As covered over at The Washington Post, White House officials are, as of the time of writing, planning to cancel $10,000 in federal student loans per borrower for individuals who earn less than $150,000. For married couples filing jointly, the cap is $300,000. Both incomes are based on the previous year. It seems there is no additional income testing.
Now, the folks who spoke about this did so anonymously and reportedly said details could change before the White House delivers the official decision. From my personal perspective, that means we still have some hope of getting a better deal from the White House, but I don’t know. It could go either way.
I qualify for forgiveness under the current plan—I make less money than the cutoff maximum and have federal student loans. I even meet the earlier parameters floated by Biden on the campaign trail, in that I went to an in-state public college for my undergraduate degree. Guess what? I’m not happy. I’m not proud. I’m not done fighting.
RELATED: We deserve better than this, Joe
Biden—or any president, for that matter—delivering on a campaign promise is the minimum. It is not exemplary. I do not feel seen or respected. I do not believe this is making substantial or material change. I will not be grateful for the minimum.
Listen to Cody Hounanian, executive director of the Student Debt Crisis Center, talk about student debt relief on Daily Kos’ The Brief podcast
Will forgiving $10,000 help many people? Yes. Is it better than nothing? Yes. Is it better than what a Republican would do? Yes. Is it enough? No.
The cost of higher education here is, frankly, a uniquely American embarrassment. I’ll use myself as an example. I grew up chronically low-income. For me, this means my family lived in public housing, received food stamps and vouchers for utilities, free lunch at school, and free or reduced fees for college applications and related testing. I was raised mostly by my grandmother, who was low-income, while other adults in my life were in and out of incarceration and homelessness.
Neither of my parents graduated with a high school diploma, and I am the first person in my immediate family to have both a high school diploma and a college degree.
I am also lucky and privileged. I am white, able-bodied, and happened to live in Massachusetts, where the public schools (which I attended) are and were pretty excellent. I attended an in-state public college where I received free tuition based on my scores in state testing. I worked as a resident assistant on campus for reduced-price housing, in addition to working as an administrative assistant and in the library. In addition to my free tuition, I was offered need-based grants, as well as federal student loans, based on my family’s income. (That income was so low, mind you, that every single year I had to send additional documents because my application was flagged.)
I have paid on my student debt while I worked as a cashier at Whole Foods. I have paid on my loans while selling shoes. I have paid on my loans while freelancing, while at my first staff writer job, and when I got my current job here at Daily Kos. My loans have been paused since Trump acted on them at the start of the pandemic.
I still owe thousands in federal student loans. Will the $10,000 reduce the amount? Yes. Will it erase it? No. And even if it did for me personally, it’s still not enough structurally.
We cannot tell generations of poor students (like myself) that student loan debt is “good” debt and “worth” it in order to escape cycles of poverty, and then act surprised when these same students are weighted under this debt for decades to come. The interest accrued on these loans is unethical. The sheer cost of college (even public college) is outrageous.
I am lucky. I am white, able-bodied, and frankly, an extremely hard worker. I am absolutely relentless, which I believe is the main reason I even have the job I have today, writing this here at Daily Kos. I have participated in research studies, lived with five roommates, gone without dental care, worn other people’s glasses, and missed family funerals because of the cost of a bus ticket across state lines. I still, to this day, have student debt.
I am lucky. Most (close to two-thirds) of student debt is held by women. But women of color, and particularly Black women, are particularly negatively affected. Why? Systemic racism. As reported by ABC News, Black women are more likely than any other gender group to hold student loans. This number breaks down to around one in every four Black women carrying student loan debt.
And the amount of that debt? On average, Black women also carry the highest amount of student debt from undergraduate degrees, coming in at just over $40,000. In terms of graduate school, it’s about $75,000 one year after graduation.
According to the report “How Black Women Experience Student Debt,” white men, on average, have paid off 44% of their student debt 12 years after starting college. And Black women? On average, they owe 13% more than they borrowed.
Let that sink in and try to make me understand why we should be grateful for $10,000 in cancellation.
I know from experience that low-income students are told college is the way to achieve upward mobility. It is the way to get yourself out of poverty. It is the way to support your family and improve the lives of those you’ve watched struggle and suffer in an unfair and unjust system. And again: I am extremely privileged in that I am white. Black families, for example, have had less access to wealth and wealth-building than white families (again, thanks to systemic and structural racism). This point shows up in everything from applying to a job, to getting a raise, to keeping a job, and branches out into realities like the disproportionate rate of young Black men being targeted by police and incarcerated—if not killed. It is all connected.
I go into an interview as a white person. I negotiate for better pay as a white person. I walk down the street as a white person. I still have student debt, sure. I still come from poverty, yes. But I hold so many privileges in opportunities to pay off those loans and build wealth that can reshape generations in my family line. It’s hard for me, but it is so much harder for people of color. Will $10,000 help me? Yes. But it’s not just about me.
If we are not fighting for the most historically marginalized, we are not fighting the progressive fight.
Biden, I’m looking at you.
