Student Loans: It Gets Worse

For those of you who “liked” the post: Modern Indentured Servitude: the Student “Loan,” I highly recommend reading Matt Taibbi’s excellent piece in Rolling Stone: Ripping Off Young America: The College-Loan Scandal. 

Flash-forward through a few months of brinkmanship and name-calling, and not only is nobody talking about the IRS anymore, but the Republicans and Democrats are snuggled in bed together on the student-loan thing, having hatched a quick-fix plan on July 31st to peg interest rates to Treasury rates, ensuring the rate for undergrads would only rise to 3.86 percent for the coming year.

Though this was just the thinnest of temporary solutions – Congressional Budget Office projections predicted interest rates on undergraduate loans under the new plan would still rise as high as 7.25 percent within five years, while graduate loans could reach an even more ridiculous 8.8 percent – the jobholders on Capitol Hill couldn’t stop congratulating themselves for their “rare” “feat” of bipartisan cooperation. “This proves Washington can work,” clucked House Republican Luke Messer of Indiana, in a typically autoerotic assessment of the work done by Beltway pols like himself who were now freed up for their August vacations.

*gulp*

Student loans  remain a barely discussed issue, yet not talking about–and FIXING this–continues indentured servitude, puts our economy at rick. Not only can/will/already ruined many people’s personal finances, but will also deeply hurt the health of a recovering economy if the status quo continues.

 

 

Getting your story straight: Mitt Romney edition

Mitt Romney is in the news again. Contain yourselves.

I encourage you to read the entirety of this fascinating article.

There are two things that stand out to me upon initial reading.

1. First, this:
   “At that Christmas gathering, the family took a vote on whether Romney should run. . . Even some of Romney’s closest political advisers might have been surprised. When the family members took a vote, 10 of the 12 said no. Mitt Romney was one of the 10 who opposed another campaign. The only “yes” votes were from Ann Romney and Tagg Romney.”What was going on in Mr. Romney’s mind here? He opposed his own campaign before it started?This, to me, is not so much a criticism but a curiosity of our human nature.Perhaps I’m being too charitable. So be it.It’s truly a mind-boggling vote.
2. “When Romney had mentioned his “lousy September,” it was an evident reference to what may have been the low point of his campaign: the “47 percent” video. He was in California and said at first he couldn’t get a look at the video. His advisers were pushing him to respond as quickly as he could. “As I understood it, and as they described it to me, not having heard it, it was saying, ‘Look, the Democrats have 47 percent, we’ve got 45 percent, my job is to get the people in the middle, and I’ve got to get the people in the middle,’ ” he said. “And I thought, ‘Well, that’s a reasonable thing.’ . . . It’s not a topic I talk about in public, but there’s nothing wrong with it. They’ve got a bloc of voters, we’ve got a bloc of voters, I’ve got to get the ones in the middle. And I thought that that would be how it would be perceived — as a candidate talking about the process of focusing on the people in the middle who can either vote Republican or Democrat.As it turned out, down the road, it became perceived as being something very different.”You mean that you were insensitive to a whole group of people? I asked. “Right,” he responded. “And I think the president said he’s writing off 47 percent of Americans and so forth. And that wasn’t at all what was intended. That wasn’t what was meant by it. That is the way it was perceived.” I interjected, “But when you said there are 47 percent who won’t take personal responsibility — ” Before I finished, he jumped in. “Actually, I didn’t say that. . . .That’s how it began to be perceived, and so I had to ultimately respond to the perception, because perception is reality.””
   Emphasis mine. I truly have no response. This is the most mind-boggling comment from Romney since, oh, the hilarious and inane “Binders Full of Women” gaffe.This insistence of his also seems to be an out-right lie.We’ve all seen the notorious 47% video.  It lives forever.

 There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right—there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what. …And so my job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.

And as charitable as I try to be, these opposing quotes by Romney indicate that he will not take “personal responsibility” for his own words or actions.

Excuse me, I need to get back to work so I can be “personally responsible” for not being able to afford health insurance STILL, but making sure my family is fed, housed, and maybe I’ll make phone calls to friends on my Obamaphone so I don’t bang my head on the desk thinking about how out of touch this man–and so many others in POWER–are.

It was never worth it: Iraq, 10 years later

If you read this blog, you’re probably well aware that the Iraq Invasion/bombing/war started 10 years ago.

I admit to avoiding stories about it, purposefully. You see, in 8 years, I witnessed 6 friends be deployed. One was deployed multiple times and she doesn’t talk about it.

One—who I’ll call “Bob”—was summoned for service in mid-January of 2003.

So let’s not act surprised that this war ever happened. In my experience, the folks in charge had this planned from the beginning.

