Opinion: Higher Fees, Lower Quality, and More Bureaucracy Than Classrooms

Finleigh Frost

The Government’s decision to lift the cap on course fee increases from 2.85% to a hefty 6% has left many students stunned. At a time when young people face high unemployment, a shrinking pool of part-time jobs, and bleak post-graduation prospects, doubling the allowable fee hike feels not just out of touch but fundamentally unfair. Yet beyond the immediate financial hit, there’s a deeper structural problem that feels increasingly difficult to ignore for those attending university. Universities are becoming top-heavy bureaucracies where non-academic roles outnumber teaching staff. 

For many students, these issues aren’t simply abstract. They are the deciding factor in whether to skip a meal, pick up another shift that doesn’t exist, or take on more debt just to stay enrolled. While a 6% increase might look small on paper, for someone who is already stretched, it is the difference between coping and falling behind. 

In some New Zealand universities, up to 60% of staff are in non-academic positions. That means the majority of employees aren’t teaching, researching, supervising, or directly supporting student learning. Instead, they’re working in management, marketing, HR, strategy, communications, compliance, and an ever-expanding constellation of administrative functions. Compared with 2009, when non-academic staff made up less than 30%, the shift is dramatic. While some level of administration is necessary, the scale of growth in these roles raises serious questions about priorities. 

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: students are being asked to pay 6% more for institutions that appear to be investing less in teaching and more in internal bureaucracy. 

And bureaucracies don’t simply shrink on their own. Once these roles are created, they tend to become permanent, often justifying themselves or even leading to the creation of new ones. A change in strategy requires new managers; new reporting requires new staff; and suddenly, the system has grown, regardless of whether teaching output improves. Meanwhile, the people students actually interact with—lecturers, tutors, and supervisors—are stretched thinner each year in favour of these bureaucratic roles. 

As universities balloon administratively, their core functions—lecturing, tutoring, research, and academic mentoring—are being squeezed. Departments are downsizing or closing. Class sizes are growing. Students often struggle to access specialist lecturers, and more teaching is shifted to casual or fixed-term staff who are stretched to breaking point. The quality of learning appears to be declining—not because academics have lost their passion, but because the system around them does not support them.

This bureaucratic expansion coincides with a job market that is already hostile to students. Unemployment among young people remains high at around 15%, and even basic part-time work is hard to secure. Even the old fallback options are disappearing. 

Retail and hospitality jobs that once sustained students are now more competitive, casualised, or gone altogether. Students are increasingly competing with more experienced workers for hospitality and retail roles that once reliably supported their studies. Students aren’t just working less; many are finding it significantly harder to access work at all. The expectation that students can simply “pick up a job” to offset rising costs feels increasingly detached from reality. Many struggle to find enough work to cover groceries, let alone tuition. 

After graduation, the picture is often just as difficult. Entry-level roles are scarce, employers demand years of experience for “junior” positions, and industries across the board are tightening their hiring. Students are being asked to take on more debt for a degree that increasingly doesn’t guarantee a job, or even a fair shot at one. 

It also raises the broader question of whom the system serves and who is meant to benefit. If students are paying more for less, academics are being stretched thinner, and outcomes are declining, then the benefits of this expansion are not immediately obvious to those at the centre of the university experience. Students are not seeing an improved experience or a higher standard of education, just higher costs. 

Given all of this, it’s fair to ask: where is the money actually going? 

If universities are cutting academics, reducing course offerings, and scaling back student services, why does the non-teaching workforce keep growing? Why are managerial layers expanding while front-line educators disappear? Allowing universities to raise fees by 6% only papers over the cracks. It doesn’t solve the structural inefficiencies draining the sector from within. 

Students don’t see value for money. They’re seeing declining teaching quality, fewer opportunities, and institutions investing more in offices than in classrooms. 

The Government’s fee decision sends a clear message: students must pay more to keep an increasingly bloated system functioning. But if over half the staff aren’t teaching, and students are graduating into a stagnant job market, then the problem isn’t funding. It’s priorities. 

New Zealand’s young people deserve a tertiary system built around education, not administration. Until that changes, higher fees will only deepen the crisis—not fix it.