People living in Littleport fear being stranded after bus cuts
A spokesperson added the authority has already stepped up to fund parts of the routes under threat.Earlier this year, Stagecoach East said: "The timetabled part of this service, which is operated by Stagecoach East, will be passed over to the [Combined Authority] in order for them to find another operator to run this service."
Stagecoach East added that cuts and changes to services in the county were necessary "to keep the local bus network viable after the rise in National Insurance increased annual costs by £1m per year, putting the cost of provision up for those services already struggling to cover their cost of operation".Mr Buchanan said: "If it stops, I really will be stuck. I'd describe it as a lifeline for most people that use it."Unless you can walk the mile or so to the railway station, the bus is the only connection we've got with the outside world."Juliet Carter, 44, who also lives in Littleport, said she would be "really disappointed" if the service was cut as the train to Cambridge was "double the price".
Wendy Oxley, who said she was "getting on in years a bit", said she used the bus about twice a week to meet her friends in Ely."I'd say 75% to 80% of the time [the bus] is pretty full," she said. For health reasons she said she could not get to the train station and had stopped driving two years ago.Ms Oxley also praised bus travel for its ability to bring people together."I've found, since using the bus, I end up chatting with people and having nice conversations and finding out stuff that applies locally," she said. A spokesperson for the Combined Authority said: "The mayor shares the concerns of local residents, following Stagecoach's decision to withdraw from the number nine service."He has been actively working with officials and others to explore options on both the nine and 31 routes. "There is a Combined Authority Board meeting next week, where action on these services can be discussed. He expects to be able to say more imminently."Stagecoach East did not respond to a request from the BBC to comment.
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Telegraph
15 minutes ago
- Telegraph
My chilling decade on the front line of university culture wars
The first point at which it became crystal clear that the times were changing was when we marked the 40th anniversary of the admission of women to Selwyn College, Cambridge in 2016. I was three years into my 12-year stint as master of the college, which ends this autumn. My vice-master, Janet O'Sullivan, told students that we were inviting the women of the college to a group photograph at 2pm and then, because we were celebrating co-education, men were welcome to join us for refreshments afterwards. She received an immediate reprimand from a young man: what about people who were non-binary or those who identified as a different gender? At this point, I was not even sure what non-binary meant – and it had never been a topic at any college meeting. Only three years later, though, a revolution had taken place. A new gender orthodoxy, based on self-identification rather than biological sex, was firmly established in universities and swathes of the public sector. It was common for students across the University of Cambridge to attend lectures with slogans adorning their laptop computers, proclaiming 'trans women are real women.' A female professor recalls: 'I remember thinking when I saw a man brandishing that statement – imagine if I'd displayed a sticker saying the opposite. Would I lose my job? I felt uncomfortable about a man telling me what a woman is, even though as a mother I assumed I might know.' A distinguished female scientist told me that the worst revelation for her was the need for self-censorship: 'The scientific evidence is that biological sex is immutable, and that is scientific orthodoxy, but there was a time when I just didn't feel that I could say that.' Required beliefs These examples represent a phenomenon across all universities – and across sections of society in Britain and around the world – that spread into multiple issues of identity politics and reached its peak in the early 2020s. Cambridge's experience was less dramatic than at some other universities, such as Sussex, where Prof Kathleen Stock faced threats of violence for her views and felt forced to leave her job. Michelle Donelan, the universities minister at the time, condemned what she called 'the toxic environment at the University of Sussex', while an academic at Oxford had to attend lectures with security protection to ensure her physical safety. An industrial tribunal found that an Open University academic had been discriminated against and harassed by colleagues and management, and constructively dismissed, because of her gender-critical opinions. America went through an even more vivid and painful experience on multiple aspects of gender and racial politics, with a further and more recent