This past Thursday I received a payment reminder from the Office of Bursar Operations. “Your balance due [is] $819.87,” it read. 

I had set up the deferment option with the university prior to the start of the semester, so this wasn’t news to me. Nonetheless, as I was getting ready to pay my bill, I wondered where my money was going. 

“To pay for my books,” I thought. That couldn’t be right, as I pay for those out-of-pocket.

“For housing,” I muttered, looking at my calendar to see when my rent was due. I live off campus, so this money wasn’t going toward that either.

“For food,” I continued. Wrong again.

“For my professors’ salaries,” I reluctantly admitted. This time I was right, so I reflected on whether I was getting my money’s worth. Some of my professors have taken to cancelling class left and right, so the clear answer to that was a resounding no.

“For facilities,” I resumed. There, too, my money was going to waste. 

This semester alone, the university opened two new residence halls on the east side of campus. Azalea Hall and Camellia Hall “featur[e] modern gathering spaces and spacious suites to meet the needs of 21st century college students.”

A 21st century experience sounds expensive. Does a 21st century experience come with a bed recliner? Do I get my feet massaged while I sleep? At $5,000 a semester, this 21st century experience better come with some servants. 

Now, the university hasn’t yet revealed how much it spent building Azalea and Camellia, but one thing’s for sure: every penny spent on these luxurious premises was a penny that came out of your pocketbook through one of two ways.

First, the money could have come in the form of a poll tax. This is where everybody pays equally but the benefits are unequally distributed. In other words, everybody pays, but only a few enjoy the benefits. 

The UREC is the best example of this. Every semester, more than $200 is added to your fee bill to fund the UREC, which cost the university $85 million to build. Yet, not everyone, including the writer of this very article, uses the UREC regularly. It makes no sense to force everybody to pay when not everybody uses the UREC.

Similarly, if construction expenses for Azalea and Camellia came from a general pool of funds, then we were all taxed for the benefits of the few students residing in Azalea or Camellia. 

Alternatively, the university could cover the expenses through increased rates on the rents of Azalea and Camellia. Since we don’t know how much construction cost, looking at the cost of rent in Azalea and Camellia is the only way to figure out how much we’re paying for these premises.

With the opening of these new halls, two other halls were retired. Kirby Smith Hall, the 11-story building famed for looking like a haunted asylum, and Louise Garig Hall, a tiny hall in the Horseshoe community, were officially shut down this June. Because neither residence is being used and because on-campus students still need a place to stay, it’s reasonable to assume that students who would have once stayed in Kirby or Louise Garig are now filling up spaces in Azalea or Camellia.

Comparing the rates between the old halls and the new halls, we find a difference of nearly $1,000. That’s how much the tax is for every student at these new halls, for every semester.

In other words, by taking out the affordable options—Kirby and Louise Garig—and adding in unaffordable options—Azalea and Camellia—the university makes its students pay one way or another, whether they move to Azalea or Acadian Hall.

Today we’re paying more for recreation. We’re paying more for housing, and let’s not pretend like food on campus is widely affordable. The university overcharges us for everything and rarely, if ever, uses that money for the benefit of all students.

I still want to know where my money is going. 
Samuel Camacho is a 21-year-old economics junior from Maracaibo, Venezuela.