Writing

Published in the Scotsman, as "Debt burden will put all but rich off university."

At the age of 25, I owe over £40,000 in student loans. My repayment schedule of £350 per month stretches for the next twenty years, and if I fail to make payments, the lenders can take my mother’s house. This is the reality of higher education in America.

Too often, people look at America through rose-coloured glasses. They are dazzled by the unbelievable wealth of my country but blind to its growing poverty and broken dreams. In the debate over university tuition fees, it’s appealing to see that America sends three-quarters of its high school graduates to higher education. Not so appealing are the forty percent who drop out, unable to afford completing their degrees. In figures of higher-education spending, it’s easy to ignore how much comes from the usurious loan payments of debt-ridden graduates. A seemingly merit-based educational hierarchy reproduces and reinforces America’s class hierarchy. Education is a microcosm: the fantasy of a class-free society obscures the mechanisms of power. It blames individuals for their lack of privilege, then cultivates social stratification in the name of progress.

Average tuition fees at American universities are £13,850 per year, and prestigious Ivy League universities charge up to £18,300 – plus living expenses and books. State universities offer cheaper alternatives, with yearly rates of £2,000 to £10,000, but most suffer staff shortages, poor research funding, and mediocre academic standards. Talent far outweighs opportunity when it comes to scholarships, so working-class students compete for scraps at the table.

Thousands of qualified students opt out of this game, entering the workforce after high school. In order to avoid debt, they pass up their best chance at upward mobility. Social stratification begins well before the first day of classes.

For those who take their chances with higher education, a series of impossible choices awaits. As federal funding shrinks, universities attract the best students with generous first-year grants, then offer loans for later years of study – a classic bait-and-switch. At the same time, tuition prices increase on a yearly basis, and senior students are required to contribute substantially more than first-years.

Over the four years of a typical degree, these stress-inducing financial worries build in the context of increasingly difficult classes, and increased pressure to take leadership roles in student organisations. Unsurprisingly, well-off students have far more leisure time for such roles. It is there that they develop the skills, connections, and credentials to be leaders in society.

Meanwhile, less privileged students learn how to be workers. Despite financial aid, three-quarters of American undergraduates hold paying jobs during full-time study. On average, they work 26 hours per week, and employment has a predictably negative impact on grades and psychological well-being. Many students succumb to the pressure by dropping out. Those who remain compete for merit-based scholarships against more affluent students who can afford to focus on their studies without the distraction of finances.

The result is that by graduation, two-thirds of American students hold significant debts. With interest rates up to 13% on student loans, graduates often repay double the amount they originally borrowed. All student loans are distributed by private companies, so there are no income thresholds to keep collection agencies at bay. Mandatory repayment begins six months after graduation.

This triggers a flood of graduates moving back in with their parents, rather than to regions where their skills are in demand. They take temporary and service jobs to feed their loans, while the unencumbered snatch up career-track positions or start businesses. The pressures of debt help intensify the stratification process, sorting labour from management. Meanwhile, graduates in debt are likely to postpone marriage, homebuying, and having children. All too often, they defer ‘real’ careers until their debts are repaid. For many, it will be an indefinite wait.

Economically and socially, it is suicidal to burden new graduates with excessive debt – it stems the flow of innovation, entrepreneurialism, and ‘fresh talent,’ limiting the work of shaping the future to those whose places are bought and paid for. Of course, in the larger patterns of American policy, it makes perfect sense: tax breaks for the rich, corporate subsidies, slashing social programmes – all give the affluent an unfair advantage, shrinking the middle class and silencing the poor. It’s a cunning front: whisper of limitless opportunity, worship wealth, and blame people when they fail to climb a ladder made of toothpicks.

Is this the future Scotland wants? In the past, Scottish universities have pursued the ideal of the ‘democratic intellect.’ Contrasting with more elitist systems, service to the community was considered the highest purpose of education. Young people studied for the benefit of the wider society. If we now choose to give education a price tag that can swell beyond the means of most students, what kind of society will emerge in the future? Scotland is my home now, and I don’t want to see its proud educational traditions trampled by seductive American imports.

With the attitude that student debt is acceptable, fees can skyrocket out of control, exacerbated by a race to the bottom with England and the US. Students who have been raised to see higher education as their best chance will make one sacrifice after another, while the rich glide by, unfettered by financial worries.