The end of the middle class: Why prosperity is failing in America

Sky-high rent, second jobs, and wealth-worshipping 1% TV shows—journalist Alissa Quart explains how the American dream became a dystopia, and why it's so hard for middle-class Americans to get by.

Alissa Quart: So, we used to think of the middle class as this safe category, it was 40-hour work weeks, pensions, people worked who were teachers, professors, lawyers even. And now it’s a shakier category and that’s why I called it the “middle precariat,” as in precarious.

Now to be middle class you might not be able to have a summer holiday. You might not be able to own your home. You certainly wouldn’t have two cars. What interests me is also we have this idea of the middle class as this solid thing, and now it’s a shaky thing.

We also have this idea in the middle of the 20th century of it as a hum-drum boring thing that we wanted to escape, kind of like Revolutionary Road, Richard Yates; and now it’s everybody just wants to get into it, into the American dream of the middle class that’s now so unstable.

So one of the things that happened was unions weakened. It used to be that 30 percent of employees were in unions in the '60s, and now it’s seven percent in the private sector, and that’s a pretty huge drop-off. And at the same time you’re seeing a lot of workforce become gig-ified or turned into freelance contingent, et cetera, not stable, not with healthcare, not with the promise of security and long-term employment.

There are other reasons why the middle class has been under siege. One is the concentration of wealth. Since 1997 the income of the top one percent has grown 20 times the rest of us.

They’re an “ownership class” so they tend to own many of the corporations that are, say, creating the Uber economy, are hiring people to drive part-time or the companies that employee people at [odd] hours, which means that they can’t take care of their children, hours in the middle of the night or odd hours in the early morning, as I write about that in my book.

So that kind of wealth concentration also empowers people to have multiple addresses and to not really invest in their neighborhoods. The fact that they’re able to pay so much more than the rest of us for houses and apartments raises the rents and the cost of homeownership astronomically in fashionable cities.

Another one was 'one-percent TV', which describes people, including myself, who watch shows like Billions or Downtown Abbey or even Mad Men that sort of extol the wealthiest kind of ethically challenged wealthy people.

There’s something about one-percent television that I find pretty harmful in that we are asked to identify—and we do identify—with the very richest in this country rather than middle-class people or struggling people. And that does show our ethical problems—in Klieg lights, as it were.

And I think one of the things that one-percent television does is it makes a case for the deserving ultra-rich. Like these are people who are brilliant or talented like a show like Empire with the hip-hop mogul, they could have terrible, terrible values, “but they work hard,” and they have some kind of genius so they “deserve” to have this excess and this wealth and be drinking champagne out of flutes.

A lot of reality television shows work on the same principle. Of course, what exactly they’re doing that makes them deserving is always questionable, but the shows are making an argument that yes, they are the deserving ultra-rich.

And in fact our president, I think, is very much a product of one-percent television if we think about The Apprentice, which I think started in 2004, and that was sort of venerating this kind of empty wealth and harsh edicts to employees, “You’re fired!” and that in itself was the beginning of venerating that wealth without any criticism on reality television.

So my book is very much about a divided society where we’re just not in touch with one another. And one of the drivers of that is something I don’t really write about but I work on in the organization I run called The Economic Hardship Reporting Project and that’s spatial inequality, which is that people in cities and in rural areas and all kinds of places are very divided from each other by class, that it’s very stratified, and so you’re very unlikely now to run into people from different walks of life in big cities. You’re far less likely than you were in the past.

I’m optimistic in certain ways because I’ve started having conversations with people, partially around the book about self-blame, about them saying to themselves “what’s wrong with me” and feeling stigmatized.

And I feel like if this book achieves anything or these conversations achieve anything it’s de-shaming people scrambling to stay in the middle class, say “it’s not your fault; this is happening to other people.”

The job numbers may look like they’re up but first of all they often speak to how many jobs people are having, multiple jobs, which is not a great state of affairs for a lot of people. People now have more jobs. Each person has more jobs than they did in 2016 like individuals; it’s up by two percent or something like that so it’s substantial.

