But this year, something is different. The usual exam stress feels almost trivial compared to the real fear settling over campus.  The institution – freshly off the high of being awarded Scottish University of the Year – is in crisis.

Years of financial mismanagement have left Dundee University with a £35 million deficit. To bridge the gap, interim principal Professor Shane O’Neill has confirmed plans to cut 632 jobs – roughly one in five on campus. Despite saving the university £17 million in the next financial year, these cuts don’t mark the end of the crisis – they are just the beginning of a slow, painful dismantling of the university as we know it.

The university claims to only have three options. The first is the path it is currently on, which is significantly reducing the 3,250 jobs and resizing the campus. The second is to merge or restructure the university into something unrecognisable. While the final option, the bleakest of all, is the university to ceasing to exist.

“The University is Regressing”

“They’re saying they want to save the university, but there’s no security, no guarantees and that is terrifying,” says Mikel Kibria, a third-year law student.  Originally from Fife, Kibria is the kind of person who makes people feel at home. Friendly, open, always ready with a joke – she’s not someone you expect to see anxious. But lately, that’s changed.

“The emails [from the university] say one thing, but the news says another.  Each time they give us hope and a plan another headline comes out that can contradict it.” The constant back and forth is exhausting. For students trying to focus on coursework, placements, and their futures, the uncertainty is an added weight on their shoulders. The stress of university is hard enough without the creeping fear that the institution providing your degree might not be able to support you. “It’s hard to trust what we’re being told,” Kibria says.

Even though the cuts haven’t fully taken effect yet, their impact is already creeping in. “My flatmates who are currently studying psychology were told by their lecturer not to pursue a postgrad opportunity at Dundee University,” she says. “Imagine hearing that from your own lecturer, getting told it’s not worth it anymore.” If even staff are losing faith in the university’s future, it’s hard for students to feel any differently.

Kibria acknowledges that, compared to students in other subjects, her degree is likely more secure. “I’m very fortunate that I am in law because it’s very, very protected,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean this isn’t unfair.” There’s no hesitation in her voice: “You should only worry about not getting a degree if you are failing, not because your university is going bust or cutting your course.”

For many, Dundee University is one of their only options for education.  “Not everyone can just pack up and move,” Kibria says. “If you’ve got family commitments, financial reasons, or just can’t uproot your life, what are you supposed to do? Where are you supposed to go?” The uncertainty doesn’t just make things difficult – it makes them feel impossible.

“Not everyone has the luxury to alter their lives around their degree”

As options disappear, so does stability. Both current and prospective students are left uncertain about their futures, unsure of what will remain. This confusion – this fear – is not normal and not fair.  “Everyone deserves to study what they want,” Kibria says firmly. “But with these cuts, that might not be possible.” Kibria’s anxiety is shared by many across the campus, and the dread of not knowing what lies ahead may be almost as damaging as the deficit itself.

Strike Action and Support

Staff at the university began a three-week strike last month on 24 February to protest against the inevitable cuts. The walkout has drawn support from students and faculty alike, with tensions on campus continuing to rise.

On the picket line, Dr Melissa D’Ascenzio, University and College Union Dundee branch co-president said: “Cutting staff is not the solution.  It will only end up impacting the excellence in research and teaching that we deliver here at the university and will also impact the student’s experience which is what we’re proud of and what brings students to Dundee.”

University management was quick to dismiss staff concerns, however, with Mr O’Neill calling the strike “premature” and questioning “who’s gaining anything from it.” He argued that the walkout would only disrupt students’ learning and heighten the anxiety already sweeping across campus.

“Isn’t that the whole point of a strike?” laughs Paul Turner, a fourth-year mechanical engineering student. “If there’s no disruption, they’ll never realise what they’re losing.” Turner has never been particularly engaged in student politics, often dodging election campaigners with a quick ‘sorry, running late for a lecture’ – when heading in the opposite direction – or pretending to be mid-call to avoid being handed a leaflet. But now, even he feels compelled to speak out. With just weeks left until he completes his degree, he isn’t at all concerned for himself. “People keep saying how bad they feel for me, and aye, cheers pal, but this would only impact me for three months max,” he says. “But it’s going to ruin the lives of the staff here and the education of the years below.”

