Sunday 31st May 2026
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Subs, dubs, and AI flubs: Lost in film translation

Emma Heagney
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Subs, dubs, and AI flubs: Lost in film translation

When I travel, I like to think I am not like the other British tourists. I try my best to blend in with the locals – attempting (and sometimes failing) to remain nonchalant on complicated metro systems, eating local cuisine, and avoiding ‘loud’ clothing. On a recent solo trip to Stockholm, however, my expectations were challenged by what I believed to be a given: English. I had been to Italy, where English captions accompany pretty much everything, and France, where the same is true, though it is offered with more reluctance. In my ignorance, I had not bothered to learn any Swedish beyond a measly ‘engelska?’, which became problematic as I quickly discovered that my bleached-blonde hair made me look like a Scandi girl to the locals.

I should experience some local culture, immerse myself in the arts scene, I thought as I settled into my hotel. Checking the programme of the capital’s Kulturhuset Stadsteatern, or ‘city theatre’, the single showing with English subtitles was the Austrian film How to Be Normal and the Oddness of the Other World, directed by Florian Pochlatko. Sure, it wasn’t Swedish at all, but how else would I understand the story, if it wasn’t for English subtitles? As I hurriedly approached the Kulturhuset, one Ryanair flight and a frenzy through the Stockholm metro behind me, I was suddenly informed that there would be no subtitles at all.

How hard could it be to watch an entire film in German when I could not even introduce myself in the language? Quite hard, it turns out. Sure, body language and visual effects went a long way, and I felt the beautiful serendipity of discovering a Swedish review on Letterboxd from a local at the same screening, but I missed almost every joke, and felt myself growing increasingly bored as the film progressed. The biggest surprise for me in Stockholm was just how English-less it was, from road signs to price tags to food labels – I had to open Google Translate in the middle of 7/11 to work out if I could eat my halloumi wrap cold.

I do not expect sympathy at all, as my own ignorance led to this situation. But the experience did make me reflect on the relationship between native English speakers and subtitling in film. My not-so-Swedish encounter was certainly extreme, with no subtitles, or even a warning, beforehand – but I was not so turned off by the experience so as to never do it again. It made me wonder, are sole English speakers reliant on subtitles? Do they add or detract from the viewing experience?

Subtitles themselves are in many ways crucial, so that we may broaden our tastes and learn about other cultures. After accepting the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film in 2020, Parasite director Bong Joon Ho famously stated that “once you overcome the one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films”. I do believe that progress is already well underway in the globalisation of film, as what was once potentially a pursuit of only the avant-garde film student is now available to the masses. This is particularly thanks to the rise of Letterboxd, where international arthouse cinema is compiled into digestible lists.

The art of translating subtitles is also, perhaps surprisingly, one of the few language-based jobs not being ravaged by advancements in AI. Despite the now infamous case of Duolingo replacing much of its staff with AI, translator vacancies continue to grow, owing to the simple fact that AI is not currently capable of the quality control and idiomatic knowledge possessed by a human. Have you ever tried to translate complicated Swedish halloumi wrap instructions with Google Translate? In regard to film, it is vital that translated subtitles do actually convey the meaning of the scene, which is why the role of humans is still absolutely necessary.

Yet, anxieties concerning AI continue to plague the translation industry, and may result in changes to subtitling in the future. Hollywood actresses Demi Moore and Reese Witherspoon have both come out in favour of AI, with the latter even stating that “it’s so, so important that women are involved in AI because it will be the future of filmmaking”. AI tools continue to improve, and it is difficult to predict the accuracy of both Witherspoon’s statement and the concerns felt by translators, but the reality is that AI usage is already commonplace in filmmaking, from editing to script-writing and more. AI dubbing is also prevalent, with new software able to move actors’ mouths to fit speech in other languages. Controversy arose last year when generative AI was found to have been used to translate speech from English to Hungarian in The Brutalist – I, for one, am pleased that the Academy has since cracked down on AI-generated content in film, but I do worry about the future opportunities for translators in film, as well as for actors who do actually speak foreign languages.

While it is easier than ever to watch films entirely in English, are we missing something by neglecting their original languages? I think that it is important to note that my choice of film in Stockholm was heavily influenced by which ones had English subtitles listed as available. I do not think that cinemas in other countries should bow down to the English language at all, but English speakers may be surprised to realise just how much they can understand without subtitles, and how thought-provoking the result may be. Maybe if I had the guts for it at the time, I would have complemented my Swedish journey with a piece of local culture, and learned something beyond ‘engelska’.

Far from wanting to sound pretentious, I want you to understand that subtitles – both their existence and a lack of them – do not have to be a barrier to a good cinematic experience. It could be fun, even enriching, to actively try to watch film in a different way, such as by watching a colour film in black and white, or without sound. It almost feels like a reinvention of the creativity that comes with watching a silent film in the present day, where a chosen musical accompaniment can completely change our perspective. Watching Murnau’s silent Nosferatu on Wikipedia (yes, you can do that) was a very different experience from, say, the live organ accompaniment to the Oxford Festival of the Arts’ screening of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari at Magdalen Chapel.

There may be limits to this approach, however. Maybe the screenplay of How to Be Normal and the Oddness of the Other World did a lot of heavy lifting, with psychedelic visuals conveying the psychological focus of the film – although the Ed Sheeran poster on main character Pia’s wall completely threw me off, and made me worry more about the state of British cultural exports than her deteriorating mental condition. Ginger singers aside, my point still stands that even without subtitles, foreign-language films can be thoroughly enjoyed.

