I found my internship online.
I had studied in school how informal credit and insurance markets operate in developing economies, and I was captivated. But while it was one thing to be immersed in research, I knew it would add a new dimension to my education if I could see how countries at different economic stages interacted first-hand.
Some quick internet searching brought me to positions across development institutions, including the U.S. International Development Finance Corporation, a government agency that works across development projects in low- and middle-income countries. I didn’t have prior experience in public service, and I figured an internship would be a prime opportunity to test the waters.
I was about to learn more than I had expected — but not exactly in the way I had hoped. While I would gain insights into the functions of federal agencies and development work, this internship would also reveal the inequities young professionals face when the federal government puts a hefty price on opportunities and career development.
The internship was unpaid, and it required relocating to Washington, D.C., meaning I’d be footing the bill for plane tickets from California, three months of rent, food, transportation and other necessities. As a daughter of immigrants, I was raised by a frugal mother and had always been careful with money. I secured some financial stability in college thanks to my full financial aid package and part-time jobs. Was I willing to throw peace of mind away and stretch dollars to buy experience and professional opportunity?
Once I was accepted, I requested to perform the position remotely, referencing glowing reviews I received from managers during five other recent remote experiences, without success. Instead, I was promised that I’d be “paid in experience,” and that the opportunity to explore the intricacies of federal development work would be well worth my investment.
I eyed my savings — money I had put away while juggling part-time positions during the semester — and ran simulations to determine how much it could cost me to take on the internship. I asked peers and professors for their counsel, and reactions were torn between incredulity at requiring a student on financial aid to shell out over $5,000 in expenses for an internship and intrigue at the glittering promise of what could be a trajectory-changing opportunity.
Ultimately, I accepted.
Even with all of my financial planning, I immediately ran into expensive hurdles. Temporary housing within my budget was scarce: My friends toured a $1,000/month back corner of a basement for me as I tallied how much I’d be willing to pay to have an actual bedroom. When I finally made it to my desk, I ran into a system error on the public transportation subsidy form: unpaid interns don’t count as federal employees, and therefore, even if they pay thousands of dollars to work for free, cannot benefit from a $2.00 bus stipend to get to work.
A few weeks later, our internal newsletter circulated a posting that featured my job description and my same team, except this time, it was paid through the Pathways Program — an initiative designed to help some students afford these experiences. I jumped at the opportunity and asked to be considered for compensation, but I was told by an HR representative that a master’s degree was required to receive pay for my work. I learned that the federal government often advertises paid internships through Pathways as a solution to achieve equitable workforce pipelines but restricts access with terms and conditions, like requiring a graduate degree — something less than 15 percent of the country has.
Ultimately, I felt disillusioned and exhausted by the challenges I faced as a young woman of color who struggled to overcome the socioeconomic barriers to a federal career. After careful evaluation, I cut my losses by ending the internship early.
My story is not unique. But the good news is, there are efforts to make change, and those efforts are making progress.
After I left my internship, I reached out to Carlos Mark Vera, co-founder at Pay Our Interns, to share my story and help the movement to increase access to federal work experience for students. Since joining the organization, I’ve been working to advocate for the fair compensation of young talent and the end of unpaid internships.
In 2021, President Biden signed an executive order directing agencies to reduce their reliance on unpaid internships and has set a target of hiring 35,000 federal interns by the end of fiscal 2023. That’s important — and as the largest employer in the country, the federal government should be a model to employers across sectors in terms of increasing access and raising the bar for equitable labor practices.
As I learned firsthand, unpaid internships uphold systemic inequities by putting a price on opportunity, growth and economic mobility. By excluding those who cannot afford to work for free, the federal government disproportionately selects against students from marginalized communities, such as students of color, students with disabilities and medical bills, women, and low-income students. Unsurprisingly, organizations like federal agencies are still far from reaching diverse, equitable workforce pipelines.
I began my internship hungry for experience in public service, but despite what employers might believe, experience doesn’t pay the bills. If the federal government wants young workers to invest in gaining experience, they need to be willing to invest in us.
Michelle Liang is a partnerships fellow at Pay Our Interns. She graduated from Yale University with a degree in economics.