In this episode of the Let's Find Common Ground podcast, the Common Ground Committee team looks at the growing movement of bridge builders pushing back against the toxic polarization that separates us.
Middle-class families face rising costs and policy uncertainty as economic rules shift. How instability in governance is reshaping the American Dream.
In a growing suburb outside Columbus, Ohio, two households are coming to the same realization: the rules they have long relied on still exist, but they are no longer working for them.
Jake and Emily Carter, both in their early 30s, had planned to buy their first home this spring. He manages a retail store; she’s a nurse. Together, they earn about $85,000 a year, near the local median. They’ve saved carefully and thought they were ready. But the numbers no longer add up. Mortgage rates shift, insurance is higher than expected, and grocery bills remain stubborn. Add in tariffs, healthcare uncertainty, and shifting tax policy, and the path forward is unclear.
The house they wanted, listed at around $325,000 with a monthly payment they estimate near $2,400, now sits just out of reach. Stretch, and they risk being squeezed. Wait, and prices may rise. Either way, the margin for error is gone.
So they wait.
Across town, Bob and Linda Matthews, both recently retired, face a similar calculation. Bob worked in a manufacturing plant. They live mostly on Social Security, about $3,200 a month. Recently, their Medicare supplement rose by $40 a month, and one of Bob’s prescriptions costs more out of pocket. They expected stability. Instead, they see steady increases and uncertain policy changes affecting the programs they depend on.
What once felt like a fixed income now feels exposed.
So they wait, too.
Since the Great Depression, there was an implicit agreement: hard work, stable institutions, and predictable rules would make a middle-class life attainable. That agreement was never perfect, but it sustained expectations and anchored the American Dream.
That contract is now fraying, and it is no longer intact. The rules that once seemed settled now appear uncertain and increasingly tilted toward the wealthy, who can absorb or benefit from instability through assets, tax flexibility, and risk hedging. Families like the Carters and the Matthews are responding not just to rising costs, but to a system that no longer feels reliable to them.
In the past, economic problems had clearer sources—prices rose, or jobs disappeared—and policymakers responded. The process was legible. Laws were passed, regulations followed, and outcomes, even contested ones, were understandable and durable enough to plan around.
That anchor is weakening, not all at once, but through a shift away from legislative decision-making toward more provisional action. This trend, visible since the Clinton administration, has only intensified in recent years and has accelerated markedly in Trump’s second term. As Congress relies more on stopgaps and fewer negotiated statutes, the time horizon of policy shortens. The current Congress is on pace to be one of the least productive in decades, enacting only a few dozen laws, a level of legislative inaction that reinforces this drift.
Policies now change abruptly, often through executive action. The Trump administration has been especially aggressive in its unilateral approach to governing. Budget decisions are deferred through temporary measures. Regulatory signals shift with political pressure, leaving firms unsure which rules will hold and which will be reversed. The result is not just policy change, but policy volatility that seeps into everyday decisions.
Large corporations can manage volatility, with greater access to capital, legal resources, and hedging tools; smaller businesses cannot. Hiring, expansion, and investment decisions hinge on whether the rules will hold over the life of a project, not just next quarter.
In that environment, caution becomes rational. Expansion is shelved, home purchases are delayed, and even routine decisions are put off. Lenders tighten terms, suppliers shorten contracts, and employers hesitate to add permanent staff.
Households respond the same way. When people cannot anticipate costs, benefits, or policy direction, delay becomes self-protection. Big decisions are pushed out; smaller ones are pared back.
This is where uncertainty stops being a byproduct of governance and becomes a governance strategy.
In a functioning system, institutions translate disagreement into durable outcomes. When that function weakens, uncertainty fills the gap. Executive orders are reversed by courts. Continuing resolutions leave decisions unresolved. Agencies shift with political pressure rather than clear statutory direction. Increasingly, major policy changes occur not through legislation, but through courts and bureaucracy.
Together, this creates a system where decisions are provisional and subject to sudden change, and where the cost of getting it wrong is shifted onto households and smaller firms.
The effects are cumulative. Investment slows, hiring tightens, and innovation gives way to caution. Consumer spending softens as households hedge against uncertainty.
Trust erodes as Congress fails to produce durable policy, agencies cannot offer consistency, and courts are left to resolve major disputes, making governance feel improvised. Institutions no longer translate conflict; they amplify instability.
The U.S. has faced volatility before. What is different now is the erosion of the structures that manage it. Stability does not require consensus. It requires institutions capable of producing outcomes people can plan around.
Reclaiming that role starts with Congress. It must write durable laws rather than defer decisions. That means fewer temporary fixes and more political risk. It will not be easy. It requires setting aside partisanship for the institution and the country.
The executive branch must provide consistent, law-based direction and rely on expertise. The courts must not become the default policymaker. Durable policy must come from elected branches.
