The University’s Oxford Vaccine Group (OVG) is leading the development and trialling of a vaccine in response to the recent Ebola outbreak in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DR Congo). 

The team, led by the Head of Vaccine Immunology and the OVG and Pandemic Sciences Institute, Professor Teresa Lambe OBE, is working alongside the University’s Clinical BioManufacturing Facility and the Serum Institute Pvt. Ltd, to research, create, and trial the viral-vector vaccine. Estimates suggest a workable vaccine could be available within two to three months. 

Depending on its performance at animal trials, a World Health Organisation (WHO) spokesperson said it could be “a promising candidate research vaccine” for the Bundibugyo Ebola strain responsible for the outbreak. 

Lambe told Cherwell: “OVG has more than 30 years of experience in the development and testing of vaccines, which allows us, alongside our partners, to pivot and apply our expertise in times of outbreak…The ability to move rapidly in situations like this has been built on many years of vaccine research and close collaboration with our global partners.” 

The May 2026 Bundibugyo Ebola outbreak, originating in the DR Congo, has been rated a “very high” public health risk by the WHO. Though the risk is low internationally, the WHO declared it a Public Health Emergency of International Concern (PHEIC), a status that encourages cross-continent co-operation. At the time of publication, there have been an estimated 220 deaths and 900 cases, with 11 countries understood to be at risk. 

The specific strain of Ebola, Bundibugyo, is rare and has not been seen for over a decade, with the last two outbreaks occurring in 2007 (in Uganda) and 2012 (in the DR Congo). Naturally occurring in animals and fruit bats, the disease spreads among humans through infected bodily fluids, with research suggesting a mortality rate of between 30 – 50%. 

Initial symptoms are similar to the flu, with illness often beginning with a fever and a headache. Symptoms rapidly progress to vomiting, diarrhoea, and, later, internal bleeding and organ failure. At present, there are no approved vaccines for this particular Ebola species. 

Treatment for the virus has been hindered by violent conflict in the DR Congo between the Congolese military and the M23 rebel group, which has displaced a quarter of a million people.

Having previously worked on the Oxford/AstraZeneca COVID-19 vaccine, as well as vaccines for Sudan Ebolavirus and Marburg Virus, the OVG has utilised the same vector platform (ChAdOx1) used in the COVID-19 vaccine, and adapted it to the Bundibugyo Ebola strain. By altering the genetic code, the vector platform can be tailored to different filoviruses.

The vaccine base relies on a common cold virus, typically found amongst chimpanzees. By altering the viral makeup to ensure it is safe for human beings, the virus can travel around the body, delivering information to cells to target and kill the Bundibugypo virus. However, before trials are completed, the scientists involved cannot guarantee that the vaccine will be effective. 

Once the vaccine has been effectively trialled and approved, it will be sent to the Serum Institute of India to be mass-produced. Lambe said in a statement: “Once we get starting [sic] material to them, they can go fast and they can go big”.

Lambe told Cherwell: “Right now, the focus is on generating the data needed to support development, scaling manufacturing with the Serum Institute of India (SII) Pvt. Ltd, and preparing for clinical trials should they become necessary… My hope is that this outbreak can be brought under control quickly and that vaccines are ultimately not needed.”

When I travel, I like to think I am not like the other British tourists. I try my best to blend in with the locals – attempting (and sometimes failing) to remain nonchalant on complicated metro systems, eating local cuisine, and avoiding ‘loud’ clothing. On a recent solo trip to Stockholm, however, my expectations were challenged by what I believed to be a given: English. I had been to Italy, where English captions accompany pretty much everything, and France, where the same is true, though it is offered with more reluctance. In my ignorance, I had not bothered to learn any Swedish beyond a measly ‘engelska?’, which became problematic as I quickly discovered that my bleached-blonde hair made me look like a Scandi girl to the locals.

I should experience some local culture, immerse myself in the arts scene, I thought as I settled into my hotel. Checking the programme of the capital’s Kulturhuset Stadsteatern, or ‘city theatre’, the single showing with English subtitles was the Austrian film How to Be Normal and the Oddness of the Other World, directed by Florian Pochlatko. Sure, it wasn’t Swedish at all, but how else would I understand the story, if it wasn’t for English subtitles? As I hurriedly approached the Kulturhuset, one Ryanair flight and a frenzy through the Stockholm metro behind me, I was suddenly informed that there would be no subtitles at all.