You can be looking at these job announcements and you could be thinking what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I figure it out? Why can’t I get that second or third gig? But the point is, why should we have to have all the side hustles? Why should we have to have second acts then we’re 42?

And so I’m optimistic that the conversations people could have can start to bring about self-awareness, solidarity, a better sense of themselves.

And I’ve already heard from people saying “I’ve read your book and it said ‘no stigma,’ and I told my husband when he couldn’t get his second assignment as a freelancer—his second job, not his first job—‘no stigma.’” And to me that could be just, at least, instead of a gloomy revolution, which as I write, kind of an emotional mini revolution where people talk more honestly about their situation.

'Middle class' doesn't mean what it used to. Owning a home, two cars, and having a summer vacation to look forward to is a dream that's no longer possible for a growing percentage of American families. So what's changed? That safe and stable class has become shaky as unions collapsed, the gig economy surged, and wealth concentrated in the hands of the top 1%, the knock-on effects of which include sky-high housing prices, people working second jobs, and a cultural shift marked by 'one-percent' TV shows (and presidents). Alissa Quart, executive editor of the Economic Hardship Reporting Project, explains how the American dream became a dystopia, and why it's so hard for middle-class Americans to get by. Alissa Quart is the author of Squeezed: Why Our Families Can't Afford America


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What was it like to live in a Japanese concentration camp?

During World War II, the U.S. incarcerated over 100,000 Japanese Americans in concentration camps throughout the West.

Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
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  • Now that the issue of concentration camps in the U.S. has once again reared its head, it can be beneficial to recall the last time such camps were employed in the U.S.
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  • In truth, the incarceration was primarily motivated by racism. What was life like in the U.S.'s concentration camps?

On February 19, 1942, President Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which authorized and directed military commanders "to prescribe military areas … from which any or all persons may be excluded, and with respect to which, the right of any person to enter, remain in, or leave shall be subject to whatever restrictions the Secretary of War or the appropriate Military Commander may impose in his discretion." Under the authority of this executive order, roughly 112,000 men, women, and children of Japanese descent — nearly two-thirds of which were American citizens — were detained in concentration camps.

How did the camps get their start?

With the benefit of a nearly 80-year perspective, it's clear that the internment of Japanese Americans was racially motivated. In response to Japan's growing military power in the buildup to World War II, President Roosevelt commissioned two reports to determine whether it would be necessary to intern Japanese Americans should conflict break out between Japan and the U.S. Neither's conclusions supported the plan, with one even going so far as to "certify a remarkable, even extraordinary degree of loyalty among this generally suspect ethnic group." But of course, the Pearl Harbor attacks proved to be far more persuasive than these reports.

Pearl Harbor turned simmering resentment against the Japanese to a full boil, putting pressure on the Roosevelt administration to intern Japanese Americans. Lieutenant General John DeWitt, who would become the administrator of the internment program, testified to Congress

"I don't want any of them here. They are a dangerous element. There is no way to determine their loyalty... It makes no difference whether he is an American citizen, he is still a Japanese. American citizenship does not necessarily determine loyalty... But we must worry about the Japanese all the time until he is wiped off the map."

DeWitt's position was backed up by a number of pre-existing anti-immigrant groups based out of the West Coast, such as the Joint Immigration Committee and the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West. For many, the war simply served as an excuse to get rid of Japanese Americans. In an interview with the Saturday Evening Post, Austin Anson, the managing secretary of the Salinas Vegetable Grower-Shipper Administration, said:

"We're charged with wanting to get rid of the Japs for selfish reasons. We do. It's a question of whether the White man lives on the Pacific Coast or the brown men. ... If all the Japs were removed tomorrow, we'd never miss them in two weeks because the White farmers can take over and produce everything the Jap grows. And we do not want them back when the war ends, either."

Ironically for Anson, the mass deportation of Japanese Americans under Executive Order 9066 meant there was a significant shortage of agricultural labor. Many Caucasians left to fight the war, so the U.S. signed an agreement with Mexico to permit the immigration of several million Mexicans agricultural workers under the so-called bracero program.