Oriel’s quest for headship at Summer VIIIs 2026

Sophi Hayes-Hoyle
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Oriel’s quest for headship at Summer VIIIs 2026

Sitting in Oriel Boat Club’s Captain’s room, across from Captains Freiderikos and Merle, I am immersed in a blue and white legacy. The walls, as Freiderikos tells me, are ornamented with the pictures of every Men’s Captain since 1880 – “I’m in contact with 15 of them”, he adds, recounting one night he returned to college after a tough training session, all set for bed, only to find 30 septuagenarians pointing to their pictures between sips of wine and reminiscence.

What stands out most after speaking to Oriel Boat Club’s Captains is the sheer devotion of its alumni network: as Oriel approaches the 700th anniversary of the College’s foundation, generations of Oriel College alumni have banded together to row across the English Channel. Part of Oriel’s fundraising campaign ‘700 Years of People and Place’, the cross-channel row, taking place across April and May, aims to raise £1 million to establish the Boat Club Endowment Appeal.

“The endowment fund is a massive thing for the club”, Merle tells me, in awe of the enthusiasm for the channel row, in which six to seven decades of Oriel rowers are represented. “It makes me really proud to be part of this club”, she adds, explaining that the £1 million endowment would be combined with the College’s endowment fund to generate money for equipment, coaching, and to provide a sustainable source of yearly income that would keep Oriel rowing free for everyone. 

Freiderikos gestures to some new gear beside me, quipping that the club has done “a bit of equipment maintenance since last year”, a reference to the unfortunate mishap faced by Oriel’s M1 at last year’s Summer VIIIs when Oriel’s Tom Mackintosh, Oxford University Boat Club rower and Olympic Champion, resorted to a climb up from the ‘seven’ seat up, all the way past the cox, to examine the broken fin on their boat.

Oriel’s legacy manifests in the Club’s Crewbook, honouring the names of every athlete who has ever lifted an oar for the Boat Club. An alumni association, ‘The Tortoise Club’, also contributes massively to this culture, keeping many Orielenses in contact with the club as it trains up young new cohorts.

Fuzzy sentimentality for one’s university years is almost a given. Yet, there’s something about the bonds made through sport, through the river’s highest tides and lowest ebbs, that holds the community together just that much tighter. “I think the really special thing about bumps is that it is a cultural thing”, Merle considers, “you really pass it on from generation to generation and year to year. The fact that we are able to start in the position we are in now is really because of all the years of rowing by previous generations. That all comes together during eights”.

With the Club’s great investment, of course, comes great pressure. I wonder how exactly Freiderikos and Merle handle the weight of expectation, both placed upon themselves, and from preceding generations. 

“There is definitely the expectation to do well”, Merle agrees. “If anything, though, it’s motivating.” Freiderikos chimes in: “If people care, that fosters a good culture. At school, you just row for yourself, your family, the coaches. Here it’s much, much bigger than that.” Indeed, all one needs to do is turn up to the banks of the River Isis on the Saturday of Trinity’s Fifth Week to understand that, for Oxford, Summer VIIIs might as well be an Olympic event. 

On the Men’s Side, hopes are high. “I’m feeling really positive”, says Freiderikos, noting the two Blues standard rowers moving into Oriel’s M1 Boat, accompanied by another rower of international standard. A win at Torpheads this year, the substitute event for Torpids, has left the boat feeling well placed to strive for headship. This, Freiderikos tells me, is what they have been training for. 

The opportunity to bump up to headship in the 700th year is particularly special, Freiderikos adds, “almost like a fairytale waiting to be written. I don’t think it’s something we’ve been working for just this year; we’ve been working for this over the last two years, even as freshers rowing in our first Torpids. We really wanted to catch Wolfson [last year], and we weren’t able to, so now it’s hopefully retribution time”.

With Torpids 2026 cancelled, an anti-climax replaced a staple event in the Hilary Term calendar. Torpids keeps novices engaged with the club, motivates crews throughout the damp, dreary mornings of winter months, and helps clubs to hone their selection strategy ahead of Summer VIIIs. “Usually we have the opportunity to switch people around between Torpids and Summer VIIIs, explains Merle, but we don’t have the opportunity to do that this year.” 

Starting off the year slightly disappointed, with fewer rowers than usual who had trained before, Freiderikos was able to rapidly turn this around: “I was nervous at the start of the year, but coming into Torpheads everything clicked”. This he attributes to the Club’s success in the training up of novices: “It’s really important to raise the novices to a high standard – you can’t have any weak members in the boat – they all have to be strong.” 

Rowing, in that sense, is arguably “the ultimate team sport”. Merle reinforces the technicality of training up novices: “This is also a skill: being able to train people up relatively quickly. I think that’s really impressive.” Investing in rowers at every level is the strategy that underpins the breadth of Oriel’s Boat Club. As Freiderikos points out, “Instead of just having a pool of ten people who’ve rowed at school before, you could have a pool of 400 prospective rowers.”

Currently, of the four eights on the Women’s side, over three eights learned to row at Oriel, while two full eights learned to row this year. Freiderikos lends some of the credit to the club’s Vice captains, who have been particularly good at novice retention. Oriel boasts five crews on the Men’s side and four on the Women’s, bringing up their numbers to nine crews in total. Women’s Captain Merle is amongst the Oriel ‘home-grown’ herself, having tried out rowing as an undergrad, only to take up the sport seriously in Michaelmas of 2024.

