Monday 9th June 2025
Blog Page 816

Corpus seconds finally triumph

Dermot Cudmore
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Corpus seconds finally triumph

Whilst Corpus Christi continues its quincentenary celebrations, a piece of sporting history was made. The 2nd XI side, led by captains Jack Counsell and Maxi Brook-Gandy, won their first game in over two years, with an emphatic 7-1 victory over local rivals Christ Church.

An ominous start to the season saw Corpus defeated by Benet’s 8-4, as the monks from the suburbs competed in their first ever game in college football. This was followed by an early Cuppers exit after only eight Corpus players were available.

Fresher James Dempsey, known around college as ‘Sports Guy’, was man of the match having signed for the side in a drunken deal the night before at Ahmed’s kebab van. Two goals and an assist, including a delightful near-post twenty-yard curler that somehow managed to bounce over the keeper’s head on its way in, marked an astounding debut.

Tactics and endeavour proved critical in a game of little skill. Christ Church tactics composed of sending up hopeful long balls to two tall strikers. However, despite constant chat, they provided no threat to the Corpus Christi back line.

The 4-5-1 formation, however, allowed Corpus to dominate the midfield. The Merton Street college seemed to want it more and this dedication was exemplified by fifth goal.

Counsell, chasing an over-hit through ball, clattered into the keeper, and knocked the ball out of his hands.

Showing the predatory instinct for which he is now famed, the skipper slotted the loose ball into the net, and then jogged towards the centre circle with such confidence that the referee – who happened to be from Corpus – had no choice but to award the goal.

To truly understand the importance of this result, consider the historical relations between the two colleges.

Encircled by their larger neighbour for many centuries, exacerbated by the annexation of the garden in the 19th century, Corpus has often felt like an underdog in size, if not in spirit.

Even though they lack the resources of Christ Church, with two Corpus players in basketball tops juxtaposed with the matching socks of their opposition, Corpus won the battle between the worst two teams in college football.

It was a fixture steeped in history, but a fixture that gives hope for a new generation of sub-par Corpuscle footballers.

Protesters rally for decolonisation outside Rad Cam

Jack Hunter
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Protesters rally for decolonisation outside Rad Cam

Around 100 demonstrators gathered outside the Rad Cam on Friday night to call on Oxford University to commit to a “long-term project of decolonisation at all levels”.

The rally, organised by Oxford SU campaign groups, Common Ground and others, intended “students and staff to come together in public declaration of their support for the goal of decolonising Oxford university.”

Representatives from Oxford SU Campaign for Racial Awareness and Equality, Class Act, Rhodes Must Fall (RMF) and Common Ground all delivered speeches, interspersed with chants of “De-, de-, decolonise!” – the shout popularised in Oxford by the RMF movement.

Protesters displayed banners reading: ‘Decolonise Now’ and ‘The white curriculum thinks for us so we don’t have to’.

“Liberating the university… is about putting an end to establishment ideology – an ideology that has done irreversible harm,” Labour councillor and DPhil student Dan Iley-Williamson told the crowd. “Oxford is the training ground of the establishment. But the University doesn’t have to take this role – we can demand real action on access, and we can demand that our curricula are reformed.”

Julia Hamilton.

The protest was largely focused on reforming Oxford’s access and curricula, with many speakers citing statistics obtained by Labour MP David Lammy which showed almost one in three colleges did not admit a black British A-Level student in 2015. It was claimed the figures “expose how Oxbridge systematically fails BME and socio-economically disadvantaged students in its admissions process and throughout their time at university.”

However demonstrators also continued to call for the removal of the statue of British imperialist Cecil Rhodes outside Oriel College.

Blue Weiss, a member of the Common Ground campaign group, told Cherwell: “(The aim is) to challenge the representation of students, to decolonise the curriculum and ensure that it is representative, to challenge iconography around the city, and to educate students within Oxford about what colonialism is and what it means to challenge that.”

