The end result of all these changes is the black urban ghetto we know today. As early as the 1970s, what had been poor but vertically integrated neighborhoods had largely been transformed into poverty-stricken, resource-destitute areas where
only
poor people lived, lacking social networks, institutions of support, or jobs.
In most cases, as more affluent African Americans departed, these ghettos became physical wastelands, too. Business followed the money, leaving behind only a few corner grocery stores, occasional check-cashing places, liquor stores, and lots of boarded up buildings. The “surround of force” that people experienced led to despair, inertia, and increasing anti-social behavior.
The black ghetto had been plundered.
THE MYTH OF THE WAR ON POVERTY
For the majority of Americans, poverty had been a phenomenon of the Great Depression that essentially disappeared from the political radar screen with the economic stimulus of World War II and the consumerism of the post-war years. The 1950s were a time, it seemed, of economic prosperity; a time to move to the suburbs, start a family, and concentrate on one’s own standard of living. Rock-and-roll music emerged, echoing the times: bold, impudent, full of hope and energy. The election of the young John F. Kennedy as president in 1960 symbolized the hopefulness with which the country looked toward the future.
There were rumblings, of course. The 1954 Supreme Court
Brown v. Board of Education
decision and the 1956 Montgomery, Alabama, bus boycott marked the beginning of the Civil Rights movement, which over the next fifteen years turned a spotlight on some of the poorest and most racist parts of the country. Northern whites began to develop a consciousness of segregation and also, to some degree, the poverty it engendered.
In 1962, political activist Michael Harrington published
The Other America
, a book that pointed to “invisible” poverty in the United States, to an economic underworld comprising nearly one-fifth of the population. Harrington focused graphically on the poverty of white rural areas such as the Appalachian hills, but looked at other groups, too: the uninsured elderly, migrant farm workers—and residents of the black ghettos. The book was published at a propitious moment. It not only symbolized a renewed curiosity about and urge to solve America’s domestic problems, but also became itself part of the political process. The United States had won World War II, infused new life through the Marshall Plan into the devastated countries of Europe, and was both admired and feared throughout the world. Kennedy had announced that we would put a man on the moon before the end of the decade. Why, then, couldn’t we solve poverty and civil rights—both problems located, for most Americans, far away in the backward South, primitive Appalachia, or the ignored inner-city ghettos? We were, after all, a “can-do” country.
In 1964, during his first months in office after the assassination of President Kennedy, President Lyndon B. Johnson felt the need for a grand theme to characterize his presidency, a program that would both offer him legitimacy in a position he had only inherited and garner the support of the liberals who had backed Kennedy and mistrusted this prototypical southern politician. Influenced by Harrington’s book, Johnson declared a “war on poverty” as part of an ambitious attempt to complete the social revolution of the New Deal. Under the rubric of The Great Society, he launched a series of programs that significantly increased public spending on poverty, expanding services for and raising benefits available to the poor, especially to the elderly poor.
Johnson intended to focus the War on Poverty on white rural poverty, but as the Civil Rights movement gathered steam and the nation became increasingly aware of inner-city poverty, the spotlight shifted to the ghetto. Unfortunately, his War on Poverty was soon cut off at the knees by several converging factors, the most important of which was the war in Vietnam. As the war heated up in the mid-1960s, Johnson’s energies focused increasingly on Vietnam, while political disagreements about the conduct of the war divided the liberal coalition that supported the reforms of his domestic agenda. Most decisive, money funneled to Vietnam could not be used to fight American poverty. Few of Johnson’s poverty programs were ever fully implemented, and funding, never abundant, was curtailed or eliminated for almost all of them.
As our involvement in Vietnam withdrew resources from the war on poverty, the struggle for civil rights moved into northern cities and splintered. To white supporters of integration, the most threatening of the pieces was the Black Power movement. Previously strong supporters of civil rights in the South, northern liberal whites now felt themselves attacked by their former allies. The undertones of violence in Black Power were intimidating. Civil rights, a distant issue that to northern whites had seemed so easy to deal with, had suddenly shown up right in their backyard, morally ambiguous, and amenable to no simple solutions. Whereas 68 percent of northern whites supported Johnson’s initiatives in 1964, just two years later 52 percent thought the government was pushing integration too fast.
7
Although the War on Poverty was distinct from the Civil Rights movement, the two began to merge in public perception. As support drained for the latter, it was withdrawn from the former as well.
It was precisely then that the ghettos erupted in violence. The concentration of poverty and the isolation of the poor within American cities now created overwhelming pressures and frustrations amid all the promises of help and hope. Beginning in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles in 1965, one city after another boiled over. Television pictures of National Guardsmen occupying the smoldering ruins of the inner city would by 1968 become a dominant image of the black ghetto. Suddenly, poverty was not white, rural, and hardworking—“the great-, great-, grandchildren of Daniel Boone”
8
—but black, urban, and violent. Media images of the dangerous ghetto were now everywhere.
In 1964, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, then a young advisor to President Johnson, wrote what was supposed to be a confidential memo to the president. Although the report,
The Negro Family: The Case for National Action
, stressed male unemployment as the primary cause of black poverty, Moynihan also described what he called a “tangle of pathology” that had undermined the black family, another way of describing what Harrington (and others) had more positively, if blandly, called a “culture of poverty.” While both Harrington and Moynihan wrote hoping to spur the country to action, in fact, the public began to interpret that “tangle of pathology” as an intractable and intrinsic feature of black urban life. Although Moynihan believed that more and better jobs for black men were a crucial part of the solution to poverty in the inner cities, he left that recommendation out of the final report, reinforcing a sense of the intractability of poverty. There were, it seemed, no solutions.
