A Pew report released a few weeks ago announced that, among other things, Millennials are low on social trust:

In response to a long-standing social science survey question, “Generally speaking, would you say that most people can be trusted or that you can’t be too careful in dealing with people,” just 19% of Millennials say most people can be trusted, compared with 31% of Gen Xers, 37% of Silents and 40% of Boomers.

They have a graph and everything.

The implication – from Pew and others – is that a decline in trust is a bad thing. In Robert Putnam’s model, for example, a decline in trust correlates with a decline in social capital. And low social capital leads to a whole slew of negative outcomes for individuals and communities.

More generally, its easy to look at low levels of trust two ways: either people are trustworthy but not trusted - which doesn’t sound ideal – or people are not trusted because they are not trustworthy – in which case, you’ve probably got bigger societal issues to deal with.

So, which kind of society are we?

Pew postulates that low levels of social trust come from the unprecedented diversity among this generation. Previous Pew research showed that “minorities and low-income adults had lower levels of social trust than other groups.” Additionally, “sociologists have theorized that people who feel vulnerable or disadvantaged for whatever reason find it riskier to trust.”

So, basically, if you’ve been screwed over by The Man, you’re not likely to trust The Man. Well, that seems reasonable.

Maybe Millennials say that most people can’t be trusted because…most people can’t be trusted. I mean, seriously, what is news beyond a series of reports on people and institutions you’d be wise not to trust?

But maybe the deeper story is more complex than that.

There is, it seems, an important difference between people and a person.

People are likely to trample you if the building catches on fire. People are likely to get whipped into a frenzy – or to stand by in apathy, assuming somebody else will act. People are a generalization, an abstraction, a stand-in for the formless masses you’ve never met.

A person is different. A person is specific. Whether their deeds are heroic or despicable, their acts are theirs alone and you can judge them individually.

Do I trust John Smith? Let me evaluate that based off his character.

Do I trust people? Aw, hell no.

I can see why Putnam and others would find a lack of trust disturbing. It may indeed bode ill for civil society.

But it doesn’t have to.

When strangers strike up conversation – which happens all the time – I don’t trust them. I consciously monitor what I say, being sure not to give away too many personal details. Where I live, where I work, where I’m going.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a perfectly lovely conversation.

Everyone’s a stranger when you first meet them. Some are totally unvoutched for – a stranger at a bus stop – while others seem automatically trustworthy through a trusted acquaintance. And, of course, there is everything in between.

It seems perfectly reasonable – and probably wise – not to trust a stranger at a bus stop. I’m okay with encouraging that kind of behavior.

But you know what I’d like to see more of? More conversation about about to be neighborly in an untrustworthy world.

If you smile at a stranger on the street – yeah, sometimes your gonna get that creeper who will cause you to detour into a store – but most of the time, you’ll just get a smile back. Or you’ll be completely ignored.

A lack of trust doesn’t have to lead to a lack of civil society. Perhaps we just need to rethink the rules of the game.

Anger can be a powerful feeling.

Not just “a little put out” kind of anger, but deep, passionate, blood-boiling, seeing-red, beyond rational thought kind of anger.

The kind of anger that easily leads to an explosion of violence. As if the anger has a will of its own which simply cannot be contained any more.

Restraint can also be a powerful feeling. To look into the eye of your own seething wrath and refuse to let it control you. To show your enemies that you are in control – but ready to unleash hell with a single command.

Consider this scene from Henry V where Exeter – the real power behind the throne – threatens the King of France with war if he refuses to concede England’s authority.

Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
That, if requiring fail, he will compel;
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head
Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries
The dead men’s blood, the pining maidens groans,
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow’d in this controversy.

Strong words, spoken with power, but with restraint.

Of course England and France still go to war.

But here’s the real question: is love as powerful as anger?

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. certainly thought so. As he said in 1967:

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

As a society we often think of anger as power, of violence as power. Love may be desirable, but collectively we can’t seem to shake the feeling that love is soft. Love is weak.

Those who would dare confront anger with love will soon be eradicated, so little is their power.