He added: “What we’re trying to do is demand real action by the University, rather than allow them to do one tokenistic thing to buy off the whole movement.”

Photo: Julia Hamilton.

The rally followed similar initiatives at Cambridge where students have recently launched a working group to discuss possible changes to the English curriculum.

An Oxford University spokesperson has previously stated: “Oxford University is a welcoming, tolerant and diverse community. More than 25 per cent of our undergraduates and postgraduates are black and minority ethnic students. We are continually working with students on many initiatives towards greater inclusion and representation for all ethnic groups.”

A beautiful, entrancing mess of an album – with a piercing social critique

Clara Dijkstra
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A beautiful, entrancing mess of an album – with a piercing social critique

Benjamin Clementine’s most recent album I Tell A Fly was released at the end of last month and listening to it is quite an unprecedented experience. This is the artist’s second album, following his mercury prize winning debut album At Least For Now. In an interview with Kate Mossman for The Guardian, Clementine claimed that he knew this album would not sell as many copies as the first one. This is perhaps due to the challenge it poses to the listener’s ears, but if you stick with it I guarantee it will be worth it. I Tell A Fly is possibly the furthest from easy – listening music as one could imagine – it is a fully immersive experience, full of unexpected twists and turns, a ball of energy that does not fit into any defined genre.

The album somewhat confusingly opens on a ‘Farewell Sonata’, which introduces his psychedelic spin on classical music, with piano layered on harpsichord phrases. This makes I Tell A Fly something of a rock opera, slightly reminiscent of Queen in its theatricality but with a pinch of subtlety and a message about global politics. Clementine drew his inspiration for this album from a line on his American visa that described him as an “alien of extraordinary abilities”. We hear this clearly on ‘God Save the Jungle’, the dark and slightly ominous second track, as well as in ‘Jupiter’, a song that stands out from the rest of the album through its soul influences and comparative simplicity, and has the line “Man’s an alien passing by… Back home in Jupiter things are getting harder”. Contrasting attitudes towards immigration in general stands out as a theme Clem- entine wants to communicate, clearly expressed in ‘(Everyone Said Come In) By the Ports of Europe’, as well as the line “the barbarians are coming” on the closing track ‘Ave Dreamer’.

Bullying and discrimination is also a clear theme of this album, seen in possibly the most unique and jarring track ‘Phantom of Aleppoville’, which tells the story of “Billy the bully” and contains one of my favourite lines: “For me the difference between love and hate/Weighs the same difference between risotto and rice pudding”. This song is a poignant poetic experience, mixing eerie harpsichord phrases, bursts of shrieks, and lyrics akin to slam poetry.

Snippets of Clementine’s life also become apparent throughout this album. At times the poetry of the lyrics become a little lost under the layers of soaring choruses and harpsichord, we hear French in ‘Better Sorry Than safe’, referencing the time he spent nearly homeless in Paris. His strict religious upbringing also seems to have an influence, seen in the rhythmic and repetitive chanting that makes these songs so hypnotising. He was forbidden from listening to popular music as a child, and we see the importance of classical music in this album especially in ‘Paris Cor Blimey’, where he borrows and plays on a phrase from Debussy’s Clair de Lune.

Ultimately, the word ‘pandemonium’ that Clementine repeats on the track ‘Paris Cor Blimey’ quite accurately characterizes this album: it is a beautiful, entrancing mess.

Caring about O’Mara’s past is not pedantic – it’s our duty

Benedict George
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Caring about O’Mara’s past is not pedantic – it’s our duty

At one time or another, everyone performs a role. At school, our teachers lead us out into the streets and told us that we represent the school and should be on our best behaviour. As we grow up, that situation is replayed.

The characters may change, but the principle remains the same. When we represent people, they have expectations of us. As long as we wear their badge, our behaviour has consequences for them.

