Affordability is the new buzzword. It’s yapped by politicians and pundits across the spectrum. It’s as popular as a new TikTok dance. And it’s genuinely an important and mobilizing concept.
But the truth is, it doesn’t really capture what’s ailing us.
What makes this moment unique is insecurity. Struggling with bills isn’t new to most Americans; what is different today, across lines of social class lines, is the degree of unpredictability that comes with ordinary ways of making a living: ICE grabbing people at workplaces and schools, at bodegas and hospitals, and taking them to American concentration camps; hundreds of thousands of formerly secure, essential federal workers being laid off, part of a Trump administration program of destroying any institution or program that led people to associate government with stability and security, like Medicaid-backed home care and FEMA. And then there’s the threat of AI ending our jobs as we know them.
In this era, instead of walking on solid ground, terra firma, we dwell on shaking, shifting terra infirma. While affordability is a handy reframe of pervasive income inequality—talking about prices and the cost of living, rather than structural forces that stymie mobility, makes people feel less blamed and less-than—it doesn’t cover the gamut of social instability that the last few years have wrought. Call them “economic-plus” factors.
Of course, much of this insecurity has been manufactured by merchants of doubt, the henchmen of an “insecurity-industrial complex.”
That complex is the brainchild, in part, of what former Trump advisor Steve Bannon has dubbed “muzzle velocity,” a rapid political communications strategy that presents a constant stream of wild news events and outrages, shocks designed to both overwhelm the media and put the populace on edge.
It entails the steady downpour of confounding right-wing populist dreck. Bannon described it to Frontline as “three things a day—they’ll bite on one.” When it lands on media platforms, viewers’ fears are then exploited in predatory fashion, for monetary or political gain.
The new insecurity also follows on more than a decade of gleeful “disruption” by Silicon Valley, whose titans have gutted or taken over so many familiar institutions in the last decade that experiences like shopping feel fundamentally less secure, with constant developments like the idea of dynamic pricing in stores, so that budgeting for coffee or eggs feels like playing a slot machine.
On a wider level, it also extends to predictive gambling mega-sites, which monetize the increasingly unpredictable news generated by the White House, benefiting inside traders in government and enabling corporate forces to cash in at scale on our feelings of instability.
Prediction market Kalshi’s co-founders Luana Lopes Lara and Tarek Mansour are now billionaires, according to Forbes; New York University anthropologist Natasha Schull characterizes their platform as “making everything into a set of binary choices” and bettable outcomes, both offering a kind of false reassurance.
The insecurity-industrial complex also includes the nationalist politicians who incite volcanic policy shifts and mass layoffs.
Take Tara Fannon, for years a research director at a consulting agency serving the federal government, responsible for communication outreach across agencies and direct work with veterans. In 2025, her government contracting job was DOGEd into oblivion. Fannon now makes a fraction of her former salary, and her unemployment has run out. At 50, she’s looking for a full-time job and “struggling”—Fannon says “the job market is the worst in my life: an absolute hellscape.” Her health care premiums are colossal.
“For me, ‘insecurity’ is a good word to describe all the ways I feel precarious right now,” Fannon says from her apartment in Brooklyn. “I can’t afford great medical care, and that’s going to affect my health, which causes me to worry and feel more anxious. I can’t afford to go to the gym or eat the kind of food that makes me feel healthy, and that affects me in other ways.”
She didn’t want to take all that turbulence lying down. Fannon started an oral history site interviewing government workers who had been laid off equally unceremoniously. Most, like her, she says, are still unemployed, “patching things together.”
And the war against our security entails crushing reliable government, including funds allotted to the caregivers of our most vulnerable citizens. United Domestic Workers deputy director Johanna Hester is on the front line of that battle. GOP-led cuts to Medicaid, she tells me, have been brutal for her members, who struggle with reduced paid hours as well as the fear of ICE raids at their workplaces. Many make less than $20 an hour and need food assistance from the union; some have been driven to live in their cars, struggling to afford gas.
Terra infirma is also a place where people fear speaking freely. The bravest are those who continue to, like Amisha Patel, a Chicago activist and mother of two who passed away this week at age 50, a month and a half after we spoke. Opposing the second Trump administration while struggling with metastatic cancer, Patel epitomized to me degree of courage that some Americans are showing today, standing up even while they teeter on the personal and political edge.
Before she passed, Patel underwent treatments, hoping to find something that would give her extra time. But by March, she was told she had just a few months to live. Still, when we spoke, she was trying to “show up,” as she put it, for her wife and neighbors in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood amid an escalation of ICE raids.
What kept her together in the last months of her life, in a time of massive turmoil, was the opportunity “to fight fascism.” “It’s easy to be frozen and not to act,” Patel said. I knew what she meant: public defiance was harder in a time of street kidnappings, campus crackdowns, and organized attacks on free speech (of, say, anyone who called Charlie Kirk…well, a Charlie Kirk). “But my disease has shown me that we are not going to have certainty,” she continued—only “possibilities.”
Fannon, Hester, Patel, and so many of us are standing in a frightscape and yearning for security from the political developments that snap at us like carnivorous plants.
I am not the only one who sees our main vibe as uncertainty, anxiety, and nervousness, our mood rings always turning to a muted gray or black. The Urban Institute’s “True Cost of Economic Security” metric, which factors in costs like health insurance, childcare, and retirement, defines 52 percent of US families as financially insecure, many more than define themselves (or are defined by other standards) as poor.
