The New Yorker -
Jim Lardner
|
The Civilian Conservation Corps, created at the behest of President
Franklin D. Roosevelt, gave jobs to an eventual three million young
men. Photograph from Library of Congress / Corbis / Getty
|
It was a rare case of Presidential understatement in the unveiling of a program:
the Secretary of Agriculture and the Secretary of the Interior, according to a
paragraph buried in
Joe Biden’s long
executive order on climate change, had been directed to make plans for a Civilian Climate Corps, modelled on the
Civilian Conservation Corps—the C.C.C.—of the nineteen-thirties.
It would put underemployed Americans to work on projects intended “to conserve
and restore public lands and waters, bolster community resilience, increase
reforestation, increase carbon sequestration in the agricultural sector, protect
biodiversity, improve access to recreation, and address the changing climate.”
That is plenty of justification for such an initiative in the country’s current
circumstances. But the potential of this idea, if the record of the original
C.C.C. is any guide, goes far beyond the advertised purposes. A modern-day
C.C.C. could be an attention-getting reminder of something that a great many
Americans seem to have forgotten: the capacity of government to be an instrument
of the common good.
The Civilian Conservation Corps, created in the spring of 1933 at the behest of
the new President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, gave jobs to an eventual three million
young men, before the Second World War took over the task of fighting
unemployment. (Roughly eighty-five hundred women participated in a “She-She-She”
program, belatedly established at Eleanor Roosevelt’s insistence.)
The C.C.C. left a legacy of trees, trails, shelters, footbridges, picnic areas,
and campgrounds in local, state, and national parks across the country. It had
equally notable effects on the health and outlook of the men who served. Most
were undernourished as well as unemployed when they signed up. They came home
with muscles, tans, and, according to a letter sent to corps headquarters, in
Washington, by a resident of Romeo, Colorado, an “erect carriage” that made them
easy to pick out from the rest of the young male population.
Joseph Kaptur, of Toledo, Ohio, treasured the memory of his corps service, spent
reforesting the shores of the Miami and Erie Canal. His gratitude stuck in the
mind of his daughter Marcy Kaptur, now an Ohio congresswoman and the sponsor of
one of seven C.C.C. bills introduced in Congress last year. “I don’t know
anybody who wasn’t changed and uplifted by that experience,” she says.
Although Roosevelt sold the C.C.C. as a jobs program first and foremost, it was
shaped by his strong interest in timber and soil management, acquired over the
course of efforts to revitalize hundreds of acres of badly tended farmland
attached to his family estate in Hyde Park, New York. The C.C.C., in turn,
raised the conservation consciousness of many of its participants, according to
“
Nature’s New Deal,” a book from 2009 about the program, by the historian Neil Maher. C.C.C.
camps had lectures and night classes, as well as libraries.
A corpsman named Robert Ross, assigned to a camp near Crystal Springs, Arkansas,
used his off-hours to investigate matters that he “had been totally ignorant
of—soil erosion, restoration, protection of the forests, the uses of land, the
damage of forest fires.” Less than ten per cent of the enrollees had graduated
from high school.
Many of them learned to read and write during their time in the corps, however,
and hundreds went on to jobs with the National Park Service, the
forestry-service unit of the Department of Agriculture, and other federal,
state, and local conservation programs.
The C.C.C. had educational value for the people living alongside its camps, too.
Many communities, Maher writes, objected mightily to the anticipated arrival of
“street-slum foreigners,” “corner holders,” and “bums.” The hostility tended to
evaporate once corpsmen came to town in person, proved unthreatening, and began
spending their wages at local diners, shops, and movie theatres.
The program was hugely popular everywhere, and Roosevelt promoted it as a morale
booster in a time of extreme hardship—and as a vote-getter in election years.
Among his Administration’s many groundbreaking policies, only this one escaped
the anti-New Deal fulminations of Alf Landon, the Republican governor of
Kansas, when he ran for President, in 1936.
Landon, like other Republicans, praised the corps; he even tried to take credit
for getting Congress to extend its operations to state parks. Despite his claim,
the presence of C.C.C. camps flipped several Kansas counties blue and helped
F.D.R. win the state in his landslide reƫlection victory.
The revival of interest in the idea can be traced to two loose groups of C.C.C.
champions. One, whose ranks include the retired General Stanley McChrystal and
the Starbucks founder Howard Schultz—who are among the backers of an initiative
called Serve America Together—sees a way to overcome the “political, social,
economic and religious barriers causing such divisiveness in our country,” as
McChrystal and Schultz put it in a
joint op-ed
last summer.
The other group, composed mainly of academic economists, is more concerned about
the job-replacing effects of robots and computers, and the marketplace’s chronic
failure to meet important social needs. Those two streams of thinking converged
and gained force last spring, after the pandemic abruptly terminated the
employment of some twenty million Americans.
