Queen’s University says renewed government investment in higher education’s a sign of progress, but from a student perspective, that progress is hard to see.
While campus construction continues and official messaging remains optimistic, students are facing rising tuition, heavier loan burdens, and uneven access to support. If the investment is truly returning, it’s not reaching students in ways that meaningfully improve their student experience.
The most visible signs of growth at Queen’s are largely physical. Construction fences surround numerous areas on campus.
While walking on campus, the progression of the construction projects along University Ave., is noticeable, but questions linger if the budget allocated toward these buildings will be put into the support systems that students struggled to find.
While the University has made strides in equity, diversity, and inclusion, acknowledgement often feels conditional on past-performative actions. It can feel at times that the campus’ aesthetics receive more attention than our day-to-day experiences. The University uses these renovations as promise of long-term improvement, but the school remains stagnant when we look beyond the physical.
New buildings don’t lower tuition, reduce rent, or help us decide whether we can afford groceries. For many students, especially those already under financial strain, campus expansion feels disconnected from the realities they face. That reality has become even more difficult with the recent changes to the Ontario Student Assistance Program (OSAP). Financial aid has been redistributed so that loans make up a minimum of 75 per cent of funding and grants make up a maximum of 25 per cent, all while tuition increases.
For low-income and first-generation students, this shift has numerous implications. As debt’s carried into students’ futures, this influences decisions about graduate school, career choices, and even whether completing a degree feels financially sustainable.
As a first-generation student myself, I’ve had to navigate a lot of my university journey on my own, attempting to put the increasing debt at the back of my mind. With these changes, that quiet anxiety becomes harder to ignore. Rather than background stress, it now shapes how I plan my semesters and how I think about my life after graduation.
Many students on similar journeys as mine, or even completely different, are of the same mindset, but this isn’t something Queen’s can solve with statements alone.
In November of 2021, Queen’s University signed the Scarborough Charter, agreeing to implement the principles of pledging accountability to Black communities, recognizing Black life and thought, forming working groups to drive change, integrating equity into core institutional functions, and ongoing engagement and consultation.
Since entering the Queen’s community in 2023, I’ve yet to truly feel the impacts of these principles. Though Queen’s has come very far from where it began and monumental changes have been made, this work can’t slow down and lose momentum.
Many Black students have complained of the difficulties they experience when trying to communicate with the school to discuss their grievances, whether it be related to clubs or their personal lives. From larger administrative struggles of lengthy approval processes to daily struggles of encountering micro aggressive professors and peers, Black students often feel let down consistently by empty promises that the school has made.
The establishment of the Black Liberation Commons was a step in the right direction, but this initiative was taken into the hands of students, rather than the school itself. This room is often unavailable to the Black population, which negates its purpose.
We lack the culturally affirming spaces that we were promised and direly need. These untranslated promises feel performative, rather than revolutionary.
The University’s increased financial stability fails to show in the student experience for marginalized populations. Many marginalized students are unaware of the community supports they have at hand, especially when they are reliant on the university to disseminate that information. These community spaces foster mentorship, cultural connection, and a sense of belonging that doesn’t exist anywhere else on campus.
Many of these organizations operate with minimal institutional promotion, for example, the Queen’s Black Academic Society, which serves as the largest Black student body on campus. This club provides scholarships, networking opportunities, research, internships, and, most importantly, fosters a sense of belonging. Many students find these organizations through friends rather than official university channels. Meanwhile, larger organizations that weren’t created with Black students in mind receive greater visibility and institutional backing. This imbalance matters. Access to community shouldn’t be dependent upon insider knowledge. The lack of promotion marginalized student groups face shifts this burden onto the students themselves to build these systems and their community. This calls on the struggles they face to coordinate with the school to create these spaces from the ground up.
From this, the contrast is very clear; the school has very visible investment through their numerous construction projects, modernization, and public statements celebrating the university’s growth. Behind that is us, the student population that must navigate higher tuition costs, increased reliance on loans, and support systems that are difficult to come by and sustain.
If Queen’s wants renewed funding to represent meaningful progress, we must see that progress reflected in our everyday lives. Acknowledging the increased financial pressure on many students is a start, but recognition alone doesn’t erase these problems.
Bursaries and emergency assistance help, yet they often function as short-term solutions rather than structural relief. To ensure meaningful progress, the university must invest in student communities and show a commitment to measuring growth by the level at which students feel genuinely supported.
Although the campus skyline suggests prosperity, the student experience tells a completely different story. Until this investment translates into reduced financial strain and more visible support for marginalized students, growth will remain as something we see, but not as something we truly feel.
Bernice Yeboah is a third-year Health Sciences student and a member of the Queen’s Black Academic Society.
Tags
black history month, marginalized communities, Queen's University
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