escalation over the Middle East. Trans rights were only one element of what seemed to become a list of required beliefs for academics. In 2022, I took part in a webinar on these issues with Arif Ahmed, the Cambridge-based free speech campaigner who is now leading on these matters for the Office for Students. During the discussion, he highlighted some areas where he believed public debate in universities had become difficult, if not impossible. These included questioning the political aims of Black Lives Matter or the so-called decolonisation of the syllabus, criticism of either Israeli settlements or the use of force against Palestinians, and admitting support for Brexit. This week I asked a number of academics in Cambridge and beyond how they felt during that period. The words some of them used include 'afraid', 'frightened' and 'isolated', while one spoke of a 'chilling' atmosphere. A student I know felt hostility from an influential senior figure at the university because he had spoken publicly in favour of Brexit. This mattered because the leader was someone who would have determined his academic future and its funding. Jane Clarke, a recent president of Wolfson College, recalls finding herself 'in a poisonous space', caught between gender-critical feminists and trans activists who fought their wars locally on social media and then in the national press. The challenge to freedom of speech at the university became apparent when students began claiming that 'words are violence', as if disagreement were the equivalent of a physical attack. Succumbing to pressure This was compounded by universities seeking to overhaul their complaints procedures in response to pressure from activists who felt they were too weak. Under a previous management team, Cambridge even suggested that the correct response to a microaggression – a generally unintended verbal infelicity – was to dial 999 and ask for the police. The advice was rapidly rescinded, but I came across multiple academics who felt vulnerable to a career-threatening disciplinary process if they got a few words out of place. They were also worried about ostracism if they expressed the 'wrong' views. There was an attempt by the central administration, which was defeated, to allow students – and indeed any member of the public – to make anonymous complaints online about named academics, without any ability to check the validity of the allegations. Critical race theory spread across universities – even though, as a colleague from a more traditional Left-wing background said to me, 'it is a theory and not a law.' No university committee was complete without someone advocating that we should bear in mind 'intersectionality' – a spin-off from critical race theory – even though its meaning would have been mysterious to most of the outside world. A senior figure in another college says: 'Academics are afraid to offend students, but they are more afraid to offend each other.' Some of the great figures in the university got caught up in the crossfire of the global culture wars. Prof Mary Beard told me at a public event earlier this year about her social media experiences: 'I did take some nasty hits. Interestingly, a lot of those came from the political left rather than the right. And that was especially hurtful because I felt, 'Hang on, I'm on your side!' Sometimes, all it took was saying something mildly off-message, and suddenly I was being treated like a traitor […] But the idea that we all have to sign up to one monolithic cultural viewpoint is stifling.' And yet, there was always a sense that the bulk of university opinion remained in a rational place, albeit one that required the wearing of a metal helmet. I certainly found that at Selwyn. My views on freedom of speech were well known, and they were never challenged by colleagues on the governing body, and I could not have asked for stronger support from the key college officers. Most students remained phlegmatic too, and we continued to develop talented and engaging young people. The university still produced astonishing, groundbreaking research. But many of us were wary in university meetings about what we said and to whom. Somehow, we allowed the views of activists on a variety of topics to get a grip across the university, and that was probably in part because of their vehemence. Both sides in the culture wars were responsible for this. There was a zest among some on the right for hurtful attacks on trans people and other minority groups; and one head of a college observes that 'both sides of the trans debate (and Israel-Palestine) are far too easily riled up by social media forces.' But the response – insisting on ideological conformity – had a polarising effect. This was because many felt shoehorned into a position of either being pro-minority or pro-free speech. It seemed impossible to be both because any questioning of trans rights in particular was automatically seen as transphobic, and it was a policy – endorsed by the lobby group Stonewall – not to be willing to debate those rights. Silent majority One of my failures was that I never managed to host an event in which these issues could be discussed rationally, because no trans activist would appear on a platform with anyone they deemed to be a gender-critical feminist. Instead, what the university witnessed was stormy meetings where – on the rare occasions they were invited – feminists faced demands that their appearances be cancelled or protesters tried to drown out their voices with cacophonous dissent. But it's not just a supposition that the protesters were in a minority. A Cambridge vote on free speech among academics and senior staff in 2020 resulted in a thumping majority – 86.9 per cent in favour – for advocates of the position that we should 'tolerate' views we disagreed with rather than, as the university preferred, 'respect' them. But Prof Ahmed, who led the campaign for freedom of speech, noted that this was in a secret ballot. He had much more difficulty getting colleagues to put their heads above the parapet to get the referendum launched in the first place. And it was understandable that the silent majority kept their heads down. A recent alumnus told me: 'I've come to realise that the university monoculture was really much worse than I appreciated at the time, as most views that would draw opprobrium would be considered quite middle of the road when venturing outside the academic bubble. This results in a narrow band of acceptable views that are extremely out of kilter with the wider country. This narrow band is fast-changing, which serves as another way of enforcing conformity, with new language and terminology to learn, and unspoken rules to memorise.' Another former student of mine, Christopher Wadibia, is an American who describes himself as 'a compassionate conservative'. But when he moved into an early career academic post in Oxford, he felt he had to keep his views to himself for a while. 'When I started at Oxford I made a decision not to express ideas that I knew would be interpreted as conservative because I thought there was a risk that I would be excluded from some teaching, research and public speaking opportunities.' Soon, however, he settled in and felt better able to say what he thought – and, as proof of his increased confidence, he took to a public platform with me in Cambridge last November to explain why he had voted for Donald Trump in the presidential election. It's a fair bet that almost nobody in the room would have followed suit. Recent improvement All the same, this points to a cheering truth. Times are changing again, and the picture is becoming healthier, as illustrated by last week's election of Chris Smith as chancellor of Cambridge, after he stood on a platform of promoting and safeguarding free speech. Some of this, again, is about society. Our undergraduates gave their pronouns when they introduced themselves at student leaders' dinners in the early 2020s, but for the past couple of years they haven't. At Wolfson College, Cambridge, Jane Clarke was pleased that her students, ground down by the internal strife, set up a 'Discourse Society' to learn how to share their views peaceably – with lasting consequences. She reports: 'We became a college able to hold a series of discussion events which other colleges would not or could not host.' Recently, I found that it was uncontentious to say two things to incoming students. First, that we were in favour of equality and diversity – which is both the law, the university policy and (as it happens) my own belief too. But we are also in favour of diverse opinions and free speech, and we would not be doing our job properly if they were not exposed to challenging and even at times upsetting views. Saying we stand firmly for free speech is also a line that brings applause from alumni at reunions. In the past year of our public events for students at Selwyn, we have, without incident, featured a robust exposition against anti-Semitism; an exchange about allegations of genocide in Palestine; a personal account of a pilgrimage to Mecca; and a wide-ranging analysis of geopolitical hotspots around the globe. More academics have spoken out – one of them being Prof Stephen O'Rahilly: 'For me it was the need to be able to discuss the issue of biological sex and its importance for how we structure medicine, law and society that made me feel I could no longer be simply an observer. 