Without giving away the actual number, let me just share that when I graduated from law school I had accumulated over $100K in student loan debt. This, even though, with the exception of my first year, I also held a part time job throughout my time there AND I had a partial scholarship that covered about 50% of my tuition. Now, there are many, many reasons for how I got there: law school is expensive, of course; I was in a city with a very, very high cost of living; I decided somewhere in there that it was a good idea to pursue an extra Masters’ degree while I was at it; I jumped at the chance - not once but twice - to travel to South America on school-sponsored trips so that I could intern in Argentina or lead business meetings in Chile or whatever the opportunity might be. Putting aside the wisdom (or lack thereof) of borrowing six-figures in the pursuit of a career in public interest that would likely never provide a salary above five, I don’t regret a penny of that debt. The final number wasn’t a surprise to me and every single experience that that money paid for made me a better person, a better professional, and absolutely a better advocate. I did all the things I set out to do, I needed to borrow money to do them, I borrowed it, and now I owed it. It wasn’t a particularly sore spot because I felt, and still feel, that it was money well spent. 

But here’s where things get crazy. Almost a decade later, having never missed a single payment due, having never even been late on one, I owe more than double what I did when I graduated.  And now, I’m not as zen about these numbers as I once was. 

The practice of the federal government funding higher education dates back to the enactment of the GI Bill in 1944.  Among other things, the law provided that servicemen and women returning from World War II who wanted to pursue college degrees or vocational training could do so tuition free – up to $500, which apparently was enough. How quaint, right? In the 60s the Higher Education Act was the first to allow private financial institutions to provide students with government-subsidized loans. This federal subsidizing is important because it meant that the government would cover any interest accumulating on the loan while, and as long as, the student remained in school. Not to worry though, because in 1992 the law was amended to allow for unsubsidized loans, returning to us the privilege of covering our own dang interest. Thanks? These amendments also created the Direct Lending program, allowing the government to now directly lend to the student instead of the transaction having to go through a third, private party. 

Super, super ideas, right? Except that by 2005 this system had led to outstanding student loan debt totally $391 billion. Just three little years later, it was up to $639 billion. We hit our first trillion in 2012 and one decade later are well on our way to hitting our second. Winning!

So, who is affected by this? The truth is, all of us are. About one out of every eight Americans owns a piece of the $1.7 trillion student debt pie and most college students in school today will graduate with their own piece as well. For the vast majority of us, it is the only way. Incur the debt or don’t go to school; those are your options. Don’t become a lawyer, don’t become a doctor, don’t become a teacher, or a nurse, or an accountant. Stay in your lane, so to speak.  

Knowing this, it honestly did feel like a privilege back then, this opportunity to borrow the money that would help me create the life I was imagining.  So when I graduated with this insane amount of debt - a number that would make any reasonable person at least a little bit nervous – what I felt was gratitude. Just a few years prior, in 2007, Congress had created the Public Service Loan Forgiveness program, which in very broad terms was designed to forgive the remaining student loan debt of anyone working in public service after 10 years of qualifying payments. I figured I would plug away, make my monthly “qualifying” payments and eventually say good-bye to the bulk of my debt forever. 

Ah, but there in lies the con. The PSLF program was so complicated and difficult to navigate that one decade later as the first of the qualifying applicants was getting ready for good news, the horror stories started pouring in. Some reported that they had been in the wrong payment plan all along so none of their 120 payments were “qualifying.” Others couldn’t get the necessary certification for their public interest employer, so none of the payments made while working there would count either. For whatever reason, in that first batch of folks who should have been eligible for forgiveness in 2018, only 0.032% were approved. 

At this point, my own debt had reached astronomical heights. Here’s how. In order to pursue PSLF in the future, and in order to help make my monthly dues manageable with my non-profit salary, my payments have always been made under the Income Based Repayment (IBR) plan. As you can guess by the name, this just means that my monthly bill is calculated based on my income. So instead of having to pay close to $2,000 a month on the default payment plan, my payments typically hover around $300-400. Still a lot of money, but doable. With the promise of total forgiveness just down the line, it didn’t feel terribly oppressive. However, those little $300 checks weren’t even covering the interest that never stopped accruing. And now that interest that I am not paying becomes part of the principal, which is then used to calculate more interest, which also doesn’t get paid and gets added to the principal, and so on and so on ‘til the end of time. Fast forward to 2022 and I could buy a decent-ish house with the money I now owe. Instead, in reality, I can’t buy any house without a co-signer. I’ve spent my career fighting to fix the evils done in the name of this government, all while paying that same government for the privilege. 

Some of you will undoubtedly read this and roll your eyes at this woman complaining about a mess of her own making. I get how that would be annoying. Except I’m not complaining. I’m lucky. In spite of this debt, I have exactly what I need and what I wanted. My non-profit salary doesn’t come close to what a lot of people think of as “lawyer money” but I am secure in a career that, despite its built-in heartbreak, I still love. That is so much more than my parents had at my age and honestly, that’s everything. I’ve never really cared about owning a home and I never wanted a big family so the things I’m forced to forgo weren’t on my bucket list to begin with. But these are very normal, very human things to want so why should anyone have to sacrifice a future home, a future family, a future full and meaningful life because… they wanted to also go to college? In one of the richest countries in the world, it makes zero sense. 

So no this is not a complaint. This is an example. Though certainly not uncommon, it’s just one person’s account out of millions. Take my story for what it is and tell me simply if it seems fair to you. Actually, forget about fair (what even is that?).  Does it seem reasonable? 

To be fair, we seem to be moving in a somewhat right direction. A few months ago, the Biden administration introduced a temporary waiver for many of the more burdensome PSLF requirements. In the last few weeks, this has led to many folks finally and successfully wiping out their debt. In some cases, people have even received reimbursement for overpayment. This is all amazing and once again I’m hopeful that my day may come after all. But Biden, my dude, student loan payments have been suspended for almost two years since the start of this never-ending pandemic and um, last I checked the economy hasn’t collapsed, the world is still turning. What excuse is left for perpetuating this nonsense. Just forgive it already. 

Martha E. Menendez lives in Nevada and is the legal manager for Justice in Motion, a NY-based organization.