How Detroit committed suicide

In the garage of my condo tower, someone parks a 1965 Buick Electra 225 convertible. It is sleek and big and powerful. This was Detroit, and in many ways America, at the zenith of its power.

Buick, like all GM divisions, still enjoyed great autonomy, including having its own design bureau. This car is a work of art. It is the successor to the legendary Roadmaster, and in those days Buick fans were fiercely loyal (my mother being one). GM cars were tiered so people could move up to a new GM brand as they became more affluent, as millions did in the 1950s and 1960s — Chevy to Pontiac to Oldsmobile and even Cadillac. Ah, but the Buick was special: glamorous, racy, classy and exclusive. Built union.

I think of all this, of course, as Chrysler is pushed into bankruptcy and General Motors may well face the same fate. What went wrong, and what does it say about America's future?

The Big Lie about unions

Somewhere over the past few decades, Americans became something new: followers. They became, as an earlier generation put it with disdain, "easily led." Keeping them that way requires a successful propaganda offensive in the case of the Big Three automakers. You see, it's all the union's fault. It's all the workers' faults. Just keep repeating that, over and over. Who knows what might happen if you failed to believe. Belief in the god "free markets" has been shaken by the incompetence of the Bush administration — and by the inevitable consequence of law-of-the-jungle capitalism: the worst economic calamity since the Great Depression. Who knows what might happen if working Americans were suddenly not so easily led.

They might follow the example of 240 workers at Republic Windows and Doors in Chicago, who staged a sit-in after Bank of America cut off credit to the company — and the company, in the way of today's America, laid off the workers without even a severance. They occupied the factory until the bosses and the bank capitulated. The action was hailed as a new sign of backbone, but there was a critical difference between these workers and most average Americans. A difference between them and the 35,000 employees that BofA itself is cutting. They were members of a union.

Steering the right course on the auto bailout

General Motors is running out of cash. Think about that. What was once the company that embodied American strength is running out of cash. Little wonder that Detroit is angling to get its own "rescue package" from Washington. We should do it — with serious strings attached.

Anyone who has lived in the Midwest can attest to the foundational nature of the auto industry to American manufacturing. It's not just the Big Three themselves, but the vast supply chain they have spawned, from steelmakers to precision machine tool companies to providers of all manner of parts. As we bail out a "financial services industry" that increasingly made little more than frauds and swindles, the auto industry, even heavily diminished from its former greatness, makes real products and is an essential prop of the middle class, particularly in the heartland. A hollowed-out economy can stand no more losses.

Yet the American industry is the author of many of its own problems. The decline of GM and its sisters began decades ago in an unholy alliance of complacency, greed and contempt for customers between management and labor leaders. Despite 20 years of plant closings and pledges of new days, the carmakers never really reformed. There's one exception: hundreds of thousands of union workers in the Big Three and parts makers lost their jobs — and communities their livelihood. Contrary to a persistent mythology, the decline since the early 1990s has been almost entirely the fault of management, not the United Auto Workers.