A market in universities: one import the UK could do without?

Why the US funding model will cause British institutions more harm than good.

It is no surprise that the new Secretary of State for Business has led the charge to reduce the numbers of people going to university. To the chagrin of many Liberal Democrats at the time, this is precisely what Vince Cable said in opposition.

The cut in additional student numbers will do little for the social mobility which is allegedly a linchpin of the coalition government's higher education agreement. Universities now have to manage a £1bn reduction in funding, with David Willetts implying that student support is a burden on the taxpayer. Are these good enough reasons to transport the US model for the funding of higher education to England, as David Blanchflower suggests ("The case for higher university fees")?

The answer is almost certainly no. Unlike their US counterparts, the UK universities which are arguing for higher fees do not want to become private institutions. Rather, they want to have their cake and eat it: taxpayer funding for teaching, research, fee loans and student support, with the university then given the right to charge additional fees either upfront or through additional fee loans financed by bonds and commercial providers.

It is no surprise that the universities which want to compete on price and quality on the back of state funding are the ones that have the most socially exclusive profiles. By "quality", they mean not standards, but quality of the "student experience", based on small campuses where students study away from home and full-time. This is very far removed from the experience of most of the UK's two million students, over 40 per cent of whom study part-time, many of whom have to work to pay their way, and some of whom live at home to save money.

A quasi-US-style system would be certain to deliver inequity for most of the UK's higher education students. Like US health care, it would have outcomes that would be neither as equitable nor as productive as the UK's current system. In particular, a market based on state funding with higher tuition fees backed by private finance will have the inevitable outcome of delivering less resource to the universities that contribute most to social mobility. This is not a policy that the left would advocate for schools. Why should it be an acceptable outcome for UK universities and students?

The Westminster government could easily create a fairer funding system. By introducing a small (1-2 per cent) real rate of interest on student loans, similar to that applied in countries such as Norway, Denmark and Sweden, and by extending the period when graduates in England repay a contribution to the costs of their higher education, the Exchequer would benefit by £1bn per year.

This would be enough to fund many more students, avoid the cuts in higher education imposed by the deficit hawks and even extend fee and maintenance loans to part-time students who at the moment still have to pay their fees upfront. Fairer funding for all is on the table if the government (and the opposition) want to pursue it.

Pam Tatlow is chief executive of the university think tank million+

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue