The Multisectoral Consultative Committee on Tuition and Fees’ decision to implement a zero-percent tuition fee increase (TFI) for AY 2026-2027 is a landmark victory for the student body; one that was won on the pavements of the campus and through the digital ink of surveys.
While we celebrate this reprieve, the original intent to push for an increase begs a more difficult question on our institutional identity. Does the University still see itself as a mission-driven sanctuary, or is it gradually adopting the logic of a corporate entity, where yearly revenue growth is the only acceptable metric?
This year’s zero-percent TFI does not erase the accumulated burden of the six-percent increase in 2019 and the five-percent jump in 2024. These figures do not exist in isolation; they compound, creating a financial burden that has already fundamentally altered the campus’ socioeconomic makeup. As such, even a pause in the climb cannot hide the fact that the summit of affordability is already out of reach for many.
A student population homogenized by economic class ceases to be an accurate microcosm of society. When financial barriers dictate who gets to sit inside the classroom, academic discourse inevitably narrows, filtered through the lens of privilege. In such an isolated environment, higher education desists to be a catalyst for social mobility and simply becomes a tool for reinforcing the status quo.
The danger of this creeping exclusivity extends beyond individual tuition bills; it mirrors a national trend where academic excellence is traded for profitability. We have seen this before, as it has already destroyed the credibility of past institutions. Institutions like AMA University were once trusted pillars of higher education for the middle class, competing with the likes of the University of the Philippines System and Ateneo in specialized fields such as Computer Science. But when the pursuit of profit overrode the mission of pedagogy, the school became a means to make money; rather than money being a means to improve the school’s facilities and services, it eventually led to its decline into what many people describe as a “diploma mill.” By raising the drawbridge of affordability, a university accepts a model of selective access—and by extension, selective excellence.
Institutional excellence is a hollow metric if it is built on the exclusion of the very demographic it was meant to serve. To equate a relentlessly increasing pricing model with an inevitable rise in academic quality is a dangerous fallacy. True academic rigor relies on the collision of diverse backgrounds and perspectives—a dynamic that is systematically suffocated when fees steadily outpace the average Filipino income. Keeping higher learning accessible cannot be a mere footnote; it has to be non-negotiable.
When the administration decides on tuition fee increases, they will reason that the numbers were explained and consulted on. But transparency without meaningful agency is just a performance. Giving the students a seat at the table just to watch the fees go up is not the same as giving them the power to say “no.” A budget presented is not a budget negotiated, and a consultation with the student body is not a vote.
While we acknowledge the valid needs of other sectors—such as faculty compensation and stagnant office budgets that lag behind state universities—our families must not bear the weight of these adjustments alone. These sectors do deserve competitive salaries and adjustments to their needs. But when 80.8 percent of students say an increase would affect their households, we cannot shift the burden to those with the least power to bear it.
In this, the zero percent TFI should not be a one-time “gift” from the administration to be thanked for, but a right that must be exercised when possible. It is a conversation that should still continue to be questioned and demanded. If DLSU truly stands for its community, it should not divide its sectors; it should ensure that everyone’s needs are met, never at each other’s expense.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s March 2026 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMar2026.
