Saturday 23rd August 2025
Blog Page 50

Clear handballs, dodgy calls and ‘learn the rules’

Noah Robson
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Clear handballs, dodgy calls and ‘learn the rules’

“Fancy reffing my football match today?”

It was an innocent enough message. My footballing ability might not be much to shout about, but I know the game well enough. Plus, this would be a 2s match – and anyone who’s been involved in the reserves’ divisions knows the standard isn’t exactly elite.

‘Why not?’ I thought to myself. ‘I’ll head up there, run around a bit, and try something new. What’s the worst that can happen?’

So I arrived at the sports ground, where after introducing myself to both sides, I was helpfully given a whistle. It was at this point that I realised something I’d never properly appreciated about the role of the referee: just how lonely it is. There’s something indescribably humiliating about doing half-arsed heel flicks in the middle of the pitch by yourself, whilst 20-plus people perform equally begrudging warm-ups at opposing ends.

With the home team having the luxury of substitutes, two were co-opted to be my linesmen. It didn’t help that one of them didn’t know the offside rule, but it was better than nothing.

It all started off quite smoothly. There were a few teething problems, but the most contentious decision for the first half an hour or so was whether to award a foul throw (I didn’t – this is 2s football).

I gradually got used to keeping up with play, signalling decisions, and even found myself playing an advantage. Was it all really this easy? Maybe I’d missed my calling all along? I got to watch (an admittedly low quality) football game and be involved at the heart of it all, whilst laughing with players about their ability (or lack thereof, as I could sympathise with).

It was that false sense of security, however, that would prove my downfall. In football, things can change in an instant, and so when a player from the away side went down in the penalty area, I suddenly had a decision to make. It felt like time slowed down, with every one of the 22 players turning towards me, waiting for me to either point to the spot, or wave play on.

Now, I’ve not named the teams involved, but those there that day can probably deduce which match this refers to. If they have, they’ll know that of my short lived refereeing career, this was not my finest moment. I could make excuses as to how quickly it happened, and how my view was blocked, but the truth is I should’ve given a penalty. It was a foul, and whilst the attacker went down theatrically (something he didn’t particularly appreciate me telling him immediately afterwards), it didn’t matter.

At that moment, however, I froze. I decided that because I wasn’t absolutely certain it was a penalty, I couldn’t give it, regardless of the incessant calls for me to do so. So, with all of the confidence I could muster, I waved play on. “Not a foul!” I shouted, to the disbelief of the away side (and, more concerningly, some of the home team too).

For the next five minutes, it was all I could think about. I knew I’d messed up and whilst this match hardly had the highest of stakes, I was desperate not to be the reason why one team did or didn’t get a result. So when that same away side scored just before half time I was genuinely relieved. One player ran past and celebrated in front of me. “F*cking disallow that!” he shouted. Ignoring the fact I hadn’t actually disallowed any of their goals, I was nevertheless pleased that my decision was no longer the main story.

The second half is where things turned, with various fouls moving the game into more feisty territory. I did my best to control things (although, without actually having any cards to give out, this was a challenge), but tempers continued to flare.

Those tensions were only exacerbated when, at the very same end I had failed to give a penalty to the away team, I gave one for the home side. In my defence (which, funnily enough, none of the away players seemed to agree with), it was a pretty blatant handball, but upon being told to “learn the f*cking rules,” I don’t think I’d convinced most.

So it was 1-1, I’d given one team a penalty, failed to give a clear one to the other, and every five seconds I was having to blow for a foul to prevent someone’s legs getting broken. It wasn’t ideal.

The away team going ahead again got them off my back (briefly), but an equaliser soon after meant we headed into the final stages level. Frankly – and this is probably not an opinion I should have held as an ‘unbiased’ referee – I was happy with that. It meant neither side would be hugely aggrieved with me, and I could walk away without worrying too much about that penalty decision.

89 minutes had gone, still 2-2. It was getting closer. A few daft tackles slowed the game down even more, and I was not about to add on swathes of injury time. But then the home side found themselves on a counter. As I sprinted up the pitch, I prayed the attacker would miss.

So when the forward slotted it home, I stood motionless. Almost immediately, I had an away player jog past me: “That’s your fault, you f*cking idiot”. ‘Cheers for that,’ I thought.

There was, at this point, no time left. I blew my whistle, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. I shook hands with everyone, expecting more criticism. But to my shock, I got none.

In fact, I got praise. “Well done for dealing with that mate.” “Hard work with some of them.” Even the abuser-in-chief, who had just five minutes earlier blamed me for the loss, thanked me for coming down.

I’ve been guilty of it myself – becoming an entirely different person as soon as the game finishes. I even did it as a referee: I’m not sure I’d ever tell a group of people abusing me to “just calm down, lads” in any other walk of life. But for some reason, for 90 minutes, it becomes the norm.

So would I do it again? Probably not. 

Would I recommend other people give it a go? Also probably not.

And would I do anything differently? Not really. Probably just learn the f*cking rules.

My Diary: Self-reflection or self-sabotage?

Carolina Julius
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My Diary: Self-reflection or self-sabotage?

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train” – The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde.

Writing a diary is never a neutral act. Whether we aim for truth or “something sensational”, a diary is its own form of fiction – and it shapes our thoughts as much as it records them. The effect of this is often overlooked. We are told that keeping a diary does wonders for your mental well-being. In my case, it only made things worse.

Three years ago, I started keeping a diary. I intended to use it as a record of everyday life – it was my A level summer, and I was sure my newfound freedom would lead to experiences worth recording. But before long, my diary became something else entirely. It was no longer about events – it was all about emotion. I quickly became addicted.

It’s an easy trap to fall into: a diary encourages introspection in a way that conversation rarely can. A diary invites self-reflection, but without knowing it, I began to over-analyse. It was the literary equivalent of doom-scrolling – only, instead of refreshing a digital feed, I was trawling through the most uncomfortable spaces in my own mind. 

I don’t think that my diary changed my perception of everyday life, but it did change the way I reacted to it. A bad day became worse as I sat down to write – to dwell in the possible problems – thinking I was helping myself. My diary became a breeding ground for negativity, inflating the importance of trivial problems. We’ve all had moments when a miserable day is lifted by a change of scenery – what seemed like a crisis solved simply by sunlight and fresh air. The way I was using my diary was akin to keeping myself locked inside – left to ruminate on feelings I unknowingly fuelled with each new entry.

