A Historical Perspective on Whiteness and Economic Exploitation
The illusion of returning manufacturing jobs is a topic deeply intertwined with the historical patterns of economic exploitation driven by whiteness. In recent years, there has been a growing sentiment among certain segments of the white working class in North America that manufacturing jobs should return to their shores. These individuals often reminisce about an era when they could earn twice the minimum wage with only a seventh-grade education, without needing to graduate high school or attend college. However, this nostalgia fails to acknowledge the deeper historical forces at play—forces rooted in centuries of economic exploitation.
This longing for the past represents more than just economic anxiety—it embodies a cultural yearning for an era when social mobility seemed more accessible to white working-class communities. The manufacturing sector once provided not just jobs but identity, community, and a sense of purpose. Towns were built around factories, social life revolved around shift changes, and generations of families found their livelihoods within the same industrial complexes. This cultural dimension of manufacturing loss compounds the economic impact, creating a profound sense of displacement that extends beyond mere financial concerns.
The disappearance of manufacturing jobs from North America is not a new phenomenon; it is part of a long-standing pattern of seeking the lowest possible labor costs—a strategy deeply embedded in the history of whiteness. This pattern began during the colonial era when European powers colonized vast territories in South America and the Caribbean. Instead of advertising for workers in newspapers like The London Times or Le Monde, plantation owners opted for a more cost-effective solution: enslaving Africans who would work for free. This decision set the stage for centuries of racialized economic exploitation.
The plantation economy established fundamental principles that continue to govern global capitalism: the commodification of human labor, the externalization of social costs, and the maximization of profit regardless of human consequences. The sugar plantations of the Caribbean operated as proto-factories, pioneering techniques of labor discipline, time management, and production quotas that would later be adopted by industrial factories. This historical continuity reveals how modern manufacturing outsourcing follows a template established centuries ago through the triangular trade routes connecting Europe, Africa, and the Americas.
During the Industrial Revolution, similar patterns emerged as factory owners exploited child labor, immigrant workers, and women, paying them pennies for grueling 16-hour days in dangerous conditions. The gradual improvements in working conditions and wages in Western nations came only through decades of labor activism, often violently suppressed by factory owners with the support of government authorities. The Haymarket Affair, the Ludlow Massacre, and countless strikes across North America demonstrated the human cost of achieving what would later be nostalgically remembered as the “golden age” of manufacturing.
Fast forward to the 20th century, and the same logic persisted. White factory owners in the United States and Canada initially built their factories domestically, but as soon as cheaper labor became available elsewhere, they relocated operations to countries such as Mexico, Bangladesh, and India. In these regions, workers were paid less than a dollar an hour, a stark contrast to the $25 per hour wages demanded by North American workers.
This shift accelerated dramatically following the implementation of free trade agreements like NAFTA in 1994, which eliminated many barriers to relocating production across borders. Within a decade, entire manufacturing sectors—textiles, electronics, furniture, toys—had largely abandoned North American production facilities. The decisions driving this exodus were not based on malice toward domestic workers but on the cold calculations of profit margins, shareholder value, and competitive advantage in an increasingly global marketplace.
The development of container shipping in the 1950s and its subsequent standardization revolutionized global trade, making it economically viable to manufacture products halfway around the world and ship them to North American consumers. This technological innovation, combined with advances in telecommunications and later the internet, created the infrastructure necessary for truly globalized production chains. A single product might contain components manufactured in dozens of countries, assembled in another, and marketed globally—all coordinated by multinational corporations with no particular national allegiance.
As factories closed down across North America, once-thriving white communities found themselves hollowed out, or they would come to be named…The Rustbelts. Mighty factories that once produced everything from toilet paper to sneakers and bed sheets stood empty, replaced by products manufactured under conditions reminiscent of the slave quarters of old. Factories abroad operated with minimal safety regulations, no minimum wage laws, inadequate facilities (such as two toilets for 400 workers), exposed electrical wires, and nonexistent benefits like vacation or holiday pay.
The social consequences of this manufacturing exodus extended far beyond unemployment statistics. Communities built around industrial production experienced cascading failures as tax bases collapsed, schools deteriorated, housing values plummeted, and local businesses shuttered. The opioid epidemic, rising suicide rates, and increasing political polarization can all be traced, at least partially, to this economic dislocation. Multi-generational damage occurred as children grew up witnessing their parents’ economic security vanish, creating a legacy of diminished expectations and broken promises.
Religious institutions, labor unions, social clubs, and other community organizations that once provided social cohesion withered as membership and financial support declined. The social capital that had sustained these communities through previous hardships—world wars, the Great Depression, natural disasters—proved insufficient against the structural forces of globalization. These communities did not simply lose jobs; they lost their organizing principle, their collective identity, and their sense of place in the national narrative. Meanwhile, back home, the average white family continued to benefit from the profits generated by this exploitative system. They could purchase cheap goods at stores like Walmart—$7.99 t-shirts and $20 shoes—that would be unaffordable if produced locally under fair labor conditions. This influx of inexpensive merchandise fueled the rise of dollar stores popping up on every corner, further entrenching the cycle of low-cost consumption.
This creates a profound contradiction in the American economic experience: the same families devastated by manufacturing job losses simultaneously became dependent on the low prices made possible by those very losses. A factory worker laid off when production moved overseas might protest the loss of their $25/hour job while filling their shopping cart with goods they could only afford because they were produced by workers making less than $1/hour. This contradiction rarely enters public discourse about manufacturing revival, yet it represents a fundamental challenge to simplistic narratives about bringing production “home.”
The rise of big-box retailers transformed not just shopping habits but the very landscape of American communities. Downtown shopping districts, once filled with locally-owned businesses selling domestically produced goods, were replaced by massive suburban retail centers surrounded by parking lots and filled with imported merchandise. This transformation occurred not through conspiracy but through millions of individual consumer decisions, each rational in isolation but collectively transforming the economic foundation of North American society.