But is it possible, is it, that if we really embraced love. Embraced it with a blood-boiling, seeing-red passion.

Is it possible that we’d find it more powerful after all?

I yield to very few people in my concern about money-in-politics, having worked for Common Cause from 1991-93 and consistently studied the issue since then. Yesterday’s McCutcheon decision, although generally anticipated by experts on campaign finance law, is deeply discreditable.

Chief Justice Roberts asserts that since Buckley v Valeo, “This Court has identified only one legitimate governmental interest for restricting campaign finances: preventing corruption or the appearance of corruption. … No matter how desirable it may seem, it is not an acceptable governmental objective to ‘level the playing field,’ or to ‘level electoral opportunities,’ or to ‘equaliz[e] the financial resources of candidates.’

I do not completely disagree with this. I’d argue that it is constitutional to regulate campaign contributions to further democratic-process objectives, such as making political campaigns relatively more competitive or to reduce the disproportionate impact of big donors. But the most effective way to “level the playing field” among candidates or among citizens is not to rely on limits; it is to subsidize campaigns. Regulatory limits are cheap and popular, hence much easier to pass than subsidies, but they are not especially effective. And they do raise genuine First Amendment concerns. Congress could set limits so high as to be irrelevant, but it could also intentionally set the limits so low as to prevent challengers from getting their messages out. Incumbents actually have an interest in low campaign spending, and that is a reason to be somewhat skeptical about spending limits as a tool for changing the balance of power in elections.

However, in Arizona Free Enterprise Club v. Bennett (2011), the Supreme Court also struck down public subsidies for candidates who agreed to limit their spending. The Arizona case left as the only permissible remedy a system of public financing that coexists with unlimited private money.

Roberts concedes that regulation is constitutional to prevent corruption or the appearance of corruption. But in yesterday’s decision, he defines “corruption” very narrowly:

Moreover, while preventing corruption or its appearance is a legitimate objective, Congress may target only a specific type of corruption—“quid pro quo” corruption. … Spending large sums of money in connection with elections, but not in connection with an effort to control the exercise of an officeholder’s official duties, does not give rise to such quid pro quo corruption. … And because the Government’s interest in preventing the appearance of corruption is equally confined to the appearance of quid pro quo corruption, the Government may not seek to limit the appearance of mere influence or access. … The line between quid pro quo corruption and general influence may seem vague at times, but the distinction must be respected in order to safeguard basic First Amendment rights.

There is no doubt that people and organizations that make large campaign contributions are doing so to obtain influence. That is the case even when their spending is basically defensive–when they are hoping to avoid trouble rather than purchase benefits. Today’s New York Times quotes a lobbyist who says, “We hate [the McCutcheon decision.] We were joking around with the partners today: Guess my kids are going to community college. There is going to be no end in sight. Campaigns now will take as much as you will give.” If these lobbyists feel they must give money to avoid falling into the bad graces of politicians, that is quid pro quo corruption. It is simply not provable as such in a court, because there is no explicit deal of money for a vote. Donors are not trying to “control the exercise of an officeholder’s official duties” but increasing the odds of favorable treatment. If you think their payments are “free speech,” you have a debased sense of freedom, reason, and citizenship.

The word “corruption” must be given a much broader definition than explicit bribery. We must be able to determine that our system is corrupt in the sense of violating its own high principles, and we must be able to address that problem through legislation. A Supreme Court that blocks such remedies is itself corrupt, in the fundamental sense of the word.

As I write in We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For,

The Citizens United decision was the logical conclusion of a half century of retreat from notions of the public good. … This decision capped a century-long process in which special interests became “civil society,” Madison’s factions became “constituencies” or “stakeholders,” propaganda became “public relations” and “communications,” corporate pressure became “government relations,” and lobbying morphed from a disreputable matter of hanging around hotel lobbies and button-holing politicians into a white-collar profession.

I should not have written that Citizens United was “the logical conclusion” of our slide into corruption. McCutcheon is that. Americans should be angry and ashamed.

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