How hard could it be to watch an entire film in German when I could not even introduce myself in the language? Quite hard, it turns out. Sure, body language and visual effects went a long way, and I felt the beautiful serendipity of discovering a Swedish review on Letterboxd from a local at the same screening, but I missed almost every joke, and felt myself growing increasingly bored as the film progressed. The biggest surprise for me in Stockholm was just how English-less it was, from road signs to price tags to food labels – I had to open Google Translate in the middle of 7/11 to work out if I could eat my halloumi wrap cold.

I do not expect sympathy at all, as my own ignorance led to this situation. But the experience did make me reflect on the relationship between native English speakers and subtitling in film. My not-so-Swedish encounter was certainly extreme, with no subtitles, or even a warning, beforehand – but I was not so turned off by the experience so as to never do it again. It made me wonder, are sole English speakers reliant on subtitles? Do they add or detract from the viewing experience?

Subtitles themselves are in many ways crucial, so that we may broaden our tastes and learn about other cultures. After accepting the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film in 2020, Parasite director Bong Joon Ho famously stated that “once you overcome the one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films”. I do believe that progress is already well underway in the globalisation of film, as what was once potentially a pursuit of only the avant-garde film student is now available to the masses. This is particularly thanks to the rise of Letterboxd, where international arthouse cinema is compiled into digestible lists.

The art of translating subtitles is also, perhaps surprisingly, one of the few language-based jobs not being ravaged by advancements in AI. Despite the now infamous case of Duolingo replacing much of its staff with AI, translator vacancies continue to grow, owing to the simple fact that AI is not currently capable of the quality control and idiomatic knowledge possessed by a human. Have you ever tried to translate complicated Swedish halloumi wrap instructions with Google Translate? In regard to film, it is vital that translated subtitles do actually convey the meaning of the scene, which is why the role of humans is still absolutely necessary.

Yet, anxieties concerning AI continue to plague the translation industry, and may result in changes to subtitling in the future. Hollywood actresses Demi Moore and Reese Witherspoon have both come out in favour of AI, with the latter even stating that “it’s so, so important that women are involved in AI because it will be the future of filmmaking”. AI tools continue to improve, and it is difficult to predict the accuracy of both Witherspoon’s statement and the concerns felt by translators, but the reality is that AI usage is already commonplace in filmmaking, from editing to script-writing and more. AI dubbing is also prevalent, with new software able to move actors’ mouths to fit speech in other languages. Controversy arose last year when generative AI was found to have been used to translate speech from English to Hungarian in The Brutalist – I, for one, am pleased that the Academy has since cracked down on AI-generated content in film, but I do worry about the future opportunities for translators in film, as well as for actors who do actually speak foreign languages.

While it is easier than ever to watch films entirely in English, are we missing something by neglecting their original languages? I think that it is important to note that my choice of film in Stockholm was heavily influenced by which ones had English subtitles listed as available. I do not think that cinemas in other countries should bow down to the English language at all, but English speakers may be surprised to realise just how much they can understand without subtitles, and how thought-provoking the result may be. Maybe if I had the guts for it at the time, I would have complemented my Swedish journey with a piece of local culture, and learned something beyond ‘engelska’.

Far from wanting to sound pretentious, I want you to understand that subtitles – both their existence and a lack of them – do not have to be a barrier to a good cinematic experience. It could be fun, even enriching, to actively try to watch film in a different way, such as by watching a colour film in black and white, or without sound. It almost feels like a reinvention of the creativity that comes with watching a silent film in the present day, where a chosen musical accompaniment can completely change our perspective. Watching Murnau’s silent Nosferatu on Wikipedia (yes, you can do that) was a very different experience from, say, the live organ accompaniment to the Oxford Festival of the Arts’ screening of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari at Magdalen Chapel.

There may be limits to this approach, however. Maybe the screenplay of How to Be Normal and the Oddness of the Other World did a lot of heavy lifting, with psychedelic visuals conveying the psychological focus of the film – although the Ed Sheeran poster on main character Pia’s wall completely threw me off, and made me worry more about the state of British cultural exports than her deteriorating mental condition. Ginger singers aside, my point still stands that even without subtitles, foreign-language films can be thoroughly enjoyed.

