Ohio University, like many other public universities in Ohio, recently voted to increase tuition by 3.5 percent beginning in the 2012-2013 school year. Students such as Tonya Atha, a junior Integrated Language Arts major, protested the raise on campus with marches and demonstrations.

“When I realized I had to take out loans, it was after the fall quarter of my freshman year,” Tonya says. “When it came time to pay again for the quarter and there wasn’t any money left, that is when I realized that I had to take out more…”

Tonya was raised in a single-parent household, by her mother in Springfield, Ohio. During the school year, she works as a Residential Assistant at Ohio University. Tonya supports herself financially. She filed for the FAFSA, applied for several loans, and is partially supported through scholarships.

“My dad never graduated from high school and my mom graduated by the skin of her teeth, because they had us when they were 16 and 18,” Tonya says. “So, when I see how far I’ve come, I am proud.”

Even after using alternative opportunities to fund her education, Tonya still finds herself in debt.

According to the College Board, enrollment of full-time students in public colleges and universities increased nine percent in the 1990’s. Between 2001 and 2011, enrollment of full-time students grew 33 percent.

Tuition Rising

However, not everyone opposes the increases. Those in favor of raising costs, while sympathetic to students, see it as a necessity for the university.

“There are two compelling reasons for it (raising tuition),” says Ohio University President Roderick McDavis. “One is, that there has been a significant decrease over these past years in the amount of state funding, and in order to maintain the quality of education that we provide at Ohio University, it requires us to have sufficient funding. Secondly, and equally as important, are some of the new initiatives that we’re creating to improve the academic quality of the university, as well as to improve the student experience.”

The College Board reports an increase of six percent in the 1980’s and of five percent in the 1990’s of state funds per full time student. In the decade between 2001 and 2011, state funds per full-time student declined by 23 percent, in inflation-adjusted dollars.

Despite the stress of student debt, McDavis continues to emphasize that the importance of a college degree in today’s world is worth much more than the cost of paying off student loans.

“I’ve lived a good portion of my life, and of all the material things that I’ve had the privilege to receive, you know gifts or things that I’ve purchased, from cars to houses to clothes, you name it,” McDavis says. “the only material thing I’ve found in this life that appreciates and goes up in value is a college degree.”

The value of a college degree is questionable from Tonya’s point of view.

“I have really conflicted feelings about if what I am doing is worth it. Is going this far into debt to get my degree in education worth it?” Tonya says. “I want to say ‘yes’ because nowadays you are not going to get very far unless you have a bachelor’s degree. At the same time, when I do think about that number that floats out in space that is my debt, I don’t know.”

Tonya and other students are not the only ones worried about rising tuition, and the impact the price-tag on education can have.

Ohio University Professor Emeritus of Economics Richard Vedder has watched the changing landscape of college finance for many years. “So I think, OU, could they have gotten along without the tuition increase? Yes they could have. Would they have had to make some uncomfortable cuts that they didn’t want to make? Yes that’s true too.”

Since Vedder began his career at Ohio University in 1965, the financial situations of students have changed.

“When I started teaching, most students did not borrow money to go to college. Most students financed it themselves through their parents, through loans within the family, or sometimes a bank loan,” Vedder says. “Now two-thirds of all students borrow money to go to college.”

Choosing a Path

If you walk through Ohio University’s College Green, you will be confronted with many different red brick paths, each path leading to a different destination. Much like the decision of where to go next when walking through College Green, students must choose a direction when pursuing higher education.

Despite working to overcome her financial difficulties, Tonya is still concerned that her concerns are not being felt on an institutional level; “You know what I want to think that people are hearing those students voices, I really do. I want to think the best of people. I want to think they’ve taken it into consideration the fact that the students can't pay for [education]. I am an optimist all the way and yet, I don’t think that anybody has."

Witten Farms began hosting seasonal migrant workers from Mexico and El Salvador in 1993, while Tom Witten and his brother Scott were in grade school.

The Wittens use the Federal H-2A non-immigrant work visa program to bring in dependable labor during the farming season each year. Under this type of visa, foreign workers are authorized for one-year to three-year stays. After three years, a three month stint outside the United States is required before reapplying for the visa.

