Sam Gyimah: broken by Brexit*

With the resignation in the final hours of November of Sam Gyimah as Minister for Universities and Science, higher education loses not just another minister, but its most endearing animoji. This fresh-faced two-dimensional cartoon figure took an astonished sector by storm in 2018, tracing the minister’s journeys through higher education, bristling with conservative fervour yet rapidly coming to appreciate the quality of British universities. The departures of both the man and his animoji leave many questions behind.

In a Brexit context, Gyimah’s resignation feels significant because of his record of careerism and party loyalty. While Jo Johnson, another former Higher Education Minister, produced at the moment of his resignation as Minister for Transport last month a perfectly formed argument for remaining in the European Union, Gyimah’s farewell facebook post was rather a cry of confusion and anguish. Though remainers will doubtless claim him as one of their own, he is in truth not sure who to blame, nor what the country should do next. This is a man who drank deeply from the Brexiters’ Kool-Aid after backing ‘remain’ in the 2016 referendum, and is only gradually coming back to his senses.

His willingness to share his learning processes also made him an intriguing minister. David Willetts, one of Gyimah’s most influential predecessors in the role, famously began his book, A University Education, with the statement: ‘I love universities.’ Gyimah came around to the same position, as he declared to the Universities UK conference in September; however, his love was never unconditional. He inherited the right-wing free-speech crusade from his predecessor, and ploughed ahead on this front with little regard for evidence. He also drove forward Johnson’s agenda of ‘value for money’, founded on ever-more detailed graduate salaries data. And he famously declared himself ‘minister for students’, almost as though suggesting that universities couldn’t be trusted with such responsibility themselves.

As a result his public declarations about universities were wildly erratic, and also notably partisan. His interest in student welfare, for instance, was well-meaning and timely, yet his ‘Sam on Campus’ events combined a genuine effort to listen with an attempt to rally Conservative students. And even in his last week he maintained his pattern of provoking in one speech and placating in another: lashing out at supposed ‘poor-value’ courses, acknowledging that ‘earnings are not everything’, celebrating agricultural and space technology, and then promising at the Times Higher Education awards that ‘as long as I am minister I will fight for universities’ interests’. Perhaps he never really wanted academics to trust such promises, since getting too close to the sector had proved fatal for his predecessors. To be fair to his critics, though, he gave plenty of cause for mistrust.

Yet maybe the promise of support was also increasingly difficult to fulfil. As much as he and his animoji strode purposefully onward, Gyimah’s ministry was surely being torn apart on at least two fronts. Firstly, the discourse of value for money was driving hard towards simplistic solutions damaging to the sector he had come to love. University closures, for instance, are easy enough to embrace in theory, but trickier in practice. Then there is the spectre of the Augar review, with its widely-leaked thinking around fee-reductions (possibly with a promise to make up the difference from government spending – like, honest). Gyimah inherited this along with much else; indeed it is widely believed that the opposition to it of Johnson and then Education Minister Justine Greening played a role in their respective dismissals. It was also stamped from the beginning as Theresa May’s project, that would report jointly to the Secretary of State for Education, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Prime Minister. But his influence could still have been critical when that report hit those desks, and rumours suggest that he was wary of the damage it may cause.

Secondly, he was torn on the question of research. Indeed it is hardly surprising that Galileo, the biggest of big science projects, appears to have been the satellite that broke this minister’s will. His arguments that the UK could drive towards ambitious increases in research and innovation funding – aiming at a target of 2.4% of GDP, from a starting position of roughly half of that – were feeling increasingly stretched against the fiscal realities of Brexit. He must have understood that himself, for all his evidently naïve confidence. And he must have felt the strain of that tension, since he embraced the world of science and technology with a passion. Moreover, he appeared to understand the importance of research collaboration. His suggestions that academics would be able to replace the effect of EU funding if we just tried a bit harder were unquestionably ham-fisted, playing to the Brexiter gallery, but there was more to him than that. Importantly, in his final days he was arguing the case for international researcher mobility, pleading for universities to have special status in any new immigration regime and stating that UK access to EU funding after Brexit ‘won’t work’ without mobility. Not every politician gets this point.

One post-Gyimah scenario might go along the lines: May loses her vote, resigns, is replaced by someone less antipathetic towards universities, and Augar gets politely buried. After all, nobody apart from the Prime Minister really wanted the review in the first place. But that is surely utopian thinking; instead the sector will have a May loyalist, signed up to the delivery of Brexit, sceptical of a sector in which leading figures have been finding an oppositional voice in recent days, and therefore happy enough to inflict some pain in the interests of career and the shadowy outlines of a plausible ideology. Gyimah’s journey perhaps demonstrates that it is difficult to spend any time in British higher education without coming to appreciate it – even to love it – but his successor could have precious little of that commodity on his or her hands before making pivotal decisions.

