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Talking the talk: language for learning in higher education

by Estefania Gamarra, Marion Heron, Lewis Baker and Harriet Tenenbaum

Do you remember when you started university, and you were expected to use a whole new language? We don’t just mean new nomenclature such as ‘seminars’ or ‘tutorials’, but language that can help you make a clear argument or disagree politely with a classmate. This language, or educational dialogue, and in particular disagreeing politely, is critical to be an engaged citizen in a healthy democracy, without otherwise descending into unhealthy practices such as ‘cancel culture’ as recently highlighted in the media. In this blog post, we argue that universities have a responsibility not only to teach students how to talk in an academic context, but also for this teaching to be discipline-specific and embedded in the disciplinary study where possible.

There is a long-held misperception that all students who start university are able to talk the talk of the university, that is, they have the language skills, the terminology, and the confidence to articulate their opinions from their first day. This is just simply not true for many undergraduate students. Having English as a first language is also not necessarily an advantage. Bourdieu et al (1994, p8) said, “academic language… is no one’s mother tongue, not even that of children of the cultivated classes”.

What do we mean by language here? We have drawn on the pedagogy and research from compulsory school education, namely the work of scholars at Cambridge University. Their work on educational dialogue has been successfully incorporated into school teaching with impressive results. Educational dialogue here refers to communicative acts such as agreeing, disagreeing, reasoning and expressing ideas. Research in school settings has shown that encouraging such dialogue can boost academic attainment. One study highlighted the relationship between elaborating on ideas and attainment in reading, spelling, punctuation and grammar. Despite this compelling evidence, similar strategies have been underexplored in higher education.

In our university classrooms, we hear students say things such as: ‘I know the answer, but don’t know how to phrase it’ and ‘I need to learn how to express my answer like that’. So, if students are themselves noticing a need for academic language, why are we so behind in the higher education context? And more importantly, what language do these students need? Do they all need the same academic language to confidently talk the talk? This is exemplified by the dialogue below between two engineering students working on answering multiple-choice questions together, an excerpt from our forthcoming research:

Student A:  Yeah, listen, we need to be able when we say “force”, to say why.  

Student B:  Yeah, to flip it.  

Student A:  Because we were right, like, C is incorrect, but we don’t say why it is not incorrect.  

Student B:  I don’t know how to word it, you know.

In our current research project, supported by a Nuffield Foundation grant, we explore whether pairs of Foundation Year students across Engineering, Psychology and Bioscience, engaging in discipline-specific multiple-choice questions, can learn to develop these academic language skills and the extent to which they can do this in an academic year-long intervention programme.

Our early findings indicate that while students are capable of using academic language, the forms they adopt vary by discipline. For example, consider one of the most basic interactions in academic discussions – giving and asking for reasons. Typically, the default marker for requesting justification is “why?”. The following extract from a psychology discussion illustrates this:

Student A:  Why do you think that is?

Student B:  Because, uh, if you got negative emotion, you know, so that is not called positive psychology. Yep, yeah, so I’m thinking about understanding like how to prevent negative emotions.

In contrast, in science courses such as biology or engineering, it was more common to use “how?” rather than “why?” when asking for reasoning. Consider this extract from an engineering discussion:

Student A:  Yes. Then the same as D.

Student B:  D? How?

Student A:  And then it’s…

Student B:  Oh.

Student A:  And this is…

Student B:  So the arrow goes this way…

Student A:  So then P goes this way…

Here, Student B not only asks for the reasoning by using “how?”, but the response unfolds as a sequence of steps outlining the reasoning process. This example also highlights another subject-specific difference: while psychology students typically expand on each other’s arguments or examples, engineering students more frequently build on each other’s equations, often with the assistance of pen and paper.

So, based on these snippets of authentic student dialogues, let’s return to the question posed at the beginning. Yes, all students can and do need to learn academic language to talk to each other and develop understanding, but the type of language depends on the discipline. Disciplinary differences can be seen in the way students build on each other’s ideas (eg long turns, short turns) as well as the words and phrases used. The evidence from our project shows this.

We argue that learning to talk the language of higher education should not be considered a prerequisite but instead, should be an essential feature of the higher education curriculum embedded within disciplinary studies.

Why is this important? Integrating academic language training into the curriculum can enhance students’ academic confidence, foster a stronger sense of belonging, and ultimately improve retention rates. In a post‐COVID world, where student engagement is waning, this conversation‐based approach may also help rebuild the social and collaborative fabric of university life.

Moreover, the skills developed through such training are highly transferable beyond academia. Students acquire essential discussion and teamwork abilities that prove invaluable in their future careers. It is important to emphasise that developing these skills requires deliberate training; we must not assume that students will acquire them without practice and guidance.

Although students may already use discipline‐specific language, targeted training helps them become accustomed to engaging in – and, more importantly, listening to – disagreement. These conversational practices become part of their repertoires, enabling them to generalize these skills across various contexts. As noted earlier, we must all learn to engage in constructive disagreement to counteract cancel culture. While the manner of such discourse may vary by discipline, developing these skills is essential for active participation in a healthy, thriving democracy.

Estefania Gamarra Burga is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the University of Surrey. Her research interests include educational dialogue, discourse analysis, gender, and spatial cognition in STEM and higher education.

Marion Heron is Associate Professor of Educational Linguistics in the Surrey Institute of Education, University of Surrey. She supervises doctoral students on topics in the field of applied linguistics and higher education. She researches in the areas of language and education, with a particular interest in classroom discourse, genre and doctoral education.

Lewis Baker is a Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Engineering and Physical Sciences and a Chartered Science Teacher. His research interests include teaching pedagogy and science education, often within a foundation year context.

Harriet Tenenbaum is Professor of Social and Developmental Psychology. Her research focuses on social justice in young people, everyday conversations, and teaching and learning across the lifespan.


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Private international foundation courses, and what they say about university leadership

by Morten Hansen

My research on the history of private international pathway providers and their public alternatives shows how some universities have stopped believing in themselves. Reversing this trend requires investment in their capabilities and leadership.

The idea that universities have stopped believing in themselves as institutions that can take on the challenges of the day and find solutions that are better than those developed by private rivals echoes a point recently revived by Mariana Mazzucato. Mazzucato explains how private firms often are portrayed like lions. Bold animals that make things happen. The public sector and third-sector organisations, on the contrary, are too often seen as gerbils. Timid animals that are no good at developing new and innovative solutions.

Skilled salesmen convinced some universities that private companies are better than universities at teaching and recruiting for university preparatory programmes. The inbuilt premise of this pitch is that universities are gerbils and private providers are lions. One university staff member explained what it felt like meeting such salesmen:

“The thing that sticks most in my mind is the dress. And how these people sat differently, looked differently, spoke differently, and we felt parochial. We felt like a bunch of country bumpkins against some big suits.” (University staff)

The lion-gerbil pitch worked in institutions across England because universities were stifled by three interlocking practices of inaction: outsourcing capability development; taking ambiguous stands on international tuition fees; and refusing to cooperate with other universities.

Outsourcing capability

Universities are increasingly outsourcing core aspects of their operations, such as recruiting international students. While university leadership is often characterised as conservative, my research suggest that this trope misses something critical about contemporary university leadership in English higher education. The problem with the term ‘conservative’ is that it implies that leadership is risk-averse, and comfortable projecting past power structures, practices and norms into the future. This does not correspond to historical developments and practices in the sector for international pathways.

The University of Exeter, for example, submitted incorporation documents for their limited liability partnership with INTO University Partnerships only six years after the Limited Liability Partnerships Act 2000 was passed, which marked the first time in England’s history that this legal setup was possible. They took a big leap of faith in the private sector’s ability to recruit students for them, and after doing so invested time and resources helping INTO to further develop its capability. They even invited them onto their campuses. It is hard to overstate how much these actions diverged from historical practice and thus ‘conservative’ leadership.

