I, too, would like to be chancellor of Oxford

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When I was at university, a student ran for election promising to “abolish the menstrual cycle and do various other things beyond my power”. This taught me two things about Oxford politics: don’t take it seriously, and don’t get involved.

But now I have Fomo, because everyone else has applied to be chancellor of Oxford. Lord Chris Patten’s decision to retire aged 80 has created the deluge of submissions usually associated with last orders in the college bar.

Maybe you don’t need to offer leaders top salaries. Here’s a role they will do for free. Who wouldn’t like to give self-deprecating speeches, shortly after conferring an honorary degree on Pedro Almodóvar?

So the Oxford chancellor election is a happy counterweight to the US election. There are no opinion polls and no Elon Musk; campaigning too hard is frowned upon.

While the campaign in America teaches us that humanity is probably doomed, the Oxford election reveals truths about recruitment. In particular, it shows the limits of openness.

Oxford relaxed a rule that candidates must be vetted and have support from 50 eligible voters. So there are now 38 candidates. (A few others were blocked, including Pakistani politician Imran Khan.)

In their application statements, one mentions they’re a Zumba teacher; another says they managed to live “in France for many years.” Impressive, but hardly unique.

One statement begins: “The request is, that I should explain why I am a suitable candidate. I shall reverse this and try to understand what would make me an unsuitable candidate.” It’s unclear that this is an advert for Oxford’s tutorial system.

Even serious candidates can’t reveal how they’ll do the job. Part of the role is to squeeze Trump-supporting billionaires for cash. No candidate dares to say: While it’d be a shame for America to slide into dictatorship, at least we’ll have first-class philosophy seminars at the Stephen A Schwarzman Centre for the Humanities.

Oxford opened online voting to alumni, albeit without fanfare, so only 26,000 registered. It’s a system that could one day go wrong. Most voters have no idea what the chancellor does. (In fairness, Roy Jenkins, chancellor from 1987 to 2003, joked he did “little but respond to toasts at college dinners”.) Voters have even less idea of the current dynamics at Oxford, where neuroscientist Irene Tracey, vice-chancellor since 2023, is seen by critics as too inward-looking.

For all the openness, the winner, to be announced next month, will be one of the obvious names: former politicians Peter Mandelson, William Hague, Dominic Grieve and David Willetts, or current Oxford administrators Jan Royall and Elish Angiolini. It’ll probably be one of the two best-known and most internationally-connected: Hague or Mandelson.

Shouldn’t it be a woman after 800 years? Theresa May’s name was mooted. Given that two of her defining features are being anti-European and anti-small talk at meals, it’s hard to imagine anyone less suited to social life at Oxford.

The university lives on European research partnerships. But good luck to Hague, one of the senior Tories who lobbied David Cameron for an EU referendum, in persuading voters to look strictly to the future.

Since 1759, every Oxford chancellor has been an ex-politician. When Harold Macmillan ran in 1960, the former prime minister was warned he was risking his neck for something he didn’t need. “You might say the same about fox-hunting,” he batted back. The joy of the chase prevails. All political careers end in Balliol — or wish they did. If the losers do need any consolation, I suppose there’s always Cambridge.

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