At the Heart of Columbia’s Tuition Strike, A Paradox for Student Activists
Angry students are trying to effect change by not paying their bills for the spring semester, but those who have the most to gain often have the least to withhold.
Marissa Rodriguez has the type of story that publicity-conscious colleges dream of. A student at Columbia University’s School of Social Work (SSW), Rodriguez grew up in Mendota, California, which she describes as like “a rural mini-Mexico.” Her family was poor, and life was turbulent. Rodriguez’s biological father was killed when she was two, and her step-father had substance abuse issues. “I was doing people’s homework to get milk for my little sister, even though there was alcohol in the fridge all the time,” she said. Rodriguez’s family didn’t have WiFi, and she had to walk an hour and twenty minutes to the nearest Starbucks to complete her college applications. Nevertheless, Rodriguez persevered. “I’m the first one [in my family] to ever leave…the first one to ever get a bachelor’s, let alone a master’s,” she said.
Rodriguez dreamed of becoming a social worker to help people struggling in situations similar to those she overcame. “I want to give back. I want to serve. I want to empower and educate and help people,” she said. And Rodriguez was excited to pursue this career path at such a prestigious university. “Columbia is the dream, right? It’s number one in the world, and if I go there, I’ll have resources.”
That was what Rodriguez expected, at least, but the reality has been a little more complicated. “I’ve had to be my own social worker just to make it here,” she said. Rodriguez’s financial position is precarious. She expects to graduate with $200,000 in student loan debt. Rodriguez also has medical debt and a range of health concerns with their attendant costs, including PTSD and an esophageal dysfunction. Additionally, like many first-generation students, she is helping her mother financially. Although she has a full-time class load and a mandatory 21 hour per week unpaid internship, Rodriguez has no choice but to look for a part time job. She’s been offered four, but can’t find one whose hours can accommodate her school schedule.
Rodriguez has applied for social services, but is uncertain whether she will get them and whether they would affect her financial aid. “I’m living off credit cards now,” she said. “I may be on the brink of homelessness. I went through my whole closet and I’m selling on Facebook marketplace just to try to get food.”
Given her situation, Rodriguez was excited when she heard about the tuition strike being organized by the Columbia-Barnard Young Socialist Democrats of America (YDSA). Although strikers have a wide range of demands, the most prominent issues are financial: they are angry at the high cost of tuition and Columbia’s refusal to lower it during the pandemic, even though the university’s endowment has grown by $310 million during the 2019–20 fiscal year. Strikers have been refusing to pay their bills for the spring semester until Columbia meets their demands, which include a 10% reduction in tuition and a 10% increase in financial aid. The University itself hasn’t commented on the strike or its demands beyond a general statement, sent to multiple outlets, acknowledging the concerns: “This is a moment when an active reappraisal of the status quo is understandable, and we expect nothing less from our students,” it reads in part.
The strike, which the YDSA claims is the largest of its kind in American history, has received a burst of attention, earning coverage from The New York Times and major TV networks, as well as the endorsements of community groups and local politicians. Rodriguez is a fervent supporter. “I totally identify with the tuition strike,” she said. “I’m so for it.”
But there is a limit to how much Rodriguez can do. The portion of her tuition not paid for by institutional aid is entirely covered by federal loans. These loans are disbursed directly to Columbia, so it is difficult for Rodriguez to withhold the money without cancelling the loans altogether. If she cancelled her loans now, she could always reapply, but there would be no guarantee that her application would be successful.
“It’s so infuriating. I’m just so angry and so sad,” said Rodriguez. “This tuition strike, I love it. [But] am I really a part of it?” Although Rodriguez would benefit from the movement’s demands more than most, she can’t take part in the strike’s central action. It’s a paradox at the heart of the movement’s chances of success.
