Why do narratives of scarcity resonate differently in the Midwest than in coastal metros?
The Big Answer: Narratives of scarcity strike a different chord in the Midwest than in coastal metros because the two regions live in contrasting realities of opportunity and loss, fostering divergent mindsets. In the Midwest – especially the Rust Belt – decades of industrial decline, population stagnation, and feelings of being “left behind” have created a cultural script of finite resources and competition. Stories that frame life as a zero-sum struggle (where one group’s gain is another’s loss) validate Midwesterners’ lived experiences of factories closing and communities eroding, often by blaming outsiders or distant elites for local hardships.
On the coasts, by contrast, major cities have been hubs of economic dynamism and influx – places many go to seek abundance. Coastal metros are more likely to embrace narratives of growth and innovation (despite facing their own scarcities like housing), and their diverse, globally connected populations tend to see problems as solvable through expansion rather than zero-sum retrenchment. For strategists, this contradiction reveals why an appeal to scarcity can rally the heartland yet ring hollow or mutate into a different issue on the coasts. It’s a reminder that cultural context – shaped by history, economics, and identity – determines whether scarcity is viewed as an urgent threat or a challenge to overcome, and that understanding these layered values is key to crafting resonant strategies. Strategists should care because these narratives influence consumer behavior, political sentiment, and the receptivity to new ideas in fundamentally different ways across regions, carrying real implications for markets and policy.
Economies Diverged, Narratives Diverged
America’s regional fortunes have split sharply in recent decades. Prosperity has concentrated in a handful of “winning” cities, largely on the coasts, brimming with tech, finance, and educated talent, while many Midwestern areas with older industries saw jobs vanish . Globalization and automation created “a distinct geography of growth and decline,” where cities with the “right” industries skyrocketed and others fell behind . The Midwest’s manufacturing belt was hit particularly hard: once thriving factory towns slipped into decline as plants shuttered or moved overseas. This economic divergence bred two different default outlooks. In coastal boomtowns, abundance seemed plausible – people saw investment and newcomers pour in – whereas in Middle America’s “left-behind” places, scarcity felt like the new normal. It’s no coincidence that Midwestern and rural communities often express nostalgia for better days and a sense that the future has been “stolen” from them . After “so much loss, for so long,” many in the Rust Belt internalized the belief that their best days are over and whatever is left must be guarded tightly . Coastal cities, meanwhile, experienced booming growth alongside mounting costs – they enjoyed influxes of wealth and people, but also housing shortages and inequality as side effects of success . Thus, each region’s economic reality primed a different narrative: Midwesterners readily resonate with messages that someone else’s gain is their loss, while coastal denizens, living amid both great wealth and glaring costs, might view scarcity through the lens of policy fixes (build more housing, raise wages) rather than as a permanent condition.
Cultural Mindsets: Scarcity vs. Abundance (and the Shades Between)
Beyond economics, cultural values shape how scarcity narratives land. The Midwest has long cultivated ideals of self-reliance, frugality, and community solidarity – traits born of agrarian life and tight-knit towns. These values can cut two ways. On one hand, Midwestern culture celebrates making do with less (think of the pride in thrift and resilience during tough times). On the other, it can breed skepticism of those who suddenly appear to have “more.” When a narrative says “we’re running out – others are taking what should be yours,” it taps into a protective instinct rooted in both pride and pain. Indeed, research shows that “zero-sum” thinking – viewing life as a fixed pie – is somewhat more common among populations who’ve experienced stagnation or intergroup competition. For example, Americans who grew up in eras or areas of slower growth tend to have more zero-sum mindsets . Many Midwestern counties, scarred by industrial decline or even carrying generational memories of economic hardship, exhibit this mindset. Historical migration plays a role too: one study noted that white Southern migrants (bringing a culture of scarcity shaped by slavery’s legacy) moved into Midwestern regions, contributing to a local outlook that life is a hard fight for limited rewards .
By contrast, coastal metropolitan culture often leans toward an “abundance” mentality in principle – the idea that new people, new ideas, and growth can expand the pie. Big coastal cities are usually diverse melting pots, which can soften zero-sum attitudes: residents see daily how newcomers (immigrants, transplants) contribute to the economy and culture . The ethos is more cosmopolitan and future-oriented. Tech hubs and entrepôt cities preach innovation and “win-win” progress – a narrative of possibility rather than fixed limits. However, it’s crucial to note that abundance mentality has its limits even on the coasts. The competition for resources in high-density cities is real, and in some ways urbanites manifest zero-sum thinking intensely in local contexts. A Harvard study found that people in big cities are often more zero-sum in outlook than those in rural areas, likely because daily life in a place like New York involves jostling for scarce apartments, school slots, and jobs . Coastal professionals may embrace globalism broadly, yet still nimbyishly oppose new housing in their neighborhood or fiercely compete for elite college admissions – behaviors rooted in an implicit scarcity mindset . In fact, America at large has developed a “scarcity psyche” in many realms: housing, education, even identity, where being a “Real American” is treated as a limited status . What differs is which scarcity narrative resonates. In coastal metros, scarcity is often debated as a policy failure to fix, not a fate to accept – e.g. activists and economists there talk about “artificial scarcity” of housing or college slots and push for structural solutions . In the Midwest, scarcity feels more like an existential threat – “our town might die if we don’t get our share” – breeding a search for culprits and protection.
