The Political Power of the Midwest

A few months before the election 2004, it became clear that a lot of money would be thrown at my city -- Cincinnati, Ohio. I head a hip hop youth arts center, Elementz, in Cincinnati's poorest neighborhood. And as a local organizer, I started getting calls from my activist friends in New York and California wondering, "What issues are hot there? Which local races are coming up? Who has the biggest constituency in the city? Who can move people?" And so it began.

Sadly, nobody ever finished the job. In less than a year preceding the presidential elections, millions were spent trying to turn red states into blue. New York flew in organizers to do grassroots work, California sent money, and D.C. dispatched lawyers. But after the election, many of us are still here asking, "When will these resources stay?"

I was hoping that at least one of the big left John Kerry support machines would be able to sustain itself -- and its place in the community -- here in the Midwest. Because as top-down and out-of-touch as groups like America Coming Together (ACT) were, they did get people talking here. They created a buzz that something was happening and it mattered. You got flyers in your door every day and MoveOn.org called you more times than you could count. It seemed like somebody really cared.

It's Time to Think Long-Term

We need somebody to care more than just once every four years. There are more towns like Cincinnati, Milwaukee, St. Louis, and Detroit than there are San Francisco's and New York's. As increasing amounts of financial and human resources flow to the coasts, the Midwest is falling further behind.

Every year, I go through the list of national foundations that might fund projects in our area. And every year I find that more choose to stay closer to home -- San Francisco or New York.

Elementz

Given that George Soros was a top donor for Kerry's grassroots campaign, it was disheartening to call his Open Society Institute recently and find them cutting the funding arm that would support our youth-organizing project.

When money is tossed into our community only once every four years, it seems to exacerbate our problems. Each time we get a short jolt of resources, people get their hopes up about the possibilities of lasting change. But as we check that ballot box for a distant representative in D.C., money leaves and disillusionment deepens. People grow skeptical, even apathetic.

We need to have funds for permanent and sustainable field organizing. During the six months before November 2004, job announcements flooded our e-mail lists. Activist friends from New York and California were calling again to fill those temporary job descriptions. But it came as a surprise to a lot of them that yes, we want and need more activist jobs here, but no, we don't have people ready and waiting to take them.

In Cincinnati, you can't leave your current job for a six-month gig as a field organizer and then expect to have another job waiting. Jobs are scarce in the Midwest. Inevitably, some people got burned as a result of the tide that was election-year money.

Rob Biko Baker, a young organizer from Milwaukee who headed the Young Voter Alliance in 2004 that mobilized more than 14,000 folks in the elections, tells me, "Not only do the the progressives not get money, but the other side gets so much money." We agree that conservatism in the Midwest is more pervasive, more powerful than on the coasts, making it that much harder to make recognizable dents. "We're swing states, so what we're doing is so vital. Old school style [of organizing around elections] isn't working, we're creating new models whether it's recognized or not."

Most creative and forward-thinking projects in the Midwest are often plagued with a chicken-and-egg dilemma: local funders hesitate to take a risk on a new project, while national money wants to see that local funders support this work first. The people who do the work are caught in the middle.