When writing this article, I logged in out of curiosity to see my student loan balance. I saw a pretty number: £44,644.18, with £1,463.44 in interest. The fact that two years of my household income would only just about cover my university loans thus far, and that I had spent the time missing lectures after ridiculous nights out, was humbling.
However, fear not! Labour has a plan for more accountability, easing the burden on students, and making the university more accessible – a plan which somehow involves raising the undergraduate fee cap to £10,500. As a PPEist, I had learned not to derive hope from a politician’s promise: Bridget Phillipson’s insistence that she was not upping tuition fees was drowned out by many’s concerns that they needed to be increased. It seems like an easy choice, given that in the 2023-2024 academic year, 40% of British universities ran deficits, and we haven’t seen an increase in the cap since 2017. However, the implications of this increase in the tuition fee cap have a broader impact on social mobility, and the economic implications on students have not been discussed sufficiently to warrant such a drastic increase.
The rationale behind the proposed rise in tuition fees, as put forward by some policymakers, is cloaked in the language of necessity. The argument goes that universities are struggling to keep up with rising operational costs, from staff salaries to campus maintenance and, of course, funding world-class research. They point to their rankings, research output, and attractiveness to international students as reasons for every-bigger budgets. I understand their plight in needing to balance the books, and maintain quality and status. But is this hike truly necessary, or is it simply the most convenient option for those in power? Alternative funding models should be considered. For example, a return to increased public funding through per-student grants, which has fallen back by 18% in real terms since 2012, could relieve students of bearing the brunt of financial strain. Taxing corporations or high-net-worth individuals who directly benefit from an educated workforce is also viable. Instead, the government seems to prefer to fall back on the familiar narrative that students must pay more to secure the same, or even diminishing, educational experience.
However, tuition fee hikes only offer a short-term fix. It’s not as if universities will see a windfall from this and immediately solve all their financial problems. Instead, the more fees increase, students and their families are forced to take on unsustainable debt levels. Meanwhile, the underlying issues remain government cuts to education funding, the underfunding of research, and a dependence on tuition fees that leaves institutions vulnerable to fluctuations in student numbers. This solution doesn’t address the root cause: the model of financing higher education is fundamentally broken.
At the heart of this brokenness is the question of whether this reliance on ever-rising student loans and tuition fees is sustainable in the long term. Our system has normalised the idea that an 18-year-old, fresh out of sixth form, unschooled in financial planning, is responsible enough to pay off a £27,500 student loan – many graduates struggle to pay off their debts, with some barely making a dent before the remainder is written off decades later. These figures are fiscally ridiculous. The government forecasts that around 65% of full-time undergraduates starting in 2023/24 would repay them in full. This is more than double the forecast for the 2022/23 cohort – for whom the expectation was 27%. Increasing the fee cap feels like a temporary patch on a gaping wound in the system, a wound that needs more than just another layer of financial gauze to heal.
The broader implications of raising the tuition fee cap on working-class and underprivileged students are also far-reaching and under-considered. It’s not just about the immediate financial burden; it’s about the message this sends. The more fees increase, the more university becomes an elitist institution that does not help democratise access to information. For those from low-income backgrounds, attending university may now feel like a financial gamble rather than an investment in their future. The idea that a degree is a ticket to a better life begins to lose its shine when the price tag feels insurmountable. Students already weighing up whether they can even afford to apply are inevitably put off by the thought of taking on tens of thousands of pounds in debt. Among families who have used a foodbank in the last year, 39% of those not planning to apply to universities cited high costs as the main barrier. We hear time and time again that education is meant to be the ‘great equaliser’, levelling the playing field for those who might not have the same social or economic advantages. But how can that be true if, with every fee increase, the university doors inch further out of reach for those who need it most to advance socially?
For families already grappling with the cost-of-living crisis, the prospect of higher tuition fees adds another layer of financial stress. It’s not just about paying for university; it’s about choosing between investing in education and covering necessities. Middle and low-income families often rely on loans to send their children to university and will feel the pinch the hardest. With the price of everything from rent to food spiralling, the idea of finding even more money for higher education can feel overwhelming. Coming to university has meant my maintenance loan has often been used to help with household bills or the needs of a house I do not live in for most of the year. This is the reality of many students.
Ultimately, the conversation around raising the tuition fee cap is about much more than just numbers. It’s about the shifting perception of higher education, what it stands for, who it benefits, and who it leaves behind. The government’s justification for this increase feels flimsy and negligent at worst. Yes, universities need funding, but we must alleviate this pressure without forcing students and their families into even deeper financial hardship. The reality is that raising tuition fees is a short-term fix for a long-term problem, and it only papers over the cracks in an already broken system. As we move forward, we must ask ourselves: what kind of higher education system do we want? One that widens the gap between rich and poor or serves as a ladder of opportunity? If we continue down this path, the doors to that ladder are slowly closing, locking out the very people it was built to help.
