Calling Dorothea Lange

I spent an enjoyable weekend in Fresno, California, visiting friends. I ate, had great conversation, ate some more, drank, and drove around a city that should sparkle like a jewel, as it is located in the very center of the country's richest agricultural area.

Instead, Fresno stood as an example of our nation's inability to shift quickly. The most troubling aspect of capitalism is that everyone's problems are no one's problems. And indeed, the problem created by the blight of dire poverty was writ large in Fresno.

We passed buildings that were half completed, boarded up. Some will undoubtedly never be finished. Homes were abandoned, plywood on the windows. We went to no less than three restaurants that had recently been reviewed online. All three were shut down tight, with various explanations. If business had been booming, no doubt all three would have been open. This morning, the Starbuck's had the sadly familiar notice that it, too, would be closing next week.

The most troubling sight was something that I thought I would never see in my lifetime: a Hooverville. A tent city. I felt the ghost of Dorothea Lange tap me on the shoulder. It was a feeling that sent a chill through me.

And in this season, when Congress and President Obama are deliberating over much-needed health care reform legislation, dealing with North Korea, filling a Supreme Court vacancy, extending incentives for car buyers, and other issues, who is troubling over creating jobs for the able-bodied tent dwellers of Fresno?