NY Times Op-Ed, June 25 2015
Who’s Speaking Up for the American Worker?
By BETH MACY

ROCKY MOUNT, Va. — A WOMAN came up to the book-signing table at an event 
at my local library Monday night. She did not have a copy of the newly 
released paperback of “Factory Man,” my book about what happened when 
300,000 American furniture-making jobs were offshored to Asia.

But she waited a half-hour in the signing line anyway, to introduce 
herself and to tell me she was one of the more than 550 people laid off 
in 2001 when Furniture Brands International closed its Lane Furniture 
plant in this former mill town.

She couldn’t afford the $17 book, she whispered, because she was doing 
housecleaning and other off-the-books, part-time work. (I offered to 
give her one, but her gainfully employed sister-in-law ended up buying 
her a copy before I could get to the box of books I keep in my car, for 
just such occasions.)

In the front row of the auditorium where I spoke sat a retired sales 
executive from Bassett Furniture Industries. He’d spent his career 
nearby in the eponymous company town of Bassett, a place that used to 
teem with seven factories set along the banks of the Smith River. In 
retirement, he and his wife live comfortably in a sprawling home in the 
nearby resort community of Smith Mountain Lake.

But they’ve had a hard time renting out property they still own in 
Bassett, which saw its factories close, one after the other, as the 
company offshored nearly all of its wood furniture production to China, 
Vietnam and Indonesia in the wake of trade liberalization and China’s 
admission into the World Trade Organization.

At the other end of the front row sat another septuagenarian retiree, 
whose eyes filled with tears, as I showed pictures of and spoke about 
the people who line up outside the region’s food pantries two hours 
before the doors open. His story was like that of others in the crowd: 
His mother was raised in a Bassett-owned home, and his father lost 
fingers to the company’s saws. He’s also a native of Henry County, which 
has lost nearly half its jobs in the past two decades — not just factory 
work but also jobs in the smaller companies that supplied the factories, 
and in the mom-and-pop stores and diners where factory workers used to 
spend their cash.

Unfettered free trade has not only put the Henry County region near the 
top of Virginia’s unemployment rankings for more than a decade, but it 
has also ushered in an era of soaring food insecurity and Social 
Security disability claims.

And crime, too. A sheriff’s deputy told me at another book signing that 
many of his calls are now related to methamphetamine and heroin. An 
unemployed man accidentally set an abandoned factory on fire while 
trying to rip out copper electrical wires to sell on the black market; 
he was riding a bicycle, an unusual sight in this hilly, rural, 
car-reliant area.

After weeks of Congressional chess over the Asia-Pacific trade accord, 
with lawmakers finagling new methods to pass or block trade-negotiating 
authority — depending on the day — the so-called “fast track” is now on 
President Obama’s desk, a crucial step toward completion of the accord, 
known as the Trans-Pacific Partnership.

Economists aren’t sure how many factory jobs will be lost as a result, 
but even T.P.P. proponents have acknowledged probable losses, especially 
in lower-skilled, labor-intensive manufacturing.

People living in rural America just want someone in Washington to level 
with them:

Will T.P.P. protect American jobs or hasten their demise? In talks and 
readings I’m giving across Appalachia’s former furniture belt, that’s 
always the first question I’m asked.

It’s a complicated question, obscured by dueling political interests, 
statistics slingers and documents that have been leaked as a 
public-interest workaround to secret T.P.P. negotiations and a closely 
guarded draft (though some 600 lobbyists were granted access to the 
negotiating texts).

I am not in possession of an economic crystal ball. But unlike most of 
the lawmakers deciding the fate of America’s role in international 
trade, I have spent much of the past three years talking to dislocated 
workers still living in former factory towns. Most believe that T.P.P. 
is simply the North American Free Trade Agreement “on steroids,” a done 
deal driven by corporate greed-heads and the lobbyists they employ.

When they hear proponents argue that T.P.P. will liberalize trade in 
high-tech services and agriculture, making it possible to expand 
America’s exports, they automatically replay President Bill Clinton’s 
“win-win” prediction from early 2000: China’s entrance into the W.T.O. 
would not cost Americans their jobs but would instead protect them, Mr. 
Clinton insisted, because American companies would soon export more 
goods to China’s growing consumer class.

Eventually.

In theory.

And notwithstanding the fact that many Chinese factories were not above 
dumping, or illegally underpricing, their products, to capture American 
market share.

