In the grim months after the collapse of the World Trade Center towers, President Bush urged Americans not to hunker down but instead to go out and consume for the sake of the economy. As one woman cheerfully proclaimed during a holiday shopping spree that year, "The president said, 'Spend.' We're spending."
The enticing argument that shopping helps everyone, not just ourselves, has been used by politicians for decades.
But a former Carnegie Mellon history professor argues in a book published this year that the consumption model embraced after World War II has been more than just a means of growing the economy. It also has had the side effect of physically changing the country's landscape, segregating communities along racial and class lines, and teaching people to use their power as consumers to effect political change.
Lizabeth Cohen, now at Harvard University, returned to CMU recently to lecture on the theories she discusses in her work, "A Consumer's Republic: The Politics of Mass Consumption in Postwar America."
Cohen did not pretend to be above the fray. She posted a picture of herself as a child, standing with her sister outside the small home in Paramus, N.J., that her parents bought after World War II. Some of her earliest memories are of trips to nearby shopping centers.
Her research traced the nation's emphasis on mass consumption after the war to fears that the end of the military buildup might bring a return to the dark days of the Great Depression. The equation with a chance at avoiding that fate appeared to be: "spending creates jobs and prosperity."
Even before the battles ended, the training of consumers had begun.
Post-war home shows traveled the country, showing people they could expect to own single-family homes instead of renting. Publications from Bride magazine to Life wrote about washers and dryers, coffee pots and televisions. Shopping centers gave out credit.
The now-familiar message to Americans, said Cohen, was: "When they bought things, they were not indulging themselves. They were helping the country."
The power of consumption proved to be double-edged. African Americans used lunch counter sit-ins and other boycotts effectively to break racial barriers. But as more people bought into the own-your-own-home dream, homeowners became resistant to change as they sought to protect their investments.
In a community where protests had erupted over a black family moving in, Life magazine quoted a homeowner on his new, unwelcome neighbor, "He's probably a nice guy, but every time I look at him, I see $2,000 drop off the value of my house."
Cohen argued that many people did find themselves better off in the "consumers' republic," but the private market didn't deliver on all its promise.
Letting the market decide on suburban development meant that blocks of expensive homes were built far from the more modest ones of blue-collar families. That has exacerbated differences in education. When strapped state governments cut spending, the wealthier neighborhoods can raise taxes to make up the differences for schools.
When shopping malls replace town squares as a community gathering place, the private properties don't allow political activities such as picketing and gathering signatures. Cohen noted that a man was arrested in a New York mall not long ago for wearing a pro-peace T-shirt.
At this point, the history professor said, it would be difficult to disentangle the relationship between politics and consumption, so we can continue to expect candidates to watch the consumer confidence ratings and to see activists target products such as sport utility vehicles to make their political statements.