The position of politicians, with their private lives under scrutiny, is only as unusual as the responsibility they have undertaken. An MP’s jersey is multicoloured: it carries their constituents’ stripes and their party’s. If they reach the cabinet, they get 65 million tiny chevrons on their sleeves – one for every citizen.

What then could indicate ineptitude or infidelity? With that question in mind, it’s a little easier to see through the media’s attempts to pry into politicians’ pasts and private lives.

For example, it may seem distinctly unfair for journalists to trawl through the detritus of a politician’s historical online activity.

But in the case of politicians, nuances of character can make or break credibility.

The case of Jared O’Mara is a good example of the constructive contribution that the news media can make by revealing the relevant elements of politicians’ private lives.

His misogynistic online comments cast doubt on his sense of equal responsibility for all voters regardless of gender, and on his commitment to the Women and Equalities Committee.

The interests of certain sections of the electorate rest on the requirement that politicians should not hold the attitudes he displayed, and that requirement can only be imposed through the removal of politicians who fall short. Only by such means can the public interest be maximised.

There is a kind of prying that does seem unfair. The news media faces no greater incentive to unearth and publish the role-relevant misdemeanours of politicians’ pasts than to reveal irrelevantly shocking or sensational stories from their private lives.

To act to achieve the latter is problematic, but we can usually identify the line at which public interest and media influence be- come problematically merged.

The social role of the media in this case was to fill the gaps left by the normal party vetting process. That’s a part which will be useful in other cases too, and one it will naturally play as it avidly seeks stories. It will serve the public good as far as it does so. When it oversteps the boundary of political relevance, however, it will treat politicians unfairly and muddy the waters of electoral freedom.

Love Oxland: ‘I only hope she wasn’t freaked out by my swearing at a racist heckler’

Lucy Zhu and Martha Raymer
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Love Oxland: ‘I only hope she wasn’t freaked out by my swearing at a racist heckler’

Lucy Zhu

Third Year, PPE

Lincoln

Since I had never been on a blind date before this one, I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of awkwardness and uncomfortable silence. I found out Martha was a fresher and was really impressed by her confidence so early on in her Oxford life (even though she hasn’t been to Hassan’s yet, so essentially hasn’t matriculated). Hopefully my embarrassment at being an irrelevant third year didn’t come through too aggressively, even though I became increasingly mortified by how much more on it she seems to be than I ever was as a fresher. Despite our opposing views on ABBA, Emma Watson and Plush, I think we managed to resolve our differences amicably, and I only hope she didn’t get too freaked out by my swearing at our racist hecklers at the end.

What was your first impression?

Fresh faced first year

Chat?

Quietly confident

Any awkward moments?

Screaming obscenities at a racist

 

Martha Raymer

First Year, History

Worcester

While some may call it institutionalised sharking for the sake of representation, I’d say the vibe of my date with Lucy was more ‘friendly chat for the sake of procrastination’. It is unfortunate that we both breathed in enough motorcycle fumes to take at least a year off our queer lives, since that makes one less year of defying heteronormativity. The date itself was – I assume – far tamer than my almost-felony-committing, 98% extroverted date is used to, but it worked for a motivational chat. I’ve got to keep on top of my work, drink plenty of water, go to my lectures, and remember to have fun. This ‘mothering’ did not leave her dark side completely obscured though: little did I anticipate a love of Dodie Clark and – although profusely denied – a penchant for poofy yellow dresses.

What was your first impression?

Way too hot for me

Chat?

Mainly her to be fair

Any awkward moments?

The selfie, definitely the selfie

 

“You know it’s the centenary of the Russian Revolution, right?”

James Tibbles
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“You know it’s the centenary of the Russian Revolution, right?”

Russia baffles me. Its systems of everyday life combine regularity and inefficiency, it drowns in bloodboiling amounts of bureaucracy, and in the week running up to the centenary of the Russian Revolution, the people and the press are ticking along as normal.

