The U.S. granted free tuition before, and it can do it again | Salon.com

The U.S. granted free tuition before, and it can do it again | Salon.com

The U.S. granted free tuition before, and it can do it again
A 2019 survey shows 60 percent of Americans want tuition-free public colleges and universities

When Sen. Bernie Sanders and Rep. Pramila Jayapal submitted joint bills for the College for All Act in Congress last June, it sparked joy among the nearly 20 million attending or planning to attend public universities and colleges, not to mention their families. But even such a reaction had to pale compared to the celebration by 45 million past defaulters and present eligible holders of federal student loans that the bill would "forgive," student debt in addition to providing completely free tuition and fees at public institutions of higher education.

However, the joint bills also drew immediate jeers from conservative economists, pundits, Congress members and the media, and even opposition from Democratic presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg. It also raised eyebrows among those at the U.S. Treasury and among presidents of the nation's exclusive colleges and universities. 

But that opposition was simply a newer iteration of the same scorn and fear from 75 years ago when these same constituencies fought the passage of the G.I. Bill of Rights, otherwise known as the Servicemen's Readjustment Act of 1944, signed into law June 22, 1944, by President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt and his administration recognized that at the end of World War II, some 16 million returning soldiers would join the millions of the Great Depression's unemployed. To keep most out of the labor market for at least four years, the bill's education and vocational training section was designed to provide not only around $7,300 (in 2019 dollars) for tuition at any school, but also cover other chief expenses: books, supplies, equipment, and other necessities, exclusive of CONTINUE READING: The U.S. granted free tuition before, and it can do it again | Salon.com