw from the Bodleian, there is no excuse not to try the full range at the source.

The quiet guilt of upward social mobility at Oxford

Aayah Aslam
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The quiet guilt of upward social mobility at Oxford

Freshers’ formal. The first black-tie event I attended at Oxford. The golden glow of the candlelight, the grand dresses, tailored suits, and frustratingly elegant food should have been infinitely exciting for me as an incoming student. Yet the overwhelming feeling I remember was not, in fact, happiness or awe, but guilt. The beauty that surrounded me should have been inspiring, tangible evidence of my success, but a sombre emotion sat heavy in my chest. 

I could not forget the place I had departed from. I was the first person in the history of my school to be accepted into Oxbridge. I was paraded around in assemblies as proof of meritocracy. Even my own family members repeatedly questioned whether I could truly fit in here. The glittering world of Oxford felt like a faraway land compared with the area I grew up in. Experiencing my success without a deeper sense of responsibility towards my community was difficult. I felt embarrassed benefiting from an institution whose privileges are unfairly distributed, especially while people from my community still did not have access.

I found myself sitting in a majestic dining hall at an Oxford college, wondering what was so different between me and any of the other hard-working girls at my school. What amazing things had I accomplished to be given the chance to sit in these halls as an intellectual equal? I knew I had worked incredibly hard, that I had spent endless hours hunched over a desk in random empty classrooms in my school because we didn’t have a library – but so had so many other people in my area. What differentiated me from them? Was it a lack of access and opportunity?

I believe that such sentiments stemmed from a lack of self-confidence. That is not to say I was confident I would be accepted. I was susceptible to the occasional dose of imposter syndrome. But my uncertainty did not stem from a belief that Oxford was somehow above me. I did not feel out of place at Oxford, nor did I feel undeserving of a place here. I felt guilty that it was me who had been offered an olive branch out of the socio-economic disadvantages of my area, and not the hundreds of other young people who were far more competent than I was. They had just never been taught to be confident in their abilities and that honing them was not an embarrassing endeavour. 

I wondered how many of my peers in that formal hall felt the same way. Were they able to enjoy the infinite beauties of Oxford without an ounce of guilt? The invisible burden weighed heavily on me; the emotion was deeper than impostor syndrome. I felt I had to be a flawless representative of working-class students, as proof that people like me have full capacity to thrive in prestigious institutions like Oxford.

I felt that the only way to lessen this guilt would be to repay my community – to go off into the world, become successful, and then return home, proving that being accepted into Oxbridge no longer felt like a random anomaly, but a genuine chance.

I was reminded of this silent burden every time I returned home for the vacation. I secretly felt glad that I did not have to stay there for long, that it would only take six weeks in this temporary space before I could return gladly to a better place. Perhaps I should have wholly enjoyed all the privileges that Oxford has to offer without constantly binding myself with these chains of guilt. After all, could I truly presume that my peers from wealthier backgrounds did not also feel concern for such causes? I still felt accountable to the community I came from, and that assimilating too well at an institution like Oxford could be weaponised as proof of my abandoning them.

There is no way of getting out of the burden of social mobility. One may either wholly embrace the shift, or remain stuck without purpose. Perhaps the only solution to limit the emotion is through direct action: helping disadvantaged communities while recognising our own privilege. 

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