Shouting down David Willetts

Last night a lecture at Cambridge by the minister for higher education was cancelled following a stu

The minister had scarcely stood up before the shouting began. "Dear David Willetts" announced a student protester, at the top of his voice, as he began to declaim a lengthy prepared statement. His every sentence was repeated by a chorus of fellow enragés seated strategically throughout the hall. There were three of them sat behind me, all shouting at the top of their voices. It was a decidedly uncomfortable experience.

Initial amusement at the unexpected interruption turned to annoyance and then exasperation as the protesters (who called themselves Cambridge Defend Education) droned on and on. Their "epistle" was low on facts and heavy on pretentious verbiage and painfully mixed metaphors. Its theme was the opposition between genuine knowledge and the marketplace -- "you cannot quantify knowledge" -- something that would have made a good subject for debate after Willetts had finished speaking. But there was to be no debate. Instead, rant (for the time being) over the protesters started up a shout of "Willetts Out!" and occupied the stage.

A few minutes later, the chairman Professor Simon Goldhill -- who appeared completely wrong-footed by the turn of events -- announced that the lecture was cancelled and that David Willetts had left the building.

Introducing the lecture, part of a series on the theme of "the idea of a university" organised by Cambridge University's Centre for Research in the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities, Professor Goldhill had stressed that it was to be a robust exchange of views. "Things will be said on both sides that will be difficult to hear," he predicted. After a fairly short address by Willetts there would have been a longer question-and-answer session at which the minister's thoughts would surely have been subjected to intense scrutiny by students and academics in the audience.

It's unlikely that minds would have been changed in the process. Government policy is not made in public meetings. But the event nevertheless represented a valuable opportunity to examine the consequences of the planned changes to university funding and student finance. As a recent Guardian profile by Decca Aitkenhead suggested, Willetts is a politician with a genuine (and sadly rare) passion for intellectual debate. In an era when most political events are phoney, stage-managed affairs with hand-picked audiences and pre-arranged questions, here was a minister willing to take part in a live, unpredictable and well-informed public meeting. Even if you disagree with his policies, this is surely something to be welcomed.

Instead we were subjected to a tedious monologue by a bunch of self-satisfied protesters unwilling to listen to any point of view other than their own. A supporter of the protest, Lawrence Dunn, said afterwards that beause the government had ignored previous protests "it was therefore time to ignore what Willetts had to say". He is of course at liberty to ignore Willetts. But the people who were ignored last night were the majority of the audience who had come to listen to -- and challenge -- the minister. Their views and wishes were swept aside by the actions of an immature and intolerant minority. No doubt they genuinely care about education. But they appear to have no understanding of or interest in the process of democratic debate.

I contacted Professor Goldhill afterwards for a comment. He told me that while protests had been expected, no one anticipated that the lecture would have to be abandoned, something that "did not happen even in 1968". He regarded the events of last night as "an extraordinary opportunity missed" -- an opportunity for many of Willetts' "most articulate critics" to challenge him directly. He also described the form that the protest took as "an absolute abuse of the freedom of the university".

The university is nothing if not a place for the free and frank exchange of critical ideas. This was an attempt to stop the exchange of ideas, and was done against the overwhelming wish of the majority of people in the hall. It was made in the name of the values of the university, but distorted and destroyed those values. It was politically not just misguided by giving all the strong lines to Willetts, but the sort of totalitarian behaviour that we all should hate. In the name of giving voice to their so-called non hierarchical and open views they refused to let anyone who disagreed with them speak. You cannot shag for chastity.

Of course Goldhill is right, as is Cambridge Students' Union president Gerard Tully who released a statement accusing the protesters of violating "one of the founding principles of University education", that of freedom of expression. It was not Mr Willetts' freedom of expression which was pointlessly disrupted last night: he is, after all, not short of platforms on which to speak. Rather it was the freedom of everyone in the audience who had their own questions to ask him or who were interested in what he had to say.

It was a sad day for Cambridge and for the principle of peaceful protest, which in a democratic society we all rightly value.

Belief, disbelief and beyond belief
Steve Garry
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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism