By Carine Hajjar
Monday, July 20, 2020
The COVID-19 pandemic has fundamentally restructured
higher education for at least the next semester. Come fall, many college
students are yet again facing a life off-campus, sitting in front of a screen.
Despite the obvious differences between online and in-person education,
colleges and universities are largely set on maintaining — if not raising —
tuitions. This raises the question: Is an online education worth the same as
one in person? It also raises a broader, more important question: What is the
value of a college education?
Before I try to answer them, let me show my cards. I am a
rising senior at Harvard, where only first-years and students with
extraordinary circumstances will return to campus in the fall and only seniors
will return in the spring. Harvard’s residential capacity has been topped at 40
percent, and all classes for all students — including those living on campus —
will be online for the fall and spring semesters.
Many other colleges have opted for partial on-campus
attendance and full or partial online education in the interest of public
health. For instance, Princeton is bringing freshmen and juniors back in the
fall with sophomores and seniors returning in the spring. The University of
California system is opting for online courses. Boston University is allowing
all students to return to campus but will be offering a mix of virtual and
in-person classes. The University of Texas at Austin is offering online,
on-campus, and hybrid courses. Students returning to campus at any of these
schools will be met by stringent social restrictions.
Regardless of this shrinking of the typical college
experience, some institutions, like Harvard, the UCs, and Yale, have decided to
charge full tuition for online or hybrid plans. This decision presumes that any
combination of in-person and online college courses is worth a fixed cost and,
more broadly, that there is no measurable value to the college experience
outside of classes.
The colleges justify maintaining full tuition on the
grounds that the quality of education will not change. But the quality of one’s
classes is largely subjective: Students shape their own educational experiences
to fit their interests and desired levels of effort. What are you choosing to
study? How hard do you plan to work? How much will you engage with instructors?
That students choose different educational paths and invest different levels of
interest and effort already means that the quality of education is variable.
Students are not only paying for a certain quality of
education; they are also paying for an experience. This includes
students on financial aid or scholarship — they too entered an agreement that
guaranteed them a certain experience. Perhaps if maintaining tuitions was
necessary for universities to keep offering scholarships and financial aid
packages, then the colleges would have a case. However, many of the
institutions I mention above have hefty endowments, to say the least. If a global
pandemic isn’t the time to tap into those funds, when is?
No college can exactly quantify the quality of the
education it offers separate from the student experience, and therefore none
can guarantee that it will maintain that quality of education across different
teaching formats. That experience consists of intangible benefits in and
outside of the classroom that are unattainable in a virtual setting.
The most immediate intangible benefit is the general
ethos of a collegiate setting. Asking questions in professors’ offices,
dining-hall conversations with classmates, guest speakers and expert panels,
coffee with teaching assistants, etc. — all these have immense value. An online
setting would render these opportunities almost inaccessible. As a fellow Harvard
student said to me about the online setup, “Educators are necessarily less
accessible and extracurriculars are nonexistent. Bad value for the same
tuition.”
Another benefit is networking. Visiting alumni, fellows,
and professors are valuable connections for students who will soon become young
professionals. The kind of casual exposure to such individuals that leads to
meaningful exchanges is nearly impossible through a computer screen.
Extracurriculars, as my classmate remarked, will also
fall to the wayside. In my own experience, after the spring semester was
interrupted by the pandemic, it became almost impossible to attend hours of
virtual class and then meaningfully engage in online club activities. The odd
formal tone of Zoom eclipsed the interpersonal value of the club community as
well.
Finally, there is an undeniable social aspect of college.
And it’s not all parties — learning how to live with your peers, interact with
your professors over a meal, and sort out your daily affairs are integral
aspects of the growth fostered by one’s college years. First-years will not
even meet their classmates. While students are certainly sharpening their
conference-call skills, many will lag behind in their social adjustment to the
in-person coffee meeting or the ever-important skill of dinner conversation.
With the click of a button, students can hide behind their computer screens,
speaking only when they wish.
The loss of these benefits is the reason that a very
small number of schools, including Princeton, have decided to decrease their
tuitions. Citing the disadvantages of missing out on campus life, Princeton has
offered a 10 percent discount. Although such discounts are small and offered by
only a few schools, they clearly signal that being on campus matters and
confers a benefit.
I noted that a class’s value partially depends on student
initiative. To be fair, the same is true of on-campus opportunities — colleges
don’t force students to network or attend clubs. It’s simply an option, but
it’s an option implicitly tied to a college tuition. I’d struggle to find one
of my peers who goes to college solely for the classes. I’d also struggle to
find a college recruiter who didn’t boast the myriad of clubs for students to
choose from on campus.
And perhaps there is reason to believe that online
instruction is inherently less valuable. Up until 2020, the market for higher
education certainly confirmed this assumption. Earning a bachelor’s degree at
Harvard Extension School, which is online this upcoming year, costs about
$60,000 total. That is about $10,000 more than the cost of just one year of
tuition as a Harvard College student. Given the cost discrepancy, there must be
an added value to attending Harvard College and living in Harvard Square. The
administration has tried to dodge this comparison by mandating that each
college course in the upcoming year require two to four hours of live
interaction with instructors. But, somehow, those two to four hours do not seem
to make up for a full tuition.
Online education has its own problems. Some students have
environments that are not conducive to learning, whether for practical reasons
— such as unreliable Wi-Fi or lack of a work space — or personal and emotional
ones — such as abusive households or inconsistent access to meals and health
care. Online education is also incredibly tedious: spending hours upon hours at
a screen has ingrained “Zoom fatigue” into college students’ vernacular. One
college student who experienced virtual schooling told me that, for someone who
has trouble focusing, online learning makes learning incredibly difficult. Such
students need to be in the classroom environment to remain engaged.
Given that the value of college classes relies on the very real value of campus engagement, it is simply illogical for colleges to charge full tuition for a very partial educational experience.
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