Yet keeping a diary can be a beautiful thing. It is a space for reflection, a quiet sanctuary away from the constant noise of the outside world. When I write about moments of happiness, I find that I am able to extend them – reliving and savouring them in the slowed time of the page. Of course, limiting a diary to positive moments is equally unhelpful, undermining the very point of having a space where you can be completely honest. Used properly, a diary can be a tool: a form of silent therapy, a way to work through unresolved feelings and untangle emotional knots. It can be cathartic, too – sometimes, the need to unload is urgent, and the only place that feels safe to do so is within the pages of a book. And, often, as in the case of a child who scribbles down, in rage, a plot to kill their sibling, some thoughts are best kept private.

I used to think of my diary as a place where thoughts might spread freely across the page–a wild garden of ideas. But I have come to realise that by dwelling on what is negative, I had allowed the weeds to spread, crowding out space for growth. Self-awareness is important, but if untended, it can turn into hyper-awareness – a tangled, dark place to be.

A diary is the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. We shouldn’t ignore what is difficult, but we should be mindful of how we engage with it. Our thoughts work like algorithms – the more you think about something, the more it appears. In my early diary entries, I supercharged a cycle of negativity without even knowing. I’m not suggesting that we stop keeping diaries, far from it. Over the years, I have gifted many to a friend in need. But like all relationships, the one we have with our diaries should be conscious. A diary can soothe and create joy, but it can also intensify self-analysis. The key, perhaps, is to make sure we are balanced in the story we tell ourselves. 

So, if you’re thinking of keeping a diary, give it a shot – only, make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.

The purgatory between Oxford and the West Midlands.

Esme Thomson
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The purgatory between Oxford and the West Midlands.

When my “yahs” replaced my  “yows” I knew I was in trouble. Last year, I wrote a poem about my Black Country accent. I started it before Oxford was even on my horizon, a distant fever-dream, only real for people smarter than me. A year later, I scribbled the end of it while hunched in my uncomfortable office chair, trying to imitate the language of my mother because I couldn’t rely on my own accent for the words anymore. After it was published, I realised something. I was trying to immortalise my background, make it permanent in words, just in case this Oxford thing sweeps me astray. It was a silent fear, but it was poignant, and it stuck. 

I came to Oxford as a working-class, state student, thoroughly unprepared for everything. I didn’t know what pesto was, let alone the order you are meant to use the cutlery at a formal.  I would stick out like a sore thumb – the girl on bursaries, intimidated by the Rad Cam (it didn’t help that my bod card wouldn’t even let me in the place). But to my disbelief, I wasn’t singled out for saying “yow” instead of “you”. 

All of the sudden, the streets I’d known all my life became unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Going from concrete to cobbles changed me at every level. At work, a girl who clearly detested me just three months earlier leaned in and smiled knowingly, saying “you’ve really changed, Es.” At first I laughed and asked why. She said “I don’t know, you’re just…different.” It was amazing. 

My accent shifted. I bought linen trousers off Vinted. I started to shop at Urban, although my frugalness doesn’t let me venture beyond the sale section. I put away my false eyelashes, my cheap makeup, my cheap perfumes. I started to understand the differences between wines. And then, after the most life-changing few months of my life, I came back home. 

Oxford launches you into a completely other world. You go from being the second-smartest girl in your English class to an unremarkable student in a sea of intelligence. Amongst such smart people, your previous intelligence becomes mediocre. To everyone at  home, I’m a bit of a miracle. To everyone in Oxford, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Despite this, I wasn’t quite ready to be launched back to Earth so violently. 

Last week, I invited my best mate from high school to visit me. He protested; “I wouldn’t fit in.”  I asked, “How do you think I feel babe?”. He said “Yeah, but you blend in now. You talk posh.” I went bright-red and scowled. For someone who clings onto their stash puffer like someone’s itching to snatch it, being told I am what I so wanted to be absolutely breaks my heart. I’m liked, I’m accepted, I’m an Oxford girlie, but how much of my old self was abandoned? 

I’m strung between two different ways of life. I can never truly go back home and exist as my parents did.  But I’ll never properly be a part of the ‘Oxford class’ either. No matter how hard I scrub, I can never fully rinse away my accent and all the baggage that comes with it. I’ll hold on desperately to each part until I give in or I fall. I’m planning on neither.

The Secret History characters as Oxford tropes

Christina Scote
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The Secret History characters as Oxford tropes

Satire is at its best when it combines humour with an ability to razor the very real flaws of the world. Donna Tartt mastered this formula in The Secret History (1992). There’s a sense in which the novel has a connection to Oxford: both settings are cloistered, academic, moody, moneyed. Oxford is known for its Classics department and The Secret History features a class of (very rich) Greek students. If art mirrors life, then we should expect similarities in other areas. Turn to look at the cast of characters. 

First is Henry, the super-scholar, a cold and calculated mastermind. Like every character in the book, he is a total self-parody, best summarised through a series of satirical vignettes. He loves Gucci out of lofty fascination: “I think they make it ugly on purpose. And yet people buy it out of sheer perversity.” Another time he quips a helpful historical backlog to flesh out his brainstorming (“The Persians were master poisoners”, he explains, while strategising ways to murder his friend.) He is so engrossed in his own academic world that he has never even heard of the moon landing. (“The others had somehow managed to pick this up along the way,” adds Tartt pithily.) Brainy and commanding, he’s the one who leads the central murder plot. 

This is what Tartt has to say about Henry: “Henry’s fatal flaw is that he’s tried so hard to make himself perfect […] he’s tried to hard to root out things in himself which he finds unpleasant or distasteful that he’s really managed to tear out a lot of what makes him human as well.” 

Since Oxford has a lot of nerds who have been told all their life that they’re much cleverer than the people around them, it would probably feature quite highly on a global ranking of places with the most Henrys. Of course, by “most Henrys”, I don’t just mean sociopathic murderers. There are traces of Henry in every academic genius who lacks even one particle of warmth, in every involuntarily blunt tutor who speaks with a smug twist in their voice, in every disciplined scholar who has spent so long in the RadCam that they’ve lost touch with what they have in common with others. I absolutely feel for people whose commitment to efficiency and pragmatism can unintentionally appear to others as lovelessness. Less so for those whose efficiency and pragmatism has turned into actual lovelessness.  

