Things I Wish My Family Knew

May 5,2025

In a recent Wall Street Journal article, Rikard Bandebo, chief economist at VantageScore, lamented the economic “burden” of restarting student loan payments, warning that Americans may be forced to make “harder choices on what they spend on,” like “new cars” and “restaurant meals.” This statement is a tidy summary of just how upside-down our cultural expectations have become: the idea that repaying borrowed money—on terms agreed to in advance—is an unjust intrusion into one’s lifestyle.

Let’s clarify: these are not surprise fees or new taxes. These are debts. Individuals signed legally binding contracts to borrow money, often with extraordinarily generous repayment terms, lengthy deferments, and low interest rates—all underwritten by taxpayers. The pause in student loan payments was a pandemic-era emergency measure, not a permanent cancellation of responsibility. To portray the resumption of normal payments as a hardship is not just disingenuous—it’s emblematic of a growing entitlement mindset that sees personal obligations as negotiable, but personal desires as sacred.

The most galling part of the quote is the implicit hierarchy of needs: apparently, dinner out and new vehicles are higher priorities than repaying loans that funded one’s education—education that, in many cases, enabled access to higher incomes in the first place. When luxuries are framed as necessities, and responsibilities as unfair impositions, we’ve strayed far from the ethic of personal accountability that sustains both individual character and a functioning economy.

Equally troubling is what this narrative says to those who did the right thing. What message does it send to the millions of Americans who made tough, disciplined decisions to avoid or repay debt? The young adults who bypassed expensive private universities for more affordable community colleges. The families who drove older cars, skipped vacations, and packed lunches so they could send their children to school debt-free. Or the borrowers who worked two jobs, delayed gratification, and made years of payments to honor their commitment. To now suggest that debt is optional and should be forgiven retroactively is not only unfair—it is deeply demoralizing.

This mindset raises a deeper question: if we cancel or forgive one category of debt—student loans—why shouldn’t those who are struggling with credit card debt, auto loans, or personal loans expect the same relief? What logical or moral framework would entitle one borrower to government rescue while another is left to struggle? The selective absolution of debt not only undermines fairness—it invites a cascading expectation that no debt should ever really need to be repaid, so long as there is political pressure or emotional appeal behind it.

Everyone sympathizes with genuine hardship. But hardship doesn’t mean “I can’t keep dining out and repay my loans.” It means truly not being able to afford basic needs—food, shelter, utilities. That’s not the scenario being described here. What we are witnessing is a cultural reluctance to prioritize long-term obligations over short-term gratification—and it is eroding not only financial norms, but moral ones.

Debt should not be a sentence, but it should also not be a subsidy for indulgence. If we’ve reached a point where fulfilling voluntary obligations is deemed unfair, then the real crisis we face isn’t financial—it’s ethical.

by Iam Kerr with research and editorial assistance from Chat GPT