Politics of Scarcity and Resentment
These contrasting mindsets become most vivid in politics. In Midwestern swing states and rural areas, the politics of resentment has thrived on scarcity narratives. Leaders with a populist bent tell stories of “the forgotten people” versus outsiders who hoard resources. Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign, for instance, painted a dark picture of “American carnage” – factories rusted out “like tombstones,” politicians in Washington and financiers in coastal cities celebrating while “the people did not share in its wealth” . That message hit home in the Midwest. Voters who felt ignored and economically insecure heard validation in Trump’s words: Yes, someone stole your prosperity. As one analysis noted, Trump carried key Midwestern states by tapping into the belief that “your supposed gains are invisible – someone else must have taken them”, directing anger toward immigrants, China, and elites . Likewise, rural Wisconsinites told researchers they felt they weren’t getting their “fair share” – that “deserving, hard-working Americans” (people like them) were seeing their share go to “people who don’t deserve it,” be they urban bureaucrats or newcomers . This is scarcity rhetoric crystalized: the pie is fixed, and someone is unfairly eating your slice. It’s potent in communities where many genuinely saw factories close and jobs slip away. Such narratives stoke an us-vs-them identity, often along lines of region, class, or ethnicity. Importantly, it isn’t purely a conservative phenomenon – it’s a frame that can transcend party. For example, blue-collar Midwestern Democrats have also harbored zero-sum fears about competition from immigrants or trade, even as coastal Democrats focus on inclusion . The difference is that in the Midwest, these fears find a receptive cultural echo chamber (local talk radio, social circles where most peers have similar struggles), whereas in a cosmopolitan coastal city, such narratives are more likely to be challenged or reframed by diverse perspectives surrounding you.
On the coasts, political narratives tend to flip the script. Scarcity is invoked, but often to argue for collective action (e.g. “we’re all in danger from climate change” or “housing is too scarce and expensive – let’s build”). Coastal progressives sometimes explicitly reject zero-sum framing – for instance, pushing immigration by highlighting how newcomers expand the economy, or championing policies to grow the middle class rather than pit classes against each other. Even so, scarcity does rear its head in coastal politics in subtler ways. The housing crisis in San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York etc., has given rise to bitter fights that have a populist flavor: long-time residents versus gentrifiers, homeowners versus developers – essentially battles over a scarce resource (affordable space). But note the rhetoric: in coastal liberal enclaves, many have come to recognize the housing scarcity as “a crisis of our own making”, a result of policy choices like restrictive zoning . The narrative there is less “outsiders are taking our housing” and more “we collectively need to allow more housing.” That contrasts with a Midwestern factory town losing a plant, where locals may more readily accept the story that “outsiders took our jobs and left us with nothing.” And on existential issues like climate change, coastal communities that directly face wildfires or hurricanes increasingly talk in terms of urgent scarcity (water shortages, shrinking livable land), whereas some in the inland Midwest have been skeptical of “crisis” language, viewing it as alarmist rhetoric from out-of-touch experts . In interviews, Midwesterners who don’t see immediate climate effects often dismiss dire warnings as agenda-driven, further evidence that they shouldn’t trust national media . This again shows how experience filters narrative: if you haven’t felt the scarcity (be it jobs or rain), you may not buy the story. Coastal areas feeling the strain will rally around a scarcity narrative (e.g. “we’re running out of time to stop climate catastrophe”), whereas far from the floods or fires, that narrative might fall flat or morph into skepticism about motives.
Social Fabric and Identity
Why the divergent resonance? Part of the answer lies in who “us” and “them” are in each place. The Midwest, outside of a few cities, tends to have more homogenous communities – smaller towns that are majority-white, with shared local histories and tight social circles. In such environments, it’s easier for a scarcity narrative to become group-versus-group. Sociologists note that homogeneous rural populations can foster strong in-group loyalty, which in turn can amplify zero-sum thinking about outsiders . If “we” are all similar hardworking locals, then “they” (whether immigrants, coastal elites, or even urban Americans in general) are more readily painted as threats siphoning resources. Coastal metros, in contrast, are usually mosaics of race, nationality, and background. The person you blame for high rent might be your neighbor or yourself (for voting NIMBY), not an easily otherized outsider. In fact, urban diversity often means people personally know individuals from the groups that demagogues elsewhere scapegoat. That personal familiarity can undercut simplistic scarcity narratives. A Midwesterner in an ex-industrial town might believe “immigrants are taking all the jobs” without ever meeting an immigrant; a New Yorker, surrounded by immigrant coworkers and friends, is less likely to find that story plausible or morally acceptable. Instead, the scarcity narratives in diverse cities often target systems (corrupt landlords, Wall Street, government inefficiency) rather than whole groups of people, or they emphasize inclusion (e.g. “the 1% versus the 99%” – still a scarcity tale, but one that attempts to unite most people against an elite).
