No work, all play: Are low contact hours and long holidays leaving students shortchanged?

Being a university student back at home for the holidays means repeating to every incredulous (proper) adult that: yes, I have been on holiday for two weeks and yes, I will still be on holiday in another two weeks and no, term three doesn’t really exist but yes, my accommodation runs until the 28th of June. Five glorious weeks of ‘Easter’ holiday, with nothing but my four assignments to procrastinate.

It’s fun at the time, but then I remember the fees. That £9,250 – soon to be £9,535 – which has been accumulating interest since day one. And that 40-week contract for accommodation, of which I’ll spend maybe 25 total actually living in.

My annoyance gives way to many questions. Why not stay on campus over the holidays? Why choose to do a low contact hour degree and then complain about not getting my money’s worth? Why go to university at all? What’s the point, if I may not even be able to get a job after graduating?

While it is obvious that tuition fees do not translate directly to your contact hours, and instead contribute to the wider management of the institution, viewing it this way can hold some purpose

It’s a daily struggle not to regret all my academic choices, and especially difficult toward the end of the holidays when I get the dreaded email regarding an incoming direct debit collection for my accommodation. Unlike the maintenance loan, tuition fees plod along in the background, steadily accumulating interest at a horrifying rate, but also in a way that can be resolutely ignored for most of your life.

The costs of university associated with maintenance loans seem to be much more concerning: the price of on-campus food and drink, rising accommodation fees, increased bus fares, and society and sports club expenses, to name a few. While for home students, the government loan covers tuition fees entirely, and pays them directly to the university, the maintenance loan is a bigger financial burden, requiring students to manage their own budgets and rely on income from part-time jobs or parents to make up the shortfall.

It is unavoidable, however, that when attempting to dissect the ‘real’ value of tuition fees, students with low contact hour degrees are left with more questions than answers. While it is obvious that tuition fees do not translate directly to your contact hours, and instead contribute to the wider management of the university, viewing it this way can hold some purpose. For example, split over 25 weeks of 8 contact hours, my £9,250 of first year tuition fees translates to over £450 a week, or almost £60 per contact ‘hour’. Clearly, this is a pointless (and depressing) activity, but it at least deters me from skipping any 9am lectures.

The difference in ‘value for money’ at university, between STEM and Humanities, is made up for after graduation by the differing employment rates

The idea that humanities and arts students should perhaps pay less than STEM students to account for their difference in contact hours is, of course, impractical and unlikely to gain any real traction. The concept of ‘getting your money’s worth’ at university is far more universal than that anyway, and one that should be bringing all students together against the costs of living on campus, rather than contributing to the ‘culture war’ between STEM and Humanities.

With tuition fees set to increase to £9,535 per year, students were quick to express discontent. One Warwick student argued that tuition fees “should be thought of as more akin to a graduate tax […] measured off of the benefits you get from studying”.

The difference in ‘value for money’ at university, between STEM and Humanities, is made up for after graduation by the differing employment rates. Degrees with higher employment rates (ie. STEM degrees) mean that graduates are more likely to have to pay back their student debt earlier, and in greater amounts. Graduates that make less, typically those with arts and humanities degrees, pay back in smaller amounts over a longer period of time. Obviously, this is a major generalisation. With recent student loan reforms, repayment periods were extended to 40 years and the salary threshold cut to £25,000, meaning a greater number of graduates will be paying back more of their loans than ever before.

Many students and politicians have questioned: why not replace tuition fees with a graduate tax completely? Those with higher incomes – which reflect the ‘value’ their degree has had on their career – would pay more, and the lack of upfront costs would incentivise more young people from working class backgrounds into higher education. As far as university fee reform goes, the potential for personal impact is great and this question of ‘getting your money’s worth’ could be put to bed completely.

Perhaps then, I might conclude that, until a graduate tax replaces the tuition fee system entirely, it may be worth trying to get as much as I can out of the cost of tuition. Perhaps I should resolve to attend every single one of my fruitless seminars, take more books out of the library, and attend every fee-exempt society event on campus. Perhaps I should wake up earlier and spend each day enjoying every building that campus has to offer (excluding Humanities, for obvious reasons). I should use all the water fountains, ride in every lift, visit each one of the toilets, go on the sculpture walks, and worship the Koan. Perhaps, I might even stop avoiding The Forum.

Alternatively, I could enjoy a university education without being plundered into eternal debt. Just kidding, that’s obviously far too much to ask for.