On the second anniversary of publishing “Laboratories of Autocracy,” I’m releasing excerpts that summarize its key themes:
Chapter 1
As I arrived at college, some folks detected a slight twang.
“Are you from the Midwest?” they’d ask.
“I’m from Ohio,” I’d reply.
“Right, so you’re from the Midwest.”
“No,” I’d correct them. “I’m from Ohio.”
I was not being cute, or argumentative. I meant it.
The Midwest was a bunch of smaller states further west and north. Yes, in the Big Ten. But colder. More plains and farms. Where they make milk and cheese.
Iowa and Wisconsin for sure. Fine states.
Not Ohio.
In my mind, the great state of Ohio stood on its own. Alone and strong. As our slogan so perfectly captured—“the heart of it all.”
Even geographically, the term Midwest didn’t compute. Ohio’s footprint spanned both east and south, not just westward. To paraphrase Sarah Palin, we can see Kentucky from our house.
We were bigger than those Midwest states. We didn’t have just one major city, but a host of them, and countless mid-sized cities to go with them. Each with its own unique story and character.
We had a richer history than those other states too. More presidents than any state but Virginia—even a few good ones. Supreme Court Justices and historic cabinet members, from William Howard Taft to Salmon Chase. Speaking of Chase, a passionate abolitionist, Ohio was the end-point of the Underground Railroad, meaning Ohio represented freedom for countless escaping slaves, scanning for candles in windows up and down the mighty Ohio. Ulysses Grant, William Sherman and countless leading figures who saved the Union came from Ohio. The author of the Fourteenth Amendment . . . abolitionist John Bingham, who represented Eastern Ohio in Congress.
And so many other national figures, non-political ones, hailed from Ohio. Heroes like John Glenn and Neil Armstrong. Writers like Toni Morrison and Harriet Beecher Stowe. Actors like Clark Gable and Dean Martin. Directors like Steven Spielberg. Icons like Roy Rogers and Annie Oakley. Coaches like Lou Holtz. History makers and barrier breakers like the Wright Brothers, Thomas Edison and Jesse Owens. Ohioans all.
“No. I’m from Ohio.”
I said the words knowing we were an industrial powerhouse. We made cars and car parts, second only to Michigan. We were a national leader in corn and soybeans; coal, iron and steel—heck, we’re where Rockefeller got his start. When it came to major companies and products, blue chip names could be found all over Ohio. Barney Kroger, from Cincinnati, opened his first grocery store here, and the company is still headquartered here. William Procter and James Gamble joined together to make candles, then soap, in Cincinnati; Procter & Gamble is still based here. Henry Sherwin and Edward Williams partnered up to mix paint in Cleveland around the same time; still there. Similar stories brought Dana and the National Cash Register Company (and its “mechanical money drawer”) to Dayton, Goodyear to Akron, Marathon to Findlay, and later, The Limited to Columbus. Beyond the biggest names, Ohioans in town after town made products the whole nation and world enjoyed—every car part imaginable made across the state, from Mansfield to Springfield to Youngstown; glass in Toledo; shoelaces out of Portsmouth; dishware from Lancaster; Hoover vacuums in North Canton; Whirlpool washing machines in Clyde; Airstream RVs in Jackson Center; and NFL footballs (the ones in the actual games) out of Ada. As Willard Scott reminded us on every Today Show, Smuckers made its jellies out of Orville.
You name it, Ohio made it, and in many cases—the airplane, the cash register, Teflon, the vacuum cleaner or the light bulb— Ohioans invented it. And our rail and highway networks and Ohio River barges and Lake Erie ships brought these goods to market over the world. It didn’t hurt that we’re 600 miles—a day’s drive—from 60% of the nation’s population.
Economically, data confirmed we were the heart of it all. Over the last 50 years, Ohio’s economy was in the nation’s top seven as measured by GDP—fifth in the 1960s and 70s, sixth in 1980, then seventh since. Even higher—fourth—when it came to manufacturing. If Ohio were its own country, its economy would generally be in the top 20 in the world. A global industrial powerhouse.
And we led the world in other ways. Ohio boasted hubs in aerospace, scientific and other research, and national defense. In the Cleveland Clinic, we had among the finest medical institutions in the world, but our medical and bioscience expertise spanned statewide, with Cincinnati Children’s Hospital and Ohio State’s medical facilities among them. Speaking of Ohio State, Ohio boasts colleges and universities galore. Not just The Ohio State University, but other major state schools as well—Cincinnati, OU. But so many more. Oberlin. Kenyon. Denison. Wesleyan. College of Wooster. Miami. Dayton. Ohio: a state not in New England with small liberal arts schools drawing students from across the country.
And of course, being from Cincinnati, in my mind we were the state of the Big Red Machine—America’s first professional baseball team. But Ohio was also synonymous with great football, where high school rivalry games (Canton-Massilon, Xavier-Elder) generated crowds the size of college games. And great Ohio natives, both from small towns and big cities, dominated professional football—Roger Staubach, Cris Carter, Jack Lambert, Larry Csonka, Alan Page, Dan Dierdorf. More recently, Charles Woodson, Orlando Pace and Chris Spielman. Basketball, you ask? LeBron and Stephen Curry aren’t just both from Ohio. They were born in the same hospital in Akron!
