INTRODUCTION
Why the Rust Belt Matters (and What It Is)
THE RUST BELT, LINGUISTICALLY SPEAKING, is one of America’s newest regions. The name was largely created in 1984 by, of all people, Walter Mondale. At a campaign stop during the presidential election, Mondale made a speech to steelworkers at the LTV plant in Cleveland in which he decried Reagan’s position on trade, particularly the lifting of quotas on steel imports, which had sent the industry into crisis. As he put it, “Reagan’s policies are turning our industrial Midwest into a rust bowl.”
The press tweaked Mondale’s dust bowl reference into “Rust Belt,” to make it play off “Sun Belt,” another new term for an American region, this one coined in 1969 by Kevin Phillips in his book The Emerging Republican Majority, to describe a happier set of shifting demographics and economic policies. For over three decades since, the term has been deplored, praised, and parsed. There is a sizable contingent—especially among the baby boomers who remember the moment the term was coined—who consider it derogatory and strive to have it replaced (recent attempts to rebrand the region include the “Trust Belt,” the “New American Heartland,” and the “Freshwater Region”). But the term has stuck.
Definitions of where, exactly, the Rust Belt is are also often debated1. There is no answer. The term was not invented by geographers but by a politician and the media. There are no natural borders, as there are with the East and West Coasts, say, or topographic features, as with the Great Plains or the Rocky Mountains. “Rust Belt” is a historical term, like “New England” and “Sun Belt” (even “Midwest” is as much historic as geographic). “Post-industrial Midwest” can serve as a synonym (along with its cousins, “industrial Midwest” and “formerly industrial Midwest”). Michigan, Ohio, and Pennsylvania are central to the region, as well as parts of Illinois, Wisconsin, and New York. “As far west as Milwaukee and as far east as Buffalo” usually works. Borderlands, such as Cincinnati and St. Louis, as well as abutting regions such as Appalachia, can be fun to debate over beers—just how rusty are they?—but in the end, anywhere an economy was previously based on manufacturing and has since been losing population can be part of the gang.
This is true internationally, too—China and Russia and Germany and just about any country with a history of manufacturing have rust belts where economies were once based on industry and now no longer are; least, that is how such declining regions are described in news headlines. Starting with the 2016 presidential election, the term was used more than it had been in recent memory by the American press, usually to describe the then-surprising popularity of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders, who were campaigning, just like Walter Mondale before them, for more restrictive trade policies. Although Trump’s support was strong in the South, the West, and many areas of blue states like New York and California, Trump used the Rust Belt as an example of America’s fall from prior greatness. Since the election, the term has continued to appear even more often in the mainstream media, usually in articles seeking to understand the appeal of Trump in the so-called Rust Belt region—again, despite Trump’s equal or greater support elsewhere in the country.
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The most common culprit for Rust Belt woes cited by politicians and the media is the North Atlantic Free Trade Agreement. And though NAFTA has become a popular political talking point, its impact on the region has been secondary. Mondale placed the blame on the policies of Ronald Reagan. But even earlier, in the 1970s, the demand for steel, which was high during World War II, had begun to wane, and many saw their jobs disappear. Arguably the most symbolic date in Rust Belt history was Black Monday, September 19, 1977, when Youngstown Sheet and Tube in Ohio closed down, leading to a loss of some forty thousand jobs2. Also notable: the region’s population peaked in the 1970s and has been in decline ever since.
Those manufacturing jobs are never going to return to the levels seen in the 1970s. The lack of jobs and opportunity for the white working class has been an ongoing problem for over forty years now—long before Obama, Clinton, or even Reagan.
And so the term “Rust Belt” continues to define the region, to the consternation of both those who have never liked it and those who wish the economy—any economy—would show up and turn “Rust Belt” from open sore to quaint artifact. And while the term may lack geographical strata, it has historical layers, and they are thick and redolent. The phrase is born of loss, but has acquired texture, depth, and decades’ worth of meaning.
That more people have become curious about the Rust Belt since the 2016 presidential election is a welcome development. But it has become increasingly tempting—and increasingly dangerous—to reduce the Rust Belt to clichés. At a time when it is more important than ever to understand the nuances of this complex region, what is published instead are often articles on the “typical” Rust Belt resident—more often than not a white male Trump supporter. Generalizations about the region’s population are now as popular as simply ignoring the Rust Belt was just a few years ago. Most are wrong.
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Some important facts: Many Rust Belt cities have minority populations that statistically outpace those in other parts of the country. The largest per capita Muslim population in the United States is here, in Dearborn, Michigan. With so much emphasis placed on the manufacturing sector, many overlook the largest employers in the region: hospitals, retailers, and institutions of higher education. Of the handful of cities in the United States that support an Orthodox Jewish population, many are in the Rust Belt. A century ago, the region’s cities were often populated primarily by non-native English speakers. For example, in 1900, over 75 percent of the residents of Cleveland, Ohio, were foreign-born or first-generation immigrants.
To sum up such a diverse region with a few adjectives, or a rags-to-riches story of exceptionalism with a message of individualism at its core, is both misleading and dangerous. This book offers another way of looking at the Rust Belt, another way to grasp its contours—through dozens of individual stories, finely told. These essays address segregated schools, rural childhoods, suburban ennui, lead poisoning, opiate addiction, and job loss. They reflect upon happy childhoods, successful community ventures, warm refuges for outsiders, and hidden oases of natural beauty. But mainly they are stories drawn from uniquely personal experiences: A girl has her bike stolen. A social worker in Pittsburgh makes calls on clients. A journalist from Buffalo moves away and misses home. A city manager stops fighting the urge to relocate and decides to make a life in Akron. An ecologist takes her students to a CVS parking lot. A father gives his daughter a bath in the lead-contaminated water of Flint, Michigan.
We’ve come to recognize the major trends, popular as topics in opinion pages and stump speeches, that have come to shape the narrative of the region: racial discrimination, poverty, job loss, climate change, neglect, depopulation. But there is power in simply bearing witness. To learn about individual lives and specific places. To appreciate the writers’ abilities to render experience. And to resist the urge to make of this place a static, incomplete cliché, a talking point, or a polling data set.
In lieu of a thesis or some prescription, these essays offer gorgeous turns of phrase, heartbreaking experiences, and raw emotion. There is an urgency to them. We have created not only income inequality but also narrative inequality in this nation: some stories are told over and over while others are passed over, muted. So the writers in this book seek you and say: This is me and I am here. But more, they say: Please pay attention. Please listen. Let us tell you our story. We can tell it ourselves.
The importance of paying attention is the tie that binds all the essays in this volume. It is also central to the mission of Belt Publishing—the press that initially published these pieces in Belt Magazine and in books on Detroit, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Flint, Akron, and Buffalo—to create a much-needed space for the deep, various, complex, sad, wonderful, and pressing stories of the Rust Belt. The essays included here showcase the thick, overlapping, and various layers of the region. Like the Rust Belt, they are as suffused by life as they are by loss, if not more so.
—Anne Trubek, founder and director of Belt Publishing
Copyright © 2018 by Anne Trubek
