It just occurred to me that I already have a tirade about history and economics written -- this was my Honors project for American History II, a year or so ago, which I presented at Honors Night. Â I apologize for not having cited sources, as this was delivered orally. Â (Amusingly, though I wrote it before the whole Occupy movement, it was delivered at the height of media coverage.) Â My primary sources, as I recall, were my history book, as well as "A People's History of the United States" by Howard Zinn, "Lies My Teacher Told Me" by James Loewen, and a few websites which I cannot now recall.
The Tarnished Age: Wealth and Want in the 1920s
America styles itself "The Land of Opportunity." This would appear to tie in with the image so often presented of the 1920s: The Jazz Age, the Gilded Age, the Roaring Twenties. Were they not the time of excess and joy; a time of a rapidly-expanding standard of living; a time when all could—and should—become rich? Coupled with the economic boom stemming from World War I was an ever-more-inequitable distribution of wealth, which drained the lower classes of vitality, and led to destructive consumption habits among the middle class. This helped to shape not only social unrest, but also the coming Great Depression—as well as literature and art of the time. The society of corporate capitalism and social Darwinism which seemed to thrive in the early twentieth century is one whose influence still throttles modern-day economics and politics.
By the end of World War I, America was the industrial giant of the world. Factory production skyrocketed in the '20s, in part to match a rapidly-growing demand. Consumers were buying luxury items which they had never been able to afford before: radios, automobiles, boats, what have you. Thorstein Veblen referred to this practice as conspicuous consumption: the rich bought useless items to show they were rich; the middle-class followed suit, because they sought status symbols. The mantra of the 1920s was summed up quite nicely by John J. Raskob, in the title of an article he wrote: "Everybody Ought To Be Rich." Those who could not afford the toys of the time were considered failures—perhaps even immoral. Such works as the Luck And Pluck series of Horatio Alger had long been indoctrinating Americans to the idea that the wealthy were wealthy because of their moral behavior. The dark mirror to this was the implication that the poor deserved their lot in life. Funny, when one considers the number of poor there were.
The argument presented by large corporations to justify the pathetic wages given their workers was that it would keep them from wine, women, and song. (After all, then there might not be enough left for the rich.) For if they could not afford their vices, surely they could put some money back for their family, invest some in stock—which would inevitably lead to riches in the future—and spend the rest at the company store. In reality, what happened was that the corporations enjoyed record profits, while the poor were left to scrounge what living they could. If the concept that immorality led to poverty were true, then America at the time was a den of iniquity: the vast majority of the population were impoverished, according to a statistical portrait of the 1920s economy. The middle- and upper-class were gaining a good deal of wealth through the stock market, which they then squandered on installment plans and the like. Meanwhile, the lower-class had to spend almost all, if not all of their income on necessities, giving them the highest propensity to consume of the three groups. Instead of giving them aide and tax breaks, which would undoubtedly stimulate the growth of the '20s, the government instead decided to give "production incentives" to the corporations, in hopes that they would invest in increasing productive capacity.
In short, they didn't. At first, of course, that was mainly what they did with their earnings: expand their factories, increase productivity, hire more workers, et cetera. However, it quickly became more profitable for the companies to instead fuel the fire of speculation that had spread throughout the economy. The value of a stock was based not in how well the company fared, but rather in how much speculation cropped up around it—how much money was expected to be made from buying, and later selling, the stock. Not only did this help to wreck the market, it also added to the gap in wealth between they that had and they that had not—despite the claims of Mr. Raskob, not all who were employed could afford to purchase stocks.
These stock purchases are closely related to the installment-plan purchases made by a great many consumers of the time. In their aforementioned quest to keep up appearances, members of the middle class would make purchases of luxury items they couldn't afford, by paying for them over a long period of time, bit by bit. Egged on by advertisers, consumers more than doubled their debt in four years—not to provide for their families, but merely to increase their standard of living. Meanwhile, the lowest classes were scorned and despised, for their inability to follow in the follies of those "above" them.
Some writers, musicians, and artists of the time realized the truth of the adage that "money can't buy happiness." Such works as The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, or The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot, demonstrated that the wealthy did not always lead wonderful lives; they were as prone, if not more so, to vice and misery as the lower classes. Their writings expressed an ennui, and a keen longing for the perceived loss of morality or innocence following the war. Those of the Lost Generation were disgusted with the way they saw American culture, rejecting its materialism and hedonistic ways.
If the works of these writers stirred the mind, social realist images stirred the heart. Inspired by the genre of European Realism, these pieces sought to capture the miserable living conditions of the poor. Painters such as Thomas Hart Benton and Edward Hopper were able to create a poetic depiction of the destitute, using expressionism to evoke powerful feelings from their viewers. As poignant as these pieces prove, however, fanciful depictions were not always necessary. As shown by the moving photographs of artists including Dorothea Lange and Lewis Hine, the stark reality of life among the impoverished was more than enough to inspire a sense of the need for change—or at least pity—in many minds.
In closing, a warning should be given to those who consider this to be "in the past." The habit of ascribing social ills to the "hand of Fate" is not a dead concept. The concept of social Darwinism still exists today, in the minds and mouths of those who blame the poor for being a drain on the nation's well-being. Corporate capitalism still rears its head from time to time, in the policies of politicians who seek to garner more contributions from lobbying corporations. In addition, the trend of those that have and have not still rolls on: a study by Edward Wolff showed that, in 2007, the bottom 80% of American citizens owned a paltry 15% of the nation's net wealth. By contrast, 35% of the net wealth was owned by the top 1% of the nation. This is not to say that no-one should become rich. But if we do not begin to view our fellow man with a greater sense of compassion—if we do not begin to offer an open palm, rather than a closed fist—if we do not begin to learn to give voice to still tongues—then we shall never truly recover from the Great Depression.
