Chicago Boyz has a lament for the American Midwest:
In 1950, America produced 51% of the GNP for the entire world. Of
that production, roughly 70% took place in the eight states surrounding
the Great Lakes: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan,
Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York.
The productive capability of this small area of earth staggers the
imagination. Virtually everything that rebuilt the industrial bases of
Europe and Japan came from those eight states. Cars, planes,
electronics, machine tools, consumer goods, generators, concrete - any
conceivable item manufactured by industrial humanity poured out this
tiny region and enriched the world. The region shone with widespread
prosperity. People migrated from the South and West to work in these
Herculean engines of industry.
The wealth, power and economic dominance of the region at the time
cannot be overstated. Nothing like it has existed in human history.
Yet, a mere 30 years later, by 1980, we called that area the
“rustbelt” and it became synonymous with joblessness, collapsing
cities, high crime, failing schools and general hopelessness.
It goes on to discuss the policies, mostly government-imposed, that prevented the area from adapting to changing economic and international circumstances.
Any connection between this and yesterday's post on using the tort system to preempt FDA risk assessments for pharmaceuticals is strictly non-coincidental.
When I was a lad, Shelley's great poem was a staple of the curriculum. Perhaps it should be reinstated.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.