In addition to the White House plan and Representative Kaptur’s measure, bills
have been introduced by Colorado’s Joe Neguse and Illinois’s Bobby Rush, in the
House, and by Delaware’s Chris Coons, Illinois’s Dick Durbin, and Oregon’s Ron
Wyden, in the Senate. Thinking separately, they have come to common conclusions
about what a new C.C.C. should be like—and what it shouldn’t be like.
The original corps, besides excluding women, was racially segregated, with camps
for African-Americans often placed in remote areas, according to Maher, “because
of local protests in every region of the country, including the North.” A
twenty-first-century C.C.C. would correct those fundamental defects. Most of the
idea’s backers agree that it should also pay a living wage, in contrast to
Roosevelt’s program, which offered room and board and thirty dollars a month
(about six hundred dollars in today’s money), with most of it earmarked for
families back home.
Another difference: cities and suburbs could be major work sites this time
around. Openlands, a Chicago-based nonprofit that collaborated with Durbin on
his plan, has drawn up a list of project categories, including brownfield
remediation, the greening of schoolyards, the repair of biking and walking
trails, and the planting of urban vegetable gardens and orchards.
Senator Bob Casey, a Democrat of Pennsylvania with his own C.C.C. proposal in
the works, imagines a corps that would build and improve parks in green-starved
inner-city neighborhoods and reverse the loss of tree canopy that has made
cities especially vulnerable to global warming.
Casey has allied himself with the coalition of more than a hundred organizations
behind an economic-policy package called “Reimagining Appalachia.” It proposes a
C.C.C. that would restore wetlands and areas scarred by coal-mining while making
room for ex-prisoners, victims of opioid addiction, and others unlikely to be
hired by private employers.
Along the way, Casey says, such a program could have the salutary effect of
reminding rural and urban Americans that “they have very similar and overlapping
problems,” including cycles of community decay set off by the exodus of
well-paid jobs, whether in mining or manufacturing.
The White House effort is focussed, for now, on developing an administrative
structure (it is likely to build on AmeriCorps, a Clinton-era national-service
program) and finding funds in the existing budgets of the Agriculture
Department, the Interior Department, and other federal agencies to get a
fledgling corps up and running. Putting more serious money into such a program
would require Congress’s coƶperation and, perhaps, a degree of bipartisanship.
That might not be outside the bounds of possibility. Although Democrats have
been the principal instigators of legislation so far, there are signs of
Republican enthusiasm for the idea, aligning as it does with the party’s
preference for work over cash relief.
Seven G.O.P. senators—including Lindsey Graham, of South Carolina; Roger Wicker,
of Mississippi; and Bill Cassidy, of Louisiana—signed on as co-sponsors of
the Coons bill, which was comparatively modest in scale and tailored to
Republican tastes (omitting all mention of climate change, for example). With
that show of bipartisan support, it came close to being included in the
pandemic-relief package passed in December.
The prospects for some version of a revived C.C.C. are favorable. To realize an
ambitious version of the idea, the Biden Administration would have to bring a
sense of urgency to the effort. It should. The Administration, with its $1.9
trillion “American Rescue Plan,” hopes to accelerate the pace of vaccinations,
expedite the reopening of schools, give tens of millions of stressed-out
Americans the wherewithal to pay their bills, and get a frozen economy moving.
There is little in this measure, however, to lift a vast number of
Americans—including roughly four million who have been unemployed for more than
six months, and more than fifty million low-wage workers whose annual median
income,
according to the Brookings Institution, is eighteen thousand dollars—who were already feeling disheartened and
undervalued when the pandemic came along.
Trumpist Republicans, fixated for the moment on settling intra-party scores,
will turn their attention back to Biden and the Democrats before long. The
backward elements of corporate America and Wall Street have been quiet lately,
perhaps out of a sense of pandemic-induced propriety, but they, too,
can be counted on to get back to obstruction mode.
The best things that the new Administration has said and done—its commitments to
racial and gender equity, its welcoming attitude toward immigrants, its
seriousness about climate change—guarantee blowback.
Biden and his party can take comfort in opinion surveys that show overwhelming
support for many of their proposals. To go by the polls, however, wide
majorities of Americans have come down on the side of progressive policies for
years. Meanwhile, mounting distrust of government has led many of those same
people to consistently
not vote for candidates committed to putting
progressive policies into effect.
That dynamic will probably be with us until Americans without wealth or
privilege see convincing evidence (more convincing than checks in the mail,
however badly they are needed) of the government working zealously and
effectively on their behalf. The old C.C.C. told that story in Roosevelt’s time.
A new one could tell it in ours.
Links