Second is Bunny, the archetypal dumb jock. Bunny is the source of more than half of the comedy; even in death his ironic stamp never leaves the pages. If your college has a “gap yah” crowd and a big sports team, then it probably has its own local Bunny. The narrative is a stream of constant subtle digs at him. It is specified the Greek class play Go Fish because it is the only card game Bunny knows. Early on in the book he steals a cheesecake with a taped note that says “Please do not steal this. I am on financial aid.” Chapters later, we hear him “explaining vigorously and quite unselfconsciously what he thought ought to be done to people who stole from house refrigerators.” He writes a spirited paper on “Metahemeralism”, which is not a word. With self-confidence that far exceeds his intelligence, Bunny is the college rugby player who gets into a lot of arguments and turns up to his tutorials with an out-of-charge laptop. 

Finally, there’s Richard, the narrator. Like a lot of young people – and this is not specific to Oxford – he is anxious to fit in. But beyond that, he exemplifies a very specific Oxonian social dynamic: a desire to join the elite, Classics friend group. These people lament that they are misunderstood; Richard is all too happy to agree. He is mostly blind to their flaws, partly willfully, partly because he has something in common with them. By the time he realises that they are not brilliant, he has effectively cut himself off from everyone else in his college. Freshers: avoid this mistake, pick solid friends over shiny ones, and steer well clear of his “morbid longing for the picturesque.” 

IKEA pledges £2 million to Oxford Refugee-Led Research Hub

Sian Williams
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IKEA pledges £2 million to Oxford Refugee-Led Research Hub

The IKEA Foundation has pledged an additional £2 million to the Oxford Refugee-Led Research Hub (RLRH). Discussing plans for this funding, Rediet Abiy Kassaye, Programme Manager of the IKEA Foundation, told Cherwell the grant will especially enable “the RLRH to support its premises located in Nairobi […] and the expansion of its physical presence into the Kakuma refugee camp in Uganda.”

The RLRH – launched in 2020 with the financial backing of the IKEA Foundation – aims to address the lack of refugee-authored scholarship and the under-representation of student refugees in higher education. The RLRH seeks to redistribute opportunities to individuals from displaced backgrounds to enable them to effectively develop global migration policy and undertake individual research using their lived experience. 

Only 1% of displaced people are in higher education, according to Universities UK. RLRH Research Officer Mohamed Hassan explained: “Growing up in Kakuma [Refugee Camp], I never imagined that I would return to the camp as someone who could represent what is possible for displaced people. During the outreach visit, the young people saw themselves in me […] for those who have experienced displacement, seeing someone with a shared background on the other side of the table is transformative.”

The RLRH has supported over 650 refugees in their progression into both professional and research careers. During its previous grant period, RLRH scholars produced twelve research publications, 8 of which have already been published. RLRH also expanded its hallmark academic bridging programme, RSC Pathways, which enrolled 120 students in 2024. This year, the course will be made publicly available to over 1,000 learners. 

RLRH also facilitates the ‘Graduate Horizons’ support scheme. In 2024, over 40 participants of this project received offers to graduate degrees at universities, including many who have started fully-funded master’s and doctoral programmes at the University of Oxford. Kassaye told Cherwell: “All of this has demonstrated the effectiveness of the programme and its alignment with our grant-making goals.”

Nosferatu: From Murnau to Eggers

Ruby Tipple
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Nosferatu: From Murnau to Eggers

Over one hundred years since its first screening, F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (1922) is not as terrifying as it once was, yet it retains a timeless eeriness. Max Schreck’s career-defining performance as Nosferatu inspired remakes, heightened public interest in the Dracula/Nosferatu story, and cemented itself as a pivotal film of German Expressionism. As The Count rises from his coffin, he ascends into a new genre – ‘horror’ – with all its repulsive, inhuman promise.  

Werner Herzog’s remake, Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979), continues to innovate. Klaus Kinski’s performance is a perfect subversion of the Nosferatu character – pathetic, depressed, and driven by a genuine desire for human connection. He is chilling not because he represents that lurking ‘Other’, but because he feels familiar, relatable even.

Herzog also adds material in the third act illustrating Nosferatu’s devastating impact on the town of Wisborg, accentuating the macabre horror for modern audiences. Rats swarm the town in silent, one-shot tableaus as townspeople form makeshift communities in full knowledge of the impending plague. 

The classic tragedy of Nosferatu/Dracula’s conclusion is navigated perfectly by Isabelle Adjani’s Mina, who, in her final moments, is completely and utterly alone. In a subversion of the common ‘damsel in distress’ trope, Adjani cements herself as the determined hero of the film.

Robert Eggers’ 2024 remake treads a line between tradition and imagination. Considering Eggers’ reputation as one of the most innovative filmmakers working today, there was great potential here for a special kind of heightened storytelling. He tries to foreground genuine horror and grit, and thereby, like Herzog in 1979, provide something original and exciting.

But what might have been cutting edge instead folded into convention. The cinematography was disappointingly uniform, every shot as foggy, dark, and glacial as the next, leaving little space for the beautiful mise-en-scéne of other Eggers films. There’s also grounds to critique the film for over-stylising. Eggers’ signature close-up shots in particular are overused. In such a gloomy film, obvious stylisation undermines the realism so essential to horror’s chill.  

The performances, too, are flawed. Lily Rose-Depp gives a good physical performance, but in sum appears wooden and miscast. The other actors are also forgettable: an especial shame given the caliber of the cast. Simon McBurney’s performance as Knock, although small, was a lively exception.

But these issues of casting and cinematography are not the main cause for disappointment with Nosferatu. Its greatest problem is the lack of innovation of a classic tale.

The Nosferatu story is too well-known to justify an identical remake. Like Herzog’s version, remakes need to say something new. And, sadly, Eggers’ film feels like  something we’ve seen before. The minor changes that are made (like a naked Nosferatu – the real horror of the film?) do little to reimagine the conventional narrative.

Watching the three films in close succession highlights just how one-dimensional the 2024 Nosferatu is. Compared to the impact of Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922), or the dark twists of Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979), Eggers’ timid approach made for a frustrating cinematic experience. 

