Wednesday, November 21, 2018 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, November 21, 2018 // The Statement
5B
O
n a sweltering day
in
Washington,
D.C., the 8:30 a.m.
Metro rush hour is filled with
college students wearing a
range of business casual to
formal clothing, a lanyard
and photo ID hanging around
their necks. Knowing D.C.,
with its crowd of “Hillterns”
and non-profit interns, most
of these students are probably
off
to
their
unpaid
gig.
Probably the minority receive
any payment, much less a
stipend for transportation or
housing.
Eight and a half hours
later: Cue the 5:00 p.m. rush.
The same students have left
their buildings — perhaps
a tie is loosened, high heels
switched for sneakers — and
the Metro is full of bodies
pressed against one another,
trying to find a space on their
way home, trying not to fall
over as the Metro careens to
an abrupt stop. As everyone
rushes off their last stop to
get home, I get off mine to
walk to my next job for a six-
hour shift at Anthropologie
after an eight-hour one at my
unpaid internship.
I
t’s not that I didn’t
receive any financial
support
from
the
University of Michigan — in
fact, I was really lucky to
receive more from an LSA
scholarship than I expected
— but it wasn’t able to cover
all of my expenses in D.C.
Hence, the second job at
Anthropologie. I still had to
think about the rent I had to
pay for my off-campus house
in Ann Arbor, my future rent
for the school year and saving
up for loans. You get the idea.
And while my internship
gave
us
a
$50
monthly
stipend for transportation,
it wasn’t enough to cover my
transportation costs (thanks,
Metro peak pricing!).
So
while
I
had
been
applying for LSA scholarships
for my internship, I was also
applying for jobs in D.C. I
arrived two weeks prior to
the start of my internship
to interview for a paid job,
and luckily, I got the first
and only one I interviewed
for, at Anthropologie. Since
my internship was set for
25 hours per week — the
nonprofit was very flexible
with our hours — I asked for
20 at Anthropologie.
For
anyone
who’s
ever
worked in food service or
retail before, you’ll know that
employers always schedule
you for more hours than you
asked for. And so it came as no
surprise that Anthropologie
scheduled me for more than
20 hours per week, sometimes
creeping close to 30.
It wasn’t often that I’d
have to go straight from
my internship to my retail
job. Most of the time, I’d be
working six days a week,
eight and a half for three days
at my internship, nine for
three days at Anthropologie.
I still managed to squeeze
some time to go to the free
museums in D.C. and some
other touristy things, but I
was always exhausted.
Because I was working
part-time at my internship,
I often felt like I would
be missing out on making
personal
and
professional
connections on the days that
I wasn’t there. I wasn’t able
to go to any of the happy
hours
that
the
nonprofit
hosted because I’d always be
scheduled at Anthropologie
during those times, and this
too added to my sense of
missing out on opportunities.
Looking back, it all sounds
pretty silly, but at the time
my FOMO got the better of
me and made me feel like
these kinds of events were
essential for networking and
thinking about future career
opportunities,
and
that
missing them would take me a
step backward from everyone
else. I realize now that this is
an exaggeration.
There were days, of course,
when I wish I didn’t have to
take on a second job in order
to support myself with an
unpaid internship. My mom
works two jobs seven days
a week all year-round. I
couldn’t even fathom doing
so for more than a summer,
and I have no idea how some
students at the University
juggle two jobs with a full
course load throughout the
school year. I can barely
handle one.
There were days when
I wish I pursued studies
in a field where they were
guaranteed to give you a paid
internship.
Hearing
from
my friends about their paid
computer science internships,
paid engineering internships
and paid laboratory research
internships made me jealous,
though I never told them this,
nor admitted it to myself.
There were days when I
reminded myself that I was
lucky and privileged to have
an internship in the first
place since there can be so
many barriers to obtaining
one. Who was I to complain
about interning and working
and living in D.C., when so
many cannot afford to do so?
Who was I to complain when
the situation of juggling two
jobs temporarily was the
daily reality for so many?
My experience is certainly
not unique to what nearly
all low-income, and some
middle-income students like
myself, have to face when
deciding to pursue that unpaid
internship.
I
knew
three
other people who also took
on a second job in addition
to their unpaid internship
this summer. Having that
knowledge made me feel less
alone, and yet I was always
aware that it seemed like
there were fewer of us who
had to do this in comparison
to those who could afford to
get by with just an unpaid
summer internship.
Finding internships for the
summer is stressful. It’s that
time of year when I need to
start making plans for the
summer again, editing my
resume and thinking about
what paid job I would need
to get if I am accepted in an
unpaid internship, or if I
am not. In the midst of the
holidays and looming finals, it
all seems overwhelming — but
if I made it through last year,
made it through a 25-minute
walk to Anthropologie in
the humid, suffocating heat
after an eight-hour day at my
internship — then I can make
it through again.