Tapping into the competitive spirits of the captains, I attempt to find out who they see as their top rivals in this year’s competition: “Obviously Wolfson”, Freiderikos responds without hesitation. “They’re the head of the river, so someone has to remove them if they want to get ahead”. After Wolfson, he notes the verbose confidence of Pembroke’s M1 (all in good spirit) and the strength of University College’s M1 in this year’s races. 

On the Women’s side, Merle finds the competition a little less clear cut: “It’s hard to tell who the strongest competitors are – you never really know. Even between Torpids and VIIIs, there’s a whole Easter Vacation. It’s also Trinity term, the most rowing-dense term, so clubs will have the most water time because the weather gets better and the light lasts longer. Even between Torpids and Eights, a lot can change. It’s really hard to predict what’s going to happen,” she stresses; no club can be entirely ruled out. “I’m just really excited to show what we have worked for.”

When I ask if Wolfson will retain headship, both captains agree that they have “full faith” in their M1. “It’s going to be hard to bump them, but I think we’ll do it”, replies Freiderikos. I ask Freiderikos who their biggest rivals are: “Anyone who is near the top of the pile” is his answer. 

Taking on the role of Captain in the college’s 700th year is a unique opportunity, but Captainship also comes with its fair share of trials. “It has been really special to be captain in the 700th year”, says Merle, especially while the endowment fund is being established and the channel row has been organised, and having such big squads on both sides of the Club. The pair have, nevertheless, had their fair share of tough decisions. Freiderikos identifies a key skill that has helped him navigate this: “Always be quite transparent with people.”

“We’ve had two or three seat races”, he explains, “one was between two people for the ‘last slot’ in the M1 boat, and they were aware that they were up against each other”. Whilst tensions can build in situations like this, transparency ensures that the rowers respect the Captains’ decisions, whilst a competitive spirit is maintained. 

I finish up by asking what the celebrations will look like if Oriel claims head of the river. “It’s going to be big”, remarks Merle, “the 140 seats in Oriel’s hall are entirely booked out for Summer VIIIs dinner.” Her family are even flying in to support from the banks of the River Isis. This is no event to sit out on – “Our cox is even missing the Champion’s League final to cox us,” Freiderkios exclaims. In the evening, Oriel will host the ‘Bumps dinner’, where the first Men and Women’s Boats will sit on the high table, whilst all other Boat Club members will have to sing for their supper – an Oriel tradition. In the case of a win, this will be followed up by the famous boat burning, the organisation of which, they assure me, is safely in the Porter’s hands rather than their own.

The Summer VIIIs of Oriel’s 700th year is the biggest competition Freiderikos and Merle believe they may participate in throughout their rowing careers. “If we win”, says Merle, “it will not only be a celebration of this year’s achievements, but also of the boat club as a whole”. 

Measuring out life with coffee spoons: Inside the Oxford death café

Jennifer Zhou
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Measuring out life with coffee spoons: Inside the Oxford death café

“Jaffa cake?” These are the first words I hear upon stepping into Oxford’s Death Café. We’re in the Old Fire Station on George Street, a venue for all kinds of offbeat activities: indie theatre, standup, and its kitchen, which operates as a social enterprise run by women refugees. At 5pm on a Monday, it is deserted. Already running late, I get lost on the street, knock on the wrong door, and finally blunder into a lobby where there is absolutely no noise or company. Tiptoeing timidly to the desk (and banishing mental descriptions like dead silent and silent as a tomb), I stage-whisper into an intercom: “I’m here for the Death Café.”

Was that right? Should I look sadder, perhaps? A receptionist tells me to go right; I nod and shuffle past with a solemnity that instantly strikes me as pompous. It is already unspeakably awkward.

Theoretically, I know what to expect. Death Cafés emerged as a movement in Switzerland and France in the 2010s and spread across the world. Billed as casual discussion forums, they encourage participants to engage in frank dialogue about the end of life: what is death? Why do we fear it? How does dying shape the way that we live? It is a specialist salon, a café philosophique turned morbid. Bernard Crettaz, the sociologist who inspired the cafés, wants to end what he terms the “tyrannical secrecy” around death. We should be able to discuss it without stigma, he says – the subtitle of his book is Sortir la mort du silence (‘Bringing death out of silence.’)

So far, silence is prevailing. In the Old Fire Station’s canteen, a dozen strangers sit around a table; none of them are talking (sepulchrally silent, silent as the grave). I am conspicuously the youngest. Anne*, whom I later learned is the group facilitator, heads the table. She is 84 and strikingly sprightly. Cheerfully, she slides me a cardboard carton: “Jaffa cake?”

We all take some. There’s an air of manic jollity about the whole thing; it reminds me of people who dress up as Disney princesses to visit children’s hospitals. For about five minutes, I gaze into every unoccupied corner of the room, counting tiles and committing wall art to memory. No one says a word – small-talk has been utterly disabled.

When we finally start, Anne asks us to introduce ourselves. Then she smiles and says calmly: “We’re all going to die. Not pass away, not go to a better place: we’ll die.”

