The University of Neverneverland

LM Online

As students start suing their parents for pocket money, Jennie Bristow argues that they should grow up

Patrick MacDonald, a 20-year-old law student at Aberdeen University, has been granted Legal Aid to sue his mother Margaret for £400 a month. The reason? That his grant, worth £1739 a year, was not enough for him to live on.

The case is being brought under the Family Law Act (Scotland), which allows students up to the age of 25 to sue their parents for the cost of their education, a law that does not apply in the rest of Britain. Patrick MacDonald has lived apart from his mother, a solicitor with the Scottish office, for five years, living instead with his unemployed father. The peculiarities of the case suggest that most sons will not be going around suing their mums in the near future. But you do not have to go into the legal details to see that the case symbolises a new and worrying trend in the attitudes of young people growing up - or not growing up, as the case may be.

The assumption behind suing your mother for alimony is that you have a right to that money. Although you may be over 18, and so well over the age at which your parents legally have to provide for your welfare, you still see yourself as dependent upon them for your upkeep. In other words, you may legally be an adult, but financially, emotionally and actually you are still a child while in higher education.

Where does this widespread assumption come from? The way in which the existing method of student funding relies on a parental contribution, making students of middle-income parents automatically financially dependent, is the most common explanation given for the phenomenon of students-as-children. Under the grant system, which is soon to be abolished, a student's grant is linked to their parents' income, and on that basis they can receive a full grant or part grant or no grant at all. Parents are supposed (but not legally obliged) to pay the rest, up to the level of a full grant.

On this basis Richard Baker, deputy president of NUS Scotland, came out in support of Patrick MacDonald's action against his mother. He told the Guardian on 14 October, 'It is unfortunate that students have to rely on their parents but that is the state of the law....If parents do not pay up they can expect such cases to come their way'. Baker's view is backed by some students. Hannah Lynes, a student at St Catherine's College, Oxford, relies on a contribution from her parents and argues 'the law says parents have to pay up to grant so that's fair enough'.

Paul McQuillan, a second year ecology student at Edinburgh University and the same age as Patrick MacDonald, has no grant or loan but relies on parental support and a part-time job. As he says, 'Who else is going to pay for me? I don't like taking money off my parents, that's why I work, but it's not wrong to be doing it'. Fair enough. It would be an exceptionally proud, independent and some might say foolhardy student who would refuse an offer of money from his or her middle-income parents.

But if the structure of the grant system were the only thing that made students into dependent children, present government policy would surely put an end to that. When grants are replaced by loans - a move which formally puts the onus on students to fund themselves through a loan that they pay back when they have graduated - it could be argued that students will relate to their parents, and the world around them, as independent adults.

In fact, the introduction of loans is likely to mean more dependence not less, as students baulk at the responsibility of taking on big debts themselves. This is because the tendency for students to be viewed, and to view themselves, as children is not a product of the education funding system. It is a reflection of a broader trend in society: that kids just do not seem to want to grow up.

Any study of social trends which looks at the lifestyle activities of my generation and younger, suggests that young people today do many things later than their parents. Marriage and child-bearing is happening at a later age: even having a partner seems to happen later, as the number of single people and single households is on the up. One survey last year found that over half of 16-24 year olds now choose still to live at home with their parents. In line with this, more students now choose to study at their home-town college, and if they do study away from home they go back to mum and dad during the holiday - even when they are paying half rent on college accommodation. Instead of graduation marking passage into independent adulthood, more graduates now scuttle back to the parental home after their finals, and do not seem in too much of a hurry to move on.

If there is a caricature of what has been dubbed 'Generation Y', it is the pathetic no-hoper Mike Dixon in Brookside. Well into his mid-twenties, Mike lives at home with his dad, Ron - or did, until Ron was forced to rent out his house and move in with a neighbour to save his daughter's business. Mike's reaction to this is not to take the opportunity to fly the nest and save his dad some worry. After about a day of whingeing and half-hearted flat-hunting, he pitches a tent in the neighbour's back garden as a protest stunt to make Ron let him share his bedroom. The only aspect of this storyline that does not accurately mirror the dominant social trend is Ron's reaction, as he tells his son to get a life and get a flat. If the statistics are anything to go by, most parents would probably be more indulgent.

The tendency for young people to stay childlike longer is, not surprisingly, strongly reflected among the growing body of students in Britain's expanding higher education system. Indeed the way in which higher education has been reformed is playing an active role in encouraging students not to grow up.

One side-effect of the expansion of higher education, set to go on in the post-Dearing era, has been to transform a large section of the young adult population into children. Dependent on their parents, spending three more years socialising, going to lessons, doing homework and finding menial jobs to top-up their pocket money, the institutionalisation of the first degree has proved to be another route to raising the real age of adulthood to at least 21.

For their part, the universities have embraced the trend to treat students more like children. The university authorities have made tutors adopt a more overtly 'pastoral' or pseudo-parental role towards their students, offering moral guidance and counselling as well as (or sometimes instead of) education. They have encouraged student unions to do more to protect the youngsters in their care (formerly known as union members) from such hazards of the adult world as drink, drugs and sex. And perhaps most significantly of all, universities have lowered their academic horizons so as to spoon-feed their wards an 'A' level style education, complete with easy assessments that make sure just about everybody gets a sweetie at the end of the course (see Claire Fox, 'The dumbing down of higher education', LM, October 1997).

Whether they are funded by their parents or not, students are in emotional terms considered as children. They may have loans and overdrafts, but they do not have to take responsibility for paying them back until well after they graduate. They may support themselves through a part-time job, but these have more in common with what a teenager does on Saturday to earn some extra pocket money than with the work of the young professional.

Students are exempt from tax, most jobs they do require little or no skill, they work in their leisure time. Apart from rent and food, their income is disposable income: the complaints of 'poor students' are by and large indistinguishable from the whinings of kids on meagre pocket money. It is quite conceivable that a student can be entirely responsible for his or her own maintenance, yet still be living like an adolescent.

No wonder students feel that they have some kind of a right to be supported by their parents, even though most draw the line at suing them. This was summed up by a second year English student at Hertford College, Oxford, who was unequivocal that it was 'ridiculous' for students to sue their parents. 'Parents should be responsible for making sure you don't starve to death and give you food and clothing. Anything beyond that you should be grateful for', she said. This sounds like a hardline approach to spoilt students, but something quite different is really being said. The bottom line of her case is that parents should be responsible for their (adult) student kids in exactly the same way as they should be responsible for their under-16 dependants.

Legally, 18 remains the age of adulthood. But once the majority of these 18 year olds are ensconced in some university somewhere, spending half the year in a college term time and the other half back at home, dependent on their parents for money and their own childhood bedroom, the legal split between adult and child becomes increasingly meaningless.

No doubt the Mike Dixons of this world, who want nothing more from life than to avoid responsibility, would think this a good thing. But for those of us who would rather 'choose life' with the independence and responsibility that involves, the extension of childhood is a real drag. Whatever our legal status, it means that those under 25 today are de facto children and are treated as such. As for our parents, who presumably went into the business of child-rearing thinking that they could move on when we reached 18, life has dealt them a raw deal. Who wants to approach retirement still wiping your son's bottom?

When students themselves are choosing nappies over the great unknown, anybody who wants a bit more from their young lives than spoon-feeding is faced with a very real problem. Maybe it is time we put away our tatty copies of Peter Pan and started demanding some grown-up books and a bit of respect, for the adults we should be rather than the children we are.

Past their bedtime

By Craig O'Malley

'Pyjamajump', the annual charity event held by Sheffield's universities in November, is a typically student kind of thing. Female students dress in thin cotton pyjamas while their male counterparts wear nighties or basques and suspenders. Promiscuous drinking and sex usually follow as the revellers take over pubs, bars and clubs throughout the city centre.

Over the years, the popularity of Pyjamajump has increased dramatically, with students travelling from all over to take part. Usually this might be seen as the hallmark of a successful charity event: here it is seen as a mega-problem. Pyjamajump has become too popular, apparently, putting some revellers' lives at risk. So in the name of safety, this year the university authorities ganged up with the local emergency services to put an end to this dangerous fun.