Representation requires participation: A call to action from the SU

Lauren Schaefer and Eleanor Miller
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Representation requires participation: A call to action from the SU

Lauren Schaefer is Oxford SU’s Vice President (Postgraduate Education & Access). Eleanor Miller is Oxford SU’s Vice President (Undergraduate Education & Access)

Much has been written about the SU in recent weeks – some of it misinformed, some a myopic interpretation of complex realities, and some insightful. A recent op-ed, published in this same paper, raises a crucial point that has been the topic of much internal discussion within the SU: student apathy towards the SU is a serious problem. Contrary to what you may be assuming, this is not a rebuttal to that piece. In fact, we agree with many of the points raised. The op-ed is a great articulation of the challenges that the SU faces, and we welcome the opportunity to discuss them.

Common Rooms indisputably wield significant influence within the Oxford collegiate system. This is not a flaw; it’s a feature of what makes Oxford so uniquely wonderful. We recognise this, and it is why we are working to bridge the gap between the SU and Common Rooms with our new democratic structure – a Conference of Common Rooms. The SU is not interested in duplicating the important work that Common Rooms do, rather it is working to amplify their voices and causes at a level where systemic change is possible, at a University-wide level.

We also want to counter the notion that the significance of colleges and faculty in students’ lives precludes the SU from having a tangible impact. This is a misunderstanding of how the University operates and the SU’s primary purpose – faculties and departments may make academic decisions, but the SU has a seat at the table of key decision-making committees, and is funded to provide student representation at the University level.

While our visibility may sometimes be limited (especially on committees bound by confidentiality), the SU is the connective tissue, one of the few bodies that has a voice at every level – University, division, and faculty – and without our presence and representation in these spaces, there would be no formal student voice advocating in these conversations. One of the central discussion points of the Transformation project thus far has been around how we can better communicate the realities of student representation to our members and speak about the real impact this representation has on you, the student body.

The recent report on student experience at Permanent Private Halls (PPHs), written by the VPs, is an example of this. The VPs conducted research with current students and wrote a report on the student experience at PPHs, subsequently presenting it to the University’s oversight committee on PPHs. The committee accepted two out of three of our recommendations. Since then, both VPs have been invited to sit on the panel for the next Review of a PPH, which is a review of Wycliffe Hall taking place in Hilary Term 2025. This is a significant improvement from previous panels and a primary example of structural change driven by students, for students.

It is no secret that our greatest challenge is engagement. We get it. Students don’t always follow our socials or open our emails. They don’t always vote in our elections or feel connected to the work we do. But the reality is that student governance is not a spectator sport. Unlike other Oxford organisations, the SU is not here to be performative or controversial, we are not in the business of grand displays. Representation requires participation, and if students disengage entirely, the ability of the SU to advocate for them is weakened. Decisions are made by those who show up.

That said, we understand that Oxford’s demanding academic culture makes it difficult for many to dedicate time to student politics. This is precisely why the SU exists: to ensure that, even when individual students cannot campaign for change themselves, their interests are still represented. The new democratic structure is designed to make this process more accessible, responsive, and attuned to the realities of collegiate student life here, and to provide additional support to ease the burden on elected collegiate representatives.

Feedback is feedback, whether it comes in the form of attending our All-Student Meetings (next one in Week 6!), completing our surveys, or writing an op-ed in the student media. We take every point raised extremely seriously and sincerely understand the scepticism. But before dismissing the SU and its work, we encourage students to engage with us. We might be the Officers of the Oxford Students’ Union, but YOU are the Oxford Students’ Union.

We will continue to represent each and every one of you, day in and day out, from our most to least engaged student. But we want to emphasise that like a lot of things in life, you get out what you put in. Whilst we accept your challenge to engage and communicate better, we challenge you, also, to show up. Get involved. Vote in our elections, come to our meetings, fill out our surveys. Engage with us, hold us accountable, and see what student representation at its best can achieve.

Editorial note: this story solely represents the views of the writers, not of Cherwell, which takes no position.

Have an opinion on the points raised in this article? Send us a 150-word letter at [email protected] and see your response in our next print or online.

Common rooms, LGBTQ+ Soc condemn Oxford events with ‘gender-critical’ speakers

Éilis Mathur
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Common rooms, LGBTQ+ Soc condemn Oxford events with ‘gender-critical’ speakers

CW: Discussion of transphobia

Oxford University is facing backlash for a string of events featuring “gender-critical” speakers, including journalist Helen Joyce and Professor Michael Biggs. Oxford University LGBTQ+ Society (OULGBTQ+ Society) alongside several college common rooms have issued statements against this, condemning “the University repeatedly elevating anti-trans campaigners without meaningful opposition, in contradiction to its own equality policies.” 

Department of Sociology

Yesterday, Biggs was hosted as part of the Department of Sociology’s seminar series to mark LGBTQ+ History Month. An Associate Professor of Sociology and Fellow at St. Cross College, Biggs discussed his article arguing that the 2021 Census of England and Wales overestimated the number of trans people due to “the census question confus[ing] a substantial number of respondents.” 

In 2018, Biggs was found by The Oxford Student to be posting anti-trans propaganda online under the persona ‘Henry Wimbush’. Currently, he is an advisor for SEGM who aim “to promote safe, compassionate, ethical, and evidence-informed healthcare for children, adolescents, and young adults with gender dysphoria.” SEGM has been labelled as an “anti-trans” society by different organisations and individuals and in 2023, the Southern Poverty Law Centre added it to its list of anti-LGBTQ+ hate groups. 

College JCRs have issued notices condemning the Department of Sociology’s decision to host Biggs and calling for the event to be cancelled. Merton College JCR released a statement saying: “We believe that Professor Michael Biggs has proven himself an inappropriate speaker for an LGBTQ+ History Month event, for such an event would allow him to spread misinformation to a wider audience..” 

St Catherine’s College also passed a statement condemning the decision “to host an active transphobe” and called on the Department of Sociology “to not provide a platform to life threatening rhetoric that infringes upon not only the University’s own official policy, but also The Gender Recognition Act and The Equality Act.” 