“You know it’s the centenary of the Russian Revolution, right?” I asked my Russian friend in a spontaneous evening phone call. His reply was an indecisive “I don’t know, probably, yes.” I didn’t expect him to be digging out the red banners and pitch-forks, but I certainly anticipated a slightly more affirmative response. I thought it would be exciting to be in Russia for the centenary of the Russian Revolution, but I have found myself wishing I was back in the UK where the efforts are much more exciting. Yet, this contrast between Britain’s intellectual “celebration” and the Russians’ lukewarm response to the anniversary has left me questioning the nature of my excitement. The hype generated by a centenary in Britain seems to be mere intellectual enthusiasm than genuine commemoration. Every few years, popular culture goes crazy over a date of significance and we let our closeted historians into the open only to bury them back again until the next noteworthy event comes along. This year it is the turn of the Russian Revolution to be dusted off and whipped up for mass consumption.

In Russia, however, that fervour is exactly why remembering such an event is dangerous. For the Western world, talk of a ‘revolution’ has become something of a light-hearted, left-wing joke. The word has come to signify the power of the people to incite positive non-violent change, but in Russia, revolution still carries the threat of instability and uncertainty. Just recently, opposition leader Alexei Navalny incited anti-government demonstrations across Russia on the birthday of Vladimir Putin, and, again, I found myself shocked at the lack of awareness among Russians themselves. When I stated the occurrence of these meetings at a dinner party, one man shut down another’s question by suggesting that these ‘silly people’ probably just want a revolution. End of discussion. Or, rather, there was no discussion to be had.

It is not that the Russians don’t like a good debate. In fact, they love one as much as the British, but democracy in Russia is still young, and pro-government propaganda is constantly dripped into the bloodstream of Russian life. Only two years ago, the Boris Yeltsin Centre was built in Yekaterinburg with the aim of celebrating Yeltsin’s role as the father of post-Soviet democracy. While it is an impressive museum, I couldn’t help thinking it was more ‘An Ode to Our Amazing Government’ than a service to public interest.

On the one hand, the 1990s saw many successful developments in areas like art and technology. On the other hand, the introduction of modern democracy was met by swathes of violence and unrest. The museum’s proposed antidote to this social instability is an unbearably unsubtle video which hypnotically proclaims the slogan “the government will always guarantee your freedom.” The message is loud and clear: freedom can only be upheld with complete submission to authority. And there lies the major difference between the UK and Russia.

Whereas Russians have always looked to a strong leader, we are used to openly criticising authority and deconstructing it. This is a tendency which is so often highlighted by the way in which Britain examines Russian history in popular culture: satire. Armando Iannucci’s newest release hits the spot with The Death of Stalin, a film that undermines the Communist leader’s rule and ridicules his behaviour. Although clearly historically unfaithful, the success of the film reveals one thing – that the British love a dictator. Why? Because dictatorships are beyond the comprehension of our Western minds. Britain has never felt the full effects of true authoritarianism, and because of this, the Soviet state feels like something out of a fantasy novel. Hence arises our obsession with Russian history. The world’s largest nation is both familiar and alien, and as a result we don’t know how to deal with it in popular culture. Instead, we just laugh, and forget the millions who suffered (and thrived) under a brutal regime.

It is not just Stalin who has become the butt of an old joke; we simply love to ridicule Russia. Perhaps we are confused by how a heroic Revolution could have gone so wrong. Unfortunately, however, the reflex when we cannot understand seems to be borderline insensitivity. The centenary of the Revolution, and the way its resulting Communist state is alluded to in everyday conversation, exposes a deep-rooted misunderstanding of the Russian psyche; it is just that Russia is too close to home and influential to be parked in the camp of the Orient. While the Russian Revolution masqueraded as a heroic fight for mass freedom, the anticipated narrative never played out like it did in France or America. For this reason, I have come to understand Russians’ lacklustre interest. Instead they are muddling through the fear of instability and respecting those who were victims of a brutal and fearful regime. The Revolution will not be ‘celebrated’ here in Russia because its effects are still being dealt with. Russians do not have the luxury of serving up their history for popular enjoyment.

