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Work-study is ruse for cheap labor

BY GRACE ROLLINS

The federal government started its work-study program with the idea that, in addition to offering grants, it could subsidize campus jobs to help stimulate employment for struggling students. The subsidy, ranging from 50 to 75 percent of the wage, gives universities and local non-profits incentives to hire from a young, inexperienced, transient group. However, although federal work-study makes a lot of sense on campuses with lower tuitions where semesterly earnings of $1,000 can make a big difference in covering costs and assuaging indebtedness, work-study at Yale doesn't make much of a difference. Here, where the tuition is colossal, the amount of money earned over the academic year from work-study is relatively negligible. Work-study is less a program that stimulates employment and more a strategy to keep a large number of jobs already essential to the running of the University in a permanently low-cost and casualized state.

REBECCA ROSENTHAL/YH
Yale's student workforce is docile and obedient...for now.

The jobs thousands of Yale students hold in the libraries, dining halls, labs, administrative offices and departments remain a type of "temp" labor—seasonal and expendable. That is, even while wages are rendered absurdly cheap for Yale through the federal subsidy, work-study students are never around long enough to demand increases in wages. Rapid attrition also means there is never any demand for benefits or inclination to organize. The fact is that the true costs of being a financial aid student at Yale are absorbed into invisible debt, and not paid for through wages—in combination with a sentiment of "work-study obligation" towards Yale—meaning that the student workforce is probably one of the most docile and controllable there is.

Yale didn't always depend on students to keep the University running. Until the '50s, Yale didn't employ students. But right around the time that the dining hall workers organized to join Local 35, Yale decided to open up the "opportunity" for students to work in the dining halls, for much less than the union wage. This gesture of "financial aid" succeeded in pitting the students against the workers, and the conflict that ensued only resolved after an agreement was reached to allow student workers to be covered by the union contract. This is why student dining hall workers are now part of Local 35 and receive the highest wages of all campus jobs.

Students who work in the libraries, offices, and labs, on the other hand, are paid much less because they are not covered by the clerical workers' union contract. The clerical workers organized in the '80s, well after the work-study program had become entrenched, and no agreement was ever made to include the poorly paid student workers in the contract. Hence, students who work in the departmental or administrative offices are usually hired at "Student Aid" level I or II, earning $7 to $7.40 an hour—wages that have stayed the same throughout my time at Yale, despite periodic increases in the tuition and the "self-help" requirement of financial aid.

Working as a student is not inherently negative. At times I've found going to work for a few hours during the day to be a needed escape from the campus routine, a chance to ground my spinning head in real life. And in spite of typically drowning me in rote work, at moments my jobs also offered me useful learning experiences or introduced me to new friends. It's possible that I would have ended up in paying jobs during my years at Yale in spite of work-study requirements, just as many students who aren't work-study eligible choose to hold jobs.

And yet, I can't help resenting the class division set up by Yale's insistence that some students shoulder responsibility for their education through "self-help," while those born into privilege go off and make the most of their time. Nor can I help being disturbed that an obligation that wields so much control over my "Yale experience" counts only about $1,000 per semester towards my expenses, a nearly trivial amount compared to the over $22,000 worth of grant money I receive yearly from Yale and the government. If Yale is disposed to spending that much to bring me here—nevermind spending millions competing with its peer institutions through amenities such as renovated dorms, freshman counselors, high-speed Internet access, manicured lawns, and so on—why wouldn't it give me a trifling $2,000 so I could exercise some free will in deciding how to spend my time?

The reality is that our financial aid "partnership" with Yale requires us to do work that drastically lowers Yale's labor costs. What's more, if Yale offered a financial aid package that truly met students' needs, one that didn't leave them fearful of indebtedness and unable to buy course books, pay their summer contribution or fly home for vacations, it would have a hard time staffing its campus with federally subsidized labor. If Yale were to meet Princeton's challenge by eliminating student indebtedness, what would it use as a bullwhip to keep financial aid students devoted to the work-study "partnership?"

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