It was only last November when the government announced that tuition fees for the academic year 2025-26 would increase – a complete pivot from Labour’s usual stance on free or frozen fees. Yet after months of speculation, on Monday they confirmed plans to allow tuition fees to rise in line with inflation from next year, a move Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson described as “tough” but “needed to put universities on a firmer financial footing.”
Maintenance loans will follow suit, rising with inflation for the next two years before a new policy ensures they continue to increase automatically. The justification to all this? To stabilise a university sector teetering on financial collapse after years of underfunding.
It’s a familiar balancing act: a government insisting it’s protecting students by saving universities, while the students themselves wonder how exactly they’re meant to afford the privilege of being saved.
Charlie Bowyer, Chair for Hampshire Young Labour, defended the government’s position, calling it “a difficult but necessary step” to prevent institutions from collapsing. “Without this,” he said, “many institutions faced collapse, threatening students’ courses and jobs.”
It’s not hard to see where he’s coming from. University finances have been stretched to breaking point.
The £9,250 cap on tuition fees, frozen since 2017, has quietly eroded in real terms; inflation means that sum buys far less today than it did eight years ago. Some universities, particularly smaller or specialist institutions, are reportedly on the brink, with many shutting down departments to make ends meet. But the question remains: should the financial rescue of higher education fall on the backs of students already crushed under debt?
The Numbers Behind the Policy
Under the government’s plan, the undergraduate tuition fee cap will rise in line with inflation for all higher education providers from 2026.
Maintenance loans will increase in parallel, supposedly keeping pace with living costs.
There’s also a promise of “targeted maintenance loans” for students most in need, funded by a new levy on international student fees.
Meanwhile, universities that fail to meet certain “quality” thresholds will not be permitted to charge the full amount.
It sounds pristine on paper, but the reality for students is anything but. Even with maintenance loans rising with inflation, many are already thousands short of covering rent alone.
In some cities like London, rent can swallow nearly the entire maximum loan of just over £12,000. That leaves little for food, transport, or the basic indignities of humanity – shampoo, period products, toothpaste, and, yes, the occasional sports social that the government insists isn’t a necessity.
The BBC’s Education Editor Branwen Jeffreys noted that tuition fees are set to “go well over £10,000 a year in this parliament,” while the cost of living for students has already surged far beyond the official figures. “Although maintenance loans will also be linked to inflation,” she reported, “they have fallen far behind the real cost of living for a university student.”
The Cost of Learning (and Living)
Amelia Tamblyn, a third-year law student and President of the University of Southampton Labour Society, expressed frustration with the policy. “Honestly, as a student and Labour Party member I’m quite disappointed,” she said. “It’s good that the government are taking steps to support universities, but it’s a shame they’ve decided to do this on the backs of students and not through greater public funding paid for by those with the most to give.”
Tamblyn highlights a broader contradiction: a Labour government raising tuition fees. For many students, this feels like déjà vu. The ghost of 2010 haunting a new generation. “During a period where students and new graduates are increasingly unable to do well due to a cost of living crisis,” she added, “It’s essential that the government lowers the financial barriers of attending university through measures like the partial reintroduction of maintenance grants they recently announced”
The government did recently announce a partial reintroduction of maintenance grants for the most disadvantaged students. Yet for many, that’s a drop in an already empty bucket. The stereotype of the broke student living off Pot Noodles shouldn’t be a cultural fixture; it should be a national embarrassment.
A Sector in Crisis
Max Stafford, a Teaching Fellow in Politics and International Relations at the University, argues that the increase “is, in principle, welcome but long overdue.” He points out that universities’ income “has been substantially reduced for years and the current funding model is broken.” But he calls for “an urgent and honest public debate about how we fund universities, what we think they’re for, and who should pay for it.”
But before we ask who should pay, it’s worth examining the breakdown of where tuition income comes from at the University of Southampton.
Between 2020-2024 tuition income from international student tuition fees has nearly doubled, rising from £111.3m to £220.1m. Meanwhile, tuition income from home students has maintained a consistent level at just £125m in the same time period.
It is no secret that UK universities have become reliant on international students who pay a significantly larger tuition fee. However, the rapid increase in international tuition income at UoS is not consistent with general trends across the country.
There has been a general slowdown in international recruitment; Home Office figures show that UK sponsored study visas dropped by 31% from 2023-2024.
Due to immigration motivated regulations on dependant family members and a competitive job market, the UK is becoming a far less attractive destination for international students to invest in their education.
Whilst UoS international tuition income has grown positively in this period, the fragile dependence on this income stream more broadly in the UK has become clear.
The “who should pay” is the crux of the matter. Why are students, arguably one of the most financially insecure demographics, being asked to foot the bill while billionaires and non-doms continue to find creative ways to dodge taxes?
Universities need support, but the moral arithmetic feels off. Future doctors, teachers, artists, and researchers are being priced out of education before they even graduate into a precarious job market.
Professor Ian Dunn, at Coventry University, echoed this sentiment. In an interview with the BBC, he claimed that while the increase adds “a little income and will alleviate a little of the pressure,” it “will not in itself solve the financial situation universities are in right now.”
He also warned that the new international student levy, a 6% tax on international tuition income, would offset much of the additional income, meaning universities may not feel the intended benefit at all.
The Political Ripple Effect
The political implications of this decision could be significant. Many students voted for Labour in the hope of progressive reform in education, or at least, protection from further austerity.
Darren Paffey, Labour MP for Southampton, mentioned in an exclusive interview with Wessex Scene, during his 2024 election campaign, when probed about this topic that labour would remain “utter realists” regarding the price of tuition fees and that it would be completely dependent on the strength of the economy.
Now, with the Green Party promising to abolish tuition fees entirely, Labour risks alienating one of its most loyal demographics: the young and indebted. Even the latest YouGov poll depicts the Greens in the lead by over 2% for 18-24 year-olds.
Pia Riggirozzi, Head of the Politics and International Relations Department, advises caution. “Any increase must be balanced carefully to ensure it doesn’t deter students from less advantaged backgrounds,” she said. “Opportunities should strengthen contextual offers and sustain inclusion, teaching quality, and student support.”
That’s the delicate line Labour must walk: between fiscal responsibility and moral credibility. For students who came of age during the pandemic, whose exams and education were already disrupted, this feels like yet another blow. They’ve survived algorithmic A-levels, lockdown learning, soaring rents, and now, an inflated price tag on their future.
A Degree of Uncertainty
The rise in tuition fees may not immediately deter 18-year-olds from applying to university; data suggests demand has remained stable even amid economic strain.
But, there are signs of quiet rebellion: the growth of commuter students living at home, or the increasing number choosing degree apprenticeships to avoid unmanageable debt.
It’s not that young people are losing faith in education itself, they’re losing faith in the system that keeps telling them it’s an “investment” while charging compound interest on their goals and ambition.
Universities do need funding, but students shouldn’t be the safety net. The question Britain now faces is whether we want higher education to be a public good, or a luxury product with an annual price adjustment.
Until that’s answered, students will keep working extra shifts, skipping meals, and wondering how much their future is really worth to the country that tells them to be grateful for the chance to study.