What was once a highly unusual thing to do, has over the last two decades thoroughly normalised—to the extent that partnering with pathways now seems unavoidable. One respondent from the private sector explained this change in the following way:

“In 2006, ‘07, ‘08, ‘09, ‘10, the pathway providers were, if you like, the unwelcome tenants in the stately home of the university. We had to be suffered because we did something for them. Now, the relationship has totally moved. It’s almost as if they roll out the red carpet for the pathway providers” (C-suite)

The far more conservative strategy would have been to lean into the university’s core capabilities – teaching and admissions – and scale this up over time. Yet that is precisely what my respondents said ‘conservative’ university leaders were unwilling to do: they did not believe the university could manage overseas recruitment by themselves. As argued by former Warwick VC Nigel Thrift, this timidity is not unique to the recruitment of international students, but also extends to their engagement with government agencies. University management by and large “has done as it has been told. It hasn’t exactly rolled over and played dead, but sometimes it can feel as though it is dangerously close to Stockholm Syndrome” (Thrift, 2025, p3).

Ambiguous stands on international fees have deepened the current crises

There is no law in England that compels universities to charge high international students fees. By setting them as high as possible and rapidly increasing the intake of international students, universities de facto offset and thus obfuscated the havoc that changing funding regimes wreaked on university finances. This has contributed to what Kings’ Vice Chancellor Shitij Kapur calls the ‘triangle of sadness’ between domestic students, universities, and the government.

Had universities chosen to stand in solidarity with their international students by aligning their fees more closely to the fees of home students, then the subsequent crises in funding would have forced universities to either spend less money, or make it clearer to the wider public that more funding was needed, before building up the dependencies and subsequent vulnerabilities to intake fluctuations that are currently on full display. These vulnerabilities were exacerbated by overoptimistic growth plans, and university leadership not always fully understanding the added costs that came with such growth. In an example of this delayed realisation, one Pro-Vice-Chancellor explained to me what it felt like to partner with a private foundation pathway:

“At the time you are signing up for these things, there is euphoria around because they are going to deliver against this business plan, which is showing hundreds of students coming in. International student is very buoyant, you sign up for a 35-year deal. So, everything is rosy. If you then just take a step back and think ‘so what am I exposing the university to?’  …  because in year seven, eight, ten, fifteen whatever, it can all go pear-shaped, and you are left then with the legacy building.” (Pro-Vice-Chancellor)

By seeing fee setting as a practice, that is, something universities do to their own students rather than something that is inflicted by external (market or government) powers, we make visible its ideological nature and implications. The longer history of international fees in Brittan was thus an important site of ideological co-option; it was a critical juncture at which universities could have related in a more solidaric manner towards their students.

Unwillingness to cooperate on increased student acquisition costs

You might, at this stage, be wondering: what was the alternative? The answer is in recognising the structure of the market for what it is: efficiently recruiting and training a large number of international students requires some degree of cooperation between universities. My research, however, suggests that universities have often been unwilling to cooperate because they see each other chiefly as competitors. This competition is highly unequal given the advantage conferred to prestigious universities located in internationally well-known cities.

The irony is that many universities nevertheless end up – perhaps unwittingly – cooperating by partnering with one of the few private companies that offer international foundation programmes. These private providers can only reach economies of scale because they partner with multiple universities at the same time. One executive explains how carrying a portfolio of universities for agents to offer their clients is precisely what gives them a competitive advantage:

“The importance of the pathways to the agents is that they carry a portfolio of universities, and the ambition is that you have some which are very well-ranked and academically quite difficult to get into. And, you try and have a bottom-feeder or two, which is relatively easy to get into academically. The agent is then able to talk to its clients and say, look, I can get offers into these universities. Some of them are at the very top. If you are not good enough there, then you might get one in the middle and I’ve always got my insurance offer for you. […] what the pathways do is that they provide a portfolio that makes that easier.” (Private Executive)

A public consortium with pooled resources and that isn’t shy about strategically coordinating student flows would have functioned just as well, and the Northern Consortium is living proof of this. The consortium in fact inspired Study Group to get into the pathway business themselves. The limited growth of the Consortium, relative to its private rivals, is equally proof of missed chances and wasted opportunities.

Could the gerbil eat the lion?

Private providers can use and have used these practices of inaction to pit universities against each other, over time resulting in lower entry requirements and higher recruitment costs. In this climate, public alternatives such as in-house programmes struggle to survive. Once invited in, pathway companies are also well positioned to expand their business with their partner universities in other ways, deepening their dependence. As one senior executive told me:

“Our aspiration is to say that the heart of what we are is a good partner to universities. They trust us. […] for some of our core partners, we bring in a lot of revenue. And, that then puts us in a really good position to think about the other services that we can add of value.” (Private Executive)

The economic downside of relying on these ‘good’ partners is the expensive and volatile market dynamics that follow. As long as universities are trapped by the notion that they are chiefly competitors best served by outsourcing capabilities to sales-oriented firms and leaving international students to pick up the bill, there is limited hope for any genuine inter-university collaboration and innovation. This limits the public potential for scaling an economically viable and resilient market in the long-run.  As a sector, HE has the know-how, experience, capital, and repute to do this. It’s just about getting on with it!

Morten Hansen is a Lecturer in Digital Economy and Innovation Education at the Department of Digital Humanities, King’s College London.


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Do we really empower sabbatical officers to be the voice of students?

by Rebecca Turner, Jennie Winter & Nadine Schaefer

Student voice is firmly embedded within the architecture of universities, with multiple mechanisms existing through which we (as educators) can ‘hear’, and students can ‘leverage’ their voice.  The notion of student voice is widely debated (and critiqued – see Mendes & Hammett, 2023), and whilst relevant to this blog post, it is not what we seek to focus on here. Rather we focus on one of the primary figureheads of student voice within universities – the sabbatical officer – and consider how they are empowered to represent the ‘voice’ of their peers to their university.

Sabbatical officers are elected by the student body to represent their interests to the wider university community. They are leaders and trustees of their student union – semi autonomous organisations that operate alongside universities to advocate for the student body (Brooks, Byford & Sela 2016).  As elected student representatives, sabbatical officers sit on high-level university committees where student voice is ‘required,’ making the rapid transition from a student in a lecture hall, to a voice for all. Though this is an anticipated move, it is potentially challenging. Becoming a sabbatical officer is the accumulation of a hard-fought election campaign, which commonly builds on several years of working with their students’ union alongside their undergraduate studies (Turner & Winter, 2023).

In collaboration with the NUS, and with the support of a small grant from the Staff and Educational Development Association (SEDA), we undertook a national survey to develop contemporary insights into the work of elected sabbatical officers. Sabbatical officers were clearly keen to share their experiences as we achieved responses from 59% of student unions affiliated to the NUS. We also undertook interviews with a sample of sabbatical officers (n=4) and permanent student union staff (n=6) who supported them during their time in office. Here we reflect on headlines emerging from this study, to place a brief spotlight on the work of sabbatical officers. 

What a busy year (or two!)

Sabbatical officers were often negotiating multiple, potentially competing, demands – as this survey respondent reflected when invited to comment on the main challenges they faced:

‘Getting up to speed with the fast-moving world of [being] a sabbatical officer and the many roles I had (sabb, trustee, leader, admin and campaigner)’.

Sabbatical officers had a long list of responsibilities, including jobs inherited from their predecessor, union and university commitments, as well as the commitments they made through their own manifestos.  Attending university committees to give the student voice took considerable time, with many questioning the value of the time spent in meetings:

‘It’s very much the case that you are in a room for two hours where you will be speaking for, I don’t know, two minutes. So sometimes it seems very boring to get involved with those random conversations which have very little to do directly with student experience.’ SO1

It was a common theme that sabbatical officers were silent during these meetings, waiting for the brief interlude when they were invited to speak. Leading us to question both where their agency as student representatives lay in these committees, and how they could effect change in this space, when their engagement was limited. A concern shared across survey respondents, for example:

‘I’m in a huge number of meetings which significantly reduces the amount of time I have to work on manifesto objectives.’

