The assassination of prominent American conservative activist Charlie Kirk on Wednesday sent shockwaves around the world. But one could have hardly expected it to reverberate so deeply at the Oxford Union. The President-Elect, George Abaraonye, is facing a backlash after messaging a WhatsApp group: “CHARLIE KIRK GOT SHOT LET’S FUCKING GO”. He also posted a note on his private Instagram account reading: “CHARLIE KIRK GOT SHOT LOOOL”. From someone who met with and debated Kirk only a few months ago, these messages are deeply disturbing.

Abaraonye swiftly walked back his position. In a comment reported by multiple papers, he said: “Those words did not reflect my values. To be clear: nobody deserves to be the victim of political violence.” In the most extensive version of his response, published in the student-run paper Cherwell, he claims that he made the comments “prior to Charlie being pronounced dead” and that they were “quickly deleted upon learning of his passing.”

This episode is, sadly, emblematic of what the Union has become. It is often mythologised as a grand debating chamber where future prime ministers cut their teeth, yet in practice it is run by students who treat public political debate with a lack of seriousness. For many of us at Oxford, myself included, it has descended into something of a joke.

A vote of no confidence here, an electoral reinstatement following disqualification there, barely a term goes by at the Union without a scandal. Everyone knows that the actual debates are a side-show compared to the main interest for Union hacks: the never-ending struggle to move up the rather trivial ladder of power.

This may not be totally new. But what is new is the digital Machiavellianism at the heart of it. With the onset of round-the-clock forums to dissect university news — like Oxfess, a Facebook page for students to send their anonymous takes — internal bickering has intensified. Politicking has gotten so out of hand that debates are postponed so that the chamber can focus on the arcane electoral procedures. In November 2024, Lord Heseltine walked out of a debate he was scheduled to participate in because he was made to sit through an hour-long series of votes on changes to the Union’s rule book.

This President-Elect hails from a very recognisable cohort within the Union: the shitposter. These are members who’ve grown up in political meme culture, and whose level of seriousness is difficult to work out. In an interview while running for president, Abaraonye said: “I want to bring back the good vibes that made me want to join [the Union] in the first place.” Who knows what that means. Some have taken issue with the outfit Abaraonye wore when he debated Kirk three months ago: a t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and slippers. But if you look at Union’s full video of the event, his dress sense isn’t particularly out of place. The first student up to debate Kirk was wearing a gym set. When the Union looks to advertise itself to students, much is made of black-tie events and fancy dinners, but increasingly it seems to resemble the many other university campuses where political debates primarily serve the generation hooked on online content.

In 2023, during my first term at Oxford, a previous shitposter ran for president. But he was swiftly disqualified after being found to have engaged in “conduct that amounts to harassment, bullying, or victimisation in connection with the election”. To make matters worse, his opponent was also disqualified, meaning the position ended up going to someone who hadn’t even run for it. Abaraonye himself won the June 2025 election in the wake of reports that his opponent had faced a police investigation for harassment in connection to an anonymous WhatsApp “smear campaign” against political opponents.

The Union has long been made up by members who don’t treat it seriously. That same unseriousness is mirrored in the online political culture that shaped Abaraonye. The Union, then, has become a training ground not for leaders, but for edgelords.