It’s also worth noting the psychological coping mechanisms at play. In Midwest communities hit by decline, a narrative of scarcity can paradoxically be empowering: it offers an explanation (however oversimplified) for pain and a promise of redemption by fighting back against the perceived thieves of prosperity. It aligns with a moral value of justice – “we deserve our fair share”. Coastal narratives, shaped by environments of comparative opportunity, might instead elevate aspirational values – tolerance, creativity, growth – as the path forward, implicitly viewing scarcity as something to overcome through progress. This doesn’t mean coastal residents don’t feel anxiety; they do, but they might channel it into different narratives (e.g. personal scarcity of time, the hustle culture of needing to “make it” in a competitive city, or fear of losing status in a high-inequality environment). Indeed, surveys indicate Americans nationwide have grown more pessimistic and survival-focused in recent years . Around 58% of Americans say life is worse today for people like them than 50 years ago – a striking figure that shows a broad appetite for narratives of loss. But where coastal and heartland cultures diverge is in where they place the blame and hope. Midwestern scarcity narratives often look backward (we had it, and it was taken), while coastal ones, when they arise, frequently look forward (we’re creating scarcity by not adapting, and we must innovate our way out).
Strategist Takeaway: These differences are more than academic – they dictate how messages will be received in markets and communities across the country. A campaign or product that leans on urgency and scarcity might galvanize Midwestern audiences who feel overlooked (“finally, someone sees we’re struggling”), yet the same approach could come off as tone-deaf or fear-mongering in coastal metros that pride themselves on optimism or inclusivity. Conversely, a sunny message of abundance and opportunity might inspire coastal consumers but ring hollow in the Midwest (“sounds like more empty promises from coastal elites”). The cultural power here is subtle but profound: it shapes trust. People lend credibility to narratives aligning with their reality. Thus, market communication should be culturally calibrated.
For example, a public initiative in the Midwest might do well to acknowledge real constraints (“we know resources are tight and communities need their fair share”) to establish trust, then pivot to solutions, whereas in a coastal city one might emphasize collaboration and growth (“let’s work together to expand what’s possible for everyone”) to tap into that ethos. Strategies should also avoid one-size-fits-all narratives. Recognize that terms like “scarcity” can trigger different emotional responses – defensiveness in one region, determination in another. The most resonant messaging may need to reframe scarcity as a challenge that can be solved in positive-sum ways, appealing to Midwestern practicality and coastal idealism in tailored fashions.
In practical terms, understanding these narrative dynamics can inform everything from political campaign rhetoric to brand marketing. A company positioning a product as “exclusive” (a kind of manufactured scarcity appeal) might find greater enthusiasm in status-conscious coastal markets, but in value-conscious Midwestern markets, a message of reliability or fairness could matter more. Policy advocates seeking national support should be mindful that alarmist language (“crisis,” “emergency”) may energize areas already feeling acute pressure, but elsewhere it could breed cynicism or fatigue.
Bridging the divide means finding unifying stories that resonate in both contexts – for instance, the idea of stewardship: that we must take care of what we have (a concept with roots in Midwestern farm ethics and coastal environmentalism alike) to ensure prosperity for the next generation. Ultimately, the way scarcity narratives resonate reminds us that America’s cultural landscape is not monolithic. Regions harbor distinct emotional economies. Strategists who grasp this and adapt – who speak to the Heartland’s sense of fairness and the coasts’ sense of possibility – will be better equipped to connect the dots between cultural insight and impactful action. In a nation divided by “two realities,” cultural agility isn’t just a nicety, it’s a strategic imperative for anyone hoping to craft messages or policies with truly national reach.
Sources
Countering the geography of discontent: Strategies for left-behind places – https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/2018.11_Report_Countering-geography-of-discontent_Hendrickson-Muro-Galston.pdf
Democrats, Republicans, and Zero-Sum Thinking – https://www.harvardmagazine.com/2025/04/harvard-research-republicans-democrats-zero-sum-thinking
Trump’s Victory and the Politics of Resentment – https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/trump-s-victory-and-the-politics-of-resentment/
‘American Carnage’: A Close Reading of President Trump’s First Speech – https://www.vice.com/en/article/american-carnage-a-close-reading-of-president-trumps-first-speech
Why Some Americans Do Not See Urgency on Climate Change – https://www.pewresearch.org/science/2023/08/09/why-some-americans-do-not-see-urgency-on-climate-change/
America’s scarcity mindset – https://www.noahpinion.blog/p/americas-scarcity-mindset
Economic recovery in the Midwest: Challenges and opportunities after the pandemic – https://www.epi.org/publication/midwest-economic-recovery/
Defining Rust Belt Urbanism – https://eig.org/rust-belt-urbanism/
Americans take a dim view of the nation’s future, look more positively at the past – https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2023/04/24/americans-take-a-dim-view-of-the-nations-future-look-more-positively-at-the-past/
The Real Path to Abundance – https://www.bostonreview.net/articles/the-real-path-to-abundance/
