The Rusted American Dream: The Rust Belt as Capitalism’s Final Destination
Once upon a time, America had a “dream.” With faith in abundant labor and limitless growth, steel, automobiles, and coal blanketed the land. Around the Great Lakes—Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan—these regions formed the heart of American industry and earned the nickname “the factory of the world.” Skyscrapers, suburban homes, two cars in the driveway, and weekend barbecues—this was the embodiment of the American Dream.
But that dream has been crushed by a machine called “capitalism,” and what remains is a corroded land now known as the “Rust Belt.”
The Countdown to Collapse Behind the Glory
During the era of rapid economic growth, corporations pursued profit while workers believed in stability within prosperity. But capitalism, by its very nature, demands maximum profit at the lowest possible cost. Eventually, its cold logic betrays those who labor for it.
Since the 1980s, in pursuit of cheaper labor, corporations relocated factories to Mexico, China, and Southeast Asia. Beneath the fine words of “globalization,” countless Americans lost their jobs, and entire cities began to wither. Once symbols of prosperity, cities like Detroit and Youngstown have become ghost towns, where abandoned factories stand like tombstones.
Capitalism does not look back at the workers it has used up. Regions that no longer produce value are discarded, and neither the state nor corporations have shown real commitment to their revival.
Unemployment, Poverty, and Opioids—The Daily Life of “Abandoned America”
What happened after the factories shut down? People who lost their jobs turned to welfare, pushed to the edge both mentally and physically, escaping into alcohol and drugs. One of the most devastating consequences has been the opioid crisis—what began with prescription drugs soon spiraled into illegal substances. Countless young people have died, never having had the chance to dream.
Meanwhile, the stock prices of major corporations continue to rise. CEOs receive massive compensation, and shareholders reap dividends. In other words, someone’s unemployment becomes someone else’s profit. If this isn’t structural violence embedded in capitalism, what is?
A Glimmer of Renewal—or a New Form of Control?
Of course, some cities are trying to reinvent themselves. Pittsburgh has transformed into a hub of healthcare and IT, while Detroit is drawing attention through art and startups. Yet many of these efforts merely mark the beginning of new power structures.
Luxury condominiums now rise in redeveloped downtowns, pushing out impoverished locals. What is called “revitalization” is in many cases gentrification in disguise—the exclusion of long-time residents. Their voices are drowned out, and even the cityscape is reduced to an “investment commodity” to be bought and sold.
Just like the factories before them, cities too will be discarded if they stop generating profit. Capitalism disposes of both places and people.
The Limits of Capitalism Are Being Laid Bare
What the Rust Belt reveals is not merely regional decline. It is a mirror reflecting how capitalism has treated people—and how it plans to treat them in the future.
Can a society that casts off those deemed “unproductive” or “non-competitive” have a future?
How many dreams and lives have already been sacrificed in the name of “growth” and “efficiency”?
This is no longer just an economic debate. It’s an ethical one—a question of values. Beyond the rusted landscape of the Rust Belt lies a pressing inquiry: what kind of future should we choose to build?
The Cities That Moved the World: Memories of the Rust Belt’s Golden Age
In the first half of the 20th century, America’s Midwest was the engine of the world. Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Indiana—what we now call the “Rust Belt” was once proudly known as the “Steel Belt.”
The quiet, abandoned factories that stand today were once filled with sparks and steam, echoing with the sounds that reshaped the world.
This Was Once the Heart of America
From the late 19th to the early 20th century, America marched headlong into industrialization—and the Rust Belt was its beating heart. Pittsburgh became globally renowned as the city of steel, and Detroit emerged as the symbol of a new era, revolutionized by Ford’s automotive innovation and earning the title “Motor City.”
Steam engines roared and conveyor belts hummed, churning out trucks, trains, tanks, and airplanes in massive numbers. These were truly “cities that moved the world.” It’s no exaggeration to say that America’s prosperity was born here.
When factory shifts changed, waves of people would fill the train stations, and cafés and bars buzzed with life. On weekends, church bells rang as families gathered together, and baseball games filled stadiums with cheer and hot dogs.
These were cities built on craftsmanship—filled with pride and hope.
The Workers Were Heroes
The workers of that era labored in sweat and danger, but carried with them a deep sense of purpose: they were the ones holding up the nation. Wearing blue-collar jackets, wiping grease from their hands, they supported families, bought homes, and sent their children to college.
What made this possible was stable employment, strong labor unions, and social respect. Factory work wasn’t just hard—it was honorable. During World War II, the region was even called the “Arsenal of Democracy,” producing the machines of war that powered the Allied victory.