This feels personal for Turner. “So many times, I’ve thought about packing it in,” he admits. “Engineering’s brutal. You fail one assignment and you think, ‘That’s me, I’m done.’ And it’s the staff who keep you going. They sit with you, they convince you you’re not an idiot, they actually help. They really care here. And this is how the university repays them?”

The staff are the jute threads that weave together the fabric of campus life, providing the support, guidance, and reassurance that students so desperately need. They shape the futures of countless individuals, offering the mentorship and expertise that can define careers. Yet, it is these very individuals who are now forced to bear the burden of the university’s fiscal wreckage, while those at the top who created this crisis remain untouched by the fallout of their decisions.

Turner sighs. “Staff shouldn’t be cannon fodder for management’s failures.”

Degree Safety

“I think I chose the wrong degree”

In a bid to stave off what Acting Chair of Court Tricia Bey has called the “real possibility” of insolvency, the university has announced plans to merge its eight academic schools into three faculties. Vice Principal of Education Professor Blair Grubb has also warned that ‘uneconomical’ courses will be cut. For students, this signals an uncertain future particularly those studying subjects deemed ‘less desirable’ in the current job market, such as languages and art.

Hannah Murray, whose name she requested be changed, is a graphic design student who fears her subject will be one of the first to disappear. With class sizes rarely exceeding 15, she knows it doesn’t bring in enough money to be considered ‘viable.’

Growing up in Charleston, one of the most overlooked areas in the city, Hannah never thought art was an option. Pharmacology was her lifelong plan. It was stable, secure, and exactly what her family, especially her mother, had always pushed her towards. “It was the safe choice,” she says quietly. “Something with a future. Something real.”  But at the last minute, she changed her application. “I knew if I didn’t I’d regret it.”

“I used to go to the V&A and McManus almost weekly and it just filled me with inspiration and the hope this could be my future.  You’d see all these success stories and I naively thought I could have one”

Her family had always been sceptical of her decision, never outright discouraging her, but never taking it seriously either. “They used to joke that I was just colouring in for a degree,” she says, forcing a smile. “Every time I was stressed over deadlines, my uncle would go, ‘How hard can it be? You just draw pictures all day.’” She pauses: “It was funny back then.”

But now, with the university in crisis and her course at risk, the jokes sting in a way they never did before. “I can work as hard as I want, I can care as much as I want but none of it matters if they decide my degree isn’t worth keeping.”

Unlike other students, Hannah can’t just go somewhere else for a fresh start. Dundee wasn’t just her first choice – it was her only choice. She still lives at home; moving away was never financially possible. She always knew art wasn’t an easy path. It’s an industry notoriously closed off to the working class; the people who make it have connections, family support, a cushion to land on if things don’t work out. Hannah has none of that. For those with no other options, these cuts don’t just create challenges – they will take opportunities away entirely. If her degree goes, so does her future. “The uni provides equipment and software I could never afford on my own.  And without that I can never make a name for myself.”

“Maybe they were right,” she says. “Maybe I should’ve just done pharmacology.”

“I’m safe but still scared”

Jack Williams is on the other side of the spectrum. While students in the arts and humanities fear their courses will disappear, he knows medicine is safe. Dundee’s medical school is one of the best in the UK – that’s why he moved here from Cardiff in the first place. “There wasn’t really anywhere better,” he says simply. It was a big move, further than he ever thought he’d go, but it paid off. He fell in love with the city. He thought he’d come up, get his degree, and leave. But now? “I can actually see myself staying,” he says, almost surprised at his own words. “Didn’t think I’d ever say that.”

“Dundee’s got a bit of a reputation, you know?” he laughs. “Before I came up, people were like, ‘Why the hell are you going there?’” He shrugs. “Now I’m the one defending it.”

That loyalty makes the university’s financial crisis even more frustrating. When we speak over Zoom, he looks exhausted – held together by caffeine and meal deals. His hoodie is crumpled, his eyes dark with exhaustion, his grip on his coffee cup is almost desperate. “State of me, man,” he laughs, “I look dead.” Another gulp. “Because cuts or not, I’ve got at least 300 pages to get through tonight. Running on fumes at this point.”