The student unions agree with the ban, but in the college bars many students are pissed off about being patronised. 'Students are fully aware of the hazards involved in a night out', said Dave over a pint, while Nick thinks 'it's the one night of the year when people should be able to do what they want'. For many students, the unmanageable and raucous nature of Pyjamajump is what makes it the great event that it is. Bethan is 'disgusted' with the ban. During her 'A' levels, friends had told her that Sheffield students exhausted the city's entire stock of the morning after pill, and she had been planning to bring her mates up from Stoke-on-Trent to test the claim. 'They're not going to bother now', she grumbled.

Some students, like Helen, suggest that the sacrifice is worth it: 'I'd rather have a boring night in front of the telly than have someone dying on the night.' But Gary points out that any night out can be hazardous, and that 'you can get killed walking across the street'. In any case, says Ian, 'risk is good' - who has ever heard of a 'safe' good laugh?

It seems that even the most infantile of student fun is now seen as too much for 18 year olds to handle. To most of us the idea of being caught semi-naked in a busy city centre belongs in the category of bad dreams rather than good nights out. But for those who want to enjoy their teenage years without the authorities wrapping them in cotton wool, the risky risqué Pyjamajump will be sorely missed. Lullabies will be no substitute.

Reproduced from LM issue 106, December 1997/January 1998

Freshers scares

Two graduates of 1998 advise the new student intake to make the most of the next three years- by ignoring all the 'safety' advice that they get

Hugh Peto, University of Edinburgh

If you are off to uni for the first time, listen up and listen good. University is the only time in your life when you have no worries. According to the law you are now an adult. You are also independent of your parents. You have no homework; you can get on with coursework in your own time. You are free to do what you want and there are no consequences. You don't get home until six in the morning? Fine, you don't have to go to lectures and you can copy somebody's notes. You're pregnant? Fine, have an abortion and nobody need know. You have a bad trip, convinced that the whole world is out to get you? Fine, stay in bed for two days until it wears off.

Compare this to the real world, where your actions have very real consequences. You screw somebody in the office: your spouse finds out and your marriage is finished. You drink too much: your work suffers and your promotion never comes. You lose £1000 on spread-betting one evening: you can't pay the mortgage or the Child Support Agency and you soon find out who your real friends are.

At this juncture in my life, poised between the two worlds, I have a Janus-like ability to see both the past and the future. Being a fresher is a tremendous opportunity: you have won a place at university and you have your whole life in front of you, with three or four years to learn about whatever interests you, fall in love, travel abroad and dye your hair pink. Which is why it astonishes me that the time in your life when you are most free is also the time when you are encouraged to take most caution, bombarded with information and advice about all the risks and dangers that await you at college.

At the freshers' fair the real onslaught begins. My first impression was of a big market; hundreds of stalls full of traders hawking their wares, while thousands of fresh-faced students milled around, searching for the Whisky Appreciation Society or the Canoeing Club.

But instead of shouting 'strawberries, four pound a pound', half of the stalls were selling fear. Insurance companies: 'have you insured yourself against break-ins, muggings, tornadoes, death?' The police: 'students are particularly vulnerable to crime, so watch out 'cos the townies don't like you.' Women's groups: 'women, know your limits! If your boyfriend rapes you then use this free alarm.' Lefties: 'students are so very poor, they don't have enough money to eat, so they are forced to sell their bodies.'

The scaremonger-in-residence is the students' union. Lately they have been concerned with highlighting the following list of cheery items: surviving on no money, meningitis, carbon monoxide poisoning and gas death landlords, stopping smoking, medical tests on students, curbing alcohol intake, safe housing, study skills, banning racismsexismfatcatgreed, and, of course, Aidsawarenessandsafesex. Why?

Like the case studies and agony pages that clog up girlie magazines, what passes for 'advice' and 'information' from student bodies should be treated with scepticism. Bombarding freshers with horror stories of date rape, giant cockroaches, hunger and Aids presents a skewed view of life at university. Observe the following advice given by the National Union of Students regarding meningitis:

'If you think its [sic] a bad dose of flu, a heavy hangover or drugs, don't just leave it: check out the symptoms. If you're feeling really bad, tell someone; if a mate's looking rough, stick in 10 of us, at any time, are carrying the bacteria which cause meningitis! We pass them between each other by regular close contact, such as kissing! We don't know who is at risk-so get the symptoms sussed-it could save a life.'

