

I’ve mentioned more than once in these essays the foreshortening effect that textbook history can have on our understanding of the historical events going on around us. The stark chronologies most of us get fed in school can make it hard to remember that even the most drastic social changes happen over time, amid the fabric of everyday life and a flurry of events that can seem more important at the time.
This becomes especially problematic in times like the present, when apocalyptic prophecy is a central trope in the popular culture that frames a people’s hopes and fears for the future. When the collective imagination becomes obsessed with the dream of a sudden cataclysm that sweeps away the old world overnight and ushers in the new, even relatively rapid social changes can pass by unnoticed. The twilight years of Rome offer a good object lesson; so many people were convinced that the Second Coming might occur at any moment that the collapse of classical civilization went almost unnoticed; only a tiny handful of writers from those years show any recognition that something out of the ordinary was happening at all.
Reflections of this sort have been much on my mind lately, and there’s a reason for that. Scattered among the statistical noise that makes up most of today’s news are data points that suggest to me that business as usual is quietly coming to an end around us, launching us into a new world for which very few of us have made any preparations at all.
Here’s one example. Friends of mine in a couple of midwestern states have mentioned that the steady trickle of refugees from the Chicago slums into their communities has taken a sharp turn up. There’s a long history of dysfunction behind this. Back in 1999, Chicago began tearing down its vast empire of huge high-rise projects, promising to replace them with less ghastly and more widely distributed housing for the poor. Most of the replacements, of course, never got built. When the waiting list for Section 8 rent subsidies, the only other option available, got long enough to become a public relations problem, the bureaucrats in charge simply closed the list to new applicants; rumors (hotly denied by the Chicago city government) claim that poor families in Chicago were openly advised to move to other states. Whether for that reason or simple economic survival, a fair number of them did.
Fast forward to the middle of 2009. Around then, facing budget deficits second only to California, the state of Illinois quietly stopped paying its social service providers. In theory, the money is still allocated; in practice, it’s been more than six months since Illinois preschools, senior centers, food banks, and the like have received a check from the state for the services they provide, and many of them are on the verge of going broke. Subsidized rent has apparently taken an equivalent hit. Believers in free-market economics have been insisting for years that the end of rent subsidies would let the free market reduce rents to a level that people could afford, but I don’t recommend holding your breath; this is the same free market, remember, that gave the United States some of the world’s worst slums in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
The actual effects have been instructive. Squeezed between sharply contracting benefits and a sharply contracting job market, many of Chicago’s poor are hitting the road, heading in any direction that offers more options. Forget the survivalist fantasy of violent hordes pouring out of the inner cities to ravage everything in their path; today’s slum residents are instead becoming the Okies of the Great Recession. In the process, part of business as usual in the United States is coming to an end.
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Freight-less cars
By Michael Bradwell, Business editor, mbradwell@observer-reporter.com
For a couple of months, a long string of black railroad tanker cars has sat motionless on a trestle not far from the Chestnut Street exit of Interstate 70.
They're not part of a backlogged shipment of chemicals or other industrial fluids, but instead represent the local piece of a bigger picture of the U.S. economy, a railroad executive said last week.
Michael Filoni, director of sales and marketing for Carload Express Inc. of Scottdale, Westmoreland County, said the cars are owned by private companies - chemical manufacturers and other industrial companies - that aren't using them because of the slow economy.
Carload Express, which owns and operates the Allegheny Valley Railroad and two other short-haul railroads serving Western Pennsylvania and Central Ohio, is being paid to store the cars on its extra rail siding for the companies until the economy - and rail freight shipments - pick up speed again.
"A large contingency of the rail car fleet is in storage right now," Filoni said. "This is something that's going on across the country," he said of the current fleet of tankers, flatbeds, box cars and gondolas sitting idle nationwide.

[/quote]the48thronin wrote:
"A large contingency of the rail car fleet is in storage right now," Filoni said. "This is something that's going on across the country," he said of the current fleet of tankers, flatbeds, box cars and gondolas sitting idle nationwide.

Borrowing from a Depression-era idea, they are aiming to help consumers make ends meet and support struggling local businesses.
The systems generally work like this: Businesses and individuals form a network to print currency. Shoppers buy it at a discount — say, 95 cents for $1 value — and spend the full value at stores that accept the currency.
Workers with dwindling wages are paying for groceries, yoga classes and fuel with Detroit Cheers, Ithaca Hours in New York, Plenty in North Carolina or BerkShares in Massachusetts.
Ed Collom, a University of Southern Maine sociologist who has studied local currencies, says they encourage people to buy locally. Merchants, hurting because customers have cut back on spending, benefit as consumers spend the local cash.











patience wrote:I wonder what happened to the topsoil? Hope the ground can be saved for ag use. We have some of those sites around Louisville, and they won't grow much of anything now. I think they sold the topsoil.


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