A Blue Dividing Line
Written by Carter Welch
Seven and a half miles north of my house, the St. Joseph River flows placid into sparkling Lake Michigan. The river spills its brown entrails into the otherwise blue, surprisingly Caribbean presence of the second largest Great Lake (by volume). The beaches which line each side of the river are windswept and ideal for any imaginable water recreation. The air is warm and, by July, so is the water. Tourists from Chicago and the rest of the landlocked Midwest flock in—even today, amid a pandemic which struck Michigan without restraint.
I live in the considerably more agrarian, rural Lincoln Township—a small, predominantly white and working-class town where everyone knows everyone, and life is quiet (sometimes to a stifling degree). Anyone who claims diversity in the township is misguided—the 2000 census pinned our white population at 96%. Given the township’s composition, it mirrors the stereotype of the rural Midwest—white, bland, quiet, and of modest standing. The township voted for Donald Trump by a 2-to-1 margin in 2016.
Naturally, the general, chilling (and objectively incorrect) consensus is that white people are falling behind in this nation, whether it be attributable to immigrants diverting jobs in manufacturing, or to the increasing failures of local white students’ quests for admission to prestigious universities (cue the attacks on affirmative action). People are nice, sure, but the Confederate flag still sees the sun here, despite Michigan’s leading Union role in the Civil War, and thinly veiled racist statements discouraging Black students, or “Benton Harbor kids” from entering our local, white school district are all too commonplace.
Crossing the Ship Street Bridge into Benton Harbor, any observer witnesses a change. Roads crumble easier. The gleaming office buildings of Whirlpool loom over shoddy parking lots and vacant buildings. There are no birch-lined, pedestrian-dominated streets in Benton Harbor. 43% of the population lives below the poverty line. Benton Harbor Area Schools (BHAS) face bankruptcy each coming year; Michigan’s former Republican governor Rick Snyder threatened its closure throughout his 2010-2018 time in office.
Rick Snyder also suspended any decision-making ability of Benton Harbor’s elected officials in place of an emergency appointee. The city is 89% Black.
A high school part of the Benton Harbor Area Schools
Graphic by Abby Smith
The police force in Benton Harbor is not a community-led effort—80% of the officers are white, in a Black majority city. Deaths and brutality at the hands of police are not uncommon and have occurred as recently as December of 2019, where, “a Benton Harbor officer was accused of using excessive force on a young African-American male, who the officer tased and punched in the head to, as the officer said later, ‘try to get control of him and help him reset his thought process,’” according to Bridge Michigan. The city council still has minimal control over the city as its decision-making powers remain hamstrung by executive action from the former Governor Rick Snyder.
The COVID-19 pandemic has further underscored the inequalities of my region. 15% of Berrien County, where Benton Harbor and St. Joseph stand, is Black. Black folks account for 50% of the county’s deaths. The local hospital’s population health director acknowledged the situation.
“I often hear people say we’re in this together, but in fact, we’re not,” public health expert Lynn Todman said. “Some of us are weathering this storm in yachts, others in sailboats and dinghies, and many others are actually in the water trying their best to keep their noses above the water line.” Her analysis perfectly describes the local situation, where St. Joseph residents typically possess adequate health care coverage, personal transportation, white-collar jobs not deemed essential, thus allowing them to remain home, and adequate access to healthy and reasonable food supply.
The harrowing reality in Benton Harbor once again reconnects with structural racism and inequality—Benton Harbor does not possess a grocery store with fresh produce (despite being a city of 10,000 people), a massive number of residents lie beneath the poverty line and lack health coverage, work “essential” jobs in manufacturing and service which provided limited protection during the height of the pandemic, and often rely on public transportation, greatly increasing chances of infection. Black lives suffered and were lost in this county at a much greater degree than others, accentuating the downwind, intertwined effects of structural racism and inequality amid times of crisis.
Why is there such a gap in wealth in a relatively rural county? Having spoken to many people who live in urban areas, there is a misconception that rural Americans are all objectively poor. But this is not true. In my region, Whirlpool Corporation plays an extraordinary role in perpetuating wealth inequality. Whirlpool is a massive appliance manufacturing corporation—check your washer or dishwasher—founded in 1911. It pulls in more than $20 billion in revenue each year. Yet, it is headquartered in a city where nearly half its residents live in poverty. How could this happen?
