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common good
3 Ways Rising Inequality Has Weakened US Democracy
The class-based inequalities exacerbated by the Trump bill are not new. Rather, they are part of a 50-year trend linked to social cleavages, political corruption, and a declining belief in the common good.
Jul 14, 2025
America has never been richer. But the gains are so lopsided that the top 10% controls 69% of all wealth in the country, while the bottom half controls just 3%. Meanwhile, surging corporate profits have mostly benefited investors, not the broader public.
This divide is expected to widen after President Donald Trump’s sweeping new spending bill drastically cuts Medicaid and food aid, programs that stabilize the economy and subsidize low-wage employers.
Moreover, the tax cuts at the heart of the bill will deliver tens of billions of dollars in benefits to the wealthiest households while disproportionately burdening low-income households, according to analyses by the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office and Joint Committee on Taxation. By 2033, the bottom 20% will pay more in taxes while the top 0.1% receive $43 billion in cuts.
I am a sociologist who studies economic inequality, and my research demonstrates that the class-based inequalities exacerbated by the Trump bill are not new. Rather, they are part of a 50-year trend linked to social cleavages, political corruption, and a declining belief in the common good.
The Roots of Class-Based Inequality
The decades following World War II were broadly prosperous, but conditions began changing in the 1970s. Class inequality has increased enormously since then, according to government data, while income inequality has risen for five decades at the expense of workers.
Economists usually gauge a country’s economic health by looking at its gross domestic product as measured through total spending on everything from groceries to patents.
But another way to view GDP is by looking at whether the money goes to workers or business owners. This second method—the income approach—offers a clearer picture of who really benefits from economic growth.
The money that goes to labor’s share of GDP, or workers, is represented by employee compensation, including wages, salaries, and benefits. The money left over for businesses after paying for work and materials is called gross operating surplus, or business surplus.
The share of GDP going to workers rose 12% from 1947 to 1970, then fell 14% between 1970 and 2023. The opposite happened with the business surplus, falling 18% in the early postwar decades before jumping 34% from 1970 to today.
Meanwhile, corporate profits have outpaced economic growth by 193% since 1970. Within profits, shareholder dividends as a share of GDP grew 274%.
As of 2023, labor had lost all of the economic gains made since 1947. Had workers kept their 1970 share of GDP, they would have earned $1.7 trillion more in 2023 alone. And no legislation or federal action since 1970 has reversed this half-century trend.
When more of the economy goes to businesses instead of workers, that poses serious social problems. My research focuses on three that threaten democracy.
1. Fraying Social Bonds and Livelihoods
Not just an issue of income and assets, growing class inequality represents the fraying of American society.
For instance, inequality and the resulting hardship are linked to worse health outcomes. Americans die younger than their peers in other rich countries, and U.S. life expectancy has decreased, especially among the poor.
Moreover, economic struggles contribute to mental health issues, deaths of despair, and profound problems such as addiction, including tobacco, alcohol, and opioid abuse.
Inequality can disrupt families. Kids who experience the stresses of poverty can develop neurological and emotional problems, putting them at risk for drug use as adults. On the other hand, when minimum wages increase and people begin saving wealth, divorce risk falls.
Research shows inequality has many other negative consequences, from reduced social mobility to lower social trust and even higher homicide rates.
Together, these broad social consequences are linked to misery, political discontent, and normlessness.
2. Increasing Corruption in Politics
Inequality is rising in the U.S. largely because business elites are exercising more influence over policy outcomes, research shows. My related work on privatization explains how 50 years of outsourcing public functions—through contracting, disinvestment, and job cuts—threatens democratic accountability.
Research across different countries has repeatedly found that higher income inequality increases political corruption. It does so by undermining trust in government and institutions, and enabling elites to dominate policymaking while weakening public oversight.
Yet democratic decline and inequality are not inevitable.
Since 2010, weakened campaign finance laws driven by monied interests have sharply increased corruption risks. The Supreme Court ruled then in Citizens United to lift campaign finance restrictions, enabling unlimited political spending. It reached an apex in 2024, when Elon Musk spent $200 million to elect Trump before later installing his Starlink equipment onto Federal Aviation Administration systems in a reported takeover of a $2.4 billion contract with Verizon.
Research shows that a large majority of Americans believe that the economy is rigged, suggesting everyday people sense the link between inequality and corruption.
3. Undermining Belief in the Common Good
National aspirations have emphasized the common good since America’s founding. The Declaration of Independence lists the king’s first offense as undermining the “public good” by subverting the rule of law. The Constitution’s preamble commits the government to promoting the general welfare and shared well-being.
