Warwick’s political stage: A history of dissent and decades of student activism

We often think of university as a space for learning and routine: 9am lectures we sometimes wish we’d skipped, group projects that test our patience, and a caffeine-fuelled cycle of deadlines and study sessions with the occasional panic about what comes next. But if we look at Warwick more critically, this campus is more than a collection of seminar rooms and study spaces. It is a political stage, shaped by protest and power as much as bricks and glass.

Warwick’s story isn’t just about degrees, it’s also about dissent. Beneath the Piazza, Senate House, and the Students’ Union, lies a long history of student activism that has challenged authority, redefined community, and, in some cases, changed the University itself.

Colonial legacies and the politics of naming

The political story of the campus began long before its first student protest. It carries the marks of empire in its geography and names. Radcliffe House, for instance, honours Cyril Radcliffe, the university’s first chancellor, who drew the borders between India, Pakistan, and what is now Bangladesh. This act of partition displaced around 14 million people and cost up to two million lives. Meanwhile, Scarman House commemorates Lord Scarman, Warwick’s second chancellor, whose record includes inquiries into social unrest and rulings that restricted workers’ rights and freedom of expression.

These buildings are more than landmarks, they are reminders of how deeply colonial and imperial legacies are woven into British universities. Campaigns like the 2020 call to rename Radcliffe House show that Warwick’s activism extends beyond the issues of the present, it also challenges how history is remembered and represented.

Foundations of dissent: From rent strikes to repression

The trail continues with a tradition of protest, which commenced almost as soon as the University opened its doors. In 1975, a rent strike escalated into a month-long occupation of Senate House, setting the tone for decades of confrontation between students and management. That spirit continued into the 1980s, when students protested Margaret Thatcher’s 1984 visit to the Arts Centre. Her visit did go ahead, but not quietly. Warwick students made it clear that their campus was also a space for resistance.

Student activism hasn’t disappeared; it has continued to change shape

By the 2000s, activism broadened its focus to global and institutional issues: anti-racism, anti-militarism, and opposition to rising tuition fees. In 2009, students occupied the Social Studies building in solidarity with Gaza, and in 2014, the Warwick for Free Education protest became a defining moment. What began as a sit-in ended in a police assault using tear gas and chokeholds. The event sparked outrage, which culminated in a “Cops Off Campus” rally of more than 1,000 people and an eight-day occupation. What started as a fight over tuition fees became a challenge to how universities police dissent.

The evolution of activism: from societies to solidarity

Student activism hasn’t disappeared; it has continued to change shape. Rather than isolated protests, it has become coalition-based and intersectional, linking struggles across race, gender, class, and labour. This reflects research showing that activism drives cultural change within universities by challenging institutional inertia and fostering community ownership of reform.

The Staff-Student Solidarity Network united both sides of the classroom against precarious contracts, while Liberation Conferences, organised by Decolonise Advocates from 2018 onwards, brought anti-racist, feminist, and queer movements together. Groups like Warwick Stands with Palestine (WSWP) additionally show how activism has shifted from momentary protest to sustained organising. By 2023, WSWP united more than 70 student and staff organisations under a single divestment campaign, proof that activism at Warwick remains collective, creative and deeply international in outlook.

Wins, losses, and lessons

Student activism has achieved real change, even when it didn’t seem so at the time. The 2014 occupation by WFFE won several demands and forced national attention onto Warwick’s policing of protest. A three-week occupation of The Slate in 2016 ended with concessions, further protecting the right to protest. The 2019 Warwick Occupy, which protested institutional racism in the SU, lasted 30 days and led to reforms and greater representation for liberation societies. Most recently, in 2022, Student Action Warwick made headlines after shutting down the STEM careers fair, forcing arms companies to withdraw from the event.

If Warwick is a political stage, management has not been a passive audience, but rather an active censor; observing, intervening, and disciplining those who dissent

Despite these efforts, not every campaign succeeded. The 2021 student vote to divest from companies complicit in the occupation of Palestine was later blocked after legal threats from an external organisation. Even so, many organisers argue that success isn’t just about outcomes, but also about building movements, and making space for voices that might otherwise be ignored.

The University’s response: Stonewalling and surveillance

If Warwick is a political stage, management has not been a passive audience, but rather an active censor; observing, intervening, and disciplining those who dissent. Protesters describe being ignored, intimidated, and placed under surveillance. Long-term activists report being investigated or listed under Prevent monitoring, while protests such as the 2022 Scarman demonstration raised concerns about militarised security (Warwick Antiracism Archive, 2025a). These practices reflect what academic Connor Woodman calls the “authoritarian reflex” of the neoliberal university, where reputation overrides student voice. This tension between governance and resistance has been noted across UK higher education, where managerialism and marketisation increasingly suppress dissent.

The 2024 encampment: A catalyst for change

Even amid obstruction, pressure can still be effective. The 2024 Palestine Encampment, which lasted 60 days and culminated in the occupation of the International Digital Laboratory, ended only after management agreed to formal dialogue with protesters. Warwick’s encampment was not just a local protest, it became a national turning point. Almost 300 students from WSWP set up camp in the centre of campus, calling for divestment from companies linked to Israel’s war on Gaza, including Rolls-Royce, Moog, and BAE Systems

The encampment coincided with the University’s offer holder day, a deliberate act of visibility. Protesters argued that Warwick’s research partnerships and R&D funding from these companies made the university complicit in the arms trade. Among their demands was that Warwick help reconstruct educational institutions in Gaza. Significantly, Warwick became the first UK university to start the encampment movement, inspiring similar actions at University College London and beyond.

When you sit in a lecture hall or walk across the Piazza, remember that this campus has always been a site of struggle as much as study

The ripple effect placed Warwick once more at the centre of British student activism, echoing its long history of dissent. As one activist reflected, “We didn’t expect to lead a national wave, but we knew silence wasn’t an option”. The encampment reminded both the University administration and the country that Warwick’s campus remains a political stage, where global struggles find local expression.

A persistent political stage

In all this time, activism at Warwick hasn’t faded, it has continually evolved through changing circumstances. It is more intersectional, more strategic and, thanks to social media and coalition networks, more visible than ever. As Bovill argues, collaboration between student activists and universities can mark a “cultural shift toward sustainability”, a lesson Warwick’s long activist history continues to embody.

From the rent strikes of 1975 and the uprisings that prompted institutional reform, to modern divestment campaigns challenging the university’s financial ties to arms manufacturers like BAE Systems and Rolls-Royce, each act of dissent has left its trace. This activism has shaped not only university policy but also the political consciousness of those who pass through this place.

When you sit in a lecture hall or walk across the Piazza, remember that this campus has always been a site of struggle as much as study, marked by repression ranging from police force and tear gas to campus-wide injunctions, and the management of dissent through “militarised security” and “stonewalling”. Warwick still embodies what Woodman describes as the contradictions of the neoliberal university: a recurring cycle of commercialisation, resistance, and reaction, where management seeks to “stamp out this kind of activity” even as that tension defines its history.