Jasper Hopkins, an LGBTQ+ Representative of the College, further expressed concern over Biggs’ opinions, posted online under the persona ‘Henry Wimbush’, that “letting trans people transition and access medical care is actually an act of control ‘disguised as diversity’.” Hopkins told Cherwell: “Whilst I recognise and respect his advocating for academic debate, this hesitation around ‘diversity’ is concerning coming from the Department of Sociology’s Disability Lead.” 

In response, OULGBTQ+ Society described the University’s decision to host Biggs as “wildly inappropriate”. The Society is hosting a panel to mark LGBTQ+ History Month, encouraging students to boycott Bigg’s talk in favour of attending the panel. This event aims to “counterbalance the negative impact of (Bigg’s) talk” by providing a “positive opportunity for trans and non-binary academics to share their research with a wider audience.” 

Balliol College Philosophy Society

Balliol College’s Philosophy Society’s upcoming event with Helen Joyce has provoked a similar reaction among the student population. The talk titled ‘Everything you always wanted to know about Sex (and Gender)* *but were afraid to ask’ [sic], taking place this Thursday 13th February, will involve discussion of questions surrounding transgender activism raised in Joyce’s book ‘Trans: When Ideology meets Reality’, which was shortlisted for the 2023 John Maddox Prize.

Joyce, journalist for The Economist, has sparked controversy in the past for her sex-realist views, with Pink News revealing in 2022 that she had spoken in favour of “keeping down the number of people who transition.” That same year, students protested against her giving a talk at Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge University. Joyce stated on X that she would be “particularly pleased to see people who disagree with me turn up and debate civilly.”

Students at Balliol College have voiced their disapproval towards this event with plans for the MCR to pass a statement condemning the College’s decision to host the talk. A student at Balliol told Cherwell that the College had directed students to welfare resources to express their concerns but described it as “paradoxical that the College thinks they can fix things by giving welfare for the trauma their own decisions are causing.” 

OULGBTQ+ Society stated: “Balliol’s elevation of Joyce’s views by agreeing to let her use their space directly contradicts their own equality policy…We have requested that Balliol clarify whether their equality policy is still in place as well as their position on trans inclusion at the College.”

John Maier, a DPhil student who convenes the Philosophy Society, told Cherwell in response: “Helen Joyce’s allegedly-controversial theory that women are adult human females is arguably the natural default view in the philosophy of sex and gender. The notion that this position is not only false, but so dangerous that it cannot be safely expressed, must be one of the silliest ideas to have gripped public life in recent years. Helen and I urge her opponents to attend the event and present their own arguments, as is the disciplinary norm in philosophy and academia more generally.”

The Master of Balliol College told Cherwell in response: “The event has been organised by a student society. As an academic institution within the University, the College saw no grounds to refuse permission for the talk to take place. Freedom of speech allows views expressed to be tested through argument and debate. The same would apply to a similar event with a speaker of a different view. We understand the strength of feeling on the sensitive issues involved and will continue to offer welfare support to any students affected.”

Oxford Literary Festival

Oxford Literary Festival will also be hosting Joyce alongside radical feminist writer Julie Bindel in a sold-out event at the Sheldonian Theatre. The Festival is independent from the University of Oxford but is sponsored and associated with several University departments, Oxford colleges, and the Bodleian Libraries. 

Bindel, co-founder of Justice for Women, a law reform group aiming to help women persecuted for assaulting violent male partners, has been criticised for her belief that gender reassignment surgery only reinforces gender stereotypes. 

The talk is expected to feature “an analysis of a world in which biological sex is no longer accepted as a fact of life.” In response to this event, the Oxford Literary Festival has received backlash online and early modern literature lecturer Dr Harry R. McCarthy announced his withdrawal from his scheduled event due to Joyce and Bindel’s inclusion in the programme. The Festival received similar criticism last year for hosting gender-critical sportswoman Sharron Davies. 

OULGBTQ+ Society has called for the University to “enforce its (equality) policy with regard to events it promotes and provides space for, and ensures that trans and non-binary people are afforded fair and equal opportunities to speak for ourselves.” 

A University spokesperson told Cherwell: “The University policy on free speech states: ‘Within the bounds set by law, all voices or views which any member of our community considers relevant should be given the chance of a hearing. Wherever possible, they should also be exposed to evidence, questioning and argument.’ 

“All University events follow this policy. In the case of the Sociology LGBTQ+ seminar series, which is convened by members of the LGBTQ+ community, Dr Biggs is an associate professor in the Sociology department and is presenting, and can be questioned, on his own academic research which is highly relevant to the theme of LGBTQ+ history. The University has also provided platforms during LGBT+ History Month for speakers, including trans speakers, with a range of perspectives on trans issues, and would welcome further such events organised by University members. Examples of past speaker events include: LGBT+ History Month lecture 2024; LGBT+ History Month lecture 2023.

“Equality, diversity and inclusion (EDI) are integral to Oxford’s mission and success as a university. Our commitment to EDI sits alongside our commitment to freedom of speech and academic freedom.

“The Oxford Literary Festival is separate from Oxford University and organises its events independently.”

Cherwell has contacted Biggs, Bindel, and the Oxford Literary Festival for a response.

Full statement from the Oxford LGBTQ+ Society:

CW: TRANSPHOBIA, CONVERSION THERAPY, BIPHOBIA, INTERSEXISM

As an LGBTQ+ welfare society, we feel compelled to speak out about a pattern of the university repeatedly elevating anti-trans campaigners without meaningful opposition, in contradiction to its own equality policies, while simultaneously misappropriating the name of our community for marketing purposes.

On Monday, the Department of Sociology is planning to host a talk by Professor Michael Biggs as part of an LGBTQ+ History Month seminar series. Biggs is a director of an anti-trans pressure group, Sex Matters, and an advisor to SEGM, designated as an anti-LGBTQ hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. Both groups routinely promote anti-trans fringe theories and conversion therapy. Biggs has compared gender-affirming care to “eugenics”, said that “transphobia is a word created by fascists”, and suggested that the elevated rates of suicide among the trans community are exaggerated. He has also appeared in an anti-trans film produced by Ickonic, the production company of conspiracy theorist and Holocaust denier David Icke.