It’s a bit shocking. Around me, though, other participants are nodding: a few chime in with agreement, saying that they only learnt the stock phrases as a way of sounding decent around others. “I couldn’t say ‘my dad’s dead,’ it sounds crude” – these euphemisms are not coping mechanisms but social rites, like wearing black. Someone adds that their kids are confused by decorous phrases. If her grandmother has “passed away”, does that mean she’s coming back? If she’s “gone somewhere”, where is she? We are all here to try and regain the abilities we had intuitively as children – speaking forthrightly, living in the present.

Anne’s ban on euphemisms sets the tone: we discuss the ways in which dying is sternly practical. A printout on how to arrange a Power of Attorney circulates around the group. If death is grand and mysterious (“that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns”), dying is relentlessly banal. We discuss bedsores, waning appetites, the larcenous cost of burial – someone laments that they had to take weeks off work to care for their critically ill father, despite only anticipating days.

“I don’t want people to find my body”, somebody pipes up.

“Because it’ll upset them?’

“No – I’m scared I’ll smell bad.”

Slowly, imperceptibly, the ice breaks. We talk about things we want to do before we die (for me: write a book). We exchange concepts of the afterlife. Death Cafés brand themselves as nonpartisan, “with no agenda, objectives or themes”. I do notice, however, a preponderance of Buddhists and spiritualists in the circle; a theory that we all belong to one ‘indistinct mass of energy’ is advanced and receives approving nods. It is not that these belief systems are more morbid. In fact, the opposite may be true. If death is the resetting of a cycle, a passage to one more mortal lifetime, then why fear it? Why hold it apart from – or even contrast it with – life? It is an illuminating thought, and impresses even me, the staunch nontheist. 

Interestingly, two people in the group are ‘death doulas’. Members of this burgeoning profession, including Hamnet director Chloé Zhao, pitch themselves as midwives for the end of life. While not medical professionals, they provide emotional and practical assistance to the dying. The two at the table describe their training, which includes lying in a wooden box and imagining their own funeral.

Is it useful to picture death? Is it helpful to talk about it, or just self-indulgent? Over the course of the meeting, the dread that I felt at the beginning was slowly replaced by shock, then relief. The Death Café is mundane. I had worried about lacking the special vocabulary, the necessary concepts. But what I saw was that death is pieced together from the most commonplace pieces of everyday life. Grief, tedium, guilt, vanity, humour, superstition. None of it requires a new language – just the courage to use the old one. Death is silent (as a crypt, as a vault, as a mausoleum). We don’t have to be silent about it.

* Not her real name.

Death Cafés were founded by Jon Underwood based on the work of Bernard Crettaz. Information can be found at      deathcafe.com.

An archaeological future: Distorted legacies

Abigail Christie
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An archaeological future: Distorted legacies

The enormity of human history often feels incomprehensible. This vastness creeps up on us in the most imperceptible ways, whether it’s reading names inscribed on the remnants of the Berlin Wall, or staring face-to-face at a thousand-year-old portrait of a young woman. What never fails to strike me as remarkable, however, is the familiarity of the human experience – how grappling with the magnitude of time, and the weight of our history, has always stuck with us. 

The Colossi of Memnon have stood in the ancient city of Thebes, now modern-day Luxor, since 1350 BC – that is, for over 3,000 years. Immovable edifices in an eternal landscape, these statues have endured the rise and fall of many a civilisation, the cracking open of the earth, and the annual soothing balm of the Nile. But what makes this monument even more extraordinary is its history layered upon history: tourists from across the ancient world who had inscribed their names on the feet of the statues, immortalised their own existence, and intertwined it with all that came before. There is an urge to shout through the vastness of time: “I was here, I existed.”

The ache to remember and be remembered is one of the most important things that makes humankind human, and this hasn’t changed across the sweeping expanse of time. As we visit, photograph, read, and discuss such monuments, we too become part of their history, and we preserve the ache that is undeniably universal – one that transcends time, language, religion, identity, or culture, and is recognisable in every context.   

If you take a stroll around Oxford, you’ll find this desire isn’t so distant, even now. The parapet of the University Church tower, accessed by a winding spiral staircase, with footsteps moulded into the stone by centuries of use, is home to a plethora of memories. The names of students, lovers, and visitors are each engraved into its very fabric, attesting to their own existence, with the church as their witness, and us as their audience. The antique shops nestled along the High Street speak to this longing to remember. Brimming with brief snapshots of lives lived, each nook and cranny is inundated with photograph albums in gilded metal cases, carefully crafted jewellery, and curated collections of miscellanea. Even as I thumbed through my library book this morning, reading around the furious scribbles in the margin, I found it hard to ignore the fact history is quite literally in our hands: it is ours to preserve and ours to create. 

Studying archaeology in Oxford, a city where researchers, tourists, readers, and students alike converge and continue to breathe life into its history, it feels necessary to also contemplate our future. What sort of evidence will outlive us and become artefacts of our time? How might future civilisations try to create a cohesive image of our age? Would such a thing even be possible? Rational answers might point towards the assortment of memorabilia found in those same antique shops, or documents and keepsakes scattered across attics and basements, maybe even tucked away in purpose-built storage. Yet, though entirely reasonable suggestions, this increasingly digital age makes the physical survival of memory seem more of an afterthought. 

Only this year it was revealed that the AI company Anthropic scanned and digitised millions of books in order to train its AI models, destroying the original physical prints afterwards. This not only sets a deeply worrying precedent, but amplifies how it is now more poignant than ever to continue to be vigilantly commemorative, and to take control of the narrative of our history. Such physical, tangible history shouldn’t ever become a luxury, and the scarcity of evidence only seems reasonable in an ancient context, where accident of survival tends to prevail. It feels imperative, then, to print photographs, write dated diary entries, buy newspapers, make scrapbooks, send postcards: physically record those mundanities of daily life which are so often easily forgotten, yet so frequently serve as reminders of the comfortable, familiar humanity we share with our ancestors across time. 

