Loans, Lockdown, Learning: Experiences of Financial and Educational Precarity
Even before starting university, I was acutely aware of educational hierarchies, especially in terms of class. At seventeen – when I received my offer to study at the University of Exeter – I noticed that the grades on my offer were much lower than expected, and a special code was written alongside.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. I rejoiced that I only had to obtain BBB in my A-Levels, rather than the AAB that I had anticipated. That said, I have always been a perfectionist, so I continued to aim much higher. It was only when I arrived at Exeter that I realised exactly why I had received the offer I did.
It turns out that I was given a lower offer because I was from a low-income area: my secondary school had a low rate of students attending university. I have to admit, this surprised me. Sure, the small, Welsh, seaside town in which I grew up had its beaten down areas. But so does every town and city, right? Also, in my memory, it seemed like every individual in my sixth form applied to university. Now I was at Exeter, I felt slightly inadequate in comparison to my peers. People had expected them to obtain higher grades due to the area in which they came from: they had met these expectations.
From then, I began spiralling. Did I deserve my place at university? Or was I just there simply to increase the number of low-income students attending the university? When I received my first university grade – which was a lot lower than that of others on my course – these thoughts were extremely prominent. Was I meant to attend university at all?
From then, I began spiralling. Did I deserve my place at university? Or was I just there simply to increase the number of low-income students attending the university?
But after further reflection, I realised that yes: I was definitely meant to attend university. From that point onward, I was determined to make the most of it all. I pushed myself further academically than I ever had before, joined as many extracurricular groups as possible, and made sure to enjoy myself as much as I could. That is, until the pandemic swooped in and changed everything.
The pandemic highlighted class problems and accessibility issues across the university. As studying moved online, many students were unable to obtain the resources that they needed to complete their studies to the best of their ability. I found that I was in a relative position of privilege: these particular hardships did not negatively impact me. I was lucky that I managed to get a part-time job for the first six months of lockdown. I benefitted when my rent was refunded in the early stages of the pandemic. But many students were struggling more than they ever had before.
Further financial educational hierarchies can be noted in terms of maintenance loans and other grants. Due to being in a “low-income area” – and the generosity of the Welsh Government and Student Finance Wales – I have always found enough money to cover my accommodation as well as additional costs. I am incredibly lucky that my parents offer financial contributions also, and due to our circumstances, I had received mainly a loan, rather than a grant. Other students across the university are not this fortunate. Many receive a minimal maintenance loan, hardly covering even a couple of months’ rent payment. As well as this, many have still had to pay for a vacant room when students were told not to return to their university accommodation after the Christmas holidays.
The government has hardly helped support students who have been struggling as a result; financially, mentally, or socially. The university did help in March 2020, giving refunds to students in on-campus accommodation. But what has been done since to support those in the new academic year, or those in private rental accommodation? Who can they turn to?
And what further forms of precarity might we all face, down the line? I have been brought up knowing the importance and value of money, saving from a young age and getting my first part-time job a mere two days after my sixteenth birthday. But being at university has made me very conscious of the complexity of financial issues. I have become all too aware of my shaky grasp of economics. Even now, as I complete my second year, I feel like I do not have a deep knowledge about the ins-and-outs of paying taxes, national insurance, pensions, etc.
Of course, these concerns have very much affected my mental health. I have struggled with mental health problems since my final year of primary school. Since then, and for almost seven years, I have either been on a waiting list for counselling or having weekly sessions. The recognition of so much uncertainty and hierarchy in education does not aid these thoughts and feelings.
The pandemic has highlighted a wide range of ways in which we face precarity. It has brought more anxiety into students’ lives than ever before; not only financially, but also socially, academically, and in terms of accessibility (to name just a few). Precarity in all shapes and forms has become a prominent issue at the university this year. The pandemic has made me think hard about the ways financial and educational hierarchies are closely linked. So how will these issues develop next year? Will they dissolve if we (hopefully) return to normal life and a normal university experience? Given the last 12 months we’ve had, I hope for a new academic year that is at least as normal as possible.
Image courtesy of Lauren Taylor