The illusion of choice in the land of the free

Matt Roberts
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The illusion of choice in the land of the free

Dartmouth College is one of the oldest institutions of higher education on the North American Continent, nestled in the verdant New Hampshire countryside in a crook of the Connecticut River. The college was founded in 1769, originally intended as a cornerstone of a proselytising mission to convert the indigenous population of New England. The tiny town of Hanover, with a population of 12,000, is comprised of a single high street, and utterly defined by the college which grows like a vast carbuncle out of it.

I was lucky enough to spend my summer at Dartmouth, on an exchange programme run by my college. The teaching style was the biggest shock – as a Liberal Arts college, all students take three subjects every term, as widely ranging as History, Chemistry and Psychology. What’s more, there are no big final exams at the end of your degree, as every class is examined cumulatively every single term. However, the change that hit hardest was the food, which was utterly bizarre.

Initially, food at Dartmouth seemed like a sort of dream – an all-you-can-eat buffet all times of the day, a boutique bakery at the entrance of the library, a late night cafe with fried chicken and smoothie machines. All of this food could be eaten anywhere on campus, including inside the libraries, which took a novel Google Campus feel, with beanbags, sofas, whiteboards and, most strikingly, no silence policy.

The main dining area was called ‘Foco’, a shortening of food court, because its official title, ‘The Class of 1953 Commons’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. The dining hall was vast, with a dozen or so serving stations offering endless sustenance for wide-eyed undergraduates. The predominant theme was that everything was slightly too sweet, perhaps a reflection of American propensity for high-fructose corn syrup. My highlight was Sunday morning brunch, which featured scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, crisp back bacon, black coffee, and freshly squeezed orange juice. However, for every surprisingly nice plateful of food, there was also a disappointing one – unchewably tough beef, tongue-searingly salty chili, and vegetables consistently cooked to an unstructured mush.

Whilst Foco was hit-and-miss at best, King Arthur’s Flour, the boutique Vermont based bakery, offered an incredible start to every day. Over the summer I became addicted to their caesar salads, with crisp lettuce, tart, anchovy-rich sauce, and croutons which had a hint of garlic, and a faultless crunch without the sandy texture or excess oil that dooms many croutons to the culinary wayside. Equally, their cinnamon rolls balance delicately flakey pastry with thick icing – the lightness of the base avoiding the Cinnabon density that cinnamon rolls so often suffer from.

However, the really interesting thing about dining at Dartmouth is that your options are so limited. There are a handful of fairly expensive restaurants on the high street, and the supermarket has a rather narrow selection of produce available. This is at its most apparent when it comes to fresh fruit – one of the few places to buy fruit is the small on-campus mart, where I was able to find a pitiful punnet of raspberries for $7 – I’d expect to pay a pound at most for a similar container back home. This question of cost is one of the most important underpinning the Dartmouth dining experience – everybody on campus has to opt into the College Dining plan. The least expensive meal plan costs $1,400 a term. Due to limited kitchen facilities, there simply is nowhere else to eat, so this becomes unavoidable even if it wasn’t compulsory. It is a system that only rewards eating as much as possible, as everybody pays the same for access to the buffet dining hall – I can think of a lot of rugby players in Oxford that would love this system, but for the majority it only seems to lead to unnecessary waste, and unnecessary cost.

Dough we really need another pizza place?

Cat Bean
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Dough we really need another pizza place?

So, Oxford appears to have landed itself a brand new chain restaurant. Given both that I am a committed foodie, and that I consider Italian cheeses to stand above nearly any other food, I should find the arrival of Franco Manca on George Street an event of interest – perhaps even excitement. This being said, we Oxonians appear to be living at a tipping point over land use in the city centre. First, Wahoo departed. For a while, Cellar appeared to be on its way out. Upon finding out about the new restaurant, my response instead was one of trepidation. But, I opted to enter Franco Manca with an open mind, and let its food and atmosphere sway me instead.