The Moynihan Report was leaked to the public just prior to the violence in Watts and then sensationalized in the press. It caused a firestorm among liberals and black activists, who interpreted it as humiliating to African Americans at a time when they were trying to support black strength and identity. Radical Black Power advocates condemned the report as another racist attempt to discredit black people and blame them for their plight. What right did this white man have even to write such a report about black people?
To exacerbate negative public perceptions, by the end of the decade the War on Poverty had actually succeeded in signing up nine out of ten eligible single mothers for the Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) program that Roosevelt had initiated thirty years earlier. Instead of small numbers of widows and their children receiving assistance, the welfare rolls were flooded with divorced and never-married mothers. Although it continued to serve more white than black families, during the 1960s the program came to be associated in the media (and therefore in the public mind) with young, black, urban single mothers. The black ghetto had become very visible—and very threatening.
Johnson came to office in the fall of 1963. The first of the Great Society programs moved through Congress and into rapid implementation in 1964. But the ghettos began exploding in 1965, and Vietnam was heavily draining the nation’s financial resources by late 1966. The War on Poverty ground to a halt before it had begun to take off. According to historian Michael Katz, in the end the Office of Economic Opportunity (the hub of the War on Poverty) received less than 10 percent of the most conservative estimate of what it needed to reach its goals, spending about $70 per poor person per year. It never reached the takeoff point normal in most federal programs.
In reality, then, the War on Poverty proved to be only the briefest of skirmishes. The country gave itself no real chance to do anything about poverty. Of course, it wasn’t coincidental that once poverty was defined as an African-American phenomenon, we gave up remarkably quickly.
Worse yet, the perceived failure of the Great Society programs now became associated with a hopelessly flawed “big government” approach to poverty that, in “throwing money” at problems, was believed to worsen them. The shadow of the aborted War on Poverty thus continues to hang over the discussion of poverty and its solutions. It is more than ironic—as well as further evidence of our deep-seated attitudes—that this tiny window of underfunded action that lasted barely a few years has become
prima facie
evidence of the government’s inability ever to do anything about poverty—as if we had ever
tried
throwing money at poverty, much less committed ourselves to a program that might stand some chance of working.
Within a few short years we had gone from Harrington’s
The Other America
, identifying a “culture of poverty” passed down from generation to generation and calling us to action, to the Moynihan Report, identifying a “tangle of pathology,” almost a call to
in
action. What, after all, can be done about a “pathology”? Within a few short years, before we had really tried anything substantive, ghetto poverty had become, we believed, intractable.
Two
PILLAGING THE GHETTO: OTHER CAUSES OF POVERTY
The causes of poverty are always multiple, interrelated, and mutually reinforcing. Examining some of the forces that have shaped the black ghetto, we must remember that separate descriptions of individual issues cannot adequately convey their combined impact, for each affects the other, increases the complexity, multiplies the difficulty, pulls the web tighter, adds to the surround of force. It is the complex sum of all these forces that is so discouraging.
“I’M NOT PREJUDICED, BUT…”
Discrimination based on skin color is still widespread in the United States. While there has undoubtedly been progress in the last half-century, discrimination against African Americans and other people of color remains a powerful strand in the web that traps ghetto residents in poverty.
Until relatively recently in our history, there has been little systematic effort to treat African Americans equally, and the intensity of the endless history of discrimination was a major factor in creating the ghetto environment.
Past
racial discrimination is still powerfully embedded in
current
social, political, and physical structures, and thus remains a potent cause of contemporary inner-city poverty.
Discrimination itself persists, of course, most notably, in housing and employment. In study after study, when paired couples similar to one another in every respect except color are sent out to purchase homes or rent housing, white couples will be shown housing that black couples were told was unavailable and black couples will be steered to black neighborhoods. It still remains difficult for African Americans—especially those living in ghetto areas—to obtain mortgage loans.
Studies of hiring practices show similar patterns. William Julius Wilson’s in-depth examination of employer attitudes in Chicago demonstrates clearly that they are reluctant to hire young, black men from the inner city, although they perceive black women less negatively.
1
It is hard to determine, however, whether this attitude results more from racial bias or from a form of “geographic profiling,” the tendency to exclude inner-city residents based on the belief that the ghetto is unlikely to produce acceptable employees. This point was underscored in Wilson’s study by the fact that black employers judged this group of men just as harshly as did white employers, viewing them not only as uneducated, but also as unstable, uncooperative, and inherently dishonest.
Deliberately or not, employers screen out black, inner-city applicants. They may refuse to consider otherwise adequately qualified applicants simply because they went to urban public schools, or they may avoid taking referrals from welfare programs or state employment services. On the theory that friends of good workers are more likely to be reliable than applicants pulled from the general population, employers often look to recommendations from their current employees when hiring for less-skilled positions. This means that job hunters living in areas of high poverty where few of their friends work face almost insuperable problems simply finding out about openings. In Chicago, Wilson found, most employers do not advertise in the classifieds. Those who do are more likely to use ethnic, neighborhood, or suburban newspapers than citywide editions.
2