You get the picture. And what a distorted one it is. You would never know that meningitis and meningitis blood-poisoning are extremely rare. Instead an epidemic of these conditions appears to have become an everyday problem of student life.

Most students will never have bastard landlords, meningitis or get beaten up or sexually abused, and many take little notice of the specific advice around something like the meningitis scare. But all of the scaremongering and advice-pushing does help to create a general climate in which students can take the easy option.

Haven't finished your essay on time? Why blame yourself for bad time-management when you can blame 'family problems'? Keep getting sub-standard marks? Don't blame yourself for getting pissed six nights out of seven, when your students' union is there to confirm that you must have a disease or medical syndrome you never knew existed. The problem is that such 'advice' tends to undermine your sense of self-responsibility. I'd rather learn golf course studies.

So, if you're off to uni, I have no advice to give you. Just have a great one! And, in the words of the old 2 Unlimited does it go again? I must be getting old.

Barry Curtis, University of Kent at Canterbury

It is tempting to think that not much harm could occur at the University of Kent, situated as it is in the rolling hills of holy Canterbury. When you arrive though the first things you see will be the safety handbooks. Or the security guards. Or the CCTV. If all that fails to catch your eye you have probably been enrolled in a self-defence class, or are busy receiving the swipe cards, rape alarms and helpline directories.

There are now so many safety measures on campus I am wondering how to cope back in the University of Life. I may have been armed with an alumni card which grants me permanent sanctuary in Happy Land; but at UKC these days students seem too busy being worried to have fun.

Thinking back to the prospectus I saw three years ago, I do not recall reading that Canterbury was like downtown LA. If I thought that going to university would put me 'at risk' I would not have gone. The students' union women's officer Helen Rogers says that the real level of danger is not the point: 'There is probably a link between safety measures and preventing crime, but the main thrust for me is that they create a safe atmosphere.' No they don't. All this emphasis on safety just makes students feel more threatened than they would otherwise.

When you experience safety measures all around you, you begin to feel scared. When you are told 'smile! You're on CCTV!', or you see security guards walking the ladies home, your sense of security is undermined. A major part of going to university involves meeting new people, but when you are made to feel threatened by others, that process is hampered. Security guards now patrol the bars and perform random ID checks. What sense of community could all this possibly foster? Last term security guards scrapped outdoor parties even before they had begun. Everybody had to content themselves with the politically correct discotheques, complete with 'Warning! Strobe in use!'. My gosh! Flashing lights? At a disco?

Every few months there is an additional safety feature. This is strikingly odd, yet it reinforces my point. If safety campaigns really could make people feel safer shouldn't we expect to see some success? Instead anxieties are growing.

The students' union document about how to walk (yes, we are all toddlers again) tells us: 'Avoid an aggressive stance: crossed arms, hands on hips, a wagging finger or raised arm will challenge and confront. Avoid looking down or touching someone unnecessarily.' All this is far more likely to make people paranoid than it is to reassure them that Kent is the garden of England. Yet we are told to 'look confident' by 'walking tall', and to develop the skill of 'tension control'. Tension control means, it seems, avoiding risk altogether. In a phrase remarkably similar to what mummy and daddy would say the union advises, 'Let someone know (or at least leave a note to say) where you are, where you are going and when you will be back. If your plans change, tell someone'. So if you knock on somebody's door (presuming that you are even able to get into their corridor), and discover that they are out, it is implied that they have met their doom.

The irony is that one of the most enjoyable features of campus life is surely the spontaneity. In its rare dynamic moments Canterbury would host a beer festival, or have somebody famous turn up. In such situations the freedom to break your plans was great. Students deprived of that freedom, and made to sit quivering in their hall with their finger on the panic button, may be safe from life, but they will also be very bored and dull individuals indeed.

Reproduced from LM issue 114, October 1998



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