“It was low unemployment so [we] couldn't find a lot of local folks. People were driven to use more and more migrant labor and the migrant labor force was plentiful,” Tom explains. “[But now,] even with unemployment at 10 percent these people are not breaking down my door. We still hire a lot of local folks. We are hiring now if anybody wants to come work, but if you put ‘em in a field with a hoe they won’t come back after lunch. Ninety-five percent of ‘em.”

“We would love to hire local folks. We have to provide housing for these folks; we have to pay for the bureaucracy, the legal representation,” Tom says.

The H-2A program requires that if a local labor force is available, employers must hire them first. To ensure that they follow federal guidelines the Wittens advertise their job openings in local papers and online. The minimum pay wage is listed as $10.95 per hour, yet still local workers are not coming. The need for a stable work force necessitates the migrant labor at Witten farms. The government visa program requires specific treatment and housing guidelines to bring workers in.

“Finding housing for Mexicans really shows you how hard-hearted people are,” Tom says. “We have a good reputation for paying our bills. We would do the security deposit; we’d do anything and it was the slum lords who were the only people who would even turn to you.”

In 2009, the Wittens finished construction on a small blue duplex, designed to house the 15-20 seasonal workers. Set between the cow pasture and the fresh blooming fresa (strawberry) fields, the duplex provides a relaxing safe-haven for the workers, away from the streets and prejudice.

“We have the best guys ... and we don’t want ‘em next to Redneck Randy who gives ‘em trouble and then when the cops show up, the migrant guy can’t get his point across.”

The duplex has become a second home for the guys. In the evenings they gather outside and kick back with a cold Bud Light. They pass the time talking or kicking around a tattered soccer ball. Inside dusty boots gather in a corner of the kitchen, while the bare feet that filled them minutes ago shuffle into the bedroom to watch los peliculas (movies). Tonight’s scheduled programing: “Adventuras a la Centra de la Tierra (Journey to the Center of the Earth).”

A few yards down the gravel road from the duplex, the full aroma of cow manure and flowers fills the noses of the patrons of the Witten farm market. A pair of elderly women roams the green houses, investigating the hanging baskets. They seem not to notice the four darker-skinned men working diligently around them.

“Our markets have never been busier; the community wants what we are trying to produce,” Tom says. “In the summer we balloon to 160-180 local people running the wagons and the cash [registers]. We'll hire 12 truck drivers, three more tractor operators and another mechanic ... those jobs were all created because of the base layer of these 20 guys putting in 70 hours a week and the fact that they are the least appreciated is upsetting to me and my family in general.”

The Wittens make it a point to foster positive relationships with their migrant employees. In past years, when Tom’s father ran things, they joined in on holiday meals and family parties. Now the relationships are more professional, but backyard soccer games and occasional meals together are not out of the norm.

“We get along well. They’re good people,” says Sergio Meza Sanchez, a 34-year-old from Michoacan, Mexico. “They gave us work and a place to live—what more can we ask for? I’m thankful for these bosses. Yes, they treat us really well. If not, we wouldn’t return.”

“When you work with someone for 15 hours a day and really just put it all out there like that, then there’s an unspoken respect built,” Tom says.

Fifteen hours a day is no exaggeration. The long hours are not forced labor; the motivation is internal.

“I have two daughters. One that is 10 and the other is 7. I try to send money every 15 days or every three weeks. That’s the reason for being here, to support the family,” Sanchez says. “Otherwise, we’d stay in Mexico—what would we do here? The opportunities in my country are not the same.”

“These guys want 70 hours a week and, frankly, I like to work too, but sometimes they push me because they are not happy with anything less that 60 to 70 hours a week,” Tom says. “It’s so hard to explain that to other people because it’s so foreign to be hungry and watch your kids be hungry. I can’t. I don't really try to pretend to understand. But you know, you put your two- or three-year-old to bed hungry then it changes the way your head works.”

The Wittens get it. Their dreams are the same.

“We are trying to do the best we can and that’s what they’re trying to do.” Tom says, “That is the American Dream: To work your ass off and give your kids a chance at something better.”

To some, it might consist of the loving, nurturing place you call “home,” full of people to whom you know you can always turn. To Pam Jones and Akeyna Dishong, their family might not be “typical,” but even through these tough economic times, their family is working together to make it through each day.

“Oh my gosh, there is certainly not anything typical about this household at all,” Pam says. “It is very loud, rambunctious, you never ever ever know what one of the kids are going to do.”