The George Street restaurant is certainly doing a valiant job with the space given, but the shallow room was quickly overcrowded, and I found myself squeezed between a friend and a fire extinguisher, a little uncomfortable for most of the night. This said, I’m certain that on a less crowded evening the smaller restaurant size would cease to be a problem.

 

There was a heavy emphasis on wine on the evening we visited – the sommelier personally came to visit our table to dispense various bottles – and several were particularly highlighted as Sicilian. One of my favourites was described as a “sourdough wine”, perfectly complementing the sourdough garlic bread that we had as part of our starter. The dryness and slight sour hint of the wine accentuated the twice-fermented sourdough pizza and garlic bread, working very well together.

 

Curiously, our wine was also a perfect complement to the cured meat presented as part of the ‘Sharer Platter’, which had an unfortunately perfumed taste. All sins were atoned for when garlic bread and buffalo mozzarella arrived at our table, which was a triumph. And it wasn’t even the best dish we had. That honour instead falls to the Burrata Pugliese, a mozzarella filled with cream. This, combined with a pesto to complement the cream and curd of the cheese, left my taste buds sated. After a trip to Florence in the summer vacation, I’ve had a yearning for a decent buffalo mozzarella on this side of the channel – this cheese alone is worth a visit to Franco Manca. The vegans on our table were also satisfied by their combination of artichokes, asparagus and other grilled vegetables, although these did arrive noticeably later than their meat counterparts.

While the starters piqued my interest, in Franco Manca pizza is (naturally) the star of the show. A testament to their deliberate paring down of the menu, the limited selection of toppings ensured that the sourdough bread shone through our combinations of cheese, tomato sauce, herbs, and meats. If you can choose any topping, you will not be disappointed by the chorizo.

 

Rounding off came dessert – a tasting platter of a high performing Tiramisu, a rather bitter chocolate ice cream (which was in fact an asset, cutting through the sickliness of the other cakes), amongst other less memorable dishes. The lemon almond cake was decidedly average, for example.

 

At the end of the meal I found myself in two minds about the desirability of a restaurant like Franco Manca in Oxford. I should be careful not to be unfair – aside from a tight squeeze in the seating arrangements, the meal they served us was absolutely delightful. The wine, cheese, and sourdough bread could not be faulted, and the service was cheerful. The restaurant made an effort to present an enjoyable evening, and for this it cannot be marked down.

 

But we do not exist in a vacuum, and a review of a chain restaurant must be accompanied by a frank look at the context in which it is placed. In Oxford there are already several popular and high performing pizza places, serving the city centre (one doesn’t even have to look beyond George Street!) and further afield alike. While Franco Manca performs well above my experience with pizza in Jamie’s Italian, for example, I can’t help but wonder if Oxford would not be better served by something a little more unique.

‘Random’ review – ‘Nuanced and fresh’

Kitty Horsfall
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‘Random’ review – ‘Nuanced and fresh’

Entering the Burton Taylor Studio to be greeted by Francesca Amewudah-Rivers slumped on a stark white chair against a backdrop of family pictures, it becomes clear that John Livesey’s adaptation of Debbie Tucker Green’s Random is not your typical Oxford Am-Dram production. Staging a one-woman play that tackles the sensitive yet urgent topic of knife crime, alongside a landscape of race, gender, and familial relationships, is certainly ambitious. However, the astuteness of every cast and crew member makes the production a sleekly emotional triumph.