Two jobs, one paycheck
BY MONICA KIM, CONTRIBUTOR
For anyone who’s ever worked
in food service or retail before,
you’ll know that employers always
schedule you for more hours than
you asked for.
I
n one of the first weeks of my
summer
at
the
Democratic
Congressional
Campaign
Committee in Washington D.C.,
the chairman came down to introduce
himself to the interns. When introducing
ourselves he asked the interns to answer
“how we found the DCCC, or how the
DCCC found us.” As my fellow interns went
around the room, I quickly realized that my
story was not like the rest of my peers.
“My aunt is a major political influencer
and she connected me.”
“My brother used to work here.”
“My mother is a Congresswoman.”
My answer: I had applied online and
decided to accept the offer. No one flagged
my resume or knew me before I had arrived.
Before I arrived in D.C., I had no exposure
to the networking-based job market, which
often blurs the lines between professional
connections and nepotism. My dad grew
up lower-middle class and my mom
immigrated from China just a year before
I was born. I had no family connections in
D.C. who could set me up for a job like so
many of my peers.
Another thing the other interns had
in common: They were wealthy and
mostly white. In a class of 22 interns, four
(including myself) were people of color.
My peers ate sushi and purchased food
for lunch every day, while I budgeted
$25 a week for groceries. They lived in
townhouses in Georgetown, while I had a
room smaller than my freshman dorm
with three other girls on bunk beds.
I knew that this internship
would be unpaid when I was
selected for it. I had worked for
the year before with
the
goal of saving for the
summer. I made a
budget. I picked the
cheapest housing I
could find. So when I
arrived in D.C., I felt
relatively
prepared
to
live
frugally
but
ready
to
survive in
the city. But I wasn’t prepared for the
culture shock of the D.C. world of unpaid
internships.
There were often points in conversation
where I felt uncomfortable, like the odd
one out. This was my first exposure to
Washington and its East Coast elitism.
The interns I worked with were nice and
talented, but they came from a different
world than I did. They all had pictures of
themselves with famous politicians from
fundraisers their parents were invited to
and grew up talking politics, whereas my
family never did those things.
I also was not the only one who felt
this way. Another intern (who also
goes to the University of Michigan)
became my ally in the organization,
as we were both Midwestern Asians
in the political elite environment.
Often we would lock eyes when one
of our colleagues said something
controversial or strange with a
mutual understanding of our
circumstance.
It
was
in
this
environment
that
I
realized that something
needed to be done.
Someone had to step
up and point out that
not everyone had the
same opportunities
in
this
unpaid
structure, that the
unpaid
nature
of the internship
prevents
lower-
income
and
diverse candidates
from working in
an
organization
and for a party that
prides itself on representing those groups.
Thus began my crusade to create
a paid internship program at the DCCC.
I reached out to an organization called
Pay Our Interns, who had just secured
funding for interns in the Senate. They
suggested that I draft a letter to the
DCCC leaders urging them to start a paid
internship program and have other interns
sign on, which I did. Most of my peers
supported the effort and signed on, though
a few were hesitant and feared backlash.
In the end, the letter picked up some
traction in the press and the DCCC agreed
to begin paying their interns in the future.
This victory was not personal. I didn’t
get paid from this, nor did I earn any
significant praise for leading this charge,
and I didn’t want any of that. If people
bring it up nowadays, I tend to brush it off
as just sort of something that happened
without boasting. This article isn’t meant
to brag about some accomplishment of
mine. Instead, I hope to convey the message
of why unpaid internships are harmful
to lower-income students, as they grant
opportunities only to those who can afford
them.
If we want to make significant change in
Washington then the people who have the
opportunity to get their foot in the door
here with increasingly essential internships
cannot just be rich white people. Even the
well-intentioned and qualified rich people,
like those at the DCCC, cannot truly
understand the perspectives of those from
lower-income or minority communities,
and that gets reflected in their policies.
Paid
internships
are
essential
to
increasing representation in Washington
and providing opportunities to all young
people. I am proud of the DCCC — and now
Congress — for taking action to pay interns.
Fighting for future
interns’ pay
BY LYDIA MURRAY, CONTRIBUTOR
ILLUSTRATION BY MICHELLE FAN
ILLUSTRATION BY BETSY STUBBS
I knew that this internship would be unpaid
when I was selected for it. I had worked for the
year before with the goal of saving for the summer.
I made a budget. I picked the cheapest housing I
could find... But I wasn’t prepared for the culture
shock of the D.C. world of unpaid internships.