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In my dream, the next president is an anti-poverty president because he or she knows deep down that the way we think about poverty in America is wrong, the way we treat people in poverty is wrong, and therefore what we do about poverty is more off the mark than need be.
In my dream, the next president is an anti-poverty president because he or she knows deep down that the way we think about poverty in America is wrong, the way we treat people in poverty is wrong, and therefore what we do about poverty is more off the mark than need be.
My president declares his or herself the Educator-in-Chief on poverty, and uses the bully pulpit to teach Americans. She tells the stories of struggling people and their experiences, and regularly takes us to communities that are used to being dismissed, demonized, and disempowered.
My president shows Americans that people in poverty are not who we have been led to believe they are--some fixed group that has lost its initiative; that, in fact, more than half of us will experience at least one year of poverty or near poverty during our working years. My president recognizes that while generational poverty is important, it is only a small part of poverty; that over a 3-year period, only 3.5 percent of people were in poverty for the entire 36 months, while the national poverty rate ranged between 15 and 16 percent.
My president teaches that most of us fall into poverty due to universal experiences--like the birth of a child, an unexpected illness, job loss, or reduced work hours--which is why we have a safety net that is there for all of us; and though it is much-maligned, it is highly effective.
My president explains that without the safety net our poverty rate would be nearly twice as high today--approaching 30 percent. He or she states clearly that cutting poverty in half is not "losing a War on Poverty"--cutting poverty in half means that we are half way to where we want to be. (She will also suggest that we stop using that tired, dated metaphor.)
My president tackles head-on the foolish notion that the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) block grant--our cash assistance program--should serve as a model for our safety net. My president acknowledges that whatever the intentions of those who created the program, it has not done what it was supposed to do--unless what it was supposed to do was make assistance nearly impossible to come by, erode any national standard of basic economic decency, and drive people into deeper poverty.
My president explains to us that when TANF was created in 1996, for every 100 families with children living in poverty, 68 were able to receive cash assistance; now that number is down to just 23. In 12 states, ten or fewer families are helped for every 100 in poverty. My president warns us that when we hear talk of block-granting Medicaid, food stamps, or housing assistance, what we are talking about is less healthcare, less food, less housing, and lower standards for assisting vulnerable people.
Instead of embracing a broken program like TANF, my president embraces the evidence about what works and shares it with the American people. He or she teaches, for example, that women who had access to food stamps early in life fared better as adults than their peers who didn't--that they had better health outcomes and increased economic self-sufficiency, including less welfare participation. He or she notes, too, that boosting a struggling family's income when children are young is associated with greater education performance and increased earnings when those children reach adulthood.
My president reminds us that we need to use such evidence to keep moving forward in our anti-poverty efforts, and to ensure that we don't turn back to recent and far worse times. He or she tells us to consider the words of Peter Edelman, who traveled down to Mississippi in 1967 with then-Senator Bobby Kennedy, and said, "We saw children who were tangibly, severely malnourished--bloated bellies, running sores that wouldn't heal. It was this incredibly awful, powerful experience that's with me all the time."
My president reminds us that was what America looked like before we expanded the food stamp program to take on hunger.
In my dream, the next president is an anti-poverty president
My president uses all of these tactics--visits to struggling communities and people's own stories, evidence of what works and doesn't work, and his or her own courage and determination--to embark on a new anti-poverty/pro-opportunity agenda. It's an agenda that among other things includes: a bold jobs program to help rebuild our neighborhoods, schools, and infrastructure; raising the minimum wage so that it can once again lift a family of three out of poverty just as it could in the late 1960s; closing the gender pay gap, which would cut poverty in half for working women and their families; paid leave and affordable childcare, so that people can work and take care of their families and don't have to choose between them; immigration reform so that our most vulnerable workers aren't exploited; and a Commission to explore reparations for African Americans and educate the public about this issue.