For the university to promote Biggs’ views on trans people under the banner of LGBTQ+ History Month, founded in the wake of Section 28 and intended to combat prejudice against the LGBTQ+ community, is wildly inappropriate. To our knowledge, none of the talks in the seminar are by openly trans or non-binary speakers or are focussed on offering a more mainstream academic view on trans issues. We have requested that the department apologise for including the talk as part of an LGBTQ+ History Month series, affirm its commitment to the welfare of trans and non-binary students, and commit to hosting a trans or non-binary speaker to speak on trans issues later this month.

Meanwhile, Helen Joyce, a director of the same anti-trans pressure group, has been invited to speak at two separate events, one at Balliol on Thursday and one at the Oxford Literary Festival, which uses the university logo and for which the university is providing use of the Sheldonian Theatre. Joyce has previously called for “reducing” the number of trans people in a speech for Genspect, a pro-conversion therapy lobbying group which is also designated as an anti-LGBTQ hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. She has said that every person who has transitioned is “a huge problem”. Elsewhere, she has been criticised for claiming that the global agenda on trans issues is shaped by Jewish billionaires George Soros and Jennifer Pritzker. In the case of the Oxford Literary Festival, this is again being promoted as an LGBTQ+ event despite Joyce not being a member of the LGBTQ+ community.

Balliol’s elevation of Joyce’s views by agreeing to let her use their space directly contradicts their own equality policy, which states that the college “will ensure that in the conduct of all its activities, steps are taken to avoid the occurrence of discrimination, whether direct or indirect, and to promote good relations between different protected groups”, which includes trans and non-binary people. It goes on to say that “any discriminatory behaviour, including harassment or bullying by individuals or groups, will be regarded extremely seriously”. Joyce’s repeated deliberate misgendering of trans people, which the university rightfully recognises as a form of harassment, is a matter of public record. We have requested that Balliol clarify whether their equality policy is still in place as well as their position on trans inclusion at the college.

Julie Bindel, another anti-trans campaigner who has labelled bisexuality a “fashionable trend” which she attributes to “sexual hedonism”, has also been invited to speak at two events at the festival. Similarly, last year, they hosted Sharron Davies, a campaigner against trans and intersex people’s participation in sports who has compared drag to “blackface”, again in the Sheldonian, while Sonia Sodha, who has openly opposed attempts to ban anti-trans conversion therapy, was invited to speak at the Vice Chancellor’s inaugural Sheldonian Series last term.

While the university has said that trans and non-binary students are free to go and ask questions at these events, none have any kind of meaningful opposition, fact-checking or structured debate built in—with anti-trans campaigners always setting the agenda and maintaining control of the floor—nor has the university offered trans and non-binary people an equivalent platform to challenge these campaigners’ portrayals of them. The university’s own equality policy states that it seeks to create an environment “free from discrimination, harassment or victimisation, where all transgender people are treated with dignity and respect” and that this “applies to all members of the University community, including students, staff, applicants, associate members, visitors and contractors.” We ask that the university enforce its policy with regard to the events it promotes and provides space for, and ensures that trans and non-binary people are afforded fair and equal opportunities to speak for ourselves.

Full statement from Jasper Hopkins, an LGBTQ+ Representative of St Catherine’s College JCR:

The prospect of our university hosting two people from “Sex Matters”, publicly designated as a transphobic hate group, in the same week and during LGBT history month astounds me. Both of these figures are renowned for their ‘gender critical’ (or, if we are frank, blatantly transphobic) views, and should not have space in a university which claims (and in my experience, genuinely endeavours) to protect and hold up its trans students. 

In 2018 The Oxford Student exposed Michael Biggs for his almost comically stereotyped transphobic tweets. Amongst these posts, we see him argue that establishing ‘an official doctrine on gender’ is equivalent to ‘the imposition of a single religion’. In my mind, what this translates to is a refusal to accept the dignity of trans individuals, and a victim complex at the prospect of trans people having the freedom to transition and live as themselves. As only greater evidence of this, he argues that the word ‘transphobia’ was created by fascists: presumably believing that people’s distaste at him referencing ‘ladydick’ in multiple tweets is in fact an oppression of his free speech. 

I mentioned his distaste at an ‘official doctrine on gender’, what worries me most about this, however, is that he argues it is done ‘disguised as diversity’. Whilst I recognise and respect his advocating for academic debate, this hesitation around ‘diversity’ is concerning coming from the Department of Sociology’s Disability Lead. I would hope that a figure with such a responsibility could understand the line between academia and welfare. 

The fact that a person like this is held up as a paragon of LGBT studies, enough to feature in an event designated for queer celebration, is as bizarre as it is appalling.

Why we don’t care about the Student Union controversy

Emily Henson
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Why we don’t care about the Student Union controversy

The Student Union (SU) is plagued most by one issue. It is not rent prices or unreasonable exams: it is the complete apathy of the student population. Conversations about JCR politics or the next rugby captain attract plenty of engagement — Oxford is hardly indifferent to who holds power. Yet no one seems able to muster the concern to think about, let alone discuss, the SU. To most of us, it exists as an institution that makes a bit of noise online but has no real connection to our lives — its emails are deleted, its elections ignored. And why should we trouble ourselves? Nearly all problems for students in Oxford can be drawn back to the faculty and the college. Unless the SU transforms itself in a way that makes it functional in the current University set-up, I fail to see how – let alone why – we should care. 

For those rare creatures engaged in the SU, you have to imagine this has been an intense few weeks with the President’s resignation and the abolition of the position itself. Yet I’ve heard nothing of it, whereas someone has already tried to impeach our JCR committee this term over the moving of a meeting. The news coming from the SU could be interesting – if details were available, that is. Despite having an extensive social media presence, access to our inboxes, and their own state media in The Oxford Student, the SU seems strangely incapable of communicating what it does and why.

Any information it provides is riddled with jargon, much of it reminiscent of a Soviet-style bureaucracy. The so-called ‘transformation’ — supposedly driven by a survey that only 61 people engaged with, and who were ignored anyway — perhaps speaks for itself. The focus always seems to be on increasing engagement, but how can one engage when the biggest events are so steeped in internal politics that no one can make sense of them?

Perhaps we could be more inclined to care, ready to fight through the “misconceptions” published in student media recently (to quote the SU themselves) and the supposedly unbiased information from the SU, if they had any tangible impact on our lives. However, implementing any changes on a level that individual students can feel seems near impossible.