Workers back then weren’t just cogs in a machine. They were artisans and heroes, shaping America’s future with their own hands.
Family, Community, and the Dream
The Rust Belt’s golden age wasn’t only about industrial might. It was also about strong local communities. Schools, parks, churches, and baseball fields stood beside the factories. Everyone knew each other. The whole town came alive for parades and festivals.
Most importantly, people believed in a future where they could stay and thrive in their hometowns. There was opportunity for all—even for immigrants. Polish, Italian, Irish, and African American workers toiled side by side, building shared dreams in the same factories and living in the same neighborhoods.
Success didn’t mean skyscrapers, but a single-family home in the suburbs with a yard. Children rode bikes out front, fathers mowed the lawn, and mothers handed out lemonade on the porch under the sun.
This was the age when the concept of the “middle class” shone brightest.
Memories Passed Across Generations
Of course, that era wasn’t perfect. There were workplace accidents, discrimination, and economic inequality. But there was also a belief: that hard work would be rewarded. Communities, companies, and even the nation had a certain sense of responsibility and pride.
Today, we sometimes dismiss these memories as “old-fashioned.” Yet, in the corners of Rust Belt towns, the echoes of that pride still live on—in monuments to veterans, in disused railway platforms, and in the old labor songs that once united the workforce.
To long for that era is not mere nostalgia. It is the quiet, persistent remembrance that society was once built by human hands—and that truth still flickers in the hearts of many today.
The Rise and Fall of the Trump Phenomenon — America’s Struggle with Its Past
“The sound of the bells of Gion Shōja echoes the impermanence of all things. The prosperous must inevitably fall.”
This classic Japanese phrase calls to mind the strange fever that seems to engulf modern America.
Yes—it’s the figure of Donald Trump, and the people who follow him with fervent devotion.
Having once again seized the reins of the Republican Party in the 2024 presidential race, the prospect of another Trump presidency looms large. But is this truly a step toward the “future”?
In truth, it feels more like the desperate cry of a once-mighty empire in decline—a vivid embodiment of the Buddhist notion that “the prosperous must fall.”
The Rust Belt and the Rage of Loss
At the core of Trump’s support base are white working-class voters in the Rust Belt—once the industrial heart of America. Since the 1980s, under global capitalism, they’ve lost their jobs, watched their communities decay, and had their pride stripped away.
Abandoned factories in Detroit, shuttered Main Streets, and young people slipping into opioid addiction—
The feeling that “something is broken” is not an abstract thought or a news headline. It is a lived despair that seeps into their everyday lives.
To these people, Trump’s “Make America Great Again” was a kind of incantation—a spell to bring back the glory of a bygone age.
Even if the promise was unrealistic, the fantasy of revival itself became a form of hope.
Trump as a Shadow of the Empire
Trump’s persona is deeply American: brash, self-centered, flaunting success, and determined to get his way through sheer force. But in many ways, he is also a symbol of the American empire that once dominated the late 20th century.
Back then, the U.S. led the world in everything—economics, military power, culture. Trump embodies the values that sat at the summit of that empire: free competition, personal responsibility, and national pride.
But that empire has passed its peak. Domestic politics are fractured, America’s global influence is in decline, and it now faces existential challenges—from climate crisis to the transformation brought by AI.
The American image Trump clings to is no longer visionary—it’s increasingly anachronistic.
In other words, the Trump phenomenon is the ghost of an empire unable to face its own end. It is a living drama that perfectly illustrates the ancient truth: “Even the mighty must fall.”
History Repeats, But Never Identically
Throughout history, empires have often failed to recognize their own decline. Ancient Rome. The Qing Dynasty. The British Empire…
All tried to reclaim a lost order—and by doing so, only hastened their collapse.
Trump’s vision of America is steeped in nostalgia. Anti-immigration policies. Tariff wars. A return to coal.
Each of these choices reflects a refusal to face the future and the crises it demands we confront.
And history teaches us: those who resist change fall the hardest. The fall of the mighty is not just inevitable—it is often self-inflicted, brought about by fear of transformation.
What Age Are We Living In?
There’s no denying Trump’s charisma and boldness attract people. But his appeal lies not in the future—but in the past.
The Trump phenomenon may well be the scream of a nation grappling with a fractured sense of identity.
If America is to truly become “great” again, it cannot be by returning to the past.
Rather, only by accepting the impermanence of power and embracing new values can both nations and individuals move forward.
The question is not how to lament decline, but how to learn from it and evolve.
The memories of the Rust Belt and the symbol that is Trump both demand that we ask ourselves:
What kind of future are we choosing to build—right now?
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