None of this eliminates disagreement. It restores the ability to manage it.
Until then, families like the Carters and the Matthews will continue to adapt quietly. They will wait, take fewer risks, and accept tradeoffs they once thought temporary.
And in doing so, they reveal a larger truth: when institutions stop translating, the burden shifts to those least able to bear it.
Robert Cropf is a Professor of Political Science at Saint Louis University.
This nonpartisan policy brief, written by an ACE fellow, is republished by The Fulcrum as part of our partnership with the Alliance for Civic Engagement and our NextGen initiative — elevating student voices, strengthening civic education, and helping readers better understand democracy and public policy.
Without a national AI law, states have been filling in the gaps on their own. The result is an uneven landscape where a person’s legal protections depend entirely on which state they live in.
Colorado was among the first states to pass a broad AI accountability law. Its 2024 Colorado AI Act, set to take effect in 2026, targets “high risk” AI systems which are defined as tools that are used to make important decisions about people. Under the law, companies must test their AI tools for bias, notify people when AI played a role in a decision about them, and allow people to appeal those decisions.
New York passed the RAISE Act, which establishes standards for companies that use AI in high-stakes settings, including requirements to disclose AI use and assess the risk of harm before using an AI system in high-stakes areas like employment, housing, healthcare, or financial services. New York City separately passed a law in 2023 requiring employers to audit their AI hiring tools for bias and notify job applicants when such tools are used.
Other states including Utah, Washington, California, and Illinois have each passed or proposed their own transparency and accountability measures, often targeting specific uses of AI in healthcare, hiring, or in public benefits decisions.
The result is a confusing compliance system for companies operating across multiple states and for average citizens trying to understand their rights. A person fired by an algorithm in Colorado has different legal options than someone in the same situation in a state with no AI law at all. This patchwork is the central issue that federal lawmakers are now trying to solve.
Artificial intelligence is now being used to make decisions that directly affect people’s lives. When these systems make mistakes, the consequences can be serious and lasting.
However, under current law, it is often unclear who is legally responsible when AI causes harm. Three groups could potentially be held liable:
Traditional liability law was designed for a world where a human being made the decision. When an AI system produces a biased hiring recommendation, a wrong medical diagnosis, or a faulty credit decision, it is not always clear which party in the chain is responsible. This legal gray zone means that people harmed by AI may have no clear path to getting help, and companies may have little incentive to make their systems safer before releasing them.
With states passing laws that often contradict each other, pressure has been placed on the federal government to set a single national standard. In March 2026, two major proposals emerged within days of each other.
The White House National Policy Framework for AI was released on March 20, 2026, and it outlines the Trump administration’s vision for federal AI law. The framework takes a “light-touch” approach focused on protecting innovation. Key positions include:
The TRUMP AMERICA AI Act, a draft bill released on March 18, 2026, takes a more detailed approach. Key proposals include:
Those who favor limiting AI liability, including many in the Trump administration and many in the technology industry, argue that holding developers legally responsible for every possible way their tools are used would make building AI in the United States far too costly and legally risky. Supporters of this view also warn that pushing liability too far could drive AI development to other countries with fewer regulations, meaning Americans would end up using AI built with even less oversight than they would have had otherwise. On the question of state laws, those who want to limit AI liability also argue that a single, clear federal standard is better for everyday people than the current situation.
However, proponents of stronger AI liability argue that without real legal consequences, companies have little financial incentive to invest in making their systems safer before releasing them to the public. The profit motive, they argue, pushes developers to move fast. As a result, the American people are most likely to be harmed and have the least power to push back. Those who want strong AI liability also argue that most existing laws, including civil rights statutes and consumer protection rules, were written long before AI existed and were not designed to handle situations where a machine made the important decision. Courts struggle to apply these older frameworks to AI harms, leaving many people with no practical legal resource. Finally, this side expresses concern that a federal law designed to primarily limit liability could end up setting a weak national floor that overrides stronger protections that states like Colorado and Illinois have already put in place.
What does “liability” mean?
What is a “high-risk” AI system
What is federal preemption?
Why can’t existing laws handle AI harms?
Has any federal AI liability law passed yet?
Margaret Wakefield is an ACE fellow.
Who’s Responsible When AI Causes Harm?: Unpacking the Federal AI Liability Framework Debate was first published by ACE and republished with permission.
Relatives and friends mourn the death of 26-year-old Aoni Sami Hasaballah on May 5, 2026 in Gaza City, Gaza. Hasaballah was killed today during Israeli airstrikes in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood.
Amid the political and military standoff among the United States, Israel, and Iran, it is civilians — the people with no say in these decisions — who bear the fear, disruption, and uncertainty of every strike and escalation. This week, The Fulcrum’s executive editor, Hugo Balta, reports from Israel with a single aim: to humanize the war by focusing not on the spectacle of Operation Epic Fury, but on the ordinary lives being reshaped by it.