But higher inequality historically means the common good goes overlooked, according to research. Meanwhile, work has become more precarious, less unionized, more segmented, and less geographically stable. Artificial intelligence may worsen these trends.
This tends to coincide with a drop in voting and other forms of civic engagement.
The government has fewer mechanisms for protecting community when rising inequality is paired with lower taxes for the wealthy and reduced public resources. My research finds that public sector unions especially bolster civic engagement in this environment.
Given increasing workplace and social isolation, America’s loneliness epidemic is unsurprising, especially for low earners.
All of these factors and their contribution to alienation can foster authoritarian beliefs and individualism. When people become cold and distrustful of one another, the notion of the common good collapses.
Inequality as a Policy Outcome
News coverage of the Trump bill and policy debate have largely centered on immediate gains and losses. But zoomed out, a clearer picture emerges of the long-term dismantling of foundations that once supported broad economic security. That, in turn, has enabled democratic decline.
As labor’s share of the economy declined, so too did the institutional trust and shared social values that underpin democratic life. Among the many consequences are the political discontent and disillusionment shaping our current moment.
Republicans hold both chambers of Congress through 2026, making significant policy changes unlikely in the short term. Democrats opposed the bill but are out of power. And their coalition is divided between a centrist establishment and an insurgent progressive wing with diverging priorities in addressing inequality.
Yet democratic decline and inequality are not inevitable. If restoring broad prosperity and social stability are the goals, they may require revisiting the New Deal-style policies that produced labor’s peak economic share of 59% of GDP in 1970.
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Beyond Authoritarian Rage:The Cultural Will to Democracy
While the slide into authoritarianism has perhaps reached the point of no return, which we cannot know for certain, now might instead be regarded as an exigent moment for revitalizing the spirit of democracy.
Jan 17, 2025
“Democratic laws and institutions can only function effectively when they are based on a culture of democracy.” —Thorbjørn Jagland, Secretary General of the Council of Europe (2018)
If political rage propels authoritarianism, what supports democratic governance? If a culture of democracy is required, is it attainable? Or has the slide into authoritarian rule crossed the point of no return? The time of cultural reckoning has arrived.
U.S. democracy, historically thin, is susceptible to demagoguery and oligarchy. As political philosopher Benjamin Barber observed decades ago, “the survival of democracy remains an open question.” It will endure “only as strong democracy,” secured by a competent, responsible, politically engaged, and well-informed citizenry; a lasting commitment to self-governance requires a civically educated public.
Strong democracy presupposes a culture of democracy.
What is a culture of democracy?
This question is so important that in 2018 the Council of Europe—an intergovernmental human rights organization representing 46 European member states—published a three-volume report dedicated to answering it. According to the report, a civic culture strong enough to sustain democratic institutions, laws, and practices consists of a full set of values, attitudes, and knowledge acted upon by the citizenry in public spaces. This is a high standard, especially for a markedly diverse country of over 300 million. It presumes adherence to key values, command of relevant knowledge, and proficiency in corresponding competencies.
Democratic values include a commitment to human dignity and rights, cultural diversity, equality, fairness, justice, the rule of law, and democratic procedures. Human rights apply universally, are safeguarded without distinction, and are exercised short of violating the rights of others. Respect for cultural diversity enables the contribution of diverse perspectives to public deliberation and decision-making. Decisions by majority or plurality vote are made without resort to coercion and with continuing respect for civil liberties.
Among democratic attitudes, openness to cultural diversity entails a suspension of prejudice and a willingness to cooperate with citizens of different cultural identities in a relationship of equality. An attitude of tolerance and respect presumes the intrinsic dignity and equality of others regardless of their differences. An attitude of civic mindedness and self-sufficiency involves a sense of interconnectedness among citizens, a concern for one another’s welfare, a willingness to serve the common good, an expectation of personal accountability, and a belief that one’s contribution can make a positive difference. Civic mindedness extends to dealing creatively and constructively with complexities, ambiguities, and uncertainties.
A functioning democracy requires a substantial investment in cultural knowledge, not just technical competency.
Implementing these values and attitudes requires various democratic competencies. Analytical thinking consists of logical and systematic analysis of issues and arguments together with critical thinking to make evaluative judgments about options and to sort out political propaganda, while recognizing that one’s own judgments are contingent on a working perspective. Active listening and close observation are required to appreciate subtleties, identify inconsistencies and omissions, and understand cultural differences. Empathy is requisite to apprehending the cognitive and affective orientation of people with dissimilar cultural backgrounds. Flexibility and adaptation to changing circumstances and experiences are necessary to reconsider fixed habits of thought. Competency in communication is needed to express opinions, ideas, and wants, to request and provide clarifications, to persuade and negotiate constructively, to compromise, cooperate, manage conflict, and build consensus.