'I am pleased to say that I received no pushback from the university about any public statements I made.' At a national level, protecting the right to free speech in universities was the subject of legislation by the Conservative administration – and, after some hesitation, it has been substantially endorsed by the Labour government and will come into effect on Friday Aug 1. Every university and college in the land will be required to publish a code of practice as part of a duty to promote freedom of speech in higher education. And, crucially, many universities had already got the message. New vice-chancellors at Oxford and Cambridge decided that it wasn't enough to speak the rhetoric of free speech – they needed to show it in their actions. The Cambridge vice-chancellor, Deborah Prentice, who regards free speech as 'the first principle of any academic institution', launched a series of vice-chancellor's dialogues on some of the knottier issues of the day, with the express aim of exposing students to a wide range of opinions and learning how to disagree well; and similar initiatives have taken place across the sector. We had a meeting at Selwyn with academics from Yale to share experiences and coordinate the fightback. Prentice, who was born in California and was previously provost at Princeton University, says: 'Practising free speech is a challenge, and not just here in the UK. Having come from the United States, I am concerned that on both sides of the Atlantic free speech is being dampened by spirals of silence – a hesitancy to voice an opinion if we think it might cause offence. Free speech needs constant nurturing and reinforcement. It is a principle that we must uphold.' A long way to go There has been an easing of some of the tensions. The pro-Palestinian encampments on campuses, which provoked bitter conflicts especially in the United States, have been better managed in Britain, including in Cambridge, through a tolerance of peaceful protest tempered by the use of injunctions when they became unreasonably disruptive. The truth is that some students are passionately engaged with the conflict in the Middle East, but many aren't. 'Students are obsessed with the personal politics, not the big issues facing the world,' claims one senior figure. This disengagement by many, perhaps out of a feeling of impotence, is a sharp contrast to my own student days in the 1970s. It may be the reason why today's activists are losing their grip. But a colleague has a wider criticism about the culture across British academia: 'The exciting ideas in our country are not in universities. Universities are dominated by liberals, and it has been the Right in wider political discourse which has come up with the new ideas. The problem is that those ideas are not very good, and they lack intellectual coherence. But the clever people in the universities are not in the debate.' O'Rahilly agrees that 'we still have a way to go' to restore health to the dialogue in universities. He and I were at a dinner a few weeks ago which showed the opportunity but also the remaining challenge. For a couple of hours, Cambridge academics and administrators discussed the recent Supreme Court ruling on biological sex. The people around the table were from a wide range of backgrounds and views, and it was – as Stephen says – a 'polite but vigorous' debate. Exactly what you'd hope for in a university. But at the end of the dinner, one of the participants said, wistfully, that it was a discussion that couldn't be held in their college. Why not? 'Because it would tear the place apart.' But experience shows that not having the discussion is by far the worst option. Views get better if they are tested; and communities, especially universities, are stronger if they are open and free in their thinking. Rights, as we saw with gay marriage, are more powerful if there is public consent. As I prepare to step down from my role in September, the biggest lesson from more than a decade in Cambridge is about the peril of trying to impose conformity on a university whose driving force should be academic freedom. Britain needs universities to guarantee our future, and they cannot do that if they shackle themselves to the campaigns of the moment.
The Independent
2 hours ago
- The Independent
Released Israeli-Argentinian hostage fights for brother still held by Hamas
As Israel has announced steps to increase humanitarian aid in Gaza, a former Israeli-Argentinian hostage knows first-hand what that could mean for captives of the Hamas militant group. Iair Horn, who spent a year and a half in captivity, said hostages could tell when more aid was available because they would receive more food. 'When there's less food, then there's also less for the hostages. When there's aid, there's a possibility you might get a cucumber,' said Horn, 46. Hamas militants kidnapped Horn from his home at Kibbutz Nir Oz, along with 250 other people, during the group's cross-border attack on Oct. 7, 2023. He was released Feb. 15 after 498 days in captivity. For most of that time, he was held in an underground cell in a tunnel with several other hostages, including his younger brother Eitan Horn, 38. Since his release, Iair Horn has deferred his own recovery to fight for the release of his brother and the other 50 hostages still being held in Gaza, 20 of whom are still believed to be alive. Negotiations collapse again Hearing that negotiations between Israel and Hamas were once again frozen over the weekend was devastating for his family, Horn said. Since his release, he has made four trips to the U.S., where he has met with President Donald Trump and other American leaders to plead for the hostages. He wasn't sure what to make of a comment Thursday by Trump special envoy Steve Witkoff, who said the U.S. would consider 'alternative options' after recalling its negotiating team from Qatar. 