Since we'd just taken Mods, we didn't have any Collections at the start of Trinity. I'd spent a good deal of the Easter vacation trying to write my manifesto for the VP by-election, and thinking about running for the position. By some unknown convention, everyone always leaves handing in their manifestos till the very last minute - Heenal took my content and played with the presentation for me. I'd probably cringe if I saw it now - I'd fallen into a number of traps - mainly promising things that weren't within my sphere of responsibility. For whatever reason both Tom (the other candidate) and I had kept our candidatures *very* quiet; to the extent that there was talk that there wouldn't be a by-election, because there weren't any candidates!
Listening to the Magdalen choiristers singing from Madgalen Tower on May morning is a firm Oxford tradition - generally accompanied with all night parties the previous night, champagne breakfasts and people jumping into the Cherwell. I'd been planning on getting up to listen to the singing and going for breakfast on Chestnut Lawn, but managed to sleep in - I woke at 6.20 am to the sound of bells ringing, so I got up and went for breakfast anyway - quite carefully avoiding Emma, the JCR President, and Matthew, the Information and Returning Officer, mainly because I felt a mixture of shyness/embarrassment about standing. Later that day I put my manifesto in the right pigeon hole, and just waited to see what'd happen.
It wasn't until the following day, that I learnt Tom was standing: that changed my entire outlook - I'd stood on the assumption that I'd be the only candidate, and that it'd be better for me to do the job than for the post to be empty. I half wanted to withdraw my nomination and let him do the job; I did do my best to convince myself that he was going to win (in order to protect my self esteem, in case he won).
Then came hustings - I guess that's not really a term in general use, I'm using it to mean a time when electors get to question the candidates for a position. It generally doesn't involve the candidates giving speeches or arguing amongst themselves. In a JCR context, your electorate is small enough that performance at hustings can and does make the difference between winning and losing. The seriousness of the hust depends upon the post in question - I've seen very serious and tough husts for the Welfare positions, and equally silly, verging on the humiliating for other positions - particularly the IRO (the logic being that no one should get to run elections (including chairing husts), unless they've been through a hard time themselves.
A temporary memory lapse had caused me to forget how unpleasant Heenal's husts were back in Michalemas, so I prepared for it without the faintest idea of what it'd be like. In many respects not knowing what it'd be like was good for me - if I'd known, I'm not sure I'd have stood. I'd done my best to have answers to the serious questions that I thought would be asked. Anna, Susie and Heenal tried to prepare me for what would happen - by getting me to think about such questions as 'What's your favourite sexual position?'
I distinctly remember Matthew's words to us just before we started - specifically the injunction not to lie. We were in the JCR, standing behind a large wooden counter that was higher than waist height, I was on the left, Tom on the right, with Matthew between us. That counter placed a barrier between us and our questioners; something I for which I was very grateful. The questions varied from the sensible to the silly - that sexual position question was asked, to those that picked up on specific things about us - particularly on a comment I'd made the previous term in an entirely different context, to the silly but routine questions - like 'Demonstrate .... through the medium of modern dance.'. I can't recall ever being quite so embarrassed as I was when I did that - at that time, I just didn't do dancing, even now, I don't do it very often. It was horrible; but at the same time it was a blessing in disguise - I felt so bad that nothing else they could ask me made me feel any worse. That was one of the most significant parts to the hust - I hadn't realised it was possible to refuse to answer questions; if I had done, I'd probably have refused to do that. Tom did know he could refuse, and he refused to dance.
