Yves here. On one level, this article focusing on how hollowed out Rust Belt communities persist is useful by looking at a neglected yet important of small scale collapse. But on the other, “What about poverty don’t you understand?”
By Amanda McMillan Lequieu, Assistant Professor of Environmental Sociology, Drexel University. Originally published at The Conversation
It was midday on a Saturday, and Simonetta led me from the open front door of her home in southeast Chicago to her sitting room and settled next to her husband, Christopher, on the couch.
In the 1980s, Christopher had worked a few blocks away at U.S. Steel South Works, earning three times the minimum wage with a high school diploma – more than enough to buy a house near Simonetta’s parents before their first baby arrived. Like their neighbors in southeast Chicago, Simonetta and Christopher’s expectations for work and home were set by the steel industry.
Between 1875 and 1990, the employment offered here by eight steel mills created a dense network of working-class neighborhoods on the marshlands 15 miles south of downtown Chicago. For the tens of thousands of employees who lived and worked in this region, steel was a rare breed of work: unionized, blue-collar jobs that paid middle-class wages, with starting salaries in the 1960s at nearly three times the minimum wage.
Opportunities for promotion, benefits and secure job tenure allowed workers to buy houses, shop at local stores and put away savings. The steel industry was more than just work; it organized the spatial and social relations of this neighborhood.
Its collapse was devastating to people living in the neighborhood, Simonetta told me. As mill after mill shuttered in the last two decades of the 20th century, people began to leave to find new work – mostly service jobs – located far from southeast Chicago’s economic depression.
As we stared at the silent street, I asked them, “Why did you stay?”
Christopher paused, then said simply, “We had the building.” The couple owned their three-story row home outright after decades of paying off the mortgage. Sure, it had some crumbling corners and the roof sagged, but it was theirs. These four walls remained solid during and after the topsy-turvy years of economic collapse. More than just a form of equity or material space, this building was the foundation for their stability.
Why Do People Stay in Hard Places?
For the past 10 years, I’ve asked why people stay when their local economy collapses.
In my 2024 book, “Who We Are Is Where We Are: Making Home in the American Rust Belt,” I used ethnographic research and interviews to study the long-term outcomes of deindustrialization in a rural iron-mining community in Wisconsin and urban manufacturing neighborhoods set amid the steel mills of Chicago.
The causes of deindustrialization were macroeconomic and global – technological change, trade deals, environmental regulations and increased competition – but the effects were local. In the second half of the 20th century, towns and cities that grew up around industries that extracted iron and manufactured steel suddenly lost the core of their blue-collar employment.
Stretching from New York to Minnesota, the Rust Belt region has experienced five decades of nearly double-digit unemployment rates. In the wake of industrial closures, hundreds of thousands of unemployed people packed up their houses and sought their fortunes in factories or mines in the American South, or anywhere that wasn’t collapsing from economic depression. In the process, these deindustrialized places not only lost their grip on their residents but their place in the American story of economic progress, growth and resilience.
But not everyone leaves.
For this research, I talked with more than 100 people, like Simonetta and Christopher, to understand why people stay in these neighborhoods as jobs dry up and stores close. Again and again, they argued that their stuckness in place offered them stability in a chaotic world.
Homeownership: A Trap and a Way to Stay
The people I spoke with often began their stories with a practical – and economic – concern: the finances and freedoms of homeownership.
For many long-term residents, moving elsewhere was economically impossible. Depressed housing values meant they couldn’t recoup their investments by selling, and the process of moving is itself expensive. Yet they also argued that owning their house offered them a little piece of stability in the early years of unemployment.
In the mid-20th century, good wages combined with federally backed home loans opened avenues of homeownership for blue-collar iron and steelworkers.
Beginning in the 1960s, southeast Chicago transitioned from a majority rental community to one where between 60% and 70% of houses were owner-occupied. For Christopher, Simonetta and thousands of their neighbors, buying a home was a sound financial decision and a path toward achieving the American middle-class goal of building wealth through private property ownership.
Of course, houses are more than simply material investments. Simonetta and Christopher’s house was also their family story. In the first half of the 20th century, Simonetta’s parents had immigrated from Mexico. Christopher’s grandparents had arrived from Mexico at the turn of the 20th century. Simonetta explained that since they had grown up in the neighborhood, when they got married, they wanted to buy a place within walking distance of their parents and webs of aunts, uncles and cousins.
When they made the down payment in 1980, they benefited from plummeting house prices. Wisconsin Steel had just closed its nearby mill, and housing prices in nearby neighborhoods had already dropped by 9%. But they hadn’t expected the whole region’s housing bubble to pop.
Housing prices in their neighborhood began to fall as U.S. Steel slowly laid off workers through the 1980s and 1990s. Even today, the median price of homes listed in southeast Chicago ranges from $80,000–100,000, less than a third of Chicago’s median of $330,000. When the neighboring mill closed, their family networks were stuck.
Simonetta recalled, “My father, my parents still lived in the neighborhood. They weren’t going anywhere. Where were they going to go?” She continued, “It’s not like we’re rich. I mean, the mill’s closed. We were unemployed!”
Even if their parents wanted to sell their house and start a new life in a more promising location, selling in the economic free fall of deindustrialization would have cost them too much. Mass unemployment turned homes that were once sound financial investments into nearly unsellable liabilities.
What Is Gained from Staying at Home?
Even while the economics of homeownership limited options, owning property was also a haven when everything else was in turmoil. Having “the building,” as Christopher called their house, made their path forward simple: Put food on the table by doing odd jobs and commuting an hour-plus to the suburbs, and look out for each other.