'I'm not a politician, and I'm not getting into those things because I don't understand them. What I understand is very simple: I want my brother back,' Horn said. 'My life is frozen right now. I live in a nightmare that every day they are kidnapping me anew,' he said. Horn, who is single, is currently living with family in Kfar Saba, a city near Tel Aviv. Previously, he worked a variety of jobs in Kibbutz Nir Oz, including in education, maintenance and the kitchen. He also ran the kibbutz pub. Every morning when he opens his eyes, he must think for a few moments to remember where he is, to remember he is no longer a hostage, Horn said. He's gained back some of the weight he lost in captivity, but his list of physical and psychological ailments is long. He does not know where he will live, what he will do in the future, or if he will go back to Nir Oz. The only thing he concentrates on is advocating for his brother's release. 'I never imagined that another half year would pass without seeing my little brother,' he said. Israel's war in Gaza has killed more than 59,700 Palestinians, according to Gaza's Health Ministry. The agency's count doesn't distinguish between militants and civilians, but the ministry says that more than half of the dead are women and children. The U.N. and other international organizations see the ministry, which operates under the Hamas government, as the most reliable source of data on casualties. Brothers were held together Iair Horn is the oldest of three brothers who grew up in Argentina. He moved to Israel at age 20, followed by his middle brother, Amos. Eitan and their parents, long divorced, joined later. On Oct. 7, 2023, Eitan was visiting Iair at his home on Kibbutz Nir Oz when the sirens started, warning of incoming missiles. Soon they received text messages alerting them to the fact that militants had infiltrated the kibbutz. Militants entered Iair's home, where he was hiding in the reinforced safe room with Eitan. Iair attempted to hold the door shut until they began shooting through the door. Then he decided to surrender, worried they might use grenades or stronger weapons. Iair, who was immediately taken into Gaza, didn't know what had happened to his brother until around the 50th day of his captivity, when the militants placed the two brothers together, and Iair realized Eitan had also been kidnapped. Being together, even in their small, barred room, was a stroke of luck, Iair said. 'There's a lot of time with nothing to do, and we talked a lot about our childhoods, about elementary school, about the youth movement, about soccer,' he said. 'We tried to keep our sense of humor. He would ask me, did you brush your teeth? And I'd ask him, did you wash your bellybutton?' 'It was silly things, silly things between siblings that I don't have right now. Many times it happens now that something happens to me on the street that I have to tell him. And I can't, and I'm so sorry,' he said, starting to cry. Captors tell hostages that two will be released For most of the time, the Horn brothers were held with three other hostages. In early February, their captors came to the group of five and said that two would be released. 'For four days, we're looking at each other and wondering if we can decide or influence the decision,' he said. After four days, the captors arrived with a small plate of snacks and a video camera. They announced that Iair and another hostage would be leaving and filmed the emotional interaction between Iair and Eitan. Hamas later released the video on its social media channels, as it has with other videos of the hostages filmed under duress. Their last night together, Eitan and Iair laid side by side in silence. 'There was no conversation because in your head you don't want to have a conversation as if it's your last conversation,' Iair Horn said. When their mother, Ruty Chmiel Strum, learned that Iair was coming out but not Eitan, she said to anyone who would listen, "Why are you doing this to my sons? They are together and you're separating them?' No one gave her an answer, but Strum clung to hope that Eitan would be released soon. Now she mostly ignores news about the negotiations, tuning out the information to protect herself. She said she raised her three boys 'as a single body,' and their support for each other is unshakable. She clasps Iair's hand as they sit together on the couch in her home and looks forward to the day Eitan returns. 'I will feel the hug of my three sons, enjoying life, each supporting each other," she said. "It will happen.'
