There are books and then there are books. The kind where you can’t put down until they’re finished with you. The kind that captures every atom of your attention and changes something deep down. You walk away altered, the words having not really been words or sentences but something else altogether.
That’s how I felt reading Matthew Desmond’s Poverty, By America. This is no dreamy communist manifesto, no incoherent rant that leads to nothing but sadness and frustration, but a shocking book full of actionable, kind ideas entirely backed by careful study of a complex problem. Desmond makes his argument clear through this complexity though: the reason why poor folks are poor is because rich folks are rich.
Here’s my notes.
Poverty isn't simply the condition of not having enough money. It's the condition of not having enough choice and being taken advantage of because of that.
(I remember being caught in a web of overdraft fees when I struggled with money. There’s still this lingering feeling fifteen years later where I doubt every time a check will clear, a credit card will go through. I still assume that banks have caught me in some great trap beyond my comprehension. There’s a spider lurking behind me, ready and waiting to devour every paycheck that clears my account. This is not a healthy way to run a society, or a healthy way to live. But tens of millions of Americans do.)
When we are preoccupied by poverty, “we have less mind to give to the rest of life.” Poverty does not just deprive people of security and comfort; it siphons off their brainpower, too.
(I remember being shocked by how similar poverty felt like a sickness, as if I had blinkers on, as if a strong vignette had been applied to my vision. Money was all I could think about. I would count the pounds and pennies, counting and counting and counting at night. I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t think about a 401k or future investments because I was so paralyzed by Today, this big and brutal and terrifying thing. What if someone after work asked me out for a beer? What if we walk passed a shop and my credit card fails when trying to buy water? What if someone finds out how much is in my account?)
(And yet! I was one of the lucky ones to have family to bail me out, as embarrassing as it was to ask them over and over again. Most folks however don’t have people to help them. This is what the government should be. And, currently, what it is not.)
(But we can fix this.)
A higher minimum wage is an antidepressant. It is a sleep aid. A stress reliever. Vocal segments of the American public, those with brain space to spare, seem to believe the poor should change their behavior to escape poverty. Get a better job. Stop having children. Make smarter financial decisions. In truth, it’s the other way around: Economic security leads to better choices.
(I remember my first real paycheck. The one where I didn’t have to struggle. The one where I was lifted out of worrying so much. I could suddenly go out and buy food and start going out for dinner or the pub intermittently without feeling anxious the whole time about embarrassing myself by my card failing. I could make rent. But it wasn’t all these material things that money gifted me: it was sleep. With the sudden turn of a week I could now make predictions about my future. Mere days before my life was broken up into excruciatingly long weeks. Paycheck, no-paycheck, no-paycheck, no-paycheck. This is not a healthy way to run a society, etc. etc.)
Somehow, the United States has the unique distinction of lacking universal healthcare while still having the most expensive healthcare system in the world.
(One time back in the UK I had 40 quid in my bank account but found myself with a serious and embarrassing medical emergency. At midnight I went to the hospital and I suddenly found myself begging a doctor for help in a corridor outside his office. He told me the STD clinic opens in the morning, come back then. In agony I laughed and said “I might not be a doctor my dude but I can GUARANTEE that isn’t the problem here.” A few days later, the embarrassing surgery is over, they tell me to go, and I simply walk out of the hospital. There’s no pay station, no worry about handing out cash or finding myself slammed with debt because the UK has a modern, humane health care system. When I moved to the states I learned that how much money I make doesn’t really matter. One foul move, an uncontrollable accident like the one I had back in the UK, and that’s all it takes to lose your financial footing. And, because of this, poverty haunts everyone in America.)
(But we can fix this.)
(I think this is why I loved this book. It’s angry but not cynical. Desmond argues over and over again that we have fixed the balance of power in this country before and we can do it again. Poverty is not a hex, a curse,a chronic condition or necessary evil. It can be fixed!)
(We just have to make it so.)