Rodriguez is hardly alone in this dilemma. Emmaline Bennett, a student at Columbia’s Teachers’ College and co-chair of the YDSA, estimates that out of the roughly 4,300 students who signed an initial pledge to strike last fall, 1,000 are fully on aid and loans, and so have nothing to withhold. Bennett herself is one of these students. “It does diminish a lot of our potential support,” she said. Many of the strikers who are able to withhold funds still have much of their tuition covered by loans, so the amount that they can hold back is relatively small. Of the 19 strike participants interviewed for this article who were willing to discuss dollar amounts, ten were withholding under $10,000. Four were withholding $1,000 or less.
“We got a lot of messages from people saying, ‘How do I strike if I’m on loans?’ We probably had conversations with dozens, hundreds of people along those lines,” said Bennett. Throughout the fall, while the strike was being planned, organizers tried to determine whether it was possible to effectively pause a loan that had been granted: to prevent it from being disbursed to the university while preserving the possibility that it could be reactivated later, when the strike ended.
“We sent a lot of emails to [Columbia] financial aid asking these questions while trying not to reveal why we were asking, and they were always sort of opaque with us,” said Bennett. Strikers were also encouraged to contact their specific student loan servicers, the companies that handle the administration of federal student loans on behalf of the government, but no clear answer emerged.
Ultimately, the strike’s organizers felt that they had to advise strikers against trying to interfere with their student loans. In the case of withholding tuition, “I felt like I was being responsible and making sure that I knew what I was asking people before asking them to do it,” said Bennett. “And I just did not have that same sense of certainty when it came to asking people to cancel loans.”
There was also the long-term health of the movement to consider. “It would backfire a ton if we ended up creating more problems for people who are already facing issues with affording their education,” said Bennett. Still, there were some extremely devoted strikers who wanted to cancel their loans regardless of the consequences. “We were like, ‘Okay, that’s great that you’re so committed, but we don’t want to ask you to take that risk,’” said Bennett.
The movement’s organizers also emphasize that withholding tuition is not their only means of action. “There are so many other ways to get involved,” said Becca Roskill, a student at Columbia’s School of Engineering and Applied Sciences, and a strike organizer. “If your tuition is paid fully by grants and your fees are covered then that doesn’t mean that you’re not part of this movement.”
The YDSA has organized in-person events, such as a January 17th rally on Columbia’s Low Steps, and a press conference in front of university president Lee Bollinger’s house, and more are being planned. Strikers who have limited financial power at present can also pledge to withhold donations from Columbia when they graduate.
In addition to direct actions, strikers can volunteer to organize other students through phone banking and email, and can promote the strike on social media. Sarah Knispel, a student at the SSW who is able to withhold only $641, has helped secure an endorsement of the strike from the SSW Student Union, and has called 150 other students who had expressed interest in the movement. Rodriguez is helping too, using the little time that she has. “I’m sharing electronically. I’m texting people,” she said.
Organizers and strikers also argue that the tuition strike is not solely about the total dollar amount being withheld. “No one is thinking that the tuition strike is going to bankrupt Columbia,” said Roskill. Rather, they argue that their power derives from the damage that they can inflict on Columbia’s image. “They need their reputation as this prestigious Ivy League institution that helps make NYC great to continue attracting students, faculty, investors, researchers, and medical professionals,” said Knispel. “When you have The New York Times talking about students’ grievances with the university, I think that’s a blow.”
Some organizers and strikers credit the threat of reputational damage with protecting them from punitive actions by Columbia beyond the imposition of late fees. If Columbia were to punish strikers during a pandemic by preventing them from registering for next term’s classes or from receiving their diplomas, “It’s very hard for Columbia to come back and say, ‘We care about our students,’” said Matthew Gamero, a student at Columbia College and a strike organizer. “That starts harming their profits in the long term,” said Bennett.
Although Rodriguez is frustrated by the limits on her participation in the strike and by her experience at Columbia as a whole, she remains convinced of the value of her presence at the School of Social Work. “Columbia needs people like me,” she said. “It’s one thing to learn about helping trauma or BIPOC or low income people. It’s another thing to experience it. I’m able to bring my real life experience into the classroom.” But the university that owns the classrooms has priorities of its own. In mid-February, the School of Social Work updated its cost of attendance figure for the 2021–22 academic year. Tuition and fees will increase by almost $2000.
