BOSTON — If there was a theme song to this passing autumn, I guess it was America the Vulnerable.
We were struck, out of the blue, by a reminder of how life can end in the middle of a phone call or a cup of coffee or a business trip. The difference between being at home or at Ground Zero could be as arbitrary as changing a flight, dropping a kid at school, or canceling a breakfast meeting.
There was nothing really new in this refrain of life’s capriciousness and human vulnerability. Those of us who have lived through disasters and accidents, who suffered wars and losses, had heard this lyric before. But then again, sociologists tell us that the most powerful lessons are those that teach us what we already knew.
So 9/11 shook us out of the Muzak of safety. It was the vulnerability as well as the terror itself that woke us out of the sleep mode, leading us to make wills and donations, to raise flags and link arms.
The realization that we were all one — one country, one target — fueled the connection between firefighter and financier. It overrode the differences between the citizens of Manhattan and Middle America. We connected the dots between each other.
Listening to America the Vulnerable, I was never certain how deep the sentiment went and whether vulnerability was a good enough tuning fork. But now, we are rolling into winter, searching the Tora Bora caves for Osama and searching the homeland recession for clues to our own future.
In a New York office building, a young woman, freshly fired, finds herself symbolically locked in a downward stairwell when the firm turns off her electronic key before she has even left the building. In the country, only 40 percent of the newly unemployed are eligible for unemployment compensation. Down on the street, the number of homeless is up in some cities by as much as 25 percent.
Some call this a perfect economic storm, a confluence of 9/11 disaster and dot-com collapse, a mix of help unwanted and relief agencies wanting. At the same time, in one final gust, some folks are beginning to come up against the five-year time limit on what we used to call welfare.
Our sense of connection has come up for renewal. As I write this, Congress is wrangling over whether an economic stimulus package should give more tax cuts or expand unemployment payments and health insurance for folks who’ve lost their jobs. But the harshest debate about whether we are in this — this country — together, will begin next year when the welfare-to-work program comes up again for debate.
In 1996, we replaced welfare with a sweeping welfare-to-work reform that we call Temporary Assistance to Needy Families. The new system of block grants to the states had a carrot and a stick. It offered support programs for those who moved into work, time limits for those who didn’t.
TANF was a success if you count the reduction in welfare rolls by more than half. But most of the welfare poor become working poor. The "reformers" — a political shotgun marriage — never planned for a rainy day, let alone this perfect storm of a recession that has already cast many of these mothers overboard. Most of them are without the life raft of unemployment insurance. Many are running out of time.
Among the questions for TANF the Sequel will be how to continue programs that support poor families, particularly as states face their own budget cuts. Should we stop the clock during a recession? Change the rules so new workers are eligible for the unemployment safety net? Provide subsidized jobs during hard times?
Behind this debate will be the central question of whether we are indeed united.
One theory behind "ending welfare as we know it" was that the emphasis on work would erase the line between "us" and "them." Today David Ellwood, one of the original architects of welfare reform, says hopefully, "You don’t hear talk of welfare queens. It feels like we have more sympathy and understanding of the struggle of working folks."
Americans were moved overwhelmingly to respond to the families of 9/11 victims. We reached out to those whose job came crashing down with the office. We shared a common enemy.
Maybe we are learning another thing we always knew. It’s not just physical danger or terrorism that creates one community.
In the 1990s, many were smug with dot-com success. Now vulnerability comes both in the shape of someone who put his money in Enron and someone who put her hopes in workfare.
Maybe we remember that it’s not just the war front, but also the home front, that tests our ability to stay on the same side.
Ellen Goodman can be reached at The Washington Post Writers Group, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, DC 20071-9200 or send e-mail to EllenGoodman@Globe.com.
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