From Makers to Takers: America Surrendered Ownership of Its Future

How we gave away our industrial capability and ended up renting a nation we built

America is facing a rare earth minerals embargo from China, and most folks are treating it like just another trade spat. But this isn't about tariffs or deficits—it's about ownership. Who owns the means to produce the critical technologies and essential goods that will shape our future?

Growing up in East Tennessee, I didn't just witness factories closing—I saw industrial parks turned into ghost towns and railroads that once carried American-made goods fall silent. At 19, I inherited my grandfather's manufacturing business, and I watched it collapse under the weight of trade agreements like NAFTA and CAFTA. What's unfolded since isn't just deindustrialization. It's deeper—it's the systematic surrender of our ownership in America itself. We've somehow become a nation renting our own country back from the very corporations that profit from our resources.

We were sold a lie: "Americans don't need to make things anymore. We'll own the ideas, the intellectual property, the designs. Let others handle the dirty work." But that was a catastrophic miscalculation pushed by the managerial class—economists, MBAs, and lawyers who've never actually built anything. They failed to grasp that innovation doesn't happen solely in labs or boardrooms—it happens on shop floors, construction sites, and production lines.

We were promised we'd become the world's managers, designers, and thinkers. That didn't happen for most Americans. The false promise of "management" led instead to manufacturing workers becoming Walmart greeters. Middle-class families became trapped in cycles of debt. Skilled tradespeople became the precarious service class. Factory towns became epicenters of the opioid epidemic. We didn't go from makers to managers—we went from makers to takers. From productive citizens to dependent consumers. From economic agents to mere renters of our own futures.

The companies driving this shift—from Wall Street financiers to Silicon Valley giants—didn't just take our jobs; they claimed ownership over our collective future. They used what we built—our infrastructure, our resources, our public investments—to enrich themselves while giving nothing back. We're not renting America from billionaires—they're renting it from us. Our government provides corporate charters, licenses, patents, and infrastructure. Verizon and AT&T make billions off our airwaves. Oil companies drill in our waters and on our lands. Corporations use our railroads, highways, and electrical grids. These belong to us. It's time we remember that.

While American elites dismantled our industrial base, China understood what we forgot—building, investing, and planning long-term is how nations secure their future. China's approach to rare earth minerals demonstrates the difference starkly. After a 2010 embargo on Japan, China consolidated control of rare earths, nationalizing mines and streamlining production. Today, China produces 90% of the world's rare earth magnets, crucial for EVs, wind turbines, and defense technology. America's response? Our single rare earth mine in Mountain Pass, California struggles to survive, burdened by red tape, financing issues, and a lack of strategic foresight.

But rare earths aren't unique. This pattern repeats across industries: China released 426 new wind turbine models in four years; the rest of the world combined, only 29. China controls over 80% of global solar panel manufacturing capacity. China has 10.2 million EV charging stations; America just 140,000. China produces 75% of global battery supply at far lower costs.

There are two competing visions of economic ownership at play, and the contrast is stark—ownership versus extraction. America's current model prioritizes financial extraction—stocks, patents, intellectual property. It obsesses over short-term quarterly profits, separates thinking from doing, and rewards extraction rather than creation. China's model prioritizes physical ownership—factories, supply chains, resources. It plans decades ahead, not quarters, merges innovation directly with production, and values production capacity as strategic strength.

We once understood the importance of strategic ownership. The Tennessee Valley Authority provided public power. The Rural Electrification Act did what private companies wouldn't. The Interstate Highway System enabled national commerce. These weren't just big government initiatives—they were America asserting ownership over its essential infrastructure and economic future.

The people who built this country weren't billionaires and hedge fund managers. They were makers who built America—people like my grandfather—who grew up as one of 13 children in a sharecropping family, essentially economic serfs, yet within a generation owned a farm, houses, and financial security. His success wasn't just personal—it was supported by a nation that actually made things and created paths for working people to rise. He and millions like him didn't build America so hedge funds could turn starter homes into overpriced rentals, or so billionaires could send celebrities up into space. It's like they're trolling us. Daring us to have a problem with their joyrides while the rest of us struggle to keep up. They built it to improve life for all Americans.

Today, we face a stark truth: You can't own what you can't build or maintain. Losing our manufacturing capability means losing ownership over our economic destiny and the innovation that comes from hands-on experience. The solution isn't nostalgia or nationalism. It's about taking America back by reclaiming ownership of our productive future. That means government investing directly in manufacturing infrastructure. It means putting R&D back onto factory floors, not just isolated labs. It means training programs to produce skilled makers, not just paper shufflers. It means long-term visions for energy, transportation, and healthcare.

The rare earth crisis isn't another trade war—it's the result of decades of surrendering ownership of our future. This land is our land. These resources are our resources. This government is our government. It's time we start acting like owners again. The choice we face is clear: Will we rebuild America, or just keep renting it?

Corbin