A primary cause of this is the failure of any student-representative organisation to integrate into the wider structure of the University. Much of teaching is shaped by decisions at the individual level, with the rest determined at the faculty level. The University neither controls nor seeks to implement change in how we are taught. The History Faculty, for example, stipulates that tutors should give their students seven essays a term, leaving one week open – either with or without a tutorial.

In spite of this, in practice, it is mostly adhered to by DPhil students who could do with the week off. Faculties are removed from a large amount of teaching, especially in the humanities, opting to let tutors dictate the majority of it. Colleges view teaching as something to be organised by the faculty, as does the University. Our teaching is brilliant, with some of the best minds in the world, but functions on a system that’s simply appeared over the years, not a written set of guidelines.

The SU, therefore, campaigning for changes such as a reading week, does not have anywhere to implement them. My tutor, when discussing (lecturing polemically about) reading weeks over dinner, described them as “pointless and bullshit”. I can’t imagine him listening keenly to the suggestion of undergraduates who don’t even study his subject. If the SU wanted to fight for the introduction of reading weeks, it would have to be at the individual tutor level, and that simply is not effective. 

Hope for the SU on the non-academic front is equally misplaced. Housing, food, and welfare are among the most sought-after changes in Oxford, yet these are largely college-level issues. Even the SU’s efforts to reduce disparities between colleges achieve little. No matter how wealthy a college may be, if it isn’t inclined to solve a problem, it simply won’t. SU pressure cannot change that and the University is unlikely to implement a policy that will upset the colleges.

Any issues we have, therefore, go through the JCR. This is practical. I don’t think the SU are going to address why Hall doesn’t think vegetarians need protein, or why we can’t have live music in the bar, or why the English reading list isn’t in the library, but the JCR can. However, there is a paradox that these problems are too small for the SU, yet huge in student’s lives. To be relevant to students, you must solve the issues that matter to students. 

We don’t care about the Student Union, and we have no incentive to. Its impact is negligible, its communication shoddy, its manner self-righteous. The Oxford Union may be off-putting and similarly shrouded in insular politics, but at least they have the decency to burn something now-and-again: it keeps things interesting.

Editorial note: this story solely represents the views of the writer, not of Cherwell, which takes no position.

Have an opinion on the points raised in this article? Send us a 150-word letter at [email protected] and see your response in our next print or online.

Student Spotlight: Diana Volpe and Lina Osman on student activism

Faye Chang
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Student Spotlight: Diana Volpe and Lina Osman on student activism

With an increased focus on divestment over the past year, Cherwell sat down with two student activists involved in this work, Diana Volpe and Lina Osman. They are the presidents of Divest Borders and Student Action for Refugee (STAR) respectively – Lina serves as co-president of STAR with Tala Al-Chikh Ahmad. 

We started with a conversation about what these groups do. Part of STAR’s work centres around direct volunteering: “Students go out to volunteer either on casework, which is on-the-ground stuff of helping clients sign up for universal credit, GPs, and so on; or they volunteer with the Youth Club, which is really great as well – you just get to hang out with young people and help out.” On the campaigning side, Divest Borders and STAR are closely linked. Lina told Cherwell: “[We aim to] make sure that as a University, we divest from the border industry. There’s also the Keep Campsfield Closed Coalition that we’re a part of. Campsfield is a detention centre in the north of Oxford. It was previously closed, the government is trying to reopen it, and so we’re campaigning with the coalition to try and keep it closed.” 

The concept of divestment, particularly border divestment, has been something that’s only recently come into focus. With Divest Borders Oxford being launched in 2021, Diana talked about the initial difficulties: “For absolutely horrible reasons, divestment has [now] become a lot more known by people, but when I started, it was really hard to even explain the point of divestment and why it works. I spent most of my time explaining to people what the border industry even is, and it’s something people have never really thought about or talked about.” For Diana, this activism was closely linked with their academic work: “My PhD in particular is about the ways in which these types of outsourcing operations of migration control get legitimised in the public sphere – it’s something to that feels so insane to me, yet it’s so normalised that it’s not even controversial on a public level. So that’s the main question of my PhD: how do situations like these, that include a lot of human rights abuses, get completely normalised?”

Both Lina and Diana talked about a kind of disconnect they felt between their academic work and the real-life issues occurring in their field. Diana described it as “the ‘ivory tower’ feeling of it all”, while Lina talked about struggling with her degree conceptually, “… especially during Trinity, when the encampment was going on, and yet I’d spend the majority of my day studying stuff that I felt was so useless, so baseless.” For her, the volunteering she got to do through STAR at Asylum Welcome “was the only time when I kind of got the chance to touch down with the world… When I applied to be president [of STAR], it was kind of like trying to counteract my degree in some ways, and base it in the world.”

Diana had a similar basis for starting Divest Borders: “I decided to act locally because it’s a place in which I had the power to do something. I found this new campaign that was started by People and Planet called Divest Borders, and it seemed like a great way of raising awareness using my research and my expertise, but also using the power that I had as a student in Oxford.”

However, both had also found that using this power as a student to enact change wasn’t particularly straightforward. In attempts to contact the University administration, Diana found that their work wasn’t considered “high-profile [enough] to be receiving hostility from the University, but it’s just completely irrelevant to them.

“When we went through staff from the University and College Union (UCU), they just told us ‘This is not a legitimate channel to bring the issue to us, you need to do it this other way’, [a way] which required a lot of manpower which I did not have. It’s been really tough to convince enough people to be involved.”

Lina notes that the response to STAR has been slightly more complicated: “…as opposed to other, what the University might view as more ‘controversial’ [campaigns], the University can be very supportive insofar as [being] like ‘oh, obviously you should fundraise for refugees, or you should go out and spend your time volunteering’, but when it comes to the campaign-side, like putting out a statement against Campsfield, or divesting from the border industry – you get a lot more pushback. So they’re very happy to be tokenistically allies, but not in any material sense, which makes it really difficult, because I think then our work becomes, at times, stunted by the University.

“I want to give them some credit – I think they’ve done good stuff, I know Balliol has sanctuary status, I know other colleges have it – there is some positivity. I think the issue becomes that the University administration, plural, as an entity, has pushed back, not necessarily individuals within that administration.”