With a jobs list (and a diary) that echoed that of many Vice Chancellors (though with considerably less experience in HE), sabbatical officers reported engaging in trade-offs for who they worked with, whose voice was heard and opinions sought, to balance the demands of their role.  As this sabbatical officer reflected, this could leave the wider student body questioning their actions:

‘[Students] want to see the battle happening.  What they don’t want to see, is me sit for three hours and hash out the middle ground with some members of staff who probably aren’t going to change their mind.’ SO2

Finding their voice

Though given a seat at high level tables, respondents did not always feel at ease speaking up, the sentiments of this respondent were repeated many times in our data:

‘I think the hardest part is, we are sitting on committees with individuals who have worked here for years.  We’re never going to have that same knowledge, so that makes it quite a challenge um to be able to understand the ins and outs of the university and the institution, and the politics.’ SO3

We did question whether the expectation to engage in these spaces may further reinforce the inequalities in student leadership highlighted by Brooks et al (2015).  However, sabbatical officers were not working alone. Permanent officers played an important role, helping them, for example, to decode paperwork and plan their contributions. Leadership allies, who may, for example, provide early access to meeting paperwork to aide preparation, or coach sabbatical officers in advance of meetings, assisted sabbatical officers to find their voice:

‘I think the university has been really accommodating giving me the heads up on things that I could then have a bit more time to read up on things and to improve my knowledge.’ SO4

Developing effective support networks was essential; through these networks they gained the knowledge needed to contribute confidently in ‘university’ spaces. However, this took considerable time and resulted in many reprioritising their work. They focused on activities deemed essential (which were many!) with other areas of the work being streamlined to ensure promised commitments could be fulfilled (Turner & Winter, 2023). 

The time taken for sabbatical officers to get up to speed was discussed at length by those serving a second term, which as this respondent noted, was ‘when the real work got done.’   They had learnt the ropes, and as another Sabbatical Officer (SO) reflected:

‘There’s a lot of stuff [to learn] when you come into this role.  I think sabbatical officers do well if they are re-elected because they’ve had to learn a lot.’ SO2

‘Knowing the route to achieve my goals’

Our data captured the committed and driven nature of this (overlooked and overworked) constituent of the HE community. Though working in challenging circumstances, they embraced opportunities to influence policy and practice. Successes were based on the support they received and the strategies they developed to undertake their work. The value of an effective handover from their predecessor cannot be overlooked and permanent student union staff provided much needed continuity and support. Sabbatical officers drew on their student representatives to provide the eyes on the ground and engaged with senior leaders to develop their understanding of how universities work and through these individuals they grew in confidence to speak in front of diverse audiences.  As individuals, many respondents performed their roles with tenacity, approaching their work both pragmatically and innovatively. Yet the time limited nature of this role added pressure and delineated what could be achieved:

‘Knowing the route to achieve my goals was difficult because it requires knowing what exactly you want before you’ve even started the job [so that you can] achieve what you want in year.’

This prompted us to question the sustainability of the sabbatical officer role; realistically who can manage, at this early stage in their career, the breadth of demands placed on them for more than a short period of time?

Promoting the voice of sabbatical officers?

As pedagogic researchers, we have a final, curious observation to make regarding the dearth of systematic research into this field of HE. Student unions have a long history; reference is still made to the activism and uprise of the 1960s (Klemenčič 2014). As a community we lament how student voice activities have become the realm of quality assurance, and question whether students have become politically apathetic (Raaper, 2020). The re-positioning of student unions has increased accountability and encouraged partnership working with their affiliated university (Brooks et al, 2016; Squire 2020). This leads us to question how relevant it is to continue to look backwards and talk of how students’ unions used to operate in the past. As the sector becomes increasingly diverse and how students engage with HE becomes more fragmented, we need to play closer attention to students’ unions to ensure they are supported to function effectively and represent the interest of students. 

Dr Rebecca Turner is an Associate Professor in Educational Development at the University of Plymouth, UK.  Alongside her interest in student voice and representation, Rebecca’s research addresses themes relating to inclusivity, student success and widening participation. 

Professor Jennie Winter is Dean of Teaching and Learning and Professor of Academic Development at Plymouth Marjon University, a National Teaching Fellow, and a Principal Fellow of the UK Higher Education Academy. She holds numerous external roles, contributes to international pedagogic research, and her work has been utilised by the European Commission and presented globally.

Dr Nadine Schaefer is an Educational Developer at the University of Plymouth. Her research interests include student voice, student engagement and wider quality assurance issues in HE. Nadine is a Senior Advance HE Fellow (SFHEA).


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Will GenAI narrow or widen the digital divide in higher education?

by Lei Fang and Xue Zhou

This blog is based on our recent publication: Zhou, X, Fang, L, & Rajaram, K (2025) ‘Exploring the digital divide among students of diverse demographic backgrounds: a survey of UK undergraduates’ Journal of Applied Learning and Teaching, 8(1).

Introduction – the widening digital divide

Our recent study (Zhou et al, 2025) surveyed 595 undergraduate students across the UK to examine the evolving digital divide across all forms of digital technologies. Although higher education is expected to narrow this divide and build students’ digital confidence, our findings revealed the opposite. We found that the gap in digital confidence and skills between widening participation (WP) and non-WP students widened progressively throughout the undergraduate journey. While students reported peak confidence in Year 2, this was followed by a notable decline in Year 3, when the digital divide became most pronounced. This drop coincides with a critical period when students begin applying their digital skills in real-world contexts, such as job applications and final-year projects.

Based on our study (Zhou et al, 2025), while universities offer a wide range of support such as laptop loans, free access to remote systems, extracurricular digital skills training, and targeted funding to WP students, WP students often do not make use of these resources. The core issue lies not in the absence of support, but in its uptake. WP students are often excluded from the peer networks and digital communities where emerging technologies are introduced, shared, and discussed. From a Connectivist perspective (Siemens, 2005), this lack of connection to digital, social, and institutional networks limits their awareness, confidence, and ability to engage meaningfully with available digital tools.

Building on these findings, this blog asks a timely question: as Generative Artificial Intelligence (GenAI) becomes embedded in higher education, will it help bridge this divide or deepen it further?

GenAI may widen the digital divide — without proper strategies

While the digital divide in higher education is already well-documented in relation to general technologies, the emergence of GenAI introduces new risks that may further widen this gap (Cachat-Rosset & Klarsfeld, 2023). This matters because students who are GenAI-literate often experience better academic performance (Sun & Zhou, 2024), making the divide not just about access but also about academic outcomes.

Unlike traditional digital tools, GenAI often demands more advanced infrastructure — including powerful devices, high-speed internet, and in many cases, paid subscriptions to unlock full functionality. WP students, who already face barriers to accessing basic digital infrastructure, are likely to be disproportionately excluded. This divide is not only student-level but also institutional. A few well-funded universities are able to subscribe to GenAI platforms such as ChatGPT, invest in specialised GenAI tools, and secure campus-wide licenses. In contrast, many institutions, particularly those under financial pressure, cannot afford such investments. These disparities risk creating a new cross-sector digital divide, where students’ access to emerging technologies depends not only on their background, but also on the resources of the university they attend.

In addition, the adoption of GenAI currently occurs primarily through informal channels via peers, online communities, or individual experimentation rather than structured teaching (Shailendra et al, 2024). WP students, who may lack access to these digital and social learning networks (Krstić et al, 2021), are therefore less likely to become aware of new GenAI tools, let alone develop the confidence and skills to use them effectively. Even when they do engage with GenAI, students may experience uncertainty, confusion, or fear about using it appropriately especially in the absence of clear guidance around academic integrity, ethical use, or institutional policy. This ambiguity can lead to increased anxiety and stress, contributing to wider concerns around mental health in GenAI learning environments.

Another concern is the risk of impersonal learning environments (Berei & Pusztai, 2022). When GenAI are implemented without inclusive design, the experience can feel detached and isolating, particularly for WP students, who often already feel marginalised. While GenAI tools may streamline administrative and learning processes, they can also weaken the sense of connection and belonging that is essential for student engagement and success.