My president constantly engages with the grassroots and the nascent anti-poverty movement to build support for action--just as occurred with the passage of the New Deal, the Civil Rights Act, and more recently, the Affordable Care Act.
For too long we have been listening to lies, not recognizing our progress, and failing to fight together for what we know will work to ensure that everyone has a shot at the American Dream.
My president puts an end to that madness and begins a new day.
After her loss to Barack Obama in the 2008 Democratic primary, few predicted that Hillary Clinton would leave the world of presidential politics. On the contrary, it was widely believed that she would make another run for the White House.
Anticipating such a run, the renowned political scientist and activist Frances Fox Piven, along with sociologist Fred Block, penned an open letter calling on Clinton, who had just left the State Department, to "step forward" and "launch a national debate about poverty and welfare."
"Specifically," Piven and Block wrote, "we are asking for you to open a conversation about the shortcomings of the 1996 welfare legislation that was passed when you and Bill Clinton were in the White House."
The letter was not unprovoked: In the years immediately following welfare reform's implementation, Hillary Clinton was an ardent defender of its underlying logic, arguing that it was a "critical first step" in the broader move toward a more effective system.
And Clinton's defenses of the law didn't cease even as evidence of its harmful effects became increasingly prominent. Indeed, in 2008, the New York Timesreported that, in an interview, "Clinton expressed no misgivings about the 1996 legislation."
In 2016, circumstances changed. Faced with a primary opponent running far to her left, Clinton shifted: "Now we have to take a hard look at" welfare reform, Clinton said in April, citing the entirely predictable failure of the now almost non-existent safety net to catch those harmed by the financial crisis.
Fast-forward several months, however, and the issue has all but vanished from the scene; no such "hard look" appears to be forthcoming.
Welfare reform's absence was especially conspicuous in Clinton's recent Timesop-ed, in which she outlined her "plan for helping America's poor."
Clinton highlighted her tenure as a lawyer for the Children's Defense Fund, where she was mentored by Marian Wright Edelman, the organization's founder. But the issue that prompted a rather bitter split between the two was left unmentioned.
Prior to its passage, welfare reform garnered striking bipartisan support. But dissent was there, and it was forceful. Edelman's voice was among the most powerful, the most insistent, and, to those reading her words today, the most prescient.
"It would be wrong to leave millions of voteless, voiceless children to the vagaries of 50 state bureaucracies and politics, as both the Senate and House bills will do," she wrote in the Washington Post. "It would be wrong to strip children of or weaken current ensured help for their daily survival and during economic recessions and natural disasters, as both the Senate and House bills will do. It would be wrong to exacerbate rather than alleviate the current shameful and epidemic child poverty that no decent, rich nation should tolerate for even one child."
Her pleas fell upon deaf ears; welfare reform passed and was implemented, and its successes in booting millions off of "the dole" and diverting money away from poor families and into the coffers of state governments--which were given tremendous latitude in how they could spend the money -- were cheered by Democrats and Republicans alike.
But for the most vulnerable, there was little to celebrate.
Some found work, largely in low-wage jobs; those who didn't, or couldn't, slipped into deep poverty. The research of Kathryn Edin and Luke Shaefer, noted the Washington Post's Max Ehrenfreund in February, "shows that the number of people living on $2 a day or less in cash has increased more than twofold, to 1.6 million households" since welfare reform's passage.
The impact on children has been profound. "Under TANF," a report by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities notes, "the number of children living in deep poverty--with incomes below half the poverty line, using a comprehensive poverty measure--has risen significantly, placing large numbers of children at risk for long-term negative academic, employment, and health outcomes."
It is significant that Hillary Clinton has consistently downplayed this reality. In her Times piece, she acknowledges in passing that "extreme poverty has increased," but she does little to explain how such destitution arose in the world's wealthiest nation.
And, as Ryan Cooper explains, while many of the proposals Clinton puts forward are welcome and necessary--from her emphasis on affordable housing to her support for paid family and medical leave -- her plan taken as a whole is "woefully inadequate."