“No. I’m from Ohio.”
All that size and might and diversity also made Ohio more politically central than most other states. Again, the heart of it all. But it was far more than size that made that the case.
We were the state whose combination of big cities and small towns and farmland approximated the mix found in the nation more than any other state. And within those big cities and small towns, we enjoyed a wide tapestry of ethnic and minority groups from across the world that also approximated the wonderful diversity of America. Italians and Irish in Youngstown. Cleveland and other metropolitan areas drawing generations of immigrants from around the world. Eastern Europeans in the Northeast, spanning across the bottom of Lake Erie to Toledo. Irish and Germans in Southwest Ohio. A large chunk of Appalachia. A sizeable Black population, many of whom never left after escaping slavery, followed by another wave travelling north in the great migration of the 1900s. Together, our demographics arguably represented the nation better than any other state. As John Glenn used to say, if you shrunk America down to 11 million people, you’d get Ohio.
Combine that representativeness with Ohio’s large haul of electoral college votes, and Ohio was the state that picked presidents. First, because if you won the state that best mimicked the makeup of the country, odds were that you had what it took to win over that country. And second, because often, our large tranche of electoral college votes put you over the top.
And most importantly, that delicate balance of big city, small town, suburban and rural—and that demographic diversity—also meant one other thing. We were a swing state. A good candidate from either party could win Ohio, so our votes were actually up for grabs. A state that voted for Nixon twice then voted for Carter. A state that voted for Reagan twice and then Bush then voted for Clinton. Ohio elected W. twice then Obama twice. So, one reason Ohio really mattered for the presidency is because candidates from either party could win or lose here, and in a close national race, that would make all the difference. And only a few states actually played that role.
But that closeness also impacted who won other races statewide, and how. And it set the tone for the broader politics of Ohio. Winning Ohio was complicated. It took work to cobble together the coalitions needed to win a majority of Ohio’s wide diversity of voters. Beyond the many regions and overall diversity, no single city dominated—not long ago, you had to appeal to eight cities of 100,000 or more, and more than 50 of 10,000 or more. That’s work!
Democrats who won had to be authentic figures who won over independents and some Republicans through that authenticity—leaders like John Glenn and Howard Metzenbaum. And Republicans who won generally did so with some patina of moderation to earn support from all the voters they needed. For the same reason, we often had a mix in government. A Democratic legislature balanced out a Republican governor. Or the opposite. Or a Democratic-leaning Supreme Court provided a check on Republican leadership elsewhere.
So, when it came to Ohio politics, you thought moderate. Common sense. Maybe even boring. Nothing crazy on either side, because the population wouldn’t put up with crazy or extreme for long. Things would balance out.
“No,” I’d reply. “I’m from Ohio.”
I meant it, not to make a point, but because it was my natural reaction. That’s just how we thought of ourselves. Not part of some group of states. But “the heart of it all.”
Which only was reinforced by what usually came next. A smile. Familiarity. Then—
“Ohhhh . . . .my grandmother grew up in Ohio.”
“My dad’s from Cleveland.”
“My mom’s from Toledo.’
“Oh, we go home and visit my relatives there often. Cedar Point is so much fun!”
“I grew up a Reds fan because my dad’s a Reds fan. He grew up in Dayton.”
You learned quickly as an Ohioan on the East Coast that everyone had some Ohio connection. Which also made Ohio feel more central.
“The heart of it all.”
O-H! How Things Have Changed
If, at my upcoming 30th reunion, someone suggested Ohio was in the Midwest, I’d still resist.
I’d still list many of the strengths I used to brag about back then that set us apart. (There’s a reason my law school classmates named me “Most Likely to Be President . . . of the Cincinnati Board of Tourism.”)
We’re still one of the biggest economies in the nation. Seventh in GDP. Between Saudi Arabia and the Netherlands.
At 11.7 million people, we’re still seventh in population. Pretty darn big.
Of course, we’ve faced tough times economically. But that’s true of many states, the industrial ones especially. We’ve been buffeted by global competition, technology and other challenges. Some of the big blue chip companies remain: Procter & Gamble, Sherwin Williams, Kroger, all are still here. Other big names are gone: NCR pulled out of Dayton; Chiquita left Cincinnati.
But the real loss is slightly below those biggest of names.