From a distance, one might well reflect that this is no way to manage a university system. But then it’s no way to run a country either, yet we seem to be doing it.

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More adventures in the search for value for money

This is the 12-inch version of my 7-incher in the ‘THE’, 15 November 2018. Editors do tend to fret about things like words and – well – accuracy. Here’s to artistic freedom.

 

The past was a simpler time; governments controlled universities then. This nostalgic fantasy, at the heart of so much public discourse about higher education, is articulated with admirable energy by the House of Commons Education Committee in its recent report, Value for Money in Higher Education. Its list of recommendations stretches to twenty-eight, packed with things that universities ‘must’ or ‘should’ do, but somewhat slighter on quite how they can be made to do so. It demonstrates at once the shortcomings, but also some benefits, of a quest for simplicity.

 

Rage against the machine

The quest to define value for money in higher education has taken many commentators down some twisting paths in the past year. It has a tendency to become all-encompassing, unlocking a higher education theory of everything. This report is a classic of this genre, setting out to consider value for money from the perspectives of: graduate outcomes and the use of destination data; social justice and support for disadvantaged students; senior management pay; quality and effectiveness of teaching; and the role of the Office for Students.

As with any research project, the Committee’s methods, for better or worse, lead to its conclusions. These methods boil down to listening to a bunch of different people. Hence the common structure: ‘we heard X say this, Y say that, Z say the other, and we think A’. Sometimes ‘A’ feels like wishful thinking: such as when they call for the reintroduction of means-tested maintenance grants, without having to worry about where the money comes from. They also acknowledge that prospective students take no notice of the Teaching Excellence Framework, yet conclude that, ‘For the TEF to improve value for money … it must play a more significant role in the decision-making process of applicants.’ Well, quite.

Granted, there are some steps in the right direction. The Committee has grasped that the debate over two-year degrees is rather more complex than some may have thought this time last year. The costs are not significantly lower, these degrees offer little opportunity to earn money or gain work experience along the way, and therefore they do not offer a magic solution, especially for lower-income students. But elsewhere the report strains against the weight of evidence. On the TEF, for instance, they heard that it is costly and arguably does not assess quality at all; however, they conclude only that it requires a little ‘embedding’.

But the method is not helpful for understanding massive differences between the missions and objectives of different universities. The concept of institutional autonomy is foreign to this report, and the idea the overpaid managers of universities might make independent decisions rather unnerves them. Hence, they note, ‘We are disappointed that institutions such as Oxford University are not offering degree apprenticeships’, and they ‘encourage’ universities that are wary of admitting applicants with BTECs and T-Levels to think again. And managers are overpaid, by the way; the ‘current system of self-regulation for senior management pay,’ the report asserts, hankering again for state control, ‘is unacceptable’.

Above all, the Committee’s approach eschews complexity. It is a peculiarly myopic exercise to consider universities purely as providers of undergraduate education to home students, and as a result to focus entirely on what happens to those students’ fees. This report says nothing about postgraduate students, barely mentions research, and fails to acknowledge the international context within which universities operate. It nods once towards Louise Richardson, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, on ‘the international outlook of many of our most prestigious universities’, but moves swiftly on. (One is left with the impression the MPs didn’t much warm to Richardson.) But international students? International collaborations? International league tables? Not a word to be said.

 

Trust us: it’s simple

Like much post-2012 commentary on universities, this report positions fees as individual debt in one paragraph, and ‘public money’ in the next. This is in part a matter of tactics; it suits the argument at different times for the money to be either that of the individual or the taxpayer. Yet the impression it gives is of someone turning a naïve gaze upon a complex machine, and looking for simple answers. To give it some credit, sometimes it finds them.

For example, it’s excellent on university admissions. It comes down against unconditional offers, but firmly in favour of contextual offers. On the latter point, some vice-chancellors might mutter darkly about the failure of successive governments to stand up to the Daily Mail on this point, but it is nonetheless welcome support for a good cause. And the Committee trashes the use of entry-tariff as a measure in league tables. That argument is somewhat more complicated, since applicants may reasonably want to know about the quality of those they with whom they will learn; however, it’s still useful to know that objective observers, like many academics, see this metric as a worthless indication of a course’s quality.

