"What do we want our kids to do? Sweep up around Japanese computers?"
About this Quote
The line lands like a cheap laugh with an expensive aftertaste: America’s future reduced to janitorial work in the shadow of Japanese tech. Mondale is channeling a very specific late-20th-century panic, when Japan’s rise in electronics and automobiles made U.S. decline feel not just possible but imminent. “Japanese computers” isn’t really about machines; it’s a prop in a national psychodrama about competitiveness, dignity, and who gets to write the rules of the global economy.
The intent is to jolt. By conjuring children “sweeping up,” Mondale compresses an argument about industrial policy, education, and trade into an image that’s instantly legible and vaguely humiliating. It’s a rhetorical strategy politicians reach for when they want urgency without footnotes: take a complex economic transition, personalize it, and add a slap of shame. The question format recruits the listener into answering “Of course not,” turning policy preference into moral common sense.
The subtext is more complicated. The line flatters American exceptionalism even as it mourns its erosion: we’re not supposed to clean up after other countries’ innovations; we’re supposed to be the ones building them. It also smuggles in status anxiety and a whiff of xenophobia, using “Japanese” as shorthand for foreign threat rather than as a neutral descriptor of a competitor.
In context, it reflects an era when leaders still spoke as if manufacturing prowess and national pride were fused. It’s less a plan than a warning flare: if the U.S. doesn’t invest in skills and industry, the next generation gets demoted in the world’s workplace hierarchy.
The intent is to jolt. By conjuring children “sweeping up,” Mondale compresses an argument about industrial policy, education, and trade into an image that’s instantly legible and vaguely humiliating. It’s a rhetorical strategy politicians reach for when they want urgency without footnotes: take a complex economic transition, personalize it, and add a slap of shame. The question format recruits the listener into answering “Of course not,” turning policy preference into moral common sense.
The subtext is more complicated. The line flatters American exceptionalism even as it mourns its erosion: we’re not supposed to clean up after other countries’ innovations; we’re supposed to be the ones building them. It also smuggles in status anxiety and a whiff of xenophobia, using “Japanese” as shorthand for foreign threat rather than as a neutral descriptor of a competitor.
In context, it reflects an era when leaders still spoke as if manufacturing prowess and national pride were fused. It’s less a plan than a warning flare: if the U.S. doesn’t invest in skills and industry, the next generation gets demoted in the world’s workplace hierarchy.
Quote Details
| Topic | Work |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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