Remember those one-company or one-factory towns that shipped products everywhere? Portsmouth’s shoelaces and Lancaster’s kitchenware? So many of those are gone, or a shell of what they were. While lots of auto manufacturing remains, many plants have closed, moving overseas and decimating Ohio towns. Steel has risen and fallen—but more of the latter—while coal is dying a steady death. The biggest employers in those towns are now the city or county government itself, the school system, or a local hospital; good jobs, but not sectors that grow the pie, bringing in revenue from outside. Many of those lost manufacturing jobs (700,000 lost between 1970 and 2015) have been replaced by lower paying service jobs—and those service jobs have themselves been on a downward trajectory, from a Main Street hardware store to a regional Walmart. (In 2018, Walmart was Ohio’s largest employer). Sadly, many of those jobs haven’t been replaced at all, and many of those towns have shrunk as a result, with young people moving either to the bigger Ohio cities, or out of state completely. Still, although they’ve hit hard here, many of those challenges and shocks to the system aren’t unique to Ohio. The root causes are national and global in scope.
But if I were being more transparent, the conversation would turn in a new direction. To the things that are going wrong specifically in Ohio, driven by dynamics within Ohio.
Decline Everywhere You Measure It
There are recent trends that don’t just evince average decline, mirroring national trends, but where the trajectory plunges far more steeply. Beneath a surface-level picture of latent natural strengths amid modest decline—driven by national/global challenges—is a far bleaker story. One of dramatic decline in core areas, propelling a self-reinforcing downward spiral.
Here are some of the data that tell that story:
• People leaving: Ohio’s population growth slowed to a snail’s pace in recent decades, now well below states in the south and west, and worse than even our neighboring states. A growth rate of 2.3% between 2011 and 2020 ranked us 48th in the nation. [Note: Ohio’s population actually declined in 2022]. The relative decline is best reflected in our number of electoral college votes, or House seats in Congress. We had 25 seats after 1960. That number now stands at fifteen for the 2020s. Make no mistake, this isn’t a fertility issue. Fewer people are choosing to move here, and native Ohioans are moving away at an alarming rate. Ohio routinely ranks in the top ten states in the country for the percentage of people leaving for other states, primarily looking for jobs. Many of those leaving are young, so Ohio’s population is also getting older. A few metropolitan pockets—greater Columbus and greater Cincinnati—are seeing some growth, but vast swaths of Ohio are cratering in size.
• Less educated: despite its strong base of higher education institutions, Ohio now ranks in the bottom third (35th) in terms of the educational attainment of its people. A public primary/secondary education system that ranked fifth in the nation as recently as 2010 has plummeted, now mired in the 20s year after year, below the national average. Rankings consistently place us below average when it comes to high school graduation rates. Ohio is a national leader in one major educational category: our population shoulders among the greatest load of student debt in the nation— sometimes ranking first.
• Health: despite national- and world-class health care institutions, Ohio routinely ranks as one of the least healthy states in the nation. In 2021, the nonpartisan Health Policy Institute of Ohio ranked Ohio 47th in the nation in terms of its health value (we pay more for poorer health), on par with sub-40 rankings over the past decade. Why so low?
Drug overdose deaths: Ohio ranked 4th highest in the nation (we were first in 2019)
Infant mortality: 9th
Premature death: 11th
Heart disease mortality: 9th
Life expectancy: 9th (2019)
Toxic pollutants: 3rd
Air quality: 5th worst
• Poverty: despite strong core assets, Ohioans are struggling economically. With Cleveland (ranked first) and Cincinnati (sixth), we are the only state with two cities in the top ten poorest major cities in the country. But the struggles go beyond our major urban centers. Smaller cities and towns suffer even higher poverty rates—with Youngstown, East Cleveland, Warren, Fostoria and Cambridge all poorer than Cleveland itself. Child poverty rates top 50% in each of those cities, but also in Trotwood, Ashtabula and Canton. More than a third of the children live in poverty in 38 Ohio cities. Ohioans now make almost ten percent less than the average American, a number that has fallen as the number of higher-paying manufacturing jobs in Ohio has plummeted. In 2018, “six of Ohio’s 10 most common jobs paid so little that a typical full-time worker would earn less than $26,000 and need food assistance to feed a family of three.”
I could go on.
But having pored over the data for years, my rule of thumb is, if you can measure it, Ohio lags the country in it. And too many key measurements are plummeting each year.
For Black Ohioans especially, the numbers are markedly worse. From health to education to economic well-being, outcomes trail the rest of the state. No datapoint is more stark than the fact that Black babies in Ohio are three times more likely to die in infancy than White babies.
And the problems only compound on themselves. When a state like Ohio fails so miserably at critical responsibilities, the consequences of those failures drive other failures. For example, the state’s sky-high student debt chases young people away, and holds back our economy as in-state graduates enter the work force already strapped and spending less. And lower graduation rates keep the best employers from creating jobs here. And downward we go from there.
A snowball tumbling downhill, growing ever bigger as it rolls….
It's interesting. For years I've heard that DeWine was an excellent "moderate" governor. Clearly, his actions over the past few years tell a far different story, and based on David's stark statistics, standards of living have plummeted under his watch.
I wonder what accounts for his popularity (at least prior to his extremely hard line on abortion and other "culture war" issues).
Thank you for the excerpt. I’m looking forward to the next installment. Your knowledge is very deep.