This year, the 2,235 graduate and PhD students who took out a loan from the Education Ministry for the 2010-2011 semesters will have to start paying back around 300 euros a month. But in a country with nearly six million unemployed, finding a job is almost a miracle, and that's despite the fact that these university students long ago gave up on finding work in line with their level of education. Right now they would gladly accept a job as a waiter, a supermarket cashier, a telephone operator... anything.
That is why they have created the Platform for Victims of University Loans, a support group that is aiming to draw attention to their desperate plight.
The ministry says that it is aware of the problem and that it is committed to finding a solution, although it cannot provide figures on the number of loan defaults. A spokesperson drew attention to the complexity of an issue that involves so many factors: the ministry itself, which put forward the money; the ICO, a government credit agency; the banks, which acted as middlemen; and finally, the 2,235 borrowers. Sources at the ICO say that they will follow the guidelines set by the ministry.
The students say that they want to pay back their loans, but that in the current "state of emergency" they want a moratorium until the crisis lets up, or else they want the same loan conditions granted in previous years. When this program began in 2007, the conditions were that loan repayments would start after three years - or when borrowers earned more than 22,000 euros a year - with no interest and over a 15-year period. After that, if their income was still too low, the debt would be canceled out. The state was the guarantor.
But for the 2010-2011 academic year, the clauses became tougher. Loans for a one-year master's degree would have to be returned starting two years after graduation (or three years in the case of a two-year degree). Borrowers only had four years to return the loan, which was a maximum of 15,600 euros for a one-year course and 28,000 euros for two years. Then, suddenly, during the last academic year, the Popular Party government eliminated the loan program altogether.
Everyone who was interviewed for this story said the same thing: "We were told that it was essential to get training in order to find a job, but now we are out of work and laden with debt."
The sisters Celia and Irene Alonso are not twins, but they might as well be. They are aged 28 and 27, they are both architectural technologists and they have completed two master's degrees in occupational hazard prevention and building management. Their father is a pensioner and their mother runs a bar that has seen better days in Las Cabezas de San Juan, a small town near Seville. The family is already paying 1,000 euros a month after mortgaging their home to buy "a little field." So there is nothing left for the sisters' 600-euro monthly installments.
"My father is very concerned that we'll be placed on the defaulter list and that our bad credit history will prevent us from taking out more loans in the future. The bank has scared us," says Celia.
During all this time, the only jobs they have found were as clerks at a sports store, where they made 350 euros a month. They spent it on moving from Las Cabezas to Seville for their studies. "What little money we have left, we will spend in September. We're leaving for Manchester, to try our luck there. We have a friend there working in the hotel trade. The idea is to improve our English, and when we are completely fluent, to look for jobs in our specialty," says Celia, who is ever the optimist.
The biologist Mamen Carrillo can ill afford to repay her loan either. She used to teach workshops to unemployed people until the crisis hit. She then moved to Cádiz to study a master's degree in aquafarming and fisheries - "I always wanted to work in something related to the sea" - and she requested the biggest loan available to cover her living expenses. But she never found a job, and has since moved back with her parents in Granada. "On top of that, I was supposed to pay 300 euros a month, and instead I am being charged 335. I called up the bank and they said they have no idea what's going on. At home, only my father has a job, and I have a sister who is studying."
David Martín is the mastermind of the Platform group, which already has more than 500 followers on social networking site Facebook. "Well, a master's degree in communication had to be good for something," laughs this hyperactive journalism graduate, who has no place of his own and usually crashes at friends' houses. He is not in touch with his family, and still gets angry when he remembers what the ICO worker told him when he said he could not pay back the loan: "Have your mother repay it." "I knew what I was getting into," he says. "I wasn't tricked or anything like that. I am simply surprised at the ICO's current lack of flexibility, given the 27-percent jobless rate, which is nearly 60 percent among Spain's youth. The government sold the loans well back then, but it made conditions tougher under the table."