TEL AVIV — As the escalating confrontation with Iran increasingly dominates regional and international attention, the war in Gaza has slipped from the global spotlight. But inside Israel, far from the televised images of missile interceptions and diplomatic brinkmanship, a different struggle is unfolding — one led not by governments or generals, but by grassroots movements insisting that Israelis and Palestinians can still imagine a shared future.
These groups, long dismissed as marginal or naïve, say the current moment has only sharpened their resolve. As Israel expands military operations and deepens its control inside Gaza, they argue that the absence of a political horizon is itself a threat to security — and that coexistence, not separation, is the only path out of perpetual conflict.
“Security and cooperation are not contradictions.” For Nadav Oren, an organizer with the Arab‑Jewish movement Standing Together, the idea that safety requires walls, checkpoints, and permanent division is a false choice.
“The wish to feel safe from threats does not contradict cooperating with Palestinians,” Oren said in an interview with The Fulcrum. “We are representatives of both peoples fighting side by side against violence and for security from threats.”
Standing Together has become one of the most visible civil society forces in Israel since October, organizing demonstrations, mutual‑aid networks, and public campaigns calling for a ceasefire and a political solution. The group’s rallies have repeatedly faced police repression — a trend documented by Israeli and international media — but Oren says this has only strengthened public support.
“When an officer hits people holding signs, it’s clear who fights for love and who fights for hate and separation,” he said. “More and more people join the movement.”
For Oren, the deeper obstacle is psychological: the enforced separation that prevents Israelis and Palestinians from seeing one another as human.
“Most Israelis have never met Palestinians from Gaza or the West Bank,” he said. “Palestinians only meet Israelis who prevent them from moving around their own land. It’s almost impossible to view people in a humane way when you only see them hurting you.”
That belief — that human contact can still shift political reality — was at the heart of last week’s People’s Peace Summit in Tel Aviv, a rare joint gathering of Israeli and Palestinian peace activists. The event brought together Standing Together, Women Wage Peace, bereaved families, coexistence organizations, and civil society leaders for a day of panels, workshops, and public dialogue.
For Manuela Rotstein of Women Wage Peace, the summit was more than a conference. It was proof that, even in wartime, thousands of people are still willing to show up for a different vision of the future.
“Thursday was a very important day for all of us who want a better future,” Rotstein said. “Despite the extremely difficult reality we are living through, thousands of people came to the Summit to hear panels of academics, activists, and politicians proposing solutions to the conflict.”
Women Wage Peace, founded after the 2014 Gaza war, has grown into one of Israel’s largest grassroots peace movements. Its members — Jewish, Muslim, Christian, secular, religious, left‑wing, right‑wing — are united by a single demand: that political leaders pursue a negotiated agreement to end the conflict.
Rotstein said what struck her most at the summit was the determination she saw in the crowd, especially among younger participants.
“Throughout the day, I spoke with dozens of young people and people of all ages, and I found that most of them are looking for a way out, looking for a better world,” she said. “They refuse to resign themselves to living in a state of war.”
Her message is blunt: wars end, but only agreements create peace.
“Conflicts are ultimately resolved through an agreement between both sides,” she said. “That agreement may come after a long dispute or after a terrible war, as in our case, but it is always the agreement — the one that aims to change internal dynamics — that leads to peace.”
The summit’s organizers called for an immediate ceasefire, the release of hostages, and a renewed commitment to a negotiated future. Speakers emphasized that grassroots cooperation remains possible even amid rising regional tensions, arguing that only sustained dialogue and shared security can prevent further escalation.
Their message stands in stark contrast to the political climate in Israel, where public debate is dominated by military strategy, national trauma, and fears of a widening regional war. Yet the activists insist that ignoring the political dimension of the conflict is itself a form of denial.
“People say now is not the time,” Rotstein said. “But if not now — when? When things get even worse?”
For many in these movements, the confrontation with Iran has only underscored the urgency of addressing the unresolved conflict next door. They argue that regional stability is impossible without a political solution for Israelis and Palestinians — and that civil society must lead where governments have failed.
Whether these voices can influence policy remains uncertain. But their presence — in the streets, at summits, in conversations across communities — challenges the narrative that Israelis and Palestinians are destined for endless war.
Oren, Rotstein, and others say they are not naïve. They know the obstacles are immense. But they also know that political change often begins long before it becomes visible.
“We are all humans living in the same place,” Oren said. “Whether it’s the same land or the same globe, we’re all here together.”
For now, their work continues — often unnoticed, often uphill — but grounded in a belief that the future is not yet written, and that ordinary people still have the power to shape it.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of The Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network.
Coverage of this report was made possible in part with support from Fuente Latina.