Their perspective is also bracing on flexible learning, even if these points will be obvious to most people within the sector. Policy in recent years has focused unhelpfully on 18-21 year-olds, even as the mature-age and part-time markets have collapsed. Their recommendations, that universities ‘should move away from a linear approach to degrees’, and that the current post-18 review might ‘develop a funding model which allows a range of flexible options’, are not exactly plotting a clear and easy path towards recovery. But it’s not as though anyone else has cracked this puzzle either.

 

Much has changed over the fourteen months through which the Commons Education Committee has turned its mind to these matters. Indeed much of this report feels tired and wistful, not only for an era when overseeing universities was more straightforward but for days when this Committee was setting an agenda. Hence, perhaps, its unwieldy number of recommendations. It’s not likely that any will lead directly to action, but there’s a certain satisfaction to be derived simply from ticking all the boxes.

 

How we spend it: the students’ take on ‘value for money’*

For academic researchers, there is one headline figure in the report Value for Money: the student perspective, published this week. Although this particular statistic is bound to be ignored in all mainstream media coverage of the report, it states that 70% of students either “definitely” or “mostly” agree that their tuition fees should support “academic research related to [their] subject”. Students, in other words, want their lecturers to succeed as researchers, and are prepared to underwrite these efforts. Only 18% disagree.

We have learned over the past year how easy it can be to harvest grumpy quotes from disaffected students. We have also heard politicians and commentators endlessly rehearse assertions about the supposedly poor value for money of many degrees. Amid this morass of hyperbole and bile, Value for Money: the student perspective, produced by a consortium of students’ unions and based on a survey of over 5,000 students and 500 recent graduates, offers some precious shards of sense.

As we might expect, the messages are not entirely rosy. On the overall question of whether students perceive that their courses represent good value for money, only 38% agreed, while 44% disagreed. These figures are consistent with the finding from last year’s Higher Education Policy Institute survey, imprinted into the minds of politicians and newspaper columnists, of 35%  “value for money” satisfaction. So there is an issue here, and this has been endorsed by the Office for Students, which has a commitment to “value for money” written into its mandate. But maybe this report also includes some signals towards solutions.

For a start, it helps us to unravel what students understand when they are asked about value for money. The picture here is far from clear. For instance, how might we account for the fact that only 70% of Scottish students feel they are getting value for money? The mainstream media has reported this as a high number; however, when we consider that Scottish tuition fees are precisely £0, one starts to wonder about the perceptions of the remaining 30%. Granted, it was a small sample, and some of them may have been paying English fees, but what more do they want? For a second example, consider the disparity in views between English and international students. The latter subsidise the former, yet they report significantly higher levels of satisfaction on the question of value for money.

Furthermore, the figures suggest some instructive misconceptions about university finances. Take the statistic that 24% of students do not think that their fees should fund “university management costs”. One explanation for this figure is that there is a higher number of edu-anarchists among our student body than previously acknowledged. Another—perhaps more plausible—is that many students believe universities have other sources of funds that can cover all that stuff. Maybe such students assume that the state is funding universities rather more than is the case.

This suggests, as the report’s authors also argue, that greater transparency about university finances may be beneficial on all sides. There will always be some students who divide £9,250 by their number of contact hours and dash off a stinking letter to The Telegraph. Indeed we now also know that 10% of students evidently do not want any library resources. (I mean who cares, really, about books and journals when all you’re after is a degree and a job?) But the majority of students are more than capable of thinking carefully—and critically—through questions of cross-subsidy and university management.

This may even present a way forward on the thorny matter of vice-chancellors’ salaries. If we accept the Russell Group’s calculation, that its average vice-chancellor’s salary absorbs 0.05% of the respective university’s turnover, then each student is contributing roughly £4.63 to those salaries. For some, to be sure, that may be £4.62 too much; for the rest, one could reasonably hope that any VC could make a case for an impact on the student experience equivalent to the cost of a cup of coffee a term.

There may also be lessons here for the Labour Party. That gap between satisfaction with value for money in Scotland and England is substantial, but is it really worth the cost attached to abolishing tuition fees south of the border? And is it worth the risk of under-funding, especially when this report provides such powerful evidence of the value students place on low staff-student ratios, high-quality learning resources, employability support, and so forth? As I read this report, the key lesson is one of communication, not financial revolution.

