The most infamous debate in history of the Oxford Union is, by common acclaim, the endorsement in 1933 of the proposition that “this House would under no circumstances fight for its King and country”. “Abject, squalid, shameless …disquieting and disgusting” was Winston Churchill’s verdict, while The Times dismissed the affair as “children’s hour”. Now, after more than ninety years, that debate has competition in the annals of infamy.

On 28 November, the Union debated the proposition that “This House Believes Israel is an apartheid state responsible for genocide”. That the students in attendance supported this modern blood libel was not unexpected, though the lopsided result — 278 to 59 — was surprising. But that was not the main source of shame. It is what was said, by the speakers and more importantly by the members in the chamber, that will haunt us for far longer than the 1933 debate.

For while the King and Country debate rocked the English establishment at the time, the resolution itself proved to be a temporary fit of peacetime indulgence. When, six years later, the call to serve came, cooler heads and stouter hearts prevailed. Many of the undergraduates who voted for the proposition that night dutifully answered the call and fought as bravely as their more outwardly patriotic fathers had before them.

Alas, I have far less confidence that, if the students who cheered the death of Jews at the Union last week faced a test of their convictions, they would similarly come to their senses. I have listened to a recording of the debate, watched video recorded outside the Union, and heard from multiple students who were there. From what I have seen and heard, the spirit of this debate will haunt us for a lot longer than six years.

The atmosphere both inside and outside the Union was febrile. The crowd chanting genocidal slogans was audible in the chamber where the debate was, if it is possible, even more unhinged. The first problem was the motion itself. The proposition levelled the most damning charge imaginable and dared those opposing it to defend the indefensible. The opposition was set up as genocide deniers, to the obvious delight of the raucous crowd.

The second problem was the choice of speakers. It seems clear that the Union wasn’t interested in a real debate. Only two of the eight invited speakers, both opposing the proposition, were interested in an evidence-based exchange on the specific terms of the debate. The rest were polemicists and provocateurs. Two speakers, one from each side, left the debate early: one after storming out, the other after being forcibly removed.

Only the distinguished barrister Natasha Hausdorff and journalist Jonathan Sacerdoti even attempted to debate, as that art has traditionally been practiced in the Union. Had all of the participants been so committed, the night would likely still have been a debacle — that is what the crowd around the antisemitic bear pit obviously wanted — but it might not have been the disgrace that it was.

The tone was set early by the first speaker, the “poet” Mohammed El-Kurd. El-Kurd began his speech by announcing that “there is no room for debate” and ended it by saying he refused to share a platform with his opponents, after which he walked out of the chamber. This gesture has dubious precedent at the Union. George Galloway pulled the same stunt in a 2013 debate when he learned that his opponent, Eylon Levy, was an Israeli citizen.

The Cherwell’s report conveys the feverish atmosphere in the chamber for the rest of the night. When Sacerdoti attempted to return the debate to reality, a heckler interrupted him, shouting “You sick motherfucker!” and “genocidal maniac”. To be fair to the heckler, who was removed, he was just expressing the spirit of a crowd that enthusiastically applauded each calumny against the Jewish state. Jewish students said the room vibrated with hostility. 

The official speakers supporting the proposition were no better. Activist Miko Peled began by solemnly insisting that the difference “us and them” is that “we say we do not harm a child”. Five minutes later he was shouting that “What happened on October 7 was not terrorism — these were acts of heroism!”. At this point, a Jewish student intervened on a point of order to note that glorification of terror is a criminal offense. Peled’s amused response: “Arrest me!” was greeted with whoops and cheers.

The silent expanse of unraised hands spoke louder than the final vote

The most chilling message, however, came not from any of the speakers or from a heckler but from something the crowd as a whole didn’t say. During his remarks, Mosab Hassan Yousef, who spoke against the proposition, asked for a show of hands of those in the room who, if they had had advance knowledge of the 7 October attacks, would have warned Israel. Not even a quarter of the crowd raised their hands. 

The silent expanse of unraised hands spoke louder than the final vote. The vote, after all, merely endorsed an abstract and laughably counterfactual verdict against Israel. The sparse show of hands went much further. It said that a large majority of students believed that, for their country’s alleged sins, Israeli citizens deserved to be raped, murdered, kidnapped, and tortured, pitilessly and indiscriminately. 

At that moment, the debate ceased to be an abstract proposition. A room full of future journalists, professors, public servants, judges, and MPs openly and unashamedly endorsed the inhuman logic of a pogrom. And Jewish students who braved a hostile crowd to attend the debate were confronted with the fact that a sizable number of the people they sit next to in class would, in a fight between them and a terrorist organisation, back the terrorists to the death.

Speaking last and near midnight, Natasha Hausdorff summed up the debate, declaring it “a dark moment in the Oxford Union’s history”. The Union has seen dark moments before, but at least in the case of the King and Country debate the stain on its reputation was wiped clean by the subsequent exculpatory actions of its members. This time, I’m afraid the darkness that has fallen on the Union, the university, and the country is here to stay.