“AS THOUSANDS have gathered in Lower Manhattan, passionately expressing their deep discontent with the status quo, we have taken note of these protests,” wrote Lloyd Blankfein, the boss of Goldman Sachs, in a recent letter to investors. “And we have asked ourselves this question: ‘How can we make money off them?' The answer is the newly launched Goldman Sachs Global Rage Fund.” This will invest in firms likely to benefit from social unrest, such as window repairers and makers of police batons. As Mr Blankfein explained: “At Goldman, we recognise that the capitalist system as we know it is circling the drain—but there's plenty of money to be made on the way down.”

The letter is a spoof, penned by Andy Borowitz, a comedian. Goldman Sachs and its peers would of course be failing in their duty to investors if they did not find opportunities in the current global turmoil. But they should also be thinking much harder about the risk posed to their business by the protests.

The protests against finance are popular and global. In America, they have attracted sympathy in high places: Barack Obama seems to view cosying up to the Occupy Wall Street protesters as a way to revive his flagging hopes of re-election. Even some Republicans think there may be votes in declaring kinship to them. A poll by CNN published on October 24th found that those who approve of Occupy Wall Street outnumber those who disapprove by 32% to 29%. Worse for Mr Blankfein and his pals, a hefty 54% of Americans say they don't trust Wall Street to do what is right for the country, up from 30% in the 1990s. The financial industry already faces burdensome new regulations. If voters get any angrier, it could face even heavier ones.

Wall Street's traditional approach to attacks on its reputation has been to disengage from the public and hide behind an army of lawyers and lobbyists. Since the financial meltdown of 2008, this tendency has grown stronger. Wall Street's lawyers won an internal power struggle with its spin doctors, convincing the bosses that they would end up sued or in jail if their public statements were anything other than bloodless boilerplate.

So the big banks' apologies for their role in messing up the world economy have been grudging and late, and Joe Taxpayer has yet to hear a heartfelt “thank you” for bailing them out. Summoned before Congress, Wall Street bosses have made lawyerised statements that make them sound arrogant, greedy and unrepentant. A grand gesture or two—such as slashing bonuses or giving away a tonne of money—might have gone some way towards restoring public faith in the industry. But we will never know because it didn't happen.

On the contrary, Wall Street appears to have set its many brilliant minds the task of infuriating the public still further, by repossessing homes of serving soldiers, introducing fees for using debit cards and so on. Goldman Sachs showed a typical tin ear by withdrawing its sponsorship of a fund-raiser for a credit union (financial co-operative) on November 3rd because it planned to honour Occupy Wall Street.

To be fair, there have been some small steps in the right direction. Jamie Dimon of JPMorgan Chase has apologised for mishandling loans to military families. Vikram Pandit of Citigroup has committed his bank to “responsible finance”, whatever that may be. But none of this has done much to allay public anger. Schumpeter would not be surprised if the “bank transfer day” on November 5th, backed by Occupy Wall Street, sees a large number of savers switch from big banks to credit unions.

So perhaps it is time for a bold new strategy: engaging directly with the protesters. This would legitimise an unrepresentative movement of “people doing drugs and having sex in the park”, objects one Wall Street PR man. Another grumbles that the protesters are upset more by unemployment and inequality than by anything particular that Wall Street does. Maybe so, but bleating about it will not mend Wall Street's battered brand.

The odd thing is, Wall Street does have a reasonable tale to tell. Banking is not tobacco. Its products do not usually kill its customers. The industry messed up horribly, but people still need loans and somewhere to park their savings. Companies—you know, the things that create jobs—need investment banking to help them manage their finances and grow. Misguided regulations, written in anger, could imperil this. Wall Street needs to articulate this case firmly and often.

Outrageous fortunes attract slings and arrows

Bank bosses might also consider exposing themselves directly to the public's fury, by meeting the protesters face to face. What they say in the few seconds before the eggs start flying would matter less than the act of saying it. (Though their message should certainly include apologies for past cock-ups as well as explanations of the good Wall Street does.) The Masters of the Universe would not win the argument, but that is not the point of what has become known as the “Tony Blair masochism strategy”, after Britain's then prime minister discussed the Iraq war with angry voters in the run-up to the election of 2005. Letting himself be verbally assaulted proved cathartic to voters. The encounter also gave Mr Blair a chance to make his case in plain English and highlight his critics' inconsistencies. He won the election handily.

Granted, no Wall Street boss has Mr Blair's political skills, and few have much experience of arguing with people wearing nose-rings. Mr Blankfein may be the son of a postal clerk, but it would be stretching it to say he has the common touch. As for Mr Dimon, would he be able to resist the urge to tell the protesters exactly what he thinks of them? But desperate times call for creative measures. A dose of masochism could not possibly harm the Wall Street brand, and it might actually help.

Economist.com/blogs/schumpeter