Illinois: A Great Place to Be From

By Cliff Potts, CSO, and Editor-in-Chief of WPS News

Baybay City, Leyte, Philippines — February 20, 2026

The State That Raised Me Without Catching Me

Illinois is a great place to be from. People say that as a joke, but it is not a joke to me. It is a survival statement. Illinois is the place that shaped me, sharpened me, and then made it clear that I was on my own.

I was not born there. We arrived in 1967, and from the moment my feet hit Chicago pavement, the tone was different. People were harder. The edges were sharper. The kindness that existed came with conditions. You learned fast, or you learned painfully. I learned painfully.

Illinois did not offer protection. It offered endurance. If you could survive, you stayed. If you could not, you learned to fight, to shut up, or to disappear. I learned all three before I was old enough to understand what they cost.

This is not a story about cruelty for its own sake. It is about how systems behave when they are stretched thin and decide—quietly—who matters and who does not.

When Institutions Go Silent

The clearest lesson Illinois taught me was that institutions do not rush to your aid just because you are struggling. They help when you already fit their expectations.

I learned that in school. I attended a magnet high school that required above-average academic ability. On paper, I belonged there. In practice, the moment I fell behind—through no fault of my own—I became invisible. When chickenpox took me out for two weeks during my junior year, no teacher offered help. No administrator intervened. No system activated.

The message was simple: if you fall behind, you stay behind.

This was not neglect by accident. It was neglect by design. The system had no incentive to help someone recover ground once they slipped. That was my first real encounter with class sorting, even if I did not have language for it at the time.

Training for Jobs That Were Already Leaving

The magnet school’s mission was to train students for industrial work tied to Chicago’s economy in the 1970s. What it did not acknowledge was that those jobs were already disappearing. By the time Ronald Reagan entered office, the industrial base that justified the school’s existence was being dismantled.

Even then, the system protected itself, not its students. One instructor blocked me from advanced computer coursework—not because I lacked ability, but because he feared I knew more than he did. Instead of cultivating talent, the institution defended hierarchy.

That pattern repeated throughout my life. Illinois did not reward capability. It rewarded compliance and seniority. If you threatened the structure, even accidentally, you were sidelined.

Emotional Rules of Survival

Illinois taught me an emotional rule early: shut up and absorb it.

If you protested, you were labeled difficult. If you expressed pain, you were told to toughen up. Within my own family, the message was the same. Do not burden others with your needs. Do not expect rescue. Do not ask for softness in a hard place.

That lesson stayed with me far longer than it should have. It followed me into adulthood, into work, into relationships. It took decades to unlearn the idea that endurance was the same thing as worth.

Loving a City That Cannot Hold You

Chicago is still home to me in ways that matter. I love the food. The diners. The Italian beefs. The sausages. The pizza. The neighborhoods that feel like memory made solid. I have friends there I still care about deeply.

But love does not pay rent.

By the 2010s, I was working multiple jobs and still could not afford stable housing. I was functionally homeless, living in an extended-stay hotel while holding full-time technical and clerical work. That is not a personal failure. It is a structural indictment.

Illinois is expensive because it extracts relentlessly from those without assets. Property taxes, sales taxes, fees, and the rising cost of housing form a ratchet that only turns one direction. If you are poor, you stay poor. If you fall, the ground comes up fast.

The Class Lock-In

Illinois does not pretend everyone has equal opportunity. It simply assumes that those who succeed deserve to, and those who do not must be lacking something. That assumption is deadly.

The state produces wealth, culture, and talent—but it does not distribute stability evenly. Asset holders benefit. Everyone else fights over what remains. Over time, this creates a quiet but absolute class lock-in.

This is visible in housing, education, and labor markets. According to the U.S. Census Bureau and HUD data, Illinois has persistent affordability and homelessness pressures tied to stagnant wages and rising costs, particularly in urban areas.

You can work. You can contribute. You can even excel. But without inherited stability or institutional backing, you lose ground anyway.

Why People Leave—and Why It Hurts

People leave Illinois not because they hate it, but because it will not let them stay. That distinction matters.

Leaving is not rejection. It is survival. When effort no longer converts into security, movement becomes the only option. I left because I could not afford to remain. Many do.

And yet, Illinois leaves a mark. It teaches resilience, yes—but also suspicion, guardedness, and the belief that help will not come. Those lessons do not disappear when you cross state lines.

A Great Place to Be From

Illinois is a great place to be from because surviving it gives you clarity. You learn early that systems are not neutral. You learn that silence is enforced as much as it is taught. You learn that belonging is conditional.

I do not hate Illinois. I understand it.

And understanding it is what finally allowed me to leave without shame.

References

U.S. Census Bureau. (2024). American Community Survey. https://www.census.gov
U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. (2024). Annual Homeless Assessment Report. https://www.hud.gov
Bureau of Labor Statistics. (2024). Occupational Employment and Wage Statistics. https://www.bls.gov