GenAI can narrow the divide — with the right strategies

Although WP students are often excluded from digital networks, which Connectivism highlights as essential for learning (Goldie, 2016), GenAI, if used thoughtfully, can help reconnect them by offering personalised support, reducing geographic barriers, and expanding access to educational resources.

To achieve this, we propose five key strategies:

  • Invest in infrastructure and access: Universities must ensure that all students have the tools to participate in the AI-enabled classroom including access to devices, core software, and free versions of widely used GenAI platforms. While there is a growing variety of GenAI tools on the market, institutions facing financial pressures must prioritise tools that are both widely used and demonstrably effective. The goal is not to adopt everything, but to ensure that all students have equitable access to the essentials.
  • Rethink training with inclusion in mind: GenAI literacy training must go beyond traditional models. It should reflect Equality, Diversity and Inclusion principles recognising the different starting points students bring and offering flexible, practical formats. Micro-credentials on platforms like LinkedIn Learning or university-branded short courses can provide just-in-time, accessible learning opportunities. These resources are available anytime and from anywhere, enabling students who were previously excluded such as those in rural or under-resourced areas to access learning on their own terms.
  • Build digital communities and peer networks: Social connection is a key enabler of learning (Siemens, 2005). Institutions should foster GenAI learning communities where students can exchange ideas, offer peer support, and normalise experimentation. Mental readiness is just as important as technical skill and being part of a supportive network can reduce anxiety and stigma around GenAI use.
  • Design inclusive GenAI policies and ensure ongoing evaluation: Institutions must establish clear, inclusive policies around GenAI use that balance innovation with ethics (Schofield & Zhang, 2024). These policies should be communicated transparently and reviewed regularly, informed by diverse student feedback and ongoing evaluation of impact.
  • Adopt a human-centred approach to GenAI integration: Following UNESCO’s human-centred approach to AI in education (UNESCO, 2024; 2025), GenAI should be used to enhance, not replace the human elements of teaching and learning. While GenAI can support personalisation and reduce administrative burdens, the presence of academic and pastoral staff remains essential. By freeing staff from routine tasks, GenAI can enable them to focus more fully on this high-impact, relational work, such as mentoring, guidance, and personalised support that WP students often benefit from most.

Conclusion

Generative AI alone will not determine the future of equity in higher education, our actions will. Without intentional, inclusive strategies, GenAI risks amplifying existing digital inequalities, further disadvantaging WP students. However, by proactively addressing access barriers, delivering inclusive and flexible training, building supportive digital communities, embedding ethical policies, and preserving meaningful human interaction, GenAI can become a powerful tool for inclusion. The digital divide doesn’t close itself; institutions must embed equity into every stage of GenAI adoption. The time to act is not once systems are already in place, it is now.

Dr Lei Fang is a Senior Lecturer in Digital Transformation at Queen Mary University of London. Her research interests include AI literacy, digital technology adoption, the application of AI in higher education, and risk management. lei.fang@qmul.ac.uk

Professor Xue Zhou is a Professor in AI in Business Education at the University of Leicester. Her research interests fall in the areas of digital literacy, digital technology adoption, cross-cultural adjustment and online professionalism. xue.zhou@le.ac.uk


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‘It’s different when they’re in their office’: the disconnect in student perceptions of academic meetings

by Stacey Mottershaw and Anna Viragos

As we approach the five-year anniversary of the closure of UK university campuses for the Covid-19 pandemic, we thought it might be interesting and timely to reflect on the way that the sector adapted to educational delivery, and which innovations remain as part of our new normal.

One key aspect of educational delivery which has remained to varying extents across the sector is the move to online student meetings. This includes meetings for academic personal tutorials, dissertation supervisions and other one-to-one meetings between students and staff. The Covid-19 lockdowns necessitated the use of online meetings as the only available option during this time. However, even post-lockdown, students and staff have continued to request online meetings, for reasons such as flexibility, privacy and sustainability.

To explore this further, we conducted a small mixed-methods study with students from Leeds University Business School to consider their preferences for online or in-person meetings, utilising a faculty-wide survey for breadth and short semi-structured interviews for depth.

We designed a questionnaire including questions on demographic (eg gender, home/international, whether they have caring responsibilities) and situational questions regarding their preference for face-to-face only, hybrid, or online meetings. We also included some questions around the ‘Big Five’ personality traits, to better understand factors that influence preferences.  We then distributed this online questionnaire, using the Qualtrics questionnaire software.

Based on our findings, 15% of respondents preferred face-to-face only, 31% online only, with the remaining 54% preferring to have the option of either face-to-face or online.

We also found that international students had a stronger preference for online meetings compared to non-international students. Whilst we had a relatively small sample of students on the Plus Programme (our institutional programme targeted to under-represented students); they had a stronger preference for in-person meetings. In terms of the Big Five traits, this student sample was highest on agreeableness and conscientiousness, and lowest on extroversion.

In addition to the questionnaire, we ran seven one-to-one interviews with students from a mix of second year, the year in industry and final year, who had all experienced a mix of both online and face-to-face meetings throughout their studies.

In reviewing the data, we identified five core themes of student preferences around meeting modes:

  • Connection and communication: Participants felt that the type of meeting affected connection and communication, with in-person meetings feeling more authentic.
  • Privacy/space: Participants felt that the type of meeting was influenced by factors including their access to private space, either at home or on campus.
  • Confidence: Some participants felt that the type of meeting could affect how confident they would feel in interactions with staff, with online meetings in their own environment feeling more comfortable than in spaces on campus.
  • Time: Participants discussed the amount of time that they had for each type of meeting, with online meetings deemed to be more efficient, due to the absence of travel time.
  • Flexibility: Participants demonstrated a strong preference for flexibility, in that they value having a choice over how to meet, rather than a meeting mode being imposed upon them.

Through cross-examination of the core themes, we also identified something akin to a meta-theme, that is a ‘theme which acquire[s] meaning through the systematic co-occurrence of two or more other themes’ (Armborst, 2017 p1). We termed this meta-theme ‘The Disconnect’, as across each of the core themes there seemed to be a disconnect between student expectations of APT and what is typically provided, which ties in with existing literature (Calabrese et al, 2022).

For example, one participant suggested that:

It’s different when they’re in their office like popping there and asking a question for the lecture or even like the tutorials rather than having to e-mail or like go on a call [which] feels more formal.

Whilst this comment seems to lean more towards other types of academic teaching (eg module leadership, lecture delivery or seminar facilitation), it can also translate to availability of staff more broadly. The comment suggests that students might expect staff to be available to them, on site, as and when they are needed. Yet in reality, it is unlikely that outside of set office hours academic staff will be available to answer ad hoc questions given their other commitments and particularly given the increased proportion of staff regularly working from home since the pandemic. This perspective also seems to contradict the perception that staff are much more available now than ever before, due to the prevalence of communications administered via email and online chat and meeting tools such as MS Teams. Staff may feel that they are more available as online communication methods increase in availability and use, but if students do not want ‘formal’ online options or prefer ad hoc on-site provision, then there may be a disconnect between student expectations and delivery, with all stakeholders feeling short-changed by the reality.

Another disconnect between expectations and reality became apparent when another participant commented:

[…] online it was more rushed because you have the 30 minutes and you see the time going down and in the Zoom you will see like you have 4 minutes left to talk and then you’re rushing it over to finish it.

Whilst this clearly relates to the core theme of time, it also seemed to be correlated with participant understanding of staff roles. It is difficult to understand how the time limitation for online and in-person meetings is different when the meetings are of the same duration, except that in the case of in-person meetings the student may be less aware of timings, due to not having the time physically visible on the screen in front of them. This might be reflected in the student-staff dynamic, where managing online meetings might be seen to be a joint and equal endeavour, with the responsibility for managing in-person meetings being skewed towards the staff member. Whilst it can be argued that staff should take responsibility for managing the meeting, in a time of increased narratives around student-led tutoring, it may be worth exploring the possible knock-on effects of students passively allowing the meeting to happen, rather than actively owning the meeting.