The enormity of human history often feels incomprehensible. This vastness creeps up on us in the most imperceptible ways, whether it’s reading names inscribed on the remnants of the Berlin Wall, or staring face-to-face at a thousand-year-old portrait of a young woman. What never fails to strike me as remarkable, however, is the familiarity of the human experience – how grappling with the magnitude of time, and the weight of our history, has always stuck with us. 

The Colossi of Memnon have stood in the ancient city of Thebes, now modern-day Luxor, since 1350 BC – that is, for over 3,000 years. Immovable edifices in an eternal landscape, these statues have endured the rise and fall of many a civilisation, the cracking open of the earth, and the annual soothing balm of the Nile. But what makes this monument even more extraordinary is its history layered upon history: tourists from across the ancient world who had inscribed their names on the feet of the statues, immortalised their own existence, and intertwined it with all that came before. There is an urge to shout through the vastness of time: “I was here, I existed.”

The ache to remember and be remembered is one of the most important things that makes humankind human, and this hasn’t changed across the sweeping expanse of time. As we visit, photograph, read, and discuss such monuments, we too become part of their history, and we preserve the ache that is undeniably universal – one that transcends time, language, religion, identity, or culture, and is recognisable in every context.   

If you take a stroll around Oxford, you’ll find this desire isn’t so distant, even now. The parapet of the University Church tower, accessed by a winding spiral staircase, with footsteps moulded into the stone by centuries of use, is home to a plethora of memories. The names of students, lovers, and visitors are each engraved into its very fabric, attesting to their own existence, with the church as their witness, and us as their audience. The antique shops nestled along the High Street speak to this longing to remember. Brimming with brief snapshots of lives lived, each nook and cranny is inundated with photograph albums in gilded metal cases, carefully crafted jewellery, and curated collections of miscellanea. Even as I thumbed through my library book this morning, reading around the furious scribbles in the margin, I found it hard to ignore the fact history is quite literally in our hands: it is ours to preserve and ours to create. 

Studying archaeology in Oxford, a city where researchers, tourists, readers, and students alike converge and continue to breathe life into its history, it feels necessary to also contemplate our future. What sort of evidence will outlive us and become artefacts of our time? How might future civilisations try to create a cohesive image of our age? Would such a thing even be possible? Rational answers might point towards the assortment of memorabilia found in those same antique shops, or documents and keepsakes scattered across attics and basements, maybe even tucked away in purpose-built storage. Yet, though entirely reasonable suggestions, this increasingly digital age makes the physical survival of memory seem more of an afterthought. 

Only this year it was revealed that the AI company Anthropic scanned and digitised millions of books in order to train its AI models, destroying the original physical prints afterwards. This not only sets a deeply worrying precedent, but amplifies how it is now more poignant than ever to continue to be vigilantly commemorative, and to take control of the narrative of our history. Such physical, tangible history shouldn’t ever become a luxury, and the scarcity of evidence only seems reasonable in an ancient context, where accident of survival tends to prevail. It feels imperative, then, to print photographs, write dated diary entries, buy newspapers, make scrapbooks, send postcards: physically record those mundanities of daily life which are so often easily forgotten, yet so frequently serve as reminders of the comfortable, familiar humanity we share with our ancestors across time. 

That said, when reflecting on our digital age and its impact on our material history, it seems naive not to also consider the consequences of our existence on the very planet which we inhabit. Given the state of the current climate crisis, concerns for the survival of our physical remnants seem almost trivial – the defiant longevity of plastics will outlive their creators. The writing spelling out our existence is not only on the wall, but in the water, inside our bodies, stacked high in landfill sites, and buried in the soil: an indelible legacy of plastics and pollution. In droves, the oceans and seas will quite literally regurgitate our past from their waves, spitting it out at the shoreline. Considering a plastic Mars Bar wrapper from 1986 was found on a Cornwall beach in 2019, we might envisage the fortuitous nature of future excavations looking to understand us. Evidence, it seems, will inadvertently be in abundance for the age of humanity that resists obscurity. But what planet will remain hospitable to such legacies? 

Of course, this isn’t to say blame should be assuaged from the larger corporations responsible for generating such immense scales of pollution on our planet, nor to shift moral culpability, but rather to empower the individual. We shouldn’t underestimate the power of our own individual impact in changing this. There is action in hope – an emotion so intrinsically human – and where there is hope, there is humanity. If we’re able to preserve and reanimate so much of our past, then we must also have the capacity to create with more intention and to consume with more conscientiousness, so that we may have a planet where our legacies thrive.