The effects of austerity on our living and studying conditions
As a child, I imagined college and university as places where a scientific community worked collectively on difficult problems. Growing up in the rural town of Huberdeau, even before I could put it into words, I dreamed of collegiality and a rich student life that would nourish this intellectual work.
However, collegiality and student life do not spontaneously spring from the realm of ideas, and I quickly became disillusioned when I moved to Montreal at the age of 17 to study at CEGEP: there is no escaping material reality. It takes resources and money to build a pleasant and stimulating learning environment. However, resources and money have been in increasingly short supply for nearly 40 years as a result of cuts by Liberal, PQ, and CAQ governments.
Government austerity = crappy study conditions
The effects of austerity in education have been known and criticized by support staff and teachers for several years. The population is growing, and the lack of adequate resources means a decline in the quality of education and services: less time for students, less money to renovate or repair buildings, or to offer support to students.
We are familiar with the story of the cuts from the employees’ perspective. But what about the effects of the cuts on our daily lives and study conditions? How are rising enrollment numbers and the lack of reinvestment shaping our daily experience and making it worse? How are they transforming our living and study spaces, and the time we devote to life and studies?
Geography of student life
In terms of our living and study spaces, the effects of austerity can be grouped into three major trends: the space occupied is sometimes overused, sometimes inadequate, and sometimes it is fucking far away.
Example of overuse. At Collège de Maisonneuve, student facilities are packed to capacity. Student life is bustling, and students would like to start new committees, but due to a lack of space, they find themselves crammed into a room barely larger than a studio apartment. The struggle over the past few years to open a student cafeteria is a sign that the student population recognizes the problem. This struggle could temporarily and partially resolve the situation—it would be a good starting point for a broader movement—but the administration stubbornly refuses to grant the space.
Example of inadequate space. At UQAM, it is difficult to find suitable spaces for student activities such as general assemblies or guest researcher conferences. In the past, there were spaces such as the Marie-Gérin Lajoie room that could accommodate extremely large general assemblies. In 2012 and 2015 (historic student strikes), general assemblies of 700 to 800 people were held there. Today, the largest room can barely accommodate 250 people. How can we hope to have a vibrant and populous student democracy or large-scale debates if the infrastructure is so limited?
Example of space being fucking far away. At Cégep de Saint-Laurent, endless building repairs have led to the proliferation of outlying pavilions in recent years. Already, high rents are forcing us to live further and further away from our educational institutions, and now we have to spend an increasing amount of our breaks traveling from one place to another. Previously, breaks could last an hour, but now we have to condense the same break into 30 minutes, taking into account the 15-minute travel time between building K, where classes are held, and building A or F, where most students are located.
Between classes, is there anything we can do?
Austerity measures are affecting our schedules, our personal lives, and our studies. One example of this can be seen in the recent solutions adopted by college administrations in response to rising enrollment: extending the periods during which mandatory classes are held. In an article published on January 19, 2026, in the Journal de Montréal, we learned that students at Cégep de Sherbrooke sometimes had to take philosophy and French classes from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. Evening classes are dangerously close to night classes. Imagine the unlucky students who have a late-night class followed by an 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. class the next day. And then we wonder why some of them are sleepy in the morning!
While some may welcome the introduction of late-evening classes—seeing it as a sign of greater “flexibility” in class schedules—we must not be fooled. This is not a gift from the administration, but rather a strategy to increase profitability. Furthermore, the increase in the number of time slots is at the expense of common breaks. It is therefore becoming increasingly difficult to find a time when all students are available to enjoy a rich student life, to debate in general assemblies, or to attend conferences.
What Is to Be Done ?
The picture I am painting is certainly one of “enshittyfication” in students’ study and living conditions. Taken individually, each of these examples may seem like a minor inconvenience that could easily be ignored. Many of us tell ourselves that studying is a short period in our lives and that we just have to tough it out and move on quickly. At the same time, when we see what lies ahead, I wonder if this way of thinking isn’t a defense mechanism. We will be asked to tough it out our whole lives.
On each of our campuses, there are tons of minor irritants as well as larger problems related to austerity that can be addressed and made visible. It is by articulating the inconveniences we seek to ignore in our daily lives with the government’s decisions that the “enshittyfaction” of education takes on another meaning: we give substance to our criticism of austerity and precariousness, wewe legitimize small acts of resistance so that we can gradually begin to imagine larger ones.