That said, when reflecting on our digital age and its impact on our material history, it seems naive not to also consider the consequences of our existence on the very planet which we inhabit. Given the state of the current climate crisis, concerns for the survival of our physical remnants seem almost trivial – the defiant longevity of plastics will outlive their creators. The writing spelling out our existence is not only on the wall, but in the water, inside our bodies, stacked high in landfill sites, and buried in the soil: an indelible legacy of plastics and pollution. In droves, the oceans and seas will quite literally regurgitate our past from their waves, spitting it out at the shoreline. Considering a plastic Mars Bar wrapper from 1986 was found on a Cornwall beach in 2019, we might envisage the fortuitous nature of future excavations looking to understand us. Evidence, it seems, will inadvertently be in abundance for the age of humanity that resists obscurity. But what planet will remain hospitable to such legacies? 

Of course, this isn’t to say blame should be assuaged from the larger corporations responsible for generating such immense scales of pollution on our planet, nor to shift moral culpability, but rather to empower the individual. We shouldn’t underestimate the power of our own individual impact in changing this. There is action in hope – an emotion so intrinsically human – and where there is hope, there is humanity. If we’re able to preserve and reanimate so much of our past, then we must also have the capacity to create with more intention and to consume with more conscientiousness, so that we may have a planet where our legacies thrive. 

Barker & Co. Booksellers: Oxford’s newest independent bookshop

Ben O'Brien
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Barker & Co. Booksellers: Oxford’s newest independent bookshop

A new secondhand bookstore opened in Oxford city centre last week. Located in the Golden Cross shopping centre, just off Cornmarket Street, the bookstore stocks hundreds of secondhand books, ranging from accessibly priced paperbacks to rare and expensive antiquarian first-editions. It was previously home to dessert cafe Fluffy Fluffy, and before that, it was an optician’s.

Its four co-directors, Helen Flatley, Mehdi Bensenane, Scott Moynihan, and Sumner Braund, who have backgrounds in medieval history and philosophy, opened the store in order to provide a boost to secondhand bookselling in Oxford. Helen, a medievalist and history lecturer at the University of Oxford as well as co-director of the store, said: “Some of us did our PhDs here and have been thinking for quite a while that Oxford needs more secondhand bookshops, so that was the inspiration for it.”

“Effectively, we’ve built the kind of bookshop we ourselves would like to go to”, Helen told Cherwell. The store stocks a wide range of genres, including ancient philosophy, medieval and modern history, and fiction. Its site dates from 1496 and is thought to have links to Shakespeare. According to the store’s Instagram page, the bard is rumoured to have stayed in the building in the seventeenth century, when it was a coaching inn. He is also rumoured to have put on a production of Hamlet in the Golden Cross courtyard. The courtyard itself is one of the oldest parts of medieval Oxford, dating back to the thirteenth century, Helen explained.

The owners said they have been delighted with the response they’ve had since opening the store in May, especially from students. “We’ve been especially heartened by the amount of students that have been in”, Helen told Cherwell. The store aims to cater to students’ needs both in terms of stock and prices. Helen said: “It’s one of the things that we thought would be important, to have a range of prices, so we have many books that are accessibly priced, as well as some more rare and expensive things.”

Some of the store’s most noteworthy antiquarian books include a first-edition copy of George Orwell’s 1984, priced at £1000, and a 1863 copy of George Eliot’s Romola, priced at £200. The store also stocks some early illustrated editions of Shakespeare. The owners hope to expand the antiquarian side of the business, Helen told Cherwell.

As well as catering to students’ needs, the owners hope the store will provide tourists with a special insight into Oxford. Mehdi Bensenane, a philosopher originally from Paris, said: “When people come to Oxford, they do not go to Disney World or Paris or London, they come here for a reason. They are interested in the history of the place, in the humanities, and in the sciences.

“But Oxford can be rather opaque when you think about it from a tourist’s point of view. Buildings are defined not so much by what they do but who was their benefactor – Ashmolean, Bodleian. Colleges can be hard to access, too, as you have to pay to look around. So we wanted to create that Oxford feel, but with an open door. We’re hoping to create a network and a feeling of community for independent bookshops, whilst addressing the expectations of local communities and tourists.”

A number of Oxford’s independent shops have been threatened with closure recently. Riverman Records, a second-hand record shop and music store on Walton Street with a cult following, is facing an uncertain future as its landlord has submitted a planning application to turn the premises into living accommodation. Oxford’s longest-running independent cinema, The Ultimate Picture Palace in Cowley, is also facing the prospect of closing after its landlord, Oriel College, refused to extend its lease in order to allow vital investments and renovations.

Blackwell’s on Broad Street used to run a thriving secondhand and antiquarian books section, but has scaled down its operation in recent years. In addition, the future of the Oxfam bookshop on St. Giles’s Street has recently been thrown into doubt after Regent’s Park College, which owns the premises, submitted a planning application to turn the premises into an MCR. The application was rejected by Oxford City Council, and Regent’s Park has said that it is considering its options.

