Imagine you’re the town council in a small town.
Costs are rising, your current tax scheme won’t cover the increases, and the provincial government has legislation that says you can’t run a deficit. (The provincial government runs a deficit almost every year, but things are clearly different when you are in charge.)
Your citizens are outraged and vow to fire you all at the next election if you reduce services or increase taxes. You get dirty looks and lectures at the convenience store.
But you grit your teeth and do what’s best for the town — probably a combination of reducing services and increasing taxes. And you shrug your shoulders, get ready for the next round of neighbourly abuse, and ask yourself why you wanted to be on council anyway.
But if you think that’s bad enough, imagine that instead of running a town, you’re running Memorial University.
Because MUN really is between a rock and a hard place. Its costs are rising, and it has to maintain a balanced budget, unless the government gives it permission to do otherwise. In 2014-15, the province paid $347 million towards MUN’s operating costs. This year, it’s $309 million. Meanwhile, labour costs go up along the same template as they do for other provincial workers.
Now, MUN – and solely MUN – can decide to increase its fees. That’s written right into legislation.
But if MUN raises tuition, the government has in the past threatened to cut deeper.
“If there’s a tuition increase for Newfoundland and Labrador students then we would not be providing all that money for a tuition freeze for Newfoundland and Labrador students,” then-advanced education minister Gerry Byrne said when the issue arose in 2017. “There are ways and means Memorial University of Newfoundland can accommodate this budget … without impacting Newfoundland and Labrador students.”
At least a town is allowed enough financial autonomy to set its own tax rates.
Clearly, without at least being able to maintain its revenue level, something has to give. The province can’t have the university it has now for much longer.
The current structure is not tenable.
The tuition freeze started in 2003. With a 11 per cent decrease in funding over the last five years, and with no help from increased tuition, the only option left is cuts.
Last week, MUN cut $8.9 million from its operating costs. The most significant part of those cuts is the $3 million that the university will save by not replacing staff who retire or leave. That means larger classes, probably more contract staff — and eventually, a point at which university accreditations start to fall away. Building repairs are being put hold. Want to play an interesting game? Wander through the older buildings at MUN and count the number of “Asbestos Hazard Inside” signs you see. And while you’re at it, keep track of any spot where there’s water damage from leaking ceilings and windows — but bring a notebook. You’ll need it.
MUN president Gary Kachanoski has been pretty blunt about where that leaves the university — as he’s put it, the province has to decide what kind of university it wants to have.
Clearly, without at least being able to maintain its revenue level, something has to give. The province can’t have the university it has now for much longer.
Maybe it’s time to stop the death by a thousand cuts. Maybe the university’s leadership should make a bold statement about finances: pick an expensive program that the provincial government particularly likes, and announce that it’s being discontinued. Heck, maybe a cash-strapped university can’t afford to operate two campuses on opposite sides of a big island anymore.
Kid gloves aren’t working.
It’s worth keeping in mind that if the province practised the austerity it preaches to MUN, we’d be close to a balanced budget now.
We aren’t.
Russell Wangersky’s column appears in 39 SaltWire newspapers and websites in Atlantic Canada. He can be reached at [email protected] — Twitter: @wangersky.
