Rendahl: Trust

Trust is a curious thing. We all want to be trusted, but are a little surprised when we are. Many are stingy with their trust, quickly citing all that could go awry if they did. I’m of the mind that most of us are inclined to do things as we see right in the situation, regardless of the trust bestowed or denied us.

I come from a general culture of trust. In my hometown in North Dakota, people frequently left their cars running in the winter while they ran into the store. This was before the days of remote unlocking and doors with passcodes. I don’t recall that people even carried a spare set of keys. We were certain that no one would steal someone’s car in the dead of our frigid winter because that would just be mean.

When living in Armenia, I collected my absentee ballot at the embassy each election. One Armenian friend was appalled that I would complete it in pencil, as required, because someone could change my vote when I sent it back. “But they wouldn’t,” I responded with complete confidence and a naivete I can only appreciate now. He pitied my ignorance, but I pitied his skepticism more. I can count myself a fool for the times I’ve trusted too much. But I’ve had a life filled with rejoicing over the many more times I’ve trusted rightly.

Over the years, I’ve known many taxi drivers in Yerevan. There was a profound trust with those I hired regularly, and often with those I’d just met. I trusted them to carry me safely and honestly to my destination, and they trusted that I would pay a fair fare (alliteration intended). Once we’d arrived, unless I needed change, I would place the money on the front passenger seat and the driver would bid farewell without looking at the amount. The message they conveyed was that it would have been insulting to doubt me. They knew I paid generously, but not excessively, as some foreigners are prone to do, because I used taxis regularly and couldn’t afford to overpay.

The taxi system has changed over the past few years. Taxis are ordered by phone and drivers use meters to collect fares. I welcome the consistency in charging, but I miss that implicit exchange of trust. I relived those feelings this past summer when several drivers insisted on returning the correct change, despite my wishes to tip. It would seem that they were as hungry for a shared sense of integrity as I was.

It’s disheartening when people don’t have a modicum of trust in their lives. I remember a woman at the vernissage in Yerevan telling me that she’d hold that item for me until the next day, when I would have cash, because she trusted foreigners, but she couldn’t trust her fellow citizens. When I explained to a street vendor that he had given me back more money than I had given him for the vegetables in the first place, the nearby shoppers stood in shock, one murmuring “Es inch azniv mart eh” (What an honest person this is).

Is trust really to be considered an anomaly among these tragic views of the world? I don’t think so. Some may say, “Du tak teghits es xosum” (You’re speaking from a warm place), as someone with a non-threatening and fairly trustworthy demeanor, and enough money to avoid haggling for the absolute lowest of cab fares. But I would counter that most human beings possess an innate need to trust and be trusted. We can agree that one person can accomplish precious little without the aid of others. We can also probably agree that cultures of reciprocal trust are happier and more able to make progress.

I wonder at times if it even matters whether our trust is honored. People can be such purists when it comes to the actions of others. Like anyone, I’d like to believe that everything is transparent, that I can take people at face value. But that’s just not how it is. So, now I give people the benefit of a doubt, and understand that there may be reasons for their breach of trust. Reasons that I may not have the frame of reference to fathom.

Maybe this is a long way of saying that I don’t care if everyone doesn’t consistently act according to the highest standard. I’ll continue to rely on research, my gut, and common sense to make decisions, and I’ll probably be disappointed when I realize that someone may see me as a fool. But it sure beats the toxicity of cynicism.

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Kristi Rendahl

Kristi Rendahl is associate professor and director of the nonprofit leadership program at Minnesota State University, Mankato. Prior to starting with MSU in 2017, she worked for over 20 years with nongovernmental organizations on several continents, including living in Armenia from 1997-2002. She speaks Armenian and Spanish.

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