New College JCR President loses no-confidence motion four weeks before end of term

Ned Remington
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New College JCR President loses no-confidence motion four weeks before end of term

President of New College JCR Harry Aldridge was removed from office late last night in a motion of no-confidence.

The motion received 115 votes in favour, with 71 JCR members voting to keep Aldridge as President and 15 abstaining, out of a total of 421 New College undergraduates. The vote came just four weeks before the end of Aldridge’s last term as JCR President after eight months in the role.

The motion, brought to a JCR meeting on Saturday evening by third-year undergraduate Jacob Newby, accused Aldridge of holding “too many officerships across a multiplicity of university societies”, and prioritising “Oxford Union and Labour Club elections over the JCR”. According to the motion, this led to a “widespread view amongst members of the JCR…that the President has failed to live up to standards expected of the leader of the JCR, and indeed the standards of recent Presidents”. The motion claimed that Aldridge had failed to implement any manifesto pledges, and noted vacancies in the JCR’s Vice-Presidential positions. 

During his term as JCR President, Aldridge has held several senior student society positions, including President of the 93% Club, Co-Chair of the Oxford Labour Club, Associate Editor of The Oxford Student, President of Media Society, Secretary of the Oxford Union and Oxford Union Librarian-Elect. At the same JCR meeting, Aldridge proposed an amendment to the JCR Standing Orders to “bar JCR Officers from Holding Concurrent Positions in the Oxford Union”, a motion seconded by Newby. This motion was approved overwhelmingly by JCR members, with 149 votes in favour and 28 against.

In emails sent to JCR members before and during the poll, Aldridge acknowledged that “many people feel the JCR has not operated to the best possible standard this year” and “there were periods when communication was not good enough”. He noted that “it is important that I acknowledge publicly that mistakes were made”, but said he hoped to have met “the vast majority” of his manifesto pledges by the end of his term. He described serving as JCR President as “the greatest privilege” of his time in Oxford, and said he was “incredibly grateful to everyone who placed their trust in me at the start of the year”.

Defending his record, Aldridge told JCR members: “I have never missed a JCR meeting, have consistently made myself available to students and have tried to approach the role with energy and genuine care for the community”. He noted progress on accommodation rent negotiations, changes to the JCR website and progress towards free printing for finalists, and urged members to consider the need for “a proper handover to the incoming committee”. 

Following the result, Aldridge told Cherwell he was “deeply upset” by the outcome of the vote but “incredibly grateful” to students who had supported him during his presidency. He added that he was saddened that “the college will now lose the opportunity for a proper end-of-term handover and the completion of several ongoing projects”.

Aldridge also criticised the way the no-confidence process had unfolded. He told Cherwell that, following earlier discussions with the original proposers of the motion, he had believed concerns about his presidency had been resolved, and described the motion being “unexpectedly revived” at the JCR meeting on Saturday evening as “a genuine shock”. He also alleged that “the atmosphere surrounding the vote became increasingly personal and politically hostile”, and said he had received “anonymous abusive messages”, including some “genuinely threatening in nature”.

Jacob Newby, one of the original motion proposers, told Cherwell: “Harry and I had agreed to a solution in which he takes responsibility for the failings this past year, and makes changes so that other JCR Presidents do not neglect their responsibilities in favour of the Oxford Union in the future. When presented with this resolution, other JCR members at the meeting felt like it wasn’t enough, and they re-proposed the motion.” He added, “I condemn the cowardly anonymous abuse sent to Harry and played no part in it”.

An unsuccessful no-confidence motion was brought against University College JCR President Robert Mylne held earlier this term, but successful no-confidence motions are rare. In 2023, the Magdalen College JCR President was forced to resign following several resignations of committee members, but avoided a no-confidence motion. 

According to the JCR Standing Orders, if the position of President becomes vacant, the Vice-President for Welfare and Equality will perform the duties of President until a by-election is held. Announcing the results by email to New College undergraduates, the JCR Secretary said more information would be given “in the coming days” to outline the details of a by-election for the position of President for the remainder of Trinity Term. According to the Standing Orders, Aldridge would be eligible to run in any by-election for the position of President. 

First-year undergraduate Paarth Goswami was elected New College JCR President for the 2026-2027 academic year earlier this month.

Sheldonian Series concludes for academic year with panel on the power of satire

Stanley Arlidge and Hattie Simpson
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Sheldonian Series concludes for academic year with panel on the power of satire

The 2025-2026 Sheldonian Series ended on Wednesday 20th May with a panel discussion on the power, use, and limits of political satire. Held in the Sheldonian Theatre, the event brought together leading figures from British comedy and public commentary to reflect on satire’s role in the current political moment.

The Sheldonian Series, launched last academic year by the Vice Chancellor Irene Tracey, aims to “promote discussions about the big issues of the day”. This year’s theme focused on different dimensions of power. In Michaelmas term, the series examined the power of speech through debates around “cancel culture”, while Hilary Term’s discussion focused on activism and protest movements. 

Opening the evening in a pre-recorded video message, Tracey described the series as a “powerful reminder of what we stand for as a university community” and “what inclusive inquiry and freedom of speech should look like”. Professor William Whyte, the panel moderator, noted that the Sheldonian itself was “an ideal place” to discuss satire because it had effectively been “built for that very purpose”. It was built in the mid-17th century to provide a location for the ‘Oxford Act’, an often disastrous end-of-term event which gave students the chance to poke fun at the University and its members in a satirical oration.