"The problem, at root, is the same one Paul Ryan has with his various anti-poverty ideas--a wildly disproportionate focus on work, and a corresponding lack of attention to the welfare policies that could seriously cut poverty," Cooper argues.
Citing the research of Matt Bruenig, Cooper writes that Clinton's work-centric approach would do little to alleviate poverty because a "huge majority of poor people are not employable."
Bruenig calls this large group "the CEDS bloc": It consists of children, the elderly, those with disabilities, and students. And, Bruenig notes, "no matter which common poverty measure you use," 60 to 65 percent of the poor fall in one of these four categories. Add to that the 20 percent represented by "carers and those who faced a spell of involuntarily unemployment during the year," and you have a picture of poverty that is entirely different than that painted by the nation's two major political parties.
"So, all together," Bruenig concludes, "the CEDS bloc plus carers and those who faced a spell of involuntarily unemployment make up around 80-85% of the poor in any given year."
Given this context, Clinton's assertion that "The best way to help families lift themselves out of poverty is to make it easier to find good-paying jobs" is, at best, disconnected, both from the lived experience of impoverished families and from statistical realities. Cooper notes that, of course, "more and better-paying jobs are a great policy objective, but it will have little purchase on the problem of poverty."
That work is nonetheless at the center of Clinton's anti-poverty strategy--as opposed to, say, the most effective approach to reducing poverty--is indicative of the ideological limitations not just of Hillary Clinton's agenda, but of the Democratic Party more broadly. It is not merely, to use Adolph Reed's phrase, an "atrophy of political imagination" that imposes such strictures; it is also the party's active commitments, both to its donor base and to dominant economic and political ideas.
Perhaps the most apt description of the party's ethos comes from former Nixon strategist Kevin Phillips, who once remarked that the Democratic Party is "history's second most enthusiastic capitalist party."
"They do not interfere with capitalist momentum," he added, "but wait for excesses and the inevitable popular reaction."
Far from defying this tradition--one that consolidated power during the administration of Bill Clinton--Hillary Clinton is advancing it, embracing a political status quo in which big money dominates and celebrating the relationship between America's dominant institutions and the nation's economic direction.
"Hillary Clinton is a capitalist," Emmett Rensin summarizes, "and even within a capitalist party, she is in both perception and in practice unusually comfortable with capitalism's worst practices."
Often characterized as clear-headed pragmatism, Clinton's approach to poverty lays bare the deep conservatism of the party that claims for itself, despite contradictory evidence, the label "progressive." But such conservatism is not surprising if one considers the significant changes that have taken place within the party over the last several decades.
Thomas Frank has documented the extent to which the Democratic Party has come to consist of professionals and technocrats, and this is reflected in voting patterns: As Lee Drutman has noted, as Democrats have moved rightward, theirs has increasingly become "the preferred party of the very wealthy."
Hillary Clinton's embrace of the anti-Trump members of the billionaire class provides only a superficial marker of this shift; the most consequential shifts have taken place just below this surface.
Clinton's party, Thomas Edsall has observed, is largely made up of an "unruly coalition": "upscale well-educated whites and, importantly, ethnic and racial minorities, many of them low income."
If we have learned anything in recent years, it is that the interests of the wealthy almost always win out.
As such, Edsall concludes, "Instead of serving as the political arm of working and middle class voters seeking to move up the ladder, the Democratic Party faces the prospect of becoming the party of the winners, in collaboration with many of those in the top 20 percent who are determined to protect and secure their economic and social status."
A party committed to securing the privileges of elite sectors of society cannot also push the aggressive (but remarkably simple) measures necessary to eradicate poverty; the party of Goldman Sachs, the party of ultra-rich professionals, and the party of oil lobbyists cannot also be the party of the poor.
