We have to look at loan forgiveness to incentivise young people

Host: The late afternoon sun hung low over the city, turning the glass towers into long columns of amber fire. A slow breeze stirred through the college courtyard, carrying the smell of coffee, exhaust, and rain-soaked paper. Students drifted between benches and steps, their laughter mixing with the distant sound of a street performer’s guitar.

Jack sat on the stone railing, a folder of crumpled resumés under his arm. His tie was loose, his eyes tired but alert — the look of a man who’d stared too long into spreadsheets and deadlines.

Jeeny stood nearby, balancing a cup of coffee in both hands, her hair blown wild by the wind, her expression alive with a fire that refused to dim.

Jeeny: “Elizabeth Esty once said, ‘We have to look at loan forgiveness to incentivize young people to pursue degrees in areas where we know we need help.’ She’s right. You can’t ask people to save the world and then chain them with debt for trying.”

Jack: (dryly) “You make it sound noble, Jeeny. But it’s still math. Someone pays. You forgive one person’s loan, you make another person’s taxes heavier. That’s not freedom — that’s redistribution of burden.”

Host: The light flickered across Jack’s face, hard and angular like the lines of his argument. The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of burnt coffee and wet asphalt.

Jeeny: “It’s not about making life easier, Jack. It’s about making life possible. There are entire towns desperate for teachers, nurses, engineers, but young people avoid those fields because they’ll drown in debt before they even begin. Isn’t it smarter to invest in what society actually needs?”

Jack: (shrugs) “Smarter, maybe. But who decides what society needs? Governments? Universities? The same institutions that got us into this mess in the first place? Every decade, they say we need more doctors or programmers or STEM grads, and every decade half of them end up driving for Uber.”

Jeeny: “That’s because the system values profit over purpose. We make people believe their worth depends on how much they can earn, not how much they can serve. Loan forgiveness is a small way of shifting that equation back to humanity.”

Host: The sky darkened, clouds gathering like ink stains. Somewhere, a church bell rang, slow and deliberate. Jeeny’s words lingered in the air, heavy with conviction.

Jack: “Humanity doesn’t pay rent, Jeeny. Purpose doesn’t fill the gas tank. The world runs on incentives. You start forgiving loans, and suddenly every degree becomes a ticket to someone else’s wallet.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Every forgiven loan becomes a seed. A doctor who might have gone corporate chooses to work in a rural clinic. A teacher who could have quit stays another year. Those are returns you can’t measure in dollars.”

Jack: (leans forward) “You’re assuming people will act out of gratitude. They won’t. Give them forgiveness, and they’ll just expect more. That’s how entitlement grows — one ‘compassionate policy’ at a time.”

Jeeny: (quietly, but firm) “Or maybe that’s how trust grows. When society finally tells its young that we believe in them — not as consumers, but as contributors.”

Host: A gust of wind sent leaves spiraling around their feet. Jack’s tie fluttered. Jeeny’s eyes glowed with the kind of passion that cuts through fatigue and fear alike.

Jack: “You really think forgiveness breeds responsibility?”

Jeeny: “It does when forgiveness has purpose. When it’s tied to service. You work where your community needs you — your loans are lifted. That’s not a handout, Jack. That’s a contract of hope.”

Host: The rain began, thin and silver, dotting the pavement like a slow heartbeat. Jack wiped a drop from his cheek, staring at Jeeny as though trying to see the numbers behind her words.

Jack: “Hope doesn’t balance budgets. Governments promise everything until the money runs dry. Then who suffers? The same young people you want to help.”

Jeeny: “And doing nothing — letting them drown — that’s your version of balance? The system’s already broken. Debt has become the new form of slavery, only this time the chains are invisible and the masters wear suits.”

Host: The raindrops slid down her cheeks like streaks of light. Jack looked away, jaw tightening. For a moment, only the sound of rain on stone spoke for them.

Jack: “You make it sound personal.”

Jeeny: “It is. My brother dropped out of medical school after his second year. Brilliant kid. But the loans — they crushed him before he even got to heal anyone. Now he works nights at a warehouse. Not because he failed, but because the math didn’t forgive him.”

Host: The rain deepened, pattering harder, rhythm steady, relentless. Jack’s expression softened, the cynicism cracking like old paint.

Jack: (softly) “I get it. But personal stories don’t fix systemic rot. Every forgiveness needs structure, rules, accountability.”

Jeeny: “Agreed. But accountability should never come at the cost of compassion. We’ve built an economy that punishes the dreamers and rewards the exploiters. Tell me, Jack — when was the last time society truly incentivized kindness?”

Host: He didn’t answer. The rain drenched his hair, and for a brief instant, he looked younger — stripped of cynicism, raw and human.

Jack: “So what’s your plan then? Wipe the slate clean and hope everyone suddenly becomes noble?”

Jeeny: “No. You make forgiveness conditional on contribution. Serve five years in rural medicine, teach in underfunded districts, work in environmental restoration — your debt fades with your service. Not as charity, but as exchange.”

Host: Her words cut through the rain like silver wires, taut with urgency. Jack’s hand loosened around his folder. Papers slipped free, fluttering onto the wet pavement, ink bleeding, like dreams melting into the earth.

Jack: “You sound like you actually believe the system can be moral.”

Jeeny: “I have to. Because if we stop believing that — then all that’s left is survival. And survival, without purpose, turns people into numbers.”

Host: The rain softened to mist. A ray of sun broke through the clouds, striking Jeeny’s face. She blinked against it — but smiled.

Jack: “You always find the light, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. I just refuse to forget it exists.”

Host: They stood there, both drenched — two silhouettes framed by the dying rain and the rising glow of sunset. Around them, the campus slowly emptied; laughter faded, footsteps echoed away.

Jack: (after a long pause) “Maybe forgiveness isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s… reallocation of faith.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We keep spending faith on the wrong things — corporations, markets, wars. Maybe it’s time we invest it in people again.”

Host: A silence stretched, heavy but calm. The last light of the day caught on the wet stone, turning it into a mirror. Jeeny looked at her reflection — faint, rippling — and saw not perfection, but possibility.

Jack watched too, and for once, didn’t argue.

The rain stopped completely.

A bird crossed the sky — small, fast, unburdened.

Host: And as the city lights blinked on, Jack and Jeeny stood side by side, two small figures in the great machinery of a society still learning what forgiveness truly meant — not as escape from debt, but as an invitation to rebuild.

And in that soft, golden hour, both understood: forgiveness, whether of loans or of hearts, was not about erasing what was owed — it was about daring to believe that help could still be a form of strength.