A graduate tax is the fairest solution

As a sixth-former, I think a graduate tax would increase social mobility and maintain world-class hi

When hundreds of thousands of students take out their iPod headphones and tear themselves away from Call of Duty to rally in the streets, you know the government has done something seriously wrong. After all the pre-election talk of a fairer education system, why does the coalition think that increasing tuition fees and slashing the teaching budget by 80 per cent will achieve this?

Make no mistake, the steep rise in fees will stop huge numbers of bright, but less affluent students from applying to university. Coupled with higher interest rates on these fees, it creates a daunting prospect. As a sixth-form pupil, I can confirm that there is a growing attitude within our year group at school that university is becoming an unaffordable option. This is not only completely unfair, but crucially, it also reduces Britain's ability to produce a high-quality workforce. Surely the government cannot ignore the long-term problems of restricting university access only to those who can afford it? They wouldn't be making such important policies while only thinking ahead as far as the next election, would they?

It's fine to complain – and even to take to the streets in protest – but that is pointless unless solutions can be found. One alternative being explored is the introduction of a graduate tax, a policy endorsed by the Labour Party and the National Union of Students. It seems a good solution – allowing the abolition of upfront fees, replaced by the introduction of a heavier income tax on graduates (an additional 0.3-2.5 per cent) based on the type and location of the course. This tax would last for roughly 20 years and would be paid only if the graduate was employed and earning in excess of £15,000 a year.

This would be fairer than the current system, because lower-income graduates would bear less of a burden than if they paid a fixed price for fees. This in turn would create an incentive for students from a low-income background to strive for higher education, increasing social mobility. Of course, higher-income graduates might end up paying more under the system – but then, they can afford to.

The graduate tax also prevents huge debts in interest payments accumulating, making it an efficient way of funding higher education. And it would prevent the creation of a market in fees, which would force students to choose their university based on price. Admittedly, graduate tax would fall hardest on those whose education costs were high and salaries were low – this would include those in vital jobs such as teaching, social work and nursing. But this can be counteracted by reducing the rate of graduate tax in these sectors of employment. After all, such a tax would raise more revenue in the long run than the proposed fees system.

But would a graduate tax work in reality? When Vince Cable first hinted at the possibility, he described it as a "variable graduate contribution tied to earnings", cunningly avoiding the lead balloon that is the word "tax". It shows how clever wording and public image have become more important than policy.

Inevitably, there are criticisms of the graduate tax. Russell Group universities are opposed because they fear they would only get the same level of funding from the tax as less elite institutions. Yet this doesn't have to be the case – funding could be linked to how much tax revenue is gained from that university's graduates. For example, if Oxford students paid 10 per cent of the national total of graduate of tax that year, then Oxford would receive the same 10 per cent as their funding.

Admittedly the setting up of a trust fund to collect graduate tax, and funding the universities during the lag time between the introduction of a graduate tax and when its full benefits are reaped, would be a sizeable task – but a worthwhile one in the long run.

Call me an idealist, but an efficient graduate tax could completely remove the burden of higher education from the general taxpayer. Even so, a combination of graduate tax and government funding derived from general taxation should be the answer to funding a world-class standard of higher education. I still think that the taxpayer should contribute to higher education because of the benefits to Britain of having highly educated workers. After all, the next generation of workers will be the ones driving the economy – while those who have enjoyed heavily subsidised higher education in past decades sit back and draw their pensions.

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We argue over Charlie Gard, but forget those spending whole lives caring for a disabled child

The everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over life and death.

“Sometimes,” says the mother, “I wish we’d let him go. Or that he’d just been allowed to slip away.” The father agrees, sometimes. So too does the child, who is not a child any more.

On good days, nobody thinks this way, but not all days are good. There have been bright spots during the course of the past four decades, occasional moments of real hope, but now everyone is tired, everyone is old and the mundane work of loving takes a ferocious toll.

When we talk about caring for sick children, we usually mean minors. It’s easiest that way. That for some parents, the exhaustion and intensity of those first days with a newborn never, ever ends – that you can be in your fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for a child in their twenties, thirties, forties – is not something the rest of us want to think about.

It’s hard to romanticise devotion strung out over that many hopeless, sleepless nights. Better to imagine the tragic mother holding on to the infant who still fits in her loving arms, not the son who’s now twice her size, himself edging towards middle-age and the cliff edge that comes when mummy’s no longer around.

Writing on the tragic case of Charlie Gard, the Guardian’s Giles Fraser claims that he would “rain fire on the whole world to hold my child for a day longer”. The Gard case, he argues, has “set the cool rational compassion of judicial judgement and clinical expertise against the passion of parental love”: “Which is why those who have never smelled the specific perfume of Charlie’s neck, those who have never held him tight or wept and prayed over his welfare, are deemed better placed to determine how he is to live and die.”

This may be true. It may also be true that right now, countless parents who have smelled their own child’s specific perfume, held them tightly, wept for them, loved them beyond all measure, are wishing only for that child’s suffering to end. What of their love? What of their reluctance to set the world aflame for one day more? And what of their need for a life of their own, away from the fantasies of those who’ll passionately defend a parent’s right to keep their child alive but won’t be there at 5am, night after night, cleaning out feeding tubes and mopping up shit?

Parental – in particular, maternal – devotion is seen as an endlessly renewable resource. A real parent never gets tired of loving. A real parent never wonders whether actually, all things considered, it might have caused less suffering for a child never to have been born at all. Such thoughts are impermissible, not least because they’re dangerous. Everyone’s life matters. Nonetheless, there are parents who have these thoughts, not because they don’t love their children, but because they do.

Reporting on the Gard case reminds me of the sanitised image we have of what constitutes the life of a parent of a sick child. It’s impossible not to feel enormous compassion for Charlie’s parents. As the mother of a toddler, I know that in a similar situation I’d have been torn apart. It’s not difficult to look at photos of Charlie and imagine one’s own child in his place. All babies are small and helpless; all babies cry out to be held.

But attitudes change as children get older. In the case of my own family, I noticed a real dropping away of support for my parents and disabled brother as the latter moved into adulthood. There were people who briefly picked him up as a kind of project and then, upon realising that there would be no schmaltzy ending to the story, dropped him again. Love and compassion don’t conquer all, patience runs out and dignity is clearly best respected from a distance.

All too often, the everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over who gets the right to decide whether an individual lives or dies. I don’t know any parents who truly want that right. Not only would it be morally untenable, it’s also a misrepresentation of what their struggles really are and mean.

What many parents who remain lifelong carers need is adequate respite support, a space in which to talk honestly, and the recognition that actually, sometimes loving is a grim and hopeless pursuit. Those who romanticise parental love – who, like Fraser, wallow in heroic portrayals of “battling, devoted parents” – do nothing to alleviate the suffering of those whose love mingles with resentment, exhaustion and sheer loneliness.

There are parents out there who, just occasionally, would be willing to set the world on fire to have a day’s respite from loving. But regardless of whether your child lives or dies, love never ends. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.