The democratic knowledge expected of citizens is familiarity with the complexities of the larger world. It encompasses an understanding of political and legal concepts such as rights, equality, and justice as well as an awareness of how democratic institutions operate; knowledge of current affairs and the political views of others; knowledge of the history, texts, doctrines, practices, and diversity of religious traditions; understanding how history is constructed and shapes contemporary perceptions; knowing how media select, interpret, and edit information for various purposes, and their impact on the public’s judgment and behavior; understanding economic processes, their consequences for profit and employment, and their intersection with social, political, and environmental issues.
Is a culture of democracy attainable?
Even more than the above synopsis, the full text of democratic values, attitudes, knowledge, and competencies conveys an expectation that is well above the present capacity of publics in the U.S., Europe, and elsewhere. This disjunction between aspiration and reality raises a question of feasibility. Can the public’s competencies be raised to a closer approximation of the ideal, to a level close enough for civic culture to support democratic politics?
The decline of liberal arts and civic education is indicative of the difficulty of answering the feasibility question affirmatively. Democratic culture is undermined rather than advanced by a commitment to technical and applied training at the expense of teaching the humanities, arts, and social sciences. A functioning democracy requires a substantial investment in cultural knowledge, not just technical competency. Nor can a balanced education be restricted to elites if the aim is to develop an able, well-informed public.
Beyond the deficit in formal education, lifelong civic learning is hampered by economic struggle, health crises, life’s everyday demands, violence riddled entertainment, sensationalized news media, and polarized politics. The country is caught in a downward political spiral exacerbated by its diminishing influence in the world, the economic disruption of globalization, inequity of wealth distribution, ongoing demographic shifts and migration, and imminent climate change, culminating in the election of a rightwing authoritarian regime. Under these circumstances, it is difficult to foresee a rise of civic culture above even the minimum needed to sustain thin democracy.
The value of an aspirational model as a gauge of the democratic deficit is that it can provide a goal and sense of direction for rectifying present deficiencies. The problem with an aspirational model is that the ideal can be too far removed from exigent circumstances, frustrated expectations, and fragmented politics to inspire commitment to a democratic future. It takes strong faith to bridge the gap and to move forward in an imperfect world.
Has faith in the democratic ideal expired?
Perhaps the spirit of democracy is most immediately in need of revival, if that is possible. An analytical ideal of democratic culture is abstract, literal, even antiseptic, and thus stripped of narrative texture and figurative transcendence. Absent a binding mythos, a people’s shared sentiment fades, and collective faith in democracy diminishes. The people are deprived of a political north star.
Just as Trumpism mobilizes the country’s dark impulses, historian Jon Meacham argues, the people must call upon their better angels and reach within the nation’s soul for a noble guiding vision. That “ancient and perennial” soul is an “immanent collection of convictions, dispositions, and sensitivities that shape character and inform conduct.” It is “the vital center, the core, the heart, the essence of life.”
Historian Heather Cox Richardson documents how the country’s antidemocratic leaders have rewritten the nation’s story to abandon the principle of equality. She also observes that Americans have managed, despite several close calls, to hold on to democratic principles for over three centuries, “however imperfectly they lived them.” In her view, “the true nature of American democracy … is, and has always been, a work in progress.” The task at hand in this “time of testing,” she writes, is one of “keeping the dream of equality alive.”
By these accounts, reawakening the spirit of democracy is a plausible undertaking. An imperfect citizenry might draw sustenance from its centuries-long, checkered quest for liberty and equality, and it might reasonably hope to muddle through dark times.
When robust democratic deliberation is rendered inherently destabilizing, the modes of responsible and active citizenship by a competent public are diminished.
That said, rhetorical scholar Jennifer Mercieca observes that the capacity of the citizenry to act democratically is “ambiguous.” American citizenship, depending on “whoever ‘the people’ are thought to be,” is a “conflicted, paradoxical, and complex” phenomenon that does not ensure the kind of national stability the Constitution was designed to protect. By representing active citizenship as a danger to stability, the country’s Constitutional founders strayed from the revolutionary conception of citizens actively watching and critiquing government, resisting corruption and oppression, and working for the common good. Over the course of time, a pseudo-democratic conception of citizenship, informed by an infantilizing discourse of a distempered public, a public that must be contained and constrained by political parties, has demoted citizens from decisionmakers to bystanders and relegated them to consumer status. When robust democratic deliberation is rendered inherently destabilizing, the modes of responsible and active citizenship by a competent public are diminished.
