The illusion of free education

The idea of “free education” is one of Europe’s favorite myths. It sounds noble, progressive, egalitarian. You imagine open doors, equal opportunity, and knowledge available to anyone who shows up with curiosity and a pen. But if you trace the roots of the modern European school and university system, the picture becomes less romantic and more functional — functional in a Prussian sense.

The Prussian education system, established in the early 18th and 19th centuries, was not created to uplift individuals. It was created to produce obedient citizens. The structure was designed with military precision: centralized control, standardized curriculum, strict discipline, examinations as filtering mechanisms, and a clear hierarchy that mirrored the state itself. Students learned to follow instructions, respect authority, and perform correctly within a rigid system. That was the point. The goal was not personal development. The goal was compliance.

If you look closely, the modern European university still carries this DNA. Professors hold disproportionate power that rarely gets questioned. There is no mentorship culture; there is only hierarchy. There are no meaningful feedback loops; there is only judgment. A student who challenges the system risks their future. A professor who abuses their role faces minimal consequences. And everyone pretends this arrangement is normal because it has always been this way.

Into this environment walks the modern student, proudly believing that “free education” means “accessible education.” It does not. Education is never free. If you do not pay with money, you will pay with something else — time, energy, dignity or health.

Because here is the uncomfortable truth: without a safety net, you navigate this system alone. If you are wronged, you fight alone. If you get misunderstood, you resolve it alone. If you try to challenge a grade, an injustice, a structural issue, you do that alone against an institution that has centuries of practice in protecting itself. Universities were not built for upward mobility; they were built to maintain the hierarchy. And they still do.

This is why many first-generation students, immigrants, and students without elite backgrounds feel lost. Not because they lack intelligence, but because they lack the unwritten rules of social capital. There is no handbook explaining how to decode academic politics. There is no introduction to networks you do not have. Professors do not pull you aside to mentor you. And when people say “education is free,” what they really mean is “we didn’t charge you tuition.” Everything else is still on you.

So what do you do?

You use the university for what it is: a place to get the paper. The degree. The stamp. The credential that allows you to pass the next gate. That part still works. But your actual education — the part that shapes you, teaches you, grows you — will happen outside. In the communities you build. In the mentors you seek intentionally. In the books you choose, not the ones assigned to you. In the work you do beyond the exam periods. In the people you meet who share your values and ambitions.

Inside the system, you learn how the system works. Outside of it, you learn who you are.

And yes, this also means acknowledging the cost. The modern university is still embedded in hierarchy and patriarchy and legacy structures that were not designed with equality in mind. Some people get “free” education with an invisible cushion of privilege behind them — families who step in when things go wrong, networks that open doors, professors who take them seriously because they resemble a familiar image. Others walk a tightrope with no one to catch them if they fall.

So let’s stop pretending that “free education” is something universally liberating. It is liberating for those who already have freedom. For everyone else, it is something you need to navigate strategically, critically, and with awareness of what it can offer — and what it cannot.

Take the degree. Learn the system. Then go build your real education somewhere else — the kind that remains yours, that no institution can take away, and that no hierarchy can filter.

Love,

Faja