These structural limitations of the University, she argues, are simply unrealistic: “There needs to be more of an air of acceptance of the fact that Universities are generally very active spaces, and University students are very active people; these are always grounds for activism. Universities don’t necessarily have to support the content of the activism, but I think just supporting the framework is a step: let people put up posters in your JCR, or let people have meetings with you about what they want to talk about, or things like that.”

STAR and Divest Borders are ingrained in the work of the wider Oxford community as well. Diana talks about connecting with the Campaign to Keep Campsfield Closed: “I wanted to make sure [Divest Borders] wasn’t just something I kept within the University, but also had to do with local issues and populations, and the community that lives here, and has been doing this type of abolitionist work for decades. They can really bring a lot of incredible knowledge. It’s something that I really appreciate, because they are really open to hearing new ways of doing things and passing on the generational knowledge of organising and activism.”

Diana also points out specific companies within this community who Divest Borders aims to call out: “A lot of these organisations are smart about the way in which they do things, so they do a lot of what I usually call ‘rights-washing’ – they invest in other types of work. An infamous one in Oxford is Serco, because apart from the fact that [they] run private immigration removal centres for profit, they also started getting involved with managing several things around the COVID crisis, and at the moment, they run all the leisure centres in Oxford.”

The work of these organisations also extends beyond the town. A group of students within STAR went to volunteer with an organisation at the Grand-Synthe refugee camp. The work first came about when Roots, an NGO working in the camp, reached out to Lina and Tala: “The organisation we were working with focuses on WASH, which stands for water, sanitation, hygiene. They run a water point that they clean twice a day, showers, toiletries, but also a community hub. It’s an unofficial refugee camp, which means there’s no government control. It used to be the Calais Jungle, up until 2016 – it was huge, part of it burned down, part of it was bulldozed by the government – but obviously that didn’t mean that people left.”

When I first asked Lina about her reflection on the trip, she gave a hesitant response: “The actual trip… it was good.” She laughed at the uncertainty in her tone. “No, I’m sorry, that sounded really bad. On multiple occasions since I’ve come back, people have asked me that question and I struggle to describe it; I don’t know what the right word is. Because there wasn’t quite anything ‘good’ about it in the sense that it was cold, and it was wet, and one day, there was a gunshot alert at camp, one day there was a fight that broke out, one day there was a man with a machete, and we were sleeping in a warehouse with 14 other people. There was nothing quite objectively ‘good’ about the experience, but maybe ‘fulfilling’ is the word? We did a lot of work that I think was good work.

“I think for me and Tala as well, because we both come from a refugee background, it was quite a heavy experience – I mean I’m Sudanese, and that’s, I think, at the moment, the biggest displacement crisis in the world, and there were a lot of Sudanese people there, and there were quite a few days where that was quite overwhelming.”

Along another coastline, Diana was also working with a volunteer organisation, Sea-Watch, over the winter break. They told Cherwell: “Ever since 2013, there’s been a lot of NGOs doing civil search-and-rescue. They often patrol the areas of international waters that are not covered by any search-and-rescue zone, mostly around Italy. They find distress cases of people that are trying to reach Italy and just perform rescues. These are usually people that the Italian coast guard refuses to reach, and most importantly, what [these NGOs] want to avoid is for people to be pulled back to Libya.

“It was really eye-opening: I feel like even if you know a lot and read a lot, there’s nothing like being there in real life and realising the insanity of border violence in the Mediterranean – when you perform a rescue at four in the morning and you find a boat that’s been at sea, unable to make way, for three days, and there’s 60 miles of nothingness in every direction. It’s really insane, the way we’ve set up the whole ‘Fortress Europe’ system. And to think – in the UK, it’s even more violent, because we’re talking about 20 nautical miles of the Channel, and people still capsize and drown. It’s really not acceptable.”

When asked about what students could do to help, more dialogue and conversation about refugees and the border industry was high up on both their lists. “Militarised borders are not a very old phenomenon at all,” Diana explained, “but it’s become so entrenched in the way that we organise, and people really struggle to break away from it.”

Lina’s suggestions were in a similar vein: “These aren’t necessarily issues that people know anything about – I think the border industry is not something people know as much about as they should.

“If you’re willing to dedicate your time, sign up to volunteer, sign up to help us campaign, come to our protests, demos. Tell your friends about it, anything really, follow our Instagram, engage with our stuff. But also as much as we do good stuff, these are active issues: donate your money to refugees, donate your time directly to refugees, I think that’s really important as well.”

University reply: As a University of Sanctuary, we are committed to creating a space of welcome and inclusion for refugees and people from displacement backgrounds. Over the past couple of years, we have greatly expanded the number of refugee scholarships offered across the University, created the Oxford Sanctuary Community to provide cohort support for students and staff from displacement backgrounds, and established a range of collaborations with local organisations working with sanctuary-seekers.

As a University, we aim to avoid taking political positions. Our aim is to create an environment within which our academics and students can freely express their own views within the boundaries of free speech, but it is not the central University’s role to be an arbiter in political debates.

With respect to Campsfield, the University has met with representatives of the Keep Campsfield Closed Campaign. Many members of the collegiate University have signed the Keep Campfield Closed open letter in an individual capacity. When it comes to divestment, the University’s Ethical Investment Representations Review Subcommittee (EIRRS) exists as the relevant committee to consider questions relating to university-level investments. It is currently undertaking a review of aspects of the University’s investment policies.

Serco reply: We totally reject the suggestion that Serco ‘rights-washes’ running of private immigration removal centres for profit by getting involved with management of the COVID crisis and running the leisure centres in Oxford. It is an uninformed comment without foundation that ignores the facts. Serco supports governments globally, and our services span immigration, defence, space, citizen services (which included our work in support of the Government on COVID), health, and transport and Community Services (including the management of over 50 leisure Centres around the UK). With over 50,000 employees worldwide, we bring together the right people to run critical public services on behalf of our government customers efficiently and effectively. Our breadth of expertise underpins our commitment to helping governments respond to complex issues and provide essential services to their citizens. Serco has a long history of providing immigration services in the UK, and currently offers accommodation and support services to more than 40,000 people seeking asylum in communities across England.

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