Economists -- and what few friends the Bush administration still has -- seem flabbergasted at how bleak Americans have grown about their economic prospects.
True, gasoline has shot past $4 a gallon. And house prices keep dropping. And unemployment is creeping higher and higher.
But is this really enough to send consumer confidence plunging to near-record lows? To convince more than 8 in 10 Americans that the country is headed in the wrong direction? Surely something else must be at work.
Republicans and some economic analysts think they know what that something is: Democratic doomsayers. Republican Rep. Virginia Foxx of North Carolina recently distilled this view with Nixonian flourish, declaring: "This is not a failed economy. We are not in recession. What a shame that Democrats want to talk down the economy."
But I think there's a better explanation for the public's dark mood, one that's closer at hand and deeper running than the talk-it-down theory.
Working Americans and their families arrived on the doorstep of the current economic crisis uniquely ill-equipped to cope with its consequences. Rather than having gained a financial protective coating during the period of growth that preceded it, working families up and down the income spectrum were actually nudged further out on an economic limb and therefore were primed for being picked off once problems emerged.
It's not that the growth of the last generation wasn't real; it was. The U.S. economy doubled in size between 1980 and last year. It's not that all of the benefits of the just-past era went to those at the top (although a very substantial chunk did); millions upon millions of Americans prospered right along with the super-rich.
But the prosperity we enjoyed was purchased at a price of diminished security for our families and ourselves. Even as our incomes went up, economic risks -- the costs of being laid off, of suffering a work-stopping illness or of a catastrophe like a house fire -- that were once largely borne on the broad shoulders of business and government were being shifted onto the backs of ordinary families, from the working poor to the reasonably rich.
That means that even before the current crisis struck, families were primed to take steeper financial falls than in the past, ones from which they'd have a harder time recovering. And now that trouble is upon us, they are falling in greater and greater numbers.
The changes that have made Americans more vulnerable have occurred in the struts that hold up working families and that have held them up for generations. Jobs, benefits, housing, health coverage, college and retirement savings, even bought-and-paid-for insurance all played crucial roles in maintaining families' economic stability during the second half of the 20th century. But the protective value of each has been weakened over the last generation.
Take two examples: benefits and housing.
When Washington officials and the presidential candidates talk about benefits, they usually mean public benefits such as Social Security and Medicare. But the benefits that really count for the vast majority of working-age Americans are their employer-provided benefits -- the health insurance and disability coverage and the 401(k) they've been building -- that taken together form a crucial safety net for themselves and their families.
However, although most Americans are not aware of it, their grasp on these benefits -- their assurance of receiving them, their remedy if they do not -- is governed by a single federal law, the Employee Retirement Income Security Act of 1974, or ERISA.
ERISA's congressional authors intended the law to protect employee benefits. We know this because they said so right in the law's preamble. But over the last generation, the Supreme Court and increasingly conservative federal appeals courts have rendered a series of decisions involving ERISA that have made it easier for employers and their agents to deny benefits to workers and their families.
Diane Andrews-Clarke learned exactly what these decisions meant when her husband (and father of the couple's three daughters), Richard Clarke, began drinking heavily. Under Andrews-Clarke's employer-provided family health insurance policy, and under Massachusetts law, anyone covered by the policy who needed alcohol treatment was due 30 days of inpatient care paid for by insurance.
However, when Andrews-Clarke tried to collect, the insurer refused to cover more than a handful of days. When she tried a second time, the insurer refused again. Richard Clarke eventually died, and Andrews-Clarke sued. But because the Supreme Court and appeals courts have limited employees' rights under employer-provided health policies such as hers to essentially getting the benefits that were originally denied, and because Clarke, being dead, wasn't available to receive any benefits, Andrews-Clarke got nothing.