Out of Time
Last year’s prestige cinema focused on working-class characters too consumed to reflect on their own conditions.
The American working class has dominated public consciousness for the last year. It was the Sanders campaign’s dying utterance and the scarlet letter, branded — like Richard Nixon on Roger Stone’s back — on the corpse of Clinton’s campaign, robbed of victory by a “Rust Belt Brexit.”
Pundits explained the powder keg of working-class resentment with a number of now well-documented reasons: deindustrialization, free-trade, and automation; the declining power of unions; opiate addiction; a political class that abandoned them. This is to say nothing of the emotional and economic blow workers experienced when they transitioned from socially esteemed craftwork, supported by good benefits and strong wages, to the grind of part-time labor in the service sector, with unpredictable hours and no health benefits. The effort of putting together a decent life from these jobs is often like reassembling a pane of glass after it’s been dropped from a skyscraper.
A fault line along racial boundaries — with Trump gaining the largest margin among whites without a college degree of any candidate since 1980 — only belies the additional suppression of working-class minorities. In 2015, blacks experienced double the unemployment rates of whites. According to the National Poverty Center at University of Michigan, in 2014 blacks and Hispanics experienced more than twice the rate of poverty as whites (26.2 percent and 23.6 percent, respectively, to non-Hispanic whites’ 10.1 percent, and Asians’ 12 percent). Wealth inequality has also widened for black and Hispanic households since the Great Recession in 2008. This does not include the ambient, saturating discrimination that hovers above any statistic.