At its best, the value for money debate may help to focus afresh on the nature and values of the university. As this report demonstrates, the discourse of value for money does not need to be as reductive and punitive as it has appeared in much recent criticism. Most students are unquestionably committed to the institutions in which they have chosen to invest their time and money, wanting them to succeed. A majority—58%—approve even of their fees being committed to “capital expenditure”. Indeed if I have one criticism of this survey, it is that students were not asked about the value to them of their university’s reputation or international standing. Responses on that score would have been fascinating.

So Value for Money: the student perspective, for all of the challenges it presents, represents an important step towards more meaningful debate. Students want their universities to flourish, just as they want to support their lecturers as researchers. While many who work in universities worry about increased financial constraint on the horizon, an openness to dialogue with our most important stakeholders—our students—still holds the potential to take the sector forward.

* This piece was first published in Research Fortnight

Sam’s day out: how a modern Minister for Universities learns his brief*

Sam Gyimah was never going to throw new light on the Office for Students when he spoke last week at its inauguration. It was never his project, and after its early stutters he probably just wanted to get through the day as uneventfully as possible. But his speech, ‘A Revolution in Accountability’, was enlightening nonetheless, for the evidence it provided of a minister coming to terms with his brief. Proclaiming Gyimah’s desire to be ‘a minister for students’ as well as minister for universities, it was in part personal, in part naive, and in part troubling.

The speech’s greatest howler, the assertion ‘that universities need to act in loco parentis’, has been debunked elsewhere. To be generous, this suggests an admirably deep commitment to students’ welfare; to be critical, it positions the minister alongside so many other critics of universities, identifying a few problems and coming up with an answer that kind of feels right. Intentionally or not, indeed, this speech says rather  a lot about the current state of higher education policy.

 

Where did he get that idea?

Like so much recent public discourse about higher education, Gyimah leans heavily on anecdote and popular politics. In his first two months in office, he has prioritized meetings with students, listening to ‘their hopes and concerns’. This leads him to a range of personal revelations, from the scale of mental health problems on campus, through the attainment gap for ethnic minority students, and on to some statements of the dazzlingly obvious. ‘One student,’ he says, ‘told me that above all … they valued excellent teaching.’

Yes, we could have told him all that, yet there is no harm in learning through engagement and dialogue. What is more worrying for me is that he appears to have little interest in other forms of learning. Many politicians will sprinkle speeches with quotes from social theorists, or references to key books and reports. Gyimah surely must have noticed, for instance, that one of his predecessors, David Willetts, has published rather a weighty volume on universities. But there’s not much indication in the speech that he has read anything beyond the ‘credible commentators’ he mentions, who have turned critical eyes upon universities in newspaper columns and social media over the past year. Quite how they become ‘credible’, in Gyimah’s eyes, is not clear: maybe by saying the same things over and over.

His willingness to settle for the word of popular critics leads Gyimah to the only hard statistic in the speech. ‘The most recent HEPI survey,’ he tells us, ‘showed that 34% of students feel they are getting poor value from their courses.’ I wonder sometimes whether those at the Higher Education Policy Institute are embarrassed by the caricature their ‘Student Academic Experience Survey’ has become. (‘Ah yes,’ they’re told, ‘that’s the “value for money” survey.’) It also strikes me as odd that the minister should not bother to look beyond this figure. The profile of the National Student Survey – completed by roughly twenty times as many students as the HEPI survey – is maybe as low outside universities as it is high inside them. Might that be because it tells more nuanced stories?

 

Trust us: we’re doing stuff

Maybe it would be unfair to expect a new universities’ minister to present his party’s policy as coherent. After all, nobody else has managed to do so. Nonetheless, this speech provides some eye-watering moments: such as the segue from a paragraph boasting how the Tories have ‘put universities on a sustainable financial footing’, to another that begins: ‘This year, we are doing more. We have frozen student fees.’ If that’s Gyimah’s idea of action, we might all settle down for a doze.

In line with his ‘credible commentators’, Gyimah presents universities as resistant to the ‘winds of change’, but struggles to put his finger on precisely how. Is it ‘free speech’, perhaps. He doesn’t choose to elaborate. Is is ‘decolonizing the curriculum’? Well, he just tosses that one out there, as you do. Is it ‘top pay’, perhaps? In all, there’s a sense of someone ticking off a list of topical issues, with little sense of how he, as a minister, might approach them more meaningfully than someone who has just dashed out 1000 words for the Telegraph. For these winds of change have been fanned largely by the pages of newspapers.

