The mood darkened as the vice-chancellor herself reached the stage. Facing straight ahead, her feet slightly apart, she waited a moment, scanning the crowd before speaking. Her voice was clear and calm and the protesters fell quiet. ‘Understand,’ she said, ‘this university loves the arts. We stand by the humanities and all our staff.’ Around me people began jostling and again I was shoved forward, so now I was to the side of the platform, close to the steps leading up to the stage. A voice from the crowd challenged her, and the vice-chancellor immediately swung to face the source of the interruption. ‘I say it again. These cuts are necessary to save the future of the arts.’

‘Bullshit!’ said another protester, and people joined in, ‘Bullshit’ and ‘Liar, liar, arts on fire!’ rebounding around the quadrangle. I saw the vice-chancellor look around. The dean of the humanities stepped towards her but she motioned him away. Still scanning the faces in front of her, her eyes settled on me and I saw the flicker of recognition.

‘Save our staff!’ another voice called, and again the chant was taken up. ‘Save our staff. Honour learning!’

The vice-chancellor shook her head, and tried to speak again but couldn’t make herself heard over the racket. ‘One minute!’ she ordered. The crowd fell quiet. ‘We have the best interests of the university and all our staff at heart …’

I felt sick. Everything she said was a lie and even though I wanted nothing to do with her, I knew I had to say something. Even so, I glanced around, hoping that someone else would do the job for me. Sick with nerves, I slowly mounted the steps and a security guard, one of the campus goons, blocked my path. I tried to edge past but he held his ground. ‘Let me through,’ I said, my voice quiet, barely registering above the crowd. ‘It’s my turn.’ I saw the organiser of the rally glance from me to the vice-chancellor, and in that second she gave a shrug, a gesture so dismissive that it enraged me, and I gave the guard a shove and stepped out onto the stage.

Nothing in all my years of lecturing could have prepared me for the sight of such a large crowd, all strangers. When a lone voice called out, ‘Make American studies great again!’, I tried to locate the speaker but it was impossible. Someone handed me the megaphone and I stepped forward. ‘I am Dr Siân Rees and I was a lecturer in the American studies department …’ A cheer went up. ‘I was employed at this university for almost fifteen years, until the morning I came into work to discover a brown envelope in my pigeonhole. Inside was a letter informing me that my department had been disestablished and that I was redundant. This is what the VC means by management for change – a management that lacks honesty, respect and empathy.’

‘Shame, shame, shame!’ went the crowd.