Still, no amount of studying can distract from what’s happening. “It’s all you hear right now.” His younger sister is thinking about university. After hearing him talk about Dundee, she’d seriously considered it. “A few months ago, I’d have said, ‘Come up, you’ll love it.’ But now?” He shakes his head. “Do I even recommend it anymore? It’s a shambles.”

Referring to his degree he says, “I know I’m alright,” but there’s no joy in his voice. “I feel for my mates, most of them are in humanities. They’re the ones in the thick of it right now.”

“How can I feel good about my success when my mates can barely get by?”

His natural pessimism, as a STEM student, leads him to consider how his own degree might be at risk. This thought process soon spirals into the worst-case scenario.“ I know deep down medicine isn’t getting cut, the deal with Ninewells makes too much money” he claims. “But if things keep going the way they are, who knows?”

“The only way my course goes is if the whole university shuts down.” He says it like a joke, but his face is serious. “And honestly? At this rate, I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“A Bailout isn’t good enough”

After the Zoom call with Williams ended, the Scottish Funding Council approved a £22m support package for Dundee University. It has done little to ease student fears, however. “The staff that got me through this degree are still being cut,” says Turner. “This emergency funding is being treated as a godsend and, aye, while it will definitely stop more shit hitting the fan, it shouldn’t hide the fact that over 600 staff are having their livelihood stripped away from them.”

That anger is shared by Kibria. “You can’t just throw money at a crisis this deep and expect it to be fixed,” she says. “It’s still mostly the same people who caused this in charge. It’s hardly a fresh start.”

While the funding may have eased her fears about finishing her degree, she doesn’t believe those responsible have been held to account. “There needs to be some kind of retaliation. A proper structure to make sure this never happens again.” She adds: “This wasn’t a mistake. They must have known they were in debt –  £35 million is not a small number. Like, how can you go that far and not realise and just not do anything about it? This was deliberate.”

A City on the Brink

The university is the Dundee’s compass – if it falters, the ‘City of Discovery’ will lose its sense of direction. Supporting one in twelve jobs across the city, the university’s influence extends far beyond the gates of campus. The effects of these cuts will reverberate throughout the community, slashing the local economy.

A born and bred Dundonian, Turner has seen the city change over the years – sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. But never like this. “I’ve watched this city pull itself up,” he says, frustration sharpening his voice. “I remember when things were at their worst, then investment came, and suddenly there was this buzz. New bars, new cafés, the whole place just felt like it was going somewhere. And now? Now it feels like all of that is slipping away.”  He adds: “There’s going to be a hell of a lot of people who are going suffer because a few suits fucked up.”

While the full impact of the cuts is yet to be felt, fear in the city is mounting. “My mate’s got a barber shop just off-campus – students are half his business. He’s already worrying about what happens when fewer of them are here. If you cut staff and courses then you’re cutting students and then potential customers elsewhere. And once people stop making enough to survive, what then?”

Kibria echoes this fear, her frustration sharp. “There are already so many businesses that are closing because of the cost-of-living crisis,” she says. “And if those jobs are to go, it’s going to make a lot of problems for a lot of people.” She points out how Brexit, online shopping, and rising costs have already put small businesses in a chokehold. “Dundee is a big city, but opportunities are slowly disappearing. People do shop here, there’s a real community, but now with students potentially vanishing there’ll be a chain reaction leading to another nail in the coffin.”

Dundee has weathered large-scale deindustrialisation, years of government neglect, and a council that hasn’t always had its priorities straight. The city has been knocked down before, but it’s always found a way to stand back up. Now, though, with the university under threat, people are wondering how many more hits it can take before something breaks.

This isn’t just an education crisis – it’s an economic one. The future of the city is tied to the future of its university. And right now, that future looks grim. Exams will end. Assessments will be handed in. Degrees might be finished. But the damage being done to Dundee University – and the city itself – won’t be repaired anytime soon.

Matthew Borrie

Editor of the best section, features!!