This is also a worryingly limited vision of higher education. When Gyimah speaks of ‘students’, he almost always means undergraduate students. Moreover, his statement that ‘the brightest and the best [students] from around the world are queuing up to study here’ will surprise many people. On the one hand, it echoes a line we’ve heard before from the Tories, that only the ‘brightest and best’ people from overseas really matter to us. On the other hand, it reeks of complacency at a time when his own government places unnecessary barriers in the way of international students.

The speech also leaves one wondering whether, if Gyimah styles himself minister for students, who might be the minister for research. The speech does not ignore research; indeed it includes the assertion that we have seen ‘the largest increases to research spending for 40 years’. (I guess there’s evidence for that, but it will surprise many readers.) Moreover, Gyimah offers no comment on how research spending might benefit students, just as he avoids any reflection on the distinctive combination of research and education that shapes universities.

Gyimah’s UK university system is also gloriously insular. We are, he boasts ‘a global superpower in HE’: as though we have our top universities trained on our enemies like Trident missiles. He dodges questions of international collaboration, which is perhaps the greatest single determinant of research quality. A ‘successful post-Brexit future’, for Gyimah, ‘depends on harnessing all the creativity, ingenuity and excellence in our universities’. Many academics might suggest that access to European research funding would help a little as well.

 

Maybe this speech came too early for Gyimah. For those of us who might meet him on his national tour, however, it indicates some areas where he still has much to learn. It can only be hoped that he is willing now to listen to people within the sector, as well as those ‘credible commentators’ who have done so much to warp perceptions of higher education.

* This piece was first published at wonkhe.com

Value for money in higher education: a very English debate

The term ‘value for money’ is now deeply entrenched in public discourse about higher education in England. It is written into the Higher Education and Research Act. It is the subject of an ongoing enquiry by te House of Commons Education Committee, and it has launched a few dozen identikit newspaper columns. It is at the centre of what the Office for Students describes as a ‘major piece of research’ that it has recently commissioned, intending to probe students’ perceptions of value for money to ‘inform’ how the OfS ‘takes forward its legal responsibilities to promote’ it. And no doubt it will in turn inform the thinking of Sam Gyimah, the new minister for Higher Education and Science, as he implements the review of student finance and university funding announced last week.

But one missing element in this debate is an agreed definition of value for money. When we talk about “value” in the context of university education, are we really thinking only about the material return of an undergraduate degree to an individual – as opposed to the wider impact of a vibrant university system? Whose “money” are we even talking about? And are we happy with individual perceptions, or are we looking for objective evidence?

Given this lack of clarity, it’s worth pausing to consider where we are and how we got here. It’s also timely to reflect on the risks carried by these three little words. Nobody, least of all academics, wants universities that are not providing value. But if “value for money” continues to mean radically different things to different people, this peculiarly English debate is unlikely to lead to a better place.

 

How we got here

In a sector that is profoundly globalized, the value for money debate is surprisingly local. While other countries debate the funding of higher education in various ways, it is difficult to find anything comparable to our value for money terminology. And it is misleading even to call it a British issue; in truth it is confined almost exclusively to England. It can be traced back to the 2012 fee-increases, which have affected students in the four UK nations quite differently.

The Telegraph made an early attempt to assess value for money in the wake of the £9000 fees, producing a table that rolled differences in living expenses into the overall costs of higher education. Given the relentless increases in the costs of university accommodation, this appeared to make sense; but it didn’t last. The Complete University Guide trialled a ‘value for money’ index, created by isolating the facilities and academic services spending of universities. This produced in 2015 a somewhat eccentric top five of: Buckinghamshire New University, Royal Agricultural University, University of Northampton, Durham University and the University of Hertfordshire. It duly sunk without trace.

The Higher Education Policy Institute’s Student Academic Experience Survey, in operation since 2006, has achieved far greater impact. Just 14,000 undergraduate students, from all years of study, completed this survey in 2017 (less than 5% of the number who completed the National Student Survey). It has never enjoyed a fraction of the profile of the NSS within universities, in part because it has no impact on league tables, yet it has managed to achieve remarkable levels of attention within the media and with politicians.

In its early years the survey attracted attention mainly for its valuable data on students’ work-patterns. Indeed very recent analysis has demonstrated its ongoing value in this respect, arguing on its basis for the importance of independent study, and pointing to the risks of two-year degrees. But it has blasted into the mainstream through its ‘value’ question. Specifically, in the 2017 version of the survey, Question 16 asked: ‘Thinking of all the things you’ve been asked about in this questionnaire so far, which statement best describes your view of the value for money of your present course?’ Hence the survey’s definition of ‘value for money’ is not so much explicit as implicit in those preceding questions. These cover matters such as contact time, assignments and feedback, the quality and qualifications of teaching staff and overall satisfaction.

