Raising alarms...

I'm quite bothered by student antics.
Not the usual stuff that we engaged in, rallies, marches and the like. That all seems positively wholesome, by comparison. No, what I am increasingly concerned about is the way in which free-thinking debate is shrinking. Political correctness is straight-jacketing intellectual discourse. If a speaker at a university has views that do not coincide with the students in residence then they are given no-platform. That this should be a growing phenomenon amongst our intellectual elite is evidence of an assault on freedom of expression.
Take the case of one Imogen Wilson, Vice president of academic affairs at University of Edinburgh's Students' Association. Apparently the association's rules (similar to those of other universities) require meetings to be in a "space that is welcoming and safe." I understand rules that prohibit discriminatory language, but not a prohibition of "hand gestures which denote disagreement."
Giving someone the Vs-up, as we used to call it, is, of course, very rude, and should be quashed. But this young lady raised her arm, apparently, in disagreement, invoking a response as to whether or not she should be ejected from the room. Hells bells, what is going on? Miss Wilson had spoken out against anti-semitism, and she felt that the "safe space" rule had been used as a political tool to silence her. The insidious increase of anti-semitism on our campuses is another cause for grave concern.
All this is a far cry from my own days at Stirling University. Now there was a hubbling bubbling political cauldron. I knew it had made news before my arrival, when the Queen met with booing students when she came to visit the new University in 1972.
Apparently, there was huge resentment amongst a certain faction that so much money had been spent on painting corridors, and apparently sound-proofing a toilet ( fancy that? surely an unnecessary expense) and signage whilst there was inadequate social space for students.
By the time, I arrived, a year later, the campus, in the most beautiful of settings was well appointed.
I was drawn to the McRobert Centre, a professional theatre, in the heart of the university, not the politics.
My maternal grandfather was a communist counsellor who served on Llanelli local council. I am sure he was the only one. According to my grandmother, he was true to his principles in that everybody had a proper bath installed before he did.
Both my parents were Labour supporters and Guardian readers; so I suppose, I regarded myself as one too.
I had not been at Stirling very long before a Rent Strike was being proposed.
I was staying on campus in a well-designed room, that was hoovered every day by a cleaner, and where the duvet covers were changed every two weeks with cries of, "It's downie day!"as we slung our discarded covers into the corridor. I had seen what off-campus accommodation looked like and knew what it cost. I thought our rent was very reasonable.
With the naivety of youth I stood up in the 500 seat lecture theatre, and in front of a Trotsky student union executive (which included John Reid, a later Home Secretary) I had the temerity to say that I thought we had a good deal.
"Daddy'll pay for it!" shouted a heckler.
At which point, granddaughter of Ernie Leyshon, made her point more forcibly, midst booing I have to say.
Thereafter, as I walked through campus, dressed in the long skirts, and crocheted tank tops my mother had made me, I might occasionally hear,
"There goes Princess Anne."
There were no trolls, no spite, no recriminations for having expressed my views...
Different times indeed.