In defence of Faiz Siddiqui, the graduate suing Oxford University because he didn't get a first

Last month, the UK intelligentsia enjoyed a rare moment of shared levity to laugh together at Faiz Siddiqui, the modern history graduate who was suing Oxford University over his inability to get a first class degree 16 years ago. As reported in the original story, Siddiqui’s case was that his self-perceived insufficient 2:1 grade robbed him of the chance to become a top-tier international commercial lawyer. Cue much hilarity, repeated use of the term “muppet”, and widespread dismay about the opening of floodgates.

As is often the case, most commentary missed the subtlety of the issue. Timing aside, Siddiqui’s claim was not that Oxford failed in not providing him a first, but that an unusually large number of lecturers being on sabbatical at the same time left his department understaffed and put “intolerable” pressure on the remaining professors.

The university has admitted that it had difficulties in providing a module on imperial Indian history due to those staff shortages. Considering that students taking other modules and those in other year groups would not have faced these problems, Siddiqui’s claim suddenly seems a lot more meritorious.

And so the High Court has deemed that the case will go ahead, despite Oxford’s claims that it had no case to answer and that the lawsuit was being brought too late. The trial will be an interesting test of how we understand higher education, and already even the more erudite analysis has revealed a sad trend.

Stretched budgets have increased universities’ needs for self-promotion, which has translated into a focus on academic publication over teaching. In the sciences, this is skewing investigative aims, while in the arts it is leading to a growing disconnect between students and lecturers.

Recent arts graduates will attest to the fact that passing a module is often more about analysing past papers to predict questions and box-ticking to match mark schemes than it is about understanding the subject. Lively seminars and learned debate do still take place, but they’re taking a back seat to the twin threats of a focus on grades and the concept of career application.

In terms of Siddiqui’s claim, this latter point is key. Rather than simply being failed by the university, he was failed by an entire system. Somewhat naively, he expected wisdom to be imparted to him. He went to university with the old-fashioned idea that great minds would guide him through complex issues, and suffered when practical circumstances prevented this.

Of course, the Faiz Siddiqui we’re discussing is the one painted by his case – he’s certain neither to be so naïve nor such a sensitive soul in reality. That said, the widespread reaction is very telling. He’s mocked for blaming his personal inadequacies on others – but wasn’t his expectation of university actually a reasonable one? Half of an entire department was on sabbatical at the same time; this is acknowledged by both sides. And what are sabbaticals for, if not research and writing – the pursuit of private study with the end goal of publication? That so many lecturers crave this opportunity, and that the university in this case was so willing to give it to them, is the problem in a nutshell: teaching is now a secondary concern in higher education.

But rather than sympathise with a bad experience that speaks of everything that’s wrong with academic life in the UK, the response has been an overwhelming call to suck it up, and a confirmation that university is now simply a path to follow to get from A to B.

Online courses and lifelong learning may be democratising education, but university should offer something different – an esoteric experience in which knowledge is conferred, for its own sake alone. In this sense, supporting Faiz Siddiqui is not just about supporting one man’s claim for redress; it’s about defending one of the great cultural beacons of civilisation – something we should all be able to get behind.