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The politicians who are dismantling that social contract have had to find cheaper ways to address the insecurity that voters express. Bill Clinton is a master at playing to people's fear of losing control. He offers cell phones to citizen patrols and television ratings for absent parents. As more and more corporations shovel workers into managed-care programs, Clinton unveils a new patient "bill of rights": "I think it's fair to say that almost every family feels some insecurity at the scope and pace of change in the world," he said. "There are so many people in this country that, because of these changes, feel like they're always going to be on the losing end of cost-cutting and quality issues in every sector of life." Much of the legislation that has passed--with bipartisan support--has been designed to soothe a country in flux: Kassebaum-Kennedy health-care portability, so that when you switch from one job to the next, your benefits are secure; minimum-wage increases to fight off the market's pressure on the working poor; and tax credits for families with children.
All this stress has inspired corporations like AT&T and Boeing to recruit poets and other spiritual gurus to help managers cope creatively. "I teach people to find a special, still place inside themselves," purrs Richard Sandore, an obstetrician turned Andean shaman healer who founded a company called Soaring Spirit Inc. As a practitioner of "energy healing," Sandore works with Chicago-area businesses to tap the intuition and wholeness "that produced the works of Shakespeare and turned Microsoft into a billion-dollar giant within a decade."
Decisions that were never easy have become even harder: Sue Medrano, an information-systems analyst for a large brokerage firm in San Francisco, is thrilled to be making $70,000 a year but can't figure out when to take a vacation, let alone have a baby. Lynn Andel, an advertising writer in Crestwood, Mo., isn't sure whether to buy life insurance to protect her kids or invest in stocks for her retirement. In this climate, it is easy to find people like the Jorjorians in affluent Wilmette, Ill., who are raising two children and finding it tough to get by on their $170,000 joint income. Their life-style is comfortable but hardly extravagant. They drive a '93 Ford Taurus and a '91 minivan. Vacations are almost always limited to visits with relatives in Michigan. "I earn more in a month than my dad did in a year," says Greg, 52, managing director for a chemical-sales company. "But I feel my life is more difficult," he says, sounding as baffled as discouraged. "I don't gamble. I don't have season tickets to the Bulls. How can I earn this much but not have anything left over?"