In the 1960s, Whirlpool began to hire more Black workers, many of those who fled the southern United States during the Great Migration. But this came at a cost, as they subsequently lowered wages and disregarded inflation, thus continuously providing their workers with less on the dollar as the years passed. ‘White Flight’ to the communities of St. Joseph and Stevensville saw a broad, diverse Benton Harbor quickly become monolithic. By the turn of the century, Whirlpool had outsourced most of its manual labor and blue-collar jobs to Mexico and plants in Ohio, while hosting its executives in Benton Harbor. The bottom was caving in. Then the Great Recession hit. Whirlpool slashed working-class jobs in Berrien County and Michigan realized devastating unemployment levels.
The Whirpool Headquarters
Graphic by Abby Smith
sWhirlpool maintained most of its executive level positions and saved public face by supporting a new golf course and residential development in Benton Harbor amid the Recession. The course was designed by retired professional golfer Jack Nicklaus and hailed across the nation. Benton Harbor residents vocally opposed its creation but were silenced in the process.
As the economy recovered, many Benton Harbor residents found themselves left in the dust. Whirlpool built new, shining office buildings on the banks of the St. Joseph River. An Arts District—largely led by white residents of St. Joseph—sprung up; a golf course and residential development—which primarily serves as second home territory for Chicagoans—drew large levels of tourism and revenue, and hotels and waterfront development reinvigorated the region enough that the Wall Street Journal labelled the fifty mile stretch of towns and beaches across southern Lake Michigan as “the Hamptons of the Midwest”.
But the residents of Benton Harbor—like many Black folks in this white-tilted nation—didn’t see the same Hamptons. Benton Harbor Area Schools were underfunded, inadequate, and faced incredible rates of teacher turnover. The city faced a hostile state government. Whirlpool barely bothered to employ Black folks—of the corporation’s 12-member executive committee, none of its members are Black. One Black man serves on its 13-person Board of Directors. Most white-collar new hires are out-of-state transplants or local whites. This is in a city which is—once again—89% Black. The corporation has projected a public image of community development and support, while its inner workings do little to encourage Black success and ignore the fundamental, structural problems which beset Benton Harbor.
Education is of unbridled consequence. Strong and equal public education allows Americans to climb the ranks, to pursue more, to push the boundaries. But when education faces extreme threats of defunding, as Rick Snyder did when he threatened the closure of BHAS across his gubernatorial tenure, the disregard for the future of America is deafening. Snyder never considered diverting funds from the police department, he never discouraged private investment by a neighboring, world’s largest appliance manufacturer, and he never addressed the underlying issues which endangered BHAS in the first place. He only encouraged school choice in order to pressure BHAS, despite icy reception from nearby school districts. He held no respect for Benton Harbor, but he is not alone. Many Americans in positions of privilege and power do not bother to care or sympathize with those who do not occupy their lives.
Former Michigan Governor Rick Snyder
Graphic by Abby Smith
The general climate of apathetic individualism has wreaked havoc on the nation, as most white Americans believe that their relative ease in success or in life is universal. As the past four hundred years have demonstrated, this is not true. White Americans have used the backs of Indigenous, Black, and so many other groups to achieve their positions of power in this nation. They have not worked harder. In Benton Harbor, they want to ensure that they remain on top.
Benton Harbor is a microcosm of what Black communities face in the United States. Hostile state and federal governments, police departments which do not represent the community, excessive drug arrests and convictions, the defunding of education, outsized corporate ignorance, the stripping of democracy, sudden gentrification, and the mocking semblance of prosperity across a river, train tracks, or a dividing street. This nation was founded on the basis of racial stratification and the systematic exploitation of Black and Indigenous labor and lives. But unlike what the current government would like you to believe, we are still founded on these rotten standards. And until our generation takes power, demands action, and never becomes complacent, we confront a massive, engulfing cloud of systemic racism and exploitation in this nation. It will take work to undermine it. Vote in November. Call your Representatives. Never stop shouting. Never stop.
With love, gratitude, and hope,
Carter Welch
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