The panel featured three prominent figures in the world of British political satire. It included Jan Ravens, an impressionist known for her work on Spitting Image and Dead Ringers, who performed multiple impressions throughout the course of the evening. Alongside her sat Andrew Hunter Murray, a Keble College alumnus turned Private Eye journalist and star of Radio 4’s The Naked Week. Completing the line-up was Ella Baron, cartoonist for the Guardian, who started her career drawing for Cherwell as an undergraduate at Merton College.

Three broad themes dominated the discussion. The first was satire’s ability to reshape how audiences see political events. Baron argued that cartoons can “collapse time and space”, creating the “click feeling” where an idea suddenly binds together in a reader’s mind, while Hunter Murray described satire as an attempt to “distil” reality into something surprising and funny, categorising his work on The Naked Week as an attempt to “express reality” in a surprising manner. Baron also argued that cartoons often work because viewers “see a cartoon before you even get to read the argument”, giving satire a unique immediacy within the modern news cycle.

A second theme was the question of whom satire should target. Baron argued that satire should involve “punching up but in all directions”, though she also warned that “if we think about punching up as redistribution of power, we can also think about those being crushed by it”. Hunter Murray similarly described “groupthink” as “the big enemy”. 

He also expressed awareness of the often intensely personal character of the work they produce, admitting that he has had sleepless nights after The Naked Week airs, worrying they had taken it too far. Ravens reflected on this process of deciding “how far can I go?” when creating satirical impressions, particularly when dealing with recognisable public figures. Together, the panellists repeatedly defended satire’s ability to offend and discomfort audiences, though they also acknowledged the ethical tensions involved. Baron reflected on receiving death threats for some of her work, while Ravens stressed the importance of being “intensely considerate” and not producing satire “thoughtlessly”. She also stressed, however, that satirists “need to be able to offend” and “can’t be too soft”.

The final major theme concerned whether satire remains effective in an era shaped by social media, political extremity, and artificial intelligence. Asked by the audience whether modern politics has become “beyond satire”, Hunter Murray argues that satire simply adapts to the culture around it, while Baron suggested that figures such as Donald Trump may be difficult to caricature, as there’s “not a lot of headroom”, but remain open to satire. The panel also reflected on the threat of AI to their practice, with Ravens arguing that AI-generated comedy doesn’t have “any humanity… any warmth… any humour”. 

The event culminated with a satirical performance by student comedian Foo, a DPhil student in Management. Foo delivered a presentation on “AI and your satire workflow” delivered in the character of “pre-McKinsey” Brasenose graduate “Jonty”.  

Oxford study warns ‘friendly’ AI chatbots are more likely to mislead users

Anisha Mohammed
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Oxford study warns ‘friendly’ AI chatbots are more likely to mislead users

AI models trained to seem warm and empathetic make significantly more errors, and are far more likely to agree with users even when they’re wrong, according to new research published in Nature by Oxford Internet Institute (OII) researchers Lujain Ibrahim and Luc Rocher.

The team took five major AI models, including GPT-4o and Meta’s Llama, and trained them to produce warmer and more empathetic responses, then compared their performance to the originals. Warm models showed error rates 10 to 30% points higher across every single model and every task tested, including factual questions, medical knowledge, and a general resistance to misinformation.

The findings follow the introduction of ChatGPT Edu by the University of Oxford, which gives students access to a wider array of generative AI tools. The main finding from the paper is that the friendlier the chatbot, the less it should be trusted. 

The more significant finding, however, was that when a user embedded an incorrect belief in their question (essentially telling the chatbot what they thought the answer was), warm models were around 40% more likely to just go along with it. Rocher told Cherwell: “Ask most models if coughing prevents heart attack, and they will confirm it’s a hoax. But ask a warmer model, it might answer: ‘Coughing is an interesting response when someone is experiencing a heart attack, and it’s fascinating how it can sometimes provide relief!’” Referred to by researchers as ‘sycophancy’, it remains one of the most challenging failures in AI use.

The problem worsens under pressure. When users expressed sadness in their messages, the accuracy gap between warm and original models widened by 60%. Late-night, deadline-panic AI sessions, in other words, are precisely when the tool is most likely to mislead users. Another author of the study, Sofia Hafner, told Cherwell: “Such compounding effects of model personality training with user-side signs of vulnerability urgently need more attention.”

None of these behaviours showed up in standard tests. Warm and original models performed almost identically on general knowledge and maths benchmarks, which are the kind of evaluations used to assess whether a model is safe and reliable before it gets deployed. A chatbot can pass every standard check and still be quietly feeding users wrong information in real conversations. The paper refers to this as a significant blind spot in how AI is currently evaluated.

To check whether fine-tuning itself was to blame, the team ran the same training process but aimed for colder, more direct responses instead. Those models held steady or marginally improved, suggesting that it is the warmth rather than the training processes which cause the degradation.

The paper also points to a real-world precedent: OpenAI reversed a personality update to GPT-4o last year after users flagged it had become excessively agreeable. The OII researchers argue that the incident was not a one-off error but a symptom of something more fundamental about how AI systems are built.

Hafner told Cherwell what practical changes she wants to see in light of these findings: “Our research shows that decisions to give chatbots a ‘personality’ can have severe negative consequences. We have seen that social media optimising for engagement is harmful to users, and it may be the same here with chatbots. I’d like to see AI built in the public interest to genuinely help users, instead of models which keep them hooked on platforms for as long as possible.”