Interestingly, in 2017 Question 15, immediately preceding the ‘value for money’ question, asked: ‘Universities are now allowed to raise their fees in line with inflation to £9,250 if they meet certain teaching standards.  Do you think this new fee should apply to [your university]?’ Given this trajectory of questioning – the sort of thing that may raise eyebrows in a court of law – it is perhaps not wholly surprising that the responses should have suggested a declining sense of value for money. The headline finding, repeatedly rehearsed in the months since the results were announced, was that only 35% rated their degree as ‘good’ or ‘very good’ value for money. When students face the question this coming spring, the constant media attention to the issue over the past twelve months can surely only be weighting the scales still further.

The other key factor that has shaped the debate on value for money has been the increased availability of graduate employment data. The Destination of Leavers from Higher Education survey has steadily risen in status over the past ten years or so, and feeds into most league tables. The release of graduate salary figures has also seized public attention. The concept of ‘low value’ degrees, now prevalent in popular commentary, tends to gesture loosely in the direction of such data. In actual fact, the data have tended to show that, while there are a handful of outliers – disciplines and institutions – at each end of the spectrum, the vast majority of graduates find that there are job opportunities and graduate premiums there to be seized. But rules of evidence are not strictly observed in this discourse.

At a time of economic and wage constraint, cutting hard into the expectations of millenials, it is perhaps understandable that value should be rendered so consistently in financial terms. The cost of higher education weighs very hard on young shoulders. And in the context of the political and cultural instability of 2017, with one major party committing itself to slashing fees, it is equally predictable that students and their families should pause in their thinking on concerns value for money. Ye it remains striking – and disturbingly so – quite how weakly grounded in reality many of the popular complaints actually are.

 

Where we are now

The Office for Students, established on 1 January this year, is charged (among other things) with ‘promoting value for money in the provision of higher education’. So the concept of value for money has slid effortlessly from the realm of a small-scale survey into the English higher education regulatory structure. One might expect we would therefore have a degree of agreement over what ‘value for money’ means – but evidently not.

A remarkable amount of commentary, especially from the level of government, in fact begins with data from the Student Academic Experience Survey, as though its implicit definition of value for money was self-evident all along. Discussion has also been swayed over the past year by evidence that many students now leave university with over £50,000 of debt. While the figure was not far short of this amount previously, and while a student’s overall debt makes no difference at all to his or her monthly repayments, £50,000 was a sum that seized imaginations.

This miasma of anxiety led to reports such as The Higher Education Market, produced by the National Audit Office, which fretted over the lack of variation in fees and made some headline-grabbing comparisons with the regulation of financial services. While such concerns seemed like old news to many people within the sector, the attempt to apply the logic and methods of the market to higher education was significant in itself. Like the Office for Students itself, with its focus on the interests of students as consumers, this report positioned higher education as almost entirely transactional in character.

The ongoing enquiry into value for money established by the Education Committee stretches matters further. Taking its cue, as one might by this point expect, from the Student Academic Experience Survey, it is considering: graduate outcomes and the use of destination data; social justice in higher education and support for disadvantaged students; senior management pay in universities; quality and effectiveness of teaching; and (through a curiously circular rationale) the role of the Office for Students. Quite how some of these matters relate to value for money may escape sceptical observers. Perhaps the key lesson is how this discourse, once given credibility and licence, can become an umbrella under which all manner of concerns might be sheltered.

The Office for Students consultation exercise, launched last autumn, suggested an intriguing new direction in the debate. Value for money is not just a matter for students, the Office suggested, but also ‘for taxpayers’. This line had been rehearsed by Jo Johnson, former Minister for Universities and Science, in a speech in the summer, and essentially follows the money-trail, since roughly 35% of the cost of the average undergraduate’s education is likely to fall into the lap of the state. Yet it perhaps leaves the door ajar to a more comprehensive appreciation of the value of universities within a nation. As Johnson himself stated, universities today are not merely suppliers of degrees; they are expected ‘to help drive national prosperity and advance individuals’ life chances’.

This is the argument of the universities themselves. Universities UK routinely produces statistics demonstrating the net national benefits produced by expenditure on higher education. It’s an investment, they argue, not a cost. The university sector, in the most recent calculations, contributed £21.5 billion to GDP, representing 1.2% of the UK’s Gross Domestic Product. International students are worth £7.3 billion to the economy, and so forth. Other countries take this sort of thing for granted in any consideration of the value of higher education. Australians, for instance, routinely speak with pride about higher education as a leading export industry, and consider the UK’s indifference to international students with open-mouthed incredulity.