The Guardian
6 hours ago
- The Guardian
Sanction Israel and recognise Palestine: here are the steps Australia should take next on Gaza
The Albanese government has given its clearest statement yet on the legality of Israel's conduct in Gaza. Anthony Albanese told the ABC at the weekend that it was a breach of international law and a breach of humanity. Evidence of Israel's violations of international law has been compelling for some time. Examples include the indiscriminate targeting of the Palestinian population, a failure to apply the principle of distinction between Hamas and Gazan residents, and a breach of its Geneva convention obligations to provide food, medical supplies and aid to civilians. It is rare for an Australian prime minister to make such unambiguous statements on international law matters, especially with respect to the conduct of a friend such as Israel. These comments are the latest in a series of observations over the past year, whether they have taken the form of joint prime ministerial statements with Canada and New Zealand, or the statement issued on Friday which said: 'Gaza is in the grip of a humanitarian catastrophe. Israel's denial of aid and the killing of civilians, including children, seeking access to water and food cannot be defended or ignored.' The time has come for the Albanese government to do more than just issue statements decrying breaches of international law. Ample scope exists under Australian law to impose autonomous sanctions on Israel to make clear its objections to the ongoing Gaza conflict. On 10 June Australia joined Canada, New Zealand, Norway and the United Kingdom in sanctioning Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich for inciting violence against Palestinians in the West Bank. If those two Israeli ministers can be sanctioned for inciting serious abuses of Palestinian human rights, what further steps can be taken against Israeli ministers responsible for directing actions in direct violation of international law? Australia has imposed autonomous sanctions in relation to Russia in response to the 'Russian threat to the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Ukraine'. There is no legal reason why similar sanctions cannot be approved with respect to Israel's threat to Palestine and Palestinians. Israel's conduct in Gaza has also placed the spotlight on Australia's position on the recognition of a Palestinian state. The prime minister also made clear at the weekend that Australia will not recognise Palestine while Hamas is in power in Gaza, and that Australia will not recognise Palestine as a 'gesture'. Nevertheless, President Emmanuel Macron's announcement that France will recognise Palestine at the September meeting of the United Nations general assembly will continue to place a spotlight on the Albanese government's response given the momentum towards Palestinian recognition over the past year. About 147 states now recognise Palestine. Those that do not are predominantly from Europe in addition to Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the United States. Four traditional criteria are applied to recognition of a new state. First, a defined territory. Palestine comprises the West Bank, Gaza and parts of Jerusalem. While those borders are well known they are contested by Israel. However, contested borders cannot be used as an effective block and many countries have disputed borders, as is evidenced by the conflict between Cambodia and Thailand. Second, there must be a permanent population which is satisfied by the Palestinian peoples who predominantly occupy Gaza, the West Bank and Jerusalem. Third, there must be a government which is met by the Palestinian Authority. While the PA may have limited capacity to control affairs in Gaza as that territory is under Israeli occupation an allowance can be made for that exceptional situation. Finally, there must be evidence of the ability to enter into international relations. That is occurring through the PA's engagement with UN institutions including the general assembly and the international criminal court, and through the many other states that recognise and engage with Palestine. That Palestine has yet to attain the formal status of a UN member is not determinative of its status. Switzerland only joined the UN in 2002 after a long period of remaining distant due to its desire to maintain neutrality. Any decision by the Albanese government to recognise Palestine would only come after cabinet endorsement. Unlike other decisions to recognise new states such as Timor-Leste or South Sudan, Australia's recognition of Palestine will generate fierce domestic political debate. Albanese has made clear that recognition of Palestine is conditional on Hamas having no ongoing role. Yet in the short term it remains improbable that Hamas will be completely removed from Gaza or as a force in Palestinian politics. Any recognition of Palestine by Australia could include a special condition which made clear it would not politically recognise an Hamas-led Palestinian government. This would be a break from Australian recognition policy towards new states but would acknowledge the exceptional nature of the Palestinian question and that Australia would not tolerate any form of Hamas Palestinian government. Anthony Albanese insists that Australian foreign policy is made in Canberra and not overseas. However, with respect to both sanctioning Israel over Gaza and eventually recognising Palestine there is every prospect that Australia will seek to avoid any Trump administration fallout in the form of increased unilateral tariffs on Australian exports. Donald Rothwell is a professor of international law at the Australian National University
