In the 1960s, if you introduced a new product to America, 90% of

“In the 1960s, if you introduced a new product to America, 90% of the people who viewed it for the first time believed in the corporate promise. Then 40 years later if you performed the same exercise, less than 10% of the public believed it was true. The fracturing of trust is based on the fact that the consumer has been let down.” Thus spoke Howard Schultz, the steward of Starbucks, whose words are not merely about coffee or commerce, but about the collapse of faith between people and the institutions that serve them. His reflection cuts like an ancient oracle, reminding us that trust once squandered is not easily regained, and that promises broken become the ruins upon which cynicism is built.

The meaning of this saying lies in the slow erosion of credibility. In the 1960s, a time when television was young and advertising shone like a new sun, the people were eager to believe. The voice of a company was heard as the voice of authority; the corporate promise was taken as truth. But as decades passed, betrayals multiplied—unsafe cars, faulty products, false guarantees, financial scandals. By the dawn of the 21st century, the public no longer placed their faith so easily. The fracturing of trust, as Schultz declares, was not born of suspicion alone, but of wounds inflicted by repeated disappointment.

The ancients knew this law well. In Rome, when merchants watered down wine or weighed coins dishonestly, they were shamed in the forum, for once trust was broken, trade itself began to collapse. The marketplace could not survive on deception, for the people would refuse to buy from those whose promises rang hollow. So it is today: when corporations betray, they sow the seeds of their own destruction, for no power can endure long without the loyalty of the people it serves.

History bears witness to this principle in the story of Enron. Once hailed as a giant of innovation, it dazzled investors with promises of boundless growth. Yet when the truth emerged—that its accounts were false, its foundations corrupt—millions of lives and fortunes were shattered. Enron became not merely a failed company, but a symbol of betrayal, deepening the public’s cynicism. This is the fate Schultz warns against: when the consumer has been let down, trust does not return swiftly—it bleeds away across generations.

And yet, Schultz also points to a path of restoration. If trust can be fractured, it can also be mended—but not with empty words or glossy slogans. It must be rebuilt through integrity, through consistency, through the unglamorous work of delivering what is promised. Just as a broken bond between friends may be healed by years of loyalty, so too must institutions labor to show that their word is once again their honor. Trust is slow to return, but when restored, it becomes stronger than before.

The lesson for us is clear: whether in business, in leadership, or in the smallest human dealings, never make light of the promises you give. Every vow, every word of assurance, is a thread in the fabric of trust. Break too many, and the fabric unravels. But guard them, fulfill them, and you will be remembered as one who can be relied upon. The consumer, the citizen, the friend—all long not for perfection, but for faithfulness.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember Schultz’s wisdom: trust is wealth greater than gold, for with it, commerce flourishes, friendships deepen, nations endure. Without it, even the strongest tower crumbles into dust. Let your promises be few, but let them be true. Let your word stand like stone, your actions prove your sincerity. For once the people know they can trust you, they will follow you not only with their money, but with their hearts. And in that loyalty lies a power that no deceit can counterfeit.