A deep dive into America’s healthcare cost crisis, comparing reform to a modern “moonshot.” Explores payment models, rising costs, and lessons from John F. Kennedy’s space race vision to drive systemic change.
In 1961, President John F. Kennedy told the nation, “We choose to go to the moon.” It’s often remembered as a moment of national ambition. In reality, the United States was locked in a Cold War with the Soviet Union, and the fear of falling behind in technological dominance made the mission unavoidable.
Today’s space race is driven by a different force. Governments and private companies are investing billions to capture economic advantages, from satellite infrastructure to advanced computing to the next frontier of resource extraction.
Moonshots don’t happen simply because leaders “choose” to pursue them. They often happen when fear or financial motivation grows so strong that inaction becomes riskier than action.
Those same motivations will determine whether the U.S. government or private companies choose to address healthcare’s growing affordability crisis. The challenge? Solving it will require the equivalent of a moonshot.
The scale of the cost crisis makes incremental fixes ineffective.
The United States spends roughly $15,000 per person each year, nearly double what peer nations spend. Employer-sponsored family coverage now averages $27,000 annually, with workers paying almost $7,000 out of pocket. Projected increases of 7% to 9% will increasingly constrain wages, benefits, and hiring.
Although many factors contribute to rising costs, they all share a common foundation: how medical care is reimbursed. Until the nation changes how doctors and hospitals are paid, costs will keep rising.
American healthcare runs on two models: fee-for-service, which rewards volume, and pay-for-value, which aims to reward outcomes. Neither is working as intended. Fixing either will require a system-wide change on a scale comparable to a moonshot.
For 90% of working Americans, care is paid through fee-for-service.
Doctors and hospitals are reimbursed for each service: visits, tests, procedures, and prescriptions. The more care they deliver, the more revenue they receive—regardless of whether it improves patient outcomes.
This pay-for-volume approach works in many industries. But not in healthcare. That’s because providers of medical care (not patients) drive most clinical decisions, usually without price transparency. Plus, the incentives are perverse. Seeing a patient twice instead of once doubles revenue, and more complex procedures generate significantly more income, even when simpler alternatives are equally effective.
The only way a fee-for-system methodology can control costs is if there is either (a) robust competition or (b) strict price controls. Neither exists today.
Over the past two decades, consolidation has reduced competition across hospitals, physician groups, and drug purchasing, driving up costs. In parallel, pharmaceutical companies have used patent protections to launch ever-higher-priced drugs. Currently, the average annual list price for new medications is $370,000.
Although Congress can impose price limits and regulators can challenge monopolies, the political risk of those actions has long outweighed the cost of doing nothing. That will change only when growing unaffordability causes voters to replace elected officials who fail to implement solutions to lower medical costs.
Pay-for-value was designed to fix fee-for-service’s core flaw: rewarding volume instead of superior medical outcomes.
In its simplest form, the model pays providers to keep patients healthy rather than to deliver more services. At its most advanced, it relies on capitation: a fixed payment to a group of doctors to manage care for a defined population.
In theory, this should reduce hospitalizations, improve chronic disease management, and lower costs. In practice, it has not.
In most cases, insurers (not providers) receive the capitated payment and, instead of passing those funds directly to clinicians, they continue to pay for care using fee-for-service. Thus, the same perverse incentives persist.
Research shows that clinicians don’t change how they practice until roughly 63% of their revenue comes from fully capitated payments. Below that threshold, fee-for-service incentives are more lucrative and dominate.
Making pay-for-value work requires structural change. Providers need to organize into groups large enough to manage care across large populations and share financial risk. That shift requires leadership, capital, and investment in data systems.
Those investments will not happen simply because the model is better. They will happen only when insurers and entrepreneurial companies view the financial rewards as too big to ignore.
A healthcare moonshot, like a voyage into space, would involve accepting significant risk.
One possible motivation is fear. When the next recession begins (perhaps sooner than later, according to historical analyses), employers are likely to scale back coverage for the 160 million Americans who rely on job-based insurance. Impacted workers may vote out incumbents, creating fear in those who remain.
Another possibility is reward. In this scenario, advances in generative AI would improve the management of chronic disease, which affects 3 in 4 Americans. The CDC estimates that up to half of all heart attacks, strokes, and kidney failures could be prevented through effective chronic disease control, generating savings approaching $1 trillion. For insurers or new entrants, capturing even part of that opportunity would create a powerful incentive to act.
Moonshots don’t happen because they are the right thing to do. They happen when fear of loss or the promise of financial gain outweighs the risks involved. Healthcare has not yet reached that point, but medicine’s growing affordability crisis is bringing our nation closer than ever.
Robert Pearl, the author of “ChatGPT, MD,” teaches at both the Stanford University School of Medicine and the Stanford Graduate School of Business. He is a former CEO of The Permanente Medical Group.
