Is the graduate tax actually fairer?

Paying for education indefinitely is more likely to act as a deterrent to poor students.

In his first key speech on higher education, Vince Cable has outlined proposals for cutting costs in universities. The graduate tax, which Cable claims would be fairer and more sustainable, has attracted the most attention.

Under the current system, students take a loan from the government which they use to pay their tuition fees and part of their living costs. This is paid back gradually when the graduate starts earning more than £15,000.

At first glance, that sounds rather similar to the measure being proposed -- money is paid over someone's career, and the amount increases with earnings. The main difference is that the graduate tax will be infinite; in effect, it will mean that graduates are permanently paying a higher rate of income tax.

The jury is out on whether this is "progressive" or not. The main argument in its favour is that it would be linked to income, meaning that high earners will ultimately pay more and could subsidise those less well off.

Ed Balls -- a proponent of the graduate tax -- said it means that graduates will contribute to costs, "but only once they are in work and clearly based on their ability to pay".

I'm not convinced by this. It is already the case that repayments start only once you are earning, and the situation would presumably stay the same if fees were to rise further. The difference is that, currently, everyone ends up paying the same amount, whereas the idea under the new system would be for the rich to end up paying more.

There are many problems with this. While the National Union of Students has been advocating a graduate tax for the past four years, they have also pointed out that a graduate tax can fail to take into account the diminishing importance of education and the increased role of work experience in establishing a career (note: they believe that their proposed model neutralises this). Paul Cottrell of the University and College Union (UCU) argues that poor graduates could even end up paying a higher percentage of their income through a tax than through a loan system.

Two years ago, Sutton Trust research on the impact of tuition fees showed that teenagers from poorer families were forgoing a university education because they were concerned about debt.

Another argument for a graduate tax is that abolishing the upfront payment aspect would remove this deterrent. This is disingenuous. As it stands, it is assumed that you will pay back your fees at a later date. You fill in a form for a loan, and the money goes straight to the university without passing through your bank account.

While a graduate tax could be framed as the abolition of fees, I find it difficult to believe that essentially paying for your education for ever would be less of a deterrent than a fixed amount of debt. Surveys have shown students concerned that they will be paying back their student debt for a decade; surely, permanently paying more tax is worse?

I'm inclined to agree with Sally Hunt of the UCU, who has called the proposal "an exercise in rebranding". Isn't this just higher fees by a different name?

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Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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For the Ukip press officer I slept with, the European Union was Daddy

My Ukip lover just wanted to kick against authority. I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit.

I was a journalist for a progressive newspaper.

He was the press officer for the UK Independence Party.

He was smoking a cigarette on the pavement outside the Ukip conference in Bristol.

I sat beside him. It was a scene from a terrible film. 

He wore a tweed Sherlock Holmes coat. The general impression was of a seedy-posh bat who had learned to talk like Shere Khan. He was a construct: a press officer so ridiculous that, by comparison, Ukip supporters seemed almost normal. He could have impersonated the Queen Mother, or a morris dancer, or a British bulldog. It was all bravado and I loved him for that.

He slept in my hotel room, and the next day we held hands in the public gallery while people wearing Union Jack badges ranted about the pound. This was before I learned not to choose men with my neurosis alone. If I was literally embedded in Ukip, I was oblivious, and I was no kinder to the party in print than I would have been had I not slept with its bat-like press officer. How could I be? On the last day of the conference, a young, black, female supporter was introduced to the audience with the words – after a white male had rubbed the skin on her hand – “It doesn’t come off.” Another announcement was: “The Ukip Mondeo is about to be towed away.” I didn’t take these people seriously. He laughed at me for that.

After conference, I moved into his seedy-posh 18th-century house in Totnes, which is the counterculture capital of Devon. It was filled with crystal healers and water diviners. I suspect now that his dedication to Ukip was part of his desire to thwart authority, although this may be my denial about lusting after a Brexiteer who dressed like Sherlock Holmes. But I prefer to believe that, for him, the European Union was Daddy, and this compulsion leaked into his work for Ukip – the nearest form of authority and the smaller Daddy.

He used to telephone someone called Roger from in front of a computer with a screen saver of two naked women kissing, lying about what he had done to promote Ukip. He also told me, a journalist, disgusting stories about Nigel Farage that I cannot publish because they are libellous.

When I complained about the pornographic screen saver and said it was damaging to his small son, he apologised with damp eyes and replaced it with a photo of a topless woman with her hand down her pants.

It was sex, not politics, that broke us. I arrived on Christmas Eve to find a photograph of a woman lying on our bed, on sheets I had bought for him. That was my Christmas present. He died last year and I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit, of Daddy dying, too – for what would be left to desire?

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era