The Real Tragedy of Student Debt

By Myshele Goldberg, WireTap. Posted July 24, 2006.

There's been a lot of talk lately about increasing levels of student debt. With all of the fuss, you'd expect that lucky high school seniors receive a sobering invoice with their college acceptance letters. But for many students, the plunge into debt is much more insidious. Like drug dealers, the lenders start small and cheap, lulling students into a false sense of security. By the time the full effects of debt creep in, it's too late.

I hope that my experience will shed light on similar stories unfolding across America, illuminating the impossible choices that meet working-class students. It's also a cautionary tale for countries seduced by the false promises of private college education financed by student loans and credit cards.

At my working-class high school in Connecticut, I was always a top student. The overwhelming message for high achievers was that brains, determination, and charisma would lead to success in any career, and I dutifully pursued volunteer work, leadership training, part-time jobs, and anything else that would 'look good on the resume.'

My hard work paid off when I was accepted for a prestigious early-entrance program at the University of Southern California. The Resident Honors Program (RHP) selects 'exceptional and highly motivated' students to begin college a year before graduating high school, recruiting from the top 4 percent of sophomores nationally. From a pool of 25,000, between 30 and 60 join the program each year.

I got a $6,000 scholarship, along with $19,500 in grants and work study. In order to make the required fees and expenses of $28,000, I took out a $2,500 student loan my first year -- a manageable amount, I thought.

Once I got to USC, I worked for a month at a grocery store, then got a work-study job for 20 hours a week, $6 an hour. An irregular schedule caused me to miss RHP activities, and I had to skip some classes. But keeping my debts under control seemed worth it. My first summer home, I worked on a farm and earned $1,000 -- enough to buy my plane tickets.

My second year, USC's tuition fees increased by $2,000, and my mother's income increased by $1,000. Ironically, this pushed our family out of the 'low-income' category, and I lost half of my grant money. I considered transferring to a less expensive school, but USC's general education classes were so obscure that I'd have to repeat my freshman year anywhere else. So I held my nose and took out a $9,500 loan, hoping to apply for scholarships later on.

I got another work-study job -- on top of running two student organizations, taking honors-level classes, and dealing with a roommate from hell. Getting to the library was becoming impossible, so I took out a $1,500 loan to buy a laptop. It was my first experience of a private student loan, and I was told it wasn't much different from a federal loan. The interest was slightly higher, and there were slightly different rules, but overall it all seemed the same.

After Christmas, the overload became too much, and I had to prioritize. I decided that leadership and education were more important than meaningless employment, so I quit my job and took out another $2,000 private loan. I navely hoped that my education would someday allow me to earn more than $6 an hour.

My third year, I attended Edinburgh University in Scotland, where tuition fees were half of USC's. That year, I needed only a $4,000 loan, and didn't have to worry about a job. But the next year brought hardly any grant money, and rather than give up in the 'home stretch,' I took out more loans than I ever expected I'd need.

When I graduated in the summer of 2002, I was $36,000 in debt. My only consolation was that my debts were equivalent to one year's cost of attendance -- a bargain, really.

A shift from grants to loans hurts working class students

I moved back to my mother's house and began looking for a job. But in the recession following 9-11, employers wanted practical, predictable degrees, not esoteric subjects like anthropology. From seeking meaningful employment, I slid into looking for any job. I had a few days of temporary office work, a few months in retail. I went to Scotland in search of a better job market, but couldn't even get an interview before my money evaporated.

Since my degree wasn't helping me find work, I decided I needed a skill. I started a multimedia course at a community college, paid for with wages from a salon. But I soon discovered that my little laptop couldn't handle graphics work, so I bought a new computer with a private loan for $2,000.

Six months later, I finally got what I really wanted -- a meaningful job. I put multimedia on hold and began working as a union organizer. In exchange for 'unlimited hours' -- sometimes 70 hours a week -- the salary was excellent: $2,000 a month. I paid off my credit cards and started on the loans. By this point, with capitalized interest, my total debt was $43,000.

Six months later, I was burnt out. I could deal with the impossible hours, but it was an upward battle just to maintain the status quo for the workers I was helping. An overwhelming sense of futility made me wonder if anything was ever going to change, and I retreated to school to reconsider my goals and tactics. My loans were in deferment, giving me a little breathing room.

Myshele Goldberg is an aspiring Ph.D. in Edinburgh, Scotland.

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