Final thoughts

A limitation of this study was the low response rate. At the point of dissemination, there were approximately 2,000 students in our faculty. However, we received just 198 survey responses (9.9%), and only seven people took part in the interviews, despite repeated calls for participants and generous incentives. Although this was a smaller sample than we had hoped for, we are confident that our study makes a timely and relevant contribution to discussions around delivery of APT, both within our faculty and beyond.

As a starting point, future research could seek to generate responses from a broader pool of participants, through both a quantitative survey and qualitative methods. Based on our findings, there may also be scope for further research exploring student expectations of staff roles, and how these match to institutional offerings across the sector. Ultimately, universities need to do more to investigate and understand student preferences for educational delivery, balancing this alongside pedagogical justifications and staff circumstances.

Stacey Mottershaw is an Associate Professor (Teaching and Scholarship) at Leeds University Business School and an EdD candidate at the University of Sheffield. Her research predominantly seeks to understand the needs of marginalised groups in higher education, with a particular focus on equitable and socially just career development. 

Dr Anna Viragos is an Associate Professor in Organizational Psychology at Leeds University Business School, and a Chartered Psychologist of the BPS. Her research focuses on a variety of topics such as stress and wellbeing, creativity, and job design.


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What does it mean to be political for today’s students?

by Rille Raaper

When we think about student politics, it is inevitable that the images of student protest and rebellion come to mind. These views of what counts as student politics have been shaped by rather romantic ideals of what it meant to be a student and do politics in 1960s, or perhaps even in 2010-2011 when we witnessed the last large scale student rebellion in England, but also more globally. When we stretch our imagination, perhaps we can also see students engaging with electoral politics, and them being stereotypically more left leaning compared to the general population – or ‘woke’ as portrayed by many right-wing media outlets today. In cases where students do not meet these expectations of political activity, they are often derogatively called ‘snowflakes’: a fragile generation of apolitical students. While there may be some truth in students becoming less politically active, it is important to question why this might be the case, but also to consider the extent to which our own understandings of student politics are perhaps outdated and need changing.

The cost of student protest

In contexts where higher education is marketed as an investment into one’s future, the student-as-consumer positioning becomes unavoidable. Consumerism in our universities may be brutally explicit as in the UK where students are protected by the Consumer Rights Act 2015, or more subtle in systems where laws and regulations do not treat students as consumers, but the transactional idea of higher education and human capital development still imply similar understandings. As students are constantly reminded to prioritise ‘value for money’ and question their investment into successful graduate employment, deviating from such a mindset and standing out as a disruptive or disobedient student cannot be a preferred or safe option. This was evident with the recent pro-Palestinian encampments which on British campuses were rather short-lived, often adopted around the exam periods and ending with the closure of the academic year 2023/2024. The cost of non-compliance is very high for our students: how could a student who has accumulated an average of £45k student debt with already insecure graduate employment trajectory drop everything and revolt? My recent book Student Identity and Political Agency: Activism, Representation and Consumer Rights deals with these dilemmas and argues that the modes of student politics have had to change alongside the generational pressures that contemporary students face. In other words, the form that student politics takes is intertwined with what it means to be a student today.

Alternative forms of political agency

To counteract the view that students have become apolitical or snowflakes, we need to imagine student politics as more fluid and situational: something that gets embedded within the everyday practices of being a student.

First, this revisioning invites us to be more open-minded about what counts as student protest. For example, it is evident that when today’s students do protest, their actions tend to be more short-lived while triggered by identity-based issues that matter to them personally. We should also look at the new and alternative spaces that activism takes place within, eg digital platforms. The latter could of course relate to generational shifts and students being more digitally adept, but also to the fact that the university campuses have become heavily regulated by timetabling pressures and health and safety rules, making it difficult for students to socialise, let alone organise on campus.

Second, our universities have never emphasised student voice as much as they do today. In addition to students’ unions, there is a wide range of new representative roles on university committees and working groups. While there are questions about tokenism and the effectiveness of these roles – and perhaps fairly so – one cannot deny that there is an incredible infrastructure emerging for students to (peacefully) exercise their interest. This could also be politically motivated, and we should not underestimate the power that students as collectives hold through such representative roles.

Finally and perhaps most importantly, I invite us to consider the power that the student-as-consumer holds. In the age of marketised universities, we need to ask some uncomfortable questions related to the extent to which student-as-consumer positioning itself empowers students with new types of political agency. We know that an increasing number of students are exercising their right to complain, and they often do this to call out universities for their wrongdoings. These wrongdoings may relate to consumer rights and personal grievances, but often they also reflect wider structural inequalities. It could therefore be argued that consumer rights have granted students new tools to exercise their interest. There is a tendency for the sector to view student complaints as something negative and unreasonable, and none of us would want to be the subject of one. However, it is likely that if students are increasingly treated as consumers, it is also this consumer positioning that offers new opportunities for political agency to be exercised. In today’s highly pressurised university environments, consumer complaints might be a more effective way to make oneself heard: making complaints is a legal right for our students, and the potential reputational damage to universities makes complaints high stakes.

In summary, I argue that the market forces and consumerist discourses that brutally shape students are also what trigger, enable and disable certain new and altered forms of political agency. Such understanding invites us to shift away from the prevailing assumption that contemporary students are becoming apolitical and instead to rethink our normative understanding of what counts as political agency.

For more details, please see my book published as part of the SRHE and Routledge book series Research into Higher Education:

Raaper, R (2024). Student Identity and Political Agency. Activism, Representation and Consumer Rights Oxon: Routledge

Rille Raaper is Associate Professor at Durham University. Rille’s research interests lie in the sociology of higher education with a particular focus on student identity, experience and political agency in a variety of higher education settings. Her research is primarily concerned with how universities organise their work in competitive higher education markets, and the implications market forces have on current and future students. The two particular strands of Rille’s research relate to: a) student identity and experience in consumerist higher education; b) student agency, citizenship and political activism.


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The challenge of AI declaration in HE – what can we do?

by Chahna Gonsalves

The rapid integration of AI tools like ChatGPT into academic life has raised significant concerns about academic integrity. Universities worldwide are grappling with how to manage this new frontier of technology. My recent research at King’s Business School sheds light on an intriguing challenge: student non-compliance with mandatory AI use declarations. Despite clear institutional requirements to declare AI usage in their coursework, up to 74% of students did not comply. This raises key questions about how we think about academic honesty in the age of AI, and what can be done to improve compliance and foster trust.

In November 2023, King’s Business School introduced an AI declaration section as part of the coursework coversheet. Students were required to either declare their AI use or confirm that they hadn’t used any AI tools in their work. This research, which started as an evaluation of the revised coversheet, was conducted a year after the implementation of this policy, providing insights into how students have navigated these requirements over time. The findings reveal important challenges for both educators and students in adapting to this new reality.

Fear and ambiguity: barriers to transparency

In interviews conducted as part of the study, students frequently voiced their apprehension about how AI declarations might be perceived. One student likened it to “admitting to plagiarism,” reflecting a widespread fear that transparency could backfire. Such fears illustrate a psychological barrier to compliance, where students perceive AI use declarations as risky rather than neutral. This tension is exacerbated by the ambiguity of current policies. Guidelines are often unclear, leaving students uncertain about what to declare and how that declaration will impact their academic standing.

Moreover, the rapid evolution of AI tools has blurred traditional lines of authorship and originality. Before the rise of AI, plagiarism was relatively easy to define. But now, as AI tools generate content that is indistinguishable from human-authored work, what does it mean to be original? The boundaries of academic integrity are being redrawn, and institutions need to adapt quickly to provide clearer guidance. As AI technologies become more integrated into academic practice, we must move beyond rigid policies and have more nuanced conversations about what responsible AI use looks like in different contexts.

Peer influence: AI as the “fourth group member”

A particularly striking finding from the research was the role of peer influence in shaping students’ decisions around AI use and its declaration. In group work contexts, AI tools like ChatGPT have become so normalized that one student referred to ChatGPT as the “fourth man” in group projects. This normalization makes it difficult for students to declare AI use, as doing so might set them apart from their peers who choose not to disclose. The pressure to conform can be overwhelming, and it drives non-compliance as students opt to avoid the risk of being singled out.

