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posted by cmn32480 on Thursday June 25 2015, @09:57AM   Printer-friendly
from the drinking-tea-in-the-garden dept.

Read this interesting essay written by DEREK THOMPSON

For centuries, experts have predicted that machines would make workers obsolete. That moment may finally be arriving. Could that be a good thing ?

The end of work is still just a futuristic concept for most of the United States, but it is something like a moment in history for Youngstown, Ohio, one its residents can cite with precision: September 19, 1977.

For much of the 20th century, Youngstown's steel mills delivered such great prosperity that the city was a model of the American dream, boasting a median income and a home ownership rate that were among the nation's highest. But as manufacturing shifted abroad after World War II, Youngstown steel suffered, and on that gray September afternoon in 1977, Youngstown Sheet and Tube announced the shuttering of its Campbell Works mill. Within five years, the city lost 50,000 jobs and $1.3 billion in manufacturing wages. The effect was so severe that a term was coined to describe the fallout: regional depression.

Youngstown was transformed not only by an economic disruption but also by a psychological and cultural breakdown. Depression, spousal abuse, and suicide all became much more prevalent; the caseload of the area's mental-health center tripled within a decade. The city built four prisons in the mid-1990s—a rare growth industry. One of the few downtown construction projects of that period was a museum dedicated to the defunct steel industry.

The future will tell us whether or not this pans out as he envisions. What does SN think will happen ?


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  • (Score: 2) by kurenai.tsubasa on Thursday June 25 2015, @03:07PM

    by kurenai.tsubasa (5227) on Thursday June 25 2015, @03:07PM (#200997) Journal

    ”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 shattered visage lies, whose frown,

    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

    The hand that mocked 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.“

    —Glirastes

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