In 2009, Peter Edelman--the husband of Marian Wright Edelman--and Barbara Ehrenreich wrote a scathing critique of the new anti-poverty discourse, whose adherents "consider poverty a voluntary condition, one curable with a quick kick in the pants and the opportunity to work for minimum wage."
This view persists in the present, on both sides of the political aisle; it is, in effect, a way of omitting the systemic causes of destitution, invoking in their place a critique not of capitalism, but of those victimized by it.
If we are to wage a successful war on poverty, we cannot, in the words of Mathew Snow, "accept capital's terms for addressing its own problems or purported moral imperatives that presuppose them. We can [we must] overturn those terms completely."
A defining feature of Ronald Reagan's unsuccessful 1976 presidential bid--a feature that would animate his political career from that point forward--was his theatrical depiction of welfare recipients.
A defining feature of Ronald Reagan's unsuccessful 1976 presidential bid--a feature that would animate his political career from that point forward--was his theatrical depiction of welfare recipients.
While he demonized the welfare system as a whole in familiar terms, Reagan's ire was largely directed toward single mothers, and his racially coded language was sufficient to make clear his overarching intentions.
"There's a woman in Chicago," Reagan said at a campaign rally in New Hampshire. "She has 80 names, 30 addresses, 12 Social Security cards and is collecting veterans' benefits on four nonexisting deceased husbands."
She operated under several identities, the actor-turned-politician would go on to lament, and her activities were costing those he deemed the "hard-working" taxpayers dearly. Though, as Josh Levin has documented, Reagan's storytelling was vaguely based on a real person and a real case of welfare abuse, his vivid construction of the "welfare queen" rapidly became larger than life and emerged as a mainstay in the national discourse.
Soon after Reagan's "woman in Chicago" skit, the New York Timesreported, those in attendance at the future president's rallies were angrily denouncing "welfare chislers" while listening to him brag about how, as governor of California, he had "lopped 400,000 off the welfare rolls."
Of course, as the researchers Kathryn Edin and Luke Shaefer have noted, Reagan's sensationalizing did little to capture the realities of American poverty, and it did much to mislead and inflame the public in ways that would fuel racism for decades to come. They go on to note that "there was never a point at which blacks accounted for a majority of recipients. The typical AFDC recipient, even in Reagan's day, was white."
The demonization of the poor in racial terms was, to be sure, at the core of the conservative movement long before Reagan burst onto the scene, and his efforts to fashion a compelling narrative that makes poor families the victims of their own laziness were hardly innovative.
But Reagan and his fellow conservatives failed repeatedly to force systemic changes to the welfare system; they needed the New Democrats to do that.
Having campaigned on a promise to "end welfare as we know it," Bill Clinton, the darling of the Democratic Leadership Council, signed the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act into law in 1996.
Though Clinton's embrace of a reactionary policy sparked sharp protests from activists, in the years following the implementation of welfare reform, its impact was widely celebrated. In conservative corners, analysts applauded the fact that people were being booted off public assistance in droves; the Heritage Foundation, in a 2006 report, concluded, "Welfare reform has been successful."
They were not alone--Democrats, too, were eager to declare victory. Bill Clinton himself, in a New York Times op-ed that same year, cheered the destruction of "a system that had led to intergenerational dependency." Two years later, during her run for the presidency, Hillary Clinton also touted the law's effects. Her opponent, then-Senator Barack Obama, said that he would not "second guess President Clinton for signing" the bill into law.
Last week marked welfare reform's 20th birthday, and the apologetics continue.
Speaking to The Intercept's Zaid Jilani, Bruce Reed, a former adviser to Bill Clinton, echoed the common sentiment in elite circles, claiming the law has been a "success." Overall, Jilani notes, the law's "architects said they had no regrets about its passage."
The lack of regret is not surprising, but it is notable, given the startling numbers.