While the slide into authoritarianism has perhaps reached the point of no return, which we cannot know for certain, now might instead be regarded as an exigent moment for revitalizing the spirit of democracy. Reconstituting civic will would take a fugitive act in the Jeffersonian sense of instigating a little rebellion now and again—a rebellious interval of deliberative dissent with sufficient intensity and duration to jump start the democratic dream. There can be no guarantee, only a conviction that an effort to prevent the demise of democracy might succeed.
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'Even When Things Look Dark, Way Down, in the Human Heart—There’s a Light'
A reflection on a 'Christmas Song'—our family's favorite—and one that speaks solemnly and soulfully to the deep drive that fuels our common dreams.
Dec 24, 2024
It’s true I have a favorite Christmas song, but as it turns out, it’s not one that many people know—at least I assume most people don’t know it.
Funny enough, the title is simply “Christmas Song,” and it was performed—at least the version I know—by songwriter Greg Brown during a live show back in 2001.
Though an atheist, my fondness for Christmas—perhaps like it is for many—is wrapped in the nostalgia of the holiday of my upbringing as well as the ongoing joys I find during this “season of giving.” Like religious celebrations across many faiths, Christmas has the ability to open the human heart and reminds us (if we let it) of that spirit that enriches us and challenges us to understand what it means to share, not material gifts, but time and warmth with one another.
In Brown’s song—which I encourage you to listen to here or below—the story of Jesus is subtly inverted.
Rather than a story of miraculous birth—”It was the night before Christmas,” the song begins, “but nobody was really noticing that”—it is a story about the routine of birth (“something women do” and that “men kinda, sorta, a little bit… help”) in which the only miracle is the gift of life that we’ve all been granted.
Just getting born is such an amazing thing
You'd think we'd all just be nice forever after—
Just to get to be a part of it.
You'd think that anybody that ever held a little baby in their arms
Would be so careful not to ever do any damage
To another human being—or to the creation
Of which we are so obviously a part.
The song presents a story of Jesus that escapes Christianity, which is perhaps why I find it so lovely and piercing, and opens the door to thinking about the hidden promise of a holiday that too often asks us “what we want” as opposed to reflecting on the joys of what we’ve been given.
Sometimes when I get distraught
About our world and what we're doing to it
I remind myself that little children like that are being born every day.
The story in the song is not about a boy who grew up to “found any big religions, with shiny churches,” but rather a story “about a world so much better than this one.” In this story, the unnamed boy “was just a child full of love, who went around and talked about love.”
And so it follows that the lesson of such a child is not that he was exemplary (though perhaps he was), but that we too often fail to recognize the potent and profound goodness of so many people among us, past and present—not children of God, but examples of humility and decency.
Sometimes when I get distraught
About our world and what we're doing to it
I remind myself that little children like that are being born every day.
They may not make a lot of big news
But in their life, they’re kind;
They take care of people;
They don’t blow things all out of proportion.
They spread the news that this life,
So mysterious and hard, is a wonderful enterprise
That should be cherished.
And Brown, led all along by the slow strum of guitar, speaks sorrowfully but clearly as he tells his listener:
So Christmas, if it’s anything at all,
It’s every day. It’s every night.
And even when things look dark, way down…
In the human heart,
That we all share...
There’s a light.
And, only to the song’s credit, it makes me think that’s true. I don’t call it religion, but that idea has shaped my understanding of what the promise of human goodness really is. We know it exists, not because we read about it or were told to believe in it—but because we’ve seen it. We’ve witnessed it.
So Christmas, if it’s anything at all, it’s every day. It’s every night.
Even amidst all the horror and violence and injustice, we know in our life, the good people—young and old and those neither young nor old—and they don’t ask us to believe, but show us the way.
When I listen to this song—as I often will at this time of year—it does something solemn to my heart, the hearts of my family, and those we share it with.
Since I first heard it, the song has always been to me a magnificent expression, though that was not its intent, of what Common Dreams seeks to represent—a world full of people who embody that spirit of loving one another and defending the common good while challenging “the political leadership of the day,” as the song puts it.
We don’t often use that kind of language, but that’s what this project we call Common Dreams is about: love. The news we report and the opinions and analysis we share are all grounded in a deep love for people, community, life of all kinds, and the planet that sustains us all.
I know very well how dark it feels right now for so many. We are right to be frightened and angry and frustrated. And at the same time, we must remember that the light “we all share, in the human heart” is the beginning of our path forward. We are going to have to fight like hell, but that fight will be built on love and solidarity or nothing at all.
With endless gratitude for all you do in the world, dear reader, and the example you set for the rest of us.
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