Tom and I had a hard time of it; it was the first hust for an Exec position for that year, so people were enthuastic about it, Finals hadn't taken over the third years - it only being First Week, and in the circumstances, they wanted to make sure they got someone competent. We were made to lead others out of different exits of the JCR to demonstrate our 'leadership skills' and to play a game that involved collecting different things in the room in the dark. The vast majority of the questions were towards the silly (if not nasty) end of the spectrum, with at least one that we refused to answer, and one that we did answer; though I remember the atmosphere changing almost instantenously from being supportive of the questioners making fun of us, to a feeling that Krishnan had gone too far. He asked in that waffley way of his, 'Are you attractive, would people come to meetings to see you?' Tom answered that question first - he said yes, then it was my turn. I gave the humble and honest answer of no. That question very much symbolises the entire ethos of Merton husting: the aim is to elect candidates who aren't arrogant, who put the interests of the JCR above their own (Presidential candidates are often asked 'Would you be prepared to drop a grade on your degree as a result of being President?'), and yet can see the funny side; realising that JCR politics doesn't really matter. Showing humility is essential - Officers of the JCR are servants of the JCR - as is further illustrated by the question 'Whose JCR is it anyway?', to which the 'correct' answer is 'It's YOUR JCR'.
It was an emotionally exhausting experience; I wasn't upset, but I'd put a lot of energy into answering the questions, many of which were personal and intended to embarrass; I felt like I'd been ripped into little pieces. I'd spent most of it clinging to Matthew's words - on a couple of occassions he asked us both 'Are you OK?' - a question to which there was only one possible answer 'Yes' - I couldn't say I wasn't OK (what would have happened?); and being forced into saying 'Yes' to that question made me realise that I actually was OK. The lessons I'd learnt in my 'A' level economics class - lessons of teasing and being teased were working well - I could deal with it. Afterwards, Heenal came and gave me a hug and I clung to him - I needed that physical contact. Emma came and asked me if I was alright - I said yes, that it looked worse than it was. I had actually done very well, because I'd joined in - I'd let them have their fun with me and it *looked* like I'd suffered; I had a permanent blush from beginning to end. I've never really learnt to control my facial expressions: sometimes a single glance will tell you everything I'm thinking and not saying - I imagine my face betrayed my feelings about particular questions. I'm also fairly certain that I got sympathy votes from my own year who had never seen anything like it, and who knew me as a fairly shy, easily embarrassed person. I don't think anyone had expected I'd deal with it quite as well as I did - I'd impressed them and I got a lot of respect for it. I suppose what really made that experience worthwhile was our contract tutorial the following day: I actually argued with our tutor - and had Justin telling me that he'd never heard me argue like that.
It wasn't until the following day, actually the day of the election, when I spoke to Jos and Hannah, that I really began to understand what I've just explained - it looks unpleasant, feels unpleasant but when asked the question 'Would you do it again?', the answer was 'Yes' - it's not really that bad. It was also that day when I finally realised that I might actually win - I'd been doing my best to convince myself that I'd lose, but I couldn't sustain that. That made me feel inexplicably guilty - why did one of us have to win and the other lose? Why couldn't we both win? There was no question that either of us would be incompetent - it seemed such a shame that there could only be one winner. Anna and Susie both had work to do that evening, so I spent the time in the bar, trying to find people to be with me when the result was announced. Emma came and offered to tell me the result before it was announced - I can't remember why, but I said no - perhaps I subconsciously realised that I'd won and wanted to relish the moment a little longer. Matthew announced the results in Front Quad - I'd won, I don't remember the exact figures, but I had an overall majority of two, and I was instantly surrounded by people hugging me. That was surreal. I also felt unbelievably guilty for having won - when I found Tom (mental note - when an election result is being announced, make sure you know precisely where the other candidates are standing), I probably frightened the life out of him, by throwing my arms around him, and saying 'I'm so sorry, you're not going to hate me forever?'. Scott - JCR Pres 1998-1999 congratulated me - embarrassing me a great deal, and I was then part of a really rather random group that went to Maxwells - I think Veronika was the only person there I was at all close to, the others were hangers on/the 'in crowd' etc. That was weird. The following couple of days were even weirder; I felt eyes on me wherever I went, *everyone* knew who I was - it was rather overwhelming, but nice in its own way; I felt accepted.
Trinity 2000 - Elections, elections, part two
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