When Mark and Lisa signed their prepaid tuition contract with the Commonwealth of Virginia, it did not feel optional or abstract.
It felt binding.
They were both public school graduates. They believed in planning ahead. And when Virginia told parents, Pay now, and we will guarantee your child’s tuition later, they listened. They cut back. They skipped vacations. They trusted the state to do the one thing it promised to do: hold their money for their child and nothing else.
This was not charity.
This was not a tax.
This was a contract.
The money was supposed to sit there, untouched, acting as a shock absorber against rising tuition, enrollment shifts, market downturns, and bad forecasts.
That protection was the product.
Now imagine discovering that the state has decided that money is no longer just yours.
Without asking the families who paid in, lawmakers want to take $500 million from that prepaid tuition fund and move it into an entirely new scholarship and “access” program.
They call it surplus.
But surplus to whom?
To the parents who were told that fund exists precisely so the state never has to say, “We miscalculated”?
Or to lawmakers who see a large pot of money and a new political priority?
A surplus in a prepaid tuition fund is not extra money.
It is margin for error.
It is the buffer that protects families when projections are wrong.
And projections are always wrong eventually.
The problem with this bill is simple and profound:
It treats contractual guarantees as optional once they become inconvenient.
It takes money collected for a specific promise and redefines its purpose after the fact. It assumes today’s actuarial confidence is more reliable than tomorrow’s uncertainty. And it shifts risk away from the state and onto families who did everything they were told to do.
No private company could do this.
No pension fund would survive doing this.
And no common sense system of governance should allow it.
HB1001 is not really about helping students. If it were, it would use new appropriations, private philanthropy, or voluntary contributions.
Instead, it quietly reaches into a fund built on trust and repurposes it.
Once that line is crossed, nothing is sacred:
Prepaid tuition funds become policy piggy banks
Financial safeguards become political opportunities
And families become unwilling insurers of state programs
That is what is clearly wrong.
A government that cannot keep its hands off money it promised to protect will eventually break more than budgets. It will break confidence.
And when trust is gone, no scholarship program will be able to buy it back. Vote no to HB1001
When Mark and Lisa signed their prepaid tuition contract with the Commonwealth of Virginia, it did not feel optional or abstract. It felt binding. They were both public school graduates. They believed in planning ahead. And when Virginia told parents, Pay now, and we will guarantee your child’s tuition later, they listened. They cut back. They skipped vacations. They trusted the state to do the one thing it promised to do: hold their money for their child and nothing else. This was not charity. This was not a tax. This was a contract. The money was supposed to sit there, untouched, acting as a shock absorber against rising tuition, enrollment shifts, market downturns, and bad forecasts. That protection was the product. Now imagine discovering that the state has decided that money is no longer just yours. Without asking the families who paid in, lawmakers want to take $500 million from that prepaid tuition fund and move it into an entirely new scholarship and “access” program. They call it surplus. But surplus to whom? To the parents who were told that fund exists precisely so the state never has to say, “We miscalculated”? Or to lawmakers who see a large pot of money and a new political priority? A surplus in a prepaid tuition fund is not extra money. It is margin for error. It is the buffer that protects families when projections are wrong. And projections are always wrong eventually. The problem with this bill is simple and profound: It treats contractual guarantees as optional once they become inconvenient. It takes money collected for a specific promise and redefines its purpose after the fact. It assumes today’s actuarial confidence is more reliable than tomorrow’s uncertainty. And it shifts risk away from the state and onto families who did everything they were told to do. No private company could do this. No pension fund would survive doing this. And no common sense system of governance should allow it. HB1001 is not really about helping students. If it were, it would use new appropriations, private philanthropy, or voluntary contributions. Instead, it quietly reaches into a fund built on trust and repurposes it. Once that line is crossed, nothing is sacred: Prepaid tuition funds become policy piggy banks Financial safeguards become political opportunities And families become unwilling insurers of state programs That is what is clearly wrong. A government that cannot keep its hands off money it promised to protect will eventually break more than budgets. It will break confidence. And when trust is gone, no scholarship program will be able to buy it back. Vote no to HB1001