You’re not at Hogwarts, Harry, you’re an idiot

ALEX SPENCER, Week 2: Cambridge, Grow Up 

Go to the comments section at the bottom of this article. Read something by the Stepford Student: there are definitely trolls in the dungeon. But the similarities stop there.

Every year, for four years, I’ve heard someone say how much Cambridge is like Hogwarts. Only one of those has managed to spin it into a book deal. I suppose that means roughly 75% of people trumpeting this infantile analogy eventually realise how feckless they sound and sit down.

But it always happens: someone, at some point, will point out how much they feel like a witch or wizard. So maybe it’s something that warrants some reflection.

Now I am sad

Today I reflected. And now I’m sad. Because this analogy – at least if you try and credit it as something more substantial than the wafting banality it’s normally peddled as – paints a disturbingly dystopian vision of the university.

Maybe these people know something I don’t, something which validates a comparison between Cambridge and another collection of old buildings – one of which happens to be preyed upon by a cohort of power-crazed maniacs intent on burning it to the ground.

But while at times it hasn’t seemed far-fetched to suggest that the Women’s Campaign and the Death-eaters employ the same PR firm, I find the suggestion there’s a Cambridge equivalent to a crazed, psychopathic Voldemort on his way to brutally murder us all difficult to believe.

The closest I’ve ever felt to actually doing so is when a friend ordered too many drugs and told his dealer our address, and we had to spend the night hiding in a bush while a Nissan Micra with blacked out windows drove past several times – but it doesn’t quite warrant comparison.

No patronus here

But maybe it’s not the bald man with no nose we should be worrying about. What if it’s the Dementors? I find this a little easier to get on board with. I once attended a Cambridge Defend Education rally and imagine having my soul slowly and painfully sucked out of my face might feel a little bit similar.

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Even so, it’s still not a comparison which really adds up because the Dementors work for the government, whereas it’s common knowledge that CDE are anti-establishment and none of its members will be working in a large bank carrying on the good work of screwing over the little people ten years from now. Definitely.

But none of this forms the basis for the comparisons of the omg-isn’t-Cambridge-totally-magical-and-stuff-crowd, anyway. The real reason that this comparison is drawn year-in year-out is because of gowns.

Sometimes people in Cambridge wear gowns. Witches and wizards wear gowns. Therefore Cambridge is like Hogwarts. Granted, this is definitely a stronger basis for comparison than the two above. But it’s still rubbish.

Because Cambridge types also wear other clothes. They wear shoes. They wear socks. They wear shirts. But for some reason – and I can’t imagine why – I’ve never heard anybody say “it’s really magical, it’s like being in Primark straight after Christmas when everyone’s trying cheap clothes on.” Not really a strong sales-pitch, is it?

So here we are. It’s a crap analogy. Let’s please stop using it. One you might consider in its place:

Cambridge is just like the first Star Wars film; people wear robes, there’s a shadowy, ominous figure called the Vice-Chancellor hanging around in the background, and listening to what CUSU achieve each year is approximately as interesting as sitting through three hours of strange reptilian men discussing the complexities of inter-galactic trade law.

“indulge your quirky fantasies…in your own time”

But we wouldn’t draw this comparison, would we? No, didn’t think so. There’s a reason why: it sounds really, really, really stupid. And this is the crux of the matter. By all means indulge your quirky fantasies about riding a Hedwig into an Azkaban on a punt in your own time, but don’t broadcast it around the globe like it’s something that we all hold in common.

It makes us all look like idiots, it sells an already hyper-fantasized and – frankly – damaging, image of life in Cambridge, and it distracts attention from issues that might do well to receive a little more: poor welfare, extortionate rents, you name it.

Fact is: you didn’t receive a letter on your eleventh birthday. None of us did. We’re all going to have to put our heads down and get on like the muggles we are.

You’re not a wizard Harry, grow up.