During election seasons, politicians often promise to bring back manufacturing jobs to North America, appealing to the hopes of blue-collar workers who believe in the possibility of returning to a golden age of prosperity. However, this belief is profoundly naive. The reality is that no rational business owner would abandon a factory in Bangladesh where shirts can be made for 90% less than in North America. The economics simply do not add up.
These political promises persist across party lines and election cycles because they tap into potent nostalgia and legitimate economic anxiety. They offer simple solutions to complex problems and place blame on convenient targets—foreign countries, immigrants, or political opponents—rather than acknowledging the systemic nature of global capitalism and the role that everyday consumer choices play in sustaining it. The rhetoric of manufacturing revival serves political purposes even when the underlying economic analysis remains implausible.
The few manufacturing jobs that have returned to North America in recent decades bear little resemblance to those of the nostalgically remembered past. Modern factories employ sophisticated robotics and automation, requiring fewer but more highly educated workers. A manufacturing plant that might have employed 5,000 workers in 1970 might operate today with 500 employees, most requiring specialized technical training beyond high school. This “reshoring” creates some jobs but cannot possibly replace the manufacturing employment base of previous generations.
Moreover, expecting white workers to accept the abysmal working conditions prevalent in foreign factories—working for 42 cents an hour in buildings with barely any amenities—is unrealistic. Such expectations ignore the fundamental truth that the choices made by white ancestors regarding labor have always gravitated towards the closest number to zero. For over 400 years, black people worked for nothing, setting a precedent that continues to influence contemporary labor practices.
North American consumers have come to expect both low prices and high labor standards domestically—a combination that proves fundamentally incompatible in global competition without significant policy intervention. The regulatory environment that protects workers, consumers, and the environment in North America represents centuries of social progress that most citizens would not willingly sacrifice. Yet these protections create production costs that make domestic manufacturing uncompetitive against regions where such regulations are minimal or unenforced.
The Rana Plaza factory collapse in Bangladesh in 2013, which killed over 1,100 garment workers, briefly highlighted the human costs of global supply chains but resulted in minimal changes to consumer behavior or corporate practices. This disconnect between abstract awareness of exploitative conditions and concrete shopping decisions reveals the psychological mechanisms that allow the current system to persist despite its evident injustices.
The desire to bring back manufacturing jobs to North America reflects a misunderstanding of both history and economics. It overlooks the fact that the very systems that created wealth for many white families were built on the backs of exploited labor—first through slavery and later through global outsourcing. Unless there is a radical shift in how businesses operate and how societies value human labor, the dream of restoring manufacturing glory remains just that—a dream. Understanding this history is crucial for moving forward in creating equitable and sustainable economic models that respect all workers, regardless of race or nationality.
The accumulation of capital that funded industrial development in North America was directly tied to the profits generated through slavery and colonial exploitation. The cotton that fed New England textile mills was harvested by enslaved people on land stolen from indigenous nations. The banking and insurance systems that financed industrial expansion evolved from financial instruments developed to facilitate the slave trade. This historical reality contradicts comfortable narratives about manufacturing’s past and complicates simplistic proposals for its future.
Rather than pursuing the impossible return of manufacturing jobs as they once existed, a more productive approach would involve acknowledging current economic realities while working toward greater justice within them. This might include:
- Strengthening labor protections globally rather than attempting to isolate national economies. International agreements that establish meaningful minimum standards for worker safety, compensation, and environmental protection could reduce the exploitative advantages that drive manufacturing migration.
- Investing in education and training tailored to emerging economic opportunities rather than promising the return of obsolete job categories. Communities formerly dependent on manufacturing might thrive in healthcare, renewable energy, technology, or other growing sectors if provided with appropriate transition support.
- Implementing progressive taxation and robust social safety nets to ensure that the profits generated by globalized production are shared more equitably rather than concentrated among shareholders and executives. The Nordic model demonstrates that market economies can coexist with strong worker protections and comprehensive social benefits.
- Encouraging local and regional production networks for goods where transportation costs or environmental concerns make global supply chains impractical. Food systems, construction materials, and certain specialized products might profitably return to local production even within the constraints of global capitalism.
- Developing new metrics for economic success beyond GDP growth and stock market performance. Measurements that value sustainability, community wellbeing, and equitable distribution might guide policy toward outcomes that serve broader societal interests rather than maximizing short-term profits.
The illusion of returning manufacturing jobs represents more than economic misunderstanding—it embodies a failure to reckon honestly with historical patterns of exploitation and their contemporary manifestations. The nostalgic vision of manufacturing’s past erases the struggles of labor organizers who fought and sometimes died to transform dangerous, low-paid factory work into the middle-class employment remembered so fondly today. It also ignores the racial exclusion that reserved the best manufacturing jobs for white workers while relegating people of color to the most dangerous, dirty, and poorly compensated positions.
Moving beyond this illusion requires confronting uncomfortable truths about how wealth has been created and distributed throughout North American history. It demands acknowledgment that consumer convenience and corporate profit have often depended on hidden suffering. Most challengingly, it requires abandoning simplistic solutions in favor of complex, systemic approaches to creating an economy that serves human needs rather than extracting maximum value from human labor.
The path forward lies not in reclaiming an idealized past but in creating new economic models that recognize the dignity and rights of all workers, regardless of nationality or race. This task demands imagination, courage, and a willingness to question fundamental assumptions about what makes an economy successful. The manufacturing jobs of yesterday will not return, but with vision and commitment, something better might take their place—an economic system that produces prosperity without exploitation, security without exclusion, and progress without leaving communities behind.