Welfare reform brutally punished the poorest and most vulnerable Americans, children in particular: According to a recent report by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, "the number of children living in deep poverty -- with incomes below half the poverty line, using a comprehensive poverty measure--has risen significantly, placing large numbers of children at risk for long-term negative academic, employment, and health outcomes."
"The share of children below half of the poverty line rose from 2.1 percent to 3.0 percent between 1995 and 2005," the report continues, "and the number of children in deep poverty rose from 1.5 million to 2.2 million."
These findings are consistent with a 2012 UNICEF report which, as Alma Carten notes, "found that the U.S. ranked 34th on the list of 35 developed countries surveyed on the well-being of children."
More broadly, researchers have concluded, welfare reform doubled the number of Americans living in extreme poverty.
Given these figures, analysts have struggled to understand why so many would be so eager to defend welfare reform.
Some commentators have sided with the view of Peter Edelman, who famously resigned from the Clinton administration after the welfare bill was passed: "They don't acknowledge the number of people who were hurt," Edelman has said of defenders of the bill. "It's just not in their lens."
While this is certainly part of the picture, it is an incomplete explanation.
When welfare reform is viewed as an anti-poverty measure, it's failures are clear and easily discernible. But the primary purpose of welfare reform was never to eradicate or even reduce poverty. Hillary Clinton has been quite candid on this point: "Welfare," she said in 2008, "should have been a temporary way station for people who needed immediate assistance. It should not be considered an anti-poverty program. It simply did not work."
Welfare reform should, rather, be viewed in the broader context of American political and economic trends--trends that have, over the last several decades, increasingly subordinated public services to the needs of the market.
Joe Soss, Richard Fording, and Sanford Schram, the authors of a crucial study examining the evolution of what they call "poverty governance," have argued that, through the implementation of certain policies, restrictions, and punitive measures, "governments work continually to manage low-income populations and transform them into cooperative subjects of the market and polity."
(To see the extent to which welfare policy has historically been intertwined with measures of social control and, ultimately, the rapid growth of the carceral state, see the work of Elizabeth Hinton.)
Viewed through this lens, welfare reform has, in fact, been a remarkable success for those who supported its passage: Far fewer people are on welfare than before the reform was implemented, and, as the Washington Post reports, "Just 23 percent of all families with children living in poverty receive welfare."
Further, less money is going directly to poor families; rather, as Andrew Flowers observes, states are free to spend allocated dollars as they wish, as long as they fall within the bounds of the program's broadly defined "purposes." States are also free to impose draconian restrictions and regulations, determining who is and who isn't worthy of public assistance and punishing those who violate the rules.
And perhaps most crucially, welfare reform spurred the rise of an immensely profitable industry.
"If there is any doubt that welfare 'reform' has become a fruitful business," gushedWashington Technology, "consider these numbers: Maximus grew from a $50 million operation in 1995 to $105 million in 1996 and to $319 million in 1999, a 36.8 percent sales growth over 1998."
"In 2008," Soss and his colleagues add, "Maximus Inc. took in $745 million in revenue, almost $553 million of which came from state and local contracts."
Shortly after welfare reform was signed into law, Time's Adam Cohen observed that "with welfare reform, more work is opening up for private companies than ever before, setting off a welfare-management gold rush."
In their book Disciplining the Poor, Soss, Fording, and Schram conclude that welfare in the United States effectively amounts to "neoliberal paternalism," a system that provides a foundation for the rise of programs that "continue to enforce work through the principle of less eligibility, pushing the poor into the least attractive jobs by keeping benefits low, making them inaccessible, and surrounding them with stigma."
To wage a successful war on poverty, then, it is clear that we must also wage war on neoliberalism.
"Disciplinary poverty governance was created through political mobilization and struggle, and nothing less will be needed to replace it with something better," the authors conclude. "To live up to the values of justice, care, and democracy, Americans must turn the neoliberal themes of ownership and personal responsibility on their head. We must take ownership of our complicity in the present system and assume personal responsibility for changing it."