Life in the camps

Japanese American concentration camp

Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Circa 1943: Aerial view of a Japanese American relocation center in Amache, Colorado, during World War II. Each family was provided with a space 20 by 25 ft. The barracks were set in blocks and each block was provided with a community bath house and mess hall.

For the most part, Japanese Americans remained stoic in the face of their incarceration. The phrase shikata ga nai was frequently invoked — the phrase roughly translates to "it cannot be helped," which, for many, represents the perceived attitude of the Japanese people to withstand suffering that's out of their control.

Initially, most Japanese Americans were sent to temporary assembly centers, typically located at fairgrounds or racetracks. These were hastily constructed barracks, where prisoners were often packed into tight quarters and made to use toilets that were little more than pits in the ground. From here, they were relocated to more permanent camps — replete with barbed wire and armed guards — in remote, isolated places across the seven states of California, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Utah, and Arkansas.

Many of these camps, also known as War Relocation Centers, were little better than the temporary assembly centers. One report described the buildings as "tar paper-covered barracks of simple frame construction without plumbing or cooking facilities of any kind." Again, overcrowding was common.

As a result, disease became a major concern, including dysentery, malaria, and tuberculosis. This was problematic due to the chronic shortage of medical professionals and supplies, an issue that was not helped by the War Relocation Authority's decision to cap Japanese American medical professional's pay at $20 a month (about $315 in 2019 dollars), while Caucasian workers had no such restriction. As a comparison, Caucasian nurses earned $150 ($2,361) a month in one camp.

The U.S. government also administered loyalty questionnaires to incarcerated Japanese Americans with the ultimate goal of seeing whether they could be used as soldiers and to segregate "loyal" citizens from "disloyal" ones. The questionnaires often asked whether they would be willing to join the military and if they would completely renounce their loyalty to Japan. Due to fears of being drafted, general confusion, and justified anger at the U.S. government, thousands of Japanese Americans "failed" the loyalty questionnaire and were sent to the concentration camp at Tule Lake. When Roosevelt later signed a bill that would permit Japanese Americans to renounce their citizenship, 98 percent of the 5,589 who did were located at Tule Lake. Some apologists cite this an example of genuine disloyalty towards the U.S., but this argument clearly ignores the gross violation of Japanese Americans' rights. Later, it became clear that many of these renunciations had been made under duress, and nearly all of those who had renounced their citizenship sought to gain it back.

Since many children lived in the camps, they came equipped with schools. Of course, these schools weren't ideal — student-teacher ratios reached as high as 48:1, and supplies were limited. The irony of learning about American history and ideals was not lost on the students, one of whom wrote in an essay --

"They, the first generation [of Japanese immigrants], without the least knowledge of the English language nor the new surroundings, came to this land with the American pioneering spirit of resettling. ...Though undergoing many hardships, they did reach their goal only to be resettled by the order of evacuation under the emergency for our protection and public security."

Potentially the best part of life in the camps — and the best way for determined prisoners to demonstrate their fundamental American-ness — was playing baseball. One camp even featured nearly 100 baseball teams. Former prisoner Herb Kurima recalled the importance of baseball in their lives in an interview with Christian Science Monitor. "I wanted our fathers, who worked so hard, to have a chance to see a ball game," he said. "Over half the camp used to come out to watch. It was the only enjoyment in the camps."

The aftermath

When the camps finally closed in 1945, the lives of the incarcerated Japanese Americans had been totally upended. Some were repatriated to Japan, while others settled in whichever part of the country they had been arbitrarily placed in. Those who wished to return to the West Coast were given $25 and a train ticket, but few had anything to return to. Many had sold their property to predatory buyers prior to being incarcerated, while theft had wiped out whatever else they had left behind. Many, many years later, the 1988 Civil Liberties Act mandated that each surviving victim be paid $20,000, though that seems like a small fine to pay for irrevocably changing the courses of more than 100,000 lives.