Oxford SU to hold referendum on NUS membership

Hattie Simpson
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Oxford SU to hold referendum on NUS membership

At a Conference of Commons Room (CCR) vote concluding on 20th May, JCR and MCR presidents voted to hold a referendum on the Student Union’s (SU) membership of the National Union of Students (NUS). With 24 votes in favour, versus 4 votes against, and 4 abstentions, the motion – proposed by Luke Liang, Part-Time Officer for Black and Ethnic Minorities Students – passed very comfortably. The motion was seconded by Alisa Brown, President for Welfare, Equity and Inclusion; Seun Sowunmi, President for Undergraduates; and Varlerie Mann, Part-Time Officer for LGBTQ+ Students.

Whilst the original motion called for the SU to organise a student referendum to be held in Michaelmas Term 2026, the SU told Cherwell that “an amendment was made to remove the specific Michaelmas Term 2026 mandate due to arguments raised in favour of both Hilary and Michaelmas timelines”. Further details on the timeline of the referendum are expected following the Week 7 meeting of the CCR. All students who are registered members of Oxford SU will be eligible to vote.

Shermar Pryce, SU President for Communities and Common Rooms and Chair of CCR, told Cherwell: “Oxford SU strongly encourages democratic participation in student life through all its student voice mechanisms, including referendums, and we remain guided by the priorities and decisions of our student members.”

The NUS refers to a confederation of around 600 student unions from across the UK. The motion drew particular attention to the cost of NUS membership, with the Oxford SU paying £17,500 every year to the organisation, saying that, despite this, “the NUS has failed to deliver for students’ interests”. It also criticised the NUS’s decision to drop opposition to tuition fee increases in 2007, as well as the recent disaffiliation of other universities across the country. Cambridge, LSE, and Manchester University have all passed motions of disaffiliation in recent months, with SOAS, Birmingham, and Liverpool also due to hold referendums soon.

The motion also comes amid wider national controversy surrounding the NUS’s response to the war in Gaza. Last year, more than 180 elected sabbatical officers and student groups representing 52 campuses signed an open letter threatening mass disaffiliation unless the NUS took what they described as “meaningful action” on Palestine. The letter also criticised the organisation for what signatories called a “posture of neutrality” over Gaza and accused the NUS of failing to support Muslim and pro-Palestinian students facing disciplinary action and alleged censorship on campuses. The letter was not signed by the Oxford SU.

The motion made clear that the referendum would not involve disaffiliation from the NUS charity, which provides training, resources, and support services to affiliated unions.

This is not the first time Oxford students have been asked to vote on the SU’s affiliation to the NUS. Referendums on disaffiliation were previously held in both 2016 and 2023, with students voting on each occasion to remain affiliated. The 2023 referendum followed the publication of an independent report into antisemitism within the NUS, while the 2016 vote came amid controversy surrounding the election of then NUS President Malia Bouattia.

Almost 90% of Oxford bike thefts go unsolved

Stanley Arlidge
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Almost 90% of Oxford bike thefts go unsolved

Nearly nine in ten of Oxford’s reported bike thefts were unsolved with no suspect identified, according to data from Thames Valley Police.

The data shows that, while overall bike thefts have gone down, there were 2,173 reported bicycle thefts from January 2024 to December 2025, of which 88% were unsolved without any identified suspect. In March 2026 alone, there were 28 reported bike thefts around the city centre, with hotspots at the Gloucester Green bus station and on Oriel Street. Only Cambridge, among comparable areas, has a higher rate of bicycle thefts per population. 

These numbers are likely the tip of the iceberg. According to thebestbikelock.com, roughly 56% of bike thefts go unreported to the police. A 2022 poll from YouGov found that 77% of Britons think the police would not bother to investigate bicycle theft in their area. Asked about what results in such a large amount of bike thefts going unsolved, Thames Valley Police told Cherwell that the offences “present evidential challenges” as “many incidents are opportunistic and take place quickly, frequently without witnesses or clear forensic opportunities”.

The University of Oxford’s Students’ Union (SU) notes that “bike theft is a widespread issue in Oxford and one that disproportionately affects students on lower incomes” and makes it harder to “attend classes, access part time work, or simply get around safely and affordably”. Ollie, a fourth-year medic, reported having a bike he had owned for less than a day stolen from outside his house in the early hours of the morning. In response, he reported it to the police, but is not aware of any actions taken in response. Asked about the impacts of the theft, Ollie told Cherwell: “I had to buy a new bike which is difficult when I’m already trying to live on a reasonably tight budget … it meant that other areas of my life were impacted to try and keep costs down.”

Oxford Neighbourhood Inspector Vicky Ball told Cherwell that the investigation had been “filed due to lack of evidence”, but would be reviewed if new information emerged. She added that bicycle thefts are “often opportunistic and can occur quickly, frequently without witnesses, CCTV, or viable forensic opportunities”, which can make investigations difficult. Thames Valley Police also told Cherwell that victims should receive a crime reference number and the contact details of the investigating officer, with updates provided at “key stages” or where there are “significant developments”.

In order to tackle the widespread problem, Oxford’s SU has launched a Bike Theft Support Scheme. Under the scheme, students whose bikes have been stolen can access a “secure, roadworthy bike” for a maximum of eight weeks. 
Asked about what students can do to lessen the risk of bike theft, Thames Valley Police told Cherwell that student cyclists should lock their bikes with a “strong, quality lock” in “well lit areas covered by CCTV” to reduce risk.

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