In one month, everything will change.
It’s April of your first year in university, and stressed out doesn’t even begin to describe it. You have three exams coming up, and though you already took these courses in high school—most of your credits didn’t transfer—you’re afraid that the questions will be full of cultural references that you won’t understand.
Escalators, for instance. Earlier this morning, you met with the landlord of the apartment where you’ll be living this summer. Since he suggested meeting on the second floor of the overpowering, glitzy mall, you had to prepare yourself for the inevitable encounter with the staircase that moves. You’ve come a long way since you rode your first escalator last September. And to think, after just eight months in Canada, you’ll soon be living on your own.
Everything was set for your move—until the landlord mentioned that your rental agreement was lacking a guarantor’s signature. “One of your parents can do it,” he advised. “Or someone who has known you for a long time.”
There’s a lump in your throat and you’re ready to run away, at least back to your residence room at U of T. A guarantor’s signature? You wouldn’t need one if you were living in Trinity again next year. But with your finances coming from OSAP and a work-study position, paying $17,000 for rent and tuition is hardly an option.
At least in residence people would know it’s not so easy for you to communicate with your parents. Your family and friends are back home where you grew up, where you left less than a year ago: a crowded refugee camp in Somalia.
Since 1989, U of T has participated in the Student Refugee Program of the World University Service of Canada. The aim of WUSC is to settle promising students from war-torn countries into universities across Canada to further their educational opportunities. This year, four St. George colleges and both satellite campuses are taking part, bringing in students from refugee camps in Malawi, Somalia, and Thailand.
For their first year in Canada, the program provides everything for WUSC participants. Tuition fees are waived, and a room in residence and full meal plan are provided, along with a work-study position at the college registrar’s office. Depending on the college, there’s some extra money available for textbooks, winter clothing, and other necessities. U of T does everything it can to help these newcomers to Canada—that is, until their first year of university draws to a close.
“That’s when things can get really hard,” admits Kevin Philipupillai, the 2007-2008 WUSC coordinator for Victoria College. “There’s already been a lot of cultural adjustment, but it’s still hard to be on your own.” And in second year, the students are truly on their own. After just eight months in a foreign country, it’s up to the participants to figure out their own living arrangements and employment. Though WUSC students often keep their job at the registrar’s office, that’s only if there’s a position open for the following year’s participant.
The abrupt transition from full financial support to complete independence would be challenging for any student, but even more so for a refugee with only one year of university under his or her belt. Interestingly, this isn’t the case at all institutions. Philipupillai notes that at the University of Victoria, students have full financial support for all four years of the program. Since U Vic brings in three new WUSC students every year, there are always 12 students assisted directly by the university.
By comparison, U of T’s WUSC funding is considerably lacking. “The amount allotted to each student depends largely on the sponsoring college,” explains University College coordinator Julia Cusimano. But even at colleges in a comfortable financial position, such as UC and Vic, a large proportion of the funds comes from a college-wide student levy—not something that’s easy to increase.
“The problem is that if [one college] sets a precedent on levies, all of the others will be pressured into doing the same, and we’re not all in the same financial situation,” notes Cusimano. “And when changes in levies are put to a vote, for a lot of people, it’s just seen as even more increased fees.” There is little publicity for WUSC on campus, and during levy increases, students may not know that they’re voting to change the life of a refugee. But why is this the funding model at U of T, which has the largest overall university endowment in Canada by over a billion dollars? At U Vic, which has the 16th-largest endowment, they sponsor double the number of students that we do. Is this truly the best U of T can do?
For WUSC students, the stress associated with becoming financially independent rivals only that of transitioning to life outside of the residence. The difficulty is in the details: not only must they find a suitable place to live in Canada’s most expensive city, but they’re also charged with learning how to use grocery stores, public transportation, and modern home conveniences—challenges not necessarily faced living in residence. While the refugees are expected to quickly adjust to life on their own, WUSC co-ordinators simply aren’t prepped on how to facilitate this progression.
As Chris Somerville, WUSC coordinator at Innis College for 2004-2006 recounts, the only formal training he received concerned the refugee’s initial arrival to Canada. This preparation mainly comprised of bureaucratic matters, such as setting up a Canadian bank account for the WUSC participant, and helping them enroll in courses. This leaves WUSC volunteers largely playing the process by ear. While co-ordinators meet with WUSC students on a regular basis during their first year, once April passes, the attention shifts to next year’s student. There’s no guarantee that the outgoing WUSC student will have any personal support during their next three years or more at U of T.
One way to improve the counseling aspect of the WUSC program, suggests Somerville, would be to stabilize the structure of student volunteer involvement. “At Innis,” he recalls, “the WUSC committee was run by the vice-president of the Innis College Student Society, the vice-president of the Residence Council, and the WUSC co-ordinator. So two of the people already have positions in university administration, and quite considerable ones.” Even at Victoria College, where a larger committee is set up to assist the WUSC student, Philipupillai noted a huge drop in student interest once fall midterms rolled around. Many WUSC co-ordinators are involved in the program for only one year before moving on to other pursuits. While both Vic and UC employ Student Life co-ordinators, nobody is exclusively dedicated to the continuity of the WUSC program from one year to the next.
Implementing a better organized, more reliable staffing system requires more financial investment from U of T. But Philipupillai sees an additional benefit from increased program funding: “What I’ve heard from several former WUSC students is that, yeah, it’s tough here, but if you could give this opportunity to more people to come over, regardless of how difficult it is, it’s a real hope that people there [in refugee camps] could have.”
The students participating in WUSC have an earnest desire to learn. With increased funding and a better support structure, U of T could feasibly accommodate a greater number of refugees. Until then, the least we can do is give upper year students more support. Transition to independence is hard for everyone. We may not relate to some of the refugee’s life experiences, but all of us—university administration included—can offer our empathy.