The normalising effect of AI usage amongst peers reflects a larger trend in academia, where technological adoption is outpacing institutional policy. This raises an urgent need for universities to not only set clear guidelines but also engage students and faculty in open discussions about AI’s role in academic work. Creating a community of transparency where AI use is openly acknowledged and discussed is crucial to overcoming the current challenges.

Solutions: clearer policies, consistent enforcement, and trust

What can be done to improve compliance with AI declarations? The research offers several recommendations. First, institutions need to develop clearer and more consistent policies around AI use. The ambiguity that currently surrounds AI guidelines must be addressed. Students need to know exactly what is expected of them, and this starts with clear definitions of what constitutes AI use and how it should be declared.

Second, enforcement of these policies needs to be consistent across all courses. Many students reported that AI declarations were emphasized in some modules but barely mentioned in others. This inconsistency breeds confusion and scepticism about the importance of the policy. Faculty training is crucial to ensuring that all educators communicate the same message to students about AI use and its implications for academic integrity.

Finally, building trust between students and institutions is essential. Students must feel confident that declaring AI use will not result in unfair penalties. One approach to building this trust is to integrate AI use into low-stakes formative assessments before moving on to higher-stakes summative assessments. This gradual introduction allows students to become comfortable with AI policies and to see that transparency will not harm their academic performance. In the long run, fostering an open, supportive dialogue around AI use can help reduce the fear and anxiety currently driving non-compliance.

Moving forward: a call for open dialogue and innovation

As AI continues to revolutionize academic work, institutions must rise to the challenge of updating their policies and fostering a culture of transparency. My research suggests that fear, ambiguity, and peer influence are key barriers to AI declaration, but these challenges can be overcome with clearer policies, consistent enforcement, and a foundation of trust. More than just a compliance issue, this is an opportunity for higher education to rethink academic integrity in the age of AI and to encourage ethical, transparent use of technology in learning.

In the end, the goal should not be to police AI use, but to harness its potential for enhancing academic work while maintaining the core values of honesty and originality. Now is the time to open up the conversation and invite both students and educators to reimagine how we define integrity in the evolving landscape of higher education. Let’s make AI part of the learning process—not something to be hidden.

This post is based on my paper Addressing Student Non-Compliance in AI Use Declarations: Implications for Academic Integrity and Assessment in Higher Education in Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education (Published online: 22 Oct 2024).

I hope this serves as a starting point for broader discussions about how we can navigate the complexities of AI in academic settings. I invite readers to reflect on these findings and share their thoughts on how institutions can better manage the balance between technological innovation and academic integrity. 

Chahna Gonsalves is a Senior Lecturer in Marketing (Education) at King’s College London. She is Senior Fellow of the Higher Education Association and Associate Fellow of the Staff Educational Development Association.


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Why are governments cancelling student debt?

by Héctor Ríos-Jara

Governments across the globe are increasingly adopting student debt cancellation or forgiveness policies. Recent proposals in the US, Chile, and Colombia have reignited discussions about the student loan crisis and the need for alternative funding solutions in higher education. But why are governments pursuing these policies, and what does it mean to cancel student debt?

The demand for student debt cancellation emerged in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, a time of economic hardship for many households burdened by high-risk loans. While banks and financial institutions received massive bailout packages, ordinary citizens faced mounting debts with little relief. This stark disparity fuelled a movement for a general “jubilee” or widespread debt forgiveness. The logic was simple: if banks could be saved from their financial burdens, why not the people?

Cities like New York, London, Madrid, and Athens became centres of protest against government policies that seemed to protect the financial elite while ignoring the needs of ordinary citizens. In the US, the Occupy Wall Street movement became the focal point for debtors, calling for cancelling all debts, including student loans. Similar anti-austerity movements erupted worldwide, with student protests in countries like the UK, Chile, Colombia, Quebec, and South Africa challenging tuition hikes and market-driven education policies. These movements also pushed for free education and an end to student loans (Cini, 2021).

In this climate of widespread discontent, the call to cancel student debt became a symbol of resistance against the rising cost of education and overwhelming debts. Activists argue that student debt not only increases the financial burden of higher education but also undermines social mobility. For many, student loans trap them in a cycle of debt that limits their opportunities and financial freedom.

Initially, debt cancellation was seen as a radical proposal outside mainstream education policy. Even some progressive movements, such as Corbynism in the UK, hesitated to endorse full debt forgiveness, opting instead for free education and the restoration of grant systems[i]. However, the 2020s saw a dramatic shift, with countries like the US, Chile, and Colombia making debt forgiveness a central policy issue.

In the United States, President Joe Biden has introduced two major plans for student debt forgiveness. His latest proposal includes forgiving $10,000 in federal student loans for most borrowers and up to $20,000 for lower-income debtors (Rios-Jara, 2022). The plan also includes the SAVE plan, which ties repayments to borrowers’ incomes, marking the most significant reform to the American higher education system since Obama’s presidency. Despite legal challenges that have stalled these initiatives, the government has already forgiven $143.6 billion in student loans for nearly 4 million borrowers[ii].

In Chile, President Gabriel Boric, a former student leader, promised to introduce a comprehensive debt forgiveness policy. His government recently unveiled a plan to cancel a portion of student debt, ranging from $500 to $3,000 USD for all borrowers with government-backed loans, based on their academic success and if the are in default or not[iii]. This proposal aims to eliminate the participation of commercial banks in the student loan system and replace it with an income-based contribution system. This reform reduces overall debt and ensures education is more accessible. The plan expects to erase all debt for approximately 20% of borrowers. In total the plan will eliminate 65% of total loan debt, being biggest cancellation debt package ever probed.

Both governments have justified their debt cancellation efforts by highlighting the crippling effects of student debt on graduates. Many borrowers find themselves unable to pay off their loans due to stagnant wages and high monthly payments, preventing them from investing in long-term life goals. In the US, there are 45 million student debtors, holding a collective debt of $1.753 trillion[iv]. In Chile, 2 million borrowers owe a total of $12 billion[v], and it is one the countries with the biggest student debt in Latin America.

Debt also exacerbates social inequality. In both countries, graduates from low-quality institutions with predatory lending practices are often left with larger debts and lower earnings, making them more likely to default. In the US, advocates argue that student debt disproportionately affects students of colour, limiting their upward social mobility. In Chile, the government has emphasised the gender dimension of the issue, as women—who represent the largest group of debtors—face a significant wage gap, making it harder to repay their loans and fully benefit from higher education.

In Chile, the government has also framed debt cancellation and loan reform as a matter of efficiency, addressing the failure of the current system to improve repayment rates. Similar to the US, Chile’s loan system relies on government-backed loans involving commercial banks. However, the anticipated efficiency from bank involvement has not materialised, with only 55% of borrowers keeping up with payments. The proposed reforms will remove banks from the equation and return financial aid administration to public institutions, as the US did under Obama’s 2011 reforms to federal student loans.

Debt cancellation policies represent a relevant attempt to rectify these long-term challenges, but questions remain about their effectiveness and whether more comprehensive alternatives are needed to tackle the broader failures of market-driven higher education systems. For instance, activists have criticised Joe Biden’s plans for maintaining a loan-based system rather than pushing for a more transformative reform that includes free education. In this debate, one distinctive feature of President Boric’s proposal is the complete elimination of student loans, replacing them with an income contingent graduate contribution system.

Graduates’ contributions are calculated based on the length of their studies and their annual income. The approach combines the flexibility of income-contingent loans with an updated version of a short-term graduate tax. What each graduate contributes will be determined not by the cost of their degree but by their ability to contribute based on their income. Under this mechanism, individual debt will be erased, and loans will stop being issued, moving the higher education system into a new stage where free education and graduate contribution are the main columns of student financial aid. 

