Our large, industrial states are examples of misrule by
those who assume that their ability and right to rule, and the inexhaustibility
of the wealth of their cities and states, are given and immutable. Wrong on all assumptions. These states, once beacons of progress,
growth, and development, are wastelands of decline: economic, social, moral, and even
demographic. Millions of people—those
who could—have been leaving these states for decades.
The recent bankruptcy of Detroit is a prominent symbol of where this
misrule leads. At its prime a bustling
metropolitan center approaching two million in population, Detroit has been steadily falling from its
prime to a dilapidated city of barely 700,000 who remain to wonder where have
the productive people gone, and what is to be the future?
I recently returned from spending several days in such a
place, mixing with, talking with, associating in the daily lives of the
ordinary people living there, people with whom I had lived as a wide-eyed
teenager a generation before. I am
not referring to the urban center of the state.
The region I visited has been for 150 years a mixture of industrial and
rural economies, and as I recalled, a happy mix. Now the villages and towns are actually
smaller than in my youth and shrinking.
The number of productive enterprises is fewer and those that remain,
smaller. The schools have remarkably
fewer students and struggle with how to keep their programs going with declining
enrollments. The largest employers are
the instruments of government welfare services—as well as a couple of new state
prisons—and the local hospital network.
The people were friendly and pleasant, yet something did not
feel right. I understand the wisdom that
“you can never go home” if you expect to find all the same. I expected change. New technologies were present, hand-held
electronic devices ubiquitous, a fair number of new cars, if not the foreign
luxury models so common in Washington.
It was not, though, a happy place of happy people. Why?
It was only near the end of my stay that I recognized the
ailment. The region has become a land of
small hope, particularly small hope of progress. People there were not living their lives to
get ahead, to advance, to build a better future (I cannot recall seeing a
single new house in the several days of my visit, though the dump north of town
is working on its third mound). Most of
the people in these formerly vibrant communities, with what I remember as bright
expectations for the future, were now living their lives to get by, just to get
by, to get on from day to day, holding on to what they have.
Taxes are high, so it is not easy to keep what you earn. Regulation makes it hard to do anything new. For those reasons, businesses have been
leaving, and so have the talented youth.
Talk with the people about their daily lives, and not long into the
conversation the problems of wrestling with this or that regulation or working
with some officious government apparatchik will come up. And yet so many of the people expect the
solution to their problems to come from some new government program or service
rather than from their own effort.
I say “most” of the people are so ailing. There are a few exceptions, and interesting
ones. Two religious groups seem to be
growing—and not the establishment churches, whose places of worship, grand and
beautiful buildings, eloquently testify to bygone days of prosperity but now
show signs of neglect. The two groups
are the Latter-day Saints, whose Church was founded in the area nearly two
hundred years ago and whose membership is growing steadily, and the Amish/Mennonites,
who in recent years have moved in strong numbers to take advantage of neglected
farm land. There are also some very
prosperous farm businessmen, also gathering up land and putting it into obvious
productivity. Finally, I would mention
the growth of mini-wineries, although this latter movement seems after about 25
years to be approaching maturity.
Hope is an essential ingredient in happiness. Hope comes from the belief that a desirable future is attainable, so much so that it draws out extra effort to realize its promise. Genuine hope in your own effort can be contagious, and those who have it can help revive communities. You cannot do much to give hope without that personal effort, but hope comes naturally with that effort and the opportunity to keep the fruits of one’s efforts. Our nation’s founders were filled with hope and with it created the greatest nation on earth.
There is no hope, though, in just getting by. In the end, you cannot get by if getting by
is all there is to your hope. No future
there, only decline. For hundreds of
years people have been leaving their lands where they struggled to get by and have
been coming to America, to them a land of hope and the freedom that feeds hope. When I leave Washington to look for America,
that is what I am looking for. I hope to
find it ever.