Class of ’23: where is the student uprising?

When Covid hit, I was in Heartbreak Hotel. I was in my second semester in my first year of university. The semester had already been disrupted by strikes and I’d just been royally dumped. I was quite happy to revert into the nest and lose a month rewatching Seinfeld. In my cocoon, thoughts of Covid were few and far between. I was more concerned about being left high and dry. But once the wallowing in self-pity had no more utility left, and when listening to Tom Waits pulled a little less on the heartstrings, it was time for the pub. 

Not quite. Things weren’t normal – humanity was in the throes of an existential crisis, fighting for its life against an invisible virus. We were under emergency lockdown and although miffed about being deprived of a pint and some jovial mirth, I was quite pleased that my exams had been cancelled.

In my naivety, I, like many others, thought we’d be back to normal in no time. Even the then prime minister, Boris Johnson, said we were “past the peak” on 30 April. Even if we weren’t past the peak, surely we’d become more scared of the necessities of life – the economy, social life, freedom – grinding to a halt than what the virus was capable of. To say this optimism was misplaced would be an understatement. 

The summer was spent drinking in fields or locked up in the house devising questions for that most loathsome of inventions: the Zoom quiz. 

In September, the girl came back and uni lectures and seminars were delivered mostly on Zoom. In the very few remaining in-person classes we were masked up within an inch of our lives. This was the time of the bizarre “rule of six” which actually exacerbated the spread of the virus and “Eat Out to Help Out” where, in Scotland, playing music in pubs and restaurants was deemed far too reckless. 

Looking back, it strikes me as odd that so few of us protested against the rules. Where was the spirit of the 1960s? Were we all so exhausted – and terrified by the propaganda – that protest was the last thing on our minds? Initially, I suppose, students had as much good faith in the lockdowns and the politicians implementing them as everyone else. It was, as everyone loved to say, “unprecedented” after all. Everyone I was with seemed quite taken by ideas of the greater good. But such complicity went on for too long.

However, there was some agitation, mainly about the waste of our tuition fees. During this time two petitions requiring universities to fully or partially refund tuition fees for 20/21 due to Covid-19 and strikes were rapidly gaining traction. Both petitions were debated on 16 November 2020 after accruing a combined 623,000 signatures. The government’s conclusion was that students should take it up individually with their own education providers and that universities should deliver quality online courses in the meantime.

A second lockdown came in November, followed by a diluted Christmas and another lockdown in January. Learning continued remotely – uninspiring and uninformative. Exams moved online and student life was all but gone. It wasn’t until July 2021 that all restrictions were lifted after months of the vaccine rollout.

So, it looked like my third year starting in the autumn of 2021 would herald a new age of normalcy. Not a “new normal”, just normal. Boris’s “Plan B” wrecked that dream and the winter was one of Covid passes and mandatory masking. Public events bringing in the new year were banned.  As of January 2022, the disaster of almost two years of lockdown was becoming evident with staff shortages in almost every industry. Mandatory seven-day self-isolation for testing positive was still required a year after the first vaccine was given. Poetically, the worst-case scenario scientists who had terrified everyone for a couple of years and sacrificed everything that made life worth living for a non-existent idea of complete safety were then honoured. Chris Witty and Jonathan Van Tam were knighted in the 2022 New Year’s Honours. 

By the end of my third year, refunds had been granted to fewer than seven per cent of the 2,600 students that had asked for one. According to The Tab, by late 2021, British universities had paid out £822,000 in tuition fee refunds – the equivalent of just 88 students getting a year of fees back. 

For most of the time from March 2020 through May 2022, students had no access to libraries or specialised equipment, no face-to-face teaching, exams cancelled, and student societies and unions were closed – all while still paying full tuition fees. Many were still paying accommodation fees for halls and flats they were not living in. What was the point in living in some dingy student flat when all teaching was online and there was no student culture to speak of? 

So, my fourth year, starting in September 2022 was really the return to normality. Initially, I was thankful for going to university in Scotland where most courses are four years. But after three years of such a botched job, my heart wasn’t in it. The magic was gone and I just wanted it over with. Covid was gone but the strikes weren’t. Both semesters this year were strike-ridden. 

According to The Times, as of February this year, refunds to the tune of only £1.5 million had been shared among 1,300 students. This is despite 1,257,355 students enrolling in their first year in 2020. This means that if all of them claimed a share of the refunds, it would amount to no more than £1.20 each. This is really how much universities (and the government) value young people. 

Our response as a society to Covid was so strange. The young were used to shield the old. Some of the most valuable years of young people’s lives were sacrificed at the altar of deranged safetyism. And where was the student rage? At the start of the pandemic, the rage was co-opted by the scam of Black Lives Matter. But once Edward Colston was at the bottom of Bristol harbour, where did all the rage go? Apart from petitions and some sporadic, short protests, students have unfortunately been what they have always been: disorganised. Can you imagine telling students in 1968 that the government was locking them indoors and shutting down every element of public life? Even if the technology was there to allow for it, we all know it wouldn’t have taken. Worryingly, my generation might not even be apathetic, but actually supportive of lockdowns. 

With my graduation today, I still don’t have my degree classification due to the current marking boycott. It is still uncertain whether my dissertation will be marked. It is an appropriately sour way to end a disheartening degree. Ironically, the ignoble boycott will delay my grades for a Marxism and Anarchism module.

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