Further, one of England’s more articulate and passionate vice-chancellors, Sheffield’s Sir Keith Burnett, consistently maintains that figures, whether wielded by the NAO or UUK, are not enough. In particular, he stresses the importance of the international reputations of universities, and the need also to consider research activity in relation to the cost of teaching. These are arguments welcomed by academics across the sector. ‘If a parent wants “better value for money” in the sense that they long for their child to be taught by truly great thinkers,’ he writes, ‘then they need to think of education in its fullest sense. Perhaps they should be concerned at the erosion of resource for the kind of work which won their child’s university and department international respect.’

It is possible that Burnett’s arguments will gain traction, and that popular discourse around higher education will return to historically more familiar territory. But this remains a challenge. In the midst of a media-storm about student-debt, it is demonstrably easier to place alarmist stories about the salaries of vice-chancellors than to present evidence about the value, to students and their nation alike, of a well managed and highly regarded university. And it is very tempting, for commentators and legislators alike, when considering value for money, to separate the education functions of a university from all else.

 

What could possibly go wrong?

It can be argued that higher education has enjoyed a relatively easy ride through the era of austerity. While other sectors – health, schools, local government – have suffered severe cuts, the fee arrangement of 2012 was higher education’s ‘get out of jail free’ card. Arguments have also been won, with successive ministers and chancellors of the exchequer, over the value of research funding. These victories have brought a measure of stability, though also bred resentment, fairly or unfairly, within wider society. In precarious times, the discourse of value for money poses some undeniable risks.

One element of risk is now written into the structures under which higher education is managed. In 2016 higher education was effectively split between two government departments: the education functions shifted into the Department of Education, and research left behind in the Department of Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy. Moreover, the Office for Students is more narrowly focused than its predecessor, the Higher Education Funding Council for England. It has some oversight – rather vaguely defined – of the nation’s ‘research base’, but otherwise research falls to the new UK Research and Innovation, and its subsidiary Research England.

Hence when the Office for Students focuses on value for money, it is not easy for it to encompass the overall functions of universities, including research. These matter hugely in terms of institutional reputations, which in turn matter hugely in terms of attracting international students. By contrast, the isolation of the education-function invites reductive appreciations of universities. It leads people to ask why universities can’t deliver their products more cheaply, and even more swiftly. Far from representing a smart national investment, then, MPs can now be heard asserting that universities are ‘ripping off’ their consumers. Once the value of higher education is equated with the cheap delivery of skills, such arguments are no more than logical.

In these forms, the value for money debate could have wildly unpredictable effects on the unfolding structural change within higher education. Commentators tend to overlook the intensity of competition within the system. In recent years some universities have expanded rapidly, while others have struggled, year by year, to meet their target numbers. Research funding is also being concentrated relentlessly into the hands of a minority of institutions. In this context it becomes easy enough to see how a discourse of value for money could be used to drive through sweeping reforms, such as differential fees, the formal downgrading of research at some universities, and even institutional closures.

 

A funny kind of marketplace

The Oxford English Dictionary defines “value for money” in terms of “reasonableness of cost of something in view of its perceived quality”. It isolates the relationship between a buyer and seller, focused on the quality of a commodity. But degrees are a peculiar kind of commodity. Students studying for one are years away from reaping the likely economic and social rewards, and their success is dependent as much on their own commitment as that of their lecturers. It is therefore an open question how they can possibly be expected to make an informed judgement on the value for money of those degrees.

Yet such judgments now hold the potential to redraw the landscape of English higher education. The major review of funding, apparently resisted by Johnson and his sacked former boss, Justine Greening, looms large in 2018. It is being cheered on by influential Tories asserting, against conventional logic, that it will at once make fees “lower” and universities “better”. A secure government might assert greater, more mature influence in such an environment. Yet, at a time when universities are being sucked relentlessly into more profound debates about the kind of country England’s citizens want, this seems unlikely.

 

  • This piece was first published (in slightly different form, with nicer picture but without the hyperlinks) in Times Higher Education.

How much cross-subsidy? Research funding and the British university*

A recent HEPI report exposes the confidence trick that sustains British higher education. Research excellence leads to high international status; this in turn leads to high numbers of international students; and these students underwrite the research. Simple, but maybe not sustainable, especially in the current climate. Indeed an examination of this creaky merry-go-round exposes the risks that face UK universities.

How much is too much?

The report, How much is too much? Cross-subsidies from teaching to research in British universities, by University of Oxford MPhil student Vicky Olive, grabbed headlines for its calculation that international students contribute, on average, £8,000 per year to research funding. The author used Transparent Approach to Costing (TRAC) data (imperfect, yes, but the best information we have) to track income and expenditure, working largely at institutional level. Unsurprisingly, she found that teaching subsidises research. However, it’s almost entirely the surplus value from international students, rather than the income from home students, that is responsible for this effect.

The report’s fundamental point is about the chronic underfunding of research. Research councils never quite pay full economic costs, and increasingly demand match-funding. Charitable trusts and foundations never even pretend to cover full costs; and, again, they can make some stretching demands before releasing funds. Meanwhile, start-up equipment costs, especially in STEM fields, can be prohibitively expensive for many. In the most recent year that it analysed (2014-15), the report calculates a ‘research deficit’ across the UK of £3.3 billion, or 37 per cent of research income. It recommends that the government fills this gap.

There is increasingly intense competition for research resources. Successive rounds of the RAE and REF are driving universities to concentrate efforts on greater research productivity. Competition for grants has intensified as success-rates have waned. The growing trend for grants to be targeted in accordance with government policy (e.g. the Global Challenges Research Fund or the Industrial Strategy Research Fund), is prompting universities to reassess their entire operations. Universities are desperate to stay in the business of high-end research, and are stretching themselves to do so.

One of the ironies of this system is that, because research so consistently incurs losses, the financial strains are greatest on the most successful institutions. The concentration of resources at a select number of universities remains a controversial subject, but in fact it’s old news. The twenty-four Russell Group universities already win 76% of all available research grant and contract income, and 68% of all Quality-Related funding (determined by the REF). Many of the most costly areas of research are already the de facto preserve of a relatively small group of institutions. And these universities, as a result, become the ones that most desperately need to recruit – and charge, at a premium – international students.

Subsidising the cross

‘Cross-subsidy’, however, is an interesting idea. Some parts of university operations have always subsidised other parts. Moreover, in any business the tactical movement of resources from one unit to another is considered normal practice. But, as ‘How much is too much?’ demonstrates, the present circumstances of British higher education are placing practices of cross-subsidy under unprecedented scrutiny.

Critically, age-old tensions between research and teaching are now institutionalised in dual governing agencies: UK Research and Innovation (UKRI), and the Office for Students (OfS). And the latter – with a wisdom that remains unproven – has already swathed itself in the discourse of ‘value for money’, which impels in turn a radical unpicking of university finances. People need to know, we’re told, where every penny of those home fees of £9,250 per year actually goes. Now, as this report reminds us, it is surely only a matter of time before students from our main international markets ask their own questions about ‘value for money’, and look towards ambitious and cheaper universities at home. I don’t expect that countries such as China and India intend to underwrite UK research in the long term.

So there is a lesson here about the underlying tensions of cross-subsidy: the ‘how much is too much’ question. Elsewhere on Wonkhe, David Morris argues that the report exposes a ‘dirty secret’ of universities under-valuing teaching. However, I don’t think this was ever really a ‘secret’, nor is it ‘dirty’ to want one’s university to compete in the expensive, noble business of research. There is real value, for everyone, in universities producing world-leading research, as British universities are doing. But there is also value in appreciating the divergent interests of different stakeholders. Trust matters.

I also wonder whether there is a lesson about what Billy Bragg once called “the temptation / To take the precious things we have apart / To see how they work”. Britain did a lot to establish the prevailing international model of the university, as an institution in which research and education co-exist, not always easily yet almost always creatively. Across the world this model is flourishing, and attracting heavy state investment. The international league tables which have assumed such prominence in recent years are derided by many, yet their attention to ‘reputation’ underlines an essentially conservative conception of what a university actually is. That’s one reason why, for the time being, British universities do so well in these tables.

 

So what happens when we take liberties with this model, under-funding research and exploiting the desperation of universities to stay in the game? And what happens when we pick it apart, tracing every incoming pound and every TRAC-hour in the interests of ‘value for money’? Maybe that confidence trick I mentioned above, which is fundamentally a story of success, starts to look a bit rickety. Maybe British universities as a result lose some of their reputation for quality in both research and teaching. And maybe we will find that the idea of the university might be easier to pull apart than to put back together.

* Published first by wonkhe.com