I didn’t know Bob well at the time. I shared an office as graduate assistants with him in 2003. I helped him pack some of his belongings, at work and at home.

Packing personal belongings up in case you don’t come back is morbid. There is no nice way to talk about this “practicality.” FUBAR is more fitting a term.

And so, 10 years ago, I had CNN on in my tiny grad school apartment, late at night. Before I was aware of live-blogging, I live-wrote him what I saw being reported, wondered how he was, wished him safety, and talked philosophy to (at–?)  him in the hopes of a brief distraction for him.

I felt stupid writing him sometimes—surely the trivialities of my life and university life aren’t comparable–but I wrote him at least one letter each week for the entire time he was in Iraq. I took to reading the newspaper (in paper, not just online) and cutting out articles I found absurd or funny.

I felt helpless. I just wanted Bob to come back, safe and sound. In April of 2003, he emailed me from Hans Blitz’s office. I laughed with relief—and the absurdity of the situation. I printed his email out and, at the request of our department chair, put it on display in the main office.

I would sometimes go around the department, asking my colleagues to sign and send a message to Bob. Everyone loved him, to be sure, and were more than happy to write a quick message to Bob.

My letters to him included such gems as “I’ve heard there’s a sandstorm in Iraq. Is that affecting you? I hope not, but if so, that must be really annoying—is it? Does it get all over everything and into everything?” and “Have you seen the Tigris and Euphrates? What a tragic comedy if you have…It’s cool from my point as a classicist, but horrible under these circumstances.”

(Yes, the sand was annoying, and yes, he did bring me photos of the ancient rivers, which he also thought was pretty cool from a historical significance POV.)

I only found out when he came back I was the only one in the entire department who wrote him. Ever.

When I saw Bob sitting in a classroom back in the summer of 2003, I ran in. All decorum and etiquette went out the window. He was much thinner, much tanner, but still Bob.

The professor stopped, understanding this reunion. Bob stood up, rushed to me, and hugged me so tight I thought a rib may have broken. (It would have been worth it). He then swung me around the room, kissed my cheek, and thanked me for the letters.

Over the next couple years, Bob and I got to know each other a lot better.

We were—and are—good friends. When we went to see Casablanca in 2004 and I threw up water (pre-migraine symptom), he didn’t bat an eye, just made sure I was okay.

Bob, if you’re reading this, I love you. We continue to carry each other in ways only friends can do, and apparently the Iraq War solidified our friendship.

The sad—no—the unacceptable fact  is that four  [pause and let that sink in] of my friends came back in body bags. The first one was murdered shortly after Bob swung me around the room, shortly after the President arrogantly made this statement:

“…and he challenged those tempted to attack U.S. forces, “Bring them on.””

My mom called me. It was July 4^th, 2003. I was in the car, as a passenger, with my partner visiting the beach for the holiday.

“…is dead.” was all I heard. He had been shot, point-blank, in the head while sipping a Coca-Cola at a road stop.

To this day, I abhor the sound of fireworks. I cannot hear them without thinking of him, how bullet-like that sound of fire in the sky is.

I hate the 4^th of July festiveness. It is, for me, a day of mourning.

This was a guy I grew up with. We went to middle and high school together. We liked to debate politics, and he even said once—as a compliment—“Don’t argue with Contrawhit, she may look mild but she’ll hand you your ass in an argument.”

And we laughed. We could disagree in high school and still laugh and appreciate each other’s passion for politics, etc. (which was unusual in our school—to not take a disagreement personally.)

I still feel horrible because I had no idea he had been deployed. I would have written him. Would it have done any good? I’ll never know. I feel it would have, though. Somehow.

I can’t be upset at the unknown person who shot him. Chances are it was a citizen pissed his country was wrongfully invaded, and my friend represented all that was wrong with the invading country.

I understand that anger, though I do not understand the retaliation. But that’s me. I don’t understand retaliation.

But what I just cannot get over is that when my first friend died, I was 23 and he was 22.

He remains forever 22, and I’m now 33.

Body counts.
Failure to age due to premature death.
These are the most evil and inhumane math.

I could go on. I could tell you the stories of the other men and woman killed.

But it’s really all the same story as the first friend.

I don’t mean to trivialize their deaths at all, but the stories are all so similar, from the method to my reaction, to sitting stoically at a funeral that should never have happened, watching parents bury children. (At one memorial, I was pregnant myself. That was a whole new dimension of survivor’s guilt).

I dedicate this emotional post to all those who served.  We, as a country, failed you. We failed to protect you. We failed—and still fail—to support you. We failed your families.

The list goes on. So many failures. So much pain, death–and it was all unnecessary.

I am pessimistic we will ever learn war is not worth it.