As long as the consumer gets a slightly cheaper price on her bluejeans 
and bedroom suites, who cares if China or any other country isn’t 
playing by W.T.O. rules or adhering to labor and environmental standards?

Consumers and journalists alike had failed to connect the dots between 
escalating crime in dying factory towns and page-three wire stories 
about Bangladesh textile factory fires. And why would they? The 
small-town reporter has little license to cover the goings-on of the 
W.T.O. or the United States International Trade Commission, and the few 
reporters who do cover international trade rarely venture to towns like 
Rocky Mount or Bassett.

All of which suits the press-avoiding chief executives just fine. The 
shareholders matter most.

The globalization of low-skilled manufacturing is already a fait 
accompli, T.P.P. proponents have argued, and the furniture- and 
textile-making jobs that once made the Piedmont region of the 
mid-Atlantic hum are not coming back from China or Mexico.

But what about the other manufacturing jobs we’ve managed to hold onto 
in the United States? How would the 1,350 workers at New Balance’s Maine 
and Massachusetts factories fare, if faced with the elimination of 
tariffs on shoes made by Vietnamese workers who earn an average of $90 
to $129 a month?

As imports soared in the decade following 2001, American manufacturing 
sector jobs dropped by roughly a third. There are now more American 
workers on disability (8.9 million) than are working on assembly lines 
(8.6 million). And among the displaced workers in southside Virginia who 
were retrained via Trade Adjustment Assistance funds — only about a 
third of trade-displaced workers in Virginia opt for federally funded 
retraining — most end up with lesser-paying service jobs, many of them 
part-time.

“I take the global long view,” said an urban planner and T.P.P. 
supporter who came to a talk I gave last week in Greensboro, N.C., 
another former furniture-making region. He’s right that globalization 
has fostered better living conditions in the developing world. But 
improving the lives of Indonesian peasants willing to work for 
desperately low wages really has nothing to do with the decisions that 
closed some 63,300 American factories between 2001 and 2012.

Those decisions were made by the biggest beneficiaries of unfettered 
free trade, in a story line that seems straight out of a Michael Moore 
documentary: the C.E.O. who now earns 300 times more than his average 
worker; the shareholders who expect quarter-after-quarter growth in 
corporate profits; the lawyers who helped devise the fine print in the 
T.P.P. document and the lobbyists they hire who, if the leaks are to be 
believed, think nothing of cutting off the supply of new generic drugs 
for decades.

Unlike most of the people in my rural, conservative audiences, I’d still 
like to think President Obama means it when he says the T.P.P. will 
increase economic growth and expand United States exports.

But I’m stymied by the secrecy, I tell the people who turn up at my book 
events, and by the influence of corporate money in election campaigns. 
I’m troubled, too, by the failure to bring about a compromise that would 
prohibit currency manipulation in countries that are part of the T.P.P. 
like Japan and Malaysia, which distort their currencies to give their 
own exports a boost.

I worry that T.P.P. will simply exacerbate income inequality. Then I 
show them a slide from Bassett, Va., circa 1942. A couple stands in 
front of a company house, with their little girl, Bettie, in front of them.

The little girl, now in her late 70s, told me she was so poor growing up 
that, lacking pencils and paper, she learned to write by tracing her 
letters in the condensation on the windows. But she went to college on 
her father’s factory wages, and she grew up to become an inner-city 
social worker with a master’s degree. That was the upward mobility 
trajectory in America before globalization.

Then I show them another black and white, this one of a ragamuffin girl, 
circa 1969. When the economy was good, her mother soldered airplane 
lights at a local factory. When it was bad, her mother picked up 
under-the-table jobs like waitressing and babysitting for other people’s 
kids.

That little girl, now 51, was the first in her family to go to college, 
and she threaded the needle of early trickle-down economics quite by 
luck: She came of age when it was still possible for a promising poor 
kid to go to college solely on Pell grants and other need-based 
financial aid.

That little girl in the picture is me, standing in the driveway of a 
ramshackle house in Urbana, Ohio. I did not grow up to become an 
economist spouting theories of creative destruction. But I’ve spent the 
past several years telling the tale of the people left behind, teetering 
in globalization’s wake.

I wish I could tell the people in my audiences exactly who will benefit 
most from T.P.P.

But anything this secretive, and this marked by corporate influence, 
leaves little room for doubt: It will not be America’s factory workers.

Beth Macy is the author of “Factory Man: How One Furniture Maker Battled 
Offshoring, Stayed Local — and Helped Save an American Town.”

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