Pam was born into a large family, one of 13 children—a family so large they “never had to invite friends over for a baseball game.” She is the mother to two biological daughters while having also assumed the role of guardian for other troubled children throughout her life. Although many of those kids have left the house, Jones stays busy raising her nephew, Aaron, and his sister, Angel. Both children have special needs—Angel was diagnosed with autism and her brother with bipolar disorder. While having always opened her door for those in need, Jones found that she could do with some help herself when she began to experience poor circulation throughout her lower legs.

“Akeyna lives with me because I’m not allowed to live by myself,” Pam explains. “I’m supposed to be frequently in bed with my legs up and not up on them because they do turn blue and swell. And I fall a lot.” Pam also has depression, diabetes, and uses oxygen at night for asthma. She is currently preparing for her upcoming knee surgery, with her diabetes putting her at a higher risk throughout the procedure.

“They’re going to repair the meniscus in my knee, so I will be down for a little bit having to take it easy,” Pam explains, while also mentioning that she does not qualify for any at-home help. While a pro at caring for children, she discovered that she could no longer do it all on her own. Due to Pam's unpredictable condition, her daughter, Akeyna Dishong, accompanied by her two children and fiancé, has moved in and assumed the role of the primary caregiver. Every day, Akeyna assumes responsibility for making sure the entire family takes their medication, showers, and goes to bed as well as makes it to school on time. The shift of authority in the household has taken some adjusting, but Akeyna tries to maintain order while making the transition from sister to parental figure.

“As an authority figure, Aaron and Angel respond to me not very well. You know, they look at me more as their sister, not the person that should be disciplining them,” Akeyna says. She says her role is “to be everybody’s mother,” and such a large role in the lives of her family leaves little time for herself, let alone time for a job. She hopes to return to work as soon as the home reaches a stable condition, but until then, the day-to-day shopping and bill paying sometimes taken for granted can become a major concern for families in such situations.

According to the Pew Research center, over one in every eight Americans is providing care for an elderly family member or a disabled child. This “sandwich generation”—baby boomers squeezed between their own debt, children, and financially supporting their parents—is quickly increasing while more Americans slip into poverty.

In 2009, 34.7 percent of all people in Athens County Ohio had incomes below the Federal Poverty Line. In 2011, the number of Americans in poverty nationwide reached a new high, with 46.2 million people living below the threshold.

Most striking about the family is their realism. Their home life might come as a surprise—Pam’s hospital bed in the living room, the cramped children’s bedrooms, the congested countertops and backrooms—but the family is very close and remembers what is important, even Akeyna, whose life has been paused for the moment.

“I do feel like I’m putting my life on hold, but equally I’m not going to sit here and complain about it,” she says. “You know, I’m not going to have my mom forever, so it is important to know that I’m doing everything I can so … years down the road in the future when something happens to her, I’m not going to have any guilt. I know that I’ve done everything I could.”

A rise in poverty has also caused Ohio to see a steady increase in the amount of people requesting aid from Food and Nutrition Service programs. From 2008-2010, 16.4 percent of Ohioans were labeled as “Food Insecure,” a condition that arises from lack of money and other resources necessary to acquire food. With both mother and daughter unemployed, the pair receives aid from places like Ohio Works First, while Akeyna’s fiancé, Derrick, brings home a steady income from full-time work at a restaurant for minimum wage. Still, providing meals for everyone in the home can be a struggle.

“I get $526 in food stamps. And I use that and that’s what we live off of, like food-wise for the month— $526,” Akeyna explains. Seated at their small kitchen table, surrounded by clutter and family, her face is steady, and she seems almost determined when she speaks. Smoke from her cigarette floats out of the window as she adds, “...You just make it work.”

The situation that the Jones-Dishong household finds themselves in is not a unique one in Southeast Ohio, but the way they are handling the hardships they have been handed is somewhat surprising. The pressures of their financial circumstances do not weigh them down in despair, and they still find time to talk, laugh, and remain optimistic on life. They find comfort in family camping trips and bonfire nights, proof the American spirit lives on as they keep rolling forward day by day.

They set an example for keeping in mind what is important during these troublesome times. And if you ever get the chance to visit Pam and her family, just know that she will greet you with open arms and simply say, “Welcome to the family.”