There are very few plays that could sustain such an electric connection with the audience for fifty minutes without interval. Gazelle Mba’s minimalistic set design forms an intelligently understated symbol for the construction and destruction of family life. The addition of a microphone to the set after the crux of the plot transforms the speech of the sister into a court testimony, unsettling any previous domestic warmth. As Amewudah-Rivers entangles herself in the cord of this stark prop, she wraps herself in the memory of all those affected by the social uncertainty that warrants the line, ‘Death used to be for the old’. Furthermore, the precision of the lighting orchestrated by Linette Chan plays an integral role in separating both the multiple characters, and the time scale of the play, so that fifty minutes becomes a series of days.

Amewudah-Rivers’ acting is nuanced and fresh. Her performance is peppered with perfect comic timing in the first half of the play, an impressive feat considering Random’s emotional depth. Her portrayal of grief, heartbreak, and the dissolution of family roles are professional and clean. Not one word of Tucker Green’s script is wasted. The immense challenge of flipping between the characters of mother, sister, father, and brother could have easily descended into disorientation if approached by a less capable performer, but the standing ovation on the opening night is testament to her talent. The sharpness of the distinction between characters is achieved through an intoxicating blend of vocal contortion, Chan’s fluidity of lighting, and Mba’s raw set design.

Particularly extraordinary, however, is Amewudah-Rivers’ physicality. As she walks across the stage, so do we as an audience traipse to school, to work, to the butcher. The stooped back of the mother reflects a life defined by working hard and giving love, just as the military posture of the father gives gravity to the stock character of the man as the head of the house. The realignment of family positions in the aftermath of the death of a son was questioned through this physical characterisation. Amewudah-Rivers’ command meant there was not a single area of the stage that escaped becoming complicit in the performance. It would be a further challenge to her ability (and immensely intriguing if nothing else) to see the production transposed into a bigger space. The power and vulnerability her presence can evoke indicates that the intimacy required of Random would not be lost, and the impact of the play, with the chilling line “It’s already way too late,” would potentially resonate further.

With just one cast member, no intervals, and an intimate performance space, every element of Random has to flow, to avoid a staccato sense that would detract from the impact Tucker Green intended for her words. The seamless harmony between the direction, production, set design, lighting, and acting goes further than this – the script is elevated so that even as we understand it to be fiction, we cannot escape the wider context of the reality of random violence in an uncertain world.

Former Union president and Tory MP candidate accused of sexual assault

Mia Millman
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Former Union president and Tory MP candidate accused of sexual assault

A former Union president and Scottish Conservative parliamentary candidate has been accused of sexually assaulting another student while at Oxford.

Stuart Cullen, who denies the allegations, has now been suspended from the party, “subject to further inquiry”. Cullen, who studied at Christ Church between 2008-2011, was accused of sexual assault in an Instagram post as part of the #MeToo movement.

Cullen was Union president in Hilary 2010 and was the Scottish Conservative candidate for Glasgow North in this year’s general election. The Scottish Conservatives have suspended Cullen “with immediate effect” and have launched an inquiry following the allegations.

The alleged victim, who has asked not to be named, claimed that Cullen sexually assaulted her whilst she was in her first term at the University.

According to the woman, at the time she “was 18, naive, less than a term into university, and lacking in a robust support network”. Despite saying it was a “difficult post to write”, she was inspired to come forward after increased media coverage of sexual violence in Westminster.

Cullen’s lawyers have said he denies the allegations, which he considers to be false and defamatory.

In her post, she said: “I never reported him, even after he sent me a message a day or so later saying he should have been ‘kicked out of college for what I [he] did’.”

She went on to say: “I didn’t call bullshit at the time but I do now, partly because he’ll probably be given a safe seat to run for in the next election. #MeToo”

The #MeToo hashtag spread on social media in response to the Harvey Weinstein scandal last month. The hashtag has been tweeted more than half a million times and is used
by victims of sexual assault and harassment to indicate the extent of the problem of sexual violence.

In response to the allegations, a spokesperson for the Scottish Conservatives said: “We take allegations like these extremely seriously. Mr Cullen has been suspended with
immediate effect, subject to further inquiry.

“We would encourage anyone to report such allegations to the police.”

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