From helping hand to five-finger discount
https://www.theblaze.com/columns/opinion/from-helping-hand-to-five-finger-discount
Public assistance was built for Americans in genuine need. A culture of entitlement has turned too many benefit programs into targets for organized theft.
America’s debate over poverty has undergone a remarkable and troubling transformation. Two centuries ago, the central challenge was persuading needy people to accept public assistance. Today, the challenge is preventing people from fraudulently claiming benefits to which they were never entitled.
That trajectory tells us something profound about the nation’s changing moral culture.
What had once been viewed as a last resort gradually came to be seen as an entitlement detached from personal responsibility.
Alexis de Tocqueville noticed something remarkable when he traveled through America in the early 1830s. Unlike Europe, where poverty often produced permanent dependence upon the state or aristocratic patrons, Americans possessed an almost universal determination to remain independent. They formed voluntary associations to care for neighbors in distress, but they regarded prolonged dependence as inconsistent with the character of a free citizen.
That observation reflected a broader understanding shared by the American founders and the generation that followed them.
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Every state maintained some provision for public relief, but it was deliberately limited and administered locally. It existed for those genuinely incapable of caring for themselves — the disabled, widows, orphans, and others facing extraordinary hardship. Families, churches, fraternal organizations, and private charities bore the primary responsibility for helping the poor.
Public charity carried a social stigma — not because Americans lacked compassion, but because they believed that independence was itself a form of human dignity.
Justice Joseph Story explained that republican government depended upon a virtuous and independent citizenry. The ideal citizen governed himself before participating in governing others. Economic independence fostered political independence; citizens who could support themselves were less susceptible to manipulation by those dispensing favors or public largesse.
One of the striking features of early America is not that assistance was unavailable, but that many people who qualified for relief were reluctant to seek it.
Contemporary accounts from several states — including New Jersey — describe respectable men and women enduring extraordinary hardship before accepting public charity. To modern ears, such reluctance may seem irrational. To them, it was a matter of preserving self-respect.
That moral instinct — that accepting public assistance should be exceptional rather than ordinary — formed an essential part of the American understanding of citizenship until the 20th century.
The first cracks in that understanding appeared during the Progressive Era and deepened during the New Deal. Faced with industrialization, urban poverty, and the Great Depression, Americans increasingly looked to government to perform functions that earlier generations had entrusted to institutions outside the government.
Much of that expansion responded to genuine crises, and programs such as Social Security reflected the extraordinary circumstances of their time.
Even so, the nation’s underlying philosophy was beginning to change. Government was no longer viewed simply as a safety net for those unable to care for themselves; it increasingly became expected to solve all social and economic problems.
The shift was gradual and often justified by necessity. But it subtly weakened the older assumption that public assistance should remain exceptional, temporary, and closely tied to preserving personal independence.
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Then came the Great Society, which transformed that gradual evolution into a new governing philosophy.
It was no longer enough for government to provide a backstop against destitution. Washington now assumed responsibility for eliminating poverty itself, dramatically expanding both the scope of public assistance and the expectation that government would provide it.
Lyndon Johnson’s anti-poverty initiatives promised not merely to relieve poverty, but to eradicate it. The federal government assumed responsibilities that had traditionally rested with families, churches, private charities, and local communities. Welfare increasingly became not an emergency measure but a permanent feature of American life.
Though the Great Society’s architects believed they were expanding compassion, they failed to appreciate that they were also reshaping character. As benefits expanded and eligibility became more complex, government increasingly rewarded dependency rather than independence. Bureaucracies grew. Incentives shifted. Entire industries arose to help people maximize government benefits rather than minimize their reliance upon them.
Most importantly, the moral understanding surrounding public assistance changed.
What had once been viewed as a last resort gradually came to be seen as an entitlement detached from personal responsibility. The question shifted from “Do I truly need help?” to “What benefits can I qualify for?”
Today, we appear to have entered yet another stage.
The headlines are filled not merely with dependency, but with outright theft. Fraudulent unemployment claims. Identity theft used to obtain government benefits. Organized criminal enterprises exploiting Medicare and Medicaid. Billions of dollars in pandemic relief stolen through fake applications and fictitious businesses. International criminal organizations siphoning taxpayer dollars from programs intended to help struggling Americans.
In state after state, investigators have uncovered elaborate schemes involving food assistance, housing subsidies, disability payments, and health care reimbursements.
That is not to say that every welfare recipient is dishonest or even dependent. The overwhelming majority of Americans who receive public assistance are law-abiding citizens, many facing genuine hardship. But a system that steadily weakens the connection between work and reward inevitably creates opportunities — and temptations — for abuse.
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