Home is also where family, socially constructed identities and familiar experiences coalesce. The people I spoke with drove me to their favorite lakes and parks, sketched maps to their beloved shops or hiking paths, and pointed out historical markers of industrial pasts. They celebrated the social networks that still anchored their identities in place – extended family, annual parades and regular school and work reunions.
Interviewees were quick to admit that the sprawling crisis of deindustrialization constrained choices and limited their options. But within the fractured scaffolding of postindustrial social life, a generation of long-term residents still belong to one another.
“We survived, and that’s why we didn’t leave,” Simonetta said. “The community has changed, but where else are we going to go? I mean, we’ve been here for fifty-something years. … This is my neighborhood.”
“That’s how you destroy neighborhoods,” Christopher interjected, “by leaving!”
Back in the 70s, we lived near LaPorte, Indiana. I was in grade school. My father would commute downtown Chicago to work from there. I would go in with him sometimes. I remember the sun just rising behind us as we crossed around the bottom half of Lake Michigan. If the wind was in the right direction (blowing south off the lake), as we approached the steel mills, the sky would go dark. We would have to turn on our lights and the windshield wipers as a light black dust would cover the windshield before emerging back into the sunlight. I remember thinking, “how do people live near here?”
Years back I did some wandering on my bike in the High Plains between Montana and Colorado. I visited a few old mining ghost towns and it always surprised me how many people still lived in some of them. Some made a living from tourists – others – I assume – were just too poor and sick to move and so lived a barely manageable life there. I remember camping in one old uranium mining town in Wyoming – I assumed it was empty – full of evocative old lodgings (among other things, I found out where Aimee Mann got the title of her ‘Bachelor No.1’ album, one cabin still had the name above it) – but I was surprised to find there was still a bar open. I visited that night, to find it populated by some of the most miserable people I’ve ever seen – none even showed the slightest inclination to talk to one of the few travellers to stop by.
But one important point the article misses is that houses and infrastructure are expensive and a sunk cost. For millennia, this has meant that towns and cities have a life long after the original purpose has disappeared. Throughout Europe there are towns and villages which were built on the whim or immediate need of some lord or commander – for example, the bastides built to mark now long forgotten borders – but they still exist, they are still occupied, and frequently they’ve thrived as they’ve found some alternative purpose. Sometimes the sunk cost leads to brute force methods to maintain a cities status – many a Viking port (Dublin, to take one example), is still a port despite having a geography entirely unfavourable for modern ships and multiple expense attempts to build a better port elsewhere over the centuries. Once the structure of a town or city is in place, it can make more sense to keep investing rather than shift it to somewhere more favourable. This is of course one reason why so many ‘new’ capital cities fail to thrive long term (Canberra, Brazilia, Bonn, etc).
Back in the 1960’s there were lots of studies carried out on old mining communities in the north of England. At the time, the favoured policy was to pick what seemed to be the most promising one, invest heavily (perhaps setting up a Polytechnic), while purposefully depopulating the ‘surplus’ villages. This rarely worked – people get stubborn, they don’t always like to leave where they live, and sometimes this in turn provides the impetus for a renewal of the disfavoured settlements.
Geographical momentum is a very poorly understood phenomenon, as everyone assumes that individuals or business judgements are made for purely rational economic reasons. It works at all ends of the economic scale There was an article in links last week about how San Francisco is still attracting high tech companies, despite astronomical living and business costs. I’ve heard this many times from people in ‘new’ industries. They assume that it will prove more efficient to relocate companies to cheaper localities, but end up swallowing the cost of staying in growth hotpots. This is one reason why SF or London or NY or Paris or Tokyo keep on growing, and keep on attracting the highest quality investment long after it seems logical.
It also leads to fundamental misunderstandings which lead to a vast amount of wasted money and effort in regional development. Pretty much every country at some stage has attempted to shift investment from what is seen as overcrowded and overheated major cities to some declining region or an area seen as underinvested. So very often, this turns out to be entirely misguided. The new road/railway, for example, sucking investment out rather than into the ‘poor’ area. Or policymakers thinking that all it takes to make a poor area wealthy is to give it the same infrastructure as the wealthier areas (confusing cause and effect).
Ultimately, its probably a good thing that stubborn people refuse to leave a place they call home. It might take time, but usually when there is a basic structure in place, these places eventually find a new purpose. But it takes time and judicial investment.
Years ago I came across an article in “Cracked” magazine which talked about why poor people just did not move as some media pundits were saying. This was by an author that often wrote about his experiences in growing up poor. For one, they had homes which PK astutely talks about above. As private equity buys up more and more homes to turn them into rentals, that has sent rents through the roof so that rules out people moving from these depressed places to cities where they would probably end up on the streets instead of their present homes.
But more importantly, this is where their support network is, meaning family friends and neighbours. You car breaking down meaning you may not be able to get to work? Jim Bob down the street is pretty good with cars and will help out. Busted water pipe? Hakeem works pretty cheap and won’t tell you to wait till next Thursday. Mary needs a hand moving house? You put your hand up and offer to help. Budget getting tight? There are local farmers where you can get good food cheap. Of course once you move to a city all that instantly goes away.
In any case, all these people wanting poorer people to move out of these areas “for their own good”, isn’t that a form of ethnic cleansing?
These places still have some kind of infrastructure and they can’t be “gentrified” until the poors move out.
Sing it, Iris: Our Town