The Loss of Autonomy Has a Price
The wrong lender can very well be affiliated with the devil himself. The amount that is bestowed when everything else turns you away — what appears as rescue — can almost imperceptibly establish an undignified power struggle. You lose a sense of whose hand you shake, the same one that laid its deck in front of you. Plain and simple, yet desperation momentarily blinds you, enough to overlook the true strings that have now enshrouded you in a cloak of servility.
In the hindsight of your own disconsolation, you pay no heed to the incorrigible fact that you now owe them something — a little something they can ask back for whenever convenient enough for them — a hidden cost to your desperation, instilling a sense of ownership in the lender.
When Need Meets Power
Society has never operated on just grounds; there is always a reckoning far superior, far nuanced enough to look down upon the others whom they deem “insufficient” or, more frankly, poorer. It seems evident that when a person has no alternatives, he cannot negotiate from an equal position, for the lender has established himself on a higher cliff from which to look down.
The clutches of desperation blindsides many — seeking help from those with a reputation, wealth, and resources (the ones they clamour for, obstructed by the fear of driving their children to starvation, remaining illiterate because fees were another anchor, and deteriorating to far worse conditions than any parent would ever desire to see them in) or perhaps family members who have seen better days than they have. Thus he asks, and he receives.
Every favour, every rupee has a price attached to it that stays hidden from both the lender and the debtor. They shake hands on a mutual agreement — a monthly return, annual, or maybe when you do raise enough. Speaking of which, the lender has a legitimate right to repayment; there is nothing inherently unjust about getting back the money you loaned. The lender is entitled to their money, and the debtor must be obliged to return it. The moral boundary, however, begins when this repayment ceases to be the primary enforcer and starts undermining human dignity.
When Repayment Becomes Possession
A delay in payment does not automatically label the debtor as inconsiderate; neither does the inability to pay make him dishonest, just simply a victim of his own circumstances. At first, it is only a reminder, a careless text sent, sneaking it into casual conversations, then another. A message unanswered, a call returned late, or perhaps a missed deadline. The irritation is never irrational but understandable — the money is theirs, after all, but somewhere between constant texts and calls, the relationship transcends mere debt.
The lender can ask for his money back, but never at the extreme expense of the debtor’s dignity as interest. The money was never the hidden cost; instead, this tug-of-war between both morals is what unravels the matter. Again, the lender has the right to be repaid, while the debtor has the right to be evaluated as another human as well.
When the script switches — “when can you pay me back?” becomes “give me my money till tomorrow.” A common occurrence even in close-knit families who puff their chests and holler about their badges of being helpful to kin, throw mud in the face of their good deeds as the taunting syllables lather across the debtor.
It increases gradually from taunts to threats and inevitably to ambushing and assaulting. The undermining of human dignity becomes the driving force — to bring him enough shame that he must beg another to repay the loan he got when he did not have enough in the first place — a full-circle predicament. Dragging his family through the mess and weaponising them against him surpasses this as another deal.
The lender can demand repayment, but not submission. Public humiliation will never conjure up repayment from a man suffering at the hands of fate — he will simply endure; he will go home, wash up, and move through the same routine of ignoring constant threats and vices of intimidation because he has no other option, no one else to turn to.
Frustration Cannot Translate to Entitlement
Fate plays tricks on anyone it pleases; if we take the lender into account, yes, he is owed repayment, hence the frustration. But this feeling must never be taken up as entitlement — for me personally, I believe the lender goes through certain aspects of cognitive dissonance.
A psychological term that shows the discomfort experienced by an individual who holds two or more contradictory beliefs: the lender succumbs to his anger, but accepts he is a helpful person who gave the debtor money in his time of need. Hence, to extract out his discomfort, he starts labelling the debtor as irresponsible, dishonest, and perhaps morally inferior, making the threats and harsher punishments easier to justify.
Not all loaners have to take such drastic measures, and neither do all debtors go through this irrational public humiliation trial, but for the minority that does go through this push and pull, the debt makes its presence far more insidious, taking dignity and morals down as collateral.
The Debtor Is Not the Debt
We seem to forget that any person who has wronged us, albeit unconsciously, is still human; he is someone’s son, someone’s father, someone’s hero, and someone’s entire world. They may have succumbed to a poor financial decision, may have genuinely or even not genuinely needed the money; all of this still does not cancel out the fact that he is no less human. A debtor can be responsible for the money he owes without actively becoming a pawn.
He owes the money, not his dignity.
If society collectively shone a new light onto this pressing moral dilemma — the same hand that was shaken can give money without claiming ownership — without taunting and without hurting.
The money was theirs to lend, but you can owe someone money without owing them yourself.