In the age of gig work, volatile income is another source of systemic insecurity around our labor. It makes planning for the future or even giving consistent time to family and other obligations, far more difficult. (No wonder Gen Z, has come up with corecore, a TikTok aesthetic that specializes in confusing, overwhelming juxtapositions.)
So does indebtedness: consumer debt is among the reasons that Americans’ available income has dropped by more than a quarter in recent years, according to political scientist Jacob Hacker’s Economic Security Index. Businesses look to the Economic Policy Uncertainty Index, a financial instrument that tracks the effects of economic instability in the US and twenty other countries, going back to 1900.
Political uncertainty is approaching an all-time high here, says EPUI director Scott Baker, a professor of finance at the University of Wisconsin. Baker believes that insecurity about the future has made “firms and households less comfortable” spending and more likely to reduce consumption, while business have become less productive as a result, leery to make investments or increase hiring.
As Baker puts it, “sudden shifts in policy across a wide range of fields [have] made it hard for businesses and financial markets to know what is coming next.” According to a recent Associated Press-NORC poll, 47 percent of American adults are “not very” or “not at all confident” they could find a job they would want. That figure was 37 percent in late 2023.
Of course, the insecurity-industrial complex wasn’t born yesterday: exploiters have been making us nervous for generations. In her 1989 book Fear of Falling, Barbara Ehrenreich wrote about the anxieties of an American middle class barely holding on to its social position by one high-thread-count pillow-set. In the 2009 collection The Insecure American: How We Got Here and What We Should Do About It, nineteen ethnographers parsed how our leaders produce social insecurity, from the war on terror to the war on welfare.
But now that insecurity is everywhere, all the time. As economist Pranab Bardhan argues in his 2022 book A World of Insecurity: Democratic Disenchantment in Rich and Poor Countries, insecurity, rather than poverty or inequality, is our new constant, bringing with it the forces that have caused an erosion of liberal democracy in rich and poor countries alike. As societal uncertainty, both real and manufactured, has risen in countries like the US, India, and Turkey, populists have taken over and tilted the political tables toward despotism, exploiting citizens’ economic and cultural instabilities to get their votes.
What would really restore our sense of certainty? On a governmental level, bolstering the hardy social programs we have, like Social Security, Medicare and unemployment insurance. Paid leave, which I depended on over the last year to care for two family members.
Rebecca Vallas, CEO of the National Academy for Social Insurance, tells me that this is the “moment to return to the moral and even spiritual foundation of the New Deal—the idea that we are in this together—and to carry that further into the next chapter of public policy. The question isn’t whether uncertainty will exist, it’s whether we will meet it with solidarity or fragmentation.”
When I attended a conference Vallas recently organized in Washington on the future of American social programs, attendees struck similar notes, harkening back to that great moment of the birth of Social Security, the New Deal; of Frances Perkins and FDR. But we can also push new policies that have a grandeur of spirit; some of the threats to our security are too deeply contemporary to do otherwise.
Will we strategize and develop policies akin to universal basic income, updated to account for the six-fingered monster that is AI? An experimental “AI dividend” piloted by the nonprofit AI Commons Project and What We Will proposes to compensate 50 workers who have lost paid jobs or opportunities due to AI to the tune of $1,000 a month for a year, no strings attached. If it works, it will be a new model for basic income set to help the hundreds of thousands who may ultimately lose work due to AI.
And then there’s the personal piece of this: standing up to the insecurity complex, starting to naturalize the term “insecurity” when we talk about citizens’ state of mind, their needs and what informs their political will. I believe that part of surviving uncertainty is framing it, living with it—and acting despite it. Therapists I have spoken to speak of treating patients’ sense of “overwhelming and overweening threat,” in the words of psychologist Harriet Fraad, including fear of the encroachments of AI, while increasingly “unable to afford heat or gas for their car” as a consequence of Trump’s war in Iran.
Fraad tries to make her clients recognize the real culprit: “that their fears aren’t just because of their mother or something” but rather the nature of America today. She tries to ensure that they aren’t blaming themselves for their nerves, personalizing the effects of the insecurity-industrial complex into a singular failure on their part. To these patients, Fraad recommends “not being alone” and embracing “activism, love and solidarity.”
Similarly, it can’t hurt for us to recognize when we are participating in habits that reflect and exacerbate terra infirma—we can reject predictive betting markets and their janky fake sense of relief, for example, or use tools that strip our feeds of AI slop wherever they find it, demanding a more human internet.
I am trying to acknowledge the political and economic uncertainty and nihilism around me, to live with it and name it. Otherwise, there is always the danger of repression, which leads, according to psychologists, to our splitting into metaphorical parts. The version of myself that tries on tinted sunscreen, makes sure to Docusign contracts, and watches regional UK TV procedurals late into the night co-exists with the version of myself that is hyper-vigilant to the extreme events that keep unfolding.
In my quest to gain a greater sense of equilibrium, I also look for mirrors of our current precarity. Perhaps weirdly, I find reassurance in poetry reflecting extreme events, like poems composed shadows of the gulag, or one of Jorie Graham’s latest. As she writes, “I/will let go/of the world/as it was/once. It was probably/ never that way.”
This article was produced in collaboration with the Economic Hardship Reporting Project, which supports independent journalists as they forward fresh narratives about inequality. Subscribe to follow EHRP.