Whether debt cancellation will fully resolve these issues remains to be seen, but it marks a significant shift in how governments are addressing the unintended consequences of student loan systems. The push for debt forgiveness reflects not just an ideological critique of neoliberal policies but the frustrations of millions of graduates struggling under the weight of unmanageable debt. They feel betrayed by broken promises of social mobility and fearful of the financial uncertainty that student loans have brought into their lives. To face these issues, governments with a long history of student loans are looking for new ways of funding higher education, moving beyond market solutions and looking for new forms of higher education public funding policies that leave behind market instruments but also the traditional policies of public education.

Héctor Ríos-Jara has a PhD in Social Sciences from University College London (UCL). He works as a postdoctoral researcher at the Economic and Society Research Center (ESOC) of Universidad Central de Chile.

[i] Rios-Jara, H. (2022). Between Movements and the Party: Corbynism and the Limits of Left-Wing Populism in the UK. Populism, Protest, New Forms of Political Organisation. A. Eder-Ramsauer, S. Kim, A. Knott and M. Prentoulis, Nomos. 2: 130-149.

[ii] https://www.ed.gov/about/news/press-release/biden-harris-administration-approves-additional-58-billion-student-debt

[iii] https://www.gob.cl/noticias/ley-fin-al-cae-presidente-presenta-principales-alcances-proyecto/

[iv] https://educationdata.org/student-loan-debt-statistics

[v] Subsecretaría de Educación Superior (2022). Primer Informe del Crédito con Aval del Estado (CAE): Características de la población deudora e impactos.


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Debt and doubt: a graduate’s frustrations with the current higher education loans regime

by Josh Patel

And I am a weapon of massive consumption,
And it’s not my fault, it’s how I’m programmed to function.

When I was asked to speak about my experiences of graduate indebtedness at the recent SRHE event in June, I was initially enthusiastic. I was a member of the first cohort of school-leavers expected to take out the government loans to pay the then new £9000 university fees in 2012-13. I took a gap year, completed an undergraduate degree, and subsequently received funding for a Master’s and a PhD. I believe I am one of the first of this new generation of highly indebted graduates to have been afforded the time and space to develop expertise around and reflect on the HE system I was a part of. Few graduate voices on their indebtedness are heard in research or policy discourse. 

However, figuring out my contribution became frustrating. Firstly, any perspective I would bring would be unrepresentative. I am a mixed-race male from the home counties. I attended a Russell Group university, and had far too much fun in the sandbox of further academic study, sheltered from having to think seriously about entering the external labour market. Secondly, I had conducted no research myself on graduate experiences. I am also not an economist. I would be exposing my feelings about the current student finance regime (albeit informed by my related research) to the potentially sharp questioning of experts. This felt epistemically precarious. 

Graduate indebtedness

My frustrations around the legitimacy of my voice and my disenfranchisement from the conversation around indebtedness are part of a broader series of doubts and tensions. It’s hard to avoid a sense of resentment every time I check (mainly to satisfy a grim curiosity) my rapidly ballooning student debt total on the Student Loans Company website. I will likely be making payments that have a negligible impact on that total until 2047. It is Sisyphean. At the same time, I had heard for many years hear policymakers and academics like Nick Barr talk about the inherent fairness of income-contingent loans. Given that individuals receive a substantial return from their investment in higher education (HE), it is right that the balance of costs should be shared between students and the state. 

In Claire Callender and Steve Jones’ work on student experiences of indebtedness, the complaints of students and graduates are primarily centred around the slight delays of a few years to the privileges of an expected middle-class lifestyle, like buying a first house or having a family. Are these frustrations really valid, or are they just the mewlings of the demanding children of the late welfare state, now that democratic due diligence has found the public investment in our education was not providing an effective social return?

Thinking through these doubts was hard. Like the students in Claire’s and Steve’s research, I had internalised a certain logic. My failure to shed the shameful label of indebtedness lay in my regrettable choice to pursue history, my (apparently?) poor work ethic, and my subconscious suspicion of Big Four consultancy grad schemes. But I came to think about my frustrations with indebtedness through the work I’d done during my PhD. My frustration with the current loans regime is a frustration with ‘the whole way in which a society selects its priorities and orders itself’, to redeploy EP Thompson’s phrase from 1970. Our current politics has de-prioritised investments in the future, which undermines the realisation of a good society. Indebtedness serves as a sharp and recurring reminder of all of this.

The balance of freedoms

The axiom that those that benefit most from HE should bear proportionately more of the cost derives somewhat surprisingly from the 1960s. The story of post-war massification in the UK is a familiar one; participation in HE grew from less than 5% prior to 1939 to approaching 50% today. In 1962 a mandatory grant was introduced to pay for the education of ‘all those qualified by ability and attainment and who wished to do so’, in the words of the Robbins Report (1963). While this public-mindedness feels inevitable in the spirit of post-war optimism, at the time it was not uncontested. As one economist put it, in a system of grants, resources of the ‘poor and stupid’ in the general population who would not benefit from HE are used to fund the privileged lifestyles of the few ‘rich and intelligent’ who attended universities. While the Robbins Report advocated expansion based on grants, the chairman of the Robbins Report, Lionel Robbins (himself a neoliberal economist, as I have explored) thought the argument for loans and grants was delicately balanced.

Robbins considered the problem one of what he called the ‘balance of freedoms’. There was an important balance to strike between preserving freedoms in the present, and enabling future freedoms in the pursuit of social prosperity. For Robbins, prosperity was a consequence of the inherent tendency of individuals to pursue their own self-betterment in conditions of freedom. This included generating individual returns on the labour market and broader social returns. University education would increase young people’s productivity and ingenuity, while enhancing their understanding of their responsibilities to society.

Taxation (a substantial transgression of personal freedoms by the state) was only justified when it could be shown to enhance future freedoms. In the context of proportionately low attendance of HE in the UK in the post-war period, grants were a state investment in removing structural and psychosocial barriers to self-betterment in the population, particularly for women and others from underprivileged backgrounds. When a greater proportion of the population were empowered to pursue those opportunities, both individual and social prosperity would follow. 

As a greater proportion of the population attended HE habitually, the justification for increased taxation would fall. It would no longer be justified to take poor people’s money to pay for the continued elevation of the gifted. When this happened, it would be more just for the burden of HE cost to fall back to young people so they could make an informed decision about the relative costs and returns of them attending HE. 

The question of the balance of costs of HE was never as simple as stating that: because attending HE generates both a social return and a large individual return, students should be expected to take on some burden of the cost of their education.

As Robbins understood it, the question is: on the balance of how far future freedoms are enabled by the reduction of freedoms in the present, how far is it right that resources should be redistributed from the general population to fund HE? 

Three frustrations

Revisiting the question of the balance of freedoms in the twenty-first century leads you to a different place than in the twentieth century. The burden of the costs of education is now tipped towards graduates far in excess of a good faith balance of freedoms. It serves a regime which has played politics, fetishised austerity, and sought short-term returns above sustainability and long-term economic prosperity. Reflecting on my indebtedness, I identified three rough frustrations:

Short-termism

Because we live in a democratic society, the assessment of our collective capacity to engender future freedoms is, rightly, subject to accountability through our political system. But the downward pressure this exerts on public expenditure is not inevitable (as it is sometimes presented) but a consequence of political culture. Public and policy discourse seems to have completely lost sight of the capacity of collective action to advance future freedoms. Austerity has led to an underinvestment in social infrastructure, ducked the costs of maintenance, and eviscerated our national capacities. The burden of the costs of repairing this damage has been shifted to our future. There is limited research as to the economic and social consequences of this debt. Both Labour and the Conservatives’ commitments to avoiding raises in tax feels like a failure to have an honest conversation with the electorate about our national priorities in the face of serious national and international challenges. 

Poor redistributive justice

Recent London Economics modelling demonstrated that, for those taking new loans from August 2023, lower income female graduates will subsidise high-earning males’ education. Or, as James Purnell put it recently in publications for HEPI, ‘a nurse must now pay back more than a banker’. This is deeply unjust. It is completely antithetical to the progressive income tax regime we all abide by. It violently severs one route this generation can mutually support one another in our pursuit of human flourishing. And it is pointless. As Barr has argued, ‘The argument that tax cuts lead to growth is mistaken; lower taxes are not always better. Productive private investment needs to be complemented by productive public investment’. Job forecasts from other advanced economies expect more than 80% of the workforce will require some tertiary accreditation by 2050. Skills shortages even today are calculated to cost the UK economy up to £39 billion a year from 2024 through to 2027. Investment in education and training by employers and the state has deteriorated and productivity is stagnant. Redistribution is imperative. 

Deterioration of HE

The deterioration of the unit cost following from the political deadlock around loans makes HE an unappealing place to plan a career. The transition period at the end of the PhD consists of a ridiculous juggling act of multiple contracts for everything from research to teaching to administrative roles. Despite all the hard work, remuneration is comparatively poor. All the delays to adult life that indebtedness inflict are compounded. Even permanent academic roles do not seem particularly secure given the redundancies sweeping over the sector. Add on top of all that the expected workload, bullying managerial cultures, artificial ED&I strategies, it is a wonder HEIs are able to attract qualified and ambitious candidates at all. During my time as a PhD and Fellow, I was paid more per hour as head coach of the university swim team than I was to deliver seminars.[1] Why bother?

The next sixty years

Robbins was arguing for expansion just after the Cuban Missile Crisis. The wars of the first half of the twentieth century were raw, living memories. HE was implicated in this in a complicated way – the powerful knowledge of modern societies taught through HE had the potential to both to raise living standards to unparalleled heights but also enable mass atrocities. A proper education cultivated the wisdom in students to wield modern technologies with responsibility. 

Obviously freedom is diminished after a nuclear holocaust. But the existential crises I fear – everything from crises in teaching and healthcare, gender and social inequality, to the climate change and the resurgence of fascism across the world – if they are not tackled are also equally non-conducive to overall freedom. They require exponentially more of my generation and later generations to be part of the solution. Indebtedness is a constant reminder that our contribution to solving these problems is not worth collective support. 

Josh Patel is a Researcher at the Edge Foundation. There, he has contributed to research on Degree Apprenticeships, New HEIs, and T levels, and is currently leading research on student experiences of tertiary pathways between HE and FE. He was previously a Fellow at the University of Warwick and completed his PhD on the justifications for the massification of higher education in liberal thought. He is writing a monograph on this topic for SRHE’s Research into Higher Education book series with Routledge. Here, Josh writes in a personal capacity. The views contained within do not necessarily reflect the views of the Edge Foundation.

[1] I have to qualify this by stressing that participation in student-led communities was central in my and (as I saw as a coach, tutor, and researcher) others’ personal development. My point is that there is a social maldistribution of resources that permits this circumstance.


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When research becomes an intervention: Insights from the Student 2025 project

by Ria Bluck

Within higher education, targeted interventions are used to improve the student experience, engagement, and academic outcomes. These initiatives tend to focus on increasing a sense of belonging, students’ confidence in their learning activities, and enhancing attainment. In some instances, these interventions are specifically tailored to support student groups which are underrepresented in higher education or are more likely to face challenges within their academic experience.

The Student 2025 project is an innovative four-year longitudinal project which follows the undergraduate journey of 100 students at Nottingham Trent University (NTU). Designed to capture the intricacies of the student experience, the project gathers data through conducting interviews and surveys with each participant three times a year.

Interestingly, the Student 2025 project itself appears to mirror qualities of an intervention in its own right. In the most recent data collection, where many of our students were due to graduate, the research team explored whether their participation in Student 2025 had affected their experience at NTU in any way. Students told us that they thoroughly enjoyed taking part in the project and that their involvement had positively affected both their university experience and their personal development. While the positive effects of taking part in research are widely recognised, the extent of the benefits reported by Student 2025 participants was particularly noteworthy.

Development of self-reflection skills

Most students in the sample found that Student 2025 had given them a space to reflect on their time at NTU in a way that they would not have done without the project. Having dedicated time to reflect helped them to understand their skills development, progress, and achievement over the course of their undergraduate degree – encouraging them to take note and be proud of their work.

Students also shared that reflecting on their experience each term enabled them to identify areas where they were struggling or that could use improvement. This regular reflection allowed them to be critical about what they could do better and what support they would need to get there. Having consistent interviews, often with the same interviewer, also created a sense of accountability. It encouraged some students to make changes as a result of their reflections, leading them to take proactive steps to improve their university experience. Not only did Student 2025 give students the opportunity to self-reflect, it also facilitated the development of self-reflection skills, helping them to do this more effectively.

Developing confidence

Several students shared that Student 2025 had considerably boosted their confidence. For some, this sense of confidence related to their overall experience at NTU, while for others, it centred on their social engagement and future prospects.

One student explained that they had joined Student 2025 to actively develop their public speaking skills. By their final term at university, they reported feeling much more comfortable speaking with others than when they first started at NTU. As well as this, a few students had gained confidence in using Microsoft Teams to communicate with others. One student highlighted that taking part in regular online interviews for Student 2025 had helped them to get used to this type of environment, boosting their confidence in their post-university job search.

An increased sense of belonging

A large focus of Student 2025 was to gain a deeper understanding of how students experience a sense of belonging at university and how this affects their undergraduate journey. It was therefore particularly interesting that students felt they had gained a greater sense of belonging at NTU as a result of their engagement with the project.

Participants told us that the project had made them feel more connected to the university, that they were a part of something meaningful, and were valued by NTU. A significant factor in this was how the project facilitated students in feeling heard and provided them with the opportunity to share impactful feedback. The team also worked hard to keep participants in the loop with the progress and impact of the project for this reason.

“Student 2025 has also added to my feelings of belonging and being valued at NTU, all in all a positive experience, I’m grateful to have taken part”.

An enhanced level of support

Many students in this project highlighted the therapeutic benefits of talking to someone who had no connection to their course or personal circumstances. Having an unbiased contact at the university provided a non-judgemental space where students could freely discuss their personal challenges in great detail.

Despite being experienced researchers, we participated in additional training, such as meeting with Student Support Services staff to learn how to best support students in distress. We guided students to think deeply about their experiences, signposting them to support where we felt it was necessary. Some students told us that, because of Student 2025, they had been able to reach out to services that they were previously unaware of – actively improving their access to NTU services, with the Student 2025 project acting as an extra layer of support.

How can the sector learn from Student 2025?

We anticipated that this project would produce a great number of impactful findings that would enhance our understanding of the undergraduate experience at NTU. What we did not anticipate was that the methodology itself would have such an impact on the students’ university journey.

The impact of Student 2025 on participants has exceeded expectations, with some sharing how it has been the highlight of their university experience and feeling extremely proud of their involvement. They have also developed a strong sense of care for the project and its potential impact, feeling that they have taken the time to advocate for students at NTU and have helped in enacting positive change for students like them.

“This has been a highlight of my university experience. It has helped me in becoming more reflective as an individual and recognise how much I have progressed. Taking part in this has made me proud of myself and I am grateful for the opportunity.”

The higher education sector could learn a great deal from the Student 2025 project, and the way it has enhanced the university experience for these students.

Longitudinal research is resource-intensive, but using elements of its methodology within interventions could replicate its benefits without the need for further extensive research. For instance, this could serve as an opportunity to reconsider how personal tutoring is used on courses, prioritising reflective activities that foster both a space for personal development and course feedback. Or how mentorship programmes could be introduced to enhance the experience of specific student groups.

It is clear that students value consistent and personalised interactions with staff members throughout their university journey. Finding ways to embed this could enhance student confidence, a sense of belonging, and self-reflection – as has been reported within the Student 2025 project.

Ria Bluck is an Educational Research and Evaluation Specialist at Nottingham Trent University with a breadth of experience exploring disparities in student experience. Her work has primarily focused on researching